#World War III Concern

[mssalo]

safety - Part: V 

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of war and combat-related trauma, Power dynamics, Unstable mental state,, Explicit sexual content, fingering in nature, rough sex in nature, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, Dom/sub dynamics, Joel’s possessiveness, sexual tension always, Joel went and got therapy :)

10k. Smut. Ending.

Enjoy!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV 

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of the cabin, casting a soft golden hue over the room. Joel had been awake for hours, his mind running long before dawn.

It had been years since he’d slept that soundly, since his body allowed him even a moment of peace. His usual nightmares—filled with screams, gunfire, and failure—had been replaced by something softer last night.

His arm draped over your waist, keeping you close as if, even now, he feared you'd slip away. You stirred slightly, your body warm against his, and for a brief moment, he felt something he hadn’t in so long—relief. But that feeling quickly turned into guilt.

The events of the previous night replayed in his mind, each detail sharper than the last. The way he had dragged you out of the woods, convinced something was after you, how frantic and desperate he had been to lock you inside the cabin, to shield you from an imagined threat.

Joel’s eyes traced your peaceful expression, and a sense of possessiveness flared inside him.

Ever since he saw you—so trusting, so sweet, too naive for this world—something in him snapped. He couldn’t stand the idea of you out there, vulnerable. You had no idea of the real dangers lurking in the world, and that infuriated him.

But the anger had twisted into something darker, something he hadn’t fully understood until last night. His obsession with keeping you safe had grown into an all-consuming need.

You stirred beside him, your eyes slowly fluttering open, and Joel’s gaze softened. When your eyes met his, you smiled sleepily, unaware of the storm brewing behind his calm expression.

"Morning," you whispered, your voice thick with sleep, oblivious to the gravity of what had happened last night.

"Morning," Joel muttered, his voice rough. His hand tightened around your waist, fingers brushing over the soft skin of your side. You stretched slightly, yawning before nestling back into his arms, completely unaware of the tension radiating from him.

"I guess we’re safe after all, huh?" you mused softly, your innocent words hanging in the air.

Joel tensed, his jaw locking. You didn’t understand. You never would. You trusted too easily, believed in safety that didn’t exist. He wanted to snap, to shake you out of that naivety, but the softness in your eyes held him back.

"You don’t get it," he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "I’ve seen what happens when you trust the wrong people. When you let your guard down for just a second."

You frowned, turning to face him more fully. There was confusion in your gaze, concern, but also an oblivious trust that Joel had come to both cherish and resent. "Joel, last night… you were so sure something bad was going to happen. I didn’t understand. I was—" You hesitated, chewing on your lip, unsure of whether to admit the truth. "I was scared."

His grip tightened at your confession, his eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite name. "You don’t need to be scared of me," he growled, his voice raw. "I would never hurt you. But I can’t—" His breath hitched, his hand fisting the sheets. "I can’t lose you."

The desperation in his voice made your heart ache. You could see the fear behind his eyes, the fear of something deeper, something you couldn’t fully understand. But you had felt it last night. His need to protect you had been overwhelming, almost suffocating.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft, hesitant. "I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me. But last night… it wasn’t normal. You were so convinced something was out there. But there was nothing."

His body went rigid beside you, his jaw clenching as if he was trying to keep everything in. But you could see the cracks forming, the way his eyes flickered with memories he hadn’t told you about. And then, as if the dam finally broke, he spoke.

"There were these two girls," he muttered, his voice rough, strained. "Sarah and Ellie. Overseas, during the war. They were just kids… kids who trusted me."

You stayed silent, watching as his eyes clouded over with the weight of his memories.

"I was supposed to protect them. We were in a war zone, caught in the middle of a firefight. I told them to run. I thought I could get them out. But I didn’t see the sniper." His voice cracked, the guilt seeping into every word. "I didn’t see him, and… they didn’t make it."

Your heart twisted at the pain in his voice, at the way he carried the weight of their deaths as if it were his own fault. "Joel…"

"It was my call," he interrupted, his voice shaking. "I failed them, and now they’re gone because of me."

You reached out, your hand gently cupping his face, trying to pull him back from the darkness of his past. "You didn’t fail them. You were trying to save them. You can’t carry that alone."

But Joel shook his head, his eyes filled with so much anguish it made your chest ache. "I was supposed to protect them, and I didn’t. And now I’m afraid…" His voice dropped to a whisper, his grip on you tightening again. "I’m afraid I’ll fail you too."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. You didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know how to ease the guilt that had been eating away at him for years. All you could do was be there, to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

"I’m here right now," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. "I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m here."

For a long moment, Joel didn’t respond. He just held you, his body tense, his mind still lost in the past. But then, slowly, he nodded, his breath shaky as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"I’ll try to get help," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I’ll try."

You smiled softly, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "You’ll get through this, Joel."

He didn’t respond, but the way his arms tightened around you told you everything you needed to know. He was still scared, still haunted by the ghosts of his past. But for now, you were there. And that was enough.

As the morning light grew brighter, the cabin was filled with a quiet kind of peace. You lay there in his arms, holding on to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, Joel could find his way through the darkness.

And for now, that was all you could ask for.

· · ────

As you and Joel made your way back to the campsite, the tension between you simmered just beneath the surface. His heavy footsteps matched your lighter ones as you trudged through the brush, but his presence seemed to envelop you.

There was something about the way he moved, always one step behind or beside you, that made you feel both safe and on edge.

Joel’s eyes kept darting from the treeline to you, his instincts always on high alert.

His protective nature wasn’t something new, but after last night—after everything—the intensity of it felt different.

You glanced over at him as you both reached the campsite, your heart sinking a little at the sight of the mess. Your tent was half-collapsed, your clothes and supplies scattered haphazardly.

Joel gave a grunt and immediately set to work, tying down the straps and packing up the gear. His movements were quick, efficient, but you could feel his eyes flicking toward you every few moments.

“I can help,” you said, reaching for the tent poles.

Joel’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist and pulling it away from the sharp edges. His gaze locked with yours, dark and commanding.

“Let me handle the sharp tools, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice rough, gravelly.

The words sent a rush of heat straight through you, your cheeks flushing at the nickname. Babygirl. The way he said it—like you were something fragile, something that needed to be handled carefully—made you feel a strange mixture of annoyance and… excitement.

“Joel, I can handle a tent pole,” you argued softly, though the protest felt weak even to your own ears.

He didn’t back down, his grip on your wrist tightening just a bit. His lips curled into a half-smirk, his gaze flicking down your body before landing back on your face.

“I know you can handle a pole but `m not lettin’ you get hurt,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. “You’re too goddamn precious for that.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension rise between you. There was something in the way he looked at you, like he was barely holding himself back.

His eyes lingered on you a little too long, dark and possessive, and you couldn’t help but feel like prey under his gaze.

With a quiet huff, you stepped back, letting Joel handle the rest of the packing. As you turned to grab your bag, your eyes fell on the spare clothes you had packed.

The heat of the day, mixed with the leftover tension from last night, made your skin feel sticky and uncomfortable. You glanced over at Joel, who was busy securing the last of your things onto his truck.

“I’m just gonna change real quick,” you called over your shoulder, grabbing your fresh clothes from your bag and slipping behind a nearby tree.

Joel didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes followed you as you moved, his jaw tightening when he saw you disappear behind the tree.

His body tensed, a wave of heat coursing through him as he pictured you undressing. The thought of you, soft and bare just out of sight, made his breath hitch.

He glanced down at himself, biting back a groan as he felt his cock stiffen in his jeans.

The image of you changing, pulling those jeans over your hips, slipping out of that old shirt—it made something dark coil inside him.

He was used to control, to keeping his emotions in check, but you were making it hard. Too damn hard.

Behind the tree, you quickly stripped off your dirty shirt, slipping into something clean and fresh. As you tugged your jeans up over your hips, you couldn’t help but feel Joel’s presence, even though he wasn’t directly in front of you.

His gaze, that possessive heat—it lingered, and you could feel it.

You barely had time to register the slip before Joel’s hands were on you, firm and unyielding, catching you before you hit the ground.

The rough bark of the tree dug into your back as he pressed you against it, his strong body flush with yours. You felt his breath hot against the side of your neck, his chest rising and falling, the grip he had on your waist almost too tight.

“Careful there, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as his hand lingered on your hip. “Don’t need you hurtin’ yourself on account of some pants.”

You blinked up at him, startled by how fast he had closed the distance. His hand stayed on your waist, firm and warm, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing close to yours.

His eyes were darker than before, filled with something that made your pulse quicken. His gaze dropped to the bare skin of your waist, his thumb brushing over the exposed flesh as he let out a low hum.

“You’re gonna make it real hard for me to concentrate if you keep slippin’ outta those clothes, little girl,” Joel drawled, his lips curling into a smirk.

His hand drifted lower, teasing at the waistband of your jeans. “Not sure how much more I can take.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat as you met his gaze. “I didn’t think you minded last night,” you said, your voice a little shaky as you adjusted your shirt.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to you, dark and hungry. “Didn’t mind at all,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

His hands didn’t move immediately; they lingered, fingers splayed, and it sent a pulse of desire straight to your core.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly, low like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy all morning.”

You blinked, trying to steady yourself, but the way he had you pinned made it impossible.

The hard look in his eyes as he stared down at you, the way his fingers dug into your skin like he couldn’t bring himself to let go… it was overwhelming. He didn’t move away, didn’t give you any space to breathe, to think.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was thick, dripping with frustration, but there was no mistaking the hunger behind it.

“Every damn time I look at you… can’t get you from last night outta my head. Got me hard just from watchin’ you.”

Your breath hitched at the rawness in his words, the heat in his eyes as they raked over your body.

Before you could even respond, his hand slipped lower, fingers trailing along the waistband of your jeans. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but there was no hiding the raw desire in the way he moved.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled under his breath, his fingers sliding over the button of your jeans, popping it open with a swift, practiced motion.

“I can’t wait any longer. You’ve been torturing me all morning, walkin’ around like that.”

You gasped as his hand slipped beneath the denim, his fingers finding your already slick heat. Joel’s eyes darkened when he felt how wet you were, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough as his fingers dipped between your folds.

“So fuckin’ wet already… you been thinkin’ about me too, haven’t you? Tell me, baby girl.”

His fingers pressed against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that had your body arching toward him despite the tight grip he had on you. You whimpered softly, and that only seemed to spur him on, his touch growing more intense, more possessive.

“You like that, huh?” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Like it when I touch you like this, when I make you feel like this.” His thumb pressed harder against your swollen bud, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

His fingers slipped lower, one of them sliding inside you with ease, the wetness between your legs making it effortless.

He groaned low in his throat as he felt how tight you were around his finger, his breath coming out in heavy pants against your neck.

“Damn, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “You were made for me, baby girl. Fuck, just look at how you take my fingers.”

He added another finger, and the stretch made you cry out softly, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for support as your knees started to weaken.

Joel’s free hand gripped your hip even harder, holding you steady against him, making sure you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, takin’ it so well… you’re so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”

His fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars, and you moaned, your body arching into his hand.

Joel growled in response, his fingers moving faster now, thrusting in and out of you with a punishing rhythm.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice low and filthy. “You love it when I fuck you with my fingers, don’t you? So fuckin’ desperate for it.”

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your body trembling with every stroke of his fingers.

He was relentless, not giving you a moment to catch your breath as his thumb continued to work your clit in slow, torturous circles.

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice thick with lust.

“I can feel it. I can fuckin’ feel you clenchin’ around me. Come on, baby girl, don’t hold back. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

His words, his touch, the roughness of his voice—it was all too much. You couldn’t hold on any longer. Your body tensed, and with a sharp cry, you came undone around his fingers, your walls clenching tight as the pleasure ripped through you. 

Joel didn’t stop. He kept thrusting his fingers into you, drawing out your orgasm, his breath heavy against your ear.

“That’s it, darlin’. Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight. You feel that? You’re fuckin’ mine.”

Your legs trembled, barely able to hold you up as the aftershocks of your release pulsed through you. Joel finally slowed his movements, his fingers still buried deep inside you as you sagged against him, breathless and spent.

He pulled his hand from your jeans, his fingers glistening with your release as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, his voice still rough as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a satisfied growl. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

You were still trembling, leaning against him for support as he finally released his grip on your waist. But the look in his eyes, the heat still simmering there, told you he wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he growled softly, his hand coming back to grip your waist, pulling you against him once more. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against your stomach, and the heat flared between your legs all over again.

“I’ve been hard all fuckin’ morning, thinkin’ about you, and now you’re gonna take care of that for me.” His voice was low and dangerous, full of promise as his fingers tightened on your waist. “Get ready, baby girl. I ain’t lettin’ you go anytime soon.”

Joel’s body stayed pressed firmly against yours, the rough bark of the tree digging into your back as you tried to steady yourself.

The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, and the weight of him against you was both grounding and dizzying. Your legs still trembled, the aftershocks of his touch lingering, but Joel’s presence only seemed to magnify the need burning inside you.

He let out a low growl, his hand tightening on your waist, pulling your hips closer to his. You could feel him—hard and ready, pressing insistently against you—and your breath hitched at the thought of what came next.

“Joel… what if someone comes?” you whispered again, your voice breathless, barely able to think through the haze of desire clouding your mind.

Your words trembled, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, the thought of someone stumbling upon you both sending a rush of nervousness through you. It was the only thing cutting through the intensity of the moment.

But Joel didn’t pull back. He didn’t even flinch. His hand slipped lower, his grip firm and possessive as he pushed your jeans down further, his movements slow, deliberate, and unwavering.

“Ain’t no one comin’, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly, thick with lust and something darker. “This is my land. No one’s gonna find us. And if they do…” His lips brushed your ear, his breath hot and heavy, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll shoot ’em dead for even thinkin’ about seein’ you like this.”

His words made your pulse race, the possessiveness in his voice sending a thrill through you, though something about the way he said my land confused you.

He’d never mentioned this before. But the thought slipped away as quickly as it came, overtaken by the rush of heat between your legs, the way his hands worked your clothes off with practiced ease.

You swallowed hard, your body aching for him even as your mind raced. “Your land?” you asked softly, your voice shaky with both curiosity and naivety. “You never told me—”

Joel cut you off, his voice a deep, rough growl in your ear. “Don’t worry about that, baby girl,” he muttered, his lips brushing the side of your neck. “You don’t need to know about that. All you need to know is that you’re safe. No one’s gonna touch you, see you, or hear those pretty little sounds you make for me.”

His words sent another wave of heat through you, your body arching into him instinctively, desperate for more. Joel’s hands moved with a confidence that made you dizzy, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him.

“And you…” Joel’s voice dropped to a dark, seductive murmur, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his hand slid between your legs again. “You’re not thinkin’ about anyone else right now, are you? Just me. Just this old man you can’t get enough of.”

Your breath caught at his words, the way he threw the nickname back at you.

You’d teased him that morning, calling him a handsome old man with a smirk on your face. But now, hearing it from him, laced with possessiveness and dark intent, it made your stomach flip in ways you hadn’t expected.

Joel’s hand gripped your waist again, his fingers digging into your skin as he pressed you harder against the tree. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his voice a low, filthy rasp. “You like the way I take care of you. No boy your age knows how to handle you like I do.”

You whimpered, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as Joel’s words wrapped around you, making your head spin.

His body pressed harder against yours, his hips rolling forward, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

You could feel him, thick and hard, pressing against your slick heat, and it made you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“I’ve been hard all damn morning,” he growled, his lips brushing your neck as he ground his hips against yours, making you gasp again.

“Watchin’ you… thinkin’ about how good you felt last night, how sweet you sound when you come. You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, baby girl.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding instinctively, arching into him, desperate for more.

The tension between you was unbearable, and the way he was pressing into you—teasing, taunting, never giving you exactly what you wanted—was driving you mad.

Joel’s hand slipped between your legs again, his fingers brushing over your swollen clit, making you cry out softly, your body jerking in response.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust. “You’re gonna take it so good, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at him as his fingers toyed with you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Joel… please…” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper. You could barely think, the heat between your legs, the roughness of his touch, the darkness in his voice—it was all too much.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s it, baby girl,” he growled, his fingers teasing you with just enough pressure to make your body tremble. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you want it.”

You swallowed hard, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them. “I want you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Joel…”

He groaned low in his throat, his hand gripping your waist even harder as he lined himself up with your entrance, the heat of him pressing against you, making you gasp. “You want this old man, huh?” he growled, his voice dark and filthy.

“You want me to fuck you right here, out in the open, where anyone could come?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe, your body trembling with anticipation. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “Please.”

Joel smirked against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he teased you with the promise of what was to come. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. “But you’re mine. No one else gets to have you like this. No one else even gets to look at you.”

With that, he thrust forward, filling you in one swift, brutal movement, and you cried out, your body arching against his as he buried himself deep inside you.

Joel’s body was pressed so tightly against yours, it felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs.

The rough bark of the tree scratched at your back, but the sharpness of it barely registered over the overwhelming sensation of him inside you.

His grip on your hips was almost bruising, his large hands holding you in place as he thrust into you, deep and relentless.

His breath was hot against your neck, coming out in harsh, ragged pants that matched the pace of his movements.

“You feel that?” he growled low in your ear, his voice dripping with rough need. “You were made for me, baby girl. Only me. Ain’t nobody ever gonna fuck you like this.”

You whimpered as Joel slammed into you again, each thrust harder than the last, making your whole body jolt with the force of it.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you back onto him with every brutal movement. He wasn’t holding back anymore. It was all raw, unfiltered desire, and it had you gasping for breath.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he pounded into you.

“You take me so fuckin’ good… like you were just waitin’ for someone to fuck you like this. Ain’t that right?”

You could barely form a coherent response, your mind clouded with the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely, stretching you in ways that made your legs shake.

Every word he said seemed to sink deeper into you, each one driving the pleasure higher, making it harder to hold on.

“Tell me,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as his hips snapped forward again, the force of it sending sparks of heat through your body. “Tell me no one else gets to fuck you like this. Say it.”

You gasped, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders for support, trying to steady yourself as the pleasure mounted.

“No one else,” you breathed, your voice shaky, barely audible over the sound of your bodies moving together. “Only you.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from Joel’s chest, his grip on your hips tightening even further.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Only me. You belong to me now, baby girl. You don’t need anyone else. You need this.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, each one sinking deep into your core, making you tremble beneath him.

The roughness of his voice, the filthy way he spoke to you, the way he claimed you—it had you spiraling out of control, and he knew it.

He could feel it in the way your body responded to every hard thrust, the way you clung to him, desperate for more.

“And you love it, don’t you?” Joel growled, his hips slamming into you harder now, his pace unrelenting.

“You love the way I fuck you, the way I make you come apart. Ain’t that right, little girl?”

You nodded frantically, your breath coming out in short, desperate gasps as he drove into you, harder and faster, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yes,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a breath. “I love it.”

Joel groaned low in his throat, his hands roaming over your body now, possessive and rough.

His fingers slid up your shirt, finding your breasts, squeezing them as he slammed into you, making you cry out.

“Good girl,” he growled, his voice thick and commanding. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect. So tight, so wet… all for me.”

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure mounting higher and higher with every brutal thrust.

Joel’s pace never slowed, his hips driving into you with the kind of intensity that had your head spinning, your body trembling under the weight of it all. It was too much, too fast, too intense, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he groaned, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Come on, baby girl, I want to feel you come for me.”

His words pushed you right to the edge, your body trembling as the pressure built to an unbearable point. “Joel…” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. “I—”

But before you could finish, Joel’s hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your swollen clit with unerring precision.

The moment he touched you, your body shattered, your release crashing over you in waves, your muscles clenching tight around him as you cried out his name.

Joel groaned low in his throat, his thrusts becoming even more erratic as he felt you come apart around him, his hips slamming into you with a raw, primal need.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough and breathless. “Fuck, you’re so perfect… so fuckin’ perfect…”

He buried himself deep inside you one last time, groaning your name as his own release hit, his grip on your hips tightening as he emptied himself inside you, the pleasure overtaking him completely.

His body trembled against yours, his breath ragged, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you close.

For a long moment, the only sound was the harsh, heavy breathing between you, both of you trying to steady yourselves, your bodies still pressed tightly together. Joel didn’t pull away, didn’t let go.

His hands stayed on you, holding you possessively, like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you, not yet.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, his voice rough and thick with satisfaction. “No one else gets to have you like this. No one else even gets to look at you the way I do.”

His words were a promise and a warning all at once, and though your mind was still spinning, you knew one thing for sure—Joel meant every word he said.

You were his, and he wasn’t letting you go.

You pulled in a shaky breath, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. The tension in the air was still thick, the weight of what had just happened between you lingering like a heavy cloud.

Joel’s hands reluctantly pulled away from your body, and you could still feel the heat of his touch, the way he had teased you to the edge before you both had to stop.

“I need to get home,” you murmured, your voice still unsteady, a hint of the recent intensity lingering in your tone.

Joel’s eyes met yours, dark and unreadable for a moment. His hand lingered on your waist for just a second longer before he let out a low sigh, stepping back.

You saw the way his jaw tightened, like he was trying to pull himself together, rein in whatever was still simmering just beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice gruff, filled with restraint. “We’ll get you home.”

You both moved around the camp, the quiet between you loaded with everything unsaid. Joel’s movements were deliberate, quick as he packed the last of your things.

His eyes occasionally flicked your way, watching you as you gathered yourself, but neither of you spoke about what had just happened, the charged silence saying enough.

His hand brushed yours as he handed you a bag, and you felt that familiar spark again—the one that had drawn you in from the start, the one that always made your heart race.

Once everything was packed, Joel turned toward you, wiping his hands on his jeans. He didn’t say a word as he walked over to your car, already starting to hook it up to his truck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You blinked, watching him in surprise. “Joel, I can drive myself home,” you said, your voice still shaky but firm.

He didn’t even look at you as he continued to secure your car to his truck. “Not happenin’,” he replied, his voice full of that rough authority that left little room for argument. “You’re not drivin’ alone.”

You crossed your arms, a small frown tugging at your lips. “I’m not a child, you know.”

That’s when he stopped and turned to face you, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes darkened slightly as he stepped toward you, his presence immediately overwhelming in that way you’d grown used to.

“Baby, listen to me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You’re not drivin’ yourself home. Not after this. Not when I can make sure you get there safe.”

The way he said it, with such finality, made your heart skip a beat. He wasn’t asking—he was telling. His protectiveness, the intensity in his eyes, left no room for argument.

You huffed lightly, trying to fight back the flush rising in your cheeks. “Fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze, but you couldn’t hide the way your body reacted to his words, the way your pulse quickened under his watchful eyes.

Joel’s lips twitched, clearly catching the shift in your demeanor. “Good girl,” he said quietly, the two words carrying more weight than they should, leaving you flustered.

As he finished securing your car, you both climbed into his truck. The hum of the engine filled the air, but the tension between you remained. He glanced over at you as he pulled onto the road, his hand resting comfortably on the steering wheel, the other tapping lightly against his thigh.

“You know I’d do anything to keep you safe, right?” he muttered, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of something softer. “No one’s ever gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you replied quietly, glancing out the window as the familiar roads blurred by. “But, Joel… I’m not helpless.”

He let out a low chuckle, glancing at you with that dark, knowing look. “Darlin’, I know you’re not helpless. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you face things on your own.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his voice unmistakable.

He wasn’t just protecting you because he thought you needed it—he was doing it because he wanted to, because he couldn’t stand the thought of you being out of his reach.

Joel’s hand rested on your thigh, his fingers gently massaging as the truck hummed along the road. His touch was casual, but the heat of it was unmistakable, spreading through you like wildfire.

You could still feel the lingering effects of what had happened earlier—the way his hands had moved over your body, the roughness of his voice as he whispered dirty promises in your ear.

The way he claimed you in the woods, his protective instincts morphing into something darker, more possessive.

But now, in the quiet of the truck, you couldn’t ignore the practical reality of what needed to happen next.

As your mind drifted back to the present, a thought popped into your head, and you knew you couldn’t put it off any longer.

“I, uh…” you started, shifting slightly under Joel’s touch. His hand stayed firmly on your thigh, the pressure increasing just enough to make your breath hitch. “We need to stop at a pharmacy.”

Joel’s brow furrowed as he glanced over at you, but his hand never left your leg. “Pharmacy?” he echoed, his voice low and rough. “What for, darlin’?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I, um… I need to get the morning after pill.”

For a moment, Joel’s hand stilled on your thigh, his grip tightening just slightly. Then, without a word, he nodded, his jaw working as he processed what you’d said. His thumb resumed its gentle, circular motion, tracing patterns over your skin as he let out a low hum.

“Morning after pill, huh?” His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of amusement lurking behind it. His hand squeezed your thigh gently, possessively.

“You know… our babies would probably be real cute.”

You blinked, glancing at him in surprise. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or if there was something more serious behind his words.

His face was unreadable, but the heat in his touch remained, and it made your pulse quicken.

“Joel…” you muttered, shaking your head as a smile tugged at your lips.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Let’s handle one thing at a time. You get therapy first, old man.”

He chuckled at that, his grip on your thigh tightening, thumb brushing dangerously close to the edge of your waistband. His eyes flicked over to you, dark and intense.

“Still old man, huh?” he drawled, his voice dipping low, filled with that familiar growl that made your skin tingle. “You weren’t complainin’ about my age a few minutes ago.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, biting your lip. The reminder of what had happened in the woods—the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way his hands had claimed you so thoroughly—sent a shiver down your spine.

Joel’s smirk grew as he caught the look on your face. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear as his hand slid just a bit higher on your thigh.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. “You gettin’ shy on me now?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you spike again, the air thick with unspoken desire.

His hand stayed firmly on your leg, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your waistband. You could feel the heat of him, the intensity of his gaze, and it made it hard to think straight.

“I’m just… trying to be responsible,” you muttered, trying to regain some composure, but your voice came out breathier than you’d intended.

Joel chuckled again, his grip tightening. You couldn’t help but smile at that, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the heat coursing through you. “But seriously… pharmacy first.”

Joel just grinned, his hand lingering on your thigh as he shifted gears, the truck humming beneath you both.

“Whatever you need, darlin’. But don’t think for a second I ain’t still thinkin’ about those cute babies.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a teasing smile. “Joel, again, you really should stop thinking about babies and start thinking about calling a therapist.” 

Joel chuckled, the sound deep and rich, his broad hand squeezing your thigh possessively. “A therapist.” His voice carried that rough, teasing edge, filled with warmth. “Darlin’, I’m already workin’ on that, but don’t pretend you didn’t like the idea of those cute babies.”

You shot him a playful glare, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

His hand stayed firm on your leg, the heat of his touch seeping through your jeans, making your pulse quicken. Joel had this way of making everything feel charged, every touch more than just casual, every glance heavier with meaning.

The tension between you both was thick, that lingering heat from earlier still hanging in the air.

When Joel parked, his hand found yours, gripping it firmly as if he wasn’t about to let go anytime soon.

Without a word, he got out and came around to your side, pulling you out of the truck and keeping you close, his hand wrapped around yours as the two of you entered the pharmacy.

You were barely inside before you spotted the familiar face of the pharmacist behind the counter.

"Hey," you greeted with a friendly wave, feeling Joel's presence looming behind you, his hand tightening around yours.

His grip was solid, a constant reminder that he was there, watching, protecting—even when it wasn’t necessary.

You explained to the pharmacist what you needed, but Joel’s energy shifted beside you. You could feel the weight of his stare as the pharmacist smiled at you, his fingers flexing slightly against your hand.

The slight possessiveness was impossible to miss, his jaw clenching just the tiniest bit as if he didn’t appreciate the friendly exchange.

When the pharmacist handed over the pill, you reached for your wallet, only to have Joel beat you to it, pulling out cash before you could even open your bag.

“Joel, I can pay for myself,” you protested, giving him a look, but his eyes were focused solely on the pharmacist, his tone gruff and unyielding.

“Of course I’m payin',” he said, slipping the cash across the counter, his voice low.

“I was the one cummin' inside, wasn’t I?”

The air between you thickened, heat creeping up your neck at his blunt words.

The pharmacist awkwardly handed Joel the small paper bag, and Joel gave him a curt nod, his hand never leaving yours as he turned, guiding you firmly out of the pharmacy.

Once outside, you could breathe a little easier, but your heart still raced from Joel's possessive display. As he opened the passenger door for you, his hand brushed your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

His protectiveness was palpable, but so was the underlying heat between you, simmering just beneath the surface.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered once you were settled inside, watching as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I know,” he said, his voice a bit softer now, though still laced with that possessive undertone.

“But I wanted to.” His hand was back on your thigh as he started the engine, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over your jeans, the touch sending warmth through your body.

The truck’s engine rumbled quietly as Joel navigated the familiar streets, his hand still resting possessively on your thigh.

The drive had been mostly quiet, Joel’s fingers occasionally flexed against your leg, his grip steady and firm, as if he was grounding himself by touching you.

As the truck slowed down and turned onto your street, you blinked, glancing out the window. “Wait…” You frowned, turning to look at Joel. “How did you know where I live?”

He didn’t even flinch, keeping his eyes on the road, his thumb stroking over your skin in that calming, deliberate way. “You told me, baby,” he said smoothly, his voice a deep rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You paused for a moment, trying to recall when you’d given him your address, but the events of the past couple of days had been so intense, it was hard to keep track.

Maybe you had told him?

You were still shaken from everything that happened, and besides, Joel always seemed so capable, like he knew everything before you even realized it yourself. Naively, you shrugged it off, not questioning it any further.

Joel pulled up in front of your house, the truck coming to a smooth stop. His hand lingered on your thigh, giving you one final squeeze before he turned off the engine.

For a moment, the two of you just sat there in the silence, the weight of unspoken words heavy between you.

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him, your heart racing.

“Joel… I really like you,” you admitted softly, biting your lip nervously. “But you need to get help before we start anything serious.”

His eyes flicked to you, a mix of surprise and something deeper flashing in his gaze. It was like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing—that someone like you, soft and kind, actually wanted him.

Joel had been so used to shutting people out, to keeping his distance, but here you were, offering him something real.

“You…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to wrap his mind around it. “You actually want me? After all this?”

You nodded, your fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of your sleeve.

“Yes, Joel. I like you… a lot. But you’ve gotta work on yourself. Therapy could really help, you know? Before we can start something long-term.”

Joel exhaled slowly, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But all he saw was sincerity, and that shook him to his core.

He wasn’t used to people sticking around—let alone wanting more with him.

He leaned closer, his voice soft but filled with a deep, raw emotion.

“If gettin' help means I can have you, baby… then I’ll do whatever it takes.” His voice dipped lower, almost a growl. “Everything, if that’s the outcome.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the intensity in his voice sending a thrill through you.

Joel reached over, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as he gazed at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “If this is what you need, then I’ll do it. No questions asked.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, the vulnerability in his words touching something deep inside you.

But you knew this was bigger than just you—it was about Joel getting the help he needed, about him facing his past and his trauma.

“Good,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “Because I want you to be okay. For you, not just for me. You need it“

But the tension between you two didn’t dissipate—it only simmered beneath the surface, as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his gaze flicking down to your mouth.

“I’ll do it,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll go to therapy, I’ll get the help.”

Before you could respond, Joel was already opening his door, coming around the truck to your side.

He opened the passenger door and offered you his hand, pulling you out gently but firmly.

His hand stayed in yours as he led you to your front door, his fingers still wrapped possessively around yours.

As you fumbled for your keys, you felt his gaze on you, warm and intense.

He reached out, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you toward him with a soft but commanding grip.

“You make me wanna be better, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

The kiss that followed was slow, deliberate—filled with all the unspoken promises of what could come if Joel followed through.

His lips moved against yours, soft but insistent, his hand slipping down to your waist, pulling you close.

By the time you pulled away, your heart was racing, your skin tingling with the memory of his touch.

“I’ll see you soon,” Joel whispered, his voice low, full of intent.

You nodded, your breath still shaky as you opened the door, stepping inside.

As you glanced back at him one last time, you couldn’t help but smile.

This was the beginning of something new, something real—and for the first time, you were hopeful that Joel could find his way through the darkness.

· · ─────

It had been eight months since the night that changed everything. Therapy had helped Joel more than he liked to admit, but some parts of him hadn’t changed.

The protectiveness, the obsession with keeping you safe—those only seemed to have deepened. But the dark cloud that used to follow him had lightened considerably.

The nightmares had lessened, the guilt had dulled into something more manageable. Now, he could breathe again.

But the thing he still couldn’t get enough of was you.

You were at his place again, spending time together after a long week.

He made dinner—something simple but delicious—and the two of you had settled on the couch afterward, the fire crackling in the background, casting a soft, golden glow around the room.

Joel’s eyes never left you. It didn’t matter if you were laughing, talking, or just sitting there; he watched you with the same intense gaze that always seemed to heat your skin.

It was like he was memorizing every detail of you—the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the small smile that played at the corner of your lips when you caught him looking.

“Joel,” you teased, catching his stare again, “if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got an obsession.”

He smirked, his hand finding its familiar spot on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your jeans.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, “if you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re not payin’ attention.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the cozy room. "Guess I should start taking notes, then,” you teased, leaning into him, your shoulder brushing against his arm.

Joel’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “You should. Wouldn’t wanna miss a single detail about this old man, huh?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “Well, you do make it easy to forget about the ‘old’ part sometimes.”

Joel chuckled, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes.

He liked when you played with him like that—when you didn’t shy away from the age difference but turned it into something light, something flirty.

“Easy, huh?” he teased, squeezing your thigh a little harder. “I’ll take that as a compliment, darlin’.”

“It is,” you grinned. “I mean, you’ve definitely surprised me.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Surprised you, huh? What exactly are we talkin’ about here?”

You bit your lip, your smile turning a little mischievous.

“Oh, you know… how a certain someone hasn’t had any trouble keeping up.” You shot him a look that made your meaning clear, your cheeks flushing slightly even as you held his gaze.

Joel barked out a laugh, the sound deep and rumbling. “Well, I do what I can,” he said with a teasing wink, his hand sliding a little higher on your leg.

“Guess you make it easy for me to keep up, baby girl.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the grin on your face betrayed how much you were enjoying the banter.

Joel had a way of making you feel like the center of the universe when you were with him. It was in the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, and how he always seemed to find a way to make you smile—even when he was teasing you about the age difference.

The night wore on in that same comfortable, easy rhythm—talking, teasing, laughing together.

Joel had lit a few candles around the room, the flickering light adding to the warm, intimate atmosphere.

As you sat together on the couch, your legs draped over his lap, Joel’s hand continued its slow, steady path up and down your thigh, his thumb brushing the inside of your knee, sending little sparks of warmth through you.

At some point, the conversation drifted into something quieter, more meaningful.

You talked about the last few months, how much had changed, how much better Joel was doing.

He admitted that the therapy had helped, that he wasn’t waking up every night in a panic anymore. The nightmares still came, but they didn’t have the same grip on him they used to.

And it was because of you.

“I wouldn’t have made it this far without you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion as he looked at you, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “You know that, right?”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at his words. "I’m proud of you, Joel," you said quietly, reaching out to brush a hand along his cheek. "You’ve worked so hard… You’ve come such a long way."

Joel looked at you for a moment, his eyes filled with something deeper than gratitude—something more like devotion.

"I wouldn’t be here without you, darlin’," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You pushed me to get better. You gave me a reason to."

Your fingers traced the lines of his face, the strong curve of his jaw, his stubble rough against your fingertips.

"You did this," you replied, your voice soft but firm. "You put in the work. I just… I just believed in you. And I’m really proud of you, Joel."

He seemed to take in your words, his brow furrowing slightly as though he didn’t quite know how to accept the praise.

His hand tightened slightly on your thigh, his thumb still moving in slow, comforting circles.

"You’ve been staying here a lot," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Feels good, havin' you here with me. Feels right."

You grinned, feeling the warmth spread through you at his words. "Yeah, well," you teased, "I guess I kinda like it here too. You’ve got a nice place, Miller."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "It’s not just the place, and you know it," he muttered, his voice deep and full of meaning. "I like havin' you around, baby girl. More than I can say."

Your chest fluttered at the nickname, and the way his hand slid a little higher on your leg didn’t go unnoticed.

There was a warmth in his eyes as he looked at you, the same kind of warmth that made your heart race every time he called you "his girl."

You’d been together for months now, but the way he looked at you still made your stomach flip.

"I never thought… I didn’t think I’d ever have this again," he admitted, his voice rough. "Someone like you. It feels too good to be real sometimes."

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "I’m real," you whispered against his mouth. "And I’m not goin’ anywhere."

Joel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap.

His hands slid up your back, his touch warm and comforting as he held you close. "You’re mine, and I’m keepin' you," he muttered, his lips brushing your ear.

"Can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you here with me."

You grinned, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands resting on his chest.

"Well, I’m lucky too," you replied, your voice teasing but filled with affection. "Not every girl gets to say she has the strong, protective, handsome Joel Miller as her man."

He chuckled, shaking his head as his hand moved to cup your cheek. "Sweet talker," he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "But I guess I like hearin' it from you."

For a while, you both stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the warmth of the evening settling over you like a blanket.

The night felt perfect—easy, peaceful, and filled with the kind of love that made everything feel right in the world.

As you nestled against Joel’s chest, his arms still wrapped around you protectively, you couldn’t help but smile.

You’d come a long way together, and despite the obstacles, despite the darkness he’d had to fight through, you were here now. Together.

"Guess I’m stickin' around," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with certainty. "I kinda like it here with you."

Joel grinned, his hand sliding up to tangle gently in your hair. "Good," he whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "’Cause I’m not lettin’ you go, baby girl."

You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat filled the quiet room. You were home.

The quiet of the night settled over you like a soft blanket, the only sound the distant rustle of wind through the trees outside.

Joel held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if letting go would break the fragile peace you had built together.

He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of your hair, the steady rise and fall of your chest against his.

There was a softness to this moment, something sacred and rare. It was the kind of quiet Joel had never known he could have—one that wasn't haunted by ghosts of the past or shattered by the weight of guilt.

He had come a long way, you both had, but the road behind you was littered with moments of doubt, fear, and the suffocating grip of old wounds.

There had been days when the darkness had almost swallowed him whole, when the weight of his past, the endless guilt over what he had lost and failed to protect, had nearly driven him away from everything good in his life.

But you had stood by him, steadfast and unshaken, even when he couldn't see a way forward. You had anchored him, reminding him of what life could be beyond the nightmares, beyond the pain.

Your presence, your love, had given him hope—something he'd never thought he would find again.

And now, with you nestled into his side, the warmth of your body grounding him, Joel finally understood what it meant to live for something more than survival.

His eyes drifted to the window, where the faint light of the moon spilled across the floor, a reminder that the world was still out there—dangerous and unpredictable as always.

But for the first time in as long as he could remember, Joel wasn’t afraid.

He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had something real, something worth holding onto, and for once, he felt like maybe he deserved it.

As the minutes stretched into hours, Joel’s thoughts softened, his mind no longer racing with what-ifs and could-have-beens.

The weight of his past wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, lightened somehow, transformed into something more bearable.

It no longer consumed him. He had found peace in the present, in the steady rhythm of your breathing beside him, in the warmth of your hand resting gently on his chest.

He had spent so long chasing redemption, thinking he needed to be better, to do more, to fix what had been broken inside him.

But you had shown him that healing didn’t come all at once. It wasn’t about erasing the past—it was about learning to live with it, to carry it with him without letting it define him.

And in that moment, with you curled up beside him, safe and warm in his arms, Joel realized that maybe, just maybe, he had found his way out of the darkness after all.

The future stretched out before you both, uncertain and unpredictable, but Joel no longer felt the fear that used to creep into his bones at the thought of what might come next.

He had you, and you had him, and together you had built something stronger than the shadows that once haunted him.

There would still be challenges, moments of doubt, but you would face them together��because that's what you had become.

A team. A partnership. Something real. Something worth fighting for.

And as the night faded into dawn, Joel closed his eyes, finally letting go of the burden he had carried for so long. He was no longer the man who had lost everything.

He was no longer just surviving.

He was living.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Joel felt at peace.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Sorry, I had to let these two end with some fluffy happy end. 😭

The End with the main story!

Will probably do spin offs and also a few of Joel’s therapy sessions as well as smut if y’all are interested.

Thank you so much for the support and all the nice comments, they were my favorite :)

xoxo

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“So what’s your deal?” Festus Creed asks out of the blue. 

Your mouth opens in shock, a nervous laugh slipping out. “My deal?”

A mocking sneer twists his features. “Yeah, Coriolanus kept trying to get you to eat with us but you were being weird about it. If you hate us, just say so.”

While some snigger at the table, Coriolanus stares daggers at him. The mirth instantly vanishes from Festus’ face.

Clemensia bumps her elbow into his rib, chiding him, “Festus, come on,”

“I don’t…hate anyone,” you defend, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Clemensia flashes you a reassuring smile.

“Of course, you don’t. Coriolanus said you’re very sweet.”

Livia rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, whatever. Can we get back to discussing the Yuletide Ball?”

Surprise flutters through you. The name bears vague familiarity. It can be found in the archives detailing the history of the Capitol University. But it’d since long become a frivolity amidst concerns such as quelling the uprisings in the Districts. What’s a students’ dance in the face of war and famine?

“The Yuletide Ball? I thought this was an abolished tradition…I mean since the war.”

Excitement illuminates Livia’s face.

“We’re bringing back the tradition this year, thanks to Coriolanus here. He convinced the new dean.”

Coriolanus lowers his head in apparent humbleness.

“I just made a few good points and he couldn’t refuse me,” he shares. He turns to you, blue eyes sparkling.  “I’m pretty persuasive when I need to be.” A chill dances through you at his low, suggestive tone. 

To your relief, his attention switches to the rest of the table.

“It’s important to not let District scum ruin our way of life. Traditions must return.”

Livia smirks. “Spoken like a student body president.”

Coriolanus waves a dismissive hand but a hint of smugness lingers in his tone as he says, “Please, elections are only in a month.”

“And it’s obvious you’ll win,” Clemensia states.

He gives a light shrug.

“We shall see.”

Clemensia pivots to you.

“Ivy, Liv and I are on the Ball committee,” she preens, her face brightening. “You could join us if you want.”

You lick your lips. “I don’t know if I’d find the time with midterms coming up soon…”

Coriolanus’ fingertips graze your arm as he offers, “You should do it, angel. It’d be a good way to expand your social circle.”

“You mean her nonexistent circle,” Festus gibes.

The blond’s jaw clenches.

“Talk to her like that again and see what happens, Creed.”

Festus cowers, nervousness flickering on his face. He clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he says to you.

“It’s fine.”

Coriolanus’ fingers latch around your wrist as his steely gaze cuts into Festus.

“No, it’s not fine,” he articulates. 

Undisturbed by the altercation between the boys, Clemensia prattles on about the ball.

“We meet up every Saturday morning. We’re working on winter-themed decorations right now. It’ll be so fun. It takes forever to do though.” She looks at you with emphasis. “An extra set of hands would be really welcome.”

“Clemensia…”

“Call me Clemmie,” she interrupts. “All my friends do.”

Friends? You study her hand clasped around yours. The concept is a little foreign to you. You also ponder why someone like Clemensia, with her perfect silky mane and smooth, blemish-free face would want to befriend you. She is the girl everyone gravitates towards. Charismatic, smart and nice to boot. And you might as well be a fly on a wall, ignored on the best days.

You are so stunned that it takes a shamefully long time for the words to fall back on your tongue.

“Clemmie, I’m usually busy on Saturday.”

“Oh.” She deflates, her hold on your hand loosening. “I get it. Sorry I asked.”

The excitement on her face plummets. Immediately, you feel terrible. You’ve never missed a single Saturday of studying, using that time to break down your more complicated courses of the week. But Clemmie looks crestfallen.

Perhaps, this one time, you can adjust your plans a little. One Saturday won’t make a difference in the entire year.

“But…I can try to free up some time,” you offer.

She perks up with your response.

“Great. We’ll be expecting you then.”

Lunch then proceeds, the table resuming the lively debate they were having before you showed up. Festus maintains facts about his family’s role in the reconstruction after the war while Clemensia rolls her eyes. They go back and forth and you observe them, slightly fascinated by the exchange. It’s such a rare occurrence for you to be around others that you soak every bit of their interaction. You get the inkling this happens a lot between them, them ruffling each other’s feathers. Ivy and Livia get wrapped in their own secret conversation you don’t catch a single word of. Meanwhile, Coriolanus watches all of them, taking a bite of the food on his plate every once in a while. The way he eats is slow, nonchalant, almost like he couldn’t care less what’s on his plate. Even if he doesn’t interject at any point, he looks right at home at this table. Unlike you. You recline into silence, letting every minute fly by as you wait for lunch to be over. When it finally is, relief surges inside you. 

You mumble a quick goodbye and gather your things. Clemensia beams and waves at you while the others barely acknowledge your departure. 

You head for the hallways, trying not to allow your mind to linger on the strange, uncomfortable lunch. Still, your mind swirls. You curse yourself for every blunder and awkward moment. You told him you don’t belong, that you’re an outsider, and always will be. It’s painfully obvious. From the way you dress, talk, carry yourself, you have nothing in common with girls like Clemensia or Livia. There’s a vast chasm between you and them. He should have listened. It astounds you that you even let yourself get roped into joining Clemensia’s committee thing. Though perhaps that won’t be too much of a hassle. You’ll show up to keep your word, then sink back into your rigid study routine.

Coriolanus’ deep voice, a sound you’re now oddly familiar with, erupts behind you.

“Let me carry those for you,” he says, swiping the books in your arms before you can protest. He falls in pace with you, a gentle expression decorating his  handsome face.

You frown, the uncanny emptiness of your arms swelling your discomfort.

“You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” he interrupts, chuckling lightly when you try to reach for your books and he dodges you with ease. Your shoulders sag. Your strides hasten, an urgency limning your steps now. 

Coriolanus meets no issue with your escalating cadence. He easily keeps up with you, a subtle hint of mirth lurking in his cobalt gaze. 

“It wasn’t too much, was it?” he inquires. “I know they can be a lot but they’re all good people. I promise.”

A myriad of words weigh heavy on your tongue but you diplomatically swallow each, settling for a safe, innocuous remark.

“Clemmie was nice.”

The corners of the blond’s lips quirk skyward. 

“I told you she was.”

The statement hovers between the two of you for a while. Clemensia seems nice indeed. The rest of his friend group…perhaps a little less so. Possibly a bit more cutthroat and self-absorbed. Though you surmise it is a requirement to be a member of Panem’s elite.

No other word is traded between you and him as you make your way to the lecture hall. 

“This is me,” you announce.

You turn to Coriolanus, hands stretching towards your books. He makes no move to give them back. Your forehead creases.

He gives you a sluggish once-over before offering, “What if I drove you back home after your classes?”

You nibble your bottom lip, dismayed by his proposition. You’ve caught glimpses of his fancy new car, as you’re sure most have at the University. As heir apparent to the Plinth fortune, he gets to spend money as he likes. 

“I usually walk. It’s okay.” 

He gets a little closer. “Come on, angel. Just let me do something nice for you.”

You shrink until your back hits the wall, stunned when Coriolanus follows each of your steps.

“My last lecture is…Professor Bellweather tends to ramble,” you mumble, his proximity unnerving you. “I don’t…I don’t know when he’ll be done.”

He licks his lips.

“I’ll just wait for you, angel.”

He utters the words like it’s obvious. You gawk at him. It takes you a few minutes to retrieve your speech.

You scratch your arm, your frown accentuating.

“You really don’t have to. Like I said, walking home is fine.”

The gaze trained on your form sharpens.

“And I’m offering to take you home so you don’t have to exert yourself.” He bends over you, invading the already insufficient space between the two of you. “Has a friend never done something like that for you?”

“N-No,” you admit. 

His tone’s heavy with suggestion as he rasps, “So let me be your first then, angel.”

Your heart stumbles inside your chest. 

“I’m gonna be late for class,” you blurt out, attempting to brush past him. 

Coriolanus’ hand darts out, swiftly cinching around your wrist to stop you from leaving.

“I still don’t have an answer,” Coriolanus says.

You glance from his hand, tight around your wrist, to his determined gaze. Your throat goes dry.

“Okay, you can d-drive me back home.”

He releases your wrist and returns your books, a smile ghosting over his lips.

“Wonderful. I’ll come get you later, angel.”

Clutching your books against your chest, you watch him glide away.

As promised, Coriolanus is waiting for you when you exit from your last class. You don’t even think to hide your shock as you find the blond leaning against the wall. A smirk unfans on his lips, your reaction seeming to amuse him.

He doesn’t say much to you as you walk side by side and head to his car. When you’re outside, he surprises you by opening the passenger door for you before you can even lift a hand. 

“T-Thanks,” you stammer. You plop down on the plush seat. The leather smells new and expensive.

Your nerves thrum as he takes the driver’s seat and starts the car. You’ve never been alone in a car with a boy before. Uneasy, you let your eyes roam outside the window. The Capitol’s high buildings blur past you rapidly. 

You’re lost in your thoughts when you notice the prickling sensation over your flesh, The burning, unwavering weight of Coriolanus Snow’s scrutiny. 

Your head whirls.

Bashful words quake through your lips.

“Do I have something on my face?” Your hands reach to touch it, just in case.

He chuckles.

“No,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s a nice face that’s all.”

The casual compliment sends a wave of heat through your body. 

“Can you drive?” he asks, curiosity lighting his features.

You shake your head. Getting your license has never been a priority. Besides, it’s only a thirty minute walk to get to the University. You don’t mind it, often using that time to sneak in some reading.

“No.”

“I could drive you if you like,” he offers, his gaze holding yours. “Anywhere you want to go.”

Your cheeks warm. “I’m okay.”

Coriolanus nods, his focus shifting back to the road.

“You always say that…” He hums low in his throat. “I’m just not sure I believe it, angel.”

You’re so nervous the entire drive that you don’t even notice when he arrives at your house. You stare at him, mouth agape. You haven’t given him a single instruction on how to get there.

“You know where I live?”

As he opens the door for you, Coriolanus simply replies, “You told me earlier.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t remember telling him but his tone harbors no doubt. You rummage through your brain, seeking the moment. Nothing comes up and you grow confused. 

You blink up at him.

“I-I did?”

“Yes, you did, angel.” He snorts as if your line of questioning is beyond ludicrous. “How else would I know?” He slams the door of the car as you rise. “Besides…Dr. Gaul is my mentor. Of course, I know where she lives.”

You nod. That makes sense and it didn’t even occur to you.

“I…”

He cocks his head. “What?”

You fidget beneath his stare, discomfort flaring in the pit of your stomach. 

“Nothing. Thanks for driving me home.”

He flashes you a wide smile.

“My pleasure. See you soon, angel.”

He starts the car and drives away. You don’t feel quite at ease until his car’s gone from view, heading towards the Corso.

Walter zooms across the room as soon as you enter the large apartment. Your eyes wander about. As usual, the place is empty besides you and Walter. Mother rarely spends any time here nowadays, her work occupying all of her time. 

Walter rubs his furry head against your ankle, twirling around you as he meows. He then stands on his hind legs and starts gently raking his claws across your leg. A way for him to demand that you pet him. A small smile tugging your lips, you pick him up. The orange ball of fur purrs, curling against your chest as you carry him in your arms. You make your way to the kitchen and pour a mix of leftover meat and fish in his bowl. 

You set him down on the floor. His tail wiggles as he hops to his food.

You crouch next to him.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened today, Walter,” you say while giving gentle pets to his back. “I was invited to their table.” The orange cat pauses his eating to stare up at you blankly. “Yes. Theirs,” you repeat as if he could understand you. He gives a long meow before focusing on his bowl again. You sigh. “I know. I thought the same thing.”

Once Walter’s emptied his bowl, you pick him up again and make your way to the living room. 

You collapse on the couch.

“And then…Coriolanus Snow drove me home. Yes, the Coriolanus Snow. I didn’t even think he knew I existed.”

For a while, you remain on the couch, stroking Walter’s fur as he sits on your lap. His tail whips the air, his eyes closing as you pet him. His soft rumble of content reverberates against your belly, amplifying when your fingers drag behind his pointed white ears. You lean back, a blanket of peace settling over you. 

Walter’s not just a strange-looking cat, he’s also a rescue…from your mother’s experiments. A kitten mutt with mismatched eyes, one blue and one yellow, his mushed, wrinkled face gives him a passing resemblance to a rodent. Pets like him are a rarity in today’s world as most creatures such as him were eaten during the First Rebellion. 

Your mother finds him appalling. In her eyes, he is a failed experiment. Like you. Perhaps it’s why you have such kinship with the creature. You still recall her unsettling glance in your direction the day she asked the entire class of nine-year-olds at the Academy if they had pets they were sick of. She then proceeded to burn the flesh off a lab rat to demonstrate her pulsed energy laser.

This moment is burned into your mind forever, your mother’s clinical tone chilling your blood.

You stole Walter from the Citadel and took him home that same day.

You were careful to hide him, though you suspect your mother figured out what you did. She likely added it to her long list of disappointments when it comes to you.

Sometimes, you envy Walter. The simplicity his days hinge upon. His obliviousness to the woes of the world. His uncanny ability to sleep through the chaos of it, ignore the disarray. Walter’s world consists of food, play and cuddles. 

What a blissful existence. You bet Walter never had a vexing thought in his short life.

The train of your thoughts is interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone.

You carefully remove Walter from your lap. He meows in protest and jumps off the couch. You pick up the phone, chest clenching as a familiar face fills the flickering screen.

“Mother,” you greet. “How are you?”

She ignores your question, curtly stating, “You’re falling behind in Molecular Cell Biology.”

You know that tone all too well, the warning laced within it so achingly familiar.

Your fingers twist around the phone cord, your voice becoming small.

“I’ll get my grades up, I promise.”

Silence hovers between you and your mother for a while. Faint hope sparks within you. Perking up, you decide to tell her about your day.

“Oh, mother, today-”

“I must go,” she interrupts. “It’s time for my milk and cookies.”

Your spirits plummet. You nudge a hollow smile onto your face.

“Right. I didn’t realize,” you say, checking the clock hanging on the wall. “I’m sorry.”

She heaves out a deep sigh, her lone blue eye narrowing.

“Focus on your studies. And try not to be even more of an embarrassment to me than you already are.”

“Y-Yes, mother,” you reply, your heart shriveling inside your chest.

As she hangs up, you feel silly and horrible. Silly for trying to strike up a normal conversation with your mother. And horrible for letting her down once more.

“You came!” Clemensia exclaims as she rushes to you. You try not to tense as she gives you a tight hug. Ivy and Livia linger in the background, their eyes lifting from the crafts’ table. 

You wave at them and are surprised when Ivy wiggles her fingers at you. Livia is more withdrawn, nodding to acknowledge your presence but quickly returning to her task.

You step out of Clemensia’s embrace and flash a quick smile.

“Well I promised you that I would,” you reply nonchalantly. You take a look around the room. Various decorations and posters are propped against the walls, while snowflakes cut-outs and what looks like moon dust are scattered on the table. It seems the girls have been busy.

You turn to Clemensia. “What’s the theme again?” 

Ivy surprises you by answering cheerfully, “Well, it’ll be like a Winter daydream and we were thinking of making it a masquerade.”

Excitement sways in Clemensia’s bright eyes. “What do you think?”

“Sounds nice.” Your trite answer draws every gaze in the room to you. Awkwardly bouncing on your feet, you correct yourself, beaming at Clemensia. “I meant amazing.”

“I think so too,” she chimes.

She shows you the empty chair next to hers. The both of you sit down and she starts rambling about the theme and all the ideas she has to decorate the ballroom. You grow dizzy with all the information, trying to follow along her instructions at the same time. 

“We’ll need to find you a date,” Clemensia says. 

You shake the can of blue paint before spraying over the tree cut-out.

“It’s okay. I probably won’t be going anyway,” you respond absently. 

The pencil in Livia’s hand snaps. Your head rises. The blonde’s gaping at you. You then realize…the same look of disbelief is etched on all the girls’ features. A frown mars your brow. Did you say something wrong? You didn’t realize this was such an important event. 

A nervous laugh peals off Clemensia’s red-painted lips.

“No, but you have to,” she says, “It’s the first Yuletide Ball in over a decade. Everyone will be there.”

You shrug. “It’s four months away, Clemmie.”

Her onyx gaze shimmers.

“Well, a lot can happen in four months,” she sings, a mysterious smile spreading onto her lips.

[soracities]

what are your suggestions for starter poetry for people who dont have strong reading/analysis backgrounds

I've answered this a few times so I'm going to compile and expand them all into one post here.

I think if you haven't read much poetry before or aren't sure of your own tastes yet, then poetry anthologies are a great place to start: many of them will have a unifying theme so you can hone in based on a subject that interests you, or pick your way through something more general. I haven't read all of the ones below, but I have read most of them; the rest I came across in my own readings and added to my list either because I like the concept or am familiar with the editor(s) / their work:

Staying Alive: Real Poems for Unreal Times (ed. Nick Astley) & Being Alive: The Sequel to Staying Alive (there's two more books in this series, but I'm recommending these two just because it's where I started)

The Rattlebag (ed. Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes)

The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry (ed. Ilya Kaminsky & Susan Harris)

The Essential Haiku, Versions of Basho, Buson and Issa (ed. Robert Hass)

A Book of Luminous Things (ed. Czesław Miłosz )

Now and Then: The Poet's Choice Columns by Robert Hass (this may be a good place to start if you're also looking for commentary on the poems themselves)

Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World(ed. Pádraig Ó'Tuama)

African American Poetry: 250 Years of Struggle and Song (ed. Kevin Young)

The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing (ed. Kevin Young)

Lifelines: Letters from Famous People about their Favourite Poems

The following lists are authors I love in one regard or another and is a small mix of different styles / time periods which I think are still fairly accessible regardless of what your reading background is! It's be no means exhaustice but hopefully it gives you even just a small glimpse of the range that's available so you can branch off and explore for yourself if any particular work speaks to you.

But in any case, for individual collections, I would try:

anything by Sara Teasdale

Devotions / Wild Geese / Felicity by Mary Oliver

Selected Poems and Prose by Christina Rossetti

Collected Poems by Langston Hughes

Where the Sidewalk Endsby Shel Silverstein

Morning Haiku by Sonia Sanchez

Revolutionary Letters, Diane di Prima

Concerning the Book That Is the Body of the Beloved by Gregory Orr

Rose: Poems by Li-Young Lee

A Red Cherry on a White-Tiled Floor / Barefoot Souls by Maram al-Masri

Deaf Republic by Ilya Kaminsky

Tell Me: Poems / What is This Thing Called Love? by Kim Addonizio

The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins (Billy Collins is THE go-to for accessible / beginner poetry in my view so I think any of his collections would probably do)

Crush by Richard Siken

Rapture / The World's Wife by Carol Ann Duffy

The War Works Hard by Dunya Mikhail

Selected Poems by Walt Whitman

View with a Grain of Sand by Wislawa Szymborska

Collected Poems by Vasko Popa

Under Milkwood by Dylan Thomas (this is a play, but Thomas is a poet and the language & structure is definitely poetic to me)

Bright Dead Things: Poems by Ada Limón

Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth by Warsan Shire,

Nostalgia, My Enemy: Selected Poems by Saadi Youssef

As for individual poems:

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

[Dear The Vatican] erasure poem by Pádraig Ó'Tuama // "The Pedagogy of Conflict"

"Good Bones" by Maggie Smith

"The Author Writes the First Draft of His Weddings Vows (An erasure of Virginia Woolf's suicide letter to her husband, Leonard)" by Hanif Abdurraqib

"I Can Tell You a Story" by Chuck Carlise

"The Sciences Sing a Lullabye" by Albert Goldbarth

"One Last Poem for Richard" by Sandra Cisneros

"We Lived Happily During the War" by Ilya Kaminsky

“I’m Explaining a Few Things”by Pablo Neruda

"Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" //"Nothing Gold Can Stay"//"Out, Out--" by Robert Frost

"Tablets: I // II // III"by Dunya Mikhail

"What Were They Like?" by Denise Levertov

"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden,

"The Patience of Ordinary Things" by Pat Schneider

“I, too” // "The Negro Speaks of Rivers” // "Harlem” // “Theme for English B” by Langston Hughes

“The Mower” // "The Trees" // "High Windows" by Philip Larkin

“The Leash” // “Love Poem with Apologies for My Appearance” // "Downhearted" by Ada Limón

“The Flea” by John Donne

"The Last Rose of Summer" by Thomas Moore

"Beauty" // "Please don't" // "How it Adds Up" by Tony Hoagland

“My Friend Yeshi” by Alice Walker

"De Humanis Corporis Fabrica"byJohn Burnside

“What Do Women Want?” // “For Desire” // "Stolen Moments" // "The Numbers" by Kim Addonizio

“Hummingbird” // "For Tess" by Raymond Carver

"The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin

“Bleecker Street, Summer” by Derek Walcott

“Dirge Without Music” // "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

“Digging” // “Mid-Term Break” // “The Rain Stick” // "Blackberry Picking" // "Twice Shy" by Seamus Heaney

“Dulce Et Decorum Est”by Wilfred Owen

“Notes from a Nonexistent Himalayan Expedition”by Wislawa Szymborska

"Hour" //"Medusa" byCarol Ann Duffy

“The More Loving One” // “Musée des Beaux Arts” by W.H. Auden

“Small Kindnesses” // "Feeding the Worms" by Danusha Laméris

"Down by the Salley Gardens” // “The Stolen Child” by W.B. Yeats

"The Thing Is" by Ellen Bass

"The Last Love Letter from an Entymologist" by Jared Singer

"[i like my body when it is with your]" by e.e. cummings

"Try to Praise the Mutilated World" by Adam Zagajewski

"The Cinnamon Peeler" by Michael Ondaatje

"Last Night I Dreamed I Made Myself" by Paige Lewis

"A Dream Within a Dream" // "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe (highly recommend reading the last one out loud or listening to it recited)

"Ars Poetica?" // "Encounter" // "A Song on the End of the World"by Czeslaw Milosz

"Wandering Around an Albequerque Airport Terminal” // "Two Countries” // "Kindness” by Naoimi Shihab Nye

"Slow Dance” by Matthew Dickman

"The Archipelago of Kisses" // "The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel

"Mimesis" by Fady Joudah

"The Great Fires" // "The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart" // "Failing and Flying" by Jack Gilbert

"The Mermaid" // "Virtuosi" by Lisel Mueller

"Macrophobia (Fear of Waiting)" by Jamaal May

"Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong" by Ocean Vuong

"Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou

I would also recommend spending some times with essays, interviews, or other non-fiction, creative or otherwise (especially by other poets) if you want to broaden and improve how you read poetry; they can help give you a wider idea of the landscape behind and beyond the actual poems themselves, or even just let you acquaint yourself with how particular writers see and describe things in the world around them. The following are some of my favourites:

Upstream: Essays by Mary Oliver

"Theory and Play of the Duende" by Federico García Lorca

"The White Bird" and "Some Notes on Song" by John Berger

In That Great River: A Notebook by Anna Kamienska

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

The Book of Delights by Ross Gay

"Of Strangeness That Wakes Us" and "Still Dancing: An Interview with Ilya Kaminsky" by Ilya Kaminsky

"The Sentence is a Lonely Place" by Garielle Lutz

Still Life with Oysters and Lemon by Mark Doty

Paris, When It's Naked by Etel Adnan

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

A/N: Hello everyone! This is an Azriel x Archeron!half-sister reader series, featuring a slow-burn romance, angst, and possibly a sad ending. Don’t worry, they’ll eventually get together even if it doesn’t have a happy ending. I don’t know how many parts it’s going to have. It begins in ACOMAF chapter 24.

Chapters: 35/?

Summary: Y/n Archeron is a cold and sometimes cruel human who was turned fae against her will. As she navigates her life as a fae, she begins developing feelings for Azriel. Having never been in love makes her weary of these new found feelings. Whenever he gets closer than she anticipates, she pushes him away*.

*at least for first 30 chapters, the rest would be spoilers.

Chapter I: Summary: The eldest Archeron half-sister Y/n hates Fae kind, due to tragic past events. When she unexpectedly visits her sisters, she is met with the very race she hates.

II: Summary: To Y/n's dismay, the Illyrians keep coming to their home, and despite her initial reluctance to engage in war talks, she becomes entangled in the political world of the fae. This ends with her worst nightmare becoming a reality.

III: Summary: Y/n is adjusting to her new life in the Night Court, where she finds herself interacting with the Illyrians much longer than before, whether by chance or by force. An unexpected encounter with Azriel ignites something between them.

IV: Summary: Y/n is intrigued by a certain illyrian. They open up to one another one night, but she stops it from getting out of control. With Feyre’s return, things get more tense.

V: Summary: Tension rises as Y/n only makes things harder for everyone around her. After moving into the Town House, she is attacked by the King’s soldiers.

VI: Summary: Y/n decides to attend the meeting with the High Lords, where she is more open and relaxed than usual.

VII: Summary: Y/n chooses to remain at the Dawn Court, but Rhys allows her to stay for only three days, entrusting Azriel with her safety.

VIII: Summary: The Inner Circle prepares for war. Y/n and Azriel grow closer, and a shocking revelation unfolds on the battlefield.

IX: Summary: Y/n learns the truth about her powers. When Azriel is injured rescuing Elain, Y/n tends to his wounds.

X: Summary: Y/n struggles to hide her concern for Azriel while Cassian and Rhys tease her. As the final battle against Hybern approaches, Y/n and Azriel spend their last night together sharing a quiet moment before the fight.

XI: Summary: The day everyone dreaded has finally arrived. Facing impossible odds against Hybern, defeat seems inevitable- but nothing could have prepared Y/n for what's about to unfold.

XII: Summary: After the deaths of her fathers, Y/n past traumas resurface, leading her to do what she does best- push everyone away, including her sisters.

Taglist: @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllitas-blog @nebarious @t0uch-starved-h0e

[sheisjoeschateau]

misha's masterlists

Hi, I'm Misha. Thank you for diving into my stories and supporting my writing :)

My fanfics [+this blog] are dedicated to Steve Harrington. All fanfic series, one-shots, blurbs, etc. listed below are written by me. Do not repost or share anywhere without proper credit. Thank you.

SERIES MASTERLISTS:

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve..."

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

[PART I] | [PART II] [PART III] | [PART IV] | [PART V] [PART VI] | [PART VII] | [PART VIII]

[Part IX - blurb] | [Part IX - full]

[Part X] | MORE COMING SOON

SUMMARY: WHEN THE UNEXPECTED NIECE OF MURRAY BAUMAN GETS THROWN IN THE MIX, THE GANG HAS NO IDEA JUST WHAT THEY'RE IN FOR. SCRATCH THAT - STEVE DOESN'T KNOW. YOU GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE WELL. YOU BANTER WITH THE ADULTS, WHO APPRECIATE YOUR HELP. THE KIDS LOVE AND WORSHIP YOU. YOU'RE HELPFUL ALL AROUND. BUT AS FAR AS STEVE IS CONCERNED, YOU'RE JUST NUISANCE. AFTER ALL, YOU'RE THE REASON HE LOST THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND MISSED OUT ON A LIFE THAT "COULD'VE BEEN." IF YOU HAD JUST KEPT YOUR SORRY ASS OUT OF THE PICTURE... IF YOU HAD NEVER GONE WITH NANCY AND JONATHAN AFTER THEY LEFT YOUR WHACK-JOB UNCLE, MURRAY BAUMAN'S, BUNKER? HE WOULD BE HAPPY. SO F*CKING HAPPY. BUT HERE YOU WERE. YOU WERE BASICALLY THE COOLER (...AND SURE, MUCH MORE ATTRACTIVE) FEMALE VERSION OF MURRAY BAUMAN. YOU WERE SARCASTIC, QUICK-WITTED, TOO SMART FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, AND APPARENTLY BUILT FOR THE WAR. SURE, YOU WEREN'T AS BRASH AS YOUR UNCLE. BUT IN STEVE'S EYES, YOU WERE SOMEHOW FAR MORE OBNOXIOUS. HE DOWNRIGHT HATED YOU.

HE WILL FOREVER HATE YOU...

BUT WILL HE?

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"You're there. You've always been there."

Steve Harrington x OC!fem!reader Childhood friends to lovers. Sloooowburn. Angst. Romance. Smut with plot. Action. Told from second-person view, reader is Nicole (character from S1), different POV, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, pre-S1-S4, eventual post-S4 universe.

[PART I] | [PART II]

Summary: Steve Harrington was six years old when he met you: Nicole St. James, the girl who carries the other half of him. Since 1972, the two of you have been inseparably tethered by the soul. You give Steve a home in his big house with no parents, and he gives your introverted heart a longing for someone. The King of Hawkins High and princess of this small town, you tell each other absolutely everything...except that you are in love with each other.

Everything changes that one afternoon at school, when you catch the school's social outcast -- Jonathan Buyers -- has been stalking Steve, his posse and his girl, Nancy. Little do you both know, the monsters in your favorite fairytales are real. And you're both going to have to fight them together.

You both share the best days and worst days, through childhood and teen years, until you both find yourselves roped into the perils that exist beneath your feet in Hawkins.

But through it all, despite all the doubt, Steve knows one thing: you're there. You've always been there.

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"At the Chateau, We'll Be Alright."

Steve Harrington x Jonathan Byers x fem!reader A crossover au inspired by Saltburn and Call Me by Your Name. Additional Inso from Joe's theater performance as in Spring Awakening. Song Inso: "Chateau" by Djo

Strangers to best friends to lovers. Slowburn. Angst. Romance, with polyamory themes and schemes. Smut with hella plot.

[MULTI-PART SERIES] COMING SOON. Click here for a preview.

Summary: The reader lives with her parents at a fancy chateau, in France.  This year, her father offers their home as a housing sanctuary to a select student or graduate.  He decides to invite two graduate students to live with their family over the summer, coming from different working class backgrounds, and help with their academic paperwork as a professor of archaeology.

Steve Harrington: a rich kid from a swanky boarding school with a bad boy reputation and too much charm for his own good.  Surprisingly, his grades say otherwise.  A’s and B’s, his parents claim that is seeking one-on-one tutoring so that he can progress in his studies — but it sounds more like an excuse to ship him off for longer periods of time, giving them an out for having their son around during the summer.  The pretty boy’s all about ladies…but that’s only because he hasn’t met a boy who awakens his bisexuality.  Yet.

Jonathan Byers: a kid from the lower working class, excelling in his studies and AP programs at the same boarding school as Steve which he only got into because of community sponsorship and grants.  Quiet wallflower, little to no friends, a bit cynical.  A closeted gay, he’s more determined to stick with being perceived as “ace” than come out of the closet.  Until he goes to stay at a chateau with a handsome boy, and a beautiful girl who understands him.

Twists, turns and terrifying risks, you all put your hearts on the line that summer at the Chateau. Add the reader's cousin Eddie into the mix, along with her best friend Robin, Steve's ex-girlfriend Nancy, Jonathan's estranged mother and your progressive parents alongside Steve's absent parents -- it's a cruel summer.

[ghostieblr]

Secret Life of Stiles & Derek

IT IS FINALLY HERE! Inspired from this post of mine (of which i posted a sneak peak here)... now i bring to you, the FULL FIC ON A03.

Thank y'all for showing interest in it <3

Here is a little bit of sneak peak:

*

He settles beside Cora, stretches there so his legs open to create space for Stiles. Stiles, who doesn’t even glance at Scott calling his name, too busy in arranging the snacks, and then finding the remote. Derek waves it once, and Stiles beelines for it.

“I want it! I get to choose the film, ok Sourwolf, because I called this pack night!” As he says it, he’s moving forward, and it makes Derek’s heart soar that there’s no second thought before he plops himself down between the V of his legs. Derek hands over the remote.

And of course Stiles puts on Star Wars, Episode III.

“Why.”

“Inflection, Der, use them. They’re the souls—”

“—Souls of language. Yes, I know, Stiles. But I love to—”

“—love to fight against period, commas and question marks because I love to see you squirm.” Stiles recites perfectly, thanks to the number of times they’ve had this argument, and then corrects himself, “I mean, you love to see me squirm, you asshole!”

Somewhere distantly, he hears Scott mutter, “Yeah he is. Come here Stiles.”

Derek puts his free hand around Stiles’ waist and pulls him backwards into his chest, and Stiles lets him do it. He settles firmly in Derek’s lap, like this is the easiest thing to do. It makes Derek happy.

“Now shush, let me watch the credits in peace!”

Derek takes the remote and fast-forwards it.

“Nephew…”

“You’re an idiot,” Cora tacks on to their uncle's reprimand, and then, “Why do you never learn?”

Stiles simply takes the popcorn bowl from his hand and puts it in Cora’s hands. She swats away Boyd’s hands from taking any of it, and then sighs loudly as Derek and Stiles devolve into a wrestling, writhing mass of degenerates beside her.

Stiles emerges victorious and wins the remote, so Derek pulls him in by his hips and wraps his arms around his chest. Puts his head on Stiles’ right shoulder and groans when he rewinds the film back to the starting point.

“Idiot,” Cora mutters, and hands back the bowl of popcorn to Derek. He isn’t really sorry about it, though. And both Cora and Peter know it, so they send him knowing looks which he steadfastly ignores.

The movie begins again. Stiles cuddles closer to him, Derek’s hands on his chest, his hips. Enclosing him in. He turns his head, and their faces are so, so close. Their noses touch. Their eyes are cross-eyed they’re so infuriatingly, blessingly close. Stiles says, “Der.”

He pulls back and picks up a handful of the popcorn, more salty ones than tomato flavored ones — they’re more his favorite, not Stiles’ — from where he’d kept the bowl between him and Cora, and feeds Stiles one by one.

Once the handful of popcorn has been eaten, Stiles turns back, and Derek picks up his own handful. A couple minutes pass by, the world on the screen the only noise, but then Stiles turns around again. He doesn’t say anything, but Derek understands anyways and feeds Stiles. It makes him satisfied in a way he’s both thrilled and concerned about, which basically sums up his life. But in this moment he focuses on Stiles, and the intimacy of their trust, the way Stiles allows him to provide for him. The way Stiles trusts him with these small things, and when it matters, with the big things. Like Stiles’ life.

This time, a murmur kick starts between the betas. Mainly Isaac and Erica, who are trying to tamp down their curiosity but are unable to do so. Boyd isn’t into the gossip, but Derek sees him watching them a couple of times.

On the other hand, he can smell Scott silently fuming, and Allison’s gentle scraping along his scalp, his arms. Trying to control him. Anchoring him. Derek smirks, unable to help the way his chest expands with possessive pride.

“What’s up?” Stiles asks, without turning. His eyes are locked onto the screen.

“Nothing. Just the popcorn’s almost over.” It is. They’re down to two handfuls each.

Stiles pauses the film, never one to miss even a second of it, and scans the coffee table. It’s still full with food. He frowns. “Nobody is eating?”

Nobody is replying, either. Stiles stands up and hovers beside the table, looks at Derek helplessly. He’d brought everyone’s favorite and some extra — he’d planned this down to every last detail. Except, of course, realizing that they don’t know about his and Derek’s history, or their current friendship.

*

You can continue reading it here on AO3.

Tagging the people who wanted me to tag 'em once i posted this fic:

@demonicfaery @lovehahajk @emilyinhouston @jadezdominion @sterekloverforever @hogwarts-starship @deliahale @princecharmingwinks

[kurogxrix]

When The Time Comes ( II. )

⇀ ( I. ) ( III. )

Sully family x Sully!reader, oc x Sully!reader

IN WHICH the humans come for your father’s neck again, as you and your family fight alongside him. When the sky people come back to destroy Pandora again, will you be able to save your family and potential lover?

Warnings: Angst, desc of war, fighting & blood, CRINGE

WC: 7.5k

A/N : I forgot that they lived in the high camp…. so the start makes no sense but do we really care.

⇀

Upon entering the village, you were met with the sight of your anxiously pacing father. Your fingers were still intertwined with Mo’rata’s as the both of you came to a halt. Your mother’s piercing eyes glared at your hands, nodding her head at the man in a subtle threat.

Normally you would’ve been laughing either at her behaviour or at the boy for being a victim of her menace. Though you were mature enough to realise that now was not the time. You wouldn’t admit it to no one, but you were almost just as scared as concerned. The lights that you had spotted soaring through the sky earlier most definitely did not belong here.

Mo’rata began walking forward, dragging you alongside him as he approached your father. At the sight of your unmoving form, he knew that he had to do the first move.

You had seen something down there in the forest, something that he had not seen himself and you had to inform your father before it became a potential bigger threat. Jake approached you alongside Neytiri, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked like he was going to scold you for leaving the village without his permission once more.

“Sir, we have been warned in the forest that bad things are coming for us,” you informed your father, a similar look on your face as you spoke to him. Jake paused before you as he thought back at what Mo’at had told him a few moments prior. The Tsahik herself had told Jake that she had been receiving visions, warnings by Eywa herself. Now having you warn him too was like a green light to inaugurating a war.

Attacks from the sky people were not rare. In fact, they were so frequent and effortless to terminate that they did not even require that big of a warriors group. This time, there were way too many warnings to ignore. The clan always lived in an unspoken fear that another war like the first one would resurface. Destroying their new homes and families.

“Fine,” Jake said with closed eyes, rubbing his temples with his thumb and index finger to soothe his aching head. Neteyam and Lo’ak stood behind their father as they awaited his orders. It was no surprise to you when you looked up to see Lo’ak with an excited look on his face at the thought of finally fighting in the front lines. You rolled your eyes at your younger brother.

When Jake opened his eyes again, he was not only met with the sight of his two sons, but the whole clan awaiting their Olo’eyktan’s signal. He sighed as he knew that the first war was still a healing wound for many of the people. As a leader, he was forced to accept the damage and move on, think of a future for his clan and forget its past. Accepting was a part of moving on, denying was a step back.

“Ready yourself for battle! We all approach through our Ikrans tonight, go get ready, we depart in 20 minutes.” he yelled at the large body of na’vis. With a grin on your face, you watched as the people moved swiftly to ready themselves, exhibiting their loyalty to the clan. You pushed your way through the crowd as Mo’rata’s hand left yours, though this was too important for you to care at the moment.

Neytiri’s eyes met yours, and for a second she wanted to stop her children from joining in. Only now, she knew that she could not stop you guys. You had matured and grown from the cowardly little children that you once were and now it was time for you to step foot into the real world.

You moved towards your sisters, kneeling down before Tuk as you gave her a sloppy kiss on her cheek. She giggled wildly before ‘Ew-ing’ at your slobbery kiss. Her laughter was short-lived as her face dropped, she knew that there was a chance that her family may never return. She had seen it with her own eyes when one of her friends, Vutey, had lost his father. He was a hunter and Eywa had concluded his fate during his latest hunt.

She remembers watching Vutey crying in the comfort of his mothers arms, who she was sobbing alongside her only child.

Nevertheless, she gave you one last tight hug before you moved to your other sister. Kiri smiled at you before dipping two of her fingers in the coconut bowl that she held in her left hand. Out came a colourful paste that would later adorn your face. You closed your eyes as Kiri began tracing patterns on your skin with the paste, which made you shudder at the weirdly cold feeling.

Soon enough, she had finished half of your face. She dipped her fingers back in the half empty bowl, bringing it back to your face to finish your warrior’s face paint. Though it was short-lived before a third party had ripped you away from your sister, urging you by the arm. Kiri couldn’t be less unbothered, rolling her eyes and moving on to the next person.

You however, were ready to glare daggers at whoever had come to disrupt you in your little moment. You were not ready for that person being Mo’rata however..

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked you, his nonexistent eyebrows creasing as he spoke. You raised yours at his odd question, feeling the tension grow because of his little attitude problem.

“Uhh I was getting ready? What are you doing, messing up my face paint and all…” you scoffed, murmuring-loudly the last part as a petty attempt for him to hear it. You tried to walk away from Mo’rata and whatever childish tantrum he was throwing right now, rubbing the messed up part of the paste on your face with your fingers. The tight grip that Mo’rata had on your arm however would not allow you to move any further.

“No way in hell are you going to fight, not like that..”

“Not like how? You’re not my fucking father Mo’rata. Get off my back.” You hissed at him, and perhaps - just perhaps, you shouldn’t have been so hostile. You didn’t blame yourself though because who the hell was he to tell you what to do and what not? His behaviour did its best to displease you and his grip refused to falter.

“You cannot even hold your bow properly!” He hissed back, gritting his teeth as you were really starting to infuriate him. He was just worried, he was deathly worried for you. Though he was way too much of a stoic man with a great pride to admit that to you. To admit that he cared about you, he cared more than he thought he could.

He didn’t want you to partake in this battle because he feared the thought of losing you. The past few months that you guys have hung out together has been the only time he’s ever been as happy as this, even though his face didn’t really show it.

“You’ll be useless on the battlefield! You dare to even call yourself a warrior but you cannot do a thing as simple as wield your weapon correctly,” he paused, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. He hates the way that fierce look on your face falls, and he hates that he’s the reason for it.

“An excuse of a Sully that you call yourself, maybe you should sit back here and wonder why your father favours your ‘golden’ brother. Ever wonder why you don’t know how to aim, maybe you should ask you precious little dad, i’m sure he was having a blast teaching his favourite so-“ Mo’rata was cut off by an unforeseen shove from you. His spiteful words were hurting every inch deep of your body and you tried to conceal it by showing your anger towards him instead.

In the spite of that, he noticed the hurt that showed on your face before you reverted to a hostile expression. He could still see it on your face as you held him tightly by the base of his necklace, the same one you had crafted for him. He hated how the damage of his words was still so evident, practically radiating off of you. But that’s what he wanted after all right? to hurt you. To rupture through that pride of yours to get you to stay here, safe and sound.

Although he wished for it to push you away from the war, it only seemed to push you further away from him.

You glared at him for a second before shaking your head with a scoff, backing away a few steps before looking back at him. You knew how he viewed Neteyam, you knew how everyone viewed your brother. Neteyam was everything that you were not, responsible and obedient. Though you didn’t want to be like Neteyam, you never wanted to abide by the rules or whatnot.

When you had met Mo’rata, he was the only person that did not constantly remind you of how you were expected to be the golden child. How your name brought shame upon your family because of your misconduct. Though he would always tease you, it was nothing ever real until now.

“Well you know what, fuck you and what you think of me. I’ll show you that I'm a real warrior!” you flashed him the two of your middle fingers, and he huffed at you. He did not know of the real meaning behind these signs, but you had shown it to him before during a few of your banters. So he knew that they were somewhat scornful.

He quickly realises what you have said, his brain was in a buzz from everything that’s been happening recently. He attempts to reach for you as you leave, but he could only watch as you slipped away from his fingers and back into the chaotic crowd. His fiery expression sunk for a second as he was left with the crumbs of your last argument.

-

Once your ikran had left the ground, you had tried your best to rid your mind of any thoughts about Mo’rata. Being lost in your emotions right now would only distract you from your mission, and a lack of concentration on the battlefield was oftentimes lethal.

Your Ikran followed closely behind Neteyam’s and Lo’ak’s, who were busy arguing about something you couldn’t care less about. As their older sister, you’ve always had the urge to protect them. You had a strong feeling like today was the day that you’d finally prove yourself worthy of being their older sibling.

Not that they didn’t believe you weren’t, it was quite the opposite.

It didn’t take much more than 5 minutes of flying for you guys to find the group of humans that were posing a threat to your clan. They were so close to the village, so close to the Hallelujah mountains. Your eyes widened at the sight of their technology. Huge killer machines that both resided on the ground and in the sky.

Huge metal junks that were brought here in the sole purpose of destroying and polluting your wonderland. The sound of a war cry had broken you off of your train of thoughts and all of the elders dived down to take action. You told your ikran to speed up as you overtook your brothers that were still arguing. They turned their head at the sound of a third pair of wings flapping beside them, but then shuddered at the ‘if you mess this up, i’ll kill the both of you’ kind of look that you gave them before diving down yourself.

Lo’ak broke into a cold sweat as he thought of the last time you had given him a good sibling’s beating for nearly harming Tuk as he took her out of the camp and out into the deep forest. You knew that your idiot brother was just like you, carefree, young and dumb at times. Though there were times where Lo’ak couldn’t tell the difference between a good time and an actual danger warning, so you and your father were here to remind him.

You wasted no time dismounting your ikran as its firm legs grazed the floor. You grabbed the spear that was attached to the ikran’s leather harness, throwing it through the back of a confused human’s skull with no hesitation. The communication collar that connected your father and brother to you buzzed before you heard the deep voice of your father. He informed the both of you that this was no fight against Quaritch, thankfully. You had heard too many stories about this menace of a man, stories from your great warriors of parents. Nevertheless, he broke the bad news to you, telling you that you were indeed fighting against one of Miles’ acquaintance’s team.

You allowed yourself to be distracted for a moment by the voice of your father, almost costing you your life as a sky demon aimed his weapon at you. A thanator abruptly came out from the bushes behind the man, catching the both of you off guard as it slammed its heavy body into the human and its considerable machine. You took this as an opportunity to run, grabbing the bow and arrows of a fallen soldier - just in case you would need it along the way.

As much as you tried to forget what Mo’rata had told you, his words could only echo in the back of your head. So you’d rather be safe than sorry, even if you weren’t the best at archery. You’d make sure to honour the valiant fallen soldier later on, silently thanking him for his devotion.

You looked around you and couldn’t spot any familiar faces, your mother and father must’ve been on different sides than you and your brothers. Your brothers, you suddenly remembered. Where the hell were they? had something happened to the both of them?

Endless questions ran through your head as you had been body slammed by one of the men, courtesy of your distracted mind once more. His hands pushed your head back harshly as you both fell to the ground, slamming your head severely on the dirty ground. You gasped for air as your back hit the ground, using your long legs to push off the man that had fallen above you. His much smaller body flew a few feet away before hitting the ground once again. He coughed and spat blood as he felt his body burning from the impact.

When you had approached him, the sun had darkened your figure upon his vision. In his hazy state, he could’ve thought that you were an angel coming at his rescue. You glowed and shaded him temporarily from the war. However, the spear that had impaled his torso shortly after had proved him wrong, executing him immediately.

The fall had caused you to injure the back of your head, the small wound that was open as the back of your head leaked with blood, matching the dead man before you.

You lifted your spear up as the man’s body accompanied it. Your indifferent yellow eyes watched as his blood dripped down the handle of your spear, smearing the crimson liquid all over your fingers. They had no sense of empathy towards your people, so why should you?

Your brothers, you had remembered, flinging the useless man’s body to the side as you picked up the pace.

You heard the buzzing again, this time you did not pause when your fathers voice erupted from the device. The last time you did, it had almost cost you your life.

“Y/N, Neteyam. I need both of you to tell everyone else to evacuate right now!” he ordered the both of you, and at first when you had not heard your brother’s voice responding, your heartbeat had picked up its pace. You flinched as the body of a human soldier came flying towards you, dodging it just in time. You looked incredulously at the na’vi that had flung it, murmuring a quick apology under his breath before returning to battle.

“Why's that, sir?” Neteyam defied his father, well not really. He was just curious. You felt your heart physically relax at the voice of your baby brother. You could tell that Lo’ak was safe too, because neteyam had not said anything yet.

“The man we’re fighting is an ex-marine. Alban is his name and I….I know him, he’s no easy target. The na’vi will only get themselves killed so I need the both of you to please warn them. Tell them to find refuge at the Tree of souls.” you frowned as you heard the despair in your father’s voice, you couldn’t imagine how stressed he felt right now.

“We’re coming to fight with you,” the voice of your youngest brother broke the loud-silence. He was talking through Neteyam’s device, and by the lack of response that you both received from him - you could tell that he agreed with his younger brother.

Your ears picked up on the subtle sound of denial that Jake had let out. “You are not, do you understand this son? It is far too dangero-“

“You’ve always told us that Sully’s stick together, so why contradict yourself now? Pull yourself together, we’re coming soon.” You said and Jake could only sigh at his oldest children. You were hard headed and Neteyam was strong willed. Fighting with the both of you through the tiny device that laid across his throat was like talking to brick wall

“Fine,” he groaned “but make sure to warn everyone before, or i’ll make it my personal mission to skin the both of you alive when we get back home.”

-

You had found yourself lost among the chaos, people were running all over the place. Either carrying other na’vis or running back to their ikrans. Your siblings and you were ordering everyone that had made it back alive to grab unto their injured comrades and flee to the spiritual tree.

This was your family’s battle to fight. Your father had always felt responsible for the events of the Home Tree, because he had been part of the destructive project before he had fallen in love with your mother. Although he was still trying to repent to this day, you guys were a family and as your father always says ; ‘Sully's stick together’. If he was fighting this battle, then so were you, your brothers and your mother. Your sisters were helping too, just not on the battlefield.

“Go, go back to the Tree of souls. The healers await you there.” You told the passing na’vis. Your Ikran was somewhere behind you as it waited for you to join it again. There was a slight dust storm going on around you from all of the Ikrans suddenly departing, and soon the dust had settled down again.

There was a singular figure left and even from afar, you could recognize the na’vi from thousands. His scars and uneven hair gave him away. He had seemed to have noticed you too, because he was clearly staring straight at you. Then, your eyes casted downwards towards the new litter of fresh wounds that covered his torso. They were nothing to worry about, probably would just leave faint scars with a residue of dried up scabs to pick at.

Despite the argument that you had earlier and all of the things that he had said to you, you had never been happier to see him. Happiness was surely a feeling that you felt when you were anywhere near him. He was alive and well, standing right before you. The look in his eyes said so much more than he could even verbalise. They spoke to you from afar, telling you how sorry he was, they told you how much he cared about you.

With no hesitation, you ran forward towards him. You used his shoulders as supports to stabilise yourself as you raised to your tip-toes, thrashing your cheek against his in a loving caress. He allowed himself to melt in your touch, rubbing the side of his face with yours too like two cats in love. His hands found a home at the curve of your waist, just like his heart had found a home within you.

You moved your head to look him in the eyes, and he softened at the memory of what he had said earlier.

“I’m sorry for wha-“

“I’ve already forgiven you, long ago,” you cut him off, making that cheshire grin reappear on his face. Although it quickly left as your face fell suddenly. You truly wanted to stay mad at him for longer, maybe even for as long as he walked on this land. Though you did know what was to ensue from this battle, so you wished that your last moments with him would be spent through forgiveness and adoration.

“You must return to the sacred tree, the healers are waiting for your return.” You tell him as you look towards anywhere but him. He notices your distraught look and raises a hand to cup the side of your jaw, turning your head gently to look at him.

You felt your heart halt at the look that he was giving you, your lungs felt like they were failing you. His eyes stirred between your lips and the rest of your features. Shifting from the way your ears flickered at his sudden attention, to the way your nose twitched slightly from all of the stray dust that flew around the both of you.

He leaned in, and his intentions were not really clear to you. You had an idea of what he desired, and such thought made you giddy with delight. You both allowed yourselves to pretend like nothing bad was happening to your homeland at the moment. You allowed yourself to feel safe within his presence, and so did he.

He tilted his head to the side as his eyes met yours again. The smile that formed from the little giggle that you let out fed his heart with so much bliss. Like a child being allowed to go down to the rivers for the first time.

He leaned down more and stopped before you, wondering if maybe it was inappropriate to do this at such a time. It was, truly, but when had you ever cared about such a minor dilemma. You leaned into him, finishing what he had started as your lips moulded into his.

Mo’rata’s ears raised as you kissed him. Though his eagerness was short lived as you pulled away, hiding behind your hand as you laughed away shyly. He relished in the few seconds that he got of his lips on yours, the need to jump around like a little girl was very much present in his bones and it made him want to grind up his own skeleton structure up at the thought.

He had never kissed anyone before, but he was elated that you were his first. In his heart, you'd always be the only one. If anything were to happen to you, he promised himself that he would rather rip his own heart out than love another.

The hand that was still present on your jaw rubbed loving circles into your cheeks, reminding you of your mother’s touch. You leaned into his palm, looking up at him with loving eyes. You had learned to find a second home within Mo’rata. He was your escape, the pillar that you leaned on when you desperately needed support.

“You make me feel weird things.” Mo’rata grumbled as you picked up on it. He was smiling, for the first time in his life (that you had seen) and your eyes widened, pupil’s expanding as you stared at the rare sight across of you.

“You’re smiling! You’re smiling because of me?!” you beamed, laughing violently as you two forgot about the war currently going on from behind the two of you. Mo’rata’s smile suddenly fell as he scowled, removing his hands from your waist and jaw to cross them grumpily across his chest.

The gesture only made you laugh harder, tears trickling in your eyes as you wiped them away with the back of your hands. He smiled again at your carefreeness, this time much more teasingly.

“You must return to me whole, or else I'll personally bring you back just to kill you again.” he threatened and for a moment there, it sounded almost too real. The fact that he was smiling cockily at you while threatening you truly made this scene unforgettable. You chuckled at him, before backing away from the intimidating looking man . You felt empty without his presence near you, but you had much more important things to worry about right now.

The sound of Lo’ak calling your name cut you out of your trance, but before you left, you called out for Mo’rata once more. He was busy climbing his Ikran when he heard your call, instinctively turning back to your voice. You had one of those goofy grins plastered on your face, one that told him not to worry about you too much.

“I’ll make sure to kick those demon’s asses!” you shouted and he rolled his eyes, the slight smile on his face told you that it was inoffensive. If you had had this conversation a few months prior, he would’ve probably called you names and deeming you the demon amongst many other things. Now, however, he saw you as an equal. No matter if you had 5 fingers or eyebrows, he found your special features endearing.

He laughed to himself once more, before flying off on his Ikran. Now, he could only pray to Eywa to keep you safe in her hands.

-

Blood was pouring out of your wound unceasingly, but the aching pain that you felt right now was the least of your concerns. You had not even turned away for two minutes, tending to Mo’rata’s soaring heart, and your brothers were nowhere in sight. Perhaps you had been too blinded by love to realise the calls of your father through the tiny microphone. Neither your father or brother were responding to your desperate calls and you had no idea why.

You felt as thought you had already scouted the whole of the Pandora forest thrice. You were lost amongst the forest, and you wanted nothing more than to escape the place you called a home. The bioluminescent beauty that oftentimes calmed you could only infuriate you now. You were making no progress whatsoever and you felt a tinge of guilt at the thought of harming the All-Mother’s creation to find your family.

Your hand reached up to the communication device once more, the other hand holding you up on your ikran. You could feel that she was just as exhausted as you were, as well as her shuddering breaths. You pressed on the buttons of the human-device before calling out to your father, again and again and again. You called out for your brother, your mother, to no avail. There was no one to respond to your calls, and you had never felt more defeated in your entire life.

The wound that was still very much open on the back of your head was beginning to tire you out, and your legs were starting to ache from the amount of time that you were spending on your ikran. You pressed on the buttons again, in an attempt to be useful. You wanted to give yourself some kind of hope that your family was still there and alive, but it was hard to believe as more time passed.

The open gash at the back of your head was begging to tire you out. Your legs were aching from the amount of time that you had spent riding your ikran. You knew that you could not give up now, because how could you go back home to your family after this? You had never been a cowardly child, always filled with the adventurous need to explore. Though as you stood exhausted on the flying animal, you had never been more terrified.

How could you go back to your grandmother, all wound up and alone afterwards. How could you announce to her that her only remaining daughter was now dancing in Nirvana alongside her sister. How could you rip the young Tuk’s heart apart and steal yet another family from Kiri? You were not sure that you were capable of doing it now, or any other time.

After too many failed attempts at reaching for your father, you had stopped addressing him like you normally did. The military honorifics felt bitter on your tongue and you urged yourself to swallow the rising bile. You had called him by his parental name, because at the moment, you weren’t searching for Jake Sully nor Toruk Makto. You were calling out for your father, the same father that had watched you grow for the past 18 years. The same father that had grown emotionally distant as you grew up, and the same father that you would continue to love nevertheless.

He too, from afar could only wish for the same. He could only wish to hold his daughter one more time in his arms as he told her that everything was ok. Because it wasn’t. Alban currently had one of his muscular arms wrapped around the middle of your father’s neck, pressing harshly against his adam’s apple. His failed attempts at escaping the demon’s hold was to be deemed pathetic. He, the Olo’eyktan and leader of the Omatikaya, couldn’t even outfight a simple man. .

Neytiri bared her canines at the pale man, a venomous hiss escaping her throat. She didn’t cower or submit the man’s threats, standing her ground as she hovered a hand over her son’s protectively. Alban pointed his weapon towards your mother and siblings, finger resting on the trigger. He shot a bullet in between Neteyam and Neytiri, barely missing your brother’s arm. Neytiri’s ears flattened and for a moment, her posture faltered. How could you put a mother in this position? Making her choose between her mate or her children. It was obvious as to whom she would choose in the end, as a mother, her duty was to protect her children.

She couldn’t help the surge of guilt that had creeped its way into her heart as she watched her husband struggle. She felt frustrated tears trickle in her round eyes as she pushed her body closer to sons, protecting them from the gun’s nose.

You were still missing and your father was literally getting asphyxiated, give the woman a poor rest. She had already lost so many things prior. Her sister, her father and her past home, watching Jake's poor attempt at fighting back had rendered her heartbroken. He was lacking air as his own sons watched their father slowly dissipating in front of them.

She could hear you through your father’s collar, asking where they were. Dramatically asking every second for their whereabouts and if they were still there. Neytiri’s heart twisted at her distressed daughter. She felt as though you were mutilating her own heart as she heard the wavering of your voice, the fragileness in your tone. She could only imagine the thoughts that were passing through your head at the moment.

Jake was not ready to go, not yet. He had yet to do so many things that he should’ve done years ago. He had yet to tell his youngest son that he was proud of him too, he had yet to tell you that he saw you too and not just Neteyam. He thought about how much admiration his eldest son held towards him, then about his two daughters that were awaiting his return back at the camp.

Seconds felt like hours and Jake was slowly turning more and more purple as the time passed. Your mother and brothers felt like their worlds were being ripped away from them as they stood defenceless.

Jake's eyes began to falter and the shaky arm that held the weapon would not falter under exhaustion. Neytiri’s cries could be heard across the entire forest at this point and Lo’ak sobbed harder at the sight of his family breaking in the midst of war. He was one of the few people who did not hate sky people in his family, but in the moment he had wanted nothing but for them all to be gone.

Neytiri’s dampened eyes shifted back towards the sky demon’s face before her own contorted to one of stupor. Blood dribbled from his slightly open mouth, crimson liquid dripping down onto her unconscious husband’s head. His eyes were voiced of any life, in contrast to the deathly soldier that she had encountered earlier. Suddenly, he fell to his side as he brought Jake along with him, lifting a cloud of dust around the both of them.

Neteyam wasted no time sprinting towards his father, as his mother and brother were too caught up in puzzlement. One second ago he had been fighting fiercely against the Olo’eyktan and the next, he was lying coldly against the forest floor. Neteyam shoved the human’s hand away from his father’s neck, checking for a pulse as he laid his fingers against his neck.

Neytiri followed closely behind her son, thrashing her cheek out upon his chest - checking for a sign of life.

She cried once more, though this time the tears that covered her cheeks had not been in anguish. She bawled, crying out her gratitude towards the Great Mother for having given her mate another day to live. He would not die tonight, not when he was in the hands of the All-Mother. His heart was still beating, slowly but mighty pulses.

She checked his body for any major wounds, though her heart skipped a beat at the puddle of blood that surrounded her husband. She lifted him instantly, her eyes widening at the shallow arrow wound that ran along his back - where he had been held against the human. The blood did not belong to Jake, she could smell the difference and her nose scrunched up in disgust.

She carefully moved her husband’s head unto her oldest son’s lap before moving before the human. She looked back at Alban’s chest, and there it laid. The sharp arrow that had struck right through his back. It had sliced its way right through the left side of his upper chest, impaling his heart as it stuck halfway out of his frontal. He drowned in his own repulsive blood, bathing Jake in it as well.

She was confused at first, but the sound of some quiet sobs had told her everything that she needed to know. She looked back and past where Alban previously sat kneeled, seeing as her youngest son was no longer behind her, but hugging your sobbing frame. You held your brother tighter than you had ever held him. Her eyes dragged down to the unfamiliar bow that laid besides your feet, long forgotten as you found yourself lost in the comfort of your brother’s embrace.

Her heart soared at the memory of you painful pleading cries when Jake was locked in a chokehold, without your knowledge. They were unable to respond to you at the moment, because of the gun that had been aimed at them. Neytiri stood up, now knowing that her husband was still alive and breathing.

She engulfed you in a much needed hug upon arrival, tightening her home around you as you

sobbed harder. Your tears ran down your face, soaking your mother’s weaved top. The last time you had cried to her like this, you had been around Tuk’s age. Upset because a boy had been bothering you during an excursion, frustrating tears ran down your cheeks right as you had breached your tent’s doors. You had found comfort in your mother’s embrace that night, just as you had just done. Because nothing in this world could replace a mothers comfort.

In the corner of your eyes, you had noticed your father that laid upon Neteyam’s lap. He looked relieved, warm and content as his gaze fell upon you. You allowed yourself to relax into your mother’s shoulder as you knew that your family was still alive and complete. Neytiri felt you relaxing in her arms as she used a hand to wipe the stray tears that stuck to your skin.

“That’s all thanks to you, my daughter.” Neytiri said to you, eyes full of love and adoration for her daughter. You had ran away so many times before, and sometimes, you had wished of losing your way. Wishing that your path led you to a new beginning, a new home amongst the lands of Pandora. But before that, you had been an angsty teen that found a home in freedom.

Tonight, your sole wish was to go back home. In the comfort of your favourite people, safe and sound in the clan.

-

As you reached the Tree of Souls, you dismounted your ikran before it flew away to rest somewhere nearby. You were beyond exhausted and your legs were begging for a rest. The new collection of wounds that littered your skin would make a great scar story for your future offsprings.

You held onto the back of your head as a burning feeling had replaced the simple aching overtime. The vegetation around the tree gave a calming hue that you could handle for now, any brighter and you were sure to rip your eyeballs out with your own fingers.

The rest of the Omatikaya had gathered before you, everyone that had been ordered to seek refuge at the tree. They watched as you wobbled slightly on your painfully aching legs, one by one, they greeted you with the Oel ngati kameie (i see you) hand sign. You, their mighty saviour. You, Y/N Sully, the saviour of the Omatikaya clan.

The words spread at an inhumane pace amongst the clan because it had not even been 5 minutes that you had arrived, and they were already praising your exploits.

Your blazing yellow eyes shifted between the numerous Na’vi men and woman that stood in front of you. Without wasting more time, your legs moved on their own to bring you to wherever they could manage to bring you. The more you advanced through the crowd, the people were moving out of the way to create a path for you. Greeting you with the same welcoming symbol.

You didn’t necessarily appreciate the attention but you surely liked being appreciated for your bravery and success. This felt like a little much though.

Your long stride had come to a dead end as a single person had not dispersed amongst the crowd. The people watched him from the sidelines, insulting glares being sent towards his way from every side.

There he stood in front you, in all of his shinning glory. His sweaty skin glistened amongst the glowing flowers of the forest as his freckles joined in the mix. Your eyes softened at the mere sight of him.

“You saved my father’s life back there. If it wasn’t for you, I would've probably missed my shot.” you told him, thanking him before the clan and Eywa for his service.

Your family had arrived shortly behind you, watching your interaction with the Na’vi from behind you. They had also received the same treatment from the people. Your father was back, despite a little wobbly on his feet and slightly still dazed, he was here nevertheless. You had all awaited his awakening before leaving to seek the rest of the clan. He was confused when his whole family pounced on him at his rise, but he was happy nevertheless.

Your family had praised you, alongside your brothers for your undeniable bravery. You could’ve started sobbing again when your father had audibly voiced out his proudness towards you. He hugged you again, like the both of you had wished for during the times of chaos. Neytiri felt her heart momentarily ache at the sight of her all grown daughter. She could’ve sworn that just yesterday she was rocking you to sleep as a newborn.

“That was all you, You wielded the bow, and you released the arrow. Be proud of yourself, little warrior.” He teased you, even at a time like this. You smiled at him, happy that he was still himself after all of these events. He praised your accomplishments before the clan. Deeming you a worthy warrior, contrary to what he had told you before the fight.

Neytiri’s heartache was short lived as a feeling of pride swaddled her heart. You were an independent woman now and when she looked into your eyes, she could see herself years prior. She looked at Mo’rata before glancing back at her family, which were all looking at you with the biggest grins ever plasterer on their faces.

“You need to embarrass yourself purposely infront of Iri’me tomorrow if something happens between them here and there!” Spider attempted to whisper to Lo’ak but failed miserably as the said Iri’me turned to glare at them from the crowd.

Neteyam averted his gaze from the angry woman as he pretended to yawn. Open his arms widely behind him before slapping his ‘brother’ across the back of his head.

“Shut up skxawng! plus we aaaaaall know that something is gonna’ happen. Cmon look at him, he’s literally eye fu-“ Lo’ak started, before getting put back in his place by Kiri.

Kiri beamed as Mo’rata extended his arm towards you, fine muscles flexing at his every move. His hand opens as he held his open palm out for you to grab. You tilted your head to the side in cluelessness and jake held back the urge to facepalm at his daughter’s obliviousness. As much as your dad was sceptical of the Na’vi in front of you, he told himself that it was better to watch you accept Mo’rata’s potential courtship instead of another random na’vi.

He knew that you had fallen for the fierce warrior, and he knew that so did Mo’rata with you. He could recognize the looks in your eyes within thousands of others, because he had lived through with Neytiri.

Despite the bitter look on his face, Jake was just as proud of you. He knew how much the weight of your duties had affected you during all of your youth but you had matured now. You accepted your duties as a part of life and understood that there was no reason for you to feel overwhelmed,

because your family was always there for you, and they’ll always continue to be there.

A random woman from behind you had noticed your hesitation as she curtly pushed you forward, having you end up straight in the Na’vi’s arms. He couldn’t help but stare straight into your eyes, because despite the hundreds of similar ones that surrounded him at the moment, he’s never found ones that were just as mesmerising as yours.

You put your hands across his chest to stabilise yourself as you stared right back into his eyes, feeling so much fondness for the man you once considered an enemy.

Both your ears flickered at the sight of an Atokirina' floating down towards you two, before it settled for floating between the two of you. His gaze turned back to you as he watched you observe the Woodsprite. In a split second, an army of Woodsprites engulfed the two of you in their floating antics. Causing Mo’rata to slightly back away in surprise.

You knew what this meant, so did he and so did everyone around the both of you. Eywa had spoken and she had chosen to do it infront of the many people.

You nearly lost your footing at the loud cheering, you eyes circled the whole clan as you looked back at your future mate once more. Placing two finger near your forehead before lowering them towards the intimidating looking man.

“I see you..” you smiled before letting out a curt laugh at Mo’rata.

For the first time in Eywa knows how long, the clan watched as the Na’vi cracked a small smile towards his lover, reciprocating the hand gesture.

“I see you, ii’yu” (darling)

Your hand reached to his before slipping your fingers between his very own, raising them before the people. In the corner of your eyes had you spotted your lovely family. Your siblings all waved to you guys as little Tuk jumped up and down from sheer joy for you. Your parents simply smiled warmly at you, and you were quite surprised to see your father smiling despite Mo’rata’s presence.

After all, Eywa had spoken and when the time comes, you will rule the Omatikaya as their Tsahik, alongside Mo’rata as the Olo’eyktan.

tags: @neteyamforlife @ssc7514 @iloveavatar @killinqpills @ilovejakesullysdick @liyahsocorro @sujekie @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @miawastakens @onlytays @junnniiieee07 @mashiromochi

[paingoes]

Rubies - Trial III

the prosecution makes its argument

(Content: living weapon whumpee, past trauma, referenced child abuse, referenced caning, past emotional abuse, war, guilt, parental death mention, child death mention, emotional whump, crying, angst, comfort)

In the Emperor’s quarters, the dead far outnumbered the living. Delta knelt upon the bearskin run and ran his fingers through its thick white fur. He wanted to reach for the mouth of it, to feel the teeth, but he dared not move without permission. The fresh cane marks along his calves made sure of that.

“Here, boy.”

The Emperor had taken to calling him boy, which he found strange and overfamiliar. To his handlers, he had always been One-Oh-Seven. More and more, it has simply been Delta. There was no need for numeration when there were no others.

He rose up off of the carpet, taking silent steps until he stood in front of the weary form of the old man. 

The doctor was nowhere to be seen. For this, he was grateful.

A hand heavy with time and with rings pressed against his forehead. Did he look sick? He didn’t mean to. The Emperor would find no fever there, at any rate. Delta ran cold.

“Are the stars all in alignment tonight, poppet?” He withdrew his hand. “Will today be a good day?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

There was no gap in between their words. There was no hesitation. He would be punished for lying just as quickly as for failing, so he was careful not to lie. Of course today would be a good day. 

Delta was excellent.

But the Emperor still searched him. It was not illness he had sensed. 

“Is everything alright?”

The concern in his voice only made the sting worse. Delta looked down in shame.

It was sullenness. That was all. He was cold all over, soaked with shame. It was bad, he knew. He was supposed to take all punishment without complaint, but Delta so seldom needed correction. It hurt all the more when it did come. He couldn’t get the chill of it to leave him. He’d been torn into. 

Unfit, the doctor had said. Unworthy of the privilege. Disgraceful.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Delta responded, the shame of it deepening. He hadn’t meant to sulk about it. He was only proving their point.

There was nothing wrong with his ability to perform, which is all the Emperor had really been asking. A little emotional hurt had never impacted his powers before — thank god for that. Today would be no exception.

With that, the Emperor rose up. Delta followed a half-step behind him. He was getting on in age. It was never hard to keep up.

They walked all the way past the war room, out onto the deck of the ship. The air was thin in the upper atmosphere, but it was getting more bearable upon the descent. There were a collection of advisors and generals gathered about by the railing. Delta kept his head bowed respectfully, careful not to look them dead on. With the Emperor there, he knew they wouldn’t dare touch him. But it was a deeply ingrained habit and one he saw no reason to break.

There was a pressure at his shoulder. It was meant to be reassuring, but it only scared him worse. He could see the target below. Its perimeter was painted in a pale orange color.

They wanted showy this time.

Space was made around him as they clicked the collar off of his neck. He closed his eyes. The light was painful. All the hearts beating so close were distracting. 

Disgraceful. He felt the sting of fear in his chest and prickling at his eyes. It was going to hurt. He was getting frigid in a way he hadn’t before. He didn’t want to be hurt.

He zeroed in on the target anyway, visualizing its delimitation among the pale. He wished they’d given him something to hold onto. All he had now were his own hands and his nails cutting indents into the palms. Showy. The world snapped as the target was turned to dust.

The collar clicked back on. Blood was already pooling in his throat and in his sinuses. The migraine aura descended. He swayed, but not fall. The Emperor’s hand steadied him there. It moved calming circles into his back. He heard the applause, but to him it sounded miles away.

“Incredible.” The Emperor had whispered into his ear. “You were wonderful.”

And like that, he was glowing. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t supposed to feel a thing, but the warmth of the praise made itself at home in him. It was the only time he let himself feel anything close to pride — and he could have lived in its light. It was almost worth it. He felt sick enough to die and it was almost worth it.

~~~~~~

Silas placed the blank sheet of paper down onto the desk and slid it towards him. His expression was grim.

“I want you to write down every target you can remember hitting. Names and dates. It doesn’t have to be exact.”

The room was small and dark, not much bigger than a broom closet. Maryam sat beside him at the table. He had a legal right to keep her there — and thought he had not asked her to, she volunteered to accompany him. 

Delta rocked his leg a little as he felt at the rough graphite of the pencil.

He took the order for what it was. He had a good sense for it. There were some things he struggled to remember, but in general, his memory was better than most. He had been allowed no distractions. He’d had no choice but to focus in.

He started with the earlier days of his imperial career — the battleship he’d crushed on the water, the first show of strength before the purchase was made. And then there was all that came after. He was never told until the day of what he would be after, but he remembered them all the same.

Marisol

Pyrha

Holliday

Basalt

Clover

Killian

Versus

He wrote mechanically, appending the dates as best as he could. He’d already made up this list in his mind several times. He’d have offered it to Levon if things had gone differently, but as it stood, he’d never been given the chance.

Regina

Ursa

Deidra

Anatol

Timber

Jocobe

Weissan

He soon ran out of space on the page. He write in a smaller script around the margins.

“That’s enough,” Maryam said, eyeing the prosecutor nervously. Delta kept writing.

“You can stop now,” Silas agreed, reaching to take the paper back.

“I’m not done,” Delta snapped. 

He recoiled just as soon as he’d said it. He didn’t know where he’d gotten the nerve to speak like that, to talk back at all, and especially not to them. He dropped the pencil and drew back into the chair, fully expecting to get smacked in the mouth, bare minimum. 

The hit didn’t come. Silas took the paper and examined it without much reaction. It was a long list — and that was only with the Emperor. He hadn’t even gotten to Paris yet.

“Can I ask you something? For my own curiosity?” Silas said.

Delta looked up at him.

“About how far away from the target are you when activated?”

“…A mile, sir.” Delta tapped at the chair.

He nodded. “What’s the closest you’ve ever been to someone you’ve killed?”

He heard Maryam scoff beside him, but he thought it was a fair question, if an abrupt one. He had to think about it for a second. As the answer came to him, he felt the shock of ocean water, stealing just as much breath from him as it had the first time.

He held his hands up to demonstrate, having no other way to quantify the distance. Right up against his body. He’d garroted him, wrapped the chains around his neck and held him there. The water had done the rest. He hadn’t even used his powers.

“Daniel Martino,” he answered quietly, “The same night I got picked up.”

It was his most recent kill  — and if Levon’s word was anything to believe in, it would be the last. 

He hadn’t told anyone about it until now.

“Your handler?” Silas asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Silas and Maryam exchanged a look he could not read.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t fault you for that.” Silas folded the paper into his pocket.

The clemency caught him off guard. Delta looked down, embarrassed all the same.

~

The shades were drawn in the conference room. It was a stormy day outside — Delta could imagine how the static might’ve felt on his skin had he been out there. For now, all he could do was imagine it.

“Delta,” the prosecutor drew his attention back, “I asked you a question.”

Silas was sharper with him when there was a crowd. He was familiar with this tactic. It didn’t register to him as a surprise, only as a kind of dull pain.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Delta said weakly, but sincerely. “…Could you repeat it, please?”

He usually would not have been bold enough to make requests, but then he usually wouldn’t have zoned out in the first place.

“Were the accounts of lateral violence within the Institute true?” He asked, then clarified: “Were the students there encouraged to hurt one another?” 

“Yes, sir.” Delta closed his eyes. He did not need to guess the next question.

“Did you ever use your powers to injure the other students?”

Not because he wanted to. He didn’t know if he was allowed to answer with that. It had been a yes-or-no question — and his handlers had gotten mad whenever he tried to explain himself around it. He didn’t know if the same rules would apply here.

“Yes, sir.”

He caught the concerned looks of the others at the conference table. The council members had shown him no scorn so far, in spite of everything. He dreaded losing it. But in his mind, it was an inevitability. He couldn’t make himself look back.

“Did you ever kill any of them?”

It wasn’t the same as injuring. The administration had loved to use him as a threat long before he was in the imperial service. He’d always be the first they brought out they sent to scare the others into submission. After the first few times — cracked ribs, broken arms, and painful shocks — any actual violence wasn’t needed. The threat alone was enough.

That wasn’t the same as killing. While the punishment had been painful, the kills were quick. Those were for safety alone. Nobody ever died as a punishment. They died because they were about to kill everyone else.

It’d been a yes-or-no question. The answer was yes, obviously.

“Yes, sir.” 

He kept his eyes down. Kitty shifted a bit to his left. He didn’t want to see the way her face changed when she found out.

Silas ended his line of questioning. The lights dimmed further as the video began to play.

PYRHA 08

SOL 07

The caption showed against the grainy white backdrop. He could see the town in his mind before it was shown on the screen. It was before the disaster. Jade was pushed up into the edges of the home. All their streets were still cobblestone. From above, as he had seen it, the town looked to be built into a crescent moon shape. The blue tops of buildings stood out against the pale sand.

“…There was this burning, endless light…”

The voiceover played over still frames of the cloud. The images clipped together in animation. He saw the tip of the airship approaching the edge of the sky.

Whoever had produced the documentary had no knowledge of the cause. How could they? It was a superweapon, they were sure, but how could they have known what? 

All they could do was to quantify it. The ground temperature had reached the same peak as the sun. The duration lasted ten to fifteen seconds — 12.945 seconds, Delta corrected in his mind. There’d been no warning. 2,031 people had died. About five hundred families.

The focus was the math — and more than that, the footage. Few of his attacks had ever been so well documented. But almost as an aside, they had spoken to some of the eye witnesses.

A girl with chestnut brown hair smiled sadly into the camera as she held up the picture. The image quality changed again as a video from inside her house began to play. He could not tell if she was the infant or the child holding onto it inside the cedar living room. The camera shifted angles to capture their mother grinning on the couch, clapping along to the silent song. 

There was some primordial ache in him that would not sleep. It’d always burned too hot. After the first few times, he’d learned not to touch it.

He felt it burning now, pressed up against his skin with no escape.

“And my friends always made fun of me for being such a townie, because I had to ride the bus two hours just to get to school,” the girl chirped softly, “And I remember that morning, my mom telling me not to stay too long after classes. She wanted me to come straight home that day because-“

Her voice broke. 

“Because we were going to go out as a family.”

The clip cut away to the moment the sky tore open.

Delta stood up before he knew what he was doing. He stumbled blindly away from the table, pushing out into the hall.

He’d taken her parents from her. Ripped her away from them, the same way he’d been ripped away from his own. The loss cut through him sharper than he could ever remember. 

He was crying. He couldn’t stop it. The sorrow and fear enveloped him in equal measures. He’d walked out. He hadn’t been dismissed, he’d never walked out like that in all his life. But he couldn’t stand to hear anymore. He didn’t want them to see him cry.

He wanted his mom. It was silly. He didn’t even know what she looked like. She clearly hadn’t wanted him.

“Delta?” Levon called after him. He stopped dead. He was recall trained — he wouldn’t dare move farther. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He didn’t think he could.

He sank to the floor instead. He tried to hide his tears, but his body shook from the effort. He was still good about being quiet when he was hurt. He was trying very hard to be good about it.

A soft sob escaped him anyway. Levon bent down onto the floor beside him.

“That was too far. I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” Levon placed one hand lightly onto his shoulderblade. His thumb worked over the knots that had formed there, so bound up and painful.

“I’m sorry,” Delta said. It was always the first thing to come out of his mouth these days, no matter how much they tried to correct it. 

He remembered how young he was at the time. He remembered how proud he’d been.

“I didn’t know,” Delta said through tears, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know, baby,” Levon’s voice got quiet. It didn’t echo. No one else could have heard. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Then, even quieter, the admission: “It’s not your fault.”

Delta sobbed into his sleeve, leaning over so that his face almost touched the ground. He wished he could stop it. It was taking everything out of him.

He felt a gentle tug at his sleeve. It was an invitation. He accepted it before he could stop himself, too desperate for any semblance of comfort. Levon pulled him into the hug. His cries grew muffled as he hid his face in the fabric of the shirt.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Levon said, the pain audible in his voice. He carded his hands through the boy’s hair, doing all he could to soothe him.

“I didn’t mean to,” came the soft whine in response.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 2600+

Warnings: mentions of war, anxiety, vomiting, blood and dead animal

In books there's no mention of Tamlin being able to winnow, but for the sake of story, let's pretend he can

Part III | Part V

You woke up with a jolt, unable to take a breath. Something was pushing you from behind into sturdy, but warm object, crushing you. You squirmed and scratched until the thing under you stiffed and moved. It was alive. The grasp on back of your head and waist loosened a bit and you sat up gasping for air. As soon as you calmed down, you looked back to see what held you. Your eyes widened as you recognized the person next to you.

Tamlin was still asleep, lying on top of the blanket on your bed. He looked tired and torn, his cloths were dirty with bloody stains, his golden hair all dishevelled. He didn't have a single scratch on his skin, though he seemed to be trapped in another nightmare. He was moaning, gritting his teeth and frowning. His head was tossing from side to side, fingers clenched into fists.

"Please.. no.. don't le-.." he murmured under the breath.

"Tamlin," you shook his shoulder. "It's just a bad dream. You are.. safe."

High Lord woke up panting. Swallowing hard he looked around, seemingly trying to remember where he was. His green eyes stopped on you. Confusion and pain on his face was replaced by relief.

"You are awake," he breathed out.

"So you are. How did this happen?" you gestured between him and your bed.

"Ah, this.. Don't worry. Nothing happened. You passed out and as it looks I fell asleep while taking care of you. When was the last time you ate?" smirking he slowly sat up, his face just an inch from yours. You tried to put some distance between you and him, but everything went dark for a second. His big hands caught you, grounding you. "Slowly."

"I'm fine now. Thank you."

Tamlin shook his head. "When was the last time you ate?" he repeated his question.

"I don't know," you admitted, shrugging. "Is the war over? Who won?"

"We did, but I already told you yesterday. Don't you remember?" he tilted head in rather an animal way.

You blinked confused. "Really? I-I don't remember any of that.."

"Hmm," he watched you with concern. "It's interesting. When I came in I thought cottage is empty. I couldn't sense you at all. Then you suddenly appeared in the shadows and when I told you we won, you passed out. Don't you really remember it?"

You frowned and shook you head.

"Well, never mind," Tamlin sighed. "Let's find you some food."

"I'm afraid I don't have any at the moment. I.. couldn't go out.. I-I was worried.." you blushed turning your gaze away from him.

A wicked grin appeared on Tamlin's face. "I thought you are angry at me and meanwhile," one brow raised up, "you worried for my wellbeing. I'm flattered."

You blushed even harder. Since when did you have such kind of feelings? You didn't recognize yourself. "I could feel it.. The magic of this world was..wild..roaring."

"Yeah, it was quite a tough fight," Tamlin was once again serious. "War is a horrible thing. Many lives were lost. Too many. Things you see on a battlefield.. It's hard to erase it from one's mind.."

You could feel the enormous weight burdening his shoulders. Suddenly you felt really sorry for him. He was just a young male and yet.. he had a great responsibility. Many lives depended on him. He had to rule entire Court and fae who lived there. He was protecting this land for so many years and then human woman came and things started to fall apart.

"I'm going to get us something to eat," Tamlin stood up, heading to door. "You stay here and try to rest. I'll return soon."

He stopped, hand on a handle. "Uhm.. can you handle a meat? I know you said you don't remember if you've ever eaten it, but.. unlike you I'm afraid I'm not able to collect mushrooms and herbs. I'd most likely poison us."

You giggled. "I'll give it a try," you agreed grateful for anything he could bring. Tamlin's cheeks turned pink. Nodding he left.

Barely twenty minutes passed when you heard Tamlin returning back. His steps were heavier than before. Curious you carefully went downstairs using walls for support. Seeing an animal slung over his shoulder, you yelped.

"You shouldn't stand up," Tamlin said calmly as if he wasn't carrying big deer.

"Are you going to," you swallowed, "cut it open here?" If you had anything in your stomach, you would throw it out right there on the spot. You felt faint and needed to sit down. When Tamlin took a note of your state, he let the deer fall to the ground and rushed to you.

"Easy, vicious witch," he smirked helping you sit to your armchair. The smell of the dead animal stuck on his clothes and you gagged.

"I'm sorry," breathing deeply you tried to work off the nausea.

"No, I am sorry. It should have occurred to me you might feel sick when you see this," he pulled away, fanning you with hand. "It was really bad idea." Thinking about something he narrowed the shining green eyes on you. "I could.." he said hesitantly, "clean it and roast it at my house." You nodded weakly with closed eyes. "But I don't want to leave you alone for so long in this state."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. Just leave me here," you groaned, the desire to be as far from the dead animal's body and its smell as possible growing with every second.

He studied your face for a while. "Come with me," he said firmly. You wanted to object, but he continued before you could even open mouth. "You can rest in other room or take a walk around if you will feel up to it. I would be less worried. And meal won't unnecessarily cool down."

His gaze was too piercing and you had to look away. The very same feeling you had when you tried to go to check on him in his manor returned. Leaving this forest even for hour or two made you nervous. Whole your body was against it. You started sweating.

"I'll winnow us. No need to be afraid," Tamlin assured you. "Come." He pulled your hand lightly.

"I.."

"If you are afraid I will do something to you, no need to. If I would really want to, I already had a plenty opportunities, don't you think," he grinned and winked. Under all the playfulness there were traces of something dark, cold and painful. He was trying to suppress it, but you noticed it nonetheless.

Maybe it was for that pain that you agreed at last. Uneasiness was crushing you from inside and you had to repeat to yourself that it would be just for few hours and you would return back home.

Tamlin winnowed you as he said. When you dared to open your eyes a little, you found yourself in a room with big windows. It was impressive just as expected from High Lord's manor, but signs of neglect were visible all around. Every surface was covered in dirt and dust, some pieces of furniture were broken. Tamlin blushed looking around.

"I'm sorry for this," he gestured around. "This used to be the nicest room, but certain things happened and.. all servants left.. The state of my house is.. quite horrible at the moment."

Your eyes wandered around the room while he spoke, taking in beautiful details. You turned to him only when Tamlin stopped talking, waiting for your reaction.

"It is still very nice house. And bright," you smiled nervously. "It's so huge."

"For one person, it's too much," sadness filled his eyes. "If you want, you can look around or find some place to rest. Just.. stay nearby, please.. You know.. just in case you pass out again.." he added nervously as if his request needed an extra explanation. You heard that High Lord basically imprisoned his fiancée in the manor after their return from under the mountain and she broke down. That's when somebody from Night Court came to rescue her and she left him for the first time.

"I'm going to take care of the..meal," his voice snapped you out from your thoughts.

"Okay, I won't go far then," you promised and sent him reassuring smile. You watched your High Lord until he disappeared behind the doors on the opposite side, leaving it wide open. Was he really such bad person? He was gloomy, sad and broken, but down under it all, he seemed to be caring and gentle in his own way. You had mixed feelings.

You were weak and felt sick, so you decided to sit on chair near the window overlooking the garden. At least the anxiety of leaving the forest wasn't so bad right now. Resting you head against the frame of the window, you let your thoughts wander.

The peaceful moment didn't last long. Air changed and something felt off. Wondering what's going on you trailed in the direction Tamlin had disappeared in. It didn't take you long to find kitchen, the faint smell of dead animal guiding you. You were about opening the door when you sensed some stranger on the other side. His magic filled air with smell of dark chilly night, so strong it made a shiver ran down your spine. Whoever it was, he was powerful, more powerful than your High Lord. No matter how scary it was, it felt familiar in a certain way. You halted, trying to remember where did you met with such powers, but there was nothing.

You shook your head concentrating on a small gap in the ajar door. Peeking through it you could see Tamlin standing behind the table across the room, his hands dirty from the animal's blood. He was cutting - no, tearing it to pieces, obliviously ignoring the stranger standing on the other side whose back was turned to you.

"I just came to check on you," the stranger purred, even his voice was like silky night.

"Why would you bother?" Tamlin grunted, his eyes trained on the meat he was peeling off the skin.

"You saved my life which I'm really grateful for. Feyre said you even wished her a happiness. We used to be friends, Tam."

"Right, we used to. The past tense," Tamlin snarled.

Stranger stayed silent for a while, ignoring his words and looking around. "This house turned into a great mess. You should do something about that."

"Your mate made sure nobody stayed here," your High Lord snapped. Now it gave sense. The other male was Night Court's High Lord, the one Tamlin's fiancée ran to.

You could see Tamlin's discomfort, his shoulders tensed, jaw tightening. It worried you. You felt hate towards the male who came to tease him, to kick him while he was at the bottom. You were debating if you should go in and support him or stay hidden when Night Court's Lord spoke again.

"Are you really alone?"

Tamlin's gaze shot to the door you were hidden behind, flash of panic in his eyes. It took just mere second, but you noticed. He was afraid the other male could find you here. It was like a signal to stay where you were. "Yes," he rasped.

"Hmm," other male hummed amused. "Maybe I should send somebody to make you a company."

"Shove it up your ass, Rhysand! I don't want your sleuthhound to sniff around," Tamlin barked, his claws punched out.

So called Rhysand raised his hands in surrender. "It was just a friendly offer. You don't have enough men to guard the borderline. I can help you out with it."

"I. Don't. Need. You." Tamlin growled.

"Okay, I've got it. But if you change your mind or need help, let me know," Rhysand laughed and winnowed.

Tamlin stood there, his chest rising and falling as he heaved, sharp claws ready to tear the flesh into shreds. He was angry once again, pain all over his face. You hesitantly stepped out of your hideaway. His gaze shot to you, studying you from head to toe.

"How long were you eavesdropping on us?" His words were sharp like daggers.

"Long," you admitted calmly although your heart rate increased.

"So now you know.." he whispered, voice full of pain and looked down on his bloodied hands.

"That you are High Lord? I know it since I treated your wound."

His eyes shot up to you with surprise, searching your face for disgust, hate or any other emotion subjects of this court usually felt for him. He was taken aback when he found none of that.

"Will you leave like others did?" he asked in a small voice. "I.. won't stop you.."

"No," you answered simply. "I already told you I won't leave my home."

His lips pulled into a thin line. "Your cottage.. right.." he mumbled. He silently stood there staring absently at the table.

"So.. When will be the meal ready?" you changed topic, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Tamlin gave you a questioning look. "You don't mind eating with me?"

You huffed, raising a brow. "Have I ever given you such impression?" He searched your eyes and then returned back to portioning the deer.

"You know what I've done, don't you?" he asked while putting a piece of meat on the spit.

"I heard something."

"I see." You felt him watching you out of the corner of his eye.

You smiled. "Do you plan to lock me up in your manor?"

His head snapped up. "No," he hurried to answer. "I-"

"Easy," you stopped him. "I was just teasing you." You smiled wider. Slowly a shy smirk appeared on his face, his shoulders relaxed bit more.

A silence stretched between you. Tamlin was roasting the meat, while you were standing as far from the rest of the deer as possible, going through almost empty shelves. When his servants were leaving they took most of the useful things with them. In one of the cupboards you managed to find some plates and cutlery.

"Do you.. do you have a name?" Tamlin asked suddenly.

You hummed. "Probably, but I don't remember it," you said unexcited.

"So with your past you forgot also your name," he stated. You nodded. "Well then.. how should I call you?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?" you shrugged.

Tamlin stopped in the middle of reaching out to turn the meat, gaping at you. "Of course it matters. Everyone has name." He stepped closer, examining your face in disbelief. You gazed back at him. He was met with emptiness of your eyes. There was again no emotion, no sentiment nor desire. It was disturbing.

"If that's the case I will give you name," he decided lastly. He took his time, watching you, circling around you with thoughtful expression. "How about... No." He circled around you one more time. "I will call you.. Y/N. What do you think?"

"Well.. I guess it's..fine." It felt strange. You didn't want to, but nevertheless you cared. It was just a name, yet it changed you. You couldn't grasp what it had done to you, but it was big. You felt different.

"Fine?" He raised a brow. He watched you closely, lightly grinning at your reaction. "Your High Lord just gave you new name and you say 'fine'?" He really enjoyed teasing you. You shrugged.

Since then he made sure to call you by the name he gave you at every opportunity. It took some time, but at last you got used to it.

[siflshonen]

The Greatest Robot on Earth: Astro Boy and Pluto Part II

Part I is here. This side-by-side continues in part III here, or you can read the whole thing on Ao3.

Side-by-Side Comparisons

“The Greatest Robot on Earth” and Pluto

The best place to start in comparing these series is their summaries. This summary for “The Greatest Robot on Earth” comes from the 2002 Dark Horse release: 

“In the novel-length "The Greatest Robot on Earth," a wealthy sultan creates a giant robot to become the ruler of all other robots on Earth. But in order for that to happen, he must defeat the seven most powerful robots in the world, including Astro Boy, who must have his horsepower raised from 100,000 to 1,000,000 to face the challenge! And his sister, Uran, also flies in to lend a helping hand!”

Well, besides the fact that Uran doesn’t actually fly, I suppose that’s true enough. Gotta love marketing copy.

And here is Viz’s summary for Pluto: Urasawa X Tezuka, vol. 1: 

“In an ideal world where man and robots coexist, someone or something has destroyed the powerful Swiss robot Mont Blanc. Elsewhere a key figure in a robot rights group is murdered. The two incidents appear to be unrelated...except for one very conspicuous clue - the bodies of both victims have been fashioned into some sort of bizarre collage complete with makeshift horns placed by the victims' heads. Interpol assigns robot detective Gesicht to this most strange and complex case - and he eventually discovers that he too, as one of the seven great robots of the world, is one of the targets.”

An ideal world, eh? Well, I’m all about subverting surface appearances, so I like it. Anyway, right off the bat, we can tell that these two series aren’t the same genre, aren’t using the same principal characters, and aren’t concerned with the same stakes. They seem to only have one thing in common: the word “robot”.

The following pages for “The Greatest Robot on Earth” are from the Dark Horse Omnibus. In most cases, I have used pages from Viz’s Pluto: UrasawaXTezuka, but there are a few pages from the fan scans. Why? Because I own the physical manga, didn’t want to pay for all the volumes again in a digital version, and realized that the images in the fan scans were cleaner and bigger than most of the ones I could get from cracking the spine of my books and mooshing them on the scanner.

Pluto at Its Most Faithful

Mont Blanc died first in “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and in Pluto he fares no differently. Of course, in true dramatic Urasawa fashion, Pluto chooses to begin with the fiery discovery of Mont Blanc’s head tucked within his killer’s calling card to establish the mystery and suspense of this work rather than start with a quaint lumberjacking-scene-turned-robot-fight like the original.

Urasawa and Nagasaki’s choice to include human victims in Pluto also immediately raises the stakes in a way that “The Greatest Robot on Earth” never did or would. It also immediately changes the type of exploration within the world that the series would do, given that the robots of the extended Astro Boy universe are believed to follow Asimov’s Laws.

Greece’s Hercules, spelled Heracles in Pluto’s English translation, is a straightforward warrior-type in “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and he sasses the crap out of Epsilon when he shows up to speak with him just as he does in Pluto. He then gets trounced by Pluto after a drawn-out fight. 

In Pluto, Hercules still fits the original warrior archetype, but with the addition of his very own character arc! His rivalry and friendship with Brando is new and refreshing, and his blooming respect for Epsilon pairs nicely with his own discovery of his humanity and personal beliefs as it relates to combat, war, and victory.

They called him the god of victory, after all, not necessarily bloodshed. He may have lost his fight with Pluto, but he went down believing he won and with a newfound appreciation for life and the bravery it requires to not fight. His manager Al Haft(a) is an easter egg character.

In real life, Greece participated in the Gulf War, but disagreed with the 2003 Iraq War and did not participate. Meanwhile, Australia participated with the goal of growing closer to the USA. In Pluto, these stances were swapped in their representative robots.

Personally, I think Epsilon (sometimes called Photar in the Astro Boy anime adaptation dubs) is the most surprising figure in these page comparisons if only because he didn’t actually change that much between works. Instead, it is Wassily who exploded onto the Pluto scene with his very own expanded story and Bora trauma. Yes, the disembodied hands scene is in both.

Pluto’s Epsilon looks just like Monster’s Johan, which is funny—Urasawa seems to use Tezuka’s Star System method across his works. In English, Johan and Epsilon are voiced by the same guy, too.

Speaking of, Bora is native to “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and he is still a bomb. In “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, his creator takes the time to tell the sultan that he created him just to beat Pluto and, by extension, the sultan. In Pluto, Bora’s existence and purpose is to exact vengeance on a broader scale.

Uran’s changes between series are actually really straightforward. In the postscript of the physical Pluto manga’s volume 6, essayist and critic Gorot Yamada laments the fact that Urasawa avoided the “ero-kawaii” of Uran confronting Pluto in nothing but Atom’s briefs and calls it a “minor weakness” since it is representative of Urasawa’s relatively gentler hand in showing “cruelty or eroticism” when compared to Tezuka.

I can’t begin to tell you how funny I think this criticism is, although I do believe that Urasawa does have, overall, gentler sensibilities than Tezuka. But still. I don’t think we’re missing much by keeping Uran in her clothes. She’s still a snot, she’s still a braggart, she’s still good-hearted, and she still makes her big brother look like a square and a stick-in-the-mud. Writing precocious little girls and sweet stories of unlikely bonding moments are a few of Urasawa’s specialties, so I don’t find it surprising that he took the Uran by the hair-horns and maximized her existing character traits.

Spiritually, she feels consistent to me, though her basic actions are decidedly different: Pluto’s Uran doesn’t fight or try to fight Pluto, doesn’t want Atom to fight Pluto at any point, doesn’t ever hate Pluto, and has empathy-based powers (separate from that, she may just be smarter and more emotionally intelligent than the original Uran). 

However, the sequences in the park and the underpasses where she befriends Pluto strongly resemble Uran’s near-naked adventures in the streets of “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and that’s fun.

Abullah is where things get spicy, and that’s mostly because the only real change to his character was the addition of his human backstory and discovery of hatred. In Pluto, he is Tenma and Abullah’s science project who believes he is a human scientist (which he isn’t), but he’s actually also got a split personality! That’s a lot. There’s just so much going on with that. But still, where Pluto’s twist falls on the scale of wild twist bullshittery lessens considerably once you know how this character is portrayed in the original, I feel.

In “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, Abullah is a robot butler disguised as a scientist disguised as another scientist. Not to pooh-pooh the original’s Scooby-Doo antics, but, by comparison, Pluto’s reveal is actually quite nice, logical, and thematically consistent. It also gives Tenma a chance to look cool and not just pathetic.

Professor Ochanomizu is the best character. Don’t argue with me. In Astro Boy, he has a big heart and a big temper to match, and he gets knocked around more than Wile E. Coyote in a Looney Tunes segment. He spends most of “The Greatest Robot on Earth” being kidnapped and hanging out with the sultan, but Pluto spreads the wealth by letting the other roboticists be the damsel in distress throughout the plot.

In Pluto, he’s mostly characterized by doing kindly old man shit (do you recognize that robot dog and how it definitely influenced Ochanomizu’s design for Bobby?), but it is absolutely the kind of stuff the original Hiroshi Ochanomizu would do. He gets treated with more on-screen respect in Pluto than in Astro Boy, but only because he isn’t as cartoony. The animation team made damn sure to have the physics of his stomach work not like those of an innocent-at-heart anime girl’s titties when he’s enthusiastically running to the next big important thing, and that’s exactly the right spirit for a creator to have towards this character. A+ job, M2.

Also, in the manga only, Ochanomizu is the facilitator for the single most entertaining referential gag in all of Urasawa’s works: the police dog car diagram. This was cut in the anime.

In the postscript of Pluto: UrasawaXTezuka volume 5, manga critic and lecturer Tomohiko Murakami observes that “Urasawa’s depictions of Professor Tenma and Professor Ochanomizu almost appear to be [his] perspective on two different aspects of Osamu Tezuka’s character.” I don’t necessarily disagree, especially given the commentary Tezuka gave regarding Atom’s status as a “monster”, but I think that Ochanomizu and Tenma also more generally represent the “dark” and “light” side of progress and science. This is likely what Tezuka intended for them, too, back when he was writing the series.

But Tenma is just a hot mess. For the duration of “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, he was more or less emotionally stable up until the “death” of Atom (and guess what? He totally enabled Atom’s increase in strength to 1,000,000, despite Ochanomizu constantly advising Atom not to do), though his general moodiness and instability is a defining character trait for much of the series. He gets better over time, but make no mistake: he is an eccentric, reclusive, and vain disaster man.

In Pluto, Urasawa lets Tenma’s disaster qualities shine alongside his signature ego, moodiness, cynicism, and destructive tendencies. This man self-sabotages like it’s his job. He also flings his creations around willy-nilly and never thinks about the consequences, and that’s why he has a hand in a significant number of the most harmful and destructive events in the extended Astro Boy universe somehow, including in Pluto.

Tenma’s rejection of Atom at the dinner table in Pluto is way classier than his breakdowns in the original Astro Boy manga, but I liked the gravitas of the scene and the over-the-top vibe of the fancy dinner in the sunset. Tenma’s portrayals throughout different series run the gamut from “frenetic cartoon maniac” to “vanilla un-stellar dad” to “Phantom of the Opera”, and this is a nice lean towards the latter end of the scale.

His constant contest over ownership of Atom/influence over Atom with the Ministry of Science (and specifically one Hiroshi Ochanomizu) extends beyond “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, though, and I think elements of their more direct conflicts are very present throughout Pluto. I love an old man fight, and it seems Urasawa does, too.

But goddamn is it satisfying to see Ochanomizu tell Tenma to shove it where the sun don’t shine.

Apparently, their dynamic is so popular that it inspired a completely new series set in the alternate universe where they not only go to college together, but are best friends. If you want something fluffier than Pluto where the old men aren’t old, go read Atom: The Beginning, I guess.

And, like, sure. This is all great. But sans the extended old man drama, many of these side-by-sides have been pretty faithful to “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and that is NOT what Makoto Tezka asked for.

Pluto as a Remix of Astro Boy

North No. 2, called Monar in “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, is generally the same robot as in his original portrayal, but instead of just going to fight Pluto, he stars alongside new character Paul Duncan in a brand new story about pianos and music and being blind and growing past trauma to accept others into the heart. Tezuka’s Kuroo Hazama (Black Jack) was even there in Paul Duncan’s memories. It had everything: crying old people and kids, medical drama, orphan trauma, mama trauma, prostitution implications, castles, the emptiness of fame and fortune, singing, an android dreaming of more than just electric sheep, long monologues, and an emotional goodbye where one character stares longingly (even if he can’t actually see anything) at the other knowing they shall never return.

I’ll just say it: Turkey’s Brando is a total red shirt in “The Greatest Robot on Earth”. Meanwhile, Urasawa gave him a family, a love of Turkish drinking culture, a friendship and rivalry with Hercules, and a penchant to dabble in illogical forces like luck, and a classic tearjerker death. Urasawa gave him the world. 

In the anime, Brando is among my favorites. Y’all can swoon over your twink Epsilon or whatever, but it’s Brando over randos for me!

Chochi Chochi Ababa transformed into Saddam Hussein—er, Pluto’s King Darius XIV. One is a cartoon villain who provides an opportunity to learn a basic moral lesson, and the other is a motherfucking war criminal. I think that's a sufficiently mature new twist on an old concept.

Of all the characters present in Pluto, Atom himself is likely the one that gave Urasawa and Nagasaki the most grief, if only because he is the one and only Astro Boy, hero of justice, and if his portrayal wasn’t popular, they’d probably be sent to manga hell forever.

For me personally, one of the most gratifying details regarding his portrayal is how quickly he will lie while maintaining the lie that robots can’t and don’t lie. This line of thinking, as well as the implication that Atom follows Asimov’s Laws more because he wants to, not because he has to follow his programming, is something that became more and more apparent the longer the original Astro Boy ran even if none of the other characters directly said anything about it. Speaking as a fan, I also think it’s nice that Urasawa makes the most of upholding Atom’s observed personality traits throughout adaptations. That he made Atom a deeply curative flavor of an insect kid is a grounded, but nice touch.

(It may also be worth noting that Osamu Tezuka had a known fascination with insects. The “Mushi” in Mushi Productions means “insect”. I don’t know how intentional that was, but it seems Pluto’s Atom may have been intended as a chip off the ol’ Tezuka block whether he was his “monster” or not.)

But as lovely and detailed as Urasawa’s embellishments on these characters is, this is still not what Makoto Tezka asked of him. So far, these characters are strikingly similar to the existing “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and apparently, if Tezka’s interview in the postscript of Pluto: UrasawaXTezuka volume 2 is to be believed, he told Urasawa multiple times to keep revising until he made it his own! It seems Atom really became Urasawa’s monster, too!

[dramavixen]

Love and Redemption: A Fantasy Epic About How Prejudice Destroys Worlds, and How Love Pieces Them Back Together

**major spoilers for: Love and Redemption

After wrapping up a watch-through of Mysterious Lotus Casebook, my mom had the brilliant idea that we should rewatch the work that launched Cheng Yi to fame (or at the very least solidified him as the man to hire if you need someone to spit blood): Love and Redemption. 

I’m certain she only found this idea appealing because she doesn’t remember a TV show after it’s over. Credits rolling? Aight, time for the woman to clear up space on her brain’s memory drive. Meanwhile, my life flashed before my eyes as I recalled the anguish that’s synonymous with the show’s plot. But you know how things go when your mom wants something. If she says you're sitting through 44 hours of emotional torture with her, then you plant yourself on that couch until it’s over.

Ironically, Love and Redemption fares even better on rewatch. Though other xianxias have come close to its place in my heart, I’m now concerned that my palate won’t be so easily satiated again. It’s got your conventional reincarnation, warring realms, and a star-crossed romance while throwing curveball after curveball to shatter your expectations. Complex characters, too? An endgame villain who will haunt you in your sleep? You can’t ask for more. 

Just because you didn’t ask, doesn’t mean that the show won’t deliver something extra. I like to think that nothing reflects a society’s unsightly reality like a well-done fantasy, and this one hits closer to home the more time that passes. A thinly veiled commentary on human flaws and how difficult it is to be a good person, Love and Redemption is a drama for the ages.

This is going to get lengthy, so to prepare you, here’s how I’m divvying up this piece:

Part I: All of Them Are Classist

Part II: All of Them Are Sexist

Part III: All of Them Are Racist

Part IV: Love Wins All

---

Part I: All of Them Are Classist

It’s not my intention to disgust anyone right out of the gate, but we need to talk about Wu Tong. Do you hear what I hear? Yes, it’s the distant echo of Wu Tong’s nefarious laughter, resounding between the walls of my skull.

Quite simply, Wu Tong is the worst. (Or at least he would be, if it weren’t for that other fellow named Bai Lin. That dude will get a glaring spotlight later in this essay, trust me.) But it’s not for no reason.

Coming from a background of poverty, Wu Tong spends most of his young life trying to prove himself to upper class cultivators who don’t have any interest in who he is, only in what he has to offer them. He earns his place in his sect through relentless hard work. He utilizes unsportsmanlike methods in his attempts to win the battle tournament in opening episodes. It's not just a competition to him—he's directly told that if he gets anything other than first place, he can forget about keeping his place in his sect.

When he and the protagonists first meet, his prideful personality results from his inferiority complex. There’s no doubt that he’s a powerful cultivator, but the issue is how he finds that to be his only real value. He doesn't bother to be likable, because what's the point in doing that? Being likable doesn't fill an empty stomach. But the more he disrespects others in an effort to make himself appear important, the more others look down on him, and the more he overcompensates by fighting back even more. It’s a vicious cycle—one that never ends because no one involved wants to take the first step back.

Knowing what type of person he becomes, it’s hard to pity him in any capacity. However, it would still be unfair to ignore how others mistreat him before he even turns into a true enemy.

One scene that sticks out to me happens early on, where Wu Tong nearly injures Xuanji during a 1v1 battle against Minyan. The protagonist crew insists on getting payback. Okay, I’m with it. You can’t let such reckless violence slide. I guess they’ll get their revenge in a later stage of the tournament by beating him into the ground? 

Nah. That would be too reasonable. What they actually opt for is tricking him to fall into a trap by putting up a “have you seen my lost snake?” poster with a financial reward, knowing that he’ll be fooled because…he’s poor.

Sifeng: I asked around. Wu Tong was born to a family of lower status. He lives frugally. The reason he trains so hard is because he hopes to become someone powerful one day. […] Now he needs the money urgently to buy medicine and recuperate his inner strength before his next battle. Minyan: When you put it that way, doesn’t that mean he has no choice but to come for the ten night pearls?

Sifeng…oh no. Not you too.

The way Wu Tong behaves doesn’t warrant anyone being amicable toward him. I, too, have a nonexistent tolerance for obnoxious, violent egoists. But if later episodes are any evidence, this scene foreshadows that two wrongs won’t make a right. If they want to teach him a lesson, they shouldn’t stoop so low as to take advantage of his poverty. His family background is the one thing about him that isn’t his fault, yet it’s the one thing they choose to use against him. That’s what I call “going too far.”

Now that he's been hit where it hurts, Wu Tong feels justified in going too far himself. In a fit of desperation and contempt prompted by his master abandoning him, he stabs Xuanji. Not great. Things get extremely not great when you remember that Xuanji is the daughter of a sect leader. That quickly transforms Wu Tong’s attempted murder/almost manslaughter into the evilest act known to mankind. All five sects turn against him to hunt him down and kill him. I’m no law or philosophy expert, but I’m pretty sure the punishment for almost manslaughter is not the death penalty. 

The five sects can treat him as their prey because he doesn’t have a support system to counter them. If he were the son of another sect leader, the thought of killing him would never even have entered their minds. Targeting him so relentlessly has less to do with justice and more to do with exerting power over a lower-class young man who hurt someone infinitely more “important” than him. 

That imbalance between crime and punishment is what pushes Wu Tong over the edge. He goes on the run for several years before officially succumbing to the call of evil, after which he becomes truly irredeemable. Still, you’re occasionally reminded of his struggle—is he destined to be a villain? Or is throwing aside his remaining morality just his best chance at survival? 

Do you have any idea how I survived these past several years, when you were all trying to kill me? What did I do back then that was so unforgivable? Did your sister die? Was it warranted for all five sects to team up against me, an average disciple? Was it warranted to back me into a corner over and over again, to force me to claw out of hell? Open your eyes and look at me! These past four years, I’ve already died countless times. Every time, I clawed my way back out of hell. Five hundred taels? You want to take my life with a measly five hundred taels? Don’t look down on me. Touch here. I have a fake leg. That’s what your five sects have left me with. What’s that look of yours? Guilt? Pity? I’m not telling you this for you to pity me. I, Wu Tong, survived this far because I must have my revenge.

Something my mom likes to say is if you find yourself going against someone—but especially a dangerous person—you must leave a path for their survival. It’s less for their sake than it is for yours. Should you eliminate all their options, they’ll have no choice but to bite. And they’ll make sure it hurts like hell. 

As an impetuous teenager, Wu Tong is in the wrong. He needs to be taught that his actions are unacceptable. But that can’t be accomplished by putting a bounty on his head and demanding that he be murdered. That’s how you turn a scoundrel into a monster.

Minyan, Wu Tong’s foil, similarly doesn’t come from an optimal background. An orphan, he was taken in by the Shaoyang Sect without the obvious pressure that Wu Tong suffers. Even so, he can’t escape the innate inequality that seems to exist between him and his fellow disciples. It especially affects him because he’s in love with Linglong, Xuanji’s sister but more importantly…also the daughter of the sect leader! Poor guy.

When I was little, kids in the village would surround me every day and call me a bastard child with no parents. I could only pretend that I didn’t hear them. Because if I took it to heart, they would only ridicule me more. We can’t shut the mouths of people who want to slander us. But we can choose not to listen.

He may think that he’s past it, but later episodes see Minyan being manipulated using that exact insecurity. It’s easy to impersonate his master and nudge him to become a “spy” in the enemy base because he’s compelled to prove himself worthy of the sect and worthy of Linglong. Fake Sect Leader Chu Lei tells him:

When I first met you, you were only eight years old. You were homeless on the streets, starving and shivering. Still, you clung to your family dagger and refused to pawn it. In that moment, I knew that you were a child with an iron will. That���s why I’m here to find you today.

I can agree that Minyan is really stupid to immediately believe that his master, a guy well-known for pretending to do important things more than he actually does them, would tell him to do something as reckless as invade enemy territory. However, he also heeds the impostor’s instructions because realistically, his master asking him to prove himself is something that could happen. Any good disciple would naturally want to repay their masters for their favor, let alone a disciple who would otherwise have nowhere else to go.

The contrast between Minyan and Wu Tong shoves itself in your face as you watch, primarily through their respective relationships with Linglong (well, one of them has a relationship. The other is a creep. Can you guess who’s who?). Without family backing, the two men both struggle to find their place in the world, but they’re complete opposites purely because of their upbringing. Thankfully for Minyan, he found a family amongst people who don’t treat him as “another,” even if he may think of himself as such.

Wu Tong isn’t so fortunate. You can say it’s his own doing, a result of his terrible personality, but he certainly wasn’t born like that. And now someone will pay for it.

---

Part II: All of Them Are Sexist

As a caveat, I’ll mention that the main cast really could have used a woman who isn’t some combination of foolish, lovestruck, and/or loud. But I’m willing to overlook it just this once because the writers excel in highlighting both the ladies' flaws and how we as an audience exaggerate those flaws through our own preconceptions. 

Working backwards in terms of plot importance, we can start with Xiao Yinhua. Sifeng’s snake familiar in a human form, Xiao Yinhua is like most female leads from the turn of the millennium in that her only real strength is throwing temper tantrums. She’s also like most second female leads from the turn of the millennium in that she constantly prefers using underhanded tactics and harming others to achieve her goals—in other words, a snake. Oh. I guess that makes sense.

Her affections toward Sifeng cloud her already nonexistent judgment and prompt her to make some of the worst decisions made by anyone, ever. At first, I thought I was being unfair toward her because of my own internalized misogyny. But no. I can say with absolute confidence that I would abhor this character no matter what gender or creature or object she may be. She has no redeeming qualities aside from teaching us that someone foolish, lovestruck, and loud is doomed to self-sabotage. From that perspective, she’s still a valuable character to have because now we know that before we act, we should think: would Xiao Yinhua do that thing? If she would, do not do that thing. 

If Xiao Yinhua were willing to grow up, she could become more similar to Zi Hu. Zi Hu almost acts as a parallel to Sifeng—hopelessly in love with someone who doesn’t return the affection for a literal thousand years. Also, both are very pretty. Ahem.

Zi Hu’s thousand years’ worth of experience gives her the skills to back up her unrelenting feelings for Wu Zhiqi. She’s a rarity in that her driving force is a man—a motivation that's typically a reputation ruiner for female characters—but you find her lovable instead of thinking that she lacks self-respect. The key is that her love isn’t blind and rash like Xiao Yinhua’s. Zi Hu has a plan to save Wu Zhiqi from his prison and she carries it out with intention. In other words, it’s okay to focus on love, but only if you can take responsibility for your feelings. 

Ting Nu: Why go so far? When did Wu Zhiqi ever tell you that he loved you? Your affections are merely one-sided. Zi Hu: When did he tell me he didn’t love me? Look, once I rescue him, he’ll have to be with me to thank me. 

Because Zi Hu is a literal fox, people suspect her both for being a demon and for being the demon notorious for seducing men to consume their souls. The latter is quickly debunked and becomes less of an issue than her just being a plain demon. I nonetheless find it hilarious how everyone balks when she shows them her harem of men gleefully living in her backyard. Yep, she’s a cunning vixen. You can just keep wishing you could join that harem.

Zi Hu: You're trying to shoo me away. You think I’ll storm out because of your petty tricks? You’re underestimating me. I’ve already decided, starting today, I’m going to follow you everywhere. Even if you don’t want me to, I’m going to cling to you. This old spirit isn’t going to let those thousand years of waiting be in vain. Wherever you go, I’m going with. If you dare sneak peeks at other pretty women, I’ll dig out your monkey eyes. All in all, if I’m around, no pretty woman can enter your vision. As if you could bear to leave me behind if I hang around for another thousand years!

Xiao Yinhua and Zi Hu aren’t overly victimized based on their gender within the show itself. For the better too, because whoever dares to do so would probably end up dead by a fox's claws and a snake's teeth. These two characters' existences test your innate view of female characters instead. What is it that matters to you in a female character? What standards do you hold against them?

(**Content warning for the below segment until the next purple break: brief mentions of sexual assault and suicide.)

And that's where we come to Linglong. Linglong is a loudmouthed spoiled brat. She's overbearing, and while she wants to protect Xuanji, her method of doing it is by crying crocodile tears and throwing temper tantrums in front of their father. No wonder she and Xiao Yinhua clash—two childish people who both have a compulsion to win arguments? Forget it.

A bulk of the drama sees Linglong’s primordial spirit being taken and held captive by Wu Tong. Wu Tong puts half of her primordial spirit into the body of a flower demon, whom he also forces to take on Linglong’s physical appearance. No other reason, he just wants to have his way with someone who looks and acts like Linglong, the person who jeered at him all those years ago. By the time the real Linglong recovers her primordial spirit, Wu Tong has done enough damage that she’s haunted by nightmares and memories of someone who assaulted her when she couldn't even fight back.

The lead-up to this arc is incredibly disturbing and takes root in the very first episode. On my first watch-through, I thought their relationship would take a classic enemies-to-lovers path. The directors and writers pull you in this direction with no subtlety, showing a smitten Wu Tong when he first lays eyes on Linglong. They then keep the scam going by having him act out in awful ways as he attempts to gain her attention. That’s right, it’s the brainwashing girls receive when they’re on the playground: “he pulls your hair because he likes you."

During their first meeting, Linglong is surrounded by a halo filter from Wu Tong’s perspective. Knowing what he’ll later do to her makes the seeming innocuousness of this scene revolting, but it's necessary. It's the first of many steps to prove that someone’s “affections” can’t be used as an excuse for harming whomever’s on the receiving end of them. 

Linglong can be an extremely annoying person. Her outspokenness and difficult temper shape her into an unlikable character, which then ensures that by the time Wu Tong captures her, the audience almost instinctively wants to say that it’s her fault. We all know the talk track: “he liked her, so why couldn’t she just have been nicer to him? She asked for it by being mean to him.”

When Linglong first offends Wu Tong, it isn’t for no reason: she’s angry because he endangers her sister’s life over and over again. Admittedly, she goes overboard in her retaliation against him. So what? Linglong being mean to Wu Tong and Wu Tong later targeting her are indeed connected events, but the former doesn't justify the latter. If we say that the five sects hunting Wu Tong down isn’t a fair punishment, then isn’t it also unfair for him to turn the tables on her in such a way? 

Essentially, Linglong isn’t the “ideal” victim. That’s what makes her arc all the more heartbreaking. To this day, society wants to find any excuses for the assailant. Any mistake, any flaw of the victim's will be used against her. As humans, maybe it’s instinct for us to hope that bad things only happen to bad people, and victim-blaming is our twisted way of making that an impossible reality. 

Overcome with depression and trauma, Linglong is unable to come to terms with what Wu Tong did to her. Men gossip about her and her “relationship” with the enemy, sometimes harassing her straight to her face. Wu Tong himself finds great delight in taunting her about her “sharing his bed,” not only relishing the memories but also enjoying how much it torments her.

Linglong: It was my fault that I was captured by Wu Tong, wasn’t it? [...] Everyone thinks so. I didn’t want to be captured by Wu Tong. But after Wu Tong said all those things, everyone thinks so. Minyan: Linglong, why care about what everyone else thinks? Just pretend that you didn’t hear any of it. Linglong: But I did hear them. Why do I need to pretend I didn’t? It’s something that actually happened, so why do I need to play dumb and trick myself into thinking it didn’t? Are you going to be like them too, and mock me?

All the accusations brainwash her into thinking everything is her fault. To Wu Tong and all the people judging her, she’s nothing but a pawn to be used for their own entertainment. And once she and Minyan leave the protection of the sect, everyone finds her an easy target to push around. Hoping that her death will mean freedom for both herself and her loved ones, she attempts to drown herself before being yanked back to life and reality by Minyan.

Linglong’s struggle is many women’s worst nightmare. It’s also a diligent representation of PTSD, something that I normally wouldn’t expect from a xianxia drama. Even after she's rescued and everyone tells her that her suffering is over, it never feels over for her. At night, Lingling is awoken by harrowing dreams of Wu Tong returning to kidnap her once again:

Nightmare!Wu Tong: You’ll always belong to me. You can’t escape.

The conclusion to her arc being Wu Tong’s death and his literal letting go of her may be quite idealistic. But I prefer to think that giving Linglong her happy ending is the writers’ way of trying to assuage our fears, of showing us that there will always be another sunrise regardless of what happens.

(**Content warning end.)

Linglong becomes the drama’s strongest woman-centric plot, and I really love that the writers did it with a character whose personality isn't the most appealing. She's the imperfect woman we can find in every corner of the world, a representation of women overall instead of the minority who are considered "deserving" of justice.

Next to her, Xuanji also gets a short end of the stick. She's constantly being pushed to marry Hao Chen. Every excuse in the book is used against her: they're a fated couple, he's the only one that can take care of her, doesn't she agree that this is a part of her duty? No matter how logically she objects to it, no one really cares what she thinks. If she objects, she’s being headstrong, and that’s the end of it. (More on Xuanji to come in Part IV of this essay.)

And aside from Bai Lin’s more obvious transgressions (we're getting to those), what really irked me is just how twisted he makes the God of War’s rebellion appear in others’ eyes. The logic turns quickly from “Bai Lin must have done something wrong” into “the God of War must have been in love with Bai Lin and grew resentful that he rejected her.” I guess it’s very believable that the God of War would want to destroy the entire universe because some guy wouldn’t date her? That’s right, you can be the most accomplished woman in your field and someone will still want to attribute everything you do to being motivated by romance.

Naturally, the next question is—why is Bai Lin such a weirdo? Why does he insist on turning his friend Luohou Jidu, a man, into a woman when creating the God of War? Hmm. I smell a waft of homophobia...

---

Part III: All of Them Are Racist

And except for a small minority, I really mean "all of them" this time. Humans and celestial beings are racist toward demons. Demons are racist back toward humans and celestial beings. If you asked both sides who started it, they'd point at the other without hesitation. "They started it. By existing."

I don’t even know where to start with this topic. Part of me believes this entire section of analysis could be extraneous—do I really need to do a deep dive when you could just click a random timestamp of a random episode and have a 50% chance of finding a character saying something incredibly racist? No case studies necessary. The drama is the case study.

Obviously, while I may say that all the different races are racist toward one another, some are notably more egregious in their discrimination than others. The five sects, being in power, are the worst offenders. Every other second, someone is reminding another that they need to wipe out demons. Just the utterance of the word “demon” makes them froth at the mouth. In their possession, they have treasure troves of weapons and magical devices whose collective main purpose is to identify and kill demons. Perhaps you know someone in real life who thinks that hating something is a personality trait—that’s the five sects in a nutshell.

Zi Hu and Ting Nu are continuously snubbed for not being human even after they’ve long proven that they’re more help than harm. Ting Nu is a doctor, but even saving Hao Chen doesn’t make them think of him as anything but a demon who is evil in his very bones. Demons can do everything right, but the high and mighty humans are too pure and innocent to associate with them…aside from killing and torturing them, of course.

Highlighted Exhibit A: Sifeng almost being tortured and whipped to death based on the mere suspicion that he’s a demon. The fact that he is one doesn’t matter. His assailants operate on the doctrine that they’d rather kill an innocent person than let a demon roam free. Every action to rid the world of a demon is a virtuous one. It's a reenactment of the Monty Python witch trial but they're being completely serious. 

Highlighted Exhibit B: the other sects band together to wipe out Lize Palace without solid confirmation as to whether they’re all demons. They’re operating on the same principle as in Exhibit A, so at least you can praise them for being consistent.

Highlighted Exhibit C: before Sifeng is revealed to be a pretty bird, Xuanji’s repeated defense of him consists of "Sifeng isn’t a demon." The main purpose of these lines is to instill further fear into Sifeng and give him more reason to keep lying to her, all while Xuanji's trust in him deepens. But is it also some of her lingering innate judgment seeping through? A subconscious understanding that her family and sect will never accept a demon as her boyfriend? Well, joke’s on them because he’s one hot bird.

So how are you supposed to survive as a demon? Lize Palace results from the humans’ desire to eradicate an entire race of demons. Just as Wu Tong is driven only by revenge, the demons of Lize Palace just need to survive for long enough to one day remove their masks and live as themselves. Humans’ endless thirst for blood does nothing but fuel demons’ fire of rebellion and keep the wheel of tragedy turning.

As for the “bad guys” of Tianxu Hall? At least when they commit the same acts of evil as the other five sects, they’re willing to admit that being evil isn’t beyond them.

Yuan Lang is an extremely successful villain for this very reason. All of us love Yuan Lang, so much that we start grinning whenever he comes on-screen with his fan and sarcastic mouth. So much that when it's revealed he's been consuming people's souls, all my mom had to say about it was: “Oh. That's mean of him.”

He plots and he lies and he murders, but he doesn’t put up a facade of holding himself to a lofty moral standard. It’s also quite telling that while Yuan Lang machinates behind the scenes, 90% of his time is spent standing by and calling others out on their bullshit. Everyone around him creates their own downfall. He just happens to benefit from their stupidity.

Man with a fan and a plan. I like. 

Even so, Yuan Lang isn’t invulnerable to emotion. One of my absolute favorite scenes is where Di Lang sacrifices himself so Yuan Lang can make a getaway. It’s the only instance of Yuan Lang being subject to the pain of caring about someone else. Those short moments contrast so starkly against the sects’ inhumanity that suddenly, a revolution doesn’t seem all that bad.

Behind the bulky mask, his despair is apparent. Man. This actor’s come a long way since his F4—I mean, H4 days. If you've never watched Let's Go Watch Meteor Shower Together, don't.

Finally, we arrive on the topic of Bai Lin. Oh, boy. I still haven’t watched Blood of Youth because seeing the actor’s face triggers my fight-or-flight response. And it’s been years.

Bai Lin, the one racist to rule them all. The guy must have a handbook on “How to Be Racist” or something—how else could the contempt that spews from his mouth, the spark of repugnance in his eyes, and the brazen obstinacy in his opinions be so immaculate?

The entire drama consists of setting the stage for the full reveal of Bai Lin turning Luohou Jidu into a weapon of war to be used against his own people. By the time all the pieces fall into place, you’ve already witnessed the tragedy created by discriminatory practices between mortals. You've seen how Sifeng is targeted and Xuanji forced to move her hand against him. You've seen how the sects use their power to harm instead of help. You've seen how demons plot their revenge for centuries. Once Bai Lin is confirmed to be the genesis of all that, there’s nothing left for you to feel but utter revulsion.

Bai Lin: Celestial beings and demons cannot coexist. How could my Heavenly Realm possibly hold a marriage with the Devil Tribe? Luohou Jidu: Celestial beings and demons cannot coexist...Then why do you drink with me today? Why are you friends with me? Bai Lin: Naturally, Brother Jidu, you’re different from other demons and devils. Out of all the demons and devils in this world, Brother Jidu is my only friend.

Can’t believe he even pulls the "you’re one of the good ones" card.

Bai Lin, practitioner of unethical tactics: his ultimate decision to trick and use Luohou Jidu results from racism-induced paranoia. He simply can’t believe that his friend will remain his friend, not unless he becomes "one of us." He thinks the God of War should appreciate that he's given her power and invested his time and energy in her tenth reincarnation, going so far as fool her into thinking that they loved each other once upon a time. Once Xuanji shows herself capable of independent thought, he doesn’t hesitate in turning against her and manipulating her to destroy her own self. He eventually sacrifices the entire world for the Heavenly Realm's survival. After all, what's the value of an entire planet's human and demon population in the face of his power?

He's the representation of what happens when those in power, those who have the best chance of righting wrongs and preventing more from happening, decide to perpetuate the problem. At the same time, he presents the predicament that those we rely on to give us justice are also victims of their own emotions and fears.

I venture to say that Bai Lin is the best-written antagonist in modern xianxia. He’s ruthless but has a moral compass, albeit one that only points in one direction—toward himself. His hubris aside, you have to admit that he genuinely believes he's acting for the greater good. The ends justify the means because he thinks he’s bettering the world.

Bai Lin makes awful decisions that involve genocide and cruelty because he operates on a strict utilitarian philosophy. "I do what I think will bring the best results, even if it means sacrificing something huge in the process." He’s the most dangerous character and the person we should also fear in real life because he’ll stop at nothing to create his definition of a paradise.

It would be easy to dismiss him as simply being a bad person. However, this show draws from reality in that every person exists in a gray area between good and bad. You can lean one way or the other, but you don’t fall completely into either. And that’s the foundation of the show's conflicts. Everyone's so busy trying to define what’s right and wrong that they’ve lost sight of basic compassion.

When he’s finally faced with the consequences of his actions, Bai Lin is driven to despair. He feels true remorse over what he’s done, but only because he’s fortunate enough to actually witness how the thousand-year conflict wouldn't have existed without him. We as people aren’t so lucky—those “what if”s will forever remain in the shrouded realm of impossibility.

Heavenly Emperor: You always thought that evil had sparked in the hearts of the God of War and Luohou Jidu. But the one in whom evil truly sparked was you. All things and happenings in this world are originally empty. From emptiness comes meaning. Yin and yang reverse; they support and restrain one another. The Heavenly Realm was originally empty. The Asura, too, was empty. If all is empty, then how could the Heavenly Realm be superior; and the Mortal Realm, Demon Realm, and Devil Realm be inferior? Your excessive concern for the safety of the Heavenly Realm prompted evil to take root in your heart, unable to be undone.

Seeing him in such despair almost makes me feel bad for him. Maybe I do have too much sympathy.

At this point, it's already too late to repair the damage he's caused, a realization that causes him further anguish. He rids himself of his divinity to show his remorse and accepts death. But he's already caused so much pain to everyone else. Who can put back together the world that he's destroyed?

---

Part IV: Love Wins All

(We love IU for her perfect song that also gave me the best possible final section title.)

As I seek to be conscious of my own biases, I once wondered: why is it that shaking my head at a female character for being dedicated to a man comes so naturally to me, but I can’t be more gleeful to see Sifeng put his heart out on a platter for Xuanji? Perhaps I’m also sexist. Perhaps I have double standards.

Then I thought about it some more and realized everyone loves Sifeng because he’s so blatantly unrealistic that you’re immediately able to sink yourself into his fictional beauty. He transcends gender norms because there is no person of any gender who would go to the extent that he does for Xuanji, nor is there anyone who could remain as levelheaded when faced with some of the most shameless people known to mankind. Forget all the people flying on swords and uttering magic spells. The biggest absurdity in Love and Redemption is its male lead. Yes, I'm a skeptic. But we're so lucky to have him.

Sifeng grew up in a bizarrely backwards environment where—instead of girls needing to cover up to not attract men’s attention—all men need to protect themselves by wearing masks and not associating with the opposite sex. Brainwashed for years to believe that Lize Palace is the only safe space for golden fire birds like himself, he keeps cautious around people while still harboring a subconscious longing for their warmth.

In my entire life, I never knew what a "friend" is. I finally understand now, the meaning of "fervent friendship."

Sifeng is established as the loyal lover extremely quickly. He's whipped—figuratively and literally—for Xuanji, his sheltered childhood leaving him defenseless against her unintentionally flirtatious mannerisms. He teaches her about her lost senses without judgment, nurtures limitless patience with her and others by proxy, and isn't afraid to question the status quo.

We love Sifeng for his wisdom and levelheadedness. He sees things for what they are and is commonly the voice of empathy and reason within a world of selfishness. The entire show is Sifeng going, "I might as well do it myself" in every situation because no one else cares, is capable enough, or both. He's the guy in group projects who quietly does everything and doesn't even get mad that you're the most useless team member ever. What a saint.

In the xianxia universe, he's distinct husband material (which isn’t saying much since the bar there is so low that you'd need to dig yourself a grave to reach it—which is also great because then you already have a place to go once your xianxia spouse gets you killed. I digress). His loyalty to not only others, but also who he is and what he wants, leaves him able to counter the complacency with hatred and evil permeating the world around him.

With his endless empathy, he's able to understand Luohou Jidu. While Sifeng's earliest motivation in facing the greatest devil is only to save Xuanji, he later views Luohou Jidu as an individual with his own sufferings. He's the only one to truly view Luohou Jidu as himself, not someone to eliminate, not just an extension of Xuanji. To Sifeng, everyone deserves a chance to be heard before a verdict is passed over them.

Not to mention, these two’s interactions are absolutely hilarious. I wish I could've seen the extensive conversations that must’ve went on in the censorship agency over them. 

Fellas, is it gay to clasp a guy’s hands within your own and stare deeply into his eyes while reminiscing about your loving relationship if he’s technically got a woman captive in his brain? 

But perhaps what shines the brightest about Sifeng is how he suffers. He's so pretty when he suffers. Wait. That's not my point.

When his Lovers’ Curse triggers for the first time, Xiao Yinhua speaks the gospel that a lot of the audience probably has in mind: "you did so much for her, you were so good to her, but she doesn’t love you back." And it sounds kind of right? But also kind of not? Then Sifeng opens his mouth and you think, "oh, crap, I've been brainwashed by misogyny yet again."

She never asked me to like her. If someone wants to kill another just because she doesn’t reciprocate their feelings, then that person will never be loved. They also don’t deserve to love another.

Again and again, Sifeng puts himself in harm's way to keep loving Xuanji. Sure, he wants her to love him back, but that's secondary to his desire to be honest with his own feelings.

With the bright beacon of light that is Sifeng’s blinding love, I feel most viewers overlook Xuanji’s capabilities as a female lead. Her comparative passiveness in the relationship makes it seem as if she doesn’t love him enough. I attribute this to the same reason as our previous conclusions, that female characters in romance dramas have a harder time garnering the audience’s approval than their male counterparts. Are we innately more judgmental toward women, or is the standard for men still so low that we’re already impressed when a guy surpasses the bare minimum? Probably both.

It's easy to forget that Xuanji is the one who's nice to Sifeng first. When they first meet, Xuanji literally falls into his arms. Then he just…drops her. (And they say chivalry is dead.) But Xuanji doesn’t care.

The rules of his sect push Sifeng into being a bit of a porcupine in his demeanor. He puts up a wall against everyone, but especially Xuanji. After all, as an innocent boy, Sifeng needs to protect himself from evil women. Or something.

Xuanji is the one who can't take the hint tries to befriend him and tears down his wall with the gentle, graceful nature of a sledgehammer. She insists that she'll retrieve his lost mask because she knows it's important to him. When she discovers that Sifeng is punished over it, Xuanji is the one to point out how unfair it is. Her straightforwardness and sense of principle are the reason Sifeng begins to open up at all.

Xuanji: I’m the one who took off his mask. If you want to hit someone, hit me. [...] Not to mention, he almost died trying to get his mask back. So I'd like to ask you, Palace Leader, is Sifeng's life more important, or is that mask more important?

She knows no fear, so she doesn't consider emotionless rules to be worth anything if they cause pain for the people she cares about. In many ways, Xuanji is the one who teaches Sifeng to stand up for what he believes in.

That Xuanji lacks her six senses makes her the least susceptible to the prejudicial habits of her surroundings. She accepts what they believe, that demons are bad, but only because that's all she knows. Whereas most of her peers are content remaining in their ignorance, this supposedly heartless gal is curious about the world. She can easily abandon her preconceptions in favor of what she witnesses the world to be.

It takes constant practice and tests for Xuanji to completely shed her old beliefs. The introduction of Zi Hu marks the beginning of her growth. Xuanji, concerned and angry that Zi Hu is holding her friends captive, fully intends on killing the fox until Ting Nu reasons with her:

Ting Nu: Zi Hu isn’t a malicious demon. You shouldn’t threaten her life. Xuanji: But she kidnapped my friends. How can I spare her? [...] No. She did bad things, so I have to kill her. Ting Nu: [...] Zi Hu has never actually harmed anybody. She’s simply misguided by her anxieties. You should spare her life. […] If you discover that she’s actually committing malicious acts, you could kill her then, no?

If it were Minyan or Linglong in her position, you could bet that they'd ignore Ting Nu. For one, he's a merman, so of course he'd protect another demon. To Xuanji's credit, she really does give Zi Hu—and Ting Nu—the benefit of the doubt. Does she have to? No. But she does anyway.

If Sifeng’s love comes naturally, then Xuanji’s comes through determination. Who's to say that one is inherently better than the other? It takes ten lifetimes for her to understand a semblance of love. She wants dearly to understand what it means to "like" someone, even though she's already the least unafraid to show how much she cares about others.

After she successfully grows the heart light for Sifeng, I don't think anyone is more excited than Xuanji herself. Look how proud she is. Obviously, she's happy she can use it to protect him, but I imagine that she also views it as the clearest proof that she’s as human as anybody else and as capable of loving as anyone else. Sifeng may be stunned when the heart light disappears, but Xuanji falls despondent—she really wants Sifeng to be someone important to her.

People sometimes struggle to see past Xuanji’s initial naivety. They're especially harsh toward her for not seeing what Sifeng has sacrificed for her until it’s almost too late. It's true, the drama primarily favors Sifeng's perspective, so it's easy to only see what he’s done and ignore Xuanji’s efforts.

In spite of warnings from Sifeng himself to not do so, Xuanji emerges to save him from the third lash of the demon whip. You go, girl.

Love isn’t a competition. But for the sake of the discussion, let's say proof is needed that Xuanji’s effort in the relationship matches Sifeng’s. In that case, the important part is looking at what they sacrifice in a relative scope instead of an absolute one.

The things that Sifeng sacrifices are astronomical. He climbs a tower blustering with an eternal blizzard and puts on the Lovers' Curse mask. He stands right in the middle of the conflict between humans and demons even though there’s no way humans will spare him. He gets stabbed…a lot. But everything he does is a result of his own will and careful calculations—they’re all things he knows he can take responsibility for.

Sifeng's major flaw is that he's a massive liar. He's not right to lie, but he's also right to be scared about what would happen if he doesn't. As a demon, he knows what happens to anyone who isn't distinctly human. That's why he conceals his identity from Xuanji.

Then, once he discovers that Xuanji is also the reincarnation of the Star of Mosha, his fear is ignited again for her sake. Xuanji has almost always been defined by what she is, not who. She's berated for being useless when she doesn’t have her six senses. The moment she’s revealed to have the God of War's power, suddenly everyone finds her more than useful. If she's publicly revealed to be the Star of Mosha, then she'd be killed without question, and the person that is “Xuanji” will also cease to exist. Just as he doesn’t want Xuanji to view him and as anything other than himself, Sifeng doesn't want anyone else to view Xuanji as anyone other than herself. That's also why out of everyone, the one person he must keep the Star of Mosha secret from is Xuanji herself.

When Sifeng's lies begin to unfold, Xuanji is left to handle the mess he's inadvertently created. Suddenly discovering that he's a demon and also protective of the demon that possibly murdered her mother, Xuanji is torn. Her wavering faith in him isn't because of his identity, but because he lied to her.

Zi Hu: Do you dislike it that much, that [Sifeng] is a demon? Xuanji: Should I not? Zi Hu: Well, you healed my wounds. And you’re friends with me and Ting Nu, a merman. As for little Sifeng, he’s not a malicious demon who harms people. I don’t think he was aware of what went on with Tianxu Hall and Lize Palace. Xuanji: That’s different! He shouldn’t have lied to me. He’s the person I trust the most. But he even kept from me who he is. Then, all the things he told me and did with me in the past…what part of it all was real and what was fake? Zi Hu: What’s real and what’s fake? Can’t you just drag him over here and ask him? If he’s a scumbag, just kill him. But if there’s any misunderstandings, the two of you should clear them up. Resolve them and see what solutions there are. When two people are together, the scariest thing is misunderstanding one another for no reason. If you lose each other, that might be the end, forever. You’d regret that. 

And then she eventually does try to kill him. Good going, Zi Hu.

Xuanji's main conflict in the latter half of the drama is that she wants to find a solution that satisfies everyone, an impossible dilemma. Everyone starts pressuring her to lead the charge against the demons. It's her duty as the God of War, isn't it? Oh, but if she doesn't want to, it's because she's in love with the enemy. But she can't be in love with the enemy. She's the God of War, after all.

That’s the duplicitous world that Xuanji lives in. Yet, without knowing why he's been dishonest or what else he could be lying about, she still chooses to believe in Sifeng—even if it means being treated as a traitor herself and being further guilt-tripped. She's bound to her duty, family, and the expectations that come along with that. Going against them in any capacity is a challenge to her entire livelihood and the moral standards imposed on her. If you take that into account, suddenly the things that she risks don’t pale in comparison what Sifeng does for her.

As an omniscient audience, it's easy for us to say that she doesn't do enough, that she should know better. It's an interesting thought experiment to wonder what else she could do in such a situation. Her boyfriend lies to her. She believes he has a reason, believes in him when he tells her to trust him. She defends him repeatedly to people who don't even care to listen unless it's to interrupt and call her crazy. She lies to her father that she'll devote herself to killing demons like Sifeng so they'll stop calling her crazy and threatening her. Then, when she goes to rescue Sifeng from Mingxia Cave, he's suddenly getting passive-aggressive with her: “oh, what does the mighty God of War need from a lowly demon like me that she deigns to talk to me?” Bro…if I were her, I might just ditch him in a fit of rage. That's how you want to play? Have fun turning into frozen poultry in this cave, then.

Obviously, more is going on behind the scenes that Xuanji is completely unaware of. Sifeng almost dies from her fire magic that Hao Chen stole. The broken hairpin. And okay, I'll admit that her saying that she'll kill him while he's eavesdropping outside is not a great look. But come on, Sifeng. Where have your critical thinking skills gone? If you can lie, don’t you think Xuanji can too? And after all that, she still instinctively shields him from her father’s sword.

Sifeng. In this case, I do have to criticize you in a serious manner. Do you have any idea how hard it was for Xuanji to finally try to get herself stabbed for you, only for you to go “no, me” and get stabbed again? Do you have a sword-magnet in your chest?

Then Sifeng tells her that he’s never loved her and was only using her because he’s Luohou Jidu, the world's biggest villain. And she still can't bear to hurt him. When Xuanji discovers that Hao Chen has tricked her into using a so-called “Purifying Vase” to doom Sifeng to a painful death, she's furious:

Xuanji: For my own good? You want me to practice the Method of Love, but you also want me to be heartless. I can’t be so contradictory. Hao Chen: I told you to practice the Method of Love through feelings between you and me, not for you to continuously absorb yourself in your fixation on Sifeng! Xuanji, don’t forget. Our marriage is one determined by the heavens. It’s destiny. Xuanji: The heavens determine nothing. If they do, then why did they make Sifeng and I meet in our past nine lives? What a joke of the heavens. Hao Chen: So, you’d rather resign yourself to your doomed fate with that demon than stay properly by my side? Xuanji: Fate isn’t split into a virtuous or doomed one. I hate myself for loving Sifeng before, and we won’t ever be together again. But since I already gave him my love, I won’t take it back.

But of course, Hao Chen has more tricks up his Mary Poppins sleeves. He pulls out all the stops and uses his last breath to manipulate her into stabbing Sifeng. Oh my god. Look at all these trust issues, just making themselves readily available.

Her stabbing him is, how do you say, very bad. But let’s be honest, she’s seen him survive worse. I don't have a nifty conclusion is here, but basically, she subconsciously knows he'll get over it (physically, at least).

Of course, Sifeng is heartbroken. It's intensified by the tragic fate of his father. His father’s goal was always to protect Sifeng from the dangers posed by the racist five sects, led primarily by fabricated memories that his lover Hao Feng was driven to suicide by her own family. When Yuan Lang reveals the truth, that Hao Feng's fear of demons trumped her love for her husband, it’s intense foreshadowing of Sifeng and Xuanji’s relationship. Maybe Xuanji isn't like Hao Feng and she can cross the rift between humans and demons, meeting Sifeng in the middle. But finally, she still retreats, away from him. Her betrayal, now the tenth in all their lifetimes, leads Sifeng to leave behind some of the most truthful but hurtful words for Xuanji to deal with:

I finally understand why my fate turned out as it did in all my past nine lives. From beginning to end, you have always been a heartless person.

It’s not fair to ask Sifeng to keep considering Xuanji’s feelings under the brunt of her violent wrath. But just as she has no idea what he’s been doing to protect her, he has no idea what she’s been doing to protect him. Zi Hu is right again: nothing poses a greater danger to a couple than misunderstandings. And racism.

The ultimate resolution only occurs once Xuanji recovers the memories of their past lives. Congratulations, Sifeng. After a millennium of pining, your love has finally touched the heart of your beloved. Indeed, it might take a long time getting there, but love will find a way.

I love the short scenes that show the God of War and Xi Xuan's quiet but gentle relationship. Xi Xuan is the only one who cares that the God of War wants her own identity, then gives her a moment in which she doesn't have to wear her armor, just as Sifeng does everything in his power to let Xuanji be "Xuanji." Through all their lives, Sifeng is the one who recognizes her for who she is and wants to make her happy, even if she doesn't have a heart.

Activate: Xuanji, shameless mode. After Xuanji tracks down Sifeng in his solitude, they return to their days as teenagers. Xuanji acts like a fool in front of him, demanding his attention, and Sifeng only wants to get her the hell out of his house. It's not only a reminder of the times when things were a lot simpler, but also of how far they've come.

She intends on marrying Sifeng. Even if her father doesn't approve, she no longer cares. There's not enough time left in the world to hesitate about the people you love to satiate someone who can't be satisfied. Just as Sifeng upends his whole life for her, she's willing to do the same.

And as Sifeng is dying, Xuanji makes the ultimate decision to become the Star of Mosha. This isn't a reckless move done just to save him. Rather, her faith in Sifeng has strengthened into steel after all they've been through. Even if the world ends, she knows that a little bird with unshakable resolve will come get her. For two people who have spent most of their time as a pair of parallel lines, never to coincide, this is their point of intersection—a challenge that they'll face together, even if they're apart.

Sifeng: Xuanji, stop! I'd rather die than watch you become a devil for me! Xuanji: Sifeng, I can't consider all that now. I have to save you! Whether I be the Star of Mosha or the God of War, I don't care. I just need you to be okay. Sifeng. If I become Luohou Jidu, you absolutely can't forget me. Remember to bring me back! I cry during this scene. Then I immediately start laughing at Sifeng's gobsmacked expression once Luohou Jidu shows up. It just reads "but...my girlfriend..."

And Xuanji's right. Sifeng is the solution. No one else can save Luohou Jidu, the God of War, and the world by extension. Luohou Jidu's pain results from being betrayed purely because of his identity as a devil, but Sifeng becomes the confidante that Bai Lin pretended to be. The God of War's pain comes from having no self-identity, but Xi Xuan gives her the ability to seek one and accompanies her for a thousand years to help her find it. The suffering that Bai Lin set into motion would lead to a ceaseless cycle of revenge and a destruction of the world’s good due to its sins, but Sifeng alone convinces Luohou Jidu and the God of War that there's something in life worth keeping. But you have to fight for it, and persistently, because good things only come to those who are willing to chase after them.

Xuanji to Bai Lin: I won’t mess with someone else’s life so simply due to my own matters, even if that person is someone as despicable as you. Sifeng once said that using hate to obtain vengeance is an endless cycle. In this life, I already have something that matters more to me than that. I have no space to keep my hatred.

I know it can sound cheesy to say that the best revenge is living a happy life. But Love and Redemption can convert even the most insistent of cynics—me, for example. People will practice evil whether or not there’s a reason for it and whether or not those consequences will ripple out into a tsunami that will engulf the world. Only true, honest love can hope to settle the uneasy sea. It’s why Zi Hu gives Wu Zhiqi something to live for other than war. It’s why Linglong and Minyan have a reason to persist alongside one another. It's why Luohou Jidu gives his heart and life to Sifeng. It’s why Sifeng is able to save Xuanji. It's why the three realms are blessed with the chance to keep finding a reason to persist.

Sifeng and Xuanji’s story is a journey of overcoming all odds; of learning to love someone unconditionally not because it’s easy, but because you want to; of letting that love grow into a ray of hope in the world. Yes, if we let it, love wins all.

Sifeng: Your heart has become one of flesh and blood. It couldn’t bear to destroy the three realms. Because…it’s a heart that I held and warmed in my hands, bit by bit.

[whencyclopedia]

Treaty of Paris of 1783

The Treaty of Paris, signed on 3 September 1783 by representatives from Great Britain and the United States, was the peace agreement that formally ended the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783) and recognized the United States as an independent nation. The treaty was considered generous to the United States, fixing its border at the Mississippi River and thereby doubling its territory.

Background: The World Turned Upside Down

On 19 October 1781, the battered British army marched out of Yorktown, Virginia. Dressed in resplendent new uniforms freshly issued for the occasion, the British soldiers passed between the French and American armies to throw their muskets onto a steadily growing pile of surrendered arms. Emotions were running high; some British soldiers wept as they laid down their weapons, while others haphazardly threw their muskets onto the pile in the hopes that they would smash. Lord Charles Cornwallis, commander of the surrendering British army, was not present at the ceremony, having pled illness. It was left to his second-in-command, General Charles O'Hara, to offer his sword to American General George Washington, who refused, instead motioning for O'Hara to give the sword to his own second-in-command, General Benjamin Lincoln. According to legend, as the ceremony took place, the military bands played a tune aptly titled "The World Turned Upside Down".

As this dramatic scene suggests, it was immediately apparent that the Siege of Yorktown marked an important turning point in the war. But in the direct aftermath of the siege, few could have anticipated just how significant it had been. Despite Cornwallis' surrender, the British army certainly had the military capacity to continue fighting, as they still possessed sizable military presences in New York City, Charleston, Canada, and the West Indies. Indeed, King George III of Great Britain (r. 1760-1820) and Prime Minister Lord Frederick North, had every intention of planning a campaign for the upcoming 1782 season. The king and his ministers knew that the fledgling United States was on the verge of failing. The Continental currency issued by Congress was worthless, and many of the underpaid soldiers of the Continental Army were close to mutiny. To top it all off, the treasury of the Kingdom of France was running dangerously low, leading the French to hint that they would have to exit the war if peace was not soon concluded. All King George III and Lord North had to do was prolong the war for a year or two more, and the American rebellion would collapse in on itself.

But unfortunately for the king and his ministers, the British people had long been experiencing war fatigue, and the defeat at Yorktown was the final straw. This attitude was reflected in Parliament when it reconvened after its Christmas recess in January 1782. While many in Parliament did not necessarily approve of an independent United States, they were more concerned about the negative impact that the war was having on British resources and international prestige, particularly after the conflict had taken on a global scale with the entry of France and Spain in 1778-79. Year after year, members of Parliament had listened to Lord North give excuses as to why British arms had failed in North America during the previous campaign season, before promising that a British victory loomed just over the horizon. Now, when news of Cornwallis' surrender reached London, they had finally had enough. In February 1782, colonial secretary Lord George Germain was forced out of the cabinet, with Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, losing his position soon after. The house of cards finally collapsed on 20 March, when Lord North resigned rather than face the indignity of being removed from office by a vote of no confidence. George III himself even considered abdicating the throne but was persuaded against it.

Lord North

National Portrait Gallery, London (CC BY-NC-ND)

North was replaced as prime minister by Charles Watson-Wentworth, 2nd Marquess of Rockingham, whose political faction, known as the 'Rockingham Whigs', had opposed many of the policies of the North ministry including the war in North America. Supported by influential British politicians like Charles James Fox and Edmund Burke, Lord Rockingham immediately took steps to end the war upon coming to power; the king, who despised Rockingham – indeed, the two could not even be in the same room – could do nothing as the new ministry set about bringing seven years of war to an end. In April 1782, Rockingham sent a representative to Paris to begin informal peace talks. When Rockingham unexpectedly died the following July, the Earl of Shelburne became prime minister and took up the supervision of the negotiations.

Continue reading...

[haunthouse]

text from the lyric booklet of jenny from thebes:

JENNY USED TO LET ABSOLUTELY ANYBODY CRASH AT HER PLACE. IT WAS LIKE A YEAR-ROUND CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. IF YOU HAD ANY SECRETS, SHE DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW, AND THE ONES SHE HAD SHE KEPT TO HERSELF. THERE WAS A WALL HEATER DOWN AT ONE END OF THE HALLWAY AND A BIG, DARK LIVING ROOM AT THE OTHER. ONE ELECTRIC LAMP BY THE COUCH IF YOU NEEDED IT, ALL EXITS VISIBLE TO THE EYE FROM THERE. SOME OF THE PEOPLE WHO HAD NEED OF JENNY'S PLACE WERE ALL RIGHT AND SOME WEREN'T EVER GOING TO GET RIGHT, AND SHE'D ALREADY GOTTEN SEVERAL LETTERS FROM THE CITY ADVISING HER TO KEEP A LOWER PROFILE UNLESS SHE WANTED TROUBLE BUT THEN I ENTERED THE PICTURE. BAD LUCK. LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE WHO CAME THROUGH I WAS TRYING TO FIND A BETTER DIRECTION BUT IT DIDN'T WORK OUT THAT WAY. PRYING EYES SHOULD HAVE TENDED TO THEIR OWN BUSINESS. PEOPLE DON'T THINK TOWNS LIKE OURS CAN TURN INTO BATTLEGROUNDS BUT WE HAD A WAR HERE. THERE. I DON'T LIVE THERE ANY MORE EITHER. I LEFT WHEN JENNY LEFT. IT'S JUST A SPOT ON THE MAP NOW. WE RODE TOGETHER FOR A WHILE BUT THEN WE LOST EACH OTHER. SOMETIMES I THINK I HEAR FROM HER BUT OTHER TIMES I THINK I'M JUST DREAMING. NOBODY KNOWS WHERE ANYBODY LANDED. YOU DON'T KEEP IN TOUCH WHEN THE WAR DOESN'T GO YOUR WAY.

transcribed above in the original all-caps, but here's a regular text version for easier reading:

Jenny used to let absolutely anybody crash at her place. It was like a year-round Christmas miracle. If you had any secrets, she didn't want to know, and the ones she had she kept to herself. There was a wall heater down at one end of the hallway and a big, dark living room at the other. One electric lamp by the couch if you needed it, all exits visible to the eye from there. Some of the people who had need of Jenny's place were all right and some weren't ever going to get right, and she'd already gotten several letters from the city advising her to keep a lower profile unless she wanted trouble but then I entered the picture. Bad luck. Like everybody else who came through I was trying to find a better direction but it didn't work out that way. Prying eyes should have tended to their own business. People don't think towns like ours can turn into battlegrounds but we had a war here. There. I don't live there any more either. I left when Jenny left. It's just a spot on the map now. We rode together for a while but then we lost each other. Sometimes I think I hear from her but other times I think I'm just dreaming. Nobody knows where anybody landed. You don't keep in touch when the war doesn't go your way.

text on tracklist:

CLEAN SLATE — New arrival at the safehouse GROUND LEVEL — There was, en route to greener pastures, a small house in the city ONLY ONE WAY — They consider one another in the often harsh light of how the world is FRESH TATTOO — She commemorates her present station on her forearm CLEANING CREW — The next best thing to an actual goodbye MURDER AT THE 18TH STREET GARAGE — Behold, you may not rezone my house --- FROM THE NEBRASKA PLANT — The future, seen from a hard place SAME AS CASH — she trades in her old car and buys a Kawasaki GPz 750 Turbo WATER TOWER — She disposes of the body JENNY III — The future, seen with great clarity GOING TO DALLAS — As far as anyone's concerned GREAT PIRATES — The future they both deserve

[cer-rata]

Fic WIP: "World War III"

Billy was halfway through taking his shirt off when his phone started ringing.

His work phone. Crap.

“Uh, Sorry, I need to take this real quick–”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be here.”

Billy offered a grateful smile before turning around and grabbing his phone. He squinted when he realized who was calling.

“Hey, Conrad, this is a really bad time–”

“Yeah, yeah it’s a really bad time actually, fucking catastrophic, that’s exactly why I’m calling you.” Billy opened his mouth to ask a number of questions, but Conrad started up again. “Hey, sorry, that sounded flippant, I am actually concerned about what you’re currently dealing with. What uh…what’re you dealing with?” There was a bit of an echo as he spoke.

“Um.” Billy sputtered. “N-nothing, just uh, just kind of occupied–”

“OH MY GOD ARE YOU GETTING LAID!?”

“Conrad!” Billy was sure his face was going to shoot off of his skull from the sudden blood pressure.

���Sorry, I’m just excited for you, I thought I was going to have to set you up or deal with it myself–”

“What!?”

“--so I’m glad you have some game. I am about to ruin it though. Sorry. I bet I can fix it, or again I can just–”

“Conrad, focus! What's going on? What’s so urgent, why's there an echo–”

“Oh that’s just the acoustics in Black Adam’s gulag.”

“WHAT?!” 

“Okay, please don’t be mad at me–”

“Conrad, why are you in Kahndaq?!”

“I was trying to do my job! I got an alert that a really powerful and important love was in danger of breaking, and I was like ‘yeah, send me there right now!" And then I was in their throne room.”

Billy resisted the urge to scream. “You blindly teleported into a dangerous situation without thinking? Again?”

Billy could hear the pout in his voice. “Duuuude, c’mon, don’t bully me, I’ll cu–”

“I’m going to let Teth execute you.”

“Oh, I’m not trapped. This is a regular jail. No, I'm more concerned about the fight Adam and Isis started having after he spiked me like a football. He did NOT like my relationship advice. Isis did. Anyway, It sounded like they were about to start World War III or something, and like…”

“...If they split up, who rules Kahndaq…”

“...And what happens when they’re not keeping each other tethered? Yeah Adam is kind of a–well he spiked me like a football cause I said he needed to listen more–but also I think Isis is stronger than him in some ways, and I mean…what WOULD she do if she wasn’t in Kahndaq? Plus Osiris would probably go with her too from what I gleaned about their connection–”

“Amon is there?”

“Yeah, I think he’s coming down to see me, that’s what the proximity scan says. Gosh, he seems dangerous. But he’s also sort of dreamy? Like he’s a real cutie and he’s got that haunted look that I apparently gravitate towards–”

Billy groaned and shook his head. “I’ll be right there, do not flirt with Amon–PLEASE do not flirt with–”

“Skkchchh–I can’t hear you, I think–schkkkksss–his scary magic lighting powers are interfering sksssshhhh. Well, see you when you get here!”

Billy sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, before turning back around and offering a sheepish smile.

“Um…sorry….can we…reschedule…?’‘

[mejcinta]

If you had the chance to change something about the dance of the dragons (TV show or book), what would it be? For example, how a character dies, which team a house is on,or an entire character personally. How would you change it to make the story better, in your opinion?♥️🖤💙💚

House Velaryon would be split 50/50, with Vaemond's family joining the Greens in hopes of restoring Driftmark to people with trueborn Velaryon heirs.

The Vale would be split as well, and Jeyne Arryn would have to bargain with the Royces of Runestone (Rhea's people) to support Rhaenyra. Actually I'd make it that clashes break out in the Vale. Despite of the arrival of Joffrey and little Aegon's dragons, Rhaena would try to quell the Royces doubts with diplomatic talks, giving her more to do, and introducing her to her first husband Corywn Corbray in the process.

Instead of having Garmund Hightower sent away to be squire I'd have him remain in Oldtown, participating in politics as the Dance takes a toll on his father Ormund and his brothers. I'd actually do an Oldtown subplot in the show showing us the politically adept man that Rhaena marries in the future, quelling tensions at a time of instability and House Targaryen's dwindling power.

Helaena would participate more in government just as she was hinted to do in the books. I'd show why she was Beloved of Smallfolk and have her fly Dreamfyre more often, as well as make her more active in her relationships with her family members. She and Aegon would have a marriage of constant trials, she would give advice to her brothers and be a companion to Alicent constantly, accompanying her in the halls and encouraging her often when she's down. I feel like her bond with Alicent was underrepresented in the show.

I would highlight Aegon's night life, show his understanding of the outside world from which his family is sheltered behind the walls of the Keep. This would be good build up for when his Dragonstone arc is portrayed. We need to understand how he easily seduced the population of Dragonstone into turning against Rhaenyra.

I'd expand Alys' arc by building a connection between her and Larys. This would make her relationship with Aemond complex and would get you questioning her motives and loyalty. In the end she chooses Aemond out of sincerity, while Larys focuses on Aegon as his more malleable chess piece.

Alicent and Criston would have a romantic entanglement, but only after Viserys' death and Helaena becomes the new queen. This would make his death on his way back to her more tragic and darken Alicent's heart towards Rhaenyra.

Daeron would be present for Jaehaerys' funeral. Aegon would summon him as King, despite of Alicent's concerns that he's better off protected in Oldtown. After Aemond becomes Regent he sends Daeron to tackle the rising rebellions in the Reach against Aegon.

Vaemond's family strike an uneasy alliance with Alyn and Corlys after the war. In return Vaemond's son demands his daughter Daenaera be given to Aegon iii as wife. Rhaena oversees this sensitive negotiations and manages to strike a deal in the end.

Aemond would refuse to leave Harrenhal when Criston asks him to, because Alys was pregnant (he doesn't tell Criston this) and he fears for her safety should his family learn of her. At this time, Borros could still be looking to betroth Aemond to his daughter Floris as a strict condition for him to add to the Greens army. Aemond perceives this, and declines to go immediately to retake King's Landing. He wants to plan first before making a jump (the Alys bewitching him to abandon his family thing is too juvenile for me).

[whiterosesforher]

dark moon pantheon series ; iii

warnings. implied nudity, mentions of war

genre. (dark) fantasy, au, romance, drama, action, fanfiction, historical, royalty

word count. 2,358 words

chapter synopsis. a war has finally been formally declared in the celestial realm, the sisters however are more calm than they should be given the fact that they already saw this coming because of the wrongdoings of their father. the eldest sister on the other hand, met a vampire during on one of her visits in earth.

a/n. this is an oc (named reader) x enhypen fanfiction based off of enhypen's current lore as vampires, there are some parts of the story where it's accurate to the greek mythology but there are also some that are just purely fiction. i apologize for updating only after a month. again, english is not my first language so bear with me.

this is only the backstory. the real start of the plot/story has not begun yet.

masterlist.

Zeus had his mind reeling non stop from the confrontation with his siblings, he walked into the dining room with a tense jaw and an angry heart.

Earlier today, his siblings, Poseidon, Hades, and Athena, marched to his throne to speak to him.

They're finally starting a war against him and the beings devoted to him.The war will start on the second full moon from now.

His eyes scanned the room, falling upon his wife, Hera, seated gracefully at the head of the other side of the table opposite to the chair reserved for him. Her gaze met his, a flicker of concern in her eyes, but she said nothing, allowing him to take his place opposite to her.

Arrayed along the table were their eight daughters, four on each side and each one of them has already been bestowed their titles and powers that comes with great responsibility. His eyes moved from one to the next, taking in their faces, this is actually the only time where he paid attention to his daughters.

Venus, the eldest, she is the god of beauty, conviviality, emotion, and love. Her presence alone can bring a sense of lovingness and emotional support and Zeus could see the natural leadership in her eyes, though he knows that she also has her own worries about the family since she's the oldest and most mature.

Next to her was Thana, the god of war, justice, balance, and death. Thana's eyes were sharp, her demeanor confident and strong. She has always exuded a strength and determination that spoke of her readiness to fight for what she believed in, a true warrior at heart. She kind of reminds Zeus of his sister, Athena.

Artaemia sat beside Thana, her bold aura a testament to her being the god of nature, wildlife, and disasters. She looks like nature itself and that is both awe-inspiring and intimidating.

Hali, the fourth in line, sat quietly, as the god of elements, knowledge, mind, and logic, Hali was often described as omnipotent, a title that made her both revered and envied by everyone in the Heaven. Her power, so unexpected in someone so far down the birth order, this posed a potential threat to Venus' position as the heir to the crown.

Harmonia, the god of harmony, peace, and comfort, sat all calm and composed. She held the bridges connecting all realms, a vital role that linked the earth, the heavens, the afterlife, and the abyss. Her presence was soothing as well as her personality.

Liwa, the god of sun, light, and healing, glowed with inner radiance. She is one with the sun, controlling it and bringing light and warmth to the world. Her power is life giving.

Lunar, the god of moon, hunting, and night sky, was a mysterious figure. Her physical appearance showcases her title as she is as beautiful as the night sky. Like her older sister, she owns the moon, her influence felt in the quiet, reflective hours of the night. Her power was subtle but profound, a counterbalance to Liwa's bright blinding energy.

Finally, there was Nikola, the youngest, the god of women, children, fertility, and life. Though her powers were considered less formidable than those of her older sisters as she's already so far down the birth rank, there was a gentle power in her, a nurturing spirit that was essential to the balance of their world.

As they began to eat, the clinking of silverware and the hum of quiet conversation filled the room. Zeus remained silent, his mind full of thoughts. He watched his daughters interact, their faint laughter the only thing filling the room.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "My daughters," he began, "I have come to dine with you tonight because there is something important I must discuss with all of you."

The room fell silent, all eyes on Zeus. Hera looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern, while the girls waited expectantly.

"The realm is in a state of unrest, as always." Zeus continued, choosing his words carefully. "There are those who believe that my rule has brought imbalance and suffering. They have tried to negotiate, but I will never let my pride down no matter what. Now, they invoked war."

A ripple of shock and unease passed through the daughters. Venus, always the voice, spoke first. "Father, what can we do to help? How can we prevent this war?"

Zeus sighed, the weight of his decisions heavy on his shoulders. He doesn't even know how all of this would end, if him and his family will survive. While true that gods and demigods are immortal, but they can certainly die if killed by another god.

"I do not know if it can be prevented. But I know I have always done what I believed was best."

Hera smiled at her husband, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "We will get through this." she said softly, assuring every single one of them.

The palace was quiet as the blue hour descended, the time when day melted into night. Venus sought some sort of peace after their early dinner with her family. She approached her sisters, hoping one of them would join her to come down the earth realm and relax at the sea.

"Will anyone come down with me to visit earth?" Venus asked, her voice hopeful.

Thana shook her head, her eyes tired. "I'm exhausted, Venus. Perhaps another time."

Artaemia, engrossed in her latest project involving the wild creatures of the forests, waved a distracted hand. "I'm busy, Venus. Next time, I promise."

Harmonia, Liwa, and Lunar were similarly occupied, and Nikola, the youngest, was already dozing off in her chair.

Finally, Halimede looked up from her books, her eyes warm with understanding. "I’m sorry, Venus. I'm swamped with studies and duties. But I promise, next time I’ll come with you. We'll visit the earth realm together, okay?"

Venus smiled at her sister, grateful for the reassurance. "Thank you, Hali."

With that, Venus slipped out of the palace. She navigated the familiar path to the earth realm, her steps light on the soft white sand as she approached the cave that housed the hidden blue lagoon. This place was a sanctuary for her and her sisters, a refuge from the celestial chaos above.

As she entered the cave, the air grew cooler, the sound of dripping water echoing softly around her. The deeper she ventured, the more she felt the cool air of the place envelop her. The lagoon lay ahead, its crystal-clear waters shimmering with a faint blue glow, surrounded by glittering crystals embedded in the cave walls.

But tonight, there was something different. A melodic, relaxing male voice reached her ears, his voice echoed in the cave, singing a tune that was both enchanting and unfamiliar. She followed the sound, her curiosity piqued, and soon found herself hiding behind a large stone, peering into the lagoon.

There, in the water, was a dark red-haired male, his back turned to her as he sang. His naked form completely submerged in the water with only his bare chest visible up the surface.

Venus observed him, trying to decipher his identity. He was not a siren, nor a mere mortal human; she could sense his immortality. As he sang, she noticed something peculiar about him. When he opened his mouth, she saw the gleam of sharp fangs.

A vampire, she realized, involuntarily gasping.

Her gasp did not go unnoticed, and the man snapped his head in her direction, their eyes locking. His eyes glowed, and she felt a force trying to invade her mind. But it met with resistance, unable to penetrate her divine barriers. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Venus finally stepped out from behind the rock, her voice calm and steady. "You cannot do that to me. I am not a human."

The vampire’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, the glow fading as he regarded her with curiosity and wariness. "My telepathic ability can also penetrate any another immortal's mind. So who and what are you?" he asked, his voice still carrying the melodic undertone that had drawn her in.

"That's because I'm not a simple immortal. I'm Venus, daughter of Zeus and Hera, god of beauty, conviviality, emotion, and love," she replied, standing tall and composed but also elegant and calm.

The vampire’s expression softened, his tension easing. "God of beauty and love huh, I did not expect to meet a god here in this hidden lagoon."

"And I did not expect to find a vampire," Venus countered, her eyes studying him. "What brings you here?"

He hesitated for a moment before responding. "I come here to find peace, away from the chaos of the mortal world. This place... it’s my peace of mind."

Venus nodded in understanding, her own reasons for being there mirroring his. "We share that sentiment. This lagoon has been a refuge for my sisters and me."

The vampire smiled faintly, the initial tension between them dissipating. "Then perhaps we can share this place, even if only for a little while."

Venus returned his smile, feeling a sense of comfort with this unexpected stranger. "Perhaps we can. What is your name?"

"Heeseung," he replied, his voice softening. "And I promise, Venus, I mean you no harm."

With that, She dipped into the cold water beside him. They settled into a peaceful but not awkward silence. Heeseung did not feel any intimidation nor nervousness from the god beside him as he should have, her presence was just so comfortable for him.

After a long silence, with only their breaths and heavy sighs let out here and there, Heeseung finally broke out the silence.

"So, Zeus and Hera's daughter? The Queen and King of the Heavens. You're not just a normal god then, you are a royalty."

His statement earned a chuckle from the girl, "I guess you can say that."

"It almost feels rude for me to talk to you so casually knowing who you are."

"Oh please, don't be. It's tiring to get treated differently whenever someone knows who I am, they always get intimidated and scared. I'm just me." She shrugged casually as she soothed the skin of her arms with the cold water.

Heeseung hummed in agreement before asking her another question, "How old are you then?"

She glanced at him before focusing back on the waters again, "I'm a young god, only 23. How about you?"

She takes a look at him again, waiting for his answer. He almost giggled, his bambi eyes staring at her, "We're the same age!" He exclaims, like a cute excited kid.

"Really?" she also giggled alongside him before continuing, "I guess we'll grow really old together then."

The corner of Heeseung's lips tugged up as he teasingly raised a brow at what she just said. When she glanced at him, that's when Venus started to realize what she just said.

"Oh no no, what I meant was that we're the same age and that we'll grow old together because we're both immortals and will probably live so many years in here and–" she started to ramble, nervously explaining herself before Heeseung's laugh cut her off.

"Okay okay, I get it, Venus." he said while holding his stomach, still laughing. He was totally amused by her reaction, rambling with her cheeks tinted pink.

They laughed together, Venus secretly releasing a sigh of relief for getting out of the awkward embarrassment.

The sense of time totally flew off Venus' head as she enjoyed every moment with this newly met vampire. It's eventually late at night, her sisters up the celestial realm worried about her because their mother will soon check in on them for dinner and would definitely notice the missing eldest.

"Where on earth and heavens is she?!" The second eldest exclaimed, while Artaemia guarded the door, on the look out for when their mother will come.

Stepping down the earth has been strictly prohibited, it is a rule among gods. Especially young gods like themselves.

"Thana, lower your voice, we don't want to alarm any servants to come in and check on us." Nikola explained, her tone a slight warning to her impatient and easily triggered sister.

Thana could only roll her eyes in frustration while Liwa beside her kept on biting her nails anxiously.

With a sigh, Hali finally thought of something to both calm her anxious sisters and also to call up the currently missing Venus.

"Harmonia, bridge to her and call her to come up immediately." Hali stated, with Lunar butting in after she finished speaking, "Yeah we have to make sure she's safe, she don't usually take this long."

Artaemia snorted, "Yeah, if anybody among us is always late and gets into trouble that would be Lunar, not Venus." Thana and Nikola laughed which made Lunar throw a glare at their direction.

"It's true tho," Nikola mouthed to her with a shrug.

Harmonia nodded, with her ability to bridge and communicate all realms, ran straight to her room where a small fountain is located. Her sisters followed her inside not long after, peeking over her shoulder to watch what she's about to do.

She lightly touched the calm water with her index finger before swirling it gently, the water swirled for a few moments before it completely stilled.

It showed an image focused on Venus, emerging from the lagoon with her soaked dress. Through the bridge ability that Harmonia possesses, she whispered to the water "Come home," and her whispers soon reached Venus' ears.

"Heeseung, I need to head back home," she said with such urgency in her voice that made heeseung look at her with worry "It was nice meeting you, let's see each other again soon."

The image of their sister in the water disappeared shortly after that, "There, that should urge her to come back home."

Venus on the other hand internally panicked as she realized she had lost track of time, and Harmonia calling up to her means it's something serious.

He nodded before she quickly turned to walk away, but Heeseung was quick to snatch her hand, placing a kiss on it. His own way of saying goodbye to her before she departs back to where she rightfully belongs.