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63954 · 7 months ago

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A Brighter, Whiter Smile Thanks to Aizen Power

I've always been a bit self-conscious about my smile. Years of drinking coffee, tea, and the occasional glass of red wine had left my teeth stained and dull. I tried over-the-counter whitening strips, but they were messy, uncomfortable, and didn't seem to do much. That's when I discovered Aizen Power, and let me tell you, it's been a game-changer!

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Draft 2

A Breath of Fresh Air: My Positive Experience with the Aizen Power Product

I've always been a bit of a health nut, constantly on the lookout for ways to improve my energy levels and overall well-b... Draft 2

A Breath of Fresh Air: My Positive Experience with the Aizen Power Product

I've always been a bit of a health nut, constantly on the lookout for ways to improve my energy levels and overall well-being. After a particularly stressful period at work, I noticed a dip in my mood and stamina. I was constantly tired, foggy-headed, and struggling to keep up with my usual routine.

That's when I came across the Aizen Power product. Intrigued by the claims of increased energy and focus, I decided to give it a try. Within a few days of incorporating Aizen Power into my daily routine, I started to notice a positive difference.

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Draft 3

A Breath of Fresh Air: My Experience with the Aizen Power Product

I've always been a bit of a health nut, constantly on the lookout for new ways to improve my well-being. Recently, I stumbled upon... Draft 3

A Breath of Fresh Air: My Experience with the Aizen Power Product

I've always been a bit of a health nut, constantly on the lookout for new ways to improve my well-being. Recently, I stumbled upon the Aizen Power product, and let me tell you, it's been a game-changer. Here's why I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone seeking a natural boost in their daily lives.

Enhanced Energy Levels:

Before Aizen Power, fatigue was a constant companion. Dragging myself through the workday was a norm, and even simple tasks felt like a chore. But after incorporating Aizen Power into my routine, I noticed a significant shift. My energy levels soared. I could tackle my workday with focus and enthusiasm, and even found myself having the stamina to hit the gym after work – something I hadn't done in ages!

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The brain fog that used to cloud my thinking has vanished. Aizen Power has sharpened my mental clarity significantly. My thoughts are more organized, and I can concentrate on tasks for extended periods without feeling scattered. This newfound focus has been instrumental in boosting my productivity at work, and I find myself accomplishing more in less time.

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Natural and Safe:

What truly impressed me about Aizen Power is that it's a natural product. I'm wary of artificial stimulants and prefer a more holistic approach to health. The fact that Aizen Power is formulated with natural ingredients gives me peace of mind, knowing I'm not putting harmful chemicals into my body.

A Convenient and Effective Addition to My Routine:

Aizen Power is incredibly easy to incorporate into my daily routine. The convenient dosage form makes it a breeze to take, and it fits seamlessly into my schedule. It's not a magic bullet, but it's a powerful tool that has undeniably made a positive difference in my life.

In Conclusion:

If you're looking for a natural way to boost your energy, improve your focus, and enhance your overall well-being, I highly recommend giving Aizen Power a try. It's a product that has truly impressed me, and I believe it can make a positive impact on your life as well.refresh Regenerate drafts volume_up

A Brighter, Whiter Smile Thanks to Aizen Power

A Safe and Effective Whitening Experience

Seeing Results Quickly

A Simple Yet Effective Routine

Long-Lasting Results

More Than Just a Whiter Smile

#Dominate The Male Enhancement Niche Today with Aizen Power #Supplements - Health #Health #amazing body #bodybuilder #beautiful body #curvy body

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seiijohhh · 3 years ago

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the slow demise [1/?]

summary: He’d found you coated in blood, surrounded by death, and decided then and there, you were perfect. pairing: megumi fushiguro x f!gojo!reader a/n: this has been reposted from my original account @justauthoring -- so, if you recognize it, that’s why. im also tagging those who originally requested to be tagged in it, so they know where to find future parts. tags: @thatprofessionalfangirl - @sugarandsoft - @honeyy-honeyy-sweets - @strawberryflavoredjeans - @flowersbloominthedark - @juliajempire - @princess-bumblebee - @sageandberries-png - @yue-caelum - @a–nonymousse - @aryksworld - @godsentkita - @kat-su-ki

part one - part two - part three - part four

“This is a hundred percent your fault.”

Deadpanned, Fushiguro glowers down at you. “How is this my fault.”

“Dunno,” you shrug, stretching your arms above your head with an exaggerated sigh, making sure to keep your eyes trained on Fushiguro. Your intent is to make him feel guilty (even if he is right, it isn’t his fault) but that’s far easier said then done. The boy’s as stoic as ever. “Just is.”

“It was about time you came back to the school anyway,” Fushiguro huffs, and you blink slightly at the somewhat distressed tone of his voice – that was definitely off.

He doesn’t let you dwell on it very long before he’s walking off ahead of you, glancing around the rugby field the both of you found yourselves on. Purely because of curse power that basically reeked from it.

“I never was part of Jujutsu High School,” you cut in, rushing to catch up with him. “So I wouldn’t be returning. I’m not returning.” He turns to look at you, to which you glare at him, hoping that’ll make it perfectly clear. But he merely shrugs, not even bothering to respond to you, turning back to the field.

Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest, glancing down just as a curse pops beneath the veil, gurgling and groaning, before disappearing from sight once more. “What’s with this rugby field anyway?” You call out, turning to look over your shoulder at Fushiguro whose gone off the other direction. “Is there a dead body buried here or something?”

“Even if there is,” Fushiguro mumbles, and you turn to see the same curse from before climbing up a pole, “I’m surprised to see one this high-leveled. It’s probably a grade two curse.” Then, meeting your eyes, he frowns. “Must be that cursed objects influence.”

Shuffling on your feet slightly, you glance up at it; “should we exorcise it?”

“Nah,” Fushiguro shrugs, walking past you and up the steps from the field.

Frowning, you glance back at the curse before moving to catch up with Fushiguro. “Why not? It could hurt somebody, the schools littered with stupid teenagers all day.”

“Nobodies walking on this field,” he gestures to the sign in front of him. “Not for a long time anyway.”

Eyeing the sign the blocks off the entrance to the rugby field, reading the words ‘No Unauthorized Entry’, you shrug. You were just tagging along because he forced you to, no need to put in anymore effort then necessary if Fushiguro wasn’t going to.

“Still, it’s presence is too strong to pin down. It feels like it’s close by, but it could still be far away, too. This special-grade curse is really a pain.”

Glancing over the boys shoulder at the photo of the curse he’d been provided, you raise a brow; “it’s been moved, right?” Fushiguro nods, “who could’ve been stupid enough to move it? And where is it now?”

“I have–”

“Over here! Coach Takagi is taking on Itadori from West Middle.”

“Woah, what are they competing for?”

Blinking at the new, bolstering voices, your head turns in the direction before your eyes gleam with excitement. Now, this is what you called exciting. Tugging on the sleeve of Fushiguro’s shirt, you turn to him with a gleam in his eyes; “we have to watch, Megumi!”

“We should really look for the–”

But you’re already pulling him along by the wrist, barely giving him any time to argue further, making it just in time to see what you assume is the coach previously mentioned lugging a weighted ball across the field. He throws it a respective distance, eyes lighting up with excitement as he cheers himself on in celebration.

“Fourteen meters!”

“Oooh,” you sing, clasping your hands in front of you.

Fushiguro eyes you, “what’s so exciting about track and field?”

Turning to him, you laugh; “it’s so…. simple!”

“Simple?”

“Yeah!” You nod eagerly. “I mean, we train every day, exercise curses every other day, but everyone here,” you gesture around you to the kids the exact same age as you, “has no idea and is living a perfectly normal teenage kid’s life. It’s… It’s amazing.”

You’re back to the scene before you, eyes caught by a shade of bright pink, that you don’t notice Fushiguro’s wandering gaze. You’d said it all with a smile on your face, but Fushiguro couldn’t help but notice the absolute longing in your gaze as you watched.

His attention, however, is caught by the growing volume of the crowd as they all cheer on ‘Itadori’ – the boy with pink hair and lanky arms that nearly topples over when the weighted ball is dropped into his hands. However, he swings it with ease and your jaw all but drops when it tosses it as if it weighed nothing, soaring through the air.

“Uh, roughly thirty meters.”

You turn to Fushiguro with a blank expression; “that wasn’t simple.”

All Fushiguro can do is nod.

“Or normal.”

Tugging you forward, Fushiguro and you come to a stop in front of the boy and who can assume is his friends. Knowing Fushiguro is doing the same, you pause, eyeing the boy.

“No curse energy.”

You nod, “pretty amazing.”

“I wonder if he’s like Zen’in-senpai.”

You shrug; “maybe.”

“Well, c’mon,” he sets a hand against your back, gently guiding you forward, “we should start looking for the–”

“Megumi!”

Pulling him back and out of the way from the approaching steps, your head turns in time just to see the boy from before, Itadori, racing past the both of you, with incredible speed. However, it’s the sharp shock of cursed energy you feel the second he runs past and the pair of eyes that seem to stare deep within your sole that have you gasping for air, blinking in surprise.

“Hey! You!” Fushiguro calls, obviously having sensed the same thing, but it’s hopeless – the boys too quick.

“Y/N,” Fushiguro calls, setting a hand on your back as you press your own against your chest. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, shaking your head. “I’m fine.” Then, meeting his eyes, you glance in the direction Itadori had run off. “Are you going to follow him?”

“Try to, at least,” he huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You felt it too, yeah?”

“Nearly took my breath away,” you sigh, “but I think I should stay here.”

His brows furrow; “why?”

“I can still sense it here.”

Fushiguro frowns, glancing in the direction of the boy before back at you, lips pursed and worry clear in his gaze. He may pretend not to care, but it’s moments like these the truth bleeds through.

Shaking your head, you huff; “go.” You nod at him, “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I have been sitting on my ass these past months,” you tease lightly, sending him a wink but Fushiguro continues to just stare down at you, causing you to sigh.

“I’ll call you the second something shows up.”

He nods, content, moving to walk off.

“But Megumi?”

He glances back at you, brow raised.

“You call too, okay?” And at the look he sends you, you keep your face impassive, nodding; “the second something happens.”

With a simple nod, he’s off.

You really should’ve trained more.

“Fuck!”

Ignoring the pang that radiates throughout your entire body, and the blood that fades into your vision, you push yourself up, pressed against the wall. Originally, you’d thought that you’d be able to control the curse for just long enough that it’d let go of the two students it was trying to swallow and then you’d focus on getting the curse.

Fushiguro would scold you – tell you that getting the curse was the first priority, but you could stomach the thought of sacrificing lives just for a single finger. Even if that finger was one part of a whole to an incredibly strong, the strongest of all, King of Curses, Sukuna…

None of it really matter however – the finger was making the curse stronger, and you could barely control it for a second before you’d been flung back by your own power. Now, both kids and the finger were about to be swallowed, and you had no idea what to do.

And your phone had been crushed long ago that you had no way of contacting Fushiguro. You had no idea where he was or if he’d be coming back; which meant you were utterly and completely alone.

Ducking from a hit made directly for your head, you slipped past, sliding your hand along the body of the curse, infusing it with your curse power. You used speed you didn’t know you could still have with a pounding head and blurring vision, pointing your left point finger up, the right down, thumbs connection; “Cursed Technique; Domination: The Imprisonment Of One!” before flipping your hands.

The curse stops, your heart thumping and chest panging, but you can barely focus on that when you need to move fast. Rushing forward, you slide to your hip, moving to strike your hand up. And you land a good hit, moving to grab the girl first, before something wraps around your ankle, and pulls you up and away before flinging you across the hall.

You smack into the ground, rolling, your chest seizing as the wind is knocked out of you. Your vision darkens for a moment, and you think you’re going to pass out, but the pain is all too conscious and you realize with a huff that your ankle has been sprained with how it had thrown you.

“Fuck!” You call again, putting all strength in your hands to sit up.

“Y/N!”

Relief floods you almost instantly. You may be half awake, but you’d recognize that voice from anywhere. Hands land on you, and a small smile curls onto your lips almost subconsciously when you find Fushiguro staring down at you. His eyes flicker across your entire body taking in the blood and wounds, before meeting your eyes.

“It’s strong,” you huff, voice raspy, “I can’t hold it and fight.”

Glancing back, Fushiguro growls; “it’s trying to swallow her along with the cursed object?”

“I can hold it,” you call, grabbing his arm and squeezing, pulling his eyes back on you.

“Y/N, you can barely–”

“Just go! I can do it,” you interrupt, voice sharp, “you just have to–”

You’re interrupted by the sound of glass shattering, and before you know it a blur of familiar pink is flickering across your eyes once more. Your eyes widen when you realize it’s the boy from before, Itadori. What the hell was he doing here?

“Itadori!” Fushiguro calls, just as stunned as you. He moves to a stand in front of you, blocking you from sight, and huffing, you lean forward, trying to find the strength to stand.

He grabs the two students, pulling them from the curses grasp, making your eyes bulge in surprise – how did he…?

“So, this is a cruse? Not what I was expecting.”

Pushing yourself to a stand, ignoring the way your ankle throbs, you grab Fushiguro firm around the arm; “Megumi, what the hell is he doing here?”

Sighing, Fushiguro shakes his head; “it’s a long story.” And with a final glance forward, he steps towards the curse, exorcising with one more simple hit since it no longer has the finger so close in it’s grasp, before he moves towards Itadori.

“Honestly,” you huff quietly to yourself, “I leave him alone for a few hours and he’s already dragging an innocent kid into this.”

“I want to ask you what you’re doing here,” Fushiguro calls to him, his demon dogs snacking on the curse behind him, “but good job.”

“Not good job,” you growl, leaning on the wall for support as you glare at the two boys, specifically Itadori; “you could’ve gotten seriously injured,” you ignore the pointed look Fushiguro sends you, “or worse, killed.”

“Why so haughty?” The boy tilts his head; “by the way, what’s that munching on the curse?”

“My shikagami,” Fushiguro answers, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You can see them, then? Normally a curse can’t be seen. Not unless you’re on the verge of death or in special places like this.”

“Oh,” Itadori’s lips part in understanding; “I’ve never seen a ghost or anything before tonight.”

Lips parted, you eye the boy; “you’re not scared?”

“Well, I was scared for a bit,” he answers honestly, still holding his classmate in his arms. “But did you know? People really can die.”

“Y/N, help me!”

“Please. Y/N, stop…!”

“I… I–I can’t–I don’t–!”

Blinking, you force the memory away, shaking your head.

“Huh?”

“So I at least want the people I know to have proper deaths.”

“You’re killing us!”

Pressing your hand against the wall, your breath hitches, Fushiguro turning to you in concern briefly before turning back to Itadori as moves to stand; “not that I really get it myself.” And as he does, the curse slips from his classmate’s skirt pocket, catching it with ease reflexes; “this it?”

“Yeah,” Fushiguro nods, “that’s the special-grade cursed object, Ryomen Sukuna’s finger. It’s a miracle it didn’t get swallowed, though, I think that’s mainly thanks to Y/N,” both eyes fall on you, to which you offer a half-smile.

“Why would anything eat it?” Is the first question that leaves Itadori’s lips, “is it tasty?”

“Don’t be stupid,” you cut in, shaking your head, “you’d do it to gain stronger cursed energy.”

“It’s dangerous,” Fushiguro adds, holding his palm out; “so hand it over already.”

“Sure, sure.”

You notice it a second too late, the curse from above.

“Megumi–!”

You move to pull him back, just as he pushed Itadori out of the way, but the sudden weight on your ankle causes you to lose balance and instead, the hand from above crashes directly onto Megumi. Dust and debris make everything blurry for a moment, but the huge curse holding Megumi is easy to spot as your eyes widen in panic.

“Megumi!”

“Fushiguro!”

It pulls Megumi to it’s mouth, but Fushiguro makes quick hand signs, calling for another one of his shikagami; Nue. However, before he can, a burst of lightening flashes from the curse and he’s slammed against the wall, blood splurting from his lips. Heart racing, you move to stand once more, cursing the way your ankle throbs and throws you off balance once more.

Before you know it, the curse is breaking a hole through the concrete and sending Fushiguro flying through it.

“No…” Teeth clenching, you turn to Itadori who looks torn between helping you and rushing after Fushiguro.

“Go!” You call, shaking your head and ignoring the worry in your chest; you were the one to scold Fushiguro for bring an innocent kid into this fight and now you were sending him off to save your comrade. But this was the only option. Fushiguro wouldn’t last on his own, so, if Itadori could just hold off the curse long enough for you to get your bearings, it’d be okay. “Help him! Please!”

Itadori doesn’t need another word otherwise.

“Get up!” You call to yourself, the bangs and commotion from outside causing your heart soar. “No one else dies because of you, remember? That was your promise!”

Forcing yourself to your feet, you ignore the pang and force the other foot to step in front of you the other. It takes you a minute, but when you look out the gaping hole in the wall and get a good look at what’s happened; you can tell you’d made a severe error in judgement.

“There is a way to save everyone!”

He can’t be serious…

“I just need some cursed energy, right, Fushiguro?”

He really is.

He just… ate Sukuna’s finger…

You just cost a boy his life…

Then, a flash of cursed energy burst from him, ripping the curses hands to shreds, and your eyes widen. It couldn’t be possible. That was rare, incredibly rare…

But the markings that start to cover his skin and the cursed energy pooling around him tell you otherwise.

Itadori… no, Sukuna destroys the curse in one hit.

His laugh echoes, even from where you’re stood, his claws clear as day to your eyes, you’re unable to look away. “I knew it!” He laughs, his voice more deep, twisted then Itadori’s; “the light feels best in the flesh!” Shredding his hoody into pieces without any effort, Sukuna races towards the edge of the roof, glancing at the open area. “A cursed spirit’s flesh is so boring. Where are the people? The women?!

“What a wonderful era to be in. Women and children are crawling everywhere like maggots. Wonderful! It’ll be a massacre!”

But then he’s pulled back, a hand gripping his own jaw, feet stammering backwards; “what do you think you’re doing with my body? Give it back.”

It’s Itadori’s voice.

“How are you able to move?” Sukuna.

“I mean, it’s my body.” Itadori.

“Don’t move,” Fushiguro calls out, voice sharp; “you’re no longer human.” And he crouches, hands moving to make the necessary signs. “Under Jujutsu regulations, Itadori Yuji, I will exorcise you as a curse!”

“Wait, Megumi–!”

You’re suddenly picked up in a pair of arms, a flash of white and purple, before, somehow, you’re behind Fushiguro.

“What’s the situation?”

Turning to the person carrying you, you glower when you realize it’s him.

“Gojo-sensei?! Why are you here?”

Setting you down carefully, he smiles at Fushiguro; “hey! I wasn’t planning on coming, but man,” his eyes drift from you to Fushiguro, “you’re both roughed up. I should show the second years.” He starts to take pictures, specifically of Fushiguro, to which you slap him sharply on the arm.

Huffing, you glare up at him; “never mind that, I’ve told you to stop doing that with me!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he waves you off, “but you looked a little stuck.”

Flushing, you turn away from him.

“The higher-ups wouldn’t shut up with a special-grade cursed object gone missing,” he moves to explain, “so I stopped by while doing some sightseeing. So, did you find it?”

“Um,” Itadori slowly speaks up, raising his hand as Gojo turns to him; “sorry, but I ate it.”

There’s a pause, then; “for real.”

And all at once, all three of you answer; “for real.”

Gently letting go of you, Gojo sets you against the rock the Fushiguro’s leaning on, and you notice the way your vision blurs in response, dark peering in around the edges, before blinking it away and focusing on Gojo. He’s stepped towards Itadori, leaning forward with his head in his hands, eyeing him closely.

After a moment, he lets out a laugh; “damn, it really did combine with you. That’s hilarious.” He steps back, as nonchalant as ever. “Anything off with your body?”

Looking at his arm, Itadori shrugs; “not particularly.”

“Can you swap out with Sukuna?”

Your eyes widen.

“Sukuna?”

“The curse you ate.”

“Oh,” Itadori shuffles on his feet, “yeah, I think I can do that.”

You really, at this point, shouldn’t be surprise.

Moving away for more room, Gojo lowers into a crouch, stretching out; “then, give us ten seconds. Once ten seconds are up, come back to us.”

“But…” Itadori tries to argue.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo calls out with a smug grin, “I’m the strongest.”

“Megumi,” he calls out, “hold this.”

He tosses the bag that’s been in his hands this entire time, and, falling to a seat next Fushiguro, you curiously peek in.

“What is it?”

“Kikifuki from Kikusuian,” he explains, still stretching, and your eyes dull. “It’s Sendai’s specialty, and it’s super good. I recommend the zunda and cream flavour.”

“You went out and bought mochi while people nearly died!” You call, glaring at him.

“It’s not a souvenir, and it’s not just mochi,” he turns to grin at you and Fushiguro, “I’m going to eat it on the bullet train home.”

Yeah, and I think I’m going to throw up.

“Behind you!”

Gojo is barely phased by Fushiguro’s call, and even as Sukuna gains on him he continues to explain; “Kikufuku’s not like other souvenirs…” Before there’s a crash, dust flooding your already wobbling vision. Fushiguro pushes you behind him, arm outstretched as you both prepare for impact, only for you to open your eyes and see Sukuna directly before you, Gojo sitting on him.

“And the whipped cream inside is simply exquisite…”

You can’t focus on the fight. Things start to fade and the sounds of a fight almost seem like it’s miles away. Your skin feels hot, sweat beading on it, and the edges of your vision is turning black; except this time it isn’t fading away. You feel tired, extremely so, all strength fading. You don’t hear Fushiguro call for you, nor do you feel your body falling.

It’s okay though, right?

After all, despite how annoying he can be, you know you can trust Gojo…

He really is the strongest.

A little girl covered in red, coated in it.

Bodies surround her. Torn, ripped apart, limbs apart from bodies, heads apart from bodies.

Everything is silent except for the sound of wailing.

Loud, screaming wailing. Sobs retching, coughs echoing, but the girl doesn’t move, even as she sobs.

She’s frozen in place.

Terrifed.

“I can help you, don’t you trust me?”

“What’s this? Who are you?”

“So little to be covered in so much blood.”

“How about I train you, huh?”

“I’ll help you control them.”

“All of them.”

Eyes blinking open, you frown at the familiar ceiling above you.

You were home. Or at least, your room. It didn’t feel like home to you, but the soft cushion beneath you was definitely comforting with the lasting panging in your head.

Raising your arm, you glance at yourself, the faint bruises, before pushing yourself up so you’re sitting. A small groan leaves your lips, but you ignore the pain, pulling back the sheets to glance at your ankle; it’s been wrapped and treated, but you’re sure that if you were to try and walk on it, it’d still hurt.

You were alive, but you hated being stuck bedridden.

Head falling, you sigh; you wonder what happened with Itadori and Sukuna–

“I’m visiting Y/N.”

“Oooh! I want to say hi, I never properly introduced myself.”

Clearly, he was still alive.

Eyes flickering over to your bedroom door, you simply smile as Fushiguro pops his head in, making sure you’re awake before inviting himself further inside. Itadori bops in after him excitedly, a happy grin on his face despite his scenario which you could only imagine, and of course; Gojo behind the two, smiling down at you.

“Glad to see you both okay,” you smile softly at the two, eyes lingering on Fushiguro’s a little longer.

“You gave us a quite a scare,” Gojo comments, leaning against the frame of your door. “Passing out like that.”

Rubbing the back of your neck abashedly, you let out a small laugh, flushing slightly at the intense look Fushiguro regards you with. “Guess I hit my head harder then I thought,” you mumble, “sorry…”

There’s an echo of silence, and hating it, you hurriedly turn to Itadori.

Sticking your hand out, you grin; “Y/N Gojo,” you laugh at the wide look in his eyes, “it looks like you and me are classmates.”

But honestly, the widened looks on both Satoru and Fushiguro are way better.

“What?” You call to Fushiguro who hasn’t stopped staring at you; “I’d miss all the fun if I didn’t come back to school now.”

And at that, Fushiguro lets a small smile curl onto his lips, Gojo clapping his hands like a small child as he calls out cheerfully “I knew you’d change your mind!” all while Itadori continues to stare at you blankly.

“Gojo?”

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h-sleepingirl · 4 years ago

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Personal Reflection on Hypnosis and Magic

I was fairly obsessed with magic as a child. I grew up in a secular household -- my mother’s side was mixed Christian but she didn’t inherit the beliefs and my father’s side was Jewish but not observant. We did Christmas and Chanukah and Easter for a little while but just as a cultural practice; we never went to church or synagogue and we never even had conversations about God.

I liked fantasy novels a lot, and I liked Harry Potter, and for a bit of time around age 8 I was making a concerted effort to transform into a unicorn. I found sticks outside and pretended they were wands with the neighborhood kids. Fairly standard. It was no surprise that when I started wondering if I should attempt to connect to spirituality in some way as a teen I discovered Neopaganism and Wicca. It was a lot of shy reading in the 130 section at the library and keeping a Book of Shadows and learning how to meditate and all the bells and whistles of ritual and correspondences.

I remember sneaking outside and kneeling in the grass in the backyard under the moon, I remember going to Salem for the first time. I felt like sometimes maybe I was communicating with gods or divine powers but I never was able to buy in, despite completing my year-and-a-day dedication and making the actions a part of my life for several years, on and off. Starting to smoke weed in college refreshed my curiosity and reinforced belief to some degree, of course, but eventually, I had to come to terms with the fact that this wasn’t something I should force myself to do if I didn’t truly feel a connection to it.

But though I dropped the label and identification, the rituals of Wicca (and Feri witchcraft, which I had started exploring) had filled a role for me that childhood religion does for most. They became something I was comfortable conceptualizing, something that I had gained innate familiarity with, even if I ultimately eschewed the spiritual and metaphysical.

Hypnosis was never connected to that, for me; it felt sacrilegious to make an association between something that was supposed to be sacred and divine and something that was, for a long time, a shameful part of my sexuality. But it was around the same time that I was earnestly practicing magic that I began really studying and doing hypnosis.

A partner of mine at that time -- with whom I was doing hypnosis -- asked me, “Isn’t hypnotic trance the same thing as meditation?”

Naively, I vehemently disagreed.

The big-name NLP practitioners are obsessed with calling what they do “magic.” “The Structure of Magic,” “Frogs Into Princes,” etc. Their books are filled to the brim with the metaphor that people who use language effectively are wizards, because language is a representation of the world and has the capability to transform (or “trance-form,” as they say).

I struggled with hypnosis for a long time -- both trancing others and being tranced myself -- for a variety of reasons. But one of them was that I always felt like other people wanted to do stuff with hypnosis, while I just wanted to do hypnosis itself. For a while even when I was more comfortable in my skin, I described myself as “boring” -- I liked things like fractionation and really deep trance and control, but I struggled with articulating if I had attractions to specific activities. Doll play? Sure, I guess that’s fun. Oh, is the induction over already? Ok…

This mirrored an issue I had while practicing Wicca -- spells were always meant to do something, invite love, heal, connect with the divine, whatever. But while I often wanted to do magic, I had a difficult time deciding on what to do with it. This was made even more complex when I realized I was likely stuck as a nonbeliever -- why did I sometimes return to the rituals, and what was I trying to achieve? How could I incorporate it into my life without feeling disingenuous?

Even up until a year ago, when I tried out tarot and kept asking the cards, “What is my relationship with magic?” -- twofold, looking for an answer (that never came), as well as to have the opportunity to simply try to read cards when I had no actual pressing questions I could think of (ironic).

Bandler et al, as well, work within a model where goals and change are the purpose of magic.

What I was seeking, the whole time, was not using any of these processes for anything, but simply to feel the thing I felt while doing them that was both difficult to illustrate and uniquely recognizable, unlike anything else.

Once I realized this, I used to try to describe it in hypnosis as that I wanted to focus on the induction, or that I didn’t care what we did, or that “change” wasn’t important to me. But that’s not accurate, either. Transformation, manifestation sates that desire when done in a certain way -- surely then I think that NLP perfectly describes my model?

My hesitation there is that I think for myself, it is the pure exhilaration from doing the thing that is what feels like the sweet spot, and it’s not dependent on what direction it goes, what form it takes, or what goal is being achieved.

For me, that feeling of “doing magic” and “doing hypnosis” are completely interchangeable. It is a pure thrill. It is a specific feeling in my mind and body that I can attempt to describe but can never fully enunciate. It changes and shifts but it is always recognizable on some level.

It is much more like doing recreational drugs than it is about prescribing something. Purely hedonistically, I am seeking a high.

I don’t believe in magic. I have had a handful of experiences in my life that have made me deeply question that at times, and they are experiences that I have never reconciled, but that is sort of besides the point. Nothing has ever pushed me into a place where I am able to fully embrace the concept that magic exists in any real sense.

But when I do hypnosis, it is impossible not to work within this model. How else am I supposed to describe what it feels like when I look at someone and know what they are thinking, or I just imagine my will suppressing theirs and their eyes flutter, or I think about what I want and my mouth starts moving elegantly in a way that makes it happen? In kinesthetic hypnosis, it is almost too much. My muscle memory is to do things like manifest energy flowing into and through my fingers, affecting my partner, and it was years of trying rituals like blue fire Feri meditations that made that so easy to feel.

It is not that I can make an easy statement like “hypnosis is magic.” It is not literally true. But as a metaphor, it holds a lot of potency. And magic is a powerful and ubiquitous metaphor; it is culturally ingrained in us in the stories we tell and our history. It is vague; there is no universal definition of it, which allows us to stretch it extensively and apply it wherever we feel it fits.

Metaphor itself is a type of magic, and this is one area where my thoughts about the metaphysical qualities of hypnosis shine through. Magic is about symbolism. We use objects, words, actions that we assign meaning to in order to manifest something. Herbs are purported to have affinities for different concepts so we include them in ritual -- and it’s not just that those affinities are inherent; there is meaning behind the correspondences that works best when we understand it. Similarly, when we are attempting to relate a concept to someone, we often do so indirectly, by telling a story, by creating metaphors or associations.

I don’t believe in magic, so to some degree, when I do it, that action is metaphorical. I am using actions that I don’t literally believe to hold any power in order to find a feeling; I am telling a story about a journey in order to find a real destination. This holds true to one of my beliefs, that symbols themselves hold little to no objective meaning. NLP and Alfred Korzybski say, “The map is not the territory; the word is not the thing; this is not a pipe; there is no objective truth.” Our entire world is made of symbols and metaphors that we all have to buy into in order to function as humans. We assign values to things that intrinsically have much different or nonexistent value -- prices, nostalgia, connotation. A magical symbol, in my eyes, is only as powerful as the connections we’re able to make with it in our minds. Color associations are symbolic. The action of casting a circle is symbolic.

Words are symbols as well, and I do drink the Kool-aid with NLP on this, to some degree. I think about how words are dependent on a vast, intangible amount of variables in order to settle on their presumed, subjective interpretation by a listener or reader. We do this processing as well as thinking about our intent unconsciously, for the most part. If I assume that language is at least partially representative of our experiences and worlds, that gives communication a lot of power, and sure, yes, fine, that smells like magic to me, I’ll take your 20th tired book now Mr. Bandler, sir.

So to some degree the metaphor of magic is about things that are too big, or too grand, or too unknowable to talk about concretely. We often say something is magical when it is difficult or impossible to explain any other way. I can talk plenty about unconscious reading and microexpressions and altered states and language patterns and any number of artifacts that factor into hypnosis, but although it’s fascinating to know about them and helpful to consider and learn, I don’t often think about them when it actually comes down to it. I used to, but not for a while, and there is surely something to be said there for what “becoming experienced” means in both concepts.

It connects to when I think about what things we tend to call “magical” in hypnosis. When I respond without conscious effort, when something is “too fast,” when I feel like I can just purely make someone do something amazing. Sure, it can be easy enough to pick those apart and use academic language and explain them, but sometimes I drive myself insane trying to do that when I just want to say, “It’s magic; it feels like magic.”

After leaving my exploration of witchcraft for a while, I ended up adopting parts of it back into my life. I had more connection to the holidays on the Wheel of the Year than any others, really, and Wiccan ritual feels natural to me. I don’t call myself a witch, and I struggled for a long time looking for a label that fits what I do.

When I picked it back up, it was for a Samhain (Halloween) ritual to show my partner. It had been years, but I felt more comfortable casting a circle and doing all the things than I ever had been. I realized that my magic practice had begun to look a lot more like my hypnosis practice. I was speaking and acting unconsciously, simply filtering whispers of my intent through my words and actions. I had no plan and was following no script, but I knew what to do and say. We were both in very deep trance and we could feel the boundary of the circle as a physical thing, the air buzzing. It was the first moment that I had allowed a harmonious marriage between my knowledge of witchcraft and my practice of hypnosis, and I got the druglike thrill that I always seek. We sat in the circle for an hour, unbeknownst to us.

I did some searching to try to find if others had a similar experience or worldview. The best I could describe what I was doing was “psychological magic” or “witchcraft-flavored hypnosis.” I found very little; chaos magic and secular witchcraft were not what I was searching for.

Despite feeling a little lost, the experience reignited my desire for magical ritual. It has always been complicated to go through the motions that logically have no objective power to me, and saying that I give them power feels like a cop-out when I feel like I give them nothing. To some degree, equating it to hypnosis on any level feels like a crutch, but it’s one I’m used to; after all, there is plenty of me that doesn’t really believe in hypnosis, either -- “Hypnosis is bullshit.”

But “spellwork” became the most effortless thing in the world to me when it used to be so careful and unsure and measured. I take my props, I think about what they could symbolize, I think about how they connect to all the other ingredients available to me. I assign value and meaning through those connections and logic in a pattern my brain knows all too well. It is just like manipulation, and I use that to feel things. Creating rituals is just like giving a good suggestion; identify the message of the utterance and craft something poignant and poetic with the tools at hand to give it meaning. In hypnosis, the tools are your place in the story/trance, your vocabulary, the tone, the props, your history and the history of the person you’re with. In magic, the tools are the same, but possibly with a different flavor. A hypnotic tool is the logic that the word “deeper” is a sensory-rich word; a magical tool is the logic that clockwise motion can be equated to “more.” Both tools are malleable.

I mentioned poetry, and I think for me, one of the most important parts of good magic (and good hypnosis) is that it’s beautiful in some way. Wicca, like other religions, puts emphasis on reverence. Even many secular witches will be awed by nature and use that as a motivating force. Magic is not inherently naturalistic for me, even though I borrow the aesthetic. I don’t necessarily seek that kind of divine wonderment, but my attraction is adjacent.

My desires with magic are incredibly reflective of my desires with hypnosis -- power. Blind desire for power, whether to have it or have it taken away from me. It sounds evil to write it out, but at its base level it’s much less about anything but a simple feeling. It feels good and heady and awe-filled, and while on some level that’s sexually driven, I think it might also come from another, deeper place.

I still get uncomfortable when magical rituals feel too sensual, and there is a similar discomfort when hypnosis scenes feel too spiritual, but the latter is easier than the former. Generally, I still don’t know “what” to do when I do magic -- I only know “how” to do it. And not to mention “why” I would do magic if I don’t believe in it.

There’s a lot left that I haven’t reconciled. I suppose from a very broad lens, trying to codify the connections I feel between these two concepts is an attempt to make it easier to think about from a variety of different perspectives. I think about how I got over the phase of calling myself “boring” with hypnosis for only seeking feelings, not concepts, and think maybe that will help me with magic. I think about how I became more comfortable over time with my motivations to do hypnosis -- then less comfortable, then more comfortable. A key of my self-growth has always been recognizing and accepting my cyclical nature. (Wicca might say something about moon phases or a myriad of other natural cycles here; hypnosis and NLP might say something about patterns.)

To some degree, these kinds of explorations are valuable because they force us to limit our frames of reference as well. I barely touched upon connected ideas like religion or kink as a whole, how teaching and writing play in, my skill with self-hypnosis (surprisingly low) or connection to mesmerism/magnetism, and so much more. But it’s approaching nebulous concepts like this in a variety of different ways where we find answers, because often we don’t really even know what questions we should be asking.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! There was of course a lot I wanted to say and I’m very interested if this sparks any ideas or conversations -- when I first talked about this on Twitter, I was happily surprised how many folks had some similar thoughts or experiences and wanted to relate.

If you liked this writing and want to see more, you can find similar pieces available on Patreon or Gumroad; I write 6-8k words per month, sometimes academic and sometimes more exploratory like this. Please check it out! You can also get this writing as a downloadable PDF and tip through Gumroad, if you feel so inclined.

Thanks as always for your support, no matter what form that takes, be it monetary or simply reading through what I have to say.

- sleepingirl

#my writing #hypnosis #hypnokink

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spyder-m · 4 years ago

Text

Zerith Week, Day 1: "Sanctuary"

My contribution for @zerith-week, Day 1: Church.

Summary: On her way back from down to the Sector 5 Slums, Aerith happens by two injured Soldiers passed out at the station. With seemingly no one interested in helping them, she took it upon herself to step in. Zack lives AU.

Chapter I: "Angels With Dirty Faces"

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“Phew, finally. We made it!”

“Urgh.”

Cloud garbled unintelligibly in response, his head lulling slack against Zack’s shoulder, before his body stilled once more. The shift was minimal, but enough to assure Zack that Cloud was still with him.

“Come on, Cloud,” Zack joked, readjusting his grip. “You could stand to be a little more enthusiastic.

Though the light-hearted quip went unanswered, it brought as much comfort to Zack as he hoped it did his friend.

It was a remnant of their old lives, the same banter they had shared back in Midgar. After seemingly everything they trusted in had been ripped away, he liked having that familiar certainty. Even now as those moments seemed at a completely distant, unreachable place in time, Zack would do all that he could to keep even a piece of them intact.

While Cloud didn't seem entirely cognisant, his company had been integral to Zack, imbuing him with the invaluable mental and emotional strength to carry through.

Internally, he was a wreck. He had no idea what was wrong with Cloud, who’d been unresponsive for months; their entire trip to Midgar. Frankly, it scared him.

Yet, he couldn’t let that fear show in his expression. He didn’t want Cloud, likely already scared himself, to worry. If Zack seemed uneasy, it may only serve to further rupture Cloud’s will, his psyche, at a point where it needed to be at its strongest.

Zack had wondered briefly what state Shinra HQ would be in now; with most of their top-ranked Soldiers either deceased or missing. He didn’t care to find out, firsthand though. Not when it would be far safer, he felt, to stick to Midgar’s Slums, knowing Shinra’s presence wasn’t as prominent underneath the plate.

Much of the slums were plagued by sickness and destitution. Monsters lingered on the outskirts of sectors and the roads and tunnels linking them, with many citizens open-carrying weapons to defend themselves. For that reason, Zack had been confident that the presence of two injured Soldiers wouldn’t appear too out of place or draw unwanted attention.

Still, he couldn’t be careless. The trains were overflowing with passengers; slum-dwellers who worked above the plate returning home. Knowing the likelihood of Shinra employees being among them, Zack had opted to sneak aboard one of the train’s rear compartments, intended for carrying cargo rather than passengers.

They still weren’t alone, but the train ride into Sector 5 passed without incident. Anyone unnerved by their presence simply chose to move to a different carriage.

Unfortunately, though, as he stepped out onto the station platform, Zack was beginning to sense a different, perhaps even more sinister, threat looming over him. His vision was beginning to fade, darkness seeping steadily into his periphery. The exhaustion and pain from the, fortunately, non-fatal wounds he had succumbed to was starting to weigh heavily upon him.

It was as though the urge to reach Midgar had been all that had fuelled him before, that determination helping him to channel strength beyond even his own supernatural limits. Yet now that he had succeeded, his body felt it could give out.

Zack grit his teeth, harnessing what little strength he had left within him to stay conscious. He had already crossed entire continents and stowed away on ships, all the while fending off platoons of men tracking them. Surely, he could make these last few miles into the Slums.

As Zack’s head lifted groggily, he scanned the near distance, squinting to make out the scrap yard stretching in front of him. His stomach sank.

Even if the monsters lurking there weren't the strongest, it would still be dangerous. They usually travelled in packs and, in his current state, Zack wasn’t sure he’d be able to effectively divide his attention between multiple enemies, as well as keep an eye on Cloud.

He had a bad feeling that they would end up as Gorger food.

Zack couldn't fall to such feeble prey, not after everything he'd pulled through.

So, spotting the nearby bench and vending machines, Zack cut a deal with himself.

Against his better judgement, he decided to take a brief rest. Just enough that he could regain his strength and fight safely through the scrapyards, but nothing more.

At least, that had been his hope.

Aerith sighed as she stepped off the train, lowering her still full basket of flowers.

Yet another day had passed and she hadn't been able to sell anything topside.

Despite being able to afford the luxury, the people above the plate showed little interest; rarely even acknowledging her presence.

She couldn't understand. Everyone in the Slums seemed to value the plant life much more, enjoying the way it brightened the drab mesh of concrete and steel shanties, giving it a more homely feel.

Still, as futile as her efforts seemed, Aerith would always make the trip; treasuring what few gil she could pull in to help out her mother.

As her eyes lifted, Aerith caught the last rays of what little daylight broke through the gaps in the steel sky. Conscious it wouldn’t be long before twilight began to set in, Aerith's gait picked up.

She had been volunteering at a soup kitchen being run by the Sector’s Church recently and didn't want to be late.

It only seemed fair to assist the priest who let her grow and sell flowers there. Besides, she found the work very fulfilling.

Whether she was brightening people's spirits by spreading her flowers throughout the Slums or providing warm meals and shelter to those who were struggling to find their own. It helped harbour an atmosphere far friendlier than compared to the one above the plate, creating a sense of community, of people who, despite struggling, were always willing to help one another out.

As Aerith crossed the station, her focus was broken by a vibrant shock of yellow entering her periphery, tugging her in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, any thought of needing to rush towards the Church was abandoned as she was drawn to the sight of two young men; not much older than her; slumped against the bench, their eyes closed.

At a cursory glance, it might not have seemed out of the ordinary; as though they were simply resting. Yet, from the state of their clothes and the dirt marring their skin, Aerith could tell they must have fallen on hard times.

Still, despite being in clear view, many commuters passed them by without so much as a second thought.

Aerith exhaled calmly, allowing those passersby the benefit of the doubt. For all she knew, they too were struggling and didn’t have much to their name that could help. Still, the matter was sensitive to her. Her own birth mother had passed away in a similar fashion, Elmyra being the only one to approach and try to help.

Kneeling down, Aerith glanced over the two more closely, in particular, noticing their clothes. Her eyes widened as she placed the dark, sleeveless sweaters and trousers, shoulder pauldrons, standard dress for members of Soldier.

It wasn’t uncommon for men and women leaving the military to end up like this, out on the streets. After the war ended, Shinra had suddenly found itself no longer needing so many large platoons of men, and there were only so many troops needed to patrol the streets. Because of this, many ended up being discharged and struggled to find work; the skills they’d honed under Shinra not translating well to other professions.

Though, what puzzled Aerith was that these two were not mere low-level guards. They bore the Uniform of ranked Soldiers, the company’s elite warriors. Which made her wonder how and why they could have ended up in this position? Surely, the company wouldn't want to let them go? Especially when she’d been hearing rumours that some of their most-decorated, highest ranked members had been declared MIA. Even if they did, wouldn't their skills be highly sought after? They shouldn't have had a problem finding work.

Still, regardless of the details, Aerith knew better than to judge. She didn't know their situation and didn't need to. For now, all that mattered was that they needed help.

She looked over the brunette nearest to her, a gasp breaking from her lips. She could make out patches of blood soaking through the dark material of his turtleneck, dried flecks crusting over his bare arms. Her hands hovered over him, calling on the power of healing magic. Yet the energy that surrounded him seemed to have little effect, as though there were no wounds that needed tending to.

Studying him, curious, Aerith found she couldn't see any obvious cuts or bruises. She could even hear him breathing softly, a sound that seemed to carry over the cacophony of the station, instilling the hope that perhaps he might be alright.

The blond at his side, however, seemed to be in a bad way. From the short distance she’d clocked them at, she hadn’t realised that his eyes were actually open. Though, they were glazed and unfocused. Even if she were to meet his gaze, Aerith could tell she wouldn’t be able to get through to him.

The wounds he bore must have cut deeper, perhaps a trauma he still carried after being exposed to the atrocity and horror of war.

It was fortunate for her that one of the doctors in Sector 5 owed her a favour. She had been supplying him with rare herbs for his medicines and might be willing to treat these two. Though, getting them to the clinic wouldn’t be so simple.

Aerith supposed she could always find the doctor herself and bring him here, but she worried what may happen if she left them alone.

She might be able to help the blond, who was closer to her height and had a leaner build, but there was no way she could manage both. Especially not the dark-haired one, who, though malnourished, seemed much taller and bulkier.

Even if she could, she would still have to navigate through the backstreets and scrapyards where monsters lurked. Though she was certainly capable with a staff and her Cetra bloodline leant itself to a natural aptitude for magic, she would be hindered if she had to support someone.

It was obvious that she was going to need help.

As her eyes flickered across the crowd, hoping to find someone she knew, the brunette stirred, an exhale breaking from his lips. Aerith was pulled toward the sound, immediately catching the flutter of his eyelids.

He was regaining consciousness.

The sight gave her a flash of hope, as she wondered if he might have the strength to stand on his own. That could certainly make the trip the rest of the way into Sector 5 easier.

Tentatively, her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, a feather-light caress.

“A- Are you alright?”

His body sprung swiftly into motion at the contact, lashing out with the instinct of a wounded animal. Aerith lurched back, feeling her heart flutter unsteadily with the sudden movement. That pattern carried on as she took in the strong contours of his face and the few, errant strands of hair that hung over it. Her breath hitched in her throat as she was taken by the pure, shining blue of his eyes.

As the haze clouding Zack’s senses began to dissipate, he was overwhelmed by light shimmering through soft, chestnut hair, framing a brilliant emerald. He squinted, unsure if the presence was solid, or some ethereal vision.

While crossing the barren outskirts of Midgar, Zack had fallen prey to the odd mirage, finding images of Angeal or his parents burnt across the horizon. Whether it was a result of the climate or perhaps his declining condition, he wasn’t sure. But he wouldn’t overlook the possibility that he was still disoriented, imagining the presence of others.

He had certainly been starved for the company.

Surely, this seemed too bright and otherworldly, to be something, someone, underneath the plate. Perhaps, he wondered, he was returning to the planet.

“Heaven?” He muttered.

Blinking, it took Aerith a moment before her mind could piece together a coherent response. Conscious of the dire situation, she let out a forced, breathy laugh.

“Not quite. But I can see why you might think that.”

Aerith cringed, quickly realising her words hadn’t been the most sensitive. She had hoped some humour might be enough to ease the tension.

“I was just wondering if you were okay," she continued. "There’s a clinic not far from here, they’ll be able to help you and your friend out. I can show you the way if you like?”

Zack eyed her, at first, sceptical. His gaze scanned the perimeter, wondering if perhaps this was a ploy, expecting to spot a squadron of Shinra waiting to ambush him the moment he followed her.

Yet, the distinct, foreboding rush of dread that anticipated such an attack was something he’d become familiar with; particularly these last few months. For the moment, he couldn’t sense it.

Much of Zack’s journey had been bolstered by placing his trust in others, even when it didn't seem a hundred percent certain. There was Cissnei, who agreed to turn a blind eye and not inform Shinra of his whereabouts, the old guy who had given him and Cloud a lift.

Zack supposed he could tempt fortune once more.

“Alright,” he answered. "Lead the way."

He moved to stand; Cloud’s arm still draped around his neck; but staggered, almost losing his balance. Aerith's hands hung hesitantly by his shoulder, ready to offer to support some of the weight.

“Do you... need any help?”

"N- no, I've got this.” He grimaced, glance flickering briefly toward the sword still fixed at his back. “Though, I don't know that I'd be much good in a fight right now."

“No worry,” Aerith reassured, retrieving her staff. “You can leave that to me.”

Despite the obvious weariness bearing down upon him, Zack had been quite adamant that he, and only he, carry his friend; Cloud.

They had made their introductions briefly, before setting off. Aerith wasn’t sure what had compelled her to share her name. Perhaps she thought that if he knew it, he may be more open to trusting her. For now, he seemed somewhat apprehensive, as he trailed behind her, keeping a slight distance.

It would fall to her to fend off any monsters that crossed their paths.

Luckily, the packs of wererats they encountered were small and easy to keep track of. The fact that they tended to target the bigger, more immediate threats also proved advantageous, as; despite the giant sword at his back; Zack did not appear particularly imposing right now.

Before they could even think of calling upon their friends, Aerith was quick to rain ice spells down.

She led them safely the rest of the way to the clinic, just down from the Leafhouse.

Their late-afternoon arrival was opportune, as it meant she wouldn’t run into any of the kids, who were likely either inside or at their secret hideout. She suspected that the sight of her guiding two bloody, injured Soldiers might be cause for concern. It also meant there were no other patients being attended to, as they turned up just before the clinic was set to close for the evening.

The doctor’s head was bowed, looking over some paperwork when the door creaked open, his eyes lifting. Aerith’s hand rose in a sheepish wave as Zack stumbled in through behind her.

Gaze flickering toward the prone, motionless body balanced at Zack’s side, he swiftly rose from his desk, moving into action. Such a scene was not uncommon among the slums, it seemed.

“Move him to one of the beds in the back. I’ll examine him there.”

Suddenly, Zack grew apprehensive, his grip tightening instinctively, protectively, around Cloud. There was something about the room, the entire situation that unnerved him. The stranger’s white lab coat, their glasses, the stench of chemicals permeating the space. The cold, drab walls and equipment littered about the bench; needles, vials of unfamiliar substances.

It felt all too familiar.

He couldn’t trust it.

But, perhaps more crucially, Cloud was one of the few people left who Zack felt he could trust. After the lengths he had gone through to keep him from harm, Zack was not willing to hand him over so easily. His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint shining through, enough for the man to recoil.

Catching the tension etched across his features, Aerith’s fingers treaded lightly against his back, immediately drawing his intense glare away.

“It’s okay,” she reassured. “He’s just trying to help.”

As Aerith held his gaze, her eyes shining with sincerity and conviction, Zack could sense his more jaded, survival instincts ebbing away, as he wondered if he had a reason to doubt her.

She had found he and Cloud in trouble and, unlike most, went out of her way to offer help. She had led them all the way to his clinic, even fighting off monsters to ensure that they would make it safely. Those acts did not reflect someone with ulterior motives. Surely, if she had wanted to take advantage of them, it would have been easier to do so while they were passed out?

Besides, while he had managed to get this far on his own, Zack knew there were things he wouldn’t be able to do by himself. As much as it pained him to admit, he couldn’t help Cloud.

Begrudgingly, Zack guided Cloud over to the bed. Setting him down carefully with the doctor’s assistance.

Producing a small torch, he shone the light directly into Cloud’s eyes, noting how his pupils constricted. He was responding; that much was a relief.

Lifting his finger, the doctor dragged it in a straight line across Cloud’s eyeline. Cloud, however, was slow and languid in following the motion.

“Mako poisoning. Looks like a pretty serious case too. I can’t imagine how he’d have experienced such direct exposure.”

Zack grit his teeth. Having already received Mako injections as part of his induction into Soldier, he had a much better tolerance. Cloud, however, had not seen any direct exposure before. It was no wonder his body reacted poorly.

Not to mention, prospective Soldiers were typically given much smaller, controlled doses over time, allowing them to gradually adjust. They weren’t soaked in tiny tubes filled to the brim with the stuff!

As Zack stewed over bitter, disjointed memories of Hojo’s experiments, for the first time during the examination, the doctor’s curiosity won out.

“What exactly happened to him?”

Zack hesitated, unsure of how much detail he should go into. He knew it was counterproductive to lie, especially to someone only trying to help. After all, even the most innocuous information may have helped in assisting Cloud’s recovery.

But, could he really tell him that they’d both been sealed in vats of Mako and experimented on? That he wasn’t even entirely sure how long that process had lasted? That they’d escaped and spent the better part of a year evading Shinra? Sure, Zack was vaguely aware of doctor-patient confidentiality, but wasn’t sure it extended to dishonoured Soldiers on the run.

He couldn’t risk it.

“There was an open pool of Mako. He, uh- Fell in.” Zack lied.

The look the doctor gave was scrutinising, all furrowed lines and narrowed eyes. It was obvious that he didn’t believe him. Zack’s hand rubbed at the back of his head, a nervous tick. For the time being, he did not acknowledge Zack’s dishonesty, instead continuing with the treatment.

“We have a means to treat this, fortunately.” The doctor continued, producing an elixir from one of the cabinets behind him. “Though, given his current condition, it would normally need to be administered intravenously.”

Zack nodded, unable to contain the flash of disappointment. Of course. This was a small clinic in the slums. There was no way they’d have access to that kind of technology. In yet another cruel twist, just as he thought he’d found a way for Cloud to get better, it was ripped away from him.

Surprisingly, though, the doctor did not seem discouraged, a prospect that gave Zack the smallest flicker of hope.

Positioning Cloud onto his side, the doctor began to pry his mouth open before slowly trickling the liquid inside. The sight woke panic in Zack, who feared that he may choke. That is until he saw the bobbing of Cloud’s throat, swallowing the mixture down. Zack’s bewilderment must have been shown in his expression, as the doctor offered an explanation.

“Keeping the airways clear is something deeply tied to our physiology. Even in the most vegetative state the body still retains its ability to swallow.”

His words brought Zack relief, as he watched Cloud drank down the last of the medicine.

“He should be fine. It’ll take some time to flush the Mako out of his system, though. It would be best if he spent the night here, just to be safe.”

“Then I’ll stay here too.”

As he spoke, Zack could feel the doctor’s eyes shifting now to examine him. The thorough and concise way he analysed him made Zack uneasy, still.

“You are fortunate to not be in the same position,” he said. “Though I am concerned by the amount of blood you appear to have lost.”

“Don’t worry,” Zack dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Most of it’s not even mine.”

“You may feel fine, but you’re still running on adrenaline. You’re going to feel the effects once it wears off. It would be best if you were to rest.

“I’m fine,” Zack pushed, stubborn. As if to further emphasise the point he pulled up a nearby chair, perching himself by the head of Cloud’s bed.

“Have it your way,” the doctor sighed, moving back out into the reception area; perhaps to speak with Aerith. “Though there are more beds available should you change your mind.”

It may have been reckless on Zack’s part, but he had his reasons. It had been unsettling when he first entered the Clinic. He could only imagine the panic Cloud would wake in if he found himself in a strange room. He may fear for the worst, thinking they had been captured by Shinra. If Zack was there, his presence might calm him down.

Besides, even if he wanted to, Zack didn’t think he’d be able to sleep right now. Not until he was sure that Cloud was better.

It wasn’t long, though, before he found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. Suddenly feeling much less resistance to the sleep trying to take him.

Cloud was still recovering, but ultimately, in a better place; out of Hojo’s clutches. The realisation left Zack content, knowing that he could, seemingly, finally relax.

That they were safe, for the time being.

“You’re still here? I guess you were serious about staying.”

Zack blinked, looking around the room. He hadn’t realised how long it had been, finding darkness now blanketing the streets outside.

From the doorway, Aerith hovered in his periphery, her voice reaching out to him from a distance. She offered a soft smile as he eventually turned in her direction.

“If you really don’t want to sleep, why don’t you stop by the Community Centre next door? You’ll at least be able to clean yourself up and get something to eat.”

Zack could feel his stomach churn at the mere mention of food. The offer was tempting. He hadn’t been able to change his clothes or bathe for several months and had eaten only when the opportunity presented itself.

But, he still had doubts. For the time being, he’d feel safe lying low somewhere. Right now, this clinic seemed to fit the bill.

Though, Zack sighed, finding it cruel to refuse her. Particularly when she was being so kind, going to such lengths to help him, to no benefit of her own. But this was just the situation they were facing. He needed to be practical.

“I’d like to, but...”

Zack trailed off, eyes flickering back toward the bed where Cloud rested, the lone gesture more than conveying the reason for his hesitance. Aerith’s eyes softened, cradling a hand over her chest. She admired his steadfast dedication to his friend. The fact that he would value his well being over his own to such an extent. He was so selfless, albeit to a fault.

It was time that someone looked out for him.

“I understand. But if you aren’t careful, there’s going to be two people who end up bed-ridden and I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

She set her hands at her hips and scowled in mock admonishment, doing her best to mimic the same pose her mother would adopt if ever she was misbehaving. Zack couldn’t help the chuckle that broke his lips with the sudden shift.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“How about this? You can stay here and I’ll bring something back for you, sound good? There was actually somewhere I was supposed to be helping out tonight, but… something else came up...”

Her voice dragged into silence and Zack smirked.

“You sure are connected, huh?” He teased.

The soup Aerith brought back was light and warm as it trickled down his throat. Zack shivered, feeling it heat up his chest, in stark contrast to the rain-soaked sweater that was still clinging to his body.

He was surprised by the broth’s vibrant flavour. He would have thought good quality vegetables would be difficult to come by. Though, that may have also been due in part to this being the first proper meal he had been able to enjoy in months.

Still, it tasted divine.

Though his stomach grumbled, aching for more, Zack pushed down the urge to greedily suckle up every last drop before him. He knew he needed to pace himself, that he could get ill if he suddenly gorged his malnourished body too quickly. It was a problem Soldiers faced, when on long missions and short on rations.

Soup was a safe option to start with, though. The fresh vegetables would help settle his stomach and allow him to eventually move onto something heavier.

As he continued to savour the dish, he could feel Aerith’s gaze covering him. He glanced up, greeted by her warm smile.

“Like it? I have some more if you want. Or we could keep it for Cloud.”

Setting down his bowl, Zack did not answer for the moment. Instead, he mirrored her expression, sincere and unyielding.

“I really appreciate this, Aerith.”

“O- oh, it’s nothing, really.”

“Are you kidding? Things were touch and go for us for a while there. But thanks to you, I’ll think we’ll be okay. I have to repay you somehow.”

Zack pondered for a moment, unsure of how he could even begin to repay the lengths she had gone to for him.

He didn’t have any gil, or really... anything of monetary value to his name. Perhaps once he had settled into town and found some work he’d be able to repay her. But, money didn’t seem adequate to cover just how indebted he was to Aerith.

If it weren’t for her, Cloud might have never had a chance to recover.

One thing he knew for certain, he was actually enjoying her company and would like to keep spending time with her.

“I know,” he decided eventually. “How about one date?”

“Hmm?” Aerith considered, fingers pressing at her chin. “Spending time with you is a reward, is it?”

“Well, you got us food this time around. It’s only fair that I return the favour.”

“I keep telling you, it’s fine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to trouble you. I get the impression you aren’t exactly rolling in gil right now”

“Maybe not at the moment, but a man of my skills? I could be a mercenary, and take on any job. It won’t be long before I’ve found work.”

“Is that so?” She teased. “I don’t seem to recall you doing much monster-fighting today.”

“It’s true there’s no way I could compare to you, but I’ll have you know I’m quite handy with a sword.”

“Really? I guess I’ll have to hire you and find out for myself.”

“I’ll be there. Just say the word.”

Zack was surprised. He’d always thought himself friendly, amiable. But not since he had first met Cloud, could Zack recall jelling so effortlessly with another person; enjoying that same easy banter. That he was opening up so readily after what he and Cloud had just been through.

The conversation dipped as they continued to eat, silently.

That is, until he caught the basket of flowers resting in the corner of the room. That’s right, Zack recalled. Aerith had had those with her when she had found them at the station.

It was a hard detail to miss. You didn’t often see flowers around Midgar. It piqued his curiosity. They must have been important if she had made the effort to bring them all the way here with her.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier, but… what’s with the flowers?”

“Oh! I sell them. I actually forgot I had left them here. But, I suppose it doesn’t matter. They do make for a nice gift for someone who isn’t feeling well, after all. I’m sure Cloud will appreciate them.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” She goaded.

Before Zack could offer any retort, a strained groan broke from the opposite side of the room. His voice caught, a tightness constricting his throat. Before him, Aerith froze, her hand in the midst of raising a spoonful of soup to her lips. Zack’s head whipped back toward the bed as the sheets ruffled under the distinct movement of Cloud’s body.

“Cloud?!”

“Z- Zack?”

Immediately, Zack sprung forward, stopping abruptly by the head of Cloud’s bed. His voice had been weak, his features scrunching up as he struggled to keep his bleary, eyes open. Yet, it was more life than he could recall seeing from his friend in months. Zack laughed, tears of relief beading in the corners of his eyes.

“I guess you were right. The flowers did make a difference.”

#zerith #zerithweek #cloti #fanfiction #ffvii #final fantasy vii #zack lives au

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years ago

Text

All right, more writing advice has occurred to me, as promised, so here it is.

Writing Advice #2: Find a scene you like in a story you enjoy and dissect it.

I say a scene you like, not a scene you love, because honestly you’re probably never going to enjoy the scene again by the time you’re done. BUT.

Find a good scene in a good book, and list as many observations about the scene as you possibly can. Figure out: what does that scene accomplish? How does it follow on from past scenes? How does it set up future scenes? What does it do for the characters and/or plot? Most importantly, how did the author make it do that? Do it in a macro level, for plot and character and theme. Do it on a micro level, for individual word choices.

I’ll use an example from #22: The Solution, because this is me and I never shut up about Animorphs. And I’m gonna do just a macro-level breakdown, to see how that scene fits within the book to understand why I like it so much.

One of my favorite scenes from #22 involves the entire extended Berenson family crowding into a hospital room to witness the “miraculous” “recovery” of “Saddler” — really David using Saddler’s DNA to sneak into Saddler’s family — before Jake and Rachel, the only two Berensons in the know, step out into the hallway. In classic Berenson style they deal with their feelings by shouting and nearly coming to blows... but they gradually open up to each other about the fact that they’re both feeling scared and helpless right now. They actually hug, the only time we ever see Jake and Rachel show that much affection, and resolve to handle this David-Saddler situation together. The Hallway Scene (as Cates and I call it) is p. 107 - 113 in #22, most of Chapter 21.

So how does Applegate set that scene up?

First of all, we get exposition on the Saddler situation. It comes up twice earlier in the book — once in the form of Naomi giving Rachel an update while Rachel staggers off to bed after fighting David all night, once in the form of Jordan seeking Rachel’s big-sister comfort about the situation in a conversation Rachel later realizes David overheard. Both of those moments mean it makes sense when Rachel’s struggle against David gets interrupted by her mom bringing her to the hospital to visit an injured cousin. That moment with Jordan also sets up David’s decision to kill and replace Saddler, while on the surface being a tough-but-sweet moment between sisters. So the reader understands the Saddler situation pretty well, and thus it’s equipped to drive the plot. We also don’t need exposition about it during The Hallway Scene, and can thus focus on just the characters there.

Second, we get Jake and Rachel’s dynamic. The book opens with Rachel going into a rage and promising to murder David when she discovers Jake lying on the floor of the mall. Through the planning and execution of the Hulk Smash the team does on the G8 summit, we see that Jake and Rachel work together seamlessly during emergencies — and that they fall into bickering once the emergency ends. Later, we get Rachel’s first attempt to confront Jake about his willingness to use her as a weapon against David as they’re on Jake’s front porch, only to have Jake cut Rachel off with a reminder that Tom is inside the house. All of these scenes build up the tension between Jake and Rachel but allow it no release until The Hallway Scene.

Third, we get the mood. Rachel misses her first night of sleep in the opening sequence, when Ax gets her out of bed and she ends up hunting David clear until dawn. Rachel misses her second night of sleep when the Animorphs resort to a smash ‘n’ burn on the G8 summit. Rachel misses her ability to catch up on sleep when Jordan comes into her room, and then David reveals he’s been in her room as well for an unknown amount of time. Not only has she been without rest for the past three days, she’s been unable to relax anywhere: David might be in her house, David might be in her school, David might be in Cassie’s barn, David might be Marco, David might be crawling on her skin. Rachel and Jake’s confrontation is dangerously close to being public — they’re in a hallway of a hospital — but they’re exhausted and have nowhere else to go.

Fourth, the book sets up the contrast between appearance and reality within the Berenson family. Obviously the whole series is about how appearances are misleading, but this book has several moments with Rachel reflecting on her mall-rat past self and realizing that that girl is a killer now. There’s also the moment where she says “[Jake] was sitting there, looking like any other kid stuck in any other boring minivan. If you saw him walk down the street you might think, Oh, there’s a nice-looking guy... /But then, I guess that’s true of everyone. You can never be sure whether the pretty blond lugging a pair of bulging Express bags through the mall is just another sweet, ditzy, harmless mall rat. /Or me.” Rachel is conscious that the Berenson family is simultaneously the most “nice-looking” (white, upper-class, close, mostly nuclear) and in some ways the messiest family even on their whole team of messy families.

Their very closeness is what makes Tom’s yeerk so capable of hurting Jake and Steve — as Tobias points out in #31, any yeerk in his family could just tell his guardians to fuck off and that’d be the end of it. Their very closeness is what enables Jake to trust Rachel up to the point of asking her to commit murder, and what enables Rachel to trust Jake up to the point of committing murder on his say-so. But it’s not until The Hallway Scene that we see Rachel’s understanding of “appearances are deceiving, especially in this family” and her understanding of “I’m a lot more scared of myself than anyone realizes” coalesce onto the epiphany of “oh wait, Jake feels the same way I do.”

So how does that scene set up the rest of the book?

This breakdown’s a little simpler, because this scene is 75% of the way through the book and 95% of the way through the trilogy.

First, it takes away a lot of David’s power, because being vulnerable with each other allows Rachel and Jake bring the team dynamic back in line. All of a sudden David’s attempts to sow discord — calling Rachel a monster, gloating about killing Tobias, pretending to be Marco — shift from being terrifying and heartbreaking to being... there. Rachel has all the power in that scene in the Taco Bell, even though David continues to think that he has the power, and part of the reason that’s true is that she has her team at her back now.

Second, it sets up the resolution. The Hallway Scene allows Jake and Rachel to confront their own brutality, and to a certain extent they choose to embrace that brutality because they see no other way out of the situation. Thus Jake green-lights Cassie’s plan to trap David as a rat, and Rachel does the dirty work of executing that plan.

Third, it prepares several other moments of uniquely brutal vulnerability between these two later on in the series. Jake morphs howler for the first time while cradled between Rachel’s grizzly-bear paws, because she’s the one he trusts to kill him instantly if he can’t control the morph (#26). Rachel spends the entirety of #37 denying that she got a civilian killed until the moment she can finally talk to Jake about it, and Jake all-but confesses to having done the same. Jake can’t bring himself to ask Rachel directly to kill Tom in a suicide mission, but Rachel understands what he’s saying all the same, and makes him agree in exchange not to blame himself for their deaths (#53).

Fourth, it shifts the mood away from the kids feeling more and more trapped in their ever-shrinking corner, toward the kids realizing they’ve all got each other in that corner. David’s fate is a terrible secret binding the team together, and it’s the reason that these six never really trust anyone but each other ever again in the series. Jake’s scared of himself, Rachel’s scared of herself, but at least from here on out they can be scared together.

Why’s The Hallway Scene so impactful?

Contrast, mostly. For instance, Applegate could’ve written a scene where Rachel reacts to finding out that Michelle’s and the other vets’ intervention kept Jake alive long enough for him to demorph and survive David’s attack. There could’ve even been a scene with Rachel hugging Jake in a thank-god-you’re-alive way, processing the earlier emotion of having found him dying on the floor of the mall. However, if we had gotten that moment, then it wouldn’t be nearly as surprising or as bittersweet when Jake and Rachel hug in the hospital hallway. In canon, we get told-not-shown about the aftermath of Jake being rescued, and Rachel just assumes that neither she nor Jake needs a hug after all that because they’re Built Berenson Tough and must be fine.

Another hypothetical: Applegate could’ve set that same scene somewhere safe for them to talk freely, like the clock tower or another location David doesn’t know. Or she could’ve set the scene somewhere completely unsafe, like Saddler’s hospital room where both Tom and David are within earshot. However, setting it somewhere completely safe would raise the possibility that Jake and Rachel morph and attempt to do real violence to each other. The scene wouldn’t work as well if they had quite that much freedom of expression, and quite that little urgency about talking things out right now. Setting it somewhere unsafe might have interesting implications if they’re forced to use doublespeak the whole time (as we see them doing on the phone) but wouldn’t allow them enough space to be as emotionally vulnerable as we see them being in canon. Forcing them to have the appearance of a normal conversation from a distance, while also allowing them to say what they will without fear of eavesdroppers, gives us exactly the right balance of tension.

How’d Applegate to it?

Not in the first draft, I guarantee you. Attempting to fit a scene that well into a book that doesn’t yet fully exist is quite simply impossible. Maybe there was a scene where Rachel gave Jake a thank-god-you’re-not-dead hug after Michelle fixed him, and it got taken out later. Maybe the Saddler situation was originally explained as Rachel was already on her way to the hospital, and the exposition got deliberately moved to an earlier and less-tense moment in the plot. Point being, it took writing and rewriting and rerewriting to get the book to fit together that well, and the same is true of any book that flows well in its entirety.

My other guess about what went on behind the scenes: lots of prewriting. Lots of outlining the whole series, lots of “what would Rachel do?”, lots of research on elephants and rats and dolphins and eagles.

All of that is work. All of that is a pain. All of that is returning to a project even after the glow of initial excitement is gone. All of that is fighting the urge to scream and yeet the draft after getting criticism. But books don’t function if you don’t put that much work into them.

#animorphs #writing #writing advice #animorphs meta #22 #the solution #berenson feels #rachel berenson #animorphs spoilers #asks #anonymous

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years ago

Note

Onyx tells Mc she’s pregnant. They hosts a party for everyone to announce of Onyx’s pregnancy. How they announce it and how everyone react are up to you!

Written by @evoedbd

WARNINGS Mentions of abuse Mentions of miscarriage Potentially offensive attempts at humor

Chanouncement

Cali was good with weird. Completely fine. The last year had seen her life absolutely flipped on its head. Perhaps rolled over by a truck, chopped up, tossed into a woodchipper, fed to gulls, shat out across the country… the picture was quite morbid.

Cali had foolishly thought her life couldn’t get any weirder. After all, she was dating the nicer of two near identical twins, who both so happened to be supernaturally selected demon slayers. The “evil” twin had turned Cali into a well of Supernatural energy and used said power to give the demons a massive level up. That wasn’t all, she’d also watched said twin, whilst possessed, gut Onyx, the love of her life and watched Onyx emerge a dragon. If that wasn’t unusual and morbid enough, Cali had literally shouted her romantic love at a literal dragon, who had once been her five-foot nothing girlfriend. Cali had been dating a literal dragon. In love with a literal dragon. That should have topped the weirdness charts. But no, Cali had then become the next Envy herself, and thus the only human bridge between a mod girl reincarnated into a brown bear, and her dead girlfriend. If that wasn’t enough, she’d been part of a ritual to bring her girlfriend back into human form, and to top it off, Cali discovered that her blood was the literal key to her girlfriend’s soul and destroying it. Nothing too serious. Just casual lesbian disaster stuff. Only, neither she nor Onyx were actually lesbians. Both of them appreciated men. In the sexy way. In the “Onyx had dated a man who abused her until her twin sister had gutted him like a pig and stolen his supernatural powers”, way. That kind of bisexual… no wonder some people were a little intimidated by the Queer community. Between U-Haul lesbians not checking for demon possession and world ending bisexuals, that was all pretty scary.

Though not as scary as what she and her lady love planned to do. As fate would have it, if fate was a wonderful arsehole conscious, Cali had been delivered a further dose of weirdness in her unusual life. Weirdness in the form of her formerly dragon, formerly dead girlfriend discovering she was pregnant under the potent influence of ritualistic magic, which had restored her human form. Given that these circumstances would have been terrifying for anybody, even without the added fact that she was now vulnerable for a demon demi-devil’s possession and the prime target of an apocalyptic plot, it made absolute sense that Onyx was anxious. Cali had been there, she understood how end of the world pressure like that could mess with a girl, which was why it was imperative to bring the team up to date on the latest development… and no, that was not a kidney, not yet. Onyx wasn’t that far along.

So far, the plan of a joyful distraction had gone off without a hitch. The common area was alive with laughter flowing from the Sin Troupe. Alcohol flowed relatively freely, along with several bowls and bags of typical party food such as potato chips and popcorn. The floor was already littered with crumbs, mostly from the boys throwing scraps at Wrath between rounds of charades. One thing Cali had learned tonight was that for a group that entertained for a living, a group also responsible for concealing the fact the world was woefully fucked from the general population, they were horrific actors. Now the money and tickets made sense, for even the most deluded of fans would surely notice the cracks if it was left to their acting skills alone.

“Shaving! Um, WHIPPED! Oh! BDSM KINK SHAMING!”

“Moron.”

“Darius… how did you even get that from dancing?”

“Oh? That’s what it is? I thought Wrath was possessed.”

“She’s Britney Spears. Cal’s her circus boy.”

“Well we aren’t all DJs here, Malakai. How was I supposed to get that from whatever she and Cal were doing?”

Cali didn’t tune into the words after that. She was back to anxious, or perhaps the woman tucked under her arm was. It was difficult to tell with the bond so active, causing the teeth marks on her shoulder to burn with the heat of a dragon’s love. Try as she might, she was caught between two violent sensations. The magic of the mark; memories of heat as playful nips had become a serious bite, a possessive one from a Dragon unlike the world had ever seen, or ever would. It wasn’t like anybody had seen Onyx as a dragon… except two sold out nights of the Sin Circus, a carnival ground and a shopping mall full of super excited fans and everyone online. Ok, that was a lot of people who’d seen Onyx as a dragon. That could be a problem. Which led to the anxiety. The type which made sweat prickle in all the uncomfortable places and her stomach do terrified flips. She wasn’t even the pregnant one. Onyx had to survive a pregnancy, targeting and contain a literal dragon’s soul.

All Cali had to do was make the statement that she had an announcement to make like a normal human being. She had to ignore the sweat trickling down her palms, tickling every crease, and how her heart skipped several beats in the past minute; rushing faster and faster until she could hear in her ears when she closed her eyes. Slower Blinks. She had to be normal. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal.

All she had to do was make a single little announcement, that was admittedly life changing. It wasn’t like these people would judge. After all they were supernatural Demon assassins chosen by mystical powers based on the Seven Deadly Sins. If there was any group which were not judgemental it would surely be these people.

“I have channouncement to make.” she said with a rather high-pitched voice and a casual smile just a little too tight to be completely relaxed. In a room full of assassins she might as well have been waving a red flag saying terrified med school dropout alert. This was the time for the royal skill of fake it till you make it mixed with an impossibly large dose of denial. Anxious? Cali? Hah! No way. She had nailed it.

“What she means is we want to tell you something. Since we’re already playing charades, we want to try and see if you can guess.” Onyx chimed in, snuggling playfully under Cali’s arm. The mechanic grinned, letting her goofy affection conceal another wave of nerves. It was easier if she just stared at Onyx and let her face do what it would do. Give in to the muscles making her smile as she got lost in the most dazzling green eyes the world had ever seen. The dusting of blue eyeshadow really made those eyes pop, like emeralds offered to thieves on booby trapped pedestals. Hah, boobs! Cali liked those. Especially Onyx’s. No matter how Cali tried to avoid falling for the emerald trap, she found her gaze lingering, feasting on how the light shone across dark lashes and the rhinestone piercing just beneath Onyx’s right eye. It kept focus away from tender pink lips, from subtle little bites that portrayed a mix of excitement and nerves. Cali doubted the others would realise Onyx was anything other than playful. Afterall Onyx was a master of faking it until she made it, even to her closest friends. It showed in how loose her body was, how genuine her show stopping smile seemed. If Cali hadn’t felt the flickering within the bond, she may have bought Onyx’s act. That and the affection. How Onyx’s arm around her waist pulled that little bit too tight to be casual. Or how trimmed nails tried to dig into the grey fabric of Cali’s shirt; dragon talons clinging to the finest treasure. A scared girl seeking reassurance.

“Right. And to make it a team Envy experience, I’m going to tell Rip how to act.” Cali explained out loud, barely restraining her laughter as Ripley’s eagerness flooded her mind.

“Alright! I’m the best at charades! My acting is on point. Everyone thinks I’m a bear.”

Cali didn’t have the heart to tell Ripley that her “bear” act was entirely too adorable to be terrifying. Ripley may have the body of a bear, her soul, however, was still that of a tender human. Her soft eyes would strike terror into the hearts of the masses, along with her awkward attempts at snarls and finely groomed coat. Every gesture of her paws would see her painted pink claws drip sparkles, which admittedly might be horrifying to cishet folk. Ripley as always, was dressed for battle, wearing a fearsome checkered neck scarf, complete with an adorable little bow…truly, Ripley could intimidate the world into movies and cuddles. She could terrify little girls into dropping popcorn into her open maw as she scrolled an iPad and lamented the fashion she could no longer wear. She was oh so very, very terrifying. Cali had fallen for the bear terror for five seconds when they’d met, that was true. Then again, Cali had also believed Vinca a completely evil maniac who killed Onyx’s boyfriend, who was a loving and uplifting man, just to steal his powers and fuck with Onyx. She had assumed Dorran had loved and cherished Onyx until his dying breath. Cali had assumed Dorran had trained her, protected her, instead of abused her and hurled her at demons. Cali’s track record with assumptions was pretty horrific, actually. Horrifically awful.

She realised her lingering rage must have echoed through the bond when a soft touch to her forearm drew her attention. Once again, she was drawn into the trap of green, found herself beneath the crashing wave of Onyx’s gaze. This gaze, however, was different. It was sympathy and confusion, a jumbled mess of understanding which stood secondary to the fact Onyx wished to soothe. A small flick at the corner of Cali’s mouth let Onyx know the gesture was received, the storm had passed, at least for now. She didn’t need to keep her gaze on Onyx to know that the former Envy Assassin’s expression mirrored her own. Cheeky grins and eyes twinkling with mischief as Cali allowed her mind to sink into the images and emotions she needed to convey, needed Ripley to convey. Onyx was their awareness, her approval expressed in delighted cackles and birdsong laughter, by her touch on Cali’s arm shifting with her small body.

The bear started out stiff, walking in shorter, wider strides on hind legs as forelegs awkwardly extended before her in a zombie like attempt of curves. A few strides in, Ripley fell forwards, catching her weight on her forepaws, before attempting her waddling all over again. This time, poor Ripley tried to bring them to her back, only to manage to reach her hips; range of motion not allowing her any further. The awkward waddling, paws on hips appeared like something off a runway full of models who had indulged in too many illegal substances. The display had everyone howling with glee, even Ripley within the Envy Trio’s heads. Eventually, Ripley ceased the arms, instead waddling awkwardly around as crew shouted out their guesses.

“Zombies!”

“Onyx got a Runway offer!”

”Did you buy a petting zoo?”

Both Cali and Onyx laughed, shaking their heads to every shout. Ripley let forth a beastly groan as she lowered herself to the ground, then rolled onto her back. After some awkward shuffling, the bear eventually lifted her feet straight into the air, spread apart as far as her beastly hips would allow. The pose was awkward enough for a human, let alone a bear, with her little tail all fluffed up and her long arms gesturing in awkwardly small arcs across her rather fuzzy stomach.

“Onyx is getting a feature in a music video!”

“She’s designing for a dance studio!”

“Onyx has put on weight!”

“We’re meant to guess an announcement, moron, not state an obvious.”

“Cal, manners.”

“It’s true, she is a bit bulkier since she became human again.”

“You know, it’d be easier if you just told me what I was acting, instead of having me rolling around like a pregnant whale.” Ripley sighed through the bond, rising halfway before freezing. She seemed shocked beyond comprehension. Had she been human, Cali was sure Ripley’s face would have lost its hue. The Envy trio stared at each other. Onyx’s face had gone ashen with fright, concern filtering through her tight smile. Her apprehension flooded the bond, all her concerns jumbled together in a tide which threatened to wash both Ripley and Cali away. Fear that she might lose the approval of her sister figure. That she might garner disapproval or be judged for something beyond her control. That everyone would hate her. That she’d be alone again.

“Onyx is…?” Ripley’s question never came through completely.

The moment Cali realised what was happening, her mind was there. She stormed Onyx’s consciousness, shield raised to deflect every horrific thought and fear before she lashed out. Snapshots of fantasy, impossibilities given life for a few seconds. A scent more appealing and delicate than anything else the world could offer. Soft baby blonde hairs that appeared almost white against more tanned skin. Emerald green eyes glistening with nothing but utter adoration. The rush of family, how the feeling of their support could provide wings. Onyx, belly rounded, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling with delight, toes kicking through a gentle stream. A loving smile from Vinca, the sharpness abandoned as she cooed over an innocent child. How tiny a child would be in Wrath’s large arms, yet how tender the brawler would be. Malakai’s warm smile as the baby traced his tattoos. Darius, dangling his chain just out of their reach as the babe giggled. Cal, strumming his guitar as the three men sung to the babe, who slumbered in an older Avi’s arms.

“Oh my god! Onyx is-” Again, Ripley never finished the though. Her eyes rolled backwards, almost as if she were being possessed in a hammer horror film. Her legs gave out, her body crumpled to the ground. Cali found herself swaying, her vision filled with black dots as the intensity of their emotions washed over the trio, sweeping them away in the tsunami. She clung to Onyx, fighting to keep the smallest Envy assassin on her feet. Onyx seemed to feel the same way, given how she clung tighter to Cali, preventing the Chinese woman from falling. A loud crash let Cali know that Ripley had indeed gone through the bowls of supplied snacks, along with the table they rested on. Chips flew everywhere, spraying across the penthouse along with shards of broken bowls. The laughter stopped, everyone half rising, half looking towards Cali.

“… That wasn’t part of the announcement.” Was the only thing Cali could offer to the expectant assassins. The room went eerily silent, enough that one might hear crickets chirping, or the din from the streets of Vegas echoing to the top floor of the hotel.

“She’s having a baby!” An entirely too cheerful voice broke the deafening silence, drawing everyone’s attention to Cal’s little boy. Avi stood in the doorway to the common area, his little yellow hood pulled up over sleep tussled black locks. His deep brown eyes shone like melted chocolate, filled with a tired child’s innocent delight and excitement. Cali couldn’t help but smile at the boy, giving him the smallest nod of approval, which only made him smile so delightedly that his white teeth stood starkly against his dark skin.

“How does that tie into O- oh…” Malakai started out confused, only for realisation to flood his rich eyes. His mouth fell open, brows arching towards his hairline as his gaze travelled between Avi, Cali then to Onyx. Cali couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell what that meant. Oh? That was ALL he had to say? Just oh? Oh, that was, OH, so very helpful.

“Oh?” Wrath began, her own eyes following the same path Malakai’s had.

“Ohhhhh…” She drew out, seeming to have reached the same conclusion he had. Cali felt herself bunch up, muscles rippling beneath her skin as if they were infected vines. Did they not realise what they were doing? Could they not see how Onyx shrunk away from them? Could they not tell how close to tears she was? It flooded Cali’s body, overwhelming her with its chill. As if winter had fallen for a thousand years across all her nerves until only an aching numbness lingered. The subtle tensions through her screamed her protective intentions as she angled herself defensively between the troupe and Onyx, shielding the anxious woman from such evident attention. If the troupe were going to hurt her, then they had better be prepared to face the wrath of Two Envy Assassins… or at least a sassy bike mechanic.

“Oh.” Wrath concluded. It was simple but telling, accompanied by the pinch of her brows. Confusion and consideration warred within her eyes, yet her face remained remarkably blank. It was enough to have Onyx’s breath escape shakily as she clung to Cali’s arm, squeezing until she was sure her nails would be biting through the colourful cloth of her hoodie. If Cali felt pain, it didn’t show, she simply stood silent. A guardian. A woman ready to fight tooth and nail to protect what she loved. The magic within her mark burned immensely hot, scorching Cali’s skin as its darkness flared, much like a panther swishing its tail in agitation. Despite everything, Onyx couldn’t help but lean closer, pressing her forehead into the mark she had left so long ago.

“Yeah. Big Oh.” Cal agreed, his own eyes shifting between everyone, calculating in his sharp, judgemental manner.

“A bad oh?” Cali challenged, unable to endure the strain of not knowing for a second longer. The calculating glances, the wide-eyed silence, everything screaming silent judgements. Cali couldn’t stand it, and if she couldn’t then she knew Onyx would be drowning. The blonde seemed to cower, tucking her head into Cali’s collar as the Asian woman unleashed her inner dragon upon every Assassin with a pointed glare. Cali’s arms encased Onyx, a fortress of flesh and bone protecting the scared princess. Despite her height, Cali found herself playing prince and dragon, both warring to keep the princess safe in their ways. It would be so easy to protect with nothing but love, to embody the princely hero and do no evil. Let the Princess make her own mistakes and swoop in to clean up the mess. However, Cali had always been more of a dragon. Someone to shield those she loved from harm with all her might, to try to prevent them ever leaving to make the mistake in the first place.

A universal flinch rolled through the Assassins, ricocheted like a bullet from Cal’s gun once they realised just how they had come across to the smallest yet brightest of their number.

“Girl, you’re gonna be a baby momma? I get to be an uncle?” It was Darius who brought the excitement. His seductive eyes shone with barely restrained glee; glee which bubbled through to his most dashing smile. His whole body appeared to vibrate, as if he was giving everything in order restrain himself. His glee was infectious, seeping into Cali’s muscles with a gentle warmth until they thawed. She allowed herself to relax a little, giving Onyx an opening to lift her head and give a shy nod. At that nod, sparks flew, igniting the warmth within every assassin. Darius practically flew forwards, wrapping his arms around Onyx and Cali in his excitement. Malakai was right behind him, scooping the three huggers into his humongous arms and giving a gentle squeeze. Finally, Onyx laughed with relief so potent it was as if the air itself heaved a sigh.

“I’m so happy for you.” Malakai whispered, lowering his head into the pack so that he could press an adoring kiss to Onyx’s cheek. Darius seemed determined to copy the gesture, planting his own lips to Onyx’s forehead in a few lazy pecks. Onyx giggled, squeezing whomever she could grasp. Cali didn’t kiss, not this time, she simply rested her forehead to Onyx’s temple, offering her own silent support.

“Congratulations, Onyx.” Wrath’s gentle voice was flooded with warmth, with unconditional love as she wrapped her own arms around the group, holding her team as if they may shatter under the intensity of her love. That thought was enough to make Cali smile. Wrath loved as she lived, hard and intense. When one had Wrath’s affection, they had the weight of her heart on their sleeve, the promise of an Arch Angel named for a sin. The warmth of Wrath’s hug was potent beyond the physical, it seeped into the soul. Wrath warmed from the inside out with her embrace, turning everyone mushy and relaxed. None relaxed further than Onyx, who trusted her weight to the men and women wrapped around her. Cali was perhaps the only one who denied herself the safety, instead raising her challenging glare to Caleb North. The only Assassin yet to give a reaction.

“Avi, cover your ears.” He finally began, letting forth a soft hiss of breath between his teeth. Long, callused fingers brushed through his supermodel locks, pushing them away from his glistening forehead as he waited for his ward to obey. Avi, innocently as ever, clamped his little hands over his twee ears. Only when Cal was sure that Avi was blocking his ears did the Sloth Assassin begin.

“I don’t understand how you’re all taking this so well. Especially you, Cali. Even a med dropout should -”

“I didn’t cheat!” Onyx’s outraged cry was enough to have everyone flinching. Onyx was a pool of wrath, sickly tar bubbling to a boil in a cauldron precariously positioned above the archway of a door. Or above the gates soldiers of shame might siege. Cali turned her focus back to Onyx, watching how her nostrils flared, reminiscent of her dragon form. Cali fancied she saw a haunted gleam in Onyx’s blazing green eyes, which had narrowed in utter fury, causing her piercing to gleam like a blade in the light. Gone was the whimpering, terrified maiden within that accusation. Onyx had already been that for two people. Now, Onyx stood confident, challenging the world instead of shying from an abuser. As terrified as she had been of her family’s reaction, Onyx was done running.

“I didn’t even think that!” Cal fired back, as if offended on Onyx’s behalf that such a thing were even considered. It was then Cali could see it. The concern waging war with cautious joy in his deep blue eyes. It was noticing that which kept Cali from lunging into the fray, instead giving Cal a chance to redeem himself in their eyes. Or dig his own grave.

“But pregnancy is stressful enough without adding demons, and the fact that you turned into a dragon! Ask yourself, with everything going on, is this really the time to start playing happy family? Is it safe? You see what I go through with Avi. What if you die, or die again in Onyx’s case? I’m worried about you. A child is a serious responsibility, not something to dabble with in the honeymoon phase of your re-“

“Honeymoon phase? That’s what you’re calling -” Cali fired up, her own dark eyes igniting with rage. Cal had dug his grave with construction grade machinery. She could feel the mark burning, instinctively knew it was the angriest it had ever been, as if rebelling along with the rest of her body. Her vision blurred, weakened legs causing her to half stumble. She could barely hold herself up, yet she wanted nothing more than to lunge at the Sloth assassin. Honeymoon phase? Is that what he thought? There was nothing honeymoon about dying! Nothing honeymoon about offering your soul to a lineage of power just to let the one you love have a single coherent thought!

“Enough.” Wrath didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. The note of finality in her tone was more than enough to bring Cali’s instinctive outrage grinding to a halt long enough for her to take a soothing breath and blink away the haze from her vision. She felt Onyx do the same, even as Malakai, Darius and Wrath untangled from the cuddle huddle and respectfully gave the Envy assassins their breathing room.

“I think Cal is just as confused as we are as to how this happened.”

“The gay club doesn’t know?” Darius’ gasped interruption drew the eyes of the entire room, much like metal shavings to a magnet. Despite his crude wording, his shock that nobody else knew was evident, painted across his dashing face as if it were a canvas hanging in the Louvre.

“Darius. I’m not gay.” Onyx’s correction was gentle, delivered with an amused tilt to her lips.

“Errrmmmm, I’m bi.” Cali lifted a hand timidly, akin to how a child might raise it when unsure of the answer in class.

“I wasn’t invited to any club.” Malakai’s comment was delivered quietly, his brows arched in a mocking display of confusion. Wrath, dutiful as ever, simply crossed her large arms, muscles flexing deliciously with every subtle movement. Her head fell forwards, face meeting her awaiting palm as she bluntly informed everyone.

“There is no club.”

“Code then? So the Bi-bies are having a baby and broke the queer code? Like, aren’t don’t you queers have some form of secret club? How did the Lesbian not know? Aren’t you all meant to be experts on lady parts? Malakai might get a pass as a pan man. Queer people always seem to know everyone’s-”

“Darius.” Malakai began, stepping forwards. The sound of chips crunching beneath his boots was enough to draw a tiny snicker from Cali, though her amusement was quickly smothered by the exhausted frown on Wrath’s face. Her usually blazing eyes held poignant gleam. Something so deeply cut, as if her heart had once more been shattered. The mechanic didn’t even realise where Wrath’s mind had gone, not until she felt Onyx also tense beside her. Oh… that was too telling. The last time Wrath’s sexuality had come into the group, half the group had died. Her family had been torn apart as she helplessly cradled a broken heart heavy in a hollowed out chest. Darius had just toed a landmine; one he didn’t even realise he was prone to step on. Even Cal held his tongue, watching his leader with a softened expression that was all the more lancing. A joust of agony straight to Cali’s chest, or perhaps it was Onyx’s chest. At this point, it didn’t matter, both hearts beat to the same music, each complimentary and connected by the existence of music.

“Stop digging yourself into that hole, man, its deep enough.” Malakai concluded. Darius looked puzzled for a moment as he looked around the room before sudden realisation dawned in his eyes. Never had Cali seen him shuffle as awkwardly as he did then, steadfastly avoiding Wrath’s gaze.

“Right… but yeah, wow, congratulations baby girl, or baby momma now.”

“Thanks.” Onyx muttered, offering a small yet undoubtedly genuine flick of a smile.

“Cali, I gotta say, I did not peg you for… you know?” Darius powered on, earning several confused looks from the group. Genuine awe shone in his eyes, mixed with an overly heaped spoonful of respect. The concoction of emotions was potent, yet it only left Cali blinking in confusion.

“I do?” She drew the sounds out, shuffling awkwardly until she untangled herself from Onyx. With a flick of her chin, she attempted to clear a sweat slicked bang from her face, only to have it catch across her lashes. Her eyes watered, stinging with the saltiness of sweat, punishing her perhaps for not seeing what was going on. Where was Darius going with this?

“Like, wow. I guess we should have known you were packing from all the noise you two make, but I did not even notice.”

“Darius!” Onyx gasped, her tone scolding and scandalised even as the most awkward giggle imaginable bubbled in her throat. The beautiful slopes of her cheeks flushed brilliantly, showing through the layers of makeup in splotchy pinks. Only Cali knew that underneath, Onyx would be brighter than a tomato; her blush the embodiment of coals when left bare to the world.

“Noise? Packing?” Cali inquired, continuing to wipe at her offended eye as she tried to puzzle what Darius was saying.

“Like, your tuck job is insane! And it hardly looks like you’re wearing makeup at all! And your boobs, like, they look real, man.” He powered on like a trooper, gesturing to her chest area.

“Um… they are?” Cali’s questioning tone became even more befuddled. Why was he commenting on her chest? How did that tie into Onyx’s pregnancy? It was not like Cali was going to be providing breastmilk, so what else was she missing?

“Oh! I didn’t realise you were on treatments. That totally makes sense-”

“Hold on… do you think I’m-” Cali tried to interrupt. Treatments. Packing. Tuck job. Breast surgery. All of this pointed towards one thing.

“I’ve seen some bad tuck jobs in my day, I mean like, slipping from under the dress levels. Your tuck-”

“I DON’T HAVE A DICK DARIUS!” Cali shouted, sending the entire room into silence. Instantly, her hands flew to her mouth, covering it in utter shock at her own outburst. Embarrassed didn’t begin to cover it, she was utterly mortified. Both for her outburst and that her sex was even in question. Then, guilt washed over her. Guilt that she was embarrassed over an assumption, that she was even edging on potentially phobic behaviour. She had been born female; born the way she was meant to be as a person. That she was embarrassed as being mistaken for trans felt as if she was insulting the trans community somehow. That thought alone made her feel sick.

“…Oh.”

“We really needed to hear that. I don’t think downstairs heard you.” Cal’s particular brand of snark earned a soft snort from several people, which only made Cali’s cheeks burn hotter. Despite this, she uncovered her face, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m not trans. Also, that is so rude! If someone is trans you don’t just casually tell them you’ve made them! That’s so hurtful! Come on, man.”

“Not cool, Darius. Not cool.” Malakai added. The other assassins nodded, murmuring their agreement.

“Then how are you two so loud? We’ve had to invest in earplugs, and your noise has chased off four girls this week!” Darius’ lament was met by a loud scoff from Cali.

“Seriously? That’s what you meant by noise, Darius? You’re Lust, literally, and can’t think how to get loud without a …?” She trailed off, making several awkward gestures with her hand. Her fingers curled, forming a loose cupping shape as flicked her wrist back and forth, hand around the height of her stomach. Her gesture didn’t last long before Onyx’s shoulder playfully bumped into hers, earning a playful tap in return as the women swayed into one another.

“There have been noise complaints… and a cleaning bill for the elevator. Also, a note to visit lost and found. Something about clothing?” Wrath dutifully informed, fighting off the dusting of pink across her cheeks as valiantly as she could. Several pairs of eyes fixed upon Onyx, who suddenly seemed to shrink into Cali’s side. The Chinese woman felt Onyx’s body heat up, enough that she was convinced steam should have been hissing from Onyx’s ears like smoke from a coal train. In the heat of the moment, neither Cali nor Onyx had stopped to think about anything save each other. Clothes had been abandoned across Vegas, and the elevator… the memory of trees flooded the bond. Onyx climbing Cali like one. The dirt filled roots of the tree Onyx had gifted Cali when she was a dragon. Innocence and seductive depravity bubbled within the bond, only increasing the heat in both their faces.

“Can I be dead again?” Onyx squeaked, covering her face with Cali’s hoodie. The idea of Onyx dying again was agonising, enough that a sharp retort bubbled on the tip of Cali’s tongue. She swallowed it, pushing her tongue down into the cavity of her jaw to resist crying out. If she was in the position of being told to retrieve her clothing from lost and found, Cali probably would have felt the same way.

“Hold on. I thought we were discussing how Onyx got knocked up.” Darius cut in. Instantly, Cali was conflicted. His bluntness was a smack on the snout, though it did save them from a far more awkward conversation.

“Darius…” Cal’s hissed warning was enough to send a chill through the room.

“Which we are all crazy happy for, baby girl, but it is a big change.” The Lust assassin continued, earning a loud snort from Onyx.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“She didn’t cheat, and we didn’t exactly plan for it. Nahara told us there could be a cost for restoring Onyx to her human form. The possibilities included a physical manifestation of the bond between the barer of the mark and Envy.” Cali explained. She stepped up a little, moving to wrap her arm securely around Onyx’s shoulders. Such lithe shoulders, despite their muscle, that bore the weight of the world. Such smooth skin beneath her fingertips as she massaged the curve of Onyx’s far shoulder, trying to ease even a fraction of her burden. Cali’s fingers traced odd patterns, even tickling down the divots of Onyx’s muscled biceps.

“Which arguably could be you. You’re both now, Cali.” Malakai commented, tone thoughtful. His dark eyes narrowed, as if he could read the answer from the bare air if only he focused hard enough. A large hand came to his strong chin, scratching at it thoughtfully.

“That’s what I thought too, but…” Cali trailed off, turning her gaze to Onyx. This was too close to Onyx’s demons, to the secrets she still kept. Cali desperately wanted to speak, yet she found herself tongue tied. Lost in the pain she saw in bright green eyes. Lost in her own loyalty. Could she even physically make herself betray Onyx in this way? Was it a betrayal to reveal the rest of what had been said? Internally, she pleaded, letting her emotions touch the bond between the Assassins. She needed Ripley to validate her, needed Onyx’s consent and understanding. She was falling, plummeting off a cliff with no wings to fly and no claws to cling to the stone she might be able to reach.

“She also mentioned something from the past could return to my future… well, our future.”

The moment the words left Onyx’s mouth, a soft grunt from the table drew Onyx’s attention. Ripley had managed to work herself into a sitting position, something which Cali found rather comical. The bears legs were spread apart, much like an awkward toddler, whilst her back was ramrod straight, akin to a woman forced into an impossibly tight corset. Ripley didn’t flood the bond with her words, she simply watched and listened, apparently trying to understand the responses from Wrath and Cal.

“From the past? When wer-“

“Dorran. Those weeks he increased your training.”

“WEEKS?” Cali exploded, viciously demanding an answer. Everything was red, hazy and hot, as if she’d been looking into the sun too long. Even behind her closed eyes, circles and swirls of color danced across her vision, hammering in time with her racing heart. This was worse than when she��d ridden her bikes to exhaustion or suffered sunstroke. Worse than the migraines that had occasionally followed. This was all of them at once, assaulting her body until only Onyx’s deceptively strong arm around her waist kept her standing. There was no question of whether or not she’d collapse, Onyx wouldn’t allow that, but the intensity burning through her was enough to make her remaining words slurred, gasped out between clenched teeth.

“He did that for weeks until h-” She never finished. Images assaulted her, striking her like books falling from a shelf above her head. An exhausted Onyx offering her best effort of a reassuring smile. She could take it. The deep barking voice. She’ll never learn if you don’t push her. How could she? Onyx wasn’t an assassin! She was barely on her feet. Its ok, Ripley, I can take it. Obedience… denied. She couldn’t. Not anymore. That harsh voice. Then I’ll do it myself. Go be useful. Hospital. Sirens. All my fault. All… Ripley. These were Ripley’s memories. It was sickening to realise this. Ripley had been part of it, she’d been right there and had trusted her leader. Trusted Dorran to protect Onyx. That sick man had used her connection to Onyx as a tool, had weakened Onyx with someone she loved unconditionally first… Cali’s tongue was bathed in bile, hot and thin, save for the chunks of chip swimming in the liquid. Dorran hadn’t even been man enough to do all the work himself. He’d manipulated Ripley too. With a soft snarl, Cali swallowed, refusing to let herself become any weaker than she felt in her directionless rage.

“Your abusive ex physically beat you into hospital? And caused a miscarriage? And nobody knew you were pregnant or that he was abusive? What the hell? Cal? Wrath? I though you two were assassins! How could you not realise what that piece of shit had done?” Gone was Darius’ amusement. His voice was raspy in his rage, scratching his usually chocolaty vocal cords. His eyes, which were usually dark, appeared almost black. Made of shadows and rage. He was half Wrath’s size, but the intensity of his demanding glare cowed even the brave leader, who was working her jaw in effort to find even a syllable of an answer. Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes, trailing openly down her cheeks as she allowed her gaze to fall to the toes of her bright red boots. Wrath, who was so strong, could barely stand under the weight of her guilt. Her shoulders shook, slouched in defeat. She may have been their leader. She may have been able to punch the devil out of every man, woman or child she met, but she couldn’t fight off the most horrific truth yet. She had nothing. No answer to give. No justification, even to herself.

“That’s why Vinca killed him, isn’t it? She knew about the pregnancy when that accident put you in hospital. Remind me to send her a gift basket.” Cal didn’t have an answer either, but he pushed on. His own eyes bore an unnatural sheen, one Cali quickly realised were tears. He was close to crying in his outrage. An assassin he may have been, but he was just as helpless now as when he had been possessed. Forced to watch the past rolled out in painful memories. For all the people he had saved, he was clearly struck by the potential he had failed. The possibility he had never even known about. Someone he would have loved with his whole heart, even if it was a lump of coal, and yet was powerless to protect.

“Does she know about the baby?” Wrath barely got the question out before Darius was there, snarling once again.

“Like hell.”

“With Nitsa inhabiting her? After she got my blood? We barely got Rip back, we can’t risk it. I’m not even sure if we should let Yvette know. I’m sorry, Onyx, but until Vinca is safe, I don’t want to risk either of you. I don’t want to control you, or keep you caged, but-” Cali’s imploring was cut off by Onyx’s finger across her lips, silencing her with the gentlest of touches.

“I know, you’re looking out for me. You’re not him.”

“Needless to say, Rip and I will be protecting Onyx, so we won’t be out with you. I also really don’t want Onyx combat training, or up on the highwire.”

“Cali…” Onyx playfully whined, fixing Cali with her best attempt at Puppy Dog eyes. Internally, Cali swore up a storm, using words she was sure even Darius would blush at. The bike mechanic forced herself to gaze into them, willed herself not to crumble at the adorable attempt. If Onyx was bad, how was her child going to be? The idea of baby Onyx alone had Cali cooing, turning into a pile of Oriental mush. If she hadn’t developed an immunity by the time they learned this trick… suddenly, she found herself incredibly hopeful that Onyx could be the strict parent, because Cali could already foresee ice cream for dinner. But to get there, she had to get over this current hurdle. The hurdle of Onyx’s adorableness amped up to a million and directed at her.

“Yeah, no. Sorry. Drop out Doctor’s orders. No being ten foot in the air while pregnant.”

“But the show-”

“Will be there when you’ve had your baby and are ready to return. Your health, and the baby’s health, come first, Onyx.” Wrath reminded; her tone gentle but leaving no room for negotiation. She offered a gentle smile, tears still glistening in her eyelashes. Her warmth was back, encompassing the room with a calming presence. It was enough for Cali to relax, to finally let go of everything and trust her team. These assassins were family. Onyx’s family. Her family. No matter what, she knew they would do their best to protect one another. That they’d die before allowing anybody to harm the baby. That they’d go to the depths of hell, following after Wrath’s angelic aura, to save each other. That’s just what this family did.

#answered #Anonymous #miscellaneous monday #onyx wren #onyx x mc #sin with me onyx #sin with me envy #swm envy #mentions of abuse #mentions of miscarriage #tw pregnancy #swm baby announcement

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maybe-homestuck-now-or-something · 4 years ago

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I wanna connect the ideas in this post with the ideas in this post because they seem relevant to each other.

to give a basic idea of what's in each one, the first is a post that talks about how homestuck is notable as a creative work that effectively uses the language and format of the internet, in a way that resonates well with people who grew up online. my addition extrapolates to talk about how this quality also made homestuck's style of content creation appealing for others to use, and spawned a lot of creativity from the fans. basically, homestuck is a collage, not just of images, but of methods for delivering information to the audience. it uses a broad variety of experimental techniques, but the purpose of them is to make storytelling accessible. in order to convey an idea, you can use any method you want... whatever suits your purposes. by constantly varying the type of art, writing, and formatting that the story uses, it keeps the story from getting boring for the author and the audience. varying the quality and style of the visual art also implicitly accepts and encourages any kind of artwork, at any level of skill or effort, from fans. and at the same time, the story pioneers new techniques that I legitimately haven't seen used before. at some points it even leverages the design of the web page itself to service the story... it's awesome. this gets people thinking about how to tell stories in non-traditional ways, and further encourages the act of being experimental with your storytelling methods, and having fun exploring your chosen medium.

the second link is mostly just me talking about the merits of homestuck's early acts, and at one point I put a particular focus on the idea of science in homestuck. specifically, I was talking about how homestuck handles science in a way that feels very childlike, which is a positive remark. when you're learning about science in school as a kid, efforts are made to present the material in a way that is fun and interesting... and you're given a lot of tools for exploration within the context of science classes, which a lot of people don't really experience having outside of a school setting, if they aren't going into some branch of science for their career. I was observing that homestuck's aesthetic kind of calls to mind the feel of learning about science as a kid... something about the stark readability of the objects and characters, and the bright color coding of things that are important.

the connection I want to make between these two posts is that homestuck hinges a lot of its interest on the concepts of exploration, and creation. it holistically includes a lot of different themes and ideas, and it does it in such a way where the characters don't have to make it explicit... more often than not, you'll end up thinking of it yourself. homestuck simply introduces elements, and lets you form your own ideas. it puts a lot of stuff out there, and links it all together in this messy web of interconnectivity.

for example, check out this post where I added some commentary about the punch card alchemy system, and how it links the concepts of technology and philosophy. the idea is that captchas determine your humanity... but unlike real captchas, which do this by making you read something that a computer can't read, it instead makes you think in a way that a computer can't think. in order to give you access to items, this crafting system requires philosophical justification for the creation of said items. grist isn't just made up currency that exists to make you work for what you make... the amount of it that it takes to make something is only high if you think that the object you're making should be too powerful or important to be gotten for cheap. you prove your humanity by having a psychology that can assign the object meaning, and thus, value.

or what about the broader themes of biology and mythology in homestuck? there are many mentions of genetics... the goal of the game is to produce a universe via breeding, and there are the origins of each of the kids, or the fact that the chess pieces that fight on Skaia's battlefield are made in test tubes in the labs in the furthest ring... etc. but this theme also exists symbolically in the players of each session. they are people who bring their identity with them into the process of making a new universe. each player is given their own planet, which is responsive to the person it's meant for, and features a personal quest for them. and once the new universe is made, the players will preside over it as deities, and help define its culture with their values, interests, and personalities. in this way, homestuck blends the concepts of biology and mythology. in a biological sense, the kids provide the universe with traits. if they are strong/adaptable/resourceful enough to win their game, they get to pass on their influence to a universe of their own. this is why it is relevant that all the players' chumhandle initials are some combination of A, C, T, and G, which are the letters denoting nucleotide bases in DNA. but this concept also applies to heroes going through trials or completing quests to prove themselves worthy of being known as heroes. SBURB's lore automatically mythologizes the players in the role of legendary heroes to the consorts and carapacians, which pushes them to step up to the task of earning their title, and in doing so, complete the game's objectives... and the game gives them the tools to do it.

really, science, mythology, and religion all wrap into each other here in terms of the way things are named and explained. the punch card system and the frog breeding are both referred to as "alchemy" at various points, which indicates both magical and scientific roots. and the highest title that the players aspire to obtain in the game is "god tier" which implies a sort of religious connection between the players and the game's native characters who know them as legends. the magical abilities that the characters display are ambiguous as to whether they are magical, divine, or something else entirely. a lot of them are defined heavily by a character's personality and identity. the malleability of the different elements that homestuck juggles works entirely in its favor... and all of it is geared towards this sense of growth and creativity.

in homestuck, these things exist on micro and macro levels. the growth of one kid into a slightly different person as they get older, vs. the growth of an entity that will encapsulate the universe. the creation of a piece of music, a drawing, a story, a machine, a person, a plan, a planet... it all just keeps escalating, but it's all rooted in specific characters doing specific things, so we don't get lost in it all. the characters bring it all back around, letting us focus on their smaller actions while the bigger plot remains in motion. and all of this exists at the same time as all the surface level reasons to enjoy homestuck. the comic is funny, and charming, and made to be enjoyable as that. but the fact that the broader elements color the tone of it all, leaves you with the impression that there is a lot of potential in every situation. potential places for the characters to go, or things for them to do, or people for them to talk to, or things for them to make, or even ways to grow and change themselves.

and there's potential for you too. you could throw your ideas at the wall to see what sticks in this exact same way. part of reading homestuck is feeling a sense of recognition and identification with the characters. many of them are based broadly on the kinds of people who make up homestuck's audience. with interests in things like music, art, writing, RPing, programming, playing games, watching movies... they're meant to represent you, in part as parody, but in part as a way to make you feel seen and included in this narrative. as lofty as some of these concepts may seem, the people who engage with them in the text are a bunch of dumb awkward teens. you are at least as accepted as they are, and people love these characters a lot, often in spite of/because of a lot of cringey qualities or major character flaws. homestuck is here to tell you not to be self conscious. play around with your world. make your art. write your story. think your thoughts. be funny and laugh at stuff. don't be afraid of doing it badly.

this is what an accessible creative process looks like.

#homestuck #my rant

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ampleappleamble · 4 years ago

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It was a lovely sound, the sound of carpenters and masons plying their trades. Engrim found they sounded even lovelier with a drink in his hand and cool shade under his arse, so that's how he had elected to enjoy the afternoon while he supervised the renovations.

Now that the storm clouds had finally shoved off-- and the Little Mistress was back home with her companions, mucking about in that endless dungeon of hers-- the crew was hard at work clearing the last of the rubble and overgrown foliage from the eastern barbican's arched gateway and portcullis. By tomorrow evening, at long last, Caed Nua would have a beautifully restored barbican, allowing access to the Woodend Plains and Defiance Bay beyond. And in the meantime, Brighthollow was bustling with carpenters and porters, bringing freshly cut lumber and large, fine beds and bolts of cloth and rugs. Prettying up the Great Hall, restoring the barracks, hiring guards and posting patrols-- the fuzzy little thaynu and her stone steward had a plan for this place, and that meant that these laborers could look forward to quite a few more of these jobs and their generous pay.

Engrim smiled his gap-toothed smile, swirling his tankard of cider. It had been a gift for the Little Mistress, sent by a brewery newly under Kolsc's protection, and she had kindly opted to disperse it among the work crews before she and her party had descended into the depths under the castle.

Could get used tae this, me. If Ye'd allow fer a wee bit o' idleness, O Magran. Engrim chuckled to himself. He knew he ought to know better at his age than to press his luck with his goddess, but he just couldn't help himself, sometimes.

It took him a while to realize where the sound was coming from, because he wasn't expecting it to be behind him-- after all, he'd specifically chosen to sit in a place where he could keep an eye on all the work that he was supposed to be helping with. But then Engrim heard the scraping and scratching on the eastern side of the ruined chapel, heard the muffled shouts and the banging of fists against solid wood, and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling as quickly as his skinny old legs would carry him. He'd had to help dispatch some of the beasties and spirits that had managed to wander up from the depths of the Endless Paths once or twice already, but they'd always crawled up from the dungeons, inside the keep. That these old bulkhead doors were connected to anywhere, let alone to the Paths, hadn't occurred to anyone.

Until now. Engrim squared his shoulders and planted his feet, readied his staff, whispered a prayer to the Lady of Battle. Waited and watched as the heavy wooden doors shook with the force of a mighty blow from within.

Thump. "Harder, damn it! Or, no, wait-- is there a mechanism holding it shut? Give him some light, Aloth!"

The old priest felt his eyes bug out of his head. 'Tis 'erself! The Little Mistress' voice was unmistakable.

"Certainly, just a moment, please..." And the sound of her elf lad kissing her arse all but confirmed it. Engrim rushed forward, dropping to his rickety old knees in front of the doors, his hands scrabbling at the weathered, graying wood.

"Watcher! Mistress!"

Shocked silence hung in the air for a moment, then: "Engrim!? Thank the gods! ...We have reached the surface!"

"There is a mechanism," her aumaua rumbled, his voice thunderous even behind the thick doors. "A... surprisingly simple one, actually. If I had some light--"

"I said I'm working on it," Aloth snapped, and a moment later the cracks in the doors lit up from within. Engrim squinted against the glare, laid his hands on the twisting, smothering ivy and the dried-up, half-dead rose bushes choking the splintering planks. He furrowed his wrinkled brow, concentrated, began to burn the vegetation away with a care and precision that betrayed his years and level of sobriety.

And before long, the doors were flung wide for the first time in hundreds of years, and the Watcher of Caed Nua and her loyal allies emerged from the Endless Paths.

"Engrim, please tend to Edér; he needs healing badly." Kana gently lowered the farmer to the ground, his blond hair streaked brownish-red with blood, head rolling loose on his shoulders, and Engrim rushed to meet him with a powerful restorative blessing on his boozey breath.

"By the ricketin' Wheel, yer lot's flame's lookin' half-snuffed yerselves!" In truth, all four of them were bleeding and bruised, clutching at their various wounds and limping, although Edér was easily the worst off of the lot. "What in Hel did ye find doon in them depths?"

"Ogres. There were crazed, violent ogres," Axa rasped. "And looters who attacked us on sight. And a tribe of xaurips. And their drake." She glared at Kana, anger smoldering. "And you wanted to press on?"

No one present had ever heard Kana speak so softly. "I-- I only remarked on the changing architecture, I didn't mean to imply we ought--"

"Spirits, too. Ghosts only I could see, only I could hear." The little woman carried on, her voice rising steadily in pitch and volume. "A pool of blood and viscera. Ancient catacombs full of giant insects and... and animated corpses. And an enormous adra-and-copper statue of a man."

"Or at least th' head," Edér mumbled, now fully conscious again though still bloodied and reeling. "Copper mustache. Heh."

Axa was at his side in an instant, kneeling next to the farmer, taking one calloused hand in between her own. "Don't speak, Edér. Save your strength."

"...'M not that bad, am I?" He managed a weak smile, tried to look at her eyes, but couldn't seem to get his vision to focus. Multiple images of the orlan danced and swam in front of him, and he found that the more he tried to get one of her to stand still, the harder it became to concentrate on staying awake.

Looking at him in full light, Axa felt her stomach drop: his dilated pupils, his unfocused gaze. He's definitely concussed. Gods, we're lucky we found that Master Staircase when we did. "Perhaps," she smiled softly, "I'm being a little hyperbolic. You just look half dead, is all."

The farmer huffed a short, sharp laugh as he let his eyes slide shut. "Work that charm on me, Watcher."

"Kana." Her ire toward the aumaua had receded, but not entirely, and her sharp tone reflected it. "Help Engrim get Edér inside. Stay with him and keep him talking. I'm... I think I have to stay out here for a bit. I kind of need to see the sky right now."

The huge man tried to smile at Axa but found the attempt futile, turning to her only to see her lying on her back in the grass, staring listlessly into the zenith. So he smiled at Edér instead, gently lifting the man by his armpits and guiding him toward Brighthollow, Engrim loping alongside.

He watched them go, and once he was sure they were alone, Aloth slowly, cautiously drew up beside the prone woman. He knelt, rolled his ankle, stumbled, recovered, decided to sit on the ground instead.

"Axa, are you... are you going to be alright?" He winced. What an insightful, intelligent question to ask, Corfiser; my, you're good at this--

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" she croaked, although the sharpness that was in her voice for Kana was replaced with a gentler tone for Aloth. He noticed, and the resulting burst of self-satisfaction tinged with guilt made him think of his school days, his teachers who played favorites, how he feared them and craved their approval both.

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm-- I'll apologize to Kana later, too, I'm just... tired right now. Scared." She tried to smile, grimaced instead. "Cranky."

"Well--" Aloth twisted his fingers together into tight, trembling knots of knuckles and sweat-- "Well. You've been under some... significant stress as of late, it's true, but I can't help but notice you sometimes... struggling. S-seeming to have some difficulty coping." He glanced from his hands in his lap to the ground to his hands to the woman on the ground. "I... I just want to make sure that you're alright to... continue this."

Axa sighed as deeply as her little lungs would allow, her half-lidded eyes still fixed on the heavens. "I don't know," she said at last. "I don't even really know what this is, this... new path I'm on. By the Visions, two weeks ago I was living an entirely different life! Now I'm a Watcher, a member of the Dyrwoodan gentry, I'm Awakened..."

"You've a lot on your plate, to be certain," he murmured, hoping he came off as compassionate and not dismissive. He scooted along the ground as delicately as any kith could scoot, until he was sitting alongside the supine orlan. They still had a decent amount of distance between them, but at least now he could see her face. She did not look at him.

"I feel like I don't... know who I am, anymore." Her usually robust, confident voice quavered. "Like this is someone else's life in which I've had to take up residence. None of this feels like it's truly mine, but it definitely feels like it's all my responsibility. None of which I ever, ever asked for."

"Aye, I conne the feelin', lass." Aloth felt the words slip out, and then immediately regretted allowing them to, grimacing and squeezing his eyes shut.

When he opened them again, Axa was sitting up. "You can't help it, can you."

His heart, his stomach, his brain-- all felt as though they'd suddenly been submerged in ice water, and as she turned to him with her piercing fuchsia gaze, he half expected her to simply state aloud all of his deceptions and treacheries like some Woedican judge, her Watcher abilities having allowed her to see through all of his pitiful excuses and flimsy lies.

But instead of anger or accusation or judgment, what he saw in her eyes was... relief, almost. Wonder. "The Hylspeak. You can't help it. That's why you keep doing it, even when I've asked you to quit. Or when it's gotten you in trouble. That's why you want to go to Defiance Bay with me. With us. To find someone who can help you stop. Isn't it?"

"I-- I don't-- I was just trying to--" He sputtered and stammered, subconsciously drawing his limbs in close to his torso in an anxious, defensive hunch. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to this. He was caught, it seemed, but... not? Somehow? He fidgeted and trembled and averted his eyes from hers, unable to bear the little woman's gaze, her sad little smile as she rose to her feet and stood next to him.

And he jumped, much to his chagrin, when he felt her hand on his back. "Aloth. You can trust me. I want you to trust me. And you don't have to explain anything to me. We all have our reasons for... keeping certain things to ourselves." She gave him a knowing smile. "However, it seems that the skeletons in your closet are a bit... louder than most others'?"

He knew, of course, what she was really trying to say. How long did you think you could keep it a secret from me? I'm not stupid, and you're not exactly subtle. "It's... a problem I've had since I was a child." He sighed shakily, sagging with fatigue as he shrugged off this small portion of his heavy burden at last. "And in Aedyr, that's not the kind of thing you take your child to a healer about. Not unless you want him institutionalized... or worse."

Axa gave him a hard look, as though he had set the policy in place himself. "I see. That explains why you came to the Dyrwood for a cure." She perked up abruptly as a thought struck her. "...You know, it's a rather gratifying feeling, figuring all this out about you. It explains so much!" She smiled again, and he found himself feeling annoyed and charmed simultaneously. He'd expected either pity or disgust, and when he got curiosity instead, he felt oddly slighted.

I'm not a puzzle to be solved...!

A lascivious chortle. 'She gettin' ye all fired oop, laddie?'

He shut his eyes again, curled himself up tightly. "Axa, while I am grateful for your patience with me, and your understanding regarding my... condition, I would truly appreciate it if we could keep this between the two of us. I'm... it's been a long, long time since I've really talked about this with anybody, and I don't think I'm quite ready for a full roundtable discussion regarding my mental health just yet." He glared in the direction of Brighthollow. "Not with those two, anyway. And not anymore, at all, today. Please."

"I had a feeling you were starting to reach your limit of how much you're willing to talk about it." She relented finally, lifting her little hand from between his shoulders, and he felt the weight of her scrutiny lift off of him as well. "And I'm reaching my limit of how much time I'm willing to waste feeling sorry for myself on the lawn. Come, let's get inside, get our wounds tended. We'll take a day and a half to rest up and get ready, let them finish working on the barbican. Then we'll set off for the city."

Aloth rose to his feet, brushed dirt and grass from his trousers. "In my official capacity as your advisor, I wholeheartedly approve your plan, my Lady." She scoffed, laughing, and he didn't try to suppress his victorious grin. "And... upon arriving?"

She started off toward her busy little manse, the carpenters and masons gawking at the bloody, dirty little orlan with alarm. "I'll know what to do when I get there, I'm sure," she called out to the elf over her shoulder.

He sighed, picking up the pace in an effort to catch up with her. "I was afraid you'd say that."

---

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #wip #it's finally almost done #now i just have to #*checks notes*#...reread sagani's short story so i can feel more comfortable writing her #...oh.

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hdawg1995 · 3 years ago

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i just wrote a bunch of lore to explain a homebrew mechanic for a dnd campaign i'll never run, enjoy.

Mana Burn: the mage's desperate attempt at survival turned deadly.

Most mages know what mana burn is; its when you try to use a powerful spell without the proper training and the magic used to power it comes from your soul rather than the natural magic around you, blessed unto you, from the tomes of knowledge you’ve studied, or from the natural reserves of magic you have. It's painful, it causes physical damage that takes years to repair let alone reverse, and it makes using magic dangerous. It's why you don’t see first time casters slinging fire balls or casting lighting as soon as they pick up a book or realize they have magic in their blood. Yes, there have been times where, with a powerful focus or through the help of an elder, that younger mages have used these powerful spells. Mana burn doesn’t accrue in these instances because the magic is drawn from the focus or the elder.

When mana burn becomes severe- when it consumes the soul a significant amount- this is called Soul Burn. It happens more often than you think but not as often as you expect. Mana burn, in most cases, causes severe damage and can be healed- Soul Burn can not be healed. Not in the same way, anyhow. You see, the science behind Mana Burn is that you no longer have mana sufficient enough to cast the spell, so it is being drawn from another source that is just as powerful. Over time mana is restored to the body, focus, environment, allowing the damage to the soul to be healed. The science behind Soul Burn is that you have no mana to use and the spell was being drawn from your soul, and then you kept casting spells. Eventually, there won’t be a soul left. In most cases, however, there is just enough soul left but the natural magic of the individual starts eating away at it. The body has realized there are other sources of magic within itself and, ironically, in an attempt to heal itself from the mana burn, it is using the soul.

Signs of Soul Burn include being able to cast spells without mana, numbness in one of the eight Mana Pools of the body, feeling overheated or warm, a loss of wit or mind, extreme bouts of confusion, and pain when coming into contact with healing magic. It is that last part that makes surviving Soul Burn difficult. The signs of Soul Burn only begin to be seen shortly after Mana Burn symptoms and often around the halfway point for the patient’s constitution score.

Now, let's be honest here: you are never going to encounter Soul Burn in the wild. It is theorized that dragons die of Soul Burn when they near old age, and most magical creatures do not get too powerful for their kind as a natural defense against Soul Burn. you WILL encounter Soul Burn on the battlefield if there are any magic users. You WILL encounter Soul Burn in adventures. You WILL encounter Soul Burn in magic academies. On the battlefield mages giving it their all can result in Mana Burn- casting a desperate spell to wipe out an army, trying in vain to revive a fallen comrade- so Soul Burn is very easy to slip into. Adventures trying to show off or just trying to survive slip into mana burn sometimes. Most are responsible with their spells but desperate times call for desperate measures. Soul Burn in adventures is the easiest to spot as there will be at least two other people to monitor the subject’s condition. The magic academies are stressful. I can’t tell you the amount of times emergency services were called in when a student has gone though late stage Soul Burn in an attempt to pass a final. Its heart breaking, since the academies often have an attitude of “life happens”, and your friend pushing themselves to exhaustion just to get a good grade is no different from your friend pulling an all nighter and going through mana burn. This is a good time to explain Late Stage Soul Burn.

Firstly, it is not pretty. The magic user is all but gone mentally; typically they are dazed and latch onto a phrase that has been in their mind for various reasons, only responding to stimuli with the phrase. Their eyes glow as if they are casting a spell and that glow starts to be seen in their veins through their skin. At this point there is very little hope for the caster; their soul is all but burnt out, their constitution in the negatives. Eventually the individual will start to burn from the inside out. This is both literal and spiritually. The soul has been burnt away leaving smoldering bits of spirit that are now burning the body. Their eyes are embers as light escapes from their nostrils, mouth, ears, and any wounds or other openings in the body. The skin darkens like charcoal and flakes away to reveal more light. Hair and clothing is burnt away as a flame eats away the charcoal of their body leaving a vague shape of fire. There have been exactly three cases of an individual surviving late stage soul burn at this point. The first that many, such as yourself, are told about is the sorcerer who was held tightly by his companion. The typical explanation that is given is the companion was asked to hold the sorcerer (the phrase his mind had latched onto was conveniently “hold me tight and watch me”) and he refused to let him go. The man was supposedly burned very badly but it is theorized he had compressed the flame the sorcerer had turned into, like pressure onto coal creating diamonds. What was left was a living, breathing human sorcerer who’s soul had begun to heal naturally.

The second account was the sorcerer who was smothered by her companions. The typical explanation was when she had entered the flame stage her friend had grabbed a blanket to try and suppress the flames. The result was several burnt blankets and a small explosion as her fire ate away at the ground she had been kneeling on. Eventually a still breathing and living elf sorcerer whose soul had begun to heal naturally. With these two stories alone it would be natural to assume the cure for late stage soul burn is to suppress the flames. However, there are many documentaries that show this could also result in the flames being choked out and the individual dying anyway- rather than slowly burning out, they are snuffed out quickly.

The third telling is that of a cleric who was placed in a tiny hut spell and sung to by a bard throughout the entire experience. The typical explanation is the bard kept the smoke and embers the cleric was turning into within a secure magical dome- the magic did not touch the individual but was able to keep them within. It is theorized this process caused the soul to remain in a small space and the bard’s music was a focus for the individual to be drawn to. The result was a living breathing human cleric. There are a few sections of medical study that believe the reasons these individuals survived was due to the preparation involved (which is explained in the full stories) and the bond between the individuals in the stories. After meeting with two of the survivors (the elf had sadly passed away due to mummy rot) it is clear to me (in both my honest opinion and that of a researcher) I can confirm the bonds have some effect on the soul and it’s capacity to survive soul burn.

To put Mana Burn and Soul Burn into perspective for the non casters, Mana Burn is calculated as the level of the spell you want to cast + the spell slot you intend to use. The total is taken out of the caster’s constitution score. So trying to cast a level 1 spell with a level 1 spell slot while out of mana would do 2 damage to the caster’s constitution. It doesn’t seem like much until you realize most casters tend to have very low health and losing even that much constitution can be dangerous. Soul Burn is calculated as the caster’s level + the spell they wish to cast. The total is then subtracted from their constitution. Remember- Soul Burn happens after Mana Burn. So, how do you figure out when your mage buddy is going though Mana Burn (and you should stop them immediately) or though Soul Burn (and it's too late)? When your caster buddy’s Constitution score is Con x 0.3 - Con (round up. The number will be calculated as negative but that's fine, ignore that). At that point if they cast a spell again, they will start to suffer soul burn. So if your buddy’s constitution is 14, once it drops the 10 they should not continue to cast spells. If their constitution drops to 7 they are in the Soul Burn zone and should be taken to emergency services or secluded away from magic. Watch them carefully at this point- if they don’t seem to get better within the hour (deities forbid they get worse) your best bet is to attempt a restoration spell. It WILL hurt them and they MIGHT pass out. If they do pass out, stop the healing immediately. Your caster buddy could out will the healing and stay conscious, so if they do check them for feeling warm, rather or not they can count how many fingers you have, and if you can get more than a sentence out of them. Once they are back in the Mana Burn zone you can let them rest and heal naturally with rest.

#dungeons and dragons 3.5 #dnd #dungeons and dragons

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sky-blaze · 4 years ago

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Restart And Try Again

Summary:

Sam has found Rinzler, and is trying to turn him back into Tron, but thirty-year-old code requires an expert touch. Enter Alan Bradley, who ends up unexpectedly attached to his creation.

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“I need your help.”

Alan turned to see Sam in the doorway of his office at ENCOM. His godson looked unusually agitated, despite the faux-casual pose he had assumed, leaning against the doorframe, the way his leg jiggled with barely-suppressed nervous energy gave the game away.

“Hello Sam,” Alan greeted with exaggerated formality, “Nice to see you.”

There was the barest twitch of guilt that he was abandoning politeness, but even Alan’s subtle admonishment didn’t deter him, “It’s… Dad’s… uh… project. I need your help with something.” Sam blurted, the words coming all in a rush, making him sound like the awkward teenager Alan remembered with a mixed amount of fondness. The words, however, made Alan raise an eyebrow.

“I was under the impression,” Alan said slowly, “That you and Quorra were handling that.”

“We are… mostly. But there’s one thing that needs your...uh...personal touch.” Sam said, his eyes darted around warily, and Alan understood that this was not something Sam was comfortable discussing in the ENCOM officers, where just anyone could listen in.

After only a moment of hesitation, Alan grabbed his keys of his desk, “Lead on, then. I can’t promise anything, but I can take a look.”

Sam’s answering smile was full of relief.

Neither Kevin nor Sam had revealed the full details on Kevin Flynn’s ‘project’. The closed system hidden in the basement of the arcade was still largely a mystery to him, Lora and Roy, but Sam had at least told him about Kevin’s ultimate fate; saving the system, The Grid, by reintegrating himself with his rogue program, CLU. Alan was torn between being impressed at what his old friend had accomplished and wanting to raise him from the dead so he could strangle him for being so reckless.

A prickle of apprehension crawled up Alan’s spine when he saw the digitising laser; so familiar from those early days at ENCOM. It looked so incredibly incongruous sat there in front of a workstation terminal. Alan took a deep breath of the dry, stale basement air and looked at Sam, who shuffled uncomfortably.

“Would you care to explain?” Alan asked carefully.

Sam looked at his shoes for a moment, taking his own deep, fortifying breath, “You gave a copy of your security program to Dad for his project, right?” Sam began.

Alan frowned, “Tron. Yes, I did. What does this have…” Alan’s eyes widened, “Is he still..?” Alan had often found it difficult to reconcile the work he did every day - coding, compiling and upgrading software - with the ideas that Kevin had espoused about programs being like real people, living within the machine, but Tron had always been… different. Special. There was a connection there that Alan had never been able to explain. Thinking Tron was… gone had been unexpectedly and inexplicably painful.

Sam looked uncomfortable again, “Sort of. CLU got to him. He… repurposed him. Turned him into an attack dog, renamed him Rinzler. I don’t know how, but something in him must have… fought back. Towards then end, before the reintegration, Rinzler turned on CLU - tried to attack him.”

Alan frowned, his brows drawing tightly together as apprehension congealed into worry, “But you found him?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah but… his code is a total mess. I’ve tried to help him, but some of his core kernal is… well, its beyond me.”

Alan blinked, “And you think I can help?”

“He’s your program.” Sam said softly.

“Sam, in case you forgot, I wrote it – him – in the eighties. Its been a while.” Alan replied, anxiety rising in his chest, tension making his shoulders ache as he stared at the laser and the darkened terminal.

“You’re his best shot,” Sam insisted, “You’re his user. He’s… well, he’s been asking for you.”

Alan couldn’t help but stare, “Asking for me?”

Sam sighed, “He’s not completely conscious, but whenever I try to work on his code, he pushes me away and says ‘Alan1’ over and over.”

“My old username at ENCOM.” Alan said faintly. He sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose, “All right. You’ve convinced me. I’ll give it a shot. What do I need to do?”

Sam nodded at the seat in front of the terminal – the one with the laser pointed ominously at it, “Sit right there. I’ll handle the rest. Oh, and don’t worry when you get there, I’ll be right behind you.”

For the first time since Sam had arrived at Alan’s office, Sam flashed one of his bright smiles. Alan wasn’t sure if it was meant to be reassuring, but since that same smile was often on the face of both father and son right before some of their more outrageous stunts, Alan decided he was correct to be concerned.

–

Arriving in the Grid was just as disorienting as Alan had feared. He materialised – for lack of a better term – to almost total blackness. The only faint white light in the small, closed-off room was… himself. His shirt glowed with a faint white radiance, while his suit pants and jacket had gone from dark grey to jet black. His face felt… odd. He reached up to touch his glasses, but once his fingers made contact with the frames, there was a spark of white across the lenses and his vision suddenly came alive with a host of information, scrolling across like a military-style heads-up display.

“Huh.” He said.

A column of light coalesced beside him, and in moments Sam had arrived, wearing some of sort of… armoured black suit covered in glowing white circuitry patterns.

“Nice outfit.” Alan commented dryly when Sam had fully materialised.

Sam grinned back, “Nice glasses.”

“I appear to have come equipped with an augmented reality display.” Alan said, “I can’t say I don’t appreciate the upgrade.”

“Advantages of being a User in a computer, I guess.” Sam shrugged.

“Apparently.” Alan’s gaze sharpened as it fixed on Sam, trying to ignore the little pop-ups of information on the heads-up display, which described Sams’s clock speed, code integrity and power level, “Where is he?” Alan asked softly.

“This way.” Sam said, leading Alan out of the darkened room and into the city streets.

The city was something of a revelation for Alan, who was almost mesmerised by the colour, the angles, the beauty of it all, especially with his glasses providing him with helpful information on each point of interest, right down to its code composition, if he so chose. Getting control of the flow of information was a challenge; Alan was a programmer, and the beauty of this place, not just on a physical level, but on the level of pure code, was almost too much to resist. Only the knowledge that someone – that Tron – needed his help, let him keep his focus.

Sam led him through the neon-laced streets, up into a glowing tower. Quorra greeted them at the door, the usually perky ISO oddly subdued. The room Alan was guided into was comfortable, decorated in muted shades of white and pale blue. It almost like a high-end hotel, except with more glowing parts.

A figure lay motionless on the plush-looking bed. Dressed entirely in black, an opaque helmet covering his face, the glowing circuitry lines were strangely truncated, pulsing an ominous dark orange. The most distinctive marking was the set of small squares near his throat, set in a T shape.

“Tron.” Alan breathed. The figure on the bed twitched, and made a rattling moan. It was a ragged, pained sound, like a fan with a worn bearing, or a failing hard drive. Either way, the noise worried him.

“Here.” Sam said, handing him… a disk? It looked like a hollow Frisbee, its edges its edges pulsing the same malevolent, fiery orange as Tron’s circuitry. Alan’s glasses promptly displayed information telling him how to bring up a code overview from the disk. Helpful. He was starting to wish he had something like it in the real world.

He sat down on a sinfully comfortable chair and watched as the code spiralled up from the disk, appearing in a splay of holographic light. He examined it for a few long moments, turning it this way and that, marvelling at the 3-D representation that revealed data structures, variable arrays and other things that Alan usually had to keep track of in his head, all presented clearly but… something wasn’t right. He dug further, finally finding something familiar. He wasn’t usually one to blow his own trumpet about his programming prowess, but the core of the original code he had written looked remarkably elegant next to what appeared to be hastily hacked-in patches with more recent timestamps.

After further investigation, Alan sat back with a scowl, “Who wrote this additional code?”

Sam looked up from where he had sprawled on a sofa, “Uh...why?” he asked.

Alan scowled harder, “Because I’d like to punch them in the mouth.”

“It was probably CLU,” Quorra said, almost making Alan jump. She’d been so still and quiet he’d almost forgotten she was there, “Well, either CLU or Dyson.” She continued, “They’re both… gone now.”

“Hmph.” Was Alan’s only reply. He spent another few moments staring at the butchery that had been made of his creation, trying to fight down anger on Tron’s behalf at what had been done to him. The new blocks of code emphasised obedience, and violence. To have this done to Tron, who was created to be self-sufficient, to protect, not attack, it felt like nothing so much as torture and brainwashing.

“I think I can fix this.” He said finally, “But it’s not going to be quick. I’ll need time, and access to my usual suite of programming tools.” He gestured to the swirling holographic code, “This is lovely, but its not what I’m used to. It’ll be quicker and easier for me to use a normal workstation.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, I get it. Programming in the Grid is… different.”

A thought occurred to Alan, “Is it even possible to transfer data to this system? I didn’t see any ports, except the I/O and display port, and the operating system is bound to be completely unique.”

Sam nodded again, more slowly this time, and Alan heard Quorra take a sudden, sharp breath, “It… is…”

“I hear a ‘but’ at the end of this sentence.” Alan said.

Sam gave a slightly forced chuckle, “Yeah, okay. It is possible, but you kinda need to use yourself as the data storage medium.”

Alan blinked, “What?”

Sam chuckled, sounding far more natural this time, “It’s okay. I’ll show you when we get back.”

Alan’s gaze went back to the figure lying so still on the bed, seeming almost lifeless if not for the dull pulsing of the circuitry, and the scrolling information on Alan’s heads-up display. “Will he be all right?” he asked.

“Quorra’s staying with him.” Sam replied. Alan caught the look that flickered between Quorra and Sam, suddenly understanding that it wasn't just a case of keeping Tron company; it was making sure that that awful ‘Rinzler’ code-butchery didn’t cause him to hurt himself or anyone else. Quorra was more guard than nurse. The thought made his stomach knot up.

Without thinking, Alan reached over to pat Tron on the arm, “I’ll be back, and I promise I’ll help you.”

Tron made a noise, that odd grinding sound, but softer this time, sounding almost like a purr, and then, a barely audible rasp, “Aaalaan onnneee…”

“I’ll be back.” Alan reassured again, feeling a lump in his throat. He forced himself to let go, ignoring the odd look Sam gave him as he marched out of the room and heading back towards where the laser had dropped them, not really knowing why he felt like crying.

–

Less than a week later, Alan found himself back in the basement beneath Flynn’s Arcade. True to his word, Sam had taught him how to port code to and from the Grid. It was something of an involved process, and needed one of the obscure ‘floptical’ storage systems to interface with Flynn’s ageing, custom-built computer system. It had taken almost as long to find the right storage system as it had to actually rebuild Tron’s code.

Now, he loaded the disk caddy into the semi-hidden drive slot and loaded his own ‘profile’ on the workstation and hit ‘import’. Sam then took over and loaded the laser digitisation program.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

Alan shifted, feeling both impatient and anxious, “Yeah, let’s go.”

The dizzying sensation overtook him and he once again found himself in that darkened room inside the Grid. This time, however, there was significantly more light – still coming from himself. The sensible suit he had worn before was replaced by a long black overcoat, decorated with glowing white circuitry lines. His shirt was still softly glowing white, but he could feel the weight of an ID disk on his back.

“That’s new.” Sam said, frowning, “You okay Alan?”

“Yeah,” Alan smiled, “I think it’s due to the extra data I had to import into my profile so I could help Tron.”

Sam chuckled, “Looks good on you. No fair you get a cooler outfit than mine, though.”

Alan couldn’t help but smirk, “And the cool glasses.”

“Yeah, rub it in why don’t ya?” Sam lightly smacked his godfather on the arm, and once again led Alan through the twisting streets to where Tron lay.

It looked like Tron had barely moved, but when Alan stepped through the door, Tron made that painful-sounding grinding noise, his arms twitching. “How has he been?” Alan asked Quorra.

Quarra shrugged, “About the same. He twitches sometimes, and calls out for you. If anyone else tries to touch him, though, he tries to get away, despite how damaged he is.”

The bluntly spoken assessment chilled Alan, and he took a deep breath, reaching over to the program laying motionless against the plush blue bedcovers, “Tron? It’s me, Alan. I’m here to help you, but I need your ID disk. Is that okay?”

The grinding noise grew louder, and Tron’s body twitched almost violently, “aaaa...aaaa.” Tron rasped, trying again to move. It took Alan a few moments to realise that Tron was trying to roll over, to expose his ID disk at his User’s request. The display of trust made something in Alan’s chest twist.

Reaching down, Alan helped his program to roll onto his side, noting almost absently as he did so that where he touched Tron’s circuits, the orange faded into bright blue, just for a second, before it bled back to orange.

As gently as he could, Alan disengaged Tron’s disk from the port, and reached to his own back to pull off his own disk. Praying silently to whatever gods looked after programmers, he slowly brought the two disks into contact.

Holding his breath, Alan watched as the white light of his disk slowly melted into the orange, and wherever it touched, the light changed, transforming from deep orange into blue. When the process finally completed, Alan felt like he could breathe again, but the knot in his stomach still remained, a reminder that it wasn’t quite over.

Carefully pulling the two disks apart, Alan clicked his own back into place before leaning down and carefully, almost reverentially, placing Tron’s disk back in its port.

The change was immediate. The blue light flowed like water from the disk port, spreading across the circuitry lines. When it reached Tron’s neck, the mask dissolved, revealing a face that looked precisely like Alan himself had thirty years ago. Tron’s eyelids fluttered and he blinked open his eyes, looking unerringly at his User, eyes full of wonder and joy.

“Alan1.” Tron said, his voice almost...worshipful, which was deeply embarrassing, but at least it was at last free of the awful grinding growl.

Alan felt tears in his eyes, “Welcome back, Tron.” he said, reaching out to take his creation’s hand.

Tron frowned, “I… so much has happened.” Sorrow filled the program’s face, “I...I failed. I did terrible things. I’m so sorry, Alan1.”

“Shhh,” Alan soothed, perching next to Tron on the edge of the bed, unable to tear his gaze away from his creation, “It’s all right. You did everything you could. You fought back against CLU. I couldn’t be any prouder of you.”

The awestruck wonder was back in Tron’s face, his fingers curling tightly around Alan’s own, apparently totally unwilling to let go. Alan gently touched the circuitry on Tron’s arm, marvelling at the colour – it wasn’t quite the electric blue of Quorra’s lines, it was paler - closer to ice blue, and Alan wondered at the reason for that difference, if it had any particular significance.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled them both, both Tron and Alan apparently forgetting that Sam and Quorra were in the room. Sam looked somewhat embarrassed, “Uh, so yeah. Me and Quorra have… stuff to take care of. We’re gonna head out, okay?”

Alan rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, feeling his own embarrassment climb up his cheeks, “Uh, sure.”

Tron tugged on his hand, “You’ll stay with me, Alan1?” his face and voice full of hope.

Alan couldn’t help but smile, “Of course, Tron.” he said, and Tron shuffled over on the bed to make room, not once letting go of his User’s hand.

Alan lay down next to his creation, the security program he had coded with his own hands, trying not to melt under said program’s adoring gaze. Without really thinking about it, Alan brought Tron’s hand up to kiss his knuckles, wondering exactly how this had become his life.

Once he turned to see the joy shining in Tron’s face, free of the pain he had suffered, Alan couldn’t bring himself to mind.

End of Line.

#Alan/Tron #tron: legacy #Tron #fanfic

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monsoonxskies · 4 years ago

Text

Desperate Turn

An IDV AU Oneshot

Content warnings: Blood, painful transformation, body horror, cursing.

(eww i can’t figure out the “keep reading” thing—)

Anyway, enjoy!!!

————————————————————————

Luca had been in the process of decoding when he heard the shriek of one of the other survivors, which he was quickly able to identify as Emma. It was distant, but it was loud enough to become distracting.

It wasn’t long before he heard a soft chuckle, followed by another agonized scream from a bit further away in the Asylum.

The survivor quickly began piecing things together, realizing who the hunter was and who was at risk here. His eyes widened, the thought of how much Emma’s life was at risk finally hitting him.

“I gotta help...” He glanced back at the cipher machine, still hooked up to a connection he’d set. “But I should really focus on decoding...”

He bit his lip, twitching as he heard Emma cry out once more. That settled it. Screw decoding. Why sit here and mess with a damned machine when your teammate could be facing imminent death?

He suddenly recalled the words of Yidhra, who had given him a warning about Michiko the other day, who just so happened to be the hunter who was patrolling the Asylum amongst the other survivors.

“If you find yourself in trouble with Michiko... Just summon me. A small blood sacrifice should do the trick.”

He trembled briefly, considering how he would do that before remembering the tools he had on his utility belt.

He had a screwdriver.

Sure, it definitely wasn’t ideal... But it would work.

The brunette-haired survivor looked down at the yellow-handled tool sticking out of one of the pockets attached to his belt, his stomach churning.

Was he really about to do this?

He nodded to himself, a determined expression on his face as he pulled out the screwdriver. He had to do it. For the sake of Emma’s life, and for the lives of the others around him.

Luca took a deep breath, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on the screwdriver before he jabbed it into his wrist, with enough force to break the skin and start drawing blood.

He yelped as the cold, blunt metal ripped through his skin, sending shockwaves of stabbing pain all the way up his forearm, but he quickly bit his lip to keep himself quiet. God, he hoped he wouldn’t regret this...

Once he’d made a fairly large incision in his arm, he dropped the screwdriver and ran his fingers along the wound, getting a good amount of blood on his hand before starting to draw on the wall in front of him.

“Just draw the symbol I showed you. The one on the Seer’s blindfold. That’ll allow me to appear to you to offer my assistance.”

Voices whispered in the hallways around him, but he ignored them. What they were saying wasn’t important.

Before long, Luca had drawn out a small circle, which looked like a snake upon closer examination, with two basic wing-like shapes on either side of it. There was an upside-down triangle in the center of the snake-circle, and a large dot at the very core of the symbol.

The brown-haired survivor was shuddering so violently from both adrenaline and blood loss that it was a wonder that he was still conscious. Regardless, he kept a twisted smile on his face, his eyes glowing faintly with a hint of pale blue as the symbol began to glow.

Within moments, a lavender-skinned woman with long black hair, a blindfold over her eyes, and a snake-like body from the waist down came into view, a sharp-toothed smile on her face. “What is it that you seek, my dear?”

Luca swallowed hard, his gaze unblinking. “I-I want... To h-help them...” He didn’t even need to point for the snake goddess to know who he was talking about. “I-I’m sick of h-hearing their s-screams... I-I want to help... I want to f-fight...”

“Mm... What are you willing to offer in return, darling?” She gently held his head up so that he could look at her.

There was an unmistakable fire in his eyes. “D-Do whatever you need to.”

Yidhra chuckled slightly, her smile widening. Luca shuddered again, just before a feeling of disorienting weightlessness came over him. It felt like his body was floating in some sort of void, all of his feelings having gone numb. It was almost... Euphoric?

...But then came the feeling of something being forcibly torn from the very core of his being, and all sensation came flooding back like a tidal wave.

He gasped, lurching forward as he felt a strong jolt in his chest, much like how his electrical charges felt when they kicked into action... Only this time, it was painful.

He began to tremble once again, a few stray sparks of blue electricity dancing briefly across his skin as a new kind of energy slowly took root deep inside of him.

Recognizing the newfound power he’d been given, he staggered to his feet, giving the snake woman a brief salute. “Thanks for the power, Yidhr-“ The last syllable dropped off into a cry of pain, and the survivor suddenly doubled over as the pain struck in his chest once more, stronger this time.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor with a loud thud, the chains around his neck clattering. He barely caught himself with one outstretched arm, tightly clutching the side of his shirt with his other hand. “Wh-What the...?”

Yidhra slithered over to him, gently running her hand through his messy brunette hair. “Don’t worry, my dear. This won’t take too long.”

“Wh-What do you... What do you m-mean..?” His body jerked forward again, and he completely folded over on himself, letting out a soft whimper. “Wh-What did you...”

The snake woman held a finger to her lip, making a soft shushing sound. “It’ll be alright. Just don’t fight, and it won’t hurt as much.”

Luca looked up, eyes wide. “H-Hurt..?” As if on-cue, a wave of pain rushed through him, causing him to let out a soft yelp as he shivered once more.

“Yes, my dear. You cannot have power without some sort of pain.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but the only sound that came out was a pained grunt. His entire body felt like it was overflowing with electrical energy- but it wasn’t the usual static that resonated within him normally.

It was like the existing energy he already had was being amplified... And not in a good way.

“Wh-Why does it h-hurt..?” He panted slightly, tears welling up in his eyes as he fought to stay upright. “Wh-What’s going on..?”

“Luca... My child...” The snake goddess bowed down and wiped a tear from beneath the young man’s bruised left eye. “All beautiful things come from great pain. Whether you are able to endure those things or not determines what you can achieve.”

He lifted his head again, sniffling slightly. He didn’t realize that a few little things had already begun to change, and the Dream Witch didn’t really want to freak him out too much by pointing them out.

The survivor’s ears had become a bit more pointed, his teeth had grown sharper, and his eyes had turned bright purple in color, his pupils slitted and cat-like in appearance. At the top of his head, two little bumps had formed beneath his scalp, which slowly began to extend out and resemble small horns of some sort.

He winced as the changes caused his head to start hurting, quickly progressing to the level of an average migraine on the pain scale. He dug his fingernails into the sides of his head for a brief moment... Only to stop soon after as he felt something sharp beginning to press into his skin from where his fingers were positioned.

He loosened his grip, lowering one hand so that he could look at it. His heart skipped a beat and began to race as he instantly realized that his fingers were tipped with small claws, which were rapidly growing longer.

His face completely drained of color, and he began feeling around on his aching head, something in the back of his mind telling him that things weren’t quite right.

It didn’t take him long to come across the bumps at the top of his head, causing him to shudder at the realization that his body was transforming.

He looked up at Yidhra with a horrified expression on his face. “Wh-Why am I...” He broke off with a grunt, wincing as he felt a twinge of pain along his cheekbones, just as two small spikes emerged from beneath his skin. “Wh-Why am I ch-changing...?”

“Oh, dear Luca... You should have known that your puny human form had no hopes of keeping all of that raw power contained...” She smiled. “Power always comes at a price.”

He gasped as another surge of pain tore through him, his arms giving out on him and causing him to fall completely to the ground. A hoarse groan escaped him, his body going rigid.

He was unaware of the deep gash in his wrist beginning to heal itself, the torn muscle and skin fibers weaving themselves back together and leaving the wound as a barely visible scar, which would likely fade in a matter of days.

However, from the faint line that the cut left behind sprouted several reptilian-like scales, which quickly began to spread further up his arm, rapidly taking over until the entire limb was covered in purple-colored scales.

He panted heavily, his body wracked with another fit of violent shuddering. This... really wasn’t going how he had planned.

But honestly, what should he have expected from a deity known as the “Dream Witch”?

He could feel more scales coming into existence across his shoulders, gradually working their way over to his other arm, warping it’s appearance so that it mirrored his already-turned limb.

A chill ran down his spine as the scales travelled all the way down his back and slowly crept up his neck, the unusual sensation making him rather uncomfortable. The changes almost made him feel like there was something crawling beneath his skin... but there wasn’t.

The survivor clutched frantically at his head, moaning quietly as the small horns that had developed earlier suddenly began to elongate once more, stretching back towards his cranium before curving slightly at the tip. “I-It hurtss... Wh-Why does it h-hurt so much..?”

Yidhra lightly stroked Luca’s hair sympathetically. “It’ll be alright. You just need to stay strong, my dear.”

Behind his tightly-clenched fangs, which were ill-fitting and felt way too pressed up against one another in his mouth, his tongue had unknowingly become forked and somewhat lizard-like, and he only figured out that it was different when he briefly opened his mouth to let out a shaky exhale, trying to get his breathing under control.

As soon as his lips parted, his tongue snaked out as if it had a mind of its own, instantly causing his heart to skip a beat.

What the fuck?!

He instinctively slapped his clawed hands over his mouth, eyes wide with horror. His fear only continued to escalate as he felt his nose and mouth beginning to distend beneath his palms, warping into the shape of a short, draconic muzzle.

Even with it being contained within his mouth, the survivor could still feel his reptilian tongue lashing about, attacking the backs of his sharpened fangs, the insides of his cheeks, and the roof of his mouth, as if it longed to escape its prison once more.

It didn’t feel natural... Not at all. And, admittedly, it scared him a bit.

Luca stared at Yidhra with a terrorized gleam in his bright-purple eyes, the desperate look on his still-changing face conveying one message: ‘Help me...’

The snake woman had a gentle smile on her face. “Be brave, young one. It’ll be over soon.”

His lip twitched as he started to return her smile, but his expression immediately contorted into one of anguish as he folded over himself once more, slamming his fist against the ground as a reaction to his agony.

The back of his black-and-white striped shirt began to bulge out, the fabric stretching out as something began to protrude from along his spine.

He arched his back, making a noise that resembled a mix between a growl and a groan as his body tensed, the ridge running down his spine only becoming more pronounced.

The survivor struggled to breathe for a moment as his shirt constricted his upper body, his vision blurring as repeated waves of pain relentlessly surged through him. It was a matter of seconds before the fabric began to tear, starting down the length of his back.

A tall, bright yellow fin shot up from where the ridge had formed, and two rows of small, dark purple spike formations emerged along either side of it, completely destroying his shirt.

He let out the breath he had been holding with a loud gasp, his head snapping back as he tried to force himself upright.

Yidhra gently rubbed the back of his neck, her expression calm. “You’re getting there... Just hang in there...”

Luca gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t prevent himself from crying out as pain sparked in his legs, just as they began to restructure themselves. He could feel his boots getting tighter, and a part of him wanted to try to get them off, but he couldn’t find the physical strength to actually do it.

Before he could even make a decision, his boots abruptly burst open, with dagger-like talons piercing through the toe portion and the heel being torn apart as large spikes emerged from the backs of his now-elongated, dragon-like feet.

The sound that escaped him next was somewhere between an anguished moan and a feral snarl, which sounded completely unlike himself, his voice having gained a distinctly animalistic growl, as well as having deepened quite a bit in tone.

The straps on his leg braces snapped as his jeans began to tear, along with what remained of his shirt as his body began to draw on a mass that it didn’t normally have.

His tattered shirt suddenly began to look several sizes too small as his midsection became distended, exposing his stomach just as it became plated with large, golden-yellow scales, which rapidly began appearing along his chest as his shirt stretched and tore even further.

Luca threw his head back, a deep growl rumbling from his throat as the scales climbed up the front of his neck, ending at his jawline. His muzzle and horns finally extended to their full length as his body’s proportions completely shifted, his neck stretching just a bit as his entire form became significantly larger in size, easily about triple his normal height and weight.

As he fell forward one final time, a long, snake-like tail grew out from the base of his spine, twisting and writhing about behind him in agitation. Additional spikes suddenly burst out from his toughened, scale-covered hide, specifically on his elbows, shoulders, and hips. They ripped through his muscle and skin, but the wounds almost immediately healed from the second they had opened up.

A loud, feral roar escaped him as he staggered to his reformed limbs, shaking his head from side to side with his tail lashing back and forth like a whip.

Yidhra smiled, levitating herself upwards so that she was at eye level with the massive, draconic beast. “See... You made it... I knew you could do it, my sweet child.”

The creature growled, flexing his claws impatiently. The snake goddess chuckled, seeing how he was so eager to fight after his transformation. “Oh, but I won’t keep you waiting! You’ve got a job to do!”

Luca took that as his cue to leave, and he suddenly made a mad-dash down the darkened hallway of the Asylum, claws skittering against the tiled floor with each loping step he took.

He heard Yidhra shout something after him, but he didn’t slow down. He had to help his teammates before it was too late.

His heart and mind going a mile a minute, he forced himself to focus on one thing: finding the hunter and taking her down.

It wasn’t long before he picked up the sound of a pained whimper, followed by the light-hearted chuckle of the Geisha. It was coming from straight ahead... He was on the right path!

He kept running for just a little while longer before he came across the hunter, who was towering over the lean figure of the cowboy. Emma was sprawled across the ground a short distance away, her body nearly motionless.

Without slowing down his momentum, Luca barreled into Michiko with a loud roar, knocking her to the side and pinning her nimble frame to the ground.

The demonic beast lifted his head to look back towards Kevin, who was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“T...Take Emma... Get out of here...” The creature commanded, flicking the tip of his tail towards the barely conscious gardener.

The cowboy hesitated, his gaze shifting back and forth between the hunter and the massive beast holding her back.

Luca narrowed his eyes, his lip curling back to show his razor-sharp fangs. “K..Kevin..! Go NOW!”

The other survivor finally snapped out of his daze, grabbing his lasso and whirling it above his head before throwing the loop towards Emma, successfully grabbing her. He pulled her limp body back to him, slinging her over his shoulder as the exit gate alarm sounded off.

He cast a glance over his other shoulder at the demon, giving a slight nod and a salute before he bolted off in the direction of the gate.

Luca watched him go, waiting until he was completely out of sight before he swooped down and grabbed Michiko’s arm in his jaws, causing her to yelp as his fangs dug into her skin.

He dragged her over to a nearby wall, throwing her against it with enough strength to demand her attention.

He lowered his head so that he was at eye level with her, his reptilian tongue flicking out of his mouth briefly before he began to speak to her.

“Don’t you dare... messss with my friendss... ever again... Or I won’t let you... get out of thiss alive...”

The Geisha didn’t speak, unable to make any sound in the massive creature’s presence. She simply nodded in understanding, hoping to get away without harm.

“Do we... Undersstand one another?”

Michiko nodded more vigorously, fearing that the demon would lash out regardless. Much to her relief, he only gave a slight chuckle, backing away from the wall.

“That’ss your only warning. I’ll kill you next time. Jusst sso you know.”

The hunter gave a brief bow before dashing off, in the complete opposite direction of the other survivors. Luca sighed as she left, turning his bright-purple gaze towards the hallways where Kevin had just escaped to.

He started to follow, but was suddenly overtaken by an intense wave of exhaustion, causing him to collapse to the floor, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

———————————————————————

When Luca woke up, he was lying on his back in a hospital bed, the room completely silent.

Confused, he tried to sit up, only to immediately fall back down as the action sent a small wave of pain through the side of his chest, causing him to grunt slightly.

Next to him, a figure stirred slightly, his mask-covered face lifting up as his soft, grey eyes met those of the recovering survivor.

“Luca... You’re up...”

The brown-haired man turned to face the silver-haired embalmer, a weak smile crossing his face.

“Aesop...” His smile fell. “Wh.. What happened...?”

The other survivor presumably bit his lip, averting his gaze. “I... Don’t know actually. All I know is that Emily and Kevin carried you all the way back here from the Asylum and you were completely unconscious... They didn’t tell me anything else.”

“H-How long was I out for..?” He was almost scared to know the answer.

Aesop hesitated. “3 days. I was... here the entire time.” He looked away, his face turning red. “I uh... Wanted to make sure I was here for you when you woke up. I wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable with your circumstances or anything.”

Luca smiled again. “I appreciate it... Thank you...”

Aesop only nodded, still not meeting the other survivor’s gaze. Silence fell over the two of them, and honestly? It was comforting.

Luca allowed his eyes to close once more, though he was far from falling asleep again. He just wanted to think about things for a bit.

From what Aesop had told him... Everything in his scattered thoughts lined up completely accurately. Which... Was both an exciting and absolutely terrifying thing.

He had a demon living in the darkest corners of his mind... And he could draw it out whenever he pleased...

Sure, he’d probably have to talk to Yidhra a bit about how to be able to shift forms at will, but...

Just having the knowledge of its strength and power was enough for him to be satisfied. And, knowing that he probably had saved Emma’s life?

...

Well, that only added on to his satisfaction.

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nofliight · 4 years ago

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ooc;; So in probably the strangest turn of events I can be putting into words, Yakuza: Like a Dragon hit me with a buttload of inspiration for the LoZ verse like holy hell, giving me all the right ideas for what differences LoZ Pit’s gonna have from his canon self and helping me put the ideas into words.

I’ll probably touch this up another time but here’s a brief rundown if any of my LoZ followers wanna humor me, feel free to hmu if you wanna have fun w/ this:

‘Pit’ is but one of the angelic servants that served the goddess Hylia in the era of the Goddess. For all intents and purposes, there’s nothing truly special about him compared to others - barring that his Goddess offered a little more power to him than the other angels. The reason for such favoritism in power being that despite being one of the weakest angels, existing from an unexpected - but incomplete - excess of divine power during the Goddess’ existence, he wound up being one of the most resilient and determined servants she had, and simply wouldn’t take being overlooked... his dedication was something respected, and to that end he did pull himself up as one of the most devout and prominent of her servants.

Like all of her angels, however, focus was hardly on him - rather more focused on the protection and safety of the mortals that lived on the surface. Doubly so when she would come across her human champion... while no feelings of animosity were ever held to the humans and indeed, Pit wholeheartedly agreed with her want to protect them and see them safe, all the same it did mean that the angels were hardly any sort of focus - which lead to his continued existence after the goddess reincarnated away from her divine realm being something quite soundly overlooked when the loose ends should otherwise have been handled - with him being the strongest remnant of her direct power at the time, while much of the divinity of it all was either dispersed or suppressed within the reincarnations she would go on to become... the remnants of her most devoted servant would go into a state of limbo for millennia on. Not conscious, thankfully, and in fact he would have no memories of ever doing so in the first place... but all the same, his being remained.

Over the millennia the divine bloodline grew, the time the divine magic that gave him existence would eventually level out, and release itself in the form of the divine being that should not exist eventually being pulled to the next reincarnation, allowing him an unexpected revival... rising in a time, era, existence no angel was meant to live. With no memory of doing anything more than taking a mere nap - he is understandably quite lost, with nothing but the princess he meets to welcome him, and he finds she is no more aware of the situation than he is, telling him only that the goddess he is looking for is a legend and wondering about the wings that adorn his back. It is on him at this point, to deal with this new era, to grow accustomed to it... and to stay at this maiden’s side, due to this inexplicable pull he feels toward her to keep her safe.

A few significant points for his portrayal here:

Pit here can come back in any of the eras, all up to your preference. Believe me, I’m not gonna be super picky about details like how long he should be out of commission. If you’re a Zel muse and you’re in an era, there you go, that’s when Pit arrives.

He is still quite awkward here. Naturally polite and rather unused to interaction more than necessary with anyone other than his goddess, so it’ll take him some time to adjust to speaking with others.

He’s a fish out of water hard here. He doesn’t know anything about Hyrulean civilization, he doesn’t know about the legends, or what the culture is like now, anything of the sort... there’s a lot he isn’t going to understand until he learns it.

Though he was not a super strong flier, initially being a weaker angel himself, he could fly once. Continuing to exist only as a remnant of that old power will certainly nerf him in some ways.

How much power any Zelda can use with him (considering, you know - Hylia’s power still resides within her in some capacity) depends entirely on how much she has tapped into Hylia’s power within her. Never at full capacity as he perhaps once could have - but how she can offer flight, or even telepathically alter him in any way would depend on that aforementioned factor completely. Unless determined otherwise, a mental link for communication will likely form, but that’s the only proper constant.

He’s not nearly as powerful here as he is back home. He’s less a weapon and more of a relic, a remnant. Without the awesome power of a powerful goddess fully standing behind him, he can keep up with some of the stronger human warriors once he’s back in shape, but god-killing is considerably more difficult. He is exceedingly tough and hits like a tank, but he’s entirely fallible to surface dwellers here.

His loyalty still lies with his goddess, and until/unless he learns that the goddess as he knows her is well and truly not something he can ever return to, seeing her again is going to be very much on his mind. Not to say he does not care about his Hylian friend(s) he grows close to, and in fact he grows more grounded with them the longer he remains with them, but he does yearn for the home he knows most back.

You know he’s shippable here. Just something worth pointing out.

#pit about.#loz verse.#HOOOOOOOOOOOO BOY #i'm very much in a Loving Optimistic Dumbasses mood and pit hits it ALL w/o havin to play a greasy old man in a fandom i'm a mess in #and boy is pit gonna have to be the one to fill that void for me #play yakuza: like a dragon btw. kiu first but THEN yakuza like a dragon #LOZ VERSE IS COMIN TOGETHER

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tabbyclaw · 5 years ago

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So you know all those Feelings I mentioned having about the Miraculous Ladybug season 2 finale? I wrote ‘em down, finally.

The city rarely ever sees Gabriel Agreste in person, hidden as he always is behind the walls of his home and the screens that connect him to the outside world. And it certainly never sees him as anything other than cold and collected, the distant and disdainful designer who has far too much going on in his own life to care a whit for anyone else's. He has crafted his image far too carefully to let it slip, and he is at all times aware of exactly what the city sees when it looks at him.

But today, any part of the city that cares to look up from its celebration of another crisis averted by its resident heroes will see him running, hellbent and heedless as he tears through the streets of Paris, ignoring both the revelers around him and the pain that dogs his steps and threatens to send him sprawling. Anyone who looks closely enough will see the way his usual mask has fallen, giving way to the desperate despair of a man who still has so much to lose and knows he may already be too late to save it.

He knows all of this, knows that he's breaking every rule he has about what the world is allowed to see of him. But today, he doesn't care.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The word reverberates in his head with every pounding footfall, aimed at a constantly-shifting target. At this entire city, and the fools within it who don’t understand his grand plans. At Nathalie, whose intelligence and level head have always been as valuable to him as her unflagging loyalty, and who should know better than to allow one to override the other like this. At himself, for choosing to pretend that he didn't know she would do exactly that if she felt it necessary.

Let me show you a man who has nothing left to lose.

Stupid. He said the words as if they were true, and now some malevolent force wants to ensure that they will be.

The house is empty, cold and cavernous and lonely as it always is, as Gabriel has grown accustomed to its being. But now that hollowness echoes in his bones as it hits him that even this vast and empty place could be made more empty. There is a pain in his chest that has nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the silent pleading that has drowned out all the other shouts in his head. No. Not another one. Not again. That pain drives him forward even as all the other pains of his body try to drag him down, the hits that he took in the battle -- the brawl; what was he thinking, how wildly desperate was he -- growing harder to ignore. He fights past them as he has fought past every other obstacle that has dared to stand before him, tearing through the house with the same singularity of purpose with which he tore through the streets, not even taking the time to make sure that Adrien isn’t nearby before he activates the secret entrance. His son is elsewhere, safe with his bodyguard; Scarlet Moth saw to that at least. (Adrien has to be safe, because Nathalie isn't, and Gabriel can only focus on one crisis at a time right now.) He makes only the briefest pause before the room really comes into view, bracing himself for what he knows he might see before he forces himself to look.

The figure on the floor is all of his worst fears laid out before him, Nathalie collapsed on her side and surrounded by akumas that flit about her, dimly curious about this new intrusion. Her eyes are closed, her skin too pale, her body too slack and motionless, and Gabriel knows that he won't be able to breathe again until he sees her do so. The akumas fly up in a glowing cloud as he falls to his knees beside her, and for a moment he has the mad thought that he needs to protect her from them, waving them away and shielding her body with his. He touches her too-cool cheek and gently lifts her chin up, looking for any signs of life. "Nathalie. Nathalie, please."

There is a shallow breath there, and a slow but steady pulse. Gabriel exhales helplessly, relief nearly collapsing him, and then his touch seems to set something off, because suddenly Nathalie's entire body is wracked by a violent, painful coughing fit. Gabriel forces down a new wave of fear -- she's alive, but who knows what kind of damage she might have suffered -- and gets an arm under her shoulders, drawing her up into a sitting position so that she can actually get some air. "It's all right," he promises her softly, trying to convince himself as much as her. "It's over now. You're safe. Just breathe."

There's a pause in the spasms, enough for Nathalie to draw a few real breaths, some of the color starting to come back to her face. But she's still barely conscious, eyes closed and face lined with pain, and when Gabriel touches her face again to get a better look at her she turns and presses her head against his chest, exhausted and hurting and needing something -- someone -- to lean on. He lets her, curling his arm around her to pull her closer and bending his head protectively over hers, breathing slowly and steadily as if it will encourage her to do the same. On her jacket the peacock pin glints dully, its power hidden once again, and he hates how much he wishes he could have seen it in action. Could have seen her in action. She must have been glorious.

The coughing starts up again, and with it the sick feeling in Gabriel's chest. She's hurt, and she's in danger, and it was all in service to him. She was willing to risk everything to save him, and now he has to do everything in his power to save her. With great difficulty he gets back to his feet with her in his arms, carrying her out of the observatory as if he's carrying her out of a burning building. She needs to be away from this place of dark and brooding power; even if he has no further understanding of what he can do for her he knows that much. She needs light, she needs air, she needs...

She needs to be somewhere that other people are allowed to know about, in case she needs medical attention.

The recriminations that have been jangling in his head now start accusing him of being selfish, of prioritizing his secrets over her safety, but he fights them down. These are her secrets now, too -- was there ever a time when they weren't? -- and if he doesn't protect himself then he can't protect her, either. And -- the thought hits him with a sort of grim humor and he grits his teeth in a parody of a smile -- she would definitely have something to say if he repaid all that she's done to keep his secrets safe by letting them be revealed anyway for her sake. He would never hear the end of it, although that still sounds more appealing than the silence he’s hearing from her now.

He carries her as far as he can before his own body starts to protest, and by the time he sets her down in a chair she's starting to come back to herself. He’s kneeling in front of her by the time she finally opens her eyes and really looks at him, and when she does he feels like he's the one who's been rescued. Again. His attempts to reproach her are pleading, desperate, and he is already aware of their futility. Her eyes may be warm and tender as she smiles down at him, but they're still just as hard and unyielding as they are when she faces down a business associate on his behalf, refusing to bend in a negotiation with another designer, or a model, or Audrey. She is the immovable object to his unstoppable force, as she always has been, and even now that she’s using that determination to stand against him he can't help but admire her for it, as he always has. He's on his knees asking her to be a little less devoted to him, and she's looking down on him and refusing to do so, and that doesn't feel as backwards as it should. He breathes out a sigh, torn between frustration and gratitude, and as his hand touches hers he decides to come down on the side of gratitude. He can't stop her and he can't deny that he needs her, so the least he can do is accept it with as much grace as he can manage. "Thank you, Nathalie."

Her hand turns to curl around his as if she's grateful for the touch, and a soft warmth flows into her smile for a moment before another bout of coughing pulls her away from him, makes her curl up on herself as if she's protecting a vulnerable spot. "I'm all right," she insists as soon as she has breath enough to do so, not even waiting for him to express his concern before trying to deflect it.

"You're not." He still knows how futile it is to argue with her, and yet he can't stop himself from at least trying. "You need a doctor." And what will you tell them happened to her, Gabriel? How do you intend to explain this?

Her expression is asking the same questions as the voice in his head, and even if she’s having a hard time keeping her head up her gaze is still solid and steady. "I'm all right," she repeats, squeezing her eyes closed and sighing. "I just need..."

"You need to rest," Gabriel cuts in, not letting her continue to prevaricate, and it's a small victory when she gives a little nod. He makes a weak sound that almost approaches a chuckle. "You can't help me if you're not going to help yourself."

That ghost of a smile is back as Nathalie shakes her head. "No, sir," she agrees, gently resigned. When Gabriel sighs his relief that she's not going to argue any further, she fishes for her phone. “I’ll see myself home. I imagine that you have enough to worry about withou-- Adrien!” She draws herself up quickly enough that she has to catch her breath, looking as worried as Gabriel isn’t allowing himself to feel yet. “Where is he?”

“He is in capable hands,” Gabriel assures her, distracting himself from the fact that he doesn’t know the answer to that question himself, and it’s apparently enough of an answer to quell her immediate concern. "You don’t need to worry. I won't let him be put at risk, not anymore. He has his bodyguard with him, and I… I trust my people." It’s something he needs to tell himself as much as he needs to tell her, and to try to believe it as much as she seems to at the moment. One crisis at a time. "I will make certain that he’s being properly taken care of as soon as I've done the same for you. Which I can't do if you're not here." Nathalie still has her phone raised, presumably to call for someone to drive her home, and he gently places a hand over it and pushes it down, urging her to look at him instead. She blinks at him, appropriately confused by this reaction, and he breathes out. "Stay. Please. Just... just until the dust settles. Until we know there aren't going to be any... aftereffects. Nobody will bother you in the guest suite, and if anything happens..." He trails off, not having an end to that sentence. What solution does he think he would actually be able to offer if some vague something really did happen? "You'll at least be somewhere safe," he eventually manages.

Nathalie is looking startled again, knees up near her chest and her body language as wary as a wounded animal, but as Gabriel keeps on talking, keeps on making his absurd pitch at her, he can see her starting to relax a little. Believing him when he says she'll be safe here, or at least letting herself believe it even if they both know he can make no such guarantee. He can see her doing the math and weighing the options in her head, although he's not sure exactly what numbers she's using. Finally she lets go of a little breath, and with it some of that cold precision with which she always carries herself. "It would probably be better for everyone if nobody sees me like this," she says quietly, and it makes about as much sense as any argument that Gabriel has offered for keeping her here. Which means that it's enough to keep up the pretense that there's some practical reason for this need to stay together a little while longer, that they're reacting reasonably rather than huddling together like children hiding from a thunderstorm. Her lip curls up ever so slightly as she looks at him again, rueful and apologetic even as she gives in, as if she still feels like she’s the one who’s causing the problem somehow.

He doesn't know what else to say, if there is more to say, and so he simply nods and rises to his feet, which takes far more effort than he was expecting. He can feel every hit that those kids landed on him, and every year that he has on them besides. There's a reason that he does all of his work from the shadows. He tries to cover up a wince as he reaches for her hand to help her out of the chair.

Of course it doesn’t work, not with all the practice Nathalie has had in reading him better than anyone else can. "You're hurt, too," she reminds him, just as gently scolding as he was, face just as creased with concern. She stands without his help, although unsteadily, and takes a few steps forward to get a better look at him.

"Only bruised," Gabriel insists, which is mostly true, and plenty of those bruises are in places he'd rather not discuss. Including his pride. Her wounds came from opening herself up to an ancient and unstable magical force in order to come to his rescue. His came from getting knocked around by a pair of superpowered teenagers. Given the circumstances, the idea of her trying to be the one to fuss over him seems both backwards and demoralizing. He reaches out a hand to help stabilize her, touching her arm and inviting her in closer. "And it would have been much worse if you hadn't stepped in."

The look she gives him -- or doesn't give him, ducking her head abruptly -- says that she's not any more eager to be reminded of that part than he is. And maybe he shouldn't want to remind her of it either, shouldn’t point out that this terrible risk she took paid off this time, but it's a hard truth that he can't shake. He needed her in that moment, and she was there, and he can't help but be grateful for that, knowing what could have happened otherwise. But her voice is quiet when she speaks, and heavy with regret. "I should have done more. I would have, if I could."

Gabriel is keenly aware of how inappropriate it would be to wrap his arms around Nathalie, to hold her firmly enough to pull her away from this incomprehensible moment of self-doubt. It would be unprofessional, and undoubtedly unwelcome, and definitely awkward with as far out of practice as he is, but it still takes a bit of effort to push the unexpected desire away. He sighs softly. "You have already done everything."

Nathalie seems to have no immediate response to that, except to accept his silent invitation. She takes another step or two into his reach, starting to turn her head towards the hallway that he's trying to guide her down, towards the stairs and the guest suite. Gabriel tucks her against his side, easing her arm up around his back to give her a little bit of support, and her lack of resistance is indicator enough that she needs it. When they begin to take a step forward, however, they both falter, his aching steps hardly starting out any better than hers, and it's a long moment before they can actually make a move. For a while they simply lean on each other, slumped together, her hand digging into his ribs and his head bent low over hers. A pair of broken people, far beyond the reach of any lucky charm, doing what they can to make their own luck.

Eventually they try to move again, and this time they're both more steady, even if they continue to lean on each other. After a moment or two Gabriel is fairly certain that he could let go of Nathalie and walk on his own without too much difficulty, and he’s starting to think that she’d be equally all right if he did so. But he’s also fairly certain that neither of them wants to let go of the other, and they're not going to risk upsetting whatever strange balance they've built by acknowledging that. Let it be, don't ask too many questions about it, and don't look too far ahead. As they have both done about so much over the years.

The guest suite is made up and aired out and ready for an occupant, as it always is. It's out of habit now, and some strange sense of order, more than the thought that anyone might ever stay there, that there might be some welcomed visitor to this lonely and isolated place, some intruder on the solitude that Gabriel has built for himself. Its pristine state seems almost to be a monument to that isolation. Even Nathalie, who has seen so many days of preparation for the launch of a new collection turn into all-night assignments that she keeps an overnight bag stashed in one of the hall closets during the busy season, has always caught her snatches of sleep in a convenient chair rather than impose herself on Gabriel's hospitality. Rather than pretend she is an actual guest. That thought seems to hang over both of them, and Gabriel has to nudge himself to push them both over the threshold and into the empty and peaceful quiet beyond it. Once he does, though, once that final permission has been granted, Nathalie instantly sinks into the feeling of the room. The last vestiges of that careful grace she's been carrying herself with fall away, and her head sinks down to her chest with a deep sigh. She steps away from Gabriel delicately, startling slightly when he tries for the barest moment to hold onto her for a little longer.

The feeling is fleeting, Gabriel's worry given a life of its own and then fading into the background. He starts to leave, to let her be alone with her exhaustion and her vulnerability, but of course there's one more order of business that must be addressed. He clears his throat wordlessly, and when Nathalie turns back to face him he raises an eyebrow and holds out his hand.

For just the barest moment she tries to play dumb, her face carefully quizzical, as if she's hoping that he'll just forget what he's driving at. She knows better than to press her luck, though, and after a second she unclasps the peacock pin and drops it into his waiting hand. As his fingers close around it she tips her chin up at him, that cool defiance blazing in her eyes again. She's silent, but the look on her face is clear: I will not hesitate to call on this power again if it is necessary.

He looks back down at her, equally silent, his face equally clear: I know.

The door closes behind him, leaving him alone in the hall, and he takes a moment to be relieved that that's one concern settled -- at least for the moment -- before moving on to the next one: composing himself and hiding his injuries well enough to appear as normal as possible when he seeks out his son and makes sure that he is unharmed. But as he begins to walk away, straightening his back and ignoring the pain as best he can for as long as he can, the peacock remains a heavy weight in his pocket. He takes it out again, looking at it in his hand and feeling like he will never be able to see it without remembering the glint of it on Nathalie’s jacket as she struggled to breathe, and the weight of her head against his chest. It would be so easy to keep it out of her reach. He could move it, or keep it on his person at all times, or even just change the combination on the safe...

He pretends to give the idea some serious thought as he tucks the pin away again, but he knows in his heart that he'll do no such thing. Even with as dearly as he wants to keep her safe, he can't bring himself to reject anything that might give him an advantage in the fight to come. As in all aspects of his life that he has allowed her into, he now needs her far too much to let her go. The decision is made, then, and because he cannot prevent it he will instead choose to embrace it.

Mayura will rise again; no matter what either of them says or does they both know that this is true. And she will be glorious.

And Gabriel can't wait to see it.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfic #nathalie sancoeur #gabriel agreste #starting the decade off with angsty cartoon villain UST #this is the most on-brand thing I have ever done

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