#also is this the only time we see Boulder do something ‘maliciously’?

[rescuebotsoutofcontext]

[etherfabric]

Which part of you wants to be felt? + Affirmations

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

You have free will. I merely provide my perspective in these readings. Sometimes the Universe lines you up with something that doesn't resonate with your truth, so you have contrast to find out what does.

Pile 1

Death, Wheel of Fortune

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The part of you that wants to be felt is your optimism. This feels to you like putting a boulder on a butterfly - dooming it from the beginning. You lost all trust in your right and ability to imagine good scenarios. Anytime one creeps up to you, you swat it away like an insect carrying a disease. True, you had to face some dark truths about the world and yourself - but don't forget why you started this process: You wanted to be happy and healthy again.

This means recalibrating your focus on what is good and fun. Things that make you glad to be alive. Even if you will fear losing them all over again. But if the past taught you one thing, it should be your ability to stand up and rebuild, right? You and your skills are the secret ingredient. You can afford risks. You are abundant in your ability to find the next good thing. Looking back at all you lost, doesn't it make sense? Didn't it make room for all this, that is so much more you? Whatever loss you will have to face in the future will just be the predecessor of an even further upgrade. Don't wait for guarantees. Seize what you have now, and trust in divine timings. You will get your fill. But you have to give access to your cup first.

Your affirmation is:

I am aware that being happy means I am on the right path.

Pile 2

5 of Wands rx, The Fool rx

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The part of you that wants to be felt is your willingness towards repair after conflict. I know there have been countless occassions where you were the "stupid" one to extend a peaceful hand first, only for it to be slapped away, or used to pull you down even further. No one deserves that, you included. While we can't expect a foolproof (eheh, because of the Fool, get it? ...sorry) guarantee to always have the right timing with our peace offers, it's still worth a try. I feel this resentment towards yourself for being even able to do that. "Not this idiot again getting us hurt even further after a fight." But this idiot is exactly the one who will bring you closer to those who actually just had a bad day when they hurt you. Who truly wished things would have been different. And are probably desperate to reconnect, but just don't know where to even begin. You do. Dare to risk it again.

It might bring up old pain that feels unbearable, but remind yourself (if you can) that you are much more powerful than in the past, where those low blows were truly devastating. They will never feel nice, but if you let them be a reason to never get close to someone again, you run the risk of being lonelier than you'd realistically have to be. The malicious intent you feel might be a remnant from unprocessed hurt, instead of a reliable source of purely present information. Let the dust settle and reassess the situation. If in the calm, this still feels like war, and you worked through your shadow to see clearer, then by all means, please leave. But don't destroy something good because it touched a sore spot.

Your affirmation is:

My capability to show my true feelings is always a step towards love and life.

Pile 3

The Star, 2 of Swords rx

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The part of you that wants to be felt is your faith, to be more precise, your confidence in being worthy of having faith. You are still on the fence with a lot of big and small things regarding it. You feel like you just started consciously allowing yourself to even entertain that dimension of existence, that there might be more than the eye can see, that science and logic don't paint the whole picture. Even reading that sentence felt kind of... wrong, right? That's actually super normal. This image of sudden enlightenment, never waivering in one's beliefs and always flowing on a cloud of omniscience and serenity is a product sold to us. To keep us discouraged from our inner strength and voice, and assign our own power to supposedly better people than us. "I am having doubts, I feel kinda silly doing this sometimes, I forget a lot of the practices, I do it haphazardly, I don't cleanse/pray/meditate/worship/offer/affirm enough, or do it the wrong way..." And then we feel guilty when we turn towards our faith in times of desperation and hopelessness, despite our "lousy performance".

Pardon my french, but cut that shit out. You are worthy. You are a spiritual being, point blank, whether you are in a ceremonial robe humming psalms or sitting on your toilet watching TikTok. Performance doesn't determine relevance. Performance or lack thereof will never be able to erase the deep truth you already tapped into. You discovered your spiritual side, but not in lieu to your physical, logical self - no one wants you to abandon or replace anything. It's an addition for the spaces 3D can't fill. The times you turn towards it are exactly the times you should. Give yourself grace and patience to let this gigantic new dimension unfold in its own time for you. It's a lot, and that's the beauty of it. Now, with this, there will always be something new to learn and explore!

Your affirmation is:

There is no way to get my life wrong. My connection to source is eternal.

Pile 4

5 of Pentacles rx, Temperance

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The part of you that wants to be felt is your relief. When I tap into your energy, it matches the archetype of a man on his porch with a shotgun in his lap. He is already falling asleep in his rocking chair, because there is no actual danger present that would cut the lulling sound of crickets, but then this thing inside his head goes off and he jolts awake to point the weapon at the dark. There hasn't been an intruder or dangerous animal in years, but he is so afraid of it happening again, that he ruins his own divinely orchestrated time for recuperation.

Yes, the horrors of the past were real, but you can wait forever to feel relaxed now that it's over, if you don't loosen your grip on your defenses (which are, quite frankly, premature offenses a lot of the times). It will feel terribly vulnerable and like the dumbest thing you could ever do, but your body needs your help. It. Is. Tired. Being scared is hard work. I know I am being the opposite of original here with my suggestions, and I invite you to moan your annoyance clearly, and roll your eyes at me with vigor when I say: Deep breath in, hold it for as long as you can, and exhale slowly. Repeat until you feel different. It might take a while, depending from how high of an adrenaline level you have to climb down, but golly, you need it. Don't be surprised if a pocket of fear comes up to be felt, the up and down is the way it goes towards equilibrium. Just keep breathing, dear. Your body knows the rest.

Your affirmation is:

I have the power to create peace within myself.

[annabelle-creart]

I'm bored:

Do you remember I mentioned Hunter!Boulder, Heatwave, Blades and Bee and also made reference to Chase in the crossover-multiverse thing I made? Well, I just talk a bit on that weird crossover I made, let's talk seriously of Hunters of the Cosmos Au:

👇

IRL Context: Like all the Au's I've made this far, I don't remember when or how I exactly thought of the idea, but I remember I was hearing "Voracity" or "Clattanoia" (the Amalee's covers because I don't know a thing about Overlord but FREACKING GOD, THOSE COVERS ARE SO AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH) because I'm obssesed with those two covers, I don't remember which one was, but now that I remember, there's this guy, the creator or Pixie and Brutus webcomic who also does comedy mini comics and one of them was about this little girl with a huge dad that was being asked by the principal why she would kill aliens if they come to Earth (she asked back "why would an advance species want to be friends") and time later she became a soldier who kick alien asses in such a cool way, but all those factors made me think "what and how it would be if the Transformers, counting the rescue team, never were on Earth to protect or to hide, but to conquer..." and here we are, also, due to the anime's context and because I watched Heavenly Delusion relative close in time when I started to hear the covers, I took also the topic of them being strange and monster beings and freacking God, it worked, now we have this strange Au about them akajlskajs also, I made it mostly to do some Earthspark ansgt and the best part GENERAL ANGST, now, the true context:

In-Context-Story: After the terrible war between Unicron and the 13 Primes, only Quintus and Onyx survived the tragedy, compared to other universes, nonetheless, they could take the other relics

Because of this, Quintus wanted to make something to remember their siblings, creautures that could take different forms like Amalgamous, who were compassionate like Prima and Alchemist, strong like Megatronus and Solus, smart like Alpha and Liege, wise like Vector and Alchemist, and over everything: kind like Thirtheen, but also, had Onyx's physical form and as Quintus, were capable of create life. They called themselves Predacons

Time later, those creatures started to use Cybertron and made them their home, thanks to their remaining primes, they learned to live peacefully and use the land correctly, which lead them to various communities that could live properly, thanks to Black Swan and their father, Onyx Prime

Nonetheless, Quintus was curious, and a bit avaricious, his mission of create went to far and ended up creating maybe the most dangerous being he could make: the Quintessons, conquerors and malicious, they took over Cybertron when they could, killing their rulers and controlling the people like slaves, their culture finally was lost and all the wisdom they collected was destroyed, which led to fear and chaos over the planet

The people at some point rised up against their slavers, but the collective memory was so distortionated that when the Quintessons went away, the Cybertronians imitated their system, becoming disrespectful and also slavers like theirs

Time passed again, and with time, chaos, a young miner named D-16 rised up against the government and all the planet sudenlly fell in a war that almost destroyed their species

They started to see their own citizens as war machines, if they could fly, dig or bite was more important than their compassion to them, and when it was almost too late, the self-named Megatron and the now Prime, Optimus, decided it was time to stop, but the planet was dried, so, they took all they could, including ancient knowledge they discovered on Cybertron's heart, and go away

The autobots and decepticons that remained passed some time on space, searching for a planet with enough resources for them to live, finding on the travel a floating ship that saved four predacons, rescue cons who went out of the planet before the war started and missed a lot, they kept them and continued with their travel, finding this planet: Earth. It had a lot of things that they could use for living, water, good soil, an atmosphere, the only problem was it's big plage problem, they tried to talk with them, and they answered with guns and bombs, which, due to the predacons desperate condition and no fuel to support the ships anymore, didn't let them other but to take the planet for the ugly ways...

Kade wasn't even born yet to remember but Charlie does clearly, when the first ship landed, there it was who his fellows called "The Gorilla" because when it transformed, it looked like one, and "Dino" to the next, because looked like one, after some time of losing comrades, Charlie got scared, his island and family was on danger, and himself, and due to that fear, he made a strange decision, one the predacons wouldn't take in mind of it if it wasn't for Optimus' compassionate side, decision that at some point still haunts him but tries to convice himself was the correct

...

It has passed almost 30 years since the Predacons landed on Earth, and the humans that remain still have divided opinions on it, they came to conquer, to kill and to take, nonetheless, Earth is maybe better now that when humans ruled, no matter how was or how would it be, things would be easier for Dorothea if her six and four year-old kids didn't found those eggs, one night hided on the farm and they hatched, five small creatures that didn't knew how to mantain or how much, but it was too late, two already were attached to her and the other three demostrated be strong, she kept them at frst for necesity but maybe she and her family got too much attached to these predacons, not knowing this present was the curse that others brought

M.E.C.H they call themselves, a paramilitar group that first fought against the predacons, and now dedicate to do buisnesses with the humans that remain to keep control over what's left (which is not much but still can deal with it), Silas directs them, and as part of his job he developed their way to fight against predacons, which is the maybe efficient and ugly way, but nature does, why they wouldn't? And the pups are easy prey, and the people who was protected by the two predacons on that island? Traitors, they deserved not to be trusted by the enemy, they're alright now, but it was still a good idea, and the other five eggs that still have on their power after losing the other five of the ten they had...? What if the best way to keep the enemy on place is by taking and using them...?

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

Do we know how Dee found out about the V's dragon thing?

When he felt the deep rumbling of the cave around him, Deceit finally sighed in relief.

The crumbling tube-like pitfall he had made near the southern entrance — one of many, all too solid to be triggered by Deceit or Ethel’s weight but easily crumbled under anyone else’s — had hopefully put an end to the intruder he had sensed almost an hour before.

They got further than Deceit expected they would. Deceit had listened to them through adjacent tunnels as they quickly and easily traversed his maze of twisting, trap-laden caverns. They walked with cocksure, thundering footsteps, and somehow sensed and called out swinging blades before they’d even released from their hiding places. But, they also cut down kobolds and monsters alike without letting even a dying gasp escape from their victims, despite how loudly they talked to themselves as they traversed the emptier tunnels. Whoever they were, their senses were sharp, and they damn sure had experience hunting dangerous creatures.

(Luckily, Deceit wasn’t too attached to the “guards” he had collected over the years, though it would be annoying to replace them. And to repair and reset his traps... Ugh, this was going to be a long night.)

The strangest part was how they ignored both of the false “treasure chests” Deceit had hidden in those pathways. Whoever they were, they were not an adventurer.

That fact alone was enough to scare Deceit away from confronting them himself, retreating to the safety of his inner chamber for a report of their demise. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to pull out any of his higher-energy illusions to scare them away; From the strength of those vibrations, Deceit could happily assume the intruder had been dealt with.

...Well, okay, not really. Deceit is nothing if not careful.

They were definitely trapped if not already dead, though. So, Deceit crouches down and extends his arm to let Ethel off of his shoulders and onto the ground.

“I’ll be close behind you, dear.”

“I know, Dee!” Ethel giggled, with all the excitement of a child who’s been made to sit still for too long. He loves to play scout, because it lets him feel like a bigger part of this operation. Deceit only lets him do it because he knows no one would travel this deep into a Dragon’s mountain and then bother themselves with a mundane snake.

Deceit follows until he’s close enough to the impact point to keep Ethel in his senses, but hopefully far enough that he won’t be sensed by the intruder. He can hear Ethel humming to himself in the back of his mind, busying himself with a human song they only each remember pieces of, and Deceit waits for the go-ahead to join him further in.

Then, suddenly and without reason, the humming stops.

Deceit gives it a second or two, assuming that Ethel is just engaging his little “stealth mode” and taking a look around, but the silence remains for much longer than Deceit is comfortable with.

“Ethel, dear?” He probes through their mental link, to no response.

In fact, to Deceit’s horror, it feels like their link has weakened somehow.

It’s not an unfamiliar feeling — attempting to reach the snake-boy’s mind is as sluggish and resistant as wading through a pool of curdling blood, sometimes — but it’s only ever happened when he’s eating or dying.

Thrown into a panic, Deceit rushes down the path to the collapse sight, and is frozen to the spot when he sees what he’s trapped.

Lying there with a few scuffs and bruises, trapped under a pile of boulders, is a Dark Elf.

He’s thin and lithe from what Deceit can see of his body, and he seems largely unhurt, just under too much weight to move himself. He’s lying on his back, and his one free hand is holding Ethel, who is curled around his arm and leaning down to sniff at his face. Ethel’s not hurt, and doesn’t seem to be injured or even threatened by the Drow, who is holding him very gently. But his eyes are slightly glazed over and empty, as if he were a normal, everyday animal. As if he’d been entranced by someone.

And then a new wave of sensation washes over Deceit, and he’s knocked wholly off his feet.

There is a powerful presence coming from that Elf. The same kind of feeling he’s felt every time he’s entered a room with his so-called “siblings,” and the same feeling that used to be washed over this mountain when they were all still alive. An energy, specifically, he hasn’t felt since the last time he stood in the core of the mountain with his Father.

The essence of a White Dragon.

Deceit’s own essence rises up, hissing and spitting to fight the rival drake, but Deceit can’t move. The Drow looks up (down?) from his position to look at Deceit, and his long white hair falls out of the way to reveal one brilliant amethyst eye.

“That's one of Marissa’s experiments.” Deceit realizes with a start, remembering the orders his Father had given her before she left,

“Wux geou vucot ssvabolen quellar ekesss vorq ihk. Asstahii re houpeir ir di wer ssviheleni, wer ausssir darasstrixi."

"Vorq ihk ulhar vur ssililoss ssaurivic.”

“What is it doing here?!” Deceit shrieks in the confines of his own mind, still too terrified to speak the words out loud. He scrambles backwards,

“She let it out?? Does she know— Did she send it to kill me, to take her revenge?!”

“Who do we have here~?”

A voice from behind him shouts giddily the second Deceit feels himself back into a wall. He looks up, and finds the loud-mouthed, heavy-footed something he’s been tracking grinning maliciously down at him.

And Deceit has just knocked right into their legs.

A yelp is ripped out of him as the disheveled, wild-looking giant grabs him with massive, gnarled hands, tossing Deceit over his shoulder as easily as he would a blanket.

Deceit fights and writes, hissing as threateningly as he can manage from this position. The giant just laughs at him, completely ignoring any of his attempts to kick and scratch. Deceit gets a look at the Drow-Dragon-chimera-thing from behind the oaf’s torso, and watches him turn into a cloud of smoke and seep out from the cracks of the wreckage, reforming next to his companion.

The drow-dragon-chimera-thing that went completely unnoticed in his tunnels, and was cutting down creatures left and right without a sound.

Oh.

"You're not even gonna pretend to be trapped?" The giant whines, like a petulant child, "C'mon, dude, strength is my thing! Let me rescue you from the rock trap!"

The Drow doesn't answer, but after a pause, the giant laughs again.

"Of course you got distracted by a cool snake. --No, I get it, if you moved you would have scared it away, I know I know,"

Janus, suddenly feeling like he's been impaled on an icicle, hurriedly dismisses Ethel entirely just to get him away from that thing.

Having clearly seen him do that, the two intruders pause again.

“I think we found the thief the clan has been complaining about,” The giant snickers between barks of laughter,

“Sure is a skinny thing, though! Seems harmless, aside from their little magic tricks... Maybe they’ll let 'em go easy if we tell them he's just a kid? C'mon, you know they'll buy it, and they know you!”

Deceit has no idea what clan they’re talking about, but that does not sound good at all. So, he releases the vice-like clench of his jaw and wills a cloud of noxious gas out of his core, a last-ditch effort to poison these creatures and be done with them.

The giant holding him starts to cough, thankfully, but his grip doesn’t slack at all. The Drow, completely unaffected, just waltzes over to his back and grabs Deceit by the scruff of his shirt.

He hauls Deceit up to look at him (but not off the giant’s shoulder, considering how much taller the redhead is) and then bats his doe-like eyes at him. Deceit is stunned and oddly comforted in the most terrible way for a moment — after all, Deceit is very much familiar with charm magic — but he doesn’t resist when the Drow raises it's other slender hand to caress his cheek, almost lovingly.

Not knowing when the assassin’s hand had reached his neck or when the poisoned thorn had ever bit into his skin, Deceit drifts asleep with only the passing memory of a sound,

“Well, I guess we found that ‘dragon,’ too!”

[thinking1bee]

When It Reigns Part 13

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Kara Danvers x Reader

Tags: Angst, Kryptonian!Reader, Parent!Reader, Parent!Kara, Estranged Parent, Graphic Depictions of Injuries, Blood, Humor, Bad Dreams, Memory Loss

Everything Taglist: @sammy90682 @nobody13 @owloftheshadows @captain-josslett @camslightstories @worldovart @finleyfray @acertainredhead @sammm9068 @reginassecretlover

Lena walked into her brother’s lead lined mansion moments before the sophisticated cloaking device turned the entire structure invisible. It was a rather genius idea, something that Lena would rather die than admit to that homicidal maniac. No one knew of its existence besides Lex and their mother. The only reason why she had access to it was because of L-Corp. After assuming ownership of the Luthorcorp company and rebranding it L-Corp, Lena went through all of Lex’s private files and found the blueprints for this. Curiosity got the better of her and followed the coordinates to the massive, but empty, plot of land that noted. At first, she thought that the mansion hadn’t been built yet, and was just about to leave, when she noticed the breaker box near the telephone pole. Why was there a box when there was nothing out here? After flipping the switch, the mansion materialized right before her eyes.

She never made a habit to visit there. Too much of it reeked of Lex, and there was this creepy portrait of their mother whose eyes seemed to follow you around the room. That was more than enough to convince her not to go back. However, with everything that happened with you, Kara, and Angel, she made an exception. She hid Angel here after picking her up from the arcade and she left her personal driver to look after her. Of course, he was sworn to secrecy and paid handsomely for his troubles. Now, Lena walked the halls as she searched for Angel.

“Angel?” she called out. Lena heard the clacks of the crutches as she rounded the corner and waved shyly. Immediately behind her was her driver.

“Take the rest of the day off,” she said to him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Angel watched him leave before coming closer to Lena. Her eyes got big when she saw the bruise on her neck.

“What happened to you???”

Lena offered a small smile. Her neck was throbbing, and Kara had been right about the painkillers. She took some before leaving her lab, but they weren’t strong enough. She would need something a bit more potent.

“I had a little accident at the lab.”

“Are you okay?” Angel asked. Lena nodded, though the movement did agitate her injury.

“Yes. I’ll be fine. How about you? How’s the leg?”

“It itches so bad. I wish I had a stick or something to shove down there and just scratch the crap out of it.”

Lena chuckled as she put down her things. “I can only imagine, but you’re not in pain?”

Angel shook her head. “No, I’m okay.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, did you know Gary used to be a chef? He made me homemade ravioli! It was so good!”

Lena did know in fact. Prior to hiring him, she had an extensive background check ran. She wanted no unwanted surprises and if she even had to dip into his medical records, then so be it. So yes, she knew that Gary used to be a chef. She also knew that he had pancreatic cancer. Secretly, Lena was paying for his treatments while also sending additional money on top of his regular paycheck so that he could take care of his family. Lena smiled.

“Well, I am very happy that Gary has taken such good care of you. I should do something for him.”

Angel smiled for a second more before her face fell. Lena watched as she rubbed her arm sadly.

“What’s wrong?”

“When can I talk to my moms?” Angel asked.

Lena could hear the worry in her voice, and she could feel the anxiety roll of from her in waves. Being here for her must feel like an expensive prison, and Lena felt bad. But it was necessary for her protection. You and Kara would want her as far away from the danger as possible.

“Your momma just wants to keep you safe. She knows you’re here.”

“Then why hasn’t she called?”

Honestly, Lena didn’t know why, at least not for sure. She could guess but Angel deserved more than just speculation. Lena wished that she could just tell her the truth about everything but how would it help?

“I wish I could tell you, kiddo.”

Lena was about to say something else when her phone chimed. She reached into her bag to grab the device and saw that she got a text from Kara.

I found Y/n. Keep Angel safe.

Lena sent a quick message back before she turned back to Angel.

“We have some time to kill. Is there anything that you want to do?” she asked. She at her bag and phone down as she took off her heels.

Angel watched her movements closely before smiling.

“Can we watch the Wizard of Oz?”

Lena smiled. “Of course! I love that movie.”

She turned on her heel and left for the living room. Angel watched her leave too, her eyes shifting to her phone quickly as a plan formed in her mind.

***

Kara had just seen Reign and was quick to whip her phone out of her boot to text Lena. The moment the text was sent, she put the phone away and flew to where Reign was destroying a building with her laser vision.

“Stop this now!” Kara commanded.

Reign smirked before turning to face her. Now that she wasn’t wearing her Worldkiller suit, Kara could easily see that it was you. She wore your face, and she was twisting it from a face associated with love and warmth, to one that struck fear in people’s hearts.

“Oh, your back.”

Kara didn’t know what to do. While she knew that you weren’t Reign, she also didn’t want to fight you. You were in there somewhere and she didn’t want to hurt you. Her heart ached at the predicament she faced.

“I can’t let you do this, Reign!”

“Really? And what will you do to stop me? Fight me? Would you really do that knowing that Y/n is still here?”

Kara clenched her fists, her eyes blurring over with frustrated tears.

“Don’t make me do it,” she whispered broken heartedly. “Please don’t.”

Reign laughed maliciously. “How pitiful. The Girl of Steel begging me not to fight? You have been in my way since day one. It would pleasure me immensely to see you break!”

There was no way around it. She would have to fight Reign and risk hurting you in the process, but she wanted to try one more thing.

“Please Y/n, please!” she begged. More tears fell down her cheeks. “I know you can hear me. Please fight her!”

Reign laughed again. “Yes, please Y/n. Come save the day!” she said mockingly.

Kara steadied herself and squared her shoulders. She wiped the tears away roughly. If this what Reign wanted, then she got it.

So be it.

***

You were wonderingly aimlessly through the forest. How long has it been since you were here? Minutes? Hours?

Days…

Years…

You didn’t know anymore. Wait…

Why were you here? You stumbled over a branch and fell on your hands and knees. The twigs and uneven ground bit into your palms as you breathed from exertion. Sweat trickled down your forehead as your vision swam. Were you always alone? You looked around at the fog and shadows. They stretched on for miles and miles, and it felt like you’d been walking for a lifetime. You had the feeling that you weren’t always alone. You were here with someone.

What was their name..?

What was your name? How come you didn’t know who you were? Something like that would be very important. You knew that you had a life outside of this forest. You had a wife, Kara. And you had a daughter.

What was her name..?

At that thought, you felt your heart do a flip and you got up shakily to stand. You have a wife. You have a daughter!

You have a daughter! You have a daughter! You have a daughter!

What is her name?!

Your breathing increased as panic overtook you. You had to keep moving. You had to keep moving forward and you had to remember your daughter. Right, left. One foot in front of the other.

Think, Y/n. Think!

“Why can’t I remember her name?!” you screamed. You were crying now, your hands grabbing your head roughly as you struggled to remember.

It was this place! You were losing your mind! It was making you forget everything that you were. It was killing you slowly.

Say your daughter’s name! You know it!

“Angel!” you finally screamed. “My daughter’s name is Angel!”

You dropped to your knees and grabbed a piece of fractured rock. Using it, you wrote Angel’s name over and over on the trees and boulders. You scrawled her name on everything, the tears blurring your vision as they fell freely. You wrote like your very life depended on it. You had to stay strong. You had to survive this because if you didn’t, Reign would win, and you wouldn’t see your family ever again.

Part 14

[masterofmagnetism]

they put me in the ground (but i’m back from the dead)

They took my life but it isn't the end They put me in the ground but I'm back from the dead

Oh, I'm the World Ender baby and I'm coming for you

WHO: Erik Lehnsherr, Scott Summers @firstxman, Jean Grey-Summers @jeaniegreysummers, Bruce Banner @hulkout. Mention of @mistressxfmagnetism  WHERE: Stark Tower’s CRADLE lab. WHEN: February 21, 2021 WHAT: Jean and Scott get Bruce’s help resurrecting Erik. Erik comes back and is Not Happy. WARNINGS: Reference to past major character death, abuse, murder, assorted mental health issues, grief, ptsd. WORDS: 11k

JEAN: Erik crossed a line. No matter how she cried over his body, no matter how empty she felt when he was lowered into that grave (and she felt it, the shift in the earth, felt the ripple of emotion that came from the funeral even as she curled up in the rain under a tree in the park, even as she flicked through annotated poetry anthologies, a German dictionary propped open beside her), she knew they’d made the right decision. The only decision. Because Genosha was meant to be a place of safety, of respite, somewhere to escape from centuries of persecution and war. They’d already declared their strength with the siege. Anything after that was nothing more than malicious.

More than malicious. Genocidal.

Jean tried to tell herself it was the Phoenix. She told herself that if she could wake up in the morning with moon dust on her knees and blood under her nails and not remember any of it, that maybe the same thing was happening to Erik. Maybe he was overcome like she was on that lawn. But Erik didn’t ask for help. Erik didn’t hesitate, didn’t have a moment of outward remorse, didn’t let her into his head to see if there was an instance of it even internally.

Didn’t trust her, at the end of the day, despite his promises, despite his love. Despite everything they’d been to each other for all these years, Jean still wasn’t enough to break through. Her other father made that same mistake, out on that beach all those years ago. He made the same mistake every time he sent children to fight an old friend he wasn’t entirely sure would pull his punches

But that still didn’t give her the right to kill him.

After all, it was Jean who put the Phoenix into him. It was Jean who split the Raft, Jean who helped orchestrate the siege, Jean who encouraged the alliance between Erik and Scott. It was Jean who was fundamental in the unlocking of Lorna’s memories, Jean who indirectly led to the assault on Julio Richter.

Jean at the epicentre, as always, for once a driving force in her own narrative and hating every goddamn minute.

She killed Erik Lehnsherr, and it was the right thing to do, but him staying dead was a decision she couldn’t swallow. Asking the Phoenix for help was impossible. There were forces at play there she could never understand. Science was the only way forward, and there was something there when they exhumed the grave (Lorna would kill her, if this didn’t work. Jean would let her). Erik didn’t feel dead. He didn’t feel gone. He felt like he was … frozen. Waiting.

Stasis. A pause, rather than a full stop.

Jean chewed at the inside of her cheek, arms folded against the white of her lab coat. “We’ve run the preliminary tests more times than I can count,” she said. Scott would recommend, no doubt, that she slept before they tried this -- but she hadn’t slept properly in weeks. She couldn’t, until this was resolved. “We don’t know what frame of mind he might be in when he comes out, so we need to be prepared for anything.” Including killing him again, if necessary. This time, it would be her dealing the final blow. Marriage was all about equality.

SCOTT: When Scott was a child, his father was a retreating back. He always seemed to walk out of the door more often than he walked in it, always seemed happier leaving than staying. Scott remembered carrying a child’s anger in tiny fists, remembered a heart pounding against a ribcage in a way he wasn’t yet familiar with, remembered asking his mother on the days when she felt well enough to leave her bedroom why his father never seemed to want to stay. ’This is supposed to be his home,’ he’d said, ’and people are supposed to want to be home.’ And his mother went quiet, looked down at her hands, tried to think of something to say, some way to explain away anger too big to fit inside a body so small. ’People do things sometimes,’ she told him, ’Not because they want to. Because they have to. Because some things need doing. Your father does important work, Scotty. He does what he has to do.’

He learned to hate that phrase over the years. He does what he has to do. Even after his father died doing what he had to do, even after he took Scott’s mother with him, the phrase lingered. It was one Sinister used in that basement lab, one he hummed as he poked needles into veins and pulled memories from an already fractured mind. It was one Winters sneered when he kicked Scott in the ribs so hard he heard something crack. It was one Erik clung to with missiles pointed at a city full of people Scott loved.

And it was one Scott used when he took off his glasses and painted the whole world red.

Erik wasn’t very different from the rest of the fathers who’d let him down over the years. Scott knew that now. He wasn’t entirely separate from Christopher Summers, from Nathaniel Essex, from Jack Winters. They all clung to the same excuse, all hurt people and offered themselves an easy out in the process. Erik wasn’t very different from them at all. But neither was Scott.

If he voiced the concern to her, Jean would reassure him. Scott was sure of as much. She’d tell him that he’d saved lives doing what he did, remind him that Erik hadn’t offered much of a choice. She’d tell him everything he needed to hear, and she’d make him feel better in the process. That was exactly why Scott hadn’t told her his thoughts aloud. Jean would comfort him, and Scott wasn’t sure he deserved comfort. He wasn’t sure he deserved forgiveness. And redemption, he knew, wasn’t an option at all. You couldn’t be redeemed from a thing like this. Once that blood was on your hands, it stayed there. You could never get it out from beneath your nails.

But… Jean was offering him a chance to come as close to fixing things as was possible. Bringing Erik back sans Phoenix wouldn’t undo the damage that had been done. Scott knew from experience that raising the dead didn’t heal the wounds they’d left behind, but it was something. And god, he couldn’t keep doing nothing. Anything was better than that.

So he was here. In a lab he felt fundamentally uncomfortable in, with a man he hardly knew, planning on doing the impossible for someone he’d killed himself. His palms itched and his chest ached and his eyes were heavy with all the sleep he’d missed since Erik’s death, but he was here. And he hoped that could count for something.

“Can you restrain him, if necessary?” He looked to Jean, nervous energy flittering in his chest. “He may need time to… calm down.” There was every chance he’d be angry, when he came back. Scott certainly had been, and there was a letter in the Bugle to prove it. And Erik…

Erik had always done anger better than anyone.

BRUCE: Assumptions disappointed and killed more people than anything else in the world. When Bruce was young, he thought it was because disappointed weighed you down like boulders tied to your ankles in quicksand, but as the scientist had aged, he found that it wasn’t because the feeling was so heavy - it was because assumptions were akin to hope. Hope spread like a disease: clogged your arteries, confused the mind, and chased happiness down like catfish in a barrel.

Hope, on its own, could save lives. Could bring a dead man back to life under the skilled hands of a mutant and a man who belonged nowhere - could salvage what little tenderness resided in a heart made of stone. And in the very next second, it could slit the wrists of the person wielding it. It starts as a small trickle of blood that eventually bleeds you dry without you knowing, Bruce thought, large hands pulling open a gaudy blue menu, full of numbers and operations that, with hope, man could understand.

Bruce didn’t know the X-Men very well. Knew Logan from the few times they were forced to cross paths in laboratories just like this one, but not much else. Knew what he’d read in the papers and knew how Erik Lehnsherr should probably stay dead.

In his apparent all-mighty knowing (that he’d likely adapted from Tony), he also knew what assumptions did to good people who were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, doing the wrong things for the right reasons.

While he hadn’t seen Scott and Jean very often, Bruce couldn’t imagine they looked this exhausted all of the time. While hero-ing and saving and destroying often took a toll on your mental and physical health, the look that they carried said ‘I’m pleading for hope, and this is the last place I have left to look.’ Bruce thought, for just a moment as he booted up the core CRADLE systems, that he’d probably worn that look too many times in his life too. Half-naked in the streets of Harlem, showing up in the rain on Tony Stark’s doorstep, visiting his mother’s grave with a clenched fist and flowers she would never get to see, or on the faces of the other monks at the Phuktal monastery in Zanskar when they finally learned of his story, who Bruce Banner really was.

Yet, he continued to hope that somehow things would change. That someone would bandage his wrists and tell him he could stop bleeding for the sins of others - do the right things because they felt right, sleep at night because it was OK if he stopped to rest, eat because it was alright to have something in his stomach other than regret.

People always assumed Bruce Banner was always battling for control, hoped that he wouldn’t let go of himself. Bruce always wondered if tomorrow would finally be the day he wouldn’t wake up again.

Staring down at Erik’s lifeless, bio-illuminated face inside of the CRADLE vault, Bruce wanted Erik to wake up. Whether it was for the right reasons or not, he wanted Erik to wake up. Licking his lips, Bruce gave Scott a somewhat sad smile, brows furrowed, “I think if things get out of control, I’ve got it covered.” We have it covered, his ridiculously sardonic brain reminded him unhelpfully. Even his mind and body were not his own - out of his control.

The stillness within the lab seemed almost clinical, if it weren’t for the fact that they were about to scientifically reconstitute living cells in an organically preserved carcass of someone they all considered a friend. “To be fair to Erik, I’d probably be pretty -“ Happy, “- mad if someone I trusted off’d me too.” The joke fell flat between them, and the chemical hiss of the CRADLE as it began to pre-register every input that he had settled into the machine filled in the silence for him. “I would say ‘ready when you are’ but I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, so. It’s more ‘ready when you go because I have to be ready,’ haha.”

JEAN: Everything about this was a bad idea. Jean had fought between her head and her heart for as long as she could remember, and right now her stomach was squirming and her mind was screaming at her to stop, to leave well enough alone, to leave because Banner was a master scientist, but he needed their energy levels to make this work. She wrung her hands together as she looked down at the CRADLE and thought about that night, the couple of minutes that changed their lives completely. Erik stood there, argued with them that genocide could be an option. He turned into the very monster he’d been fighting since he was a child, and he saw nothing wrong with it.

Some people may say that was just Magneto. Jean knew better -- she had to know better. If she loved that man as much as she had, if she trusted him, then that meant there was something good in him, something worth protecting. That meant it was the Phoenix that caused him to stand there, thumb hovering over the metaphorical trigger. It was the Phoenix that almost had him killing her friends, her former students, even mutants who still resided on the other side of the bay.

He wasn’t thinking straight. He wasn’t thinking like himself. And when he came back, just as when she came back from Zatanna taking her out on the lawn of her childhood home, he would understand that. He would thank them, for doing what was necessary -- because he was the one who taught her how to do that.

Sentimentality had no place in war, Jean knew that, but she did what she did for him. She wouldn’t have his legacy tarnished by one final decision made in the heat of a cosmic flame.

“I can hold him,” she said. She was confident in that much. There was a reason why she wasn’t taking the risk of using the Phoenix, even if it was a tried and true method. She would stop it from fracturing into him again -- or anyone again -- if she could help it at all. “No,” Jean countered, turning around to Bruce. Softening her voice, she repeated, “No. You’re here as a scientist -- to help. If he’s going to lash out at anyone, it’ll be us.” Me, she thought to herself. If anyone touched a hair on Scott’s head, she’d never forgive herself … and chances were it would go a lot more south than she intended when she was trying to repair bridges.

She touched against the top of the CRADLE, ran her eyes quickly over the calculations flying across the screen. “There’s a reason I asked you, you know,” she said to Bruce. “Because I knew you’d understand it was more than just offing someone who was inconvenient. It was…” Mercy? The word itself seemed like an insult. “I thought of all people,” she continued, “you’d understand why we needed a Plan B.”

It wasn’t a personal secret. It had been broadcast over the TV, radio, newspapers. The self loathing that followed after Banner and the Hulk was comparable to that of Scott and Jean themselves. They’d never had pride in what they were unless they were trained to -- conditioned to. And from what Jean read in Stark’s mind, she knew Banner had contingency plans. The Hulkbuster armor, a series of arrows, certain poisons that would at least slow him down if not kill him if push came to shove.

“Erik didn’t know what she was doing,” Jean said, and her voice was far firmer on account of looking at Scott when she said it than she thought herself capable. “He doesn’t deserve to die for someone else’s mistakes.” A beat passed, a breath taken, and Jean nodded. “Start the process.”

SCOTT: Even without the Phoenix, paranoia ate at Scott’s gut like a disease. He’d never been a trusting man, not after a childhood wracked by grief and betrayal, and after everything that had happened since… Without a little doubt clinging to his fractured mind, he wouldn’t have made it as long as he had. He wouldn’t be alive now if not for his healthy dose of uncertainty.

(But was he alive at all? Did this count as living? He was clay and bone, an inanimate thing Jean had breathed life into, a body the Phoenix had claimed. Was living the proper word for what he was doing, or was it one assigned to him because no one knew any better term? How many times could a dead thing die? Maybe they were about to find out.)

This paranoia made him tense at Banner’s presence, made him uncertain and uneasy, made him shift and tighten at the reminder that the room was not occupied by his family alone. It was Scott, it was Jean, it was the empty shell of the man they had loved and killed, and it was Banner. It was them, and it was an Avenger. And they needed him, Scott knew. They needed him to ensure that this wasn’t a repeat of Jean standing over Scott’s grave on Valentine’s Day, needed an outside influence to ensure they wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes and call it a solution, but Scott was uneasy all the same. .

Banner swore he could handle it if Erik got out of control… but Scott looked to Jean anyways, didn’t relax until she confirmed that she would be able to hold him if she had to. The ease of tension didn’t last long before Banner spoke again and Scott tightened all over, wound tighter than a spring ready to take off. “If you’d rather have let him kill eight million people…” His voice was tight and sharp and unnecessary. It had been a joke, Scott knew, a poorly timed one, perhaps a tasteless one, but still a joke. But Scott Summers wasn’t known for his sense of humor.

(Scott Summers wasn’t known for anything decent at all. He hadn’t been for a long time now, and he was aware that it was a perception that predated the Phoenix’s reign of his body. He’d never been a good person. The things the Phoenix talked him in to doing only cemented a fact everyone else had always already known.)

Glancing to Jean, Scott let his lungs deflate, let the breath that was caught there escape in a quiet sigh. Erik didn’t know what he was doing. She sounded so sure of it, so positive, but… Scott had known what he was doing, with the bird ravaging his mind. He had known every step he took, been aware of every word he said. And maybe he wouldn’t have said them without the firebird insisting they needed to be said, but he would have thought them all the same. Maybe he wouldn’t have written a letter to the Bugle or killed police officers who stood in his way or participated in an insurrection against the government of a country he’d only ever wanted to belong to, but he wasn’t sure he would have thought those things were wrong, either.

It wasn’t entirely fair to say that Erik hadn’t been himself, but Scott wouldn’t argue it, either. He wouldn’t tell Jean that he wasn’t sure the bird absolved Erik of his sins, wouldn’t admit that he didn’t believe it absolved him of his, because doing so would mean saying that Jean wasn’t free of hers, either. And Scott loved her far too much to breathe that sentence to life, even if it might have been true.

“He deserves a second chance,” he said, because he believed that, if nothing else. Erik deserved a second chance because everyone did, because Scott had gotten more than his fair share and this was what he’d done with them, because Erik had suffered so much and worked so hard and he’d deserved a better end than the one Scott gave him. “So let’s give him one.”

BRUCE: It took a lot, for someone like Bruce to keep their comments to themselves. Even with the thought of his father barreling him down with a glass whiskey bottle, Bruce still piped up when it was not his place. He’d watched plenty of curses take the lives of people who didn’t necessarily deserve it - but Bruce knew from personal experience, just like the other people in that room, that Erik knew what he was doing. Likely deserved to pay some sort of penance for his actions. But Bruce also thought, calibrating the machine, that maybe knowing what kind of monster lurked beneath the skin was enough of a punishment in itself.

“I won’t say I understand,” The scientist started, initiating launch sequence, a loud hiss coming from the chamber beside them, hearing an echo of Tony’s voice in his head. Yeah, buddy. I’ll strike you down in cold blood if need be. Tony waving him off a moment later to talk about some sport neither of them gave a damn about. How hard had it been for Jean and Scott to make the decision to put Erik down? “But I get it. How much you want it, I mean.” How much you want the monster to be imaginary, he thought.

The hissing grew louder, echoing off of the metal room within the lab, numbers flying across Bruce’s panel and a loading bar appearing for the sequence duration. The ominous glowing green had Bruce shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, remembering the day the bomb went off. The gamma seeping into every fibre of his being - the excruciating pain he felt the first time Hulk entered his mind. Bruce wondered if maybe a piece of Erik would be missing too, when it was all over. If the Phoenix would gauge a hole in him that nothing could ever fill again.

“Go, Jean.”

ERIK: He’d been fifteen when Shaw had conducted the experiment that changed his life. Strapped to a table in the middle of the man’s lab in Auschwitz, leather strap between his teeth, Erik had been terrified by the manic look in the doctor’s eyes as he readied a syringe. The other doctor had been there, too, the one everyone in the camp knew only as Nosferatu, the one who never had his subjects come back to their bunks. Erik was scared of Shaw, but that one had his adrenaline pounding extra hard, noxious fear making his mind spin as he struggled to watch the two men out of the corner of his eyes.

He hadn’t realized he’d been shaking the metal table beneath him until Shaw turned to him and clicked his tongue, and Erik made a concerted effort to rein his powers back in—from the table, from the needle, from everything, because the last time he’d lost control, Shaw had pinned him down and broken his arm in two places.

Shaw finished his prep work and rolled over to the side of the table, the other man at his shoulder, watching with a detached gaze that made Erik feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. Shaw had brushed his hand through Erik’s hair as if he were trying to calm a spooked horse, shushing him as he readied the needle.

“This is my gift to you, Max,” he’d smiled. ”So you can be like me. Like us.” And then he’d slid the needle into his arm and pressed the plunger, and everything felt like it was on fire. He’d discovered later what the man meant, what ‘gift’ he’d bestowed on him in those labs.

Life. Too much of it. He’d been 93 years old, facing off against his children in the silo, and he’d scarcely looked into his forties. His cells aged slowly the way Shaw’s had, and he’d hated it, hated that the man couldn’t simply be relegated to memory.

When Scott had flipped the visor, Erik had died. But his cells hadn’t quite done the same—had sat in stasis through his burial, through his exhumation, through his settling into the Cradle and the tests that led up to the flood of energy that finally sparked his neurons back to life.

His heart beat once. Twice. His chest heaved as he dragged air into his lungs for the first time since the silo.

They tell you that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. They don’t tell you that it does the same thing when you come back.

Over the years, Erik had carefully constructed mental walls to keep unwanted memories at bay. Charles had once remarked that his mind was one of the most organized he’d ever been in, neatly linear and uncluttered by anything except The Goal and The Plan.

You wouldn’t know it, now.

The first thing he was aware of was that his mind felt empty, somehow, like he was missing a limb. He’d had a cosmic force that devoured worlds tucked in alongside his own consciousness for so long that its absence was jarring. Almost as jarring as the realization that all those walls were so much rubble.

Erik opened his eyes, saw a lab, and those memories of Shaw that should’ve been locked away assaulted him all at once. Terror, not helped by the realization that he was contained.

Get out get out get out get out.

The top of the Cradle slammed open, and Erik sat up, powers already stretching around the room, wrapping around whatever metal was in reach. Natural, unbidden, just reaching, leaving pens and tools hovering in the air above where they’d been resting. Defensive instincts long-honed seizing on anything that could be a weapon before he could even identify the threat.

And then he saw them.

“I love you, but I can’t love this.” Jean’s face, stone cold.

“You’ll be grateful I stopped you, later.” Scott’s fingers, perfectly steady on his glasses.

Betrayal from two of the people he loved and trusted most. ( But he should have expected that, shouldn’t he? Shaw’s voice, warning him that “sentiment will be the death of you if you let it, my boy.” Magda running away, Charles turning on him, sending an army of children after him—He should have known, always, and yet. )

Fury reared its head, as it always did, and Erik felt the beginning brushes of Jean’s mind against his and realized that those walls were gone, too, and no. No, no, no, no no.

<<Get OUT.>>

The sentiment was punctuated by the hovering metal around the room all flying toward the couple at once as Erik hauled himself out of the Cradle.

Jean didn’t even need to interfere, because the second his feet his the floor, a wall of exhaustion slammed into him. The Phoenix had been able to keep him going through almost no sleep for months, but without its energy in his mind, all that time putting off his body’s needs crashed into him at once.

His legs gave out from under him, and the airborne metal hit the floor at the same time he did.

Someone else was at his side, moving to help, and Erik snarled before he even realized who it was. “Don’t touch me.” Banner—it was Banner, and he was safe-ish, wasn’t he? Erik didn’t know if anyone was, couldn’t relax—stopped, hand halfway to his shoulder, and Erik curled his fists and shook his head as he tried to get the flood of memories clamoring for attention to settle.

“Make them leave. Get them out.” He was in no condition to be dealing with them—mind too loud, powers too weak. Maybe once, that wouldn’t have been a problem.

But he didn’t trust either of them. Not. One. Bit.

JEAN: Bruce wasn’t going to forgive them. He could say he understood a part of it, while distancing himself from the darkest aspects of what they had done -- the darkest aspects of the forces they were playing with now. The Phoenix remained silent in the back of her mind, though it was never true silence. That would imply some degree of calm, and Jean hadn’t known what that felt like since … God, since she was ten years old, maybe before. The Phoenix’s absence from this occasion said all it needed to about her stance. She thought Jean should’ve asked her. She thought they could’ve worked together, that Jean would turn to her and beg, that she’d regret what she’d done.

Regret that Erik was dead, perhaps. Regret over the actions she had taken to prevent something worse … not exactly. Charles drummed into her since she was fourteen years old that to be truly useful in this world, you needed to protect the downtrodden. To be truly good, you had to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves, defend those who would never forgive you for making yourself bleed on their behalf. The city of New York had done nothing for Jean Grey but rip her apart and refuse to put her back together again. The people hated her, splashed her husband’s face in graffiti, treated her father like a lunatic in the press.

But that didn’t mean she’d let them die. It was the same principle she extended here, standing over the CRADLE, watching the mechanisms begin to shift. (Did Stark know they were here, she wondered? He trusted Banner, she’d picked up on that much -- but from what she understood of Iron Man, he was a pragmatist. A logistician, at his core. He would say this was a terrible idea. Jean understood where that impression could come from.)

Everyone deserved forgiveness. The Phoenix had hurt, had ripped them apart, made them commit so many atrocities -- but this was the first step in giving a second chance, in piecing together the things Jean had broken.

But, again, that didn’t mean Jean was blindly trusting. Her intelligence wasn’t the first thing people thought of, when they thought of her (and she knew, of course, courtesy of hearing every goddamn ‘compliment’ that went through every person’s head), but it was something that only grew with experience. The CRADLE burst open, and Jean already had protective shields formed around Scott, around Bruce, and a split second later, around herself.

The metal dropped, though. The invisible shields remained in place, even if she knew Erik would assume their presence. The CRADLE hissed, smoke still rising from the chamber. The lights flickered, the walls shook, electricity in the air made her hair go static—

And Erik was standing in front of her. Erik was standing in front of her, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists by his side. Chest moving, breaths heaving. He was angry, always angry, angrier than she’d ever seen him -- but he was alive.

(Was that all that mattered? Rictor said, once, she over-simplified it. Breathing alone wasn’t enough to keep a person alive, but it was the first step. It was the foundations. Jean always had faith that could lead to something else.)

There was a beat of relief, a wash that went through her chest and relieved the tension that had curled into it (she could tell Lorna she brought her dad back), and then a moment where she realised it wasn’t dad she thought when she looked at this man. It was something else, something foreign, like looking at a stranger.

She’d mourned him, Jean reminded herself. She’d sat, curled in his seat, looking around at the books in his office. She’d taken a blanket from his home during the funeral, tried to find his smell under whiskey and cigar smoke. She’d mourned him, she’d loved him, and the first words that left his mouth…

Well, she had expected it. She had expected it, but there was a part of Jean that hoped, against all odds, just as there had always been.

“Last time we left,” she replied, coolly, keeping her hands stiff by her sides and her feet firmly on the ground, “you almost caused the Third World War. I’d like to make sure that’s not going to happen again.” If that meant Bruce and Scott remained wrapped in a telekinetic shield, if it meant she took the brunt of the flames, so be it.

Jean was used to the fire.

SCOTT: The process, once it happened, wasn’t a slow one. It was strange, watching it play out. Scott had never been present for this part before. He’d watched people he loved die so many times that the images were etched on the back of his eyelids, playing out like a movie projected on a sheet. He could rewind, pause, fast forward, take it from the top. Those moments were a part of him. And he’d had people come back to him, too, of course. Jean walking up to the Institute doors with her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were white, like a prayer and an answer all at once. Illyana showing up again years after she’d died, breathing and wild-eyed. He watched people die and saw them lowered into their graves, watched them walk back through the door after the dirt had settled, but this? The only resurrection Scott had ever been present for was his own, and there had been nothing miraculous about that. Nothing good, nothing incredible.

This was different. This wasn’t the Phoenix, wasn’t a cosmic force that described a curse as a blessing. This was some hodgepodge mix of science and telepathy that Scott doubted he’d ever entirely understand. Part of him hadn’t expected it to work at all, had thought the most they’d do was desecrate the corpse of a man who’d more than earned his right to rest, but he’d gone along anyway because Jean had asked him to and Scott had been bad at saying no to her since she took his hand on that park bench decades ago and asked him to stay. The Phoenix was like playing with fire, but this? This was more akin to trying to shape water into something tangible. Scott’s expectations hadn’t been high.

But they should have been. He should have understood that Jean Grey (Jean Summers) never failed at something she’d put her mind and heart into, should have remembered that she was the same girl who’d convinced a sullen, quiet boy that he was a thing worth loving, should have understood that she would move heaven and earth for the people she loved and that Erik, for all his faults, was one of them.

The Cradle slammed open. The metal in the room began to hum, hovering free of gravity. A familiar shield engulfed him, invisible and protective. And Erik Lehnsherr was revived the same way he had died --- suddenly, violently, and with a love so great that there was room for little else besides it.

There was a moment where the world stood still. Everything hung motionless. Scott held his breath, swore that his heart stopped beating for an instant, swore that the blood stopped pumping through his veins as the world waited to right itself again. And then it did, and everything came crashing back down in an instant. The anger slammed into the room like a train obliterating everything left on the tracks, like a car crash of rage and betrayal and grief and defeat. Erik was alive, and he was angry. Scott couldn’t blame him for that, couldn’t fault it. If not for Jean, he would have accepted whatever punishment felt necessary, would have let himself be skewered for his sins.

(“You don’t have to be a martyr,” Warren told him once. ”You don’t have to shoulder every mistake. You’re allowed to forgive yourself, Scott. You’re allowed to move on.” And he might have tried that if anyone had ever told him how. He might have done it if it hadn’t seemed so impossible, so unreal. How could you get out from under something that stretched the length of the whole sky above you? How could you get away from something that was a part of you? It only sounded easy if you’d never felt it before.)

But Jean was there, was shielding him, was protecting him no matter how little he deserved it. The metal dropped to the ground, and the shields stayed up. The anger remained. And with it, the guilt. The grief. The betrayal.

Scott stayed quiet, eyes darting away from Erik and back to Jean. She was hurt. He could feel it through the bond, see it in her posture. She wasn’t surprised, but she was hurt, and he ached with her. He’d wanted a happier resolution to this, a better end, but it had been a fool’s dream. Jean forgave Zatanna when she took the Phoenix down, just as Scott forgave Logan when he ended his suffering on that grassy knoll in Central Park. There were people, he knew that were easy to forgive. There were people good enough, decent enough, that forgiving them came as simply as breathing, as blinking, as turning your head. There were people who were easy to forgive because they were easy to love, because you wanted them in your life no matter the cost.

Scott had never been one of them.

BRUCE: Bruce wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. If there was one well-known thing about Erik Lehnsherr, at least to the public, it was that he was very focused. For good, for bad, he had the insight of an owl and the determination of a bull. Apparently, even in death, in exhaustion, he was equally so. He wondered if he would ever get to feel death. If it would always elude him like many other things in life; happiness, a home, a family, somewhere he felt safe.

He thought, for a moment, maybe he had been a little jealous of Erik. That Jean didn’t have the right to take that away from him, no matter how much he would be missed.

Jean’s protective barrier didn’t seem to move him. Emotionally of course, because her raw power was enough to match Erik’s, and he could take the static in the air like the Kansas plains right before a tornado came through. How many people would he stand beside who were more convicted than him? What kind of hurts did they hold, and why did they hurt enough to bring Erik back? ( Why did he bring Erik back? )

“Hey, buddy - it’s — hey. Let’s not do anything drastic,” Like accidentally murder someone else, haha — “I know you’re angry. Totally get it,” Bruce slowly approached with scuffed dress shoes, each click of their rubber soles sounding like a gunshot in the suddenly too-quiet room. He couldn’t imagine having that kind of power - to make everyone notice when he was there and also when he wasn’t. “But you’re going to be really dehydrated in a hot minute if you don’t let me help you up, okay?”

Bruce spared a look for his two companions, and maybe Jean was right. Maybe he was someone who could understand what they’d been through. That if someone had to save Bruce from himself, he would at least want it to be someone he cared about. Clint, Tony, Steve. He would never ask Nat to do it - she’d been made enough times to be a stone-hearted killer, Bruce wouldn’t add to that.

Although he didn’t really know either of them well enough, he could tell when somebody cared enough to still be there after you’d disappointed them. Jean thought Erik would be disappointed, stayed anyway. Would anyone care enough to stick around for him too?

Gently, as if approaching a spooked animal, Bruce placed calloused fingers on an expensive funeral suit, surprised when he electricity in the room didn’t shock him on contact. The ever-present scientist in him placed that interesting tidbit of knowledge in a file for future examination. Maybe because Hulk’s skin was like reinforced rubber? Was he a grounding material? Could that be something helpful in the future, like making schools safer during storms, or for severe weather shelters for the homeless—

“If you want them to leave, they’ll leave,” Bruce promised, not looking back at the couple again. He supposed the situation really wasn’t about them.

ERIK: Everything was too much. His mind felt like it had been ransacked, left in tatters as his previous cohabitant had rifled through memories and motivations alike to trim down only to what was useful. Tweaking perceptions, ramping up the paranoia.

Not paranoid enough, some part of him noted wryly.

Bruce's fingers wrapped gently around his shoulder, tone and stance reminiscent of the way they used to handle shell-shocked soldiers. He stiffened under the touch, knuckles going white against the floor, but he didn't shake him off. Reached up and dragged himself to his feet again, even if he swayed, even if the room spun a bit around him and wavered black at the edges. He needed food, he needed water, he needed sleep.

More importantly, he needed to get out of the presence of the two people who had murdered him before he lost control entirely. Scott was standing there in silence, expression torn between surprise and guilt, and there was none of Erik that had the capacity to feel anything but disgust for the man right now. It didn't take a genius to put together who had led the charge in the silo, who'd been calling the shots. Scott was a good little soldier. A good little husband. "Bird got your tongue?" Scott didn't have the Phoenix anymore, that much was clear--guilt wouldn't be anywhere in his face if it was. But the point stood regardless, and Erik didn't care that Jean always got tetchy when he so much as breathed a negative word in Scott's direction.

(Somewhat hysterically, he wondered if he'd make her mad enough to kill him again. Maybe he should--the time between his death and now was rapidly flitting away from his mind, but he remembered warmth, remembered family, and part of him wanted to claw it back.)

Jean's words had him choking on a laugh, and Erik nearly snarled at her across the Cradle, fingers pressing dents into the metal. "If that's what you're worried about, why am I back?" he hissed. And oh, there were other questions that came crashing on him, then.

"FRIDAY," he said, because he wasn't sure he could trust anyone in this room except the machine he could feel thrumming in the walls around them. "What's today's date?"

"February 21, 2021, Mr. Lehnsherr."

February. Two months. Two months.

Scott Summers had been resurrected a week to the day from his death. Jean had been so grief-stricken, so heartbroken, that she had moved heaven and earth and death itself to bring him back after just a week without him.

Two months. He hated that there was a part of him that was wounded by that fact almost more than the murder itself. There had always been two reasons that he was kept around, two reasons that people kept him close: love or use. She hadn't brought him back because she missed him or because Lorna did, which meant she must need him to do something—

Lorna.

The world constricted once again, because Lorna wasn't here. Her father was being resurrected, and she wasn't here. Erik knew his powers could scarcely reach across the room let alone the bay, but g-d if he didn't try anyway, breath caught in his throat. He felt the room tip at the exertion before he stopped, kept upright only by the tight grip on the Cradle and Bruce's hand at his back.

"Where is Lorna? Where is my daughter?!"

If she was dead, and they'd brought him back to a world without her, he would drag them all back to the grave with him.

JEAN: She’d never been the kind of woman who lived on an island. Her mind was tattered, splintered into pieces that could cut intruders like knives, ever since the Phoenix rushed into her body so many years ago and refused to leave. Jean never made sense, she knew, to the people around her. She burned too bright or not at all. She went hot or far too cold. She was capable of almost pathological compartmentalisation, or she saw everything at once so the picture was too damn big for anyone else to understand. She loved and loathed in equal measure, and she was, above all else, not the kind of woman who was easy to digest. Easy to adore, perhaps, but so many people desired to get close to the fire before they truly knew what it meant to be burned. There were so few who saw the worst of her and stayed.

Scott was one of them. If anyone touched a hair on his head -- even someone she considered family, someone who was more blood than anyone else on the planet -- she would rip them into a thousand pieces and scatter them to the wind without hesitation, without guilt, without grief. But there was another person who looked at her in all her chaos, in her fear, in her self hatred and mania, and who said, this girl is worth trusting. There was another person who approached her in the wreckage of other people’s lives and said it wasn’t her fault, that she held a great gift inside of her, and the only way to control it was to refuse to control it, to embrace it instead.

Erik had been that person. Erik knelt down in front of a child and he reached to her even when the rest of the world was pulling back. He gave her a safe place to rest, gave her logic, pragmatism, gave her a path that she followed long after he was gone. And then he was on the other side of a battlefield, throwing buses at her friends and threatening everything the X-Men were fighting for, and she was told to defeat him at any cost.

Perhaps this was inevitable. Perhaps there could only ever be Jean alive or Erik. Maybe having them both here at once, occupying the same space, defied some kind of cosic deity -- defied the Phoenix. Because as Jean looked at Erik, her chest tightening and her throat burning, the Phoenix was conspicuously silent. Conspicuously void of opinion, for one of the first times in living history.

Then Bruce opened his mouth, and the bird came back to life. We could kill him next, she offered.

“We’re not killing anyone.” It took a breath, just a second, for Jean to realise she said those words out loud, that she’d turned her head to the side as if a friend was standing right there -- as if Maddie was beside her (why was she thinking of Maddie, now, as if she was a shadow? As if she was someone lingering, constantly, even when she wasn’t here physically? Was it because they’d done it together, the three of them, and so it made sense to picture her now?) Jean collected herself, levelled a look at Erik as her eyes burned, too.

She wouldn’t cry. She refused to. But God, it would be so easy to let those tears spill, to fall to her knees, to run towards him like she was an eleven year old girl who’d lost everything that mattered to her in the world and he had all the answers.

But he was insulting her husband. He’d threatened the safety, the peace, of their entire people. He messed with Kara’s head, threatened Rictor, almost started another World War. She couldn’t forget that.

“I didn’t want you dead, Erik,” she said, as simply as she could. There were a hundred other things she could say. She could tell him how she knew the Phoenix felt in him, how it twisted everything, how it made things so simple and so complicated all at the same time. She could vindicate him, could say this wasn’t his fault -- but the way he was looking at her now…

(Maybe there was always meant to be one, in the end.)

She knew where his mind went, when he asked for the date. “I didn’t want to use her,” she said, because he deserved something of an explanation. “I couldn’t.”

You could have. Haven’t I helped you before? Haven’t I made things so beautiful—

“We needed you back,” Jean said, “not someone else. I found another way. It took some time, but …” It worked, clearly. It worked so far as there was breath in his lungs now and color in his cheeks. If that was the definition of life, they’d succeeded -- but Jean knew it was far more complicated than that. “Lorna’s alive,” she continued. “She’s safe, and she knows we’re here. I wanted to make sure we were … that she stayed that way.”

The Erik she knew would’ve wanted her paranoid, if it came to Lorna. He would’ve wanted her to take every precaution when dealing with something as unpredictable as life and death. Yet, as she stood there looking at someone who felt as much like a stranger as he had on that very first day they faced off in the middle of New York City, she wasn’t entirely sure he would see it like that now.

SCOTT: Banner’s voice was like radio static, something there-and-not-there in a way Scott had grown accustomed to as a teenager when the world became like a television with no static and he began to understand why his mother locked herself in her room for days at a time, why she spent so many afternoons in bed. It shut out the world sometimes, made him his thoughts and nothing else. Banner was there. Erik was there. Jean was there. And Scott wasn’t. Scott was in a silo, in a hospital waiting room, in a grave. Banner was promising he’d leave as if he knew how, Jean was throwing a shield around him as if there was something left to protect, Erik was---

---Erik was speaking to him. The realization dawned slowly, like a wave lapping your feet on a beach, covering them with sand slowly and quickly all at once in a way you didn’t realize until the pressure was there cementing you to the ground. It took Scott’s mind a moment to catch up with his ears, a moment for the words to register. It always did, when he got like this. When the world was radio static and his mind hopped from one place to the next like Kurt’s teleportation, like a superpower that took him to every place he’d never wanted to be.

Bird got your tongue? The words came to him, slow and deliberate, and for a moment he felt like he was twelve years old, like he was standing in Essex’s lab with his arms stiff at his side and his eyes locked to his feet, like fingers would come in at any moment to grip his chin and force it upwards, force eye contact. (Essex was the last person he’d looked in the eyes before the world went red and a pair of lenses separated him from everything he saw. He thought of that sometimes, what it meant. What it said.) For a moment, there was an echo of another man’s voice, decades ago but just as cold, just as disgusted. Come on, Scott. You’re so much prettier when you smile.

He flinched. He didn’t mean to, but he did. And it wasn’t fair, he knew. Scott was not a victim here. (And maybe he hadn’t been a victim back then, either. Maybe Essex had never done anything he didn’t have coming. Maybe if he were better, smarter, easier to love, things could have been different. Maybe - ) Scott had killed Erik, had opened his eyes and turned the whole world red, and maybe Erik was angry now but he had a right to be. Scott Summers was not Zatanna Zatara. He was not Logan. He was not a person who had done a favor for a friend, not someone who was only doing what his would-be victim asked him to do. What he did was his choice, his decision. No one forced him. No one made him. And maybe he’d only damned himself to save Erik from the same fate, but that didn’t make him any less damned. Did it?

Scott stayed silent, and the world kept moving around him. Time went slower, he’d found, without the Phoenix coloring it. The loss of immortality made every moment a mountain, every second a marathon. He watched realization dawn in Erik’s eyes in slow motion, watched anger turn to grief turn to fear. And Jean spoke, but it wasn’t---

It wasn’t to Erik. It wasn’t to Banner, it wasn’t to Scott. It was to someone else. Scott could almost feel her in the room, like a phantom limb. The Phoenix. Had Jean ever spoken to her aloud before? (He had, towards the end. He remembered it. Pacing in his room, muttering to himself. It was one of the things that made him realize the line had been crossed, one of the things that made him realize he was going, going, gone. His heart dropped into his stomach and his chest felt tight. Jean had a handle on this. She had to. She had to.)

He tuned back in to the conversation, listened as Jean insisted that they’d done what they’d done to ensure they resurrected Erik and not something else. A strangled sound escaped from the back of Scott’s throat at that, and he cursed himself for drawing the attention back to him. Given the opportunity, Scott had always preferred to exist in the peripheral. To be seen and not heard, the way he’d been taught by his father, Essex, Winters. “If we’d taken shortcuts,” he said, because the attention was on him and if he didn’t make it seem like he had something to say then it might stay that way, “we wouldn’t have solved any problems. Take it from me, that isn’t… It’s not how you want to come back.” An apologetic glance to Jean, the echo of a statement he didn’t dare repeat. Maybe we were better off dead. “Lorna’s safe. You’re safe. Genosha, New York… It’s all safe. We just wanted to keep it that way. That’s all.”

BRUCE: Every word Scott breathed made Bruce’s chest feel tighter and tighter. Safe, like Erik wasn’t capable of controlling himself. Safe, as if something really got out of control, they couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle him.

If Erik had needed to be put down because he was a danger to society and he hadn’t even hurt anyone yet, then what did that make Bruce?

Unbeknownst to him, lost in his thoughts, Bruce’s skin under his lab-coat began to turn an eerie shade of green, spiderwebbing out from under his sleeve and onto the fist that gripped Erik’s suit, holding the man up like he was Bruce’s lifeline. “Don’t talk to him like that.” The words sounded echo-y and far-away, like someone had smashed pots and pans together beside his ears and just let them ring. His throat felt full, like he’d been drooling for days and had forgotten to swallow. If they loved him so much, then they wouldn’t have killed him when it became inconvenient.

Would they have?

Hulk roared in the pit of his stomach, startling him into a barely noticeable jump. Gripping Erik tighter, green creeping into the corners of his vision, Bruce managed a not-so-controlled, “I’ve got it from here. You guys’ve done enough, right?” He hated, how much like his father he sounded when his ridiculous Dayton-Ohio-accent came out with his words.

Hated feeling like a monster, in front of judgmental eyes. Bruce may not have known Jean or Scott very well, but he couldn’t trust them any farther than he could throw them. As Banner, anyway. “I’ll make sure he ‘stays out of trouble.’” The words dripped with poorly hidden malice, maybe some misguided hurt, and he couldn’t hold eye contact with either of them anymore. Instead, he focused on Erik. Fed off of his exhaustion and hoped that maybe they could trade places. That maybe the next person that came knocking could put him down instead.

“FRIDAY? Can you make sure my floor is set to 75 degrees? He’s probably going to be a little cold, as tired as he is.” Licking his lips, Bruce cocked an eyebrow, still staring at the ground as if to say ‘Anything else?’

ERIK: Lorna's alive. It was buried in their responses, between excuses and explanations and lies he didn't care to hear, but it was there, nonetheless. Lorna was alive, and some of the panic that had filled his lungs like cement dissipated. Lorna was alive.

With that assurance, it was easier to focus on the rest of what they said. Safe, safe, safe, safe, safe....

(Alles ist gut, alles ist gut--)

And that was funny, wasn't it--absolutely hysterical, and the laughter bubbled up out of his chest before he realized it was coming.

We needed you back. Not someone else. (And it was needed, wasn't it, not wanted--)

It's not how you want to come back. The metal groaned under his fingers, lights flickering for as his voice rose. "What made you think that I wanted to come back?" he snapped, voice cracking for a moment. Just a moment.

Get it together. He cleared his throat, shook off the edges of black tinting his vision, marshalled his focus into staying on his feet. Don't show weakness. (Too late, too late, too late--)

"It doesn't really matter, does it? Because you needed me. And here. I. Am. My life was a problem. My death was a problem. How long do I get the floor this time, Jean?"

He stared across the Cradle at Scott, expression stuck in a strange space between anger and pity. "It was all for keeping everyone safe, hm? Is that what she told you to help you sleep at night, Scott? That you were making the world safe? No, no, no. You stopped me to keep everyone safe--fair enough. Can't begrudge you that. But that's not why you killed me. You killed me because you were angry. Because your chest was burning over Ric, over Kara, over Lorna, over all the failures of your fathers, and because you could take something in recompense. And because she told you to. Good soldier, good husband."

And then, for a moment, some of that anger edged back, some more of the pity filtering in, because Erik knew what it was like to love someone enough to do anything. "Did you realize you said almost the same thing she did, just now, hm? Did she notice?" A brief glance at Jean, before he looked back at Scott. They'd been sharing minds for years. Might be doing so now, even, and that had been the reason he'd never quite let Charles do the same--the fear of not knowing where your thoughts ended and theirs began.

"You and I both held the Phoenix, Scott. You know what it does, what it's like. How long has she been talking to it out loud? Do you feel safe, right now?" His head was starting to swim, the room growing more distant through the tunnel that was starting to settle in front of his vision, and Erik reflected absently that perhaps it wasn't the wisest of choices to be using so much oxygen on talking when his legs were barely keeping under him.

(You don't know when to quit-- oh, he owed Ric so much...)

He felt Banner's shift starting behind him, felt the radiation in the room spike, even through the dim grip he had on his powers at the moment. The man's voice, when it came, was strained, his grip tightening at Erik's back, and he would be lying if he didn't say it wasn't more than a little vindicating to hear the disdain with which the Avenger spoke to Jean and Scott.

He didn't quite get to express that, before the black won out.

JEAN: Jean had been angry her entire life. She’d been angry at what she wasn’t allowed to do, what she was, how she could go against the natural order of things and nothing ever seemed to come of it -- not until later, at least -- not until the sum of all her mistakes came crashing down in one fell swoop and she was left drowning at the deep end. But there was always someone who dove in, whether it was a backyard pool or the ocean during a raging storm, and that was Scott. Scott, who changed the world for her. Scott, who she changed the world for. Scott who killed a man when Jean asked him to, who would live and die for her, who promised to spend his life by her side regardless of whether she was beside him at the breakfast table or six foot under in a cemetery.

“Don’t speak to my husband like that,” Jean said, taking a step in front of Scott when Bruce shot him a glare. She didn’t come to the other scientist to be judged. She didn’t come here to be treated as the villain when she knew, deeply and instinctively, what the Phoenix was capable of -- how it changed people, twisted them up inside, changed them. She came here for one reason and one reason only, and he was standing in front of her now.

He was standing in front of her angry, but Jean knew him far too well to expect anything else, even if there was still a sickening disappointment swirling in her gut. “Because I always did,” she said, her voice quiet. Because she always would want to come back, regardless of what horrors were awaiting her the second air filled her lungs once more. Life would forever, constantly, be preferable to the lingering emptiness on the other side. “Because I thought--”

You didn’t deserve this. She wasn’t sure if he would hear it, if she was broadcasting it, if the feelings were leaking out of her like water from a cracked dam. “Because I’ve always needed you.”

Because it was her fault. The Phoenix wouldn’t be a part of their lives if it wasn’t for her decision on the shuttle at eighteen years old, a stupid child playing at being a god, a woman so desperate for approval from anywhere that she’d take sycophancy whispering in her head and preach it like gospel. “It wasn’t you, Erik. It wasn’t you any more than it was me on that lawn.”

He didn’t see that now. Maybe he never would. But Jean knew there was no other option, no other choice. Erik would admit himself there was nothing that could stop him from accomplishing his mission unless it was death. He was a man forged by soldiers’ cruelty, but he shared their pragmatism, their single-minded focus.

And then he kept talking, and the Phoenix roared to life in her mind -- almost laughing. Yes, it was laughing. It was bitter and cruel, but it was laughter, genuine amusement.

Oh look, she whispered, you brought him back insane.

“We were angry,” Jean said. “Of course we were angry. You violated the very principles we founded Genosha on when you threatened one of our own in a public place, for all to see. We were meant to be peaceful, a sanctuary. We were meant to be safety, and you turned it into your own personal battleground where you were judge, jury and executioner. You ripped apart the sanctity of a woman’s mind who is good and kind and honest in more ways than we could ever be, and you pointed a gun at the head of every citizen in New York and tried to justify it in a way that didn’t make you sound like Shaw.”

Because yes, that was in the notes she’d collected. Yes, that was in the memories he’d shared with her. Yes, she knew all about it -- and she knew that, if it came down to it, Erik would never become the monster that had ripped him apart and put him back together different than was ever intended. He wouldn’t wanted her to stop him. Her father would’ve wanted that.

Maybe this man wasn’t her father.

Bruce spoke again, and this time Jean let out a bitter huff of almost laughter. “Right,” she said, “because the Avengers are such a safe place for mutants, always have been. Remind me of all you did for our kind while you were parading the streets after your great victories and we were still hiding in backalleys, getting murdered for how we were born.”

(Jean never had a personal problem with the Avengers. She never understood why Scott burned with resentment towards what they represented, even if the people themselves weren’t to blame. She did now. Bruce stood there, on a pedestal despite his mistakes, looking down on them as if they were to pity. Like they were the monsters.)

“Erik, you belong at home. You belong in the place you helped to build. You belong in your own paradise. Come home, and we can be there or we can leave, but don’t--”

Don’t push us away. Not just Scott and Jean, which was inevitable, but the entirety of mutantkind that resided in the streets he’d pieced together. Everything he’d worked for, everything he’d sacrificed, and the Phoenix had torn it apart.

And then Erik hit the ground, and Jean was beside him in an instant, fingers going to the pulse on his neck as her other hand squeezed his arm.

Breathing? the Phoenix enquired. Jean nodded. How unfortunate. I thought we’d get to work together, again.

Jean looked back up at Bruce, at Scott, and slowly rose to her feet. Reluctant to leave him when the experiment was so new, so uncertain, and reluctant to leave him because everything within her screamed that was her family hurting, on the floor, aching.

“Take care of him,” Jean said to Bruce, reaching for Scott’s hand to intertwine their fingers together. Flames flickered, orange and purple at the tips, and formed a circle -- a circle she could see through, right back to their sofa and fireplace back in Genosha, right back to home where Rachel would no doubt be making cocoa in the kitchen. She’d never done that before.

Cosmic travel? Of course we have. You just forget. The human mind can only bend so far.

Jean squeezed Scott’s hand once more, knuckles white, and past the burning in her chest and throat she took a step into the portal, unsure whether she’d just healed a wound or created a new one.

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 10

The door opens and the bell rings and Peter and I both look up; the lady I’d ran into earlier on my first day in Gumption walks in and nods to Peter. Through the course of the story we’d finished breakfast and then I’d walked with Peter down to the 7-11 and he’d clocked in and started his shift while I sat on a stack of beer cases and listened, turning the voice recorder to its highest sensitivity to capture everything he was saying. I could always go back and take a transcript later if I had to, if the audio was too loud or too distorted.

Her eyes stray over me but whatever she thinks she doesn’t betray anything with her expression. I’ve reached out automatically and covered the voice recorder with my hand as soon as I heard the door open; it was an automatic action, quick as a whip, no conscious thought required, and I slide my thumb down its ridged side, click it off.

“Hey, Michelle,” Peter says.

“Hey, Peter,” she says.

He glances at his watch and whistles. “I didn’t realize it was four already.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” she says, a slight layer of sarcasm flavoring her words. I can feel my hackles rising but I ease myself down. Peter’s eyes flick over to me.

“Well,” he says, and I feel my mouth drop open.

“No way. You can’t be serious.”

“What?”

“You aren’t going to finish the story?”

Peter grins at me. “I have to go get ready,” he says in a soft voice. “I’ll finish telling you later.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?” he repeats.

“What the hell happens to Makado?”

“She…” he starts, and then stops. I can see a flicker of pain cross his face like the dappled back of a fish beneath a sunstruck river. My heart falls within my chest and I realize that I’m becoming far too invested to be objective, I need to take a step back. “She made it out fine,” he tells me. I don’t believe him.

Despite all of my efforts to cajole him he won’t tell me any more. He assures me that we’ll have enough time tonight, that it’s going to be a lot of sitting around and waiting while I film far-off dots moving around under the cover of darkness and that he’ll tell me then. It smells like a cop-out to me, like he just doesn’t want to get into what happened to Makado.

It’s unbelievable enough already, though, isn’t it? Amalgams and copepods and all of that stuff. I hear it and I think, oh, this is the plot to a movie. This isn’t real, it can’t be. Even though I’m only a few miles from it, even though I’m going to be going there tonight, it doesn’t feel like the Pit is a place that actually exists. It feels like somebody is pulling my leg.

Or it would, if it weren’t for the look on Peter’s face when he talks about Makado. That at least is real. Whether everything else around it is fake, I guess there’s a little kernel of doubt still sprouting in my head somewhere, the tiny eternal skeptic inside of me that isn’t willing to believe anything it can’t touch or feel or see itself.

We walk out of the 7-11 together and look at each other. Peter nods. “Same place as where you followed before. You know how to get there?”

I nod as well. “Line up the two rocks and the cactus with the setting sun and walk straight until I hit the three boulders in the dip of the hill.”

“Good memory. If you mess up you’ll be able to see us probably anyway, I’ll have my flashlight.”

“How many people are coming?”

“Besides you there’s three others, one guy from the cult for his initiation and two others who…well, you know.”

“Yeah. Was that what Erica was talking to you about the other day?”

“When she pulled up at midnight or whenever? Yeah, she was just telling me who to look out for. Because those guys want to be able to get back out again I have to give them different instructions, that kind of thing.”

I shudder in spite of myself. “Well, see you tonight.”

“See you,” he says. He turns and walks quickly away and then past the corner of the building and I am alone. I stand there for a moment and then lean up against the side of the building. The sun is hot but not terribly so and here in the shade it’s really quite a nice afternoon.

A car pulls up and turns into one of the pumps. It’s the second customer I’ve seen all day. The guy looks over at me but it isn’t anyone I know or have seen before, and after a moment he puts his card in and fills up the tank, then drives off.

I look round and, after a moment, let myself slide down the faux-brick façade of the 7-11 and stretch my legs out in front of me. My knee cracks like a gunshot as I do and I wince. I take my phone out of my pocket and dial a number and listen as the harsh buzzing tone drills one, two, three, four, five times into my ear, and then there’s a click and the answering machine picks up.

“Hi, you’ve reached Mark Dzilenski. I’m not able to take your call right now but if you leave me your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, bye.”

“Hi, dad,” I say, and I feel a wave of emotion pressing at me that I refuse to confront. I swallow. “I’m sorry our call got disconnected the other night, I think there’s something wrong with my phone. It was good hearing your voice, I’m glad you and mom are doing okay.”

I lick my lips. Alright, Roan, you’ve been very glib so far. Spit it out.

“I, uh,” I start. Come on. “I got some news the other day that I wanted to tell you, I…”

“If you are satisfied with your call, you can hang up, or press 1 for delivery options. To re-record –“

I hang up the call, and then I stand up. I rummage in my bag for a cigarette and light it, and then walk slowly back to the hotel, taking my time. I’m meeting Peter at one in the morning but my nerves are already balling around themselves in a panic. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“So what?” I ask out loud. I look over and see my distorted reflection looking back at me in the thick glass window of a closed barbershop. I look tired. “So what?” I mutter again. I look at the me in the window a little longer but I don’t like the way she looks at me so I toss my cigarette on the ground and crush it out and hurry a little more. It feels like there is a cloud looming behind me but it’s just in the sky, promising rain.

When I get back to the hotel room I unfold my laptop, dump the audio files from the voice recorder back onto it, and then I connect to the extremely rickety wi-fi network the motel offers and I look up what exactly the penalty is for trespassing on federal property. It’s not that bad, actually; a misdemeanor in all cases, at least under federal law. I don’t know if the site around the Pit is solely administered federally or if state law would also apply, though. Or would it count as trespassing on a military base? Apparently that can be a felony, if it’s important enough or if you’re being malicious about it. I do more googling around but the information I turn up is cryptic and limited. I wonder, not for the first time, if I’m putting myself on some kind of list doing this sort of research, then shake my head. Whatever.

The evening passes slowly and my nervousness doesn’t fade no matter how many cigarettes I smoke, leaned over on the wiry metal bannister, staring off into the flat, unexciting horizon. I watch television just to pass time, let Baggage and The Price is Right and Family Feud wash over me like an ocean, like waves, like I’m drowning. Am I drowning? If I were sane I think I’d feel like I were drowning.

When the time comes I put some pants on, long ones this time, shrug into my jacket, make sure I have my voice recorder and my camcorder and my slim little folding knife, more of a letter opener than anything else. I laugh at myself when I tuck it into my pocket but I still do it.

“Alright Roan,” I say to myself, staring in the mirror, sounding braver than I really feel, tucking my hair back in a ponytail. “Let’s go commit a felony.”

 * * *

 Peter raises his hand in greeting as I crest the hill and I wave back at him, click the light on my phone off and move down, join the little circle. He’d said there would be three others; two are here so far. One is a small Asian girl, so skinny it looks like she’d burst into flame if she crossed her legs too fast, and the other is a tall, heavy guy, looking like he’s in his late forties, balding hard. He has bags under his eyes and he keeps reflexively running his hands together. “Hi Lily,” Peter says to me and I blink and almost look behind myself to see if there’s someone back there, but he winks at me and I realize I’m supposed to be Lily. I wonder if there’s anything else important he’s left out.

“Hey,” I say. The Asian girl glances at me and then looks away again. Her eyes are very dark and it looks as though she’s chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek, sucking it inwards and holding it between her teeth and then letting it go again.

“This is Bao and Rey,” he tells me, indicating each of them. I nod at them.

“Hey,” I say again. “You guys, uh…excited?”

Peter shakes his head minutely and I feel faintly embarrassed, like I’ve said something I clearly shouldn’t have without realizing the taboo.

To their credit, they definitely do not look excited; nervous is more accurate. Perhaps haunted would be appropriate as well. Rey keeps glancing out into the darkness as though he can see something moving around out there; I can see his eyes focus on something and track it for a while before slipping off like a thrown egg slipping slowly down a window. I look out into the darkness as well but even though my eyes aren’t as adapted now thanks to Peter’s big utility flashlight throwing enough light to make me squint, it is very clear that there is nothing out there, nothing large enough that he’d be able to see it and track it like that.

I want to talk to him, I want to take out my recorder, I want to pry my way into his head, but I restrain myself. This is clearly not the time. The camcorder is still in my jacket pocket, the bulky night-vision attachment screwed onto its snouty muzzle already, fully charged and ready to go, but clearly I am supposed to be pretending to be one of these people. While we lapse into another uneasy silence and Peter checks his watch, I consider my new existence as Lily.

These two people are clearly so far gone that they barely recognize me as a person, let alone the deeper distinction between Roan and Lily. The way Rey keeps seeing ghosts and watching them like he’s ready to bolt or to fight, the way Bao keeps jumping at sounds none of the rest of us can hear, clearly they’re the two who are – what even is the right word? Afflicted? Who are, at least in Peter’s estimation, beyond retrieval?

I look at Bao. She’s young, maybe about my age, maybe a little younger. Twenty-two or twenty-three? Very possibly. Bao…the name sounds more Chinese than Japanese or Korean but I don’t know enough about Eastern culture to positively identify her, plus obviously there are more Asian countries than just China, Japan, and Korea. And if I’m supposed to be one of these people then should I care? Should I be getting into character?

I look again at Peter and feel a faint spark of anger at the fact that he didn’t let me know, didn’t warn me, but then I realize he didn’t really have a way to – he doesn’t have my number, and maybe this was something that resolved itself later in the afternoon after we’d parted, this need for secrecy.

I’ll draw the line at aping those nervous tics. Just watching these two is making me sad, giving me a feeling like someone’s taking hold of my heart and squeezing. It feels cruel, knowing I can do nothing.

Clearly the reason I’m Lily is because the third person, the guy from the cult, will know I’m coming, or at least will recognize my name. I think back and wonder if anybody had had a chance to take a photo of me while I was out walking around the town, but I’d have given people so many opportunities to take one without me noticing that it’s pointless to dwell on.

Surely if there was some sort of danger, if the cult knew for sure I would be here and they were perhaps willing to prevent me from coming somehow, Peter would have contacted me. He knows the motel I’m at, he might not know the room but if Erica Walken could get the phone number to it, surely Peter could have as well…right?

I toss my head, work my jaw sideways. It feels like it wants to crack but it doesn’t; I can feel the tension in the bulgy little knot of muscles down the side of my cheek. It doesn’t matter. I’m here, and I’m going in with them, cult or no cult.

There’s a crunching of feet on the dry hard earth behind us and Rey and I both turn to watch the third guy, tall and dark, making his way down the hill to us. He’s young, with a trimmed beard, and close-cropped hair. His eyes are very small; they linger on me for a moment and then flick to Rey and Bao.

“Alright,” Peter says, “everybody’s here. We’re going to be going under the fence through a hidden tunnel. It’s going to be tight so you guys are going to have to drop to your stomachs and crawl. It was going to be a waste-drainage pipe but they didn’t give the contractors they hired to do it the right plans and so it turned out that they were digging right on top of one of the power lines for the electric fence. They just left the pipe in there and put a fake rock over the entrance.”

I almost laugh when I hear that. It’s too easy. There must be a catch, mustn’t there?

“The pipe is going to let you out on the side of the patrol road inside the fence,” Peter says, looking between us. He weights his words carefully. “There should not be a patrol moving at the time that we go through,” he says, “but on the off chance that there is, whoever is in front needs to just freeze and wait, you understand?”

He looks around at us until we each nod. It takes Bao the longest but she does acknowledge, at least, that he’s speaking. “You,” he says, pointing to the guy from the cult, “your name is Marcus, right?”

“That’s right,” he says. He has a slow, deep, purposeful voice.

“You’re going to be in front. I don’t normally come in but I will be this time, I have some business to take care of inside. Me and Lily here,” he says, pointing to me, “will be in the rear. You two will be in the middle,” he says, and Rey and Bao nod, a little quicker this time.

“Once we’re inside, you’re going to be going in through a disused emergency exit that they haven’t sealed up because the Pit uses it to breathe. I’m not going to lie to you, it won’t be pleasant. It’s going to be tight, hot, smell horrendous, and it’ll be pitch-black, but it’s a one-way trip without any side branches, so just push through it and you will get through and out into the old Bronchial section. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there but all of my information says that any damage is fairly minimal and you should still be able to get through. Once you’re in, you’re on your own. If you want to come back out, take the same drainage pipe that we go in through and be careful not to cross the road right in front of a patrol. This area that we’re in, there aren’t any cameras, there’s no other detection, so as long as you look out for patrols, you’re fine. If you get caught, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. If you don’t tell them anything, the worst they can do is felony trespassing and a $500 fine. It isn’t great but it also isn’t the worst thing in the world. Understood so far?”

We all nod. My heart is beating quickly; I can hear it in my ears, a little thump reminding me that I’m really doing this, I’m really going to do it.

“Great,” Peter says. “Once you’re inside, the deeper you go the less likely it is that someone will catch you. Flip side is, the deeper you go, the more likely it is something will catch you. Anything with a sign that says ‘LVC’ or ‘Main Gullet,’ don’t go that way, you will get caught. I don’t know what you want to do down there or how long you want to do it for, doesn’t matter to me, but try not to get caught. And one more thing,” he says, looking very seriously at all of us. “Do not, under any circumstances, try to go in or out any other way than the one we’re going to take. That means do not go down to the main orifice. That is the most watched area in the entire facility and it is completely open. I know that this way isn’t great but it’s safe, easy, and it is unobserved. Everybody good?”

Once again we all nod, but I wonder whether or not Rey and Bao have really absorbed the information. Rey keeps watching things moving around in the shadows and Bao’s eyes are unfocused and glassy, and her head rocks lightly to the beat of something none of the rest of us can hear.

Peter gives instructions on how to get to the entrance, which I can now identify as being the same way as he and Makado got out during the disaster, the same breathing orifice that they’d pushed their way through four years ago.

Something about the…the enormity of it, of the thing beneath us and ahead of us and surrounding us, is getting to me. I can feel my skin prickling and a flash of heat passes over me suddenly and I nearly gasp but I contain myself. It wouldn’t do to have a panic attack right now, I tell myself, and I slowly, gradually, get myself back under control. I can feel my hands shaking at my sides and I shove them deep into my pockets. I want a cigarette.

There is finally, it seems, nothing left to talk about, no more instructions or warnings Peter can give us. He nods to himself, going over some kind of mental checklist, and then shrugs. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

 * * *

 Fifteen minutes later I’m already laughing at myself for getting so worked up over something so banal. Yeah, the other day when I followed Peter it had seemed like very serious business but here, actually making the trip myself, I can’t help but feel like it’s very small potatoes. It’s just a fence, I say to myself as we walk up to it, and then that turns into it’s just a waste drainage pipe, one that I have to shimmy through on my belly, grimacing as dust and grime gets on my nice coat, but it can’t be helped.

Peter’s behind me and Bao is ahead of me; Peter is staring at my ass, I’m sure, but then I realize that it’s pitch black in here so maybe I can give my ego a break and not assume it’s all about me. I keep having to prop myself up on my hands and knees to readjust the camcorder and make sure I’m not smashing it to bits on the hard floor of the pipe, but eventually we make it through and then we’re standing on an identical bit of hard, scrubby earth, except now we’re on the other side of the fence. As I watch, Bao, Rey, and Marcus all take off along the path, crossing it quickly and dropping down into the ditch below, and then they are just dark silhouettes making their way beneath the sharp half-moon. I get out my camcorder and flip it on and start filming them; the night-vision is really not that effective but it’s way better than just filming in the dark.

Peter clambers to his feet next to me and dusts himself off. “Well,” he says after a moment, “there they go.”

“They really don’t get caught?”

“Not usually. The ones who’re there to, you know, die to it, they go as deep as they can as quick as they can, far as I understand it, and the people with the cult tend to stay in the upper areas. There’s not very many personnel in the Pit right now so the odds of running into somebody is slim.”

I point ahead of us. “Can we go sit on that ridge? I want to get some shots of the Pit itself.”

“Sure. If a patrol comes we’ll have to duck down but it should be alright.”

We make our way across the road and down onto the ridge. I find a little flat section for us to sit on and then I pick out the three dark blobs making their way carefully up the hill. I whistle softly. “That’s the easiest way up there?”

“It is,” he says. “It doesn’t look like it but there’s a clear path, you just have to be careful of your footing.”

The figure in front stops for a moment. I can’t tell from this distance but I think it might be Bao. She stops and turns and looks across the great downward sloping crater of the Pit, and I pan the camcorder around and take a shot of it as well. I frown at the image. “That isn’t flesh down there, is it?”

“No,” Peter says. “They filled it all in with concrete. Do you see that little dark spot over there?”

I look where he’s pointing. “Yes.”

“That’s the orifice. They don’t keep it dilated as wide as they did during the park days, and the elevator is way smaller, too. There’s a little command center down in the gullet but it’s like, maybe a quarter of the size of the LVC. They’re all about minimizing impact now.”

Bao seems to be rocking unsteadily back and forth there on the trail and I turn the camera to record her. “So what happened to Makado?” I ask.

“I told you, she got out fine.”

“You know I don’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it, it’s the truth.”

“Alright, can you introduce me to her, then? I’d like to meet her, or at least have a phone call.”

Peter laughs. “I really don’t think you’d want that.”

“Why not?”

He makes a little grunting noise. “I think you’d find that she –“

“Holy shit!” I blurt. Peter jumps next to me, looks around wildly.

“What is it?”

I’ve already gotten to my feet. “Bao just fucking ran back down the trail and someone else lost their balance and fell off,” I tell him, pointing at the dark object bouncing down the cliff face towards the white concrete below. Whoever it is they’re flopping like a rag doll, and I wince with each impact. “Jesus Christ,” I say, pointlessly. Next to me, Peter curses.

“Stay here,” he tells me before hustling off into the darkness. It looks as though he’s heading for Bao; I can barely see her but it looks as though she’s collapsed against a large boulder maybe a hundred yards away at the base of the hill, her shoulders shaking.

Well, Bao’s fine. I guess. She must have lost her nerve. I turn around, peer through the screen of the camcorder. Whoever she pushed, either Marcus or Rey, he’s reached the bottom by now and slumped into a huddled pile at the bottom of the crater. I can see one limb extended out limply like an exclamation point. I look back at Bao; Peter’s reached her and is hunched down next to her, trying to get her to move. She’s hugging her legs to her chest and I can see her shaking her head frantically. Did she do it on purpose? I didn’t see the whole thing but it looked like she just panicked.

When I turn back to Rey I can see him moving, trying to get up. “Oh fuck,” I say. He pushes himself up on his hands and then his arm gives out and he falls and lays there. I can just barely see, through the camcorder, his chest rising and falling. “Goddam it,” I say to myself, and then I fold up the camcorder and stuff it back into my jacket pocket, and then I get up and start to carefully pick my way down the heavy rocky incline of the crater lip.

 * * *

 I’m scared. I’m not ashamed to admit it, I’m terrified. I’m scared that someone is going to see me, is going to see whoever it is at the bottom, Rey or Marcus, and roll up with the black helicopters and take me wherever the Men in Black take you. It’s an insane, worthless fear but I still feel it. About half of me wants to bolt and run, scurry my way back into that drainage pipe and out and never look back, but I look at the lump ahead of me, hardly even seeming to be a person, no matter how beat up, and I see him again trying to rise and again falling and then I’m down there with him, my ankle aching from where I stepped wrong and very slightly rolled it, and I get down on my knees next to him. “Hey,” I say, “I’m here, it’s okay.”

He’s muttering in anguished Spanish to himself and I have to repeat myself a few times before he cracks his eyes open, his face dirty, blood from a cut above his eyebrow seeping down and stinging at his eye. He says something to me in Spanish and I trot out the little I know. “No entiendo,” I say, “Uh. Habla ingles?”

“Yeah,” he coughs. “You’re – Lily?”

“My name is Roan actually. Are you okay? Can you stand?”

“Rowan?”

“Roan. Like the horse. My parents were hippies.”

He looks at me like I’m speaking Greek and I might as well be. I put my hand out. “Can you stand?” I ask again, and he takes it. I help him pull himself up but his leg buckles beneath him and he lets out a cry of pain that echoes in the deserted Pit, bouncing off the soft white concrete expanse.

“I think I broke it,” he says. “Oh god.”

He’s staring around again, wilder than before. I look around in spite of myself but as I knew there would be there’s nothing there. I reach into my pocket and click the voice recorder on.

“What do you see?” I ask him.

“You don’t see them?”

“No, I can’t,” I shake my head. “What are they?”

That gets his attention and he tears his eyes from whatever vision he can see cavorting around us. He looks at me closely. “You don’t…you don’t see them?”

“No.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding disappointed. He tries to rise again but I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” I tell him. “Your leg must be broken, we can’t –“

“I’m so close,” he says. His eyes are wild now, and fixed on me. Before I can take a step back he’s thrown his weight towards me awkwardly and grabbed my arm. His hands are sweaty. “You have to help me.”

“Put your arm around me,” I tell him, crouching down. He’s heavy enough that I don’t know whether I’ll really be able to help much, but if I get on the same side as his hurt leg I can at least make sure he doesn’t have to put weight on it. The hard part will be getting up again –

Rey cries out again and I wince. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “This is going to be rough but we have to get you up.”

“No,” he says, leaning on me. His face is pale now, his mouth tight and drawn with the effort.

“No?” I ask. “Come on, we need to leave like right now –“

“No,” he repeats, one shaking finger extended out ahead of us. He’s pointing to the tall gantry of the elevator down into the Pit. “We have to go there,” he says. “I have to –“

“Absolutely not,” I tell him. “We have to go –“

But he is starting forward towards the gantry and I curse and walk with him, because if I don’t he’ll fall, he’ll cry out again, he’ll fucking crawl on his hands and knees over to the goddam gantry, I can see it in his eyes, I know he will without even wondering how I know, and even though the lurching pace we set is clearly causing him pain, he urges me forward without any regard for his leg, hanging uselessly at his side, the foot jostling along the concrete every now and then and making him groan, a low deep animal noise that makes me feel as though I’m going to be sick.

We make it about halfway before a deep, rumbling alarm starts somewhere and ratchets up to a screech and all the lights click on and turn the night to day. All the strength seems to leave my body; I almost collapse. “Oh fuck,” I say.

“Come on,” he says. I glare at him; I’m sweating, the tight grip he has around my shoulders is starting to hurt, and he isn’t exactly slim. It’s taking all of my effort to keep him upright and walking and I am so close to just dropping him. I give him a dirty look and try to summon up my willpower, every single ounce of meanness and cruelty in my body and just twist out of his grasp and let him fall, but I can’t do it.

“Goddam it, Rey,” I tell him. “It’s a fucking elevator, they won’t let you on, there aren’t going to be stairs you can go down.”

“Come on,” he says again. The closer we get to the orifice the deader his voice gets. He keeps looking over his shoulder but there isn’t anything there, at least not yet; a pair of headlights are cresting the ridge and I can see people piling out of what looks like a Humvee but they aren’t anywhere close to us yet.

I reflect, briefly, on how useless this venture is; we probably could have gotten away if Rey hadn’t insisted on coming down here to peer down an empty elevator shaft. And if I hadn’t had such a damn big heart I could have gotten away, at least. Felony trespassing; well, I have the money for the fine, at least, but that’s got to be at least a year in federal prison, nothing to sneeze at. Maybe they have special accommodations for sick people? At the very least once I tell all of the prison lesbians what’s wrong with me they’ll –

“YOU TWO DOWN ON THE EXCLUSION PLATE!” a tremendous voice yells down at us through a megaphone. I nearly jump out of my skin but somehow manage to keep ahold of Rey. “STOP WHERE YOU ARE OR WE WILL SHOOT!”

I stop but Rey keeps going. “Rey, stop,” I tell him, but he doesn’t pay any attention to me. We’ve gotten far enough now that the end is in sight, the gantry is maybe twenty or thirty feet ahead of us and the yawning hole in the concrete is visible, but I can’t see inside it, not from this angle. “Rey!” I yell, but he pushes me back and I stumble to my knees. Rey breaks into a shambling run, or tries to anyway, but his leg simply is too hurt for him to put any weight on it. He nearly falls but he catches himself and bounces back up.

The first gunshot is unbelievably loud, even though it seems to come from a mile away. I hear it crack and I scream and fall down to my knees, my shoulders cringing together without any conscious effort on my part. I can see a spray of concrete splinters rising at Rey’s feet like shrapnel, and I realize the shot missed. He’s nearly there. I don’t know what he wants to achieve. I throw my jacket off and wrestle with the pocket, pull out the camcorder as quickly as I can force my shaking hands to operate, and snap it open so quickly I nearly break it. I start filming just in time to see the third, fourth, and fifth bullets bury themselves in him, two in his shoulder and one in his thigh. I cry out again but Rey is utterly silent. He’s down on his hands and knees but he tries to rise, and then another bullet catches him, this time in the back of the head, and he is down for good, and I realize that I’m crying, even while I’m trying very hard to keep the camcorder steady to get the shot of Rey’s supine body, one hand extending forward, reaching for the edge of the orifice, just ten feet away from him, a shocking red spray of arterial blood staining the concrete ahead of him like a punctuation.

Then two pairs of hands catch me under the shoulders and haul me to my feet and someone takes away my camcorder and they shove my head into a hood and then I can’t see. They force my hands together behind my back and handcuff me and I want to say something witty, quip something vaguely salacious like ‘easy boys, get to know me first before you get out the handcuffs’ but I can’t make my voice work the way it ought to and I’m still crying and shaking and I realize as they half carry half drag me to some kind of vehicle and fold me into it that I’ve wet myself, and any sort of bravery I might have been able to muster disintegrates into a painful, sharp-edged mass of shame and fear and embarrassment and a feeling not unlike I’m falling, like what I thought was just a rabbit hole has turned into a bottomless pit.

Continue with Part 11

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[ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut]

Always Led Back to You chapter 2, a John Doe/Seraphina from UnOrdinary fanfiction [FASTPASS SPOILERS for 212-214]

Hey guys here is the next chapter! Since only fastpass people only have access to the content in UnOrdinary’s chapters currently, I will be spoiling some stuff, but it won’t be word for word from the chapters either so no one will get bored. Just a warning there IS spoilers for fastpass 212-214!

Thank you for all who liked, commented, and favored this story so far!

Disclaimer: I don’t own UnOrdinary

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Seraphina quickly changed out of her uniform, a frown marring her features.

“Are you crazy, Seraphina? Why would you go meet this person? It all just sounds so shady.” Isen voiced, looking at her like she was out of her mind. Maybe she was, but Seraphina could no longer stand on the sidelines as John self-destructed and everyone would pay the price for it.

“I won’t be alone. You both could go with me.” Seraphina reasoned.

“But last time you met these people, Arlo was with you! I’m not as strong as him.” Isen argued.

“Isen is right, Seraphina! You’d just get hurt and we wouldn’t be able to protect you.” Elaine tried to reason with the magenta haired girl.

“We need to do this, Elaine. John’s going to destroy us all if we don’t do something.” Seraphina was losing her patience, tired of feeling useless in the wake of Ragnarok.

“We’ll find another way.” Isen placed his hand on her shoulder. Elaine nodded.

“Seraphina, please…” Elaine beseeched her.

Seraphina stared at them. She was silent. Isen and Elaine waited with baited breath.

“No.” Seraphina was firm, her eyes filled with determination. “I’m sorry, Isen… Elainie.” She then turned away from them, walking away. “If you won’t go with me, I’m on my own.”

“This is the only way. I have to do this.” Seraphina told herself, straightening out her jacket. She glanced at herself in the mirror, satisfied with her attire, and took a deep breath before exiting her bedroom.

“Seraphiina.” Arlo was there with Elaine, who looked absolutely panicked. Seraphina locked eyes with the former king.

‘Elaine must’ve gotten him to reason with me.’ Seraphina concluded.

“I’m not backing down from this Arlo. If you’ve come here to stop me, it’s useless. I refuse to watch everyone suffering anymore and me not being able to do anything about it.” Seraphina told him.

“I know.” Arlo replied, crossing his arms. “That’s why I’m coming with you.”

“W-What?!” Elaine looked like she was about to faint, not expecting this plot twist from her former king.

Seraphina and Arlo examined each other for a brief moment, neither speaking, before Seraphina smiled, patting the blonde’s shoulder.

“Well, whaddaya know? You came through after all, Arlo.” Seraphina teased. Arlo tensed and Seraphina couldn’t help but picture him as a bristling cat. As if Arlo could sense she was picturing him with cat ears and a tail, he frowned.

“If you weren’t a cripple, I’d teach you not to tease your king.” Arlo huffed.

“Ah, but as I recall, you are no longer a king, and I shall hopefully no longer be a cripple if my instincts are right.” Seraphina’s smirk was absolutely fox worthy.

“Tch. Let’s get this over with.” Arlo dismissed her statement.

“H-hold on here! You two can’t be serious!” Elaine fretted.

“Elaine, if we’re not back by curfew, tell the school.” Arlo commanded. Elaine could swear her soul was leaving her body from fear.

“Arlo! What do you mean if you’re not back?! Why are you two walking away from me?!” Elaine cried as Seraphina and Arlo hurriedly made their way out of the school.

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They arrived at the café that was designated as the meeting spot for Seraphina. Grabbing a table, the two surveyed their surroundings.

“You see anything suspicious?” Arlo asked.

“Nothing really. Just people having fun.” Seraphina answered. Arlo sighed, leaning back into his chair, his arms crossed, finger tapping against his bicep. Seraphina watched him closely.

“You seem nervous.” Seraphina noted.

“Should I not be?” Arlo asked her, his eyes stern, reprimanding as if she was the cause of his worry. “We don’t know anything about these people, and we’re going in blind. How can you be so cool about it?”

“I guess remaining cool is all I have going for me right now.” Seraphina shrugged. “I’m a cripple now. I can’t do anything about what’s happening, but maybe if I remain level-headed, it can help soothe everyone around me in some way.”

Arlo studied her, not saying anything. Then, a waitress approached their table.

“Hi! Would you like to order anything?” the waitress was all smiles, especially at Arlo, who paid her no heed. If Seraphina was in a mischievous mood, she probably would’ve stirred some trouble to tease the blonde.

“I’ll have a mango boba.” Seraphina smiled. The waitress nodded and then focused on Arlo, blushing a bit.

“I’ll have a black coffee.” Arlo stated. “No cream. No sugar.” His commanding tone startled the waitress while Seraphina, who was used to her surly friend, hid a smile.

“O-oh! Okay! Coming right up!” with that, the waitress left, and Seraphina found her opportunity to pounce.

“You know, you’ll never get a date if you constantly scare people away, Mr. Serious.” Seraphina pointed out lightly. Arlo raised an eyebrow at her.

“How could I be thinking of dating at a time like this?” Arlo was flabbergasted, or at least as much as the serious blonde would show. “I have no use for dates.”

“And that’s why you’re gonna end up an old man who never married with Elaine banging her head against the wall because you’re so dense.” Seraphina quipped.

“Elaine? What does Elaine have to do with this?” Arlo asked. If Seraphina wasn’t so composed, she would’ve burst out laughing.

‘Poor Elaine…’ she thought. ‘She surely likes someone who’s denser than a boulder.’

“Nevermind. Maybe try smiling once in a while? With all your frowning you’re going to lose that handsome mug from wrinkles.” Seraphina dismissed his question. The image of a cat bristling came to her mind once more when she saw Arlo’s expression.

“Well, what about you, Seraphina? You haven’t been on a date either.” Arlo pointed out, and Seraphina raised an eyebrow, surprised he’s even entertaining this conversation more.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Arlo, I’m not exactly a prize.” Seraphina replied. “Being a cripple hasn’t really endeared me to anyone as you have noticed.” She gestured to herself.

“John didn’t seem to mind.” Arlo replied, not maliciously, just stating as if it was a fact.

“That John isn’t here anymore.” Seraphina responded. She blocked out that fight where John was completely shattered in her eyes. His voice still rang in her ears when she slept.

“Seraphina, if you think John was putting on an act for you, you’re denser than me.” Arlo told her sternly. “He may have lied to you about being a cripple, but John would’ve conquered the world if you asked. He would’ve done anything just to make sure you were happy and safe, and has done things to do so.”

“I didn’t need the world.” Seraphina griped back, bitterness taking over. “I just needed him to be there.”

“And he was.” Arlo countered back, not bothered by her tone. “Why do you think he became Joker?”

“To punish people.” Seraphina was quick to respond, knowing the answer.

“To punish people who were harming you.” Arlo also was quick to respond. “Personally, I think John should’ve just came clean to you and protected you himself instead of relying on masks or us to do so, and I hate the guy for all he’s doing, but I can’t in good conscience deny his motives anymore or else I’ll be a coward just like him.” Arlo explained.

“What… what do you mean?” Seraphina asked, almost afraid to hear more. Arlo sighed, the tapping of his finger against his bicep increasing in speed.

“John’s priority was and has always been you. Everything he did, he did because he thought it would keep you safe. Seraphina… he’s nearly killed someone just for threatening you while you were unconscious.” Arlo confessed. “Now, you can tell me that John is gone, but you can’t deny he was never there. Personally, I’m glad you kicked him to the curb because he’s become too unstable and nearly hurt you, but you can’t really go on believing you were never his entire world.”

“I wasn’t…” Seraphina tried to defend, the reality of Arlo’s confession washing down on her like a thunderous waterfall.

“You were. You may have thought you were just his best friend, but John, even if he never admitted it or realized it, saw you differently.” Arlo concluded with her, the tapping calming down, relieved he could finally say what he’s been keeping to himself since John threatened his silence. It was soothing to finally tell Seraphina what John didn’t want her to know, to finally be honest with a person he respected.

“Well…. That’s…. shocking to say the least.” Seraphina finally spoke. Arlo shrugged. “Is… what he became… is this all my fault?”

“No.” Arlo responded, not even needing to think about it. “All the fault is John’s. He should’ve just been honest with you in the first place.”

“But… if I had done things differently…” Seraphina was consumed by what ifs and should haves. What if she pushed harder? What if she let him know she was there? Would John be the way he is now if she had done things differently?

“No. Don’t think about those thoughts, Seraphina.” Arlo commanded. “It will do you no good. You cannot change the past. Now, we’re going to see if your hunch is right and you can change the future.”

“Arlo…” Seraphina paused. “Could I… is it possible you think I can save him? Even now, when he’s gone?”

Before Arlo could answer, the waitress brought them their drinks. Arlo paid the waitress no heed, watching Seraphina, his friend, struggling with her demons.

“Oh! By the way, there’s someone who has arrived for your table! I’ll be back with her order as well. Sorry about that.” The waitress announced, taking her leave. Arlo tensed, and quickly turned his head towards the door where the mysterious person they would meet was standing.

“It’s a woman.” Arlo whispered. Seraphina was roused from her inner turmoil, turning her head to look in the direction of the door as well.

Her heart stopped cold.

“Leilah...?”

------------------------

So there you have it! I did add a lot more content than the original episode and changed the conversation a bit, but I hope you still enjoyed. I was going to have Arlo originally say it was his fault John went crazy, but then I realized that wouldn’t be in Arlo’s character to admit he fucked up.

[alison-anonymous]

flawsome bandits pt. 11 ♡ sonic

Flawsome Tessering

Part 11, coming at you! This part doesn’t have too much Sonic x Y/n, but don’t worry my darlings, I am saving that for the next chapter ;) This one includes some mother-daughter relationships and tons of foreshadowing. Enjoy!

Warnings - slight angst, robotnik x stone mentions

♡♡♡

“Why so down, Sonic?” A man with a head as smooth as an eggshell asked his pet boulder as it sat next to him in his poorly repaired drone. The boulder had tiny little dents in its craters that were obviously created by Robotnik to form a dopey grin and two misshapen eye sockets. The man chortled to himself as he tapped the cracked glass where an electric blue quill sat, charging up his entire machine. “Aww, are you sad because I’m coming back home?”

Robotnik stared intently at the little boulder, watching as it practically began to sweat under his intense gaze. He finally sat back up and let out yet another loud chuckle, filling the silent air around him for miles. “Sorry to disappoint, bud, but you and your little girlfriend are going to be toast as soon as I wrap my hands around your puny little necks~” He sang out the last part, his time spent in isolation taking an immense toll on his sanity. His tethered and gloved hands expertly found their way across his very dented control panel, clicking on a bunch of buttons that ended up making the drone begin to whirr. The air surrounding him that reeked of fungus began to churn at the new winds. 

“Come on, baby,” Robotnik grumbled, pushing his prized invention to the limit as it began to levitate its misshapen and damaged body a couple feet off the ground. The engines worked in tandem with one another, struggling to compensate for the extreme damage that had been inflicted upon them. Even Robotnik’s expert repair jobs using the emergency kits Stone had made him place in every one of his drones wasn’t enough to make up for it all. 

He guessed Stone was right for once. Shocker.

The erratic energy being extracted from Sonic’s quill mingled with the artificial power he was able to save. As the drone began to sputter, he quickly grabbed onto the throttle in an attempt to steady the drone, even his hideously long mustache hairs twitching with anticipation. He had to do it. He had to make this work. He couldn’t stand another second trapped here with Mushroom Bertha, Mushroom Kick-Sonic’s-Ass, Mushroom Carl, and Mushroom I-Want-A-Hedgehog-Skin-Rug or IWAHS for short. After a couple of minutes spent in agonizing suspense, a little glimmer began to form in the air before him. A malicious grin made its way across his lips as he realized that his plan was working.

The energy coming from his drone was enough to cause a small rip in the universe, mostly due to Sonic’s alienated DNA and ability to tesser between universes. The tear grew a decent size wider, its edges glowing an abnormal white and a very faint image of what he presumed to be Green Hills glimmered within it. It was right there. He was going to make it! It was barely big enough for him to pass through, but it was all he needed. With a surge of energy and Robotnik practically gritting his teeth until they chipped, the drone shot through the portal in a flash of blinding light, crash landing onto a very mossy green ground. The impact made Robotnik slam his face against the throttle, but luckily his gigantic mustache hairs cushioned the blow. The drone slowly began to let off steam, already having used all of its juices to float for less than thirty minutes. A steady blow of steam began to shoot up into the air from one of the drones' important capsules, and Robotnik was quick to regain consciousness, standing up and practically falling back down into his seat from the excitement. He looked around the area, hoping taking over his entire internal chemistry as he looked at his surroundings. The hope died almost instantly as he came to a horrific conclusion.

This… this wasn’t Green Hills! 

What the actual fuck?!

There were oddly misshapen trees and abnormal creatures waddling around the perimeter and LOOP-DE-LOOPS?! The anger got the better of him as he picked up the boulder sitting next to him and screamed at the top of his lungs.

“God damnit, Sonic! This is all your fault!” And the tiny boulder was sent flying out of the drone to land against the grass, where it rolled down a hill.

It was safe from the evil man’s clutches at last.

Robotnik let out another frustrated groan and slammed his fists down onto the dash, causing even more smoke to secrete from vital components of the drone. But he didn’t care right now. He had been working on building up all of that power for months. To have it all lost getting him somewhere that wasn’t even where he needed to be - where those goddamn hedgehogs were! And now he was stuck in this crazy backwards land with nothing to defend himself with. At least back with the mushrooms the only predator was sleep deprivation.

And of course, that was self inflicted.

“Oh thank god.” A sudden voice broke through his frustrations. Robotnik’s head snapped up so quickly he was sure he heard his neck crack. He was expecting the worst: three headed bear, snake crossed with a lizard, horse sized horsefly, something deadly and positively hideous. So when he saw a little black and red hedgehog staring at him intently with ruby irises and what looked to be a gun and a little bag situated around his hips, he was very, VERY surprised.

“Well, who the fuck are you supposed to be?” Robotnik couldn’t help but blurt. The hedgehog looked incredibly relieved as he came closer to the drone, showing his gloved hands in a means of presenting no harm.

“My name is Shadow. I was created by your assistant, Agent Stone.” Robotnik’s heart stopped at the sound of his name. “He sent me through the different universes to find you. It’s taken forever, but I finally did it. I have more rings left to get us back to the planet where Hedgehog Sonic and Hedgehog Y/n reside.” 

Robotnik was floored, to say the least. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Agent Stone, the little guy who made delicious lattes and who knew him better than anyone else, MADE a hedgehog and sent him to help Robotnik defeat the two once and for all? 

He owed him a thank you. Or maybe more than that, if you catch my drift ;)

“W-Well then, I suppose it’s nice to have you on board, Mr. Shadow. Unfortunately, my drone was a bit destroyed during the movement here, so unless you have a giant bag of tools next to your gun there, I-”

“Don’t worry, Sir, I’ve got it handled,” Shadow interrupted him, turning around to point into a throng of bushy trees. “I met an Echidna along the way who might be of use to us. Perhaps we could brainwash him into assisting us.” 

Damn. Agent Stone really did a number on this guy. Robotnik liked it. 

♡♡♡

A few hours later and a lot of impressive manipulation, Shadow and Robotnik had recruited yet another member onto their team: Knuckles the Echidna. He was a very burly red thing with intimidating eyes and an unfortunate lack of brains. But, he had resources and his muscle could even out Robotnik’s brains and Shadow’s apparent fiery temper. They were able to convince him that Y/n and Sonic were two beings from a far away planet that were power hungry and had a plot to destroy the entire universe, including this planet. Of course, Knuckles was petrified and said that they must be stopped immediately. The guy was also pretty handy with supplying the needed instruments to fix up Robotnik’s drone. 

Of course, it wasn’t the best job, but it would have to do for now. After Robotnik had done his little patch job, the trio were beginning to prep for their return to earth.

“I assume that you are very excited to defeat the two hedgehogs, Doctor,” Shadow spoke with authority. “But I think it would be better to hide out in a secluded spot for a little while in order for us to build up our resources. We wouldn’t want to go straight into battle without being prepared.” 

Even though Robotnik was really looking forward to crushing Bonnie and Clyde, he had to admit that Shadow had a point. He nodded slowly. “We’ll hide out in the woods in order to gather resources and start the formation of Metal Sonic. Agreed? Agreed.” Even though he wasn’t looking for a confirmation, the two nodded despite. Everything was going according to plan. Robotnik had gathered two allies and had already begun his plan to form a metal-based version of Sonic. For two reasons, really. The first was to use Sonic’s greatest power and turn it into his weakness, and the second was to try and trick Y/n into not being able to fight the one that she loves. They were going to destroy the two hedgehogs once and for good, donating their bodies to Robotnik’s favorite charity: science.

But what these little twerps didn’t know was that a certain fox had been spying on the three of them ever since Robotnik had crash landed a couple feet away from his lab. It was finely secluded within the weeping willow trees, so he hadn’t been able to see it. But his security measures sure saw the mustache guy.

The little fox’s stomach began to fill with dread as he thought about all of this. These guys were obviously up to no good. Anyone who loved the color combo red and black was obviously up to no good. Especially someone who grew their mustache past five inches. 

On each side.

Those two hedgehogs they had been mentioning… What were their names? Bonnie and Clyde? Funny named for hedgehogs, but he guessed that their world was different than his. He began to rummage through the different gizmos and gadgets he had spent ages on until he finally gathered all of the materials he needed. His little gloved fingers found their way to his energy-tracker as he calibrated it to their energy sources. Funny, he thought. One of them was stronger than the other. 

He narrowed his eyes in determination, steadying himself as he thought of the realm they lived in and tossed one of his golden rings. The second the portal opened, he jumped through, landing on what appeared to be a cliff looking over a small town. Relief filled his orangish-yellow chest as he looked across. He hoped he knew what he was doing. 

Extending his two tails, he leapt off the cliff.

♡♡♡

“M-Mom?” Maddie stirred in her sleep. 

“Mommy?” 

The young mother’s eyes slowly opened to be greeted with the sight of her daughter who had tears streaming down her cheeks. The sight of her daughter in distress kicked all of the sleep out of her as she instantly shot up in bed and immediately started wiping away the tears. Most of them got brushed into the fur around her eyes, but she didn’t care.

“N/n, baby, what’s wrong?” She asked softly, trying her best not to wake up her husband who still lay sound asleep behind her. Y/n only continued to cry harder, her e/c eyes glowing in the dark.

“I-I’m sorry, Mommy. I-I didn’t w-want to see i-it, I-” Maddie gently shushed her, standing on her feet and expertly lifting up the frail hedgehog onto her hip, holding her like she was a toddler. 

“Y/n, honey, you’re not making any sense.” She glanced over at the clock and realized it was barely five in the morning. What on earth was she doing up this late? Y/n was in such hysterics that all she was able to do was plant her face into Maddie’s shoulder and continue to cry, her chest feeling like a million daggers were being dug into it. Maddie’s heart was ripping at the seams for her daughter, as the last time she had seen her this upset was when Sonic had died. She quickly and quietly took the weeping hedgehog out of her room, making sure not to make a sound as she closed the door to leave her sleeping husband alone, and continued through the darkened halls until they made it to the main bathroom. She closed the door behind them and set the hedgehog onto the counter, grabbing a wad of tissues and quickly dabbing her eyes while Y/n wrapped her arms around her trembling torso.

“I-I’m s-sorry-” She hiccuped, choking on the mucus being created from her tears. Maddie’s gaze softened.

“Sweetie, what on earth could you have to be sorry for?” To her surprise, Y/n’s eyes only filled with guilt and self-disgust as she looked down at the floor. 

“...what happened?” Maddie gently cupped her daughter’s furry face in her hands and stared into her liquid e/c eyes. The deeper she looked into them, the more she was able to picture Y/n before she had turned into a hedgehog, back when she was a human. The little hedgehog exhaled a shaky breath and wrung her hands together.

“I… I woke up to singing. And I followed it outside, and there was this… thing out there. It was calling to me, and when I touched it, this is going to sound insane, but it showed me pictures of the future. I-I saw Robotnik, and I saw me and Sonic with two other people and then… the last one… M-Mommy, it looked like someone was trying to k-kill me-” Maddie’s heart stopped in her chest, her eyes widening in horror. Fresh tears began to spill down Y/n’s cheeks even faster. “I-I don’t want to die!”

Maddie quickly enveloped her in a tight hug, pressing her daughter’s head into her chest and stroking her quills gently. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. You’re not going to die.”

“H-how do you k-know that? M-my powers are growing a-and I don’t know how to s-stop it, I don’t want to kn-know how we’re going to d-die, I-” 

Maddie hushed her, continuing to stroke her quills. They sat like this for quite some time, with Maddie consoling her hysterical daughter until her sobs finally died down and were replaced with melancholic sniffles. Maddie’s heart continued to pound, however, fear and confusion coursing through her veins. She was trying with all her might to wrap her brain around the matter, but she was the one who had had the worst time figuring out how Sonic and Y/n’s powers worked in tandem with one another. Even Tom relatively understood better than she could. She knew that Y/n had vocal telekinesis, but seeing the future? Little wisp-like creatures? It didn’t seem like those had ever been mentioned or used before. 

What was going on? Was her daughter truly in danger?

Her grip around her tightened. Y/n exhaled softly and it was then that Maddie realized she had fallen asleep. A small smile crossed her lips as she picked her daughter back up and began to make her way back into the living room. She could have just taken her to her bedroom, but in all honesty, she felt safer leaving her with Sonic than by herself. As she walked through the darkened hallways, she tried to silence the red alarms blaring endlessly throughout her mind. 

Something was wrong.

She could feel it. She didn’t even need magical powers to feel it. Her breath hitched in her throat as she made her way down the stairs, making sure not to trip as she entered the living room. Sonic still lay sound asleep on the couch, not having moved an inch since Y/n had woken up. Maddie gently set her daughter down on the couch, resting her head on Sonic’s chest and covering the two with a fleece blanket. Her fingers softly traced Y/n’s jawline as she slowly stood back up, a small, yet sad, smile staying on her lips.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she whispered into the silence. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

♡ a.a.

[frostburnx]

AngelFell part 4

     Asgore brought Frisk away from the group a little ways, but they only walked along the walls to the castle. 

    Asgore cleared his throat before speaking, “Frisk, you have been here since the beginning of this world, you were created as a guardian and protector. An angel, that protects this side of the world and all who inhabit it. But there is another.”

    “The lava place is the other one?” Frisk cocked his head.

    “Yes, it’s the parallel copy of this one, only it is uninhabitable and dangerous, as well as full of demons.”

    “Then how is Chara living there? Isn’t that more of a reason for her to stay here?” Frisk asked still confused.

    “You are the angel of this world, but that world also has an angel. Chara is the angel of that world Frisk. She doesn’t belong here and it is dangerous that she stays here, her touch brings death to the plants in this world and the demons will continue to come over here and destroy things while she is here,” Asgore explained the best he could without sounding harsh.

    “Huh, then I’ll go visit her!”

    “Going over there can weaken you if you stay too long, I don’t advise it but I can’t stop you. Do you understand?” Asgore asked cocking his head.

    Frisk looked away awkwardly and slowly looked back to Asgore, “Uhhhhh yep.”    

    “Good,” That was all Asgore said before he started walking back to the others with Frisk following.

    Once they got back to the others Frisk went up to Chara and grabbed her hand again, “So what do you wanna do now Chara?”

    “I-I don’t know,” Chara said sounding unsure and Asgore looked to Frisk giving him a look that said that he has to take her back to the other side which Frisk turned away from.

    “Hey, how about we see if those demons are okay. They seem to have taken a lot of damage,” Frisk suggested slightly cocking his head to her.

    Chara smiled and nodded while Asriel chimed in, “Yeah! I’ll come too!”

    The trio began making their way to the crossover seemingly oblivious to the actual destruction and despair that the kingdom truly was in because of the attack. They crossed over together into the world that intrigued most but was so intimidating that it prevented anyone to even dare travel there for fear of their lives and the unknown. But there were no demons in sight at first glance. It was completely silent.

    “Huh, there isn’t anything here?” Asriel said as they walked farther away from the crossover in their search for wounded demons. 

    Frisk finally spotted something that stood out amongst the desolate normal looked of this world. It was a boulder but covered in scratches and something was poking out behind it, it almost looked like the end of a tail to the demon they had encountered. He ran up to the boulder and placed one hand on the surface with a smile. 

    “This looks promising!” Slowly Frisk traced his eyes to the edge and slowly went to go around it all while keeping his hand on the oddly smooth surface of the large rock. 

    Frisk barely peeked around the rock when he saw what it was that was behind it, it was indeed the same looking demon as before. A malicious grin spread on its face and it leapt at Frisk. But he was faster than the large beast and swiftly moved out of the way of its pounce. The creatures claws slammed into the reddish soil of the hell side and they dug down deep. It’s head swiveled around back to Frisk. Soon, however, the creatures eyes filled with fear when it saw who was behind the young angel. Chara was running up to Frisk as well as Asriel. In a quick escape, the demon yowled and started running on all fours in the opposite direction of the group and Frisk. The spikes on its back were all sticking up in fright as it fled.

     “I don’t understand why they are so aggressive suddenly,” Chara said finally stopping behind Frisk with Asriel.

    Frisk was still watching the beast run, “Maybe they just need to get to know someone before they become docile around them?” He just smiled and turned back to Chara and Asriel. 

    “I don’t know about that one, but it doesn’t look like they are hurt,” she smiled happily at Frisk.

    “Yeah, maybe they have healing powers! Do you have any cool powers Chara?” Frisk asked returning a smile right back at her.

    “I-I don’t know,” she looked down at her hands.

    “Why don’t you try it?”

    Chara looked over at a nearby stone and sat down on it pointing her palms out in front of her. 

    “Maybe you have cool abilities like Frisk!” Asriel said brimming with excitement. 

    She scrunched her face in deep concentration and after a second a small spark flicked out of her palm followed by another right after it. It didn’t spark again for a second. But then a large fire ball erupted from her hands and launched forwards. Asriel’s eyes widened as he watched from the sideline as the ball of flame shot out towards Frisk. He wasn’t able to dodge, but instead of looking hurt he just smiled with amazement. His clothes were a little blacked and his short cloak thing had a couple holes but nothing more. 

    “Wow! That was amazing!!” Frisk and Asriel both said basically jumping up and down like it was the most impressive thing that they had ever seen in their entire lives. 

    Chara, however, put her hands over her mouth, “I-I’m so sorry!!” She bolted up from the rock where she was sitting and hugged Frisk quickly.

    He hugged back a little surprised by her apologizing, “It’s fine Chara, I’m okay!”

    “D-did I hurt you?”

    “Yeah, a little, but I’m fine!” He was beaming at her with not even a shred of dishonesty in his words.

    She nodded with a small smile growing on her face, “O-okay, good.”

    Asriel ran up to them still excited about the fire ball, “That was way cool though! It was like WHOOSH!” He then did an imitation of an explosion by expanding his arms dramatically, “BOOM!!!”

    Chara and Frisk both laughed at Asriels interpretation of the event while letting go of one another.

    “What else do you think you can do?” Frisk asked Chara.

    She held out her hand away from the two this time and concentrated again. After a second a small black knife with a red glow appeared in her hand slowly. Chara didn’t seem really amazed with it, instead she just looked at it and cocked her head.

    “Cool!” Both Frisk and Asriel said in unison awing over the small knife.

    Chara examined the knife for a second, “I wonder,” she said looking to her other hand and slowly putting the knife to her skin. 

    She applied a little bit of pressure and the knife left a clean cut across her palm. Her eyes widened and she dropped the knife from the pain coming from her bleeding hand. But unlike normal blood, the blood coming off of her hand was jet black.

    “Are you okay?” Frisk asked full of concern and curiosity on why she just did that.

    In reply Chara nodded while wincing but then turned back to her wound. The cut on her hand was visibly closing rather quickly and the bleeding had already stopped.

    “So, you do have healing powers, that’s so cool!” Frisk said watching the wound close once again in awe.

    Asriel awkwardly put a hand behind his head, “Urm, Frisk, dad told me you have abilities but, what are they?”

    “I have no idea,” Frisk said while still retaining a smile and Asriel just looked dumbfounded at his response.

    “Well, try to use them like Chara did!” he said trying to encourage him to test it out.

    His response was a nod and like Chara did, he held his palms forward and away from the others. His palms let out a small fleck of ice, but soon after a large ice spiked shot out. The ice was wide at the base and went down into a rigid and crude point, it was like it was made of many knives strapped together. After it launched away from his hands and into a near by rock in the recoil some ice crawled up his arms and coated them. 

    Chara let out a gasp and went up to Frisk with her hands glowing slightly red. She placed her hands on his arms and the ice began melting away from the heat emanating from her palms.

    “Heh, thank you,” Frisk said with a small smile a little embarrassed that it backfired. 

    She smiled and nodded finishing melting away the ice.

    “That was awesome Frisk!” Asriel finally blurted about the ice which Chara nodded in agreeance. 

    “What can you do Asriel?” Frisk asked moving his arms around shaking the water away.

    “Oh, a couple things but they aren’t that great heh-” Asriel said a little embarrassed.

    “I bet it’s super cool!” Frisk prompted. 

    “Okay, okay, I’ll show you,” he said, “I can do these things.’

    Asriel held out his hand and a sword appeared in his hand. The sword had a metal frame all around it but in the center it was completely glowing in a rainbow pattern flowing from the hilt.

    “Wow!” Both Chara and Frisk gasped.

    It disappeared but was soon replaced with a blaster with a similar design as the sword and it shot a rainbow beam. Right after he blasted it, it disappeared and stars shot from his hand like flying knives all hitting a rock and getting stuck in it firmly. 

    “That’s what I can do so far-” Asriel barely got out before Chara said something.

   “That was really cool Azzy!” She said with a wide smile. 

    “Yeah!” Frisk agreed.

    “A-Azzy?” Asriel cocked his head at Chara with a curious look.

    “Y-yeah, a-are you okay with it?” 

    “I LOVE IT!!!!” Asriel exclaimed jumping up and down and right after he abruptly hugged Chara.

    Her eyes widened in surprise but then she smiled wide and hugged back.

     “Aww, this is adorable,” Frisk said to this.

    They both backed up with smiles after a second and around them it started getting darker. Asriel and Frisk looked up at the suddenly darkening sky. 

    “Is it turning night?” Asriel asked a little confused at the rapid rate of the darkness. 

     In response Chara nodded, “It gets really dark here.”

    “Is it going to be cool?” Frisk asked looking back at her.

    “Not really-. The only light after dark is from the lava and the random crystals. Otherwise it’s just dark,” she said shifting awkwardly. 

    “Oh, well I need to get home before my mom and dad worry about me, I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” He said waving behind him while running back towards the heaven side. 

    “Bye Asriel,” Frisk called after him.

[angst-fairygodmother]

The Sweet Kiss of Seafoam (A Geralt x Jaskier Little Mermaid AU) Chapter 2

A/N: Here is the second and final part of my entry to @the-winter-witcher 2k follower writing challenge. Really dipping into the meat of things, and all that entails in the spirit of good old Hans Christian. Part one can be found here. Prompt: “I’ve run out of words my song, just let me die, me die” Word Count: 3188 Now cross-posted to AO3: here

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A year later, Jaskier was being pelted with bread.

He had acquired a lute after leaving Lettenhove and taught himself to play, making money travelling about and performing. But the audience did not always receive his songs well, and there had been more than one occasion where he was booed off the stage or out of the room.

As he dodged the projectile rolls, gathering them up to eat later since he had no coin for food, and made comments back at the audience that he at least thought were just as biting, his eyes lit on a single silent stranger in a corner of the room. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with hair the color of a wave-cap in the moonlight. He seemed to be staring down at the worn table in contemplation, and Jaskier felt drawn to him. Moving, as if hypnotized, he crossed the tavern to speak with the stranger.

The stranger’s deep growl threw Jaskier, not nearly what he had been expecting, a sound like rolling of boulders or the spitting of the deep underwater fissures and spouts that had been one of the great dangers of his childhood home. He found himself cringing internally at his absolutely cheesy lines, but the stranger seemed unfazed.

And then Jaskier realized with a heart-dropping moment of fear that this gorgeous stranger was one of the fabled witchers, monster hunters of the highest caliber. But, he thought, he was in too deep to back down. So instead, he pressed harder, sure that his eagerness would throw the other man off the scent of Jaskier being anything other than a fascinated, danger-seeking, human man.

This decision turned out to be the beginning of something more, something truly special.

The pair developed an unusual but nonetheless unbreakable bond over the following years. Geralt was taciturn on the best of days, preferring to communicate in hums, grunts, and glares. Jaskier did not let this faze him, chattering and charming his way across the continent at his side. His open warmth proved on more than one occasion to be just as lifesaving as Geralt’s swords, when villagers tried to drive off (or worse, kill) the witcher instead of paying him, when they lacked the coin to pay for necessary food or medicine, when on his darkest days Geralt found himself wondering if his miserable life was worth carrying on with. Geralt would never admit it, but the bard’s presence was well worth the extra hassle he created, getting constantly embroiled in dangers both monstrous and amorous.

~

It happened gradually, rather than all at once. One day, Jaskier noticed how the light struck Geralt’s hair and made it shine like diamonds. That night, when he played the small tavern, his voice cracked on a high note that was usually so easy to hit. Another time, noticed Geralt slipping the pouch of coins he had been paid by the alderman to the weary widow of one of the monster’s victims, and later managed to sound completely flat on the beginning of “Fishmonger’s Daughter.” (Luckily, the audience was too drunk to notice, but still his nerves fluttered.) It got worse as time went along too, even when the pair had gone their separate ways for a time. Jaskier’s mind would wander to what Geralt might be up to and his throat would be sore or his voice scratchy and he would have to end a performance early.

The night he had to cancel a performance completely, Geralt had saved his life from a pack of ghouls. The witcher’s hands had gently explored for injuries, a tenderness in his eyes not often seen. Jaskier had basked in the attention selfishly, letting it warm him more than a sunny rock at noon, rather than assure the other man he was fine and have it end. That night, he had opened his mouth to sing, just his warm-up scales before he went on stage, and no sound came out. Wide-eyed he’d tried again and again with different notes, and eventually he managed to sing…something. But by then he was near panicked, much too frazzled to perform. He made his excuses, citing the trauma of nearly dying, and gone to bed early, crying himself to sleep, the salt of his tears a painful reminder of his ocean home.

The following morning, he resolved to share his feelings, deciding it would be better to just get it all over at once, rather than suffer and wait. Besides, he reasoned with a small spark of hope, there was a chance that all this agony was for naught and if he knew, Geralt would return his affections. Dressing in only high-waisted pants and nearly see-through undershirt, bare feet padding gently against the wooden floors of the inn, he wandered down the hall to the witcher’s room and knocked. As soon as his knuckles made contact, his mind began to race with anxieties. What if Geralt was still asleep and got angry for being woken? Or if his affections weren’t returned after all? This was a mistake, he told himself, and he should just go.

As soon as his mind was made up to leave, the door swung open. Geralt stood there, hair disheveled from sleep and, Jaskier realized as he reigned in his racing heart and took in the full sight, clad only in a bedsheet wrapped hastily around his waist.

Jaskier blushed a deep red and stuttered, “Ah…ah…G…G…Geralt! Good morning!”

“Is something wrong?” Geralt’s growl was deeper than usual, sleep roughening his voice.

“Not wrong, per say…I just…was thinking this morning and...”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. And then Jaskier heard it, a soft, feminine sigh from the other side of the door.

“Who is it Geralt?” the voice asked, a sultry murmur, tempting him back into the room, back to bed.

“No one, Yennefer. It’s just Jaskier,” he said, turning to look behind him.

Jaskier’s eyes widened, and his fought the pain welling up like a wound within him.

“Did you need something important bard? Or can it wait?”

Jaskier said nothing, unsure if he even could at this point, and fled back down the hall to his room.

He threw himself onto the bed and sobbed, body shaking which only worsened as silence fell, sudden and complete. He choked, gasping for air as terror replaced the pain, and then, just as quickly, he started to grow cold and the emptiness settled in. He knew this would happen, even as he’d lied to himself in the Sea Witch’s lair that he could avoid it, the deal he’d made his own death-warrant. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

~

A few days later, Geralt and Jaskier, now joined by Yennefer – who perched like a queen upon Roach’s back as Geralt walked beside and Jaskier fell in step behind – set out, following the rumors of a great monster terrorizing the fishing villages by the shore. The practice of fishing frightened Jaskier, having heard stories about merfolk caught in nets and killed or captured as slaves and curiosities, and his heart still ached, more so at the fact that his constant companion seemed not to notice the change over him, and he trembled with exhaustion, bone-deep.

He considered that this would be the perfect opportunity to slip away, to let his feet, limbs he now hated fiercely, touch the waves and retreat back to his childhood home. But he could not. For all that his heart had been shattered by Geralt’s obvious devotion to Yennefer – which shown in the witcher’s eyes and made them, to Jaskier’s dismay, all the warmer and more beautiful – it still also belonged to the human world and he did not want to abandon it now, feeling more like he belonged there than he ever had in the Kingdom of the Merfolk.

That night, in an inn not far from the sea, Jaskier was restless, awoken in the middle of the night by what sounded like someone whispering his name. Curious and confused, he followed the sound out to the shore, where there was a little wooden rowboat. He climbed aboard and set about rowing, until he reached quite a depth and there, waiting, were two of his brothers and a number of his friends.

“What are you all doing here?” he wanted to ask, crying it with his eyes and hoping they understood. “How ever did you find me?”

“Jaskier! Darling Jaskier!” they cried back, reaching out to throw arms around him. He flinched, fearing that the droplets glistening off of them would be enough to return him to his natural form. “We heard what happened. We’ve come to help you fix it!”

He frowned, brows knitting together in confusion.

“So it’s true then. The Witch has claimed your voice,” his eldest brother, Eckhart, said, voice dark with hate.

Jaskier nodded sadly, gesturing to try and explain that it was his own stupid fault.

“We won’t let her keep it.”

Jaskier shook his head to tell them there was nothing they could do.

“We will go to her, make her a new offer,” his friend Ashe exclaimed.

“Yes, something good enough that she won’t refuse it, in exchange for your voice,” Lars added.

“Come into the water, come with us,” his third-eldest brother, Stefan, offered, holding out a hand. “Come home Jaskier. You have had your adventure, but you are hurting now. Let us take care of you.”

He nodded, reaching out to take the offered hand, swallowing the lump in his throat as he was pulled, almost playfully out of the boat. He submerged in the cold waters, their weight familiar, but as he surfaced again, brushing the sopping locks of hair out of his face, nothing happened. His legs remained separate and his voice remained silenced and he sobbed mutely, pressed into his brothers’ arms as they tried to protect him from the harsh reality.

Suddenly the air rumbled with a malicious cackle and the Sea Witch rose up before them, larger than she had been before but just as lovely and terrible.

“Little Fish,” she mocked. “I must admit, you have doomed yourself far more than I could if I had tried. You have spent so long on land that you are as much a human as you ever were a merman, if not more so.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ashe snapped, throwing an arm out protectively as she put herself between Jaskier and the Sea Witch.      

“It means that without powerful magic, he will never again return to his ocean home. He cannot regrow his fins or breathe the water and to try will kill him.” She laughed. “Your heart is so broken though that even on land I don’t think you’ll last long.”

His friends and brothers bristled at the implied threat in the Sea Witch’s tone.

“I won’t be the one to kill him,” she sneered. “I gain nothing from doing so. But grief is such a powerful thing, and there is some magic, very old magic, that does what it wishes. Good night Little Fish, and good luck.”

Just as soon as she appeared, the Sea Witch disappeared and the crowd of merfolk (and one former merfolk) stared at one another, even those who could too stunned to speak. Soon, Jaskier began to shiver in the cold of the water, body no longer adapted to bear it, and they all escorted him back to shore, towing the little rowboat with him aboard at their center.

“We will fix this,” his brothers promised, clasping his hands in theirs. “Come to us in three days.” Reluctantly, they dove beneath the waves once more and Jaskier watched them go, heart aching, before he made his way back toward the dry warmth of the inn.

~

The appointed night, the trio was camping further down the coast, and somewhere around midnight, he slipped past Yennefer, who was on guard duty, and down the tall grass hills to the sea. He walked carefully out along a natural jetty, boots slipping and sliding, struggling to find a footing against the algae and seaweed that coated the wet stone. Eventually, he kicked off the offending shoes, bare toes gripping only a little better.

Waiting for him at the end was a little wooden rowboat which he took further into the water and met his brothers and friends who were waiting for him.

“Jaskier!” they cried out when they saw him. “We were worried that we wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“We have an answer for you,” Eckhart added, his eldest brother not wasting any time.

“Two of them technically,” Ashe corrected, leading the two to glare at each other until Jaskier tapped the side of the boat to get their attention back. The pair jumped, looking oddly guilty and Jaskier raised a knowing eyebrow, ignoring the pang he felt at knowing there was much he had missed in the kingdom of the Merfolk while he had been pining after his best friend.

“Right,” Lars said, pointedly ignoring the two. “We were thinking, your voice is special. But if all of us offer the Witch something, maybe she’ll give it back. I’ll give up my hands, or my ability to sculpt whichever she decides to take, and Stefan will give her his swordsmanship, and Ashe will give her—“ Jaskier shook his head, broadly gesturing his refusal. He was furious that they would even consider giving up so much.

“But Jaskier…”

He chopped his hands in the air in front of him, the sharp x a final refusal, eyes narrowed in a glare. He would rather be mute forever than let them all hurt themselves so for him.

“Fine,” Stefan, the other of his brothers to come visit, added with a sigh. “If you will not let us help you, at least take this.”

He held out a dagger to Jaskier. The small knife had a dark handle, glossy black volcanic rock carved into a pattern of scalloped scales. Its narrow blade was straight and sharp, twinkling in the moonlight. Hands shaking and face creased in confusion, Jaskier reached out and took the offered weapon.

“The Witch said that powerful magic could undo your transformation. This dagger is enchanted,” Eckhart explained. “If you slay your beloved with it, and the person he chose over you, and let their hearts’ blood drip onto your legs, they will reform a tail and free you from this torture.”

Jaskier reeled, aghast. Couldn’t they understand that he loved Geralt and didn’t want to hurt him for anything?

“I know he means the world to you,” his brother quickly continued. “But if it is a choice between you and him, choose to save yourself. Please. Don’t make us lose you forever. Not for someone too blind to see how wonderful you are.”

Reluctantly, Jaskier nodded, tucking the dagger into his doublet securely.

~

The following day, Geralt found the creature he had been hunting and, with Yennefer’s help, dispatched it quickly. Extremely grateful, the mayor had given them all rooms in his house, and the whole village put together a celebratory feast and bonfire on the beach. Several villagers broke out fiddles and flutes and Jaskier yearned to join him. But when he tried, his fingers slipped along the strings and he fumbled what should have been an easy performance.

Humiliated and terrified, he prayed that Geralt had not noticed, only to be punched in the gut by the realization that the witcher was so lost in the violet eyes of his lover that he paid absolutely no attention to the music or beach around him. Eyes stinging with unshed tears, he had fled to his room and fallen into a fitful sleep, not waking again until the whole house was still and quiet.

In the dark of night, barefoot, he crept into the room that Geralt and Yennefer shared, shocked to find the door unlocked. The sorceress who’d won his friend’s heart had also made him soft, in so short a time, taming the paranoia and tension that had seemed such a staple of the witcher’s personality. How could he ever have dreamed to compete with that?

Drawing close, he found himself staring down at the sleeping pair in the full moon’s light. They looked peaceful, Yennefer lying on her back, dark hair splayed around her in a halo, one hand twined with Geralt’s and resting on her stomach. Geralt’s face was gentler than he’d ever seen, he looked young like this, in a way Jaskier had never considered it possible for him to be, as he pressed against her side. Their breathing was soft and steady, almost synced with each other.

Jaskier pulled the narrow dagger out of his jacket, watching the light dance on the silver blade. He held it in his hand for a long time. Slowly, he twirled it lightly into the right grip to plunge downward, pausing. Then he kept turning so that it lay in his palm as if poised to plunge into himself instead. He sighed, soft as a breeze, and stepped back. He wouldn’t do this, couldn’t. Geralt had destroyed him, but it hadn’t been meant, and he loved the man too much to punish him for finding happiness.

He set the dagger down on the bedside and, impulsively, leaned in to brush a soft kiss against Geralt’s lips, a small, chaste thing full of all his love and longing. He moved away, and then back again to also press his mouth lightly to Yennefer’s forehead, an apology and forgiveness for what each had done, or would do, to the other without ever knowing it.

Then, he returned to his room, finding the little leather songbook he was constantly scribbling in. Turning to the last page, he wrote a note to the witcher, telling him everything, and placed it on the pillow of the bed he would not sleep in.

Finally, he stole from the manor house. As soon as he passed into the yard, he began to run, marveling briefly at how light he felt now on feet that had once been so awkward and clumsy, flying down to the rocky shore. There, resting in the sand as if it was waiting for him, was a little wooden rowboat. His eyes crinkled with laughter even as tears spilled from them.

He sat down and started to row until he reached a spot in the sea that was clear and deep.

Trembling, Jaskier turned to look back at the house by the shore, now a distant speck of light. Somewhere in that little point, the man he loved, the man he had given his heart to without ever meaning to, slept, wrapped around a woman far more beautiful than even a mer-prince could ever be.

He stood in his little wooden rowboat and waved to them, blowing a kiss to their happiness.

And as the sun peaked over the horizon behind him, Jaskier dove into the water, body dissolving into foam on the wave-caps which glittered in the first rays of morning, the color of his love’s hair.

[grouptalekindnesssoul]

The Dragon Guarded Weapon

Warnings: Contains darker themes

This is also a first draft! So, any feedback is appreciated. It’s also very rough. 

As if spawning into a game, a young woman appeared in the center of the street. She then shook her short hair out of her blue eyes before slipping through the crowd with practiced ease, headed for a weaponsmith’s. She nodded to two other girls of about the same age as she passed. The black dyed hair bobbed as one slung a bow over her shoulder. The second had no obvious weapons, but a satchel was hanging across her body. 

“You must be the adventurer newbie. Look around, find something to your liking. I’m guessing something lightweight?” The towering, honey-toned smith asked, his voice like boulders crashing together. I shook my head and looked around, hovering over a wicked set of knives before pointing to a hammer.

“That looks to be my style” He looked at me funny but handed it to me. I tested it out by swiping it through the air. I rested it on the ground as I strapped on the sheath, standing just taller than me. 

“It suits you. Where are you off to now?” He asked as I paid. “Guards building. I’m fighting the head so we can take missions. My teammates agreed to a one on one, with me as the representative.” I smiled maliciously. He chuckled softly. 

“Don’t be too inhuman with that. I’d hate for her to come to me in a fury and demand I change your weapon” I waved as I left, smiling proudly. As I walked towards the door, Rebecca and Maddie joined me, arriving just as they were starting to look for us. I brushed past them and emerged into the courtyard training area where Captain Valerie was waiting. 

“Ready?” She asked. At my nod, she raised her shield and started circling me. She tried to jab at me with a solid sword, but I hooked my hammer to the edge of her shield. Pulling it back, I tapped her chest lightly before she could get in a counterstrike. 

  “I believe that is a win for me,” I said with a bow. She scowled at me but yielded. 

“Meet me at noon tomorrow for your first assignment”. I followed my teammates out of the courtyard. We retired to the large house on the edge of the residential section that we all shared. They both had rooms on the first floor; the ground floor was the kitchen, living room and dining room; my room was the attic. The second floor was empty at the moment. We all enjoyed dinner together before retiring. Early the next morning, I slipped out to get to the weaponsmith’s just as they opened. 

“Well, what can I do for you, little badass?” The Smith chuckled, using his height advantage to tease me. 

“I was wondering if there was any way to protect the handle. I realized that it was vulnerable, but metal would make it hard to grip and my hold on it changes throughout a fight” I said as I unsheathed it.

“Plus this is a two-handed weapon which makes a shield useless.” He finished. I nodded, as he inspected it thoughtfully. I examined my hand as he processed my request. “The best advice is to try and move faster so they don’t get to destroy it, and carry some smaller weapons just in case” He handed me a few daggers and knives, which I paid for.

“Thank you. This helps Mr. Smith” I called as I left with a smile. He waved back

“Name’s Rhett! Better call me that or I’ll give you-” I wandered out of earshot and through town for a few hours, before returning home and changing into my travel clothes. My dark brown boots with shorts and a crop top. I swung a cloak over it all to complete the look and hide my hammer and satchel. I met Rebecca at the bottom of the stairs. Her brown hair was tied in a ponytail, fingers tapping as we waited. Maddie was applying makeup since she insisted that despite leaving the town, she must still look fashionable. I played with the strap of my satchel as the time crept closer to noon. Finally, she came downstairs in a skirt and tank top, her bag draped over one shoulder. She sashayed out the door and we were forced to follow. I fell behind slightly, aiming to not be associated with that type of chichi behavior. Rhett was headed back to his shop as we passed.

“Hello, Mr. Smith!” I called cheerfully

“Why, Little badass! I thought I told you to call me by my first name!” He chuckled as I passed.

“I know! My name’s Katie by the way. Kat, Delphine, and crazy girl all work though!” I joked. I could hear his rumbling chuckle as we continued walking. We bumped into Captain Valerie just a few moments after the noon bell chimed. 

“You’re almost late. Anyway, here’s your assignment. I almost gave it to another team but I suppose since you're here I’ll still give it to you.” I glared at Maddie before glancing it over.

“This is too hard. Let us warm up to our new status by giving us something easier” 

“Hm...here, this is easier,” She said with a sneer.

“Perfect,” I said, headed out of town. I passed the paper to Becca as Maddie blew a kiss at a passing guy.

“You realize she gave us a harder assignment?” Rebecca asked as she looked it over.

“Of course. I was gloating her into that. We can handle it though, so don’t worry.” I shrugged triumphantly. There was a picture of a goat bodied, snake-headed and scorpion tailed creature. The subtitle read: 

Herd the triple-venimeux. 

“Well. Goodbye Bailymena. Hello triple-venimeux!” I drawled. Becca rolled her eyes in my direction. Our archer was fiddling with her hair. “Maddie, we’re going to leave you behind at this rate. So stop worrying about your appearance and let’s find these beasts.” I prodded her arm. She huffed in my direction before speeding up to walk beside Becca. Snatches of their conversation drifted back towards me

“Always controlling everything isn’t she?” that was Maddie

“I’ve known her...A teensy bit but...heart’s in a good place” Becca’s response was harder for me to hear since I stopped. I knew I was bad but...that bad? I started walking again to catch up. I didn’t want them to realize I’d been listening and had been affected like that. Once I caught up I smiled before pushing them down. A stream of discolored liquid landed on a tree hissing. It missed our heads by mere seconds.

“WE FOUND THEM! KATIE, LEAD THEM” Becca pushed me towards the origin. I stumbled to my feet as Maddie drew her bow. I could see that the lead one was large and brown. Behind it, upwards of a few dozens others crouched. The brown lead bared its fangs at me. I ran. Beelining for an enclosure in the distance. I ducked as I heard a hiss from behind me. Narrowly missing losing my head to another venom stream. 

“My head could use a little help!” I called over my shoulder. Maddie was busy driving a smaller poison green necked one away from Becca. I threw one of my knives at its tail, causing it to whirl around and zero in on me with a vengeance. A sapphire blue diamond-patterned one lashed out with its tail while my back was turned. I rolled out of the way just as the point of its tail hit where my heart had been. I slashed at the tail, hurtling onto its back. I tried to direct it towards the cage. The one who’d attacked first raced towards it. He apparently sensed something I didn’t. I leaped off just as the one I was riding ran through and the gate closed. I lay panting laboriously as I calmed down.

“You ok?” A voice said somewhere above me. I looked into a grease-streaked feminine face. Their brown hair was wild, despite being trapped in a ponytail.

“Uh...Yea. I think? I had a few close calls there.” I said standing up, brushing off my pants. 

“I tossed food in there. They would’ve come running once they smelled it. I’m Ross, designer of this monstrosity of an enclosure. I live in Bailymena as a mechanic usually though.” They wiped off their hands on dirty cloth.

“Katie. I’m a new adventurer with Rebecca and Maddie over there.” I nodded at the two running figures. “We come from the same place on our first journey. You may have seen us around.” 

“I have. Ross seems to always have their hands fiddling with some sort of machine. I’m Ki, the blacksmith who rooms with this crazy girl.” A curly brown head popped up from behind an anvil. The shorter girl it belonged to offered me a hand to get me on my feet.

“Nice to meet you Ki, Ross. Thank you for saving my hide.” I said as I took it. Ki’s brown eyes twinkled as she looked into my face. Ross grumbled as they fiddled with a screwdriver, muttering something about how it wasn’t anything huge and I interrupted their flow. They then shook their head, as if leaving behind the thought.

“Glad you weren’t harmed,” They said energetically as if returning from a trance. Maddie flopped on the ground once she reached us. Becca glanced over the two. 

“Come on. We have a long way to go before nightfall. Thank you both for uh...helping?” Becca poked Maddie with one toe with a scowl.

“Oh. Uh..See ya, I guess. Good Luck!” Ki said, deflating slightly. I hugged her before grabbing Maddie’s leg. She offered me a sad smile as Becca stalked off with a huff. I mouthed an apology as I dragged our prone teammate after her. Ross waved, tucking a stray clump of hair behind an ear. They seemed to recede back into her quiet concentration as we left them in the dust. I dropped Maddie and stalked up to my hazel-eyed companion.

“Why? Why did you run off like that? Nightfall is soon and we could have stayed with them!” I hissed under my breath.

“And return to town with only one task completed?! We’d be ridiculed. But you don’t care because you’re the one who can do no wrong!” Becca’s voice shot up several octaves as she shouted back at me. I threw up my hands in exasperation. I glanced at the sky to see the horizon held only the slightest hint of orange. The rest was the deep blue of night. Maddie was stacking some kindling as we fought. I bent next to her and struck one of my knives against a branch to produce a spark. Becca sat down heavily on the opposite end of the fire. I tore into a granola bar before being startled by a noise. My teammates were unbothered or didn’t notice it. I glanced around reaching for one of my weapons. I caught a pair of green eyes watching us through the fog that was forming, before disappearing back into the woods. I moved closer to the fire uneasily. Becca and Maddie went to sleep within the next hour unawares. I stayed up for a while watching the dying embers before I finally drifted off. I woke up to a gag around my mouth and my arms tied soundly behind my back. I had also been disarmed much to my embarrassment. I tried to pull my bindings over anything sharp on the ground like a rock, but there was nothing. 

“Whatcha gonna do with her now? That Captain’s, Valerie? Was it? tip paid off. But why’d you grab only her Boss?” A hiccuping voice interrupted my search. Another, smoother and silkier man’s voice answered.

“The others are untouchable. Adventurers she said. This one will be sold as a slave, if she’s lucky” A sinister laugh sent a shiver down my whole body. A steel-tipped boot kicked my side, causing me to curl up and cough up some blood. The owner grabbed my arms and forced me to my feet brutally. I stared into steely amber eyes on a deep skinned man in an immaculate suit. His black hair was carefully arranged. 

“We have a long way to go. Truman, keep an eye on her.” He said turning on one heel. 

“Ricardo. Boss.” The man, Truman, stammered out

“I told you, Ricardo is not to be used by any other than my family or business partners! And I will NOT HAVE MY HIRED HELP QUESTIONING ME!” I stood there limp as Ricardo grabbed me and threw me towards a wagon in the distance. I felt a branch tear into my right leg. I made a vague distressed noise through my gag as I watched blood gush from the wound. “GET BACK! I WILL DEAL WITH THIS ONE MYSELF” was hurled after Truman’s fleeing figure as he ran past me. He sprinted up to the wagon in the distance. I was fumbling to put something over my wound with my limited range of movement. Ricardo ripped me to my feet. “Of course you go and get yourself hurt. Maybe I can hide it with a longer skirt..” He mused to himself. I tried to twist away from him, and he let me. I fell the moment I tried putting weight on my leg. He continued on about how that would be a problem as well as he pulled me up once more. I tried to shout through the awful thing still muting me. He drew a jeweled knife from his sleeve. I shrank back as he moved it closer to me. He scoffed and cut the gag in one neat stroke.

“No screaming girl.” He said haughtily 

“Katie. My name is Katie. And I’m afraid I can’t walk since you threw me onto a sharp branch” I made known with the slightest hint of sass. He chuckled as he hoisted me into the air, still keeping my wound away from his suit. 

“Don’t get used to this. I only am doing this to make sure there’s no more damage that will result in money loss” He said, silencing any hint of humor. I glared at him, which he didn’t notice. The fog had thickened to the point I feared I was leaving a trail of blood without noticing. A scream ripped through the air near us, with a response of a hoarse roaring. Ricardo stopped as Truman came bolting out of the woods directly in front of us. A scrawny golden large cat was close on his heels. It sniffed the air and stared at me hungrily. The only thing that stopped it from approaching was my growl and a horrible imitation of its roar by Ricardo. It sprinted after the poor henchman. The unfeeling man holding me dropped me right in its trail as screams echoed through the fog. He rolled me over a few times until all I could smell was the choking scent. I was still gagging as I was once again hoisted into the air. I bit back a scream as pain from my leg made my vision blur. I moaned as my vision faded in and out with every small jolt. I finally gave up and let myself pass out. 

When I woke up, I was bouncing in the wagon, tied next to women of various ages, but I appeared to be the youngest. A few still had gags, but most were only tied at the hands and feet. My feet were free and my leg was bandaged up. The woman directly next to me was a short, medium-toned middle-aged one. My other side was facing the opening to the wagon, which was currently sealed. The woman beside me moaned slightly as she shifted, revealing bruises between her two-piece outfit, on the side she’d been just laying on. 

“Are you ok?” I murmured to her. She looked at me with warm light green eyes. After a quick acknowledgment, she looked away again. I looked away too just as the wagon’s flap was opened. A man stood there. I could hear someone complaining that they had to change a girl’s dressings since it had already been a day. The man who had just let light in grabbed me as I realized I’d been out for at least a day. Most likely closer to a day and a half or more. 

“Here you go Jayce.” The man carrying me grunted as he handed me off to a weedy, extremely pale older man. With uncaring precision, he changed the bandages on my leg. Ricardo walked over as I mumbled 

“Food? I’m really hungry” Jayce glared at me. Ricardo however, stood me up and untied my hands, leading me back to the wagon, where a short distance away a fire burned beneath a pot. He handed me a bowl with soup and a spoon. I hobbled a short distance on my own to sit down. I smiled that I could support my weight at least enough. I pretended to eat until barely anyone was watching then flung my bowl into the fire where it caused a huge ruckus. I pushed myself to my feet and moved as quickly as I could to the wagon. Grabbing a discarded knife, I jumped into the wagon and began cutting women free. I started wailing as well, hoping someone was nearby and would recognize it. Other women took up the cry as I pushed them towards the woods, finishing freeing them all. I hobbled after them as two women appeared, just as the first of the group reached the woods. They stepped aside as the freed prisoners rushed away. The taller of the two watched with unblinking eyes as the last of them besides me disappeared. The shorter brushed her brown hair out of her face as she turned to return to whatever they were doing. The black-haired girl snickered as men called for her to help catch the fleeing women. She led the way back into the forest as my leg finally gave up under my weight and the stress I’d been putting on it.

[txst-psf]

Druidry and Irish Polytheism 101

Hi all!

I know this time of isolation and global crisis is wildly boring and stressful, so hopefully a few informative posts will help to keep you busy and distracted! Remember to practice tons of self care, and keep a regular cleaning schedule to stay healthy. I love you all!

- Wren

See below the read more break for Druidry 101!

DISCLAIMER: this is my own personal understanding and experience with Druidry (based on research, but still filtered through my perspective), so, like with all research you do, take this with a grain of salt! I consider myself an Irish Polytheist Reconstructionist as well, so this article will be based on Irish Druidry in particular.

First off, let’s explore what “reconstructionism” is. Reconstructionism is looking to history and finding (to the best of our ability) the practices ancient practitioners used and recreating the tradition as if it had evolved naturally with time. Not all Pagans/Druids/witches are reconstructionists, and that’s perfectly valid! If you know me or have heard any of my workshops before, you know how much I love research, and that’s partly because of the reconstructionist approach I take to my practice. I like to know why I do the things I do in the way that I do them, as well as the most “authentic” way to practice and honor my deities (for lack of a better word! Other approaches to Paganism and witchcraft are valid as well, it all depends on the practitioner. No two paths are the same, and that’s part of the beauty of Paganism and magic!).

That being said, the history of Druidry is complicated and muddy, due to the stark lack of primary sources. A lot of the information we have is filtered through a prejudiced Roman or Christian perspective, so we have to sift through the resources we do have very carefully to try to piece together the true history of Druidry and ancient Celtic practices. It’s also enough content to warrant several other posts... So let me know if you’d like to hear more about it and how Druids fit into ancient society (and if you just can’t wait, a good start is researching the four cycles of Irish mythology)!

For now, I’ll focus on what my favorite author (Morgan Daimler) considers to be “commonly held beliefs” in Irish Reconstructionist Polytheism, “...polytheism, animism, belief in honoring spirits and ancestors, immortality of the soul, and shared cosmology.”

Polytheism and Animism

Polytheism is the belief in more than one deity, or a pantheon of deities, and animism is the belief that everything has a soul/spirit. Irish Reconstructionist Pagans believe in and/or worship Irish deities, otherworldly spirits, land spirits, and ancestral spirits, often through offerings, stories, prayers, and song. There are several landmarks in Ireland (wells, rivers, trees, boulders, mounds, etc.) that ancient Irish folks held to be sacred spaces with their own spirit and personalities.

Belief in Honoring Spirits and Ancestors

There’s a loose hierarchy of spirits, depending on who you ask. First, there are land spirits, the physical, topographical features I was describing earlier. They’re thought to be fairly sedentary and tied to their respective feature, rarely traveling far away from it. They have their own personalities, which can be malicious, especially if associated with a place that’s perceived to be dangerous, and usually have myths about their danger.

Next, there are sovereign spirits. These are like land spirits, but with a larger area associated with them, from a field to cities to sometimes entire counties in Ireland. They’re perceived as guardians of the land spirits in their area, and can travel a bit farther from their spot, but rarely do. They’re said to occasionally take the form of a person or animal to communicate with folks that can see them, and can also communicate through visions or dreams.

Higher up the hierarchy are the Fae, or faeries, Good Neighbors, Fair Folk, Other Crowd, daoine sidhe, aos sidhe... etc. According to another of my favorite authors, O hOgain: “In Irish lore the Fair Folk live in the land, on the sea, and in the air, being associated with the mounds, stone circles, watery locations including the sea and bogs, caverns, and strange swirls of wind, as well as specific trees, especially lone hawthorn trees.” Working with the Good Neighbors is generally an important aspect of Druidry. Honoring them can be incredibly rewarding if you can get on their good side and strike up a safe deal with them. They’ll teach you magic and healing, enhance artistic performance, and bring good luck and blessing. It’s important to note that a relationship with the Good Neighbors should be based on respect and friendship, not what you want from them. I could write several posts about the Good Neighbors, but for now, I’ll leave it at this: be very careful, and very respectful when dealing with the Fae. Like with any practice, be sure to do your research before jumping into it.

Fourth, we have ancestors! Since this tradition generally believes in the immortality of the soul, it’s only natural that we’d honor our ancestors. They’re probably one of the easiest spirits to commune with, since they’re closer to us and have an established interest in us and our well-being. A lot of folks have ancestor shrines and celebrate holidays with their ancestors when they come back to visit. It’s also important to note that our ancestors don’t have to be blood relatives! Some folks prefer to count family friends or chosen family members who have passed on as their ancestors, or even mythic heroes.

Immortality of the Soul

Some myths mention reincarnation into animals, like Lebor na hUidre and Tochmarc Etain. This is debated, but some believe that the mortal dead can join the Good Neighbors. Other than that, I truly have no idea where souls go between lives. It’s fairly debated, and from my understanding, not well known. There are several possibilities: Tech Duinn (the house of Donn), Tír Tairngire (Land of Promise), Tír fo Thuinn (Land under the Wave), Mag Mell (Plane of Delight), and Tír na nÓg (Land of Youth), to name a few. Basically, we have no clue where we’re gonna end up, but we do know that we’ll keep on goin’!

Shared Cosmology

First off, what is cosmology? Basically, it’s the understanding of the universe, how and why it works, and how it'll end. We have something close to an end of the world story, which is the Morrigan’s second prophecy in the Cath Maige Tuired, but we don’t have much of a creation story, as far as I know. We do have hints that some folks have tried to fill in the holes for, like Lebor Gabala Erenn, where the world is divided into 5 (five being the number that implied a sacred whole) sections, each representing important qualities to the ancient Celts.

According to druidry.org, North was for battle and conflict, represented by fire, the sword, and the eagle. East was for prosperity, represented by earth, riches and bees, and the salmon. South was for creativity and intuition, represented by water, music and poetry, and the sow. West was for intellect and remembrance, represented by air, learning and teaching, and the stag. The center was thought to complete the ritual space, and was for “mastery and rulership.” It was usually represented by a stone and the Mare of Sovereignty.

The ancient Irish invented the wheel of the year, and believed in two seasons, the light half of the year (Summer) and the dark half of the year (Winter). Summer began with Bealtaine/Beltane (pronounced kind of like bee-YELL-ten-uh in Irish), and Winter began with Samhain (pronounced s-OW-ehn).

They also believed in a threefold world, represented by the triskele/triskelion, three spirals connected at the center. The three spirals represented the three realms (the sea, the land, and the sky), and the middle, where they all meet, represents the center or the sacred fire.

The sea, and some bodies of water, were believed to be connected/portals to the Otherworld, as the various otherworlds were generally thought of as islands across the sea. The land was the physical world, inhabited by our Kindreds - other people. The sky was the realm of the Gods, or Shining Ones, from which they watch over the world. Offerings were often made in sacred fires, as the belief was that the smoke would carry the offering to the Gods.

The three realms are also represented as energy centers in the body. We call them the cauldron of the mind, of the heart, and of the belly. The cauldron of the mind holds our wisdom, and is upside down at birth. It’s turned upwards through learning and spirituality. The cauldron of the heart holds our emotions and artistry, and is sideways at birth. It’s turned upwards through artistic mastery and emotional maturity. The cauldron of the belly holds our health, and is upright in a healthy person, sideways in a sick person, and turned upside down at death.

I’d like to reiterate that this is by no means a complete guide to Druidry! I’m not an authority on the subject either, just a gal who reads a lot. Regardless, I hope this helps someone in their path!

- Wren

Resources:

Irish Paganism: Reconstructing Irish Polytheism by Morgan Daimler

https://druidry.org/druid-way/other-paths/druidry-dharma/two-seasons-three-worlds-four-treasures-five-directions-pillars

https://www.adf.org/articles/cosmology/worlds-kindreds.html

Chris Godwin, Senior Druid for Hearthstone Grove, ADF

[ninjagohnkgemsau]

"AGAIN?!"

As the sun rose and morning began, its light flooding the yard with rosy reds, gems arose from their beds and were preparing themselves for today’s duties, when suddenly a loud shattering crash echoed through the ginormous halls of the school.

"WHAT?!”

That sound was what woke up Yellow Obsidian, who rushed out of his pajamas and into his uniform, dashed outside with his sword by his side, only to see his students toppled over each other, cracks webbed all over them.

“It’s only been five minutes since the sun rose and you’re already breaking apart! What happened?!” Yellow Obsidian demanded.

“Well, we were originally going to do some combat training, but Green Diamond forgot that we’re fragile compared to him, so here we are,” Onyx muttered, gesturing to a sheepish Green Diamond with his stump of an arm.

Yellow Obsidian muttered to himself about how he could have gotten more sleep had this not happened, but went ahead anyways to get the powder and resin from the infirmary. Green Diamond, still feeling guilty for breaking the others, moved to pick up everybody else’s shards, only to be stopped by Sapphire who had untangled himself from Fire Opal.

“If you’re going to handle us, at least remember to put on gloves this time!” Sapphire scolded him, pouting mostly because Green was reaching for his severed hand.

Green sighed, and instead headed inside the school to do as Sapphire asked, but not without replying back. “You also forgot to put yours on, so don’t put all the blame on me!”

A few minutes after Green Diamond came back with gloves and had placed almost everyone’s shards into spare bowls, Yellow Obsidian returned with the powder and resin, and gestured for the four of them to gather around him.

Which they did, although with shame evident on their faces.

While piecing them back together, a question came to be, so while he was gluing back on Fire Opal’s legs, he popped the question:

“Fire, have you seen your sister Blue Opal today? I haven’t seen her by the pond while getting the resin and powder.”

Fire Opal shrugged as best as he could, what with his left shoulder missing a huge chunk. “She told me that she was going to the ocean instead for her morning soak. I wouldn’t be surprised if she came back powderless this afternoon.”

This shocked Yellow. although he was quick to change into anger.

“... Has she forgotten what I said about her going under there by herself??”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As always, the ocean was a beauty to behold.

The morning sun’s generous beams shone gloriously as it illuminated the sandy terrain, decorated with corals and sea grass in such a way that made the ocean so much more lively than that small island she lived on with the others.

Blue Opal sighed happily as she watched little bubbles drift past. This wonderful little paradise’s loveliness was so wonderful, it almost made her forget that were it not for her and the wild jellyfish, it was also…

… Empty.

But still, she was happy, and in her mind came many fun activities to do in place of the usual patrol schedules the school so strictly abided to. Deciding that she had wandered off far enough, she plopped down on the sand, little clouds floating off as she made contact, and she sighed happily as she thought of watching the sky underwater.

“Ah, isn’t this the life? I’d probably be happy for the rest of my life if I decided to become an underwater hermit…” Blue Opal dreamily murmured to herself.

“That may not be as nice as you think it is.”

Hearing somebody else’s voice in such a (usually) empty place surprised her, and she sat up to see Obsidian standing over her with his arms crossed and an equally cross expression on his face. Feeling awkward, she did her best innocent smile, as if that would help.

“Oh, uh… Hey, Obsidian! What’re you doing here?”

At that, Obsidian’s face twisted into a terrifying grin, which was enough to squeeze a horrified yelp out of Opal as she tried to scramble away. Seeing such a normally elegant gem squawk and flap about made him laugh and drop the scary act.

“Don’t worry! If I was planning on anything malicious, I would have kidnapped you the first time we met.”

“That doesn’t really help, coming from a gem who randomly emerged from the ocean one day!!” Opal shot back, still feeling a little on edge from the scare.

Obsidian brushed away the spontaneous comment. “I’m only here because my brother told me you were missing, and knowing what little information I have of you, it was only safe to assume you’d be here of all places. How many times have we told you to not come here alone?”

Smiling gently, he reached out a hand towards Blue Opal. “Come on, let’s go back to the others. They’re waiting for you.”

Blue Opal pouted at his hand. She wanted to speak her mind, to refuse his offer and run off deeper into the ocean’s mysterious depths. But a small of her knew that it was pointless to argue with a gem who was clearly her elder by over two thousand years. And anyways, she’d probably shatter from the pressure if she went further.

So she took his offer, and trudged back to the beach where a panicking Yellow was waiting for her. As soon as he heard her wet footsteps, he broke out of the pacing mutter he had worked into and ran to Blue Opal.

“This has been the third. Time. This. Week!” He scolded as he came closer.

“I’m sorry, Yellow,” Opal tried, “but can’t I enjoy something so wonderful? Especially if it’s literally surrounding us! It’s pure torture thinking about something so tantalyzingly close! You’re going to kill me like this!”

“And what’s killing me right now is your brother and his friends in a half shattered pile!” Yellow shot back, pointing at the school.

She sighed. This early? “Whose fault is it this time? Fire, or Sapphire?”

He made a face that he rarely showed to anyone, which was when she knew something else was at hand.

“No, Green Diamond.”

“... Okay, well, that’s new.” Blue Opal said, mostly to herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A hike, a quick drying and powdering of herself, and another lecture later, she approached the newly reassembled Fire Opal and promptly splashed him with water she got from the pool.

“Hey! What was that for??” Fire exclaimed, soaked thoroughly with water that was washing off the powder he had just applied.

“Don’t think that I forgot you needed your usual soaking, so be glad that you’re not going to crack on me while we’re out on patrol,” Blue smirked back. “Because if you were planning on cracking in the middle of a sunspot attack, I’ll leave you for the Lunarians to capture.”

Hearing talk about patrol, Sapphire tossed a powdering brush back into its pot after touching up himself, and tugged Blue Opal by the wrist. “Hey, speaking of that, wanna come with me instead?”

Blue Opal raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you partnered up with Onyx already?”

“Well, yeah, but Onyx isn’t really someone I’d want to be stuck with, and I think we could both use some variety!”

She shook her head. “Nah, I think I’m better off babysitting Fire for today. Being with you two will probably give me a headache.”

“Hey!” Fire protested, wiping himself dry with a spare towel.

Sapphire pouted, but decided to give up when Fire shot him a glare. “Alright, fine. I had other plans today anyways.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Go ahead, Blue, I’m just going to go check on something,” Fire Opal said, stopping at the entrance of the school.

Blue Opal frowned, stopping in her tracks, “Are you really going to do it?”

“... Yeah.”

Blue sighed, but went on ahead anyways. “Fine, but you better not trip on a stone and crack on the way!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes as his sister ran off. As soon as she was gone, he headed for the armory a few turns ahead, where everyone else was waiting for him.

He could feel them watching him as he selected the best weapon, and took it off its rack. He then held it out.

“You know the drill, everyone. We’re going to need to keep a closer eye on Green if we’re going to keep Obsidian from going psycho on us.”

Everyone grumbled, but they all knew that this was important. They all knew what Obsidian had said about a fight coming, and they all knew how attached he was to Green Diamond. If anything were to happen to him, Obsidian would become even more unhinged than he was before his arrival, and nobody wanted an up-close example of it.

Just as the silence was becoming uncomfortable, Green Diamond stepped forward and reached for the sheathed sword. “I should take it.”

“And what good will that do?” Fire Opal said, “You’re the youngest of us all.”

Green gave him a firm stare, one of such determination that he couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“I know I am, but if you’d just give me a chance, I might be able to protect myself.”

“Might,” he stressed.

“But I’m tired of being protected by everyone without the chance to do something myself. I don’t want to be in the background anymore. I want to help.”

“... Fine,” Fire sighed, pressing the sword into Green Diamond’s hands, “But you better be careful.”

Green Diamond nodded, his hands firmly gripping the sheathed weapon.

With that settled, they all headed for the Cape of Void, nabbing Blue Opal on the way who was sitting on a boulder, waiting for them.

Standing on the cliff was Yellow Obsidian, his sword firmly planted onto the ground. His hair and clothes fluttered dramatically as they approached him.

He opened his mouth to greet them, only to be pierced by a Lunarian arrow.

They all could only watch in shock as he fell to the ground, the arrow still lodged in his chest.

“Guys, look up!” Onyx yelled, whipping out his sword like he had done so many times before, and they all readied themselves as a sunspot spread its inky tendrils through the sky.

Ten spokes. A powerful Lunarian barrage was about to rain down on them.

“Obsidian was right,” Fire Opal said, “This is going to be a big fight.”

[pixiescribbles]

Anon, your request is finished! Like I said earlier, I haven’t started the new season yet, so I hope I did a good job! Here comes 

It was all for you.

Natsu stood there, panting. He knew the battle against Zeref would be exhausting, but he underestimated him greatly. He continued to attempt landing some punches on his opponent but he skillfully kept on dodging them. Natsu was growing tired, he needed some fire to get some fighting strength back. He needed to make an end to Zeref existence who has been a thorn in their sides for far too long.

“I should’ve ended you back on Tenrou Island, when you defiled our guilds holy ground.” Natsu spat Zeref’s way while activating his Curse Power.

“Ah but dear brother, you weren’t capable of such things back then. You’re barely capable now.” Zeref countered with a devilish smile. He was trying to taunt Natsu, and it was working. Natsu rushed forward with a blink of an eye and punched him with such force, he was sent flying into the boulder behind him.

“Who are you calling ‘barely capable’ now, huh?” Zeref just laughed as he wiped away a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth, placing himself in a battle stance and dashing forward to strike Natsu. He was fast, but so was Natsu now. The two of them continued landing punches on each other, sending each other flying into the boulders around them.

Lucy, Gray and Happy felt the shock waves and heard the colliding sounds from afar.

“That has to be where Natsu is!” Lucy yelled at the others whilst running towards the battlefield. The three of them swiftly neared where Natsu was battling Zeref, until Gray made them pause.

“Lucy, what is that on your arm?!” Lucy looked at her arm and saw a black mark starting to appear and grow into the markings that looked exactly like the marks Natsu has in his demon state.

“Gray.. This looks like..” Lucy stammered distressed.

“…The marks Natsu has.” Gray finished the sentence for her. “This isn’t good. We need to get to Natsu, and fast.” They continued running until they reached Natsu. Lucy’s breath staggered as she saw Natsu. She was glad he was still alive, but even though she could’ve expected him to be in his demon form, it still shocked her to see him that way. Maybe the reason she was wearing the marks was because Natsu was in this form?

“Natsuuu!” Happy cried out, hoping that he could hear his plea. Everyone wanted Zeref destroyed but what would it cost? “Natsu…” Happy lowered himself so Lucy could hold him. Natsu was too engaged with the fight to notice the others.  Zeref, however, did notice them. He also noticed the markings on Lucy’s arm.

“So she’s the one you’ve been trying to protect all this time. I’m surprised the curse actually spread to the person you care for the deepest. I didn’t expect that to happen honestly.” Zeref said casually while inspecting the growing markings from afar. The statement made Natsu realize that they weren’t alone anymore. He turned back and saw Gray, Happy and… There was a sharp inhale as he saw Lucy, the one he had been trying to protect from Zeref. Although they fought alongside each other, he was always fighting to protect her, and he failed. He failed miserably this time.

“What did you do to Lucy?” Natsu’s voice was like a low growl in the back of his thought. There was no way that he was going to let Lucy get caught up in their fight. “Get those of her right now!” Natsu knew there was only one way to get those marks of off Lucy, and that was by destroying his book. The book Mard Geer tried to protect and defend with his life. The book that would end his own life if destroyed. Natsu hurried over to Gray.

“Gray, The book!”

“You stupid flamebrain! You’re gonna do exactly what I think you are, aren’t you?”

“It’s the only way to save Lucy…” The pain was clearly visible in his voice, and Gray had to swallow hard. “Please keep an eye on her and Happy after this is done. They’ll need a friend. Throw the book on my mark.”  With that, he turned back to Zeref, determination painted on his face.

“I will make an end to this.” Natsu growled at Zeref as he sprinted to attack him. “Fire Dragon’s Iron Fist!” His flamed hand connected with Zeref’s abdomen as Natsu leaned in close, “This is for involving Lucy.” Whispering maliciously in his ear. Zeref recuperated quickly and kicked Natsu away from him. Natsu saw a familiar stance, he was going to use his Bullet Magic. This was his chance.

“Gray, now!” His yell echoed though the space as Gray threw the book in the air. Zeref fired his Bullet Magic, and just like Natsu hoped for, it was the Piecing Bullet.

“Dragon Slayer’s Secret Art, Crimson Lotus, Exploding Flame Blade!” He yelled out as he deflected the bullet meant for him, to the book Gray had thrown, the flames powerful enough to knock Zeref unconscious. Natsu saw the book being pierced, and disappearing. That is when Lucy realized what was going to happen.  Natsu turned back into his usual self, before falling into Lucy’s arms who was running towards them.

“Natsu, you fool! Why did you do that!” Lucy sobbed.

“It’s alright Luce, the marks are gone now. You get to live.” He tried to reassure her, caressing her cheek wiping away her tears. “Luce, don’t cry. I did this all for you. Everything I did, from the moment we met, was for you. You deserve to live.”

“Natsu, no. You can’t leave me again. I don’t know what to do without you.” Lucy’s words were barely coherent as she held him tight to him, hoping this would stop him from disappearing. Erza and the others caught up to Gray and paused when they saw Lucy kneeling on the ground, holding Natsu tight to her. That’s when they saw his feet slowly crumbling to dust, taken away with the wind.

“Luce,” Natsu unwrapped his scarf from his neck, and wrapped it around hers. “I want you to keep this, so you’ll remember me.” He noticed he was turning to dust pretty fast.

“Luce, look at me! I love you. I love you so much. Take care of Happy. And remember, no matter where you are. I will be there, watching over you” With these last words, he pressed a kiss to her forehead as his last remains were taken away with the wind.

“NATSU!” Lucy screamed painfully as she sat there shaking while clutching his scarf, tears streaming down her face. Happy went up to her and hugged her while tears went down his blue fur. Gray wanted to comfort her somehow, but he was trying so hard to hold himself together, he was afraid his voice would break the moment he started speaking. Erza and Mirajane were clutching on to each other while Levy en Juvia buried their faces in Gajeel and Gray’s chest. Wendy was down on her knees hugging Carla close to her. They had never felt such a pain of loss before. Lucy, who had lost people close to her before, felt like her heart was ripped out of her. So this is what heartbreak feels like.

Mavis suddenly appeared in front of them. Calling out to Zeref to end their curse. As if awoken out of a dream, he stood up and walked over to the blonde haired girl whom he has known for decades now.

“You hurt my guild. You made them cry.” She scolded him. “You killed your own brother. Is this what you wished for to happen? Didn’t you want to see him happy, and live a happy life surrounded with people he loves and love him?” She looked sternly at him, but her face quickly softened up. Looking him lovingly in his eyes. “Ankhseram can’t curse us twice can it?” Zeref looked at her with surprise in his eyes and knew exactly what she was implying.

They stood there facing each other, holding on to each other’s hands, chanting in ancient Potamelian. Levy looked up from her spot in Gajeel’s chest as she saw the two chanting a familiar language, a magic circle appearing around them, followed with another above them. There was a brilliant white light which was almost blinding that radiated off of the two mages. Lucy and Happy who were kneeling so close to the two mages paused their breaths as a little magic circle started to form exactly where Natsu lay moments before. The circle expanded its area and was now underneath both Happy and Lucy, reaching beyond where they were sitting as something began to materialize before their eyes.

“Wha-. What is happening?!” Lucy asked as she felt some weight press on her folded knees. She had to blink and rub her eyes from the remaining tears a couple of times to believe what she was seeing. In front of her she saw the silhouette of the man who just bid her farewell, and told her to continue living. She looked over at as smiling First Master, who cheekily gave her a wink.

“Our time here is done. Continue living, Lucy Heartfilia, Natsu Dragneel and Children of Fairy Tail.” With that said, both Mavis and Zeref disappeared from their sight. Leaving a perfectly healthy Natsu laying on Lucy’s legs.

“Natsu?” Lucy urged gently, touching his hair to make sure it was real.

“Lucy?” Natsu’s eyes flew open at her touch. “Why, what, how?!” He shot up from his place on her legs and started to inspect her arms, and then looked around for the book.

“It’s gone Natsu, it’s over. Mavis and Zeref sacrificed themselves to revive you. It’s over.” Lucy said while she flew into his arms, holding him against her. “Don’t ever do that to me again.” Natsu wrapped his arms around her while patting Happy on his head.

Before he knew it, everyone present gathered around and joined the hug. Crying tears of joy on Natsu’s return.

I hope you enjoyed this anon! 

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

Not As Advertised

Growing up in the early aughts, commercials were the primary way of discovering one’s inspiration for their next christmas wishlist. In between Nickelodeon episodes, my childhood self was bombarded with bright clips of other children, playing and laughing with the next new Bionicle or overly complicated Hot Wheels track. Just like Molly Moon, I lived vicariously through those commercials. I thought about how grand life would be if I were to have the things those unnaturally smiling eight year olds had. Though rarely did I ever dwell on their joyous purchases past the commercials end.

Until I did.

About a month or so ago, I watched Barbie: Fairytopia and Barbie: Mermaidia with a friend because we are grown-ass adults and that’s what we are allowed to spend our time doing. I can’t remember if I ever saw those movies as a child or if I saw the commercials for the dolls from them so many damn times that I grasped the concepts of the films well enough. Either way, when I saw Barbie as her faery self with her giant pink wings flying through the air in the hands of a child that wasn’t me, I was awed. I was a fantasy fiend. Faeries were one of my favorite beings and it was rare to see a doll with such fantastical features. But that wasn’t all. The girl on the screen expertly folded the wings down and slipped a plastic tube, detailed with the shapes of scales, over the folded wings that stuck out the bottom of it to make a mermaid tail and fin. The NASA level science and godly engineering that allowed a doll to go from a faery to a mermaid in the span of seconds was enchanting! There had been nothing like that before, as far as my seven year old brain knew, and I NEEDED IT.

The next time that commercial came on, I bolted to find my mother and herd her over to the chunky TV set to show her the witchcraft I had witnessed probably a few hours before. I’m telling you, they played these commercials religiously. She watched as the little girl transformed the doll into a fishlike-goddess and swam by her side in some impeccably fancy ocean that was perfectly clear underwater with no waves messing with the sand and plant life and sullying the photogenic moment below the surface.

It was the most important aspect about this doll. She was shown going under water. Never had I ever seen such advanced technology in the form of a child’s toy. The majority of my upbringing I was told that I couldn’t submerge my Bratz, Barbies, and Polly Pockets in water for it would get stuck in the hollow part of their head and grow mouldy. I condemned the Polly Pockets to an early grave by having them keep me entertained in the bathtub, they also had the smallest space to let water into their plastic skulls given their tiny forms and it was a gamble I was willing to make. So.. with that in my small child mind, I wondered what sort of Einstein level brain power went into protecting the neck-head of the doll from its future watery demise. Clearly it was a valid inquisition because even my mother, a fully grown human with a big adult mind, was taken aback by how awesome this faery-mermaid-hybrid was.

So she decided to go halfsies. She would pay for half of it with her magical, infinitely funded money card and I would pay for it with my wad of dollar bills that would be the result of my labor around the house. The strength it took for me to sweep the kitchen, clean up my room, use that miniature, battery powered vacuum to suck up the dirt from the carpeted stairs, would all go into the portion I was prepared to sacrifice to claim that doll. Nothing would stop me from going to the store and bringing her back home with me to go on a lifelong journey. The images of me running around the grassy space around our townhouse or splashing around in the creek just down a slight hill from our back porch gave me the sweet distraction I needed to power me through tidying up my own messes.

When the day came to claim my prize, the world looked sunnier, brighter, cheerier. I strolled through the pristine aisles of Toys R Us until I spotted her. Multitudinous copies of her. Gracing their portion of the shelf even through the plastic film of their boxes. I trembled with anticipation, and also most likely cold because the air conditioning in those places is ridiculous during the summertime. I staked my claim on the doll in front, presumably because I was unable to reach past that due to my hobbit-heighted stature, only temporarily relieving my grasp to allow the cashier to ring my boxed pride through. I handed over my half of the twenty five dollars that this new addition to my life cost and went on my merry way.

It felt like christmas coming home, as I waltzed through the door. I was about to savagely save my doll from her suffocating coffin with kitchen scissors so that the two of us could frolic in the creek together. The image of that was so clear in my mind. I would take her down to the shores of my creek where honeysuckle bushes grew and let her roam free in the natural world where she belonged. I told my mother as such, practically vibrating with energy, when something on the box caught her eye.

Warning: do not immerse in water.

I had already been severely betrayed by adults and children alike even at the young age I was. But this.. this wasn’t the doings of bad neighbours or friends. This was lies on a national scale! This was manipulation from faceless villains hiding behind the grandeur of joy and wonder. This was Matrix level malarkey shielding the truth behind glorious false images right up until it was too late to go back. I had been hoodwinked, deluded, gypped, bamboozled. So much so that I just had to look into a thesaurus to find the previous words after “hoodwinked” that would accurately describe what I felt over a decade ago because there wasn’t enough in my own arsenal of vocabulary that would suffice.

I thought embedding deceiving fruit in the stead of chocolate chips to spice up a cookie was malicious but not nearly enough as that moment there, when my mental world that I built for me and this doll, the adventures we would have, the memories I would make, came crashing down. Nay, belay that. Sank, like the doll was unable to do. Sank to the bottom of the sea like the Titanic where they lay in a broken ruin in the depths of my despair.

Though I never returned her to the cold, artificial palace from whence she came, I saw her as a betrayal in the ranks of my toy-hoard. It was like that for many moons, I looked at her with the same sort of distaste that Catelyn Stark had when she looked at her bastard son Jon Snow. It took time to heal, to move forth, to bring this innocent product of materialistic commercialism properly into the plastic family she dwelled beside. She eventually became a mother of two or three Bratz and found her place in the large dollhouse that stood proud in the basement playroom amongst the twenty or so roommates that lived there as well. And so, the story ends happily, just as it began, despite some turbulence in the middle.

I still have mcfricken trust issues though. Still gullible as hell. But now I’m gullible with questions. Gullible with the fear of being punked. All thanks to the invisible fiends behind the screen of that boulder of a TV laughing maniacally as they blatantly lie to another naive child.

I grew a little older that day. And wiser. And the story was passed on from my mother in ballet class, year after year, class after class when she warned us of the dangers of false advertising. When you lift your leg, in the balletic way that you do, you don’t go part way and give up, nay, you put that leg up to you head and hold it there so the audience doesn’t feel the same sense of disappointment as I did that tragic day when they think you’ll be more impressive than you are because you tricked them at the beginning.

Aye, that story has travelled from generation to generation, informing the young, medium, and old, for I refused to stay silent, lest someone else gets swindled because of false truths. And now I tell it to you, dear reader, this cautionary tale that perchance will guide you to guide any offspring you might have that will then guide their own possible offspring to always look at the packaging, read it, understand it, before you take the thing home. Should you fail to heed this advice and pass it onward, mayhaps I’ll see you at my till at some random drug store down the road when you ask to return something you thought was something else. Just make sure you have your receipt.