#it also mean their talons don’t hurt Nearly as much if one were to land on you

[crepusculum-rattus]

thinking abt 3rd life grian…. he would make a good harris hawk i think

[votederpycausemufins]

i can’t stop writing!

@petrichormeraki

“Fundy? Are you in here?” Iskall called out. Rendog landed next to the redstoner, weapon drawn as a precaution. 

Fundy did speak, but not as a response to Iskall. “No! Tubbo don’t!” From nearby, Tubbo jumped at the other pair in a panic to defend himself. Ren blocked the attack and disarmed Tubbo quickly as he wasn’t fully prepared for a battle. “Tubbo, they’re on our side!”

“They are?” Tubbo asked, refusing to look away from Iskall and Ren.

“Yeah.” Iskall spoke up, making sure to hold his hands up and hold no weapon. “I’m friends with Fundy. I’ve helped him in the past with his redstone.”

Tubbo hazarded a glance towards Fundy who gave a reassuring nod and Tubbo relaxed just a little bit. “Tommy’s told us about you. Said you’re best friends?”

Tubbo looked back to Iskall. “He said that? But I exiled him! I didn’t even visit him when I could have.”

“Tommy doesn’t blame you for that.” Ren spoke up, making Tubbo jump a little at the new voice. “Maybe he did when he first got here, but he gets that it was more Dream’s fault then yours. You should see his place.”

“Oh yeah!” Iskall said, lighting up a little. “He’s not far from here. Tommy set up his tower between Grian and Ren in the mesa. Refused to let any of us help. He grew up so fast.”

“Then can we go over there? I want to see Tommy and talk with him!” Tubbo was nearly bouncing around at the thought of seeing his friend again.

“Well, we can go over there, but Tommy’s probably in the middle of the fight.” Ren responded. “Though I’m sure he’d want to keep you safe.”

“And I’d rather not get Fundy mixed up in everything if he doesn’t have to be.” Iskall added. Though Fundy seemed to disagree.

“If Tommy is out there fighting, we want to help. He’s our friend.”

Iskall and Ren looked at each other, having a silent conversation with expressions before Ren sighed. “Alright, fine. We’ll take you back to the shopping district and-”

There was a large crack of thunder and Tubbo was left trembling. Ren and Fundy covered their ears from the sudden noise while Iskall looked for the source. When he saw the cloudy sky above with a purple glow in the distance, he knew what was going on, having seen the same scene once before. “Oh no… Grian…”

Rendog’s ears were ringing a little too much for him to hear Iskall, so he yelled a ‘what?’ before seeing the sky as well. “That’s… not good.”

Fundy recovered enough to comfort Tubbo and then turned to Iskall. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Change of plans. We’re staying here. Everyone else is in the shopping district, so if things go wrong…” Iskall trailed off.

“Then we’re the recovery team.” Ren finished the thought.

Tubbo, who was still rattled by the sound, still managed to push himself mostly past it. “Wh-what do you mean? Is T-Tommy going to be okay?”

Iskall, who had the most experience with Grian’s trouble with being a Watcher, seemed hesitant about his answer, but did give it. “Well, I think Tommy might actually be the safest one out there, though it’s still dangerous.”

“Then we need to go help!” Tubbo said, giving no chance for anyone to stop him as he ran out of the tree. Fundy quickly followed, and Ren and Iskall after him after they unfroze from their surprise. 

“Ren, Fundy, how about you two stay behind. We should have at least someone as an emergency team. I don’t want Tubbo going alone and I doubt we can do anything to stop him. I’m also not letting him head out there alone and I’m the one who knows the most about this.”

Ren Tried to argue, but Iskall shut him down. “Right, Fundy, let’s stay back.” The fox looked sadly at Ren, but relented and stayed back with him. Iskall started getting his wings ready to fly, but saw Tubbo had none of his own, so instead they headed to the nether portal.

Hermits surrounded the crater, weapons drawn. They created a wall of armor that protected their previous enemy. Mumbo took a risk and slid down to try and pull Technoblade away, but the piglin warrior refused to budge. With that out the window and no easy way out, Mumbo tried to reason with his friend. “Grian, calm down, you saved Tommy. You don’t need to be a Watcher right now.” Murmuring came from the opposing army. A few of them had heard of Watchers but never seen one. 

Grian cocked his head to one side, staring Mumbo down with all but one of his eyes, the last one continuing to watch Techno. Mumbo tried once more to move Techno, but he stood firm, causing Mumbo’s foot to slip. The sudden movement and noise made Grian’s feathers ruffle and Mumbo froze completely. Grian then moved his hand toward Tommy and Techno jumped to attack with a new weapon, only for it to shatter as well. The Watcher started to stand up only for the Hermits at his back to first arrows at him. He screeched in pain, focusing on his attackers and turning away from Techno and Mumbo.

Techno moved first, getting to Tommy’s side and starting to pull him away. Being so close Grian immediately noticed and attempted to attack, but Mumbo moved in front of the warrior and put his shield up, deflecting the attack. The expression on Grian’s face almost looked hurt as Techno escaped with Tommy and climbed up out of the crater with one hand.

Tommy started to wake up just as Techno reached Phil. The former king took his son from Techno’s arms and held him close. Dream smiled down at Tommy, glad to have his pawn return to the board. As a Watcher, Grian saw it all. He flapped his wings, using his Watcher magic to strengthen the effects and create a windstorm around him and everyone nearby. 

Scar and Cub were blown away by the wind as they still sported their vex wings which caught the wind easily. Philza also had to be held down for the same reason. As the wind whipped around, Grian flew into the air and launched himself at Philza and began to parrot Techno once more.

“How dare you defile the Blood God!” Techno yelled, ready to defend his family. But Grian didn’t stop, landing next to them. He looked at his father and brothers, noting one was missing.

“Someone’s missing” The Watcher hissed out. “And we saw he isn’t dead anymore. Your admin revived him.”

Tommy stared up at what Grian had become. The six purple eyes were now accompanied by a mouth full of pointed teeth and his hair has seemed to have turned into feathers. He was also taller and his feet were changed into talons. Tommy wasn’t sure how much was just how Watchers looked and how much was an emphasization of Grian’s avian self, but no matter what, Grian’s current state was terrifying.

Tommy tried to escape his dad’s arms, but Phil refused to let him go. Dream moved to stand between Tommy and Grian which made him even more upset about being unable to move. “How about we leave while we still can. We rescued Tommy. Let these Hermits deal with their own problems.”

Phil nodded and was starting to move before Tommy writhed in his arms. “No! I don’t want to go back! I need to help Grian!”

“Tommy, they just kept you trapped here and wouldn’t let you see your friends and family. Tubbo lifted your exile and I did everything to find a way to give you a path home. Don’t you remember all the time I spent with you? Think of this as paying me back for-”

“You’re not my friend Dream.” Tommy cut his former admin off, finally escaping Philza’s arms. “You never were. And if you were, I wouldn’t need to pay you back for just being with me. And you!” Tommy looked at his brother. “I kept trying to trust you, tried to get my brother back, but you won’t stop listening to the voices. And dad…” Tommy looked at Philza, but couldn’t get the words out. “I… I... “

Philza was knocked down and pinned under Grian’s foot. “No more Empire for you. Ice and snow don’t really fit with birds anyway, now do they.”

Philza grabbed the foot on his chest and tried to push it off him, but instead the talons just dug deeper into his chest. “Leave my son alone!” He gritted out, just making Grian laugh.

“Leave him alone? Like what you did? Abandoned him out in the middle of nowhere? I guess Techno really was the favorite. Or will you lose him as well?”

Philza managed to pull out his sword and slash it against Grian. It didn’t break, but the durability fell a dangerous amount. Angrily, Grian pushed his foot down harder on Philza, making the man wheeze. When others tried to step forward to help, corrupted parrot wings pushed them away.

“You abandoned one son, let another die, and lost the third to time.” Grian taunted and Philza’s face went white.

“Thi- y-you know what happened to-?”

“The Watchers had plenty of fun with him.” Grian answered, not directly answering that he was the third child and not giving up that he was still alive.

Techno’s eyes blazed with fury and attacked Grian. “You took him?!”

Grian just laughed and dodged the attacks. Tommy realized the avian was just toying with him. It reminded him of what Dream did. In a panic, Tommy put down his shulker box. A number of SMP members looked at it greedily, even amongst the current chaos. Tommy opened it up and pulled out two things, a jukebox, and a music disc. Tommy didn’t know if it would work, but he hoped that based on how Grian was acting, there were enough parrot instincts in there that he would listen.

He placed down the jukebox and inserted the disc, remembering it was one of Grian’s favorites. Erupting out of the speakers of the jukebox game was a laugh of a certain hermit which immediately pulled the Watcher’s attention. The jukebox then proceeded to play one of the songs for Mumbo’s mayoral campaign, and Grian stopped what he was doing and started dancing to the song.

Immediately Hermits raced towards Grian, pulling leads out and tying him up. He almost escaped when the song ended, but Tommy quickly put in the second of the two songs. After switching between the two a few times, the Hermits were able to completely tie Grian up.

Tommy put his jukebox and discs away and then picked up his shulker box before trying to go to Grian, but was grabbed by Philza. “Tommy, stay away from him.”

Tommy tried to argue, but then there was another shout. “TOMMY!”

Tommy turned, looking for the shout. “Tubbo?” Before he could notice his best friend in the crowd, Tubbo tackled him. There was an angry noise from Grian and he attempted escape, but stopped when laughter rang out from the reunited pair. “Tubbo I missed you so much!”

“Are you okay? Fundy took us to a friend of his here and then there was an explosion. They said you would be in the middle of it.”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Tommy gave a small laugh. “No way Big G would hurt me.”

“Big G? Did you replace me?” Tubbo looked genuinely hurt until Tommy hugged him.

“I would never. You’re my best friend and nothing will change that.”

“That’s wonderful!” Tommy froze as Dream spoke, fully remembering the situation he was in. “Now that everything is sorted, we can go back home.”

“Not a chance, green bitch.” Tommy half growled at his old tormenter. “I’m staying here.” He almost pulled out his weapon, ready to attack when he noticed something else. “Tubbo, do you have seeds?”

“Uh, yeah, Fundy and I went through a jungle and it was a pain to get through all the foliage. Why?” Tommy held his hand out and Tubbo handed him the seeds.

“Hey G! Look what I got!” Tommy shouted and then held up the seeds. Since the music worked, he assumed this would as well. He was right when Grian’s eyes landed on the treat and seemed to light up. Nearby, Philza wiped away just a little bit of drool and shook his head, still recovering from nearly being crushed to death.

“Well would you look at that Dream, I can control the Watcher. And not just any Watcher, right?” Tommy gave a smug smile, having heard the play by play of Grian becoming the Dreamslayer many a time.

A few of those from the smp gasped as Dream actually dropped his weapon and surrendered. It was something no one thought would happen, especially at Tommy’s hand. Tommy put the seeds away and behind him Iskall and Mumbo started to work on calming Grian down. 

After he started down Dream a bit longer, Tommy grabbed Tubbo’s hand and pulled him over to Grian. “Big T, meet Big G. He doesn’t normally look like this though, but he does look pretty pog right now.” Tubbo asked if Grian really hadn’t hurt Tommy. “Of course, he’s too much of a charrot and is super protective of me.”

With Tommy’s back turned, Dream tried one last time to grab him. The second he started to move, all the leads snapped and Grian moved to the same point. He brought down an axe and hit Dream in the face, shattering the mask he wore. “I don’t think I got any blood yet.” Grian smiled. Tommy was scared for a moment of losing his brother more, but actually noticed him returning back to normal. “Blood for the Blood God and all that.”

The changes stopped for a moment as purple energy swirled around Dream. He covered his face, expecting to be slain, but no death arrived. The energy dissipated and then Grian finally turned back to normal and collapsed to the ground laughing weakly. “I’m… so glad I kept tabs on you guys.”

Tommy tried to hug Grian but he was beaten by Mumbo getting their first. “Okay! Fine! I get it! Best friends over family.” Tommy joked and then hugged Tubbo. “I can do that too.”

Philza and Techno attempted to approach Tommy, but Grian opened a wing and then pulled Tommy and Tubbo to his side. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Dad, I just explained this to Tubbo. He’s not gonna hurt me.” Tommy complained with a bit of a whine.

Philza wasn’t convinced. “Tommy, I heard what he said. He’s a Watcher, and they killed your brother.”

“He got better!” Tommy retorted immediately, not really thinking the response out. Grian doubled over laughing at it.

“It’s not some joke!” Phil said sternly, making Tommy freeze. Grian stopped hugging Mumbo and stepping in front of Tommy. He was unsteady on his feet and feeling exhausted, but nevertheless, he stood there.

“Xelqua lives.” Grian spoke, making Phil’s eyes widen. “Only thing the Watchers did was mess with him. Then they gave him an offer to join them. Oh, he also changed his name to Grian.”

Philza looked Grian up and down, trying to see if he was lying. And then the words actually registered in his brain. “Xelqua?”

“Hey dad.”

[soultek]

Love Bites (And So Do I) - SkekSo/Reader/Skektek (Dark Crystal: AoR)

Author’s Note:  Alright, like a whole year later let me post the fic that I made this whole damn blog for!!! And then didn’t finish until now-!

I mean I wasn’t gonna post it but then... I... This blog is literally called So(ul)Tek. These two are... why it’s called that. 

Anyway, happy to provide this fandom with some content (sorry it’s so late!) that’s for sure! 😊😊

Disclaimer: Age of Resistance/The Dark Crystal and all associated characters nothing to do with me / title taken from song of the same name by Halestorm / obvious female reader.

Premise: The arrival of a creature such as you to Thra attracts the attention of more than one Skeksis. The Emperor is quick to claim you as his, and will mark you as such. He can fulfill your every desire, but he does not own your heart. When you need love, to feel like someone in this strange land actually cares for you, you go to The Scientist.

Words: 1641

Warnings: alluded to sex / biting / mentions of blood / not really a poly relationship and yet kinda *is* a poly relationship. / monster kink (I guess!)

________

It wasn’t a good night unless you were bleeding. Unless you could wake up with marks. Jagged wounds from sporadically placed teeth, running from your shoulder down, in an arrow towards a sharper puncture mark. Your skin was so easily marred – such was the nature of your body. And the perforations ran on both your back and your front. Covering them was more of a problem. And sometimes that was because they were not meant to be covered – but to signal to others whom you belonged to. Not that they did not already know that, but on sheer number of teeth alone it was obvious as to whose bite had left indents in your skin. He couldn’t risk them over your neck – if he caught you just wrong then he would no longer have you; and that presented problems. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t scratch those talons across your delicate skin, and on occasion dig them into your neck; feeling your heartbeat as your blood pulsed through your veins. Life. Yours not eternal like his. But a life that could be his to give or take.

 Whilst he may well have had your fear, your respect, and every desire and carnal thought you’d ever had… he did not have your love. That, and your heart, belonged solely to another. And the Emperor only let you have that relationship because it kept you happy, and if your heart was happy… you’d come back to him at night for what you really needed. He just had to keep his court in check – though he would think the Skeksis to whom you gave your love would not dare step one toe out of line.

 It was a strange union – in that nothing would ever come of it. Foolish to think that anything would. You were not of Thra. And he was not of Thra either – but you were still not of the same world. He’d given up on that notion some time ago; but at least he knew that you would have a union with no other either… And yet it was something. And he had to keep you. You were as tall as the Lords of the Crystal, smart and sarcastic – holding your own against any one of them if it was called for. And agile, quick on your feet – if he called for you no matter where you were, you could be at his side in minutes. A fraction of the time he knew it would take any of his court. Almost as quick as Skekmal, in fact.

 As the morning light broke through the windows to the Castle you studied the lesions in the mirror. There was honour in being marked in such a way by the Emperor, and the sheer ecstasy it brought you under the cover of midnight… But running your fingertips over those indents the morning after, when your head was clear and there was no lust running through your veins, brought you a different kind of clarity. You would have to return to the one you loved most looking like this. And he would notice. Eventually. You may be able to hide them – but the Emperor would not allow you to cover them in his presence… Your eyes swept the room with a sigh; he had already left for court duties. Allowing you and your body the respite of sleep. You pulled your dress on and slipped quietly back to your own room, it wasn’t much, but it was still somewhere of your own. You couldn’t stay there too long, however, doing nothing more than changing your clothes before you made your way to where you really wanted to be…

 It was cooler in this part of the castle, making your way down to the lab, sticking close to the shadows and walls. You were about as wary of the Gelfling guard as you were any other Skeksis; and you certainly didn’t want to run into any of them so far from the Emperor’s side. You knew the temperature would change a little as you reached the Scientist’s workspace; here you were closer to the centre of Thra and the molten rock that flowed sluggishly through the heart of the planet.

You padded softly through the castle, and paused at the door with a smile to watch, as you reached your destination. He was already tinkering away, muttering to himself as he did so. You rested your head against the door frame, smile growing. As you listened a while you realised that Skektek wasn’t just muttering to himself, but he was grumbling. You wondered which of the others had set him off today – not that he ever needed much of a reason – and couldn’t contain your laugh well enough, as a small chuckle slipped out. This immediately alerted Sidetic to your presence, and the little green fluffball - whom Skektek called ‘friend’ - chirped happily at you from his cage.

The Scientist turned from his work with a huh, and his amber eye focused on you. “Oh-!” He placed his tools down and fussed with his clothing for a moment as he stepped back from his work bench, “Top Gear.” You weren’t sure exactly where this cute nickname Skektek had fashioned for you had come from, but it made you immediately beam. “I wondered if I might be able to help you today?” There was only a moments hesitation, “Surely the Emperor would prefer you to accompany him?” It stung a little, that hurt in his voice, even when he knew it had to be this way. “Not that he requested.” “So you have not cleared this with him?” Skektek took a step back towards his workbench. “I haven’t, but what I do with my own time is not of concern to him.” You voice was firm in it's conviction. “No, but you and I…” He trailed off wistfully and fumbled with his tools for a moment. “Perhaps you should confirm that you will not be required in court today.” “He would keep me there out of spite for me wanting to be here!” You crossed the room, begging him not to ask you to go. You needed Skektek now, you needed to feel loved - as if someone cared for your more fragile emotions, needs and desires.

Pushing yourself between him and his work, your eyes were determined, “If the Emperor wants me, he can come find me himself-!” “I-!” You cut the Scientist off before he could protest, “I’m staying. Relegate me to a corner if you must, but I would rather be useful.” There was a silence between you that you tried not to see as uncomfortable as his eyes searched yours, your head tilted, frown absentminded; you always worried about his mechanical one. Something you weren’t sure you could forgive the rest of his species for. You were a fairly good engineer, that much was true, but you also knew you had nothing on him – and everything here on Thra put you a little out of your depth. “Please…” Begging wasn’t beneath you, and your voice wavered the perfect amount, “don’t make me go.” Skektek was almost reluctant to say it, and he looked away from you again; “You can stay.”

Although relieved, you didn’t move from your position between him and the bench, and all of a sudden your emotions overwhelmed you, finding your eyes flooding with tears that you tried to keep from spilling. Startled by your first sob, Skektek recoiled, before - bringing his clawed hands up to nestle on your cheeks - giving his best attempt at wiping those tears away. “Now, now, there’s no need for that.” You gulped them back, hands upon his, not quite lacing your fingers together, “S-Sorry. I just…” You didn’t need to finish the sentence for him to know, and he lifted you up onto the counter top. Your clothing fell just a little more suggestively than you had meant, but you weren’t about to readjust anything at the significance of this pause.

You noticed the way his eyes lingered on your now exposed thighs, and wondered if perhaps you could make something of that. That you could be loved on now… that you could wash away the way last night was currently making you feel, now you were in this moment with him. You pulled Skektek into your body gently, planting a series of sweet, chaste kisses over his snout. The Scientist's movements were instinctive, even when his hands trembled the way they always did, and he began to inch your dress down your body. You couldn’t help the spike in your heartbeat, that tender flutter of anticipation you felt. Every. Single. Time.   He paused; hesitation apparent by the fading marks on your shoulder, across your chest and thighs. You would wait days between one and the other, just to hope that they would fade quicker. But they never did. “Please…” You pulled Skektek’s eyes back to yours, fingertips delicately ran his beak, “…I need you…” “But- I-” Try as you might you could not keep him from tracing his Emperor’s markings. And you swallowed hard. “Bite me.” “…What!?” The Scientist nearly recoiled at that. Why would you ask such a thing of him? Your love was delicate, you came to him to recover, to revel in being loved, for once. Not to be broken as you were upstairs. If you awoke with him - and it was always with him - he would curl himself around your body protectively, tail always wound around your legs. And when he slept with you in his arms tangled in his sheets, he emitted a sound not unlike a purr. And in this strange land, that was where you felt safest. That was where you felt like home. “Please.” You took his talons back in your hands, “Mark me. As yours.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Cross Poison

(She appears briefly BUT read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

owo what’s this? another gift for @the10amongstthese3s?? yeh. I’ve lost all control hghhhfhghg it’s not even their birthday month yet but 🤟🤟 party hard

me: frantically google searches if luna is in fact moon in spanish (good news gang, it is)

also this is the third fic with a Pokemon move for a title. i am very ashamed of my lack of creativity

Word count: 6311

———————

“Catalina...Catalina...Catalina....”

Her eyelids were glued shut; no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t open them. Not that she cared- the lights would be too bright, anyway. She had felt like she was going blind the day before from just her nightlight.

“Oh no. She doesn’t look too good.”

“Stay out in the hall if it bothers you, Jane.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Yeah, I think. It’s just a little bug.”

A soft moan breached her chapped lips. The sound grated against her throat like talons of fire- she needed water so badly.

“Catalina? Can you hear me? It’s Anne.”

There’s a cool touch on her hot forehead. Despite herself, she leaned into it, desperate for the coldness.

“Anne, I don’t think she’s going to be waking up anytime soon. She’s out cold.”

“I felt her move.”

“Still. She’s not going to be performing today. She looks...not good.”

That had to be Kitty. Aragon knew not by the voice, which was muffled and far away, but the choice of words.

“Yeah. We should go get someone to take care of her.” There’s a rustling right beside her ear; acrylic nails tap on a phone screen.

“Who are you texting?”

“Joan.”

There was disbelieving sputtered laughter.

“Joan? Are you serious?”

“Yes! She’s close to Catalina and she has a ton of vacation days saved up. I know she’ll take off if I explain the situation.”

“Yeah, and the minute Aragon sneezes she’ll keel over and die.” Kitty snorted. “You know what’s wrong with her. She can barely talk to people without losing her mind.”

There’s nothing wrong with my girl! Aragon thought fiercely. She tried to get up to rain hellfire on Kitty for saying that, but all of her limbs were heavy and weighed her down like ten ton pieces of lead.

“She just has anxiety.” Anne said dismissively.

“Saying whatever she has is anxiety is an understatement. She worries about EVERYTHING.” Kitty said. “Like— I have anxiety, but I know how to pee in public.”

“And yet you faint at the sight of a hatchet. So don’t even start.”

“It’s—!!”

Anne barked something, but Aragon’s hearing was fading out. She moaned again and then she could feel her head flop to the side on what she’s pretty sure is a pillow. Blackness consumed her—but she doesn’t know the difference from everything else she’s been surrounded by.

—

Freezing water cascaded down Aragon’s face, snaking down her neck and seeping into all of her pores. She jolted awake, breathing harshly, and whipped around to the man trying to comfort her.

She should have known. This was why she always tried to take care of herself—because she KNEW Henry would try and slither back into her life. Long ago, she used to comfort herself with that thought, her husband crawling back to her after realizing all of her replacements were horrible and nobody would ever be able to top her, but now it filled her with nothing but sticky dread that fuels her nausea.

She doesn’t want to feel his hands brushing back her sweaty hair, his lips when he kisses her and tells her how she’s still beautiful, his body when he holds her when chills wrack through her. She wouldn’t let that happen again- not ever. So, even with an illness weighing her down, she gathered herself up to her full size and—

Wait a minute.

Her vision may have been edged with blackness and very blurry, but she knew Henry was not as thin as the person on the floor of her bedroom. And definitely didn’t have blonde hair. In fact, he didn’t even have hair at all.

“Joan?” She said—or tried to. Her voice was so raspy and weak that simply saying a name hurt. The water that had been running down her face cleared her nose for a moment, but her sinuses were already pressing back in. Even in her own ears, she could faintly hear how nasally and wobbly her words were.

“Y-yes?” The girl on the floor responded. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you! I-I was just trying to...” She glanced over at the bedside table and Aragon saw a bowl of water and a rag sitting on it.

Oh.

“I see,” Aragon blinked. “That makes more sense than...” She shook her head and pain ricochets through it.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said, looking down at the floor. “I—”

“Hush, love.” Aragon said. “It’s alright.”

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, and that movement alone jarred her weak body horribly. She took in a shaky breath and put her head in her hands, massaging her pounding temples. She heard Joan scramble to her feet in front of her.

“C-Catalina?” She stammered nervously.

“I’m fine.” Argaon grit, and then her stomach churned audibly. She set a hand over it as Joan grimaced. “Actually- Can you hand me that rubbish bin?” She swallowed thickly. “And then give me some privacy?”

Joan’s eyes widened and she nodded frantically. She gave Aragon the trashcan and then walked out, hearing gagging and coughing a moment later.

—

Nerves were crawling and writhing in the pit of Joan’s gut like snakes. She could almost hear them hissing as they slid past each other, making her stomach roil. But she would not spill her guts, especially with Aragon being sick. She was supposed to be taking care of the queen—she couldn’t act like this!

And yet, her anxiety continued to rise. And it definitely didn’t help that there was flour everywhere.

Joan blamed it on the kitchen. It was, at least in part, responsible, being rather cramped because of the large island. One quick turn and smack! An arm-to-flour-bag collision sent the product flying to the floor, landing in a cloud of white powder.

And it was loud, too, making a rather distinct thump that likely resonated throughout the entire house.

And throughout the entire house meant—

The girl jumped from her position across the kitchen, dropping the measuring cups and spoons she had been carrying to squeak nervously. They clattered to the ground, much to her dismay, but she had to deal with it later. Right now, she had to face the door down the upstairs hallway creaking open.

Joan squeaked again and stumbled up the stairs towards Aragon’s room, tripping over her own feet and a pool of flour in the process. She attempted to urge the disoriented queen back into her room, idly brushing off the coating of flour that covered her entire being.

Aragon’s voice is rough and her accent mixes with the words horribly when she starts asking questions: “What happened? What fell? Are you alright?”

“Nothing! Nothing! It’s fine—everything’s fine so, please, um, go back to your room now! Get more rest, you’re still sick!” Joan yelled in response, voice faltering and increasing in pitch as she went.

“It’s only a slight fever, I’m fine. I don’t understand why you are so—”

Joan, not knowing what else to do, screamed. In surprise, Aragon responded with a sharp yelp. They were probably, most likely, definitely causing a disturbance by now. Joan would write five-page apology notes later.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Aragon asked, frantically now, her voice becoming a hoarse whisper due to illness.

“Um, I, um,” Joan felt her lungs seizing up in the way they usually did when she was about to have a panic attack, but she beat the feeling back. She couldn’t lose herself to her anxiety right now, especially with Aragon in much worse shape. “I-I’m dealing with it, d-don’t worry!”

“But what is it, that’s all I’m asking—”

“It is being dealt with!”

There was a brief pause, leaving the house in silence. Then, Aragon sighed, muttered a soft, resigned, “forget it, whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” and turned around to return to her room. Joan scampered back to the kitchen and braced herself against the sink, struggling to breathe for a moment.

She felt utterly pathetic. How could that simple interaction nearly spiral her into full blown panic? She had to get her head on straight!

After taking a few calming breaths like Aragon had taught her, she stepped back and then began cleaning up. She lost about half of the flour in the fall, much to her dismay, because it was a brand new bag. She made a mental note to pay the queens back for it, then moved on.

Once she finished cleaning up, she set everything she needed neatly on the counter. She glanced several times at the recipe she was going off of as she mixed the specific ingredients together, since she wanted this to be perfect. Aragon must have been feeling miserable- she HAD to make something good for her to hopefully cheer her up.

Several dirty dishes, incorrectly measured ingredients, and one incident where her long hair got caught in the mixer later, she has her treat tucked away in the oven to bake. She smiled proudly to herself, then moved onto cleaning up and making some soup on the stove-

-only to remember that she had no idea how to make soup. Even the recipes she looked up seemed way too complicated for her stupid fish brain. She worried over this for a long time before deciding to just make some porridge. Somehow, that is something she’s able to make.

Her mind whirled as she began taking out the necessary ingredients. The usual voices she heard in her head were, for once, not warbling over her, but rather Aragon.

Hot porridge. I’ll make hot porridge. She’ll like that.

Hot porridge will make her throat worse. It hurts right now. Cold porridge will cool it down and soothe it.

Cold porridge would chill her bones and make her fever worse. Hot porridge is softer on the stomach.

Hot porridge burns tongues.

Cold porridge—

“Aaagh, shut up!” Joan cried miserably, clamping her hands over her ears. It took her a moment to realize what she'd done and she looked around the kitchen bashfully, as if she thought someone had materialized nearby and watched her yell at herself.

“You’re fine, Joan,” She whispered. “You’re okay. You can do this. Just like you used to back then. It’s not that hard.” She paused. “Aaand you’re still talking to yourself. Good job.”

She shook her head and wracked her brain to remember what was needed. Water, milk, rice, seasoning. Easy.

And yet, it still took her three tries to make a simple pot of porridge. First she poured too much seasoning, then she burned herself on the stove and dropped the bowl she was holding, and finally, she somehow managed to turn the food into a gross goop that would only succeed in making Aragon even sicker. After finally getting it right, she sunk to the ground with a woeful noise, wallowing in her own shame.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind screamed. Can’t even make a simple meal? What an embarrassment.

She whimpered softly, feeling a panic attack rise in her chest, but she stamped it back down. She would not lose herself. She couldn’t.

Think about rain, She thought over and over again. Think about rain, think about rain, think about rain...

There was a crash of thunder- actual thunder. Joan jumped backwards, slamming her body up against the oven and staring with wide eyes as a downpour of rain suddenly came down against the glass back door. She scrambled for her phone, wondering if the queens did something to protect the glass from a storm, and then realized how stupid that was. She put her phone down as a blush blazed over her cheeks.

Stupid, Her thoughts hissed. Can’t you do anything right? Use some common sense.

She tried to think about rain again, but the peaceful drizzle she usually calmed herself with has turned into a raging storm within her head. Lightning slashed the mindscape as thunder rolled through her eardrums. Cracks appeared everywhere, jagged and fang-shaped when they split open like oozing wounds. She wondered if her cranium was being destroyed as the internal storm veered into a baby hurricane.

There’s a loud beep. It lanced through the tsunami and Joan’s eyes snapped open.

She’s on the floor, curled in a fetal position, clutching at her head. She rose slowly, feeling embarrassed.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind roared, but she did her best to ignore it as she took the cake out of the oven.

It’s an effort that takes a lot longer than it should, but when she finishes icing the cake, Joan has a brief moment of pride. She was satisfied with the result as she fawned over how pretty it was, even if it was thin and slightly deformed in shape, and the golden-orange frosting was gooey and haphazardly spread across the surface.

Joan cut a generous sized piece for Aragon, grabbed a fork and a plastic bag, and practically bounced up to Aragon’s room, the cake balanced precariously on the plate held behind her back. She was barely able to stop herself from chiming out loud when she saw the queen’s form upon entering.

Aragon was lying on her back, one hand resting over her stomach, the other drooped listlessly at her side. Her eyes were scrunched shut and her mouth was open slightly to breathe- her nose must be too stuffed to get air that way. Beads of sweat clustered together on her forehead. She doesn’t stir when Joan walks in.

“Catalina?” Joan called out softly. She stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed vomit in the waste bin. She winced. “Catalina?”

Aragon’s body shuddered in a way that sent jolts of anxiety crackling through Joan’s entire being. She moaned softly, then her eyelids peeled back and she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“Catalina?” Joan said again, this time much quieter. She edged towards the door slightly, expecting the queen to snap at her for waking her up. But instead, Aragon’s head rolled over the pillow to face her and she smiled weakly.

“Hello, little luna,” She croaked, her voice rough with illness. She sounded worse than she did earlier. “Were you baking?”

Joan blinked. “Ah… You…”

“Smelled it?” Aragon chuckled a little. “Barely,” She snuffled through her stuffy nose then made a very unqueenly face that caused a giggle to bubble up from Joan. “But it’s enough.”

She fell into silence as Joan sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. She winced as she did so, even letting out a soft gasp of pain, and one of her hands shot to her stomach. Joan nearly dropped the cake reaching for the trashcan, but Aragon stopped her with a dismissive wave of her other hand.

“I’m alright, dear,” She said. “Just some cramps.” She leaned back against the pile of pillows against her headboard, breathing out softly through her mouth.

Joan quickly regained herself from her flash of panic. She pulled the cake out from behind her back and presented it to Aragon, beaming.

“Look! I worked really hard on this! Maybe it’ll cheer you up!” Joan nearly glowed with satisfaction. Aragon gingerly took the plate from her.

“Ah,” Aragon said. “Thank you.” She stared down at the plate as if it were holding a human heart rather than a sweet treat.

Joan continued to give her a look, one of adoration and anticipation, and Aragon has the choice to either swallow down her hopeless devotion to her daughter figure or swallow down the cake in front of her on an upset stomach, risking further nausea...or worse. She cast an uneasy glance to the trash can, but Joan doesn’t notice it through her eyeball-scorchingly bright radiation of bliss and pride.

“I’m sick, you know.” Aragon stated. Joan nodded, about to respond when Aragon continues, “So I can’t… really eat this right now.”

The realization appeared to dawn on Joan rather painfully, and in seconds the girl has apologies spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. Aragon can’t even get a word in edgewise to stop the torrent of despair coming from Joan, who seemed to think that she’s ruined everything— “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I should’ve known better, oh Catherine, I’m sorry—”

“Joan!”

Joan flinched away, nearly teetering off the bed. Hot shame poured down her throat and set her insides ablaze. At the same time, icy cold dread shoved its way in and the two conflicting emotions clamored for space inside of her until she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Joan.” Aragon said again, clearing her throat. She reached out and gently touched Joan’s cheek; her hand was shaking with exhausted tremors. “Think about rain, baby. You’ve got this.”

Joan closed her eyes. She imagined collapsing all her thoughts about nearly worsening Aragon’s sickness into dozens of raindrops and whisking them into a background storm. It works—for now. She opens her eyes again and Aragon is smiling at her, despite the tiredness and pain very obviously glinting in her eyes.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, PLEASE just let me sleep, Joan imagined her thoughts crying. You nearly poisoned me with your blasted cake! The least you can do is let me rest!

Joan put that into a raindrop, too, although it was a little harder to shove inside. The tone the internal voice spoke with sounded exactly like Aragon’s- what if she had said that out loud? What if she was upset with Joan? What if she wanted her to leave?

“Raindrops, baby,” Aragon murmured, caressing Joan’s cheek. Her shaking fingers press into the coolness of Joan’s skin, like she was hoping to lower her fever with the touch alone.

Raindrops, Joan repeated in her head, and she shoved the Aragon-mimicking thoughts into one of the shimmering droplets falling from her internal rainstorm.

“Good girl,” Aragon said breathily. Despite having to take a moment to breathe through a wave of dizziness and blink away the black spots that come with it, she’s still able to recognize the way Joan’s face would relax when she successfully blocks out her anxiety. “Good girl...”

Every worried thought suddenly exploded out of their raindrop, splattering icy water throughout Joan’s brain, but she could hardly care because Aragon is tipping over and she has to rush to catch her. Her hands grappling the queen’s forearms seemed to be enough to jar her awake, because her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly.

“Catherine?” Joan said worriedly. “Are you okay? Can you hear me? Should I call someone? An ambulance?”

Lightning cracked in her internal rainstorm, illuminating a puddle upon the mindscape that she always tried very hard to keep covered. There were three, actually- one wreathed in thorny vines around the edges with brilliant emerald flowers sprouting from the snarls, one with pinkish-green snapdragons lurking around the perimeter, and one that has soft white petals floating upon the surface. As beautiful as they may have been, she dreaded having their contents bubble out of the pools—and that’s exactly what was happening with the third puddle.

Images flashed behind her eyelids- a sickroom, stained sheets, a fretting king and a writhing, gasping queen.

“I’m alright,” Aragon’s voice surfaced through the clamor of noise resonating through her skull. She seemed to be too busy recovering from her near-blackout to notice Joan’s rising anxiety.

“That’s good.” Joan said distantly. The sickroom again, blood oozing down a bedside, half of a placenta sprawled out of a dark red abyss of torn flesh and blood and inflamed vaginal tissue. “I’m...I’m glad.”

She turned stiffly to the edge of the bed, and at first she thought she was moving to vomit in the trash can, but then she reached for the plastic bag she brought in with her.

Oh yeah, She thought. How could I forget? Stupid.

“What’s that?” Aragon asked after clearing her throat again. Her voice was slimy with mucus, but she was still doing her best to hold herself like a regal queen.

“Oh, just some medicine.” Joan pulled out a bottle filled with some kind of dark pink liquid. Aragon squinted at it and curled her nose. “I went shopping before I came over.”

“What is it exactly?” Aragon asked.

“Something that will help you.” Joan informed. “I also got ginger shots, throat coat, Ibuprofen, Motrin, Mucinex-”

“Are you trying to overdose me or something?”

A blush lit up on Joan’s cheeks and Aragon chuckled lightly. She gently touched the girl’s hand; hers is still shaking.

“I’m joking, baby.”

Joan smiled thinly, then unscrewed the lid of the bottle she’s holding and filled the cap up with the thick liquid. She looked at it, smelled it once, and was glad she’s not the one about to drink it.

“That’s probably enough, right?” She looked at the queen.

It was a big lid. A little over the stated amount wouldn’t be that bad, right? The more Aragon takes the better it’ll work! Probably.

“You’re the caretaker.” Aragon said.

Joan inspected the medicine-filled cap for another moment before handing it to Aragon. The queen stared at it like it’s poison. Joan giggled softly.

“Just...take it like a shot!” Joan encouraged her.

“Bold words from someone who has never taken a shot before,” Aragon said, earning a ruffled look from Joan. She flashed a smile at the girl, then punched her nose shut, tipped her head back, and downed the liquid as fast as she could. Almost instantly, she made an ungodly sound similar to that of a cat coughing up a hairball. Joan dissolved into giggles.

“Oh Lord,” Aragon said bitterly. She snatched the water bottle sitting on her nightstand and took a big sip.

“Hang on, there’s more.” Joan said before Aragon could get too comfortable with feeling like she was done.

It probably wasn’t good to take all that medicine on an empty stomach, but Aragon still wasn’t up to eat much, even when Joan told her she also made some porridge. She just shook her head and laid back down after taking several pills and shots of foul-tasting liquids.

Upon peeling herself out of the room, Joan was met with a rush of worry and fear that nearly caused her to spill the trash can she told Aragon she was going to clean out for her. She gripped the edges tightly and trekked into the kitchen, trying not to succumb to her nervousness, but it was so hard with every possible bad situation shoving its way in. Soon, several endings to this sickness were laid out to her- the least alarming one was Aragon recovering, but being deaf for life due to her high fever, but the others were much, much worse: Aragon seizing in the bed, foaming at the mouth; Aragon being dead the next time she checks up on her; Aragon being brain dead because her fever fried her brain; Aragon spewing blood and vomit from her mouth because Joan accidentally overdosed her; the other queens looming over Joan, their faces twisted with hatred and disgust, while Maria and Cathy wail over Aragon’s horribly pale corpse in the background; Joan being shunned and hated and called a killer for the rest of her life.

Then, she blinked and they’re gone, disappearing into the mist of her internal rainstorm and she doesn’t even try to scramble after them. Even if she wanted to, it’s almost impossible for her to pull thoughts back out of the storm once they’ve drifted inside.

She takes to washing the dishes she dirtied from making the porridge, and it took a lot of time because she knew that Jane was sort of a neat freak and would kill her if she left a smudge of rice on one of her pots. Doing the chore eased her mind slightly, got her away from thinking about every worst-case scenario, but she can feel them lurking in the back of her head, waiting.

The storm outside the house hissed. The backyard was turning into a small lake, swelling and churning and eroding the ground into a stew of mud and weeds. Joan walked over to the back door and stared out at the pouring rain. Weather like this reminded her of reincarnation, which was rather strange because she was the only one who didn’t come back when it was raining.

Aragon and Anne had told her about it a few months after everyone was settled. The queens came back first, all on the same day, all during a terrible storm with “thunder so loud it could chip bones”, as Anne had stated, and they all met the same day at the chapel Jane was buried at. Soon after, they got the huge house in ways they still couldn’t really understand, and then, four months later, the ladies in waiting appeared, although they came back in two day intervals. Maria on Monday, Maggie on Wednesday, Bessie on Friday, and then Joan on Sunday. However, they said the storm cleared up the day of Joan’s reincarnation, making them think that nobody else would appear. But that night was one of the brightest they’ve ever seen, and she showed up in their backyard, underneath the glowing moon. Completely naked, too. That part always made Joan very flustered, but she liked the way Anne and Aragon would laugh when she would-

Aragon.

A sudden gush of adrenaline sent Joan careening up the stairs and to Aragon’s bedroom. She nearly kicked the door off its hinges, but she couldn’t care because Aragon-

-was perfectly safe in her bed?

Joan blinked. As much as she loved seeing that the queen was okay, she couldn’t understand the sight. Was she hallucinating? Why did she have such a bad gut feeling all of a sudden?

She waited by the door, thinking that maybe something might happen, but nothing did. Nothing bad, at least. Aragon stirred at one point and sneezed in her sleep, which nearly made Joan fling herself at her and give her CPR (as if that would help even if she WAS dying, anyway—she didn’t know how to give CPR correctly at all).

Her nerves were on fire. Alarm bells were ringing in her ears, screaming, “GO! GO! SHE’S DYING! HURRY! YOU HAVE TO HURRY OR SHE’LL DIE!”

Cleves had once asked her how she managed to be so anxious all the time, and, at the time, she didn’t have an answer. But now she did: she didn’t manage it. Being this nervous was exhausting. And she hated it, but she didn’t know how to turn her brain off or quiet her flurry of worried thoughts that poured through her brain every second of every day.

The pet cat, Tea Cake, strolled by and meowed at Joan. She swore even IT was judging her nervousness. She sighed and finally left the room, despite her brain crying, “NO! NO! GO BACK! SHE’LL DIE!”

She collapsed down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. When she glanced up, she saw that the time displayed on the TV cable box read: 12:04. It was a double show day today, so she probably had another good four or five hours before the queens got back. If she could just keep Aragon alive until they took over, then it wouldn’t be her fault if she died!

She squeezed her temples against her palms. How could she ever think like that? Besides, she would find a way to blame herself, anyway. Just like-

A whimper bubbled to Joan’s lips, which turned into a sob. Suddenly, there’s tears running down her cheeks and she doesn’t really know why, but she does know that she hates them and they make her persistent headache worse.

She cried alone on the couch for a while, at some point flopping over to bury herself against the back cushions in a fetal position. She was planning on just crying herself into a pathetic puddle, but then her phone rang and she had no choice but to pick it up. The caller idea said that it was Jane, and usually her heart would leap in joy to see that her queen was calling her, but, right now, simply seeing her name said spirals of bad, bad things coiling through her brain.

“Hello?” She said in her best not-having-an-anxiety-attack voice.

“Hey,” Jane replied coolly. She sounded nonchalant, but Joan has become good at detecting the annoyance that would edge her voice whenever she talked to her. Even on a phone call, the stinging irritation was bristled around her words like needle-sharp thorns. “I’m just calling to check up on Catalina. How is she?”

Ironically, it was the one afraid of illness doing this. Perhaps it’s to make up for her not being able to physically comfort her fellow queen.

“Okay,” Joan answered. She struggled to keep her voice steady, but she knew it was wobbling treacherously. “She’s- she’s, ah— she’s sleeping. Right now. S-she’s sleeping.”

“I see.” Jane said. Then, she paused. “Are you alright?”

A whirl of new thoughts filled Joan’s head: Jane cares, Jane doesn’t care, Jane is worried about her, Jane is going to tell the others about how pathetic she is and they’ll all laugh at her, Jane knows.

“I-I’m f-ine.” Her voice cracked horribly and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She has the art of crying silently mastered, but she knows Jane can still hear her sharp breaths and hiccups and whimpers. The fact that the queen isn’t saying anything makes her feel even worse. Scenarios shove their way into her brain faster: Jane putting her on speaker so everyone in the theater could hear her break down, Jane hanging up on her so she doesn’t have to listen to her sniffle and weep like a baby, Jane laughing at her.

“Listen to me,” Jane spoke up. Her voice is firm and hard, but Joan swore she could hear softness seep through the thorns edging her words. “I’m the calmest voice you hear. Use me as your anchor. I’ll keep talking until you calm down.”

Joan was nearly startled into calming down. Was Jane...trying to comfort her?

“Remember that you are safe. Look around you.”

Joan sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. Her chest ached with the weight of her guilt and anguish, which are mixing together awfully inside of her. She whimpered softly.

“You’re okay. We’re okay. Catalina is okay. The cat is okay. Anna’s dogs are, regrettably, okay.”

“Wh-why regrettably?” Joan stammered, sniffling.

“Ah, so you are listening.” Jane said. Joan thinks she may be tipping her head. “Keep listening. I know you can do that, Joan. You’re a very smart girl.”

Jane thinks I’m smart, Joan thought dizzily. And then, those thoughts spiral downwards, That doesn’t make sense. Jane is dead. I know Jane is dead. I saw her— I was— I felt her blood.

Joan closed her eyes and remembered the way she tried to help Jane after she gave birth to Edward. She had tried so hard to stop the bleeding, but there was just too much blood and it wouldn’t stop coming out and the smell was so bad and everything was yelling and Jane wouldn’t stop screaming.

“-my voice.” Jane was saying, a little more frantic. “Don’t let yourself fall in.”

But it was too late. The petal-strewn puddle in Joan’s mindscape frothed over its own edges until every bad thing she tried so desperately to hide within its depths came pouring out: Nurses shoving through the sickroom, midwives clamoring in a panic, blood and birthing fluids and placenta and sweat and tears, a tiny baby soaked in blood- They all flooded her mind with full force.

“Joan? Joan?” Jane called loudly. “Joan, are you there? What’s going on?”

Joan doesn’t answer. She simply dropped her phone, curled into a ball on the floor, and cried.

An unknown amount of time passes. It’s nearly two o’clock when Joan looked up, though. Immediately, a headache crashed into her head like a sledgehammer. Sweat glided down her body, but it felt more like blood to her.

She had to check on Aragon, but she couldn’t bear to see the queen while she was sick. She was too afraid of possibly seeing her as a corpse, so she just half staggered, half crawled to the downstairs bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and stumbled into the shower to scrub off the feeling of blood coating every inch of her skin.

Leaving her to suffer, Her mind hissed. Good job.

———

“Alright, that’s it—”

Aragon had been laying in her bed for what felt like hours, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She threw her legs over the edge and hauled herself out, which nearly landed her face-first on the floor when she put pressure on her numb legs, but she managed to grapple onto the door frame and steady herself. After a moment of breathing, she’s able to start walking.

Joan isn’t anywhere in sight when she finally makes it down the staircase, but she can faintly hear Cleves’ shower running. She chuckled, wondering how her nervous little moon conjured up the courage to use someone else’s bathroom, but was proud of her nonetheless.

She poured herself a bowl of porridge and sat down at the couch to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment; it was good to eat, especially something so light and easy on her stomach.

Somewhere down the hallway, she hears the shower sputter to a halt. A few minutes later, Joan trudged out, dressed in the same bumblebee T-shirt and sweat pants as she was in earlier. Her hair is still soaked, though, and she had a distant look in her dull grey eyes.

“Hello, little luna,” Aragon cooed over at her. She didn’t know if it was her fever making her delirious or if the girl’s touch starved aura was rubbing off on her or even if it was from her dreams of being with her daughter again, but she’s been itching to hold Joan in her arms. “You took a shower, I see. I’m not THAT contagious, you know.” She winked with a laugh, but Joan doesn’t react. She didn’t even look up at her. Aragon frowned. “Joan?”

Aragon set her bowl of porridge down after one more bite and walked over to where Joan had stopped in the living room. She’s clenching fistfuls of her shirt so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Something was wrong.

“Joan,” Aragon gently touched her shoulder, but even that is enough to make her jolt back. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just me. It’s Catalina.”

Joan looked up at her with wide eyes and there’s something in her gaze that she’s seen in Maria’s before, but much, much worse.

“Joan,” Aragon took her hands. “Think about the rain, baby.”

Joan’s eyes shut tightly and a strangled sob escaped her lips. She shook her head, making a miserable keening noise that sent cracks through Aragon’s heart.

“Think of the mist and wind and distant thunder,” Aragon continued softly, stroking Joan’s knuckles with her thumbs. “The fog and lightning and rainbows.”

“I-I can’t-“ Joan gasped. She shook her head. “I can’t. Y-you— You’re—sick— not okay— just like—”

Suddenly, it dawns on Aragon.

“Oh, Joan,” She murmured. “Oh, baby.” She cupped the girl’s tear stained cheeks. “You’re worried that I may end up like Jane, don’t you?”

With a feeble whimper, Joan nodded and then sobbed again.

“My poor girl,” Aragon guided Joan over to the couch and pulled her into a tight hug. Joan clung to her instantly, burying her face into her chest and clearly not even caring if she may catch whatever the queen has. “You have a lot of pent up anxiety over that, huh?”

Another nod, this one much weaker. Joan’s entire body is now wracked with weeping. Aragon holds her tightly, afraid she may fall apart if she didn’t. She stroked her soaking wet hair and rocked her back and forth.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Aragon whispered. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m alright. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Joan, surprisingly, doesn’t argue against that claim. With a frown, Aragon realized it’s probably because she doesn’t have the energy to.

Joan cried for a long time, and all Aragon could do was hold her and wait until she’s well enough to talk to. However, when the sobs do eventually die down, Joan was already far gone in unconsciousness. She looked peaceful, at least, with her head resting atop Aragon’s chest. The queen closed her own eyes, feeling her illness take control over her once again. She, too, fell asleep, but awoke some time later to someone standing over her. She jumped back, instinctively holding the girl in her arms tighter.

“Sorry,” Jane said. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Aragon answered. She was surprised that Jane was standing so close to her.

Jane nodded. She glanced down at Joan and expression became something that Aragon couldn’t really discern. She pursed her lips.

“Is she okay?” She finally asked quietly.

Aragon blinked, then looked down at Joan. “She...went through some stuff earlier.” She said. “She was pretty freaked out. Had an anxiety attack. She’s been asleep since.”

The flat line set on Jane’s mouth turned into a frown. She extended a hand and gently touched Joan’s head, then pulled back.

“I see.” She whispered. So many emotions were flashing in her eyes. “Well.” She turned away. “Take care of her. Oh— and yourself.”

Aragon watched her walk to the staircase and disappear upstairs, then looked down at Joan in her arms. She pulled the girl closer.

“Will do,” She said, long after Jane was gone.

[eternalstrigoii]

Church Mouse

Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Female-Presenting Human Reader

There’s a monster in our wood,

It’ll get you if you’re not good.

Horns of iron and wings of bone,

You are never, ever coming home.

 Your father was the parish priest in the village of Ulstead. He was not a royal minister, and, perhaps, it was because of that lack of diplomacy that you caught him many a time whispering with the townsfolk about the faeries on the other side of the gate. To his congregation, he said little more than how fortunate you were to be separated – how he urged parents to leave their children if they should have to travel on merchant trips, lest the fey folk lure the young ones from their wagons.

You heard your father’s stories before, when you were young. The Folk of the Moors will promise you endless sweets and playtime, and then chew off your legs when you fall asleep. You rolled your eyes at them now – no faerie had ever crossed the bridge into Ulstead. As far as you were concerned, no faerie wanted to cross the bridge into Ulstead, and you grew more and more adamant that they were right. It was a little town, and King John meant well but his wife practiced the same virtues as your father. All the piety, chastity, humility, and moderation was starting to get to you. (And if your only prospects were the same fools you had to remind year after year not to drag their crops from the earth by their stems, well, you were better off leaving for a nunnery.)

The children were gathered in the square not long before nightfall, as you brought your pail of freshly scrubbed laundry back to the parish to hang in the attic (where no one might fall to sin because they spied your bloomers on the line). They clapped hands and sang their nursery rhymes, which you had always presumed involved the terrible witch that cursed the princess whom your prince was destined to marry, and you sighed as you lifted your basket past them.

“There are no such things as monsters,” you stopped to snap at them before you flung the parish door open with your foot and let it fall shut heavily behind you.

Your father jumped at the sound. “Good heavens, child!”

“I’m sorry.” You lifted the basket that you had to hold with two hands. “None of the children would fetch the door.”

He was on his knees at the altar, tending the prayer candles that had been lit throughout the day. You knew he’d stay there for the bulk of the night, as he always did.

As he adjusted them, ensuring that the wax fell as uniformly as possible so that God might hear the poor men and women of Ulstead, he said to you, “Would it be so terrible to spare the young ones a kindness now and then? They are, after all, only children.”

It was not the young ones you worried about. You had half a mind to set your laundry aside and help your father, for he was getting old and frail, and while he was surely falling prey to his own stories, he was no harm to anyone. He was but a worried old man since your mother died, or so you told yourself.

You sighed, and you left him to his wax-tending. There were few flights of stairs from the parish to the attic, but with your full basket, it may as well have been a steady climb up a mountain. You were hot and panting by the time you reached the attic where your clotheslines were strung, and you wasted no time in shutting the hatch-door, dropping the basket to the floor, and hurrying to open the windows by their props on the bottom.

“Fool,” you muttered fondly. The windows hadn’t been washed in some time, and you were sure it was because your meticulous father believed someone would catch wind of his cassock and steal it while it dried.

You shook your head, gathered the pins down at the end, and worked your way through your basket. Every so often, the wind swept through the room and made all the clothes flap and flutter, the sweat that had been so stifling before turned to morning dew on your back. After the third strong ruffle, your second pin fell right out of your hand, and you cursed as you batted one of your dresses aside to reach it.

It had landed just between a pair of bare feet.

You gasped and startled backward.

The figure you had first thought was a man batted your line aside. He was tall and broad, quite unlike many of the men of your village, though what held your attention was not the chiseled quality of his face or the intensity of his blown-glass eyes.

It was the massive pair of wings on his back that ripped your line cleanly out of the wall.

You sat there like a fool, scrambling to move away only when he’d already caught you by the ties of your apron and pulled you up off the floor. You cried out in shock – you felt the points of his talons against your back before it collided with the wall, and the tremor that coursed through you left your hands shaking as they found his chest, smooth and warm like a stone left sitting in the summer sun.

“Please?” Your voice wavered.

He made a sound not unlike an animal’s growl, tilting his head at you.

You did not know what you were pleading for. You were hardly a child, no longer the supposed favored-prey of the Folk of the Moors.

“Please,” you repeated, feeling his talons prick your back. You watched his other hand lift to the shoulder of your apron, toy with the heavy material. How easily his claws pricked into it and it started to tear. You imagined your skin would not give the same kind of resistance.

Your heart was pounding. Fear, and something else, had gone to war inside of you. He may have been no man, but he was beautiful. His hair was long and golden, his wings broad and powerful, and you found yourself staring at them again. “They’re beautiful,” you whispered, and found yourself pinned by your throat for your trouble.

“What do you want with my wings?” he asked, sharply.

“Nothing!” you exclaimed, batting at his hand. “They’re lovely, you oaf!”

He let go of you just as abruptly, with that sound again.

You smacked at his solid arm in indignation, a hot rush of embarrassment flooding your already overheated skin. “You have no right! Speaking to me like that! Manhandling me! Coming into my house--!”

You didn’t realize the mistake you made until he had taken a handful of your apron again, backing you against the old wood once more.

“Is it your father, then?” he asked in a much lower voice, its roughness preserved in such close proximity. “Spreading likes about my people?”

You should have denied him, but the pang of fear you felt manifested as you thought all people must feel it – in the innate desire to protect your own.

“He’s a fool,” you replied in the same tone. “He tells stories to children, make-believe. He means you no harm.”

“Harm is what he causes me.” His body was flush with yours again, and your hands gripped his arms as though you were strong enough to keep him at bay when you could hardly manage three flights of stairs with a full laundry basket. “Harm is what he causes all of my people when he spreads those lies.”

“I’ll tell him to stop,” you whispered.

The smile that crossed his face should have scared you, for it was wild, and by the nature of the people you knew, rather unhinged. “No,” he touched your cheek, pressing the tip of his thumb claw into your skin. “I don’t think you will.”

From what you heard, you expected him to do something like rip your flesh from your bones and eat you alive. But he grasped the collar-hem of your gown and tore, and in one broad stroke of his muscular arm, you found yourself nearly bared before him.

And the only thing that frightened you then was how your breath caught as he palmed your exposed skin.

The fey looked at you the way you imagined all creatures must look at their prey. His eyes were intense, wild, wide as they locked on your face. Your knees buckled as his mouth affixed to your collarbone, and you gasped, grabbing hold of his horns.

You did not push him away. No, not even when his teeth caught your flesh, for his tongue was quick to follow, and the sound that left you had nothing to do with pain.

There were no stories about this. Not in anyone’s books anywhere, as far as you knew.

The fey left a trail of bruises on your skin, from the one that began at your collarbone up the side of your neck. They hurt more, there, and you squirmed against him, but he chuckled and pinned your hips to his. You felt him, through your bloomers and the soft fabric of his pants, and your hands settled at his waist only to move, slowly, upward. Over his side, his back, your arms curling around his shoulders.

His wings beat, snapping the other line from its mount on the wall. Your father’s clothes also tumbled to the floor, and were immediately forgotten.

You turned your head when you felt his breath brush your jaw. Your lips brushed his, and he wasted no time in claiming them. What manner of revenge could this be, you thought, only for the thought to fall by the wayside with the drag of his claw down your thigh. One leg of your bloomers split open, and the hand that did it slipped under you, under your clothes, to boost you against him and settle your hips at his waist.

It was not unpleasant, being trapped against him. Not unpleasant at all. You found yourself kissing back when he tried to pull away, giving him your tongue in as close of an approximation to the way he’d given you his as you could manage without the experience.

You felt him grin, and several claws swept over your opposing thigh. Your bloomers fell away in ribbons, the skin beneath singing with shallow cuts.

You arched toward him with a more enthusiastic sound, your knees hitched against his waist.

“Are you enjoying yourself, church mouse?”

You quite liked that tone he used, his voice like a purr against your lips.

“Yes,” you whispered, though you could hardly understand how his anger would become desire quite like this. Maybe you truly were ye of little faith, considering you couldn’t recall a word spoken by your father that would lead you to believe your fey was dangerous.

He chuckled, and the fabric between you fell away. Your eyes widened, and you gripped his shoulders tightly. You were momentarily afraid, though not for the reasons he must’ve anticipated.

“I’ve never….” You started, and your fey brushed his lips over yours once again.

“I’m counting on that.”

He took you the way you had always been told you were supposed to be taken. Your knees clutched his hips, but the sensation, though strange, was not unpleasant. You gasped, and his movement made you claw lightly at his shoulders, seeking purchase so you might somehow press closer.

“Shh,” he soothed, nuzzling your jaw. “Wouldn’t want your father to hear.”

You clung to the back of his neck, your breath ragged. No, certainly you didn’t, but you were three flights up and the rhythm of his hips never faltered. You dropped your head back against the wall, and your fey claimed your mouth once again.

No, you knew why people stole away to be with them now. No promise of sweets could be this enchanting.

You held his jaw while you kissed.

He held you, but one of his hands roamed your body, the trail of his talons causing chills along your spine. You kissed him as though you might pour yourself into him, and he claimed you against the wall like a man new-married.

You felt a tightening in your lower belly, an urgency too strong to be denied. You worked your hips against his, your, and his, ragged breaths overtaking your senses. You couldn’t pull him close enough. Your thighs clung to him. You had started to beg in whimpers that became full cries, yes, yes, please, please! Oh god, oh god!

You reached your peak together. Your fae spilled inside of you with a sharp, wild groan, and you clung to him, breathing hard, your face pressed into his shoulder.

You told him your name in a breathless whisper, no longer believing – or at least, no longer believing it would be a bad thing – he would use it to steal you away.

He was silent for a moment longer, holding the backs of your thighs against his hips. “Borra,” he replied.

“I’ll tell not a soul,” you promised, just in case anyone could truly harm him just by knowing his name.

“I’m counting on that, church mouse.”

When the moment stretched on, you realized that, perhaps, that was not the plan he’d arrived with. Perhaps the both of you, in your youth, had done more for faerie-human relations than you cared to admit, and the thought pleased you to smiling into his shoulder.

He put you down rather gently, as though he was unused to touching you.

You allowed it, reaching for the wet gown you’d started hanging up. Better that then the tattered one. “Will I see you again?”

He had straightened out the fabric of his trousers, and tilted his head as though he was considering it.

“I would quite like to,” you said.

He nodded. Whether that was an acknowledgement or an agreement, you did not ask. You returned to gathering laundry, and by the time you had picked up several more pieces of your clothes, you heard the flap of wings beyond the windows.

Your father never heard you.

You fixed the lines in silence, and re-hung the wash. You took your bath, and you returned to your life almost as though it had never happened.

But you knew you were in no position to protect them. To protect him from them, though you longed to.

By the time you realized you had not bled, you knew it was only a matter of time before your father, your neighbors, possibly even the virtuous queen, found out what had become of you.

The note you left them was simple: No one stole me away.

[casualcatte]

RP Journal: 08/10/2020

Gods, it was good to finally get out and hunt again!  Granted, I was bringing Edgard Beaumont with me that might prove to be a mixed blessing, but I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He /was/ a Knight Dragoon, after all, surely he’s got some fighting skill and ability to track things.  How else does a dragonslayer slay dragons? Surely they don’t just laze around til one flies by them, that would be silly.

(( Courtesy cut for length.  Also, sorry about the lack of screenshots, this was all during maintenance. ))

I had Edgard meet me out in Yanxia at noon and he arrived precisely on time, he even carried some rope and a quarterstaff, instead of his usual spear. We weren’t out to kill these birds, only subdue them for an artist in Kugane. He wants to paint them, then will release them back into the wilds. Live-capture hunts are always a bit more of a challenge, it would make a fine test to see what Edgard was worth in the field. After all, I have no doubt he can fight, he’s fought dragons, for pity’s sake!  But taking a non-violent means to dealing with a problem? I think it would say volumes about who he is both as a person and a fighter.

I outlined my plan and he declared it sound, so we took ourselves out to the Glittering Basin where it was known for these bi-fangs to roam as their territory. Setting up a lookout point, it was just a matter of sighting the birds and seeing where they went to roost. 

I don’t think I’d been this relaxed in a long time. The day was warm, and Edgard -- while still very much Edgard -- was good company. He listened, followed directions, didn’t try to put me behind him for protection, or treat me like I didn’t know what I was doing. He trusted me and I trusted him.

Gods be good, we needed that trust today. No hunt is ever flawless, there are always unexpected things that happen that you have to adjust to or you either lose your quarry or you get hurt. That’s just the nature of the beast. I absolutely wasn’t expecting these bi-fangs to be a mated pair, much less a mated pair with a clutch of eggs. I think I’ll make it a point to mention that to Tetsuyo when I return to the Bounty Call. Most hunters I know have a great respect for nature, granted, we weren’t killing the pair but it was still taking them away from hatchlings that might otherwise die without them and their protection. 

Anyway, the hunt first. Edgard was probably the most serious I’ve seen him since I’ve known him; he was studious and attentive, asking questions about what to do or what to look for. He seemed genuinely interested in learning, so I did all I could to help him. It was here that he said he trusted me and for a moment I had to wonder why. What good will had I garnered with him to be someone he trusted with his life? I doubt it has anything to do with how skillful I am at evading his spurious advances. 

Knowing what I know now, I found it easier to be, well, at ease around him. To even play and flirt with him, give him a taste of his own medicine. It was fun and we laughed; I’m almost convinced I nearly made him blush a couple of times, but that’s neither here nor there.

The hunt!  Once we sighted the bi-fang pair, Edgard used his dragoon ability to jump us up to the cliff where the birds had made their roost. Naturally, I had to climb on Edgard’s back and he had to make a bunch of insinuations about it. Still he got us up to the roost in short order and that’s when we learned that we were facing two very angry parent bi-fang and their clutch of half a dozen chicks.

Thankfully, the chicks weren’t that grown, so they weren’t much of a threat. I used one of the Darkness arrows to blind the Papa Bird while Edgard kept Mama Bird busy until I could use one of my Net arrows. Edgard got scratched once, but didn’t seem any worse for wear for it. I’ll really have to thank that magitechnician for the arrows, they are the most clever thing I’ve seen in a long time. A pity I don’t remember his name, how will I ever have these made again once I run out?  As it stands, I’m out of the Net arrows after this.

I was just about to use my second Net arrow on Papa when he came flailing at me blindly. That’s also when one of the chicks in the nest decided I was a tasty snack and /bit/ me on the ankle. It was enough to startle me that I dropped the arrow and that split-second distraction won me a wing to the face as Papa Bird sent me flying off the cliff.

I won’t lie and say there wasn’t a moment of panic, because there was, but I’d prepared for this eventuality.  You fight aerial opponents, you’d best be prepared to take a long fall. Another of those magitek arrows deployed a light filament line that was stronger than any rope I’ve ever seen. I fired it into the cliffside and swung to safety, albeit the impact into the cliffside will leave me sore tomorrow. Even as I was dealing with my own plight, I saw Edgard get shoved off the cliffside as well by a headbutt from the Papa Bird. I know I didn’t have much time and that, for the moment, the dragoon seemed to have no way to save himself.

I gathered myself and ran back and forth along the cliff face to build momentum, then I swung out to catch him. Thank every God that he wasn’t wearing anything heavier than leather and chainmail. If he’d have been in drachenmail or full plate, we’d have been doomed. Or at least he would have.  I don’t think I could have held him. We only had moments to rest there, however, as Papa Bird began diving toward us, enraged enough to want to eviscerate us. 

This was the biggest moment of trust in this hunt. Edgard told me to let go of the rope and grab onto him. I knew he was about to /dragoon/ us out of there, but it was still a daunting proposition. Still, in for a penny in for a pound. It was either fall or die to the talons of the angry bi-fang. Falling seemed the least fatal of either option. I let go, still clutching to Edgard’s hand from where I’d caught him, I wrapped my other arm around his neck and squeezed my eyes shut. The way dragoon’s jump makes my stomach turn a flip, but it cleared us of the predatory swoop of the bi-fang and sent it sweeping past us. 

Edgard landed us on the ground and looked to me for a new plan as Papa Bird rounded on us to attack again. I was out of Net arrows by this point and none of the other arrows I had would do the trick. So, I opted to go with an alchemical solution. I pulled a sleeping draught from my pouches and waited. I couldn’t afford to miss. And I waited. 

Behind me, I could hear Edgard yelling my name. Was he worried? Frightened?  No, not Edgard. I stood there, letting the bi-fang get closer and closer, I could see the wicked curve of its talons, eager to rip me to shreds. Closer still.  I could feel the waves of … nerves?...emanating from Edgard. Still, I waited.

At the last possible moment, I threw the sleeping draught right in the beast’s face. It only took a matter of moments for it to clumsily land and fall over in a sleepy stupor. Edgard made his way over, unbidden with the rope to tie it up.

Hmph. He’d outshine me. Hunting has been my life for over twenty years, dragoon. You’re not going to outshine me at my own game.

Banter with him came easily now that I knew there was nothing to it. I teased him, I gave him as good as I got. There were moments I rendered him speechless or left him a stammering fool. I enjoyed every minute of it. Turning the tables on Edgard might become my new favorite pass-time. 

While he finished binding the bi-fang, I tended to the wound on his shoulder. It wasn’t much more than a scrape, but it was best not to leave it to fester. He’d done well, all-in-all, so I couldn’t really discredit his efforts as a hunter. With a bit more seasoning, he could probably hold his own. I told him as much, though he only very begrudgingly accepted the compliment. Under any other circumstance, Edgard would preen and claim it as my undying love for him, but on the matter of his skill as a hunter and his contributions, he wouldn’t.

He was in my world now, I couldn’t tell if the thrill of the hunt sat well with him or not. Gods only know I enjoyed every minute of it.  I even told Edgard he could soak in the hot spring with me, I’m sure he was convinced I’d hit my head somewhere along the line. 

This was a really good way to end his time in Kugane. He goes on to Ishgard the day after tomorrow and said he expects to see me there soon. I’ve some things of my own to wrap up before I leave Kugane, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t threaten to bypass Ishgard altogether and just go straight to Tailfeather because he /expected/ me in Ishgard. 

I tasked him with sending the Mama Bird back to the client via some magical aetheryte-like crystals we’d been given.  Activate them on the birds and they would appear in cages where the client waited with payment, better than trying to haul them back by hand. Once done with that, Edgard planned to go back to Kugane and I headed to Yanxia to hire some locals to tend to the chicks until Mama and Papa come back.

All-in-all, it was a good night and a fun time. Sure, I have a few bumps and bruises, but I can’t name a hunt I’ve gone on and come out completely unscathed.  I either get scratched up by brush and trees, injured by the beast, or /something/.  It’s just part and parcel of the Hunt. It reminds me I’m /alive./

My friendship with Edgard, at least for my own part of it, feels as if a great weight has been taken off me and I don’t feel the need to be so guarded. He has no further motives than just having a moment’s distraction. Like me, he has issues of his own to deal with before he seriously considers anything with anyone, which I’m honestly glad to hear him say. Primarily that he /plans/ to deal with them. I could care less who he sleeps with.

It was a good day, it really was. I needed it after a week of indolence. It felt /so/ good to get back out there and do what I love. And the best part of it is that it’ll have garnered me enough reputation with the Veteran Centurio to get the information I need. 

One step closer... Mentions @therpperson​ for Edgard Beaumont

[keatsblue]

Hawks Are Migratory Birds

Hot take: Hawks & other winged BNHA characters migrate annually. It’s a huge deal.

He’d never been one to wonder at his heritage.

From a mother whose drunken delirium he barely remembered to an absentee father whose face he could no longer recall, the disparate snippets that formed his childhood were as sand slipping through a sieve, gone too quickly to be truly perceived. The president, who was like a mother and yet not, told him that was for the best. Older now, and motherless by his own design, Hawks was beginning to agree.

And yet, every day he felt the pull.

He pulled his flight jacket tighter to his form, fingers slipping-numb as he beat up with his wings. They were on fire from exertion, muscles straining even in the cold weather from the ever-so-draining tension of building a career, an agency, a life, building, building, building.

Patrols had been rougher, since some ragtag group of villains had launched that spectacular failure of an attack on Endeavor’s alma mater. Most of those involved had been apprehended, but it seemed it didn’t matter. Villains were getting bolder, slinking out of the shadows and onto city streets, where he was forced to deal with them.

He didn’t even want to begin with this Hero Killer business, but fuck. If the locals didn’t wreck that one’s shit, soon, he imagined he’d be called in on the case, as well.

The low rooftop he’d been perched on grew smaller underfoot, disappeared. Another beat, and the rest of Fukuoka’s darktown went with it.

It was always worse, when it got colder. Like an itch he needed to scratch. Sometimes he would fly out to the edge of town, eyes glued to the horizon, just for some relief.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere , far beyond the city lights (they glimmered below, like tiny, happy fireflies). Lush, green landscapes haunted his dreams in visions of places he’d never been, yet somehow knew.

They’d first come to him when he was of a young age, though not so young that he didn’t already comprehend the phenomenon as something not to be shared with his handlers. It was an abnormality, certainly, yet it was one that could be successfully hidden--unlike fingernails that grew into talons, or feathered crests that necessitated a trip to a quirk cosmetologist every few months.

Abnormalities that could be hidden, it was safe to say, were always preferred.

He’d kept his landscapes, the pretty pictures in his head. He hadn’t told a soul, and when he woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, trembling from equal parts frigid air and longing , Hawks couldn’t help but smile. It was his last bastion, the only part of himself he doubted he could be trained out of.

He was so tired.

The shrill tone of his phone’s ring interrupted his reverie. He dug a hand into a pocket on the inner lining of his flight jacket, goosebumps breaking out across his flesh as a rush of winter wind wormed its way through the opening. “Yo.”

“You really ought to be more professional when answering a call, Hawks.” His handler’s tinny voice cracked over the speaker, and Hawks suppressed a sigh.

It was an effort to affect his usual oblivious veneer. “Ah, can’t hear ya, man. Poor reception when I’m flyin’ this high. Come again?”

“Never mind,” his handler said, though his undertone was telling. “There’s a new mission on your docket. We’ll need you to report in to discuss it further.”

“Another so soon? C’mon, it’s the holidays.” But he’d already adjusted his course, eyes narrowing. What could they want with him now? He’d only been kinda kidding about the Hero Killer thing.

“You act like that has some sort of meaning for you,” came the clipped reply, and damn, they really liked to hit him where it hurt. “I expect your arrival shortly. You wanted to be a hero, didn’t you?”

He barely had time to grumble out a rebellious yes, mom before the man hung up, leaving Hawks with a million questions and a niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t until later, well after he’d planted his bony ass dead center on his handler’s too-firm, stiff-backed office sofa, that he was validated.

Hawks crossed his arms. “No. Absolutely not.”

His handler’s lips thinned. Fingers that had been busy clacking away at their keyboard paused in their work, so dead silence reigned. “You seem to be under the false impression that this is optional.”

“Am I a joke to you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” the man said, finally, finally looking away from his monitor. He fixed the hero with a blank look. “Your mission is of the utmost importance-”

“It’s not my mission if I haven’t taken it yet.”

“Hawks.”

“No,” he repeated, with as much vehemence as he could muster. It was still a challenge, even now, not to immediately retract his statement. He wasn’t a little kid, anymore. “I’m not spying on the League of Villains.”

And there it was. The crux of the matter, thrust out into the open like so much dirty laundry. He wasn’t even trained for espionage, didn’t have the skill set for it, much less the desire to dabble. And he wasn’t that pathologic of a liar.

He wasn’t evil.

His handler released a deep breath, one that reverberated from deep within his lungs and rattled on the exhale. “You’re the only one who can do this.”

Hawks would’ve had to have been deaf not to catch the sudden shift in tone, subtle enough that it couldn’t be anything but intentional. He’d seen this song and dance, before. “No one’s gonna believe it. Me, falling to the figurative dark side? I’m the third-ranked hero, for fuck’s sake.”

When he only received another blank look, he raised a brow. “Really?”

“Your lackadaisical attitude lends your public persona a certain… côté méchant,” the man intoned, and Hawks couldn’t actually believe what he was hearing.

“What about Endeavor? Dude’s awesome, but he scares little kids.”

The response was automatic. “Endeavor is an upstanding man, destined to be the next pillar when we inevitably lose All Might. He would never stray to villainy.”

Hawks blinked, and beneath his skin, blood simmered and raged.

Then, he smiled. “Alright.”

Both of his handler’s eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing into his hairline. “Alright, you’ll do it?”

Hawks stood, and pretended to brush some stray debris from his pant leg.

“No.” He took great pleasure in the way the man’s face crumpled, like he’d just flushed his holiday bonus down the drain. And who knew? Maybe he had. “I meant, alright, I’m done with this conversation.”

He didn’t look back as he dropped from the office balcony, no less than fifteen stories up. Didn’t turn around to answer his handler’s increasingly frantic cries.

No, Hawks kept his eyes on that tantalizing horizon. And this time, when it beckoned, he didn’t have the heart to resist.

He thought of lush landscapes. Of heroes, and villains.

Everyone’s waiting for me to snap.

So goddamnit, I’ll snap. 

***

He flew for hours. Days, perhaps. He’d lost track.

After a kilometer or dozen had passed him by, the near-constant noise from his jacket pocket had begun to grate on his ears. It had been simple, to pull out the offending object and drop it.

His phone. He’d dropped his phone.

He might’ve been flying over ocean at the time.

After that, the only thing filling his ears had been the welcome roar of the high winds, and the occasional monotonous chatter of customers in small-time general stores where he stopped for snacks.

Upon entering one such establishment, the shopkeeper had taken one look at his bedraggled wings, his windswept hair, and offered him a free meat bun. Hawks had wolfed it down before thinking to make conversation, much to the other’s apparent amusement.

That shopkeeper had been an old, portly man, with a patchy mustache to match thinned nails and faded tattoos. He’d regarded the hero with kind eyes, and spoke in warm tones.

You’re a little late this year, aren’tcha?

“Hah?” Hawks had replied, intelligently. In his defense, he’d been speaking around a mouthful of meaty goodness.

The shopkeeper laughed. “It’s okay. I know you winged fellas have your ways. My wife dated somebody, years before she met me, who made the journeys.”

At the time, Hawks had been speechless. Before he could think of a reply, the old man had disappeared behind the counter, calling out from a back room that the hero could also grab himself a cold beverage on the house.  

Hawks had chosen a can of green tea that’d tasted like shit going down, then promptly high-tailed it out of there. Now, though, he wondered if he should’ve stayed.

The skies around him had grown dark, and it wasn’t only due to the late hour. There was a brief flash, then thunder soon followed, rolling in from the distance to confirm his worst suspicions.

“A storm,” he murmured, and he couldn’t tell if he was speaking from inside his head or out of it. Fucking great.

Another boom of thunder threatened to split his eardrums, and Hawks careened to the side, before righting himself. Something wet landed on the crown of his head, trailing ice-cold down the back of his neck.

Fucking-

More raindrops fell in a sudden deluge, and he was instantly soaked to the bone. Maintaining altitude became more difficult, as he wrestled screaming gusts of wind for control of newly-laden wings.

When Hawks risked a glance downward, and saw only the obsidian spearpoints of violent, cresting waves, he knew he was in trouble. His chest heaved, but he couldn’t hear the sound of his own breath, over the static in his ears.

Freezing rain clouded his vision like salty tear tracks, except Hawks couldn’t blink them away. He rubbed at his face, dug his fingers into the crevices between his eyelids, to no avail.

It started to dawn on him, that he was going to die.

He was going to die a hero, but one that everyone suspected would turn villain.

No.

He wanted to live, he wanted-

Lightning cracked just in front of him, searing bright, and close enough Hawks could smell the ozone even through his waterlogged nostrils. His heart leaped in his chest, alive on pure adrenaline.

Were the waves below getting closer? Or was that just-

Another powerful gust sent him spiraling, beaten back and forth by the elements. Sharp pain and the taste of copper erupted in his own mouth--he must’ve bitten his tongue. When Hawks finally managed to stabilize, he’d definitely gotten closer.

Scanning his surroundings with renewed vigor, he knew he had to find land, or he was toast. Fried chicken. It was difficult work, through salt-reddened eyes, as the only thing darker than the squall surrounding him was the deadly water below. And contrary to popular belief, Hawks lacked the pinpoint vision of his namesake. He was forced to wait between deadly illuminations, to make any headway.

Flash.

Flash, and-

There. A hulking shape, an island, standing proud against the storm.

Hawks’ stomach leapt, and then sank.

It was so far away. He would never make it.

He strained toward it, anyway, reaching out a hand with fingers outstretched, as if that would make any difference when seaspray from the crests of waves was already lapping at his feet. His calves.

His back was on fire.

The world went dark once more on the dying breath of yet another spiderweb of lightning, though Hawks hardly noticed. He’d already been forced to shut his eyes against the strong headwind that’d just slammed against his front, pitching him back and into the unforgiving embrace of the sea.

Hawks’ first thought as the wings that’d formerly granted him freedom became sodden deadweights in the vice grip of the ocean’s gyre was damn, this water’s cold. His second was that this was, without a doubt, the worst possible reality. How else could he explain perishing of his own stupidity?

Then, black currents dragged him down, and he didn’t think at all.

***

Something rapped against his forehead, threatening to wake him. He didn’t want to wake. He ached all over, his eyes stung, and that incessant tapping was going to give him a migraine. He groaned, and tried to stretch a hand up, to shoo the tapper away. His arm didn’t quite comply, but it had the intended effect.

The assault halted abruptly, and there was a skittering of voices from above, too low and too fast for Hawks to catch. The sound of footsteps, retreating.

It was too late, though. He’d already been stirred to wakefulness, wings twitching minutely as he attempted to shift into a more comfortable position. He opened his eyes, which proved to be a mistake, as he immediately had to close them again for the brightness that pierced his retinas.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t supposed to have woken, ever again. He just couldn’t remember why.

“I see you survived,” a voice called, different from the others he’d heard. He forced his eyes open, once more, squinting.

Slowly, the fuzzy shapes surrounding him started to coalesce. He adjusted the level of his gaze, and locked eyes with the one he presumed had spoken.

The newcomer was an older woman, from her appearance. She had grayed-out locks that framed a wizened face, all angles and sun-scars, though that was far from the most striking thing about her.

No, this woman had wings. They loomed large over her shoulders, slightly translucent and veined, like a bat’s. Hawks blinked to clear his vision, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite connect what he was seeing with reality.

It had to be part of her quirk, though he’d never seen someone with wings as large as his, before. They weren’t quite the same, but they looked capable of flight.

At his continued blank stare, the woman tilted her head. She smiled, to reveal pointed canines. “You’ve taken quite the tumble, mister. Didn’t you read the advisory? It’s not safe to fly alone, around these islands.”

Fly alone? Who would he fly with?

His voice croaked as he voiced the question, throat scratched all to hell. The woman only laughed, as if he’d made a particularly funny joke.

Then, of all things, she smirked. “Guess I can’t blame you for wanting to catch up, though. You’re lucky the tide was coming in.”

Catch up? Why did people keep saying that?

Fuck. The general store. The storm.

“I have to get back to Kyushu,” he breathed. He didn’t know what came over him. He’d abandoned his agency, his sidekicks -

Now, it was the woman’s turn to blink in confusion. Her voice was carefully level. Quiet. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Hawks frowned. “Know what?”

The woman only shook her head, like he’d said something incredibly sad. Then, she stretched out a hand, waiting patiently until he took it.

He followed her out of the shade, which he could now see had been formed from a makeshift hut. Bare feet padded on soft grass, and he didn’t know where his boots had gone. Probably lost at sea, if he had to guess.

Despite everything--his aches and pains, the old woman’s strange demeanor--Hawks couldn’t help but be taken in by the greenery all around him. It was lush, vibrant. So unlike the concrete jungle he’d claimed to love all his life.

It seemed… familiar. Pulled straight from his dreams.

They turned a corner, and Hawks gasped.

At first, all he could see were the wings. There were so many different colors, different textures. Plumage, furred, leathery. He could even see some that were scaled, gathered together on the fringes. Horned, like a dragon’s.

Then, he noticed the people. They were also of varying colors, though not as glaringly so. There must have been hundreds, if not a thousand below, from what he could make out from their vantage point.

There were children playing. Adults, sharing foodstuffs between campfires.

Some were flying.

He turned, a million questions on his tongue. They all died when he found the woman already looking at him, her expression solemn.

He let out a nervous chuckle. Reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I’ve been missing something big, haven’t I?”

The woman ignored his question, in favor of asking another. “What is your name, young man?”

“Keigo,” he sputtered, before he could say Hawks. “Takami Keigo.”

His companion nodded, like he’d revealed something of great importance, instead of just stating his name. She stretched out a withered arm, gesturing toward the scene below with sharp, taloned fingers.

He hadn’t even noticed that, when she’d taken his hand.

“Keigo,” she said. “Welcome... to the migration.”

Uncertain of his welcome, he took a cautious step forward. Then, emboldened by the encouraging look the older woman shot him, he took another. Stretched out his own wings, unafraid of frightening passerby, or knocking something over. Maybe, he thought, I can stay. For just a while longer.

He took flight, and it felt like coming home.

Deep within his gut, the pull lessened.

Wavered.

...

Disappeared.

***

côté méchant = villainous, nasty side (via Google translate; I don't actually speak French)

[solastia]

The Dragon’s Lair

- A Special Edition Chapter -

This is the thirty day bonding period report of Kim Namjoon. I am writing this because Kim Heechul is a tyrant who threatened to make everything I eat taste like broccoli for an entire month if I missed even a single day. For my owner’s privacy, since I don’t know who all is going to see this, I won’t use her real name. Her aura has always reminded me of one of my favorite jewels in my collection, a star blue sapphire, so for this report her name will be recorded as Star. 

Day 1: Here we go, first entry. The house is incredible and I have my own room. It’s a charming farmhouse with tons of space and a bunch of land. There’s even a massive forest that apparently is part of her property as well. I’m looking forward to exploring it all later. I can’t help but wonder if Star’s been lonely out here by herself. There are tons of rooms in this house and everything sort of echos when it’s quiet. The thought of her sitting in here by herself is heartwrenching. If she adopted me because’s all alone, I hope I can make her happy. I should probably also report that my dumb biology has decided she’s a part of my hoard. I can’t sleep without her now. I normally would have wanted to wait until we were more comfortable, but she dealt with the situation with grace. 

Day 2: Not too much to report today. We spent most of the day buying more things for my bedroom. Since Star is a part of my hoard now, she insisted on buying an even bigger bed and stashed the old one in one of the other rooms. This one is something called an Eastern King sized bed and is the biggest mattress I’ve ever seen. I could fit so much on here. Put that eyebrow away, hyung. There is a room that she keeps locked and when I asked her about it she said it was just storage. Seems strange to have a whole room just to stash stuff. And why keep it locked it she was the only one living here?

Day 3: I may have made a mistake today. I’ve been so happy here that I wanted to thank her. I can hear you saying, “You gave her a jewel, right?” Well, I’m afraid I didn’t. I tried to make her breakfast. I KNOW, hyung. I learned that it’s possible to melt a pan and leave the meat inside of it raw. Who knew? Lucky for me, Star was too busy laughing about the pan to really get too mad at me. She gave me a hug before telling me I’m banned from the kitchen. 

Day 4: I spent the day scenting my territory. Every bit of this house (minus that locked room) and the land surrounding it are now marked. I even got away with subtly marking Star. This is feeling more like home every day. 

Day 5: I don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I’ve been eating everything she’s been making me. You’d be proud of me, I haven't complained once! Even when she gave me three scoops of broccoli. Although for broccoli, it wasn’t as bad as some I’ve had. She put garlic and stuff in it. Maybe soon I’ll be brave enough to tell her what kind of food I like. I don’t think she’d get mad, but you never know. 

Day 6: The new Marvel movie came out today. Star was so excited and I couldn’t help fall for her a bit more today. I admit I had a crush before, but she was just shining with happiness and every time she smiled at me my heart felt like it was going to burst. It doesn’t feel like a crush anymore. The theater was packed and we were pressed together like sardines, but neither of us seemed to mind. She even let me hold her hand. Could she ever return the feelings of someone that is basically an animal, though? Hyung, what do I do?

Day 7: Soonyoung and Jihoon came to hang out today. It was the first time anyone has come by since I’d marked it as my territory, and I think I did pretty well. Only growled a little bit, I promise. That was mostly because of Jihoon hogging Star. He was totally egging me on though, I swear. Smirking whenever he saw me watching. He’s known me too long and knows how to push my buttons. He made up for it by telling me everything he knew about Star. The way he talks it's like Soonyoung and Star are the best people on the planet...I think I’m starting to agree. 

Day 8: Star has to do some work tomorrow and won’t be able to spend much time with me, so she decided to spoil me today. She took me downtown and we hung out there almost all day. Ate at a cafe, spent hours in the bookstore, even stopped by the art museum. Then we walked next to the river and we just talked about everything. Hopes for the future, friends, books we like. Hyung, it felt like a date. I want it so bad it’s aching. Do dragons have mates? Like, soulmates? I think she might be mine. We need to research this. 

Day 9: Nothing much to report today. Star has been in her office all day. I don’t know if I’m allowed in there, but I’ve made her food (just sandwiches, don’t worry) a couple times and knocked to let her know it was there. I’ve mostly been in my room reading. I’m going to need cuddles like crazy tomorrow though. Don’t laugh, you like cuddles too. 

Day 10: We just stayed home today and it was great. We cuddled on the couch and watched a few movies, then went outside to work on her Grandma’s garden. She could remember when everything was planted and told me about them with a sad smile. It’s obvious that she loved her Grandparents and they loved her. While I’m sad that she lost them, I’m happy that it led her to me. I want to be the family she needs. I know I already need her. It’s so soon for that too. I’ve only known her a couple weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. I can only hope that she feels the same. 

Day 11: Star has been smelling a little different lately. Not a bad different, but...I don’t know. Maybe she’s getting sick. I spent most of today trailing after her like a dumbass trying to figure out what the smell was. My dragon was fighting me hard to surface like it wanted to protect. All I wanted to do was take her to my room and not let her leave the nest. (See? I’m calling it a nest. Isn’t that weird? Where did that come from). I’m trying to stay calm so I don’t scare her. I might call you later and have you send some medication she can take. 

Day 12: That smell is still there, but it’s even stronger today. I feel like I should know what it means, but I just can’t remember. She doesn’t look sick. In fact, she’s been eating more than usual. She went through three bags of chips today alone. I don’t know if I should be worried or not. I guess the best thing is just to wait for her to say something. 

Day 13: TODAY HAS BEEN HELL! HYUNG! She wasn’t sick, she was starting her cycle. As soon as we woke up I could smell it and my dragon nearly came through the surface. I had to make up some story about dragon digestive problems so I could lock her out of my room and try to get away from her. I was under so much stress my horns and talons were out for hours. All I wanted to do was run after her and CLAIM her. Pull her into our bed and protect her. Hyung, I think we have a pretty good answer to my mates question. There is no doubt in my mind that she is meant for me. 

Day 14: She slept in her room for the first time in forever last night because I kept telling her through the door I was having issues. I couldn’t sleep at all. My entire body was itching because she wasn’t in our nest. I didn’t want to scare her though, so I fought through it. I was scared to come out this morning, but I didn’t think I’d be able to pull off any more time without worrying her. Thankfully her scent was back to a level I could handle. She was asking about my stomach and babying me. I used the opportunity to blame the broccoli and she’s promised to never make me eat any again. At least something good came out of this ordeal. 

Day 15: We went ice skating today to celebrate the halfway point of our bonding period. Technically halfway was yesterday, but I was “recovering” so she saved it for today. She was so adorably bad and probably has a bruised behind from how often she fell. I’m always so clumsy everywhere else, but I was proud to be able to show her how good I am on the ice. She was impressed and my dragon was PREENING! I was actually purring like a damn cat. I feel like I’m supposed to be doing something to make her think of me as a mate, but I don’t know what. We need to find out if dragons have mating rituals. Hyung, time to hit the books again! Or at least wave your hands around. Honestly, what good is a Wizard if they can’t just tell you what you need to know? 

Day 16: Nothing to report today. Star worked in her office, although she kept the door open. She warned me that once she gets in art mode, she doesn't’ pay attention to anything around her and she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. I was fine though, I just like being near her. She has a recliner in there that's really comfy and I read and watched her work. She’s so talented and when she’s deep in her work she gets extremely focused. The house could have gone up in flames and she wouldn’t have noticed. I don’t know why that’s so attractive, but she had me hooked. 

Day 17: I made her cry today, hyung. I’m worried it might be my last day here. I was just trying to do something nice and I made her some tea, but when I tried to carry the tea set to the living room I slipped on the rug and spilled the tray. The entire set broke. I just stood there paralyzed because I couldn’t believe what I’d done and she came running from another room. When she saw what broke, she started sobbing. Not just crying, hyung. Wailing. I tried to help her pick the pieces up, but she just asked me to go to my room. I’m sitting here waiting for her to tell me to pack my things. I’m sorry, hyung. I tried. 

Day 18: I had gone to bed by myself last night, but Star ended up joining me. She didn’t say anything until this morning, but at least we both slept well. It turns out the tea set was one that she’d picked out piece by piece with her Grandma. As soon as I heard that I felt even worse for what I’d done, but she calmed me down when I tried to apologize. She said she knew it was a mistake and she was sorry if she scared me. She was sad but she wasn’t angry. I asked her if she wanted me to go back to the shelter, but that just made her cry again and hug me. She told me she couldn’t imagine life without me anymore. We spent the rest of the day quietly cuddling on the couch. I think we’re going to be okay. 

Day 19: I needed to let my scales through while I was showering today because I felt so itchy. I don’t know why it’s happening in the middle of winter, but I shed a whole handful of scales today. I was just going to give them to you for your supplies like usual, but the thought made chest burn. I felt like I needed to give them to Star. How odd is that? Why would Star need my scales? Maybe it’s a dragon thing? Back to the books with us. I wish I had a manual like the other hybrids. Life would be so much easier. 

Day 20: Star decided the 20th day we’ve been together is another milestone worthy of celebration. The zoo was is having some Christmas event for the month of December and the weather was decent enough that I wasn’t worried about her being in the cold that long, so that’s where we went. Soonyoung and Jihoon came along too. But get this hyung, she called it a double date! I don’t think she meant it in the way I want her to but...maybe? Maybe I’m growing on her at least.  Either way, we had fun. I liked the petting zoo the most. There was a little goat there that wouldn’t stop following me around and Star was laughing so hard. She said when it gets warmer we are definitely getting some goats for the farm. I tried to explain that dragons most likely used goats as their main source of food. She just laughed and made jokes for the rest of the day about me having a “kid.” If it makes her this happy, I’ll accept my future as a tamed dragon turned goat dad.  

Day 21: It’s been a long time since I’ve had one hyung, but I think I had a prophetic dream last night. I was here at home with Star, but the house was full of people. I think they were all men, but I couldn’t see their faces well. Everyone was happy and giggling cuddled in the living room and two little kids were running around playing. Even more amazing, Star was sitting next to me with a huge pregnant belly. In the dream, I felt proud and protective so I was sure it was mine. And she was wearing a necklace made of my scales, hyung! That’s how I knew it had to be prophetic. I’ve had no idea what to do with them, but seeing them around her neck felt right. I’m going to send them to you so we can make the necklace. I really hope that was a peek into my future. I’ve never felt such love and contentment in one room like that before. 

Day 22: Nothing to report today. We just did chores and hung out. I wandered around in the forest for a while and wrote for the first time since I’ve been here. You’d cringe if you saw how sappy some of them were. 

Day 23: I’ve never thought about keeping a journal before since I usually am content with using my music to let things out, but this report has kinda gotten me used to writing every day. I think the next time we’re in town I’ll buy a journal and keep this up. It’s nice to go back and remember. 

Day 24: Some days I have hope that I’m not the only one feeling more than owner and hybrid. There are times when I swear I catch a glint in her eye or scent her arousal and I wonder if she might have feelings for me too. Of course, the scent could be for any reason, but a dragon can hope. Still, I think I’m doing a good job at making Star happy and she cuddles with me all the time. She tells me she adores me, but she’s usually squeezing my cheeks like I’m a kid when she does, so I don’t think she means it that way. I just wish I could get my act together and let her know I am so in love with her. She is everything to me, the very air I breathe. She’s it for me, hyung. Even if this doesn’t work out and she sends me back like my last family, she’s it. My dragon has chosen its mate and so have I. 

Day 25: I gave her a hickey in my sleep. I apologized and asked if I did anything else but she laughed it off. I think I might do it often and she just keeps it to herself to spare my feelings. I am so screwed. I just wanted to give her more. 

Day 26: I’m realizing now that you’re going to be reading this and it’s going to sound like some angsty teenage drama. I know you’re going to bust my balls but you know what? I don’t even care. Make fun of me for being whipped. She’s worth it. 

Day 27: Star says she’s going to take me to the beach in the summer. I told her I’ve never been to the ocean and she threw a fit. I’m excited to see it, but I’m more happy that she’s making plans that far ahead. It means she’s expecting me to still be here then. She wants me to stay! 

Day 28: I have a confession. I haven’t been feeling the urge for more Ryan dolls in a long time. Instead, I’ve been basically snatching things. I’ve been keeping my secret hoard in a box under my bed because I’m a little embarrassed. So much of it could be considered trash or too sappy, but it makes me happy and it fulfills my urges. There are things like tickets from the zoo, a shiny rock that I picked up during our walk along the river, any little accessories she leaves laying around, notes she’s written me (one of them is just a damn shopping list). And for some reason, I can’t stop taking her hair ties. I don’t know. They carry her scent I guess? I wish I was a normal dragon that wanted mostly jewels and coins, but even then I’d probably find some way to make it about her. Oh wait, I kinda already did, didn’t I? I nearly forgot about where her name came from. God, I’m hopeless. 

Day 29: The bonding period is nearly over. While I’m anxious to get back to my classes and I miss my friends, I’ll miss being home with her all the time. I’m curious how I’ll feel when I have to be at the shelter when Star is home alone. Not good, I imagine. The urge to protect her and the den is already high enough. Oh well, something to work on. I bet you’re going to be excited to have me back to pawn all your paperwork on. I dread how high that pile has gotten. 

Day 30: Here it is, my final entry for the report. I’m going to be keeping a journal after this because I really liked going back to read how I felt. It put a lot into perspective. Although, those will be a bit more personal than this. There was a lot that I didn’t share with you, hyung, as I’m sure you know. Mostly just more feelings and personal memories I’d like to keep to myself. Things she’s said and done that make me feel like the most important person in the world. I couldn’t possibly explain in just a few journal entries the depth of emotion I feel and how complete she makes me. I’ve always felt like the odd one out; the dragon that no one understood or would want. She’s never made me feel that way and accepts me for the way I am. I am honored that she wants me, even if it’s just as her hybrid. I’m going to try though, hyung. I have the necklace we made all wrapped up and I’m going to confess on Christmas day. If she rejects me, I just hope she’ll let me stay with her anyway. Maybe you could make me a good luck charm. See you tomorrow! 

[humans-are-space-orcs]

Humans Are Weird: Not Noticing Pain

       The humans were at third meal when Zork'ak sat on the bench. The nutrient researchers had been experimenting with the human flavors, attempting to add it to the meals. This bowl had a slight ‘savory’ undertone that Zork'ak very much enjoyed.

           Wren moved over to allow Zork'ak to sit next to her, which caused a weird constriction around xer straque, xer fluid-pumping organ. Wren smiled at xem, and it happened again. Xe might need to go to the medical wing after meal.

           "I don’t feel sorry,“ Adam was saying.

           "You sprained my wrist!” Steve was clutching his extremity to his chest.

           "You should’ve landed the right way.“

           "Oh, shut up,” Carrie grumbled.

           As Carrie lifted her utensil to her mouth, Zork'ak caught a glimpse of a long cut running the length of the lower half of her extremity. “How did you hurt yourself, Carrie?”

           She looked surprised. “Where?” Zork'ak carefully traced the line with xer talon. Carrie twisted to look at the scabbed cut. “Hmm. Wonder when that happened.”

           "The piercing of your skin sends pulses through your nerves, correct?“

           "Well, yeah.”

           "So you should feel it.“

           "Well, I mean. You usually do. I guess I just didn’t notice when it happened this time.”

           "Sometimes our body can be more focused on other things or like the pain is so minor we barely notice or remember it,“ Adam said. "I mean we obviously notice big things.”

           "I probably cut on something while we were at the collection field.“ Carrie continued eating.

           "She also is the kind of person who doesn’t notice a lot.” Adam closed his eye in what Zork'ak had been told is called a 'wink.’ “I, on the other hand, do notice things like this.” He flipped his extremity over to reveal two blue spots on his arms. Zork'ak did not study human bodily science, just behavior so xe did not know what this medical condition was.

           "What disease do you have?“ Zork'ak leaned forward to look at Adams, running a talon over the skin to see if it felt different. Xe had been told that xe could touch the humans without asking permission in these situations.

           "Oh, it’s not a disease. It’s called a bruise. It means my blood vessel, the tube that brings the blood to all my organs, was ruptured. It’ll go away after a few days.”

           "You rupture delivery vessels that are necessary to keep your organs functioning and it does not affect your body?“

           Adam shrugged. "We have multiple blood vessels.”

           "Is this an extremely painful occurrence?“ Zork'ak had noticed humans did not seem to mind pain.

           "Nah. I mean, you can usually tell if you are going to bruise because it hurts a little when that spot gets hit, but very minor.”

           "So you don’t notice when you are cut but when one of your… blood vessels,“ Adam nodded,” blood vessels ruptures but you do notice when you touch an object too hard.“

           "Uh, kind of? It just really depends.”

           Zork'ak did not understand how some humans would notice these nerve impulses but others did not. Xe turned to look at Wren, who had been listening to the conversation, and noticed a dark purple spot on Wren’s upper extremity.

           "What is this?“ Xe pointed at the spot on Wren’s arm.

           "Uh,” Wren tried to twist her extremity. “Where?” She was stretching it out, twisting around, finally able to look at the spot on the back side. “Oh, bruise.” She poked it. “Ouch. That hurt.” She proceeded to press it again. And again.

           "Wren?“ She touched the spot again and wrinkled her nose. "Why do you continue to press the spot that hurts?”

           She looked at xem. “You know, I don’t have an explanation really. I guess it doesn’t hurt that much so it’s enticing to keep pressing it to see if it hurts more each time. I’m not sure.”

           "How did you get that bruise?“

           "Couldn’t tell you.”

           Zork'ak looked back at Adam. “I thought you said you all noticed when you have ruptured your blood vessels, and that one looks more painful.”

           "Hers is a dark color because it’s healing, not because it’s more painful. Bruises are nearly the same pain level. Some hurt when you press them,“ he cut his eyes at Wren, "but having them doesn’t hurt really.”

           "She does not know how she received hers.“

           He looked at her arm, then his. "Like I said, it depends.”

           "But.“ Zork'ak was looking at their bruises. "How do you-you don’t notice-I do not understand.” Klyls always noticed any abnormality in their body’s functioning. There was not a time that Zork'ak had not noticed something causing xem pain.

           "It’s complicated, I guess. Our species doesn’t have set rules really.“

           "I have noticed.” Xe looked at Wren. “It makes your species quite hard to study.”

           She laughed. “Good. You can’t know all of our secrets.” She winked at xem then.

           Zork'ak found it hard to breathe for a fraction of a cycle. Xe definitely needed to go to the medical wing.  

submitted by: @nonbinarygaymergirl

[somekidinacoma]

The Prince and the Raven-Chapter 2

Chapter 1 here

Thank you to @imyasart for drawing the beautiful picture that inspired this story!!

-Present Day, in the Eastern Kingdom of Sanders-

Clang

Shhh-ah

Tsh

The various sounds of swords clashing into one-another rang through Virgil's ears as he watched the battle before him. The prince-turned-raven sat atop a shop in the so-called quiet village of Crofter.

Krsht

Ts

Shrt

No matter how many times it happened, Virgil still wasn't used to watching Roman fight. Especially so many people.

Roman had come to this town searching for the alchemist Logan Barry, by command of the king. Turns out that the man was worth something to nasty pirates, as well. Once the scoundrels got word of Prince Roman's arrival they attacked in vain. With no plan in place, they had nothing on the red-haired prince. He could handle them, of course. He'd fought the likes of which no ship-full of pirates could ever defeat. Giant trolls and grumpy ogres and the like.

But that didn't mean that Virgil didn't worry.

Roman smiled in victory as he knocked down the final good-for-nothing that stood in the way of the building holding the alchemist.

The prince took long strides towards the door of the small hut, a smirk on his face. His pride overtook him so much that he didn't take care to notice the disheveled man running towards him, a sword in hand.

Roman turned around to the shrill sound of a ravens call, just in time to roll out of the way of the swing of a sword. Almost.

The sword chopped of nearly a square inch of hair, which fell to the ground, seemingly in slow motion.

Roman stared at his lost comrades, horror decorating his usually bright, happy features.

Needless to say, Roman made quick work of the murderous man.

Virgil flew down towards Roman, landing on the prince's shoulder, lightly tightening his grip to show sympathy towards Roman's lost hair.

It took a moment for the both of them to remember the reason they had to sacrifice their cherished friends.

Virgil swore to remember this loss as Roman began to walk towards the hut. After trying the wooden doorknob, which didn't seem to work, Roman kicked the door in. The prince plastered a smile on his face, smirking proudly at the blue-haired alchemist.

Lord, how Virgil missed his purple hair.

Virgil dived for a small, dusty table as Roman went to untie the man.

"About time," Logan's voice instantly made Virgil want to speak to him. He sounded intelligent. The raven missed having conversations, especially with the wizards and mages that he used to speak with about magic. "I've been here for three days."

Logan stood, and Virgil took the chance to get a good look at him.

He was the same height as Roman, 5'11"-ish, making it easy to see the contrast between Logan's dark blue hair and Roman's bright red. The alchemist was very pale next to Roman's perfect tan, though he did seem as though he might be able to compare to Roman's strength. He had most likely been trained to defend himself with castle guards, just as Roman had.

"My deepest apologies old friend," Roman replied. "We had not received word of your disappearance until yesterday. The mail-carrier seemed to have gotten lost."

"How does one get lost on a journey to the capitol?" Logan sneered bitterly. Virgil had to admit that he had a right to be upset, although he didn't appreciate the scientist directing that towards the prince. "You can see the castle's towers from here!"

"Do not blame him, friend. He was but a young boy. T'was most likely his first journey to our home," Roman was quick to defend the boy.

"Why do you insist on calling me friend? We haven't spoken in years," Logan said distractedly, almost annoyed, as he went to gather the bag and parchment that the pirates had stolen from him.

"That does not mean we are not still friends," Roman declared, the smile on his face growing.

"I suppose you're right." Logan, too, smiled as he adjusted the straps of his bag to fit against his shoulder better. Something changed in the man as he looked back at the prince, almost as if he had remembered their time as friends. "Shall we be off?"

"We shall!"

****

"So you have acquired a raven, have you?" Logan adjusted his glasses to inspect the bird that sat atop Roman's shoulder more carefully.

The small group walked peacefully along the path back to the capital of the kingdom Virgil had come to call home.

"He was sent to me from a distant land. When he arrived, he had been enchanted to find one with a pure heart, as to find a companion to live for a while," Roman explained, a proud look covering his face.

"Enchanted, you say?" Logan asked, a curiosity that Virgil didnt think he liked sprinkled in his voice. "May I inspect him further upon our arrival at the castle?"

"That decision is V's to make," Roman eyed the bird to see if he seemed uncomfortable with Logan's prying. "He's an incredibly intelligent creature."

"So I see," Logan spoke as he went to poke at the bird. Virgil grabbed his finger with a talon, gently pushing the alchemist's hand away from him. "Should I take that as a 'no'?"

Roman chuckled lightly, as to make sure V didn't lose his balance. "We're almost to the castle. We'll have to see V's opinion once we get to your laboratory."

Just as Roman finished his statement, the outwr houses of Sanders' capital came into view.

Virgil flew ahead of the two, towards the castle, to alert the guards of Roman's return.

The raven could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Lord, was he in trouble. There was no way that he, a cursed half-raven fae creature was allowed to fall in love with the prince of an entirely human kingdom. Sure, this particular kingdom had now yet joined the war against the fae, but most humans still looked down on them greatly.

"Who gives a shit?" Virgil thought to himself as he landed in from of the guard tower, calling to them in the way he did every time he returned to the castle with Roman. "Its not like it matters. I'll never return to normal anyways."

****

"This is so exciting!" Logan practically jumped on excitement as he ran around his lab. "I've been studying enchantments and spells from the West for years."

"Just don't do anything dangerous." Roman felt a wave of nervousness wash over him. He didn't know what he would do if something were to ever happen to V. The bird had become immensely important to him.

Virgil also felt anxiousness in the pit of his stomach. After listening to Logan talk about his ideas on dispelling curses, he agreed to let the scientist work on him.

It was obvious to Roman now that the bird was under a curse, and the curiosity of what it could possibly be overcame any anxiety he was feeling, hence why he was even letting this happen. If not for this new realization, Logan's lab equipment would not be anywhere close V's purple-tinted feathers.

"Calm down, Logan." Roman didn't mean to sound so commanding, but the fear of something happening to V made him become far scarier than he truly was.

Logan did take a second to relax before gathering the last item he needed and walking towards the large, stone table in the center of the room.

Virgil took this time to really look around the room, needing a distraction. Its not like he would understand what Logan was doing or saying, anyways.

The room was about the size of Roman's bedroom (large, though there weren't near as many mirrors). Viles, and test tubes, and beakers lined the wooden shelves around the walls, most of them containing some sort of wildly-colored fluid. Some of the containers were labeled with such things as "ogre's sweat," or "troll bogey," and other things Virgil thought odd.

The bird was suddenly flung out of his observations by a scratch just under his beak, where Roman knew he liked being scratched. "Are you ready, V?"

Roman's eyes held a mixture of curiosity and concern, both of which got more intense as Virgil nodded his head, turning to face the excited alchemist.

Hopping forward, Virgil prepared himself for any pain he might feel. His transformation to this form hurt, so it only made sense that a transformation back would as well.

Logan held a tube with a bright purple liquid. The mixture didn't seem dangerous, and it didn't smell bad. Virgil took that as a good sign.

Roman held his breath as Logan poured the liquid over the raven. At first, nothing happened.

The room was unbearably silent. The prince found it strange how uncomfortable this silence was. The air felt thick, and Roman swore that even his sword couldn't cut through it.

Logan's shoulders dropped. "I guess it didn't work..."

Everyone let out a breath filled with both disappointment and relief. At least V wasn't hurt.

Logan grabbed some of the viles, turning to put them back in their place in the shelves.

Just as Roman reached out to pet V's head, a a beam of darkness seemed to blast out of the bird. Roman heard glass breaking and a gasp as more darkness emitted from the dark feathers of his friend.

Croaks and calls fell from the birds beak, and slowly the shape of the creature morphed and changed.

Feathers fell from the form, and replacing them was pale human skin and beautiful, purple hair. The dark beak turned from that into a human nose and soft, pink lips. Talons slowly turned into human legs, feet, and toes, and wings to arms, hands, and fingers (with appropriate black nail polish).

Slowly, but surely, the raven's calls turned to human screams, and slowly but surely, Roman's companion, a raven by the name V, was turning into a human.

@tinkslittlebelle

@icequeenoriginal

[crownvetch92]

Light Eternal Chapter 4

Caeweth awoke to the sound of her sister Ingle babbling.  Bright golden eyes staring directly into hers.  Caeweth groaned, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“What’s the matter little sister,” Caeweth whispered, “Can’t sleep?”

“S-s-sis,” Ingle stammered clumsily.

Ingle proceeded to nuzzle little Caeweth, sniffing at one particular spot on her chest, curiosity leading her to poke at it with her sharp claw.

“Ow, Hey!” Caeweth loudly whispered, “That… actually hurt.”

Caeweth looked down to see a section of skin on her chest, no bigger than her palm, was glowing blue.  The lump was hard, like a stone, and sat firmly against her sternum.

Before long her other two sisters awoke, babbling curiously.  Caeweth grabbed a blanket, trying to keep the glow a secret as she quietly snuck to the natural spring, Ingle, Frasil, and Levin in tow.  The glow became brighter and a dull pain began to throb in her chest.  With a bright flash of blue light, the object emerged, much to the amazement of her dragon sisters.  It was a stone, a round, smooth, dark blue colored stone embedded in her chest.

Taloned feet clicked on the cave floor behind the children.

“Vell I’ll be,” Estelle’s voice echoed in the cave chamber, “I never thought I vould ever see an emergence, let alone von so spectacular.”

Caeweth gulped and turned around, fully expecting to be in trouble.

“Don’t vorry, you are not in trouble,” Estelle cooed, “Now let me see.”

Estelle closely inspected the round stone.

“What is it?” Caeweth asked nervously.

“Your heart stone.  All night fae possess one, and it looks like yours is a blue moonstone.  See how it flashes?”

Caeweth looked at her reflection in the calm waters of the spring.  It did indeed flash brighter shades of blue when she moved.  Her sisters cooed in amazement.  Caeweth felt a surge of excitement.

“Does that mean I will get my powers soon?”

“Sveety, I don’t really know… Maybe?” Estelle answered, “All ze Night fae I have met are so secretive about their childhood, it is hard for me to say.”

“So these other Night Fae, what are they like?” Caeweth asked as Estelle ushered her and her sisters back to the nest, “Do they all have moonstones as their heart stones?”

“Zey are quiet folk,” Estelle answered, “I have not spoken to very many.  Now back to sleep, growing children need their rest.”

Caeweth’s mind was buzzing with thoughts about what just happened.  It was all so sudden, that ‘emergence’ Estelle mentioned.  What did it mean?  What is a heart stone?  How many other Night Fae are there?

She tossed and turned for what seemed like forever, until her eyes felt heavy, and the veil of sleep descended once again.

Meanwhile, in the deepest part of the Forest of Eternal Night, a disturbingly handsome Night Fae gazed deeply into a crystal ball.  His midnight hair hung in a blue colored braid over his shoulder.  He wore an ornate blue and gold spider silk tunic with a deep V neck, revealing his shining green moonstone, and blue silk breeches.

“Whither art thou?” He muttered, orange eyes intensely gazing into the crystals smooth surface, “Emergling fairy…”

He tried to locate where the epicenter of the magic surge was.  He sat in a small room lined to the brim with books.  He waved his pale hand over the clear crystal’s surface.  He muttered to himself, deep in thought, flicking his translucent, lacy, white wings.

“Darling,” came a sweet sultry voice from the doorway, causing him to lose focus, “Castor, you’ve been at this for hours, Surely you can take a break and have a little fun.”

“Ariadne please,” Castor replied, “This is important.”

“What’s so important that you spend all day locked in a musty old room without little me?”  Ariadne pouted, flicking her sunset colored hair.

She wore an especially revealing pink silk dress that emphasized her ample chest, while the peach moonstone on her sternum glimmered pleasingly in the candle light.

“A Night Fae emergence was felt outside the Child Garden,” He replied flatly, “We need to find them before anything else does.  Their chances of survival sink lower every minute they remain outside our village walls.”

“Well they survived this long, they can wait a little longer.   Why don’t you take a little break with me?” she purred, her voice dripping with desire as she flicked her pink and yellow wings.

“With all due respects, my Queen, this emergling fae might not survive another hour, we really should…” his voice trailed off as Ariadne’s lips met with his.

Oh how he loved Ariadne’s sweet kisses, so soft and warm.  Yet, he often felt torn between serving his beautiful queen’s desires, and his loyalty to his own kind.  He adored her, he truly did, but her self centered demands became overwhelmingly oppressive, and all of her requests for lovemaking became too much for him to bear.  Not one night fae in the village, or even the kingdom, seemed happy at all with her constant demands.

“Well now,” Ariadne purred, “How do you feel?”

The crystal ball glowed brightly, revealing a second, weaker surge of power.

Thank the All Mother, He thought to himself.

“My lady,” Castor said quietly, “I really must find this night fae…”

The disappointment in Ariadne’s deep blue eyes was palpable.

“We will make love once I return, I promise.” He said before shapeshifting into a small, fluffy Scops owl before flying out the window.

“You better keep that promise!” She shouted angrily, stomping her fine pink slippers on the floor before crossing her arms and pouting, “What could be more important than serving your queen?!”

“Serving my people, keeping them safe…”  He muttered under his breath.

He flew through the forest, happy to take some time for himself.  He barely had a moment alone with her constant need for attention.  He sighed, happy to be free… at least for the moment.  He soared past patches of brightly glowing flowers, giant translucent glowing mushrooms, and patches of pale yellow glow moss.  Before long, he arrived at the mouth of a cave. located at the end of shallow ravine.  Glowing white flowers hung down from their vines along the sides of the cave entrance.  He perched on a nearby branch, well hidden from anybody exiting the cave.  He did not have to wait long before a 6 foot tall brown bat walked out, furiously rubbing her eyes with her spindly clawed hands, a small night fae child trailing close behind her.

“Vell zat vas… interesting,”  Estelle said, “Ve really need to verk on your magic.  Zat spell nearly blinded everyvon in ze cave.”

“I said I was sorry,” Caeweth said, rubbing her own eyes, “I didn’t think those orbs of light would explode like that.”

“Do not be sorry my little Caeveth,” Estelle reassured her, “I remember my first shape shift did not go vell at all.”

“What happened?”

“Sink of a lump of pitch black slime vith a mouth full of jagged sharp teeth… and too many eyes.”

“Oh…”

“Vas not a pretty sight, I assure you.”

Caeweth laughed merrily, a sound Castor had not heard years, at least not from anybody besides Ariadne.  He peeked around the tree trunk as three little whelping dragons bounded out of the cave.  Frasil happy tackled little Caeweth to the ground, causing Caeweth to yelp in surprise.  The two tumbled around, roughhousing and wrestling playfully under Estelle’s watchful gaze.  They all looked… happy… genuinely happy.

He felt torn: Yes the forest was dangerous for a small Night Fae child, but she looked completely happy and healthy, playing around with the whelping dragons.  It was clear she was well taken care of by someone, and would be devastated if she was ripped from their caring arms.

On the other hand, the village would provide better protection against the beasts that prowled the forest floor.  He could also find a mentor to help with her emerging magic.  Controlling magic was often difficult for young Night Fae, and she could get a proper education.  He sighed, unsure of how to proceed.  He unknowingly clacked his beak in frustration, drawing Estelle’s attention.  

Estelle’s ears twitched.  She sniffed the air, there was somebody, or something beyond her sight.  It didn’t smell of decay and dirt like a grave dog would, or of rancid blood like a skin walker, or of icy winds like a wendigo.  She heard the clacking again.  She followed the direction of the noise to find an owl.

“Who are you?” She snarled, spooking castor, “Vy are you here?”

Castor gulped.  Although shapeshifting mega bats were generally peaceful, they were very protective of their family units.

“A-Apologies ma’am,” Castor stammered, “I was just…”

“Leaving,” Estelle hissed, baring her sharp teeth.

“N-no,” Castor gulped, “Not until I know this little night fae is safe.”

“She is, now leave.”

“Estelle?” Caeweth surprised both Estelle and Castor, “What are you doing?”

“Adult talk my little sveety,” Estelle cooed, “Now go back to your sisters.”

“They are already here.”

The three little dragon whelps had followed Caeweth, peeking over her shoulder.  Caeweth looked at the fluffy scops owl.  Something looked vaguely familiar.  There was a slight green glow from beneath his feathers, barely noticeable to anybody else.  She approached Castor, at the behest of Estelle, and parted the feathers on the bird’s chest.  Castor recoiled, nearly falling off the low branch.

“A moonstone?”  Caeweth asked, “Estelle, I thought you said only night fae had them.”

“Vat are you?” Estelle growled, “Vy are you so interested in Caeveth?”

Castor tried to fly away, only to be hit with a cloud of smoke belched by Ingle, forcing him to land.  He sputtered and coughed, reverting to his Night Fae form.

“You are a Night Fae!” Caeweth exclaimed, “Just like me!”

“Clearly,” Estelle grumbled, pinning Castor to the ground with her clawed hand, “Vat is the meaning of this?  Vy are you here?”

“I told you before,” Castor replied, “I was here to check on the little Night Fae… Caeweth was it?  I just needed to know she was safe!”

“You ver here to take my little Caeveth away, vern’t you?”

“No!” Castor exclaimed, “I saw how happy she was, I believe she belongs here…”

“Vat…”

“I said she belongs here…”

Estelle removed her hand from Castor’s chest, much to his relief.

“You better not be lying,” Estelle snarled.

“No,” Castor said, “I won’t take her away, I swear.”

Castor got up to his feet, dusting himself off.  He looked at Caeweth, who was hiding behind Estelle’s leg.  An idea had formed in his mind:  With Caeweth’s magic emerging, she would have quite a bit of trouble learning to control it without proper instruction.  He could teach her about her own abilities, and let her stay with her little family.  It would be difficult splitting his duties even further, but this little Night Fae needed his help.

“How about this?” He said to Estelle, “I could teach little Caeweth about Night Fae magic, and she can stay here.  How about that?”

Estelle looked from Castor to Caeweth, and back again.  She thought about what she had said to Caeweth earlier, about not knowing how Night Fae magic worked.  She snorted in frustration, while watching the little dragons try to play with this stranger.

“Maybe it could work?” Caeweth said, breaking the silence, “I want to learn more about my own kind, and he said I don’t have to leave.”

“Alvight,” Estelle relented, “I agree.”

“Then it is settled,” Castor nodded before kneeling down before little Caeweth, “I will teach you all you need to know about your own kind, and your special powers.  My name is Castor.”

He patted little Caeweth’s head, “I will see you soon.”

Castor shifted to his owl form quickly, and flew off into the stygian darkness.  He mulled over his idea several times… What if Ariadne found out?  What if his lessons failed?  What if Caeweth advanced too quickly?  He landed in the same room from before, morphed back to his Night Fae self, and closed the window.  He winced as he heard Ariadne’s unstable footsteps approaching the door.

“What took you so looong,” she drunkenly whined as she slammed the door open, “I got sooooo lonely without you.”

Ariadne smelled of alcohol, and appeared visibly inebriated.

“It wasn’t that long,” Castor sighed, “Come, you must be exhausted.”

“I’m not tired,” she slurred, “You still owe *hic* me that promise.”

Castor escorted his drunken queen to her lavishly decorated bed chambers, where she clumsily stumbled and subsequently tripped, landing face first into her own plush bed.  She had passed out as soon as her face landed in the spider silk blankets, snoring loudly.

“Looks like that promise will have to wait,” He chuckled as he slipped into bed next to her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, “Good night, my queen.”

[emphoenixcat]

The Sleeping Prince (Pt. 2)

Summary: The other sides face the dragon witch, but find that there are more secrets waiting for them within Roman’s part of the mindscape. (This kind of got darker than I had initially intended. Also another cliffhanger. Ahhh sorry about that!)

The dragon witch had burning, blood red eyes that glowed like fire. Dark scales glinted in the dying rays of sunlight. Her bat-like wings were spread out to their full-length as she slowly stepped toward the sides.

Virgil, who was still holding the sword in his shaky hands, stepped between the dragon witch and his friends. With as much confidence as he could summon, he questioned the beast. He tried to keep his voice steady.

“What is the meaning of this? Why are you doing this to Roman?”

She regarded Virgil with a look of amusement, “The meaning?” she laughed. “Why?” she taunted. The dragon witch’s tail swished with enjoyment.

“Why, I bet you don’t even know what I truly am.” She leaned in closer to the sides. They could feel her hot breath. They could smell the acrid scent of the pyre that burned within her. A pungent smell of rotting eggs and singed flesh flowed around them. They tried their best not to gag.

She came closer and closer, not caring about the blade that Virgil held in his hands. “You probably don’t even know what this place truly is,” she said as she blew her smoke toward them.  

From behind Virgil, Logan’s curious voice rang out. “Th--this is Roman’s room. The creative part of Thomas’ mindscape. And you--you’re nothing, but a figment of Thomas’ imagination. What else could you possibly be?”

The dragon witch fixed her steely glare on Logan. “Aren’t you nothing, but a figment of the imagination. We are all in the mind. Who is to say what is reality and what is fantasy? You are facets of a person’s emotions, yet you all feel joy, sorrow, and fear.” She snarled and the sides stepped back involuntarily.

“The mind is such a fragile thing, subject to break. All people have a breaking point. Anyone can go completely mad. Why do you think you fear me? Why fear anything? The truth of the matter is that you….” She smiled sadistically, baring sharp fangs. “You can be killed. And when any of you are killed, this mind will snap.”

Virgil, Logan, and Patton’s eyes widened in terror as this information sunk in. They could--they could die?

“B--but then, who are you?” Virgil croaked.

“I am the Queen of Nightmares,” the dragon witch said proudly. “And this is the Land of Dreams. Your precious prince reigned here, but the Prince of Dreams has begun to have nightmares of his own!” she laughed gleefully.

Without warning, the dragon witch swatted the sword out of Virgil’s hands and wrapped her claws around him. 

Virgil fought to escape her grasp, but she was already beginning to take flight. Virgil was horrified. The ground was swiftly getting farther and farther away.

Logan and Patton were panic-stricken. Logan ran to pick up the sword, but was uncertain as to what to do at this point. He couldn’t help while Virgil was airborne. Logan and Patton could do nothing, but watch helplessly.

“I can see your nightmares. I can sense your greatest fears. You’re just swarming in insecurities and dread. I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I ended your suffering once and for all?” The monster cackled.

Virgil clung tightly to the dragon witch’s talons in alarm. His heart pounded wildly against his chest. He felt dizzy. His stomach did a somersault and he thought he might throw-up. He could feel the dragon witch’s grasp loosening. Virgil closed his eyes, overcome with foreboding.

Roman! Please, wake up! Please….He thought wildly.

The dragon witch let go of Virgil completely.

WAKE UP!

Within his tower, Roman still slumbered.

He tossed and turned, but did not wake. The prince was stuck within his nightmares. Shadows pervaded his dreams, they were everywhere. He couldn’t stop them from hurting his friends. He couldn’t stop them from hurting Thomas. Is this fake or is this real? He found himself thinking.

Roman was running through catacombs of long-dead dreams. It was maze-like and at every turn, he found a memory of failure. A memory of disappointment. Roman had steered Thomas and the other sides toward disaster. He had stupid ideas. His over-inflated ego made him careless. He had clouded visions of success. Everything he thought about was unoriginal. He had failed time and time again.

Horrible visions of what was and what will be flashed before his eyes. Every single one emanating abject failure. In the end, Roman was defeated by it. And Thomas was left broken because of it. Can’t follow your dreams if your dreams all backfire on you. When you can’t follow your dreams, you’re left with no hope. No purpose. The demons taunted.

The shadows wrapped themselves around Roman. Their grip getting tighter and tighter until the prince was gasping for air. What little light was left in the catacombs was extinguished.

Patton watched in horror as the dragon witch dropped Virgil. Not knowing what else to do, he began to run toward them.

“Patton! We’ll never get there in time! There’s nothing we can do….” Logan yelled from behind him.

“There has to be something!” Patton yelled back. There has to be something, he thought desperately.

Roman was barely breathing. Everything was complete darkness. The shadows had stopped whispering. Everything was complete silence. Empty….

Roman! Please, wake up! Please….

Virgil?

WAKE UP!

Virgil! Are you alright?

Ro--Roman? I’m falling. The dragon witch….

Roman could feel Virgil’s distress. All of a sudden, he could see it too.

He could see through Virgil’s eyes. They were falling rapidly to the earth, the cold air rushing past. Their hearts were pounding at an alarming rate. It felt like a sledgehammer beating away at their insides.

Virgil, listen to me. You are in my part of the mindscape, you can conjure things here. You can have certain abilities that aren’t possible elsewhere. Imagine that you’re capable of flying.

What?

Now, Virge! You don’t have time!

Roman felt them nod and close their eyes, concentrating. Before he could see if the creating process was successful, Roman was pulled away from the scene and back into his nightmare.

Virgil concentrated with all his might. C’mon, c’mon think wings! Giant, feathery wings. You have to do this. Not only for yourself, but for Princey. What would happen to Thomas if his creative side was gone? He might be able to get by without you, but not without the prince.

Focus! You’re flying, not falling! Flying, not falling. Flying, not falling. Flying, not falling.

Virgil slowly opened his eyes, afraid that he was only closer to the ground. Closer to his death.

Much to his surprise, he was hovering. Black feathered wings sprouted from his back. He grinned in relief.

His problems weren’t quite over yet. The dragon witch growled in dismay. “Not so easy to get rid of then. I guess you’re playing the part of pesky little fly.” She huffed.

“Well, I know you….” she grinned wickedly. “I know that your symbol is the thundercloud. Let’s see how well the sad, little thundercloud flies in a real thunderstorm.”

The night sky darkened even more as clouds rapidly moved in. A deep rumble shook the mindscape and lightning flashed. It began to rain.

From deep within the woods, a chorus of howls could be heard among the storm. At least a dozen massive dark wolves could be seen sprinting out of the trees. Sharp teeth flashing. Virgil watched in dread as the wolves closed in on Patton and Logan.

The dragon witch smiled coldly. “Fight or flight, am I right?”

Virgil’s eyes widened in shock. How does she know so much about me? I know I have a lot of fears, but this is insane! he thought.

Virgil felt the splatter of raindrops weighing his wings down, it was getting more and more difficult to stay aloft. Another flash of lightning. This one nearly hit him.

The dragon witch was before him, her claws coming at him fast. Virgil dodged just in time. He barely had time to register that she was coming at him from the other side. She kept attacking. Virgil kept dodging, but he was tiring. Her size was an advantage, this was less effort for her than it was for him.

I have to get to Princey, Virgil thought helplessly. Waking him up is our only hope right now.

The dragon witch swung at him once more, he maneuvered out of the way and then darted as fast as he could towards Roman’s tower. The dragon witch grabbed at Virgil, catching him by the leg with her claws. Virgil let out a cry of pain as he felt them dig into his skin. He twisted, he felt the claws drag through his leg even deeper as he struggled to get out of her grasp. With a great amount of effort, he propelled himself forward. Almost there, he thought through labored breathing. With a crash, Virgil fell through the window of Roman’s room.

“Logan! There’s too many!” Patton screamed. Logan and Patton were up against a castle wall, wolves surrounding them. Logan was keeping them back with the sword, but he knew it wouldn’t keep them away for long.

“Virgil conjured up the sword and even a pair of wings....” Patton was saying. 

A wolf jumped at them, Logan swung with all his might slashing the side of its face. It howled in pain, but stood its ground. 

“....We need to try and conjure wings too.” Patton glanced at Logan.

“Patton, I’m not any good at fanciful thinking!”

“Just try, Logan. We don’t have much of a choice.”

Logan tried to imagine large, strong wings that would carry him to safety. The image kept fading in and out of his mind. “Patton, I can’t--”

A wolf pounced. It went straight for Patton, who didn’t have a weapon. Patton tried to jump out of the way, but the creature was on him in seconds. Logan stabbed it. The damned thing was about to rip his jugular.

Logan wiped the sweat from his brow and helped Patton up with his empty hand, “You okay?”

Patton nodded, but Logan could see the fear in his eyes. Patton looked at Logan with desperation mixed with determination. “I think I know what I need to do.” And he closed his eyes and thought not about wings, but about getting them to safety because that was what the moral side was good at. He knew how to protect his loved ones. Patton was scared and worried, but he was more concerned about everyone else. He didn’t care about his own well-being at the moment, he cared about Thomas. If anything happens to me, Thomas gets hurt too.

Logan gasped as light blue wings like that of a blue jay’s began to grow from Patton’s back. Patton opened his eyes and smiled. “C’mon, Lo!” he said as he grabbed Logan from underneath the arms and began to flap his wings. The wolves tried to grab them as they ascended, but failed. They growled deeply and glared at them as Patton flew away from the wolves’ snapping jaws.

Patton set Logan down gently on a balcony of the castle and landed easily beside him.

He was grinning ear to ear. Logan was staring at the wings in astonishment, they were so beautiful.

A horrid piercing screech broke Logan out of his reverie. Bat-like creatures, the size of a person’s head, were gathering like a dark cloud in the distance. Patton and Logan shared a look of disappointment. “Will this ever end?” Logan sighed.

The creatures were demonic in nature. As they drew closer, the two sides could make out dark, beady eyes and grotesque faces twisted in nasty smiles. The little demons had spotted them.

“Inside! Quickly” Logan tugged at Patton’s arm. They ran for the door to the castle and slammed it shut behind them, breathing hard. They could hear the demons pounding on the door. Patton grabbed at Logan’s hand as they slowly backed away from the entrance. The door continued to shake and rattle.

Patton pointed, “Over there!” There was a dark staircase to the right of them, it seemed almost endless, but it was their only hope. They began to run up the stairs, fighting to keep their strength about them. Patton could fly now, but carrying Logan took too much effort. Their best bet was the staircase.

The problem was that a great stained-glass window was near the stairs. Patton could see dark figures moving on the other side.

Gotta keep moving. Gotta keep moving. We have to get out of here. We have to. Patton was having trouble catching his breath.

The abrupt sound of shattering glass and demonic laughter permeated the air around them as wicked little monsters swarmed around Logan and Patton’s heads. They gleefully plagued the sides. Logan tried fighting them off with the sword, but there were too many. One of them ripped the sword away from him. The sides were defenseless as the creatures assailed them. Sharp claws pierced their skin like needles. They seemed especially keen on tormenting Patton. Claws slashed at Patton’s wings endlessly. Logan stared on in abject horror at the deep lacerations that were beginning to form. Patton was screaming loudly in pain, tears forming in his eyes.

Logan’s heart was thumping wildly inside him, threatening to break. What can I do? What can I do? His face was wet with tears.

What can I do?

Virgil was trying to get to his feet, but the pain in his injured leg made him stumble. Virgil spotted Roman. Virgil began to crawl, dragging himself along the floor with great effort toward the sleeping prince. He heard another clap of thunder, then another, then another. That isn’t thunder, he realized in dawning horror.

The crashing noise reverberated throughout the tower. The dragon witch.

“Princey!” Virgil yelled. “WAKE UP!” he shouted. “WAKE UP!”

Nothing. Not even a flutter of the eyelids.

Virge….

Princey!

This isn’t a natural sleep, I don’t know how you can wake me. The prince sounded as despondent as Virgil felt.

Behind him, the tower wall sounded like it was crumbling. The pounding was incessant and it wouldn’t be long before it gave way.

Patton’s screams were dying down, he was passing out from the pain and the loss of blood. Claws were digging deep into Logan’s neck, but he didn’t care about his own safety at this point. Patton.

I need to help him.

Logan would never be able to tell anyone how he did it, but the next thing he remembered was charging the swarm of demons with the fury of Hell. Surprised, the monsters scattered for a moment in confusion. This gave Logan enough time to grab Patton and get away.

Not just get away. Fly away.

Logan had deep blue wings, the color of a starry night. They were immense, bigger than Virgil’s and Patton’s wings put together. He found that he could carry Patton’s weight rather easily, and he was already relatively far from the angry demons. We’re almost there, Patton. Just hang on. Just hang on.

Roman, help me! Please….Virgil was sitting on the side of the bed now. He contemplated smacking the prince across the face a few times. Maybe that would work.

What? Don’t do that! Roman thought back to him, indignant.

Despite the precarious situation, Virgil smirked slightly. It was just a thought.

But, really. How can I help you?

I--I don’t know. It’s like the nightmare is fighting back. They won’t let me go.

Virgil frowned in concentration. How could he fight something that he couldn’t see? How does one fight nightmares?

That’s it, Virge!

What?

He could feel the prince’s mounting excitement. You fight nightmares with dreams. You fight the demons with your angels.

Well, then do it. Virgil thought back in frustration.

Th--that’s….No, I--I can’t. Roman faltered. You don’t understand. In this part of the mind, nightmares are like a prison. The more I struggle, the more entangled I become. I need you and the others. You have to be the ones to save me. I can’t fight the demons by myself.

Virgil felt the rising panic like a stone in his throat. I can’t do that! I’m Anxiety. My dreams aren’t strong enough!

I believe in you, Virgil. If anyone has powerful dreams, it’s you.

Virgil was in absolute panic now. No. No. I’m Anxiety, my nightmares are greater than my dreams. I’ll only make it worse.

Please, Virge. If you can’t do this for you, do it for me.

Virgil gulped and nodded. He forced his eyes shut.

Dreams? Dreams. Virgil took Roman’s hand in his and focused on any glimmer of positivity he could summon within his being.

Images flooded his system. Everything Virgil had ever hoped or strived for.

He had wanted to be a better person for the other sides, a better person for Thomas. Visions of laughing with the others and being worry-free, of sharing afternoons huddled together, of sharing secrets, of being friends. Virgil had always worried that they only tolerated him. He remembered when Roman had hated him.

Something vicious lanced at Virgil’s mind, he gasped at the stab of pain. No. Virgil saw himself alone in his room. Day in and day out, he was left alone with his thoughts. Nobody visited him, nobody called out for his presence. They didn’t need him. They didn’t want him.

Roman gasped with dawning realization. He was seeing when Virgil had decided to leave Thomas. The reason Virgil had felt useless.

The sides hadn’t seen or spoken to Virgil in weeks. Nobody had thought to visit him. Nobody had thought.

They had had conversations, they had made decisions, they had had fun. All without the anxious side.

They had left Virgil alone and forgotten.

As if he wasn’t part of the family.

Virgil felt like someone was drilling a hole into his brain. The positive images he had been trying to dream up weren’t staying in focus. A fuzzy grayness clouded his visions as the nightmares became clearer.

Roman struggled under the weight of his nightmares, as well as Virgil’s. No! Virgil, I don’t hate you. We don’t hate you.  We were just being stupid, we didn’t realize what we were doing. I’m sorry we underestimated you. We never took the time to really get to know you. We prejudged you, I prejudged you and I’m sorry.

It’s okay, Roman. It’s okay. The fog lifted slightly from Virgil’s vision.

An image of Roman and Virgil laughing together took the place of the lonely image of Virgil alone in his room. Another image of Roman telling Virgil how much he was needed flashed before their eyes.

Still clasping hands, Virgil and Roman’s minds were melded for the moment. Virgil could see the place that Roman was in. The catacombs of failure. Virgil shuddered. I didn’t know that you had so much self-doubt. I guess I always assumed that being Thomas’ ego and all, that you didn’t have problems like that.

HA, Roman smirked. Everyone’s got a problem, some are just better at hiding it.

Virgil nodded thoughtfully, I was always jealous of it though. People look up to you. You can bring joy. You can be social.

The catacombs were beginning to fade away, in their place were moments in which Roman had made them laugh. Moments in which he had had a brilliant idea. Success. Even in moments of failure, there was comfort. Thomas and the others helping to make Roman feel better. Loving him despite his crazy ideas.

The world swirled around Roman and Virgil. Their hopes and dreams becoming one.

Roman’s eyes snapped open at the same instant Virgil’s did. It took them a moment to realize that they were back in the tower. Roman glanced down at their joined hands and Virgil blushed. He let go of Roman quickly.

The dragon witch had ceased pounding the tower wall, but the silence was eerie. The storm had vanished. Sunlight was filtering in through the window.

Roman surveyed the room around him. Thorny brambles were scattered throughout and shattered glass lay strewn about the floor. He looked back at Virgil and noticed the dark wings protruding from his back. “Those are….” he carefully lifted a hand to feel the feathers. “....amazing.”

“You’ve never conjured wings before?” Virgil asked curiously.

“No, it takes a great deal of energy. When it comes to wings, you usually have to be more worried about another’s well-being more than your own. Kind of like angel’s wings.” Roman smiled.

“Angel’s wings?” Virgil smirked. “I am definitely not an angel.”

Roman chuckled, “Oh, Virge how can you possibly say that after everything you just went through.”

Virgil shrugged uncomfortably.

There was a loud flapping sound coming from behind them. They turned and saw….Logan?

He was carrying a limp figure in his hands. Patton.

“Logan! What happened to Patton?” Roman rushed to his aid. Virgil struggled to his feet, clutching the bedpost for support and looking grim. Virgil shuddered at the sight of blood.

“We were attacked by some sort of winged demonic flock. Roman, can you conjure up a first aid kit?” Logan eyed the prince hopefully. Virgil noted that the logical side’s eyes were red and puffy.

“I’m on it.” Roman retrieved a first aid kit and Logan helped him disinfect the wounds. Logan tried to control his turmoil at seeing Patton’s beautiful wings wounded like this. He could still hear Patton’s screams echoing in his head.

“His breathing is a bit ragged, but he seems to be doing fine.” Logan sighed with relief. “But his wings--I know they’re only temporary, but still--”

Roman glanced up at Logan. “Umm, hmm,” he seemed to be thinking.

“What is is Roman?”

“Well, see the funny thing about altering your appearance in such a drastic way….” He began again, “The funny thing about conjuring fully-functioning appendages….” Roman frowned. “It isn’t something I really have experience with, but theoretically such things have a certain kind of uh, permanence.”

Logan and Virgil turned their full attention to Roman.

“These are permanent?” they said in unison.

Roman laughed nervously. “I mean they’re really quite impressive. Shouldn’t be a problem, really….”

“What about Patton?!” Logan asked, outraged. “He would’ve loved to have wings. Now he’s going to have to live with this mangled mess!”

Roman looked at Patton guiltily, “Not necessarily. They might heal just f--fine. Things tend to heal quickly here.”

Logan glared, “Maybe so, but we are facets of personality. Like the dragon witch said, the mind can snap.”

“Speaking of the dragon witch, what happened to her?” Virgil questioned.

“She was likely weakened when you woke me up. Most of the monsters from her shadow realm have probably fled, but she is still a powerful adversary. Especially with us injured.” Roman said worriedly.

Virgil looked up at Roman, “But where--”

The tower began to quake. “We’ve got to move now!” Roman shouted.

Logan grabbed Patton and flew out the window. Virgil grabbed Roman following closely behind. His wound was still sore and unbandaged, but he could fly. He was still feeling drained from waking Roman up though.

Logan landed gracefully. Virgil landed unsteadily. He almost toppled over, but Roman steadied him, a look of concern crossing the prince’s face.

A dark shadow loomed ahead, the dragon witch had not been defeated just yet.

Tag list: @otpislife2002 @toreen-m @kittyboof8 @pantasticpanini

[talesfromthepayload]

A Tale of Dragons

A/N: Nobody asked for this but I watched too much GoT this weekend and also I hate this but it took too long to not post so...

“Left,” you whispered.

“Right,” Hanzo nodded, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

You held each other’s gaze, the sun above beating down on your stubbornness. Silence passed between you two, your statures tense and unforgiving. Hanzo’s eyes were dark, full of regret and wisdom. They were the windows to his soul, a book of his heart, one you had no trouble reading.

He was someone you had come to know a great deal about, someone you had come to respect, despite the complicated twists and turns of his past. You’d come to admire him, perhaps in a way that was not entirely friendly, but you couldn’t deny the affection you held for him.

“Watch your back,” you said softly, granting him a small upturn of your lips.

Normally, you weren’t so forthcoming with emotions. You’d been raised to believe that emotion garnered no advantage, only distraction. Even after your years with Overwatch, you found it difficult to shed the heritage you’d been born into.

“And you, yours,” he mumbled.

Understanding past between the two of you, a flash of trust, then you disbanded.

Blue was zipping through the battlefield, Lena rushing through as she led as many civilians to safety as she could. A roar could be heard, Winston’s no doubt, the sound carrying over the fire of guns. Blood coated the streets, glass and debris littering the surrounding area. Talon had hit, and they hit hard.

In the middle of it all was Reaper, bullets raining from his cloud of black mist. Reinhardt was standing in front of a small family, his shield glowing in the darkness, protecting them. Somewhere off to the right you could hear Soldier: 76, the light of his visor dimmed. He had his pulse rifle in his hand, the area around him bathed in a yellow light.

Pharah’s voice crackled over the comm device, telling the group she’d spotted Talon’s sniper. Mercy replied, asking her to hold off until they could send someone after her. Ana had answered, said she’d had her in her scope, before the line went dead and a shot rang out.

Green flashed by you, foreign words uttered with rage as the green pulsed around Genji, taking form in the shape of a dragon. He’d pulled the sword from his back, charging Reaper and forcing him on the defensive.

“Darlin’!” That deeply accented voice yelled from your left.

You looked over just in time to see Peacekeeper kick back with the force of a shot. A thud sounded by your side, blood leaking from a fresh wound that McCree had inflicted.

You inhaled deeply.

You’d been hit by Widowmaker earlier, the bullet just barely grazing your side. Sombra had attacked you, managing to get a few hits in before you could pull her away. Your body was aching, your muscles were sore, yet you still stood on the battlefield, no closer to victory or defeat.

“Don’t.”

It was Hanzo, his voice softer and sweeter than anything you could expect in such a moment of desolation.

Your hand was spread before you, a kind of energy pulsing through your body that had long since been dormant. You were embracing the power that flowed through your veins, pulling at that string in your mind, and calling to the birthright given to you.

The clink of Hanzo’s boots on the ground drowned as the feeling of euphoria crashed through your body. A blinding white spread from your fingers, planting itself into the ground around you like roots. The battle fell away, the energy searching for enemies, wrapping around them like tendrils from the void. You could feel their life force draining, watch the decay of time wear on their features.

And then it was gone.

Hanzo crashed into you, forcing the energy to manifest itself back into your body.

In one bright explosion, the world disappeared.

Vibrant colors swirled around you, your eyes adjusting slowly to the new surroundings.

Your chest heaved, your fingers wrapping tight around the necklace that hung at your sternum. It was warmer here, you realized, a feeling embracing your body.

Brighter too, it seemed, a great sun beating down on you.

The sun, however, was blocked by a full head of blonde hair and two cerulean eyes.

“Are you okay?” The voice questioned. It was rough, but not unkind.

You managed a nod, not trusting your voice to work after everything you’d endured in the past while.

“Genji,” the man obviously wasn’t talking to you, as he looked over his shoulder. “Get some water and a few bandages, we need to get her back to Angela.”

While his attention was off you, you took a moment to steady your breathing. Not three moments before you felt like you were being torn asunder, atom by atom. Now, you found yourself somewhere not entirely unpleasant.

“I’m Jack, by the way,” the man, Jack, said.

“(Y/N),” you breathed out, nearly wincing at how hoarse your voice sounded.

Wherever this was, it was not your home world. You looked to Jack, unsure whether he should be considered an enemy. He was being kind, helpful even, but you’d been taught that nobody was worthy of trust.

You’d accept his help as long as it benefited you, but you weren’t afraid to fight should the need arise. After all, you wouldn’t be there for long anyways.

A groan slipped past your bloodied lips, dust filling your lungs as you inhaled sharply. You coughed, spitting blood and dirt at the effort.

You tried to yell for Hanzo, though no words managed to be voiced. Your arms were shaking beneath you, holding you above the sandy ground. You opened your eyes, shaking your head in displeasure at the sudden invasion of light.

“H-Hanzo,” you tried again, looking to your left.

His head was rolling, his eyes half lidded as he sat up.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Even after he’d witnessed your terrifying display of power, and stopped it, he was still worried about your safety. Nobody in the history of your life had ever cared so much.

“I’m alive, if that’s what you mean,” you offer, finding a smile gracing your lips.

You stared at him, melting under his soft gaze. The sharp lines of his jaw and the steep slope of his nose were illuminated under the glare of the sun. His hair shone under its rays, the sight stealing the breath from your lungs.

Then, someone cleared their throat.

Your eyes widened, your body tensing as you went on immediate alert. You jumped to your feet- despite the protests of your body- and looked in the direction the noise had come from.

You were in a coliseum of sorts- an abandoned one, if the broken pillars and dusty remains told you anything. In the center was a platform filled with people, each wildly different from the next. Some were armored like the knights of old, while others wore dresses. Some had dark hair, others lighter than snow. They all held a look of trepidation though.

“Who the fuck is that?”

A harsh voice called out. On his back he carried a wooden box. Half of his face was seared in scars, his body larger than most. He had an intimidating look, though you weren’t frightened in the least.

“Um, it appears we’re a little lost,” you offered in explanation.

Follow my lead.

The words floated in Hanzo’s thoughts. He knew it was, as you often opted to communicating telepathically rather than over comms. Though, Hanzo had his doubts that the comms would even work. He wasn’t sure where you were, but he was damn sure you weren’t anywhere near King’s Row, where the two of you had been fighting Talon.

“You’re interrupting,” the woman in the middle spoke.

You took a step back, head tilting the slightest bit. She wore a black dress, though her hair was short and golden. She had a certain cruelness around her, and you didn’t even need to peak into her mind to see that she was not friendly.

“My apologies, we did not intend, nor expect, to interrupt anything.”

Hanzo was giving the woman a sharp look. He didn’t appreciate the curtness of her words, but he allowed you to speak.

“Jaime, get them out of here,” she said to the man on her right, not even paying you mind anymore.

You sighed out a breath, fingers subtly resting over the dagger on your hip.

“We do not wish for trouble, just directions,” you reasoned.

Another woman stood, her white hair glowing under the sun. She held herself with power, and you sensed a ruthlessness in her, though she had kind eyes.

“Directions to where?”

Her words froze the blonde-haired man who began making his way towards the both of you.

You gave Hanzo a look, raising your brow.

“Well, we do not particularly know where we are to begin with.”

She raised her brows, looking to the small man to her left. Some sort of understanding passed between them, one of importance to you and Hanzo, before she spoke again.

“You’re in King’s Landing.”

You coughed, flitting your eyes to the group. They were... strange. Though, you were quite certain you were the strange ones in their eyes.

“Can I just let this cunt out of his box?” The one who originally spoke to you asked.

He had dropped the box, his hands hovering over the lock that kept it shut. Your consciousness reached out towards the box, prodding gently at the mind that lay within, only to come back cold and dark. Whatever was in there was living it was...

“Undead,” you muttered, natural curiosity guiding your steps as you approached the wooden container.

The knights on the platform tensed, weapons being drawn as you grew closer. Hanzo didn’t hesitate in pulling an arrow from his quiver, notching it and aiming at nobody in particular.

You held your hands up in surrender.

“I mean no harm I’m just a little cu-”

A screech interrupted you, wind lifting around you. Dust picked up, blurring your vision, but you could make out the dark, ominous figure despite it. It was large, far larger than any human, and it had wings spread wide. Its mouth was open, the source of the noise, but you could make out a light glowing in its belly.

“A dragon?” You breathed out.

You stepped back, blindly reaching out for Hanzo, but he was too far away. The dragon was looking at him, angered by where his bow was aiming. 

The girl with the white hair.

“Hanzo...”

The dragon drew its head back, fire spewing forth. You stood, frozen. Distantly, you heard the same phrase Hanzo had yelled a thousand times leaving his lips. The heat of the fire disappeared in a soft breeze, bright blue engulfing your form. 

You turned your head, looking to Hanzo with wide eyes. His chest was heaving, a small smile on his lips as his dragons extinguished the flame, swirling around the dragon that had tried to attack the both of you.

“How did you do that?” The white haired girl asked.

She was watching with awe as the twin dragons wrapped around both you and Hanzo, their ethereal eyes watching the platform sharply. Nobody spoke for a moment, tension rising in the air.

You grabbed Hanzo’s hand, holding tightly onto him in a rare display of both weakness and affection.

“We’re not getting home anytime soon, are we?” You asked, laughing tightly.

The knight’s grips on their swords tightened, confirming your suspicion.

Hanzo cursed.

[rileyomalley]

Curiosity Kills (A JunkHop Fic)

Because I want to play with the idea, if not just for my own fun. Hope ya’ll enjoy this first bit I have so far! :V Word Count: 1841 Rating: PG-13 (very lil mention of violence THUS far) Pairings; Roadhog/Mako Rutledge x Junkrat/Jamison Fawkes x Overwatch OC

Chapter One: A Bug in the Desert Dust and dirt fluttered through the brisk morning air, dark and light tresses of hair dancing about the wind all the while. Her brown eyes scanned the landscape before her, having just arrived into the reaches of the desert. The freelance agent had taken at least a week or so getting to this point (going between various modes of transportation...and at times some of those she didn't pay for), for the moment just taking it all in before moving on. Hopper sipped at her thermos full of hot tea brushing a hand through her long ponytail, snagging out any knots she may have had from previous night's sleep. She's get it brushed out soon enough considering her ponytail was cockeyed in it's own right, but she was one that needed time to wake up first. One prosthetic leg over the other gently rocking her omnic foot, she took in the fresh air and just relaxed. Once she felt less like the living dead, Hopper freshened herself up and placed everything back into her pack and taking a long stretch. She'd been traveling some time as a freelance agent for intel – essentially the ears and eyes of her employers to update them on anything that seemed peculiar. It could be anything from the smallest details to strange occurrences that had gone on, suspicious actions...perhaps even Talon activity. From time to time when she was left with her thoughts she'd often reminisce how exactly she'd gotten into such a spot. I mean, it was one thing for her to be taken up by Overwatch agents who practically saved her life – but it was another to be put under work from them. Had they really come together once more after being disbanded for so long? She wasn't really complaining, all things considered...she pretty much dreamed of working with Overwatch since she was a kid. Admiring the greats, cheering on the heroes in all that they did for the world. She wanted to make that much of an impact too. It felt only fair after all that she'd take up a job (or jobs) like this so easily – they'd done everything for her apart from not leaving her there to die in the wreckage. They rehabilitated the once performer and had given her new legs. They'd even suped her up with some nice gauntlets, and ear pieces that helped to settle the sensitivity of her hearing. Prior blasts and all that commotion had nearly made her deaf, so she was a little hard of hearing at times. That was enough reminiscing. She had a job to do after all. Hopping her way down the rocks she'd settled in and away from the cave, Hopper started her way through the desert landscapes. From recall of information she had to make way through here, stop around Route 66 and potentially start heading towards Dorado if need be. Some activity had been rising in these particular areas, granted they were MILES away from each other but she'd do her best. It was a fairly easy thing for her and the travel was always nice. One of the benefits of taking on these sort of jobs. It was still a little far out, but she kept her hopes up. Maybe the young woman would find something along the way, perhaps some clues to relay all the while. But boy was her back hurting. Guess she wasn't wrong last night about a rock jabbing into her back. Ah well. Nonetheless she went along her way, taking in the sights to behold under the blazing sun making it's way across the sky. Her visor scanning each and every bit of land she'd come across, few animal lifeforms, varying degrees of mineral deposits...nothing really out of the ordinary. This was going to be a looooong trip... Hours upon hours had passed. Back to her trudging pace, Hopper groaned deeply at how boring this all seemed. Not that she didn't LOVE looking at rocks, and one or two lizards....and vast amounts of so much goddamn SAND – she honestly was getting tired of it. Maybe she got turned around somewhere or...maybe she should have invested in a guide when it came to traveling through this damned desolate land. She was bored out of her mind. She'd taken to listening to music and at times dancing through her travels. Singing various songs. Still, she sighed. “Goddamn...maybe I should just call it and see if anyone is nearby to pick me up. I really don't want to ask for help but...sweet LORD I CAN'T STAND THIS.” Hopper gestured exaggeratedly in frustration, but she'd halted when she noticed something in the distance. Oh!! Going at a quick sprint she headed for a large birth of rocks, gently hopping up on them to take a peek at her new findings. Seems the deserts own illusions had tricked her with heat waves, because she could have sworn there wasn't a road there before. Nor was there a small … truck stop? Was that what it was?? It was hard to tell, considering it looked to be in complete shambles at this point and what lay to rest was...jesus christ did something explode over here??? Was there an accident she didn't hear or did this happen hours ago? Hopper was a little worried, hoping whoever had been around here was okay. Last place she'd want to end up near dead or even injured. Yiiiikes. There did seem to be a few figures that caught her eye. She couldn't quite make them out no matter how much she squinted, other than their general silhouettes. There looked to be at least...three...maybe four figures, three of relatively average size and one that was REALLY large. Seemingly large. She wasn't sure, her eyes were fucking dry. Still, she watched closely. By the looks of it one of the men was talking-er-gesturing wildly at the other two who seemed not to be bothered, or, ...wait...the other two didn't seem to be doing anything at all. Oh geeze...that didn't look good at all. Her eyes were either tricking her, but hazarding a guess two of the men must have overtaken the others-this was definitely criminal behavior, or assumedly so. Either way she had to be cautious, but it was...it was hard not to keep watching. Hopper waited until it seemed like the other two were making their way out before slipping from the rocks. She had to check on those men. She hoped it wasn't as bad as it seemed, and at the very least the other two were not so rough with them even if it WAS petty criminals. Considering the mess of the gas tanks...shedidn'twanttoassumetheworst. Shaking that thought from her mind she made her way over quietly, cautiously, keeping an eye and an ear about her. Once she felt it was clear she dashed over to check on the individuals. Definitely looked like the owners of this establishment who seemed to have been roughed up and knocked out. At the very least they were okay. Thank god...she was sure she was going to come upon a much more grizzly crime scene. Well, at the very least she could move them to the shade so they didn't have potential of heat stroke. Phew. Dragging the second man over to the first, she'd taken out an extra two bottles of water and left them nearby. Checked their vitals, looked alright. She had to call this in – at the very least she could get them some medical help and they may give word of what happened here or who those other two people were. Thinking back to them, she couldn't help but think of the much larger figure and shivered. She was one who could handle herself just fine, large figures generally didn't scare her nor did criminals...but man...there was something intimidating about that one. Hopper lifted her wrist to turn her communicator on beginning the relay. “Hey, Hopper here. Still trapsing about the hot and dry desert. Just updating you. Came across an incident at a local stop just near Route 64...I think. I'll key in the coordinates. Looks like criminal activity, possible explosives. Two owners are fine but could use some medical assistance. I'll probably stay with them until someone arri-” Time seemed to run to a screeching halt. Eyes widened and face felt a chilling brush of cold air. The relay of another voice on her communicator was fuzzy in that instance as brown eyes watched a shining metal hook and chain whizzed past her head. It whipped around blindingly fast and before she could react it seemed to hone in on her, yanking the small woman's form with it back to it's point of origin. Reality set back in like a slap to the face and with a loud yelp she shot through the air. What in the ever-living fuck was happening?!? Hopper flailed about in a panic feeling as though she'd set off a trap and was going to be flying off into her own demise. It was until she realized her body stopped mid flight and now she felt like she....was swaying? She hadn't opened her eyes yet, squeezed so tight she may as well induce a headache but the rush from flying said otherwise, leaving the agent dizzy. She also didn't realize she'd been gripping tightly to the hook and chain that snatched her from her location, white knuckled in fear of where she was headed. One eye finally opened. There was a faint sound of someone breathing, rather shallow breaths she heard. Upon opening that eye, Hopper was greeted with a rather large and rotund figure, yet well toned. They were clad in leathers, a harness of sorts that sported a crudely fashioned half tire jutting with spikes and a...sewn black leather pig mask...gas...mask??? Just peeking past was stark white hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Her gut sunk upon realization. Oh. Oh. Oooohhh nooo... There was no question. This was the same figure she'd seen earlier upon snooping in on the commotion she had come by. This was one of the two men that...The look on her face must have been priceless, struck with sheer anxiety as she clung awkwardly to that hook and chain. Oh sweet fuck. She was screwed. Lest she be stupid and try something... Tempt the fates. There was a slight twitch at the side of her mouth, both from nervousness and her faint attempt at trying to play it cool, perhaps...friendly to this stranger. She had no clues to what he was feeling, but last she'd want was to be on his bad side........right?? “M...mm..m-my my...ain't you a ...b.b...big fella...eeheh..” Hopper fumbled a bit, still doing her best to keep hold or else fall on her head. He was rather tall, and not that she was scared to fall, she just...it was still scary okay. “So...ah...not to disturb ya or nothin' but...y-..y-you think you could let me down?”

[thelastspeecher]

Vet Visit

...You guys wanted it, so here ya go.  In the Phoenix Enchantment AU, Angie (”Pele”) has been displaying some odd behavior, and Fidds and Ford decide it warrants a visit to the vet for both her and Stan (”Prometheus”).  No one is happy by the end of the day.

               “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Fiddleford asked, following Ford into the attic.  Ford set down the large pet carrier he’d just purchased.  At the small thump it made, Angie and Stan poked their heads up from their spot in the nest.

               “You were the one who was concerned about Pele being ill,” Ford pointed out.  He opened the pet carrier.  “Although, to be honest, we should have done this long ago.  Prometheus and Pele were injured when we found them.”  Angie and Stan looked at each other, confused.  “No harm no foul, I suppose.  At least we’re taking them in now.”

               “Taking us where?” Stan chirped.

               “If your suspicions are correct, Fiddleford, and Pele is preparing to lay, getting the both of them checked over by a licensed veterinarian will help ensure the brooding goes smoothly, and that the chick or chicks will be healthy.”

               “Did he just say somethin’ about you laying?  Like egg laying?” Stan asked Angie.  

               “Wha- don’t listen to him!  I think I’d know if I was goin’ to lay an egg, Stanley,” Angie burbled.  “Fidds is just bein’ cautious.  It’s in his nature.”

               “Yeah, and he also grew up on a farm. Seems like he can recognize that sorta stuff.”

               “I grew up on that same farm.  Relax, darlin’.  My behavior’s nothin’.  I’m just tired.”

               “…Okay.  I believe you.”  Stan blinked. “Wait, did Ford say he was takin’ us to the vet?”

               “The fastest way would be to simply pick them up,” Ford protested as Fiddleford placed a treat in the back of the pet carrier.  

               “That’s also the likeliest way fer us to get hurt.  Those talons and beaks ain’t fer openin’ letters, Stanford.” Fiddleford stood up again and glanced over at the nest.  “We don’t need to convince ‘em both to get in, anyways.  If one of ‘em gets in, the other one probably will, too.”

               “Prometheus tends to be more food-motivated,” Ford said slowly.

               “But Pele’s been cleanin’ her bowl out an awful lot lately,” Fiddleford said. “And if she gets in, Prometheus is sure to go after her, while she might stay behind if he goes in.  If only ‘cause she hasn’t been movin’ round much lately.”

               “Fidds, don’t bother,” Angie clucked.  “I ain’t really an animal, I- is that a peach slice?”  She hopped onto the edge of the nest, staring intently at the fruit in Fiddleford’s hand. He held it out towards her.

               “Come on, pretty hen,” Fiddleford said cajolingly.  “I know ya like these.  There’s even more in that there box.”  Angie glanced at the pet carrier.  

               “Don’t do it, Angie,” Stan hissed. Angie stepped back into the nest.

               “I ain’t yer pet, Fiddleford.  I can’t be bribed with fruit so easy.”  Fiddleford dropped his hand.

               “Shoot.”

               “I’ll get the gloves,” Ford said.  “We should have done it my way from the beginning.  It won’t make them happy, but it will get the job done.”  He headed back downstairs.  Angie looked at Stan.

               “No matter what, we’re goin’ to end up at the vet’s,” Angie burbled.  “If we cave in to this, it’s faster, no one gets hurt, and we get some food out of it.”  Stan sighed.

               “You’re right.  Those nerds ‘ll do whatever they can to get us ‘examined’. Let’s just do it the easy way,” Stan croaked.  Angie abruptly took off and landed in front of the pet carrier.  She looked expectantly at Fiddleford.

               “Give me that one first!” she crowed.  Fiddleford placed the peach slice at her feet.  Angie picked it up daintily with her beak, then casually walked into the carrier.  Stan groaned, but took off as well and followed her inside the crate. Fiddleford promptly closed the door.

               “Got ‘em!” Fiddleford said proudly.  “Time to take these magical birds to the vet.”

----- 

               Fiddleford opened the pet carrier.  

               “Come on out, it’s okay,” Fiddleford said gently.  Stan reluctantly exited the carrier, more to reassure Angie than anything else.  On the ride over, Fiddleford and Ford had discussed in length what they were going to ask the vet, and most of it involved her.  Needless to say, she was even more uncomfortable about being “examined” than he was.  Stan climbed on top of the carrier and let out a low trill.  Angie poked her head out, her feathered crest rising in caution. “Pele, no need to be nervous. Everything’s fine, honey,” Fiddleford soothed.  Angie took a step outside the carrier.

               “What did you say they were?” the vet asked Ford.  

               “Show-quality breed golden eagles,” Ford answered.

               “Never seen one before,” the vet remarked.

               “They’re rather rare,” Fiddleford said.  “The larger one is the female, named Pele.  The one with all the pretty feathers is the male, Prometheus.”

               “And they’re a mated pair?”

               “Yes.”

               “All right,” the vet mumbled.  She looked up from her clipboard.  “So, any particular reason for visiting today?”

               “We think they could use a checkup, since it’s been a while,” Ford said. The vet nodded.  “And, um, Pele’s been displaying some odd behavior recently. Fiddleford thinks it might indicate she’ll lay an egg soon.”

               “What sort of behavior?” the vet asked.  

               “She’s been buildin’ up the nest a lot, and won’t leave it often,” Fiddleford answered.  “I’ve also seen her flying less and less, and eatin’ more ‘n usual.”  The vet nodded.

               “That could indicate she will have a brood.  Or she could simply be agitated for some reason, or ill.”

               “How can you tell the difference?  Barring waiting until an egg is laid, that is,” Ford asked.  

               “Bring Pele over here, and I can show you,” the vet said.  Angie’s eyes widened.  Before she could react in any other way, however, Fiddleford had picked her up and was carrying her over to the examination table.  Stan let out a distressed squawk.  

               “Angie!”

               “Her mate might try to intervene.  Put him back in the cage,” the vet instructed.  Ford abruptly grabbed Stan and stuffed him back in the pet carrier, narrowly avoiding a bite through the bars.  Stan squawked again.  Fiddleford set Angie down on the examination table.  The vet took a hold of her and placed her on her back.  Angie let out a screech.  

               “She don’t like this none,” Fiddleford said in a nervous tone.  

               “No, she wouldn’t,” the vet agreed.  “Anyways, one way to tell a female will lay an egg is that her vent, or cloaca, will dilate.”

               “Her vent being-” Ford started.

               “Right here,” the vet said.  Angie squawked in protest.  Stan threw himself against the bars of the carrier.

               “Lady, ask first!” Stan screeched.

               “Now, it doesn’t look dilated, but that doesn’t mean she won’t lay,” the vet continued, ignoring Stan.  “It could just be too soon for her body to prepare for the laying process.”

               “So this is something we can check ourselves, at home?” Ford asked.  

               “Yes.  And while she’s on the table, I can do the rest of the examination.”  Angie croaked, upset.  The vet stroked Angie’s head.  “Don’t worry, Pele, you’ll get a nice treat at the end, for behaving so well.”

----- 

               Ford placed the pet carrier in the attic.  The moment he opened the door, Stan and Angie rocketed out.  Angie landed in the nest, glaring at Ford. Stan landed on the stand with the food dishes and grabbed a large walnut.  

               “Those treats the vet gave us weren’t nearly filling enough,” Stan chirped as he nibbled at his walnut.  “Kinda expected more after being humiliated like that.”  Normally, he would have been in the nest with Angie, trying to comfort her.  But, understandably, she wanted to be alone at the moment.

               “The second Ford gets close to me, he’s goin’ to regret askin’ ‘bout the egg thing,” Angie hissed.  Stan looked over.  Ford was approaching the nest.  

               Uh-oh.  Not a good idea, Sixer.  

               “Stanford, let ‘em be,” Fiddleford said in a tired voice. “They’ve been through a lot, and Pele especially is in a rotten mood.  Can’t really blame her.”

               “I want to try what the vet showed us,” Ford said.  He reached for Angie.  She bit down, hard.  Ford yelped and immediately retracted his hand.  He covered it with his other hand, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. “Pele!”

               “I warned ya,” Fiddleford muttered.  Angie hissed fiercely.  

               “That’s what ya get fer havin’ the vet violate me like that, and then tryin’ to do the exact same thing!  Back off, or I’ll get yer other hand, too!” Angie screeched.  Ford stared at her.  “I ain’t yer pet, Stanford Pines.  Or yer experiment.  Stop treatin’ me like it!”  Stan laughed.

               “Damn, Angie,” Stan crowed. Angie ruffled her feathers, trying to hide her pride.  

               “Very well, Pele, I- I’ll leave you alone,” Ford said.  He looked at his injured hand and winced.  “Fiddleford, I think we’ll have to take a trip to the emergency room.”  

               “Thought so.  That bite looked like one you’d need stitches fer.  Come on, let’s get goin’.”

[knightofbalance-13]

Actually...

http://dudeblade.tumblr.com/post/165589953048/lets-be-real-and-agree-on-something

No we are not agreeing to this.

RVVBY is an amalgam of multiple tropes, cliches, and concepts from other media that did it much better.

As we will soon see: The examples are either way too general, RWBY does too differently for a comparison or RWBY actually does it BETTER.

Faunus as a stand-in for minorities. X-Men did it first, did it better, and has better justification for it. Some mutants are dangerous, and have abilities that could level a building with little effort. The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants are just a separate branch of mutants that humans use to justify their discrimination, and sentinels are extermination bots. There’s literally “Mutant Camps” In the Days of Future Past movie that are analogous to concentration camps. Whilst being a mutant has since evolved into an analogy for being part of the LGBT+ community, it started as an allegory for racism. And it was much MUCH better at it. Last I checked, Inhumans are now the new racism allegory, and even then, they’re still a better analogy than faunus. The reason why both of these are all more effective is because they don’t replace all racial minorities by being their stand-in. There are African Mutant (Storm), Native American Mutants (Moonstar), and even biracial Mutants (Darwin). So, Mutants are a multi-cultural fictional race that acts as a stand-in for a minority group in the Marvel Universe. See, this is what happens when you have good writers who are open to criticism.

Except the racism is UNDERSTANDABLE in X-Men since mutants ARE more dangerous than humans and some of the (like Rogue) can’t control their powers and thus are a danger no matter how you slice it whereas the Fanaus aren’t any dangerous than humans because they don’t significant enough advantages to overcome the human dominance so it’s just like racism here in our world: Stupid and irrational. So you’re basically saying it’s more rational to hate an innocent group of animal people that people who can control the weather, kill on touch or mindfuck everyone. COngrats, you have shown you have a bias against RWBY so your opinions mean jack shit.

Final Fantasy did the idea of dust better. It was called Materia, and it had a better explanation as to how it’s applied. Much like dust, it’s mined. Unlike dust, it’s explicitly stated to be magical in nature rather than the vague explanation we got for dust. dust is also weird in the sense that it’s kinda elemental. Materia also has a simpler categorization by just giving it five subcategories. Dust has to be classified under fire, ice, gravity, electric, stone, whatever Yang’s standard buckshots are, and so much more. It’s starting to get to the point that I wouldn’t be surprised if they started to be more direct in their rip-off and make Summon Dust. And it’s hard to even argue this because Monty Oum (God Rest His Soul) is a Final Fantasy fanboy (See: Dead Fantasy), so there’s no doubt that there would be some FF references every now and then. But the idea of Dust is too similar to be a coincidence. Even the claim of how similar the show is to Advent Children is rather hard to see any other way. Advent Children had very little plot to it, but had spectacular action scenes - sound familiar?

Yeah, of course it’s a rip off here! ...And in Storm Hawks...and Kingdom Hearts...And Pokémon-

Almost like this is a COMMON TROPE. Can’t really call it a rip off when everyone is doing it. Almost like you don’t know how tropes work.  Also, you don’t mention how Final Fantasy does it better: you just say they do. Probably because FInal Fanatsy=Not RWBy ergo better.

Legend of Korra did the whole “Girl Power” thing better. Considering that they also managed to portray PTSD in a much more realistic way, and didn’t romanticize it like RVVBY did. Korra had hallucinations, was clearly sleep-deprived, and struggled to keep up with even a few non-benders because of the trauma. Sure, LoK had its own issues (Like trying to keep up with its predecessor), but it still managed to hold its own. What does RVVBY do? - only ONE on-screen nightmare, and only ONE on-screen panic attack. The worst part is that we didn’t even NEED it to be on-screen. Just show Yang not wanting to sleep, or her waking up from nightmares. Even offhandedly mentioning that she’s having nightmares would have been better than nothing. But we get that nothing. Because making Yang get back to doing badass fighting moves is more important than giving her a good recovery arc.

OH Ho ho ho ho!

This is a fucking GOLD MINE!

A. RWBY was never touted as a Girl Power show: It just had female protagonists. Men were just as capable as women and it was clear from the first episode so this comparison doesn’t even count.

B. Oh korra. The one with a protagonist who was one trait away from being a full blown Mary Sue who disobeyed orders, stole food, caused property damaged, nearly committed murder, committed police assault and resisting arrest who gets off t6eh hook and is treated as in the right for doing all that. And that’s just the first episode, shall I go on to explain how Korra essentially harassed a guy and acting like an obsessive stalker despite him saying that he has a girlfriend and then kisses him despite this, hurting his innocent brother and gets rewarded for it, or how Korra barely practices Air bending (the ONE element she doesn’t aut know) but can magically airbend without using airbending techniques and having her bending TAKEN AWAY. Or how about Korra flipping outa t Mako, May Lin trying to arrest Tenzien’s wife and wrecking Airbending Island for getting dumped and that one Psycho girlfriend Waterbender is all treated as humerous and okay? Or that Asami was just basically eye candy in the first and second seasons? Or how the one main female villain seen as redeemable is the one who refused orders, forcibly recruited people, took advantage of the spirits, tried to kill her fiancé, sent people who didn’t agree with her to “reprogramming” camps, threatens the lives of her subordinates and tried to kill an entire city. It wasn't Amon who was implied to have severe hatred against benders due to his dad’s abuse. It couldn’t even be the fucking Red Lotus, the most human villians in the Avatar franchise since ZUKO: It was the female earthbender whose actions numerous times mirrored fucking Hitler.

Bottom Line: Even without TRYING to be a Girl Power show, RWBY is a BETTER Girl Power show than Korra.

C. The PTSD arc is the ONE thing Korra has above RWBY and it SHOULD be better because Korra has more time, more experience, more money, more people and in a medium that is more forgiving than RWBY’s. And even then, it’s BARELY better in terms of actual writing because it tries portraying Korra’s PTSD as an outside force, uses her Avatar State self as the representation when it makes no sense, she gets over it by herself despite her lesson being not to lock other people out, it came back with no indication, uses Zaheer out of nowhere and brings up smaller events that never eluded to extend the arc. It could have been fixed so easily by just having an imaginary Zaheer attacking her with kora being hesitant of airbending. I fucking fixed and I’m an inexperienced fanfic writer. All RWBY needs to do to be better is acknowledge it again: Something VERY likely due to RT’s history.

So far: We have one example that is out right wrong, one example that is too broad to do anything and doesn’t show jack shit and one example that is so wrong it helps ME absolutely.

SO what’s next?

And since it probably wouldn’t be me if I didn’t include this, here’s the one that some people are probably waiting for:

So you’re outright acknowledging bias against RWBY and for Storm Hawks because Nostalgia huh? Fine, I’ll cut you down HERE too.

Storm Hawks did the small amount of habitable land that needs to be protected by various teams of heroes first and better. Energy attacks have better justification for their appearance, and the fact that both Crystals and Dust are both gemstones with elemental properties that need to be mined and are integral to powering weapons and vehicles. Both shows have amazing transforming weapons, teams made up of various people with different skills, and incredible action scenes. They even had a spectacular superpower that manifested in one of their main characters after they were put in a tough situation. See my chart below for more detail.

Sky Knights : Huntsmen/Huntresses

Crystals : Dust

Squadrons : Huntsman Teams.

Atmos : Remnant

Talons/Raptors/Murk Raiders/Beasts : Grimm/WF

The Binding : Silver Eyes

... (points to the Final Fantasy point above)

So it’s perfectly okay for Storm Hawks to “rip off” Final Fanatsy but RWBY is bad for doing it?

Because these are all elements from Final Fantasy.

Not to mention since you DON’T explain why Storm Hawks does it better, all I have to do is point to the fact that Storm Hawks is canceled early and RWBY is a worldwide phenomon. Storm Hawks is at 7.2  whereas RWBY is at 8.3 , Storm Hawks had more time, more experience, more money, more people and the backing of Cartoon Network where RWBY doesn’t.

Dudeblade, this is why you go unnoticed by the writers, why all of you in RWDE tag go unnoticed: you do ANYTHING to tear down the show, whether or not it’s true. That and you suck so bad, I can do a better job than you.

Here, let me:

Harry Potter does the “school for special people” better because the school stays in focus for most of the show where we grow more and more attached to the setting and characters there and since the enemy is gradually shown more and more: he gain slightly more and more fear in a very smooth and natural way. And since the books take time with the enemies, we can keep track of the numerous characters easily. All unlike RWBy

Kill La Kill does the Girl Power aspect of the show better as the main cast is female, the show is driven by females and each character has their own unique set of strengths and weakness along with flaws they must overcome and deal with. It also tackles the idea of women being objectified and encourages women to take pride in who and what they are, ignoring how society sees them and think ofr themselves. Again, unlike RWBY would be.

Dragon Ball does the “Writing by the seat of your pants” style better than RWBY because Akira Toriyama was used to writing tis way and thus had more experience and even had a talent for writing this way which also made the series more suspenseful. Once more, unlike the CRWBY.

When I can do your job better and in less time: Might want to rethink what you are doing.