it rises and her blood freezes over. feigned nonchalance somersaults into a fight-or-flight response so profound, it takes all of her energy not to bolt in the opposite direction. 

lyune is in the other room, she reminds herself. she will not abandon him.

POP!

glitter blasts in her face. beautiful, sparkly glitter that dissipates in the air. her fingers curve against the underside of her chair, jaw tight, and she stares with malice at the fae in front of her, so like its kin. 

"what...do you...want?" she manages, cursing the quickness of her heart. 

John Sullivan

☉

her blood sings sweetly with the fire of the draconids, but right now she doesn't feel what's she come to associate with them: strength, courage, power. shame turns the back of her neck red and she raises her hand to cover the puckered scars on the side of her throat. 

artemis had pulled what remained of tapu fini's influence from her blood at the site of those scars. 

"i have nothing for you," she says and holds out her other hand to try and push her away. 

John Sullivan

☉

the squeal makes her draw her shoulders up in a futile attempt to cover her ears. the pinwheeling pixie eventually rights herself and freya tries to think past the tension headache spreading over the front of her brain. 

it doesn't register at first. you get so used to small, minute amounts of pain and discomfort. but when her own idle scratching stops, index finding smooth skin instead of a rough callous, she raises her hands. 

red fades way to fair skin and when they're healed over, she jerks her head upright, only the fae is gone. 

her eyes glass. she tells herself it's more manipulation, that it's some sort of trick, that her skin will reopen in due time, that there is something insidious inside of her now, but it's a small, shallow voice. more unfamiliar is the relief and the trust that follows.

"thank you," she whispers, for more reasons than one.

John Sullivan

☉

she does not tell him about the visit. for a long while, she debates on whether or not to say anything, but she can't explain the levity of it. 

her stare is fixed on a corner of the room, bleary from dozing in and out. when she hears his voice, she blinks rapidly and stands, then rubs her eye while she walks towards him. she checks the time and it takes a moment to comprehend.

all she can do is nod and follow doug into the room, breath held.

John Sullivan

☉

nothing else matters. not the pokemon milling about the room, not the man - a friend - talking to her about the after-effects of the surgery, and not that her palms are still tingling from where a self-proclaimed adversary healed them. all that matters is he opens his eyes and the first thing he does is go to groggily lift the wing and it works. 

she is by his side in an instant, forehead pressed to his, eyes smarting, arms around the girth of his enormous head. 

"how long?" she asks, voice cracked from her joy. tears slip freely down her cheeks. the dragon in her arms shakes in anticipation. "how long until he's ready to fly?"

John Sullivan

☉

freya has always been a tough woman, especially around the likes of her colleagues, and though she's shared some laughs with doug, most of their interactions have been strictly business.

but now she can't help herself. excitement, relief, a weight that's been on her shoulders for years now is gone; she feels lighter than air. and she rocks forward, squeezes him in an awkward hug, bumping against all of her hard muscle and angles. 

"thank you. for everything."

John Sullivan

☉