#I actually cannot ink to save my life like this took forever

[wakeofvultures]

An unfinished gif of Myrtis I did last year when her design was slightly different in my head. Her hair was a little shorter and her face was rounder. Ft. A rabbit about to die freaking out

She looks so baby here. She's still baby to me

The fic she's attached to

[girl4music]

BUFFY REWATCH - S04E22 - Restless

Tara: “I think it’s strange. I mean, I think I should worry that we haven’t found her name.”

Willow: “Who, Miss Kitty?”

*shot of their kitten, playing with a ball of red yarn in slow-motion*

Tara: “You’d think she’d let us know her name by now.”

Willow: “She will.

*looking down at Tara*

She’s not all grown yet.”

Tara: “You’re not worried?”

Willow: “I never worry here. I’m safe here.”

Tara: “You don’t know everything about me.”

Willow: “Have you told me your real name?”

Tara: “Oh, you know that.

*Willow smiles, reaches for something. Shot of a paintbrush dipping into ink jars*

They will find out, you know. About you.”

Willow: “Don’t have time to think about that. You know I have all this homework to finish.”

*the camera pulls back so we can see Tara is lying face-down on her bed, naked, and Willow is painting on her back*

Tara: “Are you gonna finish in time for class?”

Willow: “I can be late.”

Tara: “But you’ve never taken drama before.

*shot of Willow dipping the paintbrush again, moving it across to Tara’s back, which is covered with Greek symbols*

Might miss something important.”

Willow: “I don’t wanna leave here.”

*Tara twists back to look at her*

Tara: “Why not?”

*Willow stands up, looking down at Tara. She turns away toward a dark red curtain. Walks over to it*

Willow: “It’s so bright.

*pulls back the curtain to reveal a brightly sunlit desert. The light falls on Tara, who looks over. Looking back at Tara, still holding the curtain open*

And there’s something out there.”

*shot of the desert, straggly plants, rocks. We briefly see something (someone?) moving, then it’s gone. Shot of the kitten stalking forward toward the camera, in slow-motion*

I have been so anxious to get to this episode and write my meta. For all the time I’ve brought up Willow’s insecurities, this is the one and only episode that lays them all bare for everybody to see, if - and this is important -, you are clever enough to decipher the code of visual symbolism and possess the ability of interpretation. Pretty much all of the episode ‘Restless’ requires you to interpret what you see. You’re not told straight-forwardly what the dreams, each of the core 4 Scooby members have, are about and that’s precisely what I love about it and why it is probably my most favourite episode of the whole show.

Now, obviously, I’m only going to be talking about Willow’s dream in the episode because if I were to do an analysis of every character’s dream, I’d be here all day and this recap would be incredibly long. I would suggest watching YouTuber Passion Of The Nerd’s analysis for it to get the whole picture. Much of what I will write here will draw from that as I agree with quite a lot of it and think it makes a lot of sense in understanding each character. Every character has fears, worries and insecurities, and that’s what these dreams are specifically about, but Willow’s go much deeper than can be witnessed in all of the show due to her “hiding” them under a “thinly-veiled” persona of who she wants to be. For the most part, you only get to see who she wants you to see. It is not until this episode that all of Willow’s real thoughts and feelings take center-stage - quite literally. There’s a reason why both her dreams in ‘Nightmares’ and ‘Restless’ have her performing on stage. The former, being more about stage fright and about wanting to go unnoticed. The latter, about acting like something she’s not and “putting on a show” of confidence and security to the other characters, who she fears knows about “the real her”, and the audience watching her. Now, “the real her” is as ambiguous as this entire dream sequence is - meaning: it depends on your point of view who Willow is. And this is why I clash with @confusedguytoo about Willow often regarding my views and opinions on Willow. They see something different to me. However, I’ll let them better explain that if they so wish to. I’ll only explain what I see - in Willow - and in this episode.

I relate Willow’s insecurities to her accumulation of power and need for control. For me, much of what I interpret in ‘Restless’ ties in and very much foreshadows Willow’s magic addiction and ‘Dark Willow’ storyline in Season 6 because, to me, Dark Willow is less about the Magicks and more about power and rage, (Anya interjects here: “and vengeance, don’t forget vengeance”). So I will go through the meaning of Willow’s dream in ‘Restless’ from the way I interpret it and in my own words:

Starting off, we have Willow sat on Tara’s bed with Tara (well, actually Tara is laying down on it and Willow is sat on it.) Tara is turned away from Willow as Willow paints some writing on her bare back (see Passion Of The Nerd’s analysis to know what is being written because it’s very significant to the scene.) This part of Willow’s dream has more to do with Tara than Willow, but it’s important to remember that it’s all from Willow’s perspective. Willow worries that there’s something about Tara that Tara isn’t telling her. Something she’s not “facing her” with and letting her know bothers her. But other than that - she has no worries. She feels safest with Tara and, as I’ve previously mentioned in another recap, is much more invested in the relationship they share than Tara is at this point in it. And the scales don’t actually equal in that because Willow becomes uncomfortably and unhealthily invested in that she starts to abuse Tara in such a way where she wants to make sure Tara pays the most attention to her. And magic has always been the best way for Willow to have “her will be done” well before Tara entered the picture of her life. And so, she knows it’s her bread and butter to getting her way.

Moving on, we now see Willow walking the halls of Sunnydale high school and Xander and Oz are in the dream. No Tara. Meaning this part of the dream is something passed in her life but still very present in her mind. Although this is of the past, the dialogue between all 3 characters is about Willow’s then-future. There is mention of Tara and of the drama class they will take in college. I interpret this to mean that Willow can’t entirely let go of what was to focus on what is or what will be. Hence why Oz is in the scene and why he says “Oh, I’ve been here forever” when Willow asks him if he’s ever took the drama course - at which point we see Willow trying to take something out of her locker but can’t seem to get it open. I interpret this to mean she’s locked out and cannot access that part of her life anymore despite still thinking about it, and specifically Oz, in it. You see, Oz may have followed Willow to college, but he never stayed. Their relationship was only one that existed in high school and Willow has regretfully moved on from Oz and entered a new relationship that exists in college and will last beyond that. She cannot access her high school life anymore. She cannot access Oz anymore. Thus, their love affair was tied to their high school life and Willow no longer goes there.

At this point we see Willow walk out of the frame, leaving Xander and Oz behind, to stand backstage of a production in their drama class - of which Willow has never even rehearsed for and hasn’t even had her first drama class yet. And the characters of Harmony, Riley and Buffy are dressed up in costume ready to perform the play and tell Willow that she’s late but she’s “already” dressed in “costume” and “already” in “character”. Giles then enters the scene as the stage director and his dialogue in rallying his actors to get ready to perform reveals that this play is all about Willow. In fact - she’s the main character in it (go figure) and everybody in the audience, including the cast, is there to watch her perform.

“Acting is not about behaving, it’s about hiding. The audience wants to find you, strip you naked, and eat you alive, so hide.” - Giles.

Next Willow goes behind the stage curtains (which are red to represent a vagina, apparently, according to Whedon in the commentary track for ‘Restless’) and finds Tara among them with her who tells her that things aren’t going very well. Willow says that drama class is not being done in the “proper” way, she doesn’t know what to do, and the play’s starting soon. Tara then tells her that the play’s already started and that’s not the point anyway. Willow doesn’t understand. As the play happens without Willow, Tara disappears, and what was following Willow attacks her.

Buffy saves her and we go back to Sunnydale high school. This time we’re in a classroom. It isn’t clear which class but it’s presumably English as Willow reads out a book report on ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’. Before she does that though, Buffy tells Willow that the play is long over and asks her why she’s still in “costume”. Willow responds that it’s not a costume, she’s just in her outfit of the day. Buffy tells her that everybody already knows about her and to take her “costume” off, to which Willow panics and refuses. Buffy rips her “costume” off of her to reveal her wearing the clothes she was wearing on the very first episode of the show. Now, Willow stands in front of a full classroom of her peers (both from high school, college, and the Scooby Gang) mocking her for her appearance and her reaction to being totally exposed to what she believes everybody perceives of her as the truth of who she really is. Still a shy loser. The dream sequence ends with what was following Willow and attacked her throughout; the first Slayer sucking out her soul and leaving the real Willow paralyzed in her sleeping state. Unable to escape from her personal Hell.

So what does it all mean? Well, it really all depends on the way you interpret her dream. Some things about Willow and what she thinks and feels are clear, some are not. But how I’ve interpreted her dream in ‘Restless’ is that Willow, despite appearing a much more confident, secure and assertive person, doesn’t have any belief in herself when it comes to her value and requirement of her from her peers, friends and lovers… Or everyone that’s not her. Her need for validation in who she is and what she can do from everyone. Her worthiness in her work. Her ability and capacity to love. Her appearance to whoever perceives her. Especially the ones she loves. And her insecurities run so deep in this that even she doesn’t recognize them. She’s not aware to how much she’s acting like someone she’s not in order to please, in order to have attention, in order to feel of use to people. Now, it is not that she is still the loser. She’s definetly evolved into a much more worldly and well-rounded person since her high school days. Stronger, smarter, wiser, and more confident. It’s just she doesn’t believe in it and she absolutely fears no one else does either. In her mind she’s still the lonely nerd and she’s doing the most to make sure people don’t see that. Even though she has the belief that they do and always will. So her need for power and control all stems from these deep unconscious insecurities. Magic just happens to be the most effective tool for her to accumulate this. And she only becomes addicted to it in Season 6 because she relies on it to make her special. Even though she’s special as she is - with or without magic - to which Tara does her damnedest to make her aware of and believe. And she’s about the only person in the show that achieves it - until, of course, her death… Which, of course, triggers Dark Willow.

Willow's need for power and control as Dark Willow is channelled through rage and pain and so no amount of it is enough. Willow isn’t enough without Tara. None of these fears, worries and insecurities are the truth of Willow. But getting her to believe in and trust in that is next to impossible. Tara is only capable of it because she’s the one thing in the show that Willow truly loves. Is truly committed to. Is truly invested in. And she feels like she means and is nothing without her, without her love, without her attention, without her validation, without her light. She abuses her the most because she’s the one person in all of the show that she covets the most. That she doesn’t want to be without, that she feels the safest and is the happiest with. That she won’t let leave her life. Yes, it’s unhealthy. But true love can be when there’s so much inner turmoil. When there’s such a storm inside threatening to be unleashed with every bad day. Every screw up. Every "spaz" feeling. That's what it stems from. A loser mentality.

That is Willow’s entire predicament throughout the whole show and why her character representation, development and evolution is the greatest, the most profound, the most detailed, the most poignant. This is a character that you absolutely fall in love with very early on. To see them go from that gentle-natured, quirky, inspiring and endearing person to one of the most abusive, frustrating, corruptive and destructive people is hard. Fortunately, they’re given the endgame they deserve and become the hero. They learn to balance both sides to who they are - the dark and the light - and they become exactly who they want to be. Someone of great power and control. Someone that is valued and loved. Someone that matters. Whether she believes it or not is up to you. 😉

[scvrllet]

the inevitable / r.b

Pairing: Regulus Black x Fem!Reader

Summary: Defying the Dark Lord never ends well, you and Regulus learned this from experience

Warning(s): death, brief mention of torture, angst but with a fluffy ending (you’re welcome, we all know I usually would’ve left it angsty)

Words: 3k+

Prompt: “Run away with me, it’ll be worth it.” will be in bold

This is for @obsessedwithrandomthings‘ writing challenge (congrats again on 500 followers!) 

A/N: I cannot write fluff I’m so sorry if you cringe. Also I’m posting this at nearly 11pm so idek if anyones gonna see this

General HP Taglist: @summer-writes @lunaralpha270 @tinylumpiaa @slytherin-chaser @bloodblossom73 @peachesandpinks @mischiefsemimanaged @accio-rogers @iamak20 @klaus-m-trash

Permanent Taglist: @sleep-i-ness @emmaloo21 @62442-am @flowersgrewbackasth0rns @imintoodeeptostop

Regulus stood hunched over the basin. The green glow of the remaining potion acting as a cruel reminder of what remaining torture he has to go through. Kreacher stood in front of him with a goblet in his hands. Regulus nodded and gulped down the potion, feeling the burning sensation as it went down.

He’s only had a few sips and so far, have only felt like his insides were on fire. As uncomfortable and painful it was, he forced himself to take more until his surroundings seemed to change.

(Y/N)?” He rasped as his vision started to focus on the figure sprawled out in front of him. When his vision finally focused, that was when he started screaming and scrambled to get up. Kreacher quickly dropped the goblet back into the basin and went to hold back his master who was mumbling stuff under his breath.

“Master Black, you must drink the potion.”

“(Y/N)! She’s there! Kreacher let go of me, she’s going to die!”

“Master Black, (Y/N) isn’t there. You must drink the potion.”

By this point Kreacher had to force the boy to take the potion and he hated every single second of it. Hearing his Master’s cries and protests to save someone who wasn’t there. Kreacher only hoped that they’d be out of here soon.

Taking more of the potion only made the visions worse. He kept seeing you, then Sirius, then the both of you laying in front of him. The two of you, dead before him just before the vision changed again. This time, Regulus recognized it as a memory. It was the first time he had gotten into a fight with you. 

“I just don’t see why you’re so worked up on this (Y/N). I’ll be fine, just because my family supports him doesn’t mean I’ll become a Death Eater.” Regulus said, his tone laced with annoyance as he lied straight to your face. 

“Than run away with me, it’ll be worth it. I promise. You won’t have to worry about Voldemort or your family. It’ll only be us. Just say the word, take my hand and we’ll go.” You pleaded desperately 

It hurt him to see you so stressed over him and it hurt even more that he was lying to you. He was already branded with the Dark Mark but he just didn’t know how to tell you. He didn’t even know if he wanted to tell you. 

“No, (Y/N), I can’t. He’ll find us, find me somehow. That will only put us into more danger.” Again, lies spilled out from his mouth. 

Regulus now wondered if he had taken your hand, would have things turned out differently.

When the potion was finally gone, Kreacher quickly grabbed the locket and switched it for the one Regulus had brought that contained the letter.

“Water. I need water.” Regulus mumbled, looking around the cave before crawling towards the dark lake surrounding the island they were standing on.

“Master Black no!” Kreacher protested but it was too late.

Immediately after Regulus and cupped his hands into the water to bring some to his lips, white ghastly hands had started to crawl out from the water. Several of them from all sides of the island. It was as if they were waiting for him.

By the time Kreacher made it to Regulus’ side, the inferi were already dragging him towards the water and they both knew that there was nothing that could be done. Before he was pulled under the water, he gave Kreacher one last order, fighting to stay above the water for even just a few more seconds.

“Go! Don’t tell my family anything, and give the letter to (Y/N). Protect her at all cost and destroy the locket”

The House elf nodded and with a guilty expression, appeared out of the cave and back to 12 Grimmauld Place. The sounds of his Master’s screams and cries echoing in his head as he appeared into the home that felt colder than usual. He quickly called for his master’s owl and gave it the letter. “To Hogwarts, to Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” 

---

Mail at Hogwarts was usually delivered during breakfast unless it was considered urgent, then it’d be delivered straight to the recipient’s dorm.

You were sitting on the edge of your one of your dorm-mates bed when a pecking noise was heard from outside the window. It was one of your other dorm-mates who decided to open the window after you waved it off as a tree branch on the window. 

“It’s not a branch (Y/N),why would there be a branch here? Anyways, it’s a letter for you.” They said as they handed you the letter. 

The second you grabbed it from her hand your brows raised as you recognized the Black family crest stamped in the middle of it, sealing the envelope shut. “Regulus?” you mumbled as you got up to go sit on your own bed. 

For the past month you noticed that he was acting differently and just a week ago he apparently left school. You just assumed that his parents needed him home for some urgent business and that was why he didn’t tell you anything. He was a busy boy after all. 

Breaking the seal on the envelope you took out the piece of parchment which was written in black ink. Your heart swells as you read what was written in it.

My little dove, 

If you’re reading this then it means that I have been killed. I’m sorry I’ve kept you in the dark about this but I found out something about Voldemort. He’s created this thing called a Horcrux. He’s not human, not anymore. For the past month I’ve been trying to figure out where to find it and possibly destroy it. I know that you’d probably scold me for doing a suicide mission but that’s now why I haven’t told you anything. It’s because I know you’d join me and do anything and everything so that I could live but I can’t let that happen. I’m ashamed to be a part of this family and shamed to have waited so long before finally realizing how horrible it actually is. 

There isn’t much time. I’m writing this the night before I go to the cave with Kreacher. Hopefully he is able to destroy the Horcrux and he’ll be mortal once again. 

Also, another thing. Please don’t tell my family anything or anyone in general, especially Sirius. If they ask about me just say you don’t know. Sirius would go out of his way to try and kill him and as much as I miss him, he’s safer with the Potters. Or at least I hope. 

I love you (Y/N), I always have and always will. Not even death can stop me, I promise. 

Yours forever,  Regulus Arcturus Black.

P.S.

Please don’t rush to see me again. We will meet again when your time comes but for now, your time is far from near. Don’t rush it darling, it’s not a race to the end. I love you forever. 

You didn’t notice the tears that fell from your eyes until one landed on the letter you were now gripping tightly. Your dorm-mates had paused their conversation and were now at the edge of your bed looking at you with worried expressions. 

“What’s wrong?” One of them asked.

“N-nothing.” You lied. 

They either believed it or knew better than to pressure you into saying anything. They simply just nodded and quickly left the dorm to give you your space which you silently thanked them for. When the door closed behind them you fell back onto the bed, your head buried into your pillow as your sobs filled the room. The letter clutched tightly in your arms until you had fallen asleep. 

When you woke up the next morning you immediately sat up to make sure that no one had taken the letter and read it. You sighed in relief when it was still in your hands and hid it before getting ready for the day. Getting ready as if you hadn’t just found out that the love of your life was killed the day before. No one could find out. 

You were thankful that there was only a week left before the Christmas holidays. Though you had plans to meet with Regulus over the break, you would now be spending them grieving a boy that no one but you and Kreacher knew had passed.  You only hoped that the week would end quickly. 

---

Kreacher greeted you at the door. 12 Grimmauld Place felt colder and lonelier than ever as you stepped inside. 

The House Elf led you to the Drawing Room where a yellow locket rested on a table. You looked back at Kreacher who nodded, already knowing what you were going to ask. 

“So this was the Dark Lord’s Horcrux, Salazar Slytherin’s locket.” You thought to yourself as you picked it up to examine it. 

“Kreacher has not been able to destroy it.” The old House Elf croaked. 

“And why would Kreacher do such a thing?” A voice said suddenly from behind the two of you. You instinctively grabbed your wand, ready to defend yourself and Kreacher but as you turned around two spells were shot towards you. The locket along with your wand dropped to the ground and a third spell was aimed at your chest, causing you to stumble and fall onto your back. 

Kreacher tried to intervene but with a wave of their wand, the attacker who you have yet to get a clear look at, sent the House Elf flying into the closest wall. By the time he was on his feet, the attacker was standing by your side and harshly grabbed your shoulder before apparating out of the house. Kreacher stood there for a moment, taking in the fact that he had failed his Master not just once but twice. 

“My Lord, this is the girl.” Your attacker said, they bowed at the tall dark figure who stood before them and that was when you finally recognized who it was. Bellatrix Lestrange, Regulus’s cousin who was an extremely loyal Death Eater to the Dark Lord. It was said that she was even obsessed with him and you wondered how twisted someone must be to be obsessed with a man like him.

“And where is the locket?” The figure, who you assumed was the Dark Lord, asked. His voice was calm which surprised you. You expected him to sound colder, cruel even. 

“I-I didn’t see it.” Was Bellatrix’s reply which caused the Dark Lord to finally turn around. 

“Well then, why don’t we ask our guest then.” He suggested as he slowly stepped closer towards you. Crouching down in front of you, he placed two fingers under your chin and lifted your head up so that you were looking him in the eye. 

You were once told that the Dark Lord was actually an attractive young man while studying at Hogwarts. Many girls fawned over him but he paid them no mind. He seemed to have his own gang of ‘friends’ who ended up to be his very first Death Eaters. No one would have thought that the he would have rose to power at such an early age. Over the years, as he started to become a dark wizard was when his features started to look less human but they were subtle. From a glance you would have assumed that he was just another wizard but upon closer inspection you noticed the subtle snake-like features. 

“Now, have you seen a yellow locket? More specifically, one that shouldn’t have been touched from the start.”He asked you calmly, a wicked smirk on his lips as he watched you try to appear calm. 

“No.” You lied through gritted teeth. 

His smirk seemed to grow as he let go from your chin. “Liar!” He seethed as he stood up straight. 

He turned to Bellatrix who stood behind you and you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you heard him say, “Bella, do as you please.”

The sounds of his footsteps retreating echoed through the dimly lit room and when the door behind him closed shut you prayed, prayed for some sort of God or deity to spare you from what you knew was going to come. 

“Looks like we are going to have some fun.” She said in a sickly sweet tone before grabbing her wand and pulling you up by your shoulder. 

It felt like hours had gone by as you laid on the cold ground, not you minded. You liked the cold ground. It was better than Bellatrix’s wand burning into your skin or the cruciatus curse that felt like white-hot knives piercing your skin. 

Just when you had thought it was over, the pain filled your body again. Your bones felt like they were on fire and you tried to bite back a scream. Bellatrix only giggled, seeming to love the pain she was inflicting as she rasped her wand and pointed it at you again. 

“Please.” You had managed to say. Due to the hours of torture you had just gone through you were surprised you had enough strength to even speak. 

Bellatrix lowered her wand, her eyes no longer bearing that maniac look that often filled her eyes as her expression looked more sympathetic. At this point you were far too weak to even try and figure out if this was all an act or not. A part of you told you to not get your hopes up but on the verge of death, your hopes were already far too high. 

She crouched down and leaned towards your ear, her signature smirk returning to her face as she whispered, “You should’ve told him where it was.” before one last spell shot out form her wand.

“Avada Kedavra.” 

Your body fell limp and during the last second before death greeted you, a small smile appeared on your lips as your last thoughts were of finally reuniting with Regulus. Then quicker than ever, darkness flooded your vision and you welcomed it.  

--- 

When you opened your eyes again it was no longer darkness that flooded your vision but bright white light. Once your vision adjusted you noticed you were at Kings Cross Station except it was entirely white. Even the clothes you wore were all white. Was this the afterlife? 

“He’s waiting for you.” A familiar voice said and you turned around to see your grandmother. You didn’t hesitate for a second as you ran towards her to hug her, a chuckle escaping her lips as she hugged you back. You had lost her the summer before you started Hogwarts and it pained you to not be able to tell her what you experienced there. You knew she would’ve loved to hear what you had to say but maybe now, 6 years later, you could finally tell her. 

“As much as I’d love to hear about your years at Hogwarts, I have to wait for someone else.” Your grandmother said as if she had read your mind.

“Mom...” 

“Yes my child, though worry not, it is not her time yet.” 

Silence draped itself onto the two of you as you realized that your parents had no idea that you had died. You simply told them that you were going to a friend’s house and that you’d be back for dinner but now that wouldn’t be happening. 

“They’ll be fine, don’t worry about them. What you should be worrying about is keeping him waiting.” Your grandmother said and you looked at her with a confused expression. 

“He?” You asked, not sure who she could have been referring to. She simply smiled and then it clicked in your head. Regulus.

“Take the train down three stops, get off and wait until the train is gone before getting off the platform. He’ll be there waiting for you.” With one last hug, you left your grandmother and hopped onto the train that arrived a few minutes after. You followed her instructions, getting off at the third stop and waiting until the train was fully gone before getting off of the platform. 

Getting off of the platform, you were relieved to see that everything wasn’t all white but instead, was the countryside with farm animals and a small cottage. There was a feeling inside you that wanted for you to go towards the cottage. 

“I’m already dead so what’s the worst that could happen?” You thought to yourself before heading towards the cottage. 

The closer you got the more nostalgic you felt though you couldn’t figure out how. By the time you were standing on the front door step, you could’ve sworn that you’ve seen the cottage somewhere before. 

Before you could even knock, the door swung open and a head of black curly hair immediately pulled you into their embrace. You stood there unsure of what was happening until the familiar scent of the boy you loved filled your senses. 

“Regulus...” You said softly, as if trying to confirm whether it was really him or not that was hugging you so tightly. 

He pulled away, hands no longer holding you close to him but now cupping your face. Tears filled both your eyes though neither of you knew who started crying first. 

“You’re such an idiot.” He tried joking as he buried your face in his chest. He held you close, pressing kisses into your hair as tears streamed down both your faces. 

“I love you.” You said, lifting you head up from his chest to look into his eyes that you were starting to miss. You were happy to see that they didn’t look so dull anymore.

“I love you more. But that doesn’t mean you’re not an idiot. I told you to take your time which meant not to go and try to destroy the Horcrux. I even told Kreacher to protect you but clearly-” Pulling his face closer to yours so that you could kiss him caused his lecture to abruptly stop as he melted into the kiss. 

The moment lasted for a while but ended far too quickly in your opinion as Regulus pulled away and started to lecture you again causing you to roll your eyes. 

“You can lecture me all you want but could you at least tell me why we’re here?” You stopped him mid-lecture, pointing to the area surrounding you. For some reason it felt like home.  

“This was the life you wanted when you asked me to run away with you,” He replied with a smile that quickly dropped, “I’m sorry for not taking your hand that night. Life would’ve been different, maybe even better if I had but I was scared. I’m so sorry.”

You flashed him a soft smile, pulling his face closer to yours so that you could press a kiss to his check. A blush bloomed on his cheeks and though he tried to hide it, he knew it was no use and just gave up.

The two of you stood there for a while. Not a word being scad but instead, a comforting silence as you both took in each-others appearance. It’s been a while since either of you have been able to feel this peaceful.

“So this is the other side?” You asked breaking the silence. 

“I think so yeah. Why? You don’t like it?” The smile on his face turned into a worried expression as he looked at you. His reaction caused you to laugh. Ignoring his questioning look, you placed your hand into his and leaned your head against his shoulder. 

“No no, I like it though I don’t really care where we are.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because I have you with me.” You replied, looking up at him with a smile which he mirrored. 

“You’re such a sap.” He teased. 

“But you still love me.”

“And I always will.”

[msotherworldly]

The Wizard’s Thrall

Title: The Wizard’s Thrall

Fiction Type: Original Fiction

Warnings: Some violence

Prompt: “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

He paced back and forth, his beard pooling to the ground like ink. He stopped before the blazing green fire, holding his hands behind his back. He was a silhouette, long and brittle, with a pointed hat and big ears. He sighed as he turned, and his eyes flashed—green, they had absorbed the colour of the fire.

I pressed myself to the wall with a shiver. The room was circular and small. The furniture—a bed with one tattered blanket, an iron bench and a chamber pot—crowded the room.

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?” His voice was mild. “You asked me last month if there was a chance you’d ever leave this place.”

“And you said ‘maybe.’ You said you would think about it.”

“A month is not enough time to think.”

“But I’d help you!” I grabbed his arm. “Please! I could find somebody to take my place! Somebody more powerful to feed from! I have a knack for tracking others. I used to think that’s why you took me.”

He slapped my hand away. “And what’s my guarantee you wouldn’t run off.”

I looked away. “You’re a wizard. You must be able to...keep my heart in a chest or something, as assurance I’ll return.”

“Of course.” He took my chin between two fingers. “But then I could simply keep you both once you’d come back. Two souls to feed off of would heal all of my ailments.”

“You can’t keep me forever. I’ll die.”

“I have ways of keeping people alive.” He chuckled. “I am, after all, a wizard. Or do you underestimate me, even now?”

“My parents will find you.” I trembled. “And when they do, you’ll be executed. Nobody steals the son of a king and lives!”

“Oh, how naive you are.” The wizard placed his hands on my shoulders. Then he held up a strand of my hair. I’d never been allowed to cut it. How could I, when scissors were considered too dangerous a possession? “It’s funny, actually. Your father isn’t angry at all. In fact, he even knows where you are. He sent you to me to protect your mother.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Your mother was the third princess of a small kingdom. She had little money, nothing to offer, but she doted on your father. In order to attract him, she needed a grand dowry. When she sought the spirits for an answer, I appeared. I gave her everything she asked for: her own tract of land, complete with farms, servants and a castle; endless gems, silver and gold, and jewellery to fill her treasury; sumptuous food which reappeared on the silverware each night; and astounding beauty with which to bewitch a man.”

I edged towards the wall, shaking my head.

“In return, I asked that she gift me with her first born. Otherwise, I would turn her into a toad and eat her. You were a sickly child, likely to die your father thought. He believed it a fair trade to save his wife. The boy he raises now is his second heir, but the kingdom has been told it’s his first. You do not even exist. Your parents told their kingdom that you were stillborn, and even the servants believed. So you see, even if I freed you, there is no place for you. Your brother will be king. And you are nothing.”

I trembled. My fingers tingled. My face burned.

“But I have looked after you. I have taught you to make potions, to cook, to clean, to write. In time, you may become a valuable assistant to me. And I could show you the marvels of this world.”

The tingling in my hands faded. “You...would let me out? To see things? To go places?”

“Oh, yes. What good is a prisoner if he cannot help you?”

“But I do help you.” My voice was dark. “Every time you drink from me, you grow younger.”

“And in so doing, I steal your years.” The wizard nodded. He drew his staff from the folds of his robes and studied it. “I have counted the years I took. You will not live past your thirtieth birthday.”

My heart sank. Thirty?

“But I can prolong your life with magic, as I’ve done with others. Any years given by magic are borrowed ones, but then they are infinite too. I could allow you to live until you are two hundred. Five hundred. One thousand. I could make you immortal, if you follow me.”

“And if I leave...” My eyes stung. My hands tingled, hot and shaking.

“You will die at thirty, of course. Without my magic, you’ll live for eleven years and then abruptly die. You may be with your wife, holding your first child, when it happens, and die you will. It would be a heart attack, something the doctors wouldn’t be able to account for. They would shrug and say, ‘It happens,’ and your wife would be left a destitute widow.”

Sweat pooled in my palms.

“So you see, you have no life without me. No future. No kingdom. No family. Nothing!”

I raised my hands.

“But if that’s what you want, I can release you. Go and enjoy your last decade.”

My hands sparked. His eyes widened: the lightning shot from my fingers. It struck him; he slammed into the wall with a grunt, and crumpled. I ran forward.

He sat up, roaring. “I never taught you magic! What is this?”

I smiled. “I taught myself through observation. I listened to you. I repeated your chants. I memorized every word, every gesture. What an idiot you were, to perform all of your spells in front of me.”

“But you have no magic in your blood!” His face was blotchy. “You are nothing!”

With a snap of my fingers, the green fire twisted into a snake. It loomed over the wizard, hissing. Sparks shot from it, bouncing off the stone. It reared up.

“Every year you took from me was replaced with magic. I must have had many years if there are still eleven left. How many? Eighty? One hundred? All of those years forged my power. You gave me the gift.”

“If you kill me, you’ll still be dead in eleven years.”

“No, because I’ll have your books. And eleven years to learn.” I raised my hand. The snake grew taller. “I know where you keep all your secrets, master. And I will use them to prolong my life—without you!”

The snake lunged. The wizard screamed, rolling aside as the snake’s head crashed into the pavement. The wizard leapt to his feet. He snatched up his staff, but I flicked my wrist: the snake’s end wrapped around him. The fire caught at his clothes, his beard, his skin. Smoke rose from him as he shrieked. Trapped in the burning coils, robes blackening, the wizard stared up at the snake. With a hiss, it lunged again. He screamed, and the snake swallowed him. He disappeared within, leaving only the scent of burnt flesh.

I flung my hands through the air. The flame sank, with a throb, and then pooled into the fireplace.

It crackled as it had before, bright and flickering and green, as though nothing had happened.

The only proof something had happened was the ash pile. Kneeling, I pawed through it. My fingers fastened around the key. I ran to the door. For a horrible moment, I feared it would be the wrong one. The doors were enchanted. If he had brought another key, I would be-

The door swung open. The pulse of my heart slowed. I flinched as I ran through the rain. I hadn’t heard it from within, the result of another enchantment. It was too cold, too wet, too dark. I realized how under dressed I was, wearing only a long beige tunic.

I peered at the second tower through the darkness. The same key opened it. It was much larger and filled with books. I took one down, and smiled: Longevity and the Study of Time Magic: The Immortal Magician.

In musty tomes, in the middle of nowhere, my journey had begun.

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 23)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 2638

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter​​​​​​​  and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence​​​​​​​, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​​​​​​​, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​​ and @arrow-guy​​​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

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

Another day of practical training and you were observing in the courtyard on the sidelines. Mordo was instructing everyone but Stephen just wasn’t getting the hang of it. After several minutes, The Ancient One stepped into the area and requested she be alone with Stephen. Mordo obliged and the class followed him inside. You stayed off to the side, watching. 

“My hands,” Stephen said in defeat.

“It’s not about your hands,” she countered.

“How is this not about my hands?” he defied.

“Master Hamir?” she requested. 

Master Hamir exposed his hand, and then an arm with no hand. He was able to cast the magic and spells, with no hand at all. This clearly dispelled all of Stephens’ preconceived notions of his failings. 

“Thank you, Master Hamir. You cannot beat a river into submission. You have to surrender to its current, and use its power as your own,” she advised.

“I… I control it by surrendering control? That doesn’t make any sense,” he said, the frustration clear in his tone. It was the same frustration you heard every night when you tried to teach him, or after every session he had with Mordo and he wasn’t any better than before.

“Not everything does. Not everything has to,” she insisted firmly. “Your intellect has taken you far in life. But it will take you no further. Surrender, Stephen. Silence your ego and your power will rise. Come with me,” she ordered as she formed a portal. 

The two of them walked through and you frowned. You went down a few steps to see where they’d gone. It looked snowy. 

Suddenly you heard her say, “Surrender, Stephen, and then she returned… by herself and the portal closed. 

Your eyes went wide as your heart raced. You ran forward to stand beside her. 

“Wha--Where is Stephen?” you asked, panicking. 

“On top of Mount Everest.” 

“Mount Everest? Oh, okay. Uh, and how is he supposed to get back?” you wondered, trying to keep the panic out of your voice. 

“On his own. He must surrender to the power, just as you did.” 

“That’s different, I just focused really hard.”

“You downplay your intellect and your abilities to everyone you know. It isn’t a nice characteristic, Y/N,” she noted. “You didn’t just focus, you believe in a power bigger than yourself. When you found out you had a mate, you didn’t doubt it for a moment.”

“Well no, why should I?” 

“Why Indeed. Stephen needs to gain the same faith and courage you do. That’s all.”

“What if he freezes to death in the meantime?” 

She didn’t respond, her eyes trained forward as Mordo came down, asking about the new recruit. You stood between the two, wringing your hands nervously, your chest tightening as you waited. You didn’t have a sling ring on. You couldn’t get to him. Besides, even if you did, maybe this tough love exercise is what he needed.

After another ion seemed to pass, finally, a spark outlined tunnel opened and Stephen fell through. You fell to your knees, your hands going all over him to ensure he was alright. He held onto you, relishing in your body heat. He felt positively ice cold. But he did it. 

You were so proud of him, you hugged him tightly. 

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

As soon as he got a hot bath, he asked you to help cut his hair. He was ready to move on, and this was a symbol of moving on. He was done with the pity party. You helped cut his hair much shorter to his liking, and quite honestly to yours. Then you worked on shaving him, but when you got to his chin, he stopped you, telling you to leave it. Once you wiped away the cream, he worked some trimmers over the leftover goatee and mustache. 

“Damn, Strange, you clean up nicely.”

He smirked. 

“Is this how you looked at the hospital?”

“No facial hair,” he noted, “but for the most part, yes.” 

“I like it,” you said sincerely, with no hint of jest. You nodded as you admired him from the side. “It suits you, very well.” 

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

After a while, he wanted to progress in the program much more quickly. He requested books on astral projection from Wong, but he refused. Being a tempestuous, he broke into the library via portals and took the books he wanted. 

As Wong had said, no knowledge is forbidden. 

Before long, Stephen was starting to read in his sleep. He used his astral form to take up the knowledge while he rested, giving him 24 hour access to literature he needed. 

Things progress quickly for him regarding his sorcery. Meanwhile, you read from the library, took notes leisurely, shopped in the nearby markets, and watched Stephen. Watching him learn was like watching Mozart write concerto. Once or twice he caught you staring at him. 

“Didn’t anyone tell you it wasn’t polite to stare?” he deadpanned.

You smirked and laughed, turning back to your laptop to write another email to Charles. When you weren’t looking, Stephen smiled to himself as well. 

One day, you were in the library, getting Stephen’s next round of books, but he was busy training for the day, so you thought you’d get a jump start on them. He ended up training well into the evening and you fell asleep at the table in the library. 

When he couldn’t find you, he got concerned, only for one of the other students to call to his attention that you were in the library. The two of them walked over and she pointed at you. Stephen was relieved to see you. He walked up and admired you for a moment. 

Not just how peaceful you looked but what you meant to him. You had once said that out of everyone he knew, colleagues, friends, everyone, you were the only one to stay. Even Christine up and left after one too many Strange Tantrums. Not only did you stay, but you fulfilled every role he needed in his life at the drop of a hat. Maid, cook, nurse, friend, confidant. You convinced him to come here, you trained with him every night, and you didn’t have to. You could’ve let him come on his own, face it by himself. You could’ve left once he got settled in. You could’ve done your own business while he trained. 

But you were with him every step of the way. And while Christine was nice, and bent over backward for him, she wasn’t you. She didn’t risk a relationship with another soulmate, just to save someone else. You did though. You were wholesome, good, and kind. You were tender, but firm. Fierce, but soft. Loving, but 

And he was in love with you. 

He picked you up and you groaned, your head lolling back as he carried you bridal style across the courtyard to your bedroom. He got you undressed and crawled in bed beside you. He wrapped his arm around you, feeling the love and freedom wash over him. 

Now, he just hoped you felt the same. 

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

He informed you that the Ancient One said that if she told him any more than he didn’t already know, that he’d run from the temple in terror. You said that was an odd thing to say, but perhaps they guarded many secrets of the world. But it did make you wonder what exactly was going on.

Stephen had moved into the more physical part of his training - learning to fight. 

You , as always, sat in the corner of the courtyard sipping tea, reading, and observing Stephen as he trained. This never made him feel put on the spot or insecure. Quite the opposite, as a lover of all things that stroked his ego, he quite liked having an audience. 

You studied him, his movements, what Mordo had taught him and other masters. And just like with the magic, you trained every night with him. Sometimes Mordo even allowed you to train with the other students because he felt self-defense is good general knowledge. 

One morning, you were getting ready to go to the kitchen to grab lunch with Stephen. As you started to walk out, Stephen said, “Uh, hold on, one sec.” 

“Why? Something wrong?” you asked, your brows furrowing. 

“No, no. Uh, how would you feel about going out to eat?” he asked. 

“Sure, where were you thinking?” you wondered. 

“How about dinner on the beaches of Bora Bora?” he inquired as he opened a portal and before you was the most magnificent sight you’d ever seen. Pinks and blues paint the sky as a warm, inviting beach had gentle waves lapping on the beach. The salty mist of the ocean wafted in at you through the open portal. 

A table with two chairs and candles were directly in focus of you. 

You turned to him in awe. “I--Are we allowed?” you wondered.

‘Yes, I actually asked permission,” he informed. 

“You? Asking permission? I’m in disbelief.” 

He rolled his eyes while smiling. “Would you like to join me or not?” he questioned, knowing full well you did. 

“Yes,” you quietly answered. 

The two of you walked through the gateway, and the smell of the ocean hit you, making you feel relaxed instantly. Stephen walked you over to the table, pulled a chair out for you, then took a seat himself. 

“How exactly did you manage to pull all of this off?” you wondered. 

“I called down here, after getting permission from the Ancient One, and informed them we’d like a beach side reservation for two at this time.” 

“How did you know I’d say yes?” 

“You’re a hopeless romantic, that’s how,” he informed with a smirk that made his eyes light up and you couldn’t argue with him. 

“What did you say to the Ancient One?” you asked as a waiter came by to fill your glasses with lemon water. “How did you convince her to let us come here?” 

He bobbed his head. “I promised to stop opening gateways in the library to steal from Wong. And, Kamar-Taj isn’t a prison, Y/N, we can leave anytime we like. Or you, should you desire to leave at any point. We’re allowed to leave the temple.”

“Well yes, but using your sorcery for frivolous trips like this …”

“I may have also mentioned how… trying I’ve been to you. How awful I was when you first arrived at my apartment and how I have yet to make up for all the things you’ve done for me. Knowing that we’re soulmates and that you and I haven't done anything else to upset the balance at Kamar-Taj--”

“Other than you stealing library books. I told you not to do that. I order you to give those back,” you reminded sternly. 

“Right, other than my petty borrowing, we have been perfect students. She didn’t see any reason why we couldn’t steal away for an hour or two.” 

“That was very kind of her, and thoughtful of you. Thank you for this.” 

He made a face of dismissiveness. “Oh, it’s nothing.” 

You shook your head, laughing. “Is it nothing because you’ve been here with another girl, perhaps? A repeat offender?”

“Are you trying to see if I’ve taken Christine here?” he asked, eyeing the menu.

“Her, or any one else.” 

“To assuage your jealousy, no. I’ve never taken anyone here. Christine and I never left New York together, let alone go anywhere exotic. No, I’ve actually been here by myself. A little graduation present from my family.”

“Oh, that must’ve been nice. A family vacation out here.” 

“Wasn’t a family vacation. They sent me alone.” 

“Oh,” you said, sounding sorrowful and embarrassed. 

He put down his menu. “It’s okay, Y/N. You had no way of knowing. But yes, my family and I are not close. They’re rich and after the passing of my sister, we all grew rather distant.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Well, it’s been many years now. Let’s not dwell on it,” he encouraged with a smile. “So, what looks good to you?”

“Uh, a lot, actually,” you said, picking up the menu. 

“Same. Typically, the only tough choices I ever have are ordering from a menu,” he mused. 

“Really? What about letting me stay? Was that a tough choice?” 

“I didn’t choose that, you barged it,” he retorted with a bit of whimsy.

“Oh, like you couldn’t stop me or call the cops. You wanted me to stay. Why I’m not sure. I mean, I know now why you were so upset, but back then… why did you let me stay?”

He let out a small sigh, setting his menu down. “Because, for some inexplicable reason, the moment I saw you, I felt… better… whole.. I’m not entirely sure. When I was with Christine or any other woman for that matter, I never felt as if… I wanted to let them in. I never wanted them to see me weak, fail, hear about my past, my family. Any of it. When Christine tried to care for me, I resented her for it. I didn’t want her or anyone else to know how broken I was, inside and out. But for some reason, when you saw me, I looked in your eyes and sort of thought ‘everything’s going to be okay’.”

Somehow, you’d leaned close into him at the table, getting enraptured in him. 

“I knew you weren’t going to think less of me, and since I was at rock bottom when you met me, I thought the only place I could go is up. For some reason, I took a leap of faith with you that I’d never done with anyone else. You seem to make me do that. Do things I wouldn’t normally do, take risks I wouldn’t normally take. Believe in things I never thought possible.”

“I had no idea I had that effect on you. I thought it was only me,” you noted in amazement.

“Well you do, and while I haven’t said officially, I do want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I hope I can return the favor one day.”

“I hope you return the favor for many days,” you breathed. The second it was out of your mouth you realized what you had said, and the implications behind it. 

The more time you spent with Stephen, the more complicated things were with you and Charles. You loved both of these men, equally. Both were set to complete your soul. But you knew one day, you’d have to choose. One man for one lifetime, that’s how it worked, right?

One day, you would have to pick a man to live with, marry, spend the rest of your life with. 

How do you do that when one half of your heart loves one, and the other half loves the other? 

“I do too,” he said with a bit of a grin. 

The two of you ordered and chit-chatted about his training. Eventually conversation flowed into your younger years of college and friends. You had told him about Jenny, a topic that really hadn’t surfaced much. You couldn’t imagine what Jenny would think of your life right now. You made a note to reach out to her to see what she was up to. She was giddy with excitement when she found out you had one soulmate, when she found out you had two, she would absolutely flip. 

He told you funny stories about the OR, you told him some wild stories about your patients. The two of you seemed to be in stitches all night before returning to the temple to go back to the daily grind of training, but the rest of the day, you spent it as if you were in a honeymoon phase.

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

Forever Tag:

@essie1876​​​​​​​

@magpiegirl80​​​​​​​

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​​​​​​​

@iamwarrenspeace

@marvel-imagines-yes-please​​​​​​​

@superwholocked527

@missinstantgratification​​​​​​​

@thejemersoninferno​​​​​​​​

@rda1989​​​​​​​

@munlis​​​​​​​

@thefridgeismybestie​​​

@bubblyanarocks3​​​​​​​

@igiveupicantthinkofausername​​​​​​​

@kaliforniacoastalteens​​​​​​​

@feelmyroarrrr​​​​​​​

@kaeling

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​​​​​​​

@damalseer​​​​​​​

@heyitscam99​​​​​​

@yknott81​​​​​​

@sorryimacrapwriter​​​​​​​

@glitterquadricorn​​​​​​​

@xxqueenofisolationxx

@little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama

@bittersweetunicorm​​​​​​​

@alyssaj23​​​​​​​

@sea040561​​​​​​

@princess76179​​​​​​

@thisismysecrethappyplace​​​​​​​

@sarahp879​​​​​​​

@malfoysqueen14​​​​​​​

@ellallheart​​​​​​​

@breezy1415​​​​​​​

@marvelmayo​​​​​​​

@lyniboy​​​​​​​

@paintballkid711​​​​​​

Charles Xavier

@bohemianrhapsody86​​​​​​

@lenawiinchester​​​​​​​​

TSMU

@tilltheendwilliwrite​​​​​​​​

@allinhishands​​​​

@solaramoonset​​​​

@halfofwhatisayismeaningless​​​​

[berensroadhouse]

(ao3 link)

           Davis drags his damp rag across the dusty countertop, sighing deeply once he hits the edge. He scans the barren interior, jumping from empty table to empty table to an empty table with bottles, plates, and crumbs left behind. His previous customers must have dipped when he wasn’t looking. Davis grabs a nearby basket, moving towards the mess. He dumps the plates inside, then the bottles after he guzzles the dregs of beer left behind. Finally, Davis takes what he’s owed. Their bill came out to thirty-eight dollars and ninety-five cents. They paid with two twenties, flat. “Fucking assholes…” Davis pockets the money, returning to his post.

           Just another ordinary day at Berens’s.

           He brings the used dishware into an equally empty back kitchen, the doors flapping behind him. Davis recycles the bottles and places the dishes in the sink, washing them immediately. As he sets them on the rack to dry, his eyes linger on a framed photograph hanging nearby. He brushes his thumb across a faded face, a wet fingerprint left behind on the glass. Davis smiles, chuckling softly at where water droplets race down Cal’s profile.

           He misses him. It’s been so many years, and yet Davis still aches for his touch. Davis remembers the phantom feeling of Cal’s arm draped over his shoulders, of their fingers lacing together, of his nose tracing the lines of Davis’s cheek while they took this picture. It was a beautiful day at the beach for them, on a spring morning where they both decided clear skies were better than the suffocating walls of a lecture hall. They fled the campus and found a deserted shore, and under the cover of an umbrella they talked, ate, and kissed and kissed and kissed until the moon replaced the sun and made Davis’s night-dark skin shine when its light hit him. Cal, in reverence, traced constellations with his lips from memory; him, a creamy-white nebula hovering over Davis’s pitch-black galaxy, both communing in a transcendent ritual. It lasted past curfew. They were grounded. It was worth it.

           Someone cuts Davis’s reflection short. A sharp whistle interrupts his thoughts, followed by a gruff, “Anyone home?”

           “I’ll be with you in a second!” Davis needlessly dries his hands on the stained apron tied about his waist, hurrying out of the kitchen to greet his new customers.

           He finds them waiting by the pool table, the one with deep-brunet hair inspecting the cues while the other, fairer-haired man tickles a hole in the table’s lining. They’re dressed for the beach, in brightly patterned shirts, bathing suits, and flip flops, and Davis prays they haven’t come from it. He doesn’t think his ancient joints can manage an hour of sweeping floors, collecting sand that somehow gets everywhere. Regardless, he plasters a replica of a smile onto his face. He clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Sorry for the wait,” he says, “what can I help you with?”

           “Lunch,” Fair Hair says, moving close enough Davis can count the freckles dotting his pinkish cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “What d’you have?”

           “Regular fare,” Davis shrugs, “I can get you a menu or –“

           “No need,” Fair Hair says, “we’ll have burgers, fries, and beers, the most expensive you have!” Then, as he motions for the darker-haired man to stand beside him, he wraps his arm over the brunet’s shoulders. Davis spies the silver band on Fair Hair’s hand. It matches the one his friend wears. “We’re on our honeymoon,” Fair Hair tells Davis, without invitation to do so.

           Davis’s demeanor shifts. A more genuine expression appears on his face, while a warmth rouses the rosebuds sleeping in his chest. It makes their velvet petals bloom, urge forward their aroma, rich and sweet, and causes their thorny brambles to wrap themselves tighter around Davis’s heart. “Congratulations,” he replies, “I don’t have a special newlywed section… but you can sit anywhere, at any table, or the bar… I’ll go and fix up your burgers.” He turns, hiding his glossy, brown eyes before he embarrasses himself. Married men always do this to Davis, unlock a more wistful and sappy part of his soul. Some long-buried piece, that used to dream of a time where he might have had a similar experience to those two on the other side of the kitchen doors.

           He places two beef patties on the grill and starts frying oil for the fries.

           While cooking, his gaze wander back – as it always does – onto that photo of him and Cal. Inspired by his new customers, he reflects on a memory years after that lazy beach day. They shared an apartment, one that offered little besides its amazing view of the ocean and a balcony they could watch the sun set along the waterline after work. It didn’t matter if Davis’s tips barely added up to a twenty, or that Cal’s eyes went cross from staring at numbers for hours at end, because they’d come home, watch orange bleed into blue, then purple into orange, and when the ink dried above Davis finally went about cooking dinner. Cal watched him; eyes alight like the stove burner that simmered their pasta water. “You deserve your own place,” he told Davis, “that way everyone can have a taste of your amazing cooking.”

           Davis shook his head, chuckling. “One day, baby. One day. There’s about a million other things we need to do first, and about half of them involve money.”

           “Yeah, yeah…” Cal reached across the counterspace, intwining their fingers. “It might take a while, with how we get paid.”

           “It might,” Davis conceded, squeezing Cal’s hand. He brings it up and softly kisses each knuckle. “At least we’re saving where we can. Homecooked meals, cheap place… lucky we can’t get married, so we’re saving money that way.”

           Cal frowned, seriousness plaguing him for the moment. He stepped closer, stare intense as he breached Davis’s personal space. “If we could?” he asked, voice hardly a whisper, “would you?”

           “Would I what?”

           “Want to get married?”

           “If they’d let us…” Davis paused, chewing his answer over. He released Cal, moving the steaming pot off the burner. He flicked it off. “I…” He leaned against the stove, arms crossed, “Christ, Cal, I’d want to do more than that.”

           Cal arched a brow, head skewed to the side. “What more is there?”

           “I’d want a big wedding, with all the bells and whistles,” Davis explained, laughing, “a party, a celebration of you and me as we become… well, you-and-me. Then, after the party, we’d go on a big honeymoon –“

           “When we already live next to the beach?”

           “A different beach! Maybe an island!” he said, “And once we’ve finished our trip, we’d buy a little property somewhere in the ‘burbs, as we go about looking to adopt.” Davis rubbed his neck, sheepishly peeking through his lashes at a blushing Cal. “What I’m trying to say is… if I could, I’d want more than marriage. I want a life together where we can just… we can be together, without always worrying who might know, y’know? I’d kill for that. Hell, I’d fight to have that.”

           Funny, though, that when it came time to fight, Davis lost. He fought the paramedics, but they wouldn’t let him in the ambulance. He fought the doctors, who wouldn’t let him see Cal. He fought Cal’s parents, their harsh words and condemnation like being stoned in front of an eager crowd as they chewed him out for their ‘delusions’. Davis heard Cal passed, but wasn’t there when it happened. He also wasn’t invited to Cal’s funeral, to see him off into his next life. Davis did steal a quick moment, though. A kind nurse took pity on him and snuck Davis down into the morgue. She allowed them a final goodbye, as Davis traced the lines of Cal’s cheek with his thumb and pressed tiny kisses wherever his teardrops fell. “I’m sorry,” Davis croaked, chilled by the waxy numbness of his lover’s lifeless hand, “I’m sorry forever wasn’t as long as we planned.”

           Davis assembles the plates messily, mind caught between the past and present like a line of wash. He, hung up by clothespins, is pushed mercilessly by incoming winds. Those clothespins cannot hold forever. The fabric of his body shifts out of their vice-like hold until, finally, he flutters away and out of the kitchen. He returns to the main room of the bar, delivering Fair Hair and his husband’s meals. As expected of newlyweds, they’re wrapped up in each other. The husband whispering into Fair Hair’s ear as they sit on the same side of the table, their fingers laced together atop it. Davis clears his throat, setting the food and drinks down. “Here you are.”

           “Thanks.” Fair Hair grabs his burger with a free hand, shoving into his mouth despite the silent, amused judgment obviously displayed on the other man’s face. Fair Hair moans around the bite, puffy cheeks bursting with a grin. “Dufe,” he says around soggy chunks of bun and burger meat, “Thif if awesfome!”

           “Thanks,” Davis nods, brushing at his apron, “Now, if you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler –“

           “Actually,” the husband delays Davis’s exit, pointing behind him and towards the bar. “I was wondering if you could settle something for us.” Davis looks to where he’s directed, at the glowing neon sign that hangs above rows of bottles. It’s similar to the one that brands the front of his business, in a similar script, too. Except where the cowboy hat-and-bandana hovered above ‘Berens’s’ of Berens’s Roadhouse, indoors it was placed next to it. “Dean here,” the husband continues, Dean – Fair Hair’s name, apparently – rolling his eyes at being called out, “thinks there shouldn’t be an extra ‘s’, after the apostrophe…”

           “Cas…” Dean whines, unofficially introducing his husband, “You don’t have to –“

           Cas continues over Dean, ignoring him. “Meanwhile, I told him that, as long as it’s not plural an ‘s’ should go after the apostrophe. Can you please tell my husband he’s wrong?”

           Davis stares at his sign, tracing the curve of the script with his eyes. In the background, Dean argues in a fierce whisper. “Why are you bringing him into this? He’s not gonna admit he’s wrong!”

           Cas volleys, backhanding his response at Dean. “It’s his name, Dean, he wouldn’t spell it wrong.”

           “Actually,” Davis interrupts, “it’s not my name.” He turns, laughing at their bent brows and Cas’s skewed head and the tiny dots of sauce staining Dean’s mouth. “It was my old boyfriend’s name,” he explains, “Last name.”

           Dean leans forward in his seat, burger forgotten for the moment. Cas realizes there’s a meal in front of him and begins picking at it, chewing absentmindedly on a fry. “You named your place after an old boyfriend?”

           “Felt only right,” Davis shrugs, “Couldn’t have bought this place without him.” Cal’s job, while lacking pay, had a generous insurance policy. Davis was listed as the sole beneficiary. That, coupled with what Cal left Davis in his will, meant he had enough to buy the little property near the beach like they always planned. Naming it after Cal soothed him, somewhat. That angry, gnarly scar over his chest numbing slightly. “Besides,” Davis says, “at least, with the name… it’s like he’s with me.”

           “But not actually with you?” Cas asks, “Like… you haven’t been feeling any cold spots, have you?”

           “Cold spots?”

           The table jolts, saltshaker sliding a few inches to the left. Davis guesses Dean kicked Cas, from the serious edge to his expression and the apologetic wince on Cas’s. “Sorry about him,” Dean apologizes, “he spent the morning binging supernatural podcasts. Y’know… monsters, hauntings, ghosts. Must’ve fried his brain better than the sun could.”

           Davis huffs, smiling. He moves towards the bar, leaning against it to better chat with his customers. “Ghosts?” he says, “No… ain’t nothing like that, at least the kind you’re thinking of.” Davis lets himself imagine Cal like that, tethered to this earthly plane even after passing. His battered body floating amongst empty tables and dirty dishes. Cal chained to their dream, making it a nightmare. Davis quickly dismisses this notion. While he misses Cal, Davis knows wherever he is must be better than this failing monument to Davis’s love. “Maybe if I thought it’d help drum up some business, I’d’ve entertained it. But I doubt ghost stories would help this late in the game.”

           “Oh,” Cas hums. Davis recognizes the tone, familiar with it. Hears it from his accountant, his sister, and the occasional guest who dawdles in the front before skipping off elsewhere for food. “Is your business failing?”

           “Cas!”

           Davis watches them descend into another fight. The paradise of honeymoon quickly crumbling, storm clouds rolling across clear blue skies. He walks behind the bar, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with the tap until the rim is frothy. As he meanders his way closer again, he tunes into their conversation. Dean picks at Cas’s bluntness, while Cas defends his claim in an even pitch that makes Dean sound hysterical.

           “He’s not wrong,” Davis joins them, sitting at an unoccupied seat, “I mean… you think I’d be here chatting with you two if there were things that needed doing?”

           Dean shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable given how he’s looked at the door five times in the span of a minute. “Sorry to hear that.” He guzzles his drink, drowning whatever else he might have said.

           Cas resists the threatening tide of awkwardness lapping at their ankles. “It’s odd that this place isn’t more packed,” he tells Davis, “with the amount of people here – the vacationers alone – there should always be a steady stream of customers.”

           “Those lemmings?” he snorts, sipping at his beer, “They’re always chasing after the next thing. What’s new? What’s shiny? When Berens’s was new and shiny, we got a lot of traffic. There was a time when you couldn’t walk three steps without bumping into someone else. But then more fancier places were being built… chains and clubs and all that… I couldn’t compete. I mean, Roadhouses are popular in the middle of nowhere when there’s barely anything else to do! But I’d’ve been damned if I had to live somewhere without the ocean. Would never want to be fuckin’ landlocked…” His eyes find that swirling script of Cal’s last name. Something heavy crushes his chest, each subsequent breath more labored. “It does suck though. This was our dream, having a place that was… ours. Even when it was just me, I still went ahead because, I thought, why not? Wasn’t as if I had much going for me after Cal… but every month now it’s like the water rises a bit higher and keeping myself afloat doesn’t seem all that worth it anymore.” He glances back at the newlyweds, seeing how he commands both their attention. He notices a somberness in their gaze Davis does not care for. “What am I doing?” he asks aloud, scoffing “This is your honeymoon. You probably have something like parasailing or jet skiing planned, right? Probably cutting into your time –“

           “No, no,” Cas assures him, lips tight as he smothers the pity straining for release. “That’s not it at all –“

           “Yeah,” Dean adds, “We’re all jet skied out from yesterday –“

           “Dean!”

           “And I’m afraid of heights,” he trails off, shoving fries into his mouth, “so that’s a no on parasailing…”

           “What he means,” Cas translates for Davis, “is that we don’t mind listening. It must be stressful, running this place by yourself?”

           Davis chuckles. “Stressful is an understatement.” He slides his drink back and forth across the table, its rhythmic scraping sound almost hypnotic. Skrt. Skrt. “You’d think being mostly empty would make it easier, but actually it’s worse.” Davis looks away from them, bouncing around the room. He frowns at how stray sunlight highlights the dust covering his furniture or floating in the air. “Getting to the point where I don’t know why it’s worth it, coming back day after day.”

           “Because this was your dream,” Cas says, “Yours and Cal’s.” Davis bites his tongue, holstering whatever pointed he comment he had that might burst his bubble. It’s not his fault. Four minutes cannot compare to the four decades of hell Davis lived through without Cal. Forty years of slowly being picked apart by people who didn’t care nor understand what this place meant to Davis. They saw a building where they could eat for an hour, maybe two, and then leave without thinking twice about it. Dean and Cas didn’t plan on gnawing his ear off with this conversation, they stopped by because they were hungry. They were here for their honeymoon, and some of that magic must shield Cas from the harsh reality of Davis’s predicament. He’s blinded from the pain by those romantic, rosy shades. “Doesn’t that make it worth it?”

           “It did, at first,” Davis concedes. He rests his elbows on the table, shoulders sagging with the tiniest amount of relief that feels like water on a blistering, arid day. “But I can’t keep doing something because it’s worth doing… not at my age… not with how business is doing.”

           Cas bristles, responding with more heat than appropriate. “But what you’ve done, for as long as you’ve done it, it’s been good,” he insists, “why stop now because of a – a slump!” Davis’s good temperament chars from the observation.

           He squeezes his drink, hands trembling. “It’s more than a slump,” Davis says, “it’s a freefall. I’ve been putting in all this hard work, and for what? What do I have to show for it?” Davis finishes his drink, meeting Cas’s fierce gaze with his own. “This place’ll probably do better as a condo –“

           “You don’t know that.”

           “I might not, but some folks do.” He bites his lip, unsure why he hurls his troubles into these strangers’ laps. Davis guesses it’s because Cas’s eyes, while hard, effortlessly prodded at the truth and that Dean listened like he cared for whatever left Davis’s mouth it made him want to say something meaningful. Or perhaps Davis was tired of keeping this to himself, and these saps were the tipping point. “Got some realtors skulking about, always asking when I’m ready to put this place out to pasture. Condos were one thing that was discussed… so were gyms, a dispensary, a parking lot –“

           “You’d let them turn this place into a parking lot?” Cas asks.

           “I don’t have much of a choice in my position,” Davis says, “They’ve got money that I need.”

           “But you said this place… you named it in memory of your love,” Cas murmurs, softer. He shrinks, drooping slightly. Dean gently cups Cas’s neck and massages with such care Davis sucks in a quick breath. Davis feels the memory of a caress on his neck, enough that he ghosts his fingers over the skin there in case someone had touched it. “If you sell… then isn’t that like giving up on him?”

           Davis wondered the same things. He spent countless hours awake in bed, worrying about how admitting failure went past the surface. That giving up on Berens’s meant letting go of that final piece of Cal he can call his.

           But Davis, weary from these thoughts, has made peace with this sacrifice. “Everyone else already gave up on Berens’s,” he says, “I’ll only be the last…”

           “That’s bullshit.” Dean speaks, finally rejoining their conversation. His sudden outburst places him at the center of this conversation, affixed at his husband’s side. “You shouldn’t give up. Cal wanted this place for you, didn’t he? You were only able to buy it because of him.”

           “Because he died,” Davis growls, “That’s how. If he knew how much of a shitshow this whole business would’ve been, I doubt he’d have wanted me to use the money for this. Hell, he’d probably hate if I stayed and pissed away the rest of my money trying to keep the lights on in here. Like stopping footprints from being swept smooth by the tide, it’s like.”

           “Well…” Dean fumbles, scratching at his plate for something to do. There’s no food left. Neither on Cas’s plate. Davis knows Cas was too busy to eat. “Okay, what if you sold it to people who… who want to run it as it is?”

           “I’d ask them how they think they can do this any better,” Davis sighs, slumping backwards. “Besides, there isn’t anyone who wants to do that who’s also eyeing this property.”

           “What about us?”

           Davis asks Dean what he said. Dean repeats himself. From Cas’s wide-eyed stare, Davis knows he heard correctly. “Really?” he drawls, sarcasm heavily coloring his tone. “You want to buy this place? Like that?”

           Dean shrugs, fiddling with his thumbs. He sweats, spotlight too warm for him now. “Uh… yeah?”

           “Have you ever run a restaurant before? Or a bar?”

           “No,” Dean says, “But I had family, who ran a roadhouse. Helped them a few times when my brother and I stopped over – we traveled, a lot, for work. It was years ago but I still remember a lot of what went into it…” Dean smiles unnaturally. It reminds Davis of those phony grins motivational snake-oil salesmen would coach suckers into doing in front of mirrors, to inspire confidence. “Besides, Cas and I have been looking for a career change.”

           “That is true,” Cas adds, brow raised, “Although we never discussed running a roadhouse.”

           “Cas, sweetie, I mentioned how owning a bar might be cool.”

           “Bars and roadhouses aren’t the same thing.”

           Davis coughs, nipping the budding argument while young. “As nice as the offer is,” he starts, “You boys don’t haf’ta buy this place from me because of pity –“

           “It’s not pity,” Dean insists, “No, not at all. I…” He glances at Cas, a strange emotion shuddering across his face. Like maybe he’s seen a ghost. That grip on Cas’s neck visibly tightens. “I know what it feels like, wanting to keep something… of someone you love. A physical reminder that they were here and that they mattered and… they mattered to you.”

           Cas leans into his husband’s side. “Dean’s very sentimental.”

           “Yeah,” Dean laughs, “I guess you could call it that.” He takes the empty plate with his free hand and stacks it atop the other, pushing them towards Davis, knocking it into the salt-and-pepper shakers and napkin dispenser. “I’ve lost a lot in my life, and I’ve only been so lucky to not just have them come back to me, but to get second chances. Or third chances, or even fourths.” Dean’s lips lift at the corners, flashing a friendly smirk. He definitely appears more relaxed than he did seconds ago. “I want to be the one to give chances, now, because I can. I want to buy Berens’s from you… if that’s okay?”

           It’s too good. Davis pinches himself, first. When he doesn’t wake, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He places a hand over his heart. Its strong beat reveals Davis has not died. Still, Davis cannot lower his defenses completely. “This isn’t a sting?” he asks, “Some harebrained scheme cooked up by scuzzy developers to get me to sell?”

           “The fuck this look like, Scooby-Doo?”

           Cas chuckles, “It might if you brought your ascot with you.”

           “Cas –“

           “So, you’re…” Davis scrubs a hand over his mouth, pressing it against stubble and focusing on the drag. “You’re serious? About wanting to buy this place?” He huffs a tired breath, tension leaking out of the cracks in his bones and leaving him with little support. Davis collapses on himself, smiling. “What about your honeymoon?”

           “Honestly?” Dean laughs, mirroring Davis’s posture, “We were running out of things to do. Probably would have hit the road in a few days, head on back to Kansas.”

           “Kansas?” Davis squawks, “You sure you aren’t using this as an opportunity to jump ship from there?”

           Cas sips at his drink, a bead of condensation falling off it from how long it went untouched. “We love Kansas,” he tells Davis, “but where we live now it… there’s a lot of baggage there. We want to start fresh.”

           “Besides,” Dean adds, “my brother was talking about renovations, making it more… work-friendly. Figured it’s best me and Cas dip and let the little brat have a go at it on his own. He’s earned it, I guess.”

           Davis nods. “If that’s all…” His gaze darts to the neon sign, a question in his mind. “Hey,” he says, “if you are plannin’ on doing this… this crazy idea of yours, are you – do you have any preference to what you call this place?”

           Dean taps at his chin, drawing the silence longer than necessary. “Well… a few come to mind. Harvelle’s… Campbell’s… Singer’s… hell, I could follow your lead and name it after Cas here, Novak’s – “

           “You’re not funny.” Cas elbows Dean hard enough the other man gasps from the pain, the other two delighting from the bug-eyed look that flashes. “We’ll keep it Berens’s.”

           “Thank you,” Davis says, standing, “Really… I – this is good. Great, actually. You want another round? On the house?”

           “Hey!” Dean protests, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “No giving away free booze! That’s our profit you’re eating into…”

           “Not yet,” he jokes, digging through his pockets, “Deed’s not yours until the I’s are dotted and money’s in my hands.” Davis finds what he searched for, tossing a quarter towards them. Cas catches it, effortlessly. “Why don’t you pick something from the jukebox, my treat!”

           He rises, and Davis turns to round the bar. Davis grabs three smaller glasses, and the Jameson he keeps on the highest shelf. He pours them each a generous fifth, maybe more. It’s a celebration, after all. As he carries the drinks back over, the opening chords of a familiar song start. Davis nearly drops the drinks.

           His expression must concern them, because Cas clears his throat and asks, “Is this okay?”

           Elvis croons from the speaker. Davis’s face strains from the too-wide grin threatening to crack his face in twain. “It’s perfect,” he says, settling at the table. He distributes the drinks, Cas joining them. “Cal always dug Elvis.”

           “I get it,” Dean says, “guy was a hunk, for the fifties.”

           They spend the next hour like that. Getting drunk, discussing the hardships of running a business and debating Elvis’s legacy as ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ plays in the background on loop. During a lull in their conversation, Davis feels, for the first time, that Cal is alive again.

           It wasn’t because of the bar, or how it fares. But because of these two men, a sense of calm washed over him. They make Davis hopeful for the future.

           Berens’s is in good hands.

[admiralty-xfd]

cross to bear

This story first appeared in Volume 2 of the MSR Fanzine. The ending has been slightly edited.

It first meets Dana when she’s fifteen.

Braces, freckles, awkward teenage-ness. It’s comfortable against her chest, nestled against her heart, hearing it beating. Slow and steady while she sleeps, then faster when the boy with sandy hair in homeroom touches her hand as he passes back a pencil.

It’s just a small piece of gold but it stays put, constant, like her faith.

At first her faith is in Him, that ubiquitous Him she’s known since childhood. He watches over her, He keeps her safe. He is there when no one else can be. And this particular faith ebbs and flows with age.

High school, college, medical school. Worn, unworn. Sometimes she is faithful, on nights when her heart is broken by some insufficient male and she misses her mother and it’s too late to call; those nights she wears the cross, holds the cool metal between her fingers and imagines Him, protecting her, guiding her.

And other times she is not so faithful, those days where her scientific rigor is put to the test, where she knows in her mind He simply cannot be but somehow He is there on her shoulder anyway, ever-present, judging her for leaving the cross in the small dish on her nightstand.

The length of its chain changes over time, as does its vantage point from her neck (although not by much). But the cross remains: part of her, steadfast and true.

†

It first meets her partner thirteen years later.

Only from across the room at first, but it always knows him by the way Dana’s heart beats faster, like it used to when she was younger. It happens so rarely anymore.

Her faith has never been so tested in all of her life: faith that first was confronted by hard evidence in various labs that shattered it to pieces. Now, with Mulder, the reverse seems to occur: her hard evidence is continually being shattered by miracles, by doubts. It’s difficult to know what to believe anymore.

Trust is fleeting, oblique. But not with him. From the very beginning she has faith in him. And it is true faith, genuine faith, because she cannot explain or quantify it: it just is.

Perhaps it’s simply her faith transitioning naturally from Him to him, but soon she wears the cross all the time again. And just as it settles back into its comfortable place at the hollow of her throat it is ripped away from her neck, discarded onto the itchy fabric floor of a stranger’s trunk.

And she is gone.

†

Her partner’s hand is the next thing it feels. Closing around it, larger, rougher than hers.

“Scully!?”

He calls for her desperately in the chill of night, his hand clutching the cross as if it were a piece of her; his only piece of her.

He knows so little about her yet that he places the cross into the shaking hand of her mother, a piece of Scully he is not familiar with. He feels strongly the cross belongs with her family.

But Margaret Scully knows that her daughter’s faith doesn’t come from the cross; it comes from Fox Mulder. And it doesn’t belong with her.

It belongs with him.

†

Putting the necklace on is strange for him. His family was never religious so neither was he. Funny how that happens.

But he worries if he doesn’t wear it, he will lose it. He’s already lost her; he can’t bear the thought.

It’s been difficult going into the office every day. Even before her abduction it was difficult; knowing she wouldn’t be waiting with a stack of research and those reliable indulgent eyes he’d become so accustomed to. But now, it’s worse. Everything just hurts all the time. He feels solely responsible, the only person who might have prevented this and he couldn’t.

Just like Samantha. Once again, he couldn’t save her.

The responsibility of finding his partner consumes his every thought. He doesn’t realize the weight of this immediately but day after day, the cross hangs heavier around his neck, against his chest, under his shirt; a constant reminder of her absence. His heart beats but something is different; empty. He is not himself.

Head down, eyes forward, he continues the work, because it’s the only thing he can do for her.

†

Malibu Canyon. Santa Ana winds. Blazing fires that will grow out of control, much like his own judgment. A choice that becomes a mistake.

“All I know is normal is not what I feel.”

He isn’t normal, not really. It’s clear he is in a dark place, an unfamiliar place. Just like Scully.

Just like her cross, he thinks, touching it.

This stranger is dark and mysterious. He’s drawn to her, because he is Fox Mulder, and he gravitates toward darkness more often than he’d like to admit. But more likely, he feels deserving of the dark right now.

“You’ve lost someone. Not a lover, a friend.”

The stranger isn’t wrong. His devotion extends to their partnership, it's purely professional.

Or is it?

He’s barely learned to know Scully, and to uncover the precise depth of his own feelings for her. It’s a band of elasticity, constantly pushing forward and back, one feeling one day, an entirely new one the next. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed to feel for her, what he should allow himself to feel.

Perhaps that’s why he lets the stranger in tonight: to feel something, anything; to take a brief moment of pleasure within this hellscape of pain. Nearly two years into his partnership with Scully and he’s only just realizing he’s subconsciously avoided sex with anyone else.

What does this mean?

Maybe he wants to save Kristen because he wants to save Scully. Like he wanted to save Samantha.

So many different feelings are bouncing around his mind, and faced with the attractive and eager stranger he lands on sex as the answer. Fucking Kristen is not an acceptable substitute for saving Scully, not at all, but it’s what she seems to want.

And what he wants is to feel something.

The cross dangles between his sweaty chest and the stranger, making it impossible to forget his partner even for a moment. And he hates himself for doing this; for failing Scully, for the time he’s spending not searching for her, and fucking some random stranger instead.

What does this mean?

Afterwards he extracts himself from her grasp, collecting his clothes from the couch and resuming his position in her living room. The silent sentinel.

The silent, useless sentinel.

†

The cross goes back to its rightful owner. Mulder is tight-lipped, almost bashful as he places it into her palm. Scully wonders about this.

She’d felt him when she was in the white place, wherever it was, whatever they’d done to her. She’d known somehow she would see him again. It was the only thing that kept her going.

Their work, the quest, the truth. These are the things she’s convinced herself she needed to come back for. But now, as he opens her door for his second visit, she sees the face of a true friend. Her truest friend.

He is who she’s come back for.

“I watched your football video,” she greets him.

“Really?”

“No.” She smiles.

“Funny.”

“Sorry,” she smirks. “When you’ve stared death in the face your priorities tend to change.”

He chuckles. “Mark my words, one night you’ll run out of things to watch and in an act of desperation...” he trails off.

“Stranger things have happened,” she admits. He sits, gingerly, in the chair beside her bed. “Thanks for coming, Mulder.”

“Of course,” he says. His hands rest on his thighs. He appears restless, uncertain.

She thinks about her necklace, how he kept it safe for her all these weeks. Mulder isn’t the tidiest of bachelors. Was it in his pocket? Strewn across his nightstand? Dangling from the edge of the framed picture of Samantha on his desk?

“How did you manage not to lose this?” she asks, holding the chain of her necklace taut. “I’m amazed it didn’t disappear forever into one of your piles of stuff.”

His hand goes to the back of his neck, awkwardly. “I, uh… I wore it, actually.”

Surprise floods her heart. “You?”

“Yeah, I never took it off.”

She smiles, touched. “Wow, Mulder.” She doesn’t say it, but she thinks it: I never left his mind.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he breathes, as if the words have been bottled up inside his chest.

“Me neither.” She is reflective. “There was a moment when I felt like letting go.”

“But here you are.”

Her hand goes instinctively to the cross. “Here I am.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Does she tell him? “I felt you with me, Mulder. You believed I wasn’t ready to go, and I believed you.”

I had the strength of your beliefs.

He nods, smiles. There isn’t much else to say. She made it home, and so did the cross. Her faith in him has been rewarded.

†

A stormy night in Philadelphia. Raw, newly inked flesh. A choice that becomes a mistake.

The cross dangles between herself and a stranger. She hadn’t planned this, not at all, but it’s happening just the same.

“Sounds a little like your time has come around again.”

The stranger isn’t wrong. She’s earned attention, but isn’t getting it from Mulder. The stranger is here, though.

As unfamiliar hands grip her hips and unfamiliar eyes look into hers she instead sees Mulder, thinks of Mulder. Feels Mulder. And she hates herself for doing this; for failing him, for spending time not being honest with him, and fucking some random stranger instead.

This all began with a strong urge to prove that she is desirable, that she is wanted. That she is worthy of attention.

But she’s discovered she only wants that from Mulder.

What does this mean?

When it’s over she and the stranger lay awkwardly strewn across the floor of his sparse living room. He offers her the bed, because for now, he’s a gentleman. Her hand goes to the cross Mulder wore while he searched for her years ago.

He never leaves her mind.

†

They sit in the dim lamplight of a motel, him propped against the headboard, reading a book. She sits cross legged at the foot of the bed in his Yankees shirt, a pillow in her lap, just watching him read, which apparently serves as a legitimate activity these days.

“How many women have you been with, Mulder?”

He looks up, surprised. “Oh god, are we doing this?”

He can’t recall, he doesn’t really want to recall. But he isn’t afraid to. Being on the run from the law makes these heart to heart talks between them unavoidable. For the first time in nine years they are no longer afraid of the truth.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she grins.

He removes his glasses and sets them on the bedside table, raising an eyebrow. “Ooh, really? How many women have you been with, Scully?”

She throws the pillow at him. “You know what I mean.”

The temptation to find out if she’d actually slept with Ed Jerse is too great so he agrees. “Okay. You go first,” he says.

“Hey! This is my game, I asked first,” she grins.

“Consider it my only condition.”

She sighs, leans over, stretching herself on her stomach across their bed. As she does this, his shirt rides up her back, revealing one of his favorite views. White cotton panties have never looked so exciting. She drags her finger along his leg. “I already know, Mulder.”

“Know what?”

“Which one you want to know about.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“The answer is yes,” she says quickly, and the words sting. He knew; deep down he thinks he’s always known. But it’s always bothered him; that maybe if he hadn’t behaved the way he did none of it would have happened. The one night stand, the subsequent attack, all of it.

“Can I ask... why?”

She catches his eye. “You can ask me whatever you want, Mulder. But that’s not really part of the game.”

He searches her eyes. He has to know. “Why?”

She moves to sit up on her knees. Her fingers move to her cross and it reminds him instantly of Kristen, and why he has no reason or excuse to be angry with her about Ed Jerse.

“I was lost,” she shrugs, looking at the cross. “I didn’t know at the time how I felt about you. I was acting out, like a kid, like I was stealing my mom’s cigarettes again.”

“So… nothing to do with me, then?”

Her eyes drift up to his face and she pins him with a look. “It had everything to do with you, Mulder. I just didn’t realize it until afterwards.”

He nods, wanting to understand. He thinks maybe he does; his own situation with Kristen was surprisingly similar. He mentally prepares for the impending divulgence he hadn’t anticipated tonight.

“It feels good to tell you, though,” she says, absently fingering the necklace. “Finally.”

“It feels good not to wonder anymore.”

“Now you go,” she says. He doesn’t press her for more tonight; this feels like enough.

“Are we counting the 1-900 women?”

“No. We’d be here all night,” she laughs. It’s not as if they have anywhere else to be, anything else to do, but he’s relieved nonetheless.

“Well, a few girls at Oxford.” Post Phoebe Green.

“I had no idea you were such a player, Mulder.”

“I wasn’t,” he admits. “Bit of a self-destructive streak, you know.”

“Ah.” She’d met Phoebe. She knows. “What about after you met me?” In her haste to avoid all mention of his past with Diana she’d inadvertently put him in a position to either be completely honest about Kristen or lie to her face. He will not do the latter, not anymore.

“There was one,” he confesses. “While you were… gone.”

She is silent. She had absolutely no idea. He suddenly feels like maybe he shouldn’t have told her at all, but then where would they be? What kind of honesty, what kind of trust could they claim?

He reaches out, touching her chin, making her look at him. “I was lost, too, Scully.”

She exhales softly. “Who was she?”

“Does it matter?” he asks. “She wasn’t you.”

She smiles, seemingly satisfied. Then her expression changes slightly. “But… you said you wore my cross while I was gone. Are you telling me…?” her eyebrow goes up.

Oh… yikes. “Um.” He can feel his face turn white and knows he could never tell a lie of the same color. “I’m sorry. Are you upset?”

“Why would I be upset?” she asks, perfectly seriously.

He shakes his head, opening his mouth, but he can’t form words. His guilt exists, but he’s unable to explain it properly. His heart had been hers already, he just hadn’t known it.

“It was so many years ago, Mulder,” she reassures him. “Before us. Before any of this. Besides...” she says with a smile, touching the tiny gold cross that settles into the hollow at her throat. “I was closer to your heart than she was.”

Her words touch him: his Scully, endlessly devoted to him. Finding the good in every shitty thing he’s ever done. Will he ever deserve it?

“You were, you know.”

She nods. She knows. “We were both stupid for so many years, Mulder,” she continues. “I’m not about to make a checklist and keep score.”

He chuckles. “Well that’s a relief.”

“Because you’d lose?” she grins.

“Because I’d lose.”

She laughs in response, gazing into his eyes. “I hope you know this isn’t a contest,” she says. “It never was.”

“I still think I’d lose, Scully.”

She runs her fingers through his hair. “I think we’ve both won,” she whispers, and she's right, as usual.

He smiles, but his eyes turn serious. “I really should have been more careful with it.” He takes the cross between his fingers, softly dipping his index finger into the hollow at her throat and she shivers. Her eyes darken and she brings her hands to the back of her neck, unclasping the necklace. She then leans forward, putting it around his own neck.

"You'll be careful with it," she says. "I have faith in you."

He raises an eyebrow in question and, in answer, she draws him in for a kiss, long and decadent. He closes his eyes, savoring every last bit, and her kiss absolves him; the cross no longer feels heavy around his neck.

They move together, his hands squeezing her flesh, her fingernails embedded in his back. He whispers her name into her ear, she moans his in return.

The cross dangles between two hearts now, two hearts that beat wildly only for each other.

[thebattlelost]

Getting harder to breathe

I think I am finally moving forward and know that only time will tell how broken I really am or if I will ever heal because I will never find all the pieces of my shattered heart that landed on the ground then blew away in the wind; I do know that whoever does find me will need to have a lot of patience and understanding while I learn how to live my life and love again I may be old and set in my ways and I have seen some better days but I know I am a damn good person and that I actually mean something to someone somewhere and that I still have something to give and that love still exists in me somewhere, it just may take some time to find it and to make it work again, so here I am with my baggage and all, tears running down my face but at least I am standing tall. Getting harder to breathe I found out that it is getting harder to breathe ever since you have been gone for when you left I lost my breath never did it return, the hole you left inside of me down deep in my soul, never has been filled, as the teardrops keep on falling to the ground, especially when I am alone to face my fears. the sadness grows all around, surrounding me like a fog rolling in from the sea waiting for a light to shine, to show you the path to take that will bring you back home to me even my heart is beating slower with every rising of the sun waking up to a lonely bed, missing you so very much. I just wanted to let you know that there is something more that I need to say to you that will more than likely go unheard for no matter how much time and miles pass, on by, the pain grows, even more, the missing pieces of my heart will never be found again, as my soul is still grieving for its mate, mourning the loss of his lover, and best friend, which I thought we were since the day they discovered one another through prayers of faith or maybe it was truly fate fighting all those rumors from all the others who said it would never work that we would not last proving them all wrong for so long because of our ages and that forever was a long way off, and even though through the good times and bad we tried the best that we knew how giving it everything we could yet no matter what we did, it was just never quite good enough but even though we lost we still loved we fought some tremendous battles all in the name of love and are veterans in what I call loves war, you may be gone from my life no longer your husband or you my wife but I do still miss you, my beautiful muse. You gave me all the best times I have had in my entire life, along with all the memories from our better times and places you filled my head with all the words and gave my heart the ability to convert them into poetic verses, then you filled all the wells down deep in my soul with the special ink that was pumped through my veins from my beating heart onto the blank canvases of my life where I wrote all the beautiful poems like an artist painting a scene of his beautiful queen for a priceless work of art. You once brought the light to my dark, when I thought I was at the end you took my hand showing me the path to take to the start you showed me heaven, we both walked hand in hand through the very depths of hell, you showed me all the angels, and together we fought the demons from our very own living hell, you saved me from falling I caught you before you hit the ground you gave me so much happiness when I had none the day you handed me a bundle of joy when you gave me my fourth son, one to love me unconditionally since you never knew how you taught me what evil is and the meaning of hate you took everything from me even more than I gave I learned what a lie was from the truth that lived in your games I felt the excruciating pain that came from broken hearts when our love ran out and the meaning of loneliness without a doubt, you made me get stronger since I was weak so I could get up and rise back up upon my feet you, even strengthened my heart, coming back with every loss and defeat but remember this even though you never really loved me and used

me even times when you abused me I was always there for you and today in fact, you are probably filled with hate, so I wanted you to know that I am so very sorry that I tried so hard to help you or even fix you I never knew that you cannot fix someone that does not know they are broke because all you do is break yourself I should have been there for you I should have let you hit the ground instead of helping you I only hurt you instead I blame myself for loving you way too much, or maybe it was I did not love you enough. Either way, I am sorry for all the pain I caused you with all the words I said you hurt me deeply and that hurt turned to rage just know that I never meant to hurt you in any way I am here to forgive you for everything you did I do not hate you no not at all I felt sorry for you for your actions are not really your fault but what I do feel is thankful for letting me be a leading man in your play a couple of chapters in the story of your life and even though our once upon a time did not make it to a happily ever after I do still love you and I always will. Poet Richard M Knittle Jr. A Poet's journey

[teatimewithtess]

Entry 11: Saturday, July 27, 12:05 am

Recently among the various different activities that we have participated in the ELA classes at the summer school, we were assigned a unique project. The first stage was to listen to the small group of instrumental music students play 4 various pieces, record them, and save it for later. There was a brass quartet, woodwind quartet, piano trio, and a jazz ensemble. After listening to the music, we were given a variety of art pieces made by the visual art students. Each piece displayed zero correlation among one another. Given the music and art pieces, we as English students were assigned to gain inspiration from at least one of each of the art and music pieces in order to write an essay, short story, or poem. After completing the writing portion, we then gave the written pieces to the students in the theatre department. They were divided into groups about 4-6 in size, and they had to choose one of the pieces and interpret it them self. Then, as a result of the interpretive collaboration we watched the theatre students perform the written work. As a result, we revealed the line of interpretation and how different it can become in the end. 

Knowingly, my piece did not get chosen so I have decided to upload it here to gain feedback from anyone willing to do so!

....................................................................................................................

There will be multiple meta-strophic events in your lifetime. For once, words will flow out of you that sound alienated, ridiculous, and their origin is completely unknown. However, you let them invade your thoughts, feelings, ideas. You embrace them as soon as they are greeted at the door of your consciousness because for once something new has become of you.

We had never heard of the word “color” before. There was no definition for it in Mirriam-Websters’ dictionary. It was non-existent. 

We were monotone, body, and soul. There was nothing that could illuminate our conscience because we did not believe it was possible. All we knew was ourselves- one shade of ebony with ivory shadows. Nothing more. 

I was not completely sure about anything we had done thus far. He and I came to exist one day, with no memory of anything before us...

Where I was placed on the discomforting ground, breathing heavily with a deafening heartbeat sporadically forcing itself against my chest, as if it were trying to escape. What was it trying to escape from? I glanced around my surroundings, trying to ingest everything I was feeling. There were towering woods with piercing branches randomly protruding from its center, each leaf having a mind of its own and choosing whether or not to take a leap of faith. The distinct scars that envelope each trunk provide me with a story of its origin. I dropped my head from its tense state and let my eyes gaze upon myself, trying to find the scars of my own, but all I can see is an area of solid obsidian with a few sharp contrasts of pearl; because, where was my origin? Do the trees know that they have proof of existence? Beauty was a feeling to me, not something that I could see. It comes and goes, like the breath of wind that sweeps across my face and neck. I cannot describe it in words nor can I imagine what its’ appearance maybe, if it has one.

After dwelling upon the frightening light of my shadows that entangle me, I look vacantly around me. Besides the welcoming trees that line the ground for eternity, I realize that they are the same as me- or at least they appear so. Their shadows are the same as mine; but, why is it uncomfortable to notice the shadows? The purity of the areas they plague contrast what exists; they are followers, imitators. The trees cannot escape them, the plants cannot, and neither can I. They unforgivably slice into my whole anatomy leaving dastardly porcelain scars on me forever. Do I feel from this? Yes of course. It horrifies me. Why would there be something that tries to imitate who I am? The thief of who I am is myself. Breathing this air is difficult.

I notice how stable I am standing here. Even though the wind is softly blowing to where the grass begins to waltz with it, I feel secure. Each blade of grass gracefully embraces the vacancy between each of my toes, like a spilled inkwell on a reassuring, playful blanket. The feeling is an overwhelming sense of joy. The corner of my lips slowly starts to turn up as I feel the excitement of this feeling all around me; I do not want it to end. Each juniper touch blesses my thoughts with the joy of existing and being alive even though I do not know how I cam to be. My toes dig deeper and wiggle through each unique piece until I eventually reach the origin of their growth. The area is coarse as each toe hits consecutively onto this ostracizing powder-like substance. There is no inclusion of this umber form because of the isolation it brings upon itself; perhaps, it might be dreaded isolation because each speck of Earth unites to form one, yet becomes entirely disconnected. I can sense the disconnection between the hickory layers between me and the reassuring moss growth above me. Each layer contradicts one another in pure, distinct bliss that can only be felt. It felt as if I was the catalyst for these two to meet; unfortunately, I will never know since I am unaware of my midnight self that stains each step I take with the daunting alabaster carefully following behind me. 

I decide to take a few steps forward to cautiously explore more. There seems to be an edge to this gracious pasture, so I cautiously approach the unknown space surrounding it. As I reach the end I notice something: something massive. A pool of insight rested upon the euphoria field stained in an olive manner. I climb down the daunting slope, where polluted pebbles try to push me into isolation, throwing themselves at me as if I was a traitor of a friend. I manage to escape the torment and I stumble into the shore of the oasis. Lines of rocks surround the edge of the shore and even are sporadically placed throughout the pool and the rest of the area. I pick up one beside me, heaviness overcomes the strength of my hand and I suddenly let go. But I pick it up again and again, craving to balance this piece of nature so I can become satisfied. After holding it long enough, I toss it into the area before me; the splash resonates in my mind, as well as the seclusion around me, and I notice ripples panning out from its’ origin of landing. This rock, a rather heavy one I attempted to balance at first, left an everlasting effect throughout this pond. As it knowingly sinks to the bottom, I cannot help but imagine how life would be if everything were as effective as what I just witnessed, how answers are in our hands. Gentleness trickles throughout each small wave of percipience. My thoughts become centered as I gaze upon each sparkle from each small movement, and I begin to comprehend my ideas and feelings in a sophisticated way; in fact, the waves of the azure stream through each crevice as if they were the actual synapses transmitting everything I knew from one end to the other. This feeling of enlightenment consumes all I see and believe. I let my hand drag through the sudden chill of this glimmering intellect, allowing the hairs on my arm to raise aimlessly. The liquid that appears as a succulent berry slowly engulfs my entire hand, slowly gifting me with an entirely different understanding of what my hand was before. As I sat there, hand gliding around, I become accustomed to this feeling and becomes welcoming. The sudden biting of initial impact makes me question it, but then I persist through and suddenly everything becomes warm as if the illumination was becoming the internal me.

I quietly stand and look above me. The sky looks quite similar to this small pond before me. There are slight indents as if one took a piece of pure lace and shredded it into a multitude of pieces, all unique shapes, and sizes. When I gaze upon each piece too long, my sight becomes slowly blurry. I cannot escape this evil! It follows me, lives in me, and exists in everything around me! I drastically throw my head from this viewpoint of light and peer into the ebony curtain as I close my eyes, reminding myself of the fact that I am the reason I can feel, experience, endure. My self is the base for the existence of these ideas that appear before me. My reassurance appears in the form of the objects all these imitators cease to leave behind. I cannot escape it but must accept it. 

I notice a sudden pain in my right hand as the air embraces the inner area of my skin. A mysterious drop of scarlet appears against the onyx form of the palm of my hand. I wonder if this happened because of the rock I attempted to balance. The flow of drops continues to occur and the feeling burns my hand; however, I cannot stop watching. Where did this come from? Why is it doing this? The cut itself was enveloped in this sangria ombre of a bright antithesis of me. I figured this, whatever it was, made me but why was it so different from who I was on the outside? The mystery was taking a toll on my thoughts, but I kept revolving around the same idea after I cleaned the wound.

I hear a rustle behind me. Slowly, I turn around and notice another person that is the same as me- well, his appearance was the same except his hair was shorter, but I also assumed that the inside of him looked the same as me. As I look into his twilight eyes, I realize him and I are the only ones. I ask, “Do you know what this means?”, looking down at my ink-stained hand, then at the oasis behind me, the random pieces of harsh light in the sky, then at the crimson infliction on my hand. He steadily brings his eyes to meet mine. “Color.”

Dream Journal Entry 255. March 22, 3182

- Tesu :)

[pantodinamos-blog]

News reached curious ears that the freckled was at last released out of hospital , a week taken without sight of any familiar being by side . No single update was received toward All Might's condition , rather bothered by concerns that self's sake . A hand came to rub against the bandages that covered neck of hidden burn , steps making their way home with a mind full of thoughts. A sudden pause was made at the sight of the hero from a far, smile of relief clung to face as he ran . " All Might !"

(  @smcsh  )

          THERE WAS RESTLENESS. A mixture of emotions would swirl around his most susceptible flexor, like ink absorbed in delicate fibers of a brush. THERE WAS UNEASINESS. Contemplations would offer a variety of potential scenarios that could have transpired, all of them leaning towards the WORST cases imaginable that could have been manifested into REALITY. And thankfully, he was there. He was there to provide his CEASELESS efforts in the defeat of malevolence and bestow peace in this world, once more. But this time– he was there to save a particular individual that held the UTMOST SIGNIFICANCE of anyone and anything else. One that the world would depend on and hopefully be the one to end the obscure schemes that have been perpetuating for years.

          And that one individual responds to the name of IZUKU MIDORIYA. The boy that he deemed WORTHY in becoming the upcoming holder of the supernatural prowess, of the quirk known as ONE FOR ALL, passed down like an Olympic torch. That young boy who was given the short straw, seemingly fate wasn’t too gracious with him, either. Being QUIRKLESS in a world like this, was far than a portrait of normalcy, but rather– a caricature of irregularity. And yet, he had shown more COURAGE and BRAVERY than most of Heroes. Notwithstanding the fear in his heart— he acted like a true Hero; that’s what Toshinori Yagi believed, and stands by this statement with a firm grasp. But in actuality, that would be scratching the EXTERIOR of pragmatism; there’s more when it comes to the interior, and only he knows it well. Only he knows the IMPORTANCE and the IMPACT  that this young adolescent has left in him. And Lord have mercy to anyone that would dare to harm him; to harm the one that will eventually SURPASS him.

                 That is, if mindfulness would take a more prominent role.

          Every action comes with consequences, and the former Symbol of Peace was more than simply ‘ aware ‘ of this phrase. Whilst the sheer DETERMINATION and WILLINGNESS to protect, were meritorious traits that could depict someone aspiring to be a Hero, in Midoriya’s case, this was quite ARGUMENTATITVE. And a fight that took place a few days ago was the perfect illustration to showcase such unspoken statement. Hadn’t Toshinori been there to protect his valuable student, a GRUESOME scenery would have been orchestrated in front of his eyes, with the youth personified as the VICTIM of this play. Truly, NIGHTMARE INCARNATED INTO REALITY, and hopefully it would stay as an unwanted thought– forgotten eventually, if more so.

                                                 —– ! ! ?

          He was caught off guard, as his cerebrum took a moment to begin functioning properly, due to the RECOGNIZABLE voice that halted all of the hypothetical screenplays. His pattern of respiring became heavy, as seconds were passing by. However, it wasn’t due to the customary issues of his body that he deals with on a daily basis. NO. This was pure ANGER of a gargantuan quantity, accompanied with sentiments of disappointment and worriment. DISHEARTENED to behold the boy in such condition, due to his own inadvertence and worried for the future— concerned if there’s going to be CONTINUANCE over said carelessness. Only with the mere thought of it, he felt thick and calloused fingers curled into fists, ready to pound anyone’s cranium, or anything adjusted in his way. But NO; he was a Hero, a prime exemplar of heroism, and the epitome of GREATNESS. He had to act like it, albeit the impossibility standing on a high scale. He had to withhold himself from acting out of paralogism.

                                           ❛ Young Midoriya… ❜

                            But sometimes, it was just UNAVOIDABLE.

          He offered himself one final and deep inhalation, then exhalation coming from his nostrils. There was a sight of him that portrayed RARITY. The former Number One Hero, who would wear a PERPETUAL and VIBRANT SMILE upon distinguishable mien, demonstrate jovialness with his inevitably frabjous persona, WAS NOWHERE TO BE FOUND. Lieu, shaded canvas was painted with EXASPERATION; subtle lines had taken the opposite formation instead of the habitual one, veins had surfaced atop the flesh of his face, and two shiny pigments of sapphire would glance at the short frame who had just eliminated the distance between them. As much as Toshinori wanted to tell him that things were ALRIGHT, he couldn’t. And so, lifting one enormously muscular arm, as an alternative of positioning it above disarrayed locks in an evergreen complexion, he would FEROCIOUSLY slam his fist on a brick wall right next to him, consequently demolishing it, like a puzzle of innumerable pieces. Dust emitted from the solid material— reminiscing a fog clouding his vision. 

                    ❛ HOW COULD YOU BE SO CARELESS?? 

              HOW COULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO PREPOSTEROUS?                                     WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? ❜

          ❛ WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO LEARN TO BE MORE CAREFUL?                    WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO REALIZE THAT?          HOW MANY TIMES DO YOU NEED TO BRING YOURSELF IN THIS CONDITION,                                   IN ORDER TO REALIZE IT? 

        I can’t be all the time here to save you, Midoriya. ❜

                    ❛ Do you understand the position that you are in?           Have you even considered what could have happened hadn’t I been there? ❜

                    ❛ Do you understand what you have to do?                       What could have happened if I wasn’t there? What could have happened if you couldn’t be able to defend yourself anymore? 

  WHAT WOULD I DO IF I WERE TO LOSE YOU, MIDORIYA? 

                    What would I do if I were to lose the one that I trusted with everything? ❜

                                What would I do if I were to lose you? 

                                            I could have lost you.

❛ —- WHAT WOULD I DO IF I WERE TO LOSE THE ONE THAT I — ❜

                                The one that I consider as my son. 

               As a child of my own that I never had and always wished for. 

                         You were the greatest gift in my life, my boy.

          For a brief moment he wondered if his respiratory system was BETRAYING the common act of breathing, thus he paused his words— as an attempt to RECOLLECT himself. But in all honesty; it felt like an unnecessary tool, inasmuch as his mind was clouded, nay. Anger bottled up and that was its ERUPTION taking place. An uncommon circumstance that Izuku Midoriya couldn’t eschew it.

                    ❛ You are still unable to control your power,                              and you have been told to improve that.                                      And yet, every time—                        every fucking time, you never listen.                                  You constantly act on your own accord,                               without taking a rational approach of things.                                      And eventually, you end up like this. 

                             Do you know how it makes me feel as— ❜

          As what? As a mentor? Useless. As a father? Worse than useless. 

                 There is no worst feeling that being unable to save you.                                       But alas, this is not about me.

                    ❛ There is so much at stake and you haven’t realized it, yet.                              — You see, I cannot be here forever to save you.                             I will not be here for an eternity in this world.                 And once I leave, it is up to you to take my place.                                 Don’t you have dreams to fulfil?                    Don’t you want to become the greatest Hero ever?                                Greater than me?                                      If you continue like this, young man, 

      the only thing that you accomplish is meeting an inevitable death. ❜

                                           And I cannot bear this.

                    ❛ So, before you act, stop and think, first.                                      For your own sake, and for the sake of your dream,                             stop acting with such recklessness. ❜

          The volume of his voice had DECREASED significantly, but it was still boisterous enough to be heard, and to reverberate the atmosphere. FURY stood there; UNIMPEDED, taking a leading role in this. An inescapable feeling. Rather unfortunate, he wouldn’t deny it; he couldn’t recall the last time he referred to his successor solely as ‘ Midoriya ‘, or even indulging in the USAGE of foul language, right in front of him. Perhaps this could work as a wake up call for the youngster. Perhaps this was for the better. But for now, with a deep sigh escaping parted lines, he tilted his entire sculptured body towards the OPPOSITE direction, as feet were about to pick up a canonical pace of walking.

                    ❛ Think about all of this, while returning to your dorm. ❜

[vestedbeauty]

Guilty of People Pleasing? How to Stop (Even if This Is How You've Survived Until Now)

New Post has been published on https://vestedbeauty.com/guilty-of-people-pleasing-how-to-stop-even-if-this-is-how-youve-survived-until-now/

Guilty of People Pleasing? How to Stop (Even if This Is How You've Survived Until Now)

OK, so, it’s possible that my people pleasing way of life was just coded into me based on the stars and planets. I’m not personally really into astrology but a lot of people I love are. So, I’ve learned that I may be the Libra-est Libra who ever Libra’d. And apparently people pleasing is a thing for us. 

But while I weigh that a bit (sorry, Libra joke), I’m going to go share my thoughts on this… trait? Flaw? Coping mechanism? Well, whatever category people pleasing falls into, let’s take a look.

It’s a Good Thing Puppies Are Cute

She’s nearly four now but Pickle has settled down a whole lot. (I’m currently working through a dog training course with her and the rest of the pack to see if we can end the jumping up on people nonsense.) When she was tiny, she did a pretty good impression of The Very Caterpillar. She ate through our slippers. She ate through our blankets. She even ate through the drywall in a couple of places.

“Pickle, it’s a good thing you’re cute,” we said, about a million times. And it’s true.

It’s the same with tiny humans. They smell bad. They cry and cry and cry. And they leave their parents exhausted to the point they can barely remember their own names. But on the deepest level there is, we bond with them to the point we’d give our lives to save them.

Still, it’s a good thing they’re cute.

In part, a baby’s cuteness is a way of people pleasing. We cannot function or even survive on our own. Our survival depends on our parents being willing to take care of us, even though we offer nothing in return. 

Last One In Is a Rotten Egg!

Fast-forward a few years, and our world expands from our parents and immediate family outward to include friends, teachers, and a whole lot of people we’ve never met. Humans being humans, we start forming smaller groups. 

Like it was programmed into us, we can get pretty ruthless as we sort through the crowd of humanity. Yes to this one, no to that one. We find best friends and second-best friends (remember that?), and we learn how to fit in. 

But we also get some brutal lessons about living in kid society. We discover the pecking order, watching some kids rise to the top of the social order and others fall into a perilous place where they are practically untouchable. 

The permanent rotten egg, the kid nobody seems to like – even enough to defend when human decency demands it. (I still think about some of the kids I grew up with who were socially brutalized, bullied, cast out. I hope they survived and healed, and while I’m glad I didn’t actively hurt them, I shamefully lacked the courage to befriend them.)

In this Lord of the Flies world, kids learn quickly how important it is to gather allies. Perhaps for the first time ever, they grasp the reality that if they piss people off, they will be shunned and thrust out into the cruel world on their own. 

People pleasing becomes a survival mechanism. I believe that’s where it starts for many of us. We learn to walk, talk, and behave in ways that please our cohort enough to keep us safe.

Keep Your Hands and Feet Inside the Ride at All Times

It doesn’t take a genius to realize it’s crucial to fit into the box kid society draws for its members. Fit or face destruction. 

So, we contort ourselves to fit. If some odd bit refuses to fold neatly into the box, we cut it off. Survival demands ruthlessness.

… Got a weird hobby? Not anymore.

… Have a weird freckle on the bottom of your foot? Shoes, forever.

… Freaky smart at some subject or another? No. Get a ‘B’ and live.

… Set your sights on a career that seems a little “extra”? Probably don’t talk about that anymore.

It’s not like that for everyone, of course. And there are pockets of welcoming hearts who’ll accept people as they are, thank goodness.

But I suspect this is when many people pleasers develop their modus operandi. People pleasing can look like:

Having a hard time saying no (or even wanting to)

Feeling gutted if someone’s displeased with you

Agreeing with what others decide because you know you can make anything work

Feeling like you’re responsible for other people’s emotions or experiences

Apologies… so many apologies… for everything

Conflict avoidance at any cost

A persistent craving for praise from others

Inability to admit or express “negative” emotions

Struggling to make decisions that impact other people

This nasty list makes sense when you understand that a people pleaser weighs the safety of every word, step, and choice. It makes even more sense when you realize they may have zero experience moving through the world in any other way.  

When Enough Is Enough

As a young woman, I took all of this to the next level by choosing a very public life as a pastor’s wife for a couple of decades. Pairing my childhood fascination with Emily Post’s etiquette book with the deep desire to be a good example, I had that box’s contents under control. The stakes seemed to be of eternal significance, after all. 

But I learned something huge, courtesy of one of many youth group outings that ended with dinner. It took decades for this lesson to register, but now I can’t unsee it.

“Kids don’t know diddly-squat about what’s good and what’s not good.”

Given the choice between filet mignon and a burger from McDonalds, pretty much every kid in every youth group we ran would choose the golden arches. I could rattle off a bunch of similar examples, but you get it. Discernment comes with age. 

That’s why the nerd gets the girl… later in life. Once we can embrace our greatness, right in the face of a crowd that punishes outliers, we flourish. We can become who we were always meant to be. Not coincidentally, that’s when we also find deep personal fulfillment and a sense of finding and fulfilling our purpose.

Allowing some pre-pubescent ghost from decades gone by to dictate how you show up in the world just seems silly. That whole threat to expel you from society for not fitting in becomes laughable. 

I mean, it’s not even a thing anymore, anyway. 

Who, in the adult world, roams the halls of their home or workplace, shoving people into lockers? What adult taunts someone else about what they brought for lunch – or the fact that person dared to eat when people could see them? And what adult torments another adult for having a passionate interest in an offbeat hobby? 

Ridiculous.

You’re Not the Boss of Me!

I’m half-obsessed with Scotland. Many of my family’s roots start there. I freaking love that place, the music, the terrain, the food, the whisky, the spirit of the people – it’s got my heart. Anderson there is like Smith or Jones in America. The Anderson crest reads “Stand Sure.”

Oh, the irony.

That hit me hard as 2020 came to a close. It was both the best and the worst motto I could imagine. These two words, I’d seen on a crest on the wall for as long as I could remember. But it wasn’t really for me.

Some people, as a new year approaches, choose a word for the new year to embody for them. I chose “Stand Sure.”

It felt dangerous. Like, I knew this was going to impact my whole “tread lightly” philosophy in life. I had absolutely zero ideas about how I’d possibly go about addressing my people pleasing. It was so ingrained in me, like when a surgeon refuses to cut out a brain tumor because the brain has grown around it. Or, like separating conjoined twins. This seemed like something I’d just have to live with forever.

MindFix Did the Impossible

I’ve done some woo-woo stuff along my personal development journey. That includes walking on fire, walking on broken glass, climbing redwood trees and jumping off (harnessed in!) to grab a trapeze, and SO many seminars. They all helped me grow. A lot. But during a long weekend in January, I got to work with the team at MindFix. 

And it changed everything. But only in the areas where I’ve applied it so far (haha – only a few  amazing, miraculous changes!)

Going in, I knew roughly that I wanted to work on this whole people pleasing thing. That’s it. I didn’t know how to even describe it. It felt embarrassing, vague, and permanent. In fact, we never actually discussed it directly. We worked on some other things. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I noticed its absence.

I can’t even begin to explain how Erin and her team do what they do. I won’t even try. 

But I can explain this…

I came to a realization that the SUPREME DIRECTIVE under which I’d lived most of my life… was proclaimed by a little kid. A little kid who’d choose a $.67 mass-produced burger over a delectable filet mignon. 

You Don’t Know Nuthin’ about Nuthin’

That kid did her best to protect me. To her, safety depended on fitting into a box. Anything that didn’t quite fit should be bent or lopped off.

I’d outgrown her in every way. But I was still listening to her, so life apart from people pleasing felt dangerous. I still exhibited most of the symptoms above – and those behaviors were hurting me.

The work we did helped me go after this dragon and slay it. In realizing that kid version of me was just trying to help, but really didn’t know how, it opened a whole new possibility… just being me.

I could see evidence indicating it was safe to shut her down.

I have weird hobbies (drone flying, chicken raising, classic VW ogling, front yard gardening – just for starters). Nobody torments me over that. (I mean, can you imagine how insane that would be?)

My mate and I are flat-out weird (so much ink, in bed by 7, both creatives – and that list goes on). Nobody follows us, taunting us. (I mean, we did get called the perfect insult in the VW restoration world… Billy-Bob shade-tree Chip Foos wannabes – I can’t even tell you how many giggles I’ve had over that pejorative on our YouTube channel.)

Even my work life is strange (I’ve discovered that the way my brain operates is REALLY unusual. Some would see it as a huge plus; others would find it perplexing.) 

And then there’s this one “flaw” that put me in danger of ostracism so much that I shut it down entirely… until I saw it differently and felt safe valuing it.

It’s my capacity to love, like geeking-out, human exclamation point levels of enthusiasm for certain people. (I always gathered that I was too sensitive, too excitable.) That one’s back in play big-time, and it adds incredible joy to my life. Like, one of my favorite things to do is to SEE someone’s greatness and then tell their story in a way that others see it, too.

If This Isn’t Irony…

So, “Stand Sure” is in play. 

Undoubtedly, there’s still a little kid inside, desperately trying to keep me in line by pleasing people. But she sure seems quiet these days.

I did crack up, though, when a colleague mentioned that since the start of the year, I’d really started to own my own value. He continued, “I’m not seeing that people pleasing way you used to show up.” And that… that pleased me greatly.

Who knows what else is possible? The best is yet to come.

[bendy-and-the-rambling-machine]

I’m going to be going over changes in chapters 1 and 2 and going into detail about what happens in chapter 3 so if you don’t want to see spoilers stop reading this now. For the most part I’m just stating what happened and will save my theories for future posts.

Changes in Chapter 1:

- The graphics are incredible but if you don’t have a state of the art computer you probably won’t be able to run it at full capacity. Now there are more details like cobwebs and the like.

- There’s now a break room next to the ink machine room. We get introduced to the clocking-in/save feature. In all honesty I’m still not entirely sure how these work in the great scheme of things, especially since you spawn at the Bendy statues and not the clocks. There’s also a trap door that can’t be accessed as of yet.

- A second room can be found in the room you find Boris’ body in. It appears to be an area for the animators to work at. Sometimes the sacrifices spawn in there (as well as the last room), but there isn’t much else to be said for it right now.

- There are a few more closets spread throughout the map.

- Looooots of soup cans.

- The ink actually looks like ink and not dirty water.

- Now you have to drain the ink by turning the wheels on pipes.

- Physics! You can move chairs and stuff!

Changes in Chapter 2

- Giant Bendy statues that you will spawn from when you die.

- The ink dwellers have distinctly human anatomy now and are much bigger. They no longer spawn from out-of-place ink blotches, making their appearances much more surprising.

- The combat system feels like it works better? The window of time for when you can attack is longer than .3 seconds and hitting them doesn’t take forever and a day.

- You can almost access the infirmary. Now you can walk past where the barricade was before once the ink is drained, but the infirmary itself is still blocked off by some unbreakable planks of wood.

- When you activate the projector it plays a clip of the animated short from the trailer.

- Now there’s a short maze when you’re running from Bendy, and when he gets close enough he will reach his arm out for you.

- Boris has more life to his walk cycle. 

Noteworthy Things in Chapter 3 (major spoilers begin here)

- Boris is a good boy! The safe house is adorable and has a lot a detail put into it.

- Alice Angel has such an interesting design and I love it. There is also lip animation for when she talks which was really impressive. Speaking of talking, when she gets especially emotional a second voice shows up.

- The path of the angel and demon only have two differences that I’ve noticed so far. If you go through the angel’s room you get a recording from Susie Campbell, the demon path has a recording from Joey Drew. Also the end picture is different depending on which one you choose.

- The butcher’s gang gets revealed here and if you go back a watch the trailer you can tell that it’s supposed to be them running through the hallways. 

- The room with all the bodies in it raises a lot of questions about what exactly was going on when it came to creating them. Why do they need to make so many copies?

- This chapter is 85% fetch quests and I feel like if you knew exactly where everything was going to spawn it wouldn’t take long to get through this chapter.

- The map feels bigger than it really is and can be very disorienting if you’re not used to it. 

- I think I just got lucky when playing it, but Bendy wasn’t much of a threat and I hardly saw him. There was a warning about running making him appear more but I was sprinting all over the place and over using the elevator and I only saw him 3 times (and one of those times was scripted after you get the cutouts).

- There is no consequence for dying as long as you’re on top of saving (and even then there are times when I didn’t save and still didn’t lose anything after dying). You spawn at the nearest Bendy statue and that’s it. No progress or items are lost. 

- Alice spouts off a few lines here and there over the course of the fetch quests but there isn’t much in the way of plot otherwise once they begin.

- There are demented versions of the butcher gang spruced throughout the chapter as enemies but they’re easy to defeat.

- Norman Polk is back as an enemy in one section (although you see him for a second earlier). I didn’t interact with him because after the initial reveal I couldn’t even find him again, so I have no idea what happens if he catches you.

- Alice has a painfully obvious betrayal at the end.

My overall opinion of the chapter is a bit of a mixed bag. The fetch quests are tedious and involve a lot of backtracking. You get a massive environment to explore right off the bat and it took a looooong time for me to get everything (close to 2 hours). Once you realize just how non threatening everything is (you can’t be afraid of something once you’ve bludgeoned it to death with a plunger) a lot of the horror aspect goes out the window and it becomes more annoying to see an enemy than scary. It is still interesting to explore the studio and get a better idea for what happened to the studio, and it’s impossible to not be impressed by the sheer scale of this chapter. It’s easy to forget that this was only a six person team and I really cannot wait to see what else they’re going to do.

[kfawkes]

OKAY HERE YOU GO I HOPE YOU MAKE ME CRY: “I’ll, uh, be gone by Tuesday. Can’t keep them waiting forever, can I?” with shakarian; OR “I-I can’t… Not yet. I’m not strong enough yet, love.” with jonerys????

[Oh man!!! I haven’t ever received a Jonerys request before so I have to do this one! Hope you don’t mind :)

“I-I can’t… Not yet. I’m not strong enough yet, love.” — I changed it a BIT. Because the way the story was going called for it, so hope you don’t mind :) Also this is sad… so…. hope you’RE HAPPY!!!!! hahahah Kinda short but… hope you enjoy. FYI there is a major character death in this bitch lol. SORRY NOT SORRY!!!!]

This wasn’t possible… none of this was possible… How could she have done everything… traveled that far, been hurt, used and abused… Suffered through everything she did, all just to end up here. 

As Daenerys looked around, there were bodies everywhere. Bodies of people she considered friends, those she saw as her family… hundreds of her soldiers slaughtered by the Army of the Dead.

When she scanned each broken body she knew what would happen next. They would rise, and come for her… For Jon. For the rest of Westeros, and then the rest of the world.

Dany looked down to Jon once more, and she knew that this really was it… 

He wasn’t going to be brought back like he had been the last time… there was no Red Woman or any other follower of the Lord of Light that could save him. It was just her, and a bunch of bodies, and she could do nothing.

Nothing but watch as the only man she ever truly loved died before her very eyes.

The noises of battle were almost blank and numbing as the steady stream of tears slid from her lilac eyes. Her white fur gown was spotted with warm blood so dark it was almost as black as Jon’s hair, and her hands trembled weakly. 

Not from the cold, but from fear.

“You cannot die here. We must get up… we have to go, Jon.” She pleaded, holding her hand over the large gash in his side, watching as he flinch in pain.

She couldn’t feel the blood that sept into her gloves at first, but now it was the only thing she could feel. Dany felt it places it wasn’t even decorating… Across her neck, and all over her chest and stomach… Inside her very body and she could almost taste it. 

When Daenerys looked to his face; he was pale, and that spark she loved in those dark amber eyes was fleeting… disappearing. He was disappearing.

“You know I-I can’t, Dany…” He coughed back, looking to her with eyes so full of admiration and pain it was almost overwhelming for her. Even now as he bleed out he was gallant and strong.

“Don’t. We’ve come so far… We cannot give up.” Daenerys threw herself over him, hugging him tightly as the battle roared loudly around them. “Together, remember?”

The clash and screams of swords on armor; Reminding her once again of her fate. The fate of her lover, friend… her king. The fate of them all.

“Listen to m-me… This is it. I’ve done my part, and now you must do yours. You can stop them, Dany… if any–one can stop them, it’s you.” He breathed out weakly, and now his face was almost as white as the snow he laid softly atop. The red of his blood seeping and fanning out beneath him like ink in water could almost be beautiful if not for what it meant…

“I cannot lose you… You’re all I have left.” She cried, sobbing so fiercely her whole body shook. And now, Dany could hardly even hear the cries and screams of her friends around her. “You have to get up… please…”

“I-I can’t… I’m not strong enough, love. You’ve got to do this without– me…” Jon pulled a weak hand to the back of her neck, decorating her white hair with ruby red blood. He looked intently into her eyes, dancing between the lavender color as a small smile spread over his purpled lips. 

“No. I can’t.” She said flatly shaking her head more animately than intended as the salted tears slid down her reddened cheeks. Dany pulled a hand to her forehead wiping away a strand of hair, and she felt as his warm blood replaced it.

“You can.”

“No…” She was nearly sobbing now, and it hurt worse than even losing Drogo had or her unborn child had.

“You’ll never be alone, Dany… never.” Jon cooed softly, as he pulled her into a soft kiss; his other hand resting on her stomach softly. “You can stop t-this. For our– for us…” 

She could feel the exact moment Jon left her… and when his hand and head fell limply to the cold snow she sent out a shriek so loud and painful it made her dragons roar. 

Dany slammed her fists into the bright red snow in agony, as the thundering waves of Drogon’s wings grew closer; shaking her to the core. When she felt him land beside her in a glorious rumble, she knew what had to happen. 

Throwing her head over her shoulder still holding his cold hand to her belly softly, she watched as Dragon released waves of fire atop each lifeless body that had fallen beside them. 

Daenerys pulled Jon’s limp body up into her arms, hugging him tighter than she had before. In that moment she could almost feel him against her like he had been all those nights ago… She could feel the way he slid his hand through her hair, and the way he told her he loved her… 

Daenerys could see it all and she was full of a fiery rage.

“I will see you soon, my love…” Dany said quietly as she released his body reluctantly pressing a final kiss to his cold lips with eyes closed painfully, still holding her own hand over her stomach softly. “I will stop them… For us.”

When she looked back to Drogon, he seemed just as pained, and she sent him a look while walking towards him. A look that said everything her voice couldn’t. A second later Drogon took a large breath in, then released the flames across Jon Snow’s body.

She couldn’t look, but she knew it had to be done. That Jon would have wanted that… that if she didn’t, she’d likely be seeing him on the battlefield, and if she did– there was no part of her that guaranteed she’d be able to stop him. 

Daenerys didn’t know if she’d even make it to the next day, or if she’d actually stop the Night King or claim her throne… She didn’t know if the life that grew inside her would ever see the light of day… 

But one thing she did know, was that there was nothing more powerful than waking the dragon. And now, she was ready for vengeance.

“Together.”

[romaniassexdungeon]

No to conformity and yes to spoilers, a RoBul romance

I was having one of those phases where my desire to write was a little… lacklustre, so I thought I’d have a go with a little one-shot to get my inspiration back also I quite fancied writing a bit of RoBul again. This really is… well and truly ridiculous.

This is based on a conversation with, and therefore dedicated to @phyripo because I know how much you looooove soulmate AUs. Some adult humour but not a lot by my standards. Everything about the humour in this is completely and utterly stupid, I can guarantee. 

It’s also four in the morning and I cannot English.

Tsvetan – Bulgaria

Alin – Romania

…

 “Man, I can’t believe Dumbledore dies!”

Like with many people’s tattoos, it had taken a while to figure out the meaning of that curious string of words.

Even his parents had no explanation for it when he asked, as a pudgy little toddler, barely three years old and wanting to know why there was an omen of death written in black ink across his wrist. They were stumped. What the hell kind of name was Dumbledore anyway?

As a child, Tsvetan Borisov had been panic-stricken over the thought of meeting his soulmate possibly at a funeral, possibly over a dead body. What if he became an undertaker or a priest? No wait, how could he become a priest if he had a soulmate? Maybe a serial killer? Or maybe he just knew a strange man with a strange name who met an untimely death. The fact that his death was being referred to in the present was an added layer of confusion and worry. His family and handful of friends tended to blame this dour tattoo for the boy’s gloomy disposition.

Tsvetan felt it was too much of a burden for his young shoulders to bear.

As he grew older, he usually either found out or worked out the meaning of people’s tattoos. His mother’s, for example, was pretty simple: hey gorgeous. His father’s, on the other hand, was the more worrying: slap my butt again and I’ll put your head through that window. Given that Mr Borisov not only carried no broken glass related injuries but was married to Mrs Borisova with a son, Tsvetan was willing to bet he’d done the smart thing and not slapped her butt again.

He did, however, have to wonder how many butts his father had slapped in his quest to find his soulmate.

Then the Harry Potter series came into the world.

Something Tsvetan would forever kick himself for was the fact that he paid no attention to the books when they first came out. He didn’t pay attention as more and more people began reading the books, even though a few friends and classmates sent strange glares in his direction on occasion. He tried it once, but couldn’t get past the first few pages. It was a dull book, as far as he was concerned, and not worth his time.

A few books later, and the whole world seemed to be reading them, even reading in English because they couldn’t wait for the Bulgarian translation, and Tsvetan was now refusing to touch them out of spite. He was annoyingly stubborn at times, especially when it came to the petty things. And yet, it just seemed to make his friends insist all the more vigorously to read the damn things. When he asked why, they remained vague, something he took to mean that the books weren’t very good and they were just reading them because everyone else was, like every other dodgy trend to come out of the 90s and early 2000s. Harry Potter would soon fall into obscurity, just like Betty Spaghetty and those annoying square robot dogs that would not shut up for a good 10 minutes or something after you pressed the button on top of their heads.

It wasn’t until he found himself watching one of the films that his friends’ words all made sense.

He didn’t mean to. It had been Christmas 2004 and, after a filling dinner, the family had just been lazing on the sofa. His dad had turned on the telly and not bothered to even flick through the channels, despite Tsvetan protesting that he was boycotting the series for absolutely no reason other than pettiness and yes, father, that was a perfectly valid reason to cut something out of your life.

But his dad could not be bothered to change the channel. He was full and just wanted to stare blankly at moving pictures, and Tsvetan didn’t have the energy or will to get up and snatch the remote.

So he finally got a dose of Harry Fucking Potter.

And it changed his life forever.

Sure, there are many people in the world who claim Harry Potter changed their lives, but for none was it so true as for Tsvetan Borislavov Borisov. The moment Dumbledore rocked onto screen with his twinkling eyes and ridiculously long beard, Tsvetan felt relief like he’d never known wash over him.

Dumbledore was a fictional wizard in a fictional book about wizards.

That explained so much, he realised as he lay there and watched little Harry Potter do his magical thing. The glares, his friends begging him to read it, that one specky nerd yelling ‘fuck you!’ on the bus when they read his wrist.

He couldn’t help himself.

He laughed.

He laughed until he was on the floor in stitches, and his parents laughed too. It was such a ridiculous way to meet a soulmate! And such a ridiculous thing to have permanently tattooed on his wrist! But, hey, at least a real man wasn’t going to die before he found true love.

But Dumbledore didn’t die during the film. The two-faced turban guy, and some old bastard named Nicholas Flamel did, but not Dumbledore. He could well have, though, Tsvetan noted. He was certainly old enough. There were five books out though, if he could recall correctly, and this Dumbledore character seemed pretty important. Okay, he was going to stick around for a few more books/films then.

Something Tsvetan realised a few days later did put a dampener on his good mood: he’d have to read the Harry Potter books himself.

If his soulmate apparently liked them enough for it to be the first topic they discuss with him, then he might as well be able to hold a proper conversation with them. And so, with a heavy heart, he bought his first copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. But hey, he’d only been half-paying attention to the film and it seemed alright.

And, once he got into the books, they were alright too. Not the best, but the world was certainly interesting and the characters not bad. And maybe he wondered what it would be like to go to an ancient castle to learn magic. No wonder all his classmates had been obsessed.

He liked the second book better, and by the third he was hooked. Tsvetan actually liked fantasy, so once he got into them found they were very easy to read. He hoped his soulmate did actually like them, and wasn’t just going to mention one spoiler at a party or something and be done with it.

His newfound interest in the series was actually why he found himself standing in line at midnight on the 16th July 2005 outside some high-end bookstore in London with hundreds of other nerds waiting to get his hands on a copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. He heard murmurs from those around him, debating who was going to die, many suspecting Dumbledore but others throwing in their own suggestions. Tsvetan didn’t really care so long as it wasn’t Viktor Krum. He did try to keep his wrist hidden under a sweatband, just in case.

And then it hit him.

His soulmate, the hypothetical love of his life, his long lost other half, was about to walk out of this bookstore and spoil the end of a long-awaited book to about a thousand sweaty, tired hardcore Harry Potter fans.

And it was his, Tsvetan Borislavov Borisov’s, duty as soulmate and one true love to not only forgive this colossal asshole but presumably rescue them from being stabbed with one of the many fake wands in sight.

Why couldn’t he just spend his life slapping butts like his father?

When midnight came and the doors opened, Tsvetan waited with growing nerves as he watched every person leave with their copy.

...

Tsvetan had a fair idea it would be him who spoiled it.

Him. The weird one. The man with scraggly long hair and black painted fingernails. The idiot wearing a moulting fur coat and leather trousers. With more rings than fingers, feather earrings and a t shirt saying ‘it’s only illegal if you get caught’. He was going to do it.

Tsvetan dropped his cigarette, stubbing it out with his heel in anticipation.

He guessed right.

The One Who Did Not Conform had flicked to the end of the book, then with eyes as wide as saucers, puffed out his chest and gave a bellow.

“Man, I can’t believe Dumbledore dies!”

…

“Quick, follow me into this alleyway!”

As a child, Alin Radacanu had found his soulmate tattoo exciting. “I’m going on an adventure!” he would exclaim. His soulmate was someone magical! His soulmate would whisk him away from his mundane life to go save the world and fight evil! Or even become evil masterminds themselves!

As he got older, and puberty left him a perpetually horny mess, ‘adventure’ eventually changed to a hopeful ‘getting blown in an alley’. And then taken on an adventure like the ones in those YA novels.

He eventually realised that, in order for the first thing his soulmate to seriously say be ordering him into an alleyway, he’d probably have to be in some sort of danger, presumably on the run from something.

And with that thought in mind, Alin Radacanu then set out to cause as much trouble as possible. From that day on, he did everything in his power to constantly be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or right time, hopefully.

It was that concept that freed him from the Confines of Conformity. The weirder the outfit, the more he’d stand out and therefore the more likely he’d be to get into trouble. It also freed him from following a lot of laws, and over the years he was arrested for everything from rioting to arson to public indecency, but none of those things lead him to his soulmate, only a weeping mother and a slim chance of ever making it into anyone’s will.

On the plus side, being a masochist certainly helped deal with the number of people who ended up punching him in the face for things he’d said or done. He hoped his soulmate wouldn’t mind that. Or his missing, broken teeth.

Maybe fixating on his soulmate tattoo was technically still making him a slave to conformity, as a lot of sad romantics tended to base their lives around what they could do to find their soulmate. Should he renounce his soulmate and the whole stupid tradition?

No. He already had a suspended sentence because of this hypothetical person. He certainly deserved an adventure after the lengths he’d gone to find them.

His stupid, self-destructive path was what lead him, on 16th July 2005, to proudly stride out of a high-end bookstore, flick to the end of the latest instalment of the beloved Harry Potter book series, and loudly exclaim “man, I can’t believe Dumbledore dies!” to a horde of furious nerds.

And this time, he was greeted with something other than pain or a police chase.

A figure pushed past the mob lurching forwards to tear him to shreds, a man with tired eyes and a resigned air about him. His one true love? His completer?

Yes, completer is a word.

“Quick, follow me into this alleyway!”

Alin was so stunned he could only let the man drag him away, this wonderful stranger that smelt of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke and wore a worn, brown leather jacket. The man who would apparently lead him towards a gritty, urban fantasy adventure, judging by the look of him.

He could dig. So long as one of them had magic powers.

And this knight in vegan-unfriendly armour did indeed lead him into an alleyway. And another. And another. Until a screaming stitch cut through Alin’s rose-tinted vision and eventually the angry shouts stopped.

The stranger stopped soon after, doubling over to hack tar out of his choked lungs as Alin leaned against the brick wall of the alley they found themselves in. What now? Was Tsvetan going to take him to a nightclub full of modern wizards? A vampire coven? Would they now go off around Europe to hunt evil spirits?

“So you – you’re,” the man huffed, “my assholemate then?”

Alin was in love.

“It seems so,” he agreed, “Alin Radacanu, a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand, which the man took.

“Tsvetan Borislavov Borisov.”

“So what now?” Alin looked around hopefully, giving a cheeky grin.

Tsvetan shrugged. “How ‘bout a dri-“

“We gonna blow each other or what?”

“I mean... I’m down for that too.”

[wiccankonan]

Looking among the tiny, dimly lit space about him, the blonde couldn’t help some nostalgia rising in his throat. A place named home, was never easy to stroll away from, particularly for someone like Naruto but knowing somewhere deep inside, carved in ink to his soul, beckoned him to ponder, constantly, that this wasn’t truly home… These walls bore homage to his suffrage, his loneliness, no one but he had ever lived here… No one but him. It also was a testament to where this sadness and heart break had also blessed him…Iruka, Jiraya, Sakura, Kakashi…His friends….Sasuke…

Sighing, he looked out the open window, feeling this chilled breeze of the end of spring, whisp across his whiskered, chiseled cheeks. The sweet, smell of Fall approaching from the darkening tree leaves, the sun rays dancing across his resolved and solemn features.

With the lethal grace of the lynx, Naruto jumped from his window,

‘Hold on’, he murmured to his spirit, somehow knowing Sasuke was listening and he was

For he could feel the echoes of the blonde surge within his every vein. It was a magnetic connection, like one has to their own soul, as if they somehow existed within one another.

Cloaked in black, he stood at the gates, Kakashi and Sakura bidding him a farewell for the time being. He had not been surprised Naruto did not accompany the two, they had of course argued of Sasuke leaving again, leaving so soon.

Sakura offered to join him, despite how leaving Ino ached like drinking poison but she had also known the wiser, the best he could offer was not companionship but affection. His heart already claimed. Itachi would have smiled and mocked him for using his same avoidance of emotion, of the distance he kept and now that Sasuke himself had taken habit too.

Sasuke gave them an honest smile before turning away, but it hurt.

Naruto did not call for him again, all he could feel was something like bitter sweetness, only more bitter than sweet. Yet that came from himself, part of him always died when he left Naruto.

As he walked through the bushels of the edges of the forest surrounding Konoha, an all too familiar chakra soared up his spine.

Leaning against a mighty oak tree, stood the boy of his dreams and his nightmares. Blue eyes focused and serious.

“I didnt think you’d come,“ Naruto raised his brows at the statement, feeling one another and their shared residual anger and the distraught, soul scorching feelings that still pulsated between them.

The night before, Naruto had tears in his eyes as Sasuke explained he was leaving again, Naruto had felt it, seen it in every shared look before the day came he told Naruto they had to talk…

“Sasuke what could I do to make you stay? I thought you wanted to do this with m-…together, fix the council…clear Itachi’s name….?

Sasuke would grit his teeth, fists clenched to the point of leaving bloodied crescent moons across pale skin.

All of Konoha, who thought he could be tamed, irritated him, perhaps his burn had begun to fade but this was still no place for him, walking the ground still soaked with so much fucking blood, the blood constricting his chest making his insides crumple in on themselves.

His mind going back to that dangerous place, a place of his sweet mother, smiling… The tainted dirt of the people who had forced his beloved elder brother into genocide, will always haunt each step he takes upon this soil, it was too much, too much.

But how could he explain this, when Naruto was so very different, so bound to the concept of saving every broken and corrupted thing that crossed him?

Compensating for the childhood consumed by knowing he was feared, hated, unwanted…

The night before, when they had fought, Sasuke had lied, lied because for some reason he hated himself, lied because he saw the love of his life through his dead brothers eyes.

“Naruto.” He had said, with a sigh for the ages. “There is nothing here for me now, being here does not make it any easier and - I let you follow far to close, and because of that, I returned only for you but now, we’re getting older, Naruto and I need to see this world, I wont be bound to this place I have nothing else to say.”

Naruto’s eyes stung, his entire body had trembled at Sasuke’s words…

There is nothing here for me now, nothing here for me…Those words kept chanting inside the blondes head.

“You have nothing here now?”  He growled.

That’s when things snapped, Naruto pushing Sasuke against his apartment wall, hard, gripping his jaw with rough fingers, hearts pounding.

“So you give me an ultimatum stay here without you or leave my home and you have nothing else to fucking say?”

“I never said any such thing, you moron.” He spat, tugging harshly at golden locks.

Sasuke was ready to fight, but his body had other ideas and they had crushed mouths instead, leaving this friendship, the possibilities… slipping through their fingertips.

Back in the present of the shaded forest, the two boys stood face to face.

“I came to give you this.” Unruly, blonde hair swayed in the sudden bite of wind and Sasuke eyed the object with surprise, with love, with so much sadness that is was beautiful.

“I cannot believe you kept that thing.” Sasuke murmured, keeping his voice from breaking, all these years…Naruto had held onto this, onto him..

With a smile so soft and tender, he took hold of the headband, brushing fingers with the other, something like euphoria snaked into his soul, and he spared his soul mate a glance.

Who he now noticed, wore a knapsack across his back, a beige travelers coat, a few weapons, supplies and a headband tucked into his waistband, it looked almost as though Naruto were going on a mission, and Naruto never removed his headband during a mission, Sasuke gave a questioning glare but Naruto was not looking at him though, but at Konoha. “Even when I hated this place, I always loved it. I guess its not goodbye though, I’ll be seein ya, ya know. I promise.”

Could he be seriously…? Sasuke’s eyes widened and all the air left his body.

“Naruto, I would never ask of you to leave behind your dreams for me, you’ve done enough for me, for us.”

“And i’ve done enough for our village.” Naruto retorted, casually.  “I’d say, they can be without me for a couple years. Shikamaru, Sakura and Kakashi…I have faith in them, and ….”

Pausing briefly, bright blues casting a look towards Konoha, once more, “We’ve only just begun to get close again, and well…you know, I’ll miss home, I’ll miss everyone and Ichiraku and Iruka…”

Looking back to Sasuke, Naruto smiled, a little sheepish and then rolled his eyes in seeming frustration with himself. It made Sasuke grin.

“I cant think of anything more painful than watching you walk away from me again. I want to make all kinds of memories with you, like I made traveling with Jiraya, I want to combine our dreams.”

Sasuke did not realize a tear had cast its way down his cheekbone until a soft, warm thumb brushed it away.

“Ready?” Naruto grinned, eyes which rivaled the sun in their piercing, gold warmth.

“Usurtonkachi…”

Grabbing for Naruto’s hand, the blonde intertwined their fingers as they began, slowly, at first, walking through the forest, the lovely hum of nature dancing  about them.

“Oi! Sasuke we have to go see Gaara first!.”

“Hn.” Sasuke smiled. “Sounds like a good start and then you should have a proper meeting of my old team, Karin is actually an Uzumaki, just as loud and stubborn.”

“What?” Naruto shouted, elbowing his bestfriend, roughly “You have to tell me all about them!”

“Relax dobe.” Sasuke demanded, rolling his eyes, shoving his shoulder into the other “We have time.”

…….

Back in Konoha, Iruka was running to the Hokage’s office, a letter gripped in his hands, he was crying yet somehow happy, still.

Dear Iruka,

Iruka, if it wasn’t for you, for you showing me kindness, and love, I would not be who I’ am. I don’t intend to ever abandon you and Konoha, and yet I need and hope very much you can understand why I cannot watch Sasuke walk away again.

I leave the village to Kakashi, Sakura, and Shikamaru, I really believe in them. I know you will continue being the teacher and the guardian angel for all the kids like me, like Sasuke.

Let let them all know I love them, tell the old hag I’m sorry I broke my promise about becoming Hokage, it may still be possible, I’m not sure what this path will lead me.

I just know i have to take it, or it will break me and I would regret it forever.

I’ll keep in touch, eat lots of ramen for me and tell the old man i’ll miss him most of all haha.

Bye Iruka, ill be seein ya.

Uzumaki Naruto

[thebattlelost]

How the ink begin to flow

(Part One)

I guess the number one question that

I get asked is who am I? Well I guess

that depends on who you ask, what I

mean by that is I have been called

just about everything under sun, some

say I am a friend, others say I am only

a stranger while a few call me an

enemy that they wish they never met,

all because I fell in love once upon a

time ago with the most beautiful of

fallen angels I ever met at least that

was the lie that I had told myself

which was that she had saved me

from a life of loneliness and misery

by just being there and holding me

when my life was filled with nothing

more than deep despair but before

I can really begin the story which

is one of love and betrayal that had

started with the truth of how I felt

but ended with her denial of what it

was worth, so let me start off by

going back to the very beginning of

all time, you see everyone who has

actually read the Bible or has gone

to church already knows the story of

how the Devil, yes the very same

demon who is the epitome of hate

and evil who was once one of God

closest angels and friend who sat

right next to God's throne but fell fast

from His grace by wanting to be God

himself and all of his wonderus glory

who then got himself thrown out of

the golden gates of heaven abruptly

on his ass, so he took all his hate

and anger out on man by creating all

of those things that destroy humanity

from deep down within causing an

acute case of insanity to reign

champion over what is reality which

now in its actually creates a high

rate of mortality in the morality by

destroying the world more and more

everyday as it lives within me too

which then causes a deep down

rooted depression to step in so I

start to self medicate to help take

all the pain away so then I am an

addict which is born now inside of

me, which I truly am but most

definitely a full functioning one

which I believe is truly not an addict

like my twelve step brethren say

after all, after all addiction is a

disease that has no cure that kills

many people and even more families

year after year it is an affliction that

will grow inside of you that you

cannot stop if your all alone it will

change who you were and what you

are taking a piece of your heart,

mind and and soul until one day

you just disappear forever lost in

the addiction replaced by your own

demons usually before that though

your friends and your family will

have given up on you only saying

something like "just know that I

will always love you and I know

that at one time you loved me but

I would rather remember the old

you and not the one that I now see"

then you really are all alone all by

yourself one day transformed into

a completely different person and

believe me it is not for the better

either, then one day not all that long

ago either maybe by accident or

even fate I met who I thought was

my soul mate who today I now know

was not and that is where the real

story begins for that is when hell

itself begin to engulf me as I started

walking hand in hand with my own

demons on the path of my own

self destruction and how by the

grace of God go I.

How the ink begin to flow

(Part One)

Poet Richard M Knittle Jr.

A Poet's Journey