#I am always listening to the sand in the hourglass

[nacvamp]

This line has me feral (aching miserably for the mortal condition, the ever-stalking predator, Death).

[vidals-harkness]

you’re so special, to me (rio vidal)

summary: nobody loves death. rio gets told a thousand times a day how much she's hated. but in the end, when it gets hard, there's always the one 'i love you' she can rely on. life's.

pairings: rio vidal x fem!reader

fic type: fluff with a smidge of angst

warnings: talks of death

word count: 1.08k

“I hate you!” Exclaimed the grieving daughter as Rio stood near the hospital bed.

“I hate you!” Yelled the mother as Rio cradled her baby in her arms.

“I hate you!” Screamed the husband, his wife’s body delicately walking beside her.

“I hate you!” Said the father, watching her take his hurting son away.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Day in, day out, till the clocks stopped working. Year after year, since the world began spinning. All that hate, all that resentment.

Every time she would feel those rattling breaths, the halting hearts, the tears shed by their loved ones, the blood on the floor. She would feel their pulse against her fingertips, their timers ticking slower and slower. The sand running out from the hourglass.

She would take their hand, bring them peace, and the first thing to be said was “I hate you,”

Nobody loved death. This was a fact. There were exceptions: those who ran into her embrace, those who were cast away, those who were unloved, those who had nobody.

But in the end, it was always ‘I hate you’.

She would never admit it, but despite every single century, she had sat in the darkness and wept.

She’d watch you, envious.

You’d enter a room, and joy would follow. You’d make the hearts beat again, the pulse quicken. You’d form life in the wombs, you’d make little limbs move.

“You’re beautiful,” they all said.

You were wanted, you were what they wished for. Not her.

But she loved you. She loved your radiance, the light you carried. She loved the way your blessings were gentle, divine.

You made the cycle start again, made the flowers grow, the birds sing, and the grass sway, made the breath flow steady in the air.

You were Life.

She was the one that turned it all to ash. The one who snatched the breath away. She was the one who wilted the flowers, browned the grass, silenced the birds.

She was Death.

Yet when the time for tranquility came…there you were.

I hate you, I hate you, I—

“I love you,” you whispered. One whisper silenced the shouts.

“Why don’t they want me?” She asked, her hair falling softly onto her face as she lay with you—moments of rare peace.

“They are flawed creatures, my love,” you responded, ever tranquil and reasonable. “They don’t know the aid you provide, the peace, the release,”

“Nobody wants me,” she said, her tears staining her soft cheeks. Before they could fall on her robes your soft hand caught them, tender as a feather.

“I want you,” you said plainly.

“Why? All I bring is gloom and grief,”

“What you bring is peace and tranquility, cloaked behind the mortal blindness of grief,”

She listened to your heartbeat, she felt your warmth. She’d spent lifetime after lifetime taking, but could never give anything in return. You spend lifetime after lifetime only ever giving, only to never take anything to compensate.

“Selfless creature,” she scoffed. “You give and give and give, you never take,”

You pondered for a moment. “That is the consequence, my dear,”

“How?”

“I never have anything for myself,”

“You never get told you are hated, ever,” she countered plainly.

“The boy on the roof, the girl in the ward, the criminal in the prison,” you listed out. “Many hate life, but the sacred balance unfortunately rests the highest burden upon you, my love,”

“Life cannot love death,” she said.

“Yet I love you,” you replied, sealing your words with a kiss to her forehead. “You are my balance, you are my shadow, you are my everything,”

She smiled, a rare smile that brightened her eyes and warmed her heart. Unknowingly it did the same for you. It made her cold cheeks tint pink, made your own heart flutter.

“I am destruction,” she said.

“You are the destruction from which life begins again,” you whispered, fingertips trailing along her neck. “You are the rugged beauty of the mountains, the beauty of the fall, the beauty of a dandelion, of a thunderstorm,”

She felt your words calm her racing heart, she felt it drown out the sea of insults, she felt beautiful.

“I love you,” you said, with a conviction that only an angel could muster. “I love you as the sun loves the moon, as the sky loves the earth. I will keep loving you till the timer runs out, till the last grain of sand falls in the hourglass.

“You can pillage, you can murder, you can plunder. But even then I will see your wild, wild beauty, even then I will wonder like I do each and every day, how such a beautiful soul could love me as I am,”

She leaned up, her hands her support, giving Life a kiss, giving her beloved a kiss. Your lips moved in sync, a dance of gentle and harsh, light and darkness.

As you broke away, still so close that you were breathing each other’s air. She inhaled your scent—so clearly alive. Of moss and petrichor and spring and summer. She understood why your role was what it was.

You were the embodiment of comfort, of joy, of peace. You were the reason why she could keep going without withering away and remaining a mechanical shell of herself.

“You silence the voices within my mind,” she admitted quietly, her eyes locking in on yours. “Your eyes hold the universe, and out of the tens of millions of people who say they hate me, wish ill-will upon me, you are the only one who says you love me,”

Your eyes crinkled at the sides as you smiled, the universe within those heavenly irises shifting as it twinkled. “I will spend every single moment of my eternal existence reminding you that you are loved, Rio Vidal,”

She traced the lining of your lips, your face, your eyes with her fingertips. “Are you even real?”

“I exist only for you, my love,” you smiled. “And you’re so special, to me,”

That’s all she needed.

One voice amidst the thousands. One ‘I love you’ to break through the hate.

Just one you, to help her through it all.

And so Death settled in the embrace of Life, allowing the sand in the hourglass to fall, allowing the timer to tick. Each breath, first and last, thrummed through your synchronised heartbeats, and there she just stayed, listening to the one sentence which fell from your lips.

“I love you,”

hello my bao buns! i’m sorry for the delay in my works but tumblr keeps deleting them :<. i’m working on ‘baby witch from death’ and your requests. thank you all for your patience, bao buns! i love you all!

love, jaya

[yurozo]

the monomyth, (leon kennedy x reader)

the exodus, also aptly known as retirement, has been sending leon for a loop. you are there to pull him back down to earth. (smut/fluff/overuse of greek references)

a/n: 18+ readers only! anyone under eighteen will be personally chased by me at full running speed. i am very much a classics nerd, as will be glaringly obvious in about three seconds. i love you nerd leon, no one understands you like i do.

shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet who was forced to listen to me ramble about this fic for three entire days

a single structure repeats itself in an endless loop of tragedy and non-tragedy, operating through the cycles of aristotle’s poetics in order to create a universal narrative of the roman hero. prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and exodus– recycled and reused to form the endless configurations of misfortunes that befall the heroes. what is pervasive, and often tragic, about these heroes is not their moral struggles against the physical evils, but instead an internal and divine battle against a common enemy– time. 

ultimately, what defines the perfect tragedian hero is the prevailing feeling of inescapability. they cannot run from the ties of fate that rely on them as a catharsis for conflict, and instead must emotionally resolve themselves to their social positions as a weapon for the gods, regardless of the institution’s ideology. this priori of obligation forced by an infinite and perfect consciousness is what makes the tragic hero tragic; this life is not one that they choose for themselves, but one they are forced to live until that last grain of sand slips through the hourglass. 

leon’s eyes had started to burn thirty minutes ago, long ignored in favour of another jstor binge at a truly ungodly hour of the night. he, at least, had the chivalry of keeping his phone brightness on the lowest setting, screen carefully tilted away from your resting eyes. 

this whirlwind of information had started with the myth of perseus, followed by odysseus, and then a countless amount of papers analyzing the hubris of the tragedian heroes. supplementary material for tomorrow’s breakfast conversation, so that he can talk at length over eggs and coffee across from your bright eyes and eager expression. 

that’s what always killed him, just how genuinely interested you were in whatever he said. god knows that was especially rare, particularly from the other women in his life. claire was always half-listening whenever he lost himself on a tangent, and don’t get him started on trying to get ada interested in anything he had to say. 

but ada was long gone, and claire was always delighted on your talent of getting leon off her back. 

how contentedly boring his life has gotten that the most exciting part of his day is your opinion on his recent fixation, just to listen to you fill in all the missing pieces he never realized were absent. you were like that in almost every aspect of his life, the golden glue that slowly puts poor humpty dumpty back together again. 

wrong type of mythology. regardless, you were something he never realized he desperately needed until that warm feeling of being content started filling his chest. a passing comment on his resemblance to a greek god had established this whole spiral– a form delicately cut in marble and praised over the centuries for the countless deeds committed in a long war to protect his people. 

perseus, maybe. or odysseus, but that was too easy. too cliche. leon was never one for divine glory, instead preferring the silent type of satisfaction that came from finally putting some good back in this world. or preventing more terrible things from happening, more like. a careful balancing act, another stupid cycle of finally feeling like a person again until he can get home and stop the dreams of people screaming in your ever-so-loving arms. 

bellerophon is the final choice. a figure riding into battle against the monstrous chimeric beast with only a tamed ally and a lead-tipped weapon. a hero that was never satisfied, choosing bigger and bigger fights until he falls from the heavens and into the dirt below. a god angered at his success, a product of an institution that brought him into a war he never asked for as a weapon, and left him crippled to wander the world alone when he ascended too far. 

maybe retirement really was getting to him. this so-called period of exodus, a final parting song and the materialization of the final crisis. 

you stir in your sleep then, arm sliding across his chest until your head is tucked against his bicep. he moves to rest his arm  underneath your head instead, which instead of achieving its original purpose of comforting you, only causes your eyes to blink blearily up at him. 

“get off wikipedia,” you mumble, shifting the blankets until it sufficiently covers the both of you. another thing he never noticed, how cold his legs were, sprawled uncovered on the mattress. this kind of comfortable routine is where you and leon thrived, so used to each other’s presence that accommodation was natural. “you should be sleeping, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“i’m on jstor. totally different site.” he supplies unhelpfully, earning a stern glare in return. his lips peck your forehead a moment after in apology. his version of proskynesis, a gesture of reverence towards his god that showed him admiration instead of ire.

“i was thinking of taking the bike,” the change in subject is nonchalant, like it’s not three thirty in the morning and you’re definitely functioning enough for idle conversation. 

“hell no,” you grumble, sinking further into the mattress. “i’m not getting on that thing with you.”

leon shifts until he’s on top of you, now wide awake and grinning slyly down. “not a fan of my chariot?”

“while i usually do love riding you, that thing is a death machine.” the glimmer of amusement in your eyes now match his own. finally, you’re actually awake. an unspoken question, a command, given from the divine to its mortal instrument. “and i’ve seen the way you drive it. i very much value my life.”

“that’s different. i can’t exactly go slow on those things when there’s rabid dogs chasing me.” he alleviates his statement with a slow string of kisses down your neck, soft and gentle like he can’t snap someone’s neck with his bare hands. “and i’ll be careful. promise.”

“like you promised not to get hurt in alcatraz?” your rebuttal doesn’t phase him, his mouth still preoccupied with tracing down your neck until his fingers start to pull the collar of your shirt down. 

“extenuating circumstances,” he mutters, lowering himself down the blankets until his mouth is in line with your hips. divine fate, maybe, or some other twisted machination of a higher being that decrees his near-death every six months. it’s hard to stare up and curse at the gods when they brought you to him, his own piece of olympus pliant in his hands. 

your hips lift off the mattress as he pulls at your shorts, another directive he is all too happy to follow. hunnigan would be furious at his obedience, like a dog all too happy to head the leash. 

“besides,” he continues, lips brushing against the frail skin of your upper thighs. “i’m officially a retired man. long past my prime.”

why does tragedy exist? is it purely to show the power of the gods, that they so fiercely defend the threads of fate that control every aspect of their existence? is it simply a consequence of the endless cycle of war invited by a world whose very frame requires an institution to desire it? regardless of its source, a world born of this mindset cannot escape an endless cycle of war that legitimizes a world-destroying violence, with no true winner other than the institution that began it. 

his clothes are pulled off quickly, following yours. scraps of fabric thrown haphazardly around the room, ignored in favour of hands tracing along the contours of your body. gentle, reverent. nails tracing down every scar, every piece of evidence that you are real, that you are alive, and there’s nothing within these four walls that can take this away from him too. 

“not too far past to not be horny in the middle of the night.” you huff, curling your hand in his hair to pull him back down to you. his breath ghosts over your thighs, his tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips. 

“i’m a simple man,” he lowers his mouth to you, licking a premeditative stripe up your folds. “got a beautiful wife in my bed. just can’t help myself.”

the hand in his hair pulls him closer, and leon understands the simple action for what it is. a cue to stop talking and get to work, to use his mouth for something other than popping off one-liners at inopportune moments. a man’s place is on his knees, and all that.

where leon is rough in every aspect of his life, he is always careful with you. he eats you out like it’s somehow the last time he’s ever going to do it, and the first time he’s ever tasted anything so divine. equal parts eager and careful, even as his fingers prod at your entrance. 

you jut your hips up again, and he slips two in easily. every part of you is familiar with every part of him. his tongue and hands start a rhythm, a soft push and pull that slowly eases you to the peak. a peaceful trek to that coiled tension starting in your legs, thighs squeezing around his head in the way you know he likes. 

that one took a while for him to admit; that he liked the feeling of being crushed between you. it was a long-drawn experiment on how far on the pain threshold he could bear before it got too much for him, until it started to push past pleasure and more into the drowning in the too-high waters of a lab territory. years of experience has taught you where to stop, his secret little tells that no one else knew about burrowed deep into your memory for safekeeping. 

that furrow between his brow deepens, and you know to ease off a little. he kisses your clit in a silent thanks, before his rhythm resumes. while leon may not feel the decreased stamina of age yet, you are too aware of your limits to handle two orgasms, so you have the mind to pull him off before that point of no return. 

leon sprawls on the mattress next to you, hands gently easing you up until your knees are bracketing his hips. not usually his preferred position, considering his penchant for control. 

“my back hurts,” he mumbles softly, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles. “want you to ride me.”

“if you make another chariot joke, i’m seriously going to hit you.”

“ye’ of little faith,” his hand drops yours to line himself up with you, and a gentle push of his hips drives the tip of him into you. “i never make the same joke twice.”

your only answer is a shuddering gasp until you gain your bearings enough to sink down onto him fully. he lays still for a few seconds, letting you get used to the intrusion. his breath stutters in his chest as your hands lay flat onto it, right palm splayed right over his heart. 

an uneven thump, beating so fast in his chest that its a god-given miracle he hasn’t keeled over yet. 

there’s a unique type of mythmaking when it comes to the tragic heroine. it is a story of fear; innocence; fall from innocence; catharsis; being desired by the right people; being desired by the wrong people; by dangerous people; by excitingly dangerous people. revision is a privilege given to so few who desire it, and to be tender-hearted in a world defined by tragedy is to die. 

and yet, the fruit of consideration when it comes to tragedy is not the moral resignation that comes with that acceptance. instead, it is a revealing of the self’s utter dependency on others. the reason that tragedy works is that character is built through this adversity. just as the nature of goodness appears in the face of moral evil, tragedy shows what is fragile and ultimately human about us. 

but you are not a god, and he is not a myth. there is no divine fate here, only a random calculation of ethereal and clunky moments that controls so much of his life that he just has to live it. that dependence is the one good thing that has come from all the fighting, and the aching, and the loneliness. a perverted sort of serendipity that leon thanks the heavens for every waking moment. 

he is real, and you are real, and that’s enough for him. 

both of you are moving in tandem, chasing the upcoming release with a soft desperation. his hands are firmly grasping at your hips, kneading the flesh there like its the only thing tethering him to this reality. that heat of pleasure starts to coil in your gut, and judging by the twisted expression on leon’s face, he’s not too far behind. 

“please,” he gasps, shoving you down until your chest is pressed against his. “i need-”

“i know,” you answer softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that delightfully juxtapose the depraved way his hips are slamming against yours. 

it’s like falling  down from the heavens, except this time there’s no splatter of a body onto the earth. only a light feeling crawling through his limbs, like that final moment of peace before succumbing to the darkness. if the gods had asked him now for a sacrifice, he would have gotten on his knees all over again to keep you. when tranquility was once the bane of his existence, now it is the center of it. 

you tense above him, like a goddess struck in stone until you are returned to the flesh, crumpling on top of him. a soft cough escapes him, a wheezing sound that signifies that you are most definitely crushing his lungs. the forces that be roll the both of you to the side until you’re facing each other, his hand unconsciously reaching for yours under the mattress. happy, warm, and sated– leon’s husbandly duties have officially been achieved. 

“i love you,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even realize the tear escaping his eye until you gently wipe it away. every part of him now is soft and malleable, even the parts so carefully hidden from everyone else. 

“love you too, old man.” 

a final kiss to your forehead before he tucks you into his chest, “we’ll take the car tomorrow.”

two more hours until he can eat eggs and drink slightly shitty coffee, and finally fill you in on his newfound epiphany. his arms wrap around your half-conscious figure, body curling around you like something to protect. you hug him tightly in return, bare skin soft on your cheek. your arms hold him like he is sacred too. 

[rattkachuk]

for the hurt/comfort starters I've gotta ask for mattdrai with "Please tell me I don't look as bad as I feel" please! <3

"Please tell me I don't look as bad as I feel."

Matthew frowns at Leon’s image on his phone screen. The dejected tone of his voice is more than enough to tell Matthew just how bad he’s feeling, but there’s also a slope to his shoulders and the stress in his eyes that he can’t miss after loving him as long as Matthew has. He knows how much responsibility Leon carries with him, and is very familiar with the helpless feeling of not being able to show up for your team.

“You don’t look great,” Matthew says truthfully.

Leon scoffs and rubs a hand over his face, “Oh, thank you.”

The image goes blurry for a moment while his phone re-establishes it’s connection with the shitty Boston hotel internet. He knows there’s not much he can really say to quell Leon’s worries, and it’s late and they both have a game tomorrow. Important games. He doesn’t know the full extent of what’s up with Leon, and doesn’t dig (he’ll find out later and chastise him for it then, just as Leon did to him last year), but he knows that it’s worrisome enough to make Leon call him in the midst of their playoff run.

“Hey,” Matthew says gently, “I know it sucks and I know that I really can’t ask anything of you that I wouldn’t do myself…”

“But?” Leon bites.

“If it’s really bad, please don’t push yourself,” Matthew pleads, quiet but sure. He can’t say much more than that. Can’t tell Leon that it’s not worth it. Can’t sooth him and say that everything would work out for the Oilers without him, for fear of the falsity of his words being too glaring.

Leon sighs, but is silent beyond that. Matthew gives him the space, doesn’t push, listens only to the faint sounds in the background of Leon’s room, and watches the soft flickering light of his TV. Matthew wonders absently what’s on.

There’s a set to Leon’s jaw, and he’s pointedly not looking at Matthew, but even through the pixelated video call he can see the shake to his body as he breathes in and out, “Matthew, you know-there’s just so much riding on this, right? What am I going to do if this season ends in another failure? I’m running out of fucking time, here.”

A pang of unfounded guilt hits Matthew, knows that Leon is a few years ahead of him and in reality it’s not that much, but in hockey it’s everything. Maybe he’s not as well acquainted with the hourglass of time taunting him just yet, doesn’t have to worry about the sand falling through the middle, faster every time he gets another blow to his body. Doesn’t know the pain of making it within reach of the thing he’s always striving for, only to have it ripped away in a blur before you can even get your legs underneath you. Every. Time. Matthew can see it ruthlessly eating away at Leon year after year, chips away at him and seeps into the corners of his being.

Matthew had been closer than Leon ever had, and he felt confident his team could do it again, could see his chances in the coming years only increasing. Coming from him, it felt wrong to placate Leon and tell him that next year would be better, when he’d already had so many years of loss under his belt.

“Then you’ll figure it out. We'll figure it out, alright?” Matthew swears, wanting Leon to know he never had to face this giant thing all by himself, that he didn’t have to cross any bridge without Matthew’s hand to hold, “I’m always with you, Leon.”

There’s a helpless gasp of air from Leon’s mouth, maybe the tail end of a sob stuck in his lungs, “Yah, yah. I know. Thank you.”

Matthew offers a small albeit sad smile, and they don’t say much else. Matthew doesn’t hang up, though, can't bring himself to sever the one line of connection they have in the moment. Leon doesn’t look in a rush to go, he’s three hours behind and has time yet. Matthew sleeps eventually and lets the video call go, so Leon doesn't have to be alone.

ao3 drabbles <3

[sp1rit-realm]

༻¨*:· 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ remus leaves you after the first war.

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 inspired by love of my life by queen 𖦹 y'know "love of my life, you've hurt me. you've broken my heart, and now you leave me" 𖦹 angst 𖦹 hurt/not quite comfort but kind of ??? 𖦹 pizza thursdays :) 𖦹 sad :( 𖦹 ANGST (you have been warned) 𖦹 i did not proofread this⎝(ˊ0ˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 623

Remus was sad and angry, and in pain. Sad that he had lost everything, angry that he had lost everything. He was always saying that, talking about how he lost everything.

"But I'm still here, Remus." You told him countless times. His response was always a curt nod; it never failed to hurt you.

"I miss them," He whispered, holding a picture of James and Lily.

"I miss them, too," You put your arm around his shoulder and scratched his scalp—he leaned into it.

You cherished moments like this. In some selfish, twisted way, you were glad Remus only had you right now. You knew this—whatever you two had—was temporary. He would kiss and hold you, but his heart wasn't yours. He wasn't yours. Your heart would always belong to him, though. 

Part of you was scared he would wake up one day and realize he didn't love you.

"What're you thinking about, m'love?" His voice was lazy and sleepy.

"Us," You murmur.

"Yeah? What about us?" It seemed like he was in a better mood.

"If you love me or not." It slipped out.

"Of course I love you," He frowned, "Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know," You sighed longingly.

"I love you so much." He reassured.

Foolishly, you believed it.

You dropped by Remus's flat. Another Thursday meant another pizza date. He had everything set up, roses, candles, everything to make a girl feel special. And that was how you knew it was ending soon. 

"Bad movie," You grimaced as the film ended.

"Agreed," Remus nods. He turns to you, "I'm thinking a lot," He pauses.

"Yeah?" Part of you wanted to joke about how surprising it is that he can actually think; another part of you wanted to scream. The part you listened to was telling you to stay and listen.

"Yeah."

"About what?"

"Lots of things. Sirius, school, life before all of… this."

And your heart hurt. It hurt for you, and it hurt for him.

"I think about that a lot, too."

"I miss it," He whispers.

You nod, "So do I."

"I miss him," He murmurs, and the crack in your heart grows.

But that's as far as he goes before standing up and going to do the dishes.

The next time you see Remus, he's moving things into boxes. You're confused. Today's Thursday; you're supposed to have pizza, not do whatever this is. And then it dawned on you.

"Come in," He greets you like nothing is wrong.

"I brought pizza," You murmur, toeing your shoes off.

Once you're all settled on the couch, pizza on a plate in your lap, you ask him, "What're you doing?"

You can see his subtle hesitation as his movements stutter, "Just putting some things away," He lies.

"Remus," He stops and looks at you, "Where are you going?"

He sighs, rubs his face, and sits next to you. He places a hand on your knee and proceeds, "Somewhere far away from all of this. I—" He shakes his head, "I can do this anymore. I need to leave."

And that selfish part of you wants him to say: "And I would love for you to come with me."

But you know he won't.

You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity—just him and you and the last granules of sand in the inescapable hourglass that was your relationship. 

"What about me?" Your voice is soft and quiet, and goddamnit, why did you have to look so sad?

"What about you?"

A fitting reply to a fitting ending.

"What about us?"

He had no response.

"Am I not good enough, Remus? Why am I not good enough?"

All he could do was hold you as you cried.

sorry :(

mutuals: @sw34terw34ther @imshiningjustforyou @woahlifehitsyahuh @forourmoons @vampieteeth @masivechaos @queerpumpkinnn @lucasnclair @doyouknowwhoyouare13 @maddipoof @nutellani @zvdvdlvr @honeymunson @reysdriver @just-another-godless-god @bellathethirstybitch @onmyknees4lily @angry-little-frog @starstruckmoony

[flowerhead-fh]

Cupid!Steve x Rockstar!Eddie

OHHH BOY- GUYS- I was just watching my favorite series of all time, which I would recommend to every living being, called Brooklyn 99, and I got an idea for a fanfic, which immediately made me think of Steddie, so here I am. Please enjoy this, drabble? ficlet? I dunno, short fic sample

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In this world, there are Gods, a lot of them. Under them, you have the demigods. Ever living beings, scattered throughout the earth, to make sure everything is running smoothly (which actually means, they are constantly keeping humans from sending the world to shit)

Steve, is one of said demigods. The demigod of love, cupid himself nonetheless. He does his job, better than most demigods actually. Can even find love for the most unlovable. However he has one weakness, and that's finding love for himself. Yes, yes I know. The irony, but the unfortunate truth is; that Steve Harrington's luck in the romantic department is non-existent.

He had just been complaining about this to Robin during their shared shift at Family Video. "It's ridiculous! I can find true love for everyone but myself?! What kind of power is that?!" He groans in frustration and rests his head on his forearms. "I'm gonna be lonely forever." Robin (the demigod of sand (I told you there were a lot of them)) was meanwhile playing around with the sand in an hourglass.

"Relax, I'm sure you'll find someone eventually! And until then, you've always got me! Besides, would you really want to just zap yourself and a random person, just for the sake of dating someone?" Steve groans again, raising his head up and running a hand down his face. "No, but.... still! I want to- have someone in my life like that." Robin hums sympathetically. "Well, at least you can get laid easy." She says shrugging."

Ahh yes, one of the perks to being Cupid, is that he can control, ignite, and remove lust within anyone he so wishes. "Yeah, but I'm past one-night stands now, Robin! I want someone to love." Steve huffs, as he finishes his sentence.

______________________________________________________________

Just then someone enters the store. The bell rings, and they both spare a glance at the door. The man entering was dressed in mostly black. He had long curly hair, and silver rings adorned each of his fingers. "Robin," Steve whispers to her, as she's still distracted by the hourglass. "12 o'clock." Steve nods subtly in the direction of the man, as Robin looks up at him. She raises her eyebrows. "Oh shit." She mutters.

Steve tried not to ogle him, he really does, but this might be the most interesting man, currently in Hawkins, so that proves difficult. The man, the stranger, is checking out something in the sci-fi section, smiling to himself. His expression then drops a bit, as he pauses and suddenly makes eye contact with Steve. Steve flinches and gives him a small awkward wave.

The guy starts walking over to them, and Steve gently elbows Robin to HELP HIM BECAUSE WORDS HAVE ESCAPED HIM. "Hey, couldn't help but catch you staring. You a fan?" He asked in a polite manner. Steve wrinkles his eyebrows. "No, that's a fan." Steve points to the ceiling fan. The man glances briefly at the ceiling fan, and then back at Steve, laughing.

"I'll admit to staring at you, yes, but I don't think I recognize you sorry." Steve continues after the stranger's laughter has died down. He stares at Steve, mouth slightly agape, in a somewhat mortified expression. "Oh shit." The man runs a hand down his face an embarrased manner. "Ohhhnoooo, I must seem like such a douchebag now."

He looks down and away from Steve. "No, no ,no! It's fine! Erm- Are you like famous or something? What's your name? Maybe I've heard of you somewhere!" Steve says hurredly, trying to salvage the conversation. The stranger chuckles. "Uhum, it's Eddie, Eddie Munson. I started a band called Corroded Coffin. Do you listen to Metal?"

Steve shakes his head awkwardly. "No sorry, but those names do ring a bell... Oh!" Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin, it's that band Dustin has been raging about, together with the rest of the party. "The kids I babysit won't stop talking about you! You're like their idol. What's a celebrity like you doing in Hawkins then?"

______________________________________________________________

The guy- Eddie, scratches his neck. "Ah, just visiting home. Taking a break, kind of." Eddie leans an elbow on the counter. "What's model like you doing out here?" He asks in a slightly deeper tone. Steve clears his throat, and turns away to attempt to hide his blush. "Ahaha. I live here. Thanks." Eddie hums, and smiles.

He then notices Robin's fidgeting with the hourglass. "Woah! Holy shit!" Eddie straightens up, no longer leaning on the counter, and stares at the hourglass amazed. Robin hums looking up at Eddie. "Oh, we're demigods. I'm the demigod of sand, this is basically I can do." She says is shrugging.

Eddie turns back to Steve with an excited questioning look. "Both of you? What's your thing then, pretty boy?" Eddie leans on the counter again, this time resting his chin on his hand. Steve hums, and ponders on his next actions. On one hand he could just tell Eddie he is Cupid, on the other hand...

Steve hums, and boldly puts finger on Eddie's chest, sliding it down slowly, while igniting an amount lust within him, that's just edging on too much. Then he looks into Eddie's eyes, and says; "This is." Eddie stares at him, with wide eyes, his face burning red, his mouth just slightly open, as if trying to find something to say, and failing.

______________________________________________________________

Steve pulls his hand away, and simulteaneously quells any and all lust he awakened within Eddie. "I'm Cupid, basically. I make people fall in love and shit. I can also do that- what I just did." He smiles a bit. "Sorry, I hope that wasn't too much, or anything?" Steve looks at him apologetically.

Eddie stares at him a bit longer mouth agape, still blushing. Then he clears his throat, and speaks as casually as he can muster. "Yeah, no, it's cool, it's alright. That was cool, that wasss a-okay!" He grins at back at Steve, who doesn't seem to fully believe him. "You sure? I can imagine it was a bit much."

Eddie nods. "Yeah, seriously, it's cool. Just didn't see it coming is all." Eddie seems to be speaking truthfully, so Steve decides to believe him. "Okay, if you say so." Steve nods as well.

Eddie switches topics. "So, are you single?" Steve looks at him surpised, and pauses. "Uhh... Yes, very much so, actually." He admits blushing a bit. Eddie grins. "How come? I'd imagine you could make anyone fall in love with you, and I mean that both literally and figuratively."

Steve chuckles. "Romantic love spells don't work in my regards, I have to find love the normal way." Steve says rolling his eyes. "So I've remained lonely for a while now." Eddie hums. "Well... This might be a bit forward, but I think-" Eddie leans into Steve's space. "That I should maybe fix that." He then shrugs "But you tell me, Cupid. Are we compatible?"

Eddie looks at Steve expectantly, and Steve pauses to think. "... Yeah, I think we are." He says smiling a bit. They're first date happens just a couple days later.

[ser-jorah-the-andal]

And now, his watch has ended

Her knight lies on top of his funeral pyre, in the snow and the muck, and grief and rage fights in her soul as Vhagar and Caraxes did above the Gods Eye. 

That is not where you belong, Ser. You belong next to me, Ser!

Her legs are leaden as she takes one unsteady step in front of the other towards her knight, her protector, her Jorah.

A sob leaves her heart through her lips at the sight of him, dead and cold. His eyes are closed and she will never again see their blue, never read them as a book, never have them look at her the way they did, the way no other eyes ever did.

This can not be where our story ends, Ser. Please, awake! Please! 

He does not. He is gone, and with him, the road not taken. I thought there was time. I always thought there was time. But the sand had slipped its very last grain through the hourglass, none left to spill. Turn it back, let me choose again a road in which he lives. One in which we still have time. Please! 

The Gods are not listening. Or if they are, they have no care for her pleas. 

Her lips press to his forehead wishing she had done so when blood ran through his flesh. When he could feel her kiss. The flesh that was full of life not long ago is now cold and gray, and the coldness in him moves from her lips into her, into what’s left of her heart. She lets her lips linger there. She wants the cold and the numbness it brings. She wants to feel nothing at all. She wants to feel every single slash, cut and tear the sight of him marks her soul with.

What do I do with all this I am feeling? With all the sorrow, the pain, the… love? You’ve carried it for the both of us for so long, and now, I feel it. I finally feel it! And it is so heavy, Ser, like a great rock pressing on my chest, squeezing the breath from me. How can I carry it alone, now that you are gone? How, Ser?

He does not speak. His lips will never move again, His mouth will never call her ‘my queen’, ‘Khaleesi’, ‘friend’, ‘love’. The great silence is upon his lips and upon her ears, and it's the loudest she has heard it.

---- A deleted scene from Breath of eternity on your lips

[i-am-deeply-poem]

“In case you’re listening”

I tried to catch your eyes but they were stuck inside your head

I tried to sneak a glance, but it was loud as hell instead

So these days I keep my head down and feed that little dread

Growing bigger by the moment, because I keep it so well fed

I am imperceptible to the naked eye

So small in my own mind, invisible guy

Like a gnat upon the hourglass just watching sand

Because I am so much smaller than the God that I cannot begin to truly understand

I know there is a plan, looking back it’s plain to see

But I loathe myself and that God for not seeing fit in me

To give to the selfish demon what it wants, despite lacking results, and despite impunity

How I wish I could whip and punish this wretched creature inside of me

Tried to starve it out with everything I had available, but really I indulged its gluttony

Embarrassed to be ashamed, and awash with apathy

God, I’d really like to trust you, but I’m terrified of what you might do to me

I know you know best, through and through, completely

But I’m wrapped in flesh, and every day it does its best to defeat me

There is a wire running down the center of my spine

There is fear trapped inside like claws of metal cage, it strips me of faith in the divine

There is a thorn in my heart, I am embittered to despair

And I can’t see a way for anything that’s inside me to ever be repaired

I’ve been told that if I submit, and let your spirit in, things could be restored

But I worry of unclean spirits, wayward demons feeling bored

I know you could complete me like no other person could

But God I’m so afraid, because it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve misunderstood

Who’s to say one is more right than the other?

Who’s to say I’m not a spotted lamb being led to slaughter?

What say you?

I wonder as I write this

What is true?

I hope that you will right this.

Oh sure, I’ve believed in a higher power

But it’s always been a woman, far away, wrapped in the embrace of a stony tower

Every time a different one, but always with the same name

“Unavailable” like a singsong dirge of a refrain

“I am a dog” I tell myself, to remind me

To keep in check the bad habits that I know divide me

God I don’t want to be me, so please change me

Make me what you see in me, and what I can be

Or for love of you, just hide me.

I am so tired, I have fought so long

Damn near expired, young in age, ancient in wearied withered spirit

Every night to fall asleep, I murmur the same song

“God please end the suffering, or give me your strength to endear it”

Gifts of spirit come slowly, and through pain

Real life is not real, or so it’s been made plain

I regret everything, God I am so sorry

Please don’t reject me, don’t abandon me, once again I am so sorry.

[catsafarithewriter]

Are you still taking asks, if so Protective Baron

A/N: Here's a secret: I'm always up for taking asks ;) I pondered on this, and wasn't sure if you were thinking more self-sacrificing protective or angry protective, so I guess it'll be a surprise ;) enjoy!

x

"I know I have said this many times over the years, old friend," Toto says softly, "but this is the most reckless thing you've ever done."

The Bureau is quiet – too quiet – and so there's no way for Baron to miss Toto's gentle warning. Even the mantelpiece clock is silent, its second hand frozen a moment before the hour.

Baron tears his gaze away from Haru's still form, lifeless, but not dead – not yet, not if he has anything to say about it – laid across the sofa. He listens out for a breath that never comes. "Can you blame me?" he asks.

"It's not a matter of blame," the old crow Creation replies. "It's a matter of what else you're going to lose in the attempt."

"I'm not going to lose her," Baron snaps.

Toto and Muta exchange glances, and the unspoken agreement between them unnerves Baron more than any raised voice.

"Baron," Muta offers, uncharacteristically softly – like a mourner at a funeral, Baron thinks, and then discards the thought angrily, "this is kinda out of our hands. Death came for her – literally, with the bones and the scythe and the hourglass..."

"We've faced bad odds before."

"Not these kinds of odds," Toto says.

"We have time–"

"Time is very much the one thing we do not have." Muta gestures across to the desk. "Look at her hourglass, Baron! The only reason the last grain of sand hasn't already fallen is because you've pulled some fancy-schmancy time-freezing trick with the Sanctuary, but that ain't a solution!"

"It'll break the Sanctuary," Toto warns. "You can't put that kind of strain on this place for long."

"Then I'll save her before it gets to that point!" Baron retorts. He paces the Bureau, trying to look anywhere but that fateful hourglass.

It's an insultingly simple affair, too simple for the value it holds, and only contains a single speck of sand – suspended moments from falling. The handful of sand it had first arrived with, before Baron had been driven to such physics-breaking extremes, had each vanished as they fell through the upper glass. It sits atop his desk, still and quiet and ominous.

"It's not your fault," Toto says in the awful, unnatural silence. "What's happened to her... you had no way of knowing."

"Yeah, how could you have known being so close to a Creation world and its magic would be toxic to a human?" Muta adds. "It's not like either of you ever got a manual on this stuff. And Haru – she never let it slip to any of us."

To stay with him, Baron thinks. Because she would have known that he would have barred the Sanctuary doors from her if he'd had any inkling of the damage it was doing. Because in her heart-first recklessness, she would rather have risked it than walk away from the Bureau.

From him.

"She's not going to die," he says, and there is steel in his voice. "I won't let her."

"With all due respect," Toto says carefully, "I don't think Death is asking your permission."

"Then I'll just have to make sure he listens." He gathers up his top hat and his cane, throwing a sorry smile to his friends. "She's not dying," he promises. "Not today." And he steps out into the Sanctuary courtyard.

Out here, time resumes its steady march, the air alive in a way it had been lacking in the Bureau. He approaches a cloaked figure, their face veiled in shadows which give the impression of a skull. In one bony hand, a scythe rests.

"Have you come to your senses?" Death asks. "Will you relinquish the mortal?"

Baron stares up to the hood, to the empty abyss where eye sockets lie hollow in place of irises and pupils. "You're not having her."

A rumble rolls through Death. "Her time has run out, Creation. At best, you have bought yourself a goodbye, but mark my words, it is a goodbye."

"There must be a way. There always is."

"I am the one constant," Death replies. "Once the sands of her hourglass have run their course, they cannot be renewed nor returned." The hood inclines in a way which could almost be an apology. "Her time is up, Creation."

Baron's heart beats an unfamiliar staccato; a heady mixture of grief and love runs riot in his veins.

"Can they be traded?"

He feels Death's eyeless sight turn on him. "What?"

"The sand," Baron says. "You said it could not renewed or returned – but can it be given from another hourglass?"

"Gifted," Death amends. "It must be willingly given from one's own hourglass, but you, Creation, cannot."

"I must have an hourglass. Every living thing has an hourglass, you told us, and I live."

"Indeed," Death concedes, "but yours," and he sweeps an hourglass out from the recesses of his cloak, "is a Creation's."

The hourglass before Baron has a wooden frame, carved with intricate leaves, and the glass possesses an almost iridescent sheen – like his own stone-cut eyes. But it is the contents which is the strangest of it all.

There is sand within, but it is frozen in place, the grain fused together in an almost glassy fashion.

"You are an immortal," Death says. "You can no more portion out a fraction of your lifespan, than you can halve eternity. It's all," Death intones, "or nothing."

"Then take my all."

The bony hand tightens around the strange hourglass. "You understand what that will mean for you."

"I understand enough," Baron says, and he does. He understands that Haru will live. That's all he has to understand. "Give her my time. All of it."

Death looks to him with something that might be pity. The skeletal fingers dig into the glass. Cracks spiral out.

"Then so be it."

The hourglass shatters.

And in the Bureau, Haru wakes.

[thinplacesradio]

a field of white, three-bladed wind turbines at night, seen through a car's windshield. deep blue sky. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[021] THE BALANCE. A CALLER FEELS WISTFUL. THE HOST WATCHES WINDMILLS.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] 

I’m coming to you awed from my studio, which is what I like to call this silent, endless field of windmills I’ve found myself at the foot of. I am smaller even than the dot at the center of the blades. Every second, they blink red, then go dark again. Red. Black. Red. Black. There. It’s like they’re all breathing together, or all looking out for something, a hundred eyes opening in unison.

Something is beginning to spin them off in the distance, coming this way. I don’t feel a breeze. The night air is still and empty. But something has them shuddering and turning, faster and faster, moving through the herd like a swarm of biting flies.

So… what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Are you getting help from the other side?

Are you looking for something small?

Are you seeing someone across the street that no one else can see?

When the veil between worlds is thin, we get closer than ever to the strange and the unexplained - but also to each other. Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

I am feeling particularly wistful this evening, and wondering if time itself has lost its balance. Maybe, just maybe, there is something out there - smaller than we think it is. 

[click] 

You’ve got me wistful over here, too, caller – next door to you in the neighborhood of the cosmos.

I don’t think time has a balance – or, if she does, not one that I will ever understand.

[steel guitar - eerie, curious music begins]

There is no real moment where the hourglass is balanced. A grain of sand doesn’t suspend itself in midair. The next one is always falling behind it. We never have the present moment. And yet, the present moment is all we ever have.

Time doesn’t need to hold steady. She passes. Sometimes slowly, and sometimes relentlessly, but she never pauses, not once. There is life to live. There is rot to progress. There is hair to gray and water to flow and billboards to peel and bleach white. Even if you lose track of her, she never loses track of you. Well. Of most of us.

We’re all one of those little grains of sand, caller. Everything big is made up of something smaller, and smaller, and smaller. The windmill field is each windmill, and each blade, and each atom of metal, and each person who welded it together in the factory, who loaded its parts onto the train that would bring it across the country to this place, who worked the machinery to piece it all together. And each of those people is every moment they’ve ever been through, and every person they’ve ever loved, and every mistake they’ve ever made, and every bright thing that’s captured their interest or their ire.

Am I making any sense, listeners? Maybe not. I’ll try again. The big things are hard to touch. We let them pass through us and then remember how it felt. We keep the big things in the small things, because the small things are what we have. But that’s good. That makes them easier to hold on to.

I’m here. So are you. All the impossible things exist anyway. And thank God for that.

[click]

[a swarm of creatures]

[click] 

The windmill above me is creaking to life. There’s still no wind, but I can feel something moving, trying to settle around me. The red lights are flashing quicker, now, uneven. There’s a pattern to them that I can’t understand. I think they’re speaking, in whatever way they can, but they aren’t speaking to me. The invisible swarm passes right by me, and around me, but it doesn’t settle – except for the brush of one small animal-insect-something that does not have a taxonomy that lands on the back of my hand, for just a second. I feel chitin or scales or feathers or fur. And then it’s gone, and everything, including the windmills, is still again.

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do. As always, our number is 717.382.8093. That’s 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by Kent. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme, by Miles Morkri, and Unearthed by Miles Morkri. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪(717) 382-8093. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

grey november

I walked in the rain today

as usual I tried not to think of you

as usual I failed and talked to you in my mind

the yellow grasses were long in the meadow

I felt how the wet made my skirts

so heavy and uncomfortable on my legs

as the fabric reminded me the conditions

rain and earth tend to make when blended

I found a way to knot it higher

I loved to imagine that every roll of thunder

held the rhythm and tone of your voice

we les misérables and our tigers

it always feels like something is coming

I am impatient for something

I can't quite grasp or dream

that frustrates me

I used to be able to pluck my future

from the threads of fate I could see

in the patterns of my environment

I feel so blind now

my name means that god is my judge

but I've always seen god as a prism

I suppose that's why I loved the idea

of household gods and how they represented

the true alchemy of our hearts

a pantheon to choose from

or an ear to pray to when you

were confused or struggling in certain topic

then again I've always kind of

felt like I was drowning

and when I prayed it just brought

more water into my mouth

gasping into my lungs to get

the job done faster I suppose

drowning often has one intended outcome

then again you can be saved

with a hand's press to the heart

and a kiss to refill your lungs

with the breath of gods

as it is I have plenty of breath

I've learned how to listen to my emotions

I've learned how to be honest

even if I disappoint someone

or reject someone

sometimes I wonder what I would do now

if like in the past the consequences of my honesty

was some kind of dismissal or flavor of violence

like the rain I learned how to diffuse myself

fall into whatever reality I was told

believe everybody but myself

and at night me and my heart

would write about it in secret notebooks

I was sure I'd die if I ever let anyone see

my secret colorful thoughts of chaos

that were often such a spark of rage

for everyone around me

but what about now?

who am I now?

have I not escaped everything?

survived every dangerous dynamic?

did I not craft and build the very things I longed for

as a child into the hearts of my children?

they are exactly who they are meant to be

and scoff at anyone who tries to tell them differently

how do I build that in myself?

I think I started but I have to finish it

no one tells you how to finish it

can I just be finished now and learn as I go?

in my mind you were laughing at me

watching me ramble my lovely nonsense

touching each tree I encountered

telling you that it is at where the trunk

and earth meet that's called a union

that it where the heart of a tree is

that's why they are the best place to read

books are the children of trees

made of their vital essence of wood

united in the thoughts of humanity

I suppose that's why we still know

they are magic when you hold them

absorb the information from their pages

thought some do the same with

their pocket stones and electricity

it's the same but it's different

like how I miss you

and know the whispers of divine timing

the heart is impatient compared to divinity

because each heartbeat is a grain of sand

in an hourglass we want to fill with

as much joy as our human psyche is able to grasp

the rain stopped and so did my daydream

you were gone again as in my reality

nonetheless I walked on

[clover-writes-poetry]

"promise"

i spent so much time with your head in my lap i forgot what it felt like when it wasn’t there 

maybe i should’ve held onto the wisps of you that were stuck to my sweater and kept them a box inside my heart 

i think i’ll be forever chasing the feeling i left on your back patio two years ago in some version of the past 

the last time i really slept was in your sheets staring up at the constellation of your face  

i find an excuse to bring you up at every chance i get 

mentioning you to the cashier at 7/11, telling my grandma about your latkes 

even when your jaw slipped from my fingers like sand from an hourglass 

and under the cover of night i still listen to songs you like and wish i could banish myself to go live in the field behind the graveyard 

among the skeletons and the dead flowers 

do you ever think about the flowers i gave you that sat on your windowsill for 3 months? 

sometimes i wonder if you look at them while you brush your hair in the morning in front of the photos of us stuck to your mirror 

almost identical to the ones on the corkboard in the kitchen 

breakfast at 7 am, your voice in my ear, the rush that came with boiling water, our favorite plates on the drying rack 

i miss you when you’re next to me and i wish i could reach out to tell you that 

imaginary fingers choke the back of my neck and i settle for watching you make dinner instead 

i loved it when you cooked, i told you that once 

you shrunk away from my voice and went back into the kitchen  

but i could see your face light up in the reflection of the white tile 

when you came home after work with a blue toaster i knew i was done for 

a week later i found us teacups on someone's doorstep 

we put on a record we didn’t care about, and you had your hair tied up in the kitchen 

making a pasta dish we’d had 100 times 

i poured the wine into our mugs, toasting to your hips as i raised my fork to yours 

in the dining room i’d eat your weapons first because i have always been disarming  

with your armor gone maybe you would let it be me who got to hold your hand under the table as if someone was watching us  

we said grace for our own religion and when i opened my eyes your hand was resting on my plate 

that night i put up a shrine to your name in the corner of our living room 

you laughed when i made heart cookies and they turned out as misshapen lumps  

pressing a kiss into my cheek you assured me they were just as good  

i used the nice jam we bought at the farmers market in midtown  

lines blurred between love and need as we spent all weekend writing the laws of our new country  

were you laughing when we walked around the city for three hours trying to find your favorite ramen place? 

i don’t remember but in the photo sitting on my dresser you were smiling, mouth full of noodles, eyes bright with joy 

when i signed the check, you made fun of how i write my ys and i snaked an arm around your waist in a way that seemed almost overfamiliar 

months later i stand in our bedroom door and pretend that i know a thing about love and anger and you 

i think this is what they wrote about, when i read that love is falling 

because i don’t know where the floor is 

because i know it’ll hurt when we hit the ground 

at one point i promised myself that i could be a person without you 

[i broke that promise 3 months and 2 years later when i lay on the cold tile floor and cried]

[dimensionalthoughts]

Light Wounds

Life is ephemeral

Fluttering like a fugitive of fallen grains

Tunneling through time and building

On dunes of memory

Subtracting from the future

And yet always, always adding to our past

Banks of Pepin’s drift wood and sea glass

Whiskey bottles and lilac petals

Chains and silk

Solfeggio beats and screams

Air and stream water

Volcanic lava and sequoias

Brim abundantly

Held within my fleshy body

Gifted as pillars at birth

An hourglass timer

Chronos flips himself

Starts at first breath

Life begins and thunder rumbles

Birds sing too

Trees dance

Thunder rumbles

Time passes

Crystal speckles illuminate

Drawing in the lightning

My sand and soul savagely fuse

Fulgurites galavant into a galvanized frenzy

- -Add fossils to my time’s temple

If you would

But please

let it be me who discovers the depth of them

Alchemy aches within my altered chemistry

Until I but whimper —

One speck of sand had dropped

no theatrical markings of time

Lightning strikes just as transiently

The ether crackles as if taunting time

It arouses my vision

Through my third

Thunder rattles through my bones

And I am changed

I collect my sea glass and explore my new scars

Time continues to trickle

And I plant seeds in my petrified light

The whiskey bottles and chains

Get strung up into the air

With drift wood

Wind chimes of my gatherer’s pain

I dye my silk with lilac

And I caress the screams

Until OM is home

How many grains had gone from me

Since I last left my temple?

I extend tendrils of healing light

And blooming flowers of time

To the ether beyond my own sense of frame

Love answers me in waves

Gentle breaks and rough shoves

Whirlpools of golden light

Pepin is glittering with diamonds

And I see it now

We all have lightning strikes

Somewhere in the temples of our time

Transcendent of the sand’s fall

My word given right there

To the creator

I am forged by your rebellion

The act unseen by anyone

And yet i kneel

To the traumas that rendered me changed

Pray upon them with reverent rose

Or wintergreen’s breath

Tidy up your own temple’s trickling sand

And reach out with tendrils

There are those waiting to feel your love

Me too

Listen for the wind chimes

And flow

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hi Ange!!! ✨

Ahh jumping on this game train because this ask game is so cool. Stealing some titles from songs, what would you do for “War of Hearts”, “Don’t Go Insane”, or “Meant to be Yours”? (You can choose one or all, I just couldn’t decide since they all sounded interesting!)

I hope you’ve been well, I feel like I haven’t stopped by in forever 😩 I got really busy all of a sudden, but think of you often!! I got a new job that I’m really nervous but so excited about! I’ve always wanted to be a bartender bc I think they’re so cool, so I’m excited but it’s also a lot especially dealing with people that aren’t always the nicest. But I have terrible terrible social anxiety, so I think it’s kinda helping me work through that in a way even if i’m kinda being thrown into the fire every now and then. 😵‍💫

How are you doing? I hope life has been treating you kindly! And that you’re getting a break every now and then. How is work? Please stay safe and healthy, much much love to you, Ange!! 🩶🩶🩶

-Hannah Montana anon.

Hey, love!

I will pop my response under a cut, as it will be a long one!

For the ask game:

War of Hearts - I'd do an angsty Aemond fic for this one. Aemond is deeply in love with his wife, but goes off to war and in the ensuing chaos, also falls in love with Alys. His wife finds out via correspondence from Daemon and is heartbroken. Aemomd dies before he ever gets a chance to explain that he loved them both and never meant to hurt her. She travels to Harrenhal to seek answers from Alys and the pair learn they aren't enemies, just victims of awful circumstances beyond their control.

Don't Go Insane - I would do an academic rivals Michael Gavey fic for this one - but completely one sided. A girl on Michael's course gets consistently better feedback and marks than him and it makes him irate, as he can't understand why. When he finally decides to confront her about it, she's unaware of who he even is, which annoys him even more.

Meant to Be Yours - I'd do a Tom Bennett fic for this one. Tom is stationed on the HMS Exeter with the boyfriend of a girl he's been sleeping with and is secretly in love with. He has to watch as he receives letters from her, while she's also writing to him too, and him having to listen to her boyfriend talk about how he plans to propose when they return slowly makes him more and more jealous.

That's so exciting about the new job, congratulations! I'm sure you'll do great. I am wishing you all the luck!

This week is kind of a nightmare for me - we have a house inspection tomorrow, so I have been busy preparing for that. I also have to go into the office on Thursday, and we're going on holiday on Sunday, so I feel like I'm watching all of the sand rapidly trickle out of my hourglass. I'm feeling slightly overwhelmed and not enjoying not having any time for myself! Trying to find the time and motivation to write is hard.

Trying to look ahead to the holiday though, and how fun that will be! Plus things will be considerably calmer once we get home.

Sending lots of love to you! Let me know how the new job is going xoxo

[chaosangel767]

One More Month

Pairing: MC x Comte 

Type: NSFW 

Warning: marking, kissing, cunnilingus, vaginal penetration, first time sex 

WC: 1340

Made for @crystal13unny for @ikemenlibrary gift exchange. I hope you enjoy darling ^-^

Comte watches Mc from his balcony as she hangs up laundry, her smile competing in radiance to the sun. He doesn't realize how long he stands, until one of his hourglasses makes a noise, flipping over as more sand starts to fall. Startling himself out of his thoughts he frowns. 

How had she stolen so many thoughts? She was just an innocent soul he was supposed to watch. But over the course of a few days, he finds her radiance bringing a new light to the mansion. One that he can not imagine living without. But how can he convince her to stay?

The days seem to fly by, Comte finding every reason to be with the visitor. Social events, festivals, trips to town, Mc is showered in love, always hiding her blush and growing feelings away. The little dates, the subtle touches, the way he keeps her by his side, it is clear to everyone in the mansion, but the two who are participating in it what is going on. 

A silent sigh falls from the man as he watches her gracefully move about the ballroom in the dress he bought for her. He watches as she laughs with the other residents, a pang of jealousy shooting through his heart. Does she not realize how much she affects him? How in love he is with her? She spins in Leonardo’s arms, but her gaze meets him and she smiles, soon leaving Leonardo’s company to walk over to him. 

“You look lonely” she murmurs as she stands next to him and he looks down at her. 

“I am not anymore” he can’t help his eyes as he admires her neck, her figure in the dress, he is trying to keep his gentlemanly side present, but he needs her. He can feel her gaze on him, but as he looks at her, she blushes, looking away. 

“Ma Cherie-” Comte, reaches out to her, brushing his hand along her cheek. He can feel her flush and she looks down, only feeling it growing. 

“Excuse me, I need some fresh air” she murmurs and he removes his hand, offering his arm instead. 

“May I escort you?” He asks and Mc slips her arm through his, allowing him the small pleasure of walking her outside. The moonlight does little to Comte but accentuate her beauty even more and feelings continue to stir in his heart as he watches her. His emotions falter when she looks up at him so innocently. 

His fingers find hers and he gently holds her hand as they sit on the bench, MC is happy for the warmth emanating from the man and she seems to nestle closer to him, feeling safe. She knows she needs to go home soon, but a thought has been weighing heavily on her mind, and she finally gets the nerve to voice it. 

“Comte?” She looks up at him, waiting for him to catch her gaze before continuing. 

“Yes Ma Cherie?” He urges, noticing the way she seems to get shy, overthinking what she wants to say. 

“I know I’m supposed to go home in two days, but I was wondering if it would be a bother to stay longer? I  would still help Sebastian, but there is so much in this world I want to explore, and I don’t want to leave the mansion yet.” Comte listens to her request, struggling to keep the smile off his face. He was hoping she would stay, but he would never have mentioned it to her. 

“Of course you can stay MC, I’m sure Sebastian has gotten used to the extra hands and my other residents seem to love having you around. As long as you are happy, I would be glad for you to stay.” 

The extension is given, Comte and MC spending more and more time together, the more months she stays. Every month she asks him for an extension, and every month he asks for a reason why, but she never lets him see the true reason why, too afraid that it will fall apart. 

One night both are in Comte’s office, Mc is reading while Comte works, a comfortable silence falling over them.

"Ma Cherie?" Comte’s voice startles the girl and her eyes shoot up to him. He stands up and goes to sit next to her on the sofa.

"Are you okay? You have been staring at the same page for some time now?" 

“Yeah, I am okay. I was just wondering if I can stay another month” MC asks shyly and Comte takes a deep breath. 

“Of course Ma Cherie, you can stay as long as you want, but is there any particular reason you would like to stay?” He quietly holds his breath. 

“N-n-oo not really” Comte doesn’t miss the flush across her cheek and the way she hides her face. His heart starts to race and he can’t help himself. 

“MC” He tilts her chin up, his lips only a breath away from hers. Comte just watches her breath leave her lips, the anticipation rising. Her tongue comes out and swipes her lips and Comte can’t resist anymore. He finally connects their lips in a slow kiss, leaving room for MC to pull away. His heart is praying that he isn’t misreading the situation. MC surprises him when her hands find his neck and keep him close. Comte pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. 

“Comte-” MC breaks the kiss, a smile on her face, as she looks at him. 

“Is there a reason that you want to stay?” He asks again, and MC smiles at him, pulling his lips back to hers. 

“You” She breathes, pulling him into another kiss. His hands find her waist and the book falls forgotten to the floor. 

“Do you realize how long I have loved you?” Comte’s voice is quiet as he speaks against her lips, his eyes searching hers for answers and she shakes her head. 

“I was scared you could never love a human like me, but I wanted to stay near you anyway” She finally admits and Comte’s eyes grow big. He lays her back on the sofa, his hands roaming her body. 

" I apologize, I can not hold back any longer" Comte murmurs in her ear as his lips trail along her neck. MC opens her legs slightly, a shy smile, but desire filled eyes.

"I don't want you to" she whispers, allowing the nobleman ample access to her body, she starts stripping his top half as he lavishes marks across her skin. He works his way down her body, his lips kissing a trail to her core. 

"Fuck, Comte" the second his tongue trails along her heat, she arches, desire pooling along her core. Her hands find his silky blonde hair as she uses it to keep him close to her. Cries leave her lips as the coil in her core builds and Comte slips his fingers in her. With a cry of his name, pleasure crashes over Mc and her eyes close as she rides out her pleasure. 

Comte withdraws once MC has ridden out her orgasm, his hands going to finish stripping himself. Mc watches entranced as Comte strips, silently admiring his lean, sculpted body. She is quick to reach out and pull Comte down for a kiss, her mouth searching for his. 

Comte gently lines himself up with her entrance, pushing himself in slowly, barely able to stop himself from groaning at the tight fit. Once he is fully sheathed, he grabs tightly to Mc’s hips, and pulls back. He feels her nails clutching to his back as he slams back in. Her cries of his name grow louder the tighter he winds her. Both are lost, whispering each other's name as they chase their releases. 

Mc falls first, clenching so tightly around Comte’s length that he can no longer resist, releasing in her.  He kisses her, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her into the deserted thermae. 

"Thank you for staying"

[liz-is-short]

Comments and Questions about Encanto - Part 2

Triangles as the shapes in Bruno's cave, literally everywhere,

oH, THE SIDES OF THE HOURGLASS

Things crack more when things start to get placed together… why???

ABUELAAA AHHHH

Why does abuela always get angry at Mirabel. Im sorry miss girl here doesn't have a gift

"WE DONT TALK ABOUT BRUNOOOO BUT-" - love that s how the sing starts

"Im sorry mi vida go onnnn"- supportive HUSBAND <3

"I associate him with the sound of falling sand" is that because of the sand in his room or does she associate everyone with sound?

How does Camilo know more about Bruno when him and Mirabel are the same age. I really do believe in the idea that he saw Bruno in the kitchen getting a snack as a kids and freaked out

Casita helping Mirabel hide the vision when Agustin walks in makes my heart squeeze

Agustin freaking outttt and puts the prophecy into his pocket even though we all know something WILL happen

The little "hmm" thing that Dolores does. Makes me wonder how she picked that up and OH- maybe she does that to signal she was listening, or maybe she does that when she hears something that makes her uncomfortabe in some way????

The eye contact between Dolores and Mirabel added tension but it was also kinda funny in an uncomfortable way. y'know?

Camilo's gift being affected because of his mood- we see this several times. Pepa does this too. It doesn't have to be a negative emotion though (will mention later)

"Camilo fix your face" Felix said that so casually and i dont know if thats because hes trying to protect that families image with guests over or if its becasue it happens all the time

Pepa petting her hair for "clear skys" kinda like this because shes not just emotionally trying to clear things, but also with her gift (definitely want to talk about her emotions and gift later)

Mariano was going to do a song for Isabela and thats literally so sweet

Mariano is definitely a mama's boy

THOSE ANIMALS ARE SO MISCHIEVOUS AND ARE SEEN STEALING THINGS EARLIER FROM AGUSTIN IN THE MOVIE

Dolores covering her ears while yelling

Sensitive ears???

Agustin looking after his daughter <3 (I love him and felix, who im convinced are best bros)

Mirabels glasses are green like Bruno's eyes being green, AND PROPHECY- WAIT

COLOR THING AGAIN??? (dude, im obsessed with colors representing things)

parkour my dude. - love that there is a hole their thats he constantly jumping over and never fixed

Probably why Bruno is so fit- or that Ju

Camilo helping his mom- mama boy- which im obsessed with cause hes seen as a sarcastic jokester but he really has a sweet side AH

Literally triangles everywhere on Bruno

Bruno things include the folowing:

Knocking on wood

Salt

Sugar

Not stepping on cracks

BRUNO LEFT FOR MIRABELS SAKE- oh gosh that hurts like a butt cheek on a stick

Antonio just meeting his uncle and being like "yeah, use my room. Rats told me about it lols"

Back to the familia-

"I was thinking OF MY DAUGHTER" one of my favorite lines

we must protect our family- oh gosh, Abuela, pls look at what is happening. Mirabel is a PART of the family.

Sand- time- future? (sorry if this already made sense but i didn't get it until now)

Am I fighting or hugging??? ISABELA???

Bruno being afraid of his own mother hurts ( but me too Bruno, I'd be terrified of abuela)

"The family was happy, abuela was happy." NEVER did we here a "i was happy" from isabela

Isa <3

What else can she do? Without having to be prefect she wants something true not perfect

The amount of faith Mirabel has in Isabela and her control of the plants amazes me- CAUSE THEYRE LITERALLY ZOOMING THROUGH THE SKY ON A VINE AT ONE POINT

Best sister hyper upper goes to mirabel

ABUELA NOT LISTENING TO MIRABEL MAKES ME GO GRRRR

the cracks started with you (mirabel)

Bruno left cause of you (mirabel)

Youre (mirabel) hurting the family

I will never be good enough for you? Will I? No matter how hard I try… no matter how hard any of us tries. WE ALL LOVE THIS FAMILY. THE MIRACLE IS DYING BECAUSE OF YOU (not exact quote but you get the picture)

Mirabel not having a power to rely on BUT STILL GETS THE CANDLEEE

Casita helping her to the end

Bruno not being shoved out by Casita unlike the rest of them??? Hmm??? why? WHY???

CASITA <3

Casita waving GOODBYE- im sorry but that hurts...

Dolores helping abuela is so bittersweet

Everyone trying to find Mirabel and even the towns people knowing about this

Abuela never being able to process her trauma HURTS ME TOO

Two Ourguitas

THE LOVE PEDRO HAD FOR HIS WHOLE FAMILY

OH GOSH *slams keyboard* pls dont finish reading this one if death and imagining horrible deaths make you uncomfortable- ---------------------HE WAS NOT SHOT BUT PROBABLY HAD HIS HEAd CHOPPED OFF BY THE MACHETE

im sobbing rn

I can finally see--- open your eyes

COLOR OMG

MIRACLE IS GOLDEN

SO IS BUTTERFLY

aND THE CANDLE

The admitting of brokenness makes me feel broken

Mirabel loving her family no matter what she went through is so UGHH- pain

Bruno GOING BACK FOR MIRABEL TO STAND UP FOR HERRRR GO TÍO BRUNOOOO

ABULEA STILL HAD HER WEDDING RING ON- I just realised that

I realized that stars is mentioned several times in this movie. Like during Waiting on a miracle mirabel says something like "shine like all of you shine" and she mentions something like this again in the last song of this movie.

abuela singing in this song <3

BRUNO AND HIS SISTERS REUNION

The town helping and giving back <3

Isabela and Luisa incorporating a part of their songs into the last song makes me happyyyy

Marianos "I see you" really shook my heart BECAUSE THINGS LIKE THIS IS MENTIONED A LOT AND IT MAKES ME THINK THAT HE REALLY DOES SEEM TO LIKE HER FOR HER AND NIT CAUSE SHE IS A MADRIGAL AND YEAH

...sorry for all caps... but-

THEM HAVING A DOORKNOB TO GIVE TO MIRABEL AND ANTONIO WALKING HER TO THE DOOR JUST LIKE SHE DID FOR HIM AHHH

"I see… me. All of me." She sees her worth guys SHE SEES IT

CasITA WAVING "hola Casita" *heart melts*

Isabela have an indigo indigo dress with colors instead of purple. She is showing her true colors- wait- COLORS AGAIN BRO

Luisa getting the break the queen DESERVES

The family photo not being perfect just WARMS MY HEART- They have so much love, and aren't just being focused on their gifts.

I love things about family so much that my heart aches because of it- *sobs joyfully*

AH, END OF THE MOVIE AND IM STILL OBSESSED