#a lot of it is cold comfort. but at least i am regaining some faith in humanity. not all of it. i will never again have all of it.

[seraphic-sibyl]

I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Sore (Revenant x Reader)

Theme: Revenant comforts (in his weird way) and helps a reader who is tired and sore from a lot of strenuous work and activity, coming down from a manic high. Part of a series.

Warnings: Mentions of mania, threats of violence, bodily pain.

Reader Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is non-gendered this chapter, this can be read in the context of romance or not.

Writing Notes: Reject leg damage, ascend to Octane. I guess this is a series because I have no chill.

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"Ah, little skinsuit, you're back." Revenant seems genuinely surprised by your appearance in his doorway. You had wearily limped all the way back to his private room from the volunteer breakroom on other side of the Apex compound. He had, indeed, mentioned something about being willing to help you again previously, but just in case, you had an excuse for showing up.

"I brought you a water." You hold up a water bottle, your arm shaking from exhaustion. A lot of the Legends would have volunteers run water, drinks, and snacks to their rooms from the kitchen and cafeteria, so it was decent cover in case he didn't actually mean it before. After all, you were right at the start of a manic episode then and weren't thinking straight last time. I mean, you asked a killing machine for help, outright, with no thoughts of what that might lead to. But you lived! And he was oddly nice, despite your brazen request.

"When was the last time you slept?" there is something a bit off about his vocals. Genuine concern, perhaps? Or maybe you are imagining it. "You know I don't drink water, right? It's tasteless and I don't need it, so there's no point in me drinking it."

Your gut sinks. You never even considered that, but when you think about it, the only runs you ever made to his room were for various alcohols, usually hard liquors. You should have just brought something from his prior requests, but you were so confident in water as something everyone enjoyed...

"Sit down. You're not answering me quickly enough to be reassuring." He motions to a small bench in his room with cushions situated in front of the television, which was broadcasting some of the highlights from the last match. You want to walk over, but you're too busy rubbing your eyes at the moment trying to fight back the fatigue. The water bottle slips out of your hands as they rub into your eyes for a moment, and as you jolt to try to catch it, you feel the soreness in your legs lock them... causing you to fall on right your face.

"So... I take it that it's been a while." He seems bemused, but you are too tired to be bothered by it. You just lay there, face down for a moment, absolutely and utterly exhausted. The water bottle steadily and slowly rolls away from you and towards where Revenant is sitting: at a computer desk to the right of the room, pushed up against the far wall.

He audibly sighs, and you hear nothing for a moment. Then you feel a single, metallic arm scoop under your belly and hoist you up like cattle. You feel the weight of your torso balance against the weight of your legs, sufficiently winding you as your hang by your diaphragm on his forearm. You stare blankly at the floor, blurring from your weary vision. He carries you to the cushioned bench, and places you down on it surprisingly gently. The cushions help keep the bench from being wholly uncomfortable as you slowly find yourself splayed out on it. You stay limp, letting your limbs fall where they will. He's right. You haven't slept in a while.

"Sorry..." You utter as he sits next to your pretend corpse non-chalantly. He's hunched forward, forearms resting on his knees, looking over you with notable interest. Your last manic episode was only just beginning to wear off, and you managed to hurt both your legs running around at full speed during it. Even worse, the mania kept you from sleeping last night, only getting in an hour and a half at best, which is always somehow worse than not sleeping at all. You were already drifting to sleep as your thoughts wander.

"Hey." You wake back up with a jolt at the feeling of a cool hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "Seriously, what kind of ship are they running in this place? Why are you so desperate as to come to me for help--twice?"

You move to sit up, and his hand drifts away. You should apologize and leave with the water. That would be best, right?

"I'm sorry for the disturbance." You say as you hobble to your feet.

"Bit late for that. Also, those legs aren't going to hold you up for long, your muscles are already quivering like a violin string against a bow." You loosely see him point to your legs through your blurry vision. He is right. They hurt really badly. They had been given a moment of rest and they are screaming to be given a longer reprieve.

"Sit."

"I'm sorry, I'll just be--"

"SIT." His growling command is absolute. You collapse onto the bench with no further protests. Your legs are still sore, whimpering in pain, but much better now that they aren't supporting any weight. You sit upright, but you feel your posture faltering rapidly as you begin to drift towards sleep.

Revenant stands up off the bench while picking up the runaway water bottle in a single, sweeping motion.

"This is fairly cold, was it originally frozen?" He towers over you intimidatingly.

"Yes, most Legends like cold water, so we are constantly defrosting frozen bottles throughout the day." You answer blankly.

"Good. So where are the frozen bottles?"

"In the mess hall kitchen, walk-in freezer B, on the left." His questions give you just enough mental focus to break through the fuzz of exhaustion for a moment. "Would you like me to retrieve you a frozen one instead?"

"No, it's fine, I'll go." He starts to turn to leave, but you speak up.

"Actually, only volunteers and staff are supposed to enter the kitchen area--"

"I go wherever the hell I want." He turns back to shoot you a glare. "Now get up, and lie down in that bed." He points to the surprisingly large bed immediately behind the bench, perched at perfect viewing angle from the droning television. "I don't sleep. Haven't touched it. Won't touch it. You might as well use it."

"Wait, I can't just--"

"You don't have a choice anymore. Now go." He turns and slides out the door, letting the hatch close behind him, but not before giving you one last dirty look for questioning his request.

You consider that it is technically a part of your volunteer duties to do as the Legends ask. Sure, you are allowed to deny any obviously bad faith requests, but nobody said you had to deny them. Plus, Revenant is probably the most mysterious, concerningly foreboding, and terrifyingly powerful Legend in the Games. Nobody would blame you for doing as he asks the moment he asks it, especially when every word he speaks oozes with a threatening aura. Most volunteers wouldn't even come to his room. You were just happy to take all their requests and deliver them yourself to get to see him for a few moments. Sure, you had to trade away a couple Fuze requests and Wraith requests to prioritize him, but everyone seemed intimidated enough that they came to you to trade well before even considering just making the delivery. You were known as the only volunteer who actually liked delivering Revenant's many requests, even when some of them required going above and beyond the normal snack or drink runs.

You manage to hobble yourself onto both legs, which are once again screaming for relief from your weight. With a couple of well placed limps, you make it to the edge of the bed. He really hasn't touched it. Not a single wrinkle in the cloth. Nothing is out of place. Pillows are fully fluffed and without craters from a resting head. You hesitate to ruin it, but you know you must.

You crawl into it, collapsing only a few inches from the edge you started on. It's so soft. They really spared no expense for the Legends' beds, apparently. You remember them getting remodeled and finding the bench to be an odd choice over a nice couch, but you didn't know they were outfitted with beds made of clouds. You wonder, what does Revenant do all night if he doesn't sleep? How boring must that be? Does he charge his chassis? Does he shut down? You think about what it must be like to shut down. Shutting down must be nice. Peaceful. Just being able to rest. Similar to sleep. If only...

• • •

You suddenly regain awareness of your surroundings. How long were you out? Are you still in bed? Why is it so dark? You lift your head a little and tilt it towards a skylight window on the ceiling. Your back is newly sore, and your neck protests being bent. It's night now. You've been asleep for at least five hours for it to be this dark. You begin to scan the surroundings just to be startled by the hulking mass sitting on the bed next to you. His eyes glow dimly, locked on to yours.

"Feel any better?" His vocalizations are a bit more hushed than usual. He may not be sure if you're fully conscious yet. To be fair, you're not sure you're fully conscious either. You want to answer, but you're paralyzed like a deer, staring into his optic LEDs. After a moment of uncertain silence, he reaches out and touches your shoulder lightly, bringing your mind back in focus.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to--!"

"Shut it. You slept like a corpse. Probably one of least entertaining sleepers I've met." Wait, he watches people sleep? "Although, to be fair, you might be much more restless on a normal night. Maybe this is like one of those pilot episodes that is just not up to the quality of the rest of the series." You noticeably shudder and pull away as you sit up to face him. "See, more of that would be better." You hold the sheet in front of you defensively, not that it would stop anything larger than an insect. "Cute." He pulls the sheet from your hand and it falls back to the mattress.

You can't help but feel a bit bothered by his inquisitive stare, now knowing it's been collecting data for hours without your knowledge. You lean away as you think about it, continuing to shudder, deciding that perhaps this Legend is still planning to dissect you at some point after all.

He relishes in your fear for a moment, but then swiftly moves to get up and walk to the kitchenette. He opens the freezer, unleashing a powerful light into the room for a moment, before pulling out a bottle and closing the door, taking the light with it.

"What hurts?" He grabs a towel from atop the freezer, wrapping the frozen water bottle completely.

You stutter for a moment, and then get it out:

"I hurt my legs pretty badly yesterday, as well as my back, apparently." You had just woken up to it sore and aching, unfortunately meaning that all that box lifting had finally caught up with you. You reached behind yourself to try to massage it, but you felt a cool compress push up against it. When did he get behind you? He didn't even make a sound.

"A sore back is the worst." Why was he doing this? Has he really taken some kind of liking to you? "Even Rampart takes pity on me and readjusts my spinal plates when they get misaligned." He rolled the covered, frozen water bottle up and down your spine, helping with the pain a bit. "I haven't met a skinsuit or simulacrum who simply walks off a bad back."

You felt bad. He shouldn't be helping you. Why was he even bothering with you? What compelled him to do or say any of this?

"Hey, don't hunch forward like that, it'll get worse." You snap to attention.

"S-sorry!" You let slip out of your mouth as his spare claw wraps around your left shoulder and pull you back against the bottle and into the correct posture.

"Anyways, I was about to ask... Where do they get off working you to the bone like this?"

"It's actually my fault. I haven't stopped working since the third season, the more you work the more interaction with the Legends you get, I wanted to make sure I got the best positions and shifts." You pause. "I should have taken time off the moment I started to get fidgety. I should have known I would do something stupid and inappropriate..." You trail off, realizing you're speaking things out loud that are better kept in your internal monologue.

"Well, you're not dead so far, but you're really damn close to Death now." Your spine was starting to relax and decompress, finally. "So, if you're working that hard, that means you definitely are a huge fan of one of these skinsuits... so, who is it? Season 3 you said, right?" He paused as you started to turn flush without his notice. "Octane doesn't suit you, you're slow and clumsy. Although, perhaps that's something to aspire to. It couldn't be Crypto, he's unimaginably boring. Wattson, though, I have noticed she has a lot of fans..." He was simply mumbling on. It didn't really matter why you started anymore, you already had a new favorite. "So, which one? I'll add 'em to my list of high priority targets, just for you." He pauses, awaiting an answer.

"You..." You say, as softly as you can.

"Repeat that. Louder." Did he hear you?

"You." You say it just loud enough to know he heard it this time. "You were my favorite the moment you joined," you pause, deciding if you should confess this, "especially after that stunt you pulled on live TV." You hated Forge like all the other volunteers after word spread around about how he treated Bangalore. He may have put on a decent façade for the camera, but clearly was a predator behind the scenes. When an abuser is backed by big money like Hammond Robotics had, they could freely abuse anyone without consequences. Money tends to shut people up, despite the victims. Your gut told you all you needed to know about Forge the moment you first saw him. Thankfully, it was also the last time you saw him. Even though the just side of you knew that Forge deserved some kind of trial, the more primal part of you was happy to see him gone. The justice system would have been rigged in his favor anyway.

Revenant was silent as you pondered. Shock? Disgust? Or just nothing to say? He wasn't one to be speechless.

"Well, not sure what kind of a psychopath you are, but your wanton lack of self-preservation is my favorite thing about you." Was he offended at your answer? He sounded humored. You panic a little and start to pull away, but get pulled backwards--all the way into his enveloping grapple.

His entire frame practically swallows yours. You peer up just to catch a glimpse of his face staring down menacingly at you. You instinctively start to ball up defensively, but he snags one of your legs before you can tuck it away behind your arms. He's strong. Disturbingly strong. Even for a mechanical amalgamation, his grip is unfetterable. You couldn't free your leg, and you knew there was no way you could squirm out of it.

"This hurts too, you said?" The bottle was pressed to your calf, and he applied steady pressure to the muscle to relieve the nerves and cramping. Why was he doing this? Didn't he just make a thinly veiled threat to kill you? "You should consider giving me the other leg too. Unless you're afraid I'm not going to give this one back." He mocks you, but honestly you aren't sure he is truly joking about taking your leg or not. He could, if he wanted. He's huge, strong, and apparently he can make blades from his mechanical hands. You shudder a bit at the thought that those same lethal hands are currently prodding at your calf muscle... He is actually fairly adept at relieving pain, oddly enough. You feel the pressure ebb away the soreness as it reaches relief. You knew a little about simulacrums, enough to know they were once human. Did he hurt himself a lot back then? How else would he know how to do this?

"Hey, I'll trade you." He releases your one leg, it actually feels a lot better. Just a bit of pressure in the right areas really calmed it down. He motions for the other, but you cower for a moment too long. "Give me your damn leg." You immediately relinquish it, carefully pulling back the newly relieved leg into your defensive ball stance, per the trade agreement. He proceeds to perform the same relief on the other leg as well.

"You know, normally when I'm asked for help, I get to kill something." His gaze remains locked on your leg. "Instead, you just tempt me and expect me not to. Now why would you do that, little skinsuit?" You lock on to his eyes, but they never meet yours. "You've got a death wish, as far as I can tell. I'll confess, I like that about you." You keep perfectly still and silent, trying to stay as small as possible. "You're playing a risky game. Can't say I get to play these games often, so I'm going to make the most of it." He gently releases your leg, now feeling better and relaxed. You pull it into your ball, finally completing the pathetic stance. His giant, clawed hand comes down to pet you on the head a little roughly. He could crush your whole skull, if he wanted. That is the primary message, laced with the subtle message that he won't do that, yet. A chill runs up your spine.

"Alright, I've made my decision." He's out of bed, taking the thawing bottle and towel back to the kitchenette.

"W-What?" You are very uncertain.

"It's fine, I'll have it taken care of. Now sleep. You haven't slept enough." Your spine curls a bit at the prospect of sleeping in the presence of this guy again. You start to get up to leave, but it's slow moving since you're still a bit iffy on your legs.

"It's okay, I have a bunk in the volunteer space I should get back to..." You trail off, meeting his gaze and causing you to freeze right before standing up. His yellow eyes seem brighter and more visceral than before, locking you into a stare down. You blink immediately, that's not a fight worth attempting. "...why?" You can't tell if you're pleading or hoping for a genuine answer. He turns away to look back into the blinding light of the open freezer for a moment.

"Go, if you want, but I'm only giving you five seconds." He doesn't turn to look at you, he just starts counting. "Five..." Should you go? "Four..." Would he come after you? "Three..." You don't want to go, actually. "Two..." You want to see where this goes. "One..." What else do you have to do, anyway? "Zero."

Revenant turns to meet your gaze, his eyes noticeably widening and dimming in the dark when he sees you still there. He probably knew you didn't move, after all he would have heard it, but he still seemed happy to see you there anyway.

"Now, sleep. I'll take care of the rest." You felt a bit uneasy, but you laid back down, uncurling yourself and trying to make yourself comfortable. Revenant didn't linger over you on the bed this time, instead he must have gone from the kitchenette over to the computer desk, because you slowly dozed off to the sounds of the keyboard feedback chirps and pointer clicks as he worked with the heads-up displays. You were more tired than you thought, and dozed off quickly.

• • • •

"... Hah! I knew the pilot episode wasn't a good indicator of quality." You woke up to him looming over you in the bed again, but this time you were not taken by surprise. "You twitch a lot while you sleep; you even murmur absolute nonsense." You sigh. This is fun for him somehow. "I swear you were trying to run or swim at one point... Did you get away? Or did you drown?" You don't know how to answer his questions, you don't remember any dreams. In fact, he probably has more of an idea than you do at this point. You meet his gaze, and it seems to be understood that you have no answers. He sighs, clearly disappointed.

"Shame, well, in the meantime, congratulations on your promotion."

"Wait, what?"

"Here, welcome to the team." He drops a red laminated badge on top of you, and swiftly makes his way out of the bed, just to crawl up the wall, onto the ceiling, and starts to exit through the skylight window. "Sorry I can't spend more time with you, but I have a match today." His voice is nearly drowned out by the sound of aircraft starting up. "Watch for me, I'll make sure I knock out whichever one of those skinsuits used to be your favorite early on." You can hear the sneer in his voice through the overwhelming aircraft engines.

He disappears from view, the window closes, the aircraft noise dampens again, and the television drones on with the pre-match banter between announcers in front of you. You stare up at the morning sky for a moment, wondering what you got yourself into.

You look down at the badge. It is a top clearance badge, meant for direct employees of the Legends. It can get you access to almost anywhere and to almost anything. It has Revenant's personal seal on it, marking you as his. It has all the correct watermarks, and a scannable chip to prove authenticity. You've only seen a few of these, and you heard Mirage once got in huge trouble for selling his as a VIP experience. But it did nearly sell, and it was already bidding for enough money for any sane person to retire off of.

You aren't a volunteer anymore. You're Revenant's subordinate. Notably an important enough one that you can go almost anywhere he can go. The badge shimmers in your hands, sparkling in your eyes. This badge is worth more than anything you've ever held before in your life. You revel in it for a moment, until you notice it: You're now "Little Skinsuit" according to the "Name" field on the badge. He genuinely couldn't resist, could he? You'd be bothered if it wasn't genuinely hilarious. That means somewhere in the security checkpoints, "Little Skinsuit" was now registered at nearly maximum clearance. Amazing.

You sit there for a moment, pondering how you got yourself into this. You had a moment, just a single moment a few days ago, where you felt like you could ask him for help. You just wanted to calm down; you had tripped, bruised your feet, hurt your calves, and even busted a couple bottles of liquor and whisky meant for him because of your manic movements as you ran back and fourth from one side of the complex to the other. Finally, after getting him everything he requested, intact, you lost your inhibition for a mere moment. You asked if he'd help you settle your mania. And for some reason--maybe he had already started to get some kind of drunk at that point--he said yes. That's what started it all.

He said something about helping you again before you left last time. And then you came back yesterday, completely in the fog from no sleep and a continued manic episode, but holding on to that promise. And now you've somehow become his personal errand runner, holding an ID worth more than you could grasp. What the heck is happening anymore?

For now, you stare into the sky, and soak in the sun, and just relax in the moment. You get to watch today's match instead of scrubbing the floors. It'll be a nice day.

[bakugohoex]

I saw that your requests were open! So excited!! Could I request just a little something with Jean taking his S/O to the sea. Maybe they were part of the survey Corps with Jean and Marco but dropped out after Marco's death, and after all this time Jean cheers them up by taking them to the sea?

”i told you i’d show you the sea one day”

pairing: jean kirschtein x female reader

cw: mentions of death and fluff

word count: 1400+

a/n: i kinda went from the sea prompt and included marco’s death but stemmed from it a lot more to make the reader become a lot more heartless, hope you enjoy it though

summary: in which after the death of marco you had become distant, now a year later still in the survey corps after the regaining of wall maria you and the rest of the squad finally get to see the sea that jean had promise long ago to you

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist

You remember the day as clear as day, the battle of Trost. The day your best friend die, the day the boy you had grown up with and joined the cadet corps with died. You still remember collapsing with Jean, tears flowing from your eyes and how in that moment you had become cold. Lifeless and dull you stopped caring for others, more reserved and only one thing on your mind.

Killing titans, you still talked to your comrades in the survey corps, you still spent time with them. But you weren’t the same, you didn’t sympathise, you didn’t even bother when they’re was a problem, every word that came out of your mouth was blunt and dull. Even Jean the boy you had grown close with as cadet’s noticed your distance, noticed how you’d kill Titans ruthlessly, how you were never the same since the event.

It was a year later and the regain of wall Maria had occurred, people were happier and for once you were happy being surrounded by the new wildlife and birds that chirped outside the walls. Even if you had become distant in the months after Marco’s death, after gaining wall Maria you had seemed to be going back to your normal self. The one who Jean had fallen for the first day he had met you, of course he was going to confess but everything happened and the past year. It had been tough on both of you, he knew that and when he went with you tell Marco’s parents.

His heart shattered seeing you cry in Marco’s mothers arms, her own sobs muffled by how tight the hug was. He knew from that moment you had changed, knew that you’d never be the same and now here you were smiling at the people growing crops.

It was genuine, a smile he has missed, and he knew the promise he had made you a year ago would finally come true.

He had walked past the cadet’s after dinner moving to you and Marco with a smirk on his face. “Armin told me about this story he read in his book.” He heard Marco say, it intrigued him, making him sit beside you.

His crush on you was obvious to Marco who smiled at how you and Jean were too close for people who were just friends. “Ooo go on.” You were happy back then, Jean always thought you had a crush on Marco. How he was so wrong, the multiple times Marco had told you to tell Jean about your own crush was a common occurrence.

“The sea.” You and Jean both gave a confused look, a word unknown to you both. “It’s a large body of water, and it fills the entire world apparently.”

Marco had spoken so happily, confident that he’d see it one day. “That sounds like a lie.” Jean muttered.

“Ye of little faith.” You laughed in Jean’s face, but he stared down at your laughing face, how was he supposed to know that that was the last time he’d hear you laugh, hear you mock him, see the bright smile that melted his heart.

“Okay well I promise one day I’ll take you both to see the sea.” He puts out his pinkie to you, you gladly take it smiling.

“We’ll all see the sea one day.”

It was a distant memory for Jean, but he remembered his words, and seeing the smile he had missed made him happier. “You seem happy.” Jean spoke riding beside you.

“I never thought we’d get here, I guess I am happy.” There was something to your voice, it wasn’t back to normal, but it was getting there.

“I’m glad you’re happy Y/n, I missed seeing you smile.” Your breath hitched at the sound of his voice.

You looked at the boy, the boy who you loved, the boy you had become cold to protect. Ever since you lost Marco you knew you had to protect Jean, make sure he was always safe, because if he died. It would ruin you. You knew you’d be fine, knew that you’d protect Jean till your last breathe, giving a wide smile at the boy.

His heart softened at how you moved your horse closer to him, “I missed it as well.” You bit your lip to surpress the wider grin you would show him.

“I hope you continue to…to smile and be happy.” You looked at the brunette and, in an instant, you saw that he would always be the one. Always be the one stick by you, be the one who held you when Marco died, the one who bandaged you after you nearly got killed by the female titan, the one who hugged you when you two were apart. The single person who’d be with you till the end.

“You make me happy.” It was a confession of some sorts, and his cheeks had become rosed smiling as he looked down.

You could see the grip of his horse loosen, still smiling, “you make me happy as well.”

You both had been in your own world and seeing the change in landscape, the change to sand. You both knew it, knew the promise was going to be achieved soon. He looked out into the blue sky, no titan insight, you were far gone the walls, the outskirts where no titan lived.

Eren and the others had rode up a hill and you could almost sense their admiration, “you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You took a sharp breathe feeling the summer heat bite onto your body.

“Race you.” You laughed at the sound of his comment, he had missed the high-pitched laugh as he rode his horse away, you followed swiftly and approaching the top of the hill.

You both stood in adoration at the sea, the sea that Marco had told you both about. You both looked out to the horizon, a soft smile rested on both your smiles, “I told you I’d show you the sea one day.”

“You kept the promise.” You both rode down with the rest of your friends, taking your shoes off, Jean put his hand out.

You took it, his hands soft and filled with comfort, “he’d have loved it.” You both watched the waves crash down, watched at how Marco should’ve been with you both. You get out of the daze grasping his hand harder.

You drag him along to the sea almost in a run as you both splash in the water, “It’s salty.” He scowls after trying to taste it and instead getting some in his eyes.

“You idiot.” You laugh splashing in the waves with him, Sasha and Connie coming to play around with him.

You noticed there movements knowing what they wanted to do, you smirked following there lead as the three of you jumped onto Jean pushing him into the water. You felt the water engulf you all, Jean’s arms had stayed around your waist, keeping you down, the water moving besides you. You could hear Connie and Sasha behind you two already moved on to torment someone else.

“I missed you.” It was the truth; your old self had been coming out and now on top of him. The classic smirking grin you always had planted on your face, it really had been a long year without it.

The gap between the two of you was small and instead of speaking, your crashed your lips onto his. His grip tightening to your waist, a kiss in the sea was something to say the least, but you didn’t care. You could taste the saltiness in his lips, they were soft and perfect, the pace slow and loving, he didn’t care who saw. The sun may have been radiating on you and the beauty of the sea was encapsulating but the only thing he saw was you. And as he let go of your soft lips, a heavy blush speckling your face, he got up helping you along the way.

Standing in front of the sea, he hadn’t expected your arms to wrap around his torso, smiling he hugged you back, kissing the top of your wet hair. You both watched over the sea, watched over the new world and the new beginnings. Whatever was out there you both knew you had each other, and you would always protect one another till the very end.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

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[luthienne]

Hi dear, do you have any good words on emotional courage?

hi my love, you can check out this post and this post; here are a few more:

“I know a lot about pain… and I know it is bad for people, eats away the spirit, but how about courage, what is it for if not to use when needed?”

Martha Gellhorn, Selected Letters 

“This is in the end the only kind of courage that is required of us: the courage to face the strangest, most unusual, most inexplicable experiences that can meet us.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet 

“You don’t realize it, perhaps, but you are turning these delusions and illusions of the past into criminal things. Relinquish everything. Stay in bed until you feel so shock full of energy, hope, courage that you bounce out of abed. You can only aid the world–if you still believe the world needs our individual aid–by retaining your faith in life. Your body may be weak, but I know you still have wings.”

Henry Miller, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller

“I… want to inherit the witch in my women ancestors—the willfulness, the passion, ay, the passion where all good art comes from as women, the perseverance, the survivor skills, the courage, the strength of las mujeres bravas, peleoneras, necias, berrrinchudas. I want to be una brava, una peleonera, necia, nerrinchuda. I want to be bad if bad means I must go against society—el Papá, el Pápa, the boyfriend, lover, husband, girlfriend, comadres—and listen to my own heart, that incredible witch’s broom that will take me where I need to go.”

Sandra Cisneros, A House of My Own

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

“Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.”

Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

“In the winter I am writing about, there was much darkness. Darkness of nature, darkness of event, darkness of the spirit. The sprawling darkness of not knowing. We speak of the light of reason. I would speak here of the darkness of the world, and the light of———. But I don’t know what to call it. Maybe hope. Maybe faith, but not a shaped faith—only, say, a gesture, or a continuum of gestures. But probably it is closer to hope, that is more active, and far messier than faith must be. Faith, as I imagine it, is tensile, and cool, and has no need of words. Hope, I know is a fighter and a screamer.”

Mary Oliver, Winter Hours: Prose, Poems, and Prose Poems

“There is always some miracle left; and though miracles do not happen, they might happen. Who knows? Perhaps our intelligence, our instinct, our senses, in spite of their daylight clearness, are leading us astray. Perhaps the one thing needful is just that unreasoning courage which follows hope’s will-o’-the-wisp as it burns…”

Jens Peter Jacobsen, Niels Lyhne

“But if the deepest loss, […] / can be, not just survived, but made into the matter / of hope, made into song, not into a hatchet / to cut off the offending parts, made into poems / then blessed be the end of things, the loss of whatever / secures us blindly and mutely to our lives.”

Julia Alvarez, The Other Side/El Otro Lado

“I run / stumbling, expectant. / Impatience is hopelessly / desperate. Hope / takes time.”

Marie Ponsot, Springing: New and Selected Poems

“How lightly we learn to hold hope, / as if it were an animal that could turn around / and bite your hand. And still we carry it / the way a mother would, carefully, / from one day to the next.”

Danusha Laméris, The Moons of August

“Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.”

Representative John Lewis

“Where does such a force come from? What does it mean? A voice very faint, and inside me, offers a possibility: how shall there be redemption and resurrection unless there has been a great sorrow? And isn’t struggle and rising the real work of our lives?”

Mary Oliver, Winter Hours: Prose, Poems, and Prose Poems

“Don’t forget that apparent impossibility of something is the first sign of its naturalness—in a different world, obviously.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Anatoly Steiger

“Grieve. Have / hope.”

Jorie Graham, Swarm

John Berryman, “The Heart is Strange”

“Skin had hope, that what’s skin does. / Heals over the scarred place, makes a road.”

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Two Countries”

“I am quite troubled in the depths of my soul. But that will pass,”

George Sand, in a letter to Gustave Flaubert

“Let’s dance a little before we go home to hell.”

Muriel Rukeyser, A Muriel Rukeyser Reader

Hélène Cixous, Hyperdream (tr. Beverly Bie Brahic)

“That most moments were substantially the same did not detract at all from the possibility that the next moment might be utterly different.”

Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping

Ada Limón, “Dead Stars”

“Listen, everyone has a chance. Is it spring, is it morning? Are there trees near you, and does your own soul need comforting? Quick, then — open the door and fly on your heavy feet…”

Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems

“Get to the bottom of this intensity and have faith in what is most horrible, instead of fighting it off—it reveals itself for those who can trust it, in spite of its overwhelming and dire appearance, as a kind of initiation. By way of loss, by way of such vast and immeasurable experiences of loss, we are quite powerfully introduced to the whole.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Countess Alexandrine Schwerin, June 16, 1922

“…only one thing is urgently needed: to attach oneself with unconditional purpose somewhere to nature, to what is strong, striving and bright, and to move forward without guile, even if that means in the least important, daily matters. Each time we tackle something with joy, each time we open our eyes toward a yet untouched distance we transform not only this and the next moment, but we also rearrange and gradually assimilate the past inside of us.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Adelheid von der Marwitz, September 11, 1919

“Continue to believe that with your feeling and with your work you take part in what is the greatest. The more strongly you cultivate this belief inside of you, the more it will give rise to reality and world.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Elisabeth Freiin Schenk zu Schweinsberg, September 23, 1908

“…I have known with certainty that the worst things, and even despair, are only a kind of abundance and an onslaught of existence that one decision of the heart could turn into its opposite. Where things become truly difficult and unbearable, we find ourselves in a place already very close to its transformation.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Anita Forrer, February 14, 1920

“…he says, it will be all right.

“It is not the saying of an oracle or a prophet. They are words you might speak to a child ... and somehow I am comforted. He does not mean that it does not hurt. He does not mean that we are not frightened. Only that: we are here. This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive.”

Madeline Miller, Circe

“Right then she knows herself even less than she knows the sea. Her courage comes from not knowing herself, but going ahead nevertheless. Not knowing yourself is inevitable, and not knowing yourself demands courage.

Clarice Lispector, Complete Stories; “The Waters of the World”

“Recovery (which includes return and renewal of health) is a re-gaining—regaining of a clear view. I do not say “seeing things as they are” and involve myself with the philosophers, though I might venture to say “seeing things as we are (or were) meant to see them”—as things apart from ourselves. We need, in any case, to clean our windows; so that the things seen clearly may be freed from the drab blur of triteness or familiarity—from possessiveness. Of all faces those of our familiares are the ones both most difficult to play fantastic tricks with, and most difficult really to see with fresh attention, perceiving their likeness and unlikeness: that they are faces, and yet unique faces.”

J.R.R. Tolkien, from his essay On Fairy-Stories

Camille Norton, Corruption: Poems

“Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.”

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

“I have the fervour of myself for a presence / and my own spirit for light; / and my spirit with its loss / knows this; though small against the black, / small against the formless rocks, / hell must break before I am lost;”

H.D. from Collected Poems; “Eurydice”

Denise Levertov, “Epilogue”

“The days go numb, the wind / sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves. // Through the empty branches the sky remains. / It is what you have. / Be earth now, and evensong. / Be the ground lying under that sky. / Be modest now, like a thing / ripened until it is real…”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from Rilke’s Book of Hours (tr. Anita Barrows, Joanna Macy)

“I know your sorrow and I know that for the likes of us there is not ease for the heart to be had from words of reason and that in the very assurance of sorrow’s fading there is more sorrow. So I offer you only my deeply affectionate and compassionate thoughts and wish for you only that the strange thing may never fail you, whatever it is, that gives us the strength to live on and on with our wounds.”

Samuel Beckett’s words of consolation to his friend, Alan Schneider

“What matters is not to allow my whole life to be dominated by what is going on inside me. That has to be kept subordinate one way or another. What I mean is: one must not let oneself be completely disabled by just one thing, however bad; don’t let it impede the great stream of life that flows through you. I have the feeling of something secret deep inside me that no one knows about.”

Etty Hillesum, from a diary entry featured in An Interrupted Life

“You have been told that, even like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link. / This is but half the truth. You are also as strong as your strongest link. / To measure you by your smallest deed is to reckon the power of the ocean by the frailty of its foam. / To judge you by your failures is to cast blame upon the seasons for their inconstancy.”

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

“Try to keep what is beautiful to you and what you can use for today and now — You must not let things you cannot help destroy you —”

Georgia O’Keeffe, from Georgia O’Keeffe: Art and Letters

“What we love, shapely and pure, / is not to be held, / but to be believed in.”

Mary Oliver, from Evidence; “Swans”

“In time of the crises of the spirit, we are aware of all our need, our need for each other and our need for ourselves. We call up, with all the strength of summoning we have, our fullness. And then we turn; for it is a turning that we have prepared; and act. The time of turning may be very long. It may hardly exist.”

Muriel Rukeyser, from A Muriel Rukeyser Reader, “The Life of Poetry”

“To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.” 

Howard Zinn, A Power Governments Cannot Suppress

“But don’t lose heart, dear ones—don’t lose heart. Don’t let it make you bitter. Try to understand. Try to understand. The world’s already bitter enough, we got to try to be better than the world.”

James Baldwin, from Another Country

“You do not have to be good. / You do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. / You only have to let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves. / Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. / Meanwhile, the world goes on.”

Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

[dindjarindiaries]

Dead to Me

summary: On the verge of death, Twila takes off Din’s helmet, later having to face his wrath and leave his ship—even though she’s pregnant with their unborn child. (requested by anon)

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!oc

warnings: blood, mentions of death/near-death, angst, fluff

rating: T

word count: 2.64k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

He’s dying. I’m gonna lose him. I can’t lose him.

These words play in the back of Twila’s mind like a sick song, tormenting her as she attempts to work quickly on the limp body in front of her. But it’s hard to fix a man who’s unconscious and unable to show his face—especially when it’s the man she loves.

Twila’s been a part of the Mandalorian’s crew for longer than she’s kept track of. It’s been hard to keep track when they’ve been running around the galaxy, anyway. She was meant to be a babysitter of sorts for the child, a caretaker for whenever the Mandalorian had to go on jobs. This quickly, however, turned into her being a caretaker for both of them. He had accepted this, and it made them grow even closer—so close that she was surprised she ever got so far. When she first met him, she never thought she’d be able to penetrate the beskar in any manner.

Now, she’s seen it all—everything except his face.

He even revealed his name. Din’s the name that rolls off her lips when Twila beckons him, when she tells him that she loves him, when she’s a victim of the pure pleasure in which they share. It’s beautiful to her: it’s become her personal chant of exquisite admiration, the word that encapsulates everything she cares for now. After living a lonely childhood spent in the Outer Rim with absent parents and many children in the village that she would care for, Twila’s finally found a family of her own that she can not only continue to care for but also receive the same attention in return. The child feels like one of her own, and Din feels like an extension of herself, a faithful companion.

He’s done a lot for her. He’s continued to risk his life on jobs to keep them supplied. He’s tried to teach her how to fight to help her fend for herself should she ever have to. He’s jumped in front of blaster shots for her.

And now, he may be dying for her.

Twila had been too careless during their venture into the marketplace. She hadn’t paid attention to their surroundings. When the hunter threw that detonator near her, she hadn’t even heard it. All she saw was Din shoving her aside before almost jumping on it himself to block her from the blow, resulting in him being tossed through the air and hard against the ground. He hasn’t moved on his own since.

Thankfully, Twila made sure he bought bacta spray the last time they supplied the med kit. She knows this would work on anything it needed to, but she’s come across a problem: she needs to spray it on his head. There’s blood trailed down the back of his neck, a sure sign of trauma done underneath the helmet. But she can’t; he’s told her this many times, and she’s understood. She’s never pressured him to break the Creed.

But what the hell kind of option does she have now?

He can’t die. Din doesn’t know it yet, but he has a future with her—one that’ll be undeniable. It started growing in her stomach not too long ago. After some strange bodily behaviors and curiosity, she’d found a way to test what was going on, and it came back just as she thought. She’s now expecting another child for them to look after on board. She’s been trying to figure out how to tell him. Now, she could be too late, and she can’t bear letting him die without even knowing the potential of what’s ahead of them.

Twila fights with herself repetitively, going back and forth on which choice to make. It’s a lose-lose situation: take off the helmet, forcing Din to break his Creed, or leave it on, which is letting him die. The worst part is she can’t even ask anyone for advice. She’s on her own.

With shaking hands, Twila makes her choice. She hopes it’s what he’d choose, too. Slowly, she reaches for the now-grimy helmet, her mind and heart moving at a mile a minute as she does so. They pause when they rest on the sides of the helmet, as if reconsidering everything once again.

He’ll hate you.

But he’ll die.

He wouldn’t want you to do this.

But you have to save him.

Twila suddenly hears the child coo beside her. Her head turns to look at him, and she sees him lay his tiny hand on her thigh in a comforting manner. His ears perk up at her as he tilts his head, as if trying to make her feel at ease. She nods, looking back at Din and finally beginning to pull the helmet up. Inch by inch, more of her love is revealed, and despite the gruesome circumstances of the situation, she finds her heart melting at the sight of everything she’s wanted to see—and the sheer beauty of it all.

Din’s skin is scratched and bloody, but behind it all, she can still see his handsome face. He’s not clean shaven, but also not terribly far from it, the small whiskers of hair sticking around chaotically from the blood. His lips are slightly parted, likely to allow his body some air in its unconscious state, and his delicate eyelids shield the color that lies behind them.

Twila releases a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, blinking a few times to clear her mind as she moves for the bacta spray. She sprays it generously on his bloody head, applying it until she’s sure she’s gotten every spot she needs to. Once she sets it aside, she begins to work on his cuts, gently cleaning the blood away and applying whatever creams and gels are necessary to get the healing process working quickly.

The bacta spray works fast, and just as she finishes clearing the blood, she sees Din’s eyes flutter open. His dark gaze observes Twila through hooded eyelids, as if they’re too heavy for him to open all the way just yet. Her heart races at the eye contact, as she’s never truly gotten to have it before—and it feels as if the rest of her soul is finally being entwined with his. She warmly welcomes the window into her heart, hoping she’ll be able to see his in return.

“Cyar’ika?” Din’s weak voice offers, as if he’s trying to confirm what he’s seeing.

Twila nods tearfully. “I’m here, Din.” She places both of her hands over one of his gloved ones.

Din almost begins to smile, causing her heart to leap, but it quickly fades. It’s replaced with an expression that makes her skin crawl at the pure horror he shows. He blinks a few times, his eyes finally widening to a normal size. “You—You’re so clear—.” Din cuts himself off, his free hand touching his head. When his gloved fingers brush against the bare skin on his temple instead of his helmet, his brow instantly furrows in a menacing manner. “Where’s the helmet?”

Twila widens her own eyes, seized by the terror of what he’ll do now. “It’s right here,” she assures him, gesturing to the helmet on the floor of the ship beside her. “I’m sorry, Din, I know I’m not supposed to, but I didn’t know how else—.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Din’s voice is low and sounds practically like a growl. Twila jumps back a bit upon hearing it, releasing his hand as she does so. “You knew. I told you.”

Her eyes continue to tear up in her desperation, and she feels the child grip her leg tighter at her evident distress. “You were dying, Din.” Her voice is hauntingly quiet. “I couldn’t just let that happen to you. I—I had to at least try to save you.”

Din’s silent for a moment, his jaw clenched as his gaze pierces through her in a hostile manner. Twila feels herself beginning to shake again in fear. “No, you didn’t. You…” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling as if he can’t handle looking at her anymore, “… you should’ve let me die.”

A hot tear runs down her cheek as she grits her own teeth, trying to plead her case. “How? How could I have done that, Din? You know how much you mean to me, to the kid! You expected me to just sit here and let you die in front of both of us?”

“How many times have I told you, Twi, that this is what could happen? And how many times did you assure me that it’d be okay, that you understood?” Din looks back at Twila, his dark gaze losing all traces of light as it looks upon her almost menacingly. “Clearly, you didn’t.”

Twila shakes her head in an utter loss for words. When she thinks of some, they’re not useful, but it’s all she can manage. “I’m sorry, Din. I’m so sorr—.”

“Don’t call me that.” Din spits the words like venom. His hands, stronger now from the fast-working bacta spray, reach for his helmet and slip it back over his head. “It’s Mando.”

Another tear escapes her eye as Twila gives another shake of her head in desperation. “Please don’t do this. I just—I couldn’t live without you.” When Din says nothing in response, she continues to ramble. “I guess… I guess I’d rather have you alive and hating me than have you be dead.”

Din’s still quiet for a moment, but when he speaks, Twila’s sure she feels every single vein of her heart being ripped away piece by piece. “It’s a shame. Now you’re the one who’s dead to me.”

Twila lets a hand cover her mouth to keep the sobs tucked in. He can’t see her fall apart like this. She’s brought it upon herself. When she regains some of her composure, she swallows hard, looking around the ship. “I understand.”

Din tilts his helmet at her. “Then start packing.”

Twila looks back to Din with disbelief. “What?”

“If you understand, then you’ll get what this means. You betray my trust, then you can’t be a part of my crew.”

She stops trying to hold back the tears. They fall as steady as rainwater from the dark cloud that now surrounds her mind and heart. “Your crew? Is that all I am, now? What about all we had?”

Din’s stiff for a moment, and when he speaks, it’s cold. “You should’ve thought about that before you stripped my identity from me. Someone who truly loves me would never do that.”

Twila chokes on a sob, biting her lip to try to keep it hidden. She decides to say nothing, knowing her words of denial would only go in one of his ears and out the other. Twila’s never had many belongings, feeling that she didn’t need much other than her two companions, and everything suddenly feels so empty as she collects whatever she has into the pouch she’d purchased at a marketplace on one of the first planets she’d stopped at with Din. With a heavy sigh, she heads for the hatch, seeing Din now standing with the child in his arms. She gives them a weary smile.

“You should know that no matter what you might think because of this, Din, I love you.”

Twila sees Din clench one of his fists. “Leave.”

She refuses to budge, knowing this may be the last time she ever gets to talk to him. “I’ll always be in love with you, and I’ll always keep myself tied to you. You’re always—”

“I said, leave.”

“—going to be with me, no matter how far away you try to run. I’ll always have a piece of you with me, forever.”

“Leave!”

At the sound of his yelling, which she’s never heard directed towards her, something snaps within her, and she retaliates with the same amount of emotional hostility. “We’re going!” Her burning eyes finally turn away indignantly, and she reaches for the button on the hatch when Din’s voice makes her stop.

“’We?’”

Twila’s eyes widen upon realizing what she’s accidentally revealed. Her hand falls slowly back to her side, and she turns around to see that Din’s put the child back on the floor and is now facing her with a tilted helmet. She takes a heavy breath, her nerves spiking as she stares at his visor. “Yes. We.” Twila rests a hand on her stomach, which hasn’t started showing quite yet. “I saved you not only because I love you, but because I wanted you to be able to meet your future child. But don’t worry, we’re going.”

She turns back around and opens the hatch, feeling her heart race quickly as it lowers slowly onto the ground. Her gaze is burning again with tears, but she blinks them back. Twila understands why she has to leave, that she broke his trust—and for a man of his lifestyle, you can’t have someone around who does that—but it still pains her. However, before she’s even able to take a step down the ramp, a gloved hand stops her by wrapping around her arm. She looks over her shoulder, seeing Din standing just behind her. His hand falls from her arm, and instead he falls—his knee just barely catching him as he practically collapses to the ground. His shoulders heave as sounds like sobs come through his modulator, a sound Twila’s never heard from him before. It twists her heart in the worst way as she instantly kneels in front of him.

“Hey, hey,” Twila soothes gently, worried by his utterly weakened composure. She forgets the ferocity with which he’d treated her just moments before, only feeling the caretaker side as she places her hands on his shoulders. “Breathe, Din. Are you alright?”

His hands reach back towards his helmet, and Twila’s shocked to see him lifting it back up and over his head. Din throws it to the side, hearing it clang! against the metal floor as it hits it—hard. His dark eyes are glistening with tears as they look at her, his cheeks wet and his lips trembling as he stares at her for a few speechless moments. “I… can’t do this.” Din pauses, swallowing hard as he tries to find words. “If I have a child coming into this world, I can’t live like this anymore.” He takes her hands in his own, pulling them to his chest as he looks deep in her gaze. “Please stay.”

Twila nods right away, giving him a small smile. “We will, Din.” She bites back tears, looking at him with all the true emotion she can muster. “I’m so sorry. I—.”

“No need, cyar’ika.” Din comes closer to her, until—for the first time ever—his lips brush over hers, sending a feeling through her like nothing before. “I love you, no matter what.” Knowing how she feels, he doesn’t give her a chance to answer before he places his lips fully against hers, causing everything around her to melt away as she absorbs the sweet and relieving feeling she’s always craved. He only pulls away to lean his forehead against hers, finally showing her the smile she’s been picturing in her mind all this time. “Both of you.”

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

[norafike]

Despite all this, I still love you 5

At their feet lay the remnants of the wagon they had been sent out to collect, wood ripped apart and thrown carelessly with no evidence of supplies ever being there save for the 'seven' scratched into a crate left on the side.

Holding for some hope of being able to salvage something, they searched the area but found nothing to take back to Maggie.

She clicked her tongue to break away from that silence, brushing her hands against the materials of her skirt as she pulled away from lifting one of the old wheels. "She ain't gonna be happy when we get back."

"No an' I ain't happy about all this neither, how can someone get away with stealin' a whole damn w-wagon." He cried, carelessly throwing a splintering plank away, expressing his frustration at the ordeal with a huff as he marched over towards his horse.

"I mean, I know them Lemoyne Raiders aren't exactly shoved to the side over here, but surely somebody had to have tried intervenin'."

"I doubt it, or they killed anybody who had done so."

Lem turned back to face her but gave no response, the anger written bluntly across his face. She knew it wasn't directed at her but as she walked the distance to join him at where their horses had been left she could not help but feel guilty under the intense glare.

While she traipsed across the grass she was able to pick up on the unpleasant comments Lem made, some insulting him and others insulting the raiders for having thrown a wrench into their plans.

This was meant to have been an easy job and yet even they failed in retrieving one wagon from the next state over, something any child could have potentially done. He blamed his bad luck, something like this usually always happening whenever he tried to help out with the business and honestly, he wondered why it was that Maggie still allowed him out on errands anymore.

"Why don't you go buy some replacements for the ingredients, Lemuel, I'll go tell your aunt about this."

"No, Maggie's gonna be a lot less harsh on me than she is you." He objected quickly despite knowing this was never any arguing with Nora Morgan. She ignored his plea, slowing down on her ride as to walk at the same speed as he. "You covered for me last time."

"Last time we both didn't do what was asked."

"No, but.." He started but found it difficult to say what he had been meaning too, not without sounding too harsh. "Maggie don't trust you right now, not since.. you know."

She was already aware, still observant as an individual and picking up on the lack of faith Maggie held with her no later than a week after they began to grow worse. It hadn't been surprising and Lem just retelling her it all gained no response, at least, not one he had been hoping for.

"If she gets rid of me, then that's her choice just as it is mine to tell her that we didn't get them ingredients."

"Morgan." He tried, but Nora refused to listen any further. She simply shrugged before kicking into a gallop to get a head start on the journey back home.

Lem cursed under his breath as he saw her ride off. In any other case he probably would have gone after her, but today he was in just no mood to argue any longer and so he stayed behind, deciding to listen to her instructions and divert his journey through Rhodes to buy anything they could replace the ingredients with.

She took a few minutes to prep herself before actually entering the shack, the reality of what Maggie could do unknown and scary.

Nora wasn't sure if her approach should be blunt, if she should walk on inside and tell the woman straight out about their failure in taking a wagon back or if she should sweeten her way into the subject, start a conversation which would then lead to the lost ingredients.

Maggie would appreciate the blunt approach and it was one Nora had gone for previously but she did end up receiving a harsh telling off after doing so.

It took a while before Nora could even push open the door, sheepishly walking inside the building and sneaking down the stairs to the basement where Marcel was humming to himself as he worked, oblivious to the other's presence in his space.

"Marcel." Nora whisper-shouted, knocking the wood of the door frame to better grasp his attention.

"What is it now." He grumbled, holding his sweeping brush still as he turned to look at her. "Ah, Miss Morgan I did not know it was you, have you grabbed those ingredients?"

She gritted her teeth as the first answer and this displeased Marcel. "What happened?"

"There was no wagon to begin with, gotta tell Maggie now and thought I would say my final farewell to you before I am possibly murdered."

"Oh you are so dramatic, jus' tell her you and Lem had been ambushed or something, she will most likely not be so harsh."

She gave out a quiet sigh. "I can't lie to Maggie."

"Lie to me about what exactly?" Her voice was sharp, distant and yet so close and Nora startled upon hearing the woman speak. She stumbled forward from leaning against the door frame before regaining herself enough to turn back and talk.

"May we talk upstairs, Maggie?" The woman gave a simple nod before leading her way back, taking her time as she ascended the stairs with her cane being used to support her.

A chill ran down Nora's spine once she left alone with Miss Fike, the woman's stone-cold glare enough to kill a man and yet there was always some comfort to be found within it. That was what probably led Nora to admire her, how she was always a cold woman and yet so very kind.

"Come on, spit it out then."

"Well, that wagon you sent us after ended up bein' destroyed and them ingredients taken."

"Good."

"You see-." She caught herself before the excuses came out, surprised and the pleasant expression Maggie wore upon the news. "Excuse me?" Nora asked as if believing that her own ears had betrayed her.

"I said good."

"Forgive me, but how is this good?"

The woman let out a low chuckle as she walked around to sit back at the same desk she was usually glued to at all hours of the day. "Them ingredients weren't exactly for us. I knew the Raiders were gonna try an' go for you if you began transporting a wagon full of moonshine ingredients. I had just hoped that with any luck they were the ones to succeed."

Maggie looked over at Nora, expecting her to make some passing comment at this plan but instead the other female stood bewildered in the room, her mouth slightly agape. The older woman took this as a sign to continue with her explanation and judging by Nora's face she could tell that the woman was still listening.

"You were sent to transport poison basically, nothin' we need. At least not now." She brought her hand down on the desk, slapping it firmly which caught Nora who had been unsuspecting it.

"There was the problem of sendin' you however."

"There was?"

"You're a fighter, Nora and a damn good one. I knew if somethin' were to happen you'd fight until they were all dead and you, unscathed. So I had to send Lem because you care for him just as I do."

"Why couldn't you have told us the plan anyway?"

"I have my reasons.. for now why don't you an' Marcel enjoy a drink while we wait for Lem's return. He would appreciate an explanation too."

"He would."

After that meeting with Maggie and taking some time to take a walk and clear her head, Nora found herself standing near the river with her hand full of small pebbles she tried to skip.

It was quiet in the location she had picked, no animals near and no riders passing by on the trail. It gave her plenty of time to reflect on her thoughts and more time to throw the pebbles into the water to let out some of her frustrations.

"Throw any harder and there'll be no water left in the river." A gruff voice said behind her, she had been caught so off guard that the minute this stranger stopped talking she had her revolver aimed.

"Arthur." She gasped, eyes wide upon recognising the all too familiar face. He gave her a cheeky grin, using the tip of his finger to point the gun away from him. When she realised what he had been doing she quickly holstered the weapon and raised her arms while apologising on the spot.

It was after she had realised that she almost shot Arthur did she notice the young boy who hid behind his legs, bright eyes looking at her with a mix of curiosity and fear.

Nora hadn't said anything, only looking bewildered at the child as if she hadn't seen one before and this prompted a quiet chuckle from Mr. Morgan. "This is Jack, a son of a friend, she asked me to take him out fishing."

"Oh well, this is a good spot."

"I do think it is."

She crouched down so she was level with the boy's height, gently holding her palm out flat. "Hey there, Jack." She started and he seemed to ease at her gentle voice, slowly coming out from hiding behind Arthur's legs. "I'm Nora."

"Hello." The boy spoke softly, placing a small hand on her own which she gently shook before pulling her hand away.

She couldn't help the smile that tugged on her lips. "How did you know about this spot anyway? I don't believe I've seen you out here yet and from simple interactions I don't think you're from around here, Morgan."

"A friend. He's a great fisherman and he's been in the area in the past."

"I see." She stood. "Mind some more company?"

"A lovely lady such as yourself? Not at all, ma'am."

"You remind me of Lem, always a charmer even though it's obvious that the charm's an act."

At her comment he had feigned insult but smiled upon hearing the chuckle from Jack as he stood by and watched. "Why don't we get started on fishing, Jack?" He asked, walking the boy over to the waters and passing over a fishing rod.

She didn't pay much mind to what Arthur told the boy instead she decided on taking an old book out of her satchel and leaning against the rock to read. Being caught with the lovely words on the paper she hadn't notice young Jack approach and stand before her, not until the child had gently tugged on the material of her skirt.

She looked forward and offered a kind smile and in turn the boy held up a bundle of flowers freshly picked. She closed her book and leant forward, inspecting the flowers. "Those are pretty Jack, who are they for?"

"Momma."

She nodded. "She'll love them."

He held them up again. "Can you hold them for me? I wanna make her a necklace."

"Out of flowers?"

"Miss Tilly showed me how to make them."

Nora gently took the flowers from his hands, careful not to crush any in doing so before neatly laying them out on her skirt. The boy went straight back to picking at more flowers before he was satisfied with the number gathered in his hand he returned to Nora to begin his craft.

She watched as he delicately wove the flowers together, his eyes furrowing in his concentration all while Arthur kept to himself as he fished. She enjoyed their company she found and enjoyed listening to the small stories Jack whispered to himself as he done so.

"You ready to go Jack?" Arthur walked over to them, putting the rod away in his satchel just as the child finished his creation.

He proudly held it up with a fond look in his eye and Arthur complimented it just before whistling for his horse to come. The boy handed over his necklace so he could stand before taking it back, however, just as Arthur turned he had been stopped in his tracks by a couple of individuals who had dressed perhaps a little too fancy for this area.

"Arthur Morgan." One greeted, while the other stood behind with a repeater in hand. Jack had taken to hide behind him once again and since these newcomers hadn't noticed Nora yet she decided to pull the revolver from her holster and hold it ready just in case.

They talked amongst themselves, with Arthur keeping sure that the boy was more protected then he was and eventually they grew tired of the conversation and left.

It was then did she finally talk. "Who were they?"

"Pinkertons."

"What did they want with you?"

He chuckled. "I am a bad man, Nora. They jus' needed to speak with me about that." She shook her head, watching as he mounted up before pulling Jack to sit on the saddle with him.

"You're far from a bad man, Morgan. I'll see you around." She said, thinking that this was a farewell but Arthur didn't think it was.

"Don't mean to sound rude or anythin', but would you mind waitin' here? I think Dutch should speak to us about this."

"Dutch?"

"My mentor shall we say." Arthur tipped his hat towards the lady. "If that's alright with you of course."

"I don't mind."

When Arthur did return she had expected him to be with this 'Dutch' he had mentioned but he came back alone, this apologetic look on his face as he stopped just short of her.

She lowered the horse brush as he dismounted and stepped closer and she had expected him to apologise for asking her to stay and that Dutch did not wish to talk with her.

"He's asked for you to talk with him at camp."

She raised one of her eyebrows, admittedly confused about the request. "Camp?"

"It is a long story miss, but if you will, would you mind riding with me back to Horseshoe Overlook?"

Hesitantly she accepted the request, wondering why he seemed to be very nervous all of a sudden with this request. He thanked her, mounting up once more with Nora copying with her own Casper. "May I ask, why do you appear so careful about talkin' about your camp and the people you run with?"

"It's tricky business. Keepin' us all safe is the primary reason, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Tricky business, as I said."

"Alright then, lead the way."

When they got to the camp the welcome was.. less than warm. John, who she recognised from the encounter at Six-Point Cabin looked less than impressed with her being there and the hold he had on the repeater only seemed to tighten when she stepped closer towards him.

If that hadn't been bad enough when she did eventually walk into what she presumed to be the camp itself all eyes had turned to look at her, wary glances on her as she followed Arthur towards a white tent situated right in the middle where a fairly-well dressed man sat with a book in his hand.

She recognised him too, also from Valentine where he spoke with Trelawny shortly after Arthur's fight with Tommy.

Arthur cleared his throat as they neared the tent and he eagerly looked up from the pages, this charming smile upon his face once his eyes settled upon Nora.

"This is the girl I mentioned Dutch, Nora Morgan."

"Nice meetin' you mister." She spoke politely but felt too nervous to extend her hand forward for a handshake, choosing to keep her hands firmly to her sides and her fists in tight balls.

"It's great to finally meet you, miss." He spoke, this commanding tone in his voice that was spoken so gently. He called them both over to stand inside his tent. "Arthur tells me you two encountered some Pinkertons while out fishing."

"Yes, forgive me, but I fail to see why you needed to talk with me regardin' this, sir."

"You were there, weren't you?"

"I was present but vaguely listening to anything they said. Weren't my place to eavesdrop."

He nodded, looking a little impressed. "You didn't catch their names did you?"

Arthur opened his mouth to talk but Dutch raised his hands to stop him before any words came out and if he were some trained dog, Arthur quickly shut it. He looked fondly at Nora as he waited an answer and under his gaze she felt very uncomfortable.

"Milton and Ross, or those were their last names. But I'm sure Arthur must have mentioned all this already."

"Oh, he has." Dutch announced. "But, I just needed to make sure you knew too."

"What for?"

He shook his head just as he rose from the bed in which he had been seated. "Don't worry about it just yet, miss."

"Please, call me Nora."

"Very well." He smiled and very quickly he changed their subject from what they had previously discussed. "I believe you already know young Sean and Josiah Trelawny. Arthur's told us this too."

"Yes, did a couple of jobs for them last year, I also know Mrs. Adler too and, well, her husband."

"Nasty business, damn O'Driscoll's it was."

"Heard you got an O'Driscoll here too, forgive me for sayin'."

"Kieran? Trust me, if he meant any harm I would have shot him long ago. That or Arthur here would have. But I doubt he'll ever do anythin' to us, I mean.."

"I get what you mean sir."

He nodded, looking beyond where the female stood and at the wagons where a group of young women sat with pieces of old clothing in their laps and needles and thread in their hands. "Miss Grimshaw." He shouted, and an older woman with a harsh glare looked over to stare at them. He beckoned her over with his hand and she abruptly stopped cleaning the table to march on over.

"Miss Grimshaw, would you kindly take our friend here to talk with Mrs. Adler, I'm sure she would like to see her." He asked and quickly she had to object to the idea, no matter how much she thought it would be nice to see Sadie she also did not want to invade their space any longer.

"I'd like too, really, but I feel like I'm trespassing."

"Don't worry about it miss, you'd be trespassing if I did not allow you here now wouldn't you?"

"S'pose I would be, yes." She looked towards this miss Grimshaw who appeared far from pleased with Nora's presence but beckoned her to follow regardless when Dutch finished talking.

Nora was just thankful that she wasn't taken through the part of the camp where everyone appeared to have gathered upon her arrival. Mrs Adler was sat by a smaller campfire reading a book, completely unaware that Nora was stood near her.

"Mrs. Adler, you got company." Grimshaw announced before she walked off. The woman looked up, perhaps expecting one of the camp members to be standing there but had been surprised when she came face to face with that old friend from the year before.

"Miss Morgan." She cheered but her voice broke from the all crying and when the hat hadn't shaded her face the tear stains became apparent.

"How are you doin'? I-I heard about Jake."

"Terrible puttin' it lightly. It's like one giant nightmare." She sniffled after, using the heel of her hand to wipe away a few stray tears. "But I'm survivin', just barely."

"I imagine it's pretty hard. Sorry that it happened to you."

"Oh none of it was your fault, don't dare apologise." Sadie chuckled, the smallest of smiles present on her face in doing so. "How are these guy's anyway?"

"They're okay people. Abigail and Mary-Beth had been kind and it's nice havin' folk around and besides, I like the company."

"Must be lovely."

"Thought you had a gang of your own?"

Nora gave a slow nodded, this 'gang' really just a bunch of people who came together for the sake of things. She turned towards Sadie. "Well, Harry an' James are busy with their bounty huntin' careers. Cripps been keepin' busy at camp an' Lem an' me we still run the 'shine." She had whispered the mention of moonshine so no curious ears could hear what she discussed, but she still gave cautious glances around incase anybody was near.

"You an' Lem still run together?"

"Well yeah."

"Thought after that night you wouldn't, it all got.. messy."

"Which night?"

"The one with the explosions and then the party and drinks."

Nora gasped, it's details hazy but she could remember enough about it to understand what it was Sadie talked about. "That argument? We apologised the day after, agreed we both had said things we didn't mean."

"What was the argument about?"

"Nothin', there was no need for it. Guess we both had too much whiskey."

"Guess you did."

Nora looked away ashamed; keeping her eyes peeled to the ground beneath her and gently Sadie would pat her shoulder before retracing her hand. "I really like catchin' up with you Sadie, but I gotta leave soon, Cripps is at camp and we're expecting James and Harry to return."

The other woman nodded, taking Nora by the arm and walking her back down towards the horses to see her off. She spoke quietly about nothing in particular before stopping just before Casper.

As Nora mounted up Sadie tugged on the woman's skirt to better grab her attention again. "You tell your brothers I said 'hi' will you?"

"I will, it was nice seein' you again, Mrs. Adler."

Sadie gave a light-hearted chuckle before taking a step back to allow Nora to leave. She raised her hand in a wave before the woman could not be seen anymore and even after Nora's departure she remained standing at the path for a moment longer, holding on to that final piece of her past.

While Sadie lingered there Abigail had taken to approach the woman, as a means to check up on her. "She seems nice."

"She is, was always willing to travel up into the mountains for a simple job for me an' my Jakey." She replied, dropping her head to look at the ground. "She's always had a heart of gold."

Abigail nodded, wrapping her arm around Sadie's shoulders to lead her back into the camp and towards the stew pot. "Why don't you an' I get something to eat an' maybe you can tell me about this Nora."

"If you want me too."

[lovethisletters]

Hi! Again I must say: I’m sorry for taking so long, things got complicated but now I have little bit of time…besides I’m wery picky with translations (as you would see in a moment). Anyway, I was very much excited for and while writing this, since I found myself to be very fond of Faith and her relationship with Tim (they’re the cutest) so I tried my best!

Ps: The title of “Refuge” doesn’t have that much relevance in this scenario, is just the title of the song I was listening to while writing this (I think it describes perfectly how Tim’s and Faith relationship might evolve); in case you listen to it but aren’t really familiar with spanish language, here it is subtitled! But there’s minor errors on the translation:

1.     "Eres como el sol caliente y yo soy marte" wich means "You're like the warm sun and I'm like mars".

2.     "Soy desordenado cuando quiero" the word quiero/querer in spanish can mean several things, normally indicating the yearning of something in a possesive (I want this to myself) or romantic (like: I love you)/aspirational (like: I want to become a writer) way (depends on context) so the most adecute in this case will be "I'm sloppy when I am in love" not "when I want" here is a little deffinition. 

3.     The most correct wording in "let me be, I'll help you" would be in fact: "Let me, I will help you".

 Pairing: Faith O’Neal (@insideoflit OC) x Tim Drake

Summary: Faith is tormented by her past to the point of being unable to sleep and have an anxiety attack, so Tim helps her get through it.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

 12:22 am

...

1:18 am

...

2:48 am

...

3:04 am

Her head registered every digit drawn on the clock next to his bed, counting every time she woke up;  but something within herself knew that I'd had been more than just 4. Her eyes weighed, but her mind did not stop, she kept thinking ... remembering and everything at the worst moment.

Maybe it had been 5 or at most 8 nights in a row without being able to sleep completely, but in fact, she really didn't remember the last time she had slept peacefully.  Months or even years ago?

She only knew that the situation had gone from bad to worse ...

What she thought was a simple period of insomnia which would most likely disappear a week later, became part of his routine, which had stopped bothering her a long time ago: intrusive thoughts, impossible variations in hidden memories and unanswered questions that would often come and go and multiplied in the dead of night.

And yet this time it was different ... it was a living nightmare.

The intrusive thoughts had quickly escalated and evolved to such extent that they now resonated aggressively, scratching the walls of his head, digging through everything she wanted to forget and shouting at her so that she could feel it in the depths of his being.

An imaginary pain that threatened to break his little head.

In.  That.  Exact.  Instant.

She felt his breath cut short at the thought of having to get used to all this, his chest full of emotions and an uncontrollable feeling of despair.

That's why she didn't think of anything other than running, rising abruptly from the bed, barely giving his brain time to process the situation;  she ran, as fast as his legs allowed her, she didn't care at all if they were going to break… she just wanted to escape from all that and ignore that past she had unintentionally remembered.

The smell of petricor invading her senses causing a feeling of anguish, seeing those memories instantly regain strength and torturing her in such a ruthless way...

—Hey! Be careful!— her thoughts abruptly interrupted to the feeling of his body collide and almost fall to the ground, if not thanks to the arm clinging to her waist preventing her fall.

—Are you ok?—Tim's eyes invaded by an expression of genuine concern, trying to search the answer to her irrational behaviour.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that she didn't even realize the moment she reached the garden and much less had noticed Tim standing in the middle of it…like some creepy scarecrow or something…

—I ...— His mind still not quite at the moment allowed for her words to float in the air in a sloppy way.

Tim looked at the girl carefully, trying to decipher what had put her in that state: her hair slightly disheveled by the gentle flushing of the wind, a cold sweat running down her forehead, eyes flushed, her pajamas had gotten a little dirty  due to his small race in the humidity of the night and his bare feet hugging the muddy floor.

—Come, you're going to get sick like this!— He reproached her gently trying not to overwhelm her as much as possible and guiding her back inside.

The living-room of the mansion was empty, wrapped in the cozy sound of silence; indicating the absence of most of its inhabitants.

Tim told Faith to sit by pointing at the couch with a slight nod, which she obeyed.

—Wait here—he ordered again, before disappearing down the hall that led to one of the many bathrooms and returning moments later with a pair of clean towels, leaving one of them over her head, with a small mischievous smile.

—Don't run like that, Faith, you could have slipped and gotten hurt…—He said kneeling in front of her, his hands on the towel shaking it slightly in an attempt to help her dry.

His calm voice hiding the reality of his restlessness.  She knew…knew she had worried him ... And that look only confirmed it, she had already seen it many times, maybe more than she should;  but it was something she could not avoid and that frustrated her greatly.

But Tim was always characterized by being perceptive and soon noticed the expression of guilt on Faith's face.

—Hey ... It’s ok—The Boy reassured by staring at her, still smiling, because he wanted her to really feel safe.

Tim knew that Faith had trouble sleeping, he knew perfectly the symptoms of insomnia: he had noticed the lights of her room stay on until dawn, dark circles highlighting her beautiful big eyes, her clumsy movements during the day, lack of concentration and had even once heard Bruce scolding her because of her teacher's multiple complaints accusing her of sleeping in class.

But she would never admit it… she "didn't want to be a bother"

Tim allowed himself to caress Faith's cheek, gently and delicately as if she were some kind of porcelain doll about to break.

—Do you want to talk about it?

Faith thought briefly before her eyes began to fill with tears that threatened to slip away.

—No, not really ...— A glimmer of guilt was noticeable in her response.

—It’s Okay. Don't feel like you have to—followed by those words, Tim felt the need to hug her;  his arms carefully surrounded Faith's small figure.

—Just know I'm always going to be here for you — his chin resting slightly on her head partially covered by the towel.

The tears that she had forced herself to hide, began to escape silently with an air of cynicism.

—Dammit— she cursed under her breath.

Noticing this, he quickly bent down again to wipe away her tears with his hands.

Faith was a strong, but stubborn person, many times denying herself the idea of ​​asking for help and this was no exception;  she didn't want Tim to see her that way, in her most vulnerable state;  but she also didn't want to leave, despite all the crying, she found Tim's company very much comforting.

So… she stood there, allowing herself to be vulnerable in front of other people for once in a really long time.

After a few minutes (maybe even more) when she had no more tears left, Tim spoke again.

—It's getting late, you should be asleep and unless Riddler is entertaining the bat, Bruce will be here at any minute and I don't want him to scold you for staying up so late, you have class tomorrow, right?

Faith nodded, releasing a small chuckle upon hearing Drake's motherly but bossy tone.

—Whatever you say, mom — emphasizing the word "mom" on a goofy manner.

He rolled the eyes pretending to be offended but without making the least of attempts to hide his own amusement.

—Go to your room, dummy!—

She raised her hands as if she were being arrested before turning around and running upstairs followed by Tim, who was also heading to his room.  However, something stopped her once she was standing in front of the door of her own room.

She didn't want to be alone ... at least not for tonight ...

A small knock on Tim's door caught his attention off of his monitors, at first he thought it was Alfred about to scold him like every other night for not sleeping or Damian who had arrived from patrol early and couldn't find Titus favorite chewing toy.

But no… there in the door frame stood Faith with a pillow under her arm and a slightly shy smile.

—You're supposed to be asleep.

—Right back at ya — she replayed quickly.

—I’m not the one who has to save his grades on algebra tomorrow, Faith—he said, reminding her of his test in the morning.

—Yeah, well… truth is… I can't sleep…

Her voice barely even believing herself.

—Can I… can I stay here? —Tim flushed wildly almost at the exact moment he heard those words come out of her mouth.

—I… Um.  Yeah  Yeah, sure — tripping on his own words he stepped clumsily into the side in order to let her in.

Tim's room was both a mess and incredibly clean… his desk was the messy part, probably because he spend a lot of his time glued to his computer to the point Alfred sometimes had to brake in and almost drag him outside to eat like a normal human  being instead of just feeding off of energy bars and coffee.

In comparison was the side of the bead, it was so clean. Everything looked almost brand new, since he barely slept and when he did it was just very quick naps before patrol.

—Make yourself comfortable— he signaled the bed before putting back on his headphones and to whatever he was doing.

—Aren't you going to sleep?— Faith asked as she settled between the sheets.

Tim was silent for a moment, trying to find an answer.

—Well ... maybe just for a little while…—

He finally spoke before joining Faith, keeping a adequate distance, which Faith quickly ignored by hugging him unexpectedly, burying his face in the boy's chest.

—Good night, Tim.—

Tim thanked the lights were off, otherwise Faith would have seen his face as red as a tomato.  The girl's touch was comforting and warm so he didn't think twice before reciprocating the hug and planting a small kiss on her head.

—Good night, Faith.

[mathiaskillmaster]

Rebirth of the Dragon (After GOT / Daenerys Targaryen) Part 2

The first thing Daenerys saw when she opened her eyes, her eyelids stuck a little, after her troubled sight was back to normal, was the ceiling of the little room she was in. A pleasant and light smell of incense permeated the air. She was lying in a comfortable single bed under a dark silk blanket. Her head was horribly painful, and she felt as if her whole body were suffering from aches and pains. Despite the pain, she managed to sit up, sitting in the bed and watching around the darkness of the room, lit simply by the rays of daylight filtering through the tile of the only window in the room. But a peculiar pain made her look down at her chest wound. Once again, she remembered .... Jon .... it was him who had done that .... she saw him again, in her mind, his face looking at her, and the stinging pain of the blade penetrating into her flesh ... the young woman's beating heart rose again, while without being able to prevent it, she shed tears, her lips trembling and plunging her face into her hands .... how was all of this possible? How could he do that to her? And above all, how could she come back? Why was she here? She also remembered Jon and his scars on the body, as well as the story of his return to the world of the living, brought back also by a priestess of R'hllor .... Had it happened for her too? Daenerys was more than lost, all mixing in her head, and the feeling of sadness invading her. The door of the room opened slowly in a squeak and the servant Athias entered, to find the young woman sitting under the blanket. _ "Ah, finally you're awake. You've slept for almost two days ... I'm bringing you something to eat, you need to regain your strength." The servant came to put down a small wooden tray containing a piece of bread, some cheese and a few pieces of dried meat, as well as a bronze water jug. Daenerys said nothing, staring at him suspiciously and retreated a little into the bed. Athias noticed it and smiled at her. _"Don't worry, you will not risk anything here." _ "B .... but ..... where am I?" she asked. _"In the temple of R'hllor, at Volantis. You are the high-priestess Kinvara's distinguished guest. We must take care of you, that is her will, as well as that of the master of light, who by a miracle as he alone can provoke them, has brought you back among the living." R'hllor? The master of light? Like many, Daenerys knew the worship devoted to this god and the many disciples who compose it. So, was it really him who had brought her back from the lands of death? But why? Feeling her stomach scolded fiercely, the young woman first chose to take the tray and eat timidly, which seemed reassured the young servant to see that she had kept the appetite. He also noticed the traces of dry tears on her cheeks. He would ask her why, but choose to leave her alone, knowing what she had already suffered. Feeling the food and the water running down her throat made Daenerys feel like she was really alive, literally. She watched as Athias came to lay clean and folded clothes on the bed, especially for her. _ "When you feel ready, you can get dressed and come to see the High Priestess." _"But ... how did I get to Volantis? I remember that ... I was in King's Landing when ...." She could not continue her sentence, her throat getting tied again because of the sorrow. _ "Your dragon has carried you so far ... He has even stood by you to protect your body, even starving himself of food and sleep. I must admit that I had never seen such devotion from an animal." replied Athias. At the mention of this dragon, Daenerys reacts immediately and seizes the servant by the collar. _ "Drogon! Where is he?! I have to see him!" _"Uh, he's in the backyard of the temple. He had to get some strength again ..." Athias replied. Daenerys did not wait any longer, spreading the blanket and getting up, her feet touching the cold pavement of the room. Athias, out of respect, looked away as the young woman, completely naked, seized the clothes on the bed and began to dress. A simple and modest dress of a dark green-gray color, short pants, as well as shoes. She did not even pay attention to Athias's presence as she put on the dress. She could see herself for a moment, in the small mirror resting on the wooden table in front of the bed. She could see her face dug by fatigue, doubt, her long silver hair undone and cascading over her shoulders ... Once ready, and without even the permission of the servant, Daenerys left the room hastily, pushing the door out of her way and closely followed by Athias who wanted to hold her. He held her by the wrist, which earned him a glare from her. _"Wait, wait, I know you're in a hurry, but you have to stay calm. You've just had a very violent shock and ..." _ "I have to see my dragon, do you understand?!" she insisted, releasing her wrist from his hand "... I want to make sure he's fine." At the woman's tone and stubborn gaze, Athias sighed heavily and then decided to accompany her, guiding her to the back yard. They crossed a large number of corridors and rooms, where Daenerys could see other servants at work, maintaining the temple, as well as red priests and priestesses working for their god. After a door, Daenerys finally found herself outside, feeling the fresh air come to caress her face and the light of the day come to greet her. And it is in the middle of this big space, that she saw him finally. Her dear child, her last still alive, his huge scaly body getting warm in the sunlight. Tears, of joy this time, flowed down Daenerys' cheeks as she walked unhesitatingly towards Drogon, who, noticing her, immediately rose with all his stature and came to her with affectionate grunts. Daenerys huddled against his muzzle, caressing him with all the love a mother could give to her son. Drogon seemed almost purring like a big cat. With the tip of his big tongue, the dragon came to lick her cheek gently in an emotional sign, which made a snort laughed from the young woman with the tickle. _ "Drogon ... I ... I'm so happy you're here .... you .... you saved me ..." she said in her tears of happiness. It is true. If she had been able to return, it was thanks to him, who, by taking her away from Westeros, had thus prevented anyone from getting rid of her body. Drogon listened to her, continuing to look at her and gently rub his muzzle against her as her hands caressed his black scales. Standing at the door, Athias stayed behind to let the young woman find her dragon in peace and returned to his temple duties. Daenerys, as an attentive mother, was looking all over Drogon's body to see the trace of some wound, but luckily he had nothing. He had regained strength and regained his appetite, judging by the many bones of animals that littered the backyard floor. R'hllor's servants had taken care of him, and inwardly she thanked them. At least he was still the dragon she knew, still letting his food scraps as a big child. Daenerys smiled, tenderly, seeing Drogon come to seize a half-eaten carcass of what was a goat and lay it in front of his mother, and looking at her with a childish air as if to offer her food. _ "I .... no thanks, Drogon, I've already eaten." she said with a little grimace at the smell of carrion and flies fluttering around. Drogon seemed to understand and did not deprive himself, enclosing his jaws on the carcass and swallowing it at once in a crack of bones and flesh. _ "Dragons are quite remarkable creatures." Suddenly, the voice of Kinvara, the high priestess, who came forward to meet the young Queen Targaryen. Drogon showed no sign of mistrust or aggression towards the red woman, knowing what she had done for his mother. Although still a little suspicious, Daenerys also knew that she owed her miraculous return to this priestess. _"Drogon is not only remarkable," said Daenerys, turning to her and looking at him with love and pride, "he is unique, and he is my child ... the only one I have in this world." Her thoughts returned for a moment to her two other sons, Viserion and Rhaegal, both dead during this infernal crusade to reconquer this accursed throne and the bloody war against the white walkers that had cost her a lot, whose life of her dearest and faithful friend, Ser Jorah. With a tight heart and a tight throat, Daenerys had a thought for him too, as well as her dear Missandei and Grey Worm. She hoped he was still alive, somewhere. She had lost everything .... everything. Sadness invaded her, but also anger, a bitter and disgusting mixture in her mouth. She saw the faces of Tyrion, her former hand that had let her down, and Jon, the man she loved, who had stuck a dagger into her heart ... Daenerys's fist was twitching, shaking softly. Seeing the young queen plunge back into her painful memories, Kinvara came to her. _ "If I understand correctly ...." said Daenerys turning to her "... I also have my return to your powers, red priestess." _"Oh, it's not my will in particular ..." Kinvara replied modestly as she joined her as the two women walked side by side on the pavement of the courtyard. "... I am only a humble servant." _ "So I have my return to the master of light, is that it?" questioned the young fallen queen again. Kinvara confirmed the question with a simple nod. Daenerys really had trouble conceiving it. _"Do you find that really so surprising? Did not you hear, like me, as we bring you back, that voice in the flames .... you heard it too, did not you?" Daenerys's face turned pale and Kinvara saw on her face the answer to the question. How could this priestess know? It was true. While she was almost dead, she did not really know how to describe the state in which she was, she had heard it ... that whisper, that disembodied voice in her ear while a powerful heat enveloped her ... Was it ..... him? _ "But ... but why me? Why have brought me back?" Kinvara understood this curiosity that devoured her, and invited the young Targaryen woman to follow her inside the temple. ********* Kinvara led Daenerys into the great room of the altar, where the queen of the dragons could finally contemplate with her eyes this imposing room, whose mystical appearance was matched only by the heavy aura that reigned there, almost wrenching a shudder from Dany's body. Her attention was focused on the altar ... she was convinced that she had already seen it .... in a dream, or maybe it was not .... a big fiery heart all carved stone, standing in the middle of a dark and giant room, surrounded by flames ..... Kinvara, as usual when she went to this sacred place, lit one by one a few candles on the candlesticks arranged on one side, causing small dancing flames on each wick. _ "Answer me now, what your master can expect from me?" asked Daenerys, losing some patience. Kinvara understood it quite well, contenting herself with blowing the rod used to light the candles and resumed her conversation with her. _ "You are the one who was promised, Daenerys stormborn. A great destiny awaits you, as the master of the light has wanted ...." _ "A great destiny?" Daenerys interrupted, raising an eyebrow "... I was betrayed by those I thought were my allies, I was murdered by the man I loved, I lost two of my children and all my army .... where do you see a great destiny in this disaster?!" The young fallen queen was getting carried away, but calmed down very quickly to avoid sinking, and feeling that she was not yet fully recovered, blew a big blow. Kinvara was very calm, not insulted by the tone Daenerys had used towards her. Dany pulled herself together, and sat down on the stone bench in the back of the room, running her face between her hands and trying to tidy up her confused mind. _ "What .... what happened when I was ......?" she could not even finish her sentence as it sounded impossible. _ "The northern kingdom has become independent, and the six crowns are now ruled by a new king named Bran the broken .... the iron throne, as for it, is no more." At this last mention, the heart of Daenerys jumped and she raised her head to the priestess, and guessed in her eyes, that she was telling the truth. _ "The ... the iron throne has disappeared?" _ "Yes ..." confirmed Kinvara "... your dragon destroyed it after he found you dead in the throne room ..... I saw it in the flames ... . " _ "Drogon? But why did he do that?" Daenerys asks, even more lost. _ "As you said yourself, majesty, your dragon is unique, with an extraordinary intelligence .... the iron throne was what caused your downfall, and Drogon, in his clairvoyance, therefore decided to eliminate once and for all what had brought about the death of his mother, to avenge you, but also to deliver you .... " _ "To deliver me?" replied Daenerys, raising an eyebrow, wary of the explanations of the high priestess who pursued. _"To deliver you from the legacy of your ancestors, this same legacy that not only cost you your life, but also your most faithful allies .... you were not made for sitting on that iron throne, as you were not made to reign in Westeros .... " Daenerys had a hard time accepting that. She who, all her life, had fought with all her strength to take back the inheritance of her dynasty ... With the disappearance of the iron throne, what remained of the symbolic legacy left by Aegon the conqueror had just fainted forever, putting a definitive end to the reign of the Targaryen dynasty on Westeros. Daenerys was once again divided between sadness and anger. She had just lost everything this time. Another usurper had seized power in Westeros, a waking nightmare for the fallen young queen.... _ "If what you say is true .... then, where is my true place?" Daenerys asked again, emptying her mind. Kinvara smiled at her, and with a gesture of the hand, invited her to get up and come near the stone pediestal in which was burning the flames of a brazier in a container of iron and bronze. _ "Come closer, Daenerys stormborn .... look in the flames and tell me what you see ...." Daenerys was beginning to be tired of all this mystery, but carried away by her curiosity and the belief that Kinvara was right, stepped shyly up to the brazier and stared her focused gaze on it. Standing behind her, Kinvara waited, watching intently. _ "What do you see?" said the high priestess. _ "I ..... nothing, only the flames ...." answered the young Targaryen, honestly, moderately convinced. Kinvara insisted that she continue to watch, more carefully. What Daenerys did. She could only see the dance of flames in front of her, nothing else, as if the world around her had faded away. There was only her and this brazier in front of her, nothing else. The pleasant heat came to caress her face, bringing her some moral comfort. This unique bond with fire, which she did not know how she could have gotten, had always been a way for her to feel alive. Long seconds passed during which Dany stared at the fire. The mystical aura became more and more felt as and when. Kinvara felt it too but did nothing, just showing a satisfied expression. Daenerys's expression also changed, looking astonished, voiceless, as if watching something in the midst of undulating flames. _ "I ... I see something ..." suddenly sighs the silver-haired young woman, without being able to look away from the brazier. "... dark lands, where the night never seems to end .... I see a city made of black stone ..... I hear .... yes, I hear cries .... cries of baby dragons! They come from this black mountain, shaped like ... a screaming skull ...... I ... there is a form in this mountain .... it ... it turns to me ... those eyes ... " fear grew in Daenerys's tone. Sudden, a crackling of the fire made Daenerys jump, who now could not see anything in the fire. Kinvara had not lost anything of the description made by the young woman, and did not seem really surprised either. Dazed by what she had just seen and heard, Daenerys came to sit on the stone bench. The cries of these baby dragons continued to resonate in her head, almost like calls. _ "I know what you've seen ...." Kinvara told her "... because I've seen it too." _ "But .... what does that mean?" _ "That your place is here, in Essos, Daenerys stormborn .... remember what you did for these lands, countless slaves that you have saved, lives that you have made better by your actions ... .. you are more than a queen ... you are a liberator, the one who was returned to us in fire and ashes, by the grace of the master of light." Was all this real? After all she could see, Daenerys could hardly question the intervention of a certain divine presence. But why her? The vision of these black mountains punctuated in this disturbing night, this city of black stone, came back to her mind. Kinvara guessed it as well, gently putting her hand on Dany's and kneeling in front of her. _"The master has shown you the way, it's up to you now to take it, and know that I, Kinvara, high priestess of Volantis, swears to follow you and serve you." Daenerys did not know how to react, but was still grateful to these priests for taking care of her and her dear Drogon. Although she could decide to ignore this vision, the latter could not detach from her mind. The cries of these baby dragons resonating in a distant echo obsessed her ... she had to discover what it was. _ "But ..... where should we go?" was the last question of the young queen. Kinvara gave her a clever look and a smirk, and gave a very special name that almost made Daenerys shudder. _ "Asshai."

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

Neuron, Ch.6

Bucky x Named (Mutant) Reader

Warnings: violence, some torture, some language, mostly though just a lot of angst and me attempting to write a fight scene... I think that’s it

Masterlist

Word count: 4637, it’s about to get real

Note: If you don’t care about this and the “Keep Reading” thing for some reason doesn’t happen, I apologize.  Not gonna lie, this is the chapter I’ve been wanting to write since I started and I am excited.  Gifs are still not mine.  Bucky Barnes is life, he is the grease-ball light of my life.

“Strucker has Bucky.”

Your eyes snapped open, a sharp throb in your chest.  Fully awake, you were aware that your arm had gone numb from resting your head on it, but you could clearly hear Tony’s conversation with Steve.

“Slow down, what happened?” You stayed as still as you could, feigning sleep.  Lucky for you, you’d fallen asleep facing the side of the jet.

Steve’s voice was shaky, “The train was a trap.  We were already on the connection to Florence when Wanda spotted her across the station. They separated us, and I lost him. Just like last time.”

“What’s the plan, Cap?”

“Strucker’s headed for Genoa, coastal city.  But we need to regroup before going after them.  We’re on the way back to the jet now.”

“Okay,” Tony continued quietly, “What should I tell Denna?”

Steve sighed, “Nothing, yet; she’ll want to go after him.”  Damn straight.  “Wait until we get back.”

Your blood boiled. Strucker had Bucky.  Hydra had Bucky.  Again.  And it was your fault.  You’d told Steve to take him along.  You’d encouraged him to go.  And they wouldn’t even be after him if it wasn’t for protecting him.  You didn’t even go with him.  And Steve.  What the hell?  Nothing?  Oh, you were going to have some words.  Right after you cleaned up your mess and got Bucky the hell away from those nutjobs. You didn’t want to know what they planned on doing to him.  You didn’t want to think about it.  But you’d heard the stories.

You had to get him out of there.

The comm clicked off and you heard Tony swear, “Fuck,” before opening the hatch and storming out. You waited a heartbeat before you jumped up, rubbing some feeling back into your limb.  Genoa.  That’s where Strucker was going, and that’s where you were going.

Still sitting where Tony had put him, the General’s smug smile caught your attention.  Hot and humid anger rose in you.

“What’s in Genoa?” you asked him through gritted teeth.

He smiled viciously back at you.  “We’ve only reclaimed what was ours.  You can’t save him now.”

You backhanded him, hard. “Tell me.”

“Or what, you gonna hit me again, little girl?”  His handcuffs slipped off and before you knew it, he had you on the floor.  “I’m so scared.”

“You should be.” Rolling your eyes, the neurons flew from your fingertips effortlessly.  He sat back down with some effort, jaw clenched.  You did not want to hear him speak.  “You are out of your depth, General.”  You snatched the mangled bobby him out of his hand before snapping the handcuffs back on. The look of absolute hatred in his eyes fueled your own, and you let a menacing grin overtake your expression.

You continued, “Maybe Strucker deigned to keep you in the dark; let me illuminate the subject. First off, I have more power than you, learn to accept it.  Second, I will save my friend.  And third, you are going to help me.  Questions?”

You cut off the flow of neurons you sent to his mouth.  He opened it tentatively and said, “Why would I help you, you freak?”  Your grin widened dangerously.

“Because you’re scared. And you don’t want to find out what I’ll do if you don’t.”

He eyed you suspiciously, as if you were either a deadly spider or a piece of fuzz, and he was waiting for you to move.  You hoped he wouldn’t call your bluff; you didn’t want to hurt him.  You wanted to find Bucky.  “Genoa is Strucker’s operational base.  I’ve never been, but there’s a headquarters there, outside the city of course.”

The grin slipped off your face and you relaxed.  High school theater had, apparently, been somewhat useful after all.

Okay, okay.  A base in Genoa.  You could get to Genoa; Strucker had taken a train, so could you. Probably.  As long as they took Discover.  The only problem, what were you going to do when you got to Genoa? This base wasn’t going to be on the map. And even if you managed to find it, you couldn’t just waltz in and demand they release Bucky and promise not to follow you home.

You chewed your thumbnail. Of course, there was a way you could do just that.  But it meant allowing Hydra to capture you and hoping they made the mistake of putting their two newest prisoners in the same room.  You considered a moment, then shrugged.  It was the only plan you had, and the minutes were ticking away.

Rolling your shoulders back in preparation you strode out of the jet.  You’d seen a bus stop sign in the airport, hopefully the walk there wouldn’t be too long, you estimated thirty minutes.

“Denna.”  Tony stood behind you, guilt written all over his face.

“Mr. Stark, we both know you can’t stop me, please don’t try.”

“You’re a civilian, I can’t let you go alone.”  

You shook your head, “We might spook them, and they could kill him before we even got close.”

He sighed, heavy. “You’re right.  Take this, at least.”  He held the same watch you’d borrowed earlier out to you.  “I modified it to be a bit more combat ready.  Take it.”

“That’s impossible, you’ve had it for what, three hours?”

He scoffed and pressed it into your palm, “Ye of little faith.

“I’ll try not to need it.”

“Yeah, but you should definitely play with it.  It’s pretty sweet.”

“Thank you. Seriously, if you ever need a babysitter, or a house sitter, or a witness, whatever.  Thank you.”  Before you turned from him, you regained your composure and said, “I’ll comm in as soon as I’m clear.”  He nodded in agreement and you took off jogging down the road.  

You weren’t sure, but you thought you heard him say, “Go get him.”

When Bucky regained consciousness, he found himself strapped into an all too familiar chair, shirtless, Tiffany Strucker watching him closely.  She had a glass of wine in her hand.  Oh, brother.  The room he was caged in had a high, glass ceiling, like a fish bowl.  The sun was high, looked to be midmorning.  He must’ve been out for a few hours.  Or a few days.  There really was no way of knowing.  Closer to Strucker, there was a rolling cart, presumably holding some sort of torture implements.  That didn’t bother him nearly as much as the bonds.  He could take pain.  He couldn’t take being restrained.  His pulse accelerated with every other beat.

“Glad to see you’re still with us, Sergeant.  You had me going for a minute.”

Bucky refused to respond, testing his bonds.  They were too strong for even him.  Tiffany set her glass on the cart and tapped her nose thoughtfully, then selected what looked to be a cattle prod.  Fabulous.

She smiled at him, teeth bright.  “I can’t have you dying before the main event.  That’s no fun for anyone.”  She circled him like a shark, drifting sensually with a sharp malevolence. “Sergeant, there’s no need for this cold shoulder business.”  Bucky’s jaw clenched involuntarily.  Was that supposed to be funny?  Abruptly she stopped, hovering over his left side.  “Say something, Sergeant Barnes.”

“What do you want?”

She tsked, running the prod dangerously close to his abdomen, coming around into his field of vision.  “Is that all you people can think you people can think to ask?”

“How is Hydra still operational?”

Instantly annoyed, she jabbed the prod into his side with each word, “When are you going to learn?” Bucky couldn’t hold in his cry as the last, vicious shock rolled through him.  Finally, Tiffany pulled the prod away and pushed her hair back.  “Our name is Hydra.  It’s a mythological Grecian beast.  Really, it’s quite simple.  Cut off one head, two more take its place.  You have to strike at the heart.  And you and your Avengers haven’t come close.”

She sauntered back to the cart for her wine and took a dainty sip, pleased by the burn marks the prod had left on Bucky’s heaving body.

“Sergeant Barnes, I knew that Steve was always the smart one.  You know, he was the brains, you were the brawn.  But, now he’s the brains and the brawn.  So, what does that make you?”

Bucky snickered, feigning confidence past the sweat swiftly encapsulating him, “You’ve never met Steve, have you?  The smart one, ha!”

Tiffany shot him a condescending smirk and continued, “Another one.  I’m sure somewhere in your thick head you’ve got a good question.”

“What do you want with me?”

“That’s it!” she exclaimed, bouncing on her feet.  “I knew you had it in you.”  She sighed, running a manicured hand down his cheek.  “Don’t worry.  The fun won’t really start until your little friend gets here.  Then, though, she’s going to help me undo what that Wakandan girl did to our favorite assassin.”  Bucky’s blood ran cold as that old sensation gripped him once again. He’d almost forgotten its name.  Fear.

“You can’t… it doesn’t… she…” Finally, he zeroed in on one thought, “You will never catch her.”

“I won’t have to. She’ll come.  For you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“A woman knows.”

A tall, lanky man in a polo cracked the door open.  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Yes, Jason?”

“Denna Reese has just boarded for a direct connection to Genoa.”

“Thank you, Jason.” Smiling brightly, she turned her attention back to Bucky.  “It won’t be long now.”

By the time your train reached the Genoa station it was early afternoon.  The sun shone brilliantly, high in a clear sky.  A dull conglomeration of city sounds met your ears, and, truth be told, it was far more familiar, and you took it in more comfortably than the mechanical clamor of the train.  In the station, you’d picked up a tourism pamphlet; you skimmed it, figuring the most efficient course of action was to stay as visible as possible.

You visited church after piazza after monument, and one very grand aquarium to no avail.  Out of ideas and full of frustration, you sat yourself on a curb and bit aggressively into some kind of cheesy bread.  It was almost evening and you were no closer to finding Bucky than hours ago.  Thinking about him made your gut cave in on itself.  Goddammit.  Just yesterday, they led an armed assault on an airport, and now they couldn’t be bothered to grab you in the street?  Something was wrong.  Maybe you were too visible.

Okay, okay.  If they thought it was a trap, that would complicate things.  What would put them off guard if it had been a trap?

You said softly into your collar, “They aren’t biting, calling it a day.  Will contact tomorrow.”  When you stood, you brushed your hands off on your jeans, sighing in defeat.  You’d passed a small hotel on the way over and you didn’t have a better plan.

“It appears they’ve given up.  She’s just checked into a motel about twenty minutes from here.”

Tiffany Strucker held her expression, one of pleased contempt.  Everything was going to plan.  Sergeant Barnes was teetering on the edge of a slippery slope into panic, and when Denna Reese was finally in her clutches she’d be poised to push him over. Even then, she could see him fight it, taking deep, ragged breaths, eyes squeezed shut.

“Perfect.  Wait a half hour, then send a team to collect our friend. If she fights,” she studied Bucky’s pained expression more closely, “Remind her of what we have.”

They’d put a burlap sack over your head just before shoving you into one of their trademark vans. You concealed your relief only barely, thinking instead about the tasks ahead.  Once you got to the base, you had to get Strucker and Bucky in the same room, then you’d incapacitate as many as possible.  Then you’d comm Tony.  And Steve. That would be an awkward conversation. But, if it meant getting Bucky back, it would be worth it.

The drive was longer than you’d expected, though you didn’t know whether that was by necessity or design because of the sack.  It smelled of stale air and peanuts.  It could certainly be worse.

Eventually, a sturdy hand pulled you from the van, led you some several yards, sat you in a cold metal chair, and removed the sack.  Eyes adjusting to the brightness, you blinked around.  You appeared to be in an office; a large black desk in front of you, and to your left a wide window overlooked the coast.

In no more than five minutes, a door opened behind you.

“Denna Reese.  Good to see you again.”  Tiffany Strucker strode into your line of sight and sat gracefully behind the desk.  She smiled warmly at you.

“I wish I could say the same.”

“Let me give you the tour.” She offered you a hand up, which you took cautiously.  Then she led you down a maze of hallways, shoes clacking on the tile.

After a moment, she asked, “Do you remember in Sokovia a few years ago?”

“You mean Ultron. Bits and pieces, sure.”

“Ultron, yes.  But before Ultron, Hydra was involved with something far more lucrative than destruction.  My father oversaw the experiments there.  They aimed to create an army of mutants.”

Shocked, you cut in, “An army of mutants?”  The corridor she led you down appeared to be a series of holding cells. Eyes watched you from some of the small windows as you passed; you kept your senses alert for any sign of Bucky.

“Yes.  Have you never wondered how Wanda Maximoff obtained her gifts? After the Maximoffs defected and my father was captured, Hydra fell into disarray.  While my father’s work proved incredibly effective, creating a mutant remains expensive.”

“Haven’t you ever seen a Bond film?” you asked, restless, “Gloating is number one on the villain mistake list.”

With exaggerated incredulity, Strucker replied, “Gloating?  Denna, I’m trying to recruit you!”  She didn’t hesitate to give you further explanation.  “Creating mutants is very expensive but employing them is fairly cost effective.  In exchange for their specific services, we supply housing, payment, dental even.  In this very facility, we have over two dozen employees with biological mutations. With this new vein of power, we can reunite Hydra once and for all.  Better, stronger.  And Denna, with you at the helm, we would be unstoppable.”  Eventually, she stopped in front of another enormous window that overlooked a picturesque countryside and leaned on its banister.

“You want me to lead your army?”

Strucker nodded thoughtfully, “I understand you have misgivings, but hopefully we can come to an agreement.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.”  A distant wail echoed down the corridor, knocking the wind from you.  “Where is he?”

“The director will be here tomorrow.  He’ll want to see you both well rested.  Jason!”

“Yes ma’am?” said Jason, presumably, appearing from an adjacent hall.

She smiled cryptically, “Show Miss Reese to her room.  She’ll need to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for morning.”  Without a backwards glance, she strutted off down the hallway.

Jason gestured down the hall in the other direction.  “Miss Reese, if you would.”  You walked back towards the holding cells in silence for a spell.  He opened one of the doors, and before herding you inside he said to you quietly, “They’re really quite harmless.”  Before you had the chance to protest, three sets of dark eyes glared at you from the cell.  The door closed behind you.

In front of you was a tall, burly man, to your left a taller, burlier woman, and on your right was an incredibly thin boy.  All had the same unruly earth-brown hair and olive toned skin.  They did not look happy.  You tried to make yourself as small as possible, pressing your back into the wall in apprehension.  

The boy drifted close to you, eyes curious.  “We are not going to hurt you.”

“Sharkbait,” snapped the woman, “Don’t get too close.  You don’t know where that’s been.”

He stepped back but continued his appraisal.  “Interesting choice of words.  She came from Milan.  Before that,” he inhaled deeply, “Somewhere American.”

“How-how do you know that?”

He smiled, disarming you instantly, “I can smell it on you.”  Realization struck you.  Mutants. Hydra’s mutants.

“So this is how Strucker treats her ‘employees’?  Someone alert the better business bureau.”  The woman continued to glower, but the boy’s face grew confused.  “You are not with Hydra?”

“Aren’t you?”

The woman cut in again, “No. I told you not to get close.”

“Wait, wait.  If you aren’t with them, why are you here?”

The man broke his silence, laughing bitterly.  “We are here because we aren’t with them.  Why are you here?”

You smiled in spite of yourself.  “Because I am not with them.”

He held his hand out to you and you shook it happily.  “I am Diego, this is my sister, Perla, and that’s our baby brother, Siro.  Everybody calls him Sharkbait.”

“So I gathered.  I’m Denna.”  The woman’s ears seemed to perk up with interest.  “So, if Sharkbait can smell where I’ve been, are the two of you mutants as well?”

“Ever seen a frog’s hand?” Diego gestured to his sister.  “Suction cup fingers, double lidded eyes.  She chirps like a frog, too.”

“I do not!  I have told you a million times, male frogs chirp. I do not.”

He surrendered, hands in the air.  “Yeah, yeah, you said.  I’m immune to mostly everything.  Diseases, poisons.”

Another cry of pain met your ears from somewhere further into the facility.

“Yeesh,” exclaimed Perla, “What are they doing to this guy?  He’s been doing that since ten this morning!”  

Dear God.  “I have to get out of here.”

“You and everyone else, kid.”  You ignored her as he cried out again, and any hope you had that it wasn’t Bucky drained out of you like the blood from your face.  The instinct to use your ability came as a heady seduction; it took all you had not to find the nearest guard and force him to release you.  Without a map, though, it was big enough that you’d never find him.  And then you both were as good as dead.

“Do you know where they’re keeping him?” you asked desperately.

Something in your voice struck a chord with Perla, who replied, “No.  They told us about you, and your mutation.  You could walk right out of here.  Is this man why you haven’t?”

Breathless, you whispered, “Yes.”  Diego put an arm around Sharkbait.  Apparently, he didn’t like the sounds either.

“Try to get some rest. You will be glad for it in the morning.” You slid down the wall to the floor, burying your head in your knees to conceal the despairing tears that refused to yield, beginning the longest night of your life.

Bucky’s cries persisted for hours, each one chipping away at your sanity.  God, you wanted to touch him, really touch him, just once.  Just to tell him that tomorrow would be better. That tomorrow you would get him away from that monster, away from this place.  But you couldn’t.  And that made you almost as angry as his pain did.

Eventually, the horrid sounds fizzled out for the night, though it took you a few more hours to fall into something resembling sleep.

When dawn broke, Jason came to fetch you.  The sound of his voice made you sick with rage, the desire to subdue him stronger than it’d ever been.  You resisted the urge as you followed him down the halls, by imagining ripping Strucker’s throat out with your canines.

Tiffany Strucker was very pleased.  Not ten minutes after dawn Jason stepped onto the balcony with Denna Reese.  You looked simply furious.  The balcony overlooked the atrium, at the center of which was Sergeant Barnes, a little burned, bloodied and bruised, but breathing steadily. When you finally locked eyes on him sitting below you, she knew everything was going to plan.  The expression drizzling down your face was plain as day – the guilt of inaction, the indignation for a wronged person, the relief for a live friend.  Oh, and the sound you made, halfway between a yelp and a groan.  Agony.  Well, on with the plan.

“Denna, how kind of you to join us.  I trust you slept well.”  Your jaw tightened, and she was willing to bet you’d drawn blood from how tightly your fists were clenched.

The lust for justice hit you in an almost overwhelming blast.  You were so close to success, all you had to do was wait for the director, and it would be over.  Hydra would be finished, you hoped.  Bucky’s gaze locked onto yours, his eyes unreadable, but you still wanted to drown yourself in them.

Strucker sauntered across the floor to stand next to the device Bucky was strapped into.  “I hope you don’t mind, the director will want a demonstration and I need to make sure the subject is compliant.”

She pressed something to Bucky’s temple and his whole body tensed, teeth gritted.  Your own knees weak, you leaned on the railing.  Bucky spasmed, then again.  You glanced at the time frantically.  How much longer could he take this?  How much longer could you take this?  Bucky’s control faltered, and he let loose a scream, answering both questions.  It was now or never.

Your voice broke as you shrieked, “Stop!”  Strucker pulled the thing away from Bucky, and a smidge of composure returned to you as his body relaxed, chest heaving.  Jason pulled your arms together behind your back to restrain you.

“Or what?”  You gave Bucky a pointed look before you tapped your watch once.  Twice more.

“What the…?” said Jason, loosening his grip in confusion.  The suit that encapsulated you was pure white now, how Tony had found the time you couldn’t imagine.  It was very intuitive though.

With a flick of your wrist you shot a neuron that merged with the suit’s own pulse of energy; it hit Jason, hard.  Before Strucker had time to retaliate, you leaped from the balcony, landing in front of Bucky.  The feet of the suit absorbed the shock impressively well, they seemed almost spring reinforced.

You planted a kick on Strucker’s midsection with the ball of your right foot and she flew back with a yelp. Definitely spring reinforced.  The bonds holding Bucky down proved less than a challenge for your strengths combined and soon he was freed at last.

The first thing he said to you was, “Why do you have a cape?”  Surprised, you looked down at yourself.  You did in fact have a cape the same brilliant white as the rest of the suit.  Stark.

“What was that?” a faraway voice asked.

The suit whirred as the helmet retracted.  Shrugging, you looked at Bucky and said, “Up for some action?”  He cracked the knuckles on his right hand in response.

Tiffany Strucker groaned and rose from the ground.  “Guards!” she yelled weakly.

A door in front and two to your right opened as Hydra operatives spilled in, guns trained on you and Bucky.  Time to find our what Model 20 C could really do.

Your neuron and the suits power combined knocked out whoever the blast connected with, taking three of them out easily as independent neurons flew to the rest.

“That is not fair, I was so ready to hit someone,” complained Bucky as the remaining guards dropped their weapons and knelt on the ground.  You sent a knockout pulse to each.

You heard a flurry of footsteps getting closer.  Grinning, you replied, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Several angry-looking people entered the room next.  Mutants. Two came at you, one with big glowing eyes and sharp teeth, another with rough orange skin.

“Cream-cicle or needle-face?” Bucky asked you.  How was it that even after enduring several hours of torture he managed to make you laugh?

“I don’t know, needle-face looks mean.  Sure you can handle him?”

He laughed, an absolute symphony.  He fought off several mutants one way or another, you fought off several less but eventually you remembered something important.  You looked around for Strucker, hoping you hadn’t missed your chance. She wasn’t where she’d fallen, you spotted her running along the side by the window and hit her with a pulse.

Suddenly, the room shook as Bucky threw the mutant he fought into the wall; the impact was forceful enough to shatter the enormous window.  Lost in the heat of a fight, Bucky didn’t notice a huge crossbeam start to come free.  It was directly over him.

You didn’t think.  You fired the neurons, making him leap out of the way.

“Hey!” he barked in surprise.  The beam came crashing down and you lost focus, cutting off the stream.  The sudden impact and absence of information to his muscles sent Bucky teetering out the open window.

“Bucky!” you screamed, arms stretching out instinctively. The cape detached itself from your shoulders and flew out after him.  Shocked, you lurched to the edge to see the cape wrap itself around Bucky just before he hit the ground.  You stood paralyzed.  Then he wriggled his way free.  You jumped.

You realized you definitely overestimated the shock absorbing capabilities of the suit just before you landed, doing your best to tuck and roll.  Bucky lay a few feet from you, you threw yourself onto him.  He huffed.

“Sorry,” you said, releasing him.  “I’m sorry. The cross-beam was going to fall on you and I, I didn’t think there was time, and I, I’m sorry.”  He pulled you back into him, shushing you.

He rubbed your back firmly, murmuring, “Breathe, Denna, breathe.”

You clung to his torso for dear life.  Then you remembered the burns.  You pulled away again and apologized again.  He responded with a sweet smile.

“You just saved my ass at least three times.  I can take it.”  You shook your head, smiling in spite of yourself, and got off the ground.  Bucky took the hand you offered, and you helped him to his feet.

“So, what happened to Jimmy?”

You blushed, “Everybody else calls you Bucky.  I hope that’s okay.”

“You can still call me whatever you want, Doll.”  If there was ever a time for a “blushing intensifies” meme, that was it.  He was totally serious, gorgeous oceanic eyes boring into you with intensity that could melt metal.  He flinched.  “Was that weird?”

You patted his arm in a healthy, platonic manner.  “No.” Then, changing the subject, “I don’t know how long those maniacs will be out.”  Bucky nodded, surveying the area.  You’d landed on the beach, coastline stretching out for miles on both sides.  You switched the suit’s comm on.

“Tony?  Steve?  Ground control to Major Tom?”

“Denna!” Tony’s voice crackled through the speaker.  “What’s happening?  You’ve been offline for almost twenty-four hours.”

“We got him, we’re in the-“

“Reese!” Steve exclaimed, cutting you off, “What the hell were you thinking?  Where are you?”

Exasperated and tired, you replied, “I’m at a mostly neutralized Hydra facility that won’t be neutralized for long.  I’ll fill you in when you get here.”  

“We are not done-“ You transmitted your coordinates and switched the comm off.  He could yell at you later, preferable when you were prepared to yell back.

Bucky began walking back to the building, saying, “There were some other prisoners in there, we should,” his step faltered, and he blinked groggily.  Oh no.

“Nope.  You’re sitting down, right now,” you said, hooking his arm over your shoulders.  You squinted up at the sun, already burning bright, not liking the thought of sunburn on the fresh electrical burns that Trespassed on Bucky’s chest and side.  “Preferably out of the sun.”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

In Which Sherlock Tries a Different Way To Cope With His Issues and John Finds Out About It

Hey so here it is, the fanfic I asked you (anonymously) if you wanted to read. The one where I project my issues onto fictional characters.  Wasn’t sure if I was gonna send it/post it/allow it to be seen by other humans because it’s sort of…personal, i guess. Um. Is there any way to put it under a read more? 

Anyway, here we go. Trigger warning for self harm.

(Submitted By Anonymous, story under cut)

Hi Nonny! As requested, I did put it under a read more, and I hope it’s okay if I did some grammar corrections... I can’t help myself LOL. 

As an aside, it’s a good ficlet, and I commend you for being brave to share what seems to be a real life experience through the eyes of the characters. The fic is worryingly detailed, though, Nonny, and I really hope that you are okay, and that you are seeking professional help if you need it. Remember: you are important and loved just as much as the next person, and I would hate for you to be self harming. HOWEVER, I do know that a lot of people write fics based on their past as a coping mechanism, and as a way to heal and to share their stories of their life, and to educate other people.

I love you Nonny, and I would be sad the see you hurt yourself. Please, for everyone, if you can’t get mental health support, 7Cups has been rec’d to me a lot as a “right now” solution until you can get to your therapist. PLEASE, you are all so beautiful, and you ARE worth something to me.

Story is under the read more, to everyone else: HEAVY TW for Self Harm (particularly cutting), blood, depression, drugs and mental health issues.

                It definitely hurt. He could feel it every time, but that was okay—that was part of the appeal, part of how it worked. How does it work?

                The body releases endorphins when it’s hurt, as a sort of natural painkiller, gives you a sort of biological high.

                It’s calming, watching blood, deep red and so warm, drip, drip, drip down your arm, off your fingertips, splatter against the stark white tile. Your hands shaking, feeling the heat rising out of your body when everything else seems so cold, reminding you of how alive you are in this frosty, unforgiving world.

                It makes you feel powerful and in control—to see the damage you can cause, the marks you can carve into your skin, a permanent reminder of the chaos inside you.

                The preparation, the clean-up, the act itself, it’s a distraction; the physical pain drowns out the tightness in your chest, the empty blackness clawing at your stomach, the weight that presses on your lungs, threatening to suffocate you—

                It lets everything out, everything you’ve been shoving into the deepest, darkest corners of your mind, the things you can’t bear to face in the light of day, finally freed from the prison of your flesh, eating away at your insides, things now washing down the drain in a swirl of rusty red water.

                Who knows why it works. But it does. It makes everything more bearable, for a time at least, and it stops the never-ending, uncontrollable swirl of thoughts, the ones that won’t go away no matter what you try, and it reminds you that you’re real; that you’re human. It brings you back to reality and takes you away at the same time. It’s as close as I can get to being able to turn off my head. And God, how I wish I could turn off my head.

                Of course, he’d never be able to articulate any of that. He wasn’t expecting to have to, either—no one has to know—but then came a sound, a sound that sent his heart racing into overdrive, that caused his stomach to plummet to the ground, that made his hands shake and his breathing catch—

                A knock on the bathroom door.

                A voice, John’s voice: “Sherlock? You in there?”

                  He’d been acting strange lately. (Okay, so he always acted strange, but this was beyond normal, even for him.) Always so twitchy, avoiding John’s casual questions, and the way he held his arms was off. Elbows bent. Didn’t let anyone touch them. Never rolled up his sleeves. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, John’s mind immediately went to drugs. And so he waited, deciding when to confront him.

                “So when were you going to tell me about it?”

                John had him cornered, as he walked out of the bathroom in his robe and pajamas. Sherlock tried to push past him, but John grabbed him by the bicep, forced his friend to face him. “Well? How long have you been back on?”

                “On what?” Sherlock asked innocently.

                “You know what. Drugs, Sherlock. Mycroft is going to want a list.”

                “I’m not on drugs, John,” Sherlock said scathingly. “Now would you please let me by? I have an experiment I need to work on.” He tried again to walk away, down the hallway, but John wasn’t letting go.

                “I’m not an idiot, Sherlock. For God’s sake, I’m a bloody doctor. And I’m your best friend. I know when you’re not acting right,” John replied. He knew he shouldn’t be angry, but he just couldn’t understand why Sherlock kept pulling this.

                A pause, and then, more gently this time, “Sherlock, we’ve been through this before. You should’ve come talk to me—or Molly, or Lestrade, or hell, even Mycroft—anybody, really.”

                “John, I appreciate the concern, but you’ve miscalculated the situation. Now, would you please let me go?” Sherlock’s tone was clipped, like he was trying to keep it light but having difficulty.

                “Miscalculated, have I? Then I guess you won’t mind me checking?” And before Sherlock had time to react, John grabbed him by his wrist, flipped it over, shoved up the sleeve of his dressing gown, and—

                “Jesus Christ.”

                It was barely a breath, an echo of quiet, whispered shock. He had been expecting track marks. He had been expecting drugs.

                He hadn’t been expecting this.

                Sherlock looked at the ground, smiled sheepishly. “It’s not as good as drugs, but I made a promise to avoid those.”

                John was still staring at Sherlock’s arm.

                It was crisscrossed with thick red slashes, some weeks old, others still bleeding. John withdrew his hand, now sticky with blood, looking shocked.  He looked at Sherlock, disbelief and horror crossing his face before being replaced by a sort of resigned calmness as he regained his composure. “Show me the other one.”

                Sherlock wordlessly held out his arm. John pushed up the sleeve, saw more cuts, and shook his head, looking away.

                “Christ, Sherlock, what the hell were thinking?”

                “I told you,” Sherlock explained, “it’s like drugs. It heightens my thought process.”

                John shook his head again, clearly not believing Sherlock, but apparently thinking it useless to argue with him. “Okay, well…” John looked around the hallway, clearly trying to figure out what to do. He had been prepared to argue, prepared to search all of Sherlock’s usual hiding places, but not to stitch up his friend’s arms, to run through his mind everything in the flat everything that could be used as a razor blade. There were a lot of things that could be used as a razor blade. Scalpels, kitchen knives, shaving razors, even the little blade in a pencil sharpener will work in a pinch.

“Here, come here.” John grabbed ahold of Sherlock’s wrist again, gently guiding him to the kitchen sink. Turning on the water and clearing dishes and science experiments from the counter, John washed his hands of Sherlock’s blood (dark red and sticky, leaving rusty fingerprints on the faucet handles) and said, “You wash those out, I’ll go and find the first aid kit. Stay there, okay?”

John walked back down the hallway, rooting through a closet to find the first aid kit that was buried somewhere in there. There’s something about the feeling of cold water on your arm, watching it swirl orange and pink and red before it floods down the drain, washing away all the things you’ve done wrong. John spread out the contents of the first aid kit on the counter beside the sink while Sherlock watched, apparently mesmerized, as the water flowed over his wrists, stained red as it ran down the drain.

“Okay, hold your arms out… yeah,” John turned off the water and poured hydrogen peroxide over Sherlock’s wrists. It sizzled and foamed where it met exposed flesh, but Sherlock gave no indication that he felt anything. John picked up a suture needle and a pair of forceps and got to work sewing Sherlock’s shredded arms back together. 

And I think I’ll end it there. Apparently, you’re not supposed to put hydrogen peroxide on wounds, because it kills healthy cells, but I didn’t feel like changing it. Sorry if the characterization is off, I don’t write fanfics very often, and I’m wayyy very new to Sherlock. But basically there are a few moments in the show that sort of put the idea into my head of drug addiction is not all that different to self harm, and we all know Sherlock is super self-destructive, so like what if he took that up as a different, still unhealthy coping mechanism. Plus then we had Faith Smith, who while I’ve seen a lot of posts saying she’s a mirror for John (which I don’t disagree with), she kind of brings up the issue of self harm being a different but very similar coping mechanism to what Sherlock does. Hope that made sense. Anyway thanks for reading through all of my rambling lol. (Also quick fic rec if you like the premise of Your Fave Is A Cutter type thing there’s one on AO3 called It Was The Boredom by 221Bme that I really liked.)

Yeah. Also I don’t know how submissions really work but if you don’t feel comfortable posting this (because it’s pretty…detailed…) I totally understand.

(Submitted by Anonymous)

Hi Nonny! Again, I want to thank you for sharing your ficlet, and I am sorry that you are hurting, but I am hopeful that writing is your new outlet. <3 Cutting fics aren’t really my cup of tea (a little bit TOO close to home for me, given I myself have self-esteem issues and contemplated cutting when I was younger), but I respect you very much for putting into words what I cannot ever relate to. I hope you are alright <3

[thedeadflag]

Looking For the Magic (Pt 3)

Tentative title for Option B, the magical Witch Fic WIP one-shot I’ve been struggling to finish. I’ll be posting blocks of this  with the tags #lookingforthemagic and #witchfic, in case you don’t want a few thousand words muddying up your dash. I think mobile still doesn’t use the ‘read more’ function, so I figure this would be as good a workaround for folks.

Content Warning (for the story as a whole): transphobia, cissexism, physical assault, misogyny, sexual content

(Part 1) (Part 2)  Part 3 under the cut.

Clarke sat on the couch with her head in her hands. She'd long since lost track of time, only knowing it had been dark outside for a long while. It'd been too easy to get lost in thought, and while she generally tried not to let her masochistic streak take over, she felt it was well deserved given the circumstances.

Hell, if only just the past year. She'd nearly killed Anya at the last major gathering, and certainly took her out of commission for a week or two. She'd heard from Lexa about Anya's recovery from her poison. Anya had only fully got back to a hundred percent just recently. If it wasn't for the fact that her abilities were so rare and valued by the coven, she definitely would have been exiled for her actions against Anya.

Anya had been taken to trial over her womanhood of all damn things, and villainized by the coven over the resulting schism in the membership and council, and yet she poisoned Anya at a major gathering without consequence. The thought of her having held a vendetta against Anya due to a need for justice seemed absurd now, given Anya was the one deserving of it, from the coven and from her.

I poisoned her, I almost killed her. I did that to her...I did that, and I slept like a baby...what kind of monster am I? Clarke wondered, roughly wiping at her eyes with the joint of her thumb. What the hell have I become?

Clarke wasn't sure she wanted the answer to that question.

She'd rushed out of Anya's room hours ago to leave Anya to rest up, reaching the front door just as the other woman's muffled screams reached her ears. She'd made for the outdoors, but the front door wouldn't budge, neither would the windows, or the second bedroom. They were still trapped, and it was like she could smell the death and decay around her from all the ways she'd hurt and nearly killed Anya in the past ten months, all the ways she'd promoted the woman's post-vote social isolation as some sick, twisted form of payback for what she thought Anya had done. She'd been so caught up in vengeance and her grudge that she hadn't clued in that maybe all wasn't as it seemed.

And now there they were, both having paid someone else's price many times over, both trapped together still, and both in recovery, if differently.

She wouldn't cry, couldn't cry, not when Anya was suffering one room over. Not when she'd just been brutalizing a weakened, defenseless version of the woman not long ago. Her stomach was rumbling but she couldn't handle eating any more of the pizza Anya made. Just knowing she'd feasted on it, and left Anya heaped on the ground for hours, when the woman had probably been hungry to start with, it all made Clarke feel sick to her stomach.

She wasn't raised to be cruel. She needed to do better, be better. If Anya had faith that she could, then she had to at least try. 

"Anya must be so hungry and sore. I...I can help with both." Clarke muttered to herself as she got up from the couch and made her way to the kitchen. She turned the oven on and got to making a smoothie, figuring the woman could use as much food and nutrients as she could handle.

It wasn't long before she had a nice cool protein smoothie and a bit of reheated pizza in her arms. Her heart quivered in her chest at the knowledge of who was on the other side of the bedroom door, the evidence of what she'd done waiting on the bed, but she pushed past it. Anya deserved better.

Clarke opened the bedroom door and stilled in the doorframe, eyes poring over the scene carefully, not wanting to disrupt the woman if she was sleeping. That question was answered in a moment when Anya reached up a hand, wiped at her face, and carefully sat up against the headboard. "Do I smell food?"

She let out a sigh of relief at being able to put her plan in motion and quickly made her way to bed, hesitating for a moment before taking a seat beside her fellow prisoner. Anya looked to be in better shape, her healing draught seeming to have gotten to work as usual. It was how wet Anya's face was that worried her, knowing it was too cold, and Anya wouldn't be running a fever, so it couldn't be sweat.

"Absolutely. I'm so sorry for depriving you all this time. My head's been scrambled, but it's no excuse. You must be so hungry!" Clarke let out, earning a small nod as those warm brown eyes stared hungrily at the pizza.

She offered the plate out, and Anya quickly set it on her lap and picked up a gooey slice, lifting it to her nose. "Mmmmn, delicious." The woman practically purred before taking a bite of it.

Clarke found herself in the confusing and curious position of feeling blood rush to her cheeks, feeling more and more inconspicuously out of sorts with every delighted moan escaping the woman beside her.  If only I could make her that happy... She found herself musing before shutting that thought process down. It wasn't appropriate.

It was an odd sight, though, watching Anya devour three of her pizza bowl slices and then demolish a smoothie, but the look of contentment that spread on Anya's face upon finishing was more than enough to put a smile on Clarke's.

"So I was thinking, your stomach and ribs must still be sore, and while the healing draught's still working away, I don't want you uncomfortable. Should I put together a hot water bottle for you?" She asked, hoping she wasn't rambling or making a ridiculous suggestion.

Thankfully, Anya just gave a small nod, prompting Clarke to hop from the bed and rush out to the kitchen to boil some water. As she waited for the water to cool enough to be poured into the bottle, Clarke found herself thinking back to that night ten months ago.

She'd been so cold and scared, and had been especially mortified when she'd woken up in the middle of the night, but Anya held her. Anya walked her through it, and made sure everything was in order. Anya had comforted her for no reason other than she wanted Clarke to be comforted.

In retrospect, that wasn't the kind of person who could have struck out at her like that, but she'd been naive, easy to manipulate. She was older now, she knew better now. And she had a feeling that together, she and Anya would find who hurt them, who set them against each other, and would make them pay.

But for now, she wanted Anya to feel the way she had back then. So when she returned to the bedroom with the hot water bottle, she couldn't quite will herself to leave. And when Anya turned onto her side, away from Clarke, and slipped a hand under the pillow, she saw an opportunity.

"I can hold it against you, if you want. That way, you can get some rest." Clarke mused openly, watching the other woman for the slightest of movements that might declare her presence unwanted. The heavy sigh that escaped Anya almost had her slipping from the bed, but then Anya's  other hand took hold of the covers and pulled them up to her shoulders, holding them there, leaving the hot water bottle unattended.

A silent acceptance of her plan.

Clarke thought she'd feel relieved, but she only felt anxious as she slipped under the covers and gently reached her arms around Anya's waist, carefully holding the hot water bottle in place and hugging it against Anya's abdomen. In essence, she was mirroring Anya's position from all those months ago, but it wasn't until Anya scooted ever so slightly backwards into her body that she felt any serenity about it.

Almost a year. Ten lost months where they could have been this close the whole time. Ten months of lost friendship, of suffering, of so many missed opportunities and experiences.

Clarke closed her eyes and pressed her face into the back of Anya's neck, her arms holding the woman a little more snugly. She had a lot to make up for, but for the moment, she felt she was right where she needed to be.

Everything felt hazy and weightless as she regained consciousness after her lengthy second bout of sleep. Honestly, she was almost entirely pain-free, her shoulder feeling fine instead of the fractured mess Clarke had made of it not a day ago.

The sun was setting, meaning it was getting close to twenty four hours since they'd arrived.  It'd been a long ass day, but at least there was a silver lining. And that was wrapped around her waist and a long cooled off hot water bottle.

It was a bit of a one-way situation, if she were honest with herself. She knew the disgust Clarke felt for her. It was the one thing keeping her from tossing the hot water bottle out of the way and bringing those soft hands to her waist where a guilty part of her might want them, knowing Clarke introduced that barrier for a specific reason.

She couldn't afford to be selfish when she still had yet to salvage a working relationship with the other woman. After all, they'd have to work together to weed out those who had set them against each other. That meant some level of amicability between them, which despite all the miscommunication, pain, and grave errors in understanding they'd made, Anya was sure could be an obstacle.

Again, Clarke made no secret in the past how her mere presence would ruin the other blonde's day. Anya had witnessed plenty of times the pure disgust flashing across Clarke's face upon seeing her, before the woman could school her features. Anya would accept the minimal comfort Clarke offered and would leave it at that.

But goddess, if she didn't want to just be wrapped up. With all that she'd learned, all the hardships she'd endured, and perhaps aided by her rather simple personal code of morals and ethics, tentative forgiveness had dropped away much of the deep seated feelings of pain and loss. It left her feeling like she had earlier that year in February, yearning for Clarke to smile at her, and yearning to be close to her. They couldn't turn back the clock, but she could try to get back to something close to where they'd been back then.

Maybe it was wrong, maybe it was twisted given their history and Clarke's violence, but Clarke apologized and showed real remorse. Clarke had been manipulated into being wielded against her. Clarke understood what she did was wrong and wanted to be better. That had resulted in the woman doing what she could to comfort and heal Anya to the best of her abilities, and that was a good first step. That had to count for something with how they both needed to move on from that painful chapter of their lives. And while it was unrealistic to expect things to ramp up to something unexpected, Anya couldn't help how she felt, how her memories of her early-mid teen years kept being drawn to the surface now that she didn’t have the spectre of Clarke’s hostility hanging over her anymore.

It was embarrassing. She was a warrior in their coven. She was the sword the council wielded when they wanted something to burn or bleed, but all she wanted in that moment was for Clarke to hold her close and tell her she'd never be hurt again, that it'd all be okay.

It was absurd, but it was what it was. Anya could deny a lot in life, but she knew her heart, and she knew it well. No point pretending she didn't still feel something for Clarke underneath it all.

Didn't change that she couldn't do anything about it, and that she had the willpower to keep to that resolution. At least barring any unforeseen changes.

Though, when Clarke let out a sleepy, annoyed grunt and pushed the water bottle away, Anya might have been frustrated that her will was being tested so soon. And when Clarke's arms settled all cozy and snug against her waist, all she could do was decide that she'd remain very still and quiet, and let Clarke figure out what to do when she woke.

And, well, Clarke deserved a good bit of rest after everything, too. Mental and emotional trauma needed recuperation as well as anything else.

It was maybe forty-five minutes later when Clarke let out a sleepy groan, which combined with the way the other blonde was nuzzling the back of her neck had her thinking she was waking up. Clarke only needed a few extra seconds to confirm it herself.

"Mmmghhn, what time is it?" Clarke mumbled as arms tightened around Anya's waist, nose trailing a brief path down to the crook of her neck.

"Doesn't matter. Go back to sleep if you're tired." She answered quietly, knowing she could stay where she was indefinitely, even if she could probably make good use of the bathroom.

Clarke's arms detached from her immediately, and the warmth of Clarke's body was gone in half a second, the other blonde scurrying away to the other side of the bed in a panic. Well, I guess that confirms she's still disgusted with me...

"You're not in pain, are you?" Clarke asked, thankfully bringing up a topic she could easily go on about if needed.

"Only slight aches now. Whatever that potion was, it's done wonders." Anya relayed, pulling the covers up over her body from where they'd fallen away. It was winter and, wards or not, the cottage was chilly. She didn't exactly have magic to keep her warm.

"That...that's good. Very good. Are you hungry?" Clarke asked, seeming abnormally scattered. She didn't have to put much thought into it, though, since the sound of Clarke's stomach rumbling was sign enough that one of them was.

"Not really, but you are." She said as she reluctantly got out of bed. "I'll wash up then make something to eat."

Clarke let out a loud huff. "You should be resting!"

"And you should be sleeping still, but I guess it's not in the cards, either." Anya called over her shoulder. By the time she finished in the washroom, Clarke still hadn't left the bedroom, which gave her plenty of space to figure out something to eat.

While she hadn't been Clarke's friend these past years, she did end up getting to know a number of things about the woman through Lexa and the time they were forced to spend near each other at events. Clarke had a deep love for gumbo, the spicier the better, but Anya didn't have the time or ingredients to make it, as she checked around. There was enough for her to make pizza about seven or eight times over, but not so much with gumbo.

But she did know Clarke was a fan of chicken and spicy things, so she went about collecting ingredients for an old southwest wrap recipe she used to make when she had a busier schedule and less time to cook. She wasn't big on spicy stuff after just waking up, so maybe she used an extra pan for her own recipe, but it was worth it.

"What smells heavenly?" She heard from the direction of the bathroom just around when she was finishing up with the wraps, filling Clarke's with some extra chicken before folding the ends.

"Food's up. Chicken wraps." Anya answered, plating both of theirs before taking hers to the living room couch. Mostly because there was a cozy blanket there, and a fireplace nearby if she chose to use it.

She was just getting comfortable under the large blanket when a freshly showered Clarke rounded the couch, plate in hand, and scooted in beside her. Sure, the blanket was large enough to cover the both of them, but Anya could hardly keep from pressing against the armrest, wanting to ensure Clarke had all the space she needed.

Anya could feel Clarke's eyes on her as they ate in silence, leaving her completely unsure what was coming next. She'd slept, gone to the washroom, and will have eaten. Nothing to excuse her from Clarke's presence that would likely come across as polite.

"Are you scared of me?" Anya found herself choking on her wrap once she processed Clarke's words, needing a moment to steady herself and take a drink of water before she could even consider a reply.

"No." It was the truth, though after a quick glance, she could tell Clarke wasn't so convinced.

"Then why did you move away from me? And you couldn't get out of the bedroom fast enough, and when I came into the kitchen to get food, you practically rushed to the couch. Like, I'd get it if you are, obviously, and it wouldn't be my place to tell you not to be." Clarke detailed, and okay, perhaps that interpretation made a bit more sense, but it wasn't fear driving it. Just a sense of self-preservation and not wanting to have any more of her ego destroyed.

"I'm not scared. I trust you when you say you won't willingly hurt me. I'm merely giving you your space, Clarke. You've made no secret in the past about not wanting to be near me." She explained at length, hoping to just finish the subject and move on to something else or maybe even a comfortable silence.

"But that was when I thought you nearly ruined my life, and were out to get me." Clarke noted, not really addressing the point at hand.

"Regardless, it still leaves all of that clear...disgust...you have for me. Just because I didn't do what you thought I did doesn't erase that gut instinct. I understood why you used the hot water bottle as a barrier, Clarke. I understood, and I appreciated what you did for me, but you don't have to pretend. I'd honestly prefer you don't." Anya rambled as she curled up further into the corner of the couch, wishing she could light a flame from a distance and get a fire going. There was rarely anything better than a warm fire on a cold night.

After a second or two of silence, she dared a glance back at Clarke, catching the other woman gaping at her, appearing entirely astonished for whatever reason. After all, it wasn't as if Clarke kept her emotions hidden.

She'd just turned away when she felt Clarke's hand lightly grasp her shoulder. Anya kept her gaze forward. "Anya, I've...goddess, I've never been disgusted by you. Take your pick from hate, loathe, whatever, but...not that."

"I know what I've seen, Clarke. You don't have to pretend we're working with clean slates in every area when we're not." Anya pushed, needing to have this topic of discussion done and over with. With the way her heart was thudding in her chest from just having Clarke's hand resting against her, she needed to avoid getting any hopes up.

"No, you don't...urgh!" Clarke blurted out, following her attempt at a denial with a long, drawn out groan. "Look, it's really embarrassing, but yeah, I was disgusted. With myself."

Anya's head swiveled unbidden to face the other woman, more out of confusion than anything else. "How does that make any sense?"

"I'd see you, and sometimes it wouldn't register that it was you initially, but then I'd recognize you, and I'd just...I'd disgust myself with how I reacted to seeing you. It wasn't right reacting to my enemy like that, someone who I thought hurt me so much. I figured I shouldn't have felt what I did, but I did, and I hated that. It disgusted me that as much as I hated you, it could never kill the part of me that thought you were..." Clarke rambled, voice trailing off as she stared at her hands, shaking them in the air and biting her lip in clear frustration for whatever word she couldn't seem to speak.

Still, Clarke had opened the door, broken the dam, whatever. She needed to know. "Thought I was what?"

Clarke's blue eyes flitted her way, a defeated sigh escaping her as her cheeks bloomed red. "Ithoughtyouweregorgeous." The woman spoke quickly and quietly, syllables mashed together in a near incomprehensible mess of sound.

It took a few seconds for Anya to make sense of it, but when it clicked, she was fairly certain her cheeks were equally as flushed. "Oh." She added, needing to give some response despite her confusion, seeing Clarke's nerves escalate visibly.

Honestly, it was hard to fathom that all that time, Clarke had been disgusted at feeling attraction towards her. It potentially made a small amount of sense, even if it took some mental gymnastics, but her shy eyes and anxious posture had Anya thinking Clarke was about a second away from imploding from a deadly mix of mortification and rejection, so she couldn't deny it might be the truth.

And honestly, with the truth thrown her way, especially given Clarke didn't have to disclose it, Anya felt a need to balance the scales. "I had the biggest crush on you, growing up." She continued, immediately feeling the intense heat of Clarke's gaze on her as she kept her focus on the fireplace. Anya wasn't sure she could speak the words face to face, but she could at least air them out. "Goddess, I tried to convince myself back then that it was a small thing, but my eyes would always look for you at the events for initiates. And when I was back home...I was a shit drawer, but when I'd sketch, I'd almost always end up doing your eyes. Never felt anyone really saw me, and I guess I just liked imagining...yeah."

Anya shook her head at the memories, at the sheer amount of paper she'd covered, crumpled up, and tossed out in her teens. She'd been the most embarrassing kid.

"Was...was that why you had me share your blankets that night?" Clarke asked hesitantly, the hand returning to Anya's shoulder and giving it a slight rub. It was nice.

"Of course not. You were freezing, you needed to be warm. Besides, I remember thinking you were dating someone back then, so my focus was just on keeping you warm, and maybe if I was lucky, we could end the weekend as friends. And then it turned into just wanting you to know I had your back, that you could trust me, that you were safe." Anya explained, putting to words her generally simple evolving plans that night, in case Clarke had any misunderstanding over her reasons. Sure, helping the pretty girl and maybe having a future shot at a relationship if everything went right and Clarke turned out not to be straight was something she'd considered back then, but she had known full well it was a pipe dream.

Anya was far more practical than that.

Clarke moved off the couch, gathering both of their plates and setting them on the coffee table before heading to the fireplace. Anya watched at the other blonde struggled a bit with the equipment stocked there, unable to hold back a smile at Clarke's unfamiliarity, but there was a fire going after a minute or two. Perhaps it was unsurprising that Clarke was thinking much the same thing as she had, given the temperature, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

It was Clarke slipping under the blanket and cuddling up beside her that had Anya feeling a little faint. "I guess it's my turn to return the favor and keep you warm, then." Clarke whispered as soft arms wrapped around Anya's nearest.

Anya wasn't sure what Clarke's angle was, and that was dangerous, but she couldn't bring herself to care when Clarke was warm, and soft, and smelled kind of wonderful.

"Sounds fair to me."

Clarke was a little proud of herself.

Between waking up clinging to Anya's wounded body, learning Anya thought she was disgusted of her, and learning Anya once had a deep crush on her, Clarke could say she'd been reeling for most of the past hour or so.

And yet, she hadn't lost it. Neither had she ran, or fucked up. Instead, she'd pushed forward, clarified problems, and worked to resolve them. In short, when it came to the prospects of leaving the cottage happy and with a new connection, there was hope for her yet.

The fact that Anya was much more relaxed was also riveting. It'd been ten months since she'd seen the woman with anything remotely resembling happiness or peacefulness across her face, and it was a damn beautiful sight. Not one she deserved, but one she would try to maintain for as long as possible.

"So, maybe you'll have to show me some of your sketches some day, see how they match up to the real thing." Clarke mused, breaking a comfortable silence in hopes of some stimulating dialogue.

The sound that escaped Anya was magical. Not since her childhood had she heard Anya laugh, and it sounded like the heavens opening up, but it was the gleeful, surprised smile that had Clarke utterly mesmerized. Maybe her crush had been deeper than she thought as well, because in that moment, all she wanted to do was keep Anya smiling as often as possible, for as long as possible, with some more laughter if she was lucky.

"Clarke, I told you, I'm shit at drawing. Nowhere near as talented as you on that front. Now, sculptures...that's different, but I was always terrible at sketching, even if I loved trying to replicate the blue of your eyes with my shitty pencil crayons. I was such a dork." Anya said, that smile dimming a little as she bit her lip and cast her gaze at the fire.

It was official: nervous Anya was endearing. It didn't hurt that the woman complimented her, either. It wasn't often anyone praised her art.

"More like adorkable. But I'd really like to see some of your scuptures if you'll let me. I'm sure they're great." Clarke probed, hoping for some affirmation, wanting a sign that maybe she and Anya were on the same page. Besides, Anya wielded the full power of the elements; she could only imagine the kind of nuanced control that could give a sculptor.

Anya let out another melodic laugh, and Clarke had to keep from sagging against her over the sweetness of the sound. "I think we could work out a time for you to come by." Anya added with a smile that was endearingly shy, and god, where was this woman all these years? "If we ever get out of this place, that is."

"Bathroom window was still warded. Guess there's still some condition for us to work through." Clarke noted with a roll of her eyes.

"Goddess, whatever Lexa and Costia concocted, I'm thankful, but they're gonna have some explaining to do when we get out of here." Anya agreed with a slow nod.

Anya's words stilled the thoughts in Clarke's mind, all of her brainpower focusing on a certain t-word. "What?! You're thankful? Even after everything?"

Anya turned her head and shot her the kind of smile you give when someone just asked a stupid question. The low, amused laugh made her inquiry even more worth it. "Especially after everything. I lost ten months of my life, Clarke, on top of so much more. I don't want to waste another second."

Clarke was sure her heart stopped for how silent everything went. Her mind was racing, working furiously determine if that was a sign, if it was an in, if it was a green light for her to test out something she'd been thinking about, to take the opportunity put out before her.

It was when her vision focused enough to see that same soft, warm expression on Anya's face as that night in the hotel that Clarke knew what she had to do.

Clarke flung herself onto Anya, hands lifting to cradle Anya's face as she pressed their lips together. For a split second, Clarke felt a debilitating spike of fear with Anya remaining still against her own. Then the heavens opened up alongside those supple lips, Anya grabbing at Clarke's top and pulling her down against her fellow witch's gloriously limber body.

In all her life she couldn't have imagined Anya would be so receptive. It was like playing a really arousing game of call and response; everything Clarke did, every kiss, every time she nibbled at the woman's lower lip, each time she rocked into her, each time she stroked her cheek, Anya would respond in kind with something of her own. Clarke knew what she was good at, and she wanted to give Anya the best she could offer, but Anya was clearly just as busy trying to learn what Clarke liked.

Her heart melted that much more, adoring that dedication.

And when her hips rocked into Anya, bringing an airy gasp from the woman beneath her, maybe Clarke decided to shift her focus on filling the room with more of those sounds. Anya only made it easier, head shifting to nuzzle Clarke's temple, lips a breath away from her ear, close enough to hear every gasp, hitched breath, moan, and whimper she could elicit. That combined with Anya running hands through her hair, nails down her back, palming at her ass, legs writhing against her own, body trembling and arching into Clarke's?

All she wanted was more, more, more of the intoxicating woman beneath her, and Anya was eager to give.

So when one of Anya's hands put a little space between them, Clarke wasn't discouraged, knowing whatever it was, it was important.

"I have some things I need...in my luggage...and I need a quick shower, and...and then can we take this to the bed where it's comfier?" Anya asked as she caught her breath. Honestly, the question was a bit out of the blue, but Clarke was all too happy to help out, even if it might mean waiting a few minutes.

"Sure thing, babe. Anything you need me to do?" Clarke asked, leaning back and letting Anya amble out from underneath her, head shaking lightly.

She took a moment to catch her breath and stared after Anya as the woman grabbed a set of luggage by the wall and hauled it into the bathroom. Honestly, it all felt fast, switching gears like they were, but the fact was that she spent about a full year with Anya as her sworn enemy and a primary focus for her attention. She probably knew Anya almost as well as Anya knew herself, and vice versa. 

They'd shared an intense connection since that night; perhaps it wasn't such a massive switch going from enemies to intimate. And finally being able to act on the physical attraction she'd harbored for years, on top of the emotional attraction to Anya and her softer side? Even if Clarke wasn't sure that part of the woman wouldn't disappear in a flash, never to be seen again?

She wasn't letting go of this, at least not easily.

Clarke made her way to the bedroom and hoped that Lexa still kept her stash where she remembered it.

[mandyjane-lifedesign]

The secrets of wealthy successful people

If you want to get wealthy, get used to being uncomfortable. Now, I know that sounds negative but the truth is you become more confident and resilient when you step out of your comfort zone. That is what life is all about. So many people in their old age regret not taking more risks and seeing life as an adventure. You need to learn to operate in a constant state of uncertainty and accept it without telling yourself you can't cope. I see so many clients who have beliefs that limit them - "I would never cope" or "I will do anything to avoid feeling bad, scared, or worried". Distress intolerance is one of the biggest reasons why people fail. Stepping outside of your comfort zone could mean taking a job you feel unqualified for, learning a new skill or calling up people for advice. After all, self-made millionaire Bobbi Brown and entrepreneur Koel Thomae both started their successful careers by cold-calling. Consider the experience as an enlightening growth phase and congratulate yourself on living life instead of giving in to your fears and avoiding challenges. You are going to fail but who cares? Welcome to the club - at least you are making the most of your life and experimenting! Fantastic - keep up the good work. As self-made billionaire Richard Branson says, “nobody gets everything right the first time. Business is like a giant game of chess — you have to learn quickly from your mistakes. Successful entrepreneurs don’t fear failure; they learn from it and move on.” Lack of funding, lack of expertise, and connections are regularly cited as the biggest barriers to starting businesses. Of course, those who come from wealthy families or have a solid start in life aren't typically self-made. According to Steve Siebold, "Building wealth is a learnable skill. If you work at it, you can improve. “Like most things in life, becoming good at attracting money is no different than becoming good at anything else, be it being a sub-par golfer, losing weight or mastering a second language,” he writes in “How Rich People Think.” So what do wealthy successful people do differently?   They take risks but have good self control There is no way around taking risks if you want to be successful in business. Millionaires try a lot of different things, knowing that a lot of them will fail. they know that failure is just part of the process of discovering what will truly work to build more wealth. The billionaire Jack Cowin, who brought fast food to Australia, states “You have to take the risk to achieve something that is worthwhile. If you don’t take some risk, then you’ll have moderate success, if any. If it doesn’t require risk, it’s not an opportunity.” Interestingly, billionaires don’t see intelligence as a prerequisite for their extraordinary business success. They stress that entrepreneurs are adventurous rather than intelligent.   It's easier to take risks at the beginning as you have less to lose when you don't have much capital. Be adventurous and do your research but don't let fear stop you from moving forward. So what is the winning formula with regard to risk? It’s quite straightforward: take calculated risks with the best risk/reward ratio instead of “betting the shop.” In other words, take the risks you can afford that have the greatest upside and the smallest downside.   They're 'all over' personal development and self-improvement From counselors, therapists and mentors to life coaches and personal trainers. The wealthy invest in themselves. Their emotional and cognitive resources are just as important as their financial resources (if not more important). Self-made millionaires are thinkers. They don't bumble through life - they have a plan. They asked questions such as "What can I do to make more money?" "Does my job make me happy?" "Am I exercising enough?" and "What other charities can I get involved in?" Thomas C. Corley, the author of "Change Your Habits, Change Your Life," spent five years researching the daily habits of 177 self-made millionaires and found they devoted at least 30 minutes every day each to exercising and reading. Millionaires tend to read three types of books, he said: biographies of successful people, self-help or personal development, and history. Self-awareness, learning, and growing are an intense focus for successful individuals. They constantly think about ways to work smarter. Being rich can also be psychological richness. It is an achievement of being able to live without the worry of money. They're independent thinkers Wealthy successful individuals have incredible self-belief and follow their own ideas rather than listening to everyone else. They consider opinions but they ultimately make their own choices. Entrepreneurial individuals tune into their instincts and have faith in their own abilities. Feedback is important and self-made millionaires aren't put off by criticism. Instead, they use this to fuel them and adapt their strategies where necessary. They are disciplined I'll be the first to admit that I HATE getting up early. I am working to improve this but I work around it most of the time. You don't need to be perfect before you start - just keep doing what you can but make sure you are consistently going in the right direction. Wealthy successful people keep to a strict morning routine. Getting up at five in the morning to tackle the top three things you want to accomplish in your day allows you to regain control of your life," Corley wrote. "It gives you a sense of confidence that you, indeed, direct your life." They allocate their time differently -  allocate their time differently — they spend more time focusing on personal growth, planning for investments, and working, and less time sleeping. They set goals and re-assess regularly No debt - they are frugal and spend below what they earn. Spending above your means, spending instead of saving for retirement, spending in anticipation of becoming wealthy makes you a slave to the paycheck. Saving allows for investment. Invest in index funds. wealth-building is a long-term frame Millionaires take personal responsibility, practice intentionality, are goal-oriented, and work hard. Multiple streams of income and save save save It's worth considering what you can do in your spare time if you have been unable to leave your full-time job and pursue your ultimate career goals. Passive income is a wonderful way for money to keep coming in, even while you sleep. Diverse investing is a great idea - never put all your 'eggs in one basket'. Smart people have learned that the best way to build wealth is to turn your active income into multiple passive income machines. Here are common types of income streams: - Earned Income – This is your day job and it is most people’s main income source. You trade your time for money. - Business Income – You own a business. - Interest Income – This is income you make from lending your money out  - crowdfunding schemes, savings accounts. - Dividend Income – This is money that’s distributed as a result of owning shares of a company. - Rental Income – You own something and you rent it out. - Capital Gains – This is money earned when you sell an investment, like stocks. An example - Index Funds. - Royalties / Licensing – You create a product, idea, or process, and you let someone use it. They pay you a small fee every time they do. Experts recommend seven or more streams.   Resilience and perseverance They don't give up at the first hurdle. They accept failure is a part of life and a fantastic way to learn what not to do. Resiliency is a characteristic we all need at various points in our lives in order to cope with life’s challenges and emerge healthy, stronger and with increased self-awareness. What is resilience exactly? Resilience is the ability to emotionally recover after a personal/professional setback. Ideally, you learn something from this experience. Some people are born with this trait but it is something you can learn, hone and develop as a skill. Counseling (especially Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) can help an individual to become more resilient especially if they engage well in the therapy sessions. Those who are not as resilient tend to turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms such as drugs, alcohol, eating disorders, workaholics, etc. that are used as an attempt to feel better—but actually make them feel worse. Since my teens and early twenties, I have had to work on this too. Thankfully,  I am much more capable of bouncing back quickly when it comes to my career/business, but still at times struggle to move forward as quickly in my personal life. I am a work in progress as they say! Parents are role models and their children observe how they handle set-backs and difficulties. It's never a good idea to hide the negative side of life as this doesn't help children learn and witness recovery from tricky situations. Self-awareness is key - know your triggers, strengths, and weaknesses. It takes discipline to look within, learn from experiences with others, and acknowledge what is and what isn't within your control. Learn to let go of what you cannot control.   In summary: Keep the faith, believe in yourself, and don't listen to the nay-sayers. Stay focused and don't give up. Don't fear failure and accept feeling uncomfortable. Even when you have a set-back, take a deep breath - embrace the failure as a part of life and see what you can learn from it. Get up again and keep going in the right direction, even if you have to slow down at times. Start today - small steps will begin the process - break down the steps and work through each step at a time....you've got this. Mandy X   Photo by the blowup on Unsplash     References: https://www.businessinsider.com/millionaire-habits-how-to-build-wealth-time-energy-money-2019-4?r=US&IR=T#they-put-more-energy-toward-personal-growth-activities-9 https://justentrepreneurs.co.uk/blog/how-billionaires-approach-risk https://www.cnbc.com/2018/07/10/hard-things-you-have-to-do-if-you-want-to-be-rich.html Read the full article

[breaksandbites]

This Friday marked our successful completion of one week here in Kiwi land, alhamdulillah. I mean seven days are already up and we are still trying to settle in our temporarily rented home, in so many different ways (some of which I have mentioned here earlier as well).

The place is miles apart from where we came from, in both literal and inferential ways! Days start with the first ray of sun (sometimes before that), even the construction guys come sharp at 8 (a house is getting revamped in the area we are currently living in that’s why I know this). Nights on the other hand are calm and peaceful here; the malls/ shops/ activities everything closes/ finishes by 5 or max 6 here. Seriously? And you won’t believe, E and HI have started behaving like Kiwis already, they sleep at 10 and wake up early in the morning. But that is a good thing I guess… right?

This is a picture I shared on snapchat – loving this!

And oh, it’s too cold. Period.

  so this heater acts like a boss! works when it feels like not every time we try to switch it on :p 

Typically the temperature ranges from 7-13 degrees these days which is obviously very cold for people like us *facepalm*. We are also struggling with the heaters in hand, the heater which keeps the living area warm works on it’s own accord, thank god we got an smaller alternate. On top of that, it rains here like crazy.

Rain-> Sunny-> Showers-> Partly Cloudy-> oh RAINBOW ❤ -> Rain-> Sun-> Light Rain-> More Rain…. these all are observations I made in a single day. Lol

Don’t miss this video that I have recorded while I was getting wayyy too excited about the rainbow 😛

Talking about food… The conditions are totally upside down here as compared to Dubai. Dubai is a foodie’s paradise for sure (I am definitely gonna miss Dubai for this). I have stated in the previous post that we had our first lunch here at Ray and Noman bhai’s place. They both have been really helpful in every possible way, may Allah reward them for this (Aamin). Ray afterwards packed loads and loads of food for us which lasted for 4 days, that was extremely generous of her. And thank God she did because the first 2 days I was only sleeping and lazing around all the time. The feeling that we have enough food in refrigerator was so reassuring and satisfying in that state. It helped me to regain my long lost energy.

As soon as we ran out of those takeaways we went for grocery at Lotus Supermarket which is an Indian grocery store and stocks every kinda desi stuff. I even found Shan masalas and many Pakistani sauces there. We shopped for basic items to survive for now because our cargo items haven’t reached yet and the kitchen I am cooking in has the following items available for cooking:

A 2 litre Sauce pan (Apparently for making tea)

A frying pan

Thats IT! and the saucepan doesn’t even has a lid. Lol :p Wanna see how am I cooking these days… Check out the pictures below.

My kitchen life these days is all about 2 items ONLY

The basic spices sitting comfortably at kitchen counter

There is Qorma in there

Also, I and HI are sharing this single lappy hence not a new post every other day. The other laptop is in one of those cargo boxes which have not arrived yet.

Having said all this, I’d add that I am pretty much enjoying this phase of life. The changes are big but are for betterment. I remember reading this on Facebook and it fits in here perfectly:

“An arrow can only be shot by pulling it backward. So, when life is dragging you back with difficulties it means that it is gonna launch you into something great”–> MOTIVATION!!

Even though the temperature is cold but bearable and enjoyable to be honest. I am loving the way sky looks when those thick black clouds clear out just for an hour or so and the rainbow peek-a-boos ❤ (those who follow my Instagram and Snapchat stories must be enjoying with me).

No matter the kitchen is devoid of many items but at least it has got the basic things which I can make use of.  I have made Karahi, Qorma, Daal Chawal and Qeema with these up till now. What if I did not have any utensil here? Also, this is fun-camping-kinda-experience which is not gonna last forever 😀

And the best part is that the Television in this house has Netflix, so I and E both are enjoying movie marathons in HD on daily basis. We have watched Shrek, Shrek 2, Shrek the third, Smurfs, The Princess Diaries, Tangled, Over the Hedge and many disney cartoon episodes to name a few and still lots more to go 😀

That little heater is life saverrr in the cold! 

Migration is not easy at all, it is a life changing BIG step indeed. I have been hearing sentences like ‘you will feel homesick’, ‘you won’t like it there/here’, ‘It’s too far‘ blah blah but I am not paying heed to any of it because I know the moment I’ll feel weak will be the last moment I’ll be happy about this development. Expect the worst and relish the little things that come along while focusing on the positives more, it’ll be much more easier this way. Also, New Zealand is BEE-YOU-TEA-FULL!! ❤

Allah is everywhere, I have faith on him, I am praying and he is listening. We have been blessed with the best alhamdulillah and he will keep on bestowing his favours upon us Inshaa Allah. What else do we need? Can’t thank Allah enough for all these blessings 🙂

Let the journey begin… I AM EXCITEDDD!! 😀

  Initial Days Of Migration… (What To Do?) This Friday marked our successful completion of one week here in Kiwi land, alhamdulillah. I mean seven days are already up and we are still trying to settle in our temporarily