#abyssal's third wheeling over here

[mothedmanillustration]

A lot changes in 20 years...

-----

Been working on this for the last few days! I wanted to do a picture of Dr. Abyssal during his time working at the temple with the other Duel Masters 20 years ago. I'm super happy with how this came out heheh

Here's some closeups! The photo's been burned and there's mold growing over Abyssal's spot.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Aftermath || LN4 {1}

Pairing: Lando Norris x widow!reader Summary: A year after losing your husband to an F1 crash, his teammate comes by and regrets never coming to check in on you. Warnings: 18+ only, grief and loss, depression, mentions of blood, alcohol WC: 2.2k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven || Twelve || Thirteen || Epilogue

It doesn’t matter how long the night may seem, dawn will find a way to fight the darkness and break in a new day. Another day without him. 

365. It had been 365 days since he left this world for an eternity among the stars. Even now, a year later, you struggled to say his name without spiraling into the abyss where you wished you could join him. 

“Racing is my oxygen, I need it to survive.” That is what he had said whenever someone asked him if he was thinking about retiring.

“I hate you,” you murmured to the picture of your wedding day, the bright smiles something that hadn’t been seen inside these four walls for a year. 

You could almost hear his mocking laugh and you sighed at the truth, you could never hate him. He was your other half, he completed you. You hated that he had left you and the emptiness that had remained in his absence.

“I miss you.”

A knock sounded at your door and you dragged yourself through the silent house to see what had been delivered. You didn’t want to have to interact with anyone, let alone on a day like this one. “Just leave it on the step.”

“Y/N?”

You stumbled at the voice and froze, wondering if it was too late to climb back into bed and pull the covers up over your head and hide from the world. 

“Please, Y/N, open the door,” Lando called out.

They had been teammates. They had been friends. The three of you had spent so much time together the media joked Lando wasn’t third wheeling but a part of a throuple. 

Your hand trembled as you reached for the stiff deadbolt, the harsh scrape evidence of how long it had been since it was last opened for a grocery delivery almost two weeks ago. 

After the funeral, everyone else moved on with their lives while you were left with dozens of decaying bouquets and sympathy cards that could never replace your husband. For a while there were phone calls and invitations but leaving the house had become daunting and eventually those had stopped entirely. You couldn’t blame them.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered as you opened the door. “Are you alright?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you pointedly ignored his question. 

He shuffled on the doorstep as he shifted his balance about. “It’s the memorial unveiling today, I thought you might want someone to drive you.”

If you could feel anything, you might have felt angry. “I didn’t know there was an unveiling.”

“Shit, seriously?” He ran a hand through his curls that had grown longer than he used to keep them. “You should be there.”

He carefully stepped around you and into the house, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the stale air before he frowned. You couldn’t remember when you last opened the curtains, preferring the dark where you could sit in his shirt and pretend he was still with you even after his scent faded from the material.

Lando stepped into the kitchen next, opening the fridge and cupboards to find them almost empty before slamming them closed. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said lamely as he stormed across the room to grab your shoulders. “I’m fine. I was going to order groceries today.”

“This isn’t fine, Y/N!” He sighed and released his grip so he could pull you into his arms. “I should have come by sooner.”

You froze as you felt the first human contact in months and felt his heartbeat against you, the rhythmic thump enough to jolt you back into control and you pulled away, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively.

“I’m not your problem, Lando.” You turned to the door that was still open, his comical Fiat Jolly parked in the drive. “You should go.”

His head dropped as he slowly walked past, pausing only a moment to say something before he thought better of it and shook his head, closing the door behind him. 

The road noise in the retro pastel blue car was too loud to hear anything when Lando’s phone rang so he pulled over into the next parking lot off the busy streets and found Oscar’s name on the caller ID. 

“Hey mate, what’s up?” 

“Where are you?” his teammate asked in a hushed tone. “The ceremony starts in five minutes and you’re the one who actually drove with the guy.”

Lando stared out ahead at the shop space he had pulled into and saw it was a food mart. “I’m not going to make it.”

“What could possibly be more important than this?”

“I’ll talk to you later, tell them to start without me.” Lando hung up without a goodbye and rushed out of his car, an apology sent to his friend in heaven. 

There was no knock at your door this time, there was just the quiet scratch of the pot plant moving across the concrete step before it was unlocked and swinging open. 

You didn’t even have the energy to rise from the bed you had crawled back into, there was only one person who knew where the spare key was hidden. He pottered around in the kitchen and you heard the doors opening and closing before his bare feet padded softly down the hallway. 

“Coming in,” Lando warned as the door creaked open and he stepped into your room. “I hope you’re wearing something.”

Before you could ask why he gave you the answer and ripped the blankets off the bed. Cold air rushed in and you shivered as you pulled the hem of your husband’s shirt further down your thighs. The orange and grey pattern on the shirt caught Lando’s attention and his eyes turned down before he turned away and opened the closet.

You weren’t sure if he was expecting to see one half empty but you hadn’t been able to box up a single item. You were clinging onto them, and the memory they represented, for dear life. 

He grabbed a casual dress he had seen you wear before and tossed it over, the soft cotton covering your legs. “Get dressed.”

“Lando!” He had already disappeared back down the hall and you groaned as you rolled off the bed and onto your feet. The material hung loose around your body in a way it hadn't before and the dress was no longer flattering as you stood in front of the mirror. 

It was the first real time you had looked in the mirror and you barely recognised yourself. Your skin no longer glowed, your hair was knotted and unkempt and your eyes held no life where they were sunken into your face.

Needing to try salvage something of your dignity, you tried to brush out the knots but the handle snapped and you stared at it in disbelief. Sudden rage hit you as you failed at such a simple task and you threw what remained of the brush at the mirror, shattering the image but somehow making your reflection more true to how you were feeling.

“Y/N?” Lando skidded to a stop, barely missing the shards of glass on the carpet. “Are you alright?”

“No,” you admitted aloud for the first time and your legs gave out as reality crashed into you. “I miss him so much.”

You didn’t feel the glass slash your legs or the sharp pain as they stabbed your knees. You didn’t feel the warm blood seeping into the carpet or Lando’s arms as he picked you up. You didn’t feel anything but the overwhelming sense of loss like a fist squeezing your heart from inside your chest.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” Lando murmured as he sat you on the kitchen side and cupped your face. “I’m sorry I wasn't here.”

“I’m not your problem,” you reminded him as you shook his hands off your face. “You were his friend and I’m not an inheritance.”

“I’m your friend too. A shitty friend, but I’m going to fix that,” he said as he looked down at your bleeding knees, “starting with this.”

He went to the cupboard above the fridge to find nothing had changed and the first aid kit was still on the shelf you struggled to reach, but he easily did. You tried to get a bandaid from it as he placed it on the benchtop beside you but he moved your hands back and gave you a warning look.

“This might hurt,” he apologised as he broke the top off a saline bottle and started to rinse the blood away. “There’s some glass stuck in there - maybe we should go to the hospital.”

“I’m not going back there, especially not today,” you said with a lick of venom and a shake of your head. “There’s whiskey in the back of the pantry, just give me some of that.”

He seemed dubious about the idea but knew how stubborn you could be and exhaled a resigned sigh before getting the half empty bottle. He looked at you through the clear glass, above the sloshing amber, and you could feel the judgement in that stare.

“I have trouble sleeping.”

He didn’t give you a response as he handed it over before getting a chair to sit on, placing your foot on his knee so he could try to get the glass out with a pair of tweezers. To be honest, you were numb to everything and didn’t even need the alcohol but you gulped greedily at the spiced whiskey. 

“What’s that?” you asked as you noticed a pot on the stove, steam softly billowing up, and then you noticed the mouthwatering scent. 

“Vegetable soup. You need to eat.”

“When did you get so mature?” The joke fell flat as he looked up and you saw the depth of his own grief that he let escape from where he had buried it.

“A lot has changed in a year.”

There was no appropriate response to be said so you took another swig and felt the warmth of the alcohol hitting your empty stomach while he continued to pull shards of glass out.

“All done,” he said as he gathered the rubbish and left you to inspect the bandaids plastered all over your knees and skins too.

“If you ever look for a change in career, nursing isn't the answer.”

His lips curled up with a small laugh as he checked the pot and gave the soup a stir. “You’re meant to say thank you.”

“Thank you, Nurse Norris.”

Lando returned to where you were sitting after lowering the heat on the stove and tapped his finger on the stack of mail beside you. He picked up an envelope with the F1 symbol beside the return address and flipped it over before seeing almost a dozen others just like it. 

“Your invitation is probably in one of these.”

“Did you know there’s a clause in the contracts for ‘surviving spouses’?” You laughed bitterly and tipped the bottle back, no longer feeling the burn of the alcohol rushing down your throat. “They send a cheque every month, the very people who killed him and I want nothing to do with, and if it wasn’t already bad enough, they send it in his name.”

Lando looked at the envelopes and frowned. “Seriously?”

You took the top one and ripped through the seal to show him the cheque address to René Gauthier. On and on, you tore them all open and Lando swallowed deeply as the mess grew.

“Do they think €10,000 a month is going to make everything better? Nothing they do can bring back my husband.”

“Nothing can fix what happened,” he said as he wiped your cheeks that you hadn’t noticed were damp with tears. “I know it doesn’t make it any easier but they brought in new regulations this year, so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Sometimes I wish he hit those officials,” your voice broke at the whispered confession. “He would have had to live with that guilt, but at least he would be alive. Oh god, I’m a terrible person.”

René had been labelled a hero for the manoeuvre he had done to save the lives of the officials that were in the wrong place. He had put himself into a wall swerving away from them and while they had walked away unscathed for their mistake, your husband had died for his. It wasn’t fair.

“You’re not a terrible person, Y/N,” Lando reassured you as he pulled your hands away from where you had hidden your face in shame. 

The alcohol had hit your system and you closed your eyes as the room swayed, your words falling unfiltered as your head spun. “Racing was his life, Lando, but he was mine. I don’t know how to live without him.”

The bottle disappeared from your fingers and you lifted your heavy eyelids to see Lando putting it on top of the cupboards out of your reach. 

“You find a way to live because it's what he would want.” He scooped you up off the counter and your head fell into the crook of his neck without resistance. “You find a way to live because we’ve already lost too much. I’m not going to lose you too.”

Click here for part two.

[ilgaksu]

If you’re still doing prompts heihua… trapped in an elevator? (Alone or with someone else?)

(i screeched because one of my real fears is being trapped in an elevator which is exactly why i am thrilled to write this. The first person to guess the film franchise they're referring to gets to request something else or something ig)

"Well," Hei Xiazi announces, ten minutes in and contemplating the latest metal box he's found himself shut in. "This fucking sucks."

"As always, Xiazi, I wish I could say thank you for your contribution." Xie Yuchen sighs and crosses his arms. Hei Xiazi wishes he would undo at least one button on the shirt. In these circumstances, he deserves a show as his last meal, surely. But no, Xie Yuchen merely rolls his eyes. "And yet."

"And yet, It's hard to find the words. I understand. The rich never learn grace, am I right?"

Geya mutters something incomprehensible and yet immediately emotionally translatable from where he's slouched in the corner -using Hei Xiazi's backpack as a seat cushion and repeatedly tapping at his phone in the hope signal will magically reinstate itself.

"Hey," Hei Xiazi says, and throws a snack bar scrounged from a jacket pocket at him. "If you're going to be insulting, have the courage of your convictions, my little scammer. Fucking enunciate."

"I didn't ask to be third-wheeling on an date with two old people," Geya replies loudly, without looking up.

It's worth the insult as byproduct to Hei Xiazi, and all because of the look Xie Yuchen sends Geya, ego not so much pricked as outright stabbed all the way through.

You die a twink or live long enough to start worrying about your sexual capital in a warehouse elevator. Isn't that how it goes? Hei Xiazi had spent most of that movie pointing out how the ballistics sounds didn't match up with the bullet capacity of the weapons. Xie Yuchen had started a heated debate about the exact angle vs. force it would require to kill someone with a pencil as opposed to a hairpin, something the two of them have had experience with. Then, they'd fucked on the couch about it, and so Hei Xiazi still has mildly fond memories of that particular cinematic franchise.

"If nobody is replying to the emergency alarm," Xie Yuchen muses, "It's either broken, which -" He taps two fingertips against the flashing light in the panel. "Feels possible, but unlikely. Or it isn't, and so they know we're in here. Which then means -" He frowns. "This is a trap."

"When isn't it a trap, Hua'er-ye? I thought we were supposed to be making useful contributions. Geya. Got anything?"

"Nothing," Geya says, "I guess we're all going to die here. For real this time," and slides further down, settling against the backpack. "I'd have preferred it to be the abyss monster."

"No," Xie Yuchen says with feeling.

"It would've been cooler."

Xie Yuchen looks over at Hei Xiazi. Hei Xiazi shrugs, helplessly.

Kids these days, he mouths, and Xie Yuchen looks ready to bang his head against the wall. Hei Xiazi has to admit the idea has rapid appeal, but someone has to prevent the group morale declining. That way lies even more infighting, lack of social cohesion, and - unlikely but not improbable - cannibalism.

"Well, I guess if it would've been cooler," Hei Xiazi drawls, "I won't bother even getting out the explosives this time," and in that split second before Geya's head snaps up, he knows it: he has him in the palm of his hand.

God bless the youthful compulsion to blow shit up and watch it burn.

[rafent]

✦ 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 ✧

A knock, followed by the roll of wheels upon a janitor cart. “Cleaning!”

Both the knock and the call went entirely unheard by the room's single resident, echoing only in the abyss as the blanketed form continued to breathe evenly. A peaceful rise and fall of chest denoted they were still asleep, chin-length locks fanned out on the pillow, and long lashes fluttering with the invisible running motions of a dream or a nightmare. From certain angles of observation they might have been an angel. The staff tried again.

"I'm coming in!"

They - or rather, he - awoke. A naked sternum rose above the swell of a satin blanket, hair mussed in a flyaway nest of white around the face. Dandelion-headed, Rafal looked at the uniformed figure standing in his doorway dazedly, the perpetual furrow in his brow yet to make its return. 

“Apologies, er, Professor. Your door was unlocked.”

Professor? Silence. Confusion.

Then recognition—

. . .then killing intent.

His eyes hardened. Not an angel, but a devil.

“Get. Out.”

A dangerous instant that even a stroke of lightning could be hard pressed to outspeed, the high-pitched sonar of an activated dragonstone shattered eardrums. The dragon himself to shatter everything else. Windows against the walls and cracks around a door brimmed with sharp magenta light - then exploded outwards with the seismic wallop of a clawed tail that sent the servant flying.

And the rest was history.

…

“Professor Rafal, you can’t just attack everyone who comes into your room unannounced. A simple no would suffice. You’re lucky no lasting injuries were accrued.”

“Do not step foot into places you do not belong.” Rafal sniffed and examined a frayed piece of thread on his shoulder, markedly unapologetic. His glance upward was accusatory. Scathing. “The last time your minions came they deigned to throw out a handful of my treasures.”

“It was a misunderstanding. We already apologized for that.”

“Hmph.”

What were said treasures? Well, since Rafal’s arrival one could say he’d accumulated quite the miscellany:

The dirtied trowel utilized over the course of a slow and steady recovery

A used fork furtively swiped from a plate during the Ethereal Ball

Long strand of bi-colored hair procured from the ground during a snowy patrol

One half of a shattered wine bottle still dangerously sharp but regarded as if it were softer than anything

A missing quill used by one who nested in the same office as Rafal and fulfilled his paperwork, deemed all but her second home as of late

Unassuming debris in scant quantity, plucked from Pasithee's realm and - even more specifically - the companionable struggles of cleanup waged alongside three others

Unwashed teacup retained from a picnic with two people which, though contentious, had nevertheless secretly been an instance worth recalling

These were the 'treasures' in question obtained over the course of a year. Mistaken easily for clutter at that, and utterly worthless, the staff had naturally assumed to throw them away. Though to Rafal the judgment and the decision to do so had not been natural - it had been an insult of the highest order. These were things he valued; memoirs that meant something to him, in one stead or another. They were his. And now they were gone.

He would have to start all over again.

“In any case. Minions? We’re not villains, sir. We’re only here to clea—”

The dragon rose stiffly from his chair, pushing out of the office without tolerance for further argument. Started with Rafal and ended with him too. “I've said all I have to say. I will not be saying it again. Invade my territory a third time and I shall put all trespassers to death as they ask for.”

Faces looked at each other in the wake of his menacing departure. The aftermath of an uncertain silence which dissolved only on one mutual understanding.

“. . .Take him off the list then?”

[dragonologist-phd]

Owlcatober Day 7 - Exploration

Maebrys finds herself in a place of evil. But with blessings of her own, she won't stay down for long.

also on ao3

Maebrys stands with her toes just barely brushing the empty air beyond the cliffside. It’s a dizzying drop into the depths below- calling this place the Abyss is apt. Behind her, Nehaly whines and paws at the ground in agitation.

“It’s all right,” Maebrys tells the hound, though she must admit her own stomach is twisting in knots.

She can do this, she tells herself. This is who she is: a warrior for her people, an adventurer and explorer at heart. And this is just another place to explore.

Deep down, she knows it’s not that simple, really. Every monster she’s faced before, she could beat back with her sword; failing that, she could outrun the danger with Nehaly. Even she can’t beat back an entire city of demons, and she has nowhere left to run. This battle…it’s going to be different.

But Maebrys is different, too.

She takes a deep breath, sweeps her gaze one last time over the ridges and valleys of the Nexus, and gathers her courage. With one insane burst of faith and motion, she launches herself off the ledge.

New-grown wings spread and snap, pulling Maebrys upwards on instinct. The wind and speed of her flight knock the breath from her lungs in an exhilarating rush, but her body seems to know what to do all on its own. She wheels through the air, stretching her wings out even further as she climbs up the expanse of black which passes for a sky here in the Abyss.

Far below, Nehaly yelps in alarm. Maebrys narrows her wings and pulls herself into a dive, spiraling back down towards the cliffside until she flares her wings out again in an abrupt stop, the force of her flight kicking up a small cloud of dust on the ground below.

She’s breathless, laughing, energized. It’s the lightest she’s felt since being named Knight-Commander.

Nehaly is less pleased. The hound darts in a circle around Maebrys, sniffing and grumbling and checking her for wounds.

“I’m fine,” Maebrys assures her. “Honestly, you’re worse than a mother hen. Come on, it’s your turn.”

The suggestion is met with something less than glee. Nehaly was blessed just as Maebrys was, but she doesn’t seem to trust her own golden-white feathery wings. She keeps her feet planted firmly on the ground, giving her the appearance of some strange, grumpier cousin of a griffin.

After Maebry’s third flight, however, Nehaly finally relents. She jumps into the air with trepidation and much less grace than her huntress, but she eventually paws her way into the air at Maebrys’s side.

“There you go. It’s not so bad, is it?” Maebry asks. Her eyes drift to the city in the distance- the home of demons, the nest of evil, where violence is built into the very stones. She hasn’t set foot through the threshold yet; she’s been putting it off.

No more.

“I’m sure the others would like to see our new tricks,” Maebrys tells Nehaly. “Let’s go round them up. And then…we’re going off on a little expedition. It’s time to show those demons we’re not out of the game just yet.”

[ladyyomiart]

This is the entry I drew for DeviantArt's "The Holi Mandala Contest". 🏵️✨ I was inspired by the three following things to draw this mandala:

👉My indigenous heritage: My great-great-grandmother, Petrona, was a descendant of indigenous people. She wore her hair in an ankle-length braid and used to tie it over her head to smuggle things across the border, lol. She liked to smoke chala leaf tobacco and her great-grandchildren say she was extremely serious, silent, and that I'm very much like her in appearance. 😊

👉Some of my favorite tarot cards: My paternal grandmother used to read them when I was little and I continue the family tradition since then. 🔮 The cards featured in this mandala are: The World, The Wheel of Fortune, The Sun, The Moon, The Devil, The Magician, The Star, and Death.

👉My meditative practices: I've been meditating for about 20 years and the color palette I picked for this mandala corresponds to the colors of the human Chakra/Energy Centers. 🌈 The Hindu prayer mala beads that appear on it were also inspired by my own set of mala beads, which first belonged to a tibetan monk, and that I was gifted by a kind Tumblr user many years ago. 📿

🧿.🧿.🧿

I've been drawing mandalas since I was a teenager because I've always been fascinated by Hindu culture (the best meditative techniques I've learned come from Hindu and Tibetan cultures) and mandalas are also super relaxing to create and decorate. 🌼

Mandalas are used as a tool for contemplation and meditation, so here's a little explanation of the meaning behind each symbol drawn in the different "gates" (circles/sections) of this one:

🕉️1st Gate (center): The World Card. The Universe. The third eye chakra. The eye that perceives the universe so it can exist. Throat chakra. The power of speech and thought. I think, therefore I am. The chakra at the top of the head. The connection to the whole. The separate individual. Identity. The Self.

🕉️2nd Gate: The Wheel of Fortune Card. Time. Seasons. Inevitable changes. Growth. Movement. The solar system. The Gods of my ancestors. Emotions. Luck. Opposites coexisting as part of a whole.

🕉️3rd Gate: The cards waiting to be turned over. Destiny. The future. What is hidden.

🕉️4th Gate: The flames of Spirit. Creativity. Inspiration. Creation. Destruction. Purification. The sparkle of life.

🕉️5th Gate: My ancestors. The Devil Card. Protection. Strength. Support. Slaves who break their chains and raise their hands from the abyss, setting fire to the darkness. Survival instinct. Determination. The will to carry on.

🕉️6th Gate: The Magician card. The Star card. As above, so below. Manifestation. The morning star appearing in the sky at sunrise and sunset. Liminal spaces. Healing. Miracles. Achieving the impossible. Guides pointing the right way.

🕉️7th Gate: Feathers symbolizing freedom (flying high like a bird) of the mind and spirit (indigo and blue) and feathers symbolizing freedom of the body (red and orange).

🕉️8th Gate: Death Card. Material world/physical plane. Inevitability of change. Transformation. Humanity. The planet earth. Unity. Equality. Connection. We're different, yet we're all the same.

🕉️9th Gate: The laws of nature. Balance. Nothing can exist in the absence of its opposite. Cosmic protection and order. Containment. Harmony between instinct and reason. The Hindu prayer mala beads start the universe in the tassel section and end it when it completes its turn. Ouroboros, the snake that bites its own tail. The cycle of reincarnation. The beyond.

🧿.🧿.🧿

🎨Materials used: Sheet of plain paper, black needlepoint rollerball pen, and "Caran d'Ache" + "Faber-Castell" watercolor coloring pencils.

⏳Drawing & coloring time: 28 hours.

[gingergod]

Everybody tries to control and micro manage everything I do. They act as if I'm too damn stupid to do anything and tell me shit that's obvious but they behave as if I wouldn't know unless they tell me. In one way or another I'm being judged and bitched at. I hate people. I want to disappear into the abyss and never return. I truly hate my life.

The trip is fun obviously and there was lots of cool stuff to see and do but not being treated as a normal human and never really belonging to a certain crowd who wants me is making every single day more and more unenjoyable and I really dont see anything in this life that will want or need or miss me and I sure as hell dont think I have any good reason to even be here at all.

If there's a calling and I do have a reason it better make itself known because I'm telling you.. life and people and existence itself is so super overwhelming and I feel like I'm not actually present. I feel so distant and zoned out and like my social battery is about to explode and I will lose my mind..

and nobody even understands or tries to care. I feel so othered and like I'm a major third wheel to anything I'm involved in. My life has always been filled with awful things and drama and after every bad thing I've never even had time to recover and feel better. It just gets worse and then I'm expected to move on. I'm convinced that even if I was severely injured in a crash that eventually I will be told that I should move on get over it.

I've been bombarded with traumatic things and now it's so piled up I run from everything because it's too overwhelming and I just want to be alone. Even long ago in childhood there's been drama and I've felt bad and I look back and fear that feeling good is something I'm absolutely incapable of. It's not in my DNA.

I'm just some broken loser that is immune to positive things that are supposed to help you feel good. Doomed to sulk and mope and feel sorry for myself.... Doomed to be alone so that my existence doesn't keep pissing people off.

[hualianff]

《1》

XL sticks to SQX’s side for the first hour or so. He’s not here to mingle with socialites in the way these parties are meant for. While it’s not the first upscale gathering XL has attended, it is the first he’s participated in ever since…his parents disowned him for coming out as gay.

XL knows he doesn’t belong in this setting anymore, and that’s okay.

When SQX finally finds the person they excitedly refer to as “He-Xiong,” XL excuses himself to the bar. Seeing at the past hour was spent reassuring SQX that their pursuit of this certain person wasn’t for naught, XL figures its his time to depart and give SQX some space to work with.

XL is used to third-wheeling. (Taking FX and MQ’s blooming relationship, for instance.)

He misses the way He Xuan’s dark, abyss eyes trail after him.

XL plops down in a cushioned stool, sighing. He attempts to get the bartender’s attention, in need of a glass of ice water. It’s incredibly hot and muggy within the club walls. XL isn’t even on the dance floor pressed between dozens of sweaty bodies and he’s still on the verge of deliriously warm.

The bartender never seems to hear him though. Or perhaps they don’t recognize XL as someone of high status, and thus, a priority to serve. A few arms reach from behind to knock XL’s hand away, receiving various bubbly drinks.

XL ponders going to the bathrooms to check if there’s a water fountain.

Before he abandons his seat, however, XL pauses when someone slides a glass of water from the side. He blinks, completely caught off guard.

“Thank you…?” XL turns to look at the new presence sitting next to him. Needless to say, the person before him is absolutely breathtaking.

The man wears a red sheer, short-sleeved croptop which bulges with each flex of his biceps. The croptop ends at his mid-section, leading to a ridiculously sculpted abdomen that peeks through a leather harness. XL’s eyes travel down even further, taking in the Chanel belt wrapped around black pants that hug a certain area…hmm, too tightly-

Oh gods, the man is smirking, chest puffed out, like he knows he’s someone worth admiring.

Although that smirk also seems to carry another hidden meaning.

“San Lang,” the stranger introduces as he reaches over the bar. His hand comes back holding a straw, which he carefully places in XL’s glass. “As for the drink, there’s no need for Gege to thank me. Gege’s wants or needs should always be provided for.”

XL stifles an anxious chuckle. How did he find himself in this odd situation? No one’s ever…ah, who does this to someone they’ve only just met? Dropping nicknames, ordering someone an iced water at one of the finest bars in the city…

“Nonsense. A gesture done out of kindness is one that deserves gratitude. Unless San Lang wishes for something in return?” XL takes a sip from the straw, relishing in the cold glide of liquid sliding down his throat.

SL’s eyes shamelessly track the movement.

《3》

[yostresswritinggirl]

A String That Binds Him

Within his conscience and subconsciousness, he dangles with the karmic binds that tie him to his bloody deeds. They are black and tight that pulls at his soul towards the dark abyss of madness. Xiao hates those strings, and when another one manifests, he is more than scared.

Pairings -> Xiao x Reader

Word Count -> 1312

Themes -> I dunno either you tell me, short fic

Series -> #Sojourner Specials (600 Followers Event) Exiled's Xiao Manifestation Ritual

Warnings -> It's... not my best, I'm here to manifest

The first manifestation of the signs of a new string happened on the first encounter, when their eyes met his amber ones. Just another mortal lingering by the balcony, he thought to himself, just another mortal. Xiao knew of the human ways in which they desperately cling to divine blessings, to meet the Adepti for a miracle.

But his heart skipped in a painful way and like the wind he was gone within a second.

"Verr, who is that person in the balcony? They're dangerous, why are they allowed here?"

But the agent could only tilt her head at the intonation and he grew ever more frustrated at this mistake. Is the Qixing faulty to let a threat in so easily, more so in his territory? But Verr simply assured that they've done a background check beforehand, that they were no threat at all, just a simple citizen passing by.

But Xiao was restless, and when he looked again, the pain in his chest did not disappear.

Next thing was tantalizing fear enough to paralyze him.

Like a shadow that clings to his form no matter where so long as there is light, such entity lingers behind him unknowingly. When they spoke in which the first he has heard their voice, he froze with his back towards them. The most vulnerable he had been, and a rule he broke in war where one should not turn their back to the opponent.

When they called his name again, Xiao felt the familiar tug of agony before he willed himself to look with a seething glare worthy to vanquish all evil. But they withered under the gaze like a wolf wary of their injured paw when meeting strangers. A sign that they were a lesser being than him and yet the grip around his heart tightens tenfold.

"What are you doing here? Don't you know how dangerous it is around here?"

When they tilt their head to look past his shoulder, he was painfully aware of the massacre of hilichurls behind him, one he had recently vanquished.

"Seems to me that these dangers are taken care of already tho," they offered a smile which looped back down at the edges upon the look of distaste the adepti offered.

Xiao didn't wish to hang around longer than he should, but when they called out to him as he was about to leap off, his body locked again. Unceremoniously he tumbles down forward upon the inertia of his paralyzed leap.

And he knew from behind him that it took the mortal all their willpower not to mock him with the rawest laugh.

After those first two encounters were nothing but restless days of consciousness for the adepti where he longs for the night where such phenomenons would not exist, where he will be alone with his thoughts to ponder over without any other intrusion.

But even then he finds no solace in the voices in his head, even if they were only less painful than the ones he had been experiencing lately.

Their presence created a new binding that straps his soul and it tugs him at directions he cannot seem to predict. His karmic binds wrap around his limbs to fully pull him apart, yet this one wishes to tug him forward against the old binds, and the opposing forces brings him immense pain that gnaws at him 'til dawn.

The next instance of the bind's existence comes in the form of breathlessness. When their light touch found its way to his exposed bicep, the unexpected motion caused his lungs to stutter for a second, the need for air leaving him before he was slammed back by reality.

How he knew it was the mortal without even looking he did not know, as he was too busy scrambling away as if their touch was seering hot. Xiao's glare was unfocused as he willed himself manually to breath in and breath out.

"You were spacing out," he seems to be doing that lately, "I've been calling for you but you wouldn't budge." Did he really not hear them? "A-Are you okay, can you breath properly?"

No.

No, he doesn't know why he's having the trouble in the first place. The Yaksha lays himself vulnerable in front of them as his heart beats loudly and furiously at the loss of oxygen, it was a manifestation of one of the 'attacks' that shouldn't come this early unless provoked.

Before he knows it, they too invaded his being in the form of soft rubs to his back and whispers of increasing numbers. He follows suit in their guidance even with a few hiccups and soon enough his breathing stabilizes, his heart still trying to follow the calmness of it.

Did I scare you?

No.

I'm sorry.

There's no need to be.

The Yaksha's heart rested for a full second but the detail was missed when Xiao saw the pure pity in their eyes.

No, this person was no Adepti, no demon, no God, no other being. Only a mortal, a human with a soul that shall wither away too. The thought seemed to pull that stray string once again.

The third- or was it fourth? Counting didn't matter now that he was too far gone, but the next manifestation felt more worrying than the others as it was a sign he was not at all accustomed to. It made no sense, it was windy that day at the balcony and the sun barely peeked in past the horizon as it starts to sink for the cold night's entrance.

And they were there to obscure the sunlight that tries to reach him. Hovering over the railing that overlooks the marsh, his gaze caught their side profile as strands of hair falls from the fray, little rays passing through the curtain of the hair that frames their face.

It didn't make sense. No sense at all. And yet he was there to be another mess when he felt the burning sensation wash over his thinly clothed form.

There was nothing special about this human, no Vision exists to force such temperal reaction from him but it. still. happened.

And when they turned to look at him, Xiao dared look away pointedly as the trance of warmth messed more with his thoughts, the change in body temperature reaching his head in a faster pace. He is overheating and so he excuses himself as he disappears, the only sign of Xiao's whereabouts was the distant loud splash somewhere by the marsh.

The mortal choked at the image the plunge brought.

Finally one faithful day, Xiao confronted such merciless feelings to the only mortal he trusts the most. And he found Boss Verr grinning lightly, mischievously. Carrying behind it a secret he doesn't know.

"Dear Adepti, what you are feeling are what we humans call infatuation. Love sickness, even." He dons himself an apalled expression and it takes the woman all willpower not to crack up.

This heinous manifestations of agony are akin to that of human affection? Of romantic disease? If this is what humans deal with naturally, why do they commit themselves at such masochistic indulgences?

So warily he asked, how does one remove such emotions? If it were truly humane feelings that he harbours, then humane means can easily vanquish it unlike the binds holding him down. Speaking of, they've been very tame lately-

Under the guidance of Verr's simple advice of 'being honest with your feelings', Xiao diligently awaits for the mortal in the balcony. And when they finally showed up, he blurts out the worries he had to deal with since the moment they came to his life, loudly enough for a floor lower to hear his confession.

"You terrify me."

This was followed by the frantic steps of a sprinting Verr who desperately tries to make damage control.

A lil drabble hehe, first time trying third person pov bruuuuh

@kookieyachi @struggljng @bunniesrorange @anormalguyreader @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre

[scuttle-buttle]

WC: 1973

Rated: E

Tags: technically unprotected smut, fluff, tiny bit of german

✈

“Have you checked the gauges?”

“Yes, Niki,” you huff at his question through your microphone. This was at least the third time he’d asked you to go over everything.

“What about fuel?”

You point to the little meter that showed the tank levels. “Still full.” Your husband turns to face you in the cockpit of the small plane. The look he gives you is one of false annoyance. You know he’s just doing this to be as safe as possible, to minimize risk. “Sorry, sorry,” you offer him a guilty grin. Your husband’s brow cocks before he turns back to the dashboard panel.

His little private jet only held capacity for maybe 8 people total, but today it was just you and your husband. He always said he would teach you how to fly but you never figured that you would be brave enough to follow through with learning. Now here you sit, engine purring under you, a pair of thick headphones over your ears. For the first time Niki was going to let you handle your flight - all of it. Of course, he still had the ability to use the controls on his side of the small cabin, but he made it clear that he would only do so in case of a serious emergency.

“Everything has been checked over and ready for flight,” you confirm.

He tilts his head to offer you a smile. “Gut. When you are ready, Liebling.”

Taking a deep breath, you open up the radio communication line with the air traffic control tower. You recite the technical jargon that Niki had taught you. “This is Lauda 1 requesting clearance for taxi and take off on runway B, north side, over.”

Static comes over the line for a second. “Lauda 1 you are cleared to taxi and take off from runway B, north side, over.”

You release the brakes before pushing the throttle the faintest amount. With one hand on the yoke and the other on the lever you slowly guide the plane towards the runway. It had taken a good six months of Niki being annoyed at you calling it a ‘steering wheel’ before you finally called it by its proper term.

You lined the nose of the plane up with the lines on the runway tarmac. Once you are satisfied with your positioning you pause to let the turbines rev and build up power. With a swallow you lean towards Niki. “You won’t let me fuck this up and kill us both, right?”

“Of course not. But you don’t need to worry about that, you will be fine, Liebe. I know it.” He’s relaxed next to you, as though he’s at home sitting on the couch reading one of his racing magazines.

“If you say so. I love my brother but I’ll be damned if James gets custody of the girls,” you snark with a laugh, all while releasing the brake and pushing the throttle again. Niki’s own snort can be heard over your radio headset.

The plane accelerates under your guidance. You maintain a firm but steady grip on the controls; finally you push the thrust lever all the way. The small aircraft wobbles with friction as it speeds down the track. Suddenly, the front lifts, giving a weightless calm as the nose begins to ascend into the air.

Once you have gotten far enough off the ground you flip the switch to raise the landing gear. Niki has been silent letting you work the last five minutes or so. Over the crackle of your headsets he instructs you “that was very good. Now get us to cruising altitude.”

“Yes, sir,” you acknowledge with a mock salute.

This is by no means the first time you have been in a plane, let alone flying a plane, with your husband. But it is the first time that it is you truly flying. As you travel you admire the view in front of you. It felt like you were seeing the clouds and the sunshine for the first time. The blue nearly overwhelmed you with its vibrancy. You couldn’t help but bite your lip to hold back the way your cheeks threatened to split with how hard you were beaming. Every so often you remember to check back on the gauges and meters to ensure that everything is working properly.

You don’t notice how your husband watches you from the seat beside yours. He admires your confidence at the new skill, completing the tasks with ease. He admires how bright your eyes are, lit by happiness and the light of the sky outside the windows. He admires the fact that even after close to fifteen years of marriage you still humor him and his passions.

When you finally break away from the view to look over at Niki he’s already got his eyes on you. His bottom lip is caught in his teeth. “What?” He raises his brows in question at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Can I not look at my meine schöne Frau?” he teases you. Even after so many years you still feel the heat rise in your cheeks when he calls you beautiful. “You look good flying my plane. You should do it more often.” Both of your hands remain on the yoke; his hand comes to rest on your thigh, giving you a little squeeze. He leaves it there the rest of the flight.

After maybe an hour or two you have circled the jet back towards the airport. Calling in, you get clearance to land on the same runway you had departed from. Carefully you lower the plane’s altitude to prepare for landing. Flipping the switch, you can just hear the grind of the wheels as they lower.

“The trick here is-”

“You want to line the stripes on the runway next to the nose visually, otherwise it’ll be crooked and I’ll go off the tarmac,” you finish for him.

He chuckles. “See, I don’t even know why I’m here. You don’t need me.”

“Of course I need you, I always need you, Niki.”

He lets you focus as you pull back on the throttle and slow your speed, further lowering to the ground. You line up just as he taught you with the painted runway up ahead. Gently you touch down, the plane jolts as it makes contact. You brake the jet to an acceptable speed to taxi. Adrenaline courses through you. I just flew a plane! you cheer to yourself.

Once the vehicle is parked within the hangar you shut off the engine. Quickly you leave the cockpit to stretch your legs in the spacious passenger cabin. Turning to your husband, your jaw is dropped. “Is this what it feels like? Every time you drove the car? Christ, Niki, I feel like I could do anything! The absolute rush!” Niki has come up behind you, so you face him before bringing his lips to meet your own.

The kiss is full of passion and energy. It deepens as you stand there in the middle of the cabin. You push him away and down into a couch-like seat. He grunts in surprise when you forcibly yank his pants from his hips. When they are to his knees you give up in favor of pulling off your own. Niki wastes no time in tugging you back to him, his mismatched lips attaching themselves to the column of your throat. You, in turn, drag your heat along his hardening shaft. When he is ready you push his cock inside your throbbing core with a groan.

Breathily, you ask “why have we never done this before now?”

His mouth moves away from your jaw to meet your gaze. “Fucked on a plane? I didn’t know you wanted to,” he huffs in amusement.

You start to push and pull your hips at a dizzying pace above him. With each pump the ridge of his cock hits you perfectly. Niki tosses his head back in pleasure, a long moan tumbling out as your walls squeeze him. His hands help to guide your hips as you ride him. “They don’t call it joining the Mile High Club for nothing, love.”

“Not sure-” he grunts at a particularly hard snap of your pelvis “-this counts.”

You shove your fingers between his curls, a bit shorter and a few streaks of silver lining near his temples, and pull his head to rest against yours. “Are you complaining?” you breathe out along his lips. Never once does your pace falter. Instead of answering he gives you a bruising kiss.

It isn’t long before his thumb finds your center, rubbing harsh patterns against your aching clit. He knows exactly how to toss you into the abyss; exactly when you are near shattering. Within seconds you are shouting out his name, clenching around his still-pistoning cock. His own cries of bliss come shortly after.

Resting atop him, Niki rubs his fingers along your clothed back. You hum into his throat where your head lays. “You did so well today, Liebling. I’m very proud of you. Pretty soon you’ll be a better pilot than me.”

You smile into him. “Bullshit,” you laugh. “Me compared to the great Niki Lauda? Impossible.” You pinch the softness of his side.

He gives a laugh of his own, his chest rising with the action. “You never know, could surprise us all.”

You roll your head onto his shoulder to be able to look up at him better. “Mmm, but with you I’ve always known.”

Niki drops a sweet kiss to you. His expression is delicate as he peers down at where you sit atop him. He scrunches his nose as he tells you “I think I knew first. I know I did.”

You study his face for a moment. His tone is confident, like there’s no way he could possibly be wrong about when you first got together so many years ago. You know that the moment for you was pretty early, before you officially even went on your first date. Curiosity wins out. “Oh really?” You sit up on his lap. “And when was that, since you’re so sure?”

“I asked if you would rather go with Hunt than come see me at Ferrari. You nearly jumped out of your skin with how hard you cringed at the idea of him.”

You’re shocked by his confession. “Alright but he’s my brother,” you groan and laugh at the same time, “and…” you think back to that day, “wasn’t that maybe five minutes after we’d met?”

“Yes, but I did not know that at the time. I thought, ‘hmm, an attractive woman that doesn’t want to sleep with that arschloch but instead visit me at the track? She’s someone special’. And I wasn’t wrong.” He brushes a thumb on the skin of your cheek.

“You know, you always tell me that you aren’t good at these things. Romance and the like.” You look up at him from under your lashes.

“And?”

“That was such a lie, Niki. You’re always so sweet to me.”

“Only you, Liebe.”

The two of you right yourselves to leave the airport for the day. The sky is clear as you walk to his car parked outside the hangar. Reaching out, you find your husband’s hand and hold it tight. “So, when can we do this again?”

He turns to face you from where he stands next to you. “That eager for more already?”

“It’s addicting, Lauda,” you shoot back playfully. So many times since you met he had described the drive or flying as addicting. To be faster, to be better, to go harder.

Niki stops suddenly, lips pursing. “Just to be clear, are you talking about flying or the sex?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you wink.

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze

@loliissmut @fandom-princess-forevermore

[impossible-rat-babies]

tuesday, two in the afternoon

fallen hero / 2.1k words / chargestep (nb!sidestep + m!ortega) / cw: smoking

mostly below the cut!

--

“Why did you bring me down to the beach? It smells awful down here...”

Pollux kicks a rock across the barren sand, watching it roll into the lackadaisical waves lapping at the meager shoreline. The sand squishes beneath his shoes, water leaking through the crappy canvas.

It rained not long ago—almost caught the both of them in the downpour.

His head is still damp from the few fat drops that landed from between the slats in the boardwalk they used to take cover. He runs his hand across the fresh buzzcut, forgetting for a second there’s no curls to tuck behind his ears.

“I thought you liked the beach.” Ortega comes up beside him, keeping pace as they wander through sand and rock, passing by tiny tide pools refreshed by the rain. The sun will dry what the waves can reach soon, but for now they thrive under the cloudy grey sky.

“I don’t mind the beach, but it always stinks like garbage and wet dog down here after it rains.”

“At least it keeps the place private.”

“If you don’t count the seagulls.”

“They’re worse than the tourists.” 

Ortega smiles and Pollux turns to walk backwards, cocking a brow over his sunglasses. Of course Ortega is overdressed to be taking a walk on what passes for a beach these days—a fancy shirt and slacks and the watch he’s got on costs more than four months of rent on Pollux’s shitty apartment.

(Disregarding the sunglasses he’s toting around that are without a doubt the third most expensive thing he owns and even then they were a gift. From Ortega, obviously. He disregards the invading thought that the most expensive thing Ortega has won’t ever be his clothing or a watch, but his spine. Pollux thinks *if*—not *when*—he dies if they’ll pry it out and stick it inside someone else; a replacement for an accident of their own.)

Ortega is always dressed to impress, the silly man. Pollux it’s a habit, or he doesn’t have anything else to wear that isn’t something higher class or luxury, or if he genuinely enjoys silk shirts. The tailored slacks with fancy watches and Italian leather shoes. There’s no one to impress but Pollux and he hasn’t fallen for that trick in years.

“Worried about your shoes?”

“They’re...squishy.”

“You’re gonna ruin them.”

Ortega kicks another rock off towards the waves, stuffing his hands in his pocket as an answer. Pollux snorts, rolling his eyes, and he turns back around, falling into step beside him. He’s always been a fast walker--a faster runner.

Silence stretches out between them and apprehension feels like just another word for awkward, this gap between them. The few pointed inches—enough for static electricity to jump between them, for Pollux to anticipate Ortega’s touch and deftly pull away, leaving air beside his fingertips.

It’s still so hard to let him close.

“Why did you want to meet up here?” Pollux asks just to have something to say, anything to avoid Ortega looking like he’s going to throw his arm over his shoulder and pull him in to mumble something fond, or a terrible joke.

“Just to go on a walk?” Ortega tries and oh he tries so hard. More than he used to.

“Since when did you start walking for fun?”

“When you decide to come along with me. It’s fun, Lux.”

Pollux frowns—he knows this game. Ortega’s got this little tell of looking away just the right way.

“You just wanted to get me out of the house then.”

Ortega shrugs—he’s avoiding, nor is he saying no...

“Okay so I lied. I don’t have anything to talk about. But, if I just wanted to spend time with you then you would’ve said no.”

“True...” Pollux hates how he’s right more often than not. Asshole. “So you picked the beach?”

“I didn’t plan on it raining.”

Pollux sighs, tired of the sand and he wanders away--further out of reach--towards the rocks near the pillars holding up the promenade. 

It’s deserted right now, the rain and the fact that it’s two in the afternoon on a Tuesday keeping the crowds away. Give it a Saturday on a cool summer’s evening and it’d be packed to the gills; people screaming on the small roller coasters, the stink of fresh fried food and the lights--the dizzying array of red, blue and yellow. All the people and all the thoughts buzzing through his head; there were so many bombarding him--all of them, just as aggressive as the lights. He’s braved that terrible crowd--all because Ortega asked. 

He used to do that, do things because Ortega asked nicely. Because they were fun--he had fun. Does he still remember what that felt like? Being on that promenade, breathless and young, laughing like he knew how to laugh? 

They walked down to the very end once, away from the bright lights where it was just the ocean stretching out in front of them like a black abyss. All alone. Ortega asking him, pleading for one ride on the ferris wheel. “Come on Lux just one little ride.” Pollux calling his bluff, shoving his face away because it was all just a ploy for a kiss. Like this is some snapshot romance movie still.

It’s stupid to think about bygones.

There’s no temptation to jump into old times down here, just the water swelling against the rocks and the concrete walls. Trash hiding in the crevices, old green beer bottles that will break and turn to sea glass; left to wash up on the shores of Hawaii.

The beaches there are still nice--worthy of memories. Not this smog stained grey sand.It’s just a hop skip and a jump up onto the slick brown rocks smeared with algae and something that shines like oil. It stinks like it.

Pollux stops, shaking a cigarette out of the package and he cups his hand to protect the fragile flame, watching Ortega clamber up onto the rock beside him. He flops down on a relatively dry spot, free of the worst of the gross.

“What are you doing?” Pollux asks with a faint laugh and a cocked brow, letting his cigarette go unlit. It droops between his lips.

“What does it look like? I’m sitting down.” Ortega replies, smoothing a strand of hair back into the salt and pepper waves at his temples.

“Mr. Ralph Lauren is gonna be pissed you ruined your pants?” A raise of the brow and Ortega looks up at him with a look in those brown eyes.

“My shoes are wet, Lux.” Ortega whines and Pollux is *this close* to kicking him off their rock.

“I think you’re getting old.”

Pollux squats beside him, arms draping over top of his knees.

“Now you’re just being cruel...”

Ortega adjusts, grimacing when he inevitably puts his hand on a wet spot. He untucks his shirt, and he’s rather reminiscent of those “aged like fine wine” men on old magazine covers he found in shitty motel lobbies. He’d fit right on a sandy beach in Florida. These aren’t the right beaches for any of that anymore, still mostly rock. Their original glory immortalized in photographs on the fronts of travel brochures.

But they are healing—slowly. The sand creeps up the shoreline more and more each year.

“I’m not cruel. You just an oversized sun hat and a lounge chair. Maybe a nice hot beer.” Pollux teases and Ortega grimaces.

“It’s January.”

“That doesn’t stop people in Florida or Hawaii.”

“Have you even been to Florida?”

Ortega asks so harmlessly and Pollux pauses.

He’s been there half a dozen times before—fuzzy memories from over a decade ago. Rooftop gardens on top of high rise builds off the coast of Miami, galas with thousand dollar dresses and caked on makeup in the low light from crystal chandeliers. It was all for work, watching and scanning, nimble mental fingers coaxing and teasing truth from the mind’s eyes. He would watch, take in the sights and the sounds through other people’s minds. Take the truth and puzzle over the rest. Ask the dangerous questions: why and how?

He still believes the biggest mistake they made was allowing him to learn.

“I’ve watched movies.” He says instead of lying and he knows he isn’t getting away with it. “Besides, have you ever been to Florida? Or Hawaii even?”

“No, but I’ve watched movies before.”

Ortega grins and Pollux groans, resisting the urge to yet again so shove him off his rock and into one of the tide pools below.

“You’re an asshole.”

Pollux fishes around in his pocket and grabs out a matchbook, flipping it open and fuck he grabbed the wrong one. There’s nothing but the empty packaging in this one, uneven lines from tearing out matches without much grace. He flips it over onto the back and nothing--even the striker strip is shot to hell. Fuck. 

“Are you out?” Ortega peers over and he grumbles.

“Grabbed the wrong matchbook” Pollux huffs, about to grab his carton back out and stuff the poor cigarette back in.

“Wait, I still got--here.” Ortega pulls a small matchbox out of his shirt pocket, holding it out to him. It’s much nicer than his ten cent books he frequently gets for free from the gas station because the cashier thinks he’s cute. 

“You...still carry them around?”

His voice stalls in his chest: it’s meant to be more of questioning incredulity, but it comes out much softer. Forlorn and sticky at the front of his mouth.

Ortega sheepishly looks down at the matchbox, flipping it between his index and forefingers.

“Old habits die hard.”

He ran out of matches a lot, even the crappy little packages where the matches broke more often than actually struck. Ortega started carrying them around, little inch and a half boxes of matches tucked in his coat or shirt pocket. He doesn’t remember when the habit started. But it evolved into a habit of stealing them, seeing how easily he could sneak one away without him noticing.

Ortega protested whenever he caught him and the two of them scrambling for the box until Pollux tucked it away like magic, or Ortega tried tickling him enough times to get an elbow to the nose.

He got him back: a sufficient enough shock and Pollux complained about having a numb hand for the next week.

Pollux had a little stacked collection of them all lined up against the baseboard next to his mattress. He kept the fun ones, the brightly colored and eclectically designed ones--neon blue and mustard yellow. Held onto them until they were falling apart and he painstakingly cut them apart and glued or taped them in the pages of notebooks.

Even now, seven years later Ortega still carries them around and that tugs sharp in the back of his throat and deep in his belly—a sort of nausea that stings his eyes.

He blinks several times and fuck there’s the logo of the cigarette shop Ortega dragged him to once in a blue moon. The floor was some cheap old green motel carpeting--the windows covered in layers of advertisements and wood paneling everywhere else. But god it smelled fantastic--like a humidor stuffed to the brim with anything from cheap cigarettes to fancy and illegal cigars in glass cases. 

(Fuck, it was the best place to buy cigarettes--they still had the little machines with the tokens he’d pay five bucks for at the counter.)

“Yeah...” Pollux mumbles, tearing his eyes away. “Kinda literally, you know. Dying.” He chuckles bone dry and Ortega cringes.

“You still recognized the matchbox. I can’t call you a lost cause yet.” 

He looks over at him, salt and pepper black hair blowing in the breeze, the little white spots where the scars cut through his beard. The soft smile on chapped lips. Even with all the anger in the world rushing under his skin, he can’t be mad.

There’s just that wistful empty ache and he blinks, looking away. The distant shoreline etched on the horizon of a dark ocean and the patchy grey sky above. He lights the cigarette with a single match, the sharpness of the sulfur and the sweet menthol cloud of smoke the breeze dissolves into nothing. 

“Here...” Pollux offers the matchbox back to him.

“Keep it. You need it more than me.” Ortega says, pushing his hand back towards him and he pulls his hand away.

Pollux fixes him with a with a long look before he heaves a sigh and looks back out towards the coast and the ocean further beyond. Smoking the cigarette, filling his lungs on the menthol and tobacco until it burns out at the filter. Ortega sitting beside him, bouncing a leg but he’s quiet. And he doesn’t look over at Pollux.

The sun barely peeks in through the clouds and it looks like this is all the rain they’ll be getting.

[rekiroyalstraightprincemaru]

Void of Emotions

Trigger warnings: suicide reference, self harm reference, eating disorder, mentions of child neglect, purging, self hatred

. . .

Miya should feel something. He really should. One of his only friends had almost committed suicide and then shut down right in front of them. No amount of calling him to come back to the real world would work. It was if all the life had been sucked out of Reki.

But Miya couldn’t feel anything.

He knew what it meant. He’d accidentally suppressed his emotions again and now they were nothing but muted static, tucked far into the abyss of his mind.

It didn’t matter though and maybe it was for the best. They wouldn’t stay turned off, but he almost wished they would. He’d be more useful that way. 

He finally allowed himself to heed Joe and step away from Reki. He’d been stupid again, letting his emotions get the best of him and joining the others in crowding around him. It would probably be best if he left. But-

Actually, no one would notice. Every one was still concentrated on Reki and he’d done enough for the day. He wouldn’t be any help from here on out. In fact, he’d make it worse for sure. Besides forcing people into confessing how they felt, he wasn’t good at emotions. Never had been.

He began to walk away. Going out through the back would be easy. He slung his near forgotten backpack over his shoulder and walked away, careful to keep each step light and silent. At least he was talented at being forgotten. Maybe a little too well, blending into the background against his will, but in this situation, it would serve him well.

He glanced over his shoulder as he opened the back door, sneaking one last look at Reki and all his friends. Yeah, he was coming back to them. At least he’d be gone before he said something that would ruin everything again. Better to be silent, but best to be removed completely.

The sun was already beginning to set outside. Time really had flown by in a rush of anxiety. He pulled up the hood to his cat hoodie and began his trek back home. Joe usually gave him a ride if he’d left his skateboard at home, as he had today. He’d been picked up from school and dragged to the restaurant to eat. Stupid old man. Acting like his dad.

Actually, if he was his dad, he just wouldn’t care. So... scratch that idea. 

Miya pulled out his phone, going through his texts. None were from friends of course. He didn’t really have anyone. He was more of the younger cousin third wheeling whenever he was around the other skaters. Instead, the texts were either from his manager or skate events that really should not have known his number. Whatever. He’d go to them all and decimate all his other competition. This was what he was for, after all. He’d have to make enough money before he was thirty and unable to skate. Being homeless would suck and no one would help him. Hell, even his so called friends only took him in to help beat Adam. If he’d been useless, he would have just been thrown to the side. At least he was amusing. That’s probably why he was still there with them.

But enough about that. He had homework he had no motivation to do. He’d probably have to pull out a razor blade to get himself to do it. Was it overkill? Maybe, but he was pathetic and needed it. As long as he’d do it in a way the resulting scars would never show it wouldn’t matter.

Hopefully the others would get Reki back on his feet. Maybe he was a terrible friend for abandoning him, but whatever. If he was so horrible so much so he couldn’t feel anything for more than five minutes when his friend almost killed himself, he didn’t deserve to call himself so much as an acquaintance. It would be best for all of them if he did this. 

He slipped one of his sport shakes from his back packs and took a drink. Tasted disgusting as usual, but would keep him on his feet. He’d allow himself one of those a day, a small dinner to appease his parents, and as much water as he wished. No more and any less, he’d probably collapse. Fading away into nothingness may be best for everyone, but he’d be even more of a disappointment that way. Would probably never hear the end of it from his parents, might be force fed, end up on the news as a talented young skater who decimated his own career. No thanks. 

Speaking of such, Joe had already forced him to eat a good amount of pasta. Literally nothing good for him in that carb nightmare. He could almost feel himself feeling fatter every time he thought of it.

He glanced at the time on his phone. Only about half an hour from when he’d been eating and he was still in the alley behind Sia la Luce. It would be no problem, though rather unsanitary. Not like he had many options, though.

He shrugged of his backpack and tucked his phone safely inside before plunging two fingers down his throat. Lucky for him, he always felt nauseous.

Not long after and his throat was burning as he wretched in the alleyway, vomiting up his past meal. The acid was terrible, reeked, and left him shaky and in a cool sweat, but at least he felt better in some sick way. He didn’t feel fat anymore, but thin and empty. Just as it should be. 

He wiped his mouth with a tissue and dropped the foul thing into the disgusting puddle at his feet. No one would notice. There were probably already a few too hundred many druggies so his mess would be nothing but a drop in the ocean.

Thankfully, he always kept a little kit on him for time like this. It happened all the time at school, too many occasions forcing himself to eat so he wouldn’t stand out. He dug through his backpack for a moment before pulling out a bag containing a toothbrush and toothpaste. No way would he walk around with corroding teeth and breath horrid enough to kill. 

He continued on his way, not caring if anyone saw some random kid brushing his teeth while walking down the street. They’d just shrug it off. Everyone saw weird things and he was used to being one. It balanced out.

[jurijurijurious]

Writerly ephemera meme

I was tagged by @thisbluespirit in this rather intriguing meme!

Find five bits of yourself that you gave to your fiction (memories and places and phrases and things into our stories), post and tag five or more writers to share as well.

Now I know I do write bits of myself and my experiences into my stories, one way or another, I think everyone does, but it doesn’t half put you on the spot when you have to try to remember where you’ve done it!

1) I know that recently I wrote Walsingham passing out at the end of a scene in “Mea Culpa”. The entire description is based on personal experience. I went through a scary few years as a young teen where I would pass out for little to no reason, usually at school where there were lots of people watching to cause me huge embarrassment, which then almost gave me a form of PTSD. I was constantly anxious about fainting, it was not good, and we never found out why it happened. But that’s another story... I still occasionally pass out but it’s usually for a reason, after having a vaccine or blood taken or something, but the whole process of fainting, though horrible, is like an old nemesis to me, uncomfortably familiar. I generally feel intense sickness in my stomach, my vision is puckered increasingly with white dots, my entire body comes out in a sweat, and I hear a high pitched whistle-type noise as I lose consciousness. And so since that is my experience, it became Wals’s too:

His palms sweated, his pulse raced...  He shuddered and emitted another strangled breath, fingers white where he clutched the window sill, body trembling.  He needed rest.  Ursula's voice was becoming distant, the room was swaying like the deck of a ship caught in a storm.  He felt a sudden nausea in his stomach, could hear a high pitched sound in his ears, a siren's wail beckoning him into the abyss.

“I am sorry.  So very sorry,” he whispered, though he knew not exactly who he was addressing.  His own voice now sounded as if it was coming from underwater, far away; he was drowning and could resist no more, slipped where he stood and descended into the open arms of oblivion.

2) This is another Walsibeth example I’m afraid because I haven’t written anything else for about a decade! So... Though the pandemic and my lack of funds has put a temporary hold to my hobby of horse riding, I am a half-capable rider and love tearing across country if opportunity allows on horseback. I can thus write people riding horses (English style, anyway) with a degree of accuracy. So in my smutty one-shot fic “In perpetuum et unum diem” (the one which is mostly a pastiche of the raunchy finale of “The Tudors” season 1, and also an excuse for me to write shameless sex), I began the ficlet with a bit of a horse-race between Bess and Wals to get the blood up (a scene that in itself mirrors Elizabeth’s racing with Raleigh in TGA, I later realised). Though I personally haven’t raced a person on horseback per se, I have done beach rides and also ridden on a horseback safari in Africa where you gallop as a group, and “giving your horse its head” is the order of the day! So a lot of this passage is me:

She turned her head back over her shoulder and caught Francis’ eyes.  His lip quirked slightly at the corner but otherwise there was no change to his countenance.  But that was enough.  Her smile deepend as if to invite him to race her and she turned her head back around, gave her dappled grey mare its head and pressed her calves to its flanks.  And the beast responded, driving its legs harder, faster, into a gallop and flew like a falcon through the trees.

...

As the wind flew in Elizabeth’s face, making her eyes water, a great whoop of exhilaration escaped her.  There was nothing but her and the horse, and the knowledge that her blackguard of a lover galloped behind her.  This was what it should feel like to live, even in tragically brief snippets; to feel the blood in your veins, the air in your chest, and the sun on your face, wild and free.

They then jump a tree trunk which I’d love to say I’d do, and I might, but most of my falls have been from jumping so I’d probably wimp out and go the long way around... ;)

3) Annnd another one from my Walsibeth fic “Mea Culpa”, just because it’s fresh in my mind. When I was driving to work last winter, there was one Sunday morning which had a jaw-droppingly beautiful sunrise. I tried to take a photo of it but could not do it justice. I did find a photo of Lincoln Cathedral on instagram from the same morning though which captured the sky perfectly. It literally looked like the sky was on fire, or something, and I immediately worked this memory into my story! I felt that a sky like that would make the perfect backdrop for a single, forlorn, broken bastard riding his horse in a clear, freezing morning:

There was a strange light in the sky as the sun began to make its ascent.  It turned a deep crimson then lifted to shades of rich amber and gold; this combined with the few grey clouds passing overhead gave it the illusion of a huge fire, as if a great furnace now filled the heavens.  Some might have called it beautiful, others would see a grim omen.

4) I had a look in my dreaded old fic archive, so full of cringe, and I found this from the end of my Doctor Who fic “Choices”, which I reckon I wrote between 2005-2006, possibly finishing it later than that. This scene right at the end (told from the perspective of Rose and the ninth Doctor’s daughter, Hope) is literally my old senior school - the class length, the finish time, the uniform was what I wore, and my history teacher was Mrs. Gaskin, and my mum would be waiting in her car to pick me and my sisters up:

By a quarter-to-three in the afternoon, she was in another History lesson with Mrs. Gaskin, and was spending another forty-five minutes hearing about the Black Death, the plague doctors, and the red crosses that were painted on people’s doors. It was fascinating, but Hope’s concentration wasn’t there. She kept looking out of the window at the school yard, noticing the little details that other days she would take for granted - like the way the trees swayed in the wind, the way a crisp-packet rolled across the concrete, and the pure azure-blue colour of the cloudless sky. Something was afoot but she had no idea what it was, or why she was feeling this way.

The bell rang finally at the end of the lesson, as the clock read three-thirty, and the class disappeared swiftly out of the door. It was home time! The voices of myriads of children echoed and shrilled down the corridors, and desperate feet, eager to get home, pounded down the stairs, making for the exits. White shirts were un-tucked from trouser and skirt hems, blue-and-red ties were loosened from about shirt collars, and black blazers were thrown off and carried over shoulders as the mass of pupils took flight.

Hope, however, took things slowly, almost as if she might never see them again, picking up on every smile, every individual laugh, and every joke pulled on every unsuspecting victim. She waved goodbye to friends, hitched her backpack over her shoulder, and made her way out of the school gates toward the spot where her mum or Uncle Jack would usually be waiting to pick her up. As she turned the corner onto Petunia Grove, though, she stopped and sighed. The car - either her mum’s or Jack’s - was not there.

Hope pursed her lips and shrugged, taking another good look around just to make sure that she hadn’t missed it, but there wasn’t a familiar car in sight. She thus let her bag slip off her shoulder, and she perched her backside on the street sign, swinging one of her feet back and forth as she waited for the arrival of her escort.

In the meantime, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander again, as it had been doing often throughout the day, and looked around the street. There was a blue tit on the hedge over the road, stood near a couple of sparrows and a robin. The front door of house number five was a brilliant shade of red, something which she had never really noticed before, and there was some graffiti on the road sign on the opposite side of the street. It read ‘Bad’ something or other, but she couldn’t read the other word since it was blocked off by the blue box.

Hope blinked and slowly rose to her feet. It couldn’t be…

5) And for number five, this is a short extract from the an unpublished Star Wars fic I wrote around 2010, where I tried for what must have been the third time to re-write the Star Wars nonsense I wrote as a teenager, all starring my very Mary Sue OC, Nadia, who became Vader’s apprentice and was mentored by Veers. I have here again worked my experiences of passing out into the story - a psychologist would have a field day with me. Nadia’s thoughts about showing weakness were also real fears of mine - I never liked to be weak, to be ill, to be a burden, and my character was the mouthpiece for my own self-disgust. It’s written in the first person with Nadia narrating in this scene where she accompanies General (Maximilian) Veers to the Kaminoan’s cloning facility to review further batches of troops and is taken ill by the experience of seeing the thousands of farmed foetuses:

Max nodded whilst I remained breathless and shaky in his shadow. I could not get those tiny, wriggling foetuses out of many head - they floated upon my consciousness, their inhuman eyes glaring into my face and their tiny hands reaching out toward me. I tried to rid myself of these infantile phantoms, but I could not, and I suddenly felt quite ill.

“We shall need many more in our next delivery,” Max told the creature, who began to babble on about the problems of this request, but was halted mid-sentence when Maximilian wheeled about and grabbed me, saying my name over and over. He disappeared amidst the snowstorm of white dots that littered my vision, however, and I collapsed upon the floor.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a bright, white room. The walls dazzled me for a moment and it took my eyes and my mind time to adjust and to recognise reality. I looked slowly at the plain walls, finding myself alone upon a bed with my hands by my sides and a drip feeding liquid into my arm. This seemed quite surreal - I knew I was not ill enough to warrant this - but I resolved to stay put until someone came to me. I felt extremely tired and I thought that I may as well take advantage of the rest.

I fell back to sleep again and, when I next woke, I saw Max sat in a chair beside me. I glanced about the room - we were alone. I looked at him uncertainly, my visage undoubtedly betraying the signs of my mortification, for he first said: “Do not worry, Nadia, I am not angry with you. It cannot always be helped.”

...

I wanted to defy him, to be strong, but no, I just showed him weakness and insecurity. What indignity was this?

Thanks for the tag, that was fun! I can’t think of 5 writers to tag but off the top of my head: @feuillesmortes, @robins-treasure and @captainofthegreenpeas? Have a go if you fancy.

[scaramoon]

hello hello, i am back w yet another stream recap! 👀

it’s starting!! ningguang is talking about her jade chamber and liyue…pls OMG KEQING NEW SKIN???? XIAO AAAH YUN JIN OMG YES SHE’S HEREE AND OMG SHENHE TOO!! she’s so pretty please both of them are stunning i can’t WAIT WHAT NIW??? WHAT?? A NEW AREA?? WHAT?? BRO I CANT EXPLAIN IT YOU HAVE TO WATCH IT WHERE ARE WEEEE A NEW JADE CHANBER?? MORE STORY?? IM CONFUSED HELP PLEASE

FIRST CODE: SA7V2DRZGAU5

okay it’s a chinese stream w the devs!! we get a new Archon Quest and Traveller will help ningguang rebuild the jade chamber

now we’re seeing shenhe’s character demo! her fighting looks so cool!! SHE JUST SAID ‘MY HOMOCIDAL NATURE’??? she’s literally the definition of girlboss, she was smart enough to gain the adeptus’ respect and studied the adepti arts!! she’s a cryo polearm support!!

now onto yun jin!! pls i love her so much she’s so pretty- she writes AND performs her operas!! she’s a support that buffs normal attacks and her buffs are stronger if your team consists of different elements (? i think? that’s how i understood it-) she’s another geo polearm!!

UPCOMING BANNERS:

PHASE 1: SHENHE AND XIAO AT THE SAME TIME (+ YUN JIN)

PHASE 2: ZHONGLI AND GANYU

ningguang and yun jin are getting their hangout events!! we’re also getting a new 5* spear!

now they’re showing off how the engraved wishes statue turned out!! it’s so cute!!

EVENTS:

Lantern Rite

instead of lanterns, we can now make our own fireworks! another mini-game are shadow riddles! we’ll also have to salvage materials for ningguang’s new jade chamber! WE CAN FIGHT OSIAL DURING THE EVENT?? YOU KNOW, THE SEA GOD?? we can pick a free liyue 4 star character during the lantern rite!! NINGGUANG AND KEQING SKINS!! AAAAAH!!! ningguang’s is free during the event, and keqing’s can be bought!

Potion Event (?? i didn’t catch the name)

we have to fight in different challenges and get to make our own buff potions? there are also trial characters for each challenge, but i think i saw that some characters apparently will be locked from some challenges? not 100% sure, it’s hard reading subtitles while writing stuff down </3

Eight Locals Over Mountains And Seas

Ioroi asks you to take the tanuki’s we see in inazuma with us!! we get to travel with them and have to take pictures of them in certain locations!

Windtrace

it’s back!! they added more maps and more items to turn into!! i’m excited-

SECOND CODE: PSNVJURZZSD9

new region: enkanomiya!! ITS THAT PLACE FROM THE OPENING TRAILER! it’s the birthplace of an ancient civilisation and there is no day or night since they are so deep in the abyss, but you can manually change the daytime at a tower! they’re apparently complete disconnected from the rest of teyvat- there are puzzles that are dependent on whether you made it day/night! new bosses there, a new species of vishaps (Primordial Bathysmal Vishaps, Rimebiter Bathysmal Vishaps, Bolteater Bathysmal Vishaps) as well as abyss heralds and lector’s in the wild (now also w a new pyro abyss lector)!!

there are several system optimisations, for example you can now check which enemies are in abyss while selecting your characters, console players can now adjust their shortcut wheel to their own preferences, the crafting UI will change a little, and so on-

THIRD CODE: 5SPDKV8ZHBFV

mhy ceo dawei is back!! he’s personally wishing everyone a happy new year, health and stuff!

and that’s it!! the ending was so adorable lol, but you definitely have to check the preview video asap it’s absolutely stunning!! no guarantees this time around tho, it’s pretty hard to read subtitles while simultaneously writing it all down </3

IM SOBBING.. i watched the video you sent me im fully crying right now. im really excited to see what happens with the jade chamber though! i’ve also seen some in-game stuff that goes along with the idea that sumeru is coming soon, so fingers crossed hehe.

but !! im also really excited for the xiao rerun. hopefully people treat him well, if they don’t i’ll cry ;-; he’s a baby and he deserves the world, if any xiao havers become toxic i will personally commit war crimes. i wanna c1 him but.. cyno.. scara..

WIND TRACE WIND TRACE WIND TRACE WIND-

don’t get me wrong the other events sound so fun but wind trace personally gifted me sm serotonin for no reason.

ooh but i saw some stuff a few weeks ago about the new region, from what i heard it’s under one of the inazuma island’s? but that was a while ago so they may have changed :3

all in all i’m v excited hehe. as lovely and shenhe and c1 xiao would be i must wait, but i might consider pulling shenhe on my alt hehe

[kimburgess-ruzek]

shattered.

chapter three: all at once.

summary: burzek/upstead/whole unit. intelligence had been through the worst of the worst trying to get one of their own back alive. Each member has been to their own personal hell. Will everyone make it back, or will the cracks in Intelligence be big enough for the entire team to shatter?

chapter summary: a look into each member of intelligence’s mind after adam sent them home from med.

a/n: this is a pretty slow chapter again but i wrote almost double to this and decided to just split it up. next chapter should be up in a couple of days. i also like the stream of consciousness type writing here. next should have more dialogue and everyone together (finally!!)

word count: 3.1k

masterlist here!

read on ao3!

.

all at once.

darkness. there’s something about it that makes it both intimidating and peaceful. with darkness, comes the unknown, comes loneliness. but with it also comes quiet, peace. and that’s what consumed kim right now. all around her was darkness, quietness, loneliness. she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel. all she could do was nothing. she felt scared, claustrophobic in the abyss of darkness. she wanted to scream, wanted to jump up and down and plead for help, but she couldn’t. something was pulling her down, further back into the darkness, and she just couldn’t move. She couldn’t even fight it, whatever it was. it was too overbearing, too powerful for kim. and all kim could do was panic and be pulled down further.

.

the warmth of inside the house began to thaw the icy, purplish hands of voight’s. even with gloves, the wind gushed and the snow seeped through the leather. it took all of hank’s power to get the blood pumping through his fingers in order to grip the steering wheel. nevertheless, he persisted. with his cold, stiff fingers, he turned the lock on his door, took off his boots, and trekked to the bathroom for the hottest shower he could dream of.

.

kevin laid in his bed, eyes open and mind racing. he tried to sleep and it never came. he even tried laying still with his eyes closed, but his mind wouldn’t let him. because every time he closed his eyes, the image of kim, near lifeless in that buick, resurfaced.

god why did it have to be kim?

kevin had spent his whole life witnessing and experience injustice. even little things like being followed by a worker inside a grocery store and being asked where he was going at night, when he was just walking home. little things like that. but as he got older, he quickly realized being a black man in chicago does not lend equality. being a black man in america does not lend equality. and that’s why he wanted to become a cop. because he saw all of the injustices happen in his hometown, and he wanted to create a difference. rewrite the narrative. and while his difference would be small, it would be huge in the eyes of a little boy watching someone that looked like him have his back.

and when the narrative finally started to shift, when people finally began to see the injustices happening, when they decided to not let it go unnoticed, kevin still had to face hardship. this time, though, it was from the people who he at one time thought were his family. the blue family. but when he decided to stand up for what he saw as just, for what america saw as just, those people turned on him. neglected him, sought after him, beat him, manipulated him. and kevin was broken. he was utterly broken. he was scared. no he was terrified. but the one thing that kevin could appreciate was that his team began to see what kevin saw. they saw their team member, their family, being beaten and harassed. and kevin liked that they had his back. he needed that, because he didn’t feel all alone. he felt appreciated, understood, and love. and even though not everyone on the team completely agreed with his beliefs, they all still had his back. even adam, who was a third generation cop, sided with him and not the other blues. and that meant everything to him.

then something in adam switched. and what it was, kevin didn’t know. but something changed, and adam began to change to his old ways. his old habits. and it was gradual. it was slow. it started with the little jabs that would result in an ‘i’m sorry bro, but i still have your back.’ and kevin would push it aside, thinking to himself that adam is trying, but it’s hard to change a philosophy in a short amount of time. but it kept getting worse, adam’s way with the new code of conduct. and with the accumulation of jabs, it eventually became a punch to kevin’s gut. maybe people can’t change their philosophy, no matter how hard they try.

but the straw that broke the camel’s back for adam was this. when kim went missing. kevin saw something he had never seen before, ever, in his eight years of working with him. he saw pure hatred. he saw pure vengeance. he knew adam still loved kim. hell, everyone knew adam still loved kim. but that doesn’t mean adam can do whatever he wanted to, whatever he thought he needed to, in order to get what he wanted. he put a gun to a man’s head. for all they knew, an innocent man’s head. and adam didn’t think twice about it. but just because kevin wanted to go about this by the book, that doesn’t mean that he didn’t love kim too. this was kim. did adam think he didn’t love kim? kim was kevin’s partner. she was his rock when he needed it. she helped raise jordan and vanessa. kevin loved kim. and her going missing was eating him up inside. when he heard that call over the radio, all kevin wanted to do was search every house, every building, until he found kim. but he knew he couldn’t. it would be too slow and too unreasonable. and kevin knew that wouldn’t find kim. and he also knew he couldn’t do that because of everything still happening today. he was still a black man in chicago, and if he went in shouting lies and threatening people with guns, then he would suffer worse consequences than adam did. so as much as kevin wanted to find kim, he couldn’t do it the way adam was doing it. and kevin wasn’t resentful. rather, he was hurt.

and when kevin found kim, all he wanted to do was cry. cry tears of joy because they found her but also tears of sorrow because of how badly she looked. and to be honest, kevin was too afraid to get up close to kim at first for the worst fear. so he checked the warehouse for roy or kent instead. and when jay announced kim was still alive, kevin’s adrenaline shot back up and his mind was laser focused on getting kim to med. when kevin finally got to see kim close up, he couldn’t stop the tears this time. to see his best friend, his sister, beaten, handcuffed, shot, and near lifeless in his arms. it was almost too much to bear. him and jay never spoke a word on the way to med, both too much in their thoughts. kevin, all he could feel was guilt. she shouldn’t have been alone. she shouldn’t have done the undercover pass. it shouldn’t have been her. and maybe adam was right. maybe kevin should’ve fought harder, because if he did, maybe kim wouldn’t have been this dire.

kevin was lost in his thoughts when he heard a knock on his door. confused on who it was, he crawled out of bed and trudged his way to the door, mentally telling himself to put his foot in front of the other. when he got there he looked in the peep hole and saw someone he didn’t expect to be at his door.

trudy.

kevin opened the door to the cold chicago wind.

“trudy, what’re you doing here?”

trudy quickly responded through her shivers, “if you don’t let me in within the next five seconds i’ll make sure voight bumps you down to patrol for a week.”

with that, kevin opened the door wider and allowed trudy inside. even though he knew it was a fake threat and he appreciated trudy’s joke, he was too tired to laugh.

kevin closed the door and went to pour trudy a cup of warm coffee. trudy took off her coat and sat on kevin’s couch, blowing warm air to her hands to try and warm them up. after a minute kevin walked to the couch with a mug and handed it to trudy before sitting down and asking again, “trudy, this is a nice surprise, but what are you doing here? is everything alright?”

trudy took a generous sip of her coffee and replied, “well, i just wanted to check on you. you know, see how you were doing.”

kevin was caught off guard. “i appreciate that trudy, i do… i’m hanging in there. still trying to let my mind catch up to me, you know.”

trudy nodded and put a hand to kevin’s leg. “you know, i never got to thank you for being there for kim with jay. you are a strong man, kev. and i am truly thankful.” tears welled up in trudy’s eyes, making kevin’s water too.

“i appreciate that, trudy.”

trudy cleared her throat. “okay, so how are you really doing?”

kevin shrugged his shoulders. “i said i’m doing ok—“ before kevin could finish his sentence, trudy cut him off.

“no. for real, kev. i saw the interaction you and adam had earlier. how are you doing?”

kevin swallowed hard and but his tongue, trying to find the right response. he looked up at his sergeant’s eyes and told what he was really feeling inside.

“i feel alone. i don’t have anybody.”

kevin couldn’t stop the tears this time. and kevin didn’t care, letting them trickle down his face. he was ashamed of feeling this way after everything kim had gone through. he saw it as selfish and unthoughtful. but it was true. kevin did feel lonely. he felt like no one understood him, no one was with him.

this broke trudy’s heart. she witnessed the tension between kevin and adam, and she never saw them like that in her career of knowing them. and she knew they both had their sides, but right now she felt for kevin.

she patted him on the back and said, “look at me. kevin, look at me.”

it took a while for kevin to semi-compose himself and look back up at trudy’s eyes. trudy moved her hand up to kevin’s shoulder.

“you are not alone. you are not alone in this. you have me. you hear that? you have me.”

kevin just nodded, feeling overwhelmed. all he could do was mutter a “thank you” in between his tears. he gave in and leaned in towards trudy, who wrapped him in a hug and let him just feel his emotions.

“i’m not leaving here until you feel everything you need to feel, kev. i’m not leaving you.”

.

the darkness continued to surround kim. and as much as she wanted to fight, as much as she felt like she needed to fight, all she wanted to do was stop. to give in to the abyss and be pulled down deeper. she was tired of fighting all of the time. she was just tired. and the darkness was becoming oddly calming. just herself. no dangerous situation, no bad guys. nothing. nothing except her and the darkness.

just as kim was about to give in and let the darkness consume her, she felt something. she felt something on her hand. it was something outside of the darkness, outside of the abyss. it felt like another hand. like something, someone was helping to pull her out. kim was confused. she never felt that before now. and she was caught in her decision on what to do. does she ignore the help, ignore the hand and drown back into the abyss where it's quiet, dark and safe? or does she take the hand, take the big leap and see what happens? does she allow the help? caught in her back and forth of her decision she felt the hand again. this time more persistent. and this made kim make an impulse decision and reach out for the hand. she reached as far as she could, only allowing for her fingertips to graze the other person’s fingers. and when she did, she swore she saw the smallest glimmer of light. it was so small, kim could’ve swore she saw lies. but nevertheless, she saw something in the far, far distance. but at the same time, the darkness began to pull harder, dragging her back down. and soon, the hand, along with the light, disappeared, being too far out of kim’s grasp.

.

the hot water of the shower felt glorious to voight’s body. it was washing away the grime and dirt from his hands. and down the drain also went voight’s lingering thoughts on the last 48 hours.

.

jay actually got a few hours of good sleep. he woke up to the sounds of car horns and the sunlight shining through the half closed curtains. he looked down and saw hailey in his arms. hailey, her beautiful messy hair perfectly laid on her shoulders, her skin just peeking over the bedsheets, her snuggled into his bare chest. this is how it was supposed to be. no fear, no craziness. just normal, calm, peaceful bliss.

jay couldn’t help but smile at hailey, seeing how perfectly imperfect she looked. she looked as to finally be getting some shut eye, which jay was happy about. he knew something was off about her last night, but he can’t figure it out. and hailey won’t tell him which just raises the concern. and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the proposal. what made hailey want to do that? it is so unlike her character. jay could hardly wrap his mind around it. but nevertheless, he was glad to see hailey actually get some rest after everything she had been through the last few days. and while he wanted to know what went down when he was separated from her, his priority was making sure she felt safe and loved, and if that means just being there for her and letting her talk when she's ready, then he was okay with that.

jay began brushing through hailey’s hair, playing with it with his fingers. this stirred hailey awake. she moaned at the sun and turned over. her eyes ever so slowly opened, and jay smirked at her.

“hey beautiful.” jay said, propping his elbow on the bed, sitting up. he moved his hand from her hair to her back, pulling her to him, leaving zero empty space.

hailey blinked a few times, letting her brain wake up. she let out a groggy, “hi.”

jay let out a laugh. hailey asked, “what time is it?”

jay turned his head and glanced outside at the bright light. he reached down and picked his phone up from his pants pocket and saw the time.

“12:39.”

“hmmm…” hailey let out, snuggling further down on jay’s chest. she closed her eyes, “too early…”

jay grinned and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on hailey’s head. with that she woke up and pulled jay in for another kiss on the lips.

“mmmm, i’m not finished from last night.” she let out in between kisses. she pushed jay down and moved on top of him, gliding down his chest with gentle kisses. she giggled and pulled the sheets over top of them for round two.

jay didn’t oblige.

.

kim had felt something she knew it. she had felt that glimmer of help. of hope. she tried moving her arms to feel that bend again, but the darkness was constraining her, holding her arms back. it felt as if it was trying to suffocate her.

kim was tired. all she wanted to do was give up. to just let the darkness overtake her. she felt as if she didn’t have the fight left in her.

all of a sudden, kim thought she heard something. it sounded like faint voice. she couldn’t make anything out, but she heard something. someone. then kim stopped for a moment and thought. she thought really hard.

what would happen if she didn’t fight anymore?

sure, her parents would be sad. but if anything, they would just think to themselves, ‘i told you so, never should’ve became a cop.’ nicole would be devastated, but they haven’t spoken in a while, so she would probably learn to manage. same with zoe. the team would be sad. but would they? they would be down a member, but they could always find someone else. i mean she would miss them for sure. she would miss jay and voight and hailey. she would miss platt. she would miss kevin definitely. she would miss adam…

adam.

what would adam do if she stopped fighting? did adam still care about kim? after everything she said to him? after letting her impulses take over her heart? would he even miss her? after putting him with the burden of makayla.

makayla. oh god, makayla. makayla, who had just lost her entire family. who just lost a mother.

this made kim change her perspective. this set off a fight in kim. she couldn’t let her parents watch their child be buried. she couldn’t let the team go through hell to get her back only for her to give up. she couldn’t die before letting adam know how she actually feels. she couldn’t let makayla grow up without a mom. she wouldn’t let that happen.

so kim fought. she fought against the darkness. she didn’t give in. and all of a sudden, kim heard something. something faint. she heard someone’s voice. like someone was talking to her. this was the extra motivation she needed. kim fought harder, and she managed to get one arm out of the darkness’s grasp. she reached out as far as she could, waving her hand around to feel something. anything, that could help. she reached with her fingertips, and she felt something. she felt the hand again. she grasped on to that hand, and when she did, she saw that glimmer of light again. she pulled with that hand, focusing on the light. focusing on adam, and makayla, and her future. kim was exhausted but she kept pushing herself. she kept fighting. she then heard a sound. it was the voice again. she could’ve spent it sounded familiar.

adam?

kim managed to free her other arm and clutched on to the hand with both arms. she pulled and pulled and pulled. and as she did, the light became brighter. light began to overcome the darkness. the darkness began to fade back behind her, losing the fight. kim had tried to focus on the light but it became massively bright for her tired eyes. she had to eventually look away, though still focusing on keeping ahold of the hand.

the light kept getting brighter, gradually, then all at once.

[reliquiaen]

Hey! I've been your follower since u wrote AT fanfics and because of your work, amongst other beautiful fanfics I've read over time, I've really wanted to try making my own.

I was just wondering what books have u read since u wrote Pray for the Preacher's daughter? Also do u have any book recommendation for newbies in creative writing?

English isn't my native language so sorry if it's a bit confusing to read

dang son that's a long time to be following me. like. a long time. wow hi nice to still have you here in spite of... fandom hopping and all that haha. thank you, i'm always so chuffed to hear someone likes my writing, literal day-maker tbh, god bless ♥

i uh... haven't read as much recently as i might like actually. i find it hard to get invested in new books and my living situation doesn't give me room to be storing books anyway. mostly i just reread a few of the ones i have pdfs of.

for book recs, i find those real hard to give out actually, mostly since people have different tastes you know? what do you like, mate? haha

still, for the simple fact of learning about writing styles i can recommend a few series/authors. this is not an exhaustive list, it's just some books i think have nice writing.

for the simple fact that the show is airing rn and i have it on the brain: if you can find a copy of robert jordan's wheel of time series (and you have the stomach for a monolithic 14 book series that gets real boring and slow in the middle ngl) you should definitely read it. world-building, characterisation, various cultures, all that is really good. his descriptive writing is out of this world and i guarantee you'll learn more new words in the first book than you might think. i know i did. just. really good jumping off point for third-person story-telling.

if you make it through those books and you're like, huh. what else? do yourself a favour and read literally any book by brandon sanderson. he finished the wheel of time books and like... you can't go wrong with any pick of his books. the mistborn trilogy will give you FEELINGS, but if you're after a stand-alone novel, i can not recommend warbreaker or the legion books enough. they're short, they're punchy, and his magic systems are always breathtaking.

kj taylor's fallen moon trilogy is quite good, excellent if you're looking for How To Write Convincing Villains. the author herself is a delight as well if that matters at all lmao. can't speak for the follow up trilogy bc i haven't read it but i'm sure it's just as good. (also she's aussie which always delights me, love a good aussie author)

also do yourself a favour and read the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy. douglas adams was a master wordsmith and the books are so much fun. it's one of the few hard copies i have here in england bc i just love it so so much. never fails to make me laugh.

if you're more into crime stuff, i do recommend karen slaughter. i've only read a few of her books (courtesy of my mum who's an avid fan) but the ones i did read were thrilling cover to cover.

i guess my best advice is to read widely? my typical fare is fantasy, i'm such a ho for a good fantasy book, idk if it's obvious in my fic writing but that's where my soul lives, it's what i first started writing (literally my very first original writing was some stupid knock off of the dragonlink series).

go grimdark gothic and pick up brent weeks' way of shadows books (incredible covers is why i picked them up and the story did not disappoint). traumatise yourself and read stephen king (i've read just a few of his but 'the outsider' was so gripping i legit stole it off my mum for two days to binge read it and she got mad at me). read some kristin cashore books (bitterblue is fabulous, just saying) and enjoy your tropey fantasy. i've got 'everything leads to you' by nina lacour and 'the abyss surrounds us' by emily skrutskie and like any of malinda lo's books and OMG 'the memoirs of lady trent' by marie brennan.

and uh. don't forget to keep reading fanfics haha. much of my writing style is grounded very firmly in the third person fantasy from whence i came, but my transition into present tense is fanfiction's fault entirely baby. and you pick up tropes - my foundation stones! - much better in fic because it distils them down nicely i feel. people who've been writing fic a while already have a feel for the tropes that make stories work so you might have to pay a bit more attention when you start out, don't worry about it, that'll come naturally with practice. which you gotta do.

also also, dictionaries and thesauruses are your friends. thesaurus.com is part of my dna now. go there. sign up. word of the day yourself. it's great stuff and even if you don't remember all of them, adding a few new words to your arsenal now and then can't hurt.

just practice. experiment with what you write and how you write it. not everything you type has to be published either. lord knows i don't post any of my personal work anywhere and half my fics never see the light of day either. write for you and have fun.

hope this helps somewhat. feel free to hmu if you wanna ask anything else lol i know i got a bit longwinded my bad ^^;