#her soul burned away all the soft tissue in her skull!

[mournflame]

The thing is I wanna talk about horror elements of Jo’s character, but I have nothing new to say

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 16 - whiskey

the whiskey sunrise brought pleasant surprises with it.

Amber.

Ever so prevalent in nature, in soil, in earth. In every single crevice of the trees that surrounded God's green earth, the shades of fur on the animals you hunted for food and for survival, the dried out and dead leaves. The dirt that slipped through the cracks and through your fingers, the clay and rust you had grown up on.

The color of his worn-out irises, speckled with the most beautiful green forest - the reassuring hazel, the burnt amber, the deep brown that gleamed just a bit lighter with each passing day into the spring. With each step taken with purpose, getting closer to the goal that clouded over his racing mind.

The shade of the bitter yet oh-so-sweet liquor gently swaying inside the glass bottle, of the gentle heat in your throat. The reflections against the transparent confinement, sometimes a neat crystal and most of the times a scratched bar glass. The ease in the limbs with each consecutive sip of fire emanating throughout the skin, the leftover taste of honey in the mouth, the tremor in your fingers after a bit too much.

The unknown taste of something other than the hard liquor. The long stares and the textures under your fingertips long unexplored. The desolate but warm sense of belonging, of feeling protected. The gruffness, rumbles and grunts piercing through the air. All of which combined themselves in a strange formula and seemed to come to life right in front of you, in almost a lazy yet enticing haze of foregin origin as a solid frame walked across the room.

"You sure you don't wanna save that for later?"

A breathy chuckle emanated from the man upon the light remark and you could just tell he was strongly considering the suggestion for a second. His voice soft, unlike the rougher than gravel tone he usually sported - one of the many gestures and reactions that only recently began to resurface from their hiding spot deep within.

Was it upon his will? He was not the type of person to just let go of his guard or let people see another side of the medallion, no matter what the circumstance was. And yet there he was, breathing and living in the same room a couple feet away from you with nothing but friendliness for a change in the most part of the journey so far, some sort of fondness creasing his features - you reckoned there was no way it could have been.

All that pondering and it did not matter one single bit as he took slow but steady steps towards the chair you were sprawled over near the table. Time seemed to slow down in a lazy pace, not racing for the clock handle to advance just a couple of ticks more. The tattered blinds rustled in the faint spring breeze, the occasional gusts of wind through the cracked windows were cold but had a certain promising warmth to them. Leftover afternoon sunlight filled in the spare room of the rundown house in a calm shade of yellow, tinting everything the rays touched with a sparkly hue.

Including him.

The hollows in his structured jawline accentuated by his peppered beard, the gentle wrinkles of age and hardship lingering on his tan skin with the hints of the smile, stretching his lips. A couple buttons undone on his navy flannel, the slight nonchalant show of his chest. The rips and frays, the dried out blood - his and others - on his shirt ever so evident under the unforgiving light. Hands so scarred yet strong, bulging veins trailing up to mark a path of scratches, old and new scars and scabs.

The look in his eyes as the light hit them, lowering himself down to a gentle kneel right in front of you.

“Believe me, I would,” he spoke, the animosity he used to have against strangers once upon a time long gone.

He was not talking to just a mere stranger anymore. 

“ - but you might need it more than I do.”

To that, your lips let out a chuckle, defying your quickening heartbeat that at this rate, would burst out of your ribcage due to the sheer proximity of the man. Each movement, small hints of his body language - the relaxed jaw in contrast to his usual clench, the colorful irises with specks of hopeful light, the long fingers which had done too much harm instead working gently to do good. 

"I'm guessin' the stitches are your handiwork," he softly said, a tone of gratitude in his smooth drawl to accompany the brief twinkles of light in his eyes, looking into yours levelly with some sort of hesitation hidden beneath. Upon your nod, an appreciative smile would curl up the corner of his mouth.

"They hold tight."

By that time, you had seen more than enough to know that this was his subtly unique way of voicing his thanks, through many ways than one. A calloused hand worked to spill just the right amount of alcohol to soak the rag, motions so gentle and soothing that you would not dream were coming from a man who could bash someone's skull with enough force to crack in half at any given moment. 

There was a price you had to pay to see the gentle side of him, the good heart he carried slipping through the cracks of his broken soul and equally damaged ribs. A price that almost took your life and cracked your bones, brought you to the edge of death looming with arms wide open, battered and bruised your skin with scars so deep they touched your soul. All for one purpose, for the one who mattered the most, that brought you two together in such a bond that only people who have been through hell and back could form.

All to keep that little girl resting in the other room out of harm’s way. 

“Was a nurse back then,” you would explain with a shrug, an easy smile on your reminiscent face as you observed each movement he made, taking note of his soft nod upon your confession, as if that had confirmed the ideas running rampant in his head. 

“Not sure what I am now.”

His head would softly rise, looking into your eyes as the rag hovered just a tad lower from the wound, the small droplets of bitter liquid slipping down the cut fabric onto the floor, clearing a lazy trail of dried blood over bare skin along. 

“Must have been a damn good one at that,” he hinted with that damn drawl, his head tilting a bit to the side as if awaiting a reaction, reading through your expression of gratitude as your smile only grew more nostalgic.

It had taken you a while to clean the other wounds and properly seal off the gape in your thigh that dead bastard had opened up just when it had been healing - a rag in between your teeth keeping your screams to yourself as a hot suture needle pierced through your skin yet again. Him walking into the room with an unusually calm gait in his step after putting Ellie to sleep, heading straight towards helping you was a surprise that was most certainly welcome.

Yet before your thoughts could comprehend what he was doing, your body unfortunately did - stinging rays of pain jolted all over your skin, a loud hiss escaping your lips as the alcohol made gentle contact near the newly forming scar tissue. It was for the best, hell, you would have done this to yourself to prevent yet another damn infection if he had not been around.

While his fingers that pressed the gauze ever so gently to clean the wound, the other set slowly yet gingerly found their way to your other thigh covered with fabric in a ghost of a touch - one that seemed to calm you down, the vice-like grip of your hands around the edges of the wooden chair relaxing, chest rising up and down with the deep breaths of anticipation of pain. 

“Sorry,” he would murmur knowing that his actions involuntarily gave you discomfort, under his own hands that hurt too much. 

A soft shake of your head was your response, the hint of a smile along your lips, pushing past all of that twitching pain as you encouraged him to go on - not that he would need it. The moment he wrapped his arm around you so tight to get you out of that burning hell mere hours ago should have told you he did not need the telling to help you survive.

As long as you were with him, he had promised himself that he would do anything to make sure you did. 

That included honoring the other pact he had made with himself. 

“Listen, I ain’t been the friendliest man to be around,” his gaze now shifted to concentrate on the wound as if he was trying to gather himself together, brows furrowed with some sort of newfound determination. His shoulders under the flannel moving along with his arms that worked to clear the wound, jaw clenching at your every other little hiss or groan. The words flowed out of his parted lips under that salt and pepper beard, in a husk that only sentences left unspoken for too long could muster. 

And all you could do, as the pain subsided a little more with each gentle touch, all you found yourself wanting to do was to hear more of what he had to say - the most genuine you had gotten out of the man and he was not the type to talk.

“I regretted it at first, when I took you out of that building.” 

A small frown crawled on your lips as he put the bloody gauze away, picking up a wet rag and a big bandage whose adhesives surprisingly had not worn out too much after all these years.

“And then, just when things start goin’ right… your history caught up.”

And then, upon the insinuation of your old faction, your heart began thudding even more in your chest in anticipation of what was to come. Would he hurt you? Was this all a ploy to get you talking, or even worse? His voice had been way too gentle for someone who was plotting on ripping your skin apart, his touch way too comforting. 

The mere thought of it made you uneasy as your body tensed under his fingertips, jaw clenching as you clutched onto the chair. Noticing the subtle change of motion as he cleaned the residual blood, he would tilt his head up with such an angle that accentuated the high cheekbones and the light in his eyes that told you to not be afraid.

He was right there.

“But seeing the way you looked after her, after me when you had no obligation to… patching us up and protecting us.”

An almost foreign, long forgotten sensation then decided to visit you - emotions, coating your eyes in a glassy layer and your mouth curl up in the saddest of reflections. His eyes, an amalgam of dark forests of greenery and gold specks of determination. Focused in yours and yours only, staring into your soul as if he saw right through you.

“If the Good Lord gave me another chance -  I would do it all over again.”

And it made your heart stop, skip a beat, then frantically pulse beneath the rib cage.

After all this time making it out of the gutter alone, escaping the one community that gave you life. Shooting first and never asking questions. Torturing and being tortured. All alone, without a single soul that cared about you just an ounce. 

It was a mystery whatever that meant during the goddamn apocalypse but there was one truth evident in front of your eyes.

He cared. Maybe more than he should have been. More than he needed to, for his sake. 

All the way back in that crumbling building with the infected - even when he did not know it. He cared every time you would stumble, hold onto the trees or railings for support. When your hands held Ellie’s to help her down the hills, the same ones caressing his forehead in long-gone whispered words and wishes, the ones stitching his wounds. When he had found you, scarred beyond recognition but alive nonetheless, clutching onto the little girl that gave him life. 

Measuring your reaction, he swallowed as what he saw gave him the strength to continue.

“I was thinkin’…  once this is all over, for good this time,” Joel started with his drawl, his deep voice a hopeful one, each word slipping out slowly like fingertips gliding on velvet as his hands slowly finished wrapping the clean-enough bandage around your thigh securely.

“…if you would want to come back to Tommy’s with us.”

In the haze of the leftover heat of the sunset coating the room with orange reflections coupled with the small course of adrenaline running through your veins, you found yourself leaning in just a little towards the man kneeling beside your seat, looking at him incredulously - subconsciously, maybe, to make sure you heard him correctly. 

A measure set forth by your survival instinct when you heard things that were just too good to be true in this forsaken shell of a world. Something inside told you that you did not need any such measures when you were with him. 

Not anymore. Not after all that you have been through.

Words were not needed as your grateful, unbelieving yet bittersweet expression said it all. A sigh of long-awaited relief slipped past your lips. A soft nod followed your smile, watery eyes relieving you from the security of all of those walls you had built. The light in your eyes glowed a bit brighter with the gentle smile he had under that beard, the forests in his eyes blooming with the greenest of greens and the everlasting gold.

They reminded you of home. Of somewhere far away yet right there in front of you. Of somewhere warm and safe, with memories to be made. 

His hand would reach up tentatively, the backs of his fingers brushing against your cheek as you find yourself leaning into the gesture, the softest of touches. A strand of stray hair is tucked behind your ear as his calloused palm placed itself on your cheek in a warm embrace. A feather light touch as if he was afraid of breaking you.

Eyes locked, you could not see the usually violent storms raging within his gaze. Instead, the sun was shining - a source of light so bright that the worries, the pain were silenced. It reflected off of yours, this contagious energy that heated up the air and made your head lean just a bit closer to his, leveled due to the height difference - his breathing mixing in with yours as his chest heaved to match your heart trying to escape from the confinements of his flannel covering you.

Then came a stare down your lips which felt like hours, contemplating, admiring, thinking. As if he had been pondering this moment for a long while, of crossing that one bridge. Tilting his head further in. It made your lashes flutter in the sheer heat of it all, brain completely shut off as all you could think of at the moment was right in front of you, mere inches away.

“Joel - ”

The intoxicating mix of whiskey, leather and pine left momentarily along with the warmth on your cheek upon the knock at the door, rattling your reality with a soft gasp. 

His head whipped to the wooden door - the rest of his body frozen as his hand instinctively reached back for his revolver and yours, in turn, reached to hold onto him. The newly awakened survival instinct subsided just as it came upon seeing a yawning redhead with bright, green eyes that lit up the entire room, staring at just how close you and him were situated and smiling to herself.

“Uh, hey, guys - I’m kinda starving.”

The moment your eyes met his again, this time, it was with a chuckle and a shake of the head, his genuine laugh that warmed your heart in the most unexpected way making his shoulders dip slightly. 

They were your home. 

[fiery-assassin-arc]

Bare Yourself - Iris’ POV

tw nudity mention, tw abuse mention

The chiming of the bells coming from St. Auodeon’s Church is enough to bring chills to me, even though it’s a nice spring day. Memories from Catholic school hit me like a train, thinking of Yvette almost. I wonder how she fares—not that it matters.

 She made her choice when she wouldn’t even help me anymore, and I’m the fool for trusting her still.

My hands go to the cross necklace I decided to wear today, the cold metal unfamiliar since it has never remained on my neck until after school. I look over at the nuns, bowing in respect to the people who are entering, seeking a familiar face.

 “Father Daniel.” I announce his name, walking over to him. The nuns look up and smile. Of course they remember me.

 He turns, gives me a soft smile. “Ah, Iris. What a pleasure to see you on holy grounds again. It’s been what, a few months?”

 “Just one month, Father. I heard the bake sale was a success.”  I look over at the nuns. “Sister Harriet, you look lovely as ever.”

 “Oh stop it dearie. I remember when you were just a wee little girl, scared of the ruler. And now look at you, all confident and strong.” She reaches for my wrist and I retract slowly.

 “I was hoping if you weren’t too busy Father, I would like to speak to you.” I whisper the last seven words softly so only he could hear.

 He nods. I don’t tell Father Daniel much. Mainly the nightmares that never wish to cease their orchestra in my skull. And for some of the acts I’ve committed. I couldn’t stop myself from crying when I told him I killed someone, but he never turned me in. Just told me to find some way for forgiveness to seek absolution. Strangely, in the world we live in, we accept it.

 And this church was now polytheistic.

 He takes me to the confessional booth, sitting on the side so he can appear aloof. Once I sit down, my hand goes to my cross. Rubbing the metal until it hurts my fingertips.

 “Father I have felt plagued by the past.” I start off, lean my head against the chair. “For two weeks now, I have gotten nightmares involving . . .” I exhale slowly, thinking if I say his name, he’d appear like Bloody Mary. My finger goes over the rosary beads that were conveniently placed beside me, inhaling deeply.  He’s not here. He won’t get me here. He won’t he won’t— “Remington, someone who had wronged me in the past.”

 He hums. “What about him that plagues you?”

 “I think he’s back.” I breathe the words out. “He attached me in the woods, I know he did. And my family thinks that I’m imagining it.” As the priest remains silent, I sit back and continue. “You know it’s been over three years since he died?”

 “I remember that day, you had come into my church that following night. Still in your gown. Be grateful it was so dark no one recognized you.” He looks up to the sky, probably apologizing to the Gods.  

 “Yeah, thanks for that.” Almost three years ago, after the wedding was off the air of television due to a electrical circuit being cut, I drove the wedding limo towards this very church. When I made it here, still stained with blood, ready to confess my sins, Father Daniel welcomed me inside.

 “Do you believe his spirit is unrestful, due to the nature of his death?”

 “I don’t know.”  Every time I think of the alternative than what I have experienced, it gives me a headache.  “But due to a random Titan bringing people back, if you haven’t heard, anything is possible.”

 “It frightens you, the idea of him back in your life?”

 It makes me sick. He takes my silence as confirmation.

 “I’ve also had dreams… memories of us. I’m not sure, but they feel like they happened. Showing me what he really was.” He’s silent the whole time. Something wet hits my hand, my fingers are burning from the rubbing of the rosary beads.

 The dreams have started last year on my birthday, showing me glimpses, through motion or a whole movie-length. It’s either our happiest moments, or signs of his abuse I didn’t speak out on. That lunch scene genuinely frightened me.

 And I have no idea if it was real, or he’s fabricated it years ago. My heart rattles inside my ribs, hurting me. How deep did his influence run?

 “That is something I don’t think I could help with,”  Father Daniel leaves his side of the booth and walks for a moment. Then he opens my door, his green eyes soft with concern. Hands me a tissue. “I think that we are done for today.”

 I let go of the beads, see the paint is rubbed onto my skin, a rich brown. I must look a mess in front of him. Shaking, crying. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 “Breathe, child. It is natural to let go of your emotions.” Father Daniel takes my hand, helps me out of the booth. We go out to the back of the courtyard. “There are things even I cannot assist with. Hearing one confess, hear their problems, but at their own mental expense, I feel it would be too much for their soul.” He gingerly places a hand on my shoulder, smiling at me.

 “Of course, Father. What should I do?”

 “I would suggest talking to someone with knowledge of the mind. Perhaps they can help.” I grimace, but he doesn’t notice, or he did. “Or journal, do something to find ways of what it means.” He inhales, continues. “Sometimes God doesn’t have the answer for it all. I hope you find peace, in what you are going through, Iris.”

 I nod, hear a distant clap of thunder over on the east side. It vibrates within my skin. Hot tears slide down my face. “Thank you.”

  Perhaps it’s because I was born in water, or maybe my zodiac sign, but I love the feeling of it.  The floating, the light twinkling through the glassy ceiling of blue. Submerged ten feet underwater in my pool with flowers floating above, I feel a sense of peace. My hand slowly moves in the water, my eyes open. It doesn’t burn.

 My body twists and glides effortlessly, hair tickling my skin. Finding peace through swimming, ballet. Things I used to do before— they can help me. Sure, I could take Father Daniel’s suggestion of seeing a therapist. But not now. Not until I get him out. Out of the physical realm and my mind.

 And these damned memories. Why are they resurfacing? And are they real?

 I swim back up to the surface, pushing my hair back. All that I hear is my breaths, the muffled sounds from my music, and the water moving with me in tandem. I’ve sent the servants home, and I usually pay them while having them every six months. It’s better being alone. No one hears my screams from my nightmares.  No one has to see my battle.

 I’ve had one person to see my vulnerable side like that, and she’s in a crypt in the frozen tundra. Per my demand.  I wasn’t going to let him turn her to rubble. I trusted him.

 I pull myself out of the water, pulling my hair to the side to wring it out of excess liquid. Maybe I could cook something, get my mind off of today. “Radio, off.” I command, and the radio silences, leaving me in quiet. It’s fine. I can make it one day in silence.

 I wrap the towel around myself and exit out the pool room, making my way to the bathroom, and turn on the shower, nice and hot. I strip myself of my swimsuit and get in. Wash the chlorine from my hair and skin, ignoring the sting of soap in my eyes. I blink it away, scrub it out.

 I don’t want to close my eyes.  I don’t want to see the darkness.

I wash my back, the scars showing lines where I was hurt. Can’t believe it’s been six years since that day. As I look, I notice some look older, a bit more darker than the others. As if I had these scars before my kidnapping.

 Couldn’t be my wings giving the scars. It’s a weird sense of anatomy how they come out,  but never resulted in my back bleeding.

 And I remember the pain of each whip, but on some parts, it hurt worse. Hitting something that was there prior.

 I shake off whatever idea I have, despite the chill and continue to shower. Wanting it out of my system. Maybe… Maybe Dad was right. Maybe it was just because of his anniversary of his death that I imagined it. No. It sounded stupid as soon as I thought of it. Dad can be right on many things, but not this.

 Definitely not this.

 I change into some sweatpants and a big shirt once I’m done, splash some cold water on my face before walking out to the living room. I bend to the fireplace and start it up with some wood and a flame. The sounds of the ember popping a comfort to me. When I exhale, I notice how cold it is.

 “Nick?” I say into the silence, before groaning. “Not in the mood for this, big brother. Next time use a lock.”

 “You’re not as aware of your surroundings as you used to be.”

 My instincts are quick, grabbing the fire poker and pointing it straight at the intruder in my home. He stands at the front door, arms behind his back. Clad in blue, the symbol of our clan proud in the center of his headband. A soft smile. Sad, but soft nonetheless. It’s been four months since I’ve seen the man in front of me. Four months since I almost killed him in revenge.

 Not since the funeral of our friends, clan, of Frost.

 “Hi, Sub-Zero.”

[carnistcervine]

Chasing Away the Monsters, Chasing Away the Angels

Warnings for uh, child abuse(or at least implied abuse), mild horror, and uh implied(??) gore?? Yeah, I’m not 100% on these warnings but I’m tagging them anyway.

Anywhoooo- this morning my brain was pretty much like, how about some Azula angst. Partly based on some of my own thoughts about Azula, like I never really believed that she was upset because she thought her mother thought of her as a monster. I always felt it was a but more complicated that that. So here’s a fic where Azula has a nightmare and then does some introspection.

~~~

Azula marched proudly into the throne room. Her father was waiting for her, ready to congratulate her for a job well done. She had captured her traitorous Uncle, her pathetic failure of a brother, and even slain the Avatar and brought the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes to their knees.

When she stepped into the room, her father was grinning widely at her. However, her gaze slipped to the side. Her heart stuttered, but she kept the surprise from showing on her face when she saw her brother, Zuko sitting in a wheelchair on the side of the room. His head was wrapped in a slightly bloody bandage, messy hair poking through in some spots. Half of his face drooped slightly. He stared, fixedly, into the void. His eyes, the windows to his soul, were wide but empty and dark. /The house was dark, and only a single figure stood at the window, holding a barely flickering candle./

Her eyes returned to her father as she smiled and bowed.

"You have done me well, Azula. You've surpassed my expectations. You have single-handedly handed the Fire Nation's victory over the world to me on a silver platter." He grinned widely. "And as for my lame excuse of a brother, well, he is to be executed for treason. And your brother..." He gestured to the side, "he's been dealt with." Ozai grinned wider. "Fixed. If you will."

Azula gave her brother a cruel grin, but even as she met his eyes directly, his gaze did not meet hers. She smelled the faintest hints of burned, rotting flesh. Poor Zuzu probably needed his bandages changed.

X~X

Azula went into her brother's room. His head swiveled to meet her, but the rest of his body remained utterly still. He was so still, and completely silent. His wide, dark eyes slightly sunken in. One could have easily mistaken him for a corpse propped up in a wheelchair if it weren't for the fact that he was still quite clearly breathing. She brushed past the ominous feeling his eyes gave her, and went right up to him.

"Looks like I win, Zuzu." She said grinning cruelly.

But Zuko didn't respond. Or acknowledge that she had even said or done anything. Azula faintly smelled burned, rotting flesh.

"The healers haven't changed your bandages yet? Zuzu?" She asked tauntingly.

No response.

"Look at me, Zuzu!" Azula barked, annoyed.

Zuko continued to gaze into the void.

Azula huffed and stomped away.

X~X

Azula made her way to the throne room. She felt giddy once she heard the news, the Fire Nation had assumed complete control over the world. The weak, lesser peoples had all been assimilated under her father's mighty banner.

She was surprised to find the Fire Sages there, holding some kind of ceremony.

"Ahh, Azula." Ozai said evenly. He was grinning, but not because he was happy to see her. "Thanks to you, I now hold complete dominion over the whole of this world. And with that, I retire my position as Fire Lord."

Azula's heart fluttered. Could it be? Was he really about to- "Really?" She tried to withhold her eagerness, only letting a little surprise slip through.

"Yes. Now that the Fire Nation has become the whole of the world, I am no longer required for such a position." Azula smiled to herself as she prepared to hear the words she had always waited to hear.

Fire Lord Azula, yes, that sounds quite fitting. Rolls off the tongue quite nicely.

"I shall be ascending to the eternal status of Phoenix Lord."

Wait, what?

Azula blinked.

"What?"

"I will be ascending beyond this mortal flesh into an immortal form that can properly rule this world." Ozai grinned. "Since you have done me so well, I figured I should give you the news in person." He grinned wider, showing sharp fangs. "You are no longer needed, Azula."

Azula numbly fell to her knees. Words tumbled from her mouth as she gazed wide-eyed at the ground. Bowing her head, knowing better than to disrespect Father. "You have beaten me at my own game..."

Ozai lifted her chin and she met his burning gaze. "Don't flatter yourself, Azula. You were never even a player."

X~X

Fuming, Azula marched to her brother's room. He was propped up in his wheelchair as usual. His head swiveled to meet her, but his eyes stubbornly refused to gaze into hers. Rebelliously staring deep into the void instead. Azula marched right up to him, indignant.

"Look at me!" She growled. He refused, dark eyes gazing hollowly. She yanked him up, forcing his face to meet hers. She gazed deep into the abyss of his eyes.

/The house was dark, only a single figure standing in the window with a barely flickering candle. But he wasn't alone, actually. There was something behind him, it's hands clasped on his shoulders. He was mouthing the word 'run.'/

A cold chill ran down Azula's spine, her inner fire diminishing from it's force. She dropped Zuko in his chair, hands shaking. Zuko wasn't staring at nothing.

He had been looking behind her.

Cold hands clasped firmly on Azula's shoulders. The stench of burned, rotting flesh assaulted her nose. Her hands dropped by her sides, accepting of her fate. A cold slimy tongue and teeth from a jaw open much too wide pressed into her head. She glared at her brother, expecting him to smile now that she had finally gotten her punishment. Only, he didn't. His dark, hollowed eyes almost seemed sad. Then again, why would he be happy? He was always the kindW E A K one.

C R U N C H

X~X

Azula shot up with a strangled gasp. Her knuckles were white from her grip on her sheets. Her hand flew to her head, the faint phantom pain still ringing through her skull. Her deft fingers detected no damage, and her hands both came back clean. Nor was there any blood or tissue on her pillow. The only moist she found was that of her nervous sweat, and the water that dared not fall from her eyes. She forcefully reigned in her emotions. It was just a stupid nightmare after all. Only stupid, soft, weak, Zuzu is bothered by nightmares. Still, she found that she could not fall back asleep after that. The feeling was much too fresh in her mind.

Whatever, she could use a nighttime stroll around the palace anyway. So she drifted along the halls, finding herself at Zuko's room. She poked in, feeling a dull disappointment and relief to find no one in there.

If Zuko was there, he'd be so annoyed that she came in. "What do you want Azula?" She slowly made her way to his bed, untouched since the servants last made it. He'd change his tune so easily if she told him she had a nightmare. "Oh... What was it about?" He'd move aside and open up a space for her. "Here, you can sleep with me if you want Lala." Her face hardened as her throat tightened. Azula got up and left the room, cold and empty behind her.

As she continued to drift about, she found herself at her uncle's old room. She opened it and peered inside. It was empty, of course... But she couldn't help but imagine her uncle sitting there. He'd gaze at her with a blank expression, neither welcoming nor dismissive. Even at this hour, she could picture him being awake. Either meditating or praying to the spirits. She and that kooky old man didn't get along. Truth be told, she did kind of hate him. He was lazy, weak, and a failure. But deep down, she knew that he didn't feel the same way. If she opened herself up to him, he'd be just as warm and welcoming as he is with Zuko. He was weak, choosing to nurture vulnerability instead of punishing it. "So, you had a nightmare, Princess Azula?" His expression would soften and he'd invite her in. Physically she lingered at the doorway, but in her mind's eye she wandered into the room and took a seat next to her uncle. He'd offer her tea and his useless proverbs. "Dreams are sometimes visions from spirits. If you had a nightmare, it could be a warning..." She could see him, offering a game of pai sho to ease her nerves. Azula continued on, leaving the dark room behind.

Azula stopped by her mother's old room. Almost floating right by it. Her heart thrummed as she carefully poked inside. She kept her face and breathing even, all the while expecting a dark, half burned, half rotted figure to lunge from the abyss and bite into her skull. But there was nothing. Just a cold and dark room. Rather than the stench of burned, rotting flesh, she found the faint scent of her mother's perfume, still not having fully faded away.

Dad always told her that mother had feared her, that she thought Azula was a monster. And rightfully so! Azula was a monster, a creature to be feared and bowed before. Just like her father. And knowing that her mother didn't love her made it so much easier to detach herself from her. To push her mother away. To love was to be weak. To be loved was to be weak.

Azula wasn't weak.

Sure it kinda hurt, she was her mother after all, but it was much better than the alternative.

To even think that she rejected her mother for nothing... That she had loved her all along.

Whatever.

She found herself at the royal chamber, where her father slept. She didn't dare knock. She knew that Ozai would be annoyed at her intrusion. He expected her to deal with her own problems, and she knew any vulnerability would be harshly punished. He might, might make one exception for her. As she is otherwise absolutely perfect, but it would be a tally against her.

Azula looked down, staring at nothing. She made her way back to her room. Nothing else to do having chased away all those who could or would care for her.

Not that she needed any of them of course.

She told herself that her mother thought she was a monster. That love is for weaklings.

Azula always lied.

[abbie-writes-stuff]

epiphany//euphoria - ii

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: suicidal thoughts

You refused to get surgery because you didn’t want to forget him.

Week 4

It was just supposed to be a simple training session. It wasn’t supposed to happen. The moment (Y/N)’s body collided into Shouto’s, a pounding headache erupted and those deadly lilies fought their way up again.

She collapsed into his worried arms with her hand cupped around her mouth while the other clutched at the fabric of her shirt so tightly, her knuckles turned a pearly white. She couldn’t hear the worried cries of her name.

When she was yanked from Shouto’s arms and pulled into the distressed hugs of Uraraka and Tsu, her lungs wreathed in a burning sensation. She wanted to strangle it away. She was choking on her own tears and flowers as the two quickly helped carry her to the nurse before any of the white petals could fall. 

Everything seemed like such a blur. A blur of faces. A blur of time. A blur of emotions. She could hear her blood rushing and heart pumping but she didn’t know how to stop it. Could she even?

It seemed like an eternity passed when the three walked into the empty room as (Y/N) collapsed onto the floor in a puddle of tears and lilies. Recovery Girl barely had time to react. 

The small woman quickly huddled to her side to pat the girl on her back ever so gently as (Y/N) continued to choke.

She was boiling, her heart ablaze and thoughts astray. She was drowning, screaming for help.

When the storm was finally over, all the broken girl could do was collide her head against the floor and wail. Tears poured out like river streams and the wrenching pain in her heart spread to her stomach.

It’s not fair, she wanted to scream. It’s not fair. 

“Sweetie,” came the raspy yet tender voice of Recovery Girl. “Have you not been to the hospital yet?” 

“She hasn’t,” Ochaco replied for the girl hastily, her trembling voice laced with worry.

“I only found out about her condition yesterday,” whispered Tsu, who (Y/N) forgot was even there.

The nursery room was a heavy kind of quiet. The only source of sound was the heavy, shaky breathing that fell from (Y/N)’s dry lips.

As if a switch was flipped within the fearful girl, her tears stopped flowing. Her sadness subsided. What replaced it was the bitter sting of numbness and unfeeling as she continued to press her forehead against the frigid floor, her empty (E/C) eyes still in movement and emotions.

It hit like a wave. The reality of the situation settled into the deepest, most vulnerable crevice of her mind. She couldn’t find the tears to cry anymore. She couldn’t feel anything. She couldn’t find a purpose anymore.

“(Y/N), why can’t you just get the surgery and get this over with? You’ll be happy again!” blurted her brunette friend, shattering the agonizing silence. 

A second ticked by.

Then another. And another. And another, until the girl finally spoke.

Raising her head gently and slowly, her tear-filled eyes glimmered ever so slightly. She gave Ochaco and Tsu a small, meaningful smile. Truth be told, they haven’t seen that smile in a while.

“I can’t,” her timid voice broke. “I won’t. I don’t want to forget him.”

They said nothing after that.

Recovery excused her from the next two periods. (Y/N) waved her friends goodbye before sitting on the nursery bed, fatigue stinging her bones.

It was a sunny day. Birds were chirping. The sun was shining. Leaves rustled a soft melody as flowers bloomed into beauty. (Y/N) wished she could enjoy that. She wished that she could take pleasure in those small things again. She wished she could be enough. She wished she wouldn’t burden her friends.

So many wishes, and yet none of them are ever granted.

⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋

All eyes turned on her when she stepped into the cafeteria. No surprise that news of the incident at training sparked conversations within Class A and the event traveled like wildfire within the small group of students.

(Y/N) ignored it all. She simply took her food with frigid hands and unfeeling hues as she slowly tread her way to her table— the same table Shouto sat at.

Taking her seat next to Ochaco, she avoided eye contact with the boy. She knew that a single look at him was all it took for her to burst again. 

Lunch went by with an awkward tone. Though Midoriya and Iida tried to break the silence by striking up conversation topics, they quickly died out before they were left in quiet once more. 

A heavy stone laid on (Y/N)’s broken heart as she poked her food in displeasure and pain. She wanted to hide away, to just disappear, but she couldn’t. This was reality, not the small fantasy in her head where as long as she’ll work hard, she’ll make it. Because she has worked hard, but nothing. All she got was a sickness and an aching soul. 

“(Y/N), are you not hungry?”

The stoic voice startled the fragile girl as she looked up haltingly.

“Not really…” she played off quietly.

He didn’t reply after that. Shouto stared at her with a bothered gaze before going back to his lunch.

The group didn’t know what to say, either. It was the first time (Y/N) has spoken since she sat down. She didn’t have that chirp in her voice. She didn’t have the bubbly energy. She didn’t have anything.

⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋

Tears. They just kept flowing.

It was currently 2:00 AM and (Y/N)’s mind is restless. Thoughts kept nipping at her and she couldn’t shut her eyes for a single second. She just clung to her pillow like a lifeline as if it would stop the pain.

With a pounding headache that didn’t seem to fade, she smacked a hand against her forehead in an attempt to fight fire with fire. Obviously, it didn’t work, as a thousand speakers blared within her skull.

For a moment, she wondered if she should call Ochako. She wondered if it would be okay to wake her up at such a time at night just because she couldn’t control a headache. As fast as that idea came, as fast as it went.

It was bad that she was handling all these things by herself. It was dumb. It was reckless. But what is there to do? That hopeless pit in her stomach seemed to have found a home and (Y/N) couldn’t bear to tear that home down, even if it’s hurting her. 

So she wept. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a peaceful night's sleep. And where was that fire that kept her going? It was extinguished a while ago. 

(Y/N) curled into a tight ball on her bed with disdain. The sting in her lungs and ache in her head kept her from falling asleep. 

What if it had turned out different?

What if he had fallen in love with her?

Maybe then, everything would be different. Everything would be brighter. She’d still have that fire.

Maybe I’m not enough.

I never will be.

Tearing out a tissue from beside her, she wiped away her tears and tried to clear her stuffy nose to the best of her ability. Frigid hands threw the tissue into the trash can beside her as she flopped back down onto the bed again.

Her forearm covering her eyes, a sigh escaped her chapped lips.

All of a sudden, (Y/N) couldn’t find the energy to cry anymore. Was it even worth it all in the end? There are no happy endings. It was either the love of her life becomes a stranger with name, or she dies.

Death seemed like such a pleasant option. There were no expectations, no pressure, no pain. It was the peace and silence she has been reaching out for.

It truly hurt. It hurt physically and mentally, and she isn’t trying to be a fighter.

But even then, just once, she wants to be selfish. She doesn’t want to forget the man who made her happy. She doesn’t want to forget the man that made her into a better person.

It hurt, but in the best way possible.

Taglist--

@silentwhispofhope​

[tawnyyeyed]

a very belated birthday gift ! 02.06.1988 —— @lyricalrose​ . ♡

     shopping for him is always a difficult task, and a hurdle in which almost every woman faces — whether it be a birthday gift, a christmas gift, a valentine’s gift, or even just a gift for him in general. men are seemingly hard to please and it’s never easy, but for her favourite red-haired rocker from the sunshine state, elouise is adamant on pulling together one of the most perfect and elaborate birthday gifts she has EVER generated with her own two hands. after all, his birthday seems to be the most fitting occasion for her to express her unconditional appreciation for him — the thought of the singer having occupied her mind a lot more often than not over the past six or so months. with the amount of laughter and joy he has brought her through some of the simplest of conversations, he is well deserving of all the gifts he is about to receive as they sit at his apartment door.

     the process all began weeks in advance, back in early january in fact. elouise was attending a house party, sitting with her artist friend richard when quite randomly he pulled a blade from his jean pocket — one of his latest works. it was a pocket knife, ornate in just about every way. silvery and glimmering in the dull light, the metallic grip was engraved with the finest of details. a pile of fanged and beastly looking skulls, thorny and wilting roses amongst them whilst a thick chain coils and tangles around them. the very first thought that popped into her mind was; axl would love this ! the whole design reminiscent of his entire aesthetic, or at least she thought so. immediately she offered to buy the thing off him right then and there, and within minutes the blade was sold and stuffed into her purse at the discounted cost of a mere twenty. 

     however, the bargain didn’t end there. with elouise’s confession that the blade would be given as a gift to someone, a certain someone that richard was familiar with, the artist was more than happy to design a custom tee for the singer he had met once before. a halloween ago, now. it doesn’t take very long for the two to come up with a concept, and it’s only two and a half weeks later that richard is arriving at her apartment door with a black tee in hand. adorned in airbrushed imagery, the design is a caricature of axl — he’s a menacing skeleton in a leather jacket and matching leather pants, his features exaggerated in the way that his shoulders are broadened and the rest of his body tall and skinny, hunched over almost as a cigarette smoulders between bony fingers and a razor sharp grin resides upon the skull’s face. his exaggerated hair resembles actual flames, and beautifully compliments the burning leaves that fall from autumn trees in the background as well as the signature brooklyn brownstone building that towers over him from behind. the imagery is frightening, but insanely cool — and elouise can’t help but let out a shriek of sheer amazement and excitement and AWE when she sees that at the top of the design, ‘mr. brownstone’ is written in big grey letters in a graffiti sort of style. richard never fails to wow her, and he continues to prove that as he turns the tee around show that on the back he has painted a brownstone brick wall littered with graffiti and tagging, though most importantly, it writes; ‘ w. axl rose was here ’. it’s perfect, and it also happens to be the perfect reminder that axl’s birthday is just around the corner and is quickly creeping up on her.

     one late night after a long and tiring shift at the deli, elouise sits down on the floor of her studio apartment with a box and begins decorating it. using various different types and patterns of birthday gift wrap to line the inside of the box, she lays down some multi-coloured tissue paper and sprinkles the bottom of the box with metallic cut-outs of stars and zig-zags that come in green and purple — all purchased from the party store just around the block. carefully, she folds the shirt and wraps it in dainty blue tissue paper. the pocket knife, too — only for both bundles to be prettily tied with multi-coloured ribbons. she can’t help but smile at the job she’s done. loving the decorations and more so the thought of him seeing them for the first time, and then taking the time to open each gift individually. she honestly wishes that she could be there just to witness the opening of the gift, see the hopeful joy that it will bring him and see that darned smile of his. the thought brings about butterflies fluttering in the pit her stomach and she can’t pinpoint exactly why. it even has her blushing as she sits there, alone on cold and wooden floors as she thinks about a boy two and a half thousand miles away. rush’s closer to the heart playing softly on a nearby stereo. 

𝒚𝒐𝒖   𝒄𝒂𝒏   𝒃𝒆   𝒕𝒉𝒆   𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅   𝒊   𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍   𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘   𝒕𝒉𝒆   𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈   𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐   𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓   𝒕𝒐   𝒕𝒉𝒆   𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕

     that is when she has a lightbulb moment. a mixtape. what if she makes him a mixtape ? or two. pondering on it, it’s only a matter of seconds before bare hands and knees go crawling across hard floors to the cabinet on the wall. a storage place holding every record and every cassette tape she holds dear. her entire life story is tucked away on these shelves, written on various tracks and played through many differing instruments and riffs. suddenly, she feels the need to compact it all down onto one singular tape. a 60 minute run of her all time favourites. some songs that make her smile, some songs that move her to tears, and some songs that remind her of him. it’s a grand idea, but it’s one that she executes and executes well. after all, they are both virtuosos. they both live and breathe music, and she’s sure that axl will appreciate something such as this. especially given how dorky the end result is. a 60 minute tape of elouise, sitting on her apartment floor at nearly 5 in the morning, playing her all time favourites all whilst talking sappy in between songs. comments on how much she loves them, why she loves them, and how some of the said songs remind her of him. it’s a strange concoction of david bowie, the rolling stones, rush, led zeppelin, bob dylan, and last but most certainly not least — guns n’ roses. who happen to be the bearers of her number one, all time favourite song: DON’T CRY . 

     the final song begins to play and unlike the rest of the tracks, the quality of this one is by far the poorest. after all, it is a mere demo that he gave to her. a tape of a tape of a tape, and so on. but still — regardless of the quality — she believes it to be the greatest song that she has ever heard in her entire life, and makes sure to say so. a song that has miraculously got her through some of her darkest hours. moments of reflection, remembering those who let her down and those whom she let down. her mother, past lovers, friends that she no longer talks to anymore. and during the recording of this final song, elouise finds herself laying in the middle of the floor in her satin nightgown, her eyes gently shut — the tape recorder only inches from her head now as she slowly drives her fingers through her wild mane of auburn hair and hot tears form along the lines of her lashes. that guitar solo sending her to another planet, as it always does. her heart rate picks up entirely and by the end the solo, the singer is breaking out into a sweat upon axl’s sweet voice filling her ears again. it’s sonic therapy in it’s purest form, and it’s something she wants to thank him for — but now isn’t the time. she has to focus on finishing this tape, and ending it the way that she had planned to. so as the song comes to an end, the brunette is silent as she tries to pull herself together again. a deep breath audible in the recording before a whole lot of rustling and crackling can be heard, elouise rolling onto her stomach and leaning on her elbows, the tape recorder now in her shaky hands as she wishes the redhead a happy birthday, and then again through song. her voice sweet, soft — with lingering remnants of former sorrow albeit happiness as the gentle smile that sits upon her pretty lips can be FELT in the mere way that she delivers the hushed tune. 

❝ 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚   𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚   𝒕𝒐   𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚   𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚   𝒕𝒐   𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚   𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚   𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓   𝒂𝒙𝒍, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚   𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚   𝒕𝒐   𝒚—— .  ❞

     suddenly, the tape cuts and that is all. an entire sixty minutes of jovial conversation and song. an entire hour of elouise pouring out her heart and soul through music and laughter. it’s unlike anything she’s ever done for anyone before, and for a few days she even reconsiders whether she should be sending the tape to him. is it too personal ? is it too dorky ? is it just outright WEIRD of her ? these thoughts bubble about in her head like water boiling in a pot, tormenting her until one night she receives a phone call — less than a week now until the big day. it’s axl himself. to hear his voice is like music to her ears, her face aches from grinning so much, and any reluctance is suddenly pelted from her third-storey window. she can’t wait for him to receive the shirt, pocket knife, the goofy ten-to-one tape she stayed up all night recording for him, and now all the new york related knick knacks she has purchased for him in the meantime. new york candies, new york koozies — even a silver statue of liberty fridge magnet that doubles as a bottle opener and a keyring that bears the image of her beloved brooklyn bridge. atop all the bric-a-brac wrapped in pretty tissue paper is a ornate envelope, signed beautifully in his name with a card sitting inside. once opened, the card transcripts: 

to axl,

wishing you the happiest of birthdays, my dear friend. i hope that it is filled with laughter and joy, and that the guys are treating you like the king you are —— because you deserve it !!! anyway, i’d love nothing more than to be there with you to celebrate your special day but this whole living on polar opposite sides of the country thing really sucks ! sucks ass major ass ! it’s fine though, have a drink on me tonight and i’ll make sure we celebrate your born-day the next time we happen to cross paths ! 

p.s. —— call me whenever you find the time, i’ll probably to be dying to know whether this made it to you or otherwise is currently being held in the hands of some stranger ! haha !

whole lotta love,

elle with the z from nyc ! ♡

     it isn’t much, and it isn’t anything too extravagant — she’s a small-time singer working on minimum wage, after all. she just hopes that this is enough, and that he doesn’t see it as being too tacky. especially when she’s just forked out sixty percent of last week’s earnings to pay for a courier to drop the gift off to him on his birthday exactly. a big spend for her that she sees worth it, and a cross-country expedition that has the brunette stressing the entire four days it takes for it to arrive at his doorstep. afraid that it might get lost or even worse, stolen, as was expressed in the card. 

     the courier arrives at his apartment door with the box in hand, a notepad and pen atop the mysterious parcel as he raises a hand to knock upon the door — each tap against the wood filled with reluctance as he wonders if he has the wrong place, the wrong apartment. though before he can fret too much, the door is opening and he is being met with a redheaded figure. “ are you w. axl rose, by any chance ?  this parcel has just come all the way from new york. ” the young courier asks with a scratch of his head, though his question is answered immediately as the stranger nods his head in affirmation. “ sweet. i’ll get you to sign here and then it’s all yours, buddy. ” 

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

This is the last human mimic alien we have to fight.

He's realized he's lost because you people aren't running wild having orgies and you're listening to the DNA4U

And further more You all don't want to share.

When i posted the video of Miss Shawntae telling snoop it was time to snoop her body up... And then Snoop went all seductive to the camera...

122895x1000= men that said "Nigga ima beat your ass you know my wo/man gonna see that. You ain't need to be showing yourself!".

76584284×1000= said "ew i hope i don't have my any asking me to do anything tonight after what i just seen. My imagination gonna kill myself! And i know that's just wrong wrong wrong!"

Now multiply the digits together before the multiplication sign and that is approximately minus 1000 That supported Snoops message.

I did all 3. I had to advert my eyes even. Although he couldn't even see me.

Now Snoop and i know each other over 8000zillion years. So i can easily put myself in his shoes.

So he would walk in and I be having sex and he just sit down and start having a conversation. Like we having BBQ ribs and not sexual intercourse.

His wife tho .... He would make sure "the white boy was covered" and tease her don't look. She look at the carpet... Eventually it kept going on so i took a picture off the wall and put it on the floor where she always sat.

She said "why you do that?"

"I realize the kids keep jumping on the bed and knock it off. Snoop stare at you If you move your face. And unless you're on LSD it's no fun staring at the carpet. So i gave it to you where it seems you always be looking although i had to take a pretty healthy guess. I just felt you was having the most miserable time of all and as my friend it was my honor to trip out and give you a gift"

She used the reflection to put on her makeup and slept in bed later.,Snoop quit being so paranoid. Cause she would face the wall and lean against him.

Point is... Snoop be all like he was watching sports to make sure we got the score.

I mean. Man. Earth. We tried everything we could to stop these aliens from wanting to habe orgies. Even,took,away,their dicks!!!

We did everything. Planet.

Y'all locked up with your soulmates made little difference on this kick of his.

I been doing it. I been riding like I been going around the world 500 times. I love sex.

82% of y'all all around the Earth been having sex.

4% have watched porno

18% have had 1 wild orgies of those 18% -- 32% had s second one. Of those 0.00004981% have gone onto a third.

Of those having 2 or more orgies 92% were aliens

Leaving 8% Of 18% of the entire world interested enough in watching or having sex with other people than their soulmate.

Who saved the world?

100% of humans.

You all get $5 and that includes children.

He's done all he could and he's failed. 100%

I think Edgar might be human... Looking at his alien structure in the film.

But he treated me like an alien. Im still a POW.

Alex had to sell a bed because he acted non human. And Alex worked hard on it to make it perfect for me.

I would been fine gloating from it. Fighting and being sassy to aliens.

But then someone claiming to care about me,most of all abandoned his son and law and daughter. And i hear stories of him being evil.

Some time ago they asked me "do you want a dad or mom?"

"No"

"We need to know because the future of the,Earth,depends on it. And the future of you. Now do you want a dad or,not?!"

"The question is will i remain needing a dad or father figure in the future. No i am fine. I have male role models to keep the species alive. Males. (Species not gender) I also have my mom in Mrs Harriet Tubmam. And if that fails then at that time i should be able to get the rest of me. But she's fine. I'm fine. I just got to remain stable. But adding a father or another mother i don't know just yet can remain disasterous."

Luckily Alex didn't burn the bed down. But it was,bugged and bombed by "Edgar", to me 'its just another one of those things we have to clean"

Do i care? Nothing. He doesn't affect me. I worry about Alex having to,deal with it. But,hes being,and,staying clean,and,then when he's,scared he stays by other cold turkey or non users. He was,around Crystal meth yesterday and he tasted 1/4 of a gram. Like when you would put your finger in the sugar jar. Then lick it. The other guy smoked 4.9876 ounces and blew it all in their faces including the babies. Thus Alex got 7.698 grams ingested via second hand smoke.

I didn't notice but we got in a fight with each other. Just like we always do.

Alex and i power punched him and his eye socket -- ocular bone -- was crushed like glass in 17 cracks.

His jaw I punched more alone but with Alex and total both sides he lost 9 teeth. And had to be wired shut after 72 stiches because i split his upper palate in two. I cracked his lower palate in 8072 places. So if you found a skull it would rest on powder of his lower jaw and then you'll find the upper. After decaying..

Then Alex on the top of his head had 49 stitches to repair his soft tissue from his frontal lobe when he crashed to the floor after the super punch to eye hit the coffee table.

He did get one "good" punch in -- his skull hit Alex right in the right eye.

It fucking hurt but it hurts in a good way. Its weird it's like "reward!" Pain. No suffering. Fucking got him good tho. We feel it every now and again. May be it is when he realises we will kill him for good. He keeps remembering that sudden silence of death.

He's currently on life support. "Medically induced coma" is our non panic code words. But it's basically life support but usually not full life support. It isn't 100% life support medical machines. Its 75% or less.

So technically it's life support and coma mixed. So we csll it medically induced coma. This way you understand if your family is the one on the machines -- it's only 25% body life.... However there's a 75% of recovery via healing machines.

The CIA. Willl decide when to pull the plug. Usually medically induced coma is someone evil or someone bad with the ability to be good. Usually aliens go straight to coma status.

If an alien will die it's 1st life support then coma. Your friend or family will die.

They said medically induced coma. But at this time. His brain is incapable of human thought so I am putting him on life support.

This makes it the family's wishes.

Most of the time "next of kin" is spouse then parents/siblings. Then children last.

Which is wrong. It should be the future. Thus Erica and Steven will ask the babies. And together they will decide.

Last night as a CIA operative while he was in a medically induced coma i was told by at least 1 child and 2 adults to pull. I reviewed. While they spoke from shock and relief their true feelings.

Knowing that the children escaped life with Eric once. I don't feel the right to allow Eric to live. I know the consequences of his actions caused two children to leave my planet in fear and terror and disgust because of Eric.

Erica was my 3rd pregnancy to abort and hold souls.

I hate Eric. That's why i punched him in the fucking face. I was happily surprised that Alex did it. Too in person.

Since the infants are involved and already resurrected. And had a nightmare of a time in less than 36 hours on Eaerth.

I allow them to be there to pull the plug, they can actually yank and pull the plug themselves.

So that is what i want and what the children need.

It will show Eric he doesn't belong here and has no,reason to,be at 25%

It makes life easier for all of us.

Eric was an outdoor kid. Like John and Jason and Greg. Etc. He never went into my school.

They didn't have to. And actually weren't ever enrolled. They liked the man work to learn to survive on their own.

While i taught the children the indoor stuff. The expansion of the mind.

I taught them the economy so the men working to increase their own economical structure could be helped to be taken in under their wings.

I left no one behind.

But he refused confirming.

1. Alcoholic system to drop other drugs. -- he uses crystal meth. Without cut backs. Without moderation

$5 if yoh remember and realized i said make smoothies without alcohol to share with your kids.

2. He blew it in their faces on purpose them injesting over 2.4 grams each.

Erica and Alex would cover their faces with thick blankets when the smoke came towards them.

It was quite a hostage situation. Knowing he could take the newborns and kill them in front of them.

Its happened to me 985 Point 2 times. I'm 35 years old.

875.8 times it's been with a knife.

Take the numbers and multiply by 10 million. For the last some kinda lots of 8 thousand zillion years.

It even happened to Alex. He he has the scars. From,this and last life., it,has happened.

So for me they're terrifying. Unless I'm there... I have saved 900 billion times 30 thousand. I those situations.

But i always remember the ones i lost.

So don't worry when I'm suicidal. Just leave me alone. Don't talk to me. I need silence.

So dead babies y'all.

Dead aliens.

It will be done

I seen that actually quite beautiful meme of April 2020 the clouds and UFO.

I don't get mad or violent because I'm stepped back to watch y'all cope.

But I say to y'all "fuck no that's not happening" I say to that UFO "Fucking try it you will all die" i just scroll on because I get so angry. I get so mad. Its a beautiful photo but i refused to repost it because it isn't something i support.

Most reposts of memes are supported unless i type something on the bottom. Saying it's not.

So my dad. I didn't care until i saw The Rock, "her dad is alive" all happy and in support.

Then i was bothered. Then I cared. Then i felt something about it. But until then i felt nothing.

I didn't feel shame..i felt that were all made of glass.

Because I was happy to have a dad.. One that seemed good. I was actually happy.

And it was kept personal to me... But then I saw the Rock felt it. Then I began to feel..

Broken. But Alex kept it together and started getting rid of the bed. Taking it down. Removing bombs. And fixing all that ass hole did "my dad"

I know the Rock.. He can handle. His dad just died. And we did a lot for him.

So for him to be elated. I get through the day thinking no one really cares what i feel and they don't pay kuch attention..but the Rock in that moment in time.

He was happy. And i knew then i had to Destroy a light of happiness inside him and he looked away from the camera to say "we are all happy. The while world"

DNA4U list one person as my father. He's my uncle..

Edgar claimed it was his 18th cousin.

You know, it doesn't matter.

Donate. Mr Lee Tubman. And more. They're my dads. They kept me safe. Taught me to be wiser and more caring about myself. Donte was 2 years younger than me. But he was a father figure. Guy was the fun dad. Fred Flintstone i called one friend's dad was the fishing buddy. We were not close but he was a silent father figure.

I stole all my friends dads. Borrowed them. Their moms, too.

I have 1800 moms that I call mom.

I know who my moms and dads are.

Just like Erica called me mom the other day and Brittany will too. And Alex my cousin's son. Candy. Brandy. Declan.

So i know i have a family that understands it doesn't matter how I got here. It matters who treated me well. Matthew McCognohey. Kid rocks. They're like my dad's and my kids. Uncles and Cousins.

Blood doesn't matter. Shit half the time Snoop is my God or dad or bother or husband or little kid i have to save. He's my friend.

Snoop is too much of everything. He is my co-nigger. My partner in many crimes against humanity (practical jokes)

I call him my Friend. But my family wouldn't be complete without him and Shawntae.

Harriet. I call her momma all the time. It feels natural. Sometimes i call her old lady.

So while i was joyful for a moment thinking I found someone that actually cared to find out he didn't.

I myself wasn't affected until i knew others would be

Its just a lesson in life. Don't trust people.

I told Alex abandon ship, fuck that place. Ain't no one can go in there!!

He understood and agreed then took the role "no,one is driving me and her from our home." He decided to defend the homestead. That is the role a man takes

Im all you gotta sweep the whole place,then,rest and do,it again,2 more times at least.,Then,again when,I,get there. If i get there.

But i feel good to know my lover isn't gonna let anyone drive him down. Just turn around. Learn a lesson. Clean the mess.

Why do i need a father when i have a man?

Clearly i am an independent woman and always have been.

But i need a family. Otherwise I have no point to live.

And that is why i am suicidal.

I don't see s point to live. Not when Alex and i fight and i don't want him to talk to me cause some alien got in our way once again.

He was double attacked by aliens.

So if their desire is for me to die... Then they should keep,doing it.

If,not they need to stay out of my way so i can,get my family,together again.,in,real life.

My family that I know is my family. Not aliens. Not fans. Not someone that needs to apologize to me or needs an explanation.

People that can think on their own and not be reminded they need to have love in their spirit.

Now Snoop sometimes plays the role of my brother. And we are competitive. It just makes us proud of each other and ourselves for surviving a challenge. I do it to him too but I play old hard skill. He plays old new remember when. I do ancient V-Ball and he does pop and country experience.

So his spirit is of an ego -- which salutes the fact we will grow.

Often we do the spirit of mischievous. To remind danger still exists but we will have fun and love in the end.

Friend. Someone that is gonna fry you but the end od what matters.

Sometimes we relax and chill. But them old cogwheels of the mind never quit rolling. Advance. Advance. Lets keep it going don't stop.

He's like me. Suicidal.

But he used to release his inner poison. Now he makes it not exist by doing something else ....

But me? Nothing helps but the mimic of death itself. Silence.

People are what causes it. Alien people.

So you humans. Keep on being you.

Its you that is gonna save the world

I gave you guidelines to help us out this mess.

Because I can't even see y'all because the aliens surrounding me trying to get my last breath.

Show me you. Save us. You're doing good

I got $5 on y'all that we make it.

[thebuildingcacophony]

Complete Sacrifice (4)

Previous part here Musical Inspiration: here

“Daevyn…….and…..my ex husband…Arie”Ilyea whispered next to Aurora within their telepathic bond.  The two re-animated scourges scuffled forward as features filled in from reconstructive magic. Their faces and demeanor about as close to what the mage could give to her husband to give him an edge with what the necromantic magic that kept the souls close. Arie was pretty much match for Aurora in terms of his black fox tail and roguish demeanor through the eyes were deep blue. The soul that was plucked from him so early in life, lithe and deadly as an assassin should be. Daevyn, her older brother that fell into the well by design a few years ago was almost the same demeanor as Lledwyn. His once perfect dark black hair was greyed and thin but there was still power in them. His arms tawny and strong as more magic filled out the strength of its vessel.  It wasn’t a surprise to see both of them emerge as the spider god’s chosen champion.

It was only a matter of when.

Ilyea shivered at the hidden powers resided against her. How many more champions could the Spider god make in this brief time? Her mind clicked and whirled with possibilities. This would not only test their defenses but the artifact she just created. Ilyea swallowed hard as she considered her lack of stamina to a gods. She had to believe in Aurora and Katanja.

The woman turned to stare at her husband’s nimbus of void energy along with the spider humanoid by their side. The last thing she needed to do was panic though that feeling was rising up like the necromancy she was seeing. The mage could barely feel herself breath in this oppressive atmosphere.

“Focus on me, love.” Aurora gently commanded, his voice rising slightly higher then the crescendo of energy. “Don’t worry about anything else..okay? I’m going to make you proud of me…”

Ilyea cracked a smile despite the atmosphere once more forcing down her fear. “I’m already so proud of you..”

The man smiled to his wife and turned to focus upon the pair in front of them. Aurora had heard stories about Ilyea’s ex husband being lost to the well but not of another sibling. The poisons that this Spider God had seemed to go further then his wife had let on. Even so he wasn’t afraid at all.  His hand loosely gripped the white dagger at his side as his shadowed wings flapped and elongated. No fear remained in his eyes as the man only waited for the entities to make the first move. While the rogue could feel the panic in Ilyea as the bond was open its fullest so there was no lag in their feelings to one another, his attention was fully at the two in front of him.

The spider god in its haste attempted to provide both of the entities with weapons of their own, dual daggers for Arie while Daevyn was unarmed. Obviously it had failed but it didn’t make either one less deadly.  The two sneered at Aurora creeping along the webbed floor avoiding the traps with slow movements. Necromantic magic continued to refine their movements until they were moving with no hint of just being created.  

Ilyea leaned forward pushing down her fear summoning what little stamina she had to move. As soon as she stood up, the effect caused her head to swim as she toppled back to her butt.  The mage sucked in a breath and looked around within Aurora’s eye sight, sharing his awareness.

“Don’t let them touch you…...they’ll drag you down…!” Her warning quick to her guardian to conserve energy. The mage couldn’t seem to breath evenly against the erratic beating of her heart. She wanted to do *more* to help Aurora. Even though he wouldn’t like it, Ilyea wanted to fight too.

“They can try….” Aurora commented back with a wane smile. His eyes tracking the two as they moved back and forth.

Katanja rose her hand at this time as well elongated the weave webs to ensnare those. It would dilute the protections but the weakness she saw in Ilyea  made her react automatically. Her wispy arachnid imbued hands rippled the magic put forth closing as she could around the two that manifested. The webs shimmered and thickened as the spirit weaved back and forth within the shadows. The spirits presence inconsequential to the those that wish her charges harm. Just like a spider, she would react in quickness to her prey.   

Arie was there for a few moments before he disappeared in a puff of smoke using his old shadow tricks as a rogue. Aurora reflectively moved forward where his dagger sounded off against the intruders weapon with a resounding clang. The movement so quick and close to his wife if he was a second too late. Ilyea turned her head to watch as she felt the shifting of wind that warmed near her neck. The undead thrall seemed to try to make a downward strike towards the prone target, the animation just as fast as in life. Aurora didn’t move much from his position from his wife, placing his dagger face up guarding her neck. The moved like a flurry of windstorms kicking up dust and dirt that wasn’t bound by the webs.

Ilyea didn’t believe in much but she was thankful for her husband’s quick reflexes.

“She is mine…” Her ex husband growled pushing against the blade that wormed its way so close to Ilyeas own throat. Aurora let his own steel slide against the intruders and hissed in return pushing it back.

“She was never yours…”  Aurora retorted coldly with barely restrained fury. The slide of metal against metal chilled the the Sindorei female, her breathing stilling. Ilyea felt no need to speak as the melody of Daevyn’s feet against the web and the fight so close to her became her music. A symphony of destruction.

The shadows shaked in their retribution as Aurora aimed his own blade for the villains eye to cause a much needed repose. Arie smirked and held up his dagger using the same trick against the guardian. Redirecting the force of Aurora’s blow, the rogue directed the aim towards his right shoulder with a sickening squelch. Arie was frighteningly clever and used to fighting dirty. With no effect of pain, the undead rogue leaned in closer entrapping the blade more into his dead body.

Not expecting the loss of his dagger, Aurora felt blinding unfriendly stars in the split decision he dared look away from his opponent.  The shadow imbued man stumbled back sliding to his knees as the sharp skull of his foe slammed against him once more. The guardian’s head swam more sharply then when he went under into the well and his lungs burned trying to catch up with his heart. It was a cheap and dirty move and Aurora knew he’d have to fight just as dirty.

Arie stepped with languid boredom almost as he dug his arm into where the white thing had laid. Rot dotted where the blessed blade had collided showing the preparations the star blessed had made against his master.  Arie would have to be more careful a the undead thing took the holy thing and tossed it aside like used tissue. The echo barely audible against the raging storm that was the god behind him.

A torquised illuminated dark dagger that connected him to the spider god as one of its champions was replaced in his grip. The hell was Arie kidding? He had two daggers and went in with both to finish the job quickly. Once more the thrall jumped into the shadows aiming low to the ground kicking up dust ashe built up speed. At the angle he put himself, his dear whore of a wife would have a hard time to roll out of the way. Either dagger would be waiting for her and his mission would be completed.

Wind met up with him again as Arie stopped himself from slamming into Aurora’s body. It surprised him to see the guardian up so quickly from before but then again he had other things helping him. Without that dagger though, Arie at least a bit more time.  His weapons pierced deeply into Aurora’s leathers, cracking into the worn battle wear at an awkward near his shoulder and his leg armor at the way the Sindorei intercepted.. No blood spilled for the guardian, thankfully. There was always opportunity and Arie pushed with power to at least send one of them to his master, wanting to draw blood.

Arie’s vision shifted from the ground to the sky and then quickly to the ground again as Aurora angled his body.  It took some time for the lithe Sindorei male to fight with winds but a quick burst of power was enough to spin Arie’s leverage against him. The shadow wings flexed back and angled to allow the rogue hug Arie against him as Aurora curled them both within his arms. There was a soft grunt from the disorientation as the rogue used the momentum of Arie’s body against him to slam him against the ground.  A little of Katanja’s webs coated Arie as he collided hard against the runed earth providing no cushion. Black blood bloomed as the thrall’s necromantic body made the sound of crunching bone.

It was short lived victory as Arie started to shake as more power poured into him from the well. Aurora’s eyes combed the dark grounds looking for the white glimmer of hope before Arie would fully recover. The rogue’s gaze noticed the rot where he had pierced Arie before being the only place that wasn’t being repaired. Aurora took this time to throw both of the Spider god’s daggers as far aways as he could. The white one gaining importance as the guardian would need to find it.

“I guess this one is better than your other one so he’ll make a fine addition to the well, sister.” The slow cutting voice of the other entity that was her older brother Daevyn. He had been a constant aggressive factor since Lledwyn got in contact with the weapons. When her brother had been part of their grand design when he made his axe. It was surprise that Daevyn did not have one when he emerged but the God was fighting against Katanja after all. The tall ghost of Lledwyn’s similarity of  dark grey soaked long hair gazed upon her with the same ice blue eyes and smirked. Daevyn strode with a slow purpose unlike Arie that Aurora was fighting with.

“You won’t take him. Just like you won’t take Lledwyn!”

Daevyn stopped and allowed the smirk to increase in size like the necromatic magics that repaired Arie. No matter what she used to destroy that smirk, it would appeared again and again.

“Once we’re done here….I’ll take him back. I’ll take the whole light damned family back with me!” Daevyn promised and tilted his head. Strands of black hair blowing effortlessly against the howling terrokar winds.

There was a bravado in his step despite having no weapons. A sort of knowing that would come with the illusion of being defenseless. Ilyea didn’t know Daevyn as she grew to know Lledwyn so there was no tall tale signs of what he was up to. Other then the smirk, he showed no other emotion.

“Wh….at are…” Her question died upon her lips as Daevyn’s purposeful steps erased the webbing with a scuff back and forth of his feet. The spot was no matter then a scattering of stones though the webbing stubbornly clung to his legs.  One more of the Spider God’s long slender legs emerged out of the damaged defense, Daevyn’s arm rising in tune with it akin to a puppet master. With a flourish of a bow, her dastardly brother brought his hand down violently in an arc touching the ground like crushing a bug. The leg which had been brought up in tune with him careened towards her with the vicious intent.

At the angle it sat, it would lethally be able to pierce her anywhere. Ilyea summoned what little reserves she had to move but couldn’t find herself to. Her body shook at the thought of moving and she couldn’t find herself stopping. This was way beyond mental exhaustion, she was mere seconds away from collapsing. Ilyea opened her mouth to yell when a sharp tug pulled her gracelessly to the side as the leg slammed mere inches away from her location. The small island where the ritual site rested shuddered as the tremors rippled about the small island. Katanja had her hands full tugging at some of the webbing which was a cause of her movement. Ilyea was thankful that Katanja was looking after her while Aurora was occupied.

In the brutal chaotic field, the distant voices seemed to fade away as Aurora’s eyes lept about for the white dagger. The slam nearby rumbled across the platform echoing a dropped feeling in his stomach. Aurora turned his head just so adjusting his wings and brushing out his sweat soaked hair to watch the development between his wife and Daevyn. He was thankful for Katanja watching her when he couldn’t but it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t find the fucking dagger.

Pain blossomed against his right check with a wet thunk as the man groaned as he felt a cold fisted punch against him. Aurora raised his arm to ward off another punch delayed as it instead was muted against his leather chest with an audible creak. The Sindorei male grunted and threw his own punch into wide open air. The rogue was feeling cold but the violence was starting to warm him as more adrenaline pushed into his system. Though it was was far past a life or death situation,  he couldn’t help chuckle at the fantasy of killing Arie now. Aurora caught glimpses of the shadowed figure but punched again hitting cold meat against the Arie’s own chest. The cold exterior hurt as much as punching the ground but at least it caused the shadowed thrall to stumble.  Just enough to throw him off so he could track him easier.

Aurora would need to make sure that he concentrated on him, really needed to piss him off. He usually wasn’t the prideful sort but Arie perhaps would be. He had to bet on that.

“No wonder you died so fast, you are so fucking weak.” Aurora growled with a bit of a laugh. “You probably didn’t even love her the way that I did...pathetic…”

“She’s not fucking mine but I’m better then some boring old fuck boy like yourself.” Arie hissed in return, but there was a glare in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’ll fucking enjoy getting you down into that well.”

Aurora curled the wings closer to his body to flex as the two dualed back and forth without their weapons and shadows. It wasn’t completely the man’s intent to let Arie hit him but it seemed to build the man’s pride more than anything. Katanja’s power helped  to guard against the blows but it still hurt each time one of the thrall’s fists hammered against some of the soft bits of his leathers. If he survived, he would need to have his leathers repaired.

Purposefully as a spider catches his victim, Aurora began to lead Arie away from Daevyn and Ilyea. He led  the thrall within the thickest of Katanja’s webs while also looking out for the white dagger. The white fluid began to coat the undead in earnest with each jab and thrust that Aurora allowed upon him. Catching himself starting to pant and Arie’s boundless energy was starting to wear him out even with Katana’s help.

The webs did well in hiding the white dagger away from evil intention but with all the distractions, it was hard to track the damn thing. The blows were not coming as much as Aurora had hoped and seemed to understand why as another dark shadow stretched within the ritual site. Another leg joining the three spider god limbs that still encompassed them from below. The webs that the guardian had used upon his foe were allowing more complications to arise.

“Fucking Hells…”Aurora sighed as his heart pounded to move out of the way of another attack of the giant spindly spider leg. His head swam as he felt the twist of pain along his chest where he had been battered and his side where Arie continued to use him. Perhaps it was doing more then he realized.  The leg came down testing the length of its appendage arcing straight down to impale Aurora. The undead thrall struck at the same time attempting to grabble Aurora in place for a bloody spear.. A burst of energy that Aurora had been hiding slipped Arie from the grasping hug that would of ended him.

At least that’s what should of happened.

Pain exploded in his left side as one of the magically formed wings was pinned from the strike upon himself.  The leg was stuck into the earth fastening the powerful wing in place. Aurora lifted himself up testing how malleable the wing was and disappointed to learn how real and stuck it was upon his body.

“I wish I could say it was a good battle, but like everything else you just need to give up. Bye bye replacement.” Arie admonished Aurora with a laugh as he squatted down.  The Sindorei male could see the thrall’s legs glistening with Katanja’s power but there still wasn’t enough to use. Aurora needed to get out and with the legs pinning him in place; he was easy pickings for however Arie used to kill him. The rogue stretched hoping to find a rock or something to fight him off with.

Within one of the webbed areas that Katanja had produced, Aurora’s boot touched something hard against his shoe. Pretending to only move to avoid Arie’s next attack, Aurora pivoted his body to stare at what was in his reach. A plan hatched immediately after seeing what it was.

@iamauroracole @scions-of-antiquity

[sunevial]

The Sorceress and the Sergeant

Why does this exist? @missvulpix212 is why. Blame her for this because it was her idea to commission me to write her a thing and I took the job for some reason (but hey, I’m now offering writing commissions so that’s a thing). Now...how to explain this...

rubs temples

Okay, so, you know my Followers fanfic. Well, one of the characters by the name of Old Priestess likes to write fictionalized accounts of her colleagues in horrible trashy romance situations and then sells them. The Sorceress and the Sergeant is a fictionalized account/probable AU of the relationship between the Witch and the Lieutenant and is absolutely no way canon to my Followers fic.

So, uh, enjoy?

The dimly lit hallways were silent for once, the stressed single mothers and frantic college students somehow all asleep at this godforsaken hour. Fumbling with a key ring sporting more baubles than keys, Marjory clicked the lock open and rammed her shoulder into her apartment door as quietly as she possibly could, forcing the sticky thing to move for once in its unhappy existence. She glanced around the inside, checking the darkened corners for movement or unwelcome visitors, before dragging her partner inside and shutting the door firmly behind them both. Only then did she risk turning on her little side table lamp.

“Sorceress, this really isn’t necessary,” Ollie protested, leaning his back up against the doorframe and giving her the most neutral stare she had ever seen him pull off with those ice blue eyes. “You know I am more than capable of regrowing my own skin and muscle tissue.”

Not bothering to roll her eyes, she tossed her earthy green pea coat onto one of her fold out chairs and pointed to a couch that had seen one too many games of Mario Kart in its day. “It’ll heal faster if I help. So, please sit down and take off your shirt. I need to see the wound,” she said, grabbing a step stool and setting it down in her little kitchen. Rolling up her sleeves, she hopped onto the little box and threw open a cabinet, rummaging through the endless stacks of incense and oddly shaped crystals for the bag hidden somewhere in the endless mess.

With an ever so mischievous smirk crossing his face, he kicked off his shoes and plopped down on the worn sofa. He shrugged off his dark gray hoodie, wincing only ever so slightly as it brushed the massive burn along his left shoulder. “Are you sure that’s all you want to see?” he asked with a smile, tossing the ruined sweatshirt off to the side and inspecting the t-shirt now partially fused to his skin.

“Yes, I’m very sure,” she squeaked, her voice going just high enough to hurt even her own eardrums. Her free hand fiddled with a bit of the sweater dress hugging her body. She could feel the blood rising from the bottom of her stocking feet to the top of her rusty red hair, pooling in her cheeks and making the room go from being like inside an icebox to being unbearably warm.

“According to what I know of mortals, your cheeks say otherwise.”

A tiny shriek escaped her lips, one she immediately pushed down into the depths of her throat. Muttering several curses under her breath, she reached for the black ribbon tied around her head in a fashionable bow and pulled it tight against her skull. Ollie wasn’t the first man in her life to poke fun at how easy it was to make her turn the color of a firetruck, not by a long shot;. he just happened to be the one being in this universe who could make her sputter and curl up into a ball of embarrassment nearly on command, and he definitely not use this knowledge responsibly.

Snatching up a small velvet bag, Marjory dumped out a single spool of black ribbon. Resembling the one in her hair in every manner, it seemed to exist only in two dimensions at any one time. Soul ribbon: a material that could save a life as easy as it could take it, the signature weapon and healing instrument of those who served a certain god who oversaw the endless cycle of life and death. It was a tremendous honor to just have a single strand, much less the ability to manipulate nearly endless amounts of it to her will.

After a bit more searching, she fished out a small glass bottle of shimmering red liquid. Holding it above her head, the glittering bits caught rays of light and scattered them onto the white tiles lining the kitchen wall. She smiled a little as she shook it up, still proud of the fact she had been able to craft a true healing potion with the magic she had been given. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she brushed it away and stepped off of her box. No, focus; she had a job to do. Sighing, she walked back into the living room just as Ollie peeled the t-shirt over his head.

The smell hit her first, acrid and reminiscent of eldritch horror and hellfire mixed into some unholy union. It looked just about as nice as it smelled, the flesh a sickly green and charred black wherever it wasn’t oozing a substance that she could not identify but was definitely not blood. Biting back the bile rising in her throat, she unraveled a length of ribbon and snapped it with a pair of scissors. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” she asked, pulling and stretching at the mystical fabric it until it was wide enough to be used as a bandage.

“Because it’s not,” he replied, pushing his long raven hair off of the exposed wound. “As far as acid spitting abominations go, that one was weak at best, considering the most menacing form it could take was a Chinese ursine.”

“It’s called a panda, Ollie,” she said, dabbing a little of the potion onto the piece of ribbon. “One that threw you into an air conditioning unit and gave you a massive third degree chemical burn. That’s not nothing, you know! I’d have to be in the hospital for weeks if I got something like that, not to mention all the skin grafts and blood transfusions and physical therapy for the damage to the muscle structure.”

“I am here precisely because of the fact that grievous injury is much more harmful to you than it is to me,” he said, tapping a chin against his neatly trimmed beard. Before she could blink, two silver wings sprouted out of his back and unfurled against the thin wall separating her from her overly religious neighbors who already didn’t appreciate having a pagan woman next door. “I am your Sergeant, Sorceress. Your guardian. My job is to protect you. That includes getting hurt in your place so you can do your job.”

“It’s Marjory,” she said, taking the medicated bandage and slowly binding up the wound. “And even so, I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I knew all too well what serving a god of death would entail, Marjory, better than you did when I came to fetch you,” he replied, his voice low and soft but placing a little more emphasis on her name. Shifting a little under the bandage, he gazed at the black ribbon for a long stretch of time. The silence hung in the air between them like a comforting blanket. “I have been protecting mortals like yourself long before you were so much a thought to your parents and will continue to do so long after you move on to wherever it is your soul is destined for. You need not waste your worry on me.”

“But you…you’re important to me,” she said in an equally low voice, winding the wrap under his arm. Her fingers lightly brushed against his exposed skin, soft despite being littered with scars from countless skirmishes against forces she couldn’t name. She tried to keep her gray eyes on patching up her injured partner, but her gaze kept wandering across his chest and down his torso. No longer hidden under relatively shapeless clothing, he was much thinner than she expected, built with the speed and grace of a swan in mind. The heat rose to her cheeks again. “And I worry about the people who are important to me, Ollie.”  

He caught her traitorous gaze and smirked, leaning back as much as he could while she deftly tied up his shoulder. “So I was correct in my assumptions.” Before she could sputter out a defense, he held up his good hand and put it on her shoulder, smiling sympathetically even as his gaze was as cool as his eyes. “You have a good heart. A good, kind, bleeding heart who wants to help the hurt and sick.”

“I wouldn’t be in med school if I didn’t,” she said with a chuckle, her words shaking a little as she tied off the wrap with a small bow.

“But turning that heart on me is dangerous, Marjory,” he continued, keeping his gaze and tone eerily even. “You know that Ollie is just a pet name our other colleagues have given me. You know that if I was ever human, that was long in the past. And you know what I am capable of doing to others…what I am capable of doing to you.” His words trailed off to nearly nothing before he sighed. “It’s best if you keep a heart like that closed around someone like me.”

Marjory held his gaze, memories flashing before her eyes of that first day in the alleyway. She remembered the same steely look in his eyes as he pinned her against the brick wall and pressed a the sharp edge of a knife into her throat, any remorse or guilt for his actions hidden behind years of experience and a touch of obedience to their boss. She remembered beginning to bleed out when ghostly magic erupted from her fingertips, clinging to the wound gouged into her neck and stitching her up as if she had always been able to call upon the endless webs of energy sustaining the world. She remembered his genuine smile as he offered her his hand, saying she had passed the test with flying colors.

She remembered the training sessions, his gentle touch on her arms and legs as he showed her how to more accurately conjure her magics to heal and to help. She remembered the casual teasing and the playful banter between them both as they spent nights traversing rooftops and the realms of the dead. She remembered the nights of teaching him how to sew and understand references to youtube videos and the long conversations over coffee about how strange being human really was as the two of them laughed for hours on end about everything and nothing at all.

“That’s not an option, Ouriel,” she said with a weak smile, laying a hand on his arm as his real name slipped from her lips. “I know who you are and what you can do…and I’m not scared if that ends up hurting me.”

Ever so slowly, he stood up from the couch, reminding her on just how much taller he was than her. He gently took his hand off her shoulder and cupped it over her cheek, resting his palm against her warm skin and turning her head so they looked each other in the eyes. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, the corners of his mouth breaking into a smirk unlike any she had seen before. Chaos danced his irises, flickering no longer with the harsh winds of a blizzard but the gentle winds of an October afternoon. He curled his fingers under her chin, lightly brushing just the tips against her neck.

Her whole body quivered as her cheeks burned with a fire she didn’t know existed in her, one that burned up her body with a bright flickering flame that she knew would not die for anything less than a sleepless night for them both. She didn’t dare look away, instead taking both of her hands and slowly crossing them at the wrist. Letting out a long shaky breath, she pushed herself up onto her tiptoes as the heat spread to her chest and down her stomach. “Go ahead…do your worst.”

A true smile crossed his lips as his other hand reached behind her ear and pulled the ribbon out of her hair, freeing her curls from their prison. As if she weighed nothing at all, he brought her face up to his and sank his lips against hers. It was cold, cold like a comforting autumn breeze, cold like the first snowfall, cold like polished steel, cold but so incredibly warm at the same time. She closed her eyes, letting ice freeze the fire in her body as she fell into his embrace, feeling soft fabric wind its way around her wrists as they sank into darkness together.

[authorellenmint]

Summer prompt #13. Ice cream, involving a curly blonde commander and my OC, the elf Lyliane.

She looked miserable, like a delicate mountain flower wilting under the oppressive heat of the sun. Poor Lyliane sat perched upon a hillside, her back near a tree that was casting barely any shadow over her enflamed skin. Digging a hand into the nape of his neck, Cullen began to climb to her. The summer was proving relentless, he himself having to forgo the armor while they traveled a large cavalcade through the northern provinces of Orlais.

It felt strange at times to only be in a solitary linen tunic – and Maker knew Sera couldn’t cease with the jabs at what chest hair of his prodded through the laces. But he couldn’t deny the breeze that’d waft through the tissue-thin shirt. A shame he couldn’t impart the same to Lyliane who remained in her Inquisition robes.

As he rose higher with her hair aflame like a sunflower in the field, her striking green eyes focused from the ether upon him. “I hate this weather,” she growled, Cullen having to smother a snicker at her words. It seemed rather obvious to any and all, most of the underlings keeping far afield from an angry Inquisitor.

Lyliane tipped her head back to the unending sun and spat out a series of Dalish curses, her fist folded tight while waving at it. Chuckling, Cullen admitted, “I’m afraid I don’t know what any of those mean.”

Her swearing froze and sheepish eyes turned to him, “It’s probably not wise of me to teach you those words.”

“Contrary to my appearance, I’m not as innocent as I look.”

“Oh,” a bright blush burned over Lyliane’s cheeks, her soft hand cupping to hide away her cheek, but her eyes honed to a razor’s edge as she stared at him. “Um,” she shifted in the tall grass, her tongue falling silent as the words must have escaped her.

That tendency of hers was relaxing at times, the two of them finding comfort in sharing the same space while free to focus on their own tasks. Though, a few of the soldiers shared quite a laugh when they caught the Inquisition perched on his lap – both heads down in work.

Not wanting her to suffer, Cullen spoke first, “I know you hate this heat, so I thought I might bring you something to help against it.”

“Oh?” her face perked up, Lyliane tipping her head higher to him.

From behind Cullen’s back he presented a bowl with a solitary spoon sticking out of a mass of creamy pink mounds. Lyliane’s eyes puckered, her mouth falling flat. “What is it?” she jabbed a finger towards the bowl, but didn’t draw too close.

“Ice cream. A concoction from Orlais. I haven’t had it often, but it’s…” he nudged the spoon a bit, letting it clatter against the clay bowl in thought, “it’s tasty. I think you’ll like it.”

“Looks like cherry oatmeal,” she muttered, remaining in place.

“Strawberry, actually. The only flavor they had, um,” Cullen placed the bowl in her hands, but Lyliane still seemed dubious of the entire ordeal.

“It’s cold to touch,” she remarked, her palms soothing up the sides of the bowl.

Unceremoniously tumbling to his backside, Cullen dug the spoon around in the melting treat, scooping up in as much ice cream as he could. With one hand cupped under it, he guided the spoon towards her mouth. Still, those uncertain eyes watched him, a copper eyebrow cocked.

“Trust me,” he whispered and Lyliane opened her mouth. Slipping just the tip of the spoon in, he waited as she drew her tongue around it, lapping up her first taste of ice cream. Those summer green eyes flared open wide, her hand lashing out to grab his and pull more of the ice cream into her mouth.

Once the spoon was licked clean, she gasped, “That’s delightful. Creamy, but cold, and…fruity. Refreshing. What did you say it was?”

Lyliane snatched the spoon from his fingers and began to shovel more into her mouth. The heat was completely forgotten, a smile twinkling in her eyes which made him grin as well. “Ice cream,” Cullen repeated. “Oh, but you should go slower or…”

“Ah!” she cried, the spoon clattering into the bowel. Her fingers pinched into the bridge of her nose, Lyliane hissing in pain. “What is this…pain? Here! And! And everywhere in my skull!”

“A brain freeze. I can help,” he insisted while drawing closer to her. Lyliane’s pained eyelids opened, her hand falling from pinching her nose just as Cullen cupped his lips around hers. His hand rustled through her hair, cuddling the back of her head tighter as he poured forth all the heat from his mouth into hers.

Soft as rose petals, her bottom lip nipped against the scruff of his soul patch as Lyliane flirted her tongue with his. With one last peck upon her sweet lips, Cullen’s amber eyes opened. “Better?”

A smile rose slowly, Lyliane nodding her head, “Much. But what caused the pain?”

“If you eat the ice cream too fast, it’ll do that. Like you got kicked in the head by an apostate,” he pointed to his own wrinkled forehead.

Lyliane drew her fingers over the worry lines, shifting them upwards while her lips slightly parted, “Or an ice spell backfiring off your fingers.”

“That I know less about,” Cullen confessed, his eyes drifting to the partially soupy bowl of ice cream.

Like in a dream, Lyliane’s eyes trailed his and she gulped, “Oh, you should have some as well.”

“No,” he shook his head, “it’s for you. A special batch, they used strawberries to try and match your hair…” Cullen worried the tips of his fingers at the roots of her fiery mane and parted through the locks, “But it can’t compare.”

Smiling serenely, she waited until he reached the tips of her hair, before picking up the spoon. “I insist. It is tasty, but I’m not sure I can eat all before it turns into a puddle.”

“All right,” he admitted, his mouth opening.

She swirled the spoon over the top of the ice cream, getting a good glob and holding it out for Cullen. He less than gracefully leaned for it, his tongue catching some, but a good plop landed on the top of his chest and began to smear downwards.

“Oh dear,” Lyliane gasped adorably, both of them watching the strawberry streak drip against his tanned chest. He was about to insist it wasn’t a problem, he’d wash up later, when she dove forward. Tugging down the tunic’s laces, her hot tongue lapped up the strawberry cream.

Playfully, she began to suck against the sticky skin, causing Cullen’s toes to curl in his boots. “Sweet Maker,” he groaned, Lyliane bold enough to place a hand upon his inner thigh for balance. She started to drift lower, her nose brushing against his chest hair, as she dove for the remaining ice cream melting upon his skin.

“Woo!” a soldier hooted from his post along the border of the campsite. Cullen whipped his head over, trying to muster the best glare he had in his arsenal, when Lyliane’s cool hand cupped his cheek.

“Commander,” she whispered, “I do believe we have a tent we can take advantage of.”

Smiling, he helped her rise to her feet. “Yes, we do.” Cullen took her small hand in his, but she turned back to hoist up the bowl that was nearly soup. He stared down at it, wondering what was the point of keeping it, when mischievous green eyes caught in his and a shiver of excitement ran up his spine.

Hand in hand, the two of them and the bowl slipped down the hill for his very private tent. Laying her head upon his shoulder, Lyliane whispered in his ear, “I quite love ice cream.”

[denofbloodandlove]

Story of Lilith, pt 1

Lilith walked though one of the many halls of Hell, a long winding tunnel that separated off into many forks and rooms that each house a different soul or souls, and of course the demons that were in charge of their……..care.   Bare feet waded through the blood and organs that swamped the ground. All the human filth floated over her bare skin as her legs moved forward, allowing the river of blood to ripple around her.  Each ripple sending waves of the thick dark liquid to splash on the grim laden walls. Walls that too were covered in the thick layers of human fibers:  muscle, bone, organs, ligaments and everything else that made a human body human graced the walls, each item put there by wither herself or by the demons that planted them as trophies of the torture set down by their Lord.  To punish and condemn each human soul that graced this tunnel, only to be moved on to another tunnel.  Then another and yet another as they were greeted by their vicious punishments for their eternity. Each hall, each tunnel was different. Many connected so demons could watch their brothers’ work and play.  For most, like her, it was all play.  She enjoyed the screams, the begging, and the tears on the humans’ faces as they pleaded upon deaf ears.  Muscles flatten under her feet, the soft tissue flowing through her toes.  Her black eyes linger on the rooms as she passed each one, her long fingers running along the wall, feeling the heat of hell touch her fingertips and flow up her arm.  As she walks on towards the one tunnel she wishes to visit, her eyes burn darkly with the shimmer of fire in their depths.   A hell fire that has been with her since the day God through her from the Heavens, from Eden.  If she were honest with herself, she missed it.   Missed the green pasture, the tree with its beauty and so called ‘knowledge’. She missed what the serenity felt like. But that piece of her soon died, the thoughts of the Beauty that Eden was are always replaced by that of a burning Eden.  Where she is there, holding one of the sacred apples.  Its taste in her mouth as she bites into the delicious fruit, her eyes reflecting the golden-orange flames as it burns to the fucking ground.  Her red lips pulled back into an evil grin as she imagined her demons, her children, the first one hundred that she was cursed to birth took over Gods most loved site.   From a place that she was banned from.  And for what?  For daring to ask a simple word:  ‘Why?’ Why should she, the first human, the first woman of all that was man listen to Adam?     Now, as centuries passed, she still had that one thought in her mind.  But she learned, Oh had she learned. She learned the ways of man, learned their weaknesses and lowest thoughts, their most hidden desires and twisted dreams, and she used them.  Taught her sons and daughters how to use them, to torture the sons and daughters of Adam and of Eve.  The bitch that took her place, made from Adams body so that she never questions him.   Days passed into months, years, centuries and millennia and now.  Now, in the twentieth some odd century, she now had more fun than ever.   She had learned how to tap into that hatred that mankind harbored and used it for Hells advantages.  She took those human souls and turned them, offered them the freedom of the Hell they condemned themselves to, with one condition.  They turn their tortures onto others, those precious humans that He loved so much turned their backs on Him, became hers.  Became demons.  Became more of her children.    She bred, made more, turned more and soon Hell was overrun with demons having their way with not only one another, but also those poor human souls that had lost their pathetic way.  She learned from them, learned their secrets and wants.  Learned their new magic as witches emerged, made them hers and soon she began to venture away from Hell and into the world of man.  First by possession, but soon, she learned how to take her human form, the one God had granted her, the perfect being of what a woman should be, and she ventured out.  She whispered and taunted as she walked the streets of man.  Turned them and helped them, and soon Lilith was no longer demon, but Goddess.  Ironic, she thought as she ventured closer to her destination.  Thrown from Eden, only to become known as a Goddess among Man. But as time passed, man changed again. They no longer believed in Goddesses or Gods, but soon religions reigned throughout the world.  And once again, she learned.  Baptism, Catholicism, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Sikhism, Wiccan. All gave rise and she learned every single one of them, learned their beliefs, rituals, demons, of their artifacts. She learned.  Everything.  She used it all to her gain as the newest centuries rolled in and soon, she learned that it was on her best gain that she not only live ‘topside’  but she also incorporate herself into the world of man. She acclimated to it.  Became a business owner, took up residence and appeared to be a very well informed human of al crafts.  Crafts that she sold to others like her.  To Gods that still roamed, to demons, witches and any other being that graced her doors, even humans.  Even though the humans never lasted.  Mainly because the things she sold them devoured their souls and their families souls, often ending up back into her more than welcoming hands. The sounds of screaming made her blink, her eyes going temporarily white with hatred as she focused on the loud feminine scream.   A scream that was soon followed by a series of grunts and moans and then more screaming. Smiling to herself, her eyes fade back to a dark black as she finds the room she wanted.   The dark tunnel shines red, the color of fresh blood shimmers through the fire as she leans her hip against the jagged opening.  Demons walk throughout the chamber, many naked, some clothed with the remnants of human flesh.  Many have blackened and charred skin resembling scales or burns.  Each demon had transformed over the years. Everyone different and each specialized in different genres, this tunnel was no different.  Her black eyes follow the tables, the rafts that house a few souls each.  Every soul was wrenched onto the tables, naked, spread eagles in various ways for the demons own pleasure.  Some upside down, on their bellies, bellies that were spilt open allowing their intestine to fall to the floor for other demons to eat them alive, all while the humans heads were down, their eye lids cut off and forced to watch as they were eaten alive.   Many in the same position had demons fucking them, their bodies used as the demons saw fit.  That was where the scream had come from.    Pushing of the jagged wall, Liliths eyes look at the human. Her body was bent in half, her wrists tied to her ankles as her back had been flayed open.  The skin ripped off, torn to shreds, and her spine exposed. The humans ribs had been removed allowing her lungs to feel the hot air.  Lilith sniffed the air, the sweetness that exploded against her senses made her laugh at the show.   The human soul was fresh, new to the realm and she was prime meat for the taking. Lilth ran one of fingers along the exposed spine, feeling each vertebra as her eyes moved over the body.  Eyes that stopped at a demon that came near her. “Kithlat.  I see you have found the new one.” She whispers with an evil glint in her eye as Lilith watches Kithlat come in from behind and thrust his hardened shaft into the ass of the human.  His grunts of pleasure are masked by the humans screams and all Kithlat does is laugh and push his body harder into her.  The humans lungs expand and Lilith is temporarily transfixed by how they work. Expanding and deflating as each breath is taken.  Kithlats talons rake across the brownish muscles, making them deflate and the human to grasp for air she will not get.  Lilith smiled as she watch the demon work, watched until his bog body still and she could smell the seed coming from him and spilling into her. And, as soon as he was finished, the souls body returned to what it was before.  Her ankles and wrist still tied, her spine still exposed but her lungs working again.  And Kithlat positioning his body at the hole of her vagina, ready to enter that opening. The woman screamed again as Kithlat thrust forcefully into her and Lilth could no longer stand it.  Reaching down, her fingers wrap around the neck of the soul, her fingers ripping though soft tissue, of esophagus and trachea and pulls. Effectively ripping the bitches throat out.  Her eyes travel back to Kithlat and she moves to watch as he fucks her, his body thrusting in and out with abandon.   Waving her hand, the piece of flesh that she held spraying blood, she silently commanded for the others to move so she could sit.  Using another soul as a chair, she sat and watched.  Her head tilted to one side with a vague interest.  Vague until another demon came in behind Kithlat and ripped his head off his shoulders with his cock still inside the body of the soul.   His heavy horned head it tossed at Liltihs feet and her eyes roam over the head, one brow shooting up in interest. Kithlats skull would do just fine in her store.  Crossing her legs, one foot goes over the head, marking it as hers as she pulls it close to her body.  The newest demon pulling Kithlat from the fresh soul only to push his hardened body into hers, taking his place. Lilith sat there, on the soul that held her as his intestine wrapped around his neck and he was forced to watch the whole show. Forced for his lids had been removed as well.  They were all forced to watch, one of their many punishments.  Demon after demon came forth and spurt his essence into the soul and she was forced to take it all, with every knew demon, her torture was reset.   She was forced to feel every tear, every drop of semen that filled her body, every ragged thrust that tore her body into two.  Soon, Liltih was bored with the spectacle, bored with the room.  The sounds of whips and chains and splitting would last her for a day or so until she would have to return.  Maybe when she did, she would partake in a few activities.   Standing up, she grasped Kithlats horn and hoisted it over her shoulder.  She knew just the spot in her shop that he would fit nicely, waiting to be sold to a witch or demon that could use him, and then probably kill them.  Turning her back on the grunting demon, her form shimmered in fire and she was gone.   Arriving in the same manor in her store topside, in New York.   --this is all mine, my own creation, do not copy pr paste, do not remove tags, do not fucking steal-- -misery- #sweetmisery 

[sneezingpotatoes]

Another Cold Winter [Part 1]

Wow, hello xD I’ve returned after a long-ass break with a new fic if anyone is even interested anymore since I’ve been inactive xD But anyway, whoever reads this, I hope you enjoy it xDD

SO THIS IS ASAHI SUZUKI <3 Aka my bae, aka I love him so much! I mean I love them both but he's my bae, you know?

http://photobucket.com/gallery/user/SeichiYagami/media/bWVkaWFJZDoxNDQyODEwNzA=/?ref=1

And this is Kaede Takahashi, Asahi’s bestest friend in the entire universe xD And probably his only friend... feels bad.

http://photobucket.com/gallery/user/SeichiYagami/media/bWVkaWFJZDoxNDQyODEwNzE=/?ref=1 

Okay so I used a random Anime Dress up website to make what my characters look like xD Sorry about the stupid pose they're in, I couldn't change it xD

Asahi hugged his arms tighter around his torso in order to stifle his violent shivering that rattled his spine. The cold winter air was already biting straight through his thin leather jacket, and he had no intentions of standing in it any longer. Damnit! Where the hell Is Kaede?! He mentally groaned, I don’t know how much longer I’ll last out here! Just the thought of staying out in the cold for a couple minutes longer made him grunt. He sniffled, softly at first, but a little rougher the second time, as he could feel the cold air loosening up his sinuses. He quickly brought up an index finger and attempted to rub away the burn that the cold winter air left behind from his rough sniffling, but cringes as he feels the cool burn turn into a prickling sensation in the back of his nose. He gives a quick twitch into his plaid scarf, releasing a firm sneeze into the soft piece of wool. “Huh-KSHht!” How damn cold is it, anyway? He grimaces, still feeling the strong sensation linger about. A shaky fist is brought up halfway, patiently waiting for the inevitable. A mumbled curse is heard through breathy hitches as he draws his fist closer to the cloth. “Hhuuhhhnn… Ikgsht-Kshht!!” Asahi aggressively jerked into his scarf once more, being overwhelmed by the pair of toppling sneezes. Always in triples… He drew in a long, wet sniffle, not wanting to get his scarf any wetter than it already was, seeing how the tiny droplets of sick on his scarf had already gone stone cold, making him cringe and shiver when his chin and lips laid up against it. “Ektsshuhh!!” Or was it quads...? No, I could’ve sworn it was triples. He blinks a few times, dazed by the force of the unexpected sneeze, and lets out a light cough, having felt the sneeze scrape the back of his throat.  He hated sneezing, seeing how his were normally pretty messy and there was never just one. There had to be multiples. Every. Single. Time. Whether he had a quick fit or maybe a fit where the last one gets lost at the airport and has a late arrival, who the hell knows! His nose can’t make up its damn mind. Asahi and cold weather never really got along, and today wasn’t going to be any different. He mainly hated it because cold weather meant that colds were going around, and that he had to wear restricting, heavier clothing. Since coats and sweaters weren’t Asahi’s idea of fashion, he always tended to under-dress around cold seasons. And today, this was going to bite him in the ass… hard. He pulls down his scarf as another shiver creeps up his spine, making him clench his teeth and squeeze his arms even tighter. He drew in another deep, liquefied sniffle, feeling his nose start to leak heavily. Damn him! Whenever I see his face, I swear, I’ll— 

“Asahi!” Kaede yelled as he rushed down the flight of stairs from his apartment room. “Sorry I’m late!” His panting breaths escaped his mouth in puffy clouds of vapor from the cold air. He gave Asahi a sheepish smile as if he were pleading for forgiveness. He really wanted to do a number on Kaede, but his warm smile and innocent nature served as a protective shield and flushed him with guilt.

“What the hell took you so long?!” His voice was grave with irritation written all over it, but of course, Kaede appeared to be immune to the wrath of Ol’ Asahi.

“I overslept again, my bad… I’ve been cramped up in my room all week studying for the AP exam today…” Asahi gave a stifled smirk at the word study. Kaede was the smartest student on school grounds that he knew of, so why would he need to study? Kaede sighs as he trails behind his best friend, waiting for the new puff of vapor to disintegrate completely before speaking once again. “I’m sorry,” He apologized again, “Can’t imagine how cold you are with that paper-thin jacket you’re wearing. If my mother were here in the mornings, she would’ve let you in.”

“It’s not that cold…” He lied right through his teeth, biting back a much-needed sniffle. The cold winter air was truly getting underneath his skin. All he wanted to do was get the hell inside, it didn’t matter where. He jammed his hand into his jacket pocket, having to force himself to leave his nose alone, unless he wanted to walk into the school looking like Rudolf.

“Are you kidding me?” Kaede yelled in disbelief, “It’s going to snow soon! I feel like I’m going to shatter into little shards of ice if another breeze hits me!”

Asahi bites his tongue in attempt to hold back a snarky remark. You weren’t the one standing out here for an hour and a half. Breaking his own rule, he brings up a curled index finger to gently brush up against the rims of his nostrils and freezes dead in his tracks. Clear phlegm had started to leak down unto his lips, since he stubbornly neglected to sniffle in front of his friend. He probably hadn’t noticed earlier since his entire face felt numb. “You wouldn’t happen to have any tissues on you by chance, would you?” He could feel his cheeks burning into a light pink as he asked that pride shattering question. He disgustedly cupped his hand to hide the leaky mess so that at least his friend didn’t have to see it.

“Is that even a question?” Humored Kaede as he reached into his jeans pocket, revealing a pack of travel tissues. “In this weather, it’s practically mandatory to carry these around, you know.” He takes a sheet of tissue for himself and hands the rest of the pack over to Asahi, who gratefully accepts them. He distantly watches as Kaede removes his glasses and gives a gentle, damp sounding blow into the tissues. My gods, everything this man does is pure perfection. The hazel eyed teen folded up the tissue and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, regretting the decision of grabbing one tissue instead of two. He brings up a gloved palm and presses it lightly underneath his nose, feeling it gently twitch against the touch of his hand. “Hiitssch!” The itchy sneeze sends Kaede whipping forward, nearly snapping at the waist. Asahi looks at his best friend with concerned eyes through his now soiled tissues before tossing his onto the ground and returning the pack of tissues to it’s rightful owner. “T-thagk you, I’b sorrhhy! I-I juhhs— Hh-hih…! Jus’… Hh’igssch’u! Hahh…” He froze for a moment, squeezing his nostrils shut, trying to kill the tickle rallying in his nose and to save himself from the embarrassing false buildup game. Even the way he sneezes are absolutely stunning. The way he tries to speak through his hitching is just breath taking. A sigh is released from Kaede as he blows his nose for the second time and tucks the other used tissue into his pocket. “Sorry about that,” Kaede chimes with a warm smile, still rubbing underneath his nose with a gloved finger, “I hope I didn't spray you or anything! It's been so long I almost forgot what a sneeze felt like... We should pick up the pace. We’ll be late.” The brown-eyed teen nods without saying a word, and instead spends the rest of the walk giving his friend a mental body check, trying to figure out any telltale signs of if he caught a cold or not, since he was too insecure to ask him about it.

***

After warming up and chatting in the cafeteria awaiting the chiming of the morning bell, the resonance from the bell finally fills the school and the two teens head to their math class together. Asahi made it his mission to keep an eye on his best friend Kaede, just in case he actually did have a cold, he’d be the first to know about it. Although there was nothing he could really do, since he was never prepared for these types of situations, he’d take him to the nurses’ office if he wasn’t feeling well, or he’d wait in the restroom with him for 3 class periods like he did last year. Asahi audibly sighed as he sat down in his desk, hating how he had math of all subjects to be the first period of the day. It wasn’t so bad since Kaede was also in his class period, and they sat right next to each other. The tardy bell rang and his teacher promptly locked the classroom door, not wanting to deal with any tardy high school students on a test day.

“Wow, such amazing attendance today. We’re only missing about a third of the class today. If only I could get this amount of students to show up to my class every day.” Mr. Yamamoto stated bluntly in a monotone voice, already grabbing the stack of tests from his desk. “Alright my star pupils, as you know, today is your AP Math exam. The test should be easy, yesterday’s 8th period said it was easy-peasy and the scantron results came back with a perfect %100. So, if you fail this exam, you’re a complete nincompoop and you need serious help.”

“Really???” A petite girl in the front row questioned with pleading eyes full of hope as if her dreams had come true.

“Heck no!” He erupted, “This is AP Math. Your brains will poof to ashes due to burnt out brain cells. I’m already scheduling your funerals.” The little girl slumped deep into her chair, arms folded, with an intense scowl directed at the math instructor. “You know the drill, no talking, no phones, yada yada yada. Once I hand out the first test, your souls are mine.”

Asahi followed suit and slumped down deep into his chair as well, already feeling his head begin to pound deep inside his skull. He hadn’t studied for this exam; He never studied for any of his classes, but this was also the only AP course he was taking, and not to mention he’s already failing it with a D-. If you count playing Dragon Blazers for 9 hours straight studying, then he would be the king of studying. He only took this class so that he could at least have one class with his childhood friend. He had straight hundreds for his daily work, since he would only copy Kaede’s worksheets, but he failed every test/quiz, and today would be no different.

“Good luck, champ. You’re gonna need it.” Mr. Yamamoto whispers to Asahi after he sets down the packet. Great. Thanks. He peeks over at Asahi, whose pencil was already scribbling and jotting down equations and answers on the exam packet. He would stop writing for a moment and bite on the eraser of his pencil, only to quickly begin his writing again. The brown-eyed teen rested his head on his desk, not even knowing where to begin. He picked up the packet and flipped through the booklet glaring at each question, the next one seeming way harder than the previous questions. Derivatives? Antidifferentiations? Integrals? God himself would have to do the test for him if he were to pass that exam. Maybe if I take a nap, last week’s lessons will just come to me. He foolishly thought, knowing damn well he hardly ever paid attention in this class. If there were a test about Kaede, he would definitely pass, seeing how every day he would focus his attention only on him. He knows that Kaede prefers wooden pencils over mechanical pencils, that every Friday Kaede likes to hole punch all of his graded papers and place them neatly behind his labeled math divider that he sketches on whenever he’s bored or has free time, also that he likes to be the last student to put away his math textbook so that he can meticulously straighten up the entire shelf for the next class period, and that he—

“Suzuki, lift your head up and get to work!” The slamming of a plastic ruler against Asahi’s desk causes him to jolt upright in his seat. It slammed so close to his arm that he felt the breeze from the swift hit wiggle through his bangs.  “If you’d like to take a nap, I’m sure the principle would love to provide you with a nice warm cup of after school detention!” Muffled snickering amongst the other classmates are heard as they buried their faces into their tests, not wanting to be the next victim of Mr. Yamamoto.  Kaede gives him a brief look of concern before returning to his exam. Asahi opened his exam, trying his best to hide the flush of embarrassment from showing in his cheeks, but failed horribly. Well I guess I don’t have a choice but to start working on this stupid exam…

***

Every minute that passed felt like an eternity for Asahi; He could’ve sworn that he’d been staring at question number one for five days now, and to make matters worse, he had extended class periods for the exams so he had to stay in this stupid hellhole even longer. Asahi rubbed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose, starting to feel worse than when he first entered the school. He attempted to discretely take in a light sniffle, but even the slightest inhale gave him the spotlight of the classroom. His nose was filled up with so much phlegm that it made a gurgling sound if he even attempted to breathe out of his nose. The room was so quiet that it felt like you could hear a feather drop. Asahi pinched his nostrils shut, feeling a familiar undesired itching sensation return. He tried to make as little movements as possible, as to not attract the attention of other students trying to work on their exams, but mainly so that he didn’t disturb Kaede. Despite his pinched nostrils, the itching still decided to wiggle its’ way under his fingers; his left eye began to twitch awkwardly from the sensation, and a stifled hitch barely escaped his grasp. Sick tears welled up on his eyelids and blurred his vision to the point where he decided to just close his eyes completely. He brought up a trembling hand to cup his mouth in order to muffle his now soft hitches. “HhHngh… Iihhehh…? HhHIEH-! Nnngg…” A few of the students that sat in the desks around Asahi gave him dirty looks, but he couldn’t see them. He was in his own little bubble just trying to figure out whether he should just release the sneezes or just quench the itching back down to a tolerable place.

Kaede took a look at his suffering best friend, only to see his head tilted so far back that his chin was perpendicular to the white board, with his nose and mouth squeezed so tight he’s sure that if he squeezed any harder his face would tear off. The hazel-eyed teen reached into his pocket again and placed the pre-opened tissue pack onto his desk, giving three quick taps on his right shoulder before resuming his exam. The three gentle taps on his shoulder caused Asahi to jolt in his seat from the unexpected touch, making him lose his concentration on quenching the itch. The sensation erupted like a dam breaking, forcing Asahi to jerk into his partially cupped hands over his desk. “KSHHNXGT! Huh’kgxsht! Hekshhn-ktsshuhh! Hh-hhuhHHh-!” Asahi could feel his own cheeks turning a dark red as the class shifted their attention to him and irritably blessed him, waiting for him to finish what he’d started. He knew how awkward he must’ve looked and sounded while he was trying to relieve himself of this pestering itch, but he couldn’t help it. He knew this feeling. He still needed to sneeze even though he had already finished his quad. Why the hhheelll d-do I stil— “EGSHUH!! Hegshh-Eksshh-Keshhuh!” He took a moment to collect himself ignoring all of the blessings, still trying to wrap his aching head around what the hell just happened.

“Bless you, Asahi.” Kaede’s whisper cut through all of the embarrassment and self-pity he had to offer. Asahi couldn’t help but pry open an eye to look at the angel himself. Kaede gave him a smile so warm Asahi could’ve sworn he would’ve melted if they weren’t sitting by the cold window. “Are you feeling alright?” He mouthed the words this time, discretely, seeing how Mr. Yamamoto was already becoming restless from Asahi’s outburst. The brown-eyed teen slowly nodded, as he grabbed a handful of tissues from the pack and emptying out all of the phlegm he was storing in his nostrils, not caring about the opinions of others anymore. “Nngxt! Hh… Hngt!” He successfully stifles the double into his soaked tissues, still feeling a tickle lurking in his nostrils. He balls up the tissues and sets them at the corner of his desk and promptly grabs for the rest of the tissues that were in the travel pack, but before he can open up the tissues correctly, he violently dips forward into a cupped hand. “NNGXT’shuh!” Of course. The third. “God bless you.” The teen says, hazel eyes still locked onto his own exam. This time Kaede was the only one that blessed him; It made him feel soft inside, having a special ‘God bless you’ for all to hear. Asahi furrows a brow at his best friend. Normally he would’ve been the first one finished with his exam, but three other students had already finished ahead of him, and probably a fourth one was on the way. I wonder… Asahi blew his nose once again, still feeling a lingering tickle in the back of his sinuses.  Why the hell do I still need to goddamn sneeze for? He wondered, feeling very agitated with his ticklish nose. “10 more minutes everyone!” Announced the math instructor, “I repeat, 10 more minutes!” Asahi instantly picked up his pencil and quickly began circling random letters and filling in random bubbles all over the scantron; Anything to at least get a grade above a zero.

[if-i-want-to-dance]

Dance with Devils Headcanons for the boys dating a girl who is very knowledgeable about death and other morbid subjects and not shy about sharing that information

Just a little warning here: I’m not steering away from including stuff about morbid, dark stuff in this post. Like, details of what happens to your corpse when your body is cremated/mentions of the story of Elena de Hoyos and Carl Tanzler/predation by pets after death are some of the nastier ones, but that’s not all. Just please consider yourself warned because I kind of don’t want to freak out anyone who’s sensitive to this kind of stuff. That’s honestly not my intention here, so please just consider yourselves warned.

By the way, I got a lot of the stuff here from the youtube channel “Ask a Mortician”. An awesome channel if you like information about death/funerals/body preservation.

Rem

-Doesn’t know what to make of it at first.

“I’m sorry, the Cadaver Synod? I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh! It’s when Pope Stephen VI dug up the corpse of a former pope and put his body on trial for perjury and ascending the papacy illegally. He supposedly cut off some of the cadaver’s fingers before disposing of the body.”

“...”

-He grows used to it slowly.

-Eventually, he privately enjoys watching people react to your collection of creepy facts when you work them in. Not that he will ever admit to this.

-He’s not really into it, but whatever makes you happy. That’s not to say that some of the things you say don’t make him curious... or just a little concerned for the state of the human race. Just a little.

-Plus, you’re adorable when you start babbling about something that makes you so excited.

“You know how I was telling you about those methods of body preservation the other day, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did I mention that a scientist used them to preserve a woman’s body and keep it in his house for seven years? And all the while he was replacing her body parts because she was decaying. I was just reading a book about it.”

“...”

-But you do worry him a little sometimes. Just a little.

Urie

-On one hand, he finds your fascination kind of cute. Humans are so interested in their ultimate demise.

-Thinks that Gothic Lolita (or a more Victorian Gothic look) would suit you and isn’t shy about encouraging you to dress like that.

-On the other hand, he’s not huge on thinking about death in general, he’d rather just enjoy the moment, so you definitely can creep him out, though, if you know what to say.

-“So in the first ten minutes of cremation, if the body’s muscle isn’t too decomposed, it can contract and the corpse can clench its fists, and its arms might bend. After about twenty minutes, the soft tissue is pretty much all burned off the face, except for the cheeks. The ribs start to show, and in the thoracic and the abdominal areas liquid might spray - “

“B-Butterfly! Not that this isn’t interesting, but have you seen the roses over here?”

Mage

-Honestly, he’s the one who gets really creeped out the most.

- “You know, pets have been known to eat people if they become paralyzed or die and the pets can’t get out! Dogs will even stress eat their owner’s corpse!”

“WHAT?”

-He doesn’t understand you at all. Humans are supposed to be afraid of death, not think it’s cool!

-Once he gets used to it, he’s fine with it. It takes a while, though. Your interests creep him out, but whatever makes you happy.

-You collect skeletons? Cool! Wait, is that a drinking cup made out of a skull? Um... also cool!

-He doesn’t understand at all, but whatever makes you happy.

Shiki

-What? You like death and destruction? He likes death and destruction too! What a coincidence!

-A skeleton collection? You’re his perfect mate.

-Picnics in a graveyard? Yes please. You have them on a semi-regular basis.

-Morbid/gory TV shows? Yes. Yes. Yes. So much yes.

-He tells you about some of the ways that he’s killed/tortured enemies in the past (though he starts out by framing them as just stories he’s heard until you know what he is). You’re so chill with death and things like that... but how far does your fascination go? He will push and push and try to really scare and horrify you.

-He loves you. You are his perfect mate. You two will be together until the end of time.

Lindo

-Thinks it’s weird, but indulges you because he finds it funny, if a little creepy sometimes.

-Indulges you with a picnic in a graveyard, if that’s your thing.

-Doesn’t really react to your morbid fact collection unless you say something really, really sickening.

- “Did you know an average of two people a year die from having a vending machine fall on them?”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

-He shows interest in it, and will ask how you want to die and what you want done with your body. Partially because he’s making conversation, and partially so he knows. Just in case.

-While he does enjoy your macabre conversations, he also tries to make sure that they don’t go too far with other people who aren’t used to your interests.

“Hey! Did you know that a corpse can eject a fetus after death?”

“That’s enough, time to go...”

Roen

-*sees ravens* “You know, they say ravens carry the souls of the dead to the afterlife...”

“Really? What curious things you humans think up.”

-Though seriously, he’s probably the coolest with it after Shiki. He thinks it’s kind of cute. The humans come up with such strange, morbid ideas... if they only knew the whole truth.

-Gothic lolita. Just... gothic lolita. Whether he says he likes it or not, he does. He thinks it suits you and that you look lovely in it.

-You both end up reading Edgar Allen Poe together at some point.

“A heart under the floorboards? Honestly, why would you hide a heart there?”

“Speaking of disembodied hearts, did you know that Mary Shelley kept her husband’s calcified heart wrapped up in one of his love poems for her whole life?”

[onenightandgone]

Mind’s Eye - Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight KaixReaderxSehun Mutant!AU

The phones in the office ringed intermittently while staff members rushed about with files and coffee.

Dr. Bill looked closely at the large monitor. His glasses pinched and held on to the end of his nose precariously as he studied the screen.

A full human-sized pattern was spread in front of him. It looked very much like someone had shaped electrical wire into the silhouette of a body. The details would be lost to the uneducated.

‘There! Zoom in there!’ He pointed at a spot at the base of the skull.

The technologist nodded and pressed a button on the keyboard. A detailed tangle of nerves and tiny organs spread out on the screen.

‘What is that?’ said Breanne Kratz. She peered at the screen over his shoulder. Her arms were crossed over her chest self-importantly.

‘A normal individual scan would present only the stem and cerebellum in this area, however this –‘ Dr. Bill drew a wide imaginary circle around a folded mass of tissue beneath the cerebellum. ‘This is an organ we created during our genetic mapping phase. This is the source of her projection.’

‘That screaming, angry thing in the inpatient wing?’

Dr. Bill nodded.

‘Although to be honest, he didn’t come out exactly the way we had written the genome,’ he confessed.

‘And how was the projection supposed to be written?’ Breanne asked.

‘It was supposed to have the ability to manipulate the air around it, but this one – this one is different. The way he just appeared in the scanning room like that, the sci-fi geeks will go nuts if this gets out.’

‘What do you mean he just appeared? Like he rushed through the door? Please – elaborate like the scientific genius that I hired you to be,’ Breanne said harshly. Her patience wore thin.

‘It literally just appeared. I’m afraid the only modern term for it is teleportation,’ Dr. Bill said.

‘So how are we containing it?’

‘Sedation. Enough for him to be conscious when we need him to, but nothing else.’

Still in the protection of your mind, Sehun held you until you woke up. He combed through your hair as you started to come to.

You were covered by a thick wool blanket, heated by the long body that wrapped itself around you.

You waited to be sure. No, the pain was gone. The clouds covering the cavernous ceiling floated gray and innocent.

‘How are you feeling?’ said Sehun. He turned your face to look at him.

‘Better,’ you said with a nod. You pulled the blanket more securely over your shoulders.

‘Good,’ he said.

Suddenly his arms clenched tightly around you like a vice, cupping your chin firmly and forcing your focus to stay back on him.

‘Now don’t you ever pull anything like that again!’

‘What?’

‘Kai told me everything,’ Sehun said. His eyebrows solidified into a straight line. ‘You had the chance to get out and to save yourself, but you didn’t! Why – I can’t even comprehend what you were thinking.’

Your cheeks turned red at being spoken to so harshly. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes.

‘You don’t see it,’ you said. A heavy weight choked your throat even when you swallowed hard to try to get rid of it. ‘I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.’

‘You’re the one that doesn’t see it,’ insisted Sehun in a quiet tone. ‘I couldn’t live at all if not for you. You’re the reason I exist.’

Sehun softened to see your expression, the pad of his thumb caressing half-moons on your cheek tenderly.

‘You’re the reason that I would choose to continue existing. No, you don’t see it,’ he said with a sad smile.

‘I see you,’ you tried.

Sehun shook his head. He lowered his forehead against yours, momentarily closing his eyes. After a brief pause, he spoke once more.

‘You don’t see my heart,’ he said slowly. He took your hand and placed it with open palm over his chest, holding it to his body. ‘You mean so much to me. You could easily have spent all your time with Kai from the beginning. You could have forgotten about me, but you didn’t. You talked to me, you taught me to laugh and to love. You’ve been there for every part of my life, and that’s why – that’s why I love you with everything that I am.’

The tears that threatened your calm finally spilled over, and the dam that held it all back finally broke. The wall that you had so diligently constructed around yourself came crumbling down.

Your voice came in a whisper, shaking as you started to cry. ‘E-even after what I did?’

Sehun smiled. His thumb wiped away what tears he could, but he was vastly outnumbered. He nodded slowly.

‘Even after,’ he said quietly.

His heartbeat steadily under your palm, and you were drowning in everything that Sehun was. The tenderness and open emotion that he showed overwhelmed you and stole the words from your throat.

You did the next best thing. Reaching behind his ears, you guided Sehun down to meet your lips.

He responded with eager affection and pushed forward in perseverance.

You felt the softness of his mouth, the heat he blew forward as he breathed, the rich smell of warm spice and honey that his skin produced, the way his lips pushed against yours with a tender sweetness that became the air you needed, like medicine for your soul. He was Sehun and he was yours.

You wanted to stay, you wanted to be in Sehun’s arms always, to lie in the valley of his chest, the cradle of his legs. You wanted to listen to his heartbeat for the rest of your life.

Sehun broke away from the kiss as if he had just shared a secret. A soft smile decorated his features flawlessly. His fingertips played lightly on your cheek.

‘You’re perfect,’ he said, airy and rich simultaneously.

Sehun closed his eyes and rested his forehead on yours. His touch wandered down your face, memorizing you.

But something wasn’t perfect. It ate and grated at the back of your mind and clutched at your heart.

The tears streamed from your eyes as you ripped yourself away from him.

‘Sehun,’ you whispered.

Sehun opened his eyes slowly and smiled as he looked at you, waiting for you to continue.

‘I love you,’ you started.

He nodded and came in for another kiss, a tear of his own making an appearance.

You reached up to wipe it away.

‘I love you, but –‘

‘No,’ Sehun interrupted. ‘No buts, please just let me have this.’

‘But I can’t stay. I think – I think they have Kai and I have to make sure he’s okay,’ you said. Your lip trembled as you spoke.

Sehun shook his head and collapsed into your shoulder.

‘You know that it’s the right thing to do,’ you said. You struggled with the words. ‘I can’t leave him there alone. God knows what they’ll do to him.’

‘Just – just one more minute,’ he negotiated. He wrapped around you again, breathing deeply.

You kissed the top of his head, running your fingers through his hair and stroking his back.

With a deep unsteady breath in, Sehun finally stood and helped you to your feet. He took you by the shoulders and looked down at you. The soft gentle smile was gone, replaced by a look of hidden anger. A ferocity that you had never before seen burned from his eyes.

‘Promise me that after you find him you’ll still love me,’ he said, his voice low and burdened with unspoken feeling.

His thumb brushed your chin.

‘I’ll always love you,’ you said.

Sehun leaned down quickly to kiss you once more, his movements urgent. You choked back a sob as he pulled away, closing your eyes to find the right words.

‘But I can’t leave Kai to be tortured. He’s part of me too, and I – I need him too,’ you said.

The blow had been dealt.

‘Go,’ Sehun said. He took a long step back from you, his hands falling to his sides uncomfortably. He wanted to touch you, to have his arms around you – the pain of longing was obvious in his face.

The tears fell even more copiously as you looked at Sehun one last time before closing your eyes and choosing to leave the safety of yourself.

When your eyes opened – your real eyes – you were back in the room at the lab.

The IV had been removed from your arm, and a fresh set of clothes sat folded at the foot of your bed.

You dragged yourself up to sitting, your muscles screaming from the rough treatment that had been given them. Despite the complaint of your body, you eagerly traded the crepe like hospital gown for the plain cotton pyjamas. It look you much longer to change than it normally would, but when you sank into the chair by the window with some comfort, the effort paid off. It was a small measure of comfort, but better than nothing.

Outside the window you saw a large garden surrounded by high brick walls. Low clouds rolled in over the distant horizon, but there were no other buildings in sight. You weren’t in the city anymore.

You were trying to figure out your location still when the door to your room opened and the attendant entered. She held a tray of food consisting of small dishes and a pot of tea. She smiled as she set it down on the rolling table that helped to furnish your sparse room.

‘You must be hungry,’ she said. Her smile was friendly, and you wanted to believe that she was approachable. But still, she was employed by the lab, and it was with great personal reserve that you first spoke.

‘Can I ask you something?’ The words left your mouth; you swallowed all thoughts of Sehun. You couldn’t afford to be distracted. There was too much at stake.

‘Of course you can,’ the attendant said. She poured the tea into a plastic mug. ‘I’ll do my best to answer whatever I can. I know that yesterday was rough, but you’re a survivor.’

‘Do – do they have him?’ Your voice shook with the concern of perhaps putting Kai in even more danger by acknowledging your relationship to him.

‘Him? Doesn’t he have a name?’ The attendant pried carefully.

‘So that’s a yes,’ you said. ‘Can I see him?’

She put down the teapot and stood straight.

‘I can’t give you an answer right now, I’m sorry. Unfortunately that’s not my decision. What I can do is ask my supervisors, and we’ll see what we can do about arranging a visit, ok?’ She did her best to end the topic on a positive note before stepping towards the door. ‘Eat up and I’ll be back soon, ok?’

The attendant left without another word. The lock clicked behind her, and her footsteps faded down the corridor.

You took a deep breath as a rolling nausea overtook your stomach. What had they done to him? You wanted Kai, you wanted him with every fibre. You needed to know that he was safe. You needed to be with him. You wouldn’t be okay until you were. Nothing was okay.

Somehow the world kept turning and spinning without you, knocking everything out of your hands and beyond your control.

You stood carefully and examined the breakfast tray. You surveyed it with skepticism – the two pieces of toast, oatmeal, and half an orange. You grabbed the cup of tea instead and settled back by the window.

You drank slowly and looked out over the garden. You watched the comings and goings, even though there wasn’t much to look at other than the hired landscapers. That Breanne woman made a brief appearance with a tiny brown dog on an equally tiny leash. You watched it bark at the workers; they laughed at its attempt to threaten them.

Your entertainment was ruined by a sudden knocking on your door. The lock clicked open; Dr. Bill stepped inside. He held the door ajar behind him.

‘Oh, you’re awake. How nice,’ he said. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. ‘We were very pleased with the progress you’ve shown in the tests we did yesterday, very promising. So we brought you a small reward. Angela?’

Dr. Bill pulled the door wide open and held it there.

Angela pushed in a large wheelchair, and you gasped to see what it carried.

You covered your mouth.

Kai sat strapped into it, an IV drip dragging behind him. His arms and legs were strapped to the frame tightly, the IV hooked into the vein at his elbow. His head lolled to the side against the headrest, his mouth open and eyes closed.

You stood quickly with your fists clenched.

‘What did you do to him?’ you said. You tried to hide the tremble in your voice.

‘Just a mild sedation to keep him calm,’ Dr. Bill said. ‘We’ll leave him here with you for the afternoon. Have a nice visit.’

Angela and he left without another word, the lock clicking shut again.

Your calm broke as you were left alone with your thoughts and with Kai. You choked on the sob in your throat, taking a step towards him hesitantly. What else had they done to him?

Your hands floated over the binding that locked him in place before settling on the bare skin of his forearm. He was still warm. The images of how he held you, his brilliant heat as the limb braced beside you as he hovered over you flashed vividly. You could still hear the soft breaths of his sleep, the gentle ruffle of his fingers in your hair as Kai held you over his heart.

You swallowed most of the overwhelming tears as you took in his current state, very much opposite to the fiery, unpredictable Kai that you had come to love.

Now he was nearly comatose, helpless. He had been dressed in a paper-thin gown exactly like the one you had been given when you first came to. The mock cotton barely covered his broad frame, and your stomach turned to think of strange hands undressing him.

You sniffled and stepped around to his face. His eyes closed gently in a feigned sense of peace. You reached to wipe the wide stream of saliva that had fallen down from his open lips.

‘Kai,’ you whispered. ‘Wake up.’

You outlined the wide cheekbones, the carved marble of his forehead. You brushed back the messy tangle of unwashed white hair. You leaned down slowly, your abdomen complaining at the strain, and laid a tender kiss on his cheek.

‘Please, please wake up,’ you pleaded. ‘I’m here now, it’s ok.’ You found yourself repeating the words that Sehun had comforted you with only hours ago.

Kai stirred slowly, he moved his face against the feather-soft touch of your hand, seeking you in the darkness. His eyes opened and struggled to focus. Kai mumbled, slurring over the syllables of your name.

‘I’m here,’ you said. A single tear escaped. ‘I’m here, Kai.’

Finally his eyes seemed to adjust to the sudden brightness of the room and he held his head straight. The puzzle still remained in his expression as he tried to reconcile you with his location.

‘D-did I save you?’ His eyebrows furrowed as he gazed up at you, still fighting off the haze of the drugs. Not knowing that they would never fade.

The same lump in your throat croaked out, a tear trickling down your face again. You were so tired of crying, and you needed to be brave for Kai; you fought it off as best as you could.

‘No, not yet,’ you said softly. You tried to smile. ‘But I know you will.’

Kai took a deep breath. You combed through his hair tenderly, taking his needle-free hand.

‘Wh-what happened?’ Kai looked down as he tried to reach for you and found himself unable to. ‘Where are we? NO! What is this? LET ME GO!’ He fought against the restraints with all of his might, twisting and struggling; but they were restraints for a reason and, after a few moments, Kai lost his battle handily.

‘No, no, please!’ you pleaded again. You quickly moved to cup his chin in your hands, and you brought his gaze up to yours. ‘Don’t, don’t fight, ok? They’ll only put you to sleep again. Please, you have to stay awake for me. I – I need you.’

More tears escaped, and this time Kai saw them.

‘They – they were hurting you,’ he said. ‘And I tried – I tried to stop them!’ Kai’s words all ran together, his feelings catching up as he found himself with nowhere to go. ‘I tried-’

Kai closed his eyes and leaned his head against your hands.

‘I know, I know,’ you said softly, your thumb running gentle circles over his skin. ‘It’s going to be okay. We’re going to figure this out.’

He raised his eyes again, looking at you in a blur, but meeting your wrist with his lips. His breath shook as he let it out, and the sedatives began to take their effect again.

‘Y/N,’ he whispered lowly. His head lolled like a ragdoll against your hand. The drugs forced his eyelids closed under their weight.

‘I’m here, it’s okay.’

‘Y/N.’ Kai tried to lift his head again, trying to fight off the slow drip of the sleep-inducing cocktail in his veins. ‘Kiss me while I can still – while I can still remember.’

You nodded, blinking back emotion and the sharp sting of tears. You leaned down slowly and pressed your lips to his. Kai responded weakly, losing the battle to hold his head straight, and he slumped to the side as you pulled away.

‘I love you…’ Kai breathed out the words as he was finally lost to the chemical darkness once more.

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Four (B) | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine

[tearoomsaloon]

s/o to @lariren-shadow for helping to cultivate this idea!

here you are, a twisted soulmate au snippet

It begins with a subconscious, knowing panic. His bare palm against the skin of her shoulder is searing. Pain burns down through her muscles and to her bones, as if a needle is carving strokes into the hardened tissue. It takes all of her strength to twist her body away, and she, dazed, finds his face a perplexed portrait. His aim had been to startle in a fight, not to maim.

She bolts, back into the trees, into the underbrush, towards the fleet and far from the wide-eyed stare gouging holes into the back of her skull. With purpose, she scrambles up the gangway of the Falcon and screams incoherent directions to Chewbacca, voice cracking, vocal chords fraying. She can hear the anxiety in her own timbre and feel the dull, fire-bitten throb of her fresh burn.

The General’s expression is grave when she inspects the charred wound on Rey’s shoulder. The look makes her stomach sink, makes her limbs numb and her throat cold.

“I feel responsible it’s turned out this way,” Leia says, folding her hands behind her back. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle.”

She thinks she knows the answer, the mystery the General is talking around. “The middle of what?”

“You’re wearing my son’s mark. I recognize the pattern.” She frowns, glances away, her eyes down. “The curves and lines are too delicate for what he’s become.”

Her eyes dart to the puffy redness coated in bacta. A soul mark.

Dizzy, she tries her best not to pass out.

It takes a week for her skin to stop feeling taut and stretched. When she showers, her fingers find themselves lingering over the raised flesh. It is beautiful, she thinks, in a sick, disturbing way. The pattern of it is sloping and gentle, elegant, regal. She disgusts herself with these lines of thought.

Almost a month passes before he reappears. Drawn up in his black robes, he is like a carrion bird, his vast wings spilling feathers as he strides calmly to her from the mouth of chaos. She is immobilized by the sight of him, by the heavy, pressing nature of his presence. He regards her behind his mask and she is frozen.

“If you come without a fight,” he says through his affected voice, “no harm will come to anyone at this base.”

She can think of no alternative that does not end in bloodshed. “Do you promise?”

“I promise. Come.”

Like a marionette pulled on strings, she follows.

He studies her carefully when she is brought to his quarters. His eyes, she notices, are not quite brown. They are wide, however, and they drag across her body when he circles like a shark.

“You are meant for me.” His tone is soft and it drifts like the tide. “All this time.”

“You were just the first to mark me,” she spits.

“That’s not how this works.”

She makes to fold her arms but they remain at her side like steel poles. He has commanded her to stay put and her body will not move on her own will.

“Sit,” he says, “relax a little.”

Angrily, she is forced to do as she is told, flopping graceless onto a seemingly bottomless sofa.

“Do you believe in the old tales of soulmates?”

“No.”

“What about romance.”

“With you?” She barks a laugh, mad as a hyena.

“Pity.”

He tips up her chin with a bare finger. A tingling warmth flickers across her skin like the heat of a bonfire, like a jolt of electricity, making the hair on her arms stand on end. She feels subdued as she studies the depths of his honey-amber eyes.

“I have faith in both of those things. And soon, you will too.” He brushes by, cloak fluttering like wings behind his step. “Rest easy tonight, you’ll need strength in the morning.”

When he exits the room, she curls deeper into the cushions, hugging one to her frame, mind free of his commands. A combination of dread and curiosity fill up her head. Her fingers linger absently to the raised brand on her skin, tracing the weaving pattern of his insignia, his mark, his claim.