#how the fuck am i still alive to this day

[witherby]

Sooooooo excited for a SickBed Part 2 for Mouse!!!! also i’m literally obsessed with your writing - i check for updates on any of ur series like all the time!! 💞💞

That's so sweet to hear! Have something considerably less sweet! Chef's been craving some serious angst for days 😈

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 2

Part one is Here!

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Content warning: Young sick child, descriptions of a seizure, descriptions of a hospital environment ⚠️

You're transported to the hospital after receiving several doses of anti-seizure medication for monitoring and tests. Unless he'd wanted to risk giving away their secret identities, Bruce has to act like he doesn't have access to an entire medical bay in the cave under his house, and lets them take you. Hal gets in the back of the ambulance and Bruce remains behind with his sons, shuffling tiredly into the kitchen and looking like the world is on his shoulders. It's rare that he wears his exhaustion so brazenly.

"They're stable," he announces to the room. Several pairs of shoulders un-tense, and Alfred offers him a mug of hot chocolate. His fingers curl around the handle, but he settles for cradling it while staring down into the liquid. "You can all go back to bed."

"Fuck off," Jason says, "you think any of us can go back to sleep after that?"

"Language," Alfred gently chides. "Master Bruce is right. There is little else we can do for the evening. Our young Flittermouse is in good hands, and Master Harold will alert us to any significant changes, if there are any."

"And Dick," Tim says. He's drained his cup. Bruce gives Tim his, and he takes it to keep his hands busy. "He texted me back. He's gonna meet Hal at Gotham Central."

"Thank you for telling him," Bruce says. He turns to Damian, who hasn't looked away from his own cup. "Damian? How are you fairing?"

"Fine," he says too quickly. He grimaces and tries again. "I am just fine. Merely surprised the illness turned this bad."

Surprised is the understatement of the century. You're alive, you're in good hands, but he can't get the image of you foaming out the mouth and jerking uncontrollably out of his mind. He can't stop hearing you choking and gasping for oxygen. He can't stop thinking about how you might be dead right now if he hadn't listened to his gut and checked on you.

You might be dead right now if he hadn't checked on you. Surrounded by a family of vigilantes who had been none the wiser.

"I want to go to the hospital," he says suddenly. "I know you won't permit me to drive, so someone else needs to take me there. Now, preferably."

Bruce rests a hand on Damian's shoulder. "You did your part, son. You got help and they're gonna be okay. You don't have to —"

"I'm sorry," Damian says, "I don't know why I phrased it like a request. I need to get to the hospital, so I can either be driven there or find my own way."

There's silence for a minute. Damian sits still while wordless conversation is exchanged with everyone else at the table. For a brief moment, he feels like the baby of the family again.

He almost would have reclaimed that title if he hadn't found you —

A hairline crack appears in his mug. He stands from his seat and Bruce's grip on his shoulder briefly gets tighter.

"I'll take you," Bruce says. "Pack a Go Bag and meet me in the driveway in ten minutes."

"I'll be there in four," Damian replies, heading off. He fetches a change of clothes, his sketchbook, a phone charger, and swings by your room to grab the plush bat you sleep with in your bed.

--

Dick is sitting in a stiff plastic chair in the emergency room lobby, dressed in a thick hoodie, sweats, and a baseball cap to avoid getting any excessive attention at three in the morning. He won't stop chewing on his thumbnail when Damian walks in and kicks his leg.

"Report," he demands.

"Hello to you, too, baby bird," Dick mumbles. He tips his head up just enough to be able to make eye contact under the lip of his hat.

"I'm growing very tired of repeating myself in this family," Damian hisses. Dick sits up fully at that and sighs.

"They stopped seizing," he explains. "Haven't woken up yet, so they're in an observation room getting some blood drawn and being prepped for an MRI. Only one family member's allowed back at a time, so Hal is with them."

"Tell him to switch me places," Damian demands. "I don't have his number."

"You're gonna put it in your contacts after this," Dick says. A statement, not a question. Damian nods solemnly. "Good. I'll text him."

Damian sinks into the chair beside Dick and sets his bag on the ground, digging out his cellphone. He takes a peek at the group chat he's in with his brothers, scrolling through more recent messages talking about your upcoming birthday, and whether or not you're turning old enough to get a cellphone of your own. Bruce insists a seven-year-old will not need one, but everyone has been collaborating on a PowerPoint presentation to show Bruce all the points in favor of it.

All of Dick's points have just been "I can ask for selfies any time," and all of Jason's have just been "I'll finally have a reason to use my own if I can call Mousey whenever I want," so it's largely been Damian and Tim coming up with points that might actually sway Bruce.

He scrolls further back in the chat history in lieu of anything else to do, stopping to look at any pictures each brother has exchanged. A new book series Jason took interest in. An article about high tension wires Tim shared. Lots and lots of selfies from Dick. God, his eldest brother's picture should be in the dictionary next to Vanity. An article featuring Dick on the cover of Vanity Fair.

He's about to close out of the chat when he spots a picture Jason sent about two weeks ago of you. You're outside in the Manor gardens and clearly asleep in a patch of sunflowers, likely having worn yourself out playing. The sky in the background is clear for once, and the sun is just starting to set, which means the flowers are starting to turn to the next brightest source of light.

They're all facing you.

The framing is impeccable. It's a beautifully-captured, candid moment, likely taken seconds before Jason descended and woke you up with a surprise tickle ambush, as he tends to do when he finds any sibling napping somewhere, the bastard.

Damian makes it his lock screen, then pockets his phone and waits there in silence with his brother.

--

You're sleeping when Damian finally gets to see you again. Hal relented to switching places with him, knowing he would find his way to you regardless of his answer, so he didn't put up any fight.

He stands quietly in the observation room the entire two hours it takes to run all your scans, then follows the nurses as you're wheeled into a room and hooked up to some fluids and a heart rate monitor. They tell him that you're not likely to wake for at least a few more hours, but he's adamant that he's to stay at your side.

When he's alone, he snags your charts and looks them over, using his limited medical knowledge to glean as much as he can from the report. As far as he can tell your brain is fine, which is the biggest relief, but he's still going to grab a nurse and make them explain the parts he doesn't understand to him so that he can get the whole picture.

Damian digs your bat plushy out of his bag and gingerly tucks it under one of your arms. Your skin is pale and clammy when he makes contact with it, and he scowls.

"If you get any worse, I'll be livid," he tells your unconscious body. "Stop scaring your family. It's unbecoming of a Wayne."

You, understandably, don't respond. Damian watches your chest move smoothly up and down, watches the monitor display your heart rate, but he still keeps a hand around your wrist to track himself. The tangible proof of life helps settle the deep anxiety in his chest.

"I mean it," he mutters, "if you develop some kind of complication, or seize again, or d —"

He grits his teeth and shoves away the surge of panic that threatens to overwhelm him. Breathes slowly and deeply. Moves his hand from your wrist to lace your fingers together with his, squeezing tightly.

"The thought should never have crossed my mind. You simply have to get better," he says, factual. "You don't have a choice, even if I have to give up my mantle to...hnn."

Damian falls silent as he looks at you. An idea forms in his mind, blooming quickly. Roots take shape and travel down his spine, until they find a home in his chest and curl around his heart. He's hit with a wave of certainty he's never felt before in his life.

He messages the group chat with his brothers, sending a singular text, then digs out his sketchbook and a pen with one hand while he continues to hold onto yours.

Damian to All: I want to go to medical school.

--

You awaken with a massive headache. It's bright and hot and you're terribly dizzy. You're confused, knowing you went to sleep last night in your large, dark bedroom, with silky sheets and your stuffy, but now you're lying in a tiny cot with one scratchy sheet and being blinded by the overhead light.

"Daddy," you try to call out, but your throat is hoarse and you start coughing. It feels like you've swallowed a box of knives. Something squeezes your hand and you feel a palm against your forehead. "D-...D..."

"You're safe. Breathe as slowly as you can. I'm going to sit the bed up."

The voice is familiar. You squint blearily in the light and can just barely make out your brother's face.

"D-Dami?" You croak, wheezing for breath.

"Yes, Flit, it's me," he says. Once you're more or less upright, he briefly leans across you. "Pardon the reach. I'm going to put a cup of water in your free hand. Drink it very slowly."

You fumble with the cup. Damian helps you hold it, and you take small sips. It doesn't soothe the stinging in your throat, but he looks so uncharacteristically worried for you that you just keep drinking the water until it's empty.

"How do you feel?" He asks.

"Bad," you mumble. "Where are we?"

"Gotham Central Hospital." Damian puts the empty cup aside and sits down in the chair next to your bed. He still hasn't let go of your hand. "Your illness took a bad turn, and you had a seizure last night. Doctors brought you here to make you better."

"Oh. Am I better now?"

"Not yet." Damian grabs the clipboard with your information on it and glances over it again. "We know that you have severe viral pneumonia, but it's not lobar or interstitial like I thought. I suspect your seizure isn't part of the original problem, just a manifestation...of...um."

Damian stops talking when he notices your confusion. You scrunch your nose and give him a helpless frown.

"I don't know what that means," you say softly. You look absolutely devastated. "Am I gonna die?"

Damian's heart leaps into his throat. He squeezes your hand almost painfully tight and stands from his chair, leaning over you with wide eyes. The green in his irises almost seem to flash, like Jason's when he's extremely angry.

"No," he says fiercely, saying your name with a shakiness you've never heard before. "You will not die. I won't let it come to that."

You stare back at him, sniffling.

"Promise?"

"I promise. I swear it."

You relax a little. "Okay. I trust you, Dami."

Your brother's face does a strange twist. It looks like his eyes start to get shiny, but he leans down and rests his head against your shoulder before you can really find out. He smells like home, instead of the weird, chemically-clean scent of the hospital room, which is comforting.

His arms come around you in a gentle hug. You lift your hands and reciprocate as best as you can, limbs feeling like jelly. It's nice. Damian doesn't hug you very often, so you do your best to savor it. When he pulls away, his expression is carefully neutral and closed off again. He sits back down and resumes holding your hand.

"Father and Timothy are in the waiting room, if you'd like to see them," he says, checking his phone. His notifications have been flooded with questions from his brothers (and demands for pictures from Dick, for some reason. You're sick, not posing for a photoshoot). He brings up his dial pad, ready to call whomever you want.

"Yeah," you nod, desperate for comfort from more of your family. You don't like the bright hospital room. You hope having more people around will make it less eerie.

Damian rings Bruce without fanfare and tells him your room number, then hangs up again. He goes to stand, about to leave the room, but you tighten your grip on his hand before he can slip away.

"Stay?" You ask quietly.

He sits back down instantly, brows raised. You don't spend much time with Damian, considerably less than you do with your other brothers, but he seems taken aback by you seeming to enjoy his company just as much as the others'.

"Yes," he says, voice whisper-soft, "I'll stay with you."

You give him a tired smile. Then your ears start ringing and your vision whites out. The last thing you hear before losing consciousness is Damian's frantic cry of your name.

[drdemonprince]

im really envious of u. I like reading your writing and the stories you tell about sex and stuff and it sounds like u have a lot of fun. I don’t no if I will ever be able to live like that. im autistic and very inhibited is probably the best word. I find it hard to meet new people and go new places. a few times I have gone to local munches but been too introverted to say anything to people and I just sit there feeling self conscious and silly. they have been really nice. but I haven’t made any friends or anything. I feel like I need someone to take me under their wing kinda and give me an in. It seems like I’d really enjoy it a lot but don’t no how to make my way in. I don’t feel confident enough to just use apps and hook up. especially as im so new to it all and dont no what im doing really. I’ve read what you say about going to the social gatherings and stuff but what if im too shy to say anything? I don’t no how to be more uninhibited but I feel like that’s what I need.

please keep in mind that I was not doing any of this shit until I was like 32 years old. up until then I was in only a handful of relationships, mostly ones I had stumbled into through no agency of my own, and I had never really lived out any of my kinky desires. hell I had barely even gone out to a club or a concert or anything on my own, certainly not very often, let alone a sex club or something like that. I had to practice socializing on my own terms, and trying new things alone and scared and finding what was valuable in them despite those feelings a lot. like many many years a lot.

I didn't really venture out into the gay bath house or any of the cruising bars until I had a partner who was interested in taking me to them. that provided me with an in and an emotionally safe anchor with which to explore. I am also indebted to friends who showed me around places like steamworks and explained to me the nonverbals of cruising, which I then went ahead and put in my own cruising guide.

to this day I still have a much better time at events like puppy play night when I go with some homies and can spend some time joking around with them and using their support to help meet people before eventually breaking off and wandering into a back room to get laid. I still routinely have nights where I will go out on my own and do very little but sip from my drink and stand around awkwardly for four hours, maybe dance a bit, and go home.

cruising is an exercise in patience. you are never guaranteed any particular outcome or experience. you work with what nature gives you, and you learn to find some appreciation in simply being there and bearing witness. 9 times out of 10 you get turned down or there just isn't a spark. happens on the apps too.

shooting your shot and getting turned down is a successful consent negotiation. everybody has done everything correctly and it ended the only way that it should have. there's nothing to do but dust yourself off, not take it as some dramatic declaration of your life worth, and go at it again.

I recommend visiting cruising spaces with a friend. and just going purely for voyeuristic and anthropological reasons the first couple times. The only way you become a person who can do this stuff is by doing it, a fuck ton of times. message a lot of people. Go to a lot of events.

at some point you have to find the very act of going to be motivating and enjoyable in some way. thankfully I am fascinated by humans, enjoy dancing, like having a little drink or an edible and wandering around, and treat it all as very valuable writing fodder. you have to find what set of motivations work for you. because it's not about instant success or gratification ever. It is always a lot of waiting and watching and wondering what the night is going to bring, and making peace that often it will bring nothing at all except for being alive amongst others.

keep at it though. start really small. I am so glad that I got to this point, because yeah my life is really interesting and sexually gratifying and fun. but it also is entire weekends of just standing around nursing a drink and doing nothing and looking like an NPC. happens to the best of us

[shizuturnspages]

They say that capitano isn't actually dead his soul if just resting and is just a matter of time until he returns. Bro imagine when the reader leaves and they're probably in another part of snezhnaya or another country and one day while day were just enjoying life they see capitano... At first they thought they were hallucinating until he spoke

Ding-Dong, The Tin Can’s Back

You were living your best life.

Ever since Capitano’s glorious sacrifice, you had been thriving. No more ridiculous training drills at sunrise. No more stern lectures about “discipline” and “proper behaviour.” And most importantly? No more Capitano.

You had escaped the Fatui stronghold and were finally free.

So, there you were, sitting outside a quaint little café in Fontaine, sipping on a ridiculously overpriced tea, minding your damn business.

Then—

A massive shadow loomed over you.

You froze.

A deep, familiar voice rumbled, “… You seem well.”

Your tea cup slipped from your fingers and shattered on the ground.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you turned your head.

And there. Standing in front of you. Clad in that shiny-ass armour. A presence so unmistakable that it sent a shiver down your spine—

CAPITANO.

ALIVE.

Or—undead? A ghost? A hallucination?!

Your brain completely short-circuited. You squinted. Blinked once. Twice.

“… Nope.” You turned back around. “Nope. Not real. I refuse. My life is good. My life is peaceful. My life does NOT include my legally dead war criminal babysitter.”

Capitano did not disappear.

“… Are you ignoring me?” he asked.

You picked up a spoon and stared into the reflection like a lunatic. “I am hallucinating due to prolonged exposure to childhood trauma. It’s not real if I don’t acknowledge it.”

Capitano sighed. That deep, exasperated sigh you thought you’d never have to hear again.

“I see you have not changed.”

Your eye twitched.

Very, very slowly, you turned back toward him and stared.

This was not happening. This was not happening.

Your eye twitched so hard you nearly pulled a muscle.

This had to be a prank. Or a fever dream. Or maybe, just maybe, hell was real, and you were being punished for every time you’d cussed him out.

You grabbed a random bystander. “EXCUSE ME, DO YOU SEE THE SEVEN-FOOT-TALL MURDER MACHINE IN FRONT OF ME?”

The terrified Fontainian nodded furiously.

“Oh, shit.”

"You thought you could escape?"

"I FUCKING DID!"

"You thought I was dead?"

"YOU FUCKING WERE!"

"… Incorrect," he rumbled, stepping closer, "here I am."

You took one deep breath. And then:

"WHY CAN’T YOU JUST STAY DEAD?!"

Capitano said nothing. He just tilted his head.

"Because I have unfinished business."

You pointed aggressively. "YEAH, WELL, FINISH IT SOMEWHERE ELSE!"

But he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

You threw a baguette at his head.

It bounced off his helmet with a sad little ‘bonk.’

Capitano did not react.

Silence.

Then, very calmly, he asked, “… Was that supposed to do something?”

You stood up so fast, your chair fell over. “I—NO—HOW—WHY—”

Your entire body short-circuited. You were 99% sure you were having a stroke.

And then, Capitano delivered the final blow.

“I assume you still remember your combat training. I expect you back at the stronghold by dawn.”

Your soul physically left your body.

You grabbed your bag, turned around, and sprinted into the Fontaine harbour.

Capitano watched as you dove straight into the ocean, disappearing beneath the waves without hesitation.

A Fatui agent hesitantly approached him. “… Sir, should we—?”

“No,” Capitano said. “They will return.”

The agent frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

Capitano tilted his head.

“… They left their wallet.”

And that was the day you became Fontaine’s first-ever international drowning attempt survivor.

[crowsofdarkness]

Fallen: Chapter One

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Fallen Angel! Female Reader.

Content Warnings: language, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: The new Avengers recruit has many secrets, one of which Bucky is desperate to discover.

Authors Note: This is a little AU with Bucky! It will have six chapters! Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Tags: @that-blonde-girl @starfly-nicole @bookofriverr @civilbucky

The silence was deafening, almost hurting my ears, as I sat on the edge of the bed in what had become my new home. The four walls encased me in causing my breath to become heavy and erratic so I did what I always did when I felt like this; walk out to the balcony of my room, letting the fresh air fill my lungs. 

Birds were chirping, the sun warmed my skin, and the lake behind my new home rippled with the wind. Some would call this scenery beautiful, relaxing, and would kill to have a view like this. 

And that was something I had done in order to receive this view. 

I never thought of this as a paradise; this was a prison. 

A sharp pain pierced through my spine and I grasped the railing of my balcony, a hard hiss falling through my lips. I let out deep breaths while I screwed my eyes shut to ease through the pain, something I had done so many times before.

Once the pain had subsided, I slowly opened my eyes and continued to stare out to the scenery below, hoping to cure the growing boredom. I had been living at this compound for a few weeks now and in that time, no one had come to check on how I was doing or if I needed someone to talk to. 

I never did. I was fine by myself. 

They were all too scared of me and what I could do. They all feared that I would turn against them in a second; I wouldn’t. I promised myself that I wouldn’t use my powers against anyone ever again. Ever since that day where I had gone too far and needed to be stopped, I knew that I could never trust myself around anyone. 

Anger radiated through me as I blasted my way towards the hoard of people, not caring if anyone was injured in the process. My mind was overtaken with grief. It had been years since that fateful day but I still couldn’t recover from the loss. The pain of losing her was too much to handle. 

The screams fueled me as I rolled back my shoulders, large, black, wings exploded from my back. A few feathers fell to the ground at my feet and with a quick look around me I could see the fear in everyone’s eyes. 

“The devil is here. We’re all going to die.” 

I merely smirked at the man that crouched at my feet. “I am not the devil but I can’t promise that you won’t make it out alive. Where is Ivan?” 

He shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about!” 

A fire ball appeared in my hand and with the other, I lifted the man up by his shirt. “Don’t make me ask again. Ivan is in charge of the Hydra group that’s hiding in this god forsaken city and I know that everyone here knows where the base is.” 

Bringing the heat closer to the man’s face, I smirked again. “Now, I’m going to ask again; Where the fuck is Ivan?” 

He continued to remain silent so with a shrug, I gripped the man's cheek with the flames and his screams vibrated against the walls surrounding us. The smell of burnt flesh filled my senses and I would be lying if I said that it didn’t bring a small smile to my lips. 

Hissing out in pain, I felt a hard object slam into my left wing, causing me to drop the man onto the concrete. I spun on my heels and came face to face with two people that I knew were on my heels, chasing me through the world. 

“Well, it looks like the Avengers finally caught up to me,” I spoke while picking up the object that hit me. 

Captain America’s shield. 

“You’ve been on the run long enough, Y/N. You need to come with us,” Steve Rogers demanded. 

I raised my brows. “You know my name? Wow, I can’t believe I’m on your radar.” 

He didn’t find my sarcasm as funny as I had. 

The man in the metal suit next to him sighed and lifted his palm to me, a light beam powering up. “Rogers wanted to be the nice guy; hoping some sweet talk will make you come with us. But clearly we have to do this the hard way.” 

I mimicked his hand, fire appearing. “I can do that too, Stark.”

He motioned towards my wings. “Hydra do that to you?” 

“These old things?” I flapped them a few times, creating winds around us. “I’ve had these for centuries.” 

“You need to come with us,” Steve repeated. 

I groaned and closed my palm, the flames disappearing. “Trust me, as much as I love the thought of being detained by Captain America, I’ve got better things to do.” 

“Clearly,” Tony noted while looking at the man who was writhing in pain at my feet. 

I clicked my tongue. “Casualty.” 

The shield clanked at Steve’s feet and when he picked it up, I gave him a wink. “Later boys.” 

Before my wings let me take flight, I felt a hard blow to the back of my head which knocked me to the ground, unconscious. 

With a sigh, I opened my palm and felt heat spread through my veins, flames erupting. They danced along my fingertips as I stared into the bright embers, letting the flames distract me from my thoughts and problems. With a snap, the flame jumped to my other hand and I let the fire ball jump back and forth between my hands, almost as if I had an actual ball in my hands. 

The door next door to me, a large figure stepping onto their own balcony. Within seconds the flames extinguished in my hands when I saw who had stepped out. 

Sunlight caught the vibranium of his left arm as he sat on one of the chairs, book in his lap. I could hear a soft tune coming from his lips and I bit my lip at the sight of him in a pair of black sweat pants and a tight shirt to match. 

His short hair suited him better than the last time I had seen him. 

He must have sensed me staring because when our eyes met, my breath hitched in my throat. The corners of his lips pulled in a small smile, hoping to get a chance to finally speak to me. I had done my damndest to avoid him because I couldn’t face what I was sent to do all those years ago. 

“Hi.” 

His voice was soft but I could still hear him even if we were a few feet apart. 

I kept my head down low and snuck back into my room, the door slamming behind me. With my back against it, I slid down to my knees as memories of the first time I had met Bucky Barnes tangled me in. 

[theceruleanskye]

Something clearly changed if Hope sent her daughter to a boarding school. But there seemed to be less tension in the air surrounding the school. Her daughter doesn't speak of the place with disdain or seem to hold rage for Alaric. Everything was black or white for Hope, but maybe she could add just enough grey into her thinking in the future. It was nice, though, to have little bits of information coming in about the future. A wolf run sounds like a great thing. I need to release stress.

Hope always knew that Alaric would be six feet under in a grave someday. His body was getting older even now. She saw the signs of aging in his training six months ago. ❝ Yeah, the old guy is still alive and kicking it. ❞ Hope was curious to find out what book Alaric wrote that her child loved so much. She never found his writing to be all that impressive (enraging, yes. The book about the great evil still comes to mind). ❝ Going to assume that you had a chance to meet him, so clearly, this MONSTER PROBLEM doesn't kill him. ❞ I would have bets that the both of us would go down in a blaze of glory. Going to Valhalla seemed like the best option over going to Hel as it felt like the option that her father would want. However, it gets muddled with the fact that there was once considered an OTHER SIDE

Hope put on the jacket Maya gave her and the bookbag she had taken from Lost and Found as they walked. She could see the opening where the street lights began to shine just up ahead. From there, it wouldn't be too long before they managed to be at the grill. It appears the street lamps would soon be shut off as the sky had already started to lighten for the day. Andrea was a happy child. Hope could sense that much. Something that means that Hope did something right in her parenting.

❝ I'll tell you what. If you promise not to do anything dangerous while here, you can talk to Dr. Saltzman with me. ❞ Is it bad that I am glad this isn't a child with Landon? How would I face him knowing we would fuck at some point when everything right now is complicated? Having sex with Landon wasn't a problem. The problem right now was there wasn't much hope for him to remember her as HOPE MIKAELSON / HOPE JONES.

Andrea paused when her other cleared her thought and stopped, tilting her to the side, wanting for her mother to speak. She then nodded quickly with a smile. "Yeah, I love the pancakes at the Grill. They are amazing," she chuckled. "You used to take me to get them every time you would drop me off at school," she said, dancing in a straight line as she moved through the trees. "Oh, maybe we can go for a run later," she offered. Running in the woods in her wolf form would be fun. Maybe she could keep up with this version of her mother.

"Yeah, I would love to see Dr Saltzman," she said with a smile before a frown came to her lips before turning to look at her mother. "You aren't talking about Josie, are you?" She asked. After all, it wasn't really possible that Josie could be a doctor in this time and then it hit her. "Oh, you mean Dr S," she said. "He is still alive?" She asked curiously and then regretted it. There was nothing surprising about old age but she didn't want to upset her mother to think other people she cared about where gone in the future. "I love his book," she said instead, trying to brush past her words.

[butteryheart]

I HIT MY HEAD TWICE ON 2 DIFFERENT PIECES OF FORNITURE IN 5 SECONDS 😭

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[angelmush]

the other day i walked around the golden lake w my love and the sun was setting hot and orange and we watched a brown duck preening through the weeds, ducking her head under the dark water. the cool lake swallowed up my tired feet to the ankles and we counted the dog walkers with their curly panting doodles and their handsome german shepherds and their whip smart little terriers and we admired the careful construction of a sand castle whose moat held determinedly against the lapping of the waves. we could feel in our chests the persistent thunderous thumping of celebratory music at the finish line of the lakeside 5k, welcoming each gasping runner across its bounds. and i felt like crying. i felt like curling into myself and crying. we walked through the swamp of the bird sanctuary afterwards and listened to the woods sing and croak and groan and then we went and got ube and yuzu gelato and devoured it suntired and sweating on the couch in our living room. and i was so overcome w a deep and true unshakeable happiness and a sort of confused grief that i wanted to sob and sob and sob.

[solivagantingrebel]

hey guys who wants another round of tmi

[evieswizardtower]

÷

[nobodybetterlookatme]

I don't care if the texts are about what you're eating for dinner, I'll take all the crumbs I can get !!

LMAO yeah okay here you go. And upon reading them this morning it wasn't that funny so idk why I was laughing almost hysterically last night about it ahskalslal

[silverselfshippingchaos]

a really big chunk of my ship tags are just titles of songs that I happen to like (if you can tell what they are, you get a gold star!)

but that also means that every now and then, a certain song will come on and I'll be hit with the strongest wave of just. Feels.

(some spoilers for M.onster in the tags btw)

[usernameyettocome]

Hey fellas. Piece of advice, never get lost in trying to make a fourteen sided die with nothing but scissors, a protractor, tape, paper and a determination to make someone a fourteen sided die for their birthday. Just don’t.

[roombagreyjoy]

*said with increasing distress, eyes blodshot and an empty mug in hand* you guys remember writing right????? you guys remember posting fic and publishing things and talking to editors about potential projects right???? you guys remember being creative in your creative jobs and not just rereading old work and having a panic attack over the time wasted over curating hyperspecific character playlists that you get mad about five minutes later right????? i'm not insane right????? creative block is normal even if it lasts for months right???? i haven't written a fic in YEARS but it's ok i'm ok i have to finish TWO original pieces for next week that I haven't even started but it'll probably be fineeeee I'm totally not being a complete and raving lunatic about it it's probably gonna be okay <3 yay <3

[dragonji]

have to be honest guys its actually going Really Badly again.

[arsenicflame]

no bond stronger than the one between the only two competent coworkers