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hamihamstik · 3 years

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idk what the fuck did i do to yeah get ready for visual cancer and my bad writing.

´´John, that's enough! ´´ claims an annoying Alexander, a 17-year-old boy who attends Columbia University, this boy had charming eyes of a blue color combined with violet and a curly hair dyed a strong brown that He could almost look red, not forgetting his beautiful freckles which were scattered all over his face. He had to admit that he was very feminine and his height and body did not help, he was very handsome among women and men although he denied it. Taking her hands off his insistent boyfriend, John, the ones that only managed to scare him.

And it was October 31 and instead of going out to party with the boys or the Schuyler sisters, he could even stay with Gil or George and Martha but no, he had decided to stay with John in his apartment, to watch movies, taking advantage of his parents and siblings are not there.

Serious mistake.

You're a coward. . .''John jokes, continuing with the pinches that distract the freckled, in his attempt to pay attention. They were watching the Japanese version of ´´The Aro´´ and the truth is that Alex was on the verge of a heart attack, he was not good at horror films, although he had a masochistic taste for these types of films.

´´John, seriously. . .Y-stop! ´´ he asks in a not so convincing way, noticing how the blond's hands begin to slip through his clothes. Alexander knows that they are alone and that they will probably do "that" to take advantage of the time together; he resists anyway.

deep down he liked that Laurens wanted more of him.

Come on, you know the end. They all die, '' he whispers in Alex's ear and although he knows he is right, his hoarse and excited voice is what disturbs him.

In less than he expects, he's already got John on top of him and he's collapsed on the bed in a struggle actually. . .not so forced. And that although he does not want to admit it, Alexander likes that rude and daring side that he rarely showed and despite that, it was ´´Jack´´ who started this type of encounter, mostly to commit indecent acts and explore the joys of sex.

´´ Why don´t you stop Lex? ´´ jokes John with a little impatience and his cock is too erect. ´´oh! I don't know, maybe it's because I have a fucking fear that a woman will appear from the TV and kill us? ´ 'Alex sarcastically responds, with a small blush peeking out of his freckled cheeks and managing to get a small laugh from both of them. Listening to Alex's melodious laugh, for John it was music to his ears, but, if he had known this was going to happen, he would have put him in one of those 80's movies, with those he hadn't had any problems the last time.

"It doesn't matter, we'll fix it," he says, smiling confidently and pulling his pants down on his embarrassed and sarcastic boyfriend. Leaving those slender and shapely legs in sight.

He didn't need his dick to lift anyway, as long as he loosened it would be fine.

´´J-jack, u-hm. . . ” Alex gasps when he feels Laurens's tongue brush against her belly button in circles, as his hands venture up his thighs, spreading them wide open. In the background you can still hear the screams of the horror movie.

Movie that they will never finish seeing.

"Do you like it?" Jack asks between gasps and his cock about to burst. He had spent minutes preparing hard the contracted entrance of his dear boy, who would not stop panting and letting out moans that made him lose what little patience he had. ´´Y-yes. . I think I'm ready," he announces to which John, instantly, unbuttons his pants. Releasing his aching erection.

´´Ngh. . . Alex´´ John moans hoarsely against his ear, at the same time that he aligned his cock in his tight entrance, without waiting any longer, the blonde enters suddenly, drawing a groan from both of them at feeling so complete. It didn't take long when he began to thrust into his ass, as the sound of the bed and their sexual release filled the room. For a moment, none of them feel the noise of the film anymore. They are both gone in that dance of sweaty bodies that invokes pleasure and to which they have become addicted without knowing how.

Until something rings.

´´What was that? ´´ asks Alexander to the busy John, who doesn´t even flinch at the loud sound. He is still very immersed in his work of going out and going into the depths of his being.

A second noise is heard.

'' John. . .´´ Alex insists, starting to get really scared. It sounded like knocks, coming from the first floor. ´´Alex, for the shit stop squeezing me ngh !. ... it must be a fucking bird crashing into the window.´´ he tries to calm him down, feeling how his member is compressed against his insides, every time the freckled body tenses.

"What if he is your father?"

The blond's face pales at the horrendous possibility.

"Shit, get dressed!" He says, completely leaving his entrance, and then running off to get their clothes. He throws Alex's clothes at his face, ordering him to stay in the room and for no reason leave there, until verifying if he is his father.

He doesn't know about their relationship, nor that Alexander is in the house. . His presence of him there would be something very annoying to explain.

(…)

The minutes pass and John does not return, Alex begins to worry.

´´John? ´´ he asks once in the kitchen, he chosen to go downstairs anyway. They had spent several minutes without knowing anything about her boyfriend and now she was really scared

He walks towards the front door. . .

It's open.

. . .

With a little chill through running her body, he quickly goes to the kitchen for something to threaten his possible aggressor. He takes a knife, but since he does not consider himself a murderer, he decides to exchange it for a large meat grinder. At least with this one he could take down the possible intruder, before escaping.

Alexander, barely breathing, creeps into the house. There is no noise in it and no sign of John. So, drawing courage from him, he does not know where, he goes outside through the backyard door, where the entrance to the shed can be seen ajar.

A stain of what appears to be blood can be seen on the door of this and causes the freckled young man to collect his heart. Then, shivering and tears streaming from his violet eyes, he enters desperately.

´´J-jack? ´´ he asks with a shaking voice and gasping for breath. He does not see the blond, because it is very dark. He advances looking for the wall switch and then. . .

Then he steps on something that made his blood run cold.

´´AHHHHHHH !! ´´ he yells when he steps on something similar to a body, then realizing that it is just a very battered scarecrow. He breathes a sigh of relief and luckily for him, he finally finds the light switch.

He turns it on.

´´AHHHHHHHHHH !!!! ´´

Alexander runs terrified of the place before what he saw. A shed full of blood-red stains and something that looked like guts scattered on the floor, but what had scared him the most was the dark cloak one that he could make out at the bottom of a corner.

It was that of a person.

. . .

Alarmed, he enters the house and without being able to reach the bathroom, in the kitchen dishwasher he begins to vomit. His body trembles and tears of deep pain fall from his eyes, as he thinks about the possibility of what he saw spread across the walls and floor. . . was his jack

-Hey, don't you think we went out of line?-

-Shut up dumb.-

-oh god, I can't anymore.-

-It was your idea, I'm just following you, asshole! -

-my idea?, it was Ben! -

-Don't blame me for his perversions, when Alex finds out he's going to hit us with that butcher's machete.-

Three young people comment on their joke while hiding in some bushes, unfortunately, precisely the ones facing the kitchen.

(…)

'' Shit, we're more than screwed. . .´´ are Benjamin's words as he sees Alexander open the bushes, revealing his hiding place. His face overcomes what is anger. His eyes are still red from crying and his serious gesture is one of complete hatred.

And he still has the machete in his hand.

"B-ben, weren't we going to the party?" Hale asks Benjamin, who nods nervously, because he knows that if they don't get out of there. . . . they will go very badly.

Alexander although he seems a weakling, but he has strength.

And a machete.

´´y-yes´´ supports him ´´ well dude. . . take care! ´´ Benjamin says goodbye, slapping John on the back, in an attempt to give him support. Although rather, it is a gesture of condolences to his sexual life.

Tonight someone was going to stay without fucking.

(…)

´´Alex,. .hey. . .´´ He tries to get closer to the redhead, taking care that the minor does not split his head.

´´NO! ´´ Alex jerks away from the arm that is trying to take him. "DON'T TOUCH ME, YOU'RE A DAMNED IDIOT!" He shouts angrily, trying not to give her the satisfaction of seeing him break into tears.

Although he was already doing it.

John, like few times in his life, feels bad about the things that

he does. And he had never seen Alex like this.

Crying as if his life were lost on it, and with so much sorrow in his eyes.

This time,

He messed it up.

´´Alex, sorry. . .´´ he whispers and makes a second attempt to get closer, which this time, if it seems to work. His dear boy is so sad and hurt that he does not resist when John embraces him, pulling him close to his body. ´´ I already told you I'm sorry, I'm fine. . Come on, don't cry. . .´´ he tries to calm him down, stroking his back and giving him small kisses on his face full of small salty tears.

'I-I thought you were dead. . .I-I saw all those things and. . .´´ Alex tries to speak but only starts crying again. John, feeling like the worst beast in the world, accompanies him in bed. Laying him on his bed and settling aside to caress his face, guiltily, until he stops crying. Spreading kisses down his cheeks, which were now red as was his nose.

´´J-john no. . .'' Alex tries to stop him when he sees him approach his lips to his face, with the intention of kiss him. ´ ´I v-vomited´´ he confesses ashamed, hiccupping from crying.

´´ I don't care, it's okay. I can clean you with my tongue. . .´´ John insists, speaking flirtatiously to make him laugh again. He likes Alexander who usually laughs, who cries in this way hurts him, and more to know that it was his fault.

´´Stop your nonsense. . . . Can we sleep? ´´ asks what Laurens, trying to control her sexual / depressive urges, nods.

He would have to stay with it this time.

They both snuggle up, covering themselves well with the blankets and giving each other a couple of kisses before going to sleep.

A noise is heard again

Alexander, snuggled against Jack's chest, looks up. John, annoyed, decides to ignore the sound similar to that of a while ago.

Again he is heard again.

These idiots. . .´´ he complains, taking his cell phone to give Benjamin's life sermon. When he answers him, he receives exactly that.

-Hey idiot, are you retarded or what? Stop with your shit or seriously I'm going to kick your balls, and until they come out.

But it is not Benjamin who speaks, it is more, nobody answers. The music of the party is not heard either. Only someone's breathing can be heard in response, so terrifying it makes John hang up the phone and throw it to the ground as if on fire.

´´What's wrong? ´´ asks Alex, calmer now. Jack was a little pale. And is that John, had already heard that noise. He heard it when he stood at the entrance of the house, when he went out in search of what was generating that annoying blow, and then ended up meeting his friends and playing that stupid joke for which he now feared that the freckled man would really hate him.

"It's nothing, let's go back to sleep." He replies, trying to convince himself that it must be another stupid joke of those two. Alexander closes his eyes quietly but John cannot sleep, any noise alerts him. He has a bad feeling.

´´ What's wrong, can't you sleep? ´´ asks Alex, noticing how his Jack moves too much on the bed. . . "no. . . .i have a little insomnia" he confesses, not wanting to terrify him with the chilling thoughts of him.

Where there was still someone in his home.

´´ Me too´´ Alex mentions as he snuggles deeper into John's arms. "Do you want to fuck?" Asks the blonde, to which Alex just laughs. "Jack, don't think I forgot the joke," he replies to which John huffs, frustrated, assuming there really wouldn't be sex today.

´´ although I am surprised that they were so detailed with all that of the blood, guts and that dark suit.´´

´´What a dark suit? ´´ asks John, not remembering that in the plan.

´´the one with the disguise, the dark cape.´´

´´ There was no dark layer .´´

´´ but I saw someone at the back of the shed.´´

. . .

This is when John is more alarmed than before.

And when another noise is heard, this time they can both notice

Which is from a window on the first floor. and that this time they will not be able to see the light of a new day.

Morning news, yesterday October 31, two bodies were found on 123rd Street, because of the atrocious way in which they were murdered, they could not recognize them, however, thanks to our best police officers, we now know their names. John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton. we recommend not leaving the house while we still do not catch this man.

On tv there was an image of the murderer of that couple.

who could say that John Andre's jealousy would lead him to commit such an atrocity.

#horror #oneshot #lams #Hallowen is almost coming so #special before Hallowen (#I apologize for visual cancer #if you've never seen such bad writing before #now the time

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starfirette · 4 years

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Hello! Can u please write Helena Bertinelli with a Fem!reader tomboy that's a muay thai fighter and look like super cool and cold,but in the apartment its a very soft and lovely girlfriend with Helena? (And how the birds will react when them met her) Thank you,I Love you writing and HELENA IS SUCH A BAE!!! THIS GAL NEED MORE LOVE AND SUPPORT!❤

masterlist | word count: who fucking knows | 🏷 @kurreapormaranet @emofairygay | a/n: ;0 There are some things you might want to look up on youtube so you have a general idea of what’s happening. Clinch positions, tactical stand ups, thips

The rink’s seats filled massively, stretching to every wall that bounced the cheering back and forth.

The overall mission seemed simple, but it had Helena dreading this moment since Harleen explained what needed to happen.

The trust fund brat of the devilish Rossini family kidnapped the Rossini’s pride and joy: their little baby girl, Ayala. Ayala Rossini, four years old, is the Brat’s younger half sister and the new written in heir of the Rossini fortune. The Brat, Carmen, had been written out of the will after she kidnapped the new little bird Batman was keeping under his wing. She’d been sloppy and left behind all marks of her family’s (unbeknownst) involvement. She made serval costly mistakes which included Batman’s uncovering of the Rossini family’s plans of Gotham, Star, and Jump city. Half the family became arrested.

Carmen was all but disowned by her father, whom she already resented for marrying another woman so quick after the death of her mother. To get her revenge, she kidnapped Ayala.

So, Mr and Mrs Rossini employed Harley and her rag tag team of anti-hero thugs.

To get Ayala back, the girls would have to go undercover.

Their heroic deed would get them 30k each, so that was good enough. The Rossinis are precise and focuses; they’d been willing to pay as much as they had to in order to ensure the safety of their little crime lord baby.

Now Harley had her connections. She knew a guy who knew a guy who saw a friend with a girl outside of the 31 Flavors ice cream shoppe, and this girl just happened to know that Carmen spends her free time hosting epic fights in the secret tunnels of Smallville.

It’s a long ways away from Gotham, but is a perfect place to host such gatherings. The fights are frightfully violent and brutal. Also very illegal. No one would ever know that beneath the wheat and corn fields of Lil’ Ol’ Smallville county lays an intricate mafia maze.

Carmen Rossini is notorious for entertaining the winners to a “fine dinner with wine”. The rumors go that she runs an entire harem of Thai Fighting women, using them for sexual favors and personal security.

The entire mission is actually depending on that rumor.

The plan was to send in Dinah as a participant in the rink and hope she would win and earn the attention of Carmen.

But then Dinah got bronchitis. It was a nasty case, too, in which she wouldn’t stop coughing and hacking up green stuff into tissues.

The entire thing would have been called off if you hadn’t admitted that you are, in fact, trained in Muay Thai.

You’re positive that Helena would have rather kept this a secret, because she doesn’t like putting you in harms way. It’s a nuisance to have the world’s most protective girlfriend. Heaven forbid you even get a paper cut, else she’d make you wear rubber gloves while you read a book.

The entire group (save Helena) jumped for the chance to replace Dinah with you. You’d do perfect, Harley said, sounding so confident.

You intended to be flawless in the ring.

You’d not competed since high school, when Muay Thai was still just a recreational hobby. You’d had your wins and losses, but that was before you grew up to spend majority of your time fighting mafia crime lords.

Once Dinah officially relinquished her role of the mission, you took to the heavy bags. The repetitions became intense and harsh in the following weeks. You spent every night limping into bed.

Your sweet whispers that begged Helena for a soothing massage fell onto her deaf ears. She is stubborn, and she had been attempting to force you out of this competition since the day you’d agreed to it.

You were not afraid of Carmen, or anyone else she’d make you fight against. For the sake of the little Ayala, you would do this. Besides, you tell yourself, what’s the worst that could happen? With the Birds and their abilities, there isn’t much that could happen.

Nothing would slide through the cracks.

Hopefully.

The day did come faster than you’d imagined, though. The drive to Smallville was tense, especially in the backseat where Helena was frostily ignoring you.

Harleen was road raging, passing every trucker on the two way road that didn’t exceed 65 miles an hour.

“You know the speed limit is 45, right?” Montoya asked after she had taken a long drag of a cigarette. She had her legs propped up on the dash. Between her and Harley sat Cass, who was oblivious to the chaos around her as she sang along to a pop Spanish song. “Yeah, and?” Harley quipped. She cast her bright eyes towards Montoya, a wicked smile playing on her lips.“You gonna arrest me?”

Montoya couldn’t do much but sigh in defeat. If Harley didn’t mind crashing, then she didn’t either.

Between the bickering and the loud singing of the three front passengers, you and Helena were sitting silently in the very back seats. Your head was leaned up against the window which rattled as the tires of Harley’s ‘64 Starfire rolled across the gravely road.

Helena had been refusing to speak to you since the fight you got into last night. It was a real fight. She’s made it clear that she’s against you fighting in Carmen’s ring, and is especially against you joining her harem.

You’d first thought she was afraid of disloyalty; you had promised her that you wouldn’t ever cheat on her, even if it was for a mission. But it became revealed that’s not what Helena was worried about.

She feared for your life. She fears for your life every single day. No matter how small of a task, she can’t help but worry. She lost her mother, father, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles; everyone. She’d been so helpless. She could only watch as she became the sole Bertinelli.

Helena couldn’t live on if something happened to you.

The fight ended on a confusing note. It didn’t end, per say, and you two did sleep in the same bed. However, neither of you has said a word to each other. You tried this morning, but she’d given you the snippy, cold shoulder.

As much as you hate putting her through so much anxiety, you know that you can’t back down. A girl’s life is at stake; it’s not the money you care about. Not to mention Carmen Rossini is about to make the top 50 worst criminals in Gotham County.

Harley rolled the car to a stop around a patch of gravel and dust. Everyone climbs out, rocks crunching under their shoes as they stretch and look around.

“Where is it?” Cass asks, shoving her hands in the pockets of her loose denim jacket. Her chapped lips are stained blue from the tootsy pop that she’d crunched on in the car. The soggy stick now hung from her lips, as if she had been imitating Montoya’s cigarette.

Harley locked, double checked, then re locked, then triple checked her car. She turned around, using her hands to shield her vision as she scanned the open wheat fields. “Dunno,” she admitted. “I guess I supposed someone woulda been here to meet us.”

You shifted on your feet. You wanted to try and make Helena happy before you’d at least go inside and get in the ring. The only issue is, she’ll only be happy if your forfeit now.

You would not.

Across the way, by a few yards at most, a rustling came through the wheat that came at least up to your hips.

A young man emerged; he approached the Birds with a guarded look that furrowed his thick, blond eyebrows. “You are Carmen’s guests, yes?”

He spoke with a thick accent. His honey blond hair contrasted his coffee brown features. He had a handsome face with a strong jaw, but something about him seemed off. He seemed intimidated despite being taller and broader than most.

“We are,” you answered for the Birds. “I am Y/n. I am the contestant.”

The man beckons you all forward. Helena glared at him, her hand steadily tapping the outside of her thigh. She was prepared to draw her gun and shoot anyone that could get in her way. In your way.

You tasted a bitter foam in your mouth as you attempted to stop Helena without raising too much attention.

“We––I––am here for the Carmen’s...event.”

The honey blond man tallied the Birds on his fingers, visibly distressed. “I do not thinka’ Miss Rossini expected so many of you...”

After a brief, strangled silence, the man shook his head and waved his arm along to escort you. “The bunker is just this way,” he explained. Harley and Cass walked after him.

Helena meets your eyes. Her gaze is firm, and maybe even angry. No way could you defuse that situation while still heading into the rink.

The wheat and grass crunched under your boots as you marched across the pace-by-pace clearing. A trap door in the ground lifted up swiftly, silently, as if they grease the hinges every damn day.

You remembered how this turned out for Suzie Salmon; casting one more look over your shoulder, you assured yourself with the presence of Helena.

Down the hatch, under the ground, you, Harley, Cass, Helena, and Mr Cannoli over here shuffled down the hall to a big dressing room. The entire layout felt more like a stadium then an underground crime rink. The dressing room has lush sofas and fur blankets; in the corner a SodaStream is mounted on an Ikea book table.

“Miss Rossini will join you shortly,” Cannoli-guy told you, nodding his head regally. He bowed out of the room, shutting the heavy oak door after him.

Cass jumped on the sofa. She sprawled out over the furs, kicking her muddy Chuck Taylors up. “Luxury.”

Harley snipped to Cass to get her dirty little feet off the merchandise.

You took a seat in the swivel chair in front of the large mirror. It looked like pure Broadway with the heavy lightbulbs that wreathed the glass.

“Can’t say they don’t know how to entertain a guest,” Harley squealed as she migrated to the SodaStream. “They got homemade cream soda!”

Cass jumped off the sofa to run after Harley.

Instead of facing you, Helena took a heavy seat on the couch. Her legs spread out, looking spectacularly muscular in her tight, black pants.

Unfortunately, you’re too annoyed with her to go lounge in her lap.

As much as you’d like to make amends, you know the only way to do that would be to back down. You’re going into that rink.

The door flew open at the second Harley had poured herself and Cassie a drink.

Carmen Rossini strutted in and you stared in awe. You tried not to let your jaw drop. Tall, voluptuous. Her hair is wavy auburn, her eyes deepest green.

She looked at you immediately. Reaching out for you as if you were the messiah, she chuckled. “You’re even cuter in person! Oh, sweetie, you––you do know how to drive a hard bargain. Your agent Harleen contacted me, where is she?”

Harley waved her hand from the corner. “That would be me. Ain’t Y/n a real figure?”

Scowling, Helena crossed her legs. She glared up at Carmen, and you remembered that Carmen is doing what Helena hates the most; complimenting you.

It’s not so much that Helena doesn’t like that you receive compliments; it’s just that she prefers giving them to you.

“I’m so happy to see you all here tonight,” Carmen said, clapping her hands loudly. “There’s nothing more exciting than tonight’s event. Did you know,” she cooed as she ‘boop’ed your nose, “that I’ve got people betting about two million dollars that you’ll win? I am so, so pleased that you’ve chosen to make your debut in my arena.”

You nod, your neck stiff. “I guess I’m excited?” you mumbled.

Carmen snapped her fingers. She signaled to one of her lackies to come forward. A box Is presented at your feet.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I brought you a little something. A uniform of your own, courtesy of moi. Don’t you love it? I had your photos analyzed by a fashion expert, and they designed your shorts to compliment you perfectly.”

The high waisted, Thai shorts are a deep ivory shade, with black flowers sewn into the design. They’re the most beautiful Thai shorts you’d ever seen! Your own were cute, but simple, considering that you didn’t usually think to be a fashionista while working out.

“They’re amazing,” you admitted. Over the top? Definitely. Did you expect anything else? Honestly, you’re not sure. You weren’t sure what to expect.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Carmen, as she smiled, reached into the deep pocket of her red silk kimono-blouse. In her hands is a thickly wound prajoud, made of fine threads and paracord. The black and red jumped out at you like an old friend.

“I hope I got the rank right?”

“You did,” you say as you took the prajad from Carmen. “I could have brought my own if you’d asked.”

“It’s really not a big deal, my darling,” Carmen purred. She ran her hand through your hair, taking note of the silky feeling of each strand. “I will be watching. There will be people outside the door waiting to escort you to the arena when you’re done dressing.”

Her fingers are heavy with her bejeweled rings. The heavy tear shaped gems get tangled in your hair.

“You have ten minutes,” Carmen adds.

Helena glowered after her as she flitted out of the room. Her heels clacked down the hallway following the click of the door shutting in place.

Montoya took a long drag of her cigarette before she chortled.“You just gonna let her mark her territory like that?”

Helena didn’t say anything.

“Oi, Katniss,” Harley said loudly.

Helena’s cloudy eyes finally look to her friend. “What?”

“Carmen Rossini basically stole Y/n from you, and you let her!”

As you pulled out of your jeans, you sent Harley a little glare. “No one owned me to begin with,” you snapped.

“Hey, I’m all for women’s rights,” Harley exclaimed. “But it just seemed like—,”

“I know what it seemed like,” you snapped. “That’s the entire goddamn point, isn’t it? Get in her good graces?”

Case choked back her soda. “If that’s your idea of getting in Carmen’s creepy ‘good graces’ you gotta do better than that. You didn’t act sexy or flirt back at all!”

Helena stood to her feet. She brushed down the front of her black zip-up sweater. “I’m waiting outside,” she declares before stomping out with a frown wrung on her mouth.

Harley grimaced as the door slammed shut.

“Kid, come on,” Montoya sighed.

“I’m right,” Cass scowled. “You know that I am. We knew from the start that in order to get the little girl back, sexual favors would probably have to be granted.”

You pulled up your shorts. “Can everyone shut up?” You asked.

“What’s that?” Cass proceeded to ask, given she couldn’t talk about Carmen anymore. She pointed at the arm band that lay over the counter.

“Prajoud,” you tell her. Thank you pulled out of tour shirt. The heavy duty sports bra was already in place, but it gave you major uniboob.

“What does it do?” Cass asked again. Unable to contain her curiosity, she grabbed it off the vanity and fiddled with it.

“It’s like a belt,” you explained. “Instead of wearing a black belt, I wear a black prajad.”

“Who come up with that?” Cass asked.

“Uhm, Thai people?” Harley said as though it should be obvious. She snorted and jerked her thumb towards Cass. “Get a load of this guy.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s alright to ask questions, guys, just try not to be annoying. ‘M a little stressed out already.”

Harley took a final gulp of her soda. “Well, I guess we know who’s not getting action tonight. And that’s Y/n!”

“Why is Helena so upset anyways? Because Carmen was flirting?”

“No,” Harley explained. “See, she’s angry because Y/n’s going out and doing this fight, one, without asking her to begin with, two, for some other little kid, and three, with a evil Italian mafia tigress. She’s projecting her childhood fear that she’ll never be able to protect anyone she loves. She’s also rash, irritable, and possessive, so it’s just a cherry on top that the plan includes Y/n using her charms to sway Carmen.”

“Bravo,” you plainly say. “It’s almost like you’re a doctor or something.”

“Yeah,” Harley grinned. “Or something.”

You pulled the prajad over your forearm. You pulled the band tight, holding the laces in your mouth so you could knot it tight with one hand. You looked in the mirror, unsure of what to think of yourself.

You kicked your boots off next.

In socks, you turned to look at Harley and Cass. “Let’s do this,” you sighed.

Helena had been waiting loyally outside, leaned up against the jamb. Her eyes flitted up and down your figure, before rolling up towards the ceiling. “Let’s do this,” you said, sounding as if you’d already lost.

Marching down the hall in tow of the honey blond Italian, you tried to make eye contact with Helena. She was good at ignoring you. You’re not sure if it’s because she’s angry, stressed, or both.

Riddled with anxiety, you wish that she would look at you, or hold your hand at the very least.

At the entrance of the arena, you could see it was filled massively to the brim of its walls. You hadn’t realized how far underground you really are until you looked at the expansive seating. The rink’s seats filled massively, stretching to every wall that bounced the cheering back and forth.

You stepped to the stairs that wound up to the cage. You could smell the sweat and the matts; above the sound of the crowd cheering, you could hear your blood rushing fast in your ears.

“Find Ayala,” you muttered in Harley’s ears. “I don’t want to be here longer than we have to be.”

Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, but they were momentairly dulled by a silent question. “I thought...?”

“No,” you said firmly. “We shouldn’t be here any longer than we have to be,” you tell her. “I’ll stay here, I’ll do my thing; you take everyone and look for that girl. If you’re not done by the time the match is over, I’ll distract Carmen.”

Harley couldn’t respond by the time you were dragged up the stairs. Outside the cage’s gate, you were given a little table at which you could rest at. It had a pitcher of ice water, some glasses, a washcloth, and a bottle of brandy. You took a large drink of the brandy first. You peeled off your socks.

It felt like a blur as you stepped into the cage.

Your opponent was your size; she looked your weight, too. You suppose that’s fair, at least. It’s not like in the movies. The real competitions are done by weight and height.

You turned your head to give one last glance to your friends.

Helena stood beyond the cage, her hand resting over the gun holster. Her eyes were fixated on you.

You had to look away.

Tying your hair up in a tight bun, you walked out onto the mat. Your opponent did the same; meeting you half way, you two shook hands.

You didn’t exchange names; that would only make it harder.

“The rules,” a voice boomed around the stadium, “are there are no weapons to be permitted in the arena. Please watch as the fighters return to their corners then begin the match on the sound of the bell. The match will consist of two rounds, each lasting seven minutes.”

You hovered in the corner of the cage. You stretched and jogged in place. You have enough training for this. You do. You know that you can do it; hopefully, you will.

The bell rang. You take a massive sprint out into the middle of the ring where your opponent had already paced out.

You wound up a punch. Your feet lifted off the mat as you leap into the air, and you delivered the blow to the side of her face.

Her teeth crunched under the impact. It was such a hit that you saw it spew out of her mouth, and hit the cage.

The crowd exploded into a frenzy.

Hovering at your face your hands remained in constant motion. Her kicks were well calculated and her movements tactical. She gave away all of her tricks, though, by looking twice at the target she would next go for. If she looked at your side once too many times, you would crouch and use your arms to block your ribcage.

The sweat that built up made the more precise attacks difficult. Your punch began sliding off her face, keeping you staggering forward, and in her wide open range.

You were struck once, twice, then thrice on your left cheek. It sent blood and saliva dribbling down your chin.

Your prajad began to slip as you struggled to regain your balance.

The girl’s long leg extended forward. Her foot jabbed a strong thip into the center of your stomach, practically digging against your bladder.

The bell rang, then, marking the end of the first round.

You fell into your corner with a wheezing gasp. You crawled for the little table. You drank directly from the pitcher.

You looked back to the crowd, half expecting to see a flash of unfamiliar faces.

Helena still remained at the ringside. Her hands are clenched through the cage, and her eyes are desperate to meet yours. You were confused. Why hadn’t she left with Harley? Did Harley not need her? Or did she want to stay and watch?

You felt stronger with her just a few yards away.

You staggered to your legs, where your knees wobbled like jello on a plate.

The two minutes of rest time had ended, and the bell rang once more. You slid back rather than go for her first.

She sauntered to you like a bear, her shoulders hunched and her fists close to her face. She swung hooks and uppercuts that you could just barely dodge. You were close to slipping backwards a few times.

“Y/n, watch out!” Helena shouted suddenly.

You couldn’t see the girl racing towards you like a battering ram through your blurry vision. Her fist slammed over your temple. You swore you could feel your brain tumbling around your skull as you fell to the floor.

You clutched your ear with your bare hands. Pain gushed out of you like water. You thought you could see it, visibly, as it poured down bright green and crystalline.

It wasn’t there; it was the spots dancing in front of you. Disorientation is a real bitch.

One tactical standup later, you’re back up on your feet. You pushed yourself forward, forcing the remaining energy you had out of your hands. You grabbed the girl by her long pony tail and dragged her into a tight clinch. She attempted to swim out of it; the friction of her wrists against your neck burned.

You tugged her down, driving a sharp knee into her stomach. She stayed in your clinch for a long time, gasping for air as she couldn’t evade the knees. You finally released her. She staggers back. She falls onto her ass, visibly shaken up and at a loss for breath.

The crowd began to scream at you. Some did a countdown, others urged the other girl to get back up.

It was too late for her.

The bell rang, marking the end of the seven minutes, as well as the second round. She had lost, and you had won.

You limped towards her. Despite your own pain, you lifted the girl onto her feet.

“Good game?” she rasped.

“Hell yeah,” you wheezed.

It felt like the ultimate orgasm to go back and gulp down the water. The cold, damp washcloth made a good compress for your busted lip. You judged by the twitching of your left eyelid that you had a pretty sizable welt there.

Helena ran to meet you as you limped down the stairs out of the cage. She threw her arms around you tightly. “You’re alright,” she gasped.

You tried to hug her back. Your arm hung loosely over her lower back as you tried to laugh. “Did you doubt that I would be?” you asked her. “Where’s Harley and Cass? Montoya?”

“They went to find the girl,” Helena said in your ear. “I couldn’t leave you...I had to stay and watch. I had to make sure.”

She pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. “Let’s go,” you said firmly, “before Carmen comes for us.”

Helena helped you leave the arena. By the time you vanished, the stadium was already announcing it’s second match, featuring a woman named Selina. The people went into a hectic frenzy of excitement when Selina’s name was announced over the speakers. You knew as you were walking out she would never be able to escape this place.

Honey-blond-haired Italian guy jogged to keep up with you. “Miss Carmen asks that you wait in the dressing room,” he called out. “Yeah, yeah,” Helena called out. “We’ll be there.”

He followed you down the hallway, keeping several paces back to maintain a steady watching distance. He paused as he watched you and Helena head straight into the dressing room.

Sitting on the sofa inside is Harley, Cass, and a little girl sleeping in Harley’s arms. You were shocked. For a four year old girl, Ayala was incredibly small and fragile looking. Her olive skin and auburn hair is just like her elder sister’s. The hollows beneath her eyes are dark and colored by her greenish veins.

“Let’s scadadle,” Harley hissed as she rose to her feet, though struggling to keep Ayala in her arms.

You all rushed out of the hallway, quickly as to make it before Carmen could come back from the arena.

“Where’s the exit?” Cass asked.

“It’s this way,” Helena says. She pointed straight down the hallway. “The car’s waiting for us above the trap door.”

“Yeah, unless someone stole it,” Cass mocked. “What if we get locked in? Like in Hotel California?”

You could hardly begin to understand what Cass was saying. Her words were jumbles of sounds and her figure a blur of her dark hair and red jacket.

“We’re not getting locked in,” Harley exclaimed. “Let’s just get outta here!”

Helena climbed up the ladder first. She punched the door up, then open. “Give me the kid,” she said quietly.

Harley struggled to lift Ayala up.

Helena scooped her easily into her strong arms. Ayala stirred awake and whined as she became more and more aware. “I want to go home,” she mumbled, her voice quiet and empty.

“We’re taking you home, pumpkin,” Helena assured the little girl. “I’ve got you.”

As Cass was going up the ladder, a loud clatter arose down the tunnel. “Uh oh, spaghetti-os,” Harley whistled. She pushed you up the ladder next. “I’ll meet you guys up there,” she promised, sounding entirely confident. “Montoya,” she whistled between her teeth. “Feel like doing some target practice?”

It was the first time all day that Montoya smiled.

As you climbed up, you heard Harley’s shrill laugh between the shots of two, little handguns.

“Into the car,” you wheezed to Cassie. She looped her arms around your waist to help you limp into your seat. “Buckled in?” you heard Helena ask the little girl. She looked so shy despite all that’s going on. The curls of her hair were brushed behind her ear as Helena held her tightly. “You’re going back to your parents.”

Harley came running out seconds later. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she exclaimed.

“You have the keys!” Cassie shouted back.

Harley jumped into the drivers seat. She honked the horn loudly. “Renee, let’s move it!”

Montoya was limping a few feet away, struggling to keep up Harley’s pace. She crawled inside and as soon as she did, Harley pressed the gas, and sped away.

“Smoking is so bad for you, you know that, right?” Harley chastised. “Maybe if you just used the nicotine patches I bought you for Christmas, then you wouldn’t have so much trouble keeping up with us.”

“Take the patches,” Montoya huffed, “and shove them up your ass.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. You leaned back into the headrest of the rear seats. Helena held Ayala beside you, stroking her hair gently as she held her cellphone to Ayala’s ear. Her parents were on the other end, and you could hear the cries of relief.

You met Helena’s gaze, and you managed a smile on your busted mouth.

“I love you,” you mouth to her.

“I love you, too,” she replied.

#helena bertinelli x reader #helena bertinelli imagine #my helena babes #crossbow killer #crossbow killer x reader #huntress x reader #huntress imagine #dceu imagine #dceu x reader #birds of prey x reader #birds of prey imagine #birds of prey #mary elizabeth winstead #starfirette writes

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carnalhaus · 4 years

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yeass talk abt is!

THANKE U FOR LETTING ME TALK ABT MY WIFE MY WIFEE I LOVE HER SHES LIKE A COMFORT CHARACTRER I GET SO HAPPY WHEN SHE GETS BROUGHT UP, I SPENT ALL DAY WRITING AND REWRITING THIS BUT I FI ALLY DID IT

i’ll start off with just some basic fluffy stuff and fun facts, but i’ll get into more lore related stuff later

she likes reading and painting !! she’s generally a very studious person, so she likes the kind of hobbies that’re both aesthetic and productive.

she’s a very clean person, but she doesn’t need to clean a lot since she tidies up right he after she does something. when she does clean, she doesn’t like using chemical stuff, catch her with a bucket of water, natural soap, and a rag.

birds really like her, all kinds of birds. they’ll land on her if she’s sitting outside sometimes, nobody really knows why ...

WATER !! WATER !! she loves water !! she hates those modern chlorine pools though, so you’ll find her swimming in lagoons and estuaries.

her hair just seems to take care of itself. it's really curly, soft, and shiny, but she doesn’t do anything to it.

she’s just a very aesthetically pleasing person, everything she does and everything she owns is pretty. it’s ethereal almost.

her body shape is reminiscent of the women you’d see in renaissance paintings, full and soft.

FRECKLES !! freckles all over !!

I feel like her voice would sound like marilyn monroe, very lilting and gentle.

she’s ,, very very sweet to women ,, if you’re a woman she’s immediately going to give you special treatment.

she’s patronizing and condescending to men, but very subtly, so they never notice. they always see it as friendly banter.

she’s always smiling, she has resting smiley face !! not necessarily resting happy face.

you might be able to tell by the way i draw her, but she always has this glint in her eyes. a glint of what, however, is up to interpretation. :)

speaking of which, her eyes are technically a very very dark brown, but they look black. usually you can tell a little bit about a persons thoughts or emotions by looking at their pupils, but since her pupils are nearly indistinguishable from her iris, some people find it a little unsettling.

shes like an urban legend, idk how else to explain her. she basically goes thru a cycle.

a cute new girl shows up in town, friendly, charming, attractive, incomprehensible.

that’s isa !!

over time, she worms her way into social circles and integrates herself into society.

she very subtly instigates violence either between others or between someone else and herself. she’s a master manipulator, it’s hard to catch on to what she’s doing, aside from the fact there's no solid proof she’s even doing anything. it doesn’t do much though, just ruins a few relationships and causes a few fights.

the most important thing though, is a common phenomenon. most often, men develop an obsession with her. whether it’s out of love, curiousity, or something else, it always seems like there’s some force straight out of the twilight zone that draws them to her.

this obsession develops into something much more sinister.

paranoia sets in, and that’s when they realize there's something very wrong about her.

something in the back of their head is telling them that if she isn’t disposed of soon, something very bad is going to happen.

so, they kill her. whether it’s an elaborate plan or a heat of the moment thing, her body goes cold and limp one way or another.

they tend to mutilate her too. not always, but i guess it’s a sort of “i have to make sure she stays dead” situation from all the paranoia.

after they kill her, this can go one of two ways.

the first way is they live with that guilt for days, haunted by their actions, hallucinating images of her, seeing blood even after they cleaned the crime scene, hearing her voice, finding locks of her hair etc. they just killed a girl without any proof she actually did anything wrong. they just killed a girl over a hunch. the guilt of it drives them crazy, either landing them in jail, a psych ward, or 6 feet under.

the second way is she just comes back the next day. there’s no blood, no murder weapon, no wounds, she doesn’t even remember seeing them yesterday. but they know they killed her, they must have, they could still remember the warmth of her blood on their hands. but if they really did kill her, how could she be here ?

this leaves them to question their sanity. did they really kill her ?? why did they want to kill her so bad ?? why is she here again ?? was that real ?? something must be horribly wrong with them if they could just hallucinate an entire scenario where they mutilated an innocent girl.

this doesn't always lead them to a psych ward, jail, or death, but it does always result in a warped perception of themselves and probably some unforgettable trauma.

in the end, she’s gone from town. all her belongings gone, as if she just packed up and left. town is free to go back to normal. but there’s always going to be a barely noticeable fog of suspicion surrounding the residents.

soon enough, she pops back up in a new place, far away, and the cycle repeats. this has been happening for years now, but nothing too catastrophic has happened. it’s best to just leave her alone, it’s not like there’s anything that can stop her anyway. that shouldn’t be a problem though, it’s not like she’s that dangerous. what’s the worst she can do ?

tl;dr - she attracts violent men, and she has a way of making it seem like the violence was their idea.

#asks #creepypasta oc #isa #uccellina #my ocs #mine #i love her so much its not funny

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tigerdrop · 5 years

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ive been absolutely losing my mind this past week but today i have escaped the thrall of brain demons and i would like to show u a sneak peek of my geralt/jaskier sex pollen fic, Sacrificial Rites. (this part is safe-for-work tho.)

its roughly halfway done but this is all im comfortable sharing right now BYYEeee

It starts when Jaskier hears, in the near distance, something like a cannon firing. Well, if he were to think about it, actually, it starts some time before, in a little spit of a village to the north of the Temerian capital. Theirs is but a humble farming community, and it smells the part, which Jaskier reminds Geralt of. Frequently. But the air’s tinged with the smell of smoke, too, and the snow-dusted trees that knot themselves through the village are adorned with bright, multicolored muslin ribbons. Jaskier thumbs some of them as he passes by. Their coin purses are light, and there’s always something, somewhere, in need of slaying, and when a stream of young girls brushes past them, boughs clustered in their hands like bouquets, Jaskier suspects all he’ll have to do is join in whatever festivities are at hand and he’ll drum up work for them in no time. And by “them”, of course, he means Geralt. But that’s not the part he says out loud. True enough, it takes just one bawdy song about Geralt’s prowess at ghoul-slaying and lady-killing for someone in the local tavern to recognize him. A puffy-eyed man, calls himself something Jaskier can’t parse. Or pronounce. But his coin’s good, and Jaskier’s not yet had occasion to sing about the creature he describes - a cikavac, heavy on the sibilants; a gangling, bird-like thing that’s stealing the milk from their cows and the honey from their hives. Jaskier lets out a laugh. “Really? And what does a great big bird want with cow’s milk, anyway?” “Not for eating,” says the man, tugging at his mustache. His voice has a heavy accent, like the words are punched out of his mouth. “Cikavac works for someone. Maybe in another village, maybe someone here. Takes the milk back to them.” “Glorified theft,” Geralt mutters. “Well, what’s the bird get out of it, then? If it were up to me, I’d rather get to fly around, and sing, and, er, whatever else it is birds get up to. Preening? That sounds nice.” “That’s all you do anyway,” says Geralt, face stony, and he steers Jaskier away from the tavern by his shoulder. They almost bump into a woman and her children just outside. Jaskier shimmies past them, narrowly avoiding trodding on their embroidered skirts. “I’m deeply offended, Geralt,” he laments with a hand over his heart. “I’ll have you know, I’m a man of many skills and talents. Like… Oh! You wouldn’t happen to have any cherries on hand, would you?” “No,” he says, like this is obvious. “More’s the pity. I’ve got this fascinating trick of the tongue, you know. Lets you tie a knot in a cherry stem, no hands necessary. I picked it up from some ladies in Novigrad.” Geralt turns his head back to look at him, eyebrows raised, but doesn’t dignify that with a response. Doesn’t say much the rest of the afternoon, either. All Jaskier can squeeze out of him is a rudimentary description of the thing - gawky, uncomfortably humanoid, and bearing a long, narrow beak with a fleshy pouch where it keeps its spoils. “Like a pelican,” Jaskier supplies helpfully to no one but himself. There are preparations to be made, but Jaskier mostly tunes them out. More interesting is the smoke, growing thicker as they approach the outskirts of the village. Lot of torches for the middle of the day, he thinks, until they resolve themselves as effigies of cloth and straw, bedecked in dried husks and rudimentary skirts to give them the shape of a woman. Jaskier’s mouth closes mid-word. “Oh, that’s alright, then,” he starts up again, “they’re just setting a bunch of little girls on fire. No big deal. And— and then putting them out again. Sure. Seems a little counterproductive!” His voice breaks on the last word, coming out unnaturally loud. A handful of people glance his way. “Don’t be rude,” grunts Geralt. “Not looking to get chased out of town before I get paid.” “Geralt of Rivia, telling me not to be rude? My goodness. I guess I must be rubbing off on you.” Most of the participants gather around a creek that splits the town from the thicket. They cross its shallow waters between a group of boys taking turns to toss their own straw dolls into it. Back to their familiar rites: gathering herbs, laying traps, establishing a stakeout. Jaskier’s gotten quite good at it by now. He sings while he works, mindless things about sad women with lush black hair, so thick you could drown in it. Geralt tells him to knock it off. It only encourages him to give Geralt a winning smile as he cooks up another verse. They’ve got a nice little vantage point where the valley swells up into rolling hills, affording a decent view of the— of the— “Geralt, what’d that alderman call himself?” The witcher looks up from where he’s crushing seeds in a mortar. “Zduhać.” He mouths the word silently, and finds it cumbersome. Of Zduhać’s farmstead, then, where he’s kindly left his prized goat tied up this night for them to use as bait— “It’s a title,” continues Geralt. Jaskier blinks at him, surprised. “Means something like ‘dragon man’.” Of the zduhać’s farmstead, then. Glad they got that sorted out. “So, what, am I to believe that that old man killed a dragon? He didn’t seem much for that kind of thing. A bit too much gout, if you ask me.” “That’s not what it means.” Jaskier waits for a moment, but Geralt just keeps pounding his pestle. “And what, pray tell, does it mean?” he asks at last, as he crosses one leg over the other and rests his hands on his knee. Geralt keeps silent in a way that Jaskier has come to interpret as I don’t know, so don’t ask. Now, they wait. And wait. Geralt keeps his eyes peeled, as sharp as ever, but sometime after the moon rises high in the sky, Jaskier’s fingers stop strumming quite so fast. The air’s balmy and supple, ripe with moisture and the pollen of countless plants unfurling again, and he finds himself nodding off. Jaskier comes to all at once when he hears, in the near distance, something like a cannon firing. He clambers to his feet, against all reason, really, because the last thing he should do is make himself a bigger target for - for whatever that was from. His lantern’s been put out, enveloping the forest in darkness, and he is suddenly aware that he is alone. “Geralt?” he calls out to the trees. His voice warbles in a way he doesn’t like. There’s no response, but he’s sure that sound came from this way. Or maybe it was that way? Jaskier may be no witcher, what with those keen senses and all, but he is clever enough to follow the shuffling and rustling in the trees until he’s sure he isn’t just hearing things. It’s not until he’s well and truly lost track of where he started from that he stumbles through a cluster of flowering bushes, and with it, Geralt. What he should say is something like “Geralt!”, or “Geralt!”, or even “Thank goodness you’re alright!”, but instead what he says is, “Lords have mercy, you’re filthy,” because his eyes have a direct feed to his mouth that bypasses his brain entirely. Geralt’s hunched over and trying in vain to clean his face, covered as he is from head to toe in a translucent, yellowy slime. So is everything else in a ten foot radius. Geralt spits. “No shit.” “What’s— what in the world happened to you?” He steps forward gingerly in an attempt to avoid the mess. “Damned thing. It ate one of my pouches.” Jaskier draws upon his dabbling knowledge of witchery and alchemy to come to the conclusion that something inside it didn’t play nice with the cikavac’s insides. And now its insides appear to be its outsides. “Well, you’re not hurt, are you? Not missing any limbs, from what I can see.” “You’ll put me out of a job with observational skills like those,” says Geralt, unimpressed. He wrings a thick glob out of his hair. All that’s left of the poor beast is its beak, glossy, orange, and befouled with the same stuff. Jaskier lets Geralt pick it up himself. They can’t go back to town looking like this, or at least Geralt can’t, as Jaskier kindly reminds him. There’s a secluded bank downstream from the villagers and their celebrations. It’ll have to do. This, too, is another thing Jaskier’s gotten good at over the years. Scrubbing Geralt clean, that is. He knows which oils to keep on hand to best maintain Geralt’s hair, which salves to apply to all the places Geralt can’t reach, and which temperature Geralt likes the best when they’ve got a choice in the matter. Things that should be degrading. Beneath a man of his stature. ‘Should’ isn’t often found in his vocabulary, however. His fingers knead through Geralt’s hair to coax the last of the slime out of it. It has an odd texture, not unlike a whisked egg, although he’s to understand it’s just a foul mixture of honey, milk, and assorted intestinal fluids. Muscle memory takes over. The rote nature of it quiets a buzzing in him. It’s the same buzz that makes him turn rhymes over in his head, over and over, keeping him from a good night’s sleep unless he’s worn out or fucked out. Hence his predilection for the finer things in life - wine, women, washing. Geralt’s kind of like a cat, Jaskier thinks idly, how he leans into the firm drag of Jaskier’s fingernails against his scalp. It’s hard to beat back a smile. Those eyes of his, normally beady slits, balloon in the dim moonlight. Jaskier pushes down on his shoulders to get him to submerge himself. He goes easily, lingering under the surface for a moment, where his silver hair hangs suspended around him in a filmy cloud. Then he bursts back through the surface like a quenched sword, hot and steaming. Maybe there was something to those strange rituals after all.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #fanfiction #writin stuff #my goal is to have this done in a few weeks........Wish Me Luck

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meetthetank · 4 years

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Cruciamen Prelude: Yesterday was Better

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104214/chapters/60817186

Summary: After the arrest, torture, and botched execution of 9S, he and the dragoness 2B set out for a hidden village of peaceful demons far to the north. In addition to the countless dangers that lie around every corner, something pursues the duo across the world. Their bond will be tested not only by demons, poachers, and a giant mutant ape, but by each other as well. Meanwhile, a vagrant searches the forgotten corners of the world for vengeance.

Book 2 of 5

A/N: And so it begins

2B’s obsidian eyes pan back and forth across the entrance of the small cave she rests in. Any movement, even the twitching of a squirrel, has her head whipping back and forth. She curls her long, feathered body around a shivering soldier. The young man whom she had ripped from his home, whom she mated with, whom she killed innocent people for. Though innocent might be too strong a word for those who had condemned this boy for the crime of existence. They were bound to their duty. She couldn’t blame them for that; it wasn’t their fault that they were in her way. Yet for their crime of complacency in the face of injustice, she pushes the guilt from her mind.

She already has her burdens to bear.

A curious fawn receives the fright of its short life when it pokes its snout into the cave entrance only to come face to beak with 2B. She snarls at the little creature out of reflex and can’t help but feel a little bad when it bounds away to the comfort of its mother, (which bolts as soon as the fawn does) but she can’t be too careful. Not while those who lived are sure to seek revenge on the broken boy she now protects. The half demon scout, 9S.

It makes 2B’s blood boil thinking about what the people of Vigo had done to him. After saving their city, homes, and families, they had tortured him and sentenced him to death. If it hadn't been for the quick planning of Jackass the lieutenant, he would be dead. His head would have hung from the city gates with the rest of the half-demons who had shared his fate.

This once proud and valiant soldier now lies curled into a pitiful ball tucked safely beneath her wings. He hisses or cries out in pain whenever his weeping burns or open wounds brush against the ground or 2B’s scales. It amazes her that 9S remains unconscious despite the agony he must be in.

9S’ arms wrap around his chest as shivers wrack his thin body, his nails puncturing several blisters on his shoulder. Clear, watery pus oozes from the burns that are already red and swollen from infection. Even though his demonic blood allows him to recover from injuries quicker than normal, the wounds he suffers now are too much for his powers to bear.

A low whine escapes 2B’s beak as she nudges his arms away from his body. With gentleness ill befitting a warrior she gently licks the burns and angry red gashes that mar his pale skin. In moments the redness fades from the smaller wounds, but the larger ones only seep more blood and pus after being cleaned. 9S whimpers as her rough tongue scrapes across the sensitive skin of his shoulder. The lightest brush of her feather beard against blisters makes him wince.

His eyes open slowly, fighting against the blood and crust that cake his eyelids shut. His sclera are red and irritated, much like his infected wounds. 9S’ golden eyes listlessly search for something to focus on, moving from 2B’s eyes, to her feathers, claws, and beak.

“T….Tw….2B?” he whispers, his voice straining from the pain.

She leans her snout into his hands, nuzzling into his touch as gently as she can.

His eyes fill with tears as he starts to shudder. “T-...Two-..Be...2B…..,” 9S sobs. He clings to her snout with frail arms.

2B shifts herself around so that her wings shield his body from the cold of the cave and lets out a warm huff of air over him. His whole body quakes as he sobs onto her muzzle, his soft whimpers echoing against the stone.

“I-...I thought you- I was so-... s-scared...I-I thought yo-u woud-n’t...T-that I was-s....”

2B lets out a low growl like her mother used to do when she was a nestling. The sound makes her body rumble, and though she has no idea if it helps 9S or not, his breathing does start to even out. His sobs quiet to the occasional hiccup and ragged breath as he clings to 2B like a frightened child.

Once 9S’ grip weakens 2B licks at his wounds again, testing to see if the pain is too much for him to bear. He doesn’t wince or cry when her tongue brushes against the weeping skin, so she continues until the bleeding stops.

“2B…” he says weakly.

She looks at him with pitch black eyes that betray little emotion, but a single warbling sound indicates her concern.

“Thank you.”

2B presses the end of her beak against the unburnt parts of his chest and curls her tail around them both. She resumes her rumbling once 9S wraps his arms around her snout once again. He drifts off again, curled in the safety of 2B’s embrace. His breathing is still ragged, but softer and more even than before. She relaxes just a touch, confident that everything in the area got the hint to stay away from this cave.

Unfortunately the moment 2B relaxes enough to close her eyes something disturbs the pebbles near the cave entrance. She instinctively bares her teeth, but the only thing of concern is a pudgy raven. It studies 2B with inscrutable eyes before flying off in a flash of black feathers. Idly, she wonders if humans interpret this as an omen of good fortune as well. She’ll have to remember to ask 9S when he wakes next.

Her ears pick up the sounds of the raven’s distinctive quark, which alone gives her a strange sense of comfort, but the sounds that follow make her feathers stand on end. Footsteps. Two sets of footsteps. Someone praising the raven for finding their target quickly.

With as much gentleness as she can manage, 2B drags 9S to the back of the cave and obscures him as much as possible. She stands with her legs and wingarms far apart, using the large feathers on her wings to shroud 9S in shadows. Her beak opens slowly and a roar begins to rumble in her chest. The footsteps draw near and 2B digs her claws into the dirt. Her muscles tense, eyes narrow…

The moment the silhouettes of two humans approach the cave’s entrance 2B erupts forward, letting out the most intimidating hiss she can muster. She swipes her claws inches from the shadows and gnashes her teeth at them. It’s a threat display, but only a coatyl would understand the complex body language she puts forward. There's a very slim chance that these figures were her kind.

“Whoa whoa! 2B!” a figure yells, “2B, it’s me!”

That light, feminine voice is instantly familiar to her. 2B blinks rapidly to force her eyes to adjust to the change in light. Two women with blonde hair, one of whom has a raven perched on her arm, stand at the entrance of the cave. The shorter woman, who 2B now recognizes as her childhood friend 6O, boldly rushes forward once 2B visibly relaxes.

“You dumb bird!” 6O shouts as she throws her arms around 2B’s neck, “You almost bit me!”

2B bows her heavy head in shame as 6O frets over her.

“Are you hurt? You’re okay right? Didn’t get hit by any stray arrows?” she says while searching through as many of 2B’s feathers as she can reach.

“She’s fine.” 21O says, pushing past 2B and 6O. “Where is he?” Her cold, professional voice has the smallest waver to it.

With a low huff, 2B backs up and lifts up one of her wings to reveal the shivering body of 21O’s son.

“Oh gods…” she whispers with wide eyes that quickly fill with tears. All shreds of her stony facade fall by the wayside as she kneels beside 9S, cradling his head in her lap. “Oh, my boy… My baby boy, what have they done to you…” she sobs.

“M…” 9S whimpers, “Mom…” He curls into 21O, clinging to her like a frightened infant. “Mom...I was so scared...Mom…I th-thought I was gonna...”

“Ssshh...It’s okay,” 21O coos to her son, smoothing his bloodstained hair with a free hand. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe. No one can hurt you here.”

Both 2B and 6O back away from mother and son. Even 6O seems as uncomfortable as she and 2B watch someone so calm and composed sob so strongly. 2B bows her head low enough for 6O to place a comforting hand on top, both women feeling a small relief from the gesture.

They let 21O have her moment with her son, but after a tense few minutes 6O has to step forward. “21O?”

21O takes a shuddering breath, “Yes, right.” she says as she helps 9S sit up, “Don’t worry. 6O is going to help you. Everything is going to be okay.” She reluctantly shuffles, allowing 6O to bear some of 9S’ weight.

“Okay, put the blanket beneath him and help me lie him back down.” 6O commands.

2B shrinks back from the three of them. She’s only seen 6O go to work a few times in the past, but she recognizes the tone in her voice. If she didn’t know any better she would have thought that 21O and 6O had switched places. It frightens her in a strange way, being this useless. The most she can do is keep watch over the entrance of the cave.

9S hisses through his teeth when his back touches the blanket. Even the wool can’t soften the stones of the cave floor when they dig into his burnt skin. 21O

“Right,” 6O says with a quick sigh and begins emptying her bag of supplies and lying them out beside her, “first we need to clean, suture, and dress these larger lacerations. 21O I need you to mix these two plants into a salve while I clean him up.”

6O takes a thin, well-used rag, and wets it with some water from the skin on her hip. She goes over each cut, scrape, and infected wound methodically and intently, making sure each one is free of pus and blood before moving on to the next. There are some that give her pause and make her brows knit together in worry. Those look to be the deepest and most infected of the lot. Once mashed into the proper consistency, she instructs 21O to rub the salve over the smaller cuts.

9S sucks in a pained breath and his whole body tenses up as soon as the salve touches his open wounds. Just the fumes of the thick, oil-like plant matter make 2B’s eyes water. The memory of the salve on scrapes and cuts of her own is fresh enough in her mind; its acrid smell and agonizing sting burns in her mind just as it did on her body. It’s unfortunate that this concoction can only cleanse the wounds of infection and impurities, for all the pain it causes. The red, swollen wounds seem to boil the moment the salve makes contact, turning the skin a milky white color. 9S grits his teeth as the infections are burnt away by the salve.

Once the cloth is thoroughly soaked in blood and puss, 6O tosses it aside for bandages, a spool of thread, and a needle. She quickly sews the largest of 9S’ lacerations shut, apologizing each time he squirms and cries out when the needle pierces his skin.

“Keep still. You really don't want me to mess these up,” she says as 9S begins to squirm with discomfort. “They’re going to scar, but not as badly if you let me do this right. Don’t make me have to get 2B to hold you down.”

With deft hands 6O sews a zig-zag pattern into 9S, closing up the largest of his wounds within seconds. First the gash on his forehead left by a stone, then the broken stitches that still linger across his chest. She snaps her fingers at 21O, wordlessly commanding her friend to assist in properly dressing the wounds with clean, crisp bandages. The smaller cuts are cleaned and wrapped with the cloth bandages as well, but without being sewn shut. Splotches of blood ooze out and stain the dressings a dark red.

“Alright, help me flip him over.” 6O commands both 21O and 2B.

2B finds use, finally. She lowers her beak down to 9S, allowing him to grip onto her feathers while 6O and his mother maneuver him onto his stomach without putting too much strain on his body. All of them wince along with 9S when the burns on his back come into view.

What isn’t red and swollen is white and dead or shades of sickly green and purple. There are spots that swell into blisters full of clear pus and patches of skin scorched black. 2B swears she sees pieces of flesh crumble to ash as 6O brushes her fingers across his back.

“Gods...this is bad,” 6O mutters, “there’s parts that are infected already…”

“What can be done?” 21O asks, a noticeable waver in her voice.

“Plenty.” 6O’s eyes spark with determination.

2B can barely keep up with the instructions 6O passes to 21O. A slurry of plants, some of which ooze a thick clear liquid, and water are placed into a clay bowl. 21O dutifully grinds down the ingredients into a salve, never once taking her eyes off her son.

6O gently prods parts of 9S’ back, asking each time if he can feel anything. He whimpers a soft “yes” when she pokes the angry red portions, but the dark and white sections earn no response. 6O’s brow furrows, and though she doesn’t have the extensive knowledge 6O does, 2B knows what 9S’ reactions, or lack thereof, mean. The nerves in his shoulder are dead.

“Right…” 6O mutters, taking the bowl from 21O, “This will calm the infections and make you feel better but...there’s nothing I can do to keep this from scarring as bad as it will.”

A lump forms in 2B’s throat. She’s never seen scars as something to be ashamed of, or something that takes from a person’s attractiveness. Quite the contrary actually; in her younger days she found herself daydreaming about warriors flaunting scars of their past battles like trophies. This is different. This isn’t the memory of a victory, this is a brand of hate, one that he’ll carry for the rest of his life.

21O instructs her son to breath evenly through the pain as 6O massages the salve into the burns. Even 2B has to look away whenever a blister bursts open from the pressure, but 9S’ cries are something she can’t escape from. He buries his head in his mother’s embrace, trying to cry but not having the strength to do more than wheeze. A strange mixture of sadness and rage boils in 2B’s chest at the sight. She digs her talons into the dirt as if it will help.

It feels like hours to 2B till 6O finally scrapes the last of the salve out of her bowl. She can only imagine what it must be like for 9S, but she keeps silently repeating that it’s for the best. Better the agony now than a prolonged death later.

There’s a brief sigh of relief that crosses both 6O’s and 21O’s face once their task is done, but it vanishes in an instant. Their gaze settles on the injury of 9S’ that they have been dreading. His warped, twisted left leg. From his knee down, the leg bends to the right before it tapers off in a desperate attempt to correct itself. A section in the middle of his calf is red and swollen, but not alarmingly so. With her limited knowledge of medicine 2B isn’t sure exactly what is wrong, but she knows something is. Obviously legs aren’t supposed to bend like that outside of the knee.

6O’s eyes are fierce, but her hesitant hands betray her true thoughts. 21O covers her mouth with her hand, her grey-blue eyes beginning to water once again.

“Right…” 6O says, her gaze downcast as she searches through her pouch, eventually retrieving a small, white tablet out of a cloth bag. There’s a bit of embroidery on the bag that 2B can’t make out, aside from the letter ‘W’.

“Nines,” she places a hand on 9S’ good shoulder, “I need you to turn over and swallow this.”

With the help of 21O and 2B, 9S rolls over to his back. Before he has a chance to get his bearings again, 6O all but shoves the white tablet into his mouth followed by the spout of her waterskin. 9S sputters and chokes at the first few gulps but with trial and error manages to swallow a few mouthfuls of water, along with the medicine.

“It’s…” 9S coughs, “bitter…”

“Just lie back and relax. Let me know when your stomach starts to itch, okay?”

“ ‘Kay…” 9S obeys without questioning 6O’s strange instructions. His eyes loll from his mother, to 2B, and back again. 21O gently lifts his head and places it in her lap, taking one of his hands in both of hers. To 2B’s surprise, 9S buries the fingers of his free hand into her feathers. He clumsily grasps at them like a frightened cub, and 2B feels...something in her chest. A strange feeling she can’t quite place.

21O stifles a gasp, breaking 2B out of her thoughts. They watch as, to both their horror, 6O produces a smaller version of a carpenter’s saw from her bag.

“I… I’m sorry but…” 6O sighs as she touches 9S’ twisted leg, testing for something 2B can’t see, “His demon blood helps him recover from injuries a lot faster than a normal human.” She points to the gashes that she had sewn shut only minutes ago. “See? It takes days for a wound that size to produce scar tissue. But that means… when his leg was broken… it… the sped up healing made it set wrong.”

Sad green eyes betray the pain that her professional tone hides. “...I have to re-break his leg.”

Grim realization hits 2B worse than she expects. The tablets, the saw… She’s seen her fair share of violence, she’s killed men before, but this… It makes bile rise in her throat.

9S’ grip on her feathers tighten, though he pries his other hand away from his mother’s to scratch at his exposed stomach.

“21O,” 6O says, “Can you put the leather strap in his mouth for me?”

Wordlessly, 21O obeys. She wedges the thick leather between her son’s teeth, his bright golden eyes slowly moving from person to person. His chest rises and falls slower and slower, but his eyes remain open.

6O chews on her lower lip. “His body must be diluting the effects.”

“Is it safe for him to have more?” 21O asks.

“No, not with that high of a dosage...I…” Her grip on the saw’s handle tightens as she searches 9S’ leg for the source of the deformity. “We can’t wait any longer.”

2B grinds the tips of her beak together as 6O places the saw’s teeth against 9S’ soft, pale flesh. He doesn’t flinch at the touch of the cold metal. The first stroke of luck they’ve had all day. 2B lowers her head down onto 9S’ stomach, replacing his view of the coming mutilation with one sorrowful black eye. She likes to think there’s something grateful in his lazy, unfocused expression. Unfortunately, her other eye can see the moment the saw’s serrated blade cuts into his flesh.

The metal teeth easily carve through his skin. It only takes one push from 6O for the saw to tear into red cords of muscle and the thin, white layer of fat. 9S gasps, but 2B doesn’t hear pain in his breath. She can’t imagine the sensations he must be feeling, of having his leg carved into without the agony. A defiant hope soars in her chest, that maybe this won’t be as torturous for him--and her--as she thought.

6O pulls the saw back, dragging frayed muscle fibers with it. She pushes it forward, tearing through strings of connective fat. 9S winces and hisses through the leather strap, but he seems to handle it as if it were a moderate discomfort. Sometimes he closes his eyes for a moment or two, only for 6O to shift the saw blade in a way that jolts him awake.

Then, just as both doctor and patient were falling into a tense rhythm, the saw comes to a halt with a horrid cracking sound. 9S jolts upright, groaning in barely restrained agony. His teeth grind against the strap in his mouth as his eyes screw shut and his body spasms. 21O wraps her arms around her son’s body to keep him from thrashing too much.

The breaking bone sounds like a brittle twig being crushed over and over again. It takes all of 2B’s strength to keep her head still despite hearing and seeing small shards of bone fly out of 9S’ ruined leg. 21O fights back tears along with her son, and 6O remains as grim faced as any warrior 2B had ever seen. She has to shut her eyes to maintain her position, but the creaking and cracking, the groaning...It’s too much for her to watch.

A final deafening crack and 6O slumps forward suddenly. 9S lets out a long, awful noise that's muffled by the leather strap. Even still, it’s a sound that echoes against the cave walls, amplifying it to deafening levels.

And still 6O persists.

2B keeps her eyes shut, focusing on 9S’ labored breathing and 21O’s gentle ministrations. She tries not to listen to the sick noises the saw makes as it tears apart the space between his two leg bones. She tries not to hear the awful grinding the teeth make against the second bone, or the way 9S sobs sound so tired and empty now. The worst is the fact that there’s nothing she can do but hold her head there and obscure the view from him. There’s no demon to throw herself in front of, no daring rescue. The damage has already been done, and all she can do is sit and hope that what she’s doing is enough.

Suddenly, with one last shifting of his body, it’s over. As soon as 2B hears the wet, sickening sound of fat and muscle being moved she opens her eyes. 6O withdraws the saw in one fluid motion and casts it onto the dirt. 9S’ jaw goes slack, his whole head goes slack. 21O holds him upright, gently slapping his face to keep him awake at least partially. She calls out his name whenever he starts to falter. 2B feels her heart thunder in her chest when she sees his eyes roll into the back of his head only for them to reappear seconds later. The next time it happens she shifts her head on his lap and nudges his chest with her beak as a small gesture of comfort (and so she doesn’t have to look at the inside of his bones).

His tired, golden eyes lock onto hers. Something unspoken passes between them, but what exactly that is escapes 2B. She never was good at understanding the complexities of human body language. There’s a desperation in his eyes, like a cub looking at a sweet fish they’re not allowed to have. A slight smile makes the corners of his lips quirk up before being replaced by pain warping his boyish features again. He groans through the leather strap, his fingers tugging at 2B’s feathers and crushing his mother’s hand.

“Almost done.” 6O reassures, “I’m putting your leg in a splint. A spell or two and it’ll be all over. You just have to stay awake a bit more.”

9S nods but keeps quiet aside from labored breathing.

Both of his hands find their way into 2B’s feathers, his fingers fumbling around with the roots weakly. He accidentally tugs too hard on a fistful, which earns him a low snarl that’s quickly suppressed before he can notice. 21O smooths down his untidy hair now that both her hands are free again. His platinum blonde hair is practically yellow with sweat and grime from his time in the dungeon. 2B can almost hear him complaining for a hot bath.

The cavern fills with a pale green light. 2B whips her head around and 9S whimpers at the sudden loss of her soft feathers. Everything is bathed in green as 6O begins chanting in an intricate, long dead tongue and shaking a bone chime. Her subtle tattoos glow with intensity, starting from her forearms suspended over 9S’ leg and spreading up to her face until her eyes are the same unearthly green.

A presence fills the cavern, one that both 6O and 2B sense, but only 6O can see. It’s old. Very old. It fills their tiny hideaway and coils around the four occupants like a vast serpent, but as thin as bones. The faint sound of creaking joints echoes in her ears whenever it moves. She feels its gaze shift from person, its unseen eyes lingering on 2B long enough to fill her with terror. It returns to its summoner as the green glow comes to a head. 6O places her illuminated hands on either side of the grisly incision.

Beneath the light, 2B watches as bone, sinew, and skin bridge the gap and knit 9S’ leg back together in the proper shape. Mysteries of anatomy unfold before 2B’s ignorant eyes, the finite details of bone marrow and muscle fibers, the intricate network of nerves that spark like lightning, the light jacket of fat that seals everything from the elements, the way his skin builds itself up in layers before capping in uneven scar tissue.

Once satisfied, 6O picks up the bone chime again and resumes her prayers to this entity. With a confident final shake the entity’s presence vanishes, leaving behind the faint scent of stale cinnamon in its wake. As the glow fades from her skin, so too does 6O’s energy. She falls to her hands, her breath heavy and ragged. She takes a deep breath and wipes away the sweat that drips from her forehead.

“Right...we’re done,” she says in between breaths.

With 21O’s help, 9S curls up against 2B’s flank, tucked safely under her wing. His eyes linger on 21O and 6O as the former bustles around picking up the rags and stray rocks from the ground as if this is her new home. 6O’s tired but firm hand on her shoulder makes her stop, and her shoulders drop. She retrieves something long wrapped in thin leathers from the entrance of the cave. When she brings it over to 9S who barely is able to keep his eyes open, the dull brass shaft of his spear is immediately recognizable. As the last piece of leather is pulled away, the blade of the spear glistens with a mirror shine. 2B can see herself in its milky silver reflection, but the moment 21O sets the spear close to her talons, she hisses and reels back from it.

“Ah…” 21O mutters, pulling the weapon away, “Siderite. My apologies.”

Though it has no smell, 2B swears the toxic metal stinks like death. Perhaps it's just the knowledge of how dangerous it is to her kind gives it an illusion of odor. Just a prick has the potential to kill her. How she hadn’t noticed this about 9S’ favored weapon, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she just hadn’t thought to inspect it, or maybe she had been too entranced by its wielder.

She gets up for a moment, just to move herself further away from the deadly metal, but 9S latches onto her feathers with frantic strength. She’s almost pulled back down to the cave floor. His eyes are wide with panic, his chest rising and falling rapidly with ragged wheezes. Somehow he looks more scared of her leaving than when 6O brought out the saw to mutilate his leg. With a reassuring huff, 2B settles back down next to him and covers his legs with her wings.

21O kneels down in front of 9S, taking his trembling hand in hers. “9S...Nines…” she mutters.

“Mom…?” 9S’ voice is hoarse, broken from the strain of the past few days.

“Listen very closely, 9S.” 21O forces her son’s fading focus onto her.

“Mom…” His head lolls to the side, “Mom remember that glove you had? The fancy falconry glove with all the beading on it? The one that got all messed up? That was me… I’m sorry. I used it to clean the latrines… ”

21O laughs a little, but it’s hollow and weak, “It’s okay, son. You were… gods, nine or ten.”

He hiccups, “I meant to tell you sooner… I was scared you’d be mad.”

“Shhh, don’t worry. It’s just an old glove.” she says with a reassuring smile. “You’ve destroyed far more than that. Remember what happened to your room when you were 13?” She and 6O can’t help but laugh at the way 9S tries to hide his face in 2B’s feathers.

9S pouts, but chuckles along with his mother after a moment, only stopping when he remembers that everything hurts. He looks up at 21O with wide, innocent eyes. “When can we...go home?” he asks.

21O winces. “You...you can’t.” She pauses to blink back the tears welling in her eyes, “They’re...The Senate is demanding every soldier submit a blood sample to be tested. They’re trying to root out any more half demons within the ranks.”

9S tries to sit up, but his waning strength only allows him to lean forward. “Wh-...but there’s-...so many…”

“Lieutenant Joanna is on top of it,” 6O interjects. “But...the city guard is going to be looking for you. And 2B. White… The Commander made the call to…” 6O lets out a heavy, exhausted sigh. “To discharge you.”

9S slumps back against 2B’s side, a pained breath escaping him. “I....What am I s-...What am I gonna do?”

The spark in 21O’s grey eyes returns ever so slightly. “There’s a place in the North. Far north. Past the Great Desert and The Old Bog. There’s a village of half demon and demon alike where all seek asylum from this endless war. My father resides there. It’s protected by a large demon named Pascal.”

2B stares at 21O, grateful that her current form hides her expression from her. From a very young age, 2B had been taught that the mountains far to the north were the domain of the Dragon God, the father of all dragons. It is a place that no demon should be able to approach, let alone live in.

So why is there a village of them in such a sacred place?

“You will be safe there,” 21O continues. “No one will know you, no one will be hunting for you. You will be safe, and when this war ends…” she trails off, biting her lower lip to keep from choking on her own words. “Perhaps we will see each other again…”

9S, under the influence of lingering pain and narcotic medicine, cannot contain his tears. “M-mom…” he sobs, “Mom, please…” His head droops, his whole body slumps against 2B as the medicine courses through his veins. He struggles to keep his eyes open even as 21O wraps her arms around her son.

Both 2B and 6O watch, unwilling to interrupt mother and son but unsure as to what to do. The sun’s first rays are beginning to peak out between the trees. Since 2B is not being used as a giant feather pillow, 6O busies herself with some bottles and pouches, setting them beside her.

“This is for Nines. Medicine to keep his wounds from getting infected while you’re traveling.” She pauses and looks 2B in the eye. “You are going with him...right?”

2B nods slowly so as not to disturb 9S or 21O.

6O sighs. “Good.” She runs her hands through the feathers on 2B’s snout. “Don’t be your usual birdbrain self out there… okay? Take care of him, and when you’re done… find A2.”

2B glances down at 9S, but nods again. A2 was the whole reason she had left her home in the first place, and though now she’ll be crossing the land with 9S, her original goal will remain the same.

She can’t imagine he’ll be thrilled about what that means for him, however.

Soft birdsong begins to filter into the cave. 6O puts a hand on her brokenhearted friend’s shoulder, “It’s almost dawn… 21O, we gotta go…”

21O can barely speak as she sobs into the barely lucid 9S, “Be strong. Be good. Nines… My baby boy…”

#nier atuomata #nier automata fanfiction #2B #9S #2B9S #6O #21O #fantasy au #fanfiction #Tanks fics #lets gooooooooooooooooooooo #this book is gonna get buck wild man

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my-lady-knight · 5 years

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Favorite Reads of 2019

As seems to be my usual, I’m posting this at what feels like the last second.

Writing this year’s post was hard. I’ve been complaining offline all year that it feels like I read far fewer books I really, truly enjoyed. Even the books I did enjoy, they didn’t stick around long in my head for me to remember details. On the other hand, this list ended up being thirteen items long, so it can’t have been that bad. And having to go back to the books in order to write this list did make me remember how and why I loved them, so there is that.

Presented in chronological order of when I read them:

The Lions of Al-Rassan by Guy Gavriel Kay

The first book I read in 2019, and I knew would end up on this list as soon as I finished. It’s also the first book of Guy Gavriel Kay’s where I finally understood what the fuss was about - when he commits to writing three-dimensional characters with compelling interpersonal and socio-political relationships, he commits. The cultural/social details of this secondary-world version of medieval Spain set at the beginning of the end of the Caliphate and the rise of the Reconquista are evocative, and the scope deftly alternates between being vast without tripping over itself and touchingly personal. Most importantly, this book gave me an OT3 I wasn’t even expecting in the form of Amman ibn Khairan, famed soldier, poet, and advisor now outcast from the city-state of Cartada, Rodrigo Belmonte, beloved cavalry captain with a complicated loyalty to the rulers he serves, and Jehane bet Ishak, an esteemed physician whose path intersects with them both. Together they represent the connections and tensions between their respective, secondary-world Muslim, Christian, and Jewish communities, cities, and leaders in this secondary-world Spain and form a triangle of everything the country has, is, and can be. A year later I still love this book.

How to Write an Autobiographical Novel: Essays by Alexander Chee

This book is difficult to write about, because I remember loving it as I was reading it, but I can’t remember any of the essays very well several months after the fact (see above). What I do remember is that they were difficult, and complicated, and messy, and they did the thing I love when essays do where the fact that the things Alexander Chee was writing about are super-specific to him made them somehow feel all the more relatable. All the essays were nicely crafted stories and emotional journeys, withAlexander Chee tracing all the various aspects of his life through his writing, as an Asian man, a gay man, an aspiring writer, a professional writer, a resident of NYC, and a survivor of sexual assault, using prose that was both artistic and clear as water.

The Raven Tower by Ann Leckie

Amal El-Mohtar wrote in her NYT review that this book was akin to “Hamlet”, “if [the play] were told from the point of view of Elsinore Castle addressing itself to a Horatio who mostly couldn’t hear it,” to which my response was “huh?” Then I read the book and it a) made so much more sense and b) ended up being an astute, apropos explanation of the kind of book The Raven Tower is. It’s the story of a soldier and companion to the heir of a country investigating the disappearance of its ruler and the ascendency of another in his place. It’s also the story of a calm, patient god in the form of a stone who predates all of history and narrates the changing existence of gods, their power, and their relationship to humans and their civilizations. It’s an understated yet powerful book, full of Ann Leckie’s brilliant and clever writing, world-building, storytelling, and otherworldliness. It’s Ann Leckie. She knows what she’s doing. And it fucking works.

Sal & Gabi Break the Universe by Carlos Hernandez

This book - is bonkers. It is insane. It is one thousand percent over the top. I kept asking myself “why am I not irritated???” Instead I loved it. Sal is the new kid, a practicing magician with as showman’s flair for the dramatic and boundless energy, and he can open up portals into other universes. Gabi is the sharp-eyed, bossy class president and editor of the school newspaper who just knows something’s up with Sal and his shenanigans. Together, they become friends! And open up more portals into other universes. This book is warm and empathetic and funny and kind-hearted. It’s too-muchness quality somehow worked. The whole thing felt like the literary equivalent of a hug.

The Parting Glass by Gina Marie Guadagnino

This wasn’t a Deep book, but I could not stop thinking about it, nor could I stop recommending it to people. It’s a zippy historical fiction novel set in 1830s NYC prior to the Potato Famine. Mary (or Maire) and her brother Seanin are Irish immigrants working in the same wealthy family’s house, she as lady’s maid to the marriageable daughter named Charlotte, he as a groomsman. Mary is half in love with her Charlotte; unfortunately so is Seanin, and the two of them are carrying on an affair, the aftermath of which leaves Mary in a bind about where her loyalties lie. I love that this book has a queer take on a love triangle that I’ve never seen before, and I loved Mary’s anger and resentment, her unashamed attitude towards her desire for Charlotte as well as other women, and her selfishness as well as her loyalty. I also loved the upstairs-downstairs nature of the book and the clash of Anglo-American and Irish immigrant ethnic and class mores and the larger social and political setting of the city and time period.

The Bird King by G. Willow Wilson

I don’t even know how to begin describing this book. It’s a story about maps and boundaries and borders. It’s an epic of daring escape and adventure about a mapmaker named Hassan with a magical gift and a concubine named Fatima, two friends fleeing the Inquisition after the surrender of Granada, in search of a mythical island ruled by the King of Birds. It’s a story of faith and trust and bonds forged from disparate people, and transformation, transformation of yourself and the world around you because you will it to be so. It’s a beautiful, beautifully written book.

(As a side note, I’m intrigued by the fact that two of my favorite books on here are set during the Reconquista.)

On the Come Up by Angie Thomas

In some ways I liked this even better than The Hate U Give. I loved the complexity that arose out of Bri rapping about the injustices she’s experienced, with people drawing completely different meanings out of her words, people wanting her to use her rapping and her voice for differing reasons, and Bri herself working to figure out the power she has with her rapping and how she wants to use her talents, when it comes to financially supporting her family, standing up for herself, and being herself when so many around her are creating all these false images of her based solely off her words. I loved Bri’s anger, the way she kept speaking before thinking, her loving, sometimes complicated relationships with her family and friends...Angie Thomas’s writing and storytelling is phenomenal.

Kindred by Octavia Butler

I’m not even sure what to say about this book that hasn’t been said but, um, yeah, it’s Octavia Butler, it’s a classic, and really my favorite aspect of the book is how it so effectively bridges the gap between history and present and demonstrates how the two aren’t so far apart, and effectively blends them such that for Dana, the present becomes the past and the past is her present and suddenly she isn’t visiting history at a somewhat removed vantage point, she is part of history, her own history, her ancestors’ history, in all its horror, caught in a catch-22 of needing to repeatedly save the life of her white, slave-owning ancestor who over time grows more and more violent towards her, in order to ensure the chronological security of her own life.

The Weight of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf

This was a harrowing read. Set in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia during the 1969 Malay-Chinese race riots, sixteen-year-old Melati has OCD, or what she understands as a djinn living inside her that forces her to obsessively count in order to keep her mom alive, a secret she tries to hide so people don’t think she’s possessed. When the race riots break out across the city, Melati has to make her way through the violence in the streets in order to find her mom, all while battling the djinn as its power increases in the chaos. I repeat, this book was brutal. The descriptions of Melati’s OCD alone make it a tense, taxing read - combine it with the violence and unpredictability of the race riots and all the threats to Melati’s safety and her ever-growing fear for her mom and it’s a lot. Even so (perhaps because) I could not put this book down. The recreation of this part of history (which I had no clue of before and knew nothing about) was both immersive and informative, the story was deftly plotted, and I loved how Melati’s characterization and her relationship/the depiction of her OCD and how it specifically affects her in her particular circumstances.

Jade War by Fonda Lee

CLEAN BLADE CLEAN BLADE CLEAN BLADE

*ahem*

The second book of the Green Bone Saga was even better than the first. It took the story of the Kaul family and the No Peak clan and the worldbuilding of Jade City and turned everything up to eleven, expanding the story beyond Kekon into the global theater, particularly Espenia, bringing into the picture Kekonse immigration, diaspora, assimilation, and cultural heritage - what it means to be Kekonese, to be a Green Bone and carry jade and follow aisho outside of Kekon. The gang warfare between the No Peak clan and the Mountain clan spills over the domestic sphere into the international. Espenia grows more aggressive in its moves to gain control over jade at Kekon’s expense. It’s family loyalties and betrayals, it’s gang politics and warfare, it’s community, municipal, national, and international politics and culture clashes, and the changing world of being a Green Bone and wearing jade in a post-colonial world. Anyone who’s followed me this year because of Peaky Blinders - READ JADE CITY AND JADE WAR. YOU WILL LIKE THESE BOOKS I PROMISE.

Hexarchate Stories by Yoon Ha Lee

With this short story collection, Yoon Ha Lee has not only successfully published fan fiction of his own work in the Hexarchate universe and is getting paid for it, he’s published good fanfiction. The cute Cheris and Jedao backstory pieces of flash fiction he first published on his website are drabbles. One of the original pieces in this collection is straight-up PWP. (How the hell Solaris agreed to it I have no idea, there is literally no plot.) The very last story (also original) is fix-it fic for Revenant Gun that left me kicking and screaming over the CLIFFHANGER that Yoon Ha Lee ended it on HOW DARE YOU I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT CHERIS AND JEDAO ARE GOING TO DO NEXT YOU BETTER BE WRITING MORE STORIES SET IN THIS AU TIMELINE. In sum, Yoon Ha Lee is a delight, I love him, and I loved this collection.

The Deep by Rivers Solomon

A novella about the weight of history, especially painful, traumatic history, and the necessity and yearning for it when you don’t have it. To be forced to bear the burden of history alone is to be crushed and subsumed by it. To lose or become detached from it is to lose connection to the people you’re from. Either way, it is difficult to impossible to maintain a people’s history alone. Rivers Solomon is such a poetic writer with her prose, painting beautiful images with just the right collection and arrangement of words, all while packing an astutely aimed punch in 160 pages.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

I had some issues with how convenient some of the magic/magical artifacts felt, and the various threads of the murder plot didn’t tie up as nicely as I wanted, but oh, Alex Stern is a marvel - a survivor in every sense of the word who embraces that part of herself over and over, even as what being a survivor means changes for Alex over the course of the book. A dark/contemporary urban fantasy set at Yale where the university’s elite student societies are also magical societies— Alex is a dropout who got into drugs as a teenager in order to shield herself from the ghosts she can’t stop seeing, recruited to act as overseer of the societies’ magical rituals, and who takes it upon herself to investigate the murder of a young woman not too different than herself. The centrality of power and its abuse in this book is delicious, the read is gripping, and Alex is worth the price of admission. Yes, I will be reading the second book when it comes out.

(Also, this is literally the second book I’ve ever read that makes any mention or inclusion of Ladino (both Alex and Leigh Bardugo are Sephardi.))

Honorable Mentions

Finding Baba Yaga by Jane Yolen

King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo

How Long ‘til Black Future Month? by N. K. Jemisin

Our Year of Maybe by Rachel Lynn Solomon

Dragon Pearl by Yoon Ha Lee

The Boneless Mercies by April Genevieve Tucholke

The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2018 edited by N. K. Jemisin and John Joseph Adams

The Calculating Stars by Mary Robinette Kowal

Amnesty by Lara Elena Donnelly

Storm of Locusts by Rebecca Roanhorse

Let Me Hear a Rhyme by Tiffany D. Jackson

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht

Pet by Akwaeke Emezi

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

It’s also been my practice over the past few years when making these posts to crunch the numbers regarding the number of books I’ve read by PoC authors. This year I read a total of 30 books, which is the exact same number as last year, but since I read fewer books this year, they accounted for 47 percent of my reading, compared to last year’s 43 percent. My goal since I started has been to get to 50-50 parity between PoC and white authors, and this year’s the second-closest I got (I reached 48 percent in 2017.) The goal for next year is once again 50-50.

#long post #book recs

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esquissers · 5 years

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◟ believe it or not , i am indeed a mess & unfortunately , you are being introduce to me sFKSDFJ . in all seriousness , i'm cc , nineteen from the cst tz with she / her preferred pronouns . this is a new muse that i've pulled a little bit of inspo from other muses , but i'm trying :) something :) ( not ) new ! pip is a cute lil nickname but she's ... not cool , to say the least . pls LIKE this if you'd like to plot & i'll come to you , or , lmk if you prefer plotting on d*scord !

stats / wanted connections / pinterest

━━ ( jung jinsoul + cis female + twenty-one ) oi , have you seen philippa ‘pip’ bae around ? she lives in flat 17 in bedroom 4 ? i was meant to meet them this morning at bean me up before our lecture but she didn’t show . no ? well , shit . if you do see them , can you tell them i’m looking for them ? they’re a 3rd year architecture student from nafplio , greece & you’ll know it’s them because they might just remind you of gold framed glasses left in the library , playing the sims on your laptop during lectures , a wall full of half-finished pencil sketches , lemon water , climbing onto rooftops & the dream of building something better if that helps at all.just be careful , she can be a little machiavellan , hubristic & arriviste sometimes . —- oh don’t look like that , they’re usually erudite , habile & tactical most of the time .

𝓲. 𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕘𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 .

full name : philippa bae / bae soo ah nickname(s) : pip , suah , pippa age : twenty - one gender / pronouns : cis gendered female / she / her / hers sexuality : bisexual / biromantic hometown : nafplio , greece major : architecture inspo : annabeth chase , regina george , macey mchenry faceclaim : jung jinsoul

fun facts : doesn’t talk about her dad but will mention every chance she gets that he’s ex mi6 , can speak almost six languages but doesn’t speak any of them ... u know ? , major abandonment issues & for what , can whistle for hours without stopping , carries around multiple sketchbooks on her person at all times , is mean :( takes out unresolved anger on everyone around her , got kicked out of the library her first year for starting a fight with a librarian , loud opinions ; mean words , is really good at drawing / painting but only Sketches because painting is reserved for ‘ pure inspiration ’ , should be an art major but doesn’t think she needs a degree in drawing

aesthetic : drowning just below the surface of an ice cold river , being unable to hear the birds chirping in the morning due to the irrevocable anger , breaking pencils because you’re pressing down too hard , wind so cold it feels like it’s cutting into skin , a lone glacier wandering the abandoned waters , a forgotten lighthouse in the wreckage of ships it failed to protect & friends are family despite the way you treat them .

𝓲𝓲. 𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕝𝕖 .

mom doesn’t get much of an explanation , why her lover swerves in & out of her life so jarringly . instead , she’s given a child , someone that looks a lot like the suave man who visits every few months from business & tells her that she loves her . he’s the first one to call philippa ‘ pip ’ & it only sticks because she lets it , even if she hates the name almost as much as she hates him .

pip loves her dad , maybe a bit more than the upset mom who always watches over her & ruins her fun . dad , he teaches her different languages & how to find a killer on the big , intricate maps he brings homes . he’s the one to gift her a sketchbook & a box of special pencils , the one to encourage her to build a world made of lead & her imagination .

he doesn’t stay for too long ever , but he always returns & she always waits for him dutifully . mom knows now , but she won’t tell pip anything . all she does is make sure pip knows how to fight dirty & how to make sure her underhand stings . ‘ women fight differently , soo ah , ’ she tells pip . ‘ your dad – you’re different from him . you have to learn things differently . ’

there’s only so much mom can put up with . pip wakes up one day to find a note from her mom ( written in korean , the one language she struggles with learning despite her ancestry ) that reads that she’s gone . she’s done & that her dad brings too much into her life that she can’t deal with . he’s not the man she thought she loved ; & apparently , neither was pip . she wasn’t enough for her mom .

pip learns quickly she’s not enough for her dad , either . thirteen years old , multi-lingual & left in the world on her own . dad sends money & he sends letters , mostly though , he sends empty promises . ‘ i promise you’ll understand one day . i promise i’ll explain . i promise i love you . ’ but he doesn’t show up & he doesn’t come to collect . he sends her a passport & tells her to live the way she wants .

online , she finds a good enough school that’ll get her where she wants to go in the future . she completes courses while running from a past she doesn’t know anything about . strangers ask her where her parents are , she learns how to lie . men ask her how old she is , she learns how to con them into working for her . women ask her why she isn’t love , she learns how to wage wars & win .

seventeen , pip has spent time all around europe on her own . her dad still sends money , but he doesn’t send letters anymore . she stopped replying a while ago , but he still signs the bank statements with a heart . on her ‘ graduation ’ day , she gets a gift in the mail – a sketchbook , a box of special pencils & a letter – explaining everything .

dad’s a spy , he’s dangerous & lethal & he has enemies that don’t know of her existence . mom was paranoid & abandoned , left to her own devices so she left . he tells her everything except why he never came to get her , why his life was more important than hers & why he didn’t love her enough . she burns the letter , along with her sketch of him .

she forgets what he looks like , she forgets what mom looks like & she rids her mind of them . eighteen & in paris , accepting her dad’s gracious checks ( which , shouldn’t be made on a spy’s salary , but she won’t complain ) when she decides it’s time to go back . one year wasted , she’s spent in paris drinking wine & bedding lovers .

small town , obscure location & a good reputation . larnswick university welcomes her in with open arms & there’s her fresh start , even if her past will never get away from her .

𝓲𝓲𝓲. 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 .

exterior . she’s ruthless , a wolf loved by a silent god of war that watches her fight battles . raised by a silent war , she knows that in order to get things done , she has to make the first move . outgoing , courageous & always prepared , pip’s nothing short of a monstrous war general , comparable to hurricanes that rip land apart because it’s in the way . blunt , sharp & cutting , she’s no stranger to fighting dirty & hurting with words . any words can be used to describe her , except maybe civil , or kind , or gentle .

interior . lonely & a little bit scared of an earth that never wanted her . when is it going to open up , take her away because she doesn’t really belong ? always the one to end things so she doesn’t get hurt , she’s never vulnerable because that’ll end badly . non committal , it’s surprising she’s stayed in this place for too long – she’s spent five years of her teenagehood running from place to place . selfish & cunning , pip comes first , because that’s what she’s learned to do to survive .

midway . talented , tactical & intelligent . there’s a lot of talent in her fingers , the ability to mimic life with a few pencil strokes . she possesses a need to build something permanent , something better than the life she’s lived & she doesn’t know why , she doesn’t know if it’ll bring her joy – perhaps just buying a cottage by the sea will fulfill her life . pip is talented , gifted by apollo & cursed by ares .

𝓲𝓿. 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 .

◟ uwu , tysm for reading this my favorite people ! all my wc are on the page linked above , but if nothing strikes u we love brainstorming in this house ! love u all & can't wait to write / plot w u !

#theflats:intro #・。 ◟ 𝒑𝒊𝒑 ┊ development .#OKAY THIS IS REALLY LONG OKAY #also ::: this might be dif. to view on the theme & if it is add /mobile to the end of the url !

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tophatsftw · 5 years

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I read this auto straddle post, and it spoke to me. let’s go lesbians.

what people are fighting about on Twitter

falconer

sensitive, white girl Ikea decor

being in the Midwest (cheese)

which craft stores are ethically sourcing their wool

why pie charts suck

Having multiple conflicting feelings at the same time

Mitski’s right hand in the Geyser music video

Nora Ephron

trying not to be a U-Haul Lesbian and also being a U-Haul Lesbian

Bottle-feeding kittens

my dog & her various doggy woes

being Very Online™

homophobic 80s-90s action/horror movies

Cate Blanchett

large appliances

screaming and crying in socially inappropriate spheres

Sandra Bullock’s entire filmography

Vermicomposting

unlikely instances of near death experiences

the neopets stock market

animals that look like people

Kristen Stewart’s facial expressions

Apocalypse prepping

Satanic philosophy and history

why queers love My Chemical Romance so dang much

casseroles

cultivating hobbies in your 20’s to feel alive again

a fascination with straight people’s behavior

I also am extremely into bees. Like, my dudes, you have — I swear to you, on my mom, that this is an absolute fact — never, ever met someone who knows or cares about bees as much as I do. Everybody says, “Oh, I love bees; hell yeah, save the bees!”… but they’re only ever talking about the European honeybee, apis mellifera, a species transplanted from its original endemic territory to support large-scale agriculture, a practice that has had a purely negative impact on the earth and upon ourselves ever since humanity’s shift to agrarian society from hunter-gatherer culture circa 3000 BCE. Have any of these people who “love bees” even HEARD of solitary species? Do they know about thyreus nitidulus, the neon cuckoo bee? It’s blue! It’s beautiful!

intersectional Satanic feminism

boobs??!

eating a 1lb bag of Sour Patch Kids in under an hour

MILFs

Cringey mid-2000s teen dramas that had too few lesbians

Paul Giamatti’s film and music career

baseball caps worn backwards

Amish romance novels

everything about donuts

wholesome thirst trapping

the Venn diagram of Janelle Monae and Carly Rae Jepsen fandom

insulting men who say gross stuff to me in my DMs

…cooking pasta?

saying embarrassing things that make me want to die in a hole

going on 100 first dates without ever getting a second

Committing to a bit that was never that funny to start with, but now that I’ve started you can pry it from my cold dead hands

knitting penis-shaped pillows

identifying what episode of The Nanny it is based on C.C. Babcock’s hair

running long distances very slowly

puppets, just all types of puppets

communications cables and antennas

girl groups of the ’60s

moss

The Devil Wears Prada Cerulean Monologue

telling people to quit things they should quit

power tools one can rent from Home Depot

Hayley Kiyoko (I’m a three-time award winner of the “Most Likely to Mention Hayley Kiyoko in a Piece Not About Hayley Kiyoko” award at [redacted publication])

Irish country singer Daniel O’Donnell

golden retrievers

geology, specifically volcanoes

Fyre Festival

The Boys Are Back In Town

Film bros and how to shut them down

ruining vegan cakes by accident

having two straight women as best friends

loud eyeshadow

horses, Jodie Foster

Which Lana Del Rey Song to Make Out To

Mid 2000’s MySpace/Emo Culture

lesbian weddings (not my own)

Charcuterie Boards

the perils of being Very Tall Indeed

media to watch while stoned

escape rooms

18th century satire

basket-weaving, I am not kidding do you want to see a picture of my basket

Hannibal Lecter

History of the ball-point pen

swords

old dyke stuff

I’m not a sex toy expert, but I’m sure I could learn

drawing ugly stick figures

70’s soft rock

A-Camp

Big Little Lies, the audiobook of Big Little Lies

middle aged actresses

Bath and Body Works candles

consuming popular media years after everyone else and letting people enjoy it again vicariously through you

how to take care of a backyard above-ground pool impulsively purchased at Target in Denver, a place with no water and weird weather (an ongoing investigation)

spending money I don’t have to support women on Kickstarter

a deep knowledge of 1800s British literature that I did not ask for

treating your plants as your children

HORSES

Should a Duggar ever come out, I am READY to write that article yesterday

aggressive inline skating

Barbra Streisand; circus history

identifying British birds

being an Appalachian in New York during the Year of Our Dumpster Lord 2019 when the New York Times seems determined to profile everyone I’ve ever been to Walmart with

being friends with theater people

how to make couples fall in love with you even when they totally thought they were just going to “try” a threesome “once” lol

Linoleum

#autostraddle #lgbtq

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hope-2san · 4 years

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I was tagged again by the lovely @ashorterurl thank u sooo much!!!

*favorite relaxing activity:

drawing or just watch any good documentary also going to the garden feed our stray cats and the birds. Watching any birds passing by the garden through the binoclu my dad bought and at night i just stargaze,*seems we have common hobby @ashorterurl :)*

*favorite alcohol (or hot drink):

I used to prefer coffee a lot, like 2- 4 cups a day but since it makes me really really sick and ruins my mood after hours of drink it i stopped and replace it with milk

*favorite calming scent:

Rain Rain RAIN and the scent of Jasminum sambac flowers

*favorite relaxing or uplifting song:

I usually listen to classic and metal music but whenever i want to have to relax and draw i put on classic

*favorite book to get lost in:

I don’t have fav book tho, i found it i’m not much into books :/ but i’ll suggest a brief history of time by Stephen Hawking( really good one such an amazing book)

*favorite chill show:

....mmm seven worlds one planet i know i’ve mentioned a lot but it’s worth a try or literally anything shows wild life, birds, animals ,stars or art

*best advice you’ve ever had:

Well... i can’t remember a lot here we go ( a list of my fav advices):

1- Ask for help whenever you need to, don’t stay by yourself

2- It doesn’t matter if you’re the top of your class the mean thing is you’re special (from the best man, my dad)

3- Don’t waste a golden chance as long as you’re capable of (from the best women, my mom)

tag: @salamechecad

#me

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akocomyk · 5 years

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Twenty-eight books read in 2019. Sixteen longlisted books. One person who wastes his time writing sh*t as if they really matter.

Here it is. The best books I read in the past year.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

The unfortunate books that I had to let go since I only had ten spots to fill.

Turtles All the Way Down by John Green (2017)

Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie (1934)

History Is All You Left Me by Adam Silvera (2017)

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie (1926)

Bird by Bird by Anne Lammott (1994)

The Silkworm by Robert Galbraith (2014)

*Ratings range from 1 to 5, with 5 being the highest

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

10th Place

56 by Bob Ong (2018)

Rating: 4.300

Bob Ong makes a comeback on my list with his latest novel. His other book, Si, ranked 10th last 2015. This is the second time a Filipino book enters the list and is also the second nonfiction book ever—after Into the Wild last 2016.

In his latest release, Ong returns to the writing style that made him famous— reminiscent of his earlier books like ABNKKBSNPLAko. 56 is like a 300-page commentary or editorial about the issues of the present Filipino generation.

Other readers have found the book a little too preachy. I find it enlightening as it serves as a wake-up call to the Filipinos who are turning their blindsides to the harsh realities of our nation.

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

9th Place

Mga Kirot ng Kapalaran (Kikomachine Komix blg. 11) by Manix Abrera (2015)

Rating: 4.445

This is a long-overdue recognition to my favorite comic strip artist (Fun Fact: I met him quite a few times already). For many years, I've ignored the chance to even put his works in the list of contenders. I'm not throwing it away again. Now, I have my first book to enter the top 10 classified under comics and graphic novels.

In this collection of strips by Manix Abrera, his work remains as humorous and as satirically laughable as the first time I saw his comic. Themes have changed to reflect the new trends and issues of our present society.

For as long as Manix draws and publishes his work, I will continue to read them as I know he gives an intellectual yet amusing input to our society's problems.

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

8th Place

Mga Batang Poz by Segundo Matias, Jr. (2018)

Rating: 4.450

“Beautiful and relevant, but not flawless,” this is what I said on my review for this YA novel.

Mga Batang Poz is the third Filipino book on this list. Having three books on the list is a first. Furthermore, this is also the first time in four years that a Filipino book enters the list.

As previously mentioned, I have certain problems with regard to the overarching narrative of the novel. I wish that Matias could’ve written something more elaborate or something that doesn’t feel forced.

Nevertheless, the book accomplishes its goal of being a story that advocates HIV awareness, especially towards the youth.

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

7th Place

The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate (2012)

Rating: 4.485

In this book, you'll see both the cruelty and the compassion of humanity through the eyes of a gorilla named Ivan who is the narrator of the story.

Ivan is based on a real-life gorilla who was being used as a live animal attraction in Zoo Atlanta.

It is quite obvious that the book is meant for a younger audience, but despite this, I know anyone of any age will be able to appreciate it. Ivan is a gorilla after all, and I think the simplicity of how it was written suits his character, making the tone of the story more natural.

Overall, it was very touching. Although it mirrors pretty much what happened to the real-life Ivan, it efficiently delivers its message for animal welfare.

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

6th Place

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie (1939)

Rating: 4.525

This is a mystery novel filled with suspense and everything that'll make you love and hate it at the same time. The horror it gives chills you to the bone for every page you turn.

Agatha Christie is insane—and I mean that in a good way. The plot was so well-thought out that even when nearing at the end, I had no clue who the culprit was. When it was revealed to me, I was like, “Yeah. That makes absolute f*cking sense.”

For a book that has ten major characters, it does well in handling them. You know when a piece of literature is brilliantly made when even if its length isn’t considerably long, it doesn’t sacrifice the characters’ backgrounds and the narrative of the story.

Despite the novel’s inhumane and despicable acts, it also addresses issues about criminal injustices that are still prevalent today. In our country alone, criminals—corrupt officials, master drug dealers, rapists, murderers—are still roaming around the streets, evading the consequences of their actions. At times when the law is not enforced properly, people resort to their own type of justice.

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

5th Place

Darius the Great Is Not Okay by Adib Khorram (2018)

Rating: 4.590

In this debut novel by Adib Khorram, the titular character Darius suffers from clinical depression. Also, he's a Star Trek and Lord of the Rings fan.

This book demonstrates the fact that real depression is not simply cured by positive reinforcement and bible verses—as what most overly religious people think.

The novel highlights Darius' relationship with the other characters—most especially with Sohrab. It shows how he copes up with them while he struggles with his mental disorder.

There are also subtle hints of homosexuality, which added to the overall tension of the story since the main characters are Muslims. It wasn't blatant but it was obviously present—in the right and necessary amount.

To me, this is a spiritual brother of Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz—one of my favorite books. It gave me the same feeling of awe, beautiful pain, and joyful nostalgia. There were parts that broke my heart—I was ugly crying while riding a bus—and by the end, I was a complete mess, although I'm utterly happy.

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

4th Place

Moonrise by Sarah Crossan (2017)

Rating: 4.595

What I love most about this book is how it was written. Instead of being in paragraphs, it was written in verses—like poetry. I thought it was creative and oddly fitting for the story.

Even though there are more blank spaces on the pages than letters, those words are enough to draw me into the story.

The novel is about Ed whose brother was up on death row. I found myself rooting for him, and I was hoping similarly to how he was hoping in the story. When the end came, I couldn't help myself from closing my eyes.

The narrative was fairly simple, it matches the way it was written. The characters—although few and also written with the utmost simplicity—feel so human and are not flat, cardboard cutouts.

In the light of all the flawed justice systems and abuses of law enforcers not just in America but everywhere else in the world, it's good to find a book that's bold enough to address such issues and an author who's brave enough to write them.

Lots of murderers are on the loose, yet there are innocent people being slaughtered for crimes they didn't commit.

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

3rd Place

On the Come Up by Angie Thomas (2018)

Rating: 4.605

Just when you thought Angie Thomas couldn't write anything as good as The Hate U Give (THUG), she gives us this. If it's not better, then it sure is as brilliant as her debut novel.

This is Thomas' second consecutive year in my list, with THUG bagging the top plum last year.

The novel is proof of Thomas’s writing prowess. It successfully immersed me into the life of her protagonist, a life filled with hope, angst, and ambition. And the dialogue… Especially the rap battles. They were amazing. Seeing as Thomas herself was a rapper, you can feel the ingenuity in her words.

Moreso, this is one book that we really need in our present times. It reflects all of my sentiments regarding social media and how it can make or break a person. And how much the oppressed and marginalized communities lack representation, and how they are still subject to much prejudice.

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

2nd Place

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini (2007)

Rating: 4.680

This beautiful novel demonstrates the horror of domestic violence towards women. It also provides a glimpse of the people and culture of Afghanistan during the times of war.

I'm in love with how Khaled Hosseini's characters flesh out from the pages. You'd love them. You'd care for them. Their agony becomes yours. Their pain drips out from the corners of the books as your tears trail down your cheeks.

And on their sweet, small victories, you'd give a sigh of relief as the anxiety is slowly drained from your body.

In the two years that I've read a book by Hosseini, it didn't fail to shatter my heart. The Kite Runner ranked first in my 2017 list, and now this. If ever get to read another one of his books, I've no doubt it will also be a contender for that year's list.

━━━━ ☆ ━━━━

1st Place

Thunderhead by Neal Shusterman (2018)

Rating: 4.765

This book is also up on my shelf for the best sequels ever—be it for any medium.

I read this earlier this year and it remained unbeatable until 2019 ended.

This is the second book in Neal Shusterman's Arc of a Scythe trilogy, the sequel to Scythe—which placed 3rd in my 2017 list.

Growth and expansion. These are the things I love about the sequel. Ronan and Citra, the two main protagonists of the trilogy, are older, wiser, and better people, despite the fact that they're teenagers. You can feel their struggles with their respective endeavors.

Also, the universe is bigger. The Arc of Scythe novels feature a world where death does not exist and everyone is biologically immortal. In order to balance the earth’s population, there are these so-called Scythes whose life-long job is to assassinate anyone they choose.

In this sequel, you get to know more about the mechanisms of their world. There’s a new main character, Grayson, who takes you deeper and gives you a view of what it's like to live as a normal human.

The book deals with the adverse effects of the ways power-hungry people want to achieve their ambitions.

But that's not why I went gaga after reading the book.

IT. WAS. EPIC. The plot twists within the plot twists. The narrative. And the ending. My god, that ending. I COULD HEAR MY SILENT SCREAMS. After the last page, the only thing I thought of was, "GIVE ME THE THIRD BOOK RIGHT NOW!"

Thunderhead isn’t flawless, but it’s a very fine piece of literature that I recommend to anyone who loves to read.

• • • • •

I hope I won't regret putting Thunderhead in first place after a few years. I regret giving the top spot to I'll Give You the Sun last 2016. After pondering about the books I've read in the past years, I've found that Anthony Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See is one remarkable and memorable book, and the one I should've given the highest honors.

Books with relevant themes dominated my shelf but the book that won my heart was the one with intricate plots and a phenomenal ending. It feels weird but I hope for the best.

Happy New Year, everyone!

#Top10books

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