#it almost feels more comforting to just let myself bleed out on myself metaphorically speaking than to dare task anyone via asking them

[celestialmancer]

⛈️ //

[tartagilicious]

sun and moon > xiao

happy (late-ish) valentine’s day yall! thank you, mihoyo, for once again reminding me that i’m easily attached to emotionally unavailable pretty boys. the "I hate everyone but you" trope is real here, I wanna be his friend and gain his trust like this is a mf otome game. to anyone still pulling for him, good luck~ don’t worry, you have a little bit more time and more free rewards are also on the way!! have some soft xiao for good luck >:D // w.c 1.9k // not a request 

also a big ty to @seerie​ for being my beta reader, bc I don’t know what I’m doing 🥴

summer sky by asking for a friend

You hiss softly as Xiao runs a damp cloth over the gash adorning the length of your cheekbone, face scrunching as his eyes narrow in concentration. It feels somehow wrong to have him taking care of you, much less sitting in front of you and dressing your wounds himself.

A majority of the bleeding had stopped not long ago, but there's still another fear that plagues you more -- your agreement with the yaksha adeptus, or rather contract, specifically trying to combat injuries on your behalf.

You aren’t sure if chickening out on calling him in the midst of the situation you were hurt is grounds for breaking the contract somehow, though either way, Xiao has always seemed to be quite serious regarding his promises. You remember his first and only instructions to you weeks ago being clear and concise,

“If you awake to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door, call out my name; adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call.”

Surely a small wound like this wasn’t serious enough?

Xiao pulls the fabric away from your face and silently notes what must be the mess of blood covering it, lips turning up in a grimace. His standards of emergency are usually as one would expect, though lately for whatever reason, even the smallest of your wounds tend to put him in a bad mood.

From such a standoffish person, it’s a bit hard to get used to or understand -- but a part of you is only happy to know that there’s a chance he might care more than he lets on.

“...The abyss mages, they just came out of nowhere,” You try to explain but the silence is deafening. Eyes downcast to the stool beneath your legs, you mumble, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Xiao doesn’t give any more of a reaction than an arched brow and a slight gesture with the gruesomely dyed cloth. You half expect him to be irritated; to give you a lecture on keeping an eye on your surroundings or to take better care of yourself, but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks away and shakes his head, spiking your nerves with a low sigh.

He looks back at you as he rests his elbow on his knee and thrusts out the cloth again, almost in exasperation. “Why didn’t you call my name?”

You feel the blood drain from your face as the words leave his mouth, and suddenly, you’re terrified to answer honestly. As already long-established, Xiao is someone who despite thousands of years of trauma, remains as hard as the rock of the nation he watches over. Compared to his lifespan, you’re relatively immature, so the last thing you want is to give an embarrassing reason to make him think that you suddenly don’t trust him enough to help.

“I-I don’t know,” You stutter and curse pitifully inside your head as you return his eye contact. “But I can’t just call you every time I’m in trouble, especially when I think I can deal with it myself, right?”

He scoffs as if you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing.

“This shouldn’t have to be a discussion. Your capabilities don’t lack anything, but your hesitation may very well be the death of you.”

“I never hesitated,” Though your voice is more steadfast, any illusion of confidence is shattered by the way you fidget with your hands. “I only misjudged. I make mistakes sometimes, but I think you forget that I’ll heal even after the worst of these injuries.”

Xiao sighs and crumples the bloodstained cloth in the palm of his hand, caging himself in his arms before speaking again -- just as he always does.

“Don’t be outrageous, I haven’t forgotten anything.” He averts his gaze and for a moment, you swear that you notice the tips of his ears flush. “It’s only ignorant to assume that I want to see you injured.”

Your brows knit as a similar knot slides down your throat. “I just, I just don’t get why you’re so worried about it.”

He stares at you, once again, as if you’ve just said something completely outlandish -- as if it wasn’t as hard to tell what he was thinking beneath such a guarded personality as you made it out to be.

“What?” You ask, slightly exasperated as you sit up straighter. You had still been sitting as if he were cleaning your wounds. “Is that not a valid question? It seems like you want nothing to do with anyone, but then turn around and worry when I’m hurt?”

“How could you do that and still not know why I hesitate to call for you?” Exasperated, you exhale and shut your eyes for a moment, deliberately avoid seeing his reaction to these words.

“...All I mean, is that sometimes it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking -- I feel like I’m bothering you, even if it might be in a situation where I really do need you.”

For a moment, Xiao is blatantly surprised by your reason for not upholding the contract you’d made. It almost gives you the impression that in your spiel, you’ve said something completely idiotic. A gradual flush of embarrassment flares up beneath your skin, but thankfully, you contain yourself before you have the chance to blurt out anything you’d regret.

His lips twist ever so slightly, as if he’s combing through things to respond with in his head. Obviously a bit flustered to hear your reasoning, it’s odd to see him in such a way, albeit while somehow remaining so uniquely him

“You… really are incomprehensible.”

Turning his head to shield his expression, he discards the cloth by tossing it in a nearby basket and stands. Your eyes follow him up until his own turn back towards you, golden irises glinting with a sort of hesitant concentration. You blink.

“If you trust me enough to enter a contract where i very well might decide between your life and death, do well and also trust me as someone who doesn’t break their promises.” Xiao’s brows fold delicately, as if mulling over the words coming out of hisin real time. “___, I don’t want to see you hurt like this.”

Your heartbeat briefly stutters, lips opening and closing as if to say something even when no thoughts are formed. Eyes trailing back down to your hands, you let out a small sigh. Before you can say anything, though, a gloved hand takes your chin and gently guides your eyes back upwards.

“So don’t hesitate.” His touch is soft as he maintains comfortable eye contact with you despite the straight-forward words. “I won’t allow you to die because of me.”

Blood pumps wildly through your ears as you suck in a breath of apprehension. As hard as you try to break away your gaze, something in his face keeps you anchored even when your chest begins to seize; a face that has been hardened over a millenia of suffering stares back at you with the improper care of a hopeful innocent, as if you are something that is worthwhile in the purest sense.

You swallow, Xiao’s hand’s position above your throat making it painfully obvious to him how caught off guard you are. Though naturally, if this action of yours makes him falter at all, he does so unnoticeably.

“I won’t,” It’s said slowly, as if you can’t comprehend what exactly you’re saying just yet. “You said I don’t lack anything, but in the moments I do--”

Your lips rest parted as anxiety cuts off the last part of your sentence, but Xiao’s patient expression pushes you forward.

“...I trust you to help me.”

Those words echo in his mind for a moment, ricocheting and hitting even the most unfamiliar parts of himself that he’d long buried. Feelings and memories that have since collected cobwebs begin to resurface and remind him of a more simple time he treasures dearly.

Trust.

Xiao’s thumb ghosts over your jaw, slowly wiping across the skin as he’s propelled deeply into thought -- fortunately too much so to notice the rising pigment on your cheeks.

He himself places his trust in people far and few. You might be different, well acquainted to human customs and the world around you, yet those words from you somehow feel just as special as if the roles are reversed. Your honesty and courage to accompany him has always dug at the cavity in his chest, but to hear you voice the metaphorical fruit of your labour so clearly is an entirely different sense.

All this time he’d blindly protected you, warned you about monsters lurking in the darkness, he’d fallen too far to even realise that you were beginning to change him. He no longer ate alone, nor did he adventure or sleep as he once did -- you had stuck onto him like a stubborn thorn despite, in your words, tending to feel as if you were bothering him. Regardless, he had somehow still earned your valuable companionship, and with it, commendable words that he could accept from you alone.

But there were times where he despised feeling such a way. He battled over the reasons he felt so inflicted when it was you who was injured, or you who chose to stick by him even after he tried so desperately to push you away. It was frustrating, dealing with a gentle care so foreign. Once he was used to your considerate nature, though, it became a different story.

Seeing you hurt began to shift from an expectable casualty to a blow to his own chest.

“...Xiao,” Your voice is hesitantly quiet, and suddenly, his eyes come back into focus. You’re staring at him with hesitant concern, setting his heart abuzz. “Are you okay?”

It’s when you reach up to wrap your hand around his that his mind finally completes his thought.

I love her.

As an Adeptus, he’s lived thousands of lives and outlived many more, and has taken the role of slaughterer before protector throughout many of them. In a way, the latter ways of his previous life have been ingrained him, regardless of those he manages to save in the more current centuries.

He imagines the figures of the spirits of those he’d wronged watching him in this moment, screaming a sound of contempt that he would never hear. They’re right to do so. They have no reason to pray for his happiness, much like he has little reason to pray for forgiveness.

Yet looking down at you, for the first time in a long time, none of that seems to matter.

With little thought, he grips your hand a bit tighter before letting go, his own hand travelling the length of your jaw to bring himself down to you. You remain completely still as he places a gentle kiss above your brow bone, breath hitching.

“I’m okay.” He reassures you quietly, resting there for a moment and sighing a small gust of air onto your skin. You mumble his name softly, hand reaching out to grab a hold of his shirt. The thin layer between your skin and his sends a sudden shiver down his spine, but regardless, he hums in response.

Your voice comes out in a whisper. “Are you sure?”

He nods, for the first time completely certain.

[muertawrites]

The Dark of the Moon (Zuko x Reader)

Summary: Late night insomnia turns into a conversation about love, and Zuko makes an interesting discovery about his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2,100

Author’s Note: You can thank Avatar being on Netflix and rekindling my childhood obsession for this one. I wrote this mostly as a dialogue / pacing exercise, but it’s also a bit therapeutic since I can actually relate to Zuko more than I realized or could have ever foreseen watching this show as a ten year old. Enjoy a little emotional romantic fantasy on behalf of a preteen crush and all the toxic friends I’ve ever had. ✌

~ Muerta

Zuko usually slept with you. It started one late night during a mutual bout of insomnia, in which you ran into him as you both wandered the halls of the Western Air Temple. You hardly knew him, but he sat with you and talked about everything that night - anything that wasn’t related to the war or either of your pasts that had been torn apart by it. He surprised you with his dry, even-toned sense of humor, as well as with his intelligence in not only combat but literature and philosophy as well; being a healer and a fortune teller by trade, you found a lot to talk about with him.

As the nights awake became more common, you and Zuko spent more of them together; sometimes you’d wait until you happened upon him in the halls, others one of you would designate a place to meet. Eventually, one of you would go directly to the other’s room and you’d sit, sharing whatever light or heavy thoughts happened to plague your minds. You learned a lot about him in those nights, and grew to feel proud of how far he’d come in such a short time - you often helped others, those much older than yourselves, over months to scale the internal struggles he had, and he’d managed to do so on his own. The more you gave to him, the more he gave back, and it soon became commonplace to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing as he lay in his sleeping bag on the other end of your room. 

And that’s exactly what woke you up - the strange, still energy of your bedroom that indicated his resting place was empty. You rolled over, unable to spy his silhouette under the moonlit windowsill, and you rose, your feet carrying you to where you were certain he would be. 

It was a gorgeous night, with a gentle breeze ruffling the crisp air. You found Zuko in the courtyard, gazing out over the fog veiled landscape under the swell of the full moon. Without a word, you sat beside him, watching the clouds roll by like ships on a silent ocean. His chest churned in turmoil, so intensely you could feel it in your own.

“Apparently, I can’t sleep without you anymore,” you said. “How selfish of you to have problems that keep you up at night.” 

Zuko huffed out a soft chuckle, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift. He leaned back onto his palms, craning his neck backward and allowing the wind to tousle his ash-black hair. 

“You didn’t need to come out here,” he told you gently. “It’s not your job to help me fix myself.” 

“It never has been,” you replied. “I’ve never fixed anyone. All I ever do is listen and recite a few proverbs; everyone comes to their own conclusions in the end.” 

“That’s not true,” Zuko retorted. “I’ve seen you heal. You can do things not even Katara can do, just with whatever happens to be growing nearby. It’s incredible.” 

You smiled, your heart fluttering in your chest. 

“Physical healing and emotional healing are two super different things,” you told him. “Emotional wounds can only really be healed by the people who have them. I mean, unless you want me to crack open your chest and poke around at your heart for a little while.” 

Zuko chuckled again, the tenseness of his muscles easing up just slightly. He opened his palm and spawned a softly glowing flame, both of you watching it flicker in the cool night air. 

“I wish I’d been born a water bender,” he mused. “Something that would do good for others. All fire does is destroy.” 

You were silent for a moment, watching the thoughts swirl, tormented, behind his eyes. You thought of all the times you’d seen him smile, how his happiness made his handsome features all the more radiant and caused your stomach to bubble with joy. The memory shot a spike through your chest.  

“... You know, we only ever see one part of the moon,” you commented, breaking the quiet. “Everything behind that - the dark side - we don’t really consider, even though it’s always there and is as much a part of the moon as the side that’s in front of us.” 

Zuko smirked at you, distinguishing the flame in his hand. 

“Reciting a proverb at me?” he teased. 

You grinned. 

“This one’s more like a metaphor,” you admitted cheekily. “That tea I make, the one that tastes awful but makes pain completely disappear?” 

Zuko nodded. 

“I need fire to make it,” you continued. “I have to roast the ingredients over an open flame before boiling them. Without fire, I couldn’t do most of my healing; it would be too painful without the tea to help.” 

Zuko said nothing, but you could sense your words sinking into the cracks in his troubled thinking. 

“Fire is heat and light,” you added. “It’s just as important to life as water or earth or air. Every element is capable of destruction or creation - there isn’t a single one that’s inherently good or bad. The person that controls them is the only one who determines that.” 

There was another long pause, in which you busied yourself noting the different wild plants growing between the stones that paved the courtyard. You listed the different medicines you could make with each, the process calming you. 

“I’ve done some pretty shitty things to people I care about in order to embrace my goodness,” Zuko finally spat. The bitterness in his tone stung you. You turned to him, and for a split second you caught a familiar, rageful glimmer in his eye; the sight made your own temper flare. 

“Zuko, don’t do that to yourself,” you said. “It wasn’t just your father who hurt you and you know that.” 

“I know,” he snapped, cutting off the end of your words. “I still care about her, though. I don’t even know if she really ever cared about me, but I still… I still miss her.” 

Your ribs seemed to cave in, crushing your heart and lungs. He’d told you about Mai many times, and all you ever saw was that the darkness in her drew out the darkness in him; it even hung over you, clouding out the comfort you felt with Zuko and replacing it with unease and doubt. You feared there was no place in his heart for you - not while Mai still remained in it, no matter how badly her memory made him bleed. 

“It’s hard,” you choked out. “I still miss some of the people who hurt me, too.” 

That was all you could manage to say. You pulled your knees to your chest, half-burying your face in the fabric of your night dress as you forced the tears welling in the corners of your eyes not to flow. 

This is what you get, you scolded yourself. This is what you get for feeling things for people you know could never feel the same about you. 

A sensation of warmth curling around your shoulders made you jolt. Instinctively, you inched away, glancing in Zuko’s direction as he retracted the arm that had draped around you. You expected him to look away, but he didn’t - his pale amber eyes instead locked with yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You hold your head so high… I forget sometimes that you’re trying to heal, too.” 

His words caused your tears to spill, though you didn’t cry; your face remained stony, and no sobs shook you. Your tears fell as easily as water from a cliff’s edge, impeded by nothing but the will of gravity. 

“... The cards you lent me,” Zuko said after a pause, almost blurting the words. “I’ve been reading them, to help me let go of everything I left behind. I don’t think I’m doing it right.” 

A few weeks ago, you’d given him a deck of cards you used for fortune telling. Each card depicted a different object, element, or scene, and were laid out in combinations that gave insight into a person’s spiritual path. You liked them more than other forms of fortune telling, as it encouraged its readers to make their own assumptions and drive their own fates instead of having it simply told to them. You gave your deck to Zuko so he could reflect on something finite, instead of getting consumed by his own thoughts. It was exactly what you used them for, and you knew they would help.

“Why?” you asked softly. 

“I drew a card that didn’t make sense,” he told you. “I laid down the Tides, then the Crossed Blades, and then… I pulled the Badger Mole. The other two I understand - one is for movement and change, the other is for strength in allies, but I… can’t figure out what the Badger Mole is supposed to mean.” 

“Badger moles are strong, powerful,” you explained, speaking dispassionately from memory, “but they’re gentle. The card represents the duality of both. They mate for life, too, so it also represents love and companionship.” 

As you spoke, you felt a meteor crash between you and Zuko. His face fell, dumbfounded, as he looked at you, his eyes darting minutely back and forth as you watched the pieces mend together in his head. 

“What do you feel?” you whispered, part of you terrified of his answer.

“... I feel like I’m fighting the tide,” Zuko replied, his tone awestruck. “It’s pushing me to shore, but I keep trying to swim back out to sea.” 

The corners of your lips curled upwards slightly, your cheeks still sticky with tears. 

“It’s really scary, huh?” you said. “Loving another person.” 

“Yeah... especially when you’ve never known what it feels like before,” Zuko added softly. 

You reached out, tentatively resting your palm against his cheek. His hand rose to close over yours, the sensation trembling you to your core. 

“How many times have you pulled the Badger Mole?” you asked. 

“Every time,” Zuko breathed. “I’m so stupid for not realizing. You make me feel wild and calm all at once. I get this crushing feeling in my chest when I see you or even think of you, and I thought it was just fear or sadness. But… you don’t make me want to lash out like I used to, with my father and Azula and Mai… just the thought of you makes me want to be the best person I can be. Even though I know you already accept me for not being that person.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, somewhat defeatedly, your knees falling away from your chest and crossing in front of you. Your body was heavy, but your head felt light. 

“I love you, Zuko,” you murmured. “But I’m afraid.” 

Zuko wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead fell to rest against yours, his eyes closing as he steadied his erratic breathing. 

“If you’re scared, I’ll protect you,” he said quietly. “That’s what I think lovers are supposed to do.” 

The word made every organ in your body jump to your throat. Lovers. Your limbs felt weak, but your heart felt strong with Zuko holding you. 

Without thinking, you took his face in your hands and kissed him. It wasn’t hard and passionate like you expected, but firm, gentle, his lips pressing to yours like two palms grasped in an assuring embrace. He lay one of his large, able hands on the back of your neck, his thumb tenderly stroking your skin. 

When you finally broke apart, Zuko gazed at you with a soft, forlorn expression. His fingers reached to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I’m sorry I talk about her so much,” he said. “It must kill you.” 

You shook your head, a soft smile forming on your lips, still red from where Zuko had kissed them. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you told him. “I know some people from my past you’d happily drive a knife into.”

Zuko chuckled, the light, airy smile you saw when he was truly happy spreading to each of his cheeks. The spike that drove itself through your heart when you thought of it earlier was gone, replaced by the sweet warmth of a low flame on a cold night. With him, you were safe. 

“Let’s get some sleep,” Zuko suggested, taking your arm to help you stand. 

His hand slipped easily into yours, your fingers twining together. He leaned forward and kissed you again, his lips only grazing yours, causing your skin to buzz with the sensation. 

“... Do you think we’ll have to talk to Aang about this?” you asked as you walked back to your room. 

Zuko raised an eyebrow at you, confused. 

“He is your great-grandfather,” you elaborated with jest. “I should probably do the chivalrous thing and ask for his blessing or something.” 

Zuko laughed, nudging you with his shoulder so that you stumbled over your feet. You shoved him back, to which he took you by the waist and wrapped you tightly in his arms, kissing your cheek. 

“He probably won’t care,” he replied. “But my uncle will love you.”

[five-rivers]

Loved chapter 4

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 3: Portal, even though the connection is sort of tenuous.

.

Bad things happened when Vlad came to Amity Park. For that matter, bad things happened wherever Vlad was. It was part of what made Vlad Vlad. Some part of his otherness, some twist of the shadow-fabric he was made of that left rot and ruin wherever his hem brushed. Of course, Vlad was never affected by this misfortune. In fact, he seemed to suck the luck out of everyone around him. Like a vampire.

Along with sanity. But that was a given for the others, even partial others, like Vlad. Or Danny.

But Vlad didn’t even try to hide or ameliorate the effects he had on people, didn’t try to keep them safe, to make their lives shine like the precious lights they were.

(Danny drummed his fingers on his chest and wondered, if, perhaps, it would feel less empty if Clockwork let him become a jewel box.)

But that was the way Vlad was, and Danny felt him enter Amity Park like nails on a chalkboard. His skin started to itch. His teeth hurt. Pressure pulsed in his head like waves of heat coming off asphalt. Being human, being real, was too tight, too heavy. It would be so easy to slip into the cool waters of the Dream and cut through them to wherever Vlad was.

No. He couldn’t. As shown time and time again, that would just exacerbate things. No matter what Vlad did, it would be worse if they fought, especially if there was anyone there to see it. Like what had happened with Jazz…

Danny was beyond lucky he’d been able to snap her out of whatever Vlad had done to her, but she still was quite right. The Vultures had actually apologized on Vlad’s behalf, after that.

(And wasn’t that strange, standing in the Dream on ground covered by bones and feathers, the Vultures on a dead tree, speaking as one. A thing of terror, apologizing for their ward. For pain suffered through Love. For lines crossed.)

Still. He had better… supervise Vlad, for a lack of a better word. Make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything. He’d go as a human – as himself.

He sighed and splayed his hands out on the table.

“Something wrong?” asked Sam, who had been making a complex sigil out of her fries and ketchup.

“Vlad’s in town,” said Danny. “I—”

The doors to the Nasty Burger were thrown open with a bang as Jazz came running in. She ran halfway through the store, to weak protests from the employee behind the counter, and skidded to a stop in front of their table.

“Vlad’s here,” he said.

“You saw him?” asked Danny, concerned. “Did he try—”

“No,” said Jazz. “I can just—It’s like he’s under my skin, and I—” She made a sound of frustration and gripped both sides of her head with clawed hands.

“Hey,” said Danny, gently, grasping her wrists. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, breathing deeply. “Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay,” said Danny. He looked back to his friends. “Anyway, I’m going to go see what he wants, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sam, standing.

“Me too,” said Tucker. “Sort of. Halfway.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “You know what happens when we get together.”

“Which is why we want to back you up,” said Sam. “As long as he stays physical, there’s stuff we can do.”

Unless Danny was prepared to do something incredibly inadvisable, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Okay,” he said. “Just… be careful. If it looks like it’s going to turn into a fight, you need to leave.” He didn’t want them to get anymore spiritually messed up than they already were.

“We know, we know, you give us the spiel every time,” said Sam.

Yes, and Sam ignored it every other time. Danny shook his head. “Alright, let’s—”

Danny was promptly interrupted yet again, this time by his parents rushing in wearing… He could loosely call them clothes.

“It’s retro night, baby!” shouted Jack.

It was not retro night. There was no such thing as retro night at the Nasty Burger.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Jazz.

“Thanks,” muttered Danny, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

The alley behind the Nasty Burger was fetid in a way that made Danny’s shadow lift from the pavement and float on the air. Something that inhabited rats skittered in the corners at Danny’s presence and ran for a storm drain. He breathed shallowly.

“Which way?” prompted Tucker.

“He’s actually coming this way,” said Danny, frowning, debating facing him in this alley, just to see the disgust that would surely paint itself on Vlad’s face, paper-thin mask that it was.

Reality rippled, the surface tension that kept the Dream from bleeding in snapping. A miasma rose from the ground. Vlad stumbled into the alley, clutching at his face, which was melting. No, transforming. No, stretching. No, layering over itself a in dozen sickening ways, all the masks Vlad wore flickering over whatever truth he had all at once.

“Help me,” he grated. His words felt sick, diseased.

“Guys,” said Danny, fighting back the urge to vomit, “run.”

“No!” shrieked Vlad. “Help me!”

And sanity fractured like glass.

.

Whatever Danny’s parents had done to stabilize Vlad had worked, to a degree. It hadn’t fixed the underlying problem, which Danny could still feel slinking through the Dream. It also didn’t fix whatever he’d done to Sam and Tucker, although it had kept it from progressing further.

Danny took a slow, angry breath and ran a mental count of the lives stored inside his chest. They were there, all of them. Whatever happened to Sam and Tucker, they wouldn’t die.

But Danny knew there were fates worse than death.

His fingernails left half moon impressions on his palms as he clenched his fists. The Dream roiled with his fury, the force of it enough to keep Vlad’s diseased thoughts away.

“Daniel,” croaked Vlad. “Cure me.”

“That’s what Mom and Dad are trying to do.”

“Find a cure for me,” said Vlad, as if he hadn’t heard Danny at all, “and you’ll find a cure for your precious little friends.”

Danny stilled. “You did this on purpose.”

Vlad laughed. “Of course, I did, my dear boy. What value is a simple human mind compared to those such as we?��

Any rage Danny had felt up to this moment paled in comparison. The mirror over the sink cracked down the middle, never to show a true physical reflection again. He hated—

A concerned tug at Danny’s throat jolted him from his thoughts. Clockwork. Clockwork would know what to do. He turned, and without a second glance at Vlad, strode bodily into the Dream.

.

It took Danny even less time than usual to find Clockwork, and, when he did, he immediately found himself at Clockwork’s center, deep within the castle that was his metaphor. Dozens of Chains were fixed to Danny’s collar, each of them completely taut, holding him perfectly immobile, the embrace of a relieved but panicking parent. Clockwork’s emotions, too vast for Danny to fully comprehend, were transmitted directly through those chains, microscopic vibrations raising gooseflesh on Danny’s skin. A wordless noise both distressed and pleased wound its way from Danny’s throat, continuing to echo long after he’d run out of the breath to maintain it.

Clockwork’s avatar cupped Danny’s face in its hands, long fingers almost completely encircling his head. There was more of Clockwork in it that there usually was.

“Clockwork…?” asked Danny, weakly, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection.

Poor little one, whispered the avatar, this is what happens when matters are not properly attended to. The Vultures should know better, should take care of him properly… It pressed its forehead to Danny’s, startling a squeak from him.

Danny, reflexively, brought his hands up to clutch at the avatar’s robes.

My poor child. What are they thinking, letting him run around so ill, so that he might infect other children?

Clockwork saw Vlad as a child, too. Not surprising, considering how ancient Clockwork must be, but good to know.

That emotion! It was only a shadow, and even so-!

“Emotion?”

Hatred, hissed Clockwork’s avatar.

The collar around Danny’s neck constricted, a tighter, more Loving, more comforting, hug. Danny gasped, although breathing here was psychological rather than physiological. The cloth of the avatar’s robes began to wind up Danny’s arms.

Even the pale, human shadow of it is not something you should experience, my child.

Danny didn’t like being that angry, but—

Even the concept of it is too much, too heavy. You should not have to bear it. I should not have overlooked it. The avatar’s hands moved to the back of Danny’s head, pressing his face against its shoulder. It must hurt you so,murmured the avatar, carding fingers through Danny’s hair. Fear not. I will excise it. All of it, even the idea of it shall not touch you, shall not sully your thoughts.

The avatar stepped away.

“Wait!” shouted Danny, panicking.

Not being able to hate? Danny had mixed feelings about that, but he doubted he’d be able to talk Clockwork out of it, not with how damaging Hate could be. In the end, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Not being able to understand that it existed? Not being aware of hate at all? Being unable to understand that, sometimes, people would go out of their way to hurt one another?

That was dangerous. That would render him unable to even begin to comprehend vast swathes of human history and humanity.

“If I don’t know what it is,” said Danny, “if I don’t know that it exists, how can I protect myself against it?”

A gust of wind blew through Clockwork’s sepulchral hall like the sigh of a giant. It is my duty to protect you, my child.

The sheer possessiveness of the words lingered on Danny’s skin. He wanted to lean into them but held his imaginary breath.

But very well.

Danny let himself relax, slightly, even as the avatar walked to somewhere he couldn’t see, its silent footsteps giving him no clue as to where it was. With only the constant, regular hum and tick of Clockwork’s gears to stimulate him, it was hard for Danny to stay vigilant. He found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering.

Did his hatred of Vlad cause him pain, as Clockwork said? What was it going to be like, to not be able to hate at all, rather than just not being able to Hate? Would he still be angry at Vlad? He hoped so. The man deserved it.

Two points of frigid cold touched the back of his head, contracted into a single point, and pulled. Danny felt something within him come free, and he sagged as much as the chains would allow him.

The avatar walked back into view, and Danny recoiled from the thing he was carrying, clasped in a long, silver pair of tweezers. “Is that,” started Danny, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Was that in me?”

Yes, said Clockwork’s avatar, lowering it into a small, jeweled box. Danny felt relieved as soon as the lid closed on it and he was no longer forced to look at it. At the same time… Fear not, said the avatar. I could never destroy something of you. It will be remade into something more useful.

Danny nodded as much as he could and shuddered. He felt… dirty. Unclean. Just remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought… It left a deep sense of wrongness.

Come, said Clockwork. I have just the thing for that. You are due for a bath. A cleansing, inside and out.

The metaphor of the chains fell away, leaving just the one, usual, slack one. Danny knew Clockwork could call them back at any time, that, in truth, they had not gone anywhere at all.

“What about Vlad?” he asked, twisting his hands around the hem of his shirt. “And my friends? Can you help them? Please.”

He felt Clockwork examine him appraisingly.

Perhaps the bath can wait for another day.

.

The mirror was a portal, tall and wide as a door, glassy surface gleaming with otherworldly light. The edges were crimped, filigreed, flared. Beyond the reflection, Danny could just make out the suggestion of movement.

It is not real, said the avatar, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but a might-have-been.

“But I can find a way to fix things in there?”

The avatar did not answer. A prickling feeling rose up inside Danny, settling in his stomach. Somehow, this felt similar to when he’d eaten the mirror with the bad future.

It is,confirmed the avatar, briefly nuzzling Danny.

“Why?” asked Danny, just a little horrified.

Is it not satisfying to complete two tasks at once? I told you, back then, that our next task would be to remove those presents that seek to exclude you.

Danny didn’t understand.

You will. Clockwork’s avatar paused, as if thinking. This is what the Vultures should have done for young Vladimir, although they would have accomplished it differently.

“Oh,” said Danny, trying to wrap his head around that.

Clockwork’s avatar nudged him forward. Follow the chain when you are ready to come home.

.

Danny wasn’t connected to anyone in this might-have-been world. It was odd, watching every eye slide off him as if he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to interact with someone directly, he’d have to put a lot of force of will into it.

It was strange. Other than that, everything here seemed perfectly real. Not imaginary at all. The sun shone. People spoke to one another. The grass crunched under his feet.

The University of Wisconsin-Madison lay before him in all its questionable glory.

He’d have to find Vlad and his parents. They had rented a small lab space for their experiments with the Dream and research into the others.

Normally, he’d follow his connection to them to find them, or the disturbance Vlad made in the dream, but neither of those things existed, now. Not yet. Danny didn’t exist yet.

He could just wander, try to seek out questionable lab space, but the university’s campus was large. Normally, he’d ask for directions, but…

Yeah, the no one being able to see or hear him thing really didn’t allow for that.

But there was one other thing he could try to do, one other thing he could try to sense. Their experiments. They should send waves across and through the Dream.

He let his eyes drift closed and walked blind across campus. When he opened them, he was in a lab, watching his parents and Vlad working on a kind of magic circle, inscribed with runes.

A portal, intended to let humans directly access the Dream. A portal that had created Vlad, all because he leaned too close, watched too closely, seen too much, became something else, changed.

Something like anger stirred under his skin. After this, his parents had continued to experiment, continued to try to reach the Dream, to create a weapon against the others, and in doing so both doomed Danny himself and Amity Park by making what amounted to a highway for the others to come to the real world.

But they hadn’t intended to do that, he knew. They’d been trying as best as they could to fix things. Had been trying to defend the world the best they knew, portal or no portal. And speaking of the portal… If others could damage human sanity, if Danny, small and weak and almost-human as he was, could damage human sanity, then how much more could a direct link to the Dream do? Discounting, of course, that normal dreams could lead to the Dream… That connection was more tenuous. Filtered.

His anger was a distraction from what was really bothering him.

These people, they looked like his parents. They were his parents. But… they weren’t. There was no attachment there. Nothing. It was like looking at empty shells. No Love.

It was distressing.

He watched, waiting, making note of the symbols and the placement of the ritual objects and the technological enhancements. There had to be something here that would help explain why Vlad was having such a hard time, while Danny had transitioned to his present existence without much problem.

He leaned over his not-mother’s calculations, then his not-father’s, made note of the differences. Looked at the fire, the knife, and the carved cylinders. Some of them didn’t feel quite right. One of them had been nudged out of alignment by a soda can put down by not-Jack, shifting the circle, making it bigger. Could that be something?

Vlad leaned over to examine the circle, and, at the same time, not-Jack pushed a button on the tape player, which started chanting. Danny could feel the hole boring into reality before the first syllable was finished. They’d made the portal both too well and too poorly.

Danny reached for Vlad and pulled him back, out of the way of the opening portal.

.

Danny may have made a mistake.

He’d saved Vlad from becoming other. In doing so, he’d changed things, altered this entire make-believe world. The way the story was progressing was no longer the same as his own. Which meant that it might be useless for collecting clues for fixing Vlad, Sam, and Tucker. Mostly Sam and Tucker.

(He’d help Vlad if it wouldn’t hurt his friends, he didn’t hate the man, not anymore, didn’t desire his suffering. But his friends were, of course, his main concern.)

But he couldn’t just leave. He’d made note of all the flaws in the portal, but that wasn’t in any way conclusive, wasn’t a guarantee.

And, in the meantime, his not-parents and not-Vlad had continued working on the portal, which they hadn’t shut down, unlike in the proper timeline. Or had it been disrupted by Vlad? He didn’t remember the exact sequence of events. His parents had never been clear.

But the portal was on, it was working, and it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The portal was in a class of things that should-not-be.

Just like Danny, in this world. He… With the portal, and the way things were going, he shouldn’t exist here, the butterfly effect would keep him from being born, and he was becoming painfully aware of that fact. Literally painfully. It was starting to hurt, being here, a throb in the back of his head.

Or was that the portal?

Either way…

(He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was breaking things just by being here. Everything was going wrong. So many little accidents.)

(Or was that the portal?)

He kept watching.

It had been… a while, now. It was easy to lose track of time like this, with no one to talk to. Days? Maybe? He’d been drifting, which should have been troubling.

Maybe he should go back. Cut losses.

(Besides, it was disturbing watching his parents flirting with each other. And Vlad. Even if they weren’t really themselves.)

Then his parents wheeled in a… What was that? He walked closer. This was about the same size around as the pillars that had done this to him.

Danny would never forget those, after all.

Something hummed inside him, picking up a kind of resonance between the active portal and the pillar.

The ground fragmented beneath his feet.

Reality followed soon after.

.

He found himself nowhere with nothing. Only nowhere and nothing.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

What had he done? He’d, he’d destroyed a world, he’d—

There was a gentle, but insistent tug on his chain. He followed it home.

.

He clung to Clockwork’s avatar, gasping, as if he was the only real thing in the world. His emotions were too much, too great, uncontained and roiling. They battered him like a stormy sea.

It’s alright, it’s alright, comforted the avatar. It wasn’t real, and now it never will be. All those worlds where you would not be. All gone.

No. No. No. Horror buzzed in his brain. He couldn’t have destroyed so much.

Never were,continued the avatar, Clockwork apparently oblivious. All disproven. Paradox. You could not be and yet you were. You were in the places you were not. So, now you exist, in all these places, in everywhere that could be, and always will. It stroked Danny, brushing away tears. Only one more to go, until you never were not, my beloved child, until you always were mine, as you were meant to be.

Danny keened into the robes of Clockwork’s avatar, distraught. Wind ruffled his hair.

Considering the point in time in which you were placed, said the avatar, Vladimir will be well again.

Danny looked up, hopeful for the first time in hours.

Mostly. The underlying cause has been removed. You should bring the rest to your… progenitors. They are at least competent in this area.

Danny nodded vigorously and attempted to extract himself from the avatar’s grasp. He was unsuccessful, although the avatar did adjust its grip on him.

You have had a difficult day, it observed. It then presented Danny with a cookie.

Confused, Danny took it.

A gift, said the avatar, Clockwork having evidently returned to his normal laconic mode.

“What’s it made of?” asked Danny, suspicious.

Love. What else?

.

“How do you feel?” asked Danny.

“Weird,” said Sam. “But okay.”

“What was it like?”

Sam shrugged. “It was like…” She waved her hand. “Watching a thousand different movies of my life, but they were all wrong. Like if they were crappy biopics done fifty years after I died or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Tucker. “I just got a lot of sand. So, so much sand. And sun. Do I have a sunburn?”

“No?” said Danny. “You look fine.”

“Ugh, I forgot you were white. You don’t know what sunburns look like.”

“I’d argue,” said Sam, “but you’re not wrong.” She fell back against her pillows. “I just want to sleep.”

“Same,” said Tucker. “I never want to see the sun again.”

“We’ll make a goth of you yet,” joked Sam, tossing a pillow at him.

“Okay,” said Danny, backing away. “Should I get the lights?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sleep well,” he said. He hoped they would.

(Because he would not.)

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (9/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack at Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ ​​2020. Word count: 1191. Square filled: “Gunshot Wound”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: injury, blood, almost-death, mentions of war and stabbing. This is an angsty one, y'all.

A/N: Please pray that I finish this bingo because if I don't I'll hate myself forever.

It might be a strange thing for a former assassin to think, but Bucky can't remember the last time he saw this much blood. Maybe it's because the woman bleeding in his arms has induced tunnel vision like never before, and his history with blood and gunshot wounds is but a faded recollection. A dream of a dream, like a crime committed by someone else. The ramifications of this injury are much more urgent, and he knows, even as he hauls her into his arms and goes deeper into the cover of the forest on the coast of Tanzania, that the danger is both right behind them and right there, staring him in the face in the form of a bleeding wound and nothing to do about it.

He runs for what feels like hours but is probably just a minute, trying to jostle her as little as possible as he navigates the bush, and he slows only when the sound of the chopper has faded away. Temperature sensing technology won't work in an environment in which the surroundings are as pulsating hot as the people running. Soon, he faces a cove. If the circumstances were any different -- if the woman he has formed an inexplicable connection to wasn't dying in his arms -- he might laugh. Trust fate to give them two chopper chases, and coves to hide in after almost killing them. There's a metaphor in there but he can't be bothered to find it.

He lays her down on the ground and takes out his nearest knife, removing her upper layer and cutting open the tshirt under it to reveal the GSW under her ribs. Praying to God it hasn't hit anything vital, he removes his sweatshirt from where its tied around his waist and places pressure on the wound.

She winces and moves, lets out a whimper. The only sign of weakness -- no, humanity -- she has shown since the car crash in Romania.

Bucky shushes her. "Hey, shhh, it's okay," he says, pulling forth words he didn't know he had. "Hold this here, doll," he says, taking her hands and pushing them down on the jacket. She bites her lip and he swipes a strand of hair off her forehead with a gentle consolation, smearing blood across it, before turning to the now almost depleted first aid kit.

There are still tweezers and needle and thread in there, along with a sufficient amount of antiseptic and cotton. Taking the supplies out, he removes his now red sweatshirt and applies the antiseptic in panicked movements. His hands are shaking.

His heart is beating a death march drumbeat, deafening in his ears, but he still hears the rustle of leaves in the tree canopy above, too loud for a bird to cause. It makes him take her into his arms and back away, and he doesn't relax when Sam Wilson makes a graceful landing on the forest floor, and Steve Rogers drops down from the sky.

"Buck, it's alright, we're here to help," Steve says, and Bucky holds her tighter. The first aid kit is visible, as is the gaping wound and bloodied clothing, but Bucky doesn't know what to do with the concern written all over Steve. "We're here to help. Clint just landed the jet in a clearing nearby. Sam has paramedic training. He can save her." This is what does it. Although Bucky hasn't completely processed his feelings about Steve Rogers, he knows that she trusts Sam. She knows Sam, and he'll help here.

So he nods cautiously, but says, in a voice tight with emotion, "Lead us there." They nod and hurry to the right, and Bucky follows with rushed steps and an ache in his heart. It has been around minutes since she was shot, and time is running out.

When they enter the jet, he doesn't let himself feel comforted by the cool air inside or the reprieve from the sharp light, because she is still injured. She is still bleeding. Wilson pulls out a table from a wall, and Bucky lays her down on it. She whimpers again, and reaches for him, so he grabs her hand.

"It's going to be okay. Sam is here, you hear me?" He tells her, determined, trying to make sure she doesn't feel what he did in that long fall. He knows what it's like to almost die, to get to think about everything you might have to pay for. "Sam is going to help," Bucky says, and wonders who it is he's convincing.

Wilson, who has cleaned her wound and is now reaching for the tweezers, apologizes, "We don't have anaesthetic on board," and Bucky bites down the urge to snap why the hell not, until her hand clutches his tightly as Wilson locates the bullet.

Bucky squeezes back and starts talking while the painstaking process of removing the bullet without causing more damage begins. He can barely see for how his vision is blurring, but he speaks to her while his voice goes sandpaper rough, and Brooklyn heavy.

"I was stabbed in France, once. Before Azanno, so that wound had to heal like a normal one without the help of whatever those bastards put in me." Steve and Barton, on autopilot as the plane heads towards that pulsating dot a distant away, exchange a look. "Got hit by a Nazi two feet taller and wider, but that's no excuse. That's how I met Morita," Bucky says, watching her eyes struggle to stay open against the pain. The bullet is out and dropped into a tray with a clink. Wilson pulls out needle and thread, and starts to stitch, as Bucky continues.

"Died of a heart attack in '89, according to the Smithsonian," Bucky adds, and hears Steve whisper rest his soul.

"He found me in the ditch I was ready to die in -- sayin' my prayers and all -- and stitched my stomach up like it was child's play. Let me lean on him all the way back to camp when the dust settled, but on the way across the battlefield I saw the body if the Kraut that stabbed me. I stole his knife. Still have it," Bucky ends morbidly, as Wilson seals the stitches, and cleans the area, before covering it with gauze. Her eyes flutter shut, finally, and now, Bucky lets them.

"Rest," he murmurs lowly as Wilson and Steve move away to give them privacy, and he sits down on a bench against the walls as the jet continues over the African continent. Bucky closes his eyes and leans his head back against the cold, metal walls of the aircraft, and listens to his companion breathe.

As he registers the inhales and exhales, the shudder of her lungs after her ordeal, something in his chest loosens. It's a knot he didn't know was tied in the first place, but it unravels, and leaves a sphere of heat in his chest. The grip of icy fear on his heart has thawed, and in its place, is something soft. A feathered thing, smooth against his ribs, warm in his chest, waiting to take flight.

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Ridiculous Optimization: The Art of Finding the Right Tool for the Wrong Situation

Chapter two: Never put that on again

Time had long since discovered that his exasperation in dealing with the assembly of goblins that were the legendary heroes of Courage was proportionate to the amount of supervision on any given evening. For example, Wild could and would test any idea he had unless strong armed away by Twilight. Chastising him (or snarking at his ideas if you were Legend or Warriors) meant that you were ignored as surely the result would be so spectacular as to shut up all the unbelievers!

So far, only the incident where he shield surfed down a mountain to perform acrobatics and snipe fifteen black blooded wolfos had managed to shut up anyone. Even Twilight who knew just what Wild could do once properly motivated had whistled low and patted his protege on the back, praising his skills.

Incidentally, Wild was not currently the source of Time's annoyance, despite (because of) Twilight's inability to reign him in. His quiet pup had woken up miserable, red-eyed and sniffling. Yesterday, Sky had exhibited similar symptoms Thus, their group had extended their stay to allow two of their own to recover. Normally, that would have cause some antsiness in a few of the boys, but Wild had been glued to Twilight's side since the start, and Wind had taken his role as Hyrule's aid very seriously.

Time's lips twitched upward. No, no, he shouldn't be comforted by their good natures at the moment. The two hadn't returned from 'a quick supply run' and the sun was setting.

“Still not back?” Legend asked, fretting (or as close to that as their spike could display).

Four shook his head, scrutinizing the hills around them.

Great. They could ill afford to stay out at night on their own. Stallfos might emerge from the open plains and surround them. Normally, in a situation like this, he'd exchange a look with his pup and the situation would resolve itself at a beastly pace. Not an option, at the moment.

Wild yelped as his slate flashed to life, bringing out the voice of their missing Link. “Guys? Guys, can you hear me?”

At once, they converged on Wild, who fumbled with the slate. Bringing it to eye level, he showed them the image of Wind's and Hyrule's faces smushed together over the glass. Their hair had collected an impressive collection of branches and leaves, to the point where Legend pithily wondered if they were learning how to camouflage.

“Hardy har har,” Wind replied.

Wild ignored them both. “What happened to you guys? And where are you? It's almost night.”

“Well, I was gathering the herbs when I noticed a rare mushroom a bit down the hill, and a couple of helpful flowers, and one thing led to another-”

“We got jumped by river zoras.” Wind grunted. The bruises on his arms weren't bleeding, at least. “Had to make a run for it through the forest.”

Hyrule chuckled nervously. “Did you guys know that it's very easy to get lost in the woods?”

“Yes,” Time and Wild deadpanned in unison.

“Well, we're lost.”

“Sounds like a job for our furry friend,” Legend deadpanned, though there was a hint of worry in his eyes. They hadn't seen Wolfie in this world yet, for obvious reasons.

“We can't count on him jumping out of nowhere to find our comrades before night falls.”

“Why not?” Warriors asked, swapping the rag on Sky's face with a cold one. “Wolfie usually shows up when it's convenient for us. I am certain the beast follows us from a distance. It's probably tracking Hyrule as we speak.”

Time prayed to Farore for strength, least he threw his arms in the air and gave up, metaphorically speaking. He just wished his pup worked up the nerves to reveal this one secret. He'd started to suspect that Twilight enjoyed some of the perks of this secrecy a bit too much. None of the others acted as guarded around Wolfie as they did Twilight. They'd accepted the presence of a wild wolf rather easily.

The pup's face when he'd mentioned that had made Time's heart ache.

Time sighed and shook his head. The choice wasn't his.

“You would rather take the chance and leave two of our own alone before night?”

Warriors colored. His gaze sharpened. “Does anyone have a way to locate them quickly?”

Legend shook his head, mumbling something under his breath about having been alone most of the time. Fair in itself, few of them had had adventures in groups. Time's own experience was companion that stuck close to you until the end.

But past that…

Time ruthlessly squashed the bout of nostalgia threatening to return and focused on the present. “Perhaps.”

He gestured for Wild to lend him the slate, and Wild dared not disobey. Even through the screen, the two lost boys cringed at his intense look.

“Hyrule, do you have enough magic for that shapeshifting spell of yours?”

The guilty expression faded in favor of confusion and reluctance. “I… I'd be able to turn into a fairy, yeah, but I can't fly very high if that's what you're thinking. And Wind is stuck on the ground...”

Time shook his head. “That's not why I asked. If you turn into a fairy and stay with Wind, I can find you.”

“Oddly specific,” Legend commented, scanning Time for this ability to find fairies.

“Well, he does lead us to fountains more often than not,” Four replied.

Time passed the slate back to Wild, his hand lingering a second longer on the cub's shoulder. This one's worry was not hidden behind barbs. The scars on his side echoed the ones inside, and without Twilight's reassurance… well, he'd be fine, but not as fine as he could be.

Time bent over his bags and rummaged through for one of the more 'exotic' items he'd found on his quests. Prickling on the back of his neck told him the rests had started staring. Well, Time thought as a mischievous idea got hold of him, at least, they'll have reason to stare.

With his back to them, he hunched over to hide the great silky locks, struggling for a moment with proper adjusting. Then, he whirled around. 

A horrified, blood curdling scream exploded out of Warriors' mouth.

The group startled and drew their swords, including Twilight and Sky, who barely could prop themselves up by their elbows. The tense moment lasted only long enough for them to gather up their wits and realize that no, this was still Time despite the horrifying sight. 

Warriors was on the ground, his face pale and his hand over his chest as if he'd narrowly avoided a heart attack. “W-w-warn us before you put on monstrosities like that!”

The Great Fairy Mask covered his entire head when Time had been a child, but as an adult, he knew the other heroes could make out his smirk. “But your reactions are half the fun, captain.”

Warriors' energetic cursing flew right over Time's head and the mask's long, flowing pink locks. Pink lights like fireflies started floating by his head, and a tug in his head made him turn Four's way.

“Got a fairy on you?” he asked, voice slightly distorted, almost a woman's suave, lascivious.

More shaken than he'd like to admit, Four nodded quickly.

“Good. Keep it on you. I shouldn't be too long.”

Time adjusted the mask over his head, annoyed by the tightness of the fit, and took off, marching on over the hill like a pink nightmare incarnated. It was thus no surprise that only Legend dared go with him.

***

Hyrule, long since changed back to hylian form, returned to the camp feeling six inches tall. He'd gotten distracted again. Old habits die hard and he had been free through his travels, no maps, never having anyone to wait back for him, and he'd led Wind into an ambush! Not to mention how he made everyone else worry.

“Hyrule, it is good to see you back and unharmed,” Warriors told him with sincere warmth.

Which was why it felt strange for his instincts to scream at him to put some distance between them. “But?”

“But if you ever provoke the old man into putting that mask back on, I will join him on the search. And when we find you, I will skewer you, and then myself on the Master Sword.”

Bonus:

“So, what if it had been Wild instead of Hyrule that had gotten lost?” Legend asked, passing the food around the campfire.

Time swallowed carefully, considering. “Assuming Wolfie wouldn't be around?” Legend nodded, neither him nor anyone else noticing Twilight's fleeting guilt. “I own something else that might have helped.”

Warriors choked. “Beh- wah- excuse me, old man?! You subjected us to that when you had another solution?”

Time's enigmatic air thickened. “The alternative was far worse.” With a theatrical flourish, their stubborn old man of a leader pulled out a pig's face and held it up. “This thing allows the user to picks up a scent trail like they were a hungry pig.”

“Why the hell would you not use that one instead?!” Warriors screamed.

Time savored the bite he had in his mouth, because he doubted his next meal would be as pleasant. However, he simply couldn't help it.

“Because then,” he started, letting his tone verge into a whine, “then my poor nose would be even more assaulted than it is now.”

“HEY!”

Four jumped in the air when Twilight snorted his milk through his nose.

In the end, Time was right. The next meal was a goron spice special that no one managed to finish, besides Wild and Hyrule.

[walking-stressed-mess]

first impressions of the album "fine line" by harry styles.

wow. dudes. what an album. i'm giving out my first impression opinions on "fine line", excluding the singles. i'll give what my top 3 are, also! and my favourite single! and my overall feelings!

golden - beauty. a solid + whole beauty. it captures those highs and lows of loving someone and entertaining the idea of being in a relationship with them. the line, "i know that you're scared because i'm so open" really stuck with me out of all of them because of how i feel i personally carry myself. it's the favourite line of this song. it's feels v fleetwood mac inspired. i like the metaphorical use of colour because it's feels like the disbelief is a commonality between the two people when it comes to the idea that the other would want them. i would LOVE to see this performed live! it reminds of wildly dancing with your closest friends in their room with the music blasting.

cherry - it makes me feel nostalgic for something i can't quite place. this is one of the tracks that i feel has the most obvious meaning because of the voicenote at the end (which is probably my favourite part). it's not particularly my favourite song but the ending feels transcendental and airy with the guitar accompaniment. i do love how light the whole song feels; like you'd play the guitar and sing it while laying on a bed with the windows open and curtains blowing over your body from a sea breeze. almost like a lullaby but also like a confession.

falling - my absolute favourite so far. this one absolutely wrecked me. it's really relevant to a spot i'm going through currently in my life and the two lines that stuck out the most to me are: 1) "and it kills me 'cause i know we've ran out of things we can say" and, 2) "and i get the feeling that you'll never need me again." i'm really loving the simplistic instrumentals to these songs because it really allows us to focus on the writing. it reminds me of driving in the middle of the night alone with the windows slightly put down so you can hear the silence of the evening. feeling like you're able to cry as openly as possibly.

to be so lonely - it feels like a song that plays in the back of your head when you fall out of love with someone because you can take on the anger you feel from what they've done to you. but it also feels like not wanting to let them come because of what they've done for you and the comfort that they can give you. my favourite part is the brief section right before the bridge where the strings come in; it feels like a deep resonating sound and it actually fits in really well to assist the heavier lyrical mood that is downplayed by the light instrumental mood.

she - fucking love this one so much. another one that i would absolutely love to see live. the bass is so good in this and the whole thing has a dream-like quality that makes you feel like you're in another ether when you listen to it. it feels like a mixture of a jazz bar song and an RnB track. the whole concept makes me think of lying with someone, tangled in their sheets in the bed and smoking. like. really peaceful but as if there's an impending emotion that keeps getting brushed to the side for the sake of comfort.

sunflower - another absolute favourite! the reggae influence is clear and it feels like spending time in the arcade with the person you love so much who also loves you, but you exist happily in friendship with them. i love the narrative shift with the line, "kids in the kitchen, listen to dancehall." it feels like there's the trepidation of loving someone and making yourself vulnerable to them but the rewards that can come with doing so. the imagery of the flowers dying and wanting to bring new life is so warming. a clear birthing kink lol.

canyon moon - it reminds me of driving on the coastline with the wind in your hair with your hands in the air. it feels so free and jovial, like a stevie nicks and joni mitchell mix. it makes me think of having to say goodbye to something even when acknowledging all the good it held for you. i love the whistling! so much! and the harmonies with the whistling! it reminds of the early disney animation of mickey mouse as a sailor.

treat people with kindness - this! has the energy of hairspray! such a good '60s/'70s bop! another song i would love to see performed live because of the infectious energy it has from the beginning with those queen-esque harmonies. i also loved the use of the choir and the breakdown where he speaks. this is another favourite! it makes me wanna dance all around my room. and it's also just such a sweet message. please. be kind to each other.

fine line - another that feels transcedental and ethereal. it feels like a peaceful and cerebral way to end the album because it showcases the blurriness and confusion of wanting to love someone who is out of reach, emotionally. the beginning feels slightly like a jacob collier track but bleeds into the gentle lullaby that feels like a scared confession.

overall

my favourite single was definitely adore you. that track was my synth pop dream with that pounding bass line and is probably one of my favourite songs in general right now! i love that song so much.

my top 3 songs on this album: i feel like this might change the more i listen to the album, but from first listen, it's golden, she and sunflower.

overall, this album was so worth the hype. it has such great narrative songs (the writing overall is REALLY good) and the entire album feels really cohesive, like a journey from track to track.

[embarrassingsmartphonegame]

Anything (Chapter 4) - Nik Ryder x f!MC

Summary: After surviving an attempt on her life, she discovers there are worse fates than dying. And they’re all ice cold.

Warnings for this chapter: swear words, very slightly NS*W, some secondhand embarrassment probably

Links to previous chapters: one // two // three

Leah Mendoza had done many, many awkward things in her life. And at least half of them involved her losing her clothes in some way, shape, or form; case in point: the time they revealed their secrets and underwear in the Fate’s mansion. But that night, she would’ve preferred facing the Fate in her underwear as she stared down her...former bodyguard? Ex? Guy she ran from once he started reciprocating her love after a week that culminated in a death experience for her? Well, what she called him didn’t matter, but it had been at least a few minutes and he was still staring at her in shock. She squirmed in her seat and briefly considered taking him to the ER to make sure nothing (at least nothing more than what she already knew) was wrong with him. But she sat there and let him take his time to process her practically breaking into his apartment after she disappeared for three months. 

“Umm…Nik?” Leah finally said something after a few more awkward minutes, the silence getting to her. She stood up and started walking towards him, and Nik seemed to snap out of his trance and immediately tackled her to the floor. She yelped as he pinned her to the ground with his body, his eyes dark. “Hey!”

“Shapeshifter, you’ve gone too far. I’m only gonna ask you this once: how the fuck did you get this form? How did you find her and what did you do?” His hands shook with unadulterated rage as they pinned hers above her head, and she shivered at the hateful look in his eyes.

“Nik, stop, it’s really me! Garrus let me in!” Leah pleaded, hoping that this wouldn’t be how she actually goes. “I can prove it if you let me up!”

“Nice try. I’ve given you too many chances. Hope hell is nice.” Shit. In a panic, Leah’s super strength suddenly kicked in and she surged forward and managed to flip their positions too quickly for him to react. Without thinking, she slipped her shirt off as she straddled him, exposing the three crimson, raised linear keloid scars on her chest. Another awkward moment that involved her stripping down to avoid certain death. She blushed as Nik laid there beneath her. He studied her scars and realization dawned on his face.

“Would a shapeshifter know what this looks like? Would they know what happened?” she questioned softly, vulnerable and exposed in more ways than one. She slowly got off him and slipped her shirt back on. Nik sat up and got off the ground, in a state of shock in his eyes again. She couldn’t tell if the blue-purple-almost black bags under his eyes were due to lack of sleep or getting punched in the face, and the dreadful part of her knew it was most likely due to both. She noted his new grown out stubble into a full beard and longer hair, and her usual inner dumbass would’ve thought it was hot if the hair clearly wasn’t grown due to him not caring. Leah decided to start saying what she needed to say to him.

“I...I came to apologize,” she began, awkwardly sitting on the floor with him and gazing sincerely into his eyes. “For how things turned out between us. I ran because I was afraid of everything that had happened and what I found out about my life, and hurt you in the process. You don’t need to forgive me; I wouldn’t forgive myself. I’m sorry. That’s all.”

Her open palm reached out and squeezed his hand one last time before she started to get up, but his hand found hers again and pulled her back. “Wait.”

And oh, would she have waited forever if he asked. Nik looked at her with what seemed to be fresh eyes, as if he was seeing her for the first time. He studied her intently and carefully placed his hand on her cheek. Leah felt extremely self conscious about her own messy, grown out hair and dark purple eye bags, and even more about her unintentional weight loss and old hickeys on her neck. He ran his rough fingers gently over the side of her face.

“R—Leah…” he quickly corrected himself, remembering that things weren’t the same as they were before. “You’re really here.”

“I am, Nik. I’m here.”

“But how? Why?”

“I needed to make things right with us. What happened...I couldn’t live with myself. Especially knowing from Ivy, Krom, and Garrus how you are now.”

“I mean...you’re not exactly in the best shape either. No offense.” His own tired eyes searched hers, and she could see the steel walls stacked flush against each other in an impenetrable fortress guarding his heart. “Is that it? Because you knew—and I told you this when I was being an idiot at that time—that I wouldn’t be fine. And I do have another job in a few hours.”

Leah shook her head. “No, it’s not. And to be honest, I’m scared to let this all out. You probably won’t wanna hear it; I should let you get to sleep.”

Nik seemed to think for a moment. “Try me. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.” 

He pulled her up and led her to his couch. They kept a careful distance apart so that they were close enough for whoever was brave enough to reach out but far enough that they weren’t too tempted. His expression was in a perfectly neutral expression, save for a furrow on his left eyebrow that indicated the smallest form of curiosity. She couldn’t see through his steel walls that he built around himself the night she left, and her heart sank in realization that he probably hated her after all this time. Leah steeled herself and began talking.

“So I ran back to my life in Wyoming, even though I was planning on leaving my job anyway even before I came to New Orleans. But after everything that happened...I just couldn’t take it. And when you were out of my life...I felt nothing. Absolutely...nothing. I was going through the daily motions of my shitty office job and paying the bills. I tried to dance again, tried to sing, tried to play the violin. Tried to find anything, anything to fill the void. Found other people and had a different person in my bed each night...still nothing,” she puffed out all in one breath, noting how Nik inhaled sharply at her last statement yet stayed silent, allowing her to continue. “I woke up in an empty apartment every day and it was exactly like Katherine said, I was freezing to death in absolutely nothing. And when I...died...I felt nothing. Going back to my old life without you...it felt like I was dead.” 

Nik couldn’t believe what he was hearing; his heart pounded in his chest. “You really mean that?”

“Yes,” she continued her confession. “I’m not expecting anything and know that this entire thing might even be selfish when you’re trying to move on with your life, but I wanted you to at least know that I’m really sorry for how things ended between us.”

Nik stayed silent for a moment before he became the brave one and reached for her hand. He interlaced their fingers together, and she found comfort in the warmth of his calloused, dirty palm against hers. “Dammit Leah...you know I’m not good at this stuff and that’s what caused all this in the first place.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “You’re talking to the girl who ran back to Wyoming of all places after you told me you loved me.”

Nik shook his head and began to speak, hoping his words were right this time. 

“I couldn’t move on, not after everything that happened between us. It’s why I’ve been working so much. I never would’ve pushed you away at the parade if I knew it might’ve been the last time I saw you. When you were on the ground, bleeding and cold and dead…” Leah could’ve sworn she heard him choke on his words, but she let him continue. “I thought loving someone was scarier than anything...I was wrong. The scariest thing was losing you.”

Boom. Leah heard the metaphorical walls crash down. She had never seen him look so vulnerable, even when she left him three months before. Matching his bravery, she cautiously wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against the crook of his neck. His arms found their way around her smaller form, and he squeezed her as if his life depended on it. The pair stayed like that for God knows how long, letting a few tears slip out. As the sun began to rise, they finally let go and faced each other.

“Where do we go from here?” Leah asked, playing with the shorter hairs on the nape of his neck. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to hear me out. I thought you hated me by now.”

Nik pressed his forehead against hers. “I could never hate you...rook.”

Her heart soared at cadence of the familiar nickname, and she smiled genuinely. Nik felt his heart leap at her smile, and it took all of his willpower not to surge forward and take things too far. It didn’t feel right. He instead continued, “It’s your call. But I will say this: nothing about my feelings for you have changed. You...you still make me feel like a real person.”

Leah thought about it for a moment before continuing to speak genuinely. “Well...nothing about my feelings for you have changed either. But I’m still a fucking wreck…like therapy for life level wreck.”

Nik nodded tersely, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I understand.”

“Wait wait wait,” Leah quickly clarified, taking his hands in hers. “I may be a wreck who needs to get her life together, but if I learned anything, it’s that I don’t want just anything. I want you. Only you. Just maybe...we should take it slow? That week we had was way too fast. And I’m not gonna count me sitting on you with my shirt off last night.”

“I...can’t say I disagree.” Nik chuckled softly, reminiscing. “No other job could compare since then.”

“Just a job?” she teased, her heart lighter than it had been for a while.

“At this point I’d call it a career,” he teased back, their old dynamic naturally resurfacing. At the mention of a career, Leah groaned, yanking herself back from la-la land.

“I literally came back to New Orleans because I was so miserable with my job and life in Wyoming. I’m definitely fired for this, but I’m not too upset about it. Just don’t know what to do for work now.”

“Do you really have no ideas?”

“Well I do have one.” She stared down at the palms of her hands. “I haven’t been able to use my powers since my father died, and I was considering training under Lady Thalissa’s wing and helping out with Lamrian. I still feel guilty that they’re in this situation because of me.”

“Rook, you know that happened ‘cuz your punk ass brother let that thing in,” Nik said firmly, cradling her hands in his. “And if you’re sure you’re ready, that sounds like a great idea.”

“I’m really not sure, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.” Leah focused all of her energy into the palms of her hands, willing them to glow. But nothing. Zilch. Nada. She sighed, figuring that it might be better when she arrived in Lamrian.

“So...wanna explain why you tackled me earlier and thought I was a shapeshifter?” she changed the subject, genuinely curious. 

Nik rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, a few weeks ago I kinda pissed off this shapeshifter by putting his brother in jail for grave robbing. No idea why he was grave robbing, but that’s besides the point. Had it out for me since and transformed himself into Garrus, Krom, and Ivy at least a few times since he’s seen me pretty much only go in and out of the Graveyard Shift if I’m not on a job. When I saw you, I thought that maybe the bastard somehow found out about us and got to you and…”

He took a deep breath. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you, of all people, getting hurt. Especially because of me. Not again.”

Leah hugged him again, rubbing circles on his back. “Well, I’m here to stay. I’m not leaving you again. I hope things work out for me in Lamrian. If not...Garrus did offer me a job earlier.”

For the first time in a long time, she felt her optimism creep back up. Maybe things were going to be okay after all, even if she really didn’t know what she was doing with her life at that point.

“So when do you wanna do this?” Nik asked. “Going to Lamrian? I’m going with you.”

“Nik, you’ve already done so much for me; you don’t have to. Also, don’t you have a bunch of other jobs lined up already?”

Nik shrugged. “My next job just told me they want that ghoul gone by the end of the week. I got time. And I want to be with you.”

Leah nodded, secretly relieved that she didn’t have to go alone. “Thank you, Nik. But maybe we should at least get some sleep before then? And you should rest that limp. I’ll go back to my motel and see you back here in a few hours.”

A sudden wave of exhaustion immersed them both; neither of them had gotten much sleep in the past three months. Nik was about to pull her closer and tell her she could stay but decided against it. They did say they wanted to take things slow, whatever that meant for them. Instead he nodded and called a cab for her, knowing with contentedness that he would see her again. Eventually Leah ended up back at her motel, and both slept well in the same city for the first time in forever. Everything was finally different for her, and this time she couldn’t help but be glad.

==============================================

A/N: Lol updating schedule? What updating schedule? This chapter came out a lot faster than the previous one due to me finally learning how to procrasti--I mean, practice self care in med school. Changed my mind a few times for how many chapters total; there are 2 more chapters of this story left before I work more on my next Nightbound series. Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading 🖤

Tagging: @furiouscloddonutpeanut @nighthunterkatherine @saivilo @samara-rani @god-save-the-keen @xxdangerouscapri15xx @inlovewithrebels 

[theboardwalkbody]

Title: The Shot 

Fandom: Stranger Things Characters: Alexei, OFC, Murray Pairing: Alexei/OC Rating: T Warnings: Blood Chapter: 1/??? Might do more if there’s an interest. 

Alternative take on the scene at the fair. AU - Alexei doesn’t die. OC.  

They say the first gunshot of the Revolution was the proverbial loudest gunshot. ‘The shot heard ‘round the world’ as they say in the history books. Well, American history books anyway. The truth is it wasn’t. The loudest gunshot is actually the one you are affected by and needless to say I was in no way involved in the American Revolution. For me the loudest gunshot was one I didn’t even hear. It happened right next to me but between the guns silencer and the gunman skillfully timing it with the boom of the overhead Fourth of July fireworks there really was nothing to be heard. And yet, it was deafening.

I’ll be honest the 24 hours prior to this shot were shocking, and that is a grotesque understatement. Otherworldly portals, secret underground labs, an almost superhumanly crazy gunman whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to keep said underground lab and otherworldly portals kept secret; which of course meant that the Four Nosy Americans and our Dearly Abducted Russian Scientist who has willingly spilled all of the metaphorical beans needed to be, well, eliminated.

You would think that any one of those hugely life changing discoveries would be the thing that struck to the core; the thing that would cause so much dread and panic. But it was none of those things. For me the most shocking event was that one second I was walking alongside that Dearly Abducted Russian - or, as he stated his actual name – Alexei, smiling with him as we walked back from a balloon-dart game where he had won a giant stuffed Woody Woodpecker (impressing me and about 2 dozen children) and the next… deafening noise.

It was as if he appeared from thin air – the gunman suddenly passing right in front of us without either of us noticing his approach, the raise of his arm to press the barrel of his gun against Alexei’s body, shielding it from view between their bodies and the giant stuffed cartoon woodpecker, the whisper of something I couldn’t understand as he passed by to disappear as quickly as he had appeared. It was so quick and the act so fluid that I wasn’t entirely sure it even happened except for the evidence left behind in his wake.

There was blood.

I’ve always heard that in the most profound moments everything is quiet. Nothing but absolute overwhelming silence. To me it was the loudest moment I’ve ever experienced. The sound of my heart pounding mixed with the sounds of fireworks, children yelling, people talking, babies crying, machines whirring, music from about 30 different sources, everything melding together to create the most offensive and chaotic sound.

I wanted to scream from the pressure of it all welling up in my head. I shut down emotionally instead.

Murry, also known as the Only Apparent Human Being Who Can Translate Russian to English, had witnessed the assault but saw about as much as I did despite the different vantage point. He rushed over as I leaned into Alexei’s body and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to support him as he began stumbling.  Murry and I guided him to a secluded area between two pop-up buildings for games. In the little makeshift alley it was darker and the sounds of the roaring fair faded to more of a jumbled background noise.

“Alexei! Can you hear me?” Murray was practically yelling as we gently lowered the shocked and bleeding man to the ground. Being spoken in English Alexei responded only to the sound of his name being said, but he didn’t have much strength or awareness to stay focused and his head fell back against the wall behind him as his eyes closed.

“Keep him awake,” I said quietly to Murray as I yanked the jacket off myself. “Give me your shirt.”

My voice was quiet and emotionless. Almost robotic.

Murray nodded, ripped his own shirt off, then shifted focus back to Alexei and tried to keep him from losing consciousness by snapping his fingers and speaking in a loud, panicked tone; switching back and forth between English and Russian, not that it mattered at all what he was saying or which language he was saying it in. Neither I nor Alexei could really hear him. Alexei was between life and death – a fact I was well too aware of – and I was living in a silent world having tuned everything to focus.

I tied my jacket to Murray’s shirt to make them longer and then reached around Alexei and tied the clothes around him just above the wound. As I reached around I felt for an exit wound but felt nothing. I tied the makeshift tourniquet as tight as I could not tying it off until it was so tight Alexei sucked in a breath. My heart almost leap out of my chest. He felt the pressure. That was a good sign.

“Murray I need your shirt,” I said.

“What? I already –“, he started but I cut him off.

“The undershirt. Now.” I still didn’t raise my voice even though I was angry with him for not doing what I said the first time and wasting precious seconds.

It took only a moment but to me it felt like an hour; Murray handed me the undershirt.

“Tell him I’m sorry but it’s going to hurt,” I told Murray.

He nodded and translated my words to Russian. Alexei’s only response was a wince in response to the pain he was already feeling, though I highly doubted he felt it with its true intensity. His body was in shock, he needed immediate medical attention and I needed to try and stop the bleeding as much as possible. I took Murrays shirt and twisted it slightly to form a ball roughly the size of the bullet wound. I ripped open Alexei’s blood stained shirt and as gently and as quickly as I could I stuffed some of the shirt into the wound to try and block it and instead of backing off I pushed against it with all the strength I had, shifting my position and getting better leverage by leaning slightly forward on my knees and almost falling on to him.

The action caused him to yelp in pain. For a moment his eyes focused on mine before rolling back into his head and fluttering closed. My chest ached. He was in pain, and even though it was needed I hated that I caused it. “Alexei!” I shouted, evidently too loudly by the way Murray jumped at the sound. “You gotta stay with me, okay,” I added more softly when he took a deep, rough breath in and looked at me again but with unfocused eyes.

“Murray – get an ambulance. There’s a medic tent by the main entrance,” I ordered. “But what are we going to tell –“ “Murray! I am a goddamn nursing student, not a fucking trauma surgeon! Cover story later. You get me an ambulance or he’ll die soon. I can’t let that happen which means you need to get me a fucking ambulance!” I was yelling. I had kept my cool for too long without letting myself experience any sort of emotion and it was all bursting out. Tears were beginning to leak from my eyes. Nursing school and clinicals teach you to keep your head in a crisis. But I had done all I could do which meant that now I no longer had control of the situation. No control means no emotional blockade.

Murray stumbled to his feet and then ran off to find a medic and an ambulance.

I was using both hands to keep pressure on the wound and aiding the pressure of the tourniquet. I took a deep breath to try and calm myself and then placed my forehead against Alexei’s for a moment to try and reassure him. I knew that he couldn’t understand me, but I spoke to him anyway.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m going to make sure of it. You just have to stay with me, okay? I can’t do all the work here by myself. I need you to help too. Okay? I need you.”

I felt a lump rise in my throat. ‘I need you.’ I didn’t realize I even felt that way until the words had left my lips. I wanted to yell at myself. What was this? Some Disney film where the heroine falls for the hero after knowing them for only a few days all the while they barely exchanged any words? All our conversations were translated by a recluse with a severe prejudice against Russians, with the exception of the one he was now trying to save, and our meeting did begin with a kidnapping. It just wasn’t mine it was his. Yeah, this could definitely make a Disney movie.

My panicked thoughts were interrupted by Murray reappearing with a few medics in tow.

“I warned Jim and Joyce,” he said as the medics rushed over and flanked me. I nodded, never taking my focus away from Alexei.

“Miss, you can let go, we will take him from here.” I heard the lead medic say to me, but my body wouldn’t react. “Miss, please, you need to get off him so we can transport him.”

Murray walked up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Let them work, you’ve done your part,” he assured.

I hesitantly backed off and stood up. Murray kept a hand on my shoulder as I stared at my blood-covered hands. I wiped them on my jeans but the stains were already setting in.

The medics placed him on a stretcher and began to wheel him to an ambulance that had pulled up by a third medic arriving on the scene.

I broke away from Murray’s reassuring hold. “I’m going with him,” I said.

“But what about Joyce and Jim?” Murray called after me jogging slightly to catch up with me and the medics.

“Stay with them, tell them what happened, make sure they’re safe. Go with them,” I yelled back. After my instructions I didn’t look back, but I knew he listened because he didn’t follow or call out again. I climbed in the back of the ambulance and sat watching the two medics work on stabilizing Alexei with fluids and oxygen. I knew it wouldn’t do much without stopping the bleeding and getting a blood transfusion but I hoped it would be just enough to get him to the hospital where those measures could be implemented. I reached out for Alexei’s hand. I’m sure the medics assumed it was because I wanted to comfort him, which wasn’t wrong, but the truth was I was trying to comfort myself, too, and the only way I knew to do that was by placing my middle and index finger over the radial pulse point and just feeling his pulse against my fingertips. A pulse meant life; meant he was still with me. I closed my eyes and focused on the ragged, unsteady beating of Alexei’s pulse and tried to shut out the blaring noise of the sirens and the medics talking and working beside me hoping we would get to the hospital soon.

[madshelley]

gimmie a quick rundown of which scenes break your heart the most, i'm not sad enough and need the pain.

I love you and this is both the best and worstthing anyone has never asked me, because apparently, I have no clue what a “quick”rundown means.  I also tried very hard tonot make this entirely about Armand and… I failed about midway through. Butin my defense, can you ever be sad enough? No, you can’t.

SO HERE’S THE TOP JUST-A-BIT-TOO-MANY LIST OFHEARTBREAKING VAMPIRE MOMENTS™:

- Louiskilling the Marquis, and both his and Lestat’s reactions to it. Louis draggingLestat to his abusive father’s bed and forcing him to speak forgiveness,despite the fact that Lestat is having an obvious meltdown (“He threw up hishands and let out a terrible roar of desperation.  ‘Damn him! Kill him!’ he said.”/“Lestatdanced like the maddened Rumpelstilskin about to put his foot through thefloor”/ “Never had I seen him so weak and at the same time enraged”), thatLouis, in his lack of information, mistakes for impatience and indifference.Damn dysfunctional vampires with a thing for miscommunication.  If only there was a scene with the two of themdiscussing this in a later book, it would probably make the list too. But,alas.

Rest of the list under cut because of excessively long post that no one’s going to read:

 - Louisdumping Lestat’s ‘body’ in the bog.

“This is Lestat. This is all oftransformation and mystery, dead, gone into eternal darkness. I  felt a pull suddenly, as if some force wereurging me to go down with him, to descend into the dark water and never comeback”.

          For no other reason, but that I feelthis is the prime example of Louis’ tendency to be unable to take control ofhis life and stand up for himself and what he wants, ending up being a passive observerof the most tragic events of his life, lamenting them only when it’s too late.Oh, Louis.

-Armandlying to himself about his relationship with Marius.

“A love so strong hecouldn’t allow me to grow old and die. A love that waited patiently until I wasstrong enough to be born to darkness.”

-I don’t normally care about Madeleine, but thisquote shatters my heart on a daily basis, considering the context in which IwtVwas written.

“And cruelly, surely, I said to her, ‘Did you love this child?’

I will never forget her face then, the violence in her, the absolute hatred.‘Yes.’ She all but hissed the words at me. ‘How dare you!’ She reached for thelocket even as I clutched it. It was guilt that was consuming her, not love. Itwas guilt- that shop of dolls Claudia had described to me, shelves and shelvesof the effigy of that dead child”.

-Armandleaving Louis, unable to bear the loveless, cold partnership anymore, indespair and suicidal. Especially this part of the farewell speech:

“AndI believed I would gather you to me and hold you. And time would open to us,and we would be the teachers of one another. All the things that gave youhappiness would give me happiness; and I would be the protector of your pain.My power would be your power. My strength the same. But you’re dead inside tome, you’re cold and beyond my reach! It is as if I’m not here, beside you. And,not being here with you, I have the dreadful feeling that I don’t exist atall”.

Armand,the break-up line master. Jesus Christ.

-“Hebent down, pressing his head against my chest and holding my hand so tight thathe caused me pain. The room was filled with the flashing red light of thesiren, and then it was going away.

‘Louis,I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it,’ he growled through his tears. ‘Help me,Louis, stay with me’.”

- Theway IwtV ends in general, with no silver lining or sliver of hope. Lestat andArmand are dying, of old age and despair, Louis is continuing his existencelike a bloodless empty shell, seeing no possibility of recovery or light at theend of the tunnel, and there is no comforting cosmic reason anything is everhappening at all.  Life is pain and youdon’t even die. No wonder IwtV is such a downer to the non-initiated.

- LittleLestat being beaten bloody by his father and brothers.

-“Andwhen we decided to go to Paris, I thought we would starve in Paris, that wewould go down and down and down. It was what I wanted rather that what theywanted, that I, the favored son, should rise for them. I thought we would godown! We were supposed to go down”.

- Armandbegging Lestat and Gabrielle to take him with them and them refusing. I’m notgoing to go into details, I feel this is an obvious one.

Exceptfor these gems:

“Maybeas the years pass, desire will come again to me. I will know appetite again,even passion. Maybe when we meet in another age, these things will not beabstract and fleeting. I’ll speak with a vigour that matches yours, instead ofmerely reflecting it”.

and

“Armandwas a small boy in the doorway, holding the backs of his own arms”.

Theconsistent implication throughout the series that Armand gets cold when he’supset does things to my heart.

- Armand’sadmonition to Lestat that fledglings are bound to despise their makers, simplybecause it’s not true, or at least it doesn’t seem to be in most cases. IsArmand projecting because he’s practically almost incapable of verbalcommunication at this point in his life which makes a hindered mind gift seemlike an unsurpassable obstacle in his mind? Or is he projecting because, onsome level, he knows his relationship with Marius was abusive and probablydoomed? (Spoiler alert: probably both.)

- Mariuscalling Armand his mistake.

-Lestat hearing Armand crying after he pushedhim off the roof:

“Maybe I imagined it, his lastinvitation, and the anguish after. The weeping. I do know that as the monthspassed he was out there again. I heard him from time to time just walking thoseold Garden District streets. And I wanted to call to him, to tell him that itwas a lie I’d spoken to him, that I did love him. I did.”.

- “Uglyfights, terrible fights, finally, Armand broken down, glassy-eyed with silentrage, then crying softly but uncontrollably as if some lost emotion had beenrediscovered which threatened to tear him apart”.

-“Evenin moments of the greatest jeopardy, I knew we would meet before I would befree to die.”

Tell me again how Armand’s suicideattempt in Memnoch was out of character.

-Lestatbelieving that Daniel would have left Night Island with him if he had askedhim. So much theoretical pain.

- It’sa pity that Daniel leaving Armand isn’t technically  ~a scene, because that would make the top ofthe list.

- Everyscene in which Lestat is “haunted” by Claudia in TotBT. It’s not hard to seehow he made the connection between her and the Raglan episode, even with himnever straight-up admitting it to himself. Remember when Lestat still feltcrippling guilt for his worst actions, even subconsciously? Good times.

- David’sturning. But this is not the time to complain about this, it’s canon heartbreakappreciation time!

- Armand’ssuicide attempt in Memnoch the Devil. I’ve already elaborated on this way toomuch, but let’s take a moment to appreciate Lestat screaming Armand’s nameafter him. Take a moment. Thank you.

- Louisobjecting to Lestat being chained to the floor, but being completely dismissed.

- Theentire The Vampire Armand. I can’t let myself elaborate too much on this, as I’lljust be reciting the entire book. I can just open it to a random page and itwill probably be a Top Heartbreaking Vampire Moment:

 Armand’sobvious exhaustion at the beginning of the book, that no one seems to respect. Himscolding himself and admitting to David he feels he’s going mad. A child silentlywishing for death so hard, that Marius heard it amongst the mental voices ofthe entire city. Armand’s entire “relationship” with Marius. Armand having a breakdownat seeing religious imagery, not yet being sure why he has that reaction. Meetinghis parents, especially the broken Ivan. The “Bridge of Sighs” metaphor, Jesus.The ashes of the Palazzo boys. The whole Riccardo horror. Armand trying toconceal his scarred face from Benji and Sybelle, putting all his energy intothe illusion. The shattering feeling of betrayal about the turning of Armand’s “children”by Marius, and Armand’s conviction that it was meant as punishment. Louis beingunable to conceal his relief and joy to see Armand alive. Armand’s bitter, hurtdismissal of his relationship with Daniel as doomed from the start. Armandadmitting that Sybelle and Benji had to coax him out of depressive episodes attimes. Man, did Anne go ham on the pain in this one. Why, mom?

- Specialmention to that one time Marius beat Armand out of “frustration” at him fortaking too long to emotionally get over his visit to Kiev, probably his mostblatantly abusive moment in the book.

“‘You’ve had enough time to grieve and to weep,’ hesaid, ‘and to reevaluate all you’ve been given. Now it’s back to work. Go tothe desk and prepare to write. Or I’ll whip you some more.’”

“He smacked me across the face. I was dizzy.”

Nice going, Marius.

- Secondspecial mention to this little passage, because no one ever talks about it andit makes my heart bleed:

“ I looked off, wanting the quiet, dreamingof bowers suddenly, not in words but in images, the way my old mind would doit, wanting to lie down in garden beds among growing flowers, wanting to pressmy face to earth and sing softly to myself”.

- Thirdspecial mention to this, but only out of context:

“For all the wrongs done you, andthe loneliness you’ve suffered, and the horrors that the world put upon youwhen you were too young and too untried to know how to fight them and then toovanquished to wage a battle with a full heart”.  

- SeeingDaniel in Blood and Gold after all those years. The shock of the degree inwhich his mental stability deteriorated, not objecting to being kept by Mariuslike a child. The terrifying possibilities of how he might have ended up therein the first place. The even more terrifying possibility that it might havebeen the news of Armand’s “death” that pushed him over the edge. How Armandmust have felt about this ‘relationship’.

- I am definitely not done, and yet I’m going to stop ‘cause even I had enough.

Tl;dr: Sad Vampires.

[thelingerieravenarchive2]

5 TIPS FOR YOUR CERVICAL SCREENING/SMEAR TEST FROM ME, TO YOU. 

Every day eight women are diagnosed with cervical cancer and three die from the disease. Yet cervical cancer is largely preventable thanks to the NHS cervical screening programme and HPV vaccination programme. In the UK 22% of UK women do not attend their cervical screening (smear test) invitation.  There is a lot of stigma around the cervical screening when realistically there shouldn’t be. The cervical screening is literally thee first defense in preventing cervical cancer.  Having regular cervical screening offers the best protection against developing cervical cancer and at the screening precancerous/abnormal cells can be detected so that they can be treated to prevent the occurrence of cancer. Catching cancers early is the best treatment you can possibly ask for, so why would you avoid it?

Because you’ve probably heard that it hurts or you are embarrassed. 

Firstly you are showing your vagina to people who have seen more vaginas than you want to know. Its the same for your doctor or nurse seeing yet another vagina as it is for you seeing yet another mug with a funny metaphor on. You’ve seen a hundred of them, what is another?  Plus you aren’t standing butt naked in front of someone. You will have a little private area to get undressed, lay down on the bed, cover yourself modestly then your allocated professional does a procedure they are totally unfazed by because they’ve done it plenty of time and then you’ll be done. 

Secondly I come onto the most common thing you’ll see pop up for information on smear tests. The word ‘pain’. BUT seriously, I think people go to the word pain because there isn’t really a way of defining how a smear test feels. It isn’t comfortable but it isn’t painful. Put it this way, stubbing your toe hurts more or hitting your elbow.  And ultimately this feeling is certainly going to be much better than the kind of feelings you would have to go to if you contract cervical cancer because you’ve not attended your regular screenings. 

Lets break it down. Your smear is maybe 10 minutes of feeling a bit vulnerable and a bit embarrassed because you are getting undressed and your most private parts of your body exposed and then maybe 5-10 minutes maximum of a very odd sensation. Then you are done and well on your way to cervical health. AND IT IS SO WORTH IT.

Cervical screening is 80–90% reliable and can prevent 60–80% of cervical cancers. This means that seven out of every 10 cases of women who would have developed cancer of the cervix can be prevented

And if it helps, I’ve not only had a few smears myself, but I’ve been diagnosed with abnormal cells and gone all the way to surgery and I still stand by all of the above points. It isn’t too bad, I promise, but in case here are a few tips I find have helped me and maybe, might help you too. 

1. BOOK YOUR APPOINTMENT FOR FIRST THING IN THE MORNING OR LAST THING IN THE EVENING. 

Depending on the type of person you are I would recommend booking early in the morning to ‘get it out of the way’ and have a day to relax and wind down or last thing in the evening so when it is all done you can go home and go straight to bed with a cup of tea. That way if you do have any after-effects (sometimes you may experience some period esque cramps or paints and some bleeding) you can relax in the comfort of your own home either chilling out doing whatever chills you out (sewing, gaming, watching a movie...) or sleep on it so by the time the next day come around you’ll be back to 100% you. 

2. IF YOU ARE ANXIOUS, SPEAK TO YOUR PROFESSIONAL BODY BEFOREHAND (OR IF THAT IS SCARY, A PERSON WHO HAS DONE IT BEFORE!)

There is nothing better than speaking to a professional if you are anxious. Honestly. I found that speaking to my nurses at my GP helped me understand the procedure. Also by speaking to your professional bodies in your area, if you are particularly nervous, you can identify an individual that does make you feel comfortable and book in with them. By expressing your concerns you can ultimately combat them. Or if you don’t want to speak to them directly, speak to someone who has had a smear or more, they can give you plenty of advice too. I’m always at the end of an ask!

3. DONT BE AFRAID TO FOCUS ON DOING SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOU COMFORTABLE DURING THE TEST

You do not have to just lay there in that kind scary movie hospital silence. Do something that makes you feel comfortable. Almost all doctors or nurses love to have a chinwag. Sometimes I’ve spoke about the test itself the whole way through, another time I spoke about what christmas presents I was buying that year. Heck when I had my coloscopy me and the team spoke about the best way to boil rice! If talking isn’t your forte you can always take some music in with you and listen to music whilst everything goes on (just remember your professional will likely want to explain everything beforehand because they do guide you through as it all happens, just so you know what is happening) or alternatively go in with some meditation based focus and focus on a particular thing, cover your face with a nice scented scarf. Whatever is your forte, don’t be afraid to do it. The more relaxed you are the better the overall experience for you and your professionals because after all, everyone wants you to have a positive smear. BONUS TIPS FOR EXTRA COMFORT:  Wear a nice long skirt or a dress so you don’t have to get undressed, you can just hitch it up and drop it down.  Bring a small pillow or place your hands just above your bum in the crook of your back to raise your pelvis up a little bit more. 

Ask to bring a chaperone to talk too. 

4. DONT BE AFRAID TO SAY STOP OR VOICE YOURSELF 

Sometimes you may experience discomfort. Fundamentally it is because you may be anxious or scared because like an injection, if you are tense, it can be untoward. The important thing to remember is that you can stop entirely and come back another time or you can tell your doctor or nurse what you are feeling and they will do what they can to make it better there and then. Sometimes you might need more lubricant, sometimes the speculum needs to open sideways as opposed to horizontally, if you don’t voice how you feel, if you do experience anything uncomfortable, you’ll never make it comfortable. You can personalise your experience so if you have something negative you can either make it better and positive straight away or for next time you have a smear test.   

5. YOU ARE NOT ALONE 

And you never will be. Every single woman over 25 all the way to 64 will have smears every three years minimum. Heck I have to have mine every 6 months (and again, I am telling you, it isn’t that bad). You don’t need to feel alone. You don’t need to feel embarrassed. You don’t need to be scared. Everything you are doing is good and everything you will do is for your own health. By you going to your own smear test you can essentially promote others to do so too. Solidarity is the way forward, if we all go, we will all be safe and all in turn, make each other feel safe. 

If anyone did have any questions or maybe wants me to do another blog along these lines or just wants to chat, hit me up on a DM. You can be anonymous if that helps but I am always here. 

[letmewritemylife]

Wizards Don’t Exist

I found myself through the dark…                                                                                       - Citizen Soldier

A/N Yes the title has nothing to do with the fic, but it was cute

TRIGGER WARNINGS Very brief reference to bullet wounds

Lara’s eyes open slowly, her vision adjusting to the dim light, and she struggles to inspect the room. The dark wooden walls around her are much higher than any other she’s ever seen, decorated with colourful masks and climbing plants. Heavy blue curtains cover the big window on the opposite side of the room and the only light is a candle on the bedside table to her left, which spreads an intense scent of moss and lichens. Lara outstretches her arm to touch the bed frame, made of a wood that seems burnt to the touch, almost black and somehow just as warm as the covers on the bed. But again, Lara isn’t sure what they are made of, their material is too soft to even be very expensive wool.

“Now where the hell am I?” she murmurs, her voice still deep and sleepy.

If not for the painful wounds in her chest, she would jump on the spot when she hears a loud voice coming from a corner of the room. A woman dressed in a long indigo dress smiles at her, saying something in a language that Lara can’t even recognize. Noticing her confused face, the woman presses a finger to her own throat, a purple light travelling around her neck. “Sorry, I forgot you didn’t speak Duirlian.”

Lara is about to sit up, gripping the edge of the bedside table for balance, but the other woman screams at her, her green eyes wide open. “Don’t you move. Urill spent an hour stitching you up, if you ruin her work we’re never gonna hear the end of it.” 

Lara narrows her brows, falling back on the soft mattress. “Who? No, wait. Who are you, who is your friend, where am I and why am I here in the first place?”

The woman smiles, trotting closer to the bed like an excited child. “I’m Yngun,” she says, offering her hand for Lara to shake. “my friend Urill and I are Enchantresses and… well, technically so are you-”

“I am what?”

“Hey, slow down with the questions, they’re already piling up,” Yngun silences her, plopping on the bed. “You’re on Duirl, sixty-four galaxies north of your galaxy. Or south, I can never remember how these interstellar coordinates work…” 

“Doesn’t matter, go on,” Lara says, pinching the bridge of her nose as her head starts to hurt.

“Oh yeah, and the Creator brought you here to, well, not to bleed out on a sidewalk.” 

Yngun’s careless tone makes it seem like a normal thing, but Lara’s eyes widen and she has to fight her urge to jump back up. “God brought me here?”

The other woman laughs like she hasn’t done in decades. “Oh no, not God. Just the embodiment of the creating principle in your blood, aka the thing that gave you your powers.” 

Again, the ease with which she says it sends Lara crazy. “Please tell me I’m drunk,” she comments, covering her face with her hands. Gosh, how she misses the times when the strangest thing she had ever heard was that her father’s real name wasn’t “Dad.”

Yngun pouts. “You may be, I’m not sure whether they put alcohol in your anesthesia.” 

“In my what?” Great, human-like aliens know what anesthesia is. What’s next? Aliens reading Marlowe?

“Sweetheart, Urill had to take out three bullets out of your chest, she had to give you something.” 

“AND WHO IS THIS URILL??” 

As if Lara had magically summoned her, a woman walks in the room, dressed in a long, orange dress. Finely embroidered golden flowers embellish her corset, contrasting with her dark skin. She moves a mass of curly, black hair behind her shoulder and throws a confused look at both Lara and Yngun, but she doesn’t have the time to say anything before her friend can talk for her.

“She’s Urill,” Yngun says, pointing at the woman with a wide grin.

“Why is she already awake?” Urill asks, her deadpan voice melting away Yngun’s smile.

She groans loudly, throwing her hands up in the air. “What’s this, an interrogation?”

Lara arches a brow, struggling to hide the pain coming from her chest as she adjusts her position in the bed. “Sorry for waking up in another galaxy and trying to figure out what the f*ck was going on,” she comments sarcastically.

Yngun looks at her offended. “Hey, watch your language, you’re basically underage.”

“What? I’m like… thirty-six.”

“And I’m five hundred and sixty-two, so you’re underage compared to me.”

Lara cocks a brow. “That’s not how age works.”

Urill rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, you get used to it after a while.”

“Yeah, about that...” Lara says, attempting to sit up before being pushed back on the bed by Yngun. “Do I have to? I mean, can’t I just go back to Earth and go to jail like normal people?”

Yngun tucks her in. “Sweetheart, they’re not gonna bring you to jail, they’re gonna burn you at the stake.”

“Metaphorically,” Urill corrects.

“Would not be the first time,” Lara replies.

“Not happening,” Yngun insists, digging her nails in her fawn skin. “We won’t let them vent their repressed anger on you, right?” she affirms, turning to Urill for a sign of assens.

The other woman nods. “Plus, I’m sure you’d appreciate some more information about this whole situation.”

“That would be very kind of yours,” Lara replies with a smirk.

Urill crosses her arms on her chest, tilting her head slightly to the side as her dark eyes scan Lara for any sign of pain caused by her wounds. “I’ll try to make it as short as I can,” she promises, but despite this her explanation seems infinite, covering even the smallest details of Project 58, Lara’s birth and adoption, her biological family.

As the witch talks, Lara’s head is spinning. The truth about her washes over her like waves, dragging her under an ocean of unsolved questions and doubts. It was all fake. Her parents weren’t her parents, or at least not her biological ones. Lara hates admitting it, but a feeling of rage towards them rises inside her, making her want to scream and break everything. Instead, she takes a deep breath and buries her face in her hands, letting Urill’s words sink in.

At some point, the woman falls silent, a look of pity on her face. Yngun reaches for Lara’s hand, her lips slightly curved downwards as she strains her voice to be soft. “Are you okay?”

Lara laughs bitterly, uncovering her face and her tear-stained cheeks. “Of course I am, it’s not like I’ve just found out my whole life was a lie,” she replies sarcastically. However she lets Yngun hold her hand, finding the tiniest bit of comfort in those warm fingers wrapped around her cold ones.

“I’m sorry,” Urill’s previously detached voice seems now much gentler.

Lara sniffs, holding more tightly onto Yngun’s hand. “Why didn’t they tell me?” she asks, her voice lower than before. “I- I would’ve loved them all the same…”

Yngun shares a look with her friend, before she sets her green eyes back on Lara. “Maybe to them it didn’t matter whether you were adopted or not,” she attempts.

“But it does to me,” Lara argues, a hint of resentment that she’s sure she will regret in the future. “I had the right to know.”

Yngun can do nothing but look away, her eyes slipping on the parquet as her thumb caresses the back of Lara’s hand. Seconds pass, filled only with the unnatural silence that has fallen on the room. After an indefinite amount of time, Lara swallows heavily, fighting the lump in her throat to talk. “What did you say I am?”

Urill takes a tentative step forward, eyes glued to the blue blankets. “An Enchantress.”

She nods. “An Enchantress,” she replies to herself, tasting that new word on her tongue. “Sounds good,” she comments, moving her gaze to the witch standing beside her.

Urill attempts a smirk. “Great fun, you don’t really get bored easily.”

Lara smirks back. An Enchantress. She has no idea what that means but the name is pretty cool. The place seems okay too. For a moment she wonders what someone she knows would think of that new title, but she soon casts that thought away, still too painful for her.

Instead she turns to her two new colleagues. “And what does an Enchantress do?”

Yngun smiles excitedly, clearly happy to talk about her job, if one could call it that way. “Oh lots of things: fighting demons, protecting planets, travelling across the multiverse, just looking cool-”

“There isn’t a limit,” Urill interrupts her. “As some of the most powerful magic users in the multiverse and the closest living beings to the original principle that created the universe, our powers are immense.”

“The only downside is that mister ‘I’m God but not really’ often asks us to do stuff,” Yngun adds with a smirk.

Lara laughs. “Yeah about that, you haven’t told me yet who this guy is.”

“The embodiment of Substance Y.” Urill’s answer is short and direct. Lara already loves her. “However I think it’s time we leave now,” she adds, turning to Yngun. “You are still injured and need rest.”

Lara has to force herself not to laugh at Yngun’s poorly concealed pout, but right before the two witches have left the room a question comes to her mind. “Sorry?” The two women turn back to her, questioning looks on their faces. “Do you have any book about Enchantresses or stuff like that?” Urill smirks, already thinking of the shelves of volumes that she will drop by her bed in the following days.

It’s been not even three days since Lara’s sudden arrival on Duirl, yet she seems to have already accustomed to Yngun’s spicy food. Munching on a blue fruit that she doesn’t know the name of but tastes strangely like apples and that her new friend has covered in some unknown spice, Lara abandons another heavy volume at the foot of her bed, piled on top of the dozen others.

She groans when, upon opening the next one, she finds only those unknown characters that make up Urill’s language. After leaving the book on another pile, that of volumes to translate with magic, she reaches for another one. She’s quite glad to notice how the pain in her chest is dying out more quickly than she expected it too. According to Yngun, it’s because of her healing powers, mixed with Urill’s spells. 

For a moment, she wonders whether she’ll ever be able to heal people too. Urill’s magic is extremely appreciated on nearby planets and everyday desperate people walk into their house - honestly she’s not sure whether it has a name - asking to be healed. Not everyone is helped though. Yngun has to read the future first and decide whether the poor suppliant deserves to be healed by an Enchantress’ magic. 

Lara isn’t sure what are the criteria of her decision, maybe something depending on one’s potential for good or similar. It’s still a mystery to her whether Yngun had to take a decision in her case too.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” she says, expecting to see either one of her new colleagues.

Instead, a man walks in, smiling softly at her, a hand hidden behind his back. “I’m glad to finally meet you properly, Doctor Johnson,” the man greets her, slowly walking up to her bed.

She blinks slowly, trying ever so hard not to focus creepily on his eyes - why the heck are they purple? “Do I know you?” she asks, scanning her memory for any middle aged man who looks like one of those single dads from cheap sitcoms, but seems crazy enough to join a cult. It takes her a moment to put together all the pieces. “No wait, are you the Jesus guy who brought me here?”

“I could say yes,” he replies with an amused smile, sitting at the foot of the bed. “But most people prefer calling me ‘the Creator.’”

His presence is confusing for Lara. Despite his abnormal height and his consequent weight, the bed doesn’t dip in the slightest, staying as if no one had joined Lara on the mattress. Furthermore, his body radiates some sort of warm energy, almost as strong as fire. She tells him that and he smiles softly again, as if he were talking with a child.

“What are you doing here?” she asks after a moment, her fingers lingering on the pile of books to her side as her eyes scan the so-called Creator.

“I figured that you might use some explanations about your powers,” he says, leaning slightly forward. “I doubt the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj spent too much time studying your magic.”

She nods and he begins talking. “Billions and billions of years ago, our universe was born with the intervention of a creating principle that some human scientist would later call ‘Substance Y.’ As the newborn cosmos expanded, Substance Y assumed a form to better keep an eye on its infinite creation.”

“And you’re that form?”

“Precisely. But my role is simply that of a watcher, of a guardian, if you will. Substance Y therefore chose a small number of sorceresses to guard the universe and protect it with their powers. Of course, this was an important responsibility that was rewarded with immense powers capable of completing the wide variety of tasks that these people could come across.”

Lara shakes her head, furrowing her brows. “This doesn’t make any sense, Urill told me about experiments and-”

“Useless, all useless,” he interrupts her. “You already had magic inside you, as well as Substance Y. The diluted mixture they put inside your veins did nothing but temporarily pause your true powers.” The Creator’s tone seems almost angry and Lara wonders if he feels offended because of what Agency X did to her. 

“And how does this whole thing work? I mean… Why am I here? Shouldn’t there be another woman already doing this?”

“The previous Enchantress was killed by a human witch who stole part of her powers just a few years before you were born. Not to scare you, but this kind of event is rather common. The last human Enchantress was also killed, burnt at the stake if I remember correctly.”

Lara nods, suddenly not so happy to have been chosen for such a task. “Well, sorry to tell you, but hiring someone who will likely be dead in forty years at best seems stupid.”

The Creator laughs, forcing himself up from her bed by gripping the footboard. “Did no one tell you? Enchantresses can live for millennia.”

“What?!”

“Dark magic permitting, of course. But I suggest you take a look inside Urill’s library, she will be more than happy to help you.” With that said, he walks up to the door.

“Wait!” she stops him. Once he’s turned, his purple eyes back on her face, she swallows heavily. “What about my biological family?”

The corners of his lips turn slightly upwards, a sad smile forming on his face. “Your parents, Abraham and Sandra should be their names, were snapped away. But your brother, Jonathan Houghton, is safe and sound in Boston. Yngun will help you contact him.” These are his last words before he disappears, going back into whatever dimension he came out of.

[changingbirdpoems]

poems not about any particular person: 2007

Restart

let me break expectations so all will seem new and i can excel. and when it’s Nothing that you see past those ridges of your fingers you can restart      (with a little caffeine) and i promise you won’t be decoration. no more Tinsel You.            so solid and cement. elicit contrition but let me   Sweep it away like the needles that lie dying or dead. no more Main Attractions.

-

inhibition

with all the threads holding us (too Fragile)  back from the cement walls, tangles are inevitable but just Lift off and they may snap and bite your skin but You won’t mind      because exemption can come faster than Light.

-

like a lightbulb!

you can’t Jump through the glass. Measured Success is made of behavioral patterns, and we could hear you      break the mirror.

-

a character

swallow the prickles burn and temptation you might expect of a city girl, but not a belle like me and my bonnet may shatter sooner than you thought to reveal a head of snakes.

-

high alert

there might be a thunderstorm, so it isn’t safe for you to be up there Alone letting the wind excitement thrashing water short our working circuit or—             the hope of one.              Come down to where it’s safe                   to where the danger lies only in                   yourself. Because,         my term of endearment, this is all a lightning bolt     and if you don’t protect yourself          who will? Certainly not I               Certainly not your words                 not the coast guard or God                   not promises or                             Understanding.                             realization is a                                    light bulb,                                       so is                                         possible                                           mutual                                                Love. if the power goes out we are in the dark and that is when we will see too much.

-

ghost of a chance

the ghost of a chance is moaning I can hear its chains rattling          marley! and it is ethereal and above and nothing more than cobwebs          take one last chance before you fade into the candle light          oh marley, good bye I think maybe I could have Loved you.

-

yoga

the thinnest comfort let your breath protect you can you feel this                      it’s the rain, you’re evaporating do you  feel   weightless? Just let your hips move, breathe louder and lift                    I am a praying child in my calmest moment.

-

it’s not you, it’s your DNA

even if this is the same mistake I have made most of my life it is new like a child when all people are the same and, like a child, it will grow        make a difference                    and won’t ever please everybody.

-

We swam through the lake and pushed ourselves up on the bank, through the mud—it dripped as though it could not bear to leave our bodies. The trees were not dry yet, we couldn’t feel rain drops on our backs, for the leaves caught them and kept us from being attacked by the wind and eroded. I have no idea what turn you took in the forest, or if you fell. Watching you would have overpowered me. It’s clear now that you must have left me somewhere because the weather is louder than my heart.

Remember that day when it snowed and we tried to break through the ice and drown but we couldn’t go through with it in the end? There are days when I feel like that all of the time and the only thing keeping me from getting the chisel is you, so I breathe. Air rushing down through my lungs reminds me what this is all for and what I have yet to see and know: everything.

Unless you cry out I won’t know where to look—it’s getting dark and I have no sense of direction. I know that you hate to make a scene but sometimes it’s okay, and I’m the only one here.

Your hands smell of ink and your heart smells of wine, I forget the difference, they both always smell like mine, because that’s what you are. Try to find your way back by the morning or I’ll have to go, I work in an office and they don’t know what this is. My mind clings to you like the mud that you never wash off.

These feelings aren’t exactly regulation.

-

A flare escapes from the wire extensions of trees that are scraping the sky until it bleeds—the explosion is peaceful. Trickles of white falling off from the gold center, this is some metaphor for hope but I don’t see you, only it. The ground is covered with grass and my hair. Dark strands look like seaweed in this light, growing from the dry soil, which I know is impossible. So is this.

My watch does not work anymore, it could almost be day or it could be the beginning of night, there is no way to know. I could run towards the flare but it’s risky and there’s so much to lose. The closer I get to you the farther I get from the road that leads to the city, a reminder of my past. We don’t like who we used to be, and I am still unsure. But you, you’re a man.

And in a way I hope that you never come home.

-

A word in my mind is the same as the word on your mouth, so it’s not hard to think and agree that we’re over. There’s no point in touching, we’d only feel mud upon mud, and my skin would recoil from you anyway. Know that you’re stolen by thoughts that have not yet been said. And thoughts are just thoughts until you give them a sound, then they swim in the air, evasive and new. Just try to be silent, it’s not difficult, it just takes some noise.

You are quick to be slow when it comes to smiling, and that’s why there’s no warmth, that’s why your eyes are not eyes.

Who really knows what can be said to a ghost made of tap water, needles, and plastic grass? In all this reality such a ghost is practically whole. And that’s why we need all this mud, why my hair is so long and why this needs to break.

-

close your eyes

Distinctly, I see the gates descend, the eyelids close Only in this does closing create more openness. shutting out images, true, but Close your eyes, and there are new ways to see.

-

often when she speaks it is not her voice but the nervous swallow of God when He is sitting close to somebody in the dark, arms unsure and hands like butterflies across skin. And if this somebody reaches out and     touches  ?   then He will touch back with the fingers of her laugh, all warmth, as if she never cries.

-

two people

why does it seem like you are incredibly sad? Unfurl and there is filth a break from worry is time with you, and unbidden smiles You have become defensive and distant, despite your protests

jumping thought to thought and silly to silly

What kind of goodbye was that?

stepping in puddles that are portals to another world, you are happiness, however momentary

I want to save you, but I am afraid to even ask if you care, and I do not trust you will be honest.

-

Upon Belatedly Reading Your Valediction

“Meaningless and used” is frighteningly accurate; those words were a prophecy read too late. On the couple of cold days that you are here, instead of dialing your number I’ll remember when your brother said he didn’t trust me because you didn’t. And he drove you home. You’d had too much and kept saying how green I felt, and how all my words were like velcro. When this paper is lost and you think you’re in love with some boy from your linguistics class who has never gotten you drunk, the kind of boy you have to call to tell me about and I pick up because I deleted your number and don’t know that it’s you, I will repeat those words to you. I hope I leave you feeling meaningless and used. But I will say it in a warning sort of way, in a loving voice, which will confuse you. Then you will ask if I remember when I slapped your best friend. We are going in triangles, cyclic but with sharp turns.

-

summer, the converted pacifist

on days quieter than expected, when the swirls overlap the leaves brightly fading flowers of an end to discontent each backwards word beneath the unparalleled blue lends to a nihilist who has only just discovered evolution in a textbook that is decades old, and drinks in iced tea like it is the world.

-

promise me a few things, he cupped his hand around his mouth and breathed. wake up for my birthday,                                                                  and try to remember our vows. Here, I’ll read them to you.          You can hear

me, right? The doctors said—                                                                  yes, you said she could— listen, do you remember them? Can you hear—just listen. Julie, we are above everything today. Today we are forever. Do you remember this, Julie? It’s not very good, I guess          I thought it was better back then,                                                        he laughed papers.                                                        It really was a long time ago. white papers sheets faces white, he noticed the white.

Julie, wake

-

maybe break away

how recent was it that thoughts of no regrets swirled where they so wanted to be? change from a comfort that was self-induced but not delusional to a paranoia, a saddish hell is just the kickstart eveything has been asking for. without excuses, paths become evident, to self-destruction, or weak enlightenment. if only we could choose our beginnings. if only the end did not throw memory off-balance. regular laughter infused with watery eyes, no longer by mirth, how does one apologize when no one needs them to besides themselves?

-

subliming in air

I need to write

biting out from my fingers sharply sinking their teeth into the page, my words. there is a bubbling that begins in the bottom of my stomach and rises, rises crystallizing my lungs and opening my chest and turning my throat solid and carbon dioxide, the dry ice of literature. my breath, I suggest, is the gas rising off from this undeniably atmospheric pressure.

colder than ice

accelerate me, submerge me and as things lose clarity, you dance faster to a gaudy nightclub trick, and my words have mixed their metaphor. please tell me my enthalpy of sublimation— how much energy do I need to reach sublime?

-

I am angry

but it is that kind of silent angry that no one notices, or if they do they mistake it for sadness or confusion, though that is not entirely incorrect. it the kind of anger that comes from everywhere, can’t be pinpointed, leaving you wondering what you are angry about, even though you know you should know. because you do. but what you are angry about doesn’t seem bad enough to make you feel such horribly containable anger. the worst kind of anger is the kind you automatically contain. Am I angry at myself or am I angry at somebody? I think there should be a different word for this.

-

tomorrow will be tiresome

let us kiss when it is cold enough to see breath. And let the exhaustive rendering of our day be lost there, in the pillow of floating carbon dioxide. Let us flicker on flashlights at dusk, when it is dark enough to see the difference between our beam and all else existing but bright enough that if we were to hear a noise the silhouette behind it would be revealed upon searching Let my exhale be visible on your neck and shoulder, while other things become less, in this dusk, this final dusk below zero.

-

words out of dust

mornings of silver draped over dusty chairs, the filmy layer broken only by the imprint of a recent body. A body, and this is mere imagination, that walks a little tilted, brushes its fingers against its sides as it moves forward, with new eyes and dust on its back every day, really, because it only wakes every thousand years or so— though it is just as likely the body fills up an office with its size, buttons popping;        unseemly. This body could be ashamed of this, already, so why remind every day like an alarm, or obligatory “I love you.” And that is why so much dust is gone although, like rodents, some people move constantly, sliding on the seat, wiping away the eye-sand the air has gathered over years mornings of silver, disturbed— as though it is that mindless to make something clean.

-

poem

under the covers, nothing but your skin can so perfectly seep, strengthening boiling water adding aching flavor, you are the tea that i drink in dark spaces to calm and rejuvenate and so slightly spill out on the black floor of scratches and history, but soft the covers will contain, immortalize i will keep some of you, you see, saved for a cold day where my mouth slips over air, the ice wind breaking teeth like porcelain, filling and rounding the shards with just a sip of your lipstick-stained thermos and when there is nothing left of you save the whispers of water inside my lungs, the covers will grow old threadless and bare around your naked sleeping body.

-

solid as words

and how is it that your skin is made of atoms? questions pressing past         mostly we are empty, you teach, and I say But that is not how it feels, your skin can’t be mostly nothing      it is knit so tight If we were truly made of such nonexistence couldn’t we slide through each other and walls, they being just as empty as we? And how can you

tell me these things and then prove

yourself wrong to me with your skin solid as words?

-

of course you feel like this

it is not okay and you are not okay that is never the word I just want someone to open their voice up when they are not allowed to speak open your voice up people choose how to live and consequently forget. The mistakes I make are the ones I know I will. I have to think about which way my head is turning. things do not seem to be plugged in you cannot ignore your mold, your basic that from which we all come we are all made of the same stuff, only some are not aware, or do not want to know these are not questions coming out My mold has warped I have realized how everything works more times than there are answers and so we stand, telling the time, holding in our hands the mold, the original mold we have just found under the bed we are shadows telling the time we are shadows making shadows how thoughtlessly to speak it would be better to rise higher above before letting go and falling back inside I don’t think you have the answers.

[muraae]

Devil Devil, Chapter Two lFANDOM: The Walking Dead
WARNINGS: Language, violence, sexual content, and Negan. Negan is his own warning.
WORD COUNT: 3658 TAGS: @negandarylsatisfaction @densrl @winchevrolet

Her head hurt. Eyelids heavy and gritty, Emma groaned as she slowly awoke, her head throbbing with pain as if someone were banging it like a drum. Why was her pillow hard and kept slightly bouncing against the back of her head? And why did it keep vibrating and making noises? Almost as if it felt like… the rumbling of an engine?

Her eyes flew open as a sudden memory filled her brain.

“Please… it had to have been a nightmare…” She thought to herself. But as her eyes took in the moving line of trees in pitch black darkness, her forehead leaning against the window glass, she could see that her nightmare was actually her new reality.

Every passing of the line of trees was too fast, too dark, too soon carrying her away to whatever torment and misery awaited. Each bump in the road reminded her of her freedom disappearing behind her. She recalled the swift, heavy, and loud thwacking of a baseball bat, the sheet and shrill ringing in her ears that were the screams and cries of her friends and family. She turned her thoughts to them to keep the heightening sickness in her stomach at bay. Had the rest of the Saviors let them go? How were they holding up? Emma when a sudden thought entered her head. What if they tried to rescue her? More than anything she hoped that they wouldn’t try anything so foolhardy and stupid, but then again, Emma realized, how could they? They had no idea where where this Sanctuary was. Her blood chilled. Sanctuary. A sacred place that meant safety and refuge; however, the word had suddenly become a death knell that echoed through her again and again.

She was being taken to live with a monster and his minions. She was going to live out the rest of her life on their lands. She’d be little more than a lamb for slaughter living in a den among lions and wolves. More than likely Negan would put her in a prison cell. Lock her up and forget she was there, forget that she was also human and that she needed food, watered and warmth for survival just as much he and his people did.

Sitting up straighter, Emma realized she should’ve been paying more attention to where they were driving. Prisoner or not, she refused to play the role of simpering damsel in distress and easily give in to her new way of life, let them do what they want with her, and then either waiting to die or for someone to come rescue her. She had already played the persecuted maiden and she vowed to herself with God as her witness she would never again. Monsters were real, that was much Emma knew was true in the literal and metaphorical sense. There was no room for damsel in distressed or ingénues in he new world that she and everyone around her lived in. She was her own hero. She would find her own way to outsmart these people, escape, and find her way back home. The heroes in her books always had some type of leverage to help them defeat the villain and return home.

Emma scanned through the dark woods as quiet as possible in search of any familiarity that she thought could be useful to her, but the dark trees all looked the same to her and there were no distinct landmarks that she could use to find her way back if she tried to escape that caught her eye. Glancing from her passenger seat window, she slowly cascaded her blonde locks like a veil to appear she had bobbed her head while still passed out, she took a quick side glance to see much to her chagrin that Negan was the driver. Wouldn’t he’d have rather had one his men drive the vehicle to wherever this Sanctuary was instead after the night’s events.

Emma suddenly felt her whole body pulse with fear, her heart thumping. Squinting her now deer in the headlights blue eyes for closer inspection, she made out small patterns that ranged from pinprick to large sizes that had one been scarlet, but had now turned into a rust color. It didn’t take a scholar or someone without a brain to see and comprehend what the stains were, and was that- was brain matter slight hanging off one of the zippers of his leather jacket? Sorrow filled her already bleeding broken heart, knowing that it once belonged to someone- anyone that she had held dear and loved- seized and filled her heart with poison against the man who had taken her captive.

“Well look who decided to now just wake the fuck up and bless me with her company?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear…

Emma did not turn her head around when he addressed her with such crass vulgarity. Instead, she looked straight ahead at the road with no indication that she heard him.

“Aw come on now, doll!” Negan sniggered. “Jesus, at least nod or look at me, so I know I have your attention.”

“You’ve made an observation that I’m awake,” Emma commented. “I see no reason to respond to validate it.”

“He didn’t respond immediately. “Didn’t realize that I was taking a fucking smart ass back with me.”

Emma continued to stare ahead. “I like to think it’s one of my best qualities, so thank you for noticing.”

A corner of Negan’s lip twitched. “Damn, and here I thought I was done with this high and mighty bullshit coming from Prick.”

At that, Emma twisted her head to look at the older man, confused. “Rick?”

“Now I have the princess’ fucking attention,” Negan sneered, chuckling. “Yeah, me and that asshole had some bonding time together after he kept going on about how he was gonna kill me.” He paused for effect, gagging for her reaction before laughing again. “I swear he actually had the balls to threaten me after he watch me take you away and bashing in the Asian and Ginger-”

“What?” Emma whispered, feeling her heart stop beating, her breath becoming labored.

Negan widen his eyes and gasped mockingly as though he was scandalized by her reaction. “Well I couldn’t let them go unpunished! That little Asian prick decided to go play fucking hero for his wife when I said not to and Ginger practically offered himself up. Why I couldn’t refuse them-”

“Their names were Glenn and Abraham!” Emma snapped, looking at her captor with such withering rage. “You told me that you wouldn’t hurt them if I went you-”

“And I fucking told you that y'all fuckers needed to pay!” He sneered, clearly reveling in the blonde’s anger that had willingly offer her life for nothing. “Just you deciding to play martyr ain’t enough for the fucking damage you all caused.”

Emma’s heart gave herself up, but all for nothing. And now, Abraham and Glenn were dead. Glenn and Maggie’s child would never get to know his or her father.

And it was all because of him.

“Let’s get something clear doll face,” Negan continued. “If you think that this is going to end all happy with fucking show tunes playing in the background then you were definitely not listening to all that shit I spewed back there. This ain’t no fairy tale where you all get to grow old sitting around the table at Sunday dinner. They all belong to me and so. Do. You.”

Emma refused to cry before him; she was not going to show him that he had any power over her, especially her emotions.

“I belong to no one,” she said icily, giving him a hateful glare and lifting her chin in defiance.

And then, something happened. Negan’s lips started to wear an odd kind of smile. And then, derisive laughter escaped him. It was loud and hearty that Emma thought for sure that tears would leak from his eyes. But there was no sympathy. It was just cold, mocking, and humorless. Then he stopped abruptly and he was back to being jovial and maniacal self.

“Alright sweetheart, let lay this down for you real quick,” His deep voice was teetering on impatience, she could hear the temper that he was trying to rein in at bay. “You can either suck it up make do with your new situation and be grateful that I’m not stopping this piece of shit to the side and kill you, or you can have a shitty existence in your new home because one thing’s for sure do not be a difficult condescending little bitch to me. I don’t tolerate disobedience- actually I don’t tolerate a lot of shit. So you better start fucking remember why you’re here in the first place. Do I make myself clear?”

Emma swallowed and mutely nodded her head ‘yes’, not trusting her voice to give way her inner thoughts. She shuffled in her seat as Negan’s threats amplified the already uncomfortable atmosphere within the RV.

Satisfied with her answer, Negan turned his attention back to the view before and called out cheerfully, “I’m glad we have that out of the way! I think you’re gonna like Sanctuary…”

She drowned out his words as her breathing became labored, her shoulders tight and her heart threatening to burst from her throat. Every word he droned on made her fear and hate for him grow stronger. Despite his threats and actions, she the icy hatred swirled around her heart. Th rage felt more comforting than her stories or anything else that brought her peace. It was a silent reminder that despite her fear, she had to keep going and make do with her situation.

She would survive. For Maggie and Beth. For Glenn and Abraham. For their family.

The wrath seethed below the surface, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

Make no mistake, you won’t be the one to kill me. I will live until see you groveling and begging for mercy before you die. And it won’t be Rick who will kill you.

I will.

With my own two hands.