#pain thresh save me. save me pain thresh.

[volivolition]

[guy with chronic pain voice] i should draw pain threshold

[iaminfourthwing]

The Generals Daughter

Chapter X

It’s way too quiet as the sun shines on us during morning formation. Aurelie’s name was called through the rotunda a few minutes ago and I saw Violet whipping a stray tear away. Luca tensed, hearing the name of our fallen squad mate, knowing that I could have saved her if she hadn’t pushed me to the ground.

Aurelie’s scream and her broken body haunts me. Nightmare after nightmare. Sometimes it was Violet laying there, then it was Rhiannon, or Ridoc, or Sawyer. And then Aurelie again. I really hope it haunts Luca as well.

It made me realize how time works at Basgiath. Some of us have more, some of us less. And out of our group, Aurelie was the first one to meet Malek way to early. It makes me so incredibly sad, and angry, and devastated. And I fear for Violet. One short moment is enough – and she could be gone as well.

*Flashback*

Stunned and in utter disbelief, I look down where Aurelie’s broken body lays.

Aurelie, who was looking forward to the training and presentation. Aurelie, who was looking forward to Threshing and having her own dragon. Aurelie, who wanted to make her father and brother proud. Aurelie, who was always in a good mood and tried to help everyone of us as much as she could.

And now she is dead. Gone. Forever.

I slowly pick myself up, trying to hide the violent shaking, a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I can’t hear Violets scream, or Ridocs, or Trinas. Can’t hear Tynan’s nasty laugh.

The only thing I notice is Lucas’s heavy breathing behind, maybe still in disbelief too, to what she just did.

My body fills with anger, and pain, and pure rage.

Furious, I whip around, facing the blonde girl, who looks extremely terrified at the moment. Fear is radiating from her. I know how I must look like right now … dilated pupils, pitch black. A nasty snarl on my face, teeth bared. I think, I look like a feral animal, but can’t bring myself to care.

“Are you actually, totally fucking stupid?! I could have reached her. I could have FUCKING CATCHED HER FOR FUCKS SAKE! WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM?!” I roar, struggling to form full sentences in my rage.

There is talking above us, but I don’t bother listening.

“SHE WAS OUR FUCKING SQUADMATE, YOU STUPID IDIOT!! WHY ARE YOU PULLING SUCH SHIT?!” My roar echoes from the mountains, pretty sure you can hear it in the college as well.

“I- she- you have to understand …” she stutters.

The rage is clouding my mind. Racing towards her, I grab her collar harshly, choking her in the process and pull her into my face. She claws at my hand, trying to get air into her lungs.

“You can be fucking happy I am not in a killing mood or else you would lay down there with her” I spit out. “Every bone broken, splattered on the gravel. If you ever do shit like this again, I will kill you myself, with my bare hands, slowly and painfully. Without any witnesses. Squad mates be damned, since you clearly didn’t care as well.”

With that, I let her go and push her away, turning on my heel and start finishing the course. After a few more minutes I finish successfully and reach the top. I immediately take Violets shaking form into my arms, comforting her.

*Flashback ends*

When morning formation ends, we get ready to go to our classes, but Dain stops us.

“Okay … I know we lost one of us yesterday and that some of you were close with her, but this tension is almost suffocating. What the fuck happened, that everyone acts like scared chickens?” he asks us, brows furrowed, clearly frustrated with the behavior of his squad.

I notice that almost everyone in Fourth Wing is lingering, trying to catch some gossip. Our wingleader and his minions too. My friends look around anxiously, but no one says anything. Violet shifts on her feet while Ridoc and Sawyer share awkward glances, the second and third years looking just as confused as Dain, having no clue what happened yesterday. Seems like no one said anything after yesterday’s actions.

The moment Tynan lay his eyes on my tense form, Dain looks at his face and follows his line of sight, sighing deeply when he finds me.

Oh, I dare him to blame anything on me. I’ll actually tear him a new one, if he starts shit with me now.

Raising a brow, he asks “What did you do?”

When my heated glare finds his eyes, he flinches visibly. Good, don’t even try asshole. I am in the mood to punch someone, even if it’s my squad leader. I am sure, Xaden wouldn’t stop me.

Rhiannon clears her throat, gaining the attention of the others. “Well, Aurelie’s fall was an accident” Violet turns her head to the side “but … Arya could have caught her.”

I feel the eyes of more than one hundred cadets on me and it annoys me. Knowing what everyone thinks, I just take a deep breath, mentally preparing for what’s to come.

Imogen lifts an eyebrow. “And why haven’t you?”

My eyes find hers. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask the annoying blonde next to you.”

Said girl looks up and flinches terrified when she looks at me, letting out a high-pitched squeak.

“Luca? What did you do?” Heaton is the one asking her, intrigued to where the conversation will lead. She mumbles to herself.

“Talk!” I order her loudly, making her and some of the other cadet’s flinch, again.

“I slammed Arya to the ground, so she couldn’t reach her” she says louder. “But then she attacked me!” Luca accuses me.

A sarcastic laugh finds its way out. “You deserve so much worse” I hiss. “Wait” a second year from Tail Section speaks up, “that was you yesterday? The roaring that echoed from the cliffside?!” she asks. I nod.

“Yes, and she choked me” Luca whines.

“Hardly, you don’t even have any bruises, so quit whining like a soon to be slaughtered pig.” I don’t even try to hide the annoyance in my tone. She has no idea what choking feels like. When you try to fight for your life, while someone wants to kill you with their bare hands.

“You threatened to kill me as revenge!”

I scoff. “Revenge is beneath me” pausing, a murderous glint finds its way into my eyes “but … accidents happen.” Gulping hard, she turns to our squad leader for help.

“Okay enough! We can’t change that Aurelie is dead. But you won’t kill your squad mates. That’s against the Codex.” Of fucking course. Chuckling fills the rotunda, most of the cadets amused by his statement.

“In my defense, my dearest squad leader, I simply do not vibe with the Codex.” I spit out. He really has the audacity to look offended.

Someone chokes out a laugh on my right side. My eyes find the gorgeous brown ones of Bodhi and I can see the amusement in them. And … a proud glint?

Next to him stands his cousin. He looks like he has no idea if he should laugh or glare at me, it’s kind of a mix. Garrick Tavis, our section leader, stands on Xadens other side and he doesn’t bother to hide his amusement.

With that I turn around and make my way to Battle Brief.

[saey707]

Mutualistic

✿ Prompt: Thresh permits you a place on his throne ✿

♡ champion focus: thresh ♡ tw: none! ♡ Gender neutral reader

Author’s note: Considering this as a warm-up before I start fulfilling all of your wonderful requests again <3 This is a more weird/disturbing kind of fluff(?), so I am not putting trigger warnings on it because there is nothing too treacherous in comparison to my other works. Thresh is just being Thresh here ^^;; Enjoy!

In life and undeath alike, Thresh was a selfish, greedy, and obsessive being. Nobody understood his delusions of grandeur and the sycophantic tactics he was willing to take in order to gain total control. In the skeletal warden's eyes, humanity was chaff, and he would be the blade to cut down all those he considered weak and unworthy. And in the Shadow Isles, he was the one with all the power to... “guide” every poor, lost soul.

You always had faith in Thresh, even when he was human. You were the only one who ever supported him, a kind light in your soul, through and through. In your own life and undeath, you remained gentle, beautiful even. And perhaps Thresh was a bit of a coward to never notice the admiration in your eyes when you looked his way in life. But he always craved your attention.

Even after the events of the incredible Ruination, Thresh always hoped he would be able to find his way back to you. He was wrong to be such a coward in life. Never again would he submit to those who are now lesser than him. Those who are nothing but fated to meet his lantern. 

There was never an ounce of hate in your spectral heart. And perhaps that's how you were able to retain your ever-glowing appearance, merciful to humanity, even in the afterlife. To a greedy wraith like Thresh, such a sight was beyond delectable.

But Thresh knew that now, in this life, he can prove to you that his feelings were always mutualistic, a relationship you both would be able to benefit from and reap rewards. He knew now he wasn’t a coward and had more than enough courage to reunite lovingly with you.

There was just one thing: Would you even remember him in this eternal afterlife?

He was willing to go to great lengths to keep you as his own, his last resort was to become a tiny bit more devious and cruel than he already was. Only then would you look his way, seeing him for all his glory and might and power. And he knew, you would come to love him.

So he targeted the beings you so desperately wanted to save: The humans.

The wraith-like warden raised his sickle, ready to flay the terrorized, little humans beneath his feet. They cry and beg and scream... And Thresh revels in the sound of their pain. 

How crushed he was to learn you only faintly remembered him... He didn’t understand how you couldn’t remember him as he remembered you. Was he not important to you? Or did you have to be reminded of who he was? It has been quite some time... Perhaps you just needed a point in the right direction.

So he took you into his sanctuary.

“Ohh my~ Playing outside I see? What did I tell you about coming out here alone?” Thresh beckoned, noticing how you fluttered about in the open when you should have been inside his Library of Agony. 

“That I’m not allowed...” You frowned, walking towards him shyly.

“You’re not trying to escape are you?” He scowled, his spectral heart pounding rapidly against his chest seeing you cower under the glow-green flames where his eyes would have been. He didn’t want to hurt you... Never did he wish to do that to you. But you had to understand what he was thinking and misinterpreting to a degree. Couldn’t you??

“No... You know better than anyone that you cannot run from me. Come. Back inside before the horseman finds you.” His voice was low, watching you squirm uncomfortably at the mention of Hecarim. Today, you would witness Thresh’s mercy. You bowed your head in shame, following him past the double doors, into his prison once more.

Thresh hoped one of these days you would see perpetuity wasn’t so horrible in the devil’s realm with him. Of course, isolation didn’t prove to be ideal, but at least you were safe under his watch. Thresh felt at ease knowing a wraith outside wouldn’t harm you. 

You were genuinely grateful to Thresh and his twisted mercy. No specter, wraith, or human would ever be able to hurt you. So long as you stayed with your beloved chain warden... That much you understood. Still, your soul craved redemption not for yourself, but for others. It ached knowing others had to suffer, while you had the privilege to stay beautiful and immortal and... happy at the sadist’s side.

“Little soul, come here... I got you a present~” You were eager, his glowing tendril beckoning you over to his throne, his lantern effortlessly floating in his near vicinity. You felt as if even the lantern was scrutinizing you. Though, it remained still. 

Fluttering to sit on Thresh’s knee, he laughed, his skeletal eyes curving, almost to resemble a smile. Thresh’s smiles never looked quite friendly, but you didn’t mind it. You thought it was endearing.

“What is it, Thresh?” your voice sounded nothing above a whisper, gentle and wispy. He liked that.

“This is a collar... And I want to put it on you.” You curiously inspected the object he was in possession of, allowing your fingers to brush over it. “Quite impressive isn’t it, my dearest soul?” Your lips formed a smile, “What are these used for?” 

He gripped onto your chin, giving you a loving rub, pleased when you nudged your face further into his touch. The warden had you in the palm of his hand... And you. were. beautiful. “To let everyone know you are mine.” You laughed quietly, the wraith nudging your forehead with his skeletal teeth, the space where his lips would have been.

“Ah, look at me, my dear! Look at me when I put this on you!” He spoke proudly, releasing you from his hand so he could proceed with the accessory, holding it up in the air. His lantern further illuminated its brilliance, as you scooted closer, turning your back to him so he can put it on.

It clasped into place, tight against your neck. Had you needed to breathe like a human does, it would have certainly choked you.

“Do I look pretty?” You asked, Thresh howling with laughter now.

“The most beautiful soul in my sanctuary!” 

You were his, and he was yours. He would mold your shared reality into what he wanted it to be. You two can be horrifically beautiful. Together.

You would be his perfect little prize in undeath, a reminder of his success.

You would be the one he destroys the entirety of Runeterra for.

The chain warden would pridefully sit upon his throne, the leash to your collar in his hand. With you on his knee, there was nothing stopping him from being able to perfectly manipulate and torture those who dared to cross his path. 

He always knew you would understand.

“Isn’t it nice to know that I am the only man that will ever love you this way? This much?” he vocalized quietly. You pushed your back up to his chest, allowing his arms to snake around your frail figure as he embraced you kindly.

“I can’t imagine being anywhere else anymore, Thresh...”

You were his. A precious person to him in both life and undeath alike. And he would have an eternity to prove to you that he took great pride in caring for what he deemed as his.

[casspurrjoybell-24]

The Alpha's Beta - Chapter 12 - Part 2

BOOK ONE: The Alpha's Trilogy

*Warning Adult Content*

What? Gay? - Part 2

Beta Darren Phoenix

I sat in my bedroom that night, playing 'GTA' on the 'PS3' before bed when I heard a knocking on my door.

I groaned as I ran into a wall and the cops surrounded to car I was driving.

Throwing the controller down, I called Jeremy into the room.

Knowing he's the only one who would be knocking at my door.

Especially at eleven at night.

He opened the door and stood at the thresh-hold, as if waiting for me to invite him in.

When I didn't he just sighed and nodded before leaning on the frame.

"Silas came over today," he started.

I froze for a moment but knew no matter how stupid Silas was, he wasn't stupid enough to tell my father we were mates when I hadn't even acknowledged it.

"He said they're going to look into your mothers case as a murder. That it was pretty much your idea."

"It wasn't my idea. I knew she was murdered but I didn't tell him to open the case I just told him that she was the first one killed by these people. That we know of."

I shrugged and laid on my bed with my arms behind my head.

"Why do you care Jeremy? It's not like it would make a difference in your life. She's already dead."

"Darren do you honestly think I didn't care for her? I spent every day with her and every day mourning her when she died. I couldn't take care of you Darren. There was no way in hell I could of raised you without her," he yelled, the anger in his voiced spilled with pain.

It almost made me feel bad for him.

'Almost.'

"I really don't care," I said calming, closing my eyes.

I heard a growl before I felt his hands at my collar, lifting me up and then pinning me to the wall.

My eyes snapped open the look at Jeremy now yellow eyes,.

He seethed in anger before slamming me into the wall again.

"I loved her," he growled before throwing me onto the floor.

"You didn't even know her. You never got to see her genuine smile, her laugh and I will never hear it again. It haunts me in my sleep Darren. To know I could have saved her but didn't. I live with that everyday and you keep reminding me of it."

"I've tried to move on Darren but you always reminded me of her. The way you would laugh at the smallest things, call for me in the same sing-song voice she did, look at me with those eyes."

He grabbed his hair before sitting down in front of me but I didn't move to go near him.

I kept my distance and let him rant.

"I'm sorry for what ever happened to you Darren, I am," he started to calm down, his breathing started to become even as his eyes changed back to there normal, almost black colour.

"But I didn't want them to get you too. It was safer. For both of us. I couldn't watch you all the time like she did. If she could just die like that. You could too and I couldn't let you."

His eyes began to glossed over but the tears didn't spill.

"I was going to get you back sooner but then Samantha died and I got scared again. You could have been hunting with them. I saw the way Rodrick changed. How angry he became."

"I couldn't take my anger over her death out on you like Rodrick did on the boys. I have many regret Darren but sending you away, it was not one of them."

Jeremy settled himself on the near by wall, closing his eyes and resting his head against it.

I would almost think he was asleep if it wasn't for his twitching hands that kept balling into fists but I didn't fall asleep that night because that damn feeling wouldn't go away this time.

[mstexalicious1961]

DOTK

devotion by Kesha Trippett

The Threshing

I honestly can't remember what prompted me to watch videos at 2:00 a.m. about how wheat is separated from chaff; nevertheless, that's what happened.

I had no idea what the visual would do for my life. I only hope writing about it will be a blessing to you, too.

There's a threshing tool that is used like a hammer in one of the videos I watched, where the harvest was put inside of a pillowcase and beaten until the chaff broke apart from the wheat.

Then, after the threshing, the winnowing process begins. This is where the wind blows away the chaff that's beaten from the wheat, and then only what's useful has fallen to the ground and been saved.

In Luke 22:31, Jesus told Peter, "Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat."

Sound familiar?

Remember Job?

Do you feel there's a threshing going on?

Not much fun, huh?

It brings on a whole new meaning of being "hammered," that's for sure.

It's necessary for wholeness.

Then afterward, when the wind [Holy Spirit] brings the change in driving away the chaff [worthless portion; i.e., sin and crappy attitudes] out of our lives, Psalm 1:4, we are useful for His purpose.

In James 1:2, we are told to count it all joy when the trials come. Pretty tough in the threshing. I think most of us spend more time asking, "Why?"

Well, that question has been answered.

Why would a loving God allow such a terrible blow to you and me?

Because He wants to perfect us and make us holy [as He is holy]. He doesn't want us to perish. He wants us to shed our sinful nature and those impurities and be like Christ.

Friend, if you are in a painful threshing right now, I want to encourage you; a beautiful wind of change is coming. It's all part of the process.

Those tears you've sown, He promises joy in the harvest (see Psalm 126:5).

It's dark inside that pillowcase, and oh, the pain.

But there is hope!

The wind of change is on its way.

Dear Heavenly Father, help us to be thankful in the threshing, as Your Word instructs.

It's difficult in these times, and while there's grace to help in time of need, teach us in this dark time to see Your Light shining where, in our flesh, we would otherwise fail.

We need you.

We know this necessary time is Your Will for our all-things-work-together-for-our-good future!

May we praise you and thank you where we can't see what's ahead.

In Jesus' precious and Holy Name, Amen.

By Donna Lynn Smith, DOTK Writing Community

[rockislandadultreads]

Libby Spotlight: Hot & Trending eAudiobooks

Tom Lake by Ann Patchett (read by Meryl Streep)

It's spring and Lara's three grown daughters have returned to the family orchard. While picking cherries, they beg their mother to tell them the one story they've always longed to hear – of the film star with whom she shared a stage, and a romance, years before.

Tom Lake is a meditation on youthful love, married love, and the lives parents have led before their children were born. Both hopeful and elegiac, it explores what it means to be happy even when the world is falling apart.

The Woman in Me by Britney Spears (read by Michelle Williams)

In June 2021, the whole world was listening as Britney Spears spoke in open court. The impact of sharing her voice—her truth—was undeniable, and it changed the course of her life and the lives of countless others. The Woman in Me reveals for the first time her incredible journey—and the strength at the core of one of the greatest performers in pop music history.

Written with remarkable candor and humor, Spears’s groundbreaking book illuminates the enduring power of music and love—and the importance of a woman telling her own story, on her own terms, at last.

Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros (read by Rebecca Soler)

Everyone expected Violet Sorrengail to die during her first year at Basgiath War College—Violet included. But Threshing was only the first impossible test meant to weed out the weak-willed, the unworthy, and the unlucky.

Now the real training begins, and Violet’s already wondering how she’ll get through. It’s not just that it’s grueling and maliciously brutal, or even that it’s designed to stretch the riders’ capacity for pain beyond endurance. It’s the new vice commandant, who’s made it his personal mission to teach Violet exactly how powerless she is–unless she betrays the man she loves.

Although Violet’s body might be weaker and frailer than everyone else’s, she still has her wits—and a will of iron. And leadership is forgetting the most important lesson Basgiath has taught her: Dragon riders make their own rules.

But a determination to survive won’t be enough this year.

Because Violet knows the real secret hidden for centuries at Basgiath War College—and nothing, not even dragon fire, may be enough to save them in the end.

This is the second volume of the "Empyrean" series.

Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry (read by Matthew Perry)

“Hi, my name is Matthew, although you may know me by another name. My friends call me Matty. And I should be dead.”

So begins the riveting story of acclaimed actor Matthew Perry, taking us along on his journey from childhood ambition to fame to addiction and recovery in the aftermath of a life-threatening health scare. Before the frequent hospital visits and stints in rehab, there was five-year-old Matthew, who traveled from Montreal to Los Angeles, shuffling between his separated parents; fourteen-year-old Matthew, who was a nationally ranked tennis star in Canada; twenty-four-year-old Matthew, who nabbed a coveted role as a lead cast member on the talked-about pilot then called Friends Like Us. . . and so much more.

In an extraordinary story that only he could tell—and in the heartfelt, hilarious, and warmly familiar way only he could tell it—Matthew Perry lays bare the fractured family that raised him (and also left him to his own devices), the desire for recognition that drove him to fame, and the void inside him that could not be filled even by his greatest dreams coming true. But he also details the peace he’s found in sobriety and how he feels about the ubiquity of Friends, sharing stories about his castmates and other stars he met along the way.

[talesofmetalandmagic]

Anyway Lightning by Little Mix, their last good song, is totally an Azir & Xerath song.

It’s literally about someone who’s stuck in a consuming relationship that’s destroying their sense of self and describes it either with exaggerated, pompous metaphors – opening with this nonetheless…

“I'd cross a desert and an ocean/To get away from the pain of your storm/I'd chase the sunlight, been running from your shadow/So that I could heal and I didn't feel”

…just by comparing it to being struck by lightning, repeatedly, in consuming pain they can’t escape and are somehow growing to like.

“That zig-zag shooting through my heart/That zig-zag hit me like a dart/Electricity, electricity/Oh, this love's tearing me apart/I've been running like the light from the dark/Electricity keeps on hitting me”

To me, a core component of Azir’s arc in the story is about learning to think with his heart and not his head (not that he’s used it much ngl), choosing to act with pure feelings like that one time he saved a wounded stranger just because she needed help, instead of building walls of hatred and resentment because of an authority of yore.

Which involves – and that’s the hardest part – putting his hatred for Xerath aside.

I’m known as a hater of the “every villain will be redeemed” Steven Universe trope, but don’t you dare call Xerath a villain to my face. Villains are Viego, Thresh, Mordekaiser, Bel’Veth, Swain, Renata, Urgot, Camille, Jhin… I’d even put Talon and possibly Elise and LeBlanc in there. These are people whom I don’t want to be redeemed.

(“Then what about X?” They’re either grey characters who can show love or principles like Vayne and Sejuani, traumatized people who just need help like Syndra and Xayah, or forces of nature like the demons and Zyra, yes I said something positive about her – and then there’s Sylas, who’s never been a villain at all and even Riot has learned it)

Xerath is somewhere in the middle, a traumatized madman who just wants to be – or feel – free, and since even Azir himself isn’t exactly a saint this helps spread the blame between them.

Azir has proven that he can put his pride and pain aside and cope with his trauma in a healthier manner, and when it comes to Xerath… like I said in the past, love is a powerful force. Even more powerful than Xerath, even more powerful than the Sun-Disc itself.

“Oh, lightning strikes twice/And it burns like ice/I wish I didn't love you again/Lightning strikes twice/And it burns so nice”

But if Azir chooses right and makes the ultimate sacrifice – his pride, his grief, everything he’s ever known, all for the good of his people – he will follow a route of love.

“I wish I didn't love you/(But I do)”

Some male covers if you need the atmosphere:

[fatedwithmbc]

What a Weekend:

I know the weekend typically doesn’t start with Thursday, but I feel like the events play into the overall timeline/story for this post.

Thursday:

Prior to my diagnosis, shortly after my return from NYC, I subscribed to a series of three broadway shows to see at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia. Initially, I wanted to cancel the tickets because I was unsure of what my condition would be on any given “show-day” to actually attend. I decided, in the overall theme of keeping things as normal as possible, to keep my tickets.

Of course, Thursday arrives and I just felt off for most of the day. I couldn’t put my finger on why. Especially since the things that I was feeling were not abnormal. You know, fatigue, nausea, headache and overall achiness. So, when I had to decide whether or not to utilize my theater tickets, I didn’t hesitate to push myself to attend the show. I was able to take the train into the city and walk the half mile to the theater where the doors opened at 7:00PM for the 7:30PM opening night performance of Les Miserables. I treated myself to an aisle seat and was happy (no heads to tilt around to see) and annoyed (lots of up and down to allow others in my row to move as needed). The show started off a bit boring because I was well aware of the back story thanks to the 2012 film adaptation. As it continued, I started to become more engaged and began to enjoy the story and the actors portraying the parts I knew from the film rendition. Intermission came and went. The second half had me in tears and practically sobbing as Cosette holds Jean Valjean’s hand as he takes his last breath and passes. It hit too close to home for me. The final scene ended and I had to literally bolt from my seat to the train station with only 20 minutes to spare. I made it to the platform with 4 minutes left until the trains’ arrival time. It was a happy ending. Until around 3:00AM.

I began feeling pain in my right side and being the stubborn person I am, I ignored it the best I could and try to get some sleep. After all, I had a lab work appointment the following morning and was certain they could aid me then. Boy, was I wrong.

Friday:

I wake up in excruciating pain (from sleeping my right side, because it actually got worse, I do not know). I call my oncologist and ask for advice and am instructed to go to the ER. He advised he would call ahead to let them know I was coming in and he wanted me checked for a blood clot or embolism as soon as possible.

I don’t have a good track record with the ER. There are two reasons.

I wait too long to seek care because I am stubborn and convince myself the pain will go away.

They are sorely understaffed and I wait for HOURS after I’ve already hit my pain thresh-hold (due to reason #1) before I can be seen and provided care and pain medications.

After waiting 3 hours, I am taken back to a makeshift exams room. The PA comes to examine me and I give her my history. We discuss that the pain can be a range of things and she’d not be sending me back to the waiting room as planned, but beginning investigation. I have a chest x-ray, blood draw (CBC panel), urine screen, EKG and physical examination. An IV is put in to administer fluids, nausea medication and the holy grail - pain medication (FINALLY!!!). They have me sit in a chair in the hallway until a bed opens up (which is fine, they gave me one of the nice warmed blankets and I’ve got people to text). During this time, I’m able to reconnect a bit with “L”, a welcomed change to our dynamic and the result of a text a few days prior. Eventually, a bed opens, I’m asked to change, I get a CT Scan and my results come in — Lung Inflammation. Why? Because it’s a RARE side-effect of my treatment. Positive news was provided - some of my smallest tumors are beginning to shrink after ONE month of treatment. Treatment for the Lung Inflammation required pain medication, DUH. I am saved from admission by promising to adhere to my pain medicare schedule (I didn’t and don’t follow the pain medication schedule on any day, taking it much less than required). A&T help me out by coming to get me so one of them could drive my car home. Too many narcotics for me to have allowed me to drive. I finally get home and sleep. Shout out to “E the First” for always being my rock during theses times, even via text.

NOTE: My mood was sorely disappointed because I had plans that were now cancelled with “E”. It all went down the drain due to the narcotics and not being allowed to drive. SAFETY FIRST.

Saturday:

I struggled to sleep. I wake up in pain. I don’t care. Happiness is just half a day away.

I attend the Barn Sale at St. Thomas’ with Brian. He gives me bad news about Mo’s family. I am deeply saddened for Mo. I hope to attend the services for her husband to show my support to the family. After the Barn Sale, I go to Brian’s to pick up some new additions to my “You Are Here” mug collection. I see Terry, Faolan and Meg (the whole gang). It felt nice to see them and know they have such a caring way toward me. I chat with them a bit and then indicate I have a few things to do before I get to see “E”. Terry, understanding the importance of that, allows me to say my farewells and “get to” the other stuff.

I got home and helped wrap and store the Halloween decor. Then we retrieved the Thanksgiving items and dispersed them throughout the home to “decorate”. Once that’s done, I help with some random items before going to take a nap, I’m still experiencing pain from the Lung Inflammation. After my nap, I wrap “E’s” birthday gifts and shower. I quickly pack a bag and drive the hour to see him.

Once I get to his place, “R” accidentally head-butt’s me as he is excited to say hello. Thankfully “E” didn’t notice. The first thing “E” really has to say to me is “Where Did you Find Michigan Wrapping Paper”. This makes me laugh, and therefore gives me pain. We get upstairs and everything is just as comfortable and natural with him as when I left last time. We order a pizza (I actually eat a slice and he so thoughtfully has a Schweppes ready for me), watch football and chat off and on. He finally opens his gifts and to my relief, enjoys them all. I feel proud of myself, mixed with some panic because I am not sure if I “overdid” it in the gift department. We decide the games available for viewing are not worth watching and opt to watch the 1990 version of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Original movie. It’s comical for both of us and allows us to reminisce about childhood.

After the movie we make our way to bed and watch multiple episodes of “Nailed It” on Netflix. It’s hilarious, but having gotten ready for bed, I took my pain pill and feel some relief. We joke about the contestants and how we think we’d perform. It’s not a fancy night by any means, but one that made me feel very comfortable. After three episodes, we go to sleep. My favorite part, because it allows us to get close and wrap in each others arms. Again, everything was very PG-13 — no other scandalous rating here. But I am content with that, for now. My only disappointment is there still hasn’t been that electricity filled first kiss. I believe it IS coming.

Sunday:

“E” and I both have plans today. So we can’t “laze” about. We prepared to leave and then went our separate directions after, again, the best hug in the world. After an hour of driving and lamenting over our separation, I took Bailey to her grooming appointment. I went Target and did a minimal amount of Christmas preparation for about 1 and a half hours before heading back to Pet Smart. Bailey was not quite finished yet, so I wandered about and bought her reward. I am recognizing she gets more anxiety ridden and upset as we make the trek. She is fine on the way home, so, I know it’s the realization of where she is going that makes her a bit worked up. I discussed with Mom-Mom having a mobile groomer come to the house to try to make the process easier. Once the dog is finished, we finally head home. It’s about 3 and a half hours later (1:00PM to 4:30PM) and we’re both exhausted.

“E” and I text all day. I am never upset about it. I try to give him his room and not text him all the time, but then he has messages me. I think it’s a good dynamic. I wouldn’t change it.

I’ve now completed the blog. There are a few “Sunday” details, that really aren’t important to the overall message, so, no harm in omitting them. Also, I keep falling asleep here.

More to come…

Font Key

Headers

Cancer/MBC; My Nemesis

Author Tidbits and Wisdom

Notifications: @kcco265 , @guardgirl101

[togetherhearted]

LEAGUE OF LEGENDS MASTERLIST

Machine Herald [Viktor]:

Snuggles

Cold

Wintery stuff

Birthday

Cuddly moments

Machine Herald x vesani!reader

Viktor with an assistant who's into him headcanons

Shieda Kayn:

Bees

Kayn x fem vampire!reader

Kayn with a battle feral s/o

Kayn with a lifeless!reader

Jax:

Starry night

Wintery stuff

Winter special - Scarf

Cuddly moments

Sleepy cuddles

Jayce:

I'm all yours,not going anywhere

Zed:

You have a good heart

Debonair Zed with a Gothic Lolita S/O

Aphelios:

How about a kiss?

SB!Aphelios x Fem!Winter blossom

Heartsteel!Aphelios x figure skater!S/O

You're stunning

100 words- beauty

Nasus:

Books

Nasus with explosives specialist S/O

VI:

Superhero!Vi -Saving a life

Cheater Vi

Akali:

Reader meets crime city!Akali

Reader meets crime city!Akali part 2.

KDA akali meets reader's child

Reader Vs Akali

Evelynn:

Reader Vs Evelynn

KDA Evelynn meets reader's child

Reader asks to touch Evelynn's "tails"

Spirit Blossom Evelynn x reader

Coven Evelynn and Siren!Reader

Evelynn with a S/O that can't feel pain

Sugar rush Evelynn with a short S/O

Sejuani:

Sejuani with a s/o good at stealing things

Firecracker Sejuani with s short S/O

You can't leave without letting me hug you first

Zyra:

Zyra with a s/o good at stealing things

Haunted Zyra with invisible reader

Zyra s/o takes a hit for her

Elise:

Elise with a s/o good at stealing things

Stargazing was a good idea

Elise s/o taking a hit for her

Blood Moon Elise with an invisible reader

Ahri:

KDA Ahri meets reader's child

Reader Vs Ahri

Reader asks to touch Ahri's tails

Spirit Blossom Ahri and Siren!Reader

Ahri with a S/O that can't feel pain

SG Ahri enemies to lovers

Ahri s/o taking a hit for her

Arcade Ahri with an invisible reader

Kai'sa:

KDA Kai'sa meet reader's child

You can't leave without letting me hug you first

Karthus:

Karthus S/O taking a hit for him

Hwei:

Hwei x fem!piltovian reader

Hwei with a lifeless!reader

Jhin:

Jhin S/O taking a hit for him

Project Jhin with a Gothic Lolita S/O

Seraphine:

KDA Seraphine meets reader's child

KDA Seraphine and Siren!Reader

Reader wants to sing with Seraphine

Viego:

Viego x unicorn princess!reader

Viego S/O taking a hit for him

Viego with a battle feral s/o

Viego with a lifeless!reader

Vex:

General Vex headcanons as a partner

Vex headcanons as a wife

Sett:

Big bro Sett

Sett with explosive specialist S/O

Thresh:

Thresh with explosive specialist S/O

Lissandra:

Lissandra with a S/O that can't feel pain

Lissandra's s/o takes a hit for her

Miss Fortune:

SG Miss fortune enemies to lovers

Miss fortune s/o taking a hit for her

Jinx:

SG Jinx enemies to lovers

100 words - happiness

Hecarim:

Hecarim meeting his S/O

Hecarim with a battle feral s/o

100 words- midnight

Morgana:

Blackthorne Morgana with a short S/O

You can't leave without letting me hug you first

Tahm kench:

High noon Tahm Kench with a Gothic Lolita S/O

Yone:

Yone and his daughter

Qiyana:

100 words- Sunset

Qiyana's s/o takes a hit for her

Ryze:

100 words - Flowers

Poly:

Kda girls married to one lucky man

[hxt1b]

This Time

Sungchan x Reader brief Chenle x Reader 

Requested Prompt 17 Drunken Mistakes 

Genre: Angsty fluff (I think), College AU 

Warning: Swearing 

WC: 1.8k

Masterlist 

A/N: I hope you guys like this. Please excuse the grammatical errors, I read it over but I still may have missed some things. 

You'd only ever felt true regret a couple of times in your life. The first was letting your mom convince you into wearing a bright pink dress at your tenth birthday party. The second time was senior year of high school when you'd opened your stupid mouth to tell your best friend you liked him. Sungchan had stared at you for a couple of seconds before laughing, 'good joke.' He'd said and you'd laughed along with him after that. Internally feeling like you were dying as heat flooded your face. You definitely regretted that more than the pink dress. 

Yet you did your best to move past that, it took you an insanely long time but you did it, or at least you were working on it. This time you thought it might finally work. 

So here you were walking into a party, your hand tucked into your boyfriend, Chenle's, starting off your second year of university.

Sungchan trailed behind you both, he'd been in a weird mood since you introduced him to your boyfriend, but to be honest, you expected it, he never liked it when you talked to guys giving off this unnecessarily protective energy. So this time you just made sure you informed your boyfriend before you let him meet your best friend. 

Nonetheless, when the first interaction took place it was still deathly awkward. 

You were repeatedly wiping your hands on your pants as you waited for Chenle to buzz the apartment so you could let him in. Sungchan was sitting on your couch glaring at his phone as you both waited. 

"He's late," Sungchan said not looking up from his phone, obviously annoyed. You sighed grabbing your phone and checking the time. He wasn't late, it was just a minute past the time he said he'd be there. 

Not even a second later the buzzer went off forcing you to spring into action and get let him in. 

"Sorry, I'm late," Chenle said once he got to your door, a huge bouquet in his hands. 

Sungchan scoffed from his spot as he got up. 

"She doesn't like flowers." He said walking towards the door. Your boyfriend frowned, before looking down at you. You opened your mouth to object but Chenle spoke before you could. 

"That's fine because they're for you." He shoved the bouquet past you and into Sungchan's chest as your best friend stopped behind you. You giggled quietly as Sungchan scowled. 

It had been a month since then and they still didn't get along. But your boyfriend didn't scare off because of Sungchan. 

—

Sungchan hated his life. Why? Because it was a huge cosmic joke. The girl he was head over heels for liked him, well she liked him back in high school and he fucked it up. How? By being a dumb idiot that couldn't sort out his feelings to save his life. Now he was stuck in a constant state of peril as the girl of his dreams brought guy after guy. Selfishly he had managed to scare all of them off. Except for this motherfucker. 

You got up to go to the bathroom, Sungchan glared at the flowers on the counter behind your new boyfriend's head. His head was swimming with ways to get this idiot out of his way too. 

Sungchan didn't understand why he did it, not really, because he didn't know how to actually confess to you. But he couldn't watch you date other people. He realized he was being a selfish dick, but he didn't know how to stop. 

"I understand you." The boy said pulling Sungchan from his thoughts. Sungchan frowned at him, confused as to what he was getting at. 

"You want her for yourself. She told me how you're protective. Somehow you managed to drive off all the other idiots. They didn't deserve her anyway." The boy stared at Sungchan meeting his growing scowl with a smile. "I on the other hand like her a lot, and I'll be damned if I let you win this just so you can sit on your ass and do nothing." 

Sungchan hated him, he hated him with every fibre in his body because that night he was right. To this day he was right. Somehow he did everything right, he listened to you, said the right things, showed you his feelings. Sungchan should be happy for you, glad that you finally had a great guy one that even Sungchan could see was great for you. A guy that Sungchan could not be like no matter how much he wanted to be like him. 

So dragging his feet he trailed after the two of you. He decided that once he walked into the doors of that party, he would let go of his foolish desire. His pinning had to end, he had to let you be happy and move on. He had to for your sake, and his because he couldn't live like this. He shouldn't live like this. And so once he passed the thresh hold, he somehow got a hold of a bottle of Bombay Gin and that was the beginning of what he'd like to call the end. 

Except that it wasn't the end. 

— 

You realized that Sungchan was drunk when he started to slur his words and his cheeks took on a red hue. You realized that Sungchan was way too drunk when he threw his arm over your shoulders and dragged you to everyone in the party telling them that you were his bestest friend. 

Chenle was off playing beer pong with some of his friends. Whilst you made sure Sungchan stayed on the life side of things. You took the Gin away from him leaving it on the counter as you dragged him to a couch to sit on. He was a lot taller than you, and it was becoming exhausting supporting his weight. 

"You know," He started as you pushed him into the couch, "I want to tell you a secret." 

You laughed at how drunk he was, you hadn't actually seen him this drunk since high school. 

"What's up?" You asked. 

"I like this girl." He said. You laughed again, and even though you didn't want it to your heart clenched. You felt guilty because you had an amazing boyfriend, and it had been two whole years of liking this idiot. You should be over this, but maybe it took time, and maybe Chenle would help it, but maybe he wouldn't. 

"Who?" You asked finally settling into the couch next to him. 

"You." He said, just as Chenle walked over. Your heart felt like it stopped, your breathing coming in slowly as you stared at your boyfriend. 

"I need to go home." You said getting up as Chenle grabbed onto you. He took your face in, his eyes scanning your features and simply nodded guiding you out the house. 

— 

You were ignoring him, and he wanted to say that he couldn't understand why. Sungchan wanted to say that he was so black-out drunk the night before that he couldn't remember anything. But he remembered. He turned over in bed groaning loudly into it as the night played in his head again. The pain on your face that you couldn't even hide torturing him as he closed his eyes. 

His phone finally rang with a call from you at six pm. Sungchan was still in bed, his head aching. He grabbed his phone from under his pillow however and quickly answered. 

"I'll be over in five minutes." You said and hung up. He cringed at your tone, whatever he was about to hear from you wasn't going to be pleasant. 

You started speaking before he could even open the door. A hard shove moving him out of the way as you barged in. 

"-fuck you. You are a selfish prick. I don't care how drunk you were. I have tried so hard to move on do you know that?" You asked him. He flinched back from you. Your eyes were angry and all of the anger was directed at him and every bit of it valid. He couldn't look at you so he turned his head to the floor fixating his eyes on his own feet. 

"Do you understand how hard I've tried?" Your voice broke on your last word, and Sungchan's head snapped up to your face. You were crying, he moved forward his body moving before he could stop it. He gathered you into his arms but you pushed away from him, going to the far side of the living room, deeper into his apartment. 

He stayed glued to his spot. 

"I hate you!" You yelled, your tears flowing out your eyes as you began to sob. Sungchan's hands twitched at his side his heart broke as he watched you. 

"I hate you so fucking much!" You yelled again. Sungchan's eyes stung but he didn't take them off you. Not again, because he did this to you. 

"I've liked you for so fucking long and the moment I almost move on you fucking do this." You slumped into his couch, your hands covering your face as you continued to cry. 

Sungchan quickly moved to your side, his hands pulling at you until you were settled against his chest. He blinked his eyes controlling his own tears before he spoke. 

"I'm sorry Y/N. I'm so sorry, and if I could take it back I would." You only cried harder at his words soaking his black t-shirt as he held you. 

"Fuck you Sungchan." You said again as your hand fisted into his shirt holding him closer to you. 

Sungchan held you until you calmed down. 

Pulling away from him you wiped at your face. 

"Chenle and I broke up this morning." You said, and even though it shouldn't Sungchan's heart sang in his chest. 

"He was pissed. He said that he should have known from the beginning that he was in a losing game." Your voice shook as you spoke. Sungchan grabbed at you again but you pulled away from his grasp. 

"That doesn't mean I'm just going to date you." You said clearly still angry. 

Sungchan nodded, trying to hide his smile. "But you'll let me take you out eventually?" He asked 

You looked over at him again, your eyes were swollen from the crying and your hair a mess, somehow you still looked perfect to him. 

"Maybe." You replied. 

"How about Friday, two weeks from now?" He asked. You narrowed your eyes at him, and he smiled back at you. 

"Cool, I'll pick you up at 6." 

You rolled your eyes at him. Which only prompted him to ask another question. 

"So what movie do you want to watch tonight and where do you want to get take out from?" He knew you would stay, he knew you'd cuddle him. He knew you too well. Because although you grumbled, although you were mad, although you hated him currently. You leaned back into the couch your shoulder leaning into his. 

"Pizza, and you’re paying." 

This time Sungchan wasn't going to do nothing. This time Sungchan was gonna get his girl. 

[sabraeal]

Get Up Eight, Chapter 7

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Free Space

The air is sweet outside of Hiratsuka; the ocean’s salt still carries its pale sting on the breeze, but it cannot compete with the last of the spring’s harvest. The paddies are flooded still, slowly draining under the heat of the sun; wet earth weighs down the air’s sweetness, rich and full. This far into the season it is gold and green as far as the eye can see, set over a shimmering stretch of blue; a precious comb laid on silk. But this, this is finer than any gift an emperor could give his concubines. Ryo might buy jade and sapphires, but it could not buy a moment in time, experienced with all the senses of the body.

The threshing would come soon, as the end came for all beautiful things. The fields will be allowed to dry, and in weeks, this ground would lie fallow, a barren marshy plain awaiting its next use. But impermanence is a part of beauty, what made a sight such as this so precious and so dear. Just as petals fell from cherry trees, or snow sifted from the winter sky, this moment only existed in the here and now. In mere days, all of this would be gone.

Even Obi slows ahead of her, hands resting on the tight nip of his hips. Stalks spring thickly up beside the road, paddies dug so close the cobbles have sunk, curving the edges of the walkway like a scroll unfurled. He stands in the middle of it, a samurai out of a wood-block print, surveying his domain--

“Well,” he huffs, turning his chin over his shoulder. “It sure smells like shit.”

Shirayuki tries to stifle it, to keep the noise buried deep in her chest, but it’s impossible-- a laugh hiccups up between her lips, and try as she might, her sleeve doesn’t muffle it a single bit.

“What, ojou-san?” His mouth quirks at a corner, too sly for innocence. “Don’t you think so?”

Now that he mentions it...yes. That sweet earthy smell mixed with standing water gives off a fragrance that only a fly could love. The rice may be sweet on the wind and salt may still roll through with a breeze, but when the skies were quiet and her feet were still, it savored of nothing so strongly as the pies oxen dropped on the road.

Not that she’d ever give her samurai the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Surely it isn’t so bad as all that.” She takes in a large, pointed breath, and prays she won’t cough. “I only smell sweet grass.”

Both narrow brows scurry up his forehead, rumpling his scar. “Is that so, ojou-san?”

With a sharp smile he swaggers over to one of the sparse pines clinging onto the road, dropping down into a squat. “Then you won’t mind if we take our rest here?”

“W-what?” There’s barely any room for the cobbles, and none at all for two travelers trying to stay off them. And the smell...

“Come on.” He pats the muddy ground beside him; it splats beneath his palm. “This water looks healing if I do say so myself. Perfect to rest your poor feet in.”

Shirayuki casts a dubious glance over the road’s edge, knowing full well what she will find. These paddies are not freshly filled, water sparkling blue under the fair sky like in the ukiyo-e; oh no, this is a field left to drain, the water growing murkier with every day, probably rife with leeches and worse. Fine for plants, but for her poor, weeping blisters--

Well, she’d certainly collect quite a few friends putting her feet in there. They would be such a comfort before she succumbed to whatever infection stagnant water gave her. He blisters throb at the thought.

“We should keep going,” she informs him steadily. “Weren’t you just saying there was much road left to be traveled?”

At least, that had been his excuse in Hiratsuka. No time for dallying, ojou-san, he’d told her, slipping a vendor a few mon for the onigiri in her hands. We’ll have to sleep on the road if the light fades before we get to Odawara.

Obi doesn’t exactly frown; such an expression isn’t in his nature-- instead his mouth pulls to the precise width of the line she’s toeing.

“Well,” he hums his dangerous way, the sort that says only her twelve ryo stand between his hand and her cheek. His body unfurls to standing with an exaggerated slowness, a threat in every curl of his limbs. “Since ojou-san doesn’t need a break, I suppose we can walk all the way to Oiso.”

Her ronin stands across from her, kimono threadbare, hakama in hardly better shape, arms folded across his narrow chest. She knows that cock to his hip, that hint of a smirk on his face-- he expects her to fold, he expects her to beg like the delicate ojou-san she’s pretending to be.

Even wrapped tight under her tabi, the warabi loosely tied, her feet ache. Kino’s wife would plead to stop-- no, command him to. Either way, she would merely confirm what he already knew; she was a pampered fine lady, unable to keep up with the grueling pace he set. A burden he would be made to bear all the way to Kyoto.

Shirayuki shifts the sack on her back, Buddha’s hand pressing into her spine. “Fine. Let us keep going.”

Marsh bleeds into hills, the road flattening and slanting both, reeds rising up into pines. The shade is a welcome reprieve, as is the sea breeze that stirs the branches overhead and sends shadows to dance at her feet. Even as nature’s wonder presses in around her, Shirayuki cannot help but think she might be able to enjoy it better if her feet were not about to pop off at the ankle.

Oiso is hardly an hour’s walk from Hiratsuka, but every step is on needles, stabbing wherever her sole touches cobble. Still, still-- she will not relent. Surely they would see the post for the shukuba at any moment, and then she might--

“Ojou-san?” A shadow falls over her; even if she could not see the patched hem of his hakama, the scent of his sweat, clean and earthy, would give him away. His hands hover at her shoulders, steadying without touch. “Are you all right?”

“Ah!” She steps back, covering a wince with a smile. “No, no. I’m just fine. I can keep up! Oiso is only a few miles away, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He shifts back, arms folding into a forbidding bar of steel across her vision. “Do your feet hurt, ojou-san?”

His tone might be playful, a little sing-song like a child at play, but it is a knowing gaze that he wears, fixed to the hem of her kimono. She shuffles her feet, hoping they fall into shadow-- if only she had bought new tabi in Hiratsuka, she would have had a few more hours before the blood stained the new cloth. 

His breath hisses through his teeth like a palpable hit. “Ojou-san!”

Ah, so he’s seen it. That will make this conversation a hair more difficult.

“Don’t worry about me!” she yelps, sweeping away from the hands that would grab her, that would hold her in place to behold the extent of her foolishness. “It can wait until we get to Oiso-juku!”

He shakes his head, sitting back on his heels. “We’ll rest.”

Her cheeks puff out with annoyance. “Aren’t I the one who makes those decisions, samurai-dono?”

His mouth pulls thin for a moment, considering her, but the next has it bent in a bright smile. “All right then. Let’s rest. We can have some of those onigiri in your pack.”

Shirayuki longs to protest-- she did not make her way trading on feminine weakness in Yokohama, and she was not about to start here and now because this man would let her-- but her stomach growls long and loud, a beggar on its knees.

“Well,” she murmurs, looking away from that smug grin. “If you insist.”

“You know.” Obi’s fingers pluck nimbly at the twine knotted around the bamboo leaf, slipping it open with a firm tug on one end. Inside, the rice still steams, just cool enough to touch. “If you had said something, we could have stopped at Hiratsuka.”

Shirayuki looks up, her legs stretched out before her, wiggling her toes with a grimace. She spares him a raised brow, managing only a strained, “Could we have?”

His mouth opens, then closes again. Gold eyes shine almost green in the shade of the pine trees, but they drop away before she can determine whether it is merely a trick of the light. “Maybe.”

Her lips press tight as she watches him, long fingers separating one sticky triangle off from the others. “You’re worried. Did something happen...?”

At the hatago, Shirayuki assumes, but caution stills her tongue. The days she has spent with him have been long, but still-- she’s known him for only three. What trouble dogs his steps now may have been bought and paid for long before she knelt across from him in a tea house and offered twelve ryo to take her away from her own.

“Should I rewrap them?”

Her head jolts up; the amber of his eyes waits to trap her, honey-warm with curiosity. He presses the still-warm onigiri into her palm, and she-- she nearly says no. She may be smaller than him, but she’s not a child. A single rice ball would not a meal make.

But then he chucks his chin downward, toward where her feet sit bare save for the bandages.

“Oh,” she breathes, flexing them. Even that small movement sends pain lancing up her legs. “No, not yet.”

He shifts, mouth rumpled into a dubious knot. “It’s soaked through in places.”

“It’s fine.” Sour plum bursts on her tongue, rice sticking to her teeth as she tries to hurry it along. “It will take too much time to tend to now.”

If anything, his frown deepens. “I can work quick, ojou-san. You said last night that I’d done a good job.”

“I...” A frisson ran through her when he’d cupped her heel in his palm, fingers brushing over her blisters with a gentleness she had not expected from a man as rough as him. And when his hand had slid higher, gripping her calf to hold her in place-- “It can wait. Until we stop.”

Until she is sure she won’t need her legs to support her afterward.

He hums, unconvinced, but settles back onto his seat, knees crossed in front of him. If he were born to a greater station, there would be block prints of him like this, desultory and cross-legged, moments away from a war.

“Oiso is close by,” he reminds her, as if she did not tell him the same only minutes ago. “If the pain’s too much, let me know. We can always stop for the night.”

She swallows her bite of onigiri, watching him steadily. “Would you stop on your own?”

He lets out a long, annoyed breath. “No.”

“Then we’ll press on to Odawara.” She offers him a soft smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not a short walk,” he warns her, impatience creeping into his tone. “If you’re really hurting--”

“I know.” She smiles. “I’ll tell you.”

He leans back on his hands, a laugh rasping out of his throat. “I doubt that. You’d faint before you’d admit you can’t keep up.”

She lets out a huff. She can’t say it’s not true, but all the same, he doesn’t have to say it. “I--”

“Well, well.” A man emerges from the pines, lips stretched to a smile so wide that her own cheeks hurt. “Look at what we have here, boys.”

Shirayuki jumps-- not far, stretched out as she is, but enough to tuck her feet beneath her kimono, hiding the bandages. Obi’s already got his own beneath him, his knuckles bone white where they wrap around his hilt. His gaze fixes on the treeline, steady and gold, the way a tiger might watch from the long grass, and her breath catches. Obi might wear a man’s skin, but in this moment he is more wolf than warrior, a predator in the guise of its prey.

But that man doesn’t see it. He strides into the copse, blades rattling at his side, heedlessly smiling at his death. “No need for that, oni-san.”

Obi’s hilt creaks beneath his grip. “I’m not your brother.”

Her eyes blink wide, searching the strained planes of his face. This man may be a stranger, unwelcome in their company, but to be so unconscionably rude-- well, Shirayuki can hardly countenance it. Not from a man who slid goshujin through his teeth like steel bared from its sheath, a man who wielded manners as a weapon--

A man who knows that his rudeness would mark them more than submission. She’d seen what counted as fighting words when she ran the sake house; not a single bushi worth his blade would let a ronin parry their generous parity.

But still, this one only smiles. Wider now, the sharp edges of his eyeteeth cresting the ridge of his lips.

“Oh, no?” Men shuffle through the trees, the boughs obscuring their gaunt faces, but still, Shirayuki is sure-- they don’t smile like this samurai. No, ronin. He might have the paired blades wrapped at his hips, but there’s no crest on his haori, only a single long tail winding over his shoulders from the hair at his nape, instead of a bushi’s top-knot. “But we shared a drink back at the hatago, didn’t we?”

Shirayuki takes in the worn hem of this ronin’s hakama, the meticulously mended seams of his haori, the fine material his kimono had once been; none of it is familiar, nor is his face. “Obi-dono?”

Something twitches in the depths of Obi’s jaw. A flicker of recognition, perhaps, to pair with the fleet warning that lopes across his eyes.

“Having a rest, I see?” the ronin observes, edging ever closer to the clearing, his men jostling around him. Three of them, plus the headman; more than any man could manage, no matter how skilled Obi might be. “Now, we were just thinking the same thing, weren’t we?”

Tension thickens the air, and there’s no reason for it, none at all. Not unless her yojimbo is restless, eager to prove to her his prowess. It’s an exhibition that she is less than enthused to participate in, especially with these odds.

“Please.” There is no sake house for her to serve, but her old role drops over her like a mask, mouth stretching into that close-lipped smile, hiding in behind her sleeve. “Come in. I mean--” Obi stares at her, chin slowly shaking, a silent plea-- “please, come sit.”

It’s his stare-- pupils pinprick small with shock, white a thin ring all around the gold-- that reminds her that she’s still looking up. Her eyes drop, fixing to the stranger’s hands, where no dirt lingers beneath his nails, each one diligently picked and scrubbed to cleanliness. But no-- it must drop farther still, down to rest demurely on her knees. Already she's done too much, said too much; a hostess speaks to custom with ease, but a retiring ojou-san in the company of her retainer...

She would be silent. A woman ready to fade into the background as the men carried on her business.

Shirayuki shifts, rolling up to rest on her knees, head bowed. Not three days on the road, and already the role she has chosen for herself chafes.

“Well, since onee-san has been so kind.” The man saunters from the shade, crouching down to a kneel. “It would be rude to refuse.”

Obi’s jaw works, a rebuttal brewing on his lips, but she holds out a hand instead, quelling. Her palm brushes over his knee, the muscles hovering beneath her fingertips going tense, his breath caught in his chest--

And she jolts it away, letting it hover safely over him instead. Still, he lowers onto his feet, placing the blade at his side. The right side, she notes with satisfaction, until he rolls back, legs crossing at the ankle before him, hands braced on his knees. A shogun’s stance, she had thought when Kino took it, but Obi in his threadbare kimono, juban long since lost, and faded hakama...

He makes it look like trouble.

Shirayuki swallows a grimace, bowing her head over her hands. “You are too kind, oni-san--” Obi grunts, displeasure stark on his sharp face, but at least leaves his protest to that-- “please, partake in our meal as well. We have only just started.”

Obi swivels toward her, betrayal writ clear in his eyes, but there’s nothing for it. She’s already asked the headman to sit; she can’t possibly ask him to starve. Not unless Obi would like to risk these men finding them on another stretch of road, far from any shukuba, the night much closer, their minds less wary.

The ronin casts a lingering glance at the onigiri still on the leaf, his tongue tracing the barest path over his lips--

“It is you who are too kind, onee-san, by offering,” he says, the picture of well-born courtesy. “We’d be happy to. As long as you don’t mind sharing our food as well?”

Obi blinks. “Your food?”

The headman holds up a hand, and at once his ronin come forward, dropping their sacks in front of them, and--

“Oh,” Shirayuki breathes, staring at the array of bento tumbled across their makeshift camp. Thinking of what they might well find inside them, her stomach shivers, just short of making its anticipation known. “Well, if you insist...”

As each lid springs open on the men’s hakubento, a feast spills forth: rolled egg and minced fish cakes, soy bears and boiled lotus, taro and shiitake. One has whole, simmered shrimp with pickled ginger, and the water in her mouth nearly leaks out at the sight of it.

“So much,” Shirayuki murmurs, palms pressed flat to her thighs. “Where did you get it all?”

“The hatago.” The ronin’s mouth lifts at a corner, gaze darting to where Obi sits beside her, stiff. “I’m surprised your man didn’t have them pack one for you.”

She resists looking at him, just waits until he’s finished his sticky bite of onigiri to say, “We were in a hurry.”

The ronin’s reply is a sly flash of teeth. “Hope you made it where you were going.”

Obi settles back onto his heels. “Not fast enough.”

It’s an answer made to be muttered, but Obi enunciates every syllable clearly, punctuating it with an insolent lift of his gaze, meeting the man’s with a pointed finality. It’s her first instinct to scold him, the way she might with Kino-san when he acted out of turn, but her breath catches in her chest.

She would do that. Her, a girl raised beneath the bar of a sake house, used to putting men in their place before they reached too far out of it. But a young ojou-san, naive to the ways of the world-- she would sit silent, letting the men speak their piece. If a fight broke out, she might scream, covering her fear with her sleeves, and hope for the best. Ah, never has she been so ill-suited for a role before. 

It doesn’t matter in the end; the ronin only twitches his mouth to mark it before turning to her, smile firmly seated on his lips.

“I’m the headman of this outfit.” The man pats his chest, drawing her attention back to the fine material worn thin, to the juban that is still meticulously white when it has not yellowed at the collar. “They call me Mihaya.”

No family name, she notes. That’s fine enough for her. “And I’m Shirayuki.”

She casts a pointed glance toward Obi, willing him to show one glimmer of the respect he pays every other creature that’s made their acquaintance, but he makes no move to introduce himself. Instead he only reaches forward, past all the fine foods Mihaya’s men have provided, and picks up the last of their onigiri.

“Are you going to have this, ojou-san?” he asks, so mild. “Or should I?”

She draws in a deep, steadying breath. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine with sharing with the others.”

His lip juts at that, sullen, but it disappears behind a sharp smile. “Well then, more for me.”

Her only solace in his rudeness is that at least Mihaya’s companions return with the same, too busy stuffing their mouths to pay attention to propriety. Even with such fine bento as these, they dig into each box like men who haven’t eaten in days instead of mere hours ago.

“You must be from around here.”

Shirayuki startles, attention whipping back toward where the headman sits smiling, one hand brace on his knee. “Since you’re traveling south, I mean. Unless you’re traveling back home, onee-san?”

“Oh, no. I’m from--” Obi’s warning glance stills her too-honest response-- “not so far away.”

“Thought so.” There’s a conspiratorial sparkle in his eye as he leans toward her. “I don’t see many of your kind on the road, at least not without an entourage.”

“Oh.” Her fingers clench in her kimono, keeping her seated. She should have thought of that; a girl from a family with money to spare would have sent her with a handful of men, carrying her from Edo to Kyoto slung like precious cargo between them. “I thought-- I mean, my grandfather thought traveling with one guard would draw less attention than a dozen.”

“Might keep more eyes off you, sure,” Mihaya agrees, crunching on a slice of taro. “But it’s safer to have more men when the roads get...rough. You get set on by bandits, and one sword won’t do you much good, onee-san.”

“Is that so?” she asks mildly. “I thought-- what is the saying? Having a single, well-made blade is better than a thousand that will break on the first strike.”

Obi coughs.

“True enough, onee-san.” The headman’s smile wears thinner with each word. “And it’s so much harder to find quality nowadays.”

They have only known each other this past hour, but already, Shirayuki finds little quarrel with Mihaya or his manners; at least, not as much as she does with Obi and his, but still--

Still, she mislikes the smug glance he cuts toward Obi, his gaze raking up his worn and well-mended clothes, the lack of his juban, and clearly, clearly-- finding him wanting.

“For some.” There’s a bite to her voice that surprises her, but she likes it. “I am fortunate indeed to have found such an exemplary bushi as Obi. I could hardly wish for better.”

Mihaya’s expression crumples like a paper lantern in the rain. “I’m sure--”

“Where are you from, Mihaya-san?” she interjects; the last thing they need is to have this rest spoiled by this odd hostility between headman and yojimbo. Especially if it might force her to admit she’s only had her exemplary guard for all of two days. “You don’t sound like a man from Edo.”

A dark shadow flits over his face, like a cloud passing over the sun, gone before she’s ever truly seen it. “Here and there.”

The west, his accent says, though it’s too crisp to be from any common man. Just like his clothes, his voice betrays him. Still, there’s no reason to push; plenty of men have left their domains these days. With tension between the shogun and emperor--

Well, Shirayuki wouldn’t want to be a man with a blade in hand. Samurai had once lived and died by the sword before the shogun wrenched the domains beneath him and brought an end to the warring states. But with all the silken pillows being pulled from beneath the tender seats of the daimyo, blades rattle in their sheaths, threatening its return.

“Where are you off to, onee-san?” Mihaya’s smile is brittle as he sits back, eyes casting her a hooded, measuring glance. “Not all the way to Kyoto I hope.”

Obi shifts, restless beside her. Her fingers sweep out subtly between them, thumb and small finger spanning the gap. It stills him, but not his grunt, wary and dissatisfied. Too cautious, her yojimbo. To avoid so obvious a question only means she has something to hide.

And she does, she does, but none of these men need to know it. Let them think her a loose-lipped ojou-san, if they wished. Better than a girl with no family and a dozen ryo in her bag, with only one guard to keep her safe. “I am.”

Mihaya whistles, long and low, impressed. “That’s a long journey for an ojou-san like yourself. What’s so important in Kyoto?”

“Ah...” A cousin, she should say. That’s what she told Obi, after all, and one story was easier to keep track of than a dozen. But still, there’s something in the headman’s eyes that demands more, than makes a cousin seem a pale prize to crawl across a country for.

“A husband,” Obi offers, so easy. “Arranged. You know how these things are. Ryo flows through fingers easy enough, but blood binds. Man’s eager to have her too.”

“A girl as pretty as this one?” Mihaya laughs, giving her a demonstrative glance. “I can believe it.”

“How about you, Mihaya-san?” she asks, if only to keep from more speculation. “Where are you and your men heading?”

“Funny you should ask, onee-san.” His mouth twitches, almost triumphant. “Kyoto. Just like you are.”

[mulderist]

DEVIL AT MY DOORSTEP

Post-Orison Hurt/comfort || MSR, UST || Scully POV || Moderate violence || AO3 link

A/N: This fic was originally written way back in 2001 when I was in college. It was my first post-episode fic and I posted it to FF.net back in the day. I unearthed it 3 years ago and gave it some extremely heavy edits because it’s that ridiculous and dramatic (lol). I then nervously posted the revised version to AO3.

@today-in-fic

"If you want to pack some things we can get outta here," Mulder said as he walked into my bedroom. I pulled open a dresser drawer revealing my copy of the Holy Bible. I felt the strong weight of guilt in my hand as I lifted it out. Mulder noticed the book. "You can't judge yourself," he tried to reassure me. I walked over to my bed and carefully sat my beaten body down.

"Maybe I don't have to." I told him.

"The Bible allows for vengeance."

"But the law doesn't."

"The way I see it," Mulder began as he leaned toward me, "he didn't give you a choice. And my report will reflect that, in case you're worried. Donnie Pfaster would have surely killed again if given the chance."

"He was evil Mulder. I'm sure about that without a doubt. But there's one thing that I'm not sure of," I said softly.

"What's that?"

"Who was at work in me? Or what? What made me - what made me pull the trigger?"

"You mean if it was God?"

"I mean - what if it wasn't?" There was a beat of silence and I could sense that Mulder wanted to say something. Instead I felt his hand gently slide across my upper back. I looked up at him and could see the concern written on his face.

"I'll finish up out there," he said. Then he moved past me and back towards the bedroom door, pulling it behind him.

I slowly stood and went to my dresser to find some clothes. I tossed an outfit on the bed and stripped off my pajamas leaving them in a heap on the floor. As I absentmindedly packed an overnight bag I took a look around my bedroom. The bookcase I had pulled over on Pfaster to slow him down resulted in a disjointed cascade of books and broken trinkets. There were stains of crimson blood, more than likely my own, which dotted the once clean carpet. The thought that blood was shed in my bedroom made me swallow hard. I scanned over my bed to the wall where my mirror once hung. All that remained were jagged pieces of glass and the remnants of the frame. More pieces scattered the floor. I closed my eyes briefly attempting to block out the events that had occurred. Then a shudder shook me back into reality and I turned to leave my room.

The police had finally cleared out leaving an unsettling calm in the apartment. I was grateful Mulder took it upon himself to answer their questions. As I walked to the living room I could still smell a faint scent of lit matches combined with the dying fragrance of my candles, though they had been extinguished for some time now. I stopped after I crossed the thresh hold and looked down at the large burgundy stain on the rug. Very faint markings of a chalk outline could still be seen on the floor. I saw Mulder sitting on the end of my couch with his elbows on his knees, hands folded. He rose when he realized I was in the room. I said softly,

"Let's go."

Mulder nodded and followed me out the door, locking it behind us. Once we got outside he took my bag and popped the trunk to place it inside. I took my place in the passenger seat and winced slightly as I reached across to grab the seat belt. My eyelids felt like lead weights and I couldn't help but let them close as I leaned my head back against the headrest. I heard Mulder get in the car and start the engine. He tried to make conversation on the ride to his apartment but I think after a short while he realized I didn't want to talk just yet. He knew me well. The remainder of the drive was in silence. Even after Mulder parked the car we still said nothing. It wasn't until we had stepped inside his apartment that he uttered,

"I can put some coffee on." I glanced up at him and nodded with a heavy sigh.

"I think I want to take a shower."

"Sure," he replied, sounding slightly wounded, "It'll be ready once you're done."

Jesus, why are we doing this awkward small talk? He handed me my overnight bag and before I went down the hall I squeezed his hand. After I closed the bathroom door behind me I put my bag on the floor then turned on the water for the shower. As it warmed up I slowly shed my clothes and inspected myself to see if there were any injuries I might have missed. I turned slightly and saw the initial stages of bruising setting in on my upper back. My naked figure in the mirror was unsettling. I had never seen myself look so vulnerable. I turned away from the defeated reflection and pulled aside the shower curtain, stepping into the warm waterfall.

Steam began to swirl around in the tiny room, creating an eerie fog. The slight burn of the water began to relax me as it massaged my tired frame. I self-consciously crossed my arms over my breasts and placed my hands on my shoulders. I then ran a hand over my wet hair. "Ah, dammit," I hissed. My index finger found a remaining chip of glass hiding at the back of my head. A speck of blood oozed from where I was pricked. That's when I noticed my fingernails. There was a fine line of scarlet caked under them.

Blood.

Blood that was not mine. My hands showed traces of the struggle in my apartment. I flexed and tightened my right hand noticing how awkward and stiff the movement was. Sprain, edema, contusion, hematoma: bland clinical terms I knew all too well. I took the bar of soap off its dish and began working it into a lather. As the suds formed on my arms, I tried to wash away the gritty feeling, the sense of guilt, and the memory of Donnie Pfaster.

Pfaster. His cryptic face clawed its way to the surface though I tried desperately to suppress it. His was the face of pure evil, a vision of a demon that shook me to my core. When I took the case I tried to prove to myself that it didn't bother me. I had gone through the counseling sessions during and after Minneapolis. Bouts of anxiety would return every once and a while, flashes of terrible things usually triggered after a particularly difficult assignment. Subconsciously I knew I was kidding myself when I thought I had overcome what happened.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to melt away as I stood there breathing in the heavy steam. Water pushed the soapy residue from my body and I saw a light red trail spiral down the drain. I closed my eyes for a moment but couldn't shake the chaos that happened in my apartment. Pfaster was in my home - the devil at my doorstep. I angrily grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squeezed some of it into my hand. As I massaged the gel into my hair the familiar scent wound around in the air and my mood softened. Then my thoughts turned to Mulder. He told me not to look any further and I followed his advice. I don't know how he ended up in my living room with his gun drawn, ready to do what I was shockingly more capable of doing. He always managed to find me – to save me. I was still in shock when he rushed over and held me close. I just stood there, motionless, letting my weapon slip from my fingers. Every time I ended up in his arms I had this overwhelming feeling that I'm safe and it's a sensation I never want to lose. As I rinsed my hair I did what I feared most.

I lost control.

The water felt tepid as it mixed with the scalding tears in my eyes. I brought my hands to my face as if to conceal the pain and anger from myself. Oh God I thought. Everything was rushing at me too fast; horrible sounds and smells returned shocking my senses. I lost the comforting warmth that had enveloped me. Stability failed and I placed my left hand against the cool tile wall. My knees softened and with a hand over my mouth, I tried to muffle my crying. My shoulders lurched as I sobbed and I moved my hip closer to the wall for support. Water raced down my bruised back. My arms slid across my stomach and I held on, trying to shield myself from the terrible thoughts flashing in my mind. I leaned a shoulder into the wall almost as if I expected it to open up and embrace me.

"Mulder…"

I didn't realize I had said it aloud. It's not the first time I've called out to him but it felt different as I stood in his shower. I needed to say his name. I needed to know he was on the other side of that door. I needed to allow myself this one fleeting moment of vulnerability and begin to accept the unacceptable. As my sobs slowed one was caught in my throat. I hated how I sounded when I was upset and more often than not tried desperately to express sorrow in silence. Over the roar of the water I exhaled deeply and wiped my eyes. My hands found their way to my shoulders once again and I breathed in the last few clouds of steam. Then I turned off the faucet, pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped out onto the waiting bathmat. I pulled a towel off the hook and gently dried off, finding comfort in that familiar scent once again.

I got dressed and combed my hair then walked out to Mulder's living room. There was a lone mug on the coffee table. I happened upon him lying down on the couch, eyes closed. I moved closer and noticed that his brow was furrowed. I touched his shoulder causing him to stir.

"Mmm, sorry I must have dozed off. Did the shower help? " he said while he sat upright and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I think so. I feel a little more human." I joined him in the space he had cleared. He stretched then reached for the mug and took a long swallow. I leaned back against the couch.

"I can pour you a cup if you'd like," I heard him say. My fingers began to fiddle with a tender spot on my left hand.

"No thanks." I know Mulder could tell I had been crying, puffiness under the eyes was not easy to conceal. I could feel my cheeks flush and I licked my lips as I searched for something to say.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm still having difficulty finding the words right now and I can't stand this awkward small talk."

He shook his head after swallowing a sip of coffee. "You know I can see it on your face. And this awkward small talk wouldn't be so awkward if you would just let me in. It's like I told you earlier, I've never seen something give you this much of a head trip before."

"I have to be able to accept this on my own terms, Mulder." That tasted bitter. "I've been trying to forget for five years. I just can't do this right now." I got off the couch and started to head for his bedroom. After pushing the door slightly behind me, I turned down the sheets and slowly crawled into the large bed. I gingerly placed my head upon Mulder's pillow and felt the smoothness against my skin. Every muscle in my body struggled to unwind. Before I closed my eyes I noticed a shadow move in front of the door.

"I'll be fine." I muttered under my breath.

The last thing I heard was the click from the door being closed.

I awoke in the dark to a stinging sensation in the side of my head. My mouth was sore and I could taste blood. There was a taunt strip of cloth tied tightly around my head causing my cheeks to hurt. My hands were bound behind my back and my bare feet were tied together. I weakly struggled to shift positions, fighting the pain in my temple. Once my eyes focused I slowly maneuvered myself near the light source coming from the crack underneath the door. Where the hell am I? I couldn't see anything in the room aside from the hardwood floor. I attempted to sit back up and tried to figure out how I got here. Adrenaline had kicked in now and I started thinking of a way to escape. Then I saw a shadow sweep across the floor. Suddenly the door pulled open. I shot back against a nearby wall in a lame attempt to protect myself. I looked at the figure in the doorway and it didn't look human. The figure bent down, grabbed my ankles, and dragged me on the floor out of the closet into the empty room. I writhed and twisted in its grip. A dim light from somewhere else in the dilapidated house illuminated the figure just enough so I could distinguish human hands as they removed the tie from my ankles. The man reached over and forcefully pulled me up by my shoulders to my feet. Our eyes met for a split second as I stood and in that moment I felt malevolence swarm over my body. His pushed me in front of him and a smile snaked across his lips.

His hand roughly clung to my bare shoulder as he shoved me down a hallway. Everything in the sparsely lit house looked the same, bare and unremarkable. There was a warm glow coming from one of the rooms on the left and he led me in that direction. It was a master bedroom. Once inside I was shoved towards the bathroom. I saw an oversized bathtub nestled in the back under a window. There was a double sink to the right and the white porcelain toilet resided next to it with a towel bar hanging low over the tank. Candles covered just about every surface to provide mood lighting for whatever diabolical plans he had in mind. He moved me over to the sink and untied my hands for a moment, only to tie them to the towel bar. I saw the horrible smirk form on his face as he stepped back to look at his work.

"It'll all be over soon." And with that he left the bathroom. My mind yelled at me to escape. I pulled violently at the bar, foolishly hoping that I could pull it off the wall and run. Then I leaned my head down to meet my hands and try to loosen the gag. As I feverishly worked I heard a thud from the other room. I stopped for just a second and listened and to my horror I saw the man pull Mulder's body into the doorway and toss him on the floor.

No!

"Mulder! What have you done to him?!" I yelled against the gag. The man lunged at me and struck me across the face. Then he snatched my jaw and pressed the flat side of a knife against my cheek.

"Don't worry Girly-Girl. I have plans for him too." I fought the tears welling in my eyes. He moved away from me and went toward the bathtub, reaching for the faucet to turn on the water. I tried to free my hands from the towel bar while he was distracted. My fingers squeezed together and with a tug I was loose then I quickly removed the cloth from around my mouth. I looked out into the other room and saw Mulder stir but just as I did Pfaster noticed I had gotten one step closer to escape and took measures to slow me down. With a flash of metal his knife came quickly across my right hand. I tried to grab it; tried to disarm him for even a moment. He caught my arm and plunged the blade in-between my ribs. I screamed. He attacked me again, this time hitting my upper arm. I took all the strength I could muster and kicked Pfaster in the gut sending him back towards the bathtub. I cried out over the roar of the water and fell to the floor just missing the edge of the sink. I started to crawl in a prone position to the door and out into the bedroom, blood soaking rapidly through my tank top. I had to get to Mulder. He was lying face down on the floor and I could tell he was injured or God knows what else.

"S-Scully.." he muttered as he lifted his head revealing a gash on his cheek. My injured hand reached out for his, finding his fingertips and holding as tight as I could.

"Mulder, please…" I pleaded. "I need you to get up. I can't –" Pfaster was on his feet now. He turned around sharply and quickly ran out to seize my leg. I kicked him in the shin but he still managed to pull me in his direction. I cried out for Mulder as I was dragged back into the bathroom. Pfaster brought my arms above my head and held them together while straddling me. My right arm went numb from the stab wounds and blood started to seep into the bathmat as my body was pressed onto the tile. I winced as he tightened his hold on me, pulling my injured arm more than needed.

"You know," he began once he caught his breath, "I didn't think I'd finally catch the one that got away. That red hair never left my mind. I wasn't going to stop until I found you." My lips moved as I tried to form words, but no sound escaped. He stood and yanked me up off the floor. I could barely fight against him and that's what frightened me the most. I was running out of time. Still with a grip on my shoulders he turned off the water to the bathtub.

"Let her go, Pfaster," said Mulder from the doorway, his voice sounded dark. Pfaster pressed a hand over my mouth before I could put a voice to my suffering. The taste on my lips was nauseating.

"You're not going to take her from me. Not again," said Pfaster. Then he brought his face close to me and smelt my hair making my skin crawl. Then he dropped me in the tub, holding me under. I kicked and thrashed as hard as I could but I was growing weaker. I heard Mulder yell.

Two shots rang out.

The frigid cold water sent a shockwave through my body and stung my wounds. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. I could feel my body shutting down. All of my energy started to fade and I physically couldn't struggle anymore. I couldn't move. My breath slowed as I stared at the ceiling. The lights from the remaining candles flickered back and forth across the walls.

My life started to slip away.

Then I saw Mulder's face above me as he climbed into the tub. He reached in and quickly picked me up from under my arms then shifted my weight so he could slide his right arm under my knees. As he lifted my limp wounded body out of the bathtub I closed my eyes and heard him say "I'm sorry, Scully. God I'm so sorry." He carried me out of the bathroom, leaving the body of Donnie Pfaster behind.

Mulder knelt down with me on the floor of the barren bedroom, holding me tight in his arms. I coughed and sputtered, expelling the bathwater. He pulled out his cell phone and I knew he was calling for an ambulance. "Yes this Agent Mulder with the FBI, I have an agent down!" He gave some more information then tossed the phone aside. One hand pressed firmly on my side, adding compression to the oozing stab wound. "Help is on the way. Just hang on." My eyelids fluttered and I said his name.

"Scully, talk to me. Come on."

"What happened to you?" I asked weakly.

"That bastard cold-cocked me once I made it upstairs. He must have already had you tied-up in the bathroom. God, I should have shot him as soon as I saw him."

"I can't Mulder…" I said with a shiver.

"No. No. You have to stay with me, Scully" he said with a wavering voice.

"I can't feel …I don't…I'm sorry," My words were nonsensical as I tried to focus on him. My fingers grazed his shirt before I lost consciousness.

Mulder began CPR.

His lips felt so warm against mine as he forced air into my mouth. I felt the wetness of his cheek as he leaned in to deliver each breath. I was so numb I barely felt the chest compressions. His hands were soaked in my blood. Desperation crossed Mulder's face after he gave two more sets of compressions and saw no change.

"Dammit Scully, come on! You can't leave me!" I heard him say as he pressed on my chest. His composure was gone as he tried frantically to revive me. Mulder choked out a sob as he clutched me to his chest. He rocked back and forth then let out a primal, gut-wrenching scream.

A siren was heard howling down the street. Red lights flashed in through the window and danced along the ceiling as the ambulance pulled up. The paramedics flung open the door to the house and called in inside. It didn't take them long to find us. They rushed in and took me from Mulder so they could begin their work. He slid back a little and sat with his head in his hands. The EMTs readied the defibrillator to restart my heart. One of the medics cut open my shirt and stuck pads on my bare chest to prepare me before using the paddles. Then a paramedic called,

"Clear!"

I cried out and woke with a start; my hands pushed me into an awkward upright position on the bed. Disoriented at first and head spinning, I started to piece together where I was. The layout of the room became more familiar as my senses came into focus with the morning light. My weight shifted to my left elbow and as I rubbed my eyes I heard the bedroom door open, Mulder said my name as he entered. I sat up and he joined me on the bed. The wave of tension broke and quickly I leaned forward to wrap my arms tightly around his neck.

"I had a bad dream," I said softly, feeling my lip start to tremble as I pulled him closer. I felt like a child that needed to be consoled.

"Tell me," he whispered.

"I was in a house, like when I was taken before." My throat felt dry causing my voice to falter. "Pfaster dragged me into a room lined with candles and was intent on finishing what he started. You were there too but you couldn't - There was so much blood, Mulder," I pulled away from him and drew in a breath to try and regain some sense of composure. "It all just felt so real. " I shook my head and ran a hand over my hair leaving it to rest behind my neck. We sat there for a moment, no words between us. At one point he tenderly kissed the top of my head. Finally he said,

"I was hesitant to tell you, but I heard that song as I was getting ready for bed last night."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah," he looked down and motioned to take my hand, "I tried to call you but you didn't pick up. I guess you could call it divine intervention."

"That was playing in my apartment. He was playing that damn song…" Mulder leaned in and embraced me.

This time I buried my head in his chest and unwillingly started to hear the opening notes of the song fade in once again. My eyes closed and my hands pressed harder against Mulder's back, pulling him closer.

With those phantom tones I was replaying what had happened mere hours ago. The panic of knowing Pfaster was in my home, the anger that drove each blow I threw at him, the fear when he had me pinned down and screaming out for help.

Don't let go.

The tempo sent me reeling back to Minneapolis. That house. That closet. The feel of the rope around my wrists. Falling down those stairs and feeling paralyzed by fear. What was going to happen to me? Would I ever see Mulder again?

Hold on to me.

The rhythm began to fade and I felt the mist in my eyes. I pushed back for a brief moment and looked at Mulder as he brushed away tear that found its way to my cheek.

"Stay with me," I whispered. He nodded and I moved over, allowing him to slip into bed alongside me.

"It's alright. I'm here." He kissed the nape of my neck knowing there wasn't much else he could do but hold me. And that's all I really wanted him to do. At that point I didn't care that I had broken down. I had never wanted him closer to me than in that moment.

I was so tired. My body ached and eventually my sobs began to subside. The air was no longer caught in my throat. I began to listen to the cadence of Mulder's breath and I wasn't sure if he was still awake. My inhale met with his. Once he noticed my breathing began to slow he slid his hand from under mine. Fingertips found a strand of hair and placed it behind my ear. I could feel the sunlight coming through the bedroom window.

"Thank you," I uttered, my voice raspy and heavy with exhaustion.

"Rest. I'm not going anywhere." I struggled to shift positions and turned over to face him. My hand found his cheek and I moved closer, sharing his breath. The hint of smile tugged at his mouth. Ever so slightly my lips parted and I felt warmth as his lips met mine. Soft and tender.

At last I was able to begin to forget.

[kitkatopinions]

You know what always bugged me about Jaune attacking Oscar (aside from the obvious)? It felt like he took advantage of the fact that Oscar was a defenseless child. I doubt he'd have the gall to attack Ozpin in his previous body. Now with Qrow on the other hand, I'm not too sure. One of his more consistent traits is picking fights when he shouldn't.

I don’t know, Jaune didn’t have any trouble charging at Cinder, or lashing out at Qrow around the campfire (though he didn’t attack him physically.) It seems like Jaune was willing to lash out at anyone who might have possibly sort of contributed to Pyrrha’s choice and he seemed more controlled by his grief more than logic or power complex. Idk, thinking he’d be just as physical with adult Professor Ozpin doesn’t seem too far off base. He was pretty illogical. Like, not trying to throw shade. And he did get it right to blame Cinder, obviously, although I feel like Jaune of all people charging at Cinder should’ve resulted in more injury to him than it did.  His actions were frustrating, but were at least understandable for someone (especially a teenager) dealing with grief. But Oscar deserved a sincere apology from him and I’m so glad we started moving on from that.

...If Penny’s death triggers an ‘aggressive Jaune trying to find someone to blame and lashing out at everyone 2.0′ I’ll be very annoyed.

As for Qrow, I didn’t think he’d punch Oz at all before it happened and it confused the living daylights out of me. His fight with Winter was when he was seemingly in a pretty good mood and it seemed like a mutual grudge match he was more or less enjoying. And even though Winter seemed to take it much more seriously, there were moments where she was acting like it wasn’t all that serious too.

Qrow Vs Winter really read like an anime fight where you knew the stakes were low and they weren’t really out to hurt each other - and the person that actually got the closest to breaking that feeling was Winter. Qrow’s other conflicts like his spat with James and his arguing with Raven, those were all verbal fights. Qrow and Winter was (if I recall correctly) the only time we saw him actively get physical with an ally or even a former ally who hadn’t revealed themselves to be working with Salem yet, and again, Winter was the one who first started trying to deal blows and she’s the one who seemed more violent.

I mean, this is Qrow with Raven pre-her working with Salem.

And this is Qrow when she showed up at Haven with Cinder to help her steal the Relic.

So the understanding I at least was working with was that Qrow - while prone to arguments and being rude and disrespectful - wasn’t just a violent person. He fought with Winter because they had some messed up understanding linked to their school-rival-like relationship, and she was the exception, rather than the rule. Outside of her, he only seemed to get physical when the situation demanded a fight.

So Qrow just punching an ally - and longtime friend - because it’d been revealed that he’d lied to Qrow - albeit, about an important detail - seemed really out of left field for me considering the prior established thresh-hold of who he’s willing to attack. Qrow didn’t even reach for a weapon with Raven in the bar while she was getting in the way of Oz’s life saving plans out of selfishness and cowardice and being dismissive of Yang’s pain to his face plus acting kind of aggressively herself. But he was ready to shoot her the minute he thought she had gone to Salem. But Oz wasn’t revealed as having done some horrible, evil, non-understandable thing. He was revealed to have lied out of desperation about something admittedly important in his effort to do what he could to save people. Although I  would’ve liked Qrow to take his side from the beginning, it makes sense for his character to have been mad, upset, and to have lashed out. Like I said before, what Qrow is known to get into is serious verbal fights. But punching Oz? When Oz clearly wouldn’t defend himself? When he’s in a body of a child? When his abuse at the hands of Salem was just revealed? That so didn’t even feel like Qrow!

In my opinion, the punch wasn’t a trackable, Qrow-like reaction that made sense. The punch was what started the whole ‘Qrow is violent’ spiral. It was so out there that I had tried to come up with an explanation (like 'maybe there was an Apathy near by they just didn't know about?') And then I started trying to reason that Qrow seeming to slide into deeper depression and drinking heavier was because he felt super bad about it and he was going to give a big heartfelt apology in Volume 7 when Oz came back, which obviously didn't happen. And then the writers randomly had Qrow fight Clover with Tyrian and decide James was at fault for it and get determined to kill him for most of a season without even having gotten the whole story, plus picking fights with Harriet, only to try and talk her down in the next scene he's in?

Qrow punching Oscar felt like an isolated incident that I was willing to consider a really weird and bad mistake on the part of the creators without throwing out the character, but then in seasons seven and eight, he got more violent and less loveable. But confusingly, sometimes Qrow acts like he used to. He waffles between Good Qrow and Bad Qrow sometimes, and sometimes on a scene by scene basis. Good Qrow would totally try and talk Harriet down, whereas Bad Qrow would totally knock her to the ground and taunt her about getting that fight she wanted. It's so weird to see such disjointed writing that makes characters feel so back and forth. It’s not just Qrow, the CRWBY writers have a tendency to just write whatever they think feels valid in the moment without considering the larger character journeys, I think. And once they start hearing complaints, sometimes they double down, but sometimes they start trying to write their characters to act differently without addressing the flaw itself. Like having Yang act like Summer is her mom again, or having Blake suddenly acting like she's really close friends with Ruby, or having Winter suddenly act like she was against the things she’d been totally fine with last season. So there's every chance they're just gonna pretend Qrow never did the violent things he did, and never address the punch or how he helped fight Clover or how he wanted to kill Ironwood. It's possible season nine or ten will feature Qrow acting like his Volume 3 - 5 self again and the writers just expecting everyone to roll with it.

... I spent way too long talking about Qrow. XD Oh well.

[milfisolde]

under read more bc i put too much effort into my ocs and there is A Lot. tw for violent stuff

this will be updated every time i think of something for him!

deviantart link

Rollick

“The Ravenous” ? idk I suck at titles

no accessories

Size reference

why does he have anime hair if hes a fish? because he’s my oc and i say so

I MADE ICONS FOR THE LOCATIONS AND CLASS AND OTHER CHAMPIONS’ ABILITIES AND TUMBLR WONT’T LET ME ADD THEM WITHOUT FUCKING THE WHOLE POST UP

Short crappy bio

A young shark-like Vastaya. Born in Ionia, west of the island Sudaro. He was captured as a child by  Bilgewater pirates after straying too close to the surface and being found. Was then put to work on the Slaughter Docks, and trained to hunt in the traditional Serpent Isles manner: “launching themselves at their targets to secure tow-hooks with their bare hands, and beginning to butcher the creatures while they yet lived.”.

I need to update myself on League lore, but I would like him 2 be acquaintances with Nami and Fizz. Also, Rollick would have heard stories about Pyke and would find him really cool. Ideally, he would have Johnny Yong Bosch as his voice actor because I love how he voiced Kung Jin in Mortal Kombat X, but I don’t know how he’d do with a pirate accent lmao.

Kit

Would be classed as a Fighter with the sub-class Diver. At least I think he would.  

His kit is basically just a mash-up of multiple champions with extra ingredients. Riot do it themselves, so I'm allowed to, too. Pirate lingo used for most of his abilities and voice lines b/c I'm not creative for naming things.

 Passive "Blow the Man Down." : A mash-up of Rengar and Darius' but more complicated. Auto-attacking 3 times in a row, or using abilities, gives his unused abilities 3 different tiers of empowerment. (Like, if you auto-attack 3 times, use W, then Q, his E will have tier 3 empowerment.). Tiers 2 and 3 gives the target bleed when hit by abilities, applying "Blood in the Water."  Applying the bleed multiple times makes it stack, tier 2 stacks like two stacks of tier 1 bleed, tier 3 stacks like two stacks of tier 2 bleed. How many times can it stack? Idk. 5? 7? 10?? ok probably not 10 that would be stupid.

2nd passive "Clipper." : Rollick moves faster in the river; this move speed scales with his normal move speed.

Q "Feed the Fish." : Tier 1 is a swipe in an AOE cone with his claws. Tier 2 is a small lunge in a targeted direction with two swipes, one with each hand. Tier 3 is a longer distance lunge with a bite. If tier 3 lands on a moving target (examples: scuttlecrab when it dashes, Ezreal using his E), it will follow the target like Warwick Q/Evelynn E. The bite will also heal him for a small amount.

W "Hook, Line, Sinker." : is like Rengar's Bola Strike with a wider but shorter range for tiers 1 and 2, but he leaps in the targeted direction at tier 3 and if he hits something, covers it with his net and stays on top of them for a short amount of time. Tier 2 spins the target around from they way Rollick throws his net and will turn the opposite direction of the way the target was originally standing. If you're facing Rollick and the tier 2 net hits you, your back is now turned to Rollick.

E "Chase." : Warwick Blood Hunt but either less or more annoying. Cooldown is shorter in duration, but so is its active. The passive part of it only shows paths to champions affected with a bleed, burn or poison DOT effect. (Includes: Rollick's "Blood in the Water", Darius'  "Hemorrhage", Brand's  "Blaze", Gangplank's  "Trial by Fire", Lillia's  "Dream Dust", Cassiopeia's  "Noxious Poison" and  "Debilitating Poison", Twitch's "Deadly Venom", Teemo's  "Toxic Shot" and  "Noxious Trap", Singed's  "Poison Trail", the  "Scorch" rune,  "Ignite" summoner spell,  "Challenging Smite" summoner spell, "Azakana Gaze" from  Demonic Embrace, and "Torment" from  Liandry's Anguish.

R "Cleave 'Em to the Brisket!" : Similar to Skarner's "Impale". Rollick takes the hooked blade he has on his belt and lunges at the target, stabbing into the enemy champion's chest with his chest to their back, and drags them away. "Cleave 'Em to the Brisket!" can only be used on a champion that has their back turned towards Rollick. It applies a tier 3 "Blood in the Water." upon use. It can yank champions out of  Displacement Immunity, but doesn't suppress the target champion entirely, they are still able to use dash and blink abilities, use Thresh's  "Dark Passage", recast  "Death Sentence" , and use most movement summoner spells ( Flash, Hexflash, Mark/Dash), but if they do, half of their current HP is taken away from the hooked knife being dragged/yanked out of them. If you are 30% HP and you use one of the movement abilities mentioned, you will leave with 15% HP and two stacks of tier 3 bleed. For 5 seconds after using his ult, Rollick uses his knife to attack, gaining increased auto-attack range and his autos apply a tier 1 bleed stack per hit. The enhanced auto-attacks drag his targets towards him because of the hook part in his knife getting caught on them.

Animation ideas

(I used google to find every gif/picture, save for the “dance” one. they have tumblr links bc when writing this tumblr shit itself when i wanted to save it as a draft and i kept it open in a different tab and copy/pasted everything. im sorry some of the gifs are weird aslkfjdjf)

Walking animation is him using his arms and tail to "crawl". imagine the gif has a tail instead of legs

Running animation is the same concept, just with much more effort put into making himself move faster. Moving in the river looks more like he’s swimming rather than crawling. Slowed animation is him dragging himself slowly with his head facing the ground, putting weight on his elbows instead of using his arms completely. Like an army crawl but in pain.

Idle animation is him crossing his arms and resting on his elbows, then looking around and inspecting his claws.

If left in idle animation for more than 15 seconds, he drops down completely and puts his head in his arms and dozes off. Moving after the sleep idle will have him shake his head awake when starting to move.

Death animation is him trying to crawl, being unable to, then collapsing on his side and flopping onto his back.

Taunt animation is him straightening himself then lashing out with his hands and baring his teeth before "biting" the air in the direction he’s standing, voice lines coming out before the bite part.

Joke animation is him chasing his own tail? Maybe he gets tangled in his net after doing it for a second and just struggles there until the animation is interrupted.

Dance is uh. He straightens up and does knife tricks. He doesn’t have legs, doesn’t have a staff like Nami, and just wouldn’t dance like Cassiopeia.

I made the gif using footage from here.

His laugh animation would be him laughing and flopping onto his back, then turning back onto his stomach. All but one of his laughs would be loud and hearty, the one that isn’t would sound like Kung Jin’s laugh.

Voice line ideas

First encounters:

Bilgewater/Bilgewater themed champion:

"Ahoy!" "Ahoy, bucko!" "Ahoy, scallywag."

Multiple champions simultaneously/champions who have a visible partner/partners with them (examples: Kindred, Sejuani, Lulu with Pix, Elise with her Spiderlings, Azir with his Sand Soldiers):

"Ahoy, me hearties."

Pyke:

"Pyke?! I’ve heard stories of you! Though… You’re smaller than I had imagined..." "Hey there, old salt! " "Ahoy, seadog! "

Nami:

"Good to see a friendly face! Shame it’s on the wrong side." "Oh! Little lass! Have you found your stone yet? "

Fizz:

"Little trickster! Where’s your big friend? "

Illaoi:

“Test? Gonna get myself an A-plus-plus! …That’s the good grade, right?

Taunts:

Any champion:

"Scurvy dog! " "AAARRRRGGGGHHHH! "

Bird/bird themed/winged champion:

"Polly want a cracker? "

Tahm Kench:

“The only creature with an appetite bigger than mine” “You put me to shame with that maw of yours! You could fit me in it!”

Abilities/eliminations:

Tier 3 "Feed the Fish.":

(after used on champion wearing armour/with tough skin)

"Ouch… I think I broke a tooth. Good thing I got more. "

(after used on champion with fur/feathers/long hair)

" (violent spitting-out-fluff noises) Blegh! "

Tier 1 and 2 "Hook, Line, Sinker. ":

"Catch! " "Avast, ye! "

Tier 2 "Hook, Line, Sinker. " after turning someone around:

"Bring a spring upon ‘er! " "Broadside! "

Using "Chase. " with a DOT’d champion in range:

"Chum in the water…" " (deep inhale, then a rumbling growl) "

Using "Chase. " with affected champion visible:

"Lookin’ a bit squiffy there…" " (laughter) Yesss… "

Eliminate champion:

"Take a caulk. "

Eliminate champion while using "Cleave ‘Em to the Brisket!" or the enhanced auto-attacks after:

"Hah, keelhauled! " “Taste me steel n’ may the devil take ye!”

“PENTAKILL!”:

"Dead men tell no tales…"

Respawn:

"What a flogging…" "Alright, I’ve fed the fish… Now it’s their turn. "

Pings:

(Danger!):

"Heave to! " "Avast ye! "

(Assist me!):

"All hand hoy! " "All hands on deck! "

(Assist me!) followed up by (On my way!), or vice versa:

"Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen! "

(Area is warded.):

"They’ve got a lookout. "

(Target champion):

"Thar she blows! " "Sail, ho! " "Savvy? " "Hang ‘em from the Yardarm! "

Miscellaneous:

Allied champion drinks potion or gets healed by another ally when Rollick has missing HP:

"Splice the mainbrace! Please?"

Alone with low HP, no potions or actives available, or sells all items:

"Looks like I’m marooned…"

Healed by ally:

"Feeling shipshape!" "Much obliged." "I’m in your debt." "Thank you!" "Thanks!"

Receives shutdown gold:

"Ha-ha! Plundered! " “Bounty taken.”

Flashing away from enemy:

"Blimey! " "Gah!” "Sink me! " " (girly shriek) "

[sennamybeloved]

📻 + Lucian? :o

TYSM i’ve been wanting to talk about this for months @yokairu

little pistol by mother mother is literally lucian’s theme song, and i’m gonna break it down for you as best as i can. AHEM-

maybe it’s just because i was introduced to the song through nifty-senpai’s bluestar animatic, but to me, little pistol sounds like a downward spiral. it starts with someone - the singer - living a happy normal life, and slowly progresses through tragedy after tragedy.. until that person breaks. the very ending (“and now, i see no tragedy”) signifies the end of the cycle. in bluestar’s case, it was death. but in lucian’s, it was senna’s return. that’s when the war paint comes off.

(art belongs to Nifty-Senpai on youtube! i’m using it as an example-)

back to the bluestar animatic, she was depicted with a streak of red across her eyes for most of the video. it appeared when she was betrayed be tigerstar (the traumatic event) and washed off when she fell into the water (the end of the cycle). i’ve seen some people call this red streak “war paint,” which is what i will be calling it for the rest of this ramble.

now that i’ve gotten all of the animatic comparisons out of the way, i’m going to make an unnecessarily in-depth analysis about the song and lucian’s life. strap on in, because this one is going to be a doozy! :D

(this won’t include my s/i or any headcanons, just pure canon depression)

lucian lived a fairly happy life until senna died. he was this super hopeful and determined person that was full of love, humor and joy. he joined the sentinels of light, which is an ancient order that defends runeterra from the black mist. they basically fight zombies n ghosts n shit. he joined because his dad was a sentinel and it sounded cool and nobel, but senna was a sentinel of light because she had to be. she was cursed - the mist was drawn to her above all else. she had to fight back somehow.

the pair became lovers and senna was literally lucian’s entire world. he built his life around loving her, protecting her, keeping her safe - which is why it was so utterly devastating when thresh took her away from him. in written flashbacks/nightmares (because those exist - thanks riot!) lucian says that he “always turns to slow,” meaning that every time he replays the event in his mind, he’s always the one that fails. he’s convinced that he could’ve saved her (he couldn’t have-) and that it was his fault that she died. pretty depressing, but it explains a lot.

i imagine, if this was drawn like the bluestar animatic, the second “of the world and the way it makes you feel afraid” would be when senna died, and the following lyrics (“it gets in the way” x4) would be lucian’s transition from grief to anger, probably taking place at her funeral. that’s how i’ve always imagined it.

for several years, lucian went on a rampage. he chased down thresh - the one who held his beloved’s soul captive - and cut down anything there stood in his path. wraiths, humans, anything. he was grieving, he was angry, and he was really, really terrifying. every time he gets close to saving senna, he fails. and with each failure, he becomes more bitter. it’s a downward spiral that comes to a painful end during “homebound” - a short story that was released in october 2019.

in this story, he had to help a girl rescue her father’s corpse after a harrowing. while doing this, he realizes how unhelpful he’s been these past few years. in the beginning, he learns from thresh thar senna’s deepest fear is her and lucian suffering side-by-side until the end of all things. he realizes that, while he isn’t physically with her inside the lantern, he has been suffering, and she has been watching.

the lyrics (verse?) that repeats “i lose my mind” is what reminds me of this moment. he has a panic attack (again, thanks riot!) when he realizes this and i think the way that part is sung really represents how his feelings were written, if that makes sense.

the subsequent chorus follows the events of dark passage/the climb/shadow’s embrace, which are the three cinematics that follow lucian’s s*icide mission that ends with senna coming back to life. when she hugs him (pictured in the gif above) is the moment he loses the war paint i was talking about earlier. if i were to ever draw/animate this, i’d have her wipe away his tears, which would wipe the paint away as well.

i could’ve explained this in WAY more detailed but i didn’t wanna dump a whole script for an animation on you, so i’m gonna leave it here. little pistol is a perfect representation of lucian’s story and no i do not take criticism.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Santiago Chalar - Pida Patrón.

Ask, Master

“Ask, Master” is not a song, “Ask Master” is a shout, Pain written in simple words, That could have perfectly been a cry. Rage, passion, disillusion, Bleeding rhyme that I find, Harsh sentence I deliver, For the one, poor or not, That for a handful of coins Sentences to death a horse.

Ask, master, whatever you want, Ask for the largest canter, Ask for the longest breath, But don't sell my flesh. Ask me to swim the rivers, To cross every valley, To become undone in the hills, But don't sell my flesh.

Ask me to ram with my chest The spears it has rammed before, Ask me to get blown to pieces Under the roar of battle, Ask me to let entangle in my mane The death that hovers in the air, Ask me to fall impaled, Drowning my neigh in blood.

Ask me to exhaust my strength In times of peace, pulling and plowing, Threshing the summers In the ripe wheat fields; Ask me to milk the udders Of the mares that have given birth Even if it rushes the foals, So that the folk can drink.

Ask me for botas de potro, That are born of my death, To save in death the traditions of the gaucho people. Ask for whatever you want, From your coat of arms erase me, Make me pull from the poorest carts, It's enough for me if they are from here;

[Ask me] To suffer nasty disdain, But don't sell my flesh. Forget that I made the fatherland On my back with the great, Ask for whatever you want, But don't sell my flesh.