#she is massive and warm and feels like she will absolutely annihilate you with her love but thats just how she is

[lomlompurim]

Found an old lesbingqiu doodle in my gallery

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Twenty Four: We Drink Our Feelings. Like Adults SS: 2 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2K Content Warnings:

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Christmas Day feels like controlled chaos in Ayame's apartment. The tree in the corner twinkles with fairy lights, adorned with a mismatched collection of ornaments, most notably her beloved Smurf figurines, each perched proudly on the branches. Minho's cooking fills the air with the rich scent of spices, roasted meat, and warm bread, making everyone's mouths water.

Ayame sits cross-legged on the floor, her laptop propped open on the coffee table. Minho leans over her shoulder, squinting at the screen like he's the final boss of critique. Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jisung lounge on the couch, balancing plates piled high with food.

Hyunjin takes a massive bite of Minho's honey-glazed ham, moaning dramatically. "This is so fucking good. Minho, seriously, if the whole HR thing ever flops, you could run a five-star restaurant."

Minho doesn't even look up, his attention still on Ayame's laptop. "Shut up and eat, Twiggy. Ayame's got her big-ass board meeting, and we're making sure she walks in there like a goddamn queen."

"Why can't we eat and critique at the same time?" Hyunjin grumbles around another mouthful, his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk.

Seungmin, ever the deadpan observer, cuts in, "Because Minho lives to micromanage. It's his love language."

Jisung stabs a piece of mashed potato with unnecessary aggression, his scowl deepening. "I'm still fucking pissed about Chan. What kind of asshole plays the long con like that? If I see him, I swear, it's on sight."

Ayame shrugs, feigning nonchalance even though her chest tightens at the mention of Chan. "It doesn't matter. I've got this. He's just noise in the background."

Minho taps a few keys on the laptop, then leans back with an approving nod. "Aya, this is some next-level shit. You're going to annihilate that board. They'll be begging to give you the job."

Ayame raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "Does this mean you'll finally stop calling me pabo?"

Minho smirks, reaching over to flick her forehead. "Absolutely not. No matter how badass you get, you'll always be my dumbass. It's tradition."

Jisung slams his fork down with dramatic flair. "For the record, I went OFF on Chan in our group chat. I eviscerated him. Total scorched earth. He's probably still crying."

Hyunjin snickers, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Did you really, or did you send, like, two mildly angry texts and then chickened out?"

"I fucking went in," Jisung snaps, holding up his phone as proof. "Look at this shit! I called him a manipulative dick with more abs than sense."

Ayame snorts, reaching for her wine glass. "Thanks for defending my honour. You're truly the hero I didn't know I needed."

Jisung's eyes light up. "Does this mean I'm officially part of your collection of oppas? Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin... and now me?"

Ayame pretends to think for a moment, then nods solemnly. "Welcome to the club, oppa."

Jisung fist-pumps the air, nearly sending his plate flying. "Yes! I've finally made it. This is the greatest Christmas gift of all time."

Minho snorts, leaning back against the couch with an air of smug satisfaction. He nudges Jisung's thigh with his socked foot, a teasing grin lighting up his face. "Look at that, jagi," he says, voice dripping with mock pride. "You, a Miroh troll, now officially one of us. What a fucking Christmas miracle."

Jisung clutches his chest dramatically, beaming. "Thank you, jagiya! I am honoured to be here, the chosen one, graced by the glorious presence of my Levanter colleagues."

Ayame groans from her spot on the floor, rubbing her temples like she's nursing a hangover. "Please, I am begging you both. You promised me no coupley shit today. Just one day. That's all I ask. That includes pet names"

Jisung gasps, his hand flying to his mouth like she just slapped him. He turns to Minho with exaggerated, wide-eyed horror. "Bad Minho! Bad, bad Minho! How dare you flaunt our unparalleled happiness in front of Ayame's shattered, fragile heart?! She's still piecing her poor, broken soul together after Chan stomped all over it!"

Ayame glares at him. "Wow, Jisung, you're such a fucking hero. Truly, a saint."

Minho chuckles, tossing a throw pillow at Jisung with casual precision. It hits Jisung square in the face, and Minho grins as he leans back. "You're impossible."

Jisung catches the pillow, clutching it like a shield. "I'm not impossible. I'm adorable. Ayame, back me up."

Ayame lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. "You're like a stray cat who keeps showing up at my door. I didn't ask for you, but now you're here, and I'm stuck with you."

Jisung's jaw drops, his hands clutching the pillow dramatically. "I can't believe you just said that! After everything we've been through! I defended your honour!"

Hyunjin snickers from the other end of the couch, popping a piece of ham into his mouth. "Yeah, Jisung, she really sounds like she's super grateful for you."

Seungmin doesn't even look up from his phone. "She's not."

Jisung groans, flopping back against the couch. "You're all terrible. Except Minho. Minho likes me."

Minho shrugs, not missing a beat. "Eh, you're alright."

Jisung sits up, clutching his heart in mock agony. "Traitor! Betrayed by my own jagiya!"

Ayame leans back against the coffee table, shaking her head. "God, you're all idiots. How did I end up stuck with you?"

Minho smirks, leaning over to refill her wine glass. "Fate, Maknae. Absolute fucking fate."

Jisung grins. "And because I'm adorable. Don't forget that part."

"Forget it? I'll get it engraved on your gravestone," Ayame shoots back, taking a sip of her wine as the room dissolves into laughter.

Once everyone finishes eating, Jisung leans back on the couch, balancing his plate precariously on his knee. He glances over at Minho, who's tidying up with a level of precision that could rival a drill sergeant. "Alright, now that I'm officially in the club, am I no longer a Miroh troll?"

Minho doesn't even look up from stacking plates into a perfect tower. "Oh, no. Unfortunately for you, Jisung, being a Miroh troll is permanent. It's in your DNA. You're doomed."

Seungmin smirks from his spot on the floor, his phone in one hand and a half-empty wine glass in the other. "Yeah, don't forget your roots. You might be a traitor now, but you'll always have troll blood."

Jisung groans, dropping his head dramatically against the back of the couch. "God, fine! But at least I'm a troll with taste."

"Debatable," Minho quips, not missing a beat.

Ayame chuckles as she collects glasses from around the room, her movements precise despite the wine she's consumed. "You didn't even have to be here today, you know. Chan's still your friend."

Jisung perks up at that, sitting up straighter as his face twists into mock indignation. "He was my friend. But now he's facing the ultimate punishment. My wrath. My silent treatment. It's brutal."

Hyunjin, draped across the armrest of the couch like a lounging cat in an expensive cologne ad, raises a perfectly arched brow. "You sure he's not gonna find that a blessing? I mean, peace and quiet for once? Sounds like a win."

Jisung gasps like Hyunjin just insulted his mother. "How dare you! My righteous fury is unmatched! The silent treatment is the most devastating punishment in my arsenal."

Hyunjin shrugs with infuriating laziness. "Sure, if you say so."

Jisung pouts for all of five seconds before his gaze lands on Ayame, who's crossing the room with a tray of empty glasses. He leans forward, his curiosity spilling out in his voice. "Okay, Ayame, real talk. What's with the Smurfs? I've been dying to ask since the first time I stepped into this museum of blue chaos you call an apartment."

Ayame freezes mid-step, a glass still in her hand. Her lips twitch as she debates how much to share. Finally, she sighs and sets the tray down. "When I was a kid, my eomma was always busy doing her lawyer shit. She'd leave me home alone a lot, so I'd just watch The Smurfs on repeat for hours. It was like having company, you know?"

Jisung's expression softens instantly. "Oh. Shit. That's actually kind of sad."

Ayame shrugs, trying to brush off the weight of the confession. "It's not that deep. It is what it is."

"Your eomma sounds cold," Jisung says.

Ayame snorts. "She's cold. She's efficient. Practical. Like a robot. With impeccable hair."

Seungmin sets his wine glass down, narrowing his eyes at her. "And you kept collecting smurfs because...?"

"They make me happy, okay?" Ayame replies, a slight edge to her voice. "They're nostalgic. Like a little reminder that I survived that shit."

Jisung nods solemnly. "Damn right. And now you've got an army of tiny blue allies. No one's gonna fuck with you."

"Except Chan," Hyunjin mutters under his breath and Seungmin slaps him upside the head.

Minho, sprawled out on the floor with his wine glass dangling from his fingers like he's in the middle of a Renaissance painting, glances at Jisung with mock exasperation. "You forgot to mention the fun part, Aya. Prepare to hear her tale of woe Jisung. Ayame's dad died in a car crash when he was leaving her and her eomma. Then her eomma tried to turn Ayame into a little corporate robot lawyer. Ayame, of course, had the audacity to think for herself, and now they barely talk."

"Jesus Christ, Minho," Ayame snaps, glaring at him, though there's more exasperation than actual anger. "Do you have to air all my trauma like it's a fun fact?"

Jisung's mouth drops open as he stares at her, looking genuinely horrified. "Uh, Ayame, have you, like, tried therapy? Like, professionally? With an actual licensed therapist?"

Ayame snorts, leaning back against the couch. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

Minho jumps in before Jisung can answer, gesturing dramatically at himself and then toward Ayame, Hyunjin, and Seungmin like they're a fucking art installation. "We don't do therapy."

Hyunjin raises his wine glass as though it's a prize-winning trophy. "Yeah, therapy is so... what's the word? Not slay of us."

Seungmin, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his wine glass balanced on one knee, doesn't miss a beat. "We drink our feelings. Like adults."

Jisung looks at them, utterly scandalized, his wide eyes darting between their faces like he's watching a car crash in slow motion. "Oh my god. That's- that's not normal. That's not fun. That's fucking alarming."

"Relax," Ayame says, rolling her eyes and gesturing vaguely at Jisung's wine glass. "You're drinking your feelings with us right now. Welcome to the club."

"No," Jisung says firmly, shaking his head as he gestures wildly. "No, this isn't a club. This is- This is mental illness. You guys are insane."

"You say insane," Hyunjin says, reclining dramatically against the couch cushions, "but we say mentally spicy."

"Mentally spicy?!" Jisung yells, his voice cracking slightly. "That's not even a fucking thing!"

"It is now," Seungmin deadpans, taking a slow sip of his wine. "Mentally spicy. Trademark it. Put it on a t-shirt."

Jisung throws his hands up, looking between them like he's debating running for the door. "I fucked Minho because he was the hot HR guy from Levanter, okay? I befriended all of you because I thought you were quirky, like fun weird. But no, you're not quirky! You're clinically fucking insane!"

Ayame doubles over, laughing so hard she nearly spills her wine. "Oh my god, Jisung, this is us. You're in too deep now. You can't leave."

"I don't know," Jisung mutters, narrowing his eyes at Minho. "I might just ghost you all."

"Good luck," Minho says with a devilish grin, leaning over to poke Jisung's knee. "I know where you live, and I've already got a key."

Jisung glares at him. "Why do you have a key to my apartment?"

"Because you let me stay over when I was drunk, remember?" Minho says innocently. "I made myself a copy. Very mentally spicy of me, don't you think?"

Hyunjin lifts his glass again, smirking. "To mentally spicy decisions."

Seungmin clinks his glass lazily against Hyunjin's. "To bad coping mechanisms."

Jisung groans, slumping back against the couch as Ayame raises her glass in mock triumph. "Welcome to the chaos, Jisung."

"I hate all of you," Jisung mutters, though the corners of his mouth twitch like he's fighting a smile.

"You love us," Ayame says, smirking as she takes another sip of her wine.

Taglist: @fackeraccount @ot8girlfie @nightmarenyxx @reimaybeidk

@ismelllikechlorine247 @drewsandsebastianswife @my-neurodivergent-world @rhonnie23 @hanji-coffee

@skzleeknowcore

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTERS 10 + 11

we had a week of peace and now we’re gonna get annihilated!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i have no clue how long this liveblog may end up but hell and high water i’m combining them both

she tore the jade pendant from her neck and flung it into the darkness.

let’s give a warm welcome, to sadness,

i’m very excited for all-new cinder content hhhhhhh if u havent gathered by now I Love This Bitch and I Love Her Many Problems so im thankful for this gift 😞

Cinder was a ruin, her pride carved and served like slabs of meat.

i can FEEL diesel n kc rly patting themselves on the back for every bit of wet meat they can toss at me!!!!!!!!!! U HEAR THAT I CAN FEEL U!!!!!!!!!!! but also i still love this shit w/ all my heart!!!!!!!!!! IM NEVER GONNA STOP SAYIN IT

She had never looked at Glynda’s files.

im so sorry cinder baby but that whole thing? is still HILARIOUS oh my GOD i cannot believe you fucked up that badly. u shoved yr entire head into a beartrap. u absolutely crapped yr pants on that one. yr gonna be thinking abt that on yr deathbed,

/looks at the chapter title again

hhhhhhhh im. so pumped. its gonna be hard to talk abt most of this w/o doing a million fingerguns a minute but i’m gonna try my best

Cinder approached the mirror and touched its silvered face with black-tipped claws,

I SAID IM GONNA TRY MY BEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She was iron barbs beneath the nail bed, glowing coals underfoot, the singular capacity to do harm. She was a beast, armed with fang and claw and a deep, dark void where her compassion should have laid, and she was dressed for dinner.

HHHHHH god YES THIS IS THE CINDER IM THIRSTY FOR............ i literally cannot say anything that isnt a massive 👈😎👈 but AAAAAAA

like im reading thru this and i cant cherry-pick lines this whole bit? is SO GOOD...  kc n diesel are Yet Again obliterating me w/ their mastery of the narrative style of offal hunt and i just love all of this i rly wish i could explain how offal hunt is EXACTLY MY BRAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! F U C K

The final touch on her mastercraft disaster: the four sawed-off horn stumps which grew among her silver-streaked hair.

HOOOO B O I i am. Losin it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE HER HORNS.......... CINDR...............

Wretchedly, she wondered: did Glynda even respect her now?

any other villain: my plan didnt work and im mad >:( cinder fall: my plan didnt work and now im mad but also mostly sad :(

CINDER’S TRYING HER BEST GOD.......... i literally hate how the remaster has made her So Soft, Actually... I BELIEVE IN U CINDER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE U!!!!!!!!!!!!! DO YR BEST

Every part of her was hot and hollow. She was sick with loathing.

i LOVE HER.... CINDER I HOPE U KNO THAT YR LOVED... god tho i dont like how SAD I AM RN... cinder’s so small and the world is so big and wants 2 Shit On Her blease

honestly like. im rly- LOOK I SAID THIS BEFORE BUT. this is why im rly lovin the new cinder content because in the first version we only got glimpses of her internal machinations and now we’re in full-blown Always Sad territory and everything is suffering :)

She blinked. Her double did not.

‘well’, thought murphy. ‘that’s terrifying.’

she’d only survived thanks to a keen instinct for danger, cultivated during her tenuous teenage years.

i NEED. I NEED. CINDER BACKSTORY. all these lil nuggets dont constitute a meal! I WANT A BIG MAC AND FRIES. WHAT THE HELL WAS THIS BABY DOING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

also again. the body horror of offal hunt? peak content. Im Lovin It

its getting harder to divine what is and what is not a 👈😎👈 because we got bits sprinkled around and theres only rly a spoiler potential if u glue em all together so im still being extra careful and the answer is blared in everyones faces so this whole kondor scene will go uncommented unless some Bullshit Happens which it will, so,

When she had become so invested in Glynda’s approval? When had a desire to be recognized as something inhuman, something ferocious, something black and terrible and capable of keeping up with Glynda Fucking Goodwitch turned into this?

oh! oh! i have the answer! i do! i know the answer! it’s you a lesbian,

The spectres of her youth haunted this city, owl-eyed children and fox-eared teens. They’d been a second sort of family, the only kind she’d had within these walls, and she’d wondered what had become of them in the past decades, but…

It was too sentimental, and she wasn’t meant to be a creature of sentiment.

oh boy okay wow

okay so actually this bit made me cry??? fuck OFF im losing it!!!!!!!! LET HER BE SENTIMENTAL!!!! LET HER HAVE PPL TO CARE ABT!!!!!!!!!! IM LITERALLY CRYING IM GONNA DIE!!!!!!!!!

She would go barefoot from this point on, her heels clutched at her side. When she left the hotel room to steal into the night, she promised herself not to look back.

im sorry im just. so sad rn. i havent cried over a fic in YEARS and we still have another chapter ago i hate this SO MUCH..............

here comes chapter 11 

if i cry even once more im going to stab!!!!!! im not sure what BUT ILL STAB!!!!!!!!!!!!

Even without his wings, the Manticore would easily have been twice the size of any of the other Grimm, far outstripping them in sheer bulk.

HATI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HATI HATI HATI

holy shit we actually get to see him this time!!!!!!!!!!! WE GET TO SEE THIS LEGENDARY BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS CHONCC,

also hes a manticore now which is, Radical, may i just say, and just a little bit sexy,

The effortless grace in each move betrayed power most Grimm would not live to achieve. Once he stood, he had to dip his head low to meet her eye to eye. His canines were the length of her forearm.

if u werent here for the remaster? we never even SAW hati but now hes here, hes Big, and rly thats all that matters,

Like a child who’d been allowed to lie and lie until at last they’d strangled themself in the web they’d spun, Cinder couldn’t speak. Could only wait on his verdict.

every single one of cinder’s inherent themes is killing me and this business w/ family? stop. im dying. this is rude

The scant space between them popped and cracked like an sparking flame, warm and effervescent, and this time, Cinder lingered, hugging Hati close.

IF I CRY ONCE MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I MEAN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IF U ASSHOLES MAKE ME CRY ONCE MORE I WILL DOXX YOU,

aaaaaaaaaaaaaah im loving this content i rly dont have words for it dhjfgsdfgjh i just, rly like the words, and the order theyre in, and i honestly keep forgetting to liveblog it cause i just wanna READ EM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tempting as it was—as it always had been, ever since she’d left the relative safety of the wastes and learned what happened to scraggly-limbed teens with horns and fangs and gleaming eyes—

with every chapter i desperately have 2 kno more abt baby cinder i HAVE to know i am so. UNBEARABLY CURIOUS... baby cinder what happened... what happened 2 u....

A lantern’s glow warmed her, bleeding into the darkness leeching at them both. It was a gentle gold across her skin, and like an answering signal from a distant outpost, Cinder saw a flush of light through the dark fur lining Hati’s throat, as though flames licked at his insides.

i forgot. that cinder glows like that when she feels Loved or full of pride and you know what i dont like these chapters. they were made to hurt me and i Dont Like That (im mclovin it)

From the safety of Hati’s neck, she found it easier—after all this time, he was still her bastion.

WHEN YOU REALISE? THAT YR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES?? STOP,

For a regular person, the machine would be able to draw out short bursts of power, the likes of which no Semblance could ever channel. The taxation would eventually destroy the soul so deeply, so thoroughly, as to leave it empty for good.

For a Witch? For—

the fact. she cut herself off before she could think ‘for glynda’. has me on the FLOOR. this bit is just So Much i dont like it

Glynda Goodwitch would not abandon this hunt. Cinder knew it, had read it from her palms like an open book—Glynda Goodwitch did not know how to stop. If it had been anyone else on Remnant, they might never return, might never pull themselves back into action after today—but Glynda did not have a shred of self-preservation.

me, knocking against cinder’s head: u kno for someone w/ so many schemes in yr brain yr pretty dumb and gay, huh,

firstly let’s talk abt cinder’s “””””””””””””””””””self-preservation””””””””””””””””””” instin-- whats that? not found? yes

[Glynda’s] eyes were empty, hungry, insatiable.

i feel like ive read this line before! lets jump back a chapter--

In [Cinder’s] eyes, there was a subtle, endless hunger.

WAKE UP CINDER SHE’S YR SOULMATE!!!!!!!!!!! THE COFFEE’S READY U CAN SMELL THE BACON FROM HERE WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With a fluid leap, they were in the air, the ground quickly shrinking beneath them. Pressing her face against his neck to shield herself from the wind, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for what was to come, trusting Hati to deliver her safely.

that said i ADORE my boy hati is literally the best part of offal hunt kc and diesel do not interact,

He was frozen in horrific anticipation, like watching an imminent tragedy and being absolutely helpless to stop it. Like all the tension was mixed with grief and hopeless, futile fear.

when will offal hunt be nice to me. when will any of these characters get to be happy. hello. im full of sadness.

The sound was like a saw working back and forth, but resonating inside her head, rattling every tooth in her jaw, deafening to her ears.

im literally gritting my teeth at this i can hear it in my own head and its Very Bad!!!!!!!!!!!!! GOD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

okay god i can barely handle to quote anything more this bit is hurting ME so lets swiftly move on before I Die

Cinder closed her weary eyes, sinking into sleep like a shallow grave.

BE NICE TO HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BE NICE TO HER JUST THIS ONCE, PLEASE, IM BEGGING YOU,

They only knew death, only ever sought death; fangs and claws slicked with blood, magic rending meat and marrow apart, and everywhere that choking, scalding heat, spilled blood like magma, like the core of a planet.

hmm... that seems like a 👈😎👈 ~reference~

They were all alert, ears pricked, hackles raised like Hati’s. They all fixed on the same spot, somewhere beyond the darkness of the cave opening, and though she could barely think, she knew:

She was out of time. The Witch was here.

oh no.

okay so THATS CHAPTERS 10 AND 11! i only cried ONCE and u kno what thats. a Victory. these two chapters were VERY GOOD i rly loved em and i can tell new readers r gonna have a blast w/ this shit!!!!!!!!!! meanwhile i, a veteran reader, am full of peril,

terrible.

[nova-enjane]

Many days and many nights I have been ever so frustrated with myself, that I allowed such a wonderful and creative drive be annihilated by such a spiritual malaise. To have the passion I that filled me with a light to deafen even the largest of stars in the Cosmos, be drained. For years all I could do is mope and mull over my lost soul, the thing that drove me to live, a thing that was apart of me as much as I was apart of it. It loved me, I knew, but the heart is a fickle thing; an ounce of resistance and it's ready to cave. Or maybe I just wasn't well equipped enough to forge a heart of pure diamond, one marvelous and indestructible. Certainly, my years of stagnation can attest to this. So rather than take the reigns of my life and charge forward to carve down any challenge that entered the fray, I put up my blade and armor and shield. Eventually, this became destructive and more times than I am comfortable sharing with no more than a handful of people, I attempted suicide. None could be said to be serious attempts. I mean, yes, I was serious about wanting to kill myself, but cowardice runs both ways it seems.

     And the years moved on by with their humorous stride, laughing at me all the while, I imagined, as my youth would surely be wasted, and those beautiful Summer nights in a home I bought for my family would never come. We had even gone to Amana and Heartfield, Michigan to see if that would set alight some creative flame within me. Alas, it had not. My passion was gone, and who would be to blame for that? Everyone has a different answer for that, either sugar-coated or given with a lead fist to the heart. Thinking of who or what to blame isn't what matters anymore though because Spring has come once again. I will bloom once more! And the first thing I want to write about is a dream I had one night as I slept in my ex's bed, him the little spoon, body warm against mine, after a night of bed tumbling, no doubt. His mother asleep in the room adjacent to ours. The world was dark and everything was alright despite what demons I had been fighting at that time. Right then and there I could not have been more content with my life, I will be forever grateful for that. I drifted off to sleep with his plump body in my arms, knowing my arm would be nearly dead when I awoke. The dream I had, although short, filled me with the sort of seeking spirit I had so longed for. One strongly vivid.

     The advent of another night's sleep is always an exciting thing, like beginning a new novel or film.  For me, dreams served as a great respite from the pains of my waking world. No matter how terrifying, I was always eager to see what each night's internal play would be. For any artist, I guess, dreams would be a great source of joy and inspiration. I was always fascinated by the brain's amazing ability to translate waking experiences into vivid films where we or someone else star in. They're a part of our inner selves, our deepest emotions, thoughts, hopes, and dreams; they are a reflection of how we perceive the world around us. A microcosm of our daily lives, should I say? And besides my philosophical feelings toward them, I am just mesmerized by how wacky they can be.

     One moment you're back in school on the day your teacher made you call your mother in front of the entire class after your friend's new haircut urged you to connect your hand with the back of his head. Only this time she's naked, her breasts and sex laid bare for the entire world to see, and your principal turns out to be Godzilla in a suit. Or maybe you're a part of your favorite horror film, only this time your dog is the villain, your grandmother their accomplice. Maybe you dream of promenading through a city with your lover, everyone looks on in envy, it's perfect. When suddenly a dragon swoops in and terrorizes the city and it is up to you and them to save everyone. Then there are those dreams so utterly mystifying that they stick with you for the rest of your life. Dreams so unbelievably beautiful you never want to wake up. You think this is the world that's meant for you, you'll stay here, and your waking body can rot for all you care. And your entire life you may be trying desperately to recall that one dream, that is so perfectly envisioned in your mind, every night you fall asleep.

     Some people subscribe to the notion that our dreams lay in the astral realm, where our highest selves reside, and dreaming is just one of the ways we can enter this state. Ever the skeptic, I usually scoffed at such ideas; how could one know this, how could one prove it? But as I stood there at the end of Juniper Rd. and Falcon dr., gawking at what was an ethereal version of the woods of the park in the waking world, I had begun to doubt my own skepticisms.

   Dreams will always, no matter what, evoke awe in me with each new experience, but it wasn't only what I saw that struck me, not really. It is only natural that one encounters the insane, the irrational, the ridiculous, for that is their nature. All of it just felt so unbelievably real; the surging euphoria; the racing of my heart; the sweat beads that emerged on my forehead; the clenching of my toes; the breeze against my skin; my rapid breathing; and I swore there was a sweet pang in my privates. And tears welled at the back of my eyes; it was like nothing I had ever felt before.

   All of this gave me a sense that I was there, that I had simply left my lover's home and traipsed right on down Juniper for a casual walk through the woods. But this

was nothing like the park in the real world. Where in reality it was any old

plain wood, right before me was something far grander, far more beautiful than that.

   It was suffused with a faint golden aura, as if the color itself lived in the very air, living just above every other color, trying to overtake them. And the trees! Cosmic lord, they must have scratched the sky itself, they were so tall, their leaves were an odd shade of twinkling purple. Two massive sentinels flanked the entrance to the wood, making me think of two guards standing aside, permitting me entry into a castle of a great legend. I could see milky white spots dotting their bark.

   There was a voice, loud and powerful. Was it a sort of sighing? No, it sounded more like the musical humming of a woman -multiple women, in fact- sounding off in perfect unison.

I thought that maybe I had just died. maybe I somehow died in my sleep next to my lover, and this is my place of eternal rest, I thought as I beheld this heavenwood. Had I? I had no real basis for that assumption, but I felt this is what it must feel like after death.  

     I stepped forward, seemingly tugged forward, as if the wood itself was eager for me to enter, like a lover guiding their significant other to their sweet place. I was elated to once again be able to explore another strange realm, though underneath this I remembered a faint sense of dread inching its way into my body, like a cursed worm burrowing its way into the soil of a lively garden. Despite this, I took a step forward, and another, another, smiling as I did. The pull becoming stronger with each step. I simply had to go, I had to know what secrets may lie within.

Dreams have a penchant for teasing us, waking us up before the moment of climax, to deny us that one amazing moment. That is what I expected here, to be instantly thrust from this dream by invisible hands into the waking world. But as I passed the two sentinel trees I was surprised, yet ever grateful, to still be standing there.

     Being inside of the wood was like passing through a veil of darkness. Where the outside world was harsh and spiritually bereft, here all was immediately set to rights. There was a feeling all was right with the Universe, though something in the core of my being trembled briefly, like some other unknown emotion was trying to surface. It gripped my throat, tightened my chest, and pushed at the back of my eyes. Why should any negative emotion be felt when surrounded by such beauty?

      I looked up, from what I could see between the trees, the sky was an odd hue of gold. The trees themselves were turning pale, flecks of gold stood out on their bark like HIV blisters. There were white flowers growing under each of them, hundreds of them huddled together like lost children in a harsh winter storm. They were bent in dejection, but there was a force within them, trying to resist this, I could feel it.

       As I walked through the trees a caring breeze blew through the trees. I sucked it in at once, feeling at once alive and so at home. The air was sweet with the familiar smells of apples and oranges, of strawberries and lemon and pineapple mixed in with the aroma of the flowers. There were strange and unfamiliar smells as well, all pleasant. I inhaled this cacophony of smells and was once again surprised by how real this all felt. How absolutely right it felt.

    I gasped as I saw animals suddenly emerge from the trees on either side of me. They traveled solemnly, soundlessly, through the trees ahead. I could see that not all of them were critters of Earth, some, I was sure, was the fantastical creations of this dream world. They just had to be.

    In my dazed astonishment, I moved with them as silently as I could, for fear of disturbing something so peaceful, so serene, so amazingly wonderful. A rosy, iridescent avian creature with two sets of wings flew ahead of me, another, blue this one, flew after it. I walked among them for a while minute before some movement to my left snatched my eye, so fast I wasn't sure I had seen anything at all. I moved over in that direction between two trees, where under them pale and purple flowers were blooming. Or at least attempting to. I kneeled to take took a closer look at these, wide-eyed to see planets shining brightly in their pistils, Slowly turning on their axis. The sight was so mesmerizing, seeing miniature worlds in such pretty flora. That feeling once more arose inside of me, this time threatening to burst from my body, but I held willed it away once more. What was odd was that as this was happening, every flower pointed in my direction and stretched toward my face, as if trying to plant a kiss.

   Suddenly there was this warm pressure on my back, then I felt something lick the nape of my neck. What the everlasting hell? I thought,  trying to feel whatever had landed there. Then it was gone like a ghost. I whirled trying to see what had thought to make my back its seat and my neck its licking post. But there was nothing. The animals solemnly on their way, ever so quiet, paid me no mind, so I couldn't have been them. I waited for a moment. Again, nothing. Finally, I decided to continue my walk among the flood of animals. I only took two steps before something descended before me, moving so fast it was a blur. It darted in the air from side to side like an especially prankish fly.

      A moment later it slowed, moving up and down in the air as if it were traveling on small waves. At first glance, one could mistake it for a salamander, but a closer look told otherwise. It had to be no bigger than a human head, its body was plump, its belly translucent, eyes burning green opals. Its skin, I could see, was white, pearlescent and covered in mesmerizing patterns. The head reminded me of the glans of a penis. I tried making out more of its features before it began a series of flips and turns. It twirled in the air once again, arcing around and around twice, then curled into a perfect ring, spinning like this twice vertically, horizontally, then shot all four its feet outward, it's belly facing me. Its long tail swayed from side to side like a pendulum, glowing a faint and murky green, like a dying candle. It looked as if it had just finished a show of acrobatics and was saying "Tada!", waiting for me to give it applause. I did so with a smile of delight, chuckling; the creature was adorable, how could I not? It fell on its back -in the air, mind you- and rolled back and forth, giving off what sounded like laughter, sounding just like the winding of a music box key.

    Finally, it ceased its laughter, then twirled around my body and kissed my cheek with a faintly radiant tongue. It left a tingly feeling that was surprisingly pleasant. Then it went off a little ways ahead. Stopped. Turned to notice I wasn't following and made a series of noises that only made it sound eerily similar to a child, but rather than unnerve me, I thought the sound made it cuter.                                                    

     So I followed it through the trees, wandering beside the flood on either side of us, through trees of remarkable size and shape. Their purple, nearly black leaves swaying morosely in the wind.            

       As I went along with this alien looking salamander,  I began to notice more of its species. They crawled and swam on every tree, some seemingly asleep, some flitting about, frantically secreting some kind of fluid onto the trees from their mouths. We crossed a rusty and dingy bridge, under which was a dying version of what must be the creek. Along its edge were more of these creatures, desperately supping from what was left of its waters. The one I was following made a sound of dejection at this depressing sight, slumping in the air. And again, that feeling came to me like a hot arrow to the heart. Guilt and shame mixed in with this as well. I wish I could help them somehow. If this is a dream, my dream, then I can do something about this, I thought. I could conjure this substance for them to drink. So I crossed the bridge, walked down a dirt slope to the creek. The alien salamanders watched me, some licked their lips, others laid where they were, watching in anticipation. I held out my hand to the creek and concentrated, focusing on trying to spring life in it once again, to give them what they so desperately needed. Though no matter how hard I focused, nothing would happen. All of them made a sound of deep disappointment, all sounding eerily human, and this did give me gooseflesh. I made an apology, my friend resting on my shoulder, made that same sound. Some drank from what was left of the creek, while others simply flew away. I wished there was something I could do for them, I felt it was my responsibility to do so.

   My salamander friend flew from my shoulder, and so we continued onward to the Cosmos knows where, the musical humming never stopping, becoming stronger even, as we ventured deeper. This wood, or what I was now thinking of as a forest, was mighty sad indeed. There was a sense of great loss of something essential. One could see it in the moping lean of some of the trees, the desperation of the flowers at their base that wanted to bloom vibrantly. Even these animals that walked through them appeared despondent. We went on and on amongst the universe of trees, and as we went the singing grew louder and louder. Coming from everywhere, the sky and the trees, the flowers, the air,  the ground beneath my feet. And that pulling sensation, becoming ever stronger.

   We eventually came to a wide clearing in the forest, where the trees were sparse, destitute, their bark shone a shocking shade of white that was almost blinding. Some lay on the forest floor, curse-rotted and withering away, while others leaned, ready to fall over on their neighbors. The field was covered in billions of withering white and purple flowers. This was opposed by the fabulous golden sky above, that shone like a sunset fire opal, the clouds looking like great flying kingdoms that wanted to escape from this destitute land. Far ahead of me were three figures, girls from the look of them, floating in the air. A dark figure stood below them. Behind them was a tall glass edifice, poking possibly a hundred feet into the sky, branch pointed in every direction. There, the land rose slightly and didn’t seem to continue on. The humming lowered to an almost mournful whisper. That pulling sensation intensified here, I could feel it reaching inside of me, moving past my flesh and bone, reaching for my core, then seizing it like someone who has dropped an important item in some dark hole and has finally got a grip on it.

      There were many more of those salamander creatures here in this field, some of them looked nearly as big as a house, their bellies nearly depleted of that strange fluid. These two large alien salamanders began to fly around and around a tree, gnarled like an ancient grandfather,  leaning on a friend (who seemed to be lifting from its roots as well), who seemed to swear to carry both their burdens. They did this slowly at first, but they soon picked up to a suicidal speed, creating a sound like the high-pitch drone of hoard wasps. As they did this, the tree began to rise off its friend and re-root to its original posture. Its friend feeling ever grateful and resuming its original position as well. The others were also trying desperately to heal whatever sickness was ailing this land, exerting every last ounce of energy they had.

      Something feeling of profound gratitude welled up within me at the sight of this; there was a rock in my throat; my sinuses felt blocked by cement; my eyes began to sting. I fell to my knees and began to sob, the pain I felt was enormous, my body was shaken, I could not control it. My salamander friend glided to me and laid against my body, its arms squeezing me gently. I hugged it gently against my belly. It looked at me, appeared to smile, made that child-like sound again, then began licking the tears from my eyes. My grieving quickly turned to bewilderment, and then laughter as my tears were sucked clean from my face. It laughed its strange laugh as well, when it stopped, it bid me follow once again, into the field of pale, withering flowers, brushing my hands against the alien flora as I did. I could see that the pilgrimage of animals was heading this way as well, emerging from the milky sea of trees and from the sky above.

    What do we say when we experience something beyond our comprehension, that makes us feel like no other experience has? That there were no words to describe such a thing, that no human language has even one word to ever come close to conveying how an event made you feel. Sometimes I just think some of us lack the vocabulary for such a thing, or maybe imagination. Certainly, I am a victim of this as well, as many amazing moments, I found myself pulling from great murky depths for that one apt descriptor. Though words never need come to mind. Why should they? When your face, your voice, and how you felt is far more than enough to convey what words never will. Sometimes, that's all one needs.

   When we reached the three girls the singing stopped with an echoing sigh. And then the world took on an eerily quiet texture, like you could feel the silence. I stood in awe at this woman that stood before me, naked and odd and beyond beautiful. Her body swam with colorful nebulae and stars and galaxies. It was absolutely mesmerizing. I thought if I touched her I would simply fall through her, and be lost in the depths of space. She spoke to me. Her voice was like a cool breeze on a warm Spring day; it set my heart to rights instantly. She said she was called Cosma. “Great All’s tits, you have returned to us, after so long. All of you, those above and below, you see this? They have come again. Nnar will be ecstatic!” I turned to a great garden of creatures of all kinds, waiting in attendance. All gazing at me. Off in the distance, the alien salamanders did their work, tending.

   The three girls descended from the air, each looked about ten years old. One girl was black, one Asian, the last girl, white. This one stood between the other two, messy golden hair covered in the lovely iridescent white flowers, eyes blazing in the sun like purple fire. She wrapped her arms around the two other girls, pulling them closer to her. My salamander friend wasn't taking too kindly to her, making a low, childish growling noise. I cared nothing for that sly regard like she was privy to something no one else was. They were all wearing gorgeous dresses that must have been spun from the Universe itself.

     “Please don’t ever make us wait like that ever again,” the blonde-haired girl says. “Mother and the other gods have had enough of it. I mean, what the hell is with you? Look at this. It’s rotting!” The reproach in her voice was almost palpable, a sharp knife in the ear. It was enough to fill me with profound guilt and shame. I lowered my head. She shook her head, star earrings twinkling. “Tsh, you’ve got some good nerve. You get a good look at the shit you left? That ain’t even half of it.” Her dress twinkled with the light of multiple constellations of which I have never seen or heard of, against the backdrop of a colorful cosmos. All twenty of her nails were painted a glowing white. Her lilac eyes beamed at me, though her smile never faded.

   All I could do was apologize, to tell them that what I have done was nothing short of cowardly, that I will fight to never let it happen again.

   The black girl walked over to me, her large amber eyes showing nothing but the deepest compassion. Her dress moving and pulsed with the light of myriad galaxies. She had the cutest afro puffs and a wavy line of hair down the side of her face, on which glowing tree had been painted. She wrapped an arm around one of mine, some of her fingers covered in ornate cuffs. She looked at her sister defiantly, said: “What is done is done, Nissia, dah; now we can focus on healing,”

   “Now we can focus on healing,” Nissia mocked in an eerily good imitation of the other girl’s voice. “Fuck that!” She began to growl something in an alien tongue, looked with narrow eyes at the Asian girl, “Amaterasu?”

   Amaterasu skipped merrily over to me. She looked like a mix of Japanese and Korean. Her hair was in two large plaits that hung from her shoulders, bouncing as she came. She looked up at me, eyes jade marbles, with nothing but respect and love. She wrapped an arm around mine and said, “You did leave this place poorly tended, but we know you were in such great pain; you couldn’t have taken on that responsibility, as despondent as you were.” she said. Looking at their dresses made me feel as though I could fall right into them if I had a mind to touch them. The salamander I had been following rested on her shoulder. “But we must get to work. You have many years of it ahead, but we’ll be there, right alongside you," she said, with a reassuring smile, her lovely choker of many jewels glinted in the sunlight.

   “Mother, permission to destroy both her and Dolomiah,” said Nissia, as she held out her both her hands, the palms glowing brightly, two small bright orbs emerged from this light. They looked like small stars. “I shall make it quick, for they are my sisters.”

   Cosma put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and said: “You’ve had enough time to grieve; now it is time to weave out the Great Nexus and tend to your garden, for us and for All. You understand, me? ” Those bright eyes regarded me intensely, and I knew the seriousness of what I had done, but I had returned and now I had a job to do, one I could not afford to fail at.

   “And it all starts through there.” She moved aside, her arm outstretched toward their glass edifice up the small slope. It went up-up-up into the golden sky above, so reflective the world may have lived inside it, the sun appearing to reflect from within, the trees in that reflection were tall and beautiful, their leaves a lovely azure, the flowers were a shocking hue of red. What I saw almost made me weep once again, but I held my composure, I could not grieve again, that was over with. There was an opening at the base, inside it was nothing but blackness. This is where the pull had been coming from.

   Dolomiah and the Asian girl lead me up to the opening, the golden-haired girl following behind. That pulling sensation was no longer eager, it was demanding. I thought my skin, my bones, my utter soul would be crushed beneath that pull.

    "It'll be okay. Okay? My Brightest star, tell them," said Dolomiah. She looked at Amaterasu.

       She closed her eyes and smiled, tilting her head to the side. "You'll see some frightening things, but you won't hurt. Promise." She nodded and looked at the Dolomiah.

     “Promise,” softly, warm and comforting.

     "Tch, yeah, you two know that ain't true. Stop fucking with them and let's do this," the golden-haired girl said impatiently. I felt two hands push against my back and that was it. I was sucked in immediately It didn't hurt. Not in the way I thought, but there was emotional distress nonetheless.

Chain of Existence

   Universes and galaxies and stars and nebulae and planets all twirled upward, our faces changing color as we spiraled upward. I saw entire Universes born and then die, I saw galaxies being consumed by serpentine creatures, worlds colliding, stars collapsing, a red nebula in the shape of a dragon, it’s maw open wide, ready eat us, and then blackness. And then the visions started. I was thrown to and fro from scene to scene, each emerging around me as if they were coming up from an ocean.

   Winter was nearing its leave in Amana, Michigan, the weather felt relaxingly cool, the sky was a pellucid blue. There was a girl, her jet black hair tied in a ponytail with white baubles, blue eyes looked up at the sky, pale skin bright in the sunlight. Her face was a display of grief and agony. She was deep within a wood, in great emotional turmoil, forehead starting to swell. A small eye began to protrude from the middle of her skull. They both peered at me. She said, “Why me? Why? I am just a teenager! It hurts! Do you hear me?! It. Hurts!”,  and then they were sucked back into that black sea.

   Two red-haired girls, one younger and with glasses, are traveling with a special forces group deep in the ranges of Heartfield. They have come to a large cave. The older one is ecstatic. She kisses the younger one on the side of her lip. The younger girl looks reluctant, dejected even. She kneels to pet their dog. What have they just found? They too were sucked into the sea.

   Heartfield Michigan appears once more, and here I see a task force, led by a black man with glowing blue eyes. They are transporting a large mysterious box that hums and thrums as the drive through the woods. They have sent a small group ahead to scout for enemies. A woman stands on a hill farther away. She knows what is ahead isn’t just enemy territory. She has to warn them, something large a terrible lurks as well. The black sea took them before I could see what.

  A little girl made contact with an exquisitely made doll, it's dress an intricate display of stars and planets, its hair is long and nearly starch colored. The doll's face showed it was delighted to find a new friend, her purple eyes twinkling, her children also wanted to play with their new friend. Then the black sea pulled them in.

      A young Chinese woman works in the tallest building in Amana, it is night time and most of the workers have gone home. A black-haired girl is walking toward her office, the woman has no idea what is about to happen. Somewhere on the other side of Amana is a black man in his early twenties… He was the first I abandoned. He is walking home with his friends. A black-haired girl is following him home. And then they were gone into the eternal blackness.

   I saw a world, one as large as our star, in great and utter turmoil. The beautiful alien species had just had the largest battle they'd ever had to fight, the architecture of their buildings grander than anything I'd ever seen before was destroyed. One of their moons had been annihilated, shards of which scratched the surface of their atmosphere, creating burning red sores, as they made their descent to the surface. A man is kneeling on a battlefield, so massive I was sure he towered over everyone else when he stood, he was wrapped in muscle, swollen beyond belief. He was shaken with grief, his long hair concealing his face from me. He was holding a girl in his arms, her hair blue, her white dress in tatters, revealing her pale skin. A woman sobs furiously in front of him, caressing the girl's hair. There was another girl behind him, her hair blonde, eyes two great blue seas. She kneels beside him and tries to comfort him. She says a name. Ark, I think. There are many more floating above them, all quiet and morose. Suddenly he looks up, and over. He is looking at me, and he is livid. His beautiful features not marred but made even more beautiful somehow by his fury. He yelled at me, blaming me for what just happened, blaming me for all of it. He said he was going to kill me. And then he was gone.

   A girl sat barefoot in a chair in a garden of flowers and fruit, the smell is amazingly strong, the air hot and not at all unpleasant. Her hair was silver, she wore a cute dark red polka dot dress with a fluffy white hem.  She had her legs crossed and was writing fiercely in a large book. Her pencil was black, its eraser was as well, though it looked more like a hole. Suddenly she stopped, looked up at me and smiled. She had gorgeous crimson eyes. She lifted her pencil, the tip of which was a star, closed the book, sat back in her chair, and closed her eyes. A dog comes over and she pets it. She seemed at peace with herself and the world. I wished to achieve this state of being as well. And then she was gone as well, like all the others.

   The Blackness Dissipates

   A great egg laid hatched like a geode, nestled in a place beyond space and time, in the outer reaches of all worlds, all existence, all that ever was and will be. Deathly pale, the large slit revealed a deep dark purple, fluid gushed from this like a Cosmic waterfall, and from it, many unspeakable things were borne. We heard a wailing, we turned to it and saw something, something as large as life itself… So many eyes, you could hardly make out what exactly those eyes belonged to. This thing, larger than life, scratched against billions upon billions of Universes, bending them, pulling them in to meld with its form. I watched, terrified and fascinated. Dolomiah and Amaterasu both keened at this, overcome with grief and terror. Nissia watched as if this were an everyday occurrence.

   It saw us, it saw me. Hundreds of trillions of eyes large and small looked at me. I felt the essence of my very existence being analyzed and then stretched. I was being pulled closer and closer to its many eyes. One giant eye emerged, pushing against the others, its pupil expanded and then squeezed to a pinpoint. Lava raged in my head and I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed. I was torn in two, my other self drifted into light that shined from its now widening pupil.

   And then I awoke.

   The light of early morning greeted me, the sunlight coming through the window a warm and caring parent, hugging my body as if it knew the terror I had just experienced. My lover still asleep beside me. I laid there for a while, contemplating what just happened. My body felt heavy, I was sweating all over, and there was this burning sensation in my forehead that quickly disappeared. And I couldn't be quite sure, but I swore I could smell the faint,  fleeting aroma of fruit.

   Years later and only now am I getting the courage to write this… I apologize, to those three girls especially. That weakness hadn’t yet left and I was mired in emotional turmoil. Now a book, intricately made book sits on my desk, a black pencil next to it. The tip where the lead should be glows with the light of Sol. Amana is quite warm this morning; it is perfect for the beginning of my journey.

[sarahw-world]

“Yellow Roses” - 05 Heavy Breathing

Well guys, here's the new chapter!

A huge apology for taking so long to publish this one, but this has turned out to be such a massive chapter, and there are so many emotions going on, that I took my time with this one. I hope I made it work somehow.

Also, a BIG thank you for all the amazing feedback for the last chapter, you guys keep me motivated, even when real life gets a bit rough sometimes and finding time to write is a little harder.

Anyway, I really hope that you enjoy this one!

Summary:

As she prepares for a new encounter with Vegeta, Bulma receives a mysterious visitor in her laboratory... 

You can read it uncensored on AO3:

You can read it censored on FF:

Or you can keep reading under the break:

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

[Dylan Thomas; ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’]

                                    ******************************************

 Bulma carefully twirled the little capsule between her anxious fingers, a tiny spur of impatient excitement burning within her at the thought of Vegeta’s potential reaction to her newest invention when she’d finally give it to him.

Not that long ago, the scientist would have found it absolutely impossible to picture the day when she’d even dare to contemplate manufacturing a capsule anymore. After all, the small but highly valuable item was her late father’s greatest invention, the one he’d built his entire technological empire upon, and the very first piece of technology she’d ever learnt to create on her own as a young girl. The impressive creation held such a significant, sentimental meaning in her life, for so many different reasons, that it was hard to believe that she’d now finally been able to conjure up the emotional strength to fabricate one. Then again, ever since the annihilation of her home planet had taken place, she hadn’t been brave enough to imagine the prospect of feeling true joy or optimism anymore either.

Not until Vegeta had walked into her life…

The scientist yawned loudly, resting her feet on the table as she took a short break from her always strenuous work, allowing her mind to wander, getting lost in her vivid imagination and the memorable recollections of her last encounter with her Saiyan lover.  

True to his word, Vegeta had stayed with her on the base for three whole days. Bulma wasn’t entirely sure about what it was that he did during the daytime, all she knew was that, every single evening without fail, the warrior had shown up at her laboratory to pick her up and join her on her way back to her apartment. She could still recall her initial shock at the sight of that austere, lonesome figure awaiting her patiently by the door, almost as if they were a regular couple, just a man taking his woman back home after a long day’s work.

Bulma let out a tired sigh, making the colossal effort to remind herself that, in spite of the more than obvious tie which had developed between them, her home wasn’t really his home, and this man wasn’t really her man. If she was truly honest with herself, she wasn’t even sure if an inscrutable man like Vegeta would ever have the emotional skills to be a part of anything that would resemble a real, authentic relationship with anyone, much less with a highly sensitive woman like her.

There had been no romance of any kind in those slow, calm strolls on their way to her place, certainly not the public displays of affection that couples used to engage into back on Earth. Instead, those long walks had been spent in complete quietude, both lovers sharing a comfortable silence as they walked side by side in the dark, with Vegeta walking a couple of steps behind her like a warm, protective figure, following her with quiet devotion. There had been no passionate kissing, no sappy holding of hands or inane parades of amorousness and, yet, despite the awkwardness of it all, Bulma had enjoyed every minute of it, every single minute of his discreetly earnest presence, and the thrilled butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach in exhilarating expectation at what was to come.

As soon as they’d reach their destination and the Saiyan would wrap one of his strong arms around her waist, flying her right into her balcony, all Hell would break loose, and this man, this distant, broody warrior, would instantly become her man. It was as if their bodies had a mind of their own, as if they shared an irrational connection, a maddening bond that would take over as soon as they isolated themselves from the outside world, freely giving into each other with everything they’d got. Lips crashing fervidly, kissing and devouring every inch of the other’s flesh as their shivering, heated bodies meshed together. Hands that wouldn’t stay in one place for too long, stroking, caressing, squeezing each other’s form as if the world were about to end, as if this time would surely be the last, their last chance to enjoy this mind-blowing carnal experience they’d never be able to rejoice in with anyone else. And as painful as it sounded, that was the truth anyway, because every single ardent night, and each one of those sensuously desperate kisses could be the last. The very thought of never getting to feel her lover’s touch ever again filled her with poignant despair but, oddly enough, Vegeta’s words seemed to have gradually sunk into her subconscious.

“You need to let go, Bulma…” He’d whispered zealously as his unremitting, skilled mouth brought her to the edge of ecstasy and beyond. “Let go…”

Her mysterious Prince had opened her eyes inexorably, tempting her, inviting her to reconcile with her new station in the world, this uncertain, inhospitable world that was still so new to her, but which the warrior knew like the palm of his lethal hand. If this man, a man whose inviolable eyes had clearly witnessed horrors she had yet to see for herself, had in some way managed to survive years and years of subjugation under the dominion of that wretched lizard Overlord, then so could she. She was Bulma Briefs, and knowing that Vegeta, a fighter who played with the fires of death for a living, had somehow found a way to make peace with the madness inhabiting this vast, chaotic Universe, had brought her a newfound sense of confidence and fortitude, the hope that perhaps she’d make it after all. That maybe, just maybe, those rare moments of happiness would make her life worth living in the end, and the earthling had resolved, once and for all, that from now on she was going to squeeze every single ambrosial drop of sheer bliss that she’d get to enjoy by her lover’s side.

And oh, what bliss that was…

The cocky bastard who found immense satisfaction in undoing her and bending her to his twisted will was still there, no doubt about it. The arrogant man with depraved hands that could bring her to climax with a single caress, and a foul mouth that would whisper filthy words of dark desire in her ear, kindling a fire within her soul that only he held the power to put down with his expert touch.

But then, there were those moments...

Those reserved moments of idyllic intimacy, so new to the both of them, when her lover would let his guard down, just for her, unwittingly letting her know that perhaps she meant more to him than he was willing to admit, not only to her but to himself. Those private times when he’d pull her closer after climax had claimed them both, lying behind her as he pressed his body against the smooth skin of her back, his furry tail lovingly curled around her thigh as he idly nuzzled the nape of her neck. At times, his embrace would be so tight that he’d literally take her breath away, and it occurred to her that he looked like a child, an abandoned little child clinging to the one thing which could bring him comfort, assuaging the rage in his heated blood and soothing the nightmares that plagued his restless sleep at night.

*** Please visit AO3 or FF for more of this chapter! ***

[bittykimmy13]

Torn (GT)

Warning: This story is bloody, upsetting, uncalled for, and makes me cry whenever I think about it. I'm proud enough of the writing to post it, but it's not my usual fluff in any way, shape, or form. You have been warned.

This is a non-canon story from the Shot in the Dark universe, with characters that belong to me and @little-miss-maggie.

He sprinted through the trees. Every rattling footstep sent vicious waves of punishment through her body. In his desperation to save her, she felt like he was killing her. 

"You're gonna be fine, Sylv," Jon whispered breathlessly, his voice thick with the threat of tears. He cradled her in one cupped hand, but a red-soaked handkerchief separated her from the familiar texture of his palm. She lay on her side while Jon's other hand firmly pressed half the cloth to her back, trying in vain to slow the bleeding.

She whimpered with each gasping breath.

Stop, please, no more.

He had been running for an eternity, but still the car wasn't in sight. Getting to the first aid kit wouldn't make a difference, but if it would get Jon to stop running, it would be enough for her.

Stop, stop, STOP.

Stitches weren't going to work. Nothing was going to work. She wanted to tell him, but every attempt at words caught in her throat and came out as unintelligible wails of agony.

"Shh, shh, I know, I know." Jon's voice cracked at the end. 

You don't know! she wanted to scream at him. You have no idea!

The moonlight peering through the trees illuminated his face, twisted with terror and pain. How dare he pretend feel even a fraction of what she was experiencing?

She turned her head and sobbed thickly into the handkerchief, giving up on trying to draw a full breath. Her fingers were sore from clutching at the fabric at an attempt to keep her arms from moving. Spots exploded in front of her vision any time her arms shifted.

Stop.

Buried in the bloody cloth, her back was torn wide open. Two gaping cavities stood in place of where her upper wings had once connected to her shoulder blades. Her detached wings lay somewhere far behind them on the forest floor, crumpled and twisted amongst the dirt and leaves. Her lower wings twitched non-stop against the handkerchief, mourning the loss of their sisters.

The severing had happened quicker than a heartbeat, but in Sylvia's mind it lasted a lifetime. There was only discomfort at first--the sensation of a fist anchoring her by the legs while massive fingertips pinched her upper wings. Then there was a sharper tug that made her scream. Now she would give anything to exist in that moment forever. It was only a tease compared to becoming aware of every micro length of skin, tissue, muscle ripping free from the roots of her wings. 

The skin around the base hung like tattered ribbons. Tendons and muscle that were never meant to meet the open air lay unprotected in thready shreds. And the blood drowned it all.

Before she'd known it, Jon had gotten her away from the monster and started running, red trickling through his fingers by the time he pulled the handkerchief from his pocket.

Even with Cliff far behind, hunting for the fleeing vampire single-handedly, the blonde hunter's roar seemed to make the forest tremble. He was normally the perfect predator, moving with absolute silence. Witnessing Sylvia's dismemberment had unhinged him, and now his voice echoed like a distant and deadly storm threatening to annihilate everything in its wake.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH? I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Unable to bear to listen, Sylvia brought a hand up to cover the ear that wasn't buried in the cloth, a choked cry ripping through her throat as the movement tugged at the exposed muscle of her shoulder blade. Even when she tried to hold still, Jon's sprint jostled her ceaselessly.

"Stop!" she howled, finding her words. "Jon, p-please, please, stop moving, it hurts too much, I can't take it, please!"

Mercifully, he slowed down. But he didn't stop.

"I have to get you to the car!" he insisted, brown eyes glinting with tears as he glared down at her. "I have to stop the bleeding!"

"But you c-can't!"

"I have to!"

He cupped her closer to his face and pressed a hasty kiss to the top of her head. 

"You'll pull through, Sylv," he whispered to her. His voice was paper thin. "I need you here. You're staying right here with me. You understand?"

It was a labor to speak through her hitching sobs. "It hurts so much, Jon."

"I'm gonna take care of you." His thumb brushed at her tear-soaked cheek, warm. So warm. "We'll never go near another monster. Nothing's ever gonna hurt you again. We'll find ourselves a little cabin near the mountains. No more dreaming about it. We'll finally go through with it. You wanna do that, right?"

"Uh-huh," she breathed, nodding as her voice tapered off. "W-we can… look… stars."

She blinked weakly as the trees thinned. The sky was no longer interrupted by leaves and branches. Glimmers of light pierced the endless stretch of darkness, the full moon gloriously outshining it all.

"We're here," Jon announced, laughing in broken relief.

A metallic taste trickled into her mouth from her throat, but she managed to force the words out, syllable by agonizing syllable. 

"O-our stars, Jon."

Jon stopped in his tracks looked up, tears finally spilling onto his cheeks. "Yeah," he breathed, blinking hard. "Yeah, they're beautiful. We'll stargaze every night. We'll get you a whole shelf with books about the stars, and a good telescope too, so we can see everything. I bet you'll be even better at finding the constellations than me by the time we're through.”

Her familiar chuckle should have floated up, but it didn't. 

It seemed to tease at the edge of his hearing, echoing from a faraway life.

"Sylv… Sylvia?"

Her whimpering little breaths had ceased, but she was still staring at the stars. Glazed green eyes, fixed on the sky. Fixed on everything, yet on nothing. Infinite.

When Cliff reached the edge of the woods half an hour later, he was limping. His clothes and face were splattered with dark blood that wasn't his own.

He found Jon sitting against the side of the car, whispering to himself, as if he apologized to his hands enough, he could convince her to abandon the stars and come home. 

[planar-echoes]

Preparation (Dominaria) By Nik Davidson (5/29/13)

"There's no such thing as a fair fight."

The artificer had been at work for thirty hours straight, and she was exhausted. This wasn't the longest stretch she had worked on a project, not by half. But those projects had been driven by the muse, by love, or by inspiration. Those had been works of joy. Joy fills the soul during times like those. There was no joy in this work. A dozen different timepieces of varying size and make all ticked away, counting down the hours to her execution.

She didn't have the power for a spell like this, so she had to cheat. The first step was the amplification circle: Five feet in diameter, silver filigree etched in fresh black marble. More than six hundred unique runes in the outermost circle, then seven smaller rune circles, perfectly concentric, detailing the precise time, location, and energy level of the spell that would target it. It would need to be flawless. If it worked, it would allow her to pull off a feat of magic that even her old mentor would have hesitated to try. Otherwise, the spell would fail in one of an infinite number of spectacular ways. Almost none of those ways involved her walking away.

A small insect-like construct brought her a new chisel, fresh plates of silver inlay, and a glass of cold water. She grabbed a rag, wiped her hands and forehead, and pushed a lock of auburn hair out of her eyes. She had seven hours before she needed to be back in her cell, and she was nowhere near done.

The artificer stared at the spell circle. She squinted. Her eyes burned, dry from too much detail work and not nearly enough sleep. She saw no flaws, but this was worth checking a second time. And a third. She gave it a satisfied nod before turning to her workbench.

There sat a small crystal sphere with an orange light swirling inside. She took a deep breath and picked it up very carefully. With slow, deliberate steps, she walked it over to the spell circle, and set it down very slowly. It made a small "tink" sound as she let go, and she winced... a long second passed, and she slowly exhaled. She backed away from the sphere and wiped her forehead again. With a mischievous smile, she took a piece of paper from her desk, jotted a quick note on it, and then placed it next to the sphere. Two steps down. Now the hard part.

Channeling this much energy hurt. The room was filled with an unearthly blue light—the artificer had conjured an opaque magical dome of force, nearly as tall as she was, that completely covered the spell circle. Her face was locked into a pained grimace, her teeth grinding from the effort, as she put everything she had into creating a perfect barrier. She didn't have any shortcuts for this bit of magic; she just poured everything in her mind and heart and soul into the dome, and held absolutely nothing back. She wanted to stop. She needed to stop. But the part of her that had been hammered into steel through decades of tireless work knew something else—she knew that she needed to hold the spell for a few more seconds. Seconds that trickled by like hours. That crept like days. She was screaming now, but she couldn't hear herself.

The spell came to an end with an explosion. It sent her flying across the room, skipping off the top of her cluttered workbench, and smashing into a bookshelf. Countless gizmos and half-finished projects were smashed, dozens of beakers shattered, and sheaves of paper were launched into the air. The spell circle, and everything it contained, had been completely annihilated by the device.

As the papers fluttered to the ground, the room was filled with the ringing sound of a young woman, flat on her back, bruised and aching, laughing at the top of her lungs.

The artificer was shaken awake by one of her traveling companions—a merchant who had been captured along with her a week before. Unlike her, he didn't have the good fortune of being able to transport himself away to safety. So when she found out these barbarians were planning on killing her and her companions as part of some crazy solstice ritual, she briefly considered just teleporting away and leaving them to their fate. Briefly. But then she learned that she'd be allowed to fight, champion against champion, as part of the ceremony. That sounded like fun, and abandoning these poor people to their deaths did not.

A ritually painted and fur-clad man with arms as big around as the artificer's waist glared at her through the bars of her cell. He knew she was a mage, but she had been careful not to cast any spells that would draw attention during her supposed "captivity." She had been transporting herself to and from her laboratory fairly freely at night, but if they had noticed, they hadn't given any sign.

The man grunted, opened the cage door, and gestured for the artificer to follow. The camp was clearly prepared for a day of celebration. The rough tents all had some kind of ribbon or ornamentation, and a ring of barricades had been assembled for the contest. If she didn't know the purpose of all of this was to be bloody ritual combat, followed by a series of murderous sacrifices to a sun god, she would have thought the display quite festive. The sun was bright in a perfectly clear sky. She couldn't have asked for a nicer day. She was led to a small pen at the edge of the ring. Her guard grunted and gestured for her to wait. She did.

The tribe started to gather around the contest ring, and the barbarian champion was already being prepared by the tribe's shaman and his acolytes. Even from across the field, the artificer could feel the immense power they were wielding. Whether learned in the academy or some stinking mud hut, power was power. Too many at the academy thought that when you bind power in a book, you gain a monopoly over it. Too few of them remained to regret that line of thinking.

The assembled crowd started to chant their champion's name, a young warrior who looked to be in the prime of his life—tall, lean, muscled, and unscarred, with thick dark hair in a loose braid down his back.

"GRELL! GRELL! GRELL! GRELL!"

The shamans concluded their ritual and raised their arms for silence. It was somewhat disquieting just how quickly the tribe went perfectly still. To the artificer's ears, the shaman sounded like any other charlatan preacher—a deep, booming voice with a little edge of menace in his tone to keep the crowd in line.

"HEAR ME! We, the children of the light that warms us, we, the children of the summer plains! We give thanks to the most mighty on this, the longest of days, when the one who burns above is mightiest of all!"

A roar came up from the crowd, right on cue, then quickly subsided.

"In his honor, we offer a show of our strength! In his honor, we offer a show of our devotion! In his honor, we offer the blood of our enemies!"

Another cry from the crowd.

"We have given our champion all of the sun's blessings! We have given him all of our might!"

At this, two men entered the ring, one with what looked to be small tree trunk, and the other a metal bucket.

"On this day, our strength can withstand any blow!" The man with the tree trunk swung it like a club, and it shattered into splinters when it struck Grell. The crowd roared.

"On this day, our will can withstand any flames!" The man with the bucket threw its contents over Grell—oil—that burst into flames. Grell stood, wreathed in the fire, unmarred. The crowd gasped, then screamed its awed approval.

"Son of the tribe, while the light of the longest day shines upon your skin, you are INVINCIBLE!"

The artificer swallowed hard. She had been prepared for all this, researched it all as soon as she understood what was planned for the captives, but facing off against an invincible foe was unsettling, despite her precautions. The shaman turned his eyes on her.

"You there, challenger of the outlands? I am told you are a great warrior among your people!"

A chuckle rippled through the crowd.

"I can fight," she said.

"And a great wizard as well! This is what your fellows say of you! Are you a great wizard, champion?"

"Not nearly as great as some." There was a note of sadness in her voice.

"And you willingly take on the fates of the outlanders under your protection? Your fate shall be theirs?"

"Let's just get this over with."

A variety of weapons were brought forth for her to choose from. She took a small dagger from the rack and strode out into the middle of the ring. Grell had been handed a pair of small stone axes. Drums started to roar, and the crowd followed suit.

Grell's face was a manic grin. The artificer had no idea how much energy was being channeled through the man, but it was a lot, and chances were he was feeling good. With a well-practiced gesture, she sent two bolts of flame streaking toward him, and in a shower of embers, they spattered across his chest. He was unharmed, of course. Grell raised his arms in triumph to the crowd. The artificer gritted her teeth.

She rushed at him, dagger in a reverse grip. She slashed at his face, and Grell jumped back. The instinct to get out of the blade's path was still there, even though he knew she couldn't hurt him. He leapt at her, taking careful, powerful swings with the axes, but the artificer rolled deftly out of the way.

As she rolled through the dust, she palmed a small object from her belt. When he charged at her again, she tossed it at him—a tiny construct, shaped like an ant, with a reservoir of a glowing cyan liquid in its abdomen. It sprang to life, and latched unnoticed on to Grell's loincloth, providing the anchor for the artificer's next spell.

She managed to duck under Grell's next swing, but his massive forearm caught her across the chest on the backswing—the force of it lifted her off the ground. She hit the ground hard, and pulled herself up to one knee. Grell raised his arms again in triumph, taking in the adulation of the crowd before delivering the intended killing blow, when the artificer whispered the word of power that released all of her prepared magic.

"Let's see if this worked."

There was a slight pop, and Grell vanished from sight.

Grell blinked. There air was cold here, and it tasted wrong. He found himself trapped inside an opaque magical dome of force, glowing with blue swirls of arcane energy. On the ground was a small glowing sphere and a handwritten note. He pounded his fists against the barrier, but it absorbed his strikes without making a sound. The glowing sphere was brightening, and the orange light inside looked increasingly... unstable. It began to emit a high-pitched hum, and it started to shake. Frantic, he looked at the note.

The solstice is tomorrow. I win.

—Jhoira