#but then i just end up a useless tired blob in bed all day because my muscles won't move and my brain keeps shutting down | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kj-1130 · 3 years

Text

Nothing For Me

Part 5

(gifs not mine)

Main Masterlist

Part 4|Part 6

It was a strange sense of deja vu; except this time you weren’t staring at the glow in the dark stars that still lingered across the ceiling, you were staring at the back of your eyelids. Your thoughts still played loud in your head. They were like a playlist that was on repeat and you couldn’t press the pause button.

It was noisy but empty, if that made sense. A strange, but not unusual feeling to you.

The demons crawled into your head, made it their home and decorated it. And you just couldn’t find the strength to kick them out.

The back of your eyelids became something you had grown accustomed to staring at. If you weren’t awake and suffering at the will of your own mind, you were sleeping--hoping that your thoughts would turn off then.

You couldn’t see the light from the tv, but you could hear it. The ‘f.r.i.e.n.d.s.’ theme song was quite an interesting mix with the yells of ‘no one cares,’ ‘you’re invisible,’ or ‘just disappear.’

But you couldn’t sleep because the music was so damn loud. Apparently, the avengers retrieved the scepter and were celebrating. You were invited to attend by Natasha, but you didn’t have the willpower; to talk to perverted business men all night or to get out of bed--either one.

So you tried to ignore the sound of faint chatter and clinking glasses. Or maybe you would listen to it; it was undoubtedly better than whatever was going on inside your noggin.

Time passed. You didn’t know what time it was. Time is an illusion anyway.

The days were all just one big blob of nothingness to you at this point. Everyday, you felt the same, did the same thing, thought the same thoughts. So what’s the point of trying to tell whether the darkness you saw was from outside or from the back of your eyelids.

The back of your eyelids. What a strange sense of deja vu…

Stars reminded you of Michelle. The two of you always watched the stars together. It was your thing.

You’d never thought you’d have a thing with anyone. You were glad you had one with MJ.

You opened your eyes. The stars that were stuck to the ceilings seemed like they grew dimmer over the years--just like your eyes.

It was significantly quieter than it was before. You guessed everyone had homes to return to. What was a home?

Your mom was your home. But she’s gone now.

Maybe Michelle could become your home. Yeah. She keeps you warm and you do the same for her. Maybe she could be your home.

Pounding footsteps were heard throughout the hall. As tired as you were, your curiosity won out. You slowly sat up despite your body’s protest and made your way towards the door. Yeah, if you were in a horror movie, you definitely would’ve been dead by now.

Just as you were about to reach out for the handle, the door flung open causing you to jump back. Looking up, your eyes connected with red ones.

“You’ll do just fine, little Stark.”

The two former agents sped down the long halls of the tower. They reached the door and saw splinters all over the ground.

Natasha slowly walked in on high alert. She and Clint searched around the room; the bathroom, closet, anywhere where someone could hide.

The redhead faced her friend with a forlorn look on her face. Her head shook slowly.

“She’s gone.”

You were in your room--your old room. There was music playing downstairs; Whitney Houston. An artist your mom would listen to during her free time.

“Mom?”

You ran down the steps into the kitchen and stood at the entryway. She stood with her back to you. Her fro was pulled into a messy puff and she was wearing her robe; the same robe you would wear as a cape.

It smelled like french toast. You always ate french toast together on the second Saturday of the month. It was tradition.

“Mom?”

Her head lifted and she turned to face you. Instead of her glowing and blemish free skin and that beautiful, gentle smile, all you saw was a decaying body. The jaw was hanging by one side. It was as if tissue or muscle was stuck to her face and just gradually melting off.

“Hi sweetheart.”

You gasped and backed into the well causing one of the paintings to fall.

Your mom chuckled and when you looked back, her face was normal.

“You’re always so clumsy.”

Your breathing was still labored. You watched as the woman you knew as a mother picked up the piece of art. It was the one she got from her mother--your grandmother.

“You okay? You’re looking a little flustered.”

She strode towards you and rested a hand on your cheek and then your forehead.

You resisted the urge to flinch as her cold skin made contact with yours.

“C’mon. Let’s eat.”

Your body was on autopilot as you followed her to the counter. She passed you a plate and took a seat next to you.

“Useless,” was whispered and disappeared into the wind.

You looked behind you with furrowed eyebrows and a frown.

“You okay?”

You glanced at your mom before nodding.

“Yeah. Thought I heard something.”

“I’m glad I died.”

You whipped your head towards her and found the mummified version looking at you once again.

You stood and set your fork down before running up the stairs. You entered the bathroom and locked the door before sliding down the far wall.

The door was thrown open before her figure flew over to you.

Your eyes shot open and you sat up with a gasp.

Everything hurt. It all hurt.

Frantically, you pushed yourself to the corner of whatever room you were in regardless of what the throb of your head was telling you.

The rocks began crunching as if someone was walking on them. Your head whipped around in every direction trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.

“Your father took everything from us.”

“Yeah. Well he’s a taker not a giver.”

Your mom always told you your mouth would get you in trouble. You just hoped she wasn’t right at this moment.

Looking up, you were met with two pairs of eyes; one a woman the other a man.

They both seemed significantly older than you. The woman walked closer and bent down in front of you and her eyes started glowing red. You began hyperventilating, praying she wouldn’t harm you.

She lifted her hand to your temple and rested her fingers there.

“It’s time we get our revenge.”

All you saw was a decaying body. The jaw was hanging by one side. It was as if tissue or muscle was stuck to her face and just gradually melting off.

“Hi sweetheart.”

Your head was pounding and your neck was killing you. Groaning, you craned your neck and searched your surroundings.

Hands touched your shoulders gently. But it didn’t matter how gentle it was because you didn’t want anyone touching you with their hands that could kill you with the right movements.

You swatted them away from you--with your own hands that didn’t stand a chance against a lot of people.

“Woah, hey, hey, hey. Kid, calm down.”

Rubbing your eyes, you looked around as your vision cleared. In front of you stood Clint. His face was decayed; just like your mom’s.

You scrambled back and curled up in the corner of the corner closest to you.

“Hey. You’re safe. You’re okay,” he said gently.

Your gaze transferred from one area of the jet to another frantically. You wanted something to stand out at you; make it’s obnoxiousness force the visual of it in your brain. Anything would be better than seeing her face like that.

You didn’t even notice the archer moving closer to you until he rested his hand on your shoulder. You flinched hard and gently pushed it off of you.

Clint nodded in understanding and continued to kneel in front of you.

“We’re about 15 minutes from a safe house, alright? You can eat something and then rest there. That okay?”

Nodding your head, you leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

The most powerful thing you knew of was Cap’s shield. Seems like that witch was taking that spot.

True to Clint’s word, the jet landed less than 15 minutes later. You were the last out although Steve did end up waiting for you. His hand landed on your shoulder and when you turned to look at it, all you saw was bones and tissue. You stumbled back and hit your back on the quinjet.

The supersoldier looked at you with worried eyes before slowly walking away.

You watched the backs of the superheroes get smaller as they walked towards the porch of the safe house.

Is that what they were? Heroes? Everyone always described them as these indestructible beings that would always be there to help civilians and save the day. But who was going to save them?

They didn’t look so indestructible. They just looked like a group of people with the weight of the world--no universe on their shoulders.

Watching everyone enter the house, you decided to follow a moment later. Cap, ever the gentleman he was, held the door open for you and let it shut once you slipped inside.

“I know all your names,” the woman who stood next to the archer said. She scanned the group before her eyes landed on you, her head tilting slightly.

You tuned out the rest of the conversation as you looked around the house--no home. It looked like a home. Not some model house that some cookie cutter family lives in. A home where parents were raising their children to be themselves and nurturing them with love and care.

The room wasn’t spotless. There were legos and toys on the floor. It didn’t smell like cleaning supplies. It smelt like a homemade meal; one that would make any stress from the day just melt away.

A hand tugged on the sleeve of your shirt causing you to glance down. It looked just like the other ones; just a decaying, withering hand.

You flinched in response and quietly stepped away, not wanting to cause a scene. Rubbing your eyes, you looked down and saw a little girl that didn’t even seem the slightest bit fazed by your little episode.

“Can you play dollies with me?”

“Actually,” Clint cut in. “She needs to rest. (Y/n) can play after a nap, alright?”

The little girl nodded and went to minding her business.

The archer placed a gentle hand on your back and you tensed under his touch. You heard him whisper to his wife before the two led you up stairs.

“You good to clean yourself up?”

You grabbed the towel and extra clothes out of his hands and sat them down on the bathroom counter.

“I’m fine, Clint,” you muttered while pushing him out of the room.

You sat in the bed of the spare room that Clint’s wife, who you learned was Laura, said that you could stay in.

A knock reverberated through the room, the sound of the door opening following suit.

You felt a dip in the bed, but you refused to look up from the spot on the covers.

You didn’t want to see a decaying face.

You didn’t want to see someone dead.

You didn’t want that image stuck in your brain like a starred picture on google photos. You didn’t want to give your mind a chance to somehow twist it all around--inside, over and out--and convince you that it was all your fault.

You just wanted to have a few seconds of peace instead of the roaring tides that were washing through your head, even if it was false.

“What did she make you see?”

You swiped your tongue over your dry lips and shook your head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was a moment of silence and continued to mess with the unraveling thread in the blanket.

“Look at me then.”

You hesitated, but eventually lifted your head.

“I said look at me, not at the wall. Look at me.”

Taking a deep breath your lip began to tremble.

“Please.”

“Don’t make me do it,” you whispered.

A hand was turning you towards her before you could even stop it, but you managed to close your eyes.

“Whatever she showed you is not real. I’m here and I always will be.”

You only saw her ivory skin and forest green eyes. There were no visible bones or muscles. Just her red hair and sad smile.

Your eyes fitted around her face, making sure that it wasn’t a cruel trick your mind was trying to play on you.

Natasha lovingly patted your cheek and pressed a light kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s get some rest, alright?”

You couldn’t rest, long story short.

It was so noisy up there and you just couldn’t get it to calm down.

Every time you closed your eyes, somebody’s dead body was infiltrating your mind. Whether it was Clint or his kids, Natasha or MJ.

MJ. Oh shit.

You threw the covers off your body and slowly lifted yourself from the bed. Making your way downstairs, you heard some chatter coming from near the kitchen.

“I thought you were dead.”

A hand immediately flew up to your mouth as if that would stop the words that already came out of your mouth. Muttering a ‘my bad’ you walked up towards the group of adults while simultaneously scanning your surroundings.

“I am,” replied Fury.

Clearing your throat you took in a deep breath. But before you could speak, somebody beat you to it.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

You rolled your eyes and prepared to talk.

“Does anyone have a phone I can borrow?”

Practically everyone raised their eyebrows at you in confusion. You let out a sigh and started wringing your hands

“I-I need to call MJ. Please.”

When it was clear that desperation was shining through your eyes, Laura was quick to get up.

“Sure, honey.”

Everyone else was left confused.

“Who the hell is MJ?”

Laura gave you a phone and told you, you could call from the couch.

You were swift to dial her phone number and bring the device to your ear. You bit your lip, waiting for your friend to pick up which she did after the fourth ring.

“Who is this?”

While you were grateful the phone was picked up, it wasn’t who you wanted to answer.

“I-it’s (y/n). I-i-i’m just calling from a d-different number. I-Is M-MJ home?”

You knew all the adults were staring at you and as much as it made your skin itch and crawl, you didn’t care about it as much as you cared about talking to MJ.

There was shuffling on the other side so you could only assume that her mother was traveling around their apartment.

“Thank goodness. I thought you died or something,” she chuckled.

A smile rose to your face before you could even think about it.

“I mean, close but no.”

“I-You know what? I’m not even gonna ask.”

“It’ll probably be on the news by the end of this week anyway.”

You had finally relaxed into the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You could still feel them staring holes in your skull and it was making you feel like you were exposed and vulnerable.

It was silent for a moment before you heard let out a sigh MJ let out a sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Do you wanna come over and talk about it?”

You let out a hum before answering, “I can’t”

“Why? A-are you hurt? If so, I can come over there and-”

“No. I literally cannot-”

“It’s not a big deal. I can-”

“I’m in another state.” There was a pause on the other side of the call. “Or country. I-I don’t know where I am.”

You heard the girl clear her throat before taking a deep breath, obviously processing what you just told her.

“So that’s what you meant when you said-”

“Yeah…”

You clicked your tongue a couple of times, wondering what was going through Michelle’s head at the moment as the silence lingered.

“I guess you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

You let out a small chuckle, something you only seemed to do in MJ’s presence.

“No longer in Kansas.”

The conversation could no longer continue as you heard your friend’s mom yell for her.

“Well, I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

The two of you never said ‘goodbye’ to each other not wanting it to feel like it was the ending of something.

You handed the phone back to Clint’s wife and made your trek back to the stairs before you stopped.

“Where am I exactly?”

The archer blinked owlishly at you while you stared at him with a raised eyebrow. You shrugged before continuing your way to the room you were staying in.

“Eh. I’ll figure it out.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see.”

They left. Again. Not surprising.

You should be used to it by now. They had people to save anyway.

It was late at night and you couldn’t sleep--what’s new?

You didn’t want to bother anyone but you just couldn’t stand the commotion. You couldn’t stand that being the only thing you’re focused on.

You decided to go to the kitchen to see if Laura needed help with anything considering she did just have a whole team of unexpected guests.

The scene downstairs, kind of seemed… upsetting to you. The lights were dimmed, it was quiet, and the woman you were searching for was hunched over a cup of tea.

“Are you okay?”

Stupid question.

The brunette’s head snapped up and she met your gaze. Her eyes held a melancholy undertone in them and you just couldn’t imagine what was swirling in her mind.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

You took a seat next to her on the couch and fiddled with your hands.

“I just… worry sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah. Clint can be an idiot sometimes.”

You both shared a chuckle but the deafening silence still returned. The air flowing through the home could be heard. You could probably hear the kids’ breathing if you tried hard enough.

“Why are you still up?”

“Why are you still up? Isn’t that like, bad for the baby or something?”

Through the corner of your sight, you could see Laura shaking her head at you as a small smile danced across her lips.

“I asked first.”

You let out a sigh and shrugged your shoulders.

“Just...couldn’t sleep I guess.”

The woman nods in response and takes a sip of her tea. It was obvious to her that something else was on your mind but she didn’t pry and you were thankful for that.

Instead, she just grabbed the remote and turned the television on, an episode from the sitcom Living Single playing quietly.

A weight was felt on Laura’s shoulder and she looked down to see the young teenager resting with small breaths escaping her parted lips. The woman was careful to free an arm and wrap it around your shoulders, you subconsciously snuggling in further.

Walking down the halls of the compound, you searched all the doors. As you reached one, you raised your fist to knock only for the door to fly open before you could.

You clear your throat before looking towards the ground.

“May I, may I come in?”

The person nods and you hesitantly step inside the room and take a seat at the desk.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Me too,” Wanda nods.

There was this awkward, tense silence that just floated through the room that seemed almost impossible to get rid of. It was suffocating.

“I’m sorry about the uhhh, whole mind thing.”

You too nodded in response and gave your reassurance, your mind focused on her accent. It was comforting to say the least.

It had been at least two weeks after the whole ultron thing. Tony was obviously oblivious to what happened to you.

When he ignored or neglected you, it was like a paper cut--never acknowledged or thought about until something provokes it.

You had passed the witch a few times in passing, but never truly held a conversation with her.

You knew of the passing of her brother and you knew how hard it was--is to lose a loved one. Especially if that loved one was the only one that made you feel like you weren’t completely and utterly alone.

“I know it’s not my place to say but,” you paused to take a deep breath. “Don’t let this hold you back. I-I was never given the chance to grieve my m-mom properly and, and I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you, I guess.”

At this point, you felt like you were just spitballing. You figured she already knew what was going on in your head so why not just be open about it.

“And I’m pretty sure the others will come around. Clint seemed to like you.”

The corner of Wanda’s mouth lifted a little and she gave a breathy laugh.

“And I guess, I like you too.”

“Thanks.”

You took a moment to gather yourself before heading towards the door.

“I guess I’ll see you around.”

“So to recap, you were kidnapped by a robot with murderous tendencies, got your mind manipulated by an enhanced individual, and now you’re living and somewhat acquaintances with said ‘enhanced individual’.”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

Michelle chuckled in response and shook her head in disbelief.

“That’s crazy.”

You shrugged with a frown and scooted closer to her. Your shoulders were touching but neither of you moved.

“Eh, I’m kind of getting used to the crazy.”

You were watching the stars on the roof of her building again. MJ brought some snacks and a blanket which the two of you were currently snuggled up in.

The food was eaten quite quickly and silence was quick to wash over the two of you. But the silence wasn’t like it was with Wanda or even Laura. With MJ it was a peaceful and serene moment; like the two of you were in this indestructible bubble that only you two were allowed in. With her you felt safe.

You turned your head towards Michelle only to find her already looking at you. Both of your faces heated up but neither of you could look away. Instead, grins rose to both of your faces before the girl pulled you closer to her.

Yeah. Michelle was home.

----------------

Taglist

@leahnicole1219 @thebadasssass @littlegasps @lengendarymcnuggies @stillmanicc

#marvel #marvel x reader #x reader #black!reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x stark!reader #clint barton #clint barton x teen!reader #laura barton #nothing for me miniseries #michelle jones x fem!reader #part 5 #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader

292 notes · View notes

feeling-uncomfy · 3 years

Text

This one is both an apology and a filler because A. I decided would be Shouji-centric because I've fallen into the trap that is "adopting every fictional child that could potentially have a tragic backstory" and B. I still feel super bad about that Mafia fic BUT I'm on 25,000 words and I've decided health isnt important so I'm gonna finish it.

And fuck it- there will probs be two or three chapters cause I'm lazy so- here!

Summary is– Sensory overloads for someone with heightened senses is rough, especially when you end up held captive by some of the loudest villains ever.

Dad-Dabi gives me serotonin– no I will not explain any further

TW: cussing

Let's go!!

Shouji woke up at the slightest hint of dawn, which wasn't unusual, aside from the fact that it hurt his eyes to the point he had to turn away from the curtains. Shouji groaned as the smallest of noises had him reaching to cover his ears.

It was one of those days.

Sensory overloads weren't uncommon in Shouji's life– but the headaches and the over-stimulation that came with it *killed* him every time without fail. Using one of his extra hands, he tried to shut the curtain, only to find it was completely closed over. He sighed and wondered if there were any painkillers in the bathrooms...

Getting up was hard most mornings anyway, but today Shouji found himself begging for more sleep. He dragged himself out of bed and reached for the noise-canceling headphones he kept on his desk. Any bit of relief helped. He slipped them on and sighed as the sounds stopped. Walking slowly out, Shouji made his way to the bathroom.

Even if he couldn't hear anything, his footsteps were quiet as he kept his head low. After searching and confirming there wasn't any pain relief he could get at the dorms, Shouji sat in the couch and decided he could bear the pain. He didn't want to complain– a little headache wasn't the end of the world.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there for, but eventually he felt the pain was bearable enough to take the headphones off. The common area was never loud in the mornings so he should be—

"Out of the way fuckin' nerd!" Bakugo was yelling, and Kirishima laughed loudly. The sounds had Shouji scrambling for his headphones again. His head felt like it had split open, and those two weren't even the loudest people. Shouji wasn't going to last the day, he knew there was no hope.

He figured he could survive by hiding, not like anyone would particularly notice his absence. He was ready to get up and leave when someone slapped his shoulder, and the sensation had him doubling over in pain. "Shouji! We've been calling you for like ten minutes! What's up?" It was Kirishima.

Shouji tried not to show how much that slap hurt and shrugged. "Couldn't sleep." he lied‐ well technically he couldn't. Kirishima nodded and sat uncomfortably close and pulled out his phone. "You seen the news? It was awesome!" Shouji had a bright screen shoved in his face and it hurt. Too bright– way too bright.

Shouji couldn't focus on anything on the screen. It was just white– with sone blurry black lines that wouldn't stay still. Kirishima pulled it back and ranted about it. Shouji loved his classmate, he really did‐ but he was so loud. Shouji could feel the headache building and he knew he wasn't going to be able to keep the conversation going.

"Shouji?" Someone snapped their fingers and Shouji jumped up, immediately wincing afterwards. Aziawa looked down at him. "Are you alright? You've spaced out" Shouji tried to pay attention and nodded slowly. "M'fine, just tired" he knew better than to lie, but found himself doing it anyway.

Aziawa didn't push, thankfully. "Gang Orca wants you and Jirou at his agency by twelve pm today." Shouji nodded externally but died internally. He wanted to sleep, please let him sleep–

Aziawa sighed. "It's almost eleven. Get going." Shouji resisted the urge to curl up and hide. Instead he nodded and stood up on unsteady feet. "Yes sir." Shouji walked away and got ready to leave.

Twenty minutes later, he and Jirou were making there way to the city on a train. Shouji found himself wishing he didn't leave his headphones behind. Every noise had him scrunching up and subtlety covering his ears or closing his eyes tightly to block it all out. Jirou noticed and waited till they got off to ask if he was okay. Shouji simply shrugged her off and gave some random excuse.

They arrived and Gang Orca greeted them formally, his voice was oddly louder than usual. Shouji blamed it on the heightened senses. They were thrown straight into patrol, and it was quiet, and Shouji thanked whatever god was out there for it.

Jirou sighed as they walked down a road. "We should head back– neither of us know this area well and—" there was a loud explosion and Shouji and Jirou were sent flying. Shouji shook his head as the world span and his ears rang. His eyes wouldn't focus in anything and his head felt like it was full of cotton.

Jirou was saying something into an earpiece, but it sounded like static. Shouji looked over to see blue fire.

Wait–

Shouji shook his head again as the League of Villains walked out from the ashes, Shigaraki leading them. Dabi stood on his right side looking bored. Twice and Toga were messing around on his left. Mr. Compress was standing on some random piece of rubble being dramatic. Shouji winced at the sound of a van screeching to a stop behind him and turned.

Spinner was sitting in the front seat and was yelling. Jirou whispered something to him, but Shouji couldn't hear properly. His head was spinning. He glanced between them and realised that they were boxed in. He couldn't move, he swayed almost uselessly. "Shouji– stay with me, Mr. Orca is on his way–" Jirou said and steadied him. Shouji nodded and stood straighter.

Shigaraki was speaking, and pointing at the two of them. Shouji couldn't hear properly so didnt react. Jirou on the other hand seemed angry and stood in front of him. "Wha–?" Shouji wasnt sure what had caused the reaction. Jirou didnt respond and stayed firmly in front of him. Spinner yelled from behind him and Shouji felt familiar hands on his shoulders.

"You can relax, it's me, stay back okay?" Gang Orca was there. Shouji didn't know what else to do but nod and let Jirou drag him back. He felt like passing out– he hated this. He hated how useless he was being, he should be better than this—

Jirou yelled loudly as blue fire was sent their way. On instinct, Shouji shoved Jirou out of the way and was enveloped in flame. If his didn't know pain before, the feeling was redefined as his head hit the ground. It felt like his brain was about to explode. Everything hurt.

There was more yelling- more bright lights– Shouji couldn't keep up anymore. He felt himself being picked up as he faded out. He looked around at the fighting and it all blurred together. Who was who? Where was Jirou? Gang Orca? The League? He was picked up fully and the person started running. Shouji felt his consciousness slipping away, and found his eyes closing.

He was layed against something– no it was breathing– it was a person. Who though? They felt like a heater and Shouji couldn't help but relax because of it. A hand ran through his hair and he let himself drift off as the sounds and chaos faded to nothing.

Gang Orca growled as the van drove off. Jirou was picking herself up from the ground and looked around. Gang Orca turned to see Endeavor and Hawks arriving. "Saw the blue flames– what's happening?" Hawks asked, though his attention was somewhere else. Endeavor looked at where the van once was and sighed. Gang Orca explained what happened briefly.

"My interns can give a better explanation." Hawks tilted his head. "Interns? There's only one kid though?" Gang Orca turned quickly. "... where did–?" He ran forward and picked Jirou up. Looking around again, he saw no sign of Shouji. Jirou got out of his grip and looked around as well. "... they said– they said they were gonna–" Jirou swore.

Hawks turned behind him as Tokoyami showed up. "The others are on the way." He informed Endeavor, standing straight. Hawks laughed and ruffled his interns feathers. "My kid's faster than all of yours!" Hawks laughed as Endeavor glared. Tokoyami flushed at the praise.

Gang Orca walked over. "Not the time! The League–" Endeavor looked over as Jirou paced and Gang Orca explain what had happened. Hawks seemed to get a little more serious. "They targeted your interns specifically?" Tokoyami looked inbetween the pros. Gang Orca sighed. "No- according to Jirou they wanted a member of class 1A, but Shouji and Jirou were just unlucky."

Endeavor nodded as Bakugo, Midoryia and Todoroki showed up panting. Hawks raised a brow and commented something along the lines of "My kid wasn't tried at all" and Endeavor glared at Hawks as Tokoyami was smacked by Bakugo.

Gang Orca sighed loudly. He looked at Jirou and motioned for a sidekick to take her back to the agency. She went reluctantly and Gang Orca walked towards the tire marks. He wondered vaguely what was going to happen to his intern...

Shouji woke up to a massive blast of pain in his head and his everywhere. He winced and curled up tighter. He wanted to sleep and never wake up. The door opened and someone sat beside him. "...Kid?" Shouji didn't recognise the voice– weird, wasn't he at the agency?

"Kid. You need to get up." A hand went through his hair and he opened his eyes and saw a blurred blob sitting over him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Blue eyes. Black hair, purple face? Shouji squinted despite how much it hurt. Dabi– the villain, sat over him. Shouji jumped and winced harshly as another wave of pain flood through him.

The hand was back, gently pulling him so he was sitting up and leaning against the arsonist as he was handed a glass of water. "Painkillers– we would sedate you but... dont know how you feel about needles so‐" Dabi explained and kept a hold on Shouji.

Shouji took the pills easily and found himself relaxing against the person he was told to fear. He didn't understand why they were being considerate– wasnt he a captive? Dabi was about to say something when there was a sudden burst of noise as two more blobs broke in.

Shouji found himself swarmed with questions and pokes. Toga was squealing about Izuku and Uraraka while Twice was pulling at Shouji's mask. Shouji found himself completely overwhelmed and pulled back from them. They just yelled louder and moved closer.

Too loud– way too loud. He couldn't think straight and his head hurt. Dabi got the hint and moved so Shouji was hidden behind him and glared at Toga and Twice. They didn't seem to get the message and taked louder. Dabi snapped a little. "Get out both of you– you're too loud you morons"

Twice had two voices yelling now and Toga flipped him off and moved around him to talk to Shouji. The teen responded by hiding his face in Dabi's back. Dabi flicked Toga's forehead and she stuck her tongue out. An idea popped into her head. "Wait here!" She ran off and Twice was stuck between apologising and asking more questions.

Toga came back in with her phone and was holding it to her face and talking. "Are you streaming?! Toga you know you're not allowed—" Toga grinned and pointed the camera at the three of them. "And here's our guest! He doesn't like us right now– any words?" She has the camera in Shouji's face.

Shouji responds with a shrug and mumbles something. Dabi sighs and shoves the camera away and is effectively distracted. Twice takes the opportunity to scoop Shouji up and takes off running. Toga cheers and takes off. Dabi curses loudly and chases them.

Hawks and Gang Orca are watching as Shouji is literally carried one handed by Twice through a large building. Toga is in front of them sprinting. Dabi is yelling and catching up. They're all screaming. Shigaraki is shown briefly before he's shoved into Spinner as Toga yells.

Mr. Compress is there– both concerned and laughing until he's also picked up and carried one handed. Dabi knocks into Twice and they're all sent flying down the stairs. Gang Orca winces as they all tumble down. The phone is dropped and someone screams loudly. Toga picks up the phone and it's pointed to Shouji hanging off the staircase.

Twice is the only thing keeping him from falling– Shouji's grip is weak and he's panicking. Dabi is holding his other arm and they're pulling. Mr. Compress is laying lifeless at the bottom of the stairs– if it weren't for the phone picking up on his laughter Hawks would've presumed he was dead.

Toga is speaking. "So– the kid might be dead but I think it was fun!" Dabi yells in response. "If he is dead you'll join him, dont think I wont–" he pulls Shouji over and yanks him away from Twice. Gang Orca watches as Toga laughs loudly and Dabi limps away with the kid while Twice has joined Compress on the floor. The stream ends and the two pro-hero's are left wondering what the fuck happened.

Dabi brings himself and Shouji to his room and sighs. Shouji gripped Dabi's shirt. He was confused and kind of afraid– but at the same time...

He hasn't laughed like that in forever– he hadn't had fun like that in forever. Sure he was terrified– but he found himself enjoying it a lot more than he thought he would. The thrill of being chased around and just... being carefree. It had become so foreign to him.

"Kid? You okay there?" Dabi had noticed the sudden change. Shouji looked up and shrugged, his head felt like it was gonna explode and his legs wouldn't stop shaking. He felt like he couldn't stay up, and his eyes drooped. Dabi noticed. "Go to sleep kid. I'll be here if you need anything."

Normally– Shouji wouldn't trust it. But he found himself completely at ease and nodded. Dabi put him down on the bed and Shouji curled up, drifting off almost immediately. Dabi watched him drift off and is surprised to find a small smile on his face. He sighed and pet the kids head gently.

Dabi wasn't sure when he noticed it, but at one point Shouji had started shaking. Dabi simply put it off as the kid being cold and warmed him up. Eventually the tremors became worse and Dabi suspected it was something else...

Dabi had moved so he was closer and very gently picked Shouji up. The response was instantaneous, Shouji's eyes snapped open and he jolted away. Dabi noted that the kid obviously wasn't all there yet, and reached out slowly.

Very gently, Dabi pat Shouji's head, and even with the naturally heated up palms, Dabi could feel the temperature. He sighed and watched as Shouji woke up fully, and slumped useless against his hand. For such a tall kid, he was oddly... small.

Dabi tilted his head and could practically see the gears turning in the kids head. He was clearly out of it. Shouji felt like his whole world was turning upside down– he was going to puke—

Dabi had to hop back as Shouji dived for the nearest bin, toilet– anything. He ends up vomiting into a bin and his whole body spasms and shakes. Dabi is there, trying not to puke himself and rubs his back. Shouji heaved and tried not to puke again- it was awful- his senses were going insane.

He was going to pass out- it was too much- he couldn't keep up with it all—

"Kid?! Kid- don't you dare–" Dabi had to catch Shouji when he went limp again. Dabi turned him over to see Shouji's eyes shut and his breathing was shallow. Dabi tried not to let his panic show and simply layed him down again. Shouji was mumbling nonsense, and Dabi only caught the word "sorry".

Dabi sighed and heated his palm up again, maybe heating him up would help? He went back to gently petting Shouji and watched as the kid relaxed and moved closer to him. Dabi wanted to he angry, but he couldn't. Not when Shouji hugged him like a lifeline, it reminded him too much of himself when he went to his brother.

Is this what Natsuo had felt like? Cause Dabi hated. it.

He isn't sure how much time pasts when he hears it. Toga and Twice– again. This time with... Shigaraki? And Spinner- they're all screaming. Dabi sighs, he just wants a little peace and quiet so this fucking kid could sleep. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently it was.

Uhh so yeah- hope you didn't hate this- I'm a little rusty so m'tryna get better!

Until next time :)

#boku no hero academia #bnha shouji #bnha dabi #league of villains #dont know how well this one will do but oh well I'm proud of it

11 notes · View notes

nat-20s · 5 years

Text

@brushes-of-sage prompted:

“I’d say just honest to goodness Ten and Donna fluff (or hurt/comfort, like the Doctor is sick or something and channeling his inner whiny child and Donna’s trying get him better whilst staying sane or something - it’s been done before but nothing better than more lol)”

this is...decidedly not that but it IS injured ten and hurt/comfort so close enough? Maybe? Anyway:

The Doctor wakes up with a soft bed underneath him, a sharp pain in his leg, and a hand holding his own. All in all, far from the worst way he’s ever come to. He hopes. Sort of depends on who’s on the other end of that hand, he could potentially be in quite a bit of trouble. Following the arm up, he finds that it’s attached to a rather bleary-eyed Donna. Definitely one of the better outcomes.

She’s staring off into the distance, not yet noticing that he’s conscious, so he squeezes her hand and says, “Hey.”

Whipping her head towards him, she blinks at him for a few moments, sucks in a breath and lets it slowly out, then asks, “How’re you feeling? Is your shoulder all right?”

The question strikes him as slightly odd, as he remembers breaking his leg before getting knocked out, but he can’t recall anything happening to his shoulder. Still, he replies, “Yeah, fine,” which earns, for some reason, earns him a quick smack to aforementioned shoulder. “Oi! What’re you going around thwacking an injured man for?!”

“I am thwacking said injured man for being a bleedin’ idiot! Again he sees a situation that he could work through in some other way and again he throws himself into the line of fire! I’m getting really tired of your self sacrificial attitude, mister.”

“I am not...that self sacrificial-,” is all he gets out before Donna is plugging on ahead in her light berating. “I mean, christ, it’s bad enough that you were walking for four miles on a broken leg you didn’t tell anybody about, but then you went and got yourself shot and I had no idea what the effect of that gun was and you didn’t wake up and you kept not waking up and even if I did have any sort of medical knowledge fat lot of good it would do on a time lord and I had no idea if you were going to come back or regenerate or just die and I was helpless to do anything about it and and-”

The Doctor sits bolt right, suppressing the wince caused by jostling his leg, and takes Donna’s hand back. “Woah woah woah. Taking me back to the TARDIS was the right call, I’m all right! See, all in one piece! Just a stun blast and a broken leg.”

Donna doesn’t quite manage to suppress all of her sniffling, but she does manage to give a half-hearted glare at him when she replies, “Oh just a broken leg, like that means anything. For all know about your stupid alien body Time Lords might be like horses.”

“Horses? How?”

The glare fell away to something more settled and conversational. The Doctor liked settled and conversational. Less risk of being shouted at. “If a horse breaks its leg you have to put it down.”

“Wait, really? Why? Seems a bit harsh.”

“I don’t know! Do I look like I run an ranch? Just something I heard from Hettie.”

“Never went through a horse phase?”

“Was always more of an astronomy kid myself. Having a granddad with a telescope and a healthy imagination will do that. Made me kind of the odd one out at age 12, let me tell you.”

The Doctor gives her a soft smile at that, unable or maybe just unwilling to disguise the fondness in his voice as he says, “Seems like that worked out pretty well in the end.”

Some of the tiredness drains from her features as she matches his affection with her own. “Yeah, ‘spose it’s not half bad, is it?”

They spend a few minutes in silence, both ruminating while Donna rubs her thumb along the knuckle of his own. The Doctor is in the middle of wondering whether the TARDIS was put in idleing mode or if she’s actually taking them somewhere when Donna pipes up, not looking at him, with a disconcerting set to her jaw. Her thumb freezes as she says, “You know, when I turned the offer to travel with you the first time, I said it was because you terrify me. Which, okay, you can in fact actually be rather fearsome when you want. Still not a fan of that, by the way. But what was really terrifying was not just that you were willing to take revenge, but that you were willing to die for that revenge, completely unnecessarily. I think I knew, even then, that if I was going to travel with you, that you were going to become my best friend. I also knew that there was a not insignificant chance that awful things were going to happen to you, and I was going to have to watch, and I can’t imagine anything more horrifying than that.

Now I’ve watched you throw yourself into so many situations that hurt you. When we fought off that psychic blob thing at the infinite hotel? When you shot yourself with the time reavers? When you went and tried to blow yourself up on the Sontaran’s ship? These sort of things are happening frequently that I have to wonder whether….”

Donna looks at him again, searching for something in his face that he most likely can’t provide. “Whether what?”

Donna tilts her head in a way that at first registers as pity, but quickly reveals to be pure and simple worry. “Whether you just happen to have some of the worst luck in the universe or if you’re actively seeking out ways to make yourself suffer.”

He wants to instantly refute, tell her “no, of course not, it’s just circumstance,” but lying to her is useless and to himself even more so. But it’s also not like he’s trying to die, not right now. That wouldn’t be accurate either, as he’s quite genuinely the happiest he’s ever been in a while. So, he goes for what he thinks, or at least hopes, is most honest, even if it’s not really...an answer. “I just. I need to help people Donna. I need to protect them. I can’t...I can’t continue to watch people sacrifice themselves for me, continue to get hurt in my place. If that means that getting shot or stranding myself or even dying, then so be it. Better than the alternative.”

Her gaze doesn’t move. There’s a good 20 seconds where his words rest between them. And then Donna says, “Well that’s tough. Because if it comes down to me or you I know who I’m choosing.”

“And that’s fine! I understand, I mean, your granddad would kill me if I ever-”

“No.”

“No?”

There’s not a hint of humor in Donna’s expression when she tells him, “It’ll be you. You’ll be the one to make it out. I mean, that’s always been true, right? That whole immortality thing gave you the leg up from the beginning. When I say that I’m planning to travel with you forever, I’m talking about my forever. I’m not watching you die, that’s part of the agreement.”

The Doctor feels his hearts start to beat in double time, but whether it’s with an instinctive fury at the concept of Donna dying or incredulity at what she’s saying, he’s can’t say for sure. “Well I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself for me. Absolutely not. I won’t allow it.”

“Too bad! ‘Allowing it’ has nothing to do with it! If you’re in the line of fire I’m gonna be right there with you, and the only way you’re gonna stop it is to not try and get yourself shot in the first place.”

The Doctor glares at her, and she matches it for a few moments before sighing and saying, “’Sides. You can’t...you can’t atone for things in the past by destroying yourself. Not that I’m saying you’re doing that, but if you are, well, it doesn’t work. Moving forward, putting as much good into the universe as long as you can , I think that’s the way we have to go. At the very least we have to be around to do damage control, right?”

He glares for a few more moments but the fight leaves him just as quickly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll try. Harder. To not get myself hurt or dead. I can’t promise it’ll never happen but. I can do better.”

Donna positively beams at him, and it’s frankly ridiculous how much better it makes him feel. “That’s all I ask. So, how long does it take for a time lord leg to heal?”

The Doctor gives a one shoulder shrug and tells her, “Couple of hours.”

“Liar.”

“Fine. Couple of days.”

“Well then. Sounds like time for a movie marathon.”

And marathon some movies they did.

#donna noble #nat drabbles #nat talks doctor who #more feelings and nonsense? it's more likely than u think

57 notes · View notes

bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

A love that never leaves (4)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. The word rape is said, but only in confusion (nothing ever happens).

A/N: Bucky thinks he fucked up, but she talks him down. Also he loves comfort food and hates stitches and I agree with both those feelings. They learn a little more about each other including a BIG discovery at the end. I’m very hungry after writing this and you’ll see why (diets are stupid).

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

MASTERLIST ALTNL MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously...

Cold. Always so god damn cold.

The sticky feel of him drying on her thighs is the only indication he was ever more than a dream. Hopeless tears fill her throat and after all this time, she wonders how there are still any left in her body.

It doesn’t matter.

They arrive like a tidal wave, breaking over her, destroying everything in their path and dragging her under.

*****

MISSION REPORT

NEW OBJECTIVE IDENTIFIED. RECONNAISSANCE REQUIRED TO DETERMINE APPROPRIATE COURSE OF ACTION. OBSERVATION WILL CONTINUE FROM A SAFE DISTANCE.

Was this it then? How could it be possible, after all these years? He just wants answers. Something to clarify the jagged outline of the puzzle plaguing him night and fucking day.

Balancing the notebook on his knees, he grips the pencil so tight, the sharp point of lead snaps and goes spinning across the page.

*****

Sometimes when it happens, it’s like running face first into a brick wall.

The outline was there in his brain, a lost memory he never knew he needed to find. Now, with the story she offers, the paintbrush in his head goes crazy, spilling out the colors of an icy, destructive night in Paris. Memories return, a blizzard of blurry faces and voices crackling like radio static.

Black-gloved fingers moving effortlessly over ivory keys. 10, 9, 8. Sparkling people and fizzy champagne. 7, 6, 5. Excited screaming. 4, 3, 2. Beautiful eyes, watching him from across the room. 1. Confetti and balloons bouncing. Screaming. Screaming. More screaming. Terrified screaming. Blood on his fingers, soaking into crisp white cuffs. Slipping like a shadow from a locked room. Stalking through the streets of Paris, heading back to base, until, until, until. The detour. Green paint on her walls, an open window with fluttering curtains. A trembling body dressed in satin and lace. Pleasure. Force. Rough hands, rough words. The feel of her clinging to him like he meant something. Like she wanted him. Heat licking up his spine, heat between her legs, heat in her mouth. And then tears. Sadness. Disappointment. Always, disappointment.

He remains frozen in shock, until he finds his voice. He jumps to his feet.

“Jesus,” he chokes out. He drags shaking hands through his hair and the wild tangles snag around his fingers. “Jesus. Did I - I raped you? Oh, my fucking god, fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t – ”

He falls mute. The apology sits heavy on his tongue and he wants to apologize for an eternity, but this is not for him to be upset. He’s not owed the relief of tears: those are reserved for victims, not criminals. Instead, he remains silent, awaiting the condemnation he deserves.

But to his disbelief, it doesn’t come.

“No! God, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” and now she stands up, trying to assuage his horror. “You didn’t, that’s not what happened.”

“Sure sounds like it was,” Bucky grits out. His hands are clenched at his sides and a faint whirring creeps from his arm when it recalibrates, a physical representation of his panic.

“No,” she repeats forcefully. “Listen to me. That is not what happened. You didn’t, you don’t understand, I wanted – ”

She stops in frustrated confusion.

“Still, I – “

“Bu – sorry, Soldier – “

Apologies collide, and both fall silent. Bucky tries first and his voice is quiet.

“Bucky. Please. My name is Bucky.”

Wetting her lips nervously, she tests the syllables on her tongue.

“Bucky,” she begins, embarrassed. “Listen to me. I hadn’t been with anyone that way for a long time. I wanted - that. I wanted you. That night, I wanted you.”

Bucky stuffs his hands in the pockets of the sweatpants and stares at his socks. They don’t match, and he wonders fleetingly where all the socks in his dryer go. He wiggles his toes as he thinks.

“That night, you were waiting for someone else though – you thought I was someone else. Jimmy.”

He looks up and sees the wind of his words blow the light from her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is tired. “I did. I thought, I hoped, maybe I would see him, but – he didn’t come.”

The look on her face speaks of a loss so devastating, it steals his breath. “Oh,” he finally says. He has nothing else to offer.

Considering the checkered past they apparently share - and he knows it’s all true, the memories are back again, slotted back into the space from where they were previously wiped - Bucky doesn’t understand why she hasn’t thrown his ass out the door. He’s grateful for the reprieve. Undeserving, but grateful. Inflicting his presence on her any longer though, seems selfish.

“I should go,” he says heavily. “Thank you. For saving my ass. For cleaning me up. I didn’t deserve it. I’ll get my stuff and go.”

He takes one step and black spots explode in front of him. Grasping the edge of the couch, he stumbles, and she reaches for him. Leaning clumsily into her, he grunts at the bursts of pain flooding from the wounds in his chest.

“No,” she says. “Those two bullets nearly hit your heart. I don’t even understand how you’re walking right now, but you’re not going anywhere until you’ve fully healed. Please.”

“Really, I’m fine - ”

“Really, you are not,” she interrupts, steel-edged voice brooking no argument. “Stay. I insist. Get some sleep, let yourself heal. Then you can head back.” She hesitates, before the next sentence. “The world can wait, Bucky.”

Something in her tone makes him pause. It feels important, like there’s more to this exchange than meets the eye. Bucky feels the age-old desire to wrack his brain hit him hard.

“Okay,” he mutters, looking down. “If it’s really not a problem - I’ll stay. Just a few days. I, uh, I heal pretty quick.”

“Yes, I thought you might,” she murmurs, letting go of him.

Bucky waits for his vision clear, fiddling with the hair tie around his wrist and snapping it a few times to ground himself. “Once I’m not totally useless though, you gotta let me earn my keep. I’m not lying in bed all damn day.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “If you get up to bed and stay there, I’ll find some things for you to do when you feel better.”

“Helpful things?” Bucky clarifies.

“Yes, helpful things. I promise. Now go back to bed. I didn’t spend all that time stitching you closed so you could rip it all open and bleed on my floors.”

“Alright,” he agrees, giving her a small smile.

There’s that peculiar longing in her voice when she speaks again, the same as he remembered when she found him in the snow and her words brand him in the oddest way.

“Stay as long as you want. It’s nice to have someone around, no one ever comes up here.”

Bucky nods his thanks and shuffles slowly toward the stairs. As he walks, he thinks he hears her whisper his name, but it must be the wind blowing outside.

*****

The odds of Steve flipping his shit when Bucky calls are high. Toying with his phone, Bucky grimaces before he punches the STEVIE G button and waits. Blinking little dots fill his screen, and when it connects, he sees a big forehead and snarls of damp blond hair.

“Hey man. How was it?”

The phone shifts and Steve’s whole face comes into view. He’s eating Skippy peanut butter straight from the jar.

“You were eating that last time I called,” Bucky responds. “You ever gonna do anything useful, or just sit around in your underwear?”

Steve scoops a huge blob and stuffs the spoon defiantly in his mouth. “It’s a new jar,” he mumbles defensively.

“Lazy little shit,” Bucky adds, grinning.

“Okay, time for you to fuck off,” Steve replies, now washing it down with milk straight from a carton with TONY written down the side in black sharpie. “How was it? Find anything?”

“It was fine. Another false alarm.”

“Great. Headed back soon then?”

Bucky chews the inside of his cheek and looks away. “Yeah, about that. So, I may have run into some issues – ”

Milk splashes on the table when Steve bangs the carton down. “What’d you do?”

“Well hell, Rogers, I’m kinda offended. Why do you always assume it’s me?”

Steve snorts like an irritated bull and rolls his eyes. “Because. Have you met you?”

“That’s fair, but this time it wasn’t me. I swear. I was heading back to the hotel and ran into this guy, some Hydra asshat asking if I’d set off the distress signal at the base. Anyway, he’s pretty dead now, but the fucker hit me with a couple gunshots and – ”

“Hit you with a couple what?” Bucky’s always surprised Steve’s voice can hit that high note - it sounds a like he’s taken a kick in the balls. Bucky ignores it and keeps talking.

“– and I’m fine, Steve. It’s fixed, I’m all good, I just want a few days to recover, so I’m staying a little longer.”

Steve’s already stomping into his room and throwing open his closet. Yanking an army green canvas duffel from the top shelf, he throws it on the bed and starts digging through his underwear drawer. Bucky sees a handful of demure blue boxers and one pair with neon pink Captain America shields go flying into the bag while Steve mumbles to himself.

“Steve. Steve. Rogers, listen,” but Steve just plows along, ignoring Bucky and muttering about the shortest flight paths and weather reports and meetings to reschedule and all of a sudden, Bucky panics. Pulling the rip cord, he shouts a single word.

“Kit-Kat!”

Steve freezes.

For good reason.

Years ago, when Bucky was mired in a particularly crappy depressive episode, he decided to make a blanket fort in his room. He stayed huddled in the retreat for a solid week, grudgingly emerging only to scrounge up food and get fresh batteries when his TV remote went dead. It was in the middle of the night, while he was watching ‘Twilight Zone’ reruns, that Steve crept into the room and sat beside him. No words were spoken, he simply hugged his knees to his chest and sat in silence.

During a break, a Kit-Kat commercial came on. The click and snap of the candy bar and the merry little tune of ‘give me a break, give me a break’ squeaked quietly from the TV and Bucky’s voice was groggy when he spoke.

“This is really hard. Sometimes, I just – I need a break.”

Steve hummed his agreement and through the thick blankets, Bucky felt the comforting pressure of Steve’s hand on his shoulder. “I know. How about you and me make a deal? If things get to be too much and we need a real break, where you just get to be alone, no questions asked – we say that. Say Kit-Kat and everyone’ll back off. It’ll be like a safeword. Okay?”

The pile of blankets is silent, but a minute later Steve hears Bucky’s voice whisper. “Okay.”

“But you can’t use it often,” Steve says firmly. “This is only for the big ones. You only get to use it when you really need it. Deal?”

The ‘Twilight Zone’ theme song buzzes from the TV, playing through the entire refrain, before Bucky’s hand slowly emerges from the pile. He holds it in the air and waits. Steve grips his fingers to shake and without thinking, unconscious movements walk them through the stupid super-secret handshake they created in 1927.

Bucky still wonders how the hell his body remembers these things, when his broken brain couldn’t recall his own name for decades. Steve reminds him some things are like that.

Muscle memory. Some things just stick.

The pact is binding. Rarely used, but unbreakable when granted. Since their agreement, Bucky’s used it twice and Steve’s tried it once. Now, Bucky watches Steve’s jaw working, peanut butter smudged in the corner of his mouth, and he knows Steve wants to argue.

But a promise is a promise.

Steve drops the duffel bag with a muffled thump.

“Alright. But you better fuckin’ call if you need something. None of this ‘I can get by on my own’ bullshit. Understood?”

“Hey man, that line was all you, not me,” Bucky reminds him and Steve grunts irritably. “But yeah, ‘course I will. Thanks buddy.”

Before he hangs up, he gives the phone a mocking salute and a wide smile. Steve rolls his eyes and flips him off, very pointedly pushing the end call button.

Silence surrounds him and his smile fades as he looks around the room. Exhaustion fills him then and his limbs feel like lead. Collapsing onto the bed, he buries his face in her pillow and closes his eyes.

*****

He sleeps for 48 straight hours.

He gets up a few times and stumbles to the bathroom, eyes half closed and leaning against the wall because he can barely keep his balance, but otherwise he’s out cold. The gnarled fingers of the nightmares always strangling him slither up his neck, searching for purchase, but they’re rebuffed. Again and again and again, they bay for his blood, but for some unknown reason they’re pushed away.

What a god damn relief.

*****

It’s late morning on the third day, when the sound of his stomach growling kicks him awake. Huffing out a soft whine as he stretches, he rubs the grit from his eyes and lifts the blanket. Tugging gently at the tape around his bandage, he sees splotches of green and yellow bruising around the area, and finds two wounds that look weeks old, scabby and starting to itch.

“Good morning,” he hears and looks up to find her standing in the doorway with a purple mug of coffee.

“H-,” he croaks, voice rusty with disuse, and he clears his throat and tries again. “Sorry. Hey. Good morning.”

She walks slowly toward the bed, as if not to spook him. Bucky tries to smile, wincing just slightly as he struggles to sit up. Extending the mug, he accepts it gratefully and takes a long drink.

“Damn, that’s amazing. Thank you.”

Returning his easy smile, she motions to the wound and holds up a small scissors. “I can take those stitches out, if you want. Unless you’d prefer to do it yourself.”

Letting an unknown person near him with a pair of scissors seems like less than intelligent behavior, but Bucky’s never been a fan of stitches – putting them in or taking them out. Broken bones, concussions, burns, those are no problem. But anything that includes sewing human flesh together? That’s at the top of his nope scale.

“God yeah. Please.” He throws the blankets aside and swings his legs over the edge of the bed looking up at her. “How do you, um…how do you want me?”

“That’s fine, just sit up straight and, um, if you can – lift up your shirt?” Bucky nods and pulls up his t-shirt, removing his right arm and then hesitating. He ends up with it half-way on, keeping his left arm and the thick red scars around his shoulder, hidden from view. Clearing his throat, he looks into his lap and waits.

Kneeling between his legs, her fingers are freezing when they touch his skin and he flinches slightly.

“Sorry,” she murmurs apologetically, pulling away and rubbing her hands on her thighs. “My hands are always cold.”

“S’okay, just surprised me,” Bucky replies quietly. She glances up with a fleeting smile and goes back to work.

For the strangest reason, he feels himself begin to blush. Which makes no sense, because how many times has he been buck-ass naked in front of doctors and never batted an eye. But now, he swallows self-consciously and maybe he sucks in his stomach and flexes just a little, because for some wild reason, he cares what she thinks.

Which makes no god damn sense.

She doesn’t seem to notice though, tongue between her teeth while she snips carefully at the threads and tugs them loose. Once they’re gone, she squeezes a bit of ointment on, rubbing her thumb gently over the scab, and puts a clean bandage in place.

When she’s finished, she looks up to find him staring awkwardly down, his face flushed a splotchy red.

“Are you okay? Do you feel warm?” She reaches a cool hand to his forehead and Bucky gets flustered.

“No, no,” he says hastily, and he nearly tumbles off the bed when he ducks away. “I’m great. Fit as a fiddle. It’s just the fire, kinda hot in here, and you have lots of blankets and they’re so fluffy, and I’m, yeah. Whew! Hot stuff. Anyway.”

Bucky wants to sink into the floorboards. Hot stuff? What the hell was that?! he groans internally. Have you ever even talked to a woman? Get your shit together you fucking moron!

His verbal stupidity surprises her, but thank god she ignores it. Standing up, she crumples the used bandages.

“If you’re tired, you should keep sleeping. It’s good for you.”

Bucky shakes his head and adjusts his shirt. “I’ve slept more these past few days than the past two months. Usually have - nightmares and things,” he tucks loose hair behind his ear, frowning at the admission, “but I’ve slept perfect here. No nightmares at all.”

Her eyes light up at his admission. “That’s great. I’m glad.”

“Besides, you deserve your bed back.”

“No, you’re recovering, you need to stay in here – ”

Bucky holds up both hands to stop her. “Yeah, no. You’re not winning this one. If it’s still okay, I’d like to stay a couple more days. Pay you back for helping me. But I’m taking the couch downstairs and if you try to make me sleep in here, I’ll sleep downstairs anyway and this very comfortable bed will go to waste.”

Hands on her hips, she raises her eyebrows, staring him down. Bucky feels momentarily cowed, but he gives just as good, so he folds his arms and stares back.

Finally, her lips twitch and he hears a small laugh. The sound makes his blood sing.

*****

The days tick by.

And it goes like this.

Every morning, she comes downstairs to find him sitting on the couch, blankets perfectly folded into neat squares. He hands her a cup of coffee, asks what he can help with today, and her long list of home improvements begins to shrink.

Every evening, she makes supper and they talk, and Bucky quickly realizes how much he enjoys these evenings. It should bother him, he thinks, to feel so oddly at ease with this woman who’s essentially a stranger. But he finds himself sharing bits of himself, absorbing those pieces of herself she hands over. He relaxes more in a few days of knowing her, than in months of living with his team in New York.

Every night, she tells him to sleep well and she climbs the stairs up to her bedroom. He listens as she gets ready for bed, the quiet path of her footsteps a soothing predictability. When the footsteps go silent, he fluffs out a blanket and gets comfortable on the couch, so he can think.

And all through the night, he dozes in fits and starts, staying awake in the darkness to keep watch over this unknown woman who saved his life.

*****

“It’s just always so damn cold out there. You know what I miss? Soup.”

“Hmmm. Soup would be good. What kind?”

“Um…potato? My Ma makes the best damn potato soup. Warms your bones right up.”

“I have some potatoes left in the cellar. Come over tonight, I’ll give it a try.”

*****

“Can I ask what you were doing up here?” she asks, stirring her soup. Bucky ignores caution and dives right in, chomping into a steaming potato and gasping in pain.

“Damn, this is amazing, I love potato soup. Haven’t had it in years,” he enthuses, fanning his mouth. He swallows the scorching bite and takes a swig of water. “So, there used to be an old Hydra base near here. Been abandoned forever, but one of the old distress signals went off. I came up to investigate.”

Fishing in the liquid for another potato, he captures one and looks up to meet a wide-eyed stare.

“I never knew there was a base around here. Did you find anything?” she asks tightly. Bucky sees her fingers clutch the spoon so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t snap.

“No, nothing. It’s happened before, couple other places. Old bases breaking down, tech sparking out,” he says quickly. “Never anything wrong when we get there. It’s nothing to worry about, I promise. Just Hydra shit finally crapping out. It’s a good thing.”

“You’re sure?”

Bucky hears it in her voice. He’s intimately acquainted with the sound of fear. His spoon clinks when he sets it down and he gives her a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure.”

She’s keeps stirring her soup, thinking. When she asks a question, her voice wavers. “The man I shot. Was he Hydra?”

Bucky knows that sound as well. The uncertainty of someone who was caught in the moment, who fought violence with violence. “Yes. He was there about the signal. Asked if I set it off.”

Looking away, she sees their reflection watching from the living room windows. Her face is thoughtful when she considers.

“I shot someone. And I didn’t think twice.”

The movement is purely unconscious. Bucky couldn’t stop it if he tried.

“Thank you,” he says, clutching her fingers and pouring every drop of sincerity into his voice, “for not thinking twice.”

“You’re welcome,” she says faintly. Her fingers press against his for the briefest moment, before she drags her hand back to her lap.

*****

“You ever think about getting rid of that rooster?”

“Are you trying to murder my birds?”

“No! Oh geez, no.”

“How about this - if he’s still alive next time you visit, I’ll make you fried chicken.”

*****

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she answers, carefully setting fried chicken on a paper towel to cool.

Bucky thinks for a moment and chooses his words carefully. “The last time we met, it was 1969.”

Her shoulders tense, but she nods and avoids his stare. “Yes. It was.”

“You can tell me to fuck off here if you want, but - you don’t look quite old enough for us to know each other then.”

She stays silent, scratching at the edge of the skillet with tongs. He can tell she’s deciding how to answer.

“No. I guess I don’t.” Looking up at him, she sets the utensil in the sink and meets his curious gaze. “I’m – enhanced, I guess. If that’s what they’re calling it these days.”

It makes sense. There must be thousands of enhanced people across the world. So many choose to stay under the radar, uninterested in the circus spectacle that follows anyone who displays even a hint of ability. Bucky thinks of Steve wearing baseball caps all the time, and Wanda dying her hair black and changing her accent, and Bruce avoiding the color green and staying hidden in Tony’s labs all day.

Sometimes being different sucks.

“Got it,” Bucky says. He watches her pick at her chicken and he nudges a little more. “So, you’re enhanced and you…found a good skin cream then?”

She huffs out a laugh.

“That would’ve been nicer. I was born with an ability. It was nothing powerful. Nothing fun,” she says with a trace smile and Bucky feels himself smile in response. “It was passed down in my family. My mother had it, her mother before her. When I was 27, there was an accident. I don’t understand what th – what happened. But here I am.”

Bucky sees the light in her eyes dim, her expression closing off and he desperately wants to keep her talking. He wants to learn more. He wants to learn her.

“Should I assume Hydra was responsible for that accident?” Startled at the comment, she looks up nervously. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I just, when I told you why I was here, you seemed - scared. I know the feeling.”

Swallowing hard, she licks suddenly dry lips. “Yes. They - liked their experiments.”

Bucky gives her a grim smile. “Yeah. They really fuckin’ do, don’t they?” They sit in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, until Bucky’s curiosity gets the best of him. “What’s your ability?”

With those magic words, it ends. Her expression shutters and she retreats into herself.

“I’m sorry. I’m not comfortable talking about it,” she says quietly. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Bucky replies easily, and he means it. He picks the crispy skin from the chicken leg. “I know what it’s like to be different.”

*****

“You made noodles?”

“A long time ago, when we had plenty of flour and butter. They won’t be as good as the ones you had in Italy though.”

“Nah, those were fascist noodles. I bet your noodles taste better.”

“I would hope so.”

*****

“The food here is fantastic,” Bucky says reverently, piling a second helping of spaghetti on his plate. Maybe he should feel self-conscious at the awkward way he slurps the noodles, but it’s so fucking good he doesn’t care.

She forks the noodles and twirls them into a spoon, grinning at him. Bucky marvels briefly at the effortless gesture.

“Well, I try.”

“You succeed.”

Passing him a basket of bread, she stirs the noodles around her bowl.

“Hey Bucky?

“Hmmm?

“What have you been doing? Since you came back?” she asks tentatively.

There’s a question.

What has he been doing? Revenge. Rounding up the arrogant fucks who escaped the first Hydra purge following DC. Avenging. Throwing himself back into fighting, trying to rebuild his tarnished reputation with the good deeds he owes. All are viable answers, but he goes with a more personal truth, the one that keeps him up at nights.

“Trying to figure myself out, I guess. Learn how to be part of a team again. How the world works, when you’re allowed to make your own decisions. Sorting through memories, trying to make them useful. All that good stuff.”

She takes a drink of wine and seems to gather her courage. “And are you - I mean do you – have you been remembering things?”

The question is so hesitant. Bucky wonders wryly if she’s afraid to hurt his feelings, but it doesn’t matter, he can admit when he has no fucking idea what’s going on. Which is most of the time.

“Some,” he says honestly. “Don’t remember anything from before I was captured. Anything I know, it’s stuff Steve’s told me, or stuff I’ve read. Watched a bunch of documentaries about WW2, that was weird, seeing myself on old film reels. No idea why, but I can’t get to any of those memories, they’re just - obliterated. The ones with Hydra though, they’re reappearing. That’s why I volunteer for jobs like this,” he admits, tearing off a hunk of bread. “Keep thinking if I go back to these places, I can figure out who I was back then.”

“Bucky. Why the hell would you do that to yourself?” she asks sternly. Bucky grins at the tone.

“You sound like Steve. Look, I don’t want to know what I did back then. All the shit I’ve done to other people…all the shit that’s been done to me. Fuck that. I don’t want to know, I need to know. Hard to put yourself back together, when you’re missing huge pieces of the puzzle.”

Bucky looks down at his plate, mopping up spaghetti sauce with his bread. She doesn’t say anything else.

*****

The air is crisp and clean the next night, when Bucky steps outside. Standing on the front porch, he pulls a dark blue knit hat low over his ears and sucks a deep breath, reveling in the freshness that fills his lungs. Mountain sunsets are something incredible to behold and he stops to savor it; the craggy horizon painted brilliant red-orange, deep purple hugging from above, crystal white stars gleaming.

It clears his head in an unexpected way. The scents of snow and pine needles and life. He’d forgotten how reviving life in the wilderness could be. Growing up in Brooklyn, spending most of his life now in Manhattan, he wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy guy. And normally, he hates the snow. Spent far too many years being cold to seek it out, but here? Here, it’s not too bad. The sound of the nearby river bubbling through ice, the smell of wood smoke curling in the air, and – well.

And her.

There’s something strangely calming about her. Her voice, her mannerisms. Her cautious smile. The way she hums while she cooks and how she catches her tongue between her teeth when she’s concentrating. Bucky feels an unusual tug in his belly at the thought. It feeds something he hasn’t really considered since he fought his way back to the land of the living and it’s making him reconsider a few things.

He should probably call Steve tonight. Let him know he’s still knee deep in Kit-Kat mode.

Because right now? Bucky really doesn’t want to leave.

Reaching for the tattered broom leaning by the railing, he sweeps away the couple inches of new snow covering the steps and jumps lightly down. Walking back to her little woodshed, he pops a key into the lock connecting the shed doors and eases the creaking wood open. Rummaging for a few minutes, he piles up a massive armful of logs and carries them back to the bin on her front porch. Three times he makes the trip, arranging the pile carefully, filling it to overflowing, so she won’t need to tramp through the snow to get more.

Maybe tomorrow, he’ll make himself useful and cut more. Manual labor, fresh air. The happy thought makes him giddy.

When he finishes, he flips the lock clasp to bolt it again, but something catches his eye. Peering closer, he finds scratches down the side of the lock. Glinting silver, they look new. Bucky narrows his eyes and glances over his shoulder, into the darkness of the trees beyond.

The world is quiet. Not a breath of wind.

It seems odd, but as she said before – no one ever comes up this way. Likely it’s nothing and she mentioned this lock gave her issues, so maybe it was simply past frustration. Fingering the grooves, he makes a mental note to ask her about it, just in case. Trudging back toward the porch, the scent of pancakes reaches his nose and he leaps eagerly up the first step.

He pulls up short.

It happens then. The brick wall appears.

Bucky feels his brain ricochet from the blow. He wasn’t even searching, but it hits like a hammer, pounding the breath from his lungs and the sound of Steve’s voice fills his head.

“Nah, it was in France, about a year before. SHIELD never returned your bag after – well. After. Who the hell knows though, maybe it’s lost in the archives somewhere. Anyway, there were all these letters you had in there from your girl, maybe they’re something you want.”

“My girl?”

“Yeah, you – your girl. Smart. Beautiful. You were, uh…you were just fuckin’ head over heels. She used to write you all these letters, you kept ‘em stuffed in your bag, ‘Dear Jimmy,’ they always started and – ”

“Stop.”

“Buck – ”

“Stop it Steve, I mean it.”

“Alright, alright, you said you wanted to know, I’m just telling you - ”

“Dammit, just - I don’t wanna remember it. Not right now. Can’t fuckin’ handle hearing about someone else I let down.”

Somewhere in the forest, a bird whistles. The sound brings him crashing back to the present.

Dear Jimmy, he thinks.

Bucky stops breathing.

*****

There’s an old jazz song on the radio perched above her sink, and she turns the dial up. Tapping her feet to the brassy beat, she moves through the small kitchen, humming. Pancakes, eggs, bacon. Breakfast at supper. For some reason it’s always a treat, no matter how old you are.

She’s mixing batter when she hears the quiet click of the closing door, and she sets the bowl down and turns to look at him with a grin.

“Look, I know you said you don’t like your pancakes burnt, but I think you should just try – ”

Her voice fades when she sees him. Bucky stands before her, the blue knit cap clenched in his hands. Dark hair sticks in every direction and he pushes it back, trying to coax it smooth, and she sees his fingers tremble. His face is pale and his bright blue eyes watch her closely.

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

He opens his mouth and closes it. Twice. Unable to find the words.

“Are you hurt?” she tries again, wiping her hands on a dish towel and coming forward. “What happened?”

Holding up a hand, he stops her and moves to sit on the edge of an armchair. Chewing his lip for a full minute, he finally finds his voice.

“I have a question. I need you to answer me with the truth.”

“Okay,” she says hesitantly. She moves to the living room and sinks slowly to the chair opposite him. She pinches her lip nervously and Bucky feels his heart spasm. He keeps watching her, willing himself to pull up the correct memories and failing. Finally, he gives up and whispers.

“Am I Jimmy? Were you waiting for me that night?”

Her expression never changes, but he sees her breathe faster, chest rising and falling quickly. The answer is clear. Closing her eyes, she exhales a long breath.

“Yeah. You – yes. Yes. You were, you are – him. You’re Jimmy.” Opening her eyes, he sees them shiny with tears and when she blinks, they spill over. “I was waiting for you that night.”

Silence stretches longer and longer and Bucky finally realizes his lungs are burning. He lets out his breath with rush and leans forward. Elbows on his knees, he tries with everything in his heart, to remember.

“We’d met? Before then? We knew each other?”

She sits up straight, never breaking eye contact. Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she searches for the right words. Bucky feels his heart thump wildly while he waits; her voice is laced with sadness when she speaks.

“The first time we met was in 1944. I was wearing grey and you were wearing blue.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

Tags are open right now, if you want one, please send me a DM or ASK.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #altnl

925 notes · View notes

fiti-vation · 6 years

Note

Hi! I wanna run a marathon sometime this year, but I'm currently an unfit blob. Do you think it's possible or am I being unrealistic? I know nothing about running. Thanks!

Hi dear,

Sorry for the late reply, I hope you’re doing well.

Since, I don’t know what your current fitness level, this will be a general answer to your question.

The marathon is a difficult distance to master, no matter if you’re a bucket-list runner whose only goal is to cross the finish line, or if you’re a competitive runner on the hunt for a personal best. Even the most seasoned marathoners have no idea what their marathon times will be. Think about it-setting a finish time is a little like picking the winning lottery numbers because there are so many variables that can affect your performance: wind, rain, cold, heat, humidity, etc. Everything-from an ache in your calf to a hotspot on your foot to that cup of water you missed at the last fluid station-is heightened when you cover 26.2 miles on foot, but that’s part of the lure of the marathon. If it were easy, the accomplishment wouldn’t be as coveted.

It is definitely possible to run a marathon as long as you not scared of getting out of your comfort zone. If you stay in your comfort zone, you’re not going to do anything special. A comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. Running challenges, you.

The key to running a strong first marathon is to remember the three “P’s”: Preparedness, Patience and Perseverance.

Preparedness: Mental toughness

As I have discussed in previous posts the first step to any fitness goals is mental wellbeing. Those who’ve been following me for years know that I am a huge advocate of mental discipline. Most of us think that it is our body that will get the job done when it fact it is our mind. If you’re not right mentally you will never perform well physically. Mental Toughness is really what will get you to the finish line. The body achieves what the mind believes!

If you’re just getting into running, the first obstacle to overcome will be yourself. Getting through the first couple of months will be the most difficult because most people’s brains aren’t hardwired to have exercise every day. But sticking with it and exercising every day, after a couple of months your brain will be reprogrammed to expect you to get out and exercise every day. After that, it’s much easier to make the time and find motivation to go for a run or walk.

Having once weighted 220 pounds myself and suffered from class 2 obesity, I can attest that the first couple of months are horrible. You’ll probably see very little in the way of results and you’ll wonder why the hell you are bothering. You’ll get tired and you’ll get sick of it and you might lose your motivation. Just remember that it will get easier at the end of those first couple of months. While you’re establishing that routine, it’s really important to be kind to yourself. Don’t look at the scales, don’t worry about your times, don’t focus on running a marathon. Just focus on establishing a regular fitness routine. Commit to exercising every day regardless of what the outcome is over those first three months let’s say. That’s all! Just as you can’t start with a 250-lb deadlift, you can’t jump into training at an 8-minute mile. If you want to make it past a week of training you have to mentally and physically slow down.

While working on your mental toughness, also take this time to find yourself as a runner. Do you prefer training indoors or outdoors? It’s a lot easier to jump off a treadmill vs. running outdoors where giving up means you’ll still have to walk home. Are you a team player or a soloist? Find a running buddy who is just a little bit faster than you to keep you challenged, otherwise work on an awesome playlist to keep you pumped throughout your run. And find your solemate-stop by a running store to analyze your gait and find the proper sneaker (turns out the stability, cushioning shoe I splurged on would help ease shin splits for my overpronating feet).

To conclude here, I would also recommend that you start mastering the power of visualization. On several nights before going to bed, or first thing in the morning, visualize yourself crossing the finish line as the clock shows a new personal best. Before the 2004 Olympic Marathon Trials, where Wells placed seventh, she replayed positive mental images before falling asleep at night. “I knew the course we would be running, and I’d see myself out on it running well,” she says. “There’s a hill in the 25th mile, and I’d say to myself, ‘Okay, get up that hill, and then run strong to the finish.’”

Personally, I utilize self-talk and positive thinking. Self-talk is all about encouraging yourself, especially when things are starting to get tough. If I am hurting during a race, I tell myself that the other runners are probably hurting just as bad, if not more. When it comes to positive thinking, I think it is a good technique to use in running and in life. Even when things are not going well, there is a better day tomorrow. But you have to work for a better day, not just hope for one.

Mental limits will hinder you far behind physical limits will. Trust your training, trust your body.

Preparedness: Fitness Assessment

Before you start running you should start your new training cycle by assessing your current level of fitness. Many coaches have their runners complete a detailed self-assessment of their strengths and weaknesses as a runner, what types of runs they do and don’t enjoy, as well as previous PRs and reactions to training cycles. Look back at your training log to help complete your own self-assessment.

Preparedness: Training/Recovery

After that you’ve assessed your fitness level

choose a plan based on your fitness level

. Focused running is more important than long useless mileage. Longer endurance events need more aerobic work than shorter events. The key is to not overtrain. Make sure you are logging workouts to assess your volume week-by-week, month-by-month and year-by-year.

Your training plan should gradually build weekly mileage and the distance of the long runs. This slow-but-steady buildup allows you to get stronger and go longer, without getting hurt or burned out. Some days you’ll want to add more miles, but it’s best to stick to the plan.

Each week, you should do a long run to develop the endurance you’ll need to cover the race distance. On these runs, focus on covering the mileage for the day, and forget about pace. Take walk breaks to stay energized throughout.

There are a bunch of running schedules you can find online (like the ones from Hal Higdon, for example), but accept the fact that it’s OK to modify based on your ability and schedule, and set realistic, achievable goals in terms of mileage and pace. I have included one below.

Keep the training fun: mix it up with different length runs and a variety of speeds.

Build up gradually to a long run of more than 20 miles but less than 24, preferably over several months of a crescendo, adding two to three miles per week to the distance.

If you don’t have time to build up gradually, work in “brick” sessions where you run long on two sequential days so that the total is a marathon and your legs and mind know what it is like to run tired.

Avoid injury and illness by monitoring your body and addressing niggles when they are merely warning signs. Massage, ice, cross-training, a strong core, proper rest and recovery, shoes that match your running form and aren’t overly worn, a healthy diet, and a smart training schedule will all help in that quest.

Use ice baths to recover after longer runs and avoid massages before the big event-but feel free to make an appointment now for a few days after the race (a sports massage one or two days after the event could help speed up recovery).

Make Smart Adjustments to Your Training Plan The most difficult aspect of a bad workout is deciding how to proceed once you know it’s not your day. The two best options: slow the pace, and if that doesn’t work, stop the workout entirely. When you’re struggling this much to hit times for a workout, it’s better to regroup, put the workout behind you, and just move forward with the training. It’s important that you do not try to make up a workout the next day. This throws off the balance of the training program.

Note that when training for a marathon do not only focus on cardio. Don’t skimp on the strength training! It’s so important for injury prevention and goes a long way to help with both speed and endurance. Learning proper glute activation for any hills on the course will allow you to expend far less energy than if you were powering through with your calves, while lateral movements will help strengthen your hip and knee stabilizer muscles.

Preparedness: Nutrition/Eat well

In order to run your best, it’s important to have a balanced diet. About half your daily calories should come from carbohydrates, like whole grains, fruits, and vegetables. About a quarter of your calories should come from lean protein, like dairy, lean meats, beans, and legumes. The remainder should come from heart-healthy fats like olive oil and avocados. I would recommend that you read about the science of carb loading.

PRACTICE EATING ON THE RUN: You’ll need to refuel every 30 to 45 minutes during the race, so on your long runs, experiment with different brands and flavors of sports drinks, gels, and chews to find out which one sits best in your stomach. Be sure to try out the brand and flavor that will be offered at the race.

Plan out your hydration and nutrition strategy to get you comfortable through the entire distance. Find out what electrolyte drink they’ll have on the course and make sure it works for you. If not, find a solution, such as carrying your own or using salt tabs.

According to the latest science, the best way to fuel your body through a marathon is to drink enough fluid to keep your thirst consistently under control, and to consume at least 60 grams of carbohydrates per hour. There is more than one way to fulfill these recommendations. The specific way that’s best for you depends on how your body responds to nutrition intake while running.

Preparedness: Stay committed to your goal

No matter how big or small your goal-whether it’s losing 5 or 50 pounds, walking a mile or running your first marathon-making change requires planning and S.M.A.R.T. goal setting.

Specific - target a specific area for improvement.

Measurable - quantify or at least suggest an indicator of progress.

Assignable - specify who will do it.

Realistic - state what results can realistically be achieved, given available resources.

Time-related - specify when the result(s) can be achieved.

Be SMART is an acronym championed by everyone from the University of Virginia to MIT to Fortune 500 companies for how to set actionable goals. Objectives should be Specific, Measurable, Accountable, Realistic and have a Timeframe. Specific goals will keep you accountable. “Lose weight” is too vague. “Lose 15 pounds in six months” gives you much more direction and allows you to have a way to measure your progress.

Be consistentOnce you’ve set your goal, you need to come up with a plan that emphasizes consistent effort. The idea of goal-setting is to challenge yourself each time you set out to work toward your larger goal. Setting up smaller, intermediate check points will help you track your progress and keep you motivated to work out on a regular basis. Remember: slow and steady wins the race. Small wins equate to big results. When people set out to run a marathon, they don’t immediately run 26.2 miles. They increase their mileage every week. Channel that same mentality as you set up a plan that allows you to realistically achieve your goal.

Patience:

Above everything else - nutrition, training programs, sneakers, etc. - being patient is the most important quality to possess. Running is an extremely humbling sport that breaks even the best runners. If you are patient and give yourself time to adjust to a routine and to build on the previous week’s work, then you will be able to accomplish your goals in due time.

Running your first marathon is all about conquering the distance, not beating the clock. It’s a way to establish your marathon fitness, which you can continue to build on and improve in future races.

Perseverance:

As a final word, I’d like to say here that running is not just about fitness and competition; it’s about changing our lives. Most of us run because it makes us feel significant, powerful, and in control, not just because we want to compete. When people who have never had a sense of accomplishment before suddenly gain it, it transforms every aspect of their lives. They become increasingly fearless. People always realize they can do more when they first do something at all. Confidence grows, and with it, so does vision.

I hope this was helpful.Cheers, Steph :)

#me #FAQ #fitblr #Fitblog #marathon #running

272 notes · View notes

quietpagan · 6 years

Text

TH What Falls and What Grows 16

What would the world be, once bereft of wet and wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet, long live the weeds and the wildness yet.

- Gerard Manley Hopkins

Pain was what woke her, and what kept her from waking.

The blue-black place she was floating in seemed familiar, but her mind was too blurred to recognize it. Some thing pained her greatly, and she began to panic. Irrationally, she thought of the witch-hunts in Germany and in England, where they took the unusual and the passionate and they killed them for their differences.

“I didn’t mean to,” she murmured, falling back on the preferred language of her childhood. “I’ll do better…”

“You have done nothing to incur such hatred,” an echoing voice answered, but she was too muddled to accept it.

“You must stay still,” said a voice, so quietly that she could not heed it.

“Do not let them take me away,” she pleaded. The witch-hunts scared her so badly. What if her village decided that she was too unruly? What if she was hanged for her fights with the boys? What if she slipped up, said something too strange, did something that upset the wrong person, and someone found a mole or a birthmark on her body and took her away, away, away…

“Nobody is going to take you away.”

“She’s insensible...”

“Useless…” “Stranger…”

She struggled to rise, but found that she couldn’t get up. Her limbs were bound by invisible bonds, and fear flooded her mind in freezing waves. Had they caught her? Had she been stolen? She tried to move again and the bonds only tightened, and just when she was about ready to faint in fear agony pressed into her side, as if the Devil himself was trying to cut out her kidney.

She cried out and flinched as violently as she could, but her entire body was held in a tight grip. Helpless; vulnerable; utterly incapable of defending herself. They’d stab her with knives and claws and teeth, fill her lungs with water and twist her bones with magic and peel her skin away with fire until she couldn’t recognize herself, until she gave in, until she forgot…

…but she never forgot.

The pain was softly fading, and with it ebbed the choking fog in her mind. They may have fought because they wanted to live, to prove their worth, but she fought because she wanted to go home.

The edges of the Void slowly became recognizable, and she dimly considered the fact that it would, eventually, become her final home.

She breathed for several long moments, until she was certain that her voice wouldn’t shake. It did anyway.

“Can’t believe I’m gonna have to spend eternity with you assholes,” she murmured.

The ghostly presence of Kanjigar smirked down at her. She glared at him, and then violently started, jerking against her bonds so suddenly that she felt her limbs bruising.

“Am I fucking dead!” “You are alive,” said Kanjigar. “Currently.” “Thank God,” Alexandra sighed, her heart drumming angrily. “’M not ready.” “You certainly are not,” Kanjigar agreed. “You still have to kill Gunmar, after all, and re-integrate the Changelings into troll society.”

“Lemme end poverty and turn off the sun while I’m at it,” Alex said.

“Arrogance doesn’t suit you, Trollhunter. And you will be needing that sun,” Kanjigar said. With mist still clouding her mind, he sounded even more confusing than normal.

“What would happen to the armor if the sun went out,” she absently wondered. Kanjigar ignored her.

“Your foolishness nearly got you killed,” he said. Alex tried to wave him off, but was forced to roll her eyes instead.

“This is serious, Alexandra,” Kanjigar said tightly, startling her with the use of her name. “There is much to be done, and you will not be able to perform your duty until you are completely healed. Your decision to bleed to death instead of asking for help will cost you.” “I couldn’t let Vendel see,” Alex said. “I heal too fast with troll medicine.” Kanjigar only shook his head. “Trust begins with you, Trollhunter. You will never succeed at your duty if you do not learn to trust your mentors.”

“’Thought you’d like seeing me push people away,” Alex muttered cuttingly. “You were certainly good at it.” Kanjigar’s nostrils flared, and Alex felt a tiny wave of triumph. She was too tired to take proper amusement at his annoyance.

“Heard your son used to date a Changeling.”

Kanjigar just sighed. She saw him getting ready to change the subject.

“’Wonder if he has a type,” she mused. “He sure attached himself to me pretty quickly.”

“Trollhunter – “

Something poked at her injured side again and she winced.

“He’s not half bad, once you get through the arrogance and the daddy issues. We’re pretty comfortable already – it wouldn’t be that big of a push to up the physical side of our acquaintance – “

In hindsight, deliberately angering a powerful ghost while immobilized wasn’t the best plan, but Alexandra was exhausted and slightly delirious with pain, so she could later excuse herself for not thinking straight. Something semi-solid passed through her chest with a cold, throbbing ache, and another slammed through her head with sharp, ice-like shards that instantly gave her a headache. Kanjigar’s glowing fist hovered a half-inch in front of her face before he once again composed himself.

“Rule number two,” Alex hisses, her eyes blurring. You did have a problem with that one.

“You have liberty to care for your son, now that you’re dead,” she whispered instead, clenching her teeth against her emerging migraine. “The problem is, you’re dead. You’ve missed your chance to be a decent father, and you don’t get to be an ass about it when I’m fixing your damage. You could thank me for saving his life, you know.”

Kanjigar turned away from her and floated off, his shoulders tense and his hands clenched into fists.

“Your deliberate misdirections cost you opportunity,” hissed one of the voices of the council.

“Arrogance.”

“Foolish Changeling!”

“If you are to succeed, you must wield the power of the sun.”

“What? Where the hell did that come from? I already do,” Alex said, vaguely flexing her fingers as if to summon her sword. The blobs of blue light that swirled around the ceiling pulsed and twisted among each other.

“A troll cannot use sunlight…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kanjigar spoke from just behind her head, startling her with his sudden presence.

“The amulet – “

“Jesus Christ, fuck you!”

“ – Was originally created for a Changeling. How it reacts to you and how you may wield its powers will be different.” “What do you mean? What different powers? You couldn’t have written this down in one of your extensive diaries?” “You must discover for yourself how to use the amulet to your best advantage,” said Kanjigar, as calmly as if they had never tiffed. The agony in her side lessened a little bit more as she strained her invisible bonds again.

“You’re being vague on purpose, you dick.”

For a split second his eyes slid down to meet hers, and the tiniest, shittiest little smile etched across his mouth.

“Being Trollhunter is a learning process,” he said. “We cannot simply give you the answers.”

Alexandra felt a stone drop into her stomach as she realized that pissing off the person who could best relate to and help her had actually been a horrible idea.

Getting under his skin for his treatment of her new friend was, however, very possibly worth it.

“Fine by me,” she said. “You assholes give shitty advice anyway.” Kanjigar, the smug bastard, said nothing, apparently content in the knowledge that he had won this meeting. Alexandra decided that she was too exhausted to care.

“Fuck you for nothing, then. I’m going back.”

She stopped struggling against her invisible bonds and finally let her body relax, accepting the pain in her side as a part of her reality and ceasing her fight against the fear and uncertainty swirling in the back of her mind.

The blue glow of the existential-nightmare-room began to fade, and the weight and warmth of the living world slowly enveloped her body.

Kanjigar watched her settle down, and she in turn watched him fade away. He briefly turned his eyes to hers, and she saw the very ghost of a smile before he and it disappeared.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and then the Void was gone.

Being stuck in bed was awful on a regular sick day, but adding a very unhappy Vendel to the situation, plus a painful injury, plus the fact that she wasn’t on a bed so much as a cold stone slab, just made everything so very wonderful.

Vendel wasn’t half bad company, honestly, when he wasn’t being a dick, but Alexandra had annoyed him and so got the brunt of his temper. He patched her up, tended to her wound daily, but for the most part she was forced to either sleep or listen to him ramble about the finer points of troll society and how exactly, with notes on the precise angles, to cut a gemstone. She learned a lot about patience in those first few days.

Vendel’s trapping stones kept her totally still and she had nothing better to do than wait until she was well enough to move. Personally she considered his precautions to be a bit excessive – surely being able to at least bounce her foot wouldn’t re-open her wound – but the old troll was extremely unsubtle about how much he enjoyed inconveniencing her, especially since it was her fault in the first place.

Blinky and AAARRRGGHH visited regularly, once Vendel had given them the clear-all to sit and drawl on for hours about history, lore, battle tactics, and plans for the Bridge situation. Alex actually enjoyed listening to Blinky’s lectures, but she wasn’t allowed to take notes, since Vendel insisted on keeping her completely paralyzed. Any time that she was allowed up was supervised, which Alexandra could admit was a bit of paranoid precaution that she had brought upon herself.

Draal even took it upon himself to risk the travel through the market, although he had AAARRRGGHH to escort him.

“You really need a bath,” Alexandra noted, looking him over. He was still covered in goblin remains, which had more or less bonded to his skin and stuck unpleasantly between his spikes.

“This is as far as I have dared go,” he responded quietly. She knew that if the members of Trollmarket attacked him, he would not fight back or defend himself. AAARRRGGHH and Blinky couldn’t risk themselves by doing much more than walking him back and forth from the Heartstone to her, now his, room, and she wouldn’t ask them to. Until she either restored his honor or changed troll society, he was hers to protect, and without her by his side he was to be considered an open target for ridicule and violence.

He visited her on the third day, which was when Vendel finally allowed her to move her right hands when supervised. They lay outside of the trapping circle, and although the stones made them slow she still smacked Draal in the arm.

“You said you spoke to my father,” he murmured, apparently unable to feel the tiny blow. His eyes turned to hers and the straining hope in them was almost painful.

“…Did he…speak of, of me? At all?” “We had a bit of a fight,” Alex said honestly. “We usually do. He hasn’t really talked about you yet. I think that he believes that if he doesn’t say anything about you, I won’t remember you exist. He certainly doesn’t like us being friends.” “But you are his successor,” Draal replied, pointed eyebrows furrowing. “Surely he cannot disapprove of you, even if you are argumentative and obnoxious.” “Thanks,” Alexandra grumbled. “He’s not happy about you being close with another Changeling.” It was the first time that she had admitted such out loud, to an actual living person, and she was very quietly proud at doing it. Draal looked at his hands then, clenched between his knees, covered in gore and smears of dirt.

“But he was happy to see you back in Trollmarket.” Draal remained silent, but she saw his back relax a bit. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry he had such a terrible father, but the idiot worshiped Kanjigar like a hero, and truly insulting the guy wouldn’t make Draal any happier nor would it make him acknowledge the dead troll’s faults.

“Ah, Master Alexandra! I am glad to see you awake.”

Alex and Draal turned their eyes to the entrance to the Heartstone, where Blinky and AAARRRGGHH were coming around the corner.

AAARRRGGHH dropped a small pile of books next to her one mobile hand and she picked up the first, holding it above her so that she could see it.

“I thought that we might go over properties of the Heartstones, once we discuss what is to be done about the Changeling problem.” Blinky eyed her in a weird way then, as if expecting her to already have a solution.

“Well, I’m stuck here until Vendel decides to release me from captivity, so if you want to go up and find out yourself what they’re up to, you’re free to do so.”

She twitched the book away from AAARRRGGHH, who was sniffing it with interest. Blinky didn’t bat an eye.

“It could be done, of course,” he said, and from his pocket he pulled an odd-looking wooden mask.

“The means is not quite the issue, but the timing. You are incapacitated for the time being, and we either should wait or send someone else. Likely, me.” “You look so enthusiastic.” Blinky chuffed, turning the mask around in his hands. “Quite the contrary, I assure you. But I will endeavor to answer the call if and when I should receive it! Never let it be known that a Galadrigal turned away from a fight!” “It does not have to be you, Blinky,” said Draal. He reached across Alex and Blinky handed him the mask. “I am currently of little use. Our Trollhunter cannot spar or practice, and I could not teach her anyway with my effective banishment painting a target across my back. I should be the one to go.”

Alex looked between the two, weakly waving her hand to try to get someone’s attention.

“I thought we were discussing this; not deciding already. Either way you would have to go at night, without protection, and you would have to get in and out by yourself and undetected. I think that we should wait.”

Blinky promptly ignored her, still speaking over her chest to Draal.

“But with night fallen, Bular will be active, which will be a terrible danger for whoever goes on top of the risks of Changelings and goblins.” “Why don’t I just go?” asked Alex. “I’ve got the Leoht Stone, sunlight’s not going to do anything to me.” Blinky stared at her with wide eyes, as if stunned by such a simple solution. He exchanged a brief look with AAARRRGGHH, and then cleared his throat. “If that is what you suggest, Master Alexandra, then I see no fault in your reasoning.”

“Great. Now we just need to hope that Bular and his minions don’t cause any trouble for as long as it takes for Vendel to let me use my limbs.” “Do not hold your breath, Trollhunter,” grumbled the troll in question, the thunk of his Heartstone staff announcing his arrival. “Your situation will continue to be as it currently is, until I am satisfied of your ability to keep yourself out of trouble.”

He slowly trudged past the four of them, shaking his head in a way that Alex supposed was supposed to make her feel guilty.

“For a Trollhunter, at least.”

“Glad to see your confidence in me,” Alex called after him. She clenched her fist, and the one hand she could move was then covered in its metal gauntlet. Vendel had tried to keep the amulet from her for the first few minutes after she’d awoken, until he realized that she was adept at summoning it, even when he put it in an anti-magic box. Unfortunately, she couldn’t summon her armor on the bits of her that were still immobilized by Vendel’s trapping stones, so when she’d summoned the amulet it just kind of sadly bounced off of the lines of light encasing her, settling down as close to her shoulder as it could get. She had the distinct feeling that it could get through the lines if it really tried, but occasionally it decided to actually follow the rules. As much as she wanted to and did occasionally throw it across the room, she had become rather fond of the stupid glowing thing, and not just because it was a literal part of her.

Her mind was still a tiny bit scattered from her painful ordeal and her trip to the Void and all the weird dreams that Kanjigar had been sending her. She wondered if she could make the amulet a literal part of her.

That would be handy.

“What if I ate it,” she mused out loud.

“Ate what?” Alex opened her eyes, not having realized that she’d closed them. Lying around and doing nothing was exhausting.

“The amulet,” she murmured, deciding to just give it up and settle back down, closing her eyes to the three confused trolls staring at her.

“It would be so much more useful if the amulet wasn’t so much a material thing as a part of me. I could summon it and dismiss it just like the armor.” “Mm. Interesting, but unlikely. The amulet channels your wishes and emotions through it to give you the power to summon your armor. Taking the amulet out of the equation and skipping the middle-man, as the humans say, would indeed be useful to you, but not to your successor, or theirs. The amulet belongs to you and you alone – for now. But it also holds onto the Trollhunters who came before you.”

Alex grimaced.

“No, thank you. I do not want a part of Kanjigar resting inside of me. Forget the whole idea.” “You are tiring yourself out, Trolhunter,” said Vendel off to the side. She heard Draal shift to make way for him. Something warm pressed against the patch he’d placed on her side, and a tension she hadn’t noticed eased off.

“You strain your bonds when you speak. Desist, or I will add another stone and make you desist.” Alexandra didn’t dignify that with an answer, knowing that he would make good of his threat. Talking really wasn’t something that was supposed to happen when one was stuck inside of trapping stones, and he’d only lifted enough off so that she could speak to Draal. But her jaw and her neck muscles were aching from the effort.

She hadn’t felt this useless and weak since her detox year in the ‘70’s, where all she could do for a month was tremor, throw up, and wallow in panic attacks and heart palpitations. At least she could move then.

“Perhaps I should check the tunnels,” Draal was saying, his voice a distant whisper. “It is almost day on the surface.” “You cannot forget the goblins,” Blinky replied softly.

Their voices turned into blurred murmurs, and Alex didn’t feel it when she fell asleep.

The noise woke her this time, since the Heartstone was most often very quiet. Something outside in the main market was making a humongous racket, with a lot of clanging and shouting.

From the feel of the bonds around her she knew that she was under the full force of every trapping stone Vendel possessed, which meant that her visitors/chaperones had left.

There was an odd smell, a burning smell, and she opened her eyes.

The acid-green glare of Stricklander’s triumphant face gazed back.

And Alexandra could. Not. Move.

“And look what we have here,” he sneered, leering over her like a particularly ugly bat. Another Changeling peered around him, looking exceedingly amused.

“A prisoner?”

“Not one of ours,” Stricklander said, looking over Alexandra’s prone form. “I…oh, but what’s this?” He reached a knife through the glowing bars and pried the amulet out of her pocket, where it had been pulsing in time with her frantic heartbeat. The glow of it alighted upon his face and he grinned, clenching it in his fist as he laughed in Alexandra’s face.

“Apparently she is. I’ve been looking forward to meeting our Changeling Trollhunter.” Someone get the fuck in here, Alex thought desperately, trying to make a noise, a movement, anything. The trapping stones prevented her from even summoning her armor.

“Wunderbar,” hissed the other Changeling. “Do you recognize her?” Stricklander’s eyes roamed disinterestedly over her face and body.

“No,” he said, to her eternal relief. “But there is some familiarity. Unfortunately, a few have fallen by the wayside in the past few centuries. I would not be surprised if she were one of those who have not checked in in quite a while.” About forty years or so, give or take three hundred. Alexandra had been very careful to cover her human family’s tracks, doubling back to burn records when they first moved, and over the centuries had taken care to either leave no paper trail or destroy any that had been created. Technology and better censuses made things more difficult, but she knew how to establish and destroy an identity. The Janus Order hadn’t known of her location or seen her face since the mid-seventeen-hundreds, when she had last been dragged to a meeting.

“Should we take her back to Bular?” “No,” Stricklander replied as he fingered his capelet of knives. “She is immobile and stranded here, in the most perfect of opportunities. Bular doesn’t care who kills the Trollhunters, as long as they are dead. We have the amulet in any case.” Alexandra had never felt such fear and helplessness in her life. Vendel’s trapping stones, once merely aggravating and annoying, now would be the absolute death of her. She silently screamed and screamed for somebody to come, for somehow this to be a dream, for her bonds to magically break, but nothing came. Black started to blur the edges of her vision and white-hot pains pierced her chest, even though she couldn’t even hyperventilate. Her hands and toes were filled with needles and she was praying, pleading to a God that she still believed in that something happen, something happen, something happen –

A reddish-gold blur shot suddenly through the air, hitting Stricklander squarely in the back; he went down with an outraged cry as Vendel launched himself into the room, picking up his staff and grabbing the arm of the other Changeling in one long, fluid movement. The Changeling was swiftly thrown through the air, where he struck the edge of Alexandra’s table and tumbled to the floor, his flailing arms knocking several of the trapping stones awry.

Alexandra hastened to stand under the moggy influence of the remaining stones, her limbs straining as if she were swimming through mud. Slowly, laboriously, she pushed the rest of the glowing stones out of alignment and unceremoniously fell off the slab and onto the floor. Her still-healing nose broke motherfucking AGAIN as she landed face-down, but she summoned her amulet straight out of the green asshole’s pocket and donned her armor.

Above her, Stricklander snarled and attacked Vendel, only to have his bony hand caught in a fist larger than his entire head. When he tried to pull back, Vendel squeezed. He was forced to release the broken hand when Stricklander sent a badly-aimed volley of knives into his shoulder, but he gained ground again when the Changeling yelped and stumbled, a bloody streak from Alexandra’s sword running across his exposed calf.

He muttered and oath and booked it, leaving his fallen companion to yell at him in indignation. Vendel dodged around the slab, reaching down to help Alexandra to sit.

“The Changelings have attacked the main market,” he said in a rush, grabbing her by her chest-plate and hauling her up until her back was against the table. “Half of Heartstone is overrun. You must – “ “You need to get back out there,” Alex interrupted, clumsily smacking his hands away. “Stop worrying about me, I’m damn useless! Get back out there and help them!”

Vendel promptly dropped her and hurried back out, moving surprisingly fast for such an old troll. Alexandra struggled to get up, and fell over again. She couldn’t catch her breath, and her vision swam with tears and dizziness. Her panic attack wasn’t helped by her infirmary. After five days of constantly straining against the trapping stones her muscles were coiled and sore, and without the pressure of her bonds her entire body felt weightless and off-balanced. Her hips especially were paining her, and the healing wound in her side throbbed and pulled angrily.

She reached up and gripped the edge of the table behind her, pulling until she was strewn backward over the surface. Her armor loudly scraped against the stone and she finally heaved herself upright, only to fall over again when the other Changeling knocked her back into the table, fleeing for the exit. There was a clang, and a yelp, and a Changeling in human form appeared around the corner, dodging both his troll attacker and his scarpering comrade.

He spotted her and snarled, twirling a pair of stone sabers through towards her. Boldened by her weakened state, he attacked, and the only reason Alexandra was able to keep her head was because she wasn’t able to keep her balance. Her hands fumbled on the table and down she went, a saber slicing the air above her head. She managed to twist her landing so that she slammed into his legs, making him cry out as her armor banged into his bony shins. His eyes glowed with yellow fire as he threw her off, and something in their light threw a sudden memory into her head.

“A troll cannot use sunlight.”

Kanjigar and the ghostly council had been haunting her dreams every time she slept, telling her the same damn things over and over until she wanted to destroy the sun just to shut them up.

“A troll cannot use sunlight.”

What the fuck had they meant!?

“A troll cannot use sunlight.”

(but a Changeling

could)

A TROLL CANNOT USE SUNLIGHT.

Without a single thought Alexandra shifted and threw out her arms; instead of the Daylight sword materializing, bright light spewed from her gloves, coating her arms in the glow up to the elbows. The beams were both solid and fluid, and she raised all four arms and slammed them down on the Changeling’s shoulders. He did not turn to stone, but his skin sizzled and burned at an alarming rate, and within a few seconds he was still on the ground, dead and blackened with horrific burns.

Alexandra yelped in pain and frantically scraped at her arms, which were steaming. Urgent, she banished the gloves and bracers and found her stone skin mottled and alarmingly reddened, tiny cracks glowing as if there was magma under her skin, which it certainly felt like. She threw back her head and screamed in agony.

“ShhhiiiiiIIIIT! AAHH!”

If she could move she could get some fucking water! The pain in her arms was all-consuming and she felt it crawling, destroying her hands and forearms, her heart pounding nauseatingly in her chest and throat as she strained against her sluggish body.

“Can someone get me some fucking water!”

With all the commotion outside her call was unanswered, as she’d expected it to be. The fire slowly, slowly began to cool on its own, but it took its fucking time.

Trolls didn’t sweat, but Alex dearly wished she could, just to get some of the horrible heat out of her body.

She looked over to her side, where the figure of a bright red troll wavered through her dizzy eyes; the Changeling’s attacker, who had driven him into the Heartstone in the first place.

“And what do you want?!”

The troll shrugged and turned away. “Whatever.”

Damn him, he’d seen the whole thing.

“Shit,” Alex growled. “Alright, get back here and help me up.”

The red troll put down his bloodied mace and pushed her up from behind, until she could cling to the wall of the Heartstone for balance. Her hands left bloody smears on the crystal, which soaked them up with a golden glow.

“How many are out there? Is it only Changelings?”

He shook his head and then answered in Trollish, “Goblins too, and an anstramonstrum.” Fuck.

She had no idea what to do against an anstramonstrum, having never encountered one before. Goblins were easy enough to dispatch but what the hell does one do about a growing carnivorous mist?

“Get me outside,” she growled.

They limped and stumbled outside of the Heartstone, where chaos reigned across the chasm. The market was in an uproar of rampaging goblins, attacking Changelings in troll and human forms, and, on the far side of the market, the raging, thundering mass that was the anstramostrum.

Alexandra slid her arm off her escort’s shoulder.

“Go get those trapping stones,” she said to him. “They’re around Vendel’s table back in the Heartstone. Some will be on the floor. Bring them back here.” “Fine,” he grumbled. Alexandra ignored him and summoned her sword, which she fumbled and dropped. A pile of goblins came charging at her that moment and she wondered if she should just let them eat her, and then she summoned her sword again and cut the pile to pieces. Her hand and arm felt like they were being flayed; blood turned the handle of her blade slick and she needed to hold it with two hands.

As long as nothing came and made her move her legs, she was fine.

A scream drew her attention and a whelp and his parent scrambled out from behind a pile of old televisions, a Changeling with a heavy club stalking after them.

Alexandra stumbled forward and fell into him, unable to bring her arms up enough to stab. The Changeling was caught off guard and Alex bit deep into his shoulder, making him scream out. He tried to club her, but the weapon was not meant for close combat, and Alexandra was able to wrench it away from him. He swiped his claws over her face, forcing her to rear back to avoid losing another eye. The pain actually distracted her from the burns on her arms and she retaliated, kneeing him in the groin and making sure that every elbow landed in his gut as they fell to the ground.

It was graceless, and inelegant, but when the fight was over she shooed the child and parent away, her sword and a shaft of wood from a broken stall holding her on her feet.

Trollmarket actually seemed to be doing a fairly good job of defending itself, considering that its denizens were not primarily warriors, but when a blue blur passed Alex and barreled through a hoard of charging goblins, she understood.

Draal was covered in gore and debris but he looked like he was having the time of his life. With a thundering roar he threw himself into battle with two Changelings at once, defeating one and smacking away the other with her limp body.

He dropped his impromptu weapon and his eyes landed on Alex.

“Trollhunter! You are injured – “ “ – I’m good,” she interrupted. “How many are left?” “Not many at all,” he replied with a grin. He rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists. “I’ve taken out the majority, but there is an anstramonstrum, and – “ He paused for a second to slam his fist into a Changeling’s face. Alexandra sliced her ex-fellow’s torso and smacked him away with her staff. They tossed the body aside and jumped aside themselves as a pair of trolls ran past them.

“ – And we still do not know how they even got in.” “I’ll handle that,” Alex said. “And I’m going to try trapping the anstramonstrum. Where are Blinky and AAARRRGGHH?” Draal pointed. Near the bridge entrance Blinky was in the middle of the fray, throwing large stones and smacking with a spear every Changeling and goblin that was surrounding AAARRRGGHH, who was deliberately making a target of himself.

They’re fine for now.

“I’ve got the crystals.”

Alexandra jumped, not having noticed her Whatever-Troll’s return. He looked exceedingly put-upon, but held out a bag that glowed from within.

“The trapping stones?” Taking the bag and nodding, Alexandra slung her arm over Draal’s pointy shoulder and pointed him to the gyre side of Trollmarket, where the anstramonstrum was wheedling through the stalls, a dozen trolls running for their lives away from its mass.

“It’s an alive thing,” Alex said, as Draal stood and just outright carried her across the floor. “It’s not dissipating into the air, so it’s semi-solid. But I can’t slice it, burn it, or…well…I guess I could try to burn it.” Her raw arms were chaffing against Draal’s skin and she wanted to faint.

I really don’t want to try.

“Either way, I don’t know how to kill it, so we’re going to have to trap it until we can find out how to.”

“And you are sure that this will work?” Draal put her down and she started laying the stones out.

“No, I don’t,” Alexandra admitted. “It’s the best I got right now.” Draal took the bag from her and put down the remaining stones, spreading them into an enormous circle that touched the walls of the market.

They waited.

And the stupid cloud went down the wrong hallway.

Draal cursed in Trollish and sped away, ignoring Alexandra when she called out for him.

“Draal! We’ll just set up the stones somewhere else! Draal! What the hell are you going to do?!” “Make it angry,” he called back.

Their antics were drawing the attention of a distant crowd, and through it pushed AAARRRGGHH, Blinky clinging to his side as they ran across the emptied passage.

“Master Alexandra! What can we do?” “I can’t fucking MOVE! Take these stones and get them down that other hallway! DRAAL!”

Blinky shooed AAARRRGGHH in front of him and the larger troll sped up, skidding to a halt just outside of the trapping circle. His hand hovered over a crystal just as they heard a voice cry out.

“Wait!”

Silence reigned for a half moment that lasted an eternity, and then Draal appeared, turning down a far corner.

“Get away!” Directly behind him, the anstramonstrum consumed everything in its path, shattering crystals and swallowing stalls. It ignored other trolls still scattered in the market, focused on the blue troll and him alone. Draal curled into a roll and careened down the corridor, stopping directly in front of the crystal circle.

“Wait for it,” he murmured. The anstramonstrum continued on its destructive path, intent on devouring he who had royally pissed it off.

Draal walked calmly around the circle, until it stood between him and the deadly cloud.

It got closer and closer, aiming directly for him, and then just before it entered the circle it cut a sharp right and fucking went around it.

AAARRRGGHH picked up Alexandra and dodged to the side, nearly slamming her into a stumbling Draal. The deadly cloud’s momentum shot it down the path, but it quickly turned itself around, cracking with purple lightning as it missed its target.

They sprinted around to the opposite side of the circle, and then Draal, the eternal, noble fool, stepped into it.

He spread his arms and was immediately paralyzed. The stones emitted their glowing bars, trapping him.

Alexanda wriggled out of AAARRRGGHH’s grip and stumbled forward with a cry.

The anstramonstrum flowed into the enormous circle of stones, swallowing Draal whole before it was stopped as well.

Alex’s stagger turned into a desperate sprint, and she flung herself through the bars of light. Half of her body was immersed in the black cloud, stinging her skin with a hundred thousand glowing knives, before she connected with something solid and sent it tumbling to the ground. A huge hand grabbed her by the back of her belt and dragged her and Draal out of the trapping circle, lifting them carefully over the yellow stones.

Draal was alive but unconscious. His tattoos glowed with pinpricks of purple light, cracks of which spread over his skin. His breathing was short and shallow, but he was alive.

“Thank God, you idiot,” Alex murmured, sitting back with relief.

Blinky finally caught up to them and pulled Alexandra away so that Vendel could reach Draal. There was still the distant sound of fighting, but she couldn’t continue. Pain and exhaustion finally overwhelmed her, and she fell backwards into AAARRRGGHH’s waiting hand.

Understandably, Blinky was having a completely, utterly horrible day.

He had not been put out at first at their Trollhunter falling asleep before he could start their lessons, given that sleeping was one of the many things that he wanted her to do that she just didn’t do. Her sleeping meant that she wasn’t going to be thinking about how terribly awkward Blinky was sure he had been during their talk. It had been the first time that Changelings had been brought up and he just knew that he’d almost given himself away.

He and AAARRRGGHH had been getting something to eat when several members of the crowd, in every part of Trollmarket, had suddenly starting attacking people. Goblins emerged from every corner and began destroying everything in sight, and several innocent trolls fell before anybody realized what exactly was going on.

There had to be dozens of Changelings, all armed to the teeth and accompanied by half a dozen goblins each. AAARRRGGHH had to keep Blinky from getting killed before it dawned on them that they were primary targets.

Blinky himself had actually been dragged away from the fray by two Changelings, separating him from his protector, before Draal had joined the fray with roars and thundering fists.

It was he that drove away the majority of combatants, tossing goblins through the air and downing the attacking Changelings with a fervor and competence that reminded who exactly Draal had been the son of. Many trolls were able to get to safety as he drew the majority of the fight to himself.

Blinky had wondered where Alexandra was before remembering that she was in the Heartstone, trapped and utterly at the mercy of any Changelings who decided to attack there. Frantically he had called to Vendel, who was fighting nearby, to remind him of their incapacitated Trollhunter.

He himself fought with fist, stone, and a fallen spear, but it was quickly becoming evident that he was more of a liability than an asset. AAARRRGGHH had noticed it, too, and he deliberately made a larger target of himself, leaving open chances for kill-strikes with every move he made and pretending to be slow and uncoordinated. The Changelings and goblins surrounded him, only to be picked off by Blinky, who darted between stalls and rocky outcrops to strike and then hide away again.

Fighting was not his forte under any sort of circumstances, but coupled with AAARRRGGHH’s presence and the need to keep him unharmed he was more than willing to fight tooth and nail to the best of his ability, however small his ability actually was.

It was a pity when, just as they were feeling victorious, an anstramonstrum made itself known on the opposite end of Trollmarket.

On the other side of the chasm surround the Heartstone, Alexandra herself was limping around with Draal’s help. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH, done with their fights, dodged around debris and fallen bodies to try and reach them. A crowd was forming at a safe distance from the deadly black cloud and they urgently pushed through.

Alexandra, it seemed was trying to trap the monster. Blinky urged AAARRRGGHH ahead of him to help her, unable to keep up on his damned short legs.

He stumbled and fell when Draal deliberately stepped into the trapping circle, and the anstramonstrum swallowed him whole.

Alexandra herself saved Draal from being killed, and Blinky finally made it to them as AAARRRGGHH pulled them out of the trap.

Both were alive but grievously harmed, and Blinky was – quite understandably – having a very. Bad. Day.

Alexandra was finally allowed to move about when it was made clear that nobody could actually stop her, given that the trapping stones were currently in use. There was much to do in the aftermath of the fight, and she threw herself into it with an agitated fervor. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH kept close by her in the event that she finally realized that she was wounded and worn out, but it was clear that she was done with sitting around.

The wounds on her arms worried Blinky greatly but he was only allowed to wrap them up, and the same for the wound on her side. She healed remarkably fast, but it was very clear that she was in constant pain, and Blinky had the feeling that if she finally allowed herself to stop that she would not be able to get back up.

Many lives had been lost during the attack, but the majority of them belonged to their attackers. Alexandra and Vendel presided over the funeral rites of all the Heartstone trolls who had fallen, but in a curious display of mercy the Trollhunter also insisted on interment of the Changelings who had been killed.

Blinky and AAARRRGGHH, of course, knew the real reason why, but when Alexandra was questioned on her choice she merely said that it was her duty as Trollhunter to take care of the troll and human worlds, and that included those that fell in between.

It wasn’t easy – Changelings didn’t die like trolls did. Those that didn’t explode fell as humans did, as flesh-and-bone bodies instead of as stone. The Trollhunter bid them to be collected and set aside for her to take upstairs and deal with later, easing the minds of those concerned that their attackers would be entombed beside their dead friends.

Everyone uninjured helped clean up the mess, which included repairing stalls, clearing away rock and broken crystals, setting up further defenses on Trollmarket’s entrances, and replenishing supplies and goods that had been destroyed.

Alexandra actually did more for her reputation as Trollhunter in the first days after the attack than she had for every fight with Bular, when she tirelessly worked to repair what had been broken, whether that included property or the hearts of those who survived the attack. Blinky had never observed softness and warmth from their Trollhunter before, but as his fellows mourned and lamented she turned into an unexpected pillar of strength and comfort the like of which Blinky had not witnessed since Deya herself. Kanjigar had been strong, yes, and his community drew from that strength, but although he had been exceedingly kind he had never allowed himself to be emotionally available.

Alexandra, with her heart wrapped in lies and sharp knives, listened to every grieving troll’s sorrows, every complaint, every worry. As opposed to Kanjigar, who lent his strength to others, Alexandra seemed to draw from those around her. With every troll she talked to she stood a little taller, walked a little steadier, moved a little faster. Blinky knew that she was close to collapse no matter how useful she was making herself, but until she actually did buckle under the pressure that she put herself under, she was actually doing very well.

Draal, on the other hand.

Was an idiot, as both Vendel and Alexandra took pleasure in reminding him daily. Following the end of the battle he had been moved to the examination dwell, where he remained until he could stand without falling over.

Nobody was exactly sure what exactly happened to those killed by anstramonstrum. The working theory was that the mist actually dissolved and ate them, since there were never any bodies. Draal had only been encased in the mass for a few seconds, but those few seconds had eaten away at him. The entirety of his exposed skin was pitted and marked like acid rain on limestone, the lines and pockets glowing with a sickly purple. Alexandra, who had partially passed through the mist, also sported the effects of the smoke on her face and upper body. Draal, however, had breathed it in, and so was unable to do much of anything until Vendel healed his lungs.

His spirits were up however great his injuries, and he once again had a crowd of admirers and fans who had to be pushed out of the examination dwell almost hourly. There were rumors of changing his title, too. Draal had willingly put his life in danger to capture the anstramonstrum, on top of his efforts in the battles around Trollmarket, and he was hailed as a hero. His place in Heartstone was once again assured, and every troll who saw him welcomed him.

Once everything was mostly organized and the rebuilding was well on the way, there really were only two problems: how the Changelings had gotten in, and what to do about the anstramonstrum.

The anstramonstrum inside of its glowing trap was given a wide berth by the trolls of Heartstone. Unlike most things caught inside trapping stones, it was not motionless. The bars kept it from attacking anyone but it filled its prison from floor to ceiling, a great, evil mass swirling inside of golden light, a menacing column of black smoke and purple lightning. From Blinky’s extensive research on the subject they knew that it could only be returned to the crystal from whence it had come, which was utterly useless to them since they had no idea where it was.

The second problem was in the captured Changelings.

Alexandra had ordered them imprisoned, to be questioned by her later, but it was several days before she got the chance. Both Blinky and AAARRRGGHH accompanied her, despite her protests. She threatened and snarled at them, but both of them were in perfect health in comparison to her, and until she could lift her sword without bleeding there really wasn’t much she could do if they decided to ignore her orders. So, with great consternation on the part of their Trollhunter, the three of them made their way down to the dungeons.

Eleven Changelings had been captured in varying states of health. Every one of them instantly focused on Alexandra as they entered the dungeon.

She dismissed the guards.

“Ah, our illustrious sister,” drawled a skinny, lime-green Changeling. “Risen to the highest of offices. How very honored we are to be in your presence.”

“They don’t know about the Leoht Stone,” Alexandra whispered, just loudly enough for Blinky and AAARRRGGHH to hear. “We could use this to our advantage.”

Blinky was exceedingly uncomfortable with watching her interact with those whom he assumed she had once been fellows. Unaware of his discomfort, she approached the green Changeling.

“How did you get into Trollmarket?” “If this is your attempt at interrogation, I might laugh,” he replied, sneering down at her from his cage. Alexandra merely stared at him.

“I’m going to give you the chance to break from Gunmar. All of you.”

Blinky started forward but AAARRRGGHH grabbed his arm.

“Listen first,” his companion murmured, as the prisoners above them screamed in outrage. “Don’t insult us!”

“You are nothing more than pawns and tools to him,” the Hunter continued, “to be thrown out when no longer of use. If you switch sides, you’ll be – “ “Get fucked, traitor,” yelled another Changeling.

“Gunmar is trollkind’s salvation!” “That is what he tells you. But you all are not trolls. You are worthless to him.”

There were various jeers and yells, but Blinky noticed that the green Changeling was silently watching her. She in turn focused on him.

“And why would you pretend to care,” he demanded, playing with the edge of his cloak. “What is in this for you?” “Someone has to,” Alexandra said, quietly and contemplatively. “What I get is not having to kill all of you.” “You wouldn’t dare, Trollhunter. Their kind believes in honor and dignity. There is none in killing a helpless prisoner, is there?” Alexandra walked away from him and over to the wall where the chains holding the cages in the air were secured. She lowered several of them to the ground, including the green one’s.

AAARRRGGHH and Blinky watched with trepidation as she approached a stocky blue Changeling.

“I’d like to offer you a chance to live in peace,” she said to him. He snarled through the bars.

“Gunmar rewards his faithful,” he said. “Traitors are – “ Blinky jumped back in shock when Alexandra summoned her sword and ran him through. The air shimmered around her as if heated suddenly. The Changeling’s fatal wound crackled and glowed, and he imploded with a rush of air and a shock of blood. The jeerings and growls that had echoed in the chamber abruptly silenced.

“There’s really no honor in stupidity,” Alexandra said, banishing her sword. “Those faithful to Gunmar are going to die. Those who change sides, permanently, will live. It’s really not that difficult.”

“There are more of us, you know,” said the green one, eyeing her with more fear than he had before.

“You are a practical lot,” said the Trollhunter. She walked to another cage, slowly and steadily. Blinky hadn’t seen her like this before, but he noticed how the Changelings were tensing. She wasn’t raising her voice, or moving quickly at all, which somehow made it all worse.

“Surely one of you knows the value of self-preservation over twisted loyalty.” The purple Changeling that she spoke to tried to lash at her through the cage. Alexandra grabbed her arms and the Changeling screamed; Blinky watched in horror as her skin blistered under the Trollhunter’s glowing gauntlets.

Alexandra released the screaming woman and crouched by her stricken form.

“Defect,” she said calmly. The Changeling looked at her with stricken eyes, but as the others called out curses and proclamations of loyalty she snarled and shook her head.

It did not remain attached to her body.

Blinky was immensely regretting his insistence on accompanying Alexandra, or at least his bringing of AAARRRGGHH. The huge troll had turned away minutes ago, hiding his eyes from the gruesome, quiet slaughter. Blinky rubbed his arms as comfortingly as he could and huddled against his friend’s side, readying himself to close his eyes. He’d seen Alexandra scream and rage, charge at Draal and Bular alike with passion and determination, but never had he seen her quietly walk over and kill someone, no more bothered than if she were browsing at a lunch stall. It promptly reminded him of exactly how little he knew of her past, and of her true nature.

“I really only need one of you to talk,” Alexandra continued, this time not banishing her sword.

“Please stop,” hissed the green one, to Blinky’s surprise. “Just stop, we can talk.”

Alexandra walked back to his cage, and put her hands behind her back, where the odd glow of them slowly dimmed. Blinky saw her fists shiver in pain.

“That’s all I wanted,” she said.

They conversed quietly for quite a time, while the Changelings around them watched in silence, the drip dripping of blood pattering in puddles on the floor.

AAARRRGGHH was still shivering under Bliky’s hands. While violence and bloodshed were almost every day features in troll society, it was usually something celebrated, whether in spars, challenges, or battle. But this…the Changelings would probably have been put to death anyway, but it wouldn’t have been like this, quietly and calmly and stinking of manipulation and indifference.

They eventually seemed to come to some sort of agreement, and the green Changeling dug into his capelet of knives and handed her something yellow and glowing: a horngazel.

Blinky stiffened as Alexandra walked toward him, but she passed him and knocked on the door, drawing the guards.

“Release the Changelings,” she told them, “and escort them out of Trollmarket.”

AAARRRGGHH jerked violently and Blinky stumbled, both of them staring at Alexandra in shock.

“What? Master Alexandra, you can’t just – “ “They’re not to be harmed or assaulted on their way out,” she continued, ignoring Blinky’s spluttering. The guards did as she said, and began unlocking the Changeling’s prisons. The green one emerged from his cage with something like triumph.

“You’re letting them leave?!” “Not for free,” muttered the green Changeling. Alexandra shoved him roughly.

“Cooperation is a small price to pay for your life, jackass,” she replied. “Alright, you idiots. Get out of my Heartstone.”

The guards surrounded the motley group and began marching them out of the chamber. Blinky heard gasps and yelps of surprise from the trolls outside as they emerged. He and AAARRRGGHH ran to Alexandra’s side as she brought up the rear.

“Master Alexandra, this needs to be a community decision! You at least need to consult with Vendel – “ “I already talked to Vendel,” the Trollhunter said. Blinky noticed that she was rubbing her bandaged arms. “He left the decision up to me.” “But letting them go? This is madness!” “This is politics,” Alexandra murmured.

“I hardly believe that I have to explain such folly to you! Surely they will betray whatever agreement you have come to and just attack once more. What did you even say to him? What did you bargain?”

“It really wasn’t that difficult. They gave up the anstramonstrum’s home crystal and the horngazel their goblin had stolen, in exchange for their lives.” “You are letting them leave, whatever they have given you! Sparing their lives will only ensure that they are at liberty to attack us again!” “The fucking carnivorous mist and their key to Trollmarket were the main concerns here, Blinky!”

Alexandra stopped and turned to him, her eyes wide with desperation and righteous anger.

“Their numbers were severely decimated today and they’ve seen that Trollmarket is not an easy target. Their goals were not achieved and their attack failed. Should they attack again, then we’ll deal with that when it comes. And we will set up defenses and further security later, but right now, I’d like to stop them from getting in again and get rid of that murderous column of smoke before it breaks out and kills someone else!”

Blinky shook two fingers in her snarling face.

“You asked for his cooperation!” “And I got it, for as long it takes for them to get out of Trollmarket quietly. And I’ve given them all something to really think about. Neither Bular nor Gunmar would ever have been this merciful.”

“Master Alexandra, you cannot possibly expect that they will honor their agreement and become your spies, your allies!” “Of course I don’t,” she hissed back at him. “I’m not stupid enough to believe that they’d change sides just because they promised to! I asked them for their stolen horngazel and the anstramonstrum’s home crystal, solid things, not promises!”

Blinky and Alexandra stared at each other in consternation for several heated moments, before one of AAARRRGGHH’s immense hands swam in front of their faces.

“Fight later,” he said quietly. “Changelings leaving.” With a sigh, Alexandra turned away and starting following after the guards.

“I have to escort them,” she murmured. Blinky watched her for a few seconds, and then he and AAARRRGGHH followed.

The trolls of the market were not happy to see their attackers leaving alive, but the guards’ and Alexandra’s presence kept them from throwing anything more damaging than a shoe or two. They were taken up the crystal staircase and Alexandra had the guards search them before they were allowed to leave. Nothing came up, except one Changeling who had pocketed several trinkets of Trollhunter fan memorabilia.

The portal to the canal closed just as the green Changeling looked back at them. His eye caught the Hunter’s. Neither of them nodded, but neither snarled as well.

The blue glow faded from the walls and Alexandra dismissed the guards. Alone, with nothing to do and nobody to help, she looked discouragingly worn, with bandages over her abdomen, hands, arms, and her hair and body covered in bits of gore and wood and stone dust. The Trollhunter wavered for a moment, and then began down the crystal stairs.

“I need to go check on Draal,” she said quietly. Her feet stumbled on a crystal, and AAARRRGGHH caught her. Her arms were shaking too badly for her to lower herself down the higher jumps.

Although he didn’t feel satisfied with their discussion, Blinky welcomed the lighter turn of conversation.

“Did you hear that about his name?” he asked. “They are considering changing it from Draal the Deadly.” “I thought it was ‘Destroyer’?” AAARRRGGHH waved a hand dismissively.

“Either.” “Indeed, but both I suppose shall become obsolete. Although, I’m not quite sure how he will feel about the lack of menace this new title will bestow.”

Alexandra allowed AAARRRGGHH to help her down a steeper stair, and smiled to herself.

“I don’t know; I kind of like the sound of ‘Draal the Dedicated’.”

A/N: The whole ‘Daylight is mine to command’ bit is about the Daylight Sword, but I wanted to play with the idea of it referring to actual daylight, because how fucking cool would that be? Also, dangerous. You can’t have a cool uber-power move and do it perfectly the first time without some consequences.

I’m trying not to make her too Mary-Sue-ish, but I really do want to explore the possibilities of her armor and how she can use it. There’s so much potential that was both explored and not explored in the show. Most of the reason that she’s able to do cool shit, like summoning only her sword or parts of the armor, is because she came in with no expectations or knowledge. She’s able to do stuff because she never knew that those things were things that weren’t previously done, or were things that shouldn’t be possible. In comparison to other Trollhunters Alexandra is actually very open-minded and willing to learn past the boundaries of her expectations. Kanjigar, for example, was significantly more closed-minded and single-tracked than Jim, which is why I think that Jim was able to explore the possibilities of his armor and Kanjigar was not (or else Kanjigar probably would have been using the daylight-immunity stone). Jim and Alexandra both come into Trollhunting as open books.

Whatever Troll strikes again! I couldn’t just leave him to have one solitary scene. And here’s Strickler too. Don’t worry, he’ll show up again, although I don’t think that he’ll like it much.

I’ve actually only seen one thing that said that Deya was the first Trollhunter, and it was in supplementary material, not the show. Her not being the first actually makes more sense to the show’s timelines, but since it fits with this story the best, I’m going to go along with my initial (but most likely incorrect) assumption that Deya was the first Trollhunter.

And Draal is a hero again, but with all limbs attached. I needed something to get him redeemed in Trollmarket again, so why not bring in Strickler and his pet carnivorous mist. That thing is going to give me headaches until I figure out how to get rid of it.

I was going to include Blinky causing havoc with some dwárkstones but it didn’t fit the story yet. Worry not, he’ll get to them later.

The “This is madness!”, “This is politics.” Exchange is from Pirates of the Caribbean 3.

Also found on ffn and AO3

#trollhunters #drabble #what falls and what grows #blinky #aaarrrgghh #draal #vendel #strikler

14 notes · View notes

badonkodank · 7 years

Text

A Simple Word So Heavy

ao3

Chapter One: I Have Made Mistakes

“Haha, yer so lame, Poindexter!”

“You’re lame!”

“Take that back, ya big, uh, bignose!”

“Stanley, we have the same nose.”

“Shut it!”

Ford squealed in delight and went to hide under his covers when his brother launched at him, fingers wriggling with obvious intent to tickle. It was a futile attempt to keep himself safe, so when the inevitable spasms wracked his little body while Stanley continued the torment he only laughed. He couldn’t see an end in sight until the door suddenly opened, revealing the figure of their Ma with her hands on her hips, looking decidedly unimpressed.

“Ya boys are suppose’ta be sleepin’.”

Stanley froze, caught red-handed, and Stanford ducked his head to hide the flush in his face caused by both breathlessness and guilt. They had been sent to bed quite some time ago, and it was only then that he realized just how long they’d been talking and having fun.

“Sorry, Ma,” Stanley said, looking at the sheets, face colored in a similar brand of shame.

“S’fine,” she finally sighed, waving her hand in a dismissive manner, “Just go ta sleep now. Ya got school in the mornin’.”

“Yes, mama,” Ford chirped obediently. She gave them both a look that Stanford couldn’t place before smiling in that gentle way she did that made the world seem like a better place.

“G’night, boys.”

“Night.”

“Nighty-night!”

As soon as she turned the light out and closed the door, Stanford elbowed his twin lightly in the ribs. “I told ya ya were bein’ too loud.”

“Wha- you were the one bein’ noisy!”

Stanley huffed and Ford rolled his eyes, shoving his brother onto his back. “C’mon, we gotta sleep now. Ma’s orders.”

“Pfft, whatever,” Stanley stuck his tongue out in defiance but made no move to get up again, and Stanford took it as cue to lay down too. He might have gone to his own bed, but he’d already gotten comfy on the bottom bunk. Besides, it hadn’t been the best day at school and he didn’t want to have any of the scary dreams. The ones that revolved around shadowy monsters that tried to cut off his fingers -the extra ones that Stanley said made him awesome and special. Sleeping with his twin made them stay away.

He snuggled against Stanley’s side, pulling the covers up as he did. He matched the other’s smile and gave his brother a little peck on the cheek. He couldn’t tell if Stanley eyes were open or not, but he knew he was still awake because he wrapped his arms around him and gave him a tight squeeze.

“Goodnight, Lee.”

“G’night, Sixer.”

The words were said out of habit more than anything else at that point, but it still made Stanford feel lighter and warmer to hear it. Knowing Stanley was right there, always ready to echo the words back to him, it just made life all the better. It might not have seemed special to anyone else, but to them, it meant the world, and Stanford knew his twin felt the same when he thought that they would be saying that word until they got old and gross.

When life and reality took hold and their young hearts grew older, the two only assumed they’d be saying it for the rest of their lives.

Neither could pinpoint the exact moment in their lives when they started only hoping and not expecting it to be true.

Stanley knew precisely when those hopes were shattered. It took Stanford a little longer to realize the same thing.

The first time he says it after “The Incident”, he nearly doesn’t register it. So full of bitter rage and indignant hurt that he almost doesn’t acknowledge it.

Almost.

Ford wanted to scream, to throw something, to find Stanley and punch him in the face, because it was his fault! It was all his fault! He’d ruined everything . He deserved to be thrown out. He deserved to have him be angry with him. He deserved it all, because it was his fault.

His. Stupid. Fault.

The book was hitting the opposite wall with a loud slap before Ford even realized he’d picked it up to begin with. The teen startled, staring at it for several minutes, letting his mind wander so far into itself that his thoughts became white noise to blanket the tempest of emotions he couldn’t seem to control.

He hadn’t meant to say it, it had just slipped out without him thinking. It had gotten dark, and he’d been tired, and it had just… escaped him.

Why that mattered so much, he tried not to contemplate. Tried and failed.

He knew exactly why it mattered. It mattered because he’d almost gotten through the whole day being able to pretend that it didn’t matter that Stanley wasn’t there, that his bro-that he wasn’t worth the time of day, and all that progress had been ruined- shattered all because of a stupid word.

It mattered because he shouldn’t have been missing Stanley, and yet he was. Under the layers of betrayal and pain, anger and denial, Stanford could feel the ache in his chest that Stanley used to occupy. He knew he shouldn’t have felt that way, because he was completely justified in being mad at Stanley, who had crossed a line and ruined everything, yet still Ford couldn’t make it go away.

He’d been doing his best to ignore it, occupying himself at any given moment to distract from the hole that had begun to widen as the day had dragged on and the weight of what had happened truly sunk in.

He still couldn’t understand why Stanley had done it. What purpose could there have possibly been in destroying his future? He’d had to have known he wouldn’t have been thanked for it. He had to have known how idiotic he’d been. How… just…

Ford shook his head roughly and climbed off the top bunk of the bed they had yet to take apart. It didn’t matter! It didn’t have to make sense. The point was that Stanley had done it, and now he was gone. He’d screwed over not only Ford, but the rest of the family as well, and unless he proved his worth to their father… well.

Picking up the discarded book, Ford went and sat at their desk- his desk. His. He flipped the cover open, letting his eyes briefly roam over the pages before slamming it closed again when the lines of text blurred together to form incoherent blobs of black and white. It was useless to try and read at that point, he knew. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the uncomfortable churning in his gut that seemed to make his anger burn so fiercely it could rival the sun.

Stupid Stanley. Stupid, foolish idiotic moron!

Something warm and wet hit his hand and Ford glared down at the spot before wiping his sleeve across his eyes. When that seemed to only encourage the tears to flow harder the teen growled in frustration. This was ridiculous! He didn’t want to cry! He wasn’t sad, he was angry!

He was angry because he didn’t want to care. He was angry because his heart hurt and he didn’t know what to do. He was angry because he’d lost two incredibly important things within the same day, one which he would never get back, and the other he didn’t even know whether or not he wanted back. He couldn’t forgive Stanley for what he’d done, but at the same time he couldn’t be like Pa and pretend he’d never existed. That was what made him more angry than anything.

It wasn’t fair! He’d finally had the chance to get out and make something of himself, and without any effort, Stanley had taken that away because… because… he didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter.

But, he’d only ever loved and supported him, and until yesterday he’d always thought Stanley reciprocated the sentiment. Ford shouldn’t have cared about Stanley one way or the other anymore, but he did, at least enough to miss him, and that’s what it boiled down to.

“Dammit!” Ford hissed past the small sobs wracking his body and making it hard the breathe. He was thankful it was at least late enough in the night that he knew his parents would be asleep and wouldn’t stumble upon him, but wished more than anything he knew how to stop the frankly pathetic display.

How could something as simple as an accidental whisper of “goodnight” turn him into such a mess?

He’s all too aware of the word coming out of his mouth the first time he says it after “The Fuckup”. It hurts more than he anticipates it would, but otherwise, it has about the effect he expected it to.

Stanley dropped his head against the steering wheel, startling when the horn sounded in response before settling once more. He’d been sitting there in his car for what had to have been hours, listening the waves beat against the sand and waiting for something he knew was never coming

Stanford wouldn’t be going anywhere near the beach or Stan’O’War if there was the slightest chance he might run into him; he knew his brother better than anyone else and even if he eventually stopped being mad at him, there was no way he would come to him first. When they were younger, the case would have been entirely different.

But then, when they were little, he wouldn’t have done something so incredibly stupid to make Stanford hate him.

The thought sent a painful jolt through him and Stan groaned, closing his eyes tightly against the the sudden onslaught of voices that screamed at him, reminding him of just how badly he’d screwed things up. Reminding him that he had nobody but himself to blame for Ford’s hate.

He wasn’t sure how long his brother would be hating him, but he could only hope it wouldn’t be forever. Though, if it was, Stanley wasn’t sure he could blame him. He’d… well, he’d ruined things for him, hadn’t he? Thinking he’d ever go through with their plan to sail around the world on a boat really had been his stupid mistake.

Because of course Ford would want to go bigger. He always pushed the limits with smart people things, he supposed it shouldn’t have come as a shock to find out he’d wanted to ditch the Stan’O’War in order to go to West Coast whatever. But the fact that their lifelong dream had turned into a backup plan for his brother in less than a day… it had hurt. It still hurt.

And it hadn’t just been the dream that Ford had turned away. No, by admitting that he’d wanted to go to that fancy college, he’d agreed with everyone who had ever told Stan he was nothing and going nowhere. He was agreeing with the principle’s saying that their parents had at least one kid going somewhere. All the times his brother had ever told him he was just as equally smart, had just as bright a future ahead of him, had been erased when Ford had said if all else failed he’d “do the treasure hunting thing”.

He hadn’t just abandoned the dream, he’d abandoned Stanley.

Bumping his head roughly against the wheel once more, Stanley sniffled and thought back to everything that had happened the night before. He’d really thought Ford’s little gizmo would be fine. Sure, there had a small, selfish part of him that hoped it might not work, or that the college people wouldn’t like it, but it was a part that was drowned out by his desire for Ford to be happy.

He hadn’t wanted his brother to leave, but he’d already decided that if it meant Stanford feeling special in a place where he felt he belonged, he wouldn’t keep him from it. He’d fully expected his brother to come home that night with a grin on his face and a story about how much the guys loved his work.

He hadn’t realized he’d actually broken the machine.

He hadn’t realized what that would mean for Stanford.

He hadn’t realized something so seemingly small would completely destroy their relationship. If he had, he would’ve done something! He would’ve called Ford and told him about the machine losing a few screws so he could fix it. He would’ve done something, anything , to ensure that they would be okay.

But, would-haves weren’t going to make anything better now. It had happened, and unless time machines were going to be a thing in the near future, it wasn’t something he could fix. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to fix it. Oh, he wanted to fix it more than he’d ever wanted anything before, but Stan knew if he came within a foot of the house, he’d have to get through Pa… yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen.

He knew he could go to school and try to talk to Ford then, but… the idea was terrifying. Ford would surely reject him, pretend he wasn’t there, because when his brother was angry, he was cold and distant, and… well, Stanley couldn’t say he would stay calm in the face of that dismissive behavior.

No, he didn’t want to see someone who would pretend he didn’t exists. If there was ever something that would hurt more than being kicked out of the house by an upset and indifferent parent, it was that. He didn’t need to see how much Ford was trying to pretend he didn’t care.

(He didn’t want to find out that Stanford really didn’t care)

Stanley sniffled again, opening his eyes to glare at his lap when the tears he should have felt refused to form. It had been like that all day.

He’d cried so much the night before, he wasn’t sure he would shed a tear again for some time. He felt like he needed to -felt it so keenly it almost hurt- yet nothing but ragged gasps would be allowed to be pulled from him. The tightness in his chest persisted, the shaking in his hands grew increasingly worse, and he felt like he might as well curl up under the docks and die, yet he couldn’t cry.

Stanley dragged himself upright, looking past the windshield at the moon and stars hanging over the water. They seemed duller than usual and he wasn’t sure if that was because of his own mood warping perception or clouds. It didn’t matter either way; Stanley enjoyed stargazing but Ford was the one who cared about astronomy.

Maybe he’d been looking at the sky earlier, thinking the same things. Maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe he hadn’t looked yet but would.

Stanley hoped he would- not that hoping had done much in the past. He hoped that when his brother saw the stars, he would think of him, if only briefly, and would somehow hear his softly spoken “goodnight”.

#gravity falls #the grunkles #baby grunkles #young grunks #ford #stan #this is really sad #I'm sorry guys #Stangst #it gets worse before it gets better #but it does get better #my ff #my writing #mine

3 notes · View notes