#And they were also going to be the start of a Patron Saints of Horror thing I was thinking of

[themetaphorgirl]

who wants some adorable Hotch and Haley??

This was prompted by @fragolinaa with ASL knowledge provided by @thesassprincess!!! two of my favorite people in the whole world!!!

also Aaron is both Brenna and Maeve’s favorite, so I’ve been writing a lot of Aaron things lately ahahahaha. He’s such a sweetheart. but also shoutout to the commenter from the early days of Patron Saint who told me that the way I wrote Hotch had no personality at all. I still stress about it to this day. but hopefully he’s a lot more interesting to read now!!

----------

Oh my god, Haley thought. He doesn’t know this is a date.

She sat in the back of the car, listening to James and Aaron talk about an upcoming test, as horror slowly sank into the pit of her stomach. Surely he’d figured it out by now that this was a double date. 

Aaron twisted around in the passenger seat. “Birdy, when we get back, would you mind helping me run through my calculus study guide?” he asked. “James thinks we’ll be back too late for me to get Spencer to help.”

“I mean…I suppose,” Alex said, looking up from her book. “You don’t want to wait for tomorrow?”

“No, we can do it tonight, a movie and dessert shouldn’t run that late,” he said. 

Alex poked him in the arm. “Turn around before you make yourself carsick,” she said. 

He blushed. “I’m not-“ he started to say. He shifted towards Haley. “She’s joking, I don’t-“ He turned back around quickly. “So what time is the movie?”

Haley hid a smile. “Not till six, so we have plenty of time,” James said. 

It would be okay if it wasn’t a date. She was happy to spend time with him, especially off campus. 

But the school year was ending in a month, and she wouldn’t see him all summer, and what if he met another girl before they came back in the fall?

James pulled into a parking spot and Haley got out, unsure of what to do with herself- which was a rare and unsettling feeling for her. 

“While you guys are getting tickets, I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Alex said as she slid her book in her purse. “Haley, do you want to come with me?”

“Uh…yeah,” she said. 

James helped her smooth her long red hair free of her purse strap. “We’ll meet you at concessions,” he said. “Aaron, you’re getting Haley’s ticket, right?”

Aaron blinked. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he said. “I can do that.” James shot him a weird look. 

Haley followed Alex inside the theater and into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed Alex whirled around. “Oh my god, he doesn’t know this is a date, does he?” she said. 

“I don’t think so,” Haley groaned. “Oh my god. I thought I made it super clear.”

“How exactly did you ask him?” Alex asked. 

Haley ran her fingers through her hair. “We were at the Honeybean!” she said. “We were in line, and James said you wanted to see the movie, and Aaron said he wanted to see it too, and then he asked me if I wanted to go, and I said yes, absolutely, could we go together? And he said yes.”

“Oh, no,” Alex said, leaning against the sink as Haley started to pace. 

“And then James was like ‘oh perfect, Alex and I will be together and you two will be together’, and then we picked out the day and the time, and then Aaron was like ‘meet us in the parking lot at five’ and I was like ‘perfect, it’s a date’.”

“But neither of you…actually…agreed that it was a date,” Alex said. 

“No,” Haley said, shoulders slumping in misery. “You guys thought it was a double date too, right?”

“Oh, absolutely, that’s why James gave him that weird look, he assumed Aaron was getting your ticket because it was a date,” Alex said. “I even talked to Aaron about it the other day and called it a date. It’s weird that he didn’t pick up on that.”

“Do you think James will ask him about it?” Haley said. 

Alex sighed. “There’s no telling,” she said. She rested her hands on Haley’s shoulders. “Listen, Brooks. Underneath Aaron’s stern, serious, intelligent facade is a very sweet, very shy, very dumb teenage boy. Emotionally dumb. And underneath that, he is so in love with you he’s seasick in your presence.”

“Really?” Haley said. 

“Really,” Alex said. “Hopefully he’ll figure it out this is a date on his own. Or you’ll get the chance to talk. But in any case, I promise that he’s absolutely thrilled that you’re hanging out with us.” She brushed the pads of her thumbs under Haley’s eyes. “Don’t cry, your mascara’s running. Let’s clean that up.”

Haley dabbed at her eyes with a wet paper towel and touched up her makeup. “I look like I’m dressed for a date, right?” she said, surveying herself in the mirror. “I’ve been saving this dress for ages so I could wear it to something important.”

“You look beautiful,” Alex reassured her. “I’m sure he’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

They walked back out into the lobby; James and Aaron were waiting near the concessions. “What snacks do you guys want?” James asked. 

Alex linked her fingers through his and he kissed her temple. “Nothing too crazy if we’re getting dinner afterwards,” she said. 

Aaron frowned. “I thought we were just getting dessert,” he said. 

“Nope,” James said. 

Aaron looked down at Haley. “You’re not much of a popcorn person,” he said. “M&Ms, right?”

She smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “We can share them if you want.”

His ears immediately turned red. “Uh…yeah, that’s…we can do that,” he said. 

Haley hid a smile. He might not have figured out they were on a date, but Alex was right, he did have a crush on her. 

When they took their seats in the theater she ended up between the twins, Aaron on her left and Alex on her right. James plunked down next to Alex with their small popcorn and cherry Coke. “If this movie sucks, I’m suing,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for this for ages.”

Alex tossed a piece of popcorn at him and he caught it in his mouth. “You’ve never even read the book,” she laughed. 

“Yes, I have,” he protested. “You let me borrow it last summer.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

Haley pried open the M&Ms box. “The third book in the series is better,” she said, tipping some of the candy into her hand. “I don’t read a whole lot, but I like those.” She offered the box to Aaron. “Have you read it?”

He smiled at her shyly and took some. “No, I don’t usually have a lot of time to read,” he said. “Alex is making a list of books I need to catch up on.”

“You should send me a copy of the list, I need to read more,” she said. 

The four of them chatted idly, their conversation settling as the trailers started to roll. “You can have some of my drink if you want,” Aaron offered. “Diet Coke?”

She nodded and took a sip, more for the excuse to smile at him than anything else. Even in the dim lights she could see him blush. God, he’s cute, she thought. I wish this was an actual date.

By the time the movie started, Alex and James had drifted into each other, the armrest pulled up between them so she could lean on his chest and he could wrap his arm around her shoulder. Haley bit back a sigh.

She kept her hand on the armrest between herself and Aaron, giving him as many opportunities as possible to accidentally brush against her as he reached for his drink. Luckily it kept happening, his fingertips grazing her knuckles, until finally about twenty minutes into the movie she curled her palm upwards and caught his hand lightly.

He immediately slipped his fingers through hers. He was staring straight at the screen, but she could see him smiling. This is good, she thought. This is progress. 

They held hands in silence, her heart skipping beats. She worked up to tracing her thumb along his in a slow, steady pattern. His hand was so much bigger than hers.

Every so often she caught James and Alex leaning into each other to kiss- not often enough to be gross, but just enough that jealousy puddled in the pit of her stomach. God, why couldn’t he have just known it was a date, she thought. That could be us, but he’s so dumb.

Forty-five minutes into the movie Aaron glanced over at James and Alex, rolled his eyes at them kissing, and looked back at the screen. After a beat his hand suddenly twitched.

Haley frowned, but he slid his hand away from hers, leaned over her, and tapped Alex’s arm. “What?” she whispered.

Aaron started signing. Haley watched, trying to keep up. She knew the twins were both capable in ASL, after Alex had started teaching Aaron and Spencer what she was learning in class, but she knew very little. Their facial expressions were hard to see in the dark, but she tried to figure out what they were talking about. Aaron seemed frustrated to the point of despair, and Alex was barely holding back a laugh. 

James leaned around Haley. “They do this sometimes,” he whispered. “It’s a twin thing.”

“Do you know what they’re saying?”

“Not really. They’re so good at languages, and I barely passed the school language requirement, and only because Alex tutored me.”

Haley watched them. They kept repeating the same signs- they both had their hands curved like lowercase d shapes, their fingertips tapping, but Alex made the sign more upright, and Aaron tilted his hands forward. Alex kept shaking her head, and finally Aaron flopped back in his seat, slumping down and staring blankly forward in a daze.

Haley sat quietly, hands in her lap, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t figure out what had just happened. 

Suddenly Aaron got up and half-jogged down the steps to the exit. Haley’s heart sank.

“I know what happened now,” Alex whispered. She shifted towards her. “This means dessert.” She signed the way Aaron had, the lowercase d shapes tilted forward. “And this means date.” She tilted her hands back up and made the same gesture. “Remember when I told you that I said it was a date? We were signing. And I think he got confused.”

“Oh my god,” Haley whispered. She slid down in her seat, trying not to laugh too loudly in the quiet movie theater. “So he thought-”

“That’s why he kept talking about dessert.”

The two of them burst out laughing, attempting to smother the sound and failing. “Okay, okay, wait, can you teach me something really quick?” Haley said, trying to stay quiet. “Before he gets back.”

She was ready by the time Aaron sat down next to her again. “Here,” he whispered, handing her another box of M&Ms. “I thought that…” He paused. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

He was clearly frazzled, his dark hair falling over his forehead as he avoided making eye contact with her. Haley squeezed his forearm. “Wait,” she whispered, and she waited for him to look up.

She pointed to him, then to herself, and then touched the tips of her thumb and middle finger together and drew her hand from her chest like she was plucking an invisible string from her heart.

Aaron’s eyes lit up. He signed back, and she knew what he saying.

I like you too.

Impulsively she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, her hair falling against his shoulder. He smiled at her in a daze, and this time he reached for her hand on purpose, closing his strong fingers around hers and squeezing tight as he moved the armrest out of their way so they could be closer.

#au: patron saint of lost causes #caitlin writes things #fragolinaa #thesassprincess #the diana to my anne #wow i love maeve #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #haley hotchner #hotchley #patron saint: hotch #patron saint: haley #patron saint: alex #patron saint: james #patron saint: hotchley #patron saint: jalex #wow these are the sweetest babes #boarding school au

[llycaons]

ep38 (1/3): that which resembles a romance but is in fact a horror short film

lsz is eager to help ofc, but wwx doesn't know who he is yet

wwx asking for jl and the jiang bell matters - his connection to his old home and family. and apparently the jiang bells are powerful? they were more described in the book. I actually forgot they were even in the show since they're barely talked about

THERE SHE IS!!!!!!!! I love a-qing, such a strong personality, her own goals and motivations, curious and intelligent and out for herself and brave. it is shitty to pretend to be disabled, but I'm going to blame the author for that instead of a 16 yr old orphan girl living on the streets. it's not like it doesn't backfire on her anyway

also she's so funny. 'why do men dress nice when they're poor, this is an attack on me specifically'

FIRST MEETING!!! that blindfold is alarming but the blood looks a little pale (fake)

ohh I could swoon. saints and heroes don't really exist in this world, it's too complicated and brutal for them to survive. but xxc was as close as anyone else ever got and I think a-qing knew she'd never meet someone as special as him again

not to say he doesn't have flaws - his naivete is disastrous for all of them and he overlooks her concerns out of a patronizing dismisiveness when he should be respecting her instincts, which helped her survive all her life on the streets. also, it's admirable of him to be nonjudgemental but xy just has odious vibes and it's a tragedy he was so charmed by him that he didn't pick up on that. sort of a xxc jgy situation except xy was fully in love with him or whatever approximates love for him and I still think jgy was mostly using lxc to survive. so another dark foil to wx just as songxiao are a lighter (but still tragic) parallel

anyway he thinks a-qing is funny and is clearly endeared by her, and she clearly likes him a lot despite lying to him. their dynamic has so much chemistry and potential for being great family, it's a shame they're not more popular to write about. this is probably one of the only reasons he's had to smile since he and SL parted ways

smart girl! this guys sounds like bad news, so get outta there

ah! curse the hyperdeveloped senses of a cultivator!

unlike the tragedy of wwx, this could literally have all been avoided if not for a single person - there are many ways to rewrite this and just have them never cross paths. of course, that misses out on the richness of this story and the themes at play, not to mention their significance for the wider narrative, so I don't particularly like yi city fix-its before the fact. but they're definitely easy

christ he's bleeding like craxy. what did they do to him. and why didn't they do it better

of course as soon as he sees xxc he's like FUCK

yeah and if xy lets xxc touch his hand he'll know he's missing his pinky

...not that I like to think about them having a relationship but IF they had sex I wonder how he managed that

god this is so kind 😭 why couldn't it have been wwx that xxc found and they just had a nice little family time (they're cousins or something) for a decade or so before wwx was comfortable enough to leave. MAN

a-qing sleeping in that coffin then hopping out is so cute I love her

it's only been a day and already he looks perfectly groomed clean robes clear skin fully hydrated etc. the man knows how to look good I gotta say

and he starts right off by being a piece of shit to a-qing. I think the siblings dynamic can be really funny but lbr in canon he terrorized her and she hated him for it

I thought this was kind of dumb. like even if she was blind anyone would feel a SWORD. and if he learns she's not really blind, what, xxc is disappointed? I suppose it means he's less careful around her. bc she was able to witness a lot of his crimes bc he wasn't as watchful, assuming she couldn't see (and therefore could never understand what was happening? ableist of him)

a-qing: please don't leave me alone with this scary stranger we picked up by the side of the road, he's really aggressive and he's lying about who he is and I think he's dangerous

xxc: oh you silly girl. he'll be leaving soon *immediately starts flirting with him*

actually xy comes at this with a very specific angle. it's almost like he's emulating wwx - he presents himself as someone hardworking, uncomplaining, and good-hearted despite the hardships he's clearly gone through. of course xxc was taken in

haha no big deal! I'll just casually drop this little fact! it's definitely not something I want you to know about me so you can sympathize with me while admiring how blase I am about it! MAN

on the one hand I can see why xxc is being so open-minded and I appreciate his kindness. on the other hand he IS misled by his own feelings and she is also literally right. she gives him good reasons not to trust him and he's like *pats her on the head* we'll be fine

the head-pats are sweet when coming from adults to their kids (or jyl to wwx) but it just feels patronizing here

literally this is blatant flirting. a-qing off to the side going 😭 he has a crush what I am supposed to do now!!

and THIS??? I was so shocked the first time I saw this I was like THIS is allowed but wwx and lwj can't hug??? huh??? idk the exact specifications of the censorship but in some ways xy/xxc hits you harder with the gay subtext than any other couple including wx which is so wild to me. and also deeply tragic obviously

I think it helps that the writers have a very solid idea of what this relationship is and exactly how each character felt at every moment of it. meanwhile for wx interactions can be very inconsistent and confusing. anyway GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM YOU FREAK

so yeah overall super eerie and frightening to see xxc fall so readily in love with someone you KNOW is cruel and sadistic and lying to him and deceiving him. like this could have been a cute second-love kind of deal with a new family in a new city. fresh start. but then again, no it couldn't have

#cql re-rewatch

[unfried-mouth-wheat]

Since I’ve lost confidence in this project I’m just going to post it now!

Jess Bradford: The Patron Saint of The Doomed

refrences: The Phone, The Fire Poker, Peter, The Candle by Clare in the ending shot, Jess’ abortion plans. Also see Statues of Athena and Perseus holding Medusa’s head.

Bonus Billy sketch

#I’ve lost all confidence in this lol #I couldn’t tell if it looked cool or if it looks stupid and I’ve settled on stupid #gore tw #medusa tw #Johnny don’t look #Just in case #Yeah #and I was so excited about it last night #Frick man lol #Jess Bradford #Billy Lenz #black christmas #This is what I imagine their Idols would look like if they were actually patron saints #They were going to be a package sticker deal on Redbubble as well as having separate merchandise #And they were also going to be the start of a Patron Saints of Horror thing I was thinking of #But probably not now lol

[lorei-writes]

White Mice

Mitsuhide x MC Fluff

Written for: Dice be Nice Event Request: Anonymous Roll: Mitsuhide + Gods AU + Reoccurring Nightmares

Aaah, I could afford to rest a little today, so I wrote this as a bedtime story for myself. Goodnight!  But, before I go... I can’t believe, 18/19 event stories were posted already :o When did this happen :o 

Content Warnings: none

Where was he? Why was he? Was there anybody else? He didn’t know, for he couldn’t have. His wanderings stretched, seemingly never ending, leading him nowhere past the desert of the inner space, time betraying him at each step. For years, Mitsuhide was in a state doubtful of even deserving the name of being. He was nothing. He was everything. He was everywhere, yet also couldn’t find himself. Eventually, his senses grew sharper, his eyes could see further, deeper – and, perhaps, it was then that he was in fact made himself, white little mouses beginning to appear everywhere.

To each their own, for all possess their domain – if they were brought to be long enough ago, that is. Some ancient, some recent, all gods could be divided, be it by their speciality or the realm of interest, the older beings having taken custody of all things most human. Love was the first to be assigned, only anger daring to attempt to dethrone it – and then there was hope, lust, curiosity, there was greed and generosity, feelings big and small alike. Noble, tainted, whichever it was, the gods were born to keep them under their patronage… Or perhaps they bore themselves out of the emotion, created and propelled by human belief alone. As for which truly was it, Mitsuhide never got to find out just regardless, the day he came into existence being rather uneventful to say the least. Bearing no recollection of who he was – whether he even was – before, he just strolled aimlessly, no guide nor tutor appearing in his path to lead him anywhere. Where was he? Why was he? Was there anybody else? He didn’t know, for he couldn’t have. His wanderings stretched, seemingly never ending, leading him nowhere past the desert of the inner space, time betraying him at each step. For years, Mitsuhide was in a state doubtful of even deserving the name of being. He was nothing. He was everything. He was everywhere, yet also couldn’t find himself. Eventually, his senses grew sharper, his eyes could see further, deeper – and, perhaps, it was then that he was in fact made himself, white little mouses beginning to appear everywhere.

At first, Mitsuhide was confused – what were the animals? Where were they going to, what were their paths? Curious and baffled, he traced their every step, a barely visible feeling of phantom paws leading him in places he never dared to reach by himself. He squinted, the space vibrating – he wanted to know more, to understand… Fearing his mind may be too little to properly comprehend them, he moved his hand. The first one, the second one, both of his feet, he even shook his head, bringing physicality into his realm. Mitsuhide turned himself tangible, eventually even donning a face, all for the sake of getting to the bottom of the mystery that filled the emptiness he felt for years.

The mice grew their trails, settling in places past his domain – and perhaps it could be said they prompted him to hatch, for that was what he did, breaking free of the prison that held him captive and entering into the wide world, one he still had to learn of. Much to his surprise, however, the little white creatures appeared not to obey by the standards binding their earthly cousins, instead speeding over the night sky and sneaking into human houses, one by one. Baffled, Mitsuhide caught a pair by their tails once, as to examine what could possibly his friend be feeding on – and thus, the god-protector, the god of nightmares, was announced.

Millennia passed, his grasp on the reality growing firmer, earning him the title of mind-reader among his kind. Feared and loved, Mitsuhide taught himself to weave dreams into threads, each night directing an army of rodents to aid those in need of urgent rest – and each day he made sure to line horrors with silver, to turn storms into the calm. He was the patron saint of the troubled, and yet… And yet, some things, even he could not reclaim.

Mitsuhide knew this woman for quite some time, his mice visiting her bedroom every day, seemingly to no avail. At first sure of his ability, he doubled the amount of his servants attending to her, fully convinced it would lead her dreams towards more pleasant ends… Albeit it never happened, not then, not in the following months, not when the rodents tripled and quadrupled, not even when he focused on her alone. Appearing to be the only such case in the entire world, Mitsuhide stepped off of his throne hidden in clouds. Donned in the white robes, he rode between the stars, the black velvet of the sky sighing quietly under the paws of his mice, the creatures then pulling his caravan. Wind swept his hair back, although gently, seemingly shied by the sun residing in his eyes – and there he was already, sitting at the very edge of her bed, a needle and a thread in his hands, slender fingers unravelling a string of silver from the spool sitting in his lap.

“Who are you?” Mitsuhide did not understand, his arms freezing. He gazed down at her face, the woman still being asleep. He touched her dreams again. “Who are you? Yes, yes, you, with the threa –” her voice was cut short by something, her mind rewiring itself.

He was the patron of the troubled – and she must have been one in need of his guidance, his mice being unable to put her nightmares to rest. As such, be it out of the sense of obligation or curiosity, his duty expanded once more, this time encompassing tending to her specifically. Her voice never quieting, they eventually began to converse, eating away at the tedious hours Mitsuhide spent on mending the holes littering the sleep she had. Hours grew to days, days turned into weeks – months, years… The nightmares ceased, yet he could not convince himself to stop his care.

That day it was her who waited for him, white underslip over her form. Her elbows propped against the railing of the balcony, she leaned onto her arms, inviting him to come closer with the nod of her head. “Have you ever stopped and just watched?” she hummed quietly, his shoulder brushing against hers. “There is little curiosity to darkness.” “Nonsense,” she laughed, her hand pointing somewhere into the night. Mitsuhide squinted his eyes. “The light is always present. Always.” Mitsuhide raised his eyebrows, a single sparkly spot emerging between the bushes, followed by another one and plenty more. Seemingly taken aback, he forgot of everything for a second, his world seemingly beginning at the feeling of her warmth to his left and ending at the plethora of miniscule bugs. A giggle left his lungs. “I think I have already found my light,” he noted, straightening his back. Slim fingers hooking below her chin, Mitsuhide guided her to look at him, golden eyes staring into hers with the intensity of the sun… And so, she hid her gaze, her lids closing as she stood on the very tips of her toes, her lips brushing against his in a faint kiss. “You silly, silly thing,” she sighed and returned to her place, shaking her head in mild disbelief.

Silence fell thick between them, her shoulders tensing up. Seemingly pressed to speak of the unspoken, of things eating at the border of her consciousness, she clenched her jaw, her tongue tying into a knot and refusing to let a single word out. Surprised, she looked up, Mitsuhide reaching to hold her hand. “I cannot understand, for I was not born like you…” he started hesitantly. “And yet… If I were to ask the god of death of it… Would you, one day, consider –” “Yes. The answer is ‘yes’,” she promised, her fingers curling around his.

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx, @cottonfluffballofdoom, @ozziegrl71, @rikumorimachisgirl, @bestbryn, @kink-rabbithole @briars7 @mineko811 If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, do remember to specify fandoms (and characters, if you are interested only in some) :D If it ever happens that you wish to be removed from my taglist, for any reason, do let me know. I will not ask why, it’s all fine ^^

#mitsuhide akechi #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #my ff #my writing

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

101 Open MHA Gen Prompts

I had a very long ask game where people gave me fake titles and I came up with fic ideas to go with them.  Multiple people asked to use some of them as prompts, and some of my friends have lately maligned the lack of gen prompts out there, so I decided to compile them all into a single post.  Almost all of these are gen, aka not shipping, but you can do what you want I’m not your boss.  Everything is free and open to use WITH CREDIT, so have fun with my word vomit.

1. In Dreams I Had the Sun - Being the number one hero isn’t all it’a cracked up to be, Toshinori realizes early on

2. The Chainlink Fence that Held the Ocean - In his new book post-retirement, All Might opens up about his regrets, struggles with mental health, and his issues with the hero system as a whole.  The backlash is swift and intense.

3. Welcome to the Loud Silence - After an injury, Izuku is rendered deaf.

4. Water Since Turned Red - After a villain attack nearly kills All Might, the beach where Izuku used to go to find comfort now feels tainted.

5. all scrap left untouched is bound together - A group hero students who failed the provincial license exam for the third time, effectively ending their careers before they start, get together to take revenge on UA’s first years who beat them out.

6. You’ve saved more more times than you know - Times All Might saved people without his powers, just by being a cool, nice dude.

7. No Amount of Tragedy Can Justify Your Actions - A dying All for One tries to justify his centuries of cruelty to an uncaring Toshinori.

8. To Leave a Cage Locked - One for All is conscious and has a will of its own, one that doesn’t always line up with Izuku’s wellbeing.

9. Okay, who let in the Kraken? - Izuku is the reincarnation of an ancient eldritch horror.

10. keep us alive up above - Izuku and Shigaraki get trapped together somewhere.  Izuku knows he needs the villain’s help to survive and escape, but the other would rather they both die.

11. The world will revolve around me neither less - The ebbs and flows of AFO’s influence over the years.

12. More Roulette, Not Russian - Kids get their quirks swapped.

13. Patron Saints - Toshinori teaches a class about pre-quirk superhero comic characters and their influence.

14. Don't Come Back - Touya Todoroki’s first few weeks after a severe injury resulted in his father abandoning him.

15. The Blessed and the Fool - Toshinori meets up with a few of his ua classmates after retiring.

16. Not Your Sacrifice - Some of the other kids have started adopting some of Izuku’s self sacrificing habits and the teachers are concerned.

17. Break in the Storm - Villains use a power outage as an opening to break into ua.

18. One Day Those Consequences Will Finally Catch Up - Even though the teachers don’t take her concerns seriously, Inko saves every piece of evidence regarding people hurting her son.

19. a garden in their eyes - Izuku meets a fan who got injured after trying to step into a villain fight, just like he did, and it makes him question some things.

20. what could have been, if not for you - After Inko divorces him, Hisashi’s goes to the press to say All Might stole his wife and son.

21. Promised Misery - All Might finds out the severity of Bakugou’s bullying, and warns him he’s on thin ice with him.

22. Fly Up Higher, Blossom Brighter - Izuku has to write a paper for middle school about being positive, intercut with all the bullshit he has to deal with.

23. Libre Me from Hell - One of Izuku’s new quirks is spiral related.

24. No One to Blame but Yourself - Izuku’s kindness doesn’t extend to murderers, tragic backstory or not.

25. At Its Finest - Izuku accidentally gets involved in a hero commission coverup.

26. A Rising Issue - Izuku starts developing more severe side effects of his injuries.  He’s convinced he’s under the influence of a quirk, while the adults thing he’s finally gone too far hurting himself.

27. What you are in the Dark - Izuku usually keeps most of his anger to himself until he can’t.

28. nowhere to go - Inko moves into UA after their home was destroyed.

29. Something Without - My theory about the 2 OFA vestiges that are blurred out is they don’t approve of izuku as a successor.  Izuku tries to figure out why. 

30. Walking with a Ghost - Toshinori joins the OFA dreams while he’s in a coma.  He gets to reunite with nana, and is more open to Izuku about his past and feelings.  Part of his starts to wonder if it’s worth waking up, since he will die and join the others eventually.

31. Death By Crying - Izuku is affected by a quirk that will suffocate him if he expresses any emotion.

32. Justice is Subjective - The hero commission gets to Shigaraki before AFO does.  

33. Undo / Underdog - Death loop fic.  Izuku keeps reliving the day he met all might after being killed by the sludge villain.  he has to find a way to break the loop and survive, but he gets s little weaker every time he restarts.

34. Like Wildfire - A rumor that Izuku is All Might’s bio son picks up steam, and the characters have to decide whether to deny it but risk suspicion or play along and add a new layer to the lies protecting one for all.

35. Once Upon A December - All Might and Inko actually met in the past trope.

36. Some Legends Are Told - All Might’s first interview post-retirement.

37. Will The Real Mentor Please Stand Up - Aizawa considers himself the better teacher, but a lot of the kids seem to like All Might more.

38. I don't want the cure, I want the POISON! - Inko is killed in a hit and run, and Izuku becomes desperate to find the killer.

39. I will kill my heart before I dance on stage for these bigots - Izuku is interviewed as a rising star of UA, and the interviewer brings in some of his old bullies because they claimed to be his friends from middle school.  Izuku does not play along.

40. Split Ends - A quirk gives Izuku brief visions of what would have happened if he made different decisions.

41. Dreamless Sleep - A One for All dream leaves Izuku with a cryptic half-warning, and he desperately experiments to try and figure out how to trigger the visions to get the rest of it.

42. toxic flowers and pretty blades - Young Inko escapes the constricting life of her cruel wealthy family by becoming a vigilante.

43. The Suns we Orbit - Some of the other teachers believe Izuku is too codependent on Toshinori, and separate them for a time.

44. Submerged - Similar to those buried alive fics only someone’s in a box at the bottom of the ocean.

45. Deprive - Izuku also loses his stomach to an injury, and struggles to adjust to the necessary lifestyle changes.

46. The ashes fall like snow - Post Kamino cleanup.

47. Home will always be here - Inko cares for Izuku after he’s sent home due to “trouble at work study” but he refuses to clarify what that means.

48. Playing Favorites - A look at several times where Izuku was punished, while Bakugou got off scot free.

49. Elusive Dreams - Some kind of training or issue forces the kids to stay away for several consecutive day, and they start losing it.

50. Fracture - Izuku struggles through physical therapy after a severe injury that leaves his hero career in question.

51. Starlight, Starbright - Space cadet au

52. Someone in Your Corner - Gran Torino looking after Nana, Toshi, and finally Izuku through the years.

53. I cast magic missile into the darkness - Generic “the gang plays d&d” fic.

54. One Month At A Time - Izuku breaks a limb, and has to let in heal naturally over the course of several months.

55. Head Above Water - Izuku runs out of his pain meds and can’t get access to more doses for a while, so he has to endure not only the pain, but the withdrawal symptoms.

56. Are you going to leave a path to trace - All Might uses a new strategy to try and get Izuku to be less self sacrificial: what about all the young kids who are going to look up to him?

57. The View from Halfway Down - Izuku realizes that a risky move has just landed him with a potentially life threatening injury, but the fight it still going.

58. The Dust Bites Back - A villain All Might defeated early in his career is back and out for revenge.

59. The Absence of your Worth - Nighteye thinks he’s put together a rock solid case for why izuku isn’t worthy of One for All.  All Might’s response is to ask if he has something against quirkless people.

60. Behind the Screens Nobody is Afraid - All Might explains some of the context of his most popular hero videos to Izuku.  They are much more tragic than the media has spun them in hindsight.

61. Under the Light of the Moon - Someone gets turned into a werewolf.  And I ain’t talking the wattpad piss shit.  I’m talking full-on back-breaking monstrous transformations into a bloodthirsty abomination set to Bad Moon Rising.

62. some dreams were made to be broken - Bakugou crosses a line and finally gets expelled.

63. You Say You're Into Closure - Izuku finally beats Bakugou in a one on one fight fair and square, but Bakugou is a sore loser.

64. Something or Someone Missing - AU’s memories of Izuku get wiped, but those closest to him can’t help but feel an absence.

65. Too Little Too Late - Izuku’s father returns to find he’s been replaced.

66. Collecting Dust - Inko goes through the stuff Izuku didn’t take to the dorms.

67. Where the souls of wanderers go - Toshi meets up with a retired hero support group.

68. Fragility of Trust - Suspected traitor au

69. no one answered - Izuku is trapped in a cell in a building that’s collapsing in slow motion due to a quirk.

70. Eye of the Storm - One of the other kids has a panic attack for the first time between public appearances.  izuku has never seen from from the outside.

71. To Whom It May Concern - The kids find a mysterious collection of letters from previous students hidden in the ceiling of the classroom.  Some are ominous, some are incomprehensible.  Aizawa has no answers.  They enthusiastically go to try and solve the mystery within, but that excitement quickly diminishes the more they find out.

72. Of Popsicles and Ponytails - All Might gets in a discussion with the other teachers about whether the Clark Kent glasses thing would actually work.  All Might bets them it does, so he goes around town with no disguise other than his hair being up, and no one bats an eye.

73. All Men are Not Born Equal - Word gets out to the public that izuku used to be quirkless.  Everyone finds out just how deep anti-quirkless sentiments run when some begin to question whether a quirkless kid should be at ua, regardless of whether or not he has a quirk now.

74. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies - Something about encountering death in person for the first time being the dividing line between child and adult.

75. Sins of the Father - All for One has had many children over the centuries, and has made numerous attempts to groom them into the ideal heir with several different methods.  None of them worked though.

76. Where The Dead Come To Rest - The kids come home after a long, grueling mission where they saw some shit, and are too tired to process what they went through.  They take off their gear for plain clothes, then sit in the common room in silence long into the night, not wanting to open themselves up but also not wanting to be alone.

77. Rivalry - Nighteye tries to pit Izuku and Mirio against one another.  It goes right over Mirio’s head, but Izuku becomes convinced the other boy is in on Nighteye’s plan to wear him down until he gives up One for All.

78. A Subtle Language - All Might and Nana never said out loud that they loved each other, but little things told them that they did.  All Might hopes to pass a similar love down to his own successor.  But Izuku is very different than himself as a kid, and he needs to learn a new subtle language of affection.

79. It’s Gone - One for All stops working one day.

80. A Sight For Sore Eyes - All Might looking after Izuku in the aftermath of the second movie.

81. Loose Lips (sink ships) - Bakugou blurts out something about One for All during a rage, so the rest of the class jump on him and Izuku for answers.

82. No Expectations - Word gets out that All Might is going to choose a successor.  None of the theories or speculation online resemble Izuku in the slightest.

83. Eden was Only a Garden - Izuku gets hit with a quirk that erases some of his most traumatic memories, but in doing so loses part of who he is.

84. Run it Down - With all Izuku’s new quirks and his incredible skill, some of the other students with similar powers (Iida, Sero, Uraraka) start to feel like izuku is upstaging them.  And it affects their friendship.

85. Fool's Gold - Bakugou grows even more jealous of Izuku having One for All, and his relationship with All Might.  He thinks that if he could just prove himself to be more worthy, All Might would change his mind and name him his successor.  But in reality, he ends up jeopardizing the relationship they already have.

86. somewhere down the road - The final deadline for Nighteye’s predictions passes, and All Might lives.  He debates telling Izuku, as even though it would be a weight off the boy’s mind, he doesn’t want to jinx it.  He will still die eventually after all.

87. Just For You - All Might has certain rules and boundaries for fan interactions that he completely ignores for Izuku.

88. if these walls could talk (their whispers would be maddening) - Montage of training accidents in a ‘cursed’ ua gym

89. If Only I Could... - Nighteye tells Mirio about One for All, including that he thinks he’s more deserving than Izuku and he plans to pressure him into giving it up.  Mirio struggles with the knowledge that his mentor, someone he respected more than anything, only saw him as a replacement for All Might, meanwhile watching Izuku strain under the pressure of that mentor’s impossible expectations.

90. This is a Test Designed to Provoke an Emotional Response - shameless Blade Runner AU

91. Once and for All - Retelling of the Superman story “What’s So Funny About Truth, Justice, and the American Way?” with All Might.  Some new heroes use much more aggressive and violent tactics against villains while also upstaging All Might.  That, and there general approval from the public cause All Might to question his moral code.

92. Sitting In The Rain - Tsuyu likes to just sit out in the rain sometimes.  Not do anything, just sit there.  Some friends decide to join her.

93. At Sundown - Mysterious creatures start attacking ua every night.  The gang works tirelessly during the day to find the cause and a solution, while defending their school and each other at night.

94. The 1000th time's the charm - Uraraka has been practicing a new move in secret but they just can’t get it right.  She wants it to be perfect before showing it off.  But one attempt gets her seriously hurt while training alone at night in one of the gyms, and she’s too hurt to get up to the phone to call for help.

95. Sunflower Seeds - All Might attempts to start a garden as a new hobby.

96. What It Means To Be Human - Sun god Toshi starts living among people.

97. Eyes on Me - All Might teaches Izuku some unarmed fighting moves to defend himself from bullies.

98. one remains - Izuku has developed all but one of the quirks he’s slated to, and he has no idea what it will be.  Anxiety ensues.

99. Come Back Home - Izuku vanishes from campus and everyone assumes he was kidnapped, but in reality he ran away to try and clear his head after a depressive spiral.  He goes by train as far away as he can until he comes to his senses and calls the others.

100. I Won - Izuku accidentally managed to kill Shigaraki during a skirmish, and while everyone around him praises his heroics, he struggles to deal with the fact that he killed someone.

101. Ivory Tower - All Might grapples with how much izuku suffered as a quirkless person, how he could have done more for quirkless rights in his time as a hero, and how now people may not care as much because he’s retired.

Reminder to credit me if you use any of these prompts, and a special thanks to everyone who submitted titles!

#mha #bnha #mha prompts #bnha prompts #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dad might #all might #toshinori yagi #midoriya izuku #deku #bakugou katsuki #aconstantstateoffanfiction

[mrcurrygoestospain]

Camino De Santiago - Round 5

Spain travel log, 2021…

Day One:

September 20 - Depart Seattle for Madrid, by way of London. There were plenty of issues just getting to this point. In addition to the ongoing concerns over COVID-19, or perhaps because of them, I had some serious concerns about whether I could and whether I should do this trip at all. In the end, I think I simply realized that it was totally appropriate for me to go on this trip: I’ve been “responsible” and taken the full round of vaccinations, generally avoided social contacts with people and been diligent about the masks. So I made my reservations and thought everything was fine. About 2 weeks before takeoff, I got an email from Iberia that one of my flights had been changed. When I looked into it, I found that it was the connecting flight from London to Madrid and the schedule had been bumped up by about 6 hours taking me from having a 2 hour layover in Heathrow to needing to be on a plane for Madrid 4 hours before I actually landed in London and would be able to board it… It took attempts at phone calls over several days to get this corrected. Finally, I tried while I was at top work one morning around 5:00 am. I finally got through and a nice lady helped rebook my connecting flight. She found the only available flight on that day that would work; now I have a seven hour layover.

I prepped for my trip, checklists and routes planned. I arrived at the airport 3 hours early, just in case. Although I booked with Iberia, it was a British flight. So standing in line at the BA counter in SeaTac, I saw the sign: “All passengers must show proof of a negative COVID test.” What? I’d already checked multiple times; I only need proof of vaccination to get into Spain. I check the internet. Sure enough, if you’re on a layover in England, you need a negative test…A quick Google search helped me find a testing center at SeaTac airport, so I rushed down to baggage claim number nine to see if I could get a test in time. In all honesty, I really thought I wasn’t going to make it and I��d have to try to contact the airline again to find a way to reschedule my flight. I stood in the line for what seemed like forever, but finally had the privilege of paying $250 for a rapid COVID test. T- minus 2 hours 30 minutes to departure and they promised results in 1-1.5 hours. The test itself was relatively painless. After all of the horror stories I’d heard about the nasal swabs, I was a bit worried. But it didn’t hurt, it just tickled a little bit. I waited, and waited…it seemed like they would never have my results. While I waited, I heard stories from other travelers who had missed flights or rebooking because of these ridiculous COVID-related requirements. One young Canadian lady I spoke to shared that she’d spent over $1000 on COVID tests in the last month due to traveling. I guess my $250 wasn’t so much.

I finally got my negative test results and rushed back to the check in counter, filled out the required government forms and headed through security. The flight was delayed.

After a nine hour flight to London, I had seven or eight hours to kill in Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5, before boarding my flight to Madrid. I shopped, I ate, I listened to podcasts. I took a few naps and generally cursed British Airways for changing my original flight. Some Italian guy made quite a scene at the boarding gate for the flight to Madrid. The gate agent handled it quite well and passive-aggressively punished him for his demeanor.

I arrived in Madrid after an easy flight on Iberia, made my way to the metro and on to my Hostel. It was a nice enough place. After 28 hours of travel, I was ready for a shower and bed.

Day 2:

On my one day in Madrid, I walked from my hostel/hotel to the Museo Nacional del Prado. It’s Spain’s greatest art museum. This was my second time there and I spent a lot more of it. There are so many amazing pieces and, for someone who used to truly despise art, it was amazing. I highly recommend it. I haven’t been to a whole lot of art museums, but it is, by far, my favorite. I followed that with a walk through the Royal Botanical Gardens. I’m sure they’re great when all of the flowers are blooming, but in early fall, it’s just a lot of green. Either way, it was still peaceful. I visited another nearby park, walked around and viewed the statues, and then made my way back towards the hotel and passed it to go to the Cathedral opposite the royal palace. It’s a much more modern cathedral than the ones I’ll see on the Camino, but still impressive.

Day 3:

On the morning of the third day, I got up early and got packed. Took the metro to the train station and purchased a ticket to Leon. After two hours on the train, I took a 20 minute walk to the hotel and dropped off my bag, and then spent the next few hours wandering the city. I found a barber and got a haircut for 9 Euro, quite a bargain. Stopped at the “Taste of America” shop to get a bottle of hot sauce (Cholula, of course), and just meandered around the city until I could get checked in at the hotel. It was a pretty uneventful day, which is just what I needed. I was still very tired from all of the traveling and trying to swap schedules.

Day 4:

I got up late, around 8:00 AM and started walking the city. I stopped for a cafe con leche and met a Scottish couple who had been walking the Camino for the last few weeks. While we waited out the rain under cover, the shared with me some of their other walking adventures, including tales of walking through the Swiss Alps on the Via Francigena, a pilgrimage route to Rome. I may have to look into that for a future trip. I also shared with them my plans/considerations of taking a walk on the “Great Glen Way” in Scotland. The wife had already done this and highly recommended it, along with the West Highland Way. Both are approximately 5-day walks through some of the wild country of Scotland. When the rain let up, we parted ways and I went to tour the Cathedral, toured the Basilica of Saint Isidore and wandered around town, shopping and eating. Inside the Saint Isidore museum and basilica, i had the opportunity to see what is referred to as the “Sistine Chapel of Romanesque Art” as well as a gold and silver cup that some historians claim is the “holy grail.”

Day 5:

Didn’t sleep much…I forgot how much they like to party in Spain. It was LOUD all night long. Anyway, started my walk. Today was about 27 km and it rained through about 50% of the day. It was a mix of roads and dirt tracks. I only saw one other pilgrim, a Spaniard who doesn’t speak any English. I got ahead of him and had stopped for a rest at a picnics table on top of a mountain. He showed up a few minutes behind me and I tried to chat for a minute, but the language barrier…. I offered him half of my tangerine and then he took off again. I passed him up later. I had been slightly worried about where to stay for the night as the municipal albergue in this province/state are currently closed due to the ‘Rona, but when I got to town I found a pension with rooms available. The lovely lady named Susana showed me to a room and also worked tirelessly to make me a reservation for the following night. I hadn’t eaten much for the day, so I ordered big: hot dog and patatas oil bravas. Patatas bravas is a traditional dish in Spain which is made of fried potatoe cubes that are covered in a (typically) spicy tomato sauce. Potatoes Ali Oli are the same fried potatoes but with a garlic cream sauce instead of the spicy sauce. This one combined both sauces. It was nice. The inside of the restaurant/bar/cafe was very loud with a bunch of men playing a card game I’m not familiar with, so I went outside to have a beer. An older Spaniard, named Hilario, came out and started trying to talk to me. I explained that I am American and I don’t speak much Spanish, but he disagreed. So he went inside and got another man, a Hungarian who had been in Spain for the last 25 years, named Fernanco(?) who was extremely drunk, to come out and talk to me. He was so drunk, he introduced himself as “muy borracho” or “very drunk” and the proceeded to tell me that he used to be a muy Thai fighter and a coal miner and now he was just a fat drunk who collected money from the government because he got hit in the head too many times. At least I THINK that’s what they were saying…. I went to bed early to get a good rest and let my aching feet and hips recover before a long day tomorrow….from La Robla to Poladura, should be about 25km or so with some very intense climbs. We’ll see.

I’m currently on the Camino San Salvador, which is a route from Leon to Oviedo. They say “whoever goes to Santiago without visiting Oviedo, goes to the servant but not to the Lord.” This is because Oviedo is famous for having a specific relic. While most people are aware of the Shroud of Turin, which is the burial cloth of Jesus, many don’t know (including me, until recently) that traditional Jewish burial included placing a cloth over the face of the deceased immediately after death and until the body was prepared for burial. This cloth would then be removed and the full-body cloth would be applied. So anyway, this Cathedral boasts possession of the face covering that was placed over Jesus’ head, likely immediately after the spear pearled his side and before he was brought down off of the cross. Once I complete the Camino San Salvador (about 5 days, I hope), I will continue on to the Camino Primitivo, one of the many Camino’s de Santiago. So the Camino San Salvador goes to the relics of Christ and the Camino Santiago (Santiago = Saint James) goes to the resting place and remains of Saint James (the major), also known as “Santiago Matamoros” or “Saint James the Moor Slayer”, the patron saint of Spain.

[softschofield]

the convoy boys (before and) after the war, part two - malky ♡

part one (rossi and cooke): x

parry/malky: x

moodboard: x

malky is the one to struggle the most after the war, though none of his friends ever know until he off-handedly and sweetly mentions the full extent of his trauma and they’re all taken aback by the pure horror of it. 

he’d been one of the few to come from a happy home: his whole family living in two-up-two-down row houses on the same street in newcastle-upon-tyne, his parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins; a neighbourhood who knew and loved him, stores run by people who’d watched him grow up, a family that numbered half the city; christmases where the whole neighbourhood would bring their dining room tables out onto the street for one big party if the weather was fair, and where they’d cram into each other’s houses for singing and dancing and joyous, clumsy piano performances if the weather was snowy. 

those christmas gatherings were noisy, beautiful things; his parents would let him have a little glass of brandy, and it would fall to him to watch over the younger children and play with them, and often a cheer would go up somewhere near midnight and he’d be encouraged to plod out a few bad piano songs with his half-year training (that his parents had pooled their savings into) so everyone could sing along; and once it got late and the adults started to get drunk, malky would find a spare seat on the couch and watch the chaos with a shy, happy little smile and feel the warmth in his heart at the sight of all these people he loved and who loved him. 

his childhood was warm, and soft, and happy, and crowded. he was never lonely, but he was also never alone, and so he came to love and value quiet, peaceful moments by himself. he found a love for pressing flowers, one that came to mean calm and softness, and his bedroom was always filled with flowers, and he’d walk for hours along the river and through meadows and woods. when he was sixteen, he started working at a book binder’s for a half-deaf, grumpy old man, and that peace, that being able to just work at something in the quiet for hours at a time, became something he loved with all his heart. 

when the war came around, he was still living in his childhood bedroom with his parents. he’d never had any reason to want to move out; he was happy, and to all the neighbourhood he was still the baby of the family. he wanted to do his duty, in a vague, half-formed, guilty sort of war - he wanted to help his country, wanted to have an adventure, wanted to make new friends. but he never really expected to enlist, knew it would break his parents’ hearts. 

then conscription was introduced in 1916, and he had no choice. he was called up, assigned to the worcestershire regiment at random, given a few months of training that tore at the soft skin of his hands that were never made to fire a rifle, and shipped off to france as a replacement. 

almost immediately he and rossi formed a bond. malky had never had to go very far out of his way to make friends - in newcastle, you fell over them almost by accident wherever you went - and he was a little overwhelmed at the front. that first night, with shells rumbling in the distance and boys murmuring in the dark around him and little fires hidden under raincoats to avoid being seen by german planes, malky wandered between the little groups aimlessly. he’d catch the eye of someone, and smile hopefully and start to walk over to them, only to have them turn away and go back to talking to someone else. he’d hover over a group and try to think up something to say, and be snapped at. he wandered, helpless and dispirited and blushing, until a boy sitting by himself beside a little fire called him over in a gruff, quiet voice. there was nothing wrong with him, no reason he’d be by himself - he could have been the centre of a group if he’d wanted to be. but, evidently, he didn’t want that. 

and so, malky and rossi became the founding members of the convoy boys - because rossi, patron saint of waifs and strays, of the unwanted and the mocked and the outcasts, had called malky over. he’d mostly expected to be annoyed by the boy, to just keep him company for the evening until he got more settled in and could stand on his own two feet; and when malky first sat down beside him at the fire, where rossi was fiddling away at a part of a radio from headquarters, he’d hardly looked at him. but malky, gentle and unexpectedly witty in a delightfully deadpan way and northern to the core, had quickly established himself as an equal, and from then on it was malky and rossi. 

after that, they’d adopted others into their little group and taken them under their wing - cooke, too insecure and too desperate to prove himself to easily make friends; butler, too stand-offish and idealistic; jondalar, for obvious reasons. jondalar quickly became a leader of the group, and even he didn’t entirely realise that malky another of them - he was more than happy to settle into the background, to let others take centre stage, but he was no less one of the three leaders, one of the hearts of the group: he was the comforter, the one who gently soothed and patched up small wounds, the one who listened when someone had to break away from the group and stumble into the dark and weep about home and all the horror and trauma looming over them, the one who held them when they needed a soft, tender touch.

and then, after the war, he realised that while he’d been doing that for everyone else, no one had been doing it for him. he suffered afterwards in a similar way to kilgour - but while kilgour was aware of his own trauma, while he tried to hide it with cheerfulness and big smiles and the complete dismissal of his pain, malky was genuinely unaware that there was something wrong with him. he tried to go back to his old life, tried to slot right back into that world of noise and warmth and claustrophobic, stifling joy. his friends, his family, his cousins, his aunts, his neighbours - they were all over him, and for the first time in his life, he realised, with such a flash of horror that it made him sick, that he didn’t want to be touched. that he flinched at the sound of a train horn. that his heart was always thundering and frantic. that there were dark rings under his eyes. that the flowers on his walls made him feel hemmed in, and that he wanted to reorganise his bookshelf at 3am because he had to do something, anything, had to open a window, had to clean, had to repaint the dining room walls.

and it wasn’t that he felt he had to be someone for all the people who had known him - it’s that he honestly, genuinely, did not realise he was suffering from trauma. he thought that, now that the war was over, he could move on, and start a new chapter, and go back to smiling, to evening walks in summer, to giving piggy back rides to his young cousins. he thought he’d be alright. 

while he was in this confusing state of turmoil, this state of smiling happily through the day and not understanding the mess he became at night, he kept up his letters to his friends. sweetly. cheerfully. religiously. it’s a nice habit, he thought; i don’t understand it but i feel like i’m coming apart at the seams and this is the only thing holding me together, he meant. one by one they stopped writing him back, but that didn’t matter. he kept sending them.

he got his old job back at the book binder’s. didn’t last. he’d sit down at his desk and look at the clock and it was 10am, and then he’d just stare at nothing for a few minutes, losing himself in a soundless haze with his pulse in his ears, and he’d blink and it was 4pm. the old man fired him after a week and he stumbled out onto the street in a tearful daze. 

and that’s how his life went for months: happy, smiling, cheerful, and frantically tearing apart down the middle while all he could do was watch. blindly trying to stitch himself back up with soft coloured wool that just fell to bits at his touch, and stirring himself into a horrible frenzy of confusion and fear and sunshine.

then came the letter from cooke, telling him to come down to london. then came parry. then came healing. 

when he returned to newcastle, he was still broken - but he understood that that’s what it was, and his smile was a little more genuine for finally having a diagnosis, for knowing that life itself wasn’t fracturing, for knowing there could be an end to it, for knowing there’s hope. rossi was the only reason he was staying in newcastle, because it wasn’t terribly far from scotland and it made him feel close to him even when only silence greeted his letters. when rossi made the move to london, malky followed him. he smiled around at his childhood bedroom and breathed in the smell of it one last time before he closed the door, and he lugged his suitcase down the staircase and left it by the front door - and that evening, the whole street is alive with celebration. 

his parents cry, but they know that if it will make him happy, if it’s right, then he has to go - and all the neighbourhood will miss him, but they don’t lament it: they turn it into a celebration of a new chapter in his life. lanterns are hung throughout the street, and the tables are brought out, and people wheel their pianos out, and the warm evening air is alive with music and laughter, and everyone wants to dance with malky - most of all his kid cousins, which is an adorable sight - and he’s smiling and laughing just as much as he’s crying, and it’s happy. 

and as night falls, he hugs everyone he loves, and tells them he’ll visit and write every week and send photos, and his mother tells him she’s proud of him and hugs him the longest, and as he picks up his suitcase and walks to the train station, the whole street goes with him - skipping along at his side, and singing, and cheering, like a huge procession through the streets of newcastle. people come out of their homes and poke their heads out of windows to watch - and there’s malky, at the head of it all with his suitcase and a hundred people who love him all around him, and he’s laughing and sobbing at the same time, and it’s magical. it’s beautiful. it’s family. it’s home. 

they wave him off at the platform and laugh and cheer and blow kisses, with kids sitting on their parents’ shoulders and a little yapping dog perched on someone’s head, and then the train is pulling away, and he leans out the window to wave at them for as long as he can; and once he can’t see them anymore, he sits back in his seat and just cries - not only because he’s going to miss them, but because he’s so happy, he’s so overwhelmed, he’s so full of love. and when the crying stops, all that’s left is a dopey smile on his face and red, swollen eyes, and his chest full of warmth and light as air.

all his friends meet him at the station in london, and they’re just as much a home as the one he left. he gets a job as a baker and he loves it: his customers line up early every morning to get his pastries, and also to talk to the sweet, bashful baker with the shy, kind eyes and happy smile; in turn, he loves all his regulars and always comes out to the till to serve them and chat with them and wish them a good morning at work. he’s the highlight of their day and they his, and his friends just listen with befuddled, patient expressions where he gushes quietly about what his customers are up to - because malky is the one none of them tease. he’s too gentle for that. 

and he’s happy!!!! he does a lot of quiet healing (much of it at scho’s cottage in cookham when he mentions he’d love to see the countryside, and then it just becomes a tradition to go there once a month), and arranges flowers in his flat to clear his head, and takes up knitting as stress relief and knits blankets for all his friends, and he’s happy. and i love him. so much. 

#1917 #parry will come next <3333 #mine #boy!!!! tumblr crashed at the bit where he arrives at the station in london and i hadn't saved the draft in a few hundred words #and i was SCREAMING but it saved it!!!! it's fine!! crisis AVERTED #<33

[wildbootsappeared]

My Favorite Reads of 2020

I read quite a bit in 2020, so I wanted to share some of my favorite books and fics.

I work in the teen department of my library, so I read a lot of YA. I think that fic and YA are looked down on for similar reasons: both are supposedly the domain of teenage girls, childish and of dubious quality. I’ve definitely read YA novels that were no better than fic, and I’ve also definitely read fic that was better than most YA novels I’ve encountered. Fic can be more thought-provoking than one might assume, and YA can be way more salacious than one might assume. YA has gotten way cooler and way higher quality than what was available when I was a teen ... and so has fic!

That said, not all of my favorite reads of 2020 were YA, but a lot of them were. Go read some of these--it’s good for your brain.

In no particular order ...!

Mainstream Fiction

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger

Genres: Young Adult, fantasy, mystery

Keywords: ghosts, LGBT (ace), Native American (Apache), crime solving

Two words: ghost dog!! In a version of the US that’s a lot like ours but more magical, Ellie (short for Elatsoe) is a Lipan-Apache girl who can raise the ghosts of animals from the dead. When her cousin is murdered, she has to go toe-to-toe with the elites of Willowbee, TX to get justice for her family.

The Little Drummer Girl by John LeCarre

Genres: political fiction, romance

Keywords: Israeli-Palestinian conflict, 1970′s, spies, double agent, middle east, bombings

Copied from the original summary: You want to catch the lion, first you tether the goat. Joseph is an Israeli intelligence officer, and Charlie has been wooed to flush out the leader of a Palestinian terrorist group responsible for a string of deadly bombings. Still uncertain of her own allegiances, she debuts in the role of a lifetime as a double agent in the "theatre of the real."

Patron Saints of Nothing by Randy Ribray

Genres: Young Adult, political fiction, realistic fiction

Keywords: Philippines, drug war, Duterte, family, murder

When Jay’s cousin Jun dies, supposedly because of selling and/or using drugs (a crime punishable by extrajudicial murder in the Philippines), Jay is convinced there must be more to the story. He travels back to the Philippines to try to uncover the truth of his cousin’s death, his family, and who his cousin really was. (Made me cry. Twice.)

Dread Nation by Justine Ireland

Genres: Young Adult, Horror, historical fiction

Keywords: Post-Civil War, zombies, racism, LBGT (ace, bi)

In this book, the Civil War was ended not because the north won but because the dead rose from the battlegrounds. Now, the dangerous work of fighting the undead falls to black and brown folks while the white folks hide behind the safety of the walls. Balancing humor against cutting commentary on race in US, this story kicks so much ass.

The Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo

Genres: Fantasy, novella

Keywords: LBGT (non-binary), ancient China (kind of)

A cleric records the history of an empire newly fallen and remade, cutting back and forth in time between the present and the recollections of Rabbit, former handmaiden to the empress. 

Fanfic

I’m sorry to report that all but one of these are works in progress. (Two of them are close to finishing, though, and likely will in 2021.)

art by @helloyellow17​

envy of eden by kintsugi

Genres: xenofiction/pokecentric, trainer fic

Keywords: achronological, N, Unova, pokemon rights, myth

This fic takes to heart the idea that pokemon don’t tell lies and then gives the pokemon a platform to speak, making a case for “N was right.” It asks pointed questions about sacrifice, consent, personhood, and what it means to be a hero. Come to have your heart broken, stay for gardens and maybe a yogurt cup.

The Suicune’s Choice by An Author’s Pen

art by kintsugi

Genres: trainer fic

Keywords: Hoenn, OC, pokemon rights, myth, Suicune

Don’t let the title fool you: it is Hoenn fic (with some Johto mythology). It’s about a sweet boy at the end of his training career who has a religious epiphany at the worst possible moment (OR the best one?) and ends up on a path of no return.

Dragon’s Dance by An Author’s Pen

Genres: trainer fic, journey fic

Keywords: Johto, Kanto, Lance/Wataru, Team Rocket, dratini, pre-canon

He started from the bottom, now he’s here: a tale of Lance’s rise from child exile to leader of the Elite Four. All he needs to become strong is a big dragon or two, right? Right??

Broken Things by Vulterine Queen

Genres: trainer fic, journey fic

Keywords: OC, Alola, A-vulpix, LGBT, trans, camping, apocalypse, abuse, psychics, alt-earth

Three kids with Problems(TM) travel across Alola, camping, bickering with each other, and slowly (slowly!) becoming less-shitty people.

Salvage by Negrek

Genres: trainer fic, pokemorph

Keywords: mew, mewtwo, Team Rocket, black comedy, horror

The child is not quite human and not quite pokemon, but it’s all trouble. Its quest to rescue Mew from the Rockets forces it to team up with some unlikely friends (this is definitely the wrong word). This quest has a body count.

Those Who Will Inherit the Earth by love

Genres: PMD

Keywords: environmentalism, horror, deal with the devil, leafeon, completed

Poppy the leafeon doesn’t want much: to spend time with her friend Lavender and to take care of the natural world. But the Guild’s attitude towards conservation (it’s not interested) forces her to take a much more aggressive approach to protect what she loves.

Parliament of Steel by girl-like-substance

art by Cooltrainer Jim

Genres: xenofic

Keywords: Jasmine, magneton

Told from the perspective of a massive magneton hivemind, this fic explores personhood and trust with some very cool world-building thrown in.

Another Verse by Farla

Genre: trainer fic, journey fic, novelization

Keywords: horror, Alola, food

Farla’s speciality is using canon details to shed light on the fridge horror canon implies but sweeps under the rug. Bonnibel is a good trainer and she’s having a great time. And lots of snacks. A misery tour of Alola with delicious darkness.

#what i read #book recs #reading list #fic reading #fic recs #pokemon fic #fanfiction #pokefic #2020 reads

[badass-at-fandoming]

For the OC questions ask game, 🦋, 🌟& 💎 for Cassandra 😄

Thank you, friend!! Cassandra is really on my mind lately. Though perhaps the better question is if she’s ever not lol

🦋 If your OC could change everything (or just something) about their life would they? What would they change? What do they think would happen if they did? What would their loved ones think?

Part of the point of Kinder Universe is everything goes well for Cassandra, so this question is rather difficult, haha. Her wish would be focused on someone else. She wishes Sergio was Embraced by her Toreador mentor, Jeanette duCharme, instead of ghouled, so they and she could be on equal footing. She wishes she found a way to create peace between Matilda and her family, without Matilda ending up as a Kindred and demented to Nathan. She wishes she had left Matilda with clearer instructions, so the vampire hunting didn’t blow up in their faces. She wishes she didn’t have to choose between LA and traveling with Beckett. She wishes being Malkavian didn’t come at so high a cost.

Her loved ones think she’s a hopeless dreamer. That’s not always a bad thing.

🌟 When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why?

OOF. This is complicated! Darkest hours happen a lot in horror games, and, because they’re horror games, the characters face them alone, by choice or design.

When Cassandra was a young woman, she would turn to her mother and her family’s patriarch and patron, Antonio, for help. Generally, when Cassandra is upset, she turns to people, or self-soothes by pampering herself, like with bubble baths, fancy perfume, dancing, listening to music, singing etc. She’s an extrovert, so, like, seeking people is her default.

After her mother and Antonio were dead, she’d turn to her father, Enzo. However, it became apparent reallllllly quick that Enzo was not one for coddling and comfort--he would tell her to deal with it herself. Sure, he would help in material ways, like money, but didn’t Cassandra know he had real problems? like how to start the Italian mafia in LA lol

SOOOO her father’s rejection started a trend of self-reliance that does not always end well for her. Sure, in those brief, shining decades where all the Bonpensieros lived peacefully under the LA Camarilla, Cassandra had a quite large support system. She had her family, her mentor Jeanette, her friend Nick Knight, her Malkavian sister Matilda, her touchstone Frank Putnman, and her chosen family of Sancha, Elena, Zelde, and Sergio. If she was upset, she could go to any of these people for help, comfort, wisdom, and reassurance. But when things got really tough and really grim, Cassandra told no one. She faced it alone, and people she cared about died or were driven from the city, but they didn’t all die, and she grips that cold victory tight.

In the San Andreas timeline, she still holds that self-reliance, and she’s better at leveraging her connections to get what she wants. In A Kinder Universe...hmmm, I want to say Beckett, but I think it’s Sergio. They’ve been with her through the very thick and the very thin. There’s a Diary story I’ve skimmed wherein Anatole ditches Beckett to attend some great Malkavian meeting, and I think Cassandra would ditch him as well, BUT she would leave Sergio there to guard him. Sergio is not terribly pleased about this, and they and Beckett run after the wayward prophets.

💎 Does your OC collect anything? Is there a reason? When did they start and is it beginning to turn into a little bit of a hoarding issue? What do they do with their collection?

Uhhh, so this is pretty dark, but, um, do skulls of loved ones count as a collection.

In San Andreas timeline, Cassandra has collected the skulls of her sire Cactus Jack, Sergio, and Zelde. She also has the entire skeleton of a party guest at Antonio’s final party, ya know, the one that got blown up and incinerated Antonio, her family home, and their entire fortune. The skeleton died holding a wax tube recording of Antonio’s research into the Eye of Hazimel. From the Cobweb, Antonio guided Cassandra into finding this skeleton and recording, so it’s, ah, pretty special to her. She holds onto these bones out of grief.

A Kinder Universe is slightly cheerier! She only has Cactus Jack’s skull and the skeleton. Both of them stay at the Bonpensiero Mansion in her room. She also has her little shrine to Caine at Haven, but idk if that counts as a collection. She built it as a way to externalize and act on her Malkavian derangement (hearing Caine’s Voice). She offers flowers, prayers, and candles to the shrine, like Catholics do to saints. Also song lyrics once, haha. In addition, her room houses copies of her 3 albums and 5 films.

Whew! This got long! Thank you again for asking! :D :D :D

#ask #missn11 #text post #original characters #cassandra bonpensiero #malkavian #tw: death #tw: body horror #??? #idk there are skulls #oc ask game #tumblr life

[supermanjhid]

Why Should You Include Bataan In Your Must-See Places in PH?

Balanga, Bataan – The Philippine is full of wonderful places to visit. Some of these places are not only breathtaking, they are historically important too — one of them is the majestic province of Bataan.

The province of Bataan is majorly associated with the most significant events in the country’s history, including the Fall of Bataan and the Bataan Death March. Luckily, we were invited to witness the province and witness everything firsthand. Going around the province, we did not only see the monuments and markers of Bataan, we also love its outdoor adventure and nature.

Should you put Bataan in your travel bucket list? YES, you definitely should! Here are the nine reasons why Bataan is worth the travel.

Pay Homage to the Soldiers of World War II at Mt. Samat’s Shrine of Valour

The shrine in Pilar is dedicated to the American and Filipino soldiers who fought and risked their lives to free the country. Completed in 1970, this shrine consisted of a towering 92-meter memorial cross.

The memorial cross is situated 555 meters above sea level. It also showcases a viewing gallery that offers the views of the nearby mountains as well as the West Philippine Sea.

The shrine also has a museum where you can find some war artic ants and learn more about the events that happened in Bataan during the Second World War.

View The Colorful Mansions of Las Casas Filipinas de Azucar

Step out of the millennial century and walk in the 18th Century Philippine Architecture.

The Las Casas Filipinas de Azucar has rows after rows of beautifully reconstructed mansions. Take some photos and be in awe of how colorful these mansions are.

You may shop in 18th Century Style in Paseo de Escolta. Ride on a horse like a true aristocrat or you snap a photo at the postcard-perfect places. You may also be treated like a la señorito or señorita in the first-class heritage house, the Cash Bizantina.

Stay At The Plaza Mayor de Ciudad de Balanga

At The Plaza Mayor de Ciudad de Balanga, you can stay in the newest hotel in the city built in 2014. We stayed at The Plaza Hotel, an architecture icon in Balanga.

The Plaza Hotel is a mixture of the new and the old, just like what Bataan. It is a combination of the modern age and Spanish architecture.

At night, The Plaza Mayor de Ciudad de Balanga will remind you of Spain as it comes to life. There are colorful lights and people are just chilling with their families and friends.

See Birds In Their Natural Habitat At The Balanga Wetland And Nature Park

It is hard to see birds in the Metro, thanks to the pollution and a large number of population. But if you would like to see migratory birds, the Balanga Wetland And Nature Park is the place to be.

You can see thousands of migratory birds in their natural habitat at the Balanga Wetland And Nature Park. The place has a natural beauty that you will surely love.

They have a mangrove trail and a museum showcasing the life of migratory birds. You may rent a cottage or a pair of binoculars and see the migratory birds from afar. The Balanga Wetland And Nature Park is a perfect place for a family or a barkada get together.

Attend A Mass At The St. Joseph Cathedral

During the Second World War, the St. Joseph Cathedral was used to bombard Mt. Samat. Later on, it was renovated by the bishop. It was named after the patron saint of the province, St. Joseph.

The Cathedral is another historical site in Balanga since it survived the horrors of World War II.

Masses start as early as five in the morning every Sunday. Since it is the heart of the city, you will surely not miss it! If it’s your first time to visit the cathedral, make sure to make a wish.

Visit the Surrender Site Marker

Located inside the Balanga Elementary School is a historical site that you should see. The Surrender Site Marker is an actual site where the major general signed the surrender documents stating that he is sundering Bataan (and the Philippines as a whole) to the Japanese. This happened on April 9, 1942.

Bataan have more beautiful places to visit, whether you are a history lover or a nature lover, the province of Bataan has a lot to offer. With just a two and an hour drive from Manila, this province has a rich in history, especially of World War II stories. So what are you waiting for? Come and visit the province of Bataan. Why I blog this? Because im proudly Bataeño so I must promote my beloved province. And for my last Blog post I will introduce the delicious pasalubong of my province so stay tuned!

Want to know more about Bataan? Just visit https://www.google.com/amp/s/outoftownblog.com/9-reasons-bataan-travel-bucket-list/amp/

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Motorcycle Race

Has a bit of Mick and Lisa friendship. Takes place between Rogue Air and Family of Rogues.  "Okay peoples let's get this party started!!!!!" Shawna shouted in the middle of the crowd in Saints & Sinners. 

Mark Axel, and Hartley burst in quickly behind her. Mark's small hurricanes blew the door hinges off and people ran screaming out. Mick, Leonard and Lisa dragged behind. 

"I can't believe we're robbing this place." Leonard muttered disgustedly as the crowds pushed and ran past them. 

"Aww c'mon on Lenny. It's Shawna's birthday let her rob S&S if she wants to. Besides look at all the wallets people are leaving around." Lisa grinned as another patron ran away screaming, not noticing Lisa's hand dipping into her pocket as she ran past her. "I already got 7!" 

Leonard shook his head with his usual "Why-in-hell-am-I-related-to-you-and-why-did-I-agree-to-this-stupidity" sigh.

Lisa rolled her eyes, he was the one who created the group who wanted to do said stupidity. He was the one that had wanted to get more villains to go against the Scarlet Speedster, and now they were stuck with them. 

It all had started when Shawna came to the warehouse with a bunch of shopping bags, announcing that no one should go to her room tonight because it was her birthday. Then Axel came up with the idea that they should celebrate. And with Rogues, what better way to celebrate than by filling their pockets with cash, jewelry and other stuff they got for free. Shawna insisted on Saints & Sinners because she wanted to crash at the bar so off they went. 

Lenny hadn't wanted to go, but Lisa had goaded him to it because what would it look like if the leader of the Rogues was so noticeably absent from a theft. 

"Like he is the only sane one, so that's why he's the leader" He drawled. He ended up going anyway because he didn't want anyone to end up in jail before going on their next heist. 

Lisa had to admit, she had been against the idea of having more in the Rogues besides the three of them. Sort of an exclusivity. But it had been generally okay. Mark and Axel were all over her when Lenny wasn't around and it was nice to be so pampered and admired. 

Despite his lovesick gazes, Axel was the jokester and she thought he was the best one to hang out with. who wouldn't love a buy who stole the cold gun, freezed the hallway and started sledding races. She didn't know quite what to think of Mark and Hartley they mostly stood to each other or by themselves. But as long as they didn't mess up her life with whatever inner angst they were holding up she didn't care. 

Shawna was fun to be around, it was nice to have another girl in villainy and they sometimes compared notes on Cisco and made fun of him and the other Rogues when they went clubbing. But she also had a sneaking suspicion that she had been using her powers to get into her room, and steal her make up which was not cool at all. She had stolen those Clinique bottles through her own hard work and she wasn't going to share. The place was finally clear, the owner of the bar stared at them through widened eyes. He looked like he was going to stand his ground but one glare from Mick sent him scurrying off. 

“Best day ever" Shawna sighed satisfied sipping her bottle of vodka she took from the bar. Axel and Hartley were jamming up the cash register and Mark seemed to be trying to take off the disco ball with his mind. 

"So how long do we get to crash before the police arrive?" Mick asked absent-mindedl, lighting a cigarette. 

"10, 8 minutes or so" Leonard said checking his watch.

"Cool we stay here until last second and then off out" Shawna grinned, as she spotted a sequined purse lying under one of the tables.

"Maybe you can but we can't." Mark said, looking at the locked front door.

“Oh yeah, it must suck that you have to leave early because you're not fast enough to outrun the cops" Shawna mock-pouted "Poor baby.”

"I can out-run the cops anytime I want.”Hartley shot back.

“No way, your stick legs can't outrun a snail" Axel jeered.

“Yes I can" Hartley shoved him. "No way" Shawna called out.

"Forget running, best way to go is by motorcycle" Mick said.

"And that title is held by me" Lisa added.

“Please" Mick snorted.

"Please what?" Lisa scowled.

"I'm the one that actually taught you how to drive fast. No way you can beat the master." Mick smirked. It was true. Len had been the one that taught her to drive car, how to drive a motorcycle, how to repair the, but Mick was the one that taught her how to drive fast ad dangerously. They used to drive around Central, breaking all kinds of speed limits. 

"Mick, stop talking drunk and be serious.” Lisa snorted.

“Guys, I have the perfect way to solve this" Shawna grinned.

"Beer" Mark said helpfully.” 

“Yes, that and we race on it." Shawna suggested. The Rogues stared at each other and ran out of S&S. They headed to the old dump yard at the edge of the skate park, and took some bicycles lying around while Leonard, Mick, and Lisa took their own motorcycles. "Okay first up,” Lisa announced "You four go race starting at the half pipe, to S&S and back again. Then Mick and I will go, winner race winners." Leonard just settled down at the park bench watching them intently.

“Do we get to use our powers?" Hartley asked eagerly.

"Of course" Lisa purred "What fun would it be if we didn't?"

The four got on their bikes, and glared at the lights of S&S and the police cars in the distance.

"Ready, set go!" Lisa called Axel started up the fight by setting off parachute bombs at Shawna who was up front, she disappeared just as the bombs hit the ground. 

Which made Mark and Hartley scramble off balance into some trees. Mark fought back as lightning blast out of the sky, making Axel zig-zag into the street.

 "SHIT!! Biker coming through" he yelled as car honked and barreled toward him. Shawna reappeared once more in front but was soon overpowered by Hartley when he aimed his sonic gloves at the ground. The whole race sorta crumbled after that. 

They got so distracted with fighting each other that jumped off their motorcycle and use their powers and combat skills in a four way fight. 

"Guess we can get started then," Mick commented. “Done" Lisa pulled on her helmet, and crouched on her golden motorcycle "See you at the finish line old man" Lisa crowed.

Mick grunted. Leonard placed their guns next to him and called out "Start!”

It had been fast and furious, without the added distraction of firing fireballs me gold at each other they swerved precisely and smoothly across the streets. Lisa sorely tempted to drive over by him and hit him against the curb, but one thing she re breed from racing him years ago that knocking out you're opponent also made sure you slowed down too. 

They made it to S&S and we're greeted by the police, and the owner. "Yes, they helped rob the place!" 

"Drive back, drive back, tactical retreat" Mick shouted at her, she didn't need to be told twice. 

She zig zagged as people always said to do if you don't want to get shot by the police. She certainly didn't want to today and in this outfit. The blood would stain the chiffon for sure. She heard the squeal of tires blowing out, and cursed to see her motorcycle tire with a bullet in it. Mick was a little ways ahead of her, already getting dragged off by the police officers. 

She shook her head, dejectedly and let them cuff her without a fight. Without a gun, against their many many holsters, it didn't seem worth it. 

As she got shoved in with Mick, he huffed on yet another cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Ya know your brother is gonna killed us." 

“He could kill Shawna... She was the one with the whole birthday robbery idea and then the motorcycle race." Lisa said, "This is not worth getting killed over. If anything he would kill you for screwing me.” 

She was thinking of Leonard's ever present threat, to murder anyone, especially partners having sexual relations with her. 

"He wouldn't kill me" Mick said, carelessly.

"Really?" Lisa added doubtfully, she knew Mick was like Leonard's closest and only friend but she didn't think their friendship extended that far. Hell, he said that Mick was the last person he wanted her having sex with. “I believe his exact words were, If you think one impure thought about her I will catastrate you, boil your nuts and burn you alive." Mick said thoughtfully as Lisa stared at him in horror, with more than just the threat in mind 

“Did you like me?" She would never admit but she had a crush on Mick for a few months when she was 14. Nothing big, and it was before she knew the extent of his craziness. All she knew was that he had a car with license, had wicked prison tattoos, and an intriguing deep guttural voice. It went away after awhile but never once did she think Mick would have looked at her the same way. 

"I just saw you in a one of your evening dresses, and happened to compliment your rack out loud. That was it." Mick said. “That explains it" Lisa smiled, "And you and I dating. Never. I don't go for balding, old men."

"I don't go for idiotic train wrecks" Mick retorted.

They settled to an easy silence before she broke it again, “So what do you think of the whole Rogues thing?" 

“Worst plan ever. A guy who can make thunderstorms whenever he cries, a disappearing act that thinks robbing S&S is big game, a dumbass engineer with parental issues, and a daddy's boy with bombs. Len couldn't pick up someone cool and useful like someone who could control minds, or an assassin." Mick snorted. 

“Let’s face it. The original three of us pulled off more cons than we did with the rest." Lisa agreed. 

"Well we're stuck with them for now. It'll be like our own reality TV mess." Mick snorted. 

"I bet I could get Shawna in a fight with Mark over the bathroom and then have Axel and Hartley making out in the closet in no time." Lisa smiled, mischevious thoughts running through her mind.

"Mark and Hartley in the closet? I bet Mark and Hartley. In Leonard's office" Mick corrected.

“You're on. I can't wait to see Lenny's face when that happens" Lisa grinned.

 "After we get out of this, we're going for another round though" Mick added.

 "You want to get beaten by me twice?" “I was way ahead of you before the cops came." Mick sneered.

"You have proof?" "I don't need proof, I'm better motorcyclist than you'll ever be. I was back then and I am now.” Mick snarled. "Things changed, Rory. I'm number one now." Lisa glared back at him. 

“Things haven't changed that much, Glider. You still need to learn how to zig zag without getting shot, don't you think for a second you're not the same kid that I had to drive to school and help with...with Brazilian waxing" Mick said, with a rare smile at the memory. 

Leonard had forced Mick to go to her wax appointment with her when he got stuck at a job with Lewis. It had been a hard ordeal for both of them, and Mick ended up with a broken wrist. "It was my first time, and you wouldn't let me hold your.." 

The truck stopped with a halt, and Shawna appeared in front of them. "You're anti-heroes of the day have arrived" she cheered, opening the door and pushing them out. They fell to the ground, "Would you mind, uncuffing us first" Lisa spit dirt out of her mouth.

“Oh of course!" "Here let me help!" Mark and Axel scrambled to uncuff her.

“A little help here" Mick hissed, jingling his cuffs, as Leonard rolled his eyes to help. “That's enough for tonight" Leonard used his stern, leader tone and gestured to the motorcycles waiting at the bench.  

"You head out, we have a score to settle" Lisa said, and winked at Mick. “Yeah Goldie wants to get her ass kicked.

"Don't get so cocky, Rory" Lisa smiled, revved her engine and the two roared off to the pipeline. 

#mick rory #heatwave #golden glider #lisa snart #captain cold #leonard snart #the flash #the rogues #shawna beaz #peek a boo #weather wizard #pied piper #trickster #my fanfiction #my fanfic

[theolddarkmachine]

Dead Space - Baby, I Ain't Holding Your Hand

It starts the day the hero falls. Crashing in a blaze of glory of twisted metal and burning ozone, he leaves a scar on the Earth that changes everything.

And Keith sees it all.

Chapter 6 of 11

Tags: attempted Horror Elements, Zombies, Violence and Gore, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending i swear

Also on AO3

A/N: Apologies for going a little MIA. I moved this month and it ended up taking so much more time and effort than originally planned lol Hopefully some elements of this chapter make up for that a bit lol

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Two weeks had passed since they’d landed themselves in New Altea, and the newly stagnant life was working its way beneath Keith’s skin in a way that constantly set his teeth on edge. While he could admit that there was a certain level of ease that came with having a place to rest their heads at night, it was met in equal measure by the constant thrum to get out and move.

Experience had taught him that nothing good came of staying in one spot, and especially not when it meant being trapped in a constant Garrison reunion by concrete and steel.

“Good morning, buddy,” Lance’s voice is loud and cheery as if he could hear Keith’s innermost thoughts as he helped himself to the seat beside him. A loud clatter punctuates his arrival as he drops his chipped plate on the table, accidentally knocking some of its oatmeal onto the metallic surface.

“Aw, man,” Lance whines, scooping up the lifeless tan food with a finger and shoving it into his mouth, causing Keith to blanche.

“Do you really have to subject me to your face this early?” He growls, dipping behind the lip of his mug and swallowing down a large gulp of black coffee. Stray grounds scrape across his tongue like sand as he forces the bitter liquid down his throat.

Lance makes a small humming sound as he shoves a spoonful of the sludgy oatmeal into his gaping maw.

“I know, I’m a real saint for letting you start the day with something so beautiful,” he says, words muffled by the dull metal between his teeth.

“Patron Saint of Pains in the Ass,” Keith says drily into his mug, the steam blowing back into his face before he sets the mug back down with a dull tap. Pulling the spoon from his mouth, Lance smiles and points it toward him.

“Thank you for using my full title,” he says, grin tilting further upward as Keith rolls his eyes before he turned his attention back to his food. Quiet fills the space between them as Lance hums quietly to himself between bites of the lumpy oats.

Taking another sip of his coffee, Keith traces the dark marks that scatter the top of the table.

“So,” Lance speaks up minutes later, lips smacking as he drops his spoon with a clatter. “Where’s Shiro at?”

A sharp pang rolls through Keith at the question as his hold tightens on his mug. When he’d woken that morning, it had been to Shiro’s still sleeping form violently tossing and muttering under his breath. It had taken several minutes to wake him, and even after he had, a darkness had still clung to his eyes leaving him looking almost lifeless. Fear had gripped him until Shiro had seemed to resurface, offering him a small smile of reassurance before ushering Keith on ahead of him.

“He decided to sleep in a bit longer,” Keith finally says with a noncommittal shrug as he slowly uncurls his tight fist from the mug. He doesn’t miss the quick, sharp arch of Lance’s brow, the silent question almost screaming in the quiet wrapped around their table.

“What?” He hisses, voice filled with challenge as his gaze snaps up to his companion. Lifting hid shoulders with a quick shrug, Lance places a finger on his plate and slowly turns it, keeping his eyes down as he speaks.

“Nothing, just thinking about how much it must take out of a guy to be stuck in space like that is all.”

Growling lowly, Keith snatches his mug and takes a sip, gaze still sharp and severe on Lance as he doesn’t answer. Settling his forearms on the table, Lance leans in, holding his stare as he sighs.

“So, as much as I’m really loving this cold shoulder thing you’re trying to pull off right now, I actually did have something I wanted to ask you,” he says, voice dipping low and serious in a way that catches Keith’s attention. Lowering his mug once more, he gives him a short nod to continue.

“We’re running low on some supplies, and Allura wanted me to get a group together to do a run,” Lance continues, pausing just long enough to see if Keith will interject. “Figured you’re probably going a bit crazy being cooped up in here. Wanna come with?”

The unbearable itch to be on the move seems to prickle through his veins as he pushes himself further up in his seat. Finding himself mirroring Lance’s posture as he leans forward, he mulls over the invitation.

“Yeah, alright,” Keith finally says with a small nod, “count me in.”

A self satisfied smile etches itself across Lance’s face as he sits back, crossing his arm across his chest and nods. Sitting across from him, Keith can’t help but notice the scars that decorate his forearms.

“Knew you’d be in. We leave at dawn,” he says matter-of-factly. Grabbing for his now empty plate, Lance pushes his seat back, going to stand.

“And Shiro?” Keith asks as he goes to kick the chair back under the table. A quick flicker goes across Lance’s face as it falters before he settles it back into that easy smile of his.

“I think Pidge had wanted him for some work tomorrow, actually,” Lance supplies flatly, void of any emotion in the same way as a doctor giving a diagnosis. He doesn’t say anything about the obvious fact that the colony has been keeping a close eye on Shiro since their arrival, but it’s all too clear in his voice.

Each day, Pidge summoned him for some sort of blood draw, yet they still didn’t know anything about what she was really doing.  

They may have had some semblance of freedom, but they both knew that Shiro, at least, was a prisoner shackled by his usefulness.

Slowly, Keith nods.

“Anything you need me to bring?” He asks, leveling his voice to match Lance’s.

“Just you and that angry face of yours.”

Mouth turning sharply down at the response, earning himself a bout of high laughter as Lance gives him a quick wink.

“Yeah, that one,” he says as he turns on his heel, walking away and missing the way Keith flips him off.

Sighing loudly as quiet settles around the now empty table, Keith drums his fingers on the table’s top, chewing on his thoughts like a hungry dog with a bone. Minutes pass before he grabs for his mug, tossing back the last of his coffee before standing to go find Shiro.

***

Keith finds him in the makeshift gym in the basement, surrounded by concrete and old, worn equipment. The solid sound of leather clad fists against plastic punctuates the otherwise silent space as Keith stands just inside the doorway. Eyes carving pathways along the solid lines of Shiro’s shoulders, he takes in the way the long sleeved shirt clings to his frame like a second skin.

While still not quite as well muscled as he had been, the time at the colony had helped to fill him out a bit more, leaving him looking a little less like a shadow of his former self.

Keith’s own hands balled at his sides as they ached with the need to touch.

Swallowing down the a soft sound, he moves across the untouched concrete flooring, steps silent until he was just at Shiro’s back.

“On your left,” he whispers, biting back a smirk as he watches goosebumps dot the skin across Shiro’s neck. Turning lightning quick over his shoulder, fist throwing toward him, Keith catches it easily with a hum. There was no real force behind it, nothing more than a challenging tease, and it makes Keith’s lips quirk higher into a full smile.

“Been awhile since we got to spar,” he says, voice bursting with its own challenge before he presses his lips to the back of Shiro’s captured hand.  Flicking his gaze up, he peers at Shiro through his lashes, eyes glittering with overhead lights as he says, “wanna go?”

Shiro holds his stare, firm and unyielding in a way that Keith feels at the pit of his stomach before an easy smile draws itself across Shiro’s mouth.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind reminding you of my skills,” he chuckles as he carefully pulls his hand from Keith’s grasp, instead settling it on his hip. “What are you going to give me when I pin you?”

Taking a step forward, Keith feels the near overbearing heat that rolls off Shiro’s skin. This close, he can smell the near clinical smell of the soap the colony had managed to salvage as it mixes with the heady musk that is inherently Shiro’s. Breathing him in, Keith drags his teeth across the full of his bottom lip as he hums in faux thought.

“I was thinking,” he starts as he traces a finger across Shiro’s chest, right over his heart, “that pinning me would be reward enough.”

Looking up at him, Keith sees something spark brightly in his dark eyes as he takes a short step back, falling into stance.

There’s an aching, heavy moment that hangs over the both of them as they watch each other before Shiro tilts his chin quickly towards Keith.

Your move, the look says.

Keith licks a line across his lip before dropping down into his own stance, not giving Shiro any pause before moving forward with a quick, testing jab. Dodging it easily, Shiro takes two quick steps back, eyes never leaving Keith’s lithe form as he mirrors the move to keep himself just out of reach.

With the thick heat building itself into a lightning storm between them, they eye each other, watching closely before both moving at once. Excitement colors Keith’s cheeks an alluring shade of pink as he loses himself to the ebb and flow of their movements. He can’t remember the last time they were able to push each other like this.

He’s sure it was before Shiro even left on that mission that had changed them both, but that had been a lifetime ago.

Lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet as his thoughts spin through his mind, Keith’s gaze finds his opening. It’s nothing more than a split second of hesitation as Shiro shifts his foot to go on the offense instead of the defense, but Keith knows he has him.

Sweeping his foot out, he grabs for the center of Shiro’s shirt, fisting the material in his hand as he uses the opposing forces to tackle him to the ground. Keith lands with his legs straddling Shiro’s chest, his knees pinning his arms to the ground as he draws his hands up to entwine their fingers. Looking up at him, Shiro’s eyes are dark, the usual bright silver swallowed by his pupils as he watched Keith lean in close.

“So,” he says lowly, “what’s my reward?”

Shiro’s answering smile is knifelike as he presses up to close the distance between them. Catching his lips, Keith burns with the sudden contact, pressing down to bring their chests flush together. The sharp sting of teeth pulls a low moan from his throat as he tightens his grasp on Shiro’s wrists. Chasing the sound, Shiro continues to press forward, filling Keith’s head with a thrilling heat.

“Shiro,” he gasps, the name sugar sweet on his tongue as he rolls his hips, chasing the friction that is all too much and not enough. The move earns his a soft chuckle as Shiro pulls away, dropping his head back against the mat with a soft thump as he peers up at him through his lashes.

It’s a wicked look that Keith feels down to his bones.

“Best two out of three?” Shiro asks, voice a molten pool that he’s all too ready to drown in. Swallowing down the ache at the base of his throat, Keith pushes himself up before offering a hand to Shiro.

Ignoring the way Shiro’s touch fills his veins with fire as he takes his hand, Keith pulls him to his feet before taking several steps back and falling into a stance.

“Best two out of three,” he confirms as he brings his fists up in front of him.

It’s Shiro who moves first this time, taking several small, quick steps forward as he aims two blows toward Keith. Knocking them both aside easily, he turns over his shoulder, grabbing for Shiro’s closest wrist. Using his momentum, he pushes Shiro away from him before landing back in the same stance.

“Things are looking good for me if that’s the best you’ve got,” Keith laughs, bouncing slightly as he watches Shiro’s back. There’s a long pause, as if he’s gathering himself before he tilts his head to the side, a sickening crack popping through the air.

When he turns around, Shiro’s eyes are dark in a way that is all together different from earlier. Pitch black and roiling, his stare is filled with malice as he lets out a low, rumbling growl before launching himself toward Keith. Taken aback, Keith finds himself knocked back, his breath leaving him quickly as his back meets the mat.

A thrill rips through him, raising the hair on his arms as the quiet of the gym is disrupted by the sharp snap of Shiro’s teeth just barely missing his throat.

“Shiro!” Keith barks, using his forearm to push back against his throat.

Almost as if a switch was flipped, Shiro falls back onto his haunches, eyes going wide as he looks down at Keith.

“Keith, I,” he starts, cheeks going bright with the pink flush that marks his skin as his chest heaves for breath. Keith’s own breathing mirrors Shiro’s as he continues to stare up at him, unable to shake the savage look that had turned the man before him into something dangerous.

Something a lot like the monsters outside.

Opening his mouth to say something in response, the loud sound of someone clearing their throat shatters the moment.

Turning toward the intruder, Keith sees Hunk in the doorway, questioning gaze set on the both of them before he speaks.

“Pidge is looking for you, Shiro.”

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#sheith #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #after this weekend moving will be completely finished so i should in theory be back to a somewhat normal schedule #here's hoping some sparring makes up for the absence lol

[kkintle]

Map: Collected and Last Poems by Wisława Szymborska; Quotes

Dreams flickered on white canvas.

The future—who can guess it. The past—who’s got it right.

Trite Rhymes     A great joy: flower upon flower, the branches stretch in pristine blue, but there’s a greater: today’s Tuesday, tomorrow will bring mail from you, and still greater: the letter trembles, strange reading it in spots of sun, and still greater: just a week now, now just four days, now it’s begun, and still greater: I kneel on top and make the suitcase lid shut tight, and still greater: the train at seven, just one ticket, thanks, that’s right, and still greater: rushing windows, with view on view on view on view, and still greater: dark and darker, by nighttime I will be with you, and still greater: the door opens, and still greater: past the door, and still greater: flower on flower. —Ohhh, who are all these roses for?

Do you open each human fate like a book, seeking feelings not in fonts or formats? Are you sure you decipher people completely?

Are people really so simple as far as people go?

Lovers     In this quiet we can still hear what they were singing yesterday about the high road and the low road . . . We hear—but we don’t believe it.   Our smile doesn’t mask our sorrow, and goodness needs no sacrifice. The pity we give to nonlovers is even more than they deserve.   We’re so astonished at ourselves, what’s left to astonish us? Not a rainbow in the night. Not a butterfly in snow.   And when we sleep we dream of parting. But it’s a good dream, it’s a good dream, since we wake up from it.

Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.

One day, perhaps, some idle tongue mentions your name by accident: I feel as if a rose were flung into the room, all hue and scent.

Why do we treat the fleeting day with so much needless fear and sorrow? It’s in its nature not to stay: today is always gone tomorrow.   With smiles and kisses, we prefer to seek accord beneath our star, although we’re different (we concur) just as two drops of water are.

If we haven’t had enough of despair, grief, all that stuff, lofty words will kill us off.   Then we’ll stand up, take our bows: hope that you’ve enjoyed our show. Every patron with his spouse will applaud, get up, and go.   They’ll reenter their lives’ cages, where love’s tiger sometimes rages, but the beast’s too tame to bite.

I TEACH silence in all languages

FOR PROMISES made by my spouse, who’s tricked so many with his sweet colors and fragrances and sounds— dogs barking, guitars in the street— into believing that they still might conquer loneliness and fright, I cannot be responsible. Mr. Day’s widow, Mrs. Night.

We know ourselves only as far as we’ve been tested. I tell you this from my unknown heart

An Effort     Alack and woe, oh song: you’re mocking me; try as I may, I’ll never be your red, red rose. A rose is a rose is a rose. And you know it.   I worked to sprout leaves. I tried to take root. I held my breath to speed things up, and waited for the petals to enclose me.   Merciless song, you leave me with my lone, nonconvertible, unmetamorphic body: I’m one-time-only to the marrow of my bones.

Leave me, leave, but not by land. Swim off, swim, but not by sea. Fly off, fly away, my dear, but don’t go near the air.   Let’s see each other through closed eyes. Let’s talk together through closed mouths. Let’s hold each other through a thick wall.

Since eternity was out of stock, ten thousand aging things have been amassed instead.

Everything’s mine but just on loan, nothing for the memory to hold, though mine as long as I look.

One day the answer came before the question. Another night they guessed their eyes’ expression by the type of silence in the dark.   Gender fades, mysteries molder, distinctions meet in all-resemblance just as all colors coincide in white.

Sunny. Green. A forest close at hand, with wood to chew on, drops beneath the bark to drink— a view served round the clock, until you go blind.

Parable     Some fishermen pulled a bottle from the deep. It held a piece of paper, with these words: “Somebody save me! I’m here. The ocean cast me on this desert island. I am standing on the shore waiting for help. Hurry! I’m here!” “There’s no date. I bet it’s already too late anyway. It could have been floating for years,” the first fisherman said. “And he doesn’t say where. It’s not even clear which ocean,” the second fisherman said. “It’s not too late, or too far. The island Here is everywhere,” the third fisherman said. They all felt awkward. No one spoke. That’s how it goes with universal truths

Ballad     Hear the ballad “Murdered Woman Suddenly Gets Up from Chair.”   It’s an honest ballad, penned neither to shock nor to offend.   The thing happened fair and square, with curtains open, lamps all lit:   passersby could stop and stare.   When the door had shut behind him and the killer ran downstairs, she stood up, just like the living startled by the sudden silence.   She gets up, she moves her head, and she looks around with eyes harder than they were before.   No, she doesn’t float through air: she steps on the ordinary, wooden, slightly creaky floor.   In the oven she burns traces that the killer’s left behind: here a picture, there shoelaces, everything that she can find.   It’s obvious that she’s not strangled. It’s obvious that she’s not shot. She’s been killed invisibly.   She may still show signs of life, cry for sundry silly reasons, shriek in horror at the sight of a mouse.                      Ridiculous traits are so predictable that they aren’t hard to fake.   She got up like you and me.   She walks just as people do.   And she sings and combs her hair, which still grows.

I let myself be invented, modeled on my own reflection in his eyes. I dance, dance, dance in the stir of sudden wings.

Exiled by style. Only their ribs stood out. With birdlike feet and palms, they strove to take wing on their jutting shoulder blades.   The thirteenth century would have given them golden halos. The twentieth, silver screens. The seventeenth, alas, holds nothing for the unvoluptuous.   For even the sky bulges here with pudgy angels and a chubby god— thick-whiskered Phoebus, on a sweaty steed, riding straight into the seething bedchamber

He grew rozes with a “z.

(...) the rest of your life? Old age is a precipice, (...)

I am too close for him to dream of me.

Silence—this word also rustles across the page and parts the boughs that have sprouted from the word “woods.”

Funny little thing How could she know that even despair can work for you if you’re lucky enough to outlive it.

The Railroad Station     My nonarrival in the city of N. took place on the dot.   You’d been alerted in my unmailed letter.   You were able not to be there at the agreed-upon time.   The train pulled up at Platform 3. A lot of people got out.   My absence joined the throng as it made its way toward the exit.   Several women rushed to take my place in all that rush.   Somebody ran up to one of them. I didn’t know him, but she recognized him immediately.   While they kissed with not our lips, a suitcase disappeared, not mine.   The railroad station in the city of N. passed its exam in objective existence with flying colors.   The whole remained in place. Particulars scurried along the designated tracks.   Even a rendezvous took place as planned.   Beyond the reach of our presence.   In the paradise lost of probability.   Somewhere else. Somewhere else. How these little words ring. Alive     These days we just hold him

But this is ancient history. I can’t dwell on it forever or keep asking endlessly, what’s next, what’s next.   Day to day I trust in permanence, in history’s prospects. I can’t gnaw apples in a constant state of terror.

Arduous ease, watchful agility, and calculated inspiration.

Old Folks’ Home     Here comes Her Highness—well, you know who I mean, our Helen the snooty—now who made her queen! With her lipstick and wig on, as if we could care, like her three sons in heaven can see her from there!   “I wouldn’t be here if they’d lived through the war. I’d spend winter with one son, summer with another.” What makes her so sure? I’d be dead too now, with her for a mother.   And she keeps on asking (“I don’t mean to pry”) why from your sons and daughters there’s never a word even though they weren’t killed. “If my boys were alive, I’d spend all my holidays home with the third.”   Right, and in his gold carriage he’d come and get her, drawn by a swan or a lily-white dove, to show all of us that he’ll never forget her and how much he owes to her motherly love.   Even Jane herself, the nurse, can’t help but grin when our Helen starts singing this old song again— even though Jane’s job is commiseration Monday through Friday, with two weeks’ vacation.

Sell me your soul. There are no other takers.   There is no other devil anymore.

I’m bound to pass by all these poppies and pansies. What a loss when you think how much effort was spent perfecting this petal, this pistil, this scent for the one-time appearance, which is all they’re allowed, so aloofly precise and so fragilely proud.

The abyss doesn’t divide us. The abyss surrounds us.

In Praise of Dreams     In my dreams I paint like Vermeer van Delft.   I speak fluent Greek and not just with the living.   I drive a car that does what I want it to.   I am gifted and write mighty epics.   I hear voices as clearly as any venerable saint.   My brilliance as a pianist would stun you.   I fly the way we ought to, i.e., on my own.   Falling from the roof, I tumble gently to the grass.   I’ve got no problem breathing under water.   I can’t complain: I’ve been able to locate Atlantis.   It’s gratifying that I can always wake up before dying.   As soon as war breaks out, I roll over on my other side.   I’m a child of my age, but I don’t have to be.   A few years ago I saw two suns.   And the night before last a penguin, clear as day.

True love. Is it normal, is it serious, is it practical? What does the world get from two people who exist in a world of their own?

Let the people who never find true love keep saying that there’s no such thing.   Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.

And it so happened that I’m here with you. And I really see nothing usual in that. 

Under One Small Star     My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all. Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due. May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade. My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second. My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first. Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home. Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger. I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths. I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five A.M. Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time. Pardon me, deserts, that I don’t rush to you bearing a spoonful of water. And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage, your gaze always fixed on the same point in space, forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed. My apologies to the felled tree for the table’s four legs. My apologies to great questions for small answers. Truth, please don’t pay me much attention. Dignity, please be magnanimous. Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.   Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then. My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere at once. My apologies to everyone that I can’t be each woman and each man. I know I won’t be justified as long as I live, since I myself stand in my own way. Don’t bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words, then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

Non omnis moriar—a premature worry.

Thank-You Note     I owe so much to those I don’t love.   The relief as I agree that someone else needs them more.   The happiness that I’m not the wolf to their sheep.   The peace I feel with them, the freedom— love can neither give nor take that.   I don’t wait for them, as in window-to-door-and-back. Almost as patient as a sundial, I understand what love can’t, and forgive as love never would.   From a rendezvous to a letter is just a few days or weeks, not an eternity.   Trips with them always go smoothly, concerts are heard, cathedrals visited, scenery is seen.   And when seven hills and rivers come between us, the hills and rivers can be found on any map.   They deserve the credit if I live in three dimensions, in nonlyrical and nonrhetorical space with a genuine, shifting horizon.   They themselves don’t realize how much they hold in their empty hands.   “I don’t owe them a thing” would be love’s answer to this open question.

Dentistry turned to diplomatic skill promises us a Golden Age tomorrow. The going’s rough, and so we need the laugh of bright incisors, molars of goodwill. Our times are still not safe and sane enough for faces to show ordinary sorrow.

Our solitary existence exacerbates our sense of obligation, and raises the inevitable question, How are we to live et cetera? since “we can’t avoid the void.

No way out? But what about the door? No prospects? The window had other views.

You think at least the note must tell us something. But what if I say there was no note— and he had so many friends, but all of us fit neatly inside the empty envelope propped up against a cup.

(...) to linger longer, not to go home again. Since only prisoners want to go home.

In Praise of Feeling Bad about Yourself     The buzzard never says it is to blame. The panther wouldn’t know what scruples mean. When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame. If snakes had hands, they’d claim their hands were clean.   A jackal doesn’t understand remorse. Lions and lice don’t waver in their course. Why should they, when they know they’re right?   Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton, in every other way they’re light.   On this third planet of the sun among the signs of bestiality a clear conscience is number one.

I know nothing of the role I play. I only know it’s mine, I can’t exchange it.   I have to guess on the spot just what this play’s all about

The star is large and distant, so distant that it’s small, even smaller than others much smaller than it.

Small wonder, then, if we were struck with wonder; as we would be if only we had the time.

God was finally going to believe in a man both good and strong, but good and strong are still two different men.

“How should we live?” someone asked me in a letter. I had meant to ask him the same question.   Again, and as ever, as may be seen above, the most pressing questions are naïve ones.

Whatever you say reverberates, whatever you don’t say speaks for itself. So either way you’re talking politics.

Who knows you matters more than whom you know. Trips only if taken abroad. Memberships in what but without why. Honors, but not how they were earned. (...) Price, not worth, and title, not what’s inside. His shoe size, not where he’s off to, that one you pass off as yourself.

Nothing’s sacred for those who think. Calling things brazenly by name, risqué analyses, salacious syntheses, frenzied, rakish chases after the bare facts, the filthy fingering of touchy subjects, discussion in heat—it’s music to their ears.

During these trysts of theirs, the only thing that’s steamy is the tea.

May delivery be easy, may our child grow and be well. Let him be happy from time to time and leap over abysses. Let his heart have strength to endure and his mind be awake and reach far.   But not so far that it sees into the future. Spare him that one gift, O heavenly powers.

For the sake of the children that we still are, fairy tales have happy endings. That’s the only finale that will do here, too. The rain will stop, the waves will subside, the clouds will part in the cleared-up sky, and they’ll be once more what clouds overhead ought to be: lofty and rather lighthearted in their likeness to things drying in the sun— isles of bliss, lambs, cauliflowers, diapers.

I prefer, where love’s concerned, nonspecific anniversaries that can be celebrated every day.

A miracle, just take a look around: the inescapable earth.   An extra miracle, extra and ordinary: the unthinkable can be thought.

When I see such things, I’m no longer sure that what’s important is more important than what’s not.

Hatred is a master of contrast— between explosions and dead quiet, red blood and white snow.

Perhaps all fields are battlefields, those we remember and those that are forgotten: (...)

Without us dreams couldn’t exist. The one on whom the real world depends is still unknown, and the products of his insomnia are available to anyone who wakes up.

Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.

We agreed to death, but not to every kind. Love attracted us, of course, but only love that keeps its word.

We were besieged by doubts. Does knowing everything beforehand really mean knowing everything.   Is a decision made in advance really any kind of choice.

We’re extremely fortunate not to know precisely the kind of world we live in.

I am who I am. A coincidence no less unthinkable than any other.

They aren’t obliged to vanish when we’re gone. They don’t have to be seen while sailing on.

The Three Oddest Words     When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past.   When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it.   When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no nonbeing can hold.

But how to answer unasked questions, while being furthermore a being so totally a nobody to you.

Talking with you is essential and impossible. Urgent in this hurried life and postponed to never.

Understanding came only later: not all misadventures fit within the world’s laws and even if they wanted to, they couldn’t happen.

And what can you say about one day of life, a minute, a second: darkness, a lightbulb’s flash, then dark again?   KOSMOS MAKROS CHRONOS PARADOKSOS Only stony Greek has words for that.

There must be an exit somewhere, that’s more than certain. But you don’t look for it, it looks for you, it’s been stalking you from the start, and this labyrinth is none other than than your, for the duration, your, until not your, flight, flight— (...)

Life on Earth is quite a bargain. Dreams, for one, don’t charge admission. Illusions are costly only when lost. The body has its own installment plan.   And as an extra, added feature, you spin on the planets’ carousel for free, and with it you hitch a ride on the intergalactic blizzard, with times so dizzying that nothing here on Earth can even tremble.

At times I get fed up with her. I suggest a separation. From now to eternity. Then she smiles at me with pity, since she knows it would be the end of me too. 

Assassins     They think for days on end, how to kill so as to kill, and how many killed will be many. Apart from this they eat their meals with gusto, pray, wash their feet, feed the birds, make phone calls while scratching their armpits, stanch blood when they cut a finger, if they’re women they buy sanitary napkins, eye shadow, flowers for vases, they make jokes on their good days, drink citrus juice from the fridge, watch the moon and stars at night, place headphones with soft music on their ears and sleep sweetly till the crack of dawn —unless what they’re thinking needs doing at night.

It’s good you came. Sit here beside me. He really was supposed to get back Thursday. But we’ve got so many Thursdays left this year.

Page after page at a snail’s pace. But we’re still going in fifth gear and, knock on wood, never better.

We eat another life so as to live. A corpse of pork with departed cabbage. Every menu is an obituary.   Even the kindest of souls must consume, digest something killed so that their warm hearts won’t stop beating.

In the end I stopped knowing what I’d been looking for so long.   I woke up. Looked at my watch. The dream took not quite two and a half minutes.   Such are the tricks to which time resorts ever since it started stumbling on sleeping heads.

#poems #poetry #Wislawa Szymborska #literature #quotes

[coeurvrai]

Nadya wakes up and tries to reach out to Marzenya, but is denied, and starts panicking. Honestly, I was expecting this to happen much sooner considering her goddess should care about how much she wants to and is making out with Malachiasz, but whatever.

Was this something the Vultures had done to her? Was she being punished for the power she used trying to escape? This was a different kind of quiet than before. This was worse than the veil. This was emptiness.

Calm down, she told herself. Figure out where you are. A stabbing pain went through her as the silence remained, the gods now more than just out of reach, but turned away completely.

Maybe she would never hear another quip after an errant prayer again. She shivered. It couldn’t be that. The gods wouldn’t have abandoned her. Not for a few doubts, not for kissing a heretic—not even that.

I mean, they are deities, Nadya, and deities are known to be petty and act in a way that is incomprehensible to humans, sometimes. It would be very typical for them to punish you for lusting after and making out with Malachiasz, especially when it is your divine mission to kill Tranavians and bring Tranavian under the gods’ rule again. Especially when your patron is the goddess of sacrifice and death, and that’s supposed to mean something.

Nadya tries to get up from where she’s laying and is met with a lot of blood and nails and glass shards. She manages to get off the slab, but falls to the floor, in a lot of pain.

She tries to find a way out.

Even if it was locked, she would feel less like she had ceased to exist. She had become nothing but the blood slicking the floor and blinding pain.

Edgy.

Nadya starts seeing things in the darkness watching her and coming towards her and tries reaching out to the gods again.

Anguish and a rage too fluid to fully define washed through her and she wanted to scream. She reached for the prayer beads she did not have and found nothing but Kostya’s necklace. She yanked it over her head and threw it across the room. She heard it hit the wall with a feeble, metallic clang.

“This isn’t fair!” she cried, to no one and to nothing because she was alone. Entirely alone in the kingdom of her enemies. Her best hadn’t mattered.

I hope Nadya doesn’t want that necklace back, because it’d be tough shit to find it again in the dark.

Also, this is hardly Nadya’s best. Or if it is, it’s sad and piss poor. She didn’t even last a hour before she got thrown into a life-or-death situation after their plan hinged on her not drawing attention to herself and fucked up that entire plan.

Then she blamed Malachiasz for Felicíja’s murder even though it was arguably the right thing to do in the moment, she had put herself in that situation in the first place and arguably Felicíja would still be alive if she hadn’t insulted her back and accept her duel, and Felicíja is her enemy and she’s supposed to kill Tranavians and has already killed Tranavians within the first five chapters of the book.

“I have only ever done what was asked of me,” she said, her voice feeble and broken.

Your god-given mission is to kill Tranavians and you kept making excuses for not killing Malachiasz, and then proceeded to act on your attraction to him. So, I wouldn’t say you’ve only ever done what was asked of you.

A line in a history book would half-heartedly mention the cleric who had tried to save Kalyazin but only managed to be forsaken by the gods. There would be no canonization after death for Nadya, just a quiet passing of the cleric who had failed.

Well considering there’s like 90 pages to go (dear god there’s 90 pages to go), I’m not holding my breath. Also, at least that way you’ll keep your promise to Anna that you won’t end up in the Book of Saints.

Nadya tries to pray to Marzenya again for something, anything.

Please don’t let this end here. If she cried out with everything left within her would she get an answer? Or would she have nothing but the ashes of the only thing that had ever made her life worth living? Zhalyusta, Marzenya, eya kalyecti, eya otrecyalli, holen milena.

Her plea went unanswered.

Nadya says a prayer that means nothing to me. Man, wouldn’t it’d have been cool if we had found out more about the actual religion stuff outside of the gods and how that work? Like how religion affects the lives of everyday people?

No? Okay then.

Anyways, Nadya notices a light in her peripheral and she went towards it, realising the light is coming from the necklace that Kostya had given her.

Some gods require blood.

She swallowed hard. Taking the pendant in her fist, she let the blood soaking her hands drip into the ridges.

She held it closer to her face, peering at the soft, almost eerie light.

“You deserve to know the truth about the beings that chose you.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, we’re going in this direction, are we? Anyways, so she suddenly hears a voice in her head, much like how the gods speak to her.

Nadya inhaled sharply, hit with a sudden barrage of images. The wave of pain that slammed into her nearly knocked her out.

Creatures with knotted joints like the whorls of a tree, faces enshrouded in fog, four eyes, six, ten. Beings with eyes on their fingertips, mouths at their joints. Iron teeth, iron claws, iron eyes.

One after another after another. Sinuous wings, feathered wings black as tar. Eyes of light, of darkness. And blood. So much blood.

Because that’s just it. It was always, always blood.

Feeling sick, Nadya dropped the necklace. The images stopped. She was panting, fighting for air.

Is it weird I’m being reminded of the Children of the Forest? Because I’m being reminded of the Children of the Forest for some strange reason. Also the volcra.

Anyways, it obviously has something to do with the Vultures. And I just cannot get over the fact that the Vultures sound so much like the Ironteeth witches, it’s quite unbelievable.

Especially because I know Emily Duncan is aware of Maas. Also, for someone who has been critical of the editing of Maas’ books in the past, her and her editor sure haven’t done much better. 

When she picked up the necklace again, she was careful to not touch the spiral ridges but apparently any contact was enough. When the cool silver touched against her skin all her senses were flooded with white light. Purity with rivulets of blood staining it all. It fell in tiny droplets, from her fingertips, off her arms. There was nothing but the blinding white and the blood.

Like this paragraph, for example.

“When the cool silver touched against her skin”??? Just say “when she touched the cool silver” or some shit, at least that way it isn’t so awkwardly worded. The rest of it makes me wanna roll my eyes and grab a sandwich.

Anyways, she tries talking to this ~mysterious~ voice and the voice answers back.

What is this? What are you?

“Does that matter?”

She was surprised when the voice—unusually high, like reed pipes—responded.

Are you … one of the gods? There were gods she had never spoken to, was this one?

There was a long silence, leaving Nadya suspended in the blood-soaked white space. She was vaguely aware her pain was only a dim buzz now. It surrounded her like a fog, barely noticeable.

Then: “Once upon a time, yes.”

This is totally related to that story that was briefly mentioned about a human or some saint that supposedly was able to obtain godhood, isn’t it?

And once upon a time that answer would have terrified Nadya. A few short weeks ago, the girl in a monastery who believed so wholly in her gods and her cause would have looked upon this with horror, disbelief. She would have written it off as hallucinatory heretical magic. But now …

Now she had allowed herself to doubt. Now she was tired. Now she had been forsaken and abandoned. She sat down, crossing her legs underneath her, conscious of the floor wet with blood beneath her. There was nothing left to do but hope for answers.

She literally believed in her fucking gods and shit like half an hour ago, and I just- this is what I mean about how nothing feels believable, that I can neither believe in Nadya’s supposed hatred and xenophobic tendencies to the point of wanting to conquer Tranavia and essentially prepared to participate in a crusade against them nor her supposed doubts in her gods and her cause with actions like sparing Felicíja and being attracted and caring about Malachiasz.

Nadya doesn’t have a proper character arc because Emily Duncan can’t be bothered writing out a character arc for Nadya properly.

She asks the voice how it can no longer be a god and the voice replies:

“How does a human girl become something divine and feared by the gods that gave her the power she wields?”

Oh, so we’re bringing the book’s tag line into this, are we?

I mean, it’s not like unfeasible that the gods might be afraid of a person they have given so much of their divine magic to - after all, I’ve fucked with God of War - but one) that magic is totally dependent on them giving it to her and ttwo) then why did so many of the gods grant her their blessings instead of just Marzenya especially since Marzenya is her patron?

Also, even if the magic that Nadya possesses all by herself makes her a threat, why did Marzenya even tell her about it in the first place? That seems counter-productive to me.

Anyways, Nadya asks the voice more questions and receives more answers, even if they’re not the answers she wants.

Where am I? What do you want? The being never answered her first question, but she held back asking again in hope she would receive some answers.

“Where you are is as irrelevant as it is immaterial. What I want is better answered by the question of what you want.”

Can I see you?

“You do not want to.”

Nadya flipped the pendant between her fingers. It had come with her. Had she been carrying this being around her neck all this time? Where had Kostya—of all people—found this? Why had he given it to her?

That’s a good question. Too bad Kostya’s greater relevancy to this book was left behind in Chapter 1.

Also, can I just say, carrying bits of/entire beings around with you attached to or inside of objects is a very specific niche of mine and I’m not afraid to say it. It’s literally one of the main points of one of my D&D characters.

Nadya remarks that she doesn’t know what she wants.    

“You think they can take your power away from you?”

I see someone has been watching the first season of Winx Club. 

Nadya states that they can because they’re the ones who gave it to her in the first place. The voice tells her that that’s not true.

“Our time together grows short. You must make a choice, little bird. Do you continue on with your wings clipped or do you fly?”

Darkness plunged back around Nadya—abrupt and severe—as the necklace slipped out of her hands and pain crashed back down onto her.

Oh dear fucking lord, is this thing connected with goddamn Malachiasz?! Is that what’s going on here? Because Malachiasz calls her little bird or whatever. Ugh. Thanks, I hate it and I want a refund.

Anyways, that’s the end of that chapter!

#sarah reads ws #blood tw #i listened to the midnight on repeat reading this #you should listen to them too

[jedi-mabari]

Summer Break

Word Count: 786 Warnings:None, mention of divorce if anything. A/N:This was requested by anonymous, and I’m sorry it took a while, I just wanted to get it just right. __________________________________________________________

Dally had spent the last few weeks of the school year trying to talk you out of going to your aunt's house in New York. He told you horror stories about the street gangs and talked about how rude everyone was. He even told you a story about a time his dad got jumped on the way home from the bar one night, which was strange because Dal never talked about his old man. But on the day you were supposed to leave, Dallas Winston was in your room, helping you pack your bag, because he was a good boyfriend.

"I still don't know why you want to go to New York," he grumbled, tossing shirts at you from your closet. You sighed and grabbed each article of clothing he tossed your way and folded them, putting them in your suitcase.

"Because my aunt, who I haven't seen in years, has invited me to stay with her for the summer to get away this nightmare," you explained, for the ump-teenth time, gesturing to the house you'd grown up in. Your parents were going through a messy divorce, and three months away in The City of Dreams seemed like a nice break from that. Dallas smiled as you sipped your bag up, and you smiled as he pulled you back into him. His hands rubbed slowly over your hips.

"But for three months," he whined in your ear, kissing your neck. "It's just too long." You turned to face him and chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I'll be back before you know it, Dal," you sighed your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. He pressed a kiss to his your forehead. You just leaned into him and just breathed in the smell of cigarette smoke and his leather jacket. It was a smell you learned to love in the months since you started dating. He had been your shield, your get away, since your parents started the arduous divorce process.

You were pulled away from Dally when a car honked outside your house. Dally pulled away from you with a frown and glared out the window towards the yellow cab waiting to take you away.

"Come on, Dal," you sighed, taking his hand, "walk me out?" Dallas grabbed your suitcase and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. He silently escorted you out t the sidewalk. You waited as he put the suitcase in the trunk and slammed it shut. He leaned against the trunk and stared down at the road. You walked over to stand in front of him, smiling up at him.

"Dal," you started, but stopped when his eyes flicked up from the road under your feet to your eyes. You shared a look and he reached up and pulled his saint Christopher over his head. He let a long sigh out through his nose before offering it to you. "Your Christopher medal?"

"If ya want it," he sighed, trying not to show you he cared one way or the other. "He's the patron saint of travelers. I mean, if you insist on going to that shit city-"

"Which I do," you insisted, pulling the chain down over your head.

"Well then you should go with some sort of protection. Spiritual or otherwise."

"Thank's Dallas," you managed to get out before Dallas pressed his lips against yours. You felt his slip something in your back pocket, but he pulled away from you roughly as the cabie honked again.

"She's comin'," he barked. He turned back to you and smiled. "I also slipped you a knife. Because, Christopher can only take you so far." You smiled and gave him a playfully disapproving look.

"I love you," you said, you eyes going wide when you realized what you had just said. You meant it, you knew you did, but you were afraid Dallas wouldn't feel the same, or worse, he'd resent you being so open with your feelings. But Dally seemed unfazed, like he hadn't heard you say anything, let alone that you loved him. He grabbed your hand and pulled you around to the back door of the cab, pulling it open for you. You let out a nervous sigh and slid into the car. Dally closed the door and leaned in the open window.

"Don't change in New York," he said, leaning a little closer to you. He gently grabbed your face and kissed you again, making your head spin and toes curl. "Because I kind of love ya the way you are." You blushed as Dally pulled out of the cab, slapping it on the roof, telling the cabbie you were ready.

#Dallas Winston x Reader #dallas Winston #Dally Winston #Dal Winston #The Outsiders imagines #Dallas Winston imagine #reader insert #The Outsiders reader insert #jedimabari writes #requested

[devnny]

CHAPTER THREE.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

It’s time for Devi’s side of the torment!! It pains me to write her as anything but sarcastically happy, but c'est la vie...

Devi sucked listlessly on her Brain-Freezy, eyes trained on nothing in particular, while Johnny continued happily scrawling away from his seat on the floor.

She killed him. She really did.

Well, sort of.

It was an unnerving feeling, the metaphorical blood on her hands. Even with a history of guys around her losing eyeballs and brains, or bursting into flames beside her, none of that gore was ever her fault – aside from the chalk-induced asthma attack that killed poor Spindgey Simons, which was gruesome enough for her. The most violent Devi had ever gotten was beating the man sitting a few feet away from her within an inch of his life, which he had done well to deserve, in every regard. So, it was strange to be so hung up over pushing that one inch further and actually killing him – inadvertently or not.

The point was that Johnny laid the responsibility of his impermanent demise solely on her, and maybe that’s why it bothered her so much.

The fact that Johnny was more-or-less elated that she had been the unsuspecting command behind the very real trigger was baffling to her, but of course, he was naturally more comfortable with the concepts of murder and death than she was. At some point, he’d rationalized murder as a means to an end of bitter, ugly things, so to him, the fantasy of her blowing all the horrendous, malicious things clean out of his head with one shot must be so romantic. Devi would have gagged if she wasn’t so disoriented.

She needed to talk this out with someone, and there was only one person she’d place that much misguided trust in. Her legs bent as she moved to sit up.

“Hey Nny.”

Johnny’s head bobbed up immediately, and again her stomach squeezed anxiously from his eager response.

“I forgot that I… promised to check in on my neighbor-friend. The rats have gotten so bad, I worry they’ll start eating her feet off while she’s asleep.”

Devi looked to the side, hoping such a stupid lie could pass as a bizarre truth. Johnny watched her a moment, inquisitive eyes darting around the space of her figure, before tilting his head acceptingly as he turned his attention back to the page.

“Yeah, the rats’ll do that. They always start ankles first.” Was his reply. Devi held in the nausea that she felt from how knowledgeable he sounded about the subject.

“RIGHT.” She balked. “So, I’m going to go run down and check on her, before y’know, the rats get at her. You just uh, stay here, keep working, I’ll try and keep it quick.”

Johnny seemed less comfortable about the idea of being left alone, but agreed as casually as he could. Devi didn’t hesitate to rush out, lest something stupid manifest to stop her from reaching her destination, again. Even if Sickness was neatly contained right now, she hadn’t forgotten the lengths the little tumor had gone through to make the halls of the building an impassible maze of shit.

Her strides got faster without her notice the closer that she got to Tenna’s apartment, and her heart steadily increased to a panicked pace as the direness of her situation sunk in. Her fist landed hard on the door, whacking against the cheap material franticly. A single concerned squeak was the initial reply, which at least confirmed Tenna was inside, and awake.

“Tenna, it’s me, open up!” Devi whispered as loudly as she could. It only took a few seconds for the door to open.

“Oh my God, Devi, he’s murdered you hasn’t he!?” She gasped, but didn’t receive any answer besides being pushed back inside her home. Devi released her grip on her friend’s arms to walk in paranoid circles around the living room, muttering curses to herself. Tenna watched her go around with large, kitty eyes.

“Oookay, so obviously he hasn’t murdered you.” She commented, growing more concerned the longer Devi hissed and spat at no one. “…Did you kill him??”

“No!” Devi looked at her, devastated. “I MEAN—YES!”

Tenna covered her mouth in horror at the admission, and Devi dropped onto the couch with her face in her hands. Tenna quickly scuttled to her friend’s side, arm slung around her in a messy hug.

“Oh shit, Devi! That’s – very bad!! But I bet he did something to bring that on right? Right?” She asked hurriedly. Devi rested her elbows on her thighs and hung her head down.

“Shit, shit, shit, fuck, FUCK.” She shuddered out. “No Tenna, he’s not dead. But I killed him. I did! I killed someone.”

“…Uh, what?”

Devi shivered, shaking her head again.

“You remember that night you told me to call him? And we heard a bang and a scream and all that?”

“Yyyeah?” Tenna looked away uncomfortably at the memory.

“The bang was a gunshot. He had something rigged up that if he answered the phone it would shoot him, and that… killed him. He died that night.” Devi stared at the ground. Saying it aloud was horrible. “But because he had those brain-things – or maybe it was the primordial demon living in his fucking WALLS – he got a redo. Satan sent his ass back here, mostly parasite free. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Tenna could only stare at Devi in concern.

“And he convinced you of all that?”

Devi immediately defended her certainty in the outlandish story.

“Tenna no, he was, like, having a fucking epiphany in my living room! You had to see him – he was absolutely losing it, ranting about how I saved him from his insanity and this and that – oh GOD.”

She fell back on the couch, melting into a heap on her side. Tenna patted her arm sadly.

“Damn it, Tenna, what did I get myself into?” Devi groaned into the cushion. “He’s still up at my place, and I have no fucking idea how I’m going to go back up there.”

“Poor, poor, foolish Devi.” Tenna sighed and continued her patting.

“No kidding. He was so bizarre about it, Ten. He looked at me like his salvation. Like I’m a fucking saint, or something.”

“Well, bright side, at least he won’t try to murder you again if he thinks you’re the Patron Saint of Destroying Head-demons, right?” Tenna thought a moment. “Well, he did try to kill you because you were his only joy in life, or whatever, so…”

Devi screamed her torment into a couch cushion for a few seconds, then sat up again, calmer now.

“No, I don’t think he’s going to try to kill me.” She said plainly. “At least not right now, anyhow. Who knows how he’ll be the more these… lessons go on.”

“You’re still going to mentor him?”

“Well, yeah, I guess!” Devi shot her hands out in exasperation. “If I told him to fuck off now that’d probably just piss him off. I don’t even know if he’ll leave me alone now that he likes me so much.”

Tenna could sense the repulsion wafting off of Devi with that emphasizing on “like”.

“Ewww, you don’t think he’d… try anything, right? All touchy-touchy?”

“Ugh, no. Thank God.” Devi looked up at the ceiling. “That was one of the things I liked about him so much, at the start. He never tried anything like that. Never tried to grab my hands or put his hands on me, or get me to put my hands on him all flirty-like – he didn’t even ask me out, I asked him. And that stupid… kiss, I initiated that too.”

“YOU wanted to give another human being a KISS?” Tenna’s eyes glittered teasingly.

“Mmughhh, don’t torment me.”

“You really liked him.”

“UUUUGH.” Devi slumped again. Why was her life so hideously unfair, constantly?

“None of those HORRIBLE choices matter right now. I’m freaking out over kinda-sorta killing this guy, and also that he’s totally enamored about it.” She exhaled. “I just needed to… let that out, I guess. Because I’m stuck with him now, for some unknown amount of time.”

Devi got up and stretched her arms and neck out while she walked. Tenna pouted.

“So you’re just gunna go back up there…?” Tenna debated momentarily if she should try and talk Devi into staying longer, or not going back at all, but any deterrent would be unlikely to work, knowing Devi, unless she had a couple of weeks to chip away at her immense stubbornness. She offered her some uplift-y parting words, instead.

“Well, I guess I’m glad you’ve been with him for like, an hour, and no death has happened yet.”

“Thanks, Ten. I’ll… call you when he leaves, or something. Wish me luck.” She sighed and left to return to her self-made mental turmoil.

--

LATER, UPSTAIRS:

“How’s this?” Johnny lifted up his finished comic to be inspected by his newly-appointed tutor. Devi pulled her mouth away from the straw of her now-melted Brain-Freezy and took the tablet from him, reading over his scratchy handwriting as best she could.

It was a fairly simple multi-panel Happy Noodle Boy comic, with protagonist hollering about ugly things on the street and committing acts of erratic violence. One of the comments he made was randomly about having head pain, and Devi wondered a moment if Johnny just used half of what was intended dialogue, and the rest was random thoughts that went through his mind while he wrote – in this case, likely a brain freeze. She decided not to bring up the writing and focused on the effort put into some of the panels.

“Y’know, even if it’s just stick figures, you’ve got a pretty good handle on perspective.” Devi commented with a lenient nod. Johnny’s eyes glistened a moment from the positive feedback, but made sure to flicker his pupils down and away from Devi’s focus when she moved to hand him back his drawing.

“I think your original talent’s still in there someplace, Nny. It’s like a drippy faucet, you just need to turn the water on – something like that.” She took another sip of her drink. Johnny stared at the comic laid across his lap.

“You said it was being “rerouted”, before.” He replied. Devi perked an eyebrow, but after a moment remembered their previous conversation on the cliff about the same subject.

“Well, if you’re not murdering creatively as an artistic outlet now, there’s only one place for it to go.” She peered down at him, and Johnny lifted his head in modest surprise.

Like usual, Devi was right. Compared to his life before the wall-thing’s destruction, he killed far, far less frequently, and definitely much less colorfully than before. He used to pull out intestines with salad tongs at buffet tables; break off limbs and reattach them to another victim with a staple gun; insert things that should never be inside a human being into orifices and then sew them up – now his killings were sparse, and straightforward in nature. A tire iron to the head of a truck stop bastard was a merciful attack, in comparison to what he would have done to him for the same offense a year earlier.

“I guess so.” He mumbled noncommittally, despite his growing certainty about it.

“You’ve just been distracted still, which is obvious with the existence of your Meaty guy. All I’m doing is making you focus your energy onto paper instead of letting it evaporate out of you.”

Johnny was silent a moment before speaking again, picking at his drawing absentmindedly.

“And what if that doesn’t work?” He asked. Devi stuck her lip out curiously.

“It will.” She affirmed, even if she wasn’t exactly sure of it herself, seeing as the only test of her theory was her own experience. But with those statistics, it worked one-hundred percent of the time, and those were good odds, right?

Johnny didn’t look totally convinced, but decided to trust Devi on the matter, for now. She had yet to steer him wrong as it was, and as she had implied before, he was the urchin in need of guidance, not her.

“Right…” He murmured as his eyes shifted away. Devi held in a sigh. She suddenly felt more exhausted with offering up her free emotional energy to play therapist to Johnny, and decided she was done for the night.

“Welp. That’s enough arting for one night, I think!” Devi announced with a pair of slaps against her knees. She sat up and walked from her seat to the middle of the room, as if to urge her guest to get up as well. She had successfully survived an entire night with her former attempted-murderer, and with the evening’s events still weighing on her, she was unwilling to let it drag on and invite something even weirder to happen. Johnny was surprised by the abrupt ‘last call’, and watched her move away with hesitant eyes.

He got up, if only to appease her, but the idea of leaving her side now made him a pinch more anxious than he would have liked. It might have just been a delusional sense of security, but it was one that he had grown quite comfortable in for the few hours that he remained at her apartment after his revelation, and the fact that he would need to leave had escaped him until she had said as much. In all likelihood, Johnny thought, Devi probably wanted to sleep, a bodily function that he often forgot other people did nightly. He wouldn’t want to deprive her of it, even if the concept of sleeping was completely unalluring to himself.

“Oh, yes.” He stalled while he tried to think of some small talk to distract himself. “That was quite a bit of drawing, for me anyway.”

“It’s a start.” Devi gave him a tiny smile, and Johnny felt he chest swell with pride – both in accomplishing the task given to him, and for seemingly pleasing Devi. He messily loaded up his pencil bag, then stepped around the coffee table to linger near her side at the door for a moment.

“So… do I come back tomorrow?” He asked. Devi’s eyes widened in surprise, mostly at herself for not even considering a time for this new addition to her schedule.

“Oh, uh,” She tried to think. “—maybe not tomorrow.”

Devi couldn’t tell by Johnny’s expression if he was saddened by that, or if his stare was one of expectance, waiting for instruction from her. Truth be told, he could come over tomorrow, but she wanted a some time to digest all of this, and maybe plan things better, if that was even possible.

“I’m going to send you home with er, well, homework!” Her mouth hitched up on one side in an awkward smile. “Just… draw a couple of things while you’re away, and bring them back in, uh…”

God, how she wished she didn’t have to give herself a countdown for this.

“—in, um, three days! Same time.” A wider smile forced over her face, and she tried not to think about how she had less than a meager seventy-two-hour window of no-Johnny time to rethink her life choices. Johnny wasn’t happy to have to wait that long to see her again, but accepted her judgement with as little pouting as he could manage.

“Alright, I will see you at 6:00PM, in three days.” He repeated aloud, more so to make sure he remembered than anything else. Devi nodded and opened the door for him.

“Great! Okay, see you later, Nny!” Her voice barely held back her deep desire to be alone now. Johnny smiled at her and waved a sporadic goodbye with his hand beside his chin.

“Bye!” He bid happily. Devi only waited for him to turn around before shutting and locking the door as quickly as she could.

Her hand remained tightly clenched around the last lock as she finally, genuinely, allowed herself to absorb everything that had happened tonight. Her forehead hit the doorframe with a forlorn thud, and her shoulders lowered pitifully.

Learning she had been the cause of Spindgey’s death as a child was hard enough to swallow, but at least it was medical-related. An asthma attack – it was about as bad as accidentally giving a kid with a peanut allergy a bite of your PB&J during lunch hour.

Knowing her actions had lead to the grisly, violent demise of anyone, let alone someone she used to… care about, was sickening. Truly nauseating. Her imagination was too healthy for her own good at the moment, visualizing Johnny bloody and broken on the floor of his house, a circular piece of his fucking skull missing. She suddenly regretted having seen so many horror films, as any and all concepts of exit wounds and brain matter haunted her in a fleeting flash of imaginary gore. It was only made worse by the new memories of his upbeat, enthused expressions from the rest of the night.

Just for a moment, Devi despised those new memories of his happiness that she had. They reminded her of the ‘old’ Johnny, and she didn’t want to picture him as he was before – how she had perceived him; as a comically-cynical movie nut and art buff. Someone that she enjoyed spending time with, laughing about how stupid people could be, and musing over whether this-or-that had deeper meanings. Mixing the image of his sneery smile that she used to love so much with any idea of how he could have looked in the clutches of death made her want to convulse in hurt and disgust.

She urged herself to her bedroom and sprawled across the face of her bed, before bundling herself up in a misshaped, unhappy ball. If the universe would permit it, she would be grateful to not think about him for the entire three days that she would be without him, but Devi knew without a doubt that the universe sucked ass, and that she would be plagued with constant thoughts of her new ‘pupil’ whether she liked it or not.

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NEXT.

#jthm #jtrm #mine #devnny #devi doesnt deserve unhappiness! >8'( #chapter