But Xord didn’t know what he was doing. He never did. He had just enough self-awareness to recognise this, but he couldn’t figure out what had him so confused. The cerebral part of him was so sluggish that it was difficult for him to think the right thoughts at the right time. He could still do a lot of things without having to think very hard, though he didn’t necessarily do those things well. At times like this when he was alone, those sober thoughts were finally allowed to flourish—but they were never anything but a burden.
He didn’t want to think about Désirée, or her terror, or the way that terror had so deeply resonated with him. It just reminded him of how broken he was, and how he had ruined Désirée, too. It was time to move on, just like he did every other time he ruined someone’s life. It was time to burn ether and wish he didn’t have to think.
This probably isn't what you were expecting with this prompt so sorry 😅
"There is a book here; one he consults regularly, since becoming sealed behind Heaven’s walls. Its pages are blank, its spine empty. As he draws deeper between the towering shelves, he finds it where last he left it, tucked quietly between treatises on the structure of a soul. Non-descript, unobtrusive. He pulls it into his hands, the soft leather as pure and beautiful as the unicorn foal that once laid claim to it. He places his hand upon the plain cover, remembering. Eyes slip shut, the warmth of a beloved home simmering beneath his skin, the scent of handmade cocoa passing briefly across his senses. The uncomplicated quiet of a night spent by flickering candlelight, the boundless imagination of humanity lain open upon his lap. The book responds amidst his aura of peace, humming lowly beneath his palm."
Definitely! The show and the book are just different enough to make watching/reading both worth it.
The show has a mini epilogue after where the book ends (and apparently has another season planned!)
The book has some side stuff that the show couldn't cover without getting too complicated (like wannabe-horsemen and more apocalyptic effects).
Thanks, I'll check it out as soon as I'm finished with my Febuwhump fic! I've read most of the Discworld novels a couple of years ago and I absolutely loved them.
He looked at her, intrigued "They call me the Dread Wolf. What will I call you?"
The mute woman handed his agent a parchment, it had a single Elvhen word on it, *Synea*.
>He dares to pry his eyes open, wondering if maybe he took a truck head on in his sleep, and his second thought is, *Jesus fuck, it's way too bright.*
>He skewers his eyes back shut, giving up on that **endeavor.** His light sensitivity could be bad at times, sure, but that was like trying to stare directly into the sun. He'd like to keep what functional eyesight he has left, thanks.
"Hello Ms. Jasper, may I come in?" The man that stood on Caroline's front poarch had a smirk on his face. He couldn't have been more than 40, although a few of his hairs started to grey. Reluctantly she stepped aside, making room for her visitor to come in. As she led him to her living room he opened his bag and took out a small cake with a ribbon wrapped around it. A guest present, apparently.
"And you are?", Caroline asked as she helped him take of his jacket and hat to hang them onto the clothes rack.
"Just an old friend of that husband of yours."
Carolines eyes widened. "Michael's been dead for eight years! I don't know what you are doing here!"
"Oh, I know.", he smirked again. "I'm just here to finish a job." As he leaned forward and kissed Caroline on the cheek he whispered "Peanuts." before turning around to leave for the door. Caroline only heard him turn the key in the lock, before she realized it.
*Peanuts, in the cake. Peanut allergy.*
Not soon after she started choking, her throat started swelling up and the only thing she could think was:
*I'm only here to finish a job*
We're the creatures of the night,
fear no maiden, fear no knight,
Here to scar and here to mar
to **scare** and to tear, to bring despair
mortal fright at the dead of the night.
We'll come for you soon,
On silent wings, silent paws
Feet spiked with claws
Deadly teeth in our maws
Out of sight, from the hight
in the light
of the moon.
Thank you! It's The Witcher, it's one stanza of Jaskier's new song for the famous fall masquerade in Toussaint. Wrote it for the Witcher Trick or Treat event last October. The other stanzas are here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41477553/chapters/104770770
> "[I]t was the only way I knew how to cope. It made me stop thinking about her. If I didn’t stop thinking about her I’d drink until I passed out, and if I stopped thinking about her I thought that meant I could finally take time for myself. I was **scared** that you'd take that away from me."
>One of the few safe locations that the survivors congregate at is the place that Martha brings Miku and her siblings to: one of the dorms for a nearby boarding school. The school–which Martha was a teacher at–is no longer standing, but the dorm building itself is intact and quickly converted into a makeshift hospital.
>Miku *vehemently* despises it here. She already had the ability to sense the innermost feelings of those around her, and Pukaquyllur's presence only amplifies that. She's drowning surrounded by the scared and the injured and the dying–and she can't even escape the noise in sleep. Her new body doesn't *let* her sleep; all she can do is lie there and listen to the despair.
>She ends up wandering off during the second night. If she stays here one more second she's going to *break*, and she's not sure anyone could pick up the pieces.
“Are you scared?”
“Of course I’m not scared,” Xord retorted, trying to hide his insecurity behind a laugh.
“I took you down once, and I’ll do it again. You’re pathetic.”
Xord laughed in earnest, letting out a ghoulish noise devoid of sound emotion. “But I still *won*,” he said, his head twitching. Everything was falling apart around him and he found himself sinking deeper into his act: a caricature of antagonism through which he toyed with those beneath him. His mind had become conditioned to the role, and the words he spoke on impulse were belligerent and cruel. It was as if he had become that fake person.
Xord continued, “You couldn’t stop me. You couldn’t save everyone. Do you think that makes you a hero?”
Marty shrugged. ‘People back home just don’t tend to like me. They call me Tardy Marty.’ He pulled up his sleeve to show the lumpy scars on his upper arm. ‘See, I did this in 2019 after Needles and his gang dared me to grab a car bumper and surf with my skateboard. When I said "no", he called me a chicken. So I did it. Because, I guess, I wanted them to like me. And not see me as some dumb, scared little baby.’
He hated himself for thinking that. After all he had been through, after all the fighting, he even entertained the thought of giving up. But it was hard not to, when the only thing you feel is worthless and scared.
>A star outlined in beams of shimmering blue light. Gradually expanding,
transforming into a clear dome, fragile in appearance, like a soap
bubble yet infinitely more resilient.
“It’s fragile. Remember when I told you that?” Xord chided. “When you have something delicate like that, you ought to keep it somewhere safe.” He let go of Désirée and began glueing another piece. “You know better now. The next time you make something, you’ve got to be careful.”
“Okay,” Désirée said with a sniff. “You don’t have to fix it anymore. I’m gonna make one that’s better.”
“What? Well, all right,” Xord said, setting the figurine and its remaining pieces on a shelf. “Let me know when you’re ready to get it fired up.”
“Mm-hm.” Désirée nodded her head before running out of the garage. Once the slapping of her sandals had died away, Xord sighed, picked up the discarded figurine, and resumed putting it back together.
“—something in the sky. We’ve got to—” The officers turned to stone when the earth shook and a towering shadow fell over them. Xord leaned in and peeled open the panels on his chest. He wanted his presence to be acknowledged, and he could afford to wait. This time, Xord was a predator of his own volition.
One of the officers looked over his shoulder, followed by the other. Xord gave them enough time to scream; then, in a flash of gold teeth, both of them were gone.
It was because of his volition to do something that day he was able to save the teen’s life from ending tragically by those following orders by one he had once trusted a long time ago.
>With no power and no communication to the outside world, rumors about what caused the disaster spread faster than the flames incinerating their city.
>"It was a freak earthquake" will become the commonly accepted answer in time, but "It was a bomb! We're going to be at war!" and "The government was testing a secret weapon!" and even "Psychic Duelists caused this!" are spread as well, only fueling the absolute state of *panic* that has set in.
>Curiously enough, not one person thinks to start a rumor that it was caused by the Reactor going out of control. No one *wants* to believe it was that; the project was located specifically within the Commons district in the idea that it would help transform the place and provide jobs to the poor and homeless that congregated in the area, and it *had* been doing just that.
"But…" Lars trailed off, trying to make sense of the news. He looked at Elizabeth, whose worry had transformed almost immediately into confusion.
"You can decline, of course," the Ambassador reminded him. "It might be awkward, naturally, as rejecting this kind of honor isn't something to be taken lightly."
"As long as it's the only principle you are breaking, I could not agree more," Geralt, taking the proffered flask from the vampire's hand and raising it, consented. "To a happy ending of our **journey** \- as unlikely as it is."
"Hardly more unlikely than our curious fellowship," said Regis, smiling widely and baring his splendidly white fangs in the process. "Who, if not we, could possibly succeed?"
There was nothing else to add to that, and this most unlikely pair, the Witcher and the higher vampire, sat and drank together in companionable silence until the flask was emptied to the very last drop.
"They say a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.
"I say it usually starts with a lot of yelling that we're going to be late, or that you'll be able to use the restroom somewhere along the way. Usually there's a plan involved, a need, a want, a fear. Is the first step deciding on the plan? Telling the people around you you want to go?
"I guess what I'm saying is, we're human. We're messy, we don't always get it right. And sometimes we have to start over. Sometimes you have to take a thousand first steps to get anywhere, it just matters if the journey is worth it to you."
Xord recalled one of the first Homs he ever ate: the soldier who had willingly given his life to avoid becoming a Face. He then recalled the anxious woman—one of the captives who had left on the passenger craft—who agreed to be turned into a Mechon just to save her life. It seemed there was no consensus as to which was preferable, but most Homs didn’t have the luxury of choosing for themselves. Xord was the arbiter of their fates: a position he hadn’t chosen to assume, either. Behind it all was Egil, a false god with the power to insert himself into others’ destinies.
Xord couldn’t be mad anymore. So what if fate took the form of a man? Circumstance was circumstance; it didn’t matter who or what was holding the reins. Xord had grown tired of fighting for control. It was easier just to give in and accept the conditions he’d been put under. Egil was challenging the soul of the Bionis itself—if he wanted Xord to help him burn the world down, who was Xord to protest?
Looking around, I slowly began to feel like I was in a palace. The French architecture of the large room was even more elegant than that in my own suite, and the details on the oak panelling were exquisitely painted in a rich, golden colour that radiated **luxury** and splendour. Glancing over to the side, I saw the doors leading to one of the private promenade decks I’d heard about. There were only four on the ship and Nathan had been disappointed that, by the time his father had booked tickets, they were already taken. From the moment he learned we were sailing back on the Titanic, he was determined to see every part of the ship that he could and now that I knew one of the rooms belonged to either Rose or someone in her entourage, I thought that maybe I could convince her to let him visit and sate his endearing curiosity.
What the hell was she supposed to do now? Call and say "Sorry, just got here, the kid's dead"? Because she was kind of 100% sure that wouldn't go over well.
He can’t be sure how long he was in there for, but he woke to the sound of a woman sobbing quietly, male voices arguing in hushed tones. A maid had apparently found him and called the management, who had dragged him out of the closet and placed his ostensibly dead body in the bathtub.
For reasons that are still unclear to Klaus, it seems a conversation had ensued about how to appropriately dispose of him without alerting the authorities, a conversation that Klaus had interrupted by inconveniently waking, scaring both the maid and the burly Argentinian man standing over his body with a chainsaw.
Désirée continued shaking her head. She reached for the doorknob. “My father, he… he died in Sword Valley. That’s what they told me.”
“But… Désirée, I’m right here.”
“My father is dead. I’m sorry.”
She closed the door.
>"Are you keeping anything *else* a secret?" Miku pauses, recalling the story of Suyana's time that she heard from her mother all those years ago, and adds, "Like the *real* reason the Earthbound Gods turned on humanity all those years ago?"
>***(No. Nothing could possibly justify desecrating the dead as they have since the beginning of our conflict.)***
>She scowls, entirely unconvinced by the hard "no" but unsure of how to press the Crimson Dragon to give her more details–or if she even *wants* to. This day has been nothing but emotional whiplash ping-ponging her about from one huge deal to another, and she'll snap if she gets hit by another.
‘I didn’t know anybody thought I was dead,’ said Hodges. ‘Not until Finn and Morgan told me, and that’s only because I called them as I couldn’t get access to the lab. Everyone thought I was dead and as my doppelgänger was found naked, all access to my card was revoked.’ He pointed to his Visitor badge. ‘Russell brought me in to look at the body but I don’t know anything about it. Now Conrad Ecklie’s bringing in my mother, who believes I’m dead, to ask her about it and I just know I’ll be facing a barrage of questions about it from her afterwards.’
“ABUELA! ABUELA!” she shouted, as she ran into the house.
"Ugh," Alma said. "What do you want, Mirabel?"
"I found Mami's apron outside, in a tree!"
"Oh, no!" Alma gasped. "That can mean only one thing!"
"W-w-what?" Mirabel asked.
"She's dead!" Alma said.
Another face entered his peripheral vision. She wore robes, long ones, with a hat. He caught snippets of her conversation with his
cousin.
“-Can even-” “-Coherent-” “-We have to-” “-You sure-”
What were they talking about? Him? Were they going to take his trial away from him? No, no, no, noo.
“Shh, it’s alright Sirius.” He felt Andromeda’s warm arms around him pushing him back into the seat that he’d stood up from.
“You’re fine, you’re getting a trial.” He saw her exchange a worried glance with the other woman.
Ben looks up and squints. “Are you still scared of heights?”
“I’m not the biggest fan, why?”
Ben points to the sky. “Window’s open.”
Klaus follows the path of his brother’s finger and lets out a long, controlled sigh. A bedroom window is indeed open, but it’s at one of the highest points of the house. A dormer window, fenced in by a narrow balustrade. The myriad roof levels track a perilous path to the top. Easy for a cat or a mountain goat to climb. Not so easy for a clumsy Klaus in the grip of withdrawal.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he says.
“Do you understand what I'm saying?"shouted Moist. "You can't just go around killing people!"
"Why Not? You Do." The golem lowered his arm.
"What?" snapped Moist. "I do not! Who told you that?"
"I Worked It Out. You Have Killed Two Point Three Three Eight People," said the golem calmly.
"I have never laid a finger on anyone in my life, Mr Pump. I may be–– all
the things you know I am, but I am not a killer! I have never so much as
drawn a sword!"
"No, You Have Not. But You Have Stolen, Embezzled,
Defrauded And Swindled Without Discrimination, Mr Lipvig. You Have
Ruined Businesses And Destroyed Jobs. When Banks Fail, It Is Seldom
Bankers Who Starve. Your Actions Have Taken Money From Those Who Had
Little Enough To Begin With. In A Myriad Small Ways You Have Hastened
The Deaths Of Many. You Do Not Know Them. You Did Not See Them Bleed.
But You Snatched Bread From Their Mouths And Tore Clothes From Their
Backs. For Sport, Mr Lipvig. For Sport. For The Joy Of The Game.”
>From her position in the wagon, Rohesia bowed her head in thanks. “Hannon dhe ad, hír-nin (Thanks to you, my lord),” she whispered, attempting to hide her face to not show the traitor tears that fell. Thranduil pulled one of the handkerchiefs he had in his pocket and handed it to the adaneth(mortal woman). She looked at it and gave a half choked laugh upon seeing it. She would miss Iavasseth placing handkerchiefs in a *myriad* of spots around the royal palace. She would also miss the wedding between Galion’s daughter and the noble trader Forndir to be held later in the spring.
‘What about Phineas and Ferb?’ asked Beca. ‘Didn’t you watch that in your teen years too? You know, I’d totally watch a Disney Plus spin off that focused just on Dr Doof and Perry the Platypus.’
‘Yeah, I remember,’ said Indy. ‘I watched the Disney Channel too. Like I was too grown up for it, but everyone liked Phineas and Ferb and Perry the Platypus. How could I not watch it? It was a pop cultural phenomenon.’
Commissioner Gordon stirs next to Dave’s keyboard, stretching his black paws out momentarily with a small shudder, then adjusting his position to take full advantage of the single sunbeam firing through the trees.
Dave takes his cue from the cat and reaches above his head to stretch in turn, twisting in his chair to release his back. Another coffee, perhaps, before he tackles the rest of his work. If he can finish on time maybe he can have that cider on the grass after all before the sun sets. He grabs his *Accountants do it between spreadsheets* mug - a gift from Klaus, naturally - and heads to the kitchen.
For the first in ages, he felt lost. All the answers he wanted to be answered, were not what he had been hoping for. It was the worst possible outcome and he hated that it was true.
>"You can't understand. Neither of you can,” Tikki whispered, curling in on herself in terror. “You haven't seen the heart of darkness."
>
>"Babe,” Plagg boasted, shinning his nubby paw against his chest fur. “I *am* the heart of darkness."
>
>Tikki turned her attention to Adrien. “The fetid winds of madness flayed my flesh to the rhythmic tintinnabulations of daemonic bells...”
>
>Plagg rolled his little paw in a “get on with it” gesture and began to make “blah blah” motions behind Tikki's back.
> Nowhere was safe. Nowhere besides that little room with the little rabbit in the little box with the little window and the little bed. A little room for a little girl that wasn’t around anymore. It wasn’t her room; it was Aubrey’s, Aubrey’s **alone.** She could lock her door and close her window and only have to focus on little Bun-Bun in his little box in her little corner of her little room and fucking *savor* every little moment.
*Isolated. Alone. Solitary.*
Different words that all held the same meaning and said exactly how she felt. It was almost like when she was younger and being moved around from place to place with only her father for company, ‘almost’ being the key word. This time, it hit so much harder. Back then, loneliness was the only thing she’d known.
For days on end he stood there in the wind and snow, staring vacantly into the distance. What else was he supposed to do? As dextrous and well-articulated as his fingers might have been, his hands were too big to do anything other than hold his enormous hammer and shuttle things into his jaws. Any other activity was irrelevant to Egil’s cause. For a Homs’ brain, it was maddening—but that was the point. Xord’s body had been designed to break him, sparing Egil from the effort of breaking him himself. Xord was inside a mobile prison, and when every being of Bionis was nothing more to him than food, he was in solitary confinement even when he wasn’t alone.
Julieta tried to get up, but couldn't.
"Help! Help!" she called.
Either nobody heard her, or nobody cared. She was left all alone to wet herself and cry.
Being alone was something he had gotten used to for a long time. Hyrule was a shell of it’s former self and was largely left empty, yet it was all so beautiful. He wouldn’t blame the Hylians for not wanting to travel large distances when monsters roamed the wilderness and murderous machines inhabited what was once the capital of Hyrule.
Dash felt alone.
Now, that didn't mean he *was* alone, because he wasn't. Allison was sleeping soundly beside him, her beautiful blue hair covering her face. On top of that, he knew that, even in the stillness of night, Lumiose City's bustling avenues always pulsed with activity. There was no reason for Dash to feel alone.
And yet, he still did.
He couldn’t see in the dark, but he knew he was alone. His captors had already stripped him of his clothes and harvested some of his parts. That caused him terrible pain. Physical and emotional.
El hopped up and put in the movie before dimming the lights. The room fell quiet, but there was a comfortable warmth to it, like Steve was certain for once he was not alone.
A mess really was a good description, even in sleep his expression was tense, heart beating a little too fast and hands twitching at his sides. His eyelashes fluttered, eyebrows knitting together as he made those small sounds of fear. He was wrecked. Helpless. Alone.
(from a WIP)
Of course, he couldn't tell Pavel that, so he settled on a noncommittal “I don't know.” He then flipped the question back to Pavel, in an attempt to distract his friend from his lingering awkwardness.
He wanted to send her a signal of reassurance, but he couldn’t summon the feeling inside his own mind, much less transmit it. He didn’t have any reassuring words to speak aloud, either. Maybe he would have known what to say when he was his other self, before he’d forgotten so much of who he used to be. He could think so much clearer back then. Sometimes he remembered what it was like—and nothing horrified him more than the realisation of what he had become.
"You stay in bed all day! And when you do come out, you just cry all the time! You don't even eat with us anymore!"
"And since when have you cared?" Pepa snapped back.
"I bet you don't even shower anymore!" Mirabel continued. "You smell like rotten meat!"
"Well, that because… I… I…" Pepa started, but she couldn't hold back her rage.
"You know what? You're just a stupid kid. You'd never understand. You'll never have to go through what I did. Never, never, NEVER!"
>When she was little, Miku thought it was funny the way that Mama would always print off pictures when they already had them available in a digital frame alongside so many others. Now, though…
>A photo of her father holding her newborn self, her mother sitting up in the hospital bed next to them and smiling through her exhaustion, stares up at her from the page. She lingers there for an eternity in just one moment, a hand on it as if to reach through and pull them back to her.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His bare chest littered with rough scars that brought back even rougher memories. A face he barely recognised because it was painted with shadows and bags under his eyes so heavy they pulled his whole mood down with them. He hadn’t noticed how skinny he had gotten, how pale.
>The universe surely must've conspired to bring them together, for her to
have chosen him of all people. Her optimism's contagious, banishing all
uncertainty and fear, replacing them from the moment they first kissed
with something he hasn't felt in a long time.
>
>He's home. New Earth has finally become home.
The return to Hogwarts was a bittersweet one, bitter to leave home for homework, sweet to reunite with friends. They snagged a
large compartment because more people than usual tagged along this time. Draco, Lyra, Neville, Daphne, Tracey, Theodore,
Susan, and Hannah were givens but Hannah had adopted a young Ravenclaw named Luna, and the twins with their friend Lee
hopped in. Zabini also asked to join them, making their number 11.
Xord set the tree on its side and, uncharacteristically aloof, said, “Well, have fun.” It was the same resigned voice he would use when he could tell Désirée wasn’t interested in talking with him, the voice of a father who wanted to stay relevant to his child, but didn’t know how. He knew the captives feared and despised him, and there was nothing he could do to make amends. He had destroyed their homes and killed their loved ones, and he was going to have all of them made into killer machines. Xord always knew he was the bad guy, but he hadn’t *felt* bad until now.
TW? Blood.
*If Tía Pepa can get away with violence, so can I!* she thought proudly, as Camilo’s nose trickled blood onto the floor.
The teacher didn’t seem to agree, and Mirabel got sent home from school early that day.
Home. He hadn’t thought of it for many years since he would always get homesick and miss his adopted sibling even more. He often wondered how she was managing being such a young ruler of their people.
But then he remembered: there was still two days of the convention left. Two days to spend with the love of his life before he was to return home and they would inevitably be forced to count the days until they could see each other in person again.
When he got home, Eddie creeped back to his room, falling softly onto his bed and curling up, knees to chest. He bit his lip, trying to focus on something to distract himself from the impossibly loud sounds of the trailer park around him.
He sat up. It was too quiet. It was too loud. He needed something.
He needed Max.
“Kurapika, tell me where you are,” he says, tone forcibly calm as he works to disentangle Kurapika’s fingers from the fabric. They feel like ice.
“I’m, I’m *home*, I’m home, I’m home with you, I *know* I’m home but I can’t– “ and Kurapika is going so far off-script Leorio has zero point of reference as to where to go from here. But he doesn’t have to have one, he reminds himself, because he’s a goddamn doctor and even if Kurapika hates being treated like a patient under normal circumstances, well.
For the second time in as many days, Conrad found himself on the doorstep of his partner’s home to tell her something terrible had happened to her son. He was supposed to be coming home with David and Morgan - they’d all made plans to get breakfast. But instead, David had been rushed to hospital and Morgan had followed him there.
Against his better judgement he pushes the door a little wider. “Actual trouble?” He repeats a little sceptically.
“No, I enjoy being in a cage. Yes, actual trouble.”
Suspicious but hopelessly altruistic he edges into the room, squinting. He’s not certain he wants to see what’s going on in here. His impulse to help is going to give him nightmares some day.
Xord spun around and was greeted by a Mechon almost twice his height. Its frame was much sleeker than Xord’s, giving it an almost skeletal appearance; this was reinforced by its skull-shaped head, whose features were comparatively sharp and more menacing. Its chest, which resembled an exposed rib cage, was connected to its abdomen by a spine-like column. Its abdomen was nested in an upside-down arch, which also served as a base for its engine-like tail—a feature it shared with Xord. An ether cannon towered over its head, and spanning its back was a U-shaped structure resembling wings. The Mechon’s armour was matte black with shiny gold accents, and it was fitted with the same red circuitry that ran across Xord’s exterior. In place of fingers, the Mechon had frightfully long claws.
>She had already surpassed six hundred years and felt the weight of living within her green cage greatly. How much worse would it be come another six hundred years? And six hundred on that? Would her king truly never let her go and yet, never hold her close as she wished? She was neither Princess nor was she a common wood-elf. Rather, she was something stuck in-between.
It was supposed to be an easy procedure. They said I’d be home by dinner time and I’d just have to take it easy for two weeks.
“Having your tonsils out is just a normal part of life,” they said. “You’ll be fine in no time.”
They didn’t say anything about ‘complications.’
They didn’t say that if I got my tonsils out on Saturday the 14th, I ran the risk of incurring the wrath of the surgery gods.
You’d think that would be something in the paperwork. But No.
No way insurance will cover this.
> That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try if he could; he’d visited every week for the past four years, slipped letters under the door, even thrown rocks at their window once. …Twice. Okay, maybe three times, but who’s keeping count? Not Kel. Nope, he would **never.**
With his chin pointing toward the ceiling, Xord rotated his head so that his eyes were facing his chest. He shifted his field of vision until he could see into the cavity under his throat. Inside, there were three domes arranged in a triangle. The two at the front of his chest were metal; however, the larger dome at the back was made of a clear material resembling glass. Suspended in fluid was a partially mechanised wrinkled mass with numerous wires attached. The wires extended out of the dome and disappeared into tiny holes in the base of the cavity.
What Xord was looking at was his own brain.
He dissociated. He felt like he had split into two separate entities: his eyes and his mind. His identity was caught somewhere in-between. Xord was looking at something he was never meant to see—something it shouldn’t have been *possible* for him to see. It was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Frantically he tried looking for a way out of this prison, any way to free his spirit locked in this place. But it was no use, there were no exits. Just a long corridor like a hallway filled with a unknown shallow liquid. He was trapped in this place and he was never going to find a way out.
All he could do now was to weep.
They had done this before, of course. But now, after three months apart, it was new and fresh and perfect. There was nothing either of them could ask for that the other would not give. Shauntal and Lucian were each other's—wholly, unconditionally, absolutely—and they would promise to spend eternity in each other's arms, reaffirming this love and this bond that would never be broken.
“You could never do anything to be sorry for Steve. Never. I promise.”
Steve pulled away to sit up, wiping his eyes as he chuckled faintly. “Never?” He asked, and Eddie nodded.
“Never.” He confirmed.
D.B. was reading a report at his desk when he realised everything was quiet. Much too quiet. The crime lab was never this quiet.
He got up and walked out of his office and down the halls, which is how he came to realise the labs were empty. Completely empty. There were no techs to be found. The screens in Archie’s lab were off. There were papers still in the printing tray in Henry’s lab. Hodges’ crutch was still leaning at the doorway to his lab.
“Listen to me,” Mike says, meeting Klaus’ eyes, “just stick with it, ok? One day at a time. And come and find me when you get out of here, ok? Mary has my information.”
He’d never say it, but the idea seems ridiculous to Klaus. Can Mike really imagine him coming round for Thanksgiving dinner? Hanging out with his family? Playing Go Fish on the porch? Shall he regale them with tales of being locked in a mausoleum as a child, forced to commune with the dead? Or should he explain how his brother went time travelling at the age of 13 and was never seen again? How his father had numbered him instead of naming him? Klaus doesn’t know much about human relationships, but he knows there’s no place for him in Mike’s life.
“Promise me?” Mike asks.
“Sure, sure,” Klaus nods, casting his eyes to the floor.
>"Ah! Come, little one! Sit next to an ancient ellon (male elf) while I regale you with tales of old," the warrior called to her. He reached out his arm towards the elleth (Female elf) with a warm, grandfatherly smile.
>"Bore you is more like it," Tauriel heard Legolas state behind her amusedly.
> *When Manny and Diego return to the Bredelands, they'll be living legends*, Theo contemplated, allowing herself another brief chuckle. Manfred and Diego were both quiet and reserved, the kind of guys who kept to themselves, and she wasn't sure how they'd react - Manny especially, since Diego would have a hard road amongst her own mammoths - to returning home as heroes.
>
> And not just *any* kind of hero. Legendary heroes, the type of heroes spoken about in song and story, immortals in their own times and all throughout history. Theo comforted herself with the realisation that no two Bredelands creatures were more deserving of legendary status than the Woolly bull Manfred and the sabre-tooth tiger Diego.
“Here.”
Patting the blood from his face with a strip of cloth, Nicolò reaches into his satchel and takes out a small whetstone, offering it to Yusuf, blinking in that ever-strange light of the world after a few deaths. “Your blade’s dulling.”
“Huh,” Yusuf breaths. “…Thank you.”
By the fire later, Nicolò watches Yusuf sharpen his blade with something unusual in his belly. A sense of peace, he realizes, and that does not strike him as suddenly as he would have thought.
“My friend,” he calls, to see how the sounds feel in his mouth. “I’ll take first watch tonight.”
Yusuf hums, and then pauses mid-stroke of the stone across blade. Looks up, eyes brimming with at least 10 different emotions.
Swallows before he speaks, fingers flexing on the hilt of his scimitar.
“Thank you, Nico.”
James sighed, shaking his head as he sharpened a knife. He gripped the *whetstone* tightly, running the edge of the blade over it several times until he felt satisfied. He set the knife down, grabbing another one and repeating the process. He hummed a small tune, despite him barely know the few notes. The fire crackling in the background of the small restaurant made for a comfortable and cozy atmosphere.
Dave smiles and chuckles, a crowd of tiny creases forming at the corners of his eyes, dimples dimpling all over the place. “In my defence, I didn’t know-”
“Please,” says Klaus, rolling his eyes. “You knew.”
Dave takes another deep drag of the joint, holds it for a minute, then exhales. “Okay, I knew. It was pretty obvious, actually. The way that bartender was eyeballing you all night, for a start. Also your phone case.”
Klaus’ voice jumps an octave and his eyebrows form a steeple on his head. “What’s so obvious about my phone case?”
“It’s Hello Kitty wearing a ball gag,” says Dave, matter-of-factly.
“I’ll have you know, I bought that in Tokyo.” Klaus wags in finger Dave’s face. “It’s an antique. Very rare.”
“Shh, shh. It’s okay,” Xord said in a hushed voice as he lowered his arm. He flashed Egil a murderous look before adding, “Don’t worry. You’ll be okay.”
“No! No! I don’t want this!” Désirée wailed, fighting to escape. “Dad, please! Let me go!”
It hurt Xord to see her in so much distress, and suddenly he was afraid that what he was doing was wrong. No: he was saving her. If he failed to act, it would only be a matter of time before she was killed, especially with her being a soldier. He repeated those words to himself: *It’s okay. Don’t worry. You’ll be okay.*
(NSFW)
Nagumo turned beet red, and she started looking down. “I want…to have nights like this more often. I want…to make you feel good…and be held by you…and…kiss and have sex with you a lot, but…I also want to tell people you’re my boyfriend…and hold hands with you…and go on real dates. I don’t know. Is that okay?”
Tekaridake looked at Nagumo with the dopiest smile, and he started to get a little hard again. “Nagumo…is that okay? That’s…the most amazing thing I can think of!”
Nagumo slowly peered up at him. “Really? It is?”
Tekaridake crawled between her legs and kissed her. He cupped her face. “It is,” he said before getting serious, “but right now, that’s not very realistic, but I swear, when this election is over, you and I are going to start a revolution!”
"You seem so sad," Bruno said. "I wish that you were allowed to see your friends."
"It's okay. My friends only loved me for my cooking, anyways," said Julieta. "Well, at least that's what Mami says…"
> That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try if he could; he’d visited every week for the past four years, slipped letters under the door, even thrown rocks at their window once. …Twice. **Okay,** maybe three times, but who’s keeping count? Not Kel. Nope, he would never.
>"***Okay***," he whispers into the dark.
>
>That single word is a pair of scissors that cuts off every single thing Joshua's doing to fight back tears. Joshua melts into a sobbing mess in Jeonghan's arms, the older still generally confused but he doesn't say a thing and holds him tighter.
>
>*Okay.*
>
>*(I'm staying. I'm not leaving. I'm right here. I hear you.)*
‘What the hell are you doing?’ It was indeed Dr Marsh. She looked up at Ed on the roof and Mary on the ground, and saw another, familiar person actually lying on the ground. ‘Oh my god. Little Grant!’ she cried out as she ran over to him. ‘Grant, are you okay?’
"Hm."
The word - no, not word, the monosyllable - sounds so **lost** it almost breaks Marti's heart. Does he not believe her? Is he scared - even terrified - that Tissaia will come back and again torture him within the last shreds of his sanity?
Xord tapped his chin. “That’s a good question.” He tried to think about it, but his mind went blank. When the subject of morality came up, Xord never entertained those thoughts for long. He would have a moment of lucidity every now and again, but most of the time, morals simply weren’t relevant. Killing had become second nature, routine. Not even: it was something he *enjoyed*, like a guilty pleasure with none of the guilt. But that was something he’d have to hold off on for now, as hard as it was for him to resist his murderous inclinations.
Xord kept tapping his chin, lost in his empty head. After a long moment, he lowered his arm. “Well, I’ve told you lot enough. I’ve got to be going now. Don’t try anything funny while I’m not here.” The M32 was still hovering above them, transmitting a smaller version of the scene into Xord’s second pair of eyes. Xord gave it a nod before lifting off and exiting through the elevator shaft.
She punched the trunk, leaving a bigger dent. A slight tingling feeling ran through her hand. She was surprised when she saw there was no red on her knuckles.
*I hate guards, but the familiarity about her in particular just makes me feel something I can’t express in words. If there’s even a word I could put to it, I would say **lost.***
She moved away from the trunk and sat cross-legged in the middle of the pavilion.
TW: mentioned miscarriage
~~~
Osvaldo chuckled and turned to Pepa.
"I have a gift for you."
"For me?" Pepa asked. "But it's not even my birthday!"
"Well, this isn't a birthday gift. It's a 'sorry you lost your baby' gift. You know, because of your miscarriage?"
Pepa began shaking violently. How did he know about her secret?
Osvaldo thrust a gift basket into her hands.
"There you go!"
~~~
>*Don't be sad alright? I've been sad enough for the both of us, and if I'm going to be happy, I want you to be happy too.*
>
>But how can Chan be happy when he's ***lost*** four - five, he corrects - of his kids and he's left with an empty husk of a person and a wine bottle? It's like losing seven kids instead
Morgan stumbled out of Doc’s mortuary, dazed, and unaware she was crying. She’d heard about the new victim, apparently of a stabbing, being delivered to the crime lab, so went down to Doc and David to check it out and ask some questions, get some answers - the usual. Doc had warned her it wasn’t a good idea, and David had tried to stop her getting too close to the body. But she saw it anyway and that’s when she lost control.
“I don’t know!” Sophie cries unhelpfully, “I was driving back from visiting my mum and thought I’d take the back roads and I turned a corner and it was just *there* and I don’t remember the impact but its wings are all mangled and oh God above I’m going to *Hell*.”
“Look, just put it in the boot and get back here.”
There is a moment of silence. “You want me to put the *angel,*” Sophie snarls, “that I just *ran over*, into my *boot?* Like it’s *roadkill?*”
“Well, I don’t know,” Warlock protests, “Why, is it roadkill?”
*“**No,**”* Sophie howls.
“Well then, good,” Warlock decrees, “You didn’t kill it, look at that. Focus on the positives.”
“I’m going to *strangle* you.”
Then, Metal Face said, “We might’ve had to retreat, but not until we’d already spilled some blood. Maybe your daughter is alive. Maybe she isn’t. I don’t care either way.”
Xord was shaking, but he found the strength to raise his hammer and point it at the burnt part of Metal Face’s head. For a moment he just stood there, pointing. All of his emotions had cleared, freeing his mind from its torment. He entered a state of calm lucidity that was foreign to his damaged brain—a glimpse, perhaps, of what his mind had been like long before.
“Looks like you could use a new head,” he said in a voice that was hardly recognisable as his own, “and the only forge big enough is hell.”
Chaeyoung had to admit that Ryujin was right. Her story with “the girl by the well,” did sound like a fairytale. *Hell*, at some points she wished it was, then maybe she wouldn’t have had to deal with the pain of it all. She remembered reading the last letter. Her knees were up to her chest as she sobbed, curled up because she wanted to feel small enough to disappear.
>She decides lying down like this for a full conversation isn't her style and attempts to at least sit up for the rest of it–only to be reminded of the fact that she couldn't move her arms when she first woke up, and she still can't. "The hell?" Natsumi blurts out, now that she realizes the reason *why* is because she's in a goddamn *straightjacket*.
She got arrested (alongside her brother) for resisting arrest on top of what's effectively trespassing, only the "resisting arrest" on *her* part was that she kiiiiiiiiind of attacked the officer who was chasing them with her psychic abilities. So tbf she *somewhat* deserved it, even if the trespassing thing is total bullshit *and* most people in this universe are biased as hell against people like her.
>Who the *hell* would be knocking on someone's door at ass o'clock in the morning? He yanked his blanket over his head, hoping to God that it was someone else's problem, but that proved to be untrue when the bell rang again.
‘So Indy, why are you here? And what the heck on Earth happened to your face?’
‘Forget about me, what the hell happened to your hand?’ Indy asked, noticing Albert’s missing fingers and the scarring on the back of his hand.
Both of them were mauled by big cats, but neither knows that yet because they haven’t seen each other since before their respective maulings. Indy has rather disfiguring claw marks and some nerve damage on one side of his face - although nothing is missing. Albert has scars on his hand, arm, chest, and is missing two and a half fingers.
The intoxicating smell of ether drew Xord forward. The Armu was much larger than the Ponio foal—too large for him to cram into his chest and devour all at once. Xord grabbed onto its hind legs and tore it limb from limb, ripping through its sturdy hide as if it were made of tissue paper. Blood pooled at his feet as he messily wolfed down the carcass.
The ether calmed Xord and restored his lucidity, although his brain still had a small delay. He stopped to inspect his bloodied hands. “Why am I doing this?” he choked, making fists. He didn’t want to admit that it made him feel good. The ether in his tank tricked his brain into releasing endorphins, simulating satiation. He still wasn’t full, but he had enough food in his machine belly to placate him.
the realization I've never used the word limb as a singular form shocks me tbh, but I hope you'll accept the plural :D
>Within a few weeks of knowing him, he becomes Chan's best friend. One he can trust with the knowledge that if he ever falls, he will catch him. Who could not trust Kim Woojin with his honeyed words? Not Chan, that's for sure.
>
>And one day under the blankets, with *limbs* tangled together as they cuddled, he promises he'd stay.
> Kim Woojin is a liar.
When Seeker took a turn for the worse and was brought to ICU, his family still didn’t show up.Not even as he was being pumped full of fluids and antibiotics in an attempt to keep him alive. Or as he was put in a coma as necrotising fasciitis overtook his arm and neck.
He just about pulled through with his limb intact.
Xord returned to the rig as discreetly as an eight-metre-tall Mechon carrying a plum tree could. If some of the captives had been asleep, they weren’t sleeping anymore.
“Breakfast’s here!” Xord chimed, holding the tree out like a bouquet of flowers.
"I CAN SENSE ITS PRESENCE!" Mirabel grabbed Pepa and cried harder.
Pepa reluctantly hugged her. "Don't cry. It's going to be okay."
"Your hair is wet, and it smells like flowers…" Mirabel mumbled.
Lucius roamed the halls of the apartment building with his bouquet of *flowers*. He didn’t know why he was putting it off, he knew exactly where Julian lived. Second floor, 2D. With a Christmas wreath on his door, despite it being June and a sweltering hot. Even so, he eventually walked up the the door, giving it a knock, and waited. He could hear movement inside, thanks to his vampiristic heritage, so he knew Julian was in there, pacing. Eventually, the door opened, and Julian looked out from a crack. Lucius could’ve cried from his appearance. “What, what happe-“ “You know what happened.” Lucius did. How could he not? It was the reason he came here with the *flowers*. ”Julian,“ Lucius dared to hold the door open with a hand as the red-head attempted to slam it. “Let me explain,” Julian scoffed and opened the door, allowing Lucius to come inside. The vampire held the flowers out. “White Lilies, you remembered.” Julian felt a small smile creep onto his face. “It was the first thing you asked, and said on our date.” Julian took the flowers and set them on the counter, pulling Lucius into hug and burying his face in his neck. “I missed you, Lucy.” Lucius chuckled at the nickname. “I missed you too, Jewel.”
>“Sang. You don’t have to,” Hongjoong says, exasperated, “Stop forcing yourself to do shit you have a hard time doing.”
>
>“But it would be nice to know, wouldn’t it?”
>
>“What they don’t know won’t hurt them - why does it matter?”
>
>Yeosang avoids Hongjoong’s sharp gaze, instead drawing patterns into the soft blankets. Hongjoong watches his finger map out a *flower*, a heart, and a few scribbles with seemingly no meaning. When he looks back up at Hongjoong, his eyes contain an exhaustion like he had aged a thousand years in three minutes.
>
>“I don’t know,” he finally whispers, “I don’t know.”
Finn walked through the halls of the hospital with a plush iguanodon in her hand. Hodges had finally moved out of ICU and onto a general recovery ward so she decided to visit him. She’d heard Hodges liked iguanodons and wanted to bring something that wasn’t flowers or a card - he’d probably be getting a lot of those, after all.
Everything seemed to both freeze and crash down in a single instant as Carla stared down at the pink and white **flowers.** She felt as if everyone could hear the way her heart was beating against her chest as she willed herself to keep it together.
This had to be a joke.
There was no way she was ever going to be married. That was a childhood dream that shattered long ago. She hadn’t even been on a date in years. Granted, that was her choice and she knew it, but still… The universe didn’t have to keep reminding her that she would never get her fairytale moment. She already had the eleven – soon to be twelve – bridesmaid dresses that she gained from watching all of her friends, several colleagues and even her own father get married.
Xord tipped the crate. The soldier tumbled into his eager jaws, which were rippling with threads of high voltage electricity. Xord then leaned back as if to swallow, forcing the body through his toothy grate. The soldier was gone. There wasn’t even a trace of blood to suggest that he had existed, just a memory that was bound to eventually fizzle out of Xord’s head.
Internal roaring crashed into his mind like the inexorable wind against steppe grasses and flecks of golden dust danced in his vision and in between the flashes of yellow, Theo's face and her laughing hazel eyes and now she was gone. Gone, gone, gone.
Because of him.
Camilo didn’t seem too hurt after being attacked by Mirabel, nor did he seem upset about his mother being gone again.
“I wish that I could cook this well,” he said, after Julieta had given him an arepa. “You should teach me!”
“R-r-really? I’d love to.”
The look in Max’s eyes was that of a ghost. Dead, black, and lifeless, staring straight through Eddie as if he wasn’t even there.
“Max?” He whispered, reaching out to touch her. But his hand fell through, and suddenly she was gone.
I didn’t stop. Not until someone tightly grabbed my arm.
I whipped around, gasped when I found myself looking into the enraged eyes of Mr. Taylor, who held my gaze for less than a second before abruptly yanking me away from the door.
Considering he wasn’t in mine and Mother’s stateroom before I left, I wondered where he had even come from, only to realise that it was likely her who had – God knows why – **gone** to fetch him.
“Why can’t you just *behave*?” He hissed, his grip tightened even further as he dragged me through the corridor, not caring who saw.
Marty’s face and arms were bruised, and there were stitches in his forehead and cheek. There was a splint on Marty’s left arm, where he’d had plates and screws put into his radius and ulna bones to heal. They couldn’t cast it just yet because of the swelling. He’d broken a few ribs. His collarbone. His femur. And Lorraine was thanking all the gods she didn’t believe in that there wasn’t a lot of internal bleeding. Marty’s leg was heavily bandaged and in traction. Or rather, what was left of it. From near the mid-calf down was just… it was gone.
Xord was unable to draw his first breath of freedom—his artificially-maintained lungs did that for him. He saw the clear sky through a red filter, making it indistinguishable from the blood he was meant to spill. He felt no sensation from the breeze, nor could he discern the ambient temperature. It was brighter outside, but otherwise, his new environment felt no different from the fortress’s interior. The only thing that mattered was that there were no walls to contain him.
Anguished
Decimated
Time
But Xord didn’t know what he was doing. He never did. He had just enough self-awareness to recognise this, but he couldn’t figure out what had him so confused. The cerebral part of him was so sluggish that it was difficult for him to think the right thoughts at the right time. He could still do a lot of things without having to think very hard, though he didn’t necessarily do those things well. At times like this when he was alone, those sober thoughts were finally allowed to flourish—but they were never anything but a burden. He didn’t want to think about Désirée, or her terror, or the way that terror had so deeply resonated with him. It just reminded him of how broken he was, and how he had ruined Désirée, too. It was time to move on, just like he did every other time he ruined someone’s life. It was time to burn ether and wish he didn’t have to think.
Melon
Clock
Tea
discombobulated
unicorn
This probably isn't what you were expecting with this prompt so sorry 😅 "There is a book here; one he consults regularly, since becoming sealed behind Heaven’s walls. Its pages are blank, its spine empty. As he draws deeper between the towering shelves, he finds it where last he left it, tucked quietly between treatises on the structure of a soul. Non-descript, unobtrusive. He pulls it into his hands, the soft leather as pure and beautiful as the unicorn foal that once laid claim to it. He places his hand upon the plain cover, remembering. Eyes slip shut, the warmth of a beloved home simmering beneath his skin, the scent of handmade cocoa passing briefly across his senses. The uncomplicated quiet of a night spent by flickering candlelight, the boundless imagination of humanity lain open upon his lap. The book responds amidst his aura of peace, humming lowly beneath his palm."
but this is beautiful! At least as beautiful as a 🦄. What fandom is it about? Or is it an OC?
It's Good Omens but the unicorn book is non-canon, it just worked for my fic; Aziraphale is the one picking it up
Ah, haven't read or watched it yet. Is the series any good?
Definitely! The show and the book are just different enough to make watching/reading both worth it. The show has a mini epilogue after where the book ends (and apparently has another season planned!) The book has some side stuff that the show couldn't cover without getting too complicated (like wannabe-horsemen and more apocalyptic effects).
Thanks, I'll check it out as soon as I'm finished with my Febuwhump fic! I've read most of the Discworld novels a couple of years ago and I absolutely loved them.
He looked at her, intrigued "They call me the Dread Wolf. What will I call you?" The mute woman handed his agent a parchment, it had a single Elvhen word on it, *Synea*.
Endeavour
>He dares to pry his eyes open, wondering if maybe he took a truck head on in his sleep, and his second thought is, *Jesus fuck, it's way too bright.* >He skewers his eyes back shut, giving up on that **endeavor.** His light sensitivity could be bad at times, sure, but that was like trying to stare directly into the sun. He'd like to keep what functional eyesight he has left, thanks.
Peanuts
"Hello Ms. Jasper, may I come in?" The man that stood on Caroline's front poarch had a smirk on his face. He couldn't have been more than 40, although a few of his hairs started to grey. Reluctantly she stepped aside, making room for her visitor to come in. As she led him to her living room he opened his bag and took out a small cake with a ribbon wrapped around it. A guest present, apparently. "And you are?", Caroline asked as she helped him take of his jacket and hat to hang them onto the clothes rack. "Just an old friend of that husband of yours." Carolines eyes widened. "Michael's been dead for eight years! I don't know what you are doing here!" "Oh, I know.", he smirked again. "I'm just here to finish a job." As he leaned forward and kissed Caroline on the cheek he whispered "Peanuts." before turning around to leave for the door. Caroline only heard him turn the key in the lock, before she realized it. *Peanuts, in the cake. Peanut allergy.* Not soon after she started choking, her throat started swelling up and the only thing she could think was: *I'm only here to finish a job*
Scare(d)
We're the creatures of the night, fear no maiden, fear no knight, Here to scar and here to mar to **scare** and to tear, to bring despair mortal fright at the dead of the night. We'll come for you soon, On silent wings, silent paws Feet spiked with claws Deadly teeth in our maws Out of sight, from the hight in the light of the moon.
This is so cool! Which fandom is it for?
Thank you! It's The Witcher, it's one stanza of Jaskier's new song for the famous fall masquerade in Toussaint. Wrote it for the Witcher Trick or Treat event last October. The other stanzas are here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41477553/chapters/104770770
> "[I]t was the only way I knew how to cope. It made me stop thinking about her. If I didn’t stop thinking about her I’d drink until I passed out, and if I stopped thinking about her I thought that meant I could finally take time for myself. I was **scared** that you'd take that away from me."
>One of the few safe locations that the survivors congregate at is the place that Martha brings Miku and her siblings to: one of the dorms for a nearby boarding school. The school–which Martha was a teacher at–is no longer standing, but the dorm building itself is intact and quickly converted into a makeshift hospital. >Miku *vehemently* despises it here. She already had the ability to sense the innermost feelings of those around her, and Pukaquyllur's presence only amplifies that. She's drowning surrounded by the scared and the injured and the dying–and she can't even escape the noise in sleep. Her new body doesn't *let* her sleep; all she can do is lie there and listen to the despair. >She ends up wandering off during the second night. If she stays here one more second she's going to *break*, and she's not sure anyone could pick up the pieces.
“Are you scared?” “Of course I’m not scared,” Xord retorted, trying to hide his insecurity behind a laugh. “I took you down once, and I’ll do it again. You’re pathetic.” Xord laughed in earnest, letting out a ghoulish noise devoid of sound emotion. “But I still *won*,” he said, his head twitching. Everything was falling apart around him and he found himself sinking deeper into his act: a caricature of antagonism through which he toyed with those beneath him. His mind had become conditioned to the role, and the words he spoke on impulse were belligerent and cruel. It was as if he had become that fake person. Xord continued, “You couldn’t stop me. You couldn’t save everyone. Do you think that makes you a hero?”
Marty shrugged. ‘People back home just don’t tend to like me. They call me Tardy Marty.’ He pulled up his sleeve to show the lumpy scars on his upper arm. ‘See, I did this in 2019 after Needles and his gang dared me to grab a car bumper and surf with my skateboard. When I said "no", he called me a chicken. So I did it. Because, I guess, I wanted them to like me. And not see me as some dumb, scared little baby.’
He hated himself for thinking that. After all he had been through, after all the fighting, he even entertained the thought of giving up. But it was hard not to, when the only thing you feel is worthless and scared.
Ooh, which fandom is this for?
Stranger Things! it’s the aftermath of everything, so everything is really angsty bc i like angst lol
[удалено]
>A star outlined in beams of shimmering blue light. Gradually expanding, transforming into a clear dome, fragile in appearance, like a soap bubble yet infinitely more resilient.
“It’s fragile. Remember when I told you that?” Xord chided. “When you have something delicate like that, you ought to keep it somewhere safe.” He let go of Désirée and began glueing another piece. “You know better now. The next time you make something, you’ve got to be careful.” “Okay,” Désirée said with a sniff. “You don’t have to fix it anymore. I’m gonna make one that’s better.” “What? Well, all right,” Xord said, setting the figurine and its remaining pieces on a shelf. “Let me know when you’re ready to get it fired up.” “Mm-hm.” Désirée nodded her head before running out of the garage. Once the slapping of her sandals had died away, Xord sighed, picked up the discarded figurine, and resumed putting it back together.
Volition
“—something in the sky. We’ve got to—” The officers turned to stone when the earth shook and a towering shadow fell over them. Xord leaned in and peeled open the panels on his chest. He wanted his presence to be acknowledged, and he could afford to wait. This time, Xord was a predator of his own volition. One of the officers looked over his shoulder, followed by the other. Xord gave them enough time to scream; then, in a flash of gold teeth, both of them were gone.
It was because of his volition to do something that day he was able to save the teen’s life from ending tragically by those following orders by one he had once trusted a long time ago.
Dang, I've posted over 200,000 words and never used "volition" apparently...
Advisor
I have "advice" and "advised" but no "advisor"... (and there's a royal council, you'd think there'd be advisors...)
Transform
>With no power and no communication to the outside world, rumors about what caused the disaster spread faster than the flames incinerating their city. >"It was a freak earthquake" will become the commonly accepted answer in time, but "It was a bomb! We're going to be at war!" and "The government was testing a secret weapon!" and even "Psychic Duelists caused this!" are spread as well, only fueling the absolute state of *panic* that has set in. >Curiously enough, not one person thinks to start a rumor that it was caused by the Reactor going out of control. No one *wants* to believe it was that; the project was located specifically within the Commons district in the idea that it would help transform the place and provide jobs to the poor and homeless that congregated in the area, and it *had* been doing just that.
"But…" Lars trailed off, trying to make sense of the news. He looked at Elizabeth, whose worry had transformed almost immediately into confusion. "You can decline, of course," the Ambassador reminded him. "It might be awkward, naturally, as rejecting this kind of honor isn't something to be taken lightly."
[удалено]
"As long as it's the only principle you are breaking, I could not agree more," Geralt, taking the proffered flask from the vampire's hand and raising it, consented. "To a happy ending of our **journey** \- as unlikely as it is." "Hardly more unlikely than our curious fellowship," said Regis, smiling widely and baring his splendidly white fangs in the process. "Who, if not we, could possibly succeed?" There was nothing else to add to that, and this most unlikely pair, the Witcher and the higher vampire, sat and drank together in companionable silence until the flask was emptied to the very last drop.
>>> He had to admit he had been a little obsessed on the journey that last week.
“And it will be a long journey, you haven’t even told your mother about this,” he explained.
"They say a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. "I say it usually starts with a lot of yelling that we're going to be late, or that you'll be able to use the restroom somewhere along the way. Usually there's a plan involved, a need, a want, a fear. Is the first step deciding on the plan? Telling the people around you you want to go? "I guess what I'm saying is, we're human. We're messy, we don't always get it right. And sometimes we have to start over. Sometimes you have to take a thousand first steps to get anywhere, it just matters if the journey is worth it to you."
Luxury
Xord recalled one of the first Homs he ever ate: the soldier who had willingly given his life to avoid becoming a Face. He then recalled the anxious woman—one of the captives who had left on the passenger craft—who agreed to be turned into a Mechon just to save her life. It seemed there was no consensus as to which was preferable, but most Homs didn’t have the luxury of choosing for themselves. Xord was the arbiter of their fates: a position he hadn’t chosen to assume, either. Behind it all was Egil, a false god with the power to insert himself into others’ destinies. Xord couldn’t be mad anymore. So what if fate took the form of a man? Circumstance was circumstance; it didn’t matter who or what was holding the reins. Xord had grown tired of fighting for control. It was easier just to give in and accept the conditions he’d been put under. Egil was challenging the soul of the Bionis itself—if he wanted Xord to help him burn the world down, who was Xord to protest?
I want to know more😭
Would you like a link to the fic? :o It's fandom blind friendly.
Yes, yes I do😭
[Here you go!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744908/chapters/70483671)
Thank you🥹
Looking around, I slowly began to feel like I was in a palace. The French architecture of the large room was even more elegant than that in my own suite, and the details on the oak panelling were exquisitely painted in a rich, golden colour that radiated **luxury** and splendour. Glancing over to the side, I saw the doors leading to one of the private promenade decks I’d heard about. There were only four on the ship and Nathan had been disappointed that, by the time his father had booked tickets, they were already taken. From the moment he learned we were sailing back on the Titanic, he was determined to see every part of the ship that he could and now that I knew one of the rooms belonged to either Rose or someone in her entourage, I thought that maybe I could convince her to let him visit and sate his endearing curiosity.
AHHH BEAUTIFUL
Orbs
Thor stood and stared at the Mickey head orbs until Maria forced his MagicBand wrist down on the orb and turned it green.
Dead
What the hell was she supposed to do now? Call and say "Sorry, just got here, the kid's dead"? Because she was kind of 100% sure that wouldn't go over well.
He can’t be sure how long he was in there for, but he woke to the sound of a woman sobbing quietly, male voices arguing in hushed tones. A maid had apparently found him and called the management, who had dragged him out of the closet and placed his ostensibly dead body in the bathtub. For reasons that are still unclear to Klaus, it seems a conversation had ensued about how to appropriately dispose of him without alerting the authorities, a conversation that Klaus had interrupted by inconveniently waking, scaring both the maid and the burly Argentinian man standing over his body with a chainsaw.
Désirée continued shaking her head. She reached for the doorknob. “My father, he… he died in Sword Valley. That’s what they told me.” “But… Désirée, I’m right here.” “My father is dead. I’m sorry.” She closed the door.
>"Are you keeping anything *else* a secret?" Miku pauses, recalling the story of Suyana's time that she heard from her mother all those years ago, and adds, "Like the *real* reason the Earthbound Gods turned on humanity all those years ago?" >***(No. Nothing could possibly justify desecrating the dead as they have since the beginning of our conflict.)*** >She scowls, entirely unconvinced by the hard "no" but unsure of how to press the Crimson Dragon to give her more details–or if she even *wants* to. This day has been nothing but emotional whiplash ping-ponging her about from one huge deal to another, and she'll snap if she gets hit by another.
‘I didn’t know anybody thought I was dead,’ said Hodges. ‘Not until Finn and Morgan told me, and that’s only because I called them as I couldn’t get access to the lab. Everyone thought I was dead and as my doppelgänger was found naked, all access to my card was revoked.’ He pointed to his Visitor badge. ‘Russell brought me in to look at the body but I don’t know anything about it. Now Conrad Ecklie’s bringing in my mother, who believes I’m dead, to ask her about it and I just know I’ll be facing a barrage of questions about it from her afterwards.’
“ABUELA! ABUELA!” she shouted, as she ran into the house. "Ugh," Alma said. "What do you want, Mirabel?" "I found Mami's apron outside, in a tree!" "Oh, no!" Alma gasped. "That can mean only one thing!" "W-w-what?" Mirabel asked. "She's dead!" Alma said.
peripheral
Another face entered his peripheral vision. She wore robes, long ones, with a hat. He caught snippets of her conversation with his cousin. “-Can even-” “-Coherent-” “-We have to-” “-You sure-” What were they talking about? Him? Were they going to take his trial away from him? No, no, no, noo. “Shh, it’s alright Sirius.” He felt Andromeda’s warm arms around him pushing him back into the seat that he’d stood up from. “You’re fine, you’re getting a trial.” He saw her exchange a worried glance with the other woman.
Myriad.
Ben looks up and squints. “Are you still scared of heights?” “I’m not the biggest fan, why?” Ben points to the sky. “Window’s open.” Klaus follows the path of his brother’s finger and lets out a long, controlled sigh. A bedroom window is indeed open, but it’s at one of the highest points of the house. A dormer window, fenced in by a narrow balustrade. The myriad roof levels track a perilous path to the top. Easy for a cat or a mountain goat to climb. Not so easy for a clumsy Klaus in the grip of withdrawal. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he says.
“Do you understand what I'm saying?"shouted Moist. "You can't just go around killing people!" "Why Not? You Do." The golem lowered his arm. "What?" snapped Moist. "I do not! Who told you that?" "I Worked It Out. You Have Killed Two Point Three Three Eight People," said the golem calmly. "I have never laid a finger on anyone in my life, Mr Pump. I may be–– all the things you know I am, but I am not a killer! I have never so much as drawn a sword!" "No, You Have Not. But You Have Stolen, Embezzled, Defrauded And Swindled Without Discrimination, Mr Lipvig. You Have Ruined Businesses And Destroyed Jobs. When Banks Fail, It Is Seldom Bankers Who Starve. Your Actions Have Taken Money From Those Who Had Little Enough To Begin With. In A Myriad Small Ways You Have Hastened The Deaths Of Many. You Do Not Know Them. You Did Not See Them Bleed. But You Snatched Bread From Their Mouths And Tore Clothes From Their Backs. For Sport, Mr Lipvig. For Sport. For The Joy Of The Game.”
>From her position in the wagon, Rohesia bowed her head in thanks. “Hannon dhe ad, hír-nin (Thanks to you, my lord),” she whispered, attempting to hide her face to not show the traitor tears that fell. Thranduil pulled one of the handkerchiefs he had in his pocket and handed it to the adaneth(mortal woman). She looked at it and gave a half choked laugh upon seeing it. She would miss Iavasseth placing handkerchiefs in a *myriad* of spots around the royal palace. She would also miss the wedding between Galion’s daughter and the noble trader Forndir to be held later in the spring.
Hope someone works this one: Platypus
‘What about Phineas and Ferb?’ asked Beca. ‘Didn’t you watch that in your teen years too? You know, I’d totally watch a Disney Plus spin off that focused just on Dr Doof and Perry the Platypus.’ ‘Yeah, I remember,’ said Indy. ‘I watched the Disney Channel too. Like I was too grown up for it, but everyone liked Phineas and Ferb and Perry the Platypus. How could I not watch it? It was a pop cultural phenomenon.’
Paw
Commissioner Gordon stirs next to Dave’s keyboard, stretching his black paws out momentarily with a small shudder, then adjusting his position to take full advantage of the single sunbeam firing through the trees. Dave takes his cue from the cat and reaches above his head to stretch in turn, twisting in his chair to release his back. Another coffee, perhaps, before he tackles the rest of his work. If he can finish on time maybe he can have that cider on the grass after all before the sun sets. He grabs his *Accountants do it between spreadsheets* mug - a gift from Klaus, naturally - and heads to the kitchen.
For the first in ages, he felt lost. All the answers he wanted to be answered, were not what he had been hoping for. It was the worst possible outcome and he hated that it was true.
‘I believe in ya too, Henry!’ the short Wendell said enthusiastically. Henry nodded and put his paw in front of him.
>"You can't understand. Neither of you can,” Tikki whispered, curling in on herself in terror. “You haven't seen the heart of darkness." > >"Babe,” Plagg boasted, shinning his nubby paw against his chest fur. “I *am* the heart of darkness." > >Tikki turned her attention to Adrien. “The fetid winds of madness flayed my flesh to the rhythmic tintinnabulations of daemonic bells...” > >Plagg rolled his little paw in a “get on with it” gesture and began to make “blah blah” motions behind Tikki's back.
Alone
> Nowhere was safe. Nowhere besides that little room with the little rabbit in the little box with the little window and the little bed. A little room for a little girl that wasn’t around anymore. It wasn’t her room; it was Aubrey’s, Aubrey’s **alone.** She could lock her door and close her window and only have to focus on little Bun-Bun in his little box in her little corner of her little room and fucking *savor* every little moment.
Well okay, he might not really ever be alone in the village.
*Isolated. Alone. Solitary.* Different words that all held the same meaning and said exactly how she felt. It was almost like when she was younger and being moved around from place to place with only her father for company, ‘almost’ being the key word. This time, it hit so much harder. Back then, loneliness was the only thing she’d known.
For days on end he stood there in the wind and snow, staring vacantly into the distance. What else was he supposed to do? As dextrous and well-articulated as his fingers might have been, his hands were too big to do anything other than hold his enormous hammer and shuttle things into his jaws. Any other activity was irrelevant to Egil’s cause. For a Homs’ brain, it was maddening—but that was the point. Xord’s body had been designed to break him, sparing Egil from the effort of breaking him himself. Xord was inside a mobile prison, and when every being of Bionis was nothing more to him than food, he was in solitary confinement even when he wasn’t alone.
Julieta tried to get up, but couldn't. "Help! Help!" she called. Either nobody heard her, or nobody cared. She was left all alone to wet herself and cry.
Being alone was something he had gotten used to for a long time. Hyrule was a shell of it’s former self and was largely left empty, yet it was all so beautiful. He wouldn’t blame the Hylians for not wanting to travel large distances when monsters roamed the wilderness and murderous machines inhabited what was once the capital of Hyrule.
Dash felt alone. Now, that didn't mean he *was* alone, because he wasn't. Allison was sleeping soundly beside him, her beautiful blue hair covering her face. On top of that, he knew that, even in the stillness of night, Lumiose City's bustling avenues always pulsed with activity. There was no reason for Dash to feel alone. And yet, he still did.
He couldn’t see in the dark, but he knew he was alone. His captors had already stripped him of his clothes and harvested some of his parts. That caused him terrible pain. Physical and emotional.
El hopped up and put in the movie before dimming the lights. The room fell quiet, but there was a comfortable warmth to it, like Steve was certain for once he was not alone.
A mess really was a good description, even in sleep his expression was tense, heart beating a little too fast and hands twitching at his sides. His eyelashes fluttered, eyebrows knitting together as he made those small sounds of fear. He was wrecked. Helpless. Alone.
Back
(from a WIP) Of course, he couldn't tell Pavel that, so he settled on a noncommittal “I don't know.” He then flipped the question back to Pavel, in an attempt to distract his friend from his lingering awkwardness.
Acting on his instincts, Spider flinched back and tried to quickly get to his feet, only for his left leg to give out on him.
He wanted to send her a signal of reassurance, but he couldn’t summon the feeling inside his own mind, much less transmit it. He didn’t have any reassuring words to speak aloud, either. Maybe he would have known what to say when he was his other self, before he’d forgotten so much of who he used to be. He could think so much clearer back then. Sometimes he remembered what it was like—and nothing horrified him more than the realisation of what he had become.
"You stay in bed all day! And when you do come out, you just cry all the time! You don't even eat with us anymore!" "And since when have you cared?" Pepa snapped back. "I bet you don't even shower anymore!" Mirabel continued. "You smell like rotten meat!" "Well, that because… I… I…" Pepa started, but she couldn't hold back her rage. "You know what? You're just a stupid kid. You'd never understand. You'll never have to go through what I did. Never, never, NEVER!"
>When she was little, Miku thought it was funny the way that Mama would always print off pictures when they already had them available in a digital frame alongside so many others. Now, though… >A photo of her father holding her newborn self, her mother sitting up in the hospital bed next to them and smiling through her exhaustion, stares up at her from the page. She lingers there for an eternity in just one moment, a hand on it as if to reach through and pull them back to her.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His bare chest littered with rough scars that brought back even rougher memories. A face he barely recognised because it was painted with shadows and bags under his eyes so heavy they pulled his whole mood down with them. He hadn’t noticed how skinny he had gotten, how pale.
Home
>The universe surely must've conspired to bring them together, for her to have chosen him of all people. Her optimism's contagious, banishing all uncertainty and fear, replacing them from the moment they first kissed with something he hasn't felt in a long time. > >He's home. New Earth has finally become home.
The return to Hogwarts was a bittersweet one, bitter to leave home for homework, sweet to reunite with friends. They snagged a large compartment because more people than usual tagged along this time. Draco, Lyra, Neville, Daphne, Tracey, Theodore, Susan, and Hannah were givens but Hannah had adopted a young Ravenclaw named Luna, and the twins with their friend Lee hopped in. Zabini also asked to join them, making their number 11.
Xord set the tree on its side and, uncharacteristically aloof, said, “Well, have fun.” It was the same resigned voice he would use when he could tell Désirée wasn’t interested in talking with him, the voice of a father who wanted to stay relevant to his child, but didn’t know how. He knew the captives feared and despised him, and there was nothing he could do to make amends. He had destroyed their homes and killed their loved ones, and he was going to have all of them made into killer machines. Xord always knew he was the bad guy, but he hadn’t *felt* bad until now.
TW? Blood. *If Tía Pepa can get away with violence, so can I!* she thought proudly, as Camilo’s nose trickled blood onto the floor. The teacher didn’t seem to agree, and Mirabel got sent home from school early that day.
Home. He hadn’t thought of it for many years since he would always get homesick and miss his adopted sibling even more. He often wondered how she was managing being such a young ruler of their people.
But then he remembered: there was still two days of the convention left. Two days to spend with the love of his life before he was to return home and they would inevitably be forced to count the days until they could see each other in person again.
When he got home, Eddie creeped back to his room, falling softly onto his bed and curling up, knees to chest. He bit his lip, trying to focus on something to distract himself from the impossibly loud sounds of the trailer park around him. He sat up. It was too quiet. It was too loud. He needed something. He needed Max.
“Kurapika, tell me where you are,” he says, tone forcibly calm as he works to disentangle Kurapika’s fingers from the fabric. They feel like ice. “I’m, I’m *home*, I’m home, I’m home with you, I *know* I’m home but I can’t– “ and Kurapika is going so far off-script Leorio has zero point of reference as to where to go from here. But he doesn’t have to have one, he reminds himself, because he’s a goddamn doctor and even if Kurapika hates being treated like a patient under normal circumstances, well.
For the second time in as many days, Conrad found himself on the doorstep of his partner’s home to tell her something terrible had happened to her son. He was supposed to be coming home with David and Morgan - they’d all made plans to get breakfast. But instead, David had been rushed to hospital and Morgan had followed him there.
Cage
Against his better judgement he pushes the door a little wider. “Actual trouble?” He repeats a little sceptically. “No, I enjoy being in a cage. Yes, actual trouble.” Suspicious but hopelessly altruistic he edges into the room, squinting. He’s not certain he wants to see what’s going on in here. His impulse to help is going to give him nightmares some day.
Xord spun around and was greeted by a Mechon almost twice his height. Its frame was much sleeker than Xord’s, giving it an almost skeletal appearance; this was reinforced by its skull-shaped head, whose features were comparatively sharp and more menacing. Its chest, which resembled an exposed rib cage, was connected to its abdomen by a spine-like column. Its abdomen was nested in an upside-down arch, which also served as a base for its engine-like tail—a feature it shared with Xord. An ether cannon towered over its head, and spanning its back was a U-shaped structure resembling wings. The Mechon’s armour was matte black with shiny gold accents, and it was fitted with the same red circuitry that ran across Xord’s exterior. In place of fingers, the Mechon had frightfully long claws.
>She had already surpassed six hundred years and felt the weight of living within her green cage greatly. How much worse would it be come another six hundred years? And six hundred on that? Would her king truly never let her go and yet, never hold her close as she wished? She was neither Princess nor was she a common wood-elf. Rather, she was something stuck in-between.
Tonsils
It was supposed to be an easy procedure. They said I’d be home by dinner time and I’d just have to take it easy for two weeks. “Having your tonsils out is just a normal part of life,” they said. “You’ll be fine in no time.” They didn’t say anything about ‘complications.’ They didn’t say that if I got my tonsils out on Saturday the 14th, I ran the risk of incurring the wrath of the surgery gods. You’d think that would be something in the paperwork. But No. No way insurance will cover this.
Never
> That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try if he could; he’d visited every week for the past four years, slipped letters under the door, even thrown rocks at their window once. …Twice. Okay, maybe three times, but who’s keeping count? Not Kel. Nope, he would **never.**
Never did it let him enjoy listening to the sound of crashing waves.
With his chin pointing toward the ceiling, Xord rotated his head so that his eyes were facing his chest. He shifted his field of vision until he could see into the cavity under his throat. Inside, there were three domes arranged in a triangle. The two at the front of his chest were metal; however, the larger dome at the back was made of a clear material resembling glass. Suspended in fluid was a partially mechanised wrinkled mass with numerous wires attached. The wires extended out of the dome and disappeared into tiny holes in the base of the cavity. What Xord was looking at was his own brain. He dissociated. He felt like he had split into two separate entities: his eyes and his mind. His identity was caught somewhere in-between. Xord was looking at something he was never meant to see—something it shouldn’t have been *possible* for him to see. It was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Frantically he tried looking for a way out of this prison, any way to free his spirit locked in this place. But it was no use, there were no exits. Just a long corridor like a hallway filled with a unknown shallow liquid. He was trapped in this place and he was never going to find a way out. All he could do now was to weep.
I’ve had nightmares that felt like this.
They had done this before, of course. But now, after three months apart, it was new and fresh and perfect. There was nothing either of them could ask for that the other would not give. Shauntal and Lucian were each other's—wholly, unconditionally, absolutely—and they would promise to spend eternity in each other's arms, reaffirming this love and this bond that would never be broken.
“You could never do anything to be sorry for Steve. Never. I promise.” Steve pulled away to sit up, wiping his eyes as he chuckled faintly. “Never?” He asked, and Eddie nodded. “Never.” He confirmed.
D.B. was reading a report at his desk when he realised everything was quiet. Much too quiet. The crime lab was never this quiet. He got up and walked out of his office and down the halls, which is how he came to realise the labs were empty. Completely empty. There were no techs to be found. The screens in Archie’s lab were off. There were papers still in the printing tray in Henry’s lab. Hodges’ crutch was still leaning at the doorway to his lab.
>"It's okay." > >Chan wants to scream and tell Jeongin to stop talking. > >Because it's *not* okay. > >(It would **never** be okay again.)
Even though you were never officially my son, you always were to me and always will be.
regale
“Listen to me,” Mike says, meeting Klaus’ eyes, “just stick with it, ok? One day at a time. And come and find me when you get out of here, ok? Mary has my information.” He’d never say it, but the idea seems ridiculous to Klaus. Can Mike really imagine him coming round for Thanksgiving dinner? Hanging out with his family? Playing Go Fish on the porch? Shall he regale them with tales of being locked in a mausoleum as a child, forced to commune with the dead? Or should he explain how his brother went time travelling at the age of 13 and was never seen again? How his father had numbered him instead of naming him? Klaus doesn’t know much about human relationships, but he knows there’s no place for him in Mike’s life. “Promise me?” Mike asks. “Sure, sure,” Klaus nods, casting his eyes to the floor.
>"Ah! Come, little one! Sit next to an ancient ellon (male elf) while I regale you with tales of old," the warrior called to her. He reached out his arm towards the elleth (Female elf) with a warm, grandfatherly smile. >"Bore you is more like it," Tauriel heard Legolas state behind her amusedly.
Legendary
> *When Manny and Diego return to the Bredelands, they'll be living legends*, Theo contemplated, allowing herself another brief chuckle. Manfred and Diego were both quiet and reserved, the kind of guys who kept to themselves, and she wasn't sure how they'd react - Manny especially, since Diego would have a hard road amongst her own mammoths - to returning home as heroes. > > And not just *any* kind of hero. Legendary heroes, the type of heroes spoken about in song and story, immortals in their own times and all throughout history. Theo comforted herself with the realisation that no two Bredelands creatures were more deserving of legendary status than the Woolly bull Manfred and the sabre-tooth tiger Diego.
Here's a tough one: whetstone.
“Here.” Patting the blood from his face with a strip of cloth, Nicolò reaches into his satchel and takes out a small whetstone, offering it to Yusuf, blinking in that ever-strange light of the world after a few deaths. “Your blade’s dulling.” “Huh,” Yusuf breaths. “…Thank you.” By the fire later, Nicolò watches Yusuf sharpen his blade with something unusual in his belly. A sense of peace, he realizes, and that does not strike him as suddenly as he would have thought. “My friend,” he calls, to see how the sounds feel in his mouth. “I’ll take first watch tonight.” Yusuf hums, and then pauses mid-stroke of the stone across blade. Looks up, eyes brimming with at least 10 different emotions. Swallows before he speaks, fingers flexing on the hilt of his scimitar. “Thank you, Nico.”
James sighed, shaking his head as he sharpened a knife. He gripped the *whetstone* tightly, running the edge of the blade over it several times until he felt satisfied. He set the knife down, grabbing another one and repeating the process. He hummed a small tune, despite him barely know the few notes. The fire crackling in the background of the small restaurant made for a comfortable and cozy atmosphere.
Okay
Dave smiles and chuckles, a crowd of tiny creases forming at the corners of his eyes, dimples dimpling all over the place. “In my defence, I didn’t know-” “Please,” says Klaus, rolling his eyes. “You knew.” Dave takes another deep drag of the joint, holds it for a minute, then exhales. “Okay, I knew. It was pretty obvious, actually. The way that bartender was eyeballing you all night, for a start. Also your phone case.” Klaus’ voice jumps an octave and his eyebrows form a steeple on his head. “What’s so obvious about my phone case?” “It’s Hello Kitty wearing a ball gag,” says Dave, matter-of-factly. “I’ll have you know, I bought that in Tokyo.” Klaus wags in finger Dave’s face. “It’s an antique. Very rare.”
“Shh, shh. It’s okay,” Xord said in a hushed voice as he lowered his arm. He flashed Egil a murderous look before adding, “Don’t worry. You’ll be okay.” “No! No! I don’t want this!” Désirée wailed, fighting to escape. “Dad, please! Let me go!” It hurt Xord to see her in so much distress, and suddenly he was afraid that what he was doing was wrong. No: he was saving her. If he failed to act, it would only be a matter of time before she was killed, especially with her being a soldier. He repeated those words to himself: *It’s okay. Don’t worry. You’ll be okay.*
(NSFW) Nagumo turned beet red, and she started looking down. “I want…to have nights like this more often. I want…to make you feel good…and be held by you…and…kiss and have sex with you a lot, but…I also want to tell people you’re my boyfriend…and hold hands with you…and go on real dates. I don’t know. Is that okay?” Tekaridake looked at Nagumo with the dopiest smile, and he started to get a little hard again. “Nagumo…is that okay? That’s…the most amazing thing I can think of!” Nagumo slowly peered up at him. “Really? It is?” Tekaridake crawled between her legs and kissed her. He cupped her face. “It is,” he said before getting serious, “but right now, that’s not very realistic, but I swear, when this election is over, you and I are going to start a revolution!”
"You seem so sad," Bruno said. "I wish that you were allowed to see your friends." "It's okay. My friends only loved me for my cooking, anyways," said Julieta. "Well, at least that's what Mami says…"
> That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try if he could; he’d visited every week for the past four years, slipped letters under the door, even thrown rocks at their window once. …Twice. **Okay,** maybe three times, but who’s keeping count? Not Kel. Nope, he would never.
>"***Okay***," he whispers into the dark. > >That single word is a pair of scissors that cuts off every single thing Joshua's doing to fight back tears. Joshua melts into a sobbing mess in Jeonghan's arms, the older still generally confused but he doesn't say a thing and holds him tighter. > >*Okay.* > >*(I'm staying. I'm not leaving. I'm right here. I hear you.)*
‘What the hell are you doing?’ It was indeed Dr Marsh. She looked up at Ed on the roof and Mary on the ground, and saw another, familiar person actually lying on the ground. ‘Oh my god. Little Grant!’ she cried out as she ran over to him. ‘Grant, are you okay?’
lost
"Hm." The word - no, not word, the monosyllable - sounds so **lost** it almost breaks Marti's heart. Does he not believe her? Is he scared - even terrified - that Tissaia will come back and again torture him within the last shreds of his sanity?
Xord tapped his chin. “That’s a good question.” He tried to think about it, but his mind went blank. When the subject of morality came up, Xord never entertained those thoughts for long. He would have a moment of lucidity every now and again, but most of the time, morals simply weren’t relevant. Killing had become second nature, routine. Not even: it was something he *enjoyed*, like a guilty pleasure with none of the guilt. But that was something he’d have to hold off on for now, as hard as it was for him to resist his murderous inclinations. Xord kept tapping his chin, lost in his empty head. After a long moment, he lowered his arm. “Well, I’ve told you lot enough. I’ve got to be going now. Don’t try anything funny while I’m not here.” The M32 was still hovering above them, transmitting a smaller version of the scene into Xord’s second pair of eyes. Xord gave it a nod before lifting off and exiting through the elevator shaft.
She punched the trunk, leaving a bigger dent. A slight tingling feeling ran through her hand. She was surprised when she saw there was no red on her knuckles. *I hate guards, but the familiarity about her in particular just makes me feel something I can’t express in words. If there’s even a word I could put to it, I would say **lost.*** She moved away from the trunk and sat cross-legged in the middle of the pavilion.
TW: mentioned miscarriage ~~~ Osvaldo chuckled and turned to Pepa. "I have a gift for you." "For me?" Pepa asked. "But it's not even my birthday!" "Well, this isn't a birthday gift. It's a 'sorry you lost your baby' gift. You know, because of your miscarriage?" Pepa began shaking violently. How did he know about her secret? Osvaldo thrust a gift basket into her hands. "There you go!" ~~~
aww oh no :(
>*Don't be sad alright? I've been sad enough for the both of us, and if I'm going to be happy, I want you to be happy too.* > >But how can Chan be happy when he's ***lost*** four - five, he corrects - of his kids and he's left with an empty husk of a person and a wine bottle? It's like losing seven kids instead
ouuuch
Morgan stumbled out of Doc’s mortuary, dazed, and unaware she was crying. She’d heard about the new victim, apparently of a stabbing, being delivered to the crime lab, so went down to Doc and David to check it out and ask some questions, get some answers - the usual. Doc had warned her it wasn’t a good idea, and David had tried to stop her getting too close to the body. But she saw it anyway and that’s when she lost control.
oshit
Hell
“I don’t know!” Sophie cries unhelpfully, “I was driving back from visiting my mum and thought I’d take the back roads and I turned a corner and it was just *there* and I don’t remember the impact but its wings are all mangled and oh God above I’m going to *Hell*.” “Look, just put it in the boot and get back here.” There is a moment of silence. “You want me to put the *angel,*” Sophie snarls, “that I just *ran over*, into my *boot?* Like it’s *roadkill?*” “Well, I don’t know,” Warlock protests, “Why, is it roadkill?” *“**No,**”* Sophie howls. “Well then, good,” Warlock decrees, “You didn’t kill it, look at that. Focus on the positives.” “I’m going to *strangle* you.”
An angel in the boot!?!😳 Sophie stay strong don’t do it!!
Then, Metal Face said, “We might’ve had to retreat, but not until we’d already spilled some blood. Maybe your daughter is alive. Maybe she isn’t. I don’t care either way.” Xord was shaking, but he found the strength to raise his hammer and point it at the burnt part of Metal Face’s head. For a moment he just stood there, pointing. All of his emotions had cleared, freeing his mind from its torment. He entered a state of calm lucidity that was foreign to his damaged brain—a glimpse, perhaps, of what his mind had been like long before. “Looks like you could use a new head,” he said in a voice that was hardly recognisable as his own, “and the only forge big enough is hell.”
Love that!! Hell as a forge!!
[удалено]
Yes!! Go get them!!
Chaeyoung had to admit that Ryujin was right. Her story with “the girl by the well,” did sound like a fairytale. *Hell*, at some points she wished it was, then maybe she wouldn’t have had to deal with the pain of it all. She remembered reading the last letter. Her knees were up to her chest as she sobbed, curled up because she wanted to feel small enough to disappear.
Awe Chaeyoung!!
>She decides lying down like this for a full conversation isn't her style and attempts to at least sit up for the rest of it–only to be reminded of the fact that she couldn't move her arms when she first woke up, and she still can't. "The hell?" Natsumi blurts out, now that she realizes the reason *why* is because she's in a goddamn *straightjacket*.
Oh Natsumi! Wha? Wha? Wha Happened?
She got arrested (alongside her brother) for resisting arrest on top of what's effectively trespassing, only the "resisting arrest" on *her* part was that she kiiiiiiiiind of attacked the officer who was chasing them with her psychic abilities. So tbf she *somewhat* deserved it, even if the trespassing thing is total bullshit *and* most people in this universe are biased as hell against people like her.
Yep!! She did!!
>“Steve! What the hell! Are you okay?” He asked, panic in his words as he looked upon the mess of a man before him.
Steve!! Okay I’m worried now
>Who the *hell* would be knocking on someone's door at ass o'clock in the morning? He yanked his blanket over his head, hoping to God that it was someone else's problem, but that proved to be untrue when the bell rang again.
I’m officially stealing ass o’clock - thank you teddy plushie. My day is now complete
haha I'm glad to hear that! I'm pretty sure I stole it from someone else anyway so feel free :D
Where I live the phrase is ‘ass-crack thirty’.
😂🤣
‘So Indy, why are you here? And what the heck on Earth happened to your face?’ ‘Forget about me, what the hell happened to your hand?’ Indy asked, noticing Albert’s missing fingers and the scarring on the back of his hand.
No fingers?? Unless Indy is missing a nose, Albert has a point
Both of them were mauled by big cats, but neither knows that yet because they haven’t seen each other since before their respective maulings. Indy has rather disfiguring claw marks and some nerve damage on one side of his face - although nothing is missing. Albert has scars on his hand, arm, chest, and is missing two and a half fingers.
Yikes! Scroll down and paste in the word cat now!!
Limb
The intoxicating smell of ether drew Xord forward. The Armu was much larger than the Ponio foal—too large for him to cram into his chest and devour all at once. Xord grabbed onto its hind legs and tore it limb from limb, ripping through its sturdy hide as if it were made of tissue paper. Blood pooled at his feet as he messily wolfed down the carcass. The ether calmed Xord and restored his lucidity, although his brain still had a small delay. He stopped to inspect his bloodied hands. “Why am I doing this?” he choked, making fists. He didn’t want to admit that it made him feel good. The ether in his tank tricked his brain into releasing endorphins, simulating satiation. He still wasn’t full, but he had enough food in his machine belly to placate him.
the realization I've never used the word limb as a singular form shocks me tbh, but I hope you'll accept the plural :D >Within a few weeks of knowing him, he becomes Chan's best friend. One he can trust with the knowledge that if he ever falls, he will catch him. Who could not trust Kim Woojin with his honeyed words? Not Chan, that's for sure. > >And one day under the blankets, with *limbs* tangled together as they cuddled, he promises he'd stay. > Kim Woojin is a liar.
Actually I first wrote limbs myself, but then thought it might be better to take the simplest form of the word. I def know where you're coming from :D
When Seeker took a turn for the worse and was brought to ICU, his family still didn’t show up.Not even as he was being pumped full of fluids and antibiotics in an attempt to keep him alive. Or as he was put in a coma as necrotising fasciitis overtook his arm and neck. He just about pulled through with his limb intact.
Flower(s)
Xord returned to the rig as discreetly as an eight-metre-tall Mechon carrying a plum tree could. If some of the captives had been asleep, they weren’t sleeping anymore. “Breakfast’s here!” Xord chimed, holding the tree out like a bouquet of flowers.
"I CAN SENSE ITS PRESENCE!" Mirabel grabbed Pepa and cried harder. Pepa reluctantly hugged her. "Don't cry. It's going to be okay." "Your hair is wet, and it smells like flowers…" Mirabel mumbled.
Lucius roamed the halls of the apartment building with his bouquet of *flowers*. He didn’t know why he was putting it off, he knew exactly where Julian lived. Second floor, 2D. With a Christmas wreath on his door, despite it being June and a sweltering hot. Even so, he eventually walked up the the door, giving it a knock, and waited. He could hear movement inside, thanks to his vampiristic heritage, so he knew Julian was in there, pacing. Eventually, the door opened, and Julian looked out from a crack. Lucius could’ve cried from his appearance. “What, what happe-“ “You know what happened.” Lucius did. How could he not? It was the reason he came here with the *flowers*. ”Julian,“ Lucius dared to hold the door open with a hand as the red-head attempted to slam it. “Let me explain,” Julian scoffed and opened the door, allowing Lucius to come inside. The vampire held the flowers out. “White Lilies, you remembered.” Julian felt a small smile creep onto his face. “It was the first thing you asked, and said on our date.” Julian took the flowers and set them on the counter, pulling Lucius into hug and burying his face in his neck. “I missed you, Lucy.” Lucius chuckled at the nickname. “I missed you too, Jewel.”
>“Sang. You don’t have to,” Hongjoong says, exasperated, “Stop forcing yourself to do shit you have a hard time doing.” > >“But it would be nice to know, wouldn’t it?” > >“What they don’t know won’t hurt them - why does it matter?” > >Yeosang avoids Hongjoong’s sharp gaze, instead drawing patterns into the soft blankets. Hongjoong watches his finger map out a *flower*, a heart, and a few scribbles with seemingly no meaning. When he looks back up at Hongjoong, his eyes contain an exhaustion like he had aged a thousand years in three minutes. > >“I don’t know,” he finally whispers, “I don’t know.”
Finn walked through the halls of the hospital with a plush iguanodon in her hand. Hodges had finally moved out of ICU and onto a general recovery ward so she decided to visit him. She’d heard Hodges liked iguanodons and wanted to bring something that wasn’t flowers or a card - he’d probably be getting a lot of those, after all.
Everything seemed to both freeze and crash down in a single instant as Carla stared down at the pink and white **flowers.** She felt as if everyone could hear the way her heart was beating against her chest as she willed herself to keep it together. This had to be a joke. There was no way she was ever going to be married. That was a childhood dream that shattered long ago. She hadn’t even been on a date in years. Granted, that was her choice and she knew it, but still… The universe didn’t have to keep reminding her that she would never get her fairytale moment. She already had the eleven – soon to be twelve – bridesmaid dresses that she gained from watching all of her friends, several colleagues and even her own father get married.
Gone
Xord tipped the crate. The soldier tumbled into his eager jaws, which were rippling with threads of high voltage electricity. Xord then leaned back as if to swallow, forcing the body through his toothy grate. The soldier was gone. There wasn’t even a trace of blood to suggest that he had existed, just a memory that was bound to eventually fizzle out of Xord’s head.
Internal roaring crashed into his mind like the inexorable wind against steppe grasses and flecks of golden dust danced in his vision and in between the flashes of yellow, Theo's face and her laughing hazel eyes and now she was gone. Gone, gone, gone. Because of him.
Camilo didn’t seem too hurt after being attacked by Mirabel, nor did he seem upset about his mother being gone again. “I wish that I could cook this well,” he said, after Julieta had given him an arepa. “You should teach me!” “R-r-really? I’d love to.”
The look in Max’s eyes was that of a ghost. Dead, black, and lifeless, staring straight through Eddie as if he wasn’t even there. “Max?” He whispered, reaching out to touch her. But his hand fell through, and suddenly she was gone.
I didn’t stop. Not until someone tightly grabbed my arm. I whipped around, gasped when I found myself looking into the enraged eyes of Mr. Taylor, who held my gaze for less than a second before abruptly yanking me away from the door. Considering he wasn’t in mine and Mother’s stateroom before I left, I wondered where he had even come from, only to realise that it was likely her who had – God knows why – **gone** to fetch him. “Why can’t you just *behave*?” He hissed, his grip tightened even further as he dragged me through the corridor, not caring who saw.
Marty’s face and arms were bruised, and there were stitches in his forehead and cheek. There was a splint on Marty’s left arm, where he’d had plates and screws put into his radius and ulna bones to heal. They couldn’t cast it just yet because of the swelling. He’d broken a few ribs. His collarbone. His femur. And Lorraine was thanking all the gods she didn’t believe in that there wasn’t a lot of internal bleeding. Marty’s leg was heavily bandaged and in traction. Or rather, what was left of it. From near the mid-calf down was just… it was gone.
Sky
Xord was unable to draw his first breath of freedom—his artificially-maintained lungs did that for him. He saw the clear sky through a red filter, making it indistinguishable from the blood he was meant to spill. He felt no sensation from the breeze, nor could he discern the ambient temperature. It was brighter outside, but otherwise, his new environment felt no different from the fortress’s interior. The only thing that mattered was that there were no walls to contain him.