#para or drabble

[300foxholecourtt]

You said Jeremy got a knee injury!?

[starry-sophrosyne]

Is it maybe a little pretentious to have my persona be more.. god like? Perhaps- XD

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In one manner, Starry is a sovereign of the night sky, the stars at dusk. She watches over the world, spanning across several universes, and her domains resides above them all. She spends her time watching over the little people in their worlds, embarking on journeys, meeting strife, falling to love and loss. She does not instill fate, she simply watches, but she knows of what is to come. She does not exist to any of them, as a concept outside of their universe, the goddess of their gods. And yet?

In another manner, she is nothing. Nothing omnipotent or all-powerful about her, other than her regal/elegant looks. She is a big nerd at heart, kicking her feet and giggling at people's writings and aus. She may have curved horns and stars dotting midnight skin, but she is no more of a god than a human wearing a yellow poncho. She resides our with the community and has the niche ability to summon a blue martini glass that she can communicate through/physically embody if need be. Why? Comedic humor. XD /hj /silly

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Starry & Rosyne's designs :

----------- Self-Insert designs below ----------

Clique's Angel au :

Starry's TTOS au :

Swizard's maidpocalypse "au" :

[spectrien]

priv. && sel. nihlus kryik of mass effect. canon divergent && sideblog to @henosiis. written by kat

[ EXPLORING:. ] // living in the shadow of a legend. to die and not stay dead. loving your betrayer.

[xaspiringbeamoflightx]

Poison

Summary: Everything seemed have gone perfectly during the wedding Perhaps too well. After speaking with Toulouse, Tina becomes worrisome, moreso as the night goes on. James steals her away for a moment of peace and quiet. Here, they open some of the gifts left for them by guests.

Mentions: James ( @happiestjameshook ), Toulouse ( @beaumont-ague ), Mr Borovsky Trigger Warnings: Paranoia/ Anxiety, poisoning, drug spiking.

Somehow, by a miracle or some strange twist of fate, the wedding had gone on without a hitch. There hadn't been a problem in sight, not even from her friends, who had threatened to cause upset if she went through with the whole affair.

Tina was glad for it, frankly, and had been beaming for the entire rest of the evening. The socialising had been doing wonders for her ego, and then when she got tired of all that, she could cling to James for the rest of time.

She had mingled enough to know exactly who had arrived, and what they thought, and what the running gossip was to keep the guests entertained.

She knew about Toulouse. And his concerns…

Tina didn't mean for it to happen, but Toulouse's paranoia had rubbed off on her somehow. It crept up on her like a shadow, once hidden away in a drawer for safe-keeping and released by accident by a well-intentioned friend.

Mr. Borovsky's invitation to the wedding had barely been a blip on Tina's radar, after James had mentioned it the first time. Yes, he was a strange and unsettling man. Yes, she was under strict orders not to take anything to do with him at the hotel. But Tina could only assume that was because she was incredibly well-versed in annoying important people and making messes where she really ought not to. He wasn't to be meddled with and that was final… Didn't mean he wasn't allowed to have a great time with other important people from around town.

It wasn't even that Mr. Borovsky was there that had unsettled Tina.

It was the idea that rarely things were allowed to go right around here.

That every time something nice happened, something sinister followed.

Tina had been spiked before, she wasn't a stranger to it. She wasn't a stranger to disaster, either. Her mental health was shot to all hell and frankly the only thing— the only person who had managed to stick all the pieces back together was James.

The bonds on those pieces seemed to be threatening to come apart.

Henrik was at the wedding, with Terence stuck to him like a bodyguard. (Well, a skinny, less threatening bodyguard… Henrik's real bodyguards looked much more likely to do damage but they were easy enough to erase from memory until they suddenly weren't). He was still recovering for what seemed like months. Tina thought of Alice, that kid that had disappeared, and Adam, who had fallen so suddenly ill at a festival that no one knew what to do.

Hell, now that all these disasters were springing to mind, she couldn't help but think about James and the many horrible things that had befallen him since she had known him. His mother, his mental health… the attack by an apparent "old friend" that had left him for dead. The picture of James that night would forever be seared into her consciousness.

Tina had really tried her hardest not to think about it all night. There shouldn't have been any threat of danger (except the looming threat that it wasn't too late for Peter to do something). Everyone was being civil. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

James arrived before a spiral could begin and then they were off dancing for what felt like an entire night and then some. Here he was again, unknowingly holding the pieces together as he held her in his arms.

The night drew on and it seemed they had avoided all concern.

James pulled her aside for a moment alone to steal some heated kisses and whisper sweet nothings in her ears. Her heart was so full in that moment that she decided, then and there, that she would do anything for him. It didn't matter what. She had decided this many times before but now she really knew. Now she really understood the weight of it.

The pair perched on a bench. Nearby was a table, laid out with gifts that guests had brought for them. It seemed as good a time as ever to look them over.

A photo album, some fancy towels, a set of crystalline wine glasses and vouchers for a weekend at a really fancy spa in the next town over. Some had names, or cards, others did not. Amongst it all, a bottle of wine from the Red Orchard, distinct with its deep green glass against the delicate white tablecloth. Attached, an envelope, as black as a moonless night.

"To James, for you on this special night. Congratulations."

James had decided to christen the wine glasses by opening the bottle.

Tina was fixated on the letter.

A few things went through her mind.

First… why did that black envelope seem so important? Where had she heard of black envelopes before?

Second… it was very rude that the wine was only addressed to James, when they were both getting married. Shouldn't everything on the table be for both of them?

Third… third went back to the envelope. She looked at it a few times, turning it this way and that way in her hands. Why hadn't they said who it was from?

James was pouring the wine.

He had asked if Tina wanted a glass, but she hadn't really heard him and shook her head no.

An uncomfortable feeling found her stomach. In her worry, she had fallen silent. James might have been speaking, but she wasn't listening to a word he was saying.

Movement out of the corner of her eye - James lifting the glass - made her turn.

Finally, she managed something.

"I don't think you should drink that…" she said, quietly. James was close enough to hear, but her apprehension was palpable enough that she could not allow anyone nearby to hear it. Nerves, paranoia, and disaster shouldn't be three words associated with a wedding day.

The glass was already on its way to James' lips. Perhaps he hadn't heard her. She dreaded to think that he had ignored her concerns.

Tina Bell was famous for not thinking through the consequences of her actions. Why would that change now?

Just shy of his mouth, Tina's hand flew to cover the rim. Her other hand grabbed his wrist, stopping it where it hung in midair.

This should have been enough. Anyone else would have let it end there. A warning to be heeded, and nothing more.

Tina could not allow the worry in her heart to be filled with even a drop of doubt.

Before anyone, before even she could stop it, the glass was pulled from James' hand, brought to her own lips, and downed like a person lost in the desert, stumbling across a puddle.

Not a drop was left in the glass.

Not a breath was left in Tina's lungs.

Her eyes never left James', stubborn in her insistence that she was right and James wasn't to drink the wine. She had saved him!

There was a long, painful moment of silence.

It occurred to her in that time, while reeling from her quick decision, that she had given no explanation to James. The decision had to be made quickly, you see, for any time spent on explanations would simply leave more time for James to drink the wine.

"It's poison, James."

Poison.

Poison.

If he drank it, he might have died!

And she had saved him! Yes, how clever!

The glass fell from Tina's hand, landing with a gentle thud amongst the wildflowers at her feet.

[kodalindissima]

Minha alma é doce

pedido por fairyibo credite em caso de inspiração

[ifdimpeul]

★ CAPA DE FANFIC

para projeto pessoal.

minghao centric.

leia a história aqui.

[zkkaitopia]

OLHAR DOCE, uma drabble.

fique APAIXONADA por essa personagem desde que assisti ao filme (JUNGLELAND, 2019) e tipo eu meio que estou OBCECADA COM ELE. - versão pt-br da minha versão original, escrita em inglês [AQUI.]

Lion tem o tipo de olhar doce que você não espera de alguém como ele – um lutador de boxe que passa os dias treinando ao lado do irmão, lutando clandestinamente, se pondo em risco para conquistar sabe-se-lá-o-quê. Mas mesmo assim, mesmo açoitado pela vida difícil de quem cresceu órgão de mãe e abandonado de pai, tendo praticamente só o irmão mais velho como sua família, seu porto seguro, Lion mantém uma doçura no olhar que chega a esquentar o coração. Uma certa ingenuidade de um menino que nunca foi criança e que agora era obrigado a ser “homem”. 

Mas você o conhecia tão bem, que era capaz de lê-lo com sua alma ao olhá-lo com cuidado. Gostava de ter seu rosto machucado entre suas mãos, acariciar as feridas cicatrizando, beijar  a ponta de seu nariz, as linhas de expressão vincadas da testa, os lábios maculados pelas feridas e sussurrar que “tudo irá ficar bem”, enquanto seus doces olhos lhe penetram sua alma, meio cansados, melancólicos, mas esperançosos que no dia seguinte o mundo irá sorrir para vocês.

sério, já quero escrever umas mil fanfics com ele também!!!

[impcrios]

physician, heal thyself.

where: st. mungos. triggers: medical talk, loss of patients. mentioned: ted tonks @petrificusx . words: 817.

peter’s first day as a healer was a chaotic one, his morning started at 7:00 a.m. on the dot with other healer trainees with vials in one hand and their wand in another to use for pensieves later. peter had grown up in this hospital because of his mother, often being claimed as her shadows. when he had first walked in he recognized many healers as he had grown up with them, he remembers the feeling of their hands on his cheek saying maybe one day he would be here, too. it was everything that peter had ever wanted in a career, a step to follow his mother because she had done everything for him and always admired her and her work ethic. the first couple of hours of being a healer trainee had been stressful, and if his hands shook during any procedure his head healer boyle was kind and didn’t pay any notice. peter had worked so hard to be a healer at hogwarts, often pouring so many hours into his textbooks and asking poor madam pompfrey if he could shadow her when dealing with sick students. she had always said that she admired peter’s determination, but it would break a lot of laws if he did shadow her on his fellow classmates, but she did allow him to help with her medical inventory. when he thinks about those moments with madam pompfrey he can’t help but smile. 

peter had many cases that first day, but he seemed to thrive in the emergency department, and thought that was where he was meant to be when it came to healing, whether it was out on the field or right here in the center of it all with the sickest of patients. it had been a taxing first eight hours, and by the sixth he had lost a patient due to a misapparation with another person, the other patient was in critical condition, they had been fighting before the apparition, and no matter what peter and head healer on the case seemed to do, it just didn’t seem to work no matter what peter had tried. his head healer had told him that he needed to cut his losses, and that, sometimes, it just happens. 

head healer boyle had him go to the healer break room after his first loss of a patient, and by hour ten he was losing momentum and his feet were starting to hurt and already had to change robes twice due to being on creature induced injury wards. peter knew that he would lose people, he just didn’t think that he would get so attached. by the time the next team of people seemed to roll into their shifts his head healer had been switched out for a different healer, and when they introduced themselves, their name was ted tonks. peter had shadowed him for the rest of the day, and while nothing was ever tame, it was bearable having a competent healer who didn’t scream at him as they reprimanded him, but there was a gentleness there that peter hadn’t had the past ten hours before. the next four hours seemed to fly by, peter with vials in his pockets for a pensieve later,  trying to learn everything that ted tonks was saying to him, and by the end of his fourteen hour shift, ted and peter were in the break room, peter on the couch right next to ted, his head leaning against the cushion as he stared up at the ceiling thinking that he totally fucked up his first day of trainee healing before ted had presented him a lollipop. peter had taken it graciously, staring down at it before laughing, shaking his head. 

“i don’t think i know what i’m doing.” peter had eventually said. 

“no one does their first day of healing. you shouldn’t beat yourself up.” ted had said. 

“i lost two patients.” peter had sighed, overanalyzing the etiquette that he had gone about it, thinking that maybe he could have been more empathetic, more kind. 

“that’s just the job. you can’t take it home with you.” 

eventually, peter wouldn’t. eventually, peter would be able to compartmentalise what he could and couldn’t take home with him from st. mungo’s. he’d learn the art of caring and empathising, while still trying to live a balanced life, even with the war actually starting, peter thinks that he can carve a place in this world. eventually after his healer training, peter joins the emergency healer mediwix department and learns to thrive in its fast paced nature and environment. 

the future is unclear, eventually, there will be a day where peter doesn’t show up to work, and the prophet will claim that he’s dead. but for now, he heals, he thrives, he tries to stick by the muggle motto, physician, heal thyself. the rest is to be determined.

[dianynn]

A feiticeira - História Original✨🔮🪄

Christopher, um homem que acabou de se torna um aristocrata que está começando a entender sua nova realidade e quer aproveitar tudo o que a mesma tem a oferecer: mulheres, status, propriedades e dinheiro. No entanto, está interessado em estabilidade, mas, ainda sim, com estes privilégios.

Após a vitória de mais um Orobanche ( nome dado a um acontecimento em que uma nação descobre uma ilha e se apodera de todas as suas propriedades físicas e naturais, tornando-a território e explorando a sua personalidade para uso pessoal), coincidentemente no mesmo dia em que se tornou um nobre, é convidado para uma festa no palácio memorial de um dos homens mais ricos do país e nesta mesma festa, ele conhece uma mulher esfíngica, por quem se interessa imediatamente.

Em um determinado momento da celebração, algo desconhecido acontece, todos no salão principal ficaram paralisados. Somente Christopher conseguia se mover. Então ele viu novamente a figura misteriosa que havia visto no início da festa, saindo calmamente de uma das salas do palácio com um enorme sorriso diabólico nos lábios. E esse efíge é a mesma mulher que tinha despertado seu interesse.

Cristopher: Ei você!

A mulher misteriosa virou-se para ele, incrédula, e em questões de segundos ficou perplexa.

xxxx: Por que… você ainda está se mexendo?

* Design/Autoria: @dianynn✨🔮🪄

* Música da Fic: Jackson Wang - 100 ways.

[smileflowcr]

Visitar de vez en cuando su hogar natal y ver cómo ha crecido, recibir los saludos del pueblo y las reverencias tanto para él como para los pequeños que caminaban a su lado le hacía feliz, todo el rencor y miedo que pudieron sentir se había desvanecido. Sus padres amaban tener a los pequeños por el reino, corriendo y jugando a las escondidas con ellos o los sirvientes, o incluso cuando decidían tomar té en el enorme y colorido jardín que Hanbin ha mantenido desde que su poder se manifestó, encontrando una cálida felicidad al poder dar vida. Jimin ya podía estar de pie y corría sin parar, Sanjun la seguía para que no se lastimase pero terminaban cayendo de vez en cuando en el campo florido, alzando sus pequeñas cabezas ante la gentil risa de su padre omega. Junseong se quedó en el castillo para tratar un tema pendiente con los reyes del Cuarzo, así que él optó por distraer a los cachorros entre pétalos danzantes, al menos hasta que extrañen al dragón y quieran regresar a su lado. Hace una seña para que se acerquen al centro, riendo otra vez cuando ve al mayor llevar de la mano a su traviesa dragona, quien balbucea y extiende las pequeñas manos a las mariposas que los rodean y una vez est��n cerca, da unos suaves golpecitos al suelo para que se acomoden entre la naturaleza. “¿Qué les parece un cuento?” pregunta y no tarda en recibir unos suaves gritos de emoción y dos pares de iris brillantes. Hanbin les ha narrado historias reales endulzadas desde que están su vientre, tomando anécdotas que él o sus cercanos han vivido y en este caso, cree que es prudente tocar aquella sobre el poderoso emperador del Cinabrio. Su corazón se siente pesado pero no por miedo, sino por la reacción que tendrían cuando escuchen sus palabras y espera no llorar como sucedió con su preciada rosa.

‘Había una vez, hace mucho tiempo, un solitario niño destinado a sujetar el mundo en sus diminutas manos. Aquella criatura fue criado en un ambiente frío y cruel, valiéndose por su propia cuenta sin importa el dolor de sus lastimados codos y rodillas, siendo el único calor recibido aquel por otros niños de su edad cuando se encontraban a jugar, ajenos a lo que el futuro les tenía previsto. Pero al regresar a casa… debía abandonar esa efímera felicidad para ser más fuerte que nadie, ocultándose en la oscuridad, su verdadero ser. Allí, en la penumbra, se sentía seguro, se sentía él mismo, olvidando el malestar de sus heridas y sueños rotos.’

Echa un rápido vistazo a sus pequeños, quienes parecían confundidos por cómo ha iniciado el cuento, acostumbrados a iniciar todo con algún príncipe o princesa que desea viajar por el mundo. El omega hace crecer orquídeas a su lado, la flor característica de su reino y cuya esencia es parte de él. Los niños ahora parecían más tranquilos y podía retomar el relato con calma.

‘El niño creció y creció, volviéndose más alto que sus amigos, en alguien deslumbrante y poderoso. Aunque sus ojos seguían ocultando la soledad de su infancia, aún quedaba en su pequeño corazón una chispa de gentileza En su vida apareció alguien que, con sonrisas, logró ganarse su confianza sin esfuerzo, jurándole lealtad eterna. Sin embargo, todo resultó ser una mentira, una trampa cuidadosamente tejida… y que terminó rompiendo en pedazos su frágil corazón, aparentemente para siempre.’

Las extremidades sobre su regazo tiemblan un momento recordando la noche donde Junseong pudo contar todos los miedos que lo atormentaban, llorando en los brazos de la única persona que le demostró amor, que le permitió ser ese joven y herido príncipe sin ser juzgado. Siente el calor de sus pequeños, ambos volvieron a preocuparse pero esta vez porque su padre omega estaba dejando salir sus emociones y el aroma se tornó un poco amargo. Y para hacerles entender que estaba bien deja un beso en la frente de ambos, acompañado de sujetar las pequeñas manos entre las suyas.

‘El niño se convirtió en un hombre indiferente a los demás, conquistando tierras sin control, arriesgando su vida en las batallas en busca de poder, de status, de un título que lo protegiera de nuevas traiciones y heridas. Muchos le temían, otros intentaron enfrentarse a él, intentando detener su locura, pero nadie logró frenar sus pasos. Así, el mundo entero conoció su nombre: el nombre de un guerrero invencible, una entidad más fuerte que cualquiera, alguien capaz de acabar con reinos enteros en cosa de días cuando en realidad… seguía siendo un pequeño niño.’ ‘Como era de esperarse llegó a la cima, desde su trono veía todos los territorios a su merced y el estandarte propio alzándole entre bosques y montañas, entre ciudades y pueblos, en castillos ahora inhabitados. En lo más alto, el hombre encontró a alguien, un poderoso y sensible mago, capaz de ver más allá de su exterior y percibió en su interior al pequeño niño que deseaba sanar y ser feliz. Entre ambos comenzó a nacer algo, una magia única con la capacidad de salvar al niño latente en su interior. No obstante el destino volvió a traicionarlo, los miedos ocultos de sus pasado resurgieron y el lazo que los unía… desapareció, dejando tanto al hombro como su compañero con el alma rota.’

Hanbin logró superar aquella trágica noche, cuando perdió lo poco que tenía a manos de la persona que comenzaba amar, cayendo en un vacío de dolor interminable que lo orilló atentar contra su propia vida más veces de las que podía contar, dispuesto a cualquier cosa con detener sus latidos y estar junto al pequeño dragón que jamás conoció. Un murmuro de Jimin lo trae a la realidad, frotando su nariz con la de su bebé, recibiendo una suave risita a cambio.

‘El hombre seguía en lo alto de la cima, forzando una coraza más fuerte a su alrededor, no quería salir herido otra vez, sabía que no podría lidiar con ello. Lo que no sabía es que una vez allá arriba, le esperaba una larga, cruel y dolorosa caída en desgracia… sintiendo desdicha luego de tantos años de prohibirse experimentar algo más que euforia tras ganar una batalla. Algo le faltaba, las piezas de su fragmentado corazón quería reagruparse pero no podían hacerlo solo. La persona que intentó comprenderlo notó ese dolor y, aunque él mismo no podía recuperarse de la penuria, trató de tocar el alma del hombre, encontrándose con una sensación de tristeza pero también amabilidad, ternura y una pizca de esperanza, pues si escuchaba atentamente aún podía oír al niño en el hombre, pidiendo ayuda. El mago, sin esperar nada a cambio más que una sonrisa, reparó el centro de las emociones del hombre. Y esa sonrisa, una sonrisa sincera que no había visto la luz desde su transformación, hizo que el mago llorara de alegría. Notó cómo el niño comenzaba a surgir entre las sombras que lo acunaron durante toda la vida pero ahora estaba dispuesto hacer las cosas bien con el poder que mantenía… y deseando amar a la persona que lo rescató de la eterna soledad.’

Los iris rosado comienza a picar, una clara señal que las saladas lágrimas estaba brotando, cayendo sobre su ropa o sobre la tierra, de esta última comenzaban a crecer pequeñas rosas de color rojo, su color favorito, el mismo que amó, odió y volvió amar cuando el vínculo entre Junseong y él se había restaurado en el jardín del Edén.  Sanjun no tarda en ponerse de pie y abrazarlo, Jimin lo sigue y como es más pequeña logra meterse en medio, ambos son rodeados por los delgados pero protectores brazos de su Hanbin, quién está sobrepasado por las memorias de su juventud, de las noches pensando que lo mejor era morir hasta desear conocer al verdadero dragón de ojos rojos, entregándole su corazón otra vez y para siempre.

“El hombre y el mago se casaron, tuvieron una linda familia y aunque muchos no estaban de acuerdo con el hombre, al ver la gentileza del mago… comenzaron a creer en un futuro mejor… y todos vivieron felices para siempre, fin.” Seca su rostro con la túnica rosada que lo distingue entre el prado, abrazando una última vez a sus cachorros, marcándolos con su dulce esencia a orquídea y jazmín, trasmitiéndole de esa forma que ya estaba mejor. Luego se pone de pie y mira hacia el palacio, divisando a su esposo en una ventana preocupado, al parecer se percató que estaba llorando y no quería que mal pensara la situación, por lo que le sonríe de oreja a oreja antes de regresar la vista a sus hijos, uniendo las manos nuevamente. “¿Qué tal si regresamos? Echo de menos a su padre y estoy seguro que nos extraña también.” Es sincero, sintiendo el rostro sonrojarse con la idea de ser sujetado por su alfa y recibir besos en los labios. Así es como inicia el camino hacia la persona que ama, por quién daría su vida o salvaría las veces que sea necesario para apreciar la felicidad en el rostro de su dulce y gentil dragón.

[balladetto]

     Once, when Link was even smaller than he feels, he'd knocked his shoulder out of its socket in a terrible fall.

     Terrible in that he'd cried about it, ashamed and at the then-height of pained, not that it was a particularly horrific tumble. He'd just landed wrong, he remembers someone telling him — frantic and almost apologetic in their reassurance. Too much has happened for him to reconstruct a face for the memory, but Link can still recall the stutter in their words. You're g-gonna be okay. Y-you're gonna— gonna be f-fine.

     And he was. Someone had gone to fetch a healing fairy while others came to keep him company. It'd been the right shoulder, burning at the joint and numb all the way down to his fingertips, but he'd found a spot of hurt he could grit his teeth through; then breathe through; then eventually speak through. By the time the fairy was brought over, Link had been so deep in the rhythm of holding himself together that he'd nearly slapped her away when she broke it.

     He remembers her, he thinks, the most out of everything. There's a distinct clarity associated pain will give you with any recollection. She was rose-pink, a little darker than he was used to, and she'd bristled when he whimpered through a fresh wave of tears and pushed at her with his pinky.

     "Stop that," she'd said. "Bones aren't easy, you know. It'll only hurt for a pinch, it has to for me to fix it. You're already being so brave! Can't you be brave a while longer?"

     Outside the memory, Link lays crumpled on cold tiles, eyelids like crushed butterfly wings and the cave of his chest barely moving as he looks up and up and up. He thinly wonders, for a fixing like this, how long he'd have to keep being brave for.

     Neither of his shoulders took the landing this time, but he knows many things are wrong with both of them. By extension, many things are wrong with all of him. He should take stock, a part of him understands. He'd like to take stock, another part realises, if only he had the capacity to. Each breath shifts the slivers and splinters his bones have shattered into. Agony twists through every vein like a replacement for the blood he imagines paints his trail from platform to windows to the far below floor. He can't feel his fingers, which twitch as if to grip something — his left hand, mangled, rests as if in graveyard dirt.

     There is no amount of searching in this sea that will land him in a place where this might be bearable.

     "Link!" Navi yells, a trilling bell that drowns out the sound of dying. His heart threads an extra thump, like he still has it in him to be scared alongside everything else, before it fades back into a whisper of a pulse. She wheels above him in panicked, powdery circuits: hair to boots and back. "Get up! You have to get up!"

     He does. He does have to. Link doesn't get to think he's gonna die now. He doesn't get to be tired enough — small enough — for that. He draws a rattling inhale, head practically cracking open with how the air presses against its seams. He's sixteen. The world will end if he's nine. He's sixteen, sixteen, sixteen.

     He chokes on liquid rising in his gorge, coughs it up, and closes his eyes when gravity brings the blood down in blotches on his skin. It's— really gross, and that's such a mundane thought in the face of what he has to reckon with that his chest starts spasming with strangled laughter instead.

     "Link!"

     Navi, he replies in his head, 'cause that's all he can do. He traces over more names: Sheik, Zelda, Saria, the Sages, the Kokiri, the list goes on as his voice dips into hitching, searing gasps. It's an awful thing to realise — that's all he can do. Link has to get up, has to be Courage, has to be more than what he is.

     And he can't.

     Sound drifts down from above, mocking. Cruel. It's a laugh getting louder and louder, and Link prises his lashes apart with the sheer will borne from a unique dread. A kind of fear, if you felt it not in sensation, but in the dizzying spiral that is the certainty of where this will all end.

     A kind of fear — and a kind of fury.

     Link is nine, thrown to the ground, battered and muscles stinging with a magic he tastes as something crackling on his tongue. He glares up at the tall man on the tall horse, smouldering so brazenly with protective, frustrated outrage that he shakes with it. He is not unafraid of the sneer that answers him, but he does not look away.

     Link is nine, broken over the ground, near dead and stuck in a body he's tried to make his. His eyes are cold as he watches Ganondorf descend, burning with tears dyed red from failure. The brand on his left hand glows, resonating with a magic he no longer has the nerves to feel. Navi doesn't leave. There are a thousand things he wishes he could scream.

     Large fingers fold around the wrist of his gauntlet, deliberate in their ignorance of the softness a joint that bent must be afforded. As his arm is lifted, the pain dragged along every passing second like some horrible, continuous song-note that eclipses even his fears, he pretends none of the noises coming from him are his and thinks everything that could mean: I hate you.

     He thinks everything that could mean: I'm so sorry.

     The man raises his other hand, palm closing in, and Link forces another entire earth on the child he can't be even here — even now. He does not look away. Navi, oddly muffled, rings something wordless.

     Link waits for the end of this story.

[mikrokosmcs]

                                                                                          Hijo  de  la  luna                                                                         Y  las  noches  que  haya  luna  llena                                                                       Será  porque  el  niño  esté  de  buenas                                                                                         Y  si  el  niño  llora                                                                    Menguará  la  luna  para  hacerle  una  cuna

                                                                        / / /

Hay  frío,  en  las  plantas  de  los  pies,  en  las  palmas  de  las  manos,  en  la  nieve  que  se  remolina  en  el  cabello  cenizo  y  en  las  largas  pestañas  rubias.  Hay  frío  que  recorre  desde  los  pies  hasta  la  punta  de  la  cabeza,  que  en  el  inmaculado  traje  de  blanco,  dorado  y  turquesa  que  entallaba  perfectamente  cada  zona  de  su  cuerpo,  asemeja  a  una  criatura  de  cuentos  de  hadas,  aquellas  que  nacían  del  poder  de  la  inmaculada  nieve  que  cubría  el  palacio  como  una  manta  o  del  platinado  poder  de  la  luna  en  el  horizonte  dibujada  con  detalle  en  gris  y  luminiscencia.  Como  un  juego  de  niños,  la  música  inundaba  el  salón  de  baile,  piedras  preciosas  que  adornan  las  muñecas  y  las  orejas  de  refinadas  damas  y  elegantes  caballeros,  las  máscaras  confeccionadas  perfectamente  para  cada  tipo  de  rostro  y  que  le  daban  el  misterio  necesario  a  la  socialización  innecesaria.  Vestidos  con  volantes  danzaban  en  crescendo  conforme  la  música  aumentaba  su  volumen  y  perdía  la  delicadeza  del  vals  inicial.  

Hay  frío,  el  príncipe  de  cristal  puede  sentirlo  debajo  de  sus  guantes,  donde  las  palmas  parecían  no  ganar  color  ni  calor,  una  imperiosa  necesidad  de  correr  y  esconderse  burbujea  en  el  centro  de  su  estómago.  Hay  ojos  sobre  él  como  si  fuese  una  presa,  hay  manos  que  le  invitan  a  bailar  tal  cual  se  tratase  de  un  manjar  que  nunca  han  probado  y  desean  consumir;  hay  demasiadas  risas  que  parecieran  son  burlas  a  su  persona,  voces  que  suenan  como  si  estuviesen  dentro  y  no  fuera  de  su  cabeza.

                                                            Hay  frío  y  él  quiere  huir.    

Los  pies  se  le  sienten  ligeros  cuando  se  gira  sobre  sus  propios  talones,  buscando  la  salida  más  cercana,  encontrándose  enclaustrado  rápidamente  en  una  jaula  de  oro  donde  el  frío  es  su  único  compañero,  al  menos  hasta  que  brazos  largos  se  enredan  alrededor  de  su  cuerpo  y  le  presionan  contra  un  torso  firme.  El  suelo  debajo  de  sus  pies  se  vuelve  cristal  y  sobre  sus  cabezas,  en  la  cúpula  más  alta,  se  resguarda  la  luna  que  velaba  por  su  seguridad,  noche  tras  noche,  observando  en  ese  momento  el  encuentro.  Es  una  calidez  que  no  había  experimentado  antes,  como  el  caldo  de  una  sopa  en  un  día  de  invierno,  como  una  manta  limpia  que  te  recibe  en  el  calor  de  su  cama.  Hay  una  respiración  cercana  que  erizaba  los  vellos  de  su  cuello,  siseando  en  su  oído,  invitándolo  a  unirse  a  él  en  una  danza  desconocida  para  el  príncipe  de  cristal  pero  que  despertaba  un  calor  que  había  creído  extinguido  en  su  cuerpo.  Había  ojos  sobre  él,  pero  era  los  que  deseaba.  Había  manos,  pero  era  las  que  añoraba  cada  noche  cuando  los  parpados  se  volvían  pesados,  había  palabras  de  promesas  dulces  y  añoranzas.  Hay  calidez  que  recorre  desde  su  cuello,  bajando  por  su  garganta  y  manchando  la  tersa  piel  de  sus  clavículas  y  la  tela  de  su  traje.

                                                            Había  calor  y  deseaba  quedarse.    

Las  extremidades  de  su  cuerpo  pierden  capacidad  de  función  y  se  desvanece  entre  brazos  fuertes  que  le  sostienen  cerca,  que  le  maldicen,  que  le  envenenan  desde  la  herida  de  donde  brotaba  la  vida  y  el  carmín.  El  color  turquesa  de  su  mirada  vuelve  a  alzarse  hasta  el  cielo,  donde  la  luna  aun  le  observaba  y  una  sonrisa  surca  sus  labios  como  si  fuese  divertido,  como  si  fuese  lo  que  hubiese  deseado  luego  de  tanto  tiempo  encerrado.  Ahí  estaba  el  color  blanquecino  derramándose  como  lágrimas  sobre  él,  llorando  el  astro  reina  la  pérdida  del  príncipe  de  cristal  ante  un  pecado  que  ennegrece  su  entorno  y  le  hace  caen  en  el  sueño  más  profundo  de  todos,  despertando  una  hambre  abrumadora  que  consumía  sus  órganos  desde  dentro  hacia  afuera.      

                                                            No  hay  frío,  no  hay  calor,  solo  oscuridad.

[vartouhix]

new tags.

[xaspiringbeamoflightx]

Alexa, play Bring Me to Life by Evanescence

Summary: After 2 weeks experiencing the worst nap of her life (see: coma), Tina finally wakes up.

Mentions: James ( @happiestjameshook ) Trigger Warnings: Hospital, death, poisoning, drugs, panic attack (described as happening), sedation. Tina is very distressed, so please read with caution.

First, there was a light.

And then it went out.

A haze of unfamiliar vibrations; colours, sound. Voices without a face, or words. Places with no names. Grotesque distortions, a cacophony of everything. The feeling of being small. Of flying. Of falling.

The dreams were unpleasant in their realness, feeling very much like they had happened and were replaying as memories, more than fantasy. They went along with searing headaches, heartaches and emotions so intense it felt that they may be the only thing she would ever feel again.

The light was lingering, but barely.

A rhythm, suddenly, pulsing in her ears. The clapping of hands, over and over, from everywhere and nowhere. Pulsing. Beating. Beeping.

Beeping…

Beep…

Beep. Beep.

Incessant beeping.

And light again. Blinding.

So bright, too bright!

The dull ache of consciousness found Tina before she had time to understand it.

It was slow to arrive, but quick to hit her.

In an instant, it was on top of her. The bright lights of something, like direct sunlight in her eyes, and sounds and smells and a heart that wanted to jump out of her chest and the beeping getting faster, faster, and she was upright and swirling and breathing, breathing too much, too quick! Her body felt wrong and what was this thing that was sticking to her?!

Run, get out! Go!

But she didn't know how, she was tangled, and could barely move, hardly see. She felt green and swallowed it.

Words had fallen from her mouth but they didn't make any sense. This didn't make any sense!

"Miss Bell, it's okay," someone said, entering from a door she hadn't noticed. Their hands tried to move her but instinct wouldn't allow her to let them. She tried to sit, to roll off the high something that she was laying on. Her feet were freezing, dunting off the metal frame of the hospital bed, never reaching the floor.

"I died!"

"Miss Bell, you didn't die. I can assure y—"

Her eyes were the size of saucers, with two large black olives in the centre, consuming the delicate blue of her iris almost completely.

"I did! I remember it!"

Tina latched on to the nurse's scrubs, pulling them closer, a desperate plea.

"My light went out."

She spoke with such seriousness that the nurse would have been inclined to believe her had they not been the one updating her chart since bringing her to the ward.

"It was poison. In the— In the…" Tina drifted. From the outside, it appeared very much like she was trying to remember something. Something suddenly wasn't adding up. Medicine, she could remember. Poisoned medicine. But that wasn't right. Was it? No. No, it was wine… But the wine and the medicine seemed so distinctly different in her mind. From different times, different places.

"And—and— there was clapping! But I did, I swear! I was as good as gone!"

By now, another two members of the nursing team had entered the room, alerted to the commotion coming from the once painfully silent room. They were prying her shaking hands from the nurse, trying to console and distract.

"Miss Bell," the nurse tried again, when their neck was no longer at risk. "I know this must be very confusing and frightening for you, but you have been… asleep for a few days. Nothing more."

"No! But I—" It was becoming quickly apparent that Tina had no idea where she was. The nurses struggled to bring her back on to the bed. She made a thankfully thwarted attempt at tugging out the venous catheter from her arm. Her eyes darted around the room, like the entire place was a foreign concept. "Please let me go!"

Her plea was ignored as the nurses continued trying to lay her back down. The incessant beeping from a nearby bed mixed with the wild, high-pitched beep of the machine beside her own, going faster and faster as Tina's heart beat took over every other feeling in her body.

Tina had known panic. She had known fear. Hell, she had known a bad fucking trip. But now it seemed it was consuming her with such intensity that her ability to reason was gone.

Her brain flooded with thoughts that didn't feel like her own, memories from something or somewhere else. Nothing was clear, except for his face.

They finally had her sitting back against the pillows, taking the sudden silence as their opportunity.

Finally, an old habit returned.

Tina hands, in their nervous habit, looked for something to fidget with. Left hand. Finger beside the pinky. A ring.

She looked down at her hand, turning it over and over. A different sort of panic seemed to take over, one not concerned with death.

"Where's my ring?"

Her emotions swung violently somewhere else. Nose turned pink, ears turned red.

Then… something else came to her mind. Something that felt so incredibly real that she had no doubt about it.

Tina knew where she was. She knew the burn in her nose caused by clinical cleaning products, the sting of fluorescent lights even when the world outside lay in darkness. That incessant beeping was incessant because she had heard it before during one of the worst experiences of her life. She had been in this room before!

Two images of the man flashed before her eyes. One gentle, one not.

One who loved her.

One from a terrifying dream.

"Where's James?!"

Tina, so tunnel visioned in her pursuit of escape and answers did not see the other nurse near the drip, or what he put in it.

The world felt heavier.

"James is in the bed right next to yours, Tina," he said, softly, nodding in the direction of the steady beeping of James' heart.

Of course, Tina tried to get to him but putting up a fight suddenly felt so difficult, limbs weak and brain fuzzing over.

"Uh-uh-uh… you can see him when we get you sorted. He isn't going anywhere fast."

Finally, she was laying back on the bed, breath hitching, tears streaming.

Inconsolable.

"We'll get the doctor to come around to check you over once you've had time to adjust to being awake again."

[flockrest]

ordinary monsters / accepting / @gloryseized ( Link )

     The stars-damned thing is, it'd been his idea.

     With his health improved to an extent where not even the flock's healer or apothecary could honestly say anything against him finally picking up his bow again, Revali returned to aerial archery with the alacrity of someone starved to near death of it. Working to realign his skill with his ken was fulfilling, if also frustrating — in no small part due to those same worrywarts. They couldn't convince him to allow his abilities to languish any longer, but they could certainly convince any willing warrior to decline his requests for bouts with the maddening supposition that he had anything left to recover from.

     Well, any willing Rito warrior.

     He dives at Link, anticipating the shield that rises to meet his talons and rebounding off it with a force that carries him back to the skies and shoves his rival into a stagger. Revali's behind him now, in prime position to strike when he's exposed and busy steadying himself. As he nocks a trio of arrows and aims, the thought flits into place with the lightness of a passing breeze, tinged with a satisfaction found only in the flow of battle — even with the stakes as low as a spar's: he can't miss.

     Then it lingers.

     He can't miss.

     He can't miss.

     A sudden desperation sprouts in his chest, in tandem with the burning that flares in his left side where lesions old-and-new lay. His breath snags somewhere in the depths of his lungs, his heart — already quickened by exertion — pounding a nigh agonised rhythm as the Windlines tear out from his grasp. Faced with the abrupt dread that he's stalled for too long; a certainty he feels in his bones that he's going to be shot down any second now; a memory his body, for all its age, can't forget despite his efforts in restoring it to this point, in building up the strength to simply draw his own bow again, despite everything—

     He doesn't miss — only because he doesn't fire.

     He has the wherewithal, at least, to ensure he doesn't fall flat on his tailfeathers ( or worse, his beak ). But the damage to his pride is done: as soon as he lands, hunched and left leg threatening to buckle completely as though still rent from wounds dealt a century ago, Link is approaching with an expression he wishes he couldn't see.

     "Unless," Revali grits out, remiges still clenched around a strung bow. He latches onto the indignation of being pitied, forcing words where his breaths continue to elude him, "you're coming to strike me down, step no closer."

     In another time, something like that might've been enough to have the Hylian withdrawing. Here, it merely keeps him at bay. It does not stop Link from sheathing his equipment or poising his hands to speak, and Revali — in a move he immediately feels a sharp sting of regret for — turns his head away with shut eyes. It's horrifyingly juvenile.

     He pushes through an inhale, then another, before he's blinking his eyes back open and slowly straightening. The weight of humiliation, coated with an additional layer of self-contempt, sits on his back like newly scored scars. Whatever Link said or didn't say, his saving grace is that he seems to understand just how poorly it'd be received; his hands have dropped into rest by his sides.

     That blasted expression hasn't left his face, though.

     "Enough," Revali snaps, with such venom that his shoulders heave. A grievous mistake: his wingtips, alarmingly, lose their hold on the arrows he failed to release. He twitches — and refuses to look at them as they clatter to the ground, as if ignoring a pathetic blunder of those proportions is possible. "I'm fine."

     Silence. Nothing. It's exactly what he hoped for and exactly what makes the feathers by his neck bristle. He opens his beak, another snarl swelling in his throat, but Link's hands suddenly lift.

<< Your wings are shaking. >>

     Revali pauses.

     His instinctive response is one of denial. It's also one that would only prove Link's point. He clacks his beak closed, gnashing on an inability to say otherwise, because the trembling — even as he tightens his grip on his bow and rolls the pinions of his other wing into something like a fist — doesn't stop.

     It doesn't stop.

     "—A miscalculation," he says, brushing the unwelcome observation, the entire debacle, aside with half of an unwanted truth. He pitches his voice louder, firmer, an attempt at distracting. "It's been, as you know, a while. You will have to bear with my recovery — or is that beneath you?"

     ( Still, it doesn't stop. )

[ariana-cruz]

Summary: Aria hands over the information given to her by Lincoln, to Rio. Exposing The Enterprise organisation as those responsible for the town wide disasters and murders, along with names of those inloved. Mentions: Lincoln, Sully & Devante Riley. The Enterprise Organisation. The Son's of Silence.

A: "You got here quickly." Raising a brow as she opens her door, she steps aside to let him in. Having called him only twenty minutes ago to say she needed to talk to him sooner rather than later, there was a part of her that hoped for later.

R: "I was around, and it sounded important, color me curious." With a shrug, Rio ventured into her living room, waiting politely until she gestured for him to take a seat. Watching with a creased brow when she wandered off and returned with a bottle and two glasses, it wasn't difficult to see that something was bothering her.

A: "It's important," she confirms. "And heavy, so I need you to hear me out, listen carefully, and at the end of this, I'm going to ask you to make a deal with me." Sitting down, she looks him dead in the eye. "This is your fair warning that once I tell you the first part, you're going to both want and need to know the rest, and the only way to get that from me is a deal and your word that you will honor it." Never more serious than she was right now, she wanted to be very clear, knowing that he never cared much for those who beat around the bush. Knowing him to be a man of his word, all she could do at this point was take a leap and trust him.

R: "I appreciate the transparency, even if it is clearly very... trap-like." Rio curled his lips into slight amusement, figuring that she knew fine well it was exactly that. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how he felt about not knowing what kind of deal she expected him to agree to. But did he have a choice? He knew her well enough to know he'd get nothing out of her without agreeing or giving his word, so almost reluctantly, he nodded. "Alright, 'Ria, do your worst, tell me the first part." With a small gesture and a vague smile, he sits back in the chair. Resting his arms on the sides and a foot on his knee, patiently waiting to hear what she had to say.

A: "Okay," picking up her glass, she knocks back a drink and takes a breath, already feeling like her skin was crawling. There was no predicting how this was going to go, not even she could pinpoint an outcome and honestly? It made her nervous in a way she really wasn't used to. There wasn't just one man's life on the line here, but an innocent child in the middle - one who would be left without his only guardian if she couldn't swing this the right way. "I know who's behind the attacks. Enrique's murder, the bomb at the biker festival, it's been the same people behind everything." Not even taking a breath yet, she adds, "I have names and information you need to know exactly who has been trying to ruin you." Swallowing thickly, she stops there, as already stated, she wouldn't continue without getting what she needed out of this.

R: Since he'd taken a seat in here, Rio had no doubt at all that whatever it was Aria had to share, it was important. Naturally, he'd formed a couple theories, but what she revealed was not one of them. The same second she told him without a waver in her voice that she knew who he'd been after for over a year? It made him sit forward, resting his elbows on his legs as he studied her for any hesitation. When he didn't see any, he took her at her word, just as he always had. "I'm listening," of course he was, "state your terms, cariño." Offering her the floor yet again, he knew that she wouldn't say anything more until she got what she wanted, she'd told him as much. But given the gravity of her half confession, he was pressed to think about anything she could ask that he wouldn't give her just to get the rest of the information.

A: "The person who told me about this is a part of this group. He told me because he wants it to stop, because he never agreed, knew, or signed off on executions, attacks and body counts. Rio," Aria also leans forward, wanting to really level with him and ensure that he sees how serious she is. "He knew nothing, and when he found out, the guilt rattled him enough to tell me." Okay, so maybe that was a tiny white lie, in the sense that... Lincoln did know, a long time before she did. But at this point, Aria was trying to save his life, and this was the only way she thought Rio would even consider it. "My terms are simple. You spare him, his child, his brother. Keep their names out of it as much as you can, and dismiss them if or when they get brought up. I'm talking full immunity here, I want your word that you won't come after them, that you'll tell your crew they're not the ones you want." Because that was true, after all. "... And in turn, they'll leave here. They won't come back, you'll never hear from them again. I give you my word on that. And I only ask that you remember who I am, remember that I'd never protect someone who was a part of the reason so many people have suffered." She hoped to god that counted for something, that Rio understood her enough to know it was true.

R: Dark eyes remain focused and unflinching, finding her request to be quite simple to ask, but perhaps not so simple to fulfill. "Why you?" He wonders aloud, though once he said it, he fitted the pieces together. If this group knew about the gangs, of course, they knew about their connections, but that wasn't what niggled at him the most... "I know you realise how much you're asking of me here, the risk you're taking," just by telling him and not knowing if he'd agree. "I've got to know you quite well over the years, Aria, well enough to know that there's usually two differing opinions on you. People who think you're scary," he smirked, "and cold, probably quite mean. And those who see you in your element, the ones who come to you for guidance and get exactly that. The people who know that you have a heart a lot bigger than most know. That's why I feel quite safe when I assume you're talking about someone you care for personally - maybe even love." Rio lifts a brow, deciding not to say the name, but letting it be known that he did think it was none other than the man she'd been spending the last few months with. "My word will be conditional, if I find out you're wrong, or that you're looking me in the eye and telling me a lie when you say he didn't agree or partake in the deaths, the deal is off. Other than that..." Pulling in a breath, he nods. "You have my word, I'll do what I can to leave that family out of it." In his mind, this was no longer a discussion, it wasn't a haggle, those were his terms. He couldn't help but feel the anticipation of knowing who had been tormenting them, finally, after all these months, he'd know exactly who needed to be wiped off the map.

A: "He wants to ruin them for what they're doing to the people here, he knew I could give the information to someone in a position to do that." For better or worse, she supposed. Aria only nodded, offering a hint of a smirk and raised brow as he decided to tell her how people viewed her. "I'll take both as compliments and tell you that both sides are true, but then, I'm sure you already know that too." Deciding not to comment on his assumption, she simply offered him a smile and a nod, telling him silently that he was right. If you're wrong, if you're lying... The words held the potential to rattle her so much that she only just managed to remain calm and collected. All she could hope for was that she wasn't wrong, that Link had been honest with her. "I understand, and I accept your terms." Aria breathed just a little lighter, knowing he would honour his word to the best of his ability and at this point, that's all she could ask for. "Thank you." Aria wants him to know she's grateful, that she does understand the severity of it all. "Ok then, here's what you need to know. The organization is called The Enterprize, and this," retrieving a piece of folded paper from her pocket, she holds it out to him. "...Contains every name I was given. Check them all out at your own will, but these are the people who have had their hands in the cookie jar." Meaning, those she has been told were involved in the town-wide disasters and murders.