#i used to get really bad hunger pangs and when i was in the hospital it became physically painful to eat food

[viovio]

ok well I'm not gonna eat dinner per usual cuz they put the rice away and moms gonna be so mad if i made anything else or ate bc it's late at night and she wants to go to bed even though I'll clean it. i just fucking hate when i cook something instant like iKNOW that's unhealthy but would you rather I'd make a full course fucking meal? you rather i cook eggs and clean the pan too? do you wanna comment on everything i do and how it's unhealthy? how i oversleep? how i never do my homework why I'm constantly sluggish why i skip meals?

[themidnightguardian]

Day 13: Dislocation -- Naruto (ft. Team 7)

Naruto & Team 7 | AU where Kakashi is a good sensei & Team 7 is closer as a Team | Content Warnings: dislocated shoulder, pain, mentions of past injuries, mentions of hospital refusing to treat a child, questionable self-treatment of injuries

Whumptober Masterlist

---

He felt the click in his shoulder the instant that Sasuke’s foot crashed into it, heard the tiny little pop that he’d come to associate with this particular injury. Automatically, he grit his teeth against the pain and shifted to place the arm behind him. It was useless now, dead weight and an easily exploitable weak spot at least until he could fix it.

That was why Naruto hated dislocations the most, right next to broken bones. A lot of pain could be worked around; he’d had no shortage of it in his life, and he’d learned how to manage all the cuts and bruises, the cracked ribs and hunger-pangs and rolled ankles and black eyes. But a non-functional limb was a pain in the ass because it was one less limb to defend himself with, one less tool at his disposal.

He made it through the last three minutes of the spar only because he’d had practice in learning how to move without jarring his injuries. He relied on dodging more, made use of kicks to force Sasuke back, and when Kakashi-sensei finally called time, Sasuke was clearly more than a little frustrated that it had ended in a tie.

Normally Naruto knew he would have been irritated too. For so long, Sasuke-teme had been consistently better than him, and now that things were evening out, Naruto wanted every win he could manage. And he knew Sasuke felt the same way; their rivalry pushed them both to do better, to get stronger, to fight harder.

But with his shoulder dislocated, the only thing he could think about was the sickening thrum of pain and the need to fix it.

“Maa, good work. Naruto, it looked like you took a bad hit to your shoulder—” Kakashi-sensei was saying, but whatever else he was going to say was cut off abruptly as Naruto braced his shoulder against one of the smoother tree trunks and shoved his shoulder back into its socket with a click.

For a second, the pain was blinding, and he wondered if he was going to pass out like he had the first time he’d had to do this, but it passed soon enough. And then he became aware of the utter silence around him.

Sakura was grim-faced and pale. Sasuke’s mouth hung open ever-so-slightly. And Kakashi’s single visible eye was wide.

“What the fuck, dobe?”

“Eh, Naruto,” Kakashi-sensei said hesitantly. “You should really let a medical professional do that for you.”

Naruto scratched at his head with his good arm. The other would be sore for a few hours—which he now knew was only thanks to the kyuubi’s healing. “I mean, yeah, but when I asked them to fix it the first time, they said they didn’t have time for it, so I learned how to do it myself.”

There was another ringing silence.

“They said they didn’t have time?” Kakashi-sensei repeated slowly, and Naruto thought he might have been angry, but he didn’t know why.

“Yeah. They said I shouldn’t waste their time like that.” Naruto shrugged his good shoulder. “So I figured it out.”

It wasn’t like he had anyone else who could do it. He’d lived alone from the time he was five until Kakashi-sensei had taken them on as a team. And people didn’t like it when Naruto bothered them, so he’d taught himself what he needed as he went along: how to bandage his own cuts, how to treat mild infections, how to reset his dislocated shoulder.

Kakashi took a deep breath. “Right. Okay. We’re going to take a rest from sparring the rest of the week and all go over first-aid and the basics of field medicine. And Naruto?”

“Yes, sensei?”

“The next time you dislocate something, let me fix it for you. I know you can heal from a lot, but just shoving things back into place is a great way to get tissue damage and reduced mobility. Okay?”

“I—” Naruto almost wanted to argue that he was fine, that he could do it himself. Part of him was still afraid that this team was just a dream, that one day it would all be revealed as some big joke and Naruto would have to go back to being alone again. If that happened, then he didn’t want to be relying too heavily on anyone else.

But then, Kakashi-sensei had done more than enough to prove himself these past few months. And Naruto was so, so tired of not being able to trust anyone, not being able to ask anyone for help.

“Yeah, okay sensei.”

[hyuckshaze]

Drowning in the Distance | Chapter XII

✩‌ haechan ‌x‌ ‌fem!reader‌ ‌|‌ terminal illness au! series ✩

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ confined to a life of detachment from the only people on earth who understand them, the patients of saint evangeline’s can only watch as those around them drown in themselves, in more ways than one, while they themselves drown, in a much more literal sense. haechan is tired, tired of moving from place to place with no real chance of getting better. y/n is tired too, tired of living solely for the purpose of staying alive. maybe, just maybe, despite the space that separates them, they can guide each other to a life worth living.

WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ongoing theme of terminal illness (cystic fibrosis); talk of christianity, the afterlife, heaven/hell, death; ongoing mention of surgeries, scars, medications, drug trials etc.

CHAPTER WORD COUNT ⇾‌ 3.11k

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

XII | Donghyuck

✩‌

I messed up. Bad. I know that. I knew that the second those stupid words left my mouth. I sneak out of the CF wing and around the east lobby of the hospital after dropping off the drawing, my phone clutched tightly in my hand as I wait for something. A text, a FaceTime, a phone call, anything. She must have seen the drawing by now, right? She had to have seen it. Her light was on when I slid it under the door, but it’s been radio silence since our fight. I didn’t realise how much I relied on her contact until it was entirely gone. Contact. It’s a funny word to use, really, because no matter how much I wanted to, I would never be able to make physical contact with her. Even if I didn’t have B. cepacia, I still couldn’t touch her. Was life always this unfair?

What should I do? She won’t even talk to me.

I text Johnny, grimacing at myself. I can see him getting a real kick over me hung up on someone enough to ask his advice. I never do this. I’ve known Johnny most of my life and he’s never seen me interested in a girl. Hell, I’ve never really been interested in girls. I’ve never wanted anything serious; fucking around is my specialty. But, Y/N… She’s just different. And it’s not because she has CF, no. She’s… Huh. I don’t have an explanation for it. No words could really describe the feeling that she gives me. She’s just special.

Just give her some time, dude.

He replies. I sigh loudly, frustrated. Time. All this waiting is torture. The time seems to travel at a glacial pace whenever I’m not calling, or texting, Y/N, so the idea of waiting an unknown, unspecified length of time until she’s willing to talk to me seems the most unappealing thing in the world. I slump down on a bench in the east lobby, watching people as they pass by, moving in an out of the sliding doors of Saint Evangeline’s hospital. Children, fearfully grasping the hands of their parents. Nurses, rubbing at their eyes wearily as they finally get to leave. Visitors, readily pulling on their jackets as they head home for the night. For the first time in a few days I wish I were one of them, were able to just go home. Even calling it home seems weird now. It’s been eight months since I stepped foot in my childhood house. Eight whole months. Jesus. When I think about it like that… I’m distracted from my thoughts when my stomach growls noisily, a slight pang of hunger pawing at my stomach, so I decide to go to the cafeteria to distract myself from the waiting with some food. Making my way towards the elevators, not really feeling up to taking the stairs, I freeze when I hear an acquainted voice echoing out of a room to my left.

“돈을 보내지 마십시오, 당신은 그것을 감당할 수 없다.” The voice says, the tone sombre, sad. My ears perk at the sound of the familiar language, though I feel my heart ache a little at his words. I peek my head inside to see it’s a chapel, with big stained-glass windows and old-fashioned wooden pews. The ancient, churchy look is so vastly different from the rest of the hospital’s modern, sleek design. Interesting. My eyes then land on Jaemin, sitting in the front row, his elbows resting on his knees as he talks to someone on the phone. “나도 너를 그리워," he says. “알아요. 사랑해요, 엄마.” He hangs up the phone, putting his head in his hands as he mutters inaudibly to himself.

 I pull the heavy door open a little wider so that I can step through, the hinges creaking loudly as I do. The boy in the front row turns around in surprise, clearly shocked at my sudden appearance.

“The chapel?” I ask, my voice echoing loudly off of the walls of the wide space as I make my way down the aisle toward him. I wince at the volume, making a note to lower my voice slightly. He turns back around to face the front, smiling faintly.

“My mum likes to see me in here. I’m a Christian, but she’s a Christian.” He lets out a loud sigh, resting his head blearily against the pew. “I haven’t seen her in just over two years. She wants me to come see her.” My eyes widen in surprise and I sit down in the front row, across the aisle, a safe seven or so feet away. Jesus, that’s a really long time. I can’t imagine not seeing my mother for two whole years, not when she helicopter-parents me like she does. His mother must have been really bad for him not to see her for two years, especially ‘cause he’s still under eighteen, isn’t he?

“You haven’t seen your mum in two years? What did she do to you?” I ask hesitantly, not wanting to sound crude but, for lack of better phrasing, I ask anyway. He shakes his head, his big, dark eyes filled with sadness and longing.

“Nah, it’s not like that. My parents’ VISA to stay in the country got rejected, so they were deported back to the motherland. But I was born here and they didn’t want to take me away from the doctors. I’m a ‘ward of the state’ until I’m eighteen.” Shit. I can’t even imagine what that was like. How could they deport the parents of someone with CF? The parents of someone terminally ill. I bite down on my lower lip, not sure what to say. What do you say to that?

“That’s fucked up.” I say. It’s the only thing that comes to mind, and it’s not wrong. Jaemin nods in response, resting his elbows on his knees once more.

“I miss them. So much.” The sorrow, the absolute yearning, in his voice makes my chest pang with sympathy. Not that he needs sympathy. A frown pulls at my lips as I look over at him, running my fingers through my unruly hair.

“Jaemin, you have to visit them, you have to!” He sighs, fixing his eyes on the massive wooden cross that hangs above the lectern, and it’s only then that I remember what I overheard. 돈.

“It’s expensive. The flights, the medical insurance, all of it. They want to send money, I know they do, but they can’t really afford it. And I- I just… I refuse to take food off their table-” He starts and I find myself speaking, the sound of my voice echoing around the church.

“If it’s money, I can help. Seriously. I mean, I’m not trying to sound like a privileged asshole, but it’s not an issue for me-” But before I finish speaking, I know that he’s not having any of it.

“Come on. Stop.” His voice is sharp, harsh almost. He turns his head to give me a look, but his face softens upon looking at my face. “I’ll… I’ll figure it out.” A comfortable silence falls between us, the quiet, open air of the big room making my ears ring with tinnitus. This isn’t just about money, that much is clear. There’s another reason. I won’t push, though. The offer is there, but I know more than anyone else that money can’t fix everything. If the eight months of pointless hospital visits and treatments can be classed as evidence, then maybe, someday, the realisation will wash over my mother. “Thank you, though,” Jaemin says something, finally, looking over at me with a small smile on his lips. “I mean it.” I nod, sending him a half-hearted smile before we fall back into that calm silence. In that quiet, my mind can’t help but wander. How is it fair that my mum can hover, can helicopter over me, while someone else has his just ripped away from him without warning, without a say in the matter? Here I am, counting down the fucking seconds till I turn eighteen, ready to celebrate my freedom, while Jaemin is trying to slow it down, wishing for more of it. More time. I’d never considered that there were terminal kids out there who didn’t want their freedom. I suppose I’d never got close enough to another terminal kid to find out, what with the constant moving around. Y/N and Jaemin, they just want more time. Jaemin wants to see his family, to not have the financial burden of being an adult in a country with such a fucked up medical system, to live long enough to spend time with his family after not being able to for two years. Y/N wants all the time in the world, to heal her parents and to grieve for her own. It wasn’t just a daughter that her parents lost that day; she lost a sister, and they seem to be forgetting that. For me, it was easy to give up. It was easy to fight my treatments and focus on the time I do have left. But Y/N and Jaemin are making me want to take every second that I can possibly get, making me want to do the stupid treatments and drug trials, making me want to live the way they see living. And that, now that is fucking terrifying.

  That evening, I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling as I do my nebulizer treatment. Without Y/N. I hear my phone chime and practically dive across the room to my desk, grasping the phone tightly. A sigh of disappointment and a flurry of curses leave my mouth when I read the text.

Anything?

Johnny texts me. This doesn’t help, since the answer is an unambiguous no. I throw the phone beside me as I slump back onto the bed. Still nothing from her; not even a note. I know it’s my fault, I know that, but I can’t stop thinking about her. And the longer she’s quiet for, the worse it gets. I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be close to her, closer than a measly six feet, to reach out and actually touch her, to make her feel better after I screwed up and hurt her. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her. I can feel something reaching from deep in my chest, in the tips of my fingers and the pit of my stomach. The urge to reach out to feel the smooth skin of her arm, the raised scars I’m sure are on her body, just like they’re on mine. But I’ll never be able to. The distance between us will never go away or change; it’ll stay that way for as long as we both live, drowning us both in the misery that it brings. My phone dings again and I grab it, anticipative, but it’s just a notification from the News app. I throw my phone back down on my bed, frustrated. What the fuck, Y/N? She hasn’t even checked that I’ve done my treatments. I huff. She can’t stay mad forever, can she? I need to fix this hurtful mess that I made.

 I switch off the nebulizer beside me and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, sliding my feet into my Vans. I open my door quietly, poking my head out of the smallest gap possible and peering into the hallway to make sure the coast is clear. I watch as Irene disappears into a room somewhere much further down the hall with an IV bag, and I swiftly slip out of my room, knowing that I don’t have long, but I have enough time. Walking as silently as possible down the hall, I pass the empty nurses’ station, stopping directly in front of room 302, hearing the rhythmic strum of her guitar, her hands moving slowly on the other side to create the sad-sounding melody. She’s in there. I take a deep breath and knock, the sound of my knuckles on the worn wood echoing around the thin white walls of her room. I hear her fingers stop moving, the sound of her guitar being placed down on a hard surface, and then her footsteps as she comes closer and closer, stopping in front of the door, hesitating. Finally, it opens, her deep orbs staring directly back at me, making my heart pound heavily in my chest. It’s so good to see her.

“You’re here.” I say softly.

“I’m here.” She says calmly, leaning against the doorframe and acting like she didn’t just ignore me for the whole day. What? I blink at her, confusion evident on my features. “I got your cartoon. You’re forgiven. Now, back up.” A feeling of relief washes over me at her words. She forgives me. That doesn’t explain her behaviour, though. I quickly step all the way back to the opposite wall, putting as much space between us as possible. It’s around six feet. Close enough. We stare at each other wordlessly, and after a moment or two, she looks away, turning her head left and right to check the hall for nurses before looking down at the linoleum tiled floor.

“You missed our treatment.” She looks somewhat impressed, and relieved, that I actually remembered but stays silent as she stares down at her bare feet, the chipped polish apparently more interesting than anything else. I lean down slightly to see her face, noticing immediately that her eyes are red and slightly puffy, like she’s been crying. Something tells me that it’s not because of what I said, either. I look at her, scanning her up and down. Her arms are crossed over her chest, almost hugging herself as she stands there silently. “What’s going on?” I ask, sincerity dripping from my tone. She looks up at me for a moment, only a few seconds, and I look at her. Yeah, she’s been crying alright. Her whites of her eyes are painstakingly bloodshot and her bottom lip appears sore from biting at it. I glance down to her wrist, noticing that a hair tie sits upon it once more. She already has her hair tied up. I don’t say a word as she takes a deep breath, and when she speaks, I can hear the nerves lacing her words, her voice shaking as she explains.

“The skin around my G-tube is pretty badly infected. Dr. Moon is worried about sepsis. He’s going to purge my infected skin and replace my G-tube in the morning.” When I look in her bloodshot eyes, I see it’s way more than nerves. She’s afraid, absolutely terrified. I want to reach out and take her hand in mine. I want to tell her that everything will be okay and that it will all go perfectly. I nod my head in understanding; that shouldn’t be too bad.

“I’m sure it’ll-” She cuts me off.

“I’m going under general.” I’m sorry, what? Did she just say general? General anaesthesia? With her lungs at 35? Taeil must be out of his fucking mind, putting her under general. God, they’re hesitant to put you under if you’re anywhere under around 70 and they’re putting her under at 35? I grip the railing on the wall to keep myself in place, though a feeling of panic surges through my chest and my knees suddenly feel much weaker.

“Shit. Are your lungs up for that?” I ask, not wanting my internal panic to come across in my words. She’s stressed enough as it is, the last thing I wanna do is upset her more. We stare at each other for a few long minutes, the open air between us feeling like miles and miles of treacherous, icy waters. I fight the urge to cave, to let the waters carry me to her. She breaks our eye contact, eyes falling back upon her flaked nail polish, ignoring the question.

“Take your night-time meds and then set up your G-tube for the night, okay?” Her voice shakes with emotion and, without giving me time to respond, she closes the door, the clicking of the latch being her last word. I walk slowly to her door, reaching out to lay my hand flat against the old wood, knowing that she’s leaning against the other side. I don’t know how, I just know. I take a deep breath, resting my head on the door next to my hand, my voice barely a whisper.

“It’s going to be okay, Y/N.” I know she hears me, the small sniffling sound from inside the room telling me that she does. My hand brushes against a sign hanging on her door. I look to it, tracing the letters with my fingertips as I read the bold words.

NIL BY MOUTH FROM 12AM. SURGERY SCHEDULED FOR 6 AM.

  I pull my hand away before I get caught and scolded by one of the nurses on duty and walk back down the hallway to my room, room 315, sinking down onto my bed. Y/N is normally so in control. Through all the surgeries and the treatments, she’s always calm. Why is this one affecting her? Is it because of her parents? Because of her lung function? Because she’s so worried about the effect that her dying will have on the people in her life? I roll over on my side, my eyes drifting towards the drawing of her from the yoga room, and then they land on my cartoon lung drawing, reminding me of the drawing in her room. Yeji. Oh my God, of course that’s why she’s so freaked out. This is her first surgery under general without Yeji. I still need to fix things between us, a proper apology for my stupid actions rather than just the cartoon that I slid under her door. I shoot up, clambering from my bed to sit at the desk, an idea having popped into my head. Tugging my phone from the pocket of my sweats, I set an alarm for 5am for the first time in my life. I send a quick text to Johnny, before putting my phone face-down on the desk and cracking my knuckles, twisting my neck from side to side to click the bones.

I’m gonna make things right.

I grab my box of art supplies from the shelf beside my desk. I got this.

[pleasancies]

Escape Attempt #1

wordcount : 1.8k+

cw : self harm, mention of past torture, suicidal behavior

tropes : lab whump, lady whump, failed escape attempt, manhandling, whumper as caretaker, sensory overload, wound agitation, blood (everywhere)

***

Previous Chapter

John laid her on the infirmary bed, the white sheets instantly turning red. He left, and Professor Clayton replaced his absence with Lisette trailing behind. He had accompanied Avis to the institute, wrestled against five foot long greenery and walked over the pile of carcasses, yet his coat and pants doesn't look affected at all.

"Fenrir, I wager I never properly introduced myself."

"I've heard about you. Get lost."

Clayton glanced at Lisette. She hurried to the storage room. His side leaned against the bedframe. He reached for Avis's ankle. He held it in a vice grip. Plastic casing rubbed against gaping wound.

Avis grit her teeth, ended up voicing a guttural groan instead. Her voice was strained as she managed a 'stop'.

"I'll stop if you let me work on you. Cooperate."

"Just kill me and get it over with."

Clayton twisted his grip. The burning sensation multiplied. "It would be a mercy. Don't you understand? You lost the choice to kill yourself the moment you're trapped with us."

"Watch me," Avis said between grunts of pain. The edge of the wound on her ankle skinned raw. She tried catching Clayton's hand, but he had withdrawn his hold. He went into his pocket. The shock stunned Avis's like a slap to her face.

"Alright, try. Right in front of me. I'll help you even. Say the word, and I'll turn on your shock bracelet to full blast. You'll scream and writhe under this bed until you shit yourself. After I'm sure you're dead, I'll took your brain and put it inside a warbeast. I'll save the handful of memories that makes you you. The next thing you know, you're tearing your comrades limb from limb and there's nothing you can do about it."

Avis didn't bother to hide the fear in her face. It was abhorrent. Even the most pro-monarchy man she met would squirm with the idea. She think back to the warbeast she'd slain. Their eyes, does it ever glowed the way a human would? The bout of nausea was back. Avis covered her mouth, swallowing a gulp of saliva.

Lisette was back. She was carrying a table filled with medical kit. There's a thin smile on her face. A cross between smug and content. Did she heard?

Professor Clayton doesn't wait for permission. He took a small screwdriver, methodically disassemble the ankle bracelet. The man is practically oozing with competence. His steps were hurried but certain. Years of experience in researching alien technology shows clearly in the lines of his face and the coat he wears.

Meanwhile, Lisette worked on her smaller scrapes and bruises. She cleaned her up, dabbing a soaked rag across her bloodied face. She started from the top, wiping up Avis's blood matted hair first. Cool water dripped from her neck. Avis supressed a shiver. The intern nurse's fascination to her scars and peculiarities had died down. Lisette didn't even seem to care if she is alive. She grab a clump of hair, pulling it from the base of the scalp. All that for Avis to lift her chin.

"Cut it out, Lise."

"Stop what? I'm taking care of you."

Avis let it slide. Frustration welled deep inside of her. She let Lisette tug at her shoulder, poke and prod the bruises on her back like it was nothing. Her fingers somehow managed to find every point her body hurt most and make it worse. She hated it, the way people would play others like a toy if they could get away with it. She looked down on the bed, watching her shaking fingers. Avis wasn't feeling particularly cold, but her hands just wouldn't let up. She wondered how they distributed their tasks or what Lisette and John will do after their internship.

"What's wrong?" Lisette asked.

"My hands."

Lisette frowned. Concern crossed her face. Even Clayton stopped.

It was Avis turn to ask now. "What's wrong with me?" As if anyone would give a straight answer.

"Nothing. The trigger serum wasn't exactly a full success is all." Clayton draw a small incision on her ankle. The pain was dulled. It flared slightly as he fully opened the second layer of bracelet clinging on to her skin. "The Fenrir formula adjusts it's effects depending on the host. You'll always get the same enhancements of course, but each of it's potency differs in each person. You and the first Fenrir weren't the same, obviously. Not even similar. We need to run some basic test first before your reeducation. During your reeducation, we'll recalibrate the trigger serum. And then, you'll go through this test again. Ready as ever."

The professor dips a wad of cotton to a small jar. He gently dabbed it against the skin. The oily fluid runs againt the burning wound, causing Avis to wince.

"Now, now, don't flinch. I assure you, your next test will be so much more this would feel like a gentle stroke in comparison."

Avis scowled at her doctor. Fucking fantastic. Another round of tests, surgeries, physically molding her into the perfect hound. And a long session of brainwashing, mentally shaping her until she could strangle her comrades and derive joy out of the act. Avis needs to escape. And she doesn't even know which research facility they held her in. Empire's Defense Department my foot, practically every Institute is made for them. It's simply the easiest way to gain funding.

Clayton and Lisette left shortly after. The entire session with John passed like a dream. He was strangely sheepish. Unlike yesterday, he doesn't bother to strap her arms and legs. Avis was too tired to notice. Or even think. She slept.

A couple of days have passed when her hands and legs stop feeling like stone. It was midday. There's no other patients but her. One nurse stationed near the door. The same one she'd seen when Lisette brought her here to recover from her bruised ribs. It doesn't took long for her to notice Avis was staring.

"Yes, Avis? Anything you need?"

"Uh, some water please." Avis looked away, heat growing in her cheeks. Is she really that obvious? Embarrasing. Valerie was nice. She was the only one who called her with her real name. Shame knotted in her gut. Just a minute ago she was thinking how to incapacitate her. If only Valerie knew the reason why Avis was staring at her.

Valerie set the glass to her bedside. "Next time, talk."

Avis mouthed a thank you. She stared at her drink, unwilling to touch it. The beige walls of the infirmary looks a lot like the first hospital she got into as a patient. It was a strike that had gone awry. She was separated from her friends. The Empire's officers doesn't care if she was young or a woman. She could still remember the faint taste of rubber boots in her tongue. Her broken leg had healed a long time ago, but the dull ache in her foot stays every winter. Back then, Emmett and Sherman hadn't joined their organization. James got arrested. Their old friends like Thomas and Mike were either too injured or busy dealing with the fallout. Nancy alone had to hold her in a bridal carry.

"Well? Aren't you going to drink that?"

"Sorry, Valerie. Just zoned out a bit."

The infirmary nurse sat beside her. "Had something on your mind?"

"Yeah, actually. Do you think I should be reeducated?"

"I'm not an expert opinion on that. You should consult your handler."

"No, I'm not asking for you to revoke my probationary status. I just want to know your personal opinion."

Valerie pursed her lips, her face drawn in concern. She glanced at the camera in the ceiling. It's too unreliable to pick up sounds or even the movement of her lips.

"I'm conflicted to be be honest. You... you did a lot of bad things to other people, but when I got to know you better, it's obvious that you're just lost. Those Heretical men used and abused you. You're one of the good ones, Avis."

"Thanks," Avis said. Her heart sanked. "I'm really sorry, though."

Before Valerie could react, she swung the glass to her face.

***

There are two major types of pain. Acute or chronic. There are other classifications based on what caused it for or how debilitating it is, but it was irrelevant. In the context of Avis triggers, there's three. All of them present in her current situation.

She was backed to a corner. The soldiers were split in two. A small squad were standing at the bottom of the stairs, while a couple of them guard the door she sneaked out from. Drops of blood trailed her departure. It formed a line, then a puddle below her wrist. Avis cradled her bleeding hand. A piece of tape still stuck on the edge of her wound. Her hand is throbbing, a continous pulse that quickens alongside her heart rate.

A man started to climb towards her and Avis brings her hand on the edge of the wound. Clawing at the edges.

"Stop," she said. "Took one step closer and I'll fucking eat you." She hissed, partly due to pain and a spontaneous urge to do so. The hiss turned to a groan as she dip her fingers in. The floor sways slightly under her feet. Red stained her hospital gown.

This is manageable, she insist. What was she thinking? She doesn't even know where she is. It's fine! People had run away without figuring out where are they are. But she's escaping an military complex. Stupid, reckless! But she doesn't have a choice right? Barnes had warned her. Clayton had fucking taunted her.

Avis shield her eyes from the light, blood running through her face. The buzz of fluorescent lamp almost drowned the murmur of conversation between soldiers. Her senses grew sharper with every hurt she inflicted. A dull ache growing on the base of her nails, gums, and joints. This time the transformation was slower. Passive, even. Slow enough, she could understand the change in her mindset. Her stomach was already empty before she did her escape, but now the hunger pangs were almost unbearable.

Avis taunted between gasps of breath, "Go on, shoot me like an animal."

The door at the bottom of stairs swings open. Someone spoke, and the voice sends a chill to her spine.

"Don't listen to her. She can't hurt you. She's not under the trigger serum."

Professor Clayton strides up the stairs. Avis's legs scrambles backward but there's only solid concrete behind her. His eye settled on her arms.

"You pulled off your IV. Are you afraid of needles?"

"No, just don't want to be drugged again. It's what you do. You'll wait until I let my guard down before testing."

Avis glowered. The armed guards advanced to protect Professor Clayton. Nothing they give is safe. Anything could be drugged. Food, medicine, even the air she breathed.

"The test wasn't due for a week. But I could speed things up for you. How about the day after tomorrow? How does that sound?"

She tackled him, but there was no power in her arms. Avis collapse on his chest, her vision darkened. Gravity rapidly dragging her feet. The last thing she remembered was her nails, puncturing Clayton's shirt and flesh.

Next Chapter

[yandere-daydreams]

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Drow!OC/Teifling!OC.

Word Count: 3.6k

Synopsis: Edel spent just enough time in captivity to know she doesn’t care for it. And, through careful observation and evaluation, she’s decided she cares for it even less when Jeret happens to be her captor.

TW: Non-Con, Blood and Bruising, Bondage, Mentions of Branding, Non-Consensual Touching, Dehumanization, Unhealthy Mindsets, Themes of Imprisonment, and Slight Mental Break.

Edel didn’t like feeling trapped.

Most people didn’t, but Edel liked it even less than most people. She’d always hated it, whether she was trapped in a cramped, mountainous cave during an untimely snow-storm or cornered by an opponent she didn’t have a chance of beating on her own or chained up inside of a dark, humid pit, not unlike the one she’d woken up in, today. It was a prison, she guessed, the point was to make her feel trapped, but Edel didn’t think she’d ever manage to give whatever glorified hellhole she’d been thrown into enough credit to give it a proper title. It was bad enough she’d been brought back to Velkynvelve, stripped of her weapons and her potions and given two pairs of iron shackles so heavy, just trying to lift her wrists or take a full step served to be a challenge, by way of replacement. It was worse that she’d been separated from the rest of her group, given a cell to herself with only thick stone walls and a tattered blanket for company. It was awful, it was degrading, it was infuriating, but there was one thing she couldn’t - absolutely could not stand.

Edel didn’t like feeling like a prisoner.

Somehow, she liked feeling like Jeret’s prisoner even less.

This was his work, it had to be. She didn’t know him, she wasn’t fond of him, but she loathed him enough to warrant keeping an eye out for certain details, to recognize the work of the man she’d never really escaped. It was every terrible threat he’d ever made, every vile thing he’d whispered in her ear, every laugh and every smirk and every possessive comment he’d ever made, after he decided his calling in life was to ruin hers. So confident in her assumption, Edel didn’t bother glancing up from the bare stone floor when she heard the jingle of a jailor’s keys, a lock clicking into place and a rusted door creaking open as calm, measured footsteps approached her chosen safe-haven in the farthest corner. She thought about looking away, by the time polished boots came into view, but she couldn’t swallow enough of her pride to give him that small of a victory. Just the hint of his presence renewed her anger, stoking her rage as a hearth-keeper would stroke a pit of lively embers.

Predictably, hearing his voice did little soothe her temper.

“Mornin’, firefly,” Jeret started, not bothering to spare her the pretense of faux-levity. “Did somebody need her beauty sleep?”

At least he wasn’t trying to play nice.

“You bastard--” She could barely begin to voice her muddled thoughts before nimble fingers entangled themselves in her hair, nails digging into her scalp and chains rattling as he jerked her upward, forcing her spine straight and a small, pained whimper from the back of her throat. Despite his time in captivity, his strength hardly seemed diminished - what he’d lost replaced by the cruel, cold satisfaction of having his captive-turned-captor once again under his heel. She was familiar with the feeling, despite her loathing for the man. She’d spent his interrogations in an over-zealous haze, but her righteousness had been earned. He’d imprisoned her, first. He’d been playing out his sadistic fantasies, and she’d been avenging herself and her comrades. The two barely warranted comparison, beyond first glance.  “Let me go!” She didn’t try to stop herself from yelling, why would she? If he had a deeper, darker dungeon to shove her into, she doubted he would waste his time with a holding-cell. “You don’t have the right to touch me--”

“You’re really gonna make me go through this again, huh?” There was a heavy sigh, a slight tilt to his posture as he rolled his eyes, but he didn’t move to release her. If anything, his grip only tightened as he wretched her higher, forcing Edel onto her knees just to alleviate the pressure. “Can’t say I expected anythin’ less,” He went on, a touch of fondness seeping into his voice as he watched her writhe. “It took quite a bit of work on my part to getcha back here, y’know. I mean, it’s one thing convincing busy men to take prisoners, but souvenirs ain’t that easy to explain. If I wasn’t so insistent, you probably wouldn’ve made it here in one peice.”

For the first time, she dared to look up, if only to finally direct her anger at something tangible, but she cursed her own boldness the moment their eyes met. 

It was easy to lash out at something cold and calculating, something abstract and swirling below the surface of stormy lilac, but Jeret seemed to be done playing coy, if he’d ever made an effort to. That, or he just didn’t see the point in trying to hide his aggression, anymore, his anger burning brighter than hers ever could. It almost made Edel hesitate to speak. She might’ve, if she hadn’t been so desperate to make herself seem as valiant as her captor. “Do you want me to thank you?” She spat, recognizing the condescension in his tone, the self-righteousness. “All you’ve done is earn yourself a slow death, after I get out of here.”

“Ain’t that precious.” Jeret let go of her hair with another sudden yank, but the freedom was short-lived. As soon as she could start to fall back, a fist was wrapped around one of her tethers - the leash-like chain attached to the thick metal collar curling around her neck. “The rat still thinks she’ll be able to crawl away.”

Now, she paused. It would’ve been impossible not to. “You’re… You brought me here just to kill me?”

Edel shut her eyes as Jeret chuckled, the noise slow, throaty, like the clash of metal on metal, like the howl of a blood-thirsty monster. “Sweetheart,” He cooed, sparing no amount of sickening, sickening sweetness. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over things like that. As long as I’m around, nobody’s gonna lay a finger on you.”

He tugged her forward, using just enough force to pull her off-balance. But, she didn’t have a chance to worry about falling, not when his free hand caught her chin, tilting her head back and giving her a perfect view of his grin, wide and just as crooked as it ever was, as it’d always been.

As it had been, since the first time she found herself at his mercy.

“This time, I think I’m gonna be a little more selfish with my toys.”

~

Meals came twice a day.

That was the only way Edel had of measuring time, now - Jeret’s visits, and how low the torch outside her cell got to burn before it was replaced. The food was better than it was during her first imprisonment, with Jeret being more inclined to keep her healthy now that he’d gotten it into his head to keep her, but drow ingredients were always remarkably bland, just teetering on the border between flavorless and inedible. Good food was a fantasy, by her fourth day, and she swore to herself that when she escaped, when she finally saw an opportunity to slip out of her restraints or drive something blunt and jagged into Jeret’s chest, seeking out a warm tavern would be the first thing she did. She’d thought starvation would be better than accepting his minimalist hospitality, for the first few days, and she had tried to stave it off for as long as she could, but…

Jeret could be persuasive, from time to time. And when she proved she could stand the hunger pangs, he’d set out to find something she couldn’t.

Three weeks in, she knew better than that, and submitted herself to gnawing on a stiff, colorless chunk of bread. Surprisingly enough, she couldn’t say that was the worst part of her morning.

That would be her company.

Jeret never failed to find a way to be close to her - it was something she noticed as he found an excuse to play with her fraying sleeves or toy with her restraints or just settle himself down at her side and stare on with a small, lopsided smile as she fought not to acknowledge him. The task was easier than it should’ve been, honestly. It’d always been difficult to get inside his head, but in his terrain, in a trap he’d been the one to set, it was all-but impossible, and she didn’t know what he could stand gain by watching her in tense, frigid silence until he was forced to go and tend to his daily responsibilities. Maybe this was his way of getting her used to the idea of treating him like a superior, rather than a source of irritation. Maybe he just wanted to get on her nerves.

In the latter case, it was working.

Given her situation, her isolation, Edel’s wisest choice was to stay where she was until her captor made a mistake, until her restraints were loosened her or his skepticism faltered or a chink in her cage become just big enough for her to slip through. Stay still, don’t cause trouble, then run as soon as she got the chance. She had a plan. She liked plans. It was a plan she wanted to stick to, too, but she hadn’t accounted for the identity of her captor, for the reason she was so desperate to flee, in the first place.

Silent or not, Jeret always provided more than enough motivation to do something rash, something dangerous. As long as it got her just a little further from him.

Ultimately, her resolve broke before her sense of better judgment could reinforce it. “What do you want?”

“Don’t want anythin’.” His answer was rehearsed, as if he’d been waiting for her to ask. “I’m just enjoyin’ the view. That a crime?”

The crust scratched her throat as she choked it down. Absently, she wondered how long it’d been since he’d last brought her something to drink. “Kidnapping is.”

He sighed, but the sound came out wistful, almost nostalgic. “There's no reason to be like that. You an’ your gang’s locked me up plenty of times, and I’m not holdin’ it against you.”

“You said it wasn’t about--” She cringed, suddenly, gritting her teeth as his fingers brushed against her tail, carelessly left to lay at her side. He was tracing the tip, following its spade-like pattern, and without thinking, she let the often-unruly appendage rise and whip, snapping against the back of his hand before seeking out the safety of her lap. “Don’t touch me,” She snarled, baring her teeth as Jeret barely tried to suppress a laugh. “You said it wasn’t about that, so what is it? You can’t just be keeping me alive to… to stare at me, for half the day.”

“Bet I can, if I want to,” He countered, shrugging causally, as if there wasn’t anything wrong with his answer. This time, when he reached for her tail, she was quick to pull it away, attempting to draw it behind her back, but he caught the shaft before she had the chance, taking smooth, sensitive skin and burying his nails into it, marring it, leaving small crescent-moons by the time her bound hands shot to his wrist and he reluctantly loosened his grip. Involuntarily, the appendage thrashed, attempting to free itself with harsh, graceless movements, but Jeret only clicked his tongue, eyeing her twitching tail as he went on. “You teiflings get a bad rep’, but I always thought these things were kinda cute. Fuck, might be even cuter mounted on my wall, after I chop if off your frustrating little body.” He paused, his gaze flickering towards her. “What do you think, firefly?”

She froze. Caught between the temptations to call his bluff and beg him to reconsider a threat she knew couldn’t be hollow, she didn’t know what to do - she couldn’t know what to do. Her tail fell limp, but that was hardly a comfort, Jeret’s full attention having drifted to her expression, to the way she'd gone paler than she had been, a moment ago. She opened her mouth, but if he really cared about her response, he didn’t bother listening. Instead, he was leaning in closer, watching intently as she fought the urge to flinch away. “You’re here because I want you to be here, and because if I didn’t snatch you up, someone else would. If there’s anythin’ I want to do to you, I’m gonna do it. And if you have somethin’ to say about that, I’ll take this--” There was a sharp jerk to her tail, making her wince. “--and whatever else you don’t need away. Nod if you understand, now.”

To her credit, she didn’t nod, not frantically - no, nothing about the gesture was desperate. It was slow, jerky, just bordering on mechanical, but Jeret must’ve found a drop of mercy in his shriveled, hardened heart - only offering a smile in place of a mocking comment. “C’mere,” He said, any trace of hostility gone from his tone. “Kiss and make up, before I say somethin’ you really won’t like.”

Taking a deep breath, Edel clenched her eyes shut, steeled herself, and did as she was told.

~

In hindsight, minding her manners might’ve been a mistake.

It felt like one, as Jeret ran his thumb over the space between skin and metal, the spot where her bruised wrists met cool, sivery steel, a layer of velvet padding the inside and a mantra of scrolling enchantments carved into the surface serving as a decorative upgrade from her last rusted, creaking pair. It was a gift, he’d said, as he forced her to stand and fastened the chain from a hook that was just a little too high on the cell’s stone wall. It was a gift. He thought he was giving her a gift.

They were supposed to be a gift, and although he hadn’t been so blatant about it, she supposed this was supposed to be one, too.

He was treating it like one, acting like he was going her a favor by digging his fingertips into the flesh of her thigh and encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist, to lock her ankles behind his back, to drag him closer and make things easier on herself in hopes that he might be kind enough to take some of the strain of her shoulders, her arms struggling to support her weight now that her feet her no longer on the ground. She’d already been stripped of the remnants of her clothes, promised something more substantial in exchange, but if Jeret had an intention of delivering his end of the bargain, he obviously didn’t feel the need to do so swiftly. In fact, he didn’t seem to feel the need to do anything.

Well, nothing she’d enjoy, at least.

“Thatta girl,” He muttered, more for his sake than hers. He was distracted, preoccupied, but she couldn’t seem to block out the feeling of calloused fingers running over her cunt, teasing her slit just to leave her equal parts disgusted and frustrated, or his touch, the way his eyes flickered from her hip to her collarbone to her cheek, his gaze soon accompanied by his free hand, his thumb prodding at the corner of her mouth, tracing the outline of her bottom lip. 

She didn’t think. With a half-hearted sense of rebellon, she lurched forward, biting down on whatever she could reach, but Jeret’s stifled grimace did little to provide the satisfaction she hoped it would. “Ain’t no reason to act like that,” He went on, pouting as he pushed a slow, forceful circle into her clit, forcing her to writhe and grit her teeth before he bothered to continue. “I’m just tryin’ to make things right.”

Make things right. Make things right. It’d been a miracle that she’d managed to find a healer in time to reverse the effects of his branding - his first branding, rather, the scarred imprint of the traders he’d been working for. It’d been blissful, the cool rush of a magic that could only do good, and she relished being able to run her hand over her thigh and only feel unmarked, untouched skin. 

Now, Jeret was going to relish the act of undoing her progress just as much.

She almost wished he’d just hold her down and stab something hot and glowing and searing into her, again. At least then, she already knew how long the pain would take to fade.

“I don’t--” Her voice cut off as he forced two fingers into her tight enterence, abruptly choosing to chase his goal in earnest. Like everything else he did, it was a lazy pursuit. Not ineffective, not unattentive, but lazy, slothful, almost idle in the way he watched her, his expression more curious than invested, his movements anything but impatient. She almost wished he was. If Jeret had chosen to take this task on as impulsively, as joyfully as he took on most, it would’ve been quick, it would’ve been sudden. She wouldn’t have to feel the dread welling up in the pit of her stomach, her nerves beginning to fray every time he found something new to play with and a slick, wet click echoed through the claustrophobic cell. That’s what he was doing, really - playing with her. Edel didn’t think she’d ever liked being played with. “You can’t do--”

“I can, firefly, I always can. I can do whatever I want, when it comes to you.” He pouted, shaking his head slowly, as he was disappointed she hadn’t come to understand him, yet. Leisurely, he pumped his fingers into her, setting his pace to something painfully slow that left her curling into herself, resisting the effort to buck into his hand just to get it over with. Even when he spread his fingers apart, when he aimed to scissor her open and make her whimper, make her whine, it was agonizing, the sensation falling somewhere between teasing and torturous. “What don’t you understand about that? You know I don’t care for repeatin’ myself.”

He didn’t, but at the moment, she was fond of the idea. She must’ve said it in a hundred different ways, ‘no’ and ‘don’t’ and ‘stop’, but Jeret never seemed to hear her, not as his palm ground against her clit, earning a shudder and a loud jerk against her chains, or as he pulled away, leaving her relieved and unsatisfied, at the same time. Any gratitude she might’ve found was quickly abandoned, though, replaced with the soft sounds of fabric rustling, a whispered curse as Jeret moved closer, closer, always impossibly closer. She wished he’d stay away. She’d wish he’d go anywhere but near her.

And, for a one traitorous second, she wondered why he’d ever bothered being so far away.

She shut her eyes as he leaned into her, his chest pressing against hers as he forced his cock into her cunt with a low, stifled hiss. It was awful. It was awful, and it was violating, and it was disgusting, but there was nothing Edel could do to stop herself from gasping, bowing her head as his hips grind against hers and he found a pace that suited his preference toward indulgence and his need to make her miserable. “That’s it,” He encouraged, his voice breathy, the words spoken barely a hair’s width from her ear. With his free hand, he pushed her hair back, over her shoulder and away from her face, but she couldn’t bring herself to appreciate the gesture. Not when it just made the callous brutality in his eyes so much easier to see. “Nobody’s gotta have a bad time, right now. You don’t gotta pretend to suffer.”

But she was. She was suffering every time he thrust into her, aiming for that sensitive spot inside of her, the one he’d always been too selfish to properly abuse, every time his head dipped and she could feel his parted lips against her skin, every time she felt his teeth. Compared to some beasts she’d seen, they weren’t sharpened, weren’t deadly, but that only seemed to make him more determined, to spur him forward as he bit down on the area just above her collarbone, on the tender junction of her shoulder and her throat, on her neck, delicate flesh tearing under his unexpected mania. She could feel the bruises forming, the blood dripping down her chest, staining evergreen skin and smearing across pale hands, as he absentmindedly wiped a stray trail from the corner of his mouth.

“Gonna mark you all over, this time,” He muttered, the declaration barely loud enough for her to hear. She almost missed it, she regretted that she hadn’t, but she had a feeling awareness wouldn’t make much of a difference, wouldn’t deter Jeret from fucking into her like a man possessed, from slamming her back against the wall and clamping down over her jugular. Involuntarily, she cried out, clenching around him, and Jeret let out a low growl in response, the noise reverberating against her, not allowing Edel to ignore the pressure building up in her core, the clumsy way his pelvis rubbed against her clit, the hot tongue soon running over her throat, all of it, everything. Every awful, undeniably, miserable thing.

Everything she couldn’t escape, even if she tried to.

“Never gonna let it fade again, either,” He went on, his tone softer, but no less pointed. Fond, but no less fatal. “It doesn’t matter where you are, doesn’t matter who you’re with, you’re always gonna belong to me. No one else is gonna put their hands on you, no one ‘xcept me.” There was a pause, a strong jerk to her hair, wrenching her eyes open. Forcing her to take in his crooked smile and the awful glint in his stare, whether or not she wanted to. “C’mon, firefly,” He coaxed. “I’m doing you a favor. I’m being loving. What do we say when someone’s bein’ nice?”

She could’ve struggled. She could’ve refused to speak, or cursed him out, or told him all the grisly things she’d sooner do than accept any of his favors willingly. She could’ve, but she couldn’t, at the same time. Her body was so sore, and her mind was so foggy, and more than anything, she wanted this to end. She wanted this to stop. She wanted everything to stop.

If that meant giving Jeret what he wanted, then so be it.

Her head lulled forward, coming to rest against his shoulder. She didn’t feel her lips move, didn’t register the words until they’d already passed over her tongue, but she could hear them, loud and clear. Her death sentence, spoken in her own voice.

“Thank you.”

[kenzieam]

Beauty and the Blackheart - Chapter Four

@jewels2876​​​​​  @moonbeambucky​​​​  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​​​​  @iammarylastar​​​​​@captstefanbrandt​​​​​  @badassbaker​​​​​  @pinknerdpanda​​​​​  

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

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Rating: M

Warnings: Language, general nuttiness, smut, major angst

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We finally learn a little bit of Bucky’s tragic background.....

FEEDBACK IS LIFE, Y’ALL, LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ME TO CONTINUE POSTING OR NOT

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Morning came too soon, and Lev found herself suffering from a dual hangover; both from the tequila and from Bucky’s actions.

What had he meant when he’d said he wished to God he’d done different?

Her head ached and her body throbbed yet the worst, or maybe best, part was she could still feel Bucky’s fingers, gently caressing her nape, the strength in his arms when she’d clung to him, mistaking him for Clint.

Goddammit, it had felt good, he had felt good, his touch settling something deep inside her that had been alone and restless for far too long.

Lev thrust her hands through her hair, then scrubbed her face with her hands. A quiet knock at the door made her raise her head.

“Yeah?”

Clint’s apologetic face appeared. “How are you feeling?”

“I need to leave, Clint. It’s no good if I stay.”

His lips turned down, eyes dropping to the floor, but Clint nodded. “Yeah, Bucky…. Bucky’s had some bad shit happen in the past, it’s… it’s probably best if you...” He trailed off, unwilling or unable to continue then seemed to perk up a tiny bit. “Will you wait until tomorrow to leave? I’d really like to spend one last night with you.”

Lev’s heart warmed at the thought, just Clint and her, brother and sister, spending some quiet time together; what she should have done from the start, rather than getting tangled in the tattoo shop and Bucky. “Of course. Want to order some pizza? Watch old ‘80s campy horror like we used to?”

Clint positively beamed. “Yeah, I’d love that.” He turned to leave then hesitated, looking back at Lev before turning to leave again, but still he didn’t move, shoulders slumping.

“Come here.” Lev called quietly, waiting until Clint sat silently on the edge of the bed, reaching over to take his hand. “I’m sorry. Whatever is messed up between Bucky and I, that’s on me. Everything was good until I got here. I don’t want to come between you guys, or make you choose between us. I was just visiting anyway, so now I’m leaving a little early, that’s all; it’s okay.”

Sorrow flashed briefly in Clint’s gaze but they both knew she was right. “It sucks.”

“Yeah, but you’ll just have to come and visit me then.”

“I will.” He met her eyes and nodded. “We always go too long between seeing each other, that’s going to change. I miss you, kid.”

Lev felt a pang in her chest and her voice caught as she whispered. “I miss you too, big brother.”

Clint swallowed, then cleared his throat aggressively. Big sappy displays were not his thing, and in truth, they weren’t Lev’s either. He stood, almost abruptly and swiped at his cheek. “See you tonight,” a thought seemed to hit him then and he hesitated before adding, “would you mind if Steve came over too? He’ll be upset to hear you’re leaving; he’ll want to say goodbye.”

“Of course, yeah. That’d be great.” Lev sighed, relieved that Clint had thought of it. It would save her having to go to the shop, maybe running into Bucky, to say goodbye to Steve herself.

Clint nodded, threw her a sad grin, then left.

Lev considered mooning around in bed for a while, wallowing in the disappointment of her current situation, then threw the covers back with a groan, forced her feet to touch the floor.

You win some, you lose some. She wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, she knew that, and she and Bucky just hadn’t clicked, there was no shame it that, only if she stubbornly refused to acknowledge it, continued to force herself into his space would it become wrong. Leaving was the best option for everyone.

Then why did it hurt?

If leaving was the right thing to do, then why had she found herself driving by the local hospital more than once, watching the comings and goings of staff and patients, imagined herself working there, part of the rush and crush?

No. It did no good to drown in the ‘what if’s and if only’s’. Her life was a three-and-a-half-hour plane trip away, not here.

She needed a shower and, while the hot water pounded her bare skin, she made herself not think about everything.

Later, Lev found herself in the backyard. There was a small pool that she’d shamefully underutilized, and tall fragrant trees blocking any nosy neighbours from spying. Sprawled on her stomach on the lounge chair, Lev surfed idly on her laptop, having already booked her flight home for tomorrow and now letting herself drift, catching up on friend’s Facebook pages, something she rarely had made time for in the past. A pang hit her as she read, seeing how everyone seemed to have a life, a family, children on the way. All Lev had, all she’d concerned herself with for years, had been her education, her upcoming career.

Had she wasted her life? In her one-track mind approach to everything, had she missed out on all the good stuff?

No, she decided firmly. She was still young, now that her education was out of the way, she could start really living, reaping the rewards that years of sacrifice and discipline had brought.

The sun was warm on her bare shoulders and Lev giggled at herself. She was even starting to tan, something she hadn’t done since junior high, when she’d flirted briefly with the track team to round out her academic record before quitting to take an extra chemistry class.

Pushing the laptop away, Lev rested her cheek on her crossed arms and closed her eyes. She imagined laying on one of the tattoo tables at the shop, getting her first real ink. Would Bucky’s fingers be as soft working on her tattoo as they’d been against her nape last night? Would his breath tickle her skin, the heat of his big body warm her? Would the same tingles she felt every time they’d accidentally brushed up against each other race through her as he drew on her virgin skin? She realized now what had always made her edgy around him, and she wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t experienced it herself, but there was a low-level charge between them, a humming energy that colored and heated the air around them, swirling and tangling and, for better or worse, binding them.

As she lay there, she imagined Bucky’s touch moving lower, trailing teasingly along her suddenly bare back to reach the curve of her ass and Lev shuddered, but not in a bad way.

Even when she’d avoided him at the shop, she’d still hungered for glances of him, quick snatches of his hands, large and veined and tattooed, gentle as he worked yet looking so strong and dangerous. He’d proven that last night, breaking that guy’s nose at the bar and literally wrenching her from her seat before brushing back her hair so carefully, enfolding her in his embrace so securely.

What would it feel like to have him inside her, to feel him grip her hips and drive himself home between her thighs? Lev was not a virgin but only barely, her tentative explorations with a classmate, almost clinical in their detachedness, had been more like studying than anything else and she’d not gotten off, not with any satisfaction anyway.

But it would be different with Bucky, Lev mused. He was experienced, he knew how to touch a woman, how to bring her pleasure. She’d covertly glanced at the sizeable bulge in his jeans more than once, felt her womb clench at the thought of feeling that push inside her. If he kissed her with half as much raw desire and want as she’d seen him suck face with some of those girls then she might ever come from that alone, convulsing in his arms when he hadn’t even really touched her yet.

And God, the thought of those long, dextrous fingers brushing at her folds made her shiver, toying with her clit, spreading her juices-

“Hey,” A deep voice called tentatively, and Lev startled out her daydream, nearly knocking the laptop off the chair above her. She shook her head, peering at the speaker and felt her face go beet-red.

Of course, of course it would have to be Bucky standing a few dozen feet away, looking like tattooed sin himself, probably able to smell her arousal in the air.

Lev scrambled to cover herself, cursing her impulsive decision to lose her pants and lounge in only her tank-top and panties, the blanket she’d brought out too far away to reach.

Goddammit, why had she decided to slut-it-up now?

Sensing her discomfort, Bucky strode forwards and grabbed the blanket, holding it out to her with averted eyes. Gratefully Lev took it, sitting cross-legged and wrapping the blanket around her.

Bucky studied her for a beat, just long enough to make Lev drop her gaze, then looked around. Walking towards the other lounge chair, he pulled it closer and sat with a sigh, scrubbing his hands on his jeans. Lev waited, not at all sure why the hell Bucky was here, and what he was going to say to her.

“I overheard your brother telling Steve… you’re leaving?” He bent over, clasped his hands together, forearms resting on his thighs and studied his fingers, not meeting her gaze.

“It’s for the best.” Lev mumbled. “You don’t like me, and I won’t come between my brother and his friends.”

“I never said I don’t like you.”

Lev snorted with derision, barely believing her ears. Really? He’d never said he didn’t like her? He didn’t need to, he’d shown that he hadn’t, every fucking day.

Bucky glanced up at her snort then dropped his head again, ears reddening as he correctly read her thoughts.

Lev waited, not trusting herself to speak again without flying off the handle and destroying whatever fragile tie brought Bucky here today looking so humbled and studied his form instead. She’d gazed at him time untold already, covertly but, with the reality of her leaving and probably never seeing him again, her eyes greedily devoured him now, committing him to memory for the inevitable dark times of regret ahead. Tattoos crawled his neck to his impossibly chiselled jawline visible even beneath his beard, the colors vibrant and lines strong, Clint’s best work. His left arm, apparently grievously broken some years ago and repaired with pins and screws, was covered in a full cyborg sleeve, right down to his hand. Steve was responsible for it and it blended seamlessly with his musculature, flowing with a startling realism when he moved. The other arm was covered in a full sleeve as well, but as a myriad of images tied together, entailing untold hours of work and resulting in an image that took hours and multiple viewings to fully capture and appreciate all the details, all the way down to calloused and scarred fingers, his touch startingly tender when he wanted, bone-crushing when he didn’t.

He looked like the last person someone like Lev would be attracted to yet, as she gazed at him, a yearning that took her breath away clawed around her heart; a small voice deep inside whispering a plaintive but implacable ‘mine’.

The full effect, of his massive frame, beard, long hair, heavily tattooed body, leather and denim attire and general ‘don’t fuck with me’ aura made him an intimidating presence but, right now, he was making himself vulnerable, showing a side to Lev that his outward appearance made it look like he didn’t have.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “Whatever chance I had…. I’ve fucking lost you now, haven’t I?” His voice cracked and Lev stared in shock at his bent head.

What? Where the hell was this coming from? When had he ever wanted a chance with her?

“I… I don’t understand, Bucky. I didn’t think you ever did.”

“I did.” His voice was so low Lev almost missed it. “God, I did, I do.”

A sudden rush hit Lev, a swell of conflicting emotions; confusion, curiosity, anger and, oddly enough, sympathy for the man in front of her. It would have been so much easier to stay away, wait the few short hours for Lev to leave forever and never think of her again and yet… he’d come to her, looking and sounding broken.

“Her name was Amelia.” Bucky said unexpectedly. “Everyone called her Ami. She was serious, driven, disciplined… she was like you.” He raised his head briefly before dropping it again. “We were night and day, but I loved her. Even back in high school… fuck, I loved her. She had all these plans, you know? This big fancy career, what she was going to do, when and where and I was going to be there with her. I mean, I was apprenticing with Steve, but you can do that anywhere, I could’ve gotten a job in a shop anywhere…. I just wanted to be with Ami, you know? I was happy with just that.”

His exhale was unsteady, and Lev tensed, a sick feeling building in her stomach as she connected the dots. There was no woman named Ami hanging around the shop, no ring on Bucky’s finger, just a steady stream of faceless women.

“I sold my Harley to buy her engagement ring.” He sighed heavily and Lev was shocked to feel the beginnings of tears prick her eyes. “I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me and…. She laughed. Laughed in my face.”

Lev felt a rush of rage at this woman, how cruel, how goddamn heartless, to laugh when someone is making themselves so vulnerable like that? Taking a chance and asking you to share your life with them?

“’Why?’ She asked,” Bucky spat, fists going white at the knuckles as he clenched them. “’Why would I marry someone like you?’” He swallowed hard. “She told me I was crazy, to think we’d ever had a future. She said I was a disappointment, I had no goals, no dreams or ambitions beyond being a loser, that only crooks and druggies became tattoo ‘artists’ and that I needed to get serious and grow up.”

A tear coursed down Lev’s cheek. Even at her most angry, her most hurt by Bucky’s treatment of her, she never would have gone so low as this Ami woman, especially with someone she’d supposedly loved, enough to give him the impression of a potential future between them.

“She left. I haven’t seen her since.” He took a deep breath, let it out with a heartbreaking resignation. “I stayed apprenticing because it was all I had. Steve, Nat, tattoos and eventually, your brother. And I’m not a loser, I have a business with my two best friends, a successful one and I’m content with that… but I haven’t let a woman close since her. I fuck and forget because it doesn’t hurt. I’m upfront with them because Ami wasn’t with me, there’s no illusions. And then you walked into my shop.” He looked up finally and the riot of emotions darkening his eyes made the thin remains of her restraint fail and the tears fell unheeded down her face.

“I thought I’d loved Ami but,” he shook his head. “It was nothing compared to what hit me when I saw you that first time, and… it scared the fuck out of me because it was happening again. I was falling for a woman with the same drive and desire to succeed as her. And I hated that, this… weakness of mine, to get caught in that again, like the first time never happened… and it pissed me off so bad and terrified me at the same time. I did all I could to keep you away, but I couldn’t help it sometimes…. sometimes I just had to be close to you, sometimes I couldn’t hide it anymore. I fought so hard to push you away because Ami broke me but… if I let myself love you and you did the same, it would kill me this time.”

Lev stared, horror and sorrow taking her breath away.

Wow.

Of all the things she expected to hear from Bucky, whatever explanations or excuses he might have offered to maybe justify his actions, she’d hadn’t imagined anything like this because, why would you? Who would ever think that another human being could be that cruel, especially to someone they’d given at least the impression of loving? If Ami hadn’t wanted to marry Bucky, fine; if she’d thought him unambitious, whatever, but she hadn’t needed to crush him like that.

What pain did he hide behind those supernatural eyes?

She was getting a good look at that pain now, coupled with a deep regret.

“I…” He began but trailed off. Fists clenching again he continued. “I just needed you to know that; it was never really about you, you’re-” his voice cracked again. “You’re going to make some lucky fuck really happy one day and this is all on me. What’s happened between us is my fuck-up, not yours. Never. yours.”

Without conscious intent Lev stood and moved to sit at Bucky’s side. She had no idea what she was doing, but his pain cleaved her in two. Bucky lifted his head, turning eyes dark with regret her way. Only a foot away, Lev could see the moisture gathering there, the tightness at the corners of his eyes as he fought back emotion; he exhaled, a long, low sound that wavered as his gaze dropped to her mouth.

Hunger joined the pain and he looked back up into her eyes, the power in his gaze gripping her in place, drawing her closer and their lids fluttered closed just as their lips touched, a tentative brushing before his hand reached up and cupped her jaw, curled around to cradle her head and hold her close as the kiss deepened, grew hard and passionate as floodgates long held close burst open. It was all teeth and tongues and desire and Lev couldn’t stop a moan against Bucky’s mouth, which he answered with a primal sound, low in his chest. Grabbing her waist Bucky pulled Lev to straddle his lap and she moved eagerly, tightening her thighs around his hips, inhaling sharply when he squeezed her leg, growling in barely leashed need.

She could feel him, hot and hard, pressing against her core, one large hand guiding her hip, grinding her against him then the other was rucking up under her shirt, cupping her breasts, thumb rasping over her nipples.

“Fuck, baby-” Bucky groaned against her mouth and he was all she could see, hear, smell, feel and taste, completely capturing and overwhelming her senses and Lev wanted nothing more in that moment than for Bucky to tear her clothes away and drive inside her, make her scream and writhe beneath him, feel him release inside her with a groan.

This is happening too fast.

“Wait-” Lev gasped, heart hammering.

Bucky pulled away only far enough to rest his forehead to hers and panted, chest heaving, eyes closed, and face twisted with pain.

“I-” He began, a heartbreaking crack in his voice then he stopped again, taking a deep breath. “You’re right.” His hand tightened on her hip for an instant before he gently pushed her off his lap, standing before Lev could find her voice to argue, to tell him what her brain was scrambling to form and communicate.

No, don’t go. Not like this, I just meant slow down.

“Bucky-”. Damn her panicking nerves, her flustered heart. Just say it. Spit it out before he got the idea that you didn’t want to continue, that you don’t hunger and ache for him the way he does for you.

If Bucky saw her struggle, if he understood it, he chose to ignore it.

“No, Lev.” He took a step back, fists clenching. “It’s better this way.” He hesitated, then turned to leave.

Lev watched him go, her breath clawing in her throat, torn between wanting to call out to him, and remaining silent. Tears pricked her eyes as she watched his wide, powerful frame, now slumped with regret, disappear through the gate and, when she heard the faint rumble of his bike from down the street, she let them fall.

Why hadn’t she called out to him?

Because.

This was the least painful way to part. He’d explained why he’d behaved the way he had, and while it didn’t change their past, at least it would help Lev lay it to rest. The kiss changed nothing, the fact that it was the most visceral experience of Lev’s life only showed how closeted and sheltered she was, nothing more, nothing as foolish as love or soulmates or passion.

But watching him go right now had hurt worse than anything else, worse than his most venomous, snapped retorts, his sullen silences and the long days without catching even a glimpse of him.

Something inside him called out to something inside her and made the snow globe inside her settle, let her soul take a deep breath. This had been hidden by Lev’s confusion and anxiety, Bucky’s bristling and shields; but he’d peeled a part of himself back last night, dropped the mask of anger long enough for Lev to see the damage beneath, and today he’d fully bared his heart to her, let her see all his grievous wounds. And rather than driving her away, it had cracked something kindred open in her. The load she carried; the balls Lev forever felt like she juggled weren’t so life-or-death; she didn’t feel like she was hanging on by her fingernails and needed to constantly move to stay afloat when he was near her and, while her brain hadn’t yet caught up to this, her heart had.

But it was too late now. The moment was over, he had left, and she was leaving tomorrow.

She needed to drop it.

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

Lev yawned heavily, rubbing at her bleary eyes, not caring that she was most likely smudging her mascara. She hoped briefly that the Karen and her spawn would be on this flight, at least her strident complaints would help keep Lev awake.

After Clint got home, with Steve at his side they’d ordered pizza and sat down to watch gory, campy ‘80’s slasher movies and Lev had done her best to stay present but her brain refused to concentrate, Bucky and her pending departure forefront on her mind. The sorrow and misery on his face broke her heart and she’d hardly slept at all, tossing and turning, Bucky’s words, his gentle touch endlessly haunting her; she lost count of the times she reached for her phone, wanting to call him, but pulling back at the last moment.

Stopping at a coffee kiosk, Lev ordered a black eye and sipped it carefully, inhaling the comforting aroma. Due to her broken sleep, she’d left too early and consequently, had arrived at the airport too early as well and now wandered, pulling along her small carry-on and shouldering her backpack.

Clint had clients this morning and hadn’t been able to accompany her and for that, Lev was grateful. It was hard enough forcing herself to step onto a plane without her brother’s eyes on her as well. Their parting this morning, before Lev had gone out to meet the waiting taxi, had been full of unsaid words and choked back entreaties. More than once Lev caught Clint watching her with forlorn eyes, chewing on his bottom lip like he was fighting not to speak up and beg her to stay.

More than once on the way to the airport Lev opened her mouth to ask the driver to turn around, then closed it again.

Sometimes doing the right thing hurt, sometimes the correct path was the rockiest and Lev knew she would bleed for a long time over this, but it was the best thing to do.

Lev glanced up at a large clock on the wall of the terminal and sighed, they would be boarding soon. She pulled absently on the strap of her backpack and tried not to think about what she was leaving behind. The shop, the life, it had started to grow on her as she’d spent time among Clint and his friends, and she was genuinely sad to be parting from it all.

Especially Bucky. There had been something there, between them, right from the start and it hurt to leave without exploring their connection further, especially after that scorching kiss, but it was happening, she was here, she was leaving soon, and that was it.

She looked down the terminal, gaze trailing absently over the various people hurrying to their destinations, bumping into each other, throwing impatient glances at slower ones and was horrified to feel the prick of tears in her eyes as she acknowledged the fact that she was searching, waiting for Bucky to come running to her, to beg her to stay.

But there was no sign of him.

No. She wouldn’t cry. A bird may love a fish, but where would they live?

The intercom above buzzed, then Lev’s flight was being called to board and she turned, closing off her emotions.

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

Lev grimaced as she swallowed the mouthful of cold coffee, dropping the paper cup in the nearest garbage with a heavy exhale and a frown. When was the last time she’d had time to stop and pour herself a fresh one? Three hours? Four?

Tonight at the Emergency Department was especially chaotic and while Lev revelled in the crush and rush, in the never-ending movement that made it that much easier not to think about her life, it was draining. Ever since she’s arrived home three months ago and called up her mentor to accept his offered position, Lev had done her best to stay in motion, to stay busy and distracted and while she would be paying off the remainder of her student debts left over after all the scholarships she’d won far earlier than she’d anticipated, deep inside something was missing.

An ache had taken residence in her chest and refused to leave.

The worst part was she knew exactly what that ache was and how to cure it, but she couldn’t.

She’d left, and Bucky hadn’t come for her. He’d acknowledged, like her, that regardless of the pain, staying apart was better for both of them and there was no medication or treatment offered in Lev’s ER to combat that.

“Hey,” Kaylee, one of the trauma nurses and Lev’s few friends, bumped her shoulder gently as they both leaned on the unit’s main desk, conserving their energy for the next emergency. “You going to do it?”

Lev fought not to grimace, dropping her head to hide her expression. Kaylee had been trying for the last two weeks to pin Lev down for a blind date with one of her brother’s friends and while the little brunette sprite was persistent, so far Lev had managed to dodge her.

“I don’t know-”

“C’mon. You need to go out. Ever since you visited your brother you’ve been dragging your ass around!” Kaylee was never one to mince words and they’d formed a close friendship during Lev’s residency here, but sometimes the woman was insufferable.

“I have not been dragging my ass.” Lev hissed, trying to mask her irritation. She loved Kaylee and knew she was coming from a place of concern and friendship, but right now…. especially now, Lev didn’t want to hear it.

“He’s nice, tall, has a good job.” Kaylee continued, deciding to take a circuitous route to her point. “He’s really excited to meet you!”

Lev made a face. She’d had a chance at nice, tall and a good job before, and look where it had gotten her, although Bucky, in truth, hadn’t met the ‘nice’ part until just at the end.

“What’s his name again?” Lev stalled for time, furiously figuring out a way to escape.

“Stuart Pierson.”

Stuart. Levka and Stuart Pierson.

Not nearly the same ring as Levka and Bucky Barnes.

STOP IT.

“Kaylee, I can’t. I’ve got back to back shifts for the next week-”

“You know Trent wants them! He’ll take them off your hands!”

“And I’m still moving in-”

“Damn girl how long is that going to take? You bought a studio!”

“I’m just busy right now, okay?”

Kaylee fixed her with a Look, head tilted and hand on hip. “He’s not worth your time, Lev. Forget the gangbanger, okay?”

Lev winced, not for the first time regretting telling Kaylee about Bucky. She’d kept it general, not given his name or any real details about what had happened between them, and now Kaylee had this Hell’s Angels figure in her head, convinced that Lev had been ‘slumming’ it and the best thing to do would be to jump on the nearest WASP, namely Stuart Pierson.

But Bucky wasn’t a hood, and she hadn’t been slumming it. He’d been a decent guy that she’d gotten off on the wrong foot with and, rather than correct that, she’d left.

“Got a new one coming in.” Agnes, the old battle-axe unit clerk broke in. She’d been running the ER longer than anyone else and even the biggest asshole doctors respected and feared her. In truth, she was a secret sweetheart, as long as you provided covert homemade cookies and Starbucks every now and then.

“Got it.” Lev replied, instantly falling into her professional mentality. Although she was hella young compared to other doctors in the hospital, right now she and Dr. Abbott were the two most senior in the ER and he was sleeping in the lounge, an absolute bear to wake up.

Hurrying to the nearest sink, she quickly washed her hands then reached for supplies. Gown, goggles, booties; the ER could get messy rapidly and, as her heart began to beat faster in anticipation, Lev found her worries melting away. Later, after she’d stabilized the patient, after the adrenaline had worn off, it would be back, but Lev lived for this oblivion now.

Agnes called from the desk, relaying the EMT’s report and Lev listened carefully, forming a picture in her mind of what needed to be done.

“MVA, thirty-one year old male, t-boned at an intersection. Multiple breaks, possible internal bleed-” Agnes continued in a professional clip, reading off the man’s blood pressure, pulse ox, breathing rate and other pertinent information in short jargon indecipherable to the average listener.  

“Morphine given on-route, but patient is combative-”

Interesting, most people wanted the pain gone, but others were confused and fighting everything, still tangled in the chaos of their accident.

“Multiple LOC in the field but awake now-”

Head injury? On top of internal damage. Lev would need to page the surgeon on call and get a neuro consult.

The sirens became louder and Kaylee joined her, gowned and ready, all grim attention and anticipation. Suddenly, the bus was there, backing up to the bay as the doors flew open. One EMT jumped out and pulled on the gurney, joined by ER staff to unload it.

Lev saw bare skin and blood, heard the EMT speaking but turned her focus on her new patient.

“Trauma One, let’s go!” An oxygen mask covered part of the man’s face and he was fully locked down in a body brace on the stretcher, standard procedure especially with a potential head injury. Lev got glimpses of denim and a torn t-shirt, but most of the man was obscured by swarming nurses and machines, bandages and tubes.

Grabbing her penlight, Lev leaned over the man’s face.

“I’m Dr. Barton, I’m here to help you. I just need to check your pupils, follow the light please. Can you tell me where it hurts?” The words fell from her mouth, well-rehearsed and practiced.

The man tried to speak but his voice was lost in the chaos. Lev peeled back an eyelid and shone her penlight, searching for his pupil’s reaction. First one, then the other, both equally reactive, good.

With a tearing sound, the remains of the man’s t-shirt were cut from his torso and Lev studied him clinically. Plenty of lacerations and contusions, to be expected, and a troubling shadow in the lower quadrant- Jesus the man was cut, and not just by glass, his musculature was incredible and there was something so familiar about the ink-

Oh Jesus.

“Bucky?!” Lev gasped.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

content warning: referenced/implied child abuse, child homelessness

It’s hard finding food out here. Figuring out which shops are the least dangerous to steal from, finding people around who will slip him something to eat if he looks dirty and thin enough. It’s harder to find water, and impossible to find a decent place to sleep, unless he somehow hears about a nearby safehouse and they let him in.

Even warlocks look at their own kind and say you’re too desperate to not be a threat, a lot of the time.

It’s okay, though. Lux hasn’t been comfortable in a long time. He’s always had a bed and walls and doors, yes, and he was privileged for having that much - but he hasn’t felt safe for years. Being out in the cold in between shelters found and safehouses wheedled into is much, much better than being in a house with someone you fear. His nightmares have stopped, the flinching excusable as the instincts of a street urchin instead of the paranoia of a battered kid, so he’s feeling as confident and brave as he ever has. (Except for when his mom was around, and she’d pull this face after he had to face his dad, and she’d wrap him up in her arms and trace the bruise on his cheek gently and call him her brave little man.)

What he needs right now are shoes. He needs to find shoes. Or a couple pairs of socks to layer up - or even long strips of something, like bandages, that he can wrap around and around to protect the soles of his feet against glass and pebbles and things. He needs those, that’s number one; then water, then food, then maybe, maybe, a blanket to hide under and try to sleep.

Warlocks don’t knock, they sneak. Slip in or break in. He’s a sneaker, definitely not a big bully type, thirteen years old and hardly ninety pounds soaking wet. So Lux slips into this safehouse he heard about from a grabby, grimy homeless warlock a few blocks away.

“What are you doing here?” A witch asks, stalking right up to him when she spots a hunger-panged frame crouched over and hurrying from the briefly open back door.

“I - sorry, miss, I, I’m hungry -”

The crack of her palm striking his cheek, the slap ringing out loud and sharp, makes Lux gasp. The whole left side of his face stings hotly as he reels from the blow, finding with a tug on his arm that she’s got a secure grip on his wrist.

“And, I’m’a warlock,” He mutters, covering his cheek and blinking up at her, scared, before swallowing and widening his stance to be steadier on his feet. She can throw him out, but he’ll get back in somehow. He can’t find another place tonight, he just, he has to stay here no matter what it takes.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Stupid kid.” The grip doesn’t leave his wrist. Lux yelps as he gets yanked over to the nearest room, a stubby black fingernail pointing into the space that holds four passed out warlocks. “That’s where we sleep.” More yanking, and she points into a room with various mismatched appliances with exposed wires and worn-down handles. “Kitchen. You burn yourself on accident in there, you don’t holler, you keep quiet. You do anything that gets us found and you get thrown to the cops, understand?”

“Yes,” Lux breathes, and he’s dragged along to the next room, and the next, until finally he’s brought all the way back to the kitchen and shoved inside.

“Sit on the floor. I’m gonna make you something to eat. Look like you’re about to faint. After this, you make your own food. And you don’t stay more than a week, got it? Kids mean trouble.”

With an annoyed huff just to hide how uneasy her shoving and anger makes him, Lux lowers himself to the ugly linoleum floor and watches her work with the stove, moving pots and dishes with surprising caution. One wrong clatter and the neighbors get annoyed, call the cops, get people killed. Lux watches and learns.

~

If cops get ya, too bad. Your fault. Run, duck, twist free, but if they get ya, it’s over. Lux knows this, he’s been told it plenty of times. He used to watch his dad’s cop friends coming over to the house, he would cringe against the wall as he was shoved out of their line of sight and told in a hushed, icy calm tone you know, if you’re ever bad enough, I can make one call and you’ll be hauled off by these guys, gone forever. He used to get hauled up off the floor where he’d been crying curled up around a broken bone and told what, you wanna go to a hospital? You want them to do tests on you and find out what you are? Shut up or I’ll take you there, I will, and they’ll put poison in you, they’ll get rid of you for me.

Well, there’s no Dad to hold that danger off now. Sixteen and stupid, Lux tried to steal a car to get to someplace different, to just get away. He didn’t know it was an undercover cop’s car.

He doesn’t actually know what happens if you get caught by a cop. He’s seen bodies, and he’s heard stories, but it’s never happened to him. He guesses that it will now.

“You see this?” The cop snarls, gripping one of Lux’s arms that are cuffed behind his back and shoving the kid forward with a fist in his curly hair. Lux cringes as his face is held inches away from the broken glass lining what was once a driver’s side window on a car.

“Yeah?”

“This costs five hundred dollars to replace. You got that kind of money?”

“N-no, I-”

“No, because you’re just some dirty warlock kid. Can’t help but steal and break things, it’s in your nature. Bet your warlock parents taught you how to do that.” The officer shoves Lux up against the side of the car, bigger and stronger and in the eyes of anyone who might see, completely in the right.

“S-, officer, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“You don’t break a car window on accident, warlock.”

“- to, cause any trouble, just wanted to -”

The grip on his hair tugs hard, and then his face, his skull, everything above his shoulders explodes into sudden pain. Lux cries out, wrists jerking in the handcuffs cinched too tight so he can’t slip free, skinny as he is. His head was slammed against the car, he realizes belatedly as the cop forces his head to turn so the damage can be inspected.

“Where are your little warlock friends? Your band of thieves? Did some older kids convince you to do this as some kind of initiation?”

“Inish…’nitia-, huh? I, I just - ‘m alone, just needed a car, I’m sorry!”

“Oh, you’re alone.” The cop leans closer, and Lux has no room to escape the threatening proximity. “I get it. You’re not a criminal warlock in training, you’re just a scared harmless kid, all on his own. How stupid do you think I am?”

He is alone. Lux has been alone for years. He runs, hides, steals. He’s not a criminal, not really, just - what do the older warlocks say, bitterly lounged on musty couches and chugging plastic bottles of liquor? We’re not criminals, we’re survivors. Lux is just a survivor. One who’s not yet very good at avoiding the law.

He’s pushed into the backseat of the cop car, and then the officer walks away. Doesn’t come back for an hour. Two hours. Lux’s eyelids droop, his breathing slowing then hitching as he finds himself tipping over.

He’s alone, and even this hard seat is better than the ground when he can’t find a safehouse to duck into, and it’s much warmer in here than outside. But, but do cops have cameras in their cars? Microphones? Will they watch him lower his guard, will they record his breathing and what he says in his sleep? If he does drift off, will the cop come back and put a bullet in his brain? Dump him out on the road when a car is coming? No, Lux can’t sleep. He’s alone, he’s handcuffed, he’s trapped in a space that belongs to someone paid to find and hurt warlocks. It’s just not safe, it’s not, he can’t sleep, he can’t… he can’t help dozing off with a low thrumming panic eating away at his nerves, sure to bring nightmares as soon as he’s at his most vulnerable, unconscious and unaware.

~

There are cinnamon rolls in the fridge, each one wrapped up carefully in cling wrap to keep it fresh and soft.

The plants on the windowsills are green and leafy, bouncing mildly in the breeze, scents sweetening the air in repayment for the water and sunlight and singing sometimes offered to help them grow.

Lux is on a couch. His head is lying on a rolled-up sweater, peach-colored and soft, that Emory was wearing earlier, curls and a cheek smushed up against the soft fabric.

He looks around, one knuckle just barely kissing the floor where his arm dangles off the side of the couch, socked feet propped up on a pillow. The speakers beside the TV are quietly playing a playlist that Emory put together for when Lux is bored lying around the house, each song especially picked for a Lux in a particular mood.

Twenty-two and safe. Twenty-two and calm, comfortable, sleepy and utterly relaxed. Lux, a warlock, the son of a veteran of the War on Magic, a criminal and a killer, lies sprawled out on something soft in a place he can call home. His boyfriend will come home soon with take-out, and kisses, and questions about how Lux’s day went. This place wouldn’t be so warm and safe if Emory didn’t live here, but Emory doesn’t lord over it, and the crazy man swears that it wouldn’t be a home without Lux here.

So here Lux waits, dozes, the only one in the house for the moment, but not alone. Not alone anymore. Never alone again, if you don’t wanna be, Emory promises, sometimes, when Lux asks to be held in the middle of the night so the anxieties that slide around his mind in the dark and quiet don’t grow and take root. I’m right here, Curls. You’re not alone.

It took a long time. Too long, he thinks, remembering when he was smaller and not yet used to all the ways the world could hurt him. But he’s finally here, in the home he was meant to have, and within the hour, he’ll see his Em, he’ll be in the arms of someone who loves him despite knowing him inside and out. Lux snuggles further into his boyfriend’s sweater and breathes deep, letting himself fall further into his early-evening nap. He’ll be woken by hands on his back, in his hair, lips at his cheek and shoulder, and Lux won’t flinch. He’ll stay sleepy and loose and hum a welcome home, and get a warm greeting in return. It’s just the kind of thing that happens when you’re home and in love, kisses and warm words and food. All his, whenever he needs them, forever. Because he’s not alone anymore.

[elvendara]

Mysme-Fictober Day 18

October 18th 2019

In the Dark *spoilers for Yoosung bad end*

He tried not to think about how much it hurt. His left eye pulsed with pain and radiated throughout his head and down to his shoulder. Whatever Unknown had done to it, Yoosung knew he would never be the same. Taking deep steady breaths kept him from crying, who knew what new hurts that would bring if his tear ducts began to work overtime. He wanted to touch it, to feel the damage but he hesitated. Not because he thought it would bring more pain, but because he didn’t really want to know how bad it was.

His thoughts were on MC. What he had done was all to protect her and he knew the Seven would do even more. It had been more important that Seven escape than it had been for Yoosung to. Opening his good eye, there was little difference. The world around him was dark. Unknown had thrown him into a closet when they had finally stopped. Yoosung didn’t know where they were and he had no illusions that he would be able to get himself out of the trouble he was in.

Dragging him out of the mansion and throwing him into a car, Unknown hadn’t even tied him up. Blood had obscured his scarce vision, but he was well and thoroughly cowed. On the drive, Unknown had ranted about Seven and his interference, giving a few punches to Yoosung when he remembered that it was his fault he had been unable to push the button and blow up Rika’s apartment. Yoosung had tried to stay as quiet as possible and make as small a target as he could. Unknown slammed his palms against the steering wheel and even once, his forehead. If there had been any doubt the man was crazy, that drive cleared them.

Once the car had stopped, Unknown dragged him out by the arm, uncaring when Yoosung tripped, ripping his pants and scraping his knee. The sting was nothing compared to the pain in his eye however. He stumbled behind Unknown, trying to stay on his feet. He told himself he should be taking in his surroundings, looking for a way out. But what was the point?

Once inside they made their way up a flight of stairs. Yoosung briefly deliberated grabbing the man and falling backwards, but what if the fall didn’t kill him? He hesitated too long and they were on the second floor. He couldn’t make out anything, there were no lights and it was dark outside. Unknown seemed to know where he was going, as if he had been here before. He heard a door open and then another, which was when Unknown had tossed him into the small closet. Yoosung hit the back wall and slid to the floor, the door slamming shut with finality. He didn’t think the man had locked it but he couldn’t make himself check.

Ripping off his shirt he used it gently wipe his face, the blood was already drying and flaked off. He tore a piece of the fabric, using his teeth to work on a tear and wrapped it over his eye. The pressure against it made it feel better. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there, but his stomach told him it had been long enough to feel real hunger. As a broke university student, Yoosung knew what it felt like to be hungry. This was perhaps the hunger pangs of at least a full day of not eating. Mostly, his lips were dry and he felt sticky and gross.

At some point, he fell asleep and woke up startled, the cold hard feel of the floor beneath him. It took him a minute to orient himself and remember what had happened. His stomach growled but he ignored it. He felt around him, the closet was empty except for a layer of dirt. Feeling towards the door he tried the doorknob. It opened easily and he cracked it a bit. He closed his eye and listened, but he couldn’t hear a thing. Had Unknown dumped him in here and left? Had he been able to leave this whole time?

Fear gripped his heart as the darkness threatened to suffocate him. He tried to see out of his good eye but it was still too dark. It must be day by now, and surely there were windows in the room. Why was it still so dark? He pushed the door further and glimpsed the outline of a window briefly before the door was shoved from the other side, hitting him on the head and sending him backwards, slamming his back against the wall.

There was a low deep laugh from the other side of the door.

“Now now now, what do you think you’re doing blondie?” Unknown teased. Yoosung kicked the door, adrenaline firing him up briefly. His heart beat through his chest and his breathing was fast and harsh. He lost his fight with keeping the tears back and they began to flow, stinging his injured eye further. Unknown laughed as he kicked the door on the other side mocking Yoosung.

“Don’t bother cutie.” Unknown said lips pressed against the door. “You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” Yoosung heard the man sit against the door. He hated himself for crying, for showing any kind of weakness, for being scared, but he couldn’t help it.

It seemed like forever, but it must have been only a few minutes. Unknown mumbled to himself, as if he was having a conversation with someone. Maybe he was on the phone, but it didn’t feel like that was right. Yoosung pressed his ear to the door but he still couldn’t understand much. Just a few words that didn’t make sense.

Yoosung’s mouth was so dry, the disturbed dust from his movement clung to his tongue. He inhaled and it made his throat clench and he began to cough. Unknown went silent on the other side. When he was done a whisper came through the door.

“Do you need some water?” the tone was almost kind, as if it was someone else other than Unknown asking.

“Y…yes…please.”

“Ok, I’ll be right back.” There were scuttling noises and then silence for a few minutes. Unknown returned and immediately opened the door. Yoosung was so surprised, he jerked back. Unknown sat just on the other side and handed him a water bottle. Hesitantly Yoosung reached out for it. It was still closed and when he opened it there was a loud snap of the cap. He put it to his lips and began to swallow. Unknown pulled the bottle down, away from his lips.

“Slow down, you’re going to make yourself sick.” The man’s mask was down and Yoosung could make out a lot of his features, even in the dark. His hair obscured much of his eyes, but his mouth was clearly outlined, lips nice and plump. There was no scowling or tension coming from him. It was too confusing to think of.

“How’s your eye?” he asked, sounding deeply concerned.

“It hurts.” Yoosung admitted freely.

“Of course it does, that was a stupid question. Dumb dumb dumb.” Unknown slammed his fist into his forehead forcefully.

“No, it’s, it’s fine, really.” Yoosung couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, why was he trying to comfort this man?

“I didn’t mean to.” Unknown whispered, lowering his head.

“Maybe…you could let me go? So I can go to the hospital?” Yoosung ventured.

“Let…you go?” Unknown furrowed his brows, staring at Yoosung, his lower lip trembling. Yoosung watched as the lip steadied and then changed into a smirk. “I don’t think so cutie. Drink up, who knows when you’ll get more.” He stood and slammed the door shut. His laughter floated around Yoosung as complete darkness once again swallowed him up.

[scrambledthoughtz]

to be completely honest, sometimes i envy my younger self who was able to starve herself into losing weight. there are times when i look at myself and i wish i still had that type of willpower.

if you really think about, like really think about it, i had the willpower to restrict my diet to the point where i lost a significant amount of weight, and i did it mainly by chewing my food and then spitting it out directly afterwards so that my body wouldn’t sustain the calories. by chewing it, i was still able to partake in a portion of the pleasure that’s usually experienced through eating. i mean, and of course i exercised my ass off. i remember in elementary school (yeah, crazy to think about that my worst phase of my anorexia was in 6th grade, right?), i would run laps around the track during lunch instead of actually eating. i lost enough weight that i wasn’t allowed to exercise bc then i would compulsively exercise and then i would not stop. it’s not until now when i think back to it that i realize how abnormal that was. i remember my family went on a skiing trip to Tahoe, and i stayed home with my mom bc i wasn’t allowed to exercise. lol i remember that christmas vividly. my mom microwaved costco wonton soup (the one with the fucking SALTY broth and with the shrimp wonton that comes in a plastic container) and we sat down and watched the holiday episode of victorious. when the rest of my classmates went to P.E., i sat inside the classroom (i think? this part is honestly kind of fuzzy) with my teacher. either that, or i sat on the benches outside. either way, it must have been awkward. i don’t really remember. now that i think about it, was i not allowed to exercise bc they were worried that it would harm my physiological health or was it to break the habit that i had of running my weight off? 

honestly, sometimes when i think about it, i wonder how different my life would have been if i had been hospitalized. i remember when my mom first took me to the doctor after she suspected that i might be anorexic. i looked into each of the rooms, expecting to see other girls that were as thin as skeletons. i remember thinking, “i don’t belong here. i’m not skinny or ill enough to even be here.” little did i know, as my mom told me later, if i hadn’t immediately gone through the intake process to be a patient there, i would have had to be hospitalized. and she always tells me that she was freaking out bc my dad was on some sort of trip, and she was there alone. crazy. i wish my mom was still here so that i could ask her more about it, now that i’m completely on the other end of that long ass tunnel. now that i think about it, i’m so lucky to have been able to still go to school. i just had to attend a lot of appointments, and follow strict protocol. but i still got to go to school, and i wasn’t hospitalized. wow, it have been REAL fucking hard on my family if i had had to be hospitalized. especially for my siblings -- they would have been fucking traumatized. i honestly really put my sister through the ringer back then, but that’s another story for another time. let’s just say that i am pretty sure that’s the only time when i had un-diagnosed anxiety, like to the point where it could have qualified as a mental illness. i think? i don’t know for sure. 

but anyways. lol it’s ironic having thinking back to all that bc sometimes i would honestly do it again. i mean, not really, but also yeah, really. it’s just crazy to think about that i was able to have that much willpower. granted, it really led me and my family in a downward spiral, but WOW i was really able to do some things that i would not be able to do today. i was 69 pounds in 6th grade. i remember when my P.E. teacher weighed us. i remember looking down at the scale, and thinking that that was normal. it most definitely was not. but even now, i sometimes wish that i still had that type of power over myself. i don’t know what led me to have an eating disorder in the first place, but whatever it was, it must have been powerful. i remember the doctors would always ask me, “why?” it’s like they were asking, “why? you must have had a reason. why did you, as an otherwise healthy 6th grader, decide to starve yourself to this point? was it anxiety? stress? is everything okay at school? how about at home?” my answer was always the same. “school is good, my family is good, no stress, no anxiety, no nothing. i don’t know. i guess someone might have called me fat at some point?” i think i told them that it was my sister. i’m pretty sure she still holds onto that now. i’m sorry, it wasn’t you. i was just grasping at straws to make up a random excuse bc i honest to god could not think of an actual answer. it’s weird. but again, another topic for another time. 

but now, i stress eat. i stress eat so damn much. i even have this fear of feeling hungry in class or at the cafe or library while i’m studying so i bring food bc i don’t want to feel hungry (and i don’t want to spend money lol). the instant i feel those initial hunger pangs, i can’t stop thinking about the food that’s at home. and that’s normal. but sometimes i do wish that i could just ignore those hunger pangs like i’ve been able to in the past, and just skip a meal or stop snacking. boy, do i sometimes wish that i had the willpower to skip a meal on purpose. 

i always tell myself, you’ve done it in the past so you’re more than capable of doing it again. i remember a few months ago, i was 94 pounds and i was so proud. i think that was around the time that i was regularly going to the gym, so that would make sense. but boy, was i so proud that i was a new low. it’s just a number, but i still hold on to that number now (even though it was pretty long ago). i still wish to reach that number. it’s my goal, and i’ve become admittedly obsessive over reaching that low again. but unlike in the past, i haven’t been able to physically act on that. when i’m stressed, i stress eat. i can’t help it.

there’s also a part of me that’s afraid of falling down that hole again. i bought some fiber that i was hoping would help me suppress my appetite, but i’m weary about actually putting it to use. i’m scared of falling down that hole and getting buried to deep, to the point where i can’t get back out. i want to try dipping my toe into those habits again, but i don’t know how to without instantly falling into the hole again. it’s like 0 to 100. it’s like i step on what looks like solid grass, but it’s all soft dirt underneath and i fall right through. plus, my family. i couldn’t do this to them again. even if i kept it a secret, if i got too deep, they would eventually know. i can’t do that to them.

i look at myself in the mirror, and sometimes i like what i see. other times, i see that lower belly fat that has been so stubborn and it has prevented me from being able to wear anything cropped or to be able to tuck in my tops. i want to bad to be able to tuck in my tops, but i fucking hate hate hate that part of my body. i don’t know. there’s more, but i need to start hw lol. until next time i guess.

[larryssunflower]

TRR AU- You Opened My Eyes

Pairing- Drake and Mc (Elle Garden)

Fake relationship girlies!!

Nsfw eventually (not this chapter)

tagging-Tagging my usuals, if you don’t want to be tagged, just let me know! - @simplyaiden-blog @butindeed @mfackenthal @confessionsofabrokegirl @american-duchess @drakelover78 @monosodiumglutamateme @crookedslimecreatorpasta @mrsdrakewalkerblog @traeumerinwitzhelden @gardeningourmet @speedyoperarascalparty  @agent-zephyrkah @snyggflicka

——

Elle’s Pov-

The ancient elevator creaks as it finally reaches my floor, and I step out, sighing and rubbing my forehead in exhaustion, my limbs feeling like lead. Another full night shift at the hospital working in the maternal unit. Apparently pregnant women love to give birth at three in the morning. I drag myself down the hallway, dropping my heavy bag at the door when I reach my apartment. I jiggle my bronze key in the old door, trying to get it at the right angle to eventually unlock it, grabbing my bag and pushing it open with my shoulder. I smack right into someone, making me yelp, jumping back. “What the fu-“ I start in surprise, my hand to my racing heart. On the ground in a crumped heap, blushing furiously, is a brunette girl in a sparkly black dress, smudged makeup and ruffled hair.

Oh another one of Drake’s girls. How sweet. I clear my throat awkwardly. “Heh. Sorry about that,” I say reaching my hand out for her. She smiles and grabs my hand gratefully. “Thank you,” She says in a sweet southern voice, wobbling slightly on her heels. “It’s no problem,” I say, smiling slightly. “I usually don’t do this kinda thing- ya know- one night stands, but Drake is just- different,” She gushes, as if she needs to explain herself to me. Oh poor girl. You have no idea what you just set yourself up for. I’m about to give her he bad news when she speaks up. “Well, Drake never told me his roomate was a gorgeous blonde,” she says, laughing and tucking her hair behind her ear bashfully.

“Aw you’re sweet, but seriously don’t feel threatened, Drake and I... would never happen,” I assure her, and she smiles warmly. “Okay well, I need to make it to my lecture,” She says, and I quickly move out of the way for her. “Oh yeah yeah, go ahead.” I smile, and she passes me gratefully, waving when she turns around the corner. I sigh, bending down to grab my bag and walk into our apartment. I hate that Drake is always hurting good girls like that. They don’t deserve it.

I kick the door shut behind me, and drop my keys and bag on the counter, slipping off my shoes. I groan in pain, shuffling down the hall to the bathroom, desperate for a shower.

—

After cleaning up and having a short nap, around noon I walk back into the kitchen, my stomach twisted in hunger. On the couch, not very far away sits Drake, scribbling on papaerwork, looking stressed. “Hey,” I mumble, opening the fridge door. “Hey Garden,” he mumbles back. I put together a sandwich silently, still half asleep. “ I met your friend this morning,” I say pointedly, slathering butter on the whole wheat bread. Drake chuckles.

“Heh. So you met... Amber- or was it Julie...” Drake says, stuttering and thinking to himself. I scoff, rolling my eyes. “You don’t even remember her name?” I ask, not with suprise but disgust. “Hey in my defense I was highly intoxicated last night,” Drake states, making me roll my eyes again. I plate my sandwich and plop down next to him on the couch. “Preying on poor college freshman in bars is really messed up-“ “-Shit!”Drake cuts me off, a look of pure horror on his face. “What? did you just realize what a monster you are?” I ask, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

He turns to me, his eyes wide. “Next friday is Christmas!” He says with dismay and I nod slowly. “What’s your point?” I say, squinting my eyes at him. “I- I made a bet with Liam that I would have a serious girlfriend by Christmas,” Drake says, looking down with a look of disbelief on his face.

“That was a dumb bet,” I snort, taking another bite of my sandwich. “You know I can’t lose to Liam,” he says seriously, and I look over at him. “Well you better find a girlfriend fast then,” I say, shaking my head. Drake and I have known each other since middle school, so I know his family really well. They are basically my family. His brother, Liam, has always been outshining Drake, being the star football player with a 4.0 gpa. They are always trying to find ways to compete and almost all the time the competition gets really serious.

“Elle, I can’t just go onto the street and beg some girl to be my girlfriend.” Drake says, running his hand through his hair, agitated. “Just call up Julie or whatever her name is then,” I say simply. “You know that everyone will be asking questions. She doesn’t even know my last name! I need someone who knows me.“ he mumbles, looking throughly worried, as he runs his hand through his hair, looking down.

I can’t feeling a pang of pity. His and Liam’s dynamic is pretty intense. And Drake almost never ‘wins’ their competitions, always making him feel self conscious. Thinking, I bite my lip. I sigh, looking up in annoyance at myself and my selfless ways. “What if we pretended to be dating?” I suggest, and he turns to me in shock. “W-What?” He asks. “Drake, we’ve known each other for years, and your family already loves me. We can just pretend while you visit them for the holidays then tell them we broke up after New Years. No biggie,” I say, shrugging. Drake thinks it over for a minute before slowly nodding. “Alright, sounds like a plan,” he grins.

—-

Three days later:

Drake and I hop out of the taxi, grabbing our suitcases out of the back. “Thank you!” I say through the window to the taxi driver who just nods before pulling away. Drake and I start walking towards the check-in desk at the airport. Once the sliding doors open, Drake and I groan in unison, throwing our heads back at the huge lines and crowds.

“I hate Christmas,” I mumble as we make our way to our airline desk. I feel a hand on my arm, and I look over at Drake leading me away from the people. “What are you..?” I start but he shushes me, stopping at a secluded spot behind the lines, zipping open his suitcase. “I have an idea,” he whispers, still hunched over his now open suitcase. I just sigh, rubbing my forehead in exasperation. He finally stands up, handing me the deflated shell of a soccer ball, folded onto itself, creating a half spheric shape . “What do you want me to do with this?” I ask, turning it around in my hands. He zips up his suitcase wordlessly, before grabbing the soccer ball and shoving it under my jacket, right in front of my stomach.

I jump back, my hand on it. “What the fu-“ I start, but a women passing by cuts me off. “Congratulations!” She says, pointing at my stomach. It’s suddenly dawns on me. I shoot a quick glare at Drake, who has a smirking to himself, and plaster a fake smile on my face. “Thank you ma’am,” I say kindly, and she nods, wobbling away.

I near Drake, pointing a finger at his face angrily. “No! I’m not doing this,” I say sternly in a hushed tone, about to rip the ball out from my clothes, but he stops me. “Everyone gives pregnant ladies perks! Come on, if we want to make our flight this is our only option.” He says and I just glare at him for a minute.

“Fine. But I’m taking it off as soon as we land,” I grumble, snatching up the handle of my suitcase. “Yes ma’am,” Drake grins in triumph, following me. We get to the right lane, which also happens to be one of the longest lines. I take a deep breath before tapping the shoulder of an elderly couple near the front. “I’m so sorry, but could we please jump up front with you? We might miss our flight back home, and someone needs to come out soon!” I say in a fake but friendly tone, patting my stomach. The old couple’s faces light up with understanding. “Oh of course! Go right ahead!” The man says graciously, motioning for us. We gratefully go in front of them. “Good luck!” The wife chuckles, patting my shoulder. I chuckle lightly “thanks!” I say with a grin. “May god bless you,” Drake says kindly, making their faces light up with smiles. I have to force myself not to roll my eyes.

“‘May god bless you’? Seriously?” I whisper to Drake who just shrugs, grinning. He’s enjoying this too much. We get called up front and quickly check in our bags. We grab our boarding passes and make our way to security.

Amazingly, we pass through quickly, the bored tsa workers waving us through. Soon enough, we’re sitting on the plane, waiting to take off. I barely manage to strap in myself over the ridiculous ball. Drake snickers as he watches me adjust in my seat, trying to get comfortable. I shoot him a glare once again. “I swear to god I’m going to get you back for this Walker,” I snarl quietly, before going through my purse, grabbing my headphones.

The flight to Montana is short, I mostly just listen to my music, trying to block out Drake and his comments like “oh Elle do you want complementary champagne? Oh wait... you can’t!” His stupid satisfied smirk on his face. We finally make it off the plane, heading to the arrivals terminal.

“My mom sent me a text saying to look for a sign with our names and large red balloons,” Drake says, making me laugh. “Only Bianca,” I say to myself, shaking my head. I freeze. “Shit, my fake bump!” I whisper to Drake, who widens his eyes. “Fuck, go change in the bathroom,” He says, motioning to the nearest restrooms. I nod, heading that way quickly. Once I get into the stall I take the soccer ball out from under my jacket, and stuff it into my purse.

I take a deep breath, hoping no one saw me as I exit the stall. I quickly wash my hands, and rush to the door. I nearly bump into a woman on my way out. “Sorry!” I say apologetically and she just smiles. “No problem...” she starts and my gut drops as I realize it’s the same woman as before. The one who let us cut in line. Her eyes wander down to my now (nearly) flat stomach, her smile fading.

“Okay bye!” I say quickly, rushing past her. I run back up to Drake, breathing heavily. “Go go go!” I chant breathlessly, snatching my suitcase and his eyes widen, sprinting away with me. Once we are a safe distance away, I sigh with relief. “What?” Drake asks, eyeing me. “The woman who let us up in line bumped right into me after I took the ball out,” I say, gasping for air. “No shit!” He says, a grin forming on his face. “Come on, lets get out of here,” I say, laughing lightly at our bad luck.

As we near the sliding door, I start to get nervous and slow down. “I’m not sure if this is right...” I trail off, my stomach twisting nervously. Drake slows down and stops next to me, the door to the arrivals a couple feet away. “Come on Elle, it’s only for a couple days.” Drake implores. “We’ve come this far. We both know you don’t have any family to spend the holidays with, and they love you.” He says, and I nod. “Yeah all I have to do is pretend that I like you in that way, vice versa. No big deal,” I say, making him nod. “Y-yeah no big deal,” he nods. I take in a deep breath. “Okay let’s do this,” I say and we start walking, the automatic doors starting to open. Drake suddenly grasps my hand, making me look up in suprise. He just raises his eyebrows, his eyes telling me to go with it. I get the message, intertwining my fingers with his.

We look around the crowd, before quickly spotting red balloons. We make our way over, and our welcoming group comes into view. Bianca stands, holding the large sign with our names, Savannah grins at us, her toddler Bartie on her hip, and Liam is smiling, his arm around his girlfriend Olivia. We grin as we walk up to the group. “What’s up little man?” Drake says, poking Bartie gently on his stomach, making him giggle, cuddling closer to his mom.

Bianca turns to me, her expression warm, her chocolate eyes on mine. “Hello Elizabeth,” She says fondly, opening up her arms. I smile, dropping my bags, hugging her tightly. She’s one of the only people who I let call me by my full name. “Hey Bianca,” I grin, enjoying her aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon. She pulls away, resting both her hands on my shoulders. Ever since my mom died when I was fourteen, she was there, taking care of and loving me.

“I’m glad you’re here sweetheart. I’m even more glad that you and Drake are finally together!” She exclaims, making both me and Drake laugh awkwardly. ”She’s right! It’s about time!” Savannah jumps in, making me smile politely, guilt prickling within me.

I hug her anyway, minding the toddler holding tightly onto her. “it’s good to see you,” she says to me, a kind smile on her face. “Yeah, I’ve missed you!” I say. I then turn to Liam, who I hug tightly. Once we part he shakes his head. “Wow! and I thought Drake could never have an actual girlfriend let alone you, but here you are!” Liam says in disbelief. I just laugh, nodding. My laugh dies in my throat as an arm snakes around my waist, a hand resting protectively on my hip. “Well Liam, sometimes people change,” Drake says from my side, cocking his head slightly as he looks at Liam. Challenging him. They stare each other down for a moment, until Olivia breaks in.

“Im usually for any fighting or drama, but it’s Christmas and you guys promised Bianca you wouldn’t fight,” She says, crossing her arms. They nod, clearing their throats and looking away. She turns to me, her stony expression gone. “Ugh men. Always fighting for no reason,” She says, making me chuckle. “Hey you,” She says, a grin on her face. “Long time no see!” I say, hugging her. “Yeah last time we hung out, I was still crushing on this loser,” She says jokingly, bumping her elbow against to Liam. He just grins. “What can I say? I’m irresistible,” He says, shrugging. Olivia rolls her eyes, a small smile on her face. “Well, should we head home?” Bianca suggests, making us all mumble in agreement, turning and heading to the parking lot.

Two hours of being squished into Pam (an old, red suv hat has been the family car since the beginning) later, we arrive to our destination, snow swirling around us. “Home sweet home,” Drake says beside me, and I nod, a warm feeling of nostalgia bubbling up in me. We all get out, Liam grabbing our bags out for us from the trunk. Drake rolls his eyes, trudging after them into the house. I follow them after taking a deep breath.

I can do this.

I climb up the worn stairs of the porch and as soon as they open the door, out comes a blur of yellow which leaps right into me, knocking me over onto the wood porch. “Oh! Hey boy!” I say in surprise. Ziggy, the family Labrador Retriever, licks my face aggressively, his tail wagging quickly back and forth.

“You better get him off before he does your job for you,” Liam says, elbowing Drake with a grin, who sends him a glare before hauling the excited dog off me. “Come on Zig,” He says as Liam grabs his collar, holding him back. Drake then offers his hand to me. I smile in thanks and take it as he helps me up. “Sorry about that, I think he missed you,” Drake laughs, and I look down at the excited brown eyes of the dog. “Ya think?” I ask, chuckling. The rest of the group laughs as they make their way inside, Liam dropping our bags at the base of the staircase for us. I hear the crackling of the fireplace as I follow the rest of the group into the living room. I’m taken aback by the sheer amount of red, Green and gold as soon as I enter. It’s heavily decorated, paper chains and stockings hung up, a twinkling Christmas tree to the side of the lit fireplace.

On one of the couches is my old friend Maxwell. “Aye!” Maxwell shouts as he scrambles up, hugging me tightly. “What’s up Maxwell? It’s been forever!” I say excitedly, hugging him back. “Yeah what the fuck is up with that?” He asks, his eyes not too different from Ziggy. “Language!” Savannah says under her breath, walking in and settling Bartie down onto the couch. “What the fuck!” Bartie suddenly says with delight, giggling at his mothers horrified face. The rest of the adults laugh, also settling down onto the couches.

I sit down beside Drake, watching with amusement as Savannah scolds Maxwell. “I can’t believe you too are finally together! I mean, I could tell from the beginning that you guys would end up screwing each other,” Liam says with amusement, making Drake choke as I widen my eyes at him. “We were fourteen you pervert!” I say incrediously. He just shrugs, a knowing smile on his face.

“Okay guys. Give them some air! I’ll show them their room, and then I’m sure they can come down and join us for a bit before bed,” Bianca interrupts, and Liam backs up a bit. “See you guys later?” Drake says, and they all nod before starting their own conversations and with that we start walking upstairs.

“I thought we were going to stay at a hotel or something,” I say quietly to Drake as we go upstairs. “You know my mom would never let us,” Drake whispers back, as we reach the landing. Bianca opens a familiar door at the end of the hall, revealing a small room with a double bed and posters hung around the walls. Drake’s old room. “It’s not as big as you probably remember it, but I hope it’s okay,” Bianca says, as we put our bags down. “No! No it’s great Bianca thanks,” I grin, and she nods. “Well come on down in a bit if you want, no rush,” she smiles, before going back downstairs.

Drake turns to me, a slight grin on his face. “You’re sleeping on the floor,” I say, with a deadpan expression. He just nods, smiling to himself as he puts a blanket and pillow on the ground. I place my bag down, glancing around the room. “This is your old room right?” I ask, turning to him. He looks up, nodding. “Yeah, mom has definitely changed it to make it more of a guest room,” he says absentmindedly as he rummages through his bag. I look at an old cork board over his desk, pictures and medals hung on them. He used to be on the swim team, and was pretty fast, but Liam’s football always won the attention. My fingers graze over a picture pinned of me and Drake when we were fourteen.

We are in a tree, Drake on the branch lower than me, laughing as he looks up at me, and it looks like I’m obnoxiously screaming something to the camera. I can’t help the smile that forms on my face. “We look so young,” Drake says, sounding close behind me. I nod, turning to look at him. I feel the urge to back up when I realize how close he is to me, less than a couple inches away. I look up at his dark eyes for a moment.

“Yeah, That- that was a long time ago,” I say, pushing past him gently. I pause at the door, looking back. “Let’s go downstairs, I’m sure they want to see us,” I say, and he nods, his back to me. I start walking downstairs and I hear him following.

—-

What do you guys think? Do you want to read more? Let me know! ☺️

[hollenka99]

Trapped

Day 1 of Whumpril. When Jackie arrives at the scene of a collapsing building, he doesn’t expect to find himself under the rubble.

As soon as he blearily switches the television on, Jackie knows it was going to be a busy day. The office block on screen had become structurally unstable. By this point, the risk it could collapse was high. He swiftly wakes himself up and prepares to evacuate as many civilians from their workplace.

Once there, he discusses a plan with the emergency services. He could fly, a valuable skill in situations like these. Without wasting a second more, he gets to work. At one point, while scanning a room for anyone unable to escape, he comes across a remnants of a device. It had been an explosive. When he finds another used explosive a couple floors above, he begins to piece the evidence together. Hitting spots to leave the building structurally weaker. This was no accident.

He's about to report it when an unexpected voice interrupts. Great, like Jackie really needs him here. Who even gave him access to a walkie-talkie?

"Jackie, what are you doing?" Henrik doesn't sound impressed. "Get out of there."

"Henrik," He sighs heavily. "I'm just doing my job. Do you see me telling you to stop healing people? No."

"Being a doctor doesn't put me in danger. I said get out of there."

Sure, he's been involved in house fires, where there's additional risk of burns or asphyxiation from smoke, but this is where Henrik draws the line. The guy's not even a paramedic, what was he doing here? Shouldn't Henrik be heading to the hospital to help with the influx they were going to receive from this building? "And I said I'm not leaving until I know I've saved as many civillians as I can. Me staying could be the difference between someone surviving or their body being pulled out of the rubble in a week." Neither of them say anything for a moment. The superhero continues to scan the offices for anyone who may need help as he speaks. "Okay, look, I promise to fly out as soon as I feel it giving."

"I could give you a few extra seconds if I'm quick enough. I'm sure I could use my magic to hold the building up." Marvin chips in. Oh, he was here, was he? Why not bring Chase and his kids too seeing as this was clearly a big attraction.

"I appreciate the gesture, Marv, but I don't think even I could hold a building up. If I can't, I really doubt a spell could. Thanks for the offer though."

He finds four more people. He is hesitant when he returns to search for a potential fifth. His sixth sense is uncomfortable. Perhaps he should vacate the building for good himself. He tries to reason that he can be of some help when clearing the debris. However, the temptation to rescue another person before the office block truly disappeared into rubble got the better of him.

Stupidly, Jackie allows himself to search the staircase on the off chance someone is there. He climbs the steps, calling for anyone to answer. For a second, he convinces himself he hears a second pair of footsteps. Only the building itself gives him a definitive answer. Its straining is worrisome. His mind yells at him to leave. Now.

"Shit, I think it's about to give. I could have sworn I heard someone but I don't think there's time anymore. I'm getting out." He's so far from the window. Come on, he's got to make it. Almost there. He's so close now. If he could just have two seconds more, he might-

The walls cave.

Jackie has no way of telling how long it is before he opens his eyes. It's not like he has a watch with him. It would only get in his way. He takes a second to breathe and analyse his surroundings. He doesn't appear to have sustained damage to his organs so that's good. He had air for now and hopefully that would stay that way. He can move his legs and shift his body a little in the small space he's found himself in. Overall, he's pretty uncomfortable but at least he's alive.

However, the trapped hero can't move his right arm. One look to the side tells him it is pinned by rubble. No amount of shoving will shift it. So much for super strength. He forces himself to stop. Expending all his energy won't prove helpful in the long run. Still, a niggling thought appears. If he can't move it now, how is he going to succeed later when he's more tired?

"Can you hear me? Henrik? Marv? Anyone? Hello!" Nothing comes through, not even the staticky sounds of someone attempting to communicate through a broken connection. He thinks the device may have been destroyed in the collapse. Well, that's just great.

He soon resigns himself to his fate. It will be a while before he is found.

God, he was so stupid. If only he had done the smart thing and left before the place collapsed. Think of how many more people he could be helping to find. Instead, the rescue services would have to waste time getting him out too. Not to mention his goddamn arm wouldn't free itself from where it was pinned. What the hell was the point in superhuman strength if he couldn't make the most of it?

With a heavy sigh, he attempts to get as comfortable as he can possibly achieve. That unfortunately resulted in noticeable discomfort. Immeasurable time passes.

His stomach begins to hurt. He's unsure how to decipher it until it vocalises its distress. Oh, of course he'd get hungry. His eating patterns may be erratic on some days but he did his best to maintain a regular schedule. The others definitely ensured he ate properly. The pangs of hunger irritate him. He hopes it won't last the entire duration of his stay.

When the headaches appear, they trigger the realisation he's dehydrated with zero access to any liquids. Even if he was prepared to... 'recycle' after suffering an indignity, he has no way of doing so. He only has one arm at his disposal and no container within his reach. Not that he was particularly enthusiastic to do it in the first place. He'd much rather drink a coke to help with Sean's stupid running gag.

Oh man, thinking about it, he'd kill for a coke right now.

When exactly was the last time he drank something? He didn't have anything in the morning; there was no time for that. He'd been on patrol in the evening but hadn't drunk anything beforehand either. He'd planned on having a drink when he got home but the desire to crash in his bed was stronger. It was probably that glass of juice before lunch. So probably 24 hours by this point. 18 hours minimum. It all depended on how long he'd been down here.

After yet another nap, he opens his eyes. He's skeptical about whether he should be taking this many naps in his condition. For all he knew, the next time could be him properly losing consciousness thanks to his body being thrown into chaos. That said, there wasn't much to do here except for failing to free his right arm for the umpteenth time and waiting to be rescued. Or not. They could find him too late.

Jackie struggles to suppress the line of thought he's been avoiding this entire time. He doesn't want to imagine it. Whatever happens, he can't have a paramedic approach Henrik and the others with bad news. And the media, oh boy. He's sure they'd have a field day, especially the ones who are against his vigilantism. He's sure they're twisting his miscalculations into proof he's not to be trusted as a protector at this very minute. He prays it doesn't come to that. He couldn't bear recklessly hurting his best friends with his loss.

There comes a point where he has to remind himself of his situation. The confusion should be worrying but, with his spinning head, he can't think straight for long enough. He's too preoccupied hating how uncomfortable his racing heart is. And how long had his arm been like that? He gently tugs to remove it. Nothing. At least his stomach didn't hurt anymore. He really wants a drink.

What was it that Sean always said? A refreshing coke-flavoured vanilla zero now with a hint of sugar? Wait no, that wasn't right. What was it again? Whatever the answer was, he wanted one. Right now he'd take ten- no, a hundred. He knows Henrik wouldn't be happy for some reason. Jackie's not sure why. Didn't he want his friend to stop being thirsty? Thirst was bad. Vanilla Zero is all he asks for. Anything he can drink will be fine by this point.

Eventually, there is a commotion near him. People talking maybe? He blinks towards it. He can't catch onto the words long enough to work out what it is that is being said. Did they know he was near them? Were they going to accidentally leave him? Please don't let them leave him here. He can't come so close to hope then have it taken away.

"I'm here!" He strains.

"Don't worry, we can see you. We're getting you out." A voice answers as something above him disappears.

In a detached way, it hits him that he's being rescued. It's over. He's survived. Part of him knows he should stay awake so he can co-operate with the search team as best as he can. However, sleep sounds good. How useful was he really when awake? First there was something he wanted them to know, something important. What was it? Oh, yeah, that was right.

"As soon as I recover, I'm helping." He whispers.

"How about you focus on recovering first, buddy?" The person working next to him chuckles. Jackie returns the slightest of smiles before allowing himself to rest.

[exilevilifyrp]

Congratulations JJ, you have been accepted for the role of ROBYN KANE with the face claim CHLOE BENNET! This was an incredibly difficult decision for us, but JJ, the tone of your Robyn is what ultimately won us over. It is so perfect to what we had in mind when we wrote her. And not to mention the details of worldbuilding and of Robyn’s life poured throughout--do I dare say your application is perfect? Congratulations! We are so happy to have you. 

Make sure to check out our checklist and send us your blog within 24 hours!

THE AUTHOR BASIC INFO: JJ, 21, they/them/theirs

IN CHARACTER CHARACTER YOU’RE APPLYING FOR: Robyn Kane AGE AND GENDER IDENTIFICATION: 27, intersex + female identifying, she/her/hers GENESIS: Organic SPECIAL SKILLS: Cleaning, Climbing, Parkour, Spatial Memory & Analysis. FACE CLAIM: Chloe Bennet, Karen Fukuhara, Stella Maeve

IN DEPTH

ANALYSIS: I think rose-colored and strong of heart define Robyn best!

STRENGTHS:

COURAGEOUS: No person is fearless, as much as everyone would like to be. In general, Robyn demonstrates less aversion to physical threats than the average person, though this change wasn’t made overnight. What differentiates her from most is her drive to work and overcome - another meter, another dive into the deep. If doing the right thing means jumping headfirst into something that terrifies her, she’s likely to steel herself down and move forward. Her heart had always been stronger than the forces that palpitate it, and willpower alone often allows her to stay upright.

HARD-WORKING: Bruised hands, aching legs, and rows of sparkling fifty-floor buildings always meant Robyn could go home with her chin held high. Slacking Wash Captains were met with veiled slights and ignored words in conversation, and she, as was customary for her line work, earned her seat at happy hour by shadowing superiors and helping greener kids finish their tasks without pay. Working the tough grind was always the baseline of expectation, and that’s why much of Robyn’s satisfaction stems from going above and beyond tasks, taking additional responsibility, and finding ways to make herself useful - often without being asked. She prides herself on her aptitude and ability to endure.

EMPATHETIC: Care is a landscape that, while confusing to Robyn, has always been navigated without force. Comfort comes in hand squeezed and consistent, reliable company, but sometimes she gets so overwhelmed by her fondness for others she’s left wildly distraught. In these instances, she’s often compelled to gift miscellaneous pieces of garbage - chalk…candy wrappers…useless items she compulsively passes or leaves outside someone’s door with “from Robyn” scribbled next to them. She’s not sure exactly where this habit stems from, but it’s her way of saying, “oh, you, you you! I’m so, so happy you inhabit this planet too!”

STRONG OF HEART: No matter how many times hardship strikes, Robyn always finds a way to spring back. Her heart, as with most people’s, changes shape with every rough occurrence, but she loves fearlessly and endlessly despite pain. Her hope can spring back after anything, and is characterized by boundless stamina and capacity for good. She believes fiercely in the kind potential of humanity, and even if the world isn’t as kind a place as she’d like it to be, with enough work from enough people, knows it can get there.

WINSOME: Chivalry, kindness, and relentless positivity make for a personality that, in Robyn’s case, often comes off as just the right blend of charming. Holding doors open, admitting fault, and remembering names come as second nature to her, and her zest for life comes through in starry eyes and enthusiastic nods of agreement. Sure, she’s never going to overcome people with class or genius knowledge, but she’s genuine and approachable, and sometimes, that’s all a person really needs to be.

DEVELOPMENT AREAS:

MEDDLESOME: Other people’s problems leave Robyn sleepless more often or not. She tosses above her covers when she senses even the slightest hint of conflict, turns when she sees a drop in energy in someone she cares about. She has a way of unsolicitedly inserting herself into conflicts and can become somewhat of a nuisance until they’re resolved. This becomes especially problematic when the conflict is heavy, or when she projects a problem that doesn’t exist upon people.

ROSE-COLORED: So firmly does Robyn believe in humanity’s goodness that she becomes starry-eyed in her conception of everyone’s morality. She believes even the worst can change with enough tangible support and cheerleading, though this isn’t always the case. She’s taken advantage of easily because of this, and blames herself when things go wrong. Sometimes, investing so much in people only leads to heartbreak, and for those who give chance after chance, it will time after time.

NEEDY: While somewhat capable of keeping herself up by herself, Robyn’s likely to withdraw without enough outward compliments or affection. Her lip droops, her self-esteem withers, and her outlook towards the day can become fairly morose. If she doesn’t feel useful, her motivation rapidly loses steam. Sometimes people will have to fake a problem to get her back up again, though something as simple as a dropped pen or misplaced item will often do the trick.

CORNY: Spending too much time with a fake hero can make anyone feel like they’re stuck in a bad cartoon. “Keep you chin up, hero,” “a team who cleans together, dreams together,” and “evil never wins” are only a few phrases folks who hang around Robyn tend to experience daily, and she seems blissfully unaware of her tendency towards the cliche. Sometimes, it’s hard to see past the stock imagery of her, especially as a co-worker, and this can lead to people to perceiving her as a joke or a simpleton.

SOMEWHAT OF A HUSTLER: While not always conscious of the fact, Robyn has a way of soaking up or compelling people to give her their resources. She’ll charm people into giving her a snack or buying her a drink, but the expended credits pile up before most people know. It’s good to cut her off after a while, as she’s likely to drain more than few pockets if not.

BIOGRAPHY:

TW: Guns, hospitals. blood, death

Robyn Kane dreamed of mangoes.

Sweet, sap-fleshed fruits she could describe in such vivid detail you could feel their gold-yellow dripping down your throat. They had, Atticus rationalized, been her mother’s last meal request; three mangoes, halved, (pits still in, please!) cubed at about one inch in diameter. Such a tremendous yearning this must’ve been that it found its way to her daughter, who in turn ate up washers and packing peanuts, swallowed down marbles and screws in her futile pursuit of sweetness. “Normal toddler behavior,” articles on his armlet read. “Just whack ‘em hard on the back if you see ‘em gulping away anything important.” Of course, Atticus never whacked Robyn, but the idea of normality washed relief over the father. “Still,” a voice nagged, often late, often red-eyed on the pull-out couch of their rusted apartment. “What could be said of the planets?”

Well, for one, they were huge! Vast, sweeping expanses Robyn dreamed up with forests high as the SungX building and deserts red as the setting sun. Sands that stung in sporadic blizzards. Skybirds who soared over archipelagos in triangular formations, fighting fish over seafoam, their hunger a constant, bitter pang. Such were the untrekked settings that congregated heroes to Robyn’s stories, that in turn congregated ruddy-faced factory cleaning kids, their stinking mops forgotten, around her during their glorious hour of lunch break. “Pew pew pew!” Robyn would say, her small voice teeming with life, “and then the heroes and the villains became best friends, and no one’s mom had to die, and the planets weren’t lonely for anyone, anymore. I accept tips via my dad’s credit account or in mangoes. The end.” And then, in the same tidy fashion as always, everyone would pack up and get back to scrubbing floors.

The crowds dwindled after parents caught word. Scrap metal never fell far from the ship, people said, and everyone and their android knew that Kane kid was going to turn out bad. That monster - Clemence Kane’s - child had those same foxlike eyes, lips the same raw swath of ochre…a gaze that flickered time to time with the same strange, insatiable hunger. “Stay away from that Kane kid,” workers warned, their fingers shaking, their grey uniforms all the same. Fathers cursed and flicked cigarette butts. Mothers pulled their children to the other side of the litter-caked road. And so the crowd on the back steps of nutripowder factory, which had once overflowed like steel wool from a storm cloud, shrunk to the size of one lonely droplet.

Robyn kept herself steady by looking upwards. She’d work hard, she’d be so helpful they’d all have to come around. Tears found it harder to squeeze by when her face was lifted towards the ceiling, and muscle memory kept her mouth pulled into the same sweet, little grin. At lunch, alone with her flavorless mix of powder, though, her lips would tremble - until her eyes caught sight of the strange heroes who, day in and day out, would flip and fly above her city.

Wash Captains. That’s what her dad said when she asked him. And they weren’t villain fighters - they were actually cleaners like both of them were. Still, hearing their hoots and howls as they tumbled from building to building, their washbots flocking behind them like rafts of ducklings, sent a rush up her little spine. The Captains grew into her new idols, another reason for her to dream. And every day during break, she’d make it further up the walls of her own building, brave a further jump from height to height. All until one day, she plucked up the courage to follow her heroes, trying to keep up, but finding herself slipping behind.

“Talia, you’ve got a tail!” A Captain signaled for the group to slow down. The lot of them, adults between their early twenties and late forties, decelerated to a pace that wouldn’t endanger the kid, though they did this surreptitiously enough that the twelve-year-old thought she was catching up.

“What’s your name, speedster?” The youngest one, Talia, asked.

“I’m Robyn Kane!”

“Well, you’ve got guts coming up here. I like that.” The rest of the group didn’t shiver or scowl, instead, they just shared a kind, collective laugh. “What’s good?” “Nice to meet you, Robyn,” voices chorused. And when they darted off to work on their respective building groups, Talia gestured for Robyn to follow her. She stopped at the edge of a metallic skyscraper, her washbots swarming to wipe the windows of the behemoth adjacent. From dawn until dusk, she let Robyn shadow her, explaining what a Wash Captain’s duties were, the test it to become one, and difficulties the job brought with it. Long hours, limited work lifespan, days without rest…the ability to problem solve and stay cool under pressure was paramount. But if you were the right kind of person, you’d find family here like no other. And Robyn hoped, hoped, hoped that with enough effort, when the year’s test came around, she’d be ready to join them.

Setbacks were inevitable. Sprained wrists, lack of formal training, exhaustion after back-to-back days at the factory…nothing, though, that could quite prepare her for the sickness. A flu, its origin the lungs of a machine operator, spread through the adults, then the children, then to her. Everyone and their uncle hacked up phlegm for two weeks, their faces pale green from the night sweats, though none fell quite so ill as Robyn Kane. A hospital rush led to injections, led to IV drips, led to peals of hushed conversation, led to the sound of a final lamp smashing outside her door.

“The warden promised they’d treated her!"

"The CD4 count-”

“Fuck the CD4 count!”

“Sir, can you just…”

Robyn shivered. What was her dad talking about with that doctor? Was she going to die? And what had made him so angry? Her eyes had already begun drooping shut when Atticus came back in, though, his face shaking with anger.

“What’s going on, dad?” Robyn tried to roll to face him, but he shushed her.

“You’re going to be okay, kid.” He kissed her head, sitting gently at the side of her hospital bed. Only when he thought she was asleep did a sob leave him, the sound of heartbreak, of betrayal, of an uncertain man.

In truth, the doctors weren’t sure how she’d survived so long. ARHIV - or advanced resistant human immunodeficiency virus - was livable with treatment, but going nearly thirteen years without, especially after being born with it…well, complications usually reared their heads sooner. Still, the NRTIs seemed to be lowering the viral load in her blood, and with the aid of intensive anti flu meds, her immune system managed to struggle through.

“Take your meds,” Dr. Ota said, as Robyn and her dad breathed fresh air for the first time in three weeks. “And remember, any fluids that come out of you are not to be touched by others.”

Atticus wanted Robyn to rest. She was still weak from her bout of illness, but almost a month had gone by without any exam preparation, and she wouldn’t let anything get in the way of her dream. She pushed herself to jump farther, to climb higher, to memorize every protocol in the Washbook. And when test day came, she gave it everything she got. “We’ll call,” her examiner promised, though the stern look on his face was airtight. “We’ve only got room for about three people this year, so don’t get your hopes up too high, okay, kid?” But when the buzz rang out on her armlet that evening, her hopes had already soared through the roof.

“Hello?"

"Hey, is this Robyn?” Talia’s voice drifted in through the speaker.

“Yeah, yeah, this is me, Robyn- Robyn Kane - Kane, Robyn - I-”

“Marks Building, speedster. Tomorrow. 5AM.”

And then the call clicked out, and a teenage squeal woke nearly half of the building.

The job wasn’t all games and glory. Most days, she went home with limbs that threatened to tear off, but how many people could say they ended a shift by skydiving off a building? Magnetic gloves carried her to the very top of the city, reminding her of her smallness, though a hoot from one Wash Captain to another reminded her she was never alone. Skyscrapers rushed together as air gave way to metal under her feet, running upwards and downwards, leaping from one to another with an expert’s grace. This was, save for her, the kind of movement reserved for heroes, and shadowing other Captains to get the hang of more advanced techniques ensured she continued to grow. From this vantage point too came new insight on the city - inequity others more often chose to ignore. Apartment Piles - swaying stacks of low-income housing - were collapsing. At first, it seemed accidental, but then the breadth of the falls seemed more sinister. Factories bought out the land. Overwatchers failed to check the sites. And since a lot of first responders wouldn’t set foot in the rougher neighborhoods, the Captains took it upon themselves to search and rescue.

Such was her transformation from girl to hero. Pulling injured folks from buildings, keeping kids safe…it was this grit and responsibility that matured her. Time with her dad became precious. Happy hours with friends began to mean more. But youth was still youth, after all, and when time brought on an admirer, Robyn’s heart began to palpitate.

There’s was a typical teen meeting - boy watched girl soar from building to building, boy plucked up the courage to wave, girl told him she’d come say hi during her lunch break. And so said boy appeared day after day, wonderstruck in crooked glasses, his hand outstretched to offer a cool bottle of water. A Harbor boy, Deek Jenkins. When they talked, her lies grew from goosebumps to mountains - yes, her mom was nice, yes, she’d eaten a mango, yes, her dad was a world-saving space pilot and, if she disappeared for a few days, it was because she helping him fight off evil. Truth be told, she wanted to keep Deek around. But how could a Harbor boy remain interested if he knew about her dark origins, her sickness, how a job washing windows was the most exciting thing that’d ever happened to her? Instead, she told him about the skybirds, the archipelagos, the burning sands. All while the virus inside her was shifting, overcoming her medications, and threatening to overcome her as well.

Time passed. Deek began bringing two water bottles. Robyn always finished the one he brought with a still-thirsty gulp, then gobbled down two, then three, and he was about to bring four when she stopped showing up.

“Check the clinic on Fourth, kid,” the Wash Captain, Talia, who visited in Robyn’s stead offered. So check Deek did.

“Hey,” he greeted, pulling a whole cooler of water bottles to her hospital bed. She uncapped one.

“You’ve found me out, Jenkins.” The twenty-year-old’s lips quirked upward, falling as a hack expelled from her lungs. “I’ve caught an ‘opportunistic infection.’ Tuberculosis. Not fun stuff. And while we’re at it, I’ve got another disease called ARHIV, which my doc just said’ll probably kill me by 35. And my mom-”

“Was a rebel terrorist,” Deek finished for her. “Who killed upwards of a hundred Overwatchers and their associates. She was sentenced to death six months after being turned in by a man named Thomas Martineaux, and would’ve been sentenced immediately had she not been pregnant with you.”

Robyn nodded. “Happy?”

“No.” He paused. “I mean, yes, that you were honest with me.”

“Why’d you hang around then, if you knew?”

Deek shrugged. “I guess I just liked you.”

“I guess I just liked you too.”

Robyn got over her infection. Time went on, work continued, and she was back on the rescue grind. The number of collapses grew, and the public’s anxiety grew with it. Her dad, who’d been promoted to a managing janitor inside the factory, spent time cleaning the inside of apartments despite danger, and three times, buildings collapsed with him in them. Each time, Robyn would hold her breath, her body trembling, her boots pounding miles to find he was okay, but there was never a second to spare for a hug or a word of relief when she got there. Every moment was instead spent pulling people from the wreckage, searching for help, until one day, a shard of glass changed everything.

“Don’t-” Robyn tried, but Talia had already reached in with a cut hand to pull it out. She jerked her leg away at the last minute, preventing contact, but it was in this moment that she realized her own body was a danger, herself a hazard that could be spread on. How could she have been so reckless, so stupid, to endanger everybody? Any time, she could’ve gotten cut. Any day, she could’ve spread her disease. Rescue efforts were abandoned, and happy hours avoided for fear of being seen as a coward. Until Deek Jenkins, again, came to her aid.

A birthday present - the big twenty-five. Robyn was huddled up on the couch, watching a livestream of an apartment collapse from her armlet, when Deek came in.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” She asked, but he just grinned at her, extending a parcel from his hands to hers.

“I, uh, made this.” His eyes sparkled as she unwrapped it, a costume of fine, black material, cape included. “I know the design is kind of corny, but you’ve always been into the hero thing and you’ve seemed so down ever since Talia, um…the fabric’s cut proof. In the case that something gets through, though, there’s a compound on the inside that’ll immediately clot your blood, so people are safe, no spread. And I also wanted to tell you that I-”

“I love it, Deek.” Robyn’s lips rose, then fell as her eyes honed in on her screen. A pair of Overwatchers, their bodies too small to be seen clearly without zooming in, moved in the corner.

A familiar face, familiar gait, familiar everything. Suddenly, it all made sense. She checked her armlet.

“8:30. Pile A7X.” The apartment her dad was suppose to be cleaning. Time to put Deek’s outfit to the test.

The rescue mission was a rush of pure adrenaline. A building scaled, a fire alarm pulled, and hundreds evacuated in the nick of time. She gave no name - a vigilante, in and out before anybody could ask. And now it was time to get to the bottom of the collapses.  

She made her way to the factory. Dark, no people or stars to be seen. If she could get into her dad’s office, maybe there’d be a list, some way to predict the next Pile falls. She’d save hundreds of lives, expose a massive conspiracy -and then a dot of red light materialized on her chest.

“Robyn.” Her father’s voice broke the silence. “I can explain-” “Explain what? How you’ve been killing innocent people for years?” All those apartments cleaned, how she thought he’d actually been in danger.

“Rebel suspects, Robyn. They’re killing thousands. Hear me out, I-”

Her eyes hardened. “You’re going to pay for this.”

Atticus’ lip twitched, another Overwatcher making his way beside him.

“We’ll kill her off, Martineaux. Don’t worry about it.” The man raised his mass accelerator, his finger draped on the trigger and then… five shots. A dropped body. But her dad’s weapon had made the blast.

“I’m sorry, Robyn.”

Another rustle. Deek- Deek had followed her. Maybe they could overpower him, find a way out, but Atticus whipped around, firing a shot before the boy could even blink. His body fell, an innocent who’d given his world for her. And then another shot. There was no time to think, no time to process, only dark.

When her eyes opened, they saw earth.

EXTRA MUSE: I have a pinterest board here!

POSSIBLE CHANGES: none!

[drarunamuralidhar]

Best Obstetrician in Jayanagar, Bangalore | Dr. Aruna Muralidhar | Shree Clinic

A significant number of women in India have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, a hormonal disorder that’s perfectly manageable when treated correctly. Around 12-15% of the women in India have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), but the information remains limited. One of the foremost indicators for women with PCOS is that they have irregular cycles — cycles which are less than 21 days or over 35 days. When a woman or a young girl realises she has PCOS, the word ‘polycystic’ triggers off alarms. However, PCOS is a hormonal disorder, and a manageable one. During a woman’s period, an egg is released by an ovary, cuing the start of her menstruation cycle. However, polycystic ovaries occur when the egg is not released by the ovaries. To detect if a woman has PCOS, an ultrasound test is usually conducted. Women with PCOS tend to present with slightly larger ovaries along with follicles. The follicles, which are essentially nurseries for the eggs, release an egg every 14 days. Fourteen days later, a woman has her period. If that egg is not being released for some reason, these follicles resemble a pearl necklace, which is basically unreleased eggs. When this happens, the period either gets delayed, or it doesn’t occur at all. A woman’s body has both oestrogen, the female sex hormone, and the testosterone, the male sex hormone. Testosterone is usually present in a smaller amount. Essentially, PCOS is a hormone disorder where women produce a higher-than-usual amount of testosterone. So, what symptoms should you be looking for? The clearest indicator for women with PCOS is that they may have irregular cycles. However, while it may be the most obvious indicator, it’s not the only one. “When we say PCOS, it is a broad spectrum. It can start with just slightly regular cycles or it can be full-blown PCOS, where there are no periods unless she takes tablets; a lot of unwanted hair growth on the face like a male pattern, and a lot of pimples and a lot of outbreaks of acne which are really bad, and, of course, weight gain issues,” says Dr Aruna Muralidhar, a senior gynaecologist, and obstetrician at Fortis La Femme Hospital in Bengaluru. While these are the main symptoms which may point to the problem, not everyone may have all of them. “As far as PCOS is concerned, it is important to diagnose it right. So not everybody who has irregular cycles has PCOS, not everybody who has pimples has PCOS, not everybody who has unwanted hair growth has PCOS. So PCOS is a combination of at least two of the three factors,” says Dr. Aruna. The weight ‘myth’ A symptom of PCOS that many gynecologists point towards is erratic weight gain in a short period of time. It leads to a misconception that the weight of women with PCOS lies on the heavier side of the scale. This is not true, says Dr. Aruna. “It’s not necessary that everyone who has PCOS is on the obese side. They can be thin as well. There is thin PCOS and obese PCOS and in general, a woman with PCOS puts on a lot of weight around her middle,” she says. In fact, Dr. Aruna says that thin PCOS is something that needs to be watched out for since this is a case where the woman or the girl has a lot of hidden fat. It may also happen that other symptoms are ignored, often being attributed to their habits or the usual broad term, ‘lifestyle’. There are dangers of PCOS going undetected. “Not having cycles every 40-45 days puts you at risk. The inner layer of your uterus can become thick and can lead to abnormal growth in the endometrium. It is also a predisposing factor for endometrial cancer. You cannot go for months on end without periods,” Dr. Chitra Selvan, an endocrinologist at Bengaluru’s Ramaiah Medical College. “Is this PCOS?” The most important thing before a diagnosis of PCOS, Dr. Chitra says, is to eliminate the conditions the symptoms could mimic. “There many conditions which look like PCOS. The most common of these is hypothyroidism. Hypothyroidism is extremely common and it can mimic PCOS but the thing is, if you correct the hypothyroidism, your PCOS should become normal,” says Dr. Chitra. “Another (hormone disorder) is hyperprolactinemia. This is also very common these days, most probably due to medicines which are taken very commonly for gastritis, any other headache, antidepressants or antipsychotics. They can all cause prolactin to increase and can present symptoms that are exactly like PCOS.”

This is where a visit to a gynecologist becomes important to diagnose PCOS correctly. “I think the most important thing that most patients with PCOS don’t get is that just having PCOS itself is a risk factor for developing more dangerous disorders in the future, like diabetes, hypertension or dyslipidemia. There is also evidence to suggest that women with PCOS are more at risk for heart disease,” Dr. Chitra adds. It takes around two years from the time of a girl’s first period for her cycles to settle down. If she faces irregularities during the first two years or gets pimples that are associated with that age, it is not called PCOS. According to Dr. Chitra, every woman above the age of 20 should get a test done. “Anybody who is more than 20 years [in age] should get their sugars, cholesterol and blood pressure checked annually. If you have a member in your family who has thyroid disorders, I would throw that in every year as well. If you have a child who is chubby and has not started her cycles till 15 years of age, then you’ll have to get the child tested. But probably the most important junction where you should get all your tests done is before you plan your pregnancy,” Dr. Chitra says. PCOS, unfortunately, is not curable. A woman diagnosed with PCOS has to deal with the symptoms through her reproductive years and the next step is to make active changes in order to bring the symptoms under control. Measures Every woman who has been diagnosed with PCOS needs a long-term follow-up, both doctors maintain. They suggest that the woman keep her lifestyle as a priority to make sure that she doesn’t lose track of what she needs to achieve. The first thing that both doctors suggest is mindful eating. “You stick to a staple food but the quantities can be changed. More than anything else, it’s the importance of regularity that needs to be emphasized. So, it’s not completely cutting off what you’re used to but making certain changes in the proportions and being regular with it and being mindful when you’re eating,” Dr. Aruna says. To start off, Dr. Chitra says that one should make small changes in their food intake, starting with the meals that can be fixed easily — breakfast and snack at 4 pm. “4 pm is what I call the weakest time of the day. It’s when you make the most stupid food choices for the day. You’re exhausted from the day and you know that your dinner is going to be very late, around 8-9 pm. And to think that you can get through that hour without a snack is never going to happen because at 5 pm you are going to get hungry and then grab the next thing which is available, which is mostly not healthy at all,” she says. A solution to this, she says, is to carry a nut box or a fruit that can be consumed at 4 pm to take care of the hunger pangs. The next step that patients need to take is physical activity and an attempt to be more active during the day. For this, Dr. Chitra suggests that instead of taking on draining workouts which can hamper functionality during the day, it’s better to take a walk each day for around 30–45 minutes, and some classes of something a bit more intense (like Zumba) during the week. While these are measures that most patients of PCOS are advised, many women who have been diagnosed with PCOS are prescribed Oral Contraceptive Pills (OCPs) to tackle the hormone imbalance. OCPs pause your body’s hormone production and oestrogen is supplied to the body through these pills. While these pills are prescribed, “we wouldn’t start the pill on every person who’s been diagnosed with PCOS. It depends on what is the issue. Is it regularisation that she requires pills for, is she sexually active, does she need contraception, is she having a lot of acne for which she needs a certain kind of pill to reduce it? So all these have to be taken into consideration,” Dr. Aruna says. Typically, OCPs are initially prescribed for around three to six months. Both doctors say that PCOS is not something that affects a woman’s libido, and while it is a factor that affects the chances of pregnancy, it can be mitigated. Dr. Chitra says that the tests must be taken before one plans their pregnancy, rather than after. But PCOS doesn’t necessarily vastly limit a woman’s chances of getting pregnant.   “With PCOS, the chances of getting pregnant are fairly good because some of the cycles are ovulatory. It is not that all the cycles are anovulatory in many ladies with PCOS. But, it is the best problem of infertility to have —  to get the proper treatment to get positive results. Not having a baby can be because of many different reasons and PCOS is only one of them, the most common one of them,” Dr. Aruna adds.

For more visit my Website : http://drarunamuralidhar.com/   or  Contact No. : 08067454444

[tutorofenglishtokoreans]

And so I boarded that midnight bus to Singapore from Melaka after waiting for almost 2 hours for the bus to come as scheduled. Yes, expect delays and sleeping late when traveling on the road. It was the same thing during my land trip from Butterworth, Penang to Melaka about 2 years ago. What I liked about the night trip this time was that I chose a 27-seater bus, and since it was the last trip out or a late night trip for that matter, it wasn’t a full bus.

And it turned out that it was just all right that the bus was delayed. I arrived in the vicinity of the Golden Mile Tower at about 6 AM, just a few minutes before the Singapore sun finally brightened everything. Except for that inconvenience of a delay, my road trip to Singapore went very smoothly this time.

I booked online and took a Starmart Ekspres. The bus from Melaka to the Singapore border wasn’t really a new one, but the interior was good enough. From the border to Kampong Glam Park, we were given a much better bus, still a 27-seater. (No, I’m not advertising; they didn’t pay me for this;~~ for illustrative purposes only)

This time’s border control was superb! Or was it just because I arrived at the border very early in the morning and maybe we we’re one of the first of many buses to have arrived. Whatever the reason may be, it was easy-going compared to the last two year’s. It used to be that one had to queue at a designated bus stop and hop on any or the next available bus from the same company that parked at their designated stop.

I totally liked it this time around: Bus passengers just have to take note of the plate number of the bus they’re taking (and is waiting for them) after they’re done with Malaysian immigration stamping.

This new bus takes a few minutes to reach the Singapore immigration. This time I didn’t have to go up an elevator. Just fill out an entry and exit card and give the immigration officer an address to wherever you’re staying in the country. The same bus will be waiting for you at its designated stop. I didn’t see any queue waiting to embark on their bus anymore. It was that smooth.

The drop-off point was at Kampong Glam Park, about 50 meters away from the Golden Mile Tower. I discovered later after having a quick tour of the park and its neighborhood.

Our drop off was here in this park nearby Masjid Fatima, at the center of Kampong Glam residential buildings

Since my goal was to enjoy this Singapore trip as cheaply as I could, I had to take advantage of the freebies the Lion City has for me. First in my checklist is getting a Singapore Tourist Pass good for 2 days and I had all convenience of the public rides for free. Click this link to know other options available.

Taking my time, I went around the area of the Golden Mile Complex. Since I wanted to have an early breakfast, I tried to find the Hainanese chicken meal (a popular chicken dish in the Malay peninsula) in the Golden Mile Food Centre.

Unfortunately for me, the shops that serve it were not open yet. Only the noodles were available, and I was not keen to have some despite the time of day and the long bus ride. I just took my time to freshen up a bit at the public restroom here.

Having stopped close to the Golden Mile Tower Complex, the nearest MRT station with a Transitlink booth I could go to for my tourist pass was Bugis MRT. However, the Translitlink office there doesn’t open until 10 AM.

(I think you can also get the tourist pass at 7-11 shops, but I just wanted to check the area along Beach Road to Bugis, and that was just what I did.) I simply considered it my early morning walk.

  Here are the free things I did:

Enjoy the cool morning breeze at Kampong Glam Park while sitting on a bench fronting Masjid Fatima. This religious site reminded me to do my morning prayer, too.

Masjid Fatima @ Kampong Glam Park

   Visit the Malay Heritage Center and its vicinity~~

You don’t have to go inside the museum, though. The area around it and the streets are instagrammable enough. I went there early in the morning, so I couldn’t go in the museum even if I was curious to. If I am allowed a longer time away from work and visit Singapore again, with not just a weekend getaway, I will go back to this area to experience it more.

Stop by Masjid Sultan~~

Walk down Beach Road and turn right at Sultan Gate St. Just go straight and you won’t miss the arch of this impressive mosque on the left. Its magnificence yelled at my hunger pangs to scram! Entrance is free, but then again I was there too early when the morning was still busy for prayers.

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Check out the colorful life (and bustling nightlife) at Haji Lane and Arab Street~~

Instagram fanatics and selfie addicts celebrate! I didn’t take a lot of selfies but took a lot of pictures as I went around. Boy, I was sure glad I went to this place which is not always included in many tour packages of Singapore. The vicinity itself is a museum full of relics and artefacts. If you pay a visit to the Malay Heritage Centre Museum of the Children Little Museum, the experience will be like going to “a museum within a museum”. That’s why I didn’t feel bad about not having gone inside a real one.

One of the mesmerizing murals at Haji Lane

I hoped to show that I was as ecstatic as this woman on the mural…

I had a Singapore traditional kaya toast for breakfast at The Fun Coffee at the ground floor of Raffles Hospital. I couldn’t recall eating a hearty breakfast for the longest time. Beside the coffee house is a Starbucks.

MUST EAT!!!

Here’s how you order your coffee in Singapore. I chose Gula Melaka coffee and the traditional kaya toast. Lovely combo!

  For lunch I had beef rendang, and this dish has been my ultimate favorite of all beef dishes. This is like quoting Sylvia Plath when she said

“I craved him constantly, so deeply it was a physical ache”

I’ve ordered beef rendang from a Singaporean restaurants but not in Singapore or Melaka. I’ve cooked it at home, but I couldn’t tell if there was any difference, so I wanted to go for the authentic, yeah. Time allowed me to enjoy it in the Terminal 1 departure lounge of Changi Airport. I went to Changi from Bugis MRT. That quick. I had to explore something at Changi at this time.

I wish I were always a big eater, but it’s very seldom that I am. There’s a long list of food to eat when I visit a place, but sadly for me I couldn’t get to try everything on the list for fear of upsetting my tummy. So I went hungry after all that walking of course, so it was time to stuff my hungry worms. It just so happened that I came across this 1983 Taste of Nanyang bistro, and to my huge delight they have my deeply craved for beef rendang.

MUST EAT!!! beef rendang @1983, Level 3, Departure Transit Lounge, Singapore Changi Airport Terminal 1

5. Pay a visit to the Civilian War Memorial Park~~

After Changi, I went to this park in search of something free to see. The park was not crowded despite the day being Saturday and Christmas eve, so I liked it. It drizzled for a few minutes, so it wasn’t a hot afternoon to say the least. There were some couples, some families having an afternoon picnic in some spots, others were just lazing around just passing time. I saw another tourist like me who’s busy taking photos here and there, too. It was a rare moment in my life to sit by a park bench and watch a kit of pigeons. That was the best part: me bumming around aka resting (ho-ho-ho)! I never knew I could miss parks like that, haha!

This can be an interesting tour to do in the future.

The Four Chopsticks

6. Book Fair @ Suntec~~ I wanted to go early to the Marina Bay Sands and Gardens by the Bay, but lo and behold a book sale. Another weakness of mine I couldn’t let pass. Entrance was free of course. I spent my late afternoon here after sitting a while at the park. I thought I’d get some novels for me and some friends in Saigon but the queue for those paying in card was terribly a kilometer long, so I forgot about buying more for friends. I opted to pay in cash (for which I didn’t bring enough S$) so I had to prioritize buying only a Murakami and 2 laptop bags. It was fun going around a gigantic book sale, though. No regrets!

        7. Gardens by the Bay~~It was Christmas eve, but Singapore doesn’t really have a fancy celebration for Christmas. However, I underestimated the crowd here at this time of year. I enjoyed the night view for a while, but seeing that crowd stressed me out, so I didn’t stay long.  I would’ve loved to stay longer because the trains were good until 1:30 AM anyway, the Christmas morning.  Going to the Gardens and back to the MRT, I got caught in a sea of human traffic. I regretted going there that time.

8. Chinatown~~ The first time I came to the People’s Park Complex and its vicinity, I sort of liked it. But this time most shops were closed when I arrived there, so I didn’t bother going around the area much, as I got tired from that agonizing crowd at the MBS. I planned to buy trinkets here, but I thought I could just do it the following morning. Tt didn’t happen; here’s why…

Well, maybe I would just cut my 2nd trip experience to Singapore to a day because on my second (and last) day there, I OVERSLEPT! My plan to go to more places that morning was ruined all because I woke up late. All that walking must have made me dog-tired that I didn’t notice.

I could have done more free things like visiting the Botanic Gardens and the Changi Point Coastal Walk. Yeah, regrettably. I will definitely do more on my next visit.

After taking a quick shower and saying goodbye to my uncle and family at Sembawang Close, I quickly headed off to the airport. It just dawned on me that it was Christmas Day and the airport could have long queues, but I was wrong. Everything was smooth-sailing. So I had plenty of time to burn at the airport, getting a S$10 refund for the tourist pass, and used it well at a souvenir shop, and having late lunch of nasi lemak.

Incredible? Yes, very much I guess.

  Here’s how I did it: (computed in USD)

     Saigon to Kuala Lumpur (via AirAsia): $43.40

     Airport breaky (NZ Curry House) about $2.50 with mee goreng and teh tarik

     JR Cawangin: about $13 for the big serving of asam pedas fish and lime juice

     Panorama (old, red bus): about 37 cents

     McDonald’s Dinner: about $3.70 for ayam goreng spicy chicken and cappuccino

     Melaka to Singapore (bus): about $6.15 (I booked it here.)

     Fun Toast breakfast: about $4.11 for the traditional kaya butter toast and Gula Melaka coffee

     Starbucks: $3.37 for a tall serving of mint tea

     1983 Lunch: about $5.08 for beef rendang set meal and milk tea

     Singapore Tourist Pass: about $19.43 (S$26 with a $10 deposit for the card)

     Airport dinner: about $4.60 for nasi lemak with coffee

     Singapore to Saigon (via Vietjet): $78

     Grand total: $201.20

     Less: about $7.47 (refund for the STP deposit)

     NET TOTAL: $193.73

Click her for the Melaka walking tour! Please keep posted!

Let’s go places!!

Mabuhay! 🙂 

  Incredible 3D-2N Melaka and Singapore in under US$200 (Part 2/2) #soloSaturdate #soloSundate And so I boarded that midnight bus to Singapore from Melaka after waiting for almost 2 hours for the bus to come as scheduled.

[recentanimenews]

Bookshelf Briefs 1/25/20

Again!!, Vol. 12 | By Mitsurou Kubo | Kodansha Comics – For better or worse, Again!! has always been unpredictable. I appreciate that it didn’t always follow the expected story beats, but at the same time, the inconsistency has been frustrating. For example, Imamura’s fluctuating dedication to the Ouendan had him proclaim at one point how much he wanted his grandma to see him cheering, and had that occurred it would’ve been a heart-tugging moment. But it didn’t happen. Instead, Imamura returns from another do-over (this time, flashing to a future in which his death inspired the other characters) with an apathetic attitude that eventually prompts him to return to 2014—a future where his grandmother is dead—without apparently a single pang about it. The ending is also kind of abrupt and ambiguous. In the end, I find myself wishing this had been more predictable, ‘cos at least it would’ve been more satisfying. – Michelle Smith

Chihayafuru, Vol. 18 | By Yuki Suetsugu | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – This volume is full of choices for Chihaya. It’s time to complete another career survey, and this time she fills in a more realistic goal than becoming Queen. It’s also less ambitious, however, and thus her karuta advisor comes to see her play at the Yoshino Club Tournament to ask someone with more experience whether Chihaya really has the potential to become Queen. Happily, she’s playing with more precision and focus than ever, but her next opponent is Haruka Inokuma, a 4-time former Queen, so her chances really hinge on how she fares in that match. (I suspect Taichi vs. Arata is in the offing, as well.) Too, the school trip conflicts with the Master/Queen qualifiers, and Chihaya must choose which side of herself she wants to cultivate more. I seriously love this series and am eagerly anticipating the next volume! – Michelle Smith

Dr. STONE, Vol. 9 | By Riichiro Inagaki and Boichi | Viz Media – Perhaps being interesting was too much to ask, but Taiju and Yuzuriha are at least contributing now that they’ve been added to Senku’s team—Taiju by being a literal tank soaking up damage, and Yuzuriha by apparently taking all the statues that Tsukasa smashed and sewing them together, presumably so they can be revived. If this seems farfetched, it’s no more so than finding the hospital where Tsukasa’s terminally ill little sister was located and unstoning her, which apparently also cures her illness. That said, Tsukasa may not be the end boss, as there’s another who’s been waiting for the moment to make his debut as a Big Bad. This continues to be ridiculous but also cool. – Sean Gaffney

Hatsu*Haru, Vol. 10 | By Shizuki Fujisawa | Yen Press – Best Couple get the cover, and I continue to be more interested in them than I am Riko and Kai, who are cute and all but also somewhat predictable. The four of them go to the hot springs, mostly as Riko is too nervous to be alone with Kai, and Takaya learns that Ayumi leaves herself wide open. After a cute but slight Valentine’s chocolate chapter, the best part comes when Ayumi gets a bad cold and Takaya visits, meeting her parents and finding out she’s actually pretty rich and her family are famous film creators. Ayumi is not yet ready to reciprocate Takaya’s feelings, but she does open up to him about wanting to seek her own path. It’s great to see, and we have three volumes left after this, so I’m sure it will work out. – Sean Gaffney

ROADQUEEN: Eternal Roadtrip to Love | By Mira Ong Chua | Seven Seas – While not technically manga, ROADQUEEN will likely still appeal both stylistically and thematically to readers who enjoy Japanese comics. In particular, the volume makes an excellent addition to Seven Seas’ catalog of yuri titles. ROADQUEEN originated as a short online comic, followed up by a much longer multi-chapter sequel. Both of these stories and an additional bonus comic are collected in this volume. Leo, the prince of Princess Andromeda Academy, only has eyes for Bethany—her motorcycle. At least until Vega arrives on the scene and steals Bethany away. Vega promises she’ll give the bike back, but only after Leo proves that she can be a decent lesbian (not to mention human being). ROADQUEEN is deliberately over-the-top, Chua obviously having a lot of fun playing with tropes, but it can actually be very touching, too. With an abundance of humor and a ton of heart, ROADQUEEN is an absolute delight. – Ash Brown

Saki the Succubus Hungers Tonight, Vol. 1 | By Mikokuno Homare and studio HIP-CATs | Ghost Ship – I will admit that for a title that’s coming out via the Ghost Ship label, which means “borderline porn,” this is pretty cute. Saki is a fairly new, still virginal succubus who has been thrown out of her family home as she’s old enough to be finding men to “feed” on, but she’s honestly a bit too shy for all that. She is thus near starvation when found by Renta, an adult salaryman who is also a virgin. They clearly fall for each other pretty fast, but are also both innocent and clueless, so nothing happens… well, OK, something happens, she manages to “feed,” but the plot is still “will they ever actually do anything” and the answer is likely “no.” Still, for tease, this is relatively cute and sweet. – Sean Gaffney

Snow White with the Red Hair, Vol. 5 | By Sorata Akiduki | Viz Media – Welp, despite what I thought, the series does not end just because the main couple confessed. Indeed, most of the volume involves separating the two—not by design, but simply as Shirayuki has been invited to another country for a get together… her old country, where Prince Raj is. Indeed, after having it out with her a couple of volumes ago, Raj is seemingly turning over a new leaf, but that doesn’t mean he’s comfortable around her at all—he never expected she’d accept the invitation. Her bodyguard for this journey is Obi, and I note that this series is very good at having a bunch of guys in it who are not immediately in love with the heroine. Whether that’s true of the new villain introduced here, who knows? – Sean Gaffney

Teasing Master Takagi-san, Vol. 7 | By Soichiro Yamamoto | Yen Press – Having established that our leads will end up married with a child in the future, the series can now slowly move forward in increments, culminating in the final chapter here, where Nishikata, of his own volition, asks Takagi to the summer festival. But we’re also looking back, as we get to see how the two of them first met, and how Nishikata’s two basic qualities—a nice guy with great faces when he’s embarrassed or upset—inspire Takagi almost immediately. I’m not sure this is exactly when she falls for him, but she certainly has by the end of this book, which gives us another nice blushing reaction from her. Oh yes, and there’s still plenty of teasing. You expected something else? – Sean Gaffney

The Way of the Househusband, Vol. 2 | By Kousuke Oono | VIZ Media – This was another fun volume of The Way of the Househusband, in which Tatsu tries aerobics and yoga, intimidates a yakuza by offering him kitchen gadgets, eradicates stubborn stains in Masa’s laundry, plays volleyball with housewives, and more. I really appreciate that we saw more of Miku, his wife, this time around, and probably my favorite chapter is the final one, in which her parents drop by for a visit. Even though the fish-out-of-water setup in this series reminds me of the premise of Saint Young Men, The Way of the Househusband is not only visually superior (better art, great pacing to jokes), but has more heart, especially the bonus chapter in which we see Miku’s dad practicing for the moment when he asks Tatsu if he wants to go outside and play catch. I stop short of calling the manga sweet, but it’s wholly endearing. Highly recommended. – Michelle Smith

Yowamushi Pedal, Vol. 13 | By Wataru Watanabe | Yen Press – Yowamushi Pedal, Vol. 13 | By Wataru Watanabe | Yen Press – OK, I was probably foolish to think the race would end in this volume. We’re gonna have to wait for fourteen. But in return, we get so much shonen sports at its best. Midousuji does his best, but then crashes and burns. Instead, it’s Manami who gets the bulk of this book, where we discover that he enjoys shifting gears higher when he should be doing the opposite, just to make things even more fun. That said, he shouldn’t dismiss our hero, Onoda, who has his pedaling and his Pretty Princess song to keep him going forever. (Oh yes, and his mother shows up—apparently at rando, as he never told her about the race? This was the funniest part of the book.) Things should end next volume… well, at least this race. – Sean Gaffney

By: Ash Brown

[siritikul]

EAT UP!

“Everybody gonna eat, right?”  Common

You are what you eat?  All this goes to show how important food is to us - not just as nutrition, but symbolically, as a way of representing who - and what - we are. So we should also think about what it means when we withdraw food from people - whether it's the silly, indulgent treats that make life worth living, or the basic nutrition we need to keep healthy. If our attitudes to food in general are so messed up that we muddle vegetables with salvation, and emptiness with virtue, what does that mean for the ways we treat the less fortunate among us? Because we see food as a way of coding goodness and evil, we're quick to take from the bellies of those we don't think are deserving, and grow plump on our own self-righteousness. Denial is the dish of the day, and if people don't practise it for themselves, we'll happily foist it upon them. All of this rhetoric of good and bad, excess and self-control, comes together in the four walls of the prison cell.

Emotional eating Adèle throws herself onto her bed, pulls a box out from underneath and grabs at the stash. She unwraps a chocolate bar and pushes it into her mouth faster than she can eat it, her face wet with tears. In this scene, in 2013 film Blue Is the Warmest Colour, queer heroine Adèle has just broken up with a boyfriend, and with a hunger that will resurface again throughout the film, she voraciously eats the feelings that plague her. This is emotional, impulsive self-soothing, not to mention a (slightly clunky) metaphor for all the queer appetites beginning to stir inside of her.

The pangs of hunger we feel in our bellies become muddled with countless other kinds of want: a lack of food can feel like a lack of love; a lack of love can feel like a lack of food. We turn to food, so often, to try to sate the emotional hungers that we feel, filling our stomachs with hot cross buns, chocolate milkshakes, pork pies, in a vain attempt to satisfy that niggling feeling, deep inside, that we need more from life. Leaving those emotional hungers calling is maybe the scariest thing we can do: to just sit and feel dissatisfied, fearful, furious or unfulfilled, and just let that emotion seize you, is a brave act. And so we look for comfort elsewhere, whether that's at the bottom of the bottle, the baggie or the biscuit tin. We eat our feelings, lest our feelings eat us.

The folk singer-songwriter Judee Sill knew a lot about hunger. Up until her untimely death aged just thirty-one, she followed a path that swerved erratically between the teetering glory of her finest work - achingly sad songs about longing and love -  and her lowest ebbs, marred by substance abuse, car crashes and crime. She was an addict and a musician, and these two parts of her identity spun as deftly around each other as the filaments of melody - Sill's voice split into four-part chorale - that ran through her songs.

Hunger is a theme that resurfaces throughout Sill's 1973 album, Heart Food. Even the title pulls our focus to a yearning that sits deep in the heart of each of us. There's thirst, and guts, and spirit that all pull in separate directions in Sill's songs, splintering our human experience into a million shards of pain and wonder. By the end of her life, Sill's own hunger had taken her aways from her musical career into drug addiction, and she died of an overdose in 1975.

When Judee Sill sings about the gap between her spirit and her body, and the hunger that seeps in between, this isn't some dream of a bodiless existence. Sill doesn't want to let go of her earthly roots, or the unavoidable hunger that we feel as human beings: she feels every last pang of that hunger, and she cherishes it. The wonderful thing about allowing yourself to feel your hunger - whether that's the hunger that Sill sung about, or a more physical gurgling - [raging] in my guts - is that it reminds you of the distance between where you are, and where you want to be. When you say 'I am hungry,' you might think you're just talking about wanting another pack of Maltesers, but what you're really saying is that you're alive, and that you want more, and that there's no pleasing your soul until your body has been appeased. You are myth, intestine, splendour, fart, divinity and heaviness all at once.

I think there's a lot to be said for being reflective and considering your cravings but comfort eating gets a particularly bad reputation and I'm not here to write off this kind of eating as some weak-willed, emotional indulgence. In a culture where displays of emotional vulnerability are often seen as desperate and sad, we sometimes have no choice but to self-soothe rather than look outwards for help. We're conditioned from the moment we're born to equate food with comfort, and we carry this belief with us through every sucked thumb, soothing bedtime Horlicks and post-breakup feast.

Food has the power to patch up the ragged edges of our souls - the frayed tempers and unravelled dreams - and make the world seem OK again, if only for a few moments. All food is, to a degree, comfort food. When you raise a piece of garlic bread to your mouth after a long, taxing day, and you're hit coats your lips - that is comfort food. Even a floppy, soggy cheese and onion pasty, rescued from the tepid purgatory of a station café sandwich cabinet, can be comfort food if you eat it, as I once did, on the way home from visiting your sick grandad in hospital. Two days later, a glass of orange juice is comfort food, when you find out that your grandad has just died.

Tandoh, R. (2018) ‘You are what you eat and Emotional eating’, EAT UP!. London: Serpent’s Tail, pp. 77-83.