dislocation of a figure

You Can’t Fix What Ain’t Broke part 2

A/N: Holy crap you guys!!! I did not expect that much love from any one (i barely expected 10 ppl to read this thing) Thank you sososososososoooooo much. I’m sorry this part took so long to publish…my laptop decided to die and I am without a personal computer. I almost lost the whole thing. T^T Without further ado, here’s part two! I hope you like it~

You Can’t Fix What Ain’t Broke part 2

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,264

Warnings: a lil smidge of angst. fluff. sad bucky, angry bucky, frustrated bucky. 

Part 1

Originally posted by imagine-that-marvel

**“Mission report.” Longing. “No please stop…” Rusted. *screams* Seventeen. “Bucky no!!” Daybreak. “Sargent Barnes” Furnace. “the process has already started” Nine. “You are to be the new fist…” Benign. “I’m with you…” Homecoming. “til the end of the line.” One. “of HYDRA”**


Bucky shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat..his chest heaving. He looked over to the clock 2:32 am. Another nightmare. Another sleepless night. The faces of all those he’d ever tortured, murdered…burned into his memories forever. Coming back in his sleep to remind him of all the death that he was responsible for.

“Damnit…” he whispered as he dragged his hand down his face. Swinging his legs off the bed, he got up and walked to his bathroom. He switched on the light and turned on the cold water to splash onto his face. As he looked up he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A broken soul. Missing pieces. Impossible to put back together.  There was no question that Bucky was relieved to no longer under the control of Hydra. But it was more of a question of did he deserve to even exist anymore.

You shouldn’t be here.

It was going to be a long day.

“Let’s go Buck come on,” Steve encouraged “just one more set.”

Since coming to the Avenger’s base, it was Steve’s mission to help Bucky get back into the swing of things. It was Sam’s mission to keep Bucky on his toes.

“Come on man, my grandmother can bench press more than this!”

“You know, for a guy who’s life I saved from a teenage spider, you sure do talk a lot of smack.” Bucky spat back as he pushed the bar from his chest.

“Less talk more lift dinosaur.”  laughed Sam.

As much as they bickered and teased each other, Steve knew that his two closest friends were getting along. He was so grateful to have met Sam, and even more so to have Bucky back in his life.

After heavy lifting and a 10k run (one which they gave Sam a 30 minute head start…and he still finished last), Steve and Bucky took it to the ring to practice sparring.

“I’m not going easy on you, Punk.”

“I never needed you to, Jerk.”

Bucky and Steve were equals in the ring so this fight was bound to last forever. 5 minutes…10 minutes…15 minutes…Sam was getting bored. He looked over and nodded to Steve when an idea popped into his head.

“Hey Barnes, you better step up your game if you ever want Y/N to notice you!” Sam cried out.

“What?” Bucky looked over to Sam who had a wicked smile on his face. Distracted, Steve landed a punch to Bucky’s stomach.

“Yeahhhh I see the way you looking at her. All coy and shit.”

“Stop distracting me Wilson!” Bucky dodged Steve’s right cross and pushed Steve back to the ropes. He knew that Sam was only messing with him, but it was working. 

“I’m just saying man, a girl like Y/N isn’t gonna stay single for long. You know she used to fix motorcycles before she got here? Woo wheee~”

Steve howled with laughter and pushed Bucky to the ropes, “it’s true Buck, you gotta make a move sometime. Or else Sam might beat you to it” Sam over exaggerated a wink to Bucky who exhaled deeply.. 

Bucky reached his hand between his body and Steve’s face and put him in a choke hold. “I hate you guys….”   

After what felt like forever, Steve was able to get Bucky in a grappling hold with his metal arm behind his back. On instinct, Bucky flipped Steve over and slammed him onto the floor. With Steve on his back, Bucky pinned him to ground with his knee, putting all of his body weight onto Steve’s chest. The two exhausted, Steve decided to throw in the towel.

“That’s you going easy?”

“Well I figured two septuagenarians shouldn’t risk dislocating a hip.” Bucky chuckled.

“What the hell is this bromance?” called out Sam.

The three laughed. Bucky got up and held out his left hand to help pull up Steve. As Steve reached out to get it, Bucky’s arm started spazzing. “WOAH! What the hell…AH!” His arm jerked and slammed the ground next to Steve’s head. Two inches over, and Captain America would’ve had his teeth broke in.

Steve rolled over to the opposite side and sat up “Woah Buck! you okay?”

“I don’t know what’s going on…” Bucky struggled to keep his arm from moving. It swung nearly missing Sam’s face.

“Watch the merchandise!”

Bucky grabbed onto the ropes to steady himself. He stared at his metal hand. Broken. He gritted his teeth, trying to control himself. “Buck?” Missing pieces. “Hey cyborg you alright there?” Impossible to put back together. He screamed.

Bucky came into the lab accompanied Steve and Sam. You turned to smile at them, when you saw Bucky holding his arm in place. His face irritated, angry…nothing like the man you saw the week before. He avoided any eye contact with you.  You looked to Steve, who’s face was full of concern for Bucky. “What happened?” you asked worriedly.

“We were in the middle of training when it started going crazy! He damn near punched a hole through Steve’s face. ” Sam exclaimed, earning a stern look from Steve. “I think it’s short circuiting; he’s having a hard time keeping control of it.” Steve explained. You walked over with your tool tray and picked up the handheld scanner. After examining his arm, you noticed a few wires out of place that was the source of the short circuit. Bucky looked more on edge than usual, his jaw clenched. His body so tense trying to keep the synthetic limb in control. You could see the two exposed wires that were sparking off.  “Think you can fix it Y/N?” Steve asked. You walked over to the tool kit, “Shouldn’t be a problem…Bucky?” your voice shy and quiet. He looked at you before returning his gaze to the floor.  He was shaking. “I’m going to need to remove a panel to get to the wires okay?” Bucky sighed deeply and nodded silently. You applied an electric disk to disable the arm. You began to remove the panel, working slowly, when Bucky’s arm suddenly whirred and smashed into the table, putting a dent into the metal surface. You jumped back from Bucky who was visibly shaken. He looked at you with a fear in his eyes and then back at his metal appendage.

“Watch it!” yelled Sam.

“No no it’s okay, it was an accident Sam. I’m okay” you assured him.

Bucky however was definitely not okay. He let out a frustrated growl and buried his face in his flesh hand. Steve moved closer to his friend. “Bucky you alright?”

“Here, let me try that again” you said. Bucky looked at you from behind the strands of hair that was now covering his face. “I’m going to add another disk to help keep it in place okay?” He didn’t respond, only stared at you as you place the second disk on him. “It’s okay Bucky, it’ll be a quick fix. I promise” You moved faster this time, removing the panel from his arm. Bucky was struggling to control his breathing. You took out your soldering iron and quickly mended the two wires back together. With the procedure done in less than 5 minutes, you exhaled in relief and was about to replace the panel when all of a sudden, Bucky yelled out. “Y/N move!!!” You barely had any time to get out of the way before Bucky’s metal arm swung out. You fell backwards onto the floor. He knocked over your tool tray before Steve and Sam rushed over to hold Bucky down.

“Woah! Get it together man! You almost knocked the living day lights out of Y/N!” Sam scolded.

Bucky was hyperventilating when he saw to you. Your tools were all over the floor surrounding you, your scanner broken. Then he saw you holding your hand in pain, his eyes widened in terror. You inhaled sharply through your teeth and revealed that the soldering wand had burned you. You looked at it on the floor, “must’ve still been hot when it grazed me.” You stood up and Steve walked over to you. “Are you alright Y/N?” “Yeah, I’m okay. Damn it. Stings like a bitch though.” You tried to laugh it off, but no one was fooled by your smile. Steve smiled sadly at you as he observed the burn. You cleared your throat, “Tis but a flesh wound, I’ll be alright.” You moved to pick the panel back up. “Let me put this back on for you” you said to Bucky.

“No” he said sternly.

“Bucky” you chuckled “it was an accident. I’m okay. I burn myself on the stove all the time. I’m a quick healer.”

“Get away from me Y/N” He couldn’t even look at you.

“I’m only trying to help…” your voice getting quiet.

His head shot up and he glared “Well it’s not helping. So do me a favor, and just leave me alone.” You put down the panel onto the table. Steve tried to calm his friend down. “She was just trying to help put it back Buck.”  “Help? Steve look at me! Do you think that I’m something that can be fixed with a couple of nuts and bolts?!” Steve looked down.  “Hey man, chill out” Sam shot back. Bucky screamed at the top of his lungs, “Chill out? Chill out?! I spent more than half my life in a glass tube chilling out. And THAT didn’t fix me either. So forgive me if I don’t exactly want to chill out.” He got up from the table, irritable. He was mumbling to himself when he picked panel and replaced it himself, his back towards the three of you.

You looked at Bucky in shock, but then something inside snapped. Your shock turned into disbelief.  He might be the Winter Soldier, but that was no reason to treat his friends that way.

“Hey, don’t take it out on them.”


“You heard me. Now take it back.”

Bucky turned around and walked up to you. He towered above you but you stood tall and tough. Steve and Sam watched you unsure if they needed to step in to save you or to save Bucky. If working at biker shop taught you anything, it was how to hold your own.

“Now I don’t care if you’re the Winter Soldier or not. You don’t intimidate me. And I said, take it back.”

Bucky looked down at you, his stature proud but his eyes sad. He was at a loss for words. He’d never seen you angry before.  

“Steve, Sam, even Tony, all of us brought you here for one reason. And that was to help you get better. Because we thought that it’d be better for you to heal here, amongst friends rather than leaving you amongst scientists.”

“Stop Y/N.” Bucky said through his teeth.

“Bucky, I can only imagine what you’ve been through. But i’m here aren’t I? Sam’s here, Steve’s here, we’re all here because we WANT to help you. We WANT to understand. And you think we’re just gonna let you push us away?”

“You should really stop talking Y/N.”

“Or what? You’re gonna push me away too?” you choked.

He paused. You were the last person he wanted to push away. Your breathing became heavy and your heart full of anger and frustration. Bucky bit his lip choosing his words carefully.

“You don’t know anything about me Y/N.”

“Well I WOULD if you would just trust me and open up once in awhile” your voice on the verge of cracking. You hated being this heated, you could barely keep the tears at bay. But you knew he could see how your eyes watered up. You weren’t afraid to cry, but you weren’t about to let him see how strongly you felt for him.

“And why…would I…ever…open up…to you? How could you…even begin…to understand me?” he said slowly, as if he was forcing the words to come out of his mouth. He didn’t mean it, he knew that. But if he had to lie to keep you safe out of harm’s way…his way…then so be it. He couldn’t risk hurting you.

You searched him for a sign, any sort of sign that he cared. That everything he was saying was out of frustration. That he didn’t mean any of it. You thought you saw the briefest glimmer of regret in his eyes when he looked to the floor and away from you. You had to get out of there, before you lost it.

“Forget this.” you took off your lab coat and shoved it at his chest. “Let me know when you’re ready to stop being the Winter Soldier and start being a damn human being.”

You knew that hurt. And for a second you couldn’t believe those words came out of your mouth. But you were angry. And you wanted to hurt him the way you hurt. You shoved past him, and stomped out of the lab, grabbing your leather jacket from the coat rack. You couldn’t let him, or the other guys, see you lose your shit. As you turned to get into the elevator you saw Bucky holding your lab coat and slightly turn his head to watch you walk away. You kept your eyes on his, the elevator doors closing just as you lost hold of your tears.

“Damn.” Sam broke the silence.

Bucky exhaled deeply.

“What the hell Bucky?” scolded Steve

“Shut up Steve.”

“Man you shut up.” shot Sam “Be mad at me, be mad at Steve. But that was no reason to talk to Y/N like that. She’s only ever helped you.”

Bucky placed your lab coat down on the table. He caught sight of his reflection in the screen of the computer, the image of a man who even he didn’t recognize. He wasn’t proud of his outburst. But all he could think about is how he was unable to control his arm…how it controlled him instead. How for all these years, he was unable to control himself. His decisions never his, control. He flashed back to the past, the faces of people he “sacrificed for the greater good”, the history that he helped shape. He looked at his reflection and saw the Winter Soldier staring back at him.

The lab doors opened, Tony walked in staring at his phone. “Hey Y/N, I had some ideas for….what the hell happened here?”

Steve and Sam looked at each other. Bucky walked past Tony out of the lab. Tony watched as he walked past him, “You know what…never mind I don’t want to know. Where is Y/N?”

tagging writers that i love and those who have requested (if you’d like to be tagged please either comment or send me a msg…thank you for the support!) 

@nenyakj @viollettes @thatawkwardtinyperson @of-fishnets-and-black-lace@softcorehippos @papi-chulo-bucky @softwintersoldier@fictionalmemoirs @plumfondler @avengerofyourheart @scarlettsoldier @firebendergirl33 @debzybrazy @buckyappreciationsociety @mitra-k-w

Demon and a Dutch Man (Darkstache)

“Welcome to the end of eras, ice has melted back to life.”

Shadows were melding in a new way, creating a form straight out of nightmares. Making it as human shaped as they dared, creating a perfect demon. Long horns curled up from his forehead, hidden with a wave of raven black hair. His eyes were pure red, a simple slit of black serving as his pupil. Long arms fell to his sides, fingers like claws and skin absorbing the shadows and turning a smoky black up to his elbows. The rest of his skin flitted between tanned and deathly white before setting on an ashy grey. Then the shadows released him, and he took his first staggering breath of air that want fogged with darkness.

“Done my time and served my sentence, dress me up and watch me die.”

A man, human, stumbled through the woods half blinded by the tree branches swinging into his face, cutting across his skin. He tripped over brush and roots that upturned the dirt where they grew, ended up tripping and rolling down a hill while shouting profanities. His shirt snagged and ripped on thorns as he tried to stand, legs weak under him, but he had to get out.
His short, black hair flew as he ran, covered his eyes and made him stagger as he tried to regain his vision. It was all a bit more difficult with the fact he was brandishing a pocket knife stolen from his father before he ran away, and the blade sometimes tried to tickle at his sides and render him useless, blood staining his already ruined shirt and drying around his wounds.

“If it feels good, tastes good, it must be mine.”

The shadow moved with its head in both hands, claws scratching at its scalp and almost trying to pull the horns off. It knew what it was, it wasn’t human, and yet it felt so wrong to be like this. Its eyes burned, his body ached, it felt so wrong, it shouldn’t exist. There were voices in its head, all telling it- him- to harm, to attack anything in his path. He was so much more powerful than them, he could kill in a single swoop. But he didn’t want to harm, his claws dug into his flesh and cause thick, black blood to drip down his skin, steaming silently through his hair and over his face.

“Dynasty decapitated, you just might see a ghost tonight.”

He fell, the branch he’d been clinging to snapped and he fell, hitting the ground with a pained cry and a sob. He dropped the knife, gleaming with his own blood and curled up, scared out of his mind, lost, wanting nothing more then home. He felt so cold, like his bones were dunked in ice. But the cold was shifting, so it only touched his face. His head hurt like the ice was touching his brain, and he shook, sobbing. He was seeing things, seeing shadows move under the pale moonlight. He was so terrified he barely noticed the whisper of wind that sounded almost like a voice.

“You’re lost.”

The shadow had a face, and spoke to him in a voice like a frightened snake: an almost hiss but it shook and echoed. And there was this awful ringing and darkness that surrounded them. The human tried to push himself away but ended up backed up against a tree, turning his head away and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Doe me alsjeblieft geen pijn!”

The shadow tilted it’s head and held out one hand, blackened claws reaching out for the man who shouted and jerked to his feet. His foot nearly gave out, but he clung to the tree. It was sprained. He found the knife, hidden in leaves and trashed it out towards the shadow.

“Ik heb een mes! Kom niet bij me in de buurt!”

It followed his movements, eyes the color of his blood, that was pumping so quickly he felt dizzy. Maybe that was it, he was seeing shadows because he’s dizzy and scared. But when that icy cold feeling came and brushed his wrist, at the same moment the shadow gripped him by the joint, he knew he wasn’t imagining this. The knife fell from his hand and the human whimpered.

“Doe me alsjeblieft geen kwaad. Laat me alleen.”

“I don’t understand you,” the shadow spoke, and he understood, somewhat. He wasn’t being clear, and this… Thing, this darkness spoke only the natives’ language. “Do you have a name?” That he understood clearly.

“W.. Wilford.”

“What are you speaking?”


“I can teach you English, but I need something in return.”

The human still could not understand, so the shadow touched its lips. “Speak same.” Its hand moved to touch Wilford’s mouth in a gesture that he understood slightly. “But you must give me something in return.” It touched Wilford’s chest and brought the claws back to his own. “Do you understand?”

Slowly, the human nodded before saying in a soft voice, slow to make sure he got it right, “What… Is your name?”

“I think.. I like the name Dark.”


“There you go.”


It’s been nearly four years now, since the pair met in the woods. Wilford is fluent in English, though he still has a weird way of saying his words, claiming it to be from “an accident as a child” where he “dislocated his jaw”.

Dark figured out how to control his bloodlust, keeping that part of him hidden under a physical shell. He’d made his appearance more human to avoid conflicts, though he could never figure out how to get rid of that ringing or the darkness that surrounded him, now looking like a white light, or the greying color of his skin.

The pair had grown close over the years, gathering other men that appeared like them, called “egos”. Dark learned that they all originated from a man, a man in Los Angeles named Mark Fischbach. Wilford and the others were… Hard to explain. Dark was the easiest: the shadows created him out of Mark’s worst nightmares. That gave him his manipulative personality. Why he so easily got what he wanted from who he wanted it from. He’d gotten people, “fans” of their host to shoot him, to off the only thing holding Dark back from taking control.

He had these other egos under his control, easily manipulating them into puppets he could use for his advantage. Well, his and Wilford’s.

He would be nowhere without that stupid human, the one who taught him “how to be human” using broken English. The demon looked up from his paper work and simply grinned as he thought of the other, probably recording some stupid television show with Bim or the Jims or perhaps Bop even. He always loved having a co-host. Sometimes if he was out of egos, he would drag the Host’s “little sister” Ellie into his recording studio to make some nice special effects (the two tended to just rewatch the same movie over and over again while laughing their asses off).

Dark looked fondly at his paper work, thinking back to the days he and Wilford were young. When people stared at him for his reddened eyes and the bulges of his horns under hoods. How they tried to tease Wilford for not knowing a lot of English, but he was just as easy to insult them sweetly in his foreign tongue. He missed those days, oddly enough. Before he grew a hatred for Mark Fischbach, before he became the head of a company of idiots. Back when he and Wilford shared random abandoned apartments and shared a bed because they couldn’t afford a second. Back when Wilford worked as a newspaper salesman and learned English by reading the paper and having Dark translate it so he could associate words.

He missed being young, though there were parts he could live without. When he was building up his shell, learning how to appear more human, it was unstable. It broke if anyone so much as disagreed with him. His natural form would take over and that bloodlust was hard to hold back. No one was safe when his shell broke.

Except Wilford. He didn’t understand if it was just him wanting to keep the other on his side, or if he had grown fond of the other man, and didn’t want to get upset with him. (Or a very plausible third option where he didn’t want the other afraid of him or confused as to why he was so upset.) Wilford was always his exception, he never grew too upset at him, never started a fight. They were as close as brothers.

As close as brothers could be once Wilford kissed him.

They were still young, the Dutch man knowing enough English to get him by in a day, though he couldn’t think of some words and needed Dark to tell him them. They had been in for the night, Dark reading and Wilford watching the television, some show about DNA tests and family problems. He had turned to look at Dark from the floor before asking, “Do you think I could ever be on the television, Donker?” His favorite name for the other. Dark simply peered up from his book and gave what he would call a smile, teeth bared with good intents. “Of course, if you work on your speaking and perhaps tame your hair, then you could do anything.”

Wilford had grinned so widely at that, and suddenly he was up and leaning over Dark to give him a short kiss, a peck at the most. “Thank you Donker! I am going to bed now. Good night.” He left for the room, leaving Dark confused and, admittedly, a bit flustered. No one had shown him affection like that, the closest person to him being the man who just kissed-

“Ooooh Darky! Get your head out of your ass and come see what we did!”

Dark,in real time, looked up at Wilford. He had grown up, taller now and buffer, though with enough tum to be very huggable if you avoided his knife. He was twirling that stupid pink mustache that Dark remembered him dyeing one day, saying that he’s seen so many people dyeing their hair different colors, why not the mustache he’d finally grown?

The demon looked annoyed at him before sighing. “Wil, come here.” He crossed the room and leant over Dark’s desk, his confidence was swagger filled and his lips curled in a little smirk. “Yeeeeees Darky?”

“…. When did you stop calling me Donker?”

The question was out of nowhere, and  blinked at it. It took him a moment to get himself back together. “You’re a business man now, Darky, I thought it was inappropriate.” He stepped back, hands on his suspenders as he fiddled with the metal adjuster, eyes darting around the room, on everything but Dark. That was until the demon stood and crossed over to him.

Dark’s grey fingers curled under the other’s chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. They were as black as their hair, and locked onto Wilford’s warm brown ones.

The kiss was quick, more of a peck.

“I wouldn’t mind you calling me it when no one else is around. Now what were you so eager to show me?”

Greatest Thing I Ever Did

In my early vet days at a rural mixed practice, we were often rushed off our feet and perpetually pissed off at people who felt like they didn’t have to pay for our services, and would promise to pay, get their pets treated, and promptly never show up again. (We were absolutely dirt cheap too).

One day a cat came in that was hit by a car. Got his face smashed up fairly badly, but still stable enough for him to crawl home and get brought in to us. I was not the vet that admitted him, but I ended up doing surgery. He had a fractured mandibular symphysis and a nasty tongue laceration that I put back together.

He recovered ok, but it became apparent the next day that while his radiographs had looked ok, and his jaw closed normally under anaesthetic, but now that he was awake he would not eat, and his jaw dislocated to the side when he opened it fully, unable to close properly again. Unable to eat, he would need another anaesthetic to try to stabilize his jaw further. We were not a specialist clinic, and had no specialist surgeon in the state to refer him to, so we would have to be hitting the books and doing the best we were able to do, with no guarantee. To make the situation worse, the owners were in a spot of financial difficulty and the wife was due for a caesarian that week for medical reasons. Managing the family human health concerns alongside the cat was going to be too much, so they tearfully decided that they would have to put him to sleep.

Now this cat was an awesome cat. Anybody’s friend, not bothered by anything, a real smoochy cuddly soul. He was a kids cat, and other than his recent trauma had been pretty healthy. It also didn’t seem fair at all that so many people had taken advantage of the clinic’s generous credit policy, (the clinic was owed upwards of $200,000 from people ‘forgetting’ to pay their bill or 'promising’ to pay next week) here we had one family actually admitting they wouldn’t be able to pay and they would end up with a dead cat while those that had ripped us off got essentially free treatment.

I was in a situation, living on my own those last few months, where I could manage to adopt a cat (as long as the landlord didn’t know). So when the vet managing his case wen to speak to the owners, I told her that if they wanted to put him down, I’d adopt him and would try to patch him up with my own money on my own time.

This was how I ended up with Marcus.

But this is not the end of the story.

Keep reading

Northeastern Pennsylvania Gothic

an area once famous for all things coal yet all that remains now are skeletons from a bygone era. old buildings litter the landscapes, some repurposed, most damaged beyond repair. “Eyesores,” the locals cry. Someone cleans up a building and commissions a mural to be painted on its side. “Eyesore,” the locals cry.

a committee forms and takes interest in a relic of an age long past. they speak out, they ask for donations. developers, however, have other plans. not enough money is raised. the behemoth that once towered over small dirty houses now falls. watching the destruction from a nearby condemned building, you feel the very heart of this land shudder.

spring time reveals the many cracks in the road created by winter’s harsh and unrelenting cold. hitting a pot hole the wrong way at the wrong speed will result in bending the rim. the tire is destroyed. there goes this month’s food budget but you’ll be damned if you ask anyone for help.

“i love that animal,” a soul proclaims. an old chevy pickup truck is adorned with rear window decals of a buck and doe, respectively, forming a heart. the body of a stag lies in the truck bed; blood pooling around his nose, tongue flopped out in disgrace, bullet hole embedded in ribs. “i love that animal.”

“where do you wanna go?” “i dunno.” “what do you wanna do?” “i guess we can walk around. maybe hit up the bar later.” you’re thankful that you’ve hit legal drinking age. at least it gives you an excuse to sit somewhere else besides your own living room.

a cousin’s birthday party has brought you to the local skate-away. three generations of your family enter into the dimly lit building. this is the same skate-away that your father has seen. this is the same skate-away that your grandfather has seen. you don’t understand what life beyond 1970 is because life has never moved beyond 1970; not for this place. the restrooms only confirm this. please do not spill your soda. 

a universal truth is that nothing ever fully improved after the flood. the flood was  43 years ago as of 2015. there will always be more floods; floods are a fact of life in these parts. “why is he selling water on the street corner? is he allowed to sell water on the street corner?”

no one actually realizes that there is a museum dedicated to harry houdini here. no one goes to it. children can have their birthday parties there and the establishment promises not to embarrass them. no one has questioned if children would truly understand the nature of an escape artist. perhaps it’s ingrained in us, after all. perhaps we’re all trying to escape the chains of this area; the very straight jacket-like hold that it has on us. we just haven’t figured out that we have to dislocate our shoulders first. 

Ladynoir July Day 11: Patching Each Other Up

A heads up for new readers. All of my Ladynoir July stories are one story, so I suggest reading them in order for everything to make sense. Here’s a link to day one.

Ladybug dove into Marinette’s room just in time to answer her mother’s second wake-up call. Of course this had to happen on the day she had agreed to help her parents out in the bakery before school.

She detransformed, letting Tikki fly into her purse before she rushed downstairs, slipping a few cookies in her purse for her kwami. After a couple hours of baking and mixing, Marinette changed and ran to school.

Adrien had gotten more sleep last night than he probably had in a while, but he still felt irritable. He sighed, flopping back on the bed, “Is this a mistake?”

Plagg chewed thoughtfully on a slice of Camembert, “Hmmm… Telling Ladybug?”

“No, running away to join the circus,” he snapped, uncharacteristically irritated.

Plagg almost dropped his cheese in surprise. “Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the roof this morning.” He had to duck a pillow aimed at his head as he cooed, “Aww… Did baby not have a good nap?”

“That’s it.” Adrien snatched the remaining Camembert from Plagg’s paws, “You’re cut off. Nothing but processed cheese for you.”

“Hey, if you want to talk to your girlfriend, you take that back!” Plagg hissed in warning.

The ensuing scuffle ended poorly for both Adrien and his kwami. In the end, they agreed to a truce, and Adrien was bandaging a small bite on his thumb as Plagg groomed himself.

Keep reading


Tommy looked at the young woman and noticed to his horror that her right arm was not in the greatest shape. Was it dislocated? Probably. He cursed the club for just going out there without thinking and getting everyone else caught in the frey. Collateral damage they called that these days.

“Yeah, probably…” He winced at her question as he looked up at her, shrugging to settle his prospect kutte correctly on his shoulders. “I can try and pop it back in, but that’s going to hurt like a bitch.” Tommy answered as he worried his lower lip with his teeth.

As used to injury as she was, this was not one that usually topped Zoe’s list of normal injuries she acquired on any regular day. Maybe a smashed finger or a slice from a piece of metal sticking out from a mangled car that required her repair, but only one had anything been dislocated and that was her knee in high school track.

“Figures, my fuckin’ luck,” she cursed, trying unsuccessfully to raise her arm on her own. She closed her eyes tight, then nodded her head. “If ya think you can put it back without fuckin’ it up further, y’er free t’try. Kinda need two hands if I plan on ridin’ back home t’night.”