scorched flesh

gods of wood and stone

(this may or may not ever turn into something, so I thought I’d leave it here as the product of my procrastination.)


Obito gets lost on the way back to the afterlife.

It sounds like the start of the worst joke ever, like something Kakashi would mock him for forever after finding out about it, but it is, Obito admits to himself with great reluctance, actually true. This is definitely not the Pure Land, Rin is definitely not waiting for him, and he is definitely alive, because apparently using Kamui to skip out on your path to the afterlife leaves you alive even when you don’t want to be.

The worst part is, Obito can’t even regret it. He’d make the same decision again, because Kakashi needed his eyes so he wouldn’t just stand on the sidelines like a useless lump or throw his life away trying to take a hit. With Kamui, Kakashi has a chance at getting them a victory against Kaguya. Without it—

Without it he’s dead, and Obito doesn’t need the blood of any more teammates on his hands.

Cursing quietly, Obito pushes through a particularly tight net of tree branches, trying to figure out where he is. Another dimension, he can tell that much—Kamui gives him a good sense of such things—but unless he wants to kill himself with chakra exhaustion he can’t teleport back out of it. He could try it to get back to the afterlife that way, or just use a kunai, but—

Obito is a stubborn bastard. He was fine dying to save his friend, because there was no other choice and he was dead at the end of the war anyway, but if he’s alive? Yeah, fuck that, Obito is going to survive. It’s what he’s always done, and even if it’s against the world’s best interests, Obito is going to keep it that way. He’s alive, and no one can take that away from him.

The forest thins out up ahead, the spaces between the tree trunks widening as the ground grows rocky, and Obito makes for it, hoping to find some higher ground so he can at least get a look at his surroundings. The earth is covered with old leaf-litter, soft and silent underfoot, and Obito feels like he should know it, like this whole area is familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

He rounds a thick stand of trees, pushes through a thicket of brambles that curl away from the touch of his Mokuton, and hears—

War. War like the one he just left, the one he started, but without the monstrous roar of the bijuu or the overwhelming lash of chakra from shinobi with no concept of human limits. The earth trembles beneath his feet, the air rings with shouts, and there’s a clang and crack of weapons meeting. Fire roars, the smell of scorched cloth and flesh rising in its wake, and there’s a loud cry.

A familiar cry.

Obito reacts without even thinking. He dodges around the last copse of trees, chakra already surging within him, and bursts out onto the battlefield just as there’s a flash of yellow light.

Years of learning how to craft a plan, how to alter it on the fly, how to act and react and take advantage of every skill he’s managed to cultivate—that’s enough to let him take in the fight in one swift glance, ignoring that fact that it should be impossible. Senju on one side, heavily armored and fighting desperately; Uchiha on the other, backs bared because their stupid pride won’t let them wear armor, but pushing the Senju back. Two sources of chakra brighter than the rest—one on the far right, two heads with long black hair, a dragon made of wood, a familiar gunbai and a curl of scorching flame. The other is at the far end, almost dead-center. A fading glow of gold, black hair, Uchiha symbol, and he’s turning but it won’t be fast enough.

But Obito has faced a man who’s even faster, and he can make it in time.

It’s nothing conscious that drives him—the connections are simpler than that. Half a moment to judge, another bare fraction of a heartbeat to let Kamui whirl to life, and there’s a beat in Obito’s blood that sounds like the cause the cause the cause. Nothing solid, nothing certain, but trained instinct and denial working in tandem as he whirls off the battlefield. A portal into the Kamui dimension, and almost before he fully materializes he has another forming, leading right back out, and he snatches up a staff from a pile of stored weapons and is gone. As soon as he’s through he shifts his body sideways, back into the other dimension as he phases through the man—no armor, just robes, and fuck but Obito can’t believe he’s part of a clan filled with such arrogant assholes, thinking they’re too good to wear armor in a fight—and brings the shakujo around.

A sword collides with it in a flash of yellow light, and red eyes framed by white hair go wide.

Obito snarls, in no mood to call for a truce here and now, and plants the butt of the shakujo in the ground. He leaps, using it as a pivot, and slams a foot into Tobirama’s armored chest with all the force of his chakra behind it. The future Nidaime goes flying, and Obito lands lightly, yanking the staff up as he turns.

Uchiha Izuna rounds on him with a victorious laugh, red-and-black eyes bright with triumph, and opens his mouth.

Obito sweeps his feet out from under him, dumps him on his ass, and buries him in grasping roots that drag him to the ground and pin him there. “When the hell is it ever going to be enough for you bastards?” he snarls right in the man’s dumbfounded face. “How many innocent people need to die in this stupid fucking war before you finally decide that you’ve had enough revenge?!”

There’s no answer, only blank gaping, and Obito growls, pivoting on his heel. Several knots of fighting shinobi are watching him with one eye, clearly wary, but not enough to stop their own battles. It’s not going to be enough to save them, because in a split second Obito has made up his mind. It’s a stupid decision, probably the worst he could come up with, but if there’s a chance in hell of stopping all of this before it starts, Obito will take it.

“Stay there,” he growls at Izuna, leveling his shakujo at him, and then turns. A burst of speed sends him hurtling right at a Senju kunoichi with her hair in a topknot and the ponytailed Uchiha she’s fighting, and he shoves right behind them, knocking the woman into the man and pinning them both with Mokuton. The Senju lets out a startled cry, but Obito is still moving. Branches and roots erupt around him, grabbing for shinobi without discrimination.

Those in Obito’s path don’t have nearly as much of a chance to fight back; Kamui makes him a ghost, and even when he’s tangible his speed leaves him all but untouchable. He plows through the ranks separating him from the other fighting pair, drives forward with a wave of Mokuton subsuming everything behind him. There’s a snarled knot of fury growing larger and larger in his chest, a twist of something that’s very close to grief, and he’s had enough.

With a shout, Madara shoves Hashirama away, then whirls in, sword sweeping down. Hashirama catches it on a thick burst of wood, shoving him back, and in the same moment Madara’s eyes flicker up above Hashirama’s shoulder, taking in the rest of the battlefield in an automatic sweep.

Obito, barely three yards away with his shakujo already swinging, catches his eye and bares his teeth in a wolf’s grin.

Oh, he’s going to enjoy this.

Hashirama must see something in Madara’s face—either that or his instincts give him warning, but Obito likes the idea that Madara’s dumbfounded expression serves as warning enough. The man ducks, rolling to the side, and the ring of the shakujo sweeps across the space he just occupied. It just misses Madara as he leaps backwards, a fireball bursting from his lips, but Obito phases right through it, landing lightly and spinning the staff through his fingers.

Madara feints left, but this is man who trained Obito to begin with, almost a century younger and far less skilled, and Obito easily spots the misdirection. He lunges the opposite way, catches Madara’s sword when he reverses directions, then twists past the blow, drives an elbow into Madara’s gut, grabs him by his long, thick hair, and uses it as a handhold as he spins, knocks Madara’s feet out from under him, and drags him down to the ground.

From above and behind him, there’s a cry, and Obito wrenches the sword from Madara’s hand, keeping the other man pinned with the shakujo against his throat, and half-turns to level the blade at Hashirama. It taps the Senju’s chest as he pulls up short, eyes wide, and Obito snorts.

“One move and I’ll happily put another hole in this waste of space,” he growls, seeing the way Hashirama’s eyes flicker from him to Madara and back.

Hashirama stares at him for a long moment, then nods and takes a careful step in retreat. One half-glance around them and he says very quietly, “You have Mokuton.”

Madara makes a sound like a pissy cat dropped into a pond. “You have the Sharingan,” he spits, as though this personally offends him. “You’re an Uchiha.”

“And that fact has been responsible for pretty much all of the misery in my life,” Obito retorts, and for a breathless, terrible moment he’s back in that clearing under the full moon, a handful of seconds too late to save Rin from Madara’s manipulations. One blow and he can stop all of that here and now, can prevent so much of the pain that might come.

Hashirama must see something of that in his eyes, because he takes a quick stride forward, only to pull up short when Obito snarls and levels the blade at his throat again. “Please, don’t!” he insists.

“Get lost, Senju!” Madara snaps at the same time. “This is an Uchiha matter, I will handle—”

“Clearly it is a Senju matter as well,” Tobirama says coldly, coming to a halt a short distance away, but his eyes are on Obito’s sword where it touches his brother’s collarbone.

“I don’t think so,” Izuna counters, equally chilly and just as biting as he edges closer, Sharingan eyes narrowed and wary. “Just because some Senju bastard couldn’t take no for an answer when it was coming from an Uchiha kunoichi—”

Instantly Tobirama whips around, offended rage written clearly across his face, and he grabs for his sword, only to be pulled up short when Hashirama reaches back and grabs his wrist.

“But—” Tobirama starts to protest.

“Izuna,” Hashirama says, carefully even, and he doesn’t look away from Obito but there’s a spark of tightly contained fury in his dark eyes. “Mind. Your. Tongue.”

Izuna flicks a glance between Hashirama and Tobirama, swallows, and takes half a step away from them. “Brother,” he complains.

Madara gives Obito a dark look, but he doesn’t try to move. “You wouldn’t stand for such an insult to our clan, Izuna,” he huffs. “Don’t expect the Senju to have any less pride.”

Narrowing his eyes, Obito presses the shakujo in a little more firmly. “Don’t bother taking that high and mighty tone, Madara,” he bites out. “You’re the one I hold responsible for all of this, and I’m going to fucking take it out of you hide.”

Red-and-black eyes go wide, and Madara almost flinches away from him, hands rising in something like surrender.

Obito doesn’t want surrender, though. He wants to rip into Madara the way he wasn’t able to before, wants to get a hand in his chest and tear the heart right out of him, pay back every bit of pain that Madara inflicted on the world, through Obito and through Zetsu and by his own hand as well. Wants to rip and slash and hack away until this monster is nothing but a pile of bloody flesh, unable to hurt anyone ever again. It overwhelms him for the space of a breath, white-hot rage the only thing inside of him, and before he can think to stop himself he tightens his grip on his shakujo and—

Big hands grab him, one arm around his waist and the other around his chest, and with a jerk he’s hauled right up off of Madara, dragged back against a broad chest as dark hair tumbles around him. “No,” Hashirama says, halfway to a plea, and his grip tightens enough to force the air out of Obito’s lungs.

Obito freezes, stiff and stunned at the touch of another human. Years, it’s been, since anyone touched him to do anything but inflict pain, and his muscles go tense and tight in anticipation of a blow.

There isn’t one, though. No hit, no pain, no kunai slid into his kidneys to gut him and leave him for dead.

No pain, just—

A trickle, wet and hot, against the back of his tattered robe. Blood, by the smell, and since Obito doesn’t bleed anymore it has to be Hashirama’s, has to be from when he knocked the sword aside to save the man who will eventually kill him.

It’s too much. The thought of it, the reality of standing here over Madara, able to end everything before it begins, and Hashirama is the one to save him—

What Obito did, the people he killed—that’s on his head. But it’s on Madara’s too, on Zetsu’s, on Kaguya’s. Uchiha Obito should have died in a cave-in when he was thirteen, but he didn’t, and the reason for that is right in front of him. The reason he didn’t carved a seal into his heart, killed his best friend, and gave him a twisted, broken vision of the world as an illusion, and then set him to unmake it.

Obito is responsible for his own actions, and he knows it all too well. But Madara was the trigger. If Obito was the sword then Madara was the hand that forged and wielded him, and that has to mean he bears at least a part of the blame from the hell of the past few years.

No,” he snarls, and though he shoves backwards to loosen Hashirama’s grip and get away he doesn’t reach for Kamui, doesn’t try to hurt the man (again, again, something in him whispers, hurt him again you mean). “Let go of me! He deserves whatever I do to him!”

Hashirama’s grip isn’t harsh, but it is immovable, and he’s as solid as an oak as he drags Obito back another step. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “This isn’t the way.”

Naruto, Obito thinks, guilt and grief and regret and anger all wound up and tangled together. He curls his fingers into fists, takes a breath that vibrates with anger, and does the hardest thing he’s ever managed in his life.

He opens his hand and lets the weapon go.

Blue Velvet (Yondu Udonta x Reader)

Requested by anon: It would be really great if you wrote a Yondu x Reader smut where Yondu is super dominant in bed but still loving and caring.

A/N: So, this is pure and simple plotless smut y'all and I don’t regret a single thing. Hope you’ll like it.

Warnings: Smut, Plotless Smut, Dom!Yondu, Sub!Reader, Dom/Sub Relationship, Dom/Sub Sexual Content (I think y'all know what it involves ;)), Explicit Language, and a teeny-tiny bit of Fluff.

Keep reading

2x15, Magnus’ POV

(if you like it, thank @hikaru9 if you don’t, blame @hikaru9)


He doesn’t try to sleep anymore. He hasn’t really slept in over a week. There’s no salvation in the nights, no healing power.

He’s staring at his lover next to him, his face basked in moonlight. He takes in every detail as he has done the past few nights, to his shame he’s forgotten how many he’s been staying here. It doesn’t really matter.

His eyes focus on the eyebrow scar, the nose dimple, those lips he always knows what they taste and feel like without having to think about it. Alexander’s hair is mussed, and his fingers remember the soft ticklish sensations as they run through it, they remember the heat evaporating from his skin.

He remembers the sounds he made in the throws of passion just a few hours ago.

It helps to forget – for a while.

He can pretend – for a while.

He can outwit the pain – for a while.

His eyes burn and he closes them for just a moment.

Mama! Mama!

His eyes snap open and he sits in bed, his heart racing, pumping madly in his chest. He swings his legs out of bed, he can’t stay, he can’t wake him – he freezes as he notices the sleeping figure turning around, afraid it’s already too late.

But Alec sleeps on.

Keep reading

all the way.

In which Rogue One are Force Ghosts/meet in the afterlife, because please let this be a thing in Episode VIII (I realize it probably won’t but a girl can dream can’t I?)  for @rebelcaptainprompts prompt - “serenity”


“Little sister,” she heard a voice rumble, her own too far gone to respond.

She tried still, finding her throat dry and parched, the dust and sand of Scarif still fresh in her lungs. She’s horizontal, she thinks, the bright blue of Scarif’s sky blinding her as she slit her eyes open. There’s a weight on her shoulder, curling around her arm and pulling her upright. She winced, grunting in protest, the agony she felt walking to the beach fresh in her mind, each step forward a triumph, supporting her own weight alongside Cassian’s.

“You are one with the force,” she hears the mantra, familiar and sure. But it couldn’t be.

The hand still lingered, careful, as she balanced on her own feet. She shifted her weight, testing one leg then the other, but there was no pain to be felt. Her thoughts scattered, blurred together as she fought to understand how. The skies were clear, the sun heat her skin and palm trees lined the sandy beach she’d — they’d — just died on.

“How?” she turned, finding Chirrut beside her, warm and breathing and alive.

He quieted her, voice settling into the familiar cadence, and guided her forward. She swallowed hard, eyes darting the landscape in search of answers. There was no chaos, no destruction, no remnants of war. No AT-ACTs, no shoretroopers or fallen X-Wings, no dwindling fires.

No Rogue One.

But then, Chirrut stopped and she saw them, struggling to stand, their boots slipping in the sand. It was Baze, pulling Cassian upright, neither in pain, none that she could read at least, no scorched flesh or torn clothing. Alive.

“Cassian!” she cried. He whipped his head towards her, equal parts shocked and relieved, and fought against Baze.

“Easy,” she heard Baze growl as Cassian struggled against him. She thought Chirrut might draw blood on her arm, holding her back as tight as he was.

It was only a few steps, but it felt like a thousand parsecs.

And then they collided.

Cassian pulled her close, crushingly so, and she returned the embrace with all her strength. It was clumsy, awkward and perfect all at once. She could hardly breathe, but she didn’t mind. Her skin was aflame, trying to memorize the feel of him in her arms, like she’d never feel it again. He was real, this was real.

She fisted a hand in his shirt, the other crushing along his side. His shoulders quaked where her head laid on him as she tried to catch her breath, drinking the moment in.

Cassian whispered into her hair, incoherent and rushed, saying everything and nothing at the same time — we did it, we’re alive, we’re alive.

Finally, they pulled away, a hairs breath between them. His eyes scanned her face and she smiled, wide and true, like she’d never known how. He looked up from her, a moment’s passing, and his eyes narrowed with a puzzled look before returning her gaze with a grin.

“What?” she searched his face, and watched as he nodded over her shoulder.

She turned slowly, still wrapped in his arms. It was the hangar in Yavin all over again, the troops they’d led to Scarif, grouped up behind Bodhi, behind their stolen U-Wing, untouched and ready to fly once more.

“We uh—,” Bodhi started, trying to hide a smile. “We’d hoped not to see you two so soon, but … all the same—”

Cassian leaned in to her, breath hot against her ear. “Welcome home.”

Jungkook Scenario: Three Empty Words.

Request: would it be possible for you guys to write a jungkook angst where the reader and him are in an unhealthy relationship that was rocky from the start? Their families/friends don’t exactly support their relationship bc they’re not a good fit & it eventually comes toppling down to the point where they change themselves or have to split up? Possibly an opening ending? ☺😎             

Genre: Romance / Drama

Warnings: Unhealthy Relationship


Shattered plates were as common between you as laughter, sometimes, screams replaced the loving whispers and often, your relationship took the shape of a never ending argument that none of you were ready to let go of, not quite, not when Jungkook avoided the flying plates and sharp broken pieces on the floor with effortless ease and grabbed you firmly between his arms, manhandling your body until he was pinning you against the wall and kissing you hard so you could breath anger and lust into each other, not when your nails sank into his shoulders to keep him tight and close because no anger was greater than the one you felt with him.

You wanted Jungkook even if the rooftop shattered and crumbled over you with the way he screamt, the deeper and messier it got between you, the more alive both of you felt because your feelings were skin deep and scorching alive on your flesh,  because you were the beginning and the end to each other, because there was no other way in which you knew how to show love besides jumping from fight to fight in a sheer attempt to guard it down from the world outside that threatened to tear you apart before you tore each other’s hearts.

-Quit it - Jungkook groaned, pressing your head back against the wall with his hand wrapped around your jaw, his eyes shone with anger while he assessed his lower lip and his fingertips showed him what he’d already sensed, bright garnet red blood. You hadn’t intended to bite him so hard but the sight still elicited a smirk from you.

-Only if you quit the bullshit too, do you already want to back off honey?- It was crazy how fast anything could escalate between you two, a simple conversation about your new coworker turned your kitchen into a battlefield out of shallow jealousy, Jungkook had reacted so quick, he was much more volatile than he liked to admit. -You act all thought but look at you, scared by a little bit of blood- you licked your lips, feeling the iron like taste of Jungkook’s blood. This man made you feel your very best and managed to bring out your very worst.

Your boyfriend mirrored your actions, licking his sore lip as well and then he laughed, letting his hand fall down to your neck.  Jungkook’s hands were strong and manly, with just the right size to circle your neck the best way, he caressed it slowly and then he was pulling you forward by the neck, and maybe it was because you’d tried this so many time while having sex that the pressure he was applying to your neck then felt just right and it was as exciting as it was thrilling to you.

-Who’s the scared one Y/N? certainly not me, don’t test my patience- You held each other’s eyes for a long minute before you spoke.

-Or what? what will you do to me if I test you mister patient?-

Jungkook kissed you again, harder than before and you corresponded him, not being able to hold yourself back from moaning into his mouth when he used his free hand to cup your butt and pull your hips to his.

Keep reading

the moment pleasantly frightful.

Introduction: namjoon is a handsome devil, you are an inexperienced witch.
Method: sext a composition professor, boil your brains in holy water.
Result: 9k words rated MA for sex, loss of virginity.
Conclusion: i need a cigarette.

a fair few of you seem confused with the ending so let me just preface by saying this was written for halloween, and is meant to be a little unnerving.


“Hello?” You call out into the dimly lit depths of your bedroom. For a moment you think you see the candles flicker, a shadow ghost along the wall, but it must have been a moth, because you receive not so much as an echo in return.

“Did it work?” You mutter, now mostly to yourself, and while you look around contemplating this you bring your thumb to your lips, gingerly wiping the blood from your self-inflicted pinprick.

Then, a little embarrassed that you expected company in the first place, you return to your grandmother’s crumbling spell book on the bed, running a chalk dusted finger along the page to make sure you said the right words, holding the old grimoire up and comparing the illustration on the parchment to your own sigil scratched across the worn floorboards in white chalk.

Keep reading

haloless  asked:

72. “I’m yours, in every way possible.”

Dean is pacing. He’s been pacing, because the clock on the wall of his small dressing room is moving both much too slowly and much too quickly. Sam had been bitching at him for being so stressed, but as soon as Dean had turned to him and croaked the words, “I can’t do it, Sammy,” his brother had just left altogether.

Not that Dean can blame him. Swinging from bridezilla to having cold feet in the span of just the half hour it took him to get changed into his tux makes him a nightmare by anyone’s standards, he knows. At least with Sam gone, he thinks, there’s no one to make him feel like a spectacle while he has his meltdown.

Maybe he should leave. That would be best for everyone, wouldn’t it? There’s an emergency exit located between him and the room where the ceremony is going to be, and as soon as he’s through it, he would be home free. Everyone would be disappointed in him, sure, but it’s better to disappoint them now than later, right? Better no marriage than a failed one.

Just as he’s starting to debate the pros and cons of just running versus faking himself an excuse first—he could throw up? Cite an emergency hunt? Say he got a call from… Shit, who could he need to run out for who isn’t already waiting in the next room?—there’s a knock at the door. The sound has Dean going still instantly, and for the span of a few heartbeats, he’s rooted in place by terror.

He can’t do this he can’t do this he can’t—

And then he forces the panic down and storms over to wrench the door open, ready to shout down the person he’s sure is waiting on the other side.

“Sam, I really don’t want to—” Except, it’s not Sam. Dean shrinks back, his cheeks flaming red. “Oh. Uh. Hi, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” the angel greets, warm and affectionate in that way that he only ever is for Dean. “May I come in?”

Keep reading

Finally finished this piece. It is also a test run of how Quiver to Arrows will be done. The story will be written and each chapter will receive an image showing a scene from said chapter. (Like my old Halo Clairvoyance story I did in 2009)


1750 hours, August 10th, 2545(Military Calendar) \ 037 Sionann System, Underneath Ceideht City, Planet Orin.


—————————————————————

  “Move! Move! Disperse!” a voice rang out down the tunnel behind them accompanied by a growing bright light. Heavy thuds of footsteps quaking the metal beneath them.

   Sibil was in no shape to do what the voice wanted, her legs felt shattered into hundreds of pieces after the ceiling collapsed on them. It felt as though the cold had been feasting on her legs for some time to.

Eryn the stubborn boy, chose to stay with her. He was like his father in so many ways and he was only 3 years old.

   The light had gotten so close now she wasn’t sure if she was seeing “The Light” that everyone mentions when experiencing death.

   “We’ve got a non-combatant!” the man said kneeling down to her and Eryn. Her eyes adjusted to the soldier’s helmet light. She didn’t recognize his attire at first. Until she realized that he must be one of the Spartans that was being whispered about when everyone was together at Igo station.

   His armor smelled of welded metal and something she didn’t recognize but it was foul to her senses. The Spartan turned his gaze to Eryn, who was still tightly cradling her shoulder.

   “Hey pal you okay?” The Spartan asked pointing to Eryn, who nodded his head, mouth agape in awe.

   “What’s wrong with your mom?” He asked scooting himself closer to the 2 of them. It was then that the ungodly smell Sibil couldn’t put her finger on earlier came to her.

It was biofoam resting on scorched flesh. The Spartan was wounded, bits of dried biofoam soaked in blood were chipping off the sealed wound as he neared them.

   Eryn lifted himself up off the ground and pointed to her legs shivering from the cold and probably anxiety that was welling up inside him.

   “Gotcha.” The Spartan said giving Eryn an “OK” sign with his fingers.

   “Ma’am I’m going to pick you up.” He stated as he threw off the chunks of ceiling from her with ease. Eryn began to gasp in awe of the Spartan’s strength. The Spartan was colossal for a man. Perhaps the rumors of them being giant robots or cyborgs were partially true.

   “This isn’t good…” He remarked hovering his hand over her snapped legs and shook his head. He turned his attention back to behind him. She could hear him talk but he had switched off his helmet’s speakers so they couldn’t hear him.

   “I don’t know how right you are ma’am.” He paused. “So I won’t risk further hurting you for now.” He said pointing at her.

   “I..It’s just mm..my legs and p..pp.possibly my l..lleft hipbone.” Sibil coughed.

   “Are you sure? If one of your vertebrae is broken I would risk permanently paralyzing you if I lift you off the floor.” He asked with a terseness to his voice.

   “If t..that’s the case sssir…” She said pausing to cough.

   “Then I’d ra..rather live paralyzed then d..die in this dark tunnel to murderous aliens.” She said frowning at him.

   “Good point.” He said holding back his amusement. He proceeded to lift her off the ground, she did her best to bite away the screams she wanted to release, the pain in her legs vibrating up her entire spine as they slid across the floor. She and Eryn were soon in his left arm as he used his large gun as balance.

   “My name is Grant by the way, Petty Officer Grant.” He said looking at them. The only face she could find in his visor was the reflection of her’s and Eryn’s.

   “Eryn.” Eryn answered with a faint smile.

   “My n..name is S.Si..Sibil.” She followed the cold stunting her speech.

   “Pleasure to meet you love.” He nodded. Just as he turned around his fellow Spartans were approaching them.

   “Tall, where are they?” One Spartan asked with 2 others behind him.

   “Right here sir.” Grant answered lifting his arm with the both of them as a shrug.

   “Can she walk?” the one in front asked. His voice was that of a very young man. Almost identical to her brother Ben’s.

   “Nup, Spear.” Grant replied. “Explosions on the surface must’ve brought the ceiling down on her lower half. Both legs are broken, possibly her left hip is gone to.” He finished shaking his head again. Spear approached them turning his helmet torch off.

   “We can’t carry you forever miss, we have thousands of Covenant following us, tearing through all of our blockades.” Spear said pointing back with his thumb.

   “You are leaving me one man short, and I need him.” He hissed with frustration.

   “Le..Leave me then! But take my son PLEASE!” She shouted losing her breath. She could tell that Spear was looking at her with perplexment. He turned to see what the others thought and they didn’t seem to object to the idea. The Spartan sighed.

   “I appreciate and admire that ma’am.” Spear turned to his Spartans and continued.

   “But I can’t in good conscience do that, Wasp! Go makeshift some splints for her.” Spear ordered.

   “Yes sir!” Wasp answered. The Spartan leapt down onto the rails of the light rail system. Then proceeded to rip a section of the rail off its bolts then breaking it in 2. Sibil shivered from realizing how much strength that Spartan would need in order to do that.

   The Spartan got back up onto the platform and pushed Spear out of the way.

   “Tall, put her down.” Wasp said with a hint of kindness.

   “Aye” Grant nodded kneeling once more and slowly moving Sibil out of his arms onto the ground while keeping Eryn in his possession.

   “We don’t have any medical supplies with us and I hope the rest of our forces are kilometers away from here by now.” Wasp said grabbing Sibil’s pants, a tinge of pain sprouting out from the Spartan’s touch.

   “So these splints will have to do.” She said ripping her pants up to her knees.

   “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to right your legs, This will be extremely painful.” She said. “Again I’m sorry. Tall please don’t let the child see.” Wasp asked looking back up at him.

   “Right.” Grant said turning himself around and holding Eryn’s head so that the boy’s curiosity didn’t misguide him into seeing his mother in such horrifying anguish.

   “Okay, on the count of 3 I’ll set them.” Wasp said. She counted down nodding her head each second until she wrenched both Sibil’s shins so hard the pain made her lose her hearing to a strange ringing.

Sibil felt as though she was screaming but couldn’t hear herself yowl. Her teeth clenching so hard they nearly crumbled in her mouth from the pressure of her jaws grinding together.

   She nearly passed out but she had experience with broken bones and pain before and so she got herself into a breathing exercise. By the time she consciously came to, the splints had been placed, her torn pants now being used as rope to tie the rail splints tight to her legs.


   “Great job ma’am.” Wasp said patting her on her shoulder.

   “They’re ready Spear, but I have to say if we don’t get her out of here, she will lose her legs to gangrene from the frostbite.” Wasp told Spear standing back up.

   “Understood Wasp, and here miss.” Spear stepped in front of her now and handed her a long section of rebar with some flag like cloth wrapped around the top for her to hold.

   “Ple..ase.. don’ttt  call me mm..a’am or miss.” Sibil stated. “Just call me Ss.sibil.”

   “Alright Sibil.” Spear nodded. “Think you can walk?” He asked cocking his head to the side. She motioned that she could and tried out the Spartans’ attempt at helping her move. Luckily the rail splints were sturdy enough to hold the weight from her. They did nothing for her hip though which still stabbed relentlessly.


   “Good.” Spear said looking back at the tunnel taking a moment for himself to think.

   “Do as we have been doing Quiver, keep her in front with you Tall while Ghost, Wasp and I will keep the Covenant busy down here okay?” Spear ordered pointing at him and Eryn.

   “Don’t worry Gary, she’ll be right.” Grant stated turning to Sibil. “Come on Sibil let’s leg it.” Sibil didn’t hesitate and pushed herself to walk at pace with Grant towards the supposed evac station.



—————————————————————


Seokjin Scenario: My Versailles At Night.

Request: Pretty pleaseeee a request for jin inspired in 4th of july by Fall out boy❤️❤️❤️ I’ll forever love you if you do it, thank you girls❤️ you’re the best ever in the entire fandom.            

Genre: Romance


Fireworks were bright and blinding, alluring to look at, shining blues, pinks and violets in a dance of shapes that hypnotized the eyes,  but they were fickle too, and it were fireworks the only thing that Seokjin could relate to your relationship because it started with fireworks roaring brightly on the summer night sky the first time he saw you.

He and you were fire unraveling in front of his eyes, fire in the red of your soft lips kissing his, fire in the hands that he laid on any given inch of your skin. You were fire, taking over his soul, burning to the touch, addictive to experience; a wild flame that none of you cared to tame and it still remained the same, Jin thought, looking at you pressing your lips against the edge of your drink for a quiet sip. How many mornings did he blink lazily at the ceiling of whatever room he was waking up in and pretended that he didn’t just dream of your lips running along his body? Jin laughed wryly, drank the last remnants of his beer and shook his head, hell, as many mornings as he’d woken up missing your early company and had done nothing about it even if the scar was still open and scorching alive on his flesh.

His eyes wandered to you once again, sitting in that crowded hall by your own you looked better than ever, wearing a black dress that arrived at the middle of your thigh, leaving the rest of your legs exposed and looking kilometric while you sat, and the memory of how those same legs felt coiled around his hips made Jin’s mouth grow dry. Maybe you sensed his eyes on you because next thing he knew was that you were fixing your eyes on him, recognition dancing around your eyes of what you were and had gone off too soon.

You smiled, raising your drink to him in a silent toast, almost sarcastically, almost flirty, almost like the ones you shared one too many times before, so a smirk spread across his lips and you seemed pleased with that, finishing your drink and walking away with the clear intention of him following you, and who was Jin not to oblige?

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Ok so in Gen 4 of Pokemon in sinnoh, the move bug buzz is introduced, described as "a shock wave made by the users beating wings". The animation clearly reflects this, showing shock waves coming from the user and attacking the target. However, in Gen 6 and up, bug buzz becomes an attack that no longer produces shock waves, but instead produces a physical line of buzzing that attacks the target. Why did the concept of Bug Buzz change between 2 generations?

How much of Pokémon really makes sense. Skarmory is a bird made out of steel and weighs exactly as much as a mega Pidgeot. Not to mention the fucker that eats mountains every day to survive. How many mountains do you think we have laying around? Don’t get me started on the slug that can scorch your flesh off from a mile away just by being alive. This series is bullshit.

Contractually Obligated (AJ Styles) Vol. 3

Originally posted by toosweetme

Characters: AJ Styles X OFC

Summary: Madeline Langely has been a valued employee at WWE for almost a decade. She started as an assistant for Stephanie McMahon. With hard work and loyalty to Stephanie, she began to climb the corporate ladder. She has won over Vince and Hunter being trusted with contract signings and scouting. Her first major contract without any assistance from the McMahons comes with the name of, AJ Styles. Having never met the man before she’s not sure what she’s in for. At the end of the meeting, she will realize in full why AJ Styles is labeled, The Phenomenal One, but not in the way you expect.

Notes: This is a fic I have been thinking about for well over a month. It’s something new to me. I’ve done research here and there to accurately depict the situations presented. Also, @unabashedwwesmut is a contributor. We are parenting this fic to life together. I hope you all enjoy what is to come!!

Warnings: Let the smut begin!! May I introduce to you all, Daddy AJ. This is my first crack at Daddy AJ. Please be kind!

Word Count: 2k

Those who wish to be tagged! @ambrosegirlforever | @valeonmars | @thebadchic | @nickysmum1909 | @vsturgeon5489 | @jade4062022, @ortonaholic | @seths-skinny-jeans | @lakama15 | @southernbelle24 | @wwefangirlllll | @spiderman2289 | @nickie-amore | @blondekel77 | @princess3733 | @toosweetme | @unabashedwwesmut | @iwannadiehere | @mandazord | @reigns420 | @sfreeborn | @shieldlovereve | @isawthesights | @cam0flug3 | @cfloyd776 | @ashleyvc88 | @xfirespritex | @taryndibiase@alexahood21 | @itsnethbellins

Keep reading

WIP


1750 hours, August 10th, 2545(Military Calendar) \ 037 Sionann System, Underneath Ceideht City, Planet Orin.


—————————————————————

  “Move! Move! Disperse!” a voice rang out down the tunnel behind them accompanied by a growing bright light. Heavy thuds of footsteps quaking the metal beneath them.

   Sibil was in no shape to do what the voice wanted, her legs felt shattered into hundreds of pieces after the ceiling collapsed on them. It felt as though the cold had been feasting on her legs for some time to.

Eryn the stubborn boy, chose to stay with her. He was like his father in so many ways and he was only 3 years old.

   The light had gotten so close now she wasn’t sure if she was seeing “The Light” that everyone mentions when experiencing death.

   “We’ve got a non-combatant!” the man said kneeling down to her and Eryn. Her eyes adjusted to the soldier’s helmet light. She didn’t recognize his attire at first. Until she realized that he must be one of the Spartans that was being whispered about when everyone was together at Igo station.

   His armor smelled of welded metal and something she didn’t recognize but it was foul to her senses. The Spartan turned his gaze to Eryn, who was still tightly cradling her shoulder.

   “Hey pal you okay?” The Spartan asked pointing to Eryn, who nodded his head, mouth agape in awe.

   “What’s wrong with your mom?” He asked scooting himself closer to the 2 of them. It was then that the ungodly smell Sibil couldn’t put her finger on earlier came to her.

It was biofoam resting on scorched flesh. The Spartan was wounded, bits of dried biofoam soaked in blood were chipping off the sealed wound as he neared them.

   Eryn lifted himself up off the ground and pointed to her legs shivering from the cold and probably anxiety that was welling up inside him.

   “Gotcha.” The Spartan said giving Eryn an “OK” sign with his fingers.

   “Ma’am I’m going to pick you up.” He stated as he threw off the chunks of ceiling from her with ease. Eryn began to gasp in awe of the Spartan’s strength. The Spartan was colossal for a man. Perhaps the rumors of them being giant robots or cyborgs were partially true.

   “This isn’t good…” He remarked hovering his hand over her snapped legs and shook his head. He turned his attention back to behind him. She could hear him talk but he had switched off his helmet’s speakers so they couldn’t hear him.

   “I don’t know how right you are ma’am.” He paused. “So I won’t risk further hurting you for now.” He said pointing at her.

   “I..It’s just mm..my legs and p..pp.possibly my l..lleft hipbone.” Sibil coughed.

   “Are you sure? If one of your vertebrae is broken I would risk permanently paralyzing you if I lift you off the floor.” He asked with a terseness to his voice.

   “If t..that’s the case sssir…” She said pausing to cough.

   “Then I’d ra..rather live paralyzed then d..die in this dark tunnel to murderous aliens.” She said frowning at him.

   “Good point.” He said holding back his amusement. He proceeded to lift her off the ground, she did her best to bite away the screams she wanted to release, the pain in her legs vibrating up her entire spine as they slid across the floor. She and Eryn were soon in his left arm as he used his large gun as balance.

   “My name is Grant by the way, Petty Officer Grant.” He said looking at them. The only face she could find in his visor was the reflection of her’s and Eryn’s.

   “Eryn.” Eryn answered with a faint smile.

   “My n..name is S.Si..Sibil.” She followed the cold stunting her speech.

   “Pleasure to meet you love.” He nodded. Just as he turned around his fellow Spartans were approaching them.

   “Tall, where are they?” One Spartan asked with 2 others behind him.

   “Right here sir.” Grant answered lifting his arm with the both of them as a shrug.

   “Can she walk?” the one in front asked. His voice was that of a very young man. Almost identical to her brother Ben’s.

   “Nup, Spear.” Grant replied. “Explosions on the surface must’ve brought the ceiling down on her lower half. Both legs are broken, possibly her left hip is gone to.” He finished shaking his head again. Spear approached them turning his helmet torch off.

   “We can’t carry you forever miss, we have thousands of Covenant following us, tearing through all of our blockades.” Spear said pointing back with his thumb.

   “You are leaving me one man short, and I need him.” He hissed with frustration.

   “Le..Leave me then! But take my son PLEASE!” She shouted losing her breath. She could tell that Spear was looking at her with perplexment. He turned to see what the others thought and they didn’t seem to object to the idea. The Spartan sighed.

   “I appreciate and admire that ma’am.” Spear turned to his Spartans and continued.

   “But I can’t in good conscience do that, Wasp! Go makeshift some splints for her.” Spear ordered.

   “Yes sir!” Wasp answered. The Spartan leapt down onto the rails of the light rail system. Then proceeded to rip a section of the rail off its bolts then breaking it in 2. Sibil shivered from realizing how much strength that Spartan would need in order to do that.

   The Spartan got back up onto the platform and pushed Spear out of the way.

   “Tall, put her down.” Wasp said with a hint of kindness.

   “Aye” Grant nodded kneeling once more and slowly moving Sibil out of his arms onto the ground while keeping Eryn in his possession.

   “We don’t have any medical supplies with us and I hope the rest of our forces are kilometers away from here by now.” Wasp said grabbing Sibil’s pants, a tinge of pain sprouting out from the Spartan’s touch.

   “So these splints will have to do.” She said ripping her pants up to her knees.

   “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to right your legs, This will be extremely painful.” She said. “Again I’m sorry. Tall please don’t let the child see.” Wasp asked looking back up at him.

   “Right.” Grant said turning himself around and holding Eryn’s head so that the boy’s curiosity didn’t misguide him into seeing his mother in such horrifying anguish.

   “Okay, on the count of 3 I’ll set them.” Wasp said. She counted down nodding her head each second until she wrenched both Sibil’s shins so hard the pain made her lose her hearing to a strange ringing.

Sibil felt as though she was screaming but couldn’t hear herself yowl. Her teeth clenching so hard they nearly crumbled in her mouth from the pressure of her jaws grinding together.

   She nearly passed out but she had experience with broken bones and pain before and so she got herself into a breathing exercise. By the time she consciously came to, the splints had been placed, her torn pants now being used as rope to tie the rail splints tight to her legs.


   “Great job ma’am.” Wasp said patting her on her shoulder.

   “They’re ready Spear, but I have to say if we don’t get her out of here, she will lose her legs to gangrene from the frostbite.” Wasp told Spear standing back up.

   “Understood Wasp, and here miss.” Spear stepped in front of her now and handed her a long section of rebar with some flag like cloth wrapped around the top for her to hold.

   “Ple..ase.. don’ttt  call me mm..a’am or miss.” Sibil stated. “Just call me Ss.sibil.”

   “Alright Sibil.” Spear nodded. “Think you can walk?” He asked cocking his head to the side. She motioned that she could and tried out the Spartans’ attempt at helping her move. Luckily the rail splints were sturdy enough to hold the weight from her. They did nothing for her hip though which still stabbed relentlessly.


   “Good.” Spear said looking back at the tunnel taking a moment for himself to think.

   “Do as we have been doing Quiver, keep her in front with you Tall while Ghost, Wasp and I will keep the Covenant busy down here okay?” Spear ordered pointing at him and Eryl.

   “Don’t worry Gary, she’ll be right.” Grant stated turning to Sibil. “Come on Sibil let’s leg it.” Sibil didn’t hesitate and pushed herself to walk at pace with Grant towards the supposed evac station.



—————————————————————



I was holding off on posting this one but my sudden disappearance from art in general kinda called for something to be posted, I’m still working on this one as I’ll make a background and finish it all. This is a small side chapter in Quiver to Arrows where while retreating from a vicious covenant blitz the Spartans discover an abandoned mother and her son at one of the stations to their destination under Ceideht City. Not wanting to leave them to the hungry brutes that were right on their tail. They decide to carry the 2 civilians with them while holding the Covenant’s advance at bay.

fancy-trashblog replied to your post5 things

Also please do a post on ASMR Videos because I need your full and detailed opinion on them and also want to know who you watch

HOOOOOOOOOOOOBOY *cracks knuckles* 

Condensed, a lot of it is superficially ridiculous, but I don’t want to distance myself from it too much because a.) I’ve experienced the phenomenon my entire life and never knew it was something that happened to other people, b.) it can be genuinely relaxing and enjoyable, and c.) when all of my other therapeutic tools that manage my unmitigated forest fire of an anxiety disorder have failed me but I don’t want to resort to the klonopin yet, the videos actually can be really effective (I think there’s an ASMR guy on YouTube who’s a phd candidate/is an actual therapist who’s doing research on it because it’s never been formally/empirically studied, like Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response is just a pseudo-scientific jumble that some rando made up on the internet a few years ago and it stuck, but I forget his name because he’s a man which immediately disqualifies him as an entity I could find relaxation in hahaha wow)

Okay so I guess it depends on what your ~triggers~ are- for me, roleplays do the trick more often than not (even dental ones!) or anything involving close-up softly-spoken personal attention, which is bizarre because I have a visceral distaste for being touched/looked at too closely/being the center of attention in any capacity in my real life so I’m not sure what this says about me but ANYWAY

The first ASMR video I ever watched was by Heather Feather who I still occasionally visit, which is a solid fine based on the sheer breadth of content available, although some of the shit she says and does makes my entire body pucker like an unexpectedly-tickled butthole but if you can get around some of the cringe factor, a lot of it is very relaxing. I especially respond to direct manipulation of those binaural microphones, which she does a lot of.

One of my other triggers seems to be English people whispering (?!?????! i can’t believe i’m writing this) so LauraLemurexASMR (who sounds English but I think is actually Welsh) is good for just zoning out or having something to fall asleep to that doesn’t require any conscious engagement (this video in particular gives me a feeling like what I imagine normal people experience during and/or after a massage?) but she’s done a couple of candle store roleplays that tingle me up something fierce (shoot me directly in the face with a flamethrower, scorch the flesh off of my skull)

WhispersRed ASMR = more English whispering, although I’ve only watched her What’s In My Bag and What’s In My Makeup Bag videos (which is what I was referencing in the 5 things post) so idk what the rest of her content is like

Thennnnnnnn there are videos that don’t actually give me ~tingles~ but are relaxing/interesting anyway, like Wise Woman Whispers- she does a lot of subscription service unboxing/show and tell videos, and also does weekly/monthly oracle card readings. She’s Canadian and, absent any evidence, I feel like someone who would openly identify with steampunk culture, so I can’t discern how much of her accent is authentic vs. how much is an emphatically pretentious Olde Tyme Vintage Kitsch PNW Hippie affectation? Anyway she’s always very well-manicured but she wipes her tablecloth too much and doesn’t interact with the microphone directly at all so no dice on tingle town for me but fascinating nevertheless 

Sidebar: I have no clinical evidence to support this obviously but I think they got part of the name right, because I’ve noticed that my ASMR doesn’t “work” after I’ve taken a CNS depressant like klonopin or an opioid, so I think all of this relies on the autonomic nervous system, which makes sense w/r/t sedative tingling sensations in the scalp/neck/spine. Personally I think it’s an evolutionary holdover from infancy, like from a biological/anthropological standpoint, newborns and very young children would require a mechanism like ASMR with positive neurochemical and nerve responses to touch and attention and soft sounds to assist in child-parent bonding in those first few months and with socialization later on, but again, what the dick do I know

Sorry for this incoherent disorganized mess of a brain dump but that’s pretty much it  

anonymous asked:

“You just screamed ‘How am I not gay when someone like that exists?’ while pointing at me” - This is just screaming to be SQ lol

It kinda does xd thank you for the prompt ;) Hope you like the result!

A03 Version


Aesop’s was about to close and through the quiet conversations of the sluggish remaining patrons a blonde mane was visible draining the remains of her glass, knuckles white with the force she grabbed the glossy surface, thumb playing with its edge as she put it back on the counter. She was drinking alone and nothing but her jacket and badge, carelessly thrown at the stool at her right, could be seen on her vicinity. In front of her a ring shone, capturing the warm light in where Aesop was always bathed with. The ring was sitting in the middle of a pool of beer, its surface stained and sticky where the woman had last left it and as she swallowed down the finishing drops that remained on her mouth, the woman, none other than Emma Swan,  shot a nasty glare towards the ring, one that lacked conviction due to the alcohol on her system.

The door of the pub opened, making a few of the already stood patrons looks towards it only to focus again on their not so willing to go friends as a brunette woman entered, high-heels clicking against the floor. Aesop himself, however, raised his head, tilting just as quickly towards Emma, still too far gone on her thoughts to look up.

Regina nodded gratefully to Aesop before moving closer, picking both badge and jacket and placing them on the counter before half sitting on the stool, a hand hovering over Emma’s shoulder.

It was strange, she reflected as she eyed the profile of the other woman, the way the green on her eyes was dulled, how they still needed to think twice before touching each other. As if, she thought with a mirthless smile, something would happen when they finally did.

“Emma?” She spoke gently, guiding her hand towards the blonde’s back, between her shoulder blades. She could feel the blonde shuddering beneath her touch, the already usual magic tingling on the back of her hand and tips of her fingers, running through her wrist up to her own chest. She blinked purple sparks away and waited a heartbeat. Then two.

“What are you doing here?”

Emma’s voice was slow, deep and rough, and for a second Regina eyed her, not really sure what to say.

“Aesop thought that it seemed better for you to not leave alone.” She finally replied, earning a cough from the man she promptly ignored. Her other hand grasped Emma’s forearm, testing if the blonde would be willing to move on her own.

“I don’t need help.” Emma answered, picking the ring she had in front of her and staring at it, her fingers trembling. Regina found herself sighing inwardly, feeling once again the very same ire she had felt a few days before when Snow had called her only to tell her that Hook was gone. Emma had appeared later that day on her doorstep with grey on her eyes and dirty white on her fingers, her magic seeping through and out of her like liquid admitting that yes, Killian was gone.

“I’m sure of that.” She replied, nudging the blonde and this time getting a response. “But let me?”

Emma seemed about to say something else but nodded and stood, turning towards the door before picking both the jacket and her badge with unsteady fingers. The ring, however, slipped through her hands, the clink against the floor unnaturally loud.

“Leave it.” Emma said from Aesop’s door, eyes frowned, lips twisted into a pout. “I don’t want to see it anymore.”

Regina eyed her once and sent a small amount of magic towards the ring, enough for it to jump to her hand under Aesop’s gaze and Emma’s dulled one. Sniffing, the blonde turned and opened the door, exiting and letting it close behind her.

“Thank you for calling me.” Regina whispered to the barman, eliciting a quick nod from him.

“Anytime Madam Mayor.”

Hope there is no more times.

Emma was still waiting at the other side of the door, her back towards it, eyes closed a she swayed ever so slightly but as soon as Regina closed the door behind her she turned, lopsided smile on her face.

“You know what he told me?” Her words were slurred but clear enough for Regina to understand them. The former queen shook her head because no, she had tried to get Emma talk about it, about why the pirate had left only to be met with silence and that was the very first time the blonde actually talked about it.  Emma threw her head backwards and laughed once, the sound forced and harsh on her vocal chords. “He told me that I didn’t love him.”

Regina could feel old anger raising once again but she remained impassible as she kept looking at Emma. She had come to the pub through magic but Emma’s state was agitated enough for the spell to not work properly on her so she refrained her magic, digging her hands on the black blazer she wore.

“He did?” She asked, swallowing the pain once again, twisting it inside of her like the day she had seen Emma mutter “Yes I do.” With an unwavering voice. That day she had been the one drinking away those words once the Black Fairy was defeated and no one had truly picked her up.

Emma snorted and rose her hands over her head, pressing her palms against her eyes before chuckling, a full-body laugh that echoed through the corners of the alley the pub was. “He said… he said that I would never love him. You know why?”

Regina said nothing and she stared as Emma came closer, close enough for her to feel the magic pull between them caressing the edges of her conscience. Hot and flaming and unbridged due to the alcohol consumption.

“He said that I’m gay.” The words were stage-whispered, followed by another snort and a sigh. On her hand, Regina could feel the ring painfully hot against her palm, scorching her flesh. She didn’t move, didn’t dare to as Emma took a step back, pointing at her directly as she took on the new information, suddenly lightheaded. “You know what I said?”

“I said.” She answered, not really letting Regina reply which worked fine for the brunette as she didn’t know what to say. ‘How am I not gay when someone like Regina exists?”

Regina could feel her heart beating madly on her throat as Emma sobered, looking lost and tired just as those words left her mouth. “That’s what I didn’t want to tell you.” She finished in a soft whisper. “That’s why he left.”

The former queen swallowed before offering her empty hand to Emma, shivering once the blonde touched her. Tonight, she realized, wasn’t the moment to have that conversation. Perhaps, she added as she managed to form a smile, tomorrow would be a better day.

“Let’s go.” She said, letting the first tendrils of magic curse through her and her arm. “Let’s go home.”

Tomorrow, she thought, eyeing Emma, the way the blonde nodded dumbly before letting her magic envelop her. Tomorrow they would talk.

Tomorrow.

don’t waste away
the sun tires of your absence
gone
is gone
                        is goneheart is skinned       gone
soul tears off         like scorched flesh
rip into the bones     abscence
melt god into        limbs
until you can swallow       existing
—  Allison Morgan, How To Be Human Without Dying