sick around the world

“Muhammad Ali was The Greatest. Period. If you just asked him, he’d tell you. He’d tell you he was the double greatest; that he’d ‘handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder into jail.’

But what made The Champ the greatest—what truly separated him from everyone else—is that everyone else would tell you pretty much the same thing.

Like everyone else on the planet, Michelle and I mourn his passing. But we’re also grateful to God for how fortunate we are to have known him, if just for a while; for how fortunate we all are that The Greatest chose to grace our time.

In my private study, just off the Oval Office, I keep a pair of his gloves on display, just under that iconic photograph of him—the young champ, just 22 years old, roaring like a lion over a fallen Sonny Liston. I was too young when it was taken to understand who he was—still Cassius Clay, already an Olympic Gold Medal winner, yet to set out on a spiritual journey that would lead him to his Muslim faith, exile him at the peak of his power, and set the stage for his return to greatness with a name as familiar to the downtrodden in the slums of Southeast Asia and the villages of Africa as it was to cheering crowds in Madison Square Garden.

'I am America,’ he once declared. 'I am the part you won’t recognize. But get used to me—black, confident, cocky; my name, not yours; my religion, not yours; my goals, my own. Get used to me.’

That’s the Ali I came to know as I came of age—not just as skilled a poet on the mic as he was a fighter in the ring, but a man who fought for what was right. A man who fought for us. He stood with King and Mandela; stood up when it was hard; spoke out when others wouldn’t. His fight outside the ring would cost him his title and his public standing. It would earn him enemies on the left and the right, make him reviled, and nearly send him to jail. But Ali stood his ground. And his victory helped us get used to the America we recognize today.

He wasn’t perfect, of course. For all his magic in the ring, he could be careless with his words, and full of contradictions as his faith evolved. But his wonderful, infectious, even innocent spirit ultimately won him more fans than foes—maybe because in him, we hoped to see something of ourselves. Later, as his physical powers ebbed, he became an even more powerful force for peace and reconciliation around the world. We saw a man who said he was so mean he’d make medicine sick reveal a soft spot, visiting children with illness and disability around the world, telling them they, too, could become the greatest. We watched a hero light a torch, and fight his greatest fight of all on the world stage once again; a battle against the disease that ravaged his body, but couldn’t take the spark from his eyes.

Muhammad Ali shook up the world. And the world is better for it. We are all better for it. Michelle and I send our deepest condolences to his family, and we pray that the greatest fighter of them all finally rests in peace.” —President Obama

That Voice (Peter Parker x Reader)

Originally posted by softtroublemaker

Summary: You’re best friends with Peter Parker and you can feel yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with him, without his knowledge. What happens when you get rescued by Spider-Man and you happen to recognize his voice? 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Slight swearing

Disclaimer: gif by softtroublemaker

part 2

_______________________________________________________________

You mindlessly picked at the crust of your sandwich during lunch. You weren’t hungry, and you were mostly trying to ignore the gushing that was happening in front of you. 

Your two best friends, Ned and Peter, were watching Liz Allan across the cafeteria with literal heart eyes. Usually you didn’t care, but lately you started to feel different around Peter…

Your chest would tighten and you would lose your breath in your throat and your heart would just try to beat right out of your chest. You found yourself admiring every small detail about him from the way his nose crinkled when he laughed to the enthusiasm in his eyes when he would talk about science and robotics. 

Every time you looked at him you felt dizzy as if he was sucking the oxygen right out of your lungs. And when he smiled, that damn smile, it made you weak in the knees. You didn’t know how long it had been happening, but you found yourself falling deeper and deeper into the love-sick world that revolved around Peter Parker. 

And he liked Liz. 

Just the thought made your heart sink into the pit of your stomach, thus leading to your loss of appetite. 

“(Y/N)? You alright?” Peter asked before taking a bite of his own sandwich. 

You nodded with a weak smile. 

“Perfect.”


Peter always met you at your locker after school to walk you home. You lived in the apartment complex a few blocks before his own so you always took the same train from school. Today, however, you were both going back to his house to work on a chemistry project. 

Except when you shut your locker door and looked for Peter around the corner, you couldn’t find him anywhere. 

“I swear, if he blows me off for that stupid Stark inter-”

“(Y/N)!” you saw Peter rushing over to you. He smiled from down the hallway, and just the sight made your heart leap out of your body. 

You clutched your books to your chest and waited for him by the doors. He was breathing heavily from running over to you, but the look in his eyes instantly made you frown. 

“You’re not coming with me, are you?” you asked sadly. 

Peter’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. Mr. Stark-”

“I know,” you sighed. “It’s okay.”

Peter pursed his lips, and he looked at you with those damn puppy dog eyes, and you felt like you were melting despite the hurt in your heart. It made it difficult to be mad at him. 

“I can start the project,” you offered. “Just come by after the internship, okay?”

“I feel terrible,” Peter sighed. 

Sirens went off in the distance, and Peter looked out at the street in alarm as if a sudden switch had gone off in his head. He began to back away from you, looking from you to the street in a panic. 

“I’ll see you later! I promise!”

You sighed and watched him run around the corner, disappearing into the crowd of students leaving the school for the day. You turned on your heel and headed home. 


But Peter never showed up that night. You waited, and you got most of the project done out of boredom. But as you looked out the window, the sky got darker, and the city lights illuminated the sky, blocking out the stars. 

You texted him and called him, and stared at your phone waiting for some sort of response, but it never came. You even texted Ned and asked if he had heard from Peter. He hadn’t. 

You considered calling Peter’s aunt May because your nerves were just getting the best of you, but your parents ordered you to get some rest. You wanted to fight them, arguing that Peter could be hurt, but they were having none of it. 

That night you fell asleep with your phone by your head, hoping for some sort of message from Peter. 


“Parker!” you spat as you approached Peter and Ned at their lockers the next morning. You hadn’t slept well at all, as you had nightmares of Peter never coming home all night. You were exhausted and you had bags under your eyes and seeing Peter alive and well at school made your blood boil. 

Peter turned, and looked horrified at the angry expression that was painted on your face. You glared at Ned as a silent order for him to leave, and he quickly grabbed his things before scrambling away. 

“Hey (Y/N)…” Peter said nervously while scratching the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, I know I messed up, but-”

“I can’t believe you,” you snarled. “I was worried sick!”

Peter blinked and stared at you with wide eyes. “You were worried?” 

“Yes! You idiot! I waited up for you and when you never answered my texts I started to assume the worst! I almost went over to your house but my parents wouldn’t let me. I can’t believe you- wait…why are you smiling?”

Peter was staring at you with a small smile dancing on his lips. There was a twinkle in his eye that made the anger melt away in seconds. You blinked in confusion, and cocked your head to the side. 

“What is it?” you asked, your tone much softer and gentler now. 

“Nothing,” Peter shook his head and looked down at the ground. “I just didn’t think you of all people would worry about me.”

You were taken aback by this. “Are you kidding me? You’re my best friend, Pete. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Peter looked up and smiled at you once again. This time, you returned it. 


Peter promised that he would walk you home because he felt so bad for missing out on your chemistry project. He said he would make it up to you, but you didn’t think he would become so attached to you. He began walking you home everyday for the next week. 

He rarely left your side. You’d be lying if you didn’t say he made you blush with almost every comment and remark that he made, and you wished you weren’t so transparent, but damn you were falling for this boy and you couldn’t stop yourself. 

By the time school let out, it was pouring rain and you groaned as you looked outside. You didn’t bring an umbrella with you to school or a sweatshirt as it had been a cloudless morning. You should have checked the forecast.

“Here,” Peter said, placing his sweatshirt over your shoulders before you stepped outside. 

“Peter, no,” you shook your head, trying to give it back, but Peter was relentless and he refused to take it back until you put it on your shoulders. 

“You’ll freeze,” you pointed out.

Peter shrugged. “I’ll survive.”

Your heart fluttered as you looked at him. You wanted to thank him more, but you didn’t know how so instead you walked close to him as you two rushed through the rain towards the train station. 

However, both of your apartment complexes were a few blocks away from the station, and it was quite a walk. You rushed through the streets, laughing like children as the water splashed your feet and legs. You ran ahead of Peter and turned around, breathing heavily with a smile on your face. The water was pelting down, and Peter’s sweatshirt was soaked. At least your hair was dry, but Peter’s was sticking to his forehead and he had to push it out of the way to see you. 

You giggled when he approached you. 

“Are you cold?” he asked, over the loud water. 

You shook your head. “Are you?”

“Freezing.”

“I’m sorry!” you cried. 

Peter laughed and shook his head before pulling you into a tight embrace. You hadn’t been expecting it, and your heart leaped into your throat as you hugged him back. Each of you were soaked to the bone as the rain fell around you, but you had never felt warmer in his arms. 

When you reached your apartment, you went to unzip the jacket, but Peter stopped you with his hand. 

“Keep it,” he said with a small smile.

“But-”

He shook his head. “I have plenty of sweatshirts.”

You didn’t know what came over you, but you felt a surge of confidence, and you leaned forward and kissed Peter on the cheek. Instantly, his cheeks flared up with a bright blush and you smiled as you turned to walk up the stairs to your floor. 

“I’ll see you later,” you said with a small wave.

Peter was standing in the lobby of your apartment complex with a red face and wide eyes, but he managed a wave back with a goofy smile planted on his lips. 

The next day at school he didn’t even bat an eye at Liz.


Once again you waited for Peter by your locker, but he never showed up, only saddening you and causing your heart to sink. After last night, you felt like your heart was beating louder and faster all day. You had texted Peter and talked to him as you normally did, but he was acting different around you. 

Oh, how the tables have turned.

His cheeks would flare up every time you talked to him, and when you bumped shoulders in the hallway you felt like sparks had run up your shoulders. You had hoped to talk to him more about it on your walk home, but instead you got a text from him that read:

Hey, I’m so sorry but I have to catch up with my internship. I’ll see you tomorrow xx 

You sighed and began your lonely walk home. You had been walking with Peter every day for so long that you had to be lying if you hadn’t been accustomed to it. You missed walking by him with your arms brushing and his jokes to keep you entertained. 

However, as you began to walk home from the train station you felt an unusual chill run down your spine. Something wasn’t right. 

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a tall man dressed from head to toe in black with a hood over his head. He was walking briskly, as if he was trying to keep in pace with you. Your breathing became uneven as you struggled to think of a way to get away from him. 

Quickly, you pulled out your phone and called Peter. It went to voicemail immediately so you whispered into the phone, hoping the man wouldn’t hear. 

“Peter, I need you now. There’s a creepy guy following me and I’m scared. Please help,” you whispered-cried into the phone. 

You sent him a few texts as well, but the man was getting closer to you so you began to pick up your pace. However, as soon as you started walking faster so did the man. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt light-headed, but you forced yourself to stay focused. You couldn’t let him know you were afraid. 

You began to run, seeing it as your only option. You were a pretty solid runner, and you felt as though you could get away from the man. You began to outrun him, losing him a few feet behind. But as soon as you thought you were in the clear, you were tackled to the ground and dragged into the nearby alleyway. 

“Let me go!” you screamed, trying to kick at the man, aiming for his balls. He held you down by your wrists and pulled out a knife. 

“Scream again and I’ll kill you,” he growled. 

“You don’t scare me,” you spat before spitting in his face. 

“You bitch!” he cried before raising his knife. You closed your eyes, waiting for the impact when suddenly webbing covered the knife, and pulled it out of the man’s hands. 

“Hey buddy I think you’re lost! The douche-bag convention is the next block over!” 

You looked up in alarm at none other than Spider-Man clinging to the wall of the closest building. He held the webbed knife in his hands, before sticking it to the wall in a new webbing. He shot out two webs from his wrists, pulling back the man’s hands and lifting him into the air. He shot him over to the wall of the building, and the man groaned in pain as his back cracked against the bricks. He fell to the ground, unconscious. 

Spider-Man jumped down from the wall and rushed over to you. He held out his hands and helped you to your feet. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked frantically. 

You felt a little shaken, but other than that you were fine. 

“I’m okay,” you said while rubbing your wrists. Spider-Man took one of them in his own hands and ran his fingers over it. 

“Are you sure? I can bring you to a hospital. Or-”

You knew that voice. 

How could you not know the voice of your best friend and probably the love of your life?

Spider-Man stopped talking and looked at you. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Peter,” you whispered. “Is that you?”

Do you ever feel like breaking down?
Do you ever feel out of place like somehow you just don’t belong and no one understands you?
Do you ever wanna run away?
Do you lock yourself in your room with the radio on turned up so loud that no one hears you’re screaming?
No, you don’t know what it’s like When nothing feels all right
You don’t know what it’s like To be like me

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you’re down
To feel like you’ve been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one’s there to save you
No, you don’t know what it’s like
Welcome to my life

Do you wanna be somebody else?
Are you sick of feeling so left out?
Are you desperate to find something more
Before your life is over?
Are you stuck inside a world you hate?
Are you sick of everyone around?
With their big fake smiles and stupid lies
While deep inside you’re bleeding

No, you don’t know what it’s like
When nothing feels all right
You don’t know what it’s like
To be like me

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you’re down
To feel like you’ve been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one’s there to save you
No you don’t know what it’s like
Welcome to my life

No one ever lied straight to your face
And no one ever stabbed you in the back
You might think I’m happy but I’m not gonna be okay
Everybody always gave you what you wanted
You never had to work it was always there
You don’t know what it’s like, what it’s like

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you’re down
To feel like you’ve been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one’s there to save you
No, you don’t know what it’s like (What it’s like)

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you’re down
To feel like you’ve been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one’s there to save you
No, you don’t know what it’s like.

—  Welcome to my life, Simple Plan
6

“So, what does this ray-X do?”

“That is need-to-know.”

“Uh-huh, so you don’t know.”

“I need to know. That is why we’re here.”

anonymous asked:

I've noticed the gradual increase of hatred within myself towards the ending and how rushed everything was. Particularly with a certain female character, and it's gotten bad to the point that I have said senseless things at times without even realizing it. Do you have any suggestions for me on how I can reset myself and simply focus on the positivity of our fandom, specifically with us the NS fandom?

I too was very disappointed and upset with the ending, but to be honest, I was prepared for a bad ending. I didn’t realize it would be this bad, but I had no confidence that Kishimoto would end the manga well. I was happy that the end of Naruto was announced because I thought finally, he can’t make the manga any worse than it’s become…

Anyway, here’s how I look at things: NaruSaku has nothing to do with Naruto anymore. No matter how much people cross tag, address us as the Naruto fandom, or whatever else, Kishi and majority of Naruto fans want to pretend we were never a thing, so let them.

What does our “Naruto” really have to do with the canon Naruto now? Nothing.What about canon is anything like the Naruto we previously liked? We NaruSaku fans not only wanted Naruto to become Hokage, but we wanted him to confess to Sakura and fix Konoha for real. Not some whish washy “everything is solved because I’m Hokage. Massacre what? Council who? Orochimaru where??”. We CERTAINLY couldn’t have imagined the kind of characters Naruto and Sakura have become.

With NaruSaku, we can do what we want. The key is to “cut off” what we want, and add what we wanted and BOOM, it’s so much easier to deal with the characters (and plot) we previously enjoyed so much. So just envision it like this:

(Yes, I had too much fun with this. A part of being in the NaruSaku fandom is just having fun~)

*clears throat* Now that we NaruSaku aren’t bound by canon and literally can do whatever we want, let’s put Naruto on the chopping block first.

Now as we chop chop him up, we just have to leave the parts we like, his love for Sakura, his carefree attitude, his genuine stupidity, his heart of gold, his desire to fix the world, his dream to become Hokage… etc etc, and separate it from the parts we don’t like.

We can also add the parts we THOUGHT we be a thing: a family man, a real hero to the people, a person who puts family and friends above paperwork. I think it’s very important to stress that Naruto wanted nothing more than acknowledgement (because people pretended he didn’t exist) and companionship when he was an orphan child. Surely Naruto with a family would be a bit of an overbearing dork who tries to hard to stick his nose in everything regarding his family. I mean, the a big part of the manga is about him sticking his nose in Sasuke’s business.

Tada!

We’ve got us a wonderful new version of “Naruto”, our personal fanon version with an added bonus of a new mature hair cut, and optionally, a black and red Hokage cloak similar to his sage one. A guy happily married to Sakura with kids who has done heaps and loads of good to the world such as: end the militant training of children or streamlining them into what is essentially a ‘military’, adding more shinobi villages to the alliance of peace, slacking off of his other work causing him to be scolded by Sakura who is one of the people keeping him on the straight and narrow when it comes to paperwork and actually staying in his office. That’s a very Naruto like laziness/goofiness to me, never wanting to stay at work and finding a way to be among the crowd or around his family and friends. He can be whatever we wanted him to be. (art by @pumyteh​ by the way)

Now it’s Sakura’s turn. She’s tricky, but also very easy. So CHOP CHOP CHOP.

In this case, we’ll have to add a bit of seasoning to Sakura because a lot was left out of canon or completely trashed. So of course, we keep Sakura’s super strength. We add a little seasoning called Ino in there to make sure that bond is more prevalent (after all, it was originally written as a mirror to Naruto and Sasuke). We need to make sure we cut the line so that her growing feelings for Naruto is properly continued and addressed by something other than, “You only liked me because competition.”

We gotta make sure she keeps a sometimes stern or angry outer shell towards her loved ones silly/stupid antics, but very gentle and kind when it matters or behind the back of the person who just earned a scolding. We must also make sure to emphasize she doesn’t actually dislike the silly/stupid behavior of her loved ones, she just pretends she does. (refer to chapter 3)

We need to make her goals more clear, like how she wants to affect the world with medicine or a clearer example of her surpassing her master like Naruto and Sasuke did with theirs

Here we are!

Sakura, head of the hospital and Tsunade’s successor. She’s not only in charge of Konoha’s hospital, but she manages hospitals and clinics in all their allied nations to help the sick all around the world. She advises the Hokage and the other Kage on leadership and the implementation of health and human services of all kinds. Yeah yeah, some people think healers are nothing and not worth admiring, but a humanitarian Sakura suits her perfectly and is admirable.

In a world of orphans and mental/physical pain, an understanding Sakura who cares not just for the health of the body, but the health of the mind and has a personal interest in saving children like Naruto, Sasuke, Kakashi, and many other shinobi endured before Naruto changed the world is a heavy task to take on. Maybe it won’t be Naruto who ‘saves’ the world, or maybe it wasn’t even Naruto who came up with a plan the bring peace to the world. It could’ve been Sakura who gave Naruto a headstart and I love that idea. Really brings out the whole teamwork/partnership thing. No doubt Sasuke would also have a hand in all this.


There are more things I could say about Uzumaki Sakura, but this blog isn’t meant for that~ I can’t just go around spitting out all my headcanons like that.

Anyway, we could chop chop some others too. We could chop chop anyone we wanted to in our NaruSaku universe and we never have to look at canon again. We write our own story now. And for me, a big part of that story is Shinachiku. I don’t think I’d still be around had it not been for Shinachiku. I love him and his siblings. There are other cute NaruSaku kids that doesn’t include Shinachiku of course…. but I admit, when I see them I think,  “But… what about Shinachiku?”

Either way, whether it’s with Shinachiku or the other NaruSaku kids, go along with what makes you happiest! With Shinachiku and the other kids, we can explore Naruto and Sakura success from the viewpoint of someone who didn’t know exactly how bad it was before.I think a really interesting combination comes out of Naruto and Sakura’s union. Someone with a similar genetic makeup to Tsunade actually (¼ Uzumaki, plus the genes of other successful shinobi)

At the end of the day, we have to make our own happiness now. We may be less active. We may find new things we love. And trust me, the disappointment will probably never fade away. But, through this disappointment, I found new things that I enjoy, and I can write my own stories for Naruto and Sakura and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. That’s the greatest feeling in the world, not having an author you distrust writing and 'developing’ a character you like. Not having the author decide the fate of your favorite ship and how they will act or what their family will be like. I revel in it because we’ll never truly know how Kishimoto would have written NaruSaku, but knowing what I know now, I would prefer him never writing NaruSaku again.

The easiest way to reset, is to chop chop chop until all that’s left is what you like.

Closure || 7/?

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In which a small salad child finds himself mentored by his idol because he shrugged off so many coddling and patronizing mentors for years that Kahedins got sick of trying and Trahearne said “(his Wyld Hunt is close enough to mine) gib.”

This was my favorite page for a very long time and I still can’t remember why I went straight for the bird joke.

Guitar Smack Down

“I like to think I’m a nice guy. But no one, not even someone as nice as you, can threaten my kids and GET AWAY WITH IT!”

links to others places to find me and this story

Based on this comic by @off-the-moon

Daniel tossed the poisoned kool-aid over his shoulder with a grin. He’d almost downed it, what a disaster that would have been! He knelt by a kid he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of and pulled his knife out. He thought maybe it started with a-WHAM! A pain like fire shot through Daniel’s skull as he went flying back, grip on his knife tightening so it didn’t go flying too.

Keep reading

Headcanons about Dark, Warf, and The Host from Markiplier TV

Ok this for @huzshee in her honor 👉😎👉
She wrote this oml


Look… I want you to first keep some things in mind.

+ I’ve seen some HCs in Kylo’s blog ( @markired ) and an Anon sent an ask, talking something about the positions/seats around the table in “Markiplier TV”, and that these positions would make The Host, Darkiplier’s right-hand man, and it sounds really good for me to be honest, but you know, I don’t think The Host would just turn into Dark’s right-hand man for nothing, he must have, like, a debt, right?

+ You said in your HC’s that The Host summoned some kind of demon to give him powers, right? Let’s say that it gave me a little idea. (They are talking about my HC about The Host -Fallskima)

+ In “Markiplier TV” Dark said for Wilford “I appreciate what you’ve done for us” and for some reason I feel like Dark’s not talking about the TV thing, I feel like he’s talking about something in the past, and it makes me think that Wilford somehow have done something for everyone in that table.


- So… Let’s go back when The Author got shot on his back in “Danger in Fiction II”. He was lying the cold floor, left to die, and don’t matter how powerful he someway was, he couldn’t just heal himself, he was slowly walking to the death.

- But, let’s remember, Dark and Wilford are the oldest Alter Egos, Wilford is following Dark, and Dark wants to take back control, but they couldn’t make it alone, they need more people, so then they start to get all of them together, and Dark is the one who takes care of this part.

Dark doesn’t follow laws of physics, he doesn’t follow any logic, and, even if he prefers to make people trust him, he could easily kill someone, and what says that he can’t heal someone or save someone from death?

* And why Dark and not Wilford? Wilford doesn’t follow laws of physics or any logic too.

Well, back again to “Markiplier TV”:

“Are you constantly haunted by the ghosts of everyone that you killed and maybe you think that it was you that was the problem and it wasn’t just a misunderstanding where you were trying to tickle them with a knife?”

As we can remember, Wilford for multiple times killed people by accident, and as the can think reading this, it haunts him somehow, so, it makes me think that if he could actually heal someone or save them from death, he would have done it in the past, but he never did, so it makes me believe that he’s unable to do it.


- So, we’re assuming that Dark took the opportunity and made a deal with The Author, he could save him, but he would join them in return, and he accepted.


- The time passed and The Author was going crazy, for some reason after almost feeling the death in his skin he started to overthink about everything, he got paranoid.

Maybe because of something he saw when he was almost dying?


- Then we insert what Mark said:

“The author took a new name when he realized that he wasn’t actually writing the stories. He realized he was just a host to the guests in his world.”

While he was overthinking he started to look better at everything, he then was realizing that he wasn’t, he never was, the author of these stories. He just started to understand everything, he took a new name, he became “The Host”.

- But it wasn’t like if everything got solved in that moment. He was now The Host, but something still bothering him, like, if something was just blocking of exercising their full capacity. His mind kept spinning.

- And then he began to have outbreaks. He still overthinking, and sometimes it was too much for him, he couldn’t know what was blocking him, no matter how much he tried to understand it.

- Dark tried to help him some way, but it wasn’t working at all.

- Someday he began to feel sick about everything around him, he wished he could never see that world again in that “normal” way, he wished that he could just trap himself in his own mind and see everything through his head, see everything in the only way that always made him comfortable, see everything in the only way that always made him feel alive. So, someday, in an outbreak, he just shouted “I WISH I WAS BLIND”

- And then comes Wilford… You know, he can’t help it, but he always takes everything literally. He heard The Host shouting. If to be blind was what we wanted, Wilford could help with it. He stabbed The Host’s eyes, making him blind.

- It was, of course, painful. He once again was lying on the ground in pain.

- Wilford in the other hand was just confused:

“Wasn’t that what he wanted?”

- When the pain stopped, comes the surprise, Wilford did it. The Author was now blind, He could still see everything from his head, but not through his eyes. Nothing was blocking him. He was finally free from it, He was in his full capacity.

- He decided to cover his eyes with some kind of blindfold, just an old fabric he found, because, after all, not just his eyes were damaged in a horrifying way, but the skin around them too. It was better to just cover it.

* But what about The Host being Dark’s right-hand man?

Dark saved his life, he has a debt with him, and, even if The Host seemed not really powerful, or even if it didn’t seem that he could be somehow “useful”, Dark knew all the power The Host has, he knew it was better to keep him close. He then turned The Host in his right-hand man. The Host, on the other hand, couldn’t really refuse to.


OKAY, TO WE FINISH HERE, THANKS, IT’S TOO LONG, TOO FAR.


HELP.

2

I haven’t been posting because I fucking hate Tumblr and wanted to just delete my account, but I had to share this. This Bitch, she’s such a liar. I don’t know how those in “Jumblr” can support her!!! She literally supports the murder of Jews in Israel, she also is shady as fuck. She doesn’t care about us!!!

No Palestinians were denied entry to the Temple Mount. Metal detectors are necessary since they turn their holy place into a place of violence hiding weapons and terrorism. Do they really care about this place as much as they say they do or do they use it as an excuse to kill Jews and Israelis? If they wanted to protect it so much they wouldn’t be violent and kill Jews over metal fucking detectors!!!

And people justifying the murder of three Jews who were just eating Shabbat dinner who have nothing to do with the metal detectors!!! And there are people around the world celebrating the murders!!! I’m so sick to my stomach that we live in a world like this.

We then have the Slut Walk also expelling Jews because “Zionism” and taking a stance with the Dyke March. I guess they support the killings of innocent Jews because they happen to live where they belong, the only place they are truly feel safe as Jews even with the attacks against us!

I just need to take a break. I don’t care who blocks me or who I offend. I’m just sick of all of this and I don’t think I want to come back to Tumblr. The images of blood from the scene of the terror attack and the photo of the piece of shit who did this smiling is etched in my brain.

ignisfatuusdelirante  asked:

Hey Zed I thought you already made a post about this but I can't find it... Do you have a quick like "Do's and Dont's" of taking on commission work? My friend recently started taking commissions (this was a physical commission not digital) and had the person flake out on her. She's trying to set up some ground rules and I was wondering if you had any tips on how to do things professionally and protect your own time investment, etc.

I had one for commissioning people, but here’s one for opening commissions

  • Be prompt. Speed sells well. If you can only draw once a week, when you’re in the absolutely ideal conditions, you’re probably not ready for commissions. Don’t fall into the ‘self-care’ trap. If it takes you more than a month to complete or even start a piece, you probably shouldn’t be taking it as a commission.
  • Don’t take on too much work. On the flipside, take on a reasonable amount of work. Don’t overwork yourself to the point of getting sick. I’ve done this before myself, while other artists around the world have actually died of overwork. Slots are a common way to manage this.
  • Price yourself fairly. Most commissions come because people want art by YOU, not just any piece of art. Don’t price yourself at $5 for 2 hours of work just because someone on Deviantart is doing the same. To determine prices, I usually measure out how long it normally takes me to complete a piece of that quality and average it, then rate myself by an hourly rate based on experience. (For starting out, usually $10 per hour.) 
  • HOWEVER! If you are immensely slow and inefficient, you’ll want to take this into account on your rates. Likewise faster, higher quality work basically warrants a higher hourly rate. It doesn’t make sense to have a $10 per hour rate, take 30 minutes to finish a super detailed high res portrait (like Sakimichan quality), and charge $5 for it, when from a professional studio you would get $500 for that same level of work. (Of course if you’re asking for this advice chances are you don’t need to worry about that quality level yet.) Fast, quality art is not cheap. Cheap, quality art is not fast. Fast, cheap art is not of quality.
  • Take payment up front in some form. This may be taking the whole cost up front, taking payment only after you’ve done a gesture sketch, or providing a super-low-res preview before giving them the image. Do NOT provide the completed product before receiving payment.
  • Use paypal invoices btw. This allows you to prevent people from turning on shipping options, and to make sure you’re not the one slapped with currency conversion fees.
  • Don’t give too many options. I’m guilty of this. It’s a bit over-encumbersome to have ‘sketch’ ‘lineart’ ‘flats’ ‘shaded’ ‘rendered’ ‘extra characters’ ‘backgrounds’ etc. all on your commission sheet. Figure out what range you wanna focus on.
  • Some common starting price ranges a lot of artists use: $10-$15 for lineart, $25-$30 for cel shaded. You can use whatever you feel works for you.
  • If someone tries to persuade you to adjust your prices for them, demeans your art, or starts acting very aggressive with you, you run. Do not take their money.
  • If you don’t have a big following, don’t expect a flood of commissions right away, and don’t be idle between commissions. Do fanart or post other things relevant to what you like to draw. When posting, remember only the first 5 tags count in tumblr’s search, and use that to help you get a bit more notice. You can include a link to your commission info on any art you post as well.
🌙

Ramadan Mubarak guys!

Alhumdulilah Allah allowed us to reach Ramadan. 

May Allah separate us from all laziness and allow us to reap the benefits of this beautiful month. May Allah increase us in knowledge and soften our hearts. May Allah grant peace to the ummah around the world, cure the sick, and provide provisions to those who are in need of it. May Allah help us help the ummah and our communities. May Allah allow us to keep our focus on deen. May Allah help us be better Muslims and let go of bad habits. May Allah help us create and maintain good habits. May Allah beautify our characters. May Allah guide and have His mercy upon us and our loved ones.

Ameen.

I wish you all a very warm and hopeful Ramadan 💖

Maybe Hell Isn’t So Bad After All

Request- Do you do Crowley x Readers? Cause if you do I’ve really wanted to see a story where the reader gets turned into a hellhound and Crowley takes care of her, without realizing readers feelings for him until she’s human again.. It could end in fluff or smut i dont care. Thanks for reading this! Love your stories btw.

Well I went with fluff :) as it’s the way it kinda come out:) hope you like!


 

You hear the Latin words float through the air towards you, snapping your head around you see the witch you were battling with earlier standing there chanting. 

You feel a burning pain race over you as you fall to the ground,  you look at her confused. She opens her hand to show you your hex bag. That bitch! She’d pulled it out of your pocket after you tackled her earlier. You howl in pain until darkness over comes you.

You awaken to the distant sound of someone shouting your name. You wince as you move, every muscle in your body aching. You n open your eyes, something wasn’t right, it was like you were seeing the world in high definition,  but black and white…, what had that witch done to you? 

You go to rub your head, but when a paw touch your instead you freak out. You look down and sure enough you have paws.  

*oh fuck…* she turned you into a dog? What was this?  A weird version of Hocus Pocus?!

You hear Sam and Dean enter the room, you sit there waiting for them to see you. This was not going to be fun.

“Are you sure she didn’t just leave?” You hear the British accent of Crowley, with them

*oh just fucking wonderful….* just what you needed.

“Y/n?” Dean shouts “Dude this whole place is empty where could she be?" 

*Empty? Hello?!* you shout,  but it comes out as a bark.

"Sam and Dean freeze, blades are pulled out and help in your direction. You whimper and move away.

"Well this is just classic…going to stab your friend are you boys?” He drawls as he stands in front of you.

“What are you talking about? That was a hellhound!” Dean shouts,  remembering the sound all too well.

“Yes Squirrel, well done. What I am telling you is, the hellhound you heard is Y/n” he turns and looks down at you.

“Isn’t that right darling?” He said with a smirk 

You let out a deep growl and snap at him. Sam snorts 

“Maybe it is Y/n, ok one bark for yes, two for no” Dean rolls his eyes at his brother clearly not believing any of this. 

“What if it is her she’ll understand right?” Sam challenges his brother

“Fine Y/n, which of us is older?” He said gesturing between Sam and himself

*really jackass?* Crowley burst out laughing, everyone looking at him confused. Then it clicked

*can you hear me?* you look at him, 

“I can always hear you darling, king of hell,  remember?”

Your stomach dropped as you think of all the times thoughts of Crowley went through your head. You harboured a major crush on the king of hell,  and with that accent who could blame you. But it had escaped your knowledge that he could read minds…you think of anything he may have overheard

*well…crap….* He winked at you. 

“Don’t worry pet your secrets are safe with me” Maybe he was just teasing you….you really hoped he was….

The boys watched the one sided conversation with interest.

“You can understand her?” Sam asked confused

“No moose I can hear her, her thoughts, like I can with all of you. She’s still Y/n, morons” he turns back to you 

“Now what happened?” You explain as the boys look on, Crowley nods along, smirking here and there.

“What did she say?” Dean demanded impatiently

“The witch stole her hex bag then cursed her basically. We need that witch, without her we can’t reverse the spell, oh and I may have cleaned up the language a little….” you snort internally, a little? 

They boys hatch a plan to hunt the witch, leaving you out completely. You whine to get their attention. 

“What about Y/n?” Sam asked sympathetically,  Dean shook his head

“No, no way! Sorry Y/n, I love you like a sister but you are not getting in my baby like that” he gestured to your invisible to human eyes form.

*Drama queen,  so where am I suppose to go?*

“I’ll look after her” everyone turns to face Crowley, if you could raise an eyebrow you would. This was all levels of bad ideas. 

“Fine” Dean agrees, I growl at him. 

*ask me if its ok you dick! I don’t want to go to hell!* 

“Now, now darling.  There’s no need to get violent. You’ll be fine” he pats you on your head. You bare your teeth at him, making him chuckle

“We’ll figure this out Y/n, we promise” Sam says as they leave,  you watch them go sadly. 

*now what?* You wonder sighing heavily

You feel the world shift around you,  making you feel sick. You close your eyes as the room spins.

“Sorry darling, it can be overwhelming the first time” you look around and see an extraordinary room, roaring fire, leather sofas. Was this hell?

“Yes this is indeed hell, what were you expecting?” He grinned cheekily

*more fire* you retort making him laugh as he sat on the sofa watching you

You say by the fire watching the flames dance together

“You know it’s odd,  hellhounds have red eyes. But yours have stayed the same, still y/e/c” you shift uncomfortably on the floor, partly from the hard surface and partly from Crowley’s gaze. 

“You can lie on a sofa you know” you’d  have frowned if it were possible 

*won’t I break it?* you ask eyeing the comfy leather

“No I wouldn’t say you would. You’re pretty small really.”  

You decide to take him up on his offer, you lay on the sofa as you let your thoughts wonder.

What of they can’t find the witch?  What if she won’t reverse the spell? What if you’re stuck like this?

You feel a trickle fall from your eye on to the floor. The way Crowley’s eyes snapped over to you it was like you’d smashed a glass. 

“Hey now, come on darling.  None of that.” He moved over to the sofa where you lay, lifting your head and placing it on his lap. Comforting you.

“I know Squirrel and Moose can be idiots but I have no doubt they’ll work everything out”

*what if they don’t?* you ask looking up at him sadly, your y /e/c eyes glistening with tears. 

“Then I’ll work it out” you looked at him as you raised your head and licked his cheek. “No more tears now, ok? Even as a hellhound I can’t stand to see you cry" 

You looked at him curiously, he cleared his throat and stood up. You watched him go, as he pours himself a drink. Your ears pricked up at the sound of his phone ringing. He answers quickly. You can’t make much out so you wait for him to tell you. 

"They’ve found the witch, but she’s not talking.  This is where I come in” he says his voice deadly. 

“Will you be alright here? Dean is still…shall we say nervous. I won’t be long” you nod your large head and watch as he disappears in front of you. Rolling your eyes at Dean, big baby. 

You lay and watched the fire. Thinking to yourself about Crowley. You’d never seen him act so…sweet. 

He’d always acted differently towards you than he did the Winchester’s but you’d always assumed it was because you were a woman. But what if it was something else? 

He sat with you comforting you, very unlike the king of hell…

Crowley seemed to be gone forever,  you were starting to give up hope. When suddenly you jumped up as you felt a twinge in your stomach. You whine in pain, similar to the pain that got you into this mess.  You curl your body into a ball to try and ease it but it’s no help you feel the darkness drift over you again.

You wake to find yourself on the floor. Human, you gasp as you see your hands. You touch your face and laugh. Actually laugh. No whining or barking. You laugh.

You also noticed you were very naked.  You see a blanket on the back of the sofa. You stretch upwards,  just reaching it from you position on the floor. You wrap it around yourself, before leaning against the sofa, totally exhausted.  

It wasn’t surprising, your body had basically been torn apart twice in the same day!

You hear a door open and raise your head, smiling as you hear who it is. 

“Sorry I took so long darling….” he freezes as he spots you on the floor “You’re back" 

"Wasn’t that the plan?” You giggle you voice sore

“Of course, but she said it could take a while. That’s what I told Sam and Dean.” You nod understanding. 

“I guess we should get you back then darling?” It was more of a question than a statement, and in all honesty - you weren’t ready to leave yet.

“Can I stay a little while longer?” You ask biting your lip, his eyebrows shoot up but he recovers quickly nodding making you smile. He waves his hand and you’re dressed again the blanket gone. 

*King of hell has its perks* you giggle to yourself

“Y/n my love, you have no idea” You roll your eyes,  you really need to remember he can do that….

“Can I ask you a question?” He nods “when you said earlier that my secrets were safe…what had you heard?” He smiles wickedly as he walks to his bar, pouring a drink.

“Honestly darling, not a thing. I’m just enjoy teasing you” he hands you a whiskey,  which you take gladly.  Sipping the amber liquid slowly, savouring the taste.

You see him watching you in awe, obviously impressed you enjoy good liquor. He clears his throat

“What were you worried I was going to hear?” He smirks, downing the remainder of his own drink. 

You smile, taking another drink. Internal battle of heart and head taking over you. As you stare at your glass

*fuck it* you throw back the rest of your drink. Before walking towards him.

He raises an eyebrow at your thought, as you stalk towards him. You push yourself up slightly, gently pressing your lips to his. He doesn’t respond. You pull away slightly dejected, you turn away from him. You expected him to, zap you back to Sam and Dean and never speak to you again. But he doesn’t.

Suddenly he grabs your arm and spins you around bringing you flush against him. He dips his head capturing your lips. It was a sweet kiss, not what you’d expect from him at all. He pulls back to look at you smiling. 

“You sure you don’t want to go home?” He asks, you shake your head

“Can I still stay?” You ask quietly

“Darling if you so wished it, you could stay forever” he stoked you cheek as he spoke.  You beam at him, as you lean in again for another breath taking kiss. 

Maybe hell isn’t so bad after all. 

The Morrigan

There once was a time before man ruled,
A veiled one made of mountains,
Born, a guardian of wisdom and in the plenty years,
In her triple goddess form: of fury, frenzy and rage,
Haunted as a crow flying over the battlefield.
Washing the armour of the ones about to die,
In the old tongue of Irish and Welsh
Bringing peace to those to needed a hand to cover eyes.

Many centuries passed, the people forgot.
The time of the land, the simple ploughing and sowing
The importance of cows, the making of bread,
Songs around camp-fires withered away, repressed and
Omitted, burned and buried.

More time passed. In the present,
Scions sit placid, numbed to the world around them,
Sick to the stomach starving for a beauty fixation.
Too exhausted, to rear their heads against the new religion,
Who stripped them bare of their feminine power.
The bird shadows dismemberment
Of her different shapes echo, fluttering slap of wings
Dancing over the cut-throat floods of lies.

We see her in the women who stand tall and strong
In the women who dare to speak to the “rule of the father”
In the women to take to the streets
In the women who write and wrote poetry
In the women who dance
In the women who say and said No. In the women who have not forgotten.

In the end, the earth will vomit forth pits of snakes,
Venomous revenge for the mummified centuries
Of punishing the ones who give birth to us all.

From the hills far away
Sometimes you can hear her name
In the call of a blind owl-and know she is sleeping
In her tomb of incarnation,
Somewhere under ground-tucked away with her silver blade,
Ready for the turning of yesterday into today.

The lyrics “I hope the sun shines and it’s a beautiful day and something reminds you, you wish you had stayed, you can plan for a change in weather and time but I never planned on you changing your mind” will always hit me like a bus full of emotions.

Yes, Dear

A/N: This is my entry for 2 challenges. @chaos-and-the-calm67‘s Bev’s Birthday Challenge and @thing-you-do-with-that-thing‘s SPN Moive Night Challenge. A big thanks to @supersoldatass for being an amazing beta!! Thank you girly <3

Person, Place, Thing: Crowley, Bunker, Laptop

Movie: Pocahontas

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Word Count: 1006

Warnings: mentions of blood (not detailed, literally it says it twice), angsty angst, fluff, i think that’s it, idk lol

(Do you want to be tagged in future Crowley/Supernatural fics? Just let me know here.)

Originally posted by spnfans


“Hello, Squir-”

“We need your help,” Dean blurted out as soon as I popped in. His body was tense and each breath he took was shaky and strained. His bloodshot eyes and the dark brown bags that rested beneath them spoke so many untold words.

“What did you do now?” I sighed with a roll of my eyes. I didn’t have time for the problems he most likely dug himself into. Well, I did, I just didn’t feel like dealing with him.

“There was a case, it was a simple salt and burn, so Y/N said she’d take it. She was fine when she first came back. One second she’s watching Pocahontas on her laptop in her room and belting out the lyrics to Colors of the Winds, then she’s hanging off the side of the bed unconscious,” he rushed.

“What happened?” I growled. I couldn’t be able to explain the anger and fear that crashed into my body. Why the hell did they let her go by herself? How did they not notice something was wrong with her?

“We don’t know, she didn’t tell us. When we asked her, she just said it went like any other salt and burn. She’s been in the same state for about eleven hours already and we don’t know what to do.”

“And you’re just now bloody calling me here!” I yelled. Why didn’t they call me sooner? What the hell were they thinking?

Keep reading

isn’t it ironic that the worst pain causes the greatest art? so much art has been created by people who were miserable, people whose love wasn’t returned, people who were sick of themselves and the world around them. they burn bright but they burn so fast. they give themselves up. and they burn until nothing is left but ashes of themselves and the art that they’ve created.

Don’t Hurt Yourself

Reader x Namjoon

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Cheating,Implied sex,Cursing

Part 1

I am the dragon breathing fire. Beautiful man I’m the lion
Beautiful man I know you’re lying….


You were mad as hell.

So you came home from work and sat down on the couch, waiting on him for one last time. Head held high, poised and collected. Muscled coiled and ready to pounce.

Just like clockwork, keys slide into the door and Namjoon comes in at a quarter to three, completely unaware of the situation he just stepped into. Looking up he stops, surprised to find you sitting in the living room. He can feel something is off. Sense it in your body language, see the difference in your eyes. For a minute, he wonders if you know what he’s been doing all night long…but that’s impossible right? How could you possibly know?

But you did know.

You watched nonchalantly as he flashed a casual grin your way. “Hey babe…what are you doing up so late?“ You didn’t respond right away, taking the time examine him closely before you decide to speak.

“Where were you tonight?”

Keep reading

hubble's law of expansion

(a/n) for the @tmntflashfic theme 011: april! takes place in the space pirates au! multichapter



Her world is dyed in red, and the spinning ruby luminaries dance across her too wide eyes, glossy and far away out into other galaxies; April hears only a faint buzzing in her head, and the ringing pierces her like the smoke in her eyes.

It’s wisps puff out in  black plumes like chalk dust and ash, and the smooth swirls of smoke break apart but April isn’t really April because this isn’t real- she’s watching herself in warped time and bent reality where this is all just happening, where she is still, where Donnie is, in front of her, yelling.

He’s right here but she’s not, and April tries to take a breath just as her footing shifts; she can only stare at the hole of space ahead of her, past where Donnie screams, stumbling forward to her. She wants to tell him to stay away as sparks trickle from the ceiling to the floors around her but she can’t look away from those planets just beyond.

“-o Apr-! Go!”

April cuts her eyes away to the sound and her world- it comes colliding into place, into a kaleidoscope of blood and fire and smoke and sparks and stars, the sounds clashing into her. Senses heightening, April hears the alarms blaring and the canons and the screaming.

She looks back to find Donnie and he’s so close;  he kisses her head.

“Donnie…wha-” she coughs and he kisses her forehead again, taking her sweat and soot with him.

She tries to ask him again, but he puts a mask on her, hands her his blaster and before he can grab her April starts screaming, kicking him away, “No…n-” the mask tastes like plastic air, tastes like dying and coming alive all at once in the moment Donatello shoves her into the pod, the glass sliding closed to separate them.

And April kicks it- the doors, the glass, the lock- choking on her saliva and snot and tears. “Donnie- no, no…No, Donnie lemme- let me out-!”

He says something through the glass and smiles, breathing fog onto the window, he traces the letters with shaking, bloodied fingers.

c u later k

And he points to the hole, to those stars and planets straight past him.

She gets lost in them, for a moment she’s not April and this is her glimpse at the possibility.

But those planets get further- and so does Donnie and the ship.


April tries to yell for him, but her breath is sucked away as she plummets away.


A cannon shoots through the center of the ship and it breaks apart, into a million shards of metal and crystal and fire and her pod flies through space, away from the flames that swallow themselves up, reflecting in her bright eyes until her breath is snatched again.


“Have you guys ever tried Murakami’s - or…anything besides pizza, algae and worms?” April raises her hand up eyes softly closed, “Mikey this is strictly rhetorical- I don’t wanna know. But I mean, c’mon pizza is not…life-”

Mikey gasps and falls over the side of the couch, “That’s waaaay harsh, sister…tell ‘er she’s dead wrong, Raph.”

Raph hits the punching bag, sending it swinging, and catches it against him, grinning at her, “Look, does it look like we have a diet problem, O’neil? Besides we don’t just eat pizza,” he says, steading the bag again.

“Yeah,” Mikey picks himself up, and starts sharpening knives for the fun of it, “We like…had pizza rolls a couple’a times so-”

April stops listening, even as Mikey keeps talking because she can’t hear a thing, her eyes going white- there’s a buzzing…a knocking she can’t-


April likes things that fly; she wants to believe she always had. Because things that flew- they were just so bizarre and wonderful. They were free, but weren’t really- they had compasses and maps and calculations in their hearts that led them back to wherever they just had to be.

She lays there, looking at the light and the sky, and the little flying thing that pecks and knocks at the glass of her pod.

“Morning…” April says out of a hoarse voice, throat sore and torn.

Leo would tell her to get away from it before she caught an infection or something; he was always worried about that kinda stuff. And remembering that brings a certain kind of pain, spreading through her chest. The thing flies away and April almost resents it for leaving her alone here.


She’s alone.


She’s alone- she’s alone and her family isn’t here and the ship is gone and they’re too far away, they shouldn’t be that far from her- from here.

April gasps, forcing herself to take a breath and another, watching her breath fog up the cracked glass, and she watches it recede and dissolve and she counts how many time she breathes and she pinches her eyes closed and feels sick.

And suddenly the world- this world- seems to come alive around her, in front of her, above her, and April senses the life of it, listens to noise of it, letting the sensations flood back into her in technicolor. Everything is a blend of greens and blues and overgrown life; somewhere, very distant, is the sound of water hitting the rocks. And if April closes her eyes and undoes her tightened fingers, she can convince herself that in the sounds is her family.

But that’s meaningless now, she tells herself as she unjams the latch, stepping out (screaming as she smashes the rest of the glass  with her- no…no it’s not her’s, this is donnie’s- blaster), sinking to her knees in the glowing soil. Because her family is dead, right with the best parts of her. And it’s just the worst thing ever- being trapped and alone and April hates herself for letting them spare her.

She presses her forehead against the pod, and thinks that Leo probably never gave the command a second thought- to have Donnie take her and shoot her into another sector. And he probably told them all to go, determined to go down swinging, but his brothers- Casey- they stayed anyway because that’s how things had to work. They didn’t know how else to work. And Donnie’s eyes- when he just knew that they all were going to be murdered and she was gonna be safe, his bloodied hand against the glass and Mikey stumbling behind him without an arm-

April heaves, dragging her head down the pod, curling inward.


“Oh...god-” she clenches her fist, her frizzy, curly red hair twining with her fingers, and she spit on the ground.


Mikey needs his arm, April thinks, dizzily, he’s their best shot. She tries to remember which one was missing, and if Raph was there too when something crawls up her thigh. Raph would hate that, April smiles shakily and turns, back against the side of the pod, and draws her knees up to her chest, looking out into the landscape.

She was under some kind of canopy, a blanket of interwoven plants with enough spaces for light to flood in, and crystallized rocks broke through the branches in certain places where the plants were black and purple and it was beautiful and it sucked because April hated it.

She grips the hilt of her Sulvarian blade, and carves a line into the pod.


There are no more flying things when April wakes next, nor is there light besides the neon luminaries in the soil, that trailed along the ground like paths- like stars, like galaxies, like all those wonderful things. When she steps down, they disappear under her gravity boots, and the little space around them.

The colors are nearly entrancing as they dance a little in the ground.

April looks around, finding everything unchanged in the darkness. She scouts out the land and finds no creatures, part of her wishing something would just jump out already and try to kill her so she could shoot it dead at her feet, eat something, and not feel so alone on this planet- waiting for something to rip her apart.

In the canopy above her, the plants rustle, almost catching april off guard. And she doesn’t mean to sound so bloodthirsty in her own consciousness, in her thoughts, but she was anxious and so afraid and she needed to fight- because that’s what they always did, to ward off the bad energy and the ugly, darker thoughts. They fought. She tightens her hand around the blade, the grooves in the hilt glowing along with the lines going up her suit, and despite the damage in it, April raises her hand to her face, carefully pressing into her temple until her cracked helmet slides out (halts a few times till she hits against it) encasing her face in a screen. And the world is tinted yellow, the words flashing across the screen, reflecting in April’s eyes as she read over the scans.

There is nothing here. Just plant life and fancy, glowing dirt and misery and bugs.


April groans, stashing her blade away, “Get it together O’neil- ‘s just a breeze…or some…thing.”  


April is accustomed to fear, and she knows how to channel that into something fierce and hungry and a little overconfident, so she lets her bravado swell up a bit in the assurance that she had a blade, her blaster, technique and too much energy. And that this was a dying planet; the ooey tendrils of black on the branches and rocks that she presses her fingers against speak of its slow-burn death in little whispers as April begins to breathe, and feel the planet’s energy. She pushes deeper and deeper and deeper into the core, feeling the flutters of life trying and of some fight warring so greatly beneath the lull of warm glow in the nighttime and swaying plants. And further into the world, her third eye peers into why, pulling and stretching and yanking at the hidden things and their layers.

April reaches for the heart, as the tension builds up and something claws its way up to her and she’s close to it- can feel it ripping- when April is pulled from the sensations, and slammed to the ground, the lights dissipating from beneath her, spreading like lightning in jagged paths across the dirt.

April blinks away the blur in her vision, biting down from the way her bones and muscles pull tight and finds herself pinned between legs, her arm held down under someone’s knees.

And their eyes are so wide April almost loses her focus in girth  them, deciphering the meaning in them. Her skin, concealed in the darkness holds hues of indigo, and absorb the fairy lights around them. And the sound of the nighttime become only their intertwining breaths, heavy and uneven; still, April doesn’t even think to grab her weapon because something like amazement keeps April beneath her- this alien of blue and dark purple and black woven hair that fell over her shoulders and hung in April’s face, those luminescent creatures spiraling up her braids.

Her curious wonderment makes April’s brows rut and, briefly, she wonders if this is the way she’s meant to die: horribly amazed by something so intricately beautiful and blinded that she couldn’t even foresee her own death. Qich would be a shame, April says in her thoughts, as the alien pulls out a metal spear from its holster behind her back, because April really did want to get to look at her for a lot more seconds or minutes (or hours or days).

But she prepares to die now and maybe find her family in the other plane of existence saying this is it, April. This is how you die. Now stop being so afraid of it; you should’ve been a better person! until the alien (warrior queen boss looking alien) proceeds to yell very loud- which doesn’t help the way April’s brain feels like it’s been set on fire and then stomped on several thousand times but- and jumps up from her, promptly stabbing, tackling and wrestling a huge, wild beast.


The display in and of itself was pretty damn remarkable as far as April was concerned, as she sat up, nit sure if running away would be best. And there are a billion things on her mind like: gosh you’re stunning kinda, or: hey so are we alone here, or even: would you happen to have a holomap on you by any chance- i may have lost my friends a few sectors back. But April’s throat won’t push the words out and every time she tries its jumbled and the alien, fresh from a kill with the creature’s blood dripping down her arms, looks at her with narrowing eyes and a complicated, unreadable kind of twist to her lips.


Then her lips move and April is back into her own skin, back into her senses.


And for the first time in too, too long- April is laughing, and it’s quiet and it rolls off her tongue like honey- so sweet and thick and rich she almost gags on it. The sound is almost foreign to her.

But another sound all the same, and just as strange to her, tickles her ears.

“X’vhkl? O…lft’zes. Lft’zes u wen’ju olkrsp?” she says, stepping till their distance is gone, leaning into April, cocking her head.

“Svxtl.”

April stumbles back, mouth pulling into an awkward half grin, “Um…yes? No…no, okay. Look-”

“Svxtl,” she repeats, spreading her palm against April’s chest, her eyes lighting up, growing wide with an eager smile, “Jhanna…” 

The marks in her skin begin to illuminate in soft blues as she smiles brighter, her hand still over April’s slow rising chest.

April, somehow unafraid, feels warmth spill into her, blossoming throughout her aching body and she can’t quite look away from her eyes, and that smile and that glow dusting parts of her skin that made Jhanna look very much like a constellation of all the most magnificent stars.

But god April was just so tired, and she would never try to explain the feeling before she sinks to the sparkling dirt.


The third time April wakes up she knows exactly what’s going on, she’s also pretty much done with this shit, and seriously just wants to tell, the universe it freaking won already and if this was some godawful, cruel punishment for agreeing to blow up Sibith’s capital federation building with Casey and Donnie then fine. 

But her voice is still tight and it hurts to think and the alien (no, it’s jhanna now. which means they’re acquainted. which, in turn, means she wont kill april- basically. probably.) is standing over her, hair pulled back now, her lips parted in what just might have been a little concern.


“I had to absorb some of your energy to understand your language,” Jhanna says, conversationally and extends a hand, “I apologize- I became distracted.” she looks down at April, “But I will not kill you, if you are not convinced…”


April coughs, squinting up at her with what she hopes looks intimidating and pissed- because she is, “Well-” she grunts, pushing herself off the ground, “It may come as like- a total shocker but…you throwing me down, oh and drinking my energy-? Honestly, it’s not that convincing,” April grumbles, brushing the dirt from her face till it smears.

And Jhanna watches her- like she’s been watching her- cleaning off the blood on her spear with the sleeve of her skintight, very, very nice suit, looking a whole lot less eager than she did when she was sucking energy out of April but maybe they’re just both tired right now and the swell of heat that rises by the river they’re at doesn’t help, of course, and then there’s other factors April doesn’t give a shit about anymore.


“I did not intend to take that much-”

“Yeah well you kinda d-”

“Qildif!” Jhanna throws her spear down, taking a step closer, and April balls her fist to stop from flinching, “I could have left you to the Beirk when you nearly gave my position but I choose to- I saved your life-”

“I could have taken care of myself, thanks-”

Jhanna scoffs, arms crossing, fingers gripping her biceps, “You are an earthling-”

“I am not. An earthling! Ugh, god what is your problem?” April says, plucking dirt off her sleeves. She glares at her, cradling her sore arm, “I’m for sector 29G-17, only my memories of some stupid counterpart are from, Earth and the only people that would even began to get what I’m saying are probably- shit, I dunno- light years away from here or…and I’m not from Earth, alright? Jeez…”

And April doesn’t know why she cares or why any of this matters or why her eyes sting or why Jhanna’s face softens, her muscles relaxing as she kneels, gathering her spear.

“Well if you want to get back to your sector- there are only two ways off of Omatran,” she says, rewrapping the vines around middle, “Unless, of course, you wish to hijack a ship…”

April hides her small smiles from Jhanna’s knowing eyes that flicker over to her, studying the falter in her indignation before smiling coyly too, turning her attention back to wrapping her spear.

“Now,” she starts again, patiently, “The typical way any Omatran leaves this world is through the slave transport ships heading to Galamora- the next transport is at the end of this Drepton. Others…they fight the Omatran gladiators.” Jhanna pauses, lowering her weapon, laying it gently against the ground, “No one has made it out that way. It is…impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible…” April says, in a low, quiet murmur like there’s nothing in this world but her- like she needs to know this. Jhanna breathes deeply, untying her hair, and April takes cautious steps to get near her, unsure if she should, and kneels beside her, “Nothing- Jhanna,” she says again, her fingers twitching.

“The Ulysses Crew doesn’t give up…that’s our motto- was…our-” her brow furrows as she holds emotion in, “A-and…nothing is impossible, okay?”

Jhanna’s lips tug into something small and and hopeful and that- is enough for April.


“We’ll get outta here- we’ll…steal a ship-”

“I cannot do that,  I am afraid,” Jhanna sighs, lifting her eyes from the fire to April’s, “My people need this resistance- I must lead them into this.”

April drops the Beirk’s meat into the flames, pushing her frizzy hair behind her ears, scraping dry blood.

“Okay- so plan b, then.”


April is well acquainted with plan b’s (and c’s and d’s and f’s and-) and this, is no different, because she’s escaped other pirates and thieves and correctional facilities and planets and even her own, heavy, suffocating emotions- all to get back to her family. She’ll do it again and again and again until she’s there. With them.


She pretends she doesn’t notice the admiration in Jhanna’s stare, and fights the urge to grin confidently because she is confident- somehow. Somehow losing everything, or not knowing just how much you’ve lost- not knowing how much of that loss you can take- makes you wanna fight until you can’t breathe anymore, to get it all back. And April is still raw with loss and pain, and suppresses it when she can because she won’t feel this until she’s giving her last breath.

Jhanna pokes at the roasting meat, her gaze lost, “You are a good companion,” she says, barely above a whisper as she turns to April with a ghost of a smile, “And very talkative.”

With a gasping laugh that bursts out as naturally as anything she’s felt here- now- April shoves Jhanna, their heads falling back in brittle, bubbling laughter, their hair of different shades twining as the strands graced the neon lights in the blades of grass.


When Jhanna shoves back and April falls over on her side and doesn’t care that it kinda hurt a lot, a mutual understanding happens, to add to the fascination of each other’s differences and April knows that when she steps out of the world and embarks on her journey to find her family and their Ulysses- she wants Jhanna to be there with her.


April drags her blade through the shuttle pod for the third time.

The days were longer here, than in her sector, and the nights seemed even longer still. Jhanna slept a few hours, April definitely crashed for maybe five and in between shifts, when one would wake the other, they exchange small glances that said so many things.

In Jhanna’s eyes, before they closed and she would sleep, April saw trust and under the layers of trust, and conflict and sorrow and fear, is the soul of someone who needed another someone.

April thinks- and, god, maybe she’s crazy for it- somewhere, that she could be that another someone.  


“Yes, Jhanna-” April shoots at a Trylthor soldier, imported from Trylth to round up the poor onto the ships, and watches the blast burst through him and burn a hole in the chest of the soldier behind him, “I can shoot- well trained, actually.”

The attack came suddenly, when both of them had drifted off to sleep under a canopy of falling, dying leaves, and well trained was most likely an overstatement compared to the way Jhanna twirled into battle flawlessly, gun in one hand and a spear in the other.

“Very well,” Jhanna shouts, over the blasts and ruins crumbling down into the water, and ducks, impaling another soldier’s neck, “A’iztc!” she cries throwing the body off of her an into two more guys that April kinda felt awful for, with the way their skulls hut against the rocks.

And more lasers and bullets graze her suit and blood splatters her the mask of her helmet but April charges in with a smirk and the bravado of a (hell yeah she was well trained and deadly and fearsome) warrior, slicing through the fleet of soldiers like second nature.

Out of the corner of her eyes she watches Jhanna take down the last of them, a burn in her shoulder through her jacket and wonders what Leo would say, or how proud Raph would be.

She almost stumbles, thinking.

She can’t think; that’s how people die.

She feels like dying, like killing like crying.

In the middle of the fray, Jhanna falls down and April goes red and then there’s nothing and she lets out the worst of her feelings.

When it’s all over, and when April feels like she can breathe, everyone is dead and there’s a head in her hands, eyes still open and unseeing- and she’s alone again.

Scratch that. She’s not.

Because now she has Jhanna.


They don’t know what to do with the bodies, so they let them rot and move on. April doesn’t know to where, really, and doesn’t care about the bodies either. The ground can have them now.

Jhanna tells April, as April’s fingers trace the burn on her shoulder, that she’s a warrior.

“You would fit well into my kingdom,” she laughs, weakly from blood loss, tilting her head a little, as April dabs water onto her wound, “Once this is all over- finally. I would like to appoint you.”

April grins, eyes fixated keenly on the marks and the rivulets of blood running down Jhanna’s back, making tracks of read into the grooves of her deep blue skin, “Sounds nice…”

They listen to the water rushing over more of the ruins that Jhanna stares at with a familiar pain, April watches them too.

“So you’re gonna be a queen or something, after you take down- what? Your dad? Mom?” April wrinkles her nose, freckles bunching up, and goes back to cleaning her burn.

“Moriah.” Jhanna plucks at the grass in a way that lets April know she’s so very young yet- they both are. And the realization hurts April, “I cannot explain to you what she has done to our kingdom- I do not understand myself but…she convinced the people that they were worthless if not wealthy- that the wealthy deserved something more than what our father gave. She is too young, too…foolish. My people turned to her blindly, even the poor.”

Jhanna shrugs, wincing slightly, and April listens.

“What could I do? They believed her and she gave them reason; she made alliance with the Galamora- and she sold our people…killed those who resisted…it was...horrible-” she clenches her fist, fingers closing around the tiny blades of withering, burnt grass.


Her pain, in her voice as it wavers from its otherwise steady dance through the words she spoke, is something powerful, and April flattens her hands on Jhanna’s good shoulder, unsure of the touch. She feels the rise and fall of her breaths, almost steady and rhythmic.


“Then I guess…we really can’t steal a ship huh?” April chuckles bitterly, and Jhanna’s shoulders shake with a laughter just a quiet and bitter.

“Perhaps not. Though I would enjoy sector 29G-17. I’ve never met a pirate- or anyone so skilled for that matter, that could take the head of a Trylthor.”

April shrugs, tucking her hair back, “Well congratulations, Jhanna- soon to be overlord or whatever of Omatron- you have met a pirate.” she flashes the alien a smile and falls back against the grass, staring up through the hole in the canopy, flashes of the night and the sparks and the gaping tear in space and Donnie’s eyes- and breathes, taking it in.


Jhanna eases beside her, laying in the patches, glaring up there too.


“The Ulysses Crew.” she says, turning to peer into April, “Do they value…life- of…others? Could they-”

She doesn’t need to finish and April knows they would. God, they would help her people in any way they could.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “They really freakin’ could…we just gotta find them.”

“Where are they?”

April watches transport ship fly overhead, warping into hyperspeed into distant galaxies, “I don’t know…the D’hbul…they found us- petty bet I don’t even know. Donnie…he pushed me into this pod- shot me out into space before the whole thing-” she unclenches her fingers puffing her cheeks and pushing breath out.

“Explosion…” Jhanna whispers, watching her people’s capture above them, “They are selfless- for how they saved you…”


And then it begins; April tells her all about them, and she can’t stop telling- and the stories, their stories, they bubble out from her in too fast words and a wavering voice overfilled with joy and regret.


She turns over to Jhanna, and sticks out her hand, tears pinched in the corner of her eyes when she presses a smile, “And by the way…” she says, seeing her own reflection in Jhanna’s bright eyes (she sees someone strong and emotional and full of a lot of crazy thing. she sees her trauma. and her fighting spirit. it’s her…), “I’m April.”

(It is April.)