hi, i'm Levi

21 / a-spec / she-her / ISFJ-A / student / one shots, flash fics and short stories

[i-go-by-levi]

some kind of a ✨writeblr intro✨

(dec 2021)

hi, i am Levi and i'm glad you stopped by! here is some quick info about this blog:

my main is @alias-levi

this blog will be exclusively writing (my own and shared other's works)

on my main i rant and ramble about writing, my wips, ocs, share funny stuff sometimes

my latest actual writeblr intro can be found here

this blog is for writing

i may be grey-ace and single but that doesn't stop me from being a hopeless romantic. you will find that shit everywhere in my writing

i somehow have reversed the traditional expectations for the genders - my male ocs are usually softies, my female ocs are usually bad bitches, and the one non-binary oc that i have (so far only side character) has the potential to be a god haha

most of the relationships i currently write are hetero-presenting, though i am trying to get more diversity into that

most of my characters are white, simply because i live in Europe and that is simply what i grew up with, i will try to be more inclusive

more organisation

original and fan fic tagged with #leviwrotestuff

other people's writing tagged with #sharingiscaring

i am always open for feedback, constructive criticism etc

if you have a prompt for me or want me to write something for you please feel free to tag me or just shoot me an ask

being knees deep into my uni semester had be me realize that i will not be able to post regularly. i aim to post at least once a month, thoguh.

[i-go-by-levi]

oblivious (flash fic)

A/N: besties! i wrote again! i’ve had this idea for a while but somehow never got around to actually write it but last weekend my brain bullied me into writing this

@promptsforthestrugglingauthor, “Life isn’t just tea time and fancy little embroidery pieces, you know. You’re not going to just get to sit there forever. You are going to have to marry sooner or later.” - She kept her eyes on the hoop and thread in her hands, humming a soft acknowledgement that she was indeed listening, it was simply that she didn’t have any interest.

genre: comedy(?)  word count: 980 fandom: American Gods character(s): Antheia (fem!OC), Mad Sweeney warnings: none

Some time ago a ridiculously tall man had randomly shown up in the small town near Washington. A man with fiery red hair and an accent so thick most people had trouble understanding him. Antheia had noticed immediately. This man is not your average immigrant, not your average man. This one, had been brought across the great pond by beliefs. Just like her. The dryad just was yet to find out what exactly he was.

Sweeney, he had introduced himself as. From Ireland, though he never shared anything else, never talked about family, a wife, children, or anyone else who might be waiting for him at home. He had started to show up everywhere around the small town: First, in the tiny bakery Antheia helps out in the mornings; the butcher, the inn, the tailor even (probably made that poor old lady break out in a sweat with his unusual measurements); and later -of course- he had shown up in the saloon where Antheia works in the evenings. 

The dryad knew he must have sensed something about them, something that makes Antheia different from the humans around, something that makes them more similar than what meets the eye. Antheia, on the other hand, had known there was no way Sweeney was human from the moment he had entered the bakery. There was just something about him, an aura, a glow if you will. The air seemed to glimmer when he moved, and every woman was immediately intoxicated by his Irish charme.

Or lack thereof.

By the end of the following day everyone had been talking about the tall Irish man. However Antheia’s interest in Sweeney didn’t let go and as much as they tried to act nonchalant they still felt drawn to him. So they had invited him for tea and fortunately Sweeney said something that offered an opportunity to soothe Antheia’s raging curiosity.

“Life isn’t just tea time and fancy little embroidery pieces, lass. You’re not going to just get to sit there forever. You are going to have to marry sooner or later.”

A soft smile curled the corners of the dryad’s lips upwards. His words amused them. How could he be this daft and oblivious? Oh right. 

He’s a man. 

The scent of whiskey and tobacco engulfed them. Antheia had long stopped wondering about the man’s appetite and alcohol tolerance. Beneath the obvious scents, was something else though. Antheia noticed the clear and bitter scent of the woods; soft and mossy earth, covered with sticks and rotting leaves in humid air.

Antheia kept their eyes on the hoop and thread in their hands, careful not to stab their finger with the needle. They hummed a soft acknowledgement while putting the hoop into their lap. The dryad then turned towards him. Leaning onto the armrest of their chair, Antheia brought their faces closer together. His eyes darted to their lips for a moment. The dryad smiled even more.

“Sweeney, I am not interested in marriage. And neither are you, I suppose. You’d be surprised how similar our motives are.”

The words intrigued him. Sweeney’s eyes lit up with interest. “Do tell, lass. What makes you think you understand my motives to deny marriage?”

Antheia pursed their lips. “Sweeney, come on. We,” they point between their chests, “are not like the others in this town. We came to America following beliefs-”

“But so did about every other immigrant. They believe this country holds a better future and life.”

“That is true. But they only followed their beliefs. We are those beliefs.” After a pause Antheia saw the realization in Sweeney’s eyes. “We are what they put their hopes on. We are the stories they tell their children whenever they have a lesson to learn, we are bedside stories, we are morals, we are wisdoms. We are who they pray to.”

Sweeney’s eyes widened. “What are you?”

Antheia knew he had finally caught onto what had been right under his nose, hidden in plain sight. With a smile they reach down to pick up the vase from the table. Antheia leaned back a little and made sure Sweeney watched closely. The flowers looked perfectly fine to him until they rapidly lost their vibrant colors, the heads hung low and the stems were thinning. The bouquet was drying out and Sweeney kept watching with furrowed brows, as it regained hydration. The heads rose again, colors returned, petals closed and soon what was left was a collection of closed buds and light but lush greens. 

“A nature spirit,” there was disbelief in his voice as he seemed to watch Antheia in a whole new light.

“Correct, I’m Antheia. Of the Greek dryads. The people have carried the stories of my siblings and I across the continents until someone decided to come here and spread them further. Times are not exactly easy here on the coast but I am determined to find the right beliefs further into the country.” 

Antheia was breathing heavier than usual, that little stunt should have been nothing to them but a lack of beliefs means a lack of power. Sweeney understood that.

“Now, a truth for a truth. What have I invited into this house for tea? I can smell the forest on you but you are none of my kind.”

“Aye, you are right and wrong, lass. I am none of your kind but I still belong to nature. I am of the fair folk. My name is Buile Shuibhne, tell me, do my stories precede me?”

Antheia watched with delight that Sweeney seemed to be dropping at least part of his facades. His skin seemed to lighten up and he sat taller in his chair. 

“Your stories do precede you, Sweeney. And I recall that there is so much more to your life than you are giving away right now. But those are stories for another day.”

[renee-writer]

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 136. Goodness will Come. So it will.

Mine is the Morning

Darkness comes

The sun sets

You lose that job

Your children grow up and leave

You are lonely

Frustrated

Sad

For darkness comes

We can’t stop it.

But,

As sure as the sun sets, it raises.

Morning will break.

A better job is around the corner

Your child has a child.

Grandchildren

Your no longer lonely.

 Goodness will come.

Darkness is inevitable

But so is light

A sunrise

A new day

Can bring fresh perspectives

On what you thought were troubles

Can give hope to hopelessness.

For God gives us comfort everyday

A new fresh start.

For ours is the morning.

Now what are we going to do with it?

[starlightswitch]

Looking For You

@flashfictionfridayofficial Back to emotional apprenticeships.

“He’ll come and find us. It’ll be okay.”

Sharra slid down further against the wall. “Can’t you do something? Break a hole through the wall or–”

“My powers aren’t that dramatic.” They were speaking in whispers. The man who had them hostage was in the front room of the store, keeping guard over the door to the back room where Dessi and Sharra sat. Dessi went on, “Nobody’s really are.”

“Lorcen,” Sharra argued.

Dessi rolled her eyes. “Well, his were. Which is why everybody knows about him. Wouldn’t’ve been such a big deal if everybody could do it.”

“Oh. Yeah.” After a moment of silence Sharra said, “So what good is it if he comes?”

Dessi’s eyebrows came down and she started to say, “What?”

“If he can’t do anything special, how’s he going to get us out?”

“You’ll see,” said Dessi, with a sneaky smile.

Sharra closed her eyes and set her teeth. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t know how he’s going to get us out. Or if.” Her voice cracked, rising above a whisper. They both turned quickly to glance at the door.

When they looked back at each other, Dessi had dropped the act. Her chin was straight and her eyes solemn. “I don’t know how but he’s going to get us out. You’ll see.”

Dessi was sitting with her head leaned back against the wall and her eyes closed– sleeping? meditating? doing something special with her power?– when a voice spoke loud enough to be heard from the door. Though it was loud, it was gentle. “All right. I’m here.”

Dessi let out a slow breath, and though she didn’t open her eyes, she was smiling.

“What do you want from me?”

“I knew you’d come.”

Dessi opened her eyes and seemed surprised Sharra was looking at her. She touched a finger to her lips, as if Sharra had any reason to make noise.

“Yes, you knew the way to get my attention.” The voice was a little lower now, with a hint of amusement. “Why did you want it?”

Dessi had a little smile on her face that nicely matched the amusement in the man’s– Naeth’s– voice.

“Why do you think I wanted it?” said the man who was holding them hostage, and there was a quaver in his voice, a little hollowness.

“Well, you didn’t want money from me, I hope.” There was still gentle amusement in Naeth's voice. “Or you’ll be disappointed. I think the most likely answer would be that you wanted me to use my power to do something for you. You’ll be disappointed by that too, if you’re expecting me to be another Lorcen. Or maybe you want me to do something else for you? Bring attention to a cause, help someone?”

There was silence on the other side of the door.

“Is there someone you want help for?”

“You think I would do this to get help for someone?”

“For you to threaten my apprentice there must be something you need.” A breath’s-length pause. “You pointed out yourself that you knew you'd have my attention if I knew my apprentice might be hurt.”

Even without seeing them, it was clear who now had control of the situation on the other side of the door. “He’s good,” Sharra whispered.

“He is,” Dessi agreed. Then she seemed to really hear the words, and looked down at the floor, and said more to herself, “I don’t think he realizes it, but he is.”

“I wouldn’t have hurt her.” The man’s voice quavered even more. “I wouldn’t have hurt either of them.”

“You made a good show of being willing to.”

“I had to– I had to–”

Sharra leaned forward, trying to figure out what was happening in the silence that followed.

“You’re looking at me,” the man said on a breath. “People listened to me, I got your attention, and you’re looking at me.”

Very close to the door, Naeth said, in a voice like a stern teacher, “There are better ways of getting people’s attention.”

The other man didn’t respond, but Sharra imagined him with his head down like a scolded student. When she looked at Dessi, Dessi was grinning.

"Better for everyone," Naeth continued in a lower voice, "including you." He raise his voice again and called through the door, "Dessi?"

"I'm here," Dessi called back. "We're both okay."

As soon as the door was open, Dessi ran to Naeth, who pulled her into a hug. Sharra could hear her saying, “I told her you’d come.”

Feeling a twisting in her chest, she looked away, at the man who was now standing surrounded by guards, also gazing at them. When her gaze brushed across his, he winced and said just loud enough for her to hear, “I’m sorry.” He started to say something else, but then swallowed it and said, “I can’t ask you to understand.”

Sharra thought she might, watching the protectiveness in Naeth’s eyes as he released his apprentice and looked at her. Looked at her, like no one ever really looked at Sharra, either.

[i-go-by-levi]

I love how much implications there are in here and it makes me desperate to find the other fic you mentioned in your tags! Speaking of, could you maybe possibly tell me where to find it? I’ve been looking for it on your blog but didn’t see anything <3

ANYWAYS, back to this: I really loved the shushed discussion Dessi and Sharra had and how they were absolutely unfazed by the fact that they were being held holstage. Then again, apparently they were sure that Naeth would show up - which he obviously did. 

This fic really makes me want to know more about Naeth and Lorcen - all of the names you used are absolutely beautiful by the way!

[nyamadermont]

[#FF136: Goodness Will Come]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Avatar: Legend of Korra

872 words

Bumi slammed the door to his room. He stood there, his fists at his sides, his face burning. He ground his jaws to keep from screaming. He tried to focus on what Kya and Tenzin had said, but he just couldn’t. He just heard their laughter. The way they hung on each other, laughing.

He balled up his fists and stomped over to his desk. One of the few privileges he had was his own room, separate from everyone else. Kya and Tenzin still stayed in the children’s sleeping halls, and didn’t have a private space.

Now he wondered if he got a space because he wasn’t a bender. Was that his consolation prize? Poor Bumi, he wasn’t the airbender he was supposed to be (that dad wanted), so let’s give him something no one else has.

There weren’t many acolytes his age, and none of them were friends. Time and again, he wished he had a tattoo to prove he belonged. At least Kya had her damn water pouch.

But he knew she didn’t get treated much better than he did. Only Tenzin really mattered. He said he hated it, but Bumi wondered.

Bumi felt the poison in his soul.

Did his little brother realize how much people catered to him? How often Bumi and Kya were ignored? Or was he too busy soaking up all the love their dad had?

He growled and slammed the desk.

He just couldn’t put it aside. He felt the walls closing in around him. Would he wind up being Tenzin’s servant once he became a master?

He grabbed the edges of his desk and pulled it up past his waist, shifting his muscles to bring it back down - hard.

“There you are!”

Bumi startled, and dropped the desk.

He gaped at the door, where his uncle was peeking in.

“I heard you didn’t show up for evening meditation, so I figured you had a better idea, and came to see what it was. If we’re destroying furniture, I think there are a few busted chairs in the workshop we can smash.”

Sokka sauntered over to his nephew, resting an elbow on the young man’s shoulder.

“You know we have to stick together, right? Older Brothers Club hasn’t met in a while, it’s about time.”

Bumi snorted. He dropped his head.

“Did you ever hate mom?” he whispered.

Sokka bent his chin into the arm digging into Bumi’s shoulder. “Did I ever hate Katara? Hmm. Let me think about that.”

“Did I tell you about the time in Ba Sing Se? Or the one when she stole that scroll? Or how about after you were born and she left me with you for three days without telling me what to do?”

Bumi crossed his arms and grimaced.

“Hey! I wasn’t mad at you! You were a baby! A terrific, strong, loud, funny baby! It was my sister I was mad at. Yeah, I was mad at her, but she’s my sister. She had to go with Aang. And she knew she could trust me.”

Sokka shrugged.

“Yes, I hated Katara a few times. But not for long. Rough day with Kya and Tenz?”

Bumi shrugged. “I want to leave.”

“Then leave.”

Bumi gaped at Sokka.

Sokka looked straight at him.

“Your mom and I left home younger than you are now. We never went back for very long, until recently. And where I live now… isn’t the same as when I left. Bits of it are, sure, but not much. So maybe it’s time for you to go. Do you have something in mind?”

Bumi hunched his shoulders and mumbled something Sokka couldn’t catch.

“Nope, no mumbling. What’s your idea?”

“The UF.”

Sokka nodded.

“The Forces? Yeah, that might be a good idea. You can be who you are without being who you are, if you catch my drift.”

“Do you think I can? Will they even want me? Will dad be mad?”

“Yes, yes, and you should ask him. But no. He won’t.”

Bumi just hunched his shoulders again. “I think he will hate me for turning my back on his principles.”

Sokka shoved Bumi’s shoulder so they faced each other.

“What principles? Protecting the weak? Developing your skills? Seeing the world? Forging your own path?”

“Taking lives.”

Sokka inhaled slowly.

“Do you know why? Do you really understand? It changes you, killing someone. You know that each of us has killed. Even he has. And he doesn’t want that for you. Because you changed him. You are his first child. You were his first joy with Katara. You are special in a way no other person can ever be. And he wants everything good for you.”

Sokka wrapped his hand behind Bumi’s neck.

“Bumi, I love Aang. And I also know what it is like to be left out of the bender club. You know what you need to do. Sure, Aang and Katara will be confused and maybe hurt, but that won’t last. You show them who you are, yourself. The goodness will come.”

Bumi searched his uncle’s face.

“Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

Bumi took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and went to find his parents.

[i-go-by-levi]

This was written SO well!! I absolutely enjoyed this and the way you flashed out the change of emotions in this was immaculate - I could really feel with Bumi. The development of feelings throughout what Sokka said and finally the “Will you come with me?” - “Of course I will.” just melted my heart!

[ineedaplacetostay]

Today, some fun with tropes and GD. Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the perfect prompt!

speaking in tongues in my blood red lipstick

word count: 633

CW for mentions of homophobia, but nothing in-story

—

When you’ve been called ‘the Puritan’ and ‘the Righteous Woman,’ there are expectations. Lydia knows this. And she wants…she wants so badly to do the right things, though that’s ruined her before. She needs the right words, the best presentation. She’s prayed for what to say today and it continues to escape her. Only with almost 90 years turned can she avoid being bitter that God hasn’t given her an answer.

Outside in the Chicago summertime sun, the presser looms, waiting for the Righteous Woman to make her statement now that women can marry women and men can marry men.

She knows some expect indignation from her, calls for Someone to do Something, though she’s never expressed any such hatred. She’s a Methodist, in life and undeath alike, and her church has not always been kind.

She also knows some will expect quiet resignation, an acknowledgment and allowance for the changing times. She couldn’t have stayed the head of the Midwestern Vampire Court for as long as she has if she didn’t learn to pick her battles. Fewer battles than her second in command, her lieutenant, Mary, wishes she would choose, but it is said that all shall fall short.

Out in the sun, Mary shines, pose firm, bright blonde hair pinned back in a complex twist, shamelessly wearing a heavy red dress long out of fashion. Though even Lydia’s hearing can’t make out the words, the red spots of Mary’s lips are obvious, face drawn and lecturing. Stress of the day or not, it’s enough to make Lydia laugh the smallest bit. Her loyal lieutenant, undoubtedly already telling the assembled press not to upset her. She doesn’t need to be protected, not in the that way, but the thought alone is kinder than anything she knew in life. Mary is the one, the first, to see Lydia. The one whose lips, red even then, curled up in a smile at the sight of Lydia’s aged mortal body on a winter day. Kinder to Lydia’s 63 than her husband was to her at 30.

The clock in the here and now, in Lydia’s office, strikes 1 and she has to go. She said she would explain, give her statement. She promised and with one last prayer—let her choice be right, let it be good—she goes.

Mary offers her a hand up the short stairs, warmed by the sun, and Lydia goes. She starts before cameras, humans, news names and hungry eyes. Let it be right.

She opens her mouth…and she can’t. She can’t say it, not so late, not with no idea where to start, but she can’t leave. What is there for her to say about her deceit or her love? What words could encapsulate everything in her stilled heart?

“Lydia?” Mary asks from her place at Lydia’s right, the turn of Mary’s London accent making the name a song.

Mary. Her Mary. Her dearest, her Rahab, the thorn to her shrike.

Lydia doesn’t need breath any longer, hasn’t for nearly 90 years, but there’s an exhale in her chest, bindings she never knew were there coming loose. She doesn’t fully know if it’s righteous, but she knows that it is good.

She motions Mary forward, turns so that this isn’t for the cameras but them meeting eye to eye. She smiles, closes the space between them.

“May I?” she asks the woman she has loved behind closed doors since 1928.

Mary’s eyes widen. “In front of them?”

“In front of everyone, dearest, if you’ll have me.”

Out of the corner of Lydia’s eye as Mary presses her lips to Lydia’s, motion and color flurries within the gathered crowd. They’re likely asking questions, demanding answers. She can’t hear a word, but she knows that showing this love for everyone who comes after her will be a holy thing.

[i-go-by-levi]

this was so cute to read! and the “release” at the end was so worth it. 

[i-go-by-levi]

zoning out (flash fic)

A/N: is this fic about how i feel right now? well, uh, you see... *nervously glances around the room to avoid answering* do i envy my own character to have someone being so gentle to them? yes, actually i do and a relationship like this is all that i want. and the forehead kisses.

anyways, what i love most about this fic is that Yrsa and Alexej have reversed their roles - simply because i need to show you, that this is something that happens too! we are here at a point in their relationship when Alexej is fully comfortable around Yrsa and trusts her so much that he even has become protective of her. zoning out is usually something that he does and Yrsa is the one to get him out of it. this time, he gets the chance to care for her while she gets caught up in her head.

@flashfictionfridayofficial, fff136, goodness will come

genre: romance(?) word count: 465 fandom: original (who we are) character(s): Yrsa Agnarsdóttir, Alexej Kuznetsov warnings/content: comfort, fluff, zoning out, this is literally just sweet and has very very minor swearing (i.e. one word in the first sentence lmao)

For some reason, that boring-ass trashcan across the room keeps catching Yrsa’s attention. Whenever she lays eyes on it, she can’t seem to look away and immediately starts zoning out. Her eyes unfocus and her brain muffles any noise from the happenings around her.

The past three times, Yrsa had been able to pull herself out of it - be it by focusing on some key words in a nearby conversation, or just a sudden unexpected sound. This time though, she felt too tired for that. Her eyelids grew heavier by the second but they just wouldn’t close. There she was, stuck between awake and asleep, mentally isolated from the entire room.

A shadow cast over her and by the faded-black sweater and the shoved up sleeves - actually Yrsa simply hoped that it was Alexej and judging by the way he immediately entered her personal space, shielding her from the rest of the room the case was clear. Not that anyone else would dare to get this close to her unprompted anyways.

Not able to zone back in, Yrsa merely manages to tilt her head upwards slightly to show Alexej that she has in fact noticed him. Alexej keeps standing right infront of her sitting form and very gently puts a hand onto her shoulder. Yrsa relishes the feeling as it gives her something to focus on. Slowly Alexej puts a bit of weight and pressure into his touch before sliding his hand along the tensed muscles and up the side of her neck until he is cupping her cheek.

He can feel Yrsa lean into the touch though her eyes still don’t leave the trashcan. He repeats his actions, this time with his other hand and gently forces Yrsa to face him. Her eyes are glossed over and he can see a tiredness he can feel in his own bones.

Today is hard for her, whatever the reason may be.

Alexej keeps holding her face as he leans down to press a long and soft kiss onto her forehead. When he leans back, her eyes are still closed and he can feel her taking deep and steady breaths. There is no accusation in his quiet voice. It’s soft and understanding. Comforting.

“You keep zoning out, I’ve noticed.”

“I don’t know what it is.”

“Want to get out of here for a while? Take a walk or nap or get some fresh air?”

Yrsa looks around Alexej to the windows. She remembers the cold that burned her cheeks this morning when they arrived but now the sun has come out. There is no doubt that the temperatures are still freezing, but the sun will do wonders. She smiles and nods at the thought and lets Alexej take her hands and pull her with him.

[i-go-by-levi]

don’t go easy on me (flash fic)

A/N: hi besties! this flash fic is actually just an excerpt from a short story i am working on. i was so excited to finally introduce Kylie, my newest oc, that i just had to post something about her. please don’t come at me for the sparring - this is my first fighting scene ever written, it will be better in the short story. i hope y’all enjoy reading nonetheless, i am open for any kind of criticism and i’m looking forward to any and every interaction with this post <3

@pleasepromptme, “You don’t have to do this.” - “You’re right, I don’t have to, but I’m going to.”

genre: action, romance

word count: 1k

fandom: Divergent Series

character(s): Kylie (fem!OC), Eric 

warnings/content: fighting/sparring, description of violence, married couple, power couple, they have a healthy relationship - trust me

Kylie comes into the training room half a minute after everyone else. Naturally she attracts all of the attention. She looks out of place all styled up with makeup and heeled boots. After making eye contact with Eric she follows his nod and walks to the locker room. He follows her there and squeezes her arms gently before stopping around her.

“I’m going to do the sparring with you. I know what I said but I changed my mind.”

Eric frowns. He had jokingly asked her last week if she would come by for the initiates’ first physical lesson to show them how a fight can look - he received the expected decline and didn’t push any further.

“You don’t have to. You know I can do it with number-boy out there.”

Kylie smiles tiredly. “You’re right, I don’t have to, but I am going to. I’ve had one hell of a morning, nothing went as planned and I need to blow off some steam before I rip the next person who calls my name into shreds. So, please Eric, I need a partner who doesn’t go easy on me right now.”

Eric nods and leaves her alone again.

Kylie changes from her business attire into something more sparring-appropriate, takes off her makeup and puts her hair in two quick and messy french braids. No more than seven minutes after Eric left her, Kylie finishes wrapping her hands in tape to protect her knuckles. Once she leaves the locker room she has fully submitted to her role as a soldier. This is Eric’s milieu and he is the highest authority in this room. Training the initiates is something Kylie has absolutely no interest in so she is glad she can give up any second thoughts and responsibility and only follow orders.

She nods at Four in greeting and stops beside him. He nods too but Kylie sees him frown, probably wondering why she is there and why she, out of all people, is doing this sparring with Eric. But he chooses not to argue with the couple. It would be a certain death to undermine the leaders’ authority, especially in front of the initiates.

With a straight back and hip-wide stance, hands crossed behind her back, Kylie blankly stares ahead. Her breathing is slow and her heartbeat steady as she awaits Eric’s orders. Kylie can feel the eyes of the initiates on her but only moves once Eric steps aside and tells her to step forward. Once Kylie and Eric are in the correct starting positions, they lock eyes. Silently they watch each other, while Four introduces the fight sequence and stances. He knows better than to let them wait too long to give them the go.

“Alright, initiates! Pay close attention. Kylie and Eric- ready, set, go.” Eric lashes out.

Kylie dodges this first attempt and manages to land a nice hit to Eric’s side before he turns to face her again. Slowly they walk in a circle, only waiting for the other’s next move. Again, Kylie moves. One step forward, she aims for Eric’s side again. Distraction successful.

Her other fist collides with Eric’s temple.

Through the excitement and adrenaline rush, Kylie doesn’t manage to move out of Eric’s range before he kicks his knee into her stomach. She doubles over and falls to one knee. Looking back up, she barely sees Eric’s hand coming her way. His fist meets her nose.

By the missing clear cracking sound, Eric didn’t break anything but it sure hurts like bitch. Time to move again. In a fluid motion Kylie pushes herself up just enough to unfold the other leg from underneath her.

She kicks Eric’s feet out from under him.

As he hits the ground, he gets a hold of her ankle. Using the momentum of her attempt to get above him, Eric turns them over. Having the surprise on his side now, he manages to land another good hit.

This time it’s her jaw. 

Kylie’s head hits the mat beneath her.

Hard.

Kylie feels stinging pain in her lip and tastes blood. She must have bit it. When she opens her eyes again, Eric leans forward. His hands wrap around her throat while he sits on her hip in a way she knows will not get out. She tries anyway. His grip tightens.

Growing more desperate by the second, Kylie attempts to jerk her knee into Eric’s back but he doesn’t budge. When she tries to wrap her hands around his throat, she merely reaches his shoulders. Hopeless. With a last attempt to regain the upper hand, Kylie tries hitting the crooks of Eric’s arms to get rid of his grip. But he only winks at her and flexes his muscles to resist her hits. The air seems to get thinner.

While there is already darkness creeping into Kylie’s peripheral vision, Eric grabs her wrists. With one hand still on her throat, he uses his other to pin her arms above her head. But his hold on her hands isn’t as tight, he knows he will have to stop soon if he wants her to stay conscious. Kylie wiggles one hand out of his grip and hits the mat next to them. Once, twice and a third time.

“Alright that’s it! You’re done, you’re done!”

Immediately Eric lets go of Kylie and gets off of her. Coughing and gasping, Kylie tries to breathe in as much air as possible while moving into a sitting position. Eventually she hears Eric speak her name. He is holding out his hand to help her up. She takes it. While Eric joins Four in directing the initiates into pairs and get them settled at the punching bags, Kylie remains quiet and tries to normalize her breathing again. Eventually Eric comes back to her. They talk quietly.

“Come on, let’s have a look at your nose.”

“I split skin,” Kylie grins proudly at him, “your eyebrow is bleeding.”

[pheita]

Flash Fiction Friday : Green With Envy

Migraine is a bitch, so I am a little late for this where I could finish this yesterday @flashfictionfridayofficial. anyway here we are

Slowly, Ylva turned around, wondering if she had really just heard what she thought. The pub room was half full and it was easy to misunderstand. Especially when all the guests were already half-drunk free men. Behind her stood Volshan, glaring angrily at her. "What did you say?" "You heard me, half-breed." The irony of him, a half-elf, of all people, taking that as an insult could not be surpassed. "Repeat it." Ylva looked at him with narrowed eyes. The moment he took a breath, she knew he didn't get the silent threat. Why should he? How many times had jobs turned out more complicated than they needed to be because he was dumb as a sack of potatoes. "You took Mithelia away from me." Her features slipped. "What in the waters is going on in your head?" replied Ylva, stunned. "You're together, aren't you? Go ahead and admit it."

The silent plea for patience to any god who heard her went out as she took a step toward him. Volshan had really reached the maximum of stupidity. At least he flinched. So he did have something like a survival instinct after all. "Tell me, did Putrivines pick your brains, or what's going on? Mithelia and I are friends. She's not into women, you moron." The question of whether Mithelia was into anyone was one that Ylva could not fully resolve, even after years. Briefly preoccupied with this question in her mind, Ylva did not see Volshan approach her until it was too late, and started to grab her by her shirt. She tried to fight off his hands, but was too slow. He pulled her close to him. For Ylva only the drool was missing, then Volshan would have clearly looked like a rabid animal. And then it dawned on her what his problem was. "You bitch, we should never have taken you in." "Excuse me? Which one of us has been around longer? I mean, that's me." She put her head down to the right and blinked at him. "I'm sticking with it," he hissed. His face came closer and closer. Ylva just sighed. "If you act like this, no woman will want you. So let me go and I'll forget all about it." "Stay away from her." Briefly the world seemed to stop and Ylva blinked frantically. The moment was over, and she burst into derisive laughter. Actually, they said no fighting in the pub, but that didn't mean she couldn't fight back. Ylva grabbed Volshan's arm and forced his thumb past the joint to let go. Yelping like a kicked dog, his grip loosened. Ylva scaled him away and rose up in front of him, her more than ten years as a free woman giving her the right appearance for it. Volshan looked up at her in panic. Everyone in the room knew she was half demon, just as they all knew that made her stronger than they assumed. Footsteps sounded behind her and she half looked in the direction. Neeva was coming towards her. Explaining to the leader what had happened was not going to be pleasant, and Ylva inwardly prepared herself to be called to the back room. "Volshan, you asshole of a weak appearance of a man, if I hear you causing trouble because Tilly rejected you one more time, I'll kick you out. This is your only warning. Get your jealousy under control, you idiot, or take a job." Neeva used her intimidating form as an orc and leaned down a little toward Volshan, threatening. Like a young sapling in a storm, he buckled and disappeared backwards out of the pub. As Neeva turned and walked back to her study, Ylva felt her hand on her shoulder. She looked up questioningly. "You handled that well, Ylva. Others would have stabbed him." "And risked being thrown out? He's not worth that." Neeva's laugh rumbled in Ylva's ears. "You've got a point there. When Tilly gets here, come see me. I have an assignment for you." "Thank you." Once again, Neeva gave Ylva's shoulder an encouraging squeeze and disappeared. A glance around told Ylva that only a few overheard and were apparently making fun of Volshan. She rubbed her face. If the idiot didn't learn to think soon and get his emotions under control he was going to get killed, and even if he was a nuisance, no one deserved it. The mug of beer was just in front of Ylva when she felt a hand on her back, and immediately Mithelia's face came into her field of vision. "Hey sweetie, did I miss something?" "Volshan is being a birdbrain again." Mithelia screwed up her face and swiped Ylva's beer. "So he still can't handle the fact that I don't want anything from him." "Doesn't look like it. Neeva has a job for us." Mithelia's joyful glow brought out a roll of the eyes in Ylva. How anyone could be so bent on adventure was a mystery to her. On the other hand, many things about her best friend were a mystery. She took back the jug and emptied it. "Shall we?" "With you, always, sweetie," Mithelia grinned, wrapping an arm around Ylva, who wondered why she actually wondered why people misinterpreted their friendship at times like this.

[i-go-by-levi]

this

"Volshan had really reached the maximum of stupidity. At least he flinched. So he did have something like a survival instinct after all."

has got to be my favorite part of this!

[i-go-by-levi]

not alone (flash fic)

A/N: as per usual this is far from my initial plan. after days of working on this but not making progress i finally decided to cut everything except for that one scene i really liked. it’s like in photography - never underestimate a good crop. so here you are, 700+ words of my oc griefing the death of her best friend. this is kinda part of a wip i am "working on"

@flashfictionfridayofficial, fff122, not alone

genre: drama

word count: 750

fandom: Sons of Anarchy

character(s): Allana Máiri Telford (fem!oc), Jackson “Jax” Teller, Juan Carlos “Juice” Ortiz (mentioned)

warnings: grief, i guess

Breathing hard, Allana hunches over and balances her hands on her knees. They had reached the first peak of the trail after nearly three hours and the rising sun over the californian desert doesn’t make it exactly more pleasant. She is thankful though, for everyone that decided to come with her today. Even if they don’t know why she had chosen that particular trail, they all know that getting your mind off the things at hand is much needed. For everyone. The death of a Son doesn’t pass easily.

After taking a few deep breaths she stands up again and drops her backpack. The hot wind helps dry her sweaty clothes and Allana is happy her top doesn’t stick to her back anymore. She takes out her water bottle and takes a big sip. But her hike is not over yet. She had been restless the past days, barely able to sleep at a reasonable time. This hike is for her as much as it is for Opie. In memoriam of who they had both once been.

“I’m headed over to the second peak, anyone wanna join?”

“I will.”

Allana is surprised at the looks the Sons shoot at each other after Jax agreed to follow her. No one else dares to speak up and accompany them afterwards and she shakes it off. No need to overthink this. With her foot she pushes her backpack through the dust over to Juice who had kneeled down to pet her dog Kaya.

“Get her out of the sun and have her drink some water, please.”

Allana watches Juice nod and with one last look around the ones who will stay back, and a nod to Juice, Allana turns and joins Jax. He is already waiting where the small trail parts the shrubbery. Not even twenty minutes later Allana and Jax arrive at the small platform forming the second peak. In the middle a big nearly flat stone performs a great opportunity to sit down and Allana wastes no time in doing so. When Jax joins her and sits beside Allana she feels the mood shift. Oh no. Her heart gets heavy and breathing is suddenly hard for a whole other reason than exhaustion. In a split second decision, Allana lays her head on Jax’ shoulder.

She thinks back to the reason she had chosen this hiking trail. She thinks back to the evening at his house when Opie had told her about the hiking and camping trips Piney and John had taken him and Jax. Allana remembers Opies eyes light up and the uncontrollable laughter when he told her about all the stupid things the boys did here. Her eyes start burning and not from the dry, hot wind. Her voice is croaky when she speaks.

“How are you holding up with all this?”

Jax sighs and takes his time to answer. Allana almost thinks he won’t but neither would she dare to ask again. It’s been almost two weeks since Opie’s funeral and Allana tries hard not to fall into the same habits as when her father died a few years back. Back then, she had thrown herself into helping others, her mother, the club, everything that would keep her from properly griefing. Eventually she had had to move. Get out of the toxic environment to find herself again. And as much as she hopes that this won’t be necessary this time, Allana feels the urge to throw herself into every opportunity of distraction offered to her. Jax’ voice pulls her out of her thoughts.

“I don’t know, Allana. It comes and goes and that’s what makes it so hard but that’s just how it works. Griefing, I mean.”

Allana delves back into her memories. The laughs and jokes. The drunk nights she and Opie had crashed on a sofa at the club house. The heartwarming way Layla had accepted their friendship with so much understanding and absolutely no bad feelings towards her. Allana’s eyes burn. And then there are tears. “Yeah, I know. But right now, it comes.”

She can feel Jax gently leaning his head on hers. He puts his arm around her waist, not pulling her in, just holding her. Allana swallows hard a few times before clearing her throat. For the life of her she couldn’t say who the words are directed to. Maybe she does mean Jax. Maybe she says them because she is the one who needs to hear them.

“You’re not alone in this. You know that, right?”

[i-go-by-levi]

stop being dramatic (flash fic)

A/N: this has been in my drafts for quite a while and for some reason i never wanted to work on this because i thought i was so far from finishing. jokes on me though, i just never knew how to finish this but eventually i had an idea! i hope you enjoy!

@bittersuggestion (i don't think the acc is operating anymore tho)

genre: drama, comedy-ish, i guess

word count: 600

fandom: original work

character(s): Paulina Brandt, Henrik Brandt, special guest: Paulina’s unnamed horse

warnings: Pauli is a drama queen, she is also very proud, and mad at herself, little swearing, no actual warnings tho

“I changed my mind, go away.”

Swallowing down the white-hot pain shooting up her leg from her ankle, Paulina leans back to look at her husband. Henrik is slowly approaching her, a dark eyebrow raised with an amused smirk on his lips. He had heard the pain straining her voice and the tears Paulina so desperately tried to swallow down. The fact that she texted him to come and help her indicates to him that if she’s hurt it must be bad.

“Pauli, you texted me to come here and help you. I’ve known you long enough to know that it has to be pretty damn bad for you to go as far as asking for help. I know how much you can usually take.”

Like a stubborn child, Paulina clenches her jaw and turns her head to the side. Looking up through her lashes she semi-successfully tries to blink away the tears welling up her eyes. She knows it is pointless. She needs Henrik’s help to get up from the floor. Her unluckily twisted ankle may not be broken but the tendons are surely partially ripped. The swelling is almost fast enough to watch. She hates that he is right. But why does he have to be so smug about it too?

“Don’t flatter yourself. You don’t actually mean that much to me, I just enjoy being dramatic.”

“Oh really? Show me then, get up by yourself.”

It’s useless, she is aware. No matter how hard she might try to get up, and even if she managed, Paulina knows she would never make it out of the hall alone. She had been training with her horse in the riding hall, doing laps, training agility and sensitivity. To rearrange some of the obstacles, Pauli had to get down from her horse but unfortunately her grip on the saddle had slipped. One foot still the stirrup, the other had hit the ground with the side, not the sole. The ankle twisted with her full bodyweight on it.

“No.”

Pauli still refrains from looking at her husband. The twisted ankle had first left her about twenty feet from where she was sitting now. Initially Pauli had gotten up, a bit suspicious but not suspecting anything dramatic. Until not even fifteen minutes of rearranging the obstacles later. Putting weight onto the ankle had eventually resulted in a sickening wave of pain and the muscles in that leg not supporting her weight anymore at all.

“Alright then, at least tell me what happened.”

Henrik watches his wife, still trying to fight the tears but she is losing the fight. He can tell so much by the fact that she presses her lips together and takes deeper breaths. Something nudges his arm and almost immediately he feels the warm breath of Paulina’s horse on his hand. Henrik slowly takes the bridle and starts gently petting the animal.

“It’s just so fucking stupid, Henrik.” Pauli sniffs and throws up her hands in desperation. “A billion times I got on and off the horse without anything and now? My fucking brain just went ‘know what would be funny? if I just let fucking go of the saddle while getting down’! And then that’s what happened! And I hit the ground with my ankle twisted and my full weight on it.”

Paulina is breathing heavily once she finishes but it’s good to see that the smug smile has been wiped from Henriks face. His look is stern as he approaches her and holds out his hand.

“Come on, sweets, let's get you home then.”

[i-go-by-levi]

a greater horror (flash fic)

A/N: i know this is weeks late for the actual prompt but i still wanted to share :) while writing this i also realized that for a flash fic this was going to be way too long. so if you like this i have great news for you! this is going to be a short story before the end of the year! so stay tuned, my friends, and as always i hope you enjoy :)

@flashfictionfridayofficial, fff120, a greater horror

genre: drama

word count: 980

fandom: original work

character(s): Alexej Kuznetsov, Yrsa Agnarsdóttir

warnings: dead younger brother, some swearing, angst, trauma

One third of this agonizing long and exhausting trip Alexej has already endured. He tries not to think about their destination but that’s easier said than done. His mind wanders and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

“Next stop Suwalki.” One hour to the Polish border.

Alexej tries to blend out the announcement, but the familiar sound of a Polish city catches his attention more than he appreciates. He hasn't heard the sound of his first language in so long. Forever he has associated it with only his family; more than happy when he didn’t have to use it anymore after practically fleeing the country when his brother had died. A past he tries not to think about; memories he tries to suppress every waking moment. This has worked surprisingly well the past decade. After all, his mentor had given him more than enough to keep his mind occupied.

Not even two years ago something had changed. 

A woman had walked into his life. 

Alexej’s first glimpse of Yrsa was looking down the barrel of her gun - from the side you would rather not stand at if you want to live. Alexej smiles when he remembers the circumstances of their first meeting. It is still behind him how he had never seen her before that day, but she had seemed to be everywhere afterwards. They had met time and time again on multiple occasions - barely ever planned.

Round and about two years later, Alexej can’t really imagine a life without her. Not that he would ever openly admit that. They might not spend every day together - hell, they live roughly 2500 kilometers apart - but they form a nice constant in each other’s life. Someone you can always rely on. Someone who will have your back no matter what. Someone who’s opinion you actually give a fuck about.

He sighs.

Looking around the compartment he watches Yrsa. After hours of trying to get a reaction out of him in order to distract him and keep him from overthinking, she had given up. Curled up on the seats just on the other side of the bus, she sleeps. Alexej still is surprised how persistent she had been, how long she had tried; but he is also sorry. Sorry he couldn’t give her what she wanted. Sorry he couldn’t blend out his thoughts and let her distract him.

After a quick stretch, Alexej lets his head fall against the headrest. He closes his eyes only to open them again mere seconds later. It’s to no avail, sleep will not come. All because Yrsa had convinced him to travel home. 

Lubiatowo hasn’t been your home in a decade.

Upon hearing his brother’s voice in his bead, Alexej zones out. Muffling all the sounds from around him and blurring out the grey and dark blurry landscape outside the window. Pictures of his parent’s farm flash through his mind. Pictures showing his brother, laughing, crying, playing - alive. Alexej’s nose and throat start burning as he remembers the acidic smell of the thick dark smoke that had taken over the farm one day. He remembers finding the barn in shambles, entirely collapsed. From a few piles of wooden planks and other things he couldn’t make out, smoke still rose into the sky. The flames had died down. His parents stood looking down onto a dark pile of something. Not quite wooden planks, yet too burned to be a breathing boy.

Alexej’s heart clenches and it’s getting harder to breathe. But he can’t bring himself to zone back in. The bus is too quiet to give his mind anything to hold onto in the here and now, and so he has to endure these memories. Hoping to make it out sooner than later. Then someone touches him. In his mind he feels like no matter how fast he’s running towards his brother’s body, he’s not moving. Something is holding him back. But there’s also someone calling his name. A soft voice, quiet and calm. Eventually Alexej manages to shake the memory and drop back into the present.

“Hey, there you are.”

Yrsa tries to look him in the eyes, but Alexej keeps his gaze fixed on his hands in his lap. He sees Yrsa’s hand with a gentle but firm grip on his arm, slowly drawing circles with her thumb. He tries to turn his arm and look on his watch.

“It’s just past two. Around three more hours to Warsaw.”

Yrsa gently rests her other hand against the side of his face. Alexej lets her turn his head, trying so hard not to zone out again. His breathing is still erratic and his heart is threatening to jump out of his chest. He is here. Right now. And Yrsa with him.

“Do you want to sleep a little? I can stay awake, if you want me to.”

Alexej shakes his head briefly. His voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“No, you sleep. You’re the one who has to drive later. Can you... can you just stay over here?”

“Of course.”

Yrsa gives him a heartwarming smile. Raising his hand to her lips, she kisses the back of it, before turning in her seat to put her head on his shoulder. But Alexej tells her to wait. He lets go of her, before shifting so he is leaned against the window. Taking his jacket from the hook on the seat in front of him, he puts it in Yrsa’s lap, telling her to lean against him now. She smiles and kisses his jaw before fully cuddling into his body and Alexej wraps his arms tightly around her. 

Because he knows she enjoys it. 

Because he fears he will lose his mind otherwise.

It’s been a decade and he still feels the same when he thinks about the day he failed his younger brother.

[theswordofpens]

To Martyr a Witch

Crackle & groan, Timber & stone. Burn away the flesh & bone.

Break what is brittle, Snap what is brickle, Boil away like tea in a kittle.

Adorn the forced brand, Trapped by bound hand, Silent to their demand.

A shameful bask & shattered mask Mark completion of this task.

Billow, smoke & rise, Shed away the deceiving guise, Come at last my demise!

[i-go-by-levi]

desperate (flash fic)

A/N: this fic is also based off this prompt, just like the last one i uploaded which can be found here. desperate shows the other side of the evening, not Alexej being entranced by Yrsa but Yrsa trying to find Alexej while also desperately trying to keep her cool. enjoy!

@dialogue-prompts

genre: romance

word count: 480

fandom: original work

character(s): Yrsa Agnarsdóttir, Alexej Kuznetsov

warnings: fluff (i guess), no swearing in this one homies

Yrsa’s heart had beat faster than she would ever admit. Though, the event in general, the amount of people and potential risks hadn’t been the reason. No, Yrsa had been nervous because she knew Alexej would be there. She hadn’t seen him in weeks and was looking forward to this more than anything else this entire week. And that even though she just finished her latest job in the Burj Khalifa this morning.

Alexej must have arrived before her. She would have noticed otherwise. Making her way through the people, dodging waiters and scouting the area for the buffet and restrooms. The newfound reassurance makes her heart slow to a normal, healthy speed again and Yrsa eventually starts engaging in conversations. One eye always on the lookout for a certain pair of pale blue eyes. He has to be there. Somewhere.

Yrsa tries not to think about it too much and goes about her evening. Entertaining herself, talking to people, dancing, raiding the buffet, drinking. After a particularly boring conversation and coming up with an umpteenth profession to tell people she works in, Yrsa excuses herself to go outside. Walking to the other side of the patio, she felt the night’s air cool down her skin quickly, causing goosebumps to rise. She turned around and looked over the area, scanning every little detail she could focus on. Then she saw him. First floor, balcony. And he saw her too.

She loses no time, walking with purpose and long strides. The alcohol, the frustration of not finding Alexej earlier and the euphoria of finally finding him, are an interesting combination. Feeling bold, probably too bold for her own wellbeing, Yrsa stands closer to Alexej than he would like. She knows. She can sense it. But if he really wanted and needed to he could always step back. They both know that.

“Have you spent all night avoiding me?”

She gently, giving Alexej more than enough time to pull away, slides her hand underneath his suit’s jacket to softly hold on to his waist. Tenderly rubbing circles onto his body with her thumb while ever so slightly tightening her grip. This action alone, even though she herself initiated it, makes her heart threaten to jump straight out of her chest. In an attempt to steady herself even further Yrsa put her other hand on his arm. Leisurely, she moves it up and down in a feather light touch.

She can’t help but smile even before he says anything. Yrsa watches him patiently while he contemplates his words, while the gears in his head turn and try to find the perfect combination of letters for his answer. Alexej had turned his head to the side at the same time she had put her hand on his arm. She stares at his side profile intently, still waiting for an answer. Eventually he speaks.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

[i-go-by-levi]

intriguing (flash fic)

A/N: so this is based off a prompt and i actually planned to only write one fic on this initially. however, i realized this has so much potential to give an insight in the heads of Yrsa AND Alexej, that i decided we gotta do two fics. Yrsa’s version of this will be up soon. enjoy!

@dialogue-prompts

genre: romance word count: 490

fandom: original work character(s): Alexej Kuznetsov, Yrsa Agnarsdóttir

warnings: very mild swearing (using the f-word literally once), emotions, 99% of this is description and Alexej not admitting that he likes her

“Have you spent all night avoiding me?”

No, of course not. But you did.

Alexej had arrived at the party before Yrsa. Not too long, but long enough to check out the location and get a good idea of the layout. When she had arrived, Alexej had been too intrigued, too mesmerized by her to actually approach her. Right from the beginning Yrsa had looked like she belonged there, with all these people. Other than him, she likes going out, spending time with others, socializing. Alexej isn’t the biggest fan of it. Most people aren’t too honest in conversations with strangers, trying to impress the person they’re talking to, making themselves bigger than they are.

You watched her. Creep.

It’s not like that, he tells the voice in his head. It really isn’t. Yrsa’s temperament, her actions and thought processes behind everything she does, are so different from what happens in his own head, that Alexej can’t help but be fascinated by her whole being. As soon as he had first seen her at the party, he had found himself so intrigued by her all over again, that he had basically forgotten to approach her. All evening he has watched how easily she opens up to people, approaches them and holds conversations. Showing genuine interest while still being able to politely excuse herself at any moment necessary. How carefree she walks, absolutely no thought given about potential threats. Just living. Walking around like she owns the place. Not in an arrogant way, though. 

We haven’t seen a lot of people capable of this. Fucking queen.

Alexej almost smiles at the comment the voice adds. But he contains himself and mentally scolds himself to keep it together while he watches Yrsa stroll towards him. Inevitably she had found him. The alcohol made her come closer than she would in any sober state. Not that Alexej would complain. He doesn’t even flinch when Yrsa puts her hand under his suit jacket, holding onto his waist. But when she also starts to softly and slowly rub her other hand up and down his arm, he turns his head to look away from her. His fingers, buried deep in his pockets, twitch. Itching to touch her. To pull her closer by the waist. To feel her steady heartbeat as she would hug him, his pulse skyrocketing in response, his mind going blank. 

Definitely something only she can manage. You like her more than you care to admit, brother. Go on, make a move.

Alexej still doesn’t look at her when he speaks. Having her this close is almost a relief for him, while at the same time sending his brain into overdrive. He looks to the side, down onto the people having fun. He snorts before speaking quietly and with less confidence than he would have liked. Did he spend all night avoiding her? Yes, yes he did.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

[starklyscifi]

All The Princes and Principalities

To be human is to be lonely.

Carin stared at the dramatic teenage scrawl, the yellowed note shoved between prom photos and yearbooks.

“Find anything interesting?”

She shook her head and laughed. “Nothing but teenage angst.”

“I don’t know,” her brother said, joining her in front of the heap of half-gone through boxes. “You were pretty smart in school.”

“Yeah,” Carin said, shoving the box to the side with her foot, “In school.”

Her brother cleared his throat. “Did you, uh, find anything of Mom’s? You know?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. You?”

“Nothing.”

“Weird,” she said. He agreed. They dug through further boxes. The funeral home called twice to sort out billing details, and her brother nearly broke a family heirloom twice, and then it was finally, finally, time to go home.

Carin bolted the door to her apartment and slid down to the floor. It was too weird, being in that house without their presence. Death was an unbecoming black void.

She dug into her pockets and held the locket tightly before slowly pulling it out. They’d always been such different people-her brother and her. Him with his brash and outgoing ways, and all his friends. And her, with her quiet study habits and unnoticeable presence. Maybe that was why she’d learned so many more of their mother’s secrets. Or that was what she was going to tell herself, at least.

The locket was more of a hinged medallion than a tiny heart on a chain. It was ornate and tarnished, gold and ancient—she could feel it bleeding into her hands, down into her bones. It looked more worn than in the photos she had found while researching.

And if it truly was what she thought, her mother had been a fool.

She clenched her fists against her forehead and twisted her eyes shut against the wave of bitter grief. Her nostrils were still filled with the scent of home and being Okay, held safe in her mother’s arms.

Her mother had been a fool, and now she was dead.

Carin stood up, dragging herself forward, and dumped the locket on the kitchen counter. She wasn’t going to repeat her mother’s mistakes. The locket was rusty shut, and it took a knife from the knife block next to the sink to pry it open, but pry it open she did.

A burst of perfume flooded her nose—the same one her mother always wore. For a moment, the traffic from the interstate bubbled up, and she felt alone. Like she had her entire life—a solitary figure stuck in the vastness of the universe.

And then the smoke started, at first a wisp, and soon billowing forth from the locket. It filled the kitchen and stung her eyes and soon she was choking and gasping for breath, bent in half like a snapped twig.

Slowly, her ability to breathe came back to her, and the sight beneath her feet was not chipped linoleum but rough mountain dirt. The air stung her lungs for a whole different reason. She rubbed her arms and stamped her feet as the chill of being thousands of feet above sea level set in. Far beneath her, the lights of cities twinkled like reflections of the stars above them. Something stirred in the darkness to her left.

“Smarter than your mother?” it hissed, circling in a hazy of smoke. Carin found it difficult to focus on it, like a smudge on her glasses.

She felt bad, but she voiced the thought, anyway. “Apparently.”

“Or.” It shifted to the other side of her, hazy tendrils draping down her shoulders. “Just disrespectful.”

“I want to make the deal.”

“Show first, questions later.” The world began to spin. Her feet stayed firmly planted while the most realistic looking screen—reality—whirled past her glamorous colors. Happy families, sexy dates, laughing friends, fine wine, expensive food. Belonging, comfort. The best the world had to offer—emotional contentment.

“It’s not a deal,” the demon breathed in her ear, as the glitter faded into the night sky, mixing with the stars. “It’s a demand.”

“For my soul?”

“No.”

“Well then, can’t be too bad,” she said, chipper and beginning to freeze in the night air.

“I can offer you the world, and everything in it. All under your domain.”

“I already said okay.”

“Only a fool fails to ask the price.”

“Of what?”

“Your humanity.”

“Whatever.”

It morphed in front of her, almost into the image of a handsome man, all dark hair and sharp cheekbones. It studied her for a moment, breath forming fog in the air, just like her own.

“Well alright then.”

It snapped its fingers and began to fade, leaving something behind.

And that something grew, burrowing beneath her skin. As it grew, and the power flowed through her veins, something withered and something broke, cracking away into dust and vanishing into the dawn, like a breath she’d never taken.

She touched her chest, head still spinning.

“You were given everything, which means you will have nothing," hissed a voice in her ear. It pressed something into her hand, and vanished completely, leaving only the vague impression of a dream upon waking.

She looked down to find her own handwriting staring back at her.

It morphed oddly, until it looked strangely like an alien face, and then the mask of a firefighter. It disappeared all together and was replaced by her brother’s concerned face, and chaos behind him. There were firefighters and people in their bathrobes and TV news crews.

“Are you alright? Your kitchen was on fire, Mrs. Johnson called me, I was so worried.”

That should make her feel guilty, her little brother worrying so. And she should feel disappointed that the whole thing was nothing, but a smoke induced hallucination. She would have believed it a dream, if she hadn’t felt so…..

Utterly inhuman.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[i-go-by-levi]

head: empty, breathing: hard, everything: smelling like her (flash fic)

A/N: this final result so far from what i had planned in the beginning but i am actually quite satisfied with this. for one of the first times maybe ever i have had to put warnings, so please read with care! as per usual i hope you enjoy :)

@flashfictionfridayofficial, fff116, deceiving fragrance

genre: drama word count: 640

fandom: original work character(s): Azim Nassar-Joll, Anika Nassar-Joll (mentioned)

warnings: some swearing, depressive-ish thoughts, mentions of pre-birth child loss, narrator is heart broken, mentions of vomiting/dry retching, almost made my best friend cry

I’m telling you if my life was a comedy movie right now the camera would slowly zoom in on me from the top until you could see a nice golden cut of me lying in my bed on my back staring at the ceiling. Totally zoned out you’d wonder if I was still breathing but then you’d hear a record scratch and the camera would stop moving. And a ridiculously optimistic voice from the off would start talking.

“Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.”

To be quite honest, normally this would be exactly my humor, now it doesn’t even tempt me to huff in amusement. This is not a movie and even if it was it would be as far from comedy as Australia is far from Iceland. No, this would be the saddest, most heartbreaking movie. I am really not trying to sulk in my own emotions and “feel” them too much, but that’s pretty fucking hard when everything hurts and breathing feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest.

“What triggers this?”

Well, thank you for asking, in my current situation pretty much everything.

Maybe it’s the fact that it is four in the morning and I haven’t slept all night but have to be at work in three hours. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t had food since lunch yesterday. Maybe it’s Maybelline. Maybe, I don’t know, it’s the fact that my wife of seven years - who I would literally turn the world upside down for, who I would literally walk through hell and back for, who has been with me through everything and nothing and vice versa - told me yesterday that she doesn’t think she can work through the loss of our first child pre-birth with me.

“We both need space and time to heal, to learn and live with this. And I have thought a lot and I think it is better that I move out for now.”

Fucking bullshit, if you ask me. But who am I to forbid her to move out? I tried arguing with her but if she needs this then I’ll do my best to help her. Even if it means to let her move out. Now I am stuck in our apartment where we’ve been making memories for over a decade now. An apartment that is her as much as it is me. An apartment that she obviously still has so many private objects in, pictures and decoration.

Everything here smells like her.

This is probably one of the main reasons that put me into this misery. Every little thing here smells like her, smells like love and home. The sweet and floral scent of the new shampoo my sister in law gave her only a few months ago lingers on these bedsheets and the pillow. Some lily of the valley type of shit; paired with the light scent of her lavender shower gel I should be feeling 130% relaxed in a field of wildflowers.

I don’t.

Who would have thought.

Picking up my phone I let the bright light of my display burn in my tired eyes. I try my best to only concentrate on the time that is shown on the top of the screen and not look at the picture of my wife on my lockscreen. I fail miserably and roll over with the sudden urge to vomit. After a minute of retching without bringing anything up but acid from my stomach I roll onto my back again. I have one and a half hours left before I have to get up and get ready for work. I don’t know if I’ll make it in time. I just know that if I am supposed to survive this somehow I really, really need to wash these sheets.