#mwrites

[the-hollanovcottage]

(based on this post)

BREAKING: #ShaneHollander, hockey superstar and ex-boyfriend of actress #RoseLandry, has been caught red-handed sending misogynistic texts to what appears to be his girlfriend. Get all the details HERE: http://bit.ly/34781296

or; the one where shane's texts to "lily" get leaked and the internet explodes because everyone now thinks shane hollander is an asshole to his girlfriend

pairing: shane hollander/ilya rozanov rating: T wc: 5334

READ HERE

[will-bvers]

Hi I was told to post some writings. This one is in the quiz and it’s called A Year. It’s about the love of my life who I hate and will probably never get over. Please let me know what you think!!

We met again in February and I remembered how it felt to love.

I remembered how much it could hurt.

In February, my heart rages a war with my mind.

In February, my friends tell me that I’m insane.

Loving you feels like setting myself on fire.

It burns, but I would give anything to feel warm again.

So I loved you, again.

And it scorched deeper this time than it ever had before.

February bled into March, and March stepped into April

May came and went and I try not to think too hard about June.

We were on and off then. I was the worst version of myself that summer,

But you rolled back around in August and I felt close to normal again, for a little bit.

It’s funny. I was born in September and that’s when you buried me alive for good.

I rotted in the ground for a million years until one day I climbed out and realized that it was only November.

The fallout is devastating.

The sky is gray and I breathe in smoke no matter where I go.

In November, I age 1,000 years.

In November, my friends say that I’m depressing to be around.

I look at the clock and wonder why I spent so long trying to love you before I ever tried to love myself.

Over and over again I curse your name and tell your secrets.

I make sure everyone knows how much I can’t stand you, and hope that if I say it loud enough no one will realize that I hate myself so much more.

It’s cold in the winter and I spend a lot of time thinking about forest fires.

They’re a special kind of natural disaster.

(It starts with a spark)

We knew each other before, in a different world when we were different people.

I thought that I had changed so much.

I tried to believe you when you said that you had, too.

Deep down I knew you hadn’t changed a bit.

(It starts to burn.)

You knew me too well, and I’ve always wanted things I couldn’t have and you knew that and you hurt me with it.

(You fuel the fire.)

I knew you too, knew the way that rejection ate at you and turned you into a monster. I hurt you back and it wasn’t right but it felt so, so justified at the time.

(It rages out of control.)

We knew each other, we hurt each other. Shared pain is familiar and comforting, and that was the one thing we both knew best of all.

(Eventually, it snuffs itself out and all you have left are black ashes.)

January creeps up on me. A year has come to pass.

I’m dragging through the cold.

I try to mend here and there, but most days I’m walking on unhealed wounds.

There are no scars yet.

It hurts. It’s familiar. And isn’t that just hilarious?

In January: I try to feel again

In January: I sit alone and think

Of how February can bleed into March,

and that I just need a little more time to finally let go.

[hash-driveway]

The Hurt/Comfort Alphabet (Julian x Reader edition)

prompt created by: @thathcwriter

this ended up being a bit more esoteric than the prompt may have intended. these are so fun!

A: Alleviate - How do they go about relieving persistent physical pain?

Julian would offer you a massage if you were feeling sore, since he'd usually notice your demeanor changing when you're in pain. If you suffer from chronic pain, he'd do his best to make sure you were comfortable when he could. He'd roll you joints and smoke with you.

However, if he is the one in pain, the situation is different. He tries his best to be the strong, silent type, but his guard comes down with you. He'd try to ignore it at first, but eventually you'd ask him if he needed to be taken care of, and he'd crack. While he would be hesitant to admit it, he loves it when you take care of him.

B: Bedridden - How do they behave when they’re sick?

Julian tries to push through sickness as much as he can, which ends in him feeling worse and needing to take it easy for a few days. He doesn't mind though, since the two of you can hunker down and watch movies on the couch whenever you please.

C: Cling - Whose physical touch is considered most welcome in their minds when they are in need? Is there a specific type of touch they respond well to?

When he's stressed, a comforting rub on his back from you is all that he needs. When Julian is upset, anxious, or triggered, your warm embrace calms him down. He has abandonment issues because of his father, so he definitely needs your reassurance when he's feeling bad. He'll wrap his big arms around you and squeeze, like he can't get you close enough.

D: Deathbed - How would they react if they realized they may not recover from their injuries?

He's been shot more than he cares for, but there has only been a few times where his injuries were extreme. When it dawned on him that he might be really fucked up from the wound, he panicked. This couldn't be happening, not now, not before he retired and started a family with you. Not before he gave you the life you deserved.

E: Emergency - What is their gut reaction when someone they care about is hurt?

Rage. He'll see red if you're ever hurt by someone, and do anything it takes to protect you. Then, guilt. There must have been something that he could have done to keep this from happening.

F: Fight - Are there circumstances under which they would not accept treatment or care? If so, what are they?

If he spirals into his guilt, it can be hard for him to accept affection or reassurance. This is tricky because he could end up snapping at you. Miscommunication often leads to arguments, but they usually end up being resolved with the two of you promising to be better.

G: Ghosts - How has their past shaped the kind of comfort they respond to best?

Julian's love language is Words of Affirmation, because they are what he never got from his father. He responds best to you reassuring him when he is feeling stressed. He highly values communication.

H: Home - What things (objects, sensations or people) remind them they’re safe after a scary situation?

If he doesn't have either you or a rum and coke in his hand, he could go crazy.

I: Isolation - How do they soothe themselves when no one is around to soothe them?

He needs time alone. The chaos and noise of the trailer park gets to him sometimes, so he'll find an excuse to retreat to his trailer and try to calm himself down.

J: Joy - When was the first time they were truly happy after going through something terrible?

Julian met you after a rough patch of failed schemes and mounting legal trouble, which stressed him to no end. Meeting you on that day was so unexpected, yet so perfect, that he found himself forgetting all of his troubles after seeing you for the first time.

K: Kindness - Do they believe they deserve the comfort they receive? Why or why not?

Not usually. It takes a while for him to get used to you showing him genuine kindness.

L: Levity - What or who helps them take their mind off of the circumstances?

Julian has a self-help book for most situations. He goes to them when he feels uncertain, often looking for answers to questions that he doesn't even know how to ask. The endless digging usually ends up calming him down regardless.

M: Music - Is there a song that comforts them? Why is it comforting to them?

"Hey, ain't life wonderful?" -- I feel like this song would make him feel seen.

N: Nostalgia - What things that comforted them as a kid still work today? Does anyone know that?

It's no secret that his grandmother is who introduced him to the comforts of rum, but sometimes what he really needs is a quiet night with a blanket and a good book.

O: Overworked - Who or what tells them to stop working and take care of themselves?

You're the only person that he will actually listen to when you tell him to take a breather. Whenever anyone else tries to get him to see reason, he brushes them off, thinking that they have no idea what he can (or cannot) handle. You're different, though. He's never allowed himself to be known by anyone on the level that you do.

P: Please - Have they ever begged for someone to comfort or stay with them? What was that incident like?

Not really. He's the type of person to let someone leave if they want to, but there’s no doubt that he’ll fight for you. He'll definitely ask for comfort if he needs it, but only if he feels comfortable enough with the person to do so.

Q: Questions - Are they eager to talk about what or why they’re hurting? Why or why not?

At first, he is hesitant because he is so used to playing the role of the strong one, the protector of the park. But once he allows his walls to come down, he becomes an open book.

R: Relief - How do they react to the realization that they will soon be fully recovered?

I don't want to do this one. so i'm not going to. lol

S: Scared - What would it take for them to admit that they’re scared?

It would take a situation that could shake him to his core in order for him to admit that he's scared. Julian is tough, and can handle a lot, but there are a few things that he can break his composure. He has anxiety about money, of course. Being able to live the life that he wants, to be able to retire and live a peaceful, quiet life in Sunnyvale without having to worry about being locked up ever again. When that goal is threatened, he'll eventually admit his fear.

T: Time - How long does it take for them to feel better after an ordeal or illness? Do they tend to lie about how soon they feel better?

Julian knows how important rest is, especially if he is physically hurt. He'll do as much as he can to take the time to recover, but the needs of the people around him do tend to get in the way sometimes. In that case, he'll lie to avoid people worrying about him.

U: Ugly - What part of their recovery process are they ashamed of, if any?

When he's in pain, he can get snippy and aggravated. He also relies on drinking more than usual during these times, so that can become an issue.

V: Valiant - Has anyone told them they were brave for facing what they did? How would they react if someone did?

No. If you ever told him that, he would most likely brush it off, but it would be emotionally overwhelming for him. Nobody really shows him much appreciation.

W: Why? - How did they process what happened to them?

He journals. It’s his private haven to write down his thoughts without feeling any pressure.

X: Xenas - Do they see anyone as an inspiration in their recovery? Does their inspiration know about this?

His grandmother definitely saved him from his father's wrath. Her headstrong attitude inspires him to be who he is.

Y: Yearn - What gesture, person or thing do they desperately want, but would never actually ask for?

He really, really, really wants to get married. Have a kid or two, and just live a normal life. Be a good dad. He doesn't know how to ask for this. He doesn't think he's good enough for it.

Z: Zero - What is the best way to comfort them without touching them?

Sometimes he just needs you by his side, silently supporting him by simply being present in his life. He values consistency, craves it, since he doesn't see it anywhere else except in his relationship with you.

[dreamboyslut]

daydreaming about sharing a dorm room with a jock who would rather die than being seen in public with me but when he comes back one night, drunk and bothered after a night out, he falls down onto my bed and kiss and lick and suck hickeys on my neck, acting all needy when I wake up and ask him what the fuck he's doing, and I can't resist him when I feel him hard against my ass and he's taking his clothes off and my boxers disappears too, now his dick is sliding between my thighs and i feel wet and slippery and it slips in me, my cunt feels tight, and I'm so warm and pliant and he's whispering in my ear how good it feels to be inside me, gentle and hard at the same time with the way he holds me tight against him while his dick is pounding me, it doesn't take long before he freezes, he's so deep inside, and he comes with a grunt... he's still draped around me when I feel his body relax and he falls asleep

[fantrollology]

Walking it Back: PT 1

Characters: Fledge, Alaska

Word Count: 2,103

uhhh i started this over a year ago! i sit on things for a while. id like to get better at writing stuff more consistently but idk im happy w how it came out! hopefully u will not have to wait as long for part 2.

if u read it ummm ty! <3

---

“Hm.” The girl's eyes studied an unremarkable intersection on the floor of the exam room, avoiding the gaze of the doctor standing a few feet from her, who pressed the door closed behind himself following his greeting. Her fingers played with the paper pulled over the examination table.

“Something the matter?” While his tone seemed as genuine as she could gauge, the question made her regret acknowledging the misnomer at all. He set a bag down on the counter across from her and brought out his clipboard from under his arm.

She shook her head.

“Please, it’s alright. What’s up?”

“Uhm,” she paused. Her feet pressed at each other gently over the side of the table. “No one calls me that anymore.”

“Oh, well what do people call you now?” he flipped to the front page of his clipboard and leaned gently against the counter, facing her.

“Uh, Fledge.”

He smirked. “That stuck, huh?”

She shrugged. The little hexagon where the tiles met remained interesting.

He shook his head at his clipboard.

“General Drakon is so cavalier about that sort of thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone thought that was your actual name if he was the one to introduce you. Still though, surviving this long?” He let out a little laugh. “That’s a lifelong nickname now, I’m sure.” 

He looked at her as if he were going to wait for acknowledgement, but then continued. 

“I’m not much of the nickname sort myself but, hey, I think I’m willing to make an exception for you.” He scratched something onto the clipboard.

“Okay.”

He tucked the clipboard back under his side and lopped himself down on the office stool. Its momentum gently wheeled him into the range of Fledge’s downturned line of sight.

“Do you remember me?” he asked.

She let him slide his way into her vision and then quickly found another spot on the floor to look at. She shook her head.

“That’s fine.” He waved a hand. “I’m Dr. Alcess Alaska. I conducted your entry psionic evaluation a few sweeps ago. Couldn’t have been more than an hour or two.”

Fledge nodded.

“I’m here with you today to talk about a project proposal.”

Fledge nodded.

“So, you’re aware how even though you’re stationed here, you’re actually a member of the Imperial Psionic Corps, yes?”

Fledge nodded.

“I’m aware you’ve had some training, but do you know much about what they do?”

“A little.”

“What do you know?” he asked, in an attempt to coax a more-than-two-word response from her.

“They’re…” it felt exhausting for Fledge to even think of saying a full sentence. She breathed out. “They’re all psionics, and they do stuff for the fleet.”

“That’s the jist of it, yes.” 

“But,” he raised a finger, “They’re all very specialized psionics, not helmsmen or telekinetics or simple mind-readers. They receive individual training for their abilities.”

She knew that, of course. It was the whole reason she was a part of it. Still, she nodded.

“There’s a standard timeline for progression through the IPC’s induction, but after doing your entry evaluation I found that there’s a lot of potential with your abilities that I think deserve more unique attention.”

He started to say something else, but then cut himself off. He studied her floorlocked gaze, how her fingers crushed the paper between them.

“Fledge, do you know much about psionics? Your psionics? How they work, I mean.”

Fledge shook her head.

He drummed his fingers on the clipboard for a moment before scooting across the room to grab his bag from the counter. He opened it on his lap and set a couple things on the counter as he rooted through it, then wheeled back over to Fledge. He then reached back in and pulled out a colorful plastic brain and a small container containing a few plastic lobes. He removed the lid from the container and set it on the examination table next to Fledge, then set the bag on the floor and lifted the brain from his lap.

“Alright, so, stop me if I say anything you already know. Okay?” He waited for her acknowledgement this time, a barely perceptible nod, and then removed a blue lobe from the back of the brain, that Fledge could now see was held on with a magnet.

“This is the cucular lobe. All trolls have one, but in psionics, it’s a little larger. The shape and the other lobes it has contact with can affect the sort of abilities a psionic has and how they might control them.” Fledge watched keenly as he set the small, normal lobe on the table, and picked up a larger piece of the same color from beside her. “This one is more like yours.” The strong magnet clicked the lobe into place at the rear of the brain.

“See how it curls up past this,” his finger dragged along the brain, along marigold yellow and crimson red plastic; “the occipital lobe, and over to this one? The parietal? This is why your abilities are affected by touch, why you can ‘feel’ electromagnetic energy the way you do.” He offered her the brain. She let him pass it to her and immediately began picking off the other lobes and letting them snap back into place.

“You have what we call a material-responsive M-Type ability,” he continued, watching her play idly. “You can manipulate, but your abilities are moreso characterized by their sensitivity, your extrasensory perception, rather than their ability to make drastic physical changes. More typical of ceruleans, but yours have a certain versatility, and there’s a lot of potential I believe could be accessed through some implants and, of course, appropriate training.”

He took another piece from the container, a long, thin, curved, grey piece. He held it up.

“This is a type of foci. There’s several different kinds; you may have seen other IPC members with the foci behind their ears; those are the most common. This one is an implant and mostly invisible once installed. They allow for the observation of lobe activity, enable additional cerebral pathways, and can be used to enhance psionic ability in a number of ways.” 

He gestured for the brain. She held it out to him and he snapped on the piece, which curled from the front left of the organ back and over the cucular lobe. He withdrew his hands.

“I believe that, by using enhancements to magnify your psychic perception of electromagnetic energy, you can better control the ability. Instead of blowing up televisions and feeling static, you could…. turn the lights on and off, you could…”

---

A shot fired through the skull of the troll in front of her, spattering green viscera across the dry ground at Fledge’s feet.

She hadn’t been paying attention when the olive stepped forward and raised her weapon. Some fleet officer had been talking to whoever these trolls were about whatever they were doing-- a mutiny, maybe? -- whatever. It wasn’t Fledge’s turn. Fledge knew what the signal was, she knew how aggressive these trolls were allowed to get, and she knew what she was meant to do when either of those conditions were met. She just hadn’t done it without her gloves before. The thought had distracted her. Her hands dropped from rubbing at the nodes embedded in her wrist as the body thwapped to the ground. She didn’t need to look to know the sniper's barrel was already shoved down into the dirt, the more experienced soldier berating them— Stop, that’s what she’s for.

C’mon fledgling. Pay attention. Be here.

One pulse. Forward, 170 degree arc. This will dispel incoming psionics and ballistics, but will dissipate after about three metres.

A strong enough magnetic field through the brain is enough to disrupt regular synapse operation and cause seizures. One at the door, two on the balcony. Close the circuit, an invisible spherical tie around their head, and then release. Her fingers twitched about in front of her. It was a shot of air through her nerves, crawling down behind her eyes and across her body like a cool drink of water. Her eyes hunted around for another to show themselves. When none did, her fingers ground into her palms, deaf to her surroundings until a hand met her shoulder.

“That was good. Quicker on the pickup next time, maybe,” the officer quipped while she examined the damage, then started walking, letting her hand slip from Fledge’s shoulder. “Let’s see if whoever is inside is more reasonable,” she hummed.

Fledge followed as the others behind her dealt the finishing blow to the incapacitated troll near the door, another that fell from the balcony. Her mind began to warm again. She lifted the edge of her jacket, touching the bit of green flecked onto the edges. Would that wash out?

---

Alaska waved a hand as if to catch an answer from the air “...move ferromagnetic material. Just… apply magnetic fields and induce current more deliberately, precisely.”

She turned the brain gently in her hands, her thumb ran over the implant. A piece of metal in her head?

“We wouldn’t start with the foci, since your brain is still developing, but it would definitely be a part of this at some point. For now, I think it’d be best to do more research first. Like, where and how exactly do you feel electromagnetic energy?”

He raised a hand as her mouth opened. Ah, one of those not-question questions.

“I’m sure it’s hard to explain,” he continued, “but we can observe it. Before we can enhance, we would get you some peripherals, external gear to gauge what we can.” He gestured over his arms, his clipboard now set beside her on the table. “That will allow us to finely examine the activity of your culural lobe and its relationship to your movements and nerves. I theorize that down the line it might end up being beneficial to install internal receivers in other places too, since your perception is very likely beyond what’s processed by your CL, but that can wait.”

“I have some reading for you here…” he bent down from the stool and pulled out a packet from the side of the bag. She set the brain in her lap to take it from him. “One of the documents goes over the details of this specific project, but I also included some information on focii and some articles on other MRM psionics.”

“And this—” he reached over and tapped the corner of the packet, where a small, stiff card was paper-clipped to the front. “—is my contact information, so you can message me for any follow-up questions you might have.” He smiled and his hands returned to his lap.

“Of course, if you have any questions for me now I’d be more than happy to answer them.”

She nodded slowly as she thumbed through the pages. Diagrams of brains, titles containing words she knew, others she didn’t. She had questions, she was sure, but she didn’t know what they were or how to ask them.

“None right now?”

She shook her head, not looking up from the packet in her hands.

“Alright, well if anything comes to mind, you reach out, okay? Then, when I’m back next perigee, we can go over everything again, and make a decision.”

“I’ll do it.” It seemed so obvious to her. This was why she was here. Whatever doubt she had could be addressed later.

“I like the enthusiasm,” he chuckled, “but I won’t have time to start until next perigee anyways. I’ll be ready then if you’re still on board, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You can keep the brain, if you want. I have another.” She didn’t know if she wanted it or not, but he decided for her as he lifted his bag from the floor and wheeled his chair over to the counter to put the rest of his things away.

She followed suit with her new belongings and clicked the lid back onto the container of spare lobes. The clear box fit nicely into her jacket pocket, and she tucked the packet under her arm as Alaska had done with his clipboard. The brain stayed in her hands.

She hopped off of the examination table. Her thumb ran over the implant that curled around the organ. A fleeting thought, or maybe one of those questions she didn’t know how to verbalize, tried to etch its way to the surface, to piece itself together in her mouth, but got cut off by the doctor’s voice as he opened the door for her.

“It was good seeing you again, Fledge.”

[undignifiedaquarium]

loving you out loud

for @locklyle-week day 1: firsts

a/n: First “I love you.” Here’s a little something I wrote because as much as I crave reading desparate confessions drawn out in the middle of dangerous situations, they also deserve something softer. Set in the future. I am v new to this fandom and writing these characters so please, be kind.

They’ve never been much for words. Or at least he hasn’t, not in the way that matters, Lockwood thinks as he peers over the top of his magazine at Lucy curled up on the other end of the couch. She’s got her nose buried in a book, completely oblivious to him. Her eyebrows are adorably scrunched together and her eyes feverishly tear across the pages in front of her.

It’s been years since she walked into his life and it still always feels like there are so many things he hasn’t told her, or doesn’t say enough. They are much more practiced at revealing things through unspoken communication. So much can be said through a glance across the kitchen table in the morning, smiles exchanged over tea, or touches and gifts and rescues that they have done a million times over by now. Sometimes it feels like they don’t ever need to articulate what’s left unsaid because they both know the score. But still, Lockwood thinks to himself, she deserves more than that.

It’s not like Lucy has ever been one to mince words. She’s called him out on his own bullshit time and time again, challenging him and reminding him that there are people who care about whether or not he makes it home alive. Her honesty was one of the first things that impressed him in that fated interview. She says what she thinks, and doesn’t back down. Truth be told it has saved them all in so many ways since then, even if it may drive him and George mad from time to time.

Looking at her now, Lockwood is once again captivated by her. In her pajamas, curled up with a quilt nestled around her and a steaming cup of tea in her hand she looks so comfortable, so relaxed. She looks radiant. It makes his heart pang with adoration. He wants to capture this moment and keep reliving it for the rest of time.

Because for every moment like this that they get, there are three more where his heart is hammering in his chest with worry or panic that something bad is going to happen to the beautiful, brave, incredible girl cozied up across from him. Too many of their firsts have happened in or been born from those moments when their lives are on the line and he aches a bit to give them both some softer memories.

Lucy chuckles lightly to herself at the other end of the couch, clearly having read something of note in that book of hers. She then takes a massive bite of the biscuit in her hand and finally looks up, meeting his eyes.

“What?” Lucy asks, “I got crumbs on my jumper or something?”

Lockwood laughs, “No, nothing like that. I just…I love you, that’s all.”

“Oh is that all?” She sits up and puts her book down next to her, a grin splitting across her face but also a hint of exasperation in her voice.

He feels himself blushing slightly, and looks down at his hands before glancing back up at her.

“Yes, well I know that sometimes I’m not the best at…articulating what I’m feeling. But I wanted to get it on the record and all that.”

“Lockwood I — “ she starts, scooting close and reaching out to take his hands in hers.

But he’s already on a roll. “I just realized I had never actually said it out loud and, well, we’ve put off a lot of other things until we’re in the thick of it and I wanted to make sure I told you now and not when we’re, you know, fighting for our lives. Point being, I don’t want that to be one more thing I’ve left unsaid.”

He’s really started rambling now, because her eyes have gone wide with something bordering on disbelief. Lucy is giving him a look that tells him she had absolutely no idea he’s been head over heels for her for…shit he doesn’t even know how long. Long enough that loving her feels as natural as breathing.

“Oh come off it Luce, you know I’ve been in love with you for a damn long time now.”

Her response comes out as a half laugh, half shout, and she smacks him with a throw pillow, “I did not, you idiot!”

Lockwood suddenly turns deadly serious, desperately needing her to understand how much he means this. How he is truly deeply, irrevocably in love. “Lucy, you make me feel seen and cared for in a way that for a long time, I didn’t think would ever be possible again. Even when everything is hard and frankly terrifying, I am still so glad you stormed into my life. I love you.”

At this, Lucy moves one hand to his face, rubbing her thumb softly along his cheekbone and looking at him with such longing and tenderness that he feels like he might just fall in love with her all over again. Lockwood slowly closes the distance between the two of them and kisses her like he’s drowning and she’s a breath of fresh air.

“I love you too, you know.” She breaks away and looks up at him with a soft and teasing smile, “to put it on the record and all that.”

[crowsredlondon]

Comfort

A Kanej fic inspired by the following quote from Crooked Kingdom. 

“For the briefest moment, Inej wondered if Kaz might be jealous of that comfort or if it was simply alien to him. Would he ever let himself rest? Sleep in? Linger over a meal? She would never know.”

This fic takes place 5+ years after the end of Crooked Kingdom. These lovelies of course belong to Leigh Bardugo.

-------------------------------------------

Sunlight steamed through the window, basking the room in a warm, hazy light. It was summer in Ketterdam and the usual fog had lifted. Inej sleepily blinked open her eyes and rolled over. Her time on land had slowly morphed from business to leisure. During her first few years at sea she would only return to port to gather intelligence and supplies. The crew would take a short leave but for her it never really felt like down time, there was too much to be done. But as years dragged, she found herself spending more time on land and more time visiting instead of working. Now, land made her lazy. At sea her mornings were early and her days long. In Ketterdam, that had stopped being true.

Inej took a deep breath and stretched her limbs and mind before turning to the mussed hair and ruffled clothes of the boy next to her. There was a time when this scene would have been as startling as it had been to first see his hands bare against his cane. Long ago, she thought she would never know him like this. Never see him restful and relaxed. Kaz always started nights laying on his back, hands clasped on his chest, eyes on the ceiling. She assumed it was habit from years of resting without sleeping or sleeping with his guard up. But morning Kaz revealed the beautiful boy beneath the armor.

A few years ago she stopped staying at the Van Eck mansion and had started staying with Kaz. In the beginning, it was a lot of sleepless nights. It was both of them learning how to share a bed with someone and learning how to take down this piece of their armor. But now...she grinned at the sight. Every morning now, and for a while, she found Kaz asleep on his chest, limbs sprawling and face soft. On one occasion, although she wouldn’t dare mention it to another soul, he was drooling. On these mornings Kaz Brekker, the bastard of the barrel, was replaced by a sleepy boy in total comfort.

She reached out and gently brushed a few tufts of hair away from his face. He stirred and released a deep sigh.

“What time is it?” His voice was muffled by the pillow.

“Just after 5 bells.”

“I see the sun has rudely decided to awake, I could use a few more hours of sleep.” He turned on his side to face her, one hand tucked beneath the pillow and the other carefully placed between them.

She hummed and reached for him slowly, gently brushing his knuckles with her fingertips. “You should rest then.”

“Does the captain have anything pressing today?”

“No more than the Barrell Boss.”

“Stay here with me today, I can get Pim to send a runner to get us waffles.”

The morning sun glowed golden on the miracle before her. Kaz looked...at ease, open...hopeful. It made her heart flutter in her chest.

“For you, I would stay even without the promise of waffles. But I will appreciate and enjoy them nonetheless.”

He took her hand in his and kissed it. The day was new and they were just a boy and a girl, sure there was magic in the world.

[enheduannas]

she’s young when the visions start, hunting dogs and a stag running across her eyelids. it’s not a secret, because she can’t help where she has them: in her dreams, in the fields, in the middle of the marketplace. she throws her body down into the dust and writhes silently. “my child, my child,” the town pastor says when he visits her at home that night, and she has to stop this before it starts. “from god,” she says, voice weak and thin and insistent. “they’re from god.” tears track down her sunburnt cheeks. “and what do you see?” well here come the angels, loyal and tireless with blood baying in their jaws, and there’s Satan, bounding over trees with nimble hooves and a crown of twisting antlers upon his head. “fire,” she says. “eating the world.” the pastor smiles at her gently, smooths his hand over her fevered brow. “we’ll fix it,” he says. gives her a conspiratorial wink. “my child.”

divine revelations. / @nosebleedclub / may 3, preternatural.