#unpleasant. Don’t wanna eat one. Dreading the experience

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

.

#Ok so #my mental health hasn’t been stellar lately #I think a lot of the stresses of the last couple weeks are catching up to me #but u know what #I’m making progress #bc now #instead of panicking Bc my violent intrusive thoughts are coming back #like I was yesterday #I nicknamed them edgelord. Insulted them when they showed up. And now I’m p ambivalent to them #oh Look it’s edgelord what are you gonna do #play the same scene you’ve played for the past 48 hours? #oh noooooo however will I cope #you’re exactly as scary as a corn chip #Ok maybe as scary as a wasabi pea #unpleasant. Don’t wanna eat one. Dreading the experience #but when I eat it I can handle the heat and come out fine #and the pain fades quickly #thank u Lord for this progress

[debiteful]

Are you still doin' writing requests? If so, could you write about a giant finding a borrower, with some unintentional fearplay on the giants part?

Content: apparent threat of harm, size difference (Giant/tiny), fearplay, hand held, crying, trapped under a bowl, ends on a positive note

Taking on a renovation by yourself was a monumental task. Thankfully the boundless strength of a giant made it much easier. Will spent weeks planning everything before he was finally ready to begin.

He started with the floors, tearing them up bit by bit. Beneath the boards there were scraps of fabric, bits of metal that seemed to have once been staples, and even an old cereal box. At first Will assumed whoever had built the place had been careless. As he progressed and found more trash, he began to see patterns. Strategic cuts in the cardboard here, nails running in a diagonal line without securing anything, and other such seemingly intelligent designs. 

Though it was odd, it helped click some puzzle pieces together. Rustling in the panty, socks disappearing, and soft yet shrill noises in the night. Something tiny was living in his home. By the looks of it they were taking things for their own purposes too! Nothing important of course, or he might've noticed sooner.

Now he had more planning to do. After all, he was tearing apart their home too!

Skip berated herself for the hundredth time for sticking around after that bean began tearing the place apart. Safe hiding places were growing fewer by the hour it seemed. It was impossible to predict where it would go to next, meaning she had to move all the borrowed things hastily. Already she had left a lot behind, and, to make matters worse, it had been found. Thankfully the bean hadn't seemed to catch on.

On the bright side, the renovation left lots of building scraps. Most helpful was the chunks of insulating foam. They were easy to cut and carry, and they could be used to build all sorts of things.

Presently Skip was trying to move them into the shed across the back lawn. She'd never lived out there because the temperature fluctuated too much. With insulation it might be bearable, and it would certainly be safer than in that madbean's house!

Unfortunately, the main house was still the best place to get food. Skip would wait somewhere secure in the evening until she heard the bean go to bed, then sneak out to get what crumbs she could. 

Tonight, a fallen cracker tempted her, but it was the crushed cereal on the counter that would be doable to bring home. She darted out from behind the toaster towards it, but she didn't get far.

Something caught her leg. As she fell, there was a grating sound. Then darkness. Something had landed atop her! A bowl? Probably.

Skip walked slowly with her arms out as feelers. Upon reaching the edge she tried to get her fingers under it and lift. That failed, of course.

She tried to fight back panic. Her shim and pry bar lay securely at home- this was supposed to be a quick in and out job! Essentially equipmentless, there were very few options. 

She took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Mind a little clearer, she searched her memory for what direction she must be facing. Slowly she walked around the edge of the bowl to the side closest to the edge of the counter. At least, she hoped it was. 

Pushing with all her might got her nowhere. Getting a running start for the shove did about the same. Soon, Skip was throwing herself at the bowl in desperation. 

Battered and exhausted, she sunk to her knees. Body and tears fell to the countertop.

The rest of the night was spent filled with tension. Every sound was certainly the giant coming. Paranoid thoughts spiraled, centered around what the giant would do to her.

When at last Will did come, the sound was unmistakable to the trembling borrower. She had heard those thunderous steps a thousand times.

Skip envied the ease with which the giant lifted the bowl which confined her. Tilted up on one edge, it could now shove its gigantic hand beneath. She couldn't help but utter a little shriek as fingers as large as her groped around blindly. She didn't dare try to dart through the gap lest the bowl snap back down on a limb.

Dodging the fingers was difficult with no sleep or breakfast. The tip of one brushed her leg. The whole hand rushed her. A massive thumb pinned her to the pointer finger.

The bowl lifted slowly, so she had ample time to imagine the look on its face while she struggled. Her heart was racing wildly. Tears threatened to well up, but she had spent most of them through the night. Stinging eyes locked on to the enormous face.

The giant had quite the satisfied grin splitting its features. Its eyes flicked side to side as the giant took in its captive.

Likewise, Skip's eyes darted frantically. No sign of a weapon. Then again, with teeth and hands like these, it wouldn't need a weapon. Gracious it was absolutely gigantic up close, larger than she had ever thought.

The thunderous voice she had heard dozens of times was deafening at such a close range.

"Hello there," Will said in awe. The borrower was silent and flinched. He frowned and spoke more softly, "Who are you?" 

Even at a dull roar the sound was too much. Skip growled like an animal and bit at his knuckles. He inhaled sharply and adjusted the hold to pin her head. It wouldn't take much for those fingers to crush it.

Will put her in the jar he had for this purpose. Being moved through the air was a disorienting and unpleasant experience. If she was lucky, she would be too dizzy to see whatever killed her coming. Skip was genuinely surprised when she landed on something soft in the bottom of the glass.

Left on the counter, she didn't dare take her eyes off of her captor. He bustled around the kitchen humming softly. She was familiar with this habit of his- the sound echoed through the walls in the evening. For the first time she heard the lyrics of his little ditty, "Gonna cook you up, gotta cook you right up! First I gotta chop you up, then plop you in the pot to cook you up!"

Hearing the giant narrate his process sent a dreadful chill through her. He was going to cook and eat her!! 

More vigilant than ever, her gaze never left him. Eyes locked onto the shining blade of a knife pulled from the block. Watching the vegetables get chopped up brought to mind terrible images. The ease with which the bean could toss a heap of food into the pot brought to mind just how small she was.

Finally, the tears spilled out. Where they had been held in reserve, she had no idea. Frantic little hands rubbed one eye at a time. Delicate fingers brushed away tears without obstructing her view too much.

By the time the food was filling the air with its aroma, she still hadn't stopped crying. She watched through bleary eyes as he filled a ladle with the sauteed vegetables and brought it over. So she wasn't to be cooked: he was going to heap scalding food onto her! 

Skip scrambled to one side of the jar and slid her back up the wall. That one scoop wouldn't be enough to bury her here. 

Her warped upturned face looked back down at her as the ladle lowered. The giant stuck it right into the jar, then let go. What was its angle? 

Tearing her gaze from his intent face, she eyed the handle of the ladle. Yes, it should be doable. Three bounding steps took her to the ladle. Using her momentum she vaulted over the bowl of it and grasped the flat handle. Like she had done hundreds of times before, she shot up the metal beam.

Just as she reached level with the lip of the jar, the giant reacted. He shouted, a deafening thunderclap. Those enormous fingers engulfed her momentarily, then they knocked her back into the jar. Now one hand lay over the mouth of her prison, effectively sealing it.

Will crouched, bringing the jar to eye level. He spoke gently, "Hey, aren't you hungry? I don't know how long exactly you were stuck on the counter." When she didn't respond he pressed on, "I promise it's good. I didn't know if you ate meat, but I figured veggies would be a safe choice. Hope it's okay that it's cooked- do you cook? Oh nevermind, it doesn't matter. Hey- can you understand me?" As his eyes scanned for any response, he finally noticed the red eyes and wet cheeks, "Oh no, have you been crying? Why? I didn't hurt you did I? Oh- I might've scared you… I'm really sorry little one."

Skip listened to his continuous ramble. It almost sounded good natured… Could she have been mistaken? A small bubble of rage rose up and erupted, "Wouldn't you be terrified if some gigantic brute trapped you and started singing about cooking?!"

Will frowned in dismay, "I didn't think about it like that."

"Beans never think," she screeched, "They just kill."

The frown deepened then flashed to a smirk, "Bean? Is that what you call us? Why?"

Skip rolled her eyes. What a dumb question! ….why did they call them beans? That didn't matter right now. 

She walked over to the ladle and picked up a spear of carrot. One eye still on the giant, she took a bite of the tender veggie. 

He gave a big grin, "Is it good?"

She nodded, honestly a little surprised. "So, why did you catch me? Why feed me too?"

"Well, as you've probably noticed, I'm doing a little work on the house. I found some of your stuff and I worried I might accidentally hurt you. Considering you've never introduced yourself, I figured just asking you to come out wouldn't work. I wanna help you move somewhere safer- whether it's temporary or not is up to you."

"My name's Skip," she piped up.

"Oh, mine is Will," he said with another big smile. His teeth were hardly threatening now.

She smiled back. "Oh! Actually I was already in the process of moving most of my stuff."

"Really? Where?"

There was a moment of hesitation; her distrust of beans ran deep. "Your shed, outside."

"All the way out there?" His eyes widened. 

With a barked laugh, she nodded, "Yeah its pretty far. Not ideal, but I haven't a clue where you're going to strike next."

The harsh choice of words made Will frown a little. He recovered quickly though, "Well now you have the inside scoop! The entire upstairs is going to be left alone. There's also the kitchen. I- well, I still don't know what sort of places you like to live, but I'm sure there's some somewhere around here.

Skip considered her options. The upstairs was rather far away, but it was a big area so safer. The kitchen was prime territory for food and other bits n bobs, but the giant would frequent it. He seemed nice enough, but one encounter couldn't undo a lifetime of learning.

"Up the stairs should do nicely," she trailed off, already scheming on how to move all her stuff.

"Alright! Sounds good. So, is there anything I could help you move?"

The response was an absent nod before she realized what he asked. What was his angle? "Oh! Um, I guess."

They discussed what exactly needed to be moved and where. Though she was on her guard, Skip didn't notice anything untoward. The move went just as smoothly. Soon she was settled into a secluded gap beneath the floor, where she had moved all her stuff herself after he brought it to a nearby location.

By the end of it, Will was very pleased with himself. He had begun to make a new friend. What's more, she was his neighbour! He felt more at ease knowing she would be safely out of the way of the renovation.

#fearplay #giant/tiny #g/t #giant #tiny #borrower #tldr: #Skip 'what is he thinking' #Will 'No thoughts head empty'

[natromanxoff]

Drama, drama, drama... Alright, now we have one about Roger Taylor. And I strongly felt the need of making a post about this because I talked to the blogger here who shared the photo, ergo had a chance to closely follow what has been going on.

What is this I am talking about? 

This photo, that has also been posted here. Jacques Dutard, who is the owner of the photo wrote this caption: “Hey, just wanna share what happened to me just yesterday at lunch... In Sardinia, at the restaurant I have Roger arriving and sitting on the table next to us... Simply amazing, exciting, awesome. Thanks Roger.” So it is about this photo that Roger had with fans on 10th of August, at a restaurant, without a mask, in Italy. As you can probably guess, the ‘without a mask’ and ‘Italy’ parts have bothered some people, then came the horrid comments.

Before I start, I want to especially specify that I am a person who is a medicine student, daughter of a doctor and whose parents have gotten the virus in the beginning of the April but still have the effects virus left on body such as tachycardia, arrhytmia, respiratory distress which appear after a physical activity. These facts don’t make me an expert but make me someone who has relatively better knowledge about some medical subjects and someone who has had a bad personal experience with the virus.

I don’t know if there’s any need for me to say that I’ve become really worried after seeing the visual, it was my initial reaction, I always dread to hear the news of their death and I was, yes, thinking what if he gets infected? My parents in their forties still have problems and in comparison with them; him in 70, what bad consequences would happen? Then, I had some other questions, I was sort of disappointed that he went out without any protection, after all that’s been said. Why?

I know, he’s a smart man and thought I can’t judge him that easily because of him going out. I considered some points and turned my disappointment into calmness. Now I am sharing them with you, especially for those who’s initial reaction was panic and started to spit venom,

Firstly, we must acknowledge that photos are capture of a moment which lasts for split seconds. All we have right now is a split second photo of him without a mask. So do we have any right to attack him for not using mask? No. Because I don’t even know if he was already wearing it or not, if he took it off for the photo or not. Maybe he wanted his smile to be seen at the photo, wanted to create a sincere environment. But we can’t create a drama out of it. Believe me, I am one of those gets so raged after seeing a person not using a mask. It’s necessary, you have to do it for both your and my health. But even I, am not going to make a story from only a photo of someone. That’s pretty normal. I have taken photos of ourselves too and I took my mask off at safe points for this only to wear it again after. However, I will never let people say that I don’t have the mask on me, how dare I can be this selfish and stroll around without any caution. No, I am very very careful and you can never judge me for the moment.

Secondly, let’s say he hasn’t been using mask while he was sitting. He’s at a restaurant. It’s quite understandable that he doesn’t have a mask. Is there anyone who can eat with their masks on? I don’t think so. I am also sure many of us has gone to a cafe or restaurant at some point since the decreases at the cases have started and shops were opened. I accept that I did but where did I choose to sit? At open-air and secluded parts of them. I have started using my mask even before the virus hasn’t been spreaded widely around the country yet, never stopped using it even if I go outdoor because I’ve always been conscious about it. But guess where is the only place I had to take them off? Yes, the restaurants. While I am eating, I have to use my mouth and I take it off to wear it immediately after I finish. That’s probably what he had to do too.

Next, if you just observe carefully and detailedly, you see a small distance between them and Roger. Perspective can fool us so well and unbeliveably. You assume it’s short length from a point but when you change your angle, you see that it is not what it looks like, it’s the opposite, the gap is huger than you think! There has been posts about it even here. What if this is the case? I don’t think that I can interpret that he doesn’t care about rules and stays close to people. In fact, he’s leaning towards them slightly, his chair and knife seems a little so we can quite reckon how is his sitting straight position. Gives me a impression that it’s far from other people and he just leaned a little for the photo because he isn’t rude to the fans. I am sure, there would be another discussion if he rejected their photo request. The man seems like sitting at the edge of the chair and there is a woman and man smiling and looking at camera in the back, at the second table. I can maybe assume, these fans came from there and talked briefly, took a photo, then went away. He always stays close with fans or puts an arm behind them on photos, if he didn’t care, he might have tried to do that again.

Another point, some researchs say that not socializing for a long time might cause regression on brain structures and functions especially of old people, who are older than 65. They already have minor of it, as something age brings with it and closing them, without any human interaction might make it worse. That’s why this has been discussed here if there can be another good way for old people because being under quarantine for months may effect them badly. Not just that, psychological effect that being between 4 walls leaves on us is a significant one. Whether we notice it or not, there is a change because we’ve gotten used to go out freely. As for him; alright, he has a big house with a wide garden, his wife with him and comparably, he has much comfortable and livable conditions than many of us. But is this really enough to stay there for this much long time and don’t go on any holiday at all? Especiallr for him who is energetic and has given concerts for all these years? Same place bores us after a point, we feel the need of change. He has stayed in his house for all this time and hasn’t moaned about it on social media like some other celebrities, he probably tried to make the best out of it; giving drum tutorials, recording a song, playing song with his friends on video call and now that he went to holiday, people started to attack. He has disadvantage because of his age but also has right and need to get relaxed too.

All people started to go on holiday. I confess, I did too. We have a private summerhouse with a pool so I have been lucky about not getting into crowd a lot but I was still cautious. Like I have woken up at the wee hours to be able to go to sea. So it’s possible to go on holiday and be safe if you take the precautions. We don’t even know what kind of a holiday he’s having, might be a boat, private rented house or something else. Maybe he was isolating himself on the vacation too. We don’t even know anything for sure. Just because we received a photo of him at a restaurant isn’t enough to throw mud at him for going on holiday. Especially not now, when everybody is having holiday. If only celebrities went to have holiday and us people had to stay at home, I would get angry too. But he’s not only one to blame at this. 

Lastly, his daughter is a GP. He can comfortably ask her about what he should do or what is safer to do. Everybody likes to ask to people who’s close to them and in that field because it’s easier to learn and more reliable than internet. Like even a neighbour rings our bell to ask a medical question to my father at obnoxious hours, is he going to he hesitate to call his own daughter to ask couple of things? I doubt it. He has a chance to learn about it more and better, I am sure he wouldn’t miss this chance. He has always been a responsible, smart man and I am not sure if he would suddenly turn into an ignorant, stupid person.

I try to see your point of views too. Yes, it seems unpleasing to view him in that position during this pandemic. Yes, I was irritated by it as I said that I am much more sensitive about this and it is against my principles. But when you think sensibly, you get to the conclusion that it might not seem like what it is. If we kept seeing new content of him going around without a mask, I would totally justify you. But right now, this is not what it is. It’s so easy to prejudge someone, so so easy, what is harder is to put them aside and think carefully if something different is possible. When I think, I reach to these many points and I haven’t felt lazy to write them all because I haven’t seen enough people that think with every aspects but seen the ones who attacked greatly. 

I am concerned because of his age and his choice of resturant which is relatively crowded. But as it is in the words, it’s his ‘choice’ and I can’t call him stupid because of that. I am hoping that nothing bad happens because this disease is really hell but I also trust his mind and try to think that he will do what’s necessary to protect himself. I just invite everybody to think reasonably, evaluate every aspects and not create a drama easily because we have already enough of it. Criticize kindly, I do that too - I would have preferred him do be at a safer place but as I said there is probably an explanation and it’s his will, but please don’t be this aggresive using these rude words.

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #roger meddows taylor

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Art Of Remembrance (Part 38)

Her world is tainted in purple, she can only see purple. When she closes her eyes it is still there and, though it is a muted version of the color. Purple drips in her eyes,  and she sees the world as though she is peering through a window freshly spotted with rain.

And she is cold. So horribly cold. She can’t feel her fire.

They are all around her and this time they have faces. One is Ting-Lao’s ugly bearded mug. The man’s face is narrow and shrew-like. The one next to him is a woman, fairly young and with short hair. And the man next to her is bearded and somehow both burly and scrawny at once. She realizes that it is his chest that is burly but his arms are significantly less so. Those arms reach out to place a gag in her mouth, they have tired over her shouting and infuriated cursing.

She realizes with horror that they aren’t gagging her for the sake of doing so. But rather they are stuffing the veins into her mouth faster than she can safely swallow them. She can’t breath, she can barely even manage faint choking sounds.

Her mouth is filled with the taste of rancid water and fish and a tinge of something more earthy. The texture is slimy and slippery and all around unpleasant. She grasps at the air, reaching for some involuntary snatch for air. They show no mercy and less regard for her humanity as they pile more vines into her mouth. They catch in her throat and tighten her chest. She kicks her feet as far as the restraints will allow.

The purple in her vision fades as tears slip from her eyes, twin trails of agony that closely resemble the trails of saliva and swamp water that leak from the corners of her mouth. She isn’t sure how long this has been going on for but she is well aware that she should be dead having been deprived of oxygen for this long. Yet she continues to suffer and they continue to pile vines down her throat.

They begin to slide unpleasantly down the entire length of her throat, which is swollen and bulging with them. Her mouth is overflowing with them, spilling vine juices and Agni knows what else. She finds that she wants to just suffocate already, if only to be done with this. But slowly, the vines work their way into her stomach and some relief comes to her throat. It is short lived, they are heaping more vines into her mouth to replace the ones that have just left.

She almost wishes that they would begin slicing and cutting as usual. At least she is familiar with that brand of torture. This...this is new. This is terrifying. Like drowning but without the comforts of liquid. She feels bloated and fatigued and utterly hopeless. She knows that no one is coming to help her. She knows that she can’t help herself. She can now feel them coiling about in her belly. She worries that they may erupt from within her.

At some point she becomes desensitized to the vines being forced into her mouth. That sensation is all but gone when she begins to feel wriggling under the flesh of her arms and legs.

The unstrap, hoist her to her feet, and tell her to bend. She eyes them desperately, almost pleadingly but they insist, “waterbend.” But she can’t. She can’t even firebend. She can barely even hold herself upright, she feels so tired and heavy and nauseous.

She falls to her hands and knees and hurls. She doesn’t try to stop herself, she needs to purge at least some of the vines before they kill her. But they fight back, they latch themselves to her innards and cling until she is only dry choking.

She flops onto her side too weak to muster even a tormented moan. Azula lies in a heap, simply breathing. Breathing until a clump of vines sloughs out of her mouth. They are glowing purple. She notices now that her arms are as well and her tummy, and likely her neck as well.

She feels the vines pushing against her as though she is with child. She know what is about to happen. She knows it and she is horrified. She can only manage a small whimper before it does.

She is reduced to a ribboned version of herself, with vines wiggling from the bloody mass. They peer over her as if their experiment has been a success.

.oOo.

For the fifth night that week, Azula wakes in a state of potent dread, her face slick with nervous sweat. She is grasping reflexivly at her throat, a phantom burning lingers within it. The nightmares are back and they are twice as vivid and with real images to play upon. These are more paralyzing than the one she had just awakened from. At least this one she can say is out of the realm of possibility. Not like the ones where she watches them dissect her; a sleeptime replay of the truth. On most nights she wakes with her heart racing and her eyes watery and this time she has no one to reach out to.

Between the nightmares, the re-acquired loneliness, and the real fear that she is being persecuted, Azula’s head pounds constantly. The last time she had slept good was a week or so ago. This time no one has come to check on her, setting in stone that she has burned a very delicate bridge.

She thinks that she may lose her mind at any moment. Perhaps she is already in the process, she certainly doesn’t feel right. A disconnect, similar to what she felt with her memories, is beginning to settle in. She wanders the palace in something of a haze.

She is getting jumpy again, the thought that Long Feng might be sneaking people into the palace is becoming pressing. She can’t imagine that Zuzu will put much thought into thoroughly checking who he newly hires, especially not for her.

Azula notices that she is pacing and brings herself to a halt. The scars on her arms and belly seem to flare up and inch more intolerably than ever. She feels faint and leans herself heavily against the wall, slumping to the floor with her hands gripping her head.

She thinks of Sokka. Of how he had held her so close, of how he could usually talk her out of the chaos in her mind. She decides once and for all that she has made a mistake. Despite it all, despite any history, she is sure that it no longer matters. Not when he had been so good to her in a moment of weakness when he very well could have taken her down permanently. He had been so caring and she had pushed him away over what? Things that happened years ago, a silly feeling that she was supposed to hate him.

Azula isn’t sure how long she’d sat there, mind racing uncontrollably, but there is a sensation of pins and needles in her arms and legs. She is both thankful and distraught that no one has taken notice of her.

She forces herself to her feet, her legs are wobbly as she makes her way down the hall. With a deep sigh she resigns herself to what needs to be done. It will be a whole lot easier to take herself to Dr. Yu-Kang than it would be, to be forcibly escorted. Anyways, she needs someone to talk to.

A tap on her shoulder barely registers.

“You don’t look so good. I can tell, and I’m blind!”

“Why are you talking to me?”

Toph shrugs. “Just because Sokka and Katara are mad, doesn’t mean I have to be.”

The relief she feels is almost palpable, but she refrains from completely unloading on Toph. That’s what Dr. Yu-Kang is for. Instead she replies, “I’m fine.”

“Okay, you’re not even putting effort into that lie.”

“I’ll be fine.” Azula insists. “I just need to...I need to speak with Dr. Yu-Kang.”

“Your therapist?” Toph asks.

Azula nods.

“What for?”

“A lot of things.” She mutters.

“Like how Sokka’s mad?”

“Among other things, I suppose.” She replies matter of factly. The urge to unload everything onto the earthbender persists. But she can’t afford such a display of weakness at the moment. Not when so many people are furious with her.

“You wanna talk about it?” Toph asks. “I’m not a comforting person but I can tell you to man up.”

“I’m not a comforting person either.” Azula shrugs. Evidently she has been trying to tell herself to acquire herself some thicker skin. “I can take care of myself.”

“If you say so.” Toph shrugs. She begins to walk away and Azula wishes she had said more. Though she isn’t sure what to say. Regardless, Toph turns back around. “Hey, if you wanna, I don’t know, light stuff on fire and throw rocks at stuff with me, just ask.”

“I’ll...consider.” Azula says. Though random acts of destruction isn’t what she constitutes as a good time, she is willing to part take if it means having at least one person who doesn’t resent her.

.oOo.

Sokka has long since learned to sense anxiety on the fire princess and she is exuding it very strongly. He has a nagging and impulsive itch to go and comfort her as he normally would but he is done playing games. He is certainly done wasting his time on someone who would throw him aside over things that happened so far in the past.

From the room over, he observes her slip into a chair and wait for her lunch. When it is set before her, she stares at it for a good while before actually eating it. After she finishes it, she pushes the bowl aside, rests her arms on the table, and buries her face in them. He doesn’t think that she is crying. If she is, she is doing so very silently and unnoticeably.

He thinks that she might have fallen asleep.

“You doing okay, Sokka?” Katara asks.

He shrugs, “still pissed.” He folds his arms over his chest and fights to keep his voice low, Raava forbid he wakes that dragon. “I just wasted so much time. You told me so. You all warned me but I thought that maybe helping her out would make a difference…”

“To be fair, it did with Zuko. No one blames you for having hope.” Katara smiles. “And no one is mad at you for being a good person.”

“I am!” He shouts. He flinches and looks in Azula’s direction. She must be out cold.

“I know that Aang was happy to see you so optimistic.”

“And he wonders why I’m a pessimist.” Sokka grumbles.

Katara rolls her eyes. “If you keep crossing your arms like that they’re going to get locked in that position!” Katara declares. She nudges him lightly, “come on, let’s go walk by the turtle-duck pond.”

.oOo.

Azula takes a deep breath as she approaches the guest bedroom. This idea, this new idea is probably a much better one. Yet she dreads it all the same. She gives the door a knock before she can second guess herself.

She hears footsteps approaching and very briefly locks eyes with Sokka before the door falls open and she is beckoned inside. She catches the briefest flicker of something in Sokka’s eyes, it is probably hatred.

She slinks inside and slumps down on the sofa.

“Is everything alright?” Dr. Phang asks. “Have the side effects not cleared?”

“The treatment went fine. Perfect in fact.” Azula responds.

He tilts his head in confusion. “Then what are you doing here?” He clares his throat. “I inquire with all do respect, princess.”

She waves the apology off. “I’m here because it went perfectly.”

Again, Dr. Phang looks almost comically perplexed.

“I…” She trails off. “I want you to erase my memories again. All of them if need be.” She never takes her eyes from him.

The man parts his lips but remains silent for a time. “Would you like to speak with Dr. Yu-Kang, princess?”

She swallows, “that is my backup plan.”

“Then it is a good thing that you had a backup plan.”

“I am your princess and I am telling you…”

“Having your mind and spirit energy tampered with just once is extremely dangerous. Twice, is treading very dangerous waters. Thrice…” He pauses. “What you’re asking me to do is to ravage your mind. Forgive me, princess, but I study chi and spirit energy to aid people, not destroy them.”

Azula finds herself massaging small circles on her temple.

“I can contact Dr. Yu-Kang, if you would like.”

“Yes, please.” She says very softly.

.oOo.

Sokka steps back from the door, his stomach fluttering with secondhand sadness. He knows that this is a conversation that he wasn’t supposed to have heard and he doesn’t think that he should stick around and let it be known that he had.

He should just make his way back to his room and forget about it. She made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with him. He lightly raps on his forehead with the heel of his hand. But why would she ask him to wipe her memories again if she didn’t feel some sort of regret? He answers himself with a forward, she doesn’t want to remember what happened in the compound. Still, something keeps him rooted in the hallway.

Just as he makes up his mind that he is going to mind his own business, the door opens and he finds himself looking her directly in the eyes. Exhausted, weary eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak but she shoves past him, Dr. Phang in tow. He has an impulse to catch her wrist but he knows that taking her by surprise is never a good idea. At best she’d jerk away, at worst he’d be met with a faceful of fire. Anyhow, he doesn’t think that he should care.

But he doesn’t like her posture. The way she is almost slouched as though her head is too heavy for her neck. He supposes that he has invested too much time into this, whatever it is, to just let it fail. With a long sigh he catches up to Azula. “Why can’t you just apologize like everyone else does?”

Azula’s frown only deepens and her eyes grow dimmer.

“I’ll stop being mad if you just apologize.”

She presses her lips firmly and stubbornly together.

“I’m serious, I won’t forgive you if you don’t say it.”

He didn’t realize that an expression could get that dark and forlorn. He tries a lighter tone, “You did it the last few times.”

She holds her silence.

With the old Azula reawakened and in the way, he is almost sure that he isn’t going to coax an apology from her, not now that her mind is rooted back in old habits.

She turns back to Dr. Phang and quietly requests, “perhaps I should go to Dr. Yu-Kang.”

“Okay fine, you win!” Sokka bursts out, his hopes plummeting rapidly. “We can talk about things.” He doesn’t think that she will take him up on his offer.

He watches her take a place propped up against the wall. “You’re dismissed for the moment, Dr. Phang.” He isn’t sure how she can still sound so authoritative.

The man offers a slight bow. “I will be in the guest room, you know where to find me.”

He takes his leave and Azula lets herself slide down the wall. For a while she only stares blankly at the opposite wall. He can tell that she wants to cry but she doesn’t He wishes that she just would. She is always calmer when she just lets it out. “Talk.” Sokka finds that he has no dialogue to offer, he didn’t think he’d get this far. He didn’t think that he was going to even try. “You said that you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I didn’t.” She sticks to her word. “Not at that moment.”

“Then why did you tell me that I was wasting my time?”

She is quiet for another very long stretch of time and he thinks that it is his cue to leave. He shifts his weight and she speaks up again. “You made me angry. I wanted to be left alone.”

“And I left you alone.” He points out.

“Not that alone.” She mutters.

“Well then when would you have wanted to talk to me?” He asks. “I wasn’t going to wait forever.”

“I can force Dr. Phang to get rid of my memories again, it will be easier…”

“Since when have you ever taken the easy way out of things?”

“Since the hard way became unmanageable.” Azula replies. “I know when to back out of a fight that I can’t win.” Somehow she looks tireder still.

“You can win this one though.”

.oOo.

Azula swallows. She should have kept walking. She should have just hustled onto that boat and back to Fire Lake. “Can I?” She asks. “It’s been over three years since I started it…” She feels so drained. So spent. “I’m tired of fighting.”

Sokka’s fingers seem to twitch. She speculates that he has just thought better of placing his hand atop hers.

“I think that I lost my memories because the universe knew that I couldn’t deal with them anymore.” Her soul feels as heavy as she had in her dream. She feels just as suffocated too. Each and every instinct she has screams for her to shut the hell up. To stop admitting weakness. But one single, particularly loud instinct pushes her to continue. “I don’t want to be alone again...it only took me a few days with my memories and one conversation to push everyone away.”

Sokka blinks.

“I can keep doing this or I can erase everything again with a note to myself that I don’t want my memories back and then I can move on.”

Sokka rubs his hands over his face.  “I can be patient.” He says. “I should have been patient. It takes time to get used to...everything.”

Azula shrugs, “patience wears thin eventually no matter how long the supply is.”

“Do you really think that it will take you that long to get it together?”

He truly does have such a way with words. She rolls her eyes, “yes, I do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You need to back your claims with proof.”

“You wouldn’t have sat down and talked to me like this before, would you have?”

She considers. “No.”

“Well then…” He nudges her.

“Don’t do that.” She scowls.

“Sorry.” He mumbles.

A part of her almost feels bad, he is trying which is more than she can say. She wants to joke and jest but she can’t. She isn’t comfortable with it anymore. She doesn’t know why she can’t just be comfortable with it. It used to be so easy. She rests her face against her knees. For a moment she clutches her head but then she releases her hold and simply hovers her open hand slightly above her head.

“It would be better if I just…” She trails off. “I was easier to be around. People liked me more when…”

She doesn’t need to look up to know that grim, tightlipped expression is on his face. “If I can’t love the real you, is it love at all? I want to love you, not a half version of you.”

.oOo.

She looks up. Her lower lips seems to tremble. Still she doesn’t cry. He really, truly wishes that she would. He finds himself saying, “just let it out.”

“What?” She utters.

“Just cry already.” He laughs.

She shakes her head, “not a chance.”

“I’ve already seen you cry several times, I can list them off if you’d like.”

At this she cringes and her nose scrunches. “Don’t.” For a moment she looks faintly humored, but this fades quickly.

“I won’t.” He replies lamely. “But I don’t think any differently about you for crying. You’re still the most terrifying person I’ve ever talked to.” She misses the affection in the comment completely and seems to grow dim again. “I mean that in a good way. You’re fierce! You know, like dragons!”

“You’re horrible at this.” She mumbles.

“I’m trying, doesn’t that count for anything?”

She catches him off guard with an affirmative nod. “Yes.”

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

[purge-that-urge-rhackathon]

Do you read works people gift to you?

I print them out and eat them xD

I’d like to preface this answer by saying first and foremost that I used to work (not fun, i HATED it) in the film industry doing a LOT of jobs, and one of those was doing script coverage. For those unfamiliar with the term, script coverage is where they give you a pile of all these fucking scripts they’re either deciding to buy the rights to, have bought the rights to, or need an abstract written to help them decide whether or not to pursue it to the point of making a film themselves, or releasing their license for someone else to purchase it. One page translates to one minute of screen time, yeah? Do the math there, and most features will be 90-150+ pages.

And that’s where my job came in: having to sit for hours forced to read a lot of shit i didn’t want to (and i was the book-nerd at the library who LOVED new stuff right? i’ve read somewhere around 10,000 books since high school and i read very fast too) so this was something akin to torture for me. I have read a lot of shit. Shit i’m really really glad will never make it to the big screen. Shit that made no sense. Shit that triggered me up and down. Shit in genres not up my alley in the first place. Shit that will never get made because of the abstracts I wrote having to tell the studio how shit it was, in professional-ese. It was a few months in beverly hills of doing that before my ass quit.

So while i really appreciate the shit out of the intentions, and goddamn am i grateful and flattered as fuck someone might want to gift me something, unless you know me, like really intimately (maybe only 5 people on this site i’d say, and they know who they are), it’s something very hard for me to accept and the ensuing anxiety over trying not to be an ungrateful bastard or be mean at all just because its not up my alley, and the pressure to hopefully not discourage someone (and i NEVER want to discourage someone, i really really want people to have fun doing what they do!) just really makes gift fic an unpleasant experience for me.

It’s like… it’s different from fanart. Fanart you see the thing and BOOM. You know its for you or not. And even if its not, you can usually pretty easily complement the color scheme or technical skill or find something about it to be nice and gracious over.

The written word is not like this. Sometimes you’ll begin to read a thing and know right away it is not for you, and you need to get out of there. I take it one step further in my judgmentalness: if the grammar is really bad, i won’t read it. If the visual structure (no paragraph breaks, for example) isn’t proper, i won’t read it. If they keep misspelling the same word or someone’s name, it drives me nuts to the point of not reading further. If things start taking a turn I don’t like, or gets too wordy or too descriptive (OR lacks such), i won’t read it. More to the point, if the general subject matter is not up my alley, i wont read it. If the portrayal of the characters isn’t something i like, or squicks me, i wont read it. I have a list as long as the day of dealbreakers for myself. 

I mean i think we can just sum this up to why some people will read certain authors and some won’t, right? We can all understand our own unique tastes.

When I’m gifted a fic, I feel like i am back in that old-ass chair with a pile of scripts dreading what is to come. I have no choice. It’s a gift, and the nature of a gift is you must be gracious even if you don’t like it. I think that’s asking a LOT of someone who didn’t ask for the thing. Especially if it’s a longer fic, or lord forbid multi-chaptered. It’s like, i didn’t sign up for this ride, please don’t make me ride this ride, i want off. It’s nothing on the person who wrote the thing, and everything on me. I am picky. I have a lot of deal breakers. And I don’t like to lie. I really really don’t like to lie. And forcing my hand with something like that and telling someone false things and also having to have that in my brain for however long it takes to read it? Instant panic attack. It’s one of my triggers, and i know it is.

A coworker last year asked me to do script coverage for him because i lived in japan for 4 years, and his script was focused on some japanese stuff… and was so goddamn outlandish like i didn’t know what to say to him. It put me in a position i didn’t want to be in. How to be nice and still be friends, but also delicate about his art? It’s not a good place to put someone. I had a lot of panic attacks before I had to tell him I WILL ONLY TRANSLATE YOUR JAPANESE FOR YOU I DONT HAVE TIME TO READ THIS. And we haven’t spoken about it since.

Art is subjective, yes, but I would say writing is far more subjective. It’s not a visual medium. It’s a lot more about technical skill. And then you get into the story content and choice of words there. Unless you’re one of those 5 people I mentioned earlier, anon, chances are you don’t know my precise triggers and my very specific tastes as to what i’ll read. What I write and what I read aren’t necessarily related.

I see gift fic kind of as someone telling you to come over and watch a movie. You don’t get to choose the movie. The person who had you come over does, and they’re really excited about it only for you to find out its something you do NOT want to sit and waste part of your life with… but this is someone you wanna be nice to but god the suffering… i think we’ve all had some sort of experience like that. But dial it up a notch or three and toss in panic disorder and you have me.

I don’t like to be forced to have to read something i didn’t actively search out myself. It’s part of the reason i REALLY hate people asking me to ‘look over’ their fics for them. I am of course extremely flattered, but im a hack writer and my word isn’t better than anyone else’s, and i know there are beta readers out there who actively like to do the thing. But i have neither the time nor inclination to read something i didn’t pick myself. Like someone buying you clothes. They might know your size but then the style could not be to your liking, or maybe the size and style is just fine but the material is scratchy and rubs you the wrong way. It’s probably better off not buying someone clothes, yeah?

I think i’ve been pretty thorough explaining myself and my background with the whole idea and my thought process as to why i don’t necessarily like gift fic, anon. When it happens, i’ll usually click it, but it puts me in a fucking horrid situation i will do anything to get out of. I’ve had people do it in the past in order to try and get my ‘attention’ and manipulate me to promote them (and then i stopped writing for about 9 years) and i’ve already stated i’ll promote anyone who needs it, but just the whole idea behind gift fic rubs me the wrong way. And because of my severe anxiety and not wanting to possibly be misunderstood on the topic, you’ve gotten an epic written back about the hows and whys and the history behind me hating unsolicted fic recs… gift fic is kind of in the same category for me.

You can dedicate shit to me left and right if i’ve inspired you, that’s really bitchin and i’m glad! Just… don’t force me to have to read it, or put me in a position where you’re like “Hey i gifted this go read it. Did you read it? What did you think?” That is my LITERAL nightmare. Aside from very-real time constraints as i am a bartender and dont have all the free tie in the world, I’ve really gotta put my mental health as my main priority. I’m really really sorry if this hurts anyone’s feelings :( That’s clearly not my intent by the massive text wall i’ve written, but i just want to be fully understood that its not coming out of a place of unkindness, but more of mental self-preservation and aversion to situations which have triggered panic attacks in the past.

I hope i’ve been clear somewhat D:

#poisonjack answers #you guys can clearly tell when im under the strain of anxiety or not due to the sheer text wall responses i sometimes give HAHA #just... sorry if this is one of you who've gifted me work int he past D: it puts me in a really weird position #...like getting song fic or something without knowing i HATE it... ad then gifting me something like that... awkwaaaaard #LOL i REALLY hope no one's feelings are hurt :( i super appreciate any and all gestures like you guys are rad as hell #i dont want to be an ungracious asshole... gift fic is a weird territory #im probably the only one who would even think stuff ike this sorry D: want to explain myself properly

[miraimisu]

Babe, let me request #48 please? (/ω＼)

I love this prompt to bits because, like, it’s such a flexible thingy? It has so much field to dig in and MAN ain’t I in for some ♥*-MINEDIGGING-*♥ – so yeah, galore with thy angst and get a grip on your nearest vodka bottle. 

Bakugou Katsuki was no friend of mistakes, misunderstanding or whatever the name one would have for it– but in that moment, he knew he had made a mistake.

A very big one.

He was now pacing all around his room, hands deep in his sweatpants’ pockets as he went around his dorm, his head shaking, rattling, telling him he had made the right choice– but man. wasn’t his heart crying inside his chest. The feeling of dread, regret and just… trying to imagine, without wanting to, how broken she had been after she was robbed of a wonderful night. It was all starting to eat him alive.

There was a pang in his heart that was, definitely, not going to survive this night. Uraraka had shown up at his dorm door, her hands shaking, unable to stop talking and beating around the bush. 

He had had to shush her with a glare and a twitching eye. “Uraraka, you’re making my head pound and you’ve been here for a fucking minute.”

“Oh, right!” she seemed to remember that the point of her visit was, and he swore there was this spark in her eye flatering each second he glared at her. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to crash in this late, so uh.. I was wondering…”

He leaned a bit forward to get the sentence out of her spluttering mouth, but she was taking her sweet time. Something big must be bothering her if she’s such a mess in front of him, someone she would be unfazed by and, actually, was constantly headbutting for a make up with Deku.

Again, like hell making nice would cut it– but again, that was off topic. Her hands racked behind her head as she racked for words that would convince him to follow her plan. “Well, you see…” she trailed off for a moment before snap suddenly almost pouncing on him and what the fuck “there is this party at the town center that everybody is going to! But you need to get yourself a partner if you want to go in for free and– and I don’t really have much money to afford such expensive ball and–”

“Hold the fuck on, a ball?” she nodded, scared of what atrocities he’d bark at her at the notion of suits, dressing up, and snobs hogging him with questions about heroism. However, his response was rather surprising. “And why aren’t you asking Deku instead?”

That startled her, because in no universe would this be a coherent answer that Bakugou would give to a party invitation. It caught her off-guard. “It’s not him who I wanna go with, and– and promised Tsuyu he’d go with her, so… I was expecting to go with you!”

His side leant against the doorframe, eyes darting around as he searched for somewhere to look that wasn’t her, her eyes, the way her lips had that straberry gloss that must taste deliciously good against his or her rosy cheeks. Anything else than her would be fine as long as she didn’t murmur a word while he pondered the consequences of going to a ball with her.

It could either go incredibly well and end the night with her tucked in his chest or end horribly wrong with him screwing up badly– like he always did. And he had long ago accepted that they didn’t belong together, that having feelings for her was wrong, wrong, very very wrong and going to that damn ball wouldn’t help his turmoil. 

So he looked at her and all his doubts vanished. She wanted to go with him, right? Of course Uraraka was intelligent and would have known the risks of going with a explosive, aggresive and over the top man to a ball, who had more traits as a villain than a hero but was defying fate anyway. In a way, the thought of her overseeing his flaws came across as rather endearing.

But the fear didn’t go away. So when he nodded curtly and spat at her to get the hell out of his corridor, even if she smiled dashingly at him, the troubling feeling of something not being right throbbed and writhed inside of him.

And when there was only half an hour until they had to part to the ball, Bakugou still say by his window, pajamas on and his suit forgotten in a corner of his closet. His heart was tight in fear’s grasp, trembling with the thought of screwing the night up– of fucking er up, of marking her memories of what could be a great night on her own with a sour reminder of what his company was.

And when Kirishima came to knock on his door, fear had barked at him to go away. When his best friend demanded to see him, frightening curses flew towards his friend. His troubling thoughts, banging against the walls of his whole being fought to keep him at bay. But when Kirishima eventually left the door, his footsteps fading out, he felt no relief.

There was no pleasure on the way Bakugou punched the nearest wall and started cursing at his shitty feelings for gravity girl, screaming because she was the first one to actually give his heart a reson to beat, give his mind something to think of when days were gray, and have something to treasure.

He was no longer the same boy.

And he was torn between deeming it a good or a bad thing, still struggling to find the answer to his ever lasting war.

Were those shitty feelings there to hold him back? Where they there to lift him up?

Then, a sharp image of her crying came to his mind. He knew that everyone was still gathered down at the hall, and Kirishima was probably telling her the news. He still had time to dress up and run to her side, be a good friend– be a good date. The walls around him remained silent, and five minutes later, time dragging on, everything around him remained silent, as if chiding them menatlly for his rash decision.

And, much to his inner surprise, nobody came around. No one came to him to tell him off for being a jerk, and no angry Uraraka came to his door to beat the shit out of him, like he had expected. Would he have given up, though? Honestly, he didn’t know.

By this time, Bakugou knew everyone was away at the party, and he was glad that Uraraka had found the bravery to go there despite everyone going with a date. He also assumed that she had someone to pay the entrance for her. 

But then… why wasn’t that nauseous feeling going away? She was good to go now, she didn’t need him for anything. Why was the thought so unpleasant for him to fidget with?

Maybe… maybe this wasn’t her fault. Maybe it was his for being so goddamn stupid, for being a coward, for being afraid of facing her.

He stood up from his pity bed, removed all his pajamas and scrambled into his neat tuxedo, his hair a mess and his emotions all over the place– still, the thought of her smiling, her laughing in his arms, sweeping her off her feet… it all filled him with a bubbly feeling of cheer and enthusiasm, his fear all forgotten in the spur of the rise.

His heart was soaring.

So he ran.

He ran, as fast as his feet could carry him, he was flying in the midst of a crowded city, the city lights brushing past him and his blazer swaying in his pace, people staring at him as his sick smirk widened with the thought of her being only his for the night. He was determined to make things right.

For once, Bakugou was set on making her feel like the queen she deserved to be.

When he got to the palace at the center of the town, he could hear soft classical music soothing all his senses into a lulling tempation to just limp and sway with the rythm of the night. There was chatter in the air, people talking heatedly, and he was aware of some people commenting on how wrinkled his shirt was, or how his hair was disheveled– heck, some fans actually kind of squealed upon seeing him at the party.

Bakugou quickly paid for the invitation fee and made his way in, running in between dressed up women with lots of make up and overly extra dresses. He could already picture his princess in a simple, red gawn, smiling when she saw him and squirming in his strong hold.

Bakugou flew upstairs and crossed the threshold to see his people, all in the same area, some chatting and some dancing somewhere else. His crimsom, heated irises scanned the crowd to find her; where was that little thing with  red gawn and–

Uraraka came to view, dancing in the arms of another man, distant laughter filling his ears and the feeling of her in his arms twinkled to disappear as he stared at her, unbelieving– she was smiling in the arms of another boy, sharing experiences with another person that wasn’t him, and suddenly, it dawned on him that he had been too late to the party.

She had found somebody else to dance with. He wouldn’t be the one to sweep her off her feet. Suddenly, he was alone, and she wouldn’t need him anymore.

Frowning, head down and tie too suffocating, Bakugou turned around and left the party before it had even began for him. The void in his stomach only widened the more steps he took home

And in his walk to the dorm where he’d end up thinking what went wrong, all conclussions pointed to the fact that he had made a mistake.

A very big one.

#request #kacchako #kacchako fanfiction #fanfiction #I AM SO SORRY THIS ENDED UP SO ANGSTY AND SHIT BUT OMG SORRY????

[misstincu]

Blood, Sweat and Tears - A Wisdom Teeth Removal Story

I don’t know about you, but if I wake up to pee in the middle of the night, the chances are I will not be able to get back to sleep. When I sleep, my mind turns into a vortex where dozens of thoughts spin simultaneously - positive things and anxiety inducing things. If I become aware for a few minutes, the thought I might land upon when gaining consciousness might be soothing - which helps me return to a sweet comforting sleep afterwards. Or it might just be the latest anxiety inducing thought or thing that makes me angry - and in that case, my brain is like “hell no, you’re not going back to sleep. You’re awake now and I’ll give you enough energy to ruminate for hours about a stupid illogical thing”. So yeah, I woke up at 3:30am, it’s 5:47 am and I couldn’t fall back asleep so I guess this is the perfect time to tell you the story of my wisdom teeth removal.

Money anxiety has been deeply rooted in me since I was a child, and for this reason I didn’t go to a dentist for more than 10 years, because somehow I preferred to hang on to the idea that not spending money is more important than my oral health. I finally gave in (no need for applause, really) and I went to the dentist, fixed what needed to be fixed and scheduled the most dreadful thing (in my mind) - a wisdom teeth extraction.

Pre-Extraction

I postponed and delayed the surgical removal of my teeth for as long as I could. After I finally managed to schedule it, I asked everyone that I knew had a surgery done at any point in their life, things like “How did you prepare for your surgery?!, Were you afraid? How did you cope with fear? Did it hurt?”. The answers I received varied from “I knew I had to do it eventually so why stress about it?”, “You just do it and get it over with” or “Oh, you won’t feel a thing, I haven’t felt a thing it’s so fast and easy”. I don’t know what answer I was looking for, but none of these were “it”. So I tried to motivate and encourage myself by changing my thought pattern - I would think things like “my friends went through painful C-sections, uterus removal, cancerous tumour removal - and you’re shitting your pants for this?”. I also watched dramatic youtubers exaggerate their teeth removal story for ad money but that only stressed me out more. Don’t worry, all my efforts to calm myself didn’t work - so I succumbed to desperation, anxiety and playing torture scenes from movies over and over again in my head until the day of my surgery.

The Day of the Surgery

I imagine this is never a fun day for anyone, especially for those like me who never had any type of surgery in their lives. All those hours before my appointment, I kept thinking that I would do anything in the world not to have to go through this. After feeling sorry for myself, I kept trying to think how awesome it will be, and how relieved I will feel when I’ll walk the fuck out the dentist’s door. But then I would return to the torture scenes, playing those in my head over and over again, and then back to the image of me walking out of the dentist’s door. As I was getting closer and closer to the dentist, I kept thinking “You don’t have to do this. You can postpone it forever, cancel the appointment last minute, walk away.”  It would have been easy to chicken out, but I knew I have to keep walking no matter how much I dreaded what was going to happen.

The Surgery

I walked in the dentist’s office, feeling as if I knowingly agreed to be tortured *self pity intensifies*.

My teeth surgeon is a very successful and skilled doctor - she went to Med School twice (so that’s 12 years of University) and also has a very long CV full of accomplishments. In theory, I knew I was on great hands - but that’s not why I was scared and stressed. I was scared because I had to go into unknown territory and feel things I never experienced - teeth extraction, sewing the holes left by my teeth and strange uncomfortable sensations in my mouth in the following  2 weeks. The first wisdom tooth was out in less than 10 minutes  - which was awesome! I had anaesthetic injections so I didn’t feel a thing. The second one? Let’s do an imagination exercise. Close your eyes and picture yourself in a Tom & Jerry episode. Now picture Tom pulling a door with his hands and feet, frustrated, trying to get it open to catch Jerry. No matter how hard he tries, he’s barely budging the door. He tries to cut the door open with chainsaws and tools, for 2 hours. Finally, after working hard for so long, he manages to open the door. Now, come back to reality - Tom was the dental surgeon, the door was my wisdom tooth. This whole experience wasn’t horrible, it was more unpleasant and tiring - it’s not fun to feel like someone could potentially dislocate your jaw, nor to keep your mouth open for 2h. But hey, I had so many anaesthetic injections, I  didn’t feel how she was cutting into my jaw bone.

The Aftermath

I can’t tell you how happy I was to fuck off as soon as the surgery was done. I was given an ice pack, mouth care instructions, a drug prescription and the recommendation to return in two weeks for the surgery thread removal. I kept icing my face for the next days, take the prescription drugs and trying to ignore the unpleasant tingling of the long ass thread the doctor had to leave in after sewing the hole in my mouth. My face didn’t swell too much, so that was nice. I only ate on one side of my mouth for 14 days and panicked whenever any food wanted to make its natural way to the other side. Eating took me much more time than usual, because my jaw was a little clenched from the trauma it suffered (cutting into the bone) so chewing was painful for a while. After two weeks, I went back, they took out the tread and sent me on my merry way.

Conclusion

I survived! And you will too!

Everyone’s experience is different, so reading/listening to other people’s wisdom tooth removal experience won’t actually provide you with much information to work with.

Not knowing exactly everything that happens is a plus! You would just worry for things that are not actually that unbearable or painful.

If you’re going to hell, keep going! Try to be as optimistic and calm as you can. Maybe you won’t be able to do so at all, but the most important thing is to go through with it even if it’s scary, even if it makes you wanna chicken out really bad.

Practice what you preach! I kept preaching to everyone “you should see a doctor for that”, “you should never postpone a medical check/ procedure”  - so I knew that chickening out is not an option. You need to lead by example, and encourage others to do so if you want to see people improve and live a better, healthy life.

Postponing the extraction of the wisdom teeth can have bad consequences in the future. You don’t want to be in excruciating pain and praying for death when you decide to go through with something you should have done years ago.

#mental health

[maedarakat]

Margin for Error - Chapter 7

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 - Part 6

Ruff groaned irritably as she dunked the next dish into greasy, sudsy water. It's not so bad, just a small pile left, then you don't have to even think about dishes until after dinner, she told herself. You can do it.

It wasn't that the task was particularly hard, it was just unpleasant. Globs of oil skimming in the water's surface, damp drying towels, mysterious floating debris in the lukewarm cloudy water that bumped against her submerged hands . . .

She. Hated. Doing. Dishes.

It was even worse this morning, when the water couldn't seem to stay heated. Fishlegs' idea of dropping dragon-heated rocks into the tub was far better than waiting for a pot to boil over the fire, but it could use some fine tuning; those heated rocks hadn't lasted very long against the frigid temperature of the well water. The tub had barely stayed hot enough to allow Ruff scrub the bacon grease off the skillet. And now her sponge resembled a wet lump of black lard. Ugh, gross.

It was impossible to clean off the dishes any longer like this - maybe she could go out on the deck and summoned a dragon to give the water a friendly little blast. Ruff was already hearing the sound of big wings. Was that Hookfang?

She saw the big orange dragon and hurried to flag him down, nearly tripping over a box that someone had placed in the doorway. A box full of dishes . . . greasy, moldy, crusty dishes - even a scorched pot or two. Who had -

"Hi!"

Seething, she spun around on the owner of the voice.

"Hi, Snotlout!" Ruff greeted through her teeth, oozing with dangerously false sweetness. "What's all this?"

"Oh, well, Astrid told me earlier to grab all the hoarded plates us guys hadn't brought back to the kitchens so they could be cleaned."

"I believe she asked us all to do that a month ago." Ruff iced.

"Yep! And you know what? This morning, I just happened to remember."

Ohhh, she wanted to punch him right in his smug little face. Ruff hoped this meant his yak-pants were ruined.

"How did you even hoard this many dishes?!" she shrieked, throwing her hands up. Honestly, if the situation was any different, she'd be impressed.

Almost half the island's dishes and pots were in this freaking crate. All of them completely disgusting. She held up a soup pot so burnt that its bottom was bulging outwards, utterly mystified. "And how did they get like this?!"

"They aren't all mine, I just took up a collection. You can thank Astrid for that particular masterpiece - I think it's one of her failed cooking experiments. Saw her trying to bury it behind her hut."

"And so you unburied it?!" Ruff screeched in outrage.

"Pretty much. Enjoy! Whoooo! SNOTLOUT!" He hopped into Hookfang's saddle and they flew off, just barely dodging the furiously hurled cook pot.

Ruff let loose a long stream of decidedly unladylike invective.

She fumed at the box, wondering if she could just push it off the deck. Those dishes had been missing for a month - and maybe nobody would notice all the broken crockery on the rocky shore below?

That's how Dagur found her, trying to drag the entire thing toward the railing.

"Huh. Wow, those are some nasty dishes."

"Ack!" Caught in the act, Ruff straightened up to face him. "You saw nothing!"

"Hmmm, nope, pretty sure I saw something almost happen," he teased lightly. Seeing Ruff's crestfallen look, Dagur hastened to reassure her. "It's okay, I actually came to help you do dishes. I figured it isn't fair - you having to do them all alone, just because of me."

Ruff's eyes widened at that, then softened. "Awww, really? You came to help me?" Her smile faltered a bit when she looked back at the crate. "Ugh . . . even if we get the water hot again, it's gonna take all day to do those. And by then it'll be dinner time, which means even more dishes. You sure you don't wanna just look the other way while I chuck them all into the ocean?"

Dagur looked thoughtful, and then suddenly grinned. "Funny you should mention the ocean . . . I think I have an idea."

---------

If there was anyone on Berk who Tuff knew not to push his luck with, Gothi was near the top of the list. The tribe's Völva had a gentle healing touch, but a mouthy patient usually wasn't above receiving a sturdy whack with her staff or even one of her dreaded ear-pinches.

Tuff kept his complaints to a minimum as Gothi's bony fingers pressed and prodded his bruised ribcage, though he couldn't help but squirm. She looked surprised when she found no breaks or dislocated ribs. Tuffnut almost blurted out that he'd already had the latter, but explaining how they been fixed and by whom might cause some problems.

Once her examination was complete, Gothi motioned for him to put his vest and tunic back on and scribbled a message into the dirt. She then hooked one of Gobber's helmet horns with her staff and dragged him over to read it.

"Hey, now! You're awful bossy. Right, I know, you've got things to get on to, well so have I! Grump's going to eat everything in the forge if I don't hurry back."

Gothi looked up at him half-lidded, unimpressed.

"Alright, let's see - she says you'll need a hook - OWW! Sorry, off the hook, doing any heavy chores. And that it's a miracle you don't have anything broken, so try not to do anything stupid and reckless for at least three weeks. You'll have to breath very deeply several times a day to keep from getting ill. It'll hurt, but do it, because coughing when ye get sick will definitely hurt worse."

"Yeah, I hear that," Tuff winced at the very thought. Even sneezing sounded like agony.

Gothi smoothed the dirt with her foot and wrote something else.

"Aside from all that," Gobber translated, "Is there something you should be telling me?"

Tuff blinked, unable to stop the guilty look that crossed his face.

"Ahh. Thought so. Well out with it, then. What've you stolen, or broken, or --" Gobber looked down in surprise as Gothi gave him a light prod toward the door with her staff. She made a dismissive motion with her hand, as though shooing off a chicken.

With a shrug, and a glance at Tuff that suggested it had been nice knowing him, Gobber headed off to visit his hopefully still-standing forge.

Gothi looked at him sharply and drew something in the sand. All at once he realized that this had nothing to do with the fugitive Berserker they were hiding. Tuff stared at the crude arrow sketched in the dirt and swallowed hard.

"Did you dream about the arrows too?" he muttered, looking up at her. "A sky full of black glistening death?"

The Völva went a little pale at that and gripped her staff tighter, leaning against it. Okay, so maybe he'd been a little too dramatic there . . .

It was only a moment of weakness, for Gothi straightened up and nodded briskly at Tuff, patting his shoulder. She gestured for him to get up and go on his way.

"Wait, that's it? That's all you wanted? No details, theories, hypothesis - nothing? Just gracias, mi hijo, buenos dias?"

Gothi gave him a remarkably patient look and then nodded again, gesturing for him to leave. Tuff frowned, but obeyed. He knew he should be honored she even believed him, but being simply dismissed afterwards was upsetting.

Maybe if he and Ruff had been trained officially in spae-craft under a Völva, it might have been different; his input would actually be valued. Either way, he didn't regret learning what he knew from his mother, even if it wasn't considered 'good' magic.

"Hey," Heather greeted him, on the landing with Windshear. "Gobber just told me you're excused from hard labor, which I thought would be good news. So what's with that expression?"

"Eh. It's nothing," Tuff shrugged. "Guess I better go see Mom. Wonder what the Chief meant by her having her hands full?"

"It's nearing harvest season. Are any other members of your family helping out with that?"

He thought about it, and shook his head. "No, Uncle Sven and Cousin Lars have their own fields. Other than the kitchen garden, we have more chickens than crops, so mostly we sell eggs."

Tuff brightened a little. "I'll get to see how Mom's little chickens are doing. Maybe there was a hatching recently. Oh, Heather, I hope it's so - you haven't lived until you've held a soft fluffy little peeper in your hands."

Heather smiled as they walked together toward the Thorston home. "That sounds nice. My village used to have chickens and every morning I'd collect the eggs from my family's coop. I learned to leave the brooding ones alone pretty quickly."

"Too true, Heather. Those proud little mothers certainly know how to bite." Tuff smiled at her until he noticed the melancholy look that passed over his friend's face. She'd been doing better until he'd found Dagur, with the whole missing her family thing. Tuff sighed softly; she and her brother needed to talk.

Both siblings seemed to be holding back information that could help them understand what had happened - with Oswald, with her village. Until Heather felt ready to relive that pain again, she wasn't going to be able to listen, and Dagur wasn't going to make her.

"Have you ever had a rune-reading?" Tuff blurted, startling Heather out of her thoughts. "Just sat yourself down with a nice aromatic cup of tea, while letting someone sing to the Norns and spirits to find all the hidden answers? It can be very motivating. Maybe even soothing, for a lost troubled soul such as yourself."

"Tuffnut, I'm not a 'lost troubled soul'."

"Aren't you?" he asked dramatically, raising one eyebrow. As Heather stared at him flatly, he waggled them ridiculously until she started laughing. He joined in, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked.

"Seriously though, you should let my Mom do a reading for you. She's pretty good, and it won't even cost you money. I'll work something out with her." Heather looked a little unsure but Tuff just grinned. "It'll be okay. You could even ask about future loooove. You and Fishy, sittin' in a creek . . . Wait, no, that's not how that goes."

She blushed, but looked a bit more relaxed at that. "You know what, sure. Maybe it could be fun."

"There we go! That way you won't be bored while I help Mom with whatever she needs help with."

Heather nodded and leaned into his one armed embrace. "You and your family seem pretty close," she noted.

Tuffnut shrugged, thinking of who else was waiting at home. "Eh. Most of us. A little more than half at least." His father would be asleep at midday, drunk asleep by the fire in his chair. There shouldn't be any trouble with him while Heather was over.

One could always, always hope.

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

“You ready?” Dagur asked, balancing carefully on Belch’s neck. The Zippleback had agreed to let him ride, though it had taken several mackerel (Belch’s favorite) to warm him to the idea. To be fair, the Berserker and the two-headed dragon did have a rather unpleasant history and Zipplebacks never forgot.

Ruff beamed at him, and eagerly twined the rope around her arm to make sure their load was even. “I was born ready for this!” she crowed.

Dagur grinned back at her and the two of them urged their dragon to swoop down over the ocean, hovering purposefully too close to a breaching Scauldron. It ignored them for a while, but as they persisted to trail it, the Scauldron lifted its head above the water and glowered at them balefully, she needscheeks puffing out.

Ruff and Dagur dropped their cargo directly in the path of boiling spray, letting the rope go slack as they flew up out of the way. The blast hit the net full of soiled crockery full on. Ruffnut whooped as she saw the dirt, sludge and grease run off the dishes and pots, splattering into the ocean.

“Oh, that is nasty!” laughed Dagur. “I can’t believe they were going to make you clean all that by yourself!”

“Hey, if I get to do it this way?! I want to do dishes all the time! Sign me up!” Ruffnut blew a fond kiss at the Scauldron, which grumbled at them now that they were out of range. She reached back to the saddlebag behind her and pulled out a salmon, tossing it down to the Scauldron. The water-dragon caught it, and swallowed the fish whole. It looked up at them expectantly, waiting for more.

“Hey there, pretty boy! Can you do me one more solid and fire some hot water again?” Ruff asked sweetly. “There’s more salmon in it for you!” The Scauldron made a curious sound but didn’t seem averse to getting more fish, lazily treading its tail through the water as it waited.

Ruffnut shook something over the net – a powder made from dried soap flakes and soda ash. “My mom uses this stuff when she needs to get something really clean. It’s been passed down through the Nut family,” she explained to Dagur.

“Neat! I’d like to meet your family someday.”

“You’d want to meet roughly half my family,” Ruffnut smirked. “The half that isn’t all jerks.”

She again blew kisses at the Scauldron, thinking of the one she’d met and helped so long ago. It obligingly sucked up some more water and blasted the boiling liquid directly at the net, causing even more sludge and slime to dribble out.

“Alright! Here you go, scale-baby!” Ruff called lovingly, and tossed another couple salmon down.

The Scauldron snapped them up and turned to swim off with its prize. She made sure to save some for Barf and Belch, who were obviously getting jealous of the strange dragon.

On the way back to the island they dipped the net into the ocean and dragged it through the currents to fully rinse everything. “If all that doesn’t get these clean, nothing will,” Dagur shrugged.

Sure enough, the dishes were all but sparkling in the sun as they flew high enough to pull them out of the water. Ruff let out another whoop of victory. “Best. Chore. Ever!”

Dagur smiled at her, impressed. “You’re really good at training Scauldrons.”

“Thanks, but I didn’t train him. We just did each other a favor. One time Tuff befriended a Typhoomerang just by yakking at it. It ended up saving our butts from a forest fire, but didn’t stick around. I don’t know how he does it – he just talks and talks and somehow dragons like him enough not to eat him. I just make sure to always have lots of fish on hand.”

“True. Never met a dragon who doesn’t love fish.”

“Well, we have! It's called the Whispering Death. Those things don’t like anything. Tuff’s impossibly in love with them – I can’t even tell you the number of times I’ve had to drag him away from trying to hug one.” Ruffnut gave an exaggerated sigh. “Thank Loki he’s moved on to chickens. I can handle chickens.”

Dagur smiled, shaking his head fondly. “I’m glad you two get along so well.”

“We don’t all the time, but I get what you mean. After we put the dishes away, there’s a few hours before dinner. Wanna check out our boar pit?”

The Berserker perked up. “You guys have a boar pit!? Uh, yeah I want to check it out!”

Ruff cackled in delight as they flew back to the Clubhouse. “This is gonna be awesome!”

-----------

Tuff must have missed her more than he realized, for the moment he saw that familiar shape clad in vivid colors, he quickened his step.

His mother was a broad-shouldered woman who seemed to like wearing the brightest of colors - if only to flaunt that she could easily make her own dyes and dress like the noble woman she wasn't. Her rainbow rags cheapened the otherwise expensive indigos, reds, and purples that upper class families preferred, especially when worn for doing laundry in the front yard.

The outrage seemed to amuse Madge Thorston greatly; anytime Tuff had seen villagers openly scorn her clothing in the market square, she had stood up straight and laughed for an uncomfortable length of time in their faces.

His mother was proud, brave, and strong. Nothing could bring her down, make her submit, or stop her from doing exactly as she pleased.

Well, maybe except for her husband.

That explained why she was out in the yard even past noon, face and hands reddened from the cold and scrubbing linens across a board. Tuff grinned at her as she looked up, expression changing from annoyance to surprise as she recognized her son.

"Oh!" Madge dropped the sheet back into the pail and scooped Tuff up in a bear hug as though he weighed no more than a straw. "Ha! My scrawny son has come home! I'd half-thought you were Mrs. Nygenskar, back to pester me about her damned missing chickens."

She promptly pinched Tuff's ear between finger and thumb, causing him to yowl. "A good thing you weren't, because then I really would have popped you one. Why'd you have to be so terrible at stealing, getting caught all the time? Now everyone thinks we're thieves. Thieves!"

Heather glanced over at a full milk pail that had the Hofferson crest carved on its side and bit her lip.

"Well, Mom, we sort of - I mean, that's our thing. 'The family that nicks together, sticks together.' It's our motto," Tuff answered.

His mother let him go. "Stick out your tongue," Madge said sharply. Tuff groaned but obeyed, and she flicked it hard enough to make him cringe. "That's for having loose lips in front of a new face."

"Oh, uh, my name's Heather," the 'new face' ventured. Madge turned to look at her appraisingly. "Your son was telling me you did rune-readings?" Heather glanced at Tuff for help. He rather unhelpfully gave her a thumbs up.

"Hmm. You came for a reading, did you? Having some trouble with a certain family member?"

"Um, yes- how did you know?" Heather stammered, shocked.

"The Nut knows, my dear. Also, I've seen the same look on my daughter's face since the pair of them were born. Your brother has you at wits end just by being near, and on top of all that there's a whole different mess to sort out. Very well, there's time for tea and a reading. How much coin can you bear to part with?"

Yep. Blunt and to the point. That was Mom at her finest.

"Actually, since Heather's technically adopted family, I was thinking I could pay for her first time," Tuff interjected, coming to his friend's rescue.

Madge raised an eyebrow, thinking for a long moment. "Fine. You've done well enough making effective staves(1), so I'll have three more. One for the chicken coop against predators and thieves. Then I want two new ones for the house, one to ward against financial ruin. Another against violence.

"Carve the two into beams upstairs, but don't wake your father. I'll not have him running his mouth off at anyone else today."

Her words were sharp, but Tuff could easily hear the affection in them. "Okay, I can do that, Mom." He darted forward to hug her, and was pleased when she rested her hand on his head.

"Good, now get to it." Madge swatted the small of his back as he ran toward the house. Tuff heard her turn to Heather, who was waiting nervously. "Now my dear, do you like your tea sweet or spicy?"

Yeah, she was in good hands. Tuff knew he'd have at least an hour to carve the staves and sneak some stored bedding and clothing out the window. Hardsell would sleep through everything and he probably wouldn't even have to talk to him.

He carefully pushed open the door, only halfway before the hinges would squeak, and slipped inside, just as carefully easing it closed.

A thick hand palmed the door, just over Tuff's head, shoving it closed with a solid thunk.

Tuffnut froze as breath touched the back of his neck and he failed to register the usual snores by the fireplace.

"Welcome home," Hardsell said flatly, looking anything but pleased.

Tuff turned his back to the door and grinned as brightly as he could manage. "Hey, Pop. How've you been? I see you got your beard trimmed a few months ago. Looks good. Real good." Tuffnut's grin was strained but genuine, and his clasped hands were the only sign he was inwardly screaming.

Hardsell gave a snort and gripped the back of Tuff's neck, steering the boy toward the fireplace and the chairs that sat next to it. "Sit."

It wasn't a request.

Tuff stifled his dread and obeyed, heart pounding a little fast. Only two things could ever get Hardsell to stand up of his own volition: Needing to refill his mead mug and 'putting people in their place.' Usually with a fist or well-aimed kick. Cutting words were also a given.

Gods, no wonder his mother was outside. Probably spending her nights in the warm family bath-house too.

"For whatever reason, you're loose in Berk. Without your sister. I take it she isn't involved in whatever disaster you plan to cause. Definitely the smarter twin."

"Oh, definitely - most definitely -" Tuff agreed, and because his anger was faster than his logic, he eased right into sass mode. "By the way, excellent job coherently stringing together more than three words - you must have switched to the alcohol-free mead."

Hardsell chuckled at him, humorlessly. Then he flung the contents of his mug into Tuffnut's face.

Tuff yelped in pain and wiped at his smarting eyes. The liquid stung terribly, but not like mead . . .

"That's vinegar, boy. Gothi's prescription for a failing liver is apparently to drink vinegar. One mug of tea in the morning, then the rest of the day and night -"

Hardsell looked at his mug and paused for too long. Tuffnut considered getting out of his chair and hiding beneath it, but of course he moved far too late.

The heavy mug hit him as he flinched down, shattering against the back of his chair. Tuff yelped as the ceramic shards flew everywhere, piercing skin and scattering unpleasantly across the wooden floor. He remained seated, trembling as his father loomed over him.

"As I said. Vinegar. Made from last year's apple harvest, I believe. It doesn't taste very good, but my mind has never been clearer. Your old man is going to be changing this family's fortune, boyo. Starting with you."

"Me?" Tuffnut asked, raising an eyebrow. He was terrified already, but he refused to give his father the satisfaction of admitting that. "Ah, I get it! This is another one of your inspiring 'get a job' lectures. That's okay, because I'm actually already employed as a Dragon-Rider of Berk. I personally don't think I can do any better, but I'm so flattered you do. I'll keep that forever in my heart. Now if you'll excuse me -"

Tuff's attempt to leave was met with a cuff to the head and he was all but thrown back into the chair. "Stay seated, I'm not done."

Well, this was just fantastic. The youth obeyed and remained quiet as Hardsell continued. Nervous fingers tapped against the frame of the seat and he hoped the man couldn't hear them.

"Your sister will bring the family money in her own way - by means of her marriage. Though she's proven too ugly to capture the attention of Chief Stoick's son, there are plenty of rich men looking for a younger bride to keep them warm this coming winter."

Tuffnut's fingers curled into fists. He hated when Hardsell insulted Ruff - especially because he only did it when she wasn't here. Cowardly didn't describe half of it.

As for forcibly marrying her off? Yeah, sure, good luck to the poor idiot that agreed to be her groom. Had Hardsell forgotten they had dragons? They could fly away from anything he threatened. Still though, incredibly uncool. Tuff held his tongue, aware he was being provoked. Hardsell took another drink and once more focused on Tuffnut.

"But you . . . you'll never amount to anything. You've no future. Why waste money on a bride for you? Would you even know what to do with one?"

Ah, the classic narrow-minded insults about his manliness he'd come to expect.

Tuff snorted, almost amused at the predictability. He didn't take the bait, putting on an air of boredom. Small beads of blood were still sliding down his face, turning gradually into streaks and stains. He focused on the little cuts on his face, absently picking out bits of debris from the shattered mug.

"Your cousin Lars - now there's a boy deserving of a girl. So we'll trade you for one. There was a visitor from afar who visited one of our family elders. Seems he's in search for a boy, about your size and build, with long blond hair and a Berkian accent. Seems this 'boy' owes some of his men quite a bit of gambling money."

Hardsell glowered at Tuff, who just shrugged. "I don't owe money to anyone. And I'd never gamble anything if there was a chance of losing. I'm not that stupid. If I was, Ruffnut wouldn't let me be."

"Hmm. Well, he's willing to do a trade anyhow. The boy in question's whereabouts, for one of his men's eligible daughters to marry your cousin."

Uneasily, Tuffnut looked up. "Why exactly would he want this 'boy'? I mean, if he's owed money, wouldn't it make more sense to just ask for a dowry?"

"Oh, we didn't pry. It's a good enough trade for me. He can decide how useful you'd be when you're his. You know what they say, boy; one man's garbage is another man's gold."

Okay, that had hurt. Tuff glowered. "That's it, I'm not buying it anymore. There's no possible way the family can sell me or trade me - to anybody - if I don't want to go. I'm a Dragon-Rider; I help defend Berk - you can't just send me away like I'm worth nothing!"

"You're only worth nothing to me, boyo. But you must be worth quite a bit to the men you owe all that gold to."

"I told you I haven't been gambling! They aren't after me!"

"Who else would make such trouble? Was it your sister, then? Perhaps you'd prefer to blame that older, more successful cousin of yours -"

Tuff scowled, growing angrier. "Don't you even try to bring Ruff or any of my totally awesome cousins into this - they're completely innocent! Lars, on the other hand . . ."

Hardsell cuffed him again, making Tuff flinch down and cover his head. "You bite your lying tongue - Lars is the son I wish I'd had."

Tuffnut growled in frustrated anger, his emotions finally getting the better of him.

"Oh, poor you, you got me and Ruff! So sad! Not like you did any work to raise us anyway - you just sat there and drank for twenty years! And now - all because someone cared enough to finally force you to quit - you're in a bad mood and you're taking it out on me and Ruff, and even Mom! Your crappy liver is not my fault!"

"Really? Isn't it?" Hardsell snarled. He gripped Tuff's bleeding face harshly, thumb smearing across a cut. "Maybe letting such a disappointment live after it was born and not exposing it to the bitter cold is the reason I started drinking in the first place!"

Tuff lost his defiant sneer and simply crumbled, devastated. He glared through it, trying to will away the hot tears filling his eyes.

His father was full of shit; there was no way he'd actually go through with this or that the family was planning to. Hardsell was simply trying to hurt him, as usual.

Well, he'd fucking succeeded.

Even now, the man was watching him carefully for a reaction, so obviously itching for a reason - any reason - to hurt Tuff even further. The youth decided not to give him one and simply got up, pushing past the bigger man to go upstairs, to the loft where he and his sister used to sleep.

Hardsell said nothing, save for chuckling and sitting back down.

Somehow that hurt even worse.

Tuffnut took a few moments to get his head together, and gripped the dragon-toothed necklace around his throat. It was times like these he really missed having his sister with him. She would have known the exact thing to say to make that jerk pucker his lips shut.

After a few deep breaths, he took a knife out of his pocket and began to carve a stave into the beam above the stairs. His hands were shaking badly; he nearly cut himself twice and once almost dropped the knife entirely.

Still, he managed to carve the first - a protection circle with symbols warding off ruin. He began to make four marks within the circle - one for every member of their family. Mom, Ruffnut, himself, and . . .

The tip of the blade was digging into the wood, ready to make the mark for his father, but Tuffnut was unwilling to commit to it. A bead of red blood dripped into his eye and he wiped it away, staring at the smear of red on his fingers.

Bright red, just like . . .

There was the memory of warm arms around him, of kind words and a sincere smile.

Tuff's eyes spill over suddenly and with no warning. He refused to make one sound of misery, instead carving the fourth mark.

Not for Hardsell, but for Dagur.

Let the house and land wights and all the Gods protect Dagur from evil; his father could be ripped to pieces by a draugr for all he cared. Or better yet, a hill-lurking troll. Ooh, or drowned by a nokken under the ice floes - yeah, that would be fine by him. He couldn't imagine his twin being all that upset either.

Tuffnut carved the second stave his mother had asked for, against violence. It was exactly the same - he made the fourth mark on Dagur's behalf and left Hardsell unprotected.

Though Odin Allfather may frown on him for his lack of duty toward his father, Tuff knew in his heart that Loki was standing just behind Odin's throne, giving him a sly grin and a thumbs up.

He put the knife away and wiped furiously across his eyes, hitching quietly as he entered the empty bedroom. Tuffnut would need bedding and a pillow and shirts. He went to the far end of the room and opened a cedar chest.

The nicest shirt he found that would fit Dagur's frame - dark blue linen and seldom worn - was rolled up and hidden in a goose-down quilt his grandmother had sewn.

It didn't matter who it used to belong to. As far as Tuff was concerned, it was Dagur's now.

Tuff also stuffed a pillow and a fur-lined brown vest into the roll; surely his erstwhile roommate would appreciate the additional warmth. He found a set of his grandfather's throwing knives as well, and stuffed the leather-wrapped bundle into his belt. Hardsell would eventually know they were missing, but Tuffnut refused to give him the chance to sell them.

He climbed out the window and onto the roof, letting the rolled goods gently tumble down to rest over the frame of the chicken hut below. Tuffnut eased himself down as quietly as he could, knowing Hardsell might see him out the kitchen window.

He couldn't risk it. With the sour mood his father was in, he wanted no further encounters - not today, at least. Tuffnut watched the window warily for signs of movement within, and relaxed when nothing in darkness stirred. Probably sucking down another mug of vinegar by the fire.

Might as well do the last stave then; it'd be quicker than the others. Tuffnut pulled out his knife and made short work of it, scratching a mark for everyone of his mother's six (no, wait, nine?) chickens.

One of the hens burbled at him while he worked and Tuff smiled at her. He clucked back and was reaching in to stroke her white feathers when she flapped her wings in sudden alarm. Tuffnut had no time to react as a hand seized the back of his neck and pulled him away from the coop.

For a moment he strangled on the leather cord of his necklace, oddly afraid it would snap, then gasped as he was shoved down to hit the hard packed earth. Tuffnut's ribs started screaming and he gave an abortive moan, curling around them.

He didn't bother looking up at his attacker. He didn't need to.

The bed roll was dropped in the dirt beside him and shaken open, all the goods falling out. Hardsell, pulled out the blue shirt. "Hmm. A gift from your mother to me, when we first met. She dyed it herself."

He tossed it back on the pile as though it meant little; no, the reason he cared at all was because it was his and Tuffnut had attempted to steal it. That was reason enough for Hardsell to continue, but he also went for Tuff's belt, pulling away the throwing knives. "And these were my father-in-law's. I'd wondered where they'd gotten to."

If Hardsell was trying to make Tuff ashamed and submissive, he was barking up the wrong tree. That ship had already sailed.

"Oh, I can tell you that. It got thrown carelessly in a trunk upstairs, during all those years you held down a chair in front of the fire, drunk out of your mind," Tuffnut sneered.

A pair of hands gripped Tuff's upper arms, hauling him to his feet, and giving him a rough shake. "This isn't something you'd steal for yourself. That shirt wouldn't fit you, or even the Ingerman boy. You're hiding something."

Tuff winced but remained defiant. "Nope, I was just going to cut it up into rags. The outhouse on the Edge is all out of good paper."

"Lying spawn of Loki." One of those hands began to twist Tuff's arm, putting strain on his shoulder. "The vest, the shirt, the knives . . . even the extra bedding. They're for someone. Who?"

Tuffnut whined as his shoulder started to genuinely hurt.

"Let go-" he gritted out, taking back every wish he'd ever made that his father would stop being a drunken unmoving lump and do something. In retrospect, being a drunken lump was preferable to this.

Hardsell only continued, with calm purpose. Was it the mead that had kept him calm for so long? All this time, had it been merely dulling the man's hatred of him?

Tuff's shoulder burned with pain and he couldn't help the sobbing plea that tore past his lips.

-------

Madge had helped. She really had.

Not so much with casting the runes and telling her the secrets of the Norns - though that was helpful too if you really believed in that sort of thing. Rather, the Thorston matriarch had a level head, a wise outlook on life . . . and lots and lots of experience when it came to talking to estranged family members.

If Heather could boil down the whole experience to one phrase, it would be that seeking out the truth is far more cathartic than blind forgiveness could ever hope to be.

"Usually," Madge had said, blowing across her teacup, "You'll end up mad at yourself for not asking the truth sooner. You deserve to know it, certainly. Your brother deserves to be given the chance to tell you. There are reasons he did what he did, not excuses - but reasons.

"I think it's worth noticing that he's never once begged to explain away his actions. He knows what he ended up doing was wrong, no matter what information he was or wasn't told."

A strange statement, but Heather hadn't had time to ask anything further; a neighbor had showed up unannounced to argue over something missing. From the sound of the raised voices, it was going to take a while. After twenty minutes of waiting, she'd set down her tea and walked politely away, heading toward the house to see if Tuff was finished yet.

When the front door did not open she, walked around to the chicken yard.

For half a moment, Heather stood there utterly frozen in shock.

Seconds later, she was bending back two of the man's fingers - forcing him to let go of Tuffnut. She used the grip on Hardsell to spin him and twist the man's arm against his back, slamming him into the wall of the coop.

"Don't. Move," Heather hissed, beyond incensed. Her axe's edge pressed against his jugular. She didn't know or really care who this stranger was, but he was no doubt responsible for the blood and marks she saw on her friend's body.

"Tuff, grab your things, okay?"

"Yeah," came the ragged answer. "H-Hold on." Tuffnut managed to kneel, gathering up the scattered items and re-rolling them. He stood with difficulty, and bundled it under his arm. She saw him looking helplessly at a smaller wrapped parcel of leather further away on the ground.

"I got it." Heather let go of Hardsell to snatch it up, never looking away from the dark-haired man, who glowered right back. He didn't keep it up, eventually lowering his eyes from her piercing glare. "Keep walking, Tuffnut."

Heather didn't sheathe her axe and kept looking over her shoulder until they came around to where she'd last seen Madge. After one look at them, the woman turned from her argumentative neighbor mid-sentence and moved swiftly toward her son.

Mrs. Nygenskar took a long gander over the apparent situation and walked away, obviously finding gossip more valuable than her chickens.

"I may actually kill him this time," Madge murmured, looking him over. Tuff swallowed hard and fell into the woman's arms, dropping the roll to hug her tightly.

"Stay somewhere else for a while?" he begged. "I think Pop's gone insane."

Heather felt her stomach twist. Part of her had suspected, but hearing it confirmed was still awful.

"Tch. Why would I leave my house? I can handle him. Hardsell doesn't raise a hand to me, and . . . Gods, I'm sorry, boyo. I thought he'd be hard asleep." Madge sighed and dipped a rag into the bucket of clean rinse water, gently dabbing at the cuts on Tuff's face. "You don't worry for another second on me; get back to that base of yours before dark. Let the grown-ups handle all of this."

Tuffnut hitched and looked up at his mother imploringly. The desperate worry on his face made Heather's chest hurt.

"Neither of us want to leave you in any danger," Heather supplied for him. She still had yet to sheathe her axe. That was how much Hardsell had alarmed her.

"Oh, I won't be. I'm fixing to kick him out for a couple nights. Let him miss the fire's warmth and sleep on the benches in the Great Hall. I'm sorry he laid hands on you. I promise it won't happen again - he'll be on good behavior by the time you both visit for Snoggletogg."

Tuff nodded, smiling ruefully. Heather wondered how many times he'd heard that same promise and her heart ached for her friend. She put an arm around Tuff's shoulders and finally put away her axe.

"You two have a safe journey back. Don't cause more trouble than you can handle, and tell your sister the same. Give her a hug from me, whether she wants it or not. Heather, I hope our short time together was helpful."

"It was . . . thank you." And please be safe. Heather returned Madge's smile and turned, wordlessly coaxing Tuffnut to walk beside her. They would go to Gobber's forge and see if Hiccup was anywhere near done with the wing prosthetic.

Tuffnut was quiet for a moment as they walked, occasionally shivering. Heather was inwardly distressed, not having any idea what to say, but her friend solved that for her.

"You, uh . . . you remember that time we blew up that ship together?" he asked, lightly jostling her shoulder. "That was fun, huh?"

She looked confused, then realized he was changing the subject. "Yeah, it was - Tuff, should we take you to see Gothi? Is your shoulder -"

Tuffnut pulled away from her questing hands and rolled his shoulder, forcing it back in with a small crunch. The resigned pain on his face showed Heather he was far too used to this. "It hurts more when other people put it back in," he explained, not meeting her eyes.

Heather gazed at him, understanding, and drew him into a hug. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's fine. Just know that I'm always here if you do."

Tuff made a small weak noise, face muffled in her hair, but he didn't push her away. "Okay," he whispered shakily. She let him go and he raised his face, expression worryingly blank as he fought back tears. "We should find Hiccup. I think I've had enough of Berk for one day." Tuff tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a dry sob.

Heather linked her arm with his, and walked with him in silence to Gobber's forge.

- Tbc

Notes:

1.) Staves are sigils - in Norse magic, a passed-down or self-designed symbol that is made for a purpose. There are staves for binding prisoners, staves against getting lost, or drowning - even staves for picking locks! Madge has taught the Twins all her own staves, passed down through the Nutt family, and how to make their own.

Here is a link for further examples and information: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Icelandic_magical_staves

#tuffgur #dagur the deranged #tuffnut #rtte