Two Guys Chilling On The Ground, Not At All Distanced (its The Gay Month)

two guys chilling on the ground, not at all distanced (it’s the gay month)

[Excerpts] Moments in Time - Changeling Fixes Scissors

[based on that rumor that the changeling could fix anything with just her hands, a little exploration of faith-based powers through the lens of inevitablity/preconception]

Of all the latent talents she was told she possessed, the ability to unlock doors and fix sharp objects simply by laying her hands over them was news to her. She masked her surprise and fixed the Bachelor with a look she’d carefully crafted to unsettle people. Well, the look itself was just her face as it was at rest normally, but directed at someone for a long time. It worked well on those who mocked, just as the Bachelor had prior.

“Would you like me to show you?” a bluff. The Changeling didn’t think she’d fail to perform the act, just that she didn’t think she’d be able to hide her surprise and glee at doing it successfully, which would only fuel the Bachelor’s mockery of a teenage girl. She could remember a distant memory of an event that was yet to happen, him sneering at her triumphant expression and mocking how even she didn’t expect her own miracles to work.

“No, I have more pressing matters to attend to that aren’t watching parlor tricks performed by a pickpocket proficient in sleight of hand and pilfering purses.” a success, if a minor one.

~+~

She tailed the Haruspex to his lair one day, for no good reason other than boredom and curiosity at his affairs. Regardless, she slipped behind him as he opened the door, bringing a finger to her lips as the Wonder Bull looked on, with eyes too intelligent to be trusted. She would request the bull for his silence, so that he would not tell on her to the Ripper, and if that was a strange thing to do, one would take it up with her and her bovine accomplice. When it lowered its head in acquiescence, she drew herself into the large man’s shadow, almost as if it were where she was meant to be all along.

With a slouch such as Burakh’s, she almost feared he’d see her hand slip into his pocket, but she was only his shadow, an extension of him, so she grasped the broken scissors inside and tallied that a success when he moved inside the door with nary a whisper of cloth when she pulled away.

The Lair was dark, as most buildings were at dusk in the town, but it smelled of dirt instead of dust, layered with the sharp and spiced scents of twyre, and underneath it all was the sharper tang of blood. She was only dimly registering the Ripper removing his smock and pushing the sleeves of his sweater up to slouch over a desk as she sat on a crate soundlessly. 

Clara ran her fingers over the rusty pieces of a tailor’s scissors, not a dent on the blades and yellowed at the handle; she could doubtlessly resonate with the emotional significance of the object, cherished by its previous owner. Besides the Haruspex, that is. She hummed, immersed in her thoughts, only to be wrenched out of them by a curse muttered in a language she was familiar with, yet could not begin to understand.

Looking up, her gaze connected with Burakh’s, who was still cursing under his breath and leaning away from her. Funny, such a big man would keep his voice so low even in his own home. Or, the closest thing he had to one.

“Hell, Clara, you can’t just sneak into places like that, you’ll get hurt someday.” He said that with the voice of someone who’d had to give such advice previously. It seems the children he associated with were most, if not all, ardent home invaders looking for trouble they could not handle if they found it.

“I’d wager you’re most likely to hurt yourself when I inevitably surprise you again. I advise you to get used to it, wouldn’t want to have a heart attack next time.” She quipped, holding a scissor blade in each hand. Two halves of a whole, yet layered together, they would not look exactly the same, similar to a pair of hands. 

She noted him muttering “next time, of course.” with a voice of resigned acceptance. “What brings you here, anyway?” he looked to her hands, fingers drifting slightly to the smock laid on the back of a nearby chair. “Did you… pilfer those from my pockets?”

The Changeling looked to the metal pieces, then back up to him, kicking her feet on the box she sat on. “Temporarily. Think of it as borrowing, if you’d like. Actually, I’m doing you a stellar favor, my dear Haruspex! I will fix these scissors before your eyes, just you wait.”

He looked apprehensive, and she could sense a near future, a present where he told her sternly, but not unkindly, not to play with scissors. And yet, that path was no more right before her eyes, like fading mist, as he only motioned for her to go on, perhaps knowing his advice would go unheeded. 

With a wink, she drew his attention to her face, hiding the slight shake of her hand as she clasped the two halves of the tool, the weapon, this mundane instrument, between her cooled fingers, muttering prayers she knew were mostly only for show. The rough grit of rust stained her digits as she felt, like all her miracles prior to this, the capacity of it burden her mind lightly. Just as she knew the truth in her premonitions, she knew at this moment she would fix the broken thing she held. It would happen just as the sun rose and as the water of the Ghorkhon ran, it was the natural course of things.

As she unclasped her gloved hands, she was met with a pair of scissors, rusted and old, but united, as they should be. Pride unfurled in her core, a victorious smile turning smug as she looked up to face the Haruspex. He looked as impassive as ever, if one were to only look superficially, but his eyebrows were raised and his hands flexed, as if testing his lucidity or imagining the tool fixing itself in his own palm. He puffed out a breath, slightly shaking his head.

“It seems I’ve witnessed a miracle once again. I hope you didn’t cut yourself while performing it, little Changeling.” and she almost bristled at the title, yet he said it with a levity only achieved by a man such as Burakh. They say anything can sound an insult if said the right way (or the wrong way, for that matter), but the Haruspex seemed to be able to do the opposite, making soothing and affectionate terms out of words once borne of mockery and cruelty. His kindness was nice, but uncomfortable, like a hand-me-down sweater too big for her.

Clara chose only to say “So you’ve bought the Wonder Bull now, what have you decided to call it this time around? I can never remember. Was it Noukher?” and his confusion was more familiar than whatever he had expressed previously. She appreciated kindness, but much preferred to vex others.

…

my beyond the spiderverse predictions ☝️ (find my other spiderverse shit here)

is the world really such a terrible place? yesterday i asked if oat milk was extra and the barista said yes so i said ok just regular milk then and when she gave me my chai latte she whispered “i used oat milk ;)” doesnt that make u want to live another day?

I'm so mad at Elon Musk that I'm actively going through all my Tumblr posts and retroactively sorting them in tags because i know I'll be using the good hellsite more now that the bad one is nigh unusable and I've heard of the wonders of sorting a blog's posts by tag

resulting from that is my writing being tagged ZapphAtext and my art being ZartAttack because i use social media to amuse myself. my reblogs will also get tags since I'm bored at the airport