Tags: non-fandom oc

looking up

Prompt response: Liminal

Prompt: City
Title: Liminal
Notes: Ynez is my own.
Word count: 620ish


The world feels new. The world is new. Her father’s home is familiar and completely foreign at the same time. The little house she grew up in, her bedroom, the window she’d crept out so many times while she was growing up: it all feels like a dream.

This world is a dream. The one she left behind was real.

And when she sleeps, Tlalocan. Hummingbird wings and infernal heat, just like the desert she so recently departed.


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Prompt response: Into the desert

Prompt: Outside
Title: Into the desert
Notes: Ynez is my own.
Word count: 113

Into the desert

The nocturnal sky gapes, an open wound.
Secrets bleed on the land, dark as blindness,
And cold. Memory is a crown festooned
With sad ribbons of some phantom kindness.
For a surprise, the old blanket is warm.
It anchors her beneath the vacant night
Vacuum of space and time. Negative form
Of mass is shade, yearning for absent light.
Her heart is connected by threads, a world
Here and a world there. Does home have a name?
For whom? Dry dust is a winding-cloth furled,
Some shroud of earth and hours both end and aim.
Lift your face while you can. Dead stars still shine
After the fact. Grave eyes drink the divine.

vela votiva

Fic: Tlazopeiotlcochitta (nahui: 4)

Prompt: Holiday
Title: Tlazopeiotlcochitta (nahui: 4)
Notes: Ynez is my own.
Word count: 300 or so

Tlazopeiotlcochitta (nahui: 4)

Every day is Memorial Day for Ynez, trapped focusing backwards into her own past, unable to look away from any of it. Tonight she drums softly, her heart skipping in time with her hands, the candles flickering with awareness. The ofrenda is an altar, attended by ghosts and butterflies. When the flame in Chuparrosa’s votive trembles, so too do her wings, a reminder of both freedom and frantic speed.

Ynez will dream of flying tonight, traveling again to Tlalocan, the land of the dead.

Her eyes close. She drums. Drumming, she remembers.

When her eyes open, a warrior’s spacecraft hangs in her face, its crossed wings humming angrily, screaming silently of a galaxy far, far away. It flies around her head, once, twice, a third time, howling as it goes.

The toy fighter moves with deliberate speed and intelligence, clamoring for attention and something more. She isn’t just seeing things. Well, nothing except for the butterflies and hummingbirds, the shooting stars and flashes of fire.

“Who are you?” she asks.

Sprays of small metal charms – her milagros – leap up from where they live, attack the fighter, dance with it, twirl, gleaming darkly in the candlelight. Suddenly, it drops to the floor with a tiny clatter. She drums, trying to raise it once more, but it is only plastic now, a toy from some long-ago summer, a boy’s token of childish love, a prized possession, a gift.

“Here, you keep it. It’s collectible.”

When she looks again, the milagros – a knee, an arm, a leg, a head, a heart, a baby, a praying woman, over and over and over, tiny fragments of hope and despair – have not moved. The lid is on the jar the way it has been for weeks.

There is nobody in the room but Ynez and her collection of memories.

Fic: Tlazopeiotlcochitta (etetl: 3)

Prompt: Hands
Title: Tlazopeiotlcochitta (etetl: 3)
Notes: Ynez is my own.
Word count: 340

Tlazopeiotlcochitta (etetl: 3)

Yax butterflies sneak up on her from time to time throughout the days, even when she is away from the ofrenda. They either distract her or frighten her, depending. They are always waiting now for her return, clustered on skulls and picture frames and empty bottles. Almost before she crawls into the room, they lift in glory, scintillating fibrillating fragments of another world, one that only she can see.

Peiotl is bitter and makes her ill, but yax butterflies are the mercy it grants her. She is not alone yet.

First is darkness, each and every night, followed by the flicker of flame, little lights multiplying past reason or hope. Chuparrosa will appear to flutter her wings, driven on an impulse of votivelight, seeking nectar that no longer exists. If Ynez were able to sleep, perhaps she herself would become Chuparrosa again. As it is, the painted bird on the candle’s glass container is what she settles for.

One night, Ynez takes a drum down from its shelf and settles to the floor, holding it between her knees. Her favorite drum is gone, half a world and a complete lifetime away. It is not until she takes this drum into her lap that she realizes that she does not expect to see her own best-loved possession ever again in her life.

It is gone as though it never existed.

Her fingers blindly search the surface of the pale inadequate replacement. The goatskin is supple and the rope knotted well, holding the tension of the head as though it had been pulled only a month ago. The wood is firm but not completely unyielding. She can measure the balance of the instrument without using her eyes. They’re overfilled with butterflies and candlelight anyway. She could not see if she looked.

The drum beneath her fingertips takes a long shuddering breath, like a child who has just stopped crying. She pats it as she would a baby. It responds with her heartbeat and soon, she holds her own heart in her hands.
Winter Soldier

Admin: Tags

I'm so glad this community has taken off and that so much fic is being shared. If you get a chance, please read some of the stories and give feedback.

Anyway, I'd love it if you guys would take a moment and tag your fics by fandom if you haven't already. If you can't get it to work, please let me know.

Fic: Tlazopeiotlcochitta (ometzin: 2)

Prompt: Light
Title: Tlazopeiotlcochitta (ometzin: 2)
Notes: Ynez is my own.
Word count: 141

Tlazopeiotlcochitta (ometzin: 2)

One flame flickers, then two, then five, more and more dancing in her field of vision, whistling random notes of color. Hot hearts blossom in waves of blue and green, indigo, viridian, emerald, verde, azul, añil, xoxoctique, texohtic, yax.

There is only one word in Mayan for both blue and green. Yax. Ynez sees hundreds of colors now, bright specks reflected in the darkness of her eyes. There are no names, nor should there be. There is only flame, dark core, bright corona and everything in between.

The flickers tease her, each one transforming, growing wings and taking flight. A cloud of yax butterflies flutters around the room, encircles her head in whispers and promises. If she looks directly, they vanish, but she sees them from the corner of her eye in a shimmering wash of mystery.

Light a single candle.
eyes wide shut

Fic: Tlazopeiotlcochitta (ce: 1)

Prompt: Dark
Title: Tlazopeiotlcochitta (ce: 1)
Notes: Ynez is my own.
Word count: 124

Tlazopeiotlcochitta (ce: 1)

Night enfolds her, weeping. Bitterness in her throat and mouth, spectral scent of vomit trapped in her breathing.

It’s always that way.

Her heart manifests, broken and empty.

Pulling her grandmother’s rebozo over her head, Ynez crouches in front of the ofrenda. This place is the external representation of her spirit, her ehecatl. It grew as she did, decoration and remembrance and home and altar all in one.

She is planning for its destruction. There is only one person to whom she can entrust that task.

Darkness smells like dried blood.

Each drum barks farewell, coughing up a memory of sound and touch.

Guadalupe watches, serene, silent. Ynez turns her back.

Who needs to see at a time like this?

Night enfolds her weeping.