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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years ago

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Anonymous asked: I don’t know if I’ve met another Tumblr blog that can articulate the conservative position so artfully as you do especially with regards to the ideas of the late Roger Scruton. I wonder then how much did Edmund Burke, the founder of conservatism, influenced Scruton’s conservative ideas?

I appreciate your kind words, all of which are entirely undeserved. I try to articulate the conservatism from within the culture I was raised in. I was raised broadly with high tory conservative sensibilities that are exclusive to what we might call British or English culture. So I make no special claim to articulating the American incarnation of its conservative ideas and the culture from which it draws its roots. I have no desire to inject myself into the venomous debates (if one can call them that) that passes for civil discussion between American conservatives and their shrill leftist counterparts, and increasingly between the old Republican conservatism against the brash populism of Trumpism.

The same could be said for French conservatism or any other country. I don’t claim special knowledge or feel I need to speak or defend their beliefs and practices as I’m a guest in another country not my own.

Of course all conservatives across nations and cultures may share similar principles in common. There is some cross over but such beliefs are always shaped the currents of culture and historical traditions specific to that society. In other words there is no such thing as a cookie cutter conservatism as you might find an ideology drawn from abstract reasoning such as Socialism or Marxism.

At the risk of sounding like a pedantic shrew I would gently say that Edmund Burke was not the founder of conservatism per se. He didn’t invent anything. He was an 18th Century Anglo-Irish statesmen and philosopher who articulated what we come to see as conservative beliefs in reaction to the tumultous events of the French Revolution of 1789. Burke in this sense was articulates truths that were already there. He’s more known as the father of British conservatism than its actual founder for one can go back to past thinkers like Hooker and Hobbes who also articulated conservative beliefs in one shape or another.

I had the privilege of knowing Sir Roger Scruton and even took a few of his classes. But I would never claim to have an authoritative understanding of his ideas. If anything I fear I articulate them quite clumsily.

It might surprise you to learn that although Scruton profoundly admired the great Anglo-Irish statesman and political thinker, he wasn’t greatly influenced by Burke’s writings.

As a modern conservative, Scruton defends a form of democracy. He shared with both David Hume and Edmund Burke an opposition to the idea that the political order is founded on a contract. For Scruton, the state of nature is a chimera - an invention of modern political philosophers who had forgotten the debt and gratitude owed to our predecessors. The fictitious state of nature - so central to philosophical liberalism - obscures the fact that membership in a community, with its requisite duties and obligations, is a precondition for meaningful freedom. Absolute freedom - doing whatever one wants - is always an invitation to anarchy or tyranny. In the modern world, the nation is the political form that guarantees membership and self-government.

Scruton pays his dus to Burke in this regard but he is not exactly a Burkean. Rather his philosophical premises owe more to Aristotle and Immanuel Kant. His Burke operates at the intersection of liberalism and conservatism, and is by no means reactionary. He is a partisan of moderation and prudence, and the greatest modern critic of ideological thinking. He supported the American Revolution but saw through the ‘literary cabal’ that imposed fanaticism on the French people - the desire to begin everything anew at some ideological ‘year zero.’

Burke thought of society as entailing a ‘trusteeship’ that connected the living, the dead, and the yet to be born, and although adamantly opposed to Jacobinism, he didn’t see the Enlightenment in toto as an expression of satanic hubris. A defender of the “little platoons” that shape the affections of citizens, Burke was also a partisan of a proud and independent Britain. He defended ‘a traditional community’ that had nothing to do with either revolutionary despotism or the modern bureaucratic state.

So far so good. However the heart of Scruton’s conservatism owed its debt to Friedrich Hegel.

Scruton admired the Hegel who attacked the French Revolution’s abstractions and Reign of Terror, and who, in the Phenomenology of Spirit, sought the philosophical grounds for moral and political accountability, a preeminent theme in Scruton’s writing.

This doesn’t mean that Scruton was a wide eyed Hegelian fan boy. He was not. Scruton has nothing but disdain for Hegel’s “philosophy of history,” which influenced both Marxist historical determinism and ongoing illusions about a coming “end of History.” This quasi-religious belief in historical progress is for Scruton “one of the most damaging of all philosophically inspired illusions” and has nothing in common with true liberalism or true conservatism. Scruton retained what was worth saving in Hegel’s complex political and philosophical reflection while repudiating his most pernicious legacy.

Scruton became a conservative in the 1970s, after witnessing the 1968 student revolts in France. His first effort to articulate his new outlook was The Meaning of Conservatism (1980), a book influenced by Friedrich Hegel. It is full of gems, even if it lacks the accessibility of his later writing, and is more adamantly anti-liberal, rejecting the whole edifice of modern liberal political thought.

His later book, Conservatism: An Invitation to the Great Tradition, is more dialectical, prone to emphasise certain affinities between conservatism and the liberalism it aims to moderate and correct. In wonderfully lucid pages, Scruton reveals the way the liberal order depends on certain enduring conservative insights. Liberalism’s desire to free the individual from undue restraints will culminate in nihilism and moral disorder unless it retains the venerable customs and institutions that allow a regime of liberty to flourish in the first place. Conservatism, as Scruton now understands it, provides a “yes, but…” to classical liberalism’s claims.

Like classical liberalism, this conservatism opposes the petty dictates of a managerial state and the monstrous totalitarianisms of the 20th century. But it goes further, continuing to find a place for religion and high culture. Without sensible limits or conditions, liberalism is prone to follow the logic of liberation and emancipation to its bitter, self-defeating conclusion. Scruton is left ambivalent about the Enlightenment—neither adamantly opposing nor endorsing all its premises and conclusions.

He is also sensitive to modern conservatism’s “classical roots.” More than a defense of tradition, conservatism is an approach to life and politics that appreciates enduring truths about human nature. Its defense of moderation, constitutionalism, and the cardinal virtues (courage, prudence, justice and temperance) owes much to Aristotle, for example. As Scruton puts it, conservatism “calls upon aspects of the human condition that can be witnessed in every civilisation and at every period of history.” His conservatism is Aristotelian, too, in its recognition that human beings are social and political animals “who live naturally in communities, bound together by mutual trust.”

Scruton was to write in his later works that, “Modern conservatism began as a defense of tradition against the calls for popular sovereignty; it became an appeal on behalf of religion and high culture against the materialist doctrine of progress, before joining forces with the classical liberals in the fight against socialism.” He maintains that conservatism today is best seen as the defender of Western civilization against its cultured despisers - those avatars of “political correctness” who see the West as uniquely culpable among all peoples and civilizations - and against “religious extremism,” especially in the form of militant Islam.

Still, there is an ambiguity in Scruton’s works. Sometimes he presents himself as a defender of the Christian inheritance, sometimes as a defender of the secular state. The two are of course not necessarily incompatible.

Wheeling back to Burke. One can draw a line from Burke to Scruton. That line between Burke and Scruton is drawn with Burke’s quote that ‘Society is a partnership of the dead, the living and the unborn’; being called ‘oikophilia’ by Scruton.

In Scruton’s conception, Oikophilia means love for one’s home. This comes naturally to most people, the citizens of Britain being a prime example of loving one’s home. However, this state of being like all desired states takes effort to cultivate. From childhood to adulthood we are told, and indeed ought to be told that we share this realm with those who we may come to dislike. What is to be done with these people? In death, one’s enemies and one’s friends are levelled by the finality that comes to all. Hopefully, the spirit of gratitude will lead us to a state of being that resolutions with our perceived enemies come in life as opposed to in death.

It was striking that Sir Roger Scruton, the greatest conservative philosopher of our modern era, passed away on the birthday of his 18th Century equivalent - Edmund Burke. Such men rarely come about. When he died Scruton joined the ranks of great thinkers, alongside Burke, Kant and Hegel.

Thanks for your question.

#ask #question #roger scruton #scruton #philosophy #ideology #beliefs #conservatism #conservative #english #british #culture #liberalism #classical liberalism #hegel #edmund burke #burke

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revenge-of-the-shit · 4 years ago

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Writing Chinese characters set within Western worlds

If you don’t want to read it on tumblr, go check this out on medium or go follow me on instagram at @annessarose_writes!

Alright. You know what. I’ve seen plenty of stereotypes in fiction (and in social media) that are so incredibly pervasive I’ve seen many Chinese people within the western world internalize it themselves. So here’s a rough guide on writing Chinese characters in an English-speaking Western setting, written by me, a Chinese Canadian woman.

If you’re here to say something racist fuck off. Otherwise, welcome! This is not a comprehensive guide by any means. This is merely a brief overview based on my own experiences. My experience (as someone in North America) will differ from someone living in, say, Europe or South America. I’m not representative of every Chinese person because everyone’s experience is unique. So here were are.

1. Our names

Chinese names are usually written as follows: [family name] [name]. Let’s take a Canadian historical figure as an example: 黃寬先. In Chinese, it’s pronounced “Wong Foon Sien.” On Canadian documents — which are written [First name] [Last name], he’d be called “Foon Sien Wong.” He went by “Foon Sien” for most of his life. That’s his full “first name.” Nobody would call him Foon because that’s just half of his name (unless given permission). It’d be like meeting a stranger called Alex and calling them “Al” right off the bat. Sure, they could go by Al, but you don’t know that.

For those of us living in the Western world, some of us have both a Chinese name and an English name. In these cases, our Chinese name becomes our middle name in English (e.g. a character could be called John Heen-Gwong Lee).

For some people who immigrated to the Western world but were born in China, their legal name would be their Chinese name. Some choose to keep that name. Some choose an English name as their “preferred” name but keep their Chinese name on legal documents. It varies.

2. Parents & Stereotypes

There’s two stereotypes which are so pervasive I see it being used over and over in jokes even within Chinese (and, to a larger extent, asian) communities:

The [abusive] tiger mom and the meek/absent dad

Both parents are unreasonably strict/abusive and they suck

I have yet to see any fiction stories with Chinese parents where they’re depicted as kind/loving/supportive/understanding (if you have recommendations — please do send them my way). Not all Chinese parents are tiger parents. Chinese parents — like all parents — are human. Good god. YES, they’re human! YES, they have flaws! YES, they are influenced by the culture they grew up in!

That isn’t to say there aren’t parents like those tropes. There are. I know this because I grew up in a predominantly Chinese community where I had many a friend’s parent who was like this. Parents who compare their kids to the best kid in class. Parents who force kids into private lessons and competitions that the kid despises because the parents think it’s for the best. Parents who have literally called their kid a disappointment because they didn’t get 100%.

But please, also consider: there’s parents who support their child’s goals and who listen. Not all parents force their kid into the stereotypical trifecta of lawyer/doctor/engineer — I know of a good number who support their child in choosing the path they want. There’s parents who make mistakes and learn and try their best to support their child. So please, for the love of god, if you write a Chinese character, don’t reduce their parents to stereotypes.

3. Language & Learning

When I first read The Son of Neptune by Rick Riordan, I was so excited to see a Chinese Canadian character in Frank Zhang. Finally, there was someone like me. Finally, there was representation in well-known western media.

While I do appreciate that RR added in Frank Zhang, it’s pretty obvious that he didn’t really know how to write a Chinese Canadian character. One of the most glaring examples: in The Son of Neptune, Frank reveals he can’t really read Chinese. In like, the next book (I think — it’s been a while since I read it), Frank is suddenly able to read Chinese because he “learned” it in two week’s time.

Nope. Nuh-uh. Learning Chinese is a pain, let me tell you. There’s thousands of different characters and it is something you need to devote a lot of time to learning (especially if you’re progressed past the best childhood years for learning a language). So if you’re writing about a Chinese character living in the western world, here’s what you need to know:

A character who was born and raised in the western world does not necessarily know how to read/write in Chinese.

If they were raised by their own family, the character would very likely know how to speak their own dialect. They’d be able to understand the language used in movies/TV and they sound like a native speaker, but they may not know how to use language outside of certain contexts (the term for this is heritage speaker).

They probably went to Chinese school. They probably hated it. Chinese school is usually universally hated and does not teach you jack shit other than a hatred for the place and a vague memory of learning how to read the language without actually retaining knowledge of what you learned.

Most of my friends who know how to read/write in Chinese learned from tutors, parents, or were born in China.

There’s two main types of written Chinese: Traditional (used by Cantonese speakers) and Simplified (used by Mandarin speakers).

There are MANY other dialects (which I don’t know much about). The most common ones are Mandarin (usually spoken by people from the mainland), then Cantonese (usually spoken by people from Hong Kong).

4. Fitting into the community

Usually, the story is one of two things: they’re the only Asian kid in the entire school, or they grew up in a predominantly East Asian community. Things to consider for both of these when you’re writing:

Growing up the only Asian kid

They’re “that Asian kid.” They’re different. They walk into a class and feel weird and out of place.

They bring food from home (usually ethnic cuisine) to school. Other classmates stare at it, make fun of it, demand what that strange food is.

“Where are you from?” “Here.” “No, like, where are you really from?”

“Your name is funny.”

People literally never getting the character’s name right.

And that horrible, horrible feeling: wishing that they were white so they could avoid all of this.

Growing up in a predominantly East Asian community

It’s not uncommon for Chinese cuisine to mix with other east Asian cuisines. For special occasions (or just for a casual night out), your character could very well go out to get some sushi, or go for some KBBQ, or get some Vietnamese noodles.

Screaming “AIYAA” at/with their friends unironically if they’re annoyed (I’ve done this a lot with Cantonese friends. Less so with Mandarin friends).

Slipping into Chinese for like, two words, during a mostly-English conversation to talk about food or some other topic that can’t be adequately conveyed in English.

Reading books by white authors and learning about white history and growing up thinking white names, white books, and white history is the norm and standard even though the community is surrounded by East Asian people.

When the character leaves this community, there’s a brief culture shock when they realize how sheltered they’ve been.

Things in common for both of these:

The character has grown up on ethnic cuisine. Yes, Chinese people do eat rice with many of our meals. Yes, boba (bubble) tea is extremely popular. No, rice isn’t the only thing we eat. No, not all Chinese people love boba (though as a Chinese person I admit this sounds sacrilegious to say…)

The character likely grew up watching film/TVthat originates from East Asia. It’s not uncommon to watch Studio Ghibli films. It’s not uncommon to watch Japanese or Korean shows with canto/mando dub (examples: Ultraman, Kamen Rider). If you want to see a classic Chinese film from Hong Kong that’s fucking hilarious, watch Kung Fu Hustle.

The character has felt or been told that they’re “too westernized to be Chinese, but too Chinese to fit into the western world.” They’re torn between the two.

5. General portrayal

It’s quite simple, really. We’re human. We’re regular people. We have regular hobbies like all people do. We’re good at some subjects and bad at others. We have likes and dislikes like all people do. So here’s a list of stereotypes you can avoid.

STEREOTYPES TO AVOID BECAUSE WE’RE REGULAR HUMANS AND WE DON’T FIT INTO A SINGLE COOKIE CUTTER SHAPE, DAMMIT.

The character is a maths whiz and perfect at all things STEM.

The character is a straight-A+ gifted/IB/AP student.

The character is the next coming of Mozart and is amazing at piano/violin.

The character’s free time is spent only studying.

The character is insanely good at martial arts.

The character is either meek and submissive or an explosive, dangerous force.

I’m not going to mention the other stereotypes. You know, those ones. The really obvious ones that make fun of and demonize (sometimes through multiple untruths) how we look and how we live our lives. You should know.

Of course, there are people who fit into one or more of these. That’s not the point. The point is: molding all Chinese characters to these stereotypes (which white media tends to do) is harmful and reductionist. We’re more than stereotypes.

—

6. Conclusion

We need more diversity in portrayal of Chinese characters. Reducing us into one-dimensional caricatures has done nothing but harm us — look at what’s happening now. This guide is by no means comprehensive, but I hope it has helped you by providing a quick overview.

If you want to accurately portray Chinese characters, do your research. Read Chinese fiction. Watch Chinese films/TV. Initiate a conversation with the community. Portray us accurately. Quit turning us into caricatures.

#non sw #writing #writing reference #reference #writing bipoc characters #Chinese representation #asian representation #asian characters #chinese characters #stop asian hate #chinese diaspora #chinese american #chinese canadian #writing guide #abuse tw #racism tw #long post #annessarose writes

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soap-ful · 3 years ago

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Art advice from someone who needs art advice but the specific kind that only I know how to give

A 2am write up by a burnt out artist with nothing better to do :)

Okay so let’s rate the typical tutorials people will look up (generalized)

Anatomy

Features (hair, eyes, lips, etc)

Bodies (in terms of shape)

Anatomy is one of the MOST IMPORTANT things when drawing!! It comes before stylizing and basic features - you need to know anatomy before you branch off into your own style! (Take as long as you need. I started out without any knowledge regarding anatomy - it’s how it goes. You’re never perfect.)

Second to anatomy is FEATURES! Eyes, hair, lips, clothes/folds, shading - those are second. I once asked a professional painter how she got things so perfect, and she said she would just repeat what she needed to understand. She filled an entire sketchbook with eyes, another with lips, another with hair, and so on. (She additionally did this with anatomy - one for hands, one for feet - then onto more complex shapes with heads, arms/legs, torsos). She would then fill an entire sketchbook with everything added together - basically she would redraw puzzle pieces until they ‘fit’.

Now, body shape is a rather stigmatized thing in the community of young and growing artists. I’m sure you have seen the classic ‘women are round/men are square’ or the ‘hourglass vs. rectangle shape’ or the ‘girl eyes vs. boy eyes’. While I do believe these help with basic anatomy skills and helps artists convey the cookie cutter gender alignments, you need to remember that boys have eyelashes and girls can be square. Don’t be too worried about conveying yourself properly! It comes with practice!

REMEMBER! Learning is a mess! You can learn in so many ways - I’m still learning, Picasso was still learning, that two year old with crayons is still learning.

Find your own rhythm. It’s frustrating and you’ll cry and the pictures in your head won’t come out as beautifully as you imagined, but you need to realize that not all tutorials work for every person, and that you don’t need to hyper fixate on a singular piece of advice from one artist.

There’s no holy grail of knowledge on how to make things look ‘good’. Time and patience and lots of crying is the only grail you’ll get - and that’s okay! It’s okay to rip your paper and throw your book and scribble over something and throw something out. It’s okay to give up and do something else, it’s okay to discard an idea you really liked, it’s okay to never get to an idea you really liked.

It’s okay to say that you can’t, but you need to also think that you’ll be able to someday. ‘I can’t, but someday’ gives you something to look forwards to. I cant colour clouds the best, but someday I will and boy howdy they’ll be tasteful.

HOW DO I GET INSPIRATION?

This is something specific to me - it doesn’t have to be followed religiously. But I like to watch things. Sometimes a mild existential crisis brings me ideas (I.e. wow, I’m here and breathing and the universe is expanding a billion times over but I’m touching scratchy grass rn and the temperature is just right and look at the fuzz on that bee). Recognize the things around you and how you’re present to recognize it.

Visualize the colour wheel! Where would damp grass sit? A blush on the skin? A honey bee’s yellow? One of the most surprising things I’ve found from colour picking is that purple clouds in an orange sunset almost always get picked out as grey. Lighting is important to your colours and you need to consider that! Sunset grass is different from morning grass!?

I’ve also found that watching people’s sped up art processes have helped me develop. You get to watch their ways of blocking in shapes and making things look natural, no matter what style it’s in.

WHAT DO I DO IF IM IN AN ART BLOCK??? HELP??????

Do a daily doodle. I know you want to draw that masterpiece you have in your head and the pencil just won’t work and maybe you just suck - no, open a notebook book or file, and draw something simple. Something to smile at. A frog, a flower, an eye, a stupid face, a dinosaur - draw with the aim of satisfying your need to put pencil on paper. Write your masterpiece idea down for later. It can wait.

Just remember that all tutorials are to help you grow and not for you to base your entire art life on.

If you don’t like how you draw your eyes, try something else you come up with. Don’t like your shapes? Try something different. It won’t hurt you, it won’t make you stop drawing. If you mess up on something new you’re trying, that won’t end your hopes and dreams, even if it may smush them. (I try so goddamn hard with my clouds that I can’t even begin to explain how badly I NEED TO GET IT RIGHT)

It’s not easy! You’ll hate everything you do!

But I think the moment you draw something, even if it’s a tiny part of the piece, and you say ‘huh. what a pretty thing.’

That is what you’re supposed to aim for. Creators usually see nothing truly beautiful in their pieces, so relax, go with the flow.

#art help #art tutorial #look you don’t have to take my advice #I don’t even know if this is understandable #it’s 2:40am now #art advice #you’ll do great I promise :)#additional advice: draw a frog. they just help.

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years ago

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A Silent Night

Hufflepuff!Reader X Draco

Am I allowed to look at her like that? Could it be wrong When she's just so nice to look at?

I'd never tell No, I'd never say a word And oh, it aches But it feels oddly good to hurt

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Summary: Winter break promises soft moments in the snow and laughter... or does it? There’s a darkness looming ahead and it’s harder to escape now than ever before. It doesn’t help at all with how you two feel about another.

A/N: Alright! Y’all told me to follow my heart so here’s about 7k words of a winter holiday that has fluff and angst. Also She by Dodie was on repeat as I wrote this (the lyrics are above). If you’re like me and need music to read, give that song a shot. Also I 100% stan Narcissa in this chapter. There were a lot more cute moments I wanted to add, and rewrote a lot of this, so if you want a headcanon list of things that were going to happen let me know! (Welcome to Christmas in the middle of the summer)

Miss Y/n,

It delights me that you have invited us to your home for the holiday. Draco speaks adamantly about you whenever his father is not around. I must apologize for having him keep you from his father’s knowledge. I know it pains him to have to keep you hidden, but I fear at the moment it is for the best.

I must thank you for your understanding and kindness. The burden that he bears is steep and I wish nothing more to see him through it and to keep him safe. You have taken years off of his eyes and heart and now I can begin see my young son shining through.

Draco and I will accompany you for the holiday. Lucius will be away all of the winter holiday and I feel as if it would do Draco some good to see you as it aided him over the summer holiday. I have written a letter to your mother as well, so she is aware. Draco will arrive in the morning of the 24th and I shall join him later in the evening for dinner.

You are a bright and wonderful young wizard with a heart so pure to see what I see in my son. The same thing that keeps us both fighting for him. Thank you for everything you have given. I am in your debt for bringing back my son even for a little while.

Narcissa Malfoy

I read the letter again as I sat in bed late at night. Tomorrow would be the day that Draco came for Christmas and butterflies had a permanent residence in my chest. I put the energy to good use and spent the few days scrubbing the entire house top to bottom and decorating every square inch. Mother taught me a few new cleaning spells to use and I was getting pretty good at them.

The morning came and I was up before the sun making sure that everything was perfect for when Draco would get here. Not that I thought he would judge me for anything out of place, but I had a sinking feeling that he hadn’t had a proper Christmas in a while, and I wanted things to be almost perfect if not completely.

Keeping myself busy with peeling and cutting apples for a pie, I heard the doorbell ring and almost tripped on my way to opening it.

Draco was there, an amused smile on his face as his eyes darted over my form.

“Hi,” I breathed out, grinning.

“Hello,” His expression was amused and his voice quiet. “Nice apron,”

I flushed, remembering I donned my grandmothers cooking apron that had tiny little snitches buzzing about the fabric.

It wasn’t fair that he looked so angelic on my front porch, almost at home among the snow. He was a bit more formal than I was used to seeing him: a blazer and turtleneck all in dark colors. It only enhanced the contrast of his pale features and the snow. I led him inside, closing the door. Shedding his jacket and setting down his bag, he followed me to the kitchen where I continued to chop apples. He took one, unpeeled from my pile and took a bite.

“Those are mine,” I baited. “Now you have to help,” As if it were the only option.

“Oh, I do? Do I?” He smirked, taking another bite and grabbing a knife.

He watched me for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure what to do before he began to slice the apples the way I did, narrowly missing his fingers a few times. I tried hard not to laugh as I finished chopping up two to his half of one.

It earned me a small pout from him. Laughing this time, I pecked his cheek and took our harvest and a large bowl filled with the rest of the filling ingredients and tossed them in, mixing them with my hands until they were all incorporated evenly. Draco studied me all the while.

“Can you hand me a pie crust from the fridge?” I asked, rinsing my hands. Frowning at the refrigerator he opened it and scanned the shelves.

“Middle shelf, blue ceramic,” I hinted.

He pulled the right dish out and set it on the counter. I lifted the bowl of filling and started to pan it into the doughy crust.

“Here,” I nudged him and nodded to the precut strips of dough on the counter. “We weave them to make a lattice.”

I showed him how to do the first few then left him to it, watching his slender fingers with such care create the woven pattern. Taking a fork, I pressed down the sides of the dough, sealing them then placing the pie in the fridge to be baked later.

“I think that was the most muggle thing I’ve ever done,” he muttered softly, pulling me into his arms properly for the first time since he arrived.

“Not too bad I hope?”

“Nothing unbearable,” he teased.

“Oh, Draco,” my mother greeted making us jump apart. “I didn’t hear you come in darling,”

“Mrs. Y/l/n,” Draco greeted politely.

“It’s so nice of you to join us. Y/n has hardly been able to keep quiet about your arrival,”

I flushed red and rolled my eyes nonchalantly and Draco chuckled, offering his hand for my mother to shake.

“Thank you for the invitation,” I recognized the tone he use: the same one that was present at the Ball from the summer, the one he used when he had someone to impress.

“None of that, really,” My mother scoffed pulling him into a hug that made me laugh. “You’re family here,” She insisted the turned to me. “Well cookies still need to be made before tonight, Y/n you know what to do. I’ll be out for a bit,” my mother gave me a hug before hurrying out the door.

“Cookies?” Draco mused sounding unsure.

I grinned and took out the ingredients to make sugar cookies from scratch and taught Draco how to make them. He padded around my small kitchen in cashmere socks. It warmed my heart to see him so domestic.

Rolling out the dough, I started to press the cookie cutters into the thin confectionary and Draco crowded next to me, taking another cutter and stamping the dough. Preheating the oven, I left him to cut out the little shapes as I began to work on peeling potatoes and sweet potatoes.

“Don’t you have house elves?” He asked, leaning against the counter, finishing his apple, watching me.

“No,” I spoke softly. “Father never liked the notion, and I guess mother kept it that way...” I took a breath in. “And these skills aren’t the worst things to know,” I smiled. “Will you start dicing these?” I gestured to the peeled potatoes with my peeler.

“I suppose,” He mused, picking up the same knife we had used for apples and began to cut the potatoes into small cubes.

When the oven went off, I got up and slipped as many trays of cookies as I could into the oven and set the timer. Throwing the cubed potatoes into a pot, I filled it with water about half-way and set it on the stove to boil.

Draco followed me around the kitchen all morning, helping where he could, confused about some things I did, but there was an explanation for everything. Around lunchtime my mother returned, arms filled with parcels and packages. Last minute shopping I supposed. She shooed us out of the kitchen and outside after lunch.

After a short argument—I didn’t see a need for things like gloves, a scarf or a beanie, but Draco put his foot down and bundled me up—Draco and I were both clad in winter gear and walking outside along the few acres that my mother and I shared together. Our hands intertwined; we didn’t speak much, just enjoyed the quiet moment together. The butterflies in my chest fluttered happily.

“Want to let Pinnae fly?” He asked, thoughtful.

“Maybe later,” I leaned against him. “Don’t wanna fly when you’re still on the ground,”

I caught his eyeroll in the corner of my vision and the redness on his cheeks darken slightly.

“My mother is quiet taken with you; you know.” Draco gave off-hand.

I hummed in acknowledgement thinking of the letter sitting on my bedside table. We meandered around the grounds, heading back to the front porch and inside to warm up.

“Reading anything riveting?” Draco teased as we curled up in the den by the fire.

I laughed softly and stood, taking his hand. I ignored his questioning and led him to the room adjacent from mine: my studio. The entire back wall was covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves holding all of the books, both muggle and wizarding, I had collected over the years.

_________________________________

Draco stared at the wall of books and trinkets. Some he recognized: old textbooks from prior years and items like a Sneakscope and Timeturner. Some things were clearly muggle: the pictures that didn’t move or the snow-globes that weren’t enchanted.

He had never seen so many muggle books resting so peacefully next to wizarding books. Some were new and the gold leaf still shined at him whereas others were dull and faded and he could barely make out the titles. Carefully he ran his fingers over the spine of the nearest book.

“Pride and Prejudice?” He muttered, frowning looking at the cluster of Jane Austen books.

“Sense and Sensibility is better,” You mumbled, and his eyes flickered to the well-worn book beside its sister. “And it’s too complicated for me to try and pay attention to right now. Get out of Jane Austen,” You advised, pulling him a bit further down.

“Of Mice and Men?” He mused, looking at the smaller book that was also well worn.

“Ugh,” You scoffed. “Awful ending.”

“Then why are you keeping it?” He gave you a pointed look.

“Not all books have happy endings, it would be stupid to only keep the ones that did,” You whispered softly.

His eyes followed the names of the books not being able to distinguish one from another— Animal Farm, The Princess Bride, Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies, The Great Gatsby, The Scarlett Letter, The Crucible, The Phantom of the Opera, Fahrenheit 451. His eyes passed over your Chronicles of Narnia collection, one book missing—the one that he had.

“Romeo and Juliet?” His eyebrows furrowed.

The name was familiar to him for some reason. The book nested between Taming of the Shrew and Macbeth.

A laugh bubbled through your lips, a quiet amused sound.

“That’s worse than Pride and Prejudice,” You giggled. “Have you ever read Shakespeare?”

His eyes flashed to yours. You knew that answer. No, of course he hadn’t. Rolling your eyes, you took the book of the shelf and flipped to a random page of the wellworn book.

“Tis but thy name that is my enemy;

Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.

What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

What's in a name? that which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet;”

You looked at him and he blinked, his mind unravelling the words. It was almost worse than Divination books.

“They’re plays,” You explained. “Takes a lot of studying and there are versions that have a bit more updated English, but well,” You shrugged and slipped the book back into its place.

“Are they all like that?” He asked, looking at the row of Shakespeare books.

“Pretty much,” You sighed. “Here,” You reached across him and next to your Austen books, pulled out a book. “This should be a good book to read.”

“A Christmas Carol?” He read the title off the faded cover.

“It’s a classic,” You took his hand again and he let you lead him downstairs and back to the small sitting room with the lit fire and curled up on the couch under an afghan.

You began to read A Christmas Carol, and again he was lost in your words and expressions:

“Marely was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.

Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.

Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a doornail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a doornail”

Just as you began to read of the first ghost that came to Scrooge on Christmas Eve, your mother came into the small den.

“Y/n, Draco’s mother will be here within the hour, you need to get ready,” She eyed your casual attire of jeans and an oversized sweater.

You huffed and handed Draco the book, he kept the page and watched you head upstairs, sulking only slightly. It was such a you thing to do—complaining about being taken away from your book and forced to prepare to socialize.

Your mother hovered in the den and took a seat at the armchair adjacent to the sofa he resided on. He tensed, ready for backlash against the something he must have done wrong, but an amused smile reached your mother’s lips—one that he had seen on you more than a fair share of times. You didn’t look much like your mother, the only thing Draco found was that you two shared the same smile.

“I have to thank you Draco,” She spoke softly. “She is my entire world since her father passed, and I always feared that she would never let herself open up. You have done her a lot of good, and I know that her father would approve of you,” There was your smile on her lips again.

“I must thank you as well,” Draco spoke in the same soft manor. “For allowing her to be with me and for Pinnae. I know she probably would have found a way to do it anyway, but it means the world to her to have your support, as it does to me,” His eyes met the same shade as your eyes as he looked up—another similarity. “And I must apologize for the last month of summer. I thought I was keeping her safe by keeping her away,”

“All is forgiven, darling,” The pet name on your mother’s lips reminded him of his own mother’s habit. “Merlin knows I’ve tried to keep her from things to keep her safe... but she has a way of finding herself there anyway,”

“She is stubborn like that,” Draco mused, thinking of the first night that he knew of your Animagus.

“Yes, she is,” Your mother sighed.

“Is she staying healthy?” He asked. “I know she has a habit of not keeping warm,”

Your mother mulled over the question then spoke.

“The winter has been affecting her more than before, she’s up half the night and sleeps half the day.” There was a soft sigh in her voice as worry blossomed in Draco’s chest at the new information. “She’s getting enough sleep and enough to eat, but I do worry about her. Ever since the change, she’s a bit more spontaneous in her sleeping habits.” The latter information pacified some of his worry.

“It’ll probably take some time for her to figure out,” He said mostly for his benefit. “But she won’t be alone in doing so,” He vowed.

“I know,” Your mother rose, smiling at him once more. “She might not have many friends, but the ones she does have are the most loyal I’ve ever seen,”

He nodded, thinking of Abby and even Pansy.

There was a chime from in the house and your mother rose heading to the foyer. Draco knew that it would be his mother at the door and stood as well. Greetings were made and just as your mother was about to call up to you, you descended the stairs, in a deep green dress he had never seen before. The fabric hugged you to your waist where it then flowed loosely to you knees. The long sleeves and high collar gave him comfort that you would be warm. The sheer black stockings you had paired with the dress seconded that comfort.

Draco gaped at you, deciding that he loved you in green. The night of the summer ball flashed in his mind and the green dress you wore then. He knew that it was stupid to give into house colors with you but Merlin you looked great in Slytherin colors.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” You greeted with the same decorum as the Ball.

“Miss Y/n,” His mother smiled. “It has been too long my dear,”

You flushed and looked down, coming to stand beside him, your hand slipping into his as your mother led the lot of you all into the dining room. It was just as immaculately decorated as the rest of the house, though nothing was overdone or gaudy. It was simple, classy.

Your mother must have taken over cooking to allow you to spend the rest of the day with him, explaining the heavenly smells that emitted from the kitchen all day. There was something different about the food at your home. It was a bit messy and not all of the dishes matched and not everything was perfect, but Draco almost preferred it that way. He had spent too long in perfection; it was nice to have something new.

His mother spoke respectfully to you, asking you about your classes this year and how they had gone. A few times he had to nudge you before you slipped up about Pinnae accidently. Draco would never get over how much his mother absolutely adored you. You had stolen into her heart the same way you had his. If only you could do the same with his father.

As dinner ended, you rose to clear the table, and he joined you, having never done such a thing in his life. You set things carefully on the clean counters of the kitchen and it only took a few trips to rid the table of dinner and replace it with dessert.

__________________________________

I kept my eye on Draco all throughout dinner, worried that something might go wrong. Narcissa proved to be no trouble and his father was never in the topic of discussion. I still knew that Draco missed his father the same way that I missed mine on the holidays.

“Well, I must thank you for your hospitality, but I’m afraid I must be off now,” Narcissa rose gracefully with a kind smile. “Draco, be home before too long yes?”

Draco gave a curt nod as my mother saw Narcissa to the door. Draco slumped beside me, both of our facades falling.

“Well, that could have been worse,” I mused.

He chuckled and rubbed his face. I could see the weariness in his features.

“Dray?” I asked softly.

“When did everything get so complicated?” He mumbled.

I sighed and laid my head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and wrapped an arm around me.

“At least there’s presents? And Christmas? And us?” I offered. He hummed in acknowledgment.

Now that it was the Christmas season, I could officially watch The Sound of Music—a Christmas classic at home.

Draco studied me as I set up the DVR and hit play, curling up beside him on the couch. Since it was winter, the sun had set some time ago, leaving us in a soft darkness. The credits began to roll, and I laid my head on Draco’s shoulder, curling under an afghan.

“This is ridiculous,” He muttered halfway through.

I shushed him. I felt him sigh as his arm draped around my shoulders.

“Are you two ready?” My mother asked, coming in with three mugs.

“Ready?” Draco murmured in my ear as I sat up.

“Presents?” I grinned. “We do them on Christmas Eve, it’s our tradition. Then we undecorate on Christmas Day.”

“What?”

“Her father always insisted that as soon as Christmas is over all the decorations should come down. So, we take them down tomorrow.” My mother explained, handing us both mugs.

With the parcels covered in shiny paper distributed, I watched Draco marvel at the number of gifts in his lap. I nudged his shoulder letting him know that it was alright to start.

I started with my mother’s present to me—a new cloak that was a silvery white, matching Pinnae’s feathers. I thanked her and undid the recognizable paper from Abby’s gift. It was a leather-bound photo album. Frowning, I opened the cover and saw Abby and I as little kids dressed up as princesses. I smiled at the photo and ran my hand over the giggling girls. I looked over to Draco, wanting to show him and I paused; he was lost deep in the delicate pages of my gift to him: the entire Narnia collection in one leather bound book.

“It’s charmed,” I explained softly. “If it’s not me or you to open the book it reverts to an old book of spells,”

“Really?” He sounded surprised, not looking up from the carpet pages of finely detailed artwork.

“Mom helped me with the magic,” I stole a glance her way and she was beaming at us.

She stood quietly and gave me a look, leaving us alone in the den to have a few last moments alone.

“You mean you didn’t read me the first book?” He muttered.

“Well, you walked in on me reading the second one,” I poked his side. “Here, this is from Abby,” I placed the photo album between us.

I opened the first page and he laughed at the picture of Abby and I. “You were such a dorky kid,” He chuckled.

“Yeah well,” I rolled my eyes.

The next page was our first day at Hogwarts, my hair was still impossibly long as Abby and I sat together on the Hogwarts Express. I laughed and pointed out Draco sulking in the background of the photo.

“Creep,” I teased.

The photos were a mix of muggle and magic, some moving, some static. Abby and I through the years: getting sorted into Hufflepuff, Christmases, summer vacations. Then there was a page that didn’t hold a photo, but a note:

From Ernie, Blaise, Hannah, Emme, Pansy and me~

The next page held a photo Draco and I at the third task, sitting in the stands. I felt secondhand awkwardness from the two of us in the photo. It was minutes before my entire world ended... or had just begun. The next photo was two of us in the hospital wing, fast asleep in each other’s arms. I ran my fingers over the photo.

Draco took the book from my hands and studied the photos, drawing the album closer to his face. I looked over his shoulder as he slowly flipped through the pages. Each of them was dated and titled:

Draco chasing off after Y/n, Yule Ball, June 21st

Draco and Y/n, Yule Ball, June 21st

Hogwarts Express, Draco and Y/n are prefects, Sept 1st

Draco staring at Y/n and smiling, Sept 13th

Draco and Y/n walking down the hall Sept 19th

Hogsmeade Trip, Oct 5th

Halloween, Hufflepuff Common Room, Oct 31st

Gryffindor v Slytherin Quidditch match, Nov 2nd

Draco fighting Harry, Nov 2nd

Y/n worrying over Draco after the fight, Nov 2nd

Draco and Y/n sleeping together again, Nov 3rd

Late night studying, Dec 12th

Draco and Pinnae, Dec 18th

There was another note at end along with the picture of the four of us the day Pansy found out about Pinnae in the snow:

Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light.

Tears well in my eyes as I rested my chin on Draco’s shoulder. He flipped a few pages back and untucked the photo of us sleeping together in the hospital wing. His slender fingers brushed over it before slipping it into the middle of his new book.

“That’s mine,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his neck softly.

“Not anymore,” He smiled. “You have good friends,”

“We have good friends,” I corrected him softly, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“We do,” He shifted, closing the book and setting it with his before reaching into his coat and pulling out a small satin box. “This is from me,”

I stared at the box and with a shaking hand I took it, thumbing it open. Inside was a small locket with a shifting roaring lion engraved onto the front of it and familiar words onto the back:

“He isn’t safe, but he is good,” was written in a delicate script.

“Draco, I can’t take this,” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes at the emotions that rushed in my chest at the thought and love he put into the small gift.

“You can,” He pressed. “And will. Here,” He took it from my hands and released the locking mechanism.

A scene sprung to life before me, a halo of light. Balanced on top was a forest with dancing fawns and dwarves and centaurs around a bonfire. Lyre and flute music radiated from the scene. The sight shifted to a lion roaring atop a broken stone table. Then to a familiar ship on the high seas with a dragon circling it. A battle between a man and a snake in front of a silver chair. Then again, a lion, standing tall, proud.

“Draco,” I whimpered out, closing the locket and throwing my arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you,” Tears fell down my cheeks as I buried my face in his shoulder.

His arms curled around me as he pulled me close.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, or what the future holds,” He murmured. “But don’t give up on me.”

“Never,” I vowed. “Course he’s not safe,” I pulled away, running a hand through his hair. “But he is good. He is king,” My fingers softly stroked his cheek.

With the locket hung around my heck, Draco and I curled up together, watching the end the Sound of Music. My fingers toyed with the locket, rubbing over it again and again, afraid that it might just disappear.

I had to bid him a good night as the hour got later and we were together on the front porch alone. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He responded immediately and pulled me close deepening the kiss, his hot breath mixing with mine. He tasted like tea and apple pie, a sweet intoxicating flavor.

Draco’s hand slipped down to the small of my back, pressing me against the warmth of his body. My fingers tangled and tugged at his hair earning a low throaty sound to emit from his chest. I responded with a soft mewl.

He pulled away, his hot breaths panting across my face.

“Happy Christmas,” He breathed out.

“Mhmm,” I hummed out. “Christmas, yeah,”

He chuckled and pressed his lips back to mine fleetingly.

“Goodnight, Feathers,”

“Night, Dray,”

___________________________________

Draco melted into his bed that night, watching the photo of you and him sleeping peacefully. There was an amity about the both of you, there was no worry or fear on his face and yours was smiling softly as you clung to him even in your sleep. It was almost as good as the book you had given to him.

Your mother’s present was lying beside him on the bed. He wasn’t supposed to show it to you, your mother had said: it was your father’s wand.

He sighed and looked at the note that came with it:

Draco,

This was her father’s wand. She doesn’t know that I still have it. And she doesn’t know that it belongs to you as soon as you turn sixteen.

Lucius Malfoy killed Walter Y/l/n.

Lucius forfeited the wand, but it will respond to you. It has been a burden to me all of these years but perhaps it can find some peace with you. This is a secret that I share with you. This wand is unique: it knows to protect her, and it is loyal to you.

Keep her safe, I pass her and this wand to you, one Slytherin to another. You will always have a home in among this family.

He sighed and laid back in bed, twirling the wand in his hands. It was similar to his own in length. Birch with a unicorn hair. He wanted to be bitter towards your mother for keeping this secret from you, but the words she said earlier stopped him:

“Merlin knows I’ve tried to keep her from things to keep her safe...”

Was this keeping you safe? This secret that he now held? He knew that if nothing else, it had kept you a pure heart. He couldn’t imagine you’d ever give him a chance if you knew what his father did. He wondered what would have changed...

The morning came along with the small Christmas that he and his mother shared together. It was a quiet affair. He had gotten her a new bottle of ink and a golden quill for her drawings.

“This is from your father,” Her tone held disdain as she handed him a small velvet box. “It belonged to his father and now he passes it to you.”

Nested inside was nothing like the gift he had spent months making for you. Instead it was a weighty silver ring with the Malfoy crest on it. Slipping it onto his finger, the enchantment took place and resized to fit him perfectly.

“Any word of when he will return?” Draco asked, somber.

“January 10th.” His mother sighed.

Draco nodded and drifted to the sitting room that held his piano and began to play familiar Christmas melodies before shifting into his mother’s favorites. She sat behind him on the sofa, working on her embroidery as he played. His melody shifted into something new. He frowned, knowing that it wasn’t anything that he had learned before.

“Composing?” His mother mused.

He didn’t comment. Instead he chased the melody that was fading from his mind, desperate to bring it back. Then he realized that his mind was chasing after you. You were his melody. With you at the forefront of his thoughts, he spent the next few days playing and writing the composition down. When he was certain that it was perfect and represented everything that you were to him, he smiled to himself.

Draco could still have you when his father was home. He would have no idea the melody was wrapped up in you.

“It’s beautiful,” His mother commended. “She’ll love it. You can play it for her tomorrow when she visits,”

And he did. With you sitting beside him on the piano bench, he played your song to you. You were absolutely mesmerized and asked him to play it again. Without knowing it, you had taken something else his father had forced him into and turned it into something beautiful.

Sitting in the rose garden as the stars came out, the year changed. A new beginning, and you were beside him. It was a muggle tradition, but he did kiss you when midnight came. Not that you’d complain.

When you pulled away from the gentle kiss, he about said something that he had forbidden himself from ever saying. No matter how sweet you were, how kind, how long you stayed, how loyal, no matter how much he cared for you, missed you when you were gone, and vowed to keep you safe, he couldn’t say what he wanted to.

He couldn’t tell you that he loved you.

He couldn’t trap you like that. He knew his future was dark and it loomed over him. He wasn’t going to tie you to him like that.

____________________________________

I held my tongue, a thousand confessions waiting to be unfurled. But I would wait. I would wait until Draco was ready to hear them. I didn’t let myself think that a few months would change everything that had him tied down and scared. I wouldn’t coerce him into anything. I would give him time to figure out his emotions and I would wait for him to heal.

Because I loved him.

And I would love him while I waited. I would love him while he healed. I would love him as he went through darkness and despair. I would love him as years of neglect and abuse untied him. I would love him until he was ready to love me.

So, I didn’t say a word.

I spent the next week over at Draco’s, like I had in the summer, but this time, we were working on spells. Everything that I had learned from D.A. I taught to him. His mother suggested to invite Pansy and Abby over as well during the afternoons to join our efforts.

It was a lot easier to cast Disarming and Stunning spells on Pansy and Abby than it had been on Draco. Narcissa joined us one afternoon, watching us, guiding and aiding where we were failing. Draco was losing focus too easily, Pansy needed to work on her wand movements, Abby needed to pronunciate more and I needed to put my heart behind wanting to perform the spells.

“You’re thinking about them incorrectly.” Narcissa stood behind me. “Think not about the intention to attack what’s in front of you, but to protect what’s behind you. Draco, come,”

Narcissa and Draco switched places, he was standing behind me and she was before me, her wand out and raised. I took a deep breath in, understanding what she meant. I had no ill will against her, but I would protect Draco.

We bowed, entering a proper duel. She cast a hex and I blocked it easily, before rebounding it with my own jinx. She deflected it effortlessly and almost knocked me down with a Stunning spell.

“Mean it Y/n!” She coached. “You want to protect him!? You want to save him!?”

“Mother!” Draco argued.

“No,” I panted softly. “I can do this. She’s right,”

I blocked her jinx that in my deflection almost hit Draco, who dropped out of the way thankfully. Enraged I turned back to her.

“Impedimenta!” I shouted.

And it worked.

She was frozen in the snow.

“Expelliarmus!”

Her wand flew from her hand. Beaming, I undid the Impediment Hex and picked up her wand which had landed in the frost by my feet.

“Very well, my dear,” Narcissa glowed. “There is a fighter in you yet,”

Draco picked me up in a twirling hug and Pansy and Abby were all cheering. We went back to dueling, now it was more for fun than work. Narcissa watched us still, encouraging and teaching us. Until she tensed, the color draining from her face.

“Bellatrix,” She hissed, vanishing from the backyard.

Draco cursed and grabbed my hand, pulling me behind the nearest shrub. With the cloak that my mother had given to me for Christmas, I almost blended in with the snow. Pansy and Abby were crouched down with us.

“Y/n, you need to get out of here,” Draco’s eyes were fixed on the house. “Now.”

“But what about Abby?” I squeaked.

“She’ll be fine,” Pansy nodded to me. “Bella likes me, she’ll be safe with me,” I met Pansy’s stark green eyes and an agreement passed between us.

Nodding, I tried to keep my breathing under control.

“Pinnae!” Abby whispered at me as if it were obvious. “Get out of here Y/n!”

I looked at my friends and closed my eyes, morphing into Pinnae and taking perch deep within the shrub.

“Don’t go until we’ve cleared the house.” Draco ordered.

I chirped and watched them all head towards the house, disappearing inside. Then I took off into the sky.

_____________________________

“Draco, darling,” Bellatrix cooed wickedly. “You remind me so much of your father,”

“Aunt Bellatrix,” He greeted politely.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to your little friends?” Her wild eyes flashed to Pansy and Abby.

“Bella,” His mother chided. “Draco was just seeing them off. And you know Parkinson. The other is a classmate.” Her voice left no room for more questions or argument.

His mother gave him a stern look and he quickly ushered Pansy and Abby through the front door. His eyes immediately scanned the skies for you. He thought he could make out your form perched on one of the barren trees, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Pansy,” He started.

“I’ve got it. Abby will talk to Pinnae. We’ll give word that she’s safe.”

Draco nodded and headed back inside, pacing the halls. He headed to his bedroom and slammed the door, casting a Silencing Charm on the room before letting out a roar of frustration. He didn’t know how much time passed as he paced the room but jumped when there was a chirp from his window.

He relaxed when he saw that the owl wasn’t you, but a screech owl, a letter tied to it’s ankle.

~ Malfoy,

Pinnae is home.

Parkinson

Draco sagged in relief and threw the letter into the fire lit in his hearth. Just once in his life he wanted a day where nothing would go wrong. He just wanted to be happy and safe with you. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, it was for the last few days of the winter holiday.

Epilogue:

“The Dark Lord is adamant about his recruitment,” Bellatrix purred. “A fine young mind to mold into the ways of the Dark Lord.”

“He is my son, Bellatrix.” Narcissa snarled. “He is not of age until the summer. When that time comes the choice belongs to him and him alone. Until then, you have no business here,” A cold glare passed between them.

“Do I sense disloyalty?” Bellatrix tilted her head, mocking a pout. “The Dark Lord does not tolerate disloyalty, sister mine,”

“I do not belong to the Dark Lord, sister mine,” Narcissa gritted out. “Or have you forgotten?”

“No,” She scoffed. “A foolish mistake. Who else deserves loyalty but him?”

“My family,” Narcissa snapped. “And my son.”

“I am your family!” Bellatrix shouted. “Have you changed your mind about the war perhaps? Deciding to follow the footsteps of our dear sister? Or perhaps our outlawed cousin? You were admirable little sister, before you went off and married that foolish Malfoy.”

“I will not stand here and allow you to speak of my husband or my son in such a manner. You have no business here Bellatrix. Leave this place.” Narcissa’s tone was ice cold.

“His time will come Cissy, and he will belong to the Dark Lord,”

A loud crack and Narcissa was left alone in the cold house once more.

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” She whispered to the empty room.

Chapter 5

End Note: Please let me know what you think! Your words and reblogs are so important to me always! Don’t be afraid to reblog and comment! I’m nice I swear!

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alfred-braginsky · 4 years ago

Text

RusAme Secret Santa 2020

My secret santa this year is @grapeautumn !!! I hope you like it, Merry Belated Christmas!

Gift requested: Human AU Alfred accidentally summons a demon while making Christmas cookies. The problem comes when Alfred just vehemently doesn't believe in demons and just figures some random guy showed up at his house. The demon, Ivan, starts out fairly miffed but warms up to Alfred (Comedy/fluff, any rating)

Shit, shit , shit, shit!

Alfred simply cannot believe he forgot to make the Christmas cookies for the office potluck. Well, he could believe it. It was common knowledge that he was known to have one or two things slip from his mind. There was no way he could go out now at this point in the night. The roads were icy, and it was too snowy for anyone to see in this weather even with their brights on. All he had to make cookies was lingering ingredients in the cabinets. There wasn’t even a recipe he could follow, everything online looked like either too much work or too basic.

He couldn’t exactly serve up ‘banging your head against the wall’ at the party, so what could he do? A sense of clarity washed over him. He would call his friend Francis! After all, his pastries always seemed to kick ass at any event, formal or just your average potluck. Pulling out his phone he dials his number.

No answer.

Things seemed bleak. There was no hope. Nothing he could do. He didn’t have an inkling on the seemingly complicated mysteries to baking cookies. Another thought came to him in his time of need. There is no other choice. He was going to have to call Arthur.

Alfred shuddered at the thought of having to call his cousin for baking advice. The first reason being is that he would never hear the end of it from Arthur. He would have that smug smirk on his face as he brings it up every other Christmas with the family in that condescending tone Alfred hates so much.

The second reason being that any recipe he would get from him would probably end up as piles of ash. Arthur isn’t exactly known for his baking. Alfred hoped his improvisation skills would save him as long he had the building blocks for a cookie.

Swallowing his pride didn’t seem so hard when he was this desperate. As the phone range he immediately regretted his decision. Too late to hang up now, Arthur would know he called.

“Hm, hello?” the line stopped ringing as Arthur’s sleepy voice answered.

“…”

Alfred hoped if he didn’t say anything maybe it will just be just be ignored and Alfred can go back to panicking in peace.

“Hello? Alfred? This better not be another prank call; I won’t fall for it twice! I’m hangin---”

“No! Wait…I’m sorry. This isn’t a prank, I swear.”

“What time is it there? Did something happen? Do I need come over there earlier than expected?”

“What? No! I need your help with something, and it doesn’t require you to come over.”

Arthur was silent for a moment out of curiosity.

“What do you want?” with cautious hesitation.

------

Alfred had explained everything. Arthur was as smug as expected. Luckily for Alfred, he didn’t need to write anything down. Arthur stored some of the books he likes to read at his place for when he comes over for the holidays. An unpublished cookbook that Arthur had written himself was among the box of books.

Alfred went to the hallways closet and quickly located the box. Rifling through the book he was intrigued with a mix of disgust at how many cheesy romance novels were in the box. They all looked the same. His eyes widen as he spotted a book that looked different from all. The book was black and faded. It didn’t seem like Arthur’s style, but it was the only one that was different. Well, maybe if he looked more…

Nah!

There was no time for that. Alfred flipped through the book and was positive there had to be something in there. If it turned out to be Arthur’s diary, that was even better! Maybe he could find some dirt on him.

Speaking of dirt, it seems like that was the first ingredient for the cookies. Weird? But Alfred wasn’t going to question it.

He grabbed his coat and tried to get as much dirt as he could from the frozen ground. He collected all the dirt required in a bowl. Next step was flesh? Okay…this was going a bit off the track of cookies, but if this is what the recipe asked for who was he to question it?

He grabbed chicken nuggets from the freeze and heated them up in the microwave. Once heated up he put them in the dirt and began to mix the ingredients.

Alright, what did he need to do next? His eyes scanned the very old pages and his eyes widen at what the recipe asked for next.

“What the hell, cut a lock of my own hair?!” he exclaimed.

That had to be some kind of health code violation. Alfred is certain that the recipe will call for him to take it out later. The recipe required a few more ingredients that he was able to find nearby. After it was all mixed together, he rolled the nasty concoction out and began using Christmas cookie cutters to make them into holiday themed shapes. He sprinkled them with peppermint for a pop of color.

The final step was to leave them under the light of the full moon. Alfred looked out the window to see the entire moon above him. What luck! With a yawn he set them down with the window open for the full effect of the full moon’s rays. Baking took a lot of work and he deserved to rest. After taking a quick shower, he got into some comfy pajamas, and went to sleep.

The next morning, Alfred woke up to the sound of his alarm blaring in his ear. Letting out a groan he put his phone on snooze and shut his eyes hoping for a few more minutes of sleep. His eyes snapped open as he heard a loud crash coming from downstairs. He jumped out bed and immediately dug through his closet and pulled out a wooden baseball bat.

With caution he tipped toed out of his bedroom and around the corner where the banging and clashing was coming from. Swallowing hard, he gripped the bat tightly, ready to swing at whatever was in his kitchen. What made him think that leaving the window open at night was a good idea?!

Maybe it was a hungry raccoon. Maybe a party girl who went into the wrong house. Or maybe---

A tall man dressed in all black EATING HIS COOKIES!

“What the hell are you doing? Do you know how long it took me to make those!” Alfred shouted as he lowered the bat, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. His eyes held a pang of defeat. He was going to get scolded by his boss for not bringing anything to potluck again. His boss already didn’t like him. God, he was the fucking worst. At least bringing these cookies would have gotten him off his back today. Well, that is if this stranger hadn’t eaten them!

“Watch your tongue mortal.” A sweet yet threatening voice came from the intruder.

“What? Shut up! You’re the one who broke into my house and ate my Christmas cookies!” Alfred was so frustrated with this entire situation. The day started out so poorly he doesn’t know how it could possibly get any worse.

“You made me an offering. I was supposed to eat the offering.” The man had calmly explained. His previous demeanor shaken when the human who summoned him spoke to him in that way. No mortal has spoken to him like that, but he was unable to harm the entity who summoned him so there was nothing he could do about it.

“What offering? Dude, you literally broke into my house and ate the cookies that took me all night to make!”

“I am a demon from the 5th realm of Hell. I would not be in the house of someone like you if I was not called upon.” For the most part, people who summoned knew what they were doing. This man seemed clueless.

“A demon, huh? Where are your wings? Got any horns? You look like someone dug you out of the clearance section at Hot Topic.”

This references completely flew over Ivan’s head. This is taking into account that he could speak any mortal language, but he could not understand what it is the other man was going on about.

“I am in my most simple form to survive in this realm. You added unnecessary things to the offering, I could not come in my true form.”

“So ya can’t even prove it then?” Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow.

There was a moment of silence. Ivan was trapped in this realm with no powers, and no one to call upon. He hung his head in defeat.

“No. I cannot.”

Alfred sighed. Well, there was nothing he could do at this point.

“Alright, you’re gonna come to the grocery store with me and replace the ones you ate. Wait there, I’m gonna get dressed.” Alfred held a calm tone as he noticed things becoming less hectic. He nodded before leaving the kitchen.

Quickly getting dressed and packing his work stuff into his side bag, Alfred comes back to see the man standing in the exact same spot. This man has not moved an inch.

“Are…you alright?” he asks hesitantly, looking at him up and down. His eyes landed on the strange man’s face. Their eyes locked. He had purple eyes. How strange.

Alfred’s face flushes red as he realizes he was staring at him.

“Yes, I am fine. I was told to wait. You on the other hand look feverish? You are quite red.” His tone did not waver.

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine. Let’s just get going, don’t think I forgot about you eating my cookies.”

“I have already explained myself, that was an offering!” The demon becoming increasingly frustrated with the other man. Ivan was at a complete loss as to how this man did not know he had summoned him.

Alfred rolled his eyes and exited his apartment with the other man in tow. They got to his car and Alfred proceeded to get in. The demon looked confused.

“What are you standing around for, get in!”

The man had a look of embarrassment.

“I do not know how.”

Alfred was inclined to believe him, although it was something so unbelievable. However, his tone seemed too meek to say otherwise. He gets out of the car and makes his way over to the other man as snow crunches under his boots.

“See this? It’s a handle you just pull.” His voice laced with patience as he explained the tricky technology that was a car door. He was a faster learner, on the second try he managed to open the door.

Both were seated in the car and Alfred began to drive away.

“By the way you never told me your name. I’m Alfred. Alfred F. Jones!” A bright smile adorned his face as the other had a tint of red on his cheeks. Probably from the cold.

“My name is I̶͖̠͋̿̐́v̸͈̥̗͇̂a̸̺̿́̆̈́͑n̸̞̐͑̑.”

Alfred could not understand the sounds the other man had just made. He blinks in confusion and clears his throat to hide his nerves.

“What?” asking for clarification.

“Ah, I am sorry. My accent is very thick. My name, to translate it into something you would understand, is Ivan.”

Alfred rolled the name around on his tongue. He offers him a kind smile.

“Cool!”

They arrive at the grocery store. The doors had just opened and it was full of elderly people and tired moms. Alfred hopes the lines aren’t too long, he really doesn��t want to be late, who knows what his boss will say.

“C’mon. We’re here for one thing.” Alfred motions Ivan to follow and he does. The grocery store was just like any other.

Full of food, noises, smells, bright lights. Ivan hates this place. The demon follows Alfred a little too closely. The shorter man can practically feel his body pressed against his own. Damn, he was so touch starved.

“Hey buddy, you think you can take a step back or two?” Stopping in his tracks to confront Ivan about the problem.

“I am here to serve you. I cannot do that if I am far.”

“Yeah, I’m not asking for 6 feet, just a few inches.” Alfred massaged his temples, so this was how the day was going to go, huh?

Ivan thought it over and took a step back.

“Very well then.”

“Thank you.”

The grocery store wasn’t as packed as he thought. Although, because it was only a few days before Christmas he wasn’t sure how likely it was that there were going to be any cute cookies left.

Rushing over to the baked goods sections his eyes zeroed in on the last box of Christmas cookies. A smile curled on his lips that fell just as quickly when he spotted an old woman reaching and then grabbing the box of cookies he so desired.

A look of sadness washed over Alfred; a defeated smile replaced his disappointed frown. Ivan watched as his bright energy seemed to vanish. Something inside of him told him that he needed to do something. They haven’t known each other for very long but the way Alfred has been treating him has been different than the other humans who have summoned him in the past.

The demon has some magic left on reserve for emergencies. Seeing the smile wiped off Alfred’s face was considered an emergency.

A dark aura enveloped Ivan and in an instant he appears in front of the now frightened older woman.

“You are not worthy of those cookies. Your mortal hands are unfit to hold possession of the power and responsibility they yield. Put them down and you shall not be harmed.” Ivan’s pitch was lower than Alfred has ever heard. The man just stared in shocked with his jaw dropped as the older woman practically threw them back on the table and went off speeding as fast as she could with her cart.

Ivan immediately went back to his human form. He picked up the mostly intact cookies and brought them to Alfred.

“For you.” He says, moving his hand up to Alfred’s face to shut his open mouth.

Alfred’s eyes were still wide.

“W-Why did you scare her like that? It was important but not that important she probably shit herself!”

“You are very crass. I did it for you.”

Alfred was upset but the action was very endearing. The way the black aura shrouded Ivan was pretty hot. Wait, why was thinking that? He needed to stop.

“Thank you. That was really nice of you. But you can’t scare old ladies like that! Maybe next time, ask her if she’s willing to give them up. You’ve probably traumatized her for life.”

“It does not seem like she had much time left.” Ivan said with complete seriousness. Alfred elbowed Ivan trying not to laugh.

“Alright! Let’s go pay for this bad boy.”

“Why must we pay? We fought for this, we won. We deserve to keep the spoils.”

“That’s not how it works, big guy.” Alfred claps the taller man on the shoulder as he leads them to the cash register.

“By the way. You gotta show me that magic trick you did earlier with the old lady.”

“Magic?”

“Yeah! Like did you have some smoke bombs? A voice changer?” Alfred’s eyes sparkle never taking his eyes off Ivan as he pays.

“I am a demon.”

“I see. A magician never reveals his secrets.” Alfred nods in understanding. “Artie’s the same way! He never thought we could see him practicing. But he wore this goofy cape everywhere.”

They talk as they make their way back to the car. Ivan opens the passenger door like a pro. The cookies seated safely on Ivan’s lap as they continue to talk.

“Artie?” he asks, the name tumbling clumsily on his lips.

“Yeah! My cousin Arthur. Yeah! He’s the one I got the book from that had the recipe of the cookies you ate.”

Ivan felt like he was talking to a brick wall. Alfred seemed nice enough, but he simply cannot believe that he is a demon and that Alfred summoned him. He needed to save his strength and peace of mind and just played along.

“Come with me to the office Christmas party? We get a plus one and since you’re already with me, and since we’re already on our way.”

“Yes.” There were too many things in Alfred’s sentence that flew over his head and it was just easier to accept them. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

They park by a plain building with grey brick, the parking lot covered in the fresh snow that was falling. Getting out of the car, Ivan vowed to protect these Christmas cookies with his life. He would ensure their safety until they arrived at their destination: The Break Room.

Alfred pressed a button, and they entered the elevator. He saw Ivan flinch and took his hand to calm him. Ivan’s shoulders dropped as he took a breath; he was grateful for the hand. The hand was soft and warm against his. The elevator bell dinged, and Alfred let go much to Ivan’s disappointment. Both of them stepped out and into Alfred’s workplace.

The shorter man greeted a few of his co-workers as he wore a friendly smile making his way over to the break room. His boss was there already, telling a story clearly no one wanted to hear.

“Look who made it on time for once, huh?” As he laughed. Ivan saw Alfred twitch and the demon narrowed his eyes at the small man. The party had plenty of treats and goodies. With more than enough cookies.

“Oh, I thought you asked me to get the cookies?” Alfred asked through gritted teeth.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I figured you wouldn’t so I asked Martina to bake some instead. Sorry, completely slipped my mind.” Alfred wanted to kill him. He has never wanted to murder someone so badly.

“I mean you’re not exactly the brightest, which is fine, we all have our strengths.”

Ivan has no clue what is happening, but he knows Alfred is not as stupid or forgetful as this man is making him seem. From what he has seen Alfred is kind, generous, and patient. Qualities he does not see from most mortals.

“Just let this be a lesson for ya, okay?” walking over to Alfred and putting a hand on his shoulder. Alfred was visibly uncomfortable. Ivan snapped. It didn’t matter if it used up the last of his power in getting home. The black aura returned along with blue flames. Horns protruded from his head as dark wings ripped through the back of his shirt. Wings that expanded the entire length of the break room.

“How dare you say such things when you are nothing but a miserable pile of waste. You are a pitiful excuse for a mortal. You are a worm beneath my feet and the feet of the one who summoned me.”

Ivan stomps over to the shaking manager and effortlessly picks the man up by the throat. The manager struggles in his grip. The employees gasp and watch with shocked expressions.

“You will show some respect and reverence to those who deserve it since you are only the dirt under my foot.” Ivan drops the man with a thud and the manager wriggles away and hides behind the other employees. Alfred stands tall as Ivan turns to him and reverts to his human form. Ivan lets out a heavy sigh as Alfred wraps his arms around the other man and kisses him. Ivan doesn’t know what this means but his human form seems to know instinctively to kiss back.

They break it and Ivan sweeps Alfred off his feet and picks him up bridal style. Alfred laughs and wraps his arms around his neck. Ivan goes to leave but Alfred stops him for a moment.

“Also. I quit. Merry Christmas, bitch!”

#rusame secret santa 2020 #rusame #aph russia #aph america #christmas #aph #my shit

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zephyrises · 5 years ago

Text

“Morning, Master!”

A light swing of the wicker basket in attendance serves as Ventus’s wave. It’s set in the grass as he kneels down to the grave marker, putting the assemblage of glossy yellow petals within on full display. Taking note of this, he glances between the blooms and the keyblade’s grip, leveling with the latter as if it were a set of eyes.

“Sorry. They’re not your favorites. It’s still a little too early for those—but buttercups are pretty too, aren’t they?”

The breeze picks up a bit, carrying the crisp smell of a nearby waterfall and tickling the boy’s nape. He crosses his legs, draws the mortuary wreath into his lap and, one by one, unravels the wilting flowers that he and Aqua had spruced it up with a week and a half ago, allowing his thoughts to flow freely all throughout.

“A bunch of things have been on my mind lately. I’m not sure where to start.” Fingers falter, resume their work in double time, then falter again. “I guess the biggie is… I wanna put on a happy face for Aqua and Terra. They’ve got fun plans for the day and I owe it to them to let ‘em know just how much I appreciate it and everything they do. It feels like there’s never been a time where they haven’t been looking out for me… but all I can think about is how scary it is that I’m gonna be taking my exam in a year.”

He laughs. It’s a weak, lackluster sound.

“Between you and me, I probably won’t be ready by then. Or ever.”

“You’re doing it again!”

Ventus’s hands recoil from the arrangement of wood and plantae, upper body twisting as he whips to identify the source of the echo. On cue, Chirithy makes their presence known, the puff of brightly colored smoke they generate dispersing completely by the time their pudgy little limbs make contact with the ground.

“Huh—wha—”

They heave a frustrated sigh, pointing straight at Ventus after it runs its course.

“Selling yourself short!”

The addressed’s mouth contorts into a deep frown, heat sprinting to the tips of his ears.

“Yeah, well… you’re doing that thing you do again!”

“Huh? What thing?”

“Listening in! And sneaking up on me!”

“Oh.” Chirthy shakes their head in apology, ears flopping with each motion. “Sorry. You never used to mind all that much, so…”

Those words wash over Ventus like a bucket of cool water over the head.

“No. It’s okay,” he’s quick to reassure, volume and posture backpedaling. “It’s gonna take some getting used to. That’s all.”

Neither comment on the fact that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this sort of exchange, nor that it’s been a hearty sum of months since they resumed being a part of one another's lives. It would be redundant. Instead, Ventus tries an encouraging smile and waves his old friend over, who responds in kind with a gravity defying hop and flourish.

Chirithy isn’t built for the precision work that the assembly of a wreath demands, but they’re still eager to be of some assistance, so Ventus tasks them with passing him leaves, flowers and stems in accordance with aesthetics and the obligation to conceal the frame beneath. In no time at all, they’ve settled into an easy rhythm that suits both of their paces.

Their progress is so palpable that they’re nearing completion not five minutes after they had gotten started, at which point Chirithy pipes up.

“This is a nice ritual,” they supply, their enthusiastic rocking and crescent shaped eyes catching Ventus’s gaze. “I’ve never done anything like it.”

“You—I mean, we—didn’t do stuff like this back when?”

“Nope. Spirits and their keyblade wielders… one day, they’d be there. Then, the next...” The silence lasts for mere moments, but it’s cavernous and aching all the same. “We mourned for our friends, sure, but nobody ever thought anything of it. Or to celebrate.”

There’s a great deal that could be drawn from that somber piece of knowledge. Ventus should be taking the necessary steps to digest some of it, or at the very least, endeavor to learn more. It’s rare for Chirithy to speak of the past of their own accord. Ordinarily, they’ll tighten their lips at the foggiest mention. Without a doubt, this is an opportunity to make the most of—and yet, the blonde allows himself to become preoccupied with the creature’s throwaway observation instead.

“Celebrate?” It’s repeated slowly, inflection reminiscent of one that might accompany a word sourced from a foreign tongue. “Is… that what you think this is? What I’m doing?”

“Sure! What else?” Chirithy pads closer, setting a paw over one of Ventus’s downturned palms and the wreath in turn. “This artifact, which you and your friends have made with your own hands… it’s so lively and colorful. And he was your Master, wasn’t he? It only makes sense that you’d want to keep his life in your memory. Flowers sure are a beautiful way to do it.”

It couldn’t be clearer that there’s been some sort of severe disconnect between the two. The boy’s emeralds have widened, still meeting Chirithy’s stare, but not seeing. Then, all at once, the tears come cascading down.

“Ven?! What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. It’s just…” His shrill hiccup is the first of many. “I want to remember him—and I wa-want to do it fondly. I really, really do. But whenever somebody says his name, I’m never thinking about how much I miss him... o-or that I wish he was still around. I don’t miss him. N-Not like they do. I just... feel sc-scared. And angry. ‘Cause the very last time I saw him alive, he wanted me dead. He didn’t even give me a chance.” Clenched teeth sink and hide behind the knees Ventus draws to his chest. Master Eraqus’s wreath falls casualty to the abrupt movement, tipping from its already precarious position on his thigh and plopping onto the ground just aside. “So… I dunno if celebrating is something I can do. Not with my whole heart, anyway.”

His spirit companion remains silent, ears drooped despondently. Their paw has since moved to the small of his back.

“I’m sorry. For my heart not being in this. For being so different.” Another humorless huff of laughter. “It’s gotta be tough. You thought you were about to reunite with an old friend, but really, you were jumping into the arms of a total stranger.”

Intent on challenging that notion, Chirithy perks up, administering a faint pat to the boy’s bared skin.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Ven. If you ask me, it’s a good thing that you’re a different person now.”

There’s a hasty intake of breath on Ventus’s part, a surefire sign that he convinced himself he could anticipate the essence of whatever Chirithy was about to say and fire off the cookie cutter response he had raring to go, but he cuts himself off the moment that reality and their actual sentiment catches up to him.

At a pace slower than a snail’s, he lowers his folded arms and lifts his head. It’s just enough to establish eye contact again.

“It is?”

The spirit bobs as confirmation, glee radiating from the subtleties of their expression and timbre entirely sincere.

“Mhmm! The Ven I used to know would’ve let anybody do him harm. He would’ve thought that he deserved it, too. So if you’re mad and think that what happened was wrong—and it was, by the way—then you’ve changed for the better.”

Unreservedly speechless, Ventus straightens his posture, capable of nothing other than that and goggling at Chirithy.

“And… admittedly, I probably should have picked and chose my words a bit better. I already knew that your relationship with your Master wasn’t the best.”

At that, the boy disentangles his limbs completely, appearing almost panicked.

“H-How? I’ve never...”

“From the moment we were separated, I’ve been watching over you,” they admit, floating up before Ventus in hopes that he’ll catch them—and he does. “Anyone could tell just by looking and listening. He was a step up from your last Master, but he still made you miserable. And after what he did to you… what he tried to do to you… who wouldn’t feel the way that you do?”

Once more, Ventus curls forward. This time, rather than collapsing in on himself, he embraces Chirithy.

“Then... there’s nothing else to say about it, is there?”

“Not unless you want there to be.”

He counts to ten, then backwards from ten, digits finding comfort in the texture of the other’s fur.

“I think I do. But not right now.”

“That’s okay too,” Chirithy coos, nuzzling against the side of his face. “After all, it is your special day. You should spend it how you want to.”

The air begins to move again, and time along with it. When they inevitably part, it’s only for the sake of bringing the wreath to completion. With it assembled, hung in its proper place and the now emptied basket’s handle stable on the crook of Ventus’s arm, he beckons to his friend once more. Just like the day of their reunion, Chirithy bounds straight for his chest.

Once they’re settled, the keyblade wielder bounces them in arms.

“Say, Chirithy—when’s your birthday?”

“Huh? Mine?” If they had the capacity to blink rapidly, this would be the perfect opportunity. “Spirits don’t have birthdays. We’re created, and then... that’s that.”

“Then we’re coming up with one! ASAP.” “W-We are?!”

“Yeah! ‘Course! Everybody needs a birthday, even if it’s not the one they’re s’posed to have.” Ventus cradles Chirithy just a smidge tighter, grinning brilliantly as he falls into familiar step along the mountain path. “C’mon. Terra and Aqua are waiting. Let’s go ask ‘em how they picked mine!”

The spirit’s surprise fades, and in its place, happiness swells.

“O-Okay!”

#★; diary entries { solo writing }#{ THIS. still needs workshopping tbth.#but i'm content enough. so here it is in Beta Format! }#character death cw #child abuse cw #attempted filicide cw #attempted murder cw

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demigodofhoolemere · 6 years ago

Text

Saw Captain Marvel!

Spoiler free version: Amazing. It’s so so good to see Carol in live action, and I’m so happy they did her personality and her power set justice. Brie did an awesome job at bringing her to life, and I loved her journey (and I appreciated the nonlinear storytelling). The story was fantastic, and after a few years in a row of coming out of quite a few movies with various disappointments (largely regarding characterization issues or humor going overboard), it’s such a good feeling to not have my expectations dashed. All of the characters made me so happy, I love how real and human each one of them was. No unnecessary drama between the protagonists (unlike some people *cough*Avengers*cough*), just people who are genuinely friends, including unlikely ones. It’s certainly different from the origin story I’m used to, but I really enjoyed what they did. I’m also glad that adding something so big like this to the backstory of the MCU doesn’t shake things up too much; there are a few changes, but it didn’t come off as a retcon, at least not in the annoying way of most retcons. All in all, wonderful movie that left me crying happily, and also now leaves me looking suspiciously at my cat.

Spoiler filled commentary below

~~~

- CAROL. Just Carol. I can’t overstate how much I loved seeing her. I love watching her fly around and use her powers and beat people up. That’s been my jam since 2012 and I’m still living for it. This has been a long time coming and it feels like newly meeting an old friend. She deserves every ounce of praise she’s been getting. I’m also always grateful when tough female characters have a well-developed personality, because if her entire character is only about being tough, then I have difficulty investing because there’s nothing to connect with - unfortunately that kind of character is a dime a dozen these days because in the effort to prove that women can stand up on the same playing field as men, they often just get injected with masculinity and it ends there, which can be frustrating. For all of Marvel’s other flaws with how it treats some of the female characters, they always manage to churn out a genuine human being who does not come from a cookie cutter. Carol gets to have wonderful human emotions, a balance between positives and flaws, and strength that does not come only from her powers. She is determined, full of spirit and life, she knows anger and empathy in equal measure. Getting to know her and love her as a person is why it’s so much fun watching her kick butt. It wouldn’t be the same if kicking butt was her only defining trait. Because I care so much about her I actually ended up crying just watching her do her thing, since it meant so much to see on the big screen. She is a protector of people, and she has fun doing it.

- I appreciate that they got the mohawk look in there without actually giving her a mohawk. Best of both worlds. Also loved seeing a couple of her other comic costumes when they were playing with the color schemes.

- Between the opening logo and the cameo, many tears were shed over Stan Lee. Thanks for everything, man.

- Thoroughly enjoyed the 90s music, aesthetic, and technology. The soundtrack was great, the outfits were great, and I especially loved that people had to just sit around and wait for something to load. Some 90s realism for you right there.

- Carol’s relationships with Maria and Monica are so so sweet, and so human. I’ll never get enough female friendships. Of course, I really adored them individually as well - Maria is wonderful and Monica is adorable. And the way Monica looks up to Carol is very nice foreshadowing for her future, if that’s the road they go down (I know there are plans for Kamala, so I guess we’ll see where Monica fits in).

- Goose! I’m still getting used to not calling him Chewie, but whatever. Precious alien cat by any other name is just as precious. I loved the special effects for the mouth.

- I liked seeing a younger, less hardened Nick Fury. He was very different, but not so different that you can’t believe it’s what he could have been like a couple of decades ago, and you do see familiar aspects in regard to him being a good spy and being useful in the action. Also, VERY RELATABLE cat enthusiast, which gains him a lot of points. Having Goose be the reason for his eye does detract a bit from the mystery and drama of it, but it’s not something I’m gonna get worked up about (I’ve spent far too much energy getting worked up over other movies, this is minor in comparison). What I AM gonna get worked up about is knowing that he’s going to get progressively more and more hardened by the world and I want to protect him.

- PHIL 💗💗💗 Ugh, it’s been too long since we’ve seen Coulson (in the MCU but also in general since AoS is taking five thousand years to come back). I loved seeing him pre-Iron Man, just the young rookie agent who hasn’t been through the wringer yet (I want to protect him, too). Just as sweet as ever and I love him ignoring orders to do what his gut knew was right - it shows why Fury has always trusted him so much, and it certainly foreshadows many instances in AoS. I’ve missed him.

- Very good call to have the Supreme Intelligence take on someone’s form rather than showcase the ugly giant green head. I also appreciated that they still managed to shoutout to the ugly giant green head with the tendrils wrapping around the person interfacing.

- Jude Law played a very interesting Yon-Rogg. Enjoyable without being particularly likable. All of the Kree were done well, I thought. Definitely nailed it as a warrior race who seem to have little care about the consequences of what they do, and yet simultaneously do look out for their own. Also interesting to see Korath and Ronan pre-GOTG. And it’s an unimportant detail, but I loved when you see soldiers with the sort of fin-like shape on the top of the helmet, since I’m very used to seeing that.

- Did NOT expect to ever in my life care about Skrulls. After EMH I’ve always been anxious about seeing them in live action, because who the heck can you trust? Well, uh, them, apparently. And while it’s a change, I’m definitely not going to complain, since this lowers the chances of having to go through a Secret Invasion arc at some future point (I mean, it could still happen, I’m sure there are still Skrulls who are genuinely awful, but it’s nice not to feel like I have to worry about having trust issues in the future). I’m so happy they didn’t kill Talos or his family. It’s very interesting to see an angle where the ones you view as the bad guys are just victims of a war that they don’t want to be part of, which happens all the time in real life, so why not have good eggs among the Skrulls?

- Okay, my ONE gripe is Mar-Vell. Turning him into a woman really wasn’t necessary. I’d seen a rumor about it, so I went into the movie lowering my expectations on that front, so I’m definitely not as disappointed as I would have been if it had come as a surprise to me, but still. I know why they did it, and it’s the same reason the comics recently retconned Carol’s history to make her mom a Kree so that her powers would be a natural part of her instead of something she gained from Mar-Vell’s DNA - a man isn’t allowed to be significant to a woman’s backstory now. There’s feminism and then there’s doing everything possible to erase men from an equation, and I find that to be over the top. But to Marvel’s credit, they pulled it off well enough that I’m not anywhere close to being as upset as I could be about it (they also pulled it off with the Ancient One and Ghost, but that’s different for me since I really didn’t have any strong knowledge of or connection to those characters beforehand which makes it easier to accept - I’ve known and cared about Mar-Vell for years, so it does sting a bit that now we’ll never get to see him as he was). Overall, kind of annoying and if I could change it I would, but I’m getting used to changes like this (and it’s still not as bad as other things I’ve gotten annoyed with them over), so I’ll accept it and deal.

- Not a gripe but a question - what’s the timeline with the Tesseract now? Howard Stark found it, and then it was in SHIELD custody ever since and right up to The Avengers, so... did Lawson steal it at some point? What’s our in-universe explanation for this one? If they gave one I didn’t catch it.

- THE AVENGERS INITIATIVE. Way to get my waterworks going. It made me so emotional that I’m not really even upset that Jan still doesn’t get to be the one to give the name (at this point, after everything that’s been done to remove her from the narrative of the origins of the team, I really can’t expect anything else and I’ve made my peace). I don’t know if it’s just the nostalgia factor, or the fact that Endgame is coming up, but that part just made me lose it.

- The credits scene, ohhhhh boy. I immediately registered that it was Steve by his posture and I lost my mind even further. I’m gonna miss the crap out of that guy. And then Nat showed up, and Rhodey and Bruce, and I just... agdjshsjsh. I’m NOT prepared for that to be the next movie and I’m definitely not prepared to see it in only a month. Don’t get me started on the pager. CHILLS. And seeing Carol show up in the compound asking about Fury... I’m fragile. Someone please hold me.

#marvel #captain marvel #spoilers #marvel spoilers #captain marvel spoilers #review

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bloojayoolie · 5 years ago

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Animals, Children, and Destiny: 6:59 Darkcel Gaming < Sunday at 4:59 PM A reminder and introduction to newcomers about the #DARKCEL core belief system. We are not "incel", we are the next evolution and solution to the inceldom, and mankind in general, we represent the next paradigm shift in thinking, we are the true enlightened. We are none of those cookie cutter right-wing, left-wing, centrist ideologies, we are beyond such childish concepts. To be Darkcel, is to know that there is no light in the Tunnel of Life, there is only darkness. and as Darkcels, we tame the darkness, and forge our own destiny among the endless nothingness, destiny itself We Darkcels, are born from that darkness at its worse, the we create a future, we, are architects of darkness was not kind to us, but we do not sorrow or complain about the past, because our turned us into the transcendent beings that we are today. suffering IS what We once sought out things like love, relationships, but moids have traumatized us because we could never have what we desired, but this trauma saved us in the end, longer care about moids, we know how much of a lost cause moids are, above all, our disconnection from such primal urges is the source of our enlightenment, it helped us see beyond the ordinary "Thinking" and "Rationality" itself, we serve a higher purpose that transcends the ordinary mind, of ordinary thinking or as we like to call it, the "Old thinking". We are the "New thinking'". we no we ascended beyond the limits of The unenlightened, slaves to the old thinking believe there is "light" at the end of the tunnel of life. We know there is not. We do not chase a illusion that don't exist, we will not condemn humanity to yet another cycle. Everything that is happening today happened thousands of years ago, this is the result of an ongoing cycle. A cycle that mankind condemns itself because of it's outdated thinking. A cycle where the strong rise, then give birth to the weak, then the weak take over, then society collapses, and from the collapse, the 2019, we are on the brink of collapse. trong rises again and so on. A cycle. As of Chasing the "light" that doesn't exist, is why the cycle is still ongoing. All forms of old thinking are rooted in chasing that "light", all ideologies of the old thinking believe there is a "fix", they believe that their ways work, a endless fight, chasing this non-existent "light". There is no such thing as "light". Only Darkness. The Left-Wing believes that emotions go first or whatever a false sense of morality, they continue to shove down their nonsense down people's throats and claim that it is "morally right" easily win over people. These dangerous ideals condemn us to swift self-destruction and quick collapse, the end of the current cycle. They are militant blue pillers who defend and encourage more blue pillery, the cattle, unenlightened. Not much to say really, they're very basic and foolish. Not any different from your average slave, the blue pilled The Right-Wing believes in human nature and believes it's "better". admittedly their methods do work, but are temporal so ultimately it is futile and naive. Believing in Human nature is believing in the old thinking, and it will be our downfall. The Right-Wing is a slave to the cycle. They are the redpill, who funnily enough calls it self the "truth" and "enlightened". The redpill does in fact see the truth I will not deny that, but they do at a superficial level, the redpill only knows a rumor of true knowledge. The Centrist are fools pretending to be "smart" and brag about their absurd, childish notions of right and wrong, but beneath that façade, they are frightened little children incapable of antyhing. They are a mix of right-left in a way that doesn't make sense yet they justify by using big words to fake a sense of intellect and "knowledge" "rationality". Ultimately, they doom humanity. The cycle will continue on. And then, there's the Blackpill. Fools who condemn themselves and humanity by not doing anything. They would rather die like animals than to be a part of a higher order and sense of thinking. They hopeless. They are understand there is only darkness in the tunnel of life, but they succumb to the darkness instead of taming it. T are a lost cause. And tools to those who are in control. We Darkcels exist beyond such childish concepts, no cookie cutter bullshit ideologies, we, are the answer to the cycle. We, are the ones who will tame the shadows and become "Destiny" itself, we will give birth to a new world order, a true age of enlightenment. We are the personification of Death to the old. Defenders of the Old thinking will resist our blanketing in cold, endless night, but we will come out on top. But eventually, this world will come to accept us. We despise moids and do not want them anywhere for their to blame for everything, they existence. Moids are mostly are to blame for the sanity and shaping of mankind's mental state that slaves itself to the old thinking. our traumatic experiences of rejection are but a rain drop of a larger world In our new world, Moids will cease to exist, among many other things With that being said, thank you for listening. This of course is only a taste, a superficial entry-level understanding of what it means to be a Darkcel. Enjoy your stay and interact with us for more, become an acolyte of our ways... KESSIK Oblin Like Share Comment 1.8K Write a comment... GIF O O Tailor Automatic Screenshot Stitching TI1 One big Yike 😬

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Animals #Children #an

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wafflelate · 6 years ago

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Could I request some nice interaction between Shisui and Kako? Any verse. Work this week was UGH I want to read something cute and funny and Those Two are the best.

lmao i started writing something else for this this morning and it was so sad and serious i had to start something else for you instead

shadows under water verse! that’s the one where Shikako is born the same age as Shisui.

here is a short tale about a D-rank and probably the fluffiest thing i’ve written

word count: 1420

————————————

“There are lots of chakra tricks you can practice while we do D-ranks,” Amano-sensei tells them. The next morning they’re due for their first mission, which Amano has already selected for them.

“My sensei was a fan of taking any D-rank that would make us water-walk,” Amano goes on. “We’re not up to that point yet, of course, but I have a quick trick to teach you that you’ll find useful for this mission.”

Shisui can see Shikako-chan lean forward just a little. She loves chakra tricks, he’s noticed — already he’s caught her at about ten of them, half of which he’s never even heard of before. The most impressive one was the one with the water, but she’d called it ‘basically useless’ even while changing a sphere of contained water into a cube and then a pyramid and back in an amazing show of control. Shikako-chan is very curious and very knowledgeable and very humble.

“This is the great secret of the Hyuuga clan,” Amano adds in that totally-serious way he has of being not serious at all. Uzume-ba says he got that tone from playing devil’s advocate for all the interpersonal client drama they’d stirred up on their C-ranks.

(Shisui can’t wait for their first C-rank, although he thinks Muta will be the one playing devil’s advocate and Shikako will watch like Aburame Shibi had. This Team 4 isn’t exactly like the last Team 4. And that’s good, because Yūhi-sensei was a real dick and a bad teacher, although Shisui is never supposed to say that out loud.)

Shisui flickers his Sharingan on to watch Amano-sensei’s chakra trick. His teammates watch closely, each in their own way — Shikako with her sensing, Muta with a faint buzzing noise.

“Tell me what it does,” Amano-sensei says, because he also needs them to learn how to gather intelligence on unknown techniques.

Shisui knows what it is the moment he starts using it, so he keeps his mouth shut like a good student. Muta and Shikako will enjoy investigating more than being given the answer. And it’s fun to watch them decide things like this, because they work off each other and they do it a lot different than Shisui would.

“It… surrounds you with chakra,” Shikako says. She sounds frustrated, like she can’t believe that’s the only thing she can tell with her chakra sense. Shikako-chan has really high standards for herself.

“So it’s not localized,” Muta says, and he doesn’t glance at Shikako or anything, but Shisui knows he said that only to make sure Shikako would know she’s provided him with information he likely wouldn’t otherwise have. “It also repelled the bug I had on sensei, and my kikaichu cannot land again, although it can feed.”

Both incredulous and uncertain, Shikako asks, “Amano-sensei, is this the first step of Kaiten?”

Amano blinks at her. “How do you even know about that?” he asks.

“What’s Kaiten?” asks Shisui.

(Of course Shikako-chan knows — all she did in the Academy was read. She maybe knows everything.)

“Are you allowed to teach us this?” Shikako blurts out, and then immediately her shoulders shrink again. Shisui gets the impression she was just trying to keep from having to answer where she’d learned what she knows.

Amano-sensei clearly thinks the same thing because he just gives her that secretly amused look he gets when Uzume-ba thinks she’s successfully stirred him into starting an argument she wanted to have but didn’t want to initiate.

“It’s a high-level Hyuuga technique that I don’t know how to do,” Amano says. “This is just a chakra trick to keep yourself clean. If you get really good at it, the transition to the scent-hiding technique is very easy.”

“Ah,” says Muta. “This is how you were clean after your spar with Uzume-sensei.”

Amano nods. “It’s a pretty common Hyuuga trick but it’s not clan knowledge or anything. If you can cover your entire body including anything you’re wearing, it works as a good stopgap for airborne and contact poisons. Unless you breathe in.”

Shikako’s eyes have lit up, her shoulders straightened out. She likes opportunities to learn new things, especially non-Nara things.Shisui’s not really sure what the deal is with her clan — isn’t she clan heir? — but he’s glad she got a kickass team to support her ambitious curiousity.

“We’ll practice this today and tomorrow you’ll have a chance to test it out in a controlled environment,” Amano says. “I’m sure you’ll all pick it up quickly.”

He activates his Byakugan and uses it to watch their progress, to tell them how to move their chakra. He tests them with little handfuls of dirt, too, probably just to be a jerk.

In the morning, they meet at Hironobu’s bakery and are surprised to find that their breakfasts are on the house.

“Oh, didn’t I mention?” Amano-sensei says. “Akimichi Hironobu is our first client.”

Shisui cheers and throws his hands up. Muta and Shikako don’t do either, but he can tell from the way Muta straightens and Shikako leans back, relaxed, that they’re really happy too. Or, he’s definitely sure about Shikako. Muta is probably happy, but maybe is just aiming to be vigilant about the details of their first mission.

As far as missions go, it’s kind of an awesome one.

“We’re rolling and cutting dough!” Hironobu announces. “My wife’s cousin Uchikatsu is getting married and wants a selection of cookies instead of a cake, but all my usual extra workers are busy with other wedding things.”

What follows is a crash course in baking a variety of rolled cookies, starting with basics like keeping the dough chilled and rolling it out evenly. Hironobu quickly reveals the reason Amano had taught them this new chakra trick: they’ll be rolling with powdered sugar and cocoa powder

It’s messy and it’s fun. They all have different cookie cutter shapes, and Shisui scores the butterfly.

“It’s an insect,” Muta says. He seems to be looking hard at Shisui behind his glasses.

Shisui clutches the cookie cutter. “It’s mine, client’s orders,” he says.

“But it’s the best one,” Muta says.

“Yes,” Shisui agrees, and doesn’t give it over. He gives the boar to Muta because he’s so stubborn about his bug theme and gives the deer to Shikako because obviously. Amano-sensei is helping, too, but he’s on dough-fetching and oven-watching duty, so he doesn’t get a cookie cutter.

“Ah…” Shikako says when they turn to their cookie cutting stations. She’s looking down at her deer cookie cutter. Shoulders hunched. Does not continue whatever she was thinking about saying.

Red alert! Red alert!

Shisui sighs theatrical, because over exaggerating the exchange is better than trying to minimize it. “You want the butterfly, too, huh Shikako-chan?” he says. “My one true treasure in this world? The only worthwhile thing I’ve ever held in my entire life? You’d ask that of me?”

“Shisui, you’ve only had it for about two minutes,” Muta says, sounding irritated but in the good way — like Amano gets irritated when Uzume does something dramatic and loud that he secretly finds hilarious.

“Love has no concept of time,” Shisui informs him. “But… in the spirit of teamwork… and since Shikako-chan is my favorite teammate…”

(“Thanks,” Muta says. Shisui beams at him, but then resumes his tragic character.)

“…you should have it, and I will just suffer through my feelings from a distance,” Shisui finishes, holding the butterfly cookie cutter out to Shikako.

He gets a smile from her, and a little laugh. A laugh! They swap deer for butterfly and get to work, Amano-sensei calling out to them when he sees their new chakra trick wavering. To Shisui’s surprised, Shikako is best at it — or maybe it’s not a surprise at all, given how often he’s seen her passing the time trying to fold paper with just her chakra, or get a marble to stick to her skin but slide around under the control of gravity.

At the end of the mission only Amano-sensei is spotless and they’ve made a mountain of cookies and each of them is given a small package of cookies to take home in addition to the money they’ll make. Amano will bring his to Uzume-ba’s house, but Shisui stops by the Uchiha clan orphanage house with his package.

Shisui is a real shinobi with a real team that he even enjoys taking D-ranks with. He’s gotta spread that good luck around as much as possible, because the clan needs it.

#to someplace else #asks #dreaming of sunshine #shadow under water #shisui #shikako #muta #amano #hironobu #ask prompt #words words words #shikako all #shisui all #amano all

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mangled-dreams · 6 years ago

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Chase and Jameson doing some fluffy stuff, maybe baking together? Could be romantic or platonic . whatever you're comfortable doing.

Aw!!! I really like this request just for the fluff that can happen, but I also want to do an unrequited love/unsure attraction with this prompt. So, here we go down the rabbit hole!! I hope this is tickles your fancy.

Baked with Love

It’s wrong, well, most would think it’s wrong. Being in love with his brother, his twin, his double, but there’s an attraction he can’t deny. He doesn’t push him feeling on his double, hasn’t even hinted that there is anything more than brotherly love going on wildly inside his heart.

He knows if he were to ever utter the words out loud, to confess these feelings hidden deep within in, he would most likely lose his most precious person. Even as he shares a house filled with his duplicates there is still just the one that makes his heart skip and lets butterflies run rampant in his stomach.

As of this moment he stands shoulder to shoulder with the one person he can never have. His hands are covered in flour and sugar as he makes sugar cookies for Valentine’s Day of all days to be making cookies. It feels like cruel irony that he’s making cookies with the one person he wishes he could give the cookies too.

Looking over at the familiar face happily chatting away while rolling out a thick ball of cookie dough, he wishes he could just kiss him, just once to know what it feels like. He can’t help but wonder if it would be classified as incest or masturbation if anything would ever transpire between them. In just about every aspect they are the same person, thought up by the same creator just different versions of the same man.

“Wow! Look at all these cookies!” Sean, the original, the first, the creator marvels entering the kitchen. Chase and Jameson both look up from their current attempts to roll out their blobs of cookie dough.

Jameson smiles big at Sean. “They’re going to taste delicious.” He assures Sean carefully rolling out his dough. “Chase, smooth with even pressure.” Jameson coaches showing Chase how he’s supposed to roll the dough out.

Grimacing Chase tries to follow Jameson’s actions. Try as he might, he just can’t mimic Jameson’s movements. “ I just can’t do it like you, Jay. Sean gave you all the baking skills.” Chase grouses looking at Sean. His tones is playful despite his frustration with the dough.

Sean laughs, “Nah, that’s all Jameson. I had nothing to do with that.” Back stepping Sean looks down the hallway wen he hears his name. “Oh, we’re heading out. Will you two be okay with us gone?” Sean asks. What he’s really asking is if they’ll burn the house down making cookies.

“Everything will be just the way you left it.” Chase promises. As not not convincing enough Sean looks to Jameson.

“It’ll be fine, Sean. Chase and I will be fine.” Jamseon chimes not bothering to look up from the cookie cutters. Signe had brought over a large collection of cookie cutters. Jameson had spent the better part of a half hour sorting through the cookie cutters and picked out the romantic ones.

Sean nods and wishes them a good night before finally leaving the house. It’s either unfortunate or fortunate, neither really know which way to flip the coin, but everyone seems to have something else to do. Whether they have a date, a party, or just hate the holiday and want to be alone it’s just Chase and Jameson alone in the house making cookies.

“Jay, is this thick enough?” Chase asked trying to make his cookies just as good as Jameson. Jameson looks over at the rolled out dough with a bright smile.

“Looks excellent!” Jamseson chimes happily. Picking out four cookie cutters Jameson next shows Chase how to place the cutters and transfer them over to the cookies sheets.

Chase doesn’t get it immediately, his first few complete messes of indescribable blobs, but Jamesom doesn’t let him scrap them. Instead he helps reshape them on the sheet with Chase’s help. Chase eventually catches on but it takes a few more oddly shaped hearts. X’s, and O’s before he had anything remotely similar to the shapes he’s using.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye he watches as his double uses the cookie cutter with ease. There isn’t any kind of hesitation as he splits the dough and moves the reshaped raw dough to the cookie sheet. He knows he shouldn’t be so fascinated, that he should just focus on the task at hand, but it’s that draw, that unmistakable attraction that keeps his attention.

“How long will they be in the oven?” Chase asks waiting to set the timer on the oven.

“Ten minutes.” Jameson tells him already working on his next sheet of cookies. “I think we may way too much dough.” He added looking at the still to be used mount in a mixing bowl. “Why did Sean encourage this?”

Chase laughs looking at the mess they’ve made on the island. “Hey, at least we can eat the dough if we don’t make it all into cookies.” He suggests laughing at the disgusted face Jameson makes. “What? Worried about the raw eggs?” He teases flicking a clump of flour at Jameson, it lands on his rolled up sleeve.

“Of course, you can get very sick eating raw eggs.” Jameson responds using the back of his hand to sweep away the clump of flour. “The kitchen is dirty enough, Chase. Don’t get flour everywhere.” Jameson warns going back to placing his cutters.

Chase smiles deviously. Walking around the island, behind Jameson, he grabs the measuring cup and fills it completely with flour, the mount early spilling over as he walks over to Jameson. Without warning he dumps the cup filled with flour over Jameson’s head showering.

Crying out Jameson bumps into the island before side stepping away from Chase. “Chase! What are you thinking? You’ve gotten flour everywhere!” A cloud of finely grounded flour hangs around Jameson as he tries to dust himself off.

Chase just laughs at the vision of Jameson covered in soft cream colored flour. “Come on, Jay. It’s funny.” Chase says in his defense. It’s not much of a defense and he know it but it’s still funny.

Jameson grouses at Chase but doesn’t retaliate against him. Instead he undoes the buttons of his shirt and slips it out of his pants. With a few tugs it comes free. Sliding it down his arms Jameson shakes it out before taking it to the laundry room. He debates removes his pants but decides it’s too indecent and leaves them on.

When he returns to the kitchen Chase is unusually quiet as he cuts out more cookies. Jameson gives him a confused look but can’t inquire immediately. The timer for the cookies beeps and he removes the sheet placing both on the cooling racks before placing his and Chase’s sheets into the oven. Setting the timer Jameson scoops each cookie of the baking sheet to completely cool on the racks.

“Chase, you are going to clean up all the flour.” Jameson orders setting the still hot sheets on the oven to cool completely.

Chase simply nods his head without saying a word and walks out of the room. Jameson raises a brow in question but doesn’t follow. Frowning Jameson grabs plastic zip up bags and puts the remaining cookie dough away. He gets the broom out and begins sweeping up keeping an eye on the timer still curious as to what happened with Chase.

Once again when the timer beeps he takes out the cookie sheets. Turning off the oven Jameson leaves the kitchen to find Chase. Walking down the hallway Jameson hears Chase whispering to himself. The closer he gets better he hears him whispering, “This is wrong, it’s wrong. I have to stop this. He’s me! He’s like a brother, stop, just stop.”

Frowning Jameson can’t help but peek around the corner as Chase paces back and forth in a private den. His hands in his hair as he paces back and forth whispering he’s sick that he’s gross, that there must be something wrong with him. Jameson doesn’t completely understand until a bulge in Chase’s pants catch his attention.

Ducking back around the corner at the dawning realization that Chase doesn’t just have a brotherly love for him, but a romantic interest. Unsure what to do with the information Jameson rushes down the hallway as quietly as he can.

The last thing he wants to do is upset Chase further. Standing in the kitchen once more Jameson replays the scene over and over in his head. He can’t get over the thought Chase lusts after him. It’s wrong, in so many ways, but...

But it makes him happy. It makes his own desires valid. Even with the knowledge Jameson knows he can’t act upon it. No matter how much he would like too.

Hearing Chase’s footstep Jameson still hasn’t decided what to do with the information. Does he tell Chase he feels the same? Does he continue on as if nothing has happened? He just doesn’t know what to do.

Looking at the flour still dusting the floor Jameson hears Chase enter the kitchen. Chase walks past him without a word and takes up the broom as Jameson had minutes before. Jameson watches Chase calmly and quietly sweep the floor.

Moving purely on instinct and desire Jameson walks over to Chase and grabs his face. Chase looks into Jameson’s eyes with question and a longing Jameson never noticed before.

“Jay?” Chase manages to whisper before Jameson claims his lips. Within seconds Chase become clay, malleable and placid against Jameson’s lips.

Jameson doesn’t let him have a chance to pull away. Deepening the kiss Jameson presses Chase against that wall. He’s always wanted to dominate the normally dominate ego. When air becomes an issue Jameson pulls away from Chase.

Neither quite know what to say, so they don’t say anything at all. Without a single thought Chase pulls Jameson back to him, kissing him harder, longer than he’s kissed anyone. The pair makeout in the kitchen before hearing keys in the lock of the main door.

Quick to part like teenagers caught necking them straighten themselves out, smiling knowingly to each other before Jameson walks to his room to get a different shirt on. Chase stays in the kitchen to finish cleaning watching as Anti enters the kitchen non the wiser to what happened.

“You didn’t get very far.” He remarks looking at the plain cookies on the counter.

Chase smirks. “We got far enough.”

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liray-stylespk · 4 years ago

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Details, Fiction And Ladies Garments

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addison00028-blog · 4 years ago

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bethlehem-boulevard · 7 years ago

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There's a Time to:

“Stare across a field of grain, this is how the prophets train.” — Josh Garrels

The postmodern prophet trains amongst edifices of concrete and steel. In their peripheral vision stands today’s developments, fields of suburban houses, condos, high rises and metropolises where souls abide.

The architects of this day and age are much like bakers in many respects, building entire cities from cookie-cutter stencil renderings. Artisanal replications with subtle variations, to settle any discontentment that may arise from such uniformity.

Perfection is often measured by one’s ability to achieve the replication of a desired outcome. As if we as people had to be the same in order to become history’s most advanced civilization.

The marginalized ones living on the fringes of the fields, the ones who can only achieve the standard of this kind of ‘living’ [often existing] in their dreams. Living with access to running clean water within any establishment that any person walks into, that is a luxury. The fact that every subdivision doesn’t have a community well that they draw water from once a week, which is then rationed for consumption, bathing, and laundry; that is almost never the case for the majority of the population who live like kings and queens and are unaware. The fact that if we’re thirsty at any given moment we have access to clean [microorganism-free] drinking water. The fact that we are able to walk to a closet or wardrobe and find clothes that will cover us and protect us from the elements. Also the fact we don’t have to spend the whole day hunting or gathering our food to survive.

Now if you’re reading this you are more likely than not are in that category. We live like royalty and nobility. Do you know where the concept of trim lawns and backyards came from? The days where royalty lived in castles in times of Medieval Feudal civilizations, these magnificent structures were surrounded by lawns and gardens that were often maintained by servants.

We’re privileged, blessed, spoiled whatever you want to call it; our basic physical survival needs are being met, right? Yet, people are dimensional they aren’t bundles of chemical stimuli and responses. This nagging sense for meaning and purpose is not derived from a full stomach or a $5,000 watch that makes some sort of statement. Do you realize the staggering difference in the number of people that take their own lives in wealthy nations versus 'developing countries’.

A person’s access to resources will only assist them in that realm, it doesn’t not make sense of that statistically you’re existence is 1 in 400 trillion. Now let’s pause and examine that number: we can grasp 400, 4,000, maybe even the concept of 4 million some may be able to wrap their mind around, but 400 trillion of something. Those are the chances of you existing exactly as you are now.

People have been analyzing, studying, and trying to make sense of the human experience for centuries. Religion tells us we must have faith, but not to disregard reason. Psychology tells us we should be happy, but not too happy. School tells us knowledge is power, but what a person knows can also hold them as a prisoner.

So in the words of Death Cab For Cutie: 'I want to live where soul meets body’. There’s a balance in this conjunction of flesh and bone, soul and spirit. This is the only planet where those elements exist in unity, and if that unity isn’t respected then humanity is doomed to succumb to overindulgence or deprivation.

For example obesity is a result of the physical need for food of an individual taking precedence over the other needs, it’s the manifestation of an imbalanced soul-body relationship. [However not everyone’s body’s are supposed to look the same, people were not designed to be a bakers dozen of identically sized-shaped pastries] Yet exceeding ones’ own natural capacity will lead to an imbalance.

When a person is dealing with or avoiding an emotional experience it is processed in that conjunction of soul and body; isolating a particular outlet [whether it’s physical: food, exercise, drugs, etc. or emotional: meditation, music, art, etc.] may lead to an extreme. The body and soul deal with such extremes differently. When these physical and emotional elements are unified these extremes can be avoided and balance will be achieved.

Sometimes as I drive on overpasses or just slightly more elevated intersections I can see entire housing developments. I stare across these fields of suburban grain and wonder, if the body+souls know that they’re 1 in 400 trillion. There’s more to life than beating the odds of non-existence. Can we even grasp the concept of what it means to not exist? I digress, the point to all of these words is to say: if you’ve got what need be thankful. You may not give a single penny to another person as long as you live, but the realization that you are privileged enough not to worry is something you should be thankful for. Then if you’re ready [no pressure if you’re not] sign of gratitude is to help those who don’t have basic needs to survive; in whatever way you can advocacy doesn’t always entail monetary resources, but give what you have to give [time is money as the cliché goes].

We’re living in wondrous yet treacherous times: some people are living to make it to 3 digit-ages, while some don’t make it even 3 days. There’s a tragic disparity of living conditions, while some are trying to make it another day physically another is talking them-self emotionally into why they should live another day.

Let’s cut through the mushy gushy fluff and rationalize the evidence that we inhabit a planet of 7 billion people. No one is born alone or meant to exist alone. A living human comes out of another living human body. So the long and the short of it is that we’re all here to assist and enhance one another’s lives by achieving a balance of the body’s and soul’s needs.

In the end that will be what you take with you, because what joins humanity is both life and death. Death isn’t final, people return to the source of where they came from before birth, and everyone will be held accountable for the 1 in 400 trillionth chance they had to make those odds count for something. If not in this life, the next one.

Always be grateful, always share when and what you can, and always remember you’re alive to live life to the fullest[whatever that may look like to you] because you already exist.

#spilled ink #ode #Rejoice & Lament #thinking about songs #josh garrels #long post

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diandraescoto · 4 years ago

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Opinion Piece: (Option #2)

“A riot is the language of the unheard”

—Martin Luther King Jr.

Is violence the appropriate response to social injustice? Is violence an effective and just method to achieve equality and eliminate racism and police brutality?

Throughout the past week or so, our social media has flooded with reports about police brutality & racism; specifically towards the African-American community. A name that won’t ever be forgotten and that is immediately thought of upon the topic of “Black Lives Matter”, is George Floyd. 46-year-old, African-American, George Floyd was known as the ‘Gental giant’ due to his large stature yet soft soul. On May 25th, Floyd died a drawn-out death by asphyxiation with a police officer's knee on his neck – his killing, filmed by bystanders, instantly going viral around the world. His final words – "I can't breathe" – and his portrait have been beamed around the world, together with demands of African Americans for an end to racism and police brutality.

Due to this gruesome happening, an uproar of BLM protests have been going on the past week. However, these aren’t your typical protests. These protests got a little out of hand on both parts. The ongoing topic being such a sensitive subject, it has caused protesters to allow their anger to overpower them. It has caused police to react in horrible ways against them—trying to bring Floyd the justice everyone agreed that he needed, was overshadowed by the anger of both parties.

In my opinion, violence is NOT the appropriate response to social injustice. Most situations that involve any social injusticeness, partake in some act of violence. Whether it be verbal, physical, etc. Just like the saying goes, “Don’t fight fire with fire”. When you make violence the main tool you use within an argument, 9 out of 10 times, you won’t be able to resolve that argument because you’re so focused and reliant on using the violence to fix the problem. Thing is, when you have two parties who are filled with pride and confidence, no one will back down just because violence is put into the scene. Adding violence would only ignite the opposing party and that leads to violently quarreling instead of actually figuring out options and solutions to fairly resolve any issues. It’s a natural habit for humans to not listen to people if they are screaming in their ear and constantly pressuring them about a subject. It’s natural for us humans to want to help those who have a more pleasant and kind approach to situations. It’s natural for us humans to favour someone who is talking calmly instead of someone whose jumping and creating a havoc in front of you. I believe in order to truly get the justice we have come to want due to subjects that we should already be over like racism, we need to fight for it, yes, but not with any act of violence. We need to respect the opposing party just as much as we respect ourselves and do so by pouring our class, knowledge, and passion. We should use those traits in order to fight for what we believe in and that goes for any case not just social injustice. When we respect ourselves, we let the opponents know we are taking and approaching the lead as the bigger person. That there is we aren’t going to allow violence to take over as a means to an end. In actuality, no one wants to risk lives to fight for something that resulted in a death. We need to prevent these cases, these deaths by not acting in violence and putting lives in danger or at risk from the beginning.

Violence is NOT an effective and just method in order to achieve equality and eliminate racism & police brutality. As I have mentioned in the previous paragraph, the use of violence should have never been used as a means to an end—the end being a world where we do not discriminate, only love all colours. shapes, and sizes of the beauty of society. Where police brutality and all social injusticeness is replaced with respect and equality. Where the natural reaction of humans are to come together and solve together, not separate and humiliate. The outcomes of these protests have led to a certain part of Minneapolis to be trashed; mainly stores, police departments, and other buildings. Fires were set, buildings were torn apart, drawn on, vandalized. Stores were raided and emptied, making it seem like an apocalypse happened. The police that were put to the frontline in order to “protect”, tear-gassed innocent civilians who were kneeling and keeping peace, used force against the people who were screaming and chanting. A entire massacre that went on for over a week all over certain parts of the world was a result of both sides fighting in a violent manner. Despite all the lives that were put at risk and/or injured, I question if people really got the justice they were looking for. Did they really know what exact end point they were fighting so hard for? What were there expectations? That it would bring back Floyd to life? I read a post on twitter that went along the lines of – “Ruining a city and creating a war in the streets won’t bring back George Floyd” - it said something along those lines. I, personally, agree and don’t agree with this. Solely because yes, it’s true, Floyd won’t be brought back from the dead by people raiding stores and trashing a city. However, I do get the fact that this topic of police brutality towards the African-American decent has been an ongoing issue that has never actually been resolved. Therefore, reacting and lashing out, due to the simple fact of society being sick and tired of people abusing their authority and being racist. We can see that yes, the police who were involved in this case, have been put in jail. Yes, us fighting could have been a pushing factor as to how they were imprisoned. But what now? We ruined part of a city, vandalized stores and police departments. Through all this we caught tunnel vision and forgot that there are still good police officers out there. That the employees affected due to essential stores being trashed are now probably jobless until further notice. That just because a problem isn’t being solved and taken into consideration, we shouldn’t do anything that puts bystanders at risk, innocent lives at risk. The goal was to gain justice for Floyd’s life, not risk more lives in order to get four people in jail.

As a Filipino-Canadian, I haven’t personally experienced the effects of social injusticeness. I haven’t felt the need to hide when cops pass by me. I never felt scared that I would be falsely accused of something and be arrested. I have never been racially profiled at work places or anywhere, for that matter! I know I probably won’t ever have to deal with situations to the extent that the African-American community have ever had to deal with, but this doesn’t mean that I don’t feel for their pain and anger. I wish I could go out and fight properly & safely along with others. However, because of this quarantine, my parents would never let me go out to crowds. I hurt for people who are judged just because of their skin colour. I have experienced problems with colour. Although, being Filipino... I don’t fit in that cookie cutter Pacific Islander image. I am pretty pale. Filipino’s are usually on the more tan side yet love and place the paler skin tones on a pedestal. I have seen tweets from teenage filipino girls being hated on by their own family because of their skin colour and that just makes me sick! Why does the colour of someone’s skin matter? Why is the standard that people of lighter skin tones are “safer” than ones with tanner tones? Why do people profile certain races and consider one smarter than the other, prettier than the other, safer than the other, etc.? Why does skin colour matter if we all die the same colour in ash? Why can’t today’s society accept diversity in the world? It pains me because I have a very diverse-multicultural family. I would hurt to hear my nieces or nephews or cousins to be scared to casually take a stroll on the sidewalk, fearing they’d get arrested or hurt by a police or to hear that they can’t ever be safe in this world just because they aren’t white. I don’t want my kid or my kids kids to be fearful of the world and life just because of the colour they were made to be.

You would think that with the amount of diversity in the world and that along with the acceptance of religion, sexuality and lifestyle that we would be able to accept race. The beauty of mixed cultures and beings. Colours, shapes and sizes. It should never matter what colour you are, it should only ever matter what’s truly in your heart and how pure your heart is. I want issues like these of social injustice, police brutality, and racism. to just finally be settled and accepted and made to be equal. We have so much wrong in the world that we don’t need inequality towards a colour, be one. We just want equality through ALL races and kinds. We need to come together because we were all made and born on this one planet and we shouldn’t act/treat others like they came from a different planet. I hope all justice is served to all cases of police brutality and racism. I keep in my prayers, all the beautiful souls lost due to this horrible issue. We live on this one planet together, we need to fight for our rights together.

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