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buzzdixonwriter · 2 years ago

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The Client [FICTOID]

“Are you a detective?”

“I am.”

“I want you to solve a mystery.”

“Okay, what mystery?”

“Why did I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kill my wife.”

I took a long draw on my cigarette. “She’s dead?”

“She will be.”

“Then why not save her?”

“It’s fatal.”

“What is?”

“AIDS.”

I took another long draw. These things will kill me. Eventually. “You gave her AIDS?”

“No.”

I stubbed my cigarette out. The client -- the would be client -- proved irritating. “Let’s stop talking in circles. What did you do?”

“I encouraged my wife to have an affair.”

“Ah. Because she was unhappy, or you were guilty?”

“Both.”

“Let’s start with her unhappiness.”

“I’m a businessman. I work hard. I make a lot of money -- but I don’t have time for love.”

“Old story. Kind of cliché. To be frank, pathetic.”

“Yes. Pathetic is the perfect word.”

“So you encouraged your wife to play around, to get her jollies behind your back, but with your permission.”

“Yes.”

“Did she pick her lover, or did you?”

The client-to-be hung his head in shame. “I did.”

“Somebody you knew? Or somebody you both knew?”

“Somebody I knew…mostly. She met him once or twice. He worked for me. A rough sort, muscular. In the shipping department.”

“And he had AIDS?”

The client hung his head again. “Yes.”

“Did you know?”

The client looked out my office window for a long, long time. The view was the alley between the buildings; the day was cold, wet, and grey.

“Yes,” he said at last.

“What do you gain through your wife’s death?”

“Millions,” said the client. “My wife stands to inherit a fortune. It’s in a trust, so it can’t be denied her.”

“Does she know you know her lover had AIDS?”

The client closed his eyes. Tears leaked out. “Yes.”

“So why doesn’t she divorce you? Or at least rewrite her will?”

“She loves me,” he said, voice cracking.

“Are you worthy of her love?”

His voice cracked again. “No.”

“Then either kill yourself, or prove yourself worthy.”

“How?”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Don’t you solve mysteries?”

“This isn’t a mystery,” I said. I wanted another cigarette badly but I told myself I needed to wait at least half an hour.

“You murdered your wife -- “ here the client sucked his breath in harshly but didn’t deny it “ -- because you hoped to gain from it.

“Now she’s dying, or at least cursed with a potentially fatal disease she’ll never escape.

“You could divorce her, give her a generous settlement, but that will only be more pain and suffering inflicted on her, dragging out over weeks or months, and you’ll still keep some of your wealth.

“Or you can devote yourself to her, make her happy, brighten her days, make her glad she is alive.

“Or you can kill yourself swiftly, make the shock sudden but final, and leave her everything to comfort her last days.

“They’re doing a lot with AIDS treatments these days,” I said. “She could still have many, many comfortable years ahead of her.”

“What do you recommend?”

I decided not to wait. I shook the last cigarette out of the pack, tapped it on my desk, lit it, and drew in a deep lungful before answering.

“That you even came to me -- that you came to anyone -- reveals volumes.

“’Why’ you did this is easy enough to explain. You love money. You thought you loved it more than your wife. You realize this might not be the case, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. It’s dawning on you what you might really lose, and you can’t weigh that against your greed to decide which matters most to you, so you’re looking for outside help.”

Another long drag. “Have you spoken with a therapist? A psychiatrist? A doctor? A lawyer? A priest or a rabbi or a minister?

“Yes,” said the client. “Yes, yes, and more yes.”

“And they gave you the same answer, didn’t they?”

He gulped and nodded.

“One of the answers I gave you, right?”

He hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “Only two of the three options you offered.”

“So there you go,” I said, drawing the smoke deep into my lungs. It felt good. It felt clean. Certainly cleaner that this client.

“Don’t speak in riddles,” he said. “What should I do?”

“Do you go hunting?”

“Occasionally. Pheasants, mostly. Why?”

“Make sure you get your whole head over the barrel of the shotgun.”

#fictoid

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minaramen · 3 years ago

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New Year’s special story - Werewolf Idols ~ LIVE or HEAVEN ~ Part 9: Nighttime War Council [Day 3]

*A dark place*

Momo: Fuu..

Momo: Mission complete

Momo: Tamaki was pretty nervous when they wanted to hang him first

Momo: I wonder what happens after somebody gets executed

Momo: Wait for me, darling!

*Cut to the game*

Tamaki: Thanks, Momorin

Iori&Tenn: Thank you so much, Momo san

Iori: Good job

Tenn: He really acted great as the madman

Iori: Yotsuba san, you’ll most likely be executed tomorrow

Tamaki: Yeah… I resigned myself…

Iori: Just so you don’t draw attention to us, make a silly face tomorrow. And be sure to keep it up the whole time

Tamaki: A silly face!? Got it….okay, I’ll put up a sad expression…

Tenn: Two priests make a new year…*

Tamaki:....!?

Tenn: New year

Tamaki: Ahaha! Tenten, what are you saying?

Tenn: You’re not laughing

Iori: I don’t think he can afford the two priest thing. Does Trigger have fun telling similar jokes at home?

Tenn: It’s a trademark gag my family said for the New Year

Iori: I didn’t want to hear!!!

Tamaki: Wait, so it's fine to not act seriously?

Iori: I don’t want to hear that from you

Tenn: Who will we bite? Nanase san would be the best option, but I’m not sure we can afford that

Iori: We need to think about who the hunter is more likely to escort

Iori: I would say he’s going to escort the medium, but after Nikaido san’s speech he may go for Inumaru san

Tenn: We want more than to avoid a successful escort, don’t we?

Iori: I think we should bite my brother

Tenn: And don’t you think you’ll get caught, after that?

Iori: Yes, probably…but I feel like they’ll notice something if we keep acting like this. I think we should draw a little bit of attention to us

Tenn: Then I should be worried about Ryuu too…

Tamaki: What about Gakkun?

Tenn: Gaku trusts me. Also, everything he feels is shown on his face. I’ll immediately understand if he gets suspicious

Tenn: On the other hand, I’m not sure about what Ryuu’s thinking right now. However, if we bite Ryuu now, I feel like I’ll become suspicious

Iori: The same goes for me, if we bite my brother

Tenn: Didn’t we bite off smart people, until now? Logically, you’d be the next target

Iori: This is true. The more I survive, the more I become suspicious

Tenn: We got in trouble due to the plan of executing all the divinators… by the way, Natsume san is definitely the fox

Iori: Yes, he is. He said I was a villager

Tamaki: Can’t we just bite Minamin, then?

Iori: The fox spirit doesn't die if he gets bitten. He can only be casted to death by the real divinator

Iori: I suggested that divinators forecast each other, but he dodged it well

Tenn: We don’t have time. What are we going to do tomorrow?

Iori: Nii san…Inumaru san…What do you think, Yotsuba san?

Tamaki: Uhm… Rikkun

Iori: Why?

Tamaki: ‘cause Mikki would suspect Iorin, and Ryuu aniki would suspect Tenten…

Iori: But I think Rikkun would suspect both of you…

Iori&Tenn:.........

Iori: The hunter may be protecting the medium, but…could we do it anyway?

Tenn:...let’s go for an all or nothing, then

Iori: Understood. Nanase san, then

Tamaki: I’m nervous!

Tenn: Let’s hope we get to eat Nanase san

*Shade in and out*

Riku/medium: I could finally say I was the medium…!

Riku/medium: Ah, I feel relieved now… I thought I would have died before getting the opportunity to say it

Riku/medium: However, this morning was kinda shocking. I was notified that Yuki san was actually a villager. I was like “whaaat?!”

Riku/medium: I thought that Momo san was telling the truth. I never would have thought he was so good in such a deception game

Riku/medium: I wonder who the wolves are…have the others understood that yet?

Riku/medium: Natsume san is pretty wolf-looking, isn't he? Or maybe not…?

Riku/medium: I wonder if Yamato san is the madman. He looks like the real deal, anyway… But Ten-....Kujo san seems real as well

Riku/medium: Could Natsume san be telling the truth after all? Regarding his forecastings…uhm, I got a memo here

Riku/medium: He said that Haruka kun and Iori were villagers. Sounds true…

Riku/medium: However, Iori was the wolf boy. I think he’s a wolf

Riku/medium: Aah, how scary. I wonder if I’ll get bitten tonight…

Riku/medium: Please, Mr. Hunter, protect me! By the way, who’s the hunter? Touma?

Riku/medium: The hunter wasn’t able to protect somebody yet! That is so like Touma!

Riku/medium: I didn’t mean it in a bad way! What I was trying to say is that Touma is cute and funny in his way of always being undecided

Riku/medium: Gaku san looks like somebody who could kill off a wolf with one big shot! He’s a member of Trigger, after all!

Riku/medium: Ah…I hope I’ll survive tonight…

Riku/medium: Please, God…!

*Cut to a dark place*

Momo: This is the place where people go after they’re executed.. I hear some lively voices from here…

*Doors open - Cut to the TV studio*

Audience: Kyaaaaah…!

Momo: Wah…!

Audience: Momo chan!

Audience: Momo!!

Momo: Hello! Momo chan is here!

Audience: Kyaaaaaaaaah…!

Sogo: Hello, Momo san

Nagi: Welcome, mister Momo!

Momo: Hi everyone! Ah, food!! It looks delicious!

Torao: Getting back to the topic we were talking about earlier, is Momo our vocalist?

Audience: Kyaaaaaah!

Momo: What? Your vocalist!?

Yuki: No. Momo will form another unit together with Tamaki tomorrow, when he comes

Momo: Forming an unit with Tamaki?! Me!?

Yuki: Exactly. The name of the unit will be “The circle of hell for those who sell their partners”

Audience: Ahahah!

Momo: Ahah! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t hold a grudge, darling…!

Yuki: You even said you’re a wolves stan

Momo: Now that I’m not the madman anymore, I can go back to being the forever Yuki stan Momo chan!

Yuki: Really?

Momo: Really!

Yuki: Okay, then. I’ll forgive you

Audience: Kyaaaaaaaaah…!

Momo: I’m so happy, darling! You didn’t cheat on me, did you?

Audience: He did!

Momo: What!? He did?!

Yuki: I didn’t, I didn’t

Nagi: I’ll take responsibility

Momo: You did something, Yuki!?

Audience: He did!

Yuki: I didn’t, I didn’t

*Cut to the game*

Yamato/divinator: Aaah, Inumaru…Inumaru, please…don’t die

Yamato/divinator: However, thinking about it…

Yamato/divinator: I said I would have forecasted Inumaru, so if Inumaru is a villager and he dies, then I’ll gain their trust

Yamato/divinator: Maybe they will finally notice that everything I said until now was true. I even declared everything

Yamato/divinator:.........

Yamato/divinator:....sorry, Inumaru

Yamato/divinator:....please, die….

Yamato/divinator: I’m deeply, deeply sorry! But I want you to get gloriously killed tonight, to prove I’m the real deal…

Yamato/divinator: Did you understand, wolves? I guess our mutual love will continue tonight as well…?

Yamato/divinator: Please…! Inumaru…bite off Inumaru…!

*Shade in and out*

Touma/villager:..........

Touma/villager: I can feel kind of a murderous intention around me, now…

Touma/villager: Will I get bitten tonight? Aaah, that’s scary as hell!

Touma/villager: Anyway, it’s still better if they kill me rather than Riku, who has a useful power for the village’s sake

Touma/villager: Okay, wolves. Leave Riku alone. Eat me instead

Touma/villager: Aah…

Touma/villager: I’m prepared now, but the night is so long…I’ll think a little bit more, just in case I survive

Touma/villager: For the forecasting, I think that Mina’s telling the truth

Touma/villager: That’s because he doesn’t look like he’s just observing the situation. On the contrary, he looks kinda nervous, actually

Touma/villager: Mina has quite thick skin, he alway acts very calmly. Even when he’s cornered, he never loses his composure

Touma/villager: Since he’s a prodigious actor, I think he would have talked much more if he was lying. Just like Momo san did today

Touma/villager: However he was very quiet today, as if he wanted to be trusted. When it came down to it, he took it passively

Touma/villager: Uhm…

Touma/villager: …no, maybe he just doesn't want to be discovered

Touma/villager: If he was the real deal, I think that not being trusted would have made him lose his temper

Touma/villager: Or rather, he would have looked at those who didn’t believe him as coldly as he could….

Touma/villager:...what? Did I talk too much? I think they're going to kill me later…

Touma/villager:...if I survive until tomorrow, I’ll try to trick Mina and get some answers

Touma/villager: I’m going to say that I cannot trust him. Then, if he answers back with kind words and tries to gain my trust in a humble manner…he’ll be guilty

Touma/villager: Otherwise, if he tries to hide his frustration and hold me in scorn…he’ll be innocent

Touma/villager:.....

Touma/villager: Okay, then. Let’s try

*Shade in and out*

Mitsuki/villager: What a turn of events! Momo san was an impostor, then

Mitsuki/villager: Who the hell are the wolves…?

Mitsuki/villager: Oh, yeah. Yesterday I said that Iori was acting weird, but perhaps he’s not a wolf

Mitsuki/villager: He put forward so many deductions after all. Then, there must be a wolf among Yaotome, Kujo, Tsunashi san, Isumi and Inumaru

Mitsuki/villager: Well, I don’t think it could be Isumi…he likes playing the bad boy role, but he’s definitely not a good liar

Mitsuki/villager: Yaotome doesn’t look like a wolf either. So, I have Tsunashi san and Inumaru left. I don’t feel like Inunaru is a wolf…

Mitsuki/villager: Tsunashi is not the lying type either, but maybe he could suddenly do something unexpected

Mitsuki/villager: For example when he plays sports, he can easily make a wonderful pitch without any hesitation

Mitsuki/villager: That means he could be a wolf…uhm…

Mitsuki/villager: I don’t have a clue! Who the hell is the wolf?!

*Shade in and out*

Gaku/hunter: Nanase is the medium…

Gaku/hunter: If I protect Nanase, tomorrow we’ll know if Momo san was a wolf or not

Gaku/hunter: I’ve always protected Tenn. Maybe it’s okay if I choose Nanase tonight… maybe?

Gaku/hunter: The reason why I escorted Tenn is that I listened to what Rokuya and Nikaido said

Gaku/hunter: They said that the divinator, who can understand if somebody’s a wolf or not, is more important to the village than anybody else

Gaku/hunter: Also, they said that leaving the divinator alone to protect normal villagers would have been weird

Gaku/hunter: Well, I thought they were right. That’s why I protected Tenn, who looks like the more trustable among all the divinators

Gaku/hunter: However, it seems that wolves are attacking normal villagers more than divinators

Gaku/hunter: They probably thought that people like Rokuya or Midou could be more dangerous than the divinator

Gaku/hunter:...why? Maybe because they were cunning and seemed to understand the game pretty well

Gaku/hunter: But don’t they think it would be worse if the real divinators forecasted them, and discovered their true identities?

Gaku/hunter: Ah, but Yotsuba is still alive

Gaku/hunter:....Yotsuba

Gaku/hunter: Normally, Yotsuba would have been executed from the very beginning

Gaku/hunter: But then, Momo san said that Yuki san was a wolf

Gaku/hunter: Since the wolves already knew each other's names they should have understood in that moment

Gaku/hunter: That Momo san was an impostor

Gaku/hunter: But we listened to Momo’s opinion and we delayed Yotsuba’s execution

Gaku/hunter: We need four days to execute all the divinators. Since we executed Momo san…what was Midou saying? I can’t really remember

Gaku/hunter: If villagers become the same number as wolves, we lose. The execution chances are…

Gaku/hunter: One, two, three….mh?

Gaku/hunter: It’s about time we execute Yotsuba, isn’t it…?

End of part 9

TL notes:

(Japanese play on words for the New Year.. A buddhist priest is a 和尚. If we change the pronunciation of the number two (which is “futari” for people) with the english one (two), we get the same pronunciation as お正��, which means “new year”. That’s why two priests make the new year)

#idolish7 #idolish7translation #ainana #trigger #zool #re:vale

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lazyscience · 1 year ago

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I think having an extra person there who's not part of the grieving process as long as they're an sympathetic listener who draws people out could be really great, actually, because sometimes grief support groups can get kind of...taken over - and I don't mean this in a deliberate or narcissistic way! - by the members who are more extroverted or comfortable being vulnerable generally, or in more extreme crisis.

Like, say Alicia's in that group because she lost her twin sister a month or two ago. She's had a shitty day because the next book in her and her twin's favorite series came out today and for a second, she was so excited about thinking "oh, I can't wait to tell Deniece--" and then it crashes in that she can't. But when she gets to grief group, Marguerite is in tears because Social Security wants to get back her Gustavo's last month of benefits because someone made a mistake on the paperwork notifying them of his death, and she's worried that if she does have to give it back she can't make the rent payment on their apartment, and she's already making payments on the funeral and the hospital debt collectors are blowing up her phone - well. How can Alicia cry about a book, when Marguerite might not have a place to live?

But Carole who hasn't lost someone but just brings the snacks? while Donna and Henry are talking to Marguerite about how their appointments to get surviving spouse's benefits set up went, and the priest is going through his contacts for church-affiliated rent and utilities assistance programs, Carole can pass Alicia the plate of raspberry dark-chocolate dipped madeleines she saw on GBBO and no one in her family will eat, and say "and how about you, Alicia, how are you doing this week?" and give her a chance to cry a little without feeling like she's burdening somebody worse off. And maybe Marguerite reads that author too, and says "really? There's a new Morgana Mythhaven?" and has a little distraction in her week that doesn't remind her of Gustavo, because he was more a Jack Reacher guy than a werewolf shifter romance guy. And the group feels a little bit more balanced and connected.

My mom accidentally joined a grieving support group (long story, she's not grieving tho) and she's missing it this week while visiting me and she's VERY concerned that Lorraine, who very kindly offered to bring a baked good like mom usually would, will NOT bring the correct kind of dessert, she says citrus tarts aren't "griefy" enough

#support groups #moms #baked goods #something for everyone really

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radiosandrecordings · 3 years ago

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Crossposting my @summer-in-the-archives-event fic here too. [AO3] [Accompanying beautiful art]

He’d never get used to the rolling fields of quiet.

Miles behind and miles to go, not that he could see any of it through the thick blanket of fog that clung to his ankles, and his wrists, and his eyes. Miles to go before I sleep…

It was hard to describe the rain that fell, because even ‘fell’ felt like too active a descriptor. It didn’t pour, it didn’t ‘beat down’, it didn’t pelt, because those all required a sense of agency that the landscape just felt too apathetic to muster. It simply existed, and just happened to be moving downwards by coincidence.

Jon wasn’t sure if he knew or Knew that it seeped into his clothes, coating his skin, but he couldn’t even feel the droplets landing, even pinpricks of touch creating too much of a sensation for this place. He briefly wondered that, if he still had need for his glasses, would the rain even make the effort to trickle down and cloud the lenses.

The last Lonely domain he’d passed through, he’d never seen the avatar that lorded over it. He didn’t have any real interest in finding out, not like the personal vendettas that lead him to seeking out Jude, or Jared. Because with Peter dead he wasn’t left with any Lonely avatars left to chase, save the vague notions of the Lukas extended family. He was simply going to keep his head down and keep trudging, hopefully emerging through the thick banks of mist before he lost his mind to the monotony. If there was ever something to make you miss muffled cries from beneath the earth…

“Why are you here?”

The sound was accusatory, and may as well have been a shotgun in the silence. The damped chill was nothing in comparison to the ice that shot up his spine. The voice had no clear origin, no figures even silhouetted in shadow against the overgrown grass, but it came in close, delivered on the gentle, numbing breeze. Despite this, though, never in a thousand domains could he forget the sound of it. Of course it was his. Of course. Of course. “Martin?”

“No! ”

The voice sounded… Angry. But hurt, like it flinched away from the word. Like something that had been left to sit in the dark too long, that recoiled back from a stinging source of light.

“... I’m going to assume no one has called you that in a long time.�� He tried to keep his voice light, as much as the stifling atmosphere would allow it.

“No one is anything here. It’s easier that way. If you’re somebody, you can be hurt. If you have too much personality, too many little facets and cracks, things start to snag and catch on it, and it drags you down to where things ache. But if you’re nothing, then they don’t have anything to cling onto. You can just slip away unharmed.” The voice sounded like it was moving, curling around him and moving from ear to ear, forward and back as it droned on in that echoing monotone that Jon had hoped he would never hear again, and at the same time, had longed to.

“And what about the good things?”

“There isn’t anything good, not anymore. You saw to that.”

Jon snorted. “Low blow, but fair.” He hesitated for a moment, trying to summon the words.

He’d had time, after he left the Lonely, to consider his actions. Regret pooled like acid in his stomach at the memory, and somehow it hurt more than ending the world. He wouldn’t say it was more important. He knew whatever he felt, and moreso, knew that one human life, was not paramount to the suffering of every creature great and small, but it felt more tangible. When he walked through the hellscapes, they were dreamlike, hazy, information in such clarity but to an extreme where it still felt nonsensical to perceive it as reality. He knew the fundamental truths that surrounded him but it still felt hard to accept them even as he lived them.

Yet despite having lived without it for eight months prior, the space beside him that failed to solidify into Martin still stung with his absence. And Jon regretted it every not-day he spent walking the hellscape, both in knowing he doomed a good man to suffering, or worse, revelry, in this new world, and in the far more personal, and far more selfish, part of him that missed him so goddamn much.

“But- But Martin, I think I made a mistake.”

“Obviously.”

“Not- Not that. I mean, when we were in the Lonely. The- The first time. With Peter Lukas.” The silence droned on, and Jon took that as his cue to continue. “Do you remember what I said? That maybe you were safer here? And that’s… That’s why I let you stay. I didn’t push you to, to leave with me because I thought you wanted to be here, that you’d be safer here than you’d be with me. But I don’t think that was entirely true.”

“I am safe here.”

“Maybe so. It doesn’t mean it’s better though, does it. Martin, I saw those people, in the last Lonely domain. I know it’s different, they were victims and you’re… You’re an avatar, here, you’re feeding off of all of this, but I promise you they were not happy. They were so alone and it didn’t protect them, it just made it worse. Think about it, the logic of this world. There are threats out there of unimaginable horror, and yet they were still assigned here, it’s their worst nightmare. And you were assigned here too. You’re all suffering, just in different ways, but all calculated to be your personal worst.”

“The Martin Blackwood you thought you knew doesn’t exist anymore. He had to be filed down, too many breaks and tears in him that grew and grew, any time someone raised a harsh word. The best way for him to be protected, is for him to go away entirely. You cannot hurt something that doesn’t exist.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you just said ‘I’.”

“What? ” That anger reemerged again, and as staunched as it was it was beautiful, a return to form amongst the dull monotone, reminiscent of the few times Jon had been privileged enough to witness a truly pissed off Martin Blackwood.

Jon found himself grinning. “You said ‘I am safe here’. Emphasis on the ‘I’. Ergo, you still have some form of identity left, and thus I would wager that the part of you left is Martin. Unless I’ve wandered across some other avatar of the Lonely who sounds like him, of course.”

“You’re always so fucking smug, you know that?”

The voice is coming from behind him. Actually, physically, presently behind him and Jon spins around so fast he’s almost dizzy.

And as much as it made his heart soar, and much as he was glad to finally, finally , see him again when he’d thought he never would, Martin looked… Bad.

His skin had darkened, mottled and blotchy with large swathes of a bruise-like blue or sickly green cropping up across his face and neck, or the parts of his forearms visible where his cable knit sleeves rolled back. It was like frostbite from the cold, or some disturbing onset of trench-foot from the damp, corpselike and unsettling. What was worse, though, were the parts that simply ceased. His hair didn’t even reach the tips, simply fading out into a grey static that merged with the mist, and it consumed his eyes whole, tear tracks streaking down his face in patterns of fuzzy, crackling grey that snapped and popped in the silence, far too reminiscent of a tape.

The sight made Jon’s heart clench like a fist, the combination of relief and horror, and in that moment he understood Jane Prentiss more completely than he ever had before. It would’ve felt like a rude comparison to consciously make, the person he cared for most equated to a pulped and writhing mass that churned out creatures that made your skin crawl before tearing into it. But he knew what she had seen in it, that call towards the thing that fascinated you, despite the turning it causes in your stomach.

Despite this, however, Jon steeled himself. This was rapidly becoming a battle, and he couldn’t afford the cost of emotions. He had to keep Martin, well… Martin. Draw out the emotion. In short, be a bit of a bastard. So instead, he cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you liked that about me?”

He could see Martin’s fists clench, the colour of his extremities dyed black from frostbite. The irritation was still clear as he started into “Fucking hell J-” but they both appeared taken aback as he dissolved into a choking, hacking cough.

It took everything in him for Jon to tamp down the need to surge forward, put a hand on his back and ask if he was okay. It was a strangely mundane thing; the man was made out of static and fog and despite seeming to have an on-and-off-again relationship with his corporeal form, this was the first recognisably human thing to adversely affect him. Why, though? What had Martin done to trigger- Oh. Oh .

“That- That priest from the statement… 0113005? Father Burroughs. He couldn’t say the name of god. Anything related to it, really. And you… You couldn’t say my…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Martin spat. “You’re not a god or thee god, whatever your new eye magic might imply. It’s just…” He let out a breath that turned into a grumble. While his eyes had always been cloudy, he was now refusing to meet Jon’s gaze.

Regardless, it still drew a breathy laugh out of him. “No, I’m not that far gone into my own self importance yet. But… It’s about the connection, isn’t it?” Something in the conversation had changed, it’s tone or it’s flow, that felt contradicting. Tension coiling up to spring, or they’re barrelling towards a culmination, but at the same time, Jon felt like the wind had been kicked right out of him. He lowered himself to the ground, slowly, settling among the grass and trying to ignore the unpleasant dampness under him. Hey, he could feel the damp again. That was something.

“That’s more flattering, actually, I would say… The Lonely, it thinks if you acknowledge me directly, that would loosen it’s hold on you.” Jon huffed out a breath. “You know I listened to all the tapes. What was it that Daisy said to you, when I was on the run? ‘People say you two are close’? Well, the Lonely appears to agree.” He took a minute before adding, “I would, as well. And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was too… Too in my own head, before, to admit it. Too much of a coward to do it before that, even. But you need to know I love you. And I know that you… Cared for me, at least? Even if I stuck my head in the sand to ignore it. But the Lonely seems to think you do, still. So will you please come back to me? I know it’s not- I know it won’t be much better, travelling through the domains, but it’s all I can offer and it has to be better than this. I can’t promise anything kind will be waiting for us in London, but you’d be yourself again, and I can’t… Martin, I can’t lose you again. To leave here, again, without you, I’d be losing you. Please.”

“No.”

There wasn’t even a delay to his response, stating it in monotone the second Jon had finished speaking. It felt like ice, lancing through his heart.

“Martin. Martin, please -”

“I said no. I thought you would’ve learned by now; I’m not exactly amenable when you come crawling to me with half baked plans of escape. Because you don’t love me, you love the idea of me. You are quite literally the only free man left in the world and you’re lonely . So you’re looking for a familiar face. Kind Martin, caring Martin, always there with tea and taking your side in every argument. Defending you to Tim when you’d just as soon slag him off behind his back, or on tape. Pretty appealing when everyone else is trying to kill you. At least he treated you like a god before this even started.”

Each sentence felt like another dagger to the chest, and it took him a moment to compose himself, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Eventually, though, Jon spoke. “That’s not true, though. I- Martin I can’t apologise enough that that’s what it’s felt like, for you. But I need you to know, that isn’t true. A-At the start, maybe, I can’t deny I was stupid and spiteful, but you didn’t deserve any of it. And after that… I didn’t do a one-eighty and decide you were a doormat. I liked you because you were secretly enough of a prick as well. Any time you’d pull me out for lunch when I dragged my heels, or argued back when I said something shitty, that was… It felt like I was seeing the real you. The one you didn’t want to let people think of you as, but the one you were, because despite wanting to appear like the picture of innocence, you are a bitch, Martin Blackwood. And that’s my favourite thing about you. Maybe time is sweetening my memory, slightly, but I truly don’t believe there’s rose coloured glasses here. If we walk out of here, I’m not under any sort of illusion that it’ll be a honeymoon. We will doubtless find something to argue over, if not several, but I want that. I want you at my side to, to disagree and point out all my blind spots. We’re both stubborn bastards but I’m stupidly fallible, and I need you to keep me balanced. I don’t want a yes-man, I want you, Martin, and I’m asking for that knowing full well what it entails.”

When the words stopped flowing, he found himself gasping for breath, sobs building in his chest and threatening to spill over. But Martin was standing closer.

“That’s- I don’t- Fuck.” As Jon looked up, wiping at his own eyes, he could see fog starting to trickle from Martin’s mouth, coming in short bursts as his nostrils flared and chest rose and fell noticeably for the first time that Jon had seen since he stepped foot onto the moors. This caused a conflict of emotion in Jon, because while it seemed to be another step towards humanity, Martin letting the Lonely fall to the wayside in favour of reclaiming himself, it also looked far too close to a panic attack to be something worth celebrating.

“I don’t understand,” he finally settled on, voice cracking on the words. He slowly let himself sink to the ground opposite Jon, knees pulled up to his chest. “I left you. Time and again I left you. I left you to work with Lukas, and I left you when you tried to get me to run away, and I left you when I stayed on the beach.” His palms were pressed into his eyes, mist seeping from between his knuckles as he dragged them across his face, though Jon couldn’t be sure if he was attempting to wipe the fog away, or if he was stalling while he faltered, trying to summon the words. Both, maybe. Jon took the silence from him.

“You didn’t really choose that, though. You didn’t feel like you even had a choice. So Martin if… If you’re worried that I think badly of you for that, I don’t. Martin, I’ve done so many terrible things, so to- No, no, actually I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean that you’re a good person, compared with me. I think you’re a good person full stop. And I just want you to be able to see that. I know the Lonely is quite literally clouding your judgement right now but… Please, just, just make me a deal?”

Martin’s palms were resting on his chin now, cupping his cheeks and curving around his neck. He nodded once, wearily, for Jon to continue.

Jon drew in a breath “I think I’m in some sort of… Bubble. Like a miniature domain, when I’m travelling. I think, if you agree to come with me, even for a little bit, that might dissolve some of the Lonely’s more adverse effects. Make it easier to think, to, to be yourself without its influence. If that is what happens, and you want to return… I’ll bring you back. But please, just… Try? For me?”

Martin sighed, hands dropping from his face. “...Fine.”

“You- Really?”

“Yes. I… Look, J-” Martin bit back another coughing fit. “Look. I am… There is a lot of me right now that wants to leave. The fog is… It’s in my head, figuratively, probably even literally, but… I remember something Basira said. When she got back, from, from The Unknowing . Melanie wanted to know how she got out, when the other three… When you, and Daisy, and Tim, didn’t. She said she reasoned her way out. So I’m going to listen to reason for a minute, as much as it’s paining me.”

Despite those final words, Jon felt his face crack into a smile. “That’s… Yes, you’re right. Well that’s… That’s a very reasonable connection to make.”

And for the first time in a long time, Martin smiled.

“Uhm, so how does this work then?” He eventually said, hand coming up again to scratch the back of his neck in an old nervous habit Jon could not be more happy to see.

“Well”, Jon said, taking a moment to brush sodden grass from his trousers as he got to his feet, “I would say, based on the dream logic that everything here seems to run on here, it should be rather simple.” He held out a hand to tug Martin up after him.

Martin took it.

It was almost cliché, how the Lonely fell away from him. It only took a few seconds, all in all, for the bruising to fade, receding their colourful splotches until his skin lay clear again. His frostbitten fingers healing themselves, sewing broken skin back together and returning to a healthy colour. His face, too, was returning to its original pallor, the change creeping up his neck and across his cheeks and leaving rich brown in its wake. Dark eyes stared down at Jon from behind long lashes, blinking away the last of the fog. He was beautiful.

“Hi,” Jon managed to choke out.

“Hi,” Martin said, and pulled him into his arms.

Jon just let himself be held in the pressure of the embrace for a moment, before bringing a hand up to card his fingers through Martin’s hair. While it had solidified into soft curls, the colour had stayed the same, bleaching it white under his fingertips. He wasn’t sure if Martin had noticed or not, but that was a conversation for another time. They were both a little preoccupied for the moment.

“How do you feel?” Jon eventually said, words pressed into the side of Martin’s neck.

“Uhm. Strange?” Martin eventually settled on. “It’s… I can remember what my thought process was, what the Lonely was pushing me to believe, but it’s like… It’s like the camera panned out, and now I can see it all clearly, and it looks… It looks stupid. Thank you, Jon. For coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Jon whispered, “Of course.”

Another moment passed before Martin spoke up again. “...Did you mean what you said, though? Or was that… Was that just to try and get me to leave? I- I won’t be angry, if it was, that- that’s very clever, I just want to know.”

Jon furrowed his brow. “Which part do you mean?”

Martin let out an agitated sigh. “You- You know which one I mean, Jon. The- The part where that you said that you…”

“That I love you?” Jon said, picking up where Martin trailed off.

Martin’s face flushed, and just the sight of colour spreading across it made Jon’s heart soar, let alone the implications of why . “Of course I did. I- I’m sorry that you would think I would lie about that, even for something like this. No, Martin, I love you. So very much. And I know you might not feel that way anymore, in which case I am very much embarrassing myself here, but I know that you did at one stage so I hope it won’t make things too awkward between us.” “I do, Jon.”

“What?”

“I do. Still feel that way. I love you too, of course I do. My hero.”

It was Jon’s turn to feel his face flush, pleasant warmth bubbling to the surface. “Oh,” was all he managed to stutter out.

“Can I- Jon do you mind if I…” Martin trailed off again, and Jon began to think this might be a recurring theme between them. He’d make it work. He was pretty good at reading Martin, and the eyeline pointed directly at his lips made intentions quite clear.

“Is- Would just the cheek be okay?” He replied. It didn’t really feel like the time for a full run down on where boundaries lay, but he figured it was a start.

“More than,” Martin said, leaning down to press his lips softly against Jon’s cheek. He lingered for a few seconds, skin largely healed but still chapped from the cold, and it was one of the most beautiful things Jon had ever felt. He slipped one hand into Martin’s, and he felt their fingers twine together.

Martin leaned back, clearly trying to calm his grin into something more close-lipped and calm. “Where to now then?”

“Uhm. Forward, really, is just how I’ve been going. There isn’t any real sense of geography to it, we’ll just…. Get there when we get there.”

“Right. Because nothing can be simple these days.”

Jon missed this. He missed him. But he didn’t have to miss him anymore, did he? He was right there.

He squeezed his hand once, and started leading the way.

#My Post #Jonmartin #The Magnus Archives #I'm maybe pushing this one a little hard but I just. crave validation okay #And I want to see what the difference is between how a fic does as a tumblr post vs ao3 #lets call it science #My Writing #Martin Blackwood #Jonathan Sims

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

Text

Superstitions and Curses

Pairing: mummy!Bucky Barnes x archaeologist!Reader

Warnings: slight dubcon, obsessive and soft!dark!Bucky, mentions of torture and being buried alive.

Words: 2163.

Summary: It wasn't your first expedition, but pretty much the first time when you had helped to bring an ancient being back from the dead.

P.S. Huge thanks to dear @navegandoaciegas who helped me get inspired again <3

_______________

"Please, let me in."

You clenched the amulet in your hands, nervously staring at the door of a hotel room and hoping he wouldn't enter. Despite the fact that you were an archeologist, a woman who believed in nothing but science, you were ready to pray to all the gods if it would help to keep this creature away.

"I mean no harm to you." His husky, dangerously low voice made you lick your lips as you thought of all the things he whispered in your ear the other night. "Didn't you like the way I treat you, love?"

"It was a spell you put on me!" You furrowed your brows, making a step away from the door and bumping into a nightstand with a loud thud - the bottle of water in top of it fell down to the floor.

"A spell?" The man behind the door chuckled, and you could hear him breathing out loudly as he peered through the crack in the door, his hands pressed against the dark wood. "You know I haven't done anything of this kind. What you felt was the chemistry between us, don't deny it."

It was true. That night when all you wanted was to forget the events of the last couple of days, forget all about the whole reason why you came to this ancient country, you rushed to a bar to get drunk like a fish, hoping the next morning once you'd wake up, it would all be a bad dream and nothing more. That's where you met him, the man who you had seen laying in his grave just a couple of hours before. Of course, you didn't know it was him - he looked like any other man, enough flesh on his bones not to cause any suspicion.

Oh, but it was him. He had followed you in that bar, pretending to be a stranger eager to know you; fooling you, he soon slipped into your room where he made love to you, completely drunk and fallen under his charms. How stupid you were, trusting a complete stranger after what had happened that day.

It was several hours after when you woke up in the night, and the moonlight coming from the window lit the room a little: as you stared at the man sleeping soundly next to you, you saw the ancient symbols on his chest.

The next minute you were out of your room, hoping he wouldn't wake up in the next hour. It would give you enough time to reach the railway station.

Why was he following you? You could understand his reasons since you had pretty much broken his tomb and opened his grave, but why on Earth did he sleep with you? Why didn't he kill you? Was it some kind of a ritual? Despite the fact that you were specializing on local customs and traditions, you have never heard of anything of that kind.

"You can't get rid of me." He murmured behind the door, and you sensed something wicked, resentful in his voice.

"Why can't I? What do you want from me?" You asked on the verge of tears, your arms trembling - you very much doubted the amulet you were holding was of any use to you.

"Shhhh." He cooed softly, feeling you fear and somewhat content with it. "I promise I won't hurt you. Let me in, love. Let me in."

For a couple of seconds you froze, listening to the man breathing softly behind the door. Strangely, you could almost hear his heart beating in his chest as if he really were human, not a rotten corpse you saw in the coffin a couple of days ago. The night you spent together you felt like he was the most tender and affectionate man you had ever met. Why did he do it? What was his purpose? Why were you opening the door for him when he ordered you to do it with that hypnotic voice of his?

You realized he had entered your room once he touched your cheek with his hand, rough fingers brushing against your wet skin. Oh, apparently, you were crying.

"I know it is beyond your comprehension, but please trust me, My Immortal Beloved." He made a step forward as you shriveled and slinked back, staring at his perfectly blue eyes adorned with black kohl. "Do not be scared. Even though it seems horrifyingly wrong to you, things are exactly as they were meant to be."

Despite the fact you had a thousand questions inside your head, the words were stuck in your throat. You couldn't even scream, asking for help. Besides, it would be pretty worthless, wouldn't it? No one could protect you from someone who rose from the dead.

"You were meant to open my tomb and set me free. You were meant to resurrect my body and let my soul return to it."

When you reached the wall, your back pressed to it as if you wanted to slip through the stone, the man had inched closer to you and lowered his hand on your chest, the other one right in front of your face as he moved his hand, drawing a circle in the air with his palm. I see you. You are important to me, a sign of both trust and affection - you had seen it so many times on ancient drawings it was imprinted on your brain.

What? Why was he doing it? Why it was you who set him free? You were just one of a whole team of archaeologists and wage earners. You did nothing special, nothing that differentiated you from others - you weren't the one who physically opened it nor did you read any ancient spells locals were so superstitious about. You were as much in shock as all others when the mummy had suddenly disappeared from the tomb.

At first, even though most of you were people of science, all of you thought of ancient curses and all those archaeologists who had supposedly died from it. Then, when you came to your senses, you thought of the thieves who might had taken the mummy. But then again, although it were the remains of someone very, very important, no treasures were buried with him - apparently, this person had done something terrible when he was alive, especially remembering the curses written on the walls. So why steal just the corpse, then? Without decent care, the bones would crack within minutes of carrying them. Why would thieves want the mummy?

"I want to come back home." You whispered, shivering and averting your eyes.

"I will bring you whenever you want once you swear loyalty to me, love."

You blinked as you stared at his tanned face, symbols painted with gold shining on his temples. It was getting more and more insane with every passing minute.

"Why would I swear loyalty to you?"

"Because I am your Sun, Moon and the Stars in between."

The silence felt heavy, suffocating as you kept looking at the man, not knowing what to say. He was right - you didn't understand a thing. You didn't even know who he was and why you swearing loyalty to him seemed so important so this stranger. The only thing you knew for sure was that he was dangerous, far more dangerous than any other human being - you felt it in your bones.

"Before I d-do that, may I know your name?" You wanted to add something like "Your Majesty", but you had no idea what kind of title the man once had - that is, if he had any at all.

He chuckled, "It would be hard for you to pronounce. But you can call me James, it is the closest you can get."

A part of you was offended - for heaven's sake, you were specializing on this exact area and surely knew how to pronounce ancient names - but the other part of you now wondered how come this being knew a real English name and could actually speak modern language. Surely, he was at least a thousand years old. How come?..

"Why were you buried so disrespectfully?" You started questioning him out loud, furrowing your brows. "This is not my first expedition, but I have never seen a tomb like yours before. No treasures, no name, nothing that could identify you at all."

"The Witch-king, that's how they called me." His handsome face darkened, and the man took a step away, turning his back to you. "The one who had surpassed his high priest and could read the Book of the Dead. Once my chancellors learnt about me practicing the magic of the ancient, they made my priests spread the word to my people, and I have been overthrown. They have tortured me, blinded me, cut off my limbs, and then sealed me away in the tomb when I was still alive. Because of their fear of me and my powers, they condemned me to the worst of fates, and broke the line of kings."

As he kept speaking, his dark long robe fell down to the floor, opening his half-naked tan body to you: you saw two deep scars on his shoulders that still looked raw, horrifying you - the man was telling you the truth. He had been dismembered.

"They have cursed me to stay neither truly dead nor alive till one day somebody would open my tomb and set me free. They have kept the location of my grave a secret, thinking no one would ever discover it in the sand, but they all were wrong. I will suffer no more in that place where not a single ray of light had shone over two thousands of years."

Your head was spinning from all this, and you quietly slid to the floor, your hands in your hair as you tugged on the roots in frustration and fear. For the love of God, was it all true? Did you help resurrect the ancient being that could use some scary black magic and probably kill lots of innocent people? Did he want to drag you along with him once you swear loyalty to him? If you didn't, would he actually murder you?

"But this is of no importance now." The man turned back to you and, suddenly seeing you on the floor, hurried to gently pick you up and place you on a spacious bed, watching you with worry. "I am sorry for I have frightened you, love. I swear this was not my intention."

You had troubles understanding what his intention was, but you kept silent, too scaried to say something to him. You had a dozen thoughts what a creature like him would want to do to people for all his suffering.

You should have left that damn tomb alone when your team found twice more death traps than in any other grave. You read the curses left on the walls, but they only fueled your interest. Of course, you had never been superstitious in your entire life, so you simply disregarded all the signs that now seemed so clear you were ready to slap yourself.

"Why am I important?" You asked in a shaky voice, your eyes trailing down his chest with ancient symbols tattooed on it. "Why spending a night with me? I am just a woman. I have opened the tomb, but I was one of many."

"No, you are special. You won't understand now, not yet, but think of it as your destiny. Your fate is bound to mine."

As he inched closer to you, you finally realized you were almost in bed with a half-naked handsome man resurrected from the dead. Immediately crawling back, your stared at him wide-eyed. No, no, no, whoever he was and whatever he thought your fate was, you didn't want him in your bed the second time! Well, almost. Maybe you wanted a little bit. Just a little.

"S-so, are you going to destroy the country and claim your kingdom again?"

Your words made him laugh as he bared his perfectly white teeth while touching the side of your face.

"Two thousand years were enough to change my priorities. Ruling the world of humans who know nothing of magic isn't interesting to me anymore."

"I see. That's a relief." You murmured, still very uncomfortable with him being so close to you. "Please, can I just leave? There are millions of women, I'm sure you'll find someone more attractive to be your... your concubine."

_____________

"Concubine? I did not have a concubine, and neither did my ancestors." The man tilted his head to the side, looking at you surprised as you were ready to bite yourself for your own stupidity: of course, the rulers of these lands only started having concubines in the fourth dynasty and onwards, James was definitely either from the first or second one. "I can't let you leave, love. You will have to come with me."

Part 2

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @iheartsebastianstan @ninefuckingoneone

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #mcu #mcu fanfiction #yandere

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little-diable · 4 years ago

Text

Please respect that this is my own work and I worked really hard on those imagines, don’t copy or edit stuff. However reblog, comment and like as much as you like. Enjoy my loves. xxx

This distance between us (smut)

The reader lives in Europe while Dean is in the US, but that doesn’t stop the two from sharing their longings and needs over text.

Bloody and needy (smangst)

The reader has been plagued by dreams of Dean but when a hunt leaves her bloody and freezing, Dean is set on taking care of her.

Wishes do come true (smut)

It’s the first Christmas Dean and the reader are spending as a couple. Naturally, they end up at a bar with Sam, but while the younger brother finds other people to spend the evening with, Dean and his girlfriend get lost in each other.

Midnight Hotline (smut)

For weeks now, Dean has been calling the Midnight Hotline to speak to Lilith, a stranger he has fallen in love with while sharing his secrets and confessions. And now as they are in the same city, it’s finally time to meet.

Unspoken nicknames and lost loves (smut)

The reader walked out on Dean and his lifestyle years ago, and yet she has never managed to let go of her love for him. Perhaps a nest of vampires in her town is exactly what needed to happen to bring them back together. Honestly, just pwp.

Mine to Claim (smut)

The reader wants Sam to have a nice birthday, but all she can focus on is Dean, the man she had always sworn to hate, the man who gets all possessive as soon as somebody else finds her interesting enough to chat her up.

Marry Me (smut)

Dean finally finds his confidence to ask (y/n) to marry him.

Drunken Minds Sober Hearts (smut)

Drunk off her face the reader told Dean, her best friend, that she hasn't slept with anybody because she wants him to be her first. But will she admit to that when she's sober too?

The setting sun (smut)

Dean and the reader meet at a festival, a night that ends with Baby's windows fogged up and their exhausted bodies searching one another's closeness.

My Greatest Fear (smut)

Dean broke things off with the reader years ago, the biggest mistake of his life. But when Sam tells his brother that (y/n) is getting married, Dean knows it's time to make things right. He won't leave this life behind without being able to call her his once again.

Too Sweet (smut)

Dean and the reader are stuck in a back-and-forth they can't escape from, until his jealousy manages to push her away from him. But Dean won't let her go, he just won't.

Not a ghost (smut)

For the past ten years, Dean had been forced to accept that she was dead – dead because John hadn't been able to rescue her in time. But what happens when he stumbles upon her in a bar? Not a ghost, but alive and breathing.

We were cowboys (smut)

As Dean and Sam travel back to March 4th 1861 Dean stumbles upon the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on. Will one night with her be enough for him? Will he be able to leave her behind the next day?

Afraid (smut)

Dean is tired of watching men trying to chat (y/n) up wherever the brothers take her. Dean is tired of faking his disinterest in the reader. Dean is tired of holding back.

Always have, always will (smut)

It's been years since Dean and (y/n) have parted ways, but perhaps this year's Christmas season is finally the right time to find their way back together.

Jessie (smut)

The reader is missing Dean too much, so she tells him all about the places she wants to visit with him – mere dreams Dean is set on turning real.

Sins, desires, longings (smut)

Dean thinks Sam is dead, hence why he tries to rip himself free from his old life, which means leaving (y/n) behind. But as he hides away in a church, slipping into the role of a priest, he keeps committing sins. Or: pwp

Lies, nothing but lies (smut)

Dean and the reader have been friends till childhood, the reason why neither of them ever addressed their crush on the other. When a hunt gone wrong forces her confession out of the reader, Dean finds himself drawing back. But there was no escaping, all thanks to some strange, powdery substance.

Something Special (smut)

The reader tells Dean that she doesn't get the hype around sex, Dean is set on showing her that it's something truly special

A Sacrifice for Him (smut)

Dean and the reader get into a fight on a hunt, forcing them to part ways. But while Dean tries to drown his anger in beer, the reader is being kidnapped. Will they find back together to finally admit their feelings for one another?

Feels like the first time (short smut drabble)

Pwp, Dean is eating out the reader

Texas (Angst)

When a fling turns into something more, but life forces you to part ways.

Summer Storm (smut)

Dean and the reader are sworn enemies, enemies that keep hunting together. As Baby runs out of gas the two find themselves trapped at a beach, waiting for the summer storm to pass. Perhaps it is finally time to let go of their hatred.

You should probably leave (Angst/smut)

Dean and the reader have a secret thing going on behind Sam's back, a back and forth Dean wants to keep to himself, while the reader slowly grows tired of it. Or: When the reader gives Dean a choice, a relationship or a path they no longer walk together.

Daylight (smut)

Dean is taking the reader on a small getaway, reminiscing on their past years together.

Never let me down again (smut)

Something is happening, chaos is breaking out and while (y/n) waits for Dean and Sammy to return, she slowly realises that the brothers won't come back for her. But perhaps she will eventually cross paths with them again (The last of us themed)

Take me Home (smut)

A fight finally forces Dean to tell the reader about his feelings for her.

Insanity (smut)

Dean and the reader are trapped in a church, moments of silence that force them to finally close that lingering gap between them; or: Childhood friends to lovers

I'll be Home for Christmas (smut)

Dean and the reader have always hated one another, a natural instinct they've run with. Now, on Christmas Eve, both cross paths once again, forced to endure one another's closeness.

Something in the Orange (smut)

The reader has been waiting for Dean for months, and even though she can only hope that he doesn't feel scared about dying, she can't help but feel excited to see him again. Or, where Dean and the reader meet again in Heaven.

To the edge of this very world (smut)

Dean and the reader are forced to wait till the rain passes, a break they can use to chase the highest highs.

Library (smut)

Dean and the reader fuck in the library. Basically pwp.

A Lesson Learned (wincest smut)

The reader zones out as Dean explains to her how to reload a gun - a lesson learned

The Outskirts of Heaven (smut)

Dean and the reader have always hated one another, fulled by their jealousy and their anxiety. But when the reader gets arrested - once again - she has no choice but to call Dean, and perhaps this is exactly what the two needed to find their way back to one another.

Third Time Lucky (smut)

The reader is possessed by a demon, but before the Winchesters can save their friend, she spills a few secrets that push Dean to his limits.

No, not today (angst)

Dean Winchester would always protect his girl, even if it meant breaking her heart in the process

Nothing is permanent (angst, character death, personal fave)

She’s about to die in his arms, begging him to relieve their favorite moments together

Kids again (smut)

Dean and the reader have been friends since they were toddlers, but as she leaves for college, Dean cuts all ties with her, but fate doesn’t work that way, now does it?

Santa baby (smut)

making a gingerbread house escalates into something rather streamy

Suitcase (smut)

the reader needs to talk to the man who broke her heart years ago, getting lured in by his caring self once again

Don’t tell the elf (smut)

Dean always gets rather distracted as he’d watch lotr with the reader, turning it into a metaphor of their own

All the good girls go to hell (Wincest smut)

A moment of bravery puts the reader into a situation she kept dreaming about for the past few years, just like her brother Dean, she simply couldn’t stop aching for him

Sister dearest (Wincest smut)

demon Dean likes to tease his sister about her needs and desires, will she finally give into her darkest secret as Dean returns to his normal self?

#Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester imagine #Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester x reader #supernatural #jensen ackles #supernatural imagine

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tintinwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Poe Dameron Imagines Masterlist

I haven’t made a masterlist in a while and some people have asked for one!!

Series:

fifty ways to kiss someone (has NSFW chapters)

love (Modern)

the stars were made for falling

tonight (has NSFW chapters)

a friend in me (has NSFW chapters)

the light side | one two three

soft | one two (Modern)

arranged | one two (1800′s AU)

provocative | one two (Professor!Poe)

captain dameron | one two (Pirate!Poe)

a stranger in paradise | one

please never fall in love again | one two (Bartender!Poe)

phobias | snakes heights blood draws claustrophobia the dark/power outages spiders thunderstorms

not while i’m around | one (SVU AU)

you will be found | one (Zombie Apocalypse AU)

what kind of fool am i | one two

forbidden fruit | one two (NSFW) (First Order!Poe)

first series | first commander first time (NSFW) (First Order!Poe)

forgive me, please forgive me | one

out of my dreams (Modern)

the fallen soul | One (Priest!Poe) (Regency Era)

One-Shots:

Smut

hypnagogic: You can’t sleep, so Poe suggests another activity.

Fluff

ineffable: You and your husband, Poe Dameron, are captured and need to escape.

quixotic: Poe is always there for you when you fall which happens often.

dulcet: You don’t want to make friends in the Resistance, but Poe is gonna try anyway.

contentment: The war is over and you and Poe have a daughter who wakes her father up at night because you fell asleep in her bed.

caf: You need caf and Poe took the last of it.

benevolent: You and Poe try to do some things in a closet and are brought in for a talk with Leia.

redamancy: Finn and you apparently love each other. Except you don’t and a certain pilot has a problem with all of this.

Angst

eccedentesiast: Poe is hurt during a mission and just wants to see you smile.

eunoia: Poe imagines you freeing him as he’s being tortured by the First Order.

latibule: You comfort Poe when he has a nightmare about the First Order.

desideratum: You express to Poe how much the war is affecting you mentally.

the wasted years (Modern AU): You go to see the Phantom of the Opera and find yourself relating to the title character.

Poe singing Dean Martin (Modern AU): Poe sings Everybody Loves Somebody and the two of you dance.

gli occhi belli

figure

pour some sugar on (NSFW)

requited (NSFW)

something stupid

characters witness their baby’s first laugh (Modern)

character introduces their baby to their pets (Modern)

bloodlust (Vampire!Poe)

enceinte

alone

romance

dawn

c’est lui pour moi

i’ve got my love to keep me warm (Modern)

insatiable

mistletoe underwear

procrastination

but beautiful

if you are but a dream

you are not alone

i never before loved life so much

the story of a starry night (1950′s AU)

so this is love

hold my hand (NSFW)

the beach

ignorance then bliss (NSFW)

pretty moon

reader meets Poe’s corgi (Modern)

perfection (Modern)

i do, you know

how you might have met Poe (Modern)

forget about the boy

you don’t have to convince me (Regency AU)

sympathy, tenderness

melts in your mouth (NSFW) (Modern)

ghosts would be preferable (College AU)

you can see me? (Ghost!Reader) (Modern)

the sky is blue (Soulmates AU) (Modern)

with only a word (Modern)

and then they are bored of me

mr. pilot

everything else goes away

“Shit, are you crying? I didn’t mean to do it that hard.”

Christmas sweaters

have yourself a merry little Christmas

the arena

rain

try to remember

entitled

some enchanted evening

reunited and it’s kind of awkward

wisdom? (Modern)

breathe, baby (NSFW)

bondage and discipline (NSFW)

yes, general (NSFW)

“How would you like to have a sexual encounter so intense it could conceivably change your political views?” (First Order!Poe)

they’ll never believe me

when love is all that i recall (NSFW)

sweet mystery of life (NSFW)

“You know, hiding one’s face behind a mask only works for Ren and his Knights.” (First Order!Poe)

“We all have our reasons, love.” (First Order!Poe)

“For a spy in hiding, you’re making a lot more waves than I expected...I like it.” (First Order!Poe)

“Well, we’re both stranded, so you have no choice but to work with me, sweetheart.” (First Order!Poe)

Poe taking you over a small desk (First Order!Poe) (NSFW)

“Sweetheart, panic as much as you like, but you can’t hide what you want from me.” (First Order!Poe)

Poe hates your daughter’s boyfriend of course

Poe singing to his little son (Modern)

till there was you (NSFW)

“I’m sure the Resistance can’t give you what I can give you.” (First Order!Poe)

A, B, C (Modern)

sanisteamy (NSFW-ish)

above ‘em

Poe holding you

a table for two (Modern)

“You can’t just take the X-wing whenever you want, young lady!”

Road trip with Poe and your kids (Modern)

“His finger was right on the trigger, but he wasn’t fast enough.”

“We need to understand that we did love each other, but that wasn’t enough.”

Reader dominating Poe (NSFW)

First Order!Poe taking you against the wall (NSFW)

“If you hurt her...” (First Order!Poe)

“I can’t believe I got the first date, let alone a year.” (Modern)

the drop (Modern)

“I can’t believe we’ll actually be parents in a few days.” (Modern)

“I’ve been in love with you since we were eighteen.”

“Well, I’m not in school anymore, but you could teach me too, if you’d like.” (Modern)

“I just want to take my time with you.” (First Order!Poe)

“You’re all I have too, you know.”

that reminds me of you too (Modern)

please say you’ll think of me (Modern)

it was a pretty good bad idea, though (NSFW)

Headcanons:

being married to Poe (Modern)

domestic Poe x Reader (Modern)

Poe teaching reader how to dance (Modern)

deciding with Poe not to have kids and then wanting them later (Modern)

#poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #masterlist

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karanoid · 4 years ago

Text

about top joe discord

LET ME ADDRESS A FEW POINTS:

There has been many fear and anxiety regardless the top!joe discord I made. I understand how it gives my discord a bad reputation. Somebody has kindly reached out to me to ask me addressing several points, which I’m now gonna clarify:

1. I am racist, I asked why, and they said mostly because of my dismissive behavior to people who called me out for drawing yusuf adorned in gold jewelry which made their friends feel unsafe. So, I am a muslim and was raised in a muslim household and community. I am fucking brown.

I didn’t say it because you don’t need to know that about me. What bothers me is how some people feel the need to come to my inbox informing me “maam yusuf is a religious muslim who prays 5 times a day and do all the supplementary prayers all while he drinks alcohol and fuck nicky in the dailies, he wouldnt be wearing gold maam no maam.” as if I didn’t know any better. so please, now don’t do that. If you care so much about the littlest details like wearing gold then you’ll also call out yusuf because he draws living beings and drinks champagne. yes it’s true muslim men are forbidden from wearing gold AND silk but let’s not forget, nothing in the comic and movies imply yusuf has ever been religious. It’s easier to see nicolo as religious because he was a fucking priest. Yusuf was a fucking merchant, it’s easy to see that he’d be less faithful because he would have been travelling and seen many kind of people to broaden his horizons and not contained to a little bubble of hyper religious community. However, let me remind you: whether yusuf AND nicolo are religious or not is entirely UP TO THE AUTHOR/ARTIST. It’s totally fine to make him religious and if you can respect it THATS GREAT, I ALSO LIKE HIM THAT WAY, but please remember it’s not even canon and hey sometimes I just draw things because I like the aesthetics. Also please, do not harass writers for getting a thing or two incorrect, even white people cannot get christianity correct, even between two muslims could be a disagreement whether this fic’s yusuf is problematic or not. I wouldn’t even expect anything more and THAT’S OKAY. Just don’t be an ass to muslims of color in real life and don’t fall into the believe that it’s a religion of violence. you can say that greg made him that way bc he knew nothing better but hey, I have no problem with that. again, it’s fine to make him religious, I’d be delighted but it’s ALSO fine to make him not religious.

2. I think that people only write Top!Nicky out of political correctness. OKAY. I apologize for this. I thought like this because I have accounts telling me that they were pressured into writing top!nicky or they wanted more readerships so I make a BIG assumption. I realized this is only a small part of switch and top!nicky fics and the big bulk of this must be out of genuine care. So yeah, I apologize for thinking that people only write top!nicky out of political correctness. I think writers should be allowed to write whatever they want. Yes this includes top!Nicky. And in whatever kinks they want it. However, this still doesn’t change that the discourses do scare people away from writing top!joe. Write top!nicky however you want, but stop vague-blogging about top!joe. racism isn’t inherent to top!joe and you can always remind people to be mindful with their writings but discouraging people from writing top!joe is not the solution.

3. Top!joe is racist and people in the discord are racist. Okay, I am gonna touch several aspects why top!joe discord is considered racist: (1) because I don’t like to switch them, therefore I am racist. Sorry that’s not how it works. I have a clear preference and that’s just how I roll. Besides, a lot of people in the discord (including me) think either they switch (because they are 900 yo) or joe just doesn’t like bottoming. I’m not the kind of people who refers to reality for fiction I consume but people who prefer to top or to bottom exist (2) i want to be away from accountability and responsibility. Nope. The reason I made it is because I wanted to gather people with same interest as mine.

4. I paint Yusuf as aggressive and the whole discord like him being an aggressive top. I think this is the only reason why the discord is seen in a negative light. Because wow what a coincidence that someone vagueblogged my discord at the day I celebrated about Nicky suggesting 20 years and wrote a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry. And beside someone made the WRONG assumption that we are focusing on Joe’s anger and violence (what). Okay, I don’t know how to break this down. But I will try. First, yes I was overjoyed at the news. Because I’m one of the people that do not like feral!nicky headcanon. I liked it at first bc it was funny but then it was twisted into Nicky being cold. So I don’t like it (lol), I still like it though but like I don’t seriously think that way. However, I never liked the idea that Nicky suggested higher than Joe. Because then his character just doesn’t click with me, there was a cognitive dissonance for me because joe clearly says nicky’s heart overflows kindness, you can see nicky as a medic in the credit montage. Also, from their body language and from the way the movie set em up, I think Joe is the one who suggested higher and I am glad to be proven right. Second, I did write a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry at Booker. People agreed with me, so I was not alone. But the reason I wrote that post is not because I wanted to paint yusuf as aggressive, but because I’m tired at people who think Joe shouldn’t display any negative emotions. I think it’s out of character. I do NOT think Joe is aggressive. That is NOT his wholeass personality. If you looked at my tog art tag, never once I portrayed Joe as anything aggressive. If I do, please show me. Third, people are conflating this with my post where I reblogged with a comment that implies aggressive Joe isn’t racism. Okay in this, the context is IN BED. It’s Joe being aggressive in BED. It’s literally BED ROLES AND FANTASY. I don’t even have a particular scenario in my head when I reblogged that, the original post clearly refers to bed roles with manhandling and kinks etc. like, why would you spank someone in public? Lastly, about the discord, NOPE, most people in the discord agree that Joe is either a GENTLE DOM or SERVICE TOP. But in my opinion, if someone likes Joe as an aggressive top (again, bed roles baby) I really don’t think it’s racism. It’s just... projection?

anyway, back to joe’s emotions, these are posts from a moroccan man (paragraph #7) and a brown woman whose posts I agree with. Let’s be real, people of color are expected to shut up in favor of white people’s fragile feelings.

Now, about racism in fandom. I understand the concern because muslim men are painted as violent and aggressive. You know what I will never forgive those radicals for taking away innocents lives and to leave a lasting damage in how muslims are perceived in the west. However, you have to keep in mind, Joe in the movie is far from being stereotyped. I mean, Gina and Marwan practically greenlit him? Now, you might have concerns that writers are gonna turn him into a walking stereotype which is... okay, I understand that concern. But the solution is to communicate this ‘hey I think you make him too stereotypical in this etc etc’ not “write more top!nicky AND shame top!joe” because again, top!joe is not inherently racist.

also some people mentioned that they hope I recognize racial bias in the ship. dude, that goes without saying, all aspects of your life will be influenced by racial biases. however, this kind of thing is not specific to fandom/shipping. Like I said I’m fucking brown, friends and families with facial features that cater to white expectation are treated better. I did say at the bottom of this post, yeah I did notice why it’s always a brown character who’s always openly mad. And that’s in itself a form of racial bias. Racial biases affect everyone, white or POC, it doesn’t matter. But I got an issue with how people think this is racism. like how convenient, if by falling to racial biases mean you are a racist then what about those white people who created this racial biases in the first place? and I noticed the persons who got the audacity to cry about everything in this fandom is white?? I mean okay, they don’t know what I am, but not everyone is comfortable with sharing their private information like ethnic group, faith, etc. what if they really don’t want to share it? Because like you said, racial bias, whether good or bad will affect me. Now, I don’t know what white people are feeling, I’m not white. However, based on my interactions with them. We’re all just people sharing same interest, it could be they fall into racial biases, but all we shared about are just regular HCs. Even people making a conscious effort to combat racial bias still in essence fall for racial bias. You just cannot escape it.

According to this post, fandom assumes that the bottom is the proxy of writers, I don’t think this is applicable to everyone but let’s just say it’s true and people tend to write about their projection better so I’m gonna assume the racism part comes from the fact that..yeah I do think the bottom usually gets more fleshed out as a result of them being the writers proxy, so somebody posted this in the discord which I agree because yes I do think there’s a lack about yusuf’s background especially when it comes to crusade era:

but since I know most writers aren’t muslims, to me it’s not so much about racism but they simply know nothing about it, and not always out of ignorance either but in this climate, if you get a thing or two wrong you’d get harassed. so *shrugs* I understand the reluctancy. But here’s the thing, this is not about top/bottom issue but because most of the fandom are white so they have more freedom in writing the white character. Anyway, plenty of people have projected themselves into yusuf already, the whole “top/bottom” thing in this fandom is not even a thing. Yes, some writers project on the bottom so if you prefer bottom!joe that’s fine, somebody in the discord is doing a research and it turned out top!joe wasn’t even a CLEAR majority in JULY. So clearly they got their share already?

so please, let’s stop with the vitriol. if people are preferring top!joe it’s clearly because of different preferences. it’s not that deep. it’s the same way with how some people are preferring top!nicky. But we’re being driven out based on a hypothetical scenarios? like what do you want? for us to cease existing??? don’t be ridiculous.

I know people won’t listen to me. So this is my suggestion: LETS JUST IGNORE THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE. LET’S ALL JUST AGREE TO DISAGREE.

#discourse #the old guard #joe x nicky #kaysanova #immortal husbands

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nagia-pronounced-neijia · 4 years ago

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY

tagged by @ejunkiet

Warnings: Catholicism, somebody being extremely sarcastic about the holiest of the sacraments; if those things trigger or upset you, scroll on by.

So, the thing is, it wasn't supposed to go like this. He gets about four seconds of, "oh shit" when he puts his foot down inside what was apparently a circle of something.

A whole lot of things seem to happen in those four seconds. He recognizes the circle -- formed in salt! He doesn't know much about magic, but he knows you can't write spells in salt! -- and looks up at the witch chief. She looks over-fucking-joyed, and expectant, and he can't watch that, so he looks to Alucard and Sypha.

Sypha reaches for him, fingers splayed and arms out like she's trying to cast. He sees the determination locking down her jaw, thinning her mouth, and the wide edge of real fear that makes the corners of her eyes smooth out.

Alucard reaches too, and he's fast. He blurs red around the edges; Trevor almost doesn't see him coming.

Their fingertips touch. Sypha screams something, ragged and desperate and horrible --

His hand slips through Alucard's, somehow translucent, like a silk screen or a chemise. Like a ghost.

Alucard's eyes go so wide, the red burning away inside them out of what's probably rage.

The world falls away.

He wakes with a bony elbow prodding him in the ribs. He jabs back reflexively without opening his eyes, muttering, "Fuck!" as he does.

His voice sounds weird.

Those are the two stupid, stupid things he first notices: some arsehole's bony elbow and that his voice sounds higher pitched than it should.

He opens his eyes to find a pew in front of his face. An actual church pew, complete with the kneeler and the carved cross cut-outs and everything. Hell, his knees are on the kneeler, how's that for hopelessly wrong?

He looks around out of the corners of his eyes. He hasn't been in a church in thirteen years, but he remembers how shitty people get about other people not paying attention. It just looks like a normal congregation; everyone in what's probably their best and the women all have their hair covered. Their eyes are all on the priest ahead of the chancel. He looks and sounds and moves like every other parish priest Trevor has seen.

At the front, the priest calls, "Oremus," in that rhythm they have, and apparently Trevor is still a Christian in deed, if not in heart, because he rises smoothly, automatically, with all the rest.

This church looks familiar, he thinks as he rises. There's the transept with the little crack in its window. The chancel is a little more in shadow than it ought to be; it takes the shine off the altar, which is arranged simply.

Something is fucked. He knows something is just in a new land of wrong and upside-down. He just can't tell what it is, besides his presence.

The priest chants in Latin. Trevor fights not to roll his eyes. Yes, yes, he wants to say. Praise be to God for the Eucharist. What would we do if we didn't literally eat and drink our Savior? Praise him, praise him, forever and ever.

Everyone around him repeats after the priest. It's all such garbage and he's still trying to figure out how the hell he got from the salt circle to a church, and how he's not on fire for being in said church.

The person next to him jabs him again with their bony-ass elbow. Trevor jabs back, again, muttering unkind things about their parentage. The next jab is harder, and shortly after that there's a familiar cuff to the back of his head.

He almost starts looking around more, but fourteen years of getting cuffed for looking any way but forward are very fresh in his mind. Best not to draw any more attention to himself.

With no better options, he recites with everybody else. His voice still sounds wrong in his head, and it cracks and feels uncomfortable when he tries to speak lower.

After the Postcommunion, they all kneel again, then rise.

"Benedicamus Domino," the priest sings.

They all chant back, "Deo gratias," and the general shuffling toward the exit begins.

And now that Trevor can actually look around without getting smacked, he's starting to see precisely why everything seems so familiar. He knows this nave. Knows this church. They'd come here his whole life.

And, filing away toward the narthex, he sees four familiar dresses, four familiar white veils, made of fine linen from Targovişte. They move with the smooth, graceful glide over the rough stone floors that he'd thought he'd never see again.

His sisters.

It hits him like an actual sucker punch, like somebody slamming a chair into him in a bar fight. His stomach clenches up like a fist. He makes some sort of horrible choking noise as all the breath in his lungs decides to leave. He wheezes in another breath, feels it whistling down a throat that doesn't want to open.

And ahead of them, his mother shines in the doorway, outlined and turned into a smudge by the early afternoon sunlight.

Ahead of her, Father turns. He makes an impatient gesture, calling Trevor's name.

His whole body feels numb. He goes anyway. Now that he's doing something more complicated than standing and kneeling, he can't help noticing his balance is off. Like he's not just shorter but slimmer, lighter.

Like, for instance, he's fourteen or so.

This can't be happening. Salt doesn't work magic. People don't step into salt circles and find themselves in fucking consecrated churches from thirteen years ago.

Near Father, Luminița gives him a smile from under her hood.

Trevor smiles back. Even if this isn't happening, even if it's some cruel dream, she's his closest sister.

They walk home from church in a thick knot, exactly the way he remembers. The way he's longed for.

It's Sara, his second-closest, who laces her arm in his and leans in. The hem of her cap has frayed a little; it needs re-sewn.

Ha. Like he can talk. He only launders his clothes regularly because otherwise Sypha and Alucard probably wouldn't speak to him. And sure, he can darn his own socks, but that doesn't mean he actually does any mending when it needs done.

"You seemed distracted during Mass today," she says, and her voice is the same mixture of high pitch and dry delivery that makes everything short of a threat sound kind of funny.

It's not real. Can't be happening. Not. Real. Just a fucking vicious, painful dream a witch came up with. Somewhere above him, Sypha and Alucard are dealing with a small coven and trying to wake him up.

Knowing all that doesn't stop the warmth in his chest, that huge bubble of impossible fondness that always accompanies seeing his most precious people after a long absence.

"Just thinking about things."

It's Luminița who asks, "What kinds of things?"

"Just things." One good point of being probably four-and-ten again: he can get away with that.

Both his sisters laugh at him.

The walk home is long and surprisingly warm. He thinks it must be Lent, and that means early spring. He would have expected grayer skies, the last few flurries of snow, but instead it's all an expanse of blue. The sun pours down on his head, gradually warming him.

They reach the great gate by late afternoon. A nod from Father, and Mother takes her keyring from her belt and fits key to lock. There's a resounding click and then they're swinging it open. Trevor, as the last one through, pulls the gate shut, listening for the sound of the mechanism.

He still has a hard time believing any of this is real.

He stares up at the stout walls, of good oak and better stone, at the windows with real leaded glass, at the pennant of the Belmont crest hanging from one of the windows. A hunting party must be away; they only display that when someone's left the house on a hunt.

This all feels… It's completely crazy, but at the same time, it feels right. Accurate, maybe: it feels like he's walking, all too aware, through a Lenten Sunday that really happened to him.

Father and his sisters go directly into the house. Except for Luminița and Sara, none of them has ever had much patience for him when he's being slow.

It's Mother who waits on the front step. She reaches out to catch his face in between her palms. They're softer than his own, than Father's, but they're still callused and chapped, just in different places.

"You've been out of sorts," she says, sweeping her thumbs over his cheekbones before resting the back of her hand against his forehead.

He doesn't protest the touch. Maybe he would have, at fourteen, but he hasn't been anywhere near his mother in thirteen years. Instead he allows it, unwilling even to close his eyes if that means losing sight of her.

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

His mother hums. "If it's about Old Marta… Well, you're kind, Trevor, but there was nothing we could have done for her."

Old Marta? He thinks back, trying to remember. He has the vaguest, dimmest memory of an aging woman with apple cheeks who always smelled of onion. She sold cheese, maybe?

His mother mistakes his confusion for something else. She does the thing where she squeezes his face in her hand. Squeeze isn't the right word -- but she cups his cheek and grips, and instead of threatening, it's comforting.

How had he forgotten that she did things like that? Does things like this?

"It's not the fire or the heat. It's the smoke. It's very quick -- minutes, at most. Almost as good a death as a beheading, and then they're made pure and good again. She didn't suffer."

The sheer fucking irony of those words coming from the mouth of this woman. This woman, who didn't die of fire or heat, but of being trapped in a smoky little room, who died coughing, is telling him that burned witches don't suffer?

He squints at her, looking not with the eye of a self-absorbed youth, but of a man. The last thirteen years taught him to read a room, to read a face, to listen to what people weren't saying.

That's why he sees it: the faint tremor at the corner of her mouth, the flickering of her eyelids.

She's lying. She's lying to protect a boy who's always been a little too soft to be a Belmont.

And that's when the memory finally settles in place, and he remembers Old Marta. Burned as a witch in the town square in Sighișoara, and they hadn't been able to do anything about it. It had been uniquely galling to the whole family. Even Grandfather Rafael, who always focused more on killing what was wicked than on protecting his countrymen, had hated everything about it.

Of course, less than a year later, they'd all been accused of black magic, excommunicated, and burned alive. Fuck.

#castlevania fic #fragment #wip wednesday #god shits in my dinner yet again #save the belmonts save the world #remember when I said trevor is ex-catholic and pissed about it?#yeah these scenes are why #whip wednesday

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whereareroo · 3 years ago

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KINDERGARTEN WISDOM

In 1988, a Unitarian minister named Robert Fulghum released a wonderful book entitled "All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten." Fulghum had been ordained in 1961, and the book contains 50 essays that he wrote during the first 25 years of his ministry.

The title of the book is taken from the first, and most famous, essay. Here it is:

"All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sand pile at Sunday School. These are the things I learned:

Share everything.

Play fair.

Don't hit people.

Put things back where you found them.

Clean up your own mess.

Don't take things that aren't yours.

Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.

Wash your hands before you eat.

Flush.

Warm cookies and cold milk are good from you.

Live a balanced life--learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.

Take a nap every afternoon.

When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.

Wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.

Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup--they all die. So do we.

And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned--the biggest word of all--LOOK.

Everything you need to know is there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.

Take any one of those items and extrapolate it into sophisticated adult terms and apply it to your family life or your work or your government or your world and it holds true and clear and firm. Think about what a better world it would be if we all--the whole world--had cookies and milk about three o'clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankets for a nap. Or if all governments had as a basic policy to always put things back where they found them and to clean up their own mess.

And it's still true, no matter how old you are--when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together."

It could be the best essay ever written. We should all post it on a wall and read it every day. (For many years, it was posted in the break room at my law firm.)

Today, I want to focus on Fulghum's first basic rule: "Share everything." I think Fulghum made it #1 for a reason. Communities cannot survive without sharing. The world cannot survive without sharing. Sharing is an essential element of life.

In an interview 20 years after the book was published, Fulghum was asked if he thought his essay was too simplistic. Here's his response: "It would do no good to tell a six year old that: 'Studies have shown that human society cannot function without an equitable distribution of the resources of the earth.' While this statement is profoundly and painfully true, a child cannot comprehend this vocabulary. So a child is told that there are twenty children and five balls to play with; likewise four easels, three sets of blocks, two guinea pigs, and one bathroom. To be fair, we must share."

Nobody likes to talk about it, but one of the things that must be shared is time on earth. Currently, the world population is just under 8 billion people. Based upon calculations related to the limited resources in the biosphere, scientists believe that earth has a maximum carrying capacity of 9 to 10 billion people. We know, however, that approximately 105 billion people have lived on earth. Life on earth has survived because people die. We all get a turn at being alive on earth. Then, others get their turn. If nobody died, and the population continuously grew, life on earth would have ended a very long time ago. We should all be thankful that 95 billion people have died during the course of history. If they hadn't died, we wouldn't be here. We're all here because time on earth is shared. We all get a turn.

In 1965, a few years after Fulghum was ordained and many years before he wrote his essay about kindergarten, a group called the Byrds released a famous folk song called "Turn, Turn, Turn." The song explains that there is constant turnover in life. The song begins with: "To everything--turn, turn, turn--there is a season--turn, turn, turn--and a time to every purpose under heaven." The very next line deals with the difficult issue that we've been discussing: "A time to be born, a time to die." The writer of the song, Pete Seeger, understood that we have to share earth and take turns at life. He addressed that concept in the very first line of the song.

Not everybody knows that the song Turn, Turn, Turn was essentially plagiarized from The Bible. Take a look at the beginning of the third chapter of the Book of Ecclesiastes. You'll see the lyrics to Turn, Turn, Turn. Forget about the Byrds, and forget about Fulghum. The Bible tells us that time on earth is shared and that we each get a turn.

Go back to the top of this post and read Fulghum's essay again. This time start at item 15 and read upwards. Item 15 says: "Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup--they all die. So do we."

If you read upwards from there, aware of your own mortality, you'll see excellent tips for leading a moral and ethical life. In our limited time on earth, our turn, Fulghum tells us how to take care of ourselves, our families, our communities, and earth itself. Following Fulghum's rules will make you a better and happier person during your turn at life.

At my childhood Church, there was a priest who used to say: "You don't control when you're born. You don't control when you die. You do control most of the middle. Make good decisions and make the most of it."

We should all strive to make the most of our turn at life. When the end of our turn arrives, we need to take comfort in the fact that we are stepping aside so others can take their turn at life. Death is a noble act of selflessness. It's the ultimate way to follow Fulghum's first rule: "Share everything."

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itsmoonphobic · 4 years ago

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🗝️ 𝕽𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝕽𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖘𝖔𝖉𝖞

"𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒆𝒆?𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒖𝒔 𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚.𝑷𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆,𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈.𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕."

Listen to this song if you want extra vibes while reading :) ❗TW: Death | Corpses | Angst

"Death is the opposite of life,that's not true.Death is a part of life that catches up to us at any given time."

His life was turned upside down in a matter of days.After the tragic death of their ruler and friend Techno,the blond boy would lock himself in the king's room and declined to come out,unless it's highly necessary.Neglecting both his mental and physical health during the time of Techno's departure,he refuses to talk to another human being,doesn't eat even if the chefs prepare his favorite meal they knew he never turns down.But even by that he seems unfazed and just picks around his plate and leaves it on the table while excusing himself so he make his way back to the king's chambers and sulk in despair.

Hours and hours worth of sleep only then became evident when he crawls out of Techno's room to get a glass of water and scurry back where he came from.His eyes would turn red and dark valleys painted themselves under the blue orbs,who seemingly grew with every sleepless night. He thinks other people around him don't notice but everyone in the castle sees the dried tears that ran down his pale cheeks.Phil and Wilbur would leave him alone and only occasionally check up on him to make sure he's doing okay and not having an existential crisis.Most of the time Phil finds him sitting on the windowsill,longingly staring out the pink stained glass and loyally waiting for the king's return just like he remembered doing when Techno left for one of his many journeys,traveling out into the far lands. Everytime Tommy would see a carriage approaching over the hills he would run outside and excitingly hope it's Techno who arrived.Only to be disappointed when he realizes that it's not the person he is wishing to welcome. Phil would try his hardest not to let the tears escape but after seeing Tommy devastatingly staring out into the far stretching hills and forests,he gives up fighting the urge.

Tubbo would visit the castle and inquire Phil or Wilbur if he can step inside to see Tommy.They hesitantly let him in and make sure to warn him beforehand that he doesn't mention the king or anything regarding him around his miserable best friend.Tommy was practically a ticking time bomb,one word or mention of Techno could set off an explosion.So to prevent that from becoming reality everybody in the castle is ensuring how they act around the sad blonde.His usual bubbly and cheerful energy drains out which is concerning to others around him for the reason that it's unnatural for Tommy to behave this strangely.Tubbo makes sure to keep in mind the instructions that were given to him,carefully and gently taking care of Tommy while letting him cry his heart out into one of his many green tunics.He tries to cheer him up by taking him outside to breathe in some fresh air and clear his mind from distracting thoughts.

Tommy couldn't and didn't want to accept the truth.He didn't want to admit to himself that the first person who showed him love and tought him valuable lessons in life that he would always treasure deep in his heart,died.It felt so surrealistic,so unsettling,that feeling of something missing. It was as if somebody took away a piece of him,a piece of him that kept Tommy going,a piece that reminded him of the person he wanted to become one day.Techno was and always will be the boy's will to live on and continue seeing the wonders of the world he still yet has to explore himself. He will never forget the memories they collected along the way of building up their friendship,from the moment he first spoke to him to their last shared words.He didn't like reffering to the king,nevertheless he payed a visit to his grave.The smooth,polished stone displayed itself in the center of the cemetery.A marble crown was sculptured by it's side as a representation of power and respect for their once ruthless but nonetheless caring ruler.Flowers of all kind which have been picked from widow's gardens layed on the gravestone filling it up with vibrant colors and making it come to life amongst the other dull monuments surrounding the meaningful tombstone.

Many children came along with their caretakers,leaving behind drawings and letters for the king.People came and silently stood by the grave,some cried others kneeled down and shared their prayers.Either way,Bladestrom was in a depressive state,shops got closed during the funeral which was held a few hours after his passing,schools got shut down and the majority of the kingdom's citizens didn't talk or leave their houses unless they visited his grave.The king's death was something nobody could have predicted to have happend so early into his rulership,the young king has been in control for only ten years which was nothing compared to how long his father and grandfather ruled.

Tommy,Wilbur and Phil would never forget the adventures and shenanigans they went through with their friend.Their friendship was a bond that not even death was able to break and tear apart.So many memories came rushing in once the priest spoke his ending line.Countless tears have been shed that night the coffin was burried underground, all sorts of reactions and emotions were shown.It was hard. King Techno Blade's funeral was an occasion everybody would carry on their backs like a heavy stone keeping them from walking straight,till the rest of their lives.

Tommy had it the hardest.Techno was like a father he never had,a person he could rely on,a person he trusted with all of his secrets,fears and insecurities.Somebody he saw himself going through life with,a person who changed his way of looking at all things around him.A person who cared for him,protected him and most importantly loved him.The young orphan was drowning in sadness,he was devastated. All of this new chaos and information was thrown at him out of nowhere,his brain had tried to process what's going on but failed.It just didn't make sense,only a few weeks ago the two of them were playing around in the castle and now here he was,standing infront of Techno's grave.A place where a corpse could rest,give up it's soul and carry on their destiny in the afterlife.His pale blue eyes pooled up with salty tears,the idea of giving up and joining Techno wherever the king is right now had crossed his mind multiple times in the past few days,but he kept bringing forward a promise he made with Techno.Tommy was never the type of person who took promises or pacts seriously,he either forgets about them or simply changes his mind on them and doesn't care anymore.

But this was a whole different story.This promise was something Tommy will never leave in the dust,a promise he engraved into his heart just like two lovers their capitals into the wood of a tree trunk.

"Never give up Tommy,great things take time."

Those eight words structured into a sentence stuck with Tommy the day he heard them.He wasn't sure what the king met when he told him the saying back then,but now he was completely aware of it's meaning.Techno knew that he couldn't always be there by his side even if he wanted nothing more then to see him grow up into the man he dreamed to be.He knew Tommy had to continue his experiences and reach his goals alone,he never doubted Tommy's abilities or his strange,yet effective determination that kept him going.Techno may have never said it out loud but he saw a picture of himself in Tommy.He saw the boy who once strictly followed his parent's expectations,who let himself be pushed around for no apparent reason,a boy who also had a dream,a dream he later on accomplished.

Now that Tommy was by himself in the world with his dreams,without Techno next to him,he was scared.What was he supposed to do?Where was he meant to start?How do you figure out when the right time comes?He had so many questions running wildly in his head,all of them he wanted to ask Techno,wanting to hear his opinions.

A petite gesture on his shoulder brought Tommy out of his daydreams.He didn't even notice his spacing out,he had been staring at the king's grave for the past half an hour. Silently wishing that it didn't exist.The blond boy hesitantly retrieved his eyes away from the stone looking behind him to witness none other than Wilbur.The musician was waiting for him to finish placing down the pink roses they had brought along with them,which Tommy was still steadily holding in his grip.Wilbur's eyes darted towards the fragile blooms in the orphan's hands,back to the grave as a mute signal to let them go.At first a bewildered look crossed his face but after seemingly getting the hint he gave the roses one last look and gingerly deposited them on the smooth stone.His hand lingered on the thorn filled flowers but after his fingertips left them he stood back up.

The two of them shared a moment of silence and peace. Tommy didn't have to glance at the man beside him to know that he aswell must have been struggling not to cry. Wilbur was the first to speak up:"C'mon Tommy,let's go." Blue eyes scanned the guitarist's features,his jaw clenched and his nose flared.Tommy knew if they stayed a second longer Wilbur would flood the cemetery with tears.He nodded,following Wilbur back to the castle,or atleast that's where he thought they were heading to.

Wilbur didn't take Tommy to the castle.He was suprised to see that the orphan didn't even question why or where they were going.He may physically be behind Wilbur but his mind was constantly thinking about Techno.The brown haired man stopped in his tracks,admiring the view from the cliff they were located on.Tommy came to a halt next to him,almost stepping over the edge if Wilbur didn't stop him with his arm.His pale orbs scanned the area around them, he wasn't familiar with this place but he couldn't complain about the breathtaking rivers collapsing together beneath their feet.The turbulent and foggy waves danced across the river's indigo,silk coat.The rain from the night before fed the carefree water flowing under them.

"Don't you see Tommy?" A stray tear fell down Wilbur's cheek,a small sob escaping his lips.He looked at Tommy who seemed confused and concerned.

"The waves are crying with us in harmony." Wilbur's eyes traveled back to the rising rivers willed with dangerous mountains of water.

"People say that death is the opposite of life,but that's not true at all." Tommy followed Wilbur's view,locking his eyes on the beautiful water.

"Death is a part of life,that can catch up to us at any given time or moment.It comes at unexpected times."

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉 ☔︎

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spnwatch · 4 years ago

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Season 2: The Rankings

Whew. Oh boy.

They were still puttering about in season 1 to an extent. But now? Now they’ve really hit their stride. This season was a veritable chocolate box of delights and I ate my way through it. The overall myth arc was kind of nonsensical, but that emotional throughline? Christ. Spn buries SO MUCH emotional complexity into its leads, and they cashed in every cent in that two part finale. It packs one hell of a punch. And yeah, okay, I knew the broad strokes, the twists and turns. It’s hard not to be spoilered for a season of tv that aired over a decade ago. But reader! It mattered not!! I. Still. Wept. That’s when you know it’s the good kush. 1.) 2x12: NIGHTSHIFTER. This one just snagged the top spot by merit of its sheer ambition. Supernatural often feels like a very empty universe to me, just two guys and one car drifting from place to place. Which is fine, it makes for compelling TV, but they totally flipped the script here and this episode really dazzles precisely because of that contrast. It’s a huge, cinematic episode, a metropolitan setting full of uncontrollable elements, and it’s great to see Sam and Dean so profoundly vulnerable. The outside world is pressing up against the windows. They have sniper dots trained on them! They are, literally and figuratively, out of their depth! We’re not in Kansas any more, baby. God, I haven’t even mentioned the supporting characters. The entire mandroid rant deserves an Emmy. Victor Henrickson’s entrance! Heist movie antics! Agh! 10/10

2.) 2x07: THE USUAL SUSPECTS. Again this episode was a cut above precisely because it showed us what the brothers look like from the outside: sketchy as all hell. It’s so good when reality ensures, because it’s great to be reminded they lead objectively insane lives! Through Linda Blair’s eyes we get to see just how unknowable, feral and amoral they appear to the eyes of polite society. Put under a microscope like this, they’re scary guys! They’re just not socialised like normal people. They don’t really care about being arrested, or about the felonies. Getting arrested is an irritant above everything else. They’re still working the case from the inside. They’re professionals; excellent liars, and totally in sync with each other. The handwritten notes they pass, like delinquent school kids! A delight! The thrill lies in watching Blair slowly unwrap their strange logic, and unravel the mystery of both the brothers and the ghost. Ugh, what a great perspective shift. I’m 100% here for it. 10/10

3.) 2x09: CROATOAN. Ugh, this setting. Small Town Gothic, complete with eerie mist, hostile locals and creepy Stepford vibes. Sam really shone in this episode. He’s so soothing and giant, and it made his suffering at the end all the more devastaing. The real reason this episode ranks so highly is their conversation in the surgery. It just killed me. Dean’s sheer, bone-deep exhaustion, his admission that he’s tired of the life. Sam’s despair, because he knows Dean won’t leave. The performances were so steller. I can’t even really think too deeply about it because it makes me too crazy. 10/10

4.) 2x21: ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE: PART ONE. I loved this finale so much more than the finale in Season 1, LOL. It might just be because I’m more invested now, who knows. The opening of this episode is a piece of art: Boston playing on the car stereo, the rain, the small cafe, the lighting. Gorgeous. I love when they have to interact with ordinary people! It adds so much: texture, humour, personality! It draws things out of Sam and Dean that we just don’t see when they have each other to bounce off of. It was so good to see Ava and Andy again. “I just woke up in freakin’ Frontierland!” The gang’s all here, folks! This episode would rank higher, but recieves minus points for the long boring speech the demon gives Sam, and killing off the first gay in the show 0.2 seconds after her introduction. Anyway. The ending of course unzipped me; Dean cradling Sam’s dead body, muttering “It’s okay, it’s not even that bad.” The elation of their reunion, so devastaingly cut short! Sam, twenty two years old, bleeding out in the mud. The sheer, hopelessness of it all. The horror. My notes for the end of the episode simply read: “Dean oh Christ. Oh my God. Oh no.” It’s just one of those scenes that stay with you long after the credits start rolling. 9/10

5.) 2x20: WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE. I never thought I could be so profoundly upset by watching a man happily mowing a lawn. Dean’s trauma over the loss of his mother has undercut the whole show up until this point, and here it bursts to the fore. What really got me was the simplicity of it all. Just a sit-down dinner, an engagement. A beer on the porch. Fuck, he deserves it. He deserves everything. All the performances were great, they really served to show there’s a whole life in these AU characters. The fact it wasn’t all perfect was bizarrely more devastating. AU Sam’s weird straight hair and dorky jacket sealed the deal for me, as did his baffled terror in the warehouse. But even here, with no training and no idea what’s happening, he gets into the Impala! Because that’s his brother! Because I’m a huge baby I had to remove points because of how upsetting I found Sam’s quiet hostility towards Dean, HA. But that’s really just a testament to how well-realised their dynamic has become by the second season. 9/10

6.) 2x15: TALL TALES. Every single thing Sam does in any of Dean’s memories. Also alien slowdance set to “Lady in Red.” Also Bobby breaking them up like they’re petulant children. Gold, all of it gold. 9/10

7.) 2x11: PLAYTHINGS. So I’m a slut for a cool setting, obviously. Turns out, Supernatural did The Haunting of Bly Manor fifteen years ago. The swimming pool! The attic! Creepy dolls! The weird little playground! This episode has it all! I loved the saga between the ghost sister and the old lady, which would honestly make a killer movie in its own right. But I’m digressing. The main star of this episode was, of course, Dean’s profound and escalating sexual insecurities. “Well, you are kinda butch. People probably think you’re overcompensating.” FATALITY. I would’ve placed this one higher but the weird incestuous undertones kinda squicked me out... however, I did think we were meant to be creeped out by it, which is more than I can say for some other uh. Instances. It was, after all, beautifully paralelled at the end with the two sisters reuniting in death. “I can’t leave here, and you can’t leave me.” SHUDDER. Also, honestly, can Sam have one (1) breakdown on his own without Dean’s own emotional baggage taking over? Older siblings, smh. 9/10

8.) 2x22: ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE: PART TWO. This one ranks lower than part one purely because I thought the yellow-eyed demon’s overall plot was kinda nonsensical, and I cared not for John’s weird deux ex machina moment. Like do you expect me to feel sorry for that bitch? I don’t! Anyway, that being said, let’s move on to Dean’s eyes in the junkyard when Bobby asks him, “do you have that low an opinion of yourself?” They’re so flat. So dead, like a shark’s. He doesn’t need to say anything back, because it’s all over his face. That non-expression says it all. This is the culmination of the emotional arc that began with his savage beatdown of the Impala in episode 2x02. To call it survivor’s guilt wouldn’t even begin to cover what Dean goes through this episode. It’s all in Ackles’ performance; in the the way he yells, “What am I supposed to do now, Sammy?” The complete claustrophobia of it all. There’s nothing for it but to make the deal. Dean’s been moving inexorably towards this moment for the entire season. 9/10

9.) 2x13: HOUSES OF THE HOLY. What a kooky little episode! Magic fingers! Sam’s costcutter seance purchases! The scooby-doo placemat he uses as a makeshift altar! I love him, your honour. Obviously this episode has a lot of *~dramatic irony~* in it because of the later seasons, but it stands alone as a total banger. I was so gutted for Sam when the "angel” was revealed. So many good little Sam moments to be found in this episode. His soft, quiet little revelation that he prays every day. His awkward, earnest explanation to the horrified priest! Dean gets some great moments chasing down the would-be rapist down those dark, snow-covered streets. His speech to Sam where he explains his lack of belief is brief, but it’s a total gut punch. Rounding it off with Knockin on Heaven’s Door was just the cherry on top. 9/10

10.) 2x14: BORN UNDER A BAD SIGN. Ahaha I love the way Dean acts whenever Sam’s psychic powers come up. He treats him like a rebellious teen, it’s so funny. “What’s going on with you, Sam? Smokin’, drinkin’?” As if Sam’s behaviour was a) at all under his control or b) anything Dean wouldn’t HIMSELF do. Dean’s just like, this isn’t how I raised you! Truly hysterical. The whole sequence between Meg!Sam and Jo was fantastic and horrible. Sam’s huge physique is never threatening, but it really was in that moment. The interplay between them was totally spine-tingling. Meg’s impression Sam slowly crumbling away over the course of the episode was so compelling and I’m sure it will be a really fun rewatch now I know the *twist*. 9/10

Favourite lines this season:

The way Sam says “black cat’s bone” in 2x08

“You’re not gonna go kill somebody because a ghost told you to, are you insane?!” - Dean, 2x13

“Dean, this is a very serious investigation, we don’t have time for your blah blah blah blah.” - Sam (according to Dean), 2x15

“I’m fine, except for every single thing that’s happening.” - Ava, 2x21

#I feel like I'm exposing myself as a sam girl here #I love them equally I swear #supernatural #there's so much i left out like my comprehensive love for JO #what does she have? A KNIFE #I just didn't really dig NO EXIT as an episode sadly #spnwatch

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isnt-it-pretty · 5 years ago

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Super uneditted WIP about Ishvalan Ed (and Al) Elric, because I need more of this au in my life.

TW for war stuff and mild wound description.

He waits until just before the train departs. Pinako will pick them up from the train station at Resembool. Mr and Mrs Rockbell cannot accompany them on the trip. No more trains will be running to or from Ishval, and there are people who desperately need their aid.

Al is asleep across from him, curled on a seat with an old blanket laid over his shoulders. It’s one of the few belongings they were allowed to take. One of the few remnants of their home.

The train is about to move, so Ed climbs from the window, whispering an apology to his sleeping brother.

He’s nine years old, so much bigger than Al. He’s an alchemist, even if the word sounds dirty in the mouth of their priests. He can fight.

The train leaves, but Ed stays. He will fight with the others, throw rocks if he has to. Ishvala will protect them, and if He doesn’t, then Ed will protect them all in His place..

His mother bawls when she sees him. Anger and hopelessness coalescing into one as he stands in the doorway of his childhood home. She screams, shaking his shoulders as she does. Curses Amestris and alchemy, curses his father and even Ishvala.

Two weeks later, the state alchemists arrive.

...

This place is hell, and Ed wonders what they did to have Ishvala forsake them to this fate.

Bullets ring out all hours of the day, lodging themselves in the walls of the buildings. He wonders who’s shot them, the Ishvalans, or the Amestrians.

It's been a month, and the front is within the city now. Amestris has taken portions for their holy land, and is trying to strike to the very heart of it..

The adults speak of other countries helping to fund this war, others speak of what will come after. This land is soaked in blood now, the blood of His chosen. No side will back down, and they cannot beat all of Amestris.

Ed has been kept busy. He’s transmuting medicine for the Rockbells when he can, helping the wounded. He’s only nine years old, but they need all the aid they can get, even that of a child.

He learns to comfort dying men, learns to stitch wounds and smile when every part of him feels like dying. He holds the hand of a crying woman, who’s child will never come home, and thanks Ishvala that Al isn’t here to see this. He does not regret staying, not when he is so obviously needed, but his little brother does not need to know the sound of anguished screaming which accompanies each day here. He does not need to know the smell of burnt flesh, and festering wounds.

...

The Rockbells die, and Ed isn’t there to see it.

Ishval is falling around them, the state alchemists pushing forward even through the night. The sky has been lit by bright orange fire the last few days, and Ed can hear the screams of thousands as they burn. He isn’t sure whether or not they’re real.

His mother is pulling him along, trying to avoid open areas where they know The Hawk’s Eyes lay in wait. Somewhere far away, there’s an explosion, and Ed can’t help but wonder if it is the work of the Crimson Alchemist.

He hates himself. Hates himself for knowing the names of those that are slaughtering his kin. Hates that bullets and guns and alchemy are destroying everything that he has held dear.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Ed is afraid that this is all his fault. Perhaps it was his practicing of alchemy that has brought this upon them. Perhaps this is his punishment for forbidden arts. Would Ishvala be cruel enough to damn them all for Ed’s own transgressions? He doesn’t know, and he’s too afraid to ask.

His mother is holding him close, a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet as a group of soldiers march by. They’re laughing at a state alchemist who had to be sent home, the Strong Arm Alchemist, how he had a breakdown over the body of a worthless Ishvalan child. The soldiers pass, and he and his mother continue on through the wreckage of their city.

For once, Ed regrets not going with his brother. Maybe if he wasn’t here, Ishvala would have let his people live. Maybe his mother wouldn’t put herself at risk to keep him safe. Maybe he wouldn’t be questioning whether or not he will ever see Al again.

They arrive at the Rockbell’s clinic, only to find it coated in blood. Few survivors remain, but they join Ed and his mother as they try desperately to move through the falling city.

Night falls, but they don’t stop. It’s slow going, trying to avoid Amestrian soldiers, but they do what they can. Even as they hear the sound of death all around them.

Their luck can’t last forever.

Bullets ring out as those in their party begin to fall dead, nobody can see where they’re coming from in the billowing smoke from the raging infernos.

Every shot sounds like a slice through his heart as Ed’s mother pulls him through the chaos. Desperate to reach cover.

They don’t make it.

She falls in front of him, ignoring his cry of:

“Mother!”

She doesn’t move, doesn't stand up and smile or pull him close.

Suddenly, the building behind them explodes, burning shrapnel raining down upon them.

They are going to die. They are going to die. Ishvala has abandoned them, condemned them to hell.

Somebody grabs him, and it's only then that Ed realizes the burn across his shoulder. He shakes the person off.

Even through the panic and pain, Ed focuses. Flames are caused by a combustion reaction. When the ignition point is reached, flames will appear. Those flames are primarily made up of carbon dioxide, water vapor, oxygen and nitrogen. If he can just...

Maybe Ishvala is punishing him for using alchemy, but if he can get them out, then it will be okay. It will all be okay.

There's just enough blood in his body to draw a transmutation circle.

Nowhere in any books was transmuting fire like this mentioned, but scientific discoveries often happen in times of crisis.

He glances toward his mother’s unconscious form. Unconscious because she has to just be unconscious, please Ishvala I know what I did wrong but please- and touches the circle just as the fire reaches it.

There’s a blast of heat, he thinks he screams again, but everything has turned black.

#wip #My writing #fmab #ishvalan edward elric #ishvalan au

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religioused · 4 years ago

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Words Never Die

by Gary Simpson

1 Samuel 3:1-20 (King James Version) And the child Samuel ministered unto the Lord before Eli. And the word of the Lord was precious in those days; there was no open vision. And it came to pass at that time, when Eli was laid down in his place, and his eyes began to wax dim, that he could not see; and ere the lamp of God went out in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was, and Samuel was laid down to sleep; that the Lord called Samuel: and he answered, Here am I. 5 And he ran unto Eli, and said, Here am I; for thou calledst me. And he said, I called not; lie down again. And he went and lay down. 6 And the Lord called yet again, Samuel. And Samuel arose and went to Eli, and said, Here am I; for thou didst call me. And he answered, I called not, my son; lie down again. 7 Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, neither was the word of the Lord yet revealed unto him. 8 And the Lord called Samuel again the third time. And he arose and went to Eli, and said, Here am I; for thou didst call me. And Eli perceived that the Lord had called the child. 9 Therefore Eli said unto Samuel, Go, lie down: and it shall be, if he call thee, that thou shalt say, Speak, Lord; for thy servant heareth. So Samuel went and lay down in his place. 10 And the Lord came, and stood, and called as at other times, Samuel, Samuel. Then Samuel answered, Speak; for thy servant heareth.

11 And the Lord said to Samuel, Behold, I will do a thing in Israel, at which both the ears of every one that heareth it shall tingle. In that day I will perform against Eli all things which I have spoken concerning his house: when I begin, I will also make an end. For I have told him that I will judge his house for ever for the iniquity which he knoweth; because his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not. And therefore I have sworn unto the house of Eli, that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be purged with sacrifice nor offering for ever.

15 And Samuel lay until the morning, and opened the doors of the house of the Lord. And Samuel feared to shew Eli the vision. Then Eli called Samuel, and said, Samuel, my son. And he answered, Here am I. And he said, What is the thing that the Lord hath said unto thee? I pray thee hide it not from me: God do so to thee, and more also, if thou hide any thing from me of all the things that he said unto thee. And Samuel told him every whit, and hid nothing from him. And he said, It is the Lord: let him do what seemeth him good.

19 And Samuel grew, and the Lord was with him, and did let none of his words fall to the ground. 20 And all Israel from Dan even to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was established to be a prophet of the Lord.

Reflection:

There is an old public domain hymn titled “Kind Words Never Die.” Sadly, angry words take on a life of their own too. In no realm does that seem more accurate than political and religious discussions.

Three general principles you might want to look for in this sermon. (1) Ridicule and insults can cause religious and political divisions and political tension. (2) We can reflect on how our theological beliefs and political news consumption may cause us to hate others. (3) Look for ways to build people up.

There are times when a dose of Biblical trivia feels right. And this is one of those times. In the Septuagint, 1st and 2nd Samuel were called 1st and 2nd Kingdoms, and 1st and 2nd Kings were called 3rd and 4th Kingdoms.(1) A few people think 1st and 2nd Samuel would be better named Saul and David, or 1st and 2nd David.(2)

First and Second Samuel were probably written about 900 BCE(3), and the events described in 1st Samuel might date back to somewhere between 1200 and 1000 BCE.(4) The book was written after the division of the nation into two kingdoms, the northern and the southern kingdoms.(5) The events in the book of 1st Samuel take place during a time of political change. The children of Israel were transitioning into a monarchical form of government.(6) We see a shift from the leadership of priests, prophets and judges to kings.(7)

As we look to contemporary issues dividing Canada and the United States, we may find parts of 1st Samuel, a book written for a people divided into two kingdoms, valuable. A major theme in 1st Samuel is that the main characters, Samuel, Saul, and David, all “make mistakes that cost them dearly.”(8) This last point, which seems quite trivial, could be important. Religious institutions and religious leaders, combined with political institutions and political leaders, made mistakes that could be challenging for North Americans for many years. Decisions relating to the creation and operation of residential schools made by the Canadian Government and church denominations hurt generations of Indigenous people. Contributors to the NIV Foundation Study Bible observe that Samuel’s ministry is built on a foundation of an “attitude of listening.”(9) And listening could be critical to the future for people of faith.

There is some literary foreshadowing in the passage. Samuel means “requested of God.”(10) We can get the sense that there is something special about Samuel, and that sense increases as we read the narratives in 1st and 2nd Samuel.

In the ancient Near Eastern world, prophets gave messages from God. Should a god not give messages through prophets, it was considered a sign that the gods were unhappy.(11) Contributors to the Cultural Backgrounds Study Bible indicate that some people speculate that Samuel was in the temple area at night in hopes of receiving a “divine vision,” but there is nothing in the Biblical passage that supports that conclusion.(12)

Verses 15 to 17 are worth exploring for a moment. Warren Wiersbe draws attention to the fact that Samuel got up and went about his daily duties. He gives Samuel credit for being mature enough not to run around telling everyone that God gave him a special message.(13) I am not sure if it was maturity or dread of telling Eli the message God gave Samuel. Because Eli was almost like a foster father, Samuel might have loved Eli. His love for Eli might have been why Samuel was reluctant to tell Eli God’s message. Samuel did not want to hurt Eli.(14) Eli had a long vocational calling as a judge, having judged Israel for 40 years. Knowing Eli's vocation might have made it even more difficult for Samuel to deliver God’s stern message.(15)

Eli appears to threaten Samuel. He says Samuel must tell the whole truth and not to hide anything from him or God will deal severely with Samuel. Eli may have spoken strongly because he realized that God did something “rare” when God bypassed him and gave Samuel a message.(16) Eli, who recognizes physical maturity does not always go hand-in-hand with spiritual maturity, takes the rebuke God gives him through the mouth of young Samuel.(17) I think Eli shows significant maturity in his willingness to seek out and to accept the message Samuel gave.

Moses understood the children of Israel wanted to have a king.(18) There could be many reasons why the children of Israel wanted a king, a person of power, leading their country. They might have been seeking power, prestige, and a feeling of safety. Chapters 8-12 of 1 Samuel describe the establishment of a king for the children of Israel.(19) Was a desire to have a powerful leader, a person who could protect people of faith, a factor in some Christians being involved in the Capitol protest, a protest that claimed the lives of people? Did some people of faith believe they needed a strong president, a virtual king figure to protect their faith? We may never know.

When protesters took over the Capitol Building in Washington, DC., a few Americans carried crosses and Christian banners. Photos show somebody put up a noose. There was a massive juxtaposition between the images. As Canadians we cannot look down our noses at our American neighbors and congratulate ourselves that this could never happen in Canada. Increasingly strong and polarizing rhetoric is not just an American thing. We have the same problem here. Polarizing language between conservative and progressive Christians is both a Canadian and an American problem.

There are a few things that we may want to consider when reviewing how you live out your religious and political convictions.

• Is our shared theology and understanding of the Bible helping us feel more compassion for others, or are we finding ourselves progressively feeling more angry with those who do not share our values or our doctrine?

• When we hear a politician or a minister speak, do we find ourselves feeling increasingly angry because we believe that we are being cheated?

• Have we studied, to understand, and not to prove other people wrong, the beliefs of other Christian denominations and other world religions?

• Do we find ourselves engaging in calling members of other religious or political groups names? Do we find ourselves calling either progressive or conservative Christians names?

• Do we decide to vote based only on one political issue?

• Are there times when we seriously want to punch people who disagree with us on core issues?

• Do we spend hours each week listening to all news, all talk shows? Are we feeling anxious and angry after we watch hours of news and opinion shows?

If some of the things I mentioned seem to describe you, this might be a sign that you need to focus less on news and theology. You may want to limit your consumption of news to the morning news and the evening news. That might help you feel less like your core values are being assaulted.

Anglican theologian John Stott states, “No theology is genuinely Christian which does not arise from and focus on the cross.”(20) Historically Christians have seen love and grace as being symbolized in the cross. This means Christian theology is only genuine Christian theology when it shows love and grace. A prime test of love is respect. When we express theology in a loving manner, we attempt to show respect for those who disagree. The use of sarcastic language, ridicule, and insults might win the argument, but it generally loses the war, since the tactics offend and alienate.

I am going to conclude with a story.

Lawrence Welk is a big band leader who had a highly successful career. There is a website that estimates the net worth of celebrities. According to the website, when Lawrence Welk died in 1992, he might have been the richest person in show business, possibly being even more wealthy than the legendary Bob Hope.(21)

I hope that I recall the story correctly because it has been years since I read Lawrence Welk’s autobiography. As I recall the story, Lawrence Welk was reminiscing about his early days in show business. Welk and his boss, the leader of the band he was in, were eating in a café. Evidently, the food was pretty awful. Lawrence Welk complained about the food. The leader of the band complimented the waitress on the coffee. Later, Lawrence Welk asked the leader of the band why he didn’t complain about the bad food. The bandleader replied to the effect that whenever the waitress heard his name, she would think about how he complimented her for the coffee and whenever the waitress heard Lawrence Welk's name, she would remember how he criticized the food.

I encourage people to change the topic from political concerns and religion to other topics and to look for a reason to praise. Your kind words will be remembered and will build a bridge.

Kind words can never die,

Cherished and blest,

God knows how deep they lie,

Stored in the breast:

Like childhood’s simple rhymes,

Said o’er a thousand times,

Aye, in all years and climes,

Distant and near.

Kind words can never die(22)

End Notes

(1) Joel Rosenberg. “1 and 2 Samuel.” The Literary Guide to the Bible. (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard Univ. Press, 1987), 122.

(2) Rosenberg. (1987), 122.

(3) Marshall Shelley, et al., eds. The Quest Study Bible. (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zandervan Pub., 1994), 358.

(4) John H. Walton and Craig S. Keener, eds. New King James Version Cultural Backgrounds Study Bible. (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zandervan Pub., 2017), 480.

(5) Shelley, et al. (1994), 358.

(6) Walton and Keener, eds. (2017), 480.

(7) Rosenberg. (1987), 122.

(8) NIV Foundation Study Bible. (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zandervan, 2015), 283.

(9) NIV Foundation Study Bible. (2015), 286.

(10) Merrill F. Unger. Unger's Bible Handbook: An Essential Guide to Understanding the Bible. (Chicago: Moody Press, 1967), 187.

(11) Walton and Keener. (2017), 486.

(12) Walton and Keener. (2017), 486.

(13) Warren W. Wiersbe. The Bible Exposition Commentary: History. Colorado Springs, Colorado: Victor, 2003), 216.

(14) Walter J. Harrelson, et al., eds. The New Interpreter's Study Bible. (Nashville, Tennessee: Abingdon Press, 2003), 399.

(15) Bruce Barton, et al., eds. Life Explanation Study Bible. 2nd ed. (Wheaton, Illinois: Tyndale House Pub., 2004), 413.

(16) Shelley, et al. (1994), 363.

(17) Christian Community Bible. 2nd ed. (Madrid, Spain: San Pablo, 1988), 277.

(18) Kenneth Barker, et al., eds. The NIV Study Bible. (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zandervan Pub., 1985), 372.

(19) Barker, et al. (1985), 372.

(20) John Stott. The Cross of Christ. (Doners Grove, Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 1986), 216.

(21) “Lawrence Welk Net Worth.” Celebrity Net Worth. 2020, 16 January 2021.

<https://www.celebritynetworth.com/richest-celebrities/rock-stars/lawrence-welk-net-worth/>.

(22) Abbey Hutchinson Patton. “Kind Words Can Never Die.” Public Domain Hymns. <https://www.pdhymns.com/SheetMusic/B_Normal/I-Q_Normal/K_Normal/Kind%20Words%20Can%20Never%20Die_N.pdf>.

#christian #church #sermon #progressive christian #political division #religious division

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mst3kproject · 5 years ago

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The Manster

Who has two thumbs and is back on terra firma with working wifi? This MSTie!

As for my chosen subject this week… I don’t think I have to justify this one. It’s called The Manster, as in a portmanteau of man and monster. It was directed by a guy who mostly made cheap-ass jungle movies, and stars a bunch of embarrassed actors who don’t know how they ended up here. It’s old and it’s dumb and it’s often pretty funny though never on purpose, and the perfect stinger moment comes very early in the film… you’ll know it when you see it.

So we have Dr. Robert Suzuki, who lives on top of a volcano. When people have ‘Dr’ in front of their names and live in isolation with a bunch of blinky light machines, that’s usually a pretty good clue that they’re mad scientists. Tragically our hero, Larry Stanford, is not that observant (Larry’s obliviousness would have been a constant target for Mike and the bots and he would have deserved all of it). He’s a reporter who wants an interview about Suzuki’s theories on the causes of mutations, but too bad for him, he arrives just as the mad doctor has run out of family members to experiment on. Under the influence of Suzuki’s injections he’s soon devolving into an animalistic frat-boy, drinking, carousing, and murdering… oh, and he’s growing a second head. Will that be a problem?

So basically this is a werewolf movie with a fake mustache on… or perhaps a Jekyll and Hyde movie of sorts, as discussed in the denouement. It wants to explore the dichotomy of good and evil in every one of us, using the very silly device of a two-headed man. I have to say, I understand the metaphor, but it wasn’t put to nearly good enough use. The movie would have been ten times more fun if we’d gotten to see Larry and his second head arguing over whether or not they’re going to kill somebody. Not better, mind you, just more fun.

As far as just being a movie goes, The Manster is better than a lot of things I’ve watched for this blog. The characters have names and look different enough that you can tell them apart, the story makes sense on its own terms and everything that happens is relevant to the plot. Photography is honestly pretty good and the actors are competent. All this happens to be in the service of a really silly story with awful special effects (I love Larry’s rubbery second head bouncing as he runs) but it’s engaging enough that you want to keep watching.

What I really like about The Manster, however, is that it offers a lot to analyze. I’m not sure much of it is intentional. The Jekyll and Hyde side of the story is elucidated in an ending speech, as Larry’s friend Ian tries to reassure Mrs. Stanford. He says there was good and evil in Larry, and they’ll just have to wait and see which side wins. This is not a very satisfying ending, really. We’ve just seen Larry’s evil side plummet to its death into a volcanic crater… and the surviving good side is under arrest as a serial killer. Dr. Suzuki and his assistant, the only people who could testify that Larry was not responsible for his actions, are both dead. This guy’s going to jail.

The really interesting thing in the movie, though, is one that comes up by accident. Dr. Suzuki’s work is on evolution – his theory is that cosmic rays can induce mutations, producing new species more or less overnight (this is called ‘macromutation’ or ‘the hopeful monster theory’, and lurked on the edges of the mainstream in the 40’s and 50’s) and he hopes to induce the same effect chemically. When he tries, however, his efforts invariably produce monsters. Emiko, his wife and former research partner, turns into something resembling the closet monster from The Brain that Wouldn’t Die. Kenji, his brother, turns into a yeti, and a similar fate awaits Larry. These mutants cannot understand human speech, and their behaviour is irrational and violent.

This implies a couple of things. We hear vague mentions of Dr. Suzuki experimenting on fungi, but his heart is mostly in his human experiments. That tells us that his goal is to speed up the evolution of humanity, and one presumes that this is intended to improve us somehow. Of course, this is not how evolution works. Evolution does not make things better – this is why biologists have mostly dropped the descriptions primitive and advanced in favour of the more neutral basal and derived. Dr. Suzuki’s quest is therefore quite misguided, as illustrated by his monsters. In no way could they be considered ‘better’ than humans – in fact, they’re significantly worse at surviving and reproducing (the thing natural selection selects for) than ordinary people are.

There’s another layer here, though. ‘Evolution makes things better’ is a misconception that’s been around since Darwin, and dates back to even earlier ways of organizing the natural world. When Linnaeus created the classification system for living things that we’re still saddled with today, he did it under the believe in the Great Chain of Being – the idea that you can order everything that exists into a hierarchy with mold at the bottom and god at the top, and that after god and the angels humans are the best thing that exists (as proved by our being the only creatures able to create classification systems). It’s an idea that appeals to human vanity and to our need to impose order on the natural world, and it isn’t likely to go away anytime soon.

With that in mind, perhaps there’s another reason Suzuki’s experiments fail. If you believe that humans are the best living thing around, particularly if you believe we are the image of god on earth, then maybe it’s not possible to improve on us. Any change you make to people that takes them away from humanity will automatically make them worse. This idea does appear to be manifest in the fates of Emiko, Kenji, and Larry, all of whom become more apelike, less ‘advanced’, as they change.

In that case, what does The Manster think makes for a good human? We see a little of Larry before he starts to mutate, so we can compare that with what he becomes. Rather surprisingly for a movie of this vintage, the fact that Larry is white seems to be pretty incidental. He is a foreigner in a faraway place, but this serves mostly to drive a wedge between him and his wife Linda. Except for a couple of rather troubling moments, the film does not present Japan in an exotifying light. We do see things like a bathhouse and a geisha bar, but these represent Larry’s personal slide into debauchery, rather than the country as a whole. We also meet normal working people among both the Japanese and the American expat community – reporters, police officers, and even priests.

There’s a very nice bit, actually, where Larry comes upon a Buddhist priest praying, and when he realizes this man doesn’t speak English, Larry takes the opportunity to unburden himself. It makes him feel better to talk about his moral quandaries aloud, and the fact that the priest doesn’t understand him means he cannot judge him. This is a very relatable and human moment, one of the best in the movie.

Unfortunately, it also segues into a couple of the most distasteful things in the film. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, Larry does murder the priest, but before he does, he stares at a particular statue in the shrine – a representation of a three-eyed, fanged being that I am in no position to identify, although it looks a bit like Vajrapani. Before Larry grows a full second head he sprouts an extra eye in his shoulder, and the implication is that the three-eyed statue draws his attention to the monster within himself. I don’t know much about Buddhism but I do not like the idea of casting another culture’s religious figures as symbols of monstrosity. The west has done plenty enough of that.

But back to the question of acceptable humanity. We watch Larry get drunk, violent, antisocial, lazy, and promiscuous, which tells us that the ‘good’ man is the opposite of these things: sober, peaceful, friendly, hardworking, and chaste. The film pays particular attention to how Larry relates to women. The fact that he’s been faithful to his distant wife is established early on, and one of the first symptoms of his devolution is his willingness to discard her. First he makes out with a couple of girls at the geisha bar, and later he takes Dr. Suzuki’s assistant Terra (who has a tragic backstory but we frustratingly never find out what it entails) as his mistress. On the phone with his wife Linda at the beginning of the film, Larry tells her he loves her and promises to be home soon. Later, when she comes to Japan searching for him, he shouts at her and makes a show of preferring Terra.

One conversation he has with Linda is particularly revealing. He tells her he has no desire to settle down in one place and wile away his time drinking coffee and playing bridge when there’s a big wide world out there. She asks him what about her plans, and he declares he will ‘put her in her place’ and ‘slap her down’. Since this is when Larry is the opposite of what a good man should be, we can take from it that a good man respects his wife and takes her opinions and needs into account. For the late fifties, this is actually kind of surprising – I’ve seen films from a decade or two later that were far more backward about this. So hey, points for that.

All things considered, The Manster is a pretty well-made movie. It’s dumb and full of clichés, such as the man scientist destroyed by his own creation, the femme fatale who sacrifices herself for the hero because she’s fallen in love with him, theremin music to represent the monster’s appearance, etc etc etc… but it’s competently put together and whether intentionally or no, contains a lot of interesting material. It’s the sort of movie I can watch repeatedly and always find something new in. Definitely recommended viewing for the 50’s Monster Flick fan, although with the caveat that there is a scene in which one character urges another to commit suicide.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the manster #guys in gorilla suits #tw: suicide #50s

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