#something something the first book i read after the death of my father that understood where i was coming from written by casey shortly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

supernaturalscribe67 · 1 year ago

Text

Just Like Mama Used to Make

Words: 6,178

POV: 1st & 3rd Person

Pairing: John x Son!Reader - Dean/Sam x Brother!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, John Winchester, Fluff, Mention of Childhood Trauma, Mention of Death, I think that's it??

Summary: Taking inspiration from his father, the reader starts his very own journal. For his first entry, he recalls some of the memories that shaped him into the hunter that he has become.

Request:

Hello, hope you are having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request John/Dean/Sam Winchester reaction to having a brother who looks like their mother and picked up hunting like breathing?

@xweirdo101x

A/N: My very first request! It kind of got away from me, but I really hope that I was able to do your request justice. Hope you like it!~

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Hello

Hey!

Dear Diary

SEPTEMBER 2014

To be honest, I have no idea how to start something like this. I was never one for writing, nor have I been one who can easily express my emotions. I guess I got that trait from the Winchester side of my family. Still, I have thought a lot about Dad’s journal lately. The things that he wrote down. It’s not detailed. It’s nowhere near what it was like growing up with him, but it still provides Dean, Sammy, and me with some information and nostalgia from time to time.

So, I figured ‘Why the Hell not’, I might as well write down some things in my own journal. I’m going to die someday anyway, and I want people to read this and be able to see what my life was like. From the good times that I spent with my family to the bad times when I lost my family. Hell, maybe this journal will get me into a history book someday when someone else discovers the Men of Letters Bunker. Who knows. Maybe I’ll be famous after I die, or perhaps it’s just wishful thinking.

This journal has already turned into a clusterfuck. I don’t even know what to write about. I can’t even think of things to write about. Should I say things about my life? Should I just write down random things I think of throughout the day? I don’t know how to do it. Even when I look at Dad’s journal for inspiration, there’s nothing to inspire in it. A lot of it is notes on how to kill monsters and other stuff is just a bunch of personal bullshit he was going through.

Well, we were all going through it.

I guess I’ll start by writing down some of the memories I’ve had. If I don’t like it, then I’ll throw this journal away and start another one. I don’t want future historians to think of me as some scatterbrained moron, despite what Sammy and Dean say at times. If you’re reading this now, I’m actually the smartest Winchester brother. Don’t believe a thing Sam and Dean say. I’m the brains of the operations and our day-to-day lives. I’ve saved them more times than I could count.

Then again, they’ve probably saved me just as much.

Alright, I’m getting side-tracked. I guess I’ll just start writing.

Should I introduce myself first before I do so?

My name is (Y/N) Winchester. I’m a hunter.

This is my story (God, that was terrible)

AUGUST 1991

I remember the first time I mentioned to my father that I wanted to be a hunter, just like him. I was six years old. Dad didn’t take it very kindly. He yelled, a lot. Screamed sometimes. I never truly understood why he would always get so upset whenever I would ask him to teach me how to hunt.

It wasn’t until I was a man that I understood why.

I look just like my mother.

I don’t know how I could have been so blind all those years. I have her hair. I have her face. I have her smile. All of these things have been said by my father before. Not necessarily when he was sober. I was always the one person that reminded my Dad of his wife. Of my mother. I think a part of him wanted to keep me safe, just so he could always look at me and remember what she looked like. Even when I was a child, though, I could see the hurt behind his eyes every once in a while when he would look at me. It made me feel guilty.

Still does.

I know that none of it is my fault, that he made himself hurt.

Still…

For months, I would ask my Dad to teach me about hunting. To teach me about the monsters that crept through the darkness. Each time I asked, he would reject my request and I would get scolded for asking such a stupid question.

So, one night, around the age of seven or eight (one of the two, I can’t remember exactly), I decided that school wasn’t very important. There were occasions when I snuck out of classes to go to the library of whatever town we were in at the time to search the limited amount of lore books that they had. There were times when I got caught by Dean before I was able to sneak out. Other times it was by Sammy. Sometimes, my father would get a call from the school because I had been reported missing.

I was a problem child, as you could tell.

It’s not that I hated school.

It just wasn’t my favorite.

And I wanted to hunt.

So, anyway…from town to town, I would skip class, go to the library, and learn everything that I could learn about hunting if there was anything to learn. Sometimes, I would ask Dean questions. Sometimes he would answer, other times he told me to not worry about it and to mind my own business. It used to hurt whenever Dean would reject any of the questions that I would ask, but I know now that it was so he didn’t get in trouble with Dad. I remember giving him a hard time about it, about not answering me. Dean, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry for being a jerk.

Then again, Dean, if you’re reading this, you shouldn’t be reading this and expect some glitter to appear in your body wash.

No one knew about my secret research. No one knew the reason behind my skipping classes. I would constantly make up lies, most of them being about how much I hated moving around and just wanted to rebel against my father. Typical kid stuff.

It wasn’t until August of 1991, when I was ten years old, that I was finally able to put that research to use.

(Y/N) stared down at the paper that rested on a notebook in his lap. His eyes were wide and filled with stress, fingers tangled in his short hair, his back slouched ever so slightly. Dean sat a couple of inches away from him near the end of the bed, his homework in his lap, while Sam leaned against the headboard, a book in his hands that he had gotten from the school library. Dean looked up from his work, noticing the look of despair on his brother’s face before he glanced down at his worksheet. Dean grimaced and let out a hiss.

“Multiplying fractions?” He asked, a hint of sympathy in his tone.

Without looking up, (Y/N) gave a short nod. Dean pressed his lips together in a thin line before he set his pencil down beside him.

“Do you need help?” Dean offered.

(Y/N) lifted his head and looked at his older brother, giving a small, soundless nod. Dean offered a smile as he moved closer to him so that they were sitting next to one another. Dean craned his neck to be able to look at the paper, tilting his head as he studied the equations.

“Which one are you having problems with?” He asked.

“All of them,” (Y/N) answered.

Dean snorted. “Okay, so, it’s easy-”

“Wow, Dean thinks math is easy?” Sam mumbled, a smirk playing on his lips.

Dean lifted his head and glared at Sam. “Shut up, bitch,”

Sam shot a bitch-face towards Dean. “You shut up, jerk,” he retorted.

(Y/N) let out a frustrated grunt. “Will both of you assholes shut up!? I don’t understand this!” His voice was filled with annoyance and desperation.

Dean and Sam shot their brother a look. Sam rolled his eyes as he returned to the book. Dean looked back down at the paper, mumbling an apology under his breath. He then began to help (Y/N) with his homework, walking him through all of the problems that he had. (Y/N) still felt as if Dean was speaking in a foreign language, but he could understand the homework a little easier.

When the paper was halfway finished, the door to the motel room suddenly burst open, causing the three brothers to jump, their eyes wide as they turned and looked at the person who had just entered. John stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him. He stomped over to the couch that sat in front of the small television set and plopped down on it. He ran his hands down his face and let a small growl emit from his throat.

Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) shared a glance, almost as if they were communicating telepathically. After a while, Dean and Sam both turned their attention toward their brother, their eyes locked on his. After looking back and forth between the two, (Y/N) let out a soundless sigh as he set his homework beside him. He moved off of the bed and padded across the aged carpet to the couch. Slowly, he walked around the sofa so that he could see his father.

John looked tired. Dark circles were prominent underneath his eyes. One of his legs was propped up on the couch while the other lay bent in front of him. His elbow rested on the arm of the sofa, his cheek placed against his right hand as he stared at the television in front of him. Nothing played. When (Y/N) came into view, John glanced at him out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment. He said nothing.

“Hey, Dad,” (Y/N) greeted. “Um…how were the, uh, interviews with the victims’ families?”

John shook his head. “Not great, kid,” he grumbled.

“No?”

“No.”

As (Y/N) stared at his father, he timidly moved over to the couch. John hesitantly moved his leg as (Y/N) sat down next to him.

“Did you…learn anything?”

“Why aren’t you boys in bed?” John grunted.

“We’re finishing our homework.”

“Then shouldn’t you be working on it?”

(Y/N)’s shoulders slouched. “I just…wanted to see how it went is all…”

“You want to know how it went?” John’s voice got deeper. “You really want to know how it went? Fucking terrible. That’s how it went,” John straightened himself out on the couch before he stood up. He began to pace around the room, his tone of voice getting more and more irritable. “I thought I had a good fucking lead going. All of the victims went to the same fucking bookstore a couple of days before their deaths and got the same book. Seems like a fucking coincidence, right? Then I go to the goddamn bookstore to see what the book was and all it was was something called Aradia or some shit like that. Some type of foreign book bullshit, I don’t fucking know.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as John continued to rant. He looked down and away from his father. He got lost, deep in thought, the words that John was speaking irrelevant to him now. Finally, he turned back to him, kneeling on the couch as he raised his brows.

“Did you say Aradia?” He questioned in the middle of John’s rant.

John stopped pacing around the room as he looked back at (Y/N). Dean and Sam’s attention immediately turned to him, their eyes wide. John’s jaw was clenched, the anger and irritation still emanating from him. “Yeah,” he replied deeply.

“Aradia…” (Y/N) trailed before he shook his head. “That’s not a foreign book, Dad! That’s only the first half of the title. The full title is Aradia or the Gospel of the Witches. It was one of the most influential pieces of literature in the nineteenth century to witches! You’re dealing with a witch!” (Y/N)’s eyes widened as a smile appeared on his face.

John’s expression went from furious to confusion. He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know about that book?” He questioned.

“I read about it in a library a little bit ago.” (Y/N) answered quickly.

John pressed his tongue into his cheek as he slowly nodded his head. He looked at Sam and Dean, who were still staring with wide eyes at their brother, and then back at (Y/N). He ran a hand down his face stressfully.

“You boys finish your homework,” he mumbled as he walked towards the door. “I have to make a call.”

Without allowing anyone to respond, John left the motel room, closing the door behind him a little gentler than when he entered. (Y/N)’s smile faded as he watched his father leave, his shoulders dropping. The three brothers sat in silence for a minute before they looked at one another.

“Come on,” Dean said as he patted the spot on the bed next to him. “Let’s finish these math problems.”

Even though Dad never told me, I knew I was right. I knew it was a witch that he had dealt with. We didn’t even get to go to school the next day. He had found and killed her before I was able to turn in that math homework. What a waste of time.

I would like to think that Dad was proud of me in that situation, but he never said anything. He never brought it up again as far as I can remember. It was something that he had put in the past, along with all of the other hunts that we had been on. However, even if he wasn’t proud of me back then, I was proud of myself. Proud that I was able to help my Dad even if I wasn’t beside him when he took that bitch down.

God, I hate witches.

MAY 1993

I didn’t touch a gun until I was twelve years old. By that point, I had stopped begging Dad to teach me how to hunt, because it seemed that the only answer I was going to be getting was ‘No’. I figured that I would go to the next best person for the job.

I had to ask Dean.

Dean was very protective of Sammy and me when we were younger. He still is super protective of us, even in our ripe old ages. But because of how protective he could get, he was very hesitant about teaching me how to shoot a gun. However, with Dad talking about Dean going on hunts with him more and more by then, I knew that I would be left alone with Sammy. I used the excuse that I needed to learn how to shoot a gun eventually so that I could protect the two of us when we were by ourselves. I couldn’t be expected to be safe when the only two people who knew how to shoot were away.

That reasoning caught Dean’s attention.

After the fifth or sixth time asking him, Dean had finally agreed. A couple of days passed and, when Dad was a couple of towns away gathering information for a hunt, Dean and I skipped school. Shocking, right? I think Dean used the excuse that I hadn’t been feeling well and he had to take care of me. He even wrote out a fake doctor’s note and everything. Back then, you could get away with a handwritten note. I’m not too sure if you could now.

Once Sammy had been dropped off at school that day, Dean and I walked to a creek a couple of miles away from the school. He had set up a couple of cans on a log, some recycled stuff that he had picked up along the way. He had brought one of Dad’s small handguns with him. When he gave it to me, it felt so surreal. So different.

I never really understood what the big fuss was about, though.

Shooting a gun was easy.

“No, you can’t have your hand that low! You have it that low and the gun is going to come out of your hand when you shoot it,” Dean grumbled.

Dean took (Y/N)’s hand in his and adjusted it so that it fits perfectly onto the grip of the handgun. He then took his other hand and placed it on top of the one that was already on the gun. (Y/N) furrowed his brows as he looked at the way his hands nestled against one another.

“This doesn’t feel right.” He said. “Why can’t I just hold it with one hand like the cops do in the movies?”

“Because you’re twelve, dummy. You’re not in your forties and have years of experience under your belt,” Dean rolled his eyes. “And that is exactly how you should hold it if you don’t want to get hit in the face with your weapon after you fire it.”

(Y/N) listened intently to what his brother was saying, giving him a small nod before he straightened his back up.

“Stop.” Dean held up a hand.

(Y/N) shot Dean a confused look. “What?”

“You’re standing wrong.”

“I’m standing wrong…”

“Yeah, here,” Dean walked over, pressing his hand against the top of (Y/N)’s back ever so slightly, leaning him forward. “If you have your back too straight, then you’re more likely to fall backward. You also,” Dean kicked (Y/N)’s feet apart. “Need to have your feet apart. Keeps you more ground.”

(Y/N) looked down at the ground for a moment, taking in the appearance and feel of his stance. The way his back leaned forward and the way his legs were spread. He nodded.

“Okay, now I shoot?”

“Is your safety off?”

“Safety?”

Dean sighed, moving back over to him. He took the gun from (Y/N)’s grasp and flashed the left side of the gun. “You see this little trigger?” When Dean received a nod from his brother, he continued. “If it’s facing side-to-side, that means the safety is on. That means the gun won’t fire. All you have to do is flick this little switch,” Dean turned the safety off. “Once it’s up and down, then that means it’s ready to fire.” He handed the gun back to (Y/N). “Now, get back into position.”

(Y/N) glanced down at the safety mechanism on the gun for a moment before he nodded. He got back into the position that he was in, spreading his legs apart the same length Dean had and slouching his back forward ever so slightly. Once he received a nod of approval from Dean, (Y/N) lifted his arms, cocking his head to the side. He aimed at the can farthest to the left. He closed his left eye and placed his finger on the trigger.

“Stop!” Dean said more abruptly.

(Y/N) jumped and moved his finger off the trigger, standing up straighter to face Dean. “What!?” He asked exasperatedly.

Dean shook his head. “You can’t have one eye closed.”

“Why not? Snipers do it!”

“Because snipers are far enough away from combat. They need to look through a scope to get a good shot. You, on the other hand, are feet away from whatever monster you’re dealing with. What happens when you’re facing more than one monster? You leave yourself open to being taken out on your left.” Dean’s tone was stern, yet calm. His arms were crossed over his chest.

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded as he grasped an understanding of Dean’s thinking. “Both eyes open?”

“Both eyes open.” Dean backed up a bit. “Back into position.”

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath before resuming his position. Legs spread, back bent, arms up, head tilted, both eyes open. His goal was to hit the used can of peaches that sat on the outside of the log. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from anxiousness and anticipation. He was surprised the gun wasn’t shaking in his grasp.

His eyes were on the cartoon peaches that were etched onto the label of the can. More specifically, the pit that sat in the center of the peach. He wanted to hit the pit. He never moved his eyes from the pit as he took a deep breath, his shoulders rising. Finally, as he exhaled, his shoulders dropping, he pulled the trigger.

The can flew into the air and seemed to dramatically and unceremoniously fall into the creek. A small splash echoed in (Y/N)’s ears, accompanied by the ringing of the gunshot.

One thing that (Y/N) noted was that his hands ached, both from the vice grip he had on the gun and the recoil that he hadn’t expected. Sure, Dean had informed him about it before, but he wasn’t sure how it would feel. His hands would definitely bruise.

(Y/N) lowered the gun, looking over at his brother to see that Dean wore a stunned expression on his face. Dean’s mouth hung open as his eyes were glued to the can that lay in the flowing water. (Y/N) watched in silence as Dean walked over to the can. He reached down and picked it up by the opening, wincing from the heat of the bullet hole before he swapped hands. He studied the can. It seemed like too much time had passed before he turned the can so (Y/N) could see.

(Y/N) had gotten it on his first try.

The bullet hole?

Right in the pit.

(Y/N) raised his brows, a mixture of pride and surprise coursing through him. A wide smile appeared on his face. Similarly, a smirk appeared on Dean’s lips. Dean chuckled before he tossed the can into the water.

“Beginner’s luck,” he said, brushing his hands onto his jeans. “Let’s see if you can hit the other ones.”

I shot through the rest of the cans, the same as I had done for that can of peaches. Not to toot my own horn, but I was a natural when it came to a pistol. I don’t mean to sound egotistic about this, but Dean can back up any statement that I’m making about this story.

I could tell that Dean was proud of me that day. He never said he was, but the way he looked at me and the way he treated me afterward told me things that words couldn’t. It’s hard to describe, but it almost felt like he had gained some respect for me that day. It felt good. Even as I am writing about this story, I can’t keep the smile off my face. I always looked up at Dean, so it feels great to think that I had done something to bring a smile to his stupid face.

My hands hurt like hell after it was all said and done. I had gotten a couple of bruises near the thumb on my right hand that I brushed off to my Dad as something that I had picked up when I got into a fight at school. Dean had backed me up when Dad got on my ass about it. Dad told me that I had to get along with the other kids so I didn’t give the wrong impression at the schools I went to. It wasn’t like they would remember me anyway. Of course, I didn’t tell him that. I knew when to bite my tongue.

Dad never found out about the shooting practice. I get a feeling that he had a sneaking suspicion as soon as he took me to practice himself years later, but I never told him about it. I never told him that Dean had been the one to teach me how to stand correctly, or where to find the safety of a gun. I know that he knew it was Dean. A part of me wonders if Dean ever got in trouble for it, or if it was something that Dad even brought up. I would never ask Dean about it now, though.

Some things are best to be left in the past.

NOVEMBER 1999

By the time I turned eighteen, I had already been on several hunts with Dad and Dean. The majority of the time, though, I would stay back and watch Sammy. Even though he was a teenager and had the capability of taking care of himself, Dad expressed that he was still a kid and needed to be looked after. A part of me thought it was bullshit at the time, but another part of me was glad that I was able to spend time with my younger brother.

Now, I know the real reason behind my staying with Sammy was because some of the hunts that Dad and Dean went on were ‘rough’. A little ‘too hard’ for me.

Dad didn’t want to lose the son that reminded him of his wife.

At least, that was what Dean told me, and I believe him.

It was a blessing and a curse, come to think of it. There were times that I stayed behind and Dad called me up, needing me to do some research for the case that they were working on. He had said it would be faster if someone was working on the research while he and Dean were out taking interviews. In the end, it was more efficient. I would gather the necessary information and hand it off to him and they would be back at the motel a lot quicker than if they had been the ones to look up the information.

That was the system that we worked with for a while. After a couple of months, Dad informed me that he didn’t want me to do the research anymore. He wanted Sammy to be the one to do it. I remember him saying that Sammy needed to focus more on the hunting aspect of his life. That school was just a waste of time at that point. He was old enough to get into it.

Sammy hated the idea when I told him. He loved school. He was always such a nerd. Still is. An even bigger nerd if you can believe it. I knew how much school meant to him, and I didn’t want him to be discouraged from doing his schoolwork. He shouldn’t have been forced to do anything that he didn’t want to. So, I decided that I was going to do the research and just tell Dad that he had been the one to do it. Sammy was thankful.

That was until Dad called.

Dad wasn't as stupid as I took him for most of the time. He knew that Sammy hadn’t done any of the research, that I was the one that did it all. By the time he and Dean got back, he gave Sammy a verbal lashing. I tried to defend him, but nothing worked. In the end, Sammy gave in. He would do the research for the next hunt.

Like clockwork, when the next hunt rolled around, with Sammy and I staying back at the motel, Dad had called. He had given Sammy the information that he needed to research and we headed off to the local library. Once we got the necessary books, we took them back to the motel and he began to work.

I could tell that it wasn’t going well.

Sam sat at the small table near the motel room door, two books placed in front of him. His back was slouched as he looked from one book to another, flipping through pages frantically. He had been going at it for several hours by then, evident by the bags that were present underneath his eyes and the redness around his pupils. (Y/N) sat on the couch, watching some old western show. Now and then he would look at his little brother. He could see how tired and stressed he was about the entire situation. (Y/N) had never seen Sam that stressed out before, even when he was studying for a test in one of his AP classes.

Eventually, Sam pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, lowering his head, as if accepting defeat. (Y/N) studied his movements, and, after he saw that he had not moved in a while, he decided the best thing to do was to help him out. He picked up the remote and turned off the television before tossing it aside. He stood from his spot on the couch and walked over to the table. He grabbed the spare chair, pulled it beside Sam, and sat down.

“Having some trouble?” He questioned.

Sam’s shoulders rose and fell as a sigh escaped his lips. He removed his hands from his face and placed them into his lengthy hair. His eyes were cast down towards the table. He stayed in the same position for some time before he looked up at (Y/N).

“No,” he answered, pulling the books towards him. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I said ‘I’m fine’,” Sam repeated through gritted teeth.

(Y/N) studied him with an expressionless face. Sam kept his eyes down, looking from one book to another. (Y/N) was able to see the stress that was emitted from his brother even better with how close he was sitting. He took one look at the books before he shook his head.

“I’m sorry Dad’s making you do this.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t be doing this alone the first time…” he trailed. “But if Dad found out I helped you-”

“You’d get in trouble, and so would I. Yeah, I know.”

(Y/N) pursed his lips. “You know, it took me a little over a year to get comfortable with translating Latin. I sometimes screw up from time to time.”

“Still?”

“Yeah, still,” he chuckled. “That’s why I got something that helps me out now and again.”

With that, (Y/N) stood from his spot on the chair and waltzed over to the bed in the far corner of the room. Beside the bed sat his black duffel bag. He picked it up and placed it on the bed. He began to rummage through it, sorting through clothes and weapons that rested at the bottom. Wedged into the corner of his bag sat a book. He picked it up and brought it over to the table. He took a seat next to Sam once more and placed the book in front of him.

Sam furrowed his brows as he studied the cover. It was a Latin-English translation book. It looked rather similar to the one that he had picked up at the library. The only difference was the color of the cover was a little faded and, along the outside of the book, between all of the pages, were multi-colored Post-it notes. Each Post-it note had different letter combinations on it, as well as notes written on some of them. Sam opened the cover and he raised his brows when he saw that the first page was replaced by a notebook-sized piece of paper, taped to the front page. There were multiple words in English on the left side with their corresponding Latin translation on the right.

“What’s this?” Sam asked.

“It’s a translation book I picked up a couple of years back at a bookstore. I figured since there were going to be a lot of things that needed translating, then I was going to have to make it easier for myself to find the words. The only problem is that most of these translation books are so damn compressed that it’s hard to find certain words without getting blurry vision. So, I took the liberty to mark down all of the times when the letters change in the words. For example, when the words that start with ‘AB’ transfer to words that start with ‘AC’. It always made it easier to find. Plus, I made a page at the beginning about common words that I have found in my research so that it would be easier to translate them.”

As (Y/N) explained, he gestured with his hand toward the book. Sam listened intently, taking in all of the information that he was given, nodding his head. Once (Y/N) was done talking, Sam looked down at the book and then back up at him.

“You did all this?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) chuckled. “Crazy, right?”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. Wish you put that much effort into your homework when you were still in school.”

“Hey,” (Y/N) leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “School was fine and all, but this is something I enjoy, and I’m good at it. I’m good at hunting research and you’re good in school.”

“And what’s Dean good at?”

“Being a pain in the ass.”

Sam smiled widely, his dimples more prominent than (Y/N) had seen in a while. After a beat or two of silence, the smile faded as he looked down.

“I wish Dad could see that I’m good at school.”

The corner of (Y/N)’s mouth curved downward. It was his turn to look down at the table. He reached over and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder comfortingly. “I know, kiddo,” he mumbled. “But Dean and I both see how much of a nerd you are. Don’t worry.”

A smile returned to Sam’s face, but it wasn’t as happy as the last one. They sat in silence for a little bit before (Y/N) lowered his hand and Sam moved back to the books.

“You got it from here?” (Y/N) questioned.

“Yeah, I got it,”

“Great,” (Y/N) said as he stood from his seat and patted Sam on the back. “Call me over if you need anything.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to call you over when I get to the part about multiplying fractions.”

(Y/N) glared at Sam and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“No, no I’m not.”

Sammy still teases me to this day about not knowing how to multiply fractions. Even though it was decades ago at this point, he still likes to tease me about it. Little shit.

With my help, Sammy was able to get the translations done a lot faster than he expected. I remember seeing the relief on his face when he had finished. Poor kid was so exhausted. Dad was more than pleased when he called and asked about it. Dad never found out that I had helped him out a bit, and neither Sammy nor I were planning on telling him. I just wanted Sammy to have an easier time than I did when I was first learning about research, specifically translations.

In the end, I would have to say that Sammy is better than me when it comes to research. He’s taken the reigns on many different hunts because of how proficient he is with technology. I’m good with old-fashioned ways of research, but Sammy’s the nerd when it comes to computers.

Sammy has told me once or twice, though, that I was the one that helped him the most when it came to his knowledge of research. That, without my help, he wouldn’t have been as good at it as he is now.

I call bullshit. Sammy has always been a smart kid.

He could do anything he put his mind to.

SEPTEMBER 2014

This is all I can write at the moment. Dean called me to the kitchen a couple of minutes ago saying that dinner was ready. I need to wrap this up before he or Sammy comes in here and sees what I’m doing. I know that I would get endlessly teased about keeping a ‘diary’. I need to make sure to hide this in a good enough place where neither of them will find it if they go snooping through my room.

Sam, Dean, if you guys are reading this, I’ll get you back.

But if you’re going to read it, I just want to let you know that I love you guys.

Not that I’m into chick-flick moments or anything.

I’m just glad that I have you guys as my brothers. No one could ask for a better family than you two.

Okay, that was cheesy. I wish I wasn’t writing this in pen so I could erase it.

Dammit.

I’m not too sure how to end this, so I guess I’ll just write again sometime when I can. Perhaps I could do like Dad did in his journal and write about all of the new monsters we have discovered over the years. Or maybe write more memories down. This journal is going to be so cluttered that no one is going to want to read it. There’s no way I’m going to get famous from this.

Dean just called me to the kitchen again.

Until next time.

Happy hunting. (That was stupid, think of something better).

WE LOVE YOU TOO - SAM + DEAN

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The Golden Cage (Epilogue)

[modern! mafia boss • Aemond x female]

[warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, fluff]

[description: Aemond works with the mob and finds a new accomplice. His attention is drawn to his daughter, trying to isolate herself as much as possible from their criminal underworld. Angst, domination kink, a lot of sexual tension.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous chapters: Masterlist

_____

Ever since he'd come to her that morning when he'd sought comfort in her arms after Luke's death, their relationship had taken a different level that she couldn't understand. Her confession - her promise to be by his side - made him take it literally. And even though she meant what she said then, it surprised her.

She quickly realized that the Black Moon Club was owned by his family without even having to ask him. She knew that he was tired of her father complaining about him, screwing his daughter under his roof. One day she got a text from an unknown number and she knew it was him.

A: "Little birdie - BMC, today, at 9 p.m."

She looked at the message as if it were some kind of code, but then she understood what he meant. He wanted to meet her on his land, he wanted her to come to him. She pursed her lips at the thought.

She knew that her feelings for him were disturbing to say the least. Every time he fucked her, he drew from her the confessions of her fervent devotion and love, which he craved as much as a child in need of a parent's approval. Not that he wanted her to dominate him - his control gave him a sense of security.

She wasn't sure if she should give him what he wanted. On reflection she decided, that he was always the one who came to her so she could take that into account. However, she decided that she wouldn't make it easy for him.

Y: "I have an important exam tomorrow."

She answered him impassively, which was true. She knew that for some reason he was obsessed with her studies, her good grades, and her academic performance. He often asked her if she had prepared well for the upcoming exam.

She believed that deep down he couldn't bear the fact, that his family forced him to drop out of college to focus solely on their underground business.

She knew that he felt deficient in that regard. He constantly borrowed books from her when she no longer needed them. He also liked to watch her read, lying next to him, naked.

He would lie there, resting his forehead against her warm, soft shoulder, kissing it gently once in a while, looking at her. He fell asleep, and after a while she turned off the lamp, lay down next to him and dozed off. His big hand would find her then and pull her to him.

A: "I need you."

She pursed her lips as she read the words. She knew that he had defeated her. Since Luke's deat, there has been a huge division in his family, with shootings and homicides.

She knew he was here today but might not be tomorrow.

That she might have been the target of his uncle's attack, and that was why his men had followed her closely, watching her from afar. She pretended not to see it so as not to go crazy.

She gave in and went to see him at the appointed time. In front of the entrance to the club stood the same security guards with whom she had spoken many times. Now they didn't stop her when they saw her, letting her in right away. People in the club turned to her, curious.

She knew that she was some kind of enigma, a shadow woman who came and went by his side. Not that it bothered her. She had no intention of being his whore.

She had no problem being his property, though. She knew he was only pretending to objectify her. She was like a precious jewel to him, which he hid from everyone in the closet.

She saw him sitting on a sofa with several girls and other men, one of them leaning towards him, talking to him quickly, anxiously. He seemed to be explaining something to him, and Aemond didn't seem convinced by his explanation. She could tell from the smallest gestures on his face whether he was pleased or not.

He smoked a cigarette, staring blankly ahead, his face hardened, his lips tight. Whatever the man was saying didn't work, Aemond was growing impatient. She saw him roll his eye and say something slowly, low, the man next to him curled up.

She pursed her lips as she saw one of the girls, apparently accompanying them, cuddle up to his shoulder, whispering something in his ear.

She wanted to turn and leave, but then he saw her, his pupil narrowed. She could see that he stopped listening to what this helpless guy was saying to him, and focused only on what she looked like.

His gaze fell on her legs, on her pretty, black, sparkly boots, tied up in a knot, her white, soft, wool mid-thigh socks, her soft, black, velor dress with a white collar and long sleeves that hugged her waist so nicely. She knew that she did not fit into this interior, this music, these people who surrounded him and that was her goal.

She wasn't going to be absorbed into his world, snorting cocaine next to him like those girls, who were looking for sponsors and daddies. She wasn't desperate, because she had no reason to be.

But now, looking at this girl who was clinging to his arm, who was still trying to talk to him, not realizing that he was now looking only at her, she felt a pang of jealousy and pain.

She wondered if that was why he had invited her. To make her feel that he is her owner, not she his. That he can do what he wants, fuck who he wants. She pursed her lips at the thought.

She shuddered and took a step back as she saw him slowly stand up, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. He blew smoke through his nose, ignoring the surprised look of the guy that he had apparently stopped talking to mid-sentence and the disappointed look of the girl, who was now looking at her, disturbed.

Aemond approached her unhurriedly, his black T-shirt tucked into his pants, showing how well built he was. She tried not to think about how her body reacted automatically to the sight of him with the moisture between her thighs.

He grabbed her nape with his big hand and obviously wanted to kiss her, but she turned her face away. He stopped mid-gesture, narrowing his eye. They stared at each other for a moment.

“You asked me to come, so here I am. What happened?" She asked, raising her voice a little, so she could be heard over the announcing club music surrounding them. Aemond looked at her thoughtfully, still holding her by the scruff of the neck.

“Something must have happened?” He asked dispassionately, and she felt a tightness in her heart. He must have seen her gaze soften suddenly, because a smirk appeared on his face. "You look nice with jealousy on your face."

She broke away from him, wanting to head for the exit, but he grabbed her arm and spun her around in a swift motion towards him, pulling her so that she crashed into him, slamming her face into his chest. He locked her in his arms and wouldn't let her go, her hands on his chest trying to pull away. He chuckled at her helpless efforts.

"Come on. Let's go fuck."

As soon as they entered one of the VIP rooms he literally pounced on her, shoving his fleshy tongue into her lips down to her throat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw, that he had chosen a room that had a nice double bed, not a couch and table like the others. Her whole body shivered as she thought that he had it all planned out.

He grabbed her hips and lifted her as lightly as if she weighed nothing. He headed for the bed and threw himself on it with her, she felt the pleasant smell of clean sheets around her.

Her breathing quickened, her muscles clenched in her lower abdomen as he quickly took off her boots and then her panties. It was not in his nature to pretend or subtly build desire. He got straight to the point, and his directness made her want it even more.

She sighed and shivered as his hands ran over her thighs and the material of her high socks, looking at the sight with appreciation. He grunted in satisfaction, seeing how wet she was, how beautiful it looked.

"I love it when you wear them." He said, slipping his finger under the material of her soft sock, stroking her bare skin underneath. “They're so fucking sexy. I'll fuck you in them, okay?" He hummed, and she nodded so eagerly that he chuckled, a smile of satisfaction on his face.

“Such a good girl. You deserve an award today." He grunted in appreciation and leaned over her, the tip of his tongue running timidly over her entrance.

Her whole body arched in pleasure at this gentle sensation, she trembled, a sweet moan escaped from her mouth. She felt him smiling, his hands tightening on her thighs, his mouth and tongue moving to her clit, teasing her with wet, circular motions. She clenched her hands to the sheets around her, pursed her lips, trying hard not to make any noise.

She heard him pull away from her, licking his lips, looking at her expectantly.

"Is this a punishment?" He grunted, apparently slightly amused by her efforts. She pursed her lips at his words, annoyed, her pussy throbbing all over, hot and swollen with desire.

"Take the girl from your table. She looked like she wanted to moan with you." She said, squinting, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling. She saw his eye gleam menacingly. She shivered.

He leaned over her again, and she arched back, taking a deep breath as she felt his tongue slide suddenly inside her, all the way to the end. He licked her in a fast, intense, perverted rhythm, immediately caressing and teasing the place that gave her the greatest pleasure.

Usually at first he was tormenting her by not allowing her to experience her full pleasure, but now he was clearly determined to bring her to orgasm as soon as possible.

She rose slightly on her hands, spreading her thighs wider in front of him, one of her hands automatically slid into his hair, pressing him closer to her, wanting to feel him even deeper.

She couldn't help herself, her hips responded greedily to his caresses, broken, powerless moans of pleasure escaped her lips every time the tip of his tongue brushed against her wonderful spot.

She began to pant, and they both sped up their movements, her moans getting louder and more desperate, he had never been so determined to satisfy her so quickly. She leaned back and moaned loudly in surprise as she felt a sudden wave of heat and pleasure run through her body, her insides tightening on his tongue, her hips falling against his face.

She heard his hum of satisfaction, licking everything that flowed out of her patiently, delighted. He pulled away from her and wiped his face with his hand, giving her a look so proud of himself that she pursed her lips in frustration.

"What's that face, little birdie? Where's the thank you?" He asked amused, starting to unbutton his pants. She swallowed softly at his words, looking at him, her chest heaving uneasily. She thought that if he wanted to play like that, she would drive him crazy herself.

She spread her thighs for him, pulling her dress up to reveal everything to him, her expression now soft, innocent, her lips parted sweetly, invitingly.

"Right here, between my thighs." She whispered, her hands on either side of her head in total surrender. "Don't you want to feel how warm I am inside?"

She saw his iris darken at her words, his jaw clench as he quickly unzipped his fly and slid his pants down, along with his boxers, leaving him naked from the waist down.

She parted her lips with a slight smile of satisfaction as she saw how hard he was, his cock throbbing impatiently, swollen. He squeezed himself at the base several times as he looked at her.

"Of course I fucking want to. I'm gonna cum in you a few times today, okay?" He hummed, taking her thighs in his hands, pulling them to him so that the tip of his cock pressed against her wet, throbbing entrance.

She nodded at his words and moaned softly, her hands gripping the sheets on either side of her head as she felt him slither into her a little, pushing her fleshy, hot, oversensitive walls to the limit.

“Yes, cum inside me as many times as you want” She mumbled and started panting with him, as he began to move at a fast, intense pace, his cock penetrating her all the way, stretching her hot inside painfully hard.

"Just like that. My girl likes to be taken care of, doesn't she?" He panted, thrusting into her fast, his thighs slapping her buttocks with all his might with a perverted, wet slap of their bodies, that made her nipples stick out. She moaned sweetly at his words, her body leaning back in pleasure, as his thumb began to tease her clit again.

"− y-yes − yes − please, take care of me −" She sobbed helplessly, wanting only to be fulfilled with him again, to feel his seed deep inside her, to feel how much he desired her.

She heard him groan low at her words, speeding up, the mattress creaking beneath them with each of his brutal thrusts into her tight pussy.

"You want to please me, don't you? So fucking come for me, squeeze on my cock a bit.” He purred in delight, out of breath, close to the fulfillment he needed. Her body began to tremble, heat gathering again in her lower abdomen, she felt that she was close.

"− I will, just please, touch me there −" She mewled and moaned surprised as his thumb began to massage her clit in circular motions, teasing her almost painfully, making her body try to pull away, thrusting into her with sticky slaps.

"− come on, babygirl, give it to me −give me what I want −” He panted helplessly and she leaned back, her mouth parted, her whole body tense.

A loud, sweet moan escaped her throat, as a second orgasm washed over her in wonderful, hot waves, her insides clenching against his throbbing cock. Feeling it, he tipped his head back, his hips pumping against her relentlessly.

"− that's right − fuck, yes! −" He gasped loudly as he cum inside her, breathing heavily, staring at her with his mouth parted.

He fell on top of her, pinning her with his body, his face against her cheek. She didn't think about it, just hugged him, breathing fast and he grunted contentedly. She could feel him pulsating inside her, the remnants of his seed spilling over her hot core. They both tried to calm down.

She felt his nose press against her soft skin, tracing it slowly up and down her face, inhaling her scent. He often did this after their close-ups, once in a while placing soft, wet kisses on her cheek. She sighed softly, closing her eyes. Hearing this, he spoke up.

"You're so silly, little birdie. Don't you knowthat you're the only one I fuck with?" He purred, placing small, sweet kisses on her skin. "The only one I cum in?"

She felt a shiver go through her at his words. She wondered why she cared at all. She tried to kid herself that it would be better if he finally found another object of desire, but she knew that wasn't true.

She was as addicted to him as he was to her.

"I wanted you to come, because I want to discuss something with you." He said calmly and she looked at him, turning to face him. His hand slowly ran over her cheek and hair. They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“I want to move out of my family home into my new apartment. Move in with me. I want to have you by my side." He spoke softly, and she gasped, her mouth parted, completely taken aback by his proposal.

For a moment she couldn't get a word out. She looked down, afraid to say what was on her mind.

"I don't want to be your dependent." She said finally.

He pursed his lips and she knew that he didn't like her words. Still, when he answered her, his voice sounded gentle.

"Finish your studies. Find a job that suits you. Just be by my side."

_____

Thank you for your journey, this is by far one of my favorite fanfics I've written here! 😭😭😭

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96

Others: @okfashionista @abrielletargaryen

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aanoia · 2 years ago

Text

Always By Your Side

Kaz Brekker x reader

Warnings; slightly ooc Kaz, death, mentions of sickness, blood, could be an interpretation of suicide if you look at the end closely

Words; 1155

Song; Saturn by Sleeping At Last

I've only read the first book in the Six of Crows duology, I haven't yet watched the show.

Anyway, kaz brekker is goated so here we are.

Also, the mention of three taps is supposed to be the I love you thing. I saw another fic that I'll have to find that talked about three taps with Kaz and I wanted to incorporate it and possibly write a separate fic with it as well. Once I find the three taps fic I read I'll for sure tag the creator because their writing was breathtaking.

Requests are welcome and encouraged! If you like my writing and would like me to write for another Fandom you can look at my pinned post for my Fandom list!

Thank you for reading <3

You taught me the courage of stars before you left

Kaz had lost everything. His mother had died during childbirth. His father in a farming accident. His brother due to sickness. He had lost so much. But he always had you. Except, now you too, were lost.

How light carries on endlessly even after death

Kaz watched as the Crow Club was laughing and dancing in honor of you. It was something you would’ve wanted instead of a bunch of people dressed in black while crying. He felt a twinge of guilt in his chest. You would’ve loved this. It was so upbeat and cheerful. It was happy, like you were. Kaz never understood how after everything this Saint forsaken world had thrown at you, you still held a smile on your face and a bounce in your step.

With shortness of breath

You explained the infinite

“Kaz.” You whispered, hand gripping his arm with whatever strength you had left. Thunder rang through the air as heavy rain poured down from the skies.

“Sh, rest, Y/n. Rest.” He instructed softly as he limped painfully with you in his arms, the blood from your abdomen staining his coat.

“Kaz, I love you.” You said carefully, feeling the breath slowly leave your lungs.

“Tell me that when you get better.” He demanded, pressure growing behind his eyes.

How rare and beautiful it is to even exist

“Kaz, you need to promise me something.” He ignored you, looking ahead determined despite his ankle begging for a break. “Kaz, please, look at me.” He didn’t answer, instead gasping as he dropped to the ground, his ankle giving out and tears spilling from his eyes.

“I can’t- I can’t do it.” He confessed. “I can’t lose you too, Y/n.”

You smiled and placed your hand on his cheek.

I couldn’t help but ask you to say it all again

I tried to write it down

But I could never find a pen

“You’ll never lose me.” You had said gently. “I’ll always be with you.”

“No, you won-”

“Sh, of course I will. I won’t ever leave your side. But I need you to promise me something, Kaz.”

I’d give anything to hear

You say it one more time

“What is it?” Kaz asked as you wiped away his tears.

“Become something more. More than Dirtyhands. Become the boy you once were.” You asked.

“He’s weak.”

“He’s happy, and soft, and sweet. Kaz, I love you so much, as you are now. But please, don’t let this be your life until the day you die. Be kind, Kaz.” You begged as your heart rapidly beat weakly against your chest.

That the universe was made

Just to be seen by my eyes

“I don’t know if I can do it without you.” Kaz said quietly, fear taking over his body.

You laughed weakly, “How many times must I tell you I’m not going anywhere? I’ll always be with you. In here.” You placed your hand on his chest, right above his heart. “And my ghost will haunt you forever.”

Kaz’s chest shook as a wet laugh came from his lips, “I’m so scared.” He said jokingly, but you could tell there was truth to his words.

You used the last of your energy to carefully pull his head down and meet your lips. Your lips were cold which made shivers run through Kaz’s body, reminding him of the sickly feeling of his brother's skin. Kaz shut his eyes tightly once your lips stopped moving and your hand fell limp. He pulled away and rested his forehead on yours as his tears mixed with raindrops.

Anyone who passed by the scene would be shocked to see the notorious Dirtyhands sobbing over a girl's body, clutching her tightly to his chest as he rocked back and forth. He prayed to Saints he didn’t believe to give you back your breath and the gentle thump of your heart, but they never came.

I couldn’t help but ask you to say it all again

I tried to write it down

But I could never find a pen

Kaz downed the rest of his drink, sitting down defeated on the stool next to him, looking out the window into the rainy streets. He knew he should be joining the group and doing what you had told him. But he couldn’t find the strength in himself to do so. Kaz was broken. Shattered into a million pieces. He wasn’t sure there was any fixing him.

I’d give anything to hear

You say it one more time

A shiver went down Kaz’s spine as a single crow landed in front the window, gently tapping three times onto the glass. Kaz’s posture straightened as he stared intently at the bird. Its beady eyes stared at him as his own eyes widened. He looked to his side, and although it was empty, he knew someone was there. He knew you were there. Probably watching the dancing with a wide smile on your face, overjoyed that this was all for you. Kaz smiled softly.

That the universe was made

Just to be seen by my eyes

Kaz looked to his side with a small smile, knowing you were there. Watching with a smile as he donated the money his latest heist gave him. He could never stop with the criminal life, it was too late for that. He could, however, bring good from it. He would never tell his fellow Crows what he did with his portion of the money they stole, never admitting to having a kind bone in his body. But he knew that despite it being done in secret, his kindness was enough for you.

With shortness of breath,

I’ll explain the infinite

Kaz carefully placed a chest full of millions of kruge on his desk as his dearest friends stood surprised in the office. Each Crow's eyes had widened, Jespers dramatically falling wide open.

“What is that for?” Wylan asked carefully, unsure of what Kaz had planned.

“Take it.” Kaz said evenly. “Split it evenly amongst yourselves and live the lives you have always dreamed of. Except for you Jesper, you are not allowed to gamble a penny of your kruge or it will be taken from you and donated.”

“Well, one, rude. And, two, Kaz, my dearest friend, what is wrong with you?” Jesper asked.

“Yeah, you’re acting weird and mysterious.” Inej said.

“Weirder and more mysterious than usual.” Nina added, earning a nod of agreement from Matthias.

Kaz smiled at them, genuinely smiled which took them aback. “Your debts are paid off, you’re free. Go. Live your lives.”

“And what are you going to do?” Matthias asked and Kaz looked slightly to his side where he felt your presence.

“I’m going to meet up with some people from my past. Catch up again.”

How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist

#aanoia #romance #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #inej gahfas #shadow and bone wylan #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #shadow and bone #Spotify

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starlightshadowsworld · 9 months ago

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Moonlit Butterfly AU

Before Yosano went to war, she worked at a sweet shop.

Her father was in an accident and died while at hospital, and Yosano and her mother fell on hard times.

Wanting to help her mother out with the expenses, Yosano managed to get a job at a local sweet shop.

The owners were an elderly couple who welcomed her in with open arms. Yosano enjoyed her time there, their weren't too many customers and she was allowed to take free samples home.

There was one customer that was... Werid. His name was Doctor Mori, his... Daughter? Elise would follow him around like any other child but there was something off about her.

Something off about them both.

But Yosano remained polite, she wanted to keep her job after all. Doctor Mori was always polite back, he'd ask questions about how she was doing and her family.

Yosano never understood why he seemed so interested in her. In a way she was thankful for it, she was a lonely kid.

One day the owner accidentally ate something he was allergic too. Doctor Mori went to help him but all Yosano stood there frozen. All she could think about was that this man was going to die.

And she couldn't let it happen.

The next thing Yosano knew was that the owner was fine. Completly fine, he thanked Yosano for saving his life. But Yosano didn't know what she'd done.

Doctor Mori took her aside as the paramedics checked over the owner. He told her about a special power called abilities, and that Yosano has an ability.

Yosano didn't believe him at first, it sounded like something out of a fairytale. But it was true... She'd saved a man from the brink of death.

She had an ability.

Things changed after that, Yosano noticed her mother wasn't happy about the news. She seemed frightened, Yosano didn't get why. Wasn't it amazing? She saved a life.

Her mother didn't seem to think so.

Doctor Mori did though.

He was escatic, there was a look in his eye as he praised her efforts. Yosano didn't question it, she was just glad someone treated her like a person.

"Yosano, if you could would you like to help more people?" Yosano paused from where she was stacking toffee. "I would" she said simply before frowning. "But my mother won't want me too, she doesn't like my gift."

'I dont think she likes me either' thinks Yosano but she doesn't voice that. There's that look in Mori's eye again, his smile looks off.

"Oh don't worry about her, this is your decision. Would you like to help others with your gift?"

Yosano agreed.

She hadn't even hesitated.

She doesn't remember what happened next. All she knows is the next thing she knows was that she was walking into a soilders barracks.

A red haired man was reading a book in the corner and a white haired boy, around her age. Yosano went to him, extending her hand.

"I'm Aikko Yosano."

The boy didn't understand she was asking for his name, no one had asked for it before.

But than he gave her his "Atsushi, Atsushi Nakajima."

Atsushi's backstory

#Moonlit Butterfly AU #yosano akiko #bsd yosano #mori ougai #bsd atsushi #bungou stray dogs #bsd

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phxntomsdusk · 10 months ago

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Past life - Klepto!Wilbur x GN!Reader

note: it’s pre-death klepto!wilbur !! this is gonna def make someone sad so i apologize in advance- i can’t let my bursonas live in peace, they always gotta be traumatized. Also relationship between Wilbur and the reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you want :)

summary: you finally figure out what had turned the poor boy into a soul snatcher.

warnings: hella angst, mentions of death, swearing, self hurting thoughts/actions, comfort at some parts, parents fighting, divorce, alcoholic father, details of death, you probably will cry if you love this character

tags: @ax-y10 , @joviepog , @pheliiaa , @idontreallyexistyet , @rqvii , @haunted-headset , @ivvees-blog , @average-vibe , @lillylvjy , @toastyliltoasts41 (ask to be added!)

word count: 3K

You never expected to get close to the very man who was meant to take your soul, but here you were, comforting him as he cried to you about everything that led up to his very passing. He never told you any of this before, let alone trusted you knowing any of it.

You had found out so much. About his sister, his parents, his death, his first love. It was so heartbreaking.

Him and Wilma barely got along. The two were polar opposites, with her having many friends and constantly at other people’s houses, and him only talking to one person and spending most time in his room. He had tried his best to get on her side, but they just never saw eye to eye.

His best friend was Ryan, also his first love. He always thought something was wrong with him for loving a boy, but couldn’t help it. He was beautiful, perfect, everything you would want in a partner.

His parents got divorced when he was young, his mother taking custody of Wilma while he got stuck with his dad. Him and his father had a rocky relationship, while his mom completely stopped visiting after so many weeks.

During the summer Wilbur always found himself sitting atop the hill behind his house, sitting under the old oak tree and reading books his mother had gifted him. He always loved dark themed stories, ones that left readers confused and disturbed. His sister never understood his liking for these books, always finding herself reading romance and cliche teen girl stories. She would sometimes join him under the tree, but their calm and peaceful moments never lasted long.

He could hear the crunching of branches behind him, glancing around the trunk to see Wilma approaching in her sundress. She awkwardly sat down next to him, leaning her head back against the tree and sighed. “They’re fighting again.” She mumbled quietly, moving her head against his shoulder. He quickly nodded and began to read his book aloud to her, making sure she could also follow along, he tilted the pages in her direction.

It was moments like these that made him grateful for his sister, a smile always stuck on his face as she embraced him, even if it was just for a source of comfort.

“I loved her for her silence. Or maybe I just understood it.” He read the words out loud, before being interrupted by Wilma. “Do you ever feel that way?” She raised a brow, sitting up straight and brought her knees up to her chest. “Feel like what?” He placed his bookmark on the page, putting the book down in his lap. “Silent.. just wanting to be quiet. Maybe it’ll fix whatever the hell is wrong with them.” She gestured towards the house, where you could see two arguing and yelling figures in the kitchen window, to which she frowned.

“I get what you mean. Don’t worry, they’ll stop.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, watching as she hesitantly nodded and sighed. “Hopefully. I honestly can’t wait for the day they divorce and send us off to Aunt Tiff’s.” She chuckled lightly, earning a laugh from Wilbur. “Doesn’t sound too bad, actually. Then we can visit the sea each morning and stare out at the horizon.” He smiled at the idea, to which she scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You and your bloody daydreams.” She laughed and nudged his arm, before their mother shouted for her to come back inside. “I’m, uh, gonna go. Bye, Wil.” She quickly stood up, dusting off her skirt and rushed down the small hill.

If only they had more time, Wilbur thought. More time to actually treat one another like a person. More time for him to finally feel loved by someone in that dreadful house.

He sighed and opened his book again, picking up where he had stopped with a sorrowful expression, trying to ignore the tears that welled up in his eyes the second she had walked away.

That following spring, just as Wilma predicted their parents filed for a divorce. But instead of being sent away to their aunt’s home, Wilbur was dragged away by their father and taken to a small shitty apartment downtown. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye to Wilma before he was on his way to a new home.

Of course he had her number, but he doubted she would even answer while with their mother. He simply stared out the window with a hurt expression, sniffling quietly but was told to shut up by his father.

Arriving at the apartment wasn’t any better. It had one bedroom, leaving him to sleep on the small futon placed in the living room that merged into the kitchen. His father didn’t seem to care and walked past him, heading into the bedroom with his bag and slammed the door shut.

“God damnit.” He groaned and grabbed the bag his dad packed for him off the ground, making his way to the futon and tossed it atop, before sitting down and frowned. He could feel each and every spring poking against his legs, causing him to quickly stand up and look for a blanket or pillow to lay down over it.

He knew his dad was a loser, but this was a new all time low. Leaving his only son with nothing but a small duffle bag with a few shirts and pants, no self care or anything. How would he manage to survive this?

“Wil! Get me a drink!” The shout from his dad made him internally cringe, clenching his jaw as he obeyed his words and walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, of course only filled with beer and water. He figured which one his dad wanted, grabbing the coldest one he could find before walking towards the bedroom.

He didn’t bother to question how his dad already had this place, stocked the fridge with only two types of drinks, and didn’t even bother to get proper furniture. He simply entered the room with a blank expression, putting the can on the bedside table before walking out, sighing quietly to himself.

“When will this shit get better?” He ran a hand over his face, before checking the time on his watch and saw he should at least try to sleep. Of course the futon was extremely uncomfortable, leaving him to use his bag as a pillow and he just slept in the clothes he wore all day.

As before he had mentioned Ryan, the very boy he had fallen in love with, the boy he hoped to confess to on this dreadful day. It was the first time in months that Wilbur had been back at his original home, mostly visiting his mom and Wilma, but when talk of Ryan coming over came up he couldn’t resist.

He was waiting at the hill, reading his book, but had himself facing the residence so he could see when his love would arrive. When the sudden sight of blonde hair and a red shirt appeared, he knew it had to be him.

“Ryan!” Wilbur shouted happily, rushing to stand up, leaving his book to sit wide open in the dirt. He rushed down the hill, stumbling slightly off the sidewalk and into the road, looking up to meet Ryan’s gaze. “Wow, Wilbur, be careful.” He chuckled lightly, glancing back and forth before he was about to cross.

But that’s when everything had changed.

Within only a few seconds a car horn could be heard, causing Wilbur’s gaze to divert to his right, seeing a white light nearing him. It was as if in the blink of an eye he was there, and then he was gone.

“Holy fuck! Wilbur!” Ryan quickly rushed over to him, holding up his head and placed a hand on the back of his neck, inspecting the wide gash he had just gained. The rushing footsteps of Wilma and his mother could be heard, a terrified shriek escaping his sister’s mouth as she knelt down next to him.

He could barely comprehend anything happening, he just felt so lightheaded and groggy, barely able to keep his eyes open as the taste of metal filled his mouth. He stared up at Ryan, tears filling his eyes as he weakly lifted a hand, only to be turned down and handed off to his mom, while he heard the tapping of a phone and soon the dialing of a call.

He didn’t understand what was happening. Was he dying? Was this really how his life was going to end? On the side of the road at 15 years old, just days before he was meant to turn 16. Just days before he could spend the day with his family again. Why did this have to happen to him?

Of course, that’s the last moment Wilbur remembered being alive. The next thing he knew he woke up in the hospital, his family crying around him as he stared in confusion, only to glance back and see his own lifeless body in the bed. A large gash across his neck, nearing his face.

The emotions he felt were difficult to explain, he was glad he didn’t have to deal with his father anymore, but seeing the pain he caused everyone hurt. Seeing his sister slowly spiral into a moment of depression and pain, his mother sobbing her eyes out to the point she couldn’t stand, and his father.. nowhere to be seen.

It was all so overwhelming, with him quickly leaving the hospital and rushed down the street. Though he didn’t notice the locket that somehow appeared around his neck, not until a sudden shadow seemed to be following him, reaching out for it and trying to drag him back to where his body lay.

All he could do was try his best to ignore this feeling, instead tearing the locket off himself and throwing it behind him. His biggest mistake ever.

He furrowed his brows as he slowly stopped in his tracks, watching as his surroundings only became darker and more grim, colder and more dull. “What the hell..” he mumbled under his breath, turning around and trying to walk, only to bump into something.

He didn’t even know what he was getting himself into, not until he felt the sudden paint returning to his neck, his surroundings becoming visible again, except there were so many more people. So many people he knew had passed in that town. He recognized an old shopkeeper who had lost his life during a fire, the burn marks still on his face and hands. He quickly walked over to the man, hoping he would have an answer.

“Mr. Williams?” He spoke in a quiet tone, watching the man turn to face him with a warm smile. “Wilbur? Is that you? My, you’ve gotten big.” His tone was welcoming, until he had taken notice of how young Wilbur was. “Aren't you quite young still? You shouldn’t be here.” He frowned and walked closer, taking note of the large gash on the side of Wilbur’s neck. “My, my. Such a shame.” Without another word he was gone, leaving Wil more confused than before.

Of course it didn’t stop here, how could it? He had become the Grim Reaper’s assistant after all.

It all started when he was simply walking past the hospital again, taking notice of a young boy outside the building, a locket around his neck as he stood there, always like he was waiting for someone.

“Hey, kid.” Wilbur approached him, raising a brow as he slightly bent down to meet his height. “Who are you waiting for?” His voice got quiet, watching the boy shrug and fiddle with the necklace around his neck. “I don’t know. I’m just here.” He pursed his lips, looking away from Wil.

He felt bad for the kid, he was dead and didn’t even know it. He quickly looked around the area, before crouching down and gestured towards the locket. “Let me see the locket.” He reached a hand out, watching as the boy hesitantly took it off and placed it in Wilbur’s hands. Engraved in the small emerald gem was an ‘H’. “What’s your name?” Wilbur looked back up at the kid, before standing up straight. “Henry.”

Before Wilbur could even speak again he was gone, causing him to state in confusion and disbelief. Where had the kid gone? He couldn’t easily disappear like that, could he? It was like Mr. Williams all over again.

He didn’t know what to do with the locket, and simply pocketed it, saying to himself mentally that he’d find a proper grave for it at some point.

But of course he didn’t. And he kept helping those lost souls finally rest in peace. It started with random people he found who looked lost, simply suggesting they give him their locket, to which they did. But once they got stubborn he took it upon himself to find their bodies and lead them to it, showing that they needed to hand over the locket so they could properly cross over.

He didn’t know he was truly helping someone this entire time, he simply thought he was doing the right thing. But with each locket he collected, he felt more power hungry for more. He wanted to fill his coat pockets, his drawers in the small house he claimed, the walls that had so many puncture holes from pins being pushed in and out.

Throughout this whole period of time, these months upon months, turned years of waiting for a change. He got one.

You watched as he got choked up on his words, causing you to hold his face in your hands and hold him close. “Wilbur, take your time. What changed?” You spoke softly, furrowing your brows at him.

“It.. it was Wilma. I found her.”

Just like he said. He found her. Wandering around the streets with a confused look on her face, her body hidden away in a baggy hoodie and sweatpants, her tear soaked cheeks shining in the dim moonlight.

“Wilma?” His voice called out, rushing over to her with a confused look. His eyes locked in on the locket she wore, trying to ignore the intense urge to snatch it from her. “How are you here?” He placed his hands on her shoulders, watching her look up and get choked up on speaking.

“I wanted to see my brother again, Wil. It’s been years.” She quickly pulled him into a hug, crying heavily into his shoulder, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso. He instantly hugged her back, a hand on the back of her head as he held her close. “How old are you, Wilm?” He spoke quietly, listening as she struggled to answer. “20. It’s been 5 years since you passed.”

He knew she couldn’t have passed from natural causes, suspecting one thing that he didn’t want to assume. “Did it hurt?” He spoke quietly, feeling her shake her head against him, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. “Thankfully no. I just.. it’s hard without you, y’know.” She pulled away from their hug, frowning slightly as she placed her hands on his face, smiling at the sight of him.

“Still young as ever. I’m jealous.” She chuckled softly, watching as he smiled at her words, nodding and nervously looked down. “Listen.. Wilma.” He sighed and gestured towards the locket she wore, biting the corner of his lip. “If you wanna fully pass over, you’re gonna need to hand over the locket.”

Her face somewhat dropped, clutching the green gem in her hands as she shook her head frantically. “What? No! I just got to see you again after 5 years, how could I leave so quickly?”

“Wilma, you have to. It’s not smart to stick around for so long without crossing over.” His tone became much more demanding, staring her down as he tried to get her to just agree with his words. “Do you do this to everyone you see? What the fuck has gotten into you?” She took a step back, glancing down at his coat pockets, seeing a shine through them. She was quick with her actions, reaching forward and snatching a few, before running off in the other direction. “Wilma! What the fuck?!” He quickly rushed after her, trying his best to catch her before she did the worst thing she could think of.

She had found her way to a graveyard, letting out a shaky breath as she thought quickly. She picked one of the lockets and dug a small hole in a grave, shoving the locket inside before packing the dirt down, watching as the green gem glowed through the brown muck. “Holy shit..” She muttered under her breath, before crawling towards another grave, doing the same thing as before, hearing as Wilbur’s footsteps got closer.

“Wilma, what are you doing?” He panicked as he saw the glows through the dirt, staring at her with a look of betrayal and hurt. “How.. how could you!” He rushed over to try and unbury one of them, but before he could, it was gone. “Wilma, what did you do?” He stared at her with confusion, watching as the glow of the other’s died down.

This was the moment he knew the two of them would probably never see eye to eye again. He had spent years collecting lost souls, and now all of sudden Wilma is back and somehow managed to return souls to earth. He didn’t understand, simply staring down at the empty dirt mound, feeling his stomach drop.

“So, that’s why you and her don’t talk anymore?” You quirked a brow up, watching him note and fiddle with the small locket he had in his pocket. “Yeah. Ever since then I haven't seen her again.” He sighed and looked over at you, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“It’s harder for lost souls to cross over now. She’s constantly searching for them.. burying the lockets in the graveyard. Before I can ever get them they’re back to earth.” He spoke quietly, an annoyed look forming on his face. “It doesn’t always work out sometimes..”

You looked down at him with a confused look, lightly wrapping an arm around him. “What do you mean?” You spoke quietly, leaning your head on his.

“Staying silent.”

#phxntomsdusk #phxntoms fics #klepto!wilbur #klepto!wilma #wilbur soot angst #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x reader

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justforbooks · 5 months ago

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Ben Vautier

French conceptual artist known for his work featuring handwritten texts with quirky messages that had mass appeal

The French conceptual artist Ben Vautier – known simply as “Ben” – who has died aged 88, was best known for his Écritures – trademark painted epigrams in a simple cursive script on a monochrome background.

Instantly recognisable with their bold messages to the world, sometimes humorous, often political, always thought-provoking, his “writings” shout out from the canvas as if craving to be heard. “In my Écritures it is not the aestheticism that counts,” Ben said in 2010, in conversation with the curator Hans Ulrich Obrist. “I write to be read and understood. It’s the meaning that has to come across.”

The first Écriture, created in 1953, said, simply: “Il faut manger. Il faut dormir” (“You have to eat. You have to sleep”). It was an affirmation of life and the beginning of a series that would define his oeuvre for more than 70 years.

And, escaping from the walls, these mini-manifestos, which originated in the experimental culture of the Nice school of the 1950s, and Fluxus movement of the 60s, are now ubiquitous across France, to be found on postcards, stamps, wine labels, stationery and rucksacks.

Following Ben’s death, President Emmanuel Macron said: “On our children’s pencil cases, on so many everyday objects and even in our imaginations, Ben had left his mark, made up of freedom and poetry, apparent lightness and overwhelming depth.”

Born in Naples, Italy, Ben was the son of an Occitan French-Irish mother, Janet (nee Giraud), and a Swiss father, Max-Ferdinand Vautier. His grandfather was the Swiss painter and illustrator Marc Louis Benjamin Vautier. Following his parents’ divorce, Ben lived with his mother in Switzerland, Turkey, Egypt and Italy before they settled in Nice aged 14.He left the city’s Lycée du Parc Impérial at 16 and worked at a bookshop, Le Nain Bleu, where he first discovered volumes on the artists who would influence him. Interviewed last year for Forbes magazine and asked about his early artistic encounters, Ben said: “I picked only artists who shocked me because I was looking for something new, so I started with the abstract painters: Poliakoff, Soulages and Picasso. The shock of Marcel Duchamp came from a meeting with Arman, and after that, I opened up to the possibility that everything was art.”

“Everything is art” became his lifelong mantra, together with the other driving principle for Ben that “art must be new”. Elsewhere he said “My art will be an art of appropriation. I seek to sign everything that has not been signed. I believe that art is in the intention and that it is enough to sign.” When the Italian artist Piero Manzoni died in 1963, Ben signed his death certificate and declared it a work of art. And, following the birth of Ben’s daughter, Eva, in 1965, he signed her, as a new creation and a “living sculpture”.

Between 1958 and 1973 he ran a shop, Laboratoire 32, selling secondhand records, cameras, books and other publications. The space became a favourite meeting venue for artists of the Nice school, such as Yves Klein, César and Arman. N’importe quoi (Just anything), an installation composed of the shop’s interior, was acquired by the Centre Pompidou in 1975 and remains a testament to those early years in Nice.

In 1962 Ben had come to London as part of the festival of Misfits to perform a geste (happening) that involved spending two weeks living and sleeping in the window of Gallery One in Grosvenor Square, Mayfair. That year he met George Maciunas, founder of Fluxus, the Dada-influenced movement whose members, including Yoko Ono, Joseph Beuys and John Cage, engaged in experimental performances and events.

Fluxus encouraged a “do-it-yourself” approach in its artistic creations, valuing simplicity above complexity. Ben’s work embraced this approach and made the movement’s aesthetic clearly visible to the public, in art galleries and beyond.

Striking works include the self-referential Je suis transparent (I am transparent, 1970), a print edition in black writing on a see-through perspex background; and If art is everywhere it is also in this box (1972), with inscriptions in French, English, Italian and Nissart (a subdialect of Provençal), decorating four sides of a large plastic cube.

Initially selling as multiples in limited editions at his shop in the 60s, his productions soon moved into the mainstream, making his signed works available as mass-produced “Ben”-branded objects. He believed that there was “no art without ego”.

His works are now in private and public collections worldwide, including MoMA in New York and the Stedelijk museum in Amsterdam. Retrospectives have been held at the Musée d’Art Contemporain in Lyon (2010), Museum Tinguely, Basel (2015) and Museo Universitario de Arte Contemporaneo, Mexico (2022).

Arriving as a visitor in 2000 to Ben’s home in Saint-Pancrace, in the heights above Nice, which he shared with his second wife, Annie Baricalla, an artist whom he married in 1964, I was struck by the volume and variety of work that lay within and in the grounds of the house.

Commenting on this cuckoo-in-the-nest among a row of bourgeois residences that looked like a combination of fine art gallery, circus and junkyard, Ben confided with a chuckle: “Mes voisins me detestent.” (“My neighbours hate me.”)

He was a champion of minority languages, campaigning especially for Occitan – the tongue of southern France – and others, including Alsatian, Basque and Corsican, to be recognised in a country whose only official language is French. He reasoned that by preserving the vernacular, one can preserve the culture and dynamism of its people.

Ben’s first marriage, to Jacqueline Robert, in 1959, ended in divorce. Following Annie’s death on 5 June, “unwilling and unable to live without her”, according to a statement by his children, “Ben killed himself a few hours later”.

He is survived by his daughter, Eva, and his son, François, from his marriage to Annie.

🔔 Ben (Benjamin Vautier), artist, born 18 July 1935; died 5 June 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Ben Vautier #in memoriam

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adoroborosgoth · 1 year ago

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One of the reasons I think Persuasion fits Crowley and Aziraphale.

So read Captain Wentworth's letter first.

"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in F. W.

I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never."

Now for my ramblings below the cut.

Now that I'm not incoherently screaming internally. The quote I highlighted above in red. Which is. "You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others."

Now I could be wrong and I often am but isnt that almost in not so many words exactly what Crowley said to Aziraphale in s2e1 when they are sitting in the coffee shop.

Crowley: Right, what’s the problem?

Aziraphale: Problem? Who said there was a problem?

Crowley: Tone of voice. You have three reasons for calling me. You’re bored. You need to tell someone about something clever you did before you pop. Or something’s wrong. This was your ‘something’s wrong’ voice.

I know there are other parallels here to be made, but I can't help being obsessed with this line. I mean just the fact alone that Wenworth and Crowley have hope even after all that has happened. That's optimism baby!

There really is so much to unpack here and I am probably reading way to much into this, but hey isnt this what fandom is for.

Lol on a side note I love the "Too good, too excellent creature!" line in the letter just after the highlighted part. I just keep picturing Crowley saying something similar to or about Aziraphale but make it modern. Probably in a snarky, bitchy way, but it wouldn't be Crowley otherwise.

There are so many other parallels to Persuasion and Good Omens that others have touched on much better. Other highlights of note in orange.

I just bought a copy of Persuasion two days ago so I can pour over every little detail. (No more borrowing my sister's books.) So I expect I'll be making other posts later.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #persuasion #jane austen #captain wentworth #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands

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harajuku-cookie · 6 months ago

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Letters

Note: this was something that's been on my mind for a long time now and I finally took the plunge to write it. In my IkePri OC, Rosalia's profile, I wrote how even before they met as adults, that Rosalia and Gilbert were penpals as children. I wanted to expand on that point and so here it is!

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x OC (Rosalia) (pre-relationship)

Rating: General

Tags: childhood friends, penpals, spoilers for Gilbert's route

CW: vague mentions of domestic abuse, brief mention of death (minor characters)

When Rosalia was younger and still living as Rosalie Cain in her father’s estate, the one thing she found solace in was a traveling book seller named Akatsuki. He would deliver books that were used for schooling, reading for leisure, or reference material. Even though Rosalia did get the short end of the stick, she still somehow managed to get a book or two on delivery day. Akatsuki noticed that she read a lot of advanced stuff for her age, similar to a certain boy who would pop by his stall back in the capital.

One of the days when he was at his stall, a young Gilbert came by to pick out a new book and that’s when Akatsuki recalled Rosalia. He made a comment to Gilbert about a girl a bit younger than him also being interested in the same reading material as he was. Gilbert became excited to hear that there was another child who understood those kinds of books and wished he had a chance to become her friend too. He asked if she lived in town to which Akastuki responded that no, she didn’t, she lived on the outskirts, and that’s when Gilbert got an idea. He loved receiving letters and writing them himself, especially with his mother and brother, Albert, back in Obsidian. Why not also write letters to this girl too?

Gilbert asked if he could write her a letter and for Akatsuki to deliver it to her. Akatsuki knew how lonely Rosalia was. He wasn’t one to pry into other people’s business, but even he could see the signs of mistreatment the poor girl went through. Each time he saw her, it was like seeing someone’s heart turn black, a scary concept for a child so young. The only moment where he saw a spark of joy was when she was handed a new book, the tiniest of smiles on her face and the softest thank you was uttered. He felt for her and decided at that moment that she deserved so much more than what she received, so he accepted Gilbert’s request.

The next time Akatsuki visited the estate again, he decided to go to Rosalia first. He handed her a new book Gilbert had picked out for her with his letter hidden inside. Akatsuki told her the same story he told Gilbert, but in reverse about a young boy who also loved reading the same books as her. He wanted to be her friend, but knew she was far away, so hopefully she’ll read his letter and become penpals, using the book as a starter conversation. Rosalia couldn’t believe it. Someone wanted to be her friend? Genuinely? It was a tiny glimmer of light, but she wanted to hold it close. She asked if he could come back to her after delivering books so she could quickly write a response. After accepting and going on his way, Rosalia scurried off to her room and sat in a corner to open up the letter. Even though she never met this boy before, he could feel genuine kindness overflowing from every word. At that moment she knew that he, who she now knew from his signature as Gil, would become something special to her.

Rosalia knew she didn’t have much time before Akatsuki was done, so she tried to cram as much as she could into her response letter, still making sure to put care into it, and signing it off as Rose. The moment where she handed off her letter was the start of something new. From that point on, Akatsuki would be the middleman to secretly deliver these letters to and from Gilbert and Rosalia. Gilbert was happy with his new friend and finally after seeing her heart darkened for so long, Rosalia started to look happy. Akatsuki knew it couldn’t fix everything, but if it brought some kind of happiness, then it was something. These letters were so special to Rosalia that she made sure to keep them in a special box where her siblings couldn’t damage them maliciously. As she waited for the next letter, she would lovingly re-read his past letters, where they wrote about the books they’ve read to things they liked to silly stuff that children their age would talk about. He even talked about how his mother used to read him fairytales about a prince dancing with his beloved and how he hoped he could do that too. Rosalia may have been young, but she hoped that someday, maybe she could be the one he danced with, that he would whisk her away from the sad life she lived and live happily ever after, just like in the fairytales.

When it got to the point in Rosalia’s life where she was finally going to make her big escape in Akatsuki’s book cart, she took whatever she could bundle up with her, including Gilbert’s letters, and went off onto a new life. Around the time Akatsuki had decided to take her in, that’s when the letters from Gilbert stopped since he went back to Obsidian, which Rosalia only knew as him going back home in his latest letter. She was bummed that she narrowly missed meeting him, but hoped that she would someday be able to. She was thankful to him for helping to keep her heart from turning completely black and giving her hope that kindness prevails and wished that she could repay him.

What Rosalia didn’t know was that Akatsuki had now started doing what Gilbert had done for her, but in reverse when he noticed that Gilbert’s heart was turning black in the aftermath of his mother and Albert’s execution. Akatsuki would tell Gilbert the stories of that same little girl now residing in the capital and living a much happier life and doing the best she could to spread that joy in others, whether it was a helping hand or a kind word.

What she also didn’t know was that her wish of meeting that boy and dancing with him would be granted years later at the goodwill gala hosted in Rhodolite, where Gil and Rose would finally meet as Gilbert von Obsidian and Rosalia Espinoza.

#IkePri OC #Gilbert von Obsidian #Ikemen Prince #IkePri #Pastel writes

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wikifuck · 9 months ago

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Alejandro Ortega (he/him)

Overview

His true age is unknown but it is over a hundred, maybe two. Idk I haven't narrowed down what timescale this world works yet and I don't feel like lying to you or trying to talk around it. For the sake of a reference point, he was an adult by the time of the USian civil war (the first one, not the one brewing in 2024)

Alejandro, or Ali, is from my fantasy romance Puppylove.

He is charming and friendly but also knows how to be snarky and funny. He doesn't talk about himself much, instead preferring to learn everything about the people around him. This makes him appear mysterious, though he himself thinks he is completely normal. He is one of those people who like to make you feel heard and understood.

He follows laws and social rules to the letter, not necessarily the spirits. He likes staying low profile in conflicts but isn't completely opposed to playing dirty if that's needed. What matters to him the most is that his friends think he is good, not necessarily if he himself feels good about his actions. This means he may go against his own morals to appease others sometimes.

He was born in Spain but migrated to the states after being turned into a vampire.

Like this character? Read his story here! :)

• ━━━━━ • ☽ • ━━━━━ •

Genre :: Fantasy, Soft Romance

Mention of death

• ━━━━━ • ☽ • ━━━━━ •

Basic Information

Nicknames

❛ Ali ❜

Pronounced closer to "alley"

The humans in his life like to call him by this name affectionately. He has no feelings on the matter.

☯

Name

❛ Alejandro Ortega ❜

Ortega isn't his original family name. After he died he took the last name of his vampire mentor/father, Gore Ortega.

❛ Panadero ❜

It means 'baker' in Spanish, as he was the son of a baker. This name is one of the few things he remembers from his life before death, and if he is very honest with himself, he might even be remembering it wrong.

ஓ๑♥๑ஓ

Birthday

He doesn't know

People haven't always felt the need to track the exact day and year a baby was born. He has a hunch it was around May, making him a Taurus, but even the decade is hazy in his memory.

☯

Age

~200

Since he died around the age of 20, his looks and brain chemistry have been stopped permanently at that age. He is as wise as anyone his age (though he is young for a vampire) but this is something he is self-aware of and mildly insecure about.

ஓ๑♥๑ஓ

Gender

Cis male

☯

Sexuality

Gay

☯

Pronouns

He/him

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Personality

Overall Personality

I won't lie, Ali starts out as a rather passive character. This is a remnant of his origins as a blank slate for me to project onto. Over time he has acquired personality, but I'm still figuring out what gets him going. As I write this I'm realising that the first book mostly happens at him, and that is something I will be working on in future instalments.

Adventurous: Ali enjoys travel. He can't stay in one place for a long time, though this is speaking from the perspective of a vampire. He has friends all over the country and the world and so never lacks an excuse to get up and run off.

Luddite: Though he isn't very vocal about it, Ali judges others for relying on tech. Anything that isn't necessary is trash to him, especially if the designer lacked the common decency to make it appealing to look at!

Charismatic: Ali can get along with anyone. He is a social chameleon, being able to fit in anywhere. This is a blessing and a curse, since he can befriend people easily, but lacks a strong sense of identity. He is especially fast to befriend women, as his soft looks and equally pleasant demeanour make people feel safe and unintimidated.

Family-oriented: Though he has some commitment issues, a contradiction in his nature is this: he yearns for connection and safety through having a robust safety net. His worst fears are all related to losing friends and the influence that they bring, and so he spends a lot of time with the upkeep of his social network. He is very much an extrovert.

Natural cook: Ali loves cooking, it has been his preferred art form since childhood. Sadly, after becoming a vampire he lost his ability to taste his own creation, but it hasn't stopped him. He has become great at interpreting the reactions of others to his food, and even if he can't smell or taste anything, he can instantly know if he used too little or too much spice.

Mysterious: Ali struggles to speak what doesn't need to be spoken - or what he thinks doesn't need to be spoken. Since he likes to blend in socially, he is always sucking in influences from others, and this can get tricky when it comes to toxic ways to express oneself. Or rather, not express oneself. There is nothing wrong with preferring to talk about others more than yourself, but if it crosses over to never expressing your worries, or that expressing causing a lot of anxiety, it should probably be looked at. His father is bad at talking about his feelings, and even though Ali was an adult when he met Gore, he has spent a lot of time around the man and so has inherited his bad coping mechanisms. If one could get them to speak of their feelings between each other, that would constitute a miracle.

Ali has learned one thing from spending so much time around the rich and powerful: Never ever speak your true thoughts around them. At first, Ali isn't great at advocating for change. He knows things are wrong and would prefer to wait until things boil over. It takes him finding affirmation of his feelings for him to start acting on his thoughts.

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Love Language

Since he likes to cook, a passive perk of being his friend is that he will cook for you a lot, but this isn't necessarily how he shows affection. He enjoys physical touch, and quality time is his close 2nd favourite.

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Brain

Trauma, plenty of it. I mean, he is old and a member of a minority.

Oh, and plenty of daddy issues.

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Habits

Other characters remark at times that he tends to gravitate toward befriending women over anyone else. This isn't a good or bad thing, just an observation that he may later ponder about himself.

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Coping strategy

Silence and conformity: though he thinks he is good at it, coping isn't one of his strong suits. He tolerates better than copes. And he is also just as bad at telling when others need to change their unhealthy ways. A bit of a "live and let die" thing he has going on mutually between his friends.

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Fears

Losing social connections and security through those connections.

Most of the time this is a passive worry. As a sociable extrovert, he orients his life around people and usually doesn't have to worry about losing friends.

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Flaws

Insecurity: Ali knows that his father's treatment of him is wrong, but since he has never had anyone agree on that, he has largely let it slide. Fetcher is the first person to give him hope that he isn't just being a sensitive little snowflake for nothing.

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Appearance

Overall Appearance

(can you tell I used Sims 3 to make this?)

Cute, sound face and milky white eyes. By the end of Puppylove he has facial burn scars. (not pictured, I can't figure out how to draw)

He has short hair with an accent of pink mixed in that he is rather proud of. (not pictured)

He is 167cm tall, in fairly good shape for someone of his age, heh, and way stronger than he looks.

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Beast form

All vampires can turn into a bat, older vampires into a swarm. However, this is not the same as shifting, though I have not figured out the exact difference. To shifters, it is a life state, while to vampires it is a mere vehicle.

Ali is a young vampire, so he can only turn into a single bat. He uses this form to travel long distances fast and to hide in little holes to sleep the day away.

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Tattoo's

None, because he is too classy and old-fashioned for that. Over time his views may change on this.

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Piercings

During the 60's he acquired ear piercings. His collection is minimal, currently just a pair of small gold rings. Having his ears pierced was an act of rebellion, but he has since grown to enjoy the way it makes him look, though he still takes them off for formal events and when meeting older vampires. He claims this is out of respect, it really isn't. He doesn't respect those people at all.

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Clothing Styles

He enjoys a good pattern. His wardrobe is minimal since he lives out of his suitcase, so he wears simple and easy-to-style clothes.

His favourite colour is green.

Would he wear a dress?

Never.

Does he wear makeup?

No.

Everyday style

A green flannel shirt and jeans.

Cold weather

I don't even know if he feels cold yet. He wears some warm-looking clothes in a minimal style to not look out of place.

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Species

Vampire

He is a vampire of human origin, hence he is a pretty basic bitch. Burns in the sun, undead, drinks blood, super strength. He has no sense of smell or taste. If he were to eat something other than blood it would pass through like fiber in humans.

There are more complicated Shofter vampires who retain their shifter form. The good side of this is that if theyhave thick fur, these guys can go into the sun for a little bit. Ali's vampire mentor/father is one, a borzoi.

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Culture

High class, aristocratic, white, colonialist, passively racist and sexist etc. Think of real life but with an extra Victorian flare.

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Religion

None

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Language

English is his second language, his mother tongue being Spanish. He speaks both in an old-timey style, not because he doesn't know how to modern slang, but because he is stubborn and likes feeling fancy. His understanding of modern things is actually very high level.

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Setting

Though distinct from Earth in many ways, the planet Puppylove takes place in is based on/inspired by it. Things like countries and languages are roughly the same, though not exactly. The time period is not yet clear but it's roughly speaking contemporary.

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Location

He was born in Spain a long time ago, was raised there until he was 20 and then he met Gore, his mentor. Gore offered that in exchange for Ali coming with him, his family would be uplifted from the small-time merchants they were into a wealthy family. This is how he ended up in the US.

He doesn't have a permanent residence, though he owns many properties. He travels a lot and has gifted most of them to friends and families he patronizes. As immortals, vampires sometimes befriend families and check on them every lifetime or so. This is called patronizing.

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Occupation

Full-time pest on society: landlord and business owner. He is rather hands-off with his money ventures and only pokes his head in occasionally or when things are going wrong.

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Relationships

Familial relationships

Gore Ortega, adoptive father

These two barely get along. Recently, as in 80 years ago, Ali got sick of his father's shit and decided to venture out on his own. Before this, he acted as the man's henchman and was treated for a long time more like a pet than a real human being. Is that because the guy is racist or because he is just a shit father? Yes.

His biological family is long dead and he remembers very little about them.

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Friends

Tilly Mazie

Supporting character in Puppylove. An energetic teenager who got wrapped in supernatural and family drama. Tilly has known Ali for only a month, yet she already feels like he is family. While the feeling isn't mutual, Ali appreciats her and though he had to leave town in a hurry, he will be sure to check up on her in a timeframe that a witch would find appropriate.

He has numerous friends and acquaintances whom he keeps close contact with.

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Partners

Chewy Fetcher Bree, boyfriend

Brand new boyfriend and the man he fell in love with in less than a month, the weirdo. Fetcher is something refreshingly new in Ali's life: someone to affirm he isn't crazy. Fetcher is supportive toward him and he is in turn to Fetcher. They haven't discussed their relationship yet, and Fetehr is under the impression they are open, while Ali isn't quite sure what to do.

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Enemies

None

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rinwellisathing · 9 months ago

Text

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 18

Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Durge

Wysp was a popular man. He barely had time to himself. Certainly, Ffion had more customers and so did Sorn and Nym, but third most popular worker at Sharess' Caress still filled his day fully. He felt a bit guilty, as such, asking Mam'zell for a day off, but in the time he'd been here, blessed with good health by his goddess as he was, he had almost never taken one, so she was glad to allow it.

“Of course, my boy. Clear your head, take a break.” She shooed him away.

Wysp made his way out into the streets with a fine black silk cloak pulled low over his face. Malta padded next to him, always intent to keep an eye on his companion. A hastily written list was in Wysp's hand, places Sentry had vaguely mentioned in passing. The first was nearby, a book hawker outside Fraygo's Flophouse.

“Murder! Mystery! Tales of dread! I got 'em here!” The gruff halfling shouted to passers by, fresh stacks of cheaply printed short novellas piled around him in neatly tied bundles. “Read about Baldur's Gate's own vampire lords! Fictionalized here for your pleasure!”

“Sounds interesting. I'll have a copy.” Wysp smiled, producing some coins from his pocket. “I've some questions as well if you don't mind.”

“Not much of a literary connoisseur then, are you boy? All your answers can be found in the pages of books.” The halfling snorted.

“And you're sure some coin wouldn't buy the kind that can't be found there?” Wysp pressed.

The man paused a moment, trying not to seem too immediately enamored by the amount of money. “I see...and uh...what is it you want to know, lad?”

“There's a young Tiefling, late teens early twenties maybe, who buys books from you a couple times a week. What do you know about him?” The drow asked.

“Pretty thing but for that ugly scar on his face. Yeah I know him. Last name's Ojeda, his mum were some important paladin who died a few years back. Came into some money after her death, though. He started buying up a lot more books, maybe an inheritance?” The halfling thought a moment. “Got himself some servants too since then. A real tall woman, kind of scary with white hair. Then the little yappy guy in the hat, goblin I think.”

Wysp nodded. Of course when Sentry came to the brothel, he came alone. He hadn't been aware of these associates. “That's helpful, thank you.” He took his purchase and left. The information about Sentry's adoptive mother had been information Wysp was already vaguely familiar with, which led him to the next place on his list, the Temple of Ilmater.

“Brother Sentry, yes, I know him. He's such a nice boy, he was always such a help around the temple when he was a lad. Good hearted but there was so much pain behind his eyes. He never talked about it, but something terrible happened to him before Evagria brought him here.” The old priest shook his head, setting a cup of tea in front of Wysp before sitting down with his own cup and having a sip. Malta was lapping lazily at a saucer of milk beside the table. “Still, he understood our god's teachings better than most.”

“Did any birth family ever come looking for him? Did anything strange happen while he was here?” Wysp asked, stirring his tea absently.

“Well, there was a particularly gruesome murder....The day after Commander Ojeda passed away, five of our recruits were found mutilated in the cemetery. Sentry left the temple after the burial the day Evagria died, so he'd already been gone before it happened, but I suppose that's close enough to when he was here for it to count.” The priest seemed shaken remembering the incident, but his desire to help pushed him through.

“I see....Thank you, Father.” Wysp drained his cup and laid a pouch of coins on the table. “Consider this an offering.”

The next place on the list, Wysp steeled himself for. He had no idea where Sentry lived, that was true, but he had the name of Sentry's lover, and that was the true target of his investigation. Wysp aimed to prove that this man was dangerous, that he would only harm Sentry. He made his way down to the docks where he'd heard Gortash's gang operated.

Malta purred at the scent of fish in the air, green eyes gazing calculatingly at the various stalls selling the freshest catch of the day. Wysp had to urge the cat along every now and again as he made his way to the warehouse he'd heard the arms dealer operated from.

“Flymm's Cargo, hm? What are you hiding, Enver Gortash?” Wysp thought aloud as he walked the perimeter of the place, expression set in a thoughtful frown as he considered his way in. He looked around. No one seemed to pay much mind to the building and it was fairly quiet. Did he dare just...enter?

He quietly whistled a tune, a hollow knock sounding on the heavy door as a spectral lock seemed to shatter and it creaked open. Wysp cautiously stepped inside and began to look around. Crates of what looked like mechanical parts were stacked all through the place. Strange metals and arcane tools as well. None of that was of interest, Wysp was aware of those shady dealings. But one box of the strange metals caught his eye. The symbol on it marked it as shipped straight from the hells, from Avernus. He approached and opened it up.

As Wysp's hands shakily grasped a piece of paper he found inside and his eyes scanned the words, he felt a cold blade against the side of his neck.

“Well, shit.” Wysp smiled sadly. “Seems I'm caught.”

“Indeed you are, under elf, and unfortunately squarely on the boss' shitlist.” the woman behind him replied. “Any last words?”

“Why am I on your boss' shitlist?” Wysp rolled his eyes.

“First of all, here you are snooping around in his business, that'd be my guess. But also, he told us he's not interested in sharing what's his.” The woman responded, blade drawing a trickle of blood.

“What's his? I...” Wysp winced at the pain. “I see...then I was right...” He closed his eyes, biting his lip and hoping he could send his message before the blade sank in. 'Malta, run. Find Sentry. Keep him safe.'

The orange cat felt a pang of sorrow as his master's sending cut off. He ran. He ran as fast as his paws could carry him, hoping to catch Sentry's scent on the air.

Gortash found himself interrupted a second time, nearly ready to the throttle the next subordinate who did, only to find himself smiling as the red haired woman dressed in Banite garb, face hidden by a black half-mask held up the once handsome head of a drow.

“Good work, Varra, now dispose of him. I'd imagine my Dread Executioner will need some comfort when he finds out. I must think of a proper gift to take his mind off this little mishap.” He smirked, waving his underling away and closing his books for now.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #tiefling #oc #durge #dark urge #writing #drow #fanfic #lord enver gortash #enver gortash #durgetash #gortash x durge

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andromachism · 1 year ago

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why my favorite books are my favorite books

the master and margarita, bulgakov.

This was the first book I read when the pandemic started. I picked it up because of the person I liked at the time. I don't like that person anymore, but I love the book. It's a political satire with religious and supernatural fantasy elements. It’s a love story. It’s a love letter to literature. It’s the author's testimony and cry for help due to the censorship he faced. This book is everything. It brought back my pleasure for reading after doing it solely out of obligation for 3 years and for that alone it will always hold a special place in my heart. Also, the demonic black cat is really cool!

death with interruptions, saramago.

Saramago is my all-time favorite writer, and this is not my favorite book of his (that's Cain), but it is the first one I read, and I think it was the perfect introduction. It’s such a funny, beautiful, and sensitive story—unexpectedly romantic without losing Saramago’s usual sarcastic political criticism. It also incorporates some supernatural fantasy elements, as it is about Death taking a vacation. I like to read it when I want something with his style but lighter and quicker than his usual pace. I called it a perfect introduction to Saramago, but honestly, I think it’s just perfect.

(By the way, it’s quite interesting that when Saramago writes about everyone going blind or everyone stopping voting, something extremely tragic and almost dystopian happens, but when people stop dying, he decides to write a romance.)

posthumous memoirs of bras cubas, machado de assis.

Machado is everything to me. I was reading his books before I could properly understand his Portuguese, and much less what he was talking about. But as I grew up and fully understood him, this particular one got me in a chokehold. It's another story about death, but in this case, the deceased main character decides to write his memoir. It's satirical and obviously with supernatural elements. I love how Machado ridicules the elite society of his time while masking it with a likable protagonist who is actually an awful person and a completely mediocre human. So many parts of this story were crucial in my development as an adult, like when the protagonist memorizes quotes from famous authors to appear intellectual (something to be said about those annoyingly pretentious people writing essays about how bad everything popular is and quoting the same authors left and right). (Besides all of that, there is a chapter where a black butterfly flies into Bras' bedroom and lands on his father's portrait. A few chapters later, his father dies. A day before my grandfather died, a black butterfly flew into my room, and then his requiem mass happened on the day of Saint Blaise of Sebaste, who is called ‘Brás’ in Portuguese. This coincidence shook me to a point that will always make this book extremely personal to me.)

frankenstein, mary shelley.

As brilliant as Shelley is, this one is one of my favorites because it shaped me as a human being. When I first read it, I was 16 years old, struggling with my gender identity, sexuality, and body. Because of that, my relationship with my father fluctuated between non-existent and hateful. I was different, that was clear to everyone, and he hated it. So, reading about that creature was an enlightening experience about myself. I, too, felt like a creature—hateful and constructed with someone else’s parts, with none of it ever feeling truly mine. Frankenstein was to me what Paradise Lost was to the creature. I feel like a creation, wretched, helpless, and alone.

a storm of swords, grrm.

I list 'Death with Interruptions' as one of my favorites because of the author, and this one because of the genre. I love fantasy in all its forms, from small elements of it used as plot devices to high fantasy with extensive world-building and fictional beasts. A Song of Ice and Fire is my all-time favorite fantasy series, and A Storm of Swords is my favorite book in it, so it makes sense that this is the high fantasy representative on my list. Robb’s struggles and ultimate downfall will always be ingrained in my mind. The absolute dreadful feeling I got when I read, 'No one sang the words, but Catelyn knew “The Rains of Castamere” when she heard it,' cannot be replicated by any other work of fiction, I believe.

#journal

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jowritesfanfiction · 2 years ago

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Kepler

Fandom: Back to the Future

Ships: N/A

Additional Notes: This is part of my mini story/glorified collection of one shots about the many friends Doc makes throughout his life. You can read this one and others on AO3!

Synopsis: Emmett’s first friend comes unexpectedly.

CW: Mention of a death to a dog.

From the age of eleven, Emmett knew he would dedicate his life to science, thanks to a copy of Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth he found in his father’s study. The book was on the top shelf, stuck behind a row of books. It took stacking multiple thick encyclopedias for Emmett to comfortably reach the shelf. In retrospect, the book was probably out of reach for a reason, but that didn’t matter.

After reading the book, Emmet became infatuated with all things science. His father encouraged his son’s love of learning and allowed Emmett to learn anything he could in books—assuming he understood half the words. While Emmett’s learning was encouraged, his “experiments” were not so welcomed on account of what almost happened to the house when he tried to understand how fire worked.

Despite the setback, Emmett still wanted to discover something. That “thing” was to attempt his own journey to the center of the earth, just like Professor Otto Lidenbrock in his favorite book. Determined to get there as soon as possible, Emmett began digging in his backyard with a trowel. Unfortunately, his mother wasn’t all that thrilled about it.

“I’m trying to get to the center of the earth.” Emmett explained.

“Where would you get an idea like that?”

“A book.”

His mother raised her eyebrow, expecting an answer.

“This book.” Emmett held up the book.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Papa’s study.”

His mother gave a quick nod and mhm before leaving. “How about you don’t dig in the yard, alright?”

“Okay!”

The backyard may have been off-limits, but that didn’t stop him from trying other places, like the forest. With stolen shovel in hand, Emmett ventured to the forest.

For an hour, he had made what he thought was good progress in his work. Emmett stood up, sighed, and wiped his forehead of sweat, then laid on the dirt floor.

“We made good work, huh?” he said to no one in particular.

Something barked in return. Emmett sat up and looked around for where the bark could have come from.

“Hello?”

A bush barked. Emmett crawled over toward the bush. Slowly, he pulled the branches away to reveal a small creature in the bush.

“Were you barking?”

The creature barked back and wagged its tail. The creature itself was thin and had matted fur. Its paws were dirty and filled with mud. This creature was, most definitely, a dog.

Emmett looked up at the sky; it was a little after noon. He could stay out later, just as long as he came home in time for dinner.

“Do you want to help me dig a hole to the middle of the earth?” he asked the dog. The dog barked.

Together, the two continued digging the hole. Well, to be fair, it was more Emmett digging and the dog giving moral support.

After a while, the sun began to make its way toward the horizon.

“We should go home,” Emmett told his friend, “Mama’ll be looking for me if we don’t. She’ll be so happy I found a friend!”

Back at the Brown home, Emmett made his grand entrance with his new friend. Strangely, it did not go as anticipated.

“Where did you find that…that…thing?” his mother squealed.

“In the woods! We started digging toward the center of the earth!”

“Emmett, you can’t bring animals from the woods into the house. They can have diseases and things.”

“But he doesn’t have anything wrong with him! Can’t he stay?”

“I don’t see why not.” Emmett’s father said.

“No, it cannot stay!” his mother retorted.

“Sure it can. Come on, son, let’s get this animal cleaned up.”

Emmett carried his friend upstairs to the bathroom and into the bathtub. With his father’s help (though, it was mostly his father doing all the work), Emmett was able to clean up the dog.

“Do you know what I’m going to name him?” Emmett asked.

“No. What?”

“Lav-o-see.” Emmett announced, completely butchering the pronunciation.

“What?” his father understandably asked.

“After that guy who discovered fire.”

“You mean Antoine Lavoisier?” corrected his father, “And he didn’t discover fire. He just found that oxygen was part of making fire.”

“Yeah, him!”

“Well, I must say it’s an awfully long name for a dog.”

“How long are dog names s’posed to be?”

“Usually, they’re one or two syllables.”

“Oh. Then, what are other scientists?”

“I don’t know,” his father shrugged, “why don’t you go look through that list of yours?”

“Okay!” Emmett beamed, rushing down to find the list of scientists he had and back to his father.

“I found it!”

“Good. How about you find a good name, now.” his father suggested. By now, Emmett’s dog was being dried with a towel.

“Hmm. How about Galileo? No, not Galileo, that’s too long. So’s Edison. Maybe Nikola could be his name.”

“Nikola?”

“Nikola Tesla.”

“Oh, I see.” his father nodded, “That one seems pretty long, too.”

“Nikola isn’t a dog name anyway.” Emmett scanned his list again. “Maybe he could be Kepler?”

The dog barked.

“I think that’s a yes.” his father laughed.

“Kepler it is!”

From that day forward, Kepler and Emmett were inseparable. Where Emmett went, Kepler was bound to be right behind. They were always off having one adventure after the other.

After Emmett gave up trying to reach the Earth’s center (somehow Emmett hadn’t anticipated how far the Earth’s center was), he turned to trying to teach Kepler tricks with different treats; mostly meats and scraps of bread.

From his experiments, Emmett gathered that Kepler liked hamburger meat the best. Kepler was also able to sit, lay down, stay, play dead, speak, and fetch on command. Emmett and Kepler made a great team. After 5 years, Emmett learned an important lesson: that nothing is forever.

That morning, Emmett had woken up late and went downstairs to be greeted by his father with a solemn face.

“Emmett…” his father began, “it’s Kepler.”

“What is it?”

“Kepler’s dead.”

Nothing felt real at that moment. It couldn’t be true. Kepler was still here. He had to be.

“Your mother took him to be put down this morning. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

Now it had to be real. His father rarely said those two words, and when he did, he meant it.

“Kepler’s dead.” Emmett repeated.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Do you think Kepler knew we loved him?”

“I know he did.”

#fanfic writing #fanfic #fanfiction #bttf fic #bttf #back to the future #doc brown #emmett brown #doc emmett brown #writing #writeblr #my fanfic #fic: doc’s dogs

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ophelia-thinks · 2 years ago

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3, 4, 5, 9, 25!

3. What were your top five books of the year?

collected nonfiction by joan didion - i spent a week in january in the sacramento valley working my way through this book. i'd read stuff by her before, but this year some switch flipped in my brain and i Got it, i understood the obsession, the veneration... it's the details for me, the odd little turns of phrase, like "a little japanese on the horizon" describing the oilfields outside of LA, or the dress the color of the sac delta "for a few days in spring, when the rice first showed." didion would have snubbed me, descendant of okies and japanese immigrants, but i love seeing the landscape i was born and raised in refracted through her exacting, conservative mirror.

dear friend, from my life i write to you in your life by yiyun li - utterly obsessed with this. i can't describe the feeling it gives me, the quiet passage through a singularly strange and perfect mind. "had i been more disciplined, i would have written nothing and lost nothing." this is a book about being unable to convincingly describe a chrysanthemum.

the lover by marguerite duras - having a weird psychic moment with this book. "and it really was unto death. it has been unto death."

dispatches by michael herr - he mostly stopped writing after this. he saw that there was something basically fucked-up and evil about it, it being language, and especially the pathetic human use of it to conceal and protect. even worse, images; photos that appear to prove the existence of evil but communicate nothing behind it. which wasn't at all true of me, herr writes, father of all motherfuckers; i was here to watch.

dirty work by eyal press - i want everyone to read this book. it gave me a way to understand my world, a path to compassion, a path to forgiveness. i think about it constantly when i'm at my day job in the [redacted] world, and i want to make everyone i come into contact with read it too. we all follow orders; we all injure and are injured; we are all going to hell so that someone more fortunate doesn't have to.

4. Did you discover any new authors that you love this year?

CAN XUE!!!!!!!!! vertical motion blew my mind. also kind of getting into richard brautigan, i love his poems which are like haiku with bombs strapped inside of them.

5. What genre did you read the most of?

hard to say because i'll read anything... i did read a lot of nonfiction this year, plus my usual sci-fi detours.

9. Did you get into any new genres?

nah. i did have an intense philip k. dick moment though, does that count as a sci-fi subgenre?

25. What reading goals do you have for next year?

i want to get deeper into a few authors whose books i've loved recently but haven't read all of (robert walser, anna kavan, can xue); i want to read more poetry, and read poetry more adventurously; and i have a stack of hyperspecific nonfiction/history stuff on my shelf that i haven't cracked yet.

#bookshelf

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astralbooks · 2 years ago

Text

City of Vicious Night (Requiem Dark #2) - Claire Winn

Read: 24/05/2023 - 25/05/2023

Rating: 4/5

Rep: bi main characters, f/f relationship, biracial Japanese-Portuguese main character & side character, chronically ill main character, disabled main character with a prosthetic arm and eye, gay South Asian side character, disabled gay Latino side character with a prosthetic arm, side m/m relationship, aromantic side character, non-binary side characters

CW (provided in front of book): violence, blood, mild gore, death (on-page and past), gun violence, strong language, sexual content (including non-graphic encounters), human experimentation, use of medical needles, alcohol misuse, fictional drug use, terminal illness, suicidal ideation & threatened suicide, mild torture, loss of limbs, vomiting, referenced poverty, referenced prostitution & sexual assault (not involving main characters)

Review:

Four months after runaway heiress Asa managed to get her sister’s consciousness placed back inside her body, the two of them are firmly established members of Riven’s crew. When a hacker starts telling the people of city-moon Requiem that they were the ones responsible for the chaos from around then, and starts trying very hard to kill them, the crew decide that their best option for survival is to have Riven become the new matriarch of one of the Requiem’s five factions, as matriarchs are nigh-untouchable. To do that they’ll need to succeed at a series of trials, and deal with new opponents, all while still fending off the murderous hacker and uncovering a conspiracy involving Asa’s father with horrifying implications for all of Requiem.

I came away from the first book wanting the girls to be friends rather than girlfriends, which feels deeply weird to me as a queer person who’s used to thinking the complete opposite. The four month time skip means that the majority of development between Asa and Riven happened off-screen between books. If you take their feelings for each other as a given then this book works. I didn’t finish this one thinking they should just be friends. I would’ve much preferred it if we actually got to see them get from A to B, though, especially considering how little focus their relationship in any capacity got in the first book. We could’ve gotten a slow burn out of this, and Riven’s tendency for self-sabotage could’ve remained intact in that version of the story, but instead we got none of the development and barely any of the payoff because having a strong established relationship for most of the book is also apparently too much to ask for.

When I read the first book, I was neutral on Riven. There were times when I liked her and there were times when I really didn’t like her. This, unfortunately, did not change in this book. She’s for some reason taken it upon herself to protect poor innocent little Asa who clearly can’t handle herself in any situation at all, but then she constantly makes reckless decisions that puts everyone in even more danger than they were in before. Riven’s view of herself as a protector and view of Asa (and, to a lesser extent, the rest of the crew) as someone who she specifically must protect is just not true to reality, and this is something that never quite clicks in her head through the whole book. I think this is the source of my issues with her. Asa can handle herself and Riven’s assumption otherwise came off as condescending. Leroy Jenkins’ing your way through life doesn’t just put you in danger, but the people around you as well. It’s hypocritical, and therefore irritating.

Why four stars, then? Well, there is still a lot about this book that I did enjoy!

Riven was a lot more bearable in the final act! She hadn’t fully understood what she’d been doing wrong, but she did refrain from doing any of it again, and I can take a win when I get one.

I loved every other member of the crew! Asa is just as fab in this book as in the first. She’s more used to Requiem and more secure in her life and identity away from her father, now firmly a part of the crew and an indispensable part of it. Samir and Diego were just as great in this book as they were in the first, and I enjoyed getting to learn more about Diego’s past and reasons for being here. Asa’s sister, Kaya, was a highlight for me from the first book despite not actually being in it very much, so I was really happy to see her playing a much larger part in this book. She’s so fun! Her consciousness having been transferred to an alien brain means she’s now effectively a technomancer, and seeing her put those skills to use was really cool. The upcoming novella is going to be featuring her as a main character and I’m genuinely really excited for it!

And then there’s Ty! Ty gets his own pov in this book, and I love him. He’s the team healer and he really embodies that. It was great seeing the contrast between characters who have no problem with killing people, and Ty who wants to save as many people as possible even if it’s maybe not the most efficient approach to a problem. Ty has never killed anyone before, and a big part of his arc is about reckoning with that. He goes from being scared at the thought of hurting someone to being entirely prepared to do so but choosing to be merciful anyway, and I loved that.

Two characters having a psychic link where they can directly communicate with one another and even hear each other’s thoughts is a trope I really enjoy, especially when it leads to the characters becoming closer with each other.

I enjoyed the competition aspect of the plot! However, I wouldn’t describe this entirely as a ‘competition book’, because it takes up a much smaller part of the story than is probably expected. Things go off the rails very quickly thanks to two opposing antagonistic forces. There’s Luca Almeida, Asa and Kaya’s father and the one responsible for a host of suffering and death, and there’s Redline, a hacker saboteur who holds Asa responsible for her father’s factions and is trying to exact revenge on her. There are a lot of questions surrounding Redline, and not all of them are answered by the end, which isn’t a bad thing. It leaves room for there to potentially be more set in this universe.

So many books have their big climactic moment and then just end right away, as if once the confrontation has happened and the big bad has been dealt with there’s nothing of value anymore so it might as well not continue. This book didn’t do that!! The final chapters are a proper denouement, where the characters now finally have a chance to recover and breathe and be okay. Winning the battle isn’t all there is and I really appreciated that we got to see some of what comes after!

This is in all a fun cyberpunk duology that I’m happy to recommend to people looking for something fast paced and cinematic.

Thank you to NetGalley and North Star Editions for providing me with an e-arc of this book, and to TBR and Beyond Tours for having me on this tour! You can find the full tour schedule here and the rest of my tour stop (there's a playlist!) here

#review #book review #city of vicious night #requiem dark #claire winn #books #booklr

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