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scones-and-texting-and-murder · 3 years ago

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Bookends

(This story was originally written for and published in the DeanCas Anthology back in 2018. )

Word Count: 2223 Rating: General ao3 link

Cas pulls as close to the door as he can, checking the rearview mirror to make sure he isn’t blocking traffic as he waits for Dean to get out of the car. Before heading inside, Dean ducks his head back in to smile at him. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Instead of driving away, Cas stays there, watching until Dean pulls open the diner door. Leaning heavily on his cane, he shuffles more than walks, his bow-legged gait made stiff by the arthritis that wracks his joints. Cas waits until he’s safely inside, then pulls past the open handicapped space Dean stubbornly refuses to use, and finds an empty parking spot.

Cas’s car is boxy and utilitarian, and Dean often proclaims that he wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of something so ugly. Cas plays along because giving up driving had been Dean’s toughest concession to age, but as his vision deteriorated and his reflexes slowed, it had become an unavoidable sacrifice. With replacement parts for the Impala harder and harder to come by, Dean had finally agreed to keep her stored safely away in their garage. Cas knew it pained him to see her shrouded under a tarp, her motor idle and useless, but Dean would rather enshrine her in pristine condition than risk one more run-in with a light pole or curb.

With his ugly car parked, Cas crosses the lot to join Dean inside. While he’s aged as well, aged to the point that nobody questions the two of them together, he’s been spared many of the maladies that Dean’s combat-wrecked body has endured, and he moves with relative ease. The best they can figure is that the grace he’d had on and off over the years left his body with a certain resilience to the passage of time. Cas can’t cure Dean as he once could, can’t ease the aches or slow the aging process, but he can use his own comparatively good health and mobility to take care of him.

Inside, Cas navigates past the hostess stand to find Dean at their usual booth, chatting with their usual waitress. The two of them go to this diner religiously each Sunday morning, where the pews are scuffed burgundy vinyl booths and the altar is the breakfast buffet with the generous senior discount. As always, Dean has maneuvered himself across the bench seat to make room for Cas to sit beside him. His cane rests against the wall in easy reach, the simple carved wooden handle belying the fact that the base unscrews to reveal a bayonet-like tip. It’s never been wielded as a weapon (although Dean uses it, still sheathed, to poke at aggressive pigeons who muscle in around their favorite park bench), but that potential made it “badass” enough to overcome Dean’s resistance to using it.

To Sam’s everlasting chagrin, Dean has kept all of his hair, and it’s turned a stunning silver. The crinkles around his eyes have deepened, meeting the roadmap of lines that cross his face. His shoulders are stooped, his joints are stiff, and Cas thinks he’s never been more beautiful. After so many seemingly certain ends, so many years assuming Dean would die young and bloodied, the fact that he’s living out a full, lengthy life is an unparallelled blessing. Cas marvels at the gift of days that have unfolded into decades, granting them time he never dreamed they’d have together here on earth.

As Cas settles into the booth, he smiles and greets their waitress.

“Two for the buffet?” she confirms as she pours their coffee. Cas doesn’t even have to check to know that she’ll leave Dean’s at a little more than half-full so he can lift it without the tremor in his hands sloshing it over the brim.

They drink their coffee quietly, simply enjoying the ritual of being here. Dean peers at the laminated card that lists the specials, even though he never orders off the menu.

“Shall I?” When Dean nods, Cas gets to his feet. “Any requests?”

“You know what I like,” Dean says, leaning over to swat at Cas’s butt.

Picking up two plates from the warmer, Cas slides them along the metal counter, filling them in tandem as he traverses the buffet. Pancakes are too difficult for Dean to get on a fork, but the crisp waffles are good. Bacon he can pick up and eat, and Cas uses the tongs to place precisely two strips on his plate. If Dean wants more, he can get up and get it himself.

Dean can argue with Cas’s choices, but they’d had a hell of a scare a few years back. Cas will never forget the look on Dean’s face when their phone rang in the middle of the night, alerting them that Sam had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. They’d rushed there themselves, Cas driving in silence, knowing that nothing short of seeing Sam with his own two eyes could reassure Dean. Thankfully, it had been a mild heart attack and, after spending a few days in the hospital, the discharge plan called for cardiac rehab and an appointment with a nutritionist. With Sam’s release imminent, Dean had relaxed enough to crow at the irony. “Don’t either of you try to tell me what to eat ever again. Mr. Organic Produce is the one lying in the hospital bed while my pork-rind-fueled ticker is going strong.”

Still pale, Sam’s brow furrowed with resignation. “I’m beginning to think you can’t die.”

Dean jabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to go first. We have a deal.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam lifted the hand without the IV in a mock salute.

“That’s more like it,” Dean said. “Speaking of which, I need a snack.”

Cas helped him up and they walked to the elevator that would take them to the cafeteria. As they waited for it to arrive, Dean pulled Cas into a hug. Cas left a hand on his shoulder when they stepped apart again. “All right?”

Dean nodded, his green eyes shining with tears. “I’m glad you’re here.” Cas started to respond, to remind him that there was nowhere else he would be, but Dean cut him off. “I know you know. But I wanted to say it anyhow.”

Cas noticed a change after that. Dean was still the same stubborn mule Cas had fallen in love with, but he gradually became more willing to let Cas help. And somehow, Cas loved him even more for it. He loved seeing the slow-blossoming acceptance that came when Dean stopped seeing Cas’s help as a sign of weakness.

Now, standing in front of the steaming trays of food, Cas considers what else to add to their plates. He bypasses the cauldron of oatmeal (they eat that at home most mornings) and continues along the buffet. There’s a tremendous satisfaction in being allowed to care for this man who has done so much for so many and asked for so little in return. In fact, Dean has now embraced this new role so fully—no longer questioning what he deserves, or grudgingly accepting help, but full-on enjoyment of being doted on��that Cas has to be careful he doesn’t get lazy. There’s nothing Cas would rather do than settle Dean in front of a sunny window, snug in the recliner for Cas to wait on like a pampered cat, but he knows that sort of inactivity would do Dean’s joints and his heart no favors. So he watches Dean’s diet and insists on them taking slow walks after breakfast when his energy is highest.

Their neighborhood is a mix of young and old and everyone knows the two Mr. Winchesters who circle the block on days when the weather permits. The kids on bikes and scooters know to give them a wide berth, their parents warning them that the old men need the entire sidewalk, but they call out their hellos as they go by. They’re friendly with everyone except the woman who lives on the corner. Dean is convinced she’s a demon, but Cas suspects his distrust of her stems more from the fact that she seems immune to his charm. (Whatever the reason, he’s had to talk Dean out of chalking a devil’s trap inside her mailbox more than once.) They chat with their neighbors about the weather and the score of last night’s ballgame, and it’s so painfully normal that Cas sometimes feels his throat tighten up at the wonder of it all.

When Cas returns to their booth, Dean examines his plate. “They outta bacon?”

Cas cuts the waffle into manageable pieces and peels the wrapper from the muffin before sliding Dean’s plate over. “You know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “You just like to look at my ass when I get up.”

They eat in congenial silence with Dean methodically working his way around his plate, eating everything heartily, even the fruit. Sitting next to him, Cas can easily scoop up any bites that miss his mouth, plucking them from Dean’s lap or his shirt.

“You two good?” The waitress asks when she comes to refill their coffees. “Need anything?”

Dean swallows the bite of muffin he’s working on, and rests his hand on top of Cas’s. “I’ve got everything I need right here. An actual angel, this one.”

She nods agreeably. “I can almost see his halo.”

Cas has learned that an old man can say just about anything and receive an indulgent smile in return. When Dean references angels or demons or the apocalypse, people assume he’s speaking in metaphor and they’ll nod pleasantly. Sometimes he’ll do it purely for effect, telling rambling tales from their past for the sheer enjoyment of being able to speak openly. He can’t always keep the details straight, but Cas is there to remind him. Some days, though, he seems to lose where he is in time, and there’s nothing Cas can do for that. Cas has taken to keeping a watchful eye on him in the late afternoons when he likes to doze on the couch with their one-eyed black cat curled up on his chest. Cas stays close in case he wakes from his nap agitated, calling for Cas, wanting to know where Sam is. Cas helps him to sit up as the cat springs down and scurries away.

“Don’t go,” he says again and again, and Cas takes him in his arms, assuring Dean that he’s here and reminding him that Sam is safe at his own home. He holds him until Dean shakily dismisses it all as just a bad dream.

The unfairness of it overwhelms Cas, and each time he’s left filled with wrath. These final years should be spent in well-earned peace, but instead Dean seems cursed with reliving his most frightening memories, traumatized anew by old, familiar fears. If Dean’s mind is destined to slip, why can’t it be toward blissful forgetting? What Dean has endured goes beyond what any human should; to ask him to bear it again is nothing short of cruel. But it’s a torture chamber created in his own mind, and all Cas can do is sit helplessly by, doing his best to ground Dean and bring him back to the present.

Cas looks at Dean’s empty plate. “Did you want to get some more?”

“Nah.” He’s full and happy and it’s time for their walk.

The waitress arrives to clear their plates. As he does every week, Dean asks if she needs to see his ID for the senior discount. As she does every week, she pretends to consider it before leaving the check. “You boys take your time.”

“Tip her well,” Dean says, leaning in to supervise Cas as he signs the bill.

“I always do,” Cas assures him.

When they’re ready to leave, Cas stands next to the banquette, waiting for Dean to retrieve his cane and slide himself to the edge. Using a combination of the cane and Cas’s extended arm, Dean hoists himself upright, groaning a little. Cas keeps a firm hold on him until he’s steady on his feet. Dean still dresses in layers, but these days it’s because he gets chilled easily. He favors heavy knit cardigans and as long as Cas gets the zipper started for him he can tug it up or down as needed. Cas checks him for crumbs then together they walk through the other tables crowded with families. They continue by the hostess station where a woman is wiping down menus. “See you next week,” she calls as they pass.

Cas steps forward to push open the door, and stands holding it. “Watch your step,” he says as he always does, pointing toward the raised metal threshold of the doorway.

Using his cane to steady himself, Dean shuffles his way over it, then stops to lay his hand on Cas’s cheek. His knuckles are gnarled, the skin of his palm is dry and warm, and Cas feels the same flare of awe go through him as he has since the moment he first found this glorious soul in the depths of hell.

“I am the luckiest man who has ever lived,” Dean says.

Cas kisses his palm, then takes his arm to help him on his way.

#deancas #destiel #my writing #growing old together #this came well before the finale #but it feels like a fix it fic nonetheless

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uwua3 · 4 years ago

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the perfect egg.

❄️📚 tsukioka tsumugi

summary: how did you like your eggs in the morning?

dedication: sleepy 💤 anon — thank you for teaching me what cooking eggs really means

warnings: ambiguous ending, angst, break-up, food themes, heartbreak

author’s note: i’ve suddenly realized making eggs as a coping mechanism has a much deeper meaning to it than i had originally thought. due to this revelation, have this piece about using eggs as a metaphor for relationships!

word count: 1,126

music: unspoken words – davichi

Tsumugi made more eggs than he should’ve.

There was something about getting it just right. It didn’t matter the style, whether it was a simple sunny side up saying good morning or a traditional French omelette fit for any kitchen, eggs deserved to be made correctly. So, Tsumugi took every free opportunity he had to make an egg.

Over time, Tsumugi had learned quick and easy tips after his experience as an egg connoisseur. Make sure to crack your egg on the flat countertop, not on the edge of the bowl, or else you’ll get egg shell pieces in your food. Don’t over-whisk your eggs and leave them in the bowl for a minute, or else it’ll lose its froth in the pan. Butter your surfaces evenly if the pan isn’t non-stick to prevent the edges from getting stuck. Small things like that were now apart of Tsumugi’s egg routine.

Most times, Tsumugi enjoyed his eggs. They were versatile, tasty, and yummy regardless of how they were prepared. But, sometimes, during moments like these, Tsumugi was reminded he was eating an egg.

They suddenly felt... different, in his mouth. The texture wasn’t pleasant, there wasn’t enough seasoning, and nothing was right. It was this experience that made Tsumugi remember the first time he prepared an egg.

Back then, before Tsumugi became a natural in front of the stove, making every possible egg combination known to mankind, he had never made an egg before. Tsumugi was inexperienced in the kitchen, flinching every time the heat got too high and the fridge closed too loudly. Luckily, he had you, an expert in everything culinary.

“How do you like your eggs in the morning?” Tsumugi once asked, and the rest led to this exact moment. You could make eggs with your eyes closed, and Tsumugi couldn’t help but be impressed by your egg-making skills. Tsumugi watched and watched, but never seemed to quite get the hang of such a simple skill.

You never minded. After all, all you wanted was to teach him how to make the perfect egg. “I won’t be here forever to make you these eggs, Tsumu!” Tsumugi could remember the way your voice sounded over the sizzling oil in the pan that was too big for a beginner. His hands were fumbling all over the place, fingers too clumsy to try flipping an egg, but he still made his way through with your support.

Tsumugi had put you on speaker phone, your voice loud and clear through the empty household. He didn’t feel as alone anymore, not when you were specifically guiding him on how to make the “perfect egg”.

“Of course, you have to season the egg first!” You laughed, breaking him out of his momentary shell as Tsumugi took in the way you cheered him on. With the background noise of going through a multitude of shelves, Tsumugi let out a little “a-ha!” when his hand landed on the hidden salt container and black pepper. You mentioned something about how much better eggs tasted with seasoning, though it’s not like he knew.

Watching the egg suddenly form into its traditional white and yellow shape, Tsumugi proudly showed off his creation over the phone. It didn’t take long before he messed up, pouring way too much salt and having no way of taking it off. He didn’t mind though, not when you laughed so happily and filled his entire home with your lively presence.

Tsumugi remembered how the yolk of the egg resembled the sun, and it looked a little like you. You shined brighter, like the mid afternoon cloudless blue sky. If making eggs made you this happy even if he was making every little mistake possible, Tsumugi didn’t mind making more eggs.

So, Tsumugi made more eggs with you on the phone every time. Sometimes, you came over to see his mess of seasonings displayed inconveniently. To witness his elbows always knocking into the tight corners of his kitchen. To make fun of the way his apron clearly wasn’t bought by him. Either way, eggs somehow became a love language.

I’m thinking of the way you laugh, so I’m making an egg. I want to tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I’ll just flip an egg instead. I miss you, so I’m cooking this egg right now. Anything Tsumugi wanted to say but knew was too much, could be solved by an egg. When words failed, cooking an egg on top of a little stove was comparable.

Tsumugi thought of what it’d be like making an egg for you. Perhaps you would wake up later in the morning, only to see breakfast in bed by your adoring boyfriend. With a side of orange juice, bacon, and pancakes if you liked that type of thing, eggs seemed like a perfect way to cook into the future.

You were always the better cook anyways, so Tsumugi would take care of the eggs and you could help him with everything else. Tsumugi would work to perfect his eggs, in every style, to make sure your lessons on making the “perfect egg” were worth it.

But, even perfect eggs cracked. They fell apart, the yolk broken and whites oozing all over the place. When eggs broke, you could always get new ones. Tsumugi remembered that feeling of running out of eggs, of regretting not going to the grocery store sooner, of losing you, too.

Tsumugi blinked, feeling the egg sit in his mouth as he came back to the present. When Tsumugi spit it out, he stared at the way it was messed up. You would’ve hated this egg, you would’ve thrown it away. Suddenly, Tsumugi hated this egg, too. Even if there was nothing actually wrong with it.

Tsumugi tossed it in the trash, trying his best to avoid thinking too hard about the past. If he could make the perfect egg, would you still be with him? Would things have ended differently if the eggs weren’t cracked and broken? Were there not enough eggs?

Tsumugi took out another carton, set up the pan with the right amount of butter, and adjusted the heat to your liking. He whisked the three eggs carefully, making sure to pour it in right as they were done. The room smelt like memories of you. Tsumugi almost picked up the phone, but stopped himself. He didn’t need to walk on more broken egg shells.

How did you like your eggs, anyways? Tsumugi almost forgot, it had been so long since he had received a lesson about making eggs. Nevertheless, Tsumugi continued cooking, trying to ignore the meaning behind this egg.

I’m sorry we ended up this way, so I made another egg as an apology.

#tsukioka tsumugi #tsumugi tsukioka #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! one shots #act! addict! actors! one shots #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #tsumugi x reader #a3! tsumugi #a3 tsumugi

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who-ya-gonna-call-winchesters · 4 years ago

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A Learning Experience - jack kline x reader

Sam and Dean Winchester leave their little sister behind on a hunt to be a glorified babysitter for a certain nephilim. Y/n introduces Jack to a bunch of new things like pancakes, grocery stores and chick flicks. A few harmless questions arise. Fluff.

Word Count: 2,154

masterlist

If anyone had told you a couple months ago that you would be babysitting Lucifer’s son while your brothers went out hunting without you, you would have laughed in their faces. But that was then and now you were cooking breakfast for two in the bunker’s kitchen balancing your phone against your head with your shoulder.

“Real nice move, assholes. A note. What a nice way to tell your sister you’re abandoning her”, you hissed.

“We’re not abandoning you, Y/n, it’s just a couple weeks. Jack isn’t ready to come with us and he shouldn’t be left alone”, Dean replied, “According to Sam.”

“Are you keeping the knives away from him?”, Sam asked in the background.

“I did not realize that was something I had to do but I think I’ll lock them up now”, you said.

“He’s not gonna hurt you, I’m worried about him hurting himself.”

“Great, so you abandoned me with a suicidal nephilim in a bunker that no one knows about.”

“It wasn’t my idea”, Dean grumbled.

“Shut up, De, I know you don’t like him but he’s just a kid”, you rolled your eyes.

Your oldest brother laughed, “You two are like the same age if you don’t wanna get technical-”

“Which”, Sam interjected, “is why I think it’s a good idea you stay with him at home. You can teach him stuff and make sure he takes care of himself.”

“I’m literally a babysitter. You guys owe me big time when you get back”, you said.

“Something I’m sure you won’t let us ever forget.”

“Goodbye, Dean”, you hung up the phone and plated the last of the pancakes.

After setting the table you cleared your throat and called out for Jack in your best mother hen voice. It echoed around the empty bunker for a few moments before you heard footsteps approaching and a head of blonde hair poked in from around the door frame.

“Yes, Y/n?”, Jack asked.

“Sit your ass down and eat, breakfast is ready”, you gestured towards the pancakes on the table.

“What are these?”, he asked, staring at the pancakes after he sat down.

You stared at him, “Are you kidding? They’re pancakes, you’ve never had pancakes before?”

He shook his head.

“Well, these are the best breakfast food in the whole world. I don’t really know how to explain them better than that”, you said, putting a couple on his plate and passing him the bottle of syrup, “I think, you’ll like them. You can put syrup on them if you want…”, You watched in abject horror as he drowned his pancakes in the substance before digging in.

Jack grinned through a mouthful of food, “These are good. I like pancakes.”

You laughed, “I’ll make them for you every morning as long as you don’t tell Sam about the amount of sugar you just ingested.”

Jack nodded, “Deal.”

After a couple days of making three square meals a day for a nephilim that seemingly never got full, especially of your pancakes, you had to make a trip to the grocery store. Syrup was at the top of your shopping list but you were running low on other actual essentials and you didn’t know if a nephilim could actually eat unhealthily but Jack was half human after all and Sam might appreciate you putting a salad into the boy.

You knocked on the door to his room, in between yours and Sam’s incase anything were to happen, and stuck your head in. He was reading, something you encouraged considering how many pop culture references your brother used, besides Harry Potter was a classic and you were showing him the movies as he gradually finished each book. Which was surprisingly quick before you realized that Jack didn’t sleep nearly as long as you did.

“Hey, Jack, you wanna get out of here for a little while?”

He looked up at you in confusion, “Sam and Dean said it would be best for me to stay here.”

“Well, I don’t see those dummies anywhere now, besides we need more food. It’s just a quick run to the store. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to though”, you said.

He shook his head and stood up, “No, I’ll come with you.”

“Cool.”

It really was supposed to be a quick trip to the store until you learned just how much food Jack had never had before.

“Do you normally get this much food?”, Jack asked, looking over the nearly full shopping cart.

“Living with Sam and Dean? Yes. But we’re getting a lot of stuff I don’t usually buy. It’s high time you lost your mac and cheese virginity”, you said as you examined the tomatoes.

“What is that?”, he asked tilting his head in a very Castiel esque manner, which you found absolutely adorable.

What? Mac and cheese? It’s kinda in the name, just macaroni and cheese-”

“No, virginity.”

You think you probably rivaled the tomatoes in how red your face was, “It’s uh…like when you’ve never done something before. But it’s just a metaphor, normally virginity pertains to um”, you paused. You really did not want to give Jack the sex talk in the middle of the produce section.

“Intercourse?”

You breathed a sigh of relief, thank god. Wait…

“How do you know what that is?”

“I saw something on Dean’s laptop-”

“Dean showed you porn?”, you hissed.

“Not exactly, it was just there”, Jack said nonchalantly.

You shook your head and put the tomatoes in the cart before dragging Jack off towards the registers. That was enough for today’s outing.

After about a week, you two had finished all eight Harry Potter movies and had moved onto the rest of Dean’s vast collection of movies. Over the course of your time alone with Jack you had learned he was a huge cuddler. The first time you had sat down on the other side of the couch, he pulled you closer by the second act. Not that you minded, Jack was warm and it kept the chill off, the bunker was drafty. It was only for that reason. Not because you were developing a huge crush on Satan’s son.

Tonight you were watching some romantic chick flicky movie you didn’t even know Dean owned. Well, Jack was watching it. You were nose deep in your book with one hand curled in Jack’s hair as he rested his head on your lap.

“They’re supposed to be in love, right?”, Jack asked.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the whole point of the movie”, you said, not looking up from your book.

“Then why is he hurting her?”

That got your attention, you looked up at the screen. The guy in the movie was pushing his female love interest up against the wall and gazing into her eyes with an intense smolder that made you shiver a little.

“He’s not. It’s kinda meant to be romantic. It’s building sexual tension”, you replied as the pair on screen started making out. “See? Now they realize they’ve been in love the whole time.”

Jack turned to look up at you, “How do you know when you’re in love though?”

“I don’t know, you feel all tingly and happy when you’re around someone you love. You really like spending time with them, I guess. These are some loaded questions. Haven’t you been watching the movie?”

Jack flushed, “I wasn’t really paying attention to some of it.”

You shrugged, “You didn’t miss much, most chick flicks are all the same anyway.”

The end credits rolled down the screen a few minutes later and you closed your book. Jack looked like he had zoned out again as you continued to play with his hair. He was probably tired. Even nephilim had to burn out at some point.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed. You look like you should too”, you suggested, pushing a few stray stands of blonde away from his forehead.

“Maybe. I’ll only wake up in a couple hours anyway. Can I stay up longer? I want to watch another movie”, he said, sitting up to let you up.

“Go ahead. I’m not your mom, you can stay up late if you want. Just don’t start Star Wars without me.”

Being a Winchester meant very few nights of peaceful sleep, luckily tonight was just the usual nightmares of being torn apart by various monsters. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. So when you woke up in a cold sweat, you shook off the fear and decided to grab a drink before going back to sleep. The clock read 3:00 AM in big red letters, so you had only been out for a few hours.

Jack’s bedroom door was shut when you walked past, so you assumed he had turned in sometime after you. You crept down to the kitchen as quietly as possible to avoid waking him. You grabbed a drink of water and checked your phone for any notifications, nothing from the boys yet but they weren’t supposed to be home until next week due to complications according to their last call. From somewhere down the hall you heard a floorboard creek. If Jack had woken up you would have heard his door, the hinges in the bunker weren’t exactly well oiled. The hairs stood up on the back of your neck and you set your glass down silently.

The hall was dimly lit but there was no sign of anything that could have made the noise. You sighed. You were just on edge from that nightmare, the bunker was decades old if ever there was the time to use the “house settling” excuse it was with this ancient building. You turned the corner back down your hallway and was suddenly slammed up against the wall. You let out a gasp that would have turned into a very loud scream if your eyes hadn’t met a pair of blue ones.

“Jack”, you breathed, “You scared the shit out of me.”

Jack stared you down silently. His grip on your wrists was tight and it made you wonder if he knew just how tight. His gaze was intense almost like…

“You can ease up a little bit there, tiger”, you whispered and his eyes softened along with his grip.

“I’m sorry. Did I actually hurt you?”, he asked nervously.

You shook your head, “I think I’ll live. What are you doing?”

His cheeks turned red, “In the movie, you said this was romantic.”

Oh. Now it was your turn for your cheeks to heat up.

“Jack...”

“I feel tingly and happy when I’m around you, Y/n”, he said sincerely, “You said that means I’m in love.”

“You’ve never been in love before, Jack. Love is more than just tingly feelings. It’s something that you have to figure out and learn on your own”, you explained.

“You don’t love me?”

That damn near broke your heart. You shook free one of your hands and caressed his cheek softly. “Jack, I like you way too much than I should already and could well be on the road to loving you. But I don’t want you to think you’re in love with me just because I’m one of the only people you’re around-”

He shook his head, “I’ve seen other people though. No one has ever made me feel like you do. I thought there was something wrong with me but it doesn’t feel bad. It feels good, like pancakes or grocery shopping or you playing with my hair.”

Forget being on the road, you had reached your destination. You were definitely in love with Lucifer’s son. His eyes bore into yours and you couldn’t take it anymore. You surged forward and pressed your lips to his. His hands landed on your hips as you threaded your fingers into his hair. The kiss was hot and messy, that was the only indication that this was Jack’s first time doing something like this. Of course he would also be a perfect kisser. You pulled away after a few more moments, breathing harshly.

Jack beamed at you, “Can we do that again?”

You laughed, “Yes, Jack. But maybe after a couple hours of sleep.” You swore he was pouting.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”, he asked, “I heard you earlier, you had another nightmare.”

“Did I wake you?”

He shook his head, “No, I haven’t gone to bed yet.”

That’s why you had heard creaking, it really was Jack moving around.

If anyone had told Sam and Dean Winchester a couple months ago that they would come home to find their little sister cuddled up to Lucifer’s son in bed, they would have laughed in their faces. But that was then and now Dean was looking absolutely mortified and about to blow as Sam dragged him out of the doorway so as to not wake them up.

#spn #supernatural #jack kline #supernatural jack #jack kline x reader #jack kline x y/n #fluff #supernatural fluff #one shot #supernatural one shot

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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The Garden of Eden | Part II: Reflection

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (2/4)~

Summary (Part Two): When memories are all that clouds your vision, how do you begin to break cycles and live in the present? Can you overcome your irrational fear when paradise is only a memory of long ago? Living through hell can make or break you.

Warnings (in this part): Slight PTSD, that’s all I would say.

Word count: 3,586

Notes: I’m so excited to be posting this! This part is quite a bit longer than the last one. I absolutely loved writing it though! Be on the lookout for many metaphors, biblical references, and *reflective* events. This part is complex in many ways, and a lot of things tie into one another. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!!

Also a side note, if you’d like to be on the tag list for this series just let me know!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

An odd feeling settled upon you as rays of sunlight blinded your eyes. Something wasn’t right. You couldn’t exactly pin it down, but all you knew was that you felt calm. Calm was not a part of you, as much as you portrayed to others that it was. Spending nearly ten years with a man you didn’t trust could do that to you.

The bed underneath you was soft, the scent in the air surrounding you lavender. You wondered for a moment where you were, your heart jumping as your eyes glanced around you frantically. That’s when you remembered: you were in James’ hotel. James’.

Your nerves lessened when you thought about James, a small smile curling your lips. As soon as you had arrived at the hotel, he insisted that you get a room to yourself to get the best rest possible. He’d even sent his maid to give you a basket of everything lavender to help you sleep: candles, essential oils, soap. He practically spoiled you the minute you arrived. You couldn’t deny how good it felt, though. You felt like a queen.

You sat up in bed, wondering where the man pervading your thoughts was. You glanced at your side table, noticing the vase of white roses immediately. When had those gotten there? The tiny card leaning against the vase caught your attention in particular. You reached for it and opened it. The small note was in James’ neat handwriting, reading:

“Good morning, darling. Gather yourself and meet me in the lounge. I do hope my accommodations suited you. Yours truly, JPM.”

You smiled, your curiosity spiraling at the thought of what he had planned for you. You quickly jumped out of the bed, going to the bathroom to get ready. You noticed immediately of all the things in this bathroom that weren’t normally in hotel bathrooms. There were tons of beauty items for women that most men don’t even know exist. You knew it was James. He was so thoughtful, giving you anything you could possibly need and more. James had taken the time to be sure you had everything. Your heart fluttered at the thought, excitement settling within you. James really did have everything, and now you had James. You knew it was going to take a long while before you were used to this luxurious treatment, but you weren’t complaining. You’d dreamed of living this kind of life since you were merely a child.

Once you had showered, gotten dressed, and did your hair and makeup, you were ready. You smiled at your reflection. James had picked the most fashionable clothing to put in your closet, and you simply loved having a reason to dress up in general. But it wasn’t even about you, in reality. You wanted James to see how much you appreciated everything he was doing, so you were going to make sure that you put all he gave you to use. It was all for James. You were going to spend every second doing as much as you could for him. He had saved you, after all. You couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if James hadn’t arrived when he did. That was the worst argument that you and Robert had ever had.

You scolded yourself for thinking of Robert. You needed to focus on now, on the new life you were beginning. You couldn’t just shake it off, though. You still felt the need to be vigilant, to walk on egg shells. You sighed. You didn’t want to be in a bad mood today, of all days. James needed to see how much you appreciated and cared for him. You took a deep breath. Just focus on now, you told yourself, before taking one last look at your reflection.

When you entered the lobby, you were surprised to be greeted immediately by James’ maid, Miss Evers.

“Right this way, Ms. Y/L/N,” the woman smiled, gesturing with her arm for you to follow. She made her way up the stairs, you following behind curiously. It was as if she was escorting you somewhere. Your questions weren’t left unanswered for long, however, as you found your answer at the top of the stairs.

The entire bar was empty, which seemed odd compared to it’s usually bustling atmosphere. The dining area was decorated to the brim with white roses, all surrounding a table in which had plates full of fruit, pancakes, eggs, and many other breakfast foods. You gasped quietly at the extravagance as your eyes landed on James, who stood in front of it all, hands clasped together politely as he awaited you. He smiled at the sight of you.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted, walking over and offering an arm to you. You stared at him in disbelief for a moment, a wave of déjà vu coursing through you.

You remember you were so excited. Los Angeles was a gorgeous city in it’s own, and you felt so lucky to have been born in a city in which held so much opportunity. You were merely fourteen; barely old enough to even think for yourself, but you’d always been smart. Your mother had assured you of that since you were born, always putting your education above all else. She’d told you, “One day when all the distractions of young age are gone, you’ll realize why you need to be prepared.” You hadn’t understood why then, but the words had always stuck with you. It was one of the first times that she had trusted you on your own. Most of the time, she had always put her fear for your safety first, but on that day she had given in to your pleas.

She had let you walk to the garden of white roses, three blocks down, by yourself. When you thought about it now, you realized just how defining that moment of your life was, because what happened when you got to that garden had changed your life forever.

White roses had always been your favorite flower, ever since you had first passed that blooming Southern California garden at three years old. The owner was a tiny sweet elder lady, gracious and elegant as ever. She had owned the garden her entire life; it was her pride and joy. She’d always welcomed polite visitors, and if she caught you, she’d tell you all about the flowers, and how special they were. She said that they had brought to her all of the pleasantries that her life held; love, wealth, and even an eternal feeling of youth. That’s why she never picked or sold them, she said; “if you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.” Some people said that she was a witch; you just thought she was sweet, maybe a little kooky, but nice nonetheless. You had grown to look up to her.

When you had arrived at the rose garden on that day, however, you were greeted with a new presence foreign to you. The boy stood as still as a statue, his eyes raking over his surroundings. Based upon his height and physical appearance, you had assumed that he was about the same age as you. You watched him as he picked a rose from the bush, bringing it up to his nose to smell. You approached him quietly.

“If Mrs. Smith knew you picked one of her flowers, she’d claim treason,” you said, catching the boy’s attention. He looked at you in bewilderment.

“Where did you come from?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sneaky,” you said jokingly with a teasing smile. He blinked, his confusion still evident. “But seriously,” you continued, “you better hope she doesn’t see you. She doesn’t like people who disturb her flowers. In fact, she’d probably curse you.” At that, the boy smirked.

“Is she a witch?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Some people think so,” you replied, walking closer to him. “If you ask me, I think people should listen to her. She’s very intelligent.” You nudged his side, watching him to gouge his reaction. He raised his eyebrows, watching you carefully.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for one, she’s ancient. That gives her some credits. For another, she grew this garden, and she’s experienced much more than most people. You should hear her stories.” You smiled as you plucked the rose from the boy’s hand and twirled it between your fingers, admiring it.

“She sounds fascinating.”

“She is.” After a moment of silence, you looked up at him, only to catch his eyes. You smiled shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“James March,” the boy said, offering his hand to you.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N,” you introduced yourself in return, smiling up at him.

There was another moment of silence, the both of you just staring at one another. James suddenly took the rose from you again. He pulled a knife from his pocket, your heart stuttering slightly at the sight of it. But James didn’t try to harm you, he simply chopped the stem of the rose off. His hand came up to your face as you smiled nervously at him.

“I think your wrong,” he said, tucking the rose in your hair behind your ear. He stepped back, smiling softly at you. “See? Sometimes even dying flowers can serve a beautiful purpose. It’s a sacrifice. Sacrifices aren’t evil.” You paused, a shy blush forming on your cheeks at his actions.

“I never thought of it that way,” you whispered, reaching up to tuck the rose more firmly behind your ear. You smiled at James, a weird feeling you’d never felt before settling upon you. His simple action and thoughtful words had made you excited in a way you’d never known. It had created a spark; a strong urge inside of you that was almost indescribable. And as you looked in his eyes, you wanted nothing more than to relive that feeling over and over again. You swore you’d never let him go.

Suddenly, you were looking at his face again, but this time much older.

“Darling, are you alright?” James asked, and you blinked quickly, your focus shifting present.

“Yes,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you realized just how deep into the memory you had been. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” he said, studying you. “Are you sure you feel pleasant? You were quite far gone, I called your name several times. Did you rest well?”

“Yes, of course,” you said quickly, reaching out to clasp his hand tightly as you smiled reassuringly. “I promise. You just surprised me, is all.” James nodded, seeming fairly convinced, before smiling and gesturing towards the table.

“Alright darling, well why don’t you sit and eat something. A proper meal should do just the trick.” You smiled and nodded back at him, moving to sit in your chair that he pulled out for you. Once you were situated, James moved to sit across from you at the other end of the table.

“I wasn’t sure what you enjoyed most, so I instructed Miss Evers to make several morning dishes,” he said, grinning at you. “I hope it’s suiting for you.”

“Of course,” you said, placing a few items on your plate. A few minutes passed as you ate, your mind drifting back to last night’s events in the silence.

“Are you happy, my love?” James suddenly asked, snapping you out of your thoughts once again.

“Yes,” you replied quickly, smiling at him sincerely, “yes of course!” You could tell from the look of concern still on James’ face that he wasn’t convinced. You sighed, deciding to just be honest with him. “I just... it’s difficult to process how my life just changed.” You paused, watching James closely for a reaction. He stared, waiting for you to elaborate, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I’ve been alone for so long, living a horrible, unhappy life. I’m happy now, with you, but I can’t just turn that feeling off, that feeling that this moment is fleeting. It-- it terrifies me...” You trailed off, your mind wondering as you stared at the roses around you. The roses that James decided to decorate your breakfast with. The roses that had ultimately brought you together in the first place. The roses that James kept bringing around for you. Your roses. You turned your attention back to James, your eyes meeting his.

“These flowers, why did you pick them?” you asked him seriously. A look of confusion clouded James’ expression.

“Well,” James started, “I suppose they have some semblance to us, darling... these were the very flowers--”

“Of course, I remember...” you trailed off, thinking of what to say next. “But really, there has to be more to it...” It came out as more of a question than a statement. You just didn’t understand why he was bringing up all of these memories.

“Of course, dear,” James said, sighing. He looked you in the eyes, and you could see the sincerity there. “I knew you wouldn’t recover in a day, a week, a month, even a year...” he paused, his eyes downcast at the tablecloth. “I just hoped that by reminding you of what we can be once again will help you settle. My only wish is to make you happy...” he paused again, his eyes shifting back up to meet yours. This time you were met with certainty. “I want to take us back to that time. To that garden. To when we flourished the most even if the rest of the world was, well...”

“Hell. The rest of the world was hell,” you finished for him, your eyes teary at his sweet sentiment. James, however, faltered slightly at your words. You paused, taking note of the way he cringed at the mention of hell, before you reached to grab his hand, squeezing it tightly, lovingly. “Thank you James.” Your voice held so much emotion, and at that, James stood before walking over to you and pulling you out of your chair and into his embrace.

“Darling,” James whispered into your hair. You hummed in response, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his manly scent. You clasped onto him tightly. “Whatever may happen, I promise I will never let you slip from my grasp ever again... you shall never be afraid again. I would give everything away just for your happiness. You inform me and I will have it done for you, whatever you may need.” It was a firm promise, and you knew he meant it. James didn’t make empty promises. Your chest felt as if it might explode with love and adoration for this man. He really did want to give you the world. He really was your heaven... your God.

-♥-

After you had finished breakfast, James had insisted that he take you on a tour of the Cortez, and you weren’t going to turn him down. It was his pride and joy, and regardless, it was the most gorgeous place you had ever stepped foot into. You were nearly finished, with only two more floors to explore, when James started acting strange.

“James, what’s wrong?” you asked, placing your hand on his arm. He grimaced before looking at you nervously.

“Well, you see...” he trailed off for a moment, his voice hesitant. You began to get concerned. “These floors are still under slight renovation...” You giggled at his words.

“James,” you said sweetly, “it’s okay, I’m not afraid of a little dirt.”

“Well, no, that’s-”

“I’m serious,” you interrupted, giggling once again. The elevator dinged as you reached your destination. You smiled before taking his hand and leading him out. He sighed, still looking standoffish.

James had been telling the truth; there was a particular section of the hallway in which there was a wall being built, but it was small. You didn’t understand what he was so nervous about.

Suddenly, a loud shout rang out through the hallway, causing both you and James to flinch in surprise. There was a sound of commotion and James quickly walked towards the scene; you following closely behind him.

“What’s the issue?” James demanded someone standing at the back of the gathering crowd of men. There was a sound of someone groaning in pain. You stood at a distance away, more interested in the small white rose twirling between your fingers.

“One of the construction workers collapsed, sir,” the man informed him. At this point you’d lost interest, zoning in on the pretty rose in your hands. James barked a few orders at the men, but you weren’t really paying attention.

You looked up as James returned to you.

“I apologize for the interruption,” James said, obviously irritated.

“What’s the problem?” you asked, confused.

He paused, looking at you softly, “I thought that may have worried you.”

“Men get hurt all the time,” you said passively.

“Of course...” James trailed off, looking slightly confused, which made you confused. What did you do? Were you supposed to be worried? You brushed it off, smiling at him expectantly.

“Ready to continue with the tour?” you asked him, turning your back on him. You began walking back down the hall, glancing behind to see James following you. You rounded the corner, only to run into someone unexpectedly.

You stumbled backwards, nearly tripping. Luckily James stabled you before you hit the ground. You looked up, your eyes landing on a beautiful blonde woman. You paused, studying her, before a realization dawned upon you. You’d seen this woman before.

You remember her distinctly, for she was the person who had ultimately made you lose all hope. James’ wife, Elizabeth. You’d seen her all that time ago when you had first tried to escape your husband. She’s the woman that had made you believe James didn’t love you anymore.

When James had come back for you, you’d assumed that his relationship with her had failed. So why was she here?

“Why, hello,” the woman said, glancing between you and James, a weird grin on her face. She looked at James. “And who might this lovely lady be?”

You turned to look at James, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. James’ jaw was clenched as he stared at Elizabeth, and right there and then you knew he didn’t like her.

“It’s okay, James,” she purred, her smirk never leaving. “I’m not offended. We both knew it was never going to work.” She turned to you. “You must be Y/N. I’m Countess Elizabeth.” She offered a hand to you, and you took it gracefully. James was disturbingly quiet beside you. You decided to take the ropes.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you replied smoothly.

“What’s all the commotion down the hall?” Elizabeth asked curiously. You could tell that she had some kind of ulterior motive, otherwise she would have moved on.

“Nothing important,” you replied nonchalantly. It was the truth. You didn’t feel the need to be competitive with this woman anymore; you knew who James stood by, and you trusted him. You turned to him, intertwining your arms together. “James here was just giving me a tour. I hope you don’t mind?” You smiled politely at Elizabeth. She paused, her expression one of slight surprise. It seemed to be a strange look on her.

“Of course not,” she said through tight lips. “You two have fun.” You smiled at her kindly once more, before you and James continued on, arm in arm.

Once in private in the elevator, James turned to you.

“I have to say,” James said, smiling at you, “you handled that well. You do know that Elizabeth was... shall I say, challenging you?”

“I know,” you said, smiling at him reassuringly. “But that’s the thing: she was the one challenging me. Obviously she thought she had something to fight for. I know what’s mine.” James expression morphed into one of surprise, and then pride.

“Of course you do, dear,” he said, smiling down at you. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The kiss was loving and at the same time slightly rough. You loved how James could make you feel like this; so powerful. After a heated moment, he pulled away.

“Darling, despite your present confidence in the matter,” he began, “I’d like you to know that regardless of Elizabeth and I’s history, she will never compare to your glamour. You truly are a revelation like no other.”

You smiled once more at his words, thinking back to that day in the garden once more, and to your mother’s words. The feeling you had now was a reflection of the feeling you had then. He’d always made you feel so incredibly self-assured. You felt like no matter what happened to you and James, nothing could break you at this point and time. And your mother had been right: gaining the knowledge was important.

Now that you’d ate the fruit of the garden and survived hell, what could possibly stop you?

You felt invincible, so long as he was by your side. You no longer feared the past or the future; you were completely centered present, all cycles broken. And it had took James less than a day to make you feel this way. Your excitement soared as you thought about your future with James. You knew that so long as you had him, you were unstoppable together. You were gods.

You didn’t need the garden, after all. Paradise lost stood no match to you, because with James, you could survive anything.

---

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

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ranboounlabeled · 4 years ago

Text

Incorrect Quotes

So I had the bright idea one day to make incorrect quotes based on a DnD campaign and the players. Why not post them here? If any of them find this and request this to be deleted, I won’t mind. Blu - DM, any other character you don’t see listed here Tuck - Alzora Autumn/Me - Aria Maria - Yeet Bard - Tad Whipple - Niyana ~ Aria at 3AM: Alzora wake up Alzora, annoyed: What is it? Aria: If butterflies fall in love, do they feel humans/mobians in their stomach? Alzora: The rest of Team Supernova: Niyana: aria what the fuck Yeet: No no, wait. She has a point. Yeet: What if they’re mobian butterflies? Snipe: What if they just feel really tiny butterflies in their stomachs? Niyana: That’s morbid. ~ Aria: is pink panther a lion Alzora: say that again but slower Aria: i don't get it? Alzora: he's the pink PANTHER Aria: okay? but is he a lion? Alzora: Aria. he's a panther Aria: is that a kind of lion??? Alzora: no it's a fucking panther Aria: I just googled it. Are they not pink? Alzora: AND LIONS ARE??? ~ Yeet: *gets shot* Shit. Alzora: Language! ~ Niyana: Is 4 alot? Aria/Alzora: Depends on the context. Aria/Alzora: Money? No. Aria/Alzora: Murders? Yes. ~ Yeet: Just a reminder that I'm non-binary so if you've got a crush on me, u gay bro ~

Alzora: if one of you says that stupid thing again I will not hesitate to give you frost bite Aria: aw that's so sad alexa play despacito Alzora: starting with you Alt idea from our DM (context, Alzora is an ice dragon and I compare her to Elsa alot): Aria: thats so sad, alexa play Let it Go. Alzora: you will die in 3 days ~ Niyana: THE FLOOR IS LAVA Yeet: *helps Snipe onto a chair* Alzora: *throws Aria off the table* revenge Niyana: There are two types of people ~ Alzora: If anyone says ‘mood’ ‘same’ or 'me’ in response to something I say ever again, I will throw you out the nearest window Yeet: Mood Aria: Same Niyana: Me Alzora calling tad: hello? Tad can you come here quickly? Tad: why what happened? Alzora: well lets just say there’s a gun in my hand, 3 dead bodies on the floor, blood on the walls floor and ceiling, and police on the way Tad: Tad: what Tad: The police are going to be there? Yeah, you're on your own ~ Aria: Mobius is a hot, molten core with a solid crust. Therefore, its a ravioli Alzora: Please stop Yeet, taking notes: No no let her finish ~ Aria: Comparing me and Alzora is like comparing apples to oranges. Aria: I mean, I like apples, and I really don't like oranges. Aria: Oranges are annoying. ~ nesta: fuck your cake! aria:

~ Niyana: I’ve been working on my evil laugh! ‘Cause everybody’s got an evil laugh, you know, like... Ha ha ha ha HA! Like that. Alzora: Okay, here’s the thing. You’re not ready... for the evil laugh, okay, you can do a chuckle? Like a mildly upset chuckle? After MY evil laugh. ~ Snipe: You're smiling. Did something good happen? Aria: Can't I smile just because I feel like it? Niyana: Alzora tripped and fell down the stairs. ~ Yeet: So, why is Aria mad at you? Alzora: They sneezed and I accidentally said "shut the fuck up" instead of "bless you". Yeet: Alzora: Yeet: How do you accidentally say "shut the fuck up"?! ~ Alzora: Anyone who says 'uwu' or 'owo' again is being arrested for crimes against humanity! Aria: Cwimes against huwumanity. Alzora: I'm going to break your fingers. ~ Yeet, while crying: LOVE IS DEAD AND NEVER EXISTED! ALL YOU DID WAS BETRAY ME AS I LAY SICK AND FESTERING! YOU ARE THE DEFINITION OF DREAD! Snipe: Are you ok??? Yeet, crying even more: NIYANA STOLE MY FUCKIGN WEAPONS! [This breakdown is immediately followed by Yeet trying to beat the shit out of a 15 year-old] ~ Alzora: Good Morning! Aria: Good Morning everyone Snipe: Good Morning. [ half of everyone else says their good mornings] Yeet: My god you all sound like robots! “good morning” this “good morning” that. Yeet: Spice it up!!! Niyana: HEY MOTHERFUCKERS ~ Alzora: *falls* Alzora: Alzora: I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies. ~ Aria: Tall people are the enemy! Alzora: I'm sorry, I can't hear you from up here. Aria: I will tie your fucking shoelaces together and you won't even know it! ~ Niyana: But rules were made to be broken! Tad: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Nesta: Uh, pinatas. Alzora: Glow sticks. Yeet: Karate boards. Aria: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Niyana: And rules! Snipe: Don’t forget bones. Yeet: Ye-Wait no- ~ Aria: Onion rings are just vegetable doughnuts. Alzora, used to Aria: Sure they are, Aria. Aria: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed. Alzora: Okay. Aria: Lasagna is just spaghetti-flavored cake. Alzora: … Aria, oblivious: Lobsters are mermaids to scorpions. Alzora, crying: Aria, please stop. Yeet, fascinated: No, continue. ~ Yeet: Hey, Snipe, what are you doing here? Snipe: This is where I come to cry. Yeet: What. Snipe: I said this is where I come to be a cool guy. ~ [loud crashing comes from Team Supernova's room, Tad runs in to find the room completely trashed] Tad: What happened in here!? [The rest of the Team are on an elevated surface] Aria, on top of the bookshelf, shaking: We saw a spider... ~ Yeet: Isn’t it amazing what friends learn from each other? Aria: I learn a lot from Phin because he makes so many mistakes. ~ Aria: AVJDJAHDHSHS Tad: what is that? Aria: a keyboard smash Tad: how do I do it? Aria: just press anything Tad: 7 ~ Alzora: Bitch. Aria: Blocked. Alzora: Wait, unblock me, I need to tell you something. Aria: Unblocked. Alzora: Bitch. ~ Alzora: Don’t say a word. Aria: Aria: Fergalicious. Alzora: I said no words. Aria: Oh, I see. Two weeks ago playing Scrabble, it’s not a word. Now suddenly it is a word because it’s convenient for you. ~ Aria: Olli? Why are you outside? It's pouring! Olli, drenched: The aesthetic, Miss Aria. Aria: Olli, please. Olli: ThE aEsThEtIc, MiSs ArIa! ~ Niyana: There’s no “i” in happyness. Aria: There is if you fuckin’ spell it right. ~ Niyana: Do you care if I take the skin off the Furby? Niyana: I want to make him a God. Once he is free of his sinful flesh he can begin the path towards enlightenment. He will take care of Us. Niyana: Also I want to softhack his circuits. Yeet: I literally could not care less but never say anything as frightening as that sentence ever again. Tad, not looking up from his sketch book: I could design some long furby designs if you need me to. ~ Stella: I have a mafia! Yeet: We have a Niyana. ~ Yeet: Bro. Snipe: What bro? Yeet: Tell the whole world we’re bros. Snipe: *whispers* We’re bros. Yeet: Why’d you whisper bro? Snipe: Because you’re my whole world bro. Yeet: B R O. ~ Yeet: Your house is burning down! You can only save one thing. What do you save? Aria: My house?? ~ Aria: Yeet, do you ever want to talk about your emotions? Yeet: No. Alzora: I do. Aria: I know, Alzora. Alzora: I’m sad. Aria: I know, Alzora. ~ Stella: *looking around in closet* What should I change into? Snipe: A better person. ~ Whatever characters Yeet writes into fanfiction: *hugging and vibing* Yeet: Who would ever want to harm such a loving relationship? Yeet, brandishing a pen: I WOOOOULD! ~ Yeet: Chillax~ Alzora: That’s not a word. Yeet: Sometimes the ones who deny “chillax” are the ones who need to chillax the most. ~ Aria: 13 year old me would be both terrified and in awe at who I am now. Niyana: 13 year old me wouldn't think I'd get this far. Yeet: I would fight a 13 year old me. ~ Snipe: Yeet came into my room in the middle of the night, I pretended to be asleep, and they stroked my hair for a minute then left. Are they planning to kill me??? Aria: No they just care about you, idiot. ~ Yeet: Well, I guess you could say I’ve fallen for you. Snipe: You just fell down seven flights of stairs, how are you even alive? ~ Yeet: I wish I could block people in real life. Alzora: A restraining order. Niyana: Murder. ~ Alzora: What the frick is wrong with you? Snipe: Please be more specific and resubmit with the proper paperwork. ~ [on a city bus] Stranger: Are you traveling for business or pleasure? Alzora, in full armor: Combat. ~ Aria: Who ate my fries? Yeet? Yeet: I don’t like fries. Aria: Snipe? Snipe: I don’t need food. Aria: Niyana? Niyana: …It was Alzora. Alzora: Yeah it was. Aria: wh ~ Alzora: They are completely literal people. Metaphors go over their heads. Yeet: Nothing goes over my head... my reflexes are too fast! I would catch it. ~ Yeet: Live by the ass, die by the ass. Tad: S t o p ~ Niyana: Is there a word that is a mix between sad and mad? Tad: Malcontented, disgruntled, miserable, desolate. Yeet: Smad. ~ Tad: If someone is trying to rob a civilian, what is the correct course of action? Yeet: T-pose to assert dominance Tad: No. Niyana: Say "Thank you Chaos, for this meal I'm about to have" and then- Tad, interrupting: even worse Yeet, taking notes: Wait, let her finish ~ Aria: Hey Alzora, do you think Snipe feels regret? Because i just saw him choke down one of Tad’s pancakes in half a second. Alzora: Snipe has only one emotion and that’s hubris. ~ Yeet: *peeling a banana* May I take your jacket lol Snipe: Do you think other people can't hear you? ~ Aria: You have to pick your battles, Alzora. Alzora: I’m full of rage and I’m picking all of them. ~ Nesta, T-posing in the hallway: Good morning, parental figure. Tad, not looking up from his coffee: Hello, problem child. ~ Yeet, throwing his head in Snipe’s lap: Tell me I’m pretty. Snipe, lovingly stroking their hair: You’re pretty fucking annoying, that’s what you are. ~ Yeet, hoarsely: I think I'm losing my voice. Niyana: Ha! That means you can't yell at me anymore! [later that day] Niyana: Turns out, Yeet is scarier when they’re quiet. ~ Snipe: WE'RE SINKING IN DEEP WATER. Yeet: Don't worry. I learned this from a survival TV show. Yeet: OH TOOOOODLES-- ~ Niyana: Who else uses can openers to drink soft drinks? Yeet: This is extremely unhinged I must try it immediately. ~ Snipe: Boil up some mountain dew. It’s gonna be a long night. Aria: You could have said anything else. Yeet: fire burn and cauldron bubble, baja blast to fuel my trouble. ~ Aria: What do you want for dinner? Niyana: How about Sonic? Aria: *whispers* He's so fast how would we catch him-

#I can assure you there's much more but im tired #I'll reblog with more later #incorrect quotes #sonic incorrect quotes #sonic forces #dnd 5e #tad the duck #yeet #aria the jackal #alzora frost #niyana the cat #dnd incorrect quotes

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sophieakatz · 4 years ago

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Thursday Thoughts: Hanukkah Thoughts

One

The past two years, I’ve lived in a house where the landlady banned candles. She also put up a Christmas tree every year in the living room. I didn’t really mind that the tree was there; it didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t really think I minded not being able to light the menorah, either.

At the beginning of this month, I moved to a new place. I got a menorah and candles, and I lit the shamash and sang the prayers.

It felt like getting a piece of myself back.

Two

I’m using “Hanukkah” in this blog post. I could just as easily use “Chanukah” instead; I’d feel the same way about it.

They’re both wrong. That’s how I see it. Sometimes you’re just stuck with using the wrong word as a label so that you can communicate with people who can’t understand you. It will always be spelled correctly – in Hebrew – in my heart.

Three

Last year I told myself that every time someone at work told me “Merry Christmas” when it was Hanukkah, I would reply, “Happy Hanukkah!” I didn’t end up doing it every time, but I got braver about it the further into the week I got.

There were never any outright negative reactions, thank G-d. Mostly people seemed confused. They would do a double take as they walked away from me, as though wondering if they’d heard me correctly.

“Merry Christmas!” one woman said late in the week.

“Thanks, Happy Hanukkah!” I said.

“That’s right!” she said with a big grin and a little laugh. “And Kwanzaa!”

It was not Kwanzaa.

Four

I’ve never made latkes before, and in hindsight, it’s a little bit funny just how nervous I got about it.

I didn’t have an exact recipe to follow; my mom’s more of a trial-and-error cook than one with exact recipes. I’ve never deep fried anything in my life – I usually don’t eat fried things at all – and I don’t have a sense of smell to tell me if something’s burning. I hovered over the oven, equally afraid of flipping the pancakes too soon and too late and wondering if I could tell the difference. I hate wasting food. I hate being wrong. I preemptively hated creating latkes that tasted wrong.

My latkes were soft, but beautiful and sweet, and every bite I took made me want another.

For the second round of latkes I made, a couple nights later, I brought over a chair and let the latkes – and myself – sit for a while. They were even better than the first batch.

Five

This year, I decided to take a step up in courage, and make “Happy Hanukkah” my casual greeting for people at work during these eight days.

On the first day, a woman told me, “Merry Christmas,” and I automatically replied, “Happy Hanukkah.” She looked at me like she thought I was being snide with her. I wasn’t… not intentionally, at least.

Another woman got very excited when I told her, “Happy Hanukkah.”

“You said the thing that applies to you; I love it!” she said, as though it had never occurred to her before that someone might do that. She turned to her husband. “Did you know it was Hanukkah?”

I got one enthusiastic “Thank you!” from a man wearing a kippah, who told his children to say “Thank you” as well.

The most common reaction I’ve gotten this week by far is laughter. It’s never been malicious laughter, thankfully. It’s more of an “oh how silly” laughter, as they walked away. How silly of that strange young woman at Disney World to say, “Happy Hanukkah” instead of “Merry Christmas.”

How silly of me indeed.

Six

Each night, we use the shamash – the helper candle – to light the other candles. Each night, the shamash is used to light more candles than the night before.

The shamash is never lessened by this work. As it lights each candle, its light remains as bright as ever, and soon there is enough light for everyone, as together, the candles light the room around them.

I don’t think I need to spell out the metaphor, but I think we could all benefit from seeing ourselves as like the shamash.

Seven

I don’t see the point of saying “Happy Hanukkah” when it isn’t Hanukkah. I don’t see the point of saying “Merry Christmas” when it isn’t Christmas. It seems like the only reason to do that is to tell everyone that you think Xmas is the most important thing in the world this time of year.

I’m not interested in telling anyone that Hanukkah is the most important thing in the world. It’s important to me and my people. I don’t need it to be important to anyone else.

I’ll say Hanukkah when it’s Hanukkah, and I’ll say Christmas when it’s Christmas. For the rest of the month, I’ll stick to “Happy Holidays.”

Eight

Every year, someone points out that Hanukkah isn’t actually an important Jewish holiday. I’m guilty of this, too.

When we say this, though, we don’t really have anything against Hanukkah. We’re reacting to our frustration that Hanukkah is the only thing that Christians and culturally Christian atheists usually know about Judaism. As we react to their excitement about Hanukkah, we also react to their lack of interest in anything else in our culture.

My elementary school teachers asked my parents to come teach my class about Hanukkah. My parents replied that they would come if they could also teach about Shabbat and the High Holy Days, and other important things in Judaism. So, my parents never came to teach my class about Judaism, and I’ve known my whole life that this is the only part of my culture that the gentiles pretend to care about.

Hanukkah is Hebrew for “dedication.” When the Seleucid Empire banned the practice of Judaism, they invaded Jerusalem and desecrated the holy temple there. They claimed our temple for themselves, setting up idols to their own gods. After the war was won, the Maccabees had to rededicate the temple to our own religion.

Gentiles’ excitement about Hanukkah feels like they’ve claimed it for themselves. They’ve decided that it’s the “Jewish Christmas.” They have one character wear a Hanukkah sweater in their Christmas specials, they put Hanukkah decorations on one of the many Christmas trees they put up in public places, and they sing one Hanukkah song on their Christmas albums. They’ve even put a Jewish family in a Hallmark Christmas movie – and they act like they’ve done us a favor by “including” us in their Xmas cheer.

It’s no wonder that many Jews today feel the need to distance themselves from Hanukkah. It feels like it’s no longer ours.

We need to rededicate Hanukkah. We – the Jewish people – need to remember and identify what makes it special to us, separate from how it makes the gentiles feel. We need to, for just a moment, forget about the rest of the world and think about why we light these candles, why we say these prayers, why we tell these stories, why we eat this food, why we play these games.

We need to reclaim this part of ourselves, this part which is too often taken away from us. I believe this will make us happier than putting it down year after year, and that it will be more spiritually fulfilling than simply going with the flow of Xmas cheer.

#hanukkah #chanukah #judaism #thursday thoughts #jumblr #jewish holidays #christmas #xmas #holidays #happy holidays #happy hanukkah #merry christmas #chag sameach #dedication #rededication #latkes #menorah

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completelypeccable · 5 years ago

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Can I Have This Dance?

Chp 3. Dancing Queen

/In this house, we love and appreciate Duke Thomas./

Chp 2

Chp 1

“You are the Dancing Queen! Young and sweet, only seventeen!” Duke yelled along with Stephanie, leaning across the divider in the front seats of the car.

Tim kicked Steph’s chair, “Hey, pay attention!”

“Stop being jealous that Duke loves me more than you-“

“Steph?”

“Yeah, Duke?”

“Directions?”

“Oh yeah, take a left up here, then...” Steph rattled off. Cassandra snickered from the back seat.

“Feel that beat like a smooth machine!” Duke continued.

“That’s so not the-“

“YOU CAN DANCE-“

“Why did we let him drive,” Jason grumbled.

“Hey, mister spontaneously alive,” the car took a sharp left, but Steph turned completely around. “You don’t have a license, remember?”

“What are you, some goody two shoes piec-“

“Steph, what are you doing?! Buckle-“

Steph gently shushed Tim by smothering his face. He squawked indignantly.

“Licking won’t work on me, tweety bird.”

Duke eyed them through the rear view mirror.

“I am the only responsible person in this car,” he sighed.

Cass frowned.

“Besides Cassie, but she baby.”

“Oh she baby,” with a yelp, Steph’s arm was disengaged by a jab to the inside of her elbow.

“And babies can’t drive,” Tim wiped his mouth, “right Damian?”

Tim twisted around (still buckled) to face the glare, but Damian wasn’t listening. He was leaned against Cass, who lightly traced her nails across his skin with one hand. She winked, pressing a kiss to Damian’s forehead nestled at her collarbone. Damian held her other hand on her lap, splaying her fingers out, in with a barely-there smile. More of a content line, really. Tim felt relieved that the kid was doing as well as he was, all things considered.

The older two shared a smile. Cass could make anyone melt, but Damian was always uncharacteristically soft with her.

And she loved to coddle him.

Jason groaned. “How much farther?”

“Why are you so upset?” Tim poked his side.

“I just like to complain. But I am also too big for this car.”

“Oh, good shotgun?”

“Yes, fair driver?”

“For how long must we continue our travels?”

“Until dear Jason loses the will to live-“

“Steph!“

“Would someone please shut up my impulse control?”

Tim leaned his head onto her shoulder, hugging her around the seat. “You say the sweetest things.”

“You can dance, you can try~“

Jason flopped his head onto the seat behind him.

Duke smiled, singing along to the song in his head. The pulse in his mind was always calmer when he wasn’t alone. After everything that had been going on, he was happy to see his somehow-sibling-esque-figures doing alright. Being almost normal, even. They planned a family zoo trip! Granted it was partially because Damian was confiscated from his father a-la-angry vigilante style, and Steph and Cass immediately decided to make him act like a normal kid (who is a bit overly attached to animals) to distract them all from that sad reality, and they were all going along for the process because they were grieving something awful- but still! In some way, they were being normal. Normal-ish.

Whatever.

Today was going to be a good day, he decided.

...

The Gotham zoo was busy for a Monday, since it was beautiful weather and a day off from school.

Duke supposed they could all use the break.

“Hey guys,” Steph started as they stood in front of the narrow window of the bear enclosure. “So, we mostly own the night, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But Duke goes out during the day,”

“It’s the light thing,” he said.

“Yeah, the light thing,” Steph waved her hands. “So, anyways, I get that you’re the sunshine child- pun totally intended- but like, you’re strongest when the sun is strongest, right? That makes you-“

“Oh stop,” Tim cackled.

“-a fire bender! And these losers here are water benders!”

Duke gasped and began bending nothing, to Steph’s delight.

Swirling his arms, Jason engaged him in battle. Even though they turned heads, their moves became more elaborate than strictly necessary.

Well, Duke guessed none of this was -strictly- necessary.

Cass hummed thoughtfully, patting Damian’s head while he watched the bears lumber towards the water.

“Us yes. Baby, no.”

Tim considered this as Jason nearly sent Duke into a wayward couple.

“He’s an earth bender,” Steph decided, spinning in lazy circles.

“I have no idea what you people are talking about. Please let me watch the bears in peace.”

“Wait,” Steph practically launched herself against the boys.

“Don’t you mean the platypus bears?”

Duke backed away from the angry women. He scratched his chin and leaned over the plaque. “It just says bear here.”

“You mean skunk bear, then?” Tim grinned.

“Or armadillo bear?” Jason’s size was a gift sometimes, as he leaned back and squashed Damian against the window.

“What are you-“

“Gopher bear?” Steph giggled.

“Just says bear here,” Duke shrugged.

Cass’s spoke softly, but precisely, as if tasting each sound.

“Weird place.”

“Weird people,” Damian grumbled. Jason leaned farther back, further pancaking his cheek against the glass.

“Dancing queen, face as red as a tangerine!” Duke poked his nose.

“Oh, that reminds me, we need to get some fried Oreos-“

“How does that-“

“Shush, Tim. I need fried Oreos clogging my arteries as soon as humanly possible. Come on.”

“Heck yes,” Jason grinned, picking Damian up like a very angry yoga mat. “Steph is in charge now, sorry Duke.”

“As the only capable adult here, I say we need to eat an actual lunch, too.”

Tim took Damian, only to walk with him upside down over his shoulder. They all pretended not to notice his smile underneath the half-hearted promises of violence.

“Nuggets,” Cass prophesied.

Steph linked their arms and led the way to the food court.

...

Duke had been looking forward to this trip all week, and it didn’t disappoint. They saw all the animals, ate terrible food in a less than sanitary environment, then chased each other around and generally made themselves a nuisance to society.

It was great.

Some highlights? Cass dared Jason to eat half a hot dog in a single bite. He shoved the whole thing in his mouth, then walked into a pole. Tim fell asleep on top of Steph and mumbled about robot bunnies. Duke carried Damian around on his shoulders, accidentally walked him into some tree branches, and laughed so hard he dropped him.

Of course, it had been weird that the zoo hadn’t bumped up the number of workers to match crowd sizes, but it was fine. Just took a little longer to do things. And the place was a little messier.

They were just paranoid, is all.

Cass tossed the purple plush snake around her shoulders as they exited the gift shop to the center plaza. The tail hit Steph, who adjusted her peacock sunglasses with an upturned nose.

The crowd rushed around them like a steady stream of fish (“Only animal metaphors for the zoo, folks”). Their imposing shark, Jason, frowned as he pushed his way through the flow.

Damian offered Duke an animal cracker, and he happily picked out a zebra.

It had been a good day.

Tim had waited outside for them, citing important business. He smiled and lowered his phone from his ear as they got closer to his seat at the fountain.

“Hey, Dames, can I have one?” He asked.

Damian raised a single brow.

Tim could fake emotions with the worst of them. Oh, wait, animals. Dang it, Steph. Like a honey bee could take a casual stroll.

“And here I was going to offer you my phone to talk to Dick-“

Damian shoved the whole bag at him and grabbed the phone.

Tim laughed as Damian scurried a small distance away, plunking down just outside the bathrooms. Twin paintings- one a giraffe, the other a flamingo- labeled the two single person stalls.

“Any news from Dick?” Steph asked, settling against Tim’s side.

“Yeah,” he nodded, watching Damian smile into the receiver. “He said he was on his way back.”

It was funny how Jason thought with his face sometimes. Duke could feel the confusion.

“Wait, isn’t he undercover somewhere in Asia right now taking down Some MobTM with ties to the League of Assassins?”

“From the inside, yeah.”

“And he just, what, finished up early?”

“Pretty much.”

Jason threw up his hands, “I hate this family.”

Steph laughed, dragging Cass half onto her lap while Tim stared distracted at the crowd.

Just like that, Jason’s face hardened. Following his line of vision, Duke watched a teen scurry out of the bathroom to the main directory on the other side of the plaza. His hood was up and he looked neither right nor left.

“I’ll be right back,” Jason said, slipping into the crowd flow.

Probably nothing, Duke thought, watching Cass threaten to push Steph into the fountain.

“I’d take the quarters, so the joke’s on you.”

“Stealing,” Cass tutted.

“I’ll look good doing it.”

An eye roll.

Tim’s fingers rapidly tapped against the stone.

“Dames, wrap it up, we’re headed out,” he called.

Damian gave a thumbs up.

See, it was still a good day. Duke breathed deeply.

It was fine.

It was-

The fire alarm went off at the directory. The crowd turned to look.

Tim tensed, and Duke felt the shock shoot up his spine as yellow light pulsed and swarmed toward the bathrooms.

Oh no.

A high pitched whine.

“Get down!” Duke yelled.

The bathroom exploded. They threw themselves to the ground just in time to avoid the brunt of the heat and debris. Dirt and rock sprayed in his face. Smoke filled the air, dark and thick.

Tim scrambled to his feet, coughing.

“Damian!”

No, Duke thought.

There was so much smoke.

They all scrambled toward the bathroom, but the wall where Damian had stood was half rubble and the kid was nowhere to be found.

Duke stared where he last saw him, but the smoke obscured most of the light.

Why is there so much smoke?, he thought. It was hard to get a reading. Come on, Duke. The scene kept pulsing, then disappearing. His head hurt, he couldn’t breathe, but the static blur began to form. Come on.

Tim ran into the building.

Duke fought through the haze until the blue-tinged flecks obeyed and the scene spotted into focus. He saw Damian drop to the ground just as the wall flew apart. Stray debris littered his body, and a brick to the skull knocked him unconscious. The smoke poured through, but just before everything blacked out, a lumbering figure dragged the kid through the broken wall into complete darkness.

The present rushed back. Duke inhaled smoke, sinking to the ground. His chest felt like someone was de-stringing his muscles like spaghetti. Twist, twisting the fork.

“No!” Steph screamed. Tim came out alone and choking for air. Steph pushed her way in, but Duke knew it was useless.

Damian was gone.

#batfam #duke thomas #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #Tim Drake #jason todd #Damian Wayne

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hoodie-lover · 5 years ago

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Palette and Goth Sitting in a Tree Part 4

Palette woke up in his parents’ bed alone, and he flipped out. He ran out of the room.

“Palette! Are you ok?” Ink said as he grabbed Palette, who was shaking as he held Ink tightly.

“Where’s Mom?” Palette asked, tearing up.

“He’s in the kitchen, and he told me about your nightmare. Was it that bad?” Ink asked and Palette nodded as he was picked up and cradled.

“Yeah.” Palette said, snuggling Ink’s scarf.

Dream was making pancakes and when he saw Palette, he gasped and took his kid in his arms.

“I’m so sorry. I’m here Palette, I’m here.” Dream said as he bounced Palette who was grimacing and pouting at this point.

“I’m ok! You don’t need to baby me.” Palette said as Dream held him closer and spun as he cooed and snuggled his child.

“You’re doing this on purpose aren’t you?” Palette said and Dream nodded his head as he put Palette down at the table and set a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon in front of him.

“Thanks.” Palette said as he took a big bite from the pancakes as he shoved eggs and greasy bacon in his mouth.

“So, when were you planning on telling us about Nightmare?” Dream asked, and Palette nearly choked.

“Sometime. How did you know?” Palette said when he swallowed the food.

“I felt his aura. He’s not as stealthy as he thinks he is. I came to your room the moment I felt him.” Dream said and Palette sighed.

“I don’t know how he got in, but he wants to do something with my magic. I’m scared.” Palette said and Dream gave him a hug.

“He won’t hurt you. I promise, he’ll have to kill me first.” Dream said as he got his own plate of food and began to eat at a pace that posed no health hazard to him.

“Ink, don’t inhale your food. Chew. Same goes for you too, Palette. I know you love bacon but moderation is key.” Dream said as Palette downed an entire glass of orange juice.

“Alright. Can I have more?” Palette asked, his plate spotless.

“Of course.” He said and Dream grabbed Palette’s plate and filled it with more food, portions halved.

“Come on! I can eat.” Palette said as he scarfed down the food like a rabid monster.

“Slower. And I do not want you throwing up because you ate too much. It wasn’t a nice thing to come home to.” Dream said as he put Palette’s hands in his lap as Dream glared at Ink.

“What? I can eat all I want. How was I supposed to know when he would be too full to eat more?” Ink said, and Dream sighed.

“How I came to love you is a mystery.” Dream said smiling, as Ink gave a very loud moan as he ate.

“Ew!” Palette said and the two adults laughed.

“Do not say anything Ink.” Dream said as he almost choked on his food from laughing.

“I wasn’t!” Ink defended, raising his hands as Palette slid down under the table.

“You will finish eating your food before you go off. And even then, you are not to leave the table until we discuss what to do about Nightmare.” Dream said and Palette nodded as he sat back upright.

In Goth’s house he was taking a nap, but he had a strange dream. He was in a dark void, and seemed to be all alone.

“Hello Goth.” Nightmare said and Goth froze.

“I’m just dreaming. You can’t hurt me. And you are ugly and slimey. Go away.” Goth said as he turned his back and sat down on the void’s floor and stuck his tongue out.

“You remind me of me when you act like that.” Nightmare said Goth was surprised, turning around to see Nightmare sitting down too.

“How?” Goth asked, knowing that Nightmare was going to try and manipulate him, Dream had beat that, metaphorically, into his and Pallet’s minds.

“I was a naive kid once. So was Dream. He was an airhead with a big heart, I’m surprised he didn’t end up being abused by anyone, or at least like I was, later in life. But I guess we all underestimate the people we think we know the best.” Nightmare said and Goth glared.

“What do you want?” Goth asked and Nightmare sighed.

“Smart kid. I like you.” Nightmare said and Goth continued to glare.

“I want Palette.” Nightmare said and Goth flinched.

“I won’t help you.” Goth said and Nightmare shrugged.

“Obviously. You love him, you really do.” Nightmare said, sighing.

“And he loves you too.” Nightmare said, smiling a cheshire-cat smile.

“You’ll have to go through Death and Geno first.” Goth said, glaring.

“I know.” Nightmare said, and Goth tried to wake them up.

“You won’t wake up until I let you Goth. But, since I have other things going on I’ll be merciful.” Nightmare said and Goth snapped awake, sweating bullets as he held himself close.

“Goth, are you ok?” Geno asked, and Goth nodded sheepishly.

“Just had a small night terror.” Goth said as he went off to his room, though he didn’t feel safe, not at all.

First

#palette roller #Palette and Goth Sitting in a Tree #nightmare sans #dream sans #ink sans #geno sans #reaper sans #goth sans

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uneryx · 5 years ago

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Renee Gets Salty About Dark Magic

This post got long, and got away from me, so I’ll tl;dr it

1. dark magic is a metaphor for consumption and materialism and is ultimately bad because it harms others unnecessarily and is not a sustainable resource

2. the elves were dicks for banishing humans but (especially if humans sucked all the magic out of the land themselves) they were kind of justified, even if it was an extreme measure

3. Eating meat is not the same as dark magic if you’re looking at things from an animistic point of view, which the elves likely do

4. it’s okay to like problematic characters and you don’t have to portray Ezran as a monstrous enfant terrible to feel okay about thinking Viren is justified in what he does. In fact, pretty please stop doing this, everyone in all fandoms. It’s fine if you don’t like the protags but that doesn’t mean you get to say Ezran or Rayla or whoever is EVIL. It’s called Ron the Death Eater and it’s a fandom trope that has pissed me off for going on fifteen years. Deliberately misreading the text isn’t cute. Stop doing it.

5. The show isn’t over, be patient, you’ll probably get to see some comeuppance for stuff anyway. And if you don’t, there’s always fanfiction.

6. For the love of baby adoraburrs please tag posts that go in the vein of “the writing is bad because Viren is portrayed as a classic villain/elves good humans bad/the protags aren’t held accountalbe” with “TDP CRITICAL” I would greatly appreciate it because I’m getting super annoyed with posts that deliberately misrepresent canon to uphold a favored side and it’s affecting my enjoyment of the show. Now! Actual long and discourse-heavy post under the cut!

Ugh I don’t want to start a big ol’ argument with people because I’m still on vacation and don’t want to spend the rest of today arguing about cartoons on the internet, but this has been on the kettle for a while and I feel QUITE STRONGLY about some of these things, so just... let me express my views here and don’t come for me because I’m about to talk about religion and sociology.

Dark Magic is a metaphor for unchecked consumption and capitalism. 1. The theory i’m seeing floating around that got my dander up is that the elves and dragons drained the western half of the continent of magic to keep magic away from humans. I think that, based on what we’ve learned from canon, this is highly unlikely and would be weaker writing than what I think actually happened. Instead, Dark magic was going on for a good solid 800 years (Rise of Elarion is 2000 years before canon) before Sol Regem faced off with Viard (1200 years before canon). The division of Xadia was another 200 years after that. Humans had a solid honking millennium of unchecked dark magic. It is quite likely that the reason the west is entirely devoid of magic, and that humans were banished there, is because they sucked all the magic out of that half themselves. Poor innocent baby humans nothing. They got a taste of power and progress and, like real world humans, let that get WAY out of control.

2. “But Lujanne eats bugs, she’s a hypocrite for saying Claudia can’t squish bugs for pancakes” I want you to go down to your local new-age/witchy bookstore and find yourself an animist that eats meat. You are going to get glared at SO HARD if you whip out the “you think animals have souls but you eat meat!” chestnut. Because here’s the thing.

Eating meat/animal products is an act of life, necessary to sustain the life of someone else. We don’t vilify wolves for eating deer. You gotta eat to live your life, and the human (or, we can assume, bipedal humanoid) diet includes a need for complex protein chains, quite often found in animal meat.

But the reason that we find cannibalism repulsive in western society is because it’s eating another human, despite the fact that humans are made of meat. It’s eating something that we consider sentient, dignified and possessed of a soul. Of course, the taboo also derives from the fact that you can contract prion disease from consuming human meat, but people in 11th century Normandy didn’t know that. It is quite likely, especially given what we’ve seen of magical creatures and Ezran’s ability to talk to animals, that elves view non-human/elf creatures as sentient and possessed of a soul. If that’s the case, then OF COURSE they would see dark magic as horrific.

But eating meat is not on the same level because, as we see from the assassins, death is a part of life, and sometimes necessary. I imagine that hunting and taking a creature’s life for food is an act that is done with respect. The creatures are honored or thanked before they’re eaten or turned into leather. Highly ritualized to dignify that creature’s life. Dark magic doesn’t do that. Dark magic sucks the whole life out, without so much of a how do you do. It’s treating a person like a thing. It’s sucking all the life and essence out of someone so you can shoot fireballs or make fluffy pancakes. Lets be real - you don’t need to do either of those things, so the creature thus died in vain. 3. “The elves are selfish bastards for hogging all the magic.” I agree. Granted, their attitudes may have cooled in the ensuing centuries. It’s a new dawn, the era of Zubeia. We might see elves getting over their uppity selves and working to help teach humans magic. We might also see the show explore that kind of prejudice as Callum learns more magic. In fact, I hope we do. However, two wrongs dont make a right. If Japan bombs the absolute fuckshit out of Hawaii, that does not make it okay to flash-fry Nagasaki with a weapon that blights the land and its people for years and years afterward.

To the elves (who are magical creatures and therefore totally usable as spell components), that’s what dark magic is. Suddenly, haha oh fuck, the humans have a fucking NUKE that every elf and dragon in Xadia is vulnerable to. If a weapon was devised that ONLY a certain portion of the population was affected by, you better bet your sweet bippy that people would panic and make it forbidden and illegal, and severely punish the people who created it. ESPECIALLY if those people were already marginalized. Sucks, don’t it? Doesn’t mean the writing is bad for portraying people having a realistic reaction to something that is harmful to them. The elves aren’t justified in hogging the magic, and I hope future chapters will explore that. But the elves ARE a liiiiiittle bit justified in freaking out. I hold they could’ve come up with a better solution than BANISH HUMANS, but they didn’t. Makes for interesting story conflict, doesn’t it? 4. “Humans NEED dark magic!” / “Calling dark magic a shortcut is dumb” Did they tho? Did they really? Really really? We, modern day humans, don’t NEED smart phones (which rely on several rare earth minerals and are causing untold ecological disaster in areas where they’re miend). We, modern day humans, don’t NEED coal power (which is controlled by coal companies, who keep telling us that we totally do, despite many scientists saying that renewable energy is ready to go whenever). We don’t NEED blackberries from Mexico year-round, or a whole hell of a lot of the things we have come to rely on and consider part of our every day lives. All of these things are unnecessary and shortcuts to progress.

The only - ONLY! - good, necessary thing we’ve seen in canon that dark magic was required for was using the magma titan’s heart for saving people from famine.

A lot of the complaints about sustainable energy and efforts to heal the planet as climate change become increasingly a crisis stem from the fact that doing things RIGHT, in a way that is sustainable and doesn’t strip every last resource out of our home, is that it takes time. It takes SO MUCH TIME to do things properly. Yeah, we can keep going with our coal and our gas-guzzler cars and our fracking and our rare-earth metals... but we ARE going to run out. And then what? Dark magic is the same principle. Eventually, you’re going to run out of resources.

5. Where I think the show is going My main beef with those (and there’s a lot of ya, so I’m not intending to single anyone out) who say that the writing is lazy for dark magic bad elfs good is that the show is not over. Wonderstorm is doing their damndest to give us the saga. And they’ve said, out right, that there WILL be books, if nothing else.

You can’t judge a story’s merits when it’s only been half told. Right now, what the show has done is it has shown us the worst and best of the elves (for example, Khessa’s purity test vs Rayla refusing to kill Ez so she doesn’t perpetuate a cycle of violence) and the worst and best of the humans (ex: Viren forcibly turning thousands of people into monsters against their will vs Viren risking his life in order to save thousands of people from famine). The show has done well to demonstrate that there is good and bad in everyone, and it’s the choices you make and the respect you show others’ autonomy that makes you a good or bad person. The dominoes are in place. The saga has only begun. Being mad that Ezran burned an army (that he likely knew from Soren was invulnerable to fire) or that Aanya shot Kasef in the face (when Opeli would have told her that Kasef conspired behind Ezran’s back to usurp the throne, which is AN ACT OF WAR btw) means you aren’t looking at the big picture. There WILL be consequences for those actions in later seasons, mark my words.

I’m sorry if you’re a Viren or Claudia stan, but they have made choices that hurt other people, and it is in no way shape or form Ezran or Callum or Rayla or ANYONE ELSE’S fault that they made the choices they did. Instead of being mad at the show for not portraying your fav as an innocent victim, be glad that you got such a wonderfully complex set of villains who, quite likely, will get a bomb-ass redemption arc. In fact, I’ll bet you anything that Viren’s walk back from the edge has already begun. The dude fucking DIED, and he’s not going to be eager to get in there and get all grabby with the power any time soon.

That’s what good writing IS - conflict. Tension. People making morally questionable choices. We like it because every day people are hypocrites and morally questionable. You, and I, and everyone we know. Nobody’s perfect and getting cranky and painting the protagonists with the broad villain brush so you can feel good about liking a problematic fave is... some peak tumblr bullshit, tbh. It’s okay to like characters who aren’t perfect. How fucking boring fiction would be if everyone was perfect.

Now if I can ask my mutuals to please tag their criticisms of the show that go in the vein of “the writing is bad because dark magic is portrayed so negatively/they don’t hold the protags accountable/elves good humans bad” with “TDP critical” I would greatly appreciate it. It’s getting to the degree where things are becoming very not fun and making me cranky. Thank you, Renee out.

#tdp discourse #ftr I feel VERY STRONGLY about point 2 #meat-eating is NOT the same as hunting for sport #and if you disagree with me on an ethical level about this stuff then do me a favor and tag your shit #so that we can coexist in our lanes without getting mad at each other over a damn cartoon

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gypsophiaa · 5 years ago

Photo

click for better quality!

don’t repost! reblogs appreciated (・ωｰ)～☆

meet Stella, my Blood Donation / IkeVamp Persona! more detailed description under the cut!

she's not that different from my Cradlesona, but i did change some stuff that are half true irl to make her fit well in the ikevamp universe. i mean i wish i can speak and understand several languages so i downloaded duolingo skskskksks

go make your own Blood Donation! Here's my lil reference you can use, I added some more details to fit in the story :) also, a big thanks to @trulipan for the inspiration of using the character screen!

*disclaimer: the character screen belongs to Cybird, the character info and sprite are fan made :)

Basic Info:

Nicknames: Stella, Sol (Leonardo), Peaches (Arthur and Comte)

Birthday: October 21

Age: 25

Height: 156 cm

Nationality: Filipina

Blood Type: A

Physical:

Eyes: bluish purple

Hair: gray platinum with bluish tips, short and wavy

Accessories: golden hoop earrings, sunflower pin (a souvenir she bought before arriving to the musee)

Features: beauty mark above her left lip, a fainter mark on her right cheek

Illnesses: sleep deprived (?)

Social:

Species: Human

Previous Occupation: Graphic Designer

Occupation: Right-Hand Woman (Assistant)

Relationships:

Arthur Conan Doyle, bickering writing buddy. They often get mistaken as siblings and it peeves them both. Stella dislikes his flirty and teasing personality a lot but she’s more than willing to lend a hand if he starts to run out of ideas (which is NOT her body). He loves to tease her and get her on her toes, which resulted to Sebastian lecturing him quite often. Ironically, they’re close friends

The Count of St. Germain, father-figure. They met when she accidentally dropped her sketch notebook. He complimented how she smelled like peaches and started calling her like that (which Arthur caught wind of and started teasing her for it). He spoils Stella rotten with chocolates, satiating her sweet tooth as much as possible to keep the smile on her face.

Leonardo da Vinci, language mentor. He was impressed when she understood what he was saying in Italian. Then tested her with Latin, German and Spanish. Stella was ecstatic to learn more languages causing his sly advances go over her head (much to everyone else’s relief). She organizes his room as best as she can as thanks.

Theodorus Van Gogh, mortal enemy but not really. He would always refer to her as “Arthur’s little sister” and it would often lead them to constantly bicker. However, both of them share the addicting love for pancakes and will eat it at any time of the day, this was one of the few times where they get along very well. Other times usually involve making Vincent happy and safe. Secretly, however, they look out for each other like actual siblings.

Sebastian, meme buddy. They converse in memes, confusing everyone else, when not too busy in work. She would often ask him historical facts about the others and appreciates him going the extra stretch (she likes listening to his history fanboying). He would also save her from Arthur’s teasing and Theo’s yelling, but sometimes he just stands at the corner and listen to them go mad because he finds it amusing.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, radio (I don’t know how to call it HAHAHAHA). Stella would intentionally pass by near his room just to listen to him play the piano, reminiscing the time where she had a violin. It had always been her dream to hear a live, professional recital of one of his pieces, so hearing him composing new ones just beyond a door made her very happy. Mozart knows she’s listening.

William Shakespeare, neutral but very afraid. Stella avoids him as much as possible, his words are very confusing and deep but she tries her best to understand and remain kind.

Napoleon Bonaparte, older brother figure. He knows her unusually strong peachy scent would attract others and he dedicated himself to protect her. She's probably the most casual one to wake him up — Stella earned the free slap card when he tries to kiss her as thanks for endearing his habit.

Jean D'arc, stranger. She hopes to get to know him better. She would always see him with empty eyes and worries for him. She would often secretly pray for his happiness. Jean knows this.

Osamu Dazai, laugh pill. Though she often gets startled when he enters through windows out of nowhere, its followed by laughter she couldn't control. He likes seeing her laugh and it encourages him to never use the door (much to everyone else's dismay).

Isaac Newton, neutral. They don't speak much. Stella would smile his way whenever she sees him but often receives averting eyes in response and a mutter of hello. She would sometimes lightly hop in Arthur's teases about apples.

Vincent Van Gogh, lover. Stella admires his works since forever and to see him alive and well in person brought tears to her eyes when she realized that everything happening around her was real. Their relationship grew gradually, taking soft steps together until they realized they were in love. She would always sit near him when he's painting at the garden and play with his pet raccoon. She melts when he smiles.

Personality: Artistic and bubbly, she finds beauty in everything. Very expressive, but she keeps a facade when she's sad and it is quite difficult to pin out. She's more than willing to help anyone with whatever she can do. She is easily pleased with the simplest things and gets overwhelmed with gifts. She's usually quiet but if you spark a conversation with her it can go on for a long while, she likes to listen to stories and experiences. She loves to learn different languages and cultures. Can be smart then a dumbass the next moment. Underneath the innocent face is a sultry attitude that she's mastered to control and portray to catch people off guard — though she gets flustered easily when complimented.

Before the Visit to the Louvre: A fresh graduate from BA Multimedia Arts, she earned enough money from commissions to travel to famous museums and relax before starting her work on an international news media site.

Likes:

Chocolates

Adobong Baboy (A Filipino dish)

Pancakes

All the pets!!

Flowers!!

Dressing up!!!

Warm colors

Modern day jokes

Performing

Fruits

Dislikes:

Arthur

Skirt chasers

Being belittled

"Arthur's little sister"

Not knowing what is happening

Being stagnant (not doing anything)

Washing the dishes

Skills and Special Abilities:

Can understand several languages because of her constant travelling, speaks Spanish and Filipino very fluently.

Paints

Writes short stories

Can act like a completely different person if needed

Can go for three days without sleep or sleep for three days, no in between.

Inhales food like Kirby, her stomach has a void somewhere and she gets full very rarely.

Plays the violin (when she was a kid, very rusty today)

Paired with: Vincent Van Gogh

Life in the Mansion: On a daily basis, she helps Sebastian in his duties. Sometimes, she can be found talking business and assessing deals with Theo. She can also be seen in her room rereading Arthur's first manuscripts and editing them. When taking a break, she's sitting by the garden and having tea with le Comte, or watching Vincent paint. She would drop by the library an hour before bed to have a quick foreign language lesson with Leonardo.

Other Info:

She sings when painting very softly, especially when its raining where the pitter patter can drown out her voice.

Cries a lot in her sleep, mostly because of overthinking. She's gotten used to a life where she would be happy for one moment and devastated the next.

She bites. Metaphorically and literally. Arthur got hurt because of it one time.

Bribed easily with sweets — to an extent. She's not that stupid.

Always screams when surprised from behind while quickly whipping around to slap whoever jumped on her. She got a terrible childhood history with those kinds of surprises.

Slaps people by accident when she gets all panicky and will constantly apologize for such a rude habit.

Secretly very horny and has earned a PhD in self control. (Really makes you think that she's actually Arthur's long lost sibling)

She can't smell her peach scent which drives her nuts. A lot of people had told her that since coming in to the mansion. She's never even had peaches before.

The scent grows stronger after sex and bathing, which she found odd because none of the products she uses has peaches as an ingredient. She even uses a different perfume every time but the peach scent still somehow overpowers it.

Vampires are the only ones who can smell the scent, human don't.

Never touch her notebook. Ever. She's insecure about whatever notes and doodles she has. She's hidden it deep in her closet that even she herself forgets.

When questioned why she "doesn't look like a Filipina," she answers with deadpan eyes and a bored look. "We were colonized by the Spaniards for 3 centuries. My grandfather is Spanish." She's tired of being asked often.

Has acted for school plays all her life.

Laughs at everything.

Cries when mad, it adds annoyance to herself.

#now if only i was actually proud of this #im only happy about the layout tbhkjafaf #but the design of the character itself not so much #this may change still #especially the relationships #ikesona #blood donation persona #persona #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevamp oc #oc #イケヴァン #ikemen series

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letstalksymphogear · 5 years ago

Text

Symphogear, EP. 6

Last Time on Grand Theft Auto:

Tsubasa recovers from the world’s gayest coma as Hibiki trains her mind while putting aside such silly concepts as “the love of my life” and “literally being with my girlfriend.” After cooling Miku’s paranoia with her brand new washboard abs, Genjuro prepares the team for a pizza run across the city to deliver a dangerously hot pizza pie named Durandal. Chaos emerges as the delivery is intercepted by a rival pizza gang, lead by the nefarious Gremlin known as Yukine Chris. But, before the pizza could be claimed, dedicated pizza deliverywoman Hibiki not only steals it back, but eats it, harnessing the power of the pizza and unleashing cheesy pasta based chaos around the location.

Ryoko is so into it that she taps into her superpowers and protects Hibiki after she passes out. The delivery is considered a failure, and no tip is given.

And so, the journey continues...

Meanwhile, in this weird, tricked out mansion...

Chris meditates on some water metaphors of her own.

“that pacman colored freak took only touching it to activate a cheap ass french sword that gave her weird demon powers and its taken me YEARS to use this dumb stripper outfit and the funny cane that goes with it, what the FUCK man, what even is my life”

“maybe... maybe honeybaked hams ARE that powerful...”

“NO! turkey is the superior meat! it’s healthier, lower in fat, and way more tasty! fuck you! i’ll get my goddamned revenge!”

Chris begins musing about Fine’s motivations to capture Hibiki; during these, we’re treated to some brief image flashbacks of Chris’s life.

Suddenly, those jokes about food are a lot less funny.

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together as to why this young woman is helping a strange nudist dominatrix spread alien terror across the city of mumblednoises, Japan. She doesn’t really have many an option on the table. It’s either help the weird kinkster with her plans, or die.

Despite everything, she has a high opinion of Fine, for the same reasons someone might have a high opinion of a television show if it were the only show they were ever exposed to. She is deeply afraid of being alone again, because she has lived through such misery that the very thought of existing out in the cold again terrifies the shit out of her.

The Sun rises casually amidst Chris’s thoughts.

“ah shit. it just hit me. i literally have spent the entire night standing here instead of actually going the fuck to sleep. goddamnit.”

On such a devious metaphorical twist, Fine stands behind her as the Sun rises.

“yeah, jokes on you. i couldnt sleep for shit either. turns out, all nude, no blankets? in japan? real bad idea.”

“thats why i decided to GO GOTH, babey! whattaya think? do i give those witchy vibes, huh? real ‘black magic woman’ santana hours? feeling cute, gonna head out with the girls and summon satan in the woods kinda aesthetic looking shit? come on, be real with me. does this not look baller?”

“you look like morticia decided to go to the grocery store to buy some wonder bread, but other than that, its a step up from your usual pussy out attitude, so sure”

“you know i decided to get some brain cells on loan from Brain Cells R Us, and ive been thinking this solomon cane stuff is solomon lame. i dont need this dumb oversized harry potter cosplay prop to get shit done. also, murder is... sorta bad? im still trying to get the brain cell stuff down.”

“i can punch just as good as goody two shoes if not better.”

“lol go do it then champ, im gonna go cut down a forest of trees now”

And so, they both just kinda... stand there.

“QUACK, NEXT SCENE, QUACK”

Meanwhile, Tsubasa is rapidly trying to rehabilitate herself from her wounds like walking like a madman, her IV drip presumably filled with Taco Bell brand Doritos Locos Tacos super spicy nacho cheese. Taco Bell: Live Mas.

“im gonna clear every fucking taco bell in your goddamned memory, kanade”

“think outside the bun! wait, what? that was a taco bell slogan? ah fuck it, im dead. what nerd’s gonna try and correct me?”

“i would, kanade. i am that nerd.”

Tsubasa is hell bent to try and understand Kanade’s simple philosophy of helping others selflessly. Unfortunately, when Kanade died, she took all the brain cells between them in the process, so coming to this epiphany is a work in progress.

“listen its a fucking miracle you are 1. alive and 2. able to have your blood run on the garbage melted plastic taco bell tries to dupe people into believing is cheese so why dont you just lie down and think of better franchises to eat from”

“no! you dont understand! taco bell is a franchise of the PEOPLE! their meals are cheap and filling and- and the chicken quesadillas are of good quality for their price! i promised kanade- my vow to the death. taco bell... ergh... now and forever... i-”

“wait. my gay senses are tingling.”

It’s Hibiki, probably running track with Miku.

“oh yeah... her... i should probably apologize to her. about trying to kill her. and then letting her almost be kidnapped. and just giving her a general hard time about something that wasn’t explained to her in the slightest for months. she’s a good bean.”

Tsubasa proceeds to never canonically apologize to Hibiki throughout the entirety of all 4 seasons of Symphogear.

Look at em run. See, it’s a metaphor, because they haven’t communicated yet and they’re running from their problems! But they’re running towards Tsubasa, who is part of the representative problem these two share! Clearly literary genius.

It’s like someone went halfway into writing an NTR plotline and went “maybe this isn’t a good idea to market our songs on.”

Hibiki is still thinking about her Hellshake Yano moment with Durandal. Mainly how she nearly killed someone with it. Hibiki is very starkly in the “killing is bad, and wrong” camp of morality, a trait currently unique to her that she’ll wind up teaching literally everyone else she meets one way or another.

Some could argue the L stands for Lydian, and they’re wrong. It stands for Lesbian.

“that was one hell of a run, hibiki! im pooped! why dont we go to the locker room and call it a day, have a nice shower and just get some dinn-”

“this is the last straw.

i clean your plates. i cook your food. we eat, shit, shower, and sleep in the same FUCKING area, and this is how you repay me? huh? you think being your wife is easy shit, hibiki? half the damn time you’re running off like clark kent having food poisoning and the other half ive gotta babysit you, the emotional equivalent of a preteen clown, to make sure your life doesn’t self destruct harder than Atlantis sinking into the ocean. im done! i am DONE. im reopening my tinder, im slamming my ass BACK into okcupid, and im gonna date some CUTE ACADEMY GIRLS that treat me BETTER than this ABSOLUTE BETRAYAL OF HEART AND IM NOT CRYING I SWEAR ITS JUST THE SWEAT IN MY EYES AND HIBIKI HOW COULD YOU-”

“oh yeah, sure! hey, lemme just do a few more laps, ive just been feeling judgmental about myself and my figure, you know? gotta push myself further...”

“o-oh yeah, sure. no worries, ill wait for you. love you too, hibiki...”

The girls bathe together, as good friends typically do.

“hey you ever notice the showers here have like, weird psuedo-luxurious minipools to bathe in? like, how rich is this school?”

“whoever made this place is either rich or a pervert. or both, probably!”

Miku remarks that Hibiki has changed since she’s entered Lydian, in a manner most unheterosexual.

“oh FUCK you really DO have washboard abs now! ohhh my god.”

“damn, those abs were heavenly. let’s get pancakes later.”

I won’t screenshot it but something to note is that they actually wear each other’s corresponding underwear colors (or even, if you want to examine more closely, each other’s underwear). Here’s an equivalent scene to give you the mental image.

This is the face of someone who knows what they want and already have it. Such is the power of Kohinata Miku.

Meanwhile, Genjuro comes back from the funeral of the guy the Americans filled violently and with impunity.

“yo that all black look looks baller. i should borrow that look... id look pretty gothy in it.”

“ryoko i sympathize with your sharp, fashionista eye but this was for a funeral, i was paying my respects to the dead. thats the usual dress code.”

“didnt know they updated that. i remember back in my day, we just went in white garments and chanted in latin!”

“shit was fire. literally. lots of funeral pyres.”

“lmao ryoko buddy your larping sessions arent actual history”

“hey dont shit on larping around me. i used to be a professional larper while i was majoring in acting. helped really sell my career when i had to pretend to slay the Dark Lord Jyarloen atop the mountain of skulls in Hargobor after my family was killed by the Dark Army. asshole.”

“haha yeah, larping, thats cool yeah, i do that

i...

i larp.”

“oh yeah? you wanna join my larping session sometime then? we’re gonna do an ancient babylon plot thats inspired by some anime, itll be fun”

“.....................................im super into realism.”

“i know im dressed for a funeral but id like to not part ways with my dignity yet. besides, we’ve got serious shit to talk about. basically, we’re on the verge of getting shitcanned.”

As it turns out, the death of this politician removed the last obstacle of opposition to maintain the 2nd Division, as the average criticism against the 2nd Division is “why are we funding this mystery division when we don’t know what they do”. Of course, the sensible idea for an organization that defeats the Noise is to declassify it, given people of different jobs and positions have physically seen the Symphogear in action, but you know. “Oh no, the other governments will come after us” stick gets shaken.

“im in a union. i know my rights. you’re not taking my acting job here away from me.”

“im not going back to be a preschool teacher. its been ten year. the bites on my ankles still havent healed...”

“yeah man, shit sucks ass. i cant fund my adoption habits if im fired.”

Look at these cinematic parallels. Symphogear truly is a franchise made by someone living in 3030.

“worst part is the new minister is super into america. he’s a... westaboo.”

“a westaboo?”

“westaboo?”

“did he just unironically say westaboo”

“he said westaboo. oh my god. this is the hell timeline.”

“i mean people kept calling me that for worshipping all these fighting flicks so i guess it fit? i dont see the problem here”

Meanwhile, in Lydian Academy...

“so it hit me, right? we’re ALL girls. and we ALL sing. now, humor me a moment. what if... what if we’ve all been recruited to potentially be superheroes... through our singing? like, there’s no coincidence that all this shit happens around us, right? and a famous singer LIVES here? i saw the black cars outside! weird shit is happening here- im not even gonna eat the all you can eat bar anymore!”

“kathy there is literally no such thing as superheroes who sing. this place is more likely to be a organ harvesting op than whatever madness you’re saying”

“what? you need me, a singing superhero, to go stop a problem happening underneath the school, a location meant to recruit young women into potentially becoming fellow crime fighting singers?”

“yeah im too busy poppin’ caps in asses so go kick ass in my place”

“sure!”

“.....................................who ya talkin to, hibiki?”

“the boss! gotta go do a thing again...”

“hibiki, i dont like the fact that capitalism is tearing us apart.”

“you’ve gotta join me in the revolution, hibiki. you. me. luxury automated gay space communism. aint it the dream? share my vision, hibiki. its glorious.”

“n... no...? no gay space communism today? well, what about tomorrow? or the next day? or... maybe the next day? baby steps, you say? but, direction action, hibiki! we’ve gotta strike now!”

“it’s okay hibiki. when i take over the world and destroy all first world government leaders, and unite the globe in my encompassing reign and love... ill make sure to spare you, and be my bride to be.”

“thanks miku. im just not ready yet for the globe to burn in an unending ball of fire as the continents fuse into a new utopia composed of our combined wills. also, ive really gotta go, its genuinely an emergency.”

“for the cause!”

“yes hibiki... for the cause...”

Admittedly, you can see the stages of grief Miku goes through when she sees Hibiki say she can’t join her for pancakes. It’s sad. This side story sucks.

Meanwhile, as it turns out, the problem Hibiki needed to resolve was checking on Tsubasa to see if she hadn’t dissolved into Taco Bell brand hot n’ spicy Tabasco sauce.

“god, cant believe taco bell was closed. now i gotta deliver these lame ass flowers”

“cant wait to get threatened again. wonder what she’ll say. ‘hibiki, i should have killed you when i had the chance.’ or ‘you’re so goddamned weak. i could break your spine with my fingernail’, or some other stuff about metaphors. oh, my stops here”

“HEY BITCH WHATS GOOD-”

“HOLY SHIT”

“you are already”

“dead.”

#symphogear #recap #anime #comedy #sponsored by taco bell

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sidehowriting · 6 years ago

Text

Dear Sarah

A/N: Last fic I’m gonna post before my second semester of grad school! That’s so crazy! Also, I don’t have any more challenges at the moment so if you know any or have any requests/suggestions, I am all ears! Anyways, this is for @urbanhaz 1k Writing Challenge! Here’s hoping its good! I tried a different format.

Italics are letters (and one line from a tv program)

Prompt: Just breathe, okay?

Pairings: Dad!Steve x Daughter (?)

Summary: Steve writes his daughter letters while he’s away on missions

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Angst, aftermath of character death, kinda IW fix but kinda not?

“Sarah,” her mother’s soft voice pulled her from her sleep. “Sarah, sweetie. Wake up.” Sarah opened her eyes, squinting as they were assaulted with light. She wasn’t a morning person.

“I made you some breakfast,” her mother said. Sarah focused in on her, now noticing a tray with a plate of pancakes on it. “They’re your favorite.” Sarah sat up and her mother placed the tray on her lap. “I wanted you to get them while they’re still hot and fresh.”

“Thanks,” Sarah mumbled, still tried. She rubbed her eyes and grabbed the nearby fork.

Her mother smiled sadly and kissed her forehead. “Uncle Bucky’s gonna come over in a couple hours to see you.”

Sarah groaned. “Does he have to?” She pushed the pancakes around on her plate. “I don’t really want to see him today.”

“Yes. He does.” Her mother’s tone was firm and final. Sarah grumbled and rolled her eyes, keeping her gaze down at her food. She heard her mother sigh and knew her demeanor changed. She didn’t need to look at her mother to know her mother’s shoulders had slumped, and she probably had her head in her hands. “This is a hard day for us too, Sarah.” Her mother’s feeble voice went straight to her heart. “We should be together.”

Sarah wanted to apologize but the words wouldn’t leave her mouth. She simply kept her head down, focusing on eating her food. The soft footsteps of her mother faded from the room, the door creaking close behind her.

As she ate, she picked up her phone. She stared at the dark screen for several bites. Did she want to open it? With a click of a button, the screen lit up and she was bombarded with messages from her different social media pages. It was a mix of news articles about the fourteenth anniversary of the defeat of Thanos and people wishing her a happy birthday.

She tossed her phone to the side, not wanting to deal with it. Instead she grabbed her remote and turned on her small television. Of course, it was on a news coverage station.

“…one of the most destructive days in Earth’s history as the Children of Thanos attacked. Had it not been for the sacrifice of Captain America, Steve Rogers, the casualties would have been much higher.”

Sarah angrily changed the channel settling for a children’s show teaching colors. Her eyes were stinging and burning as she hyper fixated on the little animal on her television pointing out all the things that were red.

She finished her food while watching the children’s show, not wanting to change the channel and see any more reminders. She set her tray to the side and snuggled back into her bed, wanting to just lay there forever.

And she would have, had it not been for her mother yelling for her. Sarah pulled herself up, quickly changing her clothes and went towards her mother’s voice. Sarah found her in the living room with Bucky, a brown package in his arms.

“Hey, baby girl.” He smiled when he saw her, approaching her with caution. “How are you doing today?”

Sarah shrugged, not really feeling like talking. She loved her Uncle Bucky. Deeply and truly. He was like a father to her. But today was not the day she wanted to see him. She wanted her own father.

Bucky motioned for her to sit on the couch with him. She did, her mother taking a seat across from them. “I know you’re not about presents today,” he said, pushing the package towards her. “But I think you should make an exception for this.”

The package was thick and heavy. She eyed Bucky and her mother, unsure. “I don’t understand.”

“Open it,” her mother pressed. “I think you’ll really like it.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and did as she was told, tearing the brown paper away from whatever was hidden inside. A solid brown book was exposed. She looked back to her mother and Bucky who both encouraged her to open it.

Flipping the cover, the first thing she saw was a picture of her as a baby nestled snuggly in her father’s arms. She continued to flip, eyes glossing over as she saw more and more pictures. Spanning from her parents wedding to just before her fourth birthday. Her dad present in every single one. There were also articles about him and the Avengers. Some she had read before some she hadn’t.

“Are these letters?” She asked as she continued through. “From dad?”

Bucky nodded. “He wrote you on almost every mission he went on.”

“He did?” She asked, taking in the page after page that started Dear Sarah.

“Bucky and I worked really hard to make this for you. So, did all the others,” her mother said. “Your dad wanted you to have this today.”

Sarah closed the book and held it close to her. “I don’t know what to say.” She bit her lower lip to stop herself from crying.

Bucky patted her knee. “You don’t have to say anything. Do you want to take some time and read the letters?” Sarah nodded. “Go on, then. I’ll hang out for awhile if you want to talk after.”

Muttering a quiet thank you, Sarah clutched the book to her chest like it was her lifeline. She scurried to her room and dove back under her covers. Flipping to the first letter, she started reading.

Dear Sarah,

There’s nothing quite like sleeping on a blanket on a concrete floor to really make you question your life choices. This is one of the things I don’t miss about missions. Sleeping and eating arrangements have always been a hit or miss and sadly this time it’s a miss. Not exactly what I had imagined on my first mission back from paternity leave.

Honestly, I could have stayed on paternity leave for forever. There was nothing better than being able to spend every moment with you. There hasn’t been a lot of research done on genetically modified super soldiers being frozen for 70 years and how that effects their ability to have children. We didn’t think we would be able to have any. That didn’t bother us. We were fine just being together. It was at our wedding during our first dance, your mother leaned in real close and whispered to me that she was pregnant. That was one of the best days of my life. Not only was I marrying the most amazing woman in the world, but I found out I was going to be a dad.

Ever since that moment you have been on my mind. At first it was that you were healthy. Then what you would look like. What kind of baby you would be? Would I be any good as a dad? Now that you’re here, I can only imagine what kind of person you’ll grow up to be. I love you so much, Sarah. You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been. And right now, I’m missing ya like crazy.

For a while I didn’t think I would go on another mission. They just didn’t seem important comparatively. But Tony convinced me, and your mother supported me. So, I’m here, thousands of miles away from you and wishing I was back at home. It’s weird, thinking about it. I miss the grim and grit of fatherhood. I miss waking up at odd hours with you. Feeding you just to have you sip up all over me. I miss being elbows deep in poopy diapers. I had heard that becoming a father changes a person, but I greatly underestimated the extent.

You probably don’t miss me. That’s okay. You’re just a baby after all. Mom’s still there taking care of your needs. I know she’s doing a great job. You have the most wonderful mother and I’m so happy to have her in my life. She has blessed me with such happiness I never thought I would get. Or deserved for that matter.

It’s getting late and I’m nearing the point of exhaustion where I don’t care what I’m sleeping on, I just want to sleep. That’s exactly what I was waiting for. Hopefully things will go smoothly, and I’ll be home to you soon. I can’t wait to hold you and kiss you and tell you just how much I love you. You’re my world, Sarah.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I learned a new term today. “Old soul” Nat told me it means someone who was born out of their time. She used it to describe me except my soul is literally old, not metaphorically. It’s strange. I wasn’t really born out of my time. I was born in my time but then I was frozen for years and woke up in a different time. So, my soul is old but I’m not sure that’s exactly what she meant.

Anyways, that got me thinking about time. Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if I stayed in the 40s. What would I have done? What would I have accomplished? Would I still be Captain America? Would I have a family? I think about Peggy too. Would we have dated? Married? Had kids? Part of me still loves her and always will.

I love your mother too. I don’t want you to think I don’t. This is something we talked in depth about before we got married. She understands as best as she can without actually having been frozen for decades. Your mother is so incredible. Sometimes I think that I was frozen so I could meet her.

You’re the absolute joy of my life, Sarah. If I could turn back time and stay in the 40s, I know I wouldn’t. There’s nothing that could make me give up my life with you. Being with you, watching you grow. You amaze me everyday and I’m so lucky to be yours.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I got a video today of you taking your first steps. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to see it. You looked so adorable though. I can’t believe you’re walking already. It seems like just yesterday I was holding you in my arms for the first time. Now you’re walking, and you can say a few words. You’re growing up so fast, baby girl. Please slow down.

I was having a hard time after I saw you walk. I missed this major milestone, what else would I miss? I do want to be there for all your firsts. Bucky assured me that I’d see the rest of them. I’m not sure if he’s right. There’s a lot of uncertainty with this job. Missions just popping up, taking longer than normal. And it’s dangerous. While most of the time I’m pretty confident, there are days I think that I might not make it. I don’t want to die, and have you resent me for it because I wasn’t around. That’s my biggest fear.

This letter got depressing faster than I thought it would. Sorry about that. I just wanted to say that I love you and I’m so proud of you.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I just left the house not even an hour ago and I feel so guilty. We’re still on the quinjet, on our way to Russia, and all I want to do is turn the jet around and go back to you. You’ve never cried when I left before. Mostly you didn’t even seem to notice. You were either playing or sleeping or eating or doing something that was much more interesting then Dad going on a mission. But today you actually cried when I walked out, and it hurt much more than I thought it would.

I knew this day would come and I thought I was ready. Boy was I wrong. I’m sure you know by now that I’m a huge sucker. You pout your little lip and I’ll do whatever I can to make you smile. Tony says that makes me a pushover, but I prefer to think of it as A+ parenting. You’re my girl and I just want you to be happy. Yet here I am, the reason you were crying.

I know I mentioned before how I was considering not going back to the Avengers when you were born. And the urge to quit hasn’t been this strong since my first mission back. I love you, Sarah. I love you so much. And if I could just stay at home with you forever, I would. But the world is a big, bad, messy place. I want to help clean it up. And I do it for you. Always remember that. Everything I do, I do with your well being in mind.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

Tony made a joke today that I didn’t think was funny. He said that you were going to be a heart breaker when you got older and I’d have to fight away the boys. The whole team laughed but me. It’s kind of made me realize that you’re going to grow up one day and you might not need your dear old dad. That’s terrifying to me.

You’re going to become a teenager. You’re going to get moody and have woman problems and want to date boys. I wish they had a manual for how to deal with those things. I know I’ll have your mother to help out. I know she’ll play a big part in helping you navigate that phase of your life. I want to help you through it too. I just don’t know how good I’ll be at that.

I hope you’ll be patient with me. I know I’ll no doubt do or say something stupid (Bucky has reminded me of this time and time again). I won’t mean to. I just don’t have much experience with dealing with girls. I have no sisters and can count on one hand how many girls talked to me before the serum. I promise to try, though. I promise to support you no matter what and to love you unconditionally. Bucky assures me there will be times where loving you will be hard but that’s when you’ll need the love the most. Thinking about that scares me a lot. I just want to be the best dad I can be for you.

And I will greet all your dates dressed as Captain America. Shield and all. You’re my baby girl and I want all the boys to know that.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I hate when missions take longer than expected. I thought I was going to be home days ago, but here I am stuck in a crappy motel room sharing a bed with Sam. He snores so loud its unbearable. I miss the comfort of home. I miss waking up to the smells of breakfast that you and your mother had prepared. I miss afternoon naps with you next to me.

I still have the stuffed bear you put in my pack. It goes with me on every mission now. It’s a sweet reminder of you and what I have at home. Those little things keep me going when Sam’s obnoxious snores try to hinder me.

I thought I would have more time to write to you, but Sam just woke up and yelled at me for having a light on. Guess I have to go to bed now. And possibly smother Sam with a pillow.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

Radio silent missions are always the worst. And I know they’re the worst for your mom too. Its so hard not talking to her and you while I’m out. Even if its just a quick text to remind you guys how much I love you.

Your mom spoils me though. She always sends me so many pictures and videos of you guys so when I can finally turn my phone back on, that’s the first thing I see. Last time she sent me a video of you playing with some paints. You said it was a picture for me when I get back. And then you said you loved me. I saved that video. I watch it whenever I get the chance and I always tear up. I have the picture you made in my office at the compound. You have an appreciation for the arts just like your old man. You’re gonna be a great artist one day. I can feel it.

The mission should only last another day. As soon as we’re in the all clear I’m going to try to video chat with you guys if it’s not too late. Your mom will no doubt pick up and at least show me you if you’re sleeping. I hope you’re not though. I miss your voice. I miss hearing you say you love me. I can’t wait to come home and cover your face in kisses.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I love you. And I know I tell you that all the time, as often as I can, but I wanted to start off this letter that way. Saying I love you and I’m so proud to be your dad. I can’t put into words how honored I am to have that privilege. And I can’t emphasize it enough. You’re my world, baby girl. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.

I know I’ve written a lot of letters to you over the years. My plan is to collect them all up and give them to you as a gift one day. Maybe your eighteenth birthday? Or whenever it feels right. And I’ve told Bucky, Sam, Nat, and just about everyone else it too. And you’re probably reading this feeling all confused as to why I would take the time to write it all down.

There’s a real big bad coming. Thanos. I don’t know much about him but Bruce it scared out of his mind. He can’t even Hulk out anymore because of facing him. I didn’t know someone existed that could scare the Hulk away. After hearing what his guy is about, I feel like I should prepare for the worst. That I won’t make it back to you. And should that be the case, I want to make sure you know exactly how much I love you. How much I think about you during every mission.

If this is my last chance to talk to you, I want it to matter. I want to write everything I feel. I don’t want you to grow up and think that I just left. That I just threw myself into battle. Because that’s not it. Sure, before I had a family I just charged forward towards the bad guy, trying to do the right thing. But that hasn’t happened since you. Every time I’ve put my life on the line, I’ve done so thinking about how I was making the world a better place for you. I don’t want you to have to worry about the evil that exists. I want you to be able to go to bed every night with peaceful dreams.

I can’t lie to you and tell you that I’m not scared out of my mind. I try to put on a brave face for everyone, including you, but I can’t right now. The thought of Thanos making his way to earth makes me feel sick. We know where he’s going to go but my mind can’t help but wander. What if he does something else? What if he attacks you and your mom?

I’m also scared of dying. This is such a different feeling than in the 40s before I was frozen. I didn’t have then what I do now. I keep thinking of you growing up and getting married and having your own family. I want to be there for that. I want to see you grow and live. I don’t want to miss a second of your life and I’m scared that I will. But I’m even more scared that I won’t make it through this and it will be for nothing. That Thanos will still get to you and I can’t protect you.

You’re still so little and I know if I don’t come home you might forget me. Not that you won’t know who I am. Your mom has so many pictures and stories to tell you. But you won’t be able to remember me for yourself. At least, not fully. Your actual memories will fade as you get older and that thought makes me so sad. I don’t want you to forget me. I don’t want you to forget those moments that were just between the two of us. That weren’t captured by other people. Those nights when you couldn’t sleep, and I’d lay in bed with you for hours. Playing dress up and tea party while mom was out running errands. Those little moments keep me going and to know that those will be forgotten…

If you’re reading this one day and you’re older and you can’t recall those moments, it’s ok. I’m not writing this letter to make you feel guilty for growing up and forgetting. I’m writing it, so you know those moments happened and they meant everything to me. I want you to know that they did happen and even if you can’t quite recall them just know that I went on every mission thinking of them and smiling and missing you like crazy.

Everything I’ve done has been for you. Every mission, every night away, everything. You’re the most important person in my life, Sarah. I want nothing more than to create a world where I know you’ll be safe and happy.

I’m being told an alien ship is approaching. I don’t know if this is Thanos or not but it’s big and it’s bad. I love you so much, Sarah I can’t even put it into words. You’re my world, my baby girl, my whole heart. I hope I can make you proud.

Love Dad

She sat in her bed, clutching the book when she was done. There were so many thoughts going through her head. She had seen so many pictures and videos of her father. Countless interviews. But reading his words, words he had written specifically for her, was different.

He was right, she really couldn’t remember him on her own. She just had bits and pieces to cling to. Flashes of herself crying and clinging to her father. Wearing a plastic princess crown while having a tea party with her stuffed animals and her dad. He always drank his fake tea with his pinky out. Sharing secrets that were too silly to remember in the middle of the night. Sarah wasn’t even sure those were real or just what she wished had happened.

Suddenly, she was livid. Why would her dad do this to her? Why would he leave her with nothing more than letters to remember him? Why did he die on her birthday? In a fit of rage, she chucked the book. It flew across the room, hitting her lamp and knocking it to the ground. Both items fell with a loud thud, the lamp shattering into pieces.

When that didn’t soothe her, she threw herself face down on her bed and screamed. She screamed and cried and punched her comforter as hard as she could. Heavy footsteps entered her room, but she paid no mind to them nor the dip in her bed.

“It’s okay.” Bucky’s hand was a comfort on her back. “It’s okay, baby girl.”

She was crying herself into hysterics, her breaths coming out in gasps. “I… I can’t…”

“Sh,” Bucky cooed, “Sh. Just breathe, okay?” He rubbed her back. “Calm down. Breathe. Then you can talk.”

Sarah nodded, her face hidden by pillows. The whole while Bucky stayed by her side, rubbing her back and whispering reassurances to her. When she thought she was composed, she tried talking again. “Why was he so dumb, Uncle Bucky? Why was my dad so dumb and stubborn?”

Bucky’s laugh caught her off guard. She picked her head up, giving him a questioning look. “Sweetheart, I’ve been asking that question for over a hundred years,” he said, smiling at her. “Your dad was just an idiot.”

Pushing herself up, she sat on the bed next to him. She stared silently at the mess she made in her room. “My lamp broke,” she whispered.

“I see that.” He got up and walked over to the shattered remains. He stepped cautiously as to not walk on glass. He picked up the book and brushed the debris off it. Then he sat back down next to Sarah, passing it back to her.

Sarah took it, running her fingers over the plain cover. “Did you read any of the letters?”

“A bit. Enough to be able to organize them in the book. I tried to keep them in chronological order.”

She wrapped her arms around the book. “I miss him, Uncle Bucky. I miss him so much…” Tears were in her eyes again. “I miss my daddy…”

Bucky put his arm around her. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I miss him too. We all do.”

She continued to hold the book close to her, her cheek resting against the spine. “Thank you so much,” she said. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Bucky rubbed her back again. “I’m glad to finally give it to you. I put the finishing touches on it a couple months ago and have just been waitin’ for your birthday to roll around.”

A silence fell between them. Sarah didn’t know what else to say. There was still a lot going on inside her that she needed some time to process. Instead, she decided to change the subject. “Did mom tell you I got accepted to that art school in California?” Sarah asked, peaking up at Bucky.

“She did,” Bucky said, smiling widely at her. “And a full ride too. That’s amazing, Sarah. I’m so proud of you.”

“Do you… do you think Dad would be proud too?”

“Absolutely, kiddo. And your mother said you’re workin’ on a new project. Can I see it?”

She set the book down on her bed and crossed her room. She quickly glanced down at the shards of glass knowing at some point she would need to clean that up. Ignoring her future responsibilities, she opened her closet, showing the little makeshift art studio she created.

Instead of hanging clothes, there was a lone easel. It took up most of the space, leaving just enough room for a box of paints and brushes. A white canvas was set on the easel, revealing Sarah’s latest piece. It was a water color portrait of Captain America’s shield. The thick black outlines standing out and highlighting the pastel reds and blues within the shield itself.

“It’s not finished,” Sarah said. Mounted on her closet door was her father’s shield. Carefully, she plucked it from its hook, and brought it down, level with her painting. “But I think it’s starting to look pretty good.”

“It’s beautiful, baby girl.” Bucky stood up and walked over to her, eyeing the painting and then real shield. “I can see your dad hanging it in his office.”

Sarah’s face lit up at the praise. “Really? You think so?”

“Sarah,” Bucky said, “Steve was over the moon for you. Since he found out he was gonna to be a dad I can’t think of a day where he didn’t talk about you. You were everything to him. I know, wherever he is, he’s so freakin’ proud of his baby girl.”

She looked down at her father’s shield. Its reflective surface showing her her own face. She had been told she looked a lot like him but after seeing picture after picture of the two of them in her new memory book, she conceded. She did look exactly like him and seeing her reflection in his shield brought a new wave of tears to her eyes. And a new wave of emotions in her heart. “I’m proud of him too.”

Tags: @dsakita @xxloki81xx

#urbans1kwc #dad!steve #dad!steve x daughter #steve imagine #captain american imagine #steve rodgers imagine #dad!steve rogers

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sonderrow-moved · 5 years ago

Text

CONFESSION OF JUST ONE MAN. 07/??.

There was a small *schlick*. An incomparable sound which could only be made when a good, kind of heavy blade met a porous, thick fabric, breaking it yet still showing some resistance by how healthily dense it was. It was the part which made this sound a bit of a teeth gritter. The other, smoother part was because of the liquid which broke out under every layer of meat. You are so used to see a human body in science classes, it is a bit unreal, but also familiar when you open one up in real life.

It wasn’t the first time I opened one, I did it a lot. At times. Mind you I am not one of those sickos who gets too much into their own fantasy, have some sick compulsion. My line of cleaning showed me enough red flags so I could avoid my own.

She was one woman, just like all the other ones I hated. There is this whole shenanigan about men having mommy issues, I am not arrogant enough to think I am any different. Whatever the source, I just enjoyed cutting women. Hypocritical ones, ones who had an attitude. I didn’t like to touch kind ones, brave ones. I liked to touch those who were constantly rude for no reasons, bitches who would talk behind people’s back, ignorant ones who were not smart enough to see the grand scheme of things, stupid whores who were just good at spreading their legs and bearing children as garbage as them.

I like silence, I learned that soon enough. And since this is my comfort zone, I sometimes take the luxury to cut the vocal cords before or paralyze them like in this case, or I can always wear a very powerful noise cancelling headset. When I feel like a fighter, I do it with them bound by the extremities, and feel every twist of their body to escape. When I feel lazy, I just paralyze them and do as I please, like living, breathing doll. This is the only release all the hate inside me can afford, and nobody, nothing can waste it.

Listening to her breathy whisper of pain is like music to my ears, a sound I allow while I finish opening up her clothes. It feels more personal, when people are clothed. Clothes are part of your personality, of their life, if you remove them, they just look like nameless animals. This is not what I want. I like to feel the weight of their existence, and how I can tear it apart. The best part is when their attitude give in. For the strongest warriors, it is the split second when their wall break because of one sharp pain, and then they come back to having this sort of mental wrestling with me. It is only one-sided though; their eyes widening as I cut is enough for me to know that I won.

I like to lacerate the torso first, open it up and play with the wound as I cut deeper, like eating some steak tartare. I wear gloves to take care of my hands, but I still wear my everyday clothes; like I said, it feels more personal. When maybe it is not; in reality, she doesn’t know me, and I don’t know her. She is (maybe) more than the whore she was being so nasty to her coworkers and I am (I know it) more than a man holding a scalpel and having fun like a child with some food. I dig my nail through my gloves inside her wounds, a glop kind of sound echoing through the cold, dark room as her flesh tear, compared to how it was sliced so neatly earlier. I can make up the bits of meat stretching, like a bit of chewed gum, I should find a better comparison. And before I know it, by my curiosity and thoughts of finding a good food metaphor to this, I didn’t realize how wide I just made this one. Her body trembling gave it away and I let it be; the paralysis must be wearing off, but when it does entirely, she’d be unable to fight anyway.

Sex is always a subject which fascinated me. How desire makes us civilized beings back again to our bestial roots, and how with our wide intellect, we just made more sordid ways to satisfy our lowly lust. I don’t know where this comes from for me. Maybe I have my own inclinations and an underlying lust under my balls who just need a once per two months of emptying. Maybe it just comes in my tendency to observe thoroughly. Or maybe it is because my big sister raped me when I was a child. Who knows, whatever source doesn’t change the outcome, like I say.

Her body is one society would consider very nice, although it is not personally my type. Her stomach is flat. She is slender, with a bit of an hourglass shape. She has no big curve, her legs are slender and her breasts are just disappointingly pointy. Seeing how disgusting the masses are to adore such a weak appearance, I have no regrets when I cut off one of her nipple, almost deaf to her gagging. I dump more ice cold water on her face to keep her awake. It feels satisfying, like I am being efficient at what I do. It is the same feeling of a job well done. The second one, I tear off. And I roll them under by fingers as she bleeds out, feeling their unique texture, it is like they just became a stress ball in the palm of my hand. I squish them, trying to make them flat like pancakes. Obviously it doesn’t work. Still entertaining to do. Liberating. To think of something and act upon it. I sew the holes. And the little balls of threads give me some cathartic, trypophobia kind of feeling. A come back with my sterilized needle again and again. Too much. Too many times. Like I’m trying to replace her breasts, which are supposed to be attractive, with some sort of monstrous, obsidian black and spiky extremities.

I go upwards and meet her eyes. She hates me, so, so much. Sometimes, their eyes have such a bullying feeling to them I feel a bit of fear, like it digs right into my self-esteem, maybe I am masochistic to let those linger through me and not hide their sockets after such encounters. My knife goes to the side of her mouth, slicing it so her cheeks open, and I can see her whole, perfect and crimson with blood denture. I find it so much more appealing than her skin with way too much foundations. Even all the rubbing I did didn’t take off her makeup; it just make women less beautiful I say. Of bad taste those bold colours were. I thought her eyelashes were fake, turned out when I plucked them they were real. Though the crayon to the eyebrows was so thick, tearing off all the hair didn’t get the lines off.

But then I waited too much. Too much preparation, when in the thick of it I cannot wait anymore. Murderers can take their sweet time of torture, but there is so much I can do; I just want to get what I was looking for. And it is to undo her to her deepest parts, have them rupture for me and against her will.

The tip of my blade is tickling her clitoris, and as she moves her legs, her bottom clothes just slide on the floor, like a woman being prepared to be made love to. She screams, and I smile without realizing actually. It is only the tip, which I roll around, the cold steel molesting her most sensitive spot. Our face grow closer, and she is too paralyzed, already thinking about the pain to even think about spitting in my face. But I maintain the eye contact, so strongly she cannot look elsewhere but at me.

Like I was giving a good, quick and rough fisting, my arm gives a sharp hit, only my hand is holding a scalpel, and I tug it deep inside her damn vagina, until you almost cannot see the hilt, in one damn go, without even getting my hand dirty by touching her. I let go as she spasms on the table. I dump more ice water on her before she passes out. Her intimate parts twitch, like she was just pleasured. And I go grab another scalpel. I make a move I could even call cool, and a slice in the air as if I was fighting, back and forth, precise and strong. And I watch so closely as blood spurts from her mutilated, shaved crotch, and her clitoris just slices open, too much of a mess for me to make up if I can see some sort of nerves, or anything more interesting than that little clump of skin. I shove two tips of index fingers in, spreading it like a doctor checking his patient’s genital health. And then I push directly inside the wounded button, like a lover who wants to feel the very nerve of his woman. I am satisfied with the sensation I find, but disappointed at the spectacle. I shake my hands, remove the gloves, and put a new pair on, just after stabbing that lovebud, deep enough so my scalpel stays up; I need to keep my tool readily available. Soon enough, the first blade is moving upwards, slicing everything open while my mind probably hallucinates juices flowing all over the place; it is impossible there was this much, yet this how I remember and will remember. And I prefer it like this. It makes a very fond memory.

That is what I think about most. Not their face, their name. I make this pitiful attempt to get close to them, because I am sure it will work every single time. But what I only remember is how deformed they were, how sick they make me, how angry I feel when I think about how this body can be liked by people.

I do everything so clean, although it is a body being open. And soon enough does she loses enough blood to die. I still have my fun exploring some parts when I am satisfied martyrizing her womb and co. The organs and stuff. This type of things everyone has heard or seen in any gory story, why would I bother? It wouldn’t faze anybody, and it didn’t faze me. Gave me a kind feeling, but nothing so notable as what I play in my head. Whatever if one day I stop doing it, I did it at least once. Who else can say the same? I got the best. Even after her death, my hands keep digging inside her thighs, and every piece of torture I realize source by starting from there. It makes something of some morbid star, dark and bloody. A beautiful masterpiece. Maybe I should refine my aesthetic, make more pleasing pictures for me to wonder about in my spare time. My mind even became amused if I could maybe, find a baby in there, and squash it like a crunchy cricket inside a cooked egg. Yet I found nothing. Too bad women too far in pregnancy do not interest me.

And when the full silence finally falls, I am alone. Because there were two before, and now I am on my own, with an object beside me. And since I am so cozy in, I don’t mind getting a little bit crazy. I like to cut her in pieces, because she’d be too heavy. I don’t care what I use, though I like the dirty and messy gashes of flesh rusty saws make, like you cannot tell if it was cut or tore. And the gore looks like it just exploded on its own, the unclean extremities making some sort of bouquet if I may say so myself. I like to take those parts, and smash them as hard as I can against the wall. I am never satisfied, even as they open up under me and blood stains bits of my cheeks. I don’t care about my appearance anymore, and there is only this loud THUD repeating over and over again, quicker and quicker. I can grab her severed head, smash her face against the concrete wall, and drag it as it leaves a gruesome trace, painting the material like I’m the new Francis Bacon.

I cannot see my face when I do that. It feels great. Violence. It is so stupid, stereotypically male… and I just let myself fall to it like an ignoramus. For one moment. At times, I will stop, my mind telling me it is enough. I’d look at the gash of her flesh, her limp body all mushed by my whole dominant strength beating her, playing around like a kid with too much anger playing baseball… and then I start again. Because it is not enough. I take momentary breaks when my muscles strain, and then I do it again. I cannot see her. I cannot take the thought that she still looks like herself when I stop. I want the magic to happen, to have all of this shit unrecognizable. I want the overwhelming feeling of a job well done. And just like how I plunged in her fuck, I’d satisfy my satiety until I see how she looks like if I were to take out all my energy… and even more, if the result doesn’t look good.

And I never end up satisfied. Her broken skull still looks like a skull. The finger that flew out of the room still look like a finger. And nothing can help me. Nothing can satisfy me. Those women have no souls, they cannot fill anything except give me the climax my anger needs. In the end, besides that mush of meat, I can perfectly make up her and it doesn’t go away. Yet I feel just as alone, with nothing besides me. A weakness this curse of being a human able of thoughts and feelings gave me. I won’t be one of those jackasses who says they are of marble. Self control and composure don’t mean you do not have emotions, and mine bangs my organs every living moment. I remove my gloves and my fingers trace on all that shit on the wall. So roughly I actually hurt myself and opens up my skin. It burns, like I just fell on concrete and was grated like some piece of cheese.

I was born like this. I don’t care about the how or why. Might as well just go with it. I don’t care.

… I have another, if you want.

#. Archer's confession ( drabble )#. Kessler was ( past ic )#. There's a human behind Archer... maybe ( headcanon )

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gayforshoulder · 6 years ago

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An Amedot one shot about Peridot trying to do something sweet for Amethyst but messing it up and getting frustrated— only for Amethyst to think it’s cute.

Peridot was sometimes thankful for humans. Especially when she was at a loss about what to do for the Earth holiday known as Valentine’s Day, and Steven was there to suggest the strange ritual of “baking.”

“Well, Amethyst loves food! You could look up on my phone how to bake cookies. Here.”

That was how Peridot somehow ended up holding Steven’s cellular device in her hands. She was doing what she was best at, analyzing and observing and taking notes on what was needed to make her creation, but it started to get harder when she was doing the actual baking portion of her experiment.

Steven was busy helping the other gems, so Peridot was left to do this on her own. She was amazed at the mixing and how successfully it was working. “Humans really use up this flour very quickly…” she said to herself, grabbing a drinking cup from the sink and filling it with flour. “Three of these?”

She shrugged, throwing all of the ingredients in a mixing bowl. She didn’t know what the difference between a teaspoon or a tablespoon was, but she figured using a simple metal spoon for all of them would suffice. The harder part was only filling the spoon halfway with salt like her instructions insisted, so it may have been more than she intended. What would this salt even harm the cookies anyway? None of the chemistry of this “baking” made any sense to her and she was going to do more research later on since this website had been useless.

Finally, when everything had been mixed together to her liking, she tried very hard to shape the dry chunks of this “cookie” into spoonfuls with that same spoon to put on her sheet. It proved to be… challenging, but she was finally successful and she set the oven temperature and time like Steven had shown her.

She tried to organize and put things back where she found them because she wasn’t an animal. Peridot snickered. That was the funniest human metaphor to her. Animals could be so messy. She placed the bowl and spoon in the sink because she had seen Steven do that many times before and they always ended out clean somehow by some strange Earth magic.

Peridot watched an episode of Camp Pining Hearts to pass the time as she waited for her cookies to be done heating in the oven. When a beeping noise indicated they were completed, she pulled them out and set the sheet on the counter. They looked noticeably different than the picture showed them on the cellular device.

Peridot heard the sound of the warp pad activating, which meant Steven--and Amethyst--were returning. She panicked, shoving the pan back in the cooling oven. “Steven!” she exclaimed, gritting her teeth and averting her eyes to the oven to get his attention.

“Well, I’m going to go chill on the couch!” Amethyst declared, stretching her back and heading to the other room. Steven rushed over to the kitchen, and when she knew Amethyst was distracted, Peridot took the cookies back out.

“These do not look like the picture, but I did everything just as it instructed!” Peridot gestured to the messy dishes in the sink, and Steven raised an eyebrow at his signature “Dogcopter 3” cup filled with white powders.

“Oh, Peri. That’s not a cup for baking! It’s a cup for drinking.” He went to a separate cabinet and pulled out a much smaller measuring device. “This is a cup. And these are teaspoons and tablespoons. They’re labeled on the bottom here, see?”

Peridot groaned, pressing her head down on the counter. “So I’ve done this all wrong? Amethyst will not like these… these abominations of cookies! I have failed.”

“No, Peri, no!” Steven reassured her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You have to understand that when you don’t always do something correctly the first time, it’s okay. You’re a scientist. You know how trial and error works. This is just an error. It’s not always going to come out right and you’re still learning. And that’s okay.”

Peridot had tears in her eyes, which she wiped quickly in frustration and embarrassment. Crying was weak. “It is?”

“Of course, absolutely!”

“Well, then what do I do now?”

“Just… go give them to Amethyst! Explain what happened. I promise she won’t be angry with you.”

Peridot nodded, and in a moment of sheer confidence, grabbed the pan. Steven looked like he wanted to protest, but he let her keep walking over to the couch.

“Amethyst!”

The purple gem’s smile was immediate when she saw her. “Yo, P! Whatcha got there?”

Peridot gulped nervously. “I have made you the Earth delicacy the--” Peridot coughed, finding herself still slipping up at times. “--I mean, Steven told me you would like known as cookies. They are not quite like the picture and the ingredients may not be entirely correct, but I don’t really know how to bake and I am still learning and I hope that you will appreciate them anyway.”

Amethyst’s smile had turned into an even wider grin. “Aw, Peri, really? You made cookies for me?” She took one of them and popped it into her mouth.

Her expression of delight was sincere, which confused Peridot since she thought they were wrong. Amethyst hummed. “Dry, salty and dough-y. I don’t know how you knew, but these are just how I like ‘em! They’re amazing, P. You did a great job.”

“You really like them?”

Peridot looked over at Steven, who looked like he was going to be sick. “Don’t worry about him. He doesn’t even understand the complexities of motor oil syrup on pancakes. One of my favorites.”

Peridot gave Amethyst a lopsided grin, her eyes leaking again with tears, a concept she remembered being taught can sometimes mean she was happy. And she was. She had never been happier. Peridot sat down, cuddling up next to Amethyst and taking one of her cookies in her hands to eat with her. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Amethyst.”

“Happy Valetine’s Day, Peri.”

#steven universe #peridot #amedot #amethyst #su #fic #ali sue #answered #sympetali

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