#people who often CAN’T do anything but say prayers for you?

[demigodofhoolemere]

Me through most of Boom: Wow, this is a really solid dramatic episode.

Me when Moffat needlessly sprinkles in anti-faith sentiments without specifying that it’s blind faith in bad things that the Doctor doesn’t like, which makes it come off like the Doctor is just against religion generally:

[screeching-bunny]

may i request a yandere god/angel? The idea of something so pure..the one thing you have faith in is actually the thinkg keeping u trapped in their obsession bubble is so appealing to me. having no hope left anymore. just them <3

Yandere! God Hcs

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

🌟 Yandere! God embodies profound wisdom and possesses knowledge beyond mortal comprehension. They have a mysterious aura and speak in riddles, often challenging his followers to seek enlightenment and often confusing the hell out of them. He’s very unpredictable and playful. He finds joy in playful interactions and enjoys surprising their followers with unexpected twists while they worship him. He lives for drama and will one hundred percent mislead his followers.

🌟 Yandere! God is starstruck when he first sees you. He can’t believe that such a cutie is worshiping him and is such a devoted follower. Any prayer that you wish for, he immediately tries to make it become a reality. Since he’s an all powerful god, you can best believe that he will misuse his powers when it comes to you. What’s this? You met a cute guy at work and flirted with him? Well too bad he got struck by lightning five times and died on the spot. Truly unfortunately. He’ll do his best to isolate you from your friends and family. You’ll be so lost that the only thing you can do is just pray to him whenever you can. The thought of this has him kicking his feet up in the air and twirling his hair.

🌟 Yandere! God plans out exactly how and when you guys will finally meet in person. After watching you for many hours he wants this moment to be as perfect as possible. He makes sure to be as dramatic and extra as possible, revealing himself in a very flashy way. Some lightning here and there and some cool looking smoke for his entrance. One day your just praying to him and poof he’s out in front of you.

“WHAT THE— WHO ARE YOU?!?”

“Some people want to meet me, some people don’t believe me, and some people claim to be me. I am…?”

“OH MY GOSH YOU’RE BATMAN?!?!”

“Yes it is— WAIT NO!!!”

🌟 Yandere! God eventually stops speaking in riddles around you because of your inability to get the correct answer. It’s just the only way that he can communicate with you properly and have you understand what he’s saying. Don’t worry though he still loves you nonetheless even if you are a total airhead. He will, however, personally tutor you if it ever really comes down to it. He still speaks in riddles to everyone else but you.

🌟 Yandere! God enjoys watching you pray to him. You view him as someone to look up to and ask about life questions. He makes sure to manipulate you by giving you advice that causes you to become a social outcast to the rest of the world. Who needs friends or a lover when you have him? Whenever his servants hear him say these things to you they just side eye him. They don’t try to do anything about it though because there’s no stopping him when it comes to love.

🌟 Yandere! God uses his followers as entertainment. They’re like his own personal reality tv show that he can control whenever he wants. He loves dropping random things on them and watching them freak out about it. Do you remember the time when a bunch of archeologists dug up an ancient rock with diamonds around it? Yeah, that was his badly made art craft that he threw away years ago. Do you also remember that hurricane that nearly destroyed a country a few months ago? Yeah that was also him, he just accidentally sneezed in the wrong direction that day. His followers believe that anything he does has a meaning behind it. Those natural disasters that have been happening recently must be a test from him. When in reality it was just you messing around with the weather because you we bored.

🌟 Yandere! God would make a new flower and name it after you. His love for you is infinite and would like to spend all of eternity with you. When you first met him you thought that he was supposed to be a generous and pure being. It was because of this thought that you never really saw his advances towards you as romantic. You just brushed these thoughts off and thought you were crazy for even thinking this was. When he found out what you were thinking he nearly ripped his hair off.

🌟 Yandere! God uses the idea of enlightenment to forever trap you by his side. Ditch all the people that you once knew and live with him. This is the only way for you to reach your full potential. People are just vial and disgusting so just jump right into his arms. He’s honestly so good a gaslighting that you don’t even question him and just do exactly what he says. To him it’s almost comical but he couldn’t be prouder of you. If you ever tried to gaslight him it wouldn’t work. I mean you can’t out gaslight the original gaslighter. He was literally the blueprint.

🌟 Yandere! God is terrible at cooking. This is understandable because he is a god and doesn’t need to consume food in order to survive. You, however, do need it. He tries his best to cook food for you but whenever you eat his food you always get food poisoning and need to run to the toilet. He always looks so proud when handing you the dishes that he made that you don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t want it. So you usually just suck it up and shove it right down your throat.

🌟 Yandere! God is aware that you are a mortal and will one day die. So he tries various ways to make you immortal whether you like it or not. The thought of you dying just pains him and he’d do anything to prevent it from happening. He would destroy and sacrifice the entire universe if it meant that you’d be safe with him. Being with him is so suffocating. He’s like a clingy dog that always bites for attention. There is honestly no quiet moment where you get to be alone in your own thoughts because he is always watching you.

[general-fanfiction]

Hopes And Fears - Part Two. (Wally Clark x Reader.)

Summary: Y/N’s death is traumatic. So traumatic in fact, she can’t even look at Wally without reliving what happened to her.

Word Count: 3.1k

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: Death

Part One.

A/N: It’s finally here!! I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am that has it has taken me over a year to get part two out. I’m sure most of you are probably over waiting for it anyway but if you do fancy giving it a read, I really appreciate it and hope it was worth the excessively long wait. I’ve tagged everybody that asked for a part two!! Once again, I am so deeply sorry! Please forgive me!!

“I would like to begin by thanking everybody that is here today and for those who have reached out to our family in this incredibly difficult time. Your thoughts and prayers have been so comforting and a reminder of the impact that our beautiful daughter had on so many people.

How would I even begin to describe Y/N? She was truly the most special girl and I am so thankful that I was able to bring her into this world, even if she did have to leave it early. The years I got to spend with her, were the best of my life and nothing will ever compare to the bond that her and I shared. She was so kind, so generous and so loving. Never declining the opportunity to spend time with her family, even if it may have been the embarrassing thing to do. I know what it’s like to be a teenager and for her to put us first consistently was just one of her many great qualities.

Y/N was an honour roll student, a successful gymnast and dancer, as well as being captain of the Split River Cheerleaders. As a child, she had so much energy, to the point where we didn’t know what to do with her. After enrolling her in dance classes for the first time, she fell in love with the sport, gymnastics and cheerleading followed and I remember being so nervous that she would injure herself. However, when she stared up at me with those gleaming eyes, I couldn’t bring it in myself to say no. These were just a few of her passions and it was evident that this was where she felt at home anytime we watched her at competitions or rehearsals. No longer the shy little girl that used to hide behind my legs before her first day of school.

Our daughter was also a keen activist and did a lot of charity work, though most of you probably wouldn’t know that. She volunteered at the animal shelter on our block every weekend, which led to her rescuing countless animals over the years. Leaving us with not only a dog but three cats, a ferret, five rabbits, countless chickens and four rats. She also ran at least one marathon a year in order to raise money for numerous charities, and often donated supplies and food to women’s shelters around the state.

Our daughter was the most selfless person I know, always putting other before herself. She taught us a lot and made us better people. For which I’ll be eternally grateful.

We wish we could’ve stopped this, and that we could’ve had more time with her. We wish we could’ve watched her grow and sent her off to college. We wish we could’ve moved her into her first apartment and seen her get married, maybe even had grandchildren.

The pain we are experiencing right now is unlike any other. To lose a child is the most gut wrenching thing, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. I would give anything to hold her in my arms one last time. To be able to tell her I love her one last time.

So please, if anybody has any information as to who did this to our precious girl, all I ask is that you share this with the police department. Please help us find the person responsible and allow us some closure and for Y/N to get justice. She didn’t deserve this. Thank you.”

My mother cries as she steps away from the podium, collapsing into the arms of my father. Tears silently roll down my face as I take in the scene, the heartbreak across their faces as they hold each other. Unable to contain the grief they’re feeling.

As the principal speaks, I watch the crowd. My friends trying their best to hide their sadness, teachers hold their heads down, struggling to understand how this could’ve happened, even some students I only knew in passing look as though they could burst into tears at any moment.

It’s a difficult thing to watch, your own memorial. I suppose I never thought about how other would react to my death before, it never crosses your mind as you assume you won’t be able to witness it. God, what I would give to be that naive again.

“Hi Split River, for those of you that don’t know me, I’m Abby. Y/N was, well is my best friend. We met when we were in kindergarten and from that day forward we’ve been inseparable.

Y/N was a very shy person, I’m sure most of you would describe her as an introvert. Fortunately, I was one of the few people she let into her life, breaking down the invisible barriers she built around herself and it was the greatest pleasure of my life.

We were total opposites and enjoyed different things but that didn’t matter. For example, Y/N hated theatre, she called it glorified pantomime, but she still attended every show I was in, she still helped me practice my lines and she still encouraged me to do what I loved even if she couldn’t stand it.

We had so many things we wanted to do together, we were going to share a dorm together at Parsons, she would major in fashion design and I would do photography. We’d take over the world as a duo, running our own magazine that I could star in, of course. All those dreams of ours have been ripped to shreds now and I don’t know what to do without her. My life was intertwined with her’s and there was never a future that she wasn’t apart of. I’m completely lost without her.

I hope whoever did this rots in hell. You deserve nothing but suffering for taking such a pure soul out of this world.”

Abby’s words leave a small smile on my face despite the tears that continue to fall. In all honesty, I’m surprised her entire speech wasn’t a rage fuelled rant directed at the perpetrator.

Despite my eyes being fixed on the service taking place in the gym below, I still feel the bench dip slightly. Alerting me of someone’s presence. My eyes reluctantly drag themselves away and I realise it’s the footballer, he sits towards the other end of the bench, keeping his distance. I’m quick to notice the lack of football jersey, wearing nothing but a white tank top that defines his arms nicely and his blue school assigned gym shorts.

His hands are clutching a bouquet of flowers, an array of sunflowers, dusty orange irises, blood red snapdragons and soft peach chrysanthemums. They’re arranged beautifully, held together by a small piece of string.

“They were beautiful speeches.” He comments, soft smile gracing his features.

I nod, offering a small smile in return. The lack of football attire puts me at ease and I’m appreciative of the distance between us. Guilt consumes me slightly at my judgement towards him, but I can’t control it. After what happened, I don’t want to put myself in that situation again. I’m not taking any chances.

“This is the hard part. My mom couldn’t even finish her eulogy she was crying that much.” He tells me, eyes fixed on the girls from my cheerleading squad who are now doing their own speech. “It’s good to know you have so many people who care about you though.”

He doesn’t look over at me once he’s finished speaking and I take my time to look at him properly. Soft brown eyes compliment his dark, almost black hair. Full lips and a youthful glow, it dawns on me that he’s been stuck in this state for decades, never aging, never changing.

“I feel bad.” I state, voice barely louder than a whisper as I allow myself to make eye contact with him when he turns to face me. “They shouldn’t have to go through this.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault.” He goes to move towards me before stopping himself, though never taking his eyes off mine. “You can’t blame yourself, trust me I spent years doing that and no good comes of it. You’ll just end up tormenting yourself.”

Nodding as I take in his words, I let out a long sigh. Gazing down at my parents once again, I can’t help but feel the tears welling up in my eyes once again and I’m quick to wipe them away. Not wanting Wally to see me cry. They’re still clinging on to each other, though they’ve moved to sit down now, neither of them look as though they’re paying much attention to those speaking. Focused solely on comforting one another.

It’s in that moment that I notice who the next speaker is and my entire body tenses. Why is Spencer getting up to speak? He’s dressed to the nines in a black suit, hands gripping a piece of paper that has evidently been crumpled up. If my heart still worked I’m almost positive it would’ve stopped beating right this second.

Is this some sort of sick joke? Parading around in front of my grieving loved ones, knowing full well that he’s potentially evaded justice. I feel sick to my stomach and can’t bare to watch. What could he even have to say?

“Walk with me.”

Before Wally can even figure out what is happening, I’m practically sprinting out of the gym. Hurrying down the hallway in an effort to get as far away from Spencer as physically possible. It’s completely irrational, I know he can’t see me. He can’t hurt me again. Yet, I can’t even bring myself to stay in the same room as him.

“How did you die?” I ask Wally once he has caught up to me, walking beside me while making sure to keep a few feet between us. I’m in need of a distraction and as long as he’s talking, I can keep my mind off the situation that just unfolded before me.

“Oh, I um was tackled during the homecoming game of my senior year in ‘83. Snapped my neck and died on the pitch.” He tells me, one hand scratching the back of his neck as he does so, eyes unable to meet mine. “I’d already been benched but my mom pushed me to get back in the game and I just wanted to make her proud.”

Stopping in my tracks, I turn to face him properly. His face is full of guilt, and perhaps a little bit of shame. Afraid that he didn’t do his best, that he didn’t make his mom proud.

“She still comes to every game. I mean they named the stadium after me so it’s nice that I get to see her once a year. I’m lucky in that sense.”

He’s rambling, trying to fill the silence with anything he can. It’s something I often found myself down when I was still alive. Wanting to aid the embarrassment and nervousness I often felt.

“Wally. Your mom will always be proud of you. A mom’s pride for her child is unconditional.” I speak confidently, allowing him to feel reassured, something I can sense he needs right now.

“You’re right. I just wish things ended differently, like if I’d won the game, all those years of training wouldn’t have gone to waste you know?”

The sadness in his voice is prevalent and I can tell he struggles with it even after all these years. He’s still not making eye contact with me and I feel that pang of guilt once again, for assuming he would be like all the other stupid footballers I know. He has a good heart, I see that now.

“You heard my mom’s speech right? If we’re gonna play that game then all those years of dance training were for nothing.” I joke, hoping it’ll ease his sullen mood slightly. “I danced because it was fun, besides, if all of those years were for nothing, would I still be able to do this?”

For the first time since we left the gym, Wally actually looks at me. Raising my arms, I judge the distance behind me before throwing myself into a back handspring. The boy laughs quietly, causing me to smile as he brings his hands together in a round of applause, muffled slightly due to the flowers he’s still holding. Bowing obnoxiously, I can’t help but allow myself to enjoy the moment. It’s the first bit of happiness I’ve felt this entire time and I intend to savour it.

“Wow. Yeah, you would not catch me doing that.” He comments, matching my pace as we continue to walk again. “Thank you, by the way.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion, not entirely sure where his thanks are coming from. Staying silent as we sit opposite one another in the communal gardens towards the back of the school. It’s quiet, not many students know it’s here, and the ones that do have no interest in being back here. They’d much rather be on the quad where they actually get phone service.

“For cheering me up, I mean. The others can sometimes get a bit annoyed when I bring up what happened. They think I should’ve got over it by now with it being almost forty odd years ago.” He states, the sunlight reflecting on him at just the right angle, it makes him look angelic. Beautiful really.

“Can anybody get over their death?”

“Rhonda seems to think so, but I reckon she just doesn’t like talking about what happened to her.” He replies, a fondness in his eyes as he talks about her, almost as if he’s remembering a past conversation.

Leaning back to take in the sun, I close my eyes, absorbing the light that hits my face. Being dead is strange to say the least, I thought I wouldn’t feel anything. No emotions, no sensations, nothing. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Since death, I’ve mostly felt sadness and anger, but spending this short amount of time with Wally has made me aware of the happiness i’m able to feel as well. Not to mention the warmth of the sun on my skin, I can pretend I’m alive. Even if it is just for a second.

“These are for you by the way.” Wally’s voice bring me back to reality and I realise he’s holding the bouquet of flowers out to me. He’s sat a good distance away and so I have to lean forward to take them from his grasp. Fingers brushing as I do so and I’m quick to pull away, despite the warmth that rushed through my hand upon the momentary interaction. “I was going to give them to you earlier, but then it didn’t seem right because we were watching the eulogies and all. I didn’t wanna make it weird or awkward for you or anything. I also didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked so I just picked a bunch from the flower gardens, Charlie helped me arrange them, I hope they’re okay because my first attempt wasn’t the best. Apparently the colours didn’t match or something-“

“Wally they’re gorgeous.” I interrupt, unable to hide the grin that is beginning to spread across my face as I bring them to my nose to inhale the scent. “Snapdragons are my favourite.”

“Oh thank god. I was really worried you would hate them, or that maybe you weren’t a flower person.” He blurts out, following a quick sigh of relief. “Not that it’s a big deal or anything. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I mean no harm, and sort of welcome you the afterlife I guess.”

I must admit the nervous rambling is cute, I can feel the redness flushing my cheeks as I hide myself behind the flowers. Taking my time to admire the bouquet as much as I can. It’s a beautiful gesture, and I’m in disbelief that he spent the time to do this for me. A peace offering despite him doing nothing wrong.

“You’re sweet Wally.” I admit, delicately stroking the petals on a couple of the flowers. “I’m really sorry about before. You just remind me of someone.”

“A footballer ex perhaps?” He questions, unable to get Rhonda’s previous comment out of his head. Whether it be down to jealousy or curiosity he’s unsure.

“No, no ex.” I shake my head adamantly, eyes glued to the flowers as I try to come up with the words to describe why I acted the way I did. It’s still too soon for me to talk about, I know that. However, I also know that Wally does deserve some sort of explanation. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it just yet, but if I have another moment like before I promise it’s not your fault.”

Wally nods, understanding and accepting my boundaries. We stay sat in silence for a moment longer, he doesn’t push me to talk, nor does he change the subject. Instead, we just embrace the peace we’ve created in the garden. It’s the most relaxed I’ve felt for a while and I’m able to sit with my own thoughts without sending myself into a spiral or a panic. It’s nice.

The minutes pass as we listen to the gentle sounds of birds chirping and the occasional rustle of the trees in the wind. It feels as though we’re stuck in time, but I feel content. I wouldn’t mind being stuck right here, right now. At least, if it wasn’t for Charlie.

“Y/N, your memorial’s ending, just thought you’d want to see your parents again before they leave!”

Wally and I both look towards the boy who stands awkwardly in the doorway. He sounds out of breath and I imagine he’s been sprinting around the school in search of me.

My hands grip the flowers tighter, veins popping and knuckles flexed as I squeeze tightly. Wally’s the first to stand and when I finally look up at him, he offers me an encouraging nod. A reminder that I am strong enough to do this. To say my goodbyes.

While I walk besides the tall jock, with Charlie taking lead in front, I do feel strong. Wally’s supportive and comforting nature radiates through the hallway and I feel confident. Although, I know this is the last time I could potentially see my parents, there’s no sadness, just a readiness to take on this new stage of my life and it fills me with a sense of acceptance. Accepting death was difficult but finally, I feel ready to take on whatever comes next.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 3

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Spencer is here with something to say in this week's chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

“Donatello… Y/N…” Spencer, the Senior Demonstrations Advisor at Donnie’s lab, folded his hands in front of his mouth in pseudo prayer. “There is no good way to say this, but… there is no circumstance in which the two of you will be able to adopt.”

From where you were sitting in one chair and Donnie in another, you both stared at the man.

He wilted without pressure. “You know I’ve done everything for you for all these years and you’ve treated me…”

He snuck a look at Donnie who was steel faced.

“I’ll just say it: Cruelly on your best days and like trash on your worst, but you have made my career and that’s why I stayed. You pay me incredibly well. The government pays me their own stipend in watching you. I have contacts like you wouldn’t believe! With the stakes in this company alone I’m set for-!”

Donnie only tapped his finger on his chair's limb.

It barely made a noise.

Spencer clammed right up. “Right and you know I brokered it all. I’ve gone to the board for you. I’ve gone to the government for you. When have I ever gotten you a response you didn’t want? They know it. They know I’m a pathetic middle man and you’ll do what you want regardless of them, so they often cave within reason and…”

This time Spencer cut himself off and sighed.

He then leaned back in his chair and looked his age. “The point is, the moment you started publically researching this topic two months ago, your activity was logged. The decision was made then. When you got your first state level rejection and came to me, I went up the chain with the usual ideology. The one that’s worked for years.”

You checked on Donnie, but even you couldn’t read anything from him.

“It was… different. I can't even tell you! It was like they removed anyone from the decision making process who could be swayed. My contacts were all gone. People who have dedicated their lives to America. It was… unlike anything I had ever seen.”

Spencer raised a hand to mess his hair, but thought better of it.

He stared at the appendage. “They levied all you’ve been given against you.”

You heard Donnie inhale.

It wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t distinct.

He only appeared to take a single breath where he had not.

You looked away.

“You’ve never been convicted of a crime, but you are considered one of, if not the most, dangerous assets. Any time there’s a change in leadership, they almost always evaluate if you are still worth it to keep alive. When I got you approval to travel internationally, your data was shared with the world. They wanted to make sure you came back. They may not know everything you’ve done. Hell, I don’t know and I don’t want to know, but they know enough.”

You felt Donnie look at you.

“You’re brilliant. You’re the smartest guy I’ve ever met and ever will meet. You are insane. You’re something totally new. You do things… I can’t…” Spencer had to blow out a long breath to steady himself. “I have no doubt that even if you retired, that even if a mutant eradicating lunatic took office, you would be safe to live out your natural life.”

You couldn’t return the gaze.

“But there’s no way they’ll let you have a kid. In that way, you’ll always be a monster to them. The thought of you of all people raising a young mind?” Spencer kicked back from his chair and his admonishment was palpable. “They’re idiots! Idiots, all of them! I don’t even like you, but this!?”

Donnie finally returned his attention to Spencer.

“You know from when the EPF tried to cage and the others that they studied at least part of mutated DNA. They’ve guessed a lot from a little. They don’t think you’ll have a child naturally. They won’t let you use a lab to do it artificially. You're not going to foster. Hell, there's no way they'll let you even babysit a kid that isn’t yours for more than a few minutes.”

“Spencer.” Donnie spoke as if he hadn’t listened to a borderline lecture.

“Yes?”

“We’re trying.”

Spencer rubbed his face and again tried to save his hairline. “I know. I’m trying too.”

Donnie clicked his tongue.

“To help you!” Spencer’s volume rose and he dipped horrified. “Not me trying have a kid! I have enough of those! I meant I know you are trying to have one! Both of you! You two! I’m saying I know what you meant.”

Donnie’s lids lowered.

“I’m assuming you crunched the numbers.” Spencer pivoted as you assumed most business men would.

Donnie’s leg bounced the slightest amount as he weighed his options before he relented. “We have a 1.73% chance of conception.”

Spencer nodded and each bob of his chin grew more weary. “Woof.”

“It’s not zero.” You added.

“It’s not zero.” Spencer held a hand up as if that had been a bone for him.

“So… are you saying that even if we conceived… They’ll take the baby-?” You had to stop because your voice shook.

Spencer struggled for a long moment before he finally raked his hand through his hair. “They are betting on it not happening.”

“But you said-?” You pressed.

“I know!” Spencer’s voice grew heated and he cut himself off with a fearful snap of his lips. “I’m sorry. It’s not you at all. You have every right to ask questions. I shouldn’t be the one answering them. They’ve dismissed this so much it’s a damn insult! They’re spitting in your faces!”

“You don’t know?” You asked.

“I asked the same thing!” Spencer pleaded with you.

You quieted at the man’s sorrowful face.

“When I pressed about the million and one chance that it happened, I got conflicting answers. There was more than one representative at the meeting.”

You finally looked at Donnie.

Spencer shook his head. “The answers all ranged the same! One man said it wasn’t an option so why bother. Another  acknowledged that mutants have been granted citizenship, but they’re all considered sterile with the implication they’ll be wiped out eventually.”

His jaw was set and he couldn’t return it.

“Point is, they don’t even want to consider it. That would mean drawing up new laws. They aren’t going to do extra work if they don’t have to. It’s a moot point.”

“Hacks.” Donnie sneered.

“This is going to be an ‘if it comes’ thing, if it comes at all! The certains are: you are banned from adoption. You’re not going to be able to sneak an abandoned drug den kid away with these rules, Donatello! This is as serious as serious gets.” Spencer set his hands on the table.

An unmistakable cowlick had broken free of his coif.

“They value my work, if I stop-” Donnie bore his gaze into Spencer.

“You are really, really useful to them alive. Genius Built is highly coveted and isn’t a company without you. It’s the place every graduate wants to work and every big brain hopes to walk through.”

Donnie waited for the other shoe to drop.

“They’ve finally drawn a line.” Spencer said with a pained expression. “Nothing you do is going to move the adoption thing. The baby situation…? That… If that existed, that might be something else, but that’s only a might.”

“What freedom-!?” Donnie seethed.

“Do you have!?” Spencer shot forward with his hands to his desk. “You have it all! You can walk about without police! You’re basically carte blanche! You get to live! You got to marry! You got to leave the country!! What do you have?! Is a kid that make it or break it!?”

Donnie rose in one fluid motion.

Spencer scrambled backwards so fast his chair squeaked. “I have kids! They’re nasty! They’re gross! The grossest! They’re draining little parasites! They’ll grow up to hate you! They despise me! Don’t get mad at me because you don’t know!!!”

You tore through your wedding band to demand Donnie sit.

Your mate tossed fury your way and seemed to ask why you weren’t this mad.

You let your sour show slow and leaked poison through your bond that you were.

An indignant wave hit him before he turned to Spencer. “They take away Y/N’s freedom.”

Spencer was still on high guard. “Y/N is on the same international list as you now.”

Donnie traded ire for horror.

“I’m what?” You blinked.

“Maybe not as a threat like Donatello, but you’re a person of interest. All your travel will be monitored.” Spencer explained warily.

“That’s…” Your head rolled and you stared at the ceiling.

“I thought you knew…” Spencer’s voice whined.

“How would we know?!” Donatello growled. “You said travel was clear!!”

“Y/N married you!” Spencer matched him without standing. “There was explicit danger there!”

“And now Y/N isn’t allowed to have a child!? They will be taken away!?” Donnie stormed forward.

Spencer tried to hold himself as the desk was between them.

You brought your chin down and into your hands while sending out a stop command to your mate.

He heeded it, but would not budge.

“You can’t adopt. You can’t use fertility options. They don't want you inventing ways around anything but au naturel. They're neutering you like that.” Spencer listed off.

Donnie loomed and you could almost see the miasma pour off his aura.

You thought over the conversation and then Spencer as a whole.

He was the man who sold Genius Built.

He was a man who has worked with Donnie for years.

He was a man who was as stereotypical white collar as they came.

“There’s no rule about me getting pregnant because they don't think I will.” You spoke.

Donnie didn’t turn.

Spencer tipped his body to see you. “Exactly.”

“What have you got for that?” You asked.

Spencer watched you for a beat before he smiled. “See this! Your spouse always gets it! They make you more palatable, but not great, you know?”

Donnie’s anger flared.

Spencer inched away from his desk and was clearly moving towards you. “I can’t guarantee your child will be safe.” 

You nodded.

Donnie’s head tipped back, but not enough for you to see.

“I can’t say they won’t be either. Donatello has always been a ‘ask for forgiveness instead of permission’ kind of guy. He was going to leave the country regardless of what I did. He was going to invent regardless of the label. He was going to fight the US government by himself regardless of whatever that was!”

You wondered how much Spencer really knew.

“What’s the gestation like if you get knocked up?”

You looked to Donnie.

“We aren’t sure, but hypothesize similar to human.”

“Nine months and that’s if you already got lucky…” Spencer ruminated.

Donnie didn’t correct him.

You guessed that made sense.

Donnie had only very recently entered the phase where he could test to see if his birth control was out of his system. He was meant to pick up some supplies from the lab today. There was no point prior to now. All that had been done is he’d started closely examining your body with your permission. It included daily wellness checks that supposedly charted your ovulation schedule. Your husband had made them tender periods instead of clinical ones so you hadn't considered them much.

“Are you two going to keep trying?” Spencer asked only you.

“Yes.” You answered.

“Are you going to break the adoption or fertility rules that have been set down?”

You met his eye harshly. “The first would endanger the child so I'm going to unilaterally say no. The second, what even counts? If I take a vitamin, is that wrong?”

Spencer lit up and went for his computer.

He tacked several things in before he apparently got a window he wanted.

Then, he mouthed out what you had asked as he wrote.

“If you conceived, how staunch are you on keeping the baby’s records secret?” Spencer finally asked something else.

Donnie took a threatening step.

“Sealed, heard.” Spencer nodded along with his notes. “What about you, Y/N? The pregnancy data will be something...”

Donnie meant to take another step, but you finally got to your feet and cut him off with a hand to his arm. “It depends. Are you looking for loopholes?”

“I work in sales.” Spencer stopped writing to look at you. “I sell Donatello. I do what I need to.”

There was a hefty confidence there that you felt was warranted.

Donnie had kept Spencer around after all.

“Don’t you guys have a crazy legal team?” You put yourself between Donnie and Spencer.

Spencer’s plastic smile shone bright. “We have the best damn legal team of sharks that ever roved US waters.”

“Can… we win?”

“We can try.” Spencer typed out one last thing before spinning to address you. “Here’s the pitch: you guys make a baby.”

Donnie shook his head at the absurdity.

Spencer ignored him. “While you break that hurdle, I will do everything in my power to protect the prodigal son. I’m gonna get the US decision saying what you can't do in formal writing and give it to the shark tank. We’ll shred the loopholes into doorways. We’ll walk all over them. They might want something though. We’ve got stuff in the in GB here that’s tasty and reserved to sweeten whatever pots we need. The EPF is gone and the loons were silenced, but the government can't pretend like they've really moved on from the mutant thing. Some people still see the advantages. There’s been real world change, especially environmental, that has stemmed directly from mutant cooperation! If it's got breakthrough written on it, they'll want it, especially pharmaceuticals. You have no idea how far this can go. If it can make money, that talks. Way louder than bureaucrats in Washington!”

You stared on.

Spencer’s lids lowered. “I'm saying we give up on trying to convince the US shit show. We get ourselves better backers, green ones, as in money green, Donatello green, and that's what's actually going to get you what you want. Like everything else.”

You nodded slowly.

“I’m gonna refine that speech, by the way.” Spencer told Donnie.

Donnie ignored him.

“Why… do all this…?”

“Pardon?” Spencer perked up.

“Why help us…? The travel thing was at least a wedding gift… This… this isn’t in your job description. None of it has been.”

Spencer stared at you dully for a moment before he leaned in like he had a secret. “So?”

You twitched at his apparent audacity.

He smiled a smarmy veneer. “You think it's in an assistant’s job description to get coffee?”

Your lips parted, but you weren’t sure with what.

Spencer answered for you. “No, but it’s implied you do it. Everyone does it. That and pick up dry cleaning. You maintain the boss's schedule, you push meetings when he’s hung over, and you work through the politics. It’s what you do! Have you ever heard me call Donnie an evil man? No and I never will. You know who gets called evil on a daily basis? Me, darling. I’ve been cussed out by more people than you can count. I’m hated by multi-international corporations because I’m good at what I do and what I do is sell him!”

Donnie looked down Spencer’s pointed finger with disinterest.

“I’m set for life because of it! I’m not going anywhere! I didn’t give you the travel voucher as a wedding gift! I would have been fine getting you a toaster that would break in six months. I got the travel ban lifted because I wanted my meal ticket to come back. If he wants a kid then I’m gonna move mountains because I know what he’s like when he doesn’t get what he wants and it’s bad.”

Spencer finally left the safety of his desk and openly approached Donnie.

“Do the screen thing. Projections I sent you in the email three days ago at 3:24pm.”

Donnie glowered, but brought his wrist up.

You saw a graph appear in one of Donnie’s screens that apparently showed Genius Built’s growth.

It had been on nothing but a rise in all the recent quarters.

“This-” Spencer pointed to a spot that marked right before the rapid incline. “-is when he disclosed his relationship with you, which I have only been able to guess is when you guys became official official.”

You looked between the data and him.

“You entered Donatello’s life and his creativity spiked. Not just any inventions, but one’s with mass-market appeal! All useful hit after hit. You rejuvenated our stocks. You’re the direct correlation. We’ve never tapped children’s markets! Do you have any idea how much potential there is!? How what you’ll make isn’t just some brat, but a kid’s revolution in general?! People won’t be able to think about popping out little shits without Genius Built!”

The man was manic enough that you inched away from him.

Donnie closed the screen and this time he used his body as a barrier.

Spencer cleared his throat and pushed out his hands in some sort of inspired breathing exercise.

“Point is, I’m not doing it to be a good person.”

You felt Donnie’s appreciation.

Your head pivoted toward your mate and you saw how his cold expression honed on Spencer.

Your brow wrinkled in confusion.

“I’d bet on what I'm doing over benevolence any day. I'm doing something that someone’s going to fight tooth and nail over.” Spencer added before he leaned back against his desk.

It was the honesty.

Donnie liked that Spencer was truthful.

Neither man bullshitted the other.

They were in the ultimate symbiotic relationship.

Something of only convenience.

The moment either party didn’t benefit, they would move on.

The fact they’d been at this for years said something too.

You heaved a sigh and guessed Spencer wasn’t wrong, though it didn’t feel great.

“I’ll think about the pregnancy stuff.” You relented.

“I’ll take it.” Spencer bobbed his body and looked at Donnie. “What do you think? Nothing moves without you, sir.”

Donnie let the moment simmer before he gave the barest nod. “Find me choices and security or find other employment.”

It didn’t sound like the threat Donnie hoped.

You tempered your grin.

Spencer took it the same way, but pretended to be alarmed by waffling away. “Understood! I’ll send my formal proposal in an hour.”

Donnie turned and, in passing, you shared a glance that said this meeting was over.

You said goodbye to Spencer where your mate didn’t and the man waved you off.

He started a phone call before his door shut closed.

Donnie continued to move, but you hung back by the office.

It was soundproofed and you heard nothing more after the door shut.

Donnie noticed your hindrance and turned back.

“Adoption… was our plan…” You spoke with burbling sadness. “Not a fallback, that’s what we-”

Donnie was at your side in an instant. “I know, but not here…”

“Not here…” You slipped away from your mate and held yourself as you walked.

He followed close behind.

There would be no adoption.

You were at the mercy of less than two percent chances.

You would have to give birth.

By all accounts, a child was now only a dream.

Donnie had told you.

Donnie would never be allowed to live freely.

He said he would live his entire life under some form of threat.

That would never end. 

It now extended to you. 

If you had a child with Donnie there was a chance they could be taken away. 

You squeezed your torso so tight that it felt like your ribs compressed.

Donnie touched your arm and you twitched in realizing that you were still in the labs proper.

Scientists busied themselves around you.

Not here.

Donnie needed supplies, you reminded yourself.

Not here.

You nodded for him to go ahead and slipped off toward where a pillar afforded you a place out of the way.

Not here.

It was unfair.

The injustice made you ill.

Your mate was loving.

Your mate was caring.

Your mate fostered a smile in spite of everything he had gone through.

Your mate was a murderer.

You blew out an air that allowed you to get just a little more of your body.

That was it and more.

Political enemy.

War criminal.

Weapons manufacturer.

Drug dealer.

There was no end to his crimes.

How had Spencer put it?

Something about Donnie shaping young minds.

Wasn’t that what he did now?

Donnie was the last step in the process granting all these scientists their projects.

He was allowed to do that because this benefited the world.

Would a child of his offer nothing?

Donnie was a weapon.

Donnie was a husband.

The swirl threatened to consume you.

Donnie was there, by your side once more.

You didn’t look at him as you moved for the elevator.

Your torso ached.

He got the button.

The elevator ride was a loaded one.

Every grievance filled the metal box until you thought you would suffocate.

Then the doors opened to the lobby and you darted out at freedom.

You stumbled as you crossed the clean floors.

You were outside and to where the car was parked.

It opened its doors, invitingly, and you accepted the offer.

Donnie moved to the trunk.

Its slam shook your body when it closed.

Donnie entered the vehicle.

The door closed.

The engine turned.

The moment you were in motion, your mate pulled you to him.

Your tiny body curled up in his.

It fell out of you.

“Why aren’t you allowed to add some good to this world?!”

“Don’t they see how you’ve changed?!”

“Haven’t they seen what you’ve done!?”

“How can we do this!?”

“How can we have a kid in good faith!?”

“How is trying to have a child under these circumstances not abuse!?”

“They did this! They put us in this position! How is that fair!?”

“I already thought it was so damn selfish! How can I add to that?!”

“We could do everything! We could do everything right and they could be taken from us!”

“We can’t even help another child like you!!”

“Another kid who was lost! We can’t save them!!”

“It’s ridiculous!!!”

“It’s not fair!!!”

“I HATE THIS!!!”

Donnie responded.

You knew he did.

To each and every sentence, he had something to say.

You heard none of it.

You were irrational.

You could feel how much.

Who was that person who had been in the room with Spencer?

How had they taken the news so coldly?

Donnie had been furious.

Donnie had thought you would be.

You thought you were.

You were now.

It was too late.

For what?

What good would it have done?

Spencer was nothing more than a messenger.

That was why the government talked through him and not to Donnie.

How many times had they tried to buy out Spencer?

There was no way they hadn’t tried to place a plant as close to Donnie as possible.

Spencer had good in him.

You didn’t care what he said.

There was good.

He wasn't evil.

Nothing was so black and white.

Just like this.

When you emerged from your stupor, you were bundled up on the couch.

Swaddled in your favorite blanket, you rubbed your cheek against the softness and looked further.

On the table were at least three drinks and two snacks.

All things you loved.

Running at a near silent volume was one of your favorite shows.

Donnie had done what he could and presumably realized you were unreachable.

He’d then set you up with creature comforts before giving you space.

Instead of looking for him through your wedding band, you withheld yourself to search.

It seemed comical to you that he would be anywhere other than at his desk.

He was standing and looking over a microscope.

He was examining the mobility of his sperm to see if they had recovered.

After all you had said was he still planning to move forward?

He must have felt the question because your mate looked up, attentively listening to those emotions that you could both hear before he turned to you.

You felt helplessness in your eyes, but tried to parboil them for him.

He held a faint scold for your cover-up as he approached.

“Nuzzle, please.” You told him.

He diverted course to meet you with the back of the couch as your safety net. He caught it and leaned over to scrub his beak against your cheek. You let the affection roll over you before you felt you could return it in earnest.

He solemnly accepted.

As soon as you stopped, he retreated and tucked his chin against a couch cushion to watch you.

“I… didn’t hear anything you said. I’m sorry.”

Donnie’s lip pursed nonchalantly. “Nothing of importance.”

“I doubt that.” You held a hand up to his.

He lifted his fingers.

You thread the digits. “Tell me. I bet you had some great points or plans.”

He stared at your entwined hands for a long moment. “No.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t make a sound.

He looked sad. “Everything you said. You are right.”

Your heart had barely surfaced and was once again treading water.

“This was always a dream. The mechanisms were always stacked against us, in my name. We went to Spencer because the state of New York was never going to let us adopt. Regardless of my record, there is discrimination in the system at its purest form, let alone against a mutant. I am only sorry I could not have protected you more.”

“All you did was warn me! All you’ve ever done…”

“Then you’ll remember quite clearly that each time you dismissed me I insisted upon the matter.” 

He was right and you lowered your gaze.

“I do see one thing differently.”

You punished yourself for a few more seconds before meeting his eyes.

“You said we were denied a chance to make a child happy. Be it our own, foster, or more.”

Your head rose a little higher. “You can’t-”

He squeezed your hand lightly to stop you.

You felt a little protest bubble through your bond.

He kissed one of your knuckles. “I have lived my life in complete rejection of authority figures.”

You stalled.

“I watched time and time again as parental-aged adults passed me over. Those who did not ignore my existence used me for gain or saw to destroy me. I had no childhood, but there was little time to yearn. I had to survive.”

You leaned into him.

He gave you no leeway. “My dearest, I don’t think I’ll be a good parent. I don’t believe they exist. I know that as a fact. All children are disturbed by their parents in some shape or form.”

You moved to fight, but he caught a finger to your lips.

“You can argue otherwise, but there are already signs. You know my disposition. You've fought it. I’m obsessive which would translate to helicopter parenting. I have days where I can’t handle noise or bodily fluid, both of which are the general make-up of young children. I am stubborn. I am cold.”

You frowned deeply against his digit.

He pressed once there as a point before releasing you.

You started with the usual complaints, but you saw his gaze.

It was clear, open, and didn’t hold pain.

It was a fact that he accepted.

He wasn’t exactly wrong.

The only thing you could fight him with was scientific data which came in the form of his pathetic sample size.

You bet he already knew that.

He also hadn’t thought himself capable of love in general though.

Yet here you were.

The gentle current through his ring held an understanding of that as well.

“Why do this then?” You chose as your response.

“Why do anything?” His lips crinkled with bare amusement.

Its unguarded nature caused your chest to restrict.

He tipped closer. “I’m selfish. All signs told me not to entertain you, but I did. Even when my apocalyptic heralding came to be, I could not leave you because despite all the suffering I caused you, it was outweighed by my desire for you. I have the same desire for children. I know I will mess up. I believe you will as well, no matter how high a regard I have for you. That is what I know, but you are my stunning anomaly. You are my heart and why would I not want to concoct the ultimate combination of our forms? I adore creation and what is this if not its elevated form?”

“Donnie…”

“I am under no delusion as to how that sounds. It’s selfish. My only awareness lies in their personhood which I learned firsthand. I tried for too long to control S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. I have barely amended such. Our offspring may have our visage, hopefully more so yours…” He gave a calculated churr.

You tapped him with your nose.

He languished in the touch. “But they are not us and won’t be.”

You gave into a small sigh and thought for a moment. “Is there a line for too selfish?”

“You nearly lost your life. Yes, there is and I am ignorant of it.”

“Even if there’s a threat of taking our child away?”

“Nothing…” Donnie rose a little taller to show his might. “That I have even the most minute control over will take anything away from us, especially you. I have contingencies. I will resort to the lowest blows. We may go into hiding, but I will burn the entire population of the Earth down before a sentient being thinks it can separate me from my family.”

You stroked his shoulder in a downward motion to coax him off the ledge.

He dipped down to meet you with a butting of his head.

You kissed him.

“That is of course only if you want to continue. You bear the bodily burden. I can renew my birth control at a moment’s notice. However, I believe the risk outweighs the reward and that comes from the purple personification of peril.”

You were quiet for a moment.

Was that really okay?

You supposed you had long been your own form of selfish.

You often and willfully had ignored Donnie’s warnings.

You to this day downplayed his past transgressions.

All because you loved him and wanted to be with him.

A sudden reel of all your own emboldened activities spun through your mind’s eye.

You had really aggravated an armed assailant once.

You couldn’t help but smile a little.

What was the US government?

People gave it the middle finger on a daily basis.

They weren’t some be all and end all.

They weren’t going to take your child.

With Donnie, you were invincible.

Even though in practice that was patently not true, you were inclined to still believe it.

When you looked at Donnie, you found him waiting without judgment either way.

You reached into his being through your bond to explore how deep that went.

He allowed you full access to his emotion and he only seemed to further soften in your mystic grip.

He was all yours.

You pecked the tip of his beak and only felt a little bad for your display because it seemed like wasted energy.

You supposed you were allowed a meltdown.

It was a lot.

It would continue to be a lot.

You were going from peace to the fire.

You wanted it no other way.

You slipped from your wedding band and stared Donnie down.

His eyes glinted under the interest.

“You’ll need to… renew… the birth control?” You asked softly.

His lids lowered sultry. “While it is not completely out of my system, there has been marked bounce back in sperm motility.”

“No lasting side effects?”

“We have a few more days to see, but signs say no. I posit I will return to full virility.”

You tapped the couch once before chewing your lip.

He waited with bated breath.

“You don’t believe in fate.”

“I don’t.”

“With our odds, isn’t it kinda like that?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It will happen if it does. There is only probability.”

“Not very romantic.”

“What were you hoping I’d say?”

“Something about how you’d make it happen…”

“For you? I would. I would move mountains. I would level forests. I would topple whatever stood between us because I could. As frustrating as it is, my precious science bars me here and I cannot bend her rules.”

“Ah, your mistress.” You shook your head.

Donnie growled a little and feigned leaping over the couch at you.

You giggled and pulled him the rest of the way over.

He churred as he laid on top of you.

With it, you imagined the weight of a child. 

How it would fill out your body. 

All that entailed. 

The pain. 

The horror stories. 

Was your only option a one you should chance?

Donnie had said something about it.

About child birth and how time only cured so many of its dangers. 

Dangers you and Donnie faced regularly. 

Dangers that might not manifest. 

All more playing of odds with no way to know. 

“My health…” You worried aloud. 

“You will have care like no other should you so choose. You are not to be left to chance. You will be my choice in an instant. My priority.” 

You nodded before a rueful smile played on your lips. “Unbiased science husband… Do you think… I’ll be okay?” 

“Impossible terms to ask under, but I wouldn’t consider this otherwise.” 

“And the rest…?” 

“There is no fate. We dream.” Donnie responded.

You pulled him close and felt your worries melt away as you pictured three of you cuddled just like this. “Then let’s dream.”

(Check out behind the scenes for this fic and more on my Patreon. You can follow me there, here, or the tag #softspotfic for updates)

Thank you as always to my darling betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[queen-of-the-avengers]

My One and Only, My Lifeline

Pairing: NASCAR!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: angst, crash and injuries

Summary: Steve is a famous NASCAR driver who finds the thrill in driving at high speeds. You’re there at every one of his races, praying that he’ll make it out without injury. Sometimes, God doesn’t answer prayers and then the worst happens.

Squares Filled: "I'm just trying to sound tough" (2021) for @star-spangled-bingo

Author’s Note: i saw this video on tiktok and i immediately drew inspiration for it. go check it out!

x

One of the most dangerous jobs in your opinion is race car driving like NASCAR, but your boyfriend is very skilled at it. He has always had a passion for racing even when he was a teenager. There were underground racing groups that would take their precious muscle cars and go so far out of town that there wouldn’t ever be people on the road to crash into. Hundreds of kids would gather to watch the race and almost all of them would place bets on the best driver, that being Steve.

Steve claimed he loved the thrill of it but you know the fame was a big part of it to. He felt untouchable. Everyone tried racing him but he had all the best things. It didn’t help his dad was the best mechanic in town that would often supply Steve with the best parts. Still, Steve didn’t need it. He had raw talent on his side.

There was this one time when Steve’s opponent got so mad that he lost against him that he declared a rematch but the driver had to pick who got to drive their car. He picked someone he thought was the best while Steve immediately went to you. You have never driven like he does a day in your life but he trusted you to drive his car without question.

He sat in the passenger seat and watched you with heart eyes as you drove as smoothly as he did. The cops were called about the illegal racing and came to shut it down, and you passed by the finish line and continued driving away. The cops almost nailed you two but you made a swift escape by outrunning a train. There was an opening that Steve didn’t think you’d make but you proved him wrong that night.

It was thrilling but it was something you never wanted to do again. You’d leave that for Steve to do.

Eventually, he moved out of state with you and applied for NASCAR. It took him a long time to actually drive on the track and when he did, he impressed everyone. His rise to fame was fast, almost too fast for you to keep up. Before, you’d go out with him to the store without issue. Now, you can’t go anywhere without women falling head over heels for him or men asking him to sign things.

It makes Steve happy so you don’t say anything about it. It could be worse but you often wish that things could go back to underground racing and running from the cops.

You walk into the area with your laminated VIP pass slung over your neck like a necklace. From Steve’s first race to now, you have never missed one. Even when you were in the hospital for a broken leg, you still found a way to cheer him on from the stands. Steve’s been part of the same pit crew for years so they all know you like you’re part of their little family. They allow you to be with the crew because you’re always out of their way.

All you want to do is support your man as close as you can get.

“Hey, Tony!” you greet the man responsible for designing Steve’s car. Tony took a shot at Steve years ago and has been his sponsor ever since. “How’s Pepper?”

“At home with Morgan. I told her she could come but she didn’t want Morgan around here.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want a six-year-old here either.”

“You’re here.” You turn around and see Steve jogging over to you. “I’m just about to go out.”

“Go kill it, baby,” you grin.

He kisses you twice--once because he loves you and one more for good luck. He slides his helmet on and hops into his car through the window since the doors don’t open. Cars don’t have any opening doors to protect the drivers in case they crash. They can roll safely knowing a door won’t open and they’d be ejected from it. You fear for Steve’s life whenever he gets into that car and pray that he makes it through this race unscathed.

It’s worked so far… until it doesn’t.

Steve slides into his car and does the pre-race checkup with his pit crew before driving over to the group of cars that are already driving slowly along the track. They do that as they wait for everyone to prepare for it. As soon as everyone is in line, they set up the starting line witht he large green flag in the air. Just like how a flip is switched, every single driver presses on the accelerator and the race is on.

It’s hard to determoine who will come out on top in the beginning os everyone is fair game. It’s only until they reach the mid-mark that people start to get an idea of who is going to come in the first five spots. Steve pulls into the pit area and stops so his crew can give the car fuel and change his tires all at an alarming speed. It amazes you how quickly his team works.

You sit with your elbows on your knees and rub your hands together from how nervous you are. Cars race by in the blink of an eye, round and round they go. This race is three hundred and twelve laps and Steve just passed the three hundred mark. The race is nearly done and he is neck and neck with his biggest opponent, Baron Zemo.

“Y/N, he wants to talk to you.”

You get up and take the headset from one of the crew members, Bucky.

“Steve?”

“Baby, talk to me. Give me words of encouragement.”

“You can do this, Steve. I’m so proud of you and I’ll be proud of you no matter the outcome.”

“No, do better.”

“Uh… Oh! If you don’t win this, I’m going to leave you for another man.”

“No man will ever get the chance to touch you,” he smirks.

“Go kill it, baby.”

“You know I will.”

You take the headset off and hand it back to Bucky. Eleven laps to go.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

You’re standing on the edge where the concrete barricade is. It feels like your head is going to explode from the lack of oxygen because you’re holding your breath in anticipation. If you even blink, you fear you’ll miss it.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Nearly there. Steve and Zemo are neck and neck as they come across the final three laps. You’re not sure which one is going to win. One half of the audience is cheering for Steve while the other half is rooting for Zemo.

Three.

Two.

You prayed for tonight to go according to plan but not all prayers reach God. There are some that fall through the cracks, this time, it’s yours. It’s the last lap and it’s clear that Zemo isn’t going to win this one. He does the one thing that would ensure his first place prize. All it takes it one swerve of his car and Steve gets thrown off balance. His car is slammed into concrete wall before swerving toward the grass. It flips twice and comes to a screeching halt.

Time slows down for you. Nothing else matters but your boyfriend. You open your mouth and scream his name but you don’t hear it. You heave yourself over the concrete barricade and sprint right into the tracks. The crew members try grabbing at you to keep you from running onto the tracks with dozens of racecars.

Silence befalls the audience as they watch with horror from the accident. Not even Zemo’s side are cheering for his run. Everyone saw what he did. He betrayed Steve and causes him to crash just so he could get the nearly eight million dollars. You take a step onto the track and almost get knocked back by cars speeding past you.

You find your first opening and run across the track as fast as you can before the next wave of cars can come. Thirty feet before you get to Steve’s car, the engine blows up in flames. Reality comes rushing at you at full speed.

“Steve!”

HIs pit crew is already trying to make their way over to help but you’re not sure what they can do about the smoke bellowing out of the car. You get on your knees and look through the open window to see him coughing inside.

“Steve! Grab my hand!”

Steve looks at you with dazed eyes. He must have hit his head on the ceiling. He struggles to get into a position that can slide him right out of the car but he doesn’t stop trying. You reach in to help but your arm touches the hot, hot metal of the dashboard. You hiss in pain but ignore it because Steve is top priority.

Bucky grabs your shoulder and gently moves you out of the way so that he and the crew can get him out. They’re better qualified than you are. Bucky pulls Steve out of the car only moments before the rest of the car gos up in flames. He has scratches to his leg and bruising on his face but you think he’ll be okay.

“Y/N, are you nuts? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“You’re bleeding, Steve.”

“I’m okay.” He winces from pain which means he’s clearly not okay. “Okay, I’m just trying to sound tough. You really shouldn’t have come out here. It was stupid.”

“Nothing is stupid when it comes to you. I thought… I can’t lose you, Steve.”

Steve stays seated on the ground and waits for the paramedics to come and you sit right nex to him to keep him company. Steve grabs your hand and notices the burn on your forearm.

“Shit, Y/N, you’re burned. You could have died.”

“So could you. Your life is tied to mine. If you die, then I die.”

Steve kisses you quickly to assure you that he’s going to be okay.

“I can’t die now,” he chuckles painfully. “Winning means nothing if you’re not next to me.”

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[khaire-traveler]

Hey! I’ve been following for a while and I have a small question. I’m worried that I’m headblind/can’t feel or hear deities at all. When I work with reading flames or spinning coins, something feels off or wrong. And I’m too scared to use a pendulum because a friend of mine had a trickster on them last year. Is this something that I can fix or I have to work around? Do you have any tips to work past this or any communication methods? Thx for reading!

Hey, Nonny! Apologies for the late answer; I've been crazy busy lately.

So, I have a few things I can recommend as well as some things I hope you find reassuring.

Firstly, I'd like to say that I don't believe in trickster spirits - at least, not in the way that has been popularized. Are there spirits out there who are maybe not so good to be around? Yes, absolutely. But if you're reaching out to a specific deity, is someone else entirely going to answer? In my opinion, no. When you specifically call on a deity, I personally believe that only that deity is going to answer. If you're nervous about who will be on the other end of your prayer, I suggest using a broad epithet of the deity to get their attention. I have a pretty detailed post on my views that I'll link here and save you my long ass thought process. In general, though, deities are the protection from evil, not the cause of it, and that holds true when it comes to supposed trickster spirits.

Secondly, I do believe that deity communication is a skill that can be practiced and learned, but sometimes it's much more difficult for some than others. For some people, they struggle to do it at all, and that's not a bad thing. I feel there is a misconception going around that in order to have an actual relationship with your deities, you need to be able to communicate through divination or have to sense their presence. However, this is untrue. You can still have strong deity relationships through prayer and other simple means of communication. Deities will still listen to you, and you'll often find that they'll still answer, even if it's not in ways that are often discussed online. Deities communicate through a variety of means - dreams, physical signs and omens, divination, even encounters with strangers - and to enforce a limited view on their communication abilities is something I'm strongly against, yet it is often the only thing that's popularized. Online, you often hear stories of people speaking directly to deities and being able to physically see them. You even hear stories of perfect and flawless communication through divination. The things is, we often don't see the rigorous practice and build up that it took for someone to get there. In my experience, even just by speaking to other practitioners, these communication skills seldom come naturally.

Thirdly, I do have sources that you can look into that explore different methods of deity communication as well honing your ability to use those methods. This post discusses how to differentiate between your inner voice and that of a deity. This post talks about identifying signs from deities. There are other ways to identify signs not mentioned in this post, but this is a great place to start. This post mentions some ways deities can try to contact you, just in general. This post is about narrowing down which deities are trying to contact you. While not directly related to your situation, it could still be helpful. This post is specifically geared towards to the headblind. It gives some great tips on figuring out what deities are trying to communicate. I highly suggest you take a look at my Deities & Entities section in my pinned post for more. Finally, here is a masterpost I made of various divination methods - all great ways to communicate with deities.

I will say that it takes a lot of practice, especially if you're coming from a place where you've never felt or experienced anything relating to deities, but in my opinion, it's not impossible most of the time. Even if you ARE fully head blind, that's not a bad thing. Like I said earlier, it doesn't prevent you from having meaningful relationships with deities. The best thing you can do for yourself is to stop comparing yourself to other worshippers and their experiences. At the end of the day, everyone's practice will differ vastly from each other, and even when you have things in common, you will still find that you do some things way differently from the other practitioner. Even the way that deities present themselves to people varies. For example, I often see Apollon as having long, wavy hair that's golden blond. However, I've met another person who sees him as having shoulder length hair that's more of a strawberry blond. I even know someone who only sees the gods in the forms of animals, viewing Apollon as a swan, crow, or crane. Deity experiences are almost never exactly the same. How you do things will always differ, and there's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with the way you practice, and you're not doing anything wrong by struggling to communicate. It's ok, and you are perfectly fine the way you are. 🫂

I hope you found my answer helpful. I know it was pretty wordy, but I hope you don't mind that too much. I wish you the best on your journey, Nonny, and I truly hope you can feel secure and happy in your practice. I believe in you, and I'm proud of you for the progress you've already made. Take care. 🧡

[sugarjar]

What I’ll do 3

Not edited, barely proofread so I’m sorry for that I will edit it later.

Jey uso masterlist

“Jasmin what are you doing popping up over here?” Joshua gritted through his teeth at the lightskin woman who stood at five foot seven and a hundred and ten pounds.

Who also happened to be Joshua’s ex girlfriend of eight years but they broke up because of Joshua’s failure to put a ring on it after so long.

At the time of the break up they’d already been living together, meet both families, and lived like married people. Aleisha couldn’t figure out why Josh, couldn’t just seal the deal.

And when Joshua didn’t have an answer that was enough for her to walk away, but not to far away that she couldn’t stick her nose in his business and keep that soft spot soft for her.

“Why Josh you got someone ova’ here or something?” She asked pointing her eyebrow up, crossing her arms.

Joshua instantly sighed and knew good and well that Aleisha had no problem, showing her ass and he’d felt something with Cleo and Aleisha was not going to ruin the moment.

“I do and you are not going to come in here and act an ass!” He warned lowly trying not to alert Cleo. Praying that she was doing somthing upstairs to distract her from his disappearance and the person he desperately wanted her not to see.

His prayers went unanswered just as Aleisha pushed past him abrupt and unexpectedly, moving him out the way, Cleo was coming down the stairs and they came face to face.

“Oh my bad I’m Cleo?” Cleo introduced Putting her best foot forward like always, but she wasn’t dumb she saw the look this woman was giving her and she looked to Josh to see how he’d handle this situation.

“I bet you are Ms. Thang” Aleisha said looked her up and down again, feeling the disrespect Cleo decided to take her leave.

Making her way to the couch where she’d left her things before moving past the woman to the door. Not sparing Joshua a glance she got in her car and left.

-

“Are you kidding me” Joshua said sliding his hands down face.

“What did a scare another one off” she said going into the fridge in the kitchen, making herself something, very comfortable.

“You can’t scare her off because she’s not my girlfriend, we’re just friends.” He said thinking about how he’d smooth things over with Cleopatra.

“If she wasn’t anything special then why are you mad.” She said shrugging as she kicked her feet up eating her bowl of strawberries.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you Aleisha now please leave.” He said gesturing to the door and Jas laughed not taking him serious.

“Boy bye” she said in between laughs

“I’m serious get out.” He said taking the fruit from her and pointing to the door.

Lifting her eyebrows before finally getting up and leaving, leaving Josh to sigh at the situation.

-

Laying in her bed Cleo felt weird and defeated, she didn’t know who this woman was that just came into Josh’s house like she owned the place. Why was she so comfortable with doing that?

Who was she to Joshua?

Why didn’t he say anything to the woman who clearly was interrupting their moment.?

That was another thing she felt an away about what would have happened had that girl not knocked.

Normally she’d just assume sex but over the last few weeks, the sex felt different the it was slow, and intense and felt purposeful.

Times like this where she really didn’t know what was going on, she was glad to have her bestie which she didn’t have anymore and would never have again it seemed.

She’d assumed the worse when she kept not getting an answer from Jazlyn after almost four whole months of being on delivered and texting from all platforms she could remember her being on, Especially Snapchat which Cleo didn’t even have but reinstalled, and used to to send messages to her best friend and going back to check the messages every so often to see if she’d gotten a response.

And she has just not the response that she’d hoped for which read.

Opened• 2 weeks ago

And her heart started to hurt.

How could Jazlyn just walk away yeah she’d yelled but they yelled at each other all the time she didn’t understand why Jazlyn wasn’t answering.

She had apologized and even mentioned to her home to see if she was there and Jazlyn was her car and everything. Using her key just to find out that it no longer worked and she knew what happened then and there.

Of course Cleo could stay in lala land and think her best had gotten kidnapped or went on a long vacation and all of this was just a mistake but none of that was true.

Truth was Jazlyn didn’t want to be her friend anymore, She didn’t want anything to do with her, her best friend through talk her life someone she thought of as a sister didn’t want her anymore.

And for the first time since she was a little girl she cried because she didn’t have any friends, and not just any friends her best friend, her sister. And she felt so small and childish on top of confused.

What was she to do?

[suffersinfandom]

A Summary of The OFMD Meta (Part III)

Thank you for all of the likes and comments! I’ve never really had anything noticed on tumblr and it’s very cool. And scary. Thank you!

This is part three of an incomplete summary of A Meta-Discussion Of The Subtext by meratrishoslee (Mera) on AO3 (linked to, as the author requests). I’m trying to stay impartial and keep all of the important bits in.

This chunk includes chapters sixteen through eighteen, which are an analysis of the final episode of season two. The overarching thesis of the first two chapters is, as it was in the previous part, this: “Ed’s the face, head/mind and body of Blackbeard, Izzy is Blackbeard’s heart/soul -- as well as the heart of the show itself.”

I can’t recommend not commenting on this meta on AO3 enough. Replies that aren’t completely positive will just fuel more “defending myself from the haters” chapters. If you’re inspired, maybe write your own tumblr meta with these takes as a jumping-off point? That way, there’s a chance that someone who’s willing to listen to what you say will read it. 

Other posts Part I Part II

Chapter 16: The Sacred Heart (Part 5)

Episode eight opens on Ed and his girlblogger nature journey, where “we get to see the real people who are having to do the real actual labor to prop up Ed’s navel gazing. Edward does an incredibly colonizery prayer at the dinner table until [Pop-Pop] sets him straight with a smack across the face. [...] The truth comes out about Ed’s lack of skills and experience, and [Pop-Pop] goes into (what I feel is) a justified rage again. But it’s not about Ed’s lies or laziness or self-absorption. It’s again about ‘we are not simple! We’re not simple!’”

We’re not that simple doesn’t make a lot of textual sense because we need to look at the subtext. “Both the skilled labor of fishing for survival and income, as well as this entire show and specifically this episode, are not nearly as clear cut as they initially appear. Perception is NOT reality, so question the logic of what you’re being told and shown.” It’s not that simple. 

Pop-Pop is subtextually telling Ed that he’s not his father -- he’s a textual good father figure (a mirror of Izzy) “trying to instruct/correct Edward while reminding him: we absolutely do not have a father/child relationship.” Ed goes into another non-apology, fucks up dinner, and “gets thrashed not simply for that but *gestures expansively at the previous three minutes of broadcast*.”

(It’s telling that Ed leaves both Stede and Izzy behind and immediately seeks out a replacement for Izzy instead of Stede.)

Ed yells that ‘it’s just a fish,’ but “it’s not just a fish -- it’s dinner, it’s livelihood, it’s disrespect, it’s dealing with this bullshit after a full day of physical labor,” and this is only “our first example in this episode of Ed minimizing a loss that he should in no way be minimizing.”

The fish is also Izzy: “here we have one loss of a creature of water dumped into the fire, as mirrored to the later, greater loss of Izzy -- a creature of water and air, who belongs on or in the ocean -- inexplicably buried in the earth.” (Don’t forget: Stede and Ed are ALSO fish.)

The next scene is Ricky at the Republic of Pirates. He’s polishing his small hidden pistol -- the one that will be so deadly later in the episode. Ricky’s uniform is tailored to make him look smaller. He’s now a mirror to Izzy: “often underrated, underacknowledged, and treated as a joke by the people around him.” His outfit details mirror Izzy’s: ” the ruffled shirt cuffs, the saber on his left side, the cravat at his throat with its own gold accent -- a pearl for purity instead of an emerald for grief. Lots of white/cream/gold in contrast to Izzy's unrelieved and unornamented black.”

At Spanish Jackie’s, Ricky makes Jackie fish his nose out from the nose jar, or “reach into a grave to retrieve something he’s lost,” and “we don’t see Jackie locate the object of her search, exhume it from the grave the jar and show it to him…”

We see Zheng Yi Sao devastated by the loss of her fleet and, she thinks, Auntie. She’s not sobbing; she’s numb, shocked, unable to so much as cry. Stede’s being an insensitive idiot. “Stede’s heard of empathizing, but has no idea how it actually works -- and has also never had a failure as awful as this one. He’s mansplaining struggle and loss to a woman of color.”

The closeup on Ed’s face as he sees what has become of the Republic of Pirates mirrors the closeup at the wedding in S2E1. “I want you to drink it in: We have been here before. We are doing it all again. You don’t have to be afraid of it; the same road just looks different in the dark.” We’re also watching Ed go into shock (Mera is “feeling a few motes of compassion here”).

“Edward doesn’t actually need the Blackbeard kit to be a warrior. He just killed two soldiers with his bare hands, [...]. But in this moment of shock and grief, Edward craves the invisible mantle of something more powerful than mere knives or guns: the image he and Izzy created between the two of them, the incredible and indestructible myth that deals death and cannot itself die. An Izzy mirror [Pop-Pop] told Edward something he could construe as ‘become Blackbeard again’ – and, alone in this instant of world-shattering shock [...], he clings to the thing he trusts the most, at the instruction” of a character who mirrors Izzy.

We see Ricky descend into a basement. He tells the jailed crew that they will be hung and their stories will be lost. “I hereby re-invoke my personal prohibition against Season 3 speculation, other than the certainty that we will see the text bear up and explain what the currently available subtext so fulsomely insists: that Izzy is alive in the last frame of this episode.”

Izzy is sitting in the middle of the room, primed to make himself the best target to protect the crew, given a position of respect on what might be the only chair. Either Izzy has had a chance to rest (he was exhausted and in pain the previous day) OR “our Sacred Heart, determined to watch over and protect everyone else in the room, has not fucking slept a wink all night. That’s two nights and a day of effort, for a disabled man (who, if you believe the HIV/AIDS coding, is also in a constant battle of autoimmune illness).”

“And now: our beautiful, hurting, self-sacrificing Sacred Heart is drawn into the dance of death -- one that, because it happens almost entirely in silences of the mind, can be and is ignored by people who only see the pretty pictures flashing in front of their eyes.”

Izzy baits Ricky so thoroughly that “Ricky will put off having them all hanged just so he can get Izzy’s full and undivided attention -- as well as keep Izzy’s family as functional hostages to Izzy’s good behavior.”

Izzy and Ricky sit down to chat. “Izzy’s defense of his loved ones is like chess, and he’s his own most useful (and yet sacrificial) game piece. Izzy does change his tactics whenever he realizes something isn’t gaining him ground -- but he’s got Ricky fairly well figured out.” Izzy knows he needs to keep Ricky occupied until Ed, Stede, and Yi Sao show up. He needs to keep him interested. 

Ricky is projecting when he calls Izzy the brains of the Blackbeard operation. “He’s his own ‘brain’ with no heart. We have it proven by his plan to immediately double-cross Zheng [...]; that’s devious and clever on a level Izzy (who doesn’t even carry a pistol so that all his violent power remains connected to his body so he can control every bit of it -- and you can’t redirect a bullet or change what it’ll hit once it’s in flight) would not have gone to on his own.”

Izzy stops playing with the candle flame (recall that both he and Ed toy with flames when they’re lying). This is his ‘it’s about belonging to something’ speech.

“The Sacred Heart is level, unmoving, and intense when he delivers his raison d'être into Prince Ricky’s hearing. What response does he get, upon confessing his all? The worst possible one, unfortunately. Ricky can’t resonate with Izzy’s essential truth spoken blatantly into the text: Ricky has never once done anything in his life simply for the love of another person, much less a whole group of them.”

But it’s fine, because “Izzy is subtextually confessing, via the text, to us as the Unseen Crew. The Sacred Heart put into the text the reason for everything he’s done this season, and everything he will do before the end of the episode: not for glory, gold, public acclaim, or even the satisfaction of personal desire or the pursuit of romantic love. It’s for the crew, and the crew alone. It is utterly selfless, having let go of the ego-self. It is agape love.”

Zheng Yi Sao, Stede, and Ed are all at the beach. Ed and Stede reunite and Stede gets an actual, real apology from Ed. Stede responds to Ed’s love confession with an ‘I know,’ and maybe that’s supposed to feel a bit off. (When something feels off, look at the subtext.)

Ed and Stede run off to battle with their two battlecries: ‘Die, motherfuckers!’ ‘For love!’ And guess what? “...We will get to see someone do just that: die for love.”

“Now the center of the mirror episode, held between its textual and subtextual midpoints: Archie and Fang trying to create a literal ‘narrow escape’ by twisting fabric around the bars until they bend.” 

Olu finds Auntie, “who is such a capable person that she’s already decided she’s dead and went off to a quiet spot to finish dying where it wouldn’t bother anyone else,” and calls Jim over to help her. 

Why Jim? “...While Buttons bit Lucius and the wound got infected and he nearly died from sepsis -- Jim’s Nana said that they once bit a priest's finger off and the priest swore that he'd die of rabies, but he didn’t. [...] Jim’s assistance also contributed to Izzy surviving an unsurvivable amputation and healing up afterward; we can go ahead and say that Jim’s hands are canonically (and magically) healing.”

To recap: “an Izzy mirror character [Auntie] thinks they’re dead and all’s lost so they ‘bury’ themselves as best they could… and then they resurrect with a beam of holy white light. It’s possible that the addition of a dove in the scene was rejected as being ‘too on the nose.’”

Back to Izzy. Ricky calls himself the ultimate pirate, but of course “Izzy's the ultimate pirate: not because he's loud and brags and destroys things, but because every other real pirate knows him and follows his orders when he gives them.”

Izzy plays RIcky and “...we see Prince Ricky absolutely stunned and captivated by Izzy’s all-encompassing conviction.” Izzy continues: ‘Our spirit will last throughout your entire fuckin’ empire because we’re good. And you are a rancid, syphilitic cunt.’ Izzy looks on Ricky with pity and “Ricky’s damn near openly weeping, because the Sacred Heart’s speaking of the unspoken truth has always and without fail been fucking devastating.”

Why does that hurt him? “Ricky’s presenting with a ‘saddle nose’ deformity/infection due to raging untreated syphilis,” and “Izzy’s just told Prince Ricky: Jackie only took what you were probably going to eventually lose anyway, and you and I both know it.” As you can see, “...these two mirrored characters are both infected with STI’s that can cause pain and dementia, prevent safe intimacy with others, and eventually result in death.”

Chapter 17: The Sacred Heart (Part 6)

We pick up with Zheng Yi Sao, Stede, and Ed arriving on the scene a bit too late. “As the soldiers begin dying all around them, the rage on Ricky’s face is turned -- not toward our sword-wielding heroes or to Jackie’s crew who have so deftly distributed their poison -- but to the Sacred Heart, who played an immaculate game that no one else spotted until it was too late.”

Speaking of poison, there’s a Bible passage about that: ‘And these signs will follow those who believe: In My name they will cast out demons [Ed and Auntie referring to demons]; they will speak with new tongues [Buttons reading the magic scroll]; they will take up serpents [Lucius roasting snake on a stick]; and if they drink anything deadly, it will by no means hurt them [Jackie’s household is poisoned trained]; they will lay hands on the sick, and they will recover [Jim healing Auntie].’

Is this too much of a reach? Nah. “For myself… I’ve never seen we queer folk portrayed as holy in mainstream western media to such a loving, complete, and human extent before. I have never seen us be both the divine and the disciples before, so textually and overtly.” 

Mera continues:

Last night the Universe gave me a quote, from an unexpected source: “Hell is not what you expect it to be.” That part, I been knew. [...]

I’m pleased to confess: ‘Jesus was not what we expected him to be!’ 

And that feels like it’s given that ideal back to me: Jesus doesn’t have to be conventionally pretty, conventionally young. He doesn’t have to be spotless and pure and inoffensive to the point of being bland, untouchable and unsexed, in order to represent God and reunite us with the divine power of the Universe. 

He can be a small, aging, angry, bitter, disabled, leather-clad, lust-filled queer man with a filthy mouth and AIDS in his arteries -- as long as he carries God’s agape love for his chosen family.

And that means any of us can be Jesus, too -- as long as we truly love. 

That’s the only part that matters. [...] It makes me better understand the Christ that bad Christians have tried to make all of us forget: the one that loves the whole world, no matter what. No exceptions, because he can love them and they need to be loved, and so he does. 

I can love that Christ in return, because he’s the real one.

Auntie and Zheng Yi Sao reunite. The blocking in this scene emphasizes the mirroring of Auntie and Izzy: “Auntie [is] in the center of the shot (because she’s a badass) [with] Izzy occupying the far left frame [...]. The candle’s brilliant flame is equidistant between these two mirrored characters (as if Auntie removed Ricky from the scene only to step into his place again as Izzy’s mirror); its light shines on Izzy’s family in the space on the other side of the table that they bracket. And here, too: Izzy’s one deadly, naked hand, clenched in a loose fist on the table’s surface. The cross he always bears. The living death he cannot escape.”

Auntie’s wound is on her left side.

“But moving on: Stede says we need a plan. And… we the Unseen Crew don’t get to hear the plan but from the looks of everyone who was present, it’s probably not a totally great one.”

Closeup on Stede’s face. Cut immediately to Alex Sherman’s ass. “THIS. IS. NOT. AN. ACCIDENT. So I’m not saying that Stede’s an ass. I’m saying that the show is subtextually showing you that Stede’s an ass.”

It’s time for the “Roads To Moscow” by Al Stewart montage. Every line of this is analyzed in the meta, but let’s cut right to the end: “It jumps to the last and most tragic verse of the song, that describes how a triumphant soldier returning home is instead assumed by Russian command to be a traitor, and sent to die a horrible lonely death in the gulags and never see his home again.” During this verse, “Ricky glances down to prompt the camera to glance down from the soldier’s POV, spotting Izzy’s golden hoof behind Ricky’s boots. Ricky draws his hidden gun from his left side and shoves Izzy back from him --”

“The song’s mostly about a soldier going home after a victory against a truly evil enemy: the Nazis. However, someone (mistakenly) thinks he’s a traitor and therefore he’s sent to die alone in a gulag in the freezing cold of Siberia and never see his home again. A traitor's death. Traitors die like that. Judases die like that.”

Izzy is the one holding Ricky at knifepoint. Significantly, the hand that he’s holding his dagger with -- his right -- is initially ungloved. “Izzy’s not just threatening Ricky with the tiniest knife I’ve ever seen anyone on this show use for something that wasn’t eating a meal. Izzy is threatening Ricky into compliance with his own blood.”

They turn a corner and “Izzy’s put his glove back on – but Ricky doesn’t know this. That’s why he shoves Izzy back before taking the shot. He can’t risk getting cut with a blade also contaminated with Izzy’s blood.” Ricky could have shot Izzy then if that was his intention, but…

Ed is centered in the shot, gun drawn. “Ricky wasn’t aiming for the Sacred Heart.The traitor Edward Teach, sometimes and most famously known as Blackbeard -- traitor to the British Crown and traitor to Izzy Hands -- was his intended target. Ricky was aiming for Ed, and Izzy took the bullet meant for him.”

Izzy positioned himself as he did because “...he's done the next five or six chess moves in his head already, then planted himself without comment or drama wherever it is he needs to be in order to best respond to it.” He intentionally placed himself between the threat and his family. “He's sacrificed himself to save them, and specifically the one among them he has loved the longest: Edward.”

Mera compares this to a scene to one in the 2005 adaptation of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. In this scene, the White Witch demands that Aslan give her the traitor (Edmund). Aslan protects him.

“Here’s the important part that I do recall from the story: that there is nothing the traitor can do to save themselves, or to deserve or earn the sacrifice that is given in their stead. (So it’s not that Edward deserved to be saved or somehow deserved to live more than Izzy does.) It’s something that only Aslan, the Christ-figure, can give through his divine grace and agape love.”

In The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, two sisters see the lion Aslan tortured and sacrificed. He’s completely dead, but the following morning, he is resurrected. When one of the sisters asks how this happened, Aslan says, “...when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward.”

Anyway.

The crew makes their escape. Ed finally notices that something’s wrong with Izzy; he and Frenchie help him to the ship. No one else has been injured. “No one else has blood on themselves at all except Edward. Not even Frenchie, who was closest to Izzy's wounded side.” Ed is “practically washed in Izzy’s blood.”

“No one else but Edward interacts with Izzy’s bloody clothes and body. At least half the crew that was in the boat with them now knows not to touch Izzy’s flesh or blood.”

Going off of the blood on Ed’s vest, he held Izzy and they were both brought up to the ship using the barnacle-scraping swing. Ed may have even held Izzy on the ride to the Revenge, trying to minimize the amount of blood that the rest of the crew was exposed to.

Once on the ship, Roach and Stede run off. “Why? Bandages? Sure. But also: Stede’s brown leather gauntlets from S2x05. We’ve seen he has them. If he can find them and they’re not too damaged from the rope work, Roach can help bandage Izzy up.”

Izzy weakly fights Ed off and Ed pokes at the injury; he’s worried about Ed examining the wound without the protection of gloves. “Even now, he carefully keeps his hands separate from Edward’s. If I was dying in the arms of someone I loved… oh, I’d cling to them. I’d grip their hands and I’d touch their face; I’d knot my fingers in their shirt. I would cling to them as I’d cling to life itself, for their sake if not my own. Izzy does none of this. His physical love is death, and he knows it. The last of his emotional love he can demonstrate is to still try to keep Ed safe.”

Izzy apologies, and Ed says that no, he’s sorry. Izzy says no -- not in response to what Ed said, but because Ed’s drenched with his dangerous blood. 

Izzy tells Ed that he fed his darkness -- that he needed Blackbeard. “It was their partnership, a closeness not shared with any other person. It was their marriage of mind and heart. Was there a supernatural element in this intimacy? I’ll wager there was and is, even though we've not seen it in the text and it's barely hinted at in the subtext. But even if there wasn’t… it was intimacy nonetheless. They never could leave each other for long. And when they couldn’t touch each other at all, they still at least had the Blackbeard union.”

Ed tells Izzy that he can’t go, he’s his only family. “Thing is? Ed’s absolutely correct, here -- and he has no one to blame but himself. He’s figuring things out with Stede, but that’s barely hours old… this time around. He hardly got to know Fang before he was brought back from the dead; he’s only spent a few hours with him. He alienated the rest of the crew and hasn’t bothered investing in them since.”

“Thing is? Before Edward lashed out as the Kraken, the crew really did like him. He was charming. He was interesting and cool. And if he really tried again, he could win their hearts again.”

Jim is standing behind them, watching, not trying to help even though “...they did fine during the amputation that Izzy otherwise shouldn’t have survived or thrived after, and they healed Auntie enough she came back from what she thought was going to be certain death.” Someone must have told Jim the rules about touching Izzy (the HIV/AIDS victim). 

Jim can’t help. “But we see Jim twitch and fidget in the front line of the crew now, their eyes filled with unshed tears, shaking their head in negation. They want to try to help, no matter what. Even if the bullet from Ricky's textual gun carries Ricky's subtextual syphilis into Izzy's bloodstream, making his blood even more dangerous.”

Izzy tells Ed that the crew loves him. Remember that Izzy’s flaw is projection. “This is the last projection, and it is half-conscious, and it is entirely a gift since it is from the Sacred Heart in the last moments of his self-sacrifice: Izzy’s last gift to Edward.”

Izzy realizes unconsciously that the crew loves him. In Mera’s words:

And he’s not ready to be able to accept their love on a personal basis. His reception of it in the form of his new unicorn leg prosthetic resulted in obligation: they gave to him, and he had to give back in order to earn it, to feel himself in any way worthy of that affection and acceptance. 

What would he give? 

Everything he’s ever had: his entire life, all of his heart, his very last breath. 

Izzy gives it now. 

Something in him does know that the crew loves him… and in his last dying seconds he knows he’s going to leave a gap in their lives. They need a protector. They need someone to love them and take care of them like he did. 

And if Edward decides to, he could step right into that empty place and fill it, and become a loving heart of his own to the entire crew -- beyond simply loving Stede. 

If Edward had made the decision to try… the end of this episode would be very different indeed.

‘There he is,’ Izzy tells Ed. “Not Blackbeard, if Ed’s ready to let go. He could just be Ed now. His heart told him so.”

The crew stay back for two reasons: 1) AIDS; 2) “The Christ-figure reason: they are dressed as the modern Roman empire; they are garbed in the enemy’s clothing who crucified Christ and stood around and callously watched him die. They are also prevented from approaching and interacting with his dying body as Mother Mary, Mary Magdalene, and the other disciples were all prevented from doing.”

Why aren’t they crying? Now “… the much beloved new unicorn of the crew [is] dying in front of all their eyes and no one can take his hand or hold his arm or touch his face to comfort him in any way as he dies, because it will kill them. These. People. Are. All. In. Emotional. Shock. And people who are deeply in shock often don’t cry!”

“The next scene is the burial. But we’re not there yet. There’s a timeskip where we the Unseen Crew have not seen the things that would have had to happen.” They have to return to land with Izzy’s body, “which is a beloved relic now, and also a biohazard on an incredible scale.”

Ed is covered in Izzy’s blood. Did he prepare Izzy’s body for burial? That task was once considered women’s work (we had a song about that when a man was coming back to life). Ed may also clean the deck, since he’s already covered in blood.

“Then he has to bathe his own body before anyone else can touch him, probably in the ocean so as not to contaminate Stede's tub. He’ll have to scrub clean, and scrub again, and again, and again. What’s finally safe? Does he know? Can he trust, when it’s now Stede’s life at stake? [...] (Edward might not be safe to lay in Stede’s bed, in Stede’s arms, anymore.  He might never be again.)”

Why was Izzy given a simple burial by the shack? “Any other supernatural speculation aside: the simplest reason is because Ed’s not ready to let Izzy go, just as Izzy wasn’t ready to let go of Ed’s body in S2x03. Where Izzy is, Edward wants and needs to be. If he put Izzy’s body into the ocean -- the simplest and most hygienic means of burial, and appropriate for a pirate, yet one that Izzy too also rebelled against for Ed… it would separate them too far.”

At the funeral, Ed’s back in the Blackbeard leathers that used to protect him.

The burial itself is “fucky” because “the creators of OFMD have, apparently rightfully so, been concerned that they didn’t give enough previous subtextual clues to the viewers that Izzy Hands will rise out of his grave (again), this time to fully conquer HIV/AIDS and his own queer grief.” 

The song is too different from the other songs in the show. It’s not semi-contemporary, and information about it is hard to track down. “What if it's the right title... but not quite the right song?  What if it's text that covers up or obscures the subtext? What else comes up if you search ‘that's alright lyrics’?” You get Fleetwood Mac’s That’s Alright. “...It's not quite the correct tone for a death scene, of course.  But for a long-term relationship that's about to be changed or left behind between two people who do still love each other in some way…”

Izzy’s prosthetic leg is used as the gravemarker. “It’s not going to last in any sort of weather. And for another reason: imagine that it was a taupe plastic prosthetic shaped like a naked human foot and leg and perhaps that helps you visualize why IT’S WEIRD. IT’S GROSS ON A SPIRITUAL LEVEL. YOU DO NOT DO THIS THING.”

Additionally: “They’re using IZZY’S FUCKING SWORD AS THE SPIKE FOR THE MARKER. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.” Izzy was a legendary swordsman. “You’re taking his saber and, instead of laying it to rest honorably at his side, ARE STICKING IT BLADE FIRST INTO THE DIRT ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!”

“They took his cravat and ring off and laid it over the top of the makeshift driftwood/leg cross. NO.  Just... no. It [...] was so important and significant to him that he has worn every moment we’ve ever seen him except removing it one time for exercise and sweaty exertion. No, just like his sword: they didn’t lay it to rest with him, leaving it on his throat so that it goes with him into his grave. They hung it out where the elements will visibly rot it eventually.”

Why? 

1) “The OFMD creative crew wants you to be reminded of Pet Sematary… and of what happens in it.” In this movie, there is a pet cemetery on land where anything buried will come back. Now the ground is “sour,” and when things come back, “they Come Back Wrong: they’re strange, overly aggressive, and most tellingly? They smell bad.”

It’s also “gross and fucky” that they’re burying Izzy in a way that, at least superficially, gives ‘pet burial,’ “visually [coding] Izzy as something like Ed's pet.”

“The other reason the cravat and its mourning ring is on the grave marker? It’s the symbol for queer grief -- not only for living under the specter of HIV/AIDS but of everyone we’ve lost to it and queer/transphobic violence since the dawn of time.” 

Con O’Neill said that he wanted the stone to be set in Izzy’s ring to be emerald, in honor of his recently deceased mother. He wanted a reminder of one of the “freshest and most present griefs. [...] The most queer-coded character of the show, who is also HIV/AIDS coded, has carried around his overwhelming grief constantly with him, usually tied so tight to his throat it nearly chokes him [...]. The crew part this grief from his dead body to hang it on the cross.”

In Protestant churches, you hear about “sin or grief or some other unwanted thing being ‘nailed to the cross.’ If Izzy’s grief is now visibly left behind on Izzy’s cross, he will rise again without it.”

The crew leaves without getting to “perform any of the other socially acceptable parts of the mourning rituals that help the living internalize their loss and let go of the dead. Blackbeard’s heart has been put into the ground to keep it close to where Blackbeard’s mind is determined to wait for… whatever happens next. But it couldn’t lay in state like Edward’s own body did; unlike Ed, Izzy’s body is just as dangerous dead as alive. These people are still in deep emotional shock -- and the Sacred Heart of the show lies dead in its grave, leaving everyone feeling listless and directionless.”

Ed and Stede stand alone, touching:

That’s the strained and sad expression of a man trying to figure out how to have an honest, mature conversation with the man he loves about the fact that he might now be carrying a deadly disease and so they can’t fuck anymore, and probably shouldn’t even be touching that much. 

Because look at that: Ed’s hand not on Stede’s bare skin but on his shirt over his shoulder.  It may look like a caress but to me it also looks like a restraining gesture; it stops Stede from getting closer. Stede’s hand on Ed’s elbow, because Stede doesn’t Get It yet. 

The curse continues: the mind of Blackbeard loves what it will lose the ability to touch. (And, once the Sacred Heart of Blackbeard and the show is dead, this is the most we see these two ever touch again.)

Ed is apathetic about going after Ricky. Why? “With Blackbeard’s heart dead, Blackbeard’s mind will soon die also. It might be a matter of hours.” Alternatively, “with Edward now infected with Izzy’s ‘curse’, he may die in a decade or so… or much sooner. Average lifespan of HIV/AIS without treatment is 8-10 years but there’s many different factors involved.”

We head to the Revenge for a rushed wedding, and “during this matelotage ceremony, Edward gives Stede a Look – definitely seeming like he’s thinking about Stede in a marriage sort of way himself. But we don’t see them kiss or even touch again. We can’t even be sure they’re holding hands or touching at all during this ceremony...”

We get one final shot of the Revenge and its crew. What’s the last we see of the ship? “The damaged unicorn figurehead, still protecting its crew.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again: I believe that every time we see a shot of that unicorn sailing with the Revenge, it means Izzy’s alive and present in the universe.”

There’s a lot to analyze in the final shot of Ed and Stede:

First off: omfg, this is a horror movie “creature about to jump out at you” camera POV. Why would we get this shot during what we’re told by everything else is supposed to be a triumphant romantic ending? What the fuck would be in the house to be looking out at our two heroes? [...]

But also… that’s Stede and Edward, our two new lovebirds… standing pretty far apart for two guys supposed to be hot for each other’s bodies and totally alone with one another. (See that long leather sleeve? That was the side best armored because that’s where Izzy stood most often. That’s what’s between Edward and Stede now.) 

And look at that blocking/framing; Stede’s in the center, and it looks like that left arm of his is menaced/sliced at by the broken glass. Being alone in the center of the frame means Stede is therefore the most important thing and not their romantic partnership; Edward is shoved all the way into the right third of the frame. 

And subtextually? ‘Izzy’s Revenge’ has now come between Stede and Edward. It’s keeping them separate.

Ed’s smile is “fake tight tense.” 

“...Stede and Edward stranded themselves on this beach with no supplies or food or tools that we can see -- and the crew of the Revenge just… fucking… let them do that, too. Without even a sammie. (Their Heart is dead and their immense grief at that fact is not even a full day old. Have you ever had anyone very close to you die suddenly? How soon was it before you were back to anything like normal on the inside, even if you still had to fake it?)”

Ed asks Stede if he’s having second thoughts. “Ed might be (is) having second thoughts and has no idea how to begin to talk or even think about them, much less the massive horrible thing he needs to share with his lover… before he shares anything ELSE with him.” (The “horrible thing,” remember, is HIV/AIDS.)

The shack is small and shitty. “This is only 384 sq ft of floor space at best.”

Stede and Ed stand far apart. This is the closest that Ed gets to a real smile. There’s a bad smell.

“(How long was the rest of the crew back aboard the Revenge for the LuPete wedding? Could say maybe two hours or so? Long enough for something dead to grope its way back toward life (because the crew's unicorn can't rest in peace if Blackbeard's mind won't be taking up the mantle of crew's protector!), crawl out of its shallow grave, drag itself up the hill toward shelter… and not quite make it up the ramp stairs to the porch to be spotted immediately?)”

Seagull Buttons lands on the cross that marks Izzy’s grave.

Mera references The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe. “Our boy… our beautiful and much beloved boy Izzy Hands… is, I believe, under the floorboards awaiting discovery. He couldn't make it up the stairs with as weak as he was, so he crawled under the house.”

We’re here in this new reeking pit (Izzy survived his first death in this season, remember? He got over it, just like Con said) and you and I both have hold of Izzy’s warm bare hands, because we have no fear and we know that he left his living death behind him in the grave, along with the queer grief nailed to hung up on his cross. 

We have hold of his hands because that’s what the lovers do to call someone back into life; Stede showed us how it works in this fairy-tale realm of OFMD. 

Izzy doesn’t have lovers in the text yet. But we can be that for him, because we love him just as much as the Visible Crew does. We will sit here however long it takes.

Chapter 18: Mirror, Mirror: S2x08

“Our Flag Means Death Season 2 Episode 8 is an intense internal mirror to itself, in that most of the emotional beats and plot points of the first half of the episode are repeated in reverse order for the second half. In addition to that, TWO midpoints are made visible when examining the thirds and quarters timestamps -- that hold between them a THIRD midpoint scene that is the key to understanding the stinger after the end credits... and the episode in its entirety.”

I’m not going to go into a lot of detail here because I am not serious enough in my media analysis. Here’s the chapter if you want to read!

And here’s the super-short version:

In their initial timestamp calculation, Mera finds that, “In this textual reading, Izzy's sacrifice and death are fucking ABSENT from the major beats.” The Gentlebeard reunion kiss is at the midpoint. That couldn’t be, “so I did it again, the other way, with end credits and stinger included in the overall run time... and got something WAY different.”

The quarters: face closeups of the two halves of Blackbeard, talking about or actually becoming Blackbeard. [Closeup on Ed’s face when he thinks Stede may be dead, Izzy’s face as he talks about feeding Ed’s darkness.]

The act transitions: Izzy and Ricky in a dance of death; first Ricky appears triumphant, then Izzy. 

The midpoint: Oluwande, Petra to Izzy’s Jesus throughout the last half of S2, unshrouding an Izzy mirror (Auntie) in a beam of holy light; this moment leads to Auntie being [sic] restored healed by Jim’s hands. [...]

So now we’ve discovered a textual midpoint (the Gentlebeard kiss) and a subtextual midpoint (Oluwande and Jim “resurrecting” Auntie from the dead). 

Season 2 Episode 8 is an internal mirror to itself, with not one but TWO midpoints -- and a THIRD midpoint centered between them that appears irrelevant on first watching, but is actually key to the episode’s message!

The center of this entire “mirror” is “Archie and Fang trying to bend the cell bars while Olu, somewhat undressed Lucius, Wee John, and Frenchie watch.” Why? “The way out is the way through! This one otherwise apparently useless scene, centerpiece of the mirror, aims us at the stinger of the episode after the credits.”

Okay, but why is that really the center? Why is the stinger Frenchie squeezing through the cell bars? “Because it’s literally a narrow escape that happened during the episode but is only explained after the credits -- achieved by Izzy’s closest mirror this season [Frenchie]. Frenchie squeezed through a very tight spot that several others thought might be impossible to get through. 

“With everything else I’ve just showed you that were mirrored events/beats in this episode… it’s highly suggestive of a possibility that there’s a second narrow escape that happened during the episode that will only be explained after the credits: in Season 3.”

There are a ton of mirrored events, but here’s the most important one: “Ed has attempted a bucolic life twice; first one failed miserably. Is that second attempt looking any more well prepared, well thought-out, or in line with his textual skillsets?”

On to the next!

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 9/18

What am I feeling today?

I will admit I’m still feeling a bit anxious. I have my first pediatric exam today and I haven’t prepared that much. It’s been a minute since I’ve taken an actual exam and I struggle a bit with this area. But I’ve prayed about it and I’m feeling a bit better. I just know I have to study and pray and trust that God will see me through because He has never let me down before!

Bible Plan: Prayers for Contentment

These verses remind us that true contentment does not come from our circumstances or our material possessions, but rather from our relationship with Jesus Christ. No matter what we may be facing in life - whether we have plenty or are in need - we can find true contentment and strength in Christ.

So if you're struggling with feeling content in your current situation, turn to Jesus. Trust in Him and His promise to give you strength and peace, no matter what life throws your way. Lean on Him and find contentment in His love and grace.

Dear Heavenly Father,

I come before you today seeking your wisdom and guidance on how to find contentment in my life. I know that I have often struggled with wanting more and feeling discontent with the stage in which my life is at and my relationship status. I can look too far into the future and think things will be better then instead of staying peaceful in the present and knowing everything is playing out the way that it is meant to.

Help me to trust in your provision and to always be grateful for what I have been given.

I pray that, like Paul, I would learn to be content in all circumstances, as stated in Philippians 4:11-13. "For I have learned to be content, whatever the circumstances may be. I know now how to live when things are difficult and I know how to live when things are prosperous. In general and in particular I have learned the secret of eating well or going hungry, of facing either plenty or poverty. I am ready for anything through the strength of the One who lives within me."

I also pray that you would help me to be content leading a quiet and peaceful life, attending to my own business and work with my hands, as 1 Thessalonians 4:11 advises. Help me to find joy and fulfillment in the simple, everyday tasks that you have called me to do.

Help me to see the eternal purpose and significance of simple day to day tasks.

Lord, I thank you for your grace and provision in my life. I pray that you would continue to teach me how to find contentment in you, rather than in the things of this world.

In your precious name I pray, Amen.

Luke 3:14 NIV

“Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?” He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely—be content with your pay.””

The context of the scripture is John the Baptist talking to the crowds. There were people who wanted to be baptized but John refused to do so because they were struggling with certain things. In this instance he’s talking to soldier and one of the things he states here applies to us during this day and age. He says, be content with your pay! We should not be greedy, the Bible tells us so, instead let us find peace in what we do receive. That is not to say that you can’t pursue a degree or job that would allow you to make more money, instead it’s saying for us to be content in all circumstances of what we make and not to make money an idol, something we seek after more than seeking God and His kingdom.

Philippians 4:11-13 NIV

“I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”

I already briefly touched on this. But here it’s Paul speaking and he is saying how he has learned to be content in all his circumstances. There are times when he has been in need (think of the time he spent in prison) and times when he has had plenty (think of when he was persecuting) - Paul is saying here that regardless of what his life looks like, he is content through it all and the reason he is able to be content is because of the strength he gets from Jesus!

[noodyl-blasstal]

Tale as Old as Time

It's @taznovembercelebration day 26! Look how far we've come! Today's prompt was "familiar" and I also used an AU generator (you'll never guess what I got...)

Read below or on Ao3, missed yesterday? Catch up here.

--

“Did you see that next door’s open?” Taako asks, cool, calm, motives impenetrable.

“Raven Tattoo?”

“Yeah.” He’s nonchalant, inarguably casual.

“So you met hotboy then?” Lup asks.

Fuck.

It’s fine, Taako doesn’t have to admit anything, Lup doesn’t have a warrant. “Who?”

“Tattoo goth next door?”

“I’m not sure.

“You don’t know if you met the man who owns the shop you just told me was open?”

“Nope.” Says Taako, liar supreme.

“He’s your type, is all I’m saying.”

He is. But that is precisely none of Lup’s business so Taako keeps his mouth shut.

“It’s a tale as old as time, you know.” Lup says as she wraps the brown paper around her spray. “Tattoo artist, florist, can I make it any more obvious?” She winds twine to keep it in place.

“Ah yes, the ancient tattoo shop florist love stories which echo through the ages, they’ve got at least four Disney films with it as a central premise I’m sure. Do you remember the one where the handsome florist’s sister is a complete dingus?”

Taako barely dodges out of the way of the stem cut offs that Lup lobs at him. Thankfully he’s had years of training.

“Fuck off, goofus. Have you spoken to him yet?”

“No.” Taako says, quickly.

“Uh huh.”

Flawless lie.

“So what was he like?” Lup asks.

Double fuck.

It’s not fair that she’s using her twin powers for evil.

“Taako wouldn’t know.”

“You realise our shop is 90% windows?” Lup picks out some more roses for the ‘November, remember!… to tell them you love them (with flowers)’ promotion. The make-the-worst-promotion-name-and-people-will-tell-their-friends-about-it approach has been working well so far.

“I have eyes, Lulu.”

“Well so do I, genius, so cha’girl saw you look out the window, wait until goth boy was on the move, rush out to pretend to run into him and follow him back into his shop.”

Triple fuck.

Taako was so sure she was busy with the flowers, he didn’t expect to be observed taking actions. That was cheating, probably.

“Taako learned from the best.” The best defence is a good offence and Taako is going down swinging.

“Things with Barry aren’t the same!”

“It’s very interesting, Lup, that you should bring him up. Who said anything about Barry? Taako certainly didn’t mention Barry, which means that when you think of the spurious accusations levelled at Taako about flirting you think about Bluejeans. Interesting, very interesting, considering you’re just friends.”

“We are friends”

“Uh huh.”

Taako dodges another trimmed stem. Maybe if he aggravated Lup less he wouldn’t have to sweep as often.

“Not just friends, though, are you? You wanna ride the denim train into the sunset!”

“I can’t believe you just said those words with your actual face.”

Taako can’t either, frankly.

“Denim what now?” Barry asks, looking excited.

They need a bell for the door right now. They need one yesterday.

“Nothing!” Says Lup, high and panicked.

“Ooooh, say no more.” Barry winks dramatically.

Oh good, they’re going to have to make him some kind of denim train for Candlenights.

“Taako’s got the hots for tattoo boy next door!” Lup says, throwing Taako so hard under the bus that he didn’t even have time to yank her under with him.

“Classic love story, bud. Tattoo, flower shop, you know how it goes.”

“That’s not a thing and Taako’s not interested in hot goth boy! Now stop talking about it!”

“Hello.” Says Kravitz from the entrance.

They’re getting four bells for the fucking door. Taako’s going to invent time travel and go back and put them all on and never ever ever complain about how loud and annoying they are.

“Hi.” Taako says, casually. Throws up a quick prayer to Istus that maybe, just maybe, Kravitz didn’t hear him. Because Taako is interested, Taako is very interested.

“I was just bringing you a pack of the stickers you liked, I printed some extras.” He’s definitely frostier than he was 30 minutes ago. “Anyway, I’d better be going.”

“No!” Say Taako and Lup in tandem.

Kravitz looks alarmed, and Lup’s doing the wide eyes which mean she’s all out of ideas having tried precisely nothing. Taako needs a reason for Kravitz to stay and he needs a good one.

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo.” Taako says desperately.

Kravitz raises an eyebrow but doesn’t smile. He’s so hot, even when he’s pouty. He’s also got a laugh like honey and didn’t act weird when Taako mentioned that he enjoys fishing - usually everyone’s shocked and they get to do the ‘wow, what a left field hobby’ chat. Kravitz had definitely been interested before so Taako needs to fix this right now. If he gets a tattoo then Kravitz has to interact with him, how long can they take? 10 minutes is probably enough to explain.

“You are?” Asks Kravitz at the same time as Lup and Barry.

“Yep.” Taako’s dripping confidence. This is great, it’s fine. He can just get a tattoo from a place he’s not familiar with because he thinks the guy doing it is hot. What’s a little stabbing among hopefully-soon-to-be-more-than-friends?

“Right.” Kravitz sounds worryingly unconvinced.

“What’re you going to get, bud?” Says Barry, choosing violence and genuine curiosity.

“Yeah, Koko, what’re you thinking of putting on your body forever and ever? I’m sure you’ve thought this through carefully.”

“Mongoose.” Taako doesn’t even flinch, he’s a master of his craft. They want to play? He can play. He’s a professional, baby, he’s sliding down the floor piano on his knees while everyone claps.

“Oh.” Kravitz sounds slightly more positive than he did a few moments ago.

“You wanna talk through ideas at some point, kemosabe?” Taako may as well clear this up sooner rather than later.

“I thought you weren’t interested.” Kravitz says pointedly. Okay, so he definitely heard, and maybe the huffiness hadn’t entirely faded. Taako might have to work slightly harder at this.

“I’m very, very interested.” Taako looks hard at Kravitz and hopes he understands.

“I’ve got a bit of time now. My next appointment isn’t for a few hours.” Kravitz is trying his best to sound like he doesn’t care, Taako can tell, but there’s a note of hope in there under the surface. If he just sifts through the dirt he can see that they’re on the same page. Kravitz had better not just be excited about the possibility of getting a new client. Hopefully Taako wasn’t going to have to resort to getting the tattoo on his ass in the hope that giving Kravitz an eyeful would encourage forgiveness.

“Go ahead, I’ve got this.” Lup nods at Taako.

“I can help Lup out if there’s anything urgent here, bud.” Barry adds. Setting a definitely-just-friendly hand on Lup’s arm and smiling goopily at her.

They were gross and Taako hated them.

“Okay, lead the way handsome.” Taako tugs off his apron and gloves and rounds the counter, swipes one of the rose bouquets as he goes.

“Handsome, is it?” Kravitz asks quietly, holding the door open for Taako.

“Very, very handsome, in Taako’s expert opinion.” Flattery could also be the truth.

“But handsome isn’t something you’re interested in?”

“Handsome is something Taako is very interested in. What he is not interested in, is his sister being all up in his business. Look!” Taako grabs Kravitz by the shoulders, before he can even register that Kravitz is leaning down, eyes closing, he’s spun him to face the windows of the flower shop.

“See!” Taako points at Lup and Barry, pressed against the window and panickedly trying and failing to look like they’re doing anything else but spying.

“Uh… er… yes. Yeah. There they are.”

“So if we could continue that kiss somewhere that isn’t visible to them I’d like that, I’d like that very much.”

Kravitz grabs Taako’s hand and tugs him into his shop. “We’re in luck, I know a place.”

--

I hope you enjoyed! Wanna read some more? Find tomorrow's prompt here.

[angeltreasure]

Prayer request!

I have been using Tumblr as one tool to grow closer to God since there as so many great Tumblr Christian/Catholic blogs on this site. Your blog is GREAT! It’s so hard to avoid evil propaganda on this site though. I know Jesus is the truth, the way, and the life and Jesus loves everybody. Everybody deserves Jesus’ love and we are all sinners. I am sinner. How can I say no to the propaganda when it is socially acceptable to do so? Please pray for me. Also, pray for those in mental hospitals. Please pray for the souls that have passed on, my uncle, my uncle’s neighbor, my cousins, my grandparents, and anyone else who needs our prayers. Amen!

Absolutely!

There sure are many Christian blogs on this site, for sure! Aww thank you so much. I try to be a light in the darkness.

I am a sinner too indeed. Tumblr is particularly hard to navigate because in anything you put in the search bar, you will eventually scroll down and see a sinful post that doesn’t even belong in the tag you are searching, plus, you can’t control what other people reblog. I followed a bunch of Christian blogs so I can have a “safe” cushion to navigate in but this last year and going forward I will not searching anything in the tumblr searchbar specifically to avoid any near occasion of sin. We can do this as any type of Christian, online or offline: avoid anything that leads to sin and replace the situation with something that is good, true, and holy by God.

To say no to the propaganda is bold and it takes (I think) the fruit of the Holy Spirit to say no to propaganda and the culture of death. I highly suggest reading the Catechism of the Catholic Church to see, learn, and understand what as a Catholic our Church believes, why, and how we are to live out our lives. The Catechism is a great guide. You can also view this document the Vatican released on guidelines for social media, which I have shared with others often, who have struggled like us.

I will pray for all that you have requested. 🙏🏻

[heranubis]

dullahans first serious cod fic? more likely than you think. originally started this after a bad night of missing my brother and decided to cope writing price. turns out i don't hate this so i decided to polish it up and post it.

major trigger warnings for: referenced sibling death (non graphic but relevant to fic), vaguely accurate angels

UNTIL THE AIR GOES QUIET: archangel john price r/insert (non descriptive) - 1.4k word count

Ever since you were a child, you would talk to angels. Your grandmother would say you had a gift, speaking to God’s children. But that’s not how you saw it. This was a curse. You see them beyond their vessels, not just people but with the changing heads of animals with too many tongues and too sharp teeth. They always smile at you but it feels more a threat than anything gentle or kind. The angels scare you – they know that, yet still they remain. It only gets worse when you lose your brother.

They wear his face sometimes. His red hair and brown eyes. You sit down with your dead brother for dinner again. It’s the last dream you ever want to have. And there’s a new angel – one who smells of blood and iron and his face weathered. He visits you the most often, says his name is John – privately, you call him Judas. He sits with you and your brother, his wings folded against his back, looking deceptively small as he simply sits and observes. He makes you uncomfortable with how much he sees and little he says, but he is always there. John is your new constant, even when the dreams with your brother stop. John is your only constant now; the others seem afraid of him – and part of you can’t help but wonder why.

You don’t dream anymore, but he keeps guard. No nightmare dares get close when John stands guard over your bed with his wings bound tight and arms folded over his chest. He stands tall and proud, every bit of the soldier he was created to be. “They won’t hurt you,” he says, his voice is scratchy, like he hasn’t had to use it in a long time. “I won’t let them close. Sleep as long as you need to.” And you do – for several days and as many nights, you sleep undisturbed. John never removes from his position of guard.

    -

    Something has changed with this angel – when you look at him you no longer see the heads of bears, wolves, and boars; you simply see a man. His eyes are tired and blue and he smiles so gently at you, as if anything sharper and you will break. He looks at you like he cares, like he wants good and gentle things for you. One day, you work up the bravery to ask why. “Grief is love with no place to go” he says and there is a sadness, a sense of knowing in his eyes. “As you are, once I was” are the last words your angel speaks.

His vow of silence lasts many years – he remains in your shadow, but he does not speak again. He kneels with you, when you pray for your brother, but his lips do not move nor does he fold his hands or close his eyes. There is an anger there, something that bubbles beneath the surface, waiting for eruption. The other angels speak to you again – tell you of John’s punishment. You pray for his absolution – for his sins to be forgiven and his tongue freed of its burden. Not for the first time, your prayers go unanswered.

You don’t believe in god anymore – you like to believe she loved you, once upon a time. What is a mother's love if not giving away her most faithful son and sending him to guard the sheep who has lost its flock. What mother is more worshipped than the one who carves the staff that keeps wolves at bay. What mother turns her back on the creations she crafted with such tenderness that you have both a heart to break and ribs to crack. God tells you he is forgiven – and then she splits you open.

The angels say they love you, but they look upon you with eyes of scorn and judgement. Your back has never born wings, yet the scars remain between your shoulder blades. You have taken John’s punishment as your own, and he speaks to you when not another soul is around to hear. “Never tell anyone,” he whispers in the dead of night – his lips to your ear and all you can feel is how his beard scratches against your skin, how rough and soothing it is. “Try and remember that. Never tell anyone anything, ever again.”

You take his words to your very soul – you will never tell anyone of the way your angel looks at you. You do not repeat his secrets – they are yours now, and they will die with you. He tells you one night, as he holds you close to his chest. “Look hard at my wings. There will be no more after me.” And you do – you memorize every feather even as they bleed and meld with his skin and muscle. That is truly the final night you dream, and it is the one that scares you most.

You see god’s face – except there is no face. She is everything and nothing, beautiful and horrible and god. “Your life was never meant to be punishment,” she tells you. “Those are not your scars to carry, sweet one.” You cannot see her eyes, but you can feel as they stare deeply into you, everything you have been or will be. “You are hiding” she says, the silence from before long and heavy and gone. “Why”

“To hide the fact that it’s me.” you finally say – and your voice is not fully your own. John is there, in your shadow, as he always is. You can feel his stare on you, feel his wings as they wrap around you like a shield from her gaze. “To make up for the fact I want to run away, but instead I sit very still. Because I’m afraid.” His wings are hiding you completely now, his face cradled in the crook of your neck and arms wrapped tightly around you, as if afraid you’ll disappear the second he lets go. Your next words are to the man behind you – and you know he knows. “I love you, I don’t know if you like me. I want you to.”

“My child – your angel loves you. He has loved you in every life, and it is his purpose of creation to find you, to covet and adore – but he cannot keep you. Your angel loves you. Let your heart be uncomfortable with that until you find healing.”

That night is the last time you hear god speak – it is the first time your eyes open to John wrapped around you. His wings are curled around you like a shell, a barrier from the outside world. He loves you – that is his punishment. You want to be yourself again, you want to stop knowing everything that you know. He opens those hauntingly blue eyes, and you only see the face of a man. “We are made to serve,” he whispers. His voice is as gentle as his touch as he buries his face (his shame) between the scars on your back. “I hope you want more for us, too.”

  -

  You don’t hear the angels anymore. You were merciful, and now all will know of you – that's what John says to fill the silence. Your kindness does not save you from the sin of loving that which is forbidden, but it earns you sympathy, affection. He tells you of the whispers, things that will never reach your ears. You are young and learning how to live, so they will watch over you just as John has.

They will keep you safe, they will love you as one of their own. But mainly they say it’s ok that you loved John. He is big and old and scarred, they said he would be loved. They say it cannot be a mistake to have loved, it cannot be an error to have tried. it cannot be incorrect to have tried.

There is only one more thing they say before all is silent except for John’s snores beside you – he loves you. Your brother, who has seen your angel in the dreams and given him his blessing. Your brother, who knows he leaves you in good and gentle hands. Your brother, who knows your angel who has forsaken his wings to live with you in this life. Your brother, who has denied this love it’s inevitable tragedy.

There is no one left to love you, so John will love you.

[plumoh]

a prayer and a coin; chapter 1

Natsume Yuujinchou & Noragami crossover fic.

Rating: G Wordcount: 2213 Characters in this chapter: Natsume & Yato Summary: Takashi calls a god. It makes things easier. Note: AO3 link. The first few chapters will cover the setting for this crossover when Natsume is still a child, then the following ones will most likely be standalones.

Takashi thinks it's worth a shot.

He's tried everything up until now, and nothing worked. He tried telling his guardians that something was lurking in the house sometimes, he tried asking for advice at school but the teachers weren't of big help, he tried the little tricks he saw in books like putting salt in front of doors. He is running out of ideas and the monsters keep following him everywhere he goes.

So one day, he scribbles down the phone number he sees on walls and billboards on his way back from school, thinks that this Yato god must be fake but… but the phone number is tagged in large and ugly handwriting and nobody seems to notice it. People would have gossiped about vandalism if they could see it. So that means this is a real god, right? A god who is only visible to those who need help?

Takashi runs home to avoid encountering any monsters. He pushes the door open, throws his backpack on the ground and quickly surveys the apartment to make sure his guardians are still at work. Only silence greets him, which makes him sigh in relief. He retrieves the piece of paper from his pocket, ambles towards the house phone, and dials.

He feels like his hammering heart is going to crash through his ribcage. There is one ring, then another, and these are the most nerve-wracking three seconds of his life.

And finally, someone picks up.

“Hi, thank you for calling! Fast, cheap and reliable, delivery god Yato at your service!”

Takashi slowly moves the phone handset away from his ear, and blinks. He’s not sure what he expected but it is…not that.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Takashi fumbles with the handset in his haste to reply. “Y-Yes, sorry. Thanks for answering my call.”

“Oh, a kid. What’s troubling you?”

“Um. I don’t know how to explain it.”

He hears something like a sigh on the other side. “Do you need help doing your homework? Did you lose something? Are you bullied at school?”

Takashi winces a little at the last suggestion, but this is not an issue he can’t resolve by himself, so he swallows and goes for it.

“I…I see monsters sometimes. They like scaring me and nobody believes me when I say they’re here. They all think I’m lying.”

Takashi nervously glances around the room, suddenly aware that any of the little monsters could have entered the apartment when he opened the door. He doesn’t hear or see anything hiding behind the couch, or flying over his head, so he’s probably safe for now.

Yatogami is quiet and doesn’t answer right away. Takashi’s heart drops to his stomach at the thought of a god not believing him either. Red-faced, his throat is getting dry and he feels panic rising in his body.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called,” he mumbles.

“No, no, kid, that’s alright,” Yatogami says hurriedly, and he tacks on a cheerful laugh at the end of his sentence. “You were right to call! So you’re telling me you can see ayakashi? Big colorful monsters with lots of eyes looking at you like you’re a feast?”

Takashi wracks his brain to find a monster similar to that description.

“I think I’ve seen small ones around on my way to school,” he says. “Like spiders? Or worms? But the monsters I usually see look like ghosts, or sometimes like people. They often wear traditional clothes or have masks.”

Takashi easily recognizes this type of monster (ayakashi?) because there is something unsettling about them—the one-eyed mask, the crooked fingers, the sinister smile. And they always specifically address him, even in a crowd. Then they follow him home and try to eat him.

The little colorful ayakashi don’t bother him as much, but he never expects to see them so close to other people or hiding in the cracks of the pavement, so that makes him anxious in a different way. What if they climbed on people and got into their homes?

“Hm… Well, you’re sensitive to both ayakashi and youkai, which is kind of rare,” Yatogami muses. “Do you mind if I come over to explain a few things? That will be easier than over the phone.”

Takashi startles at the request. “I-I’m not sure it’s a good idea… My uncle and my aunt are going to be home soon, and I’m not supposed to have guests over.”

“Don’t worry about that! They won’t be able to see me, and I can disappear just as fast as I appeared.”

And, probably to prove his point, someone materializes next to him. Takashi drops the phone and scrambles back against the wall, stupefied, while the man in front of him grins and lowers his cellphone.

“See? Divine teleportation!”

Yatogami is…a man no older than some of the cousins he sees at family dinners. He’s wearing a tracksuit. Takashi was imagining formal wear, like a kimono or at least a grown-up’s suit, so he’s completely taken aback by the ordinary person he’s seeing.

These blue eyes, however, are the most god-like feature on Yatogami—sharp, bright and all too knowing. Takashi feels pinned by that gaze, even though the rest of the god’s face is nothing but friendly.

“So, what’s your name, kid?”

Takashi does his best to refocus on the conversation, despite the odd feeling running the entire length of his body. Maybe being near a god naturally makes people uneasy.

“I’m Natsume Takashi,” he replies slowly. “Should I… Should I call you Yato-sama? You look so normal.”

Yatogami snorts. “Well, that’d be weird if ‘god’ was written on my forehead!”

“I mean, you’re wearing normal clothes…”

“They’re comfortable and perfect for the kind of jobs I do. And if you want to call me ‘Yato-sama’, go for it, Takashi!” The grin that splits Yatogami’s face in two looks genuine enough. “I’m a god after all, call me whatever you prefer.”

Takashi nods. “Yato-sama then.” It’d be rude if he doesn’t address a god with propriety, even if the god in question looks like he’s about to go on his morning run.

“I’m going to give you some advice, since you’re having trouble with ayakashi and youkai. Some people consider them the same thing, but in my experience ayakashi are less intelligent than youkai. Ayakashi are creatures that simply feed off people’s negative energy, while there are all sorts of youkai. You’ve probably seen many of them. Do you have paper and a pencil?”

Wordlessly, Takashi goes back to the front door to bring his backpack over. He reaches into it and retrieves the requested items (Takashi is giving Yatogami his math notebook, so he hopes there will be enough pages left for him to use at school). Yatogami takes them with a thanks and starts sketching on a blank page of the notebook with inhuman speed. He shows the results to a surprised Takashi.

“I’ve seen that one,” Takashi blurts out, pointing to a one-eyed, round body. “And the kappa. And some others that look a bit like what you drew.” He meets Yatogami’s eyes. “You’re very good at drawing.”

“One of my many hidden talents.” Yatogami winks. “What I’ve drawn are youkai. Most of them are capable of speech but they have varying degrees of intelligence. You should ignore them if they start talking to you, and if they’re really persistent, run to a temple. They don’t like their sacred grounds. Ayakashi will also leave you alone if you go to a temple, but you don’t have to worry about them as long as you don’t have strong negative emotions.”

Takashi frowns. “You said that… ayakashi like negative emotions? Like anger?”

“Anger, sadness, frustration, guilt, all sorts of things that humans don’t like feeling. So you’d better keep yourself in check, especially since you can see them.” Yatogami draws more figures on the paper, and this time the drawings only depict strange shapes with many eyes on their bodies. “They look kind of gross, right?”

Takashi gives a tiny nod. He doesn’t remember seeing huge creatures resembling the drawings, but maybe he just wasn’t paying attention. The small ones probably think they’re discreet enough to pass through the cracks and get closer to humans without them noticing.

“Thank you for telling me what these monsters are,” Takashi says, bowing his head. “I can’t talk about it with anyone, so I’m really glad you don’t think I’m a liar.”

Yatogami stills his hand, and his gaze settles on Takashi. There is…a dangerous glint in these blue, blue eyes.

“Humans are so frustrating to understand,” Yatogami sighs, shaking his head. “You’re just a kid, so you’ll grow up and become someone different. Surround yourself with people who like you for you.”

It’s easier said than done. All the friends Takashi tried to make eventually left him because they found him weird and scary—but he’s not going to tell that to Yatogami, who is only trying to help.

Yatogami sets the notebook and the pencil on the dining table, and with his back to Takashi, he says, “I can’t teach you how to defend yourself from youkai and ayakashi, but you can call me whenever you’re in trouble, alright?” Then he whirls around, and his gigantic grin is back on his face. “That will only cost you 5 yen!”

Takashi blinks. “5 yen?”

“Yeah! I’m not going to steal from a kid. Give me a 5-yen coin every time you call me and that will do.”

This is the oddest payment Takashi has ever heard of. He didn't even think about payment in the first place; he saw the phone number, a promise to help for any kind of issue and the hope of living a better life. But Yatogami seems sincere and he isn't looking at Takashi like he's pulling his leg or going to withdraw his offer. There is a sort of reassuring presence that emanates from the god—the aura of someone who knows what they're doing.

Takashi, despite the weird encounter, likes Yatogami. He's only had one conversation with him but he already looks forward to their next meeting.

“I probably have some coins in my bag… I'm not sure I have 5-yen coins, so if I give you 10 yen, does it mean I'm paying you in advance?”

Yatogami shrugs. “I usually only accept 5 yen, but I can make an exception.”

Takashi digs into his school bag, in the inside pocket near the bottom. He only gets enough money from his aunt and uncle to buy a snack every week or so, which means he should be really careful about storing it to avoid losing it. He pats around the pocket and finally fishes out a few small coins. There is no 5-yen coin, but like he suspected, he has a 10-yen coin.

“Here.” He hands the coin to Yatogami, who picks it up with a smile. “I don't know when I'll call you again, but I have your phone number written on a piece of paper so I won't forget it.”

Yatogami’s mouth quirks up, like he's resisting making a joke. He shakes his head, then flips the coin to toss it in the air and catches it in a swift motion.

“Thanks for the money. Be sure to call me back one day, because you'd be losing 5 yen if you don't!”

“It's only 5 yen,” Takashi says, puzzled.

“You have to start small to become rich, kid.” Yatogami looks around, stares at the front door a little longer than necessary, then says, “Well, I have to go now. Avoid trouble when you can, call me when you want me to deal with whatever problem you have! See you, Takashi!”

“Ah, uh, goodbye, Yato-sama!”

Right as Takashi’s words leave his mouth, Yatogami vanishes in a dance of light and the front door opens.

“Oh Takashi, you're already home?”

Takashi jumps towards the table to take Yatogami's drawings and stuff them into his bag. His aunt doesn't seem interested in what he's doing and simply heads towards the kitchen. She is humming a song that often gets broadcast on the radio, and Takashi hears some rustling from plastic bags. She is probably going to start on dinner, which means he should go back to his room and do his homework.

Takashi stuffs back Yatogami’s phone number in his pocket and lugs his backpack to his room. He should put the piece of paper somewhere that will be easy to reach—maybe in the pockets of his coat, or in the front pocket of his backpack. If he’s not at home, he can use a payphone to call. He should actually write the phone number on multiple pieces of paper, in case he loses one of them. And leave one under his pillow. That way, he’ll be able to call Yatogami whenever he needs to.

Satisfied and kind of giddy, Takashi sits at the tiny coffee table in his room and starts his math homework. Yatogami’s drawings are staring at him all the while, but Takashi, for once, isn’t scared of looking at these strange and awful creatures. They exist, and there are other people who can see them. He’s not alone.

[transmasc-wizard]

Good Dogs

uhhhhh hello im writing again ! it is. 12:40am. i started this at midnight. i might go in and edit it/post it again in the morning or a few days because i am so tired. but yeah here's a silly little story.

word count: 625

cws: abuse, low self worth, people comparing themselves to animals

@lychniscitrus asked 2 be tagged :]

They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. You’re probably learning that with me.

Kick me, I tell you. It’s what I’m here for. Hold my head underwater just to watch me try and breathe. You’ll like it, won’t you? You’ll laugh about it, won’t you? I’ll take it if you want me to. You ask me why, and I say again: it’s what I’m here for.

I need to protect you, but I’m not supposed to bite others. And while that compliant part of me obeys, that part that wants to do everything you say, there’s another half. It snarls and screams. If anyone looks at you wrong I’ll have my teeth at their throat. Sinking into a fragile neck. Tasting iron and gore. I need to protect you. You ask me why, and I say, red still running down my jaw: it’s what I’m here for. I don’t say, because they will kick you too if I don’t stop them. I need to stop them. I need to protect you.

~

Mutt is a fitting title. Mutts are a lot of things, mixed together and often unclear. They result in some fucked up batch most people don’t want to touch. I am subservient to anything you wish, quiet and waiting, and yet I spring alive at a moment’s notice to attack whatever I perceive as a threat to you. Please, pull on my leash if I go too far. Don’t let me get out of line. Kick me. It’s what I’m here for.

Sometimes I bite the hand that feeds me. Fuck, I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to distinguish all the flesh. Your skin is as necessary as anything that might fuel me. I get scared sometimes that you’ll take it from me. I can’t let you take it from me. If I hold on and I never let go, you can’t take it from me. (Sometimes, I bite the hand that feeds me.)

When my teeth meet you, it hurts me more. That’s selfish to say, I know, but you’ll never be as scared of me as I am.

I don’t think I used to bite. You ask me why I do now, and I can only say that I learned. I don’t remember why—I was fine being kicked. But I did, and I can’t stop it anymore. I’ll bite anything for you, even myself. I’ll cannibalize myself for you if that’s what you want. Tell me to hurt myself before I can hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.

~

I’d follow you to my slaughter. I know this without a doubt. If you decide that’s what needs to happen, who am I to judge? Kick me, bite me, hurt me, it’s what I’m here for. You say, but I don’t want to kick you, and I say, you will. Please stop asking why. I say that you just will, and it’s easier this way. I deserve it. I don’t say that if you kick me and you stay, I’ll know I’m worth keeping even when I misbehave. I’ll know that to punish me, to use me, to hate me isn’t to stop wanting me. But if you love me, I have to be afraid of losing it.

Please let me love you without worrying you love me back. Let me lie at your chair, waiting. I’ll look up at you and the care won’t leave my eyes and my eyes won’t leave you. That’s how it should be. I’ll get on the ground screaming and crying if that’s what it takes, begging you not to ignore my prayers like every other god does. I love you. Please fucking kick me.

It’s what I’m here for.

[timeless-fanfic]

Hi, can you do a one shot of John and his wife taking care of their child daughter with Jesus’s words?

Lessons at the Table

Word Count: 3146

John x Reader

Note: I have no idea how this got so long…forgive me!

The soft glow of an oil lamp flickers across the small room, casting dancing shadows along the walls. You sit across from John at the table, watching your daughter Rachel as she idly pushes a piece of fish around her plate. The warmth of freshly baked bread lingers in the air, but your focus is entirely on the little girl in front of you.

Rachel hasn’t been herself all evening. The quiet, thoughtful nature she inherited from her father often left her lost in her own world, but tonight, something feels different. There’s a heaviness in her silence, and you can’t help but notice the furrow in her brow, the way she keeps glancing up at you both with uncertainty.

“Rachel, my love,” you say gently, breaking the silence, “you’ve hardly eaten. Is something bothering you?”

She looks up from her plate, wide brown eyes locking with yours. You offer her a soft smile, hoping to ease whatever thoughts are troubling her. You feel John shift slightly beside you, his hand resting on the table, always steady and calm.

Rachel hesitates before answering, her small voice barely above a whisper. “Eema... is it true that God loves everyone the same?”

The question catches you off guard, and you glance at John, who meets your gaze with the same quiet confusion. It isn’t unusual for Rachel to ask questions about God; after all, she’s grown up surrounded by stories of faith, hearing John speak of the miracles he’s witnessed firsthand. But there’s something in her tone tonight—something deeper, more troubled—that causes a knot of concern to form in your chest.

“Yes, sweetheart,” you reply carefully, trying to gauge where this is coming from. “God loves everyone, no matter who they are.”

Rachel shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers fiddling with a piece of bread. “Even the people who do bad things?” she asks, her eyes flickering between you and John. “Like... people who hurt others?”

Your heart sinks as you exchange another look with John. It’s a heavy question for a child to carry, and you wonder where she’s heard such things. Perhaps in the marketplace, or from other children. Your home, though small and humble, had always been a place of peace, a sanctuary from the harshness of the world outside. But it seems that world is creeping in, bit by bit.

John speaks this time, his voice low but firm, the way it always is when he’s about to explain something important. “Yes, even people who hurt others. God still loves them.”

Rachel’s face scrunches in confusion, her innocent mind trying to reconcile this idea. “But why? If they hurt people, why does God still love them?”

You reach out, placing a hand gently on her arm, trying to comfort her even as the weight of her question hangs in the air. You’ve asked yourself the same thing many times before, in quiet moments of prayer. The Romans, the cruelty, the oppression—it’s hard to understand how love can extend to those who bring pain.

“God’s love isn’t like ours,” you say softly, glancing at John as you speak, knowing he would agree. “It’s bigger than anything we can imagine. Even when people make mistakes, or do things that hurt others, God’s love doesn’t stop.”

Rachel seems to chew on that thought for a moment, but her eyes stay clouded with doubt. “Even the Romans?” she asks, her voice even smaller now. “The ones who are mean to us?”

You feel John tense slightly beside you. His expression remains calm, but you know this is a question that stirs something deep inside him. The Romans. They are the ever-present shadow over your lives, a reminder of the brokenness of the world, the cruelty that seems to reign unchecked. You’ve heard John speak with such passion about justice and mercy, and you know the struggle he faces in reconciling his faith with the reality of Roman rule.

“Yes,” John says, his voice careful but resolute. “Even the Romans. Jesus teaches us that we must love everyone, even those who are unkind to us.”

Rachel’s small hands clench into fists on her lap, her brows furrowing in frustration. “But... but they hurt people, Abba,” she says, her eyes filling with confusion. “They take things, they make people cry. They’re not kind like you and Eema.”

You watch John closely as he takes a deep breath, his gaze softening as he looks at Rachel. He’s always been a man of conviction, but you’ve seen how being a father has changed him. There’s a tenderness in him now, a gentleness that wasn’t always there before.

“I know it doesn’t seem fair,” John says quietly, leaning forward to meet Rachel’s eyes. “But that’s what makes following Jesus so special. He wants us to show love and kindness, even when it’s hard. Even when people don’t deserve it.”

Rachel bites her lip, clearly struggling to accept this. You can see the battle in her young heart, the desire to understand a world that doesn’t always make sense.

“If God loves them,” she asks after a long pause, “then why do they keep hurting us? Why doesn’t He stop them?”

The question cuts through the air like a blade, and for a moment, neither you nor John speak. Your throat tightens, and you reach for John’s hand, squeezing it gently as you search for the right words. It’s a question you’ve both asked yourselves many times, especially in those long nights of prayer, when the weight of the world feels too heavy to bear.

John looks down at your intertwined hands for a moment before answering, his voice softer now. “We don’t always know why people do the things they do, Rachel. But we trust that God sees everything. He knows when people are hurting, and He doesn’t forget.”

Rachel looks up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “But what if they never stop? What if they keep hurting people forever?”

John lets out a soft sigh and reaches across the table to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. You watch him, your heart swelling with love for the man beside you, who has always sought to live by the words of the Rabbi he follows.

“Then we keep praying,” John says gently. “We keep showing love, no matter how hard it is. Because that’s what Jesus teaches us. And that’s how we change the world.”

You place your hand on top of John’s, offering him a soft smile. He glances at you, and in that look, you see the same thought reflected in his eyes—raising a child in this world will not be easy. But you will do it together, with love, and with faith.

Rachel nods slowly, her small face still filled with uncertainty, but you can see the seeds of understanding beginning to take root. She doesn’t say anything more as she returns her attention to her plate, but you know she’s still thinking, still turning the words over in her mind.

The room falls into a quiet peace once more, the only sound the gentle crackle of the oil lamp. You exchange another glance with John, and in the warmth of that moment, you are reminded of the strength you find in each other, and in the teachings you hold so dear.

The rest of dinner passes quietly, the tension lingering in the air despite your best efforts to fill the silence with light conversation. Rachel eventually eats a little more, though it’s clear her mind is still on the troubling questions that weighed heavy on her heart. You and John exchange glances across the table, an unspoken agreement passing between you—this wasn’t over. Not yet.

As the evening winds down, you help Rachel wash up and get ready for bed. She’s quiet, more so than usual, her small hands tugging at the hem of her night tunic as she shuffles toward the bed. You tuck her in gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead, and lean down to place a soft kiss on her brow.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” you whisper, your voice tender.

“Goodnight, Eema,” Rachel replies softly, but her gaze flickers over to the small window, staring out into the night as if searching for answers beyond what you can give.

John kneels beside her, offering a comforting smile. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay? Try not to worry too much.”

Rachel nods but remains silent as John presses a kiss to her head. You both linger a moment longer, watching her eyes flutter shut. Her breathing slows, the gentle rise and fall of her chest signaling that sleep is finally beginning to claim her.

You and John step quietly out of the room, leaving the door ajar just enough to let the soft light of the oil lamp filter in. The weight of the day seems to press more heavily upon you now, and as you walk toward the small bedroom you share with John, you feel the tension lingering in your chest.

Once inside, you sit down on the edge of the bed, your hands folded in your lap as you let out a soft sigh. John sits beside you, his presence always steady, always reassuring, yet tonight you can see the lines of worry etched on his face. He’s as troubled as you are, maybe more.

You break the silence first. “She’s so young to be asking these questions.”

John nods, his hand resting gently on your knee. “She’s heard more than we realized,” he murmurs. “The world… it’s creeping in.”

You lean into his shoulder, letting the warmth of his body anchor you. “I wasn’t expecting her to ask about the Romans,” you admit quietly. “She’s just a child. How do we explain something so… complicated? So painful?”

John’s hand moves up to your back, rubbing small, soothing circles. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “It’s hard enough for us to understand, let alone her.”

You stay like that for a moment, resting in each other’s presence. The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the night outside. Crickets chirp softly, and the cool night air seeps through the cracks in the walls. You’ve always found these moments with John to be your refuge—a place where the world outside can’t reach, where the questions and burdens can be shared between you.

“I don’t want her to grow up afraid,” you say softly, pulling back to meet his gaze. “I want her to have faith in God’s love, but... how do we protect her from the cruelty that exists?”

John’s brow furrows, and you can see the internal struggle in his eyes. “We can’t shield her from everything,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “But we can guide her. Teach her to trust in what Jesus has told us.”

You nod, though the ache in your heart doesn’t entirely ease. “It’s just so hard to explain… why people hurt others.”

John looks at you with that familiar, steady gaze—the one that’s always given you strength when you felt uncertain. “Jesus knew this would be hard for us,” he says softly. “That’s why He gave us His teachings. To remind us that love is the answer, even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when it hurts.”

You smile faintly, resting your head against his shoulder once more. “You always seem to know what to say.”

He chuckles softly, but there’s a hint of sadness in his tone. “Not always. I’m still learning, just like you.”

You both fall silent again, and for a moment, it feels like the conversation is winding down, slipping into a peaceful lull. But then, a soft sound from Rachel’s room catches your attention—a quiet murmur, barely audible. Your heart skips a beat as you realize she must still be awake.

John hears it too. He gives you a gentle look and squeezes your hand before quietly standing up. “I’ll go check on her,” he whispers, careful not to disturb the calm.

You nod, staying behind on the bed as you watch him slip through the door and down the narrow hallway toward Rachel’s room. Curiosity tugs at you, and after a few moments, you rise to follow, keeping your steps soft and quiet.

As you near Rachel’s room, you pause just outside the door, close enough to hear without being seen. You know you should probably stay back, give John the space to speak with her, but something pulls you closer—a need to know what’s on your daughter’s heart.

You hear John’s gentle voice, soft and reassuring, though you can’t make out the words at first. Slowly, you ease yourself closer, leaning slightly against the doorframe as you listen.

“Rachel,” John says quietly, “I know you’re still worried. I can see it in your eyes.”

There’s a brief pause, and then you hear Rachel’s small, trembling voice. “Abba… if God loves everyone… why do they keep hurting people? Why doesn’t God stop them?”

Your heart clenches at the familiar question, the same one she’d asked earlier at dinner. You lean in a little more, your breath catching in your throat as you wait for John’s response.

“I’ve asked myself that many times,” John admits, his voice full of empathy. “But do you remember what Jesus told us about the Kingdom of God? He said it’s like a mustard seed. It starts out small, almost invisible, but it grows into something so big, so strong, that even the birds come to find shelter in its branches.”

Rachel doesn’t respond right away, and you can picture her thinking, her young mind turning over the parable. You’ve seen that look in her eyes before, the way she contemplates everything so deeply.

“God’s love is like that seed,” John continues softly. “Sometimes it’s hard to see at first, especially when there’s so much hurt in the world. But it’s growing, even when we don’t realize it. And one day, it will be big enough to cover everything. Even the people who hurt others.”

You press your hand against your chest, overwhelmed by the tenderness in John’s words. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you listen, feeling the weight of the lesson sinking into your heart just as much as it is for Rachel.

“But what do we do until then?” Rachel asks, her voice still small, but filled with that same innocent curiosity.

“We keep planting seeds,” John says simply. “With our kindness, our love, our prayers. Every time we show someone love, we’re helping that seed grow. And one day, we’ll see the difference it makes.”

There’s a pause, and then you hear the soft rustling of blankets as Rachel shifts in her bed.

“Do you really believe that, Abba?” she whispers.

“I do,” John replies, his voice unwavering. “Because Jesus showed me. He shows us every day.”

A soft sigh escapes from Rachel, and you hear John gently smoothing her hair, just like he always does when she needs comfort.

You wipe a tear from your cheek, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the man you married and the love he’s given to both you and your daughter.

The quiet murmur of John’s voice fades into the soft stillness of the night as you stand just outside Rachel’s door, your heart full. You wait a moment longer, hearing the gentle rustle of John tucking her in for the second time that evening. When he finally steps out, you catch his eye, and the two of you share a tender, knowing smile.

Without a word, John slips his arm around your waist, guiding you back down the hallway toward your bedroom. The weight of the earlier conversation lingers in the air, but there’s a sense of peace now—something softer, more assured. As you both settle back onto the bed, the quiet intimacy of the moment feels like a balm for your soul.

Without a word, you reach for his hand beneath the covers, and he squeezes it gently, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you. The room feels quieter now, the tension of the earlier evening fading into the stillness of the night.

You turn onto your side, facing him, your head resting on the pillow as you take in the familiar lines of his face, softened in the dim light. “She’s alright now?” you ask, your voice low, not wanting to disturb the peace.

John nods, his thumb tracing small circles over the back of your hand. “She’s alright,” he murmurs. “She just needed a little guidance. Some reassurance.”

You exhale slowly, the weight of the day’s worries easing. “She’s starting to ask bigger questions, John,” you say softly, the vulnerability in your voice showing just how much her words had stirred in you earlier.

“I know,” he replies, his voice steady but gentle. “It’s part of growing up. She’s trying to understand the world, just like we all do.”

You nod, though the concern still lingers at the edges of your mind. “I just want to make sure we give her the right answers. That we’re preparing her for... whatever she might face.”

John’s eyes meet yours, warm and reassuring. “We are,” he says softly. “And when we don’t know the answers ourselves, we have Jesus’s words to guide us.”

His confidence wraps around you like a protective shield, and you feel the tension in your body slowly ebb away. “You’re right,” you whisper, the fear of earlier replaced with a sense of calm. “We’re not doing this alone.”

John smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “No, we’re not,” he agrees quietly. “And she’ll be alright. She’s strong, just like her mother.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head at his words, but there’s a warmth in your chest that comes from knowing he believes in you, in your family. You nestle closer to him, your bodies fitting together in the familiar way they always do, the comfort of his presence grounding you.

For a while, you both lie there in silence, the soft rustle of the breeze outside and the distant chirp of crickets filling the space between breaths. There’s a peace here, in this quiet moment, where the uncertainties of the world seem far away and the love you share feels like the only thing that matters.

As your eyes begin to flutter shut, your heart is filled with gratitude—gratitude for the family you’ve been blessed with, for John’s steady presence, and for the teachings of Jesus that guide you both through the unknowns of life.

John’s hand tightens around yours just as sleep begins to pull you under, and you feel his voice, more than hear it, as he whispers, “We’ll be okay.”

And in that moment, you believe it.

[thinplacesradio]

a gray-stone path through a park, lit by tall lamps. plants on either side, a red wall at the back, a black bench to the right. white text reads:

[024] THE CARDINALS. A CALLER WANTS TO BELIEVE. THE HOST TAKES A WALK IN THE PARK.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] 

[crickets] [wind blowing] [cars passing distantly]

I’m coming to you still from my studio, which is what I like to call the bench on the edge of this empty park, lamppost lights casting strange shadows through the overhanging trees. There’s something I can feel in the air, here - it’s. Well. It’s thin. The way the wind is pulled in directions it wasn’t blowing. The way the lights flicker slightly different colors when somebody walks by them. People can slip between the cracks here. People have. 

The last person of the night is hurrying through in front of me, lights stuttering as they pass, and - 

[footsteps] [dog sniffing]

oh, hi, honey! Hello! Not to the person. Their dog saw me.

[dog collar jangles] [basketball dribbling] [feet moving] 

There are still a handful of kids out on the basketball court right now. Only one of them is still shooting hoops, laughing at something another one is saying; two more are walking slowly along the perimeter, one balancing carefully, hand on the other’s shoulder, listening. 

I’ll make sure they get home safe. 

So… what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Are you looking for a friend?

Have you been thinking about the next life? 

Did you miss an opportunity that you can’t get back? 

When the veil between worlds is thin, we get closer than ever to the strange and the unexplained - but also to each other. Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

So. I have had this feeling recently. I was raised Catholic but I am not sure what I believe anymore. I don’t know that I've been sure, ever, what I believe. I really struggle with my religion, and I always have difficulty finding my faith. And I often question whether or not there is a heaven or any kind of life after this. And when I think about the expanse of eternity my blood runs cold. Eternity alive or eternity in void. Either way, it terrifies me. And i don’t know what i believe is there.

But I find comfort in my grandparents, who have all passed away at this point. But they're with me somehow. I don’t know how to explain it but, whenever I am faced with something very difficult or upsetting, usually when I have to make a big choice, around the time that I’m really, you know, things are coming to a head, I have a dream where one of my grandparents visits me, and they just sit with me. And a lot of the time they don't say anything. They just sit with me, and they smile. And I feel warm. And I really think they're there, because the next day, I see a cardinal, and a cardinal is supposed to be the soul of a loved one returning to check in on you.

Recently I saw three cardinals after praying for the first time in a really long time. And the prayer felt weird and uneasy, and strange to me, and the loneliness of the way that i think and the way that I feel about faith and the possibility of a life to come, the thing that always brings me comfort is that my grandparents will come to see me, and I’ll see those cardinals. And I don’t know, I guess my question is, how do I… how do I find a resolution between those two things? It’s something that I’ve really been thinking about all day. 

It’s not quite the middle of the night. It’s the middle of the beginning of the night, for me, right now. But I just wanted to get this out of my brain and somewhere else, so. Thanks. Have a great night. 

[click] 

Hi, caller. Thank you for your thoughtful message. [eerie, curious music] I’ve seen so many strange and wonderful and terrifying things, and I don't know what any of them mean, or what they all mean together. Nobody does. I don’t know what forever looks like either, but it scares me, too. 

I don’t think you find the resolution. You see your grandparents, and you see the cardinals, and together, they mean something. But maybe when you pray - if you pray - it will always feel like a shot in the dark, a shout into the void. Maybe you’ll hear something back. Maybe not. Doubt is faith. Faith’s doubt. 

You will walk this tightrope your entire life, and maybe that is the resolution. I think it’s the point. The great mystery is where God lives. 

[click] [Morse code beeping] 

I - I hear it again. There’s something else coming through again. Something I’ve been hearing for a long time. Someone. It’s someone, isn’t it. 

-.. --- -. - / -... . / -.. . .- -..

Did you ask me to stay safe once? It feels like I’m trying to keep a promise I don’t remember making.

[click] 

[park sounds resume]

One of the teenagers is passing the basketball to their friend, now, who’s walking to the other end of the court. They’re all quiet, and it seems like the park is holding its breath, too. 

[like an announcer] Do we think they’ll make the shot? [breath] [ball bounces] Incredible. Nothing but net, if this basket had one. Three points. 

The kids are all leaving together, finding their way home. None of them are getting lost tonight. They all make it out of the park, and to their rides or bikes or well-worn paths, and through their front doors, and into their beds. 

But I think I'll sit a little longer. I’m not in danger, after all. I’m already in-between. I’ve already gotten lost. 

[a cardinal calls]

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do. As always, our number is 717.382.8093. That’s 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by Erin. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme and Unearthed, by Miles Morkri. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪(717) 382-8093. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

[another cardinal calls back]