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#I think about that quote on a regular basis

celaenaeiln · 11 months

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Bruce: *sees a motorcade come up on his right* *ignores*

Timmy in the back eying the group suspiciously: ….

*tapping on glass*

Dick: B, there’s someone tapping on my side.

Bruce: Don’t roll the window down they could be-

Dick: *already rolling the window down* *GASP* ROMMEY?! ROMMEY! ROMMEY!!

A 45 yr old grizzled man with a smoker’s voice, nicknamed Rommey by Dick: heya Dickie, how it’s going kiddo.

Dick: ROMMEY IM SO EXCITED TO SEE YOU AGAIN!

Another motorbiker with a full claw scar down his face: what about the rest of us, kid? Forget about us?

Dick: MANES! DERRICKA! IZZY!!

Derrick-I take down mercenaries for fun but let a kid I like call me DERRICKA-Rolan: You little shit, why’d we not hear from you after you fucked off to neverland huh?!

Isabella-what? Someone went missing? I had nothing to do with it, it’s total coincidence that I hated him-Hodges: Maybe he doesn’t like us, Der. That right, Dickie?

Dick: *flabbergasted* No!! It’s a long story! After I left I ran out of gas and then some girl crashed into my bike and sent it flying off the cliff but I dove off it first and then I had to walk to the nearest motel on bare feet because I gave her my shoes and then I met this half bear half man and I’ll be pleased to tell you that it was a beary bearable encounter once he got his bearings hahahahaha- *progressively climbing out of the car as the story goes on*

Bruce: Dick! Get back in the car! *having one hand on the steering wheel and grabbing the back of his shirt with the other to keep his wayward son from falling out*

Dick: Wait- *accidently twisting too far and nearly braining himself on the speeding asphalt*

Rommey: DICK!

Bruce: DICK!

Rommey, Derricka, Izzy, and Manes: *grabbing the front half to prevent Dick from becoming like two-face*

Bruce: *letting go of the wheel to grab Dick’s bottom half for the same reason*

Tim: *high pitched screaming from the back* DICK! Tₕₑ Wₕₑₑₗ! ₜₕₑ Wₕₑₑₗ!!!

Bruce: *struggling to pull his son in while the motorcade struggles to pull him out to sit on a bike thus leading to Dick hanging in limbo out the window of a car going 80mph on a freeway* GRAB THE WHEEL TIM

Tim: *sacrificing a few ribs on the edge of the front car seat* IM TRYING! I CANT REACH THE CRUISE CONTROL AND DONT LEAN BACK AND OH MY GOD SIGN POST! SIGN POST! THE POST! THE POSSSTTTTT!!!

Dick, Bruce, Tim, and motorcade: *furious screaming and shouting and panicking*

*2 hours later*

*Arriving at the manor*

Jason: damn what happened to you lot, you look like you went through hell and back.

Bruce and Tim: *drained, pale-faced, messy, sweating, and heaving*

Dick: *a curl of hair falling elegantly into his shining eyes* I just had the time of my life, Jay!

Jason who is well acquainted with Dick’s “Time of the life”s: ah. My condolences.

Tim: Never again. *flopping on the ground and cater-pilling his way up the stairs*

Damian: Father, this is such disgraceful attire! Fix yourself at once, mother would be embarrassed by such a visage! What in holy reincarnation have you been doing?!

Bruce: Never again, Dick.

Dick: it’s nothing Dami, they were just helping me.

Damian: Father, I am ashamed of you. Why must you devolve to such a state when you assist Grayson, he is perfectly capable of extraordinary feats without your input. I suggest you refrain from interfering with his success again.

Bruce:

Bruce: Damian, you-

Dick: Bruce. *smiling pleasantly*

Jason: *immediately sneaking off*

Bruce’s life momentarily flashing before his eyes: …..nothing. Go finish your homework. *trudging off to whine to Alfred about how no one’s gonna believe him*

Dick: *sincerely* what a great day! 😊

#Alfred who has heard so many ‘no one is going to believe me about Dick’ conversations on a regular basis and is tired of listening to them:#well sir what did you think would happen when you threw an 8 yr into the Batmobile and gave him full freedom to drive #Bruce: *moment of clarity* wait am I the cause of this #Bruce whose clarity never stays: nah I can’t be the cause of this #Alfred who is used to this conversation too: *sarcastically* ofcourse not sir. not at all #dick grayson #nightwing #tim drake #red robin #bruce wayne #batman #dicks secret wild adventures catching up to him because no one ever checks in on this loose canon #jason todd #red hood #damian wayne #robin #batfam incorrect quotes #Damian thinks dick can do no wrong ever #if dick ran someone through with a sword he’d merely take notes

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roboticchibitan · 4 months

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Embroidering "if there is a remedy, what is the use of frustration? If there is not a remedy, then what is the use if frustration?" again (this time with smaller lines and letters) to give to my teacher at the temple cuz I'm really grateful for his teachings.

Temple was so empty today there was only five of us there (usually there's 15-20 people) for some reason so we had a casual teaching. Next week we celebrate Tibetan new year! I'm hoping to have this done in time to give to him as a new year's gift. We'll see how that goes.

I considered embroidering it in Tibetan because Geshe-la is a Tibetan refugee but I was afraid of unknowingly making a spelling mistake or something. I'm trying to learn Tibetan though so maybe later I'll be able to do it justice!

#this quote lives rent free in my head #i think about it on a regular basis #v's fiber arts tag #embroidery #buddhism tag #shantideva

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 1 month

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Obligation [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/f!reader who is 52.

Tags/warnings: Throwing up, unplanned pregnancy, angst, Joel doesn't take it well but is soft, implied abortion.

Summary: You've been fucking Joel Miller for a couple of months when you realize that you're pregnant - which you didn't think possible because you thought you were post-menopausal. How does one get an abortion in Jackson - and how are you going to tell Joel?

Words: 4,267

A/N: For all my old gals out there, as well as those who don't want kids.

My masterlist

I think I may be pregnant.

The realization reverberates through you, bringing with it another wave of nausea. You barely have time to stick your head down the toilet before you throw up. The acrid taste of bile fills your mouth and nose, and tears stream down your cheeks. You grip the toilet seat as you continue retching, your stomach hellbent on emptying itself.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. No. No, no, no, no, no, how can this be?

What an idiot question. You almost laugh at yourself in the midst of this misery. How does one become pregnant? Well, fucking someone like Joel Miller on a regular basis is a good start. He fucks you deep and good, the bed and his body creaking in unison as he has you pinned underneath him, his broad, heavy body a welcome weight on you, his cock balls deep inside your wet cunt when he finishes and leaves you full even after he's pulled out. His thick, creamy cum dripping out of you when you fall into blissful sleep, sometimes with him staying over.

You know how babies are made, for God's sake. You just didn't count on you still being able to make them. You're past 50, and your period stopped years ago. This is new to you, you’ve never been pregnant before or even had an interest in trying, but you’re not stupid. You’ve been feeling tired lately, out of sorts, a dull nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach like just before your period, and last night when Joel grabbed your breasts, you almost punched him. Even now they’re so sore even the weight of them hurts.

And now this. Morning sickness. You haven’t eaten anything strange, you were okay last night, and paired up with everything else that has been going on… you must be pregnant.

Thank God Joel isn’t here, you think dimly. He didn't stay over last night, quoting an early morning today to go on patrol. You didn't mind. What you have together is casual, and you're not the one who needs to be cuddled – or coddled, for that matter. You like it when he stays over, but don’t care if he doesn’t. It has worked out well for a few months now.

And now this. You draw a quivering breath, and slump against the wall. It seems like your stomach has settled, so after a couple of minutes, you carefully stand up and bend over the sink, rinsing out your mouth with cold water before splashing some in your face. Straightening your back, you meet your tired gaze in the small mirror above the sink. There is nothing different there, except a lack of energy, but nothing that could reveal the fact that you are carrying a growing clump of cells in your belly.

The thought makes you nauseous again, and you step back to the toilet, expecting to be sick, but there is nothing else to expel, so you flush the toilet, and slowly make your way to the kitchen. Despite being sick, or because of it, you’re hungry, so you take out what provisions you have, and sit down at the table. You usually take your meals in the dining hall, but you don’t want to show yourself right now. God knows what will happen if anyone asks you how you are. And what if you eat, and then throw up again?

Slowly, you gnaw away at a slice of bread with cheese on it, while trying to get yourself together and think over your options. But no matter how you try to think about it, there are no options except one: you have to get rid of it. The reasons are many, but the two most pressing ones are the simple fact that you have never wanted children, and this is not a world into which children should be born, as far as you’re concerned. The more you think about it, the more certain you are. But how in the hell are you going to get an abortion? And while you may not be shy, how the actual fuck are you going to tell the doc that you, a 52-year-old woman, didn’t think to protect yourself? Or that you know your own body so badly that you didn’t even know that you’re, in fact, not post-menopausal?

You stopped crying years ago because tears have no function in this world, but now your humiliation makes your tears well up. You sniffle wetly, put down the piece of bread, and angrily wipe at your eyes.

“Fuck,” you mutter, but there is no stopping the tears. When the first one runs down your cheek, you bang your fist to the table and scream.

“FUCK!”

You let the tears fall, confident that there won’t be too many. When you’re done crying, you finish your meagre breakfast, wipe your face, and get dressed. A day of work awaits you, and maybe if you work hard enough…

You shudder at the thought. You may not have any experience in this department, but you know that your age is a liability. Things could go wrong, and you could die. You don’t want to die. You didn’t survive for all these years just to get taken out by a goddamn unwanted pregnancy.

Fortified by your sheer will to live, you open the front door, and get to work.

During your lunch break, you slip into the Jackson library, which is only just one room in the schoolhouse. The collection consists of whatever has been found during raids, as well as works that the residents have brought with them. The stacks are neat, though, thanks to the teacher who also doubles as a librarian. The collection is divided into main classes, and you quickly find the small section for Biology. There is a middle school book with a chapter on human reproduction, but that’s just the basics. You check the Medicine section, finding nothing. You leave the library, mentally chiding yourself for thinking that you’d find anything there to help you deal with the fact that you’re geriatric, pregnant, and in need of an abortion, with no hope of having one because there are no hospitals, only one doctor who operates out of a simple cabin with barely any equipment or drugs.

Anxiety rises in you again, bringing bile with it. You slink in behind the nearest house and bend over. What little breakfast you had lands before your feet, and you spit away the taste.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I going to do?

You take a steadying breath before reappearing back on the street, aiming for your house. So purposeful are you to get away from people, that you don’t notice the tall man next to you before he puts his hand on your arm.

“Hey.”

You start, jerking back before you recognize Joel’s frowning face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, casting your eyes down as you continue your walk. “Just didn’t see you there.”

“Going to lunch?”

“I already ate.”

“All right.” His hand is on your arm again, now effectively stopping you in the middle of the street. He stands in front of you, broad, tall, and smelling of horses.

“You sure you’re okay?” His voice is lower now, so as to not have anyone overhear him. “You look a little pale.”

Joel Miller has been nothing but good to you. He doesn’t talk much, and what little he talks, happens in the darkness after you’ve fucked, when there are no barriers left between the two of you. He keeps to himself, to the girl who was with him when he arrived, to his brother. To you, now. You may not be able to make him laugh as Ellie does, but he saves soft smiles for you. He’s loyal, kind, and helpful. And despite all that, you’re going to lie to him.

“I didn’t sleep well.” You look into his eyes, even giving him the ghost of a smile. “You wore me out, but I still couldn’t sleep.”

His face softens visibly, a smile playing in the corner of his mouth as he leans in and whispers: “I’m sorry, darling. Just have to try harder next time.”

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach, but it doesn’t translate to the usual heaviness between your legs. Instead, you just feel sick for having lied to him.

Joel’s hand travels down your arm to your hand, thick fingers quickly squeezing years before letting go.

“See you later?”

You hear the question, know what it means.

“I think I better get a good night’s sleep?”

Joel flashes a sympathetic grin. “Good idea. See you around.”

You watch him stride towards the dining hall, broad back squared, head held high in constant vigilance, even here within the walls of Jackson.

He’ll figure it out eventually. He’s smart. He’ll know something’s up.

You shake your head to get rid of those unwanted thoughts, and then you return to work.

The next morning starts the same way the previous one did: with your head down the toilet bowl. This time you feel even more sick because you didn’t get much sleep, and when you finally emerge out of your house, you run into Joel, who’s halfway up your porch.

“Morning,” he greets you, then stops as he sees your ashen face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m coming down with something,” you shrug, stacking another lie upon the previous one.

“Maybe you should stay home, get some rest,” he suggests, and even if he’s wearing his customary frown, you can hear how his voice is laced with concern. Managing a smile, you brush your arm against his.

“I’ll just get antsy. I’ll take it easy today, I promise.”

He’s happy with that and doesn’t question you when you don’t go to communal breakfast.

For the next few days, you do what you can to avoid Joel. You don’t want him to know that you’re sick in the mornings, don’t want him to touch you and find out how tender your breasts are, don’t want to talk to him or even see him because it only reminds you of the solution you inevitably have to find soon. You’re going to have to come clean to the doc at the very least – unless you try to deal with the situation by yourself somehow. But you have no idea how to do that without hurting yourself, and that’s the last thing you want to do.

Finally, it’s Joel who takes the first step. You have declined his visits for a week when he surprises you by knocking on your door one night. His face is backlit by the porch light that creates a halo around his ragged, curl-prone hair.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m tired,” you mumble, but he speaks your name, and you realize that there is no running away anymore. So, you step to the side to let him in.

He stands before you, arms crossed over his broad chest as he stares at the floor between the two of you. You can’t look at him, so you stare at the same spot. There’s dirt from his boots there, but you don’t care.

“Listen, I…” he starts, clearing his throat. “I know nothing’s been explicitly said here. About us, I mean. It is what it is. But I thought we had a good thing going, and now it seems like you don’t want anything to do with me anymore?”

Your stomach drops, and for a moment you fear that you’ll throw up your dinner as well as you did your breakfast.

“Joel…”

“I just want to know if I did something wrong, so that I can apologize and then leave you be.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself to prevent the slight trembling that’s starting to travel through your body. Your nerves are shot, and you press your lips together to keep your teeth from chattering.

“Then what is it?” Now he’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes burn into you.

Does he have to sound so fucking gentle? It would be easier if he yelled at you, or stormed out, or hadn’t come at all, but you should have known that Joel Miller would be so fucking gentle about it.

You take a deep breath, then finally look up into his eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel stares at you, his face blank. There is just nothing there for several breaths before his brows rise and his arms fall to his sides.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

He still looks at you like he doesn’t understand.

“But… how is that possible?”

You lean your head to one side and give him a come on kind of look. Joel scoffs, scratches his head, then shakes it.

“Aren’t you too old?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You didn’t know?”

You don’t like the hint of accusation in his voice.

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen my healthcare provider in a while!” you snap, now irritated. The change in tone causes in a change in Joel as well.

“If you weren’t sure, then why the hell weren’t you more careful?”

“So it’s my fault?” Your voice is now raised, and your hands come to your hips. “You took one look at me and thought, ‘Oh, this old hag surely has no eggs left’, and then you happily stuck your dick in me, to hell with any other consequences?”

“You should’ve said something!” he growls, now visibly upset. If you weren’t so intimately familiar with just how soft he could be, you’d be afraid of his dark storm cloud demeanor. But you’re not afraid: you’re pissed off.

“I didn’t know,” you articulate. “I haven’t had my period in years, and I’m over fifty! How the fuck could I have known that I could get fucking pregnant!”

“Is it even mine?” Joel retorts, and for some reason, that’s what makes you snap. Before you know it, your palm has connected with his cheek, and you’re pointing at the door.

“Get out. Get the fuck out, now!”

You don’t need to tell him twice: the door slams only a moment after. You’re no longer feeling nauseous, or trembling. You’re just empty inside.

He's back the next morning. You did not expect that, and eye him with apprehension where he stands in the doorway, shame etched into his features.

"Can I please come in?" he asks quietly. You're nauseous again, but you don't want to be a bitch. He's a good one, you know that, despite everything. He deserves a chance.

You let him in, gesture for him to go on through to the kitchen. Following him, you swallow down the nausea, and hope that you won't have to throw up. It would be so humiliating.

Sitting down, you nod to him to do the same. He perches uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, sincere gaze searching for eye contact.

"I'm really sorry," he finally says, his voice low but earnest. "I handled myself poorly."

You give him a Ya think? look but say nothing. He gets the message.

"I didn't expect... or think..." He falls silent, looks down at the scratched surface of the table. You stare him down relentlessly, waiting for him to speak on. He's slowly rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, like they're itchy or in pain.

"I had a daughter, a long time ago. She... I lost her on the first day."

Your heart could break from the choked agony of his voice. Swallowing hard, this time to fight the lump in your throat, not nausea, you reach across the table to put your hand over his.

"Joel..."

He looks up at you, now with a new fire in his eyes.

"It was a long time ago, but I've lived in that pain every day, until Ellie took me out of it. And now... this feels like a second chance."

He raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm. You stare at him, suddenly wary.

"What do you mean, second chance?"

"To have a child with you."

You stare at him in bewilderment, barely even sure you heard him right. He hurries to elaborate.

"I'll take my responsibility. I'll help you raise the child. You won't have to do it all alone."

You quickly pull your hand out of his, like you burned yourself.

"Joel... I'm not going to keep it?"

Before Joel can say anything, your stomach revolts, and you shoot out of your chair, only just making it to the sink before you throw up. Spitting and turning on the water to wash away the vomit, you cup your hand under the stream of cold water, and drink to eradicate the sour taste in your mouth. Barely having swallowed the water, you throw up again.

Joel's warm body pushes gently against you, and his hand is on the small of your back.

"That's it," he murmurs, "deep breath, you're okay."

"I'm fine," you gasp, trying to breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell that seems to penetrate everything.

"I know," he replies calmly, reaching for a glass and filling it with water before handing it to you. "Here."

You drink carefully, hoping it'll stay down. The cold water chills your entire stomach, but you do feel better.

"Thanks." You glance up at him, hand holding the glass shaking a little. Joel notices, and takes it from you.

"You're welcome. Wanna sit down?"

You nod mutely, and he leads you back to the kitchen table. You can walk by yourself, but it's comforting to have his hand on your back. You're no longer alone in this, and it's a bigger relief than you thought.

You bow your head and hide your face in your hands for a moment, steadying yourself. Hearing the other chair scrape against the floor, you finally look up at Joel.

He looks sad but resigned.

"How far along are you?" he asks quietly. You shrug.

"No idea."

"Probably over six weeks."

You shrug again and draw your hand through your hair.

"I meant what I said, Joel." You try to sound gentler. "I'm not keeping it. I can't. I don't want it."

He casts his eyes down, and for a second you think you see a tremble in his lower lip. Then he sniffles with a grimace and looks up again.

"Okay."

You raise your brows. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"It's not my decision, sweetheart." This term of endearment is new, and you're not sure what to make of it.

"You're not going to try to convince me to keep it?" you dare him, but without vehemence. You're just tired.

Joel shakes his head, but you can see that he has something on his mind.

"Joel?" you prompt, and he finally sighs deeply.

"Are you sure you won't regret it?" His voice is eerily toneless, like he's trying his best not to sound accusatory. You rub your forehead with both palms in an attempt to suppress the headache that you can feel building up behind your frontal lobe.

"I've never wanted kids," you tell him in the same, dispassionate voice. "Not when I was younger, and surely not now. Not in this world, not at my age. Not at all."

He flinches, like your words hurt him, but then he nods solemnly.

"Okay. What are you going to do?"

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, because the question faced you with the fact that you have absolutely no idea how to deal with this.

"I don't know."

Your voice breaks, and the first tears well up in your eyes.

"Fuck." The tears spill down your cheeks, and you hide your face from Joel, embarrassed by this sudden display of desperation.

"Hey..."

He's around the table in a heartbeat, crouching by your chair and collecting you into his arms.

"It's okay, sweetheart, we'll figure it out. We'll talk to the doc."

The tears multiply, and you sob audibly from sheer relief of having someone else take charge. You haven't lived with the knowledge of your condition for barely a week, but it has weighed you down more than you knew. And now Joel knows, and he is telling you that it's going to be all right.

"I - just - feel - so - stupid!" you whimper between the sobbing, and Joel strokes his hand down your back.

"Not as stupid as I feel. It's okay, I promise you it'll be okay."

You draw a deep, quivering breath, and square your shoulders. They feel lighter, and you wipe your eyes and cheeks before smiling weakly at Joel.

"Thank you."

"I got you," he smiles back, a dimple appearing in his cheek. You haven't seen it before. It feels like a promise.

Carl, Jackson's doctor, is a GP, but has had to deal with a variety of emergencies over the years. He doesn't bat an eye when you, seated next to Joel, tell him of your predicament, and that you want a termination. He asks for a urine sample, handing you a cup that you, frowning, take with you into the bathroom, do your business, and leave it on the counter, as per Carl's instructions. Coming out of the bathroom, Carl asks you to come back in the afternoon. You agree on a time before you and Joel step out. He squeezes your hand before you part to go to work.

Returning later to Carl's office, you find out that you are, with a seventy percent accuracy, indeed pregnant.

"It's the best test I have," Carl explains. "If a thin film forms over the urine, pregnancy is likely. If not, there is no pregnancy."

"And it couldn't be anything else?" Joel asks, surprising you. Carl looks pained for a moment, and you realize what a difficult question that is. Your hand moves on top of Joel's on the arm rest.

"Given the symptoms; breast tenderness, morning sickness, light cramping... I can't think of anything else to explore."

"How do we stop it?" you want to know. "Can we even?"

"A surgical abortion is technically possible," Carl nods, and you feel your shoulders relax. "I've done it a couple of times before I came to Jackson, even."

"Well, good."

"Is it safe?" Joel's voice seems tight. "Is it doable here, in these conditions?"

Carl hesitates for a moment before leaning forward to rest his forearms on his desk.

"The procedure itself doesn't take longer than fifteen minutes, but our conditions are, as you probably understand, not ideal. I can sterilize the equipment, but our biggest concern, apart from post-surgical infections, is pain relief."

He lets the information sink in before he adds: "I simply do not have the means to sedate you or give you the pain relief that you are going to need. I wish I could tell you this in any other way, but I can't: It's going to hurt a lot."

You swallow tightly. Joel's thumb passes over the back of your hand.

"Okay," you tell him in a small voice. "I don't have a choice. I'm not going to have a kid in this world. There's no way. We have to do it."

Later, after an extensive talk with the doc, you step out onto the main street of Jackson, Joel right behind you. Without words, the two of you slowly walk towards your house. Not until reaching it, do you sit down on the porch steps. Joel sits down next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"That's a hard question to answer," you sigh, rubbing your forehead. Joel sighs as well.

"Yeah."

You sit in silence and watch people go by. Ellie passes further away together with a friend, waving hello to you but not coming over to chat. You and Joel wave back.

"What does she know about us?" you ask quietly. Joel grunts.

"She knows we hang out, that I like your company, but I haven’t told her that we… you know.”

"I’m sure she knows. She's a smart girl."

"That she is."

You wet your lips. "Listen, Joel... I just want to say... thank you, I guess. For being there for me."

"Of course," he replies softly. "And I really am sorry for how I reacted."

"I'm sorry for slapping you."

"I deserved it."

"Kind of." You shoot a quick grin at him, and he grins back.

"Don't think about that," you shake your head. "And I want you to know that you don't have to be involved in what comes next."

"I'm not going to - "

"You wouldn't mind having a baby," you cut him off, "so I'm not going to have you watch me take one away."

"It's not a baby yet," he reminds you pragmatically. "And I said we'd figure this out together. I'll be there, every step of the way. I'll make sure you get through this."

He speaks with a quiet, gentle confidence that makes you want to cry again. You never knew how much you have longed for someone like him.

"You don't have an obligation," you try one last time. Joel turns towards you and cups the back of your head with one large hand.

"I want to be obliged to you, sweetheart."

He leans forward to let his lips brush over yours.

"Let me," he whispers, and you wrap your arms around him, accepting both his offer and his kiss.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x mature!reader

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peppersnap79 · 4 months

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Alastor the betrayer?

Alastor is often seen as chaotic evil, unpredictable and untrustworthy, but he actually leans lawful: he's a dealmaker, people who enter into deals with him do so knowingly and of their own free will, whether or not they regret the deal later.

He's specifically shown to be loyal to those he likes on multiple occasions: Rosie says "Alastor has never done me wrong" and Mitzy evidently relies on him to get her out of trouble on a regular basis ("You love takin' care o' me!"). Alastor has people whose company he enjoys and whom he tries to keep safe, who he fights for, and he's fine with this.

As long as he wins.

And so I believe that in his radio tower, after his confrontation with Adam, it's not because he feels sentimental about Charlie and the gang that he's riddled with angst. Sometimes Alastor does genuinely like people. It happens. Not very often, but not so rarely as to be disconcerting. It's fine. Agreeable, even.

Betraying her was never the plan.

A little manipulation, perhaps. Help her out with her wacky nonsense in return for a highly-useful favour or two, that's legit, that's fine. Quid pro quo. Perfectly above-board.

But I think he'd consider it a sign of enormous weakness to full-out betray someone who he'd encouraged to trust him. To trick someone into thinking he was on their side only to stab them in the back when their guard was down? Pathetic. He is egotistical enough to think he is better than that.

Reputation is enormously important for overlords. Sinner demons tend to have animal traits, and many animals make an effort to look big, strong and dangerous in order to avoid the danger and cost of actually having to prove it. Alastor has put a lot of work into his Radio Demon persona.

"Great Alastor, altruist, died for his friends." This is sung as a quote, what someone else might say, a headline that might be shown on one of Vox's news channels. It refers to his reputation, what other demons would think of him. Yeah, you fucking wish.

But he's in real pain. He lost. He was nearly erased. He's not as powerful as he likes to think, as he likes everyone else to think. Even if he survives this still-bleeding wound, the rest of the Pride circle are going to drastically downgrade their estimation of his power level. And he can't fix this because of his deal.

And it's intolerable.

Counterpoint: while betrayal does not seem to be something Alastor does lightly, he is clearly so rattled by his constraints that he might find himself compelled to disregard his own moral code in order to free himself. But if this does turn out to be the case, it will not come easy for him.

#alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #the radio demon #alastor theory #hazbin hotel spoilers

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spidernuggets · 3 months

Text

As someone who wants to read books and novels, whether it be classics, romance, action, horror, etc, but has a difficult time doing so because it takes a long while to do so; to read the whole sentence without misreading anything and then processing what the sentence is implying, and gets so frustrating all the time, I absolutely adore people who make headcanons that Jason Todd reads to you!!!

So I present

Jason Todd Reading to You HCs/Reader who Struggles with Reading

(Starts with Reader who struggles w reading and regular Jason reading to you HCs begin after the border)

Before it became a habit of Jason reading to you, he always rambled about the new books he has been reading.

He's always either adoring the writing or complaining about love triangles or is intrigued by the plot or questions a character's decisions.

And his rants make you interested, and soon enough, you ask more questions based on whatever he is talking about.

He opens certain pages, pointing to a quote or paragraph, and then showing you hus annotations to the side.

I think Jason would either a) have 2 copies of a book. 1 softback for annotations and 1 hardback for a clean copy. Or b) a clean hardback book and a notebook marked with the book title, the date he read it, and the chapter and page that he's referencing his thoughts from.

Seeing as you're so interested in his thoughts, he recommended you some classics he thought you might curious about.

You're excited, happy that your boyfriend is opening up his nerdy, literature side to you, and you promised him you'd finish the book as soon as possible.

But when you cracked open the clean hardback- the copy of Little Women that he wouldn't let anyone touch, your heart started racing.

You barely finished chapter one in three days. And when Jason asked during the day how it was going, you lied, saying it was great so far. This caused Jason to be suspicious as your reaction was far more bland than how you'd react when he was telling the basis of the story.

So when you claimed that you had finished it, he asked for your opinion. And when you did tell him what you thought of it, he thought that your answers sounded very familiar. And he realised that what you're saying was paraphrased from his annotations.

He laughed, telling you that you don't have to agree with his opinion. But when you didn't laugh back or state your own thoughts, he grew concerned.

You admitted that you only read the first chapter, and he said it was fine and to take as long as you needed since everyone reads at a different pace. But you shook your head, telling him that it could take you your whole lifetime to finish reading one book.

You sat with him, explaining that you find it difficult to read, that it takes you time to understand what the story is telling and what it's describing.

Jason thinks for a moment, and during this, you think that he now sees you as unintelligent and slow.

But he speaks up, offering the idea of reading to you instead. He noticed that you obtain information better when it's being spoken to you. You remember all the little details of the book when Jason went on his long rants about it.

But you tried to quickly turn down the offer, saying that you don't want him to baby you.

But he kisses your forhead in reassurance, promising that he's not babying you. Telling you that he's happy to read to you. Ecstatic even.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jason are wrapped in a not too thick, not too thin blanket. You're sitting upright, Jason's leaning against the headboard as you lay on his chest.

He's got the clean copy open instead of his annotated one, so you have the freedom of developing your own outlooks on the novel as his finger glides across the sentences.

He lets you interrupt him every time you have a point to make or an outbirst reaction to a plot twist or unexpected scene.

He keeps those reactions in mind, remembering to pull out a new notebook, marking the pages with the book title, the date he read it to you, and the chapter and page that you referenced your thoughts from.

You hate to stop reading before the end of a chapter, so you try to stay awake as much as possible until Jason finishes the cirrent chapter, no matter how spft and soothing his voice is.

Your favourite part of your day is waiting for Jason to come home from patrol, sitting patiently on your shared bed, with the book on your lap while you watch the movie or show adaptation of the novel.

And when Jason does come home, he rolls his eyes, shutting the screen that's playing the film, scolding you that the book is way better.

He tells you to sit tight while he quickly changes out of his gear, putting on sweatpants and staying shirtless before scooching you over and sliding into bed beside you.

He takes the book from you, opening to where the bookmark laid- the last chapter you finished before continuing on with the story.

And when Jason finishes off another chapter, he notices you sound asleep.

He softly kisses your cheeks, forhead, then lips, bookmarking the book once more, before adjusting the two of you in a more comfortable position and holding you in his arms, whispering to you that you'll continue in the morning, before falling asleep with you.

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brbgottagetkfc · 1 month

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•• will you still love me when I'm no longer young & beautiful ?•• (PT-1)

☆ pairing : Teacher!suguru x F!student!reader

☆ summary : you pursue your mentor throughout your highschool years to no avail, nearly convinced of the futility of your attempts, until one day he surprises you.

☆ t/w : depictions of immoral teacher-student relationships, age-gap, (reader is 20, while suguru is 5 years older), toxic behaviour, obsession, possesive attitude, jealousy, angst, suggestive language, reader has pick me syndrome (lmk if i need to add more)

☆ a/n : hihihi guys this is my first time publishing a fic I'm giddy hehehe, NOT PROOFREAD because i'm blind to my mistakes ^○^ . Please leave your thoughts, i would be absolutely melting if at least some of y'all enjoy it!

☆ wc : 2.1k

"If I hadn't been the one to train you, I would've questioned the sanity of those who let you take charge of a mission by yourself," Suguru muses, sighing as he removes his reading glasses, lithe fingers brushing away the bangs fluttering in front of his face. His narrowing gaze darts back and forth from the mission report you've just dropped onto his desk to you lounging on an empty desk and dangling your feet, showing no remorse or concern for the mess you've left behind.

"Seriously?" he prods, resting his chin upon intertwined fingers as he leans on the desk on his elbows. "Nothing to say for yourself?"

You, however, give him a lazy grin, finding his chagrin adorable.

"Tell me it wasn't absolutely epic..." you argue, brows raised and lips quirked to a side, "Besides, you don't stumble across an exorcism this intense if you insist on playing by the ru—OUCH....!!" You yelp as his fingers strike down between your brows in a HARD flick.

"You can't expect me to keep ignoring your shenanigans," he begins, the smooth baritone of his voice almost distracting from the patronizing undertones. Almost.

You scowl at him, still gingerly rubbing away at the spot between your brows, for the theatrics of course, debating whether to let your insolent mouth run until he's ripping his hair out in frustration trying to reason with you, OR, just be....... Reasonable.

"I asked Ijichi to put up a veil this time since you—" he emphasizes the following in air quotes "—keep forgetting to put up your own, and then you go and decide to shatter the veil yourself?? Did you know YOU'RE the leading cause of gas leak explosions in Tokyo in the past year? How do you seriously expect to get away with this every time!?"

"You know the veil messes with my technique." You respond, dry as toast, deliberately feigning disinterest to try and get a rise out of him.

"Skill issue," he quips back, barely concealing a wry grin. That cheeky fucker.

"Look at you trying to sound all 'down with the kids'—A for effort," you tease.

"I'm serious. I've got Yaga and the higher-ups breathing down my neck about the mess you make on a regular basis. You have to get your act together."

As if... You think to yourself, thoroughly enjoying putting him in this position. You like that look on his face, the one where he tries and fails to reason with you, jaw clenching a little with every exchange..

"You're just jealous of my legacy," you accuse between yawns, laying down sideways on the row of desks. "Besides, I receive nothing but praise and recommendation."

"Start doing your own paperwork and see how long it lasts," he retorts, his gaze narrowing as he takes note of your complete lack of decorum. He sighs but doesn't comment on it. He never does when it comes to you.

"They won't say anything. I'm indispensable," you state with a cocky grin, making him groan as you hop off your makeshift desk bed and settle on his desk this time.

"You're awfully cocky for a second-grade" he murmurs, reclining in his chair, lips tugging at the corner as he watches you shuffle and get comfortable on his desk. Again, he chooses not to comment. "Satoru's rubbing off on you."

"Gojo? He's just an extra on the set of the play I lead," you scoff, watching him visibly grimace at the soul-wrenching level of cringe you drop.

"Yeah, don't do metaphors again," he deadpans.

Well shit.... "I concur,"

Silence.

He gives you a knowing glance, and the both of you simultaneously burst into a chortling fit

"And, by the way, it's semi-grade one to you now," you reveal, wiping at the corner of your eye as your laughing fits subside.

"You got promoted?" he raises his brows. "That proves it, there's no god," he says, not bothering to conceal his self satisfied smirk as he openly picks on you- his delightfully humorous, witty, underestimated prodigy (says who? You of course!). He thinks he did something here, that's why he doesn't anticipate you picking up the pencil shavings from his desk and throwing them at his face.

"Hey—ack..ACHOO!" he lets out a violent sneeze as he inhales the rubbish you launch at him.

Giving him a smirk that firmly communicates - "you deserved it", you lean further back into the desk as he clutches a tissue to his face and sneezes a couple more times.

"Acting like a fucking monkey all the time," he mumbles, almost incoherently under his breath.

"Best training, thanks to you, circus master," you say, giving him the most annoyingly saccharine grin you can muster. Something purrs inside your chest, rearing it's head as you watch his expression span from exasperation to indignation before settling on exhausted acceptance.

He leans back against his chair, eyeing you from where he sits.

“You do realize, if I really wanted to put my foot down, I could, right?”

"Could you?" You raise a brow. "Besides, if I really wanted to make your life the seventh circle of hell, I could."

"Don't you already?"

"Not even close," you retort.

This was getting boring, and you were itching to indulge in your favorite pastime, which would be—pissing off your annoyingly perfect mentor. There was nothing more exhilarating than pushing him until he was too worked up to maintain the pretense of professionalism between the two of you.

You hadn't quite managed to throw him completely off the edge yet, but there were times...

Times you both knew how close he was to snapping, to dropping the act and just wrapping his fingers around your neck.... push you against a wall and make you eat your own words and beg for mercy. Those moments flashed by as soon as they came,

too soon, always too soon.

You sigh, frustrated as you watch him watch you lounging on his desk. His eyes betray nothing of what went on in his mind, but you know his indifference was feigned, a desperate attempt to let nothing else slip through. Which is precisely why you were determined to keep pushing his buttons until he cracked. It was a game, a dangerous dance between defiance and discipline.

As you lounge on his desk, you can't help but wonder what it would take to unravel him completely. Your relentless barrage of insolence? Or perhaps it is a subtle manipulation of his emotions?

"Are you even listening to me?" Suguru's voice cut through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. He was staring at you with a mixture of irritation and amusement, clearly waiting for a response.

"Of course, sensei," you replied with a smirk, feigning innocence. "Every word, hanging on your every syllable-"

Which, obviously, was the furthest thing from the truth. Suguru had a habit of trying to fill in the silence with an absolutely torturous amount of lectures regarding duty. Discipline. Responsibility. Bleh.

You, however, possessed the beautiful ability to tune out filler words in favor of focusing on the way his fingers rubbed at his constantly throbbing temple, how his bangs never stayed in no matter how tight he tied his hair back, or how many times he tucked them behind his ears. His arms flexed under the snug stretch of his button-down, reminding you of the strength they possessed, from times he had pinned you down on the floors underneath him, arms twisting behind your back, his knees pressing into the back of your thighs to hold you in place, warm breath panting next to your ear, chastising you for letting your guard slip, pointing out the flaws in your form, all while those insolent bangs tickled the nape of your neck...

Yep ..... Kicking and clawing, blocking and restraining atop the training mats were about as far as you both had come to tangling limbs, undoubtedly your most treasured aspect of this..... dynamic between you and your mentor.

You constantly found yourself hoping one day the thin shackle of restraint binding the both of you would shatter, that he would snap, that his lips would find your skin, hands would roam, breaths mingling, and tongues clashing, But Suguru never gave in. He never crossed that line.

Although, he sure loved to linger on it.

It was eating away at you. The build up of emotions and urges, the aggravation of continually toeing the invisible line

you'd seen the frustration mirrored in his eyes, In the fleeting moments he'd failed to mask himself behind his indifference.

That's why you gave it your all, pouring yourself , desperate to tip the scales of his morality, needing him to fold.

You'd tried almost everything.

From calling him by his given name without prompting, to invading his personal space, interrupting him mid lesson, waltzing in and out of his office as you saw fit, taking his belongings as if staking claim....

and he let you

It frustrated you beyond comprehension, that he'd just...

Let you do however you pleased, blurring the boundaries between familiarity and impropriety, let you say whatever you wished, never drawing a line, Yet, he'd never allowed himself to make a move or reciprocate. Leaving you fuming and confused, fueling your desire further.

Armed with your refusal to let go, your increasingly stubborn denial, and an abundance of confidence in yourself, you continued your attempt at wearing him down as he tolerated with wry amusement, never giving you an inch of ground...

Which, is precisely why you felt your mind go numb and your chest constrict with wanton anticipation as Geto Suguru, your mentor and long-standing obsession, laid his head on your lap and sighed.....

"I swear you'll be the death of me"

♡••••••♡••••••••♡••••••••♡••••••••♡••••••♡

Suguru sighs, warm exhale caressing the skin of your knees just a few inches below where the hem of your skirt ended. Your skirt-

'I ought to give her some some credit' he thought to himself, smirking inwardly as he pondered your reasoning behind switching your uniform. In your 4 years of attending Jujutsu Tech, you'd always opted for an ensemble consisting of a zip jacket and a pair of flowy pants- not unlike his uniform from his own days as a student at the tech school- claiming better fluidity of movement.

He hadn't really cared one way or another. There was no room to think. Suguru was extremely careful about the way he let himself perceive you. Even without your constant badgering, your aggressively relentless attempts at flirting, following him around, intentionally pushing his buttons, and unprompted fits of possessiveness and jealousy- you were a temptation to him. It was a practice in restraint, being with you, around you, training, teaching, observing, correcting- while keeping his hands to himself, and his thoughts in check. It was near about impossible to keep up, and you with your stubborn determination and self-assured smirk didn't do anything to help that.

That's why Suguru never paid much attention to what you wore, lest it drift southwards, making his stand at resistance even more difficult than it already was. But that was before

Before you sauntered into his office wearing that goddamned skirt. Shiny, vinyl-like fabric buttoned at your waist, wrapping snugly around your hips and the top of your thighs, ending a good few inches above your knees.

'fuck me-' He thought to himself when you walked in, jacket unzipped, shirt untucked and unbuttoned slightly at the top, and that skirt stretching over your ass, begging to ride up as you made yourself comfortable- and Suguru realized he probably shouldn't be standing up anytime soon.

'Fuck me' he thought to himself as you slammed the hot mess of a mission report on his desk- letting him know you intended to explore any and every avenue in pursuit of making life hard for him.

Suguru wondered if you knew just how much he had to struggle, to keep himself from giving you a piece of his mind, a taste of your own medicine as you kept up your antics. the switch up was crazy- One moment you were a model student, keeping up with whatever crazy challenge he threw at you, exceeding any and all expectations- and the next moment you were a complete brat, refusing to comply with his instructions, intentionally causing chaos and spelling trouble for him. He wondered if you knew that the gap from him telling you to shut up, to him making you, was narrowing alarmingly.

'Fuck me-' he thought to himself as you decided to jump his desk and face him in, plush thighs just an arms length away as you continued your perpetual assault on him- making his blood rush in his ears, fingers twitching and jaw ticking from the effort of holding back....

'Fuck me-' he mumbled one last time, realizing he was too far gone to resist you anymore.

'You win baby, now fuck me'

♡•••••♡••••••♡••••••♡••••••♡••••••♡•••••♡

divider by @gigittamic

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weirdmorefics · 8 months

Note

If you're comfortable with angst, can you write poly ineffable husbands with a human SO they've been with a very long time and is now succumbing to old age and dementia? (the time period is up to you!) I just think the idea of immortal/mortal lovers has so much room for angst and big raw emotions with stuff like that!

Death Comes for Us All

Aziraphale X Reader X Crowley

3rd person point of view

A/N- I do love writing angst! I can also tell this request is absolutely going to break me, but it's a very good idea so we are going to have a love-hate relationship now lol.

Reader Pronouns-They/Them

Word Count- 1.6 k

Summary- Crowley cannot accept the reader's fate, the reader does not even know their fate, and Aziraphale is the one thing keeping them steady.

Aziraphale and Crowley met Y/n on the same day it was however very unfortunate timing for Y/n. Timing has never been Y/n's strong suit in general but this day turned out to be particularly bad. Y/n had received intel about the location of multiple Nazis. Y/N had snuck in an hour prior to the trade deal time the informant had told them and hid behind a pew.

Y/n listened to the deal intently and took notes in shock that this whole deal was about books with prophecies you don't even know are true. It was a huge waste of money in their opinion but once the man in the pale coat handed over his books they pulled a gun on them. Y/n prepared to intervene when another British intelligent spy entered the scene which was even more confusing to them because they thought they were the only one assigned to the case it was strictly on a need-to-know basis.

She thanks the man for the introduction and the man says how she recruited him which can't possibly be true the agency just heard the intel three days ago!

He says the building is surrounded by British agents but we definitely do not have the force for that right most staying back and evacuating towns to prevent fewer bombing deaths.

He quotes an American saying, "Played for suckers." Y/n instantly facepalms. This gentleman has most certainly been conned. He starts shouting for people to start taking the group down and they'll start laughing and the man gasps in shock. Y/n rolls their eyes and starts to come out of their hiding spot to protect this sorry fool and hopefully get him out of here without any harm.

Y/n pauses with a look of utter confusion on their face as another man enters the scene hopping from foot to foot. The two men start to bicker like an old married couple.

"What a pity you both must die," one of the Nazi spies wickedly smirks.

Y/n scoffs at this why did these two civilians have to come to ruin my entire mission. Reluctantly Y/n stands up from behind the pew gun pointed, "You will not be killing any civilians today!"

Crowley smirks joyously and gushes, "They think we are regular civilians how quaint."

Y/n makes their way to the front of the church, "This ends now!" They turn back to the two men, "Get out of here I will hold them off."

The gullible man in the pale trenchcoat shakes his head, "Absolutely not!"

One of the Nazi men smile widely, "Agent L/n we had no idea we would get the pleasure of killing you as well tonight. I certainly would have made your death grander as a message to the other agents. Oh well too late now." He shrugs and points his gun at Y/n's face.

The strange babbling-jumping man seems excited to jump back into the conversation, "Speaking of a grand death!" He gestures his arms out widely, "In a few moments a bomb will be landing directly on this church but if you run very fast you may not die."

The man starts rambling about the unpleasantries of death and the opposing force looks at him with doubting glares. They argue about the bombs' location but Y/n just wants to get the civilians out and is getting progressively more annoyed.

Y/n points her gun at the ceiling and shoots a warning shot into the sky. Pieces of the ceiling and dust fall to the floor and all eyes are on them.

"Everyone out if you want to live! I will escort the peculiar civilians and you will leave us be or I'll shoot you before the bombs get to you first!"

The strange jumping man smiles, "Ooo they're feisty! I like them."

Y/n rolls their eyes and walks backwards keeping their eyes on the Nazis directing the odd pair out.

"My books," the man in the trench coat shouted.

"Quite an odd thing to be worried about when we are on the verge of being killed." Y/n sourly responds.

The jumping man seemed to look directly back at the other man, "Yes it would take a divine miracle to save us and the agent." The two seemed to be having a conversation with their eyes even though one was wearing sunglasses even though it was the middle of the night.

The agent assures them that they are protected and that they will get them out.

The jumping man looks up at the sky, "It's a little too late for that sweetheart."

With that last sentence a bomb falls upon to the church and Y/N tries to cover the civilians with their own body, knocking them to the ground just making the jumping man laugh. The church crumbles around them but Y/n finds themselves completely unharmed.

They jump to their feet in utter shock and stutter out, "H-how did you do that!"

"I think you are in shock darling. I am Aziraphale and this is Crowley. Are you all right?" The gullible one says expecting Y/n's face.

"I am fine! Especially for someone who should be dead! That bomb should have killed us all!" Y/n shouts pacing back and forth.

Aziraphale ignores the question, "I am quite glad that you are all right. It is such a shame about my books though."

Y/n starts laughing uncontrollably, "We just survived a bomb and you are worried about books!"

"I think you broke them, angel," he says sauntering over to a pile of rubble. He pulls the bag of books out of the hand of one of the dead men under the rubble, "A little demonic miracle of my own."

Aziraphale smiles brightly, "How nice!"

"Shut up!" Crowley groans. "No paperwork," he rationalizes and starts to walk away Aziraphale not far behind.

"Wait! You must tell me what just happened!" Y/n chases the two beings and never leaves their side after that night.

Sixty Years Later

Y/N, Crowley, and Aziraphale have been inseparable since they first met. They have had many dangerous adventures together and quiet nights reading and drinking hot cocoa. Crowley was befuddled at Y/N's stubbornness to protect them when they were the ones who were immortal. Aziraphale loved Y/n's stubbornness they were the only one who seemed to be able to beat Crowley in a game of wills. Y/n's stubbornness never seemed to fade with age, unfortunately.

Aziraphale pulled the curtains open, "Morning sunshine!"

Y/n tossed and turned but they did not wake up they kept mumbling. They seemed to be having a nightmare their forehead glistened with sweat. Aziraphale walked up to them and brushed Y/n's hair away from their face.

"I don't want to leave you," mumbled Y/n.

"It's alright, I'm here," Aziraphale whispered.

"I'm not ready," Y/n groaned.

"You don't have to get up darling, but I do think it is best you have something to eat or at least some tea." Aziraphale tries to bargain with Y/n.

Crowley enters and slowly takes his sunglasses off, "That's not what they mean angel." He puts his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder filled with sorrow.

"What are talking about Crowley? They will be fine once they wake, mornings are just the worst time for them." He rationalizes trying to avoid the obvious that Y/n is near death.

Crowley has been warning Aziraphale that he knew it was coming soon. As Y/n fell deeper and deeper into the memories of their long past together. Crowley longed to be stuck in those happy memories with Y/n and Aziraphale together. Sadly, he was stuck on the outside watching Y/n relieve everything the good and bad while Aziraphale lived in denial.

"Angel, please just look at me," He begged.

"I know what you're going to say Crowley and no it is not their time yet it never will be." He said venomously.

"I am upset as you are! You knew this was bound to happen we were destined to outlive all of humanity," Crowley says back trying to fight back the anger rising in him but failing miserably.

"Aren't we supposed to be not on Heaven's side or Hell's, but our side!" Aziraphale passionately states with his hand to his chest.

"Believe me, angel, if I could do something I would," Crowley looks back at him sorrowfully.

Crowley's heart aches at the look Aziraphale shoots him one full of disappointment and fear.

"I suppose you are right.. nothing ever lasts," Aziraphale responds almost emotionless like he had a mysterious switch in his head and it was flipped in an instant.

"Angel, don't say that," Crowley says back in disappointment but Aziraphale does not respond and leaves lightly shutting the door behind him.

Crowley sighs and sits on the bed next to Y/n. He gently cradles their face, "I will be with you Y/n no matter where you go and you will always be in my heart wherever ago. Rest assured darling we will meet again." He says these last words like a spell that he knows will come to fruition and seals it with a kiss on their forehead.

Even though Y/n has been unaware of most of what is going around them for almost a year now they seemed to smile at this statement and their eyes filled with tears that Crowley wiped away. Y/n knew they were safe and they shut their eyes for the last time.

#crowly x aziraphale #good omens x reader #good omens fandom #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #good omens crowley #good omens imagine #good omens drabble #aziraphale imagine #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader

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saiikavon · 2 years

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I may rewatch Steven Universe again. I’m thinking about it again and just how...important that show was.

I think about Pink Diamond/Rose Quartz a lot, and for a lot of reasons, but I am most often struck by the tragedy she wound up being. Not because she “died,” but because it wasn’t until she sacrificed her form to become part of Steven that she managed to free herself.

Here’s one of my favorite quotes from her: “ When a Gem is made, it's for a reason. They burst out of the ground already knowing what they're supposed to be, and then... that's what they are. Forever. But you, you're supposed to change. You're never the same even moment to moment -- you're allowed and expected to invent who you are. What an incredible power -- the ability to "grow up."

I need you to understand why I love this quote. Read it. Take it in. Understand that at its heart, it is completely false.

Yes, a Gem is made for a reason, and this is true as far as what was expected of Gems on Homeworld and the colonies. This is the rhetoric Pink has grown up hearing her entire life. But if it were an absolute truth, then the Pink Diamond that our Pearl knew would never have existed. If it were true, we wouldn’t have Garnet. If it were true, we wouldn’t have Amethyst. If it were true, Rose Quartz would not exist.

Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl all change their appearances each time they reform. Think about that. That’s them reinventing who they are. That’s them growing up. Changing.

Pink Diamond spent so long being forced into a shape she couldn’t stand, she couldn’t see herself changing. She couldn’t appreciate the changes happening around her, to the friends she made and protected.

So she released her form in the hopes that the new life she created would be able to change and grow the way she thought she, as a Gem, couldn’t.

In a lot of ways, Steven inherited Pink Diamond’s self-doubt and identity issues, and from the time he was beginning to come into his gem powers, he did not grow very much. It’s noted in “Steven’s Birthday” that he has not physically changed in a few years. As long as Steven holds onto the legacy of Rose Quartz and the conflicts her passing heaped upon him, he doesn’t actually grow or change very much at all.

But in Steven Universe Future, Steven has physically matured. What happened?

He embraced his gem.

Steven finally fulfilled what Rose wanted for him. He did the thing that she never found it in herself to do. He let go of who he was “supposed to be.” He stopped thinking that having that Gem meant he didn’t have a choice in who he was. Because the Gem had changed. And it had changed with him.

Do you understand how much this fucks me up on a regular basis??

#steven universe #pink diamond #rose quartz #su meta

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in-flvx · 6 months

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I still find it interesting how so much of the perception of Sirius as a character is swayed by his haughty expression.

Most metas (this is not a dog against those btw, I love Sirius metas, just want to add my own) etc I've seen go with this, his ultra love for james, and his derision towards Peter as the most prominent shows of his character, and infer meaning into every other relationship he has from that point out.

And I think these are outliers.

He looks haughty? Some people are born with resting bitch face, what of it?

And I'll discard any mention of James and Harry right now, bc these are outliers of the greatest magnitude, and looking at every relationship Sirius as extensions of his love for james imo just cheapens his bond to him.

His derision towards Peter is very reasonable, and also the most obvious outlier, and I don't think I need to explain it further. Instead I'll add snape and mundungus fletcher into the mix here, and go on to talk about the often-talked-about usage of certain descriptors within the black family towards people they don't like. As others have pointed out before me, the preferred way to insult people within this family is to insinuate uncleanliness. Walburgas portrait, kreacher and I think also Phineas nigellus use these kinds of insults on a pretty regular basis - many of which go against Sirius as well. And Sirius has adopted these insults, and uses them when he really wants to cut deep. He has many people to be angry with, is surrounded by a whole lot of poor people (for example the entire weasley clan, Remus, and mundungus fletcher), and we even see him in battle.

But he notably uses these cleanliness based insults on two specific people: Peter, and snape. What do these two men have in common? For one, obviously, they all went to hogwarts at the same time. For another, Sirius has, or had had obvious respect for both. Peter as one of his closest friends, as a person he confided in and cared for, and who he then expected to care for him in return (and we know how that turned out). And snape as a rival. As much as Sirius likes to insult snape to his face, he also never misses an opportunity to praise his intellect. Similarly to the way he praises and goads bella in his last duel.

Meanwhile, again, he purposefully surrounds himself with people, who the malfoys regularly call dirty ( the weasleys, hagrid, Remus, hermione), and is also on notably good terms with mundungus fletcher, who everyone from the order likes to call these things too. All of which Harry has described in several shades of dirt as well, tbh. And I'm saying this not in a 'oh wow, the rich boy lowers himself to the commoners' kind of way, bc to me he never gives anything close to this impression. The weasleys come closer to this kind of mindset toward any kind of marginalized person lbr.

What we do see, though, is sirius being incredibly forthcoming and caring towards literally everyone.

He has discussions with hermione about elf rights and their projections of the coming year. He obviously cares about Ron's well-being, long after he mauled him. He jokes around with the twins, and helps them with their inventions. He forgives Remus for thinking Sirius was the spy. He makes a considerable effort to be friendly with Molly after their fight. He adheres to dumbledores bs orders. (I think he told ginny about the repellant charm on the doors but don't quote me on that.) He had the most emotionally honest relationship with lily we see in the text. He cared so much about Peter that lily notified him of his emotional state as something Sirius should see to. He organizes the best Christmas he can manage to keep everyone's mind off of their worry for Arthur. He came close enough to kingsley for inside jokes to develop - jokes urgent enough to be passed to him as quickly as possible.

In my eyes Sirius Black is singular in the way he develops relationships, and in the way he cares for everyone he surrounds himself with.

Even with those he hates.

#sirius black

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eisforeidolon · 7 days

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I am sorry but I just need to vent about misha being an absolute creep. I am so goddamn tired of him constantly trying to insert himself into jensen and danneel's relationship saying danneel is his girlfriend or in the recent purgatory 8 con, his wife. It's so disrespectful towards their marriage, kids and family. I understand it may be a joke but there's a limit and misha always seems to cross that. It's like he's in love with the idea of having a threesome with the ackles. He always has something or the else to say about danneel sexually which is honestly creepy to me. And I've noticed how that makes jensen so uncomfortable, like dude that's his wife back off. He has done this soo many times over the years. Ughhh I strongly dislike him, idk how the others stand him after he makes such crass jokes. And the fans who ship the 3 together are soo toxic and delulu like which sane couple would want to include such a problematic person like misha into their relationship and make it an unhealthy environment for their children to grow up in. I'm sorry for the vent, I'm just very disgusted by him😶

No apologies necessary, because I agree, it's just so fucking weird.

We know the the Ackles primarily (if not exclusively) only hang out together with Misha around work-related events. On the one side, while Danneel has made some vague noises about being a fan of Misha/Castiel, and Jensen does talk about him as a friend? Most of Jensen's comments about him are dunking on him for being awkward, for saying shit he can't back up, and just generally ribbing him for the weird shit he gets himself into and what a strange guy he is. Then on the other side you have Misha frequently making these very sexual and/or suggestive quote unquote jokes about both of them. Like, I'd still think it was odd if they were all publicly sharing that kind of sexualized banter back and forth on a regular basis, but they aren't. It's always Misha starting it and often Misha doing it alone, metaphorically behind their backs. Which is a huge part of what makes it so creepy, because it makes him come off more like some weird invasive fan failing at boundaries who they have to publicly be nice to because ~*SPN fambily*~ rather than it being an understandable friendship that genuinely exists between them.

Which is bad enough, but you can't separate his behavior from the context of the fandom he's pointedly doing it for. The loud majority of people still buying his crap (ops/autos/merch) and potentially following any future projects he might have? Are hellers/cockles shippers. Who only really care about him in terms of fantasizing about him and Jensen together (and pointedly include Danneel to contrast themselves against the wife haters in the extreme J2 tinhatter camp). Which takes the whole thing from just awkward creepy into a very calculated, opportunistic user kind of creepy.

I'm not sure there's anyone or anything Misha wouldn't "joke" about being intimate with if he thought he could make a buck off it. He's shown over and over he has no integrity and blatantly lacks respect for other people if throwing them under the bus (or talking about them as a sex object) will play well with his audience.

#anti Misha

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tealviscaria · 6 months

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Okay, so I will make my own post as not to derail the poor op's one :D

Some things about RRRrrrr!!! It is definitely famous in the Czech Republic (or at least I think it's veeery likely a Czech person will know it).

Here is a link to one Czech tumblr post with the "ça va être tout noir! - ta gueule" joke, written in Czech.

And below you can watch the scene :D

youtube

@pigeonneaux yeah, the Pierre joke doesn't work that well :/ It's translated as "Kámen", which means stone, but we don't use this word as a name (but I mean... I still think it fits into that sort of absurd comedy :D) Again, you can have a look at that scene:

youtube

What I really love is that one scene in which the healer is wishing them good luck with the hunt in his made up language. I'm not exactly sure what they are going for in French, but in Czech when he says that he still has some accent left, he's speaking (kind of :D) in Slovak :D

youtube

Anyway, I really love the movie and I quote the "začíná noc" and "Já jsem Kámen, Kámen, B-L-O-N-D" on a regular basis :D

#RRRrrrr!!!#czech #french #upthebaguette #a proč ne klidně tagnu i #čumblr #Youtube

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roboticchibitan · 5 months

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Finished this finally. I had planned in it being a quick project but then I had a vertigo spell for five days straight and was unable to work on it. It's done now! It's a quote from an 8th century Indian Buddhist sage named Shantideva. I think about this quote on a regular basis. It means, in less obtuse terms, "if you can do something about it, what's the point of sitting there stressing? Do the thing! If there's nothing you can do about it, what's the point of sitting there stressing? It's a waste of energy." Now when I'm entering anxiety spirals, I can catch myself and think about this quote and go "Shantideva you are so right, thanks pal" and cut off that thought pattern before it turns into a spiral. Which is not something I could've done even three years ago. Recovery! Progress! Yay! I'm going to hang it above my altar.

#v's fiber arts tag #embroidery #buddhism tag

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