#Love Scrappy and Bucket
Note
This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
Thank you 🥲❤
You're amazing too!! I love Scrappy and her bucket so much!
#Love Scrappy and Bucket#Very beautiful#(/gen)#Words can not express how much i love seeing this#You are so amazing#Take care of yourself too
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Yes please, I would love to hear about your descendants!
"Wonderful! Now, mind you, I only have two descendants of my own.
Juleus and Augest. Or as some may know them, Jules and Dr. Auggie. Auggie is the eldest. I've spoken with him several times. He looks more like Necrol than he does me but he wouldn't know- he was hatched blind! He's an astronomer, studies stars and they way he believes they communicate, studies radiowaves and all sorts of fancy science I'm not privy to. Not Fleet sponsored, mind you, he's one of two who has managed to avoid the Fleet. Smart bastard. Considers himself unremarkable because of a lack of a title, but if anything his dedication to keep going despite honor says more than any title can. He's got no descendants of his own.
Juleus, however...he doesn't look a thing like me. Not sure where he sprouted from. He left the hive early to be a pirate, followed by his moirail Brutus. From what I hear, Juleus was quite the first mate! That's where he earned his title, after all. Where Augest has avoided buckets, Juleus...well, there's a handful of crude jokes I'll refrain from making. Juleus was sort of...grandfathered into the Fleet. The story goes that Brutus got their ship captured, and Juleus negotiated trading his freedom for theirs. Using his status as a Monark freed his captain, but ultimately left himself trapped. As such, he developed an obsession with creating the perfect descendant. The perfect Monark to take over his spot. Most did not survive, but I'm more than happy to dig into those who have.
The eldest is Archai. Juleus got close with Chai, but she was hatched with a weak immune system. I believe the way Juleus went about creating his descendants was by mixing castes with himself. He tried fuchsia and fuchsia here. Good in theory, but ultimately produced a sickly grub. Though she tried, she simply couldn't stay healthy. I've had lots of conversations with Chai. She's very sweet, very patient. You'd never guess how far she got. She spends her time studying art history now! A wonderful change of pace for her. On Alternia, she has access to the medications she needs to stay healthy, and hasn't had a flare-up in some time.
Next would be Jawska. Or JK, as he prefers. Juleus tried rust and fuchsia with this one. Jawska is the second Monark who managed to avoid Fleet service, but he isn' without hardships of his own. From what he said, MegaDad kicked him out at a very young age to prevent Juleus from finding him. JK is a scrappy, intelligent, but surprisingly meek fellow. You can really see the lowblood in him when he gets cornered. Quick thinker, very hardy. Juleus would've had a successful heir, even with JK's bad back. If you ask me, it's a good thing he never found him. JK was a tattoo artist, shifted gears to being a seamster, and has started to shift back into art once again. He only came to my attention after a random attack seemingly killed him. My good friend Sinopa took care of it, and now Jawska is right as rain again. He's shown me pictures of his moirails, they make a cute trio.
That leads me to the twins. Now, you may be unaware, but Juleus is incapable of harming children. Maybe it's some old pirate code he follows, but he refuses to harm a child, no matter the cost. He didn't want twins, so he picked the strongest of the two, and told a business partner to get rid of the other. Rather than doing that, Boznik decided to keep Bruuno, and raise her himself. Whether he did a good job or not is besides the point. Bruuno is better known as Bruuno Sinopa, international rockstar and lead of his little band Whysteria. A different last name can't hide just how much of a Monark he is- spitting image of myself, if you ask me. Juleus had the most success with these two, combining fuchsia and purple. As such, Bruuno retained the powers I myself has, though they're more like chucklevoodoos. I'm not even sure she's aware of it!
Then Leonra, is his twin. Where Bruuno got chucklevoodoos, Leonra has the strength of a purple and a fuchsia put together. Leonra was the most successful of Juleus' attempts. But telling Leonra what to do is like telling telling a fire not to burn. Juleus lost any possible chance of Leonra taking his spot the second that kid realized how strong he was. Now, I'm no pushover. I may look like a rusty old man, and sometimes I sure feel like one, but you don't obtain the title Annihilation for nothing. I've been in plenty of fights, I've mediated plenty more. And not even I would want to be on the wrong side of Leonra's anger. I was discussing this with a peer the other day- Leonra has the training of the most elite soldiers the Fleet has ever produced, the logical thinking and problem solving capability to rival a damn computer, and lacks the empathy and bloodlust that is often a General's downfall. And yet, all he wishes to do is build his own things, do his own thing. Truly admirable.
The youngest two Monarks are Shiloh and Rumble. Shiloh is Bruuno's descendant, and Rumble is another of Juleus'. However, last I heard, Rumble is safe and away from the Fleet. And Shiloh is happily cared for by Bruuno. I've yet to meet Rumble! I believe she's the result of Juleus and his current matesprit. I have met Shiloh though. She's a very sweet girl."
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
HI SCRAPPY HELLO YOU ARE SO ADORABLE AND I LOVE YOU ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Thank you Cal! ❤️
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I Don't Love You, But I Always Will - Chapter 1
Summary:
I watched The Exorcist with a friend and spent the entire time staring at Father Karras, so of course we crafted an elaborate story surrounding his and reader's life together. Falling in love with a Jesuit priest and watching his faith fall apart in front of you is not problematic at all actually, and your life in this story will proceed in abject simplicity. (Lies, slander) Enjoy!
Chapter 1 (You are here) - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6
Find also on my Ao3
Divider by @racingairplanes
Word Count: 4.5k
After marrying a man you believed would give you the life you wanted, you think love will be enough. You leave everything you know and love behind, believing this.
A/N: This story takes place throughout the late 1960s and early 1970s.
Chapter 1: Leaving for Georgia
Summer in DC was always beautiful, you thought. Something about the blue skies and the shaking of the leaves always brought out something warm and exciting in you - the wind is what you really loved. How it seemed to finger through your hair and make you blush, how it reminded you of the tingling, scrappy feeling of returning home after a long day of roaming the streets as a kid.
It reminded you why you loved the city.
Chris was always up-front about wanting to move back to Georgia after the wedding, and you had agreed easily; his aging grandparents were there after all, and a tenure-track position as a professor of philosophy at the University of Georgia was nothing to sneeze at, either.
You’d spent your mornings on the phone with realtors in Athens for the last three months, leafing through the mail every day to find new flyers and catalogs. Evenings were for wedding planning and house hunting.
It had been so much organizing, though your contentment with a small wedding was an anchor, his southern family was too large to be modest. The money, through it all, had been distressing. Your new husband may have been wealthy enough to cover the cost easily, but you still weren’t used to the feeling. You were raised on frugality after all - this kind of spending was terrifying. You winced just thinking about the blank check Chris had handed you one morning. Like it was no big deal. You called him for every little step of the process, confirming every piece of the reception with sweat rolling off your brow.
You readjusted your purse on your shoulder. The noise of the busy street was comforting, but it didn’t slow the race of your heart. It felt like everything was moving so fast.
You took the long way for a reason. Your steps became a little slower, and you stopped to set yourself haltingly on a bench in front of your favorite corner store and tried not to think about never seeing its bleached yellow awning again. Smiling sadly, you took out the folded flier again.
—
You’d had your little list of hopes for a home. Space for a garden, large window sills for sitting and reading, steps to sit on and shuck corn or peel apples. You knew you wanted it to be small - cleaning a mansion every day was not on your bucket list. You knew you wanted stained glass in your door - something to stream colors into the hall and remind you of the tall churches of home, and most of all you knew you wanted a room for your painting. Anything would do, just something for you to cover with scrapbooks and canvases.
With these in mind, you hungrily poured over the pictures his family and your realtor sent along every night and made notes, checking for price and commute time to his office and your school. You circled and cut and pasted, until you had a fitting list to show him in the morning. You’d trudge to bed, hands sticky with paste and head light with images of your future home together.
Of course, he had his own list. The house needed to be no less than 15 minutes from his parent’s home, with a spacious yard for him to keep pristine, and a large office with space for his books and papers. There had to be a large dining room, (for university guests of course) a broad back porch for beers and chess in the evenings, and two bathrooms (he was absolutely anal about sharing).
Every morning, you’d sit next to him during coffee and talk quietly about your findings. You’d slide him the carefully crafted scrapbook with all of your notes and clippings tastefully collected on a page, with each option’s best qualities highlighted. He’d give a tired smile:
“What have you got for me today, honey?”
You’d begin your pitch with a deep breath. “Meet 887 Cherry Drive: 2 bedroom, 2 bath, - she’s got a HUGE back yard, big windows, glorious mahogany floors, only 20 minutes out from your office, 30 from your folks, and has delightful red shutters. And on your left, 2003 Elliot: 3 bedroom, 2 bath, with a connected garage and white porch. This one’s on a corner, so the yard is more like a side yard, but it’s got a peach tree and-”
“Oh not that neighborhood, and couldn’t you get my drive down a little more? You’re a magician with it all, babe, I know you can figure it out,” he interjected, checking his watch. “Ready?”
You closed the book. “I’ll do my best,” you sighed. “Remember we have to buy this house by August,” You said.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s just the book is taking all my time, and I only have so much time - and I’m marrying an artist for a reason! Gotta get some bang for my buck,” he smiled.
You sighed a smile. Your drive to his office helped, though, as he explained the wondrous world of footnotes. He always got this charming determined furrow to his brows when he got frustrated.
—
He picked a 4 bedroom, 3 bathroom southern colonial a block away from his parents, deep in the Athens suburbs. It was stark white, with a rolling front yard and a stand alone garage - for your painting.
It wasn’t exactly what you pictured, but it had plenty of space, and two big hickory trees in front, with one in the back - the thought of the cool shade and quiet nights had you looking forward to it.
You tucked the folded flier back into your purse, and stood up with determination. Your skirt buffeted in the wind, like it was pushing you back. You walked on. He’ll be happy for me, we’ll have a friendly goodbye and we’ll go our separate ways.
You smiled into the wind as you turned onto the familiar brick path of St. Mike’s. Don’t cry.
—
He set the glass tumbler down with a dull clink and sat down in a huff. Class on Monday - I should really get them thinking about evidence-based decision making by the end of the month.
Damien enjoyed teaching, it added something to his life that he missed when he only spoke to the others at the seminary. All of their conversations came back to faith. Medicine he could give answers for, but faith was something different. He leaned on his fist as he watched the ice in his glass melt into muddy amber.
Faith was difficult. In the last few months, he could feel his assurance slip. He still believed wholeheartedly in his beliefs of course, but the world seemed to gray around him without… something. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his thoughts had been clouded, days monotonous, and prayers rambling. It was like he was losing his touch.
It worried him. At least the students ask interesting questions.
He watched the leaves roll soundlessly outside the window and took a sip of his warming drink. It didn’t taste like anything.
He wondered if this was God’s latest test to his faith. A cruel one, at that. He usually trusted the path of his life - it was strange to question it. Maybe devotion is lonely. He’d lost some cosmic meaning; and when a priest loses his meaning, it often means he’s close to reaching that quiet, perfect devotion that carries him through the rest of his life. Maybe this is the feeling that makes so many men of the church so, so dull.
Then he thought of her.
Her easy conversation, the sun in her eyes, the warmth of her arm through his, her ever-changing laugh - yes, he thought. It has been a while, hasn’t it? He felt suddenly embarrassed, alone with his thoughts. He missed his friend - of course.
His thoughts suddenly fell to her wedding. He hadn’t realized he’d been blocking it out - he chalked it up to a busy schedule, the small voice in his head that went to medical school scolding him.
Only a few weeks ago, he had watched her walk down the aisle, glowing in a white dress.
—
He’d sat in the back corner, as far from the ceremony as he possibly could, strangely content to have as fuzzy a view of Chris, amicably chatting with Father Dyer, as possible. The ceremony was huge. It seemed like nearly 500 people crowded into the sanctuary, sweating politely through their Sunday best. Days like these, he despised his high white collar.
He felt a little bad for his mother, seating them so far from the stage as possible, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to be avoiding looking at the groom as well.
He’d been to so, so many weddings over the years, always officiating, never attending simply as a guest. It was certainly a different occasion - somehow being in front of everyone with such a central role felt less visible than this did. He couldn’t complain, however, it was her wedding. He knew he had to be there - and his mother had absolutely insisted when she heard.
Her small family sat front row, the rest he could recognize as her guests were city natives. Her doctor, a few store owners, Carol (the only woman in the whole of the city she’d let cut her hair), some graying professors from your university days, and what looked like 20 kids and their parents - her Sunday school art students. The rest of the church he didn’t recognize, and the overture of southern accents in the chatter seemed unfamiliar.
The din quieted suddenly as the overbearing weight of the wedding march rang out through the sanctuary - you always liked how the organ shook the room.
People craned their necks to watch the groomsmen and bridesmaids walk slowly to the front. He involuntarily pressed a hand to his chest as his heart beat accelerated unexpectedly. His face grew hot and he tried to breathe deeply and quietly - was it audible above the organ?
He watched as Sharon stepped slowly through the doorway in front of him, she seemed relaxed. Seeing her suddenly brought him back to the moment, and he remembered there was no reason for him to be panicking. He set his arm along the back of the pew and parted a small smile as a young girl nervously sprinkled clumps of white petals across the red carpet. With a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, and silently thanked God he’d found a seat far from where she’d be able to see him.
Until she was suddenly before him, her eyes clear through the white mesh of your veil. She’d spotted him immediately - he was painfully aware of how wide his eyes were. She smiled.
Despite his hammering heartbeat and the blood rushing in his ears, he smiled back, and something relaxed. Everything felt right then, and it was as if you’d shared a long, satisfying conversation or told a quiet inside joke - and then she turned towards the front with a step.
He wasn’t sure if it had been milliseconds or minutes, but the moment passed. He turned to his mother, who watched her with a sad smile, tears in her eyes. She held his hand in hers, cool and frail, and said quietly in Greek, “Εκεί πηγαίνει, φαίνεται τόσο όμορφη (There she goes, she looks so beautiful.)”
He forced a fast smile and looked forward. “Ναι, το κάνει (Yes, she does.)”
The rest of the ceremony passed quickly and foggily, as if it was a dream.
He didn’t see her again until the reception, when people had thronged around her so tightly he wondered if she could breathe. Flashes of white would appear in the crowd, and he subsisted on the occasional glance of her face among it all, beaming. She looks tired, he thought. Thrilled, but… tired.
Her hair had rebelled from its perfect styling, and single soft hairs stuck out at various angles, framing her face in messy curls. Wouldn’t be so bad if you’d stop running your hand through it, he smiled. You always do that when you’re high-strung.
He allowed himself to appreciate her dress in glances - the layers of off-white organza complimented her frazzled elation well, artsy, as always, and the cut complimented the curve of her waist-
He shook his head with a start. Well, it does.
He buried himself in conversation with Father Dyer, grateful for the familiar face in the crowd. He needed the distraction - from whatever that deep, vague sense of dread he was feeling was, and from her and her tired eyes and bright smile – champagne and Father Dyer’s easy going company would suffice. He leaned against a wall near the back of the room by the door, standing next to his mother, who watched the sea of people through sleepy eyes.
“Oh, looks like she’s about to toss the bouquet,” Father Dyer said, turning to a particularly loud group surrounding you. He put a hand on his mother’s shoulder, crouching down to alert her of the spectacle. They watched as the bundle of flowers sailed over the sea of heads, hands snatching at petals as it fell. It landed in Sharon’s outstretched arms, and an excited chorus rose from the crowd as it dissipated quickly.
Seems fitting, he thought. The white of her dress was suddenly navigating through the crowd, passing hands on shoulders and smiling “excuse me, sorry, pardon me” fell from her lips. She looked up and pushed a wave of hair from her face as those familiar e/c eyes found his. She smiled, carefully picking her way through the maze of shoes.
He collected his thoughts quickly and straightened. She sighed a laugh and looked into his eyes as you came upon their small circle.
“Hey, I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” she said with an apologetic look.
“You look tired,” he said. She smiled, shrugging slightly, then turned away from him and leaned down to his mother’s outstretched arms, her dress collapsing around her in pillowy swells.
“Mama Karras!” She held her face in her hands, beaming up at her.
“Αγαπητέ μου, είστε όλοι ντυμένοι! Πάντα ήξερα ότι θα έκανες έναν όμορφο γάμο,” she said.
She glanced down to her hands, where she held three white roses, preserved from the bouquet. His mother’s face lit up.
“Δεν πρέπει να έχετε!” She gasped and gingerly clutched the roses to her heart, bringing her in with her other hand as she kissed her face. He smiled at them together - they were always so happy together. When his mother wasn’t asking you to eat more, or talking about him in broken English.
“Couldn’t let you go home empty handed, Mama Karras,” she kissed her cheek and stood, holding her thin hand in her own. She leaned against the wall next to him, letting her head fall on his shoulder and hanging an arm from his coat sleeve.
“Can I tell you a secret,” She asked. He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow and a nod. He was grateful to finally have a moment to hear her, feel her touch again. Her face finally relaxed.
“I’m exhausted,” she said with a small smile, meeting his eyes and glancing over to Father Dyer.
“Lighten up, the wedding is meant to be for the bride after all.” He handed her a drink.
“Thanks.” She took a sip and sighed against him. He wished the whole party would evaporate then - just decide it was time to go home, leave you alone, let you sit down. He wondered if you’d sat down since before the ceremony.
The shadows across the room had long since grown long, and the light had changed from a bright yellow to a deep orange. The music simmered above the din, the low, sonorous tones of Doris Day relaxing the mood.
She tugged on his sleeve and glanced up at him.
“A dance, ‘father?’” She nodded towards the opening in the crowd, where guests had paired up, drifting in lazy circles. He looked to his mother, separating from you to lay a hand on her shoulder.
“How are you feeling, mama? Could we leave you for a moment?” She looked suddenly awake, lighting up as she stood quickly, straining against her cane.
“Μη χάνεις στιγμή να μου μιλάς, συνέχισε!” (Don't waste a minute talking to me, go on!) She pushed his hand away, walking haltingly to father Dyer and taking his arm. He went along easily, shooting him a knowing smile and turning to his mother happily.
He held out his arm.
“Thought you’d never ask,” he said. She smirked, taking his arm as they stepped slowly to the dance floor.
His face felt warm again, and his heart sped as they drew closer. She deflected relatives’ prying glances politely, leading them slowly. He wondered then if this was too much, if it wouldn’t bring Chris out swinging. Somehow he knew he wasn’t one to do that, but was slightly alarmed at how easily the thought of defending her from her new husband had slipped into his mind.
All at once, they had arrived. He left his thoughts as her arm suddenly left his, hand resting in his as she brought her other hand up to his shoulder, her arm resting bent against his. He brought an unsteady hand to her waist, squeezing her hand in his other. She looked up to his eyes as they began to step and spin slowly, talking quietly.
“So how do I look?”
“Beautiful, of course.” He gave a frank smile.
“Better than tired, I count it as a win,” she replied. She laid her head against his shoulder and yawned with a laugh. “Damn.”
“Cursing at a priest at your own wedding! Wait and see where that gets you,” He yawned. “Stop that.” He resisted the urge to rest his chin on her hair.
She closed her eyes.
“I like where it’s gotten me so far.” They stayed like that for a while, mumbling under the music and barely moving at all. She scrunched up her face and shook her head slightly, lifting her head away from him.
“Sorry dames, I’ve got to wake up,” She blinked repeatedly and rubbed her eyes. “Still have the rest of my wedding to be at, probably should be awake for it.” He fixed a strand of h/c hair behind her ear and took her hand. He led her arm over her head, turning her in a lazy spin.
“Wake up then,” He said. The song ended then, and the room faded back into view. They let go of each other’s hands, suddenly aware again, and clapped with the rest of the guests. She smiled at him among it all, and something struck him in her look. You’re happy.
He went to take your hand again when Chris rushed up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your hair as you laughed. All attention was on her again, and her eyes were on Chris. Not him.
He stepped into the crowd quietly, navigating back to his mother and Father Dyer.
They left before he could see you searching the crowd for him.
—
Your knock rang out loudly in the quiet hallway of the conservatory. Your heart rushed and your skin prickled at the silence. You always appreciated that about the church, that utter quiet, and better yet, breaking it with some angelic choir or powerful organ. Breaking this silence felt different though: nervous. You could hear shuffling from within.
The door unlatched and swung open in a rush, and Damien was all at once in front of you. He looked disheveled, but fully dressed - like he’d fallen asleep standing up.
“Hey Dames,” you said with a small smile. “Did I wake you up?” You stepped towards him, straightening his rumpled collar.
“No, no, just… lost in thought -thanks for that,” He looked distant for a moment as he pushed his hair back. “Come in,” he said with a tired smile.
You stepped into the familiar room, sparse as ever. The low bed was neatly made, a solitary cross hanging above the headboard. Sunlight streamed in through the open window, the noise of the street drifting in over the silence. The only clutter of the room was an abundance of books; a half of the small room had books piled on every surface, wedged in every crook and cranny. The table was similarly populated, displaying a few open books and strewn papers. He gathered them self-consciously, adding the stack to an already-precarious pile on the floor.
You smiled at his collection and turned to his closet. You scanned the top shelf.
“Where’d you move your vase?” You asked. You offered your small bundle of black-eyed susans with a crinkle.
He dropped a stack of papers on his bed and looked over with a raised eyebrow and thought for a moment.
“Ah.” He swiveled and produced the blue pitcher, pitching the musty water into the gutter outside the window before stepping through the bathroom door at the back of the room.
You unwrap the flowers, setting the paper on the table and dropping the bunched stems into the awaiting pitcher easily. He set the pitcher on the table with a light thud.
“Thanks, they really bring it all together,” he said with a light smile.
You always enjoyed his room- some may have thought it claustrophobic, but you preferred cozy. Countless afternoons reading and talking over coffee and tea - he always kept a box for you - sitting with your back to his dresser and his back to the wall, you’d drape your legs over his and watch the light grow orange with the evening. Conversation came in patches, quips about a passage, some thought question or story about your day, and you’d slip between talking and reading, lazily flipping through hours on end. You hadn’t been over in some time - you missed those afternoons.
You were struck, suddenly, by the knowledge that this might be the last time you spoke here. You fiddled with your hands, spinning your wedding band around your ring finger. His brow furrowed with concern.
“What’s on your mind?” He sat, you followed.
“I’m uh, I’m here to tell you I’m leaving, Dames, for Georgia in a week,” You said, flashing him a smile you hoped wasn’t too forced before looking down again. “Chris’ parents are there, and we’ve bought a house in Athens. It’s close to the University, and to the school. We’re really excited- I’m really excited for the fresh start, you know? And-and I’ll get to teach part-time, art, and I’m so excited to meet the kids, and,” you looked up to find him stony-faced, brown eyes swimming with hurt. “And, so I’m leaving the city soon. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…”
You took his hand across the table and squeezed. He looked away. You sat in silence for what seemed like minutes, watching his eyes stare at the white wall. You didn’t pray often, but suddenly your mind rang with pleas. No, no, no, I’m sorry, I wish I’d told you sooner. You’re mad. You’ll never forgive me. I wish you’d look at me.
“Talk to me, Dames, please,” You said, swallowing hard. He inhaled and straightened. He turned to you and brought his other hand to yours.
“Is that what you want?” He said, face lined with pity. “Do you- want to leave the city?”
You were taken aback by his change in tone, now tone soft and coaxing. His therapy voice. His advice voice. His “savior” voice. Your stomach twisted with indignation.
“Yes,” you said in earnest, looking away. You couldn’t look at him when he gets like this, not now. “He’s my husband, Dames, what are you saying?” You drew your hand away.
“I’m not- You’re not hearing me - are you sure?” You stood.
“Yes, I’m sure! You’re acting like I’m some wayward woman you have to counsel - you’re my best friend, Dames, I thought you’d be happy for me-” He stood and looked you in the eye, his face serious.
“I’m not blind, y/n,” He raised his voice slightly, taut with frustration. “I have watched you give yourself up to him, piece by piece - first it was your apartment, then it was your job, and now it’s this- you’re leaving me, everything?”
“That’s what marriage is! That’s what love is!” You whipped around to look at him now as you raised your voice. “It’s devotion! Sacrifice! I chose this!” Why were you getting defensive? You weren’t thinking straight - you took a shaky breath and ran a hand through your hair. You hated this feeling.
“And don’t you dare act like you don’t know what that means. Like I haven’t watched you give yourself to the church - watched you sweat and cry and bleed for this? You think that hasn’t been hard for me? Watching you give everything away and leave nothing for yourself?” Nothing for me?
“Don’t make me say it, y/n.” He said, scarily still, brown eyes burning. “It isn’t the same - I’d never choose-”
“And I’d never make you! I’d never ask that!” You said. He stopped at that, looking like he had more to say but turning away. You were surprised as a hot tear dripped down your cheek. You held a hand to your mouth, swiping the tear away and turning. No, not in front of him. Not now.
Your head ached sharply as you held back tears. The pressure was overwhelming. You tried to take a breath, but it came shaky and louder than you wanted. Your face burned with embarrassment. He started to say your name behind you but you gathered yourself as much as you could and clutched your jacket together.
“Tell your mother I’ll miss her,” you managed. He was quiet. “Goodbye, Damien.”
You didn’t look back, opening the door to the quiet hall and walking as quickly as you could away. Away from him, away from his warm voice, his knowing looks, his broad hands, his rare smile, and everything else you loved about him. The sound of his door shutting at the end of the hall was all it took. Hot tears streamed silently down your face, your vision blurry and head pounding. The only sound was your shaking breaths and small, choking sobs.
You stepped onto the street with a wash of relief and set out the way you came, hurriedly smearing tears away as you walked.
You wondered for a moment if this would make leaving easier. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t.
#Damien Karras x reader#Damien Karras/You#friends to lovers#slow burn#my first fic#wedding#mutual pining#the exorcist#love this man#damien karras#what if instead of writing a fic like a normal person I wrote a novel#damien karras x reader
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💕👗🍿💿 for the scooby ask meme!! :D
THANK U!!!
💕 - favorite relationship in the Gang?
fred + velmas friendship means SO much to me u have no idea like numero uno blowout beach bash is my best friend for what it did for them but its just how the crux of their relationship is how theyre able to relate to each other most - like while that element of relatability between them is obscured or more implicit in some iterations (sdmi for example) i think its SUCH an important facet of their relationship. they are two sides of the same coin u know. they bounce off of each other SO well whether its them putting their heads together or lightheartedly teasing the other. the whats new era + be cool did so much for the velma + fred bestie truthers
👗- favorite outfit(s) worn by the Gang?
tbh im a certified Fan of their outfits in frighthouse of a lighthouse + loch ness monster like theyre not the MOST different outfits in the world but i think theyre silly….loch ness monster more specifically actually bc we get bucket hat velma there
i also love like. all of their snow outfits like u cant go wrong with those tbh!!! be cool in particular has great subtle variation throughout which i enjoy. also also like EVERY scrappy outfit ever i do not care seeing them put him in these absolutely MINUSCULE outfits makes me tear up…..hes so baby….
🍿 - favorite movie?
AUGHHH its SO hard picking b/w my top 2 so ill say both: cyber chase + the sword and the scoob!!!!! the former i think while couldve benefitted from a larger cast i still love so mucb like it reads like such a love letter to the franchise to me its hard to articulate why i love it so much!!! it just makes me feel warm n sometimes thats all u need. wrt the latter i really really love the character + relationship writing in it!!! it feels so deeply GENUINE to me that i can even brush over one of my least fave aspects of the modern character writing (extreme skeptic velma) bc i have so much fun with it. like man when im watching this movie im kicking my feet througjout purely bc of the characters n their relationships….i dont even care about the mystery hugely though i think the idea of them being in a performance is cool i think it coulda been executed better (and they shouldve been in wales not england smh smh) but tbh whatever. the sword and the scoob is my best friend <333
📀 - favorite tv show?
SO HARD AGAIN BUT gotta be equally whats new, thirteen ghosts + be cool
whats new IS partly bc its the one from my childhood (even if i wasnt actually a scooby fan back then + was actually scared of it lol…can u imagine) but it radiates comfort for me. the theme song alone is to make me just feel purely happy u know….but anyway besides that i love the overall character writing in wsnd!!! its the last show we got with casey kasem + ill always love the snark he brought to shaggys character which is very apparent in this show. daphnes resourcefulness takes center stage which is always just super funny and endearing like girl i dont think thats supposed to work but <333 velma is portrayed as sarcastic but its never meanspirited like its made CLEAR how much she loves her friends. theyre just all so silly and love each other sooo much….
thirteen ghosts i havent actually finished yet BUT despite that its literally already at the top for me lol like firstly i love the premise - its a breakaway from the traditional scooby formula but honestly by the structuring of the episodes u wouldnt think so!!! that different take is executed VERY well imo. the cast of characters r all so very endearing like they r family…. ive always loved the decision to place daphne in a leadership role esp considering what its since engendered. flim flam is SUCH a little guy. hes a witty kid who gives great balance to the cast n his relationships w vincent + scrappy are SO!!! good honestly. vincent is funny like his entire predicament reminds me of thay thing like “found family but its a group of kids who adopt an old guy instead of the other way around” u get it….
be cool is absolutely the funniest scoobh show like no question AND its got great writing to boot!!! ive talked about character + relationship writing a lot and thats just bc thats what really makes or breaks scooby media for me lol. for be cool it BEYOND makes it!!! their dynamic is so well done like bro they r teens. they are stupid 18 year olds with thwir collective dog bestie travelling around the united states and shenanigans occur. there are so many be cool episodes just stuck to my brain bc of how genuinely great they are. and its a show where yeah its goofy and silly and comedic but it can alsp be sooo genuine i love it <333 be cool my absolute beloved
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I suddenly remembered this old oc i had a few years ago and realized that i had never really drawn the other character for the story I had started to develop in my head
The story/plot is still uuhh being developed, so it's mostly these two and a bit of world building lol
The world being sort of steampunk/ a little bit dystopian. The world is filled with automatons, have for hundreds of years. Early automatons were bulky and not very human shaped, but became more human looking over time. Although some are still bulky, they have jobs that are usually either heavy lifting (like construction or manufacturing) or appliances (they're basically walking ovens/washers/the occasional television). A Lot of the human automatons are used by the government and military, but automatons are almost everywhere.
The robot above is very old and is a bit rusty, and was shutdown for a while, so he's got some moss on him. He's been around a long time and has done repairs on himself. But he can't fix everything and so he has a bit of a memory problem. Most automatons have some kind of purpose or job. But he doesn't have one? At least not that he remembers. He tends to wander and just help people with various tasks. (such tasks include anything from helping a cat out a tree, to helping repairing a building, to stopping a mugging). Eventually he meets Jess
Jess is a kid that has been running around the city for several years. They were abandoned as a baby and never cared much for the homes or orphanages they were placed in. Jess is very good at mechanics and loves to steal. They are a gremlin despite most of the art making them look serious lol. The Automaton doesn't have a name, so Jess calls it many names: Rust Bucket, HunkAJunk, Tin Can, but most often he is called Scrappy (names start out purposefully insulting but become fond over time). At some point when Jess is helping him with repairs, they find the letters B E N on him and decide that Ben is his official name (but still calls him Scrappy) For the majority of the story Jess is actually younger than the art, around 12-14 years old. They ended up looking older when i was drawing lol
#idk why i decided to draw or post about them now#but they've been in my head the last couple days#Ben is a bit odd. He doesn't spend much time with a particular person until he meets Jess#jess doesn't really understand genders and uses whatever pronouns they want to at any given moment#this world/story is called#Scrapped#oc: ben/scrappy the automaton#oc: jess#my art#famofpaladins draws#mmmmm what else to tag#Original characters#Original work
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
💙
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
WHAT A WONDERFUL GIRL AND AN EXCELLENT BUCKET!
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
Scrappy Is the goodest of girls! U^ｪ^U
And bucket Is best bucket! :D
they also want you to be proud and take care of yourself!
Give Scrappy and her bucket a Pat for me!<3
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
AWW!!!
I LOVE YOU SCRAPPY, BUCKET, AND CAL! /plat
THANK YOU 💖💖💖💚💙💚💙💚💙💖💖💖
#the cal saga#ask reply#ask response#send in some asks!#inbox answers#inbox is open#inbox#anons welcome!#ask box#cal! 🦝
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
I. LOVE. SCRAPPY. OMG.
AND HER BUCKET AAAHHH I LOVE IT
I shall try my absolute best to do all of that, in both of your honors. thank you ♡
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
:0
NO
Scrappy beloved
Lookit her <333
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
Awww 🥺🥺🥺🥺
I love you too Scrappy, I will do it for you 💖🫂💖🫂
And no u Cal! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
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Note
This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
Ajdkalhsgga thank you Cal!
(you should make sure to be doing all this for yourself as well)
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
scrappy is baby and needs to be protected
cal is child (NOT baby) and also needs to be protected
i love the picture. thank you so much!
#you know ur doing a good job when the dog like u#but srsly tysm cal#a question for 'lock#hello cal <3
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This is Scrappy and her bucket.
Scrappy and bucket are proud of you.
Scrappy wants you to take care of yourself.
Bucket wants you to love yourself.
Cal wants to let you know that you are amazing! Bye!
Awwwww she is adorable!!!!
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