#why do the twins do that with the sand? why do the jellies move like that in giants deep? how do the anglerfish survive dark bramble?

[painsandconfusion]

Glowsticks

Round FIVE of bad baby Sand scribbles. We're getting into the pretentious first person trabic backstory era now

(tw: major character death, military/war mention)

I was born in the middle of a record breaking blizzard. I don’t know what that means, but some people think that it’s a sign that I will have a difficult life. I never really believed in these ‘signs’, nor did I ever take seriously the people who do believe in them. Either way, I never really had any reason to believe my bad luck was because I was born during a crisis. This is probably due to the fact that I never really had any bad luck during my childhood.

I grew up on a small farm in Nebraska. My parents had been married at a young age, while my mother was still in college. They had quickly bought a small farmhouse and built the place up one year at a time. 

My family is made up of five people. There is me, Emma Mavric. My parents, Amy and Eli Mavric. And there’s Abigail and Olivia, my sisters. Abby and Olivia are twins born roughly fifteen years before me. I always liked my sisters, but they never really liked staying at home. I was barely getting into kindergarten when they moved out, to different colleges, and never really came back. They may be identical twins, but they couldn’t be more different. 

When Abigail, the eldest, moved to Lincoln my parents were distraught at the thought of their daughter being so far away. It wasn’t long after that that Olivia decided to apply for an internship in Chicago. Suddenly Abigail’s decision seemed a lot better.

Either way, I never really knew them well. They may be my sisters, but they have been gone since I was a child, coming home only for the major holidays. I never really cared much for those holidays anyway, though. They always meant the family getting together. That meant that I had to pretend to be a perfect princess for at least two days. I had always preferred the lesser holidays. The ones most people don’t think about. On these days, I could celebrate and enjoy the festivities while being entirely myself. This was on account of one person. Emery.

Emery was my best friend for as can remember. He wasn’t a brother or a cousin, be we were as close as any brother and sister had ever been. 

I still remember the summer days I spent with Emery. We were just kids. Young. Innocent. Without a care in the world. Every morning, we would wake up at 6:00 AM and Jump on our bikes with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches stuffed in our pockets. We would hop on our bikes and take off riding down the gravel roads, meeting in the middle of the timber in front of a huge oak tree that we had marked as ours. Emery lived less than a mile away by gravel, but only half a mile if you cut through the light timber, so we would meet in the middle. By the oak tree.

By the time we were thirteen years old, we thought we had the entire world figured out. I remember wanting to become a nurse. Emery wanted to be in the military. I never really understood that, but I suppose he never understood why I wanted to be a nurse. Even though I didn’t get why he wanted to go into the service, I respected his wishes. He had never been wrong before so I didn’t have much reason to doubt him. I was happy that he had found something he was passionate about.

I remember one July night. The Fourth of July to be exact. We were 15 years old and had driven to the lake with our new permits. With parents in the passenger seats of course. Every year, the fire station would put up a firework display over the lakeside. Emery and I would always hike up and into the trees that surrounded the water and watch the show from the dark canopy of leaves. Of course, the view wasn’t the best, but it was quieter there. There weren’t any people and both of us hated crowds. Besides, when we were in the trees, we couldn’t smell that horrible smoke that come off of the children's sparklers and fills the beach before the sun had even set.

There, hidden in the darkness, we could be ourselves. A rare occasion that only presented itself when Emery and I were together. 

I sat down on the damp ground and leaned against a tree. Emery joined me. 

“When do you think they will start setting them off?” I asked impatiently.

“Why? I thought you didn’t like fireworks.” He smirked.

I sighed. “Well as long as I’m here I might as well see them. Just because I don’t like them in general doesn’t mean they’re not pretty.”

“They will probably start the show once it’s dark.” He looked up through the gap in the leaves. “We probably have another ten minutes or so I would guess.”

“But it’s already dark.” I protested.

“The trees make it seem worse than it is.” He reached into the backpack he brought with him wherever he went. After rummaging around for a moment, he produced two boxes.

“Sparklers or glowsticks?” He asked, smiling.

I chuckled. “Aren’t we prepared?” I teased. “wouldn’t we light the forest on fire if we lit the sparklers here?”

He was still smiling. “No, I don’t think you can light anything on sparklers. They aren’t hot enough and the flame only burns for a second before moving on. It couldn’t set anything on fire.”

“Yes it could!”

“No it couldn’t “

“Could so.”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

“Okay then, why don’t we find out?” I suggested, challenging him.

His smile grew with the thought of proving me wrong. “You’re on.” Emery said. He started rummaging in his bag again to produce a package of matches. He shook one sparkler from the bag and held it out. 

“You hold this Emma, I’ll light it.” I took the sparkler as he struck the match and held it to the tip, waiting for it to ignite. After a few moments of intense staring, the end of the stick began to spit millions of little sparks out.

“Alright. Watch this.” I said, holding the sparkler be the very tip of the wire. I knew it couldn’t burn me, but I had always been afraid of those little sparks. I reached down and picked up a dry leaf. I held the tip of it up to the spitting end of the sparkler and let the little spurts of fire dance around it.

“Nothing’s happening.” Emery teased. “I think I just won a bet.”

“Just wait a few seconds. It’ll burn. You just see.”

“Mmmmmmmhm…” He mused.

But I was right. A few seconds later, the edge of the leaf began to burn red and curl upon itself. There was no flame, but you would see the glowing red line slowly consume the dry tinder.

“Ha!” I exclaimed. “Told ya” I smirked at him. A smug grin.

“No way. There was no fire there. It just got really hot.”

“You didn’t say there had to be a flame you just said it wouldn’t burn! I’m totally right”

“Nu’uh. I said it wouldn’t burst into flame. You said it would.” He said, stealing my cocky grin.

“No! I said it would burn, dumbutt.”

“Whatever. If you can’t admit you’re wrong, I guess I’ll be the bigger man here.”

“Oh whatever!” I humphed. “You’re just a sore loser.”

Emery chuckled. “Whatever you say, your highness.”

I scrunched up my nose at him and stuck my tongue out; really an immature thing for a fifteen year old to do, but I couldn’t resist.

He chuckled and pulled out the glowsticks. “Glowstick?” He offered me the box.

I took one. I was hoping for a red, but it was almost impossible to see what color they were in the darkness. He grabbed one too and we sat there for a moment. I loved doing this. Especially in the dark. It made them even cooler. I grabbed onto the stick and bent it between my fingers until I heard the cracking sound of the crystals breaking inside the plastic. Luminous color spread from the spot and I kept rolling it between my hands until the entire length of it was bright and beautiful. The color was blue. I frowned a little, but blue isn’t a bad color so I didn’t feel the need to comment.

“You got blue too!” Emery said, looking down at his. “It’s a sign. These two glow sticks must be joined together.”

I chuckled and handed him mine. He took two plastic connectors out of the box and fixed the ends of the glow sticks together making a ring. He tossed the ring over my head. It appeared that I had a necklace now.

We spent the next five minutes silently cracking every single one of the glowsticks until none were left. As I was breaking the last one, I had a thought.

“Wow. It would suck to be a glowstick.” I pondered out loud. “Stuck in a box for the first part of your life, then people come along and bend you until you break, then you are thrown away that same day. That would be a crappy life.”

Emery looked at me in a strange way. I ignored it and bent the last glow stick into a bracelet and hooked it around his wrist. We sat in silence for a few minutes, leaning against the trees, feeling the moisture from the ground soak into our jeans. I waited for the fireworks to start. Emery started at the ground, thinking. After a while he broke the silence.

“You know what I think?” He said. “It’s okay to be a glow stick; sometimes we have to break before we shine.”

I looked at him and blinked a few times. I didn’t know how to respond to that. I opened my mouth to comments just as the first firework was set off. Emery’s somber focus was gone in an instant and he looked up at the sky smiling as the first of them lit the sky with golden flame.

“I guess you’re right” I whispered, but I don’t think he heard me over the excited screams from the spectators.

Once I got my licence, I drove myself to school every day. No more bus rides for me, and there was no way I was making Emery continue for the next month until he got his so I picked him up every day and we rode together. I had an old faded pickup that my grandpa had given me to use. It was in terrible condition, but its old frame gave it character, and personally, I thought it was kinda cute even though Emery laughed at it.

We never really had a lot of classes together in high school, but we always did our homework together. I would go to his house, or he would come to mine. My favorite spot to study when the weather was nice was a little spot behind the barn. Emery and I used to spread out our books and binders over the grass and lay on our stomachs to work. It was nice and quiet there, and not easy to become distracted. The only thing I was able to see was the cornfield that grew about twenty feet from the edge of the red barn, and the barn itself. It was like a little corner of solitude that always seemed to have a way of letting me relax. 

Sometimes, Emery would decide to take a study break and mill around for a bit. This usually didn’t bother me until I felt kernels of corn hitting the back of my head like bullets. I would scurry up and try to dodge his attack. He would be standing against the side of the barn laughing at my desperation while kneading kernels of corn from the cob and chucking them at me. It didn’t really hurt, but I made a big deal out of it anyway. 

Why? Because I could. 

I would scream and run around while he chased me throwing handfuls of corn in my direction. Once his ammunition was gone, he would throw the inside of the cob at me and run away. Then it was my turn to chase him. I don’t know how many hours we spent studying there, but for some reason, I think that we probably spent longer throwing corn and running around like four year olds.

When we graduated high school, a lot of things scared me. I was so sure just a few years ago that I wanted to become a nurse and now I had applied to a state university as a business major. So many things were changing so fast and Emery was definitely the one who helped me through them. He would calm me down during mental breakdowns and he was the one who made sure I signed up for enough scholarships. He even filled out a few for me. He said it was only fair. He would have been doing scholarships too if he weren’t shipping off to boot camp in a few months. His college was free there.

Emery had been sure of his path from the moment he chose it. I was terrified of my future, but Emery looked forward to it. His eyes lit up every time he talked about the military. He explained to me in detail what he would be doing in boot camp and how he hoped to be able to fight in the war to save our country. I never understood this. I couldn’t grasp the concept of someone being excited about danger and treats. He had never shared any of my fears. It was just the kind of guy he was. He knew what he wanted and he knew that it might end badly. Somehow, I think this made him even more intrigued. Just like Emery. Always playing the hero.

I guess Emery was a good soldier because he was shipped out less than a year after going into training. I didn’t see him again after he left. Every once and a while I got a letter from him. It was always wrinkled and smudged as if it had been carried for a month before being sent. He talked about me mostly, he asked me questions and rehashed his memories of growing up. He never talked about his side or where he was. He never told me about the war or combat. I wanted to believe that was because he was totally safe sitting on the sidelines bored, but I knew it was because he didn’t want to talk about it. He was using me as an escape; a link to a more peaceful world. I would let him have that. But, after a few years, the letters stopped coming.

I got a call from his parents on the Fourth of July. They called every year to see if I wanted to go to the firework show with them. Of course I didn’t, but I went anyway. They missed their son and didn’t want to go alone. I wouldn't make them do that. But, that day was different.

I picked up the phone to hear a woman crying.

“Hello?” I asked breathlessly. The tears sent me into an instant state of panic. “What’s wrong?”

“We….we- had a visitor. An officer, Em-Emma.” She stuttered through her tears. I slid to the floor, clutching the phone to my ear, staring at the floor.

“What do you mean?” I whispered. I could barely make out the words I said. I wasn’t sure if she could.

“He b-br-brought us a flag.” She broke down into sobs again.

I stared at the floor and let the phone clatter to the ground. I felt a great pressure on my chest. Suddenly it was nearly impossible to breathe. Emery. My brother. No, more than a brother. I gasped for air and pulled my knees to my chest, trying to keep the world from spinning.

“My throat was burning before the first tears fell. At first my tears were silent, then they grew into sobs. I began to yell and scream at the window, fighting it. I wasn’t even sure what I was fighting, but it was definitely winning. I felt like my chest was ripped open and Every breath sent fire down into my lungs. Every time I closed my eyes, images of Emery flashed across my vision. I choked and sobbed, trying to breathe.

I don’t know how long I sat there. A few hours ago I must have gotten up because I am in my car now, flying down the highway with no idea what I’m doing. The tears have not stopped and my eyes are starting to swell shut. I roll down the window to try to breathe better, but the wind just burns my eyes so I roll it back up again. It’s strange. When I have this much liquid in my eyes, they shouldn’t be burning. It’s stupid.

I choke down another sob and turn onto a gravel road. The one leading to the lake. I don’t know why I seem to want to go there, and I don’t really care enough to think about it. I fly past the lake. It must be late. The sun is already starting to dip into the horizon and there are rows of people staked out along the beach. I drive until the gravel stops at the treeline. I kill the engine and stumble out of the truck, moving towards the trees. 

I barely get inside the woods when I turn around and go back to the truck. I grab a Wal-Mart sack out of the backseat and shuffle into the trees. I trip my way through the woods. There is no path here and the thorns and bushes rip and tear at my skin, leaving thin line of blood. I don’t care. I keep moving. Tears keep streaming down my face as I try not to imagine how he died. There are so many possibilities in war. No matter what, I hope it was quick. I hope he didn’t suffer. He didn’t deserve that.

I finally trip on the uneven ground and fall harshly to the forest floor. I curse the ground and yell at it in some form of gibberish. there, I curl up into a ball and cry. 

It is starting to get harder to cry. The tears aren’t coming anymore. I want to yell and scream, but I know I can’t or someone will hear me and come looking. I don’t want company.

I sit up and mop the wetness from my face with the back of my arm. It doesn’t help much. I grab the sack I had been carrying and tore through it to grab the box. I had gone shopping the week before in preparation. I had sent Emery a glow stick out of this box about a month ago. It was a blue one because those were his favorite. I was hoping he would get it. I had put in in my last letter and had explained that he could break it on the 4th of July and I would do the same. That way we could somehow be together like we always were before. 

Suddenly I wonder what happened to the glowstick I sent him. Is it lying in some trench somewhere? Was it in his pocket during a car bombing? It it glowing on a road somewhere, crushed by jeeps and tanks? It didn’t matter. 

I pulled two glow sticks from the box. One was red. The other blue. 

I held them side by side and bent them so they cracked and flourished at the same time. I could hear Emery’s voice ringing through my memories. 

Sometimes we need to break before we shine. 

The tears I thought were depleted began to fall yet again. I cracked the sticks together until they were fully glowing, shining in the darkness side by side. 

#major character death #military/war mention #baby sand scribbles

[dbssh]

i think ive always been really into the fantasy of immortality & time loops & ghost-type afterlives because . well. i dont know i always feel like there is more to learn, something im missing, something i havent done yet that im missing out on. so to get to the end of a game that's all about learning the missing pieces and be able to finally just, finish and let it go is such a therapeutic experience. its about accepting death and moving on and it taps in so well to that fantasy of wanting to have enough time to truly come to terms with everything. idk. its a peace.

#red.txt #and like... i dont know #the fact that there just. is no answer and that in of itself is the answer #there isnt a 'why' for the greatest mysteries posed by the universe #why do the twins do that with the sand? why do the jellies move like that in giants deep? how do the anglerfish survive dark bramble? #there is no answer; they just do. thats just how the universe works; its just nature #nothing is personal #and its not happening because of you but its also not happening *for* you #youre just lucky enough to get to witness it #to see everything #and at the end of the day what mattered the most was the connections you made to others #thats what *made* it matter #in the face of a universe that will carry on; live and die; regardless of if you're there or not #what matters is whose with you. what matters is what we learn and do and create. #the people we meet and places we see #even the connections we make with people so separated by time and circumstance and distance that we could never have met #our connections to art and music and history and home. thats what gives meanings to these small lives that would otherwise seem insignifica #nt #and when youre ready. you can always come home. #and just. the world doesnt just *end* when we end. the universe is born again and it lives again and one day it will die again #and all of these wonderful things will be gone #but none of this is *new* #everything is built on the past even if we cant see it. nothing is created or destroyed it just changes form. the dead animal feeds grass. #man. man. mannnnnnn video games.

[op-imaginesandmore]

How would Issho/Fujitora, Doflamingo, Smoker, Arlong, and Gin react to their s/o dying in their arms? (human s/o for all of them including Arlong) Sorry there are so many the posts you've made so far I've enjoyed immensely. I love your style of writing! (:

I know it’s been *checks notes* actual years since I have touched this blog, but I kinda wanted to try my hand at a few of the asks I have in my inbox. I’m going to do just Smoker, and with each of the asks with multiple characters I will pick the one I am most comfortable with writing and go from there. I hope you like it! And also, to anyone who reads this and likes it, thank you! But my ask box will remain closed until…idk, probably a long time. I don’t want to get any one’s hopes about about anything.

Pairing: Smoker x GN!reader

Warnings: Angst, character death (you asked for it), mild descriptions of injury, mentions of blood, implied smut (mildest of spice), unbeta’d if that is a warning

***

The OP was supposed to be a simple one. Get in, do reconnaissance, stay under the radar, come back with what info they needed on the pirate crew, get out.

No one thought Big Mom herself was going to recognize Y/N, because you were good at your job. You had been spying for the government for years, you’d worked with Smoker as one of his subordinates, had infiltrated countless pirate crews, revolutionary bases, treasonous scum that thought they could get away with anything, and had always succeeded in your job.

Lay low, go unnoticed, get the info, come back to him. It was a perfectly organized system that was like clock work, each gear turning for the purpose of civilian protection, and justice.

Until now.

Blood soaked the beach he was kneeling on, who’s it was, he had no idea. Could be his, was probably the pirates’ that were scattered around the Vice-Admiral like debris after a storm, but what infuriated him most was it was most definitely yours.

Wheezes, broken and wet, escaped from your lips, swollen eyes looking up into stoic grey that was like looking into twin hurricanes. Anger, righteous and intense, swirled around with frustration, concern, grief, and an emotion you knew from your quiet moments between soft sheets and the hard planes of his body.

So gentle you barely felt it, he lifted you from the sand like something precious, your blood dripping down his arms and pooling beneath your broken body. Your eyes, swollen and bruised, squinted up at him and a soft smile cracked painfully across your lips.

“Hey handsome” you rasped, a cough that was soaked with blood spurting out. Smoker put a large hand through your matted hair, jaw clenching as he tightened his hold on you.

“I’m gonna get you to the ship’s infirmary” he seethed through his teeth, the usual multiple cigars he kept there like pacifiers long gone. He made to get up, but the cry that came from your lips was shrill and heartbreaking. He immediately stopped, holding you to his chest in a hold soft enough for a newborn.

“I know it hurts, but you need-“

“Do you remember Alabasta?”

Smoker stopped, looking down at your broken body that had the audacity to be giving him the smile that always managed to make his heart flutter in his chest like a crushing school girl’s. He swallowed thickly, not trusting his voice and opting for a nod.

“You were such a baby about Strawhat, I thought you were going to implode when he had his crew mate save your life.” You reached a trembling hand to his face, stroking the rough stubble of his jaw. Almost involuntarily, Smoker leaned into the soft touch, turning his head to kiss your palm as memories of their time on the desert island came to mind.

It had been the first time you had ever yelled at him, calling him reckless and blind. Telling him you were thankful for Strawhat, grateful he had saved his “stupid, sorry, ass” so you had the chance to give him a piece of your mind. He had retaliated with a practiced speech about being your superior, about how you should worry more about your job than what he was doing, how you shouldn’t talk to him like that.

Then you had the nerve to yell at him that you didn’t have a choice but to worry about him. When he yelled at you back about the why, instead of answering him you kissed him square on the mouth.

Their first kiss was in the moment, it was all teeth clacking and sudden and Smoker had been blindsided, but also hadn’t been. The two of you had been flirting with the line between officer and government agent for months at that point, subtle glances and bold, shameless flirting on your part had morphed into soft and subtle touches and hours of listening to you talk about everything and anything.

When the shock of it had worn off a second after you started kissing him, he hadn’t expected for himself to kiss you back. He had adjusted your chin, softened the kiss, and wrapped his arms possessively around your waist and lifted you, your legs wrapping around his own waist in a way that sent chills down his spine as he carried you to his desk. He set you down upon it, gentle as can be, but your legs stayed around his waist, his hips grinding into yours in a way that had him growling. Your lips had been like soft, plush, velvet on his own chapped ones, tongue sinful in its exploration, running against his to beg for entrance.

The two of you broke apart, you were panting, your face flush as you put your head on his chest and listened to the quick thumping of his heart. He smelled like a cigar, a hint of sweet fruit in a haze of earth and smoke that always managed to make your head spin. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you licked the taste of him from them.

“I worry about you because I care about you Smoker” you looked up at him, your eyes twinkling in the soft glow of the sunlight coming in through the porthole of his cabin “probably more than what’s appropriate for a working relationship, but I don’t want to hide it anymore.” You put your hand on his face, stroking the apple of his cheek in a way no one had ever dared touch him before “if you don’t want this though, we can stop right now and never talk about it a-“

Smoker was kissing you again, softer but with a passion that turned your whole body into jelly that molded into his. It was brief, too brief for your liking but he was looking at you with a smoldering gaze that promised more.

“We do this, we tell no one.” He said with conviction “I can’t have my subordinates thinking I have favorites, and fraternizing could get me and you in a lot of trouble.”

You nodded, understanding alighted in your eyes as you coyly bit your kiss swollen bottom lip.

“If that means I get to see your smoke powers at work in the bedroom, I’ll take an oath of silence”

He felt his body react, his hardened length against your thigh making you squeeze your legs together, bringing him impossibly closer.

Smoker’s chest tightened at the memory.

“I’m glad” you said, swollen gaze growing distant “that it all happened the way it did. The last year and a half has been the best of my life” another cough, violent and cracking in its intensity that it had you whimpering into Smokers chest, and his eyes were burning with the tears that were inevitable now.

“Y/N-“ Smoker started, the deep rumble of his voice cracking “baby, you’re gonna be fine, let’s just-“ he took a breath, steeling himself to try and lift you up again, but your head falling limp against his chest stopped him, made the breath leave his lungs and, for the first time in a very long time, Smoker felt true terror grip his careful self control.

“Y/N?” His voice, so unlike the commanding bass it usually was, soft and broken as the body he held “Y/N? Sweetheart c’mon, wake up” he shook you, your head lolling to one side and then the next awkwardly, before it rested back on his chest and Smoker realized your uneven breathing had stopped, the rasping, painful breaths gone quiet and the only sounds to be heard on the bloodied beach were Smoker’s own uneven hyperventilating “Y/N please! You-you can’t do this! Baby, c’mon-open those pretty eyes, please! Y/N? Y/N!”

He held on tight to your body as he slowly broke down, the tears running rivers down his face that had smudges of your blood on it from holding your body up to it, his face buried into your hair as if he could revive you if he held on a little tighter, begged a little harder to whatever god or devil would listen. His cries broke through the silence, their only companion the lapping of water against the sand and gore. He rocked back and forth, clinging to your lifeless body like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

That was how Tashigi found her Vice-Admiral, sobbing into your hair as he begged you to wake up. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, but she had to keep him moving, had to remind him of the duty he still held.

“Vice-Admiral Smoker?” She breathed, caution in her tone, heartbreak threatening to pull her under when his breath caught. He looked up at Tashigi with a tsunami of emotions that she had never seen him display. Heartbreak and grief worked in tandem to make the ever stoic and statuesque officer crumble to his knees.

“I’ve gathered the survivors of our platoon, we’re awaiting your orders, sir”

There was a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch for an eternity, Smoker looking down at his dead lover, the emotions that had been raging across his face draining from his being, and was replaced once again with the careful stoicism that his position required of him.

He got up slowly, you still cradled against his chest as he looked out at the horizon. It was another long moment before he spoke.

“We bury our dead, then we take the fight to the one who started this.” There was a fury in his words that struck fear into Tashigi, a fear for how reckless her Vice-Admiral was about to be against a Yonko.

“But Smo-“

“Did I fucking stutter?” He whipped his head around, the grey of his eyes burning with an unbridled rage that seemed barely contained “I’m not gonna rest until every last piece of filth that carries the name of Charlotte are wiped from every ocean from the East Blue to Raftel.” He glanced down at the body in his arms, a soft, broken look before the rage hit again.

“They’re gonna pay for what they’ve taken, I’ll make sure of it personally.”

#smoker #one piece #Smoker x reader #Smoker One Piece #angst #crying #character death #tashigi

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

(Y/n) stands in the kitchen of her mother and step-father's apartment, making the bean dip Smelly Gabe liked so much.

(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the counter but then she lets out a yelp as something hits her in between her shoulder blades.

"Hurry it up, girl!" Smelly Gabe snarls.

"Yes sir," (Y/n) murmurs.

A few minutes later, Gabe stalks into the kitchen, takes the dip without so much of a thank you.

(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the shoe on the ground before she moves to her room. She climbs into her bed, getting under her covers. (Y/n) turns, facing the wall.

She closes her eyes, falling to an uneasy sleep.

(Y/n) watches, disconnected from the others in the dream, as one of her brother's teachers turns into something that reminded her of a demon, or something similar that she'd read books about. The woman had bat wings, claws, and a mouth of yellow fangs.

Then (Y/n) looks around, her eyes widening in shock as she sees her brother holding a bronze sword.

Percy swings the sword, the demon exploding into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot.

A hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder has (Y/n) jolting awake. "Honey? Are you okay?" Sally Jackson asks.

Catching the wide-eyed look of horror on (Y/n)'s face, Sally wraps her daughter in a hug.

(Y/n)'s breathing steadies, and she breathes in her mother's familiar scent - chocolate, licorice, and all the other things she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central Station.

"Did you get all your work done?" Sally asks softly, her thumb brushing over a slightly visible bruise that had appeared at the base of the back of her neck.

(Y/n) hums in reply.

. . .

The next day, (Y/n) is once again lying in her bed, not wanting to have to deal with Gabe throwing more shoes or glass bottles at / near her.

. . .

Percy walks into the apartment, dragging his suitcase behind him, hoping his mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe is in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blares ESPN; chips and beer cans are strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking up, he says around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's my mom? (Y/n)?"

"Mom's working," Gabe says. "The girl's in her room. You got any cash?"

"That's it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

Gabe had put on weight since the last time Percy had seen him. Gabe looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He has about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp.

"I don't have any cash," Percy replies.

Gabe raises a greasy eyebrow. Gabe could sniff out money like a bloodhound, which is surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else.

"You took a taxi from the bus station," he says. "Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he ought to carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

Eddie, the super of the apartment building, looks at Percy with a twinge of sympathy. "Come on, Gabe," he says. The guy just got here."

"Am I right?" Gabe repeats.

Eddie scowls into his bowl of pretzels. The two other guys pass gas in harmony.

"Fine," Percy says. He digs a wad of dollars out of his pocket and throws the money on the table. "I hope you lose."

"Your report card came, brain boy!" He shouts back at Percy. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

Percy slams the door to his room, which isn't really his room. During school months, it is Gabe's 'study.' He doesn't study anything in there except old car magazines, but he loves shoving his stuff in Percy's closet, leaving his muddy boots on the windowsill, and doing his best to make the place smell like his nasty cologne, cigars, and stale beer.

Percy drops his suitcase on the bed. Home sweet home he thinks.

Gabe's smell is almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Dodds, or the sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn.

Percy sits, lost in his thoughts.

Then he hears his mom's voice, "Percy?" She opens the bedroom door, and his fears melt. "Oh, Percy," she hugs him tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas."

Sally had brought Percy a bag of 'free samples' the way she always did whenever he'd come home.

The two sit together on the bed. While Percy attacks the blueberry sour strings, she runs her hands through his hair, demanding to know everything that he hadn't put in his letters. She doesn't mention his getting expelled. She doesn't seem to care about that.

Percy tells his mother that she is smothering him, but secretly, Percy is really, really glad to see her.

From the other room, Gabe yells, "Hey, Sally - how about some bean dip, huh?"

Percy grits his teeth. My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should be married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

(Y/n) pads into Percy's room, and the dark haired boy brightens at the sight of his younger twin.

"I've got the dip, Mom," (Y/n) says softly. Sally gazes at her daughter for a moment, her gaze sad.

"Wait, (Y/n)," Sally says, and (Y/n) turns back to face her mother. "I've got a surprise for the two of you," she says. "We're going to the beach."

Percy's eyes widen. "Montauk?"

"Three nights - same cabin," Sally replies.

"When?" (Y/n) asks, looking excited.

She smiles, "As soon as I get changed."

(Y/n) can't believe it. Mom, Percy, and I hadn't been to Montauk in the last two summers because Gabe had said that there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appears in the doorway behind (Y/n) and growls, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

Percy wants to punch him, but he meets his mother's eyes, and understands that she is offering him a deal: Be nice to Gabe for a little while; just until she's ready to leave for Montauk.

"I've got it, Gabe," (Y/n) says.

"Sorry, honey," Sally says, looking at her husband. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes get small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," Percy mutters. "He won't let us go."

"Of course he will," Sally says evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money."

(Y/n) turns to face Gabe, smiling as kindly as she could. "What if I make a seven-layer dip that'll last the whole weekend?" she asks. "Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe softens a bit, then turns back to face Sally. "So, this money for your trip . . . it comes out of your clothes budget, right?"

"Yes, honey," Sally replies.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratches his double chin. "Maybe if the girl hurries up with the seven-layer dip . . . and if the boy apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, Percy thinks. And make you sing soprano for a week.

"I'm sorry," Percy mutters. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important power game. Please go back to it right now."

Gabe's eyes narrow. His tiny brain is probably trying to detect the sarcasm in my statement, Percy thinks.

"Yeah, whatever," Gabe decides; he goes back to his game.

"Thank you, Percy," Sally says. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about...whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, (Y/n) can see anxiety in her mother's eyes, but then her smile returns, and (Y/n) figures that she must've been mistaken.

. . .

An hour later, the three are ready to leave.

Gabe takes a break from his poker game long enough to watch (Y/n) and Percy lug the bags to his car. He keeps griping and groaning about losing her and (Y/n)'s cooking - and more important, his '78 Camaro - for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, brain boy," Gabe warns Percy as he loads the last bag into the car. "Not one little scratch."

Like I'd be the one driving. I'm fourteen, Percy thinks.

Watching Gabe lumbers back towards the apartment building, Percy gets so mad that he does something he can't explain. As Gabe reaches the door, Percy makes the hand gesture he'd seen Grover made on the bus, a soft of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over his heart, then a shoving movement towards Gabe. The screen door slams so hard it whacks him the the butt and sends him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon.

. . .

(Y/n)'s POV

Our rental cabin is on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It is a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There's always sand in the sheets, spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea is too cold to swim in.

I loved the place.

Mom, Percy, and I had been going ever since Percy and I'd been a baby. Mom had been coming even longer. She'd never exactly said, but I know why the beach was special to her.

It's the place where she'd met my Dad.

As we get closer to Montauk, Mom seems to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turn the color of the sea.

We get there around sunset, open all the cabin's windows, and go through the usual cleaning routine.

Mom, Percy, and I walk on the beach, feed blue corn-chips to the seagulls, and munch on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples Mom had brought home from work.

I guess maybe I should explain all the blue food.

Gabe had once told Mom that there was no such thing. They had had this fight, which had seemed like a really small think at the time, but ever since, Mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes, mixed blueberry smoothies, bought blue-corn tortilla chips, and brought home blue candy from the shop. This - along with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano - is proof that she isn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, just like Percy.

When it gets dark, we make a fire. We roast hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom tells Percy and me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents had died in the plane crash. She tells us about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.

Eventually, it seems that Percy gets the nerve to ask about what is always on our minds whenever we come to Montauk - our father. Mom's eyes go all misty. I figure she would tell us the same things she always did, but neither Percy or I ever got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," Mom replies. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle too, like you, (Y/n)." Mom says and I soften. "You have his black hair, Percy, and you both share his green eyes.

Mom fishes a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you two. He would be so proud."

I wonder how she could say that when I'm the girl who cowers from her stepfather. The girl who hides in her room to get away from said stepfather.

"How old were we?" Percy asks, pulling me from my thoughts. "I mean . . . when he left?"

Mom watches the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But . . . he knew us as babies."

"No, honey," Mom replies. "He knew I was expecting twins, but he never met you. He had to leave before you were born."

I try to square that with the fact that I seem to remember . . . something about my father. A warm glow, maybe a smile.

Percy and I had always assumed that our father had known us as babies. Mom had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt that it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen us . . .

I feel angry at my father. Maybe it is stupid, but I resent him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry Mom.

"Are you going to send me away again?" Percy asks. "To another boarding school?"

Mom pulls a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey," her voice is heavy. "I think . . . I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" Percy says and I flinch, avoiding both his and Mom's gazes.

I glance up to see that Mom's eyes had welled up with tears. "Oh, Percy, no. I - I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

"But you never send her away," Percy says and I look up, eyes wide with surprise.

Mom looks at Percy, eyes wide with shock.

Finally she says, "I have to keep both of you away from each other as much as possible. I thought you'd finally be safe."

"I tried to keep you as close to me as I could," Mom says. "They told me it was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy, (Y/n) - the place your father wanted to send you two. And I just . . . I just can't stand to do it."

"Our father wanted us to go to a special school?" I ask.

"Not a school," Mom replies. "A summer camp."

My head spins. Why would my dad - who hadn't even stayed around to see me and Percy be born - talk to Mom about a summer camp?

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)," Mom says, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I - I couldn't send you two to that place. It might mean saying goodbye to you for good."

"For good?" Percy asks. "But if it's only a summer camp . . ."

Mom turns towards the fire, and I know from her expression, that if we asked any more questions, she would start to cry.

Word Count: 2413 words

#annabeth chase x female reader #annabeth chase x fem reader #annabeth chase x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus

[hanako-theories]

Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa

EXPLICIT SUICIDE SCENE WARNING!

Word count: 2238

Originally posted to AO3 under username Little-coffins, AO3 link:

Summary: In that moment, this moment, its his fault. He always forgave Tsukasa, said so to his face and Tsuchigomori-sensei and to the bathroom mirror in the night after wandering hands and fear filled paralysis.

It was a knee jerk response.

Fear overrode his senses, leaving him with an overwhelming feeling of panic and terror, taking the reigns by force, the feeling of cool steel pressed against his jugular, kissing deeply enough to split fragile skin and spill metallic molasses.

The pain from the cuts in his joints burned bright and red hot, the broken nose sprouting deep black bruises around his eyes like growing weeds, deepening and darking across the dips in between his nose like black paint slathered across his face.

His swollen wrist panged at every movement made by either of them. His shirt pushed up beneath his arm pits exposing his chest, thin red lines drawn intricately across the sensitive flesh, oozing liquid pain as Tsukasa's hand slid gently, lovingly from his collar bone down to his navel, fingertips dancing across the throbbing flesh. The fingers dipping into his v-line to smooth his sullied fingers over the previously unbloodied skin that'd still remained beneath his waist band.

It'd been pure fear pulsing through his body, only thinking about the blade easing into his sensitive throat little by little, his hysterics only further worsening the problem.

Arms pinned by the elbows beneath Tsukasa's knees, further tearing flesh as the joint ground into the kitchen tile beneath them painfully, no matter the struggling and yanking of his arms, no reprieve was found from the pressure bearing down on his arms.

The feeling of Tsukasa's hand caressing his face, rubbing at his lip and ripping his head backwards as the thumb slipped inside his mouth, wedging it open and yanking at his cheek. His face, an exact copy of his own peering down at him with utter fascination and adoration as his fingers dipped further into his mouth, pressing his down and rubbing at the soft muscle that flexed weakly in protest beneath the intrusion.

He could taste bile at the back of his throat.

It bit further, he struggled harder, harder, harder--

An arms free.

Striking blindly, he caught Tsukasa in the throat sending him backwards towards the tiles sputtering knife clattering across the tiles, smooth white tile stained red, alabaster material reflecting the moon through the window, blue light catching the sharp edges of the cold steel, making it glimmer like it wasn't a menace, a danger, right there in front of him, away from Tsukasa, away from Tsukasa awayfromtsukasa--

With him.

Clutched in two hands, shaking from bloodloss and adrenaline, eyes unseeing and swollen nearly shut, he struck downwards with the blade, sinking it into something soft and cushiony and-- is this how Tsukasa felt the carving flesh of the neighborhood strays? Flaying them, still alive and screaming with such terror and agony as he himself watched on in mute horror as he dug his little hands into the dying animals guts and tugged them free the squish between his fingers to laugh and squeal 'hey Amane! Their so squishy and soft! Warm too! Do you think humans are like this on the inside too?'

When he drew the blade back out and stared downwards, he saw what he thought was often his reflection. Blood, warm and sticky, soaking his gut and running across the tile floor, his own face. Tsukasa's face. Their face.

(Him and Tsukasa are the same. The same person. Tsukasa lives through him and he lives through Tsukasa. The same.)

He watched their face, watched the expression on his reflection and how odd it was that it didn't reflect his own (his? There was no him, only them.)

trepidation, his own fear and regret and mortification and the apologies pushing out of his throat at speeds almost inaudible and the shaking in his hands because he never expected to be the one with the knife. It was always Tsukasa, only Tsukasa.

He watched the expression on his doppelgangers face, watched how delighted he seemed despite the turn of events, the way he ran his bloody fingerd across his lips the blood was so warm and smiled and said 'I love you Amane' like it was a prayer and not a death sentence, a shackle on his foot that'd been weighing him down since he was eight years old.

He watched the life slip his fingers like sand, no matter the tight hug nor the hysteric begging for him to just wake up Tsukasa he never moved, eyes half lidded and glassy and looking at him with a gaze he'd seen in the mirror before but not on Tsukasa, never Tsukasa.

In that moment, knife discarded to the side in his scramble to help his brother he recalled something. A phrase, he'd heard it from Tsuchigomori-sensei in class before, a class he'd only been half paying attention to, finding more interest in staring out of the window at the small funny looking tree out on campus when he'd caught the tail end of the lesson.

'Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Its Latin and an admission of fault--'

That applies right now, he thought mildly, eye dialated as he stared at Tsukasa, a chill beginning to cling to his body despite his attempts to warm him, like his body heat alone will bring him back to life.

Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Through my fault.

In that moment, this moment, its his fault. He always forgave Tsukasa, said so to his face and Tsuchigomori-sensei and to the bathroom mirror in the night after wandering hands and fear filled paralysis.

He always forgave him.

He promised to always forgive him, yet he broke that promise today, crumpled it up and shoved it down Tsukasa's throat because hes such a bad brother I'm so sorry Tsukasa I didnt mean it I love you too.

In this moment mea culpa, mea maxima culpa applies because his a liar, a murderer and betrayer. He's the reason they were in pain if you were just a better brother, took care of Tsukasa better like your supposed to he wouldn't be dead underneath you with all the cold blood congealing like metallic jelly under your knees.

In this moment, more then any other, Amane wants Tsukasa. Tsukasa's presence hadn't brought him comfort since they were in elementary, and yet he is what he needs right now, the prickly affection like a double ended blade, nails digging in too deep or hands travelling where they shouldn't.

Things that'd never brought him any solace, comfort, and yet he yearns for those violent touches in this moment, to distract to the yawning emptiness and cold breeze wafting in from the open window.

Tsukasa stinging love was still that, love.

Their love was not perfect, neither were they, Tsukasa and Amane, Amane and Tsukasa, them. The same person. They loved each other, Tsukasa loved him because he couldn't love himself, with his secluded attitude and weakness and he's so cowardly and Tsukasa's still under him and not moving-- why isn't he moving? He's always moving, never stops, not even when he sleeps, Tsukasa never stops moving so why is he--

He needs Tsukasa. Tsukasa's gone now, somewhere he isn't which is unfathomable because he goes where Tsukasa goes and vice versa. Not being with Tsukasa-- he needs him.

He needs to be with Tsukasa now.

Hooking his arms under his mirrors elbows, he pulls him upwards as he stumbles to his feet, footing nonexistent from the slippery coppery flood smearing further across the floor, shuffling forward dragging him as gently as possible towards the bathroom, watching with a roiling stomach at the way the blood smears across the ground beneath him as if red paint dragged across ceramic, bright and noticable against the pale moonlight shining down on them.

Not bothering to flick the light switch on, Amane gently released Tsukasa upon the bath mat, pushing the shower curtain aside to leave the bathtub open and available.

Setting the blade upon the bathtubs edge, he stepped one foot in and pulled Tsukasa back up, trying to maneuver him into the tub, struggling with the dead weight, strength never being his most blessed area.

Finally succeeding in tugging his twin into the tub, he lay him on his side before settling in on his own, sitting up and staring down at him, dull fingernails digging into the flesh of his  palm as he felt bile rise in his throat. Peering down for another moments, knees pulled to his chest as he continued to dig his nails into any available flesh of his own he could get his hands on, he reached for the blade to his left.

With shaking hands, slippery from blood, he poised the utensil lengthwise at his wrist, not quite allowing the tip to touched his flesh. Jaw clenching and eyes burning, he gasped in a sharp breath, nearly choking on saliva as he tried to breath through his hysterics. Pressing forwards he shook fiercely as the blade finally made contact, bottom lip wobbling and chin dimpling, he watched red liquid ooze to the surface and slowly slide down his wrist, hitting the tub with a soft 'blop'. Eyes clenching, just barely open, he tensed his hand wielding the knife, pressing down as hard as he shaking muscles would condone and drug downwards, reaching his elbow with a wail, dropping the knife like it burned him and pulling his hand tight to his chest as he wept. Head resting between his knees, un-slit arm wrapped tightly around the one pressed to his chest applying as much pressure as possible for some reprieve from the pain, swaying lightly as he did, eyes unseeing from tears.

Soft heartbroken noises escaped him, pathetic whimpers of apologies, 'I'm sorry', 'I didn't mean to', prayers to God himself for forgiveness for the sin he had committed and the other he was about to.

(Would God answer? Would him and Tsukasa go to the same place, or would they be separated? Tsukasa to heaven and him to hell...)

He was beginning to feel a bit woozy and panic was setting further in, intense boats so sudden and heavy his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head and his teeth caught his lip in a death grip.

(One cut only? You cut Tsukasa once, you deserve double the pain. You caused him pain, you hurt--)

With a loud weep, he shakily released his bloody arm, looking down at the deep gash and the split muscle, wiry and thin and so painfully visible, however weak the hand was, he managed somehow to still grasp the blade lightly, blades edge clacking into the side of the tub from the force of his trembling, making him flinch as he choked.

Extending his opposite arm, he slowly placed the tip at his wrist, watching blood bead up at the surface level cuts he gave himself from his hands shaking. Trying to apply more firmness, he pressed downwards and pulled fast inwards, visions going spotty with stars, eyes still open yet unseeing. Waiting for the black speckles to clear, he noticed with a cry he'd only cut a quarter of his wrist before the blade had swerved and left the rest unharmed. With a defeated noise, he repositioned the blade where he'd left off and paused, trying to breath in as steadily as possible to recuperate, rubbing his face onto his shoulder sleeve, before setting forward.

The blade dug back into the flesh, piercing it with a sharp pain and dragging downwards, keeping slow and steady even as the blackness ate away at his vision and left him blind, making sure to accurately follow his arm downwards.

Dropping the blade, vision swimming and head filled with cotton, he fell backwards, head cracking against the shower head, dull pain exploding across his skull as he curled inwards, weakly fisting Tsukasa's sullied shirt and pushing his face into his chest, gasping as he gave a high pitched keen.

Pressed as close as possible, he cried, eyes clenched closed so hard it hurt, fingers spasming lightly tangled in the fabric. The proximity despite the body being cold brought him comfort.

(It was Tsukasa. The only person who can both make and fill the holes he punched through Amane.)

Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa

Was this retribution? Was it enough? Was his life enough? His in return for Tsukasa, could God give his duplicate his life back in return for his own?

His head filled eleven further with cotton, the fish bowl nature of the little noise he could he around him and the numbing of his fingers didn't make him feel any better.

Could he absolve himself of this guilt, give back to Tsukasa in return for the promise he broke? Could he make it better by joining him?

His breathing slowed face feeling limp as he nuzzled closer to the cold body next to him.

Tsukasa always wanted to stay together, right? They were going to be together.

He felt chills run up and down his body as he relaxed, the pain across his flesh fading into the background.

Through my faults, I'll absolve myself in the eyes of God and in he who I love. My brother is me and I am my brother, one in the same, our love knows no bounds between this world and the next. We sin in the lord's eye yet we seek redemption, such a thing I shall achieve.

He drifted to sleep, with the wish of seeing him again.

#hanako kun #hanako kun spoilers #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #amane yugi #tsukasa yugi #tsuchigomori #fanfic

[alteredphoenix]

My Reach, Far and Wide (WoW)(WIP)(Role Swap AU; Druid!Illidan, DH!Malfurion, Warden!Tyrande)

A/N: I have been wanting to do fanfics that take place purely during the Classic era (as in, before TBC and WotLK), and though I’m halfway to level 60 on my main it seems to me that, so far, there’s very little that’s drawing my attention and warrants my interest to flesh something out. This might be a bad idea, what with me plodding along at the pace of a snail, so for that endeavor I may have to consult my Chronicles volumes for more info.

In the meantime, I’d been fishing for ideas on want to focus on today, this being my day off. This preview below is half the document that I’ve typed up so far: a fanfic that takes direct inspiration from skins that originate in Heroes of the Storm, featuring Warden!Tyrande, Druid!Illidan, and Malfurion as the Betrayer of Night Elves. Maiev is the High Priestess (although certainly not shipped with Illidan), and Kor’vas (not presented here) is Illidan’s adopted daughter (a foil to Shandris, a Watcher that is a swap of Naisha, whom is of the Sisterhood).

A reminder that, although Illidan’s motives to sabotage the Legion was eventually revealed, Malfurion’s Betrayer was available prior to it. The description dictates that in that universe he went mad from Sargeras’s whispers and thus abandoned Cenarius’s teachings to join the Legion, a move that came as a shock to the night elves. While I can definitely see this version of Malfurion becoming Sargeras’s jailor in the future, his aspirations would be a lot more selfish and much less altruistic - his partnership would serve as a convenience to slake his addiction to magic than out of any ounce of goodness in his heart: an iteration that is closer to Illidan’s pre-Legion personality and goals.

-

One thing they teach you among the Watchers is to never, under any circumstances unless you have someone accompanying you, close your eyes longer than is absolutely necessary. There were going to be times where you would go stretches without rest; you’re either on your feet or, if you’re Tyrande Whisperwind, standing on your feet and not moving the slightest centimeter from your post, to which your feet will scream for mercy as they ache with each heavy, trodden step is weighted on the ground or your legs will turn to jelly and shiver with the chill of needles lancing up and down muscles and ligaments as to become stone pincushions that can give out with little to no warning in its abruptness.

Sleep is human, but sleeping before it is called for denotes weakness. A potential for trouble. Elune have mercy on the souls of those unfortunate enough to close their eyes to the darkness that lurks behind the veil of reality and awaits them all in the inevitable future; for though the Burning Legion has been pushed out of Azeroth, their presence still remains. Life finds a way to survive the sundering of the world, but so too does evil—Sargeras’s vile servants remain, stalking the fractured land that came to be called Kalimdor, searching for ways to break through the night elves’ defenses and feast upon the Well nestled beneath Nordrassil’s eaves, glowing with magic and untold promises of power beyond a person’s wildest fancies. A road that would lead only to temptations, the Wardens would grumble.

Tyrande doesn’t close her eyes all the way. They lower, half-mast, a fraction of a blink. Yet it’s not the footsteps that startle her awake but the shadow stretching along the wall coming closer that does. She rises up, breath hissing out between clenched teeth that she hopes is low enough for the intruder not to hear, and bears the umbral crescent before her so fast the torchlight flashes across its serrated teeth.

“At ease, sister!” Astarii Starseeker cries, and when Tyrande’s eyes finish their blink they take in her fellow Watcher, hands upraised in placation. “It’s only me!”

Slowly, Tyrande relaxes and lowers her weapon. “You should know better than to sneak up on me.”

“My apologies. But the others said you had not come up from your post for your break. I went to go check on you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

Astarii laughs and rubs the back of her neck, sheepish. “Ah. That’s good. That’s, uh, that’s good! I’d hate to have to bring Shan’do Illidan down here and find you dozing away. That,” she shifts from one foot to the other, deciding her words, “I don’t think you’d’ve liked that.”

Tyrande’s ears pin back, more over the thought of being caught unawares than the news that her Watcher brings. “The Shan’do? Again?”

“Yes. Again,” Astarii repeats patiently, and gestures behind her the way she’d come. “He waits at the entrance.”

Tyrande huffs a sigh, reattaches the crescent to its tackles on her belt beneath the long green cape, and turns away. “Send him down,” she calls, and doesn’t bother looking back when Astarii acknowledges her and goes up the tunnel to relay the message.

She senses him well before his shadow dwarfs her and it travels along the walls like a lonesome phantom of the War. Hard to, really; the Archdruid’s influence is vast, incalculable, filled with a life that encompasses every blade of grass, every speck of dust and dirt and speck of grain and sand, every leaf in every tree and every drop of water in every river and nook and stream and pond and lake in Mount Hyjal that when inhaled is fresh and green and free of the corruption that drove Azshara and her Highborne to heights of uncaring, vainglorious madness. When he finally catches up with her and matches her stride for stride, Tyrande is already halfway beneath the den.

Neither say a word, walking past silent Watchers that cease whatever activity they are doing—sharpening their blades, striking the target dummies, checking the wards—and incline their heads to their Warden, or bow low at the waist before they straighten and resume the task they left off. They take a sharp right and cross the wooden bridge that goes over the inlet that burbles beneath them and spills over the edge into a shallow pool below ringed with stalagmites. The torches flicker, through their high cheekbones into brief shadow; Tyrande sniffs, scenting juniper and earthroot, deep and damp as its namesake.

“I don’t know why you keep doing this,” Tyrande says as they round the corner that takes them down, down, into a gloom that not even the flames can wholly fend off. “People like him will never change.”

“He is still my brother,” Illidan says, voice flat.

“Not even family should be granted special treatment. You should have done away with him, for all our sake.”

“And what good would that have done? One traitor’s death will not eliminate the influence the Dark One has left on this world.” His frown is harsh, severe. It makes him look far older than he appears, like an oak tree that has weathered many storms. “There are others now. There will be more then.”

“Not if we have anything to say about it.”

“Do you really want to afford a civil war? Is this what you’re doing while I walk among my brethren in the Dream?”

Tyrande harrumphs, lips tipped up in a cruel, mirthless smile. “For all your talk of unity, Shan’do, you’re still the same, guileless boy with a soft heart that I grew up with in Lor’lathil so long ago. I suppose when I’ll next see you again you’ll expect me to hold hands with Broll Bearmantle.”

“A preferable alternative, next to that blowhard you call a friend.”

“Fandral has the right idea for our people. We need only concern ourselves. No other race in all of Azeroth can compare to the vigil we stand against the Burning Legion and any that may stand beside them. Ours is a strength that comes from within and the bounty nature offers us. To think they are capable otherwise is beyond their ken.”

“Even the Highborne?”

“You know it had to be done. Keeping them here would have given you your civil war, and then where would our people be? Nordrassil is not blessed, and Andrassil is broken. Although exiling them across the seas may prove to be a disaster in the making—did you know Dath’remar has founded a kingdom of his own and created a new Well? They changed, Illidan. They have turned their backs on Elune, preferring the warmth of the sun.”

“I am well aware of their metamorphosis and their monarchy. The Dream does not end in just Kalimdor.”

“I should hope not.”

“You worry too much. So long as they keep their nose clean, they can do whatever they wish to do that they could not in Ashenvale.”

“You hope too much. You really expect them to behave.”

“In the future we have built atop the ruins of our arrogance, hope is one of the few things I treasure above all else. I am grateful you know me so well.”

Tyrande snorts. “You should have killed them,” she snarls. “You should have killed him. Sparing them will bring us nothing but trouble.”

“You and Maiev both. I dread to think you are both twins, or two separate entities of a whole. That’s all she talks about.”

“Well, the Wardens are always accepting new applicants, should she ever change her mind.”

“There’s hardly a difference between you and the Sisterhood of Elune, all things considered.”

“And what about you and the Betrayer?”

A rustle of leaves, a creak of wood as Illidan turns his head. The radiance of golden eyes behind his blindfold--whether to shield everyone of their intensity or from the horrible gash Azzinoth gave him that almost rendered him blind eludes her—brightens the hallway, causing Tyrande to look askance lest she discover firsthand if she truly will lose her sight to it. “What about us?” he asks.

#world of warcraft #role swap au #illidan stormrage #malfurion stormrage #tyrande whisperwind #my reach far and wide #fanfiction #preview #mywriting

[rational-mastermind]

Forduary Week #1

A/N: Redo. Gonna write another piece for Ford when he and Stan were still smoll.

 It was the perfect Saturday. No school. No bullies. No homework. Yes, even for Ford, no homework was a great thing. He and Stan got up early that morning to watch their favorite shows. Quickly ate some good breakfast. And had the rest of the day to do absolutely nothing. They ran down the beach to their hideaway cove.

 “Tag! Your it, pointdexter!”, Stanley teased, giving him a good smack on the back and started running ahead of him.

Ford had to catch his glasses to make sure they didn’t fall off his face.

 “Hey! No fair, Stan!”, Ford laughed and chased after him. “I wasn’t ready!”

The sand slipped under his feet, making it nearly impossible to run on but Ford was determined to catch up.

 Of course, he didn’t. Stan reached their boat, The Stan ‘O War and quickly climbed up on it.

 “Safe! The Stan ‘O War’s safe!”, he called out quickly.

 “Darn it!”, Ford gasped and sat back on the sand, leaning against the boat to catch his breath. “Fine...”

They laughed a little and Stan hopped down.

 “Man, you’re a wimp.”, he teased.

 “Shut up.”, Ford rolled his eyes. Then opportunity struck him and quickly reached forward and smacked Stan’s chest. “HA! TAG! You’re not on the boat!”

“What- HEY!”, but it was too late. For was already back on the boat, and out of Stan’s reach.

They giggled again and climbed up onto the boat’s deck.

“So what do you think we need to do next to get this thing going?”, Stan asked, looking at their ship-to-be.

 “Well.. We cleaned off all the barnacles.. But I don’t think we can use tools yet... Unless we know how to slip them by Pops..”, Ford noted, looking at the missing floor.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”, Stan frowned a little. “I can’t even get cookies without our old man noticing. How are we gonna get a hammer out here?”

 “Or a saw.”, Ford agreed. He then shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to work on plans some more.”

 He pulled a notebook out of his jacket. The special one he kept just for the Stan O’ War. They sat together and Ford opened it to the map he drew.

 “So we’re definitely going to Canada, right?”, Stan asked. “We didn’t say for sure last time...”

 “I think we should.”, Ford marked it.

They talked of places to go. Things to do. Ford talking about where to find monsters and Stan dreaming about treasure and adventures. They “practiced” fighting off pirates and sailing, preparing them for their future. When it got hot, they sat in the cave, keeping cool and enjoying a late lunch of peanut butter and jelly.

It was then, while Ford waited for Stan to finish his toffee nuts, that the young boy laid back and more seriously thought about their lives. Their futures. He didn’t like to think about it..but sometimes he worried about what’ll happen. How do you just get from...point a to point b? From dreaming of adventuring on the seas to actually...DOING it? Ma and Pops..what would they say?

“..Hey Stanley?”, Ford finally broke the silence, his voice a bit smaller-sounding than usual. Uncertain in himself.

 “Yeah?”

 “Do... Do you think we can do this?”, he asked. “Build the boat... Go sailing off?”

 “Yeah, of course!”, Stan nearly scoffed at the doubt. “What kinda question is that?”

 “It’s just... I dunno.”, Ford frowned, looking up at the ceiling. “...What if we can’t? What if..I don’t know. Like, Ma says no? And we get grounded or something?”

 “Uh, then we’ll leave anyway.”, Stan rolled his eyes.

 “What if Pops found out?”, Ford added on, a bit more fearful.

 “Well it wouldn’t matter cause we’ll be GONE.”

 “But what if-”

 “Stanford, really? What on earth could possibly happen that’ll make this NOT work?”, Stanley frowned at him. “Why on earth would we NOT get as far away from this stupid city as soon as possible? What the heck could ever stop us?”

 “Well what if we got older?”, Ford sat up, looking back at him. “What if we got older and we didn’t wanna do this anymore? Cause we grow up and develop different interests? What if you suddenly wanna be a boxing champion and I wanted to be a scientist?”

 He was kind of annoyed that Stan was getting annoyed with him. But..mostly he was just scared. He was scared about the idea of not doing this anymore. That for whatever reason..they just stopped.

 “...What if we stopped being friends...”, he added, sadness creeping into his tone, his features. His eyes cast to the floor. “..what if we stopped being friends because...people liked you more? And you wanted to be with people who...weren’t a freak like me.”

There was a long silence. Ford didn’t want to look back at Stanley, cause he was afraid that if he did, he’d know his fears were right. It was plausible. People did usually like Stanley. Once they got to know him. He was funny and strong, he wasn’t afraid to stand up for what he thought was right. He was braver than Ford ever could be... And Ford...

Ford was a freak. No one liked a know-it-all. A nerd. Nor did anyone like someone with six fingers. It was just..weird. All weird. All Ford ever was, was weird. He couldn’t stop it. He can’t really embrace it either, like Stanley has. But what if Stanley...could do better without him? Stanley could actually make friends if Ford wasn’t holding him back.

“Stanford...”, Stanley came over and sat down next to his brother, putting an arm around him. Ford finally dared to look up, look back at his brother. And he was met

with a face full of sand.

“I know you’re smart, but that’s about the dumbest thing you ever said!”, Stanley scolded, having just shoved Ford into the ground.

Ford coughed and sputtered, spewing sand out of his mouth as he sat back up.

 “WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!”, he yelled.

 “IT WAS FOR BEING DUMB. THAT’S NOT YOUR JOB, IT’S MINE!”, Stanley yelled back at him.

 Forgetting, for the moment, of the more touching truth behind Stanley’s words, Ford lunged at him and they wrestled in the sand for a moment, trying to get the upper hand of each other.

 “I’m not dumb!”, Ford cried out.

 “I didn’t say you were!”

 “YES YOU DID!”

 “I didn’t mean it! OW!”

 “Watch it!!“

 It ended with Stanley sitting on his back, Ford’s arms held behind him. Ford struggled to wriggle out from underneath.

 “If you move, I’ll fart in your face!”, Stan threatened, effectively stopping Ford’s efforts. They caught their breaths, faces quickly flushing from the fight. “Geez, Sixer, did you even hear what I said?”

 “Yeah, you called me dumb.”

 “Yeah cause you actually thought I wouldn’t wanna be your friend!”, Stanley rolled his eyes. “Cause of your dumb hands of all things!“

 “Well why, not?”, Ford huffed. “...wouldn’t be a first.”

 “....Ford, if you keep talking about yourself like that, I’m gonna whoop you so hard Mom’ll think you got bullied by Crampelter again.”, Stan growled. “I LIKE YOUR HANDS! I like being your friend! I like being your twin! Don’t you think that counts for anything??”

 “Stanley, there’s a lot of great examples of siblings not getting along.”, Ford kept his glare focused on the ground. “You know that. It’s unnatural for siblings to get along as well as we do.“

 “Yeah, well since when did being normal ever mean being fun?”, Stanley challenged. “You and I have fun all the time. I don’t care if that’s not what other people do! I don’t care if you’re not like other people at all!”

Ford remained silent, letting what Stanley say sink in. He still worried. He can’t help it. But...it sounded like Stan was meaning what he said.

 “...Ford?”, Stanford looked up at his brother. Stan wasn’t angry anymore. He wasn’t sad either. He just looked...sad. “...I don’t ever wanna stop being twins with you.”

 Ford found himself nodding. He sniffled a little and hated it. He hated crying. He quickly rubbed at his eyes, making sure to keep them dry. Stanley reached over and hugged him. It was a bit weird. They usually didn’t hug. “Too whimpy and emotional” they would say. But Ford found himself glad for this one exception and hugged back tightly.

 “I wouldn’t ever want to stop being your twin either.”, he mumbled. Stan hugged tighter with a small “good” and they finally let go.

 After calming down, they came back out to the Stan ‘O War. They didn’t talk much for a while after that but..as Ford looked at the broken sail hanging limply on the mast...he couldn’t help but think that maybe Stan was right. Maybe nothing would get in their way.

Or at least..he hoped so.

#Stanford Pines #Forduary #Ford Pines #Sixer #Stanley Pines #Stan Pines #Stan Twins #my writing #crap I didn't mean to get all feelsy and shit #for once. #XD #anyway. I hope anyone who reads this likes it.

[savetopnow]

2018-04-06 10 TV now

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Netflix Best Of

[Request] Just finished Altered Carbon. Anything like it would be appreciated

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[US] Despicable Me 3 (2017) After failing to arrest an '80s child star turned supervillain, Gru loses his job but gains a family member when he learns he's got a long-lost twin.

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#tv

[networkingdefinition]

Ginger Quotes

Official Website: Ginger Quotes

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• A Christian might drink only ginger ale at the tavern bar, but there he is already on the way to drinking beer and whiskey. The girl who attends a ball but never dances a step, will soon surrender her body to the lustful embrace of every casual male acquaintance as other dancers do. – John R. Rice • After all, Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels. – Ann Richards • And then there were cats, thought Dog. He’d surprised the huge ginger cat from next door and had attempted to reduce it to cowering jelly by means of the usual glowing stare and deep-throated growl, which had always worked on the damned in the past. This time they had earned him a whack on the nose that had made his eyes water. Cats, Dog considered, were clearly a lot tougher than lost souls. He was looking forward to a further cat experiment, which he planned would consist of jumping around and yapping excitedly at it. It was a long shot, but it just might work. – Terry Pratchett • Are you not aware that my profession involves beating the living hell out of some poor-unfortunate wearing nothing more than a pair of green lycra knicks? I’m practically naked each time I step in the ring. But I tend to cover up my privates in public. No one likes ginger pubes. – Sheamus • As a dancer I couldn’t outdance Ginger Rogers or Eleanor Powell. As a singer I’m no rival to Doris Day. As an actress I don’t take myself seriously…I’m the girl the truck drivers love. – Betty Grable • As Gloria Steinem said about Ginger Rogers: She was doing everything Fred Astaire was doing, just doing it backwards in high heels. Well, Southern women are doing and enduring what other women have to do and endure, but (at least until recently) they had to do it in heels and hats and white gloves and makeup and a sweet smile, with maybe a glass of bourbon and a cigarette to get them through the magnolia part of being a steel magnolia. – Michael Malone

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Ginger', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_ginger').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_ginger img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Because we are human, because we are bound by gravity and the limitations of our bodies, because we live in a world where the news is often bad and the prospects disturbing, there is a need for another world somewhere, a world where Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers live. – Roger Ebert • Being a singer now I have to get all fussy… I must have my ginger and lemon and all that. – Graham Coxon • ‘E’s all’ot sand an’ ginger when alive, An”e’s generally shammin’ when’e’s dead. – Rudyard Kipling • Fireheart was interrupted by a screech from Cloudtail. “Fireheart! Fireheart, Brightpaw isn’t dead!” Fireheart spun around and raced across the clearing to crouch beside Brightpaw. Her white-and-ginger fur, which, she had always kept so neatly groomed, was spiky with drying blood. On one side of her face the fur was torn away, and there was blood where her eye should have been. One ear had been shredded, and there were huge claw marks scored across her muzzle. – Erin Hunter

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Gimme a visky with a ginger ale on the side – and don’t be stinchy, beby. – Greta Garbo • Ginger Rogers was one of the worst, red-baiting, terrifying reactionaries in Hollywood. – Joseph Losey • He boils milk with fresh ginger, a quarter of a vanilla bean, and tea that is so dark and fine-leaved that it looks like black dust. He strains it and puts cane sugar in both our cups. There’s something euphorically invigorating and yet filling about it. It tastes the way I imagine the Far East must taste. – Peter Høeg • He’s of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger…. he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts. – William Shakespeare • I always have a beard between jobs. I just let it grow until they pay me to shave it. People are quite surprised it’s ginger. Sometimes they ask me if dye my hair and I always say ‘Wow, no!’ I’m ‘trans-ginger.’ – James McAvoy • I bought one of those anti-bullying wristbands when they first came out. I say ‘bought’, I actually stole it off a short, fat ginger kid. – Jack Whitehall • I drink a lot of everything; beer while watching football. I have a taste for whiskey, but Jack Daniels and ginger is about as fancy as it gets with me. – Jeff Gannon • I grew up watching old musicals and seeing Ginger Rogers wearing a beautiful fitted bodice that had ostrich feathers. I love how it moved when she danced. Theatrical pieces like that stayed with me. I wanted to grow up to wear those kinds of things. – Gina Torres • I have been wearing black, which was a reaction to the Ginger thing. But now I have hopes and I can be anything. Tomorrow I might be naked with a feather boa, who knows? – Geri Halliwell • I have to be a ginger for 3 weeks. – Katy Perry • I haven’t shaved my private parts, but I dyed them once for a laugh! They looked more ginger, though! – Lee Ryan • I loved old black and white movies, especially the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musicals. I loved everything about them – the songs, the music, the romance and the spectacle. They were real class and I knew that I wanted to be in that world. – Sharon Stone • I personally don’t think ginger men have a habit of being attractive. We have to make ourselves seem attractive by doing stuff. – Ed Sheeran • I put out a good 10 different types of drinks for them and they just said, “Oh, okay, so it’s just one choice.” One choice? I gave you Coke, Pepsi, Ginger Ale, Sprite. They saw that as one choice. Now why was that one choice? Because they felt, well, it was just all soda. – Sheena Iyengar • I really enjoy making dinner for my kids and my husband – chopping ginger and marinating the tofu. – Sadie Frost • I’d love to play Neil Kinnock. Because of my ginger hair, I thought that was a possibility. He’s a hero and a villain in most people’s eyes, but I’d like to do that, I think I’d be right for it. – Jason Flemyng • If I could eat only one thing for the rest of my life, it would be rhubarb fool, which I make with ginger and a hint of elderflower cordial. – Sebastian Faulks • If I had to rate myself between one and 10? If you’re a gingerist and like ginger guys, I guess I’m a seven, with make-up on maybe an eight. If you’re not a gingerist, I’m probably a six, six and a half. – Jason Flemyng • If there is one thing of which I am most proud, it’s that I made being ginger cool! – Rupert Grint • I’ll always be the ginger one from Harry Potter. – Rupert Grint • I’m ginger, so it’s hard to rate me – Jason Flemyng • I’m half Scottish, half Welsh and I regard red hair as perfectly ordinary. And to set the record straight, contrary to reports, he has never referred to himself as the ‘Ginger Ninja’. – Helen McCrory • I’m just some irritating, lying, ginger kid from Cornwall who should have been locked up in some youth detention centre. I just managed to escape and blag it into music. – Aphex Twin • I’m out here to represent the gingers, the gypsies, and the outcasts. Because I am all of the above, and I’m all about having a great time. – Neon Hitch • I’m quite sexy – if you like gingers. – Jason Flemyng • I’m so proud to be part of Harry Potter and even prouder to be representing the gingers. – Rupert Grint • In England we burnt redheads at the stake, because we thought they were witches. There are still young redheads in Britain getting ripped for having red hair. ‘Oy, Ginger!’ – Damian Lewis • Inside my heart, there’s a 12-year-old girl who has always wanted to be Ginger Rogers. – Samantha Bond • I’ve always been quite a proud ginger so I couldn’t dye it and betray the other gingers. – Rupert Grint • I’ve had years of teasing about my red hair, but I definitely think it toughened me up. If you’re ginger, you end up pretty quick-witted. – Ed Sheeran • I’ve never had food in my fridge. All I have in my fridge is one shelf of Canada Dry ginger ale, Diet Cokes on the next shelf, and ZeroWater on the next shelf. That is it. – Brigid Berlin • Jamaica has the best coffee, the best sugar, the best ginger and some of the best cocoa in the world. – Chris Blackwell • Last time I was sick, the guy I was seeing brought me a bottle of ginger ale… and expected me to pay him back for it. ~Jaime Vegas – Kelley Armstrong • Money can’t buy you love, but it can get you some really good chocolate ginger biscuits. – Dylan Moran • My dog, Ginger, is jumpy-like me-sensitive to sound and sudden movement. She wasn’t that way at first, but not long after we got her, my grandfather told me to stand still outside and hold her leash tight. Then he shot a gun off by our feet, several times. “This is how girls learn to obey,” he said, “how to be seen and not heard.” – Mira Bartok • My father said once that if I didn’t have my mother’s ginger hair, I wouldn’t blush or curse as easily. Which I though was unfair. I hardly ever curse or blush, even though I’ve had plenty of days that required both. – Maggie Stiefvater • My favorite ginger is Prince Harry! – Andy Cohen • My fridge is really just vegan: coconut water, Gatorade (my favorite!), cucumbers, mint, kale, vegetables, ginger, and wheat grass. – Serena Williams • My ginger tabby cat Oscar – he’s got his own passport – he comes everywhere with me. – Ashley Madekwe • My husband calls me a ginger every single day of my life, so that Im completely used to it, and Ive come to see it as a term of endearment. – Jayma Mays • My mother told me I was dancing before I was born. She could feel my toes tapping wildly inside her for months. – Ginger Rogers • Nose, nose, jolly red nose,And who gave thee that jolly red nose?Nutmegs and ginger, cinammon and cloves;And they gave me this jolly red nose. – Francis Beaumont • Now, many of us in the Labour Party are conservationists – and we all love the red squirrel. But there is one ginger rodent which we never want to see again – Danny Alexander. – Harriet Harman • Of course, Ginger was able to accomplish sex through dance. We told more through our movements instead of the big clinch. We did it all in the dance. – Fred Astaire • Oh, God, I’m so lonely. An entire weekend streching ahead with no one to love or have fun with. Anyway, I don’t care. I’ve got a lovely steamed ginger pudding from M&S to put in the microwave. – Helen Fielding • Only a ginger, can call another ginger Ginger. – Tim Minchin • Power is all. Another falsification; I do not tell how I gain or maintain it. I only record the ginger stroll through the vaguely fetid garden of its rewards. – Samuel R. Delany • Prepare a little hot tea or broth and it should be brought to them . . . without their being asked if they would care for it. Those who are in great distress want no food, but if it is handed to them, they will mechanically take it ‘ … There was something arresting about the matter-of-fact wisdom here, the instinctive understanding of the physiological disruptions… I will not forget the instinctive wisdom of the friend who, every day for those first few weeks, brought me a quart container of scallion-and-ginger congee from Chinatown. Congee I could eat. Congee was all I could eat. – Joan Didion • Right now Jack lives with me. Jack is my Jack Russell. I also have a Yorkie named Ginger, but Jack and Ginger can’t be in the same place at the same time because she is very jealous. Even if Jack’s not in the same state, she would growl if she heard his name. – Mariah Carey • Scholes was playing tiki-taka football when nobody in England knew what it was. He was another of those players, like Denis Law or Bobby Moore, who at 15 probably looked as if he wouldn’t make it. Too small, you would think – can’t run, dumpy little ginger nut – but then the ball would come to him and he would dazzle you. He was the best footballer in that Manchester United midfield, better than Ryan Giggs and Roy Keane. – Harry Redknapp • The only time I feel pressured is when some woman’s husband comes over and says, “Will you go ask my wife to dance? She’s a great dancer and would just love to dance with you.”Suddenly there’s a crowd of people standing around us and they expect that they’re about to see Fred and Ginger. Here the woman and I have just met, and these people think that it’s showtime. That is the only time I think it is really embarrassing. – Gene Kelly • The only way to enjoy anything in this life is to earn it first. – Ginger Rogers • The real color of my hair is mouse. I always want to be ginger, which I was when I was born, or blond, because I live in L.A., and I want to look like I go surfing without any physical effort. – John Lydon • The things that brought me the most comfort now were too small to list. Raspberries in cream. Sparrows with cocked heads. Shadows of bare limbs making for sidewalk filigrees. Roses past their prime with their petals loose about them. The shouts of children at play in the neighborhood, Ginger Rogers on the black-and-white screen. – Elizabeth Berg • There was never any question about Scholesy’s quality as a footballer. He was known as the little ginger magician in the youth team. Some reckon he’s the best United player of the modern era, and there’s a case for saying that. You don’t hear him blowing his own trumpet, though – he just gets on with his job. He’s the real deal. – Steve Bruce • Was that Will?” she said finally. Henry arched one ginger eyebrow. “Perhaps he’s been kidnapped and replaced by an automaton,” he suggested. “It seems possible…” For once Charlotte could only find herself in agreement. – Cassandra Clare • We live thetime that a match flickers; we pop the corkof a ginger-beer bottle, and the earthquake swallows us on the instant. Is it not odd, is it not incongruous, is it not, in the highest sense of human speech, incredible, that we should think so highly of the ginger-beer, and regard so little the devouring earthquake? – Robert Louis Stevenson • What kind of tea do you want?” “There´s more than one kind of tea?…What do you have?” “Let´s see… Blueberry, Raspberry, Ginseng, Sleepytime, Green Tea, Green Tea with Lemon, Green Tea with Lemon and Honey, Liver Disaster, Ginger with Honey, Ginger Without Honey, Vanilla Almond, White Truffle Coconut, Chamomile, Blueberry Chamomile, Decaf Vanilla Walnut, Constant Comment and Earl Grey.” -“I.. Uh…What are you having?… Did you make some of those up? – Bryan Lee O’Malley • What’s all this talk about me being teamed with Ginger Rogers? I will not have it Leland–I did not go into pictures to be teamed with her or anyone else, and if that is the program in mind for me I will not stand for it. I don’t mind making another picture with her but as for this teams idea, it’s out. – Ginger Rogers • When Ginger Rogers danced with Astaire, it was the only time in the movies when you looked at the man, not the woman. – Gene Kelly • When I realised I had a facility for humour, I latched on to it, and it gave me confidence and I built my personality around it. So I subconsciously made myself become the funny one so that would be my label rather than the ginger one or the red-faced one. – Catherine Tate • When I think back about my immediate reaction to that redheads girl, it seems to spring from an appreciation of natural beauty. I mean the heart pleasure you get from looking at speckled leaves or the palimpsested bark of plane trees in Provence. There was something richly appealing to her color combination, the ginger snaps floating in the milk-white skin, the golden highlights in the strawberry hair. it was like autumn, looking at her. It was like driving up north to see the colors. – Jeffrey Eugenides • When I was a little kid I always wanted to be ginger. My best friend was ginger and he was pretty cool. – Noel Fielding • When I was younger, I definitely did face anti-ginger prejudice. As a child, all teasing hurts, whether it’s because you’re fat or a different race or have red hair. I had enough comments from a couple of people to make it a sore point. – Lily Cole • When I’m off the road, and I can really control my diet down to the calorie, I juice seven days a week. Every afternoon, whatever I have at hand, beets, carrots, ginger, whatever. I juice, literally, every single day. And on the road, I try to find fresh juice wherever I can. – Henry Rollins • When two people love each other, they don’t look at each other, they look in the same direction. – Ginger Rogers • When you have a Dancing partner, there’s always gonna be a moment where the girl’s gonna cry, Ginger didn’t do that. But, most every other girl I’ve worked with have cried because they said “aah, I can’t do it” and I have to go “Yes, you can, Shut up!” and they do do it. – Fred Astaire • Whoever takes just plain ginger ale soon gets drowned out of the conversation. – Kin Hubbard

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[equitiesstocks]

Ginger Quotes

Official Website: Ginger Quotes

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• A Christian might drink only ginger ale at the tavern bar, but there he is already on the way to drinking beer and whiskey. The girl who attends a ball but never dances a step, will soon surrender her body to the lustful embrace of every casual male acquaintance as other dancers do. – John R. Rice • After all, Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels. – Ann Richards • And then there were cats, thought Dog. He’d surprised the huge ginger cat from next door and had attempted to reduce it to cowering jelly by means of the usual glowing stare and deep-throated growl, which had always worked on the damned in the past. This time they had earned him a whack on the nose that had made his eyes water. Cats, Dog considered, were clearly a lot tougher than lost souls. He was looking forward to a further cat experiment, which he planned would consist of jumping around and yapping excitedly at it. It was a long shot, but it just might work. – Terry Pratchett • Are you not aware that my profession involves beating the living hell out of some poor-unfortunate wearing nothing more than a pair of green lycra knicks? I’m practically naked each time I step in the ring. But I tend to cover up my privates in public. No one likes ginger pubes. – Sheamus • As a dancer I couldn’t outdance Ginger Rogers or Eleanor Powell. As a singer I’m no rival to Doris Day. As an actress I don’t take myself seriously…I’m the girl the truck drivers love. – Betty Grable • As Gloria Steinem said about Ginger Rogers: She was doing everything Fred Astaire was doing, just doing it backwards in high heels. Well, Southern women are doing and enduring what other women have to do and endure, but (at least until recently) they had to do it in heels and hats and white gloves and makeup and a sweet smile, with maybe a glass of bourbon and a cigarette to get them through the magnolia part of being a steel magnolia. – Michael Malone

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Ginger', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_ginger').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_ginger img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Because we are human, because we are bound by gravity and the limitations of our bodies, because we live in a world where the news is often bad and the prospects disturbing, there is a need for another world somewhere, a world where Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers live. – Roger Ebert • Being a singer now I have to get all fussy… I must have my ginger and lemon and all that. – Graham Coxon • ‘E’s all’ot sand an’ ginger when alive, An”e’s generally shammin’ when’e’s dead. – Rudyard Kipling • Fireheart was interrupted by a screech from Cloudtail. “Fireheart! Fireheart, Brightpaw isn’t dead!” Fireheart spun around and raced across the clearing to crouch beside Brightpaw. Her white-and-ginger fur, which, she had always kept so neatly groomed, was spiky with drying blood. On one side of her face the fur was torn away, and there was blood where her eye should have been. One ear had been shredded, and there were huge claw marks scored across her muzzle. – Erin Hunter

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Gimme a visky with a ginger ale on the side – and don’t be stinchy, beby. – Greta Garbo • Ginger Rogers was one of the worst, red-baiting, terrifying reactionaries in Hollywood. – Joseph Losey • He boils milk with fresh ginger, a quarter of a vanilla bean, and tea that is so dark and fine-leaved that it looks like black dust. He strains it and puts cane sugar in both our cups. There’s something euphorically invigorating and yet filling about it. It tastes the way I imagine the Far East must taste. – Peter Høeg • He’s of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger…. he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts. – William Shakespeare • I always have a beard between jobs. I just let it grow until they pay me to shave it. People are quite surprised it’s ginger. Sometimes they ask me if dye my hair and I always say ‘Wow, no!’ I’m ‘trans-ginger.’ – James McAvoy • I bought one of those anti-bullying wristbands when they first came out. I say ‘bought’, I actually stole it off a short, fat ginger kid. – Jack Whitehall • I drink a lot of everything; beer while watching football. I have a taste for whiskey, but Jack Daniels and ginger is about as fancy as it gets with me. – Jeff Gannon • I grew up watching old musicals and seeing Ginger Rogers wearing a beautiful fitted bodice that had ostrich feathers. I love how it moved when she danced. Theatrical pieces like that stayed with me. I wanted to grow up to wear those kinds of things. – Gina Torres • I have been wearing black, which was a reaction to the Ginger thing. But now I have hopes and I can be anything. Tomorrow I might be naked with a feather boa, who knows? – Geri Halliwell • I have to be a ginger for 3 weeks. – Katy Perry • I haven’t shaved my private parts, but I dyed them once for a laugh! They looked more ginger, though! – Lee Ryan • I loved old black and white movies, especially the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musicals. I loved everything about them – the songs, the music, the romance and the spectacle. They were real class and I knew that I wanted to be in that world. – Sharon Stone • I personally don’t think ginger men have a habit of being attractive. We have to make ourselves seem attractive by doing stuff. – Ed Sheeran • I put out a good 10 different types of drinks for them and they just said, “Oh, okay, so it’s just one choice.” One choice? I gave you Coke, Pepsi, Ginger Ale, Sprite. They saw that as one choice. Now why was that one choice? Because they felt, well, it was just all soda. – Sheena Iyengar • I really enjoy making dinner for my kids and my husband – chopping ginger and marinating the tofu. – Sadie Frost • I’d love to play Neil Kinnock. Because of my ginger hair, I thought that was a possibility. He’s a hero and a villain in most people’s eyes, but I’d like to do that, I think I’d be right for it. – Jason Flemyng • If I could eat only one thing for the rest of my life, it would be rhubarb fool, which I make with ginger and a hint of elderflower cordial. – Sebastian Faulks • If I had to rate myself between one and 10? If you’re a gingerist and like ginger guys, I guess I’m a seven, with make-up on maybe an eight. If you’re not a gingerist, I’m probably a six, six and a half. – Jason Flemyng • If there is one thing of which I am most proud, it’s that I made being ginger cool! – Rupert Grint • I’ll always be the ginger one from Harry Potter. – Rupert Grint • I’m ginger, so it’s hard to rate me – Jason Flemyng • I’m half Scottish, half Welsh and I regard red hair as perfectly ordinary. And to set the record straight, contrary to reports, he has never referred to himself as the ‘Ginger Ninja’. – Helen McCrory • I’m just some irritating, lying, ginger kid from Cornwall who should have been locked up in some youth detention centre. I just managed to escape and blag it into music. – Aphex Twin • I’m out here to represent the gingers, the gypsies, and the outcasts. Because I am all of the above, and I’m all about having a great time. – Neon Hitch • I’m quite sexy – if you like gingers. – Jason Flemyng • I’m so proud to be part of Harry Potter and even prouder to be representing the gingers. – Rupert Grint • In England we burnt redheads at the stake, because we thought they were witches. There are still young redheads in Britain getting ripped for having red hair. ‘Oy, Ginger!’ – Damian Lewis • Inside my heart, there’s a 12-year-old girl who has always wanted to be Ginger Rogers. – Samantha Bond • I’ve always been quite a proud ginger so I couldn’t dye it and betray the other gingers. – Rupert Grint • I’ve had years of teasing about my red hair, but I definitely think it toughened me up. If you’re ginger, you end up pretty quick-witted. – Ed Sheeran • I’ve never had food in my fridge. All I have in my fridge is one shelf of Canada Dry ginger ale, Diet Cokes on the next shelf, and ZeroWater on the next shelf. That is it. – Brigid Berlin • Jamaica has the best coffee, the best sugar, the best ginger and some of the best cocoa in the world. – Chris Blackwell • Last time I was sick, the guy I was seeing brought me a bottle of ginger ale… and expected me to pay him back for it. ~Jaime Vegas – Kelley Armstrong • Money can’t buy you love, but it can get you some really good chocolate ginger biscuits. – Dylan Moran • My dog, Ginger, is jumpy-like me-sensitive to sound and sudden movement. She wasn’t that way at first, but not long after we got her, my grandfather told me to stand still outside and hold her leash tight. Then he shot a gun off by our feet, several times. “This is how girls learn to obey,” he said, “how to be seen and not heard.” – Mira Bartok • My father said once that if I didn’t have my mother’s ginger hair, I wouldn’t blush or curse as easily. Which I though was unfair. I hardly ever curse or blush, even though I’ve had plenty of days that required both. – Maggie Stiefvater • My favorite ginger is Prince Harry! – Andy Cohen • My fridge is really just vegan: coconut water, Gatorade (my favorite!), cucumbers, mint, kale, vegetables, ginger, and wheat grass. – Serena Williams • My ginger tabby cat Oscar – he’s got his own passport – he comes everywhere with me. – Ashley Madekwe • My husband calls me a ginger every single day of my life, so that Im completely used to it, and Ive come to see it as a term of endearment. – Jayma Mays • My mother told me I was dancing before I was born. She could feel my toes tapping wildly inside her for months. – Ginger Rogers • Nose, nose, jolly red nose,And who gave thee that jolly red nose?Nutmegs and ginger, cinammon and cloves;And they gave me this jolly red nose. – Francis Beaumont • Now, many of us in the Labour Party are conservationists – and we all love the red squirrel. But there is one ginger rodent which we never want to see again – Danny Alexander. – Harriet Harman • Of course, Ginger was able to accomplish sex through dance. We told more through our movements instead of the big clinch. We did it all in the dance. – Fred Astaire • Oh, God, I’m so lonely. An entire weekend streching ahead with no one to love or have fun with. Anyway, I don’t care. I’ve got a lovely steamed ginger pudding from M&S to put in the microwave. – Helen Fielding • Only a ginger, can call another ginger Ginger. – Tim Minchin • Power is all. Another falsification; I do not tell how I gain or maintain it. I only record the ginger stroll through the vaguely fetid garden of its rewards. – Samuel R. Delany • Prepare a little hot tea or broth and it should be brought to them . . . without their being asked if they would care for it. Those who are in great distress want no food, but if it is handed to them, they will mechanically take it ‘ … There was something arresting about the matter-of-fact wisdom here, the instinctive understanding of the physiological disruptions… I will not forget the instinctive wisdom of the friend who, every day for those first few weeks, brought me a quart container of scallion-and-ginger congee from Chinatown. Congee I could eat. Congee was all I could eat. – Joan Didion • Right now Jack lives with me. Jack is my Jack Russell. I also have a Yorkie named Ginger, but Jack and Ginger can’t be in the same place at the same time because she is very jealous. Even if Jack’s not in the same state, she would growl if she heard his name. – Mariah Carey • Scholes was playing tiki-taka football when nobody in England knew what it was. He was another of those players, like Denis Law or Bobby Moore, who at 15 probably looked as if he wouldn’t make it. Too small, you would think – can’t run, dumpy little ginger nut – but then the ball would come to him and he would dazzle you. He was the best footballer in that Manchester United midfield, better than Ryan Giggs and Roy Keane. – Harry Redknapp • The only time I feel pressured is when some woman’s husband comes over and says, “Will you go ask my wife to dance? She’s a great dancer and would just love to dance with you.”Suddenly there’s a crowd of people standing around us and they expect that they’re about to see Fred and Ginger. Here the woman and I have just met, and these people think that it’s showtime. That is the only time I think it is really embarrassing. – Gene Kelly • The only way to enjoy anything in this life is to earn it first. – Ginger Rogers • The real color of my hair is mouse. I always want to be ginger, which I was when I was born, or blond, because I live in L.A., and I want to look like I go surfing without any physical effort. – John Lydon • The things that brought me the most comfort now were too small to list. Raspberries in cream. Sparrows with cocked heads. Shadows of bare limbs making for sidewalk filigrees. Roses past their prime with their petals loose about them. The shouts of children at play in the neighborhood, Ginger Rogers on the black-and-white screen. – Elizabeth Berg • There was never any question about Scholesy’s quality as a footballer. He was known as the little ginger magician in the youth team. Some reckon he’s the best United player of the modern era, and there’s a case for saying that. You don’t hear him blowing his own trumpet, though – he just gets on with his job. He’s the real deal. – Steve Bruce • Was that Will?” she said finally. Henry arched one ginger eyebrow. “Perhaps he’s been kidnapped and replaced by an automaton,” he suggested. “It seems possible…” For once Charlotte could only find herself in agreement. – Cassandra Clare • We live thetime that a match flickers; we pop the corkof a ginger-beer bottle, and the earthquake swallows us on the instant. Is it not odd, is it not incongruous, is it not, in the highest sense of human speech, incredible, that we should think so highly of the ginger-beer, and regard so little the devouring earthquake? – Robert Louis Stevenson • What kind of tea do you want?” “There´s more than one kind of tea?…What do you have?” “Let´s see… Blueberry, Raspberry, Ginseng, Sleepytime, Green Tea, Green Tea with Lemon, Green Tea with Lemon and Honey, Liver Disaster, Ginger with Honey, Ginger Without Honey, Vanilla Almond, White Truffle Coconut, Chamomile, Blueberry Chamomile, Decaf Vanilla Walnut, Constant Comment and Earl Grey.” -“I.. Uh…What are you having?… Did you make some of those up? – Bryan Lee O’Malley • What’s all this talk about me being teamed with Ginger Rogers? I will not have it Leland–I did not go into pictures to be teamed with her or anyone else, and if that is the program in mind for me I will not stand for it. I don’t mind making another picture with her but as for this teams idea, it’s out. – Ginger Rogers • When Ginger Rogers danced with Astaire, it was the only time in the movies when you looked at the man, not the woman. – Gene Kelly • When I realised I had a facility for humour, I latched on to it, and it gave me confidence and I built my personality around it. So I subconsciously made myself become the funny one so that would be my label rather than the ginger one or the red-faced one. – Catherine Tate • When I think back about my immediate reaction to that redheads girl, it seems to spring from an appreciation of natural beauty. I mean the heart pleasure you get from looking at speckled leaves or the palimpsested bark of plane trees in Provence. There was something richly appealing to her color combination, the ginger snaps floating in the milk-white skin, the golden highlights in the strawberry hair. it was like autumn, looking at her. It was like driving up north to see the colors. – Jeffrey Eugenides • When I was a little kid I always wanted to be ginger. My best friend was ginger and he was pretty cool. – Noel Fielding • When I was younger, I definitely did face anti-ginger prejudice. As a child, all teasing hurts, whether it’s because you’re fat or a different race or have red hair. I had enough comments from a couple of people to make it a sore point. – Lily Cole • When I’m off the road, and I can really control my diet down to the calorie, I juice seven days a week. Every afternoon, whatever I have at hand, beets, carrots, ginger, whatever. I juice, literally, every single day. And on the road, I try to find fresh juice wherever I can. – Henry Rollins • When two people love each other, they don’t look at each other, they look in the same direction. – Ginger Rogers • When you have a Dancing partner, there’s always gonna be a moment where the girl’s gonna cry, Ginger didn’t do that. But, most every other girl I’ve worked with have cried because they said “aah, I can’t do it” and I have to go “Yes, you can, Shut up!” and they do do it. – Fred Astaire • Whoever takes just plain ginger ale soon gets drowned out of the conversation. – Kin Hubbard

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