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twimbs · 2 years

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Some Angst Headcanon-Fueled Writing

“Do you like it here, Philip?” Caleb asked, looking at the cloud filled sky in awe as a strange beast flew by. After receiving no response, he turned to look at his younger brother. Philip sat on the other end of the log, hunched over and muttering to himself as he drew in the dirt with a stick. “Philip? Philip!”

“Ah!” Philip yelled as he jumped, turning to face Caleb with a glare that disappeared a few moments later. “What?”

Caleb snickered at his nerd of a brother - always so deep in some sort of work.

“Do you like it here?” He repeated.

“No.” Philip stated, turning back to his drawing. “It’s hot. Everything boils. It’s hideous and, above all, it’s weird. As horrendous as a night terror.”

“I think it has charm,” Caleb smirked at the horrified look Philip gave him. “Look around, Philip. Everything is new. There’s so much to see here. There’s so much to experience.”

“It’s disgusting.” Caleb laughed, assuming his brother was joking. Philip’s cheeks turned a shade of red at the laugh. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious. I want to go home.”

“What if we stayed?” Caleb asked. Philip turned to him, stunned as his brother stared at the sun as it reflected off of the distant ocean. “It really is beautiful. We could learn magic together.”

“Learn magic?” Philip hissed. “I can’t believe you. We’re witch hunters, Caleb. We don’t belong here.”

“...Maybe I’m not like you. Maybe we want different things.” Caleb mumbled.

“What different things are so important that you’d abandon your home?” Philip stood, gripping his drawing stick tightly.

“I think the magic here is wonderful. I think the people are wonderful. We could learn a lot - we could adventure together.” Caleb suggested.

“They’re witches. Monsters. They aren’t people.” Philip corrected.

Caleb thought for a moment before responding, knowing this conversation would most likely lead to a fight. “Mother was a witch.”

“Mother was insane!” Philip yelled. “A madwoman filled with mad ideas who spouted mad ramblings to us all!”

“But now we know she was right, Philip. This place exists. Magic exists. How mad was she, if there’s a chance she came from here?”

“For Christ’s sake, Caleb, the woman laughed as she burned to death. That is not the mind of someone who’s stable.” Philip stubbornly crossed his arms.

“Well, I think I’d go mad if no one believed me, if I were killed because of the place I came from.” Caleb half-joked, laughing softly.

“She deserved it. She was a vile woman, all the things she did.” Philip turned to glare at the sun as Caleb stood as well, fists clenched.

“Don’t say that about her. She had her quirks - but she wasn’t a monster.” Caleb growled.

“Grow up, Caleb. We belong home, in our town. We belong in a witch hunting squadron. We don’t live in some fantasy where we can frolic about and dream of magic. What would father think?” Philip asked, noting the way his brother’s lips curled at the mention of the man.

“Father,” Caleb began through gritted teeth. “Was far more deranged than mother ever was. Good Lord, Philip, don’t tell me you can’t see that.”

“He was driven. He was a righteous man-”

“Stop!” Caleb interrupted his brother. “Stop believing all of his lies! Everything he burned into us! He was goddamned out of his head!”

“He was more in his head than any of us-” Philip began, before Caleb stormed towards him. Caleb grabbed a fistful of his brother’s shirt - ignoring his protests as he yanked it up, pulling it out of his belt-line and exposing a dark scar on his brother’s stomach, in the shape of a cross.

“Is that what a sane man does to his child, Philip?” Caleb demanded. There was still anger in his voice, though his tone was softer. “Is that what a righteous man does? Is this what you think shows strength?!”

“...He did what he had to.” Philip mumbled, looking away from his brother as his shirt was released.

“For goodness sake, Philip, in what world did he have to do this?” Caleb pressed.

“He helped me-”

“He branded you. I’m not the one who needs to grow up, Pip.” Caleb softly spoke. “You can’t even acknowledge when someone has hurt you. Don’t justify or defend his actions. He was just as deranged as mother.”

“Mother believed she was a witch. She was completely delusional. Harsh as he may have been, father was at least rational.”

“Father believed he spoke for God,” Caleb said, deadpan, staring at Philip almost blankly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “And he forced those delusions onto us.”

“So did mother!” Philip yelled. “All of her ramblings of spells and witches - good heavens the bitch was insufferable!”

“Do not refer to her that way!” Caleb snapped.

“Why not?” Philip asked, exasperated. “It’s true. She was vile.”

“Do not desecrate her memory with such filthy language-”

“And I am the one who cannot realize when one of our parents was deranged?” Philip retorted, scoffing. “You will speak to me about father when you can acknowledge our mother was off the rails.”

“Why does this conversation always have to be a fight?” Caleb asked, sighing loudly.

“Why must you turn it into a fight, Caleb?” Philip retorted.

“Oh, because you’re the reasonable one in this situation…” Caleb muttered sarcastically.

“I’m not the one defending insanity!” Philip shouted.

“No, you’re the one that can’t see that you’re defending insanity. All of those books you read and you’re still dense as a rock, brother.” Philip’s face once again turned red at the insult.

“At least I can read!” He yelled.

“I can read! I just don’t waste my life doing it!” Caleb shouted back.

“You’re childish, deranged, as bad as mother!”

“And you are so brainwashed by father that you’ve become just like him!”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing!” Philip scoffed. Caleb was breathing heavily now, tears pricking his eyes. “Father was righteous and good-willed, I’m proud to be compared to him!”

“Then why did I kill him?!” Caleb screamed. As soon as he realized what he said, he gasped, covering his mouth. Philip stared at him in horror.

“Wh-What?” He forced out, his voice cracking.

“I… I’m sorry.” Caleb rushed out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I didn’t want to tell you like this-”

“Caleb,” Philip whispered. “What did you do?”

“He was out of his mind, Pip! He was always hurting you! I just wanted to protect you.” Caleb took a step towards his brother, who took several back.

“He never hurt me, he was helping.” Philip swallowed, though his throat felt painfully dry.

“Good sake, Pip, this is why I killed him!” Caleb raised his voice, frustrated. “You’re still completely brainwashed! Even after years without him. I thought the only way to save you was to get rid of him!”

Philip continued to take steps back in disbelief as Caleb walked towards him.

“But it’s okay - because he’s gone now! And he can’t hurt us again-” Caleb tried to reason.

“Why- why would you-” Philip mumbled to himself.

“Philip, stop!” Caleb cried, right as Philip stepped back - right off the cliff edge.

He yelled, startled as he toppled backwards. Caleb grabbed his hand just before he fell, hauling him back onto solid ground. Philip collapsed, breathing heavily. After a few moments, he looked up at his brother with a look of confusion, betrayal and sadness.

“Why?” He asked. “How?”

“I… I bought poison from the doctor. I slipped it into his breakfast.” Caleb admitted.

“How long?” Philip asked. Caleb didn’t answer, looking away. “Caleb. How long?”

“He was dead in three days.”

The two sat in silence as Philip processed the information. Emotions flooded his brain, flashing before his eyes as his breathing quickened. All of the confusion and sadness was suddenly replaced by red hot rage. With a loud cry, he tackled Caleb, who yelled in surprise.

Caleb easily shoved the smaller male off of him, but Philip jumped right back onto him, landing any blow he could to Caleb’s face and torso as Caleb grabbed at his wrists in an attempt to stop him. The punches barely stung - Philip was quite small, after all. The brothers often fought like this, and each time, Philip ended up worse off than Caleb, even though the younger of the two usually started the conflicts.

They rolled around in the dirt, Philip yelling various insults while Caleb yelled for him to get a hold of himself. Finally managing to grab his wrists, Caleb pulled Philip over him and kicked him in the ribs - sending him flying over Caleb and into some brush.

As Philip took a minute to recover, a face suddenly filled his vision and he almost screamed.

“Hello,” a female said, looking over his frame. She had pointed ears, fiery red hair, and brilliant green eyes.

“Witch!” Philip hissed as he shot up, then immediately whined from pain in his head. A small bit of blood dripped down his forehead.

“Sora!” Caleb excitedly ran over as the witch - Sora - giggled.

“Were you two fighting again?”

“Yes.”

“No!”

------------------------------------------------------

So I had some thoughts about the Wittebane parents and wrote this based on those headcanons. Their mother, Edith Wittebane, is descended from a witch - very very distant relative. She’s cunning and manipulative, and a true definition of what modern media presents witches as. Basically, a human witch. Their father, Samuel Wittebane, was a minister and preacher. He was incredibly devout to religion. So, when he finds out his wife is a witch, he doesn’t exactly handle it well.

I’m working on a thing about their backstory that explains all of this so stay tuned :>

#toh #the owl house #wittebanes #caleb wittebane #philip wittebane #toh philip and caleb #toh headcanons #angst #writing #oneshot

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valorxdrive · 10 months

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❝ you did what you had to do to survive. ❞ from Akira @gloryseized

"In the end you're right about that..." So why exactly does he sound so unsatisfied?

A natural ache rummages deep within his chest. It's burned profoundly within as both a bitter reminder and necessary strength. Taking power within his hands that he holds such a little clue about, casting damnation to all rules and limitations, fighting this inherent unfairness known eons of planning, a force that could easily sweep him away like a reed with the ocean, the approach needed a force equally unfair.

Sora's shared story with them today had been about why he's here, the confirmation of every 'alien' like detail about them since the time they met. Most of all, how his existence within the Metaverse plays upon entirely different rules. For the keybearer, there was no genuine need for a concept known as Persona, for his make up didn't align with this realm. ..Yet, in an odd twist of fate, his Shadow was a very true existence that manifests through different means.

Part of him feels genuinely compelled to be open with someone he considers a new friend. From the haphazard circumstances that prompts them to fight side by side, to dealing with unique definitions of alienation, the vigor to take the bitterness of these stubborn days and make them better invites not only energy into his being, but a rebellious desire, the sort that aims to fight against the dark ilk that frolics amidst the sky piercing towers of Tokyo.

In truth, it'd be against the chaotic unknown of humanity as a whole.

"There's no regret in what I've done. To use that power in forbidden ways to save Kairi, all of my friends, I'd do it a thousand times over if the decision was placed before me."

"But that's the truth of why I-- heheh, never quite fit in, and that's on both playing fields in this world too." Sora's eyes fell upon his drink, staring thoughtfully at the reflection as they remained within Leblanc.

"And even if the price is the end of it all somehow? I can't stop that fight of mine now. I figured there may be some clues I could find in that other world."

@gloryseized

#gloryseized #| Bottle Mail #| Meme #Seeing how much KH and Persona can border and mesh in terms of mythos #there's a helluva ton of crossover potential pertaining to them

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britneyshakespeare · 4 years

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no thanks, i went on one kinda-date six months ago, so i’m all burnt out for the next few years

#an old high school friend who i've been texting in quarantine for a few weeks now #he dated a mutual friend in high school for awhile and they've been done w that amicably seemingly for like. years now.#he's also friends w my brother from work and they met later on and have hung out for like. awhile. separately from me which is cool #one time in 2017 he was over when i had a mental breakdown at like 10:30 over having to be dairy-free (for medical reasons)#but my mother was not buying any food to accommodate that drastic change in diet so i completely lost my mind #he was up in the attic where jon's room was but i have no doubt he heard a deal of it lmao. i respect that he never brought it up to me #but he's trying to make dinner plans bc i said i'd never tried sushi and :\\ he said he'd treat me when i said i have no money :\\ (no lie)#tales from diana #i hate being aro sometimes. i feel like men would never talk to me if they knew they could not date me lmao.#but at the same time i want to plaster all over the world 'i am not interested in dating or casual sex' bc i just. hate rejecting ppl.#i do get a stupid damaging patriarchal sense of validation at men being attracted to me and i do live for the male gaze but i just can't #frolic in it. i do not like to exist in it. it burns me up.#and i know even if i were to make the extremely vulnerable/personal decision to comeout to friends/family (WHICH I DONT WANT TO DO)#but if ppl were to just know i was aroace... it wouldn't make men not attracted to me suddenly. men can't help but view all women #as potential options. they can't help holding out hope for every female they are in contact w even if they're completely ineligible.#or at least MANY men cannot subconsciously do that. it's not an inevitability and we can raise men to be better #but the so many of the men we got now--in my personal experience--suck and are awful.#they seem incapable of simply being my friend #my true friend like queer women and nbs attracted to women i know often are. w respect for my boundaries #even without the explanation that i'm aro (which i don't give to anyone irl lmao) (BECAUSE I SHOULDNT HAVE TO)#this rambling is mostly unrelated to the particular case im talking about bc he really is a decent guy i just. don't wanna say no to him #but don't wanna give him hope :\\\\\\\\ I HATEMY LIFE someone answer this text message for me

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stellocchia · 3 years

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Since people often seem to think that Tommy’s and Dream’s dynamic is something that was established in season 2 and sorta came out of nowhere before that, I thought I’d finally take a look at the evolution of it throughout season 1.

From here on out, of course, I’ll be talking exclusively about the characters. It is also to be kept in mind that season 1 was a LOT less scripted, so there may be streams and moments that I leave out as they don’t seem to be too impactful or they lack canonicity. So sadly the whole stream where they build Church Prime that has Dream comparing himself to God for 2 hours has to go...

This will undoubtedly be an EXTREMELY long one, so be prepared for it...

Let’s go step by step in chronological order, shall we?

THE DISCS WAR PREQUEL

By now a lot of people know that the Disc Saga wasn’t actually started by Tommy, but here’s a refresher anyway: Ponk started it off by pranking Sapnap’s base, in retaliation Sapnap burned down Ponk’s lemon tree. With this Ponk allied himself with Alyssa and the two started a war against Sapnap.

Later Tommy joins the server. Tommy obtains the first netherite cheestplate in the server and it’s promptly stolen by Sapnap. Later again Sapnap uses the netherite chestplate to blackmail Tommy into joining his fight against Ponk and Alyssa. Tommy just refuses ang gets his armour back, but he considers Sapnap’s offer because of: Alyssa setting him on fire and Tubbo (who was mostly neutral but leaning towards Ponk and Alyssa) had made him loose his stuff the day before.

Dream arrived then to stop the fighting, but Sapnap and Tommy decided to kill him instead (non-canonically of course). Sapnap killed him twice and Tommy once. In retaliation Dream stole Cat and Mellohi. Sapnap stole one of the disks back and then they retrived the other one and Tommy hid them near his base.

So what does this tell us? Tommy most definitely wasn’t the one who instigated the conflict, nor the one who escalated it. YET, he was the only one Dream focused on. And remember, while a proper coherent storyline didn’t exist back then we know that the wars were at least somewhat scripted (thanks to cc!Dream telling us so on the Eboys Podcast). They also kept their characters characterization pretty consistent throughtout, which means we had the first hints of their dynamic all the way back here.

ESCALATION OF THE DISC WAR

(From Tommy’s main channel it’s: “Dream is a Psychopath.”)

Everything could have been over then, but Dream was still pissed he lost, so he removed all the floring of Tommy’s base (escavating all the dirt from in front of it) in order to find the disks and take them back. At this point, after once again stealing the disks, Dream asked Tommy for his netherite chestplate (again, only one on the server at the time) in exchange for them. Also, an actual conversation they had:

Tommy: “Dream! Was this you that destroyed my entire base and re-named the sign to ‘BitchBoy enterprise?!”

Dream: “I didn’t touch the sign. I didn’t destroy your base either it’s just the f- the dirt” (note: as I said before, all the dirt was removed, but, hey, he didn’t touch the chickens and the carrot farm!)

Also:

Tommy:“Dream, you removed the ENTIRE floor of my base”

Dream: “It’s YOUR fault. It’s your fault...”

T: “How is it MY fault?!”

D: “‘Cause you hid the disks!”

T: “Yeah, because they’re MY disks!”

D: “You hid the disks and I’ve taken them back, okay?”

If this doesn’t sound like the beginning of the Obsession Arc, I don’t know what does!

But, in all seriousness, even back then for c!Dream the key of everything in the server was Tommy, though at the time he was just “the reason for conflict”. Still it’s pretty obvious that the disk conflict could have ended before it started if Dream didn’t decide to escalate things (though, as it’s obvious by the conversation, he blames his own actions on Tommy as we see him do in later seasons).

Anyone wondering about the gravity of Tommy killing Dream once non-canonically before this: In this video Dream kills both Tommy and Tubbo twice in the first 10 minutes. Yeah, he’s not any better. Btw, this is the video with the fight they then mimicked in the finale and they actually loose this one as well.

Tommy: “What is your obsession with this disks? Why don’t you just give them back?”

Dream: “No because I can get something in return for them, I don’t care about the disks”

Oh what simpler times when blackmail was just simple old blackmail to obtain material possessions...

Btw, this one ended with basically a double scam where Dream gave them fake disks and they logged off with both the fake disks and the netherite chestplate.

(Main channel: “mission: kill dream (FINALE)”)

Tubbo: “Please do not tell me you have sentimental attachment to the bullshit disks...”

Early theme of attachment back in season 1. Either way Tommy has been portrayed as an extremely sentimental character that develops attachments scarily fast from all the way back in season 1. C!Dream’s idea of him he expresses in the finale isn’t born from nothing.

Anyway, Tubbo and Tommy use the composter glitch to find Dream’s base to try and get back the disks, but they aren’t there, so they end up going for the original exchange, this time with no scamming included. Tommy get’s his disks back, while Dream gets Tommy’s netherite chestplate. Just to point out: at this point Dream was the one completely at fault. Tommy was dragged into a war he wasn’t involved in and yet was the sole one to be punished for it and Dream couldn’t just accept a defeat so heavily griefed Tommy’s base and stole back HIS posssession. Dream is the main instigator here, yet he blames it ENTIRELY on Tommy from the start. Literally their dynamic started off pretty f*cked.

Still, since Tommy didn’t want to keep risking loosing stuff to Dream for the disks he decided to make an ender chest for himself. He gets some blaze powder and ender pearls from Punz in exchange from an apple (that was too sweet not to include) and then, when it comes to getting the obsidian is when Dream realizes what he’s been doing. You’d think he’d be fine with it considering they already had a “fair” exchange (aka Dream’s blackmailing had been succesful), but nope. He hunts down both Tommy and Tubbo, but fails in killing them and they manage to put the disks away safely.

L’MANBURG BEGINNING

As we know Wilbur founded L’Manburg and Dream did not like that, so he declared war on them. Here’s the speach:

“Tommy! (pause) And Wilbur and the rest of L’ManChildburg, we are at war. There is no mercy. We’ve burnt down Tubbo’s house. We’ve planted tnt cannons around your land. We have cobblestone walled the outside and we shot ONE warning shot inside your walls ans an explosion and we have NO MERCY! NO MERCY FOR YOU! Do you understand? We will come! We’ll burn down your houses, we will kill anything inside your walls and we’ll take back the land that is rightfully ours if you do not surrender. I want to see WHITE FLAGS! WHITE FLAGS OUTSIDE YOUR BASE BY TOMORROW, AT DAWN, OR YOU’RE DEAD!”

So, a couple of things to unpack here:

1) Dream first and foremost singles out Tommy who, if you all remember, was NOT the leader of L’Manburg. He was barely Wilbur’s right hand man and had only been confirmed as such recently at that point. He is not the leader and YET, in how the speach is enunciated it’s obvious that it’s directed at him specifically.

2) For anyone wondering if Dream could be considered a villain back in season one: so far the people from L’Manburg had done nothing but frolic in the flowers. They were a group of pacifists that refused to use any armour and Dream’s reaction to them is to kill them all and burn anything they built. And he’s doing all this because he thinks he’s entitled to all of the land in the smp and even something as small as og L’Manburg had no right to exist free of his rule.

(Always from the main channel: “Doomsday.”)

Two important things for their relationship happen here: Dream deciding, out of everyone, to kill Tommy specifically in the final control room and the duel (or more so the result of the duel).

It is something back then no-one wondered about, but why would Dream, the leader of the Greater Dream SMP, go after the second in command instead of the leader? Possibly for the same reason he singled out Tommy in the declaration of war? Possible foreshadowing of their future dynamic?

Also, may I mention that Dream was the one to add the condition that, on top of not getting independence for L’Manburg, Tommy had to give up one of the disks (mellohi) if he lost? And Dream being the one to mention it is the reason why Tommy knew they were valuable to him in the first place. It’s the reason why Tommy proposed the deal of his disks for L’Manburg independence (which worked, which tells us a whole lot about when Dream’s obsession withe the disks started. Man was willing to take an L to have THAT sort of control over Tommy already in season one)

POGTOPIA

Jump to when Tommy and Wilbur get exiled. A lot happens here, but, for the function of this analysis, I’ll only be talking about what pertains to Dream’s and Tommy’s relationship.

So, at the beginning of exile Dream offers his support for Pogtopia leaving a chest specifically for Tommy (once again, not Wilbur, the leader, but Tommy. He also gives Tommy a lot more stuff then Techno who was arguably a much more valuable asset). In the chest there was: a full set of netherite armour, 3 stacks of ender pearls, an enchanment table, a netherite sword, Dream’s crossbow (”Definitely not penis”), a stack of golde apples, 1 enchanted golden apple, 1 stack of diamonds, 17 obsidian, 3 potions of strenght, a stack of steak and a book written by Dream called “Tyrant” which, again, is addressed soley to Tommy. (In the book he basically says that he doesn’t like Schlatt and that he’s only going to help from the shadows because he can’t directly involve himself).

Now, for the standards of the time, that was A LOT of stuff. Dream clearly wasn’t half-assing his support to Tommy there (I’d say to “Pogtopia” but, again, it was all specifically for Tommy). He keeps up his help when he intervenes in favour of Tommy in the Battle of the Lake (from the vods channel: “TommyInnit, Dream & Technoblade TEAM UP (dream smp war)”). Before that however he also helps Tommy to lava cast (or attempt to) the Eiffel Tower (built for Karl’s and Sapnap’s honeymoon). For this battle Dream also gives Mars (Sapnap’s and George’s fish) to Tommy (together with quite a few more ender pearls). Their relationship up until this point seems to have improved quite a bit with Tommy immediately trusting Dream again (he seems to be always inclined to trust Dream much in the same way he’s always inclined to trust Wilbur) and Dream seemingly being supportive (although that was actually because he needed both Manburg and Pogtopia to disappear as we discovered later on).

Fast forward again we have the moment when their relationship sours again: Dream provides Wilbur with the tnt. With this momement we have the confirmation that Dream truly was only siding with them for his own self-interest (as he always considered L’Manburg as his own propriety, independence or not, and he wasn’t happy with Schlatt wanting to expand and being morw ambitious then Wilbur ever was) and Tommy also looses part of his trust in him, though not completely.

You see, their relationship is a bit more complex then that. In season 1 even when Tommy and Dream were enemies there was never really much bad blood between them. And when I say this I mean that Dream in particular didn’t let there be much bad blood between them, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

After Quackity joins Pogtopia they try to make a plan to get L’Manburg back that would not include blowing it up. After that fails (from the vods channel: “Dream BETRAYS TommyInnit during the Dream SMP Meeting...”) and Fundy joins Pogtopia as well Dream announces that Schlatt gave him something “more valuable then frienship” and he’s now siding with him and leaves the Pogtopians announcing that there is a traitor among them.

Wilbur: “Dream just wants to be on the side of the rebellion and now that we are the dominant force technically... isn’t that right Dream? Would you say you just want to be on the other side? You just want to be on the other team?”

Dream: “No I- I don’t think so...”

Tommy: “Dream’s the good guy Wilbur”

D: “I think I’d say that my interest is in myself”

So, despite everything, Up to this point Tommy still trusted Dream. Fully trusted him. But now, soon after this conversation, Dream explicitely tells them that he never considered them “friends” they were “convenient allies” for him (a mindset that he carries on later on and brings to an extreme).

Now you’d think that was the breaking point right? I mean the whole vod was also titled “Dream betrays Tommy” and Dream just left them telling Tommy specifically that no, they were not friends (though Tommy didn’t agree on that point, much like with Techno later on). But that’s not were Dream leaves it.

First he allows Tommy back in his old base to get some stuff once they’re alone (despite having just said in front of Wilbur, Quackity and Fundy that he’d stab him if he tried going back)

Tommy: “I just don’t understand, why would you team with Schlatt?”

Dream: “Tommy... I’m a business man, you know what that’s like”

T: “No I don’t”

D: “Well you do, of course you do”

God since exile that damn soft condescending tone he does hits me so different... anyway. As you see as soon as he’s alone with Tommy he starts being more friendly, less formal. He also takes on a more menacing persona (I really don’t know how he manages to do both at the same time... no wait, exile. He acts more like how he did in exile). Anyway the switch is actually pretty interesting to see.

Tommy: “Why would you not team with us?”

Dream: “Tommy... I’ve never been on your team. I have never been on your team, ever!”

T: “Well I’ve been in your team...”

D: “Wel I- I’m not saying you have. I’ve never been on your team. I’ve never been on anyone’s team”

And with this we are done with their important interactions for this stream, but wait! They have a war in a few days, right? Well, Dream makes sure to spend that time with Tommy. Like, a lot of it.

All of “Dream bullies TommyInnit for having low viewers.” Is Dream following Tommy ominously around while mildly inconveniencing and somewhat helping when they’re supposed to be enemies (it’s literally one of my favourite vods, it’s great! It was also the one vod that sparked the “Dream is obsessed with Tommy” theory in me. Yes I’ve had it from all the way back then, but I also was right, so...).

Tommy: “Okay, so you know how we’re going to war in 7 days time?”

Dream: “Yes”

T: “like, ME and YOU are going to war...”

D: “Yes”

T: “Yes, yeah so I need to- I- it feels very strange to be- I need to prepare for THAT”

D: “Well, what do you need?”

Dream then proceeds to half-help him half-stop him from getting gold in the nether. The whole vod is like this. It definitely has a very weird atmosphere as it’s clear that both of them are fully aware of their respective roles in their upcoming war, but Tommy doesn’t know what to do and Dream is clearly willingly ignoring it all. It’s pretty jarring to watch tbh (together with being a hilarious vod to watch) and it helps starting to paint the picture of Dream having the level of dependence on Tommy that we know he has now.

Then there is “TommyInnit, Dream & Sapnap's PET WAR FINALE” which is LITERALLY THE DAY BEFORE THE WAR. Here Dream, once again, decides to spend the whole time with Tommy. He helps him against Sapnap (who is Dream’s ally) and even decides to lead Tommy to Sapnap’s and Punz’s secret base where they keep their animals and starts encoraging him to kill them. Tommy, of course, refuses and the whole pet war finishes with Sapnap and Tommy releasing Mars and promising to be friends once the war was over.

Like, honestly, if anyone in Pogtopia had known about this interactions maybe they could have suspected Tommy of being the traitor for legitimate reasons instead of misinterpreting him entirely as a person and thinking he just wanted to be president... and you’d think that, maybe, THAT was Dream’s goal, but... not really? He always made sure to spend time with Tommy when there was no-one from Pogtopia around. In all 3 of this vods he is drastically different when they’re alone and, I mean, he stopped hidining how he is with Tommy only during Doomsday (when he gave his speach on the obsidian grid to Tommy, not caring that Tubbo and Quackity were both there).

To finish it off, we know that season 1 ends with Dream fighting alongside Technoblade and nothing else of significant happens for their relationship. Still, I hope this was comprehensive enough to show that, most definitely, his obsession with Tommy and the having power over Tommy is not a new concept for Dream. It’s something that got worse with time, but it’s most definitely not something new. The main thing that changed throughout season 1 and 2 was Tommy’s perception of Dream (which went from easy trust and friendship to hatred and fear), not vice versa.

Also may I add that Dream's constantly acting friendly when they most definitely aren't is probably one of the reasons why Tommy was so predisposed to accepting Dream as his friend in exile? Just a thought...

@ladycatland

#dream smp #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #character analysis #relationship analysis #dream smp season 1 #/rp #my post #long post #one of the longest for sure...#does it show that I miss having regular lore updates?#I'm starting to look into all the old lore...#send help...

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pain-in-the-butler · 3 years

Text

The time has come once again

The Bloodbath

“I’m simply one hell of a butler” says Sebastian as he starts cleaning as usual

Okay so Agni’s taking no prisoners

Work Nerd, Science Nerd, and Jock Nerd team up to form the Nerd Trifecta

Team One Brain Cell joins up with Phipps, who is quite possibly their only chance for survival

Ran-Mao remembers how Harcourt beat everyone in the unfortunately deleted round and said “Not in my backyard”

So far, everyone else has simply run away unscathed or grabbed a weapon they won’t use because the game doesn’t record weapons. Rip Tanaka

Day 1

Ran-Mao bringing the canon energy by adding a second weapon to her arsenal

Phipps somehow always turns into Team Dad during these, so I’m glad to see he’s finding time for his favorite hobbies

Undertaker up to his usual Sneaky Antics

It hasn’t even been twelve hours yet. Kind of impressive honestly

Considering Harcourt lost his mace, I’ll just assume the attack Grell “escaped” from was the vicious stabbing of his trim little schoolboy fingernails

Bad vibes

It appears that Lau also brought his canon game

Sebastian in the most recent chapters be like

I’ve actually never had this event come up before and it has to happen between two of the more innocent characters in the series;;;; god Lizzie you deserve better even in the Hunger Games Simulator

Where’s a Safety Nerd when you need one

What’s better than this? Guys bein dudes

This is probably what happened after Ciel left Weston

Sebastian will take care of this for ya, huh bud

Other events:

Agni practices his archery

Wolfram goes fishing

Othello finds a cave

Soma goes ‘splorin

Edward goes huntin

Day 1′s Deaths: Tanaka, Sieglinde, Lizzie, and Macmillan. Someday one of the ladies will win

Night 1

Butler slumber party in the woods, BYOYM (bring your own young master)

It takes a lot of energy to be this blond

I’m happy for her :)

Yeah I’ll bet you probably do Lau

A tonal shift so abrupt I got mental whiplash

Can we go back to when Grell was looking at the sky pls

Thought about science too hard. Got a concussion

Thought about Ciel dying too hard. Got an infection

Aww dad :( Hope you caught some fish tho

Looks like Harcourt won’t be winning this one, gang

I stg the hunger games simulator is misogynist because the ladies always DIE /j

Ran-Mao is hopefully here to prove the previous statement wrong

Other events:

Bard gets a hatchet

Undertaker also passes out from exhaustion

R!Ciel goes to sleep in a tree

Day 2

Oh you five are SO going in my burn book for this. It’s what Grell would’ve wanted

Ahaha just like in the real manga... right guys (;

Idk about you but I’m rooting for her

I don’t think the simulator could’ve picked four people who were less likely to team up than this

I would too if I saw my best friend was palling around with an opium dealer, a grim reaper with a lawn mower, and another grim reaper that the first grim reaper doesn’t like

Other events:

Othello chases Wolfram

That’s the only other event actually

That means today we lost O!Ciel, Mey-Rin, Harcourt, and Grell. ffs, I hope Ran-Mao kills all of you

Night 2

I’ve missed you, rare pair simulator

The “unknown sponsor” was Undertaker and the “fresh food” was O!Ciel

Confirmed: Lau doesn’t get high off his own supply

Once again a ceasefire between the strong hungry boys is formed

Girl, you don’t have to do that

“Did you kill Ciel?” Sebastian asks

“No that was William,” Othello says

Sebastian punches a tree so hard that it combusts. “God damn. Fuck” Sebastian says

Wolfram just realized I put him in the Hunger Games simulator

Other events:

Phipps thinks about “Are you winning son”

Undertaker gazes at space

Ronald becomes Lost Ronald

Soma passes out

Bard gets some water

Day 3

Damn Agni who haven’t you flirted with

Finny sees that Bard has water and thinks Bard cooked it himself, so he wants no part of that (might be burnt)

What did he even have that was worth stealing? A fish?

Well I can tell you who isn’t creating that smoke: Lau

“What’s worse than two young masters? No young masters. Now get over here and make a contract”

Everything about this sentence is a fever dream

Other events:

Undertaker decides he wants a slingy shot too

Edward chases Dad I mean Phipps

Othello gets some ouchies from picking berries

Night 3

When your young master dies, you just get an infection apparently

damn Finny’s playing hardball

I don’t think anything bad has actually happened to Bard yet. It’s just been a grand frolic the whole time

I barely remember reading the first Hunger Games but Ran-Mao’s the Foxface of this journey: she deserves to win and I just know she’ll die in the stupidest way possible

Sebastian’s like a cat that can’t reach the bird it wants to attack, so it attacks the nearest other thing instead. Poor Dad

Two white-haired anime boys and a not-white-haired anime boy talk about who will die tomorrow. Anime doesn’t exist yet so the white-haired anime boys don’t know their hair color automatically spells their doom

Other events:

Edward starts a fire, which means he’s capable of smoking opium

Ronald gets some medical supplies

Othello gets a hatchet

R!Ciel thinks about winning

Lau gets an entire explosive, but he won’t be able to light it, so no it’s no big deal

Day 4

In Soviet Hunger Games, white-haired anime boy kills you

But why murder someone when you could just mess with them

Other events:

Grey scares Bard

Finny goes hunting

Night 4

Have you four even killed anyone yet

The list of “people who didn’t start the manor fire and also don’t smoke opium” now consists of Lau and R!Ciel

The mood is too light now. Someone needs to die and it better not be Ran-Mao

At last, Father Phipps has chosen his son for this round

Agni gushes about all the hot guys he’s simultaneously in love with, giving Ran-Mao a clearer idea of who’s still alive

Day 5

Girl, it’s about time, go claim some trophies

Finny’s easily got the longest kill streak and it’s a little unnerving

Father Phipps finds a new secret fishing hole

Othello doesn’t

Lau continues to put in all the efforts of a kindergarten bully

Oh no. He’s a yandere

Other events:

Sebastian fucks around and explores the arena

Bard fucks around and hunts for tributes

Undertaker fucks around and sleeps

R!Ciel fucks around and picks flowers

Night 5

I’ve never met anyone who ships Sebastian/Undertaker but I know you’re out there

Okay, maybe these four are even less likely to team up than Phipps, Ronald, Undertaker, and Lau

Edward sees I’m making jokes about people who build fires and stays hidden

Day 6

Canonically, that is the only way R!Ciel would win a fight, so

I probably could have predicted this

I hope these are the faces they made when it happened

The “unknown sponsor” is R!Ciel and the “fresh food” is an ear that fell off his own head

I’m not sure if I should be concerned or unsurprised that Bard’s Hunger Games life is more chill than his canon life

the “unknown sponsor” was the fish and the “clean water” was “fish water”

Other events:

Ran-Mao gets her third weapon that she doesn’t want to use, which is a hatchet

Finny finds a river

Agni practices archery again, but he doesn’t kill anyone because he wants this to go on forever

Night 6

Ran-Mao I beg you please. Release us from this purgatory of mediocrity

And suddenly we’re back to canon Bard

I guess not everything can be canon

Other events:

Both Agni and Phipps pass out from exhaustion. It’s 2:50 a.m. so I should really be taking a page from their book, but unfortunately everyone refuses to die

The Feast

Finny has been a stone cold killer this entire match, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that the girl I wanted to win would get eliminated by him, but it still hurts ✌️😔

If you cheat on Othello, he will overpower you, killing you

Everyone else decided not to go to the Feast. Honestly, I don’t remember what the Feast is, but everyone who did go either murdered someone or got murdered, so I guess that was probably a good call

Day 7

I’ve had enough of this dude

Jesus Finny I can’t wait to see how many kills you got, I feel like you and Agni were the only two who took anyone down

Bard, Undertaker, Sebastian, and Phipps all hunt for other tributes but they’re useless and don’t kill anyone

Arena Event: Volcano Eruption

In one fell swoop, we lose Sebastian, Undertaker, R!Ciel, and Finny, jeez. But... that means it comes down to.............

FATHER PHIPPS VS. BARD

FATHER PHIPPS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wow... Unlike his manga counterpart, this boy coasted the whole time and won... He basically went on vacation and he actually won... But then again, it’s Hunger Games Simulator and nothing is sacred

Well I hope you learned a valuable lesson today. I hope you did at some point before you read my post, because you sure as hell learned nothing from this. Thank you for wasting precious minutes of your life with me 😏

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji hunger games simulator

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kalee60 · 3 years

Note

i wish you would write a fic where jock!bucky seduces twink!steve, maybe he hits steve with that pec flex guys do that is both dick-ish and insanely hot at the same time?

Oh Manda - you absolute gorgeous gem! I very much like what you're asking me to create here 😘 I also love, love, love that you sent me a prompt!

I immediately think of sun, summer, ice cream, boys at the beach playing frisbee and our gorgeous Smol!Steve and Jock!Bucky as friends mutually pining (Ha - it's me, it was never going to be anything but this story!)

Once again, my quick little drabble (that I wrote today when I woke up {thanks to my sprinting buddies in discord}) turned into a 4k fic... But I mean - I think that's okay (more stucky for us - right?)

I hope you like where I took this, maybe in a slightly different direction than intended - it's also on ao3 here (with all tags necessary) if you prefer to check them out and read there instead, it'll be part of my stucky bingo fills - Beach and rated M for mild sexual content 😉

If you'd like a fic - here's the post - I wish you'd write a fic... (It might take me a little bit to write - but I will get there!)

Steve was in hell, literally. It was hot, he was sweaty and he was being tortured. Honestly, Steve really loved summer, but at the same time he loathed it. And most of that had to do with the fact he had to sit around in his large group of friends and watch Bucky fucking Barnes sans top and wearing only a small pair of running shorts frolic over the sand at the beach.

Life was unfair.

How could somebody like Bucky actually exist in real time? He was a complete jock for starters, his looks and size perfect for being naturally great at sports, earning him a football scholarship of his choice (of course). And Steve, well Steve Rogers was as far from a jock as anyone could get. Not that he was horrible in the fitness and muscular department, but he was too little and his asthma still played up to join rugged contact sports. Being 5’4 also didn’t particularly endear him to any of the coaches at college who were scouting for star players. Plus studying to be a high school teacher probably wasn’t sporty enough, and he was leaning towards a specialist English role, not Gym.

So Steve joined the campus gym instead of a sporting team, did weights and classes and enjoyed it immensely. It was where he met Natasha, and that fateful meeting brought him to Bucky and his dickish jock ways and friends.

Though if Steve was to be fair (of which he was - usually) not all jocks were dicks, even if Steve had preconceived notions from high school what college boys would be like. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find that the captain of the football team was not only gorgeous, cocky and a bit of a douche, but also very smart, kind and had a smile that could make Steve’s legs turn to jelly with only a small half tilt.

But it was as he sat on a towel under the shade of a large umbrella that Carol had stolen from her parent’s garden shed, that Steve really felt the heat, and it had nothing to do with the blazing sun above him and the burning sand beneath his feet.

It was all Bucky Barnes and his chest, his slim waist, his tanned olive skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his sinewed and muscled thighs that tapered down to calves that bunched up as he jumped and landed to grab the frisbee aimed at him.

Steve sighed heavily as his gaze lingered on the brunette. Bucky Barnes was every mans wet dream, every girls perfect prince, and Steve pulled his dark sunnies over his eyes again, ignoring the pounding in his chest, the throbbing in his groin as he watched Bucky behind dark lenses spring up and prance over the sand, laughing with a wide mouth that could do sinful things to Steve’s body. The worst part was that Bucky was doing all of this with no knowledge that Steve harboured the biggest crush of his life.

It really was unfair.

Sitting back to lean on his hands, stretching his legs out, he saw Bucky glance over at him, and gave a smile. Bucky grinned back and then grappled Sam to the sand to yank the frisbee from his grip. Life wasn’t unfair because Bucky didn’t date guys, he did, very much so, and girls too from what Steve had seen, it was just the guys Bucky dated were typically more like… jocks.

Steve hunched over, trying to not stare too long and inadvertently get turned on, finding it an impossibility as his eyes wouldn’t tear away from Bucky’s frame as he bounded effortlessly over the soft sand, something Steve couldn’t do. He’d almost lost a lung from the trek over to their secluded spot earlier that day. Soft sand was the enemy - that was fact.

“Heads up.”

Startled from his thoughts by Bucky’s deep voice urgently calling out his way, Steve looked up only to see the frisbee coming straight for him. With a reaction that even surprised himself, Steve raised his hand and caught the flying disc with nary a blink of an eye.

Bucky was skidding to a halt on his knees before him a second later.

“Shit, Steve. That was epic, you sure you don’t want to play? You can be on my team - my secret frisbee weapon.”

Steve’s mouth went dry as he tried to listen to the words leaving Bucky, because the delectable man was less than two feet away and the smell of sunscreen, sweat and something virile and uniquely Bucky entered his senses. Steve knew that if sitting next to Bucky in the dining hall was torture when Bucky was wearing his spicy cologne, he’d keel over being enveloped in his sweaty beach scent for longer than a minute.

God he wanted Bucky to fill him, everywhere. Make him forget his name, take him over and over.

He realised that he still hadn’t answered and heat crept into his cheeks, managing to blurt out, “I’m good for now. Nat’s grabbing ice creams and I don’t want to get a stitch.”

Steve then gave Bucky what he hoped was a soft and cheeky winning grin, but the way Bucky faltered, swallowed tightly, face impassive made Steve wonder if he’d missed the mark on trying to be flirty.

He really was as hopeless as Darcy continually told him.

Steve’s eyes trailed down to Bucky’s broad and lightly haired chest, finding himself breathing quicker, wondering if he’d remembered to pack his inhaler. No, he was sure it was in the pocket of his backpack. Thank god, he might need it in the face of Bucky’s glorious muscles moving in his vision all day.

“If you’re sure,” Bucky finally said in a deep steady voice.

“Maybe later,” Steve stammered, holding up the frisbee with a shaky hand. He had to get a grip.

“Alright, later then, I’m holding you to that.” And Bucky took the disc from Steve’s grip and was off bounding towards Sam, Carol, Thor and Maria.

While Steve recalibrated his thoughts, Nat came back holding only one ice cream cone, licking it slowly with a sparkle in her eye as Clint trailed behind, wearing Nat’s beach bag and carrying the rest of the ice creams, and Steve worried she’d overestimated his balancing skills. But if Nat asked, Clint would do - it was kind of amazing the power she had over him without even trying. Although they weren’t dating (yet), Nat was never cruel, she was playing the long game and really liked Clint, but had been hurt before by some Russian asshole, and Steve knew that Clint, when Nat finally agreed to go out with him would never be the same man again. He’d be lost in deep shock and joy. They were perfect for each other.

A pang went through his gut as Steve watched them, taking a cone from Clint, wishing he had someone that wanted him as much as they wanted each other.

“Vanilla,” Nat commented with a scrunch of her nose at Steve’s choice as he took a lick of the creamy goodness, the chill on his tongue welcome under the heat of the day. “You’re so very basic, Rogers.”

“Hey there is nothing wrong with that. I happen to love vanilla.” A rich voice said from right in front of Steve as Bucky flopped down on the sand, kicking up little grains that stuck on Bucky’s thighs where he was sweating. Steve shut his eyes against the picture before him, once again pleading to any God or Goddess that would listen that it wasn’t fair, that they had to find him someone one day. He just hoped it would be soon, else his dick drop off from Bucky unwittingly giving him blue balls.

“You’re one to talk, you didn’t even want ice cream, just a soda. And a club soda at that.”

Bucky looked over to Nat, flashing her a wide grin, and Steve immediately started to lick his ice cream just to do anything but stare at the crinkling in the corners of Bucky’s eyes, or to watch his lips as they wrapped around the bottle tip. He only half listened to their banter as they kept teasing each other, Nat and Bucky having been best friends from childhood, the reason how Steve inadvertently fell into the group of jocks, for a lack of a better term to encompass all the fit people he was now surrounded with.

Nat had introduced him to everyone after they’d hit it off at the gym in first semester, and Steve had waited for the inevitable teasing to commence about his small stature, but it never came. He was always included, never mocked (unless it was called for, because he was a facts man and couldn’t help correcting people when they were clearly in the wrong) and it was such a novel experience, so how could he not fall immediately in lust with the football captain? One who had smokey blue-grey eyes, sinfully full lips made for kissing among other fun activities and a personality that you could fall into and live inside forever.

“Err, Steve… your ice cream, it’s ummm, dripping.”

“What?” Steve asked, realising that he’d been swirling his tongue over the top of the soft confectionary and that his fingers were now completely sticky as the ice cream dripped over them on to his thigh. “Oh shit.”

Steve immediately switched hands and started to lap at his fingers, tongue darting between them to catch all the creaminess, sucking them into his mouth one by one, only looking up when he heard a muted groan. Bucky was moving before him, squirming in the sand, and as his eyes landed on Bucky, he startled, surprised to find Bucky’s hooded gaze directly on Steve. But his eyes hadn’t landed just anywhere, they were trained to Steve’s mouth, and as Steve swiped his finger through the sweetness that had dribbled on his thigh, Bucky’s gaze followed that finger's movements. Steve without thought, heart thumping hard, confusion and awe flowing through his veins, stuck the digit in his mouth, licking off the stickiness.

Thankfully, Steve had his sunglasses on, hiding his expression, but he knew his face was burning red at the brash and overt display. Bucky was watching him intently, the rise and fall of his gloriously thick chest heaved, and Bucky’s skin flushed from the exercise or maybe the sun. Steve wasn’t sure.

But it was as Steve licked around the base of the cone again, the ice cream melting quicker in the heat than he could swallow, Bucky’s pecs twitched.

Steve stopped all movement, caught at the tick of flesh, the way it bounced taut, watching with abject lust and desire as Bucky did it again - knowing exactly where Steve’s eyes were trained.

It was such a fucking dick move, a power move to get attention and Steve hated jocks who flexed like that, but on Bucky… on Bucky it was god damn mesmerizing. And it was after the third time Bucky’s pecs jumped, Bucky stood up abruptly and fled saying in a higher pitch than usual that he was jumping in the water, that Steve realised he might not have been doing it on purpose.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bucky was dead, he was going to die from being hard for... how long had he known Steve Rogers, six months maybe? Well, that was how long he’d survived with a non-stop boner for the blonde man. And he was at the end of his tether.

Steve was everything Bucky ever wanted in a partner, smart, strong, intense, funny, handsome and a person that he could fall into, spend time with - love.

So it didn't help his little issue to be at the beach that day, watching Steve sit under the huge umbrella on brightly coloured towels in his swim trunks and a loose tank with arm holes so big he could see all the way through to his muscular chest and pink nipples. It was driving him fucking insane.

Sure he’d seen Steve wearing an array of items at the gym, but he’d never witnessed him so carefree as he was at the beach. He was smiling more, relaxed, joking while big sunglasses hid those gorgeous eyes that would give the ocean a run for its money as to what was bluer.

But what killed Bucky that particular day over every other day he lusted after Steve, what made him clench and twitch all over was watching Steve lick up his ice cream. It was downright obscene, Steve shouldn’t be allowed to do that in public, or at least he should have a warning sticker on his person.

Steve had a mouth made for sucking cock, and Bucky wanted, no, he needed to know what having those lips wrapped around him felt like. Christ, he wanted to know what it felt like to be buried in Steve, maybe even have Steve press into him. Fuck.

There was only one thing for it.

He had to seduce Steve, and he had to do it soon.

But that begged the question - how?

How did Bucky capture the attention of the smartest, funniest, quick witted and grumpiest man on campus? Not only that, but to have Steve take him seriously? Bucky was aware that people thought he was only a dumb jock, that all he had to offer the world was to play ball and shit talk other teams and work out in the gym. Which, yeah of course he did all of those things - but he really was so much more. He was studying economics, was thinking about trying to specialise and work as an international trade specialist after college, and although Bucky really loved playing ball - it wasn’t his whole life. He’d never go pro - well, not without a hell of a lot of luck and persistence, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to take something he enjoyed and make it a living in that way. He’d seen how broken some sports stars bodies were after a career, and he still wanted to be able to walk at forty without having had three knee reconstructions.

But Steve, Steve saw through all of that, he spoke to Bucky like an intellect, like he had something worthy to say, to add to the conversation. Even at the gym after Nat had introduced them (Bucky begging to know who the gorgeous guy she was chatting to on the rowing machines was) Steve and he worked out together, had fun catcalling each other for being weak and helped each other with their forms - something Bucky largely did just to get hands on Steve even though Steve’s form was perfect.

Bucky had been taken with the slight man from the first moment he’d seen him, always under the impression that Steve was too smart to even think about dating a meathead like him, even if he truly wasn't what his physique made him. So he stuck with friendship, but now he wanted more. Was going to ask for more.

“Whatcha thinking?” Nat asked as she swam out to float in the water next to him.

“Nothing much,” He replied, ignoring her knowing hum. He hated that they’d been friends forever and she knew all his tells.

The much needed cold water had soothed his itching skin, and from his vantage point he could look back at their rag tag group of friends, able to stare unabashadly at Steve as he laughed with Clint and Thor about something, staring up at Thor as he... as he fucking flexed in front of Steve.

“Easy boy,” Natasha grabbed his bicep that was taut from clenching his fists, “Thor’s with Jane remember? Steve’s not interested in someone like Thor anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes swung to her immediately. “What do you mean? Because he's a jock?”

Nat let out an exasperated sigh. “No you idiot. Because he’s interest lies elsewhere.”

“Oh,” Bucky’s chest squeezed tight, wondering who had Steve’s undivided attention. And he couldn’t help but watch Steve as Carol held out a hand to pull him to his feet, and suddenly Bucky forgot his disappointment when Steve pulled his tank off, revealing a gorgeous toned body in all its glory. Bucky’s dick stirred. Thank fuck he was hidden in the water.

“You are a colossal idiot. You know that right?” Nat deadpanned.

“I have to ask Steve out,” he blurted. “I need to… I need to be with him.”

“I know,” Nat said with a smirk, and Bucky looked at her gratefully, if she helped he would be fine. “But that really sounds like a you problem. Have fun with that.”

“You horrible cow,” Bucky sniped back, ready to splash her, but she was already under the water stealthily swimming up behind Clint, only to dunk the unsuspecting man.

Bucky’s attention suddenly caught on movement on the shoreline as Steve stood knee deep, testing the water and with no further hesitation, dove in, coming up for air not far from where Bucky floated. Bucky watched mesmerized as the sun glinted off Steve’s wet eyelashes, before he wiped the droplets from them, smiling at Bucky.

“Oh god, this water feels amazing.”

“So would you,” Bucky whispered.

“Huh?” Steve asked.

For a long moment, Bucky stared at Steve, realising that sound carried over water differently and Steve most likely caught what he said. Seducing someone was hard, even though he hadn’t even tried yet.

Instead of answering, Bucky ducked his head so his mouth went underwater and swam towards Steve like a shark, deciding that he just had to ask him point blank, no messing around with seduction. Slipping up out of the water at the last moment he put on his most predatory smile, Steve’s eyes widening and he looked around, face flushed and Bucky hoped he wasn’t looking for an escape.

He quickly darted behind Steve, wrapping his arms tight around his lithe body, trying not to linger too much as Steve was the perfect fit, felt so good against him; and when he heard the small gasp from Steve’s throat he launched him into the air. Flinging Steve into the water a few feet away.

“You fucker,” Steve exclaimed laughing as he came up for air, and Bucky smirked.

Suddenly with a smirk of his own that made Bucky inhale sharply, Steve disappeared under the water, Bucky feeling him come up underneath his body and with a strength that belied Steve’s small stature, completely turning Bucky on more than it should, he was pushed up out of the water, throwing him completely under as well.

“Jesus, Steve. You should join the team.” Bucky spluttered when he came up for air.

Steve grinned back, pushing wet hair out of his eyes and Bucky stared, lost in how stunning Steve looked in the sunlight, that he was there before him alone in the ocean full of people, “I mean they already have you and Sam as Captains. Wouldn’t want to put either of you out of a job.”

Bucky laughed, “I don’t doubt you’d do it too, Stevie.”

And when Steve stopped smiling, Bucky realised what he’d said.

“Shit, sorry - you don’t like that? Nicknames?”

“No I... I do…” Steve answered softly, and Bucky became lost in a blue that matched the water they were treading.

“Would you get out with me?” Bucky blurted.

“Sorry? Get out of the water?”

Bucky internally facepalmed himself. “No, I mean go out.”

“Out. With you?”

Bucky nodded.

“Err, why me?” Steve asked in a small voice lost on a gust of wind.

Looking at Steve, who stared back at him with questions in his eyes, Bucky wanted to explain how much he’d desired it for months, to tell Steve all the ways he wanted to make him happy, and as a multitude of words sat on his tongue, Bucky suddenly understood Steve might not listen to his reasoning, might not believe him. So he decided to show his intent instead, and swam closer. Steve’s eyes were wide, guileless, Bucky seeing a small spark of something more, and hoping he wasn’t triple jumping over a line, he swam up behind Steve. He felt Steve tense up, anticipating to be flung into the water again, but instead, Bucky pulled him closer so that Steve’s back slotted against his front and leaned in, mouth only an inch away from Steve’s ear.

“Why you? Oh Stevie, you have no idea how gorgeous you are. How much I want you.” Bucky pressed his nose against the back of Steve’s ear and inhaled deeply, sunscreen, salt and Steve’s shampoo filled his senses and he lost his head for a moment, especially when Steve let out a high pitched groan and wriggled back into Bucky. “I want to spread you out beneath me, I want to lick all the sweat off your body, sweat that I'm going to cause from working you hard, making you work extra hard for my dick, because Stevie - I want you, I want you bad, and I think you might want me back just as much.”

Bucky hoped he wasn’t completely off base with his desires, that Steve really was just as interested, and when Steve ground back against him, skin sliding against Bucky’s, letting out another moan at the friction when he felt Bucky hardening up underneath him, Bucky knew it was going to be ok.

“Yes…” Steve whimpered as his shorts caught against Bucky’s dick, pushing backwards.

“You want that baby?”

“Fuck. Yes, I do.”

“How much?”

Steve spluttered, and Bucky couldn’t help chuckle at the noise. “What do you mean?”

“How much do you want it?” Bucky knew he was being a prick, making his pec’s tense against Steve’s back, pulling him onto his lap as they floated in the water, before wrapping a leg around one of Steve’s pulling it to the side, making Steve gasp gorgeously.

“A normal amount,” Steve husked back.

“Oh, you want me a normal amount - is that all?” Bucky smirked before licking a sloppy stripe up Steve’s neck at the same time as he snuck a hand down the front of Steve’s swim trunks, gripping his dick tightly, feeling the impressive length and girth for the first time. Fuck, he was definietly not taking switching of the table. But not anytime soon. First, he wanted to take Steve apart in every way conceivable.

Steve meanwhile, was liquid in his arms, going slack as Bucky took his time to explore while they floated in circles not far from the shore, but far enough out they wouldn’t get in trouble. He hoped.

The moans tearing from Steve’s throat were getting louder though, Bucky loving every noise punched out of Steve as he stroked harder under the water, the friction and pressure of the water making him slower and more languid than usual. And Bucky wanted to make Steve call out with no thought or boundaries, nothing to stifle his pleasure, he needed Steve coming in his arms, again and again.

“I think you might just want me a little more than that.” Bucky rasped against Steve’s neck, sucking a bruise onto his pink skin, giving Steve’s dick another sharp tug and before he knew what was happening, Steve was shaking in his arms, whimpering out a release and Bucky was speechless. Utterly speechless as he continued to stroke Steve slowly, carefully as he jerked in his hand.

“Holy fuck, you’re stunning, gorgeous, the absolute best,” Bucky rambled into Steve’s neck, nipping kisses and pressing his lips against him in absolute awe at what had just occured.

Suddenly Steve moved, spinning himself around to straddle Bucky and he went under for a moment as their weights shifted and came back up spluttering, only for Steve to launch himself so his lips pushed against his. Steve took over, devouring his mouth, and although Bucky was the one in control, holding them both up, he’d never felt so out of control as Steve writhed and ground down as best he could in the water. Shit, Steve was going to be a handful and Bucky was there for it.

As he kissed back, grabbing the back of Steve’s head, holding him still as he pressed his tongue in deeply, a huge beach ball smacked into the side of his face. They jumped apart with a gasp.

“Don’t make me go get the hose!” Nat yelled out as she and Clint swam around nearby. “It’s about time you dolts wised up, but this is a public beach with you know - families.”

Bucky watched as Steve’s face flushed a perfect shade of red, and he couldn’t help but grab him again, giving him a quick intense kiss, claiming Steve until he struggled for breath, to show Bucky’s intent was clear and true. It was pure perfection.

“We’ll pick this up again later.” Bucky promised.

“Later.” Steve replied breathlessly.

Suddenly Steve pushed himself away from Bucky, grabbing and throwing the beach ball, hitting Clint dead on the nose. The surprised yelp from both Clint and Natasha made Bucky laugh.

“Oh it’s so on, James,” Nat yelled out.

Steve piped up from his side, “you wish, Romanoff - we’re gonna take you down!”

Bucky beamed.

“Yeah!” he called over to them, dodging the ball that came directly for him as Nat and Clint shit-talked. And as he and Steve swam out to retrieve the ball floating behind them, Bucky turned to Steve and gave him an overtly salacious wink. “And once we take them down, I’m going to take you home and show you what going down is all about.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Really? That was incredibly lame, especially for a savvy sex-crazed jock.”

“You’re not interested in my proposal then?”

“Oh I’m interested,” Steve grinned, licking his lips and Bucky caught his breath. “But if you’re going to use dad jokes on the regular - I might have to start calling you something else in the bedroom.”

Steve then threw the ball, Nat ducking at the last minute, and Bucky didn’t even feel when the returning pitch slammed into his head; Steve’s words creating a delicious cacophony of images and filthy thoughts in his mind instead.

Bucky had always known that Stevie Rogers was going to be both the life and death of him, and as he rubbed his head, grasping the ball in one hand, ready to throw it, he couldn’t wait to see where their adventure would take them.

But first - Clint had to pay.

#stucky #mywriting #friends to lovers #college #bottom Steve #implied switch #beach and fun #melting ice creams are a real issue for libidos #gift for Manda - the best and brightest of them all #prompt game #kalee answers

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hankwritten · 3 years

Text

The Weight of Other People’s Thoughts

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for @lilythedragon05, Scotland

It was a bad idea to follow that tugging cord at the center of his being, the one that called him to Ullapool, and he never would have dared to entertain it if he knew it would have brought him here.

Jane sat by the ocean, stone’s throw from the town, but his distasteful frown kept his eyes locked firmly ahead instead of gazing dubiously at it. What had he been thinking? Coming to Ullapool had only make him feel worse, not better, a smirch against Tavish’s memory if there ever was one. Rubbing in Tavish’s face that he’d never go home again—and here Jane was, free to frolic across the whole damn planet, even if it took him to stupid countries ending in ‘land’.

He leaned further over his knees, barely feeling the sea breeze as he thought about his dead friend.

His murdered friend, he reminded himself. Murdered by someone who he thought he could trust, who now had to carry that guilt with him for the rest of his life.

Everywhere Jane looked it reminded him of Tavish. Maybe that’s why he’d come: self-flagellation. Appropriate punishment. Or maybe he was so desperate not to forget, he’d take the pain that came with remembering. Torturing himself truly, since he could look on the hills and surrounding coast that he had once only known through enthusiastic descriptions, see for himself the places where a young Tavish had played with dummy-grenades. He could imagine him talking to the local shopkeeps. He could practically see him walking up this very path, groceries in one hand, a newspaper filled with fried fish in the other as he took a large bite out of it-

Wait.

Tavish stopped dead, his face enveloped in utter shock. Still mid-chew, he said, “Jdra-ne?”

Jane leapt to his feet. “Apparition!” He pointed an accusing finger at the offending spirit. “Do not think for a second I will be cowed into repentance by the spectral manifestation of my guilt!”

Tavish nearly choked as he tried to swallow his bite of fish. “I…what?”

“Ghosts serve no purpose on my journey to recovery,” Jane continued. “Not even ones that look like my dead friend! Be gone creature of the other world!”

“What I- I’m not bloody dead.”

Jane squinted at him. He definitely didn’t look dead, totally opaque, no fettered chains representing his sins in life and his guilt over failing to help his fellow Man.

“…Are you sure?” Jane pressed.

“You’d think someone would know if they were dead,” Tavish grumbled poignantly, now glaring at Jane for some reason.

“I killed you though. It was-” -pickaxe right through the sternum, crushing, all the red bits coming out when they should have been in- “That was definitely fatal.”

“Aye, was, but I managed to limp my was back into Respawn range. Took a better part of an hour, but I made it.”

There was something odd to Tavish’s voice, something he wasn’t saying, but the realization that he might actually-seriously-really be alive was starting to set in and Jane was too afraid to believe it.

He took a step closer, past the bench he’d been enjoying his solitude at and completing a full circle around the Demoman. Tavish’s head followed him all the while, up until Jane came to a stop in front of him. “…Promise you are not a ghost?”

“I’m not a ghost,” Tavish said, as convincingly honest as he’d always been. Not that his acting skills hadn’t covered for his mendacity before-

-no, no that was a trick, it all turned out to be a lie a damn lie-

“Fine then. You’re not.” Though Jane would keep his eyes peeled for phantasmal anyway. “What the hell are you doing here then?”

“I live here,” Tavish huffed. “Gravel Wars are over, wasn’t going to spend the rest of my years in some blighted desert. Better question is what are you doing here, yank?”

Crap. Well, maybe a half-truth would suffice. “You always talked so much about Scotland I thought…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Tavish stood there, one hand still clasped around his groceries. The moment dragged on, vast seas of unsaid things between them, of regrets still festering, to which he ended with, “would you like me to show you around?”

Jane looked down, trying not to stare at his shoes but instead at the foreign soil around them. “…Sure. Why not.”

“Everything is incredibly vertical,” Jane complained as they climbed up yet another hill Tavish insisted was part of the journey.

“Aye, that’s why they call it the Highlands, BLU.”

Jane hated how fucking smug he sounded. Hated, and missed it all the same, missed how this bastard could set a fire in his gut just with one of his damn smiles.

“And there she is,” the Demoman said proudly as the crested the final ridge.

“Damn. Really went to crap in the last couple centuries.”

“Oi, don’t point fingers at me! I’ve only been around for forty of those.”

DeGroot Keep was shriveled and hunchbacked since Jane had last seen it, folding under its own legacy as ages had eaten the tallest spires first and chewed its way down to the cob. Still, he could just make out the choke points, the parapets, the places he used to go charging into with his mêlée weapon held high—all sanded down by the years, the vaguest memories of control points where a portal in time had briefly allowed Jane to witness their existence.

“So what,” he asked, following Tavish into the slight dip in the Highlands where the Keep nestled, “you live in here like some sort of anti-Italian?”

“An anti- what now?”

“Anti-Italians! Despises sun, allergic to garlic, doesn’t show up in mirrors, no sex life. Basic literary reference, RED.”

Tavish rolled his eye. “No, I’m not squatting in the dilapidated castle. Got a perfectly nice home down in the village, I just happen to have inherited this along with…all the other crap.” He waved his hand. “I’ve considered shelling out to having it restored but…dunno. Seeing it go from its heyday to this makes me think that in another couple hundred years it’ll just fall apart again.”

He sat on a piece of tumbled rock, one that used to hang over the Keep’s gate, a bright and shining keystone now used as a stool. Jane joined him.

“Don’t get much of this at home, do you? Old crap. Yer country’s still a wee babe you know, nothing’s even falling apart yet.”

“Incorrect!” Jane amended. “There are plenty of old things in America!”

“For last time lad, Thomas Edison wasn’t immortal, and he didn’t be build a second Shangri-La under Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Your statements reveal both your ignorance and your compunction, but I was actually talking about mounds.”

“Mounds,” Tavish repeated dubiously.

“Yes! Mounds! Fourteen hundred years ago Americans were building ceremonial mounds in order to track celestial events! They look like animals from the top, lynx, bears, fish, all that crap. I used to walk next to this bird one every day on the way to school.”

Tavish blinked at him, tilting his head. “No offense Jane, but including Native people usually isn’t in your worldview. Where’d you even learn all ‘o that?”

“My mother taught me, so think insinuating more cyclops—lest you show disrespect against her memory and I am forced to take out your other socket!”

Tavish raised his hands defensively, but there was a smile creeping at the corner. “Alright, alright, I get ye. A Mum’s honor is a serious thing.”

“Hm. Good.” Jane glanced ahead, suddenly afraid of lapsing back into silence, as though Tavish would start to slip away from him if they did. “How is your mother?”

“Ah…she passed some years back.”

“…I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright.” Tavish paused. “I still see her sometimes.”

“Metaphorically or…?”

Tavish glanced at him, but then away just a quickly, as though frightened of what he might see. “I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s alright with you.” Instead, he stared ahead, the sun setting between its cradle within the mountains. “Heh. At least there’s something that’s the same no matter where you go. Always a sunset.”

“Guess so.”

Still, Jane found he liked this one better than the ones back home. At least, better than all the ones he’d seen before he’d met Tavish.

The next day was spent in the village, and Jane couldn’t help but yearn for more of Tavish’s time, more of his attention. His friend. His friend who was still alive. Tavish had a kind word for every person they passed, all of whom didn’t seem to notice Jane at all, simply starting up a conversation with their fellow local and submitting to the rhythm of the morning. Breakfast was some sort of potato scone, but Jane wasn’t hungry, so he just walked beside Tavish as the other man ate. They found themselves at the same bench where they’d first run into each other.

“So,” Tavish asked. “Ullapool everything you thought it would be?”

“Hm. It’s…nice. It is obviously not perfect for geographical reasons entirely outside of its control, but. I understand how it made you the man you are.”

“Me? Nah.” Tavish wiped off his mouth with his sleeve. “I made myself like this.”

Again, he wouldn’t look at Jane, wouldn’t say what they were both thinking. That things had gone wrong, that they had both fucked up. One of them more than the other, but Jane had found him again, and maybe they could still figure something out, still have time to unearth all that they had deemed too dangerous and buried in the sand.

Jane reached forward, and put his hand over where Tavish’s was resting on the bench.

And watched it pass straight through.

Jane sprang away. “I knew it! I knew you were a ghost!”

Likewise, Tavish stood up sharply. “I am not. I bloody told you I was’t.”

“Liar! I will not be swayed by any more perjury from your ethereal mouth!”

“I’m not lying!” Tavish snarled at him, his eye dark and narrowed, burning hotter than the words would imply. “I never lied. I never wanted any of-”

“Blasphemy!”

“Would you just listen for-!”

“You cannot guilt me apparition! For I know that-”

“Shut up! Just fucking shut up!” Tavish’s fist closed around the neck of his scrumpy bottle, half drained before noon, and threw it full force at Jane’s head.

Jane raised an arm to block the incoming blow, but the impact never arrived. A second ticked by, then two, then three, and slowly he lowered his forearm to reveal the panting Demoman behind it, shoulders heaving and an inscrutable expression tearing across his features.

“How’s that for the truth you bleeding idiot,” he said.

Jane looked to Tavish, then rotated his neck slowly, staring at the bottle that had landed in the grass behind him. He blinked, willing what he was looking at to make sense, to suddenly disappear and go back to where things were a second ago. To believe he hadn’t seen that bottle connected with his own nose.

There was something he didn’t want to do, but he did it anyway, turning his gaze forward inch by agonizing inch, staring down at his own hands. Fully taking how translucent they were.

The moment shattered, Tavish tore his eye away. “Fuck. Fuck I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve…”

Jane was still looking at his hands. There was panic, deep and overwhelming rising within him, but there was no raised pulse to accompany it, no sweat on the back of his neck.

He lifted his chin to Tavish. “What? I don’t…”

“I didn’t die,” Tavish said thickly. “You did. I killed you and I walked off and you just bled out for who knows how long and-”

-the pickaxe but also a sword, just as deadly buried two feet into his chest and the man above him trying to shove it in a few extra inches, strangled screaming as it pushed deeper-

Jane hadn’t been paying attention to the last half of Tavish’s muttered confession. The Demoman was crying now, pawing furiously at his one lone eye as stared out valley below them, looking anywhere but at Jane as his sclera turned red.

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “Christ Jane I’m so fucking sorry. If you came to haunt me or whatever I just- I just want you to know that you can’t hate me more than I hate myself. That it’s been killing me every day since.”

He collapsed on the bench, curling away from Jane as he buried his face in his hands.

It could have been some sort of trick. A ghost bottle or…no Jane wouldn’t even try. He attempted to remember what flight he had come in on but couldn’t. He grasped for how many years since the Gravel Wars had ended, and couldn’t find the answer.

Jane was a ghost, yet everything still hurt as much as it had when he had lived. Immaterial, and he still so badly wanted to touch Tavish’s hand.

He sat on the bench next to him. “I didn’t come to make you feel bad, Tavish.”

“Then why did you come?” It sounded like it was meant to be venomous, but instead it only sounded empty��empty and wet with tears, like a plastic bag trampled into a puddle.

Jane looked down at his hands. His useless, ghost hands that he could still knit together. “I…I wanted to see you,” he said truthfully. “I missed you.”

Tavish looked at him, bleary-eyed. He whispered, “I missed you too. So damn much.”

“Whatever I was doing before, I missed you enough to come here. To someplace I thought you would be.”

A panicked jolt crossed Tavish’s face. “You’re not leaving, are you?” The same man who a moment ago thought Jane had come to smother him with guilt was despondent at the idea that Jane might go after all, that he wouldn’t get a chance to hurt himself with his own regret anymore.

“No, no not yet,” Jane said. He tried his best to wrap and arm around Tavish’s shoulder. The mortal shivered where their skin met.

“Okay,” Tavish said quietly. “Okay. Good. Thank you. I don’t think I can…When I saw you sitting up here I couldn’t believe it could be fore something good. That the only reason you’d want to haunt me would be because you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

It was true. Even though he remembered now, remember lying there, thinking how they’d killed each other, Jane had only ever hated the man who’d believed the TV’s lies.

“I really did come because I was thinking of you. Missing you.” Jane paused. “Today was fun. I’m sure you have a lot of other places to show me, right private?”

“…Sure. Sure whatever you want.” Tavish wiped at his nose. “I’m sorry Jane.”

“It’s alright Tavish.” He held his head in the crook of Tavish’s neck. “I’m sorry too.”

#demosolly #boots n bombs #tf2 fanfiction

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rigmarolling · 4 years

Text

Top 5 Things That Will Kill You In the Victorian Era

If you’ve ever spent more than two seconds with me, you know that I live and breathe the fog-choked air of Victorian London. All day. Every day of my life.

See, in many ways, the Victorians were the first version of us--overwhelmed by rapidly-changing technology (and its awful effect on the climate); dealing with incredible wealth gaps; grappling with rising crime and faster travel and out-of-control media and the whole, “God is dead, oh no” thing.

Also, everything was trying to kill you.

Like, literally almost everything.

From your clothes to your doctor to your canned food, here are the top five things that will kill you in the Victorian era.

5. Other Victorians

If the rise of penny dreadfuls (cheap magazines stuffed with horror stories for us morbidly-inclined goth types) was any indication, Victorians loved them some true crime.

And there was no shortage of subject matter to choose from: depending on where you ventured in London, at least, you could be subject to anything from pickpocketing to mugging to violent assault and, of course, murder.

There were a few reasons for this:

For one thing, the population in London alone increased by millions in the 19th century, and approximately no one was prepared for that. So, to accommodate the rapidly-booming population, the wealthy folks in charge reached out and lovingly ensured the masses of the disenfranchised poor were taken care of by redistributing resources and education and access to opportunities that improved lives on a both a personal and social level.

Lol, no, I’m totally kidding; they shoved them into slums and tenement buildings and pretended they didn’t exist.

So of course, there was a rise in crime, because if you have five kids and you can’t find gainful employment and your family will starve if you don’t steal that basket of food over there, or that purse that lady left sitting over THERE, what are you going to do? You’re going to steal the food and the purse to survive, Jean Valjean, I understand, I do.

Except the powers that be did NOT understand, and instead routinely espoused the idea that if people were poor, it was because they were morally bankrupt, or inherently bad, somehow, and the “criminal classes,” as they came to be known by the growing Victorian middle and upper-middle classes, were simply considered genetically bad to the bone and therefore undeserving of assistance.

Basically:

So ANYWAY.

Crime was on the rise and there were multiple efforts to stop it with varying degrees of success, but big city usually = big crime, especially when there’s a massive gap between the one percent-ers and THE REST OF US, WASHINGTON.

Ahem.

All that crime? The booming news industry loved it. The press ate it up and then spit it back out in salacious headlines that never even bothered with journalistic objectivity, like this gem:

I mean. Full disclosure: I, too, agree that cutting off a woman’s head, arms, and legs and then burning them is “awful, inhuman, & barbarous” but just...maybe...maybe tone it down? Just a bit?

No? Okay.

See, here’s the thing: crime sells. It always has. And papers went nuts with full illustrated spreads about the latest brutal murders so you could sit in your parlor and get anxiety poops thinking about how the butcher down the street looked at you funny the other day and oh, God, you’re probably next, oh God.

The most famous murderer of the era, was, of course, Jack the Ripper, which was just the orchestral climax of a hideously corrupted society that had bubbled into naught but a festering carbuncle, an ulcer upon the very soul of man, trussed up as a city of industry, but which is merely Salome, dancing with the Lamb’s head upon a platter and sending us all tumbling into a fiery pit.

....Ahem, again.

Some popular ways your fellow Victorians could kill you included: dueling (with swords but usually with revolvers), stabbing, garroting, and, probably the most popular method of the era, poisoning.

Speaking of which...

4. Anything dyed that hip shade of green

In 1775, a guy named Carl Wilhelm Scheele invented a new shade of green, cleverly called Scheele’s green, and it instantly became a hit. Pretty soon, manufacturers and tailors were dyeing everything this color.

Look at it. Bright, airy. Calls to mind a fresh, spring meadow. (What’s that, you ask? Well, before the Industrial Revolution belched out black smoke onto absolutely everything, there were these things called plants and grass and they were all over the place and you could frolic through them and it was very nice for your serotonin levels.)

I mean, listen, this isn’t really my color because anything vaguely yellow-ish makes my already yellow-ish skin look especially jaundiced, but it’s a lovely shade:

Besides using it to create beautiful dresses and tasteful waistcoats, they used it inside book covers:

And it was a super popular wallpaper color:

They had green candles and green cups and green kitchenwares and green paint.

But while Carl Wilhelm Scheele didn’t exactly murder anyone (even though he has three names like every serial killer ever), he sort of, accidentally, indirectly, kinda...did.

Because that springy dye contained every Victorian black widow’s favorite method to dispose of a troublesome husband: arsenic.

Scheele, of course, had no idea--no one did--so I’m fully exonerating him here, but the poison nonetheless started to take its toll.

Reports began to surface of kids getting sicker and sicker and then dying in their green wallpapered rooms; of fashionable ladies rocking those green dresses at balls and then ALSO getting sicker and sicker and breaking out in horrible sores before dying.

They even used this stuff to dye food green, so of course, anybody who tucked into Victorian green eggs and ham also, you know. Died.

And if they DIDN’T die, they got cancer, because if arsenic doesn’t kill you, it will give you cancer. And then kill you.

Eventually, as science advanced and went, “HEYO, there’s literal poison in this stuff,” consumers were like, “Well, shoot, this summer’s hottest beach shade just killed an entire boarding school,” and Scheele’s green finally fell out of favor.

It was, however, used as a pesticide up through the 1930s, so...way to use the...leftovers? I guess?

3. Your canned food

Hey, now that we’re on the topic of deadly chemicals being where they absolutely should not be, let’s talk about canned food.

In the Victorian era, it was the new Hot Thing (next to arsenic green). You mean I can can my food now? Like? Forever? Oh, only for a few months. Okay, cool. Still cool.

Above: Road trip snax.

Food preservation methods had existed long before canned meats and veggies and soups, but canned everything really started to gain traction around the middle of the 19th century, and people were stoked. Remember, the population exploded; people needed new methods of obtaining cheap food that didn’t spoil immediately. So: cans to the rescue!

Recycling hadn’t really been invented, though, so today, archaeologists constantly find giant Victorian trash pits filled with empty cans.

You know what also hadn’t been invented? Consumer health and safety boards.

So guess what was in the tin cans themselves?

No, no, don’t worry, it wasn’t arsenic.

It was lead.

Which, in case you weren’t aware, is also very, very bad for you.

So bad, in fact, that today, scientists are pretty sure lead-lined tins of canned food were partially responsible for the deaths on the disastrous Franklin Expedition, an ultimately futile trip to discover the Northwest Passage lead by Sir John Franklin in 1845. Every single man on board the two ships stranded in the Arctic died, and in the 1980s, when scientists discovered perfectly mummified bodies (GRAPHIC, if you don’t like that sort of thing, but awesome if you do) of some of the sailors, one of the mummies contained insane amounts of lead. They later tested the cans found scattered across the wreck site and whoops, they also contained insane amounts of lead.

Above: Some of the tin cans from the Franklin Expedition, which contained items like salted beef, vegetables, tea, lethal amounts of lead, and Chicken of the Sea.

Granted, other factors contributed to the Franklin deaths, like, you know, being stranded in the Arctic and starving to death, and also tuberculosis, but lead-lined canned food certainly didn’t help things along.

2. Your doctor

Here’s my advice if you’re in the Victorian era and you’re starting to feel sick: do not get sick. Just don’t. Because then that means you’ll have to go to the doctor. Which probably means you will die.

Hospitals in the 19th century were deadly. Often even more deadly than just staying at home, according to Dr. Lindsey Fitzharris, author of The Butchering Art. Nobody knew how to treat anything, really, because medical understanding of biology was in its infancy and antibiotics didn’t exist yet, so you were absolutely, definitely going to get some kind of infection the second you stepped foot in a Victorian hospital.

Above: The surgery, where nobody has any idea what they are doing, ever.

Doctors weren’t trying to kill you on purpose--they just didn’t know any better. And it super duper didn’t help that common treatments for everything from the common cold to tuberculosis included taking mercury (which kills you) and blood-letting, (which can also kill you) the tools for which are shown below:

Those might look like fun doodads for your astronomy class at Hogwarts, but they’re actually vials and a really, really sharp needle that pricks you until you bleed out a critically dangerous amount of blood into those vials.

The (ancient) school of thought behind blood-letting was that draining patients of “bad” blood would rebalance their “humours” and get rid of the icky thing that was making them sick. We might laugh at it now, but if you don’t know any better, logically, it makes sense.

Medically, oh my God, it’s the worst.

So if Doc didn’t bleed you to death, he might try surgery--done without anesthesia or antibiotics (until good old Dr. Lister came along--read The Butchering Art!), and then ship you and your amputated stump leg off to the hospital ward where, instead of healing, you’d get wheeled through hallways stained with every bodily fluid imaginable into rooms filled with people coughing up every bodily fluid imaginable, some of which would get into your leg stump, infect it, and then kill you dead.

“But what about medicine?” you ask. “Can’t I just take medicine?”

Sure! Just be aware that it definitely contains morphine and probably contains cocaine, or mercury, or arsenic, or sulfur, or pulverized bits of ancient Egyptian mummies (I am not kidding. True, the latter had started to fall out of favor in the 19th century, but, like. Stop).

Above: Hard drugs, but just for you.

You think I’m joking?

Above: PARTY TIME.

Sometimes, a doctor would just advise that you move to a “more temperate climate” like Rome or Spain if you were feeling chronically ill, which might help you get a tan and COULD help if you had sucky lungs, but eventually, you’d just die anyway, because what you really needed was a strong antibiotic or antiviral medication and the closest you were gonna get was Mrs. Hopplebopple’s Temperance Tonic, which was probably filled with ground up baby bones and just so much heroin.

And don’t even get me started on Victorian surgical tools:

Open wide.

1. Water

There are three rules in this life: don’t watch any Adam Sandler movies except for maybe Anger Management, don’t eat the yellow snow, and do not, ever, for any reason, ever drink water in Victorian England.

That’s because it was about as clean as a Victorian hospital.

Meaning it wasn’t. At all.

Victorian water--of the Thames variety--contained:

Cholera, one of the deadliest killers of the era and bad water’s favorite roommate.

Poop, human and otherwise, because a functioning sewer system? I don’t know her. (At least, not until the 1860s.)

Pee, human and otherwise, because nothing says, “Jolly Old England” like an open trench of piss rolling through the city.

Dead things, like animals, fish (which are animals, so why am I listing them as a separate thing?), and, occasionally, humans.

Chemicals, which spewed forth from the great factories in billowing, bubbling, belching rivers of sludge. (Ha! Omg, yes, I was an English major!)

The Thames was so filthy that Londoners called it “Monster Soup.”

Above: Same.

In 1855, scientist Michael Faraday (who was also kind of hot; tell me I’m wrong), wrote a letter to the Times about the disgusting state of the river:

"Near the bridges the feculence rolled up in clouds so dense that they were visible at the surface, even in water of this kind. ... The smell was very bad, and common to the whole of the water; it was the same as that which now comes up from the gully-holes in the streets; the whole river was for the time a real sewer."

Tl;dr: “It smelled like ass.”

In fact, it got so bad, so putrid, so horrifically clogged with every disgusting thing your mind and your butthole can possibly conjure up, that it lead to one of my favorite things to read about in the world: The Great Stink of 1858.

Yes, that’s the real name. I did not make that up. History is incredible.

Above: Summer vacation, 1858.

The summer of 1858 was miserably hot in London. And the Thames was miserably clogged with poop, and pee, and chemicals, and dead things, and, uh oh, cholera. During July and August that year, the smell wafting from the river was so offensive that Parliament was actually adjourned because everybody kept throwing up. Cholera devastated the city. The water was killing London.

Faced with either the prospect of living with a city-wide vomit-and-diarrhea smell for the rest of forever OR finally cleaning things up, the government actually did something right and chose the latter. They contracted civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette to overhaul the city’s sewer, to which Bazalgette, pinching his nose, responded, “FINALLY.”

Above: Joesph Bazalgette, savior of the London sewers and purveyor of a truly beautiful mustache.

Bazalgette proceeded to build the London sewer system still in use today. His efforts greatly reduced the number of cholera deaths, cleared the Thames of its Cronenberg-esque muck, and ensured that poop goes where it’s supposed to: way the hell out of HERE and way the hell under THERE.

Water sanitation still had a long way to go, though, which meant you either had to boil your water to kill the bacteria in it, or you could just drink alcohol instead, which was the safer option but which would also leave you very dehydrated and also, if imbibed excessively, would leave you very dead.

So really, you were doomed in some way no matter what you did, and if that isn’t the moral of the entire Victorian story, then I don’t know what is.

#victorian #listory

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katsu-chan22 · 2 years

Text

Life at 21st Century,

a (crack) viewpoint of a 19 years old girl.

Truthfully, I believe that I am living a fairly good life here at 21st century, thanks to Heavenly Father. Of course, life here on earth is not perfectly perfect. As humans we have needs; like food, water, home, clothes and other basic necessities that people do. Most things here on this planet can be purchased by money. Well, except pure love, I think.

But yes, I am dwelling a good life in the modern world. Unlike the ancient times, I do not have to get worried being eaten by wild and horrifying animals as I frolic from places to places, (and that was before Covid19), nor afraid that someone will strike an arrow at me from meters away nor get stabbed by heavy-weighted swords, because of territory disputes and whatnot.

Also, if I am curious about something; I can easily whipped my android phone with a data (that cost a hundred pesos at least and can last for an entire week) and search at our good ol pal-mah-bestie "google" to answer my questions. Especially now, technology has been a huge help in my online classes. Like if there is an activity that has been sent through gclass or messenger, "don't worry wps or google docs can help you save your soft-copy files through skynet or cloud files". See even the names for these useful helpers are extraordinary. Now imagine these terms being used in ancient times, surely people out there will cast you away or burn you for the fear of "witchcraft". Hmmm. People tend to act negatively towards things unknown even today.

Now, "having troubles in seeking answers for your assignments? Do not fear for our bestie google is dependable and it can ‘almost’ answer everything; keyword ‘everything’ ". Just be careful about false information, less you end up making a fool of yourself. Social media is super scary. People are too bored these days that they will find one flaw, and they will take your picture or video and post, tada! "You’re viral!" Reactions, share & share, comments, hate or love; that is the life of social media user. Sometimes, toxicity is too much. It is time to burrow in my comfortable blanket and read books like the old times.

At 21st century, cooking food becomes easy unless "you ain't chef". No need to cut branches of trees, nor use coals for cooking food. When you got a stove and prycegas, it is easy cooking! “You got left-overs?” Refrigerator now exists, and this is like one of the useful inventions ever existed.

Hygiene at 21st century. I am so bless to be able to take a bath without problems. Unless the water is gone for a meantime, like maintenance of sort or “you haven't paid yet~” Bless are the souls who invented shampoo, and soap. When I am remembering how ancient people only took a bath for like once a month or worse, because of how terrible old times are? Yikes. Semi-germaphobic me, might as well faint because of a speck of dirt. Joking. So I am really grateful to be born at 21st century.

Life here at 21st century is great, but it has its own downsides. I got "panza" (spanish for "bilbil") for having too lenient life like using gadgets everyday while sitting, oops. My eyes were now blurry too; I miss my sharp-sighted eyes huhu. Moreover, I am unhappy to see children wearing legit eyeglasses already due to constant use of gadgets.

Our body is precious, let's love it. Did I also mention, robots like A.I are cool in the movies? But in real life, if it gets out of control, humans are bound to be doomed. When this time comes, I hope that Almighty God will harvest my loves one and I. Still, let's be grateful for all things that we have. Fighting!

P.S I still want to share a lot of things, but I think this is like too long hehe.

P.S I had fun doing this one 😎

#blogging #crack P.O.V #Life at 21st century #21st century #science and technology #modern hooman #2022

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5-jorjas-in-the-fence · 3 years

Note

Ahhh I loved your suggestions on the favourite Disney movie headcanons and now I wanna ask what you headcanon the newsies (musical) favourite Taylor Swift album/song would be

Ahhh I’m glad you liked them!

Omg omg omg ok ok so I’ve thought about this a lot and legit spent way to much time thinking about it. (PSA It’s modern times cause- Taylor Swift existing lmao)

Albert claims All Too Well. “The lyrics are perfection- SHUT UP NO! THE RAGE! THE EMOTION! THE HURT!! *screams into a pillow and lowkey almost cries cause he’s just so into it*” He will literally defend it with his life.

Race likes 1989 a lot, he likes something he can groove to. His favourite is probably Out Of The Woods and when that bridge comes on Elmer kinda hides because once Race got super into it and threw a chair across the room... it hit Elmer. He’s been scarred. Race also once performed the 1989 tour version on the table and used a hot dog as a microphone... hair flips and everything. 13/10 performance.

Katherine adores Dear John. Once she was singing it and since she’s a good actor she started crying as she sang. She was in the car with Jack and he started freaking out asking if he did something wrong. She told him to shush because that long note at the bridge was comming on. As soon as that part finished and the song was over she was back to normal, siting calmly and smiling. Was Jack scared? Absolutely. Did he learn that Kath just likes depressing songs? Also yes. Since Evermore came out she’s streamed Champaign Problems so much it’ll probably be her top song of 2021. Once again, Jack is scared.

Jack likes Cowboy Like Me. He isn’t too much into Taylor Swift, but when everyone didn’t shut up about Evermore he took a liking to Cowboy Like Me purely for the title. But in terms of his favourite that he does love, he loves ‘that one about burning?’ Aka, Picture To Burn.

Spot likes Coney Island. Not just for obvious reasons (well Coney Island) but he thinks it slaps and sings it with Race all the time. He thinks it’s satisfying “how’s they all kinda overlap? Like ya know when they’s kinda... OH YA KNOW!”

Les likes ME! He sang it around the house and drove Davey insane. After watching the music video he wanted a cat but Davey is allergic and refuses.

Davey likes all the super lyrical songs. He wrote many essays on them in class, especially since there’s a lot of metaphors. He takes a liking to Lover because he actually has taste and thinks it’s got some of the best pieces, especially Cornelia Street and It’s Nice To Have A Friend. Folklore though- oh he loves folklore. Les made a Daisy crown for him and they froliced around the living room together humming and singing.

Specs likes New Years Day. Sometimes he hums it softly to himself when he concentrates which everyone thinks is adorable.

Crutchie also appreciates Lover, he doesn’t like sad songs too much... they make him sad (wow shocking). Cruel Summer he will screech the Bridge, I Forgot That You Existed he enjoys. But his all time favourite is You Belong With Me “ya can’t beat the classics!”

Elmer thinks Super Star is fun. He also likes the whole Speak Now album. It’s just “spicy” and has a lot of ‘layers’.

Finch thinks Fifteen is a bop. He’s not sure why but he just resignates with it.

This is kinda all I got? I hope this answered the questions lmao, if you have anything to add please do!! Honestly I’ll probably think of more at 4am rip

#newsies #newsies headcanons #newsies hcs #Taylor swift

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namistrella · 4 years

Text

Days 1-2: Pile of leaves, first cool day of the year!

First ficlet for Flufftober!

(Prompts from @subpar-selkie here)

Read it below the cut, or here on AO3

Baz

Peals of laughter float through the open window and interrupt my mental review of this week’s Greek vocabulary list. Snow left the window open again. I heave a sigh and stand up, crossing the room to shut it. I shiver a little—the air is starting to cool down as autumn arrives, and today is chillier than it has been all month.

I pause with my hand on the window frame and look out onto the lawn. Simon Snow and his posse—Bunce and Wellbelove—have made a small mountain out of the fallen leaves covering the grounds. Snow and Wellbelove are taking turns jumping into the leaves, and Bunce is spelling the pile back up each time they squash it down.

Snow is laughing, bright-eyed and ruddy-cheeked. He’s beaming at Bunce as if she hung the moon. Who would have thought a mess of filthy leaf litter would be enough to make Snow smile like that.

What I wouldn’t give for him to look at me that way.

I almost wish I could join them in their little game. Almost. I never played in the leaves much as a child, but my siblings adore it. Sometimes when I visit them in the autumn, I’ll pile up leaves for them to jump into. It makes them laugh. They frolic around pretending to be superheroes, pretending to be invincible. Pretending to cast Float like a butterfly before launching themselves off the porch and into the air. (Afterwards, Daphne and I spend hours picking twigs and leaf bits out of their hair and clothes.)

I consider joining Snow and his friends on the lawn. To see his smile up close, to pretend it’s for me. He’s like the sun—drawing me in, trapping me in his orbit, pulling me closer and closer until I burn.

I pack up my books and make my way down the stairs under the pretense of going to the library to study, all so I have an excuse to walk past the golden trio on my way. Just one more nail in the coffin of my eternally pathetic existence.

I hurry down the stairs, but I take my time once I’m outside, walking slower than usual as I cross the lawn (it gives me more time to watch him).

Snow picks leaves off of the back of Wellbelove’s jumper and brushes the dirt away, his hand lingering on her shoulder, and she laughs at something he says. My gut twists with a familiar sort of jealousy. They may not be dating anymore, but she's still his golden destiny.

Bunce waves at me from behind them.

“Hello, Basil!” Agatha calls, turning to look at me.

“Bunce, Wellbelove.” I acknowledge them as I approach their little group. “Snow.”

Snow’s head snaps up, and the smile drops from his face the moment he lays eyes on me.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“I’m going to the library,” I tell him, letting my upper lip curl ever so slightly. “To study.”

He narrows his eyes at me. My feet carry me closer and closer to him. The leaf pile is right next to the path, right in my way. A few more steps, and he’ll be close enough to touch.

“No you’re not,” he states. “You never study in the library at this hour. Besides, it’s almost dinner time.”

“Then I suppose I must be going to dinner.” I lift my chin and look down my nose at him. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business where I go, anyway.”

He glares at me as I walk past, and his eyes are so blue. It distracts me enough that he catches me off guard when he seizes my elbow.

“What are you plotting, Baz?” He growls, as he yanks me off the path.

The oaf somehow tangles his feet up in mine, and I’m falling, hurtling toward the pile of arboreal detritus, grasping at thin air and finding nothing to slow my descent.

Snow is still attached to me like a barnacle by the sleeve of my jumper, so he goes down right along with me.

We land in the pile with a soft crunch. Me on my back, him on his stomach beside me.

Choking on a mouthful of leaves, I flounder and try to sit up. I’ve sunk far enough into the pile that each time I cough and spit, I only get more leaves in my mouth. Everything tastes and smells like dirt. My hands scrabble for purchase, but I only sink deeper. Damn you Bunce, I mentally curse, for spelling this pile so abominably tall.

The sliver of daylight above me disappears, replaced by a sea of dead, dry, boring brown.

I flail. I kick. I writhe.

After an eternity, my elbow connects with solid ground, and I use the leverage to push myself to my feet.

“Snow!” I bellow. I hear a rustle behind me and turn to see him scrambling away, shuffling on all fours through the leaves. “I’m going to kill you. I swear to Merlin, I’m going to kill you.”

I wade through the leaves toward him. He trips and lands face-first in the pile, then scrabbles to get back up on all fours.

“I’m going to carve you like a fucking pumpkin,” I say, advancing on him. “I’m going to—”

I stop mid-sentence, because he’s laughing. Laughing. He’s turned over and is lying on his back, looking up at me and fucking giggling.

“What the fuck is so funny?”

“You’ve—Baz, you—You’ve got leaves. In your hair.”

“What?” My hands fly to my head, and there I feel them. Leaves. Fucking, filthy, useless, decomposing, dirty leaves.

I scowl at Snow and attempt to comb the mess out of my hair. He hauls himself to his feet and walks over to me, shoulders still shaking with mirth. He glances to his left and I follow his gaze—Bunce and Wellbelove are halfway across the lawn already, headed to the Cloisters, leaving Snow and I alone. Likely trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of another one of our fights.

“Here,” Snow says, reaching one hand toward my face. “You’ve missed some.”

His fingers graze my scalp as he removes the wayward piece of crispy foliage. I freeze, my breath catching when his hand comes back for another leaf. And then another.

Before I know it, he’s got both hands in my hair, fingers combing through it. He’s carefully untangling knots, pulling the strands of hair free of the meticulously arranged position I gelled them into this morning.

It takes everything I’ve got not to sigh in pleasure. I never dreamed Snow was capable of touching anything this gently. I never dreamed Snow would touch me in any way that wasn’t violent.

No one has ever touched me this tenderly before.

I almost don’t even care that he’s completely ruining my hair.

I grab his wrists and he stills, eyes widening slightly.

“Stop.” I tell him. “There’s no way I have that many twigs in my hair.”

His cheeks are flushed, though I can’t tell if it’s from the wind or the cold or from something else entirely. I’m fairly certain I’m blushing. I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Er—” he says, eloquent as always. “There’s tiny pieces. You know. Just checking to be sure.”

“Well, you can stop messing up my hair now.”

I release his wrists and his arms fall to his side.

“I wasn’t messing it up,” he mutters.

“You were, too,” I say. “It was slicked back, and now it’s not.” I hold up an errant strand of hair. “It’s all in my face now. No thanks to you.”

He shrugs and turns away, mumbling something that sounds a lot like, “It looks better this way.”

“What?”

He doesn’t respond, just starts walking toward the dining hall.

“What did you say?” I repeat, stomping through the leaves to catch up with him. I grab his forearm and pull on it until he stops and turns to face me. “Tell me what you said.”

He shrugs. His blue eyes meet mine, his chin jutting out defiantly. Ready for a fight.

“I said, it looks better like this.” He says it in the same voice he uses when he’s accusing me of plotting.

I frown at him. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“No, it was an insult. To the way you usually do your hair.” This time his voice wavers a little.

I stare at him, my eyes searching his face. He takes a step back, toward the leaves. I grip his forearm a little tighter. He flushes a deeper shade of pink.

No.

It’s not possible.

Could he—?

Snow swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His eyes drop to my lips.

I step closer, releasing his arm.

I hear his heart speed up, pulse racing beneath his skin. His eyelids flutter the tiniest bit.

Oh.

How did I miss this?

When his tongue darts out to lick his lips, my body makes my decision for me. I grasp Snow by the shoulders and shove him, hard. He falls backward into the pile of leaves. He stares up at me, mouth hanging open, eyes wide in surprise. His eyebrows knit together in the center of his forehead in confusion.

Then I dive in after him.

My knees land on either side of his hips. My hands hit the ground on either side of his head. And my lips press roughly against his.

The thing is, jumping into leaves sounds like fun. The leaves look like they would provide a soft place to land. They don’t. They’re prickly and rough, and I’ve got twigs stabbing every inch of exposed skin, and the ground is hard and cold beneath my hands. But Simon’s mouth is soft and warm. His hands are hot against my skin when he takes me by the back of the neck and deepens the kiss.

His arms come up to wrap around my waist. I lose my balance, my whole body crashing into him.

He grunts at the sudden weight, and I pull my head back. He’s looking up at me, his plain blue eyes filled with something other than suspicion or anger, for once.

Then, he smiles at me. It’s one of his brightest smiles, and I feel warmth bubble up inside me and escape my mouth in a laugh. He laughs too, an easy, joyful sound. I roll off of him, and we lay on our backs, side by side, bodies shaking as we laugh together.

I see it now. The leaves around us aren’t brown after all. They’re all shades of red and gold and yellow. The colour of fire. If this is what it means to end in flames, I don’t know why I resisted it for so long. I thought kissing the sun would burn me. But all I feel is a pleasant warmth, smooth like honey, flowing through my veins.

It feels like coming home.

Simon’s fingers slide against my wrist, and then he takes my hand. I squeeze it back gently.

“Baz?” he says, softly.

I turn my head to look at him. “What, Snow?”

He reaches toward me with his free hand.

“You’ve still got leaves in your hair.”

#flufftober 2020 #carry on #baz pitch #simon snow #fanfic #ficlet #snowbaz #wayward son

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erizawayumako888 · 3 years

Text

It's been a while, how many years have passed? 5? 10? maybe even more? we both lay side by side on top of the hill, green fields and village by the mountain. The place we call home, or for me, used to be one.

We may not have been the closest of friends, but your company is quite enjoyable. Especially back then, when I was a child, young and free, naive and innocent. I would run around the village, play with other kids, other times hanging out with older friends like you. I've been looking up to you, we don't talk much, but you're an admirable figure, as a kid I thought about how cool you are, I talked a lot about you although I didn't have the guts to really tell you how I feel.

Kids would cringe at the idea of the idea of a girl and boy kissing or holding hands, including me. I kept on denying how I feel, I was so young I felt that it was disgusting although it felt good. As I grow up we grew further apart, just like every other kids growing out of their interests or old friends. I forgotten that you even existed for years.

All those years as I grew up, a lot of terrible things happened. I looked at you, assuming that you are smiling back at me underneath that mask. You were quite pleased to see an old friend, a little girl you used to spend time with, gone for quite a while and returned a grown up woman. You sat comfortably beside me, thinking that I'm still the same old bright young woman. How unfortunate, my friend. You couldn't have been more wrong...

I didn't grow up to be the lady society expects me to be, I run, jump and play like boys, I prefer dinosaurs and superheroes over dressing up and dolls. Other kids think I am weird, I got bullied and rejected. I learnes how to just keep things by myself, since I am a bother for others. But it didn't stop there, now that I am being quiet, the grown ups hated me just for speaking too little. I still listen to and reply to them, I just don't talk much to other kids or when not needed.

They tried to shackle and chain my freedom, telling me that just because I am a girl I am not allowed to do this or that. I am forced to wear complicated clothings, constantly how a woman's only goal in life is to bow down to her husband. I am sick of being tossed and controlled around up to 14 years of my life, only to be told that it is the right thing to carry on beibg tossed and controlled around by a man until the day I die.

This place I grew up in, what I once see as a peaceful village... I hate everyone in there. All of them, judgemental hypocrites, feeling that they're always right when they condemn people for being themselves. I'm sick of it, I can't take it any longer. My guardian angel held me tight, telling me that everythings going to be okay.

Hell no, I am no longer enduring that while faking a smile. I ran away from her, from the village, into the forest depth. And that's when I came face to face with the devil herself. And attractive woman with red, glistening hair. Her sharp glare accompanied with curled horbs decorating her head, standing proud with her bat-like wings stretched over and her devilish tail swaying around. She stood proud, loud and clear she declared ,"My child, I can help you avenge those who have wronged you!".

My guardian angel grabbed my arm whimpering ,"Don't listen to her" I looked back at her feeling bad... But you are my guardian angel, yet you don't protect me from the hell I have been through. But still, you are my friend, but what kind of friend sees you suffering and does nothing about it, only telling me to be patient and take it all?

I closed my eyes, under my eyelids it's pitch black as expected. However everything soon turns to be red, bright red, visions of flames of hell is getting clearer. But I felt very excited, not realizing I grinned wider as the estacy grew. I opened my eyes feeling euphoric, for the first time in a while my laugh echoes out of excitement. I can't tell where and what I am looking, I only know that I can't stop laughing, my arms have to keep moving slashing through the air, I feltike I'm hit something, at a glance I might have seen a terrified face but the adrenaline rush makes me ignorant of it. My vision grows blurry and redder, as the screams from hell grew louder and pierces my ears.

Finally I'm exhausted. My head feels very heavy, as if heavy weights are being attach to its left and right, I fell forward to the ground. That is when I realized I literaly have weights on my head... that demon lady's horns, they are on my head now. I could feel some wind, some moving attached to my back, those are her wings... and my hands, red.

I saw my guardian angel there, her once white gown is now stained in red. She is no longer movinh or breathing. I cried when I realized what happened. Slowly I carried her lifeless body on top of a hill far away from the village, under a huge, old tree surrounded by the flower beds we used to play at. It was where we would laugh and make flower crowns, where we would frolic and run with the animals. But now, this is her final resting place.

I kept replaying those memories as I walked with my old friend. He didn't say a word and follwed behind me, until I stopped in front of the nameless tombstone. I picked up a few flowers and poured them on top of it, before I fall on my knees. Had hadn't a clue of what happened that day, in attempt of consoling me he held my shoulder ,"Friend of yours?" I didn't say a word.

After my first murder, I finally realizes that I no longer have a guardian angel, instead I have a demon by my side. She promised me that shw would be much more helpful, and she seems to be telling the truth. With my new found power I walked back to the village in the middle of the night, fpr one last time. I flew from home to home, looking for the faces of those who had wronged me to rip them off. A glint of satisfication when they all run and scream in fear before finally, they all drop dead in silence.

By the time the sun goes up, I looked into a mirror, seeing myself as a beat decorated in red. The light shines on the blood covering me, it was an amazing kind of feeling I never had before. I flew away far into the darkest depths of forest, looking for a new place to live.

I travlled the lands into other villages and towns, there are times I do try to make friends and hide my past, I may not be hated anymore but I always fear how if I would. So I keep myself away from others, no one can be trusted, except for myself and the demon inside of me.

It is quite frustrating as a loner when I had feelings for a man, yet I remember how I was treated, by their kind especially. I don't want to let my feelings of attachment to bribg down my ego. I am not the one who will submit, I will be the one to dominate them.

And thus my journey began, I trained to grow stronger. When I see a man I found to my liking I would take them away and trest them like a toy. I will toss and turn them aroubd to my heart's content, although I do love and care for them it is a pleasureable way to avenge those men who wronged me. You say that girls can't be strong? You say that girls have to obey their husbands with a leash around her neck? Then this time my love, you are the one with the leash around your neck.

Two, three pets were not enough. I always needed more, and I have lost counted after all these years. Perhaps 30 or 40, and it won't stop anytime soon. At times I cry for nights knowijg how much I hurt my loved obes, but the voices of my relatives, telling me to kneel down and be a 'good girl', especoally my grandma...

She was not a nice old lady who makes cookies for you, she would always tell me it is wrong to be myself, she would always say that my nice face and body is jist a great asset to find me a good man. I am sick of it, and even after I've left my family behind their taunting voicr still taunts me. Aslong as the voices goes on, my torturous games will cobtinue. I do hesitate and feel guilty, but at the same time I enjoy it when I watch my boys cry in the dungeon after what I do to them.

I finally fibished plucking the weeds around the graveyard, I stared at the weed I grasp in my hands thinking... Maybe I should stop afterall, I cannot forever keep on hurting people especially those who I cared about. But just as I smiled in relief her voice echoes again ,"My dear, why don't you have a man yet? Relax, and kneel down. Be. A. Good. Girl."

I stood up yelling and tossed the weed aside, I screamed loudly towards the sky as my old friebd backed off. Both of my fists tightens as I stared into the horizon, I clenched my teeth and tears began flowing down my face.

My old friend slowly walked towards me ,"Is everything alright?" He asked. I turned my head slowly, now face to face to the so familiar face. But I noticed a difference, slowly my vision turns red. Not just his masked face, but the sky and grass, everything turns red. I began to smirk and laugh as tears continue to rush like waterfall ,"I'm sorry my love, she is coming back."

I laughed harder than ever as the demon's horns sprout out of my scalp, bat like wings spread on my back blocking the sun and drops a shadow covering my old friend. He stared at me as he drew his sword, I can tell that he hesitates just like I do. But I can't stop now, I need him in my collection, as long as that old witches words burns in my ears I need new toys to take my anger and grudge on.

I laughed harder and harder as I clawed my way through, my claws clashing against his sword under the setting sun. His skill impressive as ever, in a blink of an eye as I tried to hold back my demond I could feel my head lighter, and I notuced both of my horns were severed laying on the ground. Well played, my dear. This gets more interesting.

I growled and shoots lightning from my finger, I am not trying to attack him however I just want to play around for now. He leaps aroubd dodging my attacks, at times deflecting them with his sword which celarly backfires me, I took my own hit but I am not done yet.

Now, a huge orb forms in my palms, I run to him swinging it to his direction. He was ready to slocr the orb but just at the moment my other claw slaps his sword away. Checkmate. You are unarmed now. I growled like a beast as I grabbed him by force, he was fighting back kicking and punchibg but I am not backing down, not especially when I am a demon at least 10 times his size for now.

I grasped him in my claws and flew away from the spot. Finally another collection, another victim for my grudge and hatred, mixed with my love and obsession. I do love you dear, but your kind has to pay what they have done to me. The fun has just started, pet.

#rant #vent #trauma #fiction #fic #writing #hatred #anger #misogynism

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prorevenge · 4 years

Text

Threaten to call 911 on our house’s construction? Get your yardsale ruined...

Let me start off with a backstory. I come from a long line of firefighters, and so when a few firetrucks from the fire company the men in my immediate used to volunteer at came up for sale, my grandfather bought them and fixed them up. However, my grandpa had a town house, and only had just enough room to park them in his back yard, but not enough land to build a building to store them. When my dad bought his property with a few acres, if was decided that a barn would be build to store the firetrucks on my dads property. This property didn’t have a house and used to be designated as farm land.

Now we get into the story. When my dad wanted to build a house in this little bit of woods right off of a new neighborhood, on land he bought, he had to get the government to rezone it to be residential. This isn’t that difficult, just holding a court session to make sure nobody has any legitimate objections to the procedure. However, for some reason, one more neighbor was just too much for a decent chunk of the existing neighborhood so a bunch of them came up with every dumb reason as to why that land had to be left alone.

The woman who will feature prominently later in this story, and we’ll call Mrs. B from now on, suggested that the land would be much better suited for horses to frolic in. Nobody in the neighborhood knew of anybody in the town who owned horses, and there wasn’t enough land for horses to legally be allowed to live upon it...

So after about 2 weeks of this and similar nonsense, the court rezoned the land and finally construction of the house began. As soon as the trees were cut down the firetrucks were moved onto the property where the barn would be built once the house was done. Once all the trees were down my dad built up a burn pile to dispose of all the wood, and before he did, as well as him being a fire fighter himself, called the fire department to let them know what he was doing, and they said it’s alright because he was right in the window of land where no permit would be needed and a big bonfire also wasn’t a problem. So he lit it up.

Soon Mrs. B come strutting you the road, phone in hand, yelling at my dad that she’s calling the fire department. He tells her he is with the fire department and in case she’s blind there’s 2 firetrucks already on the property just in case (they were antiques, but they’d still get the job down and were ready to). She continues screaming so dad gets on the phone and calls the fire department once again, asking if anyone has called to complain about a fire at his property, to which they respond say no fires had been reported that day at all yet... So dad hangs up and starts calling Mrs. B the liar that she is, and to go back to her house and quit disturbing us.

We have a few more interactions like this over the process of us moving in, but nothing deters us, and so finally a barn is built for the trucks. Eventually things die down in regards to the neighbors and we make good friends with about half the neighborhood.

Now a year or so after the barn is built another local fire department my grandpa is involved with is working on selling one of their old trucks, a giant Ford Louisville model, basically a semi truck with a firetruck body. They don’t have the space to store since it’s replacement has come in, and until they find a buyer, they need a place to store it, so my grandpa offers to store it in our barn. Part of this deal involves us running the truck around once a week because letting the truck sit too long could cause damage.

Well during this time Mrs. B starts having a ton of yard sales. We noticed a few people parking on our lawn during this, not like, one tire on the grass or something, no, there are people using our yard like it’s a parking lot! We always tried to ask people to move because it is OUR lawn after all... but yet it keeps happening. One day we learn why, Mrs. B keeps telling people to park on our lawn. We figure a good solution to this is to put up a sign that’s been spray painted to say NO PARKING in big black letters, clearly legible so everyone knows. Our lawn stops being used as a parking lot for a bit...

Until one day Mrs. B decided to march on over, rip the sign off its post, rip the post out of the ground (it was all temporary so it was just temporarily duct-taped together and pushed into the ground a little), and proceed to throw into what’s left of the woods behind our house. My parents were furious. People began parking in the lawn the way they used to again the next day.

This is when my dad comes up with a genius plan.

He puts the sign back up, but he’s not done, it’s just that time to take the Ford around the neighborhood. My dad has been driving trucks like this since he’s had his license, so he knows just how to get it to do what he wants it to.

He takes it out, goes up to one end up the neighborhood, turns around, and starts headed back. This truck had a 10 speed manual transmission, and in this half mile long stretch of road, he got the diesel motor into 8th, waited until just before he reached Mrs. B’s house, and by the time he had reached the edge of her property the truck was in 3rd. Now this truck was diesel powered, and all that slowing down makes the truck roll some serious coal, with the exhaust pointed straight at the yard sale on a relatively calm day... needless to say, while nothing looked all that bad, maybe a little darker than before, the worst part was the smell. Diesel fuel stinks really bad when it’s been coal rolled.

Within a few days everything left from the yard sale was packed up into garbage bags and was sitting next to her trash can. She might have tried to call the cops, but would the cops even acknowledge her if she told them that her neighbors firetruck drove by spewing black smoke all over her yard sale items ruining them? I don’t think so...

After this, not only did she leave us alone, she stopped having yard sales all together! So point being, since Mrs. B was horrible to us that whole time we’ve owned property in the neighborhood, we cost her hundreds, if not thousands of dollars she could’ve made at that yard sale, and any others she might have had in the future.

TL;DR: An entitled neighbor try’s to prevent us from moving in, threatens to call the fire department on my fire fighter dad for making a legal burn pile, and rips down our no parking sign so that her customers can treat our lawn like a parking lot. My dad then proceeds to cost her hundreds with the help of a firetruck...

(source) story by (/u/CaptainCrutch5373)

#prorevenge #by /u/CaptainCrutch5373 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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kellbellsparkles · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6 of my Ratchet and Clank fanfic called "Family"

Clank is really feeling the weight of his decisions and an older character from https://www.deviantart.com/hotredsparkles/art/The-Electrics-296059497 an appearance

Darkness. Clank found himself free falling through a pitch black void. Suddenly, a series of bright violet tears appeared as far and near as his eyes could see. Voices, screeches began to echo, growing louder and louder. He clasped his hands over his hearing mechanism. He curled forward, his head ringing and pounding with each cry of pain. Then, bright blue electrical surges danced around the teats. Clank flinched as they twirled closer and closer. Suddenly, he fell towards a tear beneath him and phased through.

He crashed hard onto the metal flooring. When he came to, he realized he was in a very familiar place.

"Is this…?"

The heart of the Great Clock: the Orvus Chamber. However, the walls and the floor were broken apart, the debris floating and orbiting the space. At the center was the forbidden time dial, the lever being Alister Azimuth's omniwrench as a replacement for the one that broke. And also….

"Ratchet?" Clank gasped.

Ratchet was unresponsive, his backed turned to the little robot.

"Ratchet?" Clank spoke with a cautious tone, sensing a disturbance in the distorted air.

"Clank," Ratchet said in a low pitched snarl. "What did you do?"

Clank lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Something terrible," he replied with remorse. "And reckless. I promise I will fix everything."

"Where's my mom, Clank?"

Clank snapped his focus back to Ratchet.

"Pardon?"

"My mother."

Ratchet turned around. His eyes were flushed with rage and sadness; his fur stood straight up on their ends.

"Does fixing it mean taking her away?" he asked angrily.

Suddenly, a massive quake shook Clank off his feet. The structure began to collapse all at once.

"I'll never forgive you."

Ratchet's seething words cut deep into Clank's body and soul. He glanced down at his hands, his normal left and the new right Rivet had given him. The gold metal shimmered as the hand detached from his arm followed by the bicep, elbow, and forearm one by one. Each part of his body broke into small individual pieces. He watched in horror as the floor gave way and they fell into the neverending void beside his detached head.

----

"Sir? Sir!!"

Clank yelled as he was shaken awake by Sigmund, flailing and kicking in a panic. Three Zoni watched on in eerie anticipation.

"It's okay!" Sigmund shouted as he held him down on the grass, having removed him from Aphelion. "It's me! Sigmund!"

In the midst of the confusion, Clank's antenna blinked like it did when Sigmund contacted him. His eyes glowed as his system scanned for a recognized caller ID.

"Rivet," he mouthed, his eyes growing wide with worry.

"Do you have voice mail or something that tells them B-R-B?" Sigmund asked with concern.

"I do," Clank replied.

"Do that and let's practice mindful meditation exercises," Sigmund urged as he helped him sit up.

He positioned himself as he were sitting and held out his arms in a classic meditation stance. Clank pressed a sensor on the left side of his chest to leave the auto-response for Rivet.

"We're on Vapedia right now," Sigmund said. "So this is perfect. Now, meditation isn't so much directing your thoughts but rather allowing what you see and feel to take you on a journey to enlightenment and healing. Ah, the sunlight. How it reflects and evolves my sheen. Such a warm, delicate, loving touch. The breeze tickles my coils and leaves me tingly and wanting to frolic and leap into the trees. Maybe I'll turn into a butterfly. Nothing like a good fluttery flap to fan away the grim reality of the universe collapsing."

However, during Sigmund's mindfulness speech, Clank had spotted particles in the air similar to what was left on Igliak. He felt a tug inside his chest as though they were calling out to him. He held out his hands to touch them.

"AIIIIE!!" Sigmund shrieked, racing towards him. "Sir, don't touch that!! You're not mentally healed!!"

As the particles grazed Clank's palms, holographic images appeared out of nowhere: a parked ship, Ratchet and himself sitting on top, and Alister Azimuth staring into his pocket watch on the side. Sigmund skid to a halt.

"Whoa," he said, astonished. "This is new."

"I'm sorry about your father, Clank," the hologram of Ratchet said sorrowfully. "I should've stopped Nefarious sooner."

"It is alright, Ratchet," the hologram of Clank said. "Dr. Nefarious will pay for what he has done. The only thing that matters now is that we keep the clock safe."

The real Clank stared in shock and awe as the wave of familiarity hit him.

"Don't worry," the hologram of Alister said proudly. "Once the past's been corrected, you'll have the full support of the Lombax Praetorian Guard. The clock will be in good hands."

"You do not understand," the hologram of Clank protested. "Time cannot be changed. Using the clock improperly could rip the very fabric of existence."

"OR it could save an entire race of Lombaxes who risked their lives to defend this galaxy!" the hologram of Alister barked.

The hologram of Ratchet hopped off the hologram of the ship, giving a glance at Alister, then walking ahead with a torn expression.

"Ratchet," the hologram of Clank said. "Remember the Dimensionator? Some risks are not worth taking."

The real Clank trembled as he listened to his own words. He watched the hologram of Ratchet carefully who was looking at his image before making his decision.

"Well, maybe Clank's right," he said in a defeated tone. "If there's a chance it could destroy the universe, the risk is just too great."

"Risk?" Alister said, flabbergasted. "Risk is what makes us who we are!" He stood tall over him.

"Ratchet," he said seriously. "Our kind is lost without us. Think of how many that clock can save. Think of your parents."

Clank's heart broke as he saw Ratchet look to the side in shame and sadness. He reached out to him, but the holograms vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Well I'll be dusted," Sigmund said with astonishment. "We can see events that have happened in the past. I wonder how many more are out there."

Exhausted and downcast, Clank plopped back onto his bottom.

"But first thing's first!" Sigmund declared. He hovered over Clank like a mother hen.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Ratchet," Clank said shakily. "He wanted another way. I should not have made him choose."

"The greater good isn't going to make everybody happy," Sigmund told him. "The greater good exists because it's for everyone's own good."

"That may be, but Ratchet's feelings are important to me."

"Ratchet won't be around to have feelings if the universe is done for."

"Aaaah!"

Clank held his head in dread.

"I'm sorry!" Sigmund cried. "I overstepped! The mindfulness videos told me to not wait to speak as someone's venting to me!"

Clank stood himself up. He lowered his hands and sighed.

"It is not you," he said. "I just do not understand what has happened to me or why not everyone can have a happily ever after." He got on his knees.

"Uuuum," Sigmund said hesitantly. "What's this?"

"If there is one thing I can ask of you that should not hurt anyone," Clank pleaded. "Ratchet's mother fell through a time portal from when Percival Tachyon hunted the Lombaxes and forced them to scatter across the dimensions. In the original timeline, it is my understanding that she had died anyway. Her staying in the present should not alter it in any way. So please, can she?"

Sigmund floated uncomfortably in place. He looked to the Zoni for guidance. The Zoni enclosed in a circle and consulted with each other. They separated and gave Sigmund a nod. Sigmund nodded in response and turned to give Clank the news. However, he discovered that they weren't alone anymore. A pointy eared figure wearing all black head to toe prepared to strike Clank with a Taser.

"Stranger with a weapon!!" he hollered. He swiftly scooped a stunned Clank in his arms and scurried the other direction. "Run away!!!"

The assassin gave off a green glow and dashed after them, leaving a streak behind him. The Zoni froze him in place in an attempt to hold him off. The assassin was surprised, but it didn't stop him from emitting an EMP blast to send the Zoni flying. As they fell and hit the ground, the Zoni lost their color, their eyes sealing shut.

Once free, the assassin stretched himself out. He removed his helmet revealing a feline like appearance, icy blue eyes, and hair as velvet red as the burning passion for his quest to eliminate his target. His kind was known as the lera. His nostrils expanded to absorb the scent left by Sigmund's motors.

"There," he said to himself.

He jogged to keep on their trail to avoid missing them if he were to use his ability.

#ratchetandclankriftapart #ratchetandclank

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x-theafrofuturist · 3 years

Text

COMMXNDMXNTS AND UNDEBATABLES OF THE AFROFUTURE:

An Afrofuturistic Manifesto for Black Art

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Afrofuturist CommXndmXnts

Thy work shall take up the entirety of space while respecting the space of others.

Thy shall not input traumatizing imagery in media for Black folX

Thy shall show thyself

Thy shall collaborate with other Black WomXn

Thy shall be a safe space for Black WomXn and Black folX

Thy shall make each scene in coordination with archival footage

Thy work shall not be linear

Thy work shall not fall into White Validation Syndrome[1]

Thy shall use AAVE without explanation; you know, you know

Thy shall honor the Ancestors

[1] (Mazama, 2018)

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Undebatables in Afrofuturism

Post-colonialism is false. We are still living in colonialism and are suffering its' effects. It has reshaped and adapted to take on many forms.

White fragility is an escape from the accountability of the privilege that was set up by racist, oppressive, criminal, social, and institutional systems.

Black folX can be both human and alien. Magical and normal. Extraterrestrial and terrestrial. We can co-exist in varying realities and identities.

We are operating on CPT.

AAVE language is only reserved for Black folX. No appropriating it and masking it as your own if you are not Black.

Black folX can be merry, have joy, and frolic...

without the threat of police being called on them...

or be assaulted...

or be confronted and questioned by white womXn with our being in a space.

I speak for my experience. I do not speak for all Black folX, nor is all our stories are the same. We encompass any narratives and have different experiences. We are all not the same.

Not all Black folX are poor, have rhythm/dance, can rap, nor will rap on cue when you demand it.

If the hair is on my head, don’t touch it nor say, “Where did you buy it?” or “It looks so real.” Mind your business.

Don’t counter my grievance with your grievance to minimize and suppress me.

Stop gaslighting Black WomXn when we speak up about our grievances.

The term Hotep should not be used to describe so-called “woke” Black folX.

And so-called “woke” Black folX need to stop gatekeeping information with patronizing, paternal condescension.

Code-switching is exhausting. Stop pushing “proper English.”

If you feel uncomfortable with my presence, do not expect me to make myself smaller to accommodate you. Your discomfort is between you and your god.

Black folX need to stop saying, “We are not our Ancestors.” Our Ancestors fought peacefully and burned shit down too. We are them.

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Expansions

In molding a world for Black folX in the future, we must be intentional with our actions. No new world can form without Black folX. No new world can develop, especially without Black WomXn. We are "mother civilization." Societies and pop "culture" is Black culture appropriated and watered down from Black WomXn.

The CommXndmXnts and Undebatables are in direct correlation with physical space. As we construct a physical space that is a safe space for Black WomXn, these CommXndmXnts and Undebatables are rules that will enable this space to come to fruition while catering to the needs of Black WomXn. In modeling and intentionally creating an Afrofuturistic future where Black bodies are free to be merry about, the success of an Afrofuturistic future lies in the protection of Black WomXn.

Black WomXn have been on the frontlines of every liberation movement. Despite our work that contributed to the success of other groups, white supremacy and patriarchy still profoundly affect the lives of Black folX, but more specifically, Black WomXn, ranging from racism, reproduction rights, not receiving recognition and credit, and more than there is space to list. This experience alone brings an inseparable connection of racism, sexism, and classism. These three elements are tied so bound together that for exclusion of one will only prompt the other two to be highlighted and take center stage. Without racism, sexism and classism take hold. Without classism, racism and sexism are intertwined. Upon encountering a Black WomXn, the societal definition of gender and the color of our skin leaves no escape from the inseparable chains of racism, sexism, and classism, all of which to be present simultaneously.

Black Queer WomXn's recognition was often shoved to the back end "for the good" of the Black community. In part due to their identity considered not crucial to the movement; thus, their identity would "muddle" the message that correlated with conservative views, despite fighting for the liberation of all Black folX. Along with internalized homophobia, those who identified as Queer or a WomXn, our voices were often diminished and "shushed" away for a male leader to carry the voice of the Black community. We are currently experiencing Black WomXn continuing to lead the fight for Black and Brown bodies' liberation. In the male-dominated Civil Rights movements, the sexism and marginalization again Black Queer WomXn has led to Black WomXnism. Despite the Suffrage Movement, white feminism used the work and labor of Black WomXn while simultaneously silencing Black voices and benefiting off of white privilege.

How do we get to this point?

The Afrofuturistic CommXndmXnts and Undebatables serve the purpose of creating a space where the inseparable chains of oppression associated with Black WomXnhood do not hold the velvety to cause harm for Black WomXn.

An Afrofuturistic landscape acknowledges that Afropessimism and Afrofuturism coexist simultaneously[1]. Like Black folX, there are intersections of both that influence the other. Varying identities can coexist, so will in the Afrofuturistic landscape. Afrofuturism revolutionizes patriarchal systems that were created to confine and control Black bodies. Rather than rewrite, revise, gloss over, or suppress history, we must acknowledge these patriarchal systems and revolutionize through dismantling and destroying so that Black folX can, in fact, frolic freely. Afrofuturism is the result of these systems, and we craft our own. Rather than integrating into "dominant culture," we should be allowed to live separately without the threat of the "other," which is non-BIPOC folX, invading and colonizing us. Afrofuturism allows for Blackness and Black folX to be expansive, not confined. To be free, we cannot submit to white culture or seek their validation and approval.

With Afrofuturism, there must be a balance for Afropessimism as well. In an Afropessimistic world, the reality and weight of colonialism and imperialism's lasting effects have no escape. This constant reality is reinforced by institutional, social, and systemic institutions, reflecting racism, classism, sexism. The Afropessimism is that of the present moment, reminding us eradication of exploitative systems is not synonymous. When reform occurs in abolishing these systems, it is in correlation with an Afrofuturistic world being molded.

The very act of thinking and molding a space for Black WomXn is a radical act. While we can take steps to this radicalization, the systems of racism, classism, and sexism are the productions of a patriarchal and capitalistic world that have profited and have been sustained by the exploitation and labor of Black WomXn. Reclaiming time and space is such a radical act that the systems that exploit and benefit from the bodies of Black WomXn will be dismantled and destroyed to pave a true revolution that is not centered around white liberalism.

For an Afrofuturistic world to exist, it must first be a world that is a physical and mental safe space for Black WomXn. Black WomXn birthed us, and yet we have exploited off of their pain and labor. Black WomXn must be able to be free and not policed by our bodies. The CommXndmXnts and Undebatables are a beginning step in molding and crafting this space intentionally inclusive of Black WomXn.

[1] (Edwards, 2020)

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Context of CommXndmXnts

CommXndmXnt: Thy work shall take up the entirety of space without thy work impeding and overwhelming the space of others

In first molding a space for Black WomXn, I must first incorporate this into my own life and work. My work shall take up as most space as possible that is allocated to me while also respecting other artists and their work. In coexisting with varying experiences and stories being told, as I demand to carve out a space for Black WomXn, I shall also respect other artists' work.

CommXndmXnt: Thy shall not input traumatizing imagery

In acknowledging that pain and joy are intertwined with one another in the Black experience, pain is often exploited for a profit, with joy masked for its former. More specifically, the trauma and pain inflicted on Black WomXn on-screen are horrendous to us. It becomes a spectator view for those who are outside of Black WomXnhood. The trauma and pain when being depicted for other subjects, there is a proud conservatism and privacy. To allude to the pain but respect it for the subject. Shield the audience from being pained and respecting the privacy again for the subject, which is usually a non-Black WomXn. For Black WomXn's pain to be communicated and gain empathy, every lash in an enslaved movie must have the blood splashed across the camera lens. In 12 Years a Slave, the night engulfs and hugs the master as he rapes his captive. The moonlight shines down on the horrendous and decrypting and dehumanizing act. The silence and echoes of the crickets add to the heart-wrenching show and violation. This pain and rape scene is set up as a show so audience members can be captured by the moment, hypnotized by it, and not tear a single eye away from the screen.

For our pain to be communicated, we must be demeaned and dehumanized, stripped of identity and emotion. This leads to the desensitization of Black WomXn's pain, adding to the mistreatment suffered by doctors that underestimate our pain and leads to our death. Black WomXn's bodies are not respected. We are treated as disposable waste that reaccumulates. Showing Black WomXn's pain and trauma with more gore will not cause any action. Only temporary empathy that is dismissed from the mind once the movie or tv show ends.

CommXndmXnt: Thy shall show thyself

Identifying as a Black WomXn, this work is representing a part of me. As I show myself more in my work, this can be a restorative and therapeutic tool in unlearning biases and conditioning and being able to frolic mentally and physically freely in an Afrofuturistic world.

CommXndmXnt: Thy shall collaborate with other Black WomXn

Collaborating with other Black WomXn ensures to the multifaceted experiences of Black WomXn are included. No narrative is the same, yet all narratives encompass the being of a Black WomXn. Collaborating with other Black WomXn ensures that money and opportunity circulate within the Black community. As I rise, others must as well.

CommXndmXnt: Thy shall be a safe space for Black WomXn and Black folX

Self-explanatory. Period.

CommXndmXnt: Thy shall make each scene in coordination with archival footage

The archival footage serves to document at the earliest possible time that Black WomXn were molding and currently creating with the Afrofuture in mind, consciously and subconsciously. In drawing parallels of Black history, the Afrofuture and the present archival footage serve the purpose of grounding and acknowledging our Ancestors fought and worked with the Afrofuture in mind, regardless of if the term was coined then or not.

CommXndmXnt: Thy work shall not be linear

Time is a social and artificial construct. We are operating on CPT. Subjectivity in time is in correlation with production and commerce. Production and commerce that has led to the exploitation of Black bodies. Time is limiting.

Going against time is a radical act and a decisive act in choosing the power of rest. Rest is revolutionary. To rest should not center around the business hours of our exploiter. Rest needs to be center around the needs of the body. We suppress our body's needs to keep up with forced capitalism that highlights production and commerce over mental, emotional, and physical health. Rest is revolutionary of the Afrofuture.

CommXndmXnt: Thy work shall not fall into White Validation Syndrome

Our pain, art, value, and trauma should not be recognized and validated by white people to be considered accurate. The need to be identified and acknowledge by those outside our community will ultimately be our downfall. Insisting to be accepted by white culture will only compromise our own sanity and quality of work.

The mental and cultural relocation has caused a need for belonging for some within our network. Seeking white validation will only result in more protracted suffering and suppression, for we have to suppress ourselves to be deemed as of value. Leave the shackles of this thinking behind.

We add to our oppression seeking that we are acknowledged and integrated by the dominant culture. Black WomXn's bodies will continually be satirized and mocked with or without white validation. We sacrifice ourselves to be approved by others who have no relation or idea of Blackness.

CommXndmXnt: Thy shall use AAVE without explanation

My language. I will use it as I will. I will not be shamed for code-switching.

CommXndmXnt: Thy shall honor the Ancestors

We are here because our Ancestors fought and survive to get to this point. Saying “I am not my Ancestors” is disrespectful and disregards the work and fight our Ancestors lived and died for. They lived and died for us. We will not disrespect them.

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LANGUAGE

Language plays a crucial role in acknowledging identities while also following rules that adhere to imposed gender roles. The significance of X is intentional in acknowledging identities that have been erased due to misogynistic language and suppression. The X alludes to the identities beyond the English language incomprehension. The English language is limited and Anglo-Saxon based, which is rooted in patriarchy. In acknowledging the vastness of gender and escaping the binary, X is a gender-neutral language. It is a language that is not rooted in the oppression of groups that have been oppressed and silenced. It is the intentionality of correcting a wronged history.

An example of this intentionality of recognizing those silenced is using X in the word folX. "Folks" have traditionally been seen and accepted as a gender-neutral term. The inclusion of X in reference to titles and nouns that refer to humXns is a means to highlight those who have been impacted and affected by misogyny. No group is exempt from colonial influence, either be directly or indirectly.

Another example includes using the X with words with "man" or "men." Examples of this include changing "woman/women" to womXn and "humans" to humXns. In this manifesto, particularly, "amendments" and "commandments" are changed to amXndmXnts and commXndmXnts.

Each time "men" appear in sequence, "e" will be replaced with X regarding gender and authority, such as “men” and “amendments.” Correcting gender-identifying words means correcting the default language of masculinity that has impacted and formed the English language (Kerr, 2019). In pointing out misogyny and intentionally adding X, it acknowledges an oppressive system.

The deliberate and intentional inclusion of the X when referring to womXn and folX is a radical act in acknowledging identities that has been silenced by language and limited by it. It is the deliberate inclusion of identities that have been overshadowed or not acknowledge. X acknowledges that gender and sexuality are fluid, with varying identities existing and coexisting at once. The X is a push against the standard, gender confining language. It allows for Black folX to be as they please.

Thy Shall

Having been raised in a Southern Baptist Church, words such as "rules," "forbidden," and "laws of God" are centralized in the Christian belief and verbiage. These rules are centered around the "10 Commandments." These commXndmXnts establish morality and governance that humXns must abide by for soul security in the afterlife. This fear and laws drive those to "do good" and into submission. This same fear and irrefutable laws are used as grounds for repression and suppression. The "10 Commandments" were used as grounds of obedience with the penalty of being deprived of entering the pearly gates of Heaven.

The beginning of the manifesto opens with the "Afrofuturistic CommXndmXnts." In replicating the original "10 Commandments," the "Commandment" language takes an authoritative tone. There is no room for debates or questions. These commXndmXnts are absolute. The commXndmXnts are rules that humXnkind must follow. In mimicking the authoritative and absolute tonnage of the "10 Commandments," the Afrofuturist CommXndmXnts sets a tone in the art process that allows for Black folX to exists. The commXndmXnts serve the purpose of elevating Black WomXn while also protecting them. In addressing a world and safe space for Black WomXn to prosper, we must first create a model that is free of misogyny and the effects of colonialism. The commXndmXnts sets a stage that protects Black WomXn rather than suppressing them into a patriarchal, submissive, demeaning will. Rather than establishing actions and forbiddance, the Afrofuturist CommXndmXnts serve the role of establishing a physical, emotional, and mental space that is free of symbols of oppression. They serve as a protection rather than establishing morality that is Eurocentric based.

Black WomXn

When referring to Black folX, the “B” will be capitalized.

“…We capitalize Black, and not white, when referring to groups in racial, ethnic, or cultural terms…Black reflects a shared sense of identity and community. White carries a different set of meanings, capitalizing the word in this context risks following the lead of white supremacists”[1]

In capitalizing womXn, it will happen in the sequence where Black is first. Black WomXn is a title that is synonymous with being a noun.

[1] (Laws, 2020)

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Addendum

Water will be used as a portal through time.

With the water used as a portal, a tool of the Afro future, water symbolizes the sacredness it has within the Black community. As water is essential to life, it is also used as a tool against Black communities in either denial of it, a weapon during the Civil Rights Movement on protestors, or environmental racism resulting in disasters impacting Black communities detrimentally. The water serves as a grounding tool in acknowledging the Afropessimism of the reality of imperialism's lasting effects on the African Diaspora. Water is where my Ancestors lay and rest, the ocean floor of unmarked graves.

Cisgender mXn's face will not be shown no more than 3 times.

We live in a world that privileges mXn subconsciously and consciously. In breaking and dismantling our patriarchal system's brainwashing and misogynoir, we must break from the automatic default of comparing our experiences with others. We can give insight, but the comparison of experiences leads to demeaning and minimizing of others. In challenging the world and societal standards and highlighting the varying intersections of Black life, spaces must coexist. In this space that is relating to Black WomXn, cisgender mXn are limited in appearance. In allowing for Black WomXn to frolic freely, a space must be created that is inclusive of solely them and their needs, free from misogynoir and those who resemble it.

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Glossary

AAVE – African American Vernacular English, aka. Black English. A dialect and socio-linguistic language developed by Black folX due to theft from the motherland and forced into enslavement in the Americas. Oppression of language through suppression in education and dislocation led to the creolization of English[1]

Afrofuturism – Experienced through folX of African descent existing and being in spaces and identities that we have either been erased from, suppressed from, oppressed from, and/or not imagined in[2].

Afropessimism – acknowledges the reality of the last effects of colonialism, imperialism, brutalization, and theft of people in relation to folX of African descent.

Black WomXnism – Not feminism. As defined by Alice Walker, “… a wom[x]n who loves other women sexually and/or nonsexually … committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female” through challenging patriarchal systems that have oppressed Black folX[3].

Black Space – A space purposefully created for Black folX, free of paternalism, colonialism, and misogynoir.

CPT – Colored People’s Time

Hotep – Egyptian word that means “at peace.” Has evolved to describe Afrocentric Black folX. Also used to describe a person who is “either clueless parody of Afrocentricity…or someone who’s loudly, conspicuously and obnoxiously pro-Black but anti-progress”[4].

Misogynoir – Coined by Moya Bailey; it is the “anti-Black racist misogyny that Black Wom[x]n experience” is internalized. This leads to the over-sexualization of Black Wom[x] and adding to existing stereotypes about Black WomXn[5]

[1] (Sidnell, n.d.)

[2] (Young, 2016)

[3] (Rahatt, 2020)

[4] (Young, 2016)

[5] (What is Misogynoir?, 2020)

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Work Inspirations:

Edwards, L. (2020). Afrofuturism Collab. (L. Edwards, Performer) Durham, NC.

Laws, M. (2020, June 16). Why we capitalize 'Black" (and not 'white'). Retrieved from Columbia Journalism Review: https://www.cjr.org/analysis/capital-b-black-styleguide.php

Mazama, A. (2018). Retrieved from Cognitive Hiatus and the White Validation Syndrome: An Afrocentric Analysis: https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-75447-5_3

Rahatt, C. (2020, February 04). How Alice Walker Created Womanism - The Movement That Meets Black Women Where Feminism Misses the Mark. Retrieved from Blavity: News: https://blavity.com/blavity-original/how-alice-walker-created-womanism-the-movement-that-meets-black-women-where-feminism-misses-the-mark?category1=Books

Sidnell, J. (n.d.). African American Vernacular English (Ebonics). Retrieved from Language Varieties: https://www.hawaii.edu/satocenter/langnet/definitions/aave.html

Syms, M. (2013, December ). The Mundane Afrofuturist Manifesto. Retrieved from The Third Rail: http://thirdrailquarterly.org/martine-syms-the-mundane-afrofuturist-manifesto/

What is Misogynoir? (2020, February 12). Retrieved from Blackburn Center: https://www.blackburncenter.org/post/2020/02/12/what-is-misogynoir

Young, D. (2016, March 05). Hotep, Explained. Retrieved from The Root: https://www.theroot.com/hotep-explained-1790854506

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#afrofuturism #afrofuture #manifesto #black womxn #black women #black aesthetic #black art

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