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merakiui · 7 months

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mera mera did u read the platinum jacket vignettes for jade and floyd??? there’s some new tweel lore that would make good character analysis 👀 👀 👀 👀

>:) my writer brain is bouncing around the confines of my skull!!!!! It's too good. I rambled a lot, but I hope it makes sense. Forgive me. orz I wanted to share my thoughts and write something of an analysis/characterization. >_<

Floyd who plays with things until it's broken and thoroughly in disrepair, whereas Jade prefers to dissect said interesting thing until there's nothing left to glean. The both of them tossing aside these interesting things after they've "broken" them because it's no longer fun or entertaining. The implications of the physical and the mental, which is how I often characterize them: Floyd is more physical in everything he does. Jade is more about the mind. I think this is rather obvious, though. Floyd is very physical, both in affection and in intimidation, within the game. Jade is always so meticulous and calculating. Whereas Floyd would rather execute vengeance right away with his fists, Jade prefers to stall the suffering so that it truly cuts deep (mentally).

To illustrate the hurt: Floyd will break bones, spatter organs, leave you completely, horrifically, bodily devastated. Jade will dig into you with metaphorical scalpel, stir your brain around within your head, and watch you squirm, all with the sweetest smile. The difference is that Floyd is swift, like a hatchet splitting wood, and perhaps there is some level of mercy in the quickness. Jade is not. He's the type who tilts his head at a cute angle and asks, "Does it hurt? I should hope so," all while you're (very obviously) hurting. Jade thrives off of the build-up and the consequent break-down.

Floyd likes the chase, the euphoria of a quick capture. He plays with you, breaks you, and skips off to find something else that'll grab his attention; he doesn't linger or loiter or spend time considering the other ways in which he could have fun with you because he's already lost interest. Jade becomes your second shadow; he dwells in the corners of your mind, the little paranoid parts that spur you to think, "Am I truly alone?" And you're not. He puts you under his microscope and he studies you; turn the scope or spotlight on him, however, and he hates it because there are no shadows to hide within.

These "interesting things," which we can classify as hobbies or fleeting/temporary interests, hyperfixations, or even obsessions, mean that the twins require stimulation from such obsessions (naturally, as most of us don't like feeling bored). When the obsession no longer serves its purpose, it's useless, meaningless, and boring. It makes sense for Jade to have such an attachment to terrariums and cultivating mushrooms because the unexpected almost always happens with plants (which keeps him properly invested) and, as he's mentioned in the game, he enjoys "controlling what lives and dies." Again, the mental implications of control, of getting to pick and choose and be particularly selective when playing with the thing. If Jade likes you enough, you should hope he never tires of you because once he's finished playing with his obsession it's soon discarded. He has no feelings for it anymore. It's nothing to him.

In that regard, Floyd's interests may be slightly more fleeting than Jade's because of how mercurial he is. That, and Floyd doesn't look towards the future as much as Jade does when it comes to hobbies. For Jade, it's a matter of how long will the hobby sustain him, keep his interest, provide entertainment and stimulation? For Floyd, it's a matter of how will this entertain him in the here and now? The present. In his basketball club wear, Floyd remarks how he and Jade once found a ball floating on the surface and they spent time throwing it around. But it was short-lived fun because it soon deflated, which essentially means they were likely whipping it at one another. Both twins play rough and are only gentle when they want to be or when (or if) certain situations call for it. But playing rough is the most fun because that's how they get the most use out of the fun things.

At the core of it, though, they both want to obtain things that are difficult to get or things they can't have. No matter what, at any cost. And when they have it, it's not enough to derive satisfaction from simply celebrating such a success. They have to truly appreciate it until it's breaking, which makes me happy because I love to imagine both of them (especially Jade) loving until breaking. They love their thrills. Life wouldn't be any fun if it was predictable and mundane. They need their thrills. And sometimes it's thrilling to break something. To enjoy something until it's no longer usable or enjoyable must be quite cathartic; there's a level of ownership to that, too. No one else can play with it because it's broken (physically or mentally). Or: no one else will want to play with it because it's broken (physically or mentally). By that logic, it belongs solely to the twins. No one else will ever be able to experience or play with that thing in the way the twins did.

There's so much more I could say, but I fear if I continue anymore it will start to sound like an analysis paper. ^^;;; I'm grateful if anyone read up to this point!!!

#twisted chit chat #kikuo's 'breaking things into pieces'........ that is such a floyd leech song

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impel-clown · 8 months

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Mihawk buggy and crocodile are all so tsundere they refuse to acknowledge or humor any of their feelings about each other until they’re so unbearable that they practically break under the pressure into the gooiest least-tsundere confessional mess ever. There are heavy casualties to everyone’s dignity. Rumors of a “schmoopsy bear” occurrence plague survivors.

Now I'm obsessed with the idea that everyone on Karai Bara is terrified of the day that the three cross guild leaders finally do something about their feelings. Everyone is sure it will be a threat-filled battle with backhanded compliments and front handed strikes.

But then some of the men come back from a mission only to hear that It finally happened. How bloody was it? How many casualties? Are the three leaders still even alive? However, the reality is far worse.

It was sweet.

Oh sure tears were shed, but they were ones of joy and catharsis. When knuckles brushed cheeks, it was in a tender caress. Mihawk went on a whole speech comparing the three of them to plants that, while they can grow separately under the harshest of conditions, they're able to truly Thrive when planted together, one's strengths filling in another's weaknesses. That's right! He went into a sappy plant metaphor! He even called Crocodile his Desert Rose in a move that left many amongst the ranks down for the count.

And that's not even touching the fact that chairman Buggy couldn't stop crying as he admitted that Crocodile and Mihawk are better than any treasure because they themselves are more valuable than gold. This is where everyone thought Sir Crocodile would snap and go on a rampage, but no! He instead brought Mihawk and Buggy into a hug of all things! What was said next was all hushed whispers but some swear they overheard things such as the aforementioned "schmoopsy bear", and "sunshine" and even a "lover boy".

Any and all bets made concerning when the cross guild leaders would get together are forgotten, with no one wanting to relive the sappiness to get what they're owed.

#one piece #buggy the clown #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #cross guild #asks #im 100% here for a completely unexpected sappy live confession from these three #thank you for sending this #(also thank you to those who have sent prompts!)#(im still chugging through my October writing plans but fear not!)#(i will get to them all)

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idyllic-musings · 6 months

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wow. hello. i am so normal i promise. i swear. i promise. just trust me bro 🙏 anyway. eldritch gods and their fucked up followers, y'know? lowercase intended for the Vibes(TM). this post is completely platonic btw 👍

tw & cw. body horror, blood, fucked up devotee & deity dynamics, spitting up flowers as a metaphor of sorts to eldritch mutation and ambrose's bond to yaoshi (it is NOT an allusion to hanahaki disease; spitting up flowers serves a very very different literary purpose in this fic), ambrose's blood has life-giving qualities, etc. read with caution.

ambrose does not flinch when the thorns of the rose cradled in their hands prick almost desperately into their skin. it's as if this rose seeks something from them—it's looking for something. the plant seems to thrive on the taste of their blood, glowing with revitalized life after wounding them, but aside from that, it is most certainly seeking out something else.

no, they do not flinch. not anymore. it stings, but only slightly. it burns a little. it always does. but still, they do not flinch.

a soft hum rises from their throat as their blood drips down their fingertips onto the marble floor below. ambrose's chest trembles and their breath wavers as the flower's thorns dig further into their flesh dizzyingly, tearing new holes dripping a deep wine red in the unblemished and unscarring skin belonging to one imbued so impossibly with the power of the path of abundance. their head spins. vaguely, they muse and lament to themselves about how rude it is of them to dirty such a sacred space with their blood. so, so disrepsectful... how they wished that it was not in their body's nature to bleed so profusely.

(but then again, yaoshi never minded much. such a gentle aeon would not forsake their most loyal devotee for such a small error... and even then, was shedding their blood an error? perhaps not, ambrose thinks. perhaps it is more akin to a display of devotion. they of all people have nothing to prove to their aeon, that much they know, but is bloodshed not the purest form of vulnerability? in a moment such as this, are they not at their most weak and unguarded? is such vulnerability not the most untainted form of love and devotion? in that case, they would bleed as much as yaoshi desired. they would do so without a second thought.)

ambrose does not withdraw despite the stabbing throb spreading throughout their arm as the plant's roots take place underneath their skin and within their veins.

they do flinch now, though, as a sharp hiss is ripped from their chest.

...but it is necessary. they've lived so long now—longer than two or three generations of the longest lived xianzhou natives, perhaps. one such as themselves with such an expansive lifespan would inevitabily need to resort to bloody methods to remove mara's influence on their mind.

the penetration of their skin was perhaps not the easiest way, but it was the most effective way for their aeon's influence to cleanse their body.

and really, they don't think they'd mind at all if this process tore them apart by the seams. if it was anyone other than their patron deity, they might—no... would be resistant.

it is only because of yaoshi that they are alive. dying by their hand would be an honor, in a way.

...of course, ambrose doesn't think yaoshi would. tear them apart, that is. they've drawn blood before—intentionally, on occassions like this, and accidentially, on other such occassions when their nails dug a little too harshly into ambrose's fragile skin—but it's hard to imagine them doing something that violent (and cruel, depending on who one asks, but ambrose does not think it would be so).

the roots dig deeper, deeper, deeper into their body. it tears a visceral sob from their chest.

it hurts now. the pain sears across their skin, through their chest, through their veins and arteries and every organ in their body.

ambrose's slow-beating heart squeezes painfully as if wrapped in vines and thorns, and their breath all is all but stolen from their lungs. on their tongue, they taste iron and something vaguely floral, but they can't raise their hands to check if they're bleeding.

the emanator wheezes, head tilting back and glossy, unfocused gaze now directed at the ceiling.

(it's decorated in a beautiful mural painted by some of yaoshi's other followers.)

they manage to heave out a raspy, constricted cough, and they vacantly note the tickle of a soft texture upon their lips. it eventually flutters to the floor, settling in one of the many splatters of their blood.

the power of the abundance flows in an entirely unrestricted way through their veins. it wasn't unusual for their body to produce a petal or two every now and then.

vines, free of any and all thorns, curl around their limbs, over their thighs, across their torso, and around their neck, all to keep them from thrashing—it's a precaution more than anything. ambrose only thrashed the first few times, when they were far younger, far less used to the agony.

but now the pain seems natural, and the vines are comforting.

the tear that slips down their cheek and mixes with the blood on their face is wiped away with parental haste.

ah.

it's hard to think about the pain, ambrose muses, when there is such a kind aeon to guide them through it.

indeed, if yaoshi wanted them to bleed...

ambrose would be more than happy to bleed out.

#🌹| ambrose.#live laugh love ambrose LMFAO <33 #“how is ambrose still sane after like a few thousand years” they're not :)#lian baby you have to stop crushing on them they are UNWELL. i know it doesn't show when their mara isn't as bad but +#+ when their mara IS bad?!?!?!? lian they are NOT OKAY..... just like most of the other denizens of abundance tbh LMFAO #lian: i can fix them #hsr oc #hsr x oc #PLATONICALLY!!! RAAHHHH #yaoshi #yaoshi the abundance #tw body horror #tw blood #tw religious themes

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choppedupnotkilled · 16 days

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Grow For Me kinda works as a metaphor for Seymour falsely thinking that he poured all of this time and attention and friendship tokens into Audrey and is now entitled to get something out of it. He’s done all he can for her and she’s still getting herself beaten up by jerks (or being wilted) instead of giving a nice guy a chance and thriving (cough cough and giving him what he wants cough cough). He can only get the plant to start growing by quite literally giving it his own material resources in a way that harms him, like a guy giving a girl a ton of money and/or pouring their energy into becoming the kind of guy she likes and/or getting diseases trying to get gud at sex (giving blood in that way is a very intimate context, fluids are being exchanged, just not the ones he wants to exchange with her.)

He does look longingly through her window right before singing the song. I don’t actually believe that Seymour thinks he’s entitled to anything from Audrey, far from it, but the symbolic potential of the song is fun to think about. A version of the character who is a smarmy nice guy rat bastard could actually be kinda funny, until Audrey started dating him anyway because her standards are so ridiculously low that is. There is definitely a nonzero percent chance that this is the actual intended interpretation of the song, especially in the play, but I’m gonna pretend that this is all hypothetical because I don’t want it to be nonhypothetical.

#proship #proshipper safe #lsoh #little shop of horrors #seymour lsoh #audrey lsoh #seymour x audrey #lsoh analysis #grow for me #personal post

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thesalemwitchtries · 7 months

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Dreaming Of a Grave: Chapter Three

Word Count: 3,284

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Named! Fem! Enhanced! Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries sustained through physical assault (no implication of sexual assault at all, so maybe goons beat reader up in her apartment, but they weren't total pricks about it?), imagery/description of injury- metaphorical, distrust of police/government, Catholic Guilt written by an actual Catholic, so yk... its like organic or something, overuse of the series comma, thoughts of violence, Matt being so close to understanding Claire's points about personal safety.

Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading! Any comments or feedback are much appreciated!

It wasn’t often that Matt had cause to doubt his abilities, but arriving at Tully’s apartment building had left him unsure if he’d be able to pick out the workmen amongst all of the other… possibilities. The first two floors were a mix of junkies and vacated apartments formerly owned by junkies, and each level after got cleaner.

Still, aside from the few apartments that seemed to have taken Tully’s deal, the building was full of families and people. On the fourth floor, three apartments had newborns, one of them a set of twins. The garbage chute had never been cleaned, and was clogged before it reached the trash compactor outside. The workers had destroyed the central wiring, leaving the hall lights to buzz overhead. Amongst the other smells, evidence of the lack of water struck at his nose.

How was he supposed to find the scents of two men buried under all of this? Beyond the grime of the street and the unfortunate living situations of the addicts, the building was full of the fragrance of so many lives.

Every person’s scent was unique. They were reflections of an individual’s humanity: body chemistry, habits, environment all mingling together into an olfactory fingerprint.

If Matt didn’t know Foggy by name, he’d know him by the way his love for garlic clung to him, the spicier scent of a nervous sweat, and how he’d gotten hooked on coconut conditioner from an old girlfriend. And especially by the way Matt could tell he loved to laugh, little hints of it hanging around as pheromones echoing in his ears.

Charlotte Tanner had a scent like Foggy’s and unlike any other he’d encountered. It was less chemical than most with subtle hints of cocoa butter lotion, she liked to use mint and rosemary, liked burning candles and giving ham to her very round cat. A mix of plants lined the windowsill and her skin, her ferns were thriving; the cacti bloated with overwatering. The scent of a computer, like plastic, metal, and dust all-in-one. Electronics and various mechanical components filled a corner of the apartment with their metallic tang. Then there was her: human, clean, healthy although over-caffeinated.

Above all of it, was a bright and citrus-y joy. Hope and positivity steeped into the floorboards, nearly hiding the more recents wisps of anxiety. Matt worried that may be the only lasting trace of the visit from Tully’s ‘handymen’.

His knock on the door inspired a wave of bitter panic that prickled at his nose. Ms. Tanner’s pulse raced as she looked through the peephole, before her heartbeat peaked and the fear ebbed. Matt assumed that to be the moment she noticed his glasses and cane, his apparent harmlessness causing her to unlock the door and drop the chain.

“Hello sir, this is apartment 15, can I help you?” Crisp, polite, and effective.

Something with wheels whirred up behind her, tucking itself behind her legs. It seemed to be about the height of a medium dog, and in terrible shape. On one side the hydraulics were running sluggishly and making a soft chugging noise, the thin metal casing was busted, paint scratched. Matt couldn’t decide what the machine’s purpose was. One of those robot vacuums probably. He’d been thinking about getting Foggy one for Christmas.

“Yes, is this Ms. Tanner?” Matt kept his expression clear, taking a deep breath to try and build a map of the apartment and the people who had been there. He could smell Brett and the stale cigar smoke that belied his mother, and Mrs. Cardenas had been there almost every day.

“Um, yes?” she replied. The door swiftly closed halfway, shielding her body from him now that she knew Matt wasn’t lost, that he was there to see her. The little robot zipped to her feet, humming OLED display eyes also peering through the crack in the door. “I’m not expecting anyone.”

“No, I’d guess not,” Matt shrugged, tilting his head to focus on her rising pulse and the groan of her injuries. His train of thought was derailed by the mystery of what had been done to her.

Filtering out the rest of the building and the sound of her brows furrowing in confusion, Matt tried to piece together what had happened. Across her side were hairline fractures on two ribs, a still dark bruise, and bean-shaped swelling. Then he caught it, almost drowned out by the scent of water from old pipes, soap, and lotion; there was a hint of rubber and the grime that lined the streets of New York. Have your face meet the pavement one time in a fight and you wouldn’t need senses like his for it to haunt you.

Pieces clicked together. She was on the ground when she was kicked, possibly stomped on. Fists clenching around the handle of his cane, Matt resolved to help her, before finally responding.

“Sorry, that was rude of me, I’m Matt Murdock,” he stuck his hand out gently, pleased when she only hesitated slightly before taking it. As they shook hands, he felt the mostly healed scabs on her knuckles. So she got a few hits in— he was strangely proud. Good job sweetheart, never make it easy for ‘em.

“Gr-greeetingss st-teeeameed gueeest,” the little robot said from between her feet, moving back and forth on treaded tires in way that reminded Matt of someone swaying on their feet. The voice was tinny and crackled— the speaker had been damaged, and its speech was drawn out and wavery. Matt had no idea that robots could slur their words.

“Igor, hush,” she said sharply, nudging it back with her foot.

“St-st-teeeameed gueeest! I-iii-i am Igooorrr!” the thing spoke again, ignoring its chastising owner.

“It’s 'eh-steemed' guest,” she emphasized, “You’re getting mixed up with steamed vegetables,”

“You are our e-esteemed-d guest-egetables,” was the loud and almost proud reply. Matt couldn’t hold back a laugh, feeling the warm rush of blood across Charlotte’s face as she finally managed to knock the robot back into her apartment. It zipped off in a winding path, stuttering something about getting a water-glass of waters.

“Sorry, he uhhh- he needs a few repairs.”

Matt nodded, raising his gaze so that it landed somewhere near her eyeline. “Yeah, I’ve been told that’s been going around lately,”

Her spine straightened, the sheepish smile vanishing in a second as the hairs at the back of her neck rose, and her voice was firm as she spoke, “I’m not sure what you mean, I think that you’re in the wrong place.”

“I’m with Nelson and Murdock, representing Mrs. Cardenas and other tenants in the building against your landlord, Armand Tully. She addressed concerns that you had been physically assaulted by—”

Hearing the strain of her arm, Matt slid his cane into the doorjamb, preventing it from slamming closed in his face. The wind ruffled his hair back, but his expression remained fixed. Ms. Tanner tried to hide a grumble, but Matt caught that too as she opened the door back up to his faux-innocent face.

“Ms. Tanner, is everything alright?”

“Yes. Thank you for asking. Leave.”

Matt stood firmly in place. The floorboards creaked under her shifting weight, hand resting on her cocked hip with a huff. Lot of attitude considering I am trying to help you.

“Now.”

“I promised Mrs. Cardenas that I’d speak with you, please, hear me out.”

Not entirely true, but the words had spilled out of his mouth as a frantic need rose inside him. Maybe it was the nature of being a lawyer, but he’d never had to fight someone else to just let him help them before.

People came to him, they asked for his help, and standing across from this woman, so reluctant, had him on the edge of his comfort zone. Matt already felt guilty enough for what had happened. Right here, in the city that he swore to protect. Now the only way to alleviate that guilt required her to help him to help her, and they were clearly diametrically opposed in that regard.

Another put-upon sigh echoed from the depths of her chest. It almost had Matt believing that he was asking her to spend an afternoon explaining email scams to the elderly, rather than offering her assistance. “Okay, alright.”

“Whatever you’re afraid of, my partner and I can help you. You were assaulted in your own home, you deserve to feel safe again, and the men who did this deserve to be punished.” Matt had both hands wrapped around his cane, unable to stop himself from leaning forward in an earnest display. The door creaked closed just a bit more, and Matt straightened again, pleading with her. “We can help you, we’ll go down to the station with you to help you file a police report if you’d like, to make sure that they take your case seriously.”

“I appreciate your concern, but nothing happened to me.”

His head tilted, the irregular skip in her heart telling him that it was a lie. Not that he needed to hear it, aside from the injuries slathered in a thick layer of makeup, Ms. Tanner was not a gifted liar. Everything about her demeanor told Matt that she’d say anything just to get him to leave.

“Tully, these men, they can’t just get away with what they’ve done.”

The sleeves of her sweater were being pinched and worried between her fingers, her thumb picking at a hole in the cuff. Matt heard the shift of her feet, the deep breath that filled her chest as she steadied herself. Abandoning any pretense of eye contact, her head slumped forward between her shoulders.

“They’re not getting away with anything, no one touched me.” Another lie, this one mingled with a heavy sigh. There was a desperate tone to her voice where before there’d been exasperation.

A memory came to mind, of the nuns at St. Agnes watching old movies after hours. The kind with pretty women and sad endings, dames looking for trouble and bad guys meeting the fist of justice. They never had particularly happy endings, but he didn't mind that too much, it felt more realistic. Matt had preferred listening to them over the more chaotic alternatives outside of the church grounds, imagining his dad as the down-on-his-luck detective until he fell asleep missing his hero.

Hearing her voice, free from the crackle of old television speakers, it almost felt too raw. Matt could only pray that Ms. Tanner’s story wouldn’t be another similarity, dread sinking into the pit of his stomach. Just because it felt like a portent didn’t mean that it was one.

“Going to the police can help.” Matt couldn’t help but repeat himself, as if there was some magic number of times that she had to hear it before finally agreeing. “Ms. Tanner, I will help you. I promise.”

Her head swung up to look at him, and Matt felt a prick of hurt when her head shook just the slightest bit. Obviously her disbelief wasn’t personal, but it stung nonetheless.

“No, police would just make everything worse,” she said, and Matt snapped to attention.

General fear of authority and the law was intangible, and in Ms. Tanner’s case seemed to be deeply ingrained. It wasn’t exactly in his wheelhouse to fight something like that. If she was being threatened though… he readjusted his grip, head tilting just a tick.

“Has someone been here? Did they threaten you?”

“What?” Ms. Tanner sputtered, and Matt’s focus narrowed in on her, ready to catch any sign of a lie as it passed by. “No, that’s not— just stop.”

The exasperation had returned with a vengeance, one foot twitching in a move just shy of being a stomp. Abandoning the door, Ms. Tanner’s hands gestured sharply in the space between them. Her pulse was raised in agitation, but remained disappointingly honest beneath her clipped tone.

“I told you: no one touched me, no one threatened me. Thanks for checking in, Mr. Whoever, now please leave.”

Matt suppressed a frustrated groan, why did this have to be so hard? Is this how Claire felt when he ignored her advice and pulled stitches? No, this had to be much worse. All that was at stake was her own safety, it was maddening how easily she dismissed it. Why couldn’t she just let him help her? He wished there was a way to just make her talk, to get her to trust him.

Even if she didn’t want help, she’d literally been kicked while she was down, and Matt was just supposed to let that go? Let it slide that a woman no longer felt safe in her home, and all for what? For whatever profits Armand Tully saw in evicting his tenants? Matt didn’t think so.

They both flinched at the sound of a crash from inside her apartment, the shattering of glass set Matt’s teeth on edge until the robot’s tinny voice cried out to the doorway.

“Nooo worr-ry-y! Ig-gor m-make mis-istake, but I-Iii-gor try agaaain-n.”

Ms. Tanner’s lips twitched into a smile, a fond huff of air leaving her even as she fixed Matt with the weight of her stare. A foot tap and the pointed clearing of her throat made it clear that his time was up.

“Right, it was nice to meet you Ms. Tanner. I’m Matt Murdock, if you change your mind or have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call.”

With that, Matt held out a business card, his casual and professional demeanor hiding the desperation underneath. He needed her to take it, he needed her to want his help. As the Devil he could swoop in and fight off any intruder, never having to ask permission to rescue people. Matt Murdock however, had rules to follow or risk being disbarred. It was almost enough to make him itch and whine like a flea-bitten dog.

C’mon, take the damn card, please.

Just when it’d become a concerted effort to stop his hand from shaking, her eyes finally stopped darting around in thought. Options weighed, Ms. Tanner’s fingers brushed against his again as she took the card. It left him feeling too light as she turned back into her apartment, multiple locks clicking into place between them. Accepting the card didn’t mean she was accepting his help, it wasn’t even a foot in the door, but it was at least something.

The fact that he happened to like the feel of her skin and the scent of her lotion was irrelevant.

Floorboards creaked, and Matt suddenly realized that it was weird for him to be hanging around the door. She had lingered too, a nervous eye to the peephole as she watched him turn towards the stairwell and leave. Matt could hear her press her forehead against the door and breathe, the small robot rolling up behind her.

“W-water for-or-r g-guest-egetablessss,” Igor declared proudly, a half-full glass of water balanced on the tray that it held above its head. Drips fell from the edge of the tray, several puddles of water barely contained by its lip.

“Good job Igor, but he’s gone,”

“I-Igor-r w-ill wai-ait.” More water sloshed out onto the tray as the robot bobbed once in facsimile of a decisive nod. Matt paused at the top of the stairs, unsure what exactly he was waiting to hear.

“Don’t bother,” Ms. Tanner muttered, grabbing the glass and mopping up the water, “It’ll be a good thing if we never see that guy again. I don’t care how pretty he is, he’s still a lawyer, that means he’s bad news.”

Matt was conflicted behind his smugly twisted smile. While it wasn’t his ideal descriptor, he could work with pretty. He couldn’t work with her having an innate prejudice against his career.

In her kitchen, the lid of a trash can opened, and she stood holding the card over it for a long time, tracing across the lettering. Matt’s shoulders dropped from around his ears when the lid closed, and she tacked the card up beside her refrigerator. It felt like a win, like some small acknowledgement that she didn’t have to be afraid.

He was also going to take it as a green light to let the Devil out, if she wouldn't involve the police these guys could go unpunished, Matt could fix that. When he found those guys, he’d be sure to get in the same hits that she had, from someone their size. When that was done he’d dole out their penance of twice the fear and pain that they’d given her.

It was dangerous and he knew it, this tendency of his to make things personal, yet he was unable to stop himself every time. Neither a conscious decision nor a slippery slope, Matt would just find himself devoted to mere strangers in the space of a blink. There was some innate need or urge inside of him that was tying himself to others without consideration, and Ms. Tanner was the latest victim.

Anything that happened to her from this point on would be Matt’s fault, a failing or an attack on him. It was personal before he even stood in front of her door, before she had invaded his every sense. He would help her because it was the right thing to do, but he needed to keep her safe because it would protect him too, in a way.

Failing the people that he cared about was like missing the step off of a curb, skidding across the pavement. Road rash had been collecting across his conscience and heart during the past few weeks as the Devil; last night’s failure to protect Claire was a face plant. Recovering from it felt like picking bits of asphalt out of his cheeks, burning and stinging in a way that couldn’t be ignored, only dulled.

Every night he listened as dozens of crimes were committed across the city, too many people to save at once. But, there was also the sound of college girls giggling on the streets, safe from the fate of a shipping container. There was a boy that slept sound in his bed, his father sleeping on the ground because he couldn’t bear being too far away from his son again. He could hear teens playing video games and mothers bundling their kids up to visit the park. People that he had saved, living their lives around him.

Matt needed to hear these things, to know that the Devil was doing something useful. That a drop in the bucket was still a positive change. Upstairs, Ms. Tanner was repairing her robot, talking it through the steps even while it was powered off. He wondered what she would be doing when he listened for her that night.

Like always, failure was not an option, and still felt inevitable. In an ouroborean way, he’d already failed, what happened to Ms. Tanner was his fault, due to his inaction. Matt knew about the window, the guy blackmailing that juror had told him. Was probably even scared enough to have told him more, like where the building was. Then he could’ve been at the epicenter, tracking people following Fisk’s orders, preventing things like this. Instead, his one track mind had gotten the best of him, and who knows how many people had been hurt as a result.

The sinking sun warmed his face, a contrast to the chill air that tugged at his coat as Matt exited out onto the street. He just had a stop at the station, and then it'd nightfall, where he’d have another opportunity to do the right thing for Hell’s Kitchen.

Thanks for reading, have a good day <;3

Next chapter is Karen's turn, and we all know that one of her superpowers is people skills... Also I don't know if anyone's interested, but I lmk if you'd like and I'll tag people to chapters when they come out.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x enhanced!reader #matt murdock x y/n #slim ficc #doag #dreaming of a grave

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deltarrune · 1 year

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dude frank trading one of bill’s guns for strawberry seeds is so metaphoric 2 ME personally…….

because bill is about practicality. he’s a doomsday prepper, someone who only thinks in terms of what can aid in his survival. guns serve a purpose, to keep you alive during the apocalypse.

but frank is about the finer things in life; painting the house, planting flowers, making art. are strawberries necessary for their survival? no. but it’s not always about survival, it’s about enjoying life.

frank trading away one of bill’s guns, some of his security, in exchange for something they can just enjoy… it’s forcing bill to stop focusing on surviving and start focusing on thriving.

it’s what their entire relationship is about. bill could have forced frank to go when they first met and continued living his life just surviving, but because frank convinced him to let him into his life, bill ended up thriving, enjoying life far more than he ever would have without frank—so much so that in the end, bill would rather die than simply just survive without frank. even in a world as dark and cruel as theirs, frank showed bill the beauty in not just living life, but enjoying it.

#girl help tlou ep 3 ruined my life #tlou #the last of us hbo #bill x frank

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kirbyprompts · 2 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐁 ( 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍 ) 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

feel free to change the prompts as you see fit! warnings: mentions of grief and death and murder.

❝something’s not right.❞

❝you can talk to plants.❞

❝the place is full of death.❞

❝i don’t love that.❞

❝follow me. step only where i step. and don’t make any noise.❞

❝fight or run?❞

❝really, i’m only dying a little bit.❞

❝i thought you were getting better.❞

❝i guess i was too optimistic.❞

❝if you win every battle, you will still lose the war.❞

❝oh good, you’re awake.❞

❝here’s a culinary secret i discovered: ketchup really enhances fries and fish sticks.❞

❝how’s your wound?❞

❝my wound is thriving. me, not so much.❞

❝oh. i am so stupid.❞

❝it’s still light outside. you slept all day.❞

❝not turning into a zombie is hard work.❞

❝you’re not responsible for me getting hurt.❞

❝i don’t want to lose somebody else.❞

❝am i too young to get ulcers?❞

❝hey, man. slacking is hard work.❞

❝that is a solid, absolute, hard-pass NO.❞

❝i am astonished!❞

❝i mean, you’re sweet and kind of adorkable at times.❞

❝this isn’t right.❞

❝maybe we’re in the wrong place?❞

❝something’s definitely off here.❞

❝it isn’t illegal to make someone laugh.❞

❝that was stupid.❞

❝the law of averages dictates that once in a while i’d come across someone that doesn’t want to kill me, right?❞

❝well, i’m glad we had this talk, so i could unburden myself of all the things you already knew.❞

❝you’ve gotten less annoying.❞

❝please stop stabbing me.❞

❝that story is messed up on so many levels.❞

❝can we talk about this later? or perhaps never?❞

❝we’re dead if we stay here.❞

❝it’s a terrible idea. but it’s the only one i have.❞

❝the metaphorical truck with the metaphorical headlights is getting closer to metaphorically running me over.❞

❝i thought you loved me.❞

❝did we just have a polite exchange?❞

❝is my wisdom so cheaply bought?❞

❝thou art killing me.❞

❝i don’t like that look on your face.❞

❝never underestimate the power of thousands of human minds all believing the same thing. they can remake reality. sometimes for the better, sometimes not.❞

❝we’re running out of time. if we can cheat, let’s cheat.❞

❝you do something evil, you feel bad about it, you do better. that’s a sign you might be developing a conscience.❞

❝you can thank me by staying alive, okay?❞

❝is there anything else i can do?❞

❝i’m a doctor!❞

❝i might… black out.❞

❝you’re in so much trouble.❞

❝either i kill you, or i die.❞

❝i’m not afraid to die. are you?❞

❝if i’m going to burn, i might as well burn bright.❞

❝i’m so sorry this happened to you.❞

❝each person’s grief has its own life span; it needs to follow its own path.❞

❝who can i kill to make myself feel better?❞

❝i will destroy you.❞

❝wait, you actually care if i die?❞

❝h-how long was i out?❞

❝get up, drama queen.❞

❝i’m heartbroken and exhausted.❞

❝romantic love. it’s a plague.❞

❝you’re here. you’re actually here.❞

❝you could’ve died.❞

❝life is only precious because it ends.❞

❝i’m still going to kill you later for scaring me like that.❞

❝i’m looking forward to a long vacation.❞

❝you can count on me.❞

❝this is the earliest i’ve been up in years.❞

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompts #rp sentence starters #sentence starters #roleplay memes

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bleachbleachbleach · 6 months

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since past anon already asked about the 70's corruption thing...i'd like to ask about the hitsuhina burdock thing if that's ok. my interpretation of it is that there's just something healing about the act of planting and harvesting together (something something about uprooting and settling down roots or whatever and what it means for the afterlife) and how significant that is for two characters whose painful arcs are intertwined with one another and how it wouldve been interesting to see the healing of it play out as it was more of an off screen thing in canon. and somethin something about the fact that burdock itself is known to be used for healing as it is full of antioxidants or whatever. that said, thats just how i saw it but i would love to hear what your original vision actually was!

Anon, you are a precious gift! Thanks so much for engaging with me and also for sharing your beautiful interpretation! I totally agree with you the act of harvest, and I love the way you connect it to (canonically unseen) healing.

I got fixated on this burdock thing because one of my neighbors led a foraging walk and I learned a bunch of things about burdock that I thought were insanely cool. I am someone with a lot of overgrown headcanons about Junrinan, the tip of the iceberg of which is that it's a place where the souls there embody Rukongai’s “wandering souls” thing literally. They spend a lot of seasonal (spring and fall) time foraging in the mountains/forests in the fast west of the district, which they then sell to the relatively-nearby Seireitei. So my natural course of action after learning fun facts about foraging burdock is to then think “...what if HitsuHina.”

Which is also about the point where I get very “THIS IS SO METAPHORICAL” about things:

Burdock is a biennial, usually foraged in its first year before it grows tall and becomes fibrous. In the first year, you’d look for basal rosettes (flower-like growth of leaves low to the ground, or the base). While burdock grows wild in a lot of places, it does well in disturbed soil along paths, roadsides, etc. If you are looking to harvest the roots, you would wait until after the first frost, when plants send nutrients down to their roots. Burdock roots can go pretty deep and you don’t want to break them off and leave the bottoms in the ground, so you’d dig parallel around the root, deep deep, until you could harvest it in full.

I just think there’s something really beautiful about thriving in “disturbed” soil (and who does this better than Hinamori), and first frost being a clock by which one might return energy to the roots—to home, to the people who make your home, and the feeling of being rooted in things deeper and deeper than you could have imagined. <3

#burdock agenda #hinamori momo #hitsugaya toushirou #asks #no brain just bleach #junrinan

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echologname · 1 month

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The Bible and Veganism

The significance of a plant-based diet

This is a diet that I believe is how God intended for man in the Garden of Eden and how those in Heaven eat as well:

In Genesis 1:29-30, God said:

“Look! I have given you every seed-bearing plant throughout the earth and all the fruit trees for your food. And I have given every green plant as food for all the wild animals, the birds in the sky, and the small animals that scurry along the ground—everything that has life.”

And in Revelation 22:2:

On each side of the river grew a tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, with a fresh crop each month. The leaves were used for medicine to heal the nations.

So in Eden and Heaven we're given fruit for food which makes sense, for how people who live in a perfect world without suffering or death get calories and nutrients.

Also, fruit is VERY significant in The Bible. It's used metaphorically over and over. For example, The Tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the tree of life, The Fruits of the Spirit, the fig trees, Israel being God's chosen olive tree...etc. Usually, fruit always means something good, evidence that something is thriving, and spiritually, that Christ is within us when we bear Fruit of the Spirit.

So, just as Heaven is full of rainbows, take care of your body which is a temple of The Lord's Spirit, and do your best to eat a rainbow of plants.

God made the human-animal relationship sacred

God created all the creatures BEFORE He created humans to watch over them.

Animals are perhaps the closest representation of God we have. They're perhaps as loving as He is because they are without sin. They can't love any less than unconditionally. God does want us to surround ourselves with those who are righteous, and no beings are more so than animals. They're born being connected to God and knowing how to serve Him whereas we have to struggle to do that. That's why we need Jesus to take away our sin and change our hearts so we become perfect like them. The Bible even uses animals as an example of how we should live our lives like in Matthew 6:26:

“Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are?”

Taking care of them is how we obey God's first responsibility He gave humanity and how we reflect His image. Jesus explains our relationship with Him as mirroring the human-animal relationship. We're the animals and He’s our human who loves us and takes care of us. Similarly, when we serve animals, we're like Jesus who served us.

Mentally, they're children their whole lives, just wholesome lil' goobers. And personally, they're a big inspiration for how I should live my life (Jesus does want us to be childlike) and how they're so joyful all the time and live in the present.

Conclusion

Abstaining from animal products is also how I obey the first responsibility God gave humanity: to take care of all of Creation. He made the human-animal relationship sacred and I want to respect that. I don't support the slaughter of those who are pure, sinless, innocent and child-like, to do so, would be like supporting Jesus's crucifixion who was also pure and sinless. The Father broke His own heart that day by letting His Son's body be broken. All the animal sacrifices in the Old Testament are foreshadows of that sad day to come, and God required sins be paid for in this way because death is always the price of sin and it can only be paid by someone who has NEVER sinned. I assure you, those animals killed for the sins of the people were not taken lightly or carelessly but as a sacred act of obedience and repentance.

This isn't something every Christian chooses and that's fine, I'm just explaining why I personally feel in my heart this is what's right and this is just one way I'm trying to live a righteous life.

#christian #trust god #vegan #jesus loves you

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transandersrights · 1 year

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Happy Friday! For my prompt, maybe you could write something about a character of your choice's favourite hobby?

(I take prompts! See info here)

For @dadrunkwriting - this isn't a CANON favourite hobby, but I ended up writing ~670 words about Merrill taking up gardening! Rated G, no content warnings, just a very literal flowery metaphor :)

Really, she started it to find a little piece of home in Kirkwall; whatever home meant these days, anyway. Bags were made to hold things, after all, and whenever Hawke darted off towards their next target (namely, whatever could be lifted off the closest body and/or the body’s former belongings), Merrill could go on her own hunt.

That was how it began — flowers bundled, mostly crushed, into her bag. Carrying that little fragment of the world beyond Kirkwall’s dirty streets back into a space she was trying to make more than just somewhere she slept.

Then, well… the flowers didn’t really look nice on the table, just set out there. First, she borrowed a mug from the Hanged Man (and it wasn’t stealing if she was intending bringing it back, which she was! She just didn’t know when) and put them in there. But they dried and died too quickly like that, so she started putting water in it too.

…Unboiled water, coincidentally, just killed the flowers faster. So she had to boil it first, but once she’d learned that?

Well, the flowers still looked a little sad away from where they were meant to be. Uprooted, forced to be somewhere they could never grow, and even the thought of it made her too sad to look at them. Which was the opposite of the point, so— well, she had to fix it.

The next time they all went out somewhere she could acquire a plant, Merrill took some tools as well. She hadn’t brought anything for cultivating plants when she left the Clan, but it didn’t matter; she just needed something to dig the plant up with some of the soil left.

“Dare I ask what you’re doing, Daisy?”

Merrill turned to beam at Varric. “I’m going to start a garden!”

Varric blinked. Strange; he wasn’t easy to catch by surprise. “Where are you going to do that?”

“Well, I have a mug, and I think it’s about the right size, so…” She gestured at the plant, its roots dangling in the air. “I’m going to take it home with the soil and let it grow.”

In response, Varric only wished her luck — unlike a lot of things, he didn’t have any advice for keeping a plant alive. So Merrill tried not to crush her quarry on the way back, and when she mostly succeeded (the third time, actually, because going places with Hawke tended to result in small disasters in which plants didn’t always take priority), she got to plant it.

And there it sat. Alive, and continuing to grow. Sometimes she had to move it over to where the window was, sometimes she sat with it outside. She remembered to boil the water before she watered it, and every week they went out, she gathered new soil for it (she hadn’t been much for farming, even when the Clan stayed in one place for long enough to make it worth it, but she knew plants needed circulation of soil).

Still, the plant looked lonely sometimes. And the Hanged Man had plenty of mugs, there were always loads left on the tables towards the end of the day. And there were so many plants in the world, and if each one could bring just a little sliver of greenery to Kirkwall…

One flower became two, became two flowers and a collection of herbs grown in a baking tray with a whole in the bottom, became a small collection of whatever could grow in a not-quite bright, decidedly cramped set of soil. Slowly but surely, Merrill’s little house turned from greys and browns to greens and whatever colour of flower she could coax into blooming.

They weren’t perfect. Sometimes they died. They didn’t look as vibrant as they did out in the wild, didn’t thrive in quite the way they were meant to — most of the time. But sometimes the plant wouldn’t have grown where it was, the other plants constricting it. Away from its fellows, it could finally blossom, and Merrill didn’t feel quite so lonely anymore.

#da drunk writing circle #dragon age fanfiction #merrill dragon age #dragon age 2 #merrill

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gardenerian · 2 years

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something very silly happened this afternoon and i accidentally murdered two tomatoes and then immediately burst into tears. i’d wanted to turn the experience into a galladrabble but i found i had too much to say! so here we are, another little tomato fic 🍅

He’s still grinning when it happens.

Mickey’s lounging nearby, stretched out in the grass as he sips a beer and laughs about something stupid Carl said last night.

Ian turns back to smile at him, to roll his eyes fondly at the memory. Carl drunkenly bragging about something he clearly didn’t understand with all his unearned confidence.

The summer air is thick, heavy with heat and the scent of turned earth. Ian wipes at his face with his shoulder, mopping at the sweat with his already-damp shirt.

It’s July; the plants are thriving. He’d said as much to Mickey when they walked outside this afternoon. His plan had been to spend the morning re-staking and pruning his more enthusiastic plants, easing the weight of them from their own eager limbs.

He also knows what it’s like to get ahead of himself, after all. To burst forth in a blaze of energy and certainty, only to buckle under the weight of all his unrealized wanting.

To feel himself slow with the weakness of his shaking knees, body crying out against the burning in his veins.

But he woke this morning to Mickey’s mouth wet and warm between his legs, so he put off the work until the sun had reached its crescendo in the summer sky. He likes it better this way, crouching in the dirt while his husband looks on.

His hands move now even as he looks away, as he looks at Mickey’s shining face. He feels the stake, sturdy and rigid in his hands; guides it toward the soil as Mickey laughs and laughs.

Ian turns back to the plant, lips still stretched into a wide smile, as the stake slices right through the joined stem of two green fruits.

He blinks down at them, now severed from the plant, smile slipping as he cradles them in his hands.

“Shit,” he whispers, eyes looking wildly now between the plant and the tomatoes in his palms. Groans as he fully realizes what he’s done. “Oh, shit.”

“What,” Mickey calls, sitting up on his hands. When Ian can only groan again, he jogs over to kneel in the dirt. “You hurt yourself?”

“No,” Ian sighs, letting Mickey grab his wrists to inspect his hands. “But look what I did.”

Mickey hums as he looks, biting at his lip.

“What happened here?” he murmurs, looking up at Ian with wide, sorry eyes.

“Wasn’t lookin’,” Ian answers dully, kicking himself already. “Cut right through ‘em.”

“Aw, fuck,” Mickey says. He inspects the fruits still sitting in Ian’s hands. “Think we could reattach ‘em?”

They turn back to the plant, each thinking through schemes of superglue and thread. Could they stitch them back? Ian thinks about the medical tape in his first aid kit. Thinks about the wounds he has been able to heal.

“No,” Ian sighs, knowing it’s over. “I think these two are just done.”

He sits back in the dirt, and Mickey rests a heavy hand on his thigh. Rubs his thumb over flushed, freckled skin.

“Sorry, man,” he murmurs.

Ian nods. He’s sorry, too.

It’s stupid. It’s so goddamn fucking stupid.

But his eyes burn as he fiddles with the stem.

He’s the one that made it matter like this. He’s the one that wrapped it all up in talk of recovery and life and growth; he’s the one that made it into a metaphor for his own fucking self-worth.

It’s too much to put on a fucking plant.

But he’s still so disappointed in himself.

He sniffs, and Mickey grips his leg tighter. He then plucks the fruits gently from Ian’s hands, holding them close to his face and inspecting them. In the sunlight, they cast a green glow on his skin. Ian could cry.

He does, a little bit. Bitter tears that he furiously wipes away.

Fucking stupid.

“There’s still a billion tomatoes out here,” he says, cringing at the wobble in his voice. “This doesn’t matter.”

It’s just - he’d wanted so desperately to get it right. To prove that he was meant for this, like he always thought.

He wanted to be a natural.

Ian fights against a rising tide of self-loathing; a sick, ridiculous feeling in his chest. All of this. All of this feeling, this guilt and grief and anger. Mickey’s worried eyes.

For a plant.

He could have just put on his funny hat and grown some vegetables.

But because he’s so fucking soft, he’d infused it with so much meaning. Made it about him, all about his struggle and his triumph.

When all it is - all it has to be - is just life.

Life, exactly as it is.

Mickey hands the fruits back to him, then brings his own hands down to cradle Ian’s.

“You do still have a bunch of ‘em,” he agrees at last. “They’re lookin’ good, like you said.”

“I bragged all about them as we came out here and then I went and murdered them,” Ian says sadly. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Ey,” Mickey warns, “enough of that. You think people don’t lose plants all the goddamn time? Shit happens, man.”

He knows. He’d read about root rot and aphids and blight. Of course Ian knew that any number of things could go wrong - he just didn’t think the danger would be in his own hands.

He’s getting worked up again. Stupid.

Like he’d ever regret looking back at Mickey, stretched out in the grass and practically glistening in the sun. Or let himself ever miss the chance to watch him laugh, head thrown back and face split by an easy smile. Shaking with it, his whole body moving with joy.

Life. Their life, exactly as it is.

It doesn’t have to hang on these little green fruits.

“Think we could use ‘em?” Mickey asks, standing and brushing soil from his cut offs. He holds out a hand for Ian, who lets his husband pull him up. “Could eat them, right? People do that.”

They look over the rest of the healthy plants, considering.

Part of him wants to set the two lost fruits on their kitchen counter as some kind of shrine to his ridiculous failure. To remind him of how it feels to set himself up like this.

Or fling them away, let them land in someone else’s yard to rot. To pretend they were never here at all, bright and green in their hands, unaware of Ian’s shame.

But it all comes back to Mickey’s laugh. How it lifts him, soothes him. He’d never look away.

And Ian thinks maybe he doesn’t need to punish himself for that.

“We could fry them,” he says, shrugging. “Put them on a burger or something. Feel like grilling tonight?”

Mickey smiles, and Ian sees it in his eyes. Something sparkling. Pride, maybe. He wills himself not to look away from it.

He follows it back into the house, listening as Mickey rattles off burger toppings and condiments, the two little fruits that they'll eat tonight resting in his hands.

#my partner did attempt the plant surgery but it was unsuccessful #this is for him and for my friends who validated my ridiculous meltdown as i cried over my babies #i am very sorry for my little guys #but like ian we will forge ahead and care for the 234957 living tomato babies #even though i am quite sad #anyways #i love you tomato ian #ty for once again shouldering my ridiculous emotions #🍅 ian #tumblr writing

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