#dos son multitud

[alltimefail]

If you're bisexual, you get it. If you have ADHD, you get it. If you're like me and fall into both categories...well, you've probably never sat in a chair properly your entire life. RIP our spines for real

[sanctuaryrin]

new yorker interview is so lame for many reasons but this one is particularly funny.

like I know your ass did NOT read those books. book murderbot is canonically a theatre kid fan. it truly does not get anymore over-the top than that, like this mfer is sitting in the front row of the preservation equivalent of a production of CATS about a local species of fauna and wiping leaking emotions from its eyes. and ratthi already bought it tickets to go back next week. tv sanctuary moon is tame compared to that.

[earl-grey-crow]

~groovy~

[smuggsy]

Two of my favorite Oc's — Ricky and Tincho ✨🌈 from Tamaulipas 🇲🇽🐯🐯🐯.

[kakusu-shipping]

hii, sorry if this is random but after seeing your monoma reblogs from earlier this week I realised I'd seen your blog before!!

I was contemplating f/oing monoma (he's still in the crush category lol) a year or so ago and I saw you made a post about monoma being a familial f/o and wondered if anyone who romantically self shipped with him would interact.

I was too shy to interact at the time but I thought it was a funny coincidence that I'm following you now :)

- @i-put-the-s4p-in-s4pphic

Wait that is actually really funny I've been rebounded. Amazing.

Also call to action to anyone who self ships romantically with any of my Familial F/Os; PLEASE SMASH INTO MY INBOX AND TELL ME

I'm constantly going off about sharing Romantic F/Os but look listen this counts as well I love seeing characters I love be loved no matter how.

My Familial, your Romantic? Tell me about it. OUR Familial? Tell me about it. My Romantic your Platonic? Tell me about it. Your Platonic my Familial? Tell me. OUR Platonic? Tell me. I'm full on shaking you people TELL ME

I CRAVE THE KNOWLEDGE.

[ginsdelusions]

You sighed deeply. It has been many, many years since your husband, the King of Castrum Kremnos, Mydeimos, had went to war - leaving you alone with a son, a rebellious nation and a throne to attend to. His whereabouts were unknown; the only thing that kept you going all these years was your faith in the man you married and fell in love with. At first, the people were fine with your temporary rule - until more and more time started passing. At first it was only a small group of advisors and assistants asking you to remarry or give up the throne, since Mydeimos ‘evidently wouldn’t return’.

Soon though, many more fractions, ranging from small groups to big organisations started demanding that you choose a new king to rule alongside you. You’d managed to buy him some more time as you claimed to choose a new king once you’d finished weaving your shroud. The people first seemed fine with it, since they never found out that you unthreaded the work you did daily once the sun dipped below the horizon and was replaced by the moon.

In the past few years, you’d dealt with a variety of riots and demonstrations, but this time they had crossed the line by beating up your son. When the poor thing came home, he was limping terribly and had a black eye, amongst many broken bones and other injuries. ‘This can’t go on’, you thought to yourself. “It seems the time for the challenge has come.”

Now, standing before you were all the suitors, 108 men in total. A silent prayer rushed through your mind before you stepped in front of them. Clearing your throat, you welcomed them before you explained what they had to do. “Whoever can raise my husband’s own spear and slice through twelve targets cleanly, evenly and with a single strike, will be the new king, sit down at the throne, and rule Castrum Kremnos with me as his queen.”

Cheers erupted, and the first man already approached the intricate weapon. It was a gorgeous golden spear, adorned by sapphires and rubies, reminiscent of its owner. However, aside from being bejewelled, it was also blessed by Strife — the very Strife that only your husband was worthy of being. The first challenger gripped the spear, his confident grin soon disappearing as he could not lift the weapon, no matter how hard he tried. Laughter roared through the stadium. Enraged, the suitor gave up, claiming that the challenge is rigged.

The next suitor was less cocky, and methodically approached the weapon. A firm grip, a proper posture - someone who clearly trained the usage of the spear. Yet, all he could do was struggle to move the golden artefact, unable to lift it, let alone strike targets with it.

Similarly to the first two, the contesters following them did not succeed either; no one was able to wield the weapon.

“This is rigged!”

“Shame on the queen!”

“The weapon is enchanted!”

Screams echoed through the stadium, a multitude of voices blending into a chaotic and loud mess, drowning out all sense of reason. Some of the suitors joined the audience, some others even started throwing things, yet again some others got up and started approaching you. Threats were being thrown at you left and right. The crowd turned into a kaleidoscope of anger, chaos and pure outrage, when amongst the commotion a steady, metallic march made itself evident; an army of soldiers led by a tall, armoured blonde with a less than unpleased expression on his handsome face, heading to the arena at a relentless pace.

But the crowd kept screaming and yelling, not noticing the 43 men who’d returned from a battle that lasted 20 whole years. It was only when their leader entered the arena, lifted the weapon and sliced all targets in half in one clean strike that silence found its way into the stadium, an icy shiver creeping up on all the spectators as the man turned around, surrounded by hundreds, if not a thousand people. His golden eyes that resembled the sun, though, were only focused on a single person.

After 20 years, your husband returned home to you. It felt like a distant dream came true, a hope that dimmed in your heart finally becoming reality. He was back. Was this really him? Or was this a mere dream? It felt like time ceased to exist for a moment, like everything froze in place except for you two.

“Mydei? Is it really you?”

Instead of answering, Mydei walked up the stairs of the arena where your seat was located.

He stopped in front of you. “See for yourself if I am an illusion, or if I am the true Mydei.”

Overjoyed, you didn’t know what to say - you had envisioned this moment all the time, and yet, you still couldn’t think of anything to say. Your eyes met his as he turned to his people.

“Kremnoans, you have disappointed me. Instead of choosing to trust in your king and trust in my leadership and might, you decided to make an enemy of my wife, your queen, and thus betray me. Now that I, Mydeimos the Strife, have returned, be prepared to pay for your crimes with blood. Let it be known that your king has returned!”

Cheers erupted yet again, but for you, it didn’t matter. ‘What if it’s an imposter?’, your thoughts went rampant with doubts, ‘What if that is not my husband that has returned? There is only one way to find out…’

When he turned toward you again, he immediately picked up on the mistrust in your eyes. “You really don’t think I am the real deal?”, his frustration was evident, his eyes were tired after venturing for 20 years. “Mhm, I do, but… Can you throw our wedding bed out, first?”, you anticipated his reaction. “Our what? I come back after 20 years and that is what you think of? Besides, I made that thing from the olive tree where we first met. I’m afraid you have to fight me if you wish to get rid of it”, Mydei seemed perplexed.

You definitely knew it was him now. He was home.

“Welcome Home, love.”

Inspired by the Ithaca Saga of Epic: the Musical, mainly ‘the challenge’ and ‘hold them down’, since I’m listening to those right now… by the way, I didn’t even play the Amphoreus quests yet, so if this is extremely ooc I sincerely apologise! I literally googled his voice lines for this.. and I didn’t want to give him too much trauma so Scylla and Zeus just.. didn’t. It’s 2am, I should go to sleep

[shrimpybbq]

you gotta believe me, baby

synopsis: when a stray bag of coke is found in rafe’s drawer, rafe’s fiancée grapples with its implications

The young woman trifled through Rafe’s desk, the pen he requested lost deep amongst his amalgamation of items. Frustratingly, she kept searching until her gaze landed on a small item strewn under a notebook, the clear bag reflecting in the light. Her heart felt as if it stopped beating. The small bag and its contents were instantly recognisable to the woman, her having seen her fiancé with it many a time. Except instead of keeping it hidden under a book, he would have the white powder diced and sorted into hefty lines on a table, a rolled up $50 set aside ready to help him snort it.

She remained still for a moment before tentatively reaching for the bag, as if it would suddenly change its contents if she waited long enough. And yet, as she picked the bag up it felt like a long forgotten truth was slapping her in the face. Of course it was coke. The woman pondered the situation for a moment for she was sure Rafe was clean - but then again, he had been under an increasing amount of stress lately. Cameron Development had been taking up all of his time, as had the move, so would it really be that far-fetched for him to start using again?

Soon, she began pacing around the room, her mind beginning to catastrophise the situation. It had been so hard to get through each day when Rafe was high, his constantly shifting mood and irritable personality making him intolerable to be around. Her mind flashed to the moments alone, trying to soothe a colicky baby that cried and cried alone in the guest room while Rafe spent his evenings getting high with Barry. She'd never felt so alone and isolated. She had no-one: Her parent's were a no-go, Ward and Rose could only help so much, and Sarah was busy being a teenager. Sometimes, it was as if Wheezie was her only friend, always loving to play with her nephew even if only for a moment. In those moments, she had wondered if any of it was worth it - maybe everyone would be better off if she left to the mainland to live with her aunt, removing her presence from Kildare completely. Rafe hadn’t wanted Charlie in the beginning, not really, and as she cried alone in tandem with her son, she felt it.

Rafe had called out his fiancée’s name three times by now, only to receive nothing in response. Initially assuming she had been sidetracked, it was only once he finally ambled over to his study did he realise the true cause of her silence. Rafe froze at the sight of the bag of white powder flung haphazardly atop his papers, his heart racing as a chill spread across his body. Shit shit shit.

Rafe’s panicked gaze met hers suddenly, each expressing a multitude of worries. Rafe watched as his sweet girl looked at him, so defeated and dejected, her shoulders slumped as she faced him. Initial words began to leave her mouth, only to be swiftly cut off by her partner,

“Baby, please, you gotta let me explain, ok?” Rafe was pleading with her, a tone he rarely utilised unless in the most dire of situations, “it’s not mine.”

Her eyes, once shifted towards the window, snapped back to his frame. “It’s in your desk Rafe! Whose else would it be?”

“Fuck, uh- fuck ok, well it is mine, but it’s not like I bought it last week. Shit, that sounds bad, I didn’t-” Rafe sputtered, his logical explanation getting muddled up as his anxiety grew. He could tell his fiancée didn’t believe it if the tears beginning to escape were any indication.

“Rafe, please, just tell me the truth. You owe me that much,” she pleaded. Rafe felt his heart shatter at the desperation she could not hold back.

“I had this desk moved from my dad’s office, ok? Whenever he used to catch me doing coke, he would lock my supply up in his desk in his attempt to get me clean - not that that ever fuckin’ worked,” he began to explain, “I never even properly cleaned out his desk, baby. I figured he would have something written down that would provide some of his infinite wisdom bullshit that would help me in the future, so I just didn’t touch anything.”

The young woman stared at the Cameron opposite her, feeling rooted to her spot as he answered her questions. Truthfully, she remembered Rafe’s occasional complaining about his dad’s attempts to control his drug habit. She could never truly comfort him properly when she silently thanked Ward, but his statement rang true in her mind. It was plausible that Rafe really hadn’t touched his dad’s things.

“Come on baby, you have to believe me! You really think I would throw all of this,” Rafe gestured, arms outstretched, “us, our family - away for a few fuckin’ ounces of coke? I got better and that’s because of you, because of you being there for me and the kids and - baby please, I’m telling the truth.”

As Rafe begged and pleaded, he had made his way to stand in front of her, taking her hands in his as his fingers gripped hers tightly. She looked up at him, tears still spilling down her cheeks. He had gotten better - ever since they arrived in Guadeloupe, she hadn’t seen him touch cocaine. Alcohol, sure, but even Topper offering him coke at a party had seemingly rolled off his back.

“You’re not lying to me? You swear it? On the kids lives?” She begged, needing to hear him say it again. She wanted to believe him so badly.

“I promise baby, I swear to god. I swear that I haven’t touched that shit in a year. Please, I’m telling the truth baby.”

With his final plea, she felt her heartbeat begin to slow, its return to normal allowing her to breathe properly once more. A large exhale left her body before she flung herself against Rafe, her arms wrapping around his torso. His arms immediately returned the gesture, comfortingly rubbing up and down her back.

“I can’t do that shit again, Rafe. Ok?” She muttered, her voice muffled against his shirt. He leaned down to gently stroke her hair before placing a tender kiss in her hair.

“You don’t need to worry about that anymore. I’m different now, for you and for our family. You can rely on me, ok? I’m always gonna be here for you,” Rafe stated firmly, his words filled with conviction. He felt a small smile tug at his lips as his fiancée nodded into his chest, her arms tightening around him further.

“I love you, Rafe. More than anything.”

“I love you too, baby. It’s you and me ‘till the end.”

As the pair stood in their embrace for a moment longer, they felt the tension seep away slowly and be replaced with tenderness. For such a rocky start to a relationship, the pair had watched each other grow and mature. Neither of them were perfect, but they would never give up on each other. Rafe didn’t believe in soulmates, but if he did, he was certain that the woman in his arms was his.

[tender-rosiey]

pretty babies – gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: idk about yall but I love me some drunk gojo

satoru never drinks, but when he does, ohoho, you’re in for quite the ride.

today was one of the days when he was less of a chaotic handful but more of an emotional mess who apparently can’t even remember his own wife. you sip on your drink, ignoring the drunk satoru leaning on the bar.

he slurs his words as he tries to flirt, “you’re sooo pretty, y’know that?”

you nod with a hum and give him no further reaction. in situations like these, you figured out that letting him go all out until he is tired and sleepy is the best solution. it really is like treating a baby.

thankfully, after many years of being in the presence of one gojo satoru, you’ve built up some patience.

he rests his head on the counter and he looks up at you, eyes wide and in awe, “I bet,” he hiccups and it is followed by a silly little giggle, “we’d make superrrr cute babies! like all round and chubby and we’d much on their cheeks like…mochi! yes! mochi…now I am hungry.”

a smirk makes an appearance on your face as you glance at satoru who is blabbering about building a family with you and spoiling you rotten.

a little teasing won’t harm anyone. so you quip, “you know,” and his attention is already on you, “you already gave me three super cute babies.”

his mouth is wide open in disbelief as he sits up, “no way!”

“yup! and they’re waiting at home for us.”

his eyes crinkle because of his wide grin, “really?!” he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, “you got photos?! please tell me that you do!” and he switches to a pout so quickly, it gives you whiplash.

however, you gladly pull out your phone and show him the multitude of photos you have.

ones ranging from him being in a crib to help the youngest one sleep to ones with two of the three kids ganging up on him and him desperately calling for your help. satoru goes through every single photo, head on your shoulder and cheek squished.

he is silent throughout it all and when he is done, he looks up at you, “so that means that you’re my wife?”

you nod and your fingers, naturally, find their place on his head. he feels a little shiver of satisfaction before he smiles, one lovesick and silly smile, “I really hit the jackpot.”

you laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I guess you did.”

so you take him back home where the kids are already asleep. satoru crashes on the bed right away, steady breaths filling the room. slowly, you take your place beside him and you feel his arms wrap around you.

he pulls you closer and buries his face in your hair. and you close your eyes, letting yourself be lulled to the land of dreams.

when you do wake up, you’re greeted by satoru literally on top of you and deep in sleep. you would like to let him sleep more especially since he looks so comfortable, but you’re going to suffocate at this rate. so you pat his back lightly, “satoru, honey, wake up.”

he groans and buries his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling something along the lines of ‘five more minutes’.

not budging? then fine, you decide. you take as deep of a breath as you can then call for your kids, “who will help mama?!”

it’s quiet and you can feel satoru smirking against your skin. it looks like he won, but then a bunch of footsteps are heard and it’s your turn to smirk.

your husband lifts his head to glare at you—of course, not without sporting one of his famous pouts.

the door is then slammed open and your eldest son is there, “WHO DARES HURT OUR MAMA?!”

he gasps, very dramatically like a certain someone, and points at his dad, “PAPA?! you’re suffocating mama!”

“again?!” your daughter pops up from behind her brother, staring at her dad in disbelief.

they both stand beside your bed glaring at him and he glares back, the three of them forgetting why you called for your kids in the first place. so you do them a favor and remind them, “satoru…I AM GOING TO DIE LIKE THIS!”

satoru is pulled  back by his shirt and your kids take turns in—trying—to beat him up. you get up, greedily breathing air till you’re satisfied. you ignore the screams of your husband until you’re done with your morning routine.

luckily enough, when you got out of the bathroom, you found no one except your husband.

laying on the ground.

presumably dead.

with a bunch of drawings on his face and his hair contained with multiple hair bands.

you snap a picture of him very quickly then you sit on the ground next to his corpse. you poke his butt and he groans, making you giggle, “what happened to the strongest sorcerer?”

he turns towards you with a small frown, “his pretty wife didn’t kiss him good morning so he had no energy to fight,” his head snaps towards the two tiny figures giggling behind the door, “these monsters.”

they squeal and run away once again before he catches them.

you gently take the hair bands off, “you’re lucky that our youngest devil is still asleep,” you then smooth down his hair and pat his head, “I love the smiley faces on your cheeks.”

he whines and rests his head on your shoulder, “stop bullying me!”

you hum and stroke his hair, “you know, you did something pretty cute yesterday.”

“I am always cute; what’re you talking about?”

“you flirted with me, your wife, and said we would make ‘super cute!’ babies,” you reveal and satoru seems unbothered. in fact, he seems proud and very happy with himself so you continue, “so I had to remind you of our three little devils and then I showed you pictures.”

he stands up, posing all confidently, “what can I say? I excel at everything even being cute—“

“then you cried like a little baby when I showed you my picture post labor and kept apologizing.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @jisbizarre @kunikida-simp @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @wemma67 @nothisispatrick300

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[laursdomain]

world you consider an angsty one shot with percy ? maybe taking a blow meant for him and almost dying on the battlefield?

keep your eyes open

pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

genre: angst

synopsis: Being a demigod was hard. Monsters enjoyed being menaces, wanting to take every opportunity to try and kill demigods for whatever reason they had. Fighting them was one thing. Fighting alongside your boyfriend was another. But, monsters can’t help but become terrified of the son of Poseidon when they harm the one thing he truly loves—you.

warnings: established relationship, reader’s godly parent isn’t specified, reader is badass w a sword, mentions of injuries, near death experience, angry!percy, panic, happy ending!

w/c: 2.8k

ྀིpercy jackson masterlist

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Percy Jackson was sure the gods took pleasure in giving him quest after quest, sitting on the edge of their seats every time he nearly died and failed. He was also sure they were constantly placing bets behind Poseidon’s back, because he liked to believe his father would put an end to it if he knew. At least he hoped.

Percy’s sword felt heavy in his hand as he slashed through monsters, the wave of them seeming to never end. He was exhausted, having used a multitude of his powers, and there was no body of water in sight. Only the water that now soaks the ground. It would be enough to keep him alive, but not to survive this. Nonetheless, Percy surged forward, refusing to give in to his body’s tiredness. 

You watched him take on monster after monster, holding your breath as you kept praying that he would win against the herd of monsters. You were preoccupied yourself, dealing with your own crowd of dracaenae, the monsters desperate to kill you. You narrowed your eyes, lifting your own sword to guard your face as you dove head first into the crowd. 

Despite being on opposite ends of the battlefield, you and Percy practically fought side by side, killing your own designated herd of monsters. Though, yours wasn’t quite as large as Percy’s. And you most certainly weren’t running out of power. For once, you silently thank Charlie for practically forcing you to become well-equipped with your sword and hand-to-hand combat, utilizing that as your main weapon rather than your own powers.

“You will die,” the seventh dracaena spoke, tilting it’s ugly head at you.

You cock a brow, “you’re the seventh one to say that.” 

It hisses at you, baring it’s sharp teeth as it lunges, aiming straight for your neck. Out of pure instinct, you hurl the blade of your sword in front of you, cutting straight through the monster’s neck. You watch in satisfaction as it turns to dust, your imperial gold sword shining in the light. 

You hear a scream to your right, quickly snapping your head in it’s direction. Percy was still fighting the herd of monsters, and you could tell he was having trouble keeping up against them. You break into a run, pumping your legs as you close the large distance between the two of you. You start breaking through the crowd of monsters that were slowly sneaking up on him, slashing your sword in every direction as dust begins to surround you.

“Go back!” Percy shouts towards you, calling over his shoulder.

“I’m not leaving you! I’m fine,” you assure, turning towards another group of monsters. 

Percy, always a stubborn man, reluctantly listens. He knows he won’t be able to do it alone, and considering you’re the only one brave enough to stand by his side, as always, he lets you stay. He knows you can hold your own, and won’t do anything stupid like he always does.

Together, you two fight side by side, quickly decreasing the number of monsters in a matter of minutes. You were panting, sweat coating your body as your camp half-blood shirt sticks to your skin. It made you shiver, you hated the feeling of your shirt sticking to you. You pocketed the disgust away, focusing at the task at hand. Noticing no more monsters were coming your way, you turn back to Percy, becoming acutely aware of something.

You notice him before he notices you. The monster sneaks behind Percy, its deformed hand clutching an abandoned dagger. It’s hand begins to raise, ready to plunge the dagger into Percy’s back. You may be the intelligent one of the pair, but you don’t bother thinking as you rush forward, sliding in front of Percy just as the monster juts it’s dagger forward. The tip of the blade meets your abdomen, and you suddenly regret opting to wear armor. You cry out, the sound of your cry and your sword clattering against the ground making Percy instinctively snap his head around, instantly seeing you clutch the dagger that’s now sticking out of your body. 

Percy’s vision narrows, the only thing he could see was you, crying out in pain, and him. Any feeling of weakness immediately leaves Percy’s body, it instead is replaced by pure rage. Without blinking an eye, Percy throws riptide in the monster’s direction, killing it almost immediately. He catches your swaying body, holding you close to his chest as he kneels on the ground. 

You go to open your mouth—to scold Percy for leaving himself vulnerable with other monsters still on the field, but with a quick blurry glance behind him, you can see that they are all gone. Did he summon a sheer amount of power to simply make them vanish? You didn’t know, and you didn’t have it in you to properly think.

“I told you to go back,” Percy hisses, eyes frantic as he tries to think of a way to help you.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to manage the pain. It was no use. 

“Hey,” Percy’s hand finds the side of your face, “open your eyes, angel.”

You open your eyes, the sight of Percy’s sea-green eyes making you feel slightly better. You loved being in his arms, it made you feel safe, even if you currently had a dagger in your stomach.

“I need you to stay awake for me, I’m going to find Will.”

“Don’t leave,” you beg, hand gripping his sweaty shirt. “Please.”

Percy knows it’s too risky to move you with him, and he had no idea where Will Solace even was. He was probably at their makeshift base, which wasn’t too far—but he didn’t want to make your injury worse. He felt it was safer to bring Will to you, recalling Will’s words when he had brought an injured Annabeth during the Battle of Manhattan.

“Moving them makes it worse,” Will’s warm voice fills Percy’s senses as he desperately tried to make a decision. The more he waited, the worse it would get for you.

“Your wound will get worse if I move you. I have to get Will,” Percy soothed a hand over your hair, looking in your eyes, as if he’s committing it to memory.

“No,” your voice comes out weaker than you intended, and you see a flash of panic go through Percy’s eyes. 

Knowing how stubborn you can be, Percy decides to risk it. He’d rather you die in his arms than alone on the field. With newfound strength, he scoops you into his arms, lifting you as he starts the distance between him and base. He knew running would make it much worse, so he walked as quickly as he could while minimally moving you, using his long legs to his advantage.

His heart broke at the way you would whimper every time you got moved from his speed, the dagger pierced your body to the hilt. It took everything in you to not close your eyes and give in to the fuzzy feeling that surrounded your head like a blanket, while also trying to ignore the pain. The feeling of Percy’s arms under you grounded you, and with the strength you had leftover—you clutched onto his shirt, letting him know you were still with him.

Percy pushed any panicking thoughts out of his mind, he would make it in time. He had to. He refused to lose you just because you were too stubborn to leave him on the battlefield. Especially when he was reckless enough to not keep an eye on his back. Gods, he hated being a demigod. Your grip on his shirt kept him calm—knowing you had some strength left gave him the hope that you’d be okay. 

Percy’s heart jumped when he saw the familiar structure of the makeshift base they had produced when they arrived hours ago, before the battle begun. He looked down on you, his heart breaking at the sight of your paler skin and glassy eyes, barely holding on.

“We’re almost there, I promise,” he whispers to you, and you weakly nod in acknowledgment, not having the strength to speak. 

When had you gotten this weak? You didn’t realize the effects the wound had on your body until he spoke to you—you were too distracted in keeping a grip on him and pocketing your pain to notice. Still, you found the ability to at least nod at him, ignoring the metallic taste of blood that was rising in your throat.

Percy never really prays, not like other demigods. His father knows he loves him, and he knows his father loves him. During this walk, Percy prayed the most he has ever in his entire life to every god. His father, Apollo, even Zeus. He needed as much favor on his side, because Percy refused to lose you.

Grover sees his friend in the distance, eyes widening at your limp body in his arms. Without needing to hear his best friend’s voice, he opened the door, calling out to Will Solace as the blonde boy emerged from the tent. His eyes widened at your state from the distance, immediately grabbing his field medic kit as he ran towards the two of you.

“What happened?” He questioned, taking in your state.

“She took a dagger for me,” Percy answered. “And before you scold me, I know, she wouldn’t let me leave her to come get you.”

You barely registered Percy’s words, or the fact that Will Solace was standing next to you. All you were aware of was Percy’s presence beneath you, and you clung to it as if it’s your life-force.

“Get her in here,” Will lead the way, urgently making room for you to lay on a cot. “I know you want to be in here, but you have to leave.”

“But—“ Percy begins once he settles you on the cot.

“Percy.” Will gives him a look, and he knows the boy is right. Percy nods, dipping down to give you a quick kiss on the forehead as he leaves, praying to Apollo that you will live. 

Percy watches as Will’s siblings surround you, and the sight of you giving a small smile to him through the threshold is all he gets before the door is closed, leaving him with his thoughts. Grover comes behind him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as Percy breaks into a sob. Wordlessly, Grover pulls him into a hug, allowing his best friend to be vulnerable in this moment. Grover knows too well how Percy feels about you, and can only imagine what he’s feeling right now. Especially with how many people Percy has lost so far. The satyr was unsure if Percy would survive if you didn’t. 

Percy wasn’t sure when he ended up on the floor. Grover never left his side, sitting next to Percy against the wall as they waited for any news. The remaining demigods knew what was going on inside the makeshift infirmary, but said nothing. You were a beloved member of camp, and Percy knew he wouldn’t be the only one grieving if you didn’t survive. Everyone would. 

After what felt like eternity, Will emerges from the room, an unintelligible expression written on his face. Percy analyzed the expression, trying to figure out if it was good news or bad news. He comes up short, deciding on standing and removing the distance between himself and the son of Apollo. Grover scrambles up, following Percy. Grover nervously pulls on his fingers, fearing the worst.

“Well?” Percy furrows his brows, eyes widened. “What is it?” Percy swallows the lump in his throat, sending one final prayer before Will responds.

“She lost a lot of blood,” Will begins, running a hand through his disheveled curls. “But she’ll recover.”

Percy releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Grover places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, also relieved you were okay. “Can I see her?” Percy questions, even if Will said no, he would find a way into your room.

“Yes, but she’s sleeping.” Will answers, moving to the side as to let Percy through. 

Percy nods, stepping through the threshold and into the infirmary. Grover doesn’t follow, giving his best friend the space and privacy he knows he wants. Percy’s eyes immediately find your sleeping body, taking in your appearance. You still looked pale, but you had gained a little more color from the IV line that was connected to you. Your camp shirt had been cut in half, still covering your chest as he took in the large bandage that tightly wrapped around your abdomen. 

The son of Poseidon sits on the chair next to your cot, gingerly grabbing your hand as he holds it. He doesn’t want to wake you, or make you feel any sort of pain, so he’s careful with his movements. He doesn’t realize how sleep is slowly dragging him away from you, the adrenaline of todays events finally dissipating. He allows Hypnos to take him, falling into a deep sleep knowing you were alive. 

The smell of antiseptic and medicine slowly brings you out of your sleep, squeezing your eyes and you peel them open, adjusting to the bright light. From the smell, the annoyingly bright lights, and the uncomfortable cot—you immediately realize you’re in the infirmary. You scrunch your nose in confusion, before realization dawns on you—you were injured. 

Rolling your head to the left, you notice a couple of hand-picked flowers in a makeshift vase—the vase being an empty glass bottle—with a note leaning against it. From your favorite campers. You immediately recognized Connor Stoll’s handwriting, and you make a mental note to thank him later. Only Connor would hand-pick flowers and probably injured himself in the process.

When you roll your head to the other side, your heart melts at the sight of Percy sleeping in the chair next to you, lightly holding your hand. His black hair is tousled—either from pulling on it or sleeping—you weren’t sure. As always, he looked so peaceful sleeping, and you felt bad for wanting to wake him up. The want to see his sea-green eyes overruled everything, and you found yourself squeezing his hand, watching him slowly stir.

Percy wasn’t one to wake quickly. In fact, he was notoriously known for being a heavy sleeper and having the ability to sleep through anything and everything. But the moment he felt your hand squeezing his, he immediately snapped out of his dreamless sleep. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming that you had squeezed his hand, but once he snapped open his eyes and saw yours gazing back into his, he couldn’t help but feel so happy. 

He stood up, sitting on the edge of your bed, his hip lightly brushing yours. “How do you feel, angel?”

You hesitate for a moment, you couldn’t really feel anything. It must be the morphine Will had given you repetitively throughout your sleep—ensuring you were as comfortable as possible. You ignored the fuzzy feeling throughout your body, your entire focus was on Percy. 

“Numb,” you attempt to joke, but it falls short.

Percy offers a half-tipped smile, his sea-green eyes twinkling. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you whisper, interlocking your fingers with his.

“But,” he begins, and you know you’re in for one of Percy Jackson’s infamous lectures. “If you ever do something like that again, I’m never letting you have my mom’s cooking ever again.”

You gasp, feigning shock, though with the morphine in your body—you are genuinely shocked. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh yes I would,” he narrows his eyes at you, but they still hold the same mischievous glint you fell in love with.

You groan, “this is what I get for protecting my boyfriend?”

“Not when you almost died,” his hand comes up, smoothing back some of your hair. His thumb caresses your temple, and you sigh out at the contact. 

“Can we go home?”

He chuckles, “not until Will approves. I can go get him if you want.”

“No,” you respond. “Not yet. I want to stay like this for a little.”

Maybe it was the loopy feeling making you say these things, because Percy knows had you not had any medicine in your body, you’d be demanding him to get Will. No, you’d be getting him yourself. Secretly, Percy was perfectly content with staying like this with you for a little longer before getting Will. Simply being in each other’s presence. For once, he felt grateful for being a demigod, because he allowed himself to believe that the gods were in his favor for once. As long as you were breathing and alive, Percy was content with his life as a demigod. 

Percy dips down, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. You sigh out in content, nuzzling against his forehead once he rests his against yours. You two stay like that for a while, not until Percy goes and gets Will, too impatient to get you home to his comfortable bed.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

[milkbobatyun]

i'll do better, i swear

pairing: ayato x fem!reader

genre: angstober, events, angst with slight happy ending

summary: an arranged marriage between the kamisato family and your family, but the busy nature of being the head of the kamisato family keeps ayato away from you

word count: 1.8k

a/n: dont ask about where in the canon timeline this falls, idek myself. anyways, im just feeding those who enjoy arranged marriage troupes (myself) by writing this

the kimono restricted your breathing, obi tight around your waist. you stood beside your father, eyes trained on the floor beneath you, an ornament beside him.

pleasantries were exchanged between the head of the kamisato family and your father, while you stood silently. since birth, you had been trained to be the perfect wife, proficient in cooking, cleaning, brewing tea and needlework. it was beaten into you to remain quiet until spoken to, agree to everything your father or husband said, without question.

you knelt onto the cushion, hands placed in your lap, fingers trembling. the head of the kamisato family offered you a porcelain cup of tea, which you accepted with grace and a quiet word of gratitude.

the exchange continued around you, discussions of your marriage with ayato, son and heir of the kamisato family, as though you were a mere ghost. you quietly sipped at the tea, wincing inwardly at the bitter taste, mirroring the feeling inside your heart. the conversation ended when all the tea disappeared from the pot, the deep and unyielding voices of the men fading into exchanges of goodbye.

as you left the estate, you let a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. you had fulfilled your duty today, but the next time you came to the estate, it would be for your wedding.

the ceremony was grand, hiding the lack of love in your union of families. the wedding passed in a blur of noise and colour. bright silks, glittering jewels, and ceremonial incense that filled the air like a fog, concealing the truth. you felt like a marionette on a string, pulled from place to place by bustling servants, their hurried gestures dictating your every move. this was only a union of houses, not hearts and no amount of jewellery or grandeur could hide that.

your only companions the sweet younger sister of ayato and his faithful servant, thoma. you were grateful for their presence, keeping you grounded in the chaos. even after the wedding, they stuck true to you.

as the lady of the house, you attended to your duties diligently, from directing the household staff to overseeing the preparations of ceremonies. more often than not, you found yourself sitting in the sunlight of the patio, a pair of scissors in hand, trimming and replacing the wilting flowers, decorating the cold vases. petals fell like delicate fragments of your own sorrow. while you replaced them, you wondered if you were just like these flowers—-ornaments to be seen.

the busy nature of your husband’s work limited his time spent with you. you didn’t blame him, you understood the weight of his position, however his absence was a knife in your heart, a wound that never seemed to heal. the vases were like the halls of the house, beautifully decorated, but cold.

ayaka and thoma could only watch you with pity, the forgotten and unwanted lady of the kamisato house. they noticed how your hands would slow, becoming lost in thought, scissors dangling from your hands as you stared up at the sky, watching the birds in envy. 

they longed to speak to you about it, but the silence was too heavy, too suffocating to break.

the chirpiness of cicadas faded, the end of summer near. leaves turned from vibrant green to a multitude of warm colours, sunset painted across the leaves of the trees. winter came in a flurry of snow and cold air, while spring’s short warmth was quickly replaced by the heat of summer.

without you realising, a year had passed and your wedding anniversary was nearing.

in that year, you were lucky if you could catch a glimpse of him leaving, as he slipped on his shoes to leave the house.

despite that, you had endeavoured to make your first year anniversary special. accompanied by thoma, the two of you wandered the streets of inazuma, picking out the best produce while thoma filled the air with pleasant conversation. you found yourself smiling and laughing along, heart light with cheer.

once you arrived at home, ayaka helped you prepare the feast, the pair of you bustling around the kitchen in practiced movement, like two elegant dancers, prancing around the kitchen to the rhythm of clinking utensils and bubbling pots. perhaps this dinner would bring the two of you closer.

the candles burned brightly like your hope, the only source of light in the dim room. the sun had set hours ago, the moonlight brightening the night sky. you sat patiently, ignoring the tingling of your legs, folded neatly underneath you.

as the night deepened, your eyelids began drooping, head bobbling as you fought to stay awake. the candles flickered, the wax dripping down the length of the candle.

a creak of the wooden plank startled you awake, your heart ablaze with hope. but it was only ayaka, her heart breaking at the look of hope on your face. she shook her head, watching you with pity as she watched your face crumple in disappointment. tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, sniffles filling the room.

the candles flickered weakly, their flames dimming, like your hope.

you plastered on your mask, a smile pasted onto your face. ayaka couldn’t bear to see you like this. to her, you were like the kind, gentle, elder sister she had always wanted. you quickly became someone ayaka looked up to. you listened to her talk and ramble about her problems and thoughts, she wanted to do the same. she wanted to be someone who you could open up to, someone who didn’t judge. now, she sat helpless, watching the cracks in your mask form and widen.

with quick strides, she crossed the room, engulfing you in a tight hug. surprise flitted across your face, before you embraced her tightly, tears leaking from your eyes. ayaka’s actions comforted you, her simple action breaking a hole in the high walls you put up.

like a dam breaking, you sobbed, words flowing out of your mouth, words that you had been taught from a young age should be kept hidden inside. women should only talk about the good things, the positives. talk of the negative feelings, the burdens you have, and you’ll become ugly, your tutor had scared you.

you took the opportunity of the sake placed on the table, pouring yourself endless cups, drinking away the sorrow. before long, the world took on a fuzzy haze, your face warm and your tongue slurring.

in your drunk stupor, you engaged in rare ‘girl talk’ with ayaka.

“you know,” you slurred, voice blending, head drooping. “as a child, i dreamed of receiving flowers from someone.” your voice trailed off, descending into silence.

just as ayaka was becoming worried about the lack of noise from you, the stillness was broken by soft snores. you had fallen asleep, dreaming of a life where you had affection and love. quietly chuckling, ayaka thought about how cute this scene was. your body slumping slightly, expression peaceful in the haze of exhaustion and alcohol.

despite the heaviness of the night, your relaxed and vulnerable figure warmed her heart. you looked so small and fragile in the large empty room, illuminated by the moonlight.

the shoji door slid open with a gentle swish, ayato’s tall figure framing the doorway. his hair was loosening from its neat ponytail, ink staining his fingers.

“sister.” he breathed quietly in greeting. “thoma reminded me what date today was.”

his sister’s sharp and disapproving glare made him flinch, guilt evident on his features. with measured steps, ayato entered the room, his gaze falling on your slumped form, a flicker of something flashed across his face.

ayaka’s eyes flitted between you and ayato, a complex mix of emotions swelling in her chest. relief, combined with frustration and disappointment.

“brother,” ayaka’s soft voice broke the silence, a quiet plea tinging her voice. “please, lady [name] deserves better than how you’re treating her.” a sigh falls from ayaka’s lips. “at least try to spare some time, or send a letter home when you don’t have the time, so she doesn’t have to wait like this.”

ayato stilled, the weight of ayaka’s quiet reprimand heavy on his shoulders, impossible to ignore and piercing through the composed facade he had grown so used to wearing.

“i…” ayato’s voice faltered, struggling to find the right words. in matters of state, he had always had a quick mind, ready to negotiate treaties and settle disputes, yet now, the words slipped through his fingers like sand.

“it was not my intention to neglect her,” ayato admitted, eyes downcast. “but i realise now…”

ayaka’s eyes softened as she looked at her brother. “make amends, ayato. she’s been waiting for you, tonight especially—” she gestures to the untouched food, laying on the table, the melting candles, “—she had hoped…”

ayaka is cut off when her brother’s arm shoots out, catching your head before it can hit the table. gently, he leans your head on his shoulder, the faint scent of sake clinging to you. in your sleep, you stirred, but remain lost in the dreams of a life filled with tenderness and love.

“i will try,” ayato promised, his face set with determination. “you will watch me, and you will be proud.”

for a long while, the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of the evening breeze. ayaka watched her brother in silence, hoping that this time, he would stay true to his promise.

ayato cradled your form, the soft rise and fall of your breathing a sharp contrast to his inner turmoil. his heart clenched as he imagined the hope you must have carried, waiting for him, as the hours slipped by.

ayaka studied her brother’s face, noticing the burden of regret etched into his features. ayato had always been a man of responsibility, maybe this time his duties would extend to you, his wife.

with tender care, ayato picked you up, carrying you to your room. he was startled when he felt his clothing grow wet, quiet sniffles filling the air. you were crying in your sleep.

gently, ayato set you down on your bed, as though afraid you might shatter if he placed you down too hard. he covered your figure with the luscious silk blankets, brushing away your tears with his hand. despite all the duties that were waiting for him, ayato stayed for a few more hours, 

a few days later, as you sit on the patio, watching the koi fish, thoma approaches you, hands hidden behind his back.

“m’lady,” thoma breaks into your thoughts, voice hesitant. “these are for you, from my lord.”

in his hands is a stunning bouquet of native inazuman flowers, mixed with your favourite flowers, carefully selected and curated with love.

perhaps, just perhaps, things were beginning to change.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[infiniteimaginings]

Could you write some angsty Anthony bridgerton x wife reader. Maybe he took his anger out on her cus he was stressed or something.💋😭😫🩷

A Loving Marriage (Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Anthony had married you, he adored you during your courtship. He showed his affections through floral arrangements, joyous laughter, your dance card always had his name first. When he married you though, some things changed. He would be warm, but it slowly dimmed. He was always in his office, he never spoke to you, why does he do so? Pronouns: You/Yours, She/Her Warnings: Angst Word Count: 4.0k A/N: I love angst, I love it! I looked at this request three times, midnight struck, and I turned into a writing goblin.

It had been a nice day, you had finally drawn your husband, Anthony Bridgerton, out of the house to have a delightful picnic with you. The two of you were discussing anything but pressing matters, laughing, eating the small sandwiches, drinking the sweet but tart lemonade. Occasionally your fingers would touch, a burst of energy escaping into your bodies until your fingers interlocked, accepting the warmth with open arms.

The sun was shining brightly, the clouds perfect white and fluffed into shapes the two of you pointed out and playfully teased each other for. The slight tilt of his head when you spoke of a cloud being shaped as one thing, his squinted eyes and scrunched nose were all that mattered to you. The way the sun kissed his skin and a few freckles had come to light, it was so beautiful to you, he was so beautiful.

When Anthony turned his gaze to you from the heavily brightened sky, the corners of his eyes crinkled with the smile he gave you. His toothy grin was matched with him asking, “What is it?” You paid no mind to the question, simply smiling at your husband, your heart warming as you stared at him in adoration. You shook your head, “I just love you.” You told him, the comment making him smile wide, his teeth showing in his grin. The day was beautiful, and neither of you could deny that fact. To make the day even more beautiful, flowers were spread around your blanket on the ground, showing proof of spring.

You began to ramble a bit about the newest items you saw in the shop, Anthony just listening with loving eyes. A bee had hummed and buzzed as it circled around your head, when Anthony noticed he straightened up, his eyes widening a bit in fear. He went to move the dreadful creature from you but the bee had found its attention with him instead, buzzing around his head. Anthony had fallen still, horrified.

Anthony had just returned from shooting with his father, Edmund Bridgerton. The elder man had clasped his shoulder, telling him that in due time he will be able to show someone his best. He gave him a truthfully meaningful message about having to show someone your worst before you can show them your best, but the message didn’t stay in Anthonys head very long.

The elder had noticed a group of vibrant purple Hyacinths within their gardens, his wife's favorite flower. He decided to pick the flowers with a hum, expressing how Anthonys mother would love them. The younger boy laughed and began to pick a few himself, his father standing up, swatting a very persistent bee, Anthony shaking his head playfully. He expressed how his younger sister would be quite jealous until he noticed his father had not responded.

”Father?” Anthony spoke, turning to Edmund, the man was touching his neck. “The bloody thing stung me.” He told his son, moving his hand a bit with a twitch of his mouth. A bee sting didn’t mean much, so Anthony nodded and continued to pick a few flowers until his father began to gasp for breaths. Anthony stood, walking to Edmund, “Father, what is it?” He asked, and that question would be repeated a multitude of times with no verbal response.

Edmund Bridgerton had turned to his son, a bright red patch on his neck where the bee stung him, his face extremely pale, his eyes almost black as he struggled to breathe. Anthony watched his father struggle for air and collapse into his arms. He couldn’t even hear when he yelled for someone to help, he didn’t even hear when his pregnant mother, Violet Bridgerton, had come running down the small hill after seeing them through the open door in the back of their home.

Everything happened so fast and all Anthony could process was his father reaching up to cup his mothers cheek one last time, before his hand fell and the light left his eyes. Edmund Bridgerton died that day, Violet Bridgerton became a widow that day, he and his siblings lost their father that day.

Anthony was abruptly snapped out of his thoughts when you swatted the bee away mindlessly. You hummed with a breathless chuckle, “You know it’s spring when the bees are out.” you spoke, looking in the basket for another small snack, unaware of the daze Anthony had just been in. He blinked a bit, looking around as he deeply inhaled, trying not to ruin your nice moment. He clapped his hands to his knees, “Well then.” He began, “I think I have some paperwork to attend to.” He told you, standing up and brushing himself off. You looked up rather quickly from your spot on the blanket, “Can’t it wait? We were having such a nice time.” You said, pouting ever so slightly.

He shook his head, leaning down to you, pressing his lips to yours in a short kiss. “Unfortunately it can not, enjoy the rest of the picnic.” He spoke hastily, walking back into the home, leaving you alone to watch the sky.

Days had passed, Anthony had not joined you again for a picnic, nor had he joined you for any sort of meal after that day. You didn’t understand why he felt the need to lock himself in his office, what was so interesting about paperwork he could tend to at any time? You were worried for him, you knew the footmen in the household brought him food, you just weren’t sure if he ate any of it.

With that, you decided to pay your husband a visit. You dismissed the footman at the door and simply knocked, a muffled ‘Come in’ came from the other side of the door. You gently opened it, smiling sweetly at Anthony who looked up at you, expressionless. You closed the door behind you, observing your surroundings and your husband who sat behind a desk, papers piling it. He looked like he hadn’t slept, if he had then he looked like her hadn’t slept well.

You walked to him, slow steps, the heels of your shoes sounding muffled as they clicked upon the polished floors. “You’ve locked yourself away.” You told him, standing in front of his desk, fingers twiddling in front of you. Anthony kept his eyes on you, quill pen in hands, plenty of papers around that needed signatures. He cleared his throat, “Well, some matter can not be left.” He told you simply, head looking back down to his work.

You walked around the desk, hands smoothing along his shoulders, he tensed more than relaxed. “You need a break.” You hummed to him, gently pressing your hands into the blades of his shoulders. Anthony leaned his head back into the chair, sighing, “I’m sorry my love, I just have so much work to do.” He told you with closed eyes, his mouth in a frown. Your expression mirrored his and you turned his chair a bit, taking his hands in yours. “We should go to town, go for a walk.” You suggested, “Maybe we could pick some flowers and visit your family.” You continued on, hands holding his slightly larger ones in yours.

You saying that seemed to invoke some sort of reaction from your husband, he removed his hands from you, “No.” He spoke harshly, turning back to the papers. You huffed, trying to get him to look at you, he wouldn’t budge. “Why do you refuse to spend time with me? Is your paperwork that important?” You pressed on, standing at his side, pure disbelief on your face.

Anthony put his clenched fists on the desk, “Yes, it is!” He spoke loudly, not looking at you. “You are interrupting very pressing matters, so go.” He told you, head turning to you ever so slightly, one hand raised to point to the door.

The outburst had shocked you, you stood there with a hand to your chest, a frown on your face, tears threatening to prick your eyes. “Anthony I merely hoped…” You began, trying to find the words, instead you found yourself stumbling over them. Anthony shook his head, hand to his temple as he looked back down to the papers, “I care not for your wishes, leave!” HeYou stood up straight, swallowing harshly with a small sniffle. You bowed your head to him, “Of course Mr. Bridgerton.”You spoke, walking out the room, hands clasped together and head held high as you left him alone to his work.

Anthony had not come to the bedroom that night and you had not visited his office for the rest of the day. Neither of you had come down for dinner, eating respectively in separate rooms.

The next day, mid afternoon, you walked into the office area with a tea tray. Typically, a maid would bring it in for you, but you had seemed to reject the idea and believed you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself. Anthony had heard the sound of the door opening, no knock, no announcement. He looked up and saw you setting the tea tray on the low table in front of the seats in the office. The tray had two teacups and saucers, a teapot with freshly brewed tea, a sugar bowl, a milk jug, and a strainer. All of which were porcelain with multicolored, delicately painted flowers and the Bridgerton name along the side.

Anthony sighed deeply, he didn’t look irritated, he just looked tired. “ Did I not tell you to leave me be?” He asked since you had not greeted him. You didn’t look at him as you prepared your cup of tea, “That is such a way to speak to your wife Mr. Bridgerton.” You spoke sarcastically, stirring in your sugar and taking a small sip to see if it were to your tastes. A warm smile formed on your face after you drank the warm liquid, sitting comfortably in the chair a little ways across from Anthony's desk, a table in the way of you being directly in front of his desk.

Anthony clasped his hands together, elbows on the desk, “What are you doing?” He asked, lips pursed. You placed your cup on the saucer, “If you truly believe I will let you sit in this office and rot,” You spoke, finally looking at him, “you are gravely mistaken.” You told him, expressionless. Anthony tilted his head to the side, he didn’t believe he was ‘rotting’ in the office space, but he couldn’t speak since you beat him to it. “I shall remain here and tend to you until you see fit to conduct yourself as a gentleman.” You stated, hands in your lap, straightening your posture, “Or to put sourly,” You began, “an adult.”

“Do not treat me like a child.” Anthony told you, hands dropping back to the desk, no movement towards the quills.

“Then do not act like one.”

“What has prompted this?”

You pretend to think for a moment, pulling up your hand to count, “Your blatant disregard for your wife in your own home,” You spoke as you put up a finger, “your refusal to acknowledge her presence or engage with her” you continued, putting another finger up, “or even talk to her.” You finished, putting up the last finger, slightly glaring at him.

There was silence from Anthony as he bit the inside of his cheek, twitching his nose. Due to the silence, you continued to speak, “I vowed to cherish and support you through all, but I will not endure your silence.” You explained, shaking your head a bit with your words. Anthony sighed, moving a few papers out of his way, “You are aware that traditionally wives do not-”

“You did not marry me due to my traditional nature.”

There was more silence from your husband until he ran a hand through his hair. “You will not leave until I discuss ill with you?” He asked, seeming to be contemplating the idea that he just spoke into existence. You nodded, “Precisely.”

“Very well, let’s discuss ills.”

The Bridgerton man stood from his desk and strode to sit next to you. You gestured to the tea and he shook his head, leaning forward, clasping his hands. His leg shook and tapped the floor as he struggled to find the words, “My fathers death left my mother heartbroken, she never remarried.” He spoke suddenly. The words confused you a bit, was that why he had been so closed off? You turned to him fully, crossing your leg over the other, “Your mothers strength,” You began, taking a breath, “is commendable.” You commented, the Brdigerton in front of you chose not to look at you but he nodded. “She said her love for your father was true and her devotion for your father lies strong.” You continued on, thinking about the older woman and how powerful she was for standing strong for her children. “She does not need to marry if she does not wish to.” You completed your thought at his words about his mother.

Anthony put his hands on his knees, straightening himself. He sucked his teeth, “I understand that,” He told you, “but you do not understand how she flinches when they refer to her as Dowager.” He continued on.

At parties they would announce Violet Bridgerton as Dowager VIscountess Bridgerton, and they have for the many years since Edmund Bridgerton had passed.

“My mother remains a widow.” Anthony continued, voice slightly cracking when he thought about the way his mothers hand would tighten around his arm when someone greeted her as ‘Dowager’.

You nodded in understanding, no matter how strong Violet was, it still hurt. You just didn’t process why that caused him to pull from you. “Nevertheless, I am not,” You told him, the words causing him to look put his face in his hands, “hence my lack of understanding of your coldness and sudden refusal to be with me.” You spoke, staring right at him, hands in your lap picking at your nails.

“What if you find yourself a widow?” Anthony asked suddenly, now fully turned to you.

“Pardon me?” You asked blankly, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted.

“What if you find yourself to be a widow?” He repeated, slightly differently.

“If you suspect you may act recklessly, you must inform me at once." You told him cautiously, hand moving towards him, but he pulled back. "My father's passing was but a consequence of being outdoors.” He stated blankly, eyes staring forward, distantly. He never talked about his father's death, it wasn’t a topic he was very open about. “He committed no recklessness, yet the heavens saw fit to claim him.” Anthony's hands were beginning to shake before he clenched them into fists, “A virtuous man, struck down."

“Anthony-”

“What if I do not live a graciously long life?” He asked, head snapping to you, “What if I meet my end, just as young as my father?” He asked another question that you had no answer to other than, “Anthony you will live a long life-”

He stood abruptly, face red, eyes watering, “How could you possibly know that!” He yelled at you, “You do not!” He continued to yell, face such an angry red it almost scared you. He didn’t seem angry though, his eyes were filled with fear, he was scared. You did not expect him to yell or be so emotional, it hurt you deep in your heart to see him look so terrified about what could happen.

Anthony began to pace, hands in his hair and desperately pulling at his collar. “I didn’t even wish to marry,” He told you, seemingly muttering to himself. “I feared leaving my wife alone, especially if we were to have children.” He continued, not gazing at you at all.

You stood, slowly walking to him, “Yet, here you continue to stand,” You said, “alive,and wed.” You reminded him, concern flowing through you as he paced.

He stopped walking, looking at the wedding ring on his finger. “My mother was left with eight children to raise alone.” He mumbled, having to clear his throat from how low he was speaking. “I, the eldest, lost my father when I was eighteen left to carry his title and responsibility.” He spoke to you, reminding himself of all the information he didn’t know when he was eighteen and how he had to figure it all out, how he had to be the man of the house at such a young age. “I do not wish for you and our future child to endure the same fate.”

You were quiet, “Then why did you marry me?” You whispered, your expression was slightly crinkled but you were listening. Anthony had turned to you, a soft but sad expression on his face. He gently held your hands, looking into your eyes. “My affection for you was undeniable.” He confessed, cupping one of your cheeks with his large hand, a bit of sweat dripping down his forehead from being so worked up. “It was so difficult to be inexplicably in love with you and watch for you to have other suitors.” He continued, drawing a breath, “I was drawn to you, as a moth to flame.”

You licked your lips, “Yet, you still harbor fears of leaving me-”

“The responsibility of children and a title you cannot shed unless you remarry.” He interrupted you, thumbs rubbing at your cheeks. He looked at you desperately, desperate for you to understand how he was feeling, but you could not. “Which I have no intention to do.” You retorted to his comment, he is the only man you believe you’ll ever love and nothing will change that.

Anthony nodded, dropping his hands from your face. He remembered how he wasn’t there for his mother, for his family sometimes. “I acknowledge that I was a challenge to deal with for my mother.” He spoke, and you were aware of such things. He had admitted these feats to you during your courtship, during small corners of vulnerability. “I just do not wish for you to face similar struggles alone.” He finished his thought, ultimately refusing to meet your gaze as he found the bookcases to be far more interesting.

You shook your head, “She did not endure it alone.” You stated matter-of-factly. Anthony looked up, eyes blinking in confusion, “What?” He asked you, so you continued. “Your mother, she had you, she had Benedict, Colin, Daphne. All of her children were her solace and support.” You expressed to him, reminding him of all of his siblings. They all had each other, they were all her shoulder to cry on just as she was theirs.

Anthony sighed for the thousandth time within that conversation, “We were not easy children.” He told you. Eloise didn’t wish to marry, he had been such a terrible man of the house in the beginning, Benedict did not wish for the responsibility, Colin rushed into things too quickly, Daphne had so much going on when she was named the diamond of the season, his younger siblings couldn’t even fathom the world they were in.

“No child ever is.” You told him simply, holding his hand gently. This time, he did not pull away.

You smiled at him, kissing his cheek gently and pulling back to look him into his eyes. “Now,” You started, letting out the puff of air that was compressing your chest the entire conversation. “I’d prefer if we do not speak the subject of your demise as if it were to greet us at dawn.” You told him, the comment causing him to chuckle a bit, holding your hand a little tighter. “You will come down for dinner and we will enjoy a meal together.” You told him and he nodded, “I will be down in a moment, I shall see the papers are put away first.” He spoke, looking around to all the papers scattered on his desk and some even on the floor.

You left him to the papers and asked your maid to get dinner started, the woman asking if there were any preferences you wanted. The door had closed and Anthony was soon left alone.

Once the door had closed Anthony had begun to gasp for breath, unbuttoning the top of his shirt for air. His chest began to have as he leaned against the door, tears filling his eyes. He furiously wiped at them, trying so hard to push them back but he couldn’t stop them when a choked sob left his lips. His hands were shaking when they reached his face to wipe at his eyes hurriedly. The topic of conversation was difficult, you were so sure that the two of you would grow old together with your children, that you would not have to worry about being a widow, but Anthony was not so sure.

Everyday he saw a little bit of his father in himself and it terrified him. Such a good man was taken from the world by something as simple as a bee and it scared Anthony of everything around him. Sure, before he was not scared of death, even going as far as to call for a duel where he was prepared to die for his sister's honor. But now, he had you, and he did not wish to leave you.

Anthony shakily clasped his hands in a prayer, praying for all the time in the world to be with you. Praying for more time than his father had, praying for a chance. He muttered small prayers, “Please, I just wish to be with her, I will never ask for anything else.” He cried out quietly, eyes closed, tears pouring from his eyes. “I just want time, time with her, please.” He begged quietly, his prayers in reflection to how lonely he saw his mother was. She had so many children but he knew that his mother wished for his father to be there to help her everyday.

A knock had sounded at the door, the noise caused Anthony to stand quickly and rush to the other side of the room with documents, back to the door. He cleared his throat, sniffling one last time, “Enter.” He spoke, the door opening.

“Lord Bridgerton, dinner is served.” A footman had announced, standing in the doorway.

Anthony put the documents away, wiping his tears without the man noticing. “I shall be there in just a moment's time.” He told the man, putting some documents into the drawers. The man nodded and closed the door, going to inform you of the comment.

The door closed once more and Anthony felt his legs were so weak that he had almost collapsed into the furniture. One of his hands gripped the edge of the drawer, the other clawing at his chest. He felt as if every time he took a breath his chest would tighten, he felt nauseous, dizzy. The room was spinning and his vision was blurry from his tears. It almost seemed as if he were dying, but he was not, everything felt like so much but nothing was happening.

It all felt like too much.

He tried to take a few more deep breaths, the pain ceasing and his vision returning back to normal. He slowly exhaled, blinking and wiping his tears. He clenched his jaw as he stood up straight, muttering some words of ‘man of the house’, ‘loving husband’, ‘time’. He couldn't connect the words even if he tried, all he knew was that he was going to dinner.

All he knew was that his father's words rang in his head, but he kept shaking them from his mind. “You cannot show someone your best without allowing them to see your worst.” If only his father had told him how difficult it was to show someone your worst. How frightening it was to show true vulnerability, to find the words to explain feelings you don’t even understand fully yourself.

[no-144444]

fulfilled- m.verstappen

summary: max reflects on his life.

pairing: dad! max verstappen x fem! wife! mom! reader

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The soft light of the rising sun peeked its way under the blinds of your shared bedroom as Max stirred awake. He yawned, knowing he could stay in bed a little longer, but also knowing that any moment, 2 toddlers would run in and wake the two of you up, and you deserved a bit more sleep. He quietly left your room to find his two sons, just outside the door, ready to pounce. They jumped on their father, wishing him a good morning as he chuckled, picking the both of them up. 

“Can we have pancakes for breakfast dad?” Arthur asked, pulling on his t-shirt. 

“No! We should have waffles!” Quinn argued. Those two were twins, but couldn’t be more opposite. Arthur was the quiet, polite, kind child, whereas Quinn was the crazy, funny, sweetheart. 

“What about both?” he offered, and they both nodded, a multitude of ‘thank you’s’ on their lips. 

As they walked to the kitchen and Max placed them down on the counter, giving them clear instructions to measure out the dry ingredients, Layla walked out from her room. 

“Dad!” she cheered, hugging his legs. Layla was 8. The boys were 6. Max couldn’t believe his life. He’d left F1 8 whole years ago, and he couldn’t have made a better decision. He adored being around all the time for the kids. He loved walking them to school, planning playdates with his dad friends, teaching them all about life through his lens. Honestly, he’d been terrified when he found out you were pregnant the first time. You two had been married for 2 years, but you hadn’t spoken about when you wanted to have kids. When you came to him with 3 positive pregnancy tests, teary eyes, and a growing fear, he had no other choice than to step up and comfort you. In those moments, he found himself telling you that he was scared too, but you two would do it together. The next few months had been hard. The 2024 season had been hard in general. Finding out you were pregnant halfway through was harder. As the months went on and he quit F1, he felt himself becoming increasingly nervous. He was scared. What if he would be just like his father? What if he didn’t know what to do? What would happen then? What if you left him because he couldn’t do it?

But you made all of those thoughts go away, promising him that he would be brilliant, that he was the most caring person you knew, and that the way you already loved your child was a testament to that. He’d given up his racing career to be there, he had to realise how big of a sacrifice that was, right? 

Now here he was, making his children waffles and pancakes on a Saturday morning while his wife lay in bed, getting some more rest. 

And he was happy. He was fulfilled. 

He smiled as the twins bickered over a measurement, and Layla was busy sitting on the counter explaining the newest drama of her friend group. 

When he was younger, he really questioned what he was meant to be. As much as he was an exceptional racer, he’d never felt truly satisfied, whereas he knew others who were satisfied after they won their first title. 

It all clicked the day Layla was born. He wasn’t meant to be a racer. He was meant to be a dad.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[neodymiumcuilz]

Please don't let me down, I need your help 🙏 My campaign is very weak 😭

Hello,

My name is Abdulrahman, and I live in Gaza.

The war has devastated our lives, and we've lost everything.

My friends, we need your support to help us face these challenges and rebuild what's been lost.

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A small donation of $10 or more can make a big difference 🙏🍉🇵🇸. I hope you'll donate.

SHARED BY @el-shab-hussein AND NUMBER 67 ON THE LIST!!

Hello everyone, I hope Palestinian lives still matter to you, I hope you still care and I hope you will not treat their suffering as a trend. I hope you are compelled to help them, which you can do in a multitude of ways.

The best and preferred way of support is via donating, the most important way of supporting a campaign. If you have any means of transferring money (WHICH MOST OF YALL DO) you should be well able to donate. What you may spend on a coffee or something can really help a family out. Your donation is never worthless.

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"A Plea for Assistance from GazaMy name is Mohammed kouffa, a 59-year-old resident of Gaza. I have a family of eight, including my son Moamen, 28, who dreams of securing a decent job, and Abdulrahman, 23, a recent graduate who hopes to pursue further studies. Shahd, my 19-year-old daughter, is a determined student striving to complete her education. I also have two married daughters whose homes were bombed, forcing them, along with their husbands and children, to live in tents."

[yaymiyas]

THE TALK

warning: yandere!isekai!crown prince, he is very mean in this, female reader

a/n: this is TECHNICALLY not a part two to the introduction but it sort of is….. it jumps from the conversation to the breakfast……..enjoy! ALSO ALSO ALSOOOOOOOO technically its female reader bc you got reincarnated blah blah

looking at the fragments of bacon he didnt want to eat, he let his fingers drum against the edge of the white plate. the fact that you, the daughter of a whore, lover to none, and nuisance to all, was right beside him made his food hard to swallow. the two of you sat in the dining room, and while he sat at the very end of the table with his back facing the door to the kitchen, your usual spot would be that of the opposite side. right across from him, back facing the entering door, but it seems after the poison didn’t hit quite deep enough in your veins, it did affect your brain because, for some reason, you thought it was brilliant to sit directly next to him. you weren’t as talkative as he would have thought of you, ever since you have learned of the activities he had decided to partake in, you started to demand his attention. at first, it didnt bother him much, since he himself started to believe that he was focusing solely on gracie that your suspicions were bound to grow, and grow they did.

for weeks, months, up until the poisoning you were all up on him. he was certain that you were attempting to skin him alive and wear him as a coat it was all mildly unpleasant but more irritating. saer never had a taste for you; rather, he actually hated you. to no one’s fault but his own fathers, he was forced to marry you out of pregnant promises. your father, sir tudor, wasn’t the poorest dope saer’s father has ever seen, but he was the loyalist. he worked on the gwynn estate, doing a multitude of things for the family, automatically gaining the trust of the duke and then the king himself. at the time, king gwynn was more fascinated with how a man with such little knowledge could become his most loyalist man, but that he did. following the pregnancy of both the queen and your mother, he decided that the best course of action was to marry his second unborn son off to the unborn daughter of a freeloader.

an icy shiver runs down saer’s back, forcing him to shake his shoulders and head. looking up from your half eaten plate, raising your head to the sudden movement. he was quiet the whole time, poking at the small slivers of bacon like they were the nastiest things on earth. you werent surprised that he wasnt talking; no, you were actually relieved. it wasn’t because he wasnt attractive or anything, he certainly does look like the main lead; its just the talk you had prior to the breakfast that was replaying in your head. cynthia and amanda didn’t give you much information, since, from the looks of it, they didn’t want to say too much. either their heads were on the line or yours were. you never thought about asking tily, even though she was the one that brought you down here. it just felt too weird knowing she was the one who weirdly had something against you. from your fading memories of ‘obsession falls’, you remember reading online forums and tweets about the whole thing. it seemed like the only real crime edina committed throughout the whole book was wanting her husband to love her. she did everything he had asked of her, from the way she talked to her style of clothing, even to what letters she can reply to. in olden standards, she seemed like the perfect obedient wife. this might have been your first mistake, but you didn’t read too much on saer or his backstory, so you never really understood the reasoning for his hatred of his wife, but you knew it was deep and it was boiling.

clearing your throat, you believed it was a better time than ever to clear the air and get to your point. you never understood why edina allowed things to get as deep as they were, but she was made just to be killed. it sucks that no matter what you do or say, saer will always hate you because you are edina.

“saer,”

“ae.”

that stupid nickname. shutting your eyes tightly and fighting back against any light to seep through, you sighed heavily. the whole time, saer had been watching you carefully. even though it was from the corner of his eyes, he was indeed trying to calculate your next moves. it was kind of silly that your sudden change in physical response is making him antsy, but how can anyone fault him? the last time the air-headed cunt decided to change the way she was reacting, gracie was suddenly engaged to alastair and smiling in his face about it. it was enraging. other than the fact that you were in his life to begin with, knowing that the reason he couldn’t slit the throat of his ex best friend was all because you decided to breathe. those two minutes were the longest two minutes of his life. he watched as your head dropped down on the table, making a very sudden and loud noise with it. saer had sternly told any and all servants to leave the two of you be if any loud, disruptive noises were heard. he even double checked that he sent your nosey maids, cynthia and amanda, home around that time. he knew that if they were present in the building, you weren’t going to eat that poison.

it was infuriating to watch them care about someone as lowly as you. not just them, anyone. reading gracie’s letters, asking how you’ve been and to see you before she even utters a word about him, was beyond hurtful. it felt as if his whole world was falling apart, all because you decided to have superpowers and not die. this was the only way to get back at you. he has tried strangling you. he has tried slaying you. each attempt was caught by either maid, cynthia, or amanda. it made him sick to see you get dotted on. seeing the frilly outfits they were making you wear, as if you were a porcelain doll not worth anybody’s touch. you were disgusting. a disgusting being that deserved to die. so why. why were you here? why were you looking at him like he had done something wrong. 

“enough with the causalities, i would like a divorce saer.”

[eyesthecolorofarson]

Soul healing

Damian was angry.

He was one of their best fighters, knew the layout of Arkham like the back of his hand, AND was on good terms with both Riddler and Ivy! Why wasn’t he allowed to help in the breakout? What was the point of making him babysit!?!

Father had said he was to keep the child safe but he’d neglected to say why. And honestly, the child was three months old. Who would be hunting down an infant, why would they be hunting down an infant, and what would they do with an infant? If anyone was after the child, that is.

The infant in question was babbling incoherently and rolling around on her stomach. She squealed and he huffed. All he knew about her was the information in her file, which was surprisingly little. Three months old, no name and orphaned, she was of Brazilian heritage and her blood tests located her place of origin as Blüdhaven. She was moved to Gotham to be fostered, which is one of the stupidest decisions he’s ever heard of.

The foster parent in question was Daniel ‘Danny’ Nightingale. Nightingale showed incredible intelligence, graduating upper primary school two years early and high school in two. Currently a student at Gotham University Nightingale was double majoring in chemistry and aerospace engineering when he decided to apply for a New Jersey foster license, which he was given due to already having one in both Wisconsin and Ohio as well as his incredible record.

Nightingale was in the room with him and the infant. He was 14 years of age and had short black hair much like himself, but Nightingale was disturbingly pale and had almost ultramarine blue eyes. Nightingale was sitting with the child in front of his place on the couch. There was a gate in a circle connected to each end of the couch that contained a multitude of children’s toys and a few books. The infant was currently playing with a keychain-like toy while Nightingale entertained her.

One part of him wanted to sit and stew in his contempt, but the other, the son of the Bat, was deeply curious. What was so special about this child that it warranted him–an Al Ghul, Robin, heir to the mantle of Bat and Demons Throne–to act as bodyguard? Was it her heritage—correction, what was her heritage, because there was no other reason for her to be hunted. What else could it possibly be?

But when he began paying attention to the infant, it made him realize that the child was not the oddity he was sent to watch, but Nightingale. Nightingale acted normal for the most part, but when the infant made a certain sound–a loud shriek–his pupils would retract and slit before expanding again, like a cats. That wasn’t the oddest thing he noticed.

Nightingales teeth were sharp, and the more he babbled and cooed at the infant the more teeth Damian could see. It appeared all his teeth were canines except for the teeth in the normal place for canines. Those four teeth were long and thin, like a vipers. When the light hit his eyes his pupils shimmered, like a cat or an owls. His ears, which were slightly pointy, twitched every now and then. His nails were noticeably sharp as well, and his voice would sometimes distort. As if a record player were malfunctioning. And the infant would respond! Respond in that same distorted tongue. That loud shriek would turn into a two second wail that made his heartbeat rise to his ears and his vision blur. Then she would giggle or coo and it would end. He had to do something. Those wails were coming more and more often now, and she was starting to lose shape.

“What is this?” Damian snapped. “Don’t worry,” Nightingale told him gently, “this is normal for her species.” He blinked and processed his words. Species. She wasn’t human. “I’m surprised the Bat picked up on it,” Nightingale continued, “Humans aren’t usually susceptible to this sort of thing. But I also sorta expected it? Because he’s, y’know, Batman.”

Nightingale smiled sweetly as she shrieked again, her outline blurring and walls shaking. He could feel his teeth rattling in his head. Suddenly Nightingales jaw unhinged with a quick clicking sound, as if his bones were straining and breaking, and an even louder whistle-hissing sound came from between his now many, many teeth. She stopped, her mouth in an ‘O’ and her eyes wide. He didn’t notice before, but an infant her age shouldn’t have teeth. Especially that sharp. And her eyes were a light yellow color, like straw.

Then she giggled, and began babbling like she didn’t just use a sonic voice ability similar to Black Canary’s. “Dawww,” Nightingale cooed, tickling her, “she’s developing quickly! Garalings usually only start fawning when they start walking.” Damian watched warily. He didn’t want to get any closer, in all honesty. His ears were ringing.

But he was curious, so, so, curious. What was a Garaling? What was fawning and why did they do it after they began walking? Could all Garalings do this ‘fawning’? Compared to other Garalings, exactly how fast is she developing? Is early development common?

Start with the most important. “What is a ‘Garaling’?” Nightingale smiled at him again. “Garalings are an extradimensional species that reside in a place called The Valley. They act as lords of nature and patrons of a chosen plant or animal. Her fawning,” he tapped her nose and she giggled, “will soon turn into either an animal sound or a sound of her own.”

“Fascinating,” he muttered, “is it an attack?” “More like a call to arms,” Nightingale leaned back, relaxed, as the infant shook her toy. “Gathering her chosen animal or plant for whatever she needs.” Damian watched her chew on the toy, drooling and babbling.

“What are you?” “I’m dead. Well, sort of. How to explain this…” He thought for a moment. “Think of me….as the line between life and death, but not exactly limbo. More like I move the line. Sometimes more dead, and sometimes more alive. But always a bit of both.” Damian couldn’t help but be reminded of Todd. And himself.

“Your not from this earth.” Nightingale smiled sadly. “I used to be. But not anymore. Even so I can’t bring myself to fully leave, though I probably should.” “Why? What makes you stay?” Nightingales eyes drifted away, back to the infant. “I want to continue the life I never got to finish. Experience the things I never got to experience. Do what I always wanted to do, even if it’s too late.”

He could understand that. Nightingale looked to be his age. To be ripped from life so soon was something he worried about constantly. Knowing that Nightingale was…..He understood wanting to stay, to pretend to be alive.

“What brought her here?” Nightingales face tightened. “Cultists.” He sounded annoyed. “They exist in every world and their always fond of sacrificing children. Even though my summons specifically say if I’m offered children or anyone unwilling I’ll destroy the cult.” It took Damian a moment to understand the implications.

“….who are you?” Nightingale smiled at him again, and for a second his outline wavered like the infants had. “I am Danny Phantom, High King of the Infinite Realms, the afterlife dimension. I rule over everything and everyone who’s died, if they’ve stayed dead or not. I am The Warm Winter, The Space Between, The Brightest Star. I act as Defender Of The Undead.”

“And what do you plan on doing with her? Why did you take her if you do not accept living offerings?” It was suspicious. Even though Nightingale–Phantoms titles painted him as benevolent, and his stance on sacrifice was very pacifistic, Damian knew better than to trust him just on those facts alone.

But he was being very honest, and it made him wonder why. Compared to Phantom, he was microscopic, a nuisance even. Why was he answering all his questions with seemingly endless transparency? “Because her parents were apart of the cult that offered her, which is unfortunately a common case. I had to bring her here because I already have another offering child going to school here.”

“Another?” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “How many children have you kept?” He suddenly had a feeling. Not a bad one, just…a feeling. Phantom thought for a moment. “Well the first was Sirius, she’s from a dimension where people are made completely out of star matter. She doesn't live with me anymore since she’s all grown up now, but she’s a really popular singer in the Realms! I can see if she set up her inter dimensional and universal site, her music is great!”

“Casey is my second, he was offered when he was about ten and he’s from a universe that’s essentially the same as this one but everyone has magic. He’s currently in his home dimension in school as well. He specializes in hydrokinese but he’s trying to learn Essokineses. He’s a really quick learner but has a tendency to either give zero or a hundred, no in between.”

“A few months after that I was offered a pair of twins in their twenties. Well, they were built to look to be in their twenties, their actual age is, as of now, seven. Their from a world where hyper realistic androids have no rights and are destroyed if they develop sentience, so when they did they were offered to me because they thought it would get through my rule. They named themselves Poppy and Posies. They don’t like to leave the Realm so their being homeschooled. They really enjoy learning and playing, and Poppy’s favorite thing to do is dance and Posies is jewelry making.”

“I got another infant from a dimension where everyone’s a centaur a few weeks ago. I named her Amaranthe and her lower half’s a sheep! She’s so cute. She’s not the best at walking yet but she loves jumping whenever she can. She likes playing perk-a-boo with the handmaidens. And the child going here is Aiden, he was offered a few months ago. He was originally from Kentucky but everyone in his hometown was apart of the cult and Lady Gotham likes me so we’re here now. He’s still rattled but being on earth helps him so he can stay as long as he likes. He wants to get into a trade school.”

“And this—“ Phantom tapped the infant on the nose, who giggled and grabbed his finger. “Is Velvet! Like I said she’s a Garaling from The Valley. I literally got her two weeks ago so her fake identity is pretty rushed and I think Batman could tell which is why you’re here. But I need to be here for Aiden, so she’s probably going to stay with me for at least another four weeks or until her room in the Realms is ready.”

“You have an adoption problem,” He groaned. God forbid his Father learn about this even though he knew he had to show him the footage being collected from his mask. Phantom laughed. “Probably. But it’s not like I could just give them away to someone else. Well, I could. But I don’t want to. I don’t have any family other than my sister, and she’s still alive. So it’s nice to have people running around the castle.”

He respected it. Even though he was suspecting Phantom was older than he appeared, his physical appearance was probably the age he died at, he was still going out of his way to take in not only traumatized adults and children but infants. He’d never dealt with infants but he had no doubt that they were a handful, even though Phantom said he had handmaidens he didn’t seem like the type to let them do everything.

“Have you had any problems with vigilantes such as myself? I know Batman can be quite forceful and rude if he encounters something he does not understand.” Phantom allowed Velvet to shake his fingers with surprising strength. “Nope! I’m very good at staying under the radar. That’s why I was so surprised when Batman sent you. Like I said, humans aren’t usually capable of picking up on things like the undead. But it’s probably that contaminated ecto you and him are covered in. Can I ask you about that, by the way?”

Contaminated Ecto? “Whatever do you mean by ‘contaminated’? What is this ecto?” Phantom held his hand up and Damian watched, fascinated and horrified, as Lazarus water bled from his skin and rose into a ball. “This is ectoplasm! Every ghost is made of it. It’s our blood, flesh and atoms all in one. Judging by the look on your face you’ve seen it before?”

Damian cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Uh, yes. We call it Lazarus water, and it comes from Lazarus Pits.” Phantoms eyes narrowed. “Pits? Like, a natural or artificial hole in the ground? It doesn’t move or flow in and out? It just sits there?” Damian told him yes and explained the way the League used the Pits, the effects of being revived or healed by the water. By the end Phantoms carefree attitude had left and in its place was someone who held himself like a king.

“Let me put Velvet to bed.” He waved his hand and the gate and various toys began to float and put themselves away as he picked up Velvet and walked away. He was alone for a few minutes, watching as the toys stacked neatly in a toy box and thinking. There was a whole species of people made out of Lazarus Water. Ectoplasm. Pure ectoplasm. What he’d experienced, had contact with, was apparently so corrupted that Phantom had noticed it.

Phantom came back and sat next to him, running a hand through his hair. “Ok, so; ectoplasm has a mind of its own. It connects with and enhances emotions. That’s why a lot of ghosts are angry or sad. Because the ectoplasm connects with the feelings they had when they were dying, and that’s why ghosts are so emotional. It’s all we’re made of. Some people don’t become ghosts but their emotions do. We call those blob ghosts.”

Phantom looked disturbed. “Ectoplasm can’t just sit there or else it’ll start to deteriorate, mold. It’ll become poisonous, borderline radioactive. It needs to be moving and connected with more ectoplasm to filter it out. Yes it does having insane healing properties but it’s not supposed to hurt you. Never supposed to hurt you. Again it has a mind of its own. Most ectoplasm wants to create new life, heal and help. If this Lazarus water is hurting people, it’s because it wants to. And that’s really, really bad.”

“You said it was boiling?” Damian nodded. “That’s also not good. Ectoplasm is supposed to be cold. That’s why most people who contact ghosts feel cold or the temperature drop. I’ve never heard of ectoplasm boiling before.” Phantom looked very troubled. “You said these pools are controlled by the League of Assassins?” At his nod he waved his hand and a small white circle appeared next to him.

Through the circle he could see only what appeared to be a bookshelf. Phantom traced the spine of a few before pulling one out and closing the circle, flipping through the book. Damian leaned over to read. It seemed to be a list of people. At first he didn’t recognize them, but then the name The Sensei appeared at the top of a page labeled ‘The Demons-Al Ghul’

It was a family tree. One he’d seen and studied more than a million times. It showed his ancestors, great grandfather, Ra’s, his Mother, Dusan, Nyssa, even Mara and I’son. And him. Phantom pointed at his name. “Is this you?” He swallowed.

There wasn’t any real point in lying. He already knew, but if his Father found out he’d get in trouble despite the recording showing Phantom had figured it out himself. “Uh, yes. Yes it is.” Phantom nodded then flipped more pages before coming across a map. He folded the page out and Damian saw it was seven small but detailed maps. Maps of the locations of the Pits.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, “Phantom you can not let anyone find this book. If this got into the wrong hands—“ Phantom laughed. “Don’t worry, Damian. These kinds of books are only in the castle library. No one other than me and my family can get in there.” He flipped through a few more pages before coming across one with a sketch of the Lazarus Pits. Phantoms eyes scanned the pages quickly, growing more concerned the more he read.

“Do you have any of these symptoms? The anger, lost time and enhancement?” Damian bit his lip. “I…used to. The Pit rage and blackouts faded after time and I have no enhancement that I know of. But, one of my brothers, Jason Todd…” Phantom muttered the name, opening another circle and pulling out another book. He flipped through it quicker than before and pointed at a page near the back.

“Jason Peter Todd-Wayne?” Damian nodded. Phantom sighed again. “He’s a revenant, an angry spirit that was put to rest and then forced back into life. It’s no wonder these symptoms stuck with him; this Pit probably attached itself to his barely formed core. It’s a miracle his body’s still functioning.”

“What’s a core?” Damian leaned over and red more names in the book, all unrecognizable. “A core is a ghosts soul. Each core has a sort of unique elemental power or structure to them. I have an ice core.” Phantom opened his hand and Damian watched as wisps of ice and snow rose out of his palm.

“Ok, so; a ghosts age depends on how long they’ve been dead for and how developed their core is. So someone who dies at a hundred will suddenly become a newborn ghost. Ghosts get more powerful with time, and depending on how violently they died they might become newborn ghosts who are already really powerful. I was one of those instances.”

Phantom opened another circle and pulled out another book. “Every new ghost will usually search for or be found by an older ghost who’ll become their caretaker or ‘parent’. These ghosts are supposed to teach the new ghosts about their powers, what type of ghost they are, how their religious beliefs will affect their afterlife. I had a really, really old ghost named Clockwork.”

Phantom flipped through the pages again and showed him one. It seemed to be a medical diagram of a ghost. It was fascinating; they didn’t appear to have muscles or organs, but rather this core acted as not only their stomach and heart but their brain. In fact their whole body seemed to be one big vein, the whole thing circulating this ectoplasm throughout it.

“Finding a new ‘parent’ is really, really important. Like I said before ghosts are nothing but emotions. So when we get lonely, it’s like a major depressive episode. We start hurting ourselves and others, we do things that go against our beliefs or moral codes, we do anything to bring any sort of attention to ourselves. Is this similar to anything Jason went through after being forced back?”

“I believe so? I don’t know what he was really thinking, but he definitely did horrible things that he would never have done before.” Damian didn’t miss the wording Phantom used. Forced. Todd didn’t come back to life, he was dragged back. Ra’s wanted to come back, his Father wanted to come back, he wanted to come back. But Todd had been put to rest somehow. Todd had moved on.

“If Todd had moved on before being forced back, why would he react so violently? If he’d been at peace, why all the anger?” Phantom closed the book and pulled out another, flipping through it to another diagram, but this time it was of a core. It was cut up the way he’d seen cells be in schoolbooks. “I honestly don’t entirely know, and I would have to see Jason or take him to one of my doctor's, but I think it’s because of the Pit.”

“As I said, ectoplasm is slightly sentient. But if this Lazarus water is working the same way normal ectoplasm does but maliciously, then Jason’s entire core might be made out of this corrupt ecto. It might have connected with one of his dying feelings, anger, and blew it out of proportion.” Damian bit the inside of his cheek. Todd would not be happy to learn his new soul is made out of mold and corruption. He’d take it the completely wrong way.

“How would we fix something like this? If a core is every organ, how would we get rid of the Lazarus water his very soul is now made of?” Phantom thought again. “Maybe we could flush it? Like, get him pills or an IV of pure ectoplasm and try to push it out. I don’t really know, but I know a doctor who might.” Damian hesitated before speaking again.

“…Would the Lazarus water fight back? Is it sentient enough to do that? What if by doing this it inadvertently harms him?” Phantoms made a displeased sound. He snapped the book closed and put it back in the portal before turning to him. “I don’t know, but I can find out. The book said there’s one of theses Pits in the Batcave, is that true?” He saw where this was going.

“My father would never let you in,” he started, “But you can bring me some.” Phantom finished. “I can get you some transport-safe tubes from one of my doctors, and they can look it over and find out how it works. If we find out a way to purify it, we may be able to use that to purify all the pits.” It was optimistic, but hell, he could use some hope in his life. And if he got caught, the mask footage would be his saving grace.

“If it is for the purpose of curing Todd of his Pit madness, then I will do whatever needs to be done. Where will you get these containers?” Phantom smiled and opened another portal, this time showing what looked like a laboratory table filled with beakers and containers with a green tint. Phantom grabbed five vials with stoppers and tongs. He handed them to him, and then grabbed a rack and gave him that as well.

“Want me to open one to the Batcave?” “If you wouldn’t mind.” That’ll make it far easier to get to and from, and lessen his chances of getting caught. Phantom stood and opened a much larger white circle, and it showed the closely guarded Lazarus Pit that was deep in the cave. He quickly filled the vials and went back in the apartment. “What now?” Phantom secured the tops with ice before replying, “Now I take this to the Far Frozen. That’s where the best doctors in the Infinite Realms are, they’re a group of Yetis.”

“How long will it take you? How long will it take for them to test it?” “I don’t know,” Phantom opened a larger portal, showing a frozen tundra. There seemed to be a large cave of ice in the distance. “But I’ll be back as soon as possible. We’ll find a way to get rid of the Lazarus Pits, and purify your brother. I promise.” He said it with such certainty and confidence that for a second Damian fully believed him.

In a flash of white Phantom’s hair had turned a snow white and his eyes Lazarus–ectoplasm green. He was wearing a black suit similar to a superhero’s with white gloves and boots, and he had what looked to be a crown of northern lights. He had a white cape that’s inside showed stars, and the absolute power he radiated almost knocked Damian down. Phantom smiled at him, reassuringly and calm, then stepped into the portal. It closed without a sound, and Damian was left with his thoughts.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

hii! can you write a dad! jaehyun au of oc and their kids playing with jaehyun and his big ass bobble head of hair before he has to cut it off before he enlists 🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️

"big ass bobble head" 😭😭😭

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Jaehyun felt his head being tugged in three different directions in all different levels of strength. You were being gentle behind him, soft fingers pulling pieces of hair into small ponytails all over his head.

His daughter was on his right side putting bows and barrettes that snapped against his skull roughly. His daughter had already forced him into one of her dress up, princess dresses, which he had unfortunately heard a multitude of seams rip and pop, but she insisted.

His son was seated on his lap, laughing and babbling while he grabbed at Jaehyun's hair and just pulled as hard as he could. If this were a few weeks ago, he would have stopped the toddler's hands from pulling on his already weak hair, but it wasn't a few weeks ago.

At this point it was just days away from his enlistment and he was soaking up all the family time he could get. If his kids wanted him to dress up as a princess and have fast food for every meal, he'd be happy to do it. Anything to make this transition for them easier, make the transition for him easier.

After a few minutes, his hair had all been gathered up and now he and his family were all in the bathroom. You had a pair hair clippers in your hand, a sad smile on your face as you grabbed one of the small bundled chunks of hair in your free hand.

You turned to your daughter who was excitedly wiggling in her spot on a kitchen chair, "I'll show you how to do it, and then you get your turn, ok?"

She nods, watching intently as the clippers buzz to life and begin to cut at the small ponytail of hair beneath the hair elastic. The small bundle of hair fell into his lap and his son grabbed at it with curiosity. Jaehyun laughed heartily as his son held the hair to his own head like he had just seen on his dad's head.

In an hour, Jaehyun had gone from a head full of bleach blond hair to a choppy blond buzz cut. Tomorrow he had an early appointment to get it fixed and dyed anyway.

His daughter wowed in amazement, "Appa, you look so different!"

You placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, "you look handsome, honey."

Jaehyun tried to keep the mood light, refusing to focus on the thickness in your voice as he ran his hands over his short hair, "My head has never looked bigger."

The boy on his lap clapped, babbling nonsense until you all clearly heard, "big head!"

You all burst into laughter as his daughter also climbed into his lap and squeezed him in close for a hug, "I like your big head, Appa."

You and Jaehyun laugh as you both inconspicuously wipe and blink away tears respectively, "thank you, princess."