#so i can just inherit and be done with it

[honeybeegashii]

Good day or night to you, chef! I saw on your page that you did Yautja stuff and I just wanted to make a request.

I really do apologize for making this if you don't take any requests! I'm also sorry if you have rules, I couldn't find that anywhere.

My question, if you want to take it, is if the reader, who is a mother to a Yautja (like a half-human half-Yautja baby) and he had gotten blinded in a fight or something like that. Now, humans can be very revenge-driven creatures when pushed far enough, and I know that there are a lot of mothers who would kill for their child. Could you write something about the reader killing and/or torturing the person who blinded her son?

The Soft Widow

Warnings: This fic includes some dark content, such as garphic violence, child injury, themes of vengeance, and grief of loss. And possibly other triggers.

Age rating (17+)

Summary: When your half-Yautja son is deliberately maimed during a training exercise by a prejudiced warrior. Fueled by maternal rage and being a widow of a revered hunter, exacts revenge on the warrior, sending a clear message that harming her son will not be tolerated.

You do not weep when they bring your son to you.

Not in front of them.

“Mama,” he whimpers, but he doesn’t see you. His hands fumbled, touching only air. Your knees gave out and hit the dirt.

He is merely 10 years old, yet the level of hatred towards him is enough to provoke thoughts of maiming.

Blood streams down your son’s cheek. It beads and flows like molten lava. Even his blood is different from them, red and slick but thicker than humans should be.

Your son does not cry either, simply stumbles into your arms, shoulders hunched, breath ragged, skin torn, but it’s done so precisely it could only have been deliberate. The healer who brought him to you said that during the younglings’ training, the blade was drawn too slowly and too close. Not meant to kill.

Just like that... maim.

He clings to your shoulders, his grip tight as if your warmth can ground him in his now dark world, held close by you.

It’s said that a training exercise spiraled out of control, resulting in an accident. You know better.

Your son, with soft features and sharp mandibles, carries too much of his father’s presence, yet possesses your discerning eyes that pierce through falsehoods. You can feel his small body trembling with pain and fear, but he doesn’t make a sound, not even a whimper. Just as you are, he’s become strong and silent.

He curls in your lap in the comforts of your home, breathing heavily like a beast struggling with its own suffering. Fresh bandages cover his wounds. His claws twitch. His mandibles flutter in panic, wide and anxious. Your fingers caress his hair-like appendages. Your child is half-human. Half-Yautja. To the clan, this signifies diminished worth.

The whispers had followed you since your mate’s death—How could he, so revered, choose something soft and human? How could he taint his lineage with an earthly being?

The soft-spoken female who bore him a son with strange eyes and warm blood. But you were not weak.

They forget you were the mate of a great hunter, the one who brought down the mighty Xenomorph queen. They forget that you stood by his side, that you fought alongside him, and that you bore him a son who inherited his strength and cunning.

Only because you are human, soft, fragile, and do not fit in with them.

As you hold your son close, you can feel the weight of their disdain, their disgust, and their hatred. They do not see him as one of their own, as a worthy successor to Ka’htrakk’s legacy. They view him as a monstrous hybrid, neither fully Yautja nor human.

You had bitten your tongue then, smiled and only bowed your head.

Now, fire consumes you, finding it’s place in your marrow.

Gently, you set your son to rest on the bedding. He had cried himself to sleep, his breathing has evened out.

You take the necklace from the place you’ve hidden it, strung with the fang of a beast on his first hunt, another he killed in your name, and finally threaded in the middle is your son’s first baby tooth he lost long ago. You hold it like a prayer.

Ka’htrakk, the one who slept lighter when you were with child, always one hand resting over your growing stomach. Who died defending a juvenile hunting party when their ship was downed during a planetary migration storm? He stayed behind, breathing toxic air as the atmosphere ruptured, and manually sealed the escape hatch.

“I will not bury another,” you murmur. “Not him. Not mine.”

Ka’htrakk taught you how to gut a thing in silence. Waiting in such deep stillness that not even the jungle stirs around you.

Your mate once said, “Revenge is not the way of honor.”

But he never said you couldn’t teach a lesson. He never lived to witness their actions against your son. He never imagined his clan would turn on his blood.

Beginning with observation is key.

A human woman, smaller, slower—but they forget what you carry behind your eyes. You move through the clan’s perimeter like a ghost. No one questions you. They’re used to ignoring you. Just the soft widow. The off world pet who learned to live among them.

You find the one responsible.

No juvenile. He was a full-blooded warrior. Bitter. Arrogant. A male who always watched you for too long and your son too little. He claims it was a training accident—but your boy’s face tells another story.

You wait until the dark cycle. Grabbing the weapon your mate once gifted you. Despite its age, the blade remained capable of cleaving bone and spine.

He’s alone when you find him.

You give him the same courtesy they gave your child. You do not aim to kill, you cut low. Across the hamstrings. Crippling and slow.

You want him to feel it. To know what it means to be marked by something small and human. Your son will heal. But the light won’t come back. You lean in close, your voice a thread of steel. “You took his sight. So I take your stride. Next time you approach my son, I’ll slit your throat.

When you return to your home. your son never asked what happened. Why did you leave in the night? Nothing. He doesn’t have to.

As his father had done, you pressed your foreheads together, whispering, “Sleep, Mama is here.”

The next morning, the whispers are different. Fearful. Confused. The Warrior who harmed your son is now hobbled, furious. There is no trial, no confrontation. The warrior lies about what happened. Claims a beast caught him in the forest. But his knowing gaze reveals your mutual awareness.

Your son, however, lifts his head towards the sunlight for the first time. Despite his inability to see it, a smile graces his face at the warmth.

[chronosdawn]

I've been thinking about BG3 a lot the past few days and it's led to an isekai Reader x Ascended Astarion idea that I think would be fun (and might be slightly inspired by a certain chapter of SVSSS).

So we start with Ascended Astarion several months after the end of the game, living it up the palace he's inherited from Cazador, with the other companion characters having gone their separate ways. His evenings are spent among the wealthy and powerful of Baldur's Gate, all of whom are useful pawns but have to be carefully manipulated, as they'd just as soon stab him in the back if they thought it would allow them to climb that little bit higher on the political ladder.

At some point while procuring various treasures and riches to further line the palace's interior and show off his fortune, Astarion ends up in possession of a particular mirror. The mirror is enchanted, said to allow the holder to glimpse their happiest possible self. Astarion uses it, confident that he'll see himself in couple of centuries time, wrapped in finery having become the shadow king of Baldur's Gate after years of careful manoeuvring.

Instead, he sees a version of himself dressed in far simpler clothes than those he wears now, the details rendered in silver paint instead of the fine embroidery he's grown used to over the last couple of months. There are no servants, no simpering lordlings hoping to benefit from his influence, just a life on the road accompanied by a human he can't recall ever seeing before—you.

He's about to toss the damn thing to the side, convinced it must be faulty as there's no possible future where he would give up the opulence that sacrificing 7000 souls has granted him, but something catches his eye. That version of him in the mirror, dressed those cheap rags, strays briefly into the sunlight and burns.

There is only one possible explanation, that the version of himself he’s seeing is not his future, but from another alternative timeline, one where he never completed the ritual.

It’s impossible. How could that miserable existence be any happier than the luxury he enjoys now?

Astarion tosses the mirror to the corner of one of the many empty rooms in the palace, determined to forget it as some sort of joke made in poor taste. It’s easier said than done though, when he meets the eyes of the company he keeps and sees nothing but selfish want. Sex, money, power, it’s written all over their faces; in fake smiles and clinging hands. It’s nothing like the way he’d seen you looking at that pitiful version of himself in the mirror, like he was worth something even when he had nothing to offer.

That cannot be the happiest version of himself. It can’t. What would have been the point of all of this if it was? He did not endure centuries of suffering just to end up with scraps.

In the end, Astarion has an expert on magical relics brought to the palace, determined to prove once and for all that the mirror is a fake so that he can return to enjoying his success as he did before the damn thing fell into his hands. Only, all the so-called expert does is confirm its authenticity, marvelling at how powerful the mirror is and how lucky he is to be in possession of it. He’s entertaining thoughts of having them quietly dispatched along with the mirror when they ask if he’s made use of any of its other abilities.

That catches Astarion’s attention, and he listens as the expert elaborates, explaining that he can use to mirror to view not just the holder’s happiest self in a couple of select preserved scenes but the moments leading up to them as well. After a quick demonstration, Astarion dismisses everyone from the room and uses the magic he’s just been shown to scrutinise the world he’s being shown in the mirror, looking for where the differences between it and the one he remembers begin.

Eventually he finds it, the single change that split his timeline from the one shown in the mirror. The nautiloid crash and the moments after, the ones you most certainly hadn’t been present for in the version of events he’d lived through, but there you are, in the mirror, dressed in some strange style of clothing he doesn’t recognise.

Your subsequent journey to Baldur’s Gate plays out similar enough to how he remembers his own, although there seems to be a certain camaraderie among his old companions under your leadership that was missing in his own adventures with them, where Gale had been the one to take on the burden of making sure none of the motley crew got themselves killed.

Is it you then? Is that all that separates his present from the one he’s being shown? The fact that the person the mirror shows isn’t him can’t be anything to do with the rite of profane ascension, not when it’s gifted him so much. So it has to be you—the piece that whatever power feeds these images believes he’s missing. Well, if that’s the case, it should be simple enough to fix. All he has to do is find you and then there will be truly nothing that the upsetting version of him from the alternate timeline possesses that he does not. The mirror that’s caused him so much grief the past few months will recognise that his version of events has been righted and that he’s finally received everything he’s owed for the years spent under Cazador’s thumb—his best possible future.

When you awake in your room one morning—confused and groggy after having been up far too late the previous evening making progress on your latest BG3 run—you’re more than a little alarmed to see what appears to be a crackling magic portal floating above your bed. You barely have a moment to think about flinging yourself out of the way before you find yourself being sucked through it, pulled by a hand that seems far too strong for how slender and elegant it feels as it grasps your wrist.

And that is how you find yourself standing in a darkened chamber, with a man you recognise from countless hours of gaming and scrolling through Tumblr standing before you. He’s dressed to the nines and wearing an expression that looks a little sinister lit only by flickering candlelight and the still-glowing sigils on the floor. Suffice to say, your day only gets worse from there.

[n1k0laa5]

THE PEARL OF GREAT PRICE

Snippet by Neville Goddard, full audio and read here.

So great is this pearl, so valuable, it takes everything that you own to buy it.

Now you don’t go and liquidate your stocks and bonds… you don’t sell your homes; you don’t sell anything in the world of Caesar.

But it takes everything that you now believe in other than it to pay for it.

You believe in astrology? You’ve got to sell it.

You believe in numerology, in teacup leaves, in numerology and all these things? No matter what you believe in as a power to control you, you’ve got to sell it.

It takes the belief—all these beliefs—and you’ve got to sell them. No one will buy them from you! But you give them up as value-less! Therefore, there’s no price attached, no value whatsoever. But you can’t hold on to one thing you now believe in as a power that controls your life and still hope to buy the pearl of great price.

And here he defines it, that he is the only way in the world to everything in this world that you and I seek. And it takes everything that we own—as to beliefs that we think are powers to guide our life—to pay for that pearl of great price.

If you think for one moment you can hold on to one little thing in the event this doesn’t work, you can’t buy the pearl. And so when I buy the pearl, I go all out and live by it. And there is no other being in this world… just the pearl, and I live by it.

And this pearl is your own wonderful human Imagination.

Now I see her in the audience tonight. Last Friday night, this sweet lady told me this story.

She went into the baker to buy the usual things that we buy when we go to a bakery. And the lady who waited on her didn’t look well.

And she, without asking the reasons for her present appearance, in her own mind’s eye, when she got home, she talked to her as though she stood before her physically.

She didn’t sit down… she didn’t relax… didn’t go into a trance… just brought her before her mind’s eye and heard her say that she felt so well, and she complimented her on the way she looked. She looked so well. And this was a communion between two souls… how she looked so well.

And she believed in the reality of her imaginal act.

One week later, she goes back into the same bakery, and here is this lady, same lady but radiant. So radiant it prompted a response from this one, and she said, “But you look so well. What has happened?”

“Well,” she said, “this past week I inherited some money. I paid all of my bills. I paid everything that I owed in this world, and so I have no debts, and I have money.”

Now this lady is totally unaware of the gift she received from the lady who is present here tonight. Totally unaware of it.

Christ in you is the hope of glory. Come test yourself and see.

What a wonderful invitation. Test yourself. How would I test myself? Well, this is how you test yourself. I tell you that if you imagine, as this lady did, that someone stands before you in bodily form, though they cannot be seen with your mortal eye, but actually you imagine they are standing before you, and you carry on a conversation with them from the premise of your fulfilled desire for them, and then you feel them as you would feel them were they now solidly present, and you believe in the reality of that imaginal act, it’s done.

And how it happens, you need not be concerned. It has its own manner of externalizing itself within their world. All you need do is do it. As told us in the first chapter of the Book of James, when He said, “Receive with meekness the implanted word.” And the Word is called Christ Jesus, the power and the wisdom of God.

But be ye doers of the word, and not merely hearers, deceiving yourselves.

So when he tells me to be the doer of the word, the world thinks it means to go out and make some physical effort.

No.

James is not telling me substitute works for faith. Works are the evidence as to whether the faith that I profess is alive or dead.

Is it alive? If it’s alive, I will act upon it.

If it’s not alive… well, then, I won’t act upon it. I haven’t yet bought the pearl of great price.

When I buy the pearl of great price, there is no other pearl like it. I sell all in this world to buy it. I sell all beliefs in powers other than my own wonderful human imagination. And everyone, because he has imagination and everyone can imagine and everyone can believe in the reality of his imaginal act, is free. It sets a man free.

For we are told:

If you believe my word and abide in my word, then you know the truth, and the truth will set you free.

Well, how does he define the truth? He said, “I AM the truth.” He said, “If you know my word, you know the truth” and “I am the truth.”

If you abide in this, then you’ll be set free.

You mean that if I simply imagine that I am the man that I would love to be, that’s all that I need do? Just try it. Imagine that you are already the man that you would like to be, the woman you’d like to be, your friends are and total strangers are as you would like them to be. Just imagine it. Try it.

Test yourself and see.

As you test yourself and it happens… well, then, can you turn back to the belief in any power outside of Christ Jesus? (Your imagination)?

It’s finding who He is, and I tell you Christ Jesus is your own wonderful human imagination. Christ in you must resurrect. And so you start to exercise Him, believing in Him. Believe in the law of Christ Jesus and be saved.

And so I begin to believe in him, put all my trust in Him. It doesn’t matter where I start in life. Behind the eight ball? Makes no difference. I start believing in Him and only in Christ Jesus. Then I take off from there, giving my entire life to Him, just as though there were no others, just Christ Jesus, and I have found Him. He’s my own wonderful human Imagination.

When I believe in Him to that extent, things happen.

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

I am actually curious on your perspective on Yujae since your theories never fails to got my attention or even hooked. So can I read how you write for him 😊 any scenario is up to you ofc.

- Beloved Dood <3

Oh I’m glad my silly theories have you hooked🤭! We only had Yujae for two chapters, so I’m not sure I can truly do justice to his characterization, but here we go :)

The tea was brewed just to your liking, the leaves finely picked, and the cup and saucer of the finest quality.

Yujae was staring at you, or rather, he had his face turned in your direction. You couldn’t quite tell where he was looking.

"Is there something on my face?" you asked.

He tilted his head in mild surprise. "Oh, nothing, sweetheart. I was just wondering about something."

You raised a brow, silently asking what.

He chuckled. "The wind is changing. I can feel the atmosphere shifting, like the tide turning."

You knew exactly what atmosphere he was referring to. Truth be told, there wasn’t much that could be done about it. So, instead, you quietly slid your hand over his. He squeezed it firmly in response.

"You didn’t go to Seoul," you said, not looking at him. "The invitation from Gitae Kim… I heard he's Gapryong Kim’s son too."

He noticed the slight tremble in your hand as you spoke.

Gapryong Kim’s son, of course, that likely meant he had inherited his father’s strength. Still, Seoul could never touch Incheon. Not really. Yujae knew that, and he wasn’t too concerned. He simply wanted to observe how things would unfold. But even so, he didn’t like the way this shifting current had made you anxious.

"Are you scared?" he asked plainly.

A clean, direct question. He never did like beating around the bush.

You stuttered a bit, brushing your fingers through your hair, he knew that gesture. You were trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"And you’re not?" you finally deflected.

Ah. He knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer from you.

He leaned forward, pulling your chair a little closer until your knees brushed. His grip on your hand never loosened.

"Is there any reason to be scared that I don’t know about?" he asked, voice calm but unrelenting.

This was how he was, looping, persistent. He'd go in circles just to see how you'd find your way out.

So you broke into a laugh, slapped his arm lightly, and called him a bastard for dragging the question out unnecessarily.

There you were again, carefree and glowing.

In truth, he didn’t want you worrying about these things. Yes, you’d stood by him through everything, through thick and thin, and he couldn’t be more grateful. But you were like a taut string in a chaotic world, and he never wanted that string to snap. He silently prayed it never would.

"Yujae, for once, answer the question directly, you bastard!" you said, smacking his arm again.

He pulled you closer, resting his forehead gently against yours, whispering something meant only for the two of you.

"And if I did, would it solve all your worries?" he asked.

A threat, or a plea? You couldn’t tell. Eyes say a lot, but with him, well…

Still, with his forehead pressed to yours and his hand still wrapped around yours, you knew this was his way of showing concern. His way of telling you not to overthink. That he had things under control.

"No," you whispered.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your head.

You leaned into him a little more, his arm instinctively wrapping around your frame, holding you close. The unsaid confessions and silent screams lingered in the air, but his quiet reassurance eased it all away.

[thegoblinwitch]

today is mandatory monthly video call to father..... and i really don't wanna.... (then again i never wanna)

[gingermintpepper]

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about lineage curses.

The line of Ouranos is infested with curses - generational malice that's sunk its claws in deep and cannot be cleansed. I think of it as a curse of love - an affliction that is something like a paternal equivalent to postpartum depression - the men of the line of Ouranos were, for a time, unable to bond with their children. Ouranos himself adored his wife but despised his children from the moment they were born. It was disgust perhaps. Or maybe plain fear. Or maybe there was no reason but a deep wrongfulness that he could only attribute to the birth of his new children. But he hated them and his hatred bred hatred. His hatred bred Kronos.

Kronos oddly, is the spitting image of his father. Why he would so exactly resemble the father he despised, who knows, but he married a goddess of the earth - the mirror image of his mother - he loved his wife and his people - the mirror image of his father - and, like that father, all his kindness and good sense died the moment he became a father. What was it about Ouranos' blood that made Kronos mimic even the method of torment? To lock his children away in the dark, cold emptiness of his stomach. To feed them the same doubts and fears that his brothers were fed as babes? What anguish paranoia must be to turn the Golden King into a shaking, spitting beast.

That, then, is the fate written deep in the blood of Zeus. Great king, destined to be overthrown by his children. Great king, doomed to live in fear of the son that would rend him limb from limb and scatter his sex to the ravens. Ah, but what is Zeus if not an enigma. That strange child fed on goat's manna and raised by his mother - is that the difference? That Zeus alone was showered in the hopes and dreams of his mother - that his father was nothing but a target to kill, an opponent for him to conquer. Is that why his curse of love mutated not to encompass his children but his lovers? What other name is there for he who eats his wife to gain her wisdom? What other name but cursed is he who pursues the stars until she becomes dead ground? And when he has a child who is his spitting image, dark eyed and blood-heeled, what can he do but hate?

(Zeus, at least, battles the demons in his blood on his own. Maybe that is the mother in him. Maybe that is why he swallowed Metis while she was still rich with their child. Maybe swallowing a mother restored that missing paternal hole all his father's line had simply been made without. Maybe that's what he tells himself when he looks upon his children and knows he's made things different for them, no matter how much he dreams of keeping them locked in a cool, dark place, pretty in display cases just for him. Maybe that's just his father in him.)

[worstloki]

Loki didn't even do anything to the other Asgardians personally, unsure why they didn't like him so much and thought he was so suspicious

[shannonsketches]

something something foils moving in opposite directions Goku's always happy to seek and fight stronger opponents because he spent most of his life being the strongest guy in the room and Vegeta wants to be the strongest/is always exhausted to find stronger opponents because he spent most of his life having to navigate his survival around the whims of the strongest guy in the universe room and so Goku has a foundation of safety and stability and so spends his time craving challenge and adventure and Vegeta has a foundation of challenge and adventure and spends his time craving safety and stability and the overlaid section of their venn diagram is that the only way they know how acquire and maintain those things is through battle

[future-crab]

I’m such a person who doesn’t care about blood relations that any time a storyline focuses on a character grappling with the realization that one of their relatives was evil and worrying that they’ll go down the same path it SUPER doesn’t resonate.

“The sins of the father will be passed down to his children” Skill issue. If I’ve got a problem with your shitty dad, I’m taking it up with your shitty dad.

[daisies-on-a-cup]

tbh i like artemis from the young justice tv show so much because she was a mixed asian girl who didn't really look asian. that could be blamed on just how the show's animation style looked, but her sister jade looked way more like their mother than artemis did, who resembled her white father very much. i saw myself in her, someone disconnected from her mother in phenotype and culture. the genetics are there, but one has shown through dominant and the environment has raised her away from any kind of asian influence or culture that might have been hers. it was so important to me, and still is, that i got to have her as a character i could look up to because even though her asian heritage is hardly ever spoken of and isn't a plot line integral to her character in the show, it still mattered and made artemis more than whatever biases or standards were placed on her from looks alone. we can talk about how her mother was represented in the show, and how her sister jade subsequently fell to the same fate, and how neither of their stories or heritage matters a lick to anyone except to the characters themselves, but i just want it to be known how important a mixed girl like artemis was to me

[estbela]

I am having a hard time articulating this, it seems, but I am always thinking about my Romania's place in the 'family' of the romance-language speakers countries. Romania's identity as a descendant of Rome etc.

How, historically, she always tried to fit in with them, to prove himself, to prove he is a child of the Roman Empire too. How all these years she kept calling herself 'roman', how he never really let go of Ancient Rome and clung to his legacy in a way. And Romania's relations with other descendants of Rome as well...especially France and Italy (I think the french and italian influence on romanians is a pretty interesting topic).

And how all this intertwines with the parts of herself and her people that aren't really roman that he struggled with for a long time. I'd talk more but I am tiredddd

[quitedisastrous]

my mom told me i almost got diagnosed with autism as a kid (she says i wasn't officially diagnosed because the diagnosis wouldn't have been useful so i guess my symptoms were so on the fence that they didn't push for it) which. like i'm 100% sure i have autism but holy mackerel. she couldn't have told me this as a kid???? it's a good thing i'm both logical and oblivious so i didn't spend too much time thinking "something is wrong with me. what the fuck is wrong with me" but like. what the fuck?

[andhumanslovedstories]

There was an interesting situation at work recently. I'm gonna keep it vague for privacy, but basically the husband of a patient threatened to shoot hospital employees after he perceived they were ignoring his wife's situation. Which, looking at the case, people were like, yeah, this patient was in prolonged discomfort and had delayed care over multiple shifts due to factors that weren't malicious but were careless. Basically, the task that would have helped this patient was classic "third thing on your to do list." It had to be done, but it didn't need to be done urgently. The impact of not doing this task likely wouldn't be felt on your shift. The work of doing this task would require the coordination of a couple different people. Very easy to just keep pushing it back, and because it wasn't an emergency (until it was), it just kept being pushed back.

You could do a root-cause analysis of the whole thing (and we have) to really break down what happened, but ultimately the effect was the same as if the neglect had been malicious. I'm sympathetic to the husband, as were a lot of people in this situation, because, yes, hospital staff dropped the ball in a way that meant the patient was in unnecessary pain and discomfort with delay of care for over a day, despite multiple requests from patient and family to address the situation. The husband reacted emotionally to a situation where he'd felt helpless and ignored. Institutional neglect ground away at him until he verbally snapped.

And the way he snapped was to tell staff, "I'm going to come back with a gun and shoot you all for what you've done." Which is about as explicit a threat as you can get. Does he get to keep visiting the hospital after that? How do we be fair to him, to the patient, and to the staff? He probably didn't mean it. Right? But how do you ignore a statement like that? If he does come back and commit a shooting, how will you justify ignoring his threat? But does one sentence said at an emotional breaking point define him? How much more traumatic are we going to make this hospital stay?

A couple years back, I worked on a floor a few hours after a patient had been escorted away for inappropriate behavior--by the way, you can't imagine how inappropriate the behavior has to be for us to do that. I have never seen another case like this. That patient said he was going to come back with a gun and shoot nurses that he identified by name. This didn't come to pass. Whether that was because the patient didn't mean it or changed his mind or was prevented or simply was not mentally coordinated enough to follow through on the plan, I don't know. I do know that shift fucking sucked. I remember the charge nurse telling me that it wasn't our jobs to die for our patients. If there was shooting, she told me to run.

There was another situation recently involving a patient in restraints. I despise restraints. I think the closest legitimate use for them is in ICUs for stopping delirious patients from ripping out their ventilators, and that should still be a last resort. I discontinue restraints whenever I inherit them, and I am very good at fixing problems before restraint seem like the only solution. Having said that, I work in a hospital that uses restraints, and so I am complicit in their use. Recently I walked into a situation involving restraints with zero context for what was happening, just that there was a security situation involving a patient who had been deemed for some reason to lack capacity to make medical decisions. They were on a court hold and a surrogate med override, which means they cannot refuse certain medications. The whole situation was horrible, and I've spent the days since it happened thinking about every way I personally failed that patient and what to do different next time.

At one point, the patient called one of the nurses a bitch, and the nurse said, "hey cmon, that's not nice," and the patient replied, "if you were in hell, would you call the devil a nice name?" And yeah! Fair! It is insane to expect people who are actively being denied their autonomy to be polite to us as we do it.

Then there was another patient on the behavioral health floor who got put in seclusion. It's so frustrating, by the way, that staff put them in seclusion because it would have been extremely easy to avoid escalating the situation to the point that it got to. But the situation did escalate, and by the time the patient was locked in a seclusion room, they were shouting slurs and kicking the walls. Other patients were scared of the patient even when they were calm because the patient talked endlessly about guns, poisons, bombs, etc. When I checked in with the patient in the seclusion room, they called me a cog in a fascist machine just following orders. And I was like, yeah. Fair.

Another patient: one night when I was charge nurse, I replied to a security situation where a patient trapped a staff member in the room and tried to choke her. The staff member escaped unharmed. She told me later that the patient had been verbally aggressive to her all day, but she hadn't told anyone because she knew he was having a bad day, she didn't want to get him in trouble, and she didn't think anything was actually going to happen. She said, "Patients are mean all the time."

And another case: I had a different patient with the ultimate combination of factors for violent agitation--confused, needed a translator, was hard of hearing so the translator was of little use, in pain, feverish, scared, withdrawing from alcohol, hadn't slept in two days, separated from his caregiver who had also just been hospitalized--the whole shebang. He shouted at us that we were human trafficking him and could not be reoriented to where he actually was or that he was sick. I tried all my usual methods of deescalation, which I am typically very good at. I could not get him to calm down. He had a hospital bed where the headboard pulls out so you can use it as a brace during compressions. He ripped that out and threw it at the window, trying to shatter the glass. At that point, with the permission of his medical surrogate and with help from security, I forcibly gave him IV medication for agitation and withdrawal. He slept all night with a sitter at his bedside to monitor him. I pondered when medication passed over the line into chemical restraint, but I stand by the decisions I made that shift.

Last one: I had a different patient who was dying who had a child with a warrant out for arrest. We didn't know for what, and no one investigated further because no one wanted to find out anything that might prevent this person from visiting his dying parent. Obviously, "warrant for arrest" could mean literally anything, although it was significant enough that security was aware of the situation and wanted us aware as well, but I was struck by how proactively the staff protected his visitation rights and extended him grace. Everyone was very aware of how easily the wrong word could start a process that would result in a parent and child losing the chance to say goodbye to each other.

In the case of the husband who threatened a mass shooting, you'd be surprised how many of the staff advocated for him to keep all visitation rights. After all, the patient wanted him there.

Violence--verbal, physical, active, passive, institutional, direct, inadvertent, malicious--pervades the hospital. It begets itself. You provoke people into violence, and then use that violence to justify why you must do actions that further provoke them. And also people are not helpless victims of circumstance, mindlessly reacting to whatever is the most noxious stimuli. But also we aren't not that. You have to interrupt the cycle somewhere. I think grace is one of the most powerful things we can give each other. I also think people own guns. Institutions have enormous overt and covert power that can feel impossible to resist, and they are made up of people with necks you can wring, and those people are the agents of that unstoppable power, and those people don't have unlimited agency and make choices every day about how and when to exercise it. We'll never solve this. You literally have to think about it forever, each and every time, and honor each success and failure by learning something new for the next inevitable moral dilemma that'll be along any minute now and is probably already here.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw (Here) | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits You Steal

Sleep like the Dead (Inherited): Nothing wakes you anymore. Leona is as "selfish" as they come, and has no regard for your schedule. He doesn't feel remorse for soaking up your time in the slightest. Why should he? Other people do it for 90% of the day. Take a load off, the bags under your eyes are unsightly. If he doesn't want to wake up in the morning? You ain't either. It's a done deal. If the building isn't up in flames then don't bother asking. Evidently, prolonged and frequent daytime siestas take their toll on your circadian rhythm. You now need just as - if not more - sleep than Leona. Napping out in public and at the rowdy Savanaclaw Dorm bestowed upon you a disturbance immunity. Ramshackle could be in the middle of a raid and you wouldn't move. Not unless something singed your skin or really did some damage. It's become an actual problem. Crewel is considering a sleep study.

"Oi, herbivore...stop squirming so much. You almost crushed my tail. Hah? Class? You don't need it. Just borrow notes from one of those little friends or make the cat go....fine. Gimmie your homework later. I can teach you a thing or two. That is, if you can handle it." <- Grim can't be trusted on his own? Not Leona's problem. You're half of a student. Half. Not full. Half. There's your loophole now go back to sleep. Yap any more and he'll roll on top of you. Good luck talking with a mouth full of hair.

Perfume (Developed): This comes about in an awkward manner. Beastmen have keen smell. It's a given. Bada bing, bada boom, Leona knows your scent. He could point out the Ramshackle Prefect from a half-mile radius. Now he's never said your scent is unpleasant. Quite the contrary, although the lion would never admit it. The issue here is that your scent acts as a calling card, and Leona is clingy. So you ask Vil for the most popular perfume, potion, cologne - whatever - and start wearing it to mask your scent. At least enough so Leona's de-buffed to a one-fourth mile radius. It doesn't work entirely. No perfume is that strong. It's also an active assault on Leona's nose...but it had to be done. Side note - this was his plan all along. He isn't keen on non-human folk sniffing you out easily. Beastmen, most Mermen, and even select Fae have keen noses. Not that his own scent isn't a deterrent, but some masking perfume is worth the occasional nose-shank if it keeps snickering busybodies off your tail when he isn't around.

"Here. Take this and throw out whatever crap it is you've got on. You want me to say it flat? You reek." <- Take the scent masking balm he's giving and don't shop retail ever again. His nose hairs are literally burning off. The balm costs more than your entire dorm to make, but Leona won't ever admit it. You have an ultimatum. It's either this, or wearing one of his old vests around Savanaclaw. Now unless you want to be twinning with him and Ruggie, do the man a favor and comply.

Hair Ties (Developed): Bless his genetics for that wonderful, silky mane - but he needs to tame it. With how smothering Leona can be, you end up with a mouthful of hair at least twice a day. Man is tall, and he loves using his prefect as a leaning post. Which is cute but he sheds. So your arm is perpetually wrapped with hair-ties 24/7 like a cased sausage, because every time you give him one it disappears. It's on purpose, of course. He also snaps them whenever you aren't paying attention. Spiteful bas-

Biting (Inherited): Biting is a common display of affection in beastfolk culture. Not that Leona ever bothered to tell you this. His little nips (in no small amount) were usually passed off as punishments for being annoying. A lie, naturally. One could say it’s the human equivalent of cute aggression? Yet it has more meaning since it’s reserved for close connections such as family and lover. Although drawing blood or leaving a mark behind is reserved for the latter. You had to learn all this from a textbook, of course. No one in Savanaclaw was going to butt into Leona’s affairs, and Ruggie found your ignorance a funny game to taunt his Housewarden with. You were on your own, on a quest to save your skin. Literally.

Regardless, it’s Leona’s way of affection. Bonus points since he can do it without you knowing why. It’s only natural that you return the favor, playing along whenever he has to hold composure. Acting as if you don’t know and relishing in his micro- reactions. It’s only a matter of time before he figures you out, but it’s so nice to have the upper hand for once.

"That's for showin' up late. Don't like it? Not my problem...yawn if is' so bad, just take my bandanna...Why do you care if it's got Savana colors? Ya spend enough time 'round here, no one's gonna say anything." <- If it really bothered you, he'd stop. King of consent and of reading body language. Otherwise it's a go-go. Also if someone did have a problem with you sporting Savanaclaw colors? He doesn't need to kick their ass. Beastfolk got better hearing than most, and if one of his overhears you getting shit for wearing their dorm's colors then the classic night raven pride will pop out.

Habits He Steals:

Vegetables (Inherited): Leona sticks to meat, cheese, bread, and more meat. Bring on the steak. Bring on the beef. Bring on the deluxe cutlet sandwiches. Savanaclaw's kitchen is the most costly of all the dorms purely for how much Beastmen eat. If Ruggie can guzzle down seven plates in a sitting yet still look like a stick? Imagine a Lion's appetite. No one knows how you managed to get this guy to eat a salad like a true herbivore, but it's a cold day in the Savanaclaw dormitory when Leona's facing down a spinach side-salad on top of his lunch. Meanwhile you're happily munching away at the table, picking random veggies off your own plate to put on his. Each instance accompanied by an agitated twitch of his tale, but the lion's eerily silent. Dire Crowley is right. The Ramshackle Prefect is a Beast Tamer indeed...

"Now I know you didn't just pick at my plate, herbivore. Your luck's running thin...Oi. That's enough. I'll sooner eat one of your limbs than another turnip" <- he, in fact, did eat the turnip. The threat scared his underclassmen so much, that seeing you come around still in one piece the next day earned you a warrior's respect.

Correspondence (Developed): Leona's used to getting a sea of letters from ministers, attendants, and a particular little menace back at the palace. Unless it was an urgent message - he'd let the letters go unchecked after skimming them. Replying always took too much effort, and he'd rather not encourage unexpected visits like during the annual Magiift tournament. That is until you start receiving them as well. Nowhere near the amount Leona deals with - but he'd rather die than have his family telling you things without the ability to intercept. Falena blackmails him into responding to Cheka's letters, or else the little furball is going to use you as a penpal for writing practice. Side Note 2.0 - regardless of Leona's 'cooperative' ways, you still write to the mini lion in 'secret'. He knows but gave up caring.

"Another one? Just toss the damn thing. No - hmph. Give me that. I'll respond, just don't start up the lecture." <- You always manage to find the letters Cheka sends over before Leona can get to them. It clicks that you're a middle-man once they start showing up at Ramshackle instead of his dorm. Leona can't wait too long to respond, otherwise you'll start harping him over how cute the kid's handwriting is or whatever picture he drew. He lets you keep them. Cheka's got his own exhibit on the Ramshackle fridge.

Accommodating (Developed): Leona’s not necessarily a ‘verbal’ communicator, despite his smart mouth that always manages to get the last word. He will not openly lend his aid without a bit of pressing before hand - his pride would never allow it. Take the three days you and Grim stayed in his dorm as an example. Inevitably you earned the right to crash in his room, but there was a roundabout to get there. Mainly for show, since in Savanaclaw things are earned not given. You also weren’t close back then. He wouldn’t go easy on anyone, even if they’re from a different dorm or stranded homeless by some octopunks.

The tides change for you, and only for you. His morals are held high, and his ability to treat a partner well is no exception. There is no glory in being above your supposed equal. Everything is shared. This means Leona’s room is now your room, just as Ramshackle is now partly his. He’s clearing some of his closet out, filling it with your stuff, and doing the same back at your place. Doesn’t even ask and doesn’t give a damn that there are dozens of open rooms. It’s the principle. Sharing a space is letting someone see your most vulnerable being. Not that he’d think you could ever do any significant damage (lies) - but considering he doesn’t want anyone within a five foot radius during his leisure time, Leona giving you open access speaks volumes.

"Hah? So what? It's not like I'm forcin' them into it. Got a problem with how I act? Enlighten me." == Talk about nonchalont. Leona is well aware of the imprint he's left on you. He sees it in the way you talk. The way you think. Not just in the chess matches he makes you sit through over and over. Round after round until you can put him into check. You're confident. You're demanding. You're ripe potential that he got to first before anyone else. You chose him, and no amount of backtalk on your end outshines that you like him enough to mimic his ways. The Ramshackle Prefect’s presence isn't something people can overlook anymore, and Leona is damn proud that he's left a mark.

Habits You Steal:

Extreme Couponing/Haggling (Inherited): If you do not think Ruggie spends his Sunday mornings going through sales ads? You are sorely mistaken. This man is an absolute menace when it comes to hitting the market and squeezing a shop-keep for everything they are worth. Sam fears no creature in all of Twisted Wonderland aside from this particular hyena. Screw fighting blot - grab some popcorn and kick back to observe the game of verbal chess those two engage in every week. It's more entertaining than any battle or show. You will become Ruggie's apprentice. Ain't no partner of his going through life without the ability to haggle. Sam stands no chance.

“Ya get this week’s ad? Good. C’mon over and we’ll get the clippings going. I think I saw somethin’ about a buy-one get-two on those candies ya like. Maybe if your nice enough, I’ll shmooze Sam for a bonus!” <- Ruggie honestly enjoys having a coupon buddy. He makes a show about how you take too long, and that if you don’t wake up early then he won’t stick around! Can’t miss the sale, so he isn’t lying there. Except he does grab what you need on the off chance you do miss the meetup. Side note - he doesn’t just take an apprentice without ulterior motives. This is all in preparation for you to handle the slum markets. If you can’t fight off a few broke students, then you won’t last a day back home.

"Shishishishi" (Inherited): There is no escaping it. For the countless times you've poked fun at his little wheezy laugh - imagine the utter mortification when it came not from him! No no. From you. It's unconscious and in the moment you don't recognize anything wrong. You were only laughing over a won victory against Sam. That new lamp you wanted for your work-desk finally within reach, and 70% off no less! Said conman looks at you with eyes blown wide, because great seven there are two of them now. It takes a moment for self-awareness to hit, but you're too late. Two fuzzy-satellites atop a mop of shaggy blonde curls perk up, and your laugh from before echoes from the original culprit's mouth.

“I heard that! You’re doin’ it wrong. Gotta put more air, Shishishi~” <- Ruggie’s a taunting little turd on a good day. Be prepared. You won’t be living this down. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it? Next thing is to train ya in the art of sticky fingers - no? Ugh. Fine. Ya Goodie-Goodie.

Hands Up! (Inherited): Ruggie has a very unique way of standing. Hands behind his head, laced together to support his neck. One hip normally supports most of his weight, and he's always in a deep-slouch. Bro doesn’t need to cast ‘Laugh With Me’ for his movements to be mirrored, because you’re already following along without realizing. Leona finds the mimicry unsettling. Take that freaky shit out of his line of sight.

Habits He Steals:

Sharing Food (Developed): This is the inner hyena coming out. Just like in the slums, it's demanded to share amongst your own. He might be a sleaze to other people, but not to you. This also backfires into Ruggie thinking that what's yours is his as well - but that's not the point. He'll plop down next to you at dinner and wordlessly offer up half of his meal. You need more meat on those bones, he'll say if protested. In turn he'll then take half of your dessert. It's a sign of trust, instinctively believing that whatever's on your plate is safe to eat. Yet also shows that he's taken you as one of his - and that's a privilege no one at NRC has. No strings attached because everything you both have is shared. On a side note, you'll never be-rid of Ruggie once this comes to pass.

Shared Wardrobe (Developed): Again with the collective treasure hoard, but with a twist. Ruggie can essentially squeeze into most clothing or modify them to his needs. If it works, then it works. So he'll happily offer up any modified dregs he has for your usage, and in turn he will claim whatever clothes you aren't overly attached to. There is also the matter of scent, of course. Ruggie is the type of person to cut up one of your old pajama shirts and fashion arm-bands, making sure to have one knotted around his bicep at all times. You in turn are welcome to swipe his bandanna at your leisure in place of that tacky uniform tie.

“Hey…you seen my blaz - hah? Uh, nevermind. I’ll go grab somethin’ else. Where’d ya leave the heavier coat Gran sent over. Forget it, I’ll just go check myself” <- The first time you snag one of his oversized blazers or hoodies gets him. It gets him bad. Sharing with Leona was one thing but, c'mon. Warn a guy would ya? You're so lucky he's an opportunist on quick feet, so of course he’ll take the chance to steal something you wear often. Ruggie’s great at brushing off any taunts or quips. Being Leona’s right hand gets him stable back at Savanclaw, but that doesn’t take away years of being the underdog. Whether the other beastfolk stare at him openly brandishing your clothes means little, if anything, he enjoys it. Cause once again the underdog’s got a top prize.

Caffeine Addiction (Inherited): Ruggie spends more time and effort running around than most. His *hobby* is doing part-time work. Those overpriced sugar-loaded drinks never appealed to him because why waste money when powering through is just as effective? Or chugging some ice water? Yet you seemingly always have some sort of caffeine to make it through the hell NRC dishes out, and Ruggie being a mooch is always there to steal at least 1/3 of it. Now he’s trained and gets extremely sluggish around mid-day without a dose. It’s your fault if he falls off his broom during spelldrive practice.

"Wha'cha trying to say with that tone, huh? Think I'm not good enough? 's that it? There're way worse chumps to take after. Way I see it? They're learnin' how to make it in this world, sha ha ah! So thanks!...eh, why're you still here? Shoo already." == Considering rumors never have anything good to say about Ruggie's attitude, he's not dumb enough to take the little 'compliment' as genuine. More like as a backhanded sight towards your relationship. Rugs could care less about what those nobodies have to say. Not like they've got anything he's after, just some busybodies that scurry off with their tail between their legs when things get rough. Even if you catch word of it, Ruggie ain't going to get pissy because they're right. Everything they're saying is right, he is rubbing off on you. He is actively trying to. Life isn't a peach and it's not like he's strong enough to protect you from the hardships. It'll be a big laugh if you pull that righteous crap and try to defend his honor, though. Someone better get it on camera.

Habits You Steal:

Paternal Disappointment (Inherited): There was a time, a simpler time, a Jack-less time...when you were a fool. No. You are one to this day, but it is better tamed under Jack's strict aura of perpetual disappointment. Once on the side of being scolded with Ace and Deuce, you are now the one doing the scolding. You are not fun anymore. There is a stick shoved so far up your ass, and it's now part of your internal organ system. Ace dubs you a traitor, as does Grim. You've gone to the dark side in exchange for the morally sound wolfboy to offer cuddles and the occasional snack. I'm sorry to tell you this dear prefect but you've become....*gasp* the (mom/dad) friend.

“Boring? Who said you were boring?…don’t listen to those jerks. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. They’re just upset that they can’t get away with murder anymore - Uh, not t-that I was jealous or anything! Don't get the wrong idea! . Hmph.” <- Jack doesn’t take offense when others call him names, but he doesn’t like when you’re brought into it. At all. Especially because he used to be jealous how you, Ace, Grim and Deuce were more tight-knit than with any of the other first years. Like a pack. That behavior is childish, and Jack hates that he used to think that way. As if your attention was something he had to fight over. It's not like he wanted the same bond you shared with those three either, that's friendship and he wanted more. By being with you, Jack knew that it was going to put him on a different tier than the others. That's just what happens. Part of him feels guilty that you might be losing face because of him. His reputation isn’t bad, but he does have a resting angry face. Reassure him in turn and Jack will be over the moon. Any happier and his wagging tail can become a makeshift duster for the dorm (Were he on earth, he’d definitely get the nickname ‘tails’. After the sonic character, just to clarify)

Meal Prep (Inherited): This is actually an amazing influence and is wonderful for someone on a tight-schedule. You're not going to be eating high-protein meals every night, neither wasting away in an attempt to chug down pre-workout shakes. That's on Jack and Jack alone. Helping him prep meals is a nice touch and a pleasant evening spent together once a week. You don't become strict with it, but Jack does convince you to at least prepare some of your favorite dishes as snacks/emergency meals. He also constantly shoves energy water and vitamins in your bag. No more cup-noodle or scrap sandwiches on those nights you don't reach the mess hall on time. Now you have balanced meals, and get to flaunt matching containers with your boyfriend. Very cute. Everyone hates both of you.

"Uh...are all those stickers really necessary? I know we agreed on matching boxes but this is a bit...No! I'm not embarrassed! Gah, just keep it to a minimum. Nothing that falls off or sparkles." <- He is flustered beyond compare after every track meet. At first he barely bat an eye, thinking nothing of the orange bento box with chibi-cactus stickers and his name written in bold bubble lettering on top. You decorated it just for him, and if it meant you would carry around a spare meal then that's even more incentive. Yet the smell of fresh food attracts jocks after a meet like nothing else, and the teasing was relentless. It isn't enough to stop him from enjoying his meal, though.

Lint Roller (Developed): Leona sheds, but Jack? He is like owning six full-grown huskies. He apologizes profusely for the shedding, especially since the NRC uniforms are black. You run through lint rollers like Deuce runs through eggs. It isn't Jack's fault, but man. Ramshackle collects both dust and fur bunnies these days.

Habits He Steals:

Piggy-Back(Developed):Jack carries you everywhere. He's normally very patient but when there's a place to be? Well, he wants to get there on time. Jack has a strict bedtime at 10:00pm sharp and so his free hours are scarce. Do you want enough time to enjoy the lakeside as planned? If so, hop on his back so no time is wasted. Jack also pressures you to join him for morning and evening jogs. He refuses to give up his diligence, but also is acutely aware that there is little spare time he can afford you during the week. Either you have to keep up with him, or you're getting used as a makeshift weight and being hauled across campus. Relationships need quality time to grow and this is the perfect excuse to hog your attention for two hours every day. Not that he'd admit it, but the swish of his tail while you chat is enough to tell Jack's enjoying his runs much more than before.

"Are you comfortable? Just let me know if I'm going too quick. I'll try not to jostle you around too much...if you're tired then take a nap. I'll wake you when we're back home." <- He'd prefer if you didn't sleep. It messes with your circadian rhythm, but the whole point of this is to help you relax. Just knowing you're with him is enough to make Jack happy. Rain or shine, no excuses. If it's cold he'll let you use his hair to block out the chill, although he'd never let you out in anything less than the proper gear. Even if he joins Deuce or Vil on occasion - you're his favorite running partner.

Safety (Developed): Jack asks you to text him twice a day. Once in-between class, even though you’ll be spending lunch together, and once before bed at 9:30pm. The morning isn’t needed since he’s your alarm clock. He understands that as a prefect, you don’t have a curfew like the majority of students. Yet he is communicative with concerns about you being outside of Ramshackle late after dark. Even when you were just friends, hearing the story of when A-Deuce hauled you to that abandoned mine in the middle of the night? The blot monster and how close it came to you guys not making it? Magic or not, that would worry anyone with common sense. It doesn’t help that Ramshackle has no security beyond its resident ghosts.

"- and you just went with them? Because the headmaster told you to? Are you insane!?...No. You're right. What's done is done. Just...call me if something like that ever happens again." <- Thank the seven Jack's hair is already white.

Jack never thought he’d care this much about anyone. When your partner is a walking heart-attack, in the best way possible mind you, one just wants some piece of mind.

Covering Ears (Inherited): It's a natural response to cover your ears when frightened. Like when watching a scary movie and you don't want to hear what comes next. Jack covers his ears because they're sensitive, and loud noises can cause a migraine quicker than anything else. Especially when they're sudden. His hearing is more sensitive than most, being a wolf beastman. It's almost on par with Leona's. Yet his first instinct when there is a loud noise is to cover your ears instead of his. Even though you're human, the instinct to protect them takes over. It's also his way of being within arm's reach in case of a threat. You must be scared being in a new place. Jack will never let himself forget that. Nor how brave you are for continuing on regardless.

"What a relief...huh? Nah, I didn't say anything. Isn't there a test coming up in Alchemy next week? Want to hit the books together?" == The type to divert the topic as quick as possible, on the chance that he lets too much slip. Needless to say that Jack is relieved to hear that you're mimicking him on an unconscious level. It means that you trust him. That you respect him and see him as an equal. It's the biggest compliment Jack can ever ask for. If people are automatically associating you together, then it means he's done his job. You're part of his pack - and outsiders can recognize it at first glance. He'll do a good job at hiding how happy it made him, but expect that tail to wag at torpedo speed the next time he sees you.

[homunculovers]

Agreed. Killinger just went for the most basic daddy issues scenario, Rusty's decision surprising them both.

Unpopular opinion: Killenger was wrong as hell for spending all of doctor is sin telling rusty that he's more than his family and that he needs to be his own person...just to make him arch his brother

Idk everytime I watch that I always get offended FOR him. That being said I think that Killenger having good intentions is adorable, even if he never gets it completely right with Rusty.

[boyfhee]

ㅤ ﹙𝓲ssue﹚ㅤ:ㅤTINTS OF REDㅤ...ㅤ( 제이 )

𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐄─────𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗉 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌. PART ONE

9O9 ᛫ ﹙ 𝗕𝗜𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗦 ﹚ single dad ! jay 𝗑 kindergarten teacher ! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ᛫ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿───shy jjong ><

𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 ≧≦ 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌

jay swears this is not him.

palms sweaty, rubbing nervously over his knees, toes curling inside his loubutins, a drop of sweat trickles down his nape— is it the weather or you— he wishes he knew the answer to that.

his eyes take in your mannerisms, the way you tuck loose stands of hair behind your ear, the way your fingers flip through the papers. he feels like a teenage boy all over again, and this feels more like a first date than his daughter's parent's teacher meeting.

“papa,” he feels little hands tug at his trousers, and thank god, that pulls me out of whatever spell your smile put on him when he had entered the room.

“oh—yes, i’m sorry!” he fumbles, trying to blink out of his daydreams and composing himself. “what were you saying?”

“i just wanted to talk about jiyu’s performance in class,” you speak with utmost professionalism— your voice almost melts his heart. “she's a smart kid and a quick learner. although, she’s shy and doesn’t usually play or interact with other kids,”

jiyu is not the most interactive kid and he knows that well. he would argue that she has inherited it from his late wife, but he knows his genes are no better.

there have been far too many instances of his little girl hiding behind his legs, clutching onto his trousers while looking up at him with her big adorable, pleading him to pick her up.

“but we’re working on it. right, sweetie?” your voice gets all his attention again, heart fluttering at just how easily you interact with his daughter.

“yes!” and he can only smile at her enthusiasm when you poke the tip of her nose.

there’s something about you that puts him at ease. your eyes are always gleaming with warmth and comfort— he met you barely an hour ago, by the way— your laughter brighter than the stars. he notices how every single kid enjoys being around you and how you always greet them with the sweetest smiles.

“anything you would like to ask?” you’re looking at him with those prettiest, most enchanting eyes and it’s like his brain turns into a mush, words dying at the tip of his tongue.

“and how have you been?” he mentally screams at himself for asking such a question. this is not him. the jay from an hour ago was annoyed listening to his daughter ramble about you and now, he is foaming at the mouth at the mere thought of you. “i mean— i hope she is not giving you a hard time,”

“no, definitely not. she's well behaved, polite, and very very sweet,” he can hear jiyu’s giggles filling up the room at the compliments and gosh, he does not know if he can handle having both of you in the same room. “and also very cute,”

“granny says i’m cute like papa!” jiyu chimes with a toothy grin, sounding a little too proud at the comparison.

and you tilt your head adorably that, much to your unawareness, makes his heart skip a beat again. “is that so? well, your papa is cute too,”

you’re quick to excuse yourself the next second to answer your call while his eyes are wide open, heart threatening to burst out of his chest, face heating up.

he only blinks back to reality when he feels jiyu’s tiny hands tug at the sleeves of his shirt. “papa, your face is red,”

and he is so done for.