#The point of impossible tasks is to BE IMPOSSIBLE

[anamericangirl]

"Science is not able to classify things as living organisms."

I'm not even going to entertain that idea until you definitively prove otherwise. On what authority do you say that and how do things get classified as living organisms if not through science?

That's interesting about the word organic but that's not what we're talking about.

"Your opposition to reading literature on the philosophy of what it means to be human or what it means to be a species highlights your arrogance. You aren't prepared to be wrong so you refuse to learn."

I have no opposition to reading literature on the philosophy of anything. I have read literature on the topic and will continue to do so.

I caution you not to inflate your ego to the point where you associate a person not taking a reading assignment from you as opposition to reading literature. Not reading a paper you link is not refusal to learn or opposition to reading literature and it is comically absurd that thought even entered your head.

"If you don't like any of that and want me to boil it down to a single question it is this: at what point do gametes stop being gametes and become a fetus? How do you know? I think you'll find this impossible because a fetus is just the sum and fusion of two gametes."

This is a ridiculous question. Gametes stop being gametes during the process of fertilization where they fuse together and create a zygote. It's impossible to pinpoint the exact moment of conception or identify the exact second the gametes fused. A fetus is the sum and fusion of two gametes but the sum and fusion of two gametes is the creation of new human life, which is the fetus. Perhaps you should look up the word fetus to understand what has been created at this point.

We know what happens during this time even if we can't observe it happen and once it's confirmed a woman is pregnant that process has already taken place. The gametes have already stopped being gametes and a fetus is there. What difference do you think identifying the moment the conception occurred makes here?

"Underneath all this I can respect your healthy fear that we are killing people. But your understanding of killing, death, life, and people is elementary."

It is not elementary lol. It is objective fact. And I can appreciate that the further you delve into it the more complex it gets but there is literally none of that complexity surrounding the question on whether the fetus is human or alive. You can add philosophy into the mix and all that if you like but the simple question of whether or not a fetus is objectively alive and human by the current standards used to measure life and humanity is settled. If you deny that or try to make it a grey area by bringing up philosophy or anomalies you are denying science.

It is an objective fact that abortion kills a human being. Just like it is objective fact that you are alive and killing you would be killing a human being.

Unless you're not a life or a person? I mean the issue is so complex there's no way to know for sure and my understanding of life, death, killing and people is elementary. So are you alive? How do you know? Would killing you be killing a person? How can you know for sure?

"I will not spoon feed you. This issue is more complicated than you make it out to be and you refuse to read and educate yourself on the fact that these things are multidimensional."

lmao asking you to summarize what you want to know from me instead of assigning me the task of reading papers you found is hardly spoon feeding. Sounds like you're just lazy.

I don't deny the issue can be complicated, but it's not always complicated to answer. Some things we definitely know are alive and are human. A human fetus is one of those things and you have failed to even make a case for why we can't know those things about the fetus.

Bringing up the fact that there are philosophical questions and maybe even some biological grey areas that exist the more you dive into the question of life does not negate the things we do know about it. Like some things we can be sure are alive even if those issues exist. Human beings we are sure are alive. And we are sure human fetuses are human beings.

But this is what's wrong with pro-aborts. You throw out a bunch of philosophy and anomalies as if that disproves or throws into the question the humanity or life of the fetus when it does not. Not that the things you brought up aren't worth discussing or are questions that we may or not be able to answer, but you put them out there as if they refute what we know to be true about life in the womb but it doesn't any more than it refutes what we know about the life of humans outside of the womb. Because you're just looking for reasons to justify abortion no matter what ridiculous lengths you have to go to.

What could people possibly mean by "I support abortion only in extreme cases"?

If something is growing inside of you that you don't want there, that's pretty damn extreme.

[ak319]

Lovesick A.M x f!reader

--★ Rose Hats and Rough Hearts I She wanted Sundays

AN: No, it's not the second part, darlings, but rather an ask based on RHRH oneshot (Reader leaves the camp and Hosea goes to bring her back + lovesick Arthur's reaction) . So enjoyyy! Syno: You've had enough and decide to just...leave. Warnings/MDNI: Age gap (you are in early 20s and Arthur is 30-31), pining, angst, fluff! tag list: @necktattooed @nayykura

┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list + Rose Hats and Rough Hearts ❀

So was that a joke?

You’d rushed through every damn chore like a fool, every errand checked off, every useless task finished, all because he said he’d take you out of camp. And you’d agreed, of course you had. What was there to say no to? Like anyone ever took your no seriously anyway.

You figured you'd at least try to enjoy it. Try to pretend this life wasn’t a cage. Try to smile, and hell, you did smile, just a little, getting ready with a stupid kind of hope rising in your chest.

And then what do you see?

Him.

Walking off.

With shame.

An apologetic look in his eyes and a damn paper in his hand handed to him by Mr. Strauss, of all people.

Of course.

You caught the tail end of the German’s muttering, something smug and useless like, “He’s in the process of moving to another city ---you best hurry, catch the fellow-”

You weren’t interested.

Not anymore.

You weren’t excited now.

You were enraged.

"Didn’t even have the guts to at least apologize before leaving. Spineless bi-"

"(Y/N)."

Oh great. Another sermon.

Hosea stood at the entrance of your tent, arms crossed, disappointment practically radiating off him.

"What did I tell you about-"

"Yeah, yeah. Respect him. Respect others." You threw your hands up. "BUT WHAT ABOUT ME?! Why does no one ever respect ME or my---someone else could have gone in his place but no-"

"He is doing all this for you! And what exactly are you throwing a tantrum about, huh? He’ll be back in a few minutes to take you out. There are hours left in the day."

"It’s not about hours," you snarled, voice sharp with years of swallowed fury. "It’s about priorities, Papa. Not that you’d know much about those. Your only priority is- no, everyone’s only priority is Dutch. Aww, poor baby Dutch. Let’s all tuck him in and tell him he’s doing amazing, sweetie."

"You are impossible!" Hosea barked. "Can’t have one decent conversation with you without you dragging his name or the gang’s through the mud. God--"

He turned and left, muttering and shaking his head like he always did.

Like he has been doing for years.

Now, Arthur breaking his promise? That was a long-forgotten thought.

Now you were angry at everything.

At being treated like some unruly little brat.

'Not mature.'

'Is that any way to speak to your elders?'

"Hosea, come get your girl, she’s off the meter again.'

That’s all your ears ever seemed to catch these days. That, and the way they all looked at you, like you were a problem that needed managing. A spark they were all waiting to smother.

And your father's eyes…

You won’t admit it, but they make you cower. You hate that look. The disappointment. It buries itself under your ribs and gnaws.

It’s better not to be seen at all than seen like that.

"Yeah, well... that’s what I am, I guess." You muttered under your breath, grabbing the mirror with trembling hands, knuckles turning white from the grip.

Disappointment.

Nuisance.

The stupid earrings you’d carefully picked out, the eyeliner smudged from effort, it all looked like a waste now. A joke you’d told yourself.

"No point in staying, then."

❀˖°

Arthur rode hard.

The dust kicking up behind his horse like smoke off a dying fire. He was muttering curses under his breath, hat pushed back, jaw tight. The paper from Strauss still burned in his pocket like a brand , some nonsense errand that should’ve been handled tomorrow. But no, Arthur had said yes, like a damn fool. Like someone who didn’t have a promise to keep.

"Such a damn fool." His horse huffed as if agreeing with him.

But at that moment, some extra cash meant extra things for you. And he couldn't say no. He always wanted to give you tenfold. But of course, you might have ignored that notion in the blindness caused by your frustration.

You were probably waiting. Or, worse.....you weren’t.

He spotted the wildflowers on the side of the trail just past the bend. Simple little things, yellow and pink, no name he could think of, but soft-looking. Pretty. Like you looked this morning, tugging on that shawl and giving him that rare half-smile that haunted him the whole damn ride.

'What am I sayin', she looks prettier by every second.'

But right now, all he could imagine was...you with arms crossed, eyes rolling, that stubborn little scowl he’d memorized like a prayer. He could see you pacing somewhere, cursing under your breath, probably seconds away from flinging a rock at his head or someone else's the second he showed up.

He yanked the reins, brought the horse to a halt, and slid off in a rush. His fingers were clumsy, gloved, too big for something so delicate. He almost tore the stems trying to gather them fast enough.

"Shit," he muttered as one bloom snapped. He tossed it aside and kept grabbing more.

He didn’t know what he was doing. You weren’t the type to swoon over flowers. Hell, you might throw them back in his face. But he had to bring something.

It wasn’t about the flowers. It was about the hours you waited. The silence he left you with. The look you probably gave the sky when he didn’t show up.

But he hoped they’d at least make you pause before yelling at him. Maybe you’d roll your eyes a little softer. Maybe you'd stay long enough to hear him say sorry.

He tucked them carefully under one arm and kicked his horse into motion again, the weight in his chest getting heavier the closer he got.

Please still be there.

Please still be his.

But lo and behold, what does he find?

"Wh--what do you mean gone?" Arthur demands, voice low but sharp.

Lenny shrugs, uneasy. "Oh, you know… another fight, probably. Hosea came ‘round later, asked if we’d seen her."

"And?"

"We didn’t. He left just minutes ago, lookin’ for her."

Arthur’s grip tightens around the flowers. His heart drops.

❀˖°

Hosea, on the brink of losing himself, finally finds you-

There, slumped but defiant in the back of a rattling wagon, wrapped in a rough wool shawl, arms crossed like you own the damn thing.

A group of burly lumberjacks laugh, bickering and talking in the wagon until they notice him and tip their hats.

"Hey, mister-"

"Stop the wagon, please."

"Why would we do that?"

"Because that’s my daughter--(Y/N), GET OFF this instant! What in God’s name were you thinking, running off with strangers?”

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Papa. But you know what? I want Sunday dinners and pearls, not blood and broken spurs. I am tired of everything, of being some--some kind of burden."

Burden...? He heard that correctly, or is it just his age playing silly tricks?

One of the lumberjacks cuts in, grinning, "Sorry to interrupt, but we can’t just let a girl who doesn’t wanna go with you....go."

"That’s right," you grin back. "Finally, some people who understand me, and my choices. We are going to town, and I am starting life on my own terms." You clutched a small bag of clothes you had tighter with your chest, making Hosea roll his eyes.

Right. As if that's easy. Do you even have any idea what kind of people exist out there?

"(Y/N), now’s not the time for taunts or jabs! You know it's dumb! Be sensible! GET. OFF. Before I-"

“Before you what, old man? Lasso her or something? Are you able to do that?" the driver with the brown ponytail chimed in, barely hiding his grin. Helpful as they were, the men were clearly enjoying the family drama, especially the sharp mouth you had on you. Little did they know they were talking to an outlaw---well...more of a father at the moment.

Who was weak.

Weak when it came to you.

'Yeah, I bet I won't be able to do that.' Hosea though.

One of the lumberjacks chuckles, slapping his knee. "Old man, you sound like a bear with a sore paw."

Another lumberjack piped up, grinning wide. "Yeah, maybe you oughta buy her a pie or somethin’, works better than all that hollerin’. "

The joke landed with a laugh from the others, but it sent a cold chill crawling down Hosea’s spine.

He wasn’t going to let you run off like this. Not like this.

And that damn smirk on your face, as if you’d won something, wasn’t evil. No, it was worse.

It was innocent.

So trusting, isn’t she......so full of hope when it comes to achieving what you want.

The thought made his chest tighten.

You let out a dry laugh, arms crossed tighter. "See? Even these fine gentlemen think you’re all bark and no bite."

Hosea bit back the sharp reply rising to his tongue. His horse began to slow as the wagon rolled farther ahead. His heartbeat quickened, not from anger now, but fear.

He could see it, the sadness in your eyes, barely hidden beneath the armor of pride.

And for a moment, it was as if time stopped.

The two of you locked in another silent fight, just like always. That exhausting, endless tug of war neither of you ever seemed to win.

Was this it then?

Why is he frozen...?

Why has your gaze stopped him?

Did you stop to even think about all of them for once?

Then-

Whoosh!

A gust of wind kicked up dust as a rider tore past him, nearly brushing his stirrup.

Hosea’s horse startled and danced sideways.

Arthur.

"Stop the damn wagon."

"Now who are you-"

"ARTHUR, NO! DON'T YOU COME HERE RUINING EVERYTHING!" you shouted, scrambling to your knees in the back. "I am not going back, you hear me?! Don’t you dare stop the wagon, Richie!"

On first-name basis, are we?

Arthur’s jaw ticked. His eyes, dark, unreadable, flicked from you to the driver, then to the other men, and back again. Whatever softness he might’ve had left after a hard day was gone now.

He wasn’t happy.

"What’s with you men chasin’ after her like she’s game?" one of the men asked, narrowing his eyes.

"You better back off before I-"

"Before you what, cowboy?" another scoffed, tightening his grip on the reins.

And in a flash, before anyone could blink, Arthur was off his horse and hauling himself up the side of the wagon like it owed him money.

"ARTHUR! YOU IDIOT!" you shrieked, scooting back, clutching the edge like it’d save you.

"Git!" he hollered at the driver, grabbing his collar. "Off the wagon. Now."

The men flinched.

Even dear, poor Richie.

"Alright, alright--Geez-," one muttered, raising his hands. "We ain’t gettin’ paid enough to wrestle some wild love story."

"You’re all insane," you spat, glaring at Arthur as he jumped down and held a hand out like this was some fairy tale. "I mean it! Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me-"

"I’m takin’ you back," he said, quiet but firm. "Even if you kick, bite, and scream the whole damn ride."

You did all three. And still ended up in his arms.

❀˖°

"You’re insane, Arthur. Insane." You kicked again, lightly this time, the fight wearing off as he settled you sideways in front of him on the saddle.

"I told you I wasn’t coming back-"

"Yeah, well," he muttered, his arms bracketing you tightly, "you’re a damn terrible liar, kid."

How dare he call you that-

"I hate you."

"Shocking."

"You ruined everything."

"You ruined your eyeliner cryin’ behind that wagon. Don’t act like you weren’t waitin’ for me."

"I was not-"

He leaned down, voice low near your ear. "I’ll always chase you. You know that, right?"

You stiffened.

"Wherever you run, I’ll find you. I’ll knock on doors. I’ll yell at wagons. I’ll punch lumberjacks if I have to. even kill if that's what it takes."

"But you didn’t have to haul me like that in front of everyone, you overgrown ox!"

"Could’ve fooled me, the way you were throwin’ a tantrum in that wagon."

"I was riding to town with decent, non-judgmental people."

"Right. Real decent. One of ‘em had a knife up his sleeve."

You blinked. "No he didn’t---wait, did he?"

"Point is," Arthur said, firm, "you don’t go running off without tellin’ someone. I came back and you were just... gone. Like you didn’t care what that’d do to me. Do you know...that makes my heart bleed?"

You looked away, jaw tight. "Maybe I didn’t."

Arthur huffed a bitter laugh. " Oh, I know you don't. You just like makin’ us chase after you. Like a game."

"Well, for starters, I also like not being suffocated and being treated as inferior. But who cares about that, right?"

"And I prefer knowin’ you’re not climbin’ into wagons with strangers like a damn runaway with a death wish."

You growled, trying to elbow him off, but he caught your wrist mid-swing, voice low but trembling with emotion.

"I will always find you. You hear me? You run, I’ll follow. You disappear, I’ll tear the world down ‘til I get you back, darlin'."

You tried to look unaffected, but your breath caught. “Romantic threats. How charming.”

“Not a threat. It’s a promise.”

You let out a scoff, yet again. "You’re still an idiot."

"And you’re still mine."

Hosea followed on his own horse, slumped forward in the saddle like a man ten years older, muttering under his breath.

His horse snorted. He sighed again, watching you and Arthur up ahead, bickering, leaning too close, then arguing again.

I am too old for this shit.

"Hosea, you alright?"

"Hm. You?."

"Better now."

Arthur glanced over, catching the weight in the old man’s expression. He knew, knew damn well, how much your actions had cut Hosea deep. But he wasn’t gonna say anything. Not now. Not when you were already burning hot enough to set the whole camp aflame. He wasn’t about to make you feel worse than you already did, even if you were hiding it behind all that noise. He made a quiet note to talk to Hosea later--when things weren't so... loud.

"I’m gonna head to town with her."

"No, I literally look like I crawl-"

"Hushhh, you look fine, darlin. You always do." A kiss to your crown again.

"Sure. Have a good time." And with that, the white-haired man nudged his horse into a steady trot the other way, clearly choosing peace over whatever hell the two of you had brewing.

Arthur turned his attention to you sitting in front of him, eyes locked on the back of your head.

Menace.

He reached forward and pinched your side, hard enough to make you jump.

"Are you five?!"

He grinned, the picture of smug satisfaction. "Just makin’ sure you hadn’t turned to stone from all that brooding."

You twisted your neck just enough to glare at him. "You ever gonna quit treating me like I belong in a glass box?"

"Not until you quit flingin’ yourself into danger like it’s a damn pastime."

"Maybe I like pastimes."

Arthur grinned. "Then I guess I’m yours, ‘cause chasin’ after you’s a full-time job."

You glanced down at the slightly crushed flowers poking from his saddlebag, your frown softening for half a second.

He noticed, but didn’t say a word.

Instead, he leaned closer, voice quieter now. "I know what you’re runnin’ from, alright? And I know I ain’t perfect. But I’ll always chase you. You run, I follow. That’s the deal now."

"Whatever."

"And sorry...darling. For being late."

"....'s fine." Your childish mumble was caught by him.

Arthur gave a soft, boyish laugh. "Good. Hate when you’re mad at me. Hurts worse than a bullet."

Before you can react, he brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and then his lips are on yours. Gentle, steady. A soft promise in a kiss.

When he pulls back just a little, his eyes search yours, full of something tender and stubborn all at once.

"I’ll always find you, woman," he murmurs, voice rough. "Ain’t no one gonna love you the way I do. Ain’t no fella' stupid enough to even try-"

"Wha-excuse me-"

"You're my trouble. My damn heartbeat too. I don't want peace if it ain't got you in it."

You catch the corner of his mouth twitching, half a smile, half a challenge.

He grins softly. "Not that I’m planning to let you get away anytime soon." He pulls you back tightly to his chest, making the message clear.

"Did those bastards hurt you? Touch you?"

"...No..as if I would allow that." You uttered the words in his neck with a sigh, minutes away from dozing off on his chest, but he wasn't satisfied.

Damn right cuz' if they had, I will turn this horse round' and finish the whole deal.

He pulled you away by the back of your neck, receiving an annoyed grunt from you, his fingers warm against your skin but firm, eyes sweeping over you with barely contained urgency.

"Let me see you," Arthur murmured, voice low and thick with something sharp beneath the softness. His eyes roamed, from your face to your collarbone, down to your arms. Every inch he could see, he checked, like he was memorizing you all over again just to make sure you were still in one piece.

His thumb brushed over a faint red mark on your wrist, from gripping the wagon, maybe, or from bracing yourself too tight.

A shadow crossed his face.

"That from them?" he asked, jaw clenching.

"No. I told you, they didn’t lay a finger on me. Calm down."

Still, he lifted your wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss there. Then the other. Soft, reverent, like the damage done, real or imagined, needed his touch to undo it. Then the other wrist slow, deliberate, like each kiss might erase his worry.

His arms wrapped around you again, tighter this time, his cheek resting against your hair.

His fingers brush your cheek, warm and sure, as if daring you to argue, though you say nothing.

"Runnin’ off like that, ridin’ in wagons with strangers… You tryin’ to age me early, woman."

❀˖°

Arthur doesn’t leave camp for a whole week. Not once. The others start noticing, Susan raises an eyebrow, Dutch gives him a knowing look, but Arthur just shrugs it off. This week is about you. To make you think thrice before running off. To make you forget all the reasons that made you leave in the first place.

Every morning, he’s right there, a quiet presence by your side, ready to pamper you like you’re the queen of the world. He rubs your temples with slow, careful strokes, fingers warm and steady as they work through the knots you didn’t know you had. The same with your feet.

Say farewell to chores. His darling is not even lifting a finger.

"Quit squirming," he says, his voice low and teasing when you try to protest. "You look like you need this more than you think."

You scoff but don’t pull away. He knows exactly how to make you relax, even if you pretend to act annoyed.

He sneaks you wildflowers he picks from the woods, jewels, fresh berries from the camp larder, pastries, feeds you himself and makes little hand-drawn cards with his awkward scrawls that make you roll your eyes and laugh at the same time. Even silly drawings of other members just to hear your cackle.

"You’re such a fool," you tell him as he holds you on top of him, though your playful chuckle softens the sting.

Arthur just grins, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as he cuddles you closer in his cot, perfect enough for you both. "Maybe. But I’m your fool, princess."

Always.

AN: Do comment and lemme know ur thoughts! Don't be a shy reader ;)

[drtyelvisfantasy]

OH, BABY, BABY

CHAPTER FOUR

note: we finally get a bit of Sofia in this chapter 🤭 also sofia's dialogue is in bold

warnings: toxic family dynamics, toxic relationship, pregnancy, infediltiy

Life slowly starts to feel normal again—or at least something close to it. The days fall back into their usual rhythm, filled with everyday routines and tasks. I pour my energy into looking after Margaret and handling what needs to be done, just doing my best to make the most of where we are now.

Margaret’s quieter now. She’s not as bubbly as she used to be before March break—like something dimmed a little inside her.

I glance at Margaret, my voice soft. “Are you okay?” I ask, though I’m not sure she’ll tell me the truth.

Margaret’s face doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker of disappointment in her eyes as she quietly says, “He said he’d call…”

“Sometimes dads forget,” I say gently, trying to reassure her. “He’s working, you know… you just have to give him a little time.”

Margaret gives a small nod, like she’s trying to believe it, even if it doesn’t quite sit right. The hurt’s still there, just beneath the surface.

“Yeah… he’s probably just busy,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me.

—

Rafe’s back home now, with his wife, Sofia. I don’t know much about his life over there—just that he has two sons. I’ve tried asking him about them a few times, but he always shuts me down before I can get very far.

It’s hard not to think about what Margaret’s missing. It would mean a lot for her to know her brothers. But at this point, it’s pretty clear—that’s not going to happen.

They’re halfway through dinner when Sofia sets down her fork a little too firmly and picks up her espresso. Her voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it.

“You’ve been gone a lot more lately,” she says, not quite looking at him. “It feels like you’re never around anymore.”

Rafe doesn’t look up right away. When he finally speaks, his voice is a mix of defensiveness and something colder—like he’s already checked out.

“I’m just busy with work,” he says, shrugging slightly, as if that should be enough.

Sofia lets out a sharp scoff, pushing her plate slightly away. The irritation in her voice is impossible to miss.

“It’s always about work with you.”

Rafe's jaw tightens, and he leans back in his chair, clearly losing patience.

“What do you want me to do? Quit my job?”

Sofia’s eyes narrow, her tone cool but cutting.

“No—but maybe try acting like your family actually matters to you.”

Rafe slams his hand lightly on the table, his frustration spilling over.

“I am prioritizing family. What do you think I’m breaking my back for every damn day?”

Sofia’s voice rises, her frustration boiling over as the tension between them thickens in the room.

“What family, Rafe? You’re never home. You’re always off somewhere—traveling, working late. We barely even see you anymore.”

Rafe doesn’t say a word. His jaw tightens, but he keeps his eyes down. After a long, heavy pause, he pushes back his chair and stands up. Without looking at Sofia, he walks out of the room, leaving his plate half-finished and the air thick with everything left unsaid.

That night, Rafe didn’t go to bed right away. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe something else, but instead of shutting down like he usually does, he reached for Sofia. They ended up making love—slow, tender. And later, as they lay tangled in the quiet, he held her like he meant it.

There was something in the way he touched her, the way he looked at her. It was soft. Present. Real.

It’s hard not to notice the difference. He has so much more patience with Sofia. More gentleness. With me, it always feels rushed—like he’s just going through the motions, counting the minutes until it’s over.

—

As they lay in the quiet, wrapped in each other’s arms, Sofia rests her head on Rafe’s chest. Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, like she’s been holding the thought for a while.

“I’ve been thinking… maybe we could renew our vows,” she says gently. “For our anniversary.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his usual guarded expression.

“Renewing our vows? That’s something you really want to do?”

Sofia nods, her eyes brightening with hope.

“Yeah. I thought it’d be nice. We’ve been through a lot, and I want to celebrate us.”

Rafe pauses, weighing the idea. He’s never been one for grand gestures, but seeing how much it means to her, he knows saying no would only make things worse—especially after tonight’s argument.

“Alright,” he finally says, his voice soft. “We’ll do it.”

Inside, a small part of him feels guilty, but he pushes it down. For Sofia, he’ll play along.

—

Today’s the day of my doctor’s appointment for my pregnancy checkup. The ultrasound went well—the baby’s growing strong. I’m seven months along now, and it’s a boy.

By this point with my first pregnancy, I had already picked out a name. But this time, I’m stuck. I feel kind of lost, like I’m not as happy as I was before.

It’s hard to explain—there’s joy, but it’s mixed with something else I can’t quite put my finger on.

I decide to call Rafe to tell him how the appointment went. When he picks up, his voice sounds distant, almost distracted—definitely not the enthusiasm I was hoping for.

Rafe picks up the phone, his voice carrying a faint edge of annoyance—as if he’s already had a long day and this call is just another interruption.

“Hey… how was the appointment?” he asks, his mood clear even through the line.

“It went fine,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. “The baby’s growing well.”

There’s a pause on the other end, then he mutters, “Good.”

I can’t help but feel the difference—that same cold distance between us, like I’m sharing this with a stranger, not the father of my child.

“I still haven’t picked out a name yet,” I say, a little unsure. “I was wondering if you could help me with that.”

Rafe’s voice stays flat, almost cold.

“You’re still undecided? You’ve had plenty of time to figure that out.”

I bite back the frustration, my voice softer.

“Sorry, my mind’s just been all over the place.”

His impatience slips through, sharp and unkind.

“Stop apologizing. Just pick a damn name already. It’s not that hard.”

Trying to shift the mood, I ask, “So… do you know when you’re coming back down to visit?”

There’s a pause on his end, and when he speaks, it sounds weighed down.

“I’m not sure yet. Work’s been keeping me busy, and I’m booked for the next few weeks.”

“Okay, well… um, give me a call soon about when you’re visiting,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I want to get the nursery set up before the baby’s born.”

Rafe’s voice carries that same irritation.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know when I get a chance to come down. Just focus on picking a name.”

Before I can even say goodbye, he hangs up.

My chest tightens, and a heavy sadness settles over me. All I want is for him to love me like he used to.

—

I get back home and spend the afternoon waiting for Margaret to come back from school. The house is quiet, and I decide to cook a proper meal—it’s been a while. My body feels heavy these days; I’m so close to the end of this pregnancy, and all I really want to do is sleep. But tonight, I just want to give us something that feels a little like normal.

The front door opens and Margaret walks in, dropping her bag by the stairs.

“Hey, baby,” I say, smiling softly. “How was school?”

She shrugs, her voice carrying that tired weight I’ve come to recognize.

“It was okay, I guess. A lot of homework though.”

“Do you need help with it?” I offer gently.

Margaret shakes her head, already turning toward the stairs.

“No, I can handle it. I’m just gonna go rest for a bit.”

She moves slowly, dragging her feet a little as she climbs. I watch her go, and my heart aches. I know exactly what’s bothering her. I just wish I could take it all away—the disappointment, the quiet sadness she doesn’t always know how to say out loud.

Later that night, we sit on the couch together, the TV playing something in the background neither of us is really watching. She leans against me, and for now, we don’t need to say anything. Just being close is enough.

Margaret breaks the quiet, her voice soft but curious as she looks up at me.

“Are you excited about the baby?”

I pause for a second, then nod lightly.

“Yeah… a little bit.”

She picks up on the hesitation right away—kids always do. Her brows pinch slightly as she watches me.

“Just a little? Not a lot?”

I let out a small sigh, resting a hand on my belly.

“It’s not that I’m not happy,” I say gently. “It’s just… I already know what pregnancy feels like. It’s not as exciting as it used to be.”

Margaret nods slowly, like she understands more than she should. We sit there in silence again, and I wonder if she feels the same way about more than just the baby.

Margaret shifts beside me, then leans over and gently rests her head on my belly. Her small hums start to fill the room—“Over the Rainbow.” It’s a melody I haven’t heard in years, not since I used to sing it to her as a baby. The sound of it, now coming from her, wraps around me like a warm blanket.

She looks up at me with that thoughtful little expression she gets when she’s been sitting with something for a while.

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you didn’t have kids?”

I glance down at her and smile softly. “Sometimes… but then I wouldn’t have you.”

Margaret lets out a quiet chuckle, her eyes shining with that gentle kind of love that only comes from being seen.

“You know what I wish?” she asks suddenly.

“What?” I ask. 

She hesitates for a second, then meets my eyes—there’s a vulnerability there, honest and raw. “I wish we had a more stable family.”

I pause, my heart aching just a little at how deeply she feels things.

“What do you mean?”

Margaret sighs, her voice low and thoughtful as she tries to put her feelings into words.

“I just wish we had a more… conventional family, you know? Like with a dad who’s always around. Someone we can count on.”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and nod, brushing a hand gently through her hair.

“I know, baby. I really do. Your dad… he has to work a lot, but I promise—when your brother’s born, things will start to feel more settled. Things will get better.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. Her head stays resting on my bump, and I feel her exhale slowly. Her face softens a little, but I can still see that flicker of doubt in her eyes—the part of her that’s not quite sure she believes me.

But she stays there, quiet and close, and for now, that’s enough.

[deweydecimalchickens]

With a study of folk music and a scientific mind, I'm fairly sure we can raise the dead with:

- a squashed cactus (water from the desert)

- water from an iron mine (blood from a stone)

- a careful survey of people taking common antipsychotic medication (milk from a young maid's breast that never man has known)

Look it's not MY fault your Impossible Tasks Three are totes possible.

[pacifistcowboy]

technicalities my beloved. also yeah comics are so inconsistent in canonicity that it’s almost an impossible task to make a timeline of a character’s one True lore hecjwjcjeh

i think the reason i feel strongly about rocket not being a raccoon is because of how many people call him one, and very much mean one from earth, and no matter how many times he says he isn’t a raccoon they still call him one. i want to side with rocket out of like, solidarity, and given most people think he’s an earth raccoon, it still feels kinda right to say “actually, he isn’t a raccoon!” even if he technically is one, but just from a different planet.

and i forgot he was genetically altered!! that’s a damn good point! regardless of if he’s a raccoon from earth or a “raccoon” from halfworld, he is something different now! i like that interpretation.

I have a bit of a pet peeve when it comes to how rocket is designed. It's his legs. Mcu and edios both got it right, but telltale and rivals didn't. I haven't read the comics due to not having much time but by the looks of it it's generally 50 50 wether or not they get it right. Whenever I see his legs and feet designed in a more canid/feline style I cringe HARD cause that's not how raccoon anatomy works, and what would be the flarking point for whomever created him in whatever universe to make

i'm not gonna lie this ask made me cackle. mostly because i had the cartoon on in the background and holy hell, cartoon-rocket's got some majorly feline leggies (they almost look actually alien to me). i'm so sorry that this grates on your last nerve (i know what it's like to be annoyed by something like this - it drives me crazy that comic artists so often draw him with three fingers, even though i know it's just because it's supposedly easier/quicker to draw - it makes me want to angry-cry every time).

but... may i play a little devil's advocate? on behalf of artists trying to figure out how to draw anthropomorphized raccoons lol

to be honest, i understand the different takes on rocket's legs/feet. (i apologize!) when i first started drawing him, i did hours of research and for my first rocket fan art had a similar, if more understated, take.

here's the thing. i'm no vet, but raccoon skeletons and cat skeletons do seem to look pretty similar, at least to the untrained eye. And there's so many photos of raccoons walking and standing on the balls of their feet, which can give them an almost-felid look. From what I can tell, raccoon feet only seem fully flat to the ground maybe half the time. I think the real question you've posed here - did whoever make him (the high evolutionary, halfworld robots, whatever) decide to lengthen his tarsals and metatarsals and lift the calcaneum to make him taller (???) or did they decide fully depress the calcaneum to the ground to give him a more human stance? - could genuinely go either way. his creators did a lot of fucked-up shit to his body and i'm sure none of it feels right to him.

[cat skeleton on the left, raccoon skeleton on the right]

like obviously rocket's calcaneum are way too high and exaggerated, but i can see what they were going for?

all that said... it is a goofy look and as someone who tried to draw it a few times in the beginning, it also makes figuring out the character's center of gravity a real pain in the ass lol. like, weight distribution when your legs are like that is weird. plus, you're right: i'm not sure how much research his various artists have done over the years. (we all probably think a lot more about rocket than most other people, particularly folks who are guardians-focused and not rocket-focused, you know?). and some of the comic artists - i dunno it honestly seems like they don't even know what a raccoon is

Annihilators (2010, Issue #1) - why does he have a pug-nose? why are his ears? what is happening?

that all said, i'll admit it - i'm partial to the more-humanoid stance as well. ♡

anyway thank you for this ask! it was an excellent rant and it was fun to go through so many of my old reference photos, too ♡♡♡♡ thanks for giving me something to think about today!

[aethersea]

I do think Blazing Saddles handled its one depiction of native americans very poorly, and the full extent of its representation of chinese workers on the railroad is they were literally just there. not even one single speaking line. unclear if this is worse or better than the redface.

it's fucking phenomenal at lampooning antiblack racism though. extremely blatant, extremely funny satire, which is constantly and loudly saying "racism is the philosophy of the terminally stupid at best and morally depraved at worst, and we should all be pointing and laughing at them 24/7"

plus the main character is a heroic black man who has to navigate a whole lot of bullshit but is constantly smirking at the extraordinarily stupid racists and inviting the audience into the joke. the one heroic white character is a guy who was suicidally depressed until he met the protagonist and they just instantly became buds, and he's firmly in a supporting role the whole time and happy to be there. the protagonist saves the day with the help of his black friends from the railroad, and uses the position of power he was given to uplift not only those friends, but all the railroad workers of other minorities too, in an explicit show of solidarity.

anyone saying "Blazing Saddles is racist" had better be talking about its treatment of non-black minorities. it had better not be such superficial takes as "oh but they say the n-word all the time" or "they have nazis and the kkk in there!" because goddamn if that's the full extent of your critique I very seriously suggest you read up on media analysis. there is too much going over your head, you need to learn to recognize satire.

[noecoded]

heartbreaking:the worst people you know just started an emo band

[mythallia]

do we think that maybe the fooliverse is the universe where lovely doesn’t get kidnapped???

[aspenlovesgrimm]

Lol, sorry I reblogged using the wrong account. My bad.

Anyway, yeah I had genuinely completely forgotten about that. That being said, I do still think Zerstörer is in some way connected to biests, although I can’t say for certain what that connection is as the only thing we really have to go on is his design and abilities from his very breif appearances.

My own personal headcanon on the matter is that grimms did keep better track of their history, however after the 7 knights betrayed the Royal Houses and as more grimms were killed either in failed hunts or by Reapers, a lot of it was lost. To protect their kind they may have even purposefully not written it down or maybe even specific grimms were tasked to keep the history so it wasn’t lost forever. I think the Kesler family may have not written down their family history intentionally due to their connection to one of the grimm knights who turned. I also believe in a similar way to how Hexenbiests try their best to keep the fact grimm blood destroys their powers, grimms may do the same thing to keep their reputation and to keep the details on how they work hidden for protection.

It’s implied most grimms are travel a lot and tend to stay away from other grimms (although I think family groups either stick together or will ask each other to aid on hunts rather than grimms outside their family). They do seem to work with other grimms where they need too though, so I think most grimms aren’t hostile with each other, they just don’t want to step on each other’s toes.

I have done a post before on how weird Biests are. They never clarify the difference outside of gender (which also makes me question what happens when a Biest is trans lol), and it’s so annoying. It’s the same as it’s impossible to figure out if the Royals are actually human or not, as they are sort of implied to not be, but they’re clearly not wesen and I’m 99% certain they’re not grimms so they’re just this other thing which never gets explained.

I understand why Grimm kept a lot of things vague, but when you watch the behind the scenes stuff you find out they didn’t even have a plan on what the grimm knights hid until they got to that point in the story, which personally as a writer I think is a bad idea. For tv reasons, I get you have to be careful with how much you do as you don’t know how many episodes you’ll have left, however when you set something up from ep 1, you should have that figured out beforehand, or at least when you’re doing s1 after you’ve figured out what you’re doing with the show a bit more. The same thing goes for if you’re going to have the destinction between a Hexenbiest and a Zauberbiest, all it takes is 1 line to clarify what that difference is, and never explaining it is just frustrating for fans.

I worldbuild for fun so I kinda have the opposite problem to Grimm where I make all the little details I’ll never have an excuse to write about, but that’s also because I write novels, not tv shows. In a screenwriting context, you have less words and more limitations on time, so everything you do write has to be important either to the plot (overarching or episode), characters or worldbuilding, and all of these things are very important to each other too. I will die on the hill that Grimm, while still being a very good show and one I adore, needed a better plan going in. I’m not saying they needed to stick with it as again, not knowing how long your show will go on for makes writing really hard, but you at least make a plan to get you on the right path. It’s super obvious with characters like Adalind and Juliette that they had no plans for them really, which leads to some of the worst moments in the show as they decide where they want a character to end up, but a lack of planning means it wasn’t set up or is set up poorly.

Sorry about that rant at the end there lol. Sorry if any of this is confusing, I’m finishing this post off whilst very tired.

So what are everyone's theories on the origin of grimms? We have very little backstory/lore on grimms themselves. Are they simply human with some extras, evolution's answer to the predatory wesen species? Were they created in some magical way? Perhaps by humans seeking a way to fight back against enemies they couldn't recognize until they attacked? Or maybe by wesen who either wanted to give humans a sporting chance or maybe use them as tools against other wesen? Perhaps the royals wanted a group that could help keep the wesen under their thumbs? The grimms, of course, ultimately turned out not to make great pets and went off to do their own thing. Or grimms could be wesen that happen to be much more human-like and don't really woge (except for the involuntary eye thing when another wesen woges).

One possibility that makes a lot of sense to me is that they're a kind of off shoot of wesen. Monroe and Rosalee said that when a wesen and a human have children together, the odds are about 50/50 on the offspring being wesen. And it seems that some species, like hexen/zauberbiest, can have kids who are not all one or the other. So, there's gonna be some folks in the human population who are sort of wesen lite or don't manifest any wesen traits, but do have a wesen bloodline. I presume that any of these folks who marry a wesen will likely have better than 50/50 odds of having wesen kids. But what happens if a human with a wesen parent or grandparent marries another human who also has some wesen in their family tree? Maybe nothing a lot of the time, especially if they don't have similar species in their background. But what if you had maybe two or three generations of wesen bloodline humans? It makes sense to me that the kids would start to develop some not so human traits. That could easily turn into something like a grimm, which then develops into it's own thing. The stronger grimm families are ones who (mostly unknowingly) have more marriages with wesen bloodline humans.

There are probably a ton of different origin stories from various groups and cultures, with some similarities and many differences. If Aunt Marie's book collection is anything to go by, the grimm don't keep any information or lore on themselves. It's probably a topic of much debate in scholarly wesen circles.

So what are your thoughts and theories on the origin of grimms?

[johnlockifconvenient]

Her - Megan Thee Stallion - Lestat de Lioncourt

I am she, she is me

(click the title to view on youtube)

@actofheartbreak @theprodigaldaughterisback @andrewgowerfans @marmarthehatterverse @willneverbeordinary

@boring-side-effect @wo-mary @crueclown22 @innmortality @ohh1hghjgvhhj2

@reesegarrett @uughthisbitch @lovelylittlelosers @ofakingandhislionheart @sparklysneke

@gayboymolloy

[xmoonlitxdreamx]

(nearly 1 year later) AND ANOTHER THING "A FRIENDLY RIVALRY" COULDVE EXPLORED. w junkrat's treasure being reveald and probably taken by jq & hammond. there could've finally been a chance to draw out and then resolve some tension/bitterness/???? between jr & rh a la "roadhog's only sticking w junkrat for his treasure."

I remember that a lot of ppl interpret their dynamic like that and personally i don't doubt that that's roadhog's front/excuse to himself for hanging out w junkrat. (<tho personally i think he's just convincing himself and others of this to believe he's still a loner weirdo, but on the inside he hangs out w junkrat bc its fun/he likes to.) But now that the treasure's like discovered and potentially taken away from junkrat, this would b the main opportunity to actually address whether they'd still stick together. Is roadhog going to leave now that there's nothing in it for him? Or are they gonna stick together, confirming rh values his partnership w jr beyond monetary value??

Anyway the story ends before this sort of thing could've even been addressed or explored, & the cover art implies that jr rh jq and ball all team up anyway and ride the ship together or sth fsr (??????????) so like. whatever. pointless story.

[bibiana112]

"girlie did very much fail at solving a sudoku puzzle to save her life though" NO! SHE ONLY HAD HALF THE NUMBERS YOU CAN'T SOLVE IT LIKE THAT MUCH LESS ON A TIMER

[guiltyonsundays]

Incredible sequence of posts on the dash just now

[a-s-levynn]

"I'll tear the fibre from the filament / I'll be the limit of your light again" A Series of Small Offerings - II/7 - day15

[thisfuckingdork]

Of course I’ve become attached to skinny ferret 19 and his fellow (literally) tortured souls of Echo. In order these are:

Daniel Gallegos - Skinny ferret: 19, chronic bad taste in men (wanted to fuck the smelly meth bear. I mean, his 2020 Arches version? I get it, but man it was 2014, you know he was in his nasty Echo era), nearly shared a grave with the Chunt Timothy Esposito - The buff breath play Skunk, really like his design, pity what happened to him (seen with Daniel and Benjamin by Cameron in the trailer) Benjamin Kowalski - The straight guy after some weed Keith - Brian’s only real ex Allen - The rat that drowned in his own vomit that Cameron saw at the end of Arches Rachel - Duke’s wife who died paying off a debt to Brian Unnamed Freshman - The cold open victim of Arches. I showed the picture of his paw to my vet friend and he guessed “Black-Tailed Jackrabbit” so I went with it I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone draw these characters, so I took it upon myself. Tried to make them unique to eachother and give them their own personalities, even when all I have to work with is “rat named Allen, ate bar food once”

[lesbiansanemi]

It would be great if that thing could stop happening where I’m minding my own business perfectly fine and then all of a sudden in the span of like two seconds I’m on the brink of tears and feel like the breath has been wrenched out of me and I feel like the world is going to cave in around me and swallow me