#mother son relationship

[shyjusticewarrior]

Robin & Signal Parallel

Dick naming himself Robin because that's what his mom called him.

Duke naming himself Signal because as a social worker his mom considered herself the first knight on the battlefield, which is called a signal.

[oedipushansen]

everything i ever did, i did it all for you.

ella wilson / steven levenson / metamaiden / pasek & paul / lana del rey / bates motel (image source: @sofialamb) / dear evan hansen / andrew barth feldman / @corpsecoded / lorde / ocean vuong / ethel cain / kira madden

[cathrrrine]

just eat your food and say goodnight.

erik lehnsherr (magneto) x reader, platonic! peter maximoff (quicksilver) x reader • x-men (movies) • fluff, female reader

Summary: Peter Maximoff is a mischievous little shit. Y/N Lehnsherr and her husband Erik love him anyway. AO3

“Well, I’m calling it a night then.”

A content sigh escaped your lips as you stood up from your seat at the dining table and gingerly picked up your own dishes as well as the other empty ones left on the table. Those who noticed thanked you quickly before resuming their respective conversations — like Raven and Charles who were too busy bickering like children — while others made the effort to collect the ones on the other end of the table, namely Hank, Jean and Scott; the latter only doing so after being dragged by his girlfriend.

“Hey, you got an early class too, old man. Can’t risk waking up late with that back of yours.” You gestured to your husband, pointedly looking at him with a smirk on your face. He mirrored your expression, playfully cringing his nose to tease you but it only made you chuckle, a sound that was music to his ears.

“Good night then, everyone.” Erik stood up, following suit behind you, a melody of good night’s responding to him in different tones and variations of the phrase.

“The old man joke doesn’t age well with you, Y/N!”

Although muffled as he said it with a mouth full of food, it was clear enough for you to hear and snap your head towards him. Peter, the beloved speedster, snickered to himself at his own joke. He was too busy shoving chocolate pudding down his throat to notice that a couple of those around him had gone quiet, staring at him with disapproving eyes.

Raven reached over to flick the side of his head and Charles leaned back to give her the leeway, “Dumbass.”

“Ow!”

In your one thousand and thirty-five years of living, it was no surprise that all jokes about your age had grown stale. You hated them, having heard every single phrase on Earth…it was just plain boring to hear them make unoriginal jabs at your age at this point. If they got creative, you wouldn’t mind so much, but after hearing the same variations of the same jokes your whole life? Anyone would be understandably annoyed. Erik knew this, almost everyone at the table did as well. But, you figured it slipped Peter’s mind. It always did.

As he rubbed the side of his head, he stared angrily at the shapeshifter but was met by a pair of equally disappointed eyes that belonged to a certain Professor. A sheepish look fell on Peter’s face when he realised his mistake.

“You should know not to be too casual with your professors.” Charles raised an eyebrow.

Of course, you didn’t take it too seriously, he was a kid that meant no real harm so you didn’t really feel any real anger towards the young speedster, maybe even none at all. But he’s been bothering you too many times lately that it was starting to get on your nerves. So, you put on your Strict Professor Face and stared him down, determined to make him break a sweat at the very least. It probably wouldn’t put a cork in Peter’s attitude, but maybe you’d earn yourself a few weeks off from his incessant clowning.

Erik suppressed the grin that was starting to tug at his cheeks, he knew what you were doing, so he wordlessly took the stack of plates from your grip and continued your task for you. He caught Charles’ eye and they shared a knowing look for a brief moment.

Peter was in trroubleeeee.

“You do know how I feel about those jokes, Maximoff.”

“Funny, right?” He tried to play innocent, nervously smiling at you.

“I’ve told you so many times before that, no, I do not find them funny. We do not share the same sense of humour. Charles is right, you shouldn’t be so casual with me. We may be friends in your mind, but I’m still your professor, and I deserve at least a minimal amount of respect.”

Whew, that made even me sweat. Charles’ voice cackled in your mind.

Peter Maximoff was rarely left speechless, so it was an eighth wonder of the world to have him staring at you with his eyes widened and mouth shut. He gulped, shocked at being scolded by his favourite — although he’d never admit it to anyone — lecturer.

It hurt you too much to leave him that way, though. You were his favourite for a reason…that reason being how gracious you were to his faults that seemed to be never-ending. Relenting, you cracked a smile and used your powers to jolt him out of his daze and confusion. The sound of your chortling hit him with the reality behind the situation.

“Just messing with you, kid. I think you broke your own record for the longest time of being speechless.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned in effort to mask his relief, not wanting to admit she actually did get him back for once. “Unbelievable.”

“Serves you right for always making fun of me. I’m not kidding when I say it’s annoying!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever makes you feel better, grandma.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, “At least I’m not the one with greying hair.”

Peter frowned and opened his mouth, about to fire back a retort but you stopped him by laughing and ruffling his grey strands, “C’mon kid, just eat your food and say goodnight. Careful though, don’t choke.”

Your feet carried you over to your original destination, the intent of loading the dishwasher now appearing at the forefront of tour mind, but it was halted immediately.

As if someone had pushed him forward, Peter sped over to the sink area before you could even turn around, mumbling something about doing the dishes. You glanced curiously at the smiling telepath who simply gave you a shrug in return.

You bid your farewells to everyone again, Peter’s quip of ‘g’night’ not escaping you either when you went to pat him on the back affectionately.

A patiently waiting Erik tugged at your hand, clasping it in his own as he led you out of the kitchen and up the stairs, swinging your hands in tandem with his.

“You think he’s gonna be okay?” You worriedly asked aloud, suddenly very concerned that Peter wasn’t aware you had been joking. The role you played in his life was somewhat maternal, and you didn’t want him to think you were actually being curt with him.

“Who? Peter?” Erik gave you a sideways glance, “That boy’s smarter than he seems, he knows what you were doing. Don’t worry so much, darling. With how fast he moves, I’m sure his mind has moved on to other things by now.”

You hummed in reply, pleased with his answer. “Sometimes I think you might be the resident telepath with how good you are at reading my mind.”

“That’s just called being married to each other, my dear.”

———

“Y/N!” The sound of his sing-song voice was not what alerted you to Peter’s presence, nor was it the sound of his shoes squeaking before he rushed over with his powers, instead, it was the lack of formality. He never called you Professor or anything of the sort.

You never chided him for it, in fact, you’d be lying if you said you preferred the title as a prefix to your name. While many of your students were comfortable addressing you as such, anyone who felt more at ease with calling you by just your name was welcome to do so.

You had a first-year call you Mrs. Lehnsherr back then, when you and your husband were just newlyweds, but Erik was quick to remind them that if they wished to call you by your last name, it was to be Professor Lehnsherr instead, because, in his words, your accomplishments were not to be diminished and should be rightfully addressed.

It led to a whole debacle of mix-ups with two Prof. Lehnsherr’s roaming the hallways, which was a minor problem compared to the confusion of the paperwork.

The days of “Professor Lehnsherr?” “Yes?” “Sorry, not you Professor Lehnsherr, I meant you…Professor Lehnsherr,” had to come to an end, so you settled for whatever it is your students decided to call you…as long as it wasn’t demeaning.

However, no one called you Y/N, just Y/N, but the one and only Peter Maximoff himself.

The young man sped towards you, his hair swaying behind him from the strong gush of wind even as he came to a still in front of you.

“Pete!” You mocked the way he called you, using the same tone.

He gave you a playfully disgruntled look before quickly reaching into his backpack — which looked more like a knapsack, actually — to retrieve a cylindrical object and hand it to you nonchalantly. As soon you wrapped your fingers around it, he sped away again, a quick and impish ‘byeeee’ being the last thing within your earshot before the gush of wind took over your senses again.

It wasn’t until your day ended that you finally had the time to completely relax, stretching your legs and unbuckling your high-waisted, straight-legged pants. You wiggled your toes, sore from being in heels all day, as you relaxed into putty on yours and Erik’s shared bed.

Speaking of the devil — Erik came in not long after, tossing his shoes off and setting his things down on the bench next to your door before throwing himself on the bed next to you, also instantly letting himself relax.

He leaned closer to your side, laying his head on your chest and draping an arm over your stomach. Muscle memory kicked in as your fingers immediately found their way to run through his hair, a familiar habit between the two of you. He closed his eyes as the sweet, heavenly endorphins that came with the satisfaction of your touch washed over his body.

“How was your day?” He mumbled, too lazy to form his words properly.

“Pretty interesting. Finally convinced Logan to come to one of my classes next week. Students have been begging like crazy to meet him.” It was a history project, of which you and the Wolverine were both well-acquainted with, given your ages. “I’m getting the feeling that they think he’s a cooler teacher than I am.”

That made your husband laugh, the sound reverberating as you continued to cradle his head on your chest. “All of the students think Logan is cooler than any of us.”

“It’s not fair, isn’t it?”

“He’s like a mystery, that’s why. Never around long enough to be the one who yells at them for almost burning the school down.” He was talking, but his lips were barely moving and his eyelids were fluttering shut. You smiled softly, trying your best to keep your movements minimal as you continued your ritual to help him sleep.

“Like a cool uncle, then.”

“Yes.” A beat passed, then he spoke again when he remembered what he meant to tell you earlier. “Peter was in my class today.”

“Yeah?” You were slowly falling asleep as well, eyes half lidded and muscles starting to feel limp.

“He spent the whole of it with his head down, though.”

The very image of that made your eyes shoot open, all hints of sleep gone. “Why? What happened?”

It was unlike Peter to be uneventful — he was always doing something , be it throwing spitballs or participating in a one-sided blinking contest with whoever’s teaching in front.

“Nothing.” Erik mumbled groggily. “He was just…working on…something.”

Your skin itched and your eyebrows strained, discomfort firing up every synapse as you went through all the possible reasons. Then, your last interaction dawned on you.

“Honey, I know you’re almost asleep, so can you please hand me my bag on the bench?”

Without saying a word, he raised the arm resting on your body and used his powers to float it towards you, the metal handles clanking together when he dropped it carefully in your grip.

You didn’t have to move your sleeping husband to grab the cylinder you were thinking about, but you did almost startle him when his snores made you lose your grip on the bag.

He didn’t notice, too busy dozing off to even pay attention to what you were currently doing. You quietly unwrapped the roll of paper, barely caring about the sound of it crinkling — you knew your husband could sleep through anything when he was in your arms — since Erik’s snores were louder anyway.

The contents were confusing at first, you had to read it twice to understand that it was a voucher of some sort. With your arm still around Erik’s head, you used what restricted movement you had with your one free arm and just your hand to flip the paper over.

“What is this, Peter?” You mumbled to yourself, reaching for your glasses on the nightstand. Your vision weakened even in your abnormal age, and being far sighted was something you dealt with long before the triple digits hit you.

As if on cue, the answer to your rhetorical question was answered by the scrawling on the back which you recognised as Peter’s boyish handwriting.

‘Sorry for calling you old all the time. You know I’m just kidding. Thank you for always being so cool with me. Hope you like the vouchers for free ice cream. One’s for Erik too. - P.M’

Next to his initials was a doodle of a face with sunglasses on, a two-toothed grin to go with it. It was hard to wipe the pleasant smile off your face, so you kept it on, succumbing to the bubbly feeling. Peter was like a little brother that you couldn’t hate no matter how much you wanted to — you’d even go so far to say he was the son you never had.

You flipped it again, only noticing the name of the store being dairy goods related as you read through it for the third time. It still left you confused, since there was no sign of anything being free printed on it.

That’s when your eyes landed on the italicised font at the very bottom, bold red asterisks between the phrase.

* SENIOR CITIZENS GET 1 FREE CONE . *

Quickly, you turned it around to look at what you thought was an innocent letter written by one seemingly apologetic speedster. You didn’t miss the joke this time, written in very, very emboldened ink, so roughly scratched on the surface you wondered how you missed it in the first place. The smile you had on dimpled into a disbelieving simper.

P.S. HOPE YOU ARE WEARING YOUR GRANDMA GLASSES :D

[fuckalicent]

ivan the terrible and his son ivan - ilya repin // unknown // family tree - ethel cain // elektra - sophocles // pigs in heaven - barbara kingsolver

[sunfyredefender77]

dare I say one of my favourite relationships

[hauntedbythenarrative]

All my mother had done was try to love me while not loving herself

I remain in darkness, Annie Ernaux//Class of 2013, Mitski//Mother, Maia Baia//House of the Dragon (2022-)//Ella Wilson

[ariesimping]

It's a mother-son bonding. Destroying each other emotionally.🥰

"Stay here with me, "You are the cause

you be safe and won't of this unsafe and

be in pain anymore." pain that i have

. right now"

[damnianalghulnotwayne]

Talia Al Ghul, bc we dont talk ab this womans trauma, or the way that the writers have mistreated her ENOUGH

[ginsakatoki]

Ok, this one is oddly specific but I hope it's fine with you. So I was thinking about this scenario: post-dmc5 Nero meets reader (who's also a hunter, well into her 30s) during Red Grave clean up and after some time he started seeing her as a mother figure, and the feeling is pretty much mutual. Now she's not very fond of Dante and Vergil (at first) for obvious reasons, so when they return from hell chaos ensues. Nothing super angsty, I just really want someone to slap those shit twins around a bit on Nero's behalf, cuz the boy deserves it <3 Would be extra fun to add Nico, Lady and Trish to the mix, but it's up to you. Thanks!

Oddly specific scenarios are what I like and need, plus this has found a soft spot in my heart and since I saw it in the requests I couldn’t help but want to write it. There is a part that might be a bit angsty but otherwise it’s pretty soft. I have just 1 request left for dmc, then I’ll take a break from it. Please, please ask me about other fandoms too when i open my requests again.

Anyway, sorry to make you wait this long, hope you enjoy it :)

Nero With a Motherly Reader

When I saw on the news what was happening in Red Grave I had to rush in, no matter what the authorities were saying, no matter if everyone was in a rush to leave the city, I had to get there. The idea that demons were slaughtering innocent people made me sick, how did they get in the city in such large numbers in the first place? I’m an experienced hunter and I know how demons usually act: they’re not pack creatures, they’re independent and enjoy the thrill of the hunt on their own. When they do work together, it’s in groups of five or six, so why are there thousands of demons all of a sudden? The answer is pretty obvious. A higher rank demon must have spawned in the city, and I am motivated to stop it. Well, that was the intention anyway.

I just got into the city, and it looks like the major fight has already ended, Red Grave is a mess and there isn’t a single soul around. Demolished buildings, alley walls painted red in blood, burnt ashes of what used to be people… it looks like a manifestation of Hell on Earth, a land owned by the dead. I drive around by car, avoiding corpses and rubble, until there is no access anymore.

I didn’t quite notice it before, but the stink of death surrounds me anywhere I turn, and it gets harder and harder to breathe… or resist the impulse to puke at any corner. Despite this scenery of death, the city is silent, and I’d definitely doubt anyone or anything was around, lurking in the shadow, if I didn’t know better.

I walk and walk until my feet start to hurt, and it becomes increasingly obvious that something is wrong. The demons should have attacked by now, yet all is still silent, eerily so… until it isn’t. A loud sound of engines starts roaring a few streets further, a motorbike perhaps?

I hurry towards the sound, guns in hand and the sniper rifle at my back. As I get closer, I start hearing the distinct sound of voices screaming at each other and a battle. I’m not sure if they’re fighting against each other or demons, though it all sounds very… chaotic.

“What the hell, Nico! Are you trying to get me killed?” Says the first voice, clearly a young male.

“Hell nah. You’re doing a wonderful job yerself” I can’t help but giggle a little, they sound like siblings that banter every day.

I get to a dead end and the fight is just ahead, unreachable by this road, but I refuse to turn tail and run. That’s when I notice a fire escape that heads to the roof, high ground it is. The battle still wages while I climb the ladder and new voices come in.

“Lady! On your back!”

“I got it!” A loud and powerful explosion almost knocks me down… was that a bazooka? I get to the rooftop and I finally manage to see the battle ahead. A large amount of demons is on the streets, a couple of dozens by the looks of it, and among them there are four people, each of them holding their own against multiple enemies at once. Not bad at all. If this were a game, they’d definitely get an SSS rank. I look around for the perfect spot to set up my rifle and give them support. Turns out I got ready to shoot at the perfect time: a demon was coming towards the young man by his blind spot and all his mates were busy in their own fights. With no hesitation I shoot the demon on the head, blasting it off. The man looks at my way for a moment, then continues his battle. I give support to each of them, getting enemies out of their way and protecting their backs. Soon enough the fight is over and before I can even blink the young man is at my side.

“Who are you? What are you doing here” he still has the gun in his hand, itching to shoot at any given moment.

“Calm down, boy” I slowly get up and hold my hands up “I’m a hunter, I came here to clean up this city. Just like you guys.”

The tension on his shoulders eases up, but he sure doesn’t give me the satisfaction of putting away his weapon.

“I had everything under control, you can go back now; we don’t need civilians around. And don’t call me boy.”

I stare at him confused, did he not hear me when I told him I’m a hunter? He seems to read the confusion from my face.

“I don’t buy it. You can’t be a hunter, you look like a mother or teacher if anything.” I don’t really have a reply to that, I mean. I _am_ a teacher… and I was a mother. Plus I don’t really dress like his hunter friends: no revealing clothes, no bad ass leather, just jeans and a comfy sweater but I get interrupted before I can reply.

“Yo Nero come here we gotta go! Wait who’s that? You find yerself a hot mama huh? You nasty”

“Oh, shut up Nico!” Once again, I giggle at their interactions.

“Say what you wish, boy, but you guys sure sound like you need a mother. Anyway, we really should go. Red Grave won’t clean itself.”

With that I head back to the street and meet the other members of the crew, the funny and solar Nico, the calm but strong Lady and the seductive and down to earth Trish, completely unaware that it will change my life.

It’s been three years since I met the crew and I must say, I grew attached to all of them, Nero and Nico in particular. They always banter and fight like teenagers but I know how much they care about each other. At first Nero was very skeptical about me and refused to even look my way for a long time, the more I was around, the less he opened up, if anything he closed off even more. Regardless I kept doing my own and, before I could even realize, I started making sure he always ate well (he had such an unbalanced diet I could feel my cholesterol rising just looking at him eat) and slept long enough. More than a few times I found myself covering him with a blanket when he fell asleep on the sofa or covering for him more than the others when we were out on missions or even worrying for him to the point I’d be the first to rush in and help him heal his injuries. It went on like this for a year until one day, when we were alone, he exploded with rage I couldn’t understand.

“Why are you doing this? You’re not my girlfriend, you’re not my mother, so why! I don’t need your stupid kindness and your stupid support, I’m not a child, just go away!” His whole body started to shake and tremble and, at first, I thought it was out of anger. I had to change my mind when I noticed the way he kept hiding his face from me, and how his voice had become a breath whispering me to go away. I didn’t quite realize until that moment how broken he was, how the conviction of being unlovable was rooted inside of him, how he felt unable of being cared for because he’d never known the unconditional love of a mother nor the protective kindness of a father. In a moment of epiphany I understood that everything I had done for him, it had never actually been _for him_, it had been for me. Salty tears started crawling to my cheeks before I could control them and words spilled out before I could choose which ones to say.

“I’m sorry, Nero. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think this would cause you pain. I just… I got to know you and you reminded me so much of my son. Of how grumpy and unhappy he looked the day I went to see him years after I gave him up for adoption believing it would be for the best because I was too young and too stupid. But it was not… it was not” my throat started to hurt and it got harder and harder to breathe.

“He got involved in some shady business and he got killed… he was just a boy. I wanted so desperately to get my son back, to fix my mistakes and I projected that on you… I only made my mistakes bigger. I’m sorry, Nero”. The little composure I had left vanished and I began crying uncontrollably, Nero’s whimpers and cries merging with mines while we looked into each other’s eyes. He closed the distance almost shyly, looking for comfort he didn’t think he deserved, and he hugged me desperately as if afraid I’d run away and leave him alone like all his parental figures had done.

We never talked about that day again, but things had clearly changed. Nero was not grumpy around me anymore, instead he liked to talk about how his days went and started coming to me for advices instead of trying to handle everything by himself like he always used to. He even introduced me to Kyrie and they both agreed I should come over to dine with them in the weekend, like a family.

I stare at Nero and Nico banter in the living room of Devil May cry reminiscing all the events in the past three years. It took time but it seems that Nero has almost healed from the wounds of loneliness and abandonment and I couldn’t be more proud. As I think this, the door opens with a loud thud and two tall men enter like they own the place (which they technically do). I’ve never met them before but the crew has talked a lot about them: Dante, the legendary devil hunter and Vergil… Nero’s father.

“We’re back!” Says the one I presume to be Dante “Why the long faces, no welcome home for us?”.

“We’re back? Is that all you have to say after vanishing for 3 goddamned years? What did you expect! A welcome home party with balloons and candles?” I speak before I can control myself, they cannot be serious.

“Excuse me, missy, but who are you? You’re trespassing, you know, this is my property. Is this your new partner, Nero?”. The nerves of this man.

“Stay away from my son” The twins stare at me, stunned, until Vergil decides to clear this up.

“Son? You’re not his biological mother”

“You’re right” I reply “I am not and, obviously, his ‘biological family’ did a much better job at taking care of him now didn’t you”.

The two men keep silent and lower their heads exchanging guilty glances.

“Now if you don’t have anything important to say, go to your rooms to think about what you’ve done and how not to fuck up again” they both look up, surprised.

“But-”

“No buts. If you’re not going to act like responsible adults, you’re not going to be treated like ones. Now go” they lower their heads once more and start walking towards the stairs.

“Yes ma’am”.

[mywilltodie]

Henry : Mom ,where is my boneless Sofa?

JJ : Your what?

Prentiss : He is looking for his Bean-Bag.

JJ : What's wrong with the two of you ?

[remembertheplunge]

November 20, 1987 9:33pm Friday

We talked real talk in the heart of life

This is a desperate household.

Mom, in a drunken stupor, and yet clearly honest, said "I'm tired. I want it to end. I don't know how (to kill myself).

I said "You are perfect as you are. Including your wish to end it all. But, you can never "not exist". She said "But, I don't want to continue to exist in any fashion. I want it ended. And I replied "Just as you experience each day dawning anew, you cannot just quit existing---this part of you will "be" with other parts. Whatever choice you make will be OK. She said "I was not meant to be--my mother was 40 (when I was born). I said "You are...you chose to be...you are learning lessons now you chose to learn. She said "It's my fault that you are an attorney. I said "You can't take responsibility for anyone else's life. And, besides, I love being an attorney. (She was referring to the rough time I was having at the Public Defender's office then).

So, we talked real talk in life's heart. Neither of us are dying immediately. rare talk in the heart of life. Good talk

End of this part of the entry

Notes: 4/28/2024

My parents lived in their home in Atwater California in 1987. Before my mother's birthday in 1930, her mother had her tubes tied so that she could not have more children. At that time, she had 9 kids. Despite the procedure, my mother was conceived and was born. This may be what Mom was referring to when she said she should not have been born. My Mom had a problem with alcohol and it could take her into dark ugly places and moods. That's the state that she was in when we had the above conversation. Although we were estranged toward the end of her life , in our last conversation a year before her death she told me that she had quit drinking. She died in 2012. The family withheld the cause of her death from me until last June. I was told then that she died of pancreatic cancer. I don't know where her remains are.

[oedipushansen]

[dumbledoresthroughndthrough]

I've not got there yet, but if something happens to Bobby in the S6 finale or in that Cruise Ship thing I keep seeing for next season, Buck is going to have a complete meltdown!

This is the same kid who panics every time Bobby is injured or at risk of illness. The same kid whose lungs quit working when he discovered Bobby was dead in his coma dream. The same kid who messages Bobby every time he wakes up, to check that he's okay. The same kid who once admitted to Bobby that he didn't know how he would survive if anything were to happen to him, because he is one of the most important people in his life. Because while Bobby 'is not his Dad, he might as well be'.

I have this image in my head of Buck just collapsing against Athena, or Hen or anyone really, when he realises that Bobby is seriously hurt or at risk of dying. And perhaps Athena kneels in front of him, keeping herself strong for Buck's sake, puts her hands on his face and says firmly, "When you were in hospital after the lightning strike, I told you that you could not die. Because Bobby has already lost two children, and he couldn't survive losing you too. Every word was true. He loves you, Buck. And one day, when he's ready, he's going to be able to tell you that for himself. Because he is going to be just fine! Do you hear me, Evan Buckley? Bobby is going to do absolutely everything in his power, to make sure he comes back to us, to you. Because he knows. He knows, Buck. He knows how much you care about him. He's seen the panic in your eyes each time he's been hurt. And he's not going to leave you without a fight." And she pulls him into her arms, holding him close as he sobs, "Now, come on Buckaroo, let's go save our family."

[diana-bookfairchild]

@fluffbruary Day 3

Sea breeze is the worst, she decides.

Of all the reminders of her past love – and there is honestly little that doesn’t remind her of him – it is the one that most startles her, makes her heart trill with the memory of lying on the beach, him telling her stories, her lecturing him about Medusa, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

The scent of sea breeze lingering in the cosmetics shop makes her heartsick and wistful and angry all at once.

“Mom!” Her six-year-old son calls impatiently. He’s sitting on a stool, legs swinging back and forth, lazily taking in the new sights but still getting rapidly bored, like any child with ADHD. “Can we go?”

Every time she thinks of her twenty-two year old self - grieving her uncle, angry at the world, so sad, so tired – and the time she spent with him, she feels such a myriad of emotions waking, pressing at her. And then she looks at her son - her beautiful, mischievous, curious, kind, beloved son, perfect in every way, whom she would give the world for, and she’s glad for it, for every single second she had with his father that led to him being born.

“Yes, sweetheart.” She goes up to him and takes his hand. It curls around hers lightly, and it’s so small and all she can think of is how these small hands are one day destined to save the world, according to Poseidon. She pushes the thought away. Right now, these hands are hers to protect.

“Can we go to the candy shop again?” He asks brightly, tugging at her.

“I thought you wanted to buy Hannah a birthday present?” Sally asks, amused at his quick shift in mood and interest.

Percy frowns uncertainly, clearly considering the consequences of not getting his best friend a gift for her birthday. He sighs. “Yeah, I have to.”

Sally nods solemnly. “What do you want to get her, then?”

“Thread,” Percy decides.

She blinks. “Thread? Why?”

“Hannah likes art class,” Percy explains. “So maybe if I make her something, it’ll be nicer than just buying something from a shop!”

And for a moment Sally is on the coast, watching the crests of the waves as they swirled, and Poseidon is standing next to her, his voice brushing over her neck, causing shivers, telling her she could have whatever she wanted, and she is laughing, saying that changing the untamable sea into the shape of a trident and a rose was plenty.

She lets out a sigh and brushes her hand over Percy’s hair. “Absolutely. You’re right. What else do you want to buy?”

Percy furrows his eyebrows in concentration. “Woolen thread,” he said. “In blue colour. And paper. And glue. But that’s it.”

“And what is my little artist going to make with that?” She asks.           

“There’s going to be a dragon,” Percy says, nodding determinedly. “And lots and lots of flowers.”

A dragon and flowers. Dear gods. Children.

“That sounds … unique,” she says dryly, trying not to imagine what a mess creating this piece was going to make.

“Because when someone is mean to one of us, the other fights like a dragon!” He says happily, lifting his hands in the shape of pincers and making adorable growling noises. “And then they get flowers for them the next day!”

“Oh,” Sally smiles, warmed. “That sounds beautiful, Percy.”

“You think she’ll like it?” He asks worriedly, chewing on his lip.

“You’re her best friend,” Sally assures. “She’ll like anything you give her, as long as you give it from the heart.” She pokes him in his chest, and he giggles.

“Silly mommy, the heart’s on the left side!” He says knowledgeably.

Sally fakes a horrified gasp. “Really? All these years and I thought it was right in the centre, only to be corrected by my baby boy … I’ve been betrayed!”

Percy giggles again, and Sally pulls him to the side, watching carefully to make sure he didn’t run or go too far into the middle of the road. Pedestrians curse and shove. The honking of horns and thick black smoke fills the air.

“Mom!” Percy says delightedly. “Can we go in there?” He’s pointing at a shop full of new shiny things, most of which Sally wouldn’t be able to afford on six months’ salary.

Her heart sinks. “Sweetheart—”

But Percy isn’t listening. He rushes into the shop, excitedly jabbering about all the things on display. “Percy!” She calls. She follows him, only to find him talking to a tall man with deep black hair such that it shone blue in the light, and eyes that were … identical to Percy’s.

She swallows as Poseidon looks up at her, and his whole face lights up.

“And is this your mother?” He asks Percy as Sally stands there, feeling as though her legs are stuck to the ground, as though a single movement would destroy the world.

“Yeah!” Percy says enthusiastically. “Mom!” He waves her over. “This is Mr. Kai!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman,” Poseidon says smoothly, winking at her.

Sally feels herself blush.

“Ugh, gross,” Percy says in the disgusted manner only kids had. “Mom, look at this thread!” He says, distracted. He holds up a luminous blue thread that seemed otherworldly. Her eyes meet Poseidon’s. They both know that the yarn is a rare commodity under the sea – she remembers when he showed it to her, when she was trying to get some writing done in the cabin, him complaining about her refusing to pay him attention. “It’s perfect!”

“Wonderful!” Poseidon says. “It’s on the house!”

Okay, that’s it. “I’m sorry … Kai.” She says politely, “But I can’t accept that.”

Poseidon has the recklessly cheerful grin Percy had inherited from him on his face. “And why not?”

Sally stares at him, exasperated, the mortification and the heart-fluttering fading away rapidly. “That’s. . .” She begins, gesturing at the thread. “Clearly expensive. You can’t just give it away.”

“Moooom!” Percy complains.

Poseidon leans against the counter, looking as casually handsome as he had six years ago. “I’m not just giving it away, though,” he says amusedly. “I’m giving it to one particular, awesome kid.”

“Yeah!” Percy cheers.

Poseidon looks at her, and she can see it on his face – if she really doesn’t want it, he’ll go. But he’s asking to give a gift to his son. Sally can’t deny him that. “Say thank you, Percy,” she says, giving in.

Both of them grin, identical green eyes shining. “Hannah’s going to love this present,” Percy says happily, tucking the ball of yarn carefully into his coat, patting it to secure it.

Poseidon and Sally exchange a look above his head – and for a moment she can pretend they are a family, and that he lives with them and is helping raise their son.

“Thank you, Mr. Kai!” Percy exclaims, ruining the illusion.

Poseidon smiles softly. “You’re welcome, Perseus.”

Percy furrows his eyebrows. “How d’you know my name?”

“I’ve seen you around,” he says. His smile fades. “And I have a feeling I’ll see you a lot more often now.”

Sally’s breath catches. No. Not now. Not yet. “He’s only six,” she pleads.

“I’m sorry, Sally,” Poseidon says, sounding troubled. “He’s powerful. And the Fates have marked him.”

Percy looks between them, confused.

“No,” she says. “I’ll – I’ll find a way. We need more time. Not yet.”

She can’t bear to think of leaving her child in the demigod camp, of not knowing what was going to happen, of leaving him - a child of the Big Three and potentially a prophecy child - in a place where people would try to use or kill him.

Poseidon sighs. “If anyone can, you can,” he says wistfully, and Sally swallows. His belief in her has always been inflexible, and she loves him for it. “Be careful, Sally.”

And he vanishes, leaving the scent of the sea breeze at the coast, and Sally has to close her eyes at the memories it brings up.

“Mom?”

“We’re going to be okay, sweetheart.” She whispers. “I swear.”

Percy beams a confused but full toothy smile at her, sea green eyes – identical to his father’s - glowing. “’Course we are, Mom.”

He may be growing, but he’s not grown up yet.

She still has time. She’ll figure something out.   

He’ll be a hero one day, she thinks. He’s going to leave, and have to risk his life.

But not today. Not quite yet.

[omni-present-god-send]

Hazbin Hotel One-shot

This is just a quick oneshot that takes place during the finale. It’s also a niche way to intoduce y’all to my OC. Enjoy!

Alastor shuffled his way into his radio tower. What was left of it at least. Adam got him good. His chest burned as blood trickled down from the wound. He slammed the hatch behind him as he dragged himself to the control panel. “I can see the headlines now: Alastor, altruist, died for his friends!” He mocks himself. How did he get so close with these nincompoops so quickly? Well... there was one. One that was different then the others. “Alastor? Are you in there?”. Ah. There she is.

Alastor didn’t say a word. His heart going a mile-a-minute. He can’t let anyone see him like this. Especially not her. Not Ivy. Anyone but Ivy. “I wont force you to open the door. I just want to make sure you’re OK.” Her voice sounded so sad, so scared for him. Just like... just like his own mother would when he would come back from school or the factory. Bloody and bruised from the other children beating him. It wasn’t his fault his skin was darker! His mama had darker skin then him and she was the most beautiful woman in the world! Why couldn’t they see that? Why couldn’t his papa see that he was hurting them? Couldn’t Papa see that Mama and him didn’t like when he came home smelling like booze?

“Alastor? Are you alright? Please... at least let me know you’re alive.” Oh right. Ivy is still out there. Her voice was laced with tears as she spoke. He shook the memories away. This is no time to go down memory lane. “I’m alive. There is no reason to worry.” He forced out. Trying to make his voice seem normal. Ivy sighed from the other side of the hatch. “Thank God you’re alive.”

God wasn’t here. If he was, he wouldn’t care about someone like Alastor. Not in the way his mother and Ivy did. Alastor wasn’t someone who was easy to care about. He made sure of it. Never again would he let anyone close to him. He tried that once, and look where that got him. Fighting for his life on the floor of his destroyed radio tower. Where was God when you needed him? God wouldn’t tuck him into bed with a lullaby. God didn’t make him treats when he was sad. God wouldn’t scratch behind his ears when he was stressed. God didn’t put lavender in his room to help him sleep. God only had his father come home smelling like booze and death. God let a 7-year-old risk his life in a factory all day every day just for the hope of being able to eat at the end of the week. If God existed, he gave up on humanity a long time ago.

A folded piece of paper was shoved through the hatch. He started to crawl towards it. “We won. Adam is dead and the extermination is no more. Charlie is already making plans to rebuild the hotel. I was able to sneak them.” It certainly looked like something Charlie would call a plan. It looked like it was ripped right out of her notebook. Sketched on with a pen with colorful notes made around circled sections. Music notes of Charlies favorite song were going to be a center-piece of the front. Husk, Niffty and Angel would be getting upgraded rooms all to themselves. Lucifer, ugh, would be getting his own personal suite. Across from that, on the other side of the building, was a black tower. Circled with a red glitter-gel pen. Alastor’s New Radio Tower!!!! <3

Charlie added his radio tower into the plans? It looked... nice. Built into the building instead of smashed on like his old one. What was this warm feeling? It couldn’t have been the blood from his wound, that wasn’t near where the feeling was. The feeling was in his heart. Was he... emotional? Someone else had thought of him. Added something specific especially for him. It even looked like something he would design himself! Maybe they aren’t as stupid as he once thought.

Slowly, he opened the hatch for her. Ivy only had to straighten out her stance To enter the tower. Being a 10-feet-tall Orchid Mantis helps sometimes. Immediately she saw the wound. He couldn’t have looked much better in comparison. “Alright. Sit against the wall. I’ll see what I can do to help.” To this day, he still doesn’t know why he listened to her so quickly. That’s what he tells himself at least. He could tell that she was having trouble maneuvering around the tower with her size. She didn’t say anything though. Too focused on the bleeding wound in Alastor’s chest. “Alastor, I do apologize. However, I need you to remove your coat and shirt. Only if you’re comfortable with me touching you that is.” She was always so gentle with him. Never glared at him. Never... made him sad. He removed his hand from the wound.

The sudden air on the wound made it sting. Badly. He gave an unconscious hiss at the feeling. A warm hand cupped his face. “There there. It will be alright.” He leaned into her hand as his shoulders relaxed. He felt her slowly unbutton the rest of his coat with her other hand. She removed her hand from his face to help him out of his shirt. Alastor hasn’t been this vulnerable with someone in a very long time. It felt... nice to have someone else take care of him. Even if he had to almost die to get it.

But that’s not what happened. She had been caring for him for months. Caring for all of them really, but she seemed to give Alastor extra attention. Did she sing lullabies to the others? Or teach them how to play guitar? He doesn’t think so. He knows he’s selfish and cruel. It’s part of what makes him such a good Overlord and business partner. He knows that Charlie’s whole thing is to be as good a person as possible to try for redemption, but what could it hurt to be selfish about this one thing?

A hot stinging pain shot up from his wound. “Shh shh shh. It’s alright. It’s just the anti-septic.” He didn’t even notice the medical kit she brought. He felt her scratching just behind his ears. His breathing evened out as she pet his head. “Now, I’m going to have to stitch it up. I’m warning you now cause it’s going to hurt.” was his wound really that bad?

One look told him yes. Yes it was that bad. He heard fabric ripping. Looking up, Ivy had ripped off a piece of her skirt, folded it up, and was holding it up to his face. “Bite down. This will hurt.” So he did. His sharp teeth somehow not tearing through the soft fabric.

Alastor doesn’t know how long he stayed there. Sitting against the wall of his radio tower. Being stitched up for what felt like eternity. If it were anyone else, they would have been dead before the needle broke skin. The needle and thread going in and out of his skin was torture. Even still, Ivy tried to comfort him. “You’ll be alright.” I’m almost done.” Just a little more.” “You’re doing great.”.

How did a woman like this end up in Hell? Oh right, she killed her husband and ate his head. He keeps forgetting that.

Finally, the torture is finished and Ivy finished all the stitches. She began to wrap them up so they didn’t come out. “You did great Alastor. I’m so proud of you.” Those damn words. Why does she always know what to say before even Alastor does? “Who... who killed that prick?” he finally managed to strain out, not trying to make his voice seem normal.

Ivy gave a soft smile as she helped him into his shirt and coat. “You’ll never believe me, but Niffty is the one who killed Adam.” She laughed. Alastor loved that laugh. It meant that everything would be OK. “He was so busy insulting us that he didn’t even notice Niffty sneaking up behind him.”. Seems as though celebration is in order. “Can you stand?” Alastor tried. At least, likes to pretend he did. He was just so tired. His legs ‘gave out’ under him. Seems he’s a better actor then he thought. Ivy bought it hook, line, and sinker.

“Why don’t I carry you back? I’ll make sure the others don’t see.” Alastor gave her a nod. In an instant. He was being cradled in her arms like a child. He didn’t care if the others saw in that moment. She just felt so... warm. So safe and comforting. He closed his eyes and pretended. He pretended he was a child again. Being carried by his mama off to bed after a long day of working and whatever meal his darling mama was able to whip together. He could even hear her humming Alouette to him again. Oh wait, that was Ivy. He didn’t care. He fell asleep all the same. Perhaps God hasn’t given up on him yet. After all, he did send an Angel his way.

[hauntedbythenarrative]

The thing about a mother's hate is that it's not that different from a mother's love