#she was certain this child would grow up to be a monster like her father

[gh0st-city]

Thinking about Azula again...

[unreliablesnake]

Thunderstorm (Simon Riley x f!reader)

Summary: Simon spoils his daughter and he’s always there when she needs him–even if it’s because of a little thunderstorm.

Note: MW3 is coming, I’ll be back on my bullshit. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics.

“Daddy, please.”

That was it. Simon was usually defeated by these two words that his four-year-old used every time she wanted something. After all, he was his little princess, the sweet child who often fell asleep on the couch next to him in the evening, the one who held tea parties for her toys and him every now and then.

Since he wasn’t home that much, and since he never knew when his luck would run out on the field, he treated every second with her as if it was the last time he saw her. You knew perfectly well that’s why he always spoiled her, why she quickly became daddy’s little girl, so you never said anything to stop him. They needed to bond so she would have good memories of him, and you didn’t want to take it away from them.

“One day you’ll have to stop letting her get away with everything, you know,” you told him one evening after he came back from his daughter’s room following a fight about bedtime that was over an hour ago. “We need to set certain rules.”

“I know, I know.” Simon took his place in bed next to you, an arm wrapping around your shoulder to pull you closer. “It’s just so hard to say no. I swear I’m trying.”

You looked up at him and before you knew it, his lips captured yours in a sensual kiss that aimed to make you forget about what he had just done. But you knew better than to fall into his trap, so you pulled away with a delicate smile and gave him an understanding look.

“I know that, Simon, but we need to be partners in this. It must be nice to be the good cop, but she’ll become a little monster if we let her do anything she wants.”

After taking a deep breath, Simon nodded. “You’re right. It’s just so tough to be strict when I’m away this much,” he admitted before placing a soft kiss on your temple. “By the way, did you hear that?” You gave him a confused look so he went on almost immediately. “A thunderstorm. It’s coming this way.”

Finally it made sense to you because you let out a sigh and said, “She’ll run in crying anyway. Go get her.”

He got out of bed, but instead of leaving the room, he just put his hands on his hips and asked, “You sure? I will be the good cop again.”

“Go.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

His daughter was terrified of thunderstorms. She had been like that since the beginning, always crying when lightning struck nearby, instinctively calling for her mommy and daddy when she was scared, or running into their bedroom right after the sound reached her. He knew she would grow out of this eventually, but until then he wouldn’t want her to stay in her room alone.

Those nights when she slept in their bed between them were his favorites. Sure, he loved to be alone with you too; to explore your body over and over again, drawing out those sweet moans and whines from you, and seeing you fall apart for him. But being together as a family, having his favorite girls so close to him was still better.

Simon liked to think of himself as a good father and husband. He broke the cycle, he became a better man than his father had ever been, and every day he spent home with you two was filled with actions that spoke louder than words. He wanted the both of you to know, to feel that he loved you more than anything in this world.

When he reached his daughter’s room and peeked inside, he noticed that she was sleeping peacefully under the warm blanket. For a moment he wondered if he should just leave her be for now, but then he heard the storm outside and realized you had been right and this was for the best. So he picked her up carefully and walked back to the master bedroom, laying the little girl on the middle of the bed next to you.

“Thank you,” you told him quietly.

Shaking his head, Simon leaned over to give you a quick kiss. “Anytime, love.”

You flashed a wide smile at him, but before you could say anything, your daughter turned on her side and cuddled up to you with her small arm wrapped around your waist. Simon was a little jealous, but he kept this to himself for now. Sooner or later she would wake up and cuddle up to him instead as she usually did.

[cosmicskittlez]

God dude could you imagine being Starlo

You're running a small town because you love cowboys, and it's going great because you're the sheriff. And it's not only because you love cowboys, you also wanna cheer up your childhood best friend who's still pretty upset after her husband and daughter passed. And you also did it to help bring people to your family's farm so they don't go out of business, even if you don't talk to them often anymore. The cowboys are still a big part of it though

Then, get this, a human child comes down who's an authentic genuine cowboy! You go nuts, immediately bringing them into town to show them off and then training them under your wing seeing deputy potential in them. Sure you've been dragging your friends through the mud a little but you're sure they understand! Then when you finally crown them deputy you almost forget their badge, so when you go off to get it made you're shocked to find your own friends trying to attack them. They tell you that you've been being a jerk, which was true, but you weren't accepting it at the time and started being even more of a jerk. Then you run away from your problems and the little human child finds you, and you fight them.

You tie them up and shoot at them, and yet they still surrender. Your hand shakes as you almost shoot them before Ceroba comes back to rightfully tell you off. You admit you were being a jerk and think that'll be all, but then she drops a bombshell of news on you. Her daughter is alive, which is great! And to find her she wants to bring along the child, who admittedly was quite tough for their age and would be able to help her out quite a bit. So you wish them luck and let them go and go back to your friends to apologise. Luckily they let you right back in with open arms, and you share the news with them about Kanako, and they're thrilled! You all think up of a plan to spruce up Cerobas old home to to throw a welcome back party.

As you're cleaning though, you find a room. Hidden under the dining room. In it there's tapes, tapes of her husband telling her a plan to save the entire underground, at the cost of two souls. A boss monster, and a human. And you learn your friend's child is a boss monster, like her father. And you remember who Ceroba took with her, a human. And you realize you need to do something before it's too late. You rush to write a letter to the poor child and storm out of town with Ed in case it doesn't get there in time. You find them both just before they're about to go to the lab, you question her but all she can do is run. You chase after her and tell Ed to bring the kid home to safety, your heart still in disbelief at your friend. You never could've expected this

You chase her all throughout the core and all throughout New Home, trailing her with every step as she tries to run. Finally you both end up at a cherry blossom tree and you beg her to help you understand why she has to do this. You know her, she's kind and caring and motherly, so how could she hurt not only her own child but another? But before you can get an answer, a certain bluebird you jailed in poor judgement shows up with Clover right behind them. The rest of what happened was only a blur, Martlet tries to leave with Clover but she's struck down by Ceroba, and when you try to stop her she strikes you down all the same, and your head hits against the stone as your vision goes black.

You come to only a bit later, Ceroba and Clover now worse for wear but no longer fighting. You find out Clover even won, and pride rushes to you before you look at Ceroba. She looks so tattered and broken. You go to hug your friend and promise that no matter what, you're here for her, and you're going to help her move on despite everything. But then it was time for Clover to go to Asgore. You and Martlet try to convince them they they can't go, that they shouldn't go, that Clover can stay with one of them while you wait for another human. But as the arguing between everyone grows and grows, Clover's soul comes out of their body, a yellow light filling the air.

All they say is that it's time. You try again to convince them down from this metaphorical ledge but they persist, they want to give up their soul themselves. They want to help monsters in whatever way they can. You get one last moment with them before everything. You try to say everything but only so few words escape. Then they reach up to you and hand you their gun, the same gun you bought them. You kneel down and accept it with a heavy heart, trying not to let your tears show. Eventually you and Martlet walk out. A minute passes, and Ceroba walks out with a canister, holding a glowing yellow soul.

You take a breath as you make the trek to the king's castle. This can't be right. This can't be just. How could someone so kind and so brave be so ready to give their life for monsters that killed their own kind? And why did it have to be this way? You and your friends give up the soul to the king, holding back tears as you let your friends soul go one last time, and possibly never to see again. Martlet goes her own way, and you and Ceroba make your way back to the Wild East. You wait to tell the posse, it's already pretty late and you figure they've had enough pain for one day.

You sit down at the empty bar with your head low. Dina can tell somethings not right, but she knows better to dig. She serves you up a shot without you having to ask. You chug it down fast in hopes it'll wash away the day you've had. But your thoughts drift. Clover was just a child, scared and pained and hopeful all the same. They didn't deserve this. You can't even think what could cause anyone to deserve this. As you look down again, you trace a finger around the rim of the tiny shot glass. Their hand couldn't have fit around it if they tried. Your head drops as a tear falls into the empty glass.

They were just a child.

[ghouljams]

Back with more Historical Fae au (someday I will be forced to sit down and write this but I simply would be unable to write about it unless it included Love and I do not feel that I can do her justice. If I ever fucked up writing her then I would CRY, I love her so much.) ANYWAYS, Scarlet Lettered Angel. (I don’t think that was a real punishment for adultery but shush-) Married for years to a man she barely knows, always smiles for him on the one or two times he actually comes home in a span of literal years. But her home grows lonely, her heart sad. The ache for a babe to cradle in her arms and love, someone to fill the hole in her heart. And when she comes up pregnant after a certain night with Keegan and her husband’s family knows it’s not his? Oh, it’s bad but she can’t bring herself to care when her little monster is finally in her arms and staring up at her with her father’s eyes. - ☀️

GOD. You give me such good food.

Absolutely Angel got married to some guy she hardly likes because, well, she wanted a family. But she also specifically married a man who's never around because she didn't want him, just the bundle of joy he could provide. Except he hasn't provided shit. Her stupid husband runs off to Mommy or his mistress at every opportunity leaving poor Angel alone in the house and it's just... sad. She's sad. She sits by the fire and thinks after her own heart: how she could give up love without even trying to find it, how she didn't even get what she wanted in the first place. It's no wonder that when Keegan leans against her fence at the first sign of spring she's eager for the company. No wonder her eyes light up hearing him tell her about a monster in the forest that grants wishes. No wonder she finds herself on her back in the grass being given everything her husband denied her, staring up at starry blue eyes that promise to take care of her if she'll just give herself to him.

And when she finds herself pregnant, already starting to show a little months later, when her husband comes home and swiftly turns around to tattle to the rest of the town? It hardly phases her. Angel has what she wanted, and it's her house, so he can gtfo. She has a beautiful baby, no horns, no tail, no sharp teeth, but big starry blue eyes. People in town might call her child a monster, might call her every name they can think of, but the stranger that leans against her fence wiggles his fingers at the baby, offers to help her clean up around the house, weeds her garden. She makes no moves to hide that she's an... unwed mother, but Keegan doesn't seem to mind.

"Would you do it again, knowing what you know now?" Keegan asks her.

"Of course," Angel tells him, bouncing the baby on her hip.

"You'd give yourself to a monster?" He prods, like he doesn't quite believe her.

"I'd give myself to that one," she says it so simply, like an immutable fact, "He gave me the most precious thing I could ask for, how could I not?"

It's a simple, quiet existence. One that Keegan seems to make space for himself within. He's good with the baby, and he's there. Always. He takes care of his angel, his baby, though she hardly would recognize him. Until of course she's on her back, this time in a warm bed with the man she loves, staring up at starry blue eyes.

[yourtypagirl1]

Christian As A Girl Dad (Headcanon)

Christian Yu/DPR IAN [Fluff]

The moment that Christian becomes a father, his whole world would change. He would put his daughter before and above, anything and everyone else. She would be an important part of his life, just like his mother and his first daughter, Lori.

Christian has a lot of symbolic and meaningful tattoos. There’s no doubt that he would get a tattoo to commemorate the birth of his daughter.

He would melt into a puddle of mush for his daughter. His daughter would be, “the apple of his eye,” “his whole world,” “his little princess,” and Christian would make sure she knew that.

Christian is a very affectionate person, and he would not fail to constantly tell his daughter, “I love you” or “Appa, loves you.” He would show his love with many hugs, kisses on the cheek, and kisses on the forehead.

Christian would want to share with his daughter, some of the things that shaped his childhood and left a good impression on him as a kid. For example, Christian has fond memories of going to the circus as a kid. He would want to take his daughter to the circus too, and buy her popcorn and cotton candy. He would introduce to his daughter, some of the movies he grew up watching like, “Wizard of Oz” and “Dumbo.” And without a doubt, he would take his daughter to see “Cats,” which was the very first musical he saw as a kid.

Christian would be the kind of father who makes a snack for himself and his daughter, right before bedtime. Maybe a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, split down the middle, one half for himself and the other half for his daughter. Served with a glass of milk.

He would be the kind of father who would allow his daughter to paint his nails, and put make up on his face. And he would dress up with her for a make-believe tea party, and sit at the table with all her stuffed animal friends.

His parenting style wouldn’t be too strict, but it also wouldn’t be too lenient either. He would be in the middle. He would scold her when he needs to and wouldn’t overly spoil her.

He would be the type of parent who of course, wants to make sure his child is getting all the nutrients she needs to grow healthy and strong. He would make sure she is eating plenty of vegetables and fruits. And although, he would mostly want her to eat proper meals, he would allow her to have things like pizza and chocolates every once in a while. He isn’t the type of parent to completely eliminate this from her life. Besides, Christian likes to eat pizza too, every once in a while.

Christian would be sure to read his daughter a bedtime story every night, or possibly tell her a story if she asks for one. Maybe even sing her a song on occasion. After putting her to sleep, he’d make sure her night light is turned on, and leave the door to her room ajar, in case she needs him in the middle of the night to scare away the monsters.

Because of Christian’s love for music, it is certain that his daughter would be raised with an extensive knowledge of it. He might even teach his daughter to play a few instruments if it really piques her interest.

In regards to language, Christian would teach his daughter to speak both English and Korean from an early age. He would want his daughter to be able to speak both languages interchangeably, with much more ease than himself.

Aside from teaching his daughter the Korean language, he would also want her to know more about their Korean culture.

Having lived in Australia throughout his childhood and adolescence, and then in Korea throughout his twenties, he would want to take his daughter to visit both countries.

Christian seems to value women who have qualities such as, independence and strength. He would raise his daughter to be this way. He wouldn’t want his daughter to be completely dependent on him or any other man for that matter. There are times when it would be ok to be a bit vulnerable. But there are times when he would have to show some tough love, depending on the situation.

Christian would be the kind of parent to constantly give his daughter advice, give her words of encouragement, teach her valuable life lessons, and most importantly, he would teach her self-love.

Christian would be the type of father who gets a bit teary-eyed witnessing the biggest moments in his daughter’s life. From the day of her birth, to the day of her graduation, the day she goes off to college, and the day she gets married.

This was an anonymous request I received a couple of weeks ago. I don't typically take requests, however I really loved this idea and had to write it. Hope you enjoyed the read.

[headfullofpresley]

i have a request if you are comfortable with it?

maybe you could write a little something about y/n, elvis and caroline having a family portrait photoshoot taken like the presleys had in 1973 by frank carroll in their hillcrest home in beverly hills!

i just know you could make something really sweet out of it your writing is so beautiful! x

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐥

Word count: 3,3K

Warnings: Elvis being a soft dad, that's about it.

A/N: rose, i always love your requests sm and even though this took me years to post, i loved writing it! 💕

masterlist

A busy, chaotic household wasn’t strange to you or Elvis. You both liked having a lot of people around the house despite the lack of privacy at times and in some strange way, you had grown fond of grown men running around the premises and playing with your daughter.

Caroline loved it just as much- she especially took a liking to Lamar because he’d play airplane with her whenever you weren’t looking and Jerry who she simply couldn’t stay away from every time he was around. To some people it might be strange to raise a child in these circumstances, but Caroline was happy and you and Elvis gave her the love and care that she needed to grow into the independent woman she was bound to become one day.

Her life was anything but normal, but at five years old she didn’t quite seem to realise that yet. Both you and your husband wanted to keep it that way for a little longer.

 

Elvis was a good father- while he had sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a son, he loved his little girl more than anything in the world and if he could, he would bring her the moon.

But there were certain things he couldn’t do, things that he was simply terrible at. One of those things being making sure his daughter’s hair looked decent and today, it had to look better than decent. Frank Carroll was coming over in less than an hour to take the family portraits you had arranged to be taken and Caroline was currently sitting on the sink in front of him, glaring angrily at him through the mirror she was facing.

Thank God she allowed him to wash her and put on the dress you picked out for her, but doing her hair was always a hurdle. Not only because he was bad at it, but because Caroline was sensitive about her hair. She had been a little fuzzy all morning- up to the point of greatly frustrating you and leaving your daughter in her fathers’ hands, hoping she would go easier on him while you took care of everything in the living area where the photo’s would be taken.

“Ow, Daddy! You’re hurtin’ me!”

He sighed deeply, looking at the blonde through the mirror as he once more lowered the brush and grabbed some detangling spray he knew you always used on her and yourself. Spraying some on the monster knot in her blonde locks-which he certainly was not going to tell her or you about- he looked at her as he spoke.

“You know your mama is way more rough than me- you want me to call her?”

She immediately widened her eyes, shaking her head which he stopped by putting a gentle hand on top of her little head. She knew that whenever you did her hair she’d be in more pain because you did it faster and without thinking, which ended with Caroline screaming and crying most of the time. There were days where the little girl would sit still and oblige, but with the state her hair was in right now, that wasn’t going to happen.

“That’s what I thought,” Elvis chuckled, pressing a firm kiss on her cheek which she giggled at before wiping it off playfully. He laughed as he put the spray down and inhaled deeply, going back to combing the tangles out of her hair. He decided to leave the worst for last and aside from some small whimpers, Caroline had been good the entire time.

Until he was forced to face that birds nest in the middle.

Caroline’s cheeks were flushed, eyes squeezed shut as she cried so loud it made Elvis’ ears ring. If she wasn’t in actual pain right now, he might have laughed at the sight- but his little girl was truly in pain and it made his heart drop and curse you for letting him do this. He put the brush down, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame as her cries were starting to come out soundless, a sign that she was truly over it.

“I’m sorry, baby- Daddy’s sorry. It’s almost done, almost,” he whispered as he rocked her from side to side, kissing her cheek and wiping her tears away. His large hand found its home on her back, rubbing it soothingly as he told her to breathe. She inhaled shaky breaths as she turned around, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He comforted her for a little bit before he gently pushed her out of his embrace so he could look at her, thumbing away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. She was still sniffling and trembling as if the world was coming to an end.

“You wanna give it one more try? If it hurts too much, I’ll stop, okay?”

Caroline looked at her father through her teary lashes, her fingers pulling at her lower lip nervously. It took her a few seconds to nod- her father was like her big hero, he had never told her a lie so in her logic, he would definitely not be lying now either. Elvis smiled at her and gently pulled her hands away from her face, pressing a kiss on her lips before he turned her around again and grabbed the bottled spray, throwing it up in the air before easily catching it again. The blonde giggled through her tears at her fathers’ antics as he made a show out of it, spraying her hair and distracting her by singing a theme song of some cartoon she liked to watch.

It seemed to be working, because rather than crying while he was combing her hair, she was now singing along and talking his ear off about said cartoon. He was barely listening, but he was glad that she wasn’t in pain anymore.

You had told him what to do with her hair, but after failing at the braids he was supposed to give her over and over again, he settled on twirling two locks at the front around his fingers and clipping them back with two small butterfly clips Caroline insisted on wearing. It wasn’t any over the top hairdo or whatsoever, but Caroline seemed to be happy with it and to him, that was all that mattered.

“Good job, Daddy!” she complimented him, laughing as he lifted her off the sink and put her down, peeling some stray hairs off his royal blue jacket.

“Better than your mama?” he tried, raising an eyebrow at his daughter which she mimicked while shaking her head. Ofcourse it wasn’t better, he knew that, and Caroline wasn’t the type of girl to sugar coat anything. He playfully poked her sides before lifting her on his hip again, walking out of the bathroom. “You little rascal,”

 

“Oh, you’re just gorgeous, my little Care bear!” you exclaimed with a gasp as your daughter asked you how she looked, wiggling herself out of her fathers’ arms and into yours. She giggled excitedly as she snaked her arms around your neck, pressing her cheek against yours.

“Look, Daddy gave me butterflies!” pointing at the clips in her hair, you and Elvis laughed. You hummed and nodded, widening your eyes in excitement at her as she looked at you with the same look on her face.

“I see that, they’re adorable, baby. And what happened to the French braids I told Daddy to give you?” you asked, turning to Elvis with a grin on your face. Caroline giggled and cupped her hands over her mouth, whispering in your ear.

She wasn’t very good at whispering, so when she told you he wasn’t good at doing her hair, he heard it. Caroline let out a squeal as Elvis playfully poked her sides again before taking her out of your arms, looking at her with a feigned pout.

She smiled as she grabbed his face in her little hands. “Don’t worry, Daddy. You’re good at other things,”

“Like what, hm?”

“Reading! You always do the voices, but Mommy never does. She’s not very good at that,”

Elvis threw his head back as he let out a hearty laugh while you gasped, taking a step closer to the duo and squeezing Caroline’s feet through her shoe softly. “Go play with Jerry- I’ll call you when it’s time for the photo’s,” you told her, to which she nodded excitedly as she wiggled her way out of Elvis’ arms, who put her down just in time.

“You don’t do the voices?” Elvis smirked as he walked into the kitchen with you, taking off his jacket as you handed him a cup of coffee. You rolled your eyes with a laugh as you poured yourself a cup too, leaning against the counter.

“You can’t make a French braid?” you shot back at him as you blew into your steaming coffee, a small grin raising the corner of your mouth.

“Honey, that’s a woman’s job- ‘course I can’t,”

You raised both eyebrows at your husband, taking a small sip of your coffee as you hummed softly. He chuckled as he watched you nod to yourself before taking a step closer to him.

“You’re right,” you told him with a smile, stealing his cup of coffee out of his hand. “But so is drinking coffee in the kitchen at 11 in the morning,” you shrugged, pouring his coffee down the drain and placing the cup in the sink. Elvis gawked at you, his now empty hand still in the same position.

Oh God- he wished Caroline would just stay tiny. Because even now, she was already a lot like you and he knew the older she'd get, the more back talk he was going to get.

You knew Elvis could never really tell if you were serious in these kind of moments or not- most of the time you weren’t, but you liked to keep him on his toes. And as you were starting to laugh softly to yourself while drinking your coffee, he sighed deeply and shook his head, a chuckle rolling off his tongue.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” he told you as he stepped forward, snaking his arms around your waist to press you against his chest. You put your cup down on the counter and smiled lovingly at him, running your hands up his chest and fixing the collar of his shirt.

“I know,” you said, bringing your hand up to fix a lock of his hair behind his ear. “I learned from the best,”

“Nuh-uh. You were born this way, I know that’s a fact,” he grinned, pecking your lips. “And I also know I ain’t never doing Care’s hair anymore- not when it’s in the state it was in. She was screaming bloody murder!”

You laughed as you slapped his chest playfully. “Oh, you big old softie- she isn’t made of sugar. You should’ve seen me as a little girl, I put my mother through hell every morning and I guess I’m gettin’ my karma now. Now you know what it’s like,”

It wasn’t like every morning with Caroline was terrible, but most mornings… yeah, they were. To Elvis, Caroline was a perfect little angel that could do no wrong but you always saw yourself in her. You knew all her little tricks, because you had once used them on your own mother. Her crying those crocodile tears because she didn’t like to get her hair done wasn’t the end of the world.

“Evil, evil woman,” Elvis grinned as he shook his head, slipping his hands down to your ass to give it a playful squeeze. “I’m glad I’m not the bad cop though,”

“Oh, don’t get it twisted, baby- you just wait until she’s sixteen and starts dating, then we’ll see who’s the ‘bad cop’,”

He was just about to take a sip of your coffee which he stole from the counter as he gasped, making you laugh. You gently pushed him off of you and slipped out of his embrace, smiling at him.

“I oughta spank you for that,”

You managed to step away from him before he could grab you, laughing with him. “Tonight- now, don’t get coffee on your shirt. Frank will be here any minute!”

He rolled his eyes as he watched you sneak out of the kitchen, taking a sip of coffee as he leaned against the counter. The both of you knew there was no ‘good cop, bad cop’ in this household because Caroline loved you both just as much. Even though Elvis allowed her to get away with a little more than you did, didn’t mean he didn’t have his rules. And just because you were perhaps more strict than Elvis, it didn’t mean you didn’t like to spoil and baby her at times too. Still, Elvis did not want to think about his baby girl ever dating but now that you had planted the idea in his head, it was all he could think about.

 

“Carolineee, look here!” Frank chimed from behind the camera, wiggling his fingers at the five year old who was currently dancing around her fathers’ cane that was resting under his palm.

You should’ve known that taking professional pictures with a five year old wouldn’t be easy.

At first, she started crying because she had never seen the photographer before and needed a little time to get used to him. Then she got distracted by the Mafia that was wandering through the house, begging for Lamar to pick her up and twirl her around above his head. Now it was Elvis’ cane that suddenly seemed to be the most interesting thing in the world.

“Care, come sit,” Elvis told her, grabbing her arm and pulling her onto his lap. He didn’t mean to be as rough as he was or sound as impatient as he did, but it was enough for the blonde to glare angrily at him and crawl onto your lap instead.

Frank waited patiently as you softly and gently scolded your daughter, telling her it would all be over if she’d just sit still and do as told. Luckily her mood shifted as quick as the weather and she was giggling when Elvis tickled her sides, making her laugh out loud which made Frank take the opportunity to snap pictures.

The photographer figured the pictures would come out better if you’d just do as you always did rather than posing for the camera and Caroline seemed to prefer this as well. She gasped as you and Elvis kissed each other, hiding her eyes behind her hands before she squeezed herself in the middle and pressed a kiss on Elvis’ cheek and then on yours.

You took a few pictures with Caroline alone, which she seemed to enjoy a lot, but as soon as Elvis came back for his turn, she immediately crawled onto his lap as he sat in the chair again. You got up and stood next to Frank, laughing as you crossed your arms.

“The glasses? Are those necessary?” you questioned. You liked your husband’s fashion choices, you did, but you had hoped that maybe once he would keep the glasses off.

“Keep them on, Daddy! They’re cool!” Caroline giggled excitedly as she swung her legs back and forth while sitting on Elvis’ knee, tapping her small finger against his glasses.

Elvis grinned as he looked at you, shrugging as he rested his cane against the arm of the chair. “You heard the boss,”

Caroline smiled so bright that her little cheeks were aching and you laughed, watching your daughter and husband pose a little for the camera before Caroline once more started talking about cartoons and other random things that interested her at the moment. The moment her little hands reached out to Elvis’ glasses and pulled them off his face to put them on her own, your heart swelled. She managed to make everyone in the room burst out in laughter as she slipped off Elvis’ lap and grabbed his cane, posing with her fathers’ belongings. Elvis couldn’t stop laughing in the background, cheering her on as his eye caught yours, shooting you a wink.

 

A week later, you, Elvis and Caroline sat on the couch as Joe tore the paper off the huge picture frame that was being held upright by Vernon. You had seen all the pictures (and made sure they’d all be put in a photo book), but the one that was currently revealed was your favorite and you wanted it to have a place in your home.

Even if you would move out of Hillcrest, you’d take this picture everywhere with you and hang it up because it was simply adorable.

The three of you all wore big smiles in the picture, Caroline ofcourse sitting in her fathers’ lap. You looked like a perfect, normal family and although you were anything but, you wanted Caroline to have fond memories of her childhood and of her mother and father.

This picture would hopefully hold a special place in her heart when she’d get older- it already had in yours.

“Elvis is so cool!” Caroline squealed as she jumped from the couch and walked over to the picture, admiring it from up close. Everybody laughed, Elvis getting up to throw his daughter in the air before catching her and placing her on his hip.

“What’d you just call me?”

“Elvis!” she grinned playfully at him, already knowing what was coming as he tickled her tummy, her little hands trying to stop his bigger ones. “Elvis, Elvis, Elvis!”

“I’m your Daddy, you little rascal,” he laughed, squeezing her in his embrace before putting her down and kneeling in front of the picture. She immediately took the opportunity to plant herself on his knee, wrapping her arm around his neck. She looked at you as you kneeled down beside Elvis and smiled brightly.

“Can we hang it in my room?” she asked, making you chuckle as you kissed her forehead.

“It’s a little big, Care bear. I’ll get you a smaller one of you and Elvis, okay?” you grinned, calling him by his name on purpose. He glared at you as Caroline laughed and nodded, though was immediately distracted as Lamar came into sight and ran toward him.

You and Elvis stood up straight, you pressed against his side as he slipped his arm around your waist.

“Caroline, what’s your Daddy's name?” Lamar joked as he raised her from the ground and held her above his head. She spread her arms as she laughed, looking at her father.

“Elvis Presley!” she squealed, giggling uncontrollably as she was spun around in the air.

Elvis rolled his eyes, laughing softly as he turned to you, leaning down as he looked into your eyes.

“This is your fault,” he whispered, the corner of his mouth rising into a smirk as he guided you out of the living room and into the hallway. You knew where he was taking you, but you didn’t stop him- couldn’t stop him because you were laughing so hard. “I think now’s a good time for that spanking,”

 

Your husband didn’t spank you when he got you into your bedroom- you wouldn’t let him because your daughter was in the other room. But you did have a quick make out session that felt as if you were teenagers again, having to keep your ears perked for footsteps coming down the hall.

Only this time it weren’t the footsteps of worried parents or nosy friends, but tiny ones that belonged to your daughter. You were off of your husband before she could burst through the door and little Caroline had no idea what was going on or what her parents had been doing, simply grabbing your and Elvis’ hands to pull you out of the room and show the portrait that the boys had hung on the wall.

Every time she saw her father in that picture she would call him by his first name- neither of you had any idea why she did it, but Elvis figured as long as he was the only man on her mind, he had nothing to worry about.

At least, not for a few years.

taglist: @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @woundmetender @returntoelvis @prayerstopresley @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @wonka-gifs @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @septembersghost

[habit-poxly]

father neptune (pt.2)

Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

sea monster-hunter au!

description: after two months trapped in Manchester, finally Simon is able to venture back to the island to search for the woman who endlessly haunts his dreams. 

warnings: strong horror elements, descriptions of drowning

word count: 3.2k

masterlist | Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3

Ghost would often resent coming back to his empty, crumbling flat; there was simply no reason to stay living in Manchester- especially after the passing of his family- yet he had. Year after year Simon would put off moving into London, brushing it off as an eventuality yet one he didn't seem particularly interested in making a reality. He had given the excuse that it was too much hassle, that he didn't have enough time to dedicate to it, but

He had always been a distant man, never caring for sharing his emotions- and rarely his unfiltered thoughts. Any amount of genuine human connection was an anomaly, something he wasn't built for, something he had never felt he experienced fully. He imagines that's the real reason he stays so far away from everyone else; even when he was in a room full of people he still couldn't help but feel like a ghost- completely alone and invisible. 

Night terrors had chased Simon relentlessly for as long as he could remember. He recalls that when he was a child he would often wake up in such a panic, in such fear that he was certain there must have been bugs under his skin with the way it would crawl. Yet, since arriving back to his desolate flat- bare, cold walls nestled in a row of other brown brick units- the night terrors have been replaced with dreams of her. It had been two months, horrific weather grounding the Bravo 141 crew until the storm that raged just off their shores became more manageable. Even the sturdiest of Royal Navy hunting vessels had succumbed to the violent, sail-crushing waves. That information however did nothing to calm Simon's rampant longing to return to the island as quickly as possible. 

Recollections of that night had swarmed in his mind for eight weeks, turning his dreams into visions of her nightly. They were far from the horrific, gory, nightmares he had grown accustomed to; originally they started as dreams of him drowning, a quiet, slow struggle in the ocean's gentle current- a far cry from the way he had already fully accepted he was going to die. He had always believed it would be in battle, in glory, perhaps he would be eaten by a monster- the thought of drowning hardly crossed his mind despite how often he sat on top of the water. The dreams would leave him exhausted in the mornings, his body aching with the physical exertion of the actions from his dreams. 

As time moved on, they morphed into something far different. She would float above the water where he struggled, white grown still heavy with the growing weight of the salty ocean water. Her hands would reach down and take his, keeping his top half bobbing above water, and there they would stay. He doesn't ever recall the conversations the pair have when he wakes, although the pleasant feeling that would settle in his gut while attempting to remember made them appear rather nice. He would cling to her, wherever she would so graciously allow, saving him from suffering through yet another night of endless struggle for life. Her fingers would run through his wet hair, moonlight bouncing off her feature and sending him into obsession. 

Mad, it was driving him mad. In recent times his dreams had grown so pleasant, so healingly wholesome, that he found himself disappointed to wake up. His days would be spent in exhaustion, simply waiting out the time until he would return to sleep- until he could see her again. He couldn't stand another night slumped in his chair or laying stiff in his uncomfortable bed. No matter how many times he mulled over it in his brain, he couldn't find where the feelings came from, or why. It had been getting worse, the feelings of longing to be with her slowly becoming overwhelming. Repeatedly John had softly urged Simon to move to London, he even offered for the pair to rent a flat together. Of course, Simon declined, the captain's worries going completely unheard. 

For weeks, the Captain, Soap, and Gaz had all sent him letters, filled with meaningless small talk and life updates. Simon would respond, coldly and formally as he always had in his writing, never confessing to anyone of his deteriorating situation. Simon sat in wait for one particular letter from the Captain, a letter for which he had bags packed and ready at the door waiting for the arrival of, the letter calling him back to work- finally back to her. And when it came, Simon had never been in London quicker- normally the trip would take at least four days, but he managed in two and a half. It was raining when he arrived, the streets busy with rushing people. 

The crew gathered in Price's office- standing around his desk looking over one of Price's many maps. Despite the Bravo sticking to roughly the same course every voyage the men always met before departure to talk specifically about the route. Price's finger traces over the drawn lines, making routine comments and reminders. Simon rarely put full attention into moments like these anymore, he had grown so experienced that this portion of this work was an annoyance more than anything.

"We're stopping at that island?" Gaz questions, confusion plastering his voice. Soap and him exchange brief glances before the Captain clears his throat. 

"Don't see why not. 's a beautiful place." John shrugs, despite how he waved off the topic his body was tense and uneasy. The three others pause for a moment as if all of them were struggling to find the proper words to question the man. The Captain notices the uneasy tension immediately, shaking his head he continues. "We won't be stayin' the night again. We'll just drop in as normal." 

Simon tenses, he hadn't even thought about the possibility that the other men would want to return, his thoughts of the woman completely crowding his brain. "Why not?" He growls, his tone coming off far more dangerous than he intended. The Captain and he had a unique relationship- Ghost was just simply able to get away with treating John in a way others couldn't. Ghost suspects it's because John views him as an equal, the pair having been friends since their enlistment days. 

John shoots Ghost an odd look, his eyebrows scrunching and creating wrinkles on his forehead. "There's just no need." He shakes his head again, turning back to the map ready to move on. 

Anxiety pools in Simon's gut. For weeks he had been endlessly fixated on seeing her again, the thoughts of her making it nearly painful to wake up in the mornings. It was no longer a want to travel to see her, to learn who she is and how she functions. Obsessed was a word Simon viewed as too inadequate to describe how he felt, every waking and unconscious moment was spent wishing he was with her. It was desperate- he admits to himself-, the way he longed for a woman he had seen and spoken to once, a woman whose face was never even clear view. Yet, that didn't help dull any of his feelings. 

" 'Think she's a selkie, maybe the lass was forced to marry one of the fat bastards in that village." Soap chimes, voice and face serious. 

"Believe in sailor's tales now too do yah?" John lets his serious expression fade, the lines on his forehead fading into crow's feet beside his eyes.

"Believe in my culture- in what we saw." Soap responds firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. " 'Feel for that woman, maybe we should stop by and make sure everything 'right. Wouldn't be able to sleep knowin' she could need help and we didn't do anything." He finishes, Simon gives a brief nod before returning his gaze back to the captain. The man looked unsteady again, the same heavy look settling again. 

Simon shifts in place, his large figure always seeming to lurk in the spaces he occupied. His whole life he had been deprived of essential affection, even with the handful of women he had dated he had never felt a satisfying amount of love- it always being just too little to make him content. Yet, these dreams had come and he had felt satisfied, body half in the frigid water, half in her warm embrace, it was something- and he would take anything, everything. 

The Captain lets out an exhausted-sounding sigh, his fingers moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. "And what did we see?" He asks, a dangerous tone to his voice. Soap paused for a moment, face stern and lips pulled tight, the look response enough. 

"You know what you saw." Soap responds, eyes fixated on the Captain. Simon had known John Price a very long time, and something he had always done was deny how things impacted him. Regardless of circumstance, John acted fine and would refuse to do anything else- driving an open and honest person like Soap mad. John wouldn't admit it out loud, yet this was something no one in the room could deny. 

"We'll visit, I'm not spending a night at that dock." The Captain grumbles defeated, dragging a heavy hand over his worried face. And with that, the men went about their duties.

Preparations for their voyage didn't take long, the four men had become trained professionals over their many years inside the vessel. The ship itself was massive and commanding, dominating any harbour she sailed into- whether in experience, age, or durability. It was a typical 18th-century Frigate converted into a hunting vessel, with deep brown wood making up the hull and black metal detailing. The sides were scattered with slashes and marks, souvenirs of the many battles she had sailed away from, reminders of conquest. Three large masses sat on the deck, white sails hanging high. It was a large ship with many decks for only four men to take care of, leaving most of the ship empty for cargo- which no one minded. Fewer people had meant less mess, and the freedom of space had meant everyone had space to themselves aboard- something they all appreciated. 

His silent plan to venture onto the island and search for her remains buzzing in his heart the whole trip, keeping him up at night with excitement in his cot yet desperate to return to her arms. The weather had subdued into a manageable but miserable rainfall over the ocean, grey clouds lingering above. At one time he remembers being rather annoyed every time it would rain- making the deck slippery and his vision blurry- yet as he aged he became to appreciate it, miss it even when it was gone. 

His hands tightly grip the railing in front of him, his eyes fixated on the distant glow of the island's lighthouse. It sat on a barren cliffside, standing tall and alone in the empty landscape. There was a small white wooden building attached, both buildings matching in paint colour, it was one of the simpler lighthouses he had seen, probably built by the crown themselves with very limited funds. The villagers seemed to live there as if they had dropped out of the sky, the buildings seemed old yet unlived-in; as if everyone who existed within it took extra care to never leave a trace. The houses were as dull as the rest of their surroundings, serving their functional purpose only, no care taken to the details.  

The entire journey had been unbearable, him having to go about his duties all while thinking of her- and having to pretend that he was not.

As the boat pulled closer to shore the men darted around the deck, fixing the sails and preparing to dock. Price called commands, it wasn't needed anymore- all the men understood exactly what they were supposed to be doing- yet John had always done it anyways. As the ship slows to a halt Simon's eyes scan tentatively down the shoreline, the cove where she had been now half filled with water at high tide. He doubted any of the men in town knew where she lived, and even if they did he doubts they would tell him willingly. Instead of docking, however, the Captain drops the anchor a distance away. Price gathers the men on the deck beside one of the small boats hanging off the side of the ship. John had been sure to remind them to bring their swords, Soap and Simon exchanged brief glances, silent questions exchanged as Price loaded them into the boat. Gaz had decided to stay on the ship, feeling far more comfortable with the space between him and the shore. The ride in was painfully quiet, the crew sitting in silence until the front of the boat hit the rocky beach. 

Many times he had had to remind himself that she was just a woman, one who thought he was a ghost, one who had probably been frightened by them following her, one who had tenderly apologized for his hurt. She had been sweet, achingly so, it pierced his soul, cementing her into him forever. 

As they pull the boat onto the beach Soap stretches and takes a long look around. "Where to start..." he mutters, hand rubbing over his pale face. 

"Soap-" The Captain says firmly, pulling a cigar from his pocket and setting it between his lips. "Head into town, we'll meet back at the pub before it gets dark." His hands feel over the pockets of his jacket before moving to his pants looking for his matchbook. 

Soap nods firmly, responding with a uniform 'yes, sir.' before turning and walking towards the path into town. 

As soon as Soap disappeared out of view, Price began slowly walking down the beach, nursing his cigar as his feet displaced the rocks below his boots- not the same pair they had found on the dock, in fact, he had never seen Price wear them again, they probably sat in the back of his closet in his flat, or maybe they were silently tossed overboard.

" 'right mate?" Simon asks, eyes piercing into the shorter man as he squinted. 

"Yeah, yeah." John waved dismissively, eyes locked forward. "Sleeps been shite." he grumbles, the soft admission of which seemed exhaustingly difficult. 

"Night terrors?" His low voice rumbled, sometimes he hated it, how he was never able to sound tender through the years of aggressive screaming during battle. 

John pauses for a moment, a hollow look falling over his features. The pair would often talk one on one, being each other's closest confidants, yet moments of sharing feelings were far and few in between. After seemingly mulling over all his possible responses he nods solemnly. 

" 'bout drowning. Every night." John states, emotion devoid of the statement as if he were stating a plain fact. "It's foolishness." He grumbles, shaking his head as a soft red blushes his cheeks. Simon sucked in a sharp breath, thinking over the Captain's confession. 

"What did you see in the cave?" It had slipped out, the question falling from his lips the second it had crossed his mind, leaving a tense feeling hanging in the air. The waves began to curl beside them, the intensity of the waves increasing slowly, soft drizzle still bouncing off the ground. 

"Just her, nothing else." He states, breaking the strained quiet. "She looked tired, like she had been crying for days, ghostly. Thought I was havin' a heart attack runnin' back to the ship, had myself convinced she was a banshee... I don't believe in all that spiritual nonsense- but in our profession it makes me wonder." John pauses, sucking in a breach of air as he thought. 

"Think of the terrors we've pulled from the ocean-" Simon's mind darts through his large arsenal of memories, ones that span over decades on the ship. The two of them had killed creatures with mouths so large it could sallow their boat whole, creatures from so deep that their bodies would swell and bloat at the surface. They had pulled up giant squids, indescribable monsters, things that looked too vaguely human to put soundly out of mind. They had killed the unimaginable, yet still believed monsters and ghouls to be nothing more then talltales

"Why couldn't something like that live up here with us?" His voice dwindled at the end, faltering into uncertainty. "Not sayin' I think she's a sea monster, I probably scared the shit out of her as much as she did me." He raises his hands in mock surrender, a strained smile tugging at his lips. The two men ventured off the beach and down an old, seemingly fairly used dirt road leading further into the island. 

"Used to have dreams bout' drowning too." Simon confessed, eyes scanning diligently over the empty fields in front of him. The further from the shore you got, the more trees there would be, scattered sparsely. 

"Is she ever the one doing it?" John asks, voice almost timid with embarrassment. The two men slow to a stop under the hanging branches of a weeping willow, a crumbling stone wall lining this side of the trail. His eyes crinkle, the deep purple bags becoming more clear as the sun began to peek through the clouds. 

"No."

John simply nods, eyes glazing over as his eyes fixated anywhere but Ghost. He takes a deep breath, gulping down the tinge of guilt that ran through his throat.

"It'll make me feel better to see for myself that she's just a woman, then I can stop thinkin' about dying again. Get back to being a drunk bastard." The Captain chuckles warmly, attempting to move the conversation somewhere more comfortable. 

"She holds me." Simon blurts out, the secret bubbling to the surface finally as it spills out against his will. John's face contorts into confusion. 

"She what?" He asks, the look in his eyes making Simon wish he had never engaged with this in the first place. 

"She... holds me. She'll hold me above water and... talk to me. I don't remember exactly when it started, it hasn't stopped." 

John pauses for a moment, eyes fixated on Ghost's face covering, in moments like these where he could feel his face burning he was grateful for the thing. 

"That's why you wanted to find her?" He asks, all the sternness on his face melting away, there was a stark difference between Captain John Price and Simon's dear friend John, human moments like these confirmed it to him. Simon gives a slow, soft nod, just enough for John to understand. He lets out a soft chuckle before grabbing Simon's shoulder and shaking him gently. 

"That's nuts mate." 

Simon blows out a loud huff, taking a step back as John chuckles more shaking his head. "What's the plan then?" He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his body against the mossy stone wall beside them. Under the shelter of the hanging branches there was decent cover from the rain, only a few droplets managing to sneak down and land on either of the two.

In all honestly, Simon hadn't particularly thought that far ahead yet, he supposes he'll know when the time comes, but a set plan would be helpful. 

"Find her." He states plainly, John can't help but roll his eyes at the dullness of the response. 

"Yeah? Then what?" John questions, his tone shifting to one more serious again. 

"Keep her, love her, finally." 

taglist: @blueoorchid @@hoe4myers @yjhariani @lexi-zsy09 @galaxieshearme @tumblinginoz @icepancakes @iluvweasleys (if i forgot you just let me know)

[hello-nichya-here]

I'm new to the ASOIAF Fandom and love your insights so I was curious how working as Cersei's sworn shield impacted Sandor? We know he spent many of his younger years in her service before being assigned to Joff, though iirc we never see them interact on page. There seems to be a certain Sansa/Cersei parallel and their influence on him.

I wouldn't say Cersei herself has had an impact on Sandor, at least not as an individual with an actual dynamic with him (because she doesn't really have one for reasons I'll explain later) but rather as another part of a system, and house, that Sandor despises.

House Clegane is under the authority of House Lannister from it's creation - which was literally about a man and his dogs saving a Lord from a lioness. Sandor grew up knowing he owed respect and loyalty to these people - to people whose crimes include murder and rape against other people AND themselves, as well as kingslaying, treason and incest, yet still end up as royalty because they're rich as fuck, to the point that even the crown ends up owing them money.

More importantly, while they employ Sandor as their guard, they do the same to Gregor. The evil older brother that disfigured and nearly killed Sandor as a child for the crime of playing with one of his toys - a toy Gregor didn't even want and threw aside. The extremely violent and downright sadistic man that is known for raping and killing anyone on his path.

Sandor had a sister, and it's very possible Gregor murdered her. And it is a fact that his own father covered up for Gregor after the disfigurement/attempted murder against him. Gregor was also knighted by Rhaegar Targaryen, the supposed "perfect" prince that was killed after (allegedly) kidnaping and raping Lyanna Stark.

Gregor was knighted by the person whose wife and children he would murder, on Tywin Lannister's orders. And he's just walking around, facing no justice because NO ONE is interested in punishing him for it, certainly not the Lannisters who greatly benefit from having such a terrifying man, or monster, working for them.

All of that sends a clear message to Sandor, one he picked up on and embraced from a very young age: cruelty, violence, selfishness and cynism is the only thing that is rewarded in the world. So, he lets the Lannisters turn him into their attack dog that will protect them, and do any vile thing they want, as long as he has shelter, food and money to waste on wine and prostitutes. Deep down he hates himself for it, but he pushes any shame and regret he feels aside for the sake of surviving.

And then in comes Sansa Stark. Daughter of a VERY important Lord/Hand of the King. The future QUEEN. An 11-year-old girl that is fucking terrified of him because he looks scary and acts scary.

Sandor expects from her the same he expects from the Lannisters, aka nothing. After all, in the words of Tywin when he found Sandor replaced Barristan Selmy in the king's guard “You feed your dog bones under the table, you do not seat him beside you on the high bench."

Instead Sansa calls Sandor "Ser" even though he is not a knight, and tells him he rode gallantly that day. Sure, Sandor knows she's just saying that to be polite and Sansa CAN be unfair and even a little cruel to people sometimes (just ask Arya and Jon), but that is still WAY more than a man that constantly gets called a dog and treated like one would ever expect from someone that high up on the hierarchy of their society.

Still, he calls her out on being "just a little bird" that is simply playing the role of proper lady much like he is playing the role of heartless hound. He is downright hostile to her, makes her cry by forcing her to really look at his horribly disfigured face - and tells her about what Gregor did to him, and how everyone allowed him to get away with it. He expects her to either cower in fear even more then go back to playing her role of "polite young lady", or to grow a bit more cynical and jaded like him.

Sansa picks a third option.

The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. “He was no true knight,” she whispered to him.

Sansa Stark, the proper little lady, the future queen, the future lady Lannister, is telling Sandor that he is RIGHT. That what Gregor did is awful and that he doesn't deserve all the glory he has gotten, that they system is unfair.

But she's also proving that he's wrong to believe that acknowledging the inherent awfulness of such a situation means you have to embrace it as normal, that you can only respond to hate with more hate - because here she is, validating all of his anger, cynism and resentment, but she's doing it through compassion.

She doesn't want someone to take on a sword and kill Gregor just because "that's the way the world works" and she isn't giving Sandor an excuse for his violent tendencies - but she is saying Gregor needs to be stopped and Sandor deserves justice as a victim.

And that rocks Sandor's world so much violently that in nearly every other chapter in which he and Sansa interact he's acting as HER loyal guard, trying to protect her from any threat as best as he can (even yelling at the king to stop hitting her) and covering up for her whenever she slips up and needs an alibi to justify what she said/did - even though the Lannister's are his supposed masters, and Sandor has said that a Hound will die for you, but never lie to you.

He isn't loyal to the Lannister anymore, but he is loyal to Sansa, and the reason why CAN actually be explained with a direct parallel between Sansa and Cersei.

Sansa used to look up to the queen and was genuinely hurt when she found out that Cersei never gave a damn about her and thought she was just a stupid little girl.

During the battle of Blackwater, all the important women are given shelter in the palace - and Cersei is looking down on them for being scared, for turning to each other for support, and for the fact that, if they survive, they'll HAVE to pretend she was oh so compassionate and gave them strength by being strong herself.

Cersei cannot inspire genuine loyalty and admiration, be it from the ladies and lords in the court, or from guards like Sandor. Everyone just pretends. Because as the queen she is rich and powerful. For now. They pretend to worship the ground she walks on out of FEAR of the potential consequences. But once she's not as powerful, no one will be by her side, because everyone HATES her.

Meanwhile, Sansa, who is now able to see Cersei for what she is, has the right idea in mind. In her own words, if she were queen, she'd make people LOVE her.

And that love Sandor has for Sansa's innocence and kindness, for her values as a Stark, for her determination to not let the Lannisters turn into something she's not, pushes him to change his loyalty, and no one will ever be able to steal it away through money or threats.

Sandor is, at heart, a romantic in every sense of the word. Sansa is the fair maiden he loves and is in love with, and is both her fool and her brave knight - like in the story of Florian and Jonquil, a song he once tried to force her to sing AND one she said she'd sing gladly.

[heliads]

Hello how are you ? may I request a Thomas tmr fic ( yes again !) it’s very weird I saw a headcanon about him and it was so cute sooo I had to ask you. It’s a magic/ medieval au when the reader is a villager living in front of the woods she heard thanks to tales told by her mother about some legendary being living in the trees. One time she ventures into the forest and comes face to face with Thomas a woodland in the beginning she was scared of him but by the time she fall in ✨love with him✨. It’s very weird ok ?! I’m sorry 🤣🙏

oh this is good. vibes off the charts

masterlist

Everyone knows about the Beings. Few have actually seen them. That doesn’t stop the stories from spreading.

In the small village of your birth and subsequent upbringing, it is easy to mistake strangeness for menace. The rules are simple, unspoken, and followed blindly: do not stray too far from the village gates, do not go out after dark, and most importantly, do not think that you can get away with visiting those that live beyond your reach. The Beings are separate for a reason, and they are not to be trusted.

It is obvious to all who live inside the boundaries of your town that the outside world is dangerous. Your ancestors came here a very long time ago and fought a very hard war to make it work. It is this place or nothing else; the ocean encloses your island on all sides, but with the untamed forests sprouting up in between the shores and your village, you haven’t seen the water in your entire life. No one has.

Sometimes, you have dreams that tell you otherwise. One rusting ship carrying dozens of starving, terrified people to a place free of violence and horror. You can hear snippets of conversation, their words muted with grief. They speak of events that have never been recorded in your history books, monsters and men with names utterly unfamiliar to you. You would think it was nothing but a nightmare were it not for the fact that it seems so crushingly real.

This is the part where the village elders step in and tell you to stop indulging yourself in such wild flights of fancy. Thinking about what lies beyond the walls of your settlement is not proper thought at all. The founders of this town made unimaginable sacrifices so that your father and your father’s father and the father before that could live in peace. When you ask what battles they fought, you are reprimanded. Details were only made for the dead to hear, not the living to truly care about. You’d do well to stay silent and move on.

Moving on, however, is the one thing you cannot do. You are surely not the only wildhearted child of this village to grow up and wonder why the rules are so strict. If it feels like that, perhaps it’s because the other wide-eyed explorers of your town have all been crushed without another word. You refuse to join their ranks.

In truth, you already know another like you. Your mother understands your need to push beyond the expectations of the village elders, and in the dark of night, she whispers to you stories of what truly lives past the shadow of the walls, why your village was raised to lock its doors and shut out intruders. It all has to do with the world your ancestors escaped when they fled here.

It happened a long time ago, of that much she is certain. Most of the facts of the stories have long since disappeared, evaporating from the heat of the too-bright sun. It wasn’t always that hot, she says. It’s getting better, but at one point the flares of the sun didn’t burn quite so badly into your back when you headed out in the morning. The world is healing, but it takes its time, licking its wounds as it watches the rest of you suffer.

After the sun lost its mind, the rest of the population did too. Madness swept the lands, monsters roamed the hills. The main characters of such stories always try to find a way to save the day, and in those times, people did the same. Their solutions were more cruel than successful, however, and in the end the real heroes ran away from their wicked oppressors and came here, a place where they would be free. They watched the fires burn across the world they left behind and promised that they would never leave this island, the one place they could truly go without fear. Their one Safe Haven.

No moment of peace lasts forever, though, not in this world. You cannot turn your back on one monster without another taking its place. Soon, rumors spread about the Beings, unknown supernatural foes that lurk outside of the village. If the old stories are to be believed, they were once people who lived in this very town. Something happened to make them leave, and now they roam the outskirts of the island still, keeping to themselves, letting the shadows of the forest keep away any intruders.

You always found that part a little hard to believe. There’s no way anyone from the initial wave of people could have possibly lived this long, especially if they were on their own in the forest. Whenever you raised this point with your mother, however, she just shrugged and said that this particular bunch were rather adept at surviving under difficult circumstances. She wouldn’t put it past them to have made it this far.

You can’t ask anyone else their opinion on the matter, as such conversations are kept solely within the walls of your own home. To speak of the Beings is seen as encouraging the townspeople to leave the borders of the village and seek out danger. After all that your ancestors gave up to protect this dream of a normal life, how could you possibly be so selfish as to want something more?

You can answer that hypothetical question quite easily. What is the point of endless sacrifice if you do not use it? This island was once clear, full of rolling hills and burbling streams, but it’s long since fallen into disrepair. Thick, dense forests crowd out the horizon, stretching tall up to the sky as if to cast a permanent shadow on the backs of those who live in the village. It is impossible to go about your business without feeling the weight of the wilderness pressing in on you.

It should come as no surprise, then, that at last you could take it no longer. If you do not find out the truth about the Beings, you think you might die. So, if you’re seen slipping out of your bed in the early morning before even the farmers rise, it should at least be expected that you would be headed towards the forest.

You bring a few things with you; some food and water, a cloak in case the shadows are even half as cold as they seem, a compass, a blade. The knife is kept close at hand, although you hope not to use it. All this time, you’ve been promising that you never once believed in the Beings, but something about having to go into their homeland steals a little of that confidence from you.

At last, you’re setting off in search of the truth. The shine of the dawn lights your path for you and you sneak away from the streets of the village. The gates are tall and thick, but you find a way out nonetheless. Soon enough, you’re walking briskly towards the wall of vegetation known affectionately to the townspeople as the terrible, cursed forest, and at last it swallows you whole.

It is much darker in the forest, but as you walk, patches of golden sunlight filter in through the leaves and guide your way. It is quite beautiful here, actually. You could see why some immortal soldier would want to live out their endless days in the woods.

You have yet to see such undead creatures, though, no matter how far you creep into the forest. There are no signs of life, no indication that there is anything in here but you and the trees stretching on forever. You’ve almost given up hope of ever finding anything when someone coughs pointedly behind you.

You whip around instantly, knife flying to your hand. If the boy behind you is remotely afraid, though, he gives no sign of it.

“Easy,” he drawls, “Don’t put your eye out.”

You squint at him. There’s a figure half hidden in the shadow of a neighboring oak tree, and you can only make out the roughest details of his appearance.

“People of the village aren’t supposed to be here,” you say irritably.

You can see a sliver of a grin through the dark air. “I hope you’re going to give me an explanation for your presence, then. I’d hate to think that you’re trespassing for no reason.”

You’re about to demand that this boy give you a reason first when it occurs to you that this isn’t a boy from the village at all. Nobody was around, nobody saw you go. The only place this boy could have come from is the forest.

Your eyes widen and your grip tightens on the knife. “You’re one of them!”

The boy raises his hands in mock surrender. “Can I ask you to put down the knife again? If you know what I am, then you know I’m not really all that threatened by that small of a blade.”

You consider this a second, then decide he’s right. “Did immortality take away your fear of death?” You quip.

“On the contrary,” the boy whispers, “it made me want it more than anything. There are some people I would love to see again if I could only manage to die.”

You stare at the boy in the shadows, and slowly, carefully, he emerges from the depths of the woods. You don’t know what you were expecting of the creatures of the forest, but this is certainly not it. You’re face to face with a boy who seems about your age. His dark brown hair is tousled, eyes sharp with centuries’ worth of pain. He blinks it away quickly enough, choosing instead to pull up a facade of quiet strength as easily as if he’d worn it his entire life. In truth, he probably has.

“I’m not doing a good job of introducing myself, am I?” He asks distractedly.

“You’re not,” you answer, barely focusing on the question. This is an immortal being, and he looks like a normal boy. A cute boy. This is fascinating.

He laughs. “Thanks for that. I’m Thomas, by the way.”

You nod. “Y/N.”

Thomas folds his arms across his chest. “And, Y/N, what are you doing in the woods? I thought your people only ever cowered behind the walls of your village.”

You arch an affronted brow. “And, Thomas, why do you look so normal? I thought your people were some kind of monster that never dared show their faces.”

He pauses a moment, then chuckles. “Alright, I’m being unfair. It just so happens that visitors are rare. Don’t tell me attitudes are changing in there, they never do.”

Your brow furrows. “How would you know?”

Thomas’ face grows cold. “I know because I was there. I set up that damned place. I know who they are because I made them think like that.”

Your heart seems to still in your chest. “So it’s real. You’re actually hundreds of years old.”

Thomas lifts a shoulder. “I aged wonderfully, I know. We all did.”

“Your whole group,” you ask slowly, “you’re all like this?”

Thomas nods decisively. “It wasn’t some sort of curse that forced us here, it was a sickness. My friends and I were immune, so the doctors in the old world experimented on us. We were never quite sure what they did to us. I suppose they wanted good test subjects, so making us free from pesky things like death would certainly be helpful. We can die from a stabbing or gunshot like anyone else, but old age isn’t a thing. Why replace your lab rats every seventy years if you can just keep the first round the exact same?”

His voice is bitter, and you find yourself staring in shock. “Other people did this to you?”

Thomas’ eyes dart over to you, icy as a winter frost. “What, you thought we were monsters of our own choice? No, we’re not that terrible. They made us into this, and now we have to deal with the consequences. We thought the other Immunes could live with it when we first came here, but it turns out no one likes dying when they know that others are going to stay young forever. They hated us for not sharing in the burden of growing old. Soon enough, they forced us out. We’ve been here ever since.”

You raise a hand to your mouth. “That’s awful.”

“Tell me about it,” Thomas says pleasantly, “but it’s the past. We assumed everyone in the town had long since forgotten about us, but you’re a clear indication of the opposite.”

You hate to crush the faint light of hope in his eyes, but you must nonetheless. “You’ve grown into legends, sure, but not good ones. Most everyone is afraid of you.”

“Not you, though?” Thomas asks.

“Not me,” you reply, “I wanted to know what you were actually like.”

“And are you disappointed?” Thomas poses the question casually, but you can sense some other layer to it, some level of desperation affixed to every syllable.

“No,” you decide, “I’m not. I’m glad that you’re the hero I hoped you were.”

Thomas blinks in surprise, then nods slowly. “Hero. Huh.”

You dare to smile. “What, not used to thinking of yourself as anything but a monster?”

Thomas’ own smile grows. “Something like that.”

He takes a moment more to revel in your words, then starts to walk past you. When you’re side by side, he turns to you and extends a hand.

“Coming?”

You tilt your head to the side, curious. “Where are we going?”

Thomas grins. “To meet the others. I have a feeling that you’re going to like them just fine, and I wouldn’t mind the company.”

You take his hand without question. Somehow, you get the feeling that you’d follow him anywhere, nor would you be the first. “Let’s go, then.”

If you were to think about the legends, you decide then and there that you’d add on an important postscript to every story about the beings of the forest. They’re strong, sure, and utterly beyond the reach of most, but to those who can journey beyond their usual comforts and dare to track them down, it is completely worth it. Your own story is just beginning, but you have a feeling that Thomas is going to figure quite prominently in it.

requested by @hope92100, i hope you enjoy!

tmr tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @thatfangirl42, @hiya-its-amber, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @w1shes43

[a-world-in-grey]

Ok, last one, I think (I could be wrong (: )

Sola and Thrown to the Wolves au. Specifically, the version where Regis never goes to Galahd, so all he knows is what Mors told him before he died and whatever he found in the archives.

Now please take a moment to imagine all the potential angst that comes from the fact that Regis' first baby is under Adagium's Curse. (Whatever that's supposed to mean, because the royal archives are surprisingly silent on the topic.) His tiny teeny baby girl who was born premature and who fought for her life so fiercely is supposed to be a monster in human skin.

I don't think Regis would ever abandon her, he's not called the Father for nothing. But he's certainly not going to have a good time in this verse. +Sola's less-than-human instincts would probably make things even worse.)

I'm always up for asks if you've got more! (they make for a great breather from studying for finals)

You are right. This is so angsty. >:)

Regis' heart breaks when he puts his little Sunshine through the ritual, when instead of needing the potion held in a white-knuckled grip, Sola's skin slowly knits back together under the faint glow of golden magic. But even as he holds his wailing daughter close, wiping away blood to reveal skin unmarred by so much as a scar, Regis knows he cannot abandon his daughter here. Adagium's Curse or no, Sola is a child. His child.

Regis leaves the broken shards of a potion and doesn't look back.

And the Vitae watching from the shadows wonder.

In this 'verse, Sola grows up having to hide her golden magic. This is not the time of the Rogue or the Wanderer, technology is everywhere and Regis cannot risk Sola living beyond the Wall with the war in an uneasy ceasefire.

The court believes Sola without magic, and rumors abound of Sola not being Regis' daughter at all. Sola looks so like her mother, but she acts much like Cor, and it doesn't take long for the gossips to speculate that Cor and Aulea were having an affair behind Regis' back.

No one in the royal family is amused.

Even after a paternity test is provided to shut up the worst of the gossips, the court pushes against Sola as Regis' heir. Surely the Ring will not accept one without magic, they argue. And for all Regis tries to shelter Sola from the court, he cannot stop everything from reaching the ears of his sharp little girl.

When Sola, all of five years old, tells him that she refuses to be Queen, Regis' heart breaks all over again.

None of the adults tell Sola the truth of her golden magic. They tell her that she cannot use it because it will hurt her and those around her, but they do not tell her about Adagium's Curse. Regis and Aulea hope, that with love and care, their bright and fierce Sun will not grow up to be the monster described in faded legends.

Oh, they see her less than human instincts. Watching Sola so closely, they'd have to be blind to miss them. They worry, because they think this the grain of truth to the legend, a manifestation of the Curse.

And yet... Sola isn't malicious. She's fiercely protective to the point of bordering on possessiveness, more inclined to attack first and ask questions later if she perceives a threat to Hers. But Sola doesn't attack anyone who doesn't attack or threaten her or hers first. She never subjects anyone to abject cruelty. If Regis hadn't seen Adagium's Curse first hand, he'd think Sola simply too similar in temperament to Cor.

Then Sola tears out a man's throat with her teeth.

In the aftermath, Sola's fairly certain she wasn't supposed to overhear Regis, Clarus, and Cor talking in Papa's office. But she does, and she overhears 'Curse' and 'not-human', and Sola's already heard more than a few people referring to her as a monster these past few days to realize that Papa and her uncles are talking about her.

Sola sneaks around the library looking for anything she can on curses, dodging suspicion from her papa and uncles by insisting that she's more than old enough to find her own books. One of the librarians, a woman with really cool dark eye makeup and lipstick, helps Sola with her research. Unfortunately, Sola's unable to find the answers she's looking for, but one afternoon when she's curled up with Noctis for an afternoon nap, Sola resolves that Curse or not, monster or not, she will protect her little brother. No matter what.

When Sola's old enough to formally apprentice to Cor, Regis shares his magic with her, as Noctis is still too young yet to properly create a Retinue bond. There's no question Sola is Noctis' Sword, just as there's no question that Gladio and Ignis are his Shield and Heart, but they're planning to wait until Noctis is at least sixteen.

Only, Noctis gets kidnapped before that can happen, then picked up by a wandering Vitae and brought back to Galahd.

Where originally Noctis would be utterly baffled by Galahd's insistence that Regis was a bad father, Galahd knows how Regis loves and cares for Sola despite her so-called 'curse.' Galahd knows it to be no curse, knows Sola's non-human instincts instead come from the Draconian's Blessing (Galahd's been dealing with those same dragon instincts for millennia, they know it when they see it and Sola's very dragon).

Regis knows none of this. He had every reason to abandon baby Sola to her death and erase her from the records.

He didn't. He lied. He kept her hidden, kept her safe and loved as best he could, and the handful of Vitae spies hidden amongst the Citadel staff have seen it all.

It seems the Father is the Mother's child after all.

When Regis and Sola arrive, Regis demanding to know where his son is with Sola's rumbling growl reverberating through their bones, Sola's growl cuts off with a jerk of surprise when one of the Furia trills at her, reassurance-Hoard-safe-not-seeking-fight brushing up against the embers of gold magic suppressed inside her soul. Sola stares at the Furia with wide eyes, because no one, not even Uncle Cor for all his growls and chuffs, has ever responded in such a way to her.

Things get sorted out, and before they leave for Insomnia, Sola and Noctis and Regis get to meet their aunt/sister and cousin/nephew, and Sola's given an invitation to come back to Galahd to properly train her gold magic.

@secret-engima if you want to add anything from Galahd's perspective feel free to join in!

[xansposts]

sexuality

i wrote this a while back when i was just thinking about lgbtq+ representation and all that, it's just a rant about how i feel about it. it was shriveled up in my drafts lol but i thought pride month was an appropriate occasion to post this for first post goes crazy anyway enough yapping 🙏

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in this life, people look at you weird if you’re not normal. “normal”. sure, you could say we’ve come miles since the 1800’s and we’ve had so many rallies and protests and laws for inclusion. you can look at it positively. but, it’s tiny little things that make you realise we haven’t come that far, at all. take sexuality. we’ve had marriage legalised, and queer healthcare like hormones available to anyone that needs it. if you look at it on the large scale, everyone knows about gay people, and in western culture, nobody would bat an eye, because there is so much talk about being trans, and sapphic, and gay, that it is one of the biggest topics ever. it’s in every other tiktok and reel, you make harmless jokes with your friends calling things like sitting weird or looking a certain way gay, but just think for a second.

you’re in a not-that well known country, it’s not too big and its not too small, most people know of it. you’re in a decently small town where you have sweet parents. they’re strict to you sometimes and they smack you when necessary, but that’s really normal there. you go to a standard government school and you have good friends. you have a good social life and a good family, and you’re known as the sweetest girl between the aunties. you have siblings, and you mess around a bit, but nothing that would be morally wrong. you play harmless pranks. you like singing and drawing. you love putting your hair in crazy, weird shapes. you love helping mom mix her spiced veggies. you love pretending to help dad with washing his scooter but just making your brother do it for you. sure, not everything is perfect and you fight sometimes, but everything is where it has to be.

but you like a girl. it’s unheard of. its abnormal. it’s disgusting, it’s revolting. nobody could ever even think of something like it. if anyone knew, ever, her friends would all leave her. her friends who she gossips to everyday and listens to, will leave her alone like everyone else in her school and she will have nobody to talk to. she might see them whisper bad things about her and laugh and then look away. she has to hide it from them, and her brother, because if he knew, he would change his perception of her. the same sister he grew up with, the same sister he spent every moment with that he replays in his head with such joy, he looks at that same girl’s face with the most horrified look just because of one thing. if her parents every knew, the same parents who are her entire life. the two people she can turn to. her mother, with her silky black hair, who always held her face in her palms when she was a child and said “i’ll love you no matter what, my baby.” looks at her own child. someone with her eyes, her nose, her hair, her body. someone who gained being from her, looks at her with her eyes wide and her hand over her jaw, tears forming. with such a horrified look, the same horrified look everyone gave her. her own. mother. her father, her sweet father who used to take her on his shoulders and throw her up into the sky because she loved space and he said “i’ll show you the stars one day”, her own father who has always taught her to never stay with anyone who treats her anything less that what he does, looks at his own daughter as if she was a monster.

now, this little girl has nothing to turn to. so she copes horribly. she scratches her table, she pulls her hair from her scalp because she’s crying and she can’t breathe and she can’t scream. she holds herself because nobody ever will. all because she likes a girl. she hates herself for this, she grows up thinking she’s abnormal, and weird, and inhuman. she turns to god, and asks “why have you made me this way? why me? please god, cure my illness. i just want to be liked.” she grows up neglected, hurt, and at a point talking to her diary didn’t help. she was trapped inside a tiny black box with nothing but herself and her tears. she didn’t ask to like girls. she didn’t ask to be looked at weird. she didn’t ask to feel like she is the ONLY one that she’s ever seen that is like her. the odd one out. that’s what she lives in fear of. so she never tells anyone. she keeps it a secret. but she grows up under the stress of hiding it. her ENTIRE life. every little moment. hiding herself from everyone she cares about, because if they knew she liked girls, they would call her inhuman.

there are probably millions, if not more, people who live a life just like this. exactly like this. such a large population, growing up with such fear in their hearts, because they can’t tell anyone. it’s an immeasurable pain to carry.

that is why i believe, there is a lot of representation in western media, yes. ”dyed hair and piercings, must be gay.” ”heartstopper season 3 is coming out!!” ”all bisexuals know they need to tuck their jeans”

but i wish there were more. for girls like these. girls who feel TRULY helpless, in their own home, in their own life, who could just be themselves. representation matters because if we showed girls liking girls or guys liking guys the way we do with girls liking guys, those tiny girls or boys or anything else will feel like they’re understood. there’s more people like them out there, and they can take a deep breath, and close their eyes, and let the tears drop from their face, because they can be as happy and free as their mom, or dad, or friends, or brother. or anyone else. i wish they would see people in movies and comics and go watch them with their parents, and have it be normal. for those girls or guys in small towns, wishing anyone could let them be normal.

if you look at the us right now, we’re going backwards at a disturbing rate with all the anti-trans laws and we’re making even more kids feel unsafe. like they need to hide from everyone. and the same people who are publishing these laws, if they felt even a second of the mental pressure and pain it takes to go through that process of living your life suffering, they would be disgusted with the fact they even thought of putting a single, forget millions, of children through that. in the majority of countries, gay marriage is NOT legalised. and trans people live through the rut of it all. they are looked at the worst, and that added pressure with the fact that they feel disgusted and dysmorphic in their body and can’t do anything about that, often leads them to suicide.

and then people are so shocked. especially the older people (30 and above) “oh my god!!! this is horrifying, how could they kill themself? what even goes through a person’s head when they do that?” and they are the EXACT same people who laugh and shout and scream and gag in disgust and push them right to the brink themselves.

and in most places, it is frowned upon highly when you like someone of the same sex. and you would probably think that most invalidation comes from the older generation, who grew up with girls and guys being the absolute norm, and view anything else as shocking and abnormal. but, suprisingly, no. our own generation, the ones who have grown up with so many protests for lgbtqia+ marriage and rights, the same generation that grew up when most countries legalised gay marriage, and the same generation when being gay was being normalised, is the exact same generation that is tearing down every. single. word. that we have worked so hard to be said.

if you are a young queer person, obviously a younger, teenage person’s opinion of you is going to matter more to you than someone who is older, because, 1. they’re seen as dumb boomers who aren’t modern, and living in the same mindset and time as you, so you don’t see them as an equal, who you can share your true opinions and feelings with because they will probably disagree because they were taught different. and 2. because someone who has grown up with the same things you have, and has the same general knowledge about current events that matter to you (i.e trends or memes) matters more to you than someone who hasn’t. right?

and since someone who is your age’s opinion matters most to you, it should NOT be a thing that the same people who is your age is discouraging you with such harsh words casually about something that is so important to you, and is so normalised.

go on literally any tiktok with a trans person in it. any. you will 100% see a comment that says “still a guy” “we can tell buddy” “average american kid 💀💀”

imagine you posted a video, literally doing anything. you could’ve been making a funny relatable video which doesn’t even MENTION your gender in the slightest, and then you get a popup in your notifications seeing someone saying that shit. a stranger.

it’s really fucking easy to just say “don’t let them get to you.” “cyberbullying cannot be real cs like just ignore them” but when you actually get in the situation where someone says that shit to you it is 100% going to impact what you think of yourself and your gender negatively for as long as you live. well, maybe not that long, but you’re going to think of that comment randomly for another 5 years, let’s say. and that’s just ONE. if you’re someone that makes videos often, there are probably going to be tens of hundreds (maybe if you’re popular) comments that talk about it every single time without fail, and it’s going to impact you. ESPECIALLY if it’s instagram, because being blunt when using “dark humor” became majorly funny and evolved into your average teenage boy and sometimes even girl just casually saying something racist or homophobic and your friends laughing. it started out funny because you weren’t saying something outright racist, you were being creative about it, or making a joke about someone’s death but not outright saying it, and your friends would laugh out of shock because it was funny and a crazy, wild thing to say but now, since the blunt dark humour thing has been a running thing for a while now, when someone laughs at something dark you say you see them laughing and think it’s genuinely funny and over time that hardwires your brain to think being racist or something like that is just funny. not laughing because it was such a crazy dark thing to say, but because it’s funny. and normal. and now it’s normal to shit on queer people who just want to be like anyone else in society, because being a dick is funny. i just don’t get it.

i’m a funny person who isn’t that emotional most of the time, but when i am, man. i just sit on the edge of my bed and put my hands on my knees and just think.what if they found out? how would they react? when they found out about similar things they hit me. would they hit me? would they say they loved me no matter what and it wouldn’t matter? would they hold me in their arms and tell me they still loved me? or would they stare in disgust. with eyes burning with this hatred. feeling sorry they raised a daughter that could ever be like that. the worst, and most terrifying part is, i can’t fathom how they would react. i never even dared to interact with that topic with them, so i have no idea, not even the slightest idea, what they think about it. i guess they’re a bit more modern-minded than most parents, they didn’t force me to be a doctor or engineer, they said i could be what i wanted. (as long as it’s a good career, obviously) which is a step that is a LOT further than most parents like that take. but i just can’t even begin to think what they would be like.

anyway, that’s what i think. and i didn’t grow up with much representation until later in my life, but i was still young. i’m thankful for that, but i also really do wish i grew up with more lgbtq+ representation that wasn’t of white people. more lgbtq+ representation with poc, and people of my race, and my culture, and my country. we need to broaden our horizons. and stop repeating the same thing. gay white women, gay white men. happy pride month!

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might delete this later cs idk but yeah hope it was a fun read 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍 WHERE ARE THE GAYS

what the skibidi

[riahlynn101]

Whumptober - Day Twenty-One: "Polaroid."

TW: William being himself, stalking, heavily implied slut-shaming, mentions of pregnancy, and hints of emotional and financial abuse.

Set in the FNAF movie universe.

Edited: 10/23/2023 - finished and edited it (as much as I could).

--

William is busy (he always is, but it’s nearly the holiday season. And if he wants Fredbear’s to get ahead of the competition, Henry and him need to start planning ahead for the influx of customers). He rushes around the restaurant, trying to dodge screaming children. 

Why he ever got into children’s entertainment, he’ll never know. 

He’s almost to his office, when someone taps him on the shoulder. 

“William?” 

He turns around to face-

“Laura…?” He can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Laura was an ex-fling of his. They broke things off a few months back abruptly. He thought it was because she wanted to move out of state, but-he looks her up and down, noting her swollen stomach and tired eyes-that apparently wasn’t the case. Without another word, William opens the door to his office wider, inviting her in. 

She moves past him, not meeting his eyes. 

He sits down at his desk across from Laura. “You’ve been busy,” he jokes.

Laura glares at him, a hand on her stomach. “No, thanks to you.” She takes a deep breath, settling down. “I…didn’t come here to fight.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

Another glare. 

William smirks, pretending to read over some paperwork he finished earlier that day. “I don’t have all day you know?”

Laura sighs. “There’s no easy way for me to say this, but I’m pregnant.”

“I would have never guessed,” he snarks. 

Laura rubs her stomach, one hand remains there at all times, as if protecting the growing life inside. “And you’re the-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he says, cutting her off. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I want no part in it.”

Laura stares at him, narrowing her eyes. “What I’m playing at?” She repeats under her breath. “What I’m playing at!? And what do you, William, think I’m doing here then?”

“Waste my time? Try to scam me? Take my money and hard earned assets?” 

“I don’t want your money,” she spits. 

“Then, what do you want?” William asks, annoyed. He really hopes one of his employees, or worse, Henry, doesn't come into his office. The last thing he wants to explain is why he’s having a heated conversation with a pregnant woman. 

Laura sniffles, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. 

Great, now she’s crying. She does that a lot. 

“I,” she sniffs, clearing her throat, “just wanted our child to know his father. I know what it’s like growing up in a broken home, and I wanted to prevent that.”

It’s William’s turn to sigh. “Hypothetically, say I believe you, how certain are you that it’s mine? I mean, you got around a lot.”

Laura shakes her head, looking at him with watery eyes. “I know I used to party a lot, but you didn't like when I did that. So, I changed. I haven’t been with anyone else besides you in over a year.”

He tsks, tilting his head to the side. “And I wish I could believe that, but unfortunately, I can’t.” 

“Please,” she begs, putting her hands together, “I don’t have anywhere else to go and-”

“And there it is. The truth.” He laughs, going back to reading over the finished paperwork, using the sounds of Laura quietly sobbing as white noise. 

“Two things can be true. This baby is your child. Even if you don’t care about me, you should care about your son.”

“Sorry,” William tells her. “I have to get back to work, but I’ll be sure to send a gift card along to the women’s shelter.” 

He watches her leave, defeated.

“That was odd,” he says to himself, flipping through a file to find one blueprint or another. 

Despite how cruelly he treated her, William hopes the baby and her stay safe. It’s a scary world out there, and a real monster might take advantage of them. 

-x-x-x-

William forgets the encounter. Business is booming and sales are up. Laura and her unborn child fade from his memory. 

But then, Henry and his wife decide to have a baby. A little girl, they lovingly named “Charlotte.” 

Business slows down, and William is left to his thoughts. He thinks about his ‘supposed’ child. They would be about four or five now. He wonders what they look like.

Do they look like Laura? Him?

He mentally berates himself. None of it matters, because William will never see Laura again. He hasn’t seen her since their last conversation, so it’s safe to say that she probably left town. And it’s unlikely that the kid is actually his. It can’t be. 

The next day, because he’s so lucky, William runs into Laura while grocery shopping. He almost runs his cart into hers, but stops just in time. “Laura?” He asks. “Is that you?” He takes in her appearance. She looks put-together, something that she always seemed to struggle with. His eyes linger on the gold band around her left ring finger, and stop on the little boy sitting in the front of the cart. 

Laura looks at him like a deer in headlights. Her mouth opens and closes. Before she finally composes herself. She stands a little straighter. “In the flesh,” she jokes.

William keeps looking at the boy. “Is this your-”

Laura cuts him off. “My son. Yep.”

“So, is he my-”

Again, she interrupts him. “My husband’s son?”

“So, you lied to me?” William can feel his blood starting to boil. The thought of abandoning his potential child has taken up more mental space than he likes to admit. Years of trying not to think about it, and she lied?

“No,” Laura mutters. She starts to walk away, but William puts a hand on her cart. 

“Then, what happened?”

Laura glares at him. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

William studies the little boy, who gives him a big, toothy grin; his two front teeth are missing. All freckles and dark curls that rest messily against his forehead and big brown eyes.

He sees nothing of himself in the boy, and yet…

“He’s mine.” 

It isn’t a question, but Laura answers anyway. “I’m not talking about this in front of Mike.”

“Michael,” William says, tasting the name. “I like it.”

Laura goes to move forward, but he maintains a tight grip on the cart. “Don’t leave, I just want to talk.”

She looks at him, and then down at their son. “I-”

“Laura,” a man says, a can in each hand. “They had a sale on veggies, and I know you’ve been saying we need to start feeding Mike more greens.” He tosses the items in the cart, before turning to greet William. 

“Hi, you and Laura know each other?” There’s no accusations hidden in the question, but William feels somewhat offended.

“Of course we do. Me and her go way back.”

The man, who William suspects is her husband (judging by the matching gold band on his finger), raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah, way back.” It might be childish, but he relishes the slight twitch of the man’s eye. The knowledge that he’s getting to him, albeit barely. 

Laura’s husband laughs, but it sounds forced. “Hey, honey, how about you go checkout? I’m sure Mikey doesn’t want to hear boring adult talk.”

She nods, hurrying away before William can intercept her again. 

Once the cart is no longer in view, the man turns to him again. He pokes a finger into William’s chest, a severe look on his otherwise handsome face. “I know who you are, and I’m warning you, stay away from my family.” 

There’s so many things William wants to say, but it’s clear that anything he says will fall on deaf ears. “Okay,” he answers, acting meek. 

The man stares at him for a few seconds longer. “Good,” he mutters, leaving to (presumably) go find Laura. 

William goes home that night, still thinking about his son. His real, actual son. Laura hadn’t been lying, or trying to pass off someone else’s child as his. They exist.

Instead of giving him closure, the event sparks something in William. He might not be able to talk to or interact with his son, but he can keep close tabs on him. 

He buys a polaroid camera, and memorizes his son’s routine. Which is hard, because most of the time he’s with one adult or another. But sometimes William can catch him alone, at the park, or when he’s waiting for his parents to pick him up after school. 

He never talks to Michael, not wanting the boy to tattle to his mom or “dad.” 

William sticks to blending in with the surrounding crowds, or shadows. In the case of the park, he pretends to act uninterested, reading a newspaper. But in those perfect little moments where no one’s paying him any mind and his son’s doing something cute, like yawning or giggling, he’ll snap a picture or two.

A perfect little memento for his eyes only. 

But then, Laura has another child - a little boy. Which messes up William’s schedule, because now Michael spends a lot of time at home with his new sibling. And as much as he wants to spend time with his son, even he’s not stupid enough to commit breaking and entering.

William sits on the park bench, newspaper in hand and polaroid camera at his side. It might take a couple weeks, but he’s sure his son will come back.

[loosesodamarble]

Father's Advice

Summary: What was meant to be relaxation time became a small lesson from Nacht to Vivian. Genre: general Word count: ~600

..........

It was a bright day out. Thankfully, it wasn’t too hot as clouds gathered in the sky, hinting at the possibility for rain. But for the time being, the clouds weren’t too numerous and they were a clean white.

The perfect circumstances for cloud watching.

Nacht used his Shadow Magic to carry himself and Vivian up to the area of the manor’s roof. It had been a while since he and his youngest child had spent time together so might as well make cloud watching the day’s activity.

“Are you certain that there’s a minimal risk for danger here, Father?” Vivian questioned Nacht while scooting away from the roof’s edge.

“You’re safe, Vivi. You won’t slip easily and even if you do, I’m here to catch you.” Nacht then patted the spot beside him. “Now lay down and watch the clouds with me.”

Vivian blinked once, let out a little “hmm,” then laid down beside her father.

“The clouds are lovely today,” Nacht remarked as he stared heavenward. “Look at those clouds there. The way they swirl, it looks like a rushing river.”

“Those appear to be cirrus clouds.” Vivian’s tone was flat and detached.

“Ah, you’d be correct,” Nacht awkwardly confirmed. He scanned the sky some more then pointed to another cluster of white. “Doesn’t that one there look like a rabbit? Can’t you see the tall ears?”

“It looks like a cumulus cloud.”

Nacht pursed his lips and did his best to bury his growing feeling of concern.

“How about that cloud there? What do you think it looks like?”

“Another cumulus,” Vivian responded, still without passion.

“Oh. I was going to say it looked like the Black Bull’s emblem.”

“Ah. Is that so?”

Again, Nacht pointed upward. “Don’t those clouds look like the farming fields we saw in Hage? Heck, that bit sticking out from the rest looks like a farmer at work.”

“That cluster is likely altocumulus clouds.”

“That cloud there looks like a four-armed monster.”

“Hm, my best estimate would be to classify that as a cirrostratus cloud.”

With several more failed attempts, Nacht finally sighed then turned on his side to look at Vivian. She stared back at Nacht with only her eyes.

“Vivi,” Nacht spoke her nickname and tenderly brushed aside his daughter’s bangs. “I’m not talking about identifying the cloud types. I’m asking you to use your imagination and picture the clouds as other things.”

“What is the purpose of such an exercise?” the girl asked. “Why dedicate time to entertaining ideas that aren’t reality?”

Nacht’s heart ached for his daughter. Vivian was his beloved youngest child and he’d love her no matter what, but for her to be so serious at age seven filled him with worry. It was like she’d already forgotten how to be a child.

“Not everything is about what the facts are or what’s real, Vivi,” Nacht stated in a soft tone. “Have fun seeing what’s not really there and pursue what you wish was real instead of resigning yourself to a sometimes bleak reality. For example, I was in love with your mother long before I knew how she felt. So if I gave up on loving her, you and your siblings wouldn’t be here.”

Vivian blinked. Her expression didn’t change drastically, but Nacht could see there was a change in the way she was staring at him.

“I want you to dream.” Nacht pulled Vivian close and nuzzled her forehead. “And one day, you’ll turn your dreams into your reality.” He let go and went back to laying on the roof.

“Father…” Nacht hummed to Vivian’s call. “That cloud there…” Vivian pointed. “It reminds me of Gimodelo…”

Nacht smiled. “Yeah, I see it too.”

[sallow-gaunt]

Angrboða Lestrange (OC)

For anyone curious, Angrboða is my Hogwarts Legacy OC for the purpose of this playthrough!

Etymology: Angrboða is the name of a jötunn in Norse mythology. In Norse legend, she is the mate of Loki and the "mother of monsters"; Fenrir the wolf, the Midgard serpent Jörmungandr, and the ruler of the dead Hel. The Old Norse name Angrboða has been translated as 'the one who brings grief', 'she-who-offers-sorrow', or 'harm-bidder'. The first element is related to the English word "anger", but means "sorrow" or "regret" in Old Norse. The second element "boða" is cognate with the English word bode as in "this does not bode well". Angrboða is also the name of one of Saturn's moons.

Nicknames: Bodhi, Boda

Birthdate: 13th January 1875

Blood-Status: Pure-Blood

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Biography

Angrboða was born in 1875 to the wealthy Lestrange family, an ancient and wealthy pure-blood family that originated in France but has branches in Great Britain. Her parents were Corvus (III) and Eglantine Lestrange, and she had an older brother who was eight years older than her who was named after their father, Corvus (IV).

As a child, Angrboða didn’t seem to show any signs of magical power, much to the disgust of her parents who despised the idea that their daughter was a Squib; the only reason they didn’t rid themselves of her is because of the Lestrange family motto, “Corvus oculum corvi non eruit” - “a crow will not pull out the eye of another crow”, representing how members of the family will not turn their backs on each other. Still, the shame of having what they thought was a Squib for a daughter made them try to hide her away, and many people - including many of their own family - didn’t even know that they had a daughter. As a result, Angrboða was not included on the Lestrange family tree that would later be found by her niece, Corvus’ daughter Leta, at the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise in Paris in 1927.

Growing up, Angrboða tried hard to show her family that she wasn’t useless - that even if she didn’t have magical abilities, she would still worth something to them. It was to no avail, of course; her family despised muggles, muggle-borns and Squibs, and the fact she didn’t appear to have any abilities meant she was completely loathsome to them. Over time, Angrboða developed a love of reading and writing, pastimes that she spent hours doing when locked away in her room or trying to hide from her brother, who quickly developed a penchant for practicing certain spells on her - he never did it in front of their parents, but she knew that they were aware and simply chose to turn a blind eye to it.

Angrboða’s magical abilities only began to show when she was fifteen, and she was both surprised and overjoyed to learn that she was not a Squib after all - she had thought that perhaps her parents might then care for her, that her brother might apologise for bullying and mocking her all those years… but the damage was already done. Of course her parents weren’t going to forbid her from attending Hogwarts, of course she would attend now, but they made it clear that it changed nothing: she would always be a disappointment to them, and nothing she did would ever change that. Still, a small part of her hoped that they might change their minds if she proved herself to them, if she showed them how good a witch she could be.

Other Things

Boggart: Spiders (she's about to have a REALLY bad year)

Wand: Dogwood with Dragon Heartstring, 13 inches and pliant

Favourite Class(es): Care of Magical Creatures, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Least Favourite Class(es): Divination (sorry Professor Onai!), History of Magic (but only because it's delivered in such a dry and dull way - she might like it if it was delivered in a better way)

Favourite Magical Creatures: NIFFLERS. They're little thieves and she adores the absolute fucking shit out of them. She loves all magical creatures except Acromantulas fuck those assholes and if she could, she'd totally try to put a dragon in one of her vivariums.

[nrrrdgrrrl2002]

Sooo I ended up coming up with 3 kids of Henry’s…

(This gonna get long)

Bethany “Beth” Stein- the oldest child. She got sick a few years before Joey threw Henry into the cycle and ended up passing away from it at 19 soon after Henry got thrown in.

Joey felt guilty about this and thought the best solution was to just. Make a new Beth for Linda. Linda had a weak heart and was already not doing well with everything, and Joey showing her a child version of the daughter she just lost freaked her out so bad that she had a heart attack and couldn’t be saved in time.

After this, Joey couldn’t stand his version of beth calling him “uncle Joey” but got attached to the idea of raising her, but she ended up being unstable and melted away. So Joey decided to try again, but instead of just trying to recreate beth, he’d use her likeness to make his own daughter, Audrey Drew

William “Billy” Stein- the middle child. At 15, he lost his dad, sister and mom within a very short frame of time and only had his little sister left.

Him and his sister got taken in by Joey. Joey still wanted his own kid and figured billy and his sis would be ready to move out within a couple years anyway so he continued trying to make his own kid in secret.

Billy got suspicious and bitter towards Joey and ended up discovering joeys little project, alongside a journal detailing some of the atrocities Joey committed.

Unfortunately, Billy got caught before he could expose Joey and Joey infected him with the ink in order to not get caught. Billy managed to get away for a little bit as he was transforming into an ink monster and gave the journal to his little sister and told her to run, keeping Joey away from her long enough for her to escape.

Joey threw billy into the cycle and Billy transformed into a Boris with glowing golden eyes, often deemed “Borkis” by the rare few who see him

Mary Stein- the youngest Stein and the only one who managed to get away. She was 9 years old when all this happened and it destroyed her life.

She wasn’t able to get anyone to believe her, even with the journal. But fortunately she got put into an orphanage rather than back with Joey as Joey was under investigation.

She got to keep the journal and read through, growing more bitter and vengeful towards Joey as she read through his atrocities.

She also developed anger towards a certain monster Joey kept bringing up in his journal.

A version of Bendy.

Her favorite of her dads creation.

Twisted and mangled into a heartless beast.

It’s usually friendly grin now seeming sickening.

Joey was the true culprit behind everything, but it was clear from his writings this monster he created also caused so much pain.

So.

She vowed.

To do everything she could to not only get revenge on Joey,

But destroy his crooked empire,

And put down his horrific copies of her fathers creations.

No matter what it took.

At some point in her adulthood, she found herself working for Gent as a commander to Alan greys secret militia.

She’s not happy with greys experiments, but tolerated it in order to have access to his resources to complete her goals.

She only has one rule for him.

No kids.

Other than that, she’d let him experiment on whoever he wanted without argument.

In turn, Alan gave her access to the ink. She ended up using very small, controlled doses of it to keep herself young and strong until she could complete her personal mission (so she ends up looking 20 when she’s in her 40s by batai)

But once she discovers the ink demon resides within the body of a teenage Bendy, she’s conflicted.

On the one hand, this Bendy is just another monstrous copy of something her dad created,

On the other…

He was almost the same age as her brother when she lost him…

The ink demon was still just a monster to her,

But this was just a kid.

So she develops a new plan.

Separate Bendy and The Ink Demon first

Then take the ink demon out,

once and for all

[lorenfinch]

hey this is chance and here’s week 4’s prompt. how do strangers within the world view your protagonists? how would they describe them? and how does this contrast against how the protagonist views themself?

Hi Chance!! This is a really good prompt; thank you for sending!!

Styx, I think, is a very intimidating figure. They're that tall vampire priest who sometimes works with the monster hunter's guild. She's been called a heathen in text because she worships a deity from a faith that's fallen out of favor and even outlawed in some places over the centuries. Some of the vampires mock them for being so willing to work with monster hunters and mortals in general, while others respect them, though pity them for being so withdrawn and aloof, since vampires tend to do much better in groups. A lone vampire is almost never a thriving vampire. No one would ever dare cross her, though; her skill with a scythe and polearm is well known.

And Renwick...putting him under the cut for misgendering, transphobia, allusions to abuse, and Victorian era-esque misogyny and ableism

Renwick. Well. Back at home, his name is shrouded in whispers. The second child of Avery and Eliza Crawford, the one who fell ill to hysteria at thirteen. He was always an odd one, with an intense interest in the macabre and a poor grasp of certain social cues. Many looked upon him with pity, others disgust. Growing up, many of his peers picked on him, and adults turned the other way. After all, little girls shouldn't be behaving like this, wearing suits and cutting their hair short and taking interest in such horrid things. And when he flinched whenever his mother gripped his arm a little too hard, or his father made a movement a little too sudden, well. That was just none of their business. With such strange proclivities and a general air of melancholy, to them it was only natural he would eventually succumb to hysteria, and to them his family did him a kindness by keeping him in the house instead of sending him away. Family supports family after all, that's how it is in the Luminous Faith. As the years went by, he was just...forgotten about.

To strangers in Cedra, a sea away from home, they knew not of the identity of the young man traveling through their streets. Most didn't take him too seriously. Either they saw his clothes and thought he was a thief, or a woman in disguise. Some took pity on him and let him stay in their home for a few nights, and scoffed in disbelief when he told them his destination. The Everdark, they'd say? Now why would such a polite young man be going to a place like that? But they helped him nonetheless, a few sensing that such kindness from others was a rare occurrence for him.

Also, there are many people who've mistaken him for a child, usually of 14-16. The problems of having a baby face.

As a vampire, most mortals don't take him too seriously as a threat, until they're forming a mob and they need something to direct their anger at.

While they don't remain strangers for long, his fellow vampires generally like him, if they perhaps think him a little or more than a little naive.