#tw disowning a child

[azucar-skull]

I used to be a part of something big...

Being disowned on my mom's side and dealing with loss on my dad's side is something I wish didn't happen at the exact same time. My mom's side hated me for being the mixed child, a product of their daughter marrying a Mexican man. They hated me more when I came out. But...

I still loved them...

.

Sorry for the sudden vent art drop. I woke up to a panic attack this morning and felt like drawing. Maybe I should've saved this for FCAU lol. Yk...with Casey being half-Kraang and his Kraang side treating him and his mom poorly and yada yada all that--

[pathologising]

your dads spouting alt right-wing covid propaganda oof

hes so fucking stupid he's a "left leaning centrist" (basically libertarian) and also LOVESS spouting hotep rhetoric (you'll never catch him calling himself hotep though) and I think he's also attempting to start some sort of kemetic cult (hes been at this for years now) because he's a self centered cunt and thinks he's God's gift to the world. He's also abusive and a cheater, who couldve guessed 🙄.

[vixletserenity]

13. someone they have conflicted feelings about

Send a number and Celeste will talk about someone -accepting

"My...My dad..."

"I know that biological family doesn't always mean that they're your true family...Yet I'm still not sure if I wanna do that to him...I don't want to cut off the connection I have with Charlotte since she still lives with him..."

"I feel pressure that I should still love him but..."

"He hurt me. He hit me. He isolated me. He's been pretending that I'm dead. He's disowned me. He hasn't shown genuine love for me in years."

[panphilosopher]

Fic Idea: Chaggie/Chaggily child AU except it's Vaggie's child when she was a human. (TW: sex violence)

The idea if Vaggie's human origin still happens.

During her time as a sex worker, Vaggie could accidently be impregnated. The idea she didn't realize she was pregnant until at least the beginning of her early second trimester.

Since abortion is illegal in El Salvador and cultural upbringing, Vaggie could be reluctant to have abortion until decided to carry it.

I cannot think of a name, but I'm calling Vaggie's child Mirabel (lol).

Being disowned by her own family fuck Vaggie up psychologically, and decided to raise her (likely have a girlfriend who helped her).

Vaggie absolutely loves her daughter; she dotted her, she was her moon and sun. Gave her endearing names.

Tragically struck; when Mirabel is between 3-5, Vaggie was killed (either to sex violence, struck by vehicle, gang related death, etc).

Vaggie ascended to Heaven (likely having a traumatic life and still caring for her daughter), but Vaggie was devastated because that meant she separated from Mirabel.

Worse, and this part of my headcanon, time is irrelevant in the afterlife. I get the idea from The Good Place; look up Jeremy Bearimy. That's meant Vaggie will not see Mirabel for hundreds of years.

Every year in the afterlife time, Vaggie will have a somber celebration for Mirabel. I would like to say around September to October. Is Vaggie way for her to grieved for not raising her daughter.

Vaggie was also recruited into the Exorcists early, ascended into an angel.

The fic would follow the canon route: Vaggie did the extermination, spears a sinner, and Lute cut her eye and ripped her wings, Charlie would find her, and both fell in love, opened thr Hotel, battle the Exorcists and won. Also, down the line, Emily would fall too and enter a poly-relation with Vaggie and Charlie because I ship Unholy Trinity.

Like three months after the battle, Vaggie and Charlie hold a somber birthday for Mirabel (Vaggie told Charlie when they started dating).

All the hotel residents wondered who birthday is it, and Vaggie tells them its for her daughter.

Cue everybody is going "WHAT" "YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER" and Emily screamed, "Why didn't you tell me?!".

Even Charlie gasped before saying, "Why am I gasping? I already knew that."

I see Vaggie as a very closed person, won't tell people her past unless she trust them, and seeing she openly celebrating her daughter's birthday means she does now. Also, she likely didn't realized she hasn't tell Emily yet.

Now, here comes the angst: a few days after Vaggie's fell (or forced fall), Mirabel ascended to Heaven.

I don't think Vaggie and her former partner will have a healthy relationship. Not fault for either of them: poverty, homophobic society, and that Vaggie being a sex worker. Vaggie decided to keep Mirabel just add another fight between them.

After Vaggie died, her former partner gave Mirabel up to an orphanage. I do see her feeling guilty and likely giving donations to the orphanage, but that's it.

I will see Mirabel being a selfless girl: the big sister of the orphanage, gave her dinner portion to the children who's nearly starving, is known around the town for helping people, things like that.

She vaguely remembered Vaggie, only remembered that her mother loved her, the pet name, and I believed a nursery song that Vaggie sang to her.

Mirabel likely died around 15-17, and I say either to traffic accident or a bullet stray from a gang shoot-out.

After arriving in Heaven, Mirabel will look everywhere and try to find Vaggie. However, she doesn't know her name and not realize she isn't in Heaven.

A month after the failed extermination, Lute discovered Mirabel, and being the sadistic bastard she is, recruited Mirabel into being an Exorcist, making her an angel too.

She gives half lies about Vaggie: being an Exorcist but was killed during the failed extermination by Charlie's paramor. Since Vaggie never actually introduced herself during the Redemption Hearing, and that Mirabel vaguely remembered how Vaggie looked like (especially her afterlife/her fallen angel form if take fanon route).

Cue Mirabel trained and searched for her mom's killer, not realizing her mom is alive and said killer is her mom.

[inkyarcturus]

give me all your headcanons for snape nEOOOOWWW (pretty please 🤎)

Okay so I think I’m going to break this down into chunks because I have a LOT of thoughts so here’s the first chunk :D

TW: for child abuse?

PRE HOGWARTS:

it’s pretty much canon that Sev came from an abusive home with an alcoholic muggle father and a pure blood mother.

Personally, I believe that his mother Eileen Prince was disowned by her family upon marrying Tobias. Although at first they were a happy couple, Eileen becomes pregnant with Severus and reveals to Tobias that she is a witch. Tobias, coming from an era where witchcraft is demonized and realizing the drain that a child has on his finances, becomes abusive.

Eileen tries her best to keep the abuse from Severus as much as possible, leading to her stopping herself from using magic as she believes that would just anger Tobias even more.

Severus is absolutely a mamas boy as a child and you can pry that headcanon out of my cold dead hands. He would do anything for his mama, growing up hearing stories about Hogwarts, magic and the legacy of the Princes, it was all he had to stay sane. Whenever Tobias was out of the house for extended periods of time, Eileen would brew with Severus as well, usually healing potions.

He would often be seen wearing his mother’s clothes because of the families lack of funds but also just because it was a way to connect with her.

The first time Severus uses accidental magic was to help his mom avoid Tobias, blasting him unconscious. It’s a mess of emotions for the rest of the night. Eileen is panicking, worrying about her husband’s health and her own but also trying to celebrate Severus’ magic so he knows magic isn’t bad (pure bloods are aware of obscurials). Severus is in tears worrying about his mother’s injuries, unable to understand the situation. Eileen calms him down enough to get him to agree to never tell Tobias about this incident.It happens again more times afterwards.

Severus is sensitive as a child, always crying despite his father’s anger towards his tears. He becomes agitated with himself, being unable to control himself. His father’s words haunt him every time he cries.

He goes years without any friends, not going to school because of his magical status, but still being allowed to go out to play and escape his fathers grasp.

The kids usually don’t like him cause of his poor hygiene, odd clothing and even stranger words. He’s rather intelligent for his age, but being raised in an abusive household has only taught him vulnerability is weakness and everything is a threat.

When he meets Lily he learns how to let go of his shields. He’s made his first magical friend, someone who doesn’t mind his clothing, or hair, or overall oddness.

He goes over to the Evan’s family house at least once a week. Lily’s parents constantly fuss over him, asking if he’s alright or need food or clothing. He constantly denies it because he doesn’t want to burden them, or have them look too closely at his home life

Eileen is so grateful her son has a friend she is brought to tears wherever she hears Sev talk about Lily (which he does, a lot). Whenever she knows Tobias will be out of the house she’ll ask Sev to bring Lily over so all three of them can make potions together.

Petunia is less receptive of him, constantly starting arguments with Lily over why she even talks to him, but generally leaves them alone to stay in her room.

Sev was always quiet as a child, he would play silently whenever on his own, keeping his thoughts within his imagination. His preferred method of play, pre-Lily, was organizing objects. He would organize them by color, shape, name, then mix them back up and start again.

With Lily he would let his imagination run wild, playing the part of dragon, knight, prince and spy, usually acting as a helper to Lily. They call each other sun and moon. He sees himself as a reflection of Lily’s light. His self esteem will only get lower as the years progress.

Occasionally, Lily would get extra allowance (Lily’s parents purposefully gave for Sev) and they would go to a corner store to buy sweets. I imagine he has a pallet for less overwhelming sweets, like matcha flavoring, but as he grows older he convinces other people he likes bitter sweets the most. I think he has an appreciation for berries the most.

Hope you appreciate these :D think took almost an hour to write and I keep on wanting to add more but this is honestly already too long :,)

Side note I just realized I can’t do multiple posts on one ask? So if you want the second chunk can you please send another ask :,D

[catharusustulatus]

Steddie Drabble, sequel to this post.

TW: child abuse.

Steve doesn’t have much. Eddie had made them a list of things to grab before they’d headed over to the Harrington house, a list of clothes, toiletries, basics and such, with “shampoo” underlined and “bowling pin” circled. They’d borrowed an extra duffel from Marianne across the way, since they didn’t know if trash bags would be enough, and thank god they had, kid sure had a polo collection. But moving it all out of that place - nice car parked yet nobody home, they found, blood still on the carpet - and seeing it stacked up next to Eddie’s exploding menagerie were two different things. And it just seemed to Wayne, well, when Steve was up for it, maybe they’d go to the thrifty mart together.

Steve is quiet, on account of the pain he felt moving his face and the shyness he had shrunken into, having been quickly and sharply beaten and disowned and then thrust into a new life, a new space. Wayne knew it was different, going from a frequent guest who got to put on the charm to a hurting ball of need. To feel like a burden. He saw the same thing happen to Eddie, when he was a child; he changed from an energetic ragamuffin who’d visit Wayne once every couple months to a sad, angry teen who he had to figure out how to live with. But it had worked out. And seeing how gently Eddie cleans Steve’s bruised face, how he changes his whole schedule to take care of Steve, how he cuts fruit for Steve, hearing Eddie whisper Steve to sleep, he thinks it will work out again.

Wayne learns a lot about Steve over the next couple of weeks. He learns how good a cook Steve is, how good he is at making scrambled eggs, tuna melts. How his hair is a source of pride but also seems to show off how he’s doing, like it’s connected to his mood. Some days it’s sky-high and some days it’s flat until Eddie starts whistling up the walk. Wayne loves watching Steve’s hair puff up, his smile grow, and Eddie seems to do the trick. Wayne learns just about every shirt he has is striped, that he can’t hear that well on his left side, that he likes his toast burnt to a crisp.

One morning, a couple weeks after Steve becomes his second duckling, they’re both up early in the kitchen waiting for Eddie to rise. Steve is making bacon and pork sausage, shuffling the meat around and shuffling himself around, like he’s scared to say something. Finally Wayne says “what is it, son?” And Steve starts to cry, one slow beautiful tear down each cheek. He’s been looking better, lately, seeming brighter, but he’s still been holding his breath. It’s time to exhale.

“Thank you. For saving me,” Steve moves the pan to the back burner, meat cooked, looking away. Wayne turns the stove off, and folds Steve into his arms, chuckling. Steve smells like Eddie. Steve smells like Wayne’s tobacco.

“Ain’t no thing about it, boy,” Wayne whispers to Steve, trembling and clutching the spatula. “You’re safe. You’re family.” And he pulls away before he goes softer himself, coughs, turns the stove back on for Steve’s eggs. A small little smile creeps up on Steve’s lips, still shy but an agreement nonetheless. He’s home, making breakfast for those that love him. And later, they’ll go thrifting, get Steve a thicker winter coat, more kitchen tools, some striped pajamas.

[wordsbymae]

Honestly I wouldn’t mind if ya did a story that was just breeding kink baby fever pregnancy centered focused 🙈 No thoughts head empty just 🌽

But I do have to ask out of your ocs who’d actually make a great father vs shitty father vs meh father? And what are some of ya ocs parental habits for raising the babies?

Hi!! Honestly I wish I was sooooo much better at smut cause that's all I would write. I'm trying to get back into writing smut but I'm really not very good at it, but I'm practising! Also i promised a fic tonight but I'm tired and my writing is shit so I'll have a red hot crack go tomorrow after work.

Ok so I'll just do out of my yandere ocs, cause they are the ones everyone is more familiar with. TW: talks about domestic abuse

Great Father goes to the Farmer for sure. Look he's got traditional (aka outdated views) but that doesn't mean he would ever disown his children. He had a really horrible childhood and he always promised himself he would do a better job as a parent then his own ever did. He is very hands on, giving his children life skills and most importantly the belief that they can overcome what life throws at them. The farmer knows how hard life is, so he tries to instil good work ethic and most of all a be good to others way of thinking. Being a helping hand is important to him.

He may not like people that much, but being someone others can rely on made him feel as though he is wanted and worthwhile when he was always told by his parent's he was not. He would unfortunately believe in boy's things and girl's things. But that doesn't mean if a son of his wants to help mama sew or a girl of his wants to help him fix the truck he's going to go crazy. No, of course not, he believes that ALL life skills, whether others believe them to be men or women jobs, need to be taught to children. So he doesn't care about division of labour based on gender.

What makes him a bit weary is if his son wants to wear florals or pinks, or if his daughter ONLY wears masculine clothes, especially if they go into town. He's just not comfortable about it. However, over time I think he just wouldn't care anymore and would only fuss if they are wearing improper clothes to work on the farm with. Likewise he wouldn't disown his children if they came out as queer, he would most likely make really cringy jokes and ask embarrassing questions and then say something like "Oh, so I can't ask my child a genuine question? Is that not politically correct now?", but like sir, please the question was embarrassing.

But yeah, once he kinda understood it he would come to terms with it and actually would be funny. Like if someone in town asks him if he's proud of his kid for coming out hell say (absolutely seriously) "why the fuck should I be proud of them coming out of the house, why do kids these days need praise for every little thing they do!". like he wouldn't understand what the phase coming out even means. Anyway on to the next!

Meh Father goes to the Mad King. The man is all bark no bite. He pretty much only wants children as heirs and also to have levrage over the reader. He's not horrible by any means, he spoils his children when they deserve it, but he also makes them understand that nothing good in life is freely given and you have to take it. But unfortunately he also causes rivalries between his children. They are desperate for any attention/praise from him that they will try to out compete one another to gain it. Often resulting in arguments and injuries.

Reader (whether they wanted children or not) has to act overly motherly and affectionate to their children to counteract his actions. There is no favouritism or stern reminders of their places as heirs, just warm, welcoming love. Also his children aren't idiots, they can all tell that their parent's did not marry for love. At least on their mother's side.

They are torn between desperately wanting their father, the king, to show them true love not just cold approval and hating him for the emotional abuse he has put their mother through. It's actually kinda sad, because he was always desperate for the attention and love of his father and now he's caused the same thing between his own children.

There is moments of affection and love but the more he see's himself or god forbid his brother in his children, he begins to be very cold and distant. The man kinda forgot that a kid is 50/50 not just 100% their mother's. That's why his youngest is his favourite, although he would never tell anyone ever. His youngest is pretty much reader cloned, looks, personality, and everything. When he looks at them he is harshly reminded what he took away from reader the day he became king.

Bad Father goes to the Killer. This man would have absolutely no fucking clue what the fuck to do. And he would not care to try. Reader (who is usually gn but for the sake of this is afab) is heartbroken when they realise they are pregnant, and Killer has no idea why they won't stop crying. And why do they keep being sick all the time. A primal part of him likes the idea of caring and providing for his darling and their children, in fact he loves it.

When he figured out reader was pregnant, he started stocking up in furs, wood, meat and cloth. He made a crib from what he remembered his little brother's to be (omg lore drop). He likes to provide, but damn does he actually hate having a child. He leaves ALL baby stuff to reader, he pretty much refuses to look after or even pick up the baby. He gives reader all the resources they need and the Killer calls it a good job done. The poor kid(s) grow up very isolated and confused. Their mama loves them with everything they have but their pa won't even acknowledge them.

Resentment grows as they do. They of course don't really understand why they are here and why their mother/parent is with killer, because it's all they have ever known. They've known nothing other than this. I can see this going either two ways. One day the oldest snaps, they are sick and tired of listening to the screams of the their father's victims. Their mother/parent tries so hard to keep them from barging out of their small shack.

The eldest faces their father, who has grown grey over the years. However, he is still a scary and strong man, and the eldest falters slightly, it's enough for the Killer to smack their eldest to the ground telling them to go back inside. Reader sees this and just loses it. They have spent a good chunk of their life under Killer's thumb. They have seen so much death and violence they have become almost immune. But to see their child being struck by the man who killed all her friends all those years ago just causes absolute rage.

Reader picks up the old shotgun that they found hidden in the attic, they were always too scared to use it, especially when the kid(s) came. But now its time. Killer doesn't stand a chance.

OR the other way is that once the kid(s) reach maturity they follow in their father's footsteps unfortunately for reader and finally get their father's approval. I like the first idea better.

Hope you liked it! I should have my home invader story out tomorrow!

[rainbow-neko-artblog]

Question about your Polyverse AU: I’m a bit new to your AU, I saw the siblings post, but I wanna know…where are the mom and dad?

(Basically I wanna see art of what happened to the mom and dad, but you don’t have to draw the art if you don’t want to it’s your choice this is just a request)

Uhm so- You said you're new so you might have missed it but I explained the Poly sibs parental situation in the plot summary i made >>> HERE <<< a couple days ago. but i guess i did kinda gloss over it so i'll be more specific- and ill try to include some doodles!!!

The polysibs (excluding Sillybilly/Yourself, he's very new, and adopted so, ignore him.) have no parents- instead they have this giant eldritch angelic abomination known as The Collective

The Collective is a GIANT MASS of angels that gave up their physical form to SMUSH themselves all together to gain enough power to change the code of the fucking universe like a god. Why did they do that? you might ask?

Oh ya know. To try and make a genocidal angelic bio weapon that would kill all the "flawed" people and demons on earth and destroy hell by committing angel mitosis and code manipulation. They failed the first three times (2D, BB, Sally) and made Miku and Keith together. Keith was their golden child, the hero they were looking for, the bitch with the plot armor and the voice that warps reality- and they basically put Miku in a robot body to control her into being Keith's body guard.

Safe to say- this plan didn't work when Keith fell in love with a "flawed" mercenary, hot demon babe, and "flawed" demon ghost hybrid.

They brought him up to heaven when he was old enough and showed him all his partners wrong doings and everything and mans was unphased. he said fuck yo shit I'm in love with them.

and The Collective got pissy- but turns out being mushed together for that long is uh??? not good for you- so while BF and co. are fleeing the shit outta heaven, goopy toothpaste mcgee falls off the edge of heaven LITERALLY cause its a giant sky palace- and its so fucking corrupted it can't co-ordinate with all of itself to fly and not get itself thrown into the code.

In the code- the ACTUAL gods of Polyverse, Chaos and Order, are like 'ur a fucking dumbass' and pull the collective apart LITERALLY limb from limb in what quite possibly might be my favorite interaction of the whole RP to the point where summarizing it does no justice you can read it here if you want. (Mild Gore TW)

SO IN CONCLUSION:

Bf and his siblings have no parent anymore. They all practically disowned them for trying to control their lives in a very fucked up way, and then the gods of the universe DESTROYED them so like. YIKES LOL.

[rippersz]

ᴀ ꜰᴏᴏʟ'ꜱ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

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(Brienne of Tarth x Named Reader; Angsty; Hurt/Slight Comfort) (TW: Suic*de attempt; Suic*dal ideations/thoughts; Slight Romanticization of mental illness)

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“An autumn whisper between the maples kept urging: Die with me.” ~ Anna Akhmatova

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A Fool’s Death.

That’s what they call it.

A Fool’s Death. You’re a coward if you do it. You’re a lazy bastard if you live with thoughts of it. You’re a selfish prick of a soul either way.

There’s no winning and there’s no losing. There’s no talk of it. Not even a mention. Not even a whisper. And if there is, you are spoken of. Judged. Scrutinized until The Fool’s Death becomes your death. Until the village and its people and everyone in your family are forced to spit upon your narcissistic bones and claim you disowned even though there is nothing left to claim and nothing left to disown. Just a corpse that is cold and dull and useless.

Cold and dull and useless.

You think that’s how you’ll do it.

Winter has already carried her snow and chill and winds into the region, laying it all upon the land like a warm blanket around a small child’s body. Painting everything white and leaving it to glisten to sludge beneath the eventual heat of the spring sun. A perfect time for rebirth. A perfect time for death.

—

Your hands shake as you slowly pull open the door to your quarters, wincing while it creaks and groans, forcing you to stop every time a noise rings out into the empty hall. Your heart, pounding away in your ears, ruins your sense of hearing while you stand like a statue within your own doorway. Anxiety slips through your bones. Fear pulls at you. The last desire you have is to wake everyone in the castle and call attention to yourself. No, having eyes and ears on you while you lay in the snow and wait for the freeze to set in is less than ideal. A Fool’s Death, after all, is never A Fool’s Death if done with company.

So once you decide that the corridors are empty and you can slip out through the back entrance into the kitchens, you do exactly that. A singular torch is lit, burning away within its stone perch, nearly beckoning you closer with its dancing flame. You trail toward it and stop there, watching it for a moment, reveling in the last bit of warmth that your skin will ever feel. You know that some hours later, when the moon is long gone and the clouds block the sun and the stars keep themselves veiled, you will no longer be able to feel fire. You will no longer be able to feel ice. You will no longer be able to feel the breath in your lungs leave you in short pants. It will all bleed into the same numb feeling. And you will freeze until Mother Nature tells you to thaw. And once your body has been revealed to the changing air of the seasons, once the earth’s creatures start to take advantage of your indirect kindness, you also know that your frozen flesh will not be mourned. Because no one will cry for you. And no one will beg the gods, both old and new, to bring you back. And no one will waste another precious breath worrying about who you were.

You, who were just another soldier out of an army of hundreds. A faceless woman. A person easily replaced. Inconsequential in every sense of the word. Your family was dead, your acquaintances were no more than good mornings and good nights, your position would be filled as soon as you broke rank. And no one would notice your absence. The Lord Commander wouldn’t even blink. The royal family wouldn’t even spare a thought. Though then again, it wasn’t like you deserved their thoughts, their sympathies, their prayers anyway. You weren’t a war hero and you weren’t important and you didn’t do anything beyond follow orders and live your life. Well- that last bit would change, of course. As soon as you pull yourself away from the torch and get going.

The chill of night is a harsh contrast from the few minutes of firelight, but you find that your body, already shivering and slow beneath the thin white nightgown, doesn’t take true notice of the cold. You’re only propelled forward by a distant urge. A previously agreed upon understanding with no one but yourself: This was necessary. This is what it was going to come to anyway, whether you died a fool sooner or later. This was the way of the world and you were just another pawn amongst the masses. Going to war, front of the line, hoping to die in glory.

But there was no glory there. There was no glory in your measured footsteps and there was no glory in your sagging shoulders and tired expression. And there was no glory in your desire. How could there be? How could the good gods ever wish to touch you after your blasphemy? How could you hang your soul out to dry and still expect to find your place in Nirvana? They will call you a coward. They will call you a fool. They will call you a rotten whore and they will say that they wish you’d done it sooner. They will walk past your nonexistent grave without a wandering thought as to what your name was. You could’ve saved everyone the trouble, they will say. Could’ve saved them the breaths. Spared them of your quiet awkward presence. Making everyone uncomfortable. Leaving the men to tease and toss aside the idea of censoring themselves just because you were a woman. Not the only woman, but a woman nonetheless. Of course they held their tongues when The Lord Commander walked past, or sat at the table, or existed and breathed in their general vicinity, but that didn’t matter. Brienne of Tarth was not always around to control them nor comfort you - not that she did the latter anyway. You weren’t important enough for that.

And the universe seemed to agree. The path was laid out before you, lit by the silver moon, traced by the glow of the white ground. You’d decided on your resting place only a few days ago. During a morning patrol with some of the newer trainees, you came across a spot of smooth Earth. Two logs, parallel to each other, framed a large empty patch of snow. From where you stood, it looked like a beautiful painting that had yet to be finished. There was no subject- no goal- no lesson to be learned- no deeper meaning and no unintentional intentional wicked talent. But before that could be rectified, before it could be completed, it would have to be ruined. Once you’re long dead, you’ll find the time to apologize to Mother Nature, but as you trek over the last hill, you’re more focused on becoming one with the frozen ground.

The site of your death is far enough away from civilization, near the edge of a tall cliff, so any wandering strangers won’t bother to come too close. Well that’s what you tell yourself, living in hope as per usual; but in reality nothing is stopping another living creature from stumbling across your frozen corpse. The snow is thick, yes, but not thick enough to hide all of you. And the sun is only some hours away from rising. Oh well. It won’t matter anyway. You’ll be passed out by then, icicles hanging from your eyelashes and blue coating the lining of your lips. Your heart will be quiet, weak, in your frozen chest. Your hands will be limp. And the rest of you will be blanketed by the sweet tasty frost of death, creating a home for its festering teeth. Teeth that will bite and gnash and taste and tear - but their attacks will be in vain. You will be numb. So wonderfully, perfectly, fatefully, numb.

And your fingertips, for what it’s worth, are already tingling with the beginnings of it.

The beginnings of it.

‘It’ being your end, of course.

‘It’ being the thing you want. Desperately.

‘It’ being the Fool’s Death you were born to have.

Oh so poetic it was…

Oh so… lovely.

…

…

You blink suddenly, forcing the chilled tears out of your eyes. Damn wind… so cold… so refreshing… Your knees bend to crouch into the snow, slow and exhausted like the sluggish looking of your eyes. ‘Hello’ the snow grins- beams- smiles so cheerfully up at you, ‘come to see me again, have you? It’s only been a few days. But I have missed you so much. We all have missed you so much.’ And you glance up to take in the ‘we’; the looming trees and the deep blue sky and the twinkling stars and the sweet bright moon, and you nod to yourself. Yes. This is how it is. This is the perfect atmosphere.

This is the glory of a Fool’s Death.

This is the peace of a Fool’s Death.

This is salvation.

No loud men and no flickering fires and no furs and no royals and no company and no messy thoughts and no sleepless nights and no terrifying dreams and no days of forced starvation and no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no hope, no love, no happiness, no reason, no reason, no reason no reason no reason to live live live live live live live- live!

The thin white slip on your body shields you from nothing. Your palms sink into the soft fluff of the ground. Instantly, upon laying down, you’re soaked to the bone. Water finds itself languishing along your body, playing games and laughing while it gathers in your scalp and dances on your fingertips. And the snow, whispering near your ear and beckoning you to salvation, stretches its hands and says ‘Come, dear friend. Come rest here. I am soft. I will give you everything you want.’ So you rest. And you give in. And your body relaxes; your muscles unclench and the tension slides from your shoulders as a sigh bubbles past your lips.

Is it one of relief? One of stress? One of defeat? You’re not sure. You don’t know. Your heart is shuddering- pulsing- with excitement, but it’s a mystery as to why. Death is not supposed to feel good. Death is not supposed to feel powerful. Death is not supposed to feel like you’re finally grabbing life by the balls and saying HAH! THIS IS IT! THIS IS MY MOMENT! THIS IS MY DEATH! MY END! AND YOU CAN NEVER TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME.

… So why does it feel that way?

Why does it feel so good?

…

…The night is quiet. It does not have answers for you. The moon looks on with unblinking eyes. You feel yourself grow heavy.

But the deed is not over yet. There is still one thing left to do. Slowly, the snow falls away as your limbs stir. They move on autopilot, not drawn by the thoughts in your head but again pushed by that faint desire.

Heels digging, nails running blue, curling into the snow, pushing it away - only to drag it back five minutes later; hastily working to complete the masterpiece. Desperate to become one with the Earth and fall into oblivion. A deep, bone-cold, quieting oblivion that will leave you shivering before it leaves you dead. Even beneath the blanket of snow that caresses your skin, that lays over your bare legs, that nuzzles the sensitive parts of your body, you begin to shake. And you begin to think.

The thoughts, interestingly enough, don’t freeze like the rest of you does. Instead, they grow. Swirl like a winter’s storm. Obsessive and rough, they pull you under like they always did.

This is great, isn’t it?

No, you think in response to yourself. It hurts, actually.

Oh stop whining. It will be worth it.

Why? How?

For years, it has been worth it.

That doesn’t answer anything. How has it been worth it? Is that why I’ve been hurting so much? For the sake of worthiness? Or something else?

Well you never felt worthy of anything else.

But I feel worthy of this?

Death? Yes. Everyone is worthy of death. Even The Lord Commander.

…What does she have to do with this?

You know what.

Your hands grasp at the snow, mindless and desperate. Pulling and pulling and pulling - clawing at the crisp white so it can cover you until no part of you is left to the air. Shielding you from the hatred of the universe. From the angry eyes of the gods. From the venom of the men. From the disinterest of the women. From the world… and its lack of care for you. And its lack of positivity. And its rude- disgusting- vile- way of treating you. And its overwhelming desire to kill you before you could kill yourself.

Too late now. We’re at least one foot deep in the ground! This is it. Keep digging. Keep digging. Keep digging! No stopping here! No energy left. Nothing left, actually. Not a goddamn thing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Nothing at all….

Nothing.

At all.

Your eyelids flutter shut.

—

It’s two hours later when Ser Brienne of Tarth starts to wrap up her last duty of the evening.

A quick patrol of the furthest border is something not necessarily reserved for The Lord Commander, but is more of a safety measure she enforces upon herself before retiring for bed. Exhaustion pulls at her before she sets out, yes, but sometimes the nightmares… the white walkers… they leave her paranoid. Expectant of an attack that will never come. Worried about an enemy that no longer exists. Thus, she does it alone - and with only the royals’ knowledge.

It’s always a quiet affair, drawn along quickly by her and her steed Valour. They work with sharp eyes and a torch through the dark, stopping every few paces to listen for threats. There aren’t any, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from clip-clopping along the terrain with tense shoulders and keen senses, looking through the din of the torch’s fire in her hand. She has to be careful not to set her furs alight, but it’s not a hard task. Keeping it level, shunting it toward the ground and out toward the trees, proves to be more difficult. There’s no use in a flame if it can’t illuminate a damn th-

HUFF.

Valour’s hooves press into the snow, leaving them to stop - suddenly, quickly, with a jerk - as hot breath puffs from her nostrils and curls into the air. She’s tense, Brienne realizes. Tense and alert, with white ears twisting to take in sound. They stand in silence. Blue eyes watch as the animal’s head turns - first to the left and then to the right. But aside from the night and the usual rustle of the world, there is nothing. Nothing to hear, nothing to notice, nothing to fight or defend. Nothing to… find?

With one last sweep of the flame, she catches something quick. It’s nearly unnoticeable. Buried beneath the snow, but not one with the ground. It’s foreign. Out of place. A mere lump with no distinct beginning and end. Brienne chances a glance down at the horse, interest and apprehension dancing through her veins once she sees Valour’s eyes have caught the same thing. The same… intruder. The same issue.

When she slides off of the horse, half expecting to see the thing rise from the ground, one hand shoots to her sword. It waits. Curls around the hilt. Stretches beneath her glove. Twitches with adrenaline.

But there’s nothing. Not even a tremble beneath the dirt.

“Stay,” she whispers to Valour, moving the hand from her blade to gesture, palm facing the ground, for the horse to stand in wait.

And as cautiously, as quietly, as she can, Brienne approaches the mystery. She rounds one of the logs, taking notice of the odd placement, and tries not to wince each time her boots make a small crunch in the silence. Footprints will no doubt be left behind, but that doesn’t seem to bother her much as she catches sight of another pair in the distance. They’re small, the knight notices. With no distinct shape if not for a slight curve. The snow is kicked up, forced from its smooth blanket. Hurried in their demeanor. But slow in the amount of distance between each print.

Human, she thinks.

Human indeed, the snow hums; bearing all to see as it glistens beneath the firelight of her torch and brings Brienne to her unsightly treasure.

Frosted skin. A soaked nightgown. Arms and legs bitten by the chill.

Dead, she thinks.

No. Alive. The snow breathes.

—

Someone is taking off your clothes. They’re cold, sticking to you, and little grunts follow as bits of your nightgown rip with the effort. Your body is shocked, shivering so hard that the stranger can’t keep you still and isn’t quite sure what to do. Eventually, a mind is made up and you’re stripped completely - then covered with woolen hose. At least two pairs- both of which are too big for you and hang by the feet and are quite loose around the waist, but the dresser doesn’t seem to care. Trousers are next. How many pairs? You don’t know. Then shirts. And furs. And even a pair of leather gloves that droop at the fingertips and gape at the wrists - but they’re warm and lined with wool and you can’t feel your body but that’s okay. You didn’t want to anyway. More grunting and growling and small whispered curses follow until you’re very much tucked into a bed far bigger than your own. It’s warm. Good. You’re numb and half-dead, but it’s good. Lovely, really. And the outside world doesn’t call your name as you close your eyes.

Waking up was not on your agenda.

It wasn’t even in the cards.

And you don’t really want to - but the universe never cared for your opinion. And it did what it wanted whenever it wanted anyway. So you have no choice.

Thus, your eyes flutter open and your lungs expand with breath and suddenly the world comes flooding back in one confusing twist of fate. Nausea wastes no time in tearing you down; instantly going to churn in the pit of your stomach and curl in the back of your throat and pound against the skin of your temples. A deep groan slips from between your chapped lips. The lining of your skull feels as though it’s been replaced with cotton.

The snow really took its chance, didn’t it? Brutal. Ruthless. At least the Earth doesn’t lie to you. At least the Earth doesn’t save you.

But someone did. Someone has.

They’re actually shuffling over; measured footsteps sounding like big loud stomps in your head. You close your eyes. Everything is too bright. Everything is too much.

“Morning.”

Hm. The voice sounds familiar. A bit wonky, like it’s far away, but familiar. You don’t have the energy to respond so you just let out a grunt and allow it to taper off into a weird rumbly hum.

“Hey,” there’s a sudden clicking noise near your ear, making you jolt and snort when your eyes flick open. There are fingers - long pale fingers snapping beside your head, falling silent when you glare up at the offender, only to find-

“Lah Commandah?!” Your tongue and throat are stiff and achy, keeping your speech limited and your voice strangled. You grimace at the sound and instantly try to growl the discomfort away, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t do that- you’ll just make it worse.” It comes out in a huff and silences you with ease.

She doesn’t look or seem very happy, which in turn makes you frown. It was a shot straight through the heart when the Lord Commander was in a bad mood - which surprisingly wasn’t always. In fact, she’d grown a little softer over the years. The tales talk of her unwilling attitude and stubborn pride, but sometimes she’s full of wit and humor. And on the best of days, she’ll give the most successful troops a small smile and a bow of her head. The only sign of ‘You did well’ that anyone would ever get from her. You’d never gotten a reaction like that before.

I wonder why she didn’t leave us out in the snow.

“Can you sit up?” Glacier blue eyes run over your face.

You’re not sure what you look like but you suppose it doesn’t matter. She’s seen worse.

“Dun-no, Lah Commandah,” you breathe, trying to do exactly that.

After the fifth try of shifting your arms and legs and quickly running out of strength, she seems to get the hint and suddenly large strong hands are sliding under your arms and tugging you up, then pushing you back. It’s done in one swift movement, leaving you dizzy while you rest your head against the wooden headboard of-… of a bed that certainly isn’t yours.

No, you’re definitely not in your own room. The layout is completely different. It’s more… it’s not pretty but it’s better looking than your own. Complete with greys and blacks and silvers and even a hint of red here and there. The fire that’s been crackling steadily in the background is clean and well-kept, where your room doesn’t even have space for one at all. And the curtains are drawn over the windows covering the right wall, leaving the place shrouded in a darkness that would have existed there anyway even if the curtains were open - it’s nighttime, pitch black outside, and suddenly you’re very much aware of the fact that you’ve kept your Lord Commander- The Brienne of Tarth- out of her own bed for more than a day.

By the time you blink yourself out of your dizzy distracted haze and try to find her form again, she’s already busy doing something else. Wringing out cloths over a bowl… and then returning to your side. Your lips, chapped and still tinged blue, open in an effort to say something- anything- but then a soft hot cloth is draped over your forehead, covering your temples, and suddenly you don’t have a damned thought left in your mind. The feeling is so nice. So blissful. You could stay like that forever.

If only the universe showed you mercy.

“It’s been two days since I found you,” the Lord Commander says, placing the bowl down gently on the side table beside the bed. Her eyes glance over your coverings, making sure the furs and gloves and shirts are all still in order. They are. She was very thorough before. She would not have made a mistake. There was no room for error.

But there’s room now for judgment. Judgment and disdain, and you’re terrified of those things and you really don’t want to have to hear her tell you that you’re a stupid wench and that the rest of the troops will forever make fun of you for your idiocy, so you swallow and wince and your hands twist together in your lap. The leather of the gloves is soft, well-worn, and the wool is only the tiniest bit matted - and you can’t help but admire the craftsmanship as you bring them up to your abdomen. They’re obviously not your gloves, just as everything else is not yours either, but you don’t know what to do first: apologize or thank her.

Honestly, you don’t really want to thank her - because she ruined your plan - but at the same time, she saved your life. Whether you wanted to end it or not doesn’t matter… because she would’ve helped you no matter what. And perhaps you’re selfish for being a little bit angry about it, maybe you’re being self-centered and dumb, but you can’t help the feeling of bitterness creep into your heart. You wanted to die… and she took that from you. She wanted you to live.

It was a duty. She doesn’t want anything. Anyone would have done it.

But that’s not true.

The men would have left you. Or hurt you. Or anything else.

But there she is, having gone through the trouble of saving you… and she’s looking down at you with a frown on her handsome face and a furrow to her light brows that seems like it never leaves and you wish so terribly that you could just tell her-

“I-m sorr-ey.” It’s a pathetic rasp of an apology, but it’s out of your mouth before you can catch it.

She blinks. You don’t know why her expression changes, why it softens into something less stern and concerned, but when it does you feel your breath catch in your throat. How anyone could see her as anything less than glorious is something you’ll never understand.

“Why were you out there.”

It’s a demand.

You look away, baring your eyes to the fire.

“…I sl-leep-wa-lk someti-”

“Bullshit.” She spits, one hand reaching down to curl into the bit of blanket that drapes over the side of the bed. Her expression has twisted back into one of anger. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

But what other choice do you have?

How could you be honest?

Why did she, of all people, have to find you? And why like that? Why couldn’t she have walked into the bathhouse during the few times you’ve wept your eyes out in the steamy silence? Why couldn’t she have caught you staring at your horse, dread in your eyes as you fantasized about running away and never looking back? Why couldn’t she have stumbled upon your vulnerability when you were still willing to live?

Why did it take a Fool’s Death to finally grasp her attention?

You want to tell the truth… but you can’t.

You can’t.

So you lie again.

“Was out- on a s-strollll. Got- um- lost.” You try not to cringe at the sound of your own bad grammar. Turns out not having full feeling back in your mouth does indeed prohibit being able to speak properly.

The Lord Commander doesn’t seem to care much. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be focusing on that at all. Instead, her face has grown slack - and she’s looking at you hard. Leaning both of her hands on the side of the bed, broad shoulders going up near her neck, eyes peering through light lashes - like she’s using her stare alone to dig holes into your soul and she doesn’t need to say anything in order for you to understand that she simply doesn’t believe you. And why should she? Your lies are so obviously half-baked; only muddying up the truth; ruining what little of it can be said.

Still. She doesn’t let up. Her gaze starts to burn. Shame tugs at your cotton-lined skull. Guilt claws its way to the surface.

Pink lips, scarred on the top right, part slowly. There’s a soft inhale. You brace yourself, clutching your warm hands into fists.

“You were buried,” the Lord Commander says, barely even blinking as she looks at you. “Covered with snow.” She shakes her head and allows it to fall to her chest, letting out a scoff so quiet you had to strain to hear it. “One of the smartest soldiers I have… and you expect me to believe that you got lost on an evening stroll?” Her head comes up, eyes pinning you in place with such dull ferocity that you can’t look away. “You can’t be serious.”

It’s at that exact moment when you realize that you’re sweating. It is the amount of warm things covering your body? The clothing and the furs and the gloves? Or is it your Lord Commander’s attention? And the fact that it’s never been placed on you like that before? With such… such focus. Such- dare you even think it- care?

You swallow against the nervous lump in your throat.

‘One of the smartest soldiers I have…’

Well if you were as smart as she thinks you are, you’d be fucking honest, wouldn’t you? Yeah. You’d tell her the truth. You’d admit that you’re a coward.

But you can’t.

You can’t.

She spends all of that time training you, keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re fed and well-rested and looked after in her own roundabout Lord Commander type of way… and you repay her with…with what?

With suicide?

So disgraceful.

So horrible.

So shitty of you.

How terrible can a person be?

How-

“Are you crying?” Your Lord Commander gapes, certainly caught off guard by your sudden emotion.

“N-no?!” You stutter, just as shocked to find yourself reaching up and smearing salty tears along your cheeks.

Oh how embarrassing-!

You stupid girl!

This is why you wanted to do it in the first place!

Because all you do is just fucking embarrass yourself-!

“N-no? No- s-sorr-y La-Lor-d C-Com-”

“Enough with the Lord Commander,” she admonishes, cutting off your bumbling apology with a swift tsk. “In private, it’s Brienne.” Then she hesitates before letting out a sigh and taking a seat next to you on the side of her bed. “…I’m not your superior here.”

All you can do is blink.

I’m not your superior here.

So what are you?

That’s all you want to ask.

What are you to me then? What is this now?

But even if you did find the courage, you’re not sure what she’d say.

“Okay,” you sniff, trying your damnedest to stop the tears.

But they’re a direct result of your aching heart. And aching hearts have veins that scream in agony, wishing for nothing but silence. Utterly tranquility. The very absence of tension-filled life. And you can’t get rid of aching hearts and screaming veins without getting rid of yourself…. And your only chance to do that was destroyed. Trampled upon. Interrupted.

I just wanted to die. It rests on the very tip of your tongue but never spills out into the air.

Brienne is so clearly unsure of what to do; she’s sitting rigid in her spot and staring at a mark on the floor. You want to tell her it’s okay. You want to tell her that she doesn’t have to comfort you. You want to tell her to just let you go back into the woods again… let you find yourself back in the snow. And she can go on with her life and forget it ever happened.

But you can’t.

That’s not how it works.

That’ll never be how it works.

Foolish girl.

“…Why were you out there, Anya?” Brienne’s voice is softer than fresh lilies.

You know why.

You know why.

“…I c-can’t- I-”

Her head turns. Midnight blue eyes trace a line from your neck to your face, taking in the exhausted circles beneath your eyes and the blue-ish tinge to your skin and the utterly defeated look that blooms behind your expression. A war happens in you, taking place in the span of a moment, and you can do nothing but blink through lingering tears and stare at her.

“I can’t.” It’s a whisper. A confession all on its own.

I can’t… because you’ll think I’m a coward. And you’ll hate me. And I already hate myself enough for the both of us.

Brienne’s lips form a hard line, but she doesn’t say anything. She just peers back down at the floor and allows silence to creep into the room and lay between you both like a tired direwolf on its last legs.

The fire burns in the background. The sweat on your body cools. The dizziness in your head subsides.

It’s going to be okay, some part of you speaks. It’s going to be okay.

But you’ve told yourself that before, haven’t you?

And look where that got you.

It has to be at least 30 minutes later when Brienne finally speaks.

“There was a girl I knew once, in my early youth,” you watch her mouth move, enchanted and confused. Where was this going to lead? “She was older than me by two years. A pretty girl- like you.” Your heart trips over itself, but you don’t have time to dwell as she continues. “My father saw that, out of the very rare few, she was good to me - and so we were allowed to play often. For her it was ‘horsies’ and ‘hide and seek’, for me it was ‘swords’ and ‘knights’.” There’s a soft smile on her face, half hidden by the natural shadow of her body facing away from the hearth and half lit by the fire that lived there. Her lips twitch and she begins again. “We did everything together. She was a village girl but that didn’t matter… until it did. Time eventually caught up to us and we were forced to live our lives on our own. No more days of play and no more sharing stories.”

A soul-deep sadness settled into her eyes. She had yet to look at you. Maybe because it would make her too vulnerable… maybe because she didn’t want you to cry again. Either way, you felt yourself frown. Why was she telling you this? What happened?

And as if she could read your thoughts, she continues.

“By the time I was old enough to decide that I wanted to leave, she was already married. Kind husband, even though I only met him once. It was when I stopped in to say goodbye. I wanted to tell her that I’d write, whenever I found the time and place to do so.” Her hands, you notice, are fidgeting - running over and pulling each other quietly within her lap. The natural lines in her face grow darker as she falls back into her memories. “…I didn’t know she was struggling. I was so busy with my own life. My father’s wishes, my training, my fights with the men who challenged me… our communication grew slim. So I didn’t- I-… well.” Brienne swallows. “Her husband answered the door and when I asked after her, he burst into hysterics.”

Your heart stops.

She- no… She didn’t….

Brienne’s head goes up, her eyes turning to look at the ceiling - keeping her tears in her eyes, resistant in letting them fall. Resistant in being weak. You want to hold her and let her cry, but you know it’s not the time. She sniffs and her chest heaves with a sigh and it takes everything in you not to start sobbing. Tears build, they fall slowly, but your throat aches with held back sounds of distress.

“…She ended her life two days before I arrived.” A pause. Then- “A butter knife…,” she scoffs out a laugh and shakes her head, still pointing her face skyward - as if the gods have all the answers to her grief. “… I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know what to do with her husband. So I gave him my condolences and I left. Cried in the woods for as long as I could and kept going. And since then, I haven’t stopped.”

Despite her efforts, tears still creep over her eyelids and race down her cheeks. They mirror the ones on your own face - warm and sad and annoying in the stiff little trails left behind.

And you sit like that for a while, silently crying. Her gaze stuck to the heavens, thinking about the friend she lost; and your gaze stuck on her, thinking about the possible metaphor behind her actions. Behind the full circle-ness of it all. She couldn’t save her friend but she saved you. What did that mean in the grand scheme of your lives? What did any of it mean? How would you continue to train everyday after seeing your Lord Commander cry? After witnessing her care?

She saved us. She saved us. She saved us.

“Thank you,” comes your hoarse whisper- the first in-tact thing you’ve said since waking up.

The sound of your voice tugs Brienne out of her stupor and draws her eyes to your sad face. You don’t have the energy to give her a sympathetic smile, so you settle on a soft look. If it says all you need it to say, she doesn’t show it - but she does look away quickly and reaches up to brush the tears away.

“What for?” It’s rough - hard - a sliver of the tough Commander she’s used to being.

No no no - don’t go back to that. Your heart is safe here. I won’t judge you for your tears.

“…Saving me.” It’s more courtesy than anything as you say that, but it’s fine. You’re not magically going to wish for life again after Brienne shares a sad story with you… though it already has your heart struggling against its achy confines.

Brienne shakes her head, the gold of her hair catching the fire’s light so beautifully that you have to take your eyes off of her in order to catch your breath. If we were her friend in her youth, we would have surely fallen in love with her.

“You shouldn’t have gotten to that point,” her voice is watery- muffled with the lingerings of sadness. “No one should.”

You nod. What else is there to say? What else is there to admit? Clearly she knows. Clearly she understands. And yet… you’re still curious…

“…Why do-n’t you hate me f-or it?” Your words come out in a squeaky whisper, but you don’t care. You just need to know. You just need to make sure that you’re not reading things wrong- that there’s a chance she may actually care- and that perhaps there is a reason to stay…

Brienne doesn’t respond immediately. It’s clear that she takes a few moments to bring herself back to the present. To clear her throat and wipe her eyes again and sniffle a few times and then turn back to you. She’s tried so hard in clearing herself up, but the eyes have never lied. And you see the sadness breeding there. Festering. Sadness is wicked. You don’t know if you’re the cause of it.

“You’re strong, Anya." A pause. "Training wouldn’t be the same without you.”

But you know she means to say Nothing would be the same without you.

---

Something I've been working on for a bit. It's not as good as I hoped it would be, but I'm tired and my back hurts so whatever. I hope you're all doing well.

And if you're not and you need some help, here's the National Suicide Hotline: 988 - And the link https://988lifeline.org/

It's gonna be okay, my friend. One second at a time. - Yours, Rip x

---

[jesncin]

Sons of Mars, a 40 page Martian Manhunter fancomic reimagining J'onn and his twin brother Ma'alefa'ak's origin story. I'll be posting next week!

This is a really different take, so even if you're familiar with J'onn's origin story, here's some content warnings for safe reading:

TW/CW: ableism, eugenics talking points, miscarriage, child loss, disownment. Lots of fire and burning.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

I discovered your blog yesterday, and I confess I became obsessed with Cyprus😫

I hope I'm not bothering, but I wanted to ask if Cyprus would like to have children? And what would he be like as a father

Yves as a parent

Blanche as a parent

Montgomery as a parent

i prommy my other ocs are better than cyprus </3 i do not like this stimky man as much as my other ocs

tw: Transphobia, homophobia, Cyprus is a misogynist, violence

Cyprus isn't necessarily too keen on having children. He very much rather devotes all his time to you. But that doesn't mean he will be a horrible parent like how Yves would be.

If you have a child with him, it's most likely due to an accident or an attempt at baby-trapping you. He would absolutely stop at only one child though, he doesn't want more draining his money and energy.

He would fork over his cheque to hire a nanny to care for his child when they're a baby, choosing to spend his time going on dates and romantic getaways with you, Not to say that he wouldn't change a diaper and lose some sleep to burp them, he just wants to keep the stress under a minimum. Only when they reach age 3, he will step in and handle the disciplinary and developmental side of things.

A daughter would have an easier life than a son. Cyprus would be much softer towards her, paying for her tuition fees and generally becoming that overprotective father figure. He will be very present in her life and yours too, forcing family bonding time whether you or the child likes it or not. You are going to her every piano recital and ballet performance with him, he wouldn't allow himself or you to miss it for the world.

Whoever makes her cry would be pummeled into the ground by Cyprus, she just needs to tell him a name and the deed would be done. In school, Cyprus's daughter would most likely be the mean girl, the queen bee of the bullies because he would be actively encouraging becoming the alpha bitch in class. He would be spoiling her with all kinds of girly things; makeup, the prettiest dress, and all the hair and manicure appointments she would ever want. He would bond with her by taking her out to malls, carrying all her shopping bags as if he were her personal servant.

No chores, just excel in studies. He leaves the burden of teaching her basic survival skills to you, but otherwise, the only requirement for her to meet is straight As on her report card.

He approves of his daughter joining the cheer team, dance classes, or any clubs that elevate her social status while being 'girly' in his eyes.

Cyprus prefers it if she's straight, bagging a boyfriend that would treat her right. However, he would begrudgingly accept if she's a lesbian or bisexual, as long as she's calling the shots in the relationship.

The downside to this is that he would be annoyingly misogynistic at times, giving her slack just because she's "just a female" and couldn't handle things like a man. He wouldn't let her follow in her father's footsteps in boxing, take an interest in 'boyish' things, or even cut her hair shorter than shoulder length.

He would get ugly if his daughter transitioned into a man or took on a more tomboyish personality, yelling and shouting as his worldview crumbles around him. It is excruciatingly hard for Cyprus to accept this, he would most likely disown them and stew in his bitterness and hurt for years to come. When he matures and adopts an open mind with your help and coaxing, he will only be open to reconnecting with his child. However, he wouldn't be the first to apologize, still thinking that his child decided to throw the first punch by killing off his little girl.

He would call his child by their deadname, misgender them, and being an overall patronizing asshole to them. But he is desperately trying to change them back into his daughter, failing to realize that isn't happening.

Nothing will get through to him; inevitably, his child will cut all contact with him. Sending Cyprus into hysterics because he simply cannot accept that some people aren't going to be confined to the sex that they were born with. He would become extremely clingy towards you, though. Fearing that his wife will also leave him too.

But that is if his child is genderqueer. If his daughter grows up to be a straight, cis woman, he would just continue being protective of her, vetting all her partners and scaring away the unworthy boys. She would definitely have a life on her own, but she has to call him from time to time. Because he's a strong believer in "The phone works both ways".

When it comes to sons, there would be no coddling. No spoiling- he would have to earn his own money to get what he wants. No emotional support; if he came home crying, he would receive a barrage of insults for being effeminate, leaving him to fend the bullies off by himself. Cyprus would teach him self-defense in the form of boxing from a very young age, though, making his son a carbon copy of Cyprus in his youth. He would encourage the child to be aggressive, outspoken, and direct, the complete opposite of what he would tell his daughter to do.

Unlike his daughters though, he wouldn't encourage his son to be a bully. Because it's harder for him to get away with it since he would think using his fists. But he does not accept weakness from his son, he would egg him on to continue the fight, but never, ever start it.

He would work his son like a dog, making him mow the lawn, carry heavy furniture, climb up the roof of the house to do gutter maintenance, make him cook and clean, service the cars, whatever labor-intensive and dirty work he could find, Cyprus will make his son do it.

He would bond with his son through boxing, said chores, and man-to-man talks. Competitions on who can lift the heaviest or punch the strongest would be common pastimes between the father and son duo. Despite how he would clearly raise his son with a heavy hand and tough love, Cyprus is a very present father. He gives a damn about his development, not wanting him to be 'useless'.

He doesn't particularly care about his son's grades, as long as he's not held back more than twice in a row, he's fine. Cyprus also doesn't care about his son's taste in women either, as long as his girlfriends don't pose any harm to you or Cyprus, he's fine.

Unfortunately, it's less likely Cyprus would sponsor his college fees unless he's choosing a degree that his father likes. That means, no arts. No medicine either, because Cyprus thinks his son is too stupid to even get through the first semester. The only Bachelor's degree that Cyprus would 100% agree on is something to do with business or finance.

He wouldn't take it well if his son is genderqueer, he would get violent and perhaps break a bone or two if you're not there to stop your husband from hurting your child. Moreover, he couldn't accept the idea that his son was attracted to another man and being dominated by one. It's an instant disownment with a 0% chance of reconciliation.

There aren't many differences between his treatment of his son and his daughter when they're adults, they get their own lives but they have to call Cyprus from time to time to maintain their relationship with him.

Overall, Cyprus isn't the worst parent out there. Although he may be toxic as hell, he is at least there for his children and actually has their best interests at heart.

[wheelie-sick]

Hi! I’m just curious why you’re anti-psychiatry and the reasoning behind it if you’re comfortable sharing? I want to take care to specifically learn the reasoning so I can educate myself upon them, I’ve wanted to be a psychiatrist since I was a kid and so I’m wary of making any mistakes in my profession that could damage others or perpetuate harm. Thank you so much for your time. /genq

okay, first of all I'd recommend reading my post here which talks about why there are no good psychiatrists and this post here about how some people being helped by the system does not make the system good. they're long but the first is pretty foundational to my beliefs on psychiatry and the second covers the most common rebuttal I hear for antipsychiatry.

putting the rest of this under a cut because it's really fucking long because I wanted to provide some context to my beliefs and there's a lot of context

my foundational reasoning for being antipsychiatry comes from listening to other's experiences. I did not have a traumatic experience with psychiatry directly. I'm not going to repeat other's traumatic experiences but if you look through the antipsychiatry tags you can definitely find some of the repulsive things the psychiatric industry has done. my belief in antipsychiatry also comes from my experiences with therapy.

I have been cycled through many therapists who dropped me for being "too complicated" for them. my second most recent therapist I dropped after constant abuse from him.

-> TW for therapeutic abuse until "why I'm antipsychiatry" <-

my issues with my old therapist began when I first started seeing him. I was being actively abused at home and every time I tried to talk about the physical and emotional violence I was experiencing at home from my former father he would shut me down and tell me it was not abuse.

-> TW for descriptions of physical abuse for the next paragraph <-

I told him about the attempts to shove me down stairs. the times I was dragged around. the times I was thrown into the couch. the times I had my face slammed into a wall. the restraint. the hitting. the punching. the grabbing. I told him in detail. my mom has since admitted that I was abused by my former father.

He did not think it was abuse. he had an obligation to report this to CPS and he never did. he told me it was not abuse the minute I brought it up, before I ever even tried to use the word abuse. I could never talk about the violence I was experiencing because I would get shut down every time and eventually I gave up.

-> TW for emotional abuse for the next 2 paragraphs <-

several years later my former father disowned me. (that's why I call him my former father) he told me that he did not see me as his child anymore, that he hated me. he said some other rather disgusting things about me, most of which I will not repeat, but one sticks out. he told me mom that she should handle my being trans as if she was dealing with a dog; when it (and yes, he used the word it) misbehaves you should ignore it. this all happened in a single conversation.

in my next therapy session I was distraught. I didn't like my former father but it never feels good to be disowned. I was trying to talk to my therapist about this and I said "he hates me" my therapist doubted me and asked me "did he say he hates you or are you just perceiving he hates you" trying to, dare I say, gaslight me into thinking this was all my perception. he did this to me frequently when I brought up the emotional abuse I was experiencing. I said "yes, yes he did say that" and things got really quiet because for once he couldn't tell me it was all in my head. in that moment I lost all faith in him because I realized he was wrong. that he was manipulating me into believing I was the problem. that all these conflicts were my fault. but they were never my fault.

-> TW for mentions of self harm for the next 2 paragraphs <-

the final nail in the coffin came about 2 years later when I finally decided to open up about my self harm. I had relapsed on my self harm about 8 months prior, usually it was just a one off but this time it had spiraled out of control into the beginnings of an addiction. I wanted to stop, so I decided to open up to my therapist about it. he got angry at me. I was scared, and vulnerable, and he was angry. he asked me why I didn't tell him sooner, I said I was scared of hospitalization. a week later he threatened to hospitalize me multiple times after promising he wouldn't.

what actually made me drop him was 3 weeks later. I was tired of talking about self harm and I was feeling the same if it all. he asked me about it and I said I don't want to talk about it. he pressed mex accused me of avoiding therapy, threatened to hospitalize me if I didn't spit out adequate details. when I said I hadn't even self harmed that much he accused me of lying to him to avoid therapy. he crossed many boundaries that day and then pressured me into agreeing to fill out a form every week detailing all the information about my self harm down to how many cuts I made. that was my final straw. I was done.

why I'm antipsychiatry:

after that I started reflecting and realizing the whole thing was fucked up. from the starting point in 4th grade when I saw my first therapist to the ending point where I saw my second to last therapist (I had a therapist after the nightmare therapist, her name was Sara she was Deaf and amazing but largely unhelpful) the system was designed to produce bad therapists. the nightmare therapist was not the only bad experience I had with therapists, just the worst. they all liked to abuse their power over me, they all liked to deny my experiences and gaslight me into believing all my problems were my own perception rather than a real outside factor. this wasn't one bad therapist is was one bad system.

and I'm done. I'm so done. therapy has never helped me but it has hurt me and I don't think I can find a good therapist because the whole apple tree is rotting from the inside. I'm sticking with my psychiatrist because he has done minimal harm to me but my experience with therapy has thoroughly cemented that abuse isn't an exception it's the standard and therapists who aren't abusing their clients are breaking the rules. my experience is the norm and it shouldn't be but you can't reform a rotting tree you have to plant a new one.

that's what antipsychiatry also seeks to do. it's cutting down the apple tree but it's also planting a new, different fruit tree. a tree that respects autonomy of patients, that acknowledges patients' realities, that seeks to support not control and manipulate.

if you want to help people with their mental health I urge you to look into the alternatives to the psychiatric system and consider working there. the tree will turn you into a bad apple too because the tree is rotted but there's a new tree growing and you can find other ways to support people. admittedly I'm not the most familiar with alternatives to psychiatry but I know they do exist and they're becoming more common as people realize the damage the psychiatric system is doing.

sorry this was kinda a trauma dump but my antipsych beliefs largely stem from trauma so I wanted to share that context

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

Family Headcanons

Because I need there to be drama and angst and accuracy because whoever the fuck wrote for Jack did not do eldest siblings justice /lh Also TW for angry parents (Riddle), divorce, dead parents, su*cide + death of a child (Vil’s) I Promise Not All Of Them Are Sad

- Riddle doesn't know he has an older, disowned sister, which was a contributing factor to how his mother treated him because she didn’t want another disappointment.  Riddles mom had another man before Riddles father, and they had Cora Rosehearts (because she kept her maiden name, she didn’t take on her partners last name and insisted for reputations sake, her kids would take on her last name) When Cora was six her behavioural "issues" started coming through, and despite her mothers medical background, she wouldn’t/couldn’t find ways to work with her ADHD to the point she almost hit Cora, but her father stepped in. They argued, the father was horrified, and Ms.Rosehearts blamed him and his genetics for the disappointment of a child. He left right then and there with his daughter and called the cops on her. Nothing happened because there was no proof, but Riddles mothers view of herself was so fragile, she felt she was failing if she didn’t have her perfect family. She very quickly found another man (probably someone she worked with) that she figured would be compatible enough with her to have a child that would meet her expectations Cora’s father finds it difficult to say no to anything Cora asks for because of how she was treated when she was little and he wasn’t always around to protect her. She’s pretty humble and doesn’t ask for much. They're really close and very happy, but Cora often thinks about her mother and what would happen if she did have another kid. Her father finds out about Riddle and debates whether or not he should tell Cora, but once Cora finds out she spends her own money to go find Riddle and show him he has a safe place to come. This happens around Halloween. It’s very overwhelming for Riddle, but eventually the two grow close. Their mother finds out and looses her mind, and she comes to NRC with the intent of homeschooling Riddle again, but Cora stands up to her for him. His mother’s disappointment in him hurts like hell, but he gets to know his biological dad eventually and starts to heal. He can’t bring himself to cut his mother out of his life, but he has harder boundaries after coming home early from winter holidays an emotional mess, just locking himself away in his room until break is over. - Trey is the eldest of 11.  Trey’s parents are both  pretty optimistic about everything, a little unrealistic This made Trey, as the eldest,  learn to be more down to earth, and keep things real, but hopeful. Its exhausting though, any sort of conflict between his parents (not that there’s much) he’s the buffer, but he has to do it for 10 other people. He’s incredibly patient but again, it’s tiring, resulting in apathy when he’s alone or sometimes with Cater/people his age save for Riddle. Seeing as he’s 18, his siblings are all two years younger than the one before them, the only set of twins being the second youngest at 2 years old who he’s closest to emotionally, and the youngest being a baby baby. His sister immediately after him is a little salty that he left home so easily, happy, even to let her take on the responsibility of becoming the “eldest”, but really she’s scared that he is going to leave permanently. Over break he gets the chance to address those fears and make up with her. He loves coming up with new recipes with each of his siblings, and his parents are incredibly proud of him. - Cater's mom and dad are on the brink of divorce his mom (and as a result of his mom, his sisters) spends money to cope but doesn’t have a job herself and relies fully on her husbands accounting skills to make sure things are fine and he's cheated on her once, she knows and uses it to guilt trip him into staying (in their private convos) this was way back, Cater would have been like 6 they, privately, agreed to stay together until all their kids moved out. His mom started trying harder to bond with her kids (also a recovering alcoholic at the time, she’s better by the time he’s 8) but really only succeeded with the girls, and could see that so panicked and just tried to include Cater in everything, thinking it would bring them closer, so if they did divorce before the kids were grown, she figured they’d want to stay with her more often and she could live off child support She also definitely got into a pyramid scheme to prove she could get a job however, his sisters still live at home (26 and 28) and his dad is just so emotionally exhausted he doesn’t care anymore, he’s just really fucking depressed and can’t bring himself to care anymore.  - I have nothing to note for Deuce. His mother is perfect. I love their dynamic. - Ace's older brother is Jack Hearts (he held onto his moms last name after she passed and uses it to honour her in his shows, Ace was too young to remember her) they were raised by their dad and grandparents. Ace adores his big brother immensely and texts him on at least a weekly basis, if not daily. Whenever he learns something new that he’s proud of, he takes a video of it and sends it to his family, because he knows that they’re his biggest cheering squad. (based on Disney Recruiters) - Leona’s family also has no change. I do think he and his sister in law are just really salty in almost a fun way towards each other. - Ruggie has SO many adoptive younger siblings (that the community helps raise, its not just up to his grandma). He’s kind of viewed as the communities pride and joy for getting into NRC, they all helped pay for his tuition and whatnot, so in return he helps them however he can. He and his grandma are tight, and they’re little shits to each other. - Jack does not read as an eldest sibling. He’s the youngest, but he has many younger cousins that all live nearby. He’s closest to his oldest/only sister and looks up to her, contributing to his sense of determination. Having had to look after his cousins made him fairly responsible, but as we saw in the tsum event, he still complained when he had to look after the little thing. That’s not an eldest sibling trait /hj. He has a total of four older siblings. His father is a very stoic, hard to read ex-body builder and his mom is a very eccentric, hyperactive tiny woman. His oldest sister has moved out, and married a successful businessman, and they have one child together. His next older brother tried moving out, got his heart broken, and came home to recover but hasn’t left since, and everyone’s ok with it. The second youngest members are twin brothers that loved wrestling with Jack when he was little, and continue to do so today, even though Jack is bigger than them. Their family was fairly conservative, so when one of the twins came out as gay, they worked to understand more. They’ve got the spirit of support even if they don’t fully understand. Jack’s mother loves telling stories about her kids to anyone who will listen, and his dad has pictures of them in his wallet. The cousins are from their dad’s siblings side, as Jack’s mom hasn’t spoken to her sister in a while, but hopes to hear from her soon. - Azul is an only child, raised by his mom and grandma, who yes, he calls his grandma “Nonna” because an underwater Italian leave me alone. They all yell at each other a lot but its never in malice. His mom is really good about giving him hugs though, but he could stand to go without the cheek pinches. - Jade and Floyd are implied to have multiple late siblings from when they were kids, and in Harveston they say "oh this is our family for now (mom, dad, them, and grandma)" which leads me to believe that their mom might be expecting and the whole family is just kinda waiting to see who survives the first 48 hours. The whole family is rather detached, they have to be for the sake of how survival works in the ocean, but now that the tweels are well on their ways to being adults, their mom is a lot more open with welcoming them home and giving them physical affection, and their dad wants to spend more time with them. This is normal for them, and they’re very glad to have gotten to this point. Their grandma has memory issues, so when they’re with her, Jade pins his hair back so the black stripe isn’t visible, making it a little easier for her to discern them from each other. - Jamil and Najma are two years apart in my mind, and their dynamic is excellent, I’m not messing with it. - Kalim has way too many half siblings, but not a single full sibling. This often makes him feel isolated and lonely even when he’s constantly surrounded by people. - Vil is an only child, but technically he's the youngest. (Tw death/suic*de) The press was bribed by his father to not let the story out after his wife suffocated their last child to death when she was two after a mental break. (she was also a renowned celebrity) They kept it hidden for four more years, but when she realized she wanted to do the same thing to Vil, she killed herself in the bathroom. He doesn’t know this, he just remembers her being beautiful and elegant, and wants to emulate her, which he does well. His father initially didn’t really want Vil to get into acting after seeing what it did to his wife, but Vil was adamant about being as much like his mother as possible. His grieving father didn’t have the heart to turn him down.   - Rook has 6 siblings, and he is the youngest. Each of his siblings excel in certain areas of hunting, as their parents are like Clayton and Mary Jane from Tarzan. Rook takes after his mother more, as his father spent most of his time with his older siblings out in the woods, or other biomes that they chose to hunt in. Rook stayed with his mother, learning about how to use every part of the animal, honouring it’s sacrifice, the beauty in death, etc. until he was about 9 and his father helped him shoot a long bow for the first time. Family reunions are difficult to schedule, but when they do happen, a nerf battle “to the death” happens, before each person makes their favourite dish from the last place they were. Also, his father used to shoot them with nerf bullets if they were getting too rowdy. - Epel has no change, I love him. One thing to note, I suppose is he is trans. His grandma knows. Doesn’t understand a darned thing but he’s happy so she’s happy for him. - Shrouds have each other, as well as "Mrs. Hades" as their aunt (based on Disney recruiters, link above). Their mom is a very warm, loving person, whereas their dad is more detached, (Mrs. Hades is his sister). I like how they mesh, so I’m leaving this alone. A/N I’m hesitant to say anything about Diasomnia except for Sebek, so apologies if you read all this way to try and find Malleus. He’s an only child. There’s no change. - Sebek has an older brother and sister, his sister shares more visible fae traits than either he or his brother do and he’s a little jealous but won’t admit it. His older brother is very bubbly and takes after their father. Sebek thinks he’s the youngest, however he gets to go home over summer break and find out his mother is pregnant. Also I love the HC that Trey and Sebek are distantly related, so yes, that’s canon here too.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alright thank you for reading! If you’d like to be put on a tag list please let me know! Masterlist 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

hey tumblr, AITA for leeching money off my dad? (tw brief vague mention of abuse)

ok, so i (22, closeted transmasc) am the child of a divorced couple. my dad (late 50s, i’m bad with ages) and i have always had a really rocky relationship. he’s been verbally and emotionally abusive towards me since i was little, often harshly badmouths his ex (aka my mom), vents to me about everything that bothers him, and is openly and loudly anti-LGBTQ+. when i was about 14, he accused me of, and i quote, “only being with him for his money.” while this wasn’t true at the time, i can basically safely say it is now.

while he’s a huge jackass who has left me with diagnosable ptsd and a whole slew of anxiety disorders, he does want to be a good dad, and pays for my college in full. i know this wouldn’t be the case if he knew i’m trans, so i keep that fact from him. my dad makes good money, i have a really major scholarship, and my dad has been saving money for my college even before i was born so it’s not like i’m running him dry. my mom helps where she can, but makes significantly less than he does so without my dad’s income fueling my education i would be shit out of luck. as soon as my college is done and i have enough stability to hold my own, i plan on coming out to him and moving out with my longterm partner. i don’t imagine we’ll have any communication beyond that point, as i’m everything he openly despises and i’m near certain he’s going to disown me (his side of the family has disowned someone for less— one of his brothers is almost entirely cut off just for not being catholic). i know the truth is gonna hurt him a lot, as he doesn’t have much of a social life and the rest of his family is pretty distant, so i’m basically all he has.

am i the asshole? be honest.

What are these acronyms?

[bttrflyeffekt]

butterflyeffect does the oversharing candy salad trend <3 (obviously inspired by myah @venusvity) tw for mentioned grooming, child abandonment, child neglect, violence, stalking, and akito being akito.

“I'm going first," Akito announces as the camera shifts its focus from the butterfly shaped fairy lights to the group in front of it.

Xinyi scoffs. “No, you're not! It's my Tik Tok accou–" 

He ignores her protests, holding up a comically large clear plastic container before setting it on the table in front of him. “I'm Akito, and when I was fourteen I started a fight club in my school.” Shaking the bag in his hand, he grins, "I brought Hershey's chocolate drops."

Glaring at him as he steps to the side, Xinyi takes his place. “I'm Xinyi. I brought a generic bag of sour gummy worms.” She dumps the bag into the container, making sure to shake out the excess sugar from the bottom of the bag. “And when I was younger I was a child star, and this thirty year old man became obsessed with me and would follow my tour bus in his Chrysler Sebring.”

"Did they arrest him?” Patch asks, as Heejin steps into frame.

Xinyi pauses, then solemnly says, "No. But my bàba tased him in the throat, so he stopped coming around." 

Heejin smiles at the camera, proudly holding up her bag of Airhead gummies. “I'm Heejin, I brought these gummy Airheads because everyone hates them and I thought it would be funny." She empties the bag into the container with a laugh. “In 2018, I had a really fugly bob because a sasaeng snuck into our old apartment and cut a chunk of my hair when I was asleep, like directly in the middle of the back of my head.”

Sookyung snorts a laugh as she's pushed into frame. "I forgot about that,” she exclaims, obviously delighted at the memory, as she looks at the camera with a smile. "I'm Sookyung, and recently a deep fake nude of me went viral online and they made my boobs too small. Also Akito liked it.” Akito made a scandalized noise, but didn't deny it. "Oh! And I brought chocolate covered pretzels!”

She gently pulls an obviously nervous Hajoon into the frame, and pats him on the back.

He brushes his hair out of his eyes before holding up his candy. “I'm Hajoon, I brought Swedish fish, and I realized last month that my favorite teacher groomed me." He turns to Sookyung. “Is that too dark?" 

“No!" she exclaims, “You're doing great!" 

He smiles to himself, stepping to the side to let Sungho into frame.

“Hi, I'm Sungho. This was before I knew I was gay, so that makes it extra funny, but, once I was having a conversation with our old CEO, and I mentioned having a girlfriend back home – just to test the waters and see how he'd react – and he laughed in my face, then called me a slur.” He holds up a peace sign beside his eye. "I brought Hi-chews, the desert kind.”

"This is all gonna taste like shit,” Patch states, as he takes Sungho’s place. "I'm Patch, and I was added to this group as damage control because Akito is the worst person in the world, and in my first week, I got 537 death threats.” He pauses to read the front of his bag. "Heejin brought peach rings for me to dump because I didn't have enough time to buy my own candy.”

Akito makes an incredulous noise. “You counted?”

Xinyi shoves past him to stop him from going first again, smiling as he grunts at the impact of their bodies colliding. “Hey, Xinyi again. A few years ago – three now, I think – my parents disowned my brother for being gay, and I lost contact with him,” Patch and Hajoon made wounded noises on her behalf as she held up her candy, “I have Jolly Ranchers that Hajoonie unwrapped for me.”

“Can I go now, or are you gonna bodyslam me if I try?” Akito asks.

“Nope!” Heejin says with a giggle before jumping into frame. “I’m Heejin, and I had to go no contact with my mom last year because she bullied me into having an eating disorder. I have chocolate covered pomegranates.”

She yanks Patch into frame, just to stop Akito from coming in. “Jesus Christ, Jinnie,” Patch says with a laugh, “I’m still Patch, and on my third day under our company, before I was even going to take his job or anything, Akito threatened to stab me because he said that I looked at him funny.”

“It was a misunderstanding!” Akito exclaims as Patch pulls Sungho on screen.

“I’m Sungho. This time I have another bag of Jolly Ranchers that Joonie unwrapped, because none of us communicated the kind of candy we were going to bring with one another,” he grumbles, obviously grumpy. Hajoon laughs, which makes him smile. “Um, I grew up in a cult that my parents run.”

Sookyung cackled. “You can’t just drop that with no context!”

“I can do whatever I want,” Sungho argues, laughing as well. He tries to pull her in, to stop Akito, but he’s shoved to the side as Akito bulldozes past him.

“I’m Akito, and I hate all of my members,” he snaps, “Um, when I was twelve, my mom abandoned me and my dad because she said she hated our masculine energy.”

“Oh my God,” Heejin says, mouth open in shock, “Is that why you’re a raging misogynist?”

The girls all cackle in sync, as he goes red in the face. “Fuck off.”

“Ok, my turn,” Hajoon says, giggling at Akito’s rage. “I brought Sour Patch Strawberries,” He dumps the candy into the container, before pausing to think. “Okay, um, I’m the youngest of six, so my parents were basically out of fucks to give once I was born, and when I was, like, eight, they forgot me at the mall for an hour and a half.”

Sookyung laughs so loud that it makes him jump. “Oh my god. You poor baby,” she says, coming into frame to hug him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, she says. “I’m Sookyung, and I only brought one bag of candy because I didn’t realize we were going more than once. Um, one time, during a performance, my clip on bangs flew off and hit Hajoonie in the eye, and we thought he was going to go blind.”

Xinyi is laughing so hard that she’s shaking as she steps into view holding a tiny pair of plastic tongs. “I stole these from the company cafeteria,” she explains as she begins mixing the candy. “Oh my God, we definitely cannot post this,” she exclaims, breathless.

[moonlight-shadxw]

Do you remember when I said in my Headcanons monty turned his mom to diamond by accident

He keeps her statue somewhere safe ( was his hotel ) and cleans it everyday

I'll explain more in detail below,

Ever since he was a kid, he couldn't help stealing whatever he thought was worth keeping. It started off with small things, to the point even irrelevant things too ended up in his hands.

As the kleptomania developed further, it'd get him even more in trouble with his father who already disapproved of his entire behavior.

His mother had opened him the doors towards art ; music, dance, and literature, and his main ideal was Romeo and Juliet, hence the name. And while he was an art enthusiast, it still wasn't enough to satisfy what his father needed of him. His mother would cover for him, much to his father's dismay, to the point he decided to disown his own son.

Sick of his father's abuse and mistreatment, he didn't hesitate to leave as soon as he was told.

Several years later, he chose to return home ;

After getting his hand on the diamond amulet, he thought he might show it to his mother as an achievement. But that wasn't the only aim of his trip ; the one he'd seen first was his father ー sneaking through the kitchen window, he came face to face with him ; quickly grabbing onto a knife, he stabs his father to death.

Now covered in blood, he realizes his mother had been watching. Knowing she already had heart problems, he watches her fall to the ground. He reaches to hold her, and unaware of the full extent of the amulet's power, he turns his mother to diamond. He wasn't sure if her turning this cold was because she was already dead when he held her, or because she had turned to crystal.

But the fact he hadn't much reacted to her death made him think, that perhaps his own heart had stopped too, turning cold, yet shiny and sturdy like diamond, the first part of him to crystallize.

He realized that day that all his ideals relating to people were going to be disappointing anyway ; valuables such as money or jewelry would never really lose value and power ー and if lost, they could always be found again.

Hence, his mentality shifted to mostly caring for this side of him, thus neglecting his artistic side, burying it along with his mother.

He still has her statue intact. Sometimes he still wonders if he had gone to his mother first, and then to his father ; perhaps things would've been entirely different.

The reason he went to see his father first was because he had a specific goal in mind, to take revenge on him, not only for himself, but also for his uncle.

As a child, he had witnessed his father kill his own brother in order to inherit his wine producing company and be its new boss.

Montague's uncle used to be one of the very few people he looked up to aside from his mother, and it was him who had told him about the diamond amulet, as a farfetched fantasy, keeping him dreaming about it over and over.

All these thoughts were intermingled in his mind, causing him to choose revenge before sentiment, making him the legal new owner of the company. However, turning his mother to diamond was an unwanted side effect, leaving him confused about what to do next ー until he thought the loss of both parents would be too suspicious, especially that he had just returned.

He needed to get rid of the evidence as soon as possible.

[ tw for slight gore and accidental cannibalism ]

.

.

.

He decides to chop up his father's body into reasonably sized parts and turn them to diamond, changing their shapes in order to make them appealing enough.

The only thing he'd been too curious about was his heart. It felt like his true act of vengeance, and the first compulsive thought that crossed his mind was to eat it.

Distraught by his own actions afterwards, it didn't take too long for him to regret, and then continued with his initial plan of burying the evidence and having it spread around. Those cannibalistic tendencies will only show in random impulsive bits, especially after committing a murder.

His only witness had been his mother, just as he had been the only witness of his uncle's murder ー and the two of them will be quiet about them.