#unwilling father of too many kids

[diejager]

GIRLLLL THAT BROTHER!GHOST X LIL SISTER!READER IS SO YUMMYYY😻😻

You already know imma ask for more👀 but i’ll let you surprise me, you can write whatever as long as Ghost is readers brother and i mean WHATEVER

you never disappoint youre gonna eat up every time u write 🤞🏻🤞🏻

You’re giving me FAR too much credit here 😳

Protect Cw: physical abuse, drunk/high, mention of child abuse, tell me if I missed any.

“The fucks your problem?!”

Ghost stood between you and the man, his chest pushed out and shoulders braced to seem bigger, wider than he already was —a tactic to scare off the man who dared to put his hand on you

“You are my fucking problem,” Ghost spat, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a deep scowl underneath his balaclava, his warm brow turned cold as I hell had frozen over with he coldest winter ever.

You let out a shuddered breath, cheek pulsing with stinging pain from being struck. You clung to Ghost, fingers digging into the soft and old texture of his hoodie, you hid behind him, his broad shoulder and wide stance protected you from the vile bastard’s view. You had one too many drinks, losing yourself somewhere around the last few pints and suddenly finding yourself in a dark corner of the street fighting off a man who didn’t understand that a no meant a hard no.

You were lucky Simon had found you before he took it a step further, mind too drunk and body too sluggish to lift a hand and defend yourself. He might’ve heard your yelp and cry for him, whimpering out his name for help when you help your swollen cheek and bleeding lip. He rushed to your side without a second thought, pushing the man away from you with a hard shove.

“Find your own bitch!” The man smelled drunk, the pungent odour of booze blowing off of him in waves and his eyes dilated with a slurred speech but erratic and unpredictable mind, he wasn’t only drunk, he was probably high as well, “I was here first!”

“She’s not an object, you fucking bloke,” Ghost hissed, fist closing tightly with little self-control left to stop himself from decking the bastard for calling you a bitch, his sweet, precious sister being touched by a man like him. “When she says no, it bloody means no.”

Ghost took a step forward, his hulking figure seeming bigger than nature in the darkness of the alley, glaring down at the high and drunk man that dared to approach you. Even with an inebriated conscience, he knew when he was outmatched, yelping and backing away in fright, eyes wide and brows risen high.

“Sod off,” he sent him a curt nod, his chin pointing outwards, down to the alley’s entrance.

Once the man was off, stumbling away and tripping on air, Simon turned to you, arms pulling you to his chest, cradling your pained cheeks and trembling body. You shook, tremor wreaking your body as you whispered his name, body and mind still numb from being hit, it reminded you of before, when you were still a kid, hiding behind Simon for protection against you father.

He whispered sweet, comforting words, calling your name in the softest tone he had, featherlight and loving, hand climbing to wipe away the stray tears from your cheeks and made you look at him, into his calm and warm eyes. They were the warmest chocolate brown you ever knew, the right shade that made you melt in his arms, tuning out the world for him, the man who’s protected you all your life.

“There you go,” he mumbled, a smile stretching the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkling and eyes gleam confidently when you gave him a gentle nod, tentatively smiling back at him, “That’s the (Name) I know.”

“It hurts, Si,” you pouted, one hand holding his against your cheek, the one left untouched from the man.

“I know, I know,” he cooed, bowing to press a kiss on your nose, unwilling to let you go. “Let’s get you home and treated, yeah?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots

[odesofmeddea]

i find it tragic and fascinating how sam's narrative is so rife with representations of confinement. of failed or rejected attempts to actually get away. as much as there is a need for individuation there is concurrently an utter terror at being let loose, the terror that comes at once that the individuation is permit. in season i, the scarecrow, we glimpse a pageant of both dean and sam's agony because it's the first time that dean tells him to go if he wants so, and the focus here is on how sam concaves in situations of such release. he crawls back happily. then he invariably tells dean, again, that he has to let him go once this is over... but then sam stays. when dean, through all his miseries, manages to let him be at the beginning of season v, sam is instantly awestruck, near nonmotile, ‘i was expecting a fight’, because he is so used to being forced back in, to being loved like this - through forms of compulsion, coercion and captivity. he is also used to these conditions being the only plausible safety that preserves him via its isolating modi operandi. so whenever he walks away, he is still not exempt. leaving with ruby, he aches to reconcile with dean, after. he brings up his brother on a date with the coworker-girl telling about his regrets, he calls dean at night, asking to be taken back. and it is copacetic in a way that the narrative warps sam to the point where he is defensive and greedy for love that, having forced him to renege his sovereignty, monopolized itself in his life.

first sam can't go back to stanford - his life is a locus of ecumenical violence, his body a site of appropriation, and yet, in all his impurity (since he deems himself impure and abject), dean is still there, loving, preserving, persevering. then he can't go back to the normal world because the family business (secret) takes away sam's tongue to the point where he no longer can communicate himself nor his trauma into the ambiance he now is completely alienated from. he is confined. he gives up, he lets himself to get eaten. the only thing he has is his brother who can't talk, toward whom all ends of his life invariably resile; dean representing the only support constancy to sam is simultaneously a representation of willed stasis - he no longer evolves outside of his brother, he convolutes into and about him. when you center your life around someone that much, they become the crux of your sense of self, they become the fulcrum of your good or bad self-perception… when lilith kills dean, the world ends. he is changed, ghastly, he is a man arage, a heathcliff bereft of his cathy - the personal transmutation is still a lot about brother, is still spurred by deanlessness. even the confirmation of sam's reality, later, gets centered around him - through the palm-wound dean sewed and reopened, unmade into the site of verity: if dean was here, in this wound, this is real. if dean trusts me, if i hadn't let him down again, then i'm whole, redeemable.

sam, now, is unwilling to leave. he long entered this limen of altered consciousness that is the result of the psychological duress he grew up in, along with the exacerbation of trauma that ensued once dean pulled him back into the vortex of the family loop. he gets domesticated - not that he wasn't by the fact of birth into this house - in the intergenerational mentality and trauma, many a time he goes through the identification with his father (prior: aggressor) whose obsessiveness he espouses. which is ourobóros because john could only execute and interpret love as an incarceration - dean tells lisa how he would cloister them when they were kids which is another form of perpetuated captivity resulting in complete dependency and disconnection from society. it is something you can't walk out and away from. when sam tells so to the hallucination of his child-self, while locked by dean in the cage: ‘we were never gonna get away’, he assumes his heritage and, too, cannot let go. gabriel tries to teach him the lesson on letting dean go but it is quite late for sam to either learn or want it. he just keeps pleading, like a homeless dog: please, please, bring him back, because homelessness is freedom and freedom means a world without dean. it happens to be a harrowing one.

in some episode when dean leaves with crowley but without him, sam gets drunk and cries about it to bobby. literally. when dean comes back, he locks him in the bathroom. it is also the same episode which crowley calls him dean's dog, the first time probably that he directly gets this canine title instead of dean, and it fits, it depicts. he is so insecure, so dependent. he loves dean to the point of self-annihilation. he always comes back. he, like any tamed dog, wants to prove himself, and to protect, and attack for. that might be why he is so scared when dean deliberately lets him out. if he let me out... does he no longer love me? and if he doesn't love me anymore, what else do i have in this world that i abjured for my cage completely?

[gallusrostromegalus]

the 'Kon :)' in the list of things you're pleased about in aeiwam has be EXCITED please tell us more (if you want to)!

Soon after Masaki died, Isshin Kurosaki moved his family. It's mostly because the original clinic didn't feel haunted- if Masaki's spirit were still here, Isshin would know what to do, but instead he felt like his heels were dogged by the hole where she used to be.

It didn't hurt that the new place was larger, in a better school district, and closer to his friend Ryukken. He's almost feeling cheerful about the new place when Ichigo runs up the stairs and from room to room before calling dibs on one, because he's a big kid now and doesn't want to sleep where he has to listen to his dad snoring all night >:(.

Isshin felt slightly less cheerful when he looked out the big window in Ichigo's room to determine if he needs to put up some child safety grates, and realized their new neighbor was a taxidermist.

"I feel like it gives them a sort of dignity- A Life After Life, if you will." she said when he went by to make sure his neighbor was only eccentric and not something out of a horror movie. He wasn't entirely sure which, actually- Ms. Tanaka was an octogenarian with skin like tissue paper and a back like a question mark, but her living room was a veritable zoo of reconstituted animals, many of them former pets, if the number of domestic cats was anything to go by.

"Oh. Yeah!" Isshin grinned, terrified, and was struck by the idea of some goon in the 12th division slavering in the afterlife, desperate for her to shuffle off the mortal coil and bring her undoubted skills with dead bodies to R&D. "We've always been very spiritual people."

(Continued under the readmore)

"Oh, just like the nice young man who used to live in your house!" said Ms. Tanaka, sitting down in her armchair that was adorned by an ostentatious past-tense peacock perched on the back. "Odd fellow. Worked nights, spoke like he was born in the Sengoku Era or something, but very nice."

"He's BEAUTIFUL!" said Ichigo, staring in awe at an enormous Ginger Tabby Cat by the window, mounted in repose on a emerald velvet cat bed. Ms. Tanaka had done an excellent job conveying a sense of benevolent egotism on his whiskered face, but Ichigo's growing fascination with the Macabre was beginning to worry his father- Ichigo had seen the taxidermy stoat in the back window and INSISTED on coming along.

"Isn't he?" beamed Ms. Tanaka. "His name is Bostov! He was my very best friend for many years."

"Wow! Can I pet him?" Ichigo asked, eyes wide with delight.

"Ichigo, that's uh- that's not a real kitty-" Isshin began to sputter.

"Of course he's a real kitty!" Ms. Tanaka laughed, a noise like an ungreased gate. "You can pet him if you're very gentle." Ichigo stroked the deceased animal with exceptional delicacy for an overexcited Kindergartner. "He's so soft!" he gasped.

"Do you like him?" asked Ms. Tanaka.

"I LOVE HIM!" Said Ichigo, cheeks flushed and eyes bright for the first time in months now. Perhaps having a distant relative of the Addams family for a neighbor isn't so bad, if her creepy hobby cheers Ichigo up... Isshin sighed.

"In that case, why don't you take him home with you?" Smiled Ms. Tanaka. "I'm sure he'll be a good friend to you too."

"UH." Isshin blurted out, nearly spilling his tea on a flock of quail under the side-table.

"I have SO MANY friends in my home with me- it's bordering on a fire hazard!" Ms. Tanaka chuckled. "I'd be delighted to send him to a home where he'll be loved. Please- consider him my housewarming present!"

"CAN WE? CAN WE TAKE HIM HOME? PLEASE DAD??PLEEEEEEEASE-!!" Ichigo asked, stars in his eyes.

Isshin froze, horrified at the prospect of having... That. In his house. Watching him. ...and at the same time, completely unwilling to dash his little boy's dreams.

"yEaH oKaY." Isshin grimaced, soaked in a cold sweat.

*****

Bostov The Former Cat was bad enough, but at least the taxidermy beast 'lived' on Ichigo's bedroom dresser and not down in the living room where Isshin would have to look at it's green glass eyes, which seemed to follow him around the room. It wasn't right having a hollow thing in the house like that- any wandering spirit could decide to climb in there! He resolved to have it warded, but Kisuke said he was on a trip to the Caribbean for "Botanical Research" , and wouldn't be back until "After the Big Holiday on the 20th". Isshin hung up the phone, groaned and rubbed his face. It was fairly late, and he was still at the kitchen table, going through all of the licensing paperwork to get the clinic up and running.

"Hey Dad?" Ichigo asked, holding up a small plastic toy. "What's 'Soul Candy'?"

"Soul Cand-?" Isshin frowned, turned to look at the toy and nearly jumped out of his skin, swiping it away from the boy. "WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS? DID YOU EAT ANY??"

"...it was upstairs, in the back of my closet." Ichigo pouted. "-and no, I didn't eat any strange closet candy. I'm not stupid."

"Oh thank the Gods..." Isshin sighed, sitting back down at the table and shaking the small, duck-headed pill dispenser. Empty. "-I'm sorry I yelled Ichigo, but this is Very Dangerous stuff."

Ichigo arched an incredulous Eyebrow at him. "Really? Is this the same kind of dangerous that the half my Halloween candy you confiscated and ate was?"

"Ah- well. No. That was Dad Tax. This is actually dangerous. Here, come sit with me a minute." he pulled out the other chair at the kitchen table. "Remember how I told you about the ghost that lived in my attic when I was your age?"

"The Shinigami?" Ichigo asked.

Isshin did not *enjoy* lying to his children, but a little knowledge was a dangerous thing, and not enough even more so, so he'd concocted a little fantasy to explain why he knew all about ghosts and why the children never saw their grandparents, so he could tell them about the dangers of this world without telling them too much.

"That's right- His name was Kaien Shiba, and he was a Soul Reaper. At night, he'd turn into a ghost and leave his body behind, and go escort spirits to the afterlife or fight hollows." Isshin said. he'd named the fictional soul reaper after his favorite nephew in a fit of inspiration- he'd started telling Ichigo a tale from his days as a Shinigami one night after slightly too many drinks and had to convince Ichigo that that was only a distant acquaintance.

"...Like what killed Mom." Ichigo muttered.

"Um. Yeah." Isshin nodded.

They were silent for a moment.

"-Anyway, the way he turned into a ghost was that he'd swallow one of these little candies that would come in these tubes-" Isshin pulled the duck's head back to show Ichigo the mechanism. "-and Poof! he'd jump out of his body as a ghost so he could use magic to save people! But-there was a little soul inside the candy that would come out and take care of his body while he was away! Like a babysitter, but for his own butt! After a few hours, the little soul would stop working, and Kain would be home to climb back in."

Ichigo blinked at the mechanism, thinking. "So. There's a little person in these candies?"

"If there were any in here, yeah." Said Isshin. "They're not like. Whole people. Just little collages of behaviors and phrases. You know, like the fake voice that talks on the phone when you call to refill a prescription!" Ichigo frowned, considering something. "...There weren't any candies in this thing, were there?" Isshin asked, suspicious.

"No." Said Ichigo, frowning at him. "It'd be really lonely, being just a little soul, stuck in a candy, wouldn't it?" he asked.

"I suppose so, but I don't think the little souls are aware while they're in there. It's like being asleep for them." Isshin shrugged, lying to himself as much as his son about that.

Ichigo still frowned. "...What happens if the candy goes into a body without a soul in it? Like a dead body?" "Huh." Isshin frowned. "I dunno, actually. I guess the little soul would run around and operate it for a while, until it faded out, like it did with a normal body?"

Ichigo nodded, still preoccupied.

"Why?" Isshin tried.

"...No reason." Ichigo muttered, kicking his little feet. "Just thinking."

"Alright. Promise me if you find anything else weird or see any random candies to not touch them and tell me right away, okay?"

"Yeah okay." Ichigo nodded, only sort of paying attention. "I'm gonna go to bed. G'night dad." he muttered, getting up from the table and handing the dispenser to Isshin before giving him a quick hug and stomping up the stairs.

Isshin watched him go, aching a bit. I wondered how old he was gonna be when he started keeping secrets from me. He sighed, looking down at the Soul Candy Dispenser. Not that I'm being a Paragon of Honesty for him to follow...

---

"GIRLS? ICHIGO? HAVE ANY OF YOU SEEN MY STETHOSCOPE?" Isshin hollered, searching fruitlessly under the couch cushions.

"NO!" Hollered Karin from where she and Yuzu were playing in the small front yard.

"TRY ICHIGO'S ROOM, HE TOOK A BUNCH OF LAUNDRY UP TO SORT." called Yuzu.

"THANKS GIRLS!" he called back stomping up the stairs. Ichigo was at karate- he'd finally returned to classes, or at least, Tatsuki had finally physically dragged him back into the Dojo. "Man I hope I didn't put it through the washing machine-" he muttered, opening the door to the boy's room and started searching through the basket of laundry on his bed.

Isshin stopped, and stood up, frowning around the room. Something was off.

Ichigo was a tidy boy, somehow, and his room was usually in order save for whatever video game he had out to play and the bed he never made but... Isshin turned fully around trying to figure out what was off before his eyes finally landed on the top of the Dresser.

The Emerald Green Velvet Cat bed, home of Bostov The Cat, was empty.

"Did he take the cat out of the bed to play with?" Isshin wondered aloud, hoping that that, and not several other horrible scenarios, was what was happening. He could hear Karin and Yuzu giggling through the window, and he peeked down at them- they appeared to be having a tea party on the thin strip of grass, and the guest of honor amongst the dolls and stuffed animals was a familiar-looking ginger tabby. "Oh! The GIRLS took him out to play with." he sighed with relief, leaning against the window to watch them.

...and watch a strange man approaching down the street, who stopped at the garden fence. Isshin frowned- maybe he was just watching the girls play, in a normal, wholesome way like he was doing right now. ...or he could be taking candy out of his pocket and waving the girls to come through the gate.

Isshin jumped on the bed, tore open the window with such force it jumoed out of it's track and was halfway out to jump down at the man from the second floor when the most EXTRAORDINARY thing happened.

Bostov, Who by all accounts had been deceased for the better part of a decade and was made of little more than a skin and some glass stretched over a wood-and-cotton frame, Suddenly leapt up from his chair, claws and teeth drawn like swords and leapt upon the man, battering him visciously with a stream of einvective so foul it made Isshin's barrack-hardened linguistic sensibilities blush, before chasing him back down the street like a short, furious, ass-seeking missile.

"GIRLS!" he shouted, jumping down anyway. "-ARE YOU OKAY?"

"DON'T GET MAD AT ICHIGO OR KON!!" Shouted Yuzu, tears in her eyes.

"...ichigo or who?" Isshin blinked.

"Way to spill the beans, Yuzu." Karin groaned. "Yeah Dad, we're FINE- Kon was here, he'll beat the crap out of anything."

"Who's Kon?" Isshin repeated.

"HEY DAD." Shouted Ichigo, skidding into the garden in his karate gi, and out of breath, clutching an unconvincingly stiff Mr. Bostov under his arm. "SO. UH- WELL MR. BOSTOV CAN MOVE NOW. FOR SOME REASON."

"Uh-huh?" Isshin glared at the cat, who glanced away nervously. "Why do you think that is?"

"...it's a Christmas Miracle?" Tried Ichigo.

"Ichigo, it's fucking April." groaned Karin.

"...Passover?" tried Ichigo.

"-This wouldn't have anything to do with that Soul Candy Dispenser you found, would it?"

"uhhhhhhh..." said Ichigo. Honesty might not have been one of the boy's virtues, but at least he was a terrible liar.

"PLEASE DADDY DON'T GET ANGRY!!" Sobbed Yuzu, throwing herself around his calf and wailing. "MR. KON IS THE MOST NICEST KITTY IN THE WHOLE WORLD! HE PLAYS TEA TIME AND DRESS-UP WITH US AND TELLS JOKES AND CHASES AWAY DOGS AND SCARY MEN AND HE ALWAYS WAKES UP ICHIGO WHEN HE'S HAVING A NIGHTMARE-!"

"Yeah, actually, Kon's like. the first thing to make me laugh since. Well." Mumbled Karin, plodding over to Isshin's other leg and leaning heavily on him. "Please? he's weird, but he's a good guy."

Isshin sighed, then glared back down at the cat. "Alright. Who are you?" he demanded.

Ichigo and the formerly immobile cat glanced at each other and the feline unfolded as Ichigo set him down, shaking himself out and sitting on the walkway.

"So, uh- Hi. My name's Kon. Kon Bostov, if you wanna be formal, in honor of the beast whose body I currently inhabit." He nodded, waving a paw evocatively. "-And, uh. Well, how much do you know about the afterlife?"

"-Being from a long line of psychic mediums and prone to hauntings, my parents rented out our attic to a Shinigami when I was a child, and he told me pretty much everything." Said Isshin, and Kon winced. "So. Is 'Kon' short for 'Mod Konpaku'?"

"Ehh... well, Yeah." Kon winced. "-But hey! It wasn't my idea to be cooked up in a lab by some maniac and then put to death minutes later for something I didn't even do!" he snarled, fur bristling.

"What?" asked Karin.

"Kids I- Look, I didn't mean to lie, there just wasn't a good time to bring it up but. Technically, I'm wanted by the law. I'm an artificial soul created for battle to be put into dead bodies, but literally four and a half minutes after I woke up, the soul society- where all the Shinigami are from- condemned me to die, because they didn't like how strong some of the other Mod Souls were. I managed to roll myself off of the table and into a box of normal bodyminders to hide, Got put in a dispenser and then the shinigami that had been here accidentally left me behind." Kon explained.

"COOL!" Shouted Karin.

"NOT COOL. BAD!" Shouted Isshin. "Okay, okay I- I mean you're right, I never- I mean, the way Kaien told it, the whole Mod Soul program was pretty shady and it sounded really unfair. But why would a Shinigami just leave an important and dangerous tool lying around?"

"...I don't know how much spiritual sense you have my guy, but this town doesn't have a Hollow problem so much as the Hollowpocalylse goin' on." Kon grimaced. "-I really hope that guy's okay, he seemed pretty cool from what I could tell. I don't actually remember hearing him get called back to soul society." Kon muttered. "-Anyway, about three weeks ago, your brother found me in the dispenser in the back of his closet and put my candy body into this taxidermy cat, and I've been hanging out with the kids since then! You know, like a cat is supposed to do!"

Isshin stared blankly at Kon. The girls hugged his legs, lips wobbling, but he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, firming up his resolve- no matter how nice he seemed, a Mod Soul was a dangerous thing- and one crafty enough to live right under his nose for the better part of a month? No, absolutely n-

Isshin opened his eyes to see Ichigo had picked up Kon, cradling the cat to his tiny body, eyes wide and beginning to glisten with tears.

"...Ah. What the hell. You make the kids laugh." Isshin sighed, and all four cheered, thanking him profusely and promising to be extra-good and take good care of Kon- "But you put so much as a Whisker out of line and you're in deep trouble, got it?" Isshin leaned into the cat's face, scowling menacingly and shaking his finger at Kon.

"Understood sir!" Kon Saluted. "So when's dinner? Ichigo's been sneaking me scraps but I could really go for some chicken, or maybe ham-" he asked, tail thrashing excitedly.

"You can eat?" Isshin asked. "I thought you were all... Whatever they stuff taxidermy animals with?"

"-Might've been, but I'm all complete now? Fluff, guts, claws-the works!" Kon shrugged, hopping up on Isshin's shoulder. "-Between you an' me, I ain't even neutered! But that ain't a problem- Plenty of hot pussy around, if you know what I mean, especially that sweet little tuxedo bobtail just up the street- Me-YOW, huh?"

"Oh gods." Groaned Isshin, covering his face. "What am I letting into my house?"

"An intact male cat is called a 'Tom' Dad." Karin called over her shoulder.

"Alright Kon, a few rules- No more swearing in front of the kids, no bringing ladies around the house and for goodness sake DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU'RE HERE!" Isshin snarled at him.

"Alright, alright!" Kon sighed, rolling his eyes. "Out of curiosity though- What rank was your guy Kaien?"

"Hm?" Isshin asked.

"Only that I thought only the captains and a few lieutenants ever knew about project Spearhead." Kon glanced at Isshin, arching an orange-striped brow at him. "-funny thing, having a seated officer doing routine patrols, isn't it?"

"I dunno?" Shrugged Isshin, trying to keep his shoulders from tensing up, "-He didn't actually tell me all that much about how the soul society is governed."

"Huh." Kon nodded, smirking just a bit. "Interestin' guy, this Kaien. You should tell me about him sometime!"

"KOOOOONN!" Yuzu called. "My Dollie's shoe got under the fridge!"

"Coming Sweetie!" Kon called, jumping off Isshin's shoulder to reach his skinny little cat arm under the fridge and swat the missing accessory out from under the appliance. Yuzu applauded with delight and hugged him, laughing for the first time in ages.

Isshin watched them play for a bit and sighed. He not a bad guy, this Kon. All the same- Isshin took out his phone and dialed a number.

"~Urahara Shoten, home of Karkura Town's finest Candies, Cell Phones and Card Games! I'm on sabbatical 'til the end of the month or so, so if it's an emergency, hang up and call the Kurosaki Clinic! Or die! If it's not an emergency, leave me a message with what you need and I'll hook you up when I get back! Bye!~" Urahara's voicemail recording sing-sang over the line.

"Kisuke. It's me, Isshin. You will not fucking believe what my kids found in the new house. Call me as soon as you get back."

[toms-cherry-trees]

Story Of Us|| John Shelby x Reader

Summary: Love is not always ideal. It comes hand on hand with grief

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Infant/maternal death, grief, teen pregnancy, angst

Author’s note: Nothin to see here, move forward to the story. This took me 2 hours to write and I didn’t proofread one bit

John had always lived in a dilemma. Ever since his dad walked out on them, he tried to get approval from his family, the one thing he never received as a child.. But he only ended up being scolded. When he had to crack the news that he had knocked up Martha, both being just fifteen years of age, Polly hit him across the head with a wooden spoon, and Arthur had to hide him from Martha’s father, who had come for him with a musket.

John and Martha knew they were too young, but they were in love the way only teenagers can be, and the only way they would be allowed together was this. With a baby and the obligation to marry to preserve Martha’s honour. They were wed three months after the musket incident, Martha dressed in a borrowed white dress which did little to hide her rounded bump, and John stuffed in one of his father’s old suits, hastily tailored by Polly. Only the groom’s family was in attendance, since Martha’s father had kicked her out of the house.  

Four months later a boy had been born in John’s own bed; a squirming, chubby thing with the most powerful lungs in the whole of Birmingham. Two more babies came in quick succession, another boy and another girl.

And then came the war.

In the time between their rushed marriage and 1914, John had managed to make more or less a living for himself. He had gotten his own home, being able at last to move Martha and the kids out of the cramped quarters of the family home. And they had a young girl from the area helping Martha rear the kids. Life seemed as perfect as it could get until the war struck and the war office came looking for them. Even though the conscription was voluntary at first, it would only be a matter of time before they came and dragged them out of their homes by their feet. John tested his luck as much as he could, even after Tommy and Arthur had already joined the front. But he had started to get dirty looks whenever he left the house, and one morning he woke up to his doorstep filled with chicken feathers. So he went, and left Martha with the kids and the nanny to hold up the fort in his absence.

None of them could know for certain how long they would be away, and it was worrisome to think it could be years before they returned, if they ever did, while the women in their lives were left to fend for themselves. Being granted leave to go home was a privilege mostly reserved for officers, and with John’s explosive nature and cockiness, he spent many months penalised without leave. The first time he managed to go home, in the second half of 1915, Martha and the kids had thrown themselves at his legs and his neck, unwilling to let him go.

In the two weeks he spent in Birmingham, he left Martha with child yet again. The news arrived with delay, as they do when you receive mail in the battlefield, and even more when said letters are heavily monitored by the officers. The letter had been sent a month and a day before it made it into his hands, but the news were not any less joyous, although tinted with a pang of guilt of not being there to support his wife. But John played his part, behaving like a good soldier for once in order to receive leave in time to see his newborn. They estimated the date for the first half of May 1916, a glorious spring.

But the thing is, letters carrying bad news move just as slow and delayed as the good ones. Even slower so, since the war office ordered anything that could tamper with the soldiers’ morale and spirits to be suppressed. John made the entire journey home, on truck, ship and train, only to find Martha had passed 4 weeks before his arrival, alongside their newborn girl. Polly had intercepted him on the train station, having seen him descend from the platform on her way from the market. The toothy grin tugging on his lips slowly fell into a frown as Pol grabbed his arm and practically tugged him into an alley to give him a resumed version of the events, but John didn’t want to hear. He didn’t care how, or why, or when. He only knew, as the ground swayed beneath his feet, that his sweet, lovely wife had left this world without him by his side, and had taken their babe with her to not be alone. Leaving John, aged 22, with a broken heart and 3 young children in the middle of a never ending war.

Polly and Tommy, who also happened to be on leave at that time, had made arrangements for everything after Martha’s passing. Polly had wanted to take in the children herself, to keep them under her wing. But when she even tried to take them out of the house, they clung to their nanny’s skirts like a lifeline, refusing to even step an inch away. Pol understood quickly that having just lost their mother and being in permanent threat of also losing their father, she couldn’t rip them away from the only stable person in their lives. So the girl, having grown deeply fond of her wards, moved into the home full time to look after them in every way a mother would, since the children had grown to love her like one.

When John returned home, he expected to find a gloomy and deserted place, with the hearth cold and empty and lamps out, much like he felt inside his own head. But of course reality rarely matches the expectations, whether good or bad. The children were laughing, playing with some wooden figurines on the carpet. Aged seven, five and three, they were already a force to be reckoned with, being able to mess a room in the blink of an eye. Yet here they were, playing happily under the caring gaze of their nanny. The four of them were startled by his arrival, with the kids scrambling over each other to jump into his arms, knocking over a chair and a side table, sending a vase with daisies crashing down. Home sweet home.

~

That night, after the kids were put to bed, John sat near the fireplace, nursing a glass of whiskey in his hands. Martha always warned him when the drinks began piling up on the table and his head; her voice whispering in his mind kept him from bringing the liquid to his lips, no matter how desperately he craved the numbness only spirits can provide.

You walked out of the kitchen, untying the apron from your waist. Most of the house chores were neglected during the day, since every waking hour was filled with rearing the little Shelbys. The oldest, David, would be starting school very soon, but you didn’t see how that would come to be, since he refused to be away from you for long. The youngest, Sarah, spent most of her day perched on your hip, although at 2 years of age she was already getting too heavy to carry. Theo, who had just turned five, acted as middle children often do, keeping mostly to himself and showing himself to be independent.

You hadn’t noticed John sitting there, since he was slumped on the floor, his head propped on the sofa and his legs splayed before him. His boots were nowhere to be found and his shirt discarded aside, leaving him only in undershirt. You would have just walked past him if he hadn’t called your name.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes Mr. Shelby?”

“Sit here for a little bit”

Perplexity was not quite the word to describe what you felt, but it came close enough. You had never been afraid of your boss; he and Martha had offered you a job when you most needed it, and they even treated you as a friend, since you were only a year younger than them. You were the one who mediated between them when things got tense, as often happened when very young people were thrusted abruptly into adult life; resentment inevitably building up on the grave of robbed childhood and dreams. And you were the one who took the kids out of the house when they inevitably made peace with each other.

But the situation had changed; the wife dead, the husband away, and you had basically become owner and lady of the home in the meantime, forced to step up for the babies you had known nearly since the cradle. Perhaps taking attributions that didn’t belong to you, but everything done with the best intentions in your heart.

You sat in the armchair farthest away from him, your body perched on the very edge of the seat and your legs laced at the ankles.

John doubted his words, still swirling the whiskey in the glass. Not a tear had left track on his cheeks, but the corners of his eyes were reddened, like those of a man who had learned, either willingly or by force, to hold back emotions.

“Were you here when…when Martha…” The phrase was left hanging in the air

“Yes I was. I had been staying full time already, in case the baby came at night”

Silence. Words slowly dawning on his mind fogged by barely contained grief.

He swallowed thickly “What happened?”

You closed your eyes and breathed in slowly. You knew he would eventually ask, but you hoped he wouldn’t ask you. The desire to know something could turn almost morbid the longer the answer was denied, but you didn’t want to give the grisly details with the wound so fresh, so you hoped he would content with the shortened version.

“The baby came too early, more than a month. And then it got stuck, and the labour dragged on for too long. The girl was….born sleeping. She named her Katie. And then Mrs Shelby caught an infection” You stopped there, hoping the vague narration would be enough explanation so you could avoid the more sensible details.

John nodded slowly, his gaze only fixated in his whiskey glass “Did she…did she say anything? Before she…”

“Mr. Shelby…” You protested, not believing him ready to hear it all

“Just say it!” The words came a lot more harshly than he intended, but they had been dropped and couldn’t be taken back.

You nodded and looked down at your lap, fidgeting with your apron “She told me to look after her babies. And to look after you. She told me we should not be sad for long, because she hated sad faces and life was sad enough as it was and her loved ones had to live happy lives on her behalf. She only asked…she asked that we made sure her kids never forgot about her” Your lower lip trembled. Holding her hand as life slipped away from her had been traumatic for you as well; like watching your own older sister die under your watch.

Your last words broke something inside John. At first, barely perceptible, his lower lip trembled and his eyes glazed while he pondered over his wife’s last words. Then all of a sudden the floodgates opened, tears coursing freely down his cheeks as sobs racked his body. The glass fell and shattered, and you, always acting on maternal instinct, tried to pull him away from the carpet so he wouldn’t land his hand on the shards. But in the brief second your hands touched him, John clung to your waist in the same fashion his eldest son did when he had a nightmare. The force of his embrace pulled you down on the floor, his head burrowed on your lap and his fingers digging on the fabric of your blouse. You had no words to console him, for sometimes, there is no real consolation. So you did the best you could, which was letting him cry out his sorrow and anger in the same apron that had wiped his children’s tears; while you rubbed soothing circles in his back. John cried it all out until his tears had run dry and his frantic heartbeat stilled. Crying is usually followed by drowsiness, and before you knew it your boss had fallen asleep on your lap, soothed by the faint scent of lavender on your clothes. You didn’t want to move him and disrupt the feeble stillness of peace, so you sat there all night, your head perched on the sofa and your hand on his back, dwelling on the creaking of the fire in the hearth.

~

It couldn’t be helped, the way the bond you and John had of mere friendship morphed into something else. Ever since Martha’s passing, John had managed to squeeze pity out of the war office, being granted leave more often than others to see his children. In the meantime, you took marvellous care of them, and they loved you maybe even more than they loved him.

The way he became drawn to you may seem rushed, but it came from a place of grief. A man with his heart in tatters, finding comfort in the arms that hugged and cuddled his children. Every time he returned home on leave, his barely retained sorrow spilled out the second he crossed the threshold of his home and the memories came crashing like an avalanche. Instead of getting better, he seemed to slowly grow worse. Could it be the grief, could it be the war, seeing his children more grown and mature every time he came, or a mixture of everything, but each leave it became harder to enter his home, and at the end it became harder to return to the front.

John spent many hours of his day locked in his bedroom, splayed on his bed accompanied by a whiskey, inhaling the fading scent of lotion on Martha’s nightgown. More than once you had to threaten to break in through the window in order to coax John into coming out and eating. The children barely noticed his behaviour, far too accustomed to his absence by now, but it pained you to see him miss out on every precious second he could spend with his family, knowing well it could be the last. Not wanting to be mindless of his pain, you gave him a few days to settle and then forced him out of the shell. No one would be called to dine until he came to sit with you all; you would go out to shop alone, making him watch the kids; if one of them had a nightmare at night, you knocked on his door and made him go and lull them back to sleep. You knew it was hard for him, but this is what Martha would have wanted. She wanted John to carry on living, and that he would do, with you behind to support him.

But you never expected to catch feelings in the process. Never had you thought about him as any more than your boss and friend, not before Martha and certainly not after. But looking after him, being his strength at home, even more so than his blood family, it is hard for feelings to not get tangled in the middle. You were the one who saw him sob his eyes out over a picture in the middle of the night: the one who bandaged his hands when he beat the wall in a fit of rage over the unfairness of life, and the one who kept that little family up and running.

On one of his last leaves, in October of 1918, he had, for the first time, sat with all of you for dinner on his first back home without threats or begging. As you served the stew, John cleared his throat to call attention “Tomorrow we are going out. It is a little surprise, but I promise we will have fun”

The children jumped in excitement. It had been far too long since they had all gone out as family, and the prospect of a day out with dad was the best outlook ever. You smiled as you poured a glass for John “What time do you need the kids ready, Mr Shelby?”

“Everyone ready at 10, and I mean everyone. You are coming with us of course, it is a family day”

Your breath hitched in your throat and heat rose to your cheeks, but you just nodded, hiding your shyness behind your glass. The next day the five of you went to an apple orchard, right on time as the sweetest fruits were being harvested. The children ran rampant across the field with wicker baskets, collecting dropped fruits which they would be able to exchange at the end of the day for candy. John and you followed closely behind, both in silence but enjoying the sounds of nature and the laughter of the kids. The autumn leaves crunched beneath your feet making a most delicious sound. For a day, you could all pretend that war had never happened and life was more or less normal. At the end, the children dropped the apples in big wooden troughs, and in exchange were given toffee apples. John bought you two pints of cider which you drank together, sitting under a tree while watching the children play with other kids and trying to sneak more candied apples from the stand

“Look at that, David stole an apple” Far from being outraged, you found the situation amusing “He is your son alright”

John chuckled “Are you insinuating I am a thief, Miss (Y/N)”

“Martha told me all the tales of your youth, Mr. Shelby. Stealing candy is one thing, but stealing liquor from a bar is an extraordinary prowess” You smirked

John’s demeanour dropped ever so slightly at the name, but he was quick to pick himself up “I miss her. She should be here watching the children grow. There should be a toddler here with us, and another baby on the way”

“Missing is part of grieving” You patted his hand “It means you lived and loved. Even if you stop grieving you’ll never stop missing”

John pondered over your words, staring at the bottom of his pint “Thank you for being here…if you hadn’t been here, we would all have fallen apart. I would have fallen apart but you glued me back together out of your pure stubbornness so I would be there for me kids” John squeezed your hand “You have saved us all”

You chuckled “Saviour is a bit too far I’d say. But I am glad I could be of help. You are a good man John, and you deserve good things” It dawned on you a second too late that you had called him by his first name. The apologies were already piling in your tongue but John laughed it out “Seven bloody years it took you to call me John”

You could only join in on his infectious laughter, feeling the worries flutter away. It had been a while since he last laughed, and you took it as a sign of his healing. The rest of the evening went in a blissful blur, with you two sharing bites of an apple while he picked fallen leaves off your hair, and having to haul all three kids home in your arms, them too tired to walk. John surprised you with having stuffed his coat’s wide pockets with apples, and you surprised him in return with a homemade apple pie.

You enjoyed every day of his leave, dreading the moment he would once more part. The children had, now that they were older, come to resent his absences, and it always broke them a little to have him return only to leave, perhaps forever, over and over and over again. But one the last day, right before being due to leave, John arrived back after being out all morning, loaded with parcels and gifts. He had received news from the war office to not return to his post, for truce would be called in less than a week. The men would return home and the nightmare would be over.

“Tonight we celebrate like never before!”

Everyone received presents that day. The children received toys, John sent gifts for his aunt and siblings, and he even bought you a new dress. That night you feasted like you had never before, the evening topped with a marvellous store bought cake and the children falling asleep earlier than usual, stuffed with turkey and cake. After they were put to bed, it was only John and you before the fire, passing back and forth a bottle of champagne. The day was for joy and celebration and all boundaries had been torn down. You two were laughing just for the sake of laughter and the relief of having survived hell.

“So what happens now, once the Shelbys are back on track?” You inquired curiously “Business as usual?”

“I reckon men will be eager to vent off steam and enjoy the things they missed out. I promise the den will be up to the beams with patrons. Future is looking bright” He took a swing of the bottle, foam trickling down the side of his lip. You reached up to wipe the liquid with the back of your hand. John eyed you curiously before bringing up a far different topic.

“Have you thought about getting married?”

You did very poorly in hiding your surprise “Me? Married? Why do you ask?”

He simply shrugged “You are a lovely young lady, in the prime of your life. Surely don’t you plan on spending the rest of your days taking care of other people’s kiddos?”

A smirk tugged on your lips “Are you planning on firing me, Mr. Shelby?”

“Wouldn’t dare to, love. Just wanting to know if someone is knocking at your heart”

Oh someone was knocking at your heart at the very moment. Your heartbeat hammered your ribs, ready to escape off your chest out of your mouth. “No one is, Mr. Shelby”

Those words had barely made it out when his lips came crashing into yours, his warm hand cradling your jaw, the other placed in the middle of your back and pulling you close. His lips were soft and gentle, and his hands kept a firm grip on you. Your own hands came to lay on his chest, feeling his fluttering heartbeat under your touch. The kiss seemed to last forever and nothing at the same time. When he pulled away you were out of breath, but also wanted to keep going until time ended. When John broke the kiss, he remained close enough to lean his forehead on yours.

“I didn’t screw it up, did I?” A boyish grin played on his lips.

“Not one bit, not at all” Your index traced the side of his jaw, feeling the muscles tense as his smile widened

“So you won’t mind it I test my luck again” And just like that, his lips once more came onto yours, this time both hands on your waist as your arms came around his neck. It was funny, but in that moment you knew, after just one kiss, that you never wanted to kiss any other lips but his, nor feel any other hands’ on your waist or your hair.

You knew his grieving had not come to an end, and he would continue to love his first wife to the end of his days. But that did not mean he did not have space in his heart for you, nor that he would feel for you any less. It only meant he had lived, and would continue to do so with you.

[mermaidsirennikita]

What's your theory on what's going on with Kate or do you not care enough to have one?

I mean, I've had a pretty solid theory since the day they announced she had abdominal surgery and she wouldn't be back until after Easter.

(I notice that a lot of people who are new to this versus true to this think the Royals have said this and meant "she'll be back on Easter". OH NO MON AMI. If they had her LOCKED DOWN for Easter, we'd know at this point. They would've announced it.)

Is it possible that this is all a part of a divorce play by her (and William is trying to get her to stay) or William (and Kate is doing a Gone Girl type move where she's basically refusing to cooperate)? Yes. I am more open to that than I once was.

However, I say:

--This family is not as divorce-averse as people think, lmao. I see people go "but the Church of England" okay but like... the King.... is divorced... He divorced the most famous woman... maybe ever. And shit got better for him after they stopped twiddling their thumbs and did it. The royal family knows that it is ultimately better to just call it than to try and make someone stay. Anne is divorced, Creepy Uncle is divorced. It's not as taboo as I think some people feel, so if she's leaving... why concoct this story to keep her in the game?

And like, I do think William has SOMETHING WRONG WITH HIM... because no sane individual would attempt to handle this as he has been, and it is HIM, Kensington Palace is HIM, and Charles's office seems to be very hands-off about all this. But idk, being like "my wife had abdominal surgery" to hide her leaving you is a bit... much.

--Then we go to "he's divorcing her"/"has cheated one too many times" and she's in hiding. First off, adorable if people think Rose is the only one he's fucked with in this 20+ year relationship. I think there are probably MANY issues with that marriage aside from cheating, but Kate is not Diana. Kate was with William for a long time, during which I'm sure he cheated, before they married. She knew what she was signing up for. Is it harder than she thought? Probably. But I don't think she'd pull something like this over cheating, because the man ain't gonna stop so it's like... leave him or not.

But then on William's side... I don't know, dude. Yes, Charles really wanted to be with Camilla. I don't think it's as romantic a story as people think, but there got to be a point where if Charles was going to be with Camilla, he needed to marry her, and Diana didn't want to be queen anymore, so they just... divorced. I don't buy that William is attempting to force an unwilling Kate out of the picture to marry Rose. I think that if William wanted to be with Rose and Kate didn't want to leave, he'd simply have Rose as a mistress, as many royals before him have. And then, where's the logic of this man replacing Kate with Rose, but also trying to make everyone believe he's a good father and husband with this "William took the photo of Kate and the kids" bullshit?

So while I know some viewed the random article(s) about Rose as "soft-launching the mistress"... I did not. I saw it as warning shots from the media. They're not very happy with Wills; they know shit; here's a random article about a totally random lady they know nothing about besides her being a random marchioness who looks like Kate, who lives near William and Kate, who used to be friends with Kate but isn't anymore...........

--I also just think the idea of her being perfectly well in hiding is kind of ridiculous. Because I just feel like... unless she's in a basement somewhere, someone has to have seen her in all this time. If she's well??? And can walk about???? You're telling me she's either never left some house or has and someone hasn't seen her? Even Princess Charlene had to make up some bullshit about why she was in South Africa for weeks when she tried to escape that one time. (I wish more KateGate people would read about THAT story.)

If they're not divorcing, what is it?

If that woman could appear in a short little outing, not even speaking, maybe in a wheelchair, and look well enough... They would have her out there. It is INSANE TO ME that people think a family that regularly shopped Diana around at events, knowing she was self harming and binging and purging and throwing herself down the stairs while pregnant, that ignored how increasingly upset and mentally unwell Meghan was (while pregnant)... would just let Kate sit back when the world thinks William has like, chopped her up into little pieces and put her in a fridge.

I'm not even saying an engagement! I'm saying a quick "here's William pushing Kate around the garden", "here's Kate sitting and watching her kids play in the yard, VERY clear VIDEO FOOTAGE (because they've fucked it all up, nobody believes still images of her anymore, I don't buy that the woman in the pic in her mom's car was her 100%, and I think the most recent pic without her face in it is probably an old one being shopped as new) is needed. And they're not making it happen.

And I don't think it's because they won't. I think it's because they CANNOT. Like, if she was okay, I do tend to feel like Charles might actually make her show the fuck up, but I don't think she is and it's on William to handle it. (And William fucking up kind of benefits Charles, because they are always in competition. "Charles has cancer that's why he's not doing it" Charles is not only... Charles. He is Camilla and their entire office.)

So. I think she is either incredibly unwell mentally, or incredibly unwell physically--beyond what they've implied. I think there's probably some truth to what the Spanish press has reported about her health. I feel like something probably happened around December 28, and she is having a hard time.

And why not just SAY THAT?

Because a) this is a very old-fashioned ableist family that treats issues that have to do with mental and physical health with shame, and I mean, they have literally locked members of the family they find unwell away before, and if you look at what they did to Diana beyond what The Crown even showed... this is not very off b) William is a disaster who thinks he knows everything and both uses the press and truly hates it, OR SO I GUESS NOT KNOWING HIM AT ALL and his PR strategy has never been good so once confronted with a genuine crisis he's flailing c) of WHAT CAUSED this incident.

Did increasingly horrible conditions in that family and in her marriage cause Kate to do something? (I don't know why people would think this is crazy when her mother-in-law literally discussed passive suicide attempts and constant suicidal thinking, though I suppose the Windsors have recently made a lot of headway with their "Diana did it all because she was crazy" versus "Diana did it because we drove her crazy" press tour.) Did someone hurt her? Did she have unhealthy habits exacerbated by the royal life that led to medical complications? I don't know.

And I also think it's possible that they're hoping they can get her back to "peak condition" if they have enough time, and it's possible that simply won't happen. No matter what does happen, though, I can tell you that there is no way they can get their way out of this looking the way they did before.

Anyway, I've been on this train since literally day 1 and everything they're doing just makes me feel increasingly correct, so. The press is starting to turn. The New York Post (a Murdoch rag, which therefore SHOULD support them) started doing write ups about how her health may be much worse than they've let on. It's not good.

Disclaimer: theories theories theories speculation speculation alleged alleged

[cakeboxie]

Our own starlight

A SFW Modern AU Halsin x Tav/Reader ficlet

“What’s something small you miss? From living in the forest I mean.”

“Starlight. It was one of the first things that really threw me off about this… place. Night is unbearably dark, yet somehow unpleasantly bright at the same time.”

TWs: Family death, grief, spoilers abt Halsins backstory.

Reader is gn and undefined besides working in a greenhouse.

AN: waugh this is just kinda word vomit following me having a really good idea. It’s entirely unedited so if you see any errors no you don’t <3

Also I am fighting for my life trying to find a voice for halsin bear with me please.

Halsin remembers being a kid in the cabin his family lived in. His mother teaching him how to cook alongside his younger siblings.

He too remembers sitting outside with his father, the chill of fall nipping at his face while he was taught how to pick good sticks for firewood; along with the promise that next year he’d be old enough to help split up logs with his father.

He remembers a thick book shared between him and his eldest sister while she taught him Druidic magic, and the terror on his mothers face when he gave himself fuzzy little bear ears (and his sister laughing because couldn’t figure out how to get rid of them.)

He remembers being sick, just a little sick. A stuffy nose and a sore throat he caught from falling into the stream in late November when the frost set into snow.

He remembers burying them all that spring.

He didn’t want to, but he knew that disease clings to corpses long after the flesh chilled. He thanked Silvanus that the illness came in December and not one of the warm months that would’ve forced him to bury them immediately lest he meet the same fate.

He remembers the following winter being warmer than usual, but little else of the year.

Halsin knows now that he had gotten lucky, unbelievably so. The gentle winter allowed him to live despite being unwilling to split his own firewood, it allowed him one year to prepare himself before he was truly forced to acknowledge the finality of it all.

He remembers finding his balance the following year. Their garden took quite of bit of work to recover after being abandoned for a year. But he managed it, along with making himself some traps based on some diagrams in an old book and the odds and ends he remembered learning about how to make them more effective from his mother.

“So… why are you here?”

They look up at him, visibly confused.

“Not that I don’t like talking to you- but it seems like you were managing fine past the first year.”

“The expansion of the city drove the animals away. Then men in suits appeared at my door asking for documents I didn’t have. Proof of ownership and deeds to the land our cabin was on. They threatened to arrest me for squatting if I didn’t leave.”

He sips his tea, it was brewed far too hot. Leaving it bitter even with sugar, but it was something he could afford, which seemed few and far between lately.

“I only recently learned what squatting actually is. They’d looked at me like I was a fool for asking”

“That’s… Gods I’m sorry. I can’t even fathom how shit that must’ve felt, I’ve always lived in the city so…”

“It isn’t all awful; being in the city. Living is a much more manageable kind of tiring.”

He was lucky to be as strong as he is, he’d manage to land a job as an unskilled labourer. As much as he resented the title he knew it wasn’t a slight, he didn’t have any of the certifications or diplomas required to hold any other station at the greenhouse he worked in. Even if he knew more about many of the plants they grew from his own personal experience working with them.

One thing of many he’d yet to get used to. Your experience doesn’t matter in the city unless you have a piece of paper proving it.

“That’s fair I suppose… I would give damn near anything to be able to be self-sufficient like that… Alas I’m doomed to forever be a slave to capitalism.”

Halsin wants to tell them that they’re not.

He wants to say that if enough people stopped thinking that they don’t have the option to rebel the entire system would fall apart.

He bites his tongue, figuratively and literally. Wincing as the sharp taste of iron settles in his mouth.

Well, it’s not like his tea could’ve gotten much worse.

“What’s something small you miss? From living in the forest I mean.”

“Starlight. It was one of the first things that really threw me off about this place. Night is unbearably dark, yet somehow unpleasantly bright at the same time.”

They nod, and ponder their tea for a beat.

“Do you have any plans tonight?”

“How forward.”

They scoff, but it lacks venom.

“Just answer me you dork.”

“No I do not.”

Their smile widens considerably.

“You do now, assuming you don’t mind coming over to my apartment.”

He nods in agreement, and they beam.

Another thing that’s definitely not awful about living in the city is them. He had met them through the greenhouse they both worked at, and had kept contact after they had quit.

The afternoon passes by as it usually does during their little dates. They would talk about their job and their cats, he would reply in kind. His tea went cold long before he finished it, and he’d thank the barista as he handed their mugs across the counter.

The walk to their apartment was nice. He realized as they spoke about the bus they missed how much he missed not being alone.

It was a long walk, he silently thanked Silvanus.

Their apartment was almost identical to his on the outside. Grey building, black doors, painfully sterile.

The inside however, was not. Almost every flat surface was plastered with posters and prints, the shelves full of knickknacks and candles more so than actual books.

“Okay so, I don’t have a couch obviously because I have a studio apartment but my bed doesn’t have the best view of the thing I want to show you.”

They push some things haphazardly out of the center of the room, before pulling a blanket off their bed and laying it out.

“Gods this is so sketchy I’m so sorry- Lay on this and close your eyes.”

“It’s alright. I trust you.”

The blanket is soft, but thin. The linoleum below digging into his shoulders as he lays down. There’s a soft click and the lights turn off, they settle beside him after a moment.

“Okay. Open your eyes.”

It takes him a second to put together what he’s looking at.

Stars. Painted on the walls and ceiling between the posters and tapestries, glowing in the dark of their apartment.

“It’s obviously not as pretty as real stars but… I dunno I’ve never been far enough out of town to see many real ones so I made my own starlight.

“It’s beautiful.”

He doesn’t need to be able to see them to know they’re smiling.

© cakeboxie ��• 2023 •• Please do not translate/repost. reblogs are appreciated and requests are open!

Part of the @eveningatthrmoviesnetwork

~~

Taglist: @yarnnerdally • @starrry-angel • @yuelqnn • @yeonpm • @beardedladyqueen

Wanna be added? Send me an ask off anon and lmk if you want to be on the sfw only list!

[brick-a-doodle-do]

Story idea! Which will contain tiny!tubbo tiny!baby michael and giant!ranboo

Tubbo lives alone in the tundra lands of snowchester with his son Michael, tubbo is known for studying and hunting mythical creatures, but after a harsh snowstorm and lack of food he ventures out one night and ends up meeting one of the mythical creatures he has been desperately searching for.

Noms are up to you, btw

yay no more creative slump! thanks anon :D

i kinda switched this around s little bit but i think it's still alright? i mean i didn't read it but eh

(bonus points if you know what the title's from! :3)

agony drips from me, poisonous remedy

wc: 2519

cw: sfw vore (unwilling prey + miscommunication/no communication), panic

—–—

Call him an idiot, call him insane, call his work useless, but he prefers ‘over it’. Because in the depths of all of his pinned up papers, half-finished sketches littering the floors and a thousand theories blurring his head, he has a son, who’s obvious struggles haven't gone unnoticed from Tubbo, and he is over his weird hobby.

He does try, he keeps up with Micheal’s schedule, making sure he’s clean and well-fed and gets to sleep on time, (Although he can't be positive on that because unless his frenzy has kicked up hallucinations, he’s fairly positive he’s heard Micheal’s muffled snorts from just outside his office.)

Tubbo knew about that. He knew his son was distressed and isolated and tired and curious, yet he still persisted with the thing he couldn't even call work, it was just a hobby he clung onto desperately like it was pumping air into his lungs.

So, the recent storm was rather eye-opening. At the first crack of thunder and blast of lighting, Tubbo found it mildly distracting, while Micheal’s panicked squeals had traveled through the mansion and right to Tubbo's office, where the boy then threw himself at his father, burying his face into Tubbo’s chest with panicked breath. Tubbo had jumped at the contact and shuffled his papers around before scooting back to tend to his son. 

“Hey, hey, it’s just a storm, the thunder can’t hurt us,” Tubbo reassures, rubbing circles into the kid’s back. Micheal squeals as another clap of thunder echoes from the sky and rattles the windows of the office. Micheal’s grip on Tubbo’s vest tightens and he has to suppress the urge to wince under the pressure of his forming claws. “It's just passing over us,” Tubbo says, although he can't be sure about that, the weather has been showing signs of storms all week.

Another flash of lightning leaves Tubbo jumping at the way the windows light up at the streak, just a mile too close for his word to stay true. Presumably having felt Tubbo’s jolt of fear, Micheal sobs a little, still huddling close to his father for comfort. Tubbo sighs, tearing his wary attention away from the window and turning to focus on his papers, bullet points about a deity blurring together even more than usual at his worry. He moves his attention from his work and focuses on his son, still shaking with sobs. A wet spot has formed on his jumper from the kid’s tears, meanwhile Tubbo is stunned at what to say. He’s never been the most emotionally available, or if he was he wasted it all on useless attempts at humor to try and calm down Tommy. 

This was his son, and this was not a laughing matter. He stands, his chair sliding back along the wooden floor with a wince-inducing scrape, to which he ignores and focuses on supporting his son. “We haven't had thunder for a while, so, you know what that means?” Tubbo asks, using old techniques Schlatt had used when Tubbo wouldn't be quiet. 

“What?” Micheal asks, smally, voice broken from his tears. 

Another clap of thunder. Micheal gasps softly at the sound. 

“When there's a clap of thunder, you count the seconds between it, and that's how many miles away it is,” Tubbo informs him, still rubbing along his back as he navigates through the mansion.

The hybrid pulls away from his chest, still secure in Tubbo’s grasp but now facing him eye-to-eye, looking a little suspicious of Tubbo's claim. “Not true?” Micheal inquires. Tubbo cracks a smile and shakes his head.

“It's true! Listen, let's wait for the next one,” he says, heading down the grand staircase to find their way to the family room. 

Micheal’s eyes avert his gaze and instead move beyond him to watch the windows, spirit enlightened. Tubbo finds the lift in demeanor satisfying, though without a problem to worry about he finds his mind traveling back to the creature studies sat in his office. Supposedly considered deity amongst the End and the Nether, and the very last creature he has in an old book of monsters he found as a kid. 

He’s never been so riled up over finding something, but Ranboo proved so important that Tubbo would forget his own son in their time of panic. 

Tubbo plops on the couch, Micheal falling with him, just in time for another clap of thunder. “Alright! One, two, three—” Tubbo is cut off as Micheal takes over.

“Four, five—” Boom! The windows rattle and a few pieces of lopsided furniture shudder. That’s odd. It hadn't been so close before…boom!

Micheal squeals. That was loud. 

“Hey, hey, bossman, you're alright! It's just thunder,” Tubbo says, holding his boy tight while keeping his eyes glued to the pitch-black windows. 

“Too close!” Micheal squeals out, his hybrid coming out in a fit of snorts and whines that make Tubbo’s heart ache. Why did he tell him about the distance method? 

He considers calling Phil, but he doubts his communicator will work in this storm. The loud rush of rain hitting the window becomes apparent to him the more it picks up, rapidly thumping on the glass panes. Micheal’s crying again, his body quivering with every hiccup. 

“Hey, baby, you're okay,” Tubbo whispers. He can't handle this. Boom! “Bud, how about a special trip to old man Phil? I bet he and Technoblade can help, huh?” He asks, bouncing the hybrid on his knee. All that Michael responds with is a childish sob. 

His heart twists. Tubbo pulls him close, picking the kid up. He can make it to Phil and Technoblade's cabin, and then he can just…pick up where he left off with his work. You know, unless he dies. 

Tubbo’s footsteps softly echo around the high ceilings, just barely audible against Micheal’s crying. “We’re going to go out to uncle Technoblade and old man Phil’s cabin, alright Micheal? They’ll know what to do,” Tubbo informs, sliding into his shoes and setting the kid down by the door. “Which coat do you want, bossman?”

Micheal hiccups, staring up at Tubbo with confusion in his eyes. For the most part, it goes unnoticed  while he opens up the chest of their jackets and shoes. 

“I don't want to be in storm,” Micheal says, frowning. Tubbo pulls a coat from the chest and pulls it around himself, grabbing another one for extra good measure. He zips the two up then crouches down to eye level with the piglin.

“I know, I know. We just need to get somewhere a little safer, okay? Their houses are more prepared for this,” he lies, knowing full well that while he knows the storm is coming closer, he really was orchestrating this so he could just get some quiet work time, no matter how bad he felt about it. 

Micheal, at the very least, seems to buy it. “Okay…I want red, Techno color!” the piglin says, squealing in delight at his own mention of Technoblade. 

“Ah, what did I expect,” he chuckles, pulling out a red raincoat from the chest and carefully pulling Micheal’s arms through each sleeve, then buttoning it up gently. Micheal flaps his hand as Tubbo pats his chest to let him know he’s ready to go. Tubbo pulls out his wellies, a blue pair to take after Tommy, (Who he’s quite sure took after Ghostbur), then hands them to micheal to fit on. In the end, Tubbo is fighting down his overwhelming guilt of letting Micheal go for the storm. 

He's adorable, already abandoning fear because he looks like his uncles, (And his flaunting his excitement of the fact). Techno’s old raincoat almost pools at Micheal’s feet, the faded thing barely fitting yet somehow keeping Micheal in complete bliss.

“You look dapper,” Tubbo compliments, one last time reaching into the chest and grabbing out an umbrella before closing it. “Ready to go visit Philza, bossman?” 

Ultimately, Micheal looks a little uncomfortable at the thought of going out into the storm, although the thunder has been distant recently and Tubbo can tell Micheal has registered that.

“I think!” he responds, voice wavering before gaining confidence near the end. He smiles shallowly. 

With one arm, Tubbo lifts Micheal up into his hold again, the piglin snorting at the quick movement. He switches the umbrella to the hand holding Micheal and opens the front door, pulling at it until it finally opens with a pop!, leaving him stumbling at the sudden jerk. He keeps it open with his foot and steps out, shielded from the pouring rain under the thin awning. The door slams shut behind him, nearly causing him to drop the umbrella as Micheal jumps at the sound and digs his fingers into Tubbo’s already-sore sides. 

He huffs out his pain and slides open the umbrella, which clicks as it locks. Tubbo raises it above their heads and steps out into the storm. Immediately, the constant stream of rain against the material above their heads pounds in Tubbo’s ears, even as damaged as they are. 

Boom! 

Immediately, Tubbo hears Micheal whisper under his breath: “One, two, three four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—” Boom! 

“Ten miles is pretty far,” Tubbo comments, trudging through the thin layer of snow that he’d just shoveled earlier today. It mixes into a sludge with the rain, crunching under his boots in a pleasing manner, something to distract him from his desire to study and his worry of making it through the path to Techno’s cabin. It also distracts him from the impending feeling like he’s being watched. 

He tries to convince himself that isn't true, for the most part, even though he does give in with a quick look around his surroundings. The only thing he’s ever met with is the comfort of being alone with just him and his boy. 

Wind laps around them, the thunder and lightning seemingly having passed already, the only applicable features of the storm remaining being the strong rain and the surprisingly aggressive winds. He can barely see anything, let alone hear anything outside of the wind in his ears, Micheal’s hushed shivers and whimpers, and the rain on the umbrella. All the mobs have taken a rest for the night, thankfully, but it only leaves him in suspense. 

Who had eyes on him if not a zombie or a creeper? 

Who was watching him from above, threatening the security of him and his son?

About halfway through the forest to Techno’s cabin, he pauses at the sound of something shuffling. Micheal hums at the motion, his attention also caught on the noise. Perhaps he would've passed it off as a victim of the storm, but it seemed too orchestrated, like something running into a bush. He tries putting it behind him, whispering a reassurance to both himself and the boy. 

Tubbo makes it two steps before there's another rustle. Now, he stops. Full-fledged freezes, subconsciously holding Micheal a little closer. His grip on the umbrella handle tightens until his knuckles run pale while he spins around against the wind to look around. 

The hue of something red and green catches his eye. Too large to be anyone's communicator or any of the server’s eyes. Too vibrant for a coat or anything of the sorts, too colorful for an animal, no, this was the watchful gaze of Ranboo.

It fit the description of their eyes, the giant creature often hunched low to the forest floor, said to be a nod to their connection with the Nether. 

Tubbo can’t help the excitement that flares up against the fear. Ranboo was feet from him. He has been searching for so long—he finally can care about his son the way he needed to. 

“Papa?” Micheal inquires, presumably noticing the way Tubbo has stopped in his tracks again. 

Tubbo shushes the piglin. “Hold on for a second, bud,” he says, hiking up the kid before he slips out of his hold. Micheal seems to relax, resting his head on Tubbo’s shoulder while he waits. 

Meanwhile, Tubbo stands, staring at the vibrant eyes in the foliage ahead.  

“Ranboo,” he whispers. The eyes lift up a bit, like the mention of their name intrigued them. Tubbo’s spirit lightens immensely. 

A crack of lightning charges through the sky, lighting it up enough for him to make out a rough outline of the crouching monster. “Woah..yeah, that's you, Ranboo!” He says slowly, more of a reassurance to himself than anything. 

“You're Ranboo, right?” Tubbo calls out to the forest. The eyes disappear for a moment before reappearing as the creature blinks. 

There's a small vwoop! that echoes through the forest. Micheal perks up at that, turning his head in the direction of Ranboo. Against his fingertips, even through the raincoat, Tubbo's feels as Micheal tenses up. 

“What's that?!” the kid demands, fear inflicted in his voice. His pink fur has risen at the fear he emits.

“It's nothing to be afraid of, just an important thing I've been looking for,” he informs the kid. Micheal doesn't seem to relax. 

Ranvoo releases another vwoop! which is shadowed with a glk! that echoes from their throat. 

Suddenly, a thick tail with a furry, split-colored tuft is extending from the forest and into the clearing, rising high above them before, strangely prehensile as it curls around Micheal’s small form, somehow breaking the boy's contact with Tubbo. Micheal squeals at it, crying out for his dad. Before he has the time to react, Micheal is plucked from his grasp and swept up in Ranboo's tail, becoming a speck of pink amongst a sea of black and white. 

“Hey! What the fuck?!” Tubbo yells, immediately dropping the umbrella to run after the retracting tail. The rain pours into him immediately, wind rushing in his ears and pushing him as he trails after Micheal quickly. He stumbles over his feet, ankles rolling at his attempts to stay sturdy in snow. 

Tubbo can just barely hear Micheal’s panicked squeals and snorts while re-entering the forest, quickly behind the tail as he runs uselessly towards his son. “Ran-Ranboo! Sir–um, oh my god, surely you doing need to do that!” Tubbo calls up, watching from the shadows as Micheal is lifted effortlessly into Ranboo's two-finger hold, dangling him in open air, infuriatingly oblivious to his panic and sobs. 

Tubbo’s heart sinks when he watches through another streak of lightning illumates the forest around them, as his son is drawn to Ranboo’s open maw, a fit of sobs and garbled calls for his dad and screams to stop. 

Immediately, he runs closer to the giant, who’s still crouched over the clearing. 

“Oh god, oh my god, what the—RANBOO!” Tubbo yells, hands cupped over his mouth desperately. Rain pours down into him as he runs, causing him to stumble in the mud. As he approaches, he realizes quickly he can barely reach the edge of Ranboo's leg despite his immediate attempts to jump at it, and at another clap of thunder and bolt of lightning, he’s craning his neck in horror as he watches a lump in the deity’s throat travel down. 

—–—

taglist: @i-am-beckyu, @skullsnbruises, @nobodywritingao3, @krazycat49, @da3dm, @a-xyz-s // taglist request

[avengerscompound]

The Interview - Chapter 6

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist

PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  nothing really

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count:   1684

Summary:  Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America.  Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

Chapter 6

Steve Rogers: The Man Behind the Mask

By Melody Danes | Photographs by Peter Parker

Everyone knows Captain America.  He’s on the news regularly.  There are comic books and action figures based on the man.  Less is known about Steve Rogers.  The centurion who became the first-ever Super Soldier is often tight-lipped about his personal life.  He opened up to DB and what we found was not what we expected.

“You have a crush on Captain America!”

I’ve heard that accusation a lot since I started working on this profile piece.  The first day I went in to meet him for lunch I kept telling myself; be professional, be professional, be professional, in my head on repeat.  This is my first gig after all and well - it’s Captain freaking America.  I didn’t want to freak the man out and ruin any potential I had at getting another interview assigned to me in the future.

Over the week I spent following Steve Rogers around I realized that was easier said than done.

I should start at the beginning.  I had agreed to meet Steve at a diner near the Avengers Tower.  Since he is who he is, and this was my first interview with anyone, I wanted to make a good impression. So I borrowed a pantsuit from a friend.  It was not my best call, the shoes I wore were a size too big, and I fell just outside the diner we’d agreed to meet in.

Falling and being caught by Captain America when you’re on the way to meet him should be illegal.  It leads to too many awful things from completely mortifying embarrassment to imagining how one day you’ll tell your grandchildren the story of how you met their grandfather.

Steve is somehow even more handsome in real life than in pictures.  It’s almost like he’s been carved out of marble.  His skin is flawless and his muscles are hard like stone.  It’s his eyes that catch you though.  They are so blue and his lashes are so long and so dark that I’m fairly sure they could see them from the Alpha Flight Space Station.  They’re also kind.  Steve can be intimidating, but there is something about his eyes that makes you feel safe.

That first meeting I’d expected him to be closed off and unwilling to open up.  The Avengers haven’t exactly had the best run with the way the press reports on their work, and Steve in particular is known to keep to business when he speaks to the press.  What I found (apart from the textbook definition of a chivalrous meet-cute) was a man who wanted to see who he was, just as much as we wanted to find out.

We are all used to seeing Steve Rogers as Captain America, a role he considers important, but the role means he’s always on display and the way we interpret the message might not be the one he is trying to put out.

He wasn't always on display.  As he sits down to his steak he tells me about his childhood.  It's a bleak tale.  We all know the story, Steve Rogers was born to poor Irish Immigrants Steve had a list of ailments as tall as he was.  Asthma, scarlet fever, rheumatic fever, sinusitis, heart palpitations, nervous trouble, bone and joint deformity, color blindness, scoliosis, high blood pressure, diabetes, pernicious anemia, partial deafness, astigmatism, and easy fatigability.  It’s quite the list.  “I was a perpetual letdown for my father.  All he wanted was a good strong son who could follow in his footsteps, but what he got was a sick kid they didn’t expect would make it to adulthood,” Steve confesses.  The disappointment was added to when Steve’s younger brother died shortly after he was born.  It resulted in Steve’s father turning to alcohol and taking out that disappointment on the son who did survive.

It’s the kind of childhood that people usually describe to explain what sent them to the dark side.  Not so for Steve.  It made him particularly sensitive to vulnerable people.  In his own words, Steve Rogers doesn’t like bullies.

On a tour of Brooklyn Heights, the place he spent his youth, Steve is quick to point out all the places where he fought off bullies.  “You point to a spot and I probably started something I couldn’t finish there,” he tells me as we walk the streets.  Even with that huge list of ailments and a father who beat him, he still stood up to people bigger than him when he thought something wasn’t right.  It was no wonder that they chose him for Project Rebirth.

The sight of the Project Rebirth experiment that had turned into a nightclub now, and a strange tribute to all things Captain America.  Taking a look around it with Steve is a strange experience.  He seems genuinely happy that it had been turned into a place people go to enjoy themselves but it’s hard not to think about how he’d been experimented on and changed in that very room, making him the man he is today.

There are still things that linger from his childhood.  Over his steak, Steve tells me about his issues with food and why he hadn’t ordered the pancakes he would have preferred. “Steak is fine.  But is it what I wanted?  I’m not even sure.  I chose it because it looked like it was the best combination of protein and carbohydrates to get me through until dinner.  The serum has made it so I burn through calories so fast, so if I eat something like pancakes or pie, I end up having a crash an hour or so later.  And I can’t have that because it means I have to eat again.  And for a guy who grew up through the great depression with medical conditions that made it so that he had to eat pounds of raw meat that I’d just end up throwing up - well I can’t take constantly eating throughout the day.”

It's such a human reaction to childhood trauma.  We put our superheroes up on these pedestals and expect them to be more than us.  To be perfect both as public figures and behind closed doors.  It's a position no one can hope to achieve.  Not even actual gods. (Especially not actual gods).

Steve Rogers is just a man.  A good man, but still just a man.  He blushes when he flirts and he rolls his eyes when his friends tease him.  He can be quite sarcastic when he wants to be and he seems to want to be on a semi-regular basis.  He is sweet and he is open about what he believes in.  Sergeant James Barnes, Steve’s best friend growing up, followed him into battle not because he was Captain America but because he was Steve Rogers, “... and that little punk had a good heart.”

When asked what his biggest flaws are, he thinks about the question seriously.  “I expect a lot out of others.  I think I also automatically fall into a kind of disappointed father role.  And I can be reckless.”

That recklessness is regularly seen through his role as Captain America.  The fact he is still alive today is only because he intentionally crashed a plane in the Arctic Ocean and was put into suspended animation thanks to the ice.  He is regularly known to throw himself off buildings without a way to break his fall.

He’s a little more careful in his personal life, though it’s easy to see why.  The man has lost everyone once.  Since waking up there’s only ever been one rumored romantic partner.  Though he has gathered a rather large group of friends around him.  The Avengers are more than just teammates, they're a family that they created together. Each one wants to be better and help fix the world with the skills they each have.

So what is a better world according to Steve Rogers?  “I’ve always believed consenting adults should be able to love each other freely and without interference.  I have always believed that people should have a minimum standard of living that’s met even if they’re unable to work.  That means homes, food, electricity, running water, and medical care.  I have always believed that people should be free to worship whatever god they choose - or not - as long as that worship doesn’t interfere with others or harm them.”

He’s also pro-choice - a position well ahead of his time, though he’s seen what can happen when the procedure is outlawed.

That is only one of the ways the world has changed since he was a kid, not just politically but physically.  Steve used to stand at the docks in Brooklyn and watch the city line change.  It’s now barely recognizable to him, only really the Chrysler and Empire State buildings stand out as recognizable.  Where he grew up is different too, the art school where he started college doesn’t even exist anymore.  Back when he was a child he treated his myriad of medical conditions using things like heroin, cocaine, and belladonna, something that seems unbelievable today.

It’s a lot to have to adjust to, but he has adjusted, and he still works to change what needs work while appreciating the changes that have happened.  When I ask what he thinks we do today that will be seen as completely backward in another hundred years, his answer is circumcision.

He immediately blushes at his answer.

And that’s the Steve Rogers I got to know.  Working hard at fitting into a world that has moved forward as he works to make further changes.  Trying to be the good man he is.  Snarky.  Intelligent.  And willing to talk about circumcision with a stranger even when it makes him blush.

So my friends are wrong.  I don’t have a crush on Captain America.  My crush is firmly aimed at Steve Rogers.  The man is sweet-natured, decent, and completely unexpected.  I may always carry this crush with me.  He’s something special, and we’re all really lucky to have him.

// NEXT

[tzuhu]

Spoilers for a certain chapter of the main story.

Morgyn went to Aine in order to learn a new spell. At the same time, Morgyn was cursed and suffered from insomnia for many days, Aine was unwilling to teach him. Instead, she told him how to remove the curse and ask him to go to Guidry.

Morgyn go home with mixed emotions.

Morgyn return to his house. He open the door and walked in, Caleb busy in the kitchen. Caleb sees Morgyn coming over unhappy. "Honey? You're back. I just want to cook something and put it in your refrige…" Morgyn walk over and threw himself into Caleb's arms without saying a word. Caleb hugs Morgyn back.

"Is work not going well?" Morgyn lower his head and look down, Caleb sits on the high chair and look at Morgyn. "Want to talk? Honey." Morgyn come closer and put his head on Caleb's shoulder, Caleb wrap his arms around Morgyn. "I… miss my mother suddenly. I don't know, I have very few memories of her…"

Caleb thinks of the photo Morgyn put in his room. "Mmm…I haven't asked your family, do you want to talk about it?" "I only remember a few images of my mother…I'm not even sure if those images were real or a dream. My father said that my mother fell ill and passed away when I was a child." "What about your father…?" Caleb asked.

Morgyn was silent for a moment. "My father is a jerk. I don't want to mention him."

Caleb didn't reply and hugged Morgyn, Caleb thought for a while. "I sometimes go to visit my parents, but I didn't tell my sister." "My sister and my parents didn't have a good relationship. When I have memories, it's clear to me that my parents were focused on me."

"Why? Are you not in good health?" Caleb smiled bitterly, "No, it's just because I'm a boy." "What?" "I'm not kidding, it's just because of gender, it's ridiculous, right? But it's not something I can decide." "I told myself that I don't want to be an adult like them. Love is love, everything has nothing to do with gender."

Morgyn listened.

"She has been trying very hard to get our parents to affirm her, but they always ignore her feelings and don't support her. I have seen my sister cry secretly several times. The day she was turned, when she needed help the most, my parents still thought she was lying." "Do your parents know you've become a vampire too?" "Of course not! I lied to them and said Lily and I lived near the university, but in fact I didn't go to school."

"Is this okay…? You contact them, but human life is limited." "Are you still worried about this?" Caleb hugged Morgyn tightly. "Facing separation is painful…" "I really hope that they can at least reconcile and not have any regrets about each other." Morgyn was silent, with tears in her eyes.

"Oh no…I just wanted to distract you." Morgyn buried her face in Caleb's arms. "Hehe, you have made a lot of progress, now you can take the initiative to hug me." Morgyn glared up at Caleb and pushed Caleb away. "Nouuu, don't leave me baby! Do you to have dinner? Sleepy? Need me hold you to sleep?" "…both." "Yes, Professor." Caleb smiled.

[moominofthevalley]

Sullen Girl

After returning to New York from a few grueling months in Drakovia, Detective Rose looks into her past.

Characters: Trystan Thorne x Emily Rose

WC: 1.7k

R: Teen | CW: Mentions of Grief & Death of a Parent

No matter where she was, Emily Rose was always in Box Thirty-Two. The chanting of the crowd, the stadium organ, the death rattle from her father endlessly cemented in her mind. A ghost in a haunted house, an unwilling participant in an escape room with no key to escape.

She was only thirteen when she found her father dead on the floor, and yet all she had to cling to were faded memories and a tombstone with his name. There were so many moments the late father missed out on. Her first heartbreak, her graduation, the moment she quit the force and became a detective. Emily Rose will spend the rest of her life thinking of her father through a child’s lens.

Emily knew what closure does to people. To Trystan. She stared at Juliana Georgescu's grave, sitting with Trystan as he looked back on the love they once had. The love that was robbed from him. Placing the novel beside her tombstone. The resolve in Trystan's eyes. The robin in the tree from above, chirping knowingly.

When a parent dies, their children are supposed to know how they passed. It broke Emily’s heart to think back to the night of her father’s death. Helplessly staring at Uncle Tommy as he tried his best to sugarcoat the news; staining the two of them with a burning question in their hearts. She should have known then, and yet, fifteen years later, the flame in her heart continued to flicker.

Opening her eyes, Trystan’s arms wrapped around her waist. She scooted closer, her forehead resting on his chest. Trystan squeezed her back lightly, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“What’s wrong?”

Cold tears slipped down Emily’s cheek. She sat up from his bed, her hands trembling. Trystan sat up immediately, his hand stilling hers. Her eyes were baggy and thick with tears.

“My dad,” Emily clutched her chest, “I keep thinking about him.” Trystan wrapped her in a tight hug, tracing circles on her back.

“I’m so sorry.” His arms stayed around her, patiently waiting for her to go on.

“I keep...getting nightmares,” she gulped, “of what happened. It started getting worse again...ever since Drakovia.” Her head drooped low, eyes stinging with heavy tears.

“I’m so sorry...” He trailed off, pondering what to say, “If you’d like...you can talk about him and I’ll listen. Tell me anything about him while I go make you some breakfast, okay?” Emily nodded, rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.”

The couple got out of bed, the windy New York weather sending goosebumps up and down their arms. As soon as Trystan opened the door, a thrilled Twilight ran up to them, her tail wagging. Emily smiled at her furry friend, raking her hands up and down her back.

“Go lay down on the couch with her. Breakfast shouldn’t take too long.”

Emily laid down; Twilight followed suit as she rested her head on the detective’s lap. Emily tried her best to reminisce about the fond moments with her father. She tried, she did, but the only thing her memories brought was bitterness. She’d never have another moment with him. That was the cold truth. She’d never sit on his lap, never be able to watch Ghost Busters with him when she was sad, never be able to tell him another ‘I love you.’ Emily Rose was never granted a gentle last moment with her father. Children are never supposed to lose a parent, not at thirteen, not until they become grey and worn down. She never got to see her father grow old; instead, she saw him bleed out and die right in front of her.

“...Emily?” Trystan looked up from the kitchen, concerned.

“Uh—fuck! Sorry. I got carried away,” she uttered, clearing her throat. Steadying herself, a memory quickly popped up. A hint of a smile curled at the corners of her lips.

“When I was a kid,” Emily chuckled, “I was super into rocks. Crystals, gems, whatever. And one day, Dad told me that he ate a rock and it freaked me the fuck out. He showed me this huge bag of rocks and then he...put one in his mouth and told me to try one. I tried one, and they’re made of chocolate! Chocolate fucking rocks! I don’t know, I just thought it was the funniest thing ever.”

“That’s a sweet story,” Trystan said, grabbing two mugs from his cupboard. “You must’ve gotten your wit from him, huh?”

“Yeah,” she grinned, “I did.”

“So, are you gonna tell me what you're making me?” Emily asked, her eyes on Trystan as he began brewing coffee.

“Nope! You, my dear, will just have to wait and see. Now, tell me another story.”

Grumbling, Emily patted Twilight’s head, searching for another moment to be shared. She scanned Trystan's penthouse as if looking at the abstract paintings around the apartment reminded her of her father. Her eyes turned to a nearby bookcase. Emily marveled at the sight, admiring the scratched-up beauty. A golden snake was engraved at the very top center, clearly a Thorne heirloom. All sorts of books, antique and modern, were delicately set on each shelf. From afar, an entire collection of the Aubrey-Maturin series sat at the very top of the shelf. Emily’s heart grew, adoring that both she and Trystan shared a fascination with literature.

“My dad named me after Emily Brontë. Wuthering Heights was his favorite book. Every night before I’d go to bed, he’d read me a bunch of her poems. I never understood what they meant as a kid, but...I still loved listening to him.”

“Emily is a lovely name,” Trystan smiled, “I don’t have Wuthering Heights, but I do have Jane Eyre on my bookshelf if you’d want to read it.”

Emily glanced at the two mugs sitting beside the stove, her heart bursting. What a joy everything was — to love and be loved. To wake up in the cold mornings with her bare feet cuddling Trystan’s; enjoying the soothing touch of his mismatched socks. It was all so new, how there’d be two of everything every time she cooked breakfast. Two scrambled eggs, two cups of coffee, and two plates to get from the cupboard. It was all so beautiful, so mesmerizing. How someone entered her life, and soon enough, her life no longer followed a single, straight line — instead, it became jagged with two pairs of footsteps following the path. To love another being so intently was the best thing she ever did.

She watched Trystan pour them a cup of coffee, keeping their hearth warm. Emily wandered over to the kitchen, sitting on a barstool. Her head tilted at the tub of peanut butter and a sandwich on two separate plates.

“You made me...just a peanut butter sandwich?” She asked, unamused. Trystan smirked, handing her one plate and keeping the other for himself.

“Just try it!”

Emily took a bite out of the sandwich. Her mouth watered at the taste of peanut butter and marshmallows. Moments of her father and her younger self flickered through her mind. It was silly how such a simple taste made her relive so many memories. Emily swallowed the first bite, glancing at Trystan warmly.

“Oh my God," She gawked, “you made me a fluffernutter sandwich?” The memory of them both trapped in a freezer coursed through her head. Cuddling together, shivering as if they were on the brink of death, and Emily; telling Trystan the loving moments she had with her dad.

“You remember that?”

“Of course, I do darling,” Trystan grinned. “Mind of a steel trap! Even when we’re both locked in a freezer.”

“I love you, Trystan.”

“I love you, too.”

Wiping away a splotch of peanut butter on her lip, Trystan gazed into her soulful eyes before kissing her. Pulling apart, another twinge of grief crept up on her. Emily resented herself at that instant, furious that such a sweet moment lasted only a mere few minutes. Her eyes were hooded with sorrow, bereavement clouding her mind.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s been...fifteen years since he died,” she murmured, “And I’m so fucking scared of forgetting things. What if everything I remember about him just...goes away? What if I never find out who killed him?”

Trystan sighed, sitting next to her. Placing his hand in hers, their eyes met. “Emily, I think...as long as you keep talking about him, he’ll never go away. And one day, you will find out who murdered him. It might not be today, or even this year, but it will come.”

She thought of her father’s face, and how wonderful it was that they shared the same features. Nearly every aspect of him has always been a part of her. She admired that she kept his narrowed earthly eyes, his strong nose, and his heavenly grin.

Emily thought of the engravement on her father’s tombstone. ‘Life is not measured in years, but the memories we leave behind.’ Not only did her father leave behind a loving childhood to look back on; but he also left her his legacy. It’s hers to keep, hers to share if she’d like to; and it’s hers to cherish.

* * * * A/N: today is ‘national fluffernutter day.’ figured it would be perfect to post this lol. and if you can’t tell, i’ve been listening to lots and lots of mitski, watching mike flanagan shows, and re-watching Fleabag as of late! death & love are just such interesting things to write about, and luckily crimes of passion is just full of that haha! hope you liked it c:

click here to find a masterlist of all my writings so far! more coming soon!

tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii (let me know if anyone else would like to be tagged when i post more crimes of passion fics!)

[mr-aizuwu]

dabi headcanon of the week: he is a very picky eater and always has been.

:read more:

(please keep in mind im american without much access to non standard usa foods so i can't really comment on more popular foods and ingredients in japan)

after leaving his old home and becoming dabi, he hasnt been able to really be choosy with what he eats since his next meal isn't promised but when/if he has somewhere to fall back on and always has food available, he will be picky with what he eats.

theres also two ways i wanna go with this part as well lol first one is he has very little feeling in his mouth so he is the king of eating spicy and sour things even if he didnt like the taste/feeling of them before

i also hc he doesnt like anything sour, bitter, spicey nor most veggies lmao he isnt a fan of mushrooms or peas because of the texture and will refuse to eat them and pick them out. he also doesn't like bananas for that very reason too.

alt hc if you like some angst like me, his teeth and gums probs arent the best anymore from years on the streets and constant damage to his body so soft foods like peas and bananas are some of the only things he can eat without pain.

putting aside the fact he has very little feeling in the rest of his body theres also the hc of while dabi is constantly putting himself through unimaginable pain and destroying his body, I like the idea that he has a sensitive mouth that doesnt allow him to eat or drink harsh things so if he is able to he will avoid them at all costs. for example he also can't do carbonated things without pain and discomfort. pineapple is one of his his worst enemies.

as a kid he would always want to whine if meals were things he didnt like, that being said he didn't like to disappoint his father and would try to choke it down anyways.

i like the hc that end*avor had planned meals for his kids, they always had to be healthy and balanced and they had to finish it all. if touyas meals werent always planned and scheduled tho than he would try to get his mom to not add or make things he didnt like.

dabi x reader section: he will always make you buy things he likes to have on hand even if hes not always around. if you don't have a lot of money and don't mind him stealing, then dont be supprised when he comes home with lots of his fave snacks and things to make foods he prefers.

dabi would always be hesitant or straight up unwilling to try anything that he doesn't find visually appealing or really many new things in general. if you like experimenting and trying new foods make sure theres always something he likes around or else he just,,,, won't eat. not in a throw a little kid tantrum way but a he just says he doesn't feel hungry at the moment or straight up says the food doesnt look good

if you make something specially for him but add something he doesn't like or is iffy on without knowing, he will still at least try it, using the excuse he isnt very hungry right now or is busy and will eat it later if he really doesn't like it.

i like the hc he has a sweet tooth so he will be more likely to try new things with sugar or sweet foods like fruits and pastries. he hates dark chocolate tho and no amount of coaxing will talk him into eating it.

don't try to lie about or trick him into eating things either, for one that's mean and you shouldnt do that with anyone, and for two he is amazing at telling when someone is lying and he WILL find out and get pissed off at you, not so much about the food but the fact you lied to or tried to trick him when he explicitly set a boundary.

he will be more lenient in trying new things if you eat them with him or its your first time having it too. if you offer him a bite of something like you are just casually eating it and are seeing if he wants some too he will be more likely to try it.

'want some?'

'nah im good'

'you sure?'

'mh, fine, if it gets you to stop pestering me'

since he is a known criminal and can't blend in as easy because of his scars, going to restaurants aren't really options for you guys anyways, so he doesnt have to worry about getting there and finding something on the menue he likes, if you order in he will be more inclined to ask if you want something else for dinner if that place doesnt have anything he likes.

i dont think he would know how to cook very well seeing as he didn't really have many ingredients nor anything to cook with before he pretty much moved in with you. so he will always stand in the kitchen and pester you when youre cooking, especially if its something he doesnt like.

'you shouldnt add that'

'why?'

'because'

'???'

if you tell him to make his own damn food he will get all huffy lmao

if you try teaching him to cook or you arent very good at it either, than he will def always only make things you both like unless its a special occasion for you, like your birthday or youre celebrating something. if its something he doesnt like but you want it, he will make a little something on the side for himself if yours didnt take too long to make, or he just eats leftovers/snack foods instead

things like ramen, cereal and other quick prep foods are always good to have around with him.

its not uncommon to see him picking out parts of or eating around places its touched others he doesn't like, for example; if you have a fruit platter, he will only eat pieces that didnt touch ones he doesnt like.

hes the picks off and gives you the pickles lmao

[raplinesmoon]

An Affair Of The Art (KNJ x F!Reader)

pairing: husband!Namjoon x reader genres/au/rating: fluff, slight angst, pg summary: One rainy day looking at art sets off a spiral of events Namjoon can’t control, leaving his heart for the taking

warnings: references to infidelity (no actual infidelity), references to PPD, dad!Joon (yes this is a warning)

word count: 1.3k

a/n: so I went to go look at art when it was raining today and saw so many kids with their parents, and then listened to Namjoon’s podcast which was a mistake bc the yearning is just at all all time high. please enjoy this self-indulgent piece. disclaimer: i’m not a mom, and have never experienced PPD, but i’ve known moms who did. my heart goes out to anyone who struggles with it, I’m sending you a big hug.

It starts when Dan-Bi is seven months old – but Namjoon never meant for it to happen in the first place. He can see the exhaustion seep into your bones, the light leave your eyes, how every day you become less and less like a person and more and more a machine that changes, feeds, burps. Being there for you had always been his solution, but even that doesn’t seem enough. 

So one day, when you’re finally able to catch up on sleep, and he’s unwilling to rouse you from some well-needed rest, he settles on it. Slipping on his boots and sliding his rain jacket, he looks around him nervously before sending a hushed message to the other person in his life that it was time for them to get away for a bit, maybe at a nearby gallery.

And so he sets out on the rainy city streets, the anticipation making him shiver almost as much as the cold. It’s a prolonged journey, one where he stops in for cup of coffee, the hot liquid warming his frigid inside. Next he stops by the park, looking at the many families that travel along the lush green walkways, and his mind guiltily flashes back to you. It wasn’t your fault. You needed time to be yourself again, as did he.

When he finally steps into the warm gallery space, the hostess greets him with a flutter of her eyelashes, her gaze hungrily traveling to the way his plain t-shirt has soaked through, clinging to the muscles of her chest. Namjoon doesn’t indulge her. There’s only one person whose company he craves right now.

The stares of the other patrons burn into the back of his head when he rides up the elevator to the second floor, and he wonders if they know his secret - if they silently judge him for being here in this state right now, a fraud amongst them. Instead of dwelling on it, he shakes the rain from his hair and walks right out, never turning to look back.

His boots click against the tile floors, the echo bouncing off the walls as he wanders, searching, and searching until — he finds it. The vivid reds and pinks reflect onto the floor, creating an eerie glow to the harshly caricatured scene Guston portrays - Namjoon can’t stop staring.

A squeal startles him, and he jolts, looking around to see if anyone else heard it, but they all remain still, hyper-focused on the pieces in front of them. Sighing, Namjoon mentally prepares himself for the worst when he decides to investigate the source.

Only to come upon his daughter’s smiling face in the stroller, Dan-Bi looking up at him with wide eyes as she kicks her legs and squeals again, her eyes then squishing into the familiar crescent moons that mirror his own. Namjoon wonders what could have a barely year old baby so joyous in a space that she barely understands, but he freezes when he sees Dan-Bi look over at the painting he’d had his eyes trained on mere moments ago, her gaze equally as transfixed as her father’s.

Her fingers end up in her mouth as she slobbers, and Namjoon chuckles at how she drools over them, stroking her fine hair with a soft touch before he goes back to looking at it too. He couldn’t tell anyone how much time passed with the two of them looking at the piece. Maybe it was five minutes, maybe it was twenty, but Namjoon remains rooted to the spot, Dan-Bi’s protests and cries keeping him in place every time he moves the stroller. He leans to look at every brush stroke, every vibrant hue that blends into another, each thread on the canvas before turning to look at Dan-Bi’s tiny figure, fist smooshed into her cheek as she slumbers. That was enough to hold him over for now, and it was time to get back home to you.

And so began Namjoon’s affair of the art.

Over time, he sees you brighten, the changing of the seasons enough to bring you out of your shell, the former enthusiasm you had returning. You feel well enough to hold Dan-Bi without feeling pained and sorrowed, yet it hits you just how much your daughter has grown up in the past few months, her tiny delicate features becoming sharper and more refined, blending into the perfect amalgamation of you and your husband. And then the guilt settles in for missing so much of her life.

You weren’t naive - you’d woken up more than enough times to find Namjoon gone, Dan-Bi nowhere to be found in the house. After panicking the first few times, the bittersweet feeling set in when you realized they were gone, and you were here. You knew Namjoon meant well, intending for you only to rest, but it hurt that they were living on, while you remained stuck in the same place.

One day, when the trees begin to shed their flowers and the rainy skies melt into sunshine, you decide to follow behind them, slipping out no more than five minutes after they’d gone. Your footsteps take you to the art museum that Namjoon had taken you to on your first date, and you watch the security staff coo as he waves to them, walking in with Dan-Bi strapped to his shoulders.

Before you can stop him, you’re following behind, your haggard appearance and the bags underneath your eyes a sharp foil to your husband’s fit, healthy frame and Danbi’s adorable chunky thighs. You linger behind them on the stairs, Namjoon paying no mind to who’s behind him as he leads Dan-Bi into a gallery, this one full of works by the Impressionists, the soft colors and works transporting putting a smile on your face when you finally realize.

Monet was my first, he’d told you all those years ago. The Lunch.

Tears spring to your eyes when you see him holding up Dan-Bi to look at the water lilies splotched across the canvas, his gentle voice reassuring her to “look only, uri ttal, no touching”.

The choked sob that escapes is what gives you away, Namjoon and Dan-Bi turning to find you behind them, wet streaks streaming down your face.

“Baby,” Namjoon’s voice rumbles, his concerned eyes looking at your tired figure. “What are you doing here? You should be at home resting.”

“I thought you were having an affair,” you half sob, half cackle, and Dan-Bi squeals at seeing you, making grabby hands.

“Eom-a-ma-ma-ma,” she blubbers, and you take her from Namjoon, not caring for the stares of passerby that look at the strange scene, an oddly calm child with the mother in the midst of a meltdown.

“Are you for real?” Namjoon whispers, his arms coming around to wrap you in a hug. “___-ah, I would never. You have to know that. I love you.”

He curls you and Dan-Bi into him, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, before continuing on.

“I’ve been waiting months for the day you’d feel better, that you’d finally be able to join us. Dan-Bi is better company than I expected at the art museum - she doesn’t scream or cry, mostly just tries to destroy thousands of dollars of precious art by knocking into it or grabbing for it.”

“She’s just a baby,” you pout, cooing at her. “She’ll learn one day.”

“It’s nice to see you here with us,” Namjoon mumbles against you. “I missed you.”

“Thank you for waiting for me Namjoon,” you say to him. “Now, what do you say we go look at some more paintings? I know Appa is a fan of Monet, but I want our little raindrop to learn about the wonders of Degas.”

And you carry her away, Namjoon trailing behind you with a grin on his face. This affair for his heart may have ended, but a new one was just beginning.

a/n pt. 2: it’s fluffing szn idc about cuffing szn. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[darkestspring]

imagine that alicent's kid left with rhaenyra when she took her family to dragonstone when harwin was sent back to harrenhall, and only came back to side with luke about inheriting driftmark. during the years she was gone, rhaenyra let her pursue whatever studies interested her, so now kid (maybe her name can be aemyra? like, viserys named her after both aemma and rhaenyra) basically has a college education, and is skilled in swordsmanship since she wanted to learn to defend herself.

alicent is proud that kid is so accomplished and skilled, but pissed bc that's *her* child, *she* should have been raising them in the keep. and why would they ever need to wield a sword? they're far too delicate for that! what if they hurt themself??

to make matters worse, they seem especially close with jace and baela. the three of them always touching somehow -holding hands, brushing shoulders, leaning against each other-, why would her baby be so close with rhaenyra's bastard like that? AND WHY DID SHE HEAR THEM CALL RHAENYRA "MUÑA"???

sure! her name can be aemyra! i have so many thoughts about all of this. rhaenyra realizes at the same time as harwin leaves that alicent is far too dismissive of her youngest sister and asks her father in private to take her in as a ward and viserys, overjoyed by the idea, agrees instantly.

alicent, of course, contests it relentlessly. she doesn't believe her child should be away from her but aemyra goes with her eldest sister happily. aemyra slowly heals from all of the scorn she received from her grandfather and brothers and learns to open up.

"You can learn anything you want, sweet girl." Rhaenyra had told her, running her hands through aemyra's hair softly. "Anything you want to do and become, you want do it."

those words stick with aemyra as she grows up, a strong and intelligent princess. aemyra refused to go to the funeral on driftmark, unwilling to see her mother or brothers again. Rhaenyra had understood and aemyra wasn't shocked when they returned with baela, rhaena and daemon. she stood with baela as daemon and her sister married.

i think alicent would wait and wait for letters from aemyra, as would aegon and aemond but only one letter is ever sent and its to helaena, staating how she misses her dearly and sending her some bugs she found of dragonstone.

aemyra grows closer with jace, luke, baela and rhaena but especially baela and jace. they're always together, always chatting and telling jokes and stories.

alicent doesn't see her against until the claim for driftmark. rhaenyra insists that she could stay if she wished but aemyra wasn't scared anymore. she was skilled with a sword and her mind as sharper than ever, she would not abandon rhaenyra in such times.

alicent sees her daughter dressed in black in red walk in arm in arm with jace and she does not even spare a glance at her mother or siblings, staring directly ahead or over at jace. it hurts but alicent knows better than to say something in the presence of viserys.

aegon and aemond both attempt to gain their sisters attention at dinner after she enters with jace and baela, laughing gently at something they said. she doesn't even look at them as baela and jace glare at them.

"a toast." Aemond rose his glass as he stood up, his eyes locked on his sister. "To my lovely sister who has returned to us from a place she should not have gone."

aemyra doesn't touch her glass as she stares at aemond with an emotionless look as everyone else raises their glass. "I do not think myself lost, brother." She hums, leaning into baela. "I am exactly where i want to be, with my family. the one that actually cared."

alicent, aegon and aemond all flinch at that and aemyra smiles triumphantly at that while daemon snorts into his cup.

[of-thought-will-life-and-death]

Luke was always the hero of the prophecy.

Every time I wander into the Luke tag and see people who really firmly believe that his actions were inexcusable, or I (as I am doing rn) reread TLO and see Thalia saying that everything that’s happening is due to Luke’s poor choices, I have to sit there and remind myself that "poor choices” is a really reductive view to take on a very complex issue. Luke was born with a destiny, and nothing that he did along the way could have changed it. 

We start the series with The Fates cutting his life line. The moment that Percy is found by monsters and inducted into the world of myths, Luke’s fate is sealed. Any questions of what would happen end in that moment. Not that there were many questions before - both May and Hermes are well aware of who Luke would become. It’s why Hermes had to stay away, and why May was terrorized with these visions.

Now, this primes Luke for his frustration with the gods. He’s already hurt and scared of his future, and he knows the gods are well aware and don’t seem to give a fuck regardless. He knows that, on top of his dad being shitty, Thalia and Annabeth have been abandoned, too, and that’s his family. That’s inexcusable. 

And then Thalia dies, killed by a god, with her father unwilling to intervene until she’s already gone.

And then he, at 14, is left to run the Hermes cabin, presumably after whoever was previously leading it dies. The cabin where every unwanted demigod is left, where they don’t even have enough room for everyone to have a bed anymore. Eventually, he’s not just running that cabin, he’s basically running the camp. Training demigods because the immortals who are supposed to be doing so have gotten so burnt out on heroes over the years that they are barely involved. So he has to be the one to try and train them well enough that they don’t die when they inevitably leave on quests that aren’t important, they’re just re-hashings of quests from the past. More of the gods jacking themselves off over memories of the “golden age.” 

When Luke finally gets his own quest, it’s one of these rehashing of the glory days quests. One that he’s literally been told by his father is of no importance - it’s only so he has the chance to do something great and prove himself before he dies. And so, when he is faced with the drakon and has the chance to complete it or die trying, he leaves. Glory and fame isn’t worth his life. But now he’s a failure, and a failure is worse than dead, so suddenly there are no more quests. The rigged game is broken now that there’s the option to just not do it, so it’s banned. 

So, you get an (at the time) 17-year-old kid who has watched kids dying to the gods’ games since he was 14, who is considered a failure for refusing to play, and who is acutely aware that this has been happening for two thousand years. And will continue long after he’s gone. He’s the failed hero because he refused to die. And then someone offers him a deal - bring down the Olympians, and you get to decide the fate of the heroes. Someone clever and manipulative enough to convince Olympians to turn against Olympians and powerful enough to follow through on their promise.

If there’s one “poor choice” that Luke makes, it’s here, but how many others made the same one? With less reason to?

By the time we get to TTC, he sees where he fucked up. Thalia helps him realize - this isn’t going to save demigods, this is just going to place them under a new system that’s just as controlling as the first. He won’t live to see it happen, which means there’s no insurance. 

So, he tries to go back on it. Kronos says himself that he has to threaten Luke and Luke’s “family” with terrible things in order to get him to agree to swim in the Styx. Luke tries to run away with Annabeth, seeing her as the last person left who might be willing to trust him, as a last ditch effort to escape, not just for himself. He tells Annabeth, “Kronos will use me as a stepping stone.” He’s trying to remove himself from the equation, slowing Kronos down before it even begins. 

He tries to stop Kronos from killing Beckendorf.

He tries to interfere when Kronos is close to figuring out Percy’s Achilles point. 

And he makes the choice to kill Kronos in the end, even if it means killing himself, because this was never what Luke’s war was about.

He wanted demigods to stop being pawns in a greater game, and accidentally became one himself. He wanted kids to stop dying in order to prove themselves to parents who often didn’t even know their names. 

And no matter what choices he made, he was trying to move towards a better future. The Fates had other ideas. No matter where he tried to back out or leave, he was always going to end up in that throne room with Percy and Annabeth. 

He’s not a perfect person - he makes an excellent antagonist and foil to Percy. But I’d love for the narrative to shift away from him as selfish or entitled, because it was never just about him. It was about all of the other demigods he had to send off to die.

[fanfic-inator795]

Ranking my favorite animated dad characters because I can’t sleep

I realized that a lot of my favorite animated characters are dads, so fuck it. Let’s rank them both on their dad-ness and on their character overall.

7. Ansel Beauregard (Arlo the Alligator Boy/I heart Arlo): okay so, as much as I’m kinda hyperfocusing on this guy rn, he kinda HAS to get the lowest rank ‘cause like… he literally abandoned his gator baby in the sewer. Honestly the fact that he’s able to be likable at all is a damn miracle, but the movie and show pull it off surprisingly well.

Basically from the moment he finally accepts Arlo into his life, he’s trying his best to make amends - though admittedly he still doesn’t always go about it the best way, lol. Growing up bullied then isolated and then becoming crazy rich at a young age has definitely made him more than a little oblivious, out of touch and self-centered (though these parts of his personality are still funny/endearing instead of being annoying imo) but he still genuinely cares (even when he was unwilling to face his truth, he still gave Arlo advice that he at least thought was in Arlo’s best interest based on what worked for him) and I really do love the interactions he has with Arlo. I also love the whole bird-man aspect of him both as a character design and fun quirk, and his VA work and singing is also phenomenal. (Seriously, I’ve been listening to “Better Life” multiple times per day, someone pls I need help asdfghjkl)

6. Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz (Phineas & Ferb): So, back when I was a kid, Doof was definitely my favorite character, and while I’ve kiiiiiinda grown out of him in some aspects (his over-exposure in things like MML didn’t exactly help), I can still enjoy him for being a really funny and really enjoyable character.

Can he sometimes be annoying, slightly obnoxious and take up too much screentime in the latter seasons? Sure, totally. But like- I’m never gonna NOT love the ‘evil villain who has a huge soft spot for their child’ trope, it’s a classic for a reason. Doof is a dork and can be overbearing, but he’s also really sweet and will do anything for his daughter, including get himself stung by dozens of bees. It also can’t be denied just how many of his lines and moments can still get laughs out of me even after all these years. We Stan a petty ADHD-king and (not-so-)evil scientist dad.

5. Hamato Yoshi/Lou Jitsu/Splinter (ROTTMNT): oh hey, another dad with trauma - only instead of being bullied and forced to hide himself or having a nonsensical tragic backstory, he had to deal with generational trauma, being forced into fighting/killing for sport, and finally getting mutated which led to years of on/off depression. …yeahhhhh.

This is another character I really admire for just how well they’re written, even if he wasn’t always the best dad (though for the record, he wasn’t nearly as neglectful as some fans want to claim…) I think most Rise fans would agree that Splinter absolutely has the best arc in the series, going from a strictly comedy relief couch potato to a loving father/tragic figure who manages to rise above everything for the sake of his kids. He’s willing to let the world burn for the sake of his sons and I respect the hell out of him for it regardless of whether or not it’s the ‘moral’ choice. But he’s also still really funny and really cool when he wants to be, and for as much as I’ve drifted away from Rise, Splinter and his story is still one of the few aspects I adore and appreciate about this show.

4. Pete McGee (The Ghost and Molly McGee): Pete is just a super endearing character to me even if he arguably has the least going on of all the TGAMM characters. He’s a very typical goofy sitcom dad both in terms of design (which, ngl… Pete is kinda really cute? Am I the only one who sees it?) and attitude, usually only being used for comedy while Sharon is the one who gets to be the slightly more serious one and have the heart-to-hearts with/give advice to Molly.

But that’s fine because even if he’s not the deepest dad on this list, he’s still incredibly endearing imo. He’s a 100% Wife Guy, he struggles to stand up for himself but still always tries to stand up for his family, he inspired Molly to be heavily interested in community service, and he’s a dancer! Which is just a really fun quirk, hence why I really love both the Ice Princess episode and the Dance Dad episode (asdfghjkl I remember when Tess and I were watching the latter, she was cringing at all the TikTok dances while I was sitting next to her enjoying the song and just being like yeahhhhh get it Pete! Lol). While I do wish we could have gotten a bit of deeper character stuff with Pete, he’s still pretty solid and very enjoyable to watch.

3. Bob Belcher (Bob’s Burgers): we love our autistic Burger King babeyyyyy! Seriously though, while I’ve grown to love all the Belchers, there’s definitely a reason why I gravitated towards Bob first. He’s a mess of a guy who’s just trying his best to deal with all the chaos that life and his family throw at him, and we love him for it.

I love that even while being the most grounded character in the show, he’s not afraid of being a little unhinged and just fucking going off on someone or something. He’s also often the one who’s always trying to help others, even when it’s usually by accident given how much of an introvert he is. He loves his wife, his kids and his burgers with all his heart, and even when he’s at his worst (which is a rarity), you still are rooting for the best for him and want everything to work out. His heart-to-hearts with his kids (and with other characters) really are some of my favorite moments from the show. Furthermore, much like literally all the other characters on this list, his VA’s delivery just adds SO much to his character as well. I really do just love H. Jon Benjamin, he’s so hilarious and needs to voice more characters.

2. Rodolfo Rivera/White Pantera (El Tigre): Ah yes, my first favorite animated dad character, even before Doof. As such, I’m always gonna have a soft spot for this guy. Like I’ve said before, I love how he’s able to be both a goofy and super soft-hearted character but can also be a total badass at times, sometimes without even trying.

He just wants to protect his city and help his son grow up right, and I love him for it! He’s easily one of the funniest characters in the show, but I appreciate that he’s allowed to still be cool and still have a win occasionally. He also manages to be stern without ever becoming unlikable or unreasonable, given that he’ll still always be there for his son and father even when they’re doing things he doesn’t approve of, and I think it’s that overall balance that really endeared me to him, plus his great design+voice (if I had a nickel for every time I gravitated to an Eric Bauza-voiced dad, I’d have two-). His little catchphrase quirks like “okay be good!” and saying Manny’s full name live in my head rent-free, ngl.

1. Bill Green (Big City Greens) let me make this clear… I! LOVE! BILL! GREEN! He’s just… SO great. He’s wholesome, he’s funny and goofy, he’s sweet, he’s a loving father, he’s stern but still reasonable, he’s a hard worker, he’s super relatable, he’s a secret badass, he’s a huge dork, he sings about his truck and is super attached to his wood carvings - he really is just everything and I mean that in the best possible way.

While Cricket and Tilly are obviously the stars of the show, I really do love how much energy the show puts into making Bill this incredibly well-rounded and likable character who you just can’t help but sympathize with and root for when it comes to his farm stuff. I can’t say that he’s perfect, he’s definitely made a couple pretty poor decisions here and there, but overall I think he’s everything I want out of a great animated dad character (probably because he honestly reminds me a lot of my own dad - or at least, the positive parts of my dad). He’s not the only thing I love about BCG, far from it, but he’s definitely one of my biggest favorite things about it.

BONUS HONORABLE MENTION DADS:

- Vasquez (BCG): bodyguards/surrogate dads absolutely count. So happy that Vasquez has become much more prominent and fleshed-out as the show’s gone on, he’s just so great. Thank you Danny Trejo for voicing him, can’t wait for that s4 ep where Vasquez apparently goes to therapy

- Lego Batman (Lego Batman Movie): ah yes, the kick-starter to the Batman/Bat-fam phase I had in college. Fits right alongside characters like Ansel and Splinter for being obviously flawed dads (bro literally called his new son ‘expendable’ wtf Bruce) who still care a lot/grow to become better people over time through the influence of their kid. Will Arnett is still absolutely hilarious as this character, I love how he immediately goes into dad-mode when Robin gets slammed into the windshield, and that bit at the end where he finally tells Robin the truth about his ‘dads’ still gets me a bit teary-eyed

- Wild Knuckles (The Rise of Gru): technically a grand-dad but whatever. Like I said, I love my villains with a soft-side for their kid, and it makes me sad that the Rise of Gru fandom essentially ignored this guy in favor of hot young Dr. Nefario. Like- I don’t care if the arc between him and baby Gru was somewhat rushed, dude literally got himself burned alive by a huge dragon for his surrogate grandkid, he deserves better

If you’ve made it this far, let me know if you like any of these dad characters + what your favorites are ^v^

[honey-minded-hivemind]

I've done a Backstory!Post! for the first of my currently mentioned platonic yandere favorites... now I think it is time for the next one. To begin with, we had how Logan Howlett/Wolverine met his bby... so that means Victor Creed/Sabretooth is next! Let's begin this second Backstory!Post:

• Victor has not had a pretty life. Abused by his father, seen as a freak, hurt and cursed and hated, it wasn't a hard choice for him to decide to become the monster everyone expected him to be. It served them right. Everyone was the same, cowards and pigs, the lot of 'em. And if one was to survive, you had to be the meanest, the strongest, of the lot. He could count on his hand how many people he actually had an interest in.

• His bby is likely someone who surprises him. They are something unexpected, something different than the usual people he deals with. Maybe they are someone with a powerful mutation, or someone who happened to gain the upper hand on him. Maybe they have been dealt a similar hand to him, being hurt to such a degree that it leaves lasting wounds on their psyche... Either way, this bby isn't scared of him. For some reason, they don't see him as someone to revile or hate... if anything, they might be neutral, or even cordial, with him. For once, someone just treats him like a person.

• Their first meeting could be anywhere, really. Perhaps they meet on opposite ends of a fight... perhaps they are in the same group for the time being... for this scenario, I think they would both be held captive by someone. A scientist who wants to study different mutants and their abilities, and in turn make them into weapons, pawns, their own personal soldiers. This person is cruel and manipulative, playing their captives against each other, in an attempt to leave them unwilling to unite against them. Yet for the bby... they don't crack...

• And for the life of him, Victor can't figure out how they did it... how his bby stayed themself, unbroken and untamed... but no matter how they did it, he's not complaining... this is their origin story of meeting, after all, and of course his bby would turn out to be as unbreakable as he is...

• Of course it's his luck to get stuck in this situation. Another freak-of-the-week mad scientist wantin' to try their hand at mutant experimentation. Yep. Just his freakin' luck. And this one... this one is one f*cked up son uv a gun...

• You're not having a great time. Some nut-case is capturing and testing mutants... and you're one of the (un)lucky souls who got caught. Your mutation can only do so much, and this complete psycho has prepared for almost every ability there could be. All sorts of drugs, plenty of torture devices, not to mention the actual power-negating stuff... and this freak doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon. They want to break you, to squash you into nothing and program you and every other mutant here into their personal toys...

• And you happen to have gotten on their nerve this time. It's not like this is the first time you've tried... but this is the first time they actually showed any outward signs of anger. They didn't take too well to you calling their work meaningless, a disgrace to science... so it seems they've finally decided to do something about you... So here you are, being dragged into a room and locked inside until they see fit to "test you" again... but... the thing is... you're not alone in there...

• Great... looks like they brought 'im some fresh meat... Victor groans a little as he gets up. Chains hold him to the floor, shackled to a thick metal cuff around each of his wrists. D*mn it... he can't even leave his side of this prison. And he takes a good look at what the lab rats brought 'im... and he isn't very impressed. It's a kid, that much he can tell... one who looks roughed up quite a bit... heh. Seems like someone made the doc mad.

• "Heh. Looks like we're gunna be stuck here fer a while, huh, whelp? Why don't'cha come closer, so we can get better acquainted?" He watches them, as they take in their new surroundings. The fresh meat winces as they move, but, they do approach him... yet they stay just out of reach... and then ask if he's okay...

• What? Is the whelp drugged er somethin'? They seem to realize what they just asked, and rub at their neck, looking sheepish. They point out that it's a stupid question, but that they are concerned. About him. "Uh, whelp. Ya realize ya should be more worried 'bout yerself, right? The doc must be rather p*ssed with ya ta throw ya in here with me." He lets out a cackle, then regrets it almost immediately when his chest aches with every breath. D*mn that f*cking *sshole doctor, professor, whatever the h*ll they claim to be! The whelp ain't the only one who earned the doc's wrath... whatever the loon gave him, it inhibits his healin' ability...

• "I guess the doc doesn't really like us, eh? This must be "special time-out" fer us, huh, fresh meat?" He sighs, his ribs aching with the motion. The kid hasn't stopped looking at him, but... it's not with fear, or contempt... if anything... they actually look worried fer 'im... They shuffle their feet uneasily, but he can't smell fear on them. None in the least. Blood, sure. Sweat, yep. But not a trace of panic or hate. Huh.

• You watch your cell-mate with concern. He's a giant. Chains hold him back, limiting his movement and leaving him trapped to the back of the cold room. Dark, dried blood covers him, and you can see wounds where the cuffs rubbed against his wrists. Not to mention the bruises coloring patches of his skin splotches of greenish-tinged black. He looks dangerous, deadly... but you stay near, asking if he wants something to eat...

• "Ya realize there ain't any food here, don't'cha, fresh meat? Unless yer offerin' ta be a sacrifice," he huffs out. But you just chuckle, and produce something hidden within the fold of your sleeve... it's a squashed protein bar... but... it's food...

• You ask the man if he doesn't mind that this is what you were able to hide on you. Then promptly explain that it won't taste very well, but it should sate some of his hunger. That he needs it just as much as you or anyone else here needs it. You notice the shackles restrict his arms to the point he can't lift them to his face... possibly as a method to force him to rely on the scientist and their minions for everything... you ask if he's still hungry, and that you're going to have to hold it for him while he eats, if he wants it...

• "'Kay, then. I promise, I won't bite ya. Scout's honor. Now, can ya come over here? I'm starvin'." He waits patiently as you approach him, bringing the much-needed food with you. You open it, holding it up for him to eat, still no signs of panic or fear. He can't help but chuckle a little at that. Looks like ta him, you're one tough little whelp. Maybe you're worth keepin' 'round...

• He takes a bite from the offered food, and you give him a soft, tired smile...

• "Not bad... hmm... thanks, whelp. I think we're gunna get along just fine..." With that, he devours what's left of the food... this moment is how you met Victor... and he never would've guessed that he'd end up with someone like you as his bby...