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#no wonder you're motherless
bene-darkmans · 9 months
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the R+L=J reveal doesn’t matter to me anymore I’m Team the Jon Snow Psychological Stew that will be Ned Stark’s lookalike at Winterfell with the Catelyn Tully lookalike and feral red-haired Rickon in his father’s house where he never felt he belonged has his Stark impostor complex validated
"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? He had never truly been a Stark, only Lord Eddard's motherless bastard, with no more place at Winterfell than Theon Greyjoy. And even that he'd lost. When a man of the Night's Watch said his words, he put aside his old family and joined a new one, but Jon Snow had lost those brothers too.
Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne."
That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell."
I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken.
In the end Halder and Horse had to pull him away from Iron Emmett, one man on either arm. The ranger sat on the ground dazed, his shield half in splinters, the visor of his helm knocked askew, and his sword six yards away. "Jon, enough," Halder was shouting, "he's down, you disarmed him. Enough!"
Not being Ned’s son will hurt, not being Robb or Arya’s brother? That’s going to destroy his sense of identity more than anything else.
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mid-n0vember · 3 months
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pls tell us smthng abt Golden Boy
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So i just checked and the file and golden boy has been sitting there for a year, oops.
Golden boy is just a working title but it refers to Arthur rather than Merlin. Arthur is the kingdom's "golden boy" and i wonderered what that might be like when you're growing up, motherless and with only a unforgiving father-king to love you.
So its about Arthur growing up and why he ended up the royal prat Merlin first bumps into.
i havent included any snippets in the other asks but here, have at it:
cw: death, childbirth, blood
The baby cried through his first breathes, his face pink with the effort of greeting the world. Arms surrounded him, holding him close to a familiar heartbeat. A ring of women floated above him like planets around the sun, their voices a swirl of warmth.
The arms slackened their firm grip, the chest that lulled him began to rise and fall like an unsteady sea, the baby screeched for safety and was scooped up and away. Blood was normal at a birth, the women knew blood but this was far too much and the women knew that too. There were shouts, water and cloth turning white to red and then, silence.
thank you @theworldisabrokenbonebutitishome and anon for the ask!
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fyodorloveclub · 1 year
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real fyodor dostoyevsky’s mother died early & his dad got brutally murdered…now i wonder how they will make the anime fyodor’s backstory based on that. he def is motherless&fatherless too. idk what i am talking about bro i just wanna know now
THE FIRST TIME I READ THIS I THOUGHT YOU WERE YELLING AT ME FLDASJFKLASFDJ like his parents died and you're writing abt pegging him............................................ :/
i hope they dont drop the fuckin ball on it and make it some lame shit like his parents died in a car accident or some shit like i hope they actually take advantage of it being related to his ability
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dearestgojo · 2 years
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Someone To Spend Time With for @dukina
A/n: I had a little bit of trouble with this because I didn't think the song fit Toji as well as I wanted it, but I'm kinda happy with how this turned out. I hope you enjoy it too.
Warnings: a little bit angsty at the beginning.
Wc: 1.7K
Part of My One Year Event
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The right side of the bed is always cold. It's been like that for the past two years. Toji knows this, so why does he still find himself stretching his arm out in search of the warmth of another body every morning. Fingers slowly flexing and gripping onto the once smooth surface of the sheets beside him, as if trying to grab onto someone that is no longer there. He groans burying his face into the cold pillow next to him, the scent of the detergent he uses to wash the sheets and his clothes filling his nose.
Toji doesn’t want to get out of bed, but he can hear the soft click of the television turning on followed by the sound of cartoons and he knows he’ll have a few minutes to himself before the kids come in to ask for breakfast. Forcing his eyes to open he stares at the blank walls of his bedroom, watching where the light dances on it as it pours in through the cracks of his blinds. He rolls himself over to his back and silently waits for Megumi to come in through his bedroom door while watching the ceiling fan turn. 
After a few minutes he can hear the soft sound of feet approaching and the door creaking open, letting the natural light of the hallway pour into the dark bedroom. “Dad? Are you awake?” Megumi asks just above a whisper. The little boy steps further into the room, his hair sticking in all directions, “You said we’d go shopping for school clothes and supplies today,” he reminds his father.
“Yeah, I’m awake. I’ll be up in a few minutes,” Toji answers, sitting up on his bed and stretching his muscles. “Can you go ahead and have Tsumiki take out the mix for pancakes and the eggs from the fridge, I’ll make us breakfast before we leave.”
“Okay,” Megumi pauses on his way out, chewing slightly on his bottom lip, “Hey, dad?”
“Mmh?”
“Are we going to the grave today?”
Toji examines the boy's expression, his eyebrows slightly raised and eyes saddened. He can feel his heart clenching at his youngest son’s expression. Toji  swallows as he shakes his head and runs his hand through his dark hair, “No. Not today…I promise.”
“Okay,” Megumi smiles walking out of the bedroom.
As soon as Megumi is out of the room, Toji drops back onto the bed, his bones feeling heavy, his heart sinking into the sheets beneath him. He wonders when things will fall into place, when the longing that he wakes up with every morning will start to fade, thinking that it may never happen. And maybe it shouldn’t, maybe he needs to feel that feeling long after he’s found someone to help him raise the two motherless children outside his bedroom door. Maybe he doesn’t need someone who will feel the empty space that’s in his chest, but someone who will share that opening with the woman he had shared a little under seven years with. 
The sound of a loud bang coming from the kitchen prompts him to get off his bed, letting his bare feet sink into the soft carpet next to his bed. He pulls a shirt over his head, sliding his hair through his dark hair, trying to tame it a bit before stepping out his bedroom, “That better not have been something breaking, or I swear to God!”
~
By the time he gets the kids dressed and out the door of the house the sun is close to reaching its highest point, and he already feels exhausted. Well that is until he spots you walking out of the house next to theirs. He eyes you up and down from the front steps, watching as the skirt of your dress sways with every step you take towards them hand raised while you wave at the two kids and smile brightly spread across your face. Toji can’t hear a word you're saying while you greet his kids, too focused on watching the small golden chain drop to the space between your breasts. 
He swallows, forcing his eyes to travel back up to meet your smiling face, heart swelling in his chest as he watches how you interact with Tsumiki, your fingers brushing through the uneven pigtails he had failed miserably at tying. One slightly higher than the other, tied a few inches from her ear while the other was closer to the back of her head. 
Toji isn’t sure if he should feel embarrassed or grateful when you ask his daughter if she would like you to redo them and Tsumiki eagerly nods. “At least they were much better than last time,” you smile at him, “it means you're improving.” You untie both the pigtails and start carding your fingers through the soft hair, slowly untangling the knots that Toji hadn’t, and tying the hair back up. Toji had to admit that you were much better and doing Tsumiki’s hair. You finish retying the hair, “There, all done. So where are you headed?”
“We’re going shopping for school,” Megumi answers from where he sits on the bottom steps, his eyes not leaving the screen of his father’s phone, small game music emitting from the speakers. 
“Oh wow, that sounds like a lot of fun,” You answer, your fingers still fixing any loose strands from Tsumiki’s hair.
Toji clears his throat before asking you the same thing, “What about you? You’re all dressed up, are you going on a date or something?”
You shake your head, standing back up to your full height, “Nope, just doing the same thing as you, I need some new clothes.” you pause for a bit your eyes dancing over the older man’s figure, “As for dressing up…I thought it would be nice to look pretty for once.”
Toji doesn’t even hesitate before he responds, “You always look pretty.” You both become flustered as his words sink into both of your brains, the two kids looking at each other while fighting back giggles. Toji clears his throat, “I- I mean-”
“Why don’t you come with us?” Tsumiki interrupts, hooking her arm through yours and walking you towards the car, not waiting for you to agree, “We’re going to go and eat after we're done, it would be so much fun if you come with us.” 
Toji opens his mouth to protest, but you agree before he can, not finding it yourself to tell the enthusiastic girl that you can’t, “Um, okay, but only if it’s okay with your dad.”  Your eyes glance behind you, looking at Toji curiously, waiting to read whatever reaction he might have. 
His eyes meet yours, and he swears he feels his heart ready to burst out of his chest and run down the street. But he’s good at masking his emotions and he gives you a small smile, nodding his head, “We’d love to have you.” 
With that all four of you climb into the car, Toji urging the kids to put on their seatbelts while he subconsciously reaches across you and buckles you in, a habit he had developed when his wife had still been alive. Your face becomes a flustered mess, heart pounding in your chest. Toji doesn’t realize what he did till he’s stopped at a red light, and he glances at your blushed expression staring out the window, his own heart starting to thump erratically.
~
Toji doesn’t realize how tired he actually is until he’s seated in the booth of the restaurant the kids had picked out, his body sinking into the faux leather and relaxing for the first time since this morning. He can hear you talking with the kids from where you sit next to him, he tries not to think about how close you are sitting to him, your bare knee brushing against his thigh everytime you move. Luckily he doesn’t have to, because you’ve barely opened the menu when the waiter comes up to the table asking for your drinks. 
It’s only then does Toji notice the weird glance of the waiter, their gaze switching from him to you, gaze lingering as they take in the evident age gap. Toji feels his cheeks become hot when he realizes what they must be thinking, wondering if others had been giving you the same looks while the four of you were out shopping.
He glances at you from the corner of his eyes, watching as you smile at the two kids when they tell you a joke, your head thrown back slightly when you laugh at their silly jokes, your hand hovering over your chest covering the cleavage he had spent staring at most of the day. Toji can feel his heart flutter in chest at how right this scene feels, you sitting here next to him, in the spot that his wife had filled much like you, warming the hearts of those around you with a smile. His eyes don’t leave your body while you speak, your hands gesturing in front of you, and he lets himself dream about life with you.
He imagines waking up to you early in the morings, his body seeking out the warmth of yours next to him, and slowly peppering your face with kisses waking you up. Pictures walking into the kitchen and watching you laughing with the kids while you serve them their food, a warm plate waiting for him in his usual seat. Spending lazy Saturdays and Sundays with you draped over the hammock he had hung in the backyard. Weekend barbeques with the neighbors. Morning walks with the dog you would get. Trips to the bookstore. He dreams of his whole life with you. 
Toji makes up his mind when you lean into him, laughing at something Megumi says from across the table, food falling out of his mouth. He can’t stand the cold morning sheets. He can’t do another messed up hairstyle that Tsumiki would end up taking out as soon as she gets to school. He wants his kids to grow up knowing what having a mother around feels like. So he makes up his mind while he feels your body shaking next to him, warm and soft, he’s going to ask you out on a date.
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guestpost2 · 9 days
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New Movie Releases You Should See On The Big Screen
Any really good movie ought to be seen on the big screen because that brings the story to life and allows a great deal more detail to be seen against the larger background. The five movies described below all have that bigger-than-life quality which makes them ideal for depiction on the big screen, and that's one of the major reasons why you should go see all five of these movies. All of them have wonderful appeal in various ways, and you're bound to walk out of the theatre after each one of these, being very satisfied and thinking that your money was well spent.
Harriet
One of the most tantalizing movie offerings of the entire year, this biopic gives an account of the famous Harriet Tubman, as played by Cynthia Erivo, starting with her escape from slavery. It wasn't long before Ms. Tubman embarked on a whole series of dangerous missions which were all aimed at freeing as many slaves as possible, by funneling them through the Underground Railroad. This is a fairly accurate depiction of history, and it's a story that hasn't been told before and deserves to be put on the big screen so that everyone can understand what a hero this woman was.
The Irishman
This is a much-hyped movie directed by Martin Scorsese and one which reunites veteran gangster actors Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino. The storyline involves a mob hitman who is recollecting his younger years, and how he may have been involved in the slaying of Jimmy Hoffa. This is a Netflix movie scheduled for release in late November, and it will be worth seeing even if only for the collaboration between its legendary stars and director. If you have any questions concerning where and how to use Movie, you can make contact with us at our site.
Motherless Brooklyn
This is a very different movie in which a lonely detective tries his best to unravel the mystery surrounding the murder of his only friend in the world. Edward Norton directs this movie and stars in it as well, accompanied by costars Alec Baldwin and Bruce Willis. The action takes place in 1950s New York, and the period costumes and settings are worth the price of admission themselves. Mr. Norton is terrific in the starring role as well, and that makes this movie worth seeing.
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Well, not like THAT, but sometimes it's funny to say things like "motherless" or "dripless" to those who do something eccentric! And if you're wondering "drip" means cool or expensive clothing.
Oh. Alright then. I don't understand where the humor comes from, but I usually don't anyways.
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zorkaya · 5 months
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“At some point you make a choice about who you are and what you want.” but also kaveh !
@avaere
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The brush in her hand stops its movements for a moment. She's been brushing his hair and helping him make the hairstyle he wants, enjoying this moment of peace and quiet. But Zarina continues, blinking away her moment of somberness and lament for the past she lost far before she knew what it would mean as an adult. Kaveh's eyes watching her also bring her back to the present, she gives him a small smile through the reflection of the mirror.
Is he asking such questions to see her reaction through the reflection in the mirror? Is he trying to understand her? Is he trying to pick pieces of a broken shell to create a mosaic of understanding?
Zarina wishes that Kaveh's words didn't ring so true in her brain, so brightly and so brutally. Life pulls no punches, being simply there and never anywhere it doesn't need to be. The maiden of silver and gold feels the melancholy creep behind her back, a never-disappearing phantom that whispers in her ear and begets apathy to awaken from within her: distance, walls, protection, boredom, yearning, hunger, lament, and slumber. Everything and anything at the same time, longing for a way to be satisfied, to be satiated, to be full and no longer hollow (void).
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"You're right," she agrees with the architect all too easily, knowing the truth behind his words better than anyone. It seems Kaveh knows the truth behind those words, too. She's never heard about his father or his mother, she's never seen them around him when she first laid her eye on him by accident. Sokolova asked about it from fellow scholars and Khashrewar Darshan, a question in passing and a question no remembered afterward. Mild curiosity, but now it makes her understand a bit more from bits and pieces.
The melancholy and depression in Kaveh's eyes when certain topics are brought up, the way he sometimes look sad, the body language that speaks of uncertainness and even partial nervousness. What hides behind his smile? She wants to see his tears, let him feel safe in her embrace. Let him know he can breathe out and she'll never abandon him, leave him, judge him, or destroy him. "Some people make that choice because they feel ready, but some people make that choice because life dealt them a cruel set of cards to live through and use to their advantage."
Zarina sets the brush aside, carefully combing her fingers through his hair, her gaze softens as she picks several strange that will become his braid. Thus, she starts with her careful touches, making sure she won't pull too hard on his hair.
If the architect wishes to learn bit by bit about her, she'll let him know. Perhaps, it'll help him open up, too.
"I had to decide who I was and what I wanted before coming to Sumeru," she begins, not changing her small smile and not really showing anything aside from that frozen tender look. "Motherless, fatherless, with an ambition to become so famous and so successful that my brothers back in Snezhnaya won't have to worry about living a good life." The brush is back in her hands as she returns to her careful and stable brushes. A big piece of information to drop on him, no mother and father to wait for her back home. "Now, my twin brother is an aspiring warrior, a successful hunter. And my youngest brother lives without a worry in the world, looked after by my uncle and aunt. I wish your choice was not made out of desperation to survive, Kaveh, but sometimes... I wonder if it was done with too heavy of a burden." It must've been magic because now his hairstyle was fully done, her speech took away the skilled hands doing their magic.
Zarina bends down to place a kiss to the top of his head before stepping away, putting everything away.
"But all of our choices led us here today... I wouldn't change anything I've done in the past if it meant never meeting you like this."
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Mack is devastated at Some Dreadful News.
Mackron fanfic.
"Aaron wake up" Chas shouted as she went into Aaron who had stayed the night at the pub.
"What's all the fuss?" Aaron asked sleepily.
"There's been an accident" said Chas "Chloe and Charity have been in a car crash and Chloes in a bad way"
"Does Mack know?" Aaron asked.
"No idea but you need to go tell him" said Charity.
"Oh the wanderer returns. Would you like to tell me what's going on" said Mack sarcastically as Aaron walked into the cottage "Where have you been all night and more importantly why were you like a bear with a bad head yesterday"
"I stayed at mums and I'm not important at the moment" said Aaron "There's been an accident Mack"
"What sort of accident" Mack asked.
"Chloe and Charity" said Mack "They were in a car crash"
"I wondered why Chloe didn't come and tell me what she'd bought for Reuben" said Mack.
"Chloe's in a bad way Mack" said Aaron.
"She didn't have Reuben with her did she?" Mack asked shakily.
"No" Aaron replied as Moira knocked the door.
"Where were you yesterday?" Moira asked as Aaron let her in "We've been looking for you"
"I went to Robb Roy Castle with Isla as Aaron was in a mood so I went there and stayed the night. Got back this morning" Mack explained.
"Have you told him Aaron" asked Moira.
"Yes. Just" Aaron replied.
"Well give me the wee yun and you two get to the hospital" said Moira.
"Where's Reuben?" asked Mack.
"With Amy and Matty" Moira replied.
"Come on Mack I'll drive as you're shaking too much" said Aaron.
Mack and Aaron drove to the hospital where they saw Charity.
"What happened?" Mack asked.
"A van crashed in to us" Charity explained. "We didn't stand a chance the speed he was doing he came out of nowhere"
"How are you" Mack asked.
"I'm fine. Just cuts and bruises but Chloe is in a bad way. She's in resuss" Charity replied.
"She can't die" said Mack "She's got a baby"
"Mack she's in good hands" said Aaron who was trying to console his husband.
"She just can't die" sobbed Mack. "Little Reuben needs his mum"
"She'll be ok" said Aaron putting his arms round Mack.
"Why have all my babies ended up motherless Aaron?" Mack cried "Lawrence, Isla, Trudie and now maybe Reuben and I don't know how Lucy is going to manage with twins"
"Don't think like that Mack" said Charity "She'll get through this"
"Whatever happens we'll all be here for you Mack" said Aaron.
"Please God don't let her die" Mack wept.
"Come on Mack stay strong Chloe and Reuben need you to be strong" said Aaron trying to hide the fact that this had brought it all back about Liv.
"We're all here for you Mack" said Charity "Aarons right Chloe and Reuben need you to be strong"
12.10.23.
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And you are walking down the road in the dead of night on the way home from work and a man offers you a ride and you refuse and aren't worried about the consequences because you are not a woman you are not a girl you are the eldest you are the first born son for all that your body does not agree with that.
And you know the terrible things happen to girls and women in the dark on the back roads at night and in alleys and you know that there's always a risk that could one day be you but it never seems real because as long as you could remember you were not ever just a girl. And this this is just the tip of the iceberg. And you wonder if anyone else has ever felt this way.
And you are fatherless and you are motherless and yet you have a father and a mother. And you have spent half a lifetime it feels like standing between your mother and your father and your brother making peace in a peaceless place, and honesty is a currency from another land that has no value where you live.
And you are 14 going on 15 and your mother is in the car with you on your way to church telling you how your uncle used to come home drunk and put his fist through the wall as grandma and grandpa watched as grandma fretted and yelled as Grandpa turned a blind eye, and you are 10 going on 11 and you have questions about how babies are made and you know you can't ask either of your parents so you asked the internet and you find things that you should not have been able to find given how young you were, and you are seven going on eight going on nine and you are watching TV unsupervised and you are watching bad things being done to people by other people because your mother is exhausted and your father is out looking for a job and your grandparents are asleep and your brother is playing with his Legos and the TV was the easiest way to distract a child with nothing else to do and no one else to do it with. And you are 13 going on 14 and you take eight sleeping pills with a shot of whiskey stolen from the family bottle and you lie on your bed trying to remember how to breathe and you are afraid, you are alone, and you are afraid not that you are going to die but that your mother is going to come in and she's going to yell at you. (That's why you took the pills in the first place, because you could not take the tension of waiting for her to scream again.) And you are aping maturity from figures on television and online and in books that you do not actually possess, and your parents tell you stories and confide in you and your parents' friends tell you stories and confide in you about their pasts and their troubles and their trauma and look to you for advice, and you look for answers in books and shows and you know all the right words and all the right terms and it works well enough for them and you're too busy trying to stay afloat to wonder whether you're doing more harm than good. And you are a teenager and you are three steps from a midlife crisis.
And you spend two years of your life at a small 2-year college getting an associate's degree racking up 78 credits in the process and at your graduation the first one you've ever attended in your homeschooled life and your father looks at you and tells you not to get too excited it's just an associate's degree, and how he meant it means less to you than the words said. And you are 20 and you are more tired than you have ever been, and supposedly your life is just beginning.
And your father is not your father but he is and you do not know him for all he lives in the same house as yo. it's not his fault it's the world we live in the culture we live in, the fact that your father had to work so that you would be taken care of but that doesn't change the fact that you don't know him and that you look at him and you wonder what am I to you what do you see when you look at me. And you love them you do love them and you would tear this throat out of anyone who claims otherwise but you do not know whether that is enough.
And you are 18 going on 19 and your mother calls you to look at your brother's writing assignment and tells you how impressive it is that he actually managed to do so so well when he put his mind to it, and you are so proud of him. And you are so envious of him. Because for the longest time that was what you were you were the one who could write and write and write and he was the one with all the answers to all the math problems and suddenly you and he are an equal footing in that ground. And you love your brother and if you would lie to protect him and you would lie to help him and you would stand between him and your mother and her directionless anger and you still would. But now it's a competition and it's one he does not know of and it's one that you cannot win. Because he has a way with computers and now he has a way with words and he's so so smart and you are so proud of him. But. But. But. But but for so long you were the eldest the first born son the only daughter. And for all you've done for all you stood in the midst of you have a creeping feeling that in spite of all of it there is something less about you then there will ever be with him and you have a feeling, for all that you're sure it would be denied if you were to voice it that the fact of the matter is you are not the eldest son for all that you do not know what it's like not to feel like it.
And you are 21 and you are alone and you are laying on your floor talking to your phone, the only therapy that you will ever be able to have, because if you actually went to therapy that would be admitting you have issues that would be admitting that there was something that caused the issues that will leave your mother feeling as though she were the bad guy and you father confused that there was ever anything wrong in the first place and your brother in some no man's land of a middle ground and you have been so tired for so long but it is honestly not worth fighting this battle. And you are the eldest daughter and the firstborn son and you are 21 lying on the floor of your room talking to your phone.
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harunayuuka2060 · 2 years
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Levi: *luckily perfected his 200-item exam*.
MC: I wonder if I went too easy on you, Mr. Leviathan.
Levi: *looks like he's going to die any moment* Miss... I've done everything I could.
MC: You're excuse with today's classes, Mr. Leviathan. Sleep well.
Levi: *touched* Miss...
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Diavolo: It seems that all of the demons have the chance to move on their next level of education.
Barbatos: And it's the first time in the Devildom History.
MC: Does that mean it's not just an eternal punishment?
Diavolo: *sweat drops* What makes you think of that?
MC: Mr. Diavolo, I have never met a single student who has a genuine love for school.
Barbatos: I mean... Students often look forward for the teacher teaching in the school rather than the school itself.
Diavolo: ...
Diavolo: Barbatos, why are you like this?
Barbatos: Like what, Young Master? *kneeling in front of MC*
MC: Demons here are too submissive. Don't you think so, Mr. Diavolo?
Diavolo: *sigh* They're just thirsty.
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Lucifer: Since the school year is about to end, there's a possibility that you're not going to see Miss MC for a while.
His brothers: Why?!!
Lucifer: She's a human teacher. And her job here is only contractual.
Mammon: Then just ask her to be a permanent teacher here-!
Lucifer: She would have to be a demon for that to happen.
His brothers: ...
*starts whispering to themselves*
Beel: We can suggest it to Barbatos.
Satan: No. It would be better if we inform Miss MC and we have to state the benefits she will get.
Asmo: Hm! Miss MC is going to be the best teacher here in Devildom~.
Belphie: I suggest we kill Miss MC in a merciful way.
Beel: No. She's going to hate it.
Levi: If anyone touches Miss MC even the strand of her hair, you'll be dead.
Lucifer: ...
Lucifer: You're all motherless creatures.
His brothers: We're not!
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phantomato · 2 years
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Thank you for the update! If it's not too much to ask (and if you're accepting platonic prompts), could I also please request a Tom Sr. & Tommy with hand holding #10 (happily doing everything with just one hand, if it means they don’t have to let go) or #21 (holding hands while one [Tommy] is balancing on a small wall)?
Post-Ganymede, Tommy is probably ~7 years old here. My boys. 💛
My son sticks his hand out for me to take, round brown eyes staring up expectantly. I take it, of course.
His grandparents worry that he’s a little too affectionate, too sensitive for a boy, for all that they love when that affection is turned towards them. I worry, how could I not worry, but it seems crueler to tell him to lock that impulse deep inside himself than to indulge him with the attention that he wants. Tommy smiles and squeezes my palm, his whole hand barely fitting around it, as he begins to drag me off.
“Papa, did I tell you what Spots said?” he asks me as we set off for town. Though the people there never much liked my family, there is a curious sympathy for Tommy. Poor motherless boy—and so handsome, with such good manners and a bright smile, they whisper. Cecilia repeats the gossip to me. They like that his mother was common, even if they dislike the Gaunts as much as they dislike the Riddles.
The brother came back at some point. I have no intention for Tommy to meet his uncle… but my mother arranged a weekly market delivery to their property. “He may someday wish to know the other side of his family,” she told me, infuriatingly correct. Tommy asks more questions than ever about the woman who birthed him and the world she came from; I struggle to answer them. He can tell his parents did not have the sort of marriage he sees in his storybooks. He’s too clever for me to try and lie.
But today he wants to talk about the friendly snake in our garden, not mothers and witches and where the other people with magic might live, and I can oblige.
“What did Spots tell you, Tommy?” I ask.
He skips around a rock, stretching our arms wide, and crashes back into my side once we’ve passed it. “She said there was a clutch of hatchlings coming!” He grins widely, and I imagine him carrying an armful of baby snakes. Tommy would love that, I think. Friends his own age.
“Congratulations to Spots,” I reply, wondering if snakes view parenthood as a cause for celebration. There are many human concepts they don’t share, we’ve learned. Tommy still struggles to communicate that he loves her, and no matter how fruitless the effort—I could watch that for hours, my son attempting to reason a snake into abstract emotion.
He tried to show her a hug once. They agreed not to try again, but she consented to wind around his arm sometimes. I have a photograph of them together from the start of the summer: Tommy kissing the top of her head while he holds her.
Common grass snakes only live about fifteen years. I wrote to our herpetological society and asked. He’ll want the picture when he’s older.
“Tommy,” I call his attention back from wherever he disappears to in daydreams, “do you think we could do anything nice for Spots?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, head tilted, bird-like.
“When a woman gets pregnant, her family or friends might help her prepare for the baby. They might cook her meals for her after she delivers the baby—she would be very tired then—or they might give her clothes for an infant. Or toys, a bassinet. Do you remember the one we had in your room for years? That was mine before you slept in it, and I think it came from my mother’s family.” Tommy listens with his usual focus, little fingers tapping away at the side of my hand as he thinks.
“Frogs,” he says definitively. He nods his head once and returns to looking at the path ahead. “She would want frogs.”
“We can check… maybe they are sold as bait?” I have no idea where one purchases frogs, if one can purchase frogs, let alone live ones, but I have committed myself to trying.
“Papa, we need to catch the frogs,” he says with an exasperated sigh, as though I am being willfully obtuse. “Stop by the stream on the walk back.” Tommy is good at delivering instructions, already inhabiting my father’s imperiousness. If I have any strength of will at all, it is in the soft power of my mother.
She stands her ground with Father; they have a productive marriage. I fear I am fated to acquiesce to every one of my son’s demands. I simply don’t want to tell him ‘no.’
“All right,” I give in now rather than hold out only to frustrate us both, “you will have to show me how to catch frogs.”
Tommy skips a few more steps alongside me, bouncing our hands and slapping his soles against the flat rocks paving this part of the path. We’re walking by the Aaronson family’s farm, and sometimes the cows come over to see if Tommy has anything interesting to feed them.
“Didn’t you ever catch frogs when you were little?” he asks, pulling me to the fence so he can hop up onto the bottom rung. There’s a little brown one just out of reach, so he lets go of my hand and gestures for me to hold onto him as he leans forward.
“My father didn’t allow me to play outside quite like you do,” I explain, hands securely at either side of his waist as he pokes the poor cow’s flank. She huffs and swats her tail.
He tries again, stroking her side more encouragingly. “That was mean of Grandfather.”
“Children from our class were raised differently when I was a boy.” I could reason through this, but Tommy hasn’t yet quite grasped the idea of social class, and I’m not sure I want to encourage it. I love watching him run around in short trousers, getting his knees dirty and finding joy in the physical. It is so thoroughly mundane that I like to imagine it is a childhood only a non-magical parent could provide, something to set me apart when he eventually finds others like him. I want his memories of this world to be fond ones.
“Regardless,” I emphasize, “it wasn’t the sort of thing I would have enjoyed as a child. I was far more fond of books and writing.”
“I like books as well,” he says. Tommy gives up on the cow and spins around to hop down from the fence, taking my hand once more. We have only one more farm to go before our path becomes a proper pavement through Little Hangleton, one farm edged with a low stone wall that marks our final ritual.
“You are a prodigal talent at almost everything you try, Tommy.” I tease him; the ‘almost’ will burn. I can see how he’s torn between insisting that he’s good at everything and continuing on with our walk, but the walk wins out. He steps onto the wall, built of stacked stones, and begins the delicate task of picking his way along it.
The fight hasn’t deserted him, though, because once he’s made a meter of progress and has his footing, he insists: “I am good at everything.”
I loosen my hold on his hand. “Ready for me to let you do this bit on your own?”
He screeches “Papa!”, stops moving, and grips my hand tightly.
We hold a staring contest. I break first, smiling at the way he pouts, his lower lip jutting out like he’s practiced the expression. Then he cracks, too, his grin my only warning before he drops my hand and launches himself at me.
I catch him with a grunt—he’s getting heavier each year, there will come a day when I can’t carry him—and he wraps himself around me.
“What would your grandmother say if she saw us like this?”
“Aunt Celia would say I was a sweet boy and she would kiss my cheek,” he counters. Not that he needs to. I am already walking again. If Tommy wants to be held, and it is in my power to do so, I will hold him.
He turns his head and looks up at me, impatient.
I kiss his cheek as we reach the town. I gave up on propriety years ago. I will do what makes my son happy.
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doubleddenden · 2 years
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"I wonder if she died."
"That may be."
"That's my mother!"
"Yeah, and the bitch might be dead. 6 feet under. Unalive. No pulse. Fertilizer. You're a motherless orphan. Your mom is a dead bitch, probably."
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nostalgebraist · 2 years
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I wonder if you’re into Jonathan Lethem, particularly his earlier (pre-*Motherless Brooklyn*) sci-fi writing? The crashes in AN really remind me of *Amnesia Moon* — both their overall “feel,” but also in how a lot of their structure seems to emerge from the “crashed” or “dreamer” (as opposed to being completely designed and imposed from the outside). The most recent couple chapters of AN remind me of a few of his stories, actually. Something about how the world feels so surreal and “off” and almost dreamlike, and somehow at the same time completely “real,” solid, lived-in.
I enjoyed Motherless Brooklyn (although it's been many years since I read it), and I like Lethem's essays a lot, but I've never read the stuff you're talking about.
Would you recommend Amnesia Moon?
N.B. I also tried reading Chronic City, but couldn't get through it.
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indigobackfire · 3 years
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Phoenix Lazar Nobleworth Silverwood
Below is a lengthy history of his parents, their involvement with dragons, and how he lost them.
Ps: I tried adding some Scottish dialect in the dialogue, but I'm not the best at it considering all I have as reference is my love for James McAvoy and Outlander. Forgive me in advance for any atrocities lol. Also, diverging from canon especially in relation to Veela powers and physical descriptions.
Phoenix's father, Emilian, was sorted into Gryffindor and with pride, he was a Gryffindor by the book, adventurous, brave, often reckless, fun, with a strong sense of protection over his friends, someone who valued courage and honor.
Emilian didn't know how he and Palmer Silverwood - Slytherin, pureblood, much more popular than him, and one of the best duelists in their year - became friends, he also didn't know how Palmer found an about to hatch dragon egg in the forbidden forest, or how he even got into the forbidden forest to begin with, but being who he was, Emilian wasn't much surprised.
The biggest surprise was that Palmer even knew who he was.
Emilian takes a peek into Palmer's robes where the egg is hidden. "So? You're the dragon laddie, Nobleworth."
"Yeah, it's a dragon egg. Common Welsh Green this one." He looks up. "And is that what people call me?"
"Are ye really surprised? You talk about them all the time, yer the best in Care of Magical Creatures, and ye have a dragon painted at the back of yer bloody robes."
"Only fair. McGonagall hates it."
Palmer laughs. "Will ye help me?"
"Aye. But what ye want me to do?"
"I dinna ken. I just don't want the wee dragon to die. The poor creature wasn't warm when I found it so it's probably motherless. I mean... they fire up their eggs, don't they?"
Emilian smiles. "You're not as unknowledgeable as you think, Silverwood. Let's go somewhere more private."
In the humid and dusty air of the artifact room, they hide. "Hand me the egg."
Palmer hands him the egg delicately as if the creature inside it wasn't one that could eat them both in a bite when grown. And for a moment Palmer wonders what he'll do, but Emilian just stands there holding the egg. And as he's about to question him, he sees Emilian's fingers get bright red.
"Mate? What's wrong with yer hands?"
Emilian snickers. "I have a secret, can you keep it?" Palmer nods eyes fixated on the egg whose cracks were very slowly growing. "I'm half Veela and whilst I can't throw balls of fire from my hands... I can heat it up to... oven temperature."
"Oven temperature?"
Emilian smirks. "Ah dinnae have exact numbers, but if ye want to give a touch."
Palmer looks at his hands again. "Nae. They're as bright as molten glass, lad."
Emilian raises his eyebrows. "Oh, I felt it move."
"Ooohh, it's gonna set this tiny room on fire."
"Let me hide it this time. I ken a place we can go. The person ye should've gone to in the first place."
Palmer widens his eyes. "Kettleburn, nae."
"Silverwood, ye cannae keep the dragon. It'll set you on fire before completing one year."
Palmer puffs as they walk out of the artifact room. "If the dragon enthusiast dinnae want to keep a real dragon, why would I?"
"A dragon lover is the same as a bee lover. You can appreciate the honey, the lovely stripes, but if ye hold it in yer hand, it'll sting you. Dragons were made to live outside, flying, spitting fire. A wee dragon is cute, but once is grown..."
"Yer a curious lad, Nobleworth." Emilian gives an awkward half smile. "I like you."
Their friendship was as unexpected to them as it was for the bystanders, but one that sustained for their last two years in Hogwarts - including Palmer's girlfriend, Clarin, an uptight but curious Ravenclaw, who despite her best instincts followed behind on the boys' adventures.
When Emilian announced he would be leaving England for the Dragon Sanctuary in Romania a couple of years later, as much as Palmer and Clarin expected that to happen, it still came with the bittersweetness of watching one of their best friends go.
Years go by, but still, their bond sustains time and distance. Every opportunity they had, the SIlverwoods would travel to Romania to visit their friend who in a lighting in a bottle chance found himself a wife of "his kind".
Full Veela, Antonia Lazar, practically raised herself as her father left her mother, a temperamental full Veela woman, to deal with Tonia herself, a task she delegated to her equally careless family members, closely involved with the Dragon Sanctuary in times the place was still informally managed.
When Emilian meets her, barely wearing rags over her body, barefoot on the grass, pearl blonde hair unruly, looking as if she was raised by wild house elves, he couldn't help his heart hammering in his chest. Female Veela beauty wasn't something he was unused to, considering his mother and aunts were ones as well, but when Antonia was before him he thought of himself before a goddess.
Emilian tries not to spill the water in the heavy buckets while Antonia doesn't seem to be struggling at all. He wouldn't have a need to even carry them if he hadn't forgotten his wand, but at least he got to be alone with her.
"Why is it that ye dinnae like us?"
"You English think you run the place just because you read about dragons in a book, think you know more than us who grew with hundreds of them." She shoots him firey eyes. "Know when I first rode a dragon? I was five years old!"
"I never say I doubted yer capacities. And I'm not English, I'm Scottish." She glares at him again. "I'm kidding."
"Don't get me angry, you won't like it me angry. Trust me."
"I would actually. I wonder what color yer feathers would be."
"I'm sorry?"
"I ken a Veela when I see one. Especially cause I'm half one."
Her expression soothes a little. She puts the bucket down and grips his hand. "Go, do your magic."
While his hand goes as hot as they can, his eyes slowly change hues to match her, never breaking eye contact. "It's nice touching a girl who doesn't mind a more... ardent touch."
She gives a small smile. "You're pathetic."
"I'd love to fly on a dragon's back with someone who understands about them. I promise I'm not here to mock or doubt you. I love those creatures more than anyone I know."
She lets go of his hand and with a smirk picks up the bucket. "Well, now you know me."
Their relationship quickly becomes stronger as they spend day after day together. The work at the Sanctuary is as rewarding as it is tiring, so at the end of long days, they would sit together and exchange stories, her of her buckwild childhood and him of his years in Hogwarts. In each other's company that they find an air of normality and peace.
After recognizing and accepting her strong feelings for Emilian - something hard considering how men had treated her before, seeking what she had to offer them more than considering her needs - and finding out he felt the same for the longest time, they decided to marry, her seeing in him a sense of stability for the first time in her life.
It doesn't take long until Antonia is pregnant with their first child, and in the pool of genes and possibilities, their first-born boy is a full Veela like his mother, something uncommon for boys. Not considering what would be 'formal' or well accepted, Antonia decides to name him Phoenix for encompassing what being a Veela means to her, a bird of elegance and fire and perseverance.
And as if it was pre-destined, just a couple months prior, Clarin and Palmer had given birth to a girl of name just as uncommon, little Indigo Silverwood, who is but three months old when they come to Romania to meet little Phoenix.
To this day, the Silverwoods wonder if their timing was the best or worst it could've been.
As in the same week they came to visit, an attack happens with the intent of capturing as many dragons as they could from the reserve, something that had happened times before but this time much better planned and heavily armed with the best wizards they could get.
They start picking up their wands in haste while seeking the fire protection potion they had brewed specially for this trip back at home. "What do they need dragons for? Can't they breed their own." Clarin asks.
"Is not like is legal or easy to do so." Antonia has her eyes soaked with tears. "They don't care about the creatures, they want money. Oh, they use their blood to make spot removers. Oven cleaners! How can you take a marvelous creature and turn it into such a pathetic thing? Then they use their hearts in you wizards stupid wands and their skin into gloves!"
"Somebody must have heard about the new Chinese Fireball," Emilian says, "People seek the gold in their horns and eggs, but if you pull them out, they die."
"Not to mention the baby Romanians. Put your goddamn boots on already, Emilian!"
"What 'bout the bairns?" Palmer asks anxiously.
"There's no time. They probably ain't getting all the way up here, but in all cases." Emilian grabs the potion from Clarin's hands turning over Jacob's and baby Indigo's mouth, knowing the fire wouldn't do harm to Phoenix. He places something in Jacob's little hand. "Jacob, if any mean person comes trying to hurt ye, throw this at their feet and run. Alright?" Jacob nods, eyes wide with fear and excitement of a five-year-old.
"What is it?" Palmer asks.
"A vial of Peruvian's Vipertooth venom, extremely deadly and volatile. Don't ask me why I have it."
Palmer looks at Jacob. "Stay quiet and protect the babies, right, love?"
Antonia kisses Phoenix on the forehead one last time then turns to the others. "Let's go, please!"
And if they knew, she would've held him a little longer, Emilian would've stopped time for a couple of seconds to look at their boy for a lingering moment more. But they didn't and time never reversed.
They weren't the only lives lost, but side by side they fought and won and lost and lost and lost. They managed to protect all but two of the dragons at the end, blood of dark wizards - and innocent ones - soaked the grounds. Dragons loose on the sky overhead, blood spilt from both sides, burnt buildings, scars that would never heal, the body of a friend devoided of life, a mother of dragons and children never to wake up again, children crying in a cabin kilometers away.
When Antonia's mother refused to watch over her own grandson, Clarin felt as if it was her own son the woman refused and it was that soon the decision to keep him came. She was still breastfeeding and no ordinary family would know how to raise him right, at least that's what both her and Palmer told themselves. Emilian's parents, both devastated by the news of their son's death were quick to agree with the Silverwoods' proposal.
And it's like this that Phoenix and Indigo are practically raised as twins, still young when he notices he doesn't look like the rest of them - a pale and blonde boy in a family of tanned brunettes - not only for his looks but by the fact that sinking his hand into a pot of boiling water doesn't hurt or the fact his anger makes his body react differently from the others or that people got mesmerized by his looks enough to do whatever he asked them to.
But the Silverwoods learn the painful way that raising a Veela child is not easy work. Not only easily irritable but also dangerous when transformed, not much to others while still young, but to himself due to painful and harmful transformation, taking hours until he could retain his human form. Meditating and thought exercises became pivotal from an early age. As not make their treatment towards him different from Indigo, they become tougher with both, demanding an altruistic, patient, and empathetic behavior from both.
This leads Phoenix to grown into a level-headed, sweet and compassionate boy who eventually got sorted into Hufflepuff without the sorting hat having to consider long.
As much as he wishes he had grown with his biological parents, he's grateful to have grown in the family he did and doesn't consider himself any less part of it, he loves his siblings dearly and considers and reslects his parents as if it was from their blood and cells he was made of.
---
This is my attempt at a concise history of Phoenix, mostly his parents who I dream of drawing someday. I'll make something in the future for his romantic life as it is its own ride. I ship him with Ismelda and boy oh boy I have some to say about that.
If you wanna more info on Phoenix, I made him an OC profile :)
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novoplata · 3 years
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Tough times ahead.
Way back the before the pandemic and when I used to be travelling around without a care in the world, an acquaintance who had just recently given birth asked me if I'd ever planned to have a family. I said yes, when I meet the right person to start it with.
I can't remember the exact trajectory of the conversation we had but I remember her suggesting that perhaps I shouldn't just wait to start a family the traditional way. Perhaps I should go ahead and adopt a kid on my own already. Besides, if I could afford to travel regularly, I should be able to afford raising a kid on my own. Furthermore, at my age (I think I was 33 then), it's going to be tougher to find the 'right mate' than it was to sign the adoption papers.
I hate to admit this, but despite my total lack of maternal instinct, I did, for a second consider her proposition. I did wonder if I were indeed missing out on the better things in life because I've hit my 30s without someone calling out to me as Mom. I prayed about it and I did my research (as any INTJ person would, obsessively) and in the end, I decided that I'd rather not have something than go out of my way to have it, only to later decide that I don't want it after all.
I'd revisit this idea every now and then in the course of several years and would always reach the same conclusion: I'll just be content with whatever card I've been dealt with. Que sera sera.
Last week, I received news from my aunt in Indonesia that one of my cousins has passed away from pregnancy complications due to COVID-19. She was 29-years-old with three young children. As much as my heart ached for her demise, it ached much more for her young children whose future, from now on, will be cloudy with a 100% chance of tribulations.
Glimpses of my own largely motherless childhood flash before my eyes. It's gonna be tough navigating life without the loving guidance of a mother, especially with the pandemic in tow. Every now and then, I would come across news of couples with multiple kids (and another one in the oven) struggling to make ends meet with jobs lost and inflation on the rise. Every now and then, there would be news of mothers who die in childbirth or children who die after being infected by the coronavirus. My heart would ache every time.
Times are really hard these days. Even harder when you're raising a family or is currently pregnant. It may seem darkly insensitive but I can't help but be thankful that I don't have a dependant relying on me for her survival. I'm reminded again that whatever designated position God has placed me in at this point of my life is indeed right. I don't need to question my self-worth just because I'm not where most women are at my age.
Perhaps I just don't have the grace for motherhood, or perhaps not having a child to look out for is my grace. Either way, I'm grateful.
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mischievous-thunder · 2 years
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Hello and Merry Christmas! I am here to challenge you to two interesting games. They are simple but you have to use your mind for these.
Holiday plot or not: down below are two plot, one is a plot of a Christmas movie and the other is a normal movie from any genre. You have to guess both the movies.
-Steve and his new neighbour, Buddy, try to outdo each other in decorating their houses for Christmas. However, Buddy's extravagantly-decorated house overshadows Steve's, causing a conflict.
-Maria, an aspiring nun, is sent as a governess to take care of seven motherless children. Soon her jovial and loving nature tames their hearts and the children become fond of her.
Jumbled Words:- down below are 5 words, jumbled beyond imagination. Unscramble the words to reveal a very good Christmas word.
-lsagne
-lseve
-dtnoariit
-wthaer
-neip
Good luck!! Happy holidays!!
OMG Sinchana, this was so much fun! NGL it took me a long time to solve these. I loved the game. I hope you're having a wonderful Christmas Eve. Have a very merry Christmas, sweetheart!
Alright so here we go!
1st movie: Deck the Halls
2nd movie: Nanny McPhee
Words: angels, elves, tradition, wreath and pine
Let me know how many I got right. Much love 💖💖
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