#[ apparently it's mother's day? ]

[lomlompurim]

respost separated from the og post bc I really liked this silly little thing I made

And a little extra of my own

little binghe has a goal in this life and it only gets worse once he mets sqq, no one dares to threaten his position as sqq's future wife, he literally was born to be his spouse!!

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck, family & alcoholism

Collection of thoughts and speculation on Chil’s upbringing, his dynamic with his family and how alcoholism ties into it all. If you want the groundwork info on Chil’s background I recommend my masterpost on his family, here beyond a summary of the facts it’s really just me speculating from the crumbs we get of his parents and siblings, how it’s all affected him and in turn affected his own wife and kids etc etc.

There’s nothing more I’d like on mother’s day than to speculate about Chilchuck’s maladaptive attachment style. I’m fascinated by how distant everyone is and how much he’s been devoted to them all despite having been so absent. Intergenerational trauma get over here

Actually it’ll be easier if I make a rundown here too, it’s just stuff I reiterate from my masterpost tho.

Tiny table of contents: 1- rundown: family facts 2- rundown: alcoholism 3- dad 4- parenting 5- daughters 6- wife

^ Every time his dad gets mentioned. His mom never gets mentioned. His siblings I think are only ever mentioned in this extra, and then there are more ambiguous relatives cameos.

We know is hometown isn’t Kahka Brud, but we’re not sure wether he moved there upon getting his own house (presumably around when he got married at 13), or if it’s only after his wife when he rented out his place to relatives then rented the place in Kahka Brud.

If he rented it out to relatives, maybe that meant it was in his hometown? Especially if he and his siblings are "almost strangers" so presumably he doesn’t really keep in touch with his family. And I mean, he hasn’t seen his wife or daughter in 4 years so you can imagine how he’s like with his more distant family…

Additionally half-foots and Chil are very coded to be from an impoverished opressed working class people. So that’s the context.

I’ll say that I mentioned intergenerational trauma at the beginning, and I def think the distrust of elves is part of that, but here I want to focus on the interpersonal effects rather.

Copy pasting my masterpost thoughts overall: Chilchuck is hinted to have had a rather dysfunctional family himself (alcoholic father, distant siblings, etc). So he doesn’t really have the best model on how to raise someone and such. I imagine it was a sort of neglectful home situation, where the kids are encouraged to be independent. If they didn’t have to work or help around much, then a free range parenting sort of thing.

We do see how the family has full and warm feasts, where someone cleans his mouth with a rag, so it’s not like he didn’t have caring people or had a tragic childhood though! I don’t remember if it’s explicitely stated but he’s heavily implied to having grown up poor, as most half-foots, and I just think it’s the hardened hardworking family type of childhood where just like he does with others, they instilled somewhat harsh life lessons in him, which in turn encourages him to indulge in the simple pleasures of life like alcohol and sex, or at least women’s beauty and crass jokes. We do see he seems more optimistic when he’s younger in flashbacks, so a bunch of his harsh view on the world is still likely learned and earned rather than taught.

I still think he inherited many flawed views from how his father acted, like his attitude about excessive drinking not being a big deal, it being worth it. That work hard play hard, enjoy life die young mentality he has, shown mostly in the “alcohol” section of his Adventurer’s Bible profile, could very well be partly a result of the general poverty half-foot communities are that he grew in as well, like how he doesn’t hope for things to be as best as they could be and contends with good enough.  As far as I remember, his mother is never mentioned, but I doubt it implies she was out of the picture. She was probably a regular sort of mother that took care of the home and was still around when his father died, not unlike how Chil’s wife was implied to be a housewife. It looks like there’s a good age gap between one sibling to the next, that could be interesting to speculate about too. Mostly though I think it’s big family because it’s just sorta what happens when you regularly have sex and you don’t have contraception, being poor often makes family planning harder for various reasons and leads to more children.

Alcoholism context rundown:

Good Chilchuck analysis baseline here. Alcohol seems to be his main stress reliever/coping mechanism, especially for how emotionally constipated he is, and his job is being stressed about his party’s safety. Then he also mentions as a changeling that having his senses dulled feels relaxing to him, further confirming alcohol, as a drug that dulls senses, is something that he likes for the intoxication aspect and feels it’s relaxing. Alcohol also acts as a hunger suppressant, so it for sure has played a role in his dieting and unhealthy eating/diet habits, especially since he shows the instinct to drink to soothe hunger, all of that about how going hungry for 3 days used to feel manageable. Chil dieting info compiled here.

Chilchuck is at his most effortlessly cheerful when drunk or drinking. Compilation of every time he was drunk here.

And to be clear, a cheerful drunk is still a drunk. He literally will drink anytime he gets the opportunity to even if he’s aware overdrinking leads to health problems and death. Like canonically. He does NOT see how drinking should be a problem and does not seek to show restraint with it.

Dad of the dad

Marcille and Chilchuck having a talk on how losing a dad be like "You lost your dad young too…? I know how it is, it must have hit you hard…" "No not really tbh. Do you want lasagna or chicken for dinner?" <- either genuinely doesn’t feel much about his dad’s death or has 10 layers of repression, idk which is worse

I think Chil not making a big deal out of his dad’s death, not having worries in following into his footsteps that way in the least, is super interesting.

As a buddy @saccharineomens puts it: " I kinda imagine chilchuck and his dad didn't have a bad relationship, but in general chilchuck is so blase about drinking (he sees it as a delightful time, a wonderful thing! he wouldn't mind dying doing something he loved!) that he's not very upset about his dad's passing? like "yeah, he died, but i was already an adult, he was an adult, he made his choices, i make my choices, it's cool" " And I’ll nitpick that we don’t know how old he was when his dad died, I always assumed it was pretty early since Chil left home when he got married, and like I’ve gone into he doesn’t seem to be the keep in touch type. It’s on the table though, and he could have learned about it through letter if nothing else and that contributes to the "meh" reaction.

And that is very Chilchuck, the whole "we made our choices, it is how it is, he died doing something he loved", and you can totally believe that that’s the crux of it, but I do think the nonchalance hints at the family overall being distant and not only the siblings, that there’s dysfunctional shenanigans going on in there more than just… Healthy coping and having moved on.

I wonder when Chil first drank… And I wonder how he came to realize he liked alcohol a lot. His father probably gave him sips… Or he stole them

No because, with how disaffected he is about his father and siblings I could definitely see him having started to kind of numb himself/dissociate with the help of alcohol in that home environment that felt so… Either devoid of feelings or too messy to get attached. I can totally see his family being one that encourages dealing with feelings by bottling them up.

Because too… We saw him have a family/community feast of some sort presumably when he was a kid, in that chapter cover, so it’s not like there’s no warmth or sense of family at all, but then like… What went wrong? If as I theorize that girl with short black hair in that panel is his future wife, since she’s his childhood friend and all, what if his family/home life was always kind of cold and distant, even when gathered and cheery or despite those occasions? So then it’s like, at the family gatherings, she’s the most important person there to him, the one he actually connects to the most, the warmest presence he has…….. Someone he jokes around with that feels on the same speed as him, that doesn’t have the same connotations as everyone else present, a bit of a haven, someone different, a breath of fresh hair and a regained sense of childhood… Spitballing of course of course

I feel like they had a pretty big family and they were poor and such so there were always chores to be done etc, so their household might have operated like a mini busiess of sorts where everyone’s too busy, always has this and that to do and the mother asks them to go do tasks. I used to think it might be more of a neglect situation, where the kids are expected to provide for themselves and so cook their own meals and whatnot, both parents distant, but I don’t think so with the feast illustration. Chil at the beginning of canon used to see eating as a practical thing more than anything, you have to eat to live but don’t eat much or your weight will make your job more dangerous, might as well skip meals and have beer instead, etc etc. So the thought that he doesn’t know how to cook all that well despite this speculated background where he cooked for himself and keeps cooking minimalistic, since he does tell Senshi he taught him about cooking, is fair, but still… There could definitely be a situation where his older siblings were pushed into a parental role too, where they helped with the food and raising the younger siblings etc etc. As mentioned, the age gap between siblings may play into the dynamic as well. But on this front I have less ideas…

So yes my general take on Chil’s family is that everyone was too busy to emotionally connect as much as is normal, the parenting leaving things to be desired with alcoholism and emotional neglect.

Fathering

And I think that’s especially interesting considering he hasn’t been keeping in touch with his daughters either. It’s "they’re independent now" and that’s kinda it. His daughters haven’t sent him letters or visited him or tried to make him talk to their mom again. It does feel like with his own parents and siblings to me, where people are almost strangers, where relationships grow apart and everyone shrugs and goes ‘that’s how things are’. Is it that everyone including all his daughters gave up on trying to keep in touch, or is it that they all went "well divorced or not he’s absent, this is our normal tbh", and which is worse?

So yes, I think his relationship with his daughters is probably similar to his relationship with his parents, sort of hands off. Chil's dad was probably not a good dad but probably not quite a bad dad. A definitive He Was There, to quote another friend heh

Imo the thing with Chil is that he was pretty absent bc of work travels to dungeon dive, right. He’s working hard to provide for his family but in the process he’s not spending much time with them, slowly making a gap grow between him and them as they drift apart and change as people. He’s a career dad who never realized spending time with his family was more important and threw his pager into the ocean— But also here’s the thing!! You want to say being his family is more important, but money is arguably more important! They’re poor, they don’t have the privilege of free time as much. Sure he’s not there, but he is providing for them what they need to keep living and growing healthily. Similarly, you want to say Chil should stop doing harsh dieting for weight management, but, he has a point, maybe starving is still preferable than dying in traps. Of course the ideal would be to change jobs, but again, life is a struggle and that’s not always an option.

^ Truly the classic "if you don’t listen to me, your parent, a cryptid is gonna kidnap you!" international experience………

He is so so so the "What? My way of parenting is kinda bad? But my father raised me like that, and look how great I turned out!" <- emotionally dysfunctional…….. "Pshhh what do you mean having an alcoholic parent negatively affects you? My father was an alcoholic too and look at me"  🤡

All of it was behavior normalized to him. And listen, I’m saying this but not as like, shirking of his part in it. This isn’t a teen or young adult, he’s middle aged, he’s become the one giving and not receiving the generational trauma. He’s chosen to never think deeper on the topic.

And like, he himself is so indifferent to his father and what their relationship was like, of course he wouldn’t notice if a parenting choice wasn’t great for his daughters. He doesn’t have a relationship with his dad, he’s not (at least not consciously) traumatized by him, so from his perspective it’s mission success! He got raised decent enough 👍⭐️ Except he doesn’t realize that like, not particularly caring if he died is sign of a problem between them in itself… And this even as he remains somewhat of an important figure in his life, especially since that’s who he sees on the other side of the life river in the ghost chapter. It’s implicitly the biggest instance of loss through death Chilchuck has in his life I think.

But despite it all he obviously does love his family a lot, right. So I do believe that like, while he has imperfect standards when it comes to parenting he still tries to be better than his dad was, that even if it’s necessary that he has a lot of long work travels, he spends time with them. And there’s sort of this dissonance that he’s both "it doesn’t matter wether i’m here or not, they’ll live, they’re tough girls. Oh they didn’t like my scolding earlier? It’s just how kids are" dismissive and "I love them so much and I want them to have a good life. I want to do my best by them" devoted and so so caring. And like that’s why he works so damn hard, he does it for them, but also that’s why the girls grew up with an absentee father and aughhhh AUGHHHH the unsolvable dilemma of it all Chilchuck in Dunmeshi truly represents like, the harshness of reality & the world and how sometimes things will just suck no matter what, and then of course balancing that with Marcille in their shared arc where she tacks on "And despite that there is beauty everywhere even in the small and menial things, despite that your flawed relationships and dreams are still worth fighting for" ie giving reconciling with his wife a shot, etc.

All that said I think the very strict "you’re gonna grow up to have a stable job by god, young miss" attitude, those strong work ethics he highly values and focuses on and no doubt tried to instill in is own kids, is something he somewhat inherited from his own upbringing and parents.

In my masterpost bit on his parenting, I said I don’t think he’d do any kind of corporeal punishment, but. I do wonder about spanking aftee all. It can be so so easy to rationalize it… Sigh

Daughter pov

Again, my general interpretations for the daughters are written in my masterpost. I think Patti knows her father the least and is the one least worried about jobs and stability and least settled down as a result. Flertom is the more social one who I imagine tended to be the one worried about her parents’ couple and their emotions the most. And Meijack… Ohh Meijack.

When your father tried his best to provide for you but he worked all the time and even when he was home he was either tired or stressed and he’s always liked to get drunk to relax and cheer up. When you know he values work ethics and respectability so you grew up to be capable and quiet. And when he says you’re like him you’re sort of puzzled, does he really know you so little, or does he know himself so little? But you like the feeling of your father ruffling your hair so you accept it and still you stand next to your mother just as quiet and just as stoic during family gatherings. He leaves again and again and when your mother leaves him nothing changes, really. You wonder if it’s more telling that you know him better than he seems to himself or that you don’t know him as much as you wish you did, or that you don’t think about him all that much these days. Out of sight out of mind

Thinking of those posts about how kids never forget and during the "draw your family!" things at school, some of the kids draw their working parents seperate from the rest of them...

Absent father and when he’s at home you get the crumbs of him that you get and you’re grateful for it and that’s that <333

She doesn’t know how much he loves them bc he hasn’t showed them in a long time </3

The horror of drunk Chil in my fics is often about what in this state he can’t do rather than what he could do, how someone who’s as proud of his skills and work ethics as he is has truly changed, not comprehending how he could become so sloppy or how he could allow himself to get like this, marred the values he preaches above all else. It’s in the way that he fumbles with doorknobs, that he could never lockpick a door if you were to lock it, and it both being your salvation and bringing you extreme distress at the thought of it all. His footsteps usually featherlight now sound heavy as stone, like a troll’s.

You know the thing that gets me so bad with alcoholism angst is when people describe the drunk person as a stranger. Often making a metaphor that they’re monsters, have some monster they shapeshift into uncontrollably once in a while, as a way to split the unreconciliable halves of the person sober and drunk in your vision of them……. It gets me soooo bad Little Puckpatti growing up on tales of trolls kidnapping disobedient kids and replacing them with doubles so no one even knows they’re gone… Coming face to face with a drunk Chilchuck that roams the halls of the house with heavy steps in the night, because she wanted to go drink a glass of water, too thirsty to sleep………..

And this is where I reveal that I wrote a fic about just that!! Trolls that thump and tiptoe through the night Mei @ Chil, You made me of stone and still every day you wear me down and chip away at me bit by bit

In the end notes I describe my takes and interpretations: With Mei I tried to give the sense of a kid who sacrifices some parts of childhood to feel closer to her parent, like not playing games to spend more time with him no matter how empty, or wanting to be worthy in his eyes. With Fler, since she was the one in canon to take in their mother and write Chil a letter explaining the situation, I feel like she’s always been the one most involved and aware of the problems in their family. The one most there to emotionally support or to understand what the vibes in a room meant. Puckpatti I think knows her father the least, since with time I think Chilchuck was more and more away from work and more and more cynical like the flashbacks of younger him dungeon diving. I think because of her not minding unstable odd jobs that she’s the most passive, that she’s the most go with the flow. I do also love when Mei is the one most aware of her parents’ flaws and most critical as the eldest, but not in this fic. Meijack grows up to never touch a drop of alcohol, what people joke is the one difference between her and her father. Flertom drinks, too much sometimes, but she considers drinking should be a social activity rather than a habit. Puckpatti only drinks on special occasions when she has the chance.

They already don’t have that much time together because of his work, I wonder how big of a percentage the amount of memories the daughters have of him are when he’s not himself truly… How they kinda reconcile it all. It’s their normal. 

And the thing that’s gutting too, is that Chil always looks so so much more open, relaxed, cheerful and happier when drunk than he usually is. He doesn't know how to get his defenses down without alcohol

"you're all that's good"

Because we do see how he truly used to not be so closed off and bitter. But distrust and fearing for betrayals from both coworkers and then his wife aka the person who’s supposed to be closest to him (he doesn’t even have close family besides his daughters. Does he even have close friends) turned him into what he is now. He was so cheerful!! Happy and trusting and optimistic.

He leaves and she left

God there’s the whole ‘wife leaving him’ trauma too is the thing… It had to have fucked him up so bad like no wonder he got paranoid and decided not to open up to ANYONE like. He never saw it coming is the scariest thing. He didn’t expect her to just up and leave. He didn’t see the warning signs. He won’t know if it’s coming this time either.

….. But then also, why he didn’t reach out to her (besides hurt) was because it was a petty silence treatment, like "oh she left without saying a word? Fine well I won’t reach out to her either" <- man who is so not fine and collected about it. It’s been FOUR YEARSSSSSSS I wonder if he always was like… "This week she’s gonna send a letter. … Ok fine, this month she’s gonna crack. … Within the year she’ll come crawling back." and it’s a bit why it was allowed to go on for this long unchecked like… Why he still considers her his wife even though functionally she’s more of an ex by that point after 4 years.

I can never stop thinking about him and his wife they’re fucking crazyyy. Him not reaching out to her started as a silent treatment from frustration. She never reached out to him either, she just up and left, didn’t even leave or send one last letter she’s just gone and has left this all behind, the house and everything in it. It’s been 4 years but he still considers her his wife and considers themselves only "estranged", "due to circumstances we haven’t seen each other in years". His face in the panel he said this is interesting too, trying to be casual but defensive and exasperated, already dreading the judgement and questions. He moved out of his house to rent a place in Kahka Brud instead. How much of him not reaching out was avoidance… Guilt, frustration, sadness, confusion, just procrastinating and dread and fear of a rejection more concrete, or something else… Maybe realizing he doesn’t miss her as much as he should, not enough to chase after her or try to get her back, just resigning himself to it… Is he a bad husband, is he a bad person? Should they reconcile?

Not seeing it coming… It’s half trust, that this person who’s so dear to you could never just up and leave and hurt you like that, half entitlement, thinking that she would never think of leaving, and third it’s blinding himself to the warning signs, not wanting to believe or acknowledge them. Because like, there WERE some, he said she "suddenly fell into a bad mood on the way back [from the outing]" and I don’t think he’s too dumb to be aware that something was off, he literally just dismissed it and then went surprised pikachu face when it turned out things were indeed off.

Part of it is definitely, how do you even react if your wife walks out on you without warning. If it happened to me I think that I wouldn’t reach out for a while either, wait for them to reach out to me first, give them space. As I put it in one of my marchil wips, "I respect your right to be rid of me too much to try and shackle you to me if you want to leave". Inaction is easier than admitting he’s scared to check and find out that the worst case scenario is true. It’s been years and he still hasn’t worked it out why she left. Do you think that’s on purpose. That he doesnt want to know for sure. It’s so so so scary to try and do anything about it

He said he didn’t reach out right away when she left because he was petty and wanted to give her the silence treatment back. Ok but is it that he blames her for their marriage falling apart or does he blame himself and he’s just misdirecting the conflicted feelings? Did he not reach out because a part of him was too scared to know why she left or if she would refuse to come back? Did he just think that she’d come back on her own, and things would get fixed while still staying unsaid and unconfronted like they always have, the first month, then the next and the next, until it was a year in and it sunk in that oh, maybe she wasn’t coming back?

He seems genuine here when he says that he was angry about it and gave her the silent treatment, but it is an habit of his to lie to make himself look worse instead of showing vulnerability, so who knows.

He is so so scared of being affected by relationships. Same thing with his compulsive habit to disguise his worry for anger. It’s why he doesn’t want people to have expectations of him, "I’m a coward I’m selfish", because then they can’t be disappointed, they can’t be surprised if he bites, they can’t leave when you lose what they’ve been staying for.

He has avoidant tendencies too. Every time there’s an interpersonal issue he just accepts it’s out of his control immediately. He’s passive when it comes to relationship problems, just like with coworkers, relationships are a ticking time bomb to him, and he just wants to be left out of it and come out unscathed. It comes back to his pessimism. He doesn’t think that like, things could be better. According to him life is tough and cruel, you accept your lot in life and make the best out of it and that’s it. If people are scummy you don’t whine about how unfair it is, you close yourself off and work to not be taken advantage of again and adapt. So then with his wife, when Marcille is like "Have you tried… Talking?" it’s such a crazy idea that it might work at all, that he could have the power to fix things… And that’s why it’s such a big deal when he goes "Alright I’ll try… I don’t know if it’ll go as well as in the stories, but I’ll try". That CRUMB of allowing himself to be hopeful is so huge

Honestly for the longest time I misread this bit, I thought she left in the night like how Marcille framed it, but no she left after he left for work. She left after he left again.

The way it’s told, it really sounds like Chilchuck just came home from work, stayed probably a couple of days in which they went to that outing together, then left for work again right away/soon after and it’s like. Was that outing the most special thing you guys did together. You came home from like a month of work, you had one outing where she ended up having a bad time, y’all didn’t talk about it further and then you left for another couple of weeks. Are you kidding me

Your married life is waiting for your husband to come home, spending mediocre time together, being shut down when you voice discontentment, and things being left unaddressed before he leaves again.

She left when he was gone for work, but did she leave the day of, or did she flip flop on it and took a while before working up the strength to leave? Was she waiting to see if he’d say anything before leaving and when he didn’t that was the last straw?

Chilchuck trying to prove a point that half-foots can make it out there, trying to rely more on himself because that’s the only person he can trust. His wife feeling like he's leaving her behind (because he does. over and over and over and over.) This guy just keeps throwing himself into work because he thinks it's what's best for everyone. Hey sir neglecting emotional needs can be kinda detrimental to everyone involved, I think you might wanna know that ^ quotes courtesy of @soappox

And to come back to alcoholism for a bit, alcoholism is alcoholism, and someone asked why I thought that a Chilchuck with depression would drink and cope through alcohol, since drinking seems to be something cheerful to him. It does puzzle me a bit but it’s worth going over, so… I don’t think him using drinking as a coping mechanism is far fetched at all. Cheerful drunks that are alcoholic still can absolutely use alcohol in ways like that. If something makes you happier, or even just more numb which translates to you feeling more free etc etc, then I definitely think it tracks that he’d keep drinking. Like personally I do think he’d drink a lot after his wife left him, and in rough patches like that. Depression -> not wanting to have to think, the days are blurring together and you either don’t want to be conscious or you want to feel something etc etc -> drinking for the alcohol. Alcoholics tend to be, well, dependent on alcohol. If something bad happens etc they’re usually more likely to go harder on it rather than stop. We can debate on when and why Chilchuck first started to drink but it’s straight up his favorite food now and it’s deeply ingrained in his life, in his favorite outings and activities and priorities and moods and meals. A CHEERFUL DRUNK IS STILL A DRUNK!!! They drink to get happy not drink because they are happy, though obviously the two can have overlap.

Chil represses sooo much. His solution to interpersonal conflict and feelings is just don’t think about it and dull your feelings & senses to everything ✨ I love him. I need to kill him with hammers Like the other day I was thinking about an AU where he might have ran away from his neglectful home or something, but then I remembered he deals with everything including his family by dulling his feelings and senses to things 🫠 He wouldn’t leave

I’d say he doesn’t look troubled by loss through death, moreso loss through mistakes. His nightmare is his daughters dying yes, but moreso them being killed, there’s an axe in the wall etc, it’s about having failed to protect them.

If he can’t fuck something up or if he’s already fucked it up there’s this pacifying sense that he can’t have the rug pulled from under him, because that’s what having connections is, having a wife isn’t an insurance it’s a rug waiting to be pulled. And his brand is sort of Flawed Mr Mistakes Man so he’s kinda been having to cope lol. I do think he throws himself into workaholism, because it’s sort of the only way to live he knows, making yourself capable and useful and spending his days working like that, less time to think, too tired to think. Senses dulled, senses that are usually too sharp, cutting with clarity that he prefers ignoring and avoiding. Work is something he doesn’t have to feel through, something that gives him pride and self-esteem, something through all the danger and life or death risk feels safer, emotionally. No one taught him how to deal with things another way, it’s always been suck it up and work.

Conclusion

Stop smoking we love you and we don’t want you to die

No drinking will not externalize your feelings no it won’t vent them out well please Chilchuck ple-ea-ease…….

</3 They should invent an alcoholism that doesn’t make you dysfunctional and hard to be around

^ Drunk, by The Living Tombstone

I’ve been thinking about enneagrams and Chil is 6w7 highkey. Becomes 3 when stressed, a little 8 but it’s more that he wants security so much that he becomes paranoid rather than having the core of an 8 y’know. I haven’t dug into it for quotes yet but this paper goes hard if you’re curious.

Dropping my relevant Spotify playlists here bc why not: Chilchuck & his wife, marchil angst

[wonder-worker]

Wild how we know that Elizabeth Woodville was officially appointed to royal councils in her own right during her husband’s reign and fortified the Tower of London in preparation of a siege while 8-months pregnant and had forces gathering at Westminster “in the queen’s name” in 1483 – only for NONE of these things to be even included, let alone explored, in the vast majority of scholarship and historical novels involving her.

[fairyhaos]

"love gaze" this, "heart eyes" that. bro forget about those things bc do u know what i have. an adoring and devastatingly proud mother smile

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I'm back on my bullshit thinking about the Hawke siblings again and how much I love a "both twins live" AU... but y'know what I love just a little bit more? An AU where all three Hawke siblings are alive, but one of the twins still get attacked by the ogre in Lothering and is presumed dead when they actually survived.

I like to think that since the narrative in DA2 is framed as a story Varric's telling Cassandra, we can play around with the fact that he's an unreliable narrator. Varric wasn't there in Lothering. He only knows what Hawke told him. It makes for a better story if Leandra, Hawke, and the surviving twin get to huddle around the dead twin and say their goodbyes... especially if they didn't actually get to do that. I mean, a lot of us already have that train of thought when it comes to Leandra's death and Hawke getting some closure through her final words telling them how proud she is. Whose to say Varric didn't do that for the lost twin, as well?

All that to ask what if the ogre attack happened, but the group was so overwhelmed by darkspawn they had to flee further and couldn't check the twin who "died?" Flemeth still showed up, but it was too late to go back and say goodbye.... so Hawke made a deal with the Witch of the Wilds and they all pushed forward to Kirkwall.

Imagine Bethany, left behind with broken bones and bleeding in the sand, fading in and out of consciousness as the remaining darkspawn surround her. She knows how to heal, how to fight back, but she's weakened. Her staff lays out of reach. Air shakes in her lungs. She tries to call for help, but only wheezes come out. Where's her mother? Her siblings? Did the ogre get them, too?

At this point, we all know what happens to the women darkspawn take, and Bethany could've met that fate; she doesn't have the strength to fight back as they drag her away. But before they can bring her underground, she's saved by another group of survivors. Perhaps they're more soldiers fleeing Ostagar, or townsfolk who recognize her from Lothering. They do what they can to treat her wounds but she needs a healer, so they bring her with them to seek refuge in Redcliffe... except they eventually realize she's an apostate. Well, she doesn't seem dangerous, but they still contact the templars.

Bethany wakes in a warm but unfamiliar bed with skilled healers tending to her. Templars hover by the doorway. First Enchanter Irving greets her, gentle in explaining she's safe inside of Kinloch Hold and that she's going to survive. When Bethany asks about her family, he gives her a sympathetic smile and says they only found her.

Bethany, who never took to embracing her magic the way her older sibling did and always felt like it burdened her family... has lost that very family. Could they survive the ogre and darkspawn? Or did the ogre tear them apart, too? How did she survive... but not them? Did the Maker really have such a sense of humor? How else would she end up in the Circle, a place her family went to great lengths to keep her safe from?

She doesn't want to think about it. She hopes they made it to Kirkwall, but the prickle of dread that crawls up her spine knows how unlikely it is. Bethany finds comfort in speaking with the mages who rotate in to heal and bring her food. Some feel trapped by their magic just as she does, but others remind her of her older sibling in the way they embrace their magic, a gift from the Maker. The younger apprentices who aid the mages ask her questions about what lies beyond the walls. The templars mostly keep their distance, but one is friendlier than others. A man with curly blonde hair and a sympathetic view of the mages bothers to speak to her more than his fellows do.

She's still in recovery when Uldred and his blood mages attack the tower, but she survives. Bethany heals, even as she's haunted by nightmares of the ogre wrapping its tainted hand around her body to crush her, flinging her aside to lay among the limp bodies of her family... haunted by the horrors the blood mages unleashed on the tower. She aids in restoring the tower the best she can, and accepts her new home, her new life. When she's well enough, she lights a candle for each of them; her father, mother, her eldest sibling, her twin... she even lights a candle for the family mabari, and prays to the Maker to give them her love as they stand at His side.

The Blight ends. Years pass. Bethany settles into her new life, becoming a fine example for the younger apprentices she mentors. She witnesses wrong doings against her fellow mages, loses friends to their harrowings or tranquility. She accepts what she is, even if bitterly. The Chantry's teachings about magic scar more than enlighten; she sees it in some of her fellow mages, feels it in herself. Secret meetings. Whispers of escape, of freedom. More escape attempts. Harsher restrictions.

Around this time, back in Kirkwall, Knight-Captain Cullen stands where he always does in the Gallows courtyard. He notices Hawke appear with some of their companions. It hurts to think back to Kinloch Hold, but something occurs to him: he knew of another Hawke who was brought to the Circle while he served there. They only spoke once before... well, before. He wonders if there's any relation. When Hawke wanders over to speak to him, as they always do, Cullen brings it up.

Hawke pales. A beat of silence. Cullen recognizes heartbreak; he sees it unfold in their eyes and swell in their throat as they realize that all this time, their baby sister was alive.

Then the day comes where new whispers float among the mages in the Circle. A visit by a Grey Warden. Most, including Bethany, assume he's here to recruit... until Irving comes to her. He says this warden's requested, though more like insisted, he see her now. But then Irving smiles; the warden in question said his name is Warden Carver. He received an urgent letter that his sister is here, alive, and he demands to know if that's true.

Bethany nearly collapses when she sees him.

While the reunion can't last; she can't leave the Circle and he has his calling; the twins embrace, sobbing out apologies and exclamations that they thought the other was gone. Carver tells her of Kirkwall, the expedition that led him to the Grey Wardens, and their older sibling's status as Champion. With a gentleness she never knew her brother to have, he tells her what happened to their mother, and more tears flow freely. Their sibling learned about her from a templar, though Carver grumbles that the bastard could've said something sooner.

There's the Maker's humor again.

...Now flip the script: imagine Carver being left behind instead.

For as strong and passionate as he is, that ogre still picks him up and slams him to the ground. Bones crack. Black splotches flood his vision, agony exploding across his skin. His sword flies from his hand. The soulless bastard tosses Carver aside like he's nothing, and he's left to lay there. His mother's cries muffle in his ear as though he's stuck underwater, sinking slowly into the dark.

It figured, honestly... that he'd survive Ostagar while his fellow soldiers were cut down all around him, that he and his eldest sibling would flee the field when all hope was lost... that he'd make it home to get his family out of Lothering... only to die protecting his mother. And why not? He is a protector. A warrior. It's a honor to die saving those he loved... so why didn't it give him peace?

Carver eventually wakes in the night among the bodies of fallen darkspawn. Everything aches painfully hot and his thoughts reject coherency. He knows his family is gone; they're dead, or they've fled... either way, he's alone; left behind. Something's broken inside of him, but he has just enough will to pull himself up at the sound of approaching footsteps. A group of survivors find him- funny enough, the same group who aided Bethany in an alternate timeline. Imagine that.

That's how Carver ended up in Redcliffe's Chantry with an overworked healer tending to him. He doesn't even flinch when the mage works their magic on him, knowing all too well the sensation of healing magic seeping into his skin, mending the flesh. He tries not to think of Bethany, or what might've happened to her.

The Chantry's overwhelmed with townspeople hiding from a danger outside that he can only assume is darkspawn... except it's not. He wonders how hard he hit his head when he hears the undead have come from the castle to slaughter what they can of the town every night. But then he sees it with his own eyes when one breaks in, taken down by a templar, and never before has he ever felt so useless.

Then the last two remaining Grey Wardens arrive. They're crucial in the final fight against the undead, swearing to enter the castle to stop the attacks at the source. While Carver couldn't participate in the final fight, something he complained loudly about, he did what he could in his condition to help like sharpening swords and handing out supplies. Mostly to keep his sanity and quite his thoughts throughout his recovery.

When the time came, he took up his sword again in the name of all those he lost.

An archdemon was said to be on the horizon, and the Grey Wardens needed everyone they could get to fight. Carver fights in the battle of Denerim where the Hero of Fereldan defeated the archdemon. He cuts his way through every darkspawn he sees. Ostagar flashes red behind his eyes. Lothering clutches at his heart. So much anger and sorrow built up inside him, flooding out in his tears and screams. Blood everywhere. Fire and smoke.

Then it's over.

In the aftermath of the Blight, like so many others, Carver has no home to return to. No family. He thinks to go back to Lothering to help rebuild, only to hear the lands were too tainted. These tainted creatures took everything from him... That's what eventually brings him to Vigil's Keep, standing before the Hero of Fereldan themself, asking to be made a Grey Warden. He already dedicated nearly two years of his life to killing darkspawn, and he had nothing else. Even when faced with the Joining, holding the chalice of darkspawn blood and being told to drink, he didn't flinch.

Life as a Grey Warden isn't as simple as he assumed it would be, but Carver finds purpose in his calling. Over the years, he grows to view his fellow wardens as family. He travels all over Thedas, venturing down into the Deep Roads to help clear out hoards of the darkspawn. But then comes the day he finds himself in Kirkwall, and it doesn't take long before he hears the name Hawke on the lips of the townspeople. His eldest sibling was not only alive, but they're quite popular among the people. But what about Mother? Bethany? He doesn't have to snoop too far to learn templars took Bethany away to the Gallows, and that Leandra Hawke was the final victim in a string of murders committed by a blood mage.

Carver finds himself standing outside the estate, glaring at the door. Furious. Heartbroken. Bitter. He wants to scream. This entire time, they lived. He's torn between wanting to reunite with his older sibling again, to get the truth from them, and wanting to barge into the estate, demanding answers to how they could let the Circle take Bethany... after what Carver sacrificed, how could they let Mother die like that? Was it all pointless in the end?

He leaves without knocking. He can't bring himself to see them. Not that it mattered. Before he could leave Kirkwall, the tensions with the qunari finally overflowed, and chaos fell upon the city. He's forced face to face with his older sibling again, but he wasn't prepared to watch the recognition slowly bloom on their face, or for all his anger to turn to mush. Carver's the first to speak.

"Somehow, I knew it would be you."

.............So, yeah. I really like this idea.

[immabethehero]

How Well Do You Know Alma Madrigal?!

A/N: A lil Mother's Day fluff, Encanto style!!!

Mother’s Day has been nothing but loving bliss in La Casa Madrigal. That in itself is making Alma nervous. Bruno, her youngest child and biggest mama’s boy ever, has not given her a gift yet. It’s nearing the end of dinner and not once has he given her a brand new book, or flowers or even new jewelry that she’ll never wear (she might this year though).

Not that she’s expecting much from him, considering that only a year ago he was hiding in the walls of his own house. Still, he’s always gone out of his way to give his mamá a nice gift to show her how much he loved her… and also to one-up his sisters. When the triplets were children, they used to make a game out of Mother’s Day. Every gift was especially bought or made in order to impress her, and to win the award of best Mother’s Day gift that year.

The intensity and the competition lessened as they got older, and as Alma and Bruno’s relationship became more strained. However, even with the tension between the two, Bruno always ensured his mother had a lovely Mother’s Day gift. So how is this year any different?

Come to think of it, Mirabel hasn’t given Alma a gift either, or rather, any gift relating to a series of very specific questions she had asked Alma the other day. Her favorite colour, what holiday did she and Pedro meet, when she puts her slippers on, how she takes her tea, etc. Alma had no idea what that was about, but she answered all of Mirabel’s questions willingly, even one that was supposed to be “a secret”.

As dinner comes to an end, Bruno stands up and taps his glass, catching the family’s attention. Alma gulps.

Bruno clears his throat. “As you know, today is Mother’s Day, and you know what that means. Presents for our glorious mamás.” He gestures to his sisters and Alma. Alma raises an eyebrow.

“So to celebrate my own wonderful mamá, I have created a wonderful new game show! Everyone come to the living room, please!” Bruno dashes out of the room, Mirabel hot on his trails. The rest of the family exclaim in excitement and confusion. Mirabel suddenly runs back in, wearing a comically large pink bow tie around her neck and a top hat the same colour of Alma’s dress. She walks over to her grandmother and holds out a hand.

“¿Nosatras iremos?” she asks. Alma laughs and takes her hand, allowing the girl to guide her to the living room, where a huge painting has been set up, bearing the words “¿Qué Tan Bien Conoces a Alma Madrigal?” Bruno holds his arms out, beaming.

Alma bursts out laughing. Bruno had mentioned once before how in the future, people will partake in “game shows”, where questions are asked and the right answers are rewarded. This explains Mirabel’s questions.

Bruno glows with excitement as he guides Julieta and Pepa to three coloured wooden podiums, each painted in their signature colour, before taking his place at his own green box.

Mirabel guides Alma into her comfy armchair while the rest of the family gets settled in their own seats. Once the family is settled in, Isabela sprouts a large flower shaped like a sphere.

Mirabel takes it and asks, “Who’s ready to play our favourite game?”

She and the family yell out, “‘¿Qué Tan Bien Conoces a Alma Madrigal?’!”

“Welcome one and all! I’m your host, Mirabel Madrigal!” Mirabel continues. “In this game, three contestants will answer questions regarding their mother, and the winner who knows her best will be crowned this year’s favourite child!

“I’ll ask a series of questions related to Abuela, and if you know the answer, tap your toucan and say it loud and clear! Right answers will get you 10 points each, and wrong answers will subtract 10. If any question stumps you, you may ask one audience participant to help you. Good luck!”

Bruno, Pepa and Julieta raise their hands, ready to tap their toucans at the first question. All three wear the same look of determination, the kind that Alma used to see when they were kids. Dios mio, she’s missed watching them play like this.

A rat pushes a box of cards towards Mirabel. She picks one up and says, “OK, first question: What holiday did Abuela and Abuelo meet at?”

Julieta taps her toucan, who squawks. Mirabel turns to her. “Julieta?”

“¡Día De Las Velitas!” Julieta says.

“That is correct!” Mirabel says. In the audience, Agustín and his daughters cheer loudly.

“Next question: what time does Alma put on her purple slippers?”

Bruno’s toucan squawks. “4:30 pm!”

Mirabel winces. “That is incorrect, sorry, Tío. Anyone else want to try?” Bruno’s confident smile fades.

Pepa’s toucan squawks. “4:35 pm!”

“Tía Pepa is right! Ten points for Pepa!” Pepa’s family cheers.

“Ha! I told you so, Bruno! You didn’t believe me!” Pepa teases. Bruno playfully sticks his tongue out at her.

“Give me a break, I was in the walls for ten years! Things might have changed!”

“That specific schedule never changed, Bruno. Are you going to keep using that excuse for every question you get wrong?”

“If it makes you mad, then yes.”

“NEXT QUESTION!” Mirabel yells. “How does Alma take her tea?”

The next hour is pure joy for Alma. She laughs at her children’s antics as they answer each question, quips between triplets and shouts from the audience making it all the more fascinating.

“I told you she likes the blue ones more, Pepa! Who’s the dumb one now?!”

“Mamá, what do you mean you didn’t like the soup I gave you when you were sick?! I thought you loved that flavour!”

“Tío Bruno, it was the butterfly earrings that Manolo the Fourth rescued from the sink! Manolo the Fourteenth just told me!”

“I WAS RIGHT?! I was just guessing!”

30 questions later, the triplets are tied. The family sits at the edge of their seats as Mirabel takes the last question out of the envelope.

“This final question will determine the true winner and favourite child,” Mirabel warns. “This last question is worth 1000 points. Contestants, are you ready?”

A chorus of “yes” rings through. Mirabel takes a card out of her dress pocket. The triplets lean forward, hoping to ring in first.

“What is Alma’s favourite hair clip?”

Ah yes, the trick question. Alma had come up with it herself, given that she never wore hair clips any more. But surely one of the kids remembers the pretty bird-and-branch beaded hair clip she used to wear during church and fiestas. Then again, they were eight when she last wore it.

“Is it shaped like a candle?” Bruno guesses, half-jokingly. Mirabel shakes her head.

“Does it have a butterfly on it?” Julieta asks.

“Surprisingly, no,” Mirabel says.

“Was it a gift from Papá?” Pepa questions.

“Actually, my sister gave it to me,” Alma says. “It was a birthday present.”

Silence follows. Alma purses her lips in frustration. How do none of the kids remember?!

Mirabel nervously turns to the audience. “What about you guys? Do any of you know?”

Agustín and Félix both look confused. They’ve never seen Alma with anything in her hair other than the ribbon used to hold her bun.

“Is this a trick question? I mean, I’ve never seen you wear anything other than your usual bun and a sunhat,” Félix finally says.

Alma can’t believe it. Surely Isabela, who she has told many stories of her youth to, would remember? Has Alma passed it down to her already? Alms turns to her.

Isabela wears the same stumped expression as her mother.

“Have I not told any of you about my favourite clip?” Alma asks. “I still have it upstairs! I can bring it down and show you.”

Mirabel raises her hand. “I know about it. I can get it-”

“Yes, I told you for this game, but-”

“You were showing me some of the stuff in your room while I helped you clean it out,” Mirabel continues. “I was around four at the time? I still remember it being in the first drawer of your bedside table.”

Now that Alma does not remember. Still, she thanks Mirabel and lets her run upstairs to grab it.

Soon enough, Mirabel returns with the bird-and-branch hair clip, still as pretty and as new as the day Alma received it.

“That’s your favourite hair clip?!” Bruno exclaims. “Huh. I don’t remember ever seeing that.”

Murmurs of agreement ring through the crowd. Alma shrinks in her seat. How much of her life had she hidden away from the family?

Sensing his mother’s embarrassment, Bruno clears his throat. “Um, well, in that case! Mirabel Madrigal, as the winner of this year’s Mother’s Day game, you win the privilege of presenting Mamá with my real Mother’s Day gift!”

Mirabel’s jaw drops. “Wait, what?! Tío Bruno, are you sure you want-”

“To do this? Yeah!” Bruno says. He whistles, and Casita rolls in a large box with the biggest green bow known to Alma sitting on top.

“Or Casita can do that,” Bruno says. He nudges it towards Alma, bouncing on his toes. “Go on, open it up!”

Alma laughs at his excitement as Mirabel unties the ribbon and opens the box. She and Bruno lift the present out…

“Oh my!”

Bruno has painted a beautiful picture of the family at a beach, sitting under trees as they enjoy a lovely picnic. Alma is seated in the center, a lovely smile on her face.

“Earlier in the month I had a vision of all of us finding a beach outside of the Encanto,” Bruno explains. “I decided to turn the tablet into a painting! It was a beautiful vision, the best I’ve had in a while.”

“I asked the animals the best route to get to the beach! They can lead us!” Antonio adds.

“So what do you say? Tomorrow we have our first ever beach day?” Bruno asks, eyes sparkling. Behind him, Julieta and Pepa glance at each other in mock disappointment, knowing they’ve lost this year’s Mother’s Day competition.

Alma laughs. “Of course. Gracias, Brunito.”

[reapersmarch]

bodybag this wasn't supposed to be a multi-parter. fml.

This is stupid.

It’s really, really stupid, and you don’t even know what right you have to be mad about it, but you are, and it’s dumb, and you know it’s dumb. That’s what makes it worse. Actually—what makes this worse is that you know you’re to blame here.

You are unfairly assuming that this is in direct retaliation for that stunt you pulled a week ago, and you want to be mad at him, but you know you can’t be because you caused this entire mess to begin with. You don’t even think Bel did this vindictively, he was just likely doing exactly what you told him you were—moving on. You’re just upset because he’s spending time with someone else and doesn’t want to spend time with you anymore. Because of what you did. In case you’ve forgotten.

So, when you see it—a dark, angry purple blotch against pale skin, peeking out from the neck of his suit—you can’t really hide the stormy expression that crosses your face.

Stop that.

It’s unprofessional. It looks bad. You’re the Marshal. You have a girlfriend. Relax.

It’s not that deep.

Except it is—because you can hear him, protesting in embarrassment, and being teased by Anathema. You can see him draw his hood up and put his forehead against the table to try and hide the beet red flush of his face. You catch the good-natured laughter and ribbing and curious questions about his busy, exciting weekend, and—worst of all—you can hear him say in a small, sheepish voice that he had a good time.

Without you.

And you hate thinking of him being in bed with someone else, and you hate thinking that you drove him away because you’re a fucking imbecile, but you did and you are, and there’s nothing you can do about that now.

Impressively, somehow, you manage to make this all about you. Again.

He let you have it, and he was right: you are a fucking dick.

After your split (‘split’. You can’t break up with someone you were allegedly never dating to begin with), you rushed out and fell back into old habits—picking girls up at bars, putting notches in your belt, going on dates. They didn’t mean anything. Then you found someone you sort of clicked with, because she reminded you of him, so you kept going back. You like her well enough. You’re not really crazy about her or anything, but she’s fine. You’ve been going out for about a month.

You neglected to say anything because you knew it made you look like the World’s Biggest Asshole. Ricardo Ortega: does not do serious, would never do serious, not interested in doing serious—with a man. Even though that man had you wrapped around his little finger for almost a year. Even though you would’ve given him everything he wanted and more if he asked—and then he did ask. And you froze.

And then, you turn around and pick up a girlfriend, and you can’t keep your big mouth shut. You told everyone, because you knew it would eventually get back to him, and you wanted him to chase you.

How old are you, seventeen?

Where, exactly, resides the logic in that? How did you not foresee this being the exact outcome? You have the nerve to yank him around like a dog on a chain, then the balls to be upset when he doesn’t want to talk to you again? Because you, what, wanted him to chase you?

He was already fucking yours! You had him, and you let him slip right through your hands, and now look. You chased him right off a cliff, and you get to watch as your friends gather around him to find out who he’s spending time with now since it’s not you anymore, while you bitterly stare at the ice sloshing around in your glass.

Good going.

Couldn’t figure out how to be honest with yourself, so you make a mess of things. Couldn’t just admit that you were falling for him, so you hurt him. He didn’t deserve that, and you don’t deserve him, so this is what you get for being a coward.

You watch him disentangle himself from the gathering crowd, and slip out the side door into the alleyway. Probably for a smoke. Crowds always made him uncomfortable after awhile, and you know he usually needed to get away to clear his head. Habitually, you stand, then hesitate. It’s routine for you to follow and check on him, under normal circumstances. There’s nothing in the book about if circumstances are questionable.

Still, you do want to make sure he’s okay.

This is a bad idea, and you know it.

It’s the alcohol talking.

He doesn’t want to talk to you. You’re going to shove your foot in your mouth and make this worse, and you know that, but the alcohol has lowered your inhibition a little and is filling you with a kind of liquid confidence that would rival sober you’s ego. So you follow.

You find him outside next to the fire escape, resting his hip against the wall and playing on his phone, cigarette dangling between his fingers. He does a double take when the door opens, then freezes when he spots you. His expression pinches. He turns the other way, mirroring his original pose but facing away from you.

You’re just concerned for him and you’re checking on his well being as someone who cares about him. So obviously, you say:

“So, did you have a good weekend?”

Like the thoughtful, caring friend you are.

You can practically feel the heavy eye roll, even with his back to you.

“Yup,” he responds tersely.

This is clearly a very delicate situation to navigate, so you follow up with:

“Got a new boytoy, then?”

Your foot and your mouth are getting well acquainted with one another.

He gives a disbelieving shake of his head and a sardonic scoff of a laugh, because you sound so bitter and you’re doing a terrible job of hiding it. He doesn’t need to be able to read your mind to know that. He doesn’t even need to look at you to know you’re being bizarrely covetous in the licking of your wounds, and are actively ruining whatever remained of your already damaged relationship. He flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette.

“Yup.”

“Is he—”

“Fuck off, Ortega.”

Okay. You deserved that.

He never calls you by your first name anymore. It’s just ‘Ortega’ or ‘Marshal’ or ‘Charge’. He hates when you call him anything at all, but Niall feels wrong in your mouth, and he’ll never stop being Bel to you.

“Bel—”

“Fuck off. Ortega.”

In case it wasn’t clear the first time.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, because you are. You are the sorriest bastard in all of Los Diablos, and you’re kind of drunk, and you miss him and you think you might love him and you fucked up so, so bad and all you want is your friend back. If nothing else, you’ll take that, but you are still making a mess of this. Do you want to keep him or are you trying to push him away? Figure it out. Quickly.

He turns around to stare at you, and you feel like you’re ninety-three million miles away.

“You’re sorry?” he repeats, and you stand there looking like the royal court jester because you don’t really know what to say, but you are. You’re really fucking sorry and you would take it all back if you could. “You weren’t sorry a week ago, when you were perfectly content to lie to my face and only vomited up some half-assed excuse because I called you on it.”

“I didn’t—”

“A lie by omission is still a lie, Ortega.”

“I was going to tell you,” you reiterate, because you were. Eventually. When you worked up the nerve to do it. Or you would’ve after it all went sideways and you broke up with her. “Were you going to tell me?”

His eyes narrow. “Tell you what?”

You point at the mirroring spot on your own neck and he barks out a laugh. It stings a little, you can’t lie.

“No!” he continues laughing incredulously. “Of course I was never going to tell you, are you daft? You’re not entitled to every little bit of my life—you’re not entitled to anything about anybody’s life, but you think you are. You are so arrogant, Ricardo, and you can’t even see it. But—okay, fine. Fine! You want the sordid details?” You watch him put his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe. “I fucked another guy this weekend.” He flings his arms out to the side. “There, are you happy? I went out to a bar and hooked up with a guy in a bathroom, then let him take me home and fuck me there, too. Is that what you want to hear? Do you want to hear that he was better than you? That he—”

You don’t let him finish the thought. You’re drunk and upset and think you love him and are about to lose him, so you are going to do something very, very stupid:

You kiss him.

You couldn’t take it anymore, so you grab hold of his face, and you kiss him—hard enough to bruise; enough to rip the air right from his lungs and replace all the anger with shock. Shock that you’re kissing him, shock that he’s kissing you back. He lets you back him right up against the wall, press your body in tight against his, and kiss him and kiss him like you used to. He lets you press your face to the hollow of his throat and kiss there, too, and show him just how much you want him and miss him and think about him and crave him, until he regains his senses and pushes you back.

You’re a terrible, wretched, jealous thing and you want more and more and he won’t give you anything other than this.

“You’re an asshole, Ricardo,” he says breathlessly, but his eyes are focused on your mouth. “The biggest fucking prick I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I know,” you state, because you do. You’re aware. You kiss him again anyway, hungrier this time, because it’s the last thing you’ll get before he hates you for the rest of your life, and you wonder how far he’ll let you take this. How much can you push your luck? You test the limits of his boundaries again and again, and you know you’re pushing it when your hands find the small of his back. You know it’s dangerous when his fingers thread themselves in your hair and you feel kind of smug, and you feel like a dick, because you still know exactly how to press his buttons.

You attack his neck again—the other side, where he isn’t marked—and he isn’t sure whether to pull your head back or hold it in place. Could go either way and you probably wouldn’t complain, Especially not when—

“Ric… hold on…”

Not when he sounds like that.

“Fuck, Ricardo, stop… stop! Stop.” He gives your back a couple of light slaps in rapid succession and you wince, withdrawing reluctantly. He’s got his eyes cast skyward, grimacing in what you can only call shame. “You… fuck.”

Yeah. Sounds about right.

“I can’t believe I… fuck!” Bel presses a hand over his eyes and grunts in frustration. He pushes past you, pacing and dragging a hand down his mouth. “Ricardo. You can’t fucking do this. We can’t do this! You can’t keep—” he tosses his hands in the air in mounting frustration, each sentence tripping over the other to be heard first. “I didn’t want to be made a fucking scandal, Ric! You have a fucking—Christ! You are such a— I am so goddamn— Why do I let you do this? What is wrong with me? No, fuck that—what is wrong with you?”

A lot of things, probably.

“Bel—”

He punches you.

Gets you right in the nose.

Is it—?

No. He held back a little. It’s just bleeding. Gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning, though. You definitely deserved that one.

You watch him shake out his hand while he looks the iciest you’ve ever seen him, and you don’t know if that’s wholly directed at you. Talk about a mood killer.

Kind of hot though.

So not the time.

He doesn’t even say anything further, but you can feel the anger rolling off of him in waves. He stalks towards the mouth of the alley and disappears around the corner, and you have no idea what you thought you were doing, but you did it. Whatever it was, you did it, and in doing so, you successfully burned that bridge.

Actually, you blew it up in a most spectacular fashion, lit the place up like the Fourth of July. 

You kind of want to jump off a building before the guilt sets in, but you can’t because you’re the Marshal and your interpersonal relationships can’t supercede your duties. Even though they’ve been doing that the entire time.

So you fucked it worse. Now what?

[twinklecupcake]

It's almost father's day what did Chenguang and Mei prepare for Red Son

Chenguang hears about Father's Day thanks to some tourists and one of her daycare classmates having a US father.

When Red Son picks her up that day, Chenguang is in a panic, blurting out that they have to give him presents and she almost forgot to. He has to explain to her that she doesn't have to do that, and that it's okay, they don't really do Father's Day. And besides which, she honors him every day, just being herself and existing.

Which does make her happy, but she still goes to Mei later and asks if they can still do something for him.

Mei and Chenguang end up working together to make dinner (calling Pigsy and MK to help) and Chenguang draws him a picture.

[cto10121]

I’m just going to say it. Stephenie Meyer is too sophisticated a writer for many weak readers, including her fans.

[guiltywisdom]

David Kirby (1957-1990)

He looks like Christ, I see Christ in him.

David Kirby on his deathbed, a victim of AIDS. Also pictured, David's caregiver and friend Peta, David's father Bill Kirby and David's sister Susan. Photographed by Therese Frare in Ohio (1990). David's father Bill has made it clear, David wanted everyone to see his picture.

[jellybracelet]

Did you know that it's National Black Cat Day today?

Now I do!! hooray

[celestialrealms]

from barbatos’s 20 intimacy phone call

i feel like this more or less confirms diavolo was quite young when he “convinced” barbatos to become his butler. (i feel a bit vindicated by the fact that diabarb has always been a squick of mine lmao) 

anyway so ignoring the context of this call (which SHOULD have been longer!! justice for barbatos!!) time to ramble about their relationship for a second hfdjfdhdf

i’m honestly kind of emotional about the fact that while, yes diavolo is a demon and does demonic things... both the narrative and characters like solomon will make a point to show that by the standards of demons, diavolo is a good person? And you can tell how much barbatos loves him even if he considers (or says) serving him is a selfish act of atonement 

idk this is incoherent, but something about the found family dynamic between the character with objectively the most “demonic” history and diavolo who is trying to change the devildom for the better and, YES, is framed as being objectively morally “good” for a demon gets me SO MUCH. this is honestly my favorite familial relationship in obey me 🥺

[brown-little-robin]

what is UP everyone I just finished my very first one-shot fic EVER!!

[vee-lociraptor]

every once in a while i remember my parents didnt tell me i was like. involved in a dog attack as a kid. until i was sixteen

[green-mountain-goose]

-

[zincbart]

Do you know who else needed help moving this weekend?