#I Learned to Hate in Nursery School

[weirdanecdotes]

I Learned to Hate in Nursery School

This is not an anecdote I share casually. Lovers and husbands have heard it, best friends, a therapist or two. It’s not the kind of story you tell to just anyone. But then, no one who’s heard it has ever believed it so…

In my earliest memories, Papa was going to Georgia Tech and working nights, Mama worked as a bookkeeper for Rhodes Furniture Store, and I got sent to a nursery school when I was two. Small children don’t see the big picture, don’t understand the good reasons behind the arrangement of their lives. They only know what they need and resent not getting it. Maybe I needed more love and attention than other children did. But, I doubt that. I knew for sure that I wasn’t happy being put in a system that only noticed me if I deviated from the prescribed regimen.

O how I cried! And begged! And pleaded every morning, “Please, I don’t want to go, please, don’t make me. Please, Mama, take me to work with you, please don’t leave me in that awful place!”

In retrospect, I feel bad about dumping all that guilt on my poor Mama; she really had no choice. Papa was in college and worked double-shifts at a greasy diner. But they needed more.

From my childish point of view, my parents were as cruel as Cinderella’s, dropping me off into that teeming play yard to be jostled about by other babies whining, “Please don’t leave me here.” It was really a very high-class school located in a white frame house in Buckhead across from Regenstein’s Fine Clothing Store on Peachtree Road. All the very best struggling two-income families sent their tot-bodies to be warehoused there.

The Art Room and Rainy Day Playroom were downstairs in the basement and the other classrooms and an office were upstairs. The facilities were as nice as nursery schools can be, I suppose, and the curriculum wasn’t much different than the way Kindercare’s are run today. I could have been happy if I had accepted the situation, but that was the problem; I just couldn’t get used to having somebody telling me what to do almost every minute of the day.

It was the uncompromising schedule I disliked the most. Everyday followed the same routine without inspiring any moments of joy or wonder. Even in “art,” pressure was applied to make you stay inside the lines.

Lunch was gruesome in its blandness. The dietitian splatted scoops of nutrition on top of each other upon the plates. Hard under-cooked green peas rolled over mounds of over-cooked macaroni and cheese. Chunks of raw pineapple peeked out like the tips of yellow icebergs in seas of green Jell-O. It was simply disgusting.

I always had indigestion after lunch; it was a combination of my seething resentment and nausea over being forced to eat this mess. Yes, forced! At this point in the day, the Director appeared. Scowling and glaring, she patrolled the tables like a storm trooper.

The Director of the school was not a kind, loving woman devoted to small children. Maybe she had been when she started out but some bitterness or disappointment in her life had transformed her into a cold, autocratic despot. She held a wooden ruler in her hand at all times and would slap it against her palm. Slap! Slap! Slap! Like the beating wings of an angry hornet.

Slap! She’d pop her palm right next to my ear and make me nearly jump out of my skin in fright. And if you really resisted eating your canned, sliced, slightly heated carrots, she’d pop you! On the thigh, or the calf, or your shoulder, whatever was handy.

I hated her, purely and with such passion and purpose, and to such an end, as you will soon see, that I have never been capable of hating anyone so much again in my whole life.

After lunch, we heard a story delivered by the Director. She transformed storytime into a boredom to be endured when it should have been a life-enhancing experience. Papa was far more entertaining. The stories were chosen not for any value other than sleep inducement. Because right afterwards came nap time, the break the Director and her assistants waited for all day — and the ordeal I most dreaded commenced.

I was a delicate, little bird-child, vibrating with nervous energy. I only missed being labeled hyperactive and addicted to Ritalin because my parents weren’t rich enough to take me to a fancy doctor. I stopped taking naps when I was 18 months old and still had trouble getting to sleep at night. My imagination was developed during the long hours between the time I got put to bed and the time I finally managed to fall asleep. Maybe I wasn’t exercised enough or maybe I was hyper-adrenal, I don’t know. Sleeping was not something that came easily to me then nor does it now.

Now this Director had a fixation on children actually sleeping during nap time. It wasn’t good enough to lie quietly staring at the ceiling until this period of forced inactivity had passed. Oh no, every little eye had to be closed and if you couldn’t sleep you’d better learn how to fake it!

“Close your eyes, Jackie,” the Director would stand, menacingly, over some small child, “I said, close your eyes!” Pop! She’d swat the kid with that ruler. “Don’t you dare cry! I said, be still and go to sleep!”

Somehow I evaded her notice but right after my third birthday, I got caught. I remember actually trying to reason with this crazy woman, “I’ll be quiet. I won’t talk to anyone, I promise. I just can’t sleep. Just let me look out the window and I won’t bother anybody else.” How pathetic I was. This was a real issue for me. I couldn’t figure out how to explain everything else I hated about the school but I could make my mother understand this part of it.

“I just can’t sleep, Mama, you know I can’t. Tell her not to make me try to sleep.”

“Couldn’t you just try, darling.”

“I do, Mama, I try but I can’t and she makes me pretend and it’s boring!”

My mother complained on my behalf and that made the situation worse. I imagine the Director explaining that it was important to establish discipline in young children, that we needed to learn to eat, draw, and sleep when we’re told and not to question the authority of our elders.

“Well, well, well,” the Director said to me after lunch the next day, “You’re having trouble sleeping, are you? Well, we’ll have none of that, do you understand? When it’s nap time, you go to sleep. Understand?”

“But, I can’t.” I protested.

“Oh yes you can and you will.” Her eyes glittered with malice.

Defiance swelled in my chest and I retorted petulantly, “You can’t make me sleep if I’m not sleepy.”

“Don’t talk back to me, young lady. If you can’t follow the rules then you can’t be with the other children. We’ve got a special place for problem children like you.”

That was ominous; I swallowed hard. “Come with me,” she snapped while grabbing my arm and jerking me along beside her. I didn’t cry or whimper. I matched her willful glare for glare. I was cold with anger. She yanked me down the hall and shoved me into the bathroom. After saying, “This will take care of you,” she shut and locked the door.

I couldn’t believe it. She had locked me in the employee bathroom! It didn’t seem real. I put down the seat on the toilet and climbed up to sit. My skinny legs dangled over the sides of my high perch. The bathroom was a windowless, white tile cubicle. There was a grubby bar of soap, a dirty hand towel and a partial roll of toilet paper.

At first, my punishment didn’t seem too bad. I hummed a little tune and listened to it echo around the room. I began to tell myself a story like I always did when I was alone and bored. I was starting to build up a plot line about being a princess that gets stolen by Gypsies when discomfort began to interfere with my concentration.

My perch on the toilet was cutting off the flow of blood to my feet. I tried crossing my legs and leaning back against the cold ceramic tank but it was hard not to slip off and the chill edged into my back muscles. I got up and paced around my little cell. There aren’t any comfortable places in a bathroom, really. I tried lying down in the tub but it was hard and cold. Ditto the floor. Even sitting on the floor became intolerable after a few minutes because of the cold tiles.

“Solitary confinement.” I’d heard the term in a prison movie I’d seen on our neighbor’s TV set. It drove the guy in the movie crazy. I wondered if I was going to start raving and screaming like he had done. I wondered if other “problems” like me had pounded on the door and begged to be let out.

I washed my hands for want of anything better to do. I managed quite a bit of play out of the soap bubbles and that got me humming again. I decided I wasn’t that unhappy with my punishment. It beat lying on my mat with my eyes squeezed shut.

Drying my hands, I got the idea of laying the towel out on the floor and lying down on that. The floor was still hard but the towel took the chill out of it. I lay down on my side and studied the caulking between the tiles in the floor. I rolled on my back and imagined clouds on the ceiling. Then I started up my story again.

The princess was about to be rescued by the mysterious prince when the Director jerked open the door suddenly as if to catch me in a criminal act. I jumped up startled.

“Come along,” she said cheerfully, “It’s time for Outdoor Play.”

As I followed her out to the play yard, she confidently asked in a sickly sweet sing-song voice, “Have you learned your lesson?”

Her attitude and her question so surprised me that I laughed incredulously. I couldn’t think of anything to reply. She stopped and turned on me, all sing-song gone, “I said — have—you—learned—your—lesson?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I couldn’t figure out what she meant. I hadn’t learned how to sleep on command if that’s what she wanted to hear.

“You were asleep when I came in,” she declared smugly.

“I was not,” I shot back without thinking.

“You were!” She hulked over me, clutching the ruler up in the air like she was going to swing it and chop my head off.

I shrank from her anger but held to the truth with a feebly muttered, “Was not.”

She started hitting me with the ruler. After beating me until she was red in the face, she demanded, “Are you going to be a problem at nap time again?”

I had cried during my beating; it hurt and I was still sniffling and swallowing hard from the sting of it but I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes, “No. You can lock me in the bathroom again.”

“Ha!” I think I surprised her, “Okay, we’ll see who wins this little test of wills.” Then she turned on her heel and went off to pick on somebody else.

I whispered to her back, “I’ll win,” I smiled with my certainty, “Cause you’re gonna be dead.”

In my childish mind, the Director was crazy. The Director was mean. And the Director deserved to die! As soon as possible, some how, some way, I was going to kill her dead and that was that.

“I had to give Sally a spanking today for lying,” she told Mama later.

In case you were born decades after I was and don’t understand why Mama accepted this and didn’t sue the school or call CPS to report child abuse, the answer is: Almost everyone beat their children! This was The South where “Spare the rod; spoil the child” was the guiding rule.

Driving home Mama wanted to know what I had lied about and I told her, “I can’t sleep at nap time so she locked me in the bathroom. It was cold and hard but okay. I played by myself. She came in and said I was sleeping and I wasn’t. Then she hit me.”

Seeing that this little telling had disturbed my mother, I tried to reassure her, “It’s okay. She’ll be gone soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s gonna die,” I stated.

“Oh, Sally,” Mama moaned, glancing at me anxiously, “Don’t say things like that.”

That night I hardly gave a thought to the Director. It was a given, a done thing. First chance, I’d kill her. It never crossed my mind to figure out how a small child was going to overcome a grown woman. I thought nothing of guns or knives or poison. I was going to do it. Period.

The very next day we were downstairs in the Art Room. I was sitting at a table pasting magazine cut-outs onto a piece of construction paper when the door upstairs opened and I looked up to see the Director coming down the stairs ahead of her usual schedule. I had a clear shot at her and I fired. A raw, uncivilized bolt of primal hatred lanced out of my eyes and hit her squarely in the stomach. She doubled over, lost her footing, and fell with a scream down the length of the stairs to land with a terrible thud on the concrete floor.

I jumped up, knocking over my chair. Everyone did. The Director was a twisted heap on the floor, convulsing, twitching blindly, frothing at the mouth and spitting blood. The crumbled mess moaned horribly.

I threw up my breakfast. Children started screaming and running out the back door into the parking lot. Teachers and assistants ran frantically about, some after the children, others to stand a foot or so away from the Director, fearful of touching her. One of them had to jump over her to race up the stairs to the phone to call an ambulance.

The Director’s thrashing diminished to a rhythmic rocking from side to side and her moans rose into wails of agony. Tears blinded me. I stumbled a few steps toward the mess that I had made and it looked up at me, not really seeing. I wanted to say something to her. I wasn’t sorry; I didn’t feel at all sorry or guilty—not then. But I didn’t feel triumphant either. Everything I felt in that moment was summed up in three words I said to her, “I didn’t know.”

I didn’t know!

Jimmy Cagney said, “Aaaargh,” and fell over when the FBI riddled him with machine gun bullets. He didn’t turn into a spastic, blood-spitting, pain-wracked heap of broken bones. Movies and TV weren’t at all realistic in my youth; nothing had prepared me for the reality of life and death and mutilation. What I had done to the Director was a horrifying, nauseating, bad thing.

The power of the mind is an awesome force, dear reader. I tell you I knocked a woman down a flight of stairs without ever touching her. By the sheer force of my hatred, I brought terrible grief to another human being. I didn’t know such things were impossible. Before I knew I couldn’t or shouldn’t, I did.

As I stood there looking down on what I had done it was like I was an empty jug being filled with the cold waters of guilt. I began to sob uncontrollably and beg, beg, beg the Universe to undo what I had done.

The nursery school was closed while staff, parents and children waited for the Director to be taken out of intensive care. But I found no joy in staying home with Mama given the circumstances. I tearfully confessed but she didn’t believe me. I reminded her that I had told her the Director was going to die.

Her reassurances were rather odd. “You’ve done that before,” she used the kind of nervous but cheerful tone that always crept into her voice when she entered areas of thought that disturbed her, “Remember. You said my friend Norma was going to be sick and she got appendicitis, remember. Did you make that happen to Norma? No, of course not. And Jill, you said her baby was going to come when it wasn’t due and she went into labor that night. You said it’d be a boy, too. Now, did you do that? Of course, not. It’s just coincidence.”

I tried to repeat the word. “Co-in-C-denz,” and she explained, “A person says something and then it seems to come true but not because the person said it.”

“But this is different,” I insisted, “The other times I just knew something, this time…”

“Not really,” my mother interrupted, “You’re always talking, always saying funny things, sometimes, well, just a couple of times, well, anyway, like I said, it’s just coincidence.”

Mama was actively censoring her data to conform to her reality view, which did not include premonitions or psychic phenomena. I was left without guidance in a torture chamber of guilt. A couple of days later, I overheard my mother telling a friend, “The Director’s going to survive. Her leg was broken in multiple places, her hip fractured, her arm broken, her shoulder dislocated, but the worst damage -- this is interesting -- was caused by a wooden ruler; it broke two ribs and punctured her lung. She carried it around with her all the time.”

This last bit of ironic justice eased my guilt. Yes, I had done a bad thing and vowed to never hurt someone like that again. But, the Director was a bad person, a mean woman who tormented small children and someone needed to do something about that. It had fallen on me to save myself and the other children.

The Director needed over a year to mend so I never saw her again. By the time she returned, I had moved on to a public kindergarten program. But, the school re-opened without her and was improved by her absence. The same schedule was upheld; the food was still bland. The overly cheerful teachers and their assistants were still overt in their mock enthusiasm. When I told one of the assistants that I couldn’t sleep during nap time, she asked me not to disturb the other children and gave me a book. After that I spent all my nap times flipping through illustrated books and other children did, too. Without the menace and the malice of the Director, their system was tolerable.

[willowed-wisp]

könig as a dad (part two)[ könig ]

part one | part three

- In your second pregnancy he is much more likely to take in more missions (you told him to- ordered even)

- He HATES being away from you and your little boy.

- Marvels at how much he has grown in a couple of weeks.

- When his missions last for more than a fortnight, he goes stir crazy but focuses on the task at hand to get back to you

- Nobody knows he’s a dad at KorTac, he’s not close to any of them

- His greatest fear is for his kids to ever be scared of him.

- When he comes back, you don’t even realise until you see him in the rocking chair by the crib- your baby boy in his arms. Whatever wounds he has tended to by you, you MUST insist and pry your son away from him.

- Is glad that your boy will have a sibling very close in age- conceived a month after his birth. He was a very lonely child, he’s glad his kids won’t have the same experience.

- Presents you with another crib, and would be offended if you ever bought one.

- The cribs are very stable and thought carpentry looked good on him.

- He was going to teach his kids it, as his grandfather taught him.

- Your kids are named after his grandparents (I’m convinced he was raised by them in the Austrian countryside) and they were the only source of kindness in his traumatic childhood.

- The birth comes and it’s another boy.

- Next pregnancy comes in quick succession, and it’s a baby girl.

- Ahhh, that was why he got a four bedroom house… sly bastard.

AGES 0-4:

- Not afraid to change diapers or sick, he’s seen so much shit in the field… it doesn’t phase him

- Records everything! He’s such a documenter, he has very little photos from his youth so makes sure he takes them in excess.

- He manages to record all three children’s first steps and jots down their first words.

- Loves watching you teach your kids very early on, is so proud whenever they do something new.

- Your boys take after his height, they stick out like a sore thumb in nursery when around the other kids. And König doesn’t tolerate bullying, you rein him in from going yourself.

- He’s been known to make grown men cry and the kids at nursery look at him in fear. Even if he smiles.

- Mums flirt with him sometimes, he ignores them. He’s only there for the kids.

- Is sad when your kids start growing out of clothes, reminds him they’re growing up and in a matter of years they won’t need him anymore.

- He loves your kids equally but may be more attached to your daughter. She was premature and doctors said she may not make it.

- Cried in private when she was stuck in an incubator for weeks on end. He doesn’t want to burden you or unsettle the boys.

- When she could be held, he couldn’t let go. His sweet angel, so tiny compared to his large body. A kiss to her forehead.

- Your sons don’t know what to make of the small creature that cries in the middle of the night. You hoped they would come to understand what happened when they were old enough.

AGES 5-9

- Your boys look out for each other in school- König made sure of it.

- He also instilled them to watch over their little sister when she would attend primary school.

- You had to hide a bullying incident, every one of them concerning your little girl. Knowing what would happen if König found out.

- But he knew. He checked in with her every day after school and she told him, “It’s because I’m littler than them,”

- “I was picked on, for being too big…”

- “Really, papa?” With eyes like his own, the soul hadn’t been taken out though. “I wish I was tall like you…”

- He holds her on his knee, “You are perfect just the way you are, little mouse.” Giving him the love he rarely had gotten from his own parents.

- His constant lesson to his children is ‘be yourself’. Something he wishes he had learned at that age and onward.

- If your sons are picking on each other, he puts them through the wringer and gives them a hard time.

- He lets them then figure it out between themselves.

- Helps with homework, though literature and comprehensive skills aren’t his thing. Science and maths are his jam, though. Your kids are getting good grades from homework assignments.

- Walks them home from school, on the daily.

————

masterlist

[aftersunsz]

#1 DAD (SIDNEY CROSBY)

summary: Ever since Sidney learned about Vivien’s pregnancy, he’s determined to be the best dad ever

an: here’s a slightly late Father’s Day post :) also this has a time skips sorry about that :/

what to expect series

November 2016 (3 Months)

“What is my beautiful wife craving this morning?” Sidney asked Vivien as she finally woke up. It was one of Sidney’s rare days off and so far, they’ve spent most of the morning in bed watching episodes of ‘Charmed’. Vivien had recently gotten addicted to watching the show after a work friend recommended it.

“Everything.” Vivien yawned and snuggled up to her husband.

“I can get you that,” Sidney chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “What does my Lovebug really want?”

“Lovebug is craving . . .” Vivien thought about all the ice cream she had been eating lately. She knew she had to eat proper food before ice cream. “Would you hate me if I say our baby is craving non breakfast foods?”

“Technically it’s close to lunch time so . . .” Sidney nodded at her so she could continue.

“Mac and Cheese and some nuggets . . . Oh! And cheese pizza but with the really gooey cheese.” She started listing the foods items.

“Okay . . Does our baby wants anything else?” Sidney started getting up, picking up his pants from the floor.

“And green grapes. They have to be green, Sid. They taste so much better.”

And soon, Sidney was off to pick up everything Vivien had told him she wanted. It didn’t matter that he had to go to multiple stores, he was getting everything his girls wanted.

—

February 2017 (6 Months)

Sidney stood in the nursery that he had just finished painting. The color Vivien had chosen was a pretty light green. The couple had decided to wait until the birth to know the gender. Why? Well when Vivien’s mother, Alice, was pregnant with Vivien, the doctor had told her that she was pregnant with a boy. As a result, Vivien had to sleep in a blue nursery and wear blue and gray onesies instead of pink or purple.

Speaking of Vivien, she was currently at work. While her boss insisted that she could work from home, Vivien wanted to spend her time in the office surrounded by people and not by the TV and vanilla ice creams

Sidney sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time that day and started walking towards the door when he looked at the doorframe. Vivien had recently told him about all the height markings on her childhood bedroom’s door. Like his wife, Sidney also had height markings on his doorframe. He ran his fingertips over where he or Vivien would mark their child’s height. That instantly brought a smile to his lips.

—

April 2017 (8 Months) Game 1

Sidney had reportedly told Vivien to stay home so she could be more comfortable watching the game, but she wasn’t going to miss it. She sat in one of the suites with her and Sidney’s parents and Fleury’s wife and kids. They were all quite protective of her. Every time Vivien moved to adjust her sweater or try to get up for food or water, she would get told ‘are you okay? do you need something?’ It was starting to get annoying for her, but she knew it was because they cared about her.

First period had gone by and still no goal from either team. While Fleury’s wife talked about her kids’ grades in school, Vivien got a text message from Sidney.

“How is he already on his phone? He just got off the ice.” Vivien looked up from her phone to try to find Sidney, but he was already gone. “He’s asking if I’m okay.”

“If you don’t respond right now, he might come all the way here in his gear just to make sure.” Veronique said.

So Vivien quickly replied back.

Yes. I’m with Veronique and our parents. Focus on your game, captain.

Seconds later, his reply came.

If you or lovebug need anything, let me know.

How? You’re going to be playing in a couple of minutes.

Pens staff have my phone when I play in case something happens

Babe, I love you but I am fine 100% please stop worrying and win the game for your lovebug

Yes ma’am

When second period came, so did the goals. Vivien tried her best to cheer for the team, it wasn’t easy celebrating when she was eight months. In the end, the penguins got the win. A win for Lovebug.

[readyas]

Danganronpa V3 Battle of the Bands AU!

I've had this idea for a while but it stayed in my sketchbook, but then my sketchbook got lost in the accident so now I decided why not.

(Disclaimer: I know jack about music)

The way this whole mess started was that Angie suddenly was told by god that she needed to start a tradional music band so she gathered up all her friends that knew how to play traditional instruments (the student concil in games.) Including Himiko. Tenko is very displeased by this so in order to win Himiko back she formed her own band to win the Hopes Peaks Academy Annual Battle of The Bands. (Or at least get into the top five, since there's no way their competeing against students with actual musical talent) (they also aren't that good of a band either so the real goal is to beat Angie's band).

The N0rth

Angie: This whole idea basically came to her in a dream. The number in the name makes it feel like a modern pop band. She likes the illusion.

Himiko: Only here becuase Angie somehow dragged her into it. Hasn't played her instrument since elementry school and it shows. She really hates dressing up for shows.

Tsumugi: Thinks that's this will somehow be her break into the music industry, like sure she's rather plain but she's still a cute girl over all. That has to mean something! (Spoiler: it doesn't) she's also very mediocre in her playing skills.

Gonta : is suprisingly good despite the complexity of his instrument. Everyone asks where he learned and he says from crickets.

Kiibo: Joined because he wanted to learn more about human culture. He can't actually blow into the flute so he uses his internal Keyboard-synth.

The Man Suckers (Tenko is unaware of the names implications and everyone is determined to keep it that way.)

Tenko: Really really wants this to be an Idol group, but she has to work with what he has.

Kaede: Joined because Tenko is her friend and she wants to help. Also she never got to use her keyboard gutair and wants a reason to use it. Who is she to turn down a friend who seem oddly really really desperate.

Maki : Made the mistake of telling Kaito she sings to the children. Is having a hard time singing things that aren't disney songs or nursery rhymes.

Kaito: was Into the idea the moment Tenko brought it up. He signed up his sidekicks too (without asking). He figured this would be a good way to help Shucihi with his stage fright (he's hiding behind stage) and Maki with emotions (she gets embarrassed by singing/writing anything potentially emotional and getting her to perform them is it's own battle.) also gets to use his former theater kid chords.

Kokichi: is only here to watch this crash and burn. Maki suspects he somehow learned trumpet in two hours to join. Also gets to use his theater kid chords.

Shucihi (is also here I didn't draw him): Refuses to tell anyone about the fact he plays bass because he knows he will somehow end up on stage. Acts as a team manger and works behind the scenes, Maki is wildly jealous. Tenko thinks that since she has one extra member she'll automatically beat The N0rth.

[ladykailitha]

Million Alpha March

Welcome to the start of the 1 million words celebration! We are going to have a blast this week!

Here's the schedule here.

Summary: Omegaverse (first story here.) Steve's alpha charity is celebrating helping their 1 millionth alpha world wide and they are doing an interview with famed journalist Nancy Wheeler, with their alpha Tiffany Wincott.

~

Steve was nervous for the first time in a really long time. Not since the birth of his daughter Elizabeth Robin had he been this nervous about something so monumental.

His alpha health charity, A+ Health and Rut Services was about to help its one millionth alpha. They currently had 116 clinics world wide and a dozen more set to open this year. But because they had so many open, technically they would have about a half dozen people who would hit that mark, so they screened all six of them and between the three they chose only one wanted to do the interviews and be the face of the charity.

It came with a lot of perks, too. Being interviewed with Steve and Eddie, their likeness used in promotional material for a year, free services at the clinics of their choice and if they wanted the use of the Starcourt Omegas if that’s what they wanted.

Her name was Tiffany Wincott, she was a twenty year old from London and was going to school to become a nurse. She had learned of the charity through her schooling and was excited to learn more.

Chrissy has cheered when she learned that the new face of charity was going to be a woman. She had been in the forefront of championing female alpha health since she first heard of Steve’s charity. Just like Steve had pushed to learn about his secondary outer organs being a male omega she pushed for female alphas to learn about their inner organs and how to take care them.

The charity had spearheaded many a legislation regarding the research into alpha health, but especially the inner organs of a female alpha and they affect their ruts.

What was coming out was making Steve giddy. He wasn’t an escort anymore, but he was teaching them and getting that information out to them so they can be the best escorts they could be.

But he was distracting himself from how nervous he was. Which he supposed rather was the point, even if it had only worked for a moment or two.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie said, poking his head into their bedroom. “I hate to disturb you, but your daughter is trying to scream down the roof and Winnie starting to join her.”

Now that the door was open, Steve could hear the caterwauling. “I’m sorry, dearest. I didn’t realize the door blocked the noise that well. I’m almost done so I’ll be down in a moment.”

Eddie beamed. “Thanks, pumpkin! I’ve tried changing her diaper, feeding her, playing with her, even pulled out the ole acoustic and she is still screaming her little lungs out!”

Steve chuckled. Little Tigger was a mama’s girl all the way. While Winnie could be soothed by either parent, Tigger loved her mama. So he put on his earrings and spritzed his perfume. He got up and walked to the door. Eddie wrapped his arms around him and kissed him sweetly.

“You ready for this interview?” Eddie asked, rocking Steve slowly in kind of a dance.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “I can’t wait to talk about it more. Even with all the press it’s gotten recently, there still seems to be this push back as a return to ‘traditional values’ as if the fucking stone age is preferable or whatever.”

“But my Stevie is too clever for their bullshit,” Eddie said with a grin. The wailing took on a fevered pitch. “And we should probably should figure out what she wants before she screams the walls down.”

“Right!” Steve said with a heavy sigh. “Stop the screaming, then worry about the interview.”

Steve broke out Eddie’s grasp and made his way down the stairs.

“Wait!” Eddie said, tearing after him. “Does this mean you’re worried about the interview?!”

Steve ignored him and walked into the nursery where their nanny, Amanda was trying to calm both babies at the same time and failing miserably. She held out Tigger and Steve took the screaming infant. Eddie got handed Winnie.

Eddie took Winnie out to the living room, while Steve settled with their youngest in the rocking chair, separating them to minimize the feedback loop of angry/upset/sad/confused that they were feeding off the other.

“I’m sorry Eddie and I couldn’t get them calmed down,” Amanda said with a grimace. “I know you were getting ready for the interview.”

“It’s all right, Mandy,” Steve said as little Tigger was finally winding down. “It’s a thing that happens. It just when the interview is going on...”

She sighed. “I know, I won’t be able to hand her off to you.”

Amanda Singer was the best omega nanny money could buy and Eddie and Steve trusted her implicitly. She was a Navajo, who was going to school to be a mechanic, but because she was infertile, her job options were severely limited. So Steve and Eddie hired her after Tigger was born because taking care of two babies under the age of two had proven difficult for them both.

Steve smiled at her. “It’s okay. Hopefully she’ll sleep straight through the interview and this won’t be a problem.”

Amanda scoffed. “Like she’ll be that good. She gets her personality from her alpha father.”

He burst out laughing. It was true, Winnie took after Steve, but Tigger was one hundred percent her daddy’s girl personality wise. It was probably was she close to Steve to be honest. It was like magnets. Tigger and her dad were just too much alike.

He looked down at the sweet little girl in his arms. She had fallen asleep, so Steve stood up and gently laid her in her crib. Steve rubbed her back tenderly. He loved his little ones and while he wanted more, he wanted to wait until the two he had were a little older. Maybe after Tigger was potty trained.

Eddie came in quietly and showed off his prize, a sleeping Winnie. Amanda and Steve gave him the thumbs up he was looking for and he laid his oldest in his crib.

The three of them hurried out of the room and Amanda gently closed the door to the nursery behind her.

“Well, they’re down and out,” Steve said with a huge sigh of relief. “Now for the really difficult part. Giving interviews.”

Eddie had to cover his mouth to avoid the loud guffaw that threatened to escape his lips. Steve could talk down raging alphas, hobnob with the rich and famous, schmooze with politicians with the greatest of ease. But put a camera in his face and he freezes up like water in the Antarctic.

Steve glared at him but they both said nothing.

“Well you best be heading,” Amanda said not bothering to hide her smile. “You too, don’t want to be late.”

Steve grumbled, but followed his alpha out to the veranda where the film crew was setting up. He hated seeing all the wires and cables criss-crossing the beautiful grounds of Eddie and his home.

Thankfully the interviewer was someone they both knew well. Nancy Wheeler had agreed to do the interview. It was going to be quite the feather in her cap and had agreed to do it in a heartbeat.

Eddie and Steve wore suits without the tie. Eddie in his signature black and Steve in dove grey. Eddie’s shirt was a vibrant red, while Steve wore a soft blue-grey button up.

Tiffany was getting mic’ed up and waved at them when they walked out on to the veranda. She waved and Steve waved back. She was in a long floral skirt and purple blouse.

“I can do this,” he breathed. Eddie gave his hand a squeeze and he returned it.

They got all situated and seated on the lovely wicker, outdoor sofa that had bee provided by the studio for the interview. Tiffany was in the middle with Steve on the right and Eddie on the left.

Nancy was seated in an arm chair that matched the sofa. She was in a gorgeous white pant suit with a floral blouse and matching stiletto heels.

“Before we start the interview,” Nancy said, “I wanted understand the choices in wardrobe. If I’m honest, I was expecting Steve in the dress and Tiffany in the suit.”

Steve crossed his legs, and propped his head up with his fist on the back of the couch, draping one hand over his thigh gracefully.

He opened his mouth to see something bitchy, but Tiffany beat him to it. “The point of Steve’s foundation is about busting myths and breaking stereotypes. Besides, I like pastels and floral prints.”

Nancy blinked at her once or twice, and then looked down at her white suit for a moment. She held up her finger and then pulled out her phone. She muttered something to someone on the other end before hanging up. “You’re absolutely right. I’m going to delay the interview for a bit. I need to change.”

A half hour later, Nancy came out of the house wearing a pink and white floral Bohemian style skirt with a pink silk blouse and matching pumps. She looked more like someone going to the country club then a hard-nosed reporter. Steve loved it.

They micc’ed her up and she sat back down. She smiled at them. “Thanks for being patient with me.”

“No trouble,” Steve said returning her smile. “We’re ready when you are.”

“Right,” Nancy said, holding up her fingers. “In three, two, one!” The camera started rolling and she settled into journalist mode. “Thank you for inviting me into your lovely home.”

“We’re happy you agreed to do this,” Eddie replied with a grin. “We’re really excited about Tiffany being the one millionth alpha helped by the foundation.”

“I’m happy to be the one millionth alpha helped,” Tiffany laughed. “When I first heard about this charity, I was little skeptical. We have escorts in England, but they aren’t part of the NHS!”

“As much as I enjoyed being an escort,” Steve said with a winning smile, “I wanted to take some of the service of alphas out of their basket and spread it around.”

Nancy plastered on her fakest most sincere smile. She had used Steve for many an event before her omega Jonathan had gotten pregnant with their first child.

“That’s always something that made me wonder,” Nancy said forging ahead, “how do your former employers feel about your foundation?”

Steve laughed and sat up. “They actually were all for it! They get plenty of clients from the rich and famous and know that not everyone can afford an escort, nor would they want to be with one. There is still a stigma attached the profession and having a safe place for all walks of life to get the help they need is very important.”

“And why not help omegas?” Nancy asked, cocking her head to the side. “You’re a male omega, a demographic very discriminated against.”

Steve nodded and Eddie took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “While true there are already omega charities all over the world,” Eddie pointed out. “But only a handful for alphas and those are more for domestic abuse and not overall health.”

“So what made you decide to use a charity to bring forth social change?” Nancy asked with a more genuine smile.

“Have you tried getting schools to do anything that hasn’t been down for last one hundred years or so?” Steve asked with a huff of laughter. “I kept going up the chain. Mayor, state officials, federal officials, but none of them were interested in change, so with the help of Starcourt Services, I started this charity.”

“That’s different now,” she said tilting her head to the side. “Our current president, James Hopper, is very pro alpha health.”

“Yes,” Eddie chuckled. “Your father-in-law. I did notice the very conspicuous amounts of Secret Service.”

Nancy laughed. Technically she only had the one Secret Service agent, but because it was such high profile interview, her security had been beefed up. There were presently five agents in addition to Special Agent Abigail Channing.

“That’s certainly been an adjustment,” she admitted with a grin. “Though having a code name is something to get used to let me tell you.”

“Getting back on topic,” Steve said with a shake of his head, “Having Pres. Hopper interested in the charity back when he was merely Sen. Hopper was quite the feather in my cap, I’m aware and he’s doing a lot of great work on that front but we need boots on the ground which is where the foundation comes in.”

Nancy turned to Tiffany. “And how did you hear of A+Health and Services Foundation?”

“I was looking into jobs after I got my nursing degree,” Tiffany said with a bright smile. “And one of those jobs was at a clinic funded by the charity. I was highly skeptical. Teaching about alpha health hadn’t quite made it across the Pond yet, as it hasn’t caught on, so I assumed it was one of those places that were still pushing the ‘alphas instinctive know what to do’ bull that is pretty prevalent.”

Steve nodded. Nancy tilted her head in curiosity.

“This doesn’t seem to surprise you,” she said lightly. “It doesn’t offend you she was unsure of the foundation?”

“No,” Steve said with a laugh. “God no. Give us another ten years and a hundred more clinics worldwide and I might be offended then. But seriously, every alpha I’ve spoken to whether in my profession or through the foundation have all said that they were used to being dismissed by doctors, friends, and family alike when it came to their concerns about ruts or alpha rage or simply going feral.”

“God,” Tiffany huffed, crossing her legs, “the myths I’ve heard about going feral just from what they taught us in high school are so dangerous.”

“Or even what feral is,” Eddie growled. “Like I don’t know about the other alphas here, but I was told that it was only ‘bad’ alphas who went feral. Bad being synonymous for poor or uneducated.” He used air quotes around the first ‘bad’.

“Oh yeah!” Tiffany said with a huff of annoyance. “It was constantly being drilled into our heads that one little slip up and we could be actual freaking monsters.”

“Which isn’t what it is at all,” Steve said sagely. “It’s when an alpha is put on scent blockers from as soon as they present and only allowed to go into rut once or twice a year. Anyone put through that kind of abuse regardless of their secondary gender or lack of one would go crazy. But it’s always been made out that alphas are particularly susceptible to it.”

Nancy was impressed at how passionate Steve was about the subject. It must have been hard for him as he was the only omega there, but he was more than holding his own. “Why do you think that is?”

“Control,” Eddie said firmly. “If poor alphas are kept out of the loop then, golden omegas don’t get their chance with their actual soulmate and get treated like property instead of people. It keeps the elite in control.”

“You’ve both done a lot for that aspect as well,” Nancy said with a smile.

Steve nodded again and went on to explain how since his coming out as a golden omega and the abuse Chrissy went through had really changed the culture around infertile omegas. Being an escort was still a huge draw because of how much families got from their child being accepted as one.

“Tell me about the march in November,” Nancy said, crossing her legs. “I understand that’s part of the celebration this year.”

“Yes,” Steve said. “In addition to the gala that is held every year, we’re marching on Washington D.C. and other capitals around the world to bring awareness to the issues alphas are facing in this modern world.”

“It’s called the Million Alpha March,” Tiffany said, leaning forward. “I’ll be leading it in London, while Eddie and Steve will be leading it here in the US.”

They talked more about the foundation and Tiffany was eloquent and commanding. They really couldn’t have picked a better spokesperson for the charity.

Finally the interview was over and everything had been cleared away and people had gone home, leaving just Steve and Eddie alone on the veranda.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” Eddie said, nuzzling Steve’s scent gland. “You did so good.”

Steve allowed himself to be cuddled and soothed. His nerves were still jangling from the interview and slumped happily against Eddie’s chest.

“I’m glad it’s over and it’s going to be Tiffany job for the next twelve months,” he murmured as Eddie’s cinnamon and spice scent soothed and made him boneless.

“Mhmm,” Eddie purred, lowering Steve onto the sofa. “Amanda is on walk with our wee ones, so there is no one here.”

Steve smiled up at him. “Is that so?”

“Sure is, sweetness,” Eddie said nipping at Steve’s jaw. “And I intend to ravish you.”

Steve let him and as he slipped into the pleasure only his alpha could give he thought briefly about that one in a million chance meeting at that charity gala that changed Steve life forever.

For the better.

And he would never be more grateful than he was in that moment as Eddie gently removed each article of clothing between the two of them and slid into place. Eddie murmured sweet nothings in his ear as made love in the house they first met in all those years ago.

Steve was home.

~

Tag List:

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[real-minnesota-state]

I'm feeling sleepy so let me tell you a story.

Let me tell you about fairies.

There are 3 rules:

1: NEVER, and i mean NEVER, go out without a way home. If you don't pay attention to the trail, it will change. Don't go to the lights in the wood, they are not home. Keep the track home and tred lightly.

2: always ask their names. Never ask for favours. I learned this when I was young, first with spirits and then the fae. They give away blessings to those that ask for them. You must be corteous- say hello, say goodnight. Ask their name and their story. If they tell it, do not leave before they finish.

3: never leave the connection open. If you open a gate, shut it. If you greet them, say goodbye. If you ask, you must thank, and if they give a name you must return one. If you break a fairy circle, fix it with plucked dandelions and inkcaps before they can find you. Flower crowns left on branches make good gifts, and so do leftover local fruit. Pick up litter, but leave something natural to replace it.

After the rules, there comes simple things you need to know. The fairies in my town liked inkcaps the best. I grew up in a Minnesota town full of cliffs, wood, and running water. The places fae love and hate. Always greet the shadow figures- they are not fae, but they are friends. If you have other people around, don't say a word. Just because you can see them doesn't mean the others can.

The fae are for more human in this day. They aren't monsters anymore. They are the deer hunters with leather gloves separating them from the iron. They are the children with missing fingers from old mousetraps. They are the little boys sitting in rings of dandelions with too many teeth missing. They are not monstrous, do not treat them as such.

Some will call them unholy. Their mirrors break. Some mock the spirits- I saw the burns from his possession. Some hurt those the fae like, and the dandelions wilt a bit faster in their hands. I see them the most in November and March- the footsteps without start or end, the boots without a brand on the bottom. They like the snowbanks that are melting. The fae can feel the mushrooms beneath.

You do not insult the fae. A Fairy tree is a fairy tree, and I grew up with plenty. Now that I think about it, I met many fae. Most taught me songs while we sat in fairy trees. I learned things nobody else knew, and I learned songs before they came out. My mother called me a fairy, once. The church kicked her out a few months later. She resorted to calling me a devil instead.

One of the girls I met never gave me her name. I just called her evelyn. She taught me a nursery rhyme, one by her name. Her hair was in red ringlets. I told her my name, and she left after we found mushrooms beneath the slide. I got rid of those mushrooms. At the same park, I met many people. There was a vine that everyone used as a swing under one of the mulberry trees, and I never fell off. I used to climb up to a place only i could reach and swing- ironically, I was the shortest. Those kids didn't believe in fairies. They took more than they needed. Those ones forgot my name quickly. I think the fae were helping me get away.

Another time we were at the local school. Walking distance, far from anything related to spirits. You were more likely to find wasps than anything else. Someone else saw it first- a silhouette with glowing orange eyes. I called it out and waved. When the shadow shifted, everyone decided to leave. It rained before we could reach the mulberry swing, and I saw two more.

There was a fairy tree in my grandparents backyard. It connected my grandmother's garden and the birdbaths. I would always go through the tunnel it formed, but never saw anyone despite her garden leading directly into the street. I learned to stop going that way quickly, but i leave snacks there for the fae sometimes.

My town was haunted, but we could accept that. The fae were a dirty secret nobody could admit. Why, the fairy trees were just bad lawnwork! Not like the last person to try cutting it down broke his leg. They left everything so open and yet so dull. To an untrained eye, it was only a birdbox in the woods. To me, it was a closed fairy door.(You could see the iron nails and the horshoe charm on it.) To you, it was nothing special. To us, it was a gate we needed to close behind us.

There was many paths behind my school. We spent hours exploring them- but it was only thirty minutes, even though it had changed so much. The doorways changed how time worked. Fairy doorways always take something from you, and you need to go back through them in order to get it back. I never found a four-leaf clover in my life, but i still scoured it even before i knew they were lucky. Even before i knew clover revealed the fairies.

The snow melts slower where the fairies step. If you follow, they teach you how to balance. They teach you how to make your steps small and fast and delicate. They teach you how to make flower crowns and how to pick the wild strawberries. The fae teach you everything you taught them.

Don't get in their bad favours. Always wave back, and smile at the reflections. They love you. That doesn't mean they won't dish out consequences.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fluff and Angst (2) Masterlist

part one

24 Hours - Phan (ao3) - Art3misPlayerOne

Summary: Living a life in the public eye is hard, but it becomes almost impossible when you have to pretend you aren't in love. There gets to be a point when friendship, secret glances, and fantasizing just aren't enough anymore. So what do you do when your secret accidentally comes out and you realize the object of your love has been hiding a few things of their own?

amaryllis (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: “Amaryllis,” Phil explained, showing Dan the flower. Dan spun it between his finger, staring at it in awe. “It represents pride.” “Huh,” Dan grinned at it, “It’s my favourite yet.”

In which Dan has to wed Princess Alice when he would much rather marry her brother, Philip.

A Maze of Thoughts (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan's oblivious to Phil's feelings towards him. His own feelings -and maybe even his world- are thrown out of control once Phil brings home a boyfriend. Rated T(+) for triggers. (self-harm)

and true, the vision's hazy (ao3) - sensorydephrivation (memoryofamurder)

Summary: Ever since he was a small child, Phil had strange dreams. They seem to foretell terrible things, and a certain curly-haired man keeps showing up in them...

Better With You By My Side (ao3) - conshellation

Summary: Dan and Phil are both sons of rich families and are sent to ballroom dancing lessons. Because there is a shortage of girls, Dan and Phil end up as partners. Phil really doesn’t want to be there and Dan doesn’t either, but is so frustrated by the fact Phil doesn’t want to dance with him he is determined to get him to.

Blue (ao3) - Phanallamallama

Summary: ‘You were red and you liked me because I was blue.’ Dan is an artist who sees people as colours and Phil needs money.

Colour Me Free (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: At age 25, Dan Howell doesn’t want to hide anymore. The problem is, it’s not exactly easy to tell your boyfriend of 7 years that you’re not a girl.

Colour-Smears Nursery (ao3) - gerardopoly

Summary: After a rough divorce, Dan Howell is left with full custody of his son Dil. For a while, life at home was calm between their little family, and Dan had started to notice that things for them were starting to look up. Except, Dil is going to begin his first year of nursery school, which puts Dan's mind in a whirlwind of anxiety. With the help of loving friends and one quirky nursery school teacher, perhaps Dan will learn to let things go. And maybe his little family will grow.

Drunken Confessions (ao3) - phan_stole_my_heart

Summary: Dan and Phil stumble into their apartment late on night and end up having sex. In the morning Phil freaks out and kicks Dan out of his bed. (This fic is very angsty, so angsty)

heart full of headlines (ao3) - dantiloquent

Summary: Phil Lester has a lot of good things: supportive friends, a lovely dog, a world tour, a famous writing blog.

He also has magic. It shouldn't be a problem - except, in a world where magic is hated and mocked, it is. After a disastrous run in with Guardian-acclaimed "Modern Beat Generation Boy" Dan Howell ends in an unexpected friendship, Phil finds himself having to make more and more choices. While his blog sends him all over the world, and while their friendship develops, Phil can't help but bring it all back to one pivotal issue: who can he tell?

Life is a Test and I Get Bad Marks - botanistlester

Summary: Soulmate au where the first thing you think when you see your soulmate for the first time appears on their skin. Dan has always been known as the most badass guy in school; Until Phil Lester shows up, that is. Feeling like his image is at risk, he lashes out, causing an all-out war between the two.

Play Upon Me Like This Piano (ao3) - Elleberquist6

Summary: In many ways, Phil’s life is perfect: he loves his life in London, he has a wonderful brother and parents, and he has a great job as a radio DJ for BBC Radio One. There’s only one thing missing in his life… A rumor reaches an executive at the BBC about a talented local piano player named Daniel. The executive decides that Daniel would be the perfect guest on Phil’s radio show, so she sends Phil to speak with the evasive and mysterious piano player. When they finally meet, Phil starts to think that he has found the person who will make his life complete. Unfortunately, Dan has a secret that will make getting close to him difficult.

Ready to Let Go (ao3) - auroraphilealis (peachrayne)

Summary: Dan doesn’t want to go to India in February, just before Valentine’s Day, with his increasingly homophobic parents. He doesn’t want to be a lawyer, or settle down with some pretty girl one day. Dan wants to spend Valentine’s Day with Phil. He wants to be an entertainer. And he sure as hell plans on marrying Phil one day. But more than any of that, Dan just wants be himself. He wants to be happy. Sequel to Too Tense to Be Undone.

Rise Again (ao3) - ColdPorridge22

Summary: After the events of Phoenix Down, the boys are home and they've just gotten together. Phil is still healing from his injuries, but that's not stopping the relationship from getting more and more physical as they explore this new side of them. And then of course, there's the issue of coming out...

So Long, London (ao3) - solarpower21

Summary: Dan and Phil did the unthinkable and broke up in 2020. They meet again, four years later on Christmas Eve.

Song Stuck In My Head - xinyanhowell

Summary: Phil’s best friend is getting married. How can one song change so many lives forever?

The Infinite Possibility of Us (ao3) -  Young_Rouge_Rose

Summary: It began as all good stories do, with an inciting incident. Dan’s just so happened to be almost getting hit by a car, watching a man die before his eyes and somehow falling into a web of alternate realities. Just your usual morning inconvenience. He just wanted a coffee, and to make Phil happy. Now all he wants is to get back home, back to his world, his life, his Phil. Little does he know Phil has found himself in a similar predicament, and what is stranger still is that in all other worlds they seem to be together. Maybe this is the universe trying to tell them something.

the one where dan pretends to date phil to save him from embarassment (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil was meant to be going on a week long holiday with his family, and finally introduce his girlfriend to them. But as Phil has the luck of a black cat walking under a ladder on Friday 13, said girlfriend breaks up with him the night before their planned trip. Devastated, and scared to tell his family of his failure to settle down again, his best friend Dan offers to pretend to be his partner for the holiday- but little did Phil know about Dan's not-so-subtle 8 year crush on him.

[sleekervae]

Solo Mode [8] jackson wang x fem!oc

Masterlist

Pairing: jackson wang/fem!oc

Summary: heather and the third degree

Warnings: children, childcare

Word Count: 1.9k

Theo was finally out, curled into a blanket burrito on the couch, clutching a lime-green monster truck like it owed him money. The living room had quieted, the chaos of toddler energy distilled into a soft white noise hum of sleep.

Heather padded into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on, rubbing at her eyes like the last thirty minutes hadn’t just aged her a year. Jackson followed, oddly quiet, like he didn’t want to spook the stillness they’d earned.

“We did it,” he whispered dramatically. “Operation Toddler: success.”

Heather snorted as she grabbed a mug. “Speak for yourself. I think I lost a piece of my soul somewhere between Truck Three’s dramatic backstory and Truck Five’s existential crisis.”

Jackson leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching her with a kind of easy amusement she refused to find charming. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Don’t try to compliment me,” she warned, half a glare as she poured boiling water over a sad, off-brand teabag. “I’m still deciding whether to reward you or throttle you for making my two-year-old nephew laugh so hard he snorted milk.”

He grinned. “That’s just good comedy.”

She gave him a look. “Seriously, though. Where did you learn to be like that with kids?”

“What, patient? Or hilarious?”

“Patient,” she said pointedly. “The hilarious part’s still up for debate.”

Jackson chuckled and reached for a glass, filling it from the sink. “My cousins back home used to dump their kids on me when they needed a night out. I had no choice but to learn. You get good at it or you get eaten alive.”

Heather raised a brow. “And you just… stuck with it?”

“I liked it,” he said, shrugging. “I still do. Kids are easy.”

She sipped her tea, skeptical. “That’s not something normal people say.”

He glanced over, met her eyes. “They don’t pretend to be someone they’re not. You always know where you stand. That’s rare.”

Heather looked away too quickly. The water in her mug was still steeping, bitter.

“Well,” she said lightly, “color me surprised. I assumed the only thing you babysat was your reflection.”

Jackson grinned. “You wound me.”

She glanced at him, reluctant, heat crawling up her neck. “Let me guess. You also rescue abandoned puppies in your free time. Run a nonprofit for endangered sea life. Build schools in remote villages.”

He leaned in slightly. “Is this your way of asking if I’m rich and virtuous?”

“It’s my way of asking if I should be suspicious of how good you are at this.”

“I don’t have a secret child, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said with a smirk. “No hidden nursery. No scandal. Just me.”

Heather narrowed her eyes. “No private island?”

“Not yet,” he said smoothly. “But when I get one, you’ll be the first to not be invited.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the small smile curling at the corner of her mouth. “Charming.”

“Only when you’re watching.”

That made her pause—just a blink—but enough for him to see it. She hated how fast her pulse picked up.

“You know,” he said, quieter now, “you didn’t peg me for the type to fix your laptop. Or keep a secret. Or…” He hesitated, lips twitching. “Make you come so hard you forgot your name.”

Her breath caught, despite herself.

“Wow,” she muttered. “You really had to go there.”

“Honesty is one of my many annoying traits,” he replied, his voice soft, almost teasing.

“God.” She rolled her eyes and turned toward the kitchen. “You’re ridiculous.”

He followed, like some six-foot-tall golden retriever, barefoot and quiet on her floor. “You like it.”

“No,” she said, rooting through the fridge for a juice box she swore was in there. “I tolerate it. Big difference.”

Behind her, she heard him shift, felt the sudden stillness. “So what was it?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “What was what?”

“That night.”

Heather froze. The fridge light buzzed. She shut the door carefully and faced him, arms crossed. “Are we doing this now?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You’ve been acting like it didn’t happen.”

“We agreed that it didn't.”

He gave her a crooked, lopsided smile. “Is that your way of saying it meant nothing?”

“We also agreed that it didn't.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

She stared at him. “Why do you care?”

“Because you kissed me like you meant it,” he said. “And then left like it broke your rules. I just wanna know which part was the lie.”

Heather’s breath caught. He said it so easily—like they were having a conversation about pizza toppings. But there was weight behind it. Something real and maddeningly sincere.

“You’re not supposed to be like this,” she muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like… an actual person.”

Jackson blinked. “Wow. That’s flattering.”

She grimaced. “You know what I mean. You’re a walking ego with a nice face. You’re not supposed to care about my nephew or ask complicated questions or—” Her voice cracked a little. “Or look at me like that.”

He took a step closer. Just one. “Like what?”

“Like you can't look away,” she said, almost too quietly.

Jackson’s expression softened. The smirk faded, replaced by something careful, curious, quietly dangerous.

“Because I can't,” he said. “And I like what I see. Even when you’re yelling at me. Especially when you’re yelling at me.”

Heather laughed under her breath, nervous and breathless. “Do you always flirt with women who find you insufferable?”

“Only the hot ones.”

She should’ve pushed him away. Told him to go. Told him she had code to write, a reputation to salvage, a nephew asleep not twenty feet away, and no time for beautiful men with complicated smiles.

But instead, she just stood there, hands trembling slightly, heart a mess of knots and static.

“You’re annoying,” she whispered.

Jackson grinned. “So are you.”

Before Heather could summon a half-answer—before she could come up with something deflective or vaguely witty or self-protective—the buzzer shrieked through the apartment.

She flinched. Theo stirred on the couch but didn’t wake.

“Oh, thank God,” she muttered, setting her mug down again and heading for the intercom.

She pressed the button. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” came Jessica’s voice. “Can you buzz me up?”

Heather gave Jackson a look—half warning, half apology—and hit the buzzer.

Moments later, Jessica stepped into the apartment carrying a tote bag, hair still damp from the hospital shower, exhaustion clinging to her like static. She looked like someone who’d spent the last eight hours handing out medication and pretending not to loathe humanity.

Then she saw Jackson.

Her eyes flicked from him to Heather and back again.

“Oh,” Jessica said, smoothing a stray hair behind her ear. “I didn’t realize you had… company.”

Heather resisted the urge to throw herself out the window.

Jackson, to his credit, gave a polite, nonchalant nod. “Hey.”

Heather sighed, "This is Jackson."

Jessica glanced again at Heather, her expression a careful blend of sisterly suspicion and professional skepticism. “Are you… friends?”

Heather crossed her arms, leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Neighbours. He was just leaving.”

Jackson shot her a quick look, amused, and maybe a little impressed.

Jessica blinked, processing. “Right. Okay. Well, I hope Theo was okay?”

"Absolute angel," Jackson grinned, "Didn't slingshot trucks at any faces."

“Only mine,” Heather muttered.

Jessica eyed her, but said nothing. Instead, she walked over to the couch to check on her son, her hands suddenly busy. Heather could feel the questions bubbling under her sister’s skin like carbonated judgment.

“I should get going,” Jackson said, the words directed vaguely at the room.

Heather didn’t meet his gaze. “Don’t let the door hit you.”

He laughed under his breath and headed for the exit, pausing just long enough to glance at her one last time—like maybe he still wanted an answer.

She didn’t give him one.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Jessica arched an eyebrow. “So... he's... pretty.”

Heather grabbed her tea again, pretending to sip. “You can call him that, sure.”

Jessica smirked. “Since when has he lived here?”

"No idea."

Jessica didn't buy it for a second. She turned away from Theo, who was still snoring like a little lawnmower on the couch, and leveled a look at Heather. “You don’t know when your next-door neighbor moved in?”

“I don’t track my neighbors like some kind of suburban spy,” Heather replied, backing into the kitchen and immediately pretending to fuss with the kettle, even though she already had tea. “Some of us have jobs.”

“Mmm.” Jessica followed, slow and calculating. “And yet somehow you do know he plays with monster trucks and is apparently cool with babysitting duties.”

“He just stopped by.”

Jessica’s eyes gleamed. “Just wandered in, huh?”

“He heard Theo crying. Through the wall.” Heather opened a cabinet. Then closed it. Then opened the fridge again, because why not look at oat milk she didn’t need.

“Right. Through the wall. Like some kind of hot neighbor-batman with excellent hearing.”

“Jessica.”

Her sister laughed, bumping her hip against Heather’s. “Okay, fine. I’ll drop it. For now.”

“Thank you.”

Beat.

“But, like—just as a public safety concern—are we absolutely sure you haven’t been harboring some long-repressed crush and now it’s rearing its very charming, very sculpted head?”

Heather snapped the fridge door shut. “Don’t you have medicine to count or something?”

Jessica grinned. “Oh, this is better than morphine.”

“Jess—”

“Look, I’m just saying, you’ve been tense lately. With your work -- I mean, it's stressful. It wouldn’t kill you to—”

“To what?” Heather turned, finally looking her sister in the eye. “Sleep with the first hot guy who smirks at me?”

Jessica paused. “I was gonna say unwind. But… noted.”

Heather sighed and sank into a kitchen chair. “Sorry. I just… it’s complicated.”

Jessica’s voice softened. “He seemed… nice.”

“He’s not.” Heather’s voice was automatic. Too fast.

Another beat of silence. Theo muttered something in his sleep and rolled over, hugging a plush tow truck.

Jessica raised both eyebrows. “Is that why you’ve got bedroom-eyes and he looked like he wanted to kiss you goodbye?”

Heather buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

Jessica laughed, delighted. “Okay, okay. I’m done. But for real—be careful. And maybe let yourself live a little?”

Heather peeked through her fingers. “You done preaching?”

“For now. But I want the full story next brunch.”

“Brunch is cancelled forever.”

Jessica blew her a kiss and went to scoop up her snoring toddler. Heather watched them go, heart still rattling in her chest, Jackson’s laugh echoing in her skull like it had moved in and set up shop.

And somehow, despite herself, she already knew: this was only going to get messier.

[marchwardenofmordor]

Ngl. I think Melkor’s a twat but in some regards I can deeply empathise.

One being that I absolutely DESPISE conformity. As a kid one of the first things my nursery school teachers complained to my father about was “He will not conform” (to which my dad was an absolute boss and said “he’s 4. I don’t want him to conform.”)

There is nothing I hate more than when an organisation (*cough*christianity*cough*) puts out a fucking order and people just follow it blindly, or have to keep up with the latest trends, or looks at what everyone else is doing/wearing/liking/siding with/thinking before deciding to just follow along with no creativity or input of their own whatsoever; like I’m not even being funny, it actually fills me with rage and makes me want to put people in a jar and shake it until they develop a sense of free will / the ability to cultivate their own ideas / learn how to think for themselves.

When I go out and see groups of people with the same haircut, wearing the SAME OUTFIT, and everyone looks THE SAME— if I had a fëa it would literally be writhing around and shrieking inside of me.

I can also empathise with his frustration at not being granted creative freedom - hence why I am self employed. I HATE being told what to do or how to think and (autistic) I have an extremely strong sense of autonomy. Give me a brief and I’ll create you something beautiful, but by the fucking gods do NOT try to tell me how to work my own craft. Tight restraints / trying to force me to create things I do not want to create are a sure fire way to piss me off. I refuse to be contained.

And to see someone like Mairon with BUCKETS of talent being tied down and restricted by an authority figure would 100% make me go “hey baby come here, it’s free real estate; lets go nuts and create wacky shit and directly oppose what society tries to force upon us”. I love rebels and punks, and one of my favourite aspects of a person is creativity combined with a good strong rebellious streak. If you’re a bit of a wild child chances are I’ll absolutely adore you. And if it’s hiding inside of you under layers of anxiety, I will make it my personal mission to empower you.

Grip life by the wheel and fuck what everyone else thinks; put your foot to the floor and leave them in the dust. You wanna mod your bod? Wanna wear crazy outfits and dress like a fairy? Wanna be a genderless amorphous gay presence that haunts the library? Wanna drink brandy, smoke cigars and not wear any knickers? Fucking- *smacking fists on the table* - GO FOR IT. 👹👹👹👹👹

But then on the other hand. I like order and routine. All of my shit is organised and everything has its place and I tend to get very upset if someone comes along and moves it. I use it as an anchor for my chaos. I hyperfixate, and woe betide anyone who tries to pull me away from a task I haven’t finished (not my proudest moment, but as a VERY young child if I was focused on a task, I’d sit there and piss myself and finish my task before listening to the needs of my body. Nowadays I hold it or put off eating / sleeping until the task is finished. Like let’s be for real: if my own bodily functions can’t pull me away from a task, another person hasn’t got a hope in hell.). When I am doing something, I am doing something.

Also envy of other people’s creativity is totally natural. It’s natural for creatives to be jealous of one another.

What makes me different from Melkor is that I wouldn’t let that envy lead me into destroying someone else’s work. Because I know the hard graft that goes into it. When protesters vandalise art it provokes the same level of rage in me as watching the Church rope more people into their ideologies.

And Melkor destroying the creative works of the other Valar is the main thing that made me go “wow, what a dick”. I was all for him and was internally just like “fuck yeah get it king, REFUSE CONTAINMENT!!” up until that point.

I completely understand frustrated curiosity.

[literallycalculester]

i love your calculester posts sm… your art is amazing too!! since his birthday is coming soon, do you have any personal headcanons for him? 👀

yes! tyty! i wrote down a longgggg list of them just now so here they are:

pansexual

dislikes being called "it/its" since people usually use it as an insult towards him

trans male for a couple of reasons. 1. machines do not technically start off with genders, its similar to how zoe transitioned into a girl. 2. its mentioned that he does get update cycles that are similar to menstrual cycles, implying that he isnt strictly male. even if people do typically see machines as males, it doesnt feel right to say hes strictly cisgender

asexual (in the way that he doesnt feel sexual attraction) and kinda aromantic (he desires romantic relationships but cannot feel romantic feelings. he doesnt desire sexual relationships.)

fear of rejection

loves socializing!! but gets overwhelmed real easily

not technically autistic but relates to the symptoms and makes friends with nd people more easily than nt.

also he masks a lot (ex. using emoticons as faces)

speaking of his face, he only uses emoticons to make others around him happier and more comfortable. when hes alone or with someone he trusts a lot, he'll just have a blank screen

takes care of his partner like he takes care of his plants (he likes taking care of things)

doesnt know the difference between robots and organic beings in real life situations (he can tell the difference when hes researching but if its not show directly in his face he wont know)

loves safety so much never can get enough of it

has an organicsona (he wants to be "normal" as perceived by the public)

he doesnt hate humans (though he pretends to mildly dislike them in order to fit in)

confused af when following conversations. sometimes he'll randomly join in despite him saying something irrelavant

HATES rejecting others. if you ask him out and he dont like you then he gets so sad because he hates hates hates rejecting others. being mean in the slightest brings him a ton of discomfort

love stickers. theyre like temporary tattoos.

tries not to buy from harmful companies. sometimes he doesnt know and if hes told he'll go into a mental breakdown and think hes terrible

hates those cut flowers that they have at stores. brings only potted flowers as gifts

smart with calculating and research, but anything that requires actual thinking he fails at

goes to school for the sole purpose of learning how to form relationships (he has all As except in subjects that require subjective views, like english)

loves writing on paper, has a print handwriting

technically can speak every language, as long as its popular enough to make its way into his code

extremely neat and organized

loves to clean and cook, despite not being able to taste (he is therefore terrible at it if he is using a bad recipe)

his house is futuristic almost frutiger aero but with plants absolutely everywhere

all his wires are organized and never tangled

doesnt use a phone or computer. he is the computer.

when he has no internet connection he has to rely on his memory. basically everything that can be searched up online is lost. "where is england" "cannot answer, internet is down :(" type of thing

works at a plant nursery!!!

antivirus is a vaccine for him and viruses are... well.. viruses. just like humans

2nd tallest behind scott

really strong but also kinda slow

walks everywhere. to school, to work, to the store.

this isnt really a headcanon, but unlike the games, i think that hed have significantly less features (LIKE WHY DOES HE HAVE GUNS JUST HANGING OUT IN HIS BODY??? WHERE DID THEY COME FROM?!?!)

sympathies with fake plants

likes reading! like, a lot! he reads a ton of non-fiction because he enjoys it, but he also studies fiction.

likes stray (game)

loves comfy games! (stardew, acnh)

doesnt really like horror

can heat himself up to be really warm so his partner can cuddle him

sees the development of AI as being slave labor but for robot

okay i ran out of things now. remember this are just my headcanons and this is kinda just streaming from my head so dont take it too seriously! speaking of his birthday though, i am gonna try (emphasis on try) to make something special for him. if so itll be an animation. hopefully i will succeed! but if i dont then ill post the WIP someday.

okay bye bye thank you so much for the ask!!!

[murfpersonalblog]

Delico's Nursery: Kids (TVC Headcanon)

Ok, so the cast from the new anime Delico's Nursey was clearly loosely inspired by Interview with the Vampire/The Vampire Chronicles' main characters, Louis, Lestat, Armand, and Marius.

But what about their children?

Until we're told otherwise, here's my current headcanon:

Dali Delico / Louis de Pointe du Lac:

Raphael: Rose Fisher (genderswapped) -- Raph witnessed his mom's murder, and I wonder what PTSD that will give him. Raph's very jealous of how much attention Ul gets, and it made me think of how drastically different Rose & Viktor's upbringing was. Rose/Raph had deeply traumatic childhoods, before Louis/Dali swooped in and saved their life. (Yes, Lestat did that first, but Rose would've died in that boarding school if Louis hadn't rescued her. Les couldn't even get to her until days later, after Dr. Fareed had already hospitalized her.)

Ul: Viktor Gilman de Lioncourt -- I'm literally projecting my wish that we'd seen Viktor grow up. But maybe AR skipped over it cuz he lived in a bubble all his life, secluded & protected by Dr. Flannery & Dr. Fareed. So there's really not much to Viktor, beyond being a son from a vitally important bloodline, who needs protecting--like we'd see when Rhoshamandes kidnapped him. In the timeskipped Trump stageplay, Ul grows up & wants to become an immortal vampire to protect those he loves, just like Viktor. In Grand Guignol stageplay, we learn that Ul's a dhamphir (halfbreed), just like Viktor's a strange genetic clone of the vampire Lestat.

Gerard Fra / Lestat de Lioncourt:

Angelico: Claudia (genderswapped) -- He looks like a spoiled brat, but seems to desperately want his dad's attention/affection, only to get brutally shot down. I hope for Gerard's sake that he eases up on Angie & stops perpetuating cycles of abuse/neglect, b4 Angie grows up to resent/hate him. Cuz we see how that turned out with Lestat & Claudia.... 😬💀 (The one thing giving me Viktor vibes is that Raph & Angie are the same age & are bffs. But Rose's literally Claudia 2.0, so...?)

Henrique Lorca / Armand:

Lucia: Sybelle / Mekare (?) The older & quiet twin.

Elena: Benji (genderswapped) / Maharet (?) The younger twin.

(They seem to be anime-onlies, not appearing in the stageplays?)

Dino Classico / Marius de Romanus:

Theodore: Pandora (genderswapped) Oldest of all the kids/fledglings. (Seems to be an anime-only, not appearing in the stageplays?)

[missameliep]

For Lorelei, the ☼ and ♥️ head canons, please! 🥰 (~agentnatesewell)

Thank you so much for the ask, Mar, for allowing me to talk about my favorite detective and share some of the many drabbles I have in store 💖

☼ - appearance headcanon

Lorelei is short (5'4") and has medium length chocolate brown hair cut in the same style for as long as she remembers. She trims the bangs herself when it gets too long and annoying. During her first semester at college, she decided to do something bold and dyed her hair blonde (platinum blonde) but hated it. Three weeks later, when she got the money and time, dyed it back to brown. There's one picture of this blonde hair. Felix found it in Lorelei's apartment. There's a drabble about it somewhere I can't find, but I have something else I haven't shared before (my FC is Felicity Jones)

♥️ - family headcanon

Her mother used to be her entire world. At least until she was about 10 years old. She craved her attention and affection. The little time she offered was a treasure. She did everything to make her proud, to draw her attention. When she was a child, only the sitters (the supernaturals working for the Agency) took her to school and went to the parent-teacher meetings and other activities. Until 6th grade, she still performed at school plays, hopeful to see her mother's face amongst the other proud parents. Only once she showed up, and before Lorelei went to the stage went outside to take a call never to be seen again. The sitter took her home that evening. That was the last time she performed. That was the last time she tried.

They're not close, her mother and Lorelei. She calls her Rebecca because it hurts her, it reminds of the gap between them. A gap as wide as a canyon that she dug over and over, with every absence, every lost call, every fever a stranger watched over her sleep.

Her father died when she was too young to remember. Most of what she knows was learned from townspeople and her grandmother Nena, but it wasn't much - she never got over her children dying so young and barely spoke about either of them. However, at her home at the northern part of Wayhaven, close to the lake, there were mementos of his childhood and youth, from a time before Rebecca: pictures, books, a collection of miniature cars. She liked to piece it together. To imagine who this man she never met was.

When she was twelve, her grandmother Nena broke the hip after a fall at home; at the time she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Due to her insistence, Nena came to live in their home at Wayhaven. Rebecca opposed, she barely spent any time at house and worried it would be too much for Lorelei. It was the first time she raised her voice to her mother. Nothing she ever did to her stirred that reaction; but this time, it did. It was a stored rage, too big to be contained. Rebecca agreed, and a new kind of sitter was sent to their house. She lived with them until Lorelei went to college. The next day she was sent to a nursery home. Rebecca said it'd be better; Lorelei disagreed and visited as often as college allowed her to. On her last year of college she was weaker and too ill, and Lorelei dropped and went back home. Over the years, her grandmother had forgotten her and her name. The blank look was the hardest part. Childish as it was, she wished her grandmother would miraculously remember her like in those emotional videos on morning TV. She didn’t. Not once. She looked at her and at best remembered her children, Lorelei’s father and aunt. She called her by her aunt's nickname, and every now and then would ask why her hair looked different or where her brother went. She spent years peppered with a love that was not hers. But it was all she had. Her favourite picture of Nena was taken when she took her home one weekend; they worked on the garden, her hands were dirty and her smile broad. She ran inside, picked her camera and took the picture. Nena died three months later; she buried the camera behind boxes of books. The idea of living in the house by lake was tempting for about two weeks. The sale sign was placed in the front yard the same day she filled the trunk of the car with treasures that now adorn her home.

_____________________

From this OCs asks

[ladylooch]

Oooo for flashback Friday, could we possibly get more of Kevin & Lena having daddy daughter dates?

That little girl is his whole world and it’s the cutest thing ever 😭 I can see him dedicating a whole day out of the month to do whatever she wants to do. The sky’s the limit when it comes to him spoiling her!

His other kids like 👀 dad wtf 🤣

Let’s talk about the things Lena and Kevin love to do:

Lena is plant bae 2.0. Kevin and her are always tending to the house plants and the gardens when they’re in season. Lena loves going to the plant nursery in the Spring and happily plants all the vegetables for their family garden. She's so cute in her bright yellow boots and overalls. She rushes outside every day to water the plants with Kevin too. It's her favorite "chore".

Lacey and Lena both participate in dance until Lacey moves to gymnastics. Lena sticks with dance for a while. Kevin’s FAVORITE thing is daddy daughter dances with Lena. He takes it very seriously. Once, Lena was sick, but Kevin still went to practice with the group and told Lena about everything she missed.

Lena refuses to learn how to swim from anybody except for Kevin. The other two Fiala kids did swimming lessons through the local parks and recreation department. Not Lena. She went to that first swimming lesson, took one look at the teacher and said "my daddy knows better than you.". She marched back over to daddy and demanded to go home. So, Kevin taught Lena how to swim. He was up for hours at night on Youtube making sure he was teaching her correctly and doing his best to keep her safe.

Kevin loves a good pedicure. Lena becomes his pedicure buddy as soon as she can sit still long enough in the chair to participate. Sam is a bit miffed when they go without her one time. "You didn't even like pedicures before me!" She complained, genuinely sad to have missed out on Kevin's ticklish giggles. Kevin hated the look on her face. So they never go without Sam again.

Lena prefers to talk with Kevin in Swedish. Even though her siblings know the language too, it feels like their special bond. Kevin does regularly have to remind her to switch back to English, especially as she's about to run into school for the day.

[cowgurrrl]

Getting Older

Author’s note: FUCK IT WE’RE TALKING ABOUT TOMMY’Y GRIEF

Summary: "I love my little brother so much. I wish I could take back the years I spent treating him like I didn't." aka Joel and Tommy Talk [1.5k]

Warnings: discussions of deployment/Army, mentions of Sarah and Tess, pregnancy, deceased parent, learning to love someone even when you can't recognize them anymore

The brothers had been avoiding the topic pretty much since Joel learned of Maria. They were close once. Of course, they were. Joel let Tommy live in his home, work with him, and help him raise his daughter once he came back from Afghanistan. When the nightmares got bad, Joel was there in his stoic, big brother way to ask about therapists and support groups for veterans. When Joel didn't have enough money to buy Sarah a bike for her birthday despite scraping together pennies and dimes for months, Tommy miraculously came up with it after a few rounds of Texas Hold' Em at the local bar. They were a team. Had been since their mom died. 

But twenty years of a world ruled by fungus is enough to break any bond. The first few weeks in Jackson are rough. Not only are Joel and Ellie recovering from their journey, but Jackson offered up a whole new world of pain that Joel didn't even know existed. Kids Sarah's age running around without a care in the world. His baby brother suddenly no longer a baby anymore but a husband and a father-to-be. The little graveyard a little further away with lovingly etched headstones that make his stomach turn when he thinks about the river his little girl died next to. Couples walking the street hand-in-hand, and he knows Tess hated PDA, but maybe she would've made an exception. You don't realize how big a bed can be when it's suddenly empty for the first time in a decade. They struggle. All of them. There is no one in this little fucked up family that goes untouched by the hurt. 

It takes a month before Joel invites Tommy and Maria over to their house for dinner. Joel does his best to make a niceish dinner and even buys freshly cut flowers from the market. Ellie teases him about it, and he teases her back, but deep down, he just wants everything to be okay again. Normal. Tommy and Maria arrive with a wave of polite smiles and offerings of help, which Joel refuses like any good host. He finishes dinner while Ellie tells her aunt and uncle about school and her new friends. It's quaint when they sit down at the table together. If you squint, you could almost believe this is how it's always been. 

They shoot the shit and tell stories and enjoy the meal Joel lovingly made for them. Joel even asks about the pregnancy, which makes his insides clench like a vice grip, but he doesn't let it show. Maria gives surface details: how far along she is, how she's feeling, how the nursery's coming along. He's silently grateful they don't talk about names or clothes. He'd always saved Sarah's baby clothes in little boxes in the attic. "Just in case," he told himself. Whether it was in the event of a sibling for Sarah or a cousin, he never got to find out. Now he wonders what became of the boxes of pastel pinks and yellows somewhere in Austin. 

When Maria yawns and announces she's tired, Tommy offers to take her home. She refuses and looks at Ellie. "I've got some more clothes for you back at the house. Wanna come look at them with me?" She asks. Ellie looks to Joel for permission or maybe reassurance that she's safe to go with Maria. He nods and picks up her empty plate. "You better get a move on." He urges, and just like that, they're out the door and talking like they've known each other forever. Joel and Tommy collect the dirty plates and wash them in the sink side by side, a tradition their mother instilled in them so young they can barely remember a time when they didn't do it. Tommy's the first one to break the silence.

"She's a good kid." He says, testing the waters, and Joel nods. 

"Most of the time," Joel says, laughing to himself. "She's nothin' like Sarah." It's the first time they've talked about her. Really talked about her for a long time. Tommy freezes like he's trying to figure out what to say or do, but Joel continues. "They're both smart and funny and strong. I think they woulda even been friends. But Ellie…" he trails off. "Ellie's just different. A pain in the ass, sure, but different." He shrugs as he puts a cup face down to dry on the towel next to the sink. "And your little one'll be different, too."

"Joel-" 

"I know you're gonna wanna compare them to Sarah 'cause that's what I did, but it don't work like that. Every kid's different. You just gotta figure out how. You gotta give 'em a chance to show you who they are." He continues. Tommy knows not to interrupt him when he gets on a soapbox like this. So, just like he did when they were kids, he stays quiet and follows his big brother's lead. "I'm happy for you. I really am, and not 'cause I'm forcin' it or anything. I always knew you were gonna be a good dad, and I know it now."

"But?" Tommy asks, and Joel shakes his head. 

"No 'but.' I'm just thinkin'." 

"'Bout what?"

"Your wife kinda scares me," Joel admits, making Tommy laugh. The sound is reminiscent of summer days spent roughhousing in the backyard or playing with little green Army men in the kitchen while their big chocolate lab, Arlo, lay on the cool tile nearby. 

"Yeah, me too," Tommy says, and now it's Joel's turn for childhood giggling. When the laughter dies down, Joel turns and looks at his brother fully. If he looks past the beard and the long hair, he can almost see the eighteen-year-old he dropped off at boot camp all those years ago. It pushes on an ache in his heart, and maybe that's what prompts him to finally say what he's been dodging this whole time.

"I wish I was there," he mumbles. "Your wedding." The weight of the admission hits Tommy square in the shoulders, and he clears his throat. 

"Me too." 

"Was it… I mean, was it nice? Did you get all fancy or anythin'?" He asks, and Tommy chuckles. 

"Yeah, it was nice. Borrowed a suit that was a little too big, and Maria wore a dress that was a little too old, and we got married down at the courthouse few years ago. I've got a few pictures if you wanna see 'em." Tommy smiles, and Joel does too, and for a second, they're not men beaten down by wars and death. They're two little boys with missing teeth and red popsicle staining their mouths. 

"That's nice," Joel nods. "You deserve nice. I want you to have nice. Always did." The words drown out the dripping sink and the wind blowing through the trees and shaking leaves against the windowpanes. They land somewhere deep in Tommy's stomach, where he stored all emotion and grief down after that September night when he dragged Joel away from Sarah because he was being a "fuckin' idiot." They don't fully relieve him of what he feels is his share of the blame for how things happened, for what happened to Sarah, but they made it a little less heavy. Tommy didn't realize tears had sprung to his eyes until Joel sucked his teeth and pulled him into his chest like he did when Tommy scraped his knees, falling off his bike in second grade. 

"I love you. I'm sorry I acted like I didn't for so long." Joel whispers, his own tears threatening his lash line, and Tommy tightly wraps his arms around his big brother. 

"Love you too," Tommy says, removing a stone from the pile on Joel's shoulders. "Thanks for comin' back for me."

"I'll always come back for you. You're my brother."

Not a soldier. Not a hunter, a raider, or a smuggler. Not even a patrolman. A brother. It's been a long time since Thomas Miller has been allowed to only be a brother. He thinks he likes it. He thinks he can get used to it. He thinks there will never be a day after this one where he doesn't include brother in his list of titles because, for once, he's proud to be Joel's brother, and he will be until the day he dies. 

When they were little, and they used to fight over stupid things like bikes and what music to play in the car, their mama would look at them in the rearview mirror and raise her eyebrows in the exact way Joel is prone to doing and shake her head. "Now you two better settle it 'fore I settle it for you," she'd scold. "Y'all are gonna have to learn to live with one another 'cause I'm not gonna have all this fightin' all the time. Y'all are brothers, and that's gotta count for something." Tommy thinks he can hear his mother's voice in his head as they cry together for the first time in decades. He thinks she'd be happy with the way they turned out. He thinks she'd be proud of them for coming back together in this way.

They're brothers, after all. That's gotta count for something. 

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha

[why-am-i-not-cat-blog]

So story time here but I find it both bizarre and infuriating so I just want to share something that happened on my second day of junior high.

I was sitting at my desk doing my work when my teacher walks up to me and whispers into my ear "you missed a hundred days of school at your last school last year and I'm just telling you that is NOT going to happen in my class!" And I had no clue what to say because I knew that wasn't true so I just didn't respond and she walked away while I was confused and embarrassed because some boys had heard and kept staring at me in shock so I....just didn't do anything about it. Plus I lived 80 feet from the school so that just made me more confused

Then I learn 5 years later why my attendance was like that and I was both glad I found out and pissed off at the same time.

So my mom worked at my elementary school for the first 5 years of me being there (it starts at nursery and goes to grade 6) and had some people she didn't get along with (nether my mom or the other people were teachers but worked other types of jobs there) so she quit.

But turns out one woman who I'll call green hated my mom because my mom is Ukrainian (second gen Canadian) and we found out about this when we ran into a old coworker of my mom (who is also Eastern European)who told us that green was caught CHANGING the attendance of all the children that were Eastern European or half Eastern European so she got fired.

Like, I was borderline threatened by my teacher because someone was racist and took it out on children.

That's not even the worst of my experience with teachers bullying me but I'll get into that another day lol

[jaienviededormir]

My internship experience (Elementary+Nursery school)

As a student in sophomore I had to do an internship, I wanted to do it in a publishing house but they either didn't answer or just said no. Eventually since I really like to help people understand things and give my knowledge to others I decided to go to my previous Elementary school.

So here's my experiences:

Nursery school:

They're divided in two classes, one with pre-k3&pre-k4 and the other one with pre-k4& kindergarten.

I didn't really like it, as much as these little kids are kind I know I wouldn't have the patience for a whole year😭

They're too energetic and it's a hell to make them understand why it's important to do something (like not being hateful, why they shouldn't strangle their friends on purpose ECT..)

But they were mostly fine even if a few gave me a hard time(I don't want to say the name but YEAH I HAVE A LITTLE HATE TOWARDS ONE OF THE KID THAT LOVED TO MAKE ME LOSE MY TIME)

At the start of the day they have a paper with all the activities they have to complete then they have to take a picture with a tablet to prove they did it.

Once it's time for class the two classes get apart and it's time to learn, they mostly learns alphabet, the older learn to write and recognize their name. It's chill.

They have a nap time of 2 hours during the afternoon, we just help them removes some of their clothes (or even help them learn how to put their show on correctly).

The waking up part is cute, some need to be a bit shaken off to be woke up but it's fine.

For the second class I only watched them for the afternoon (didn't get to see what they do in the morning). They listen to a story, then sing about the days of the week (I can still remember it)

Le lundi-di-di les canards vont à la mar-mar-mar

Mardi ils vont à la mer-mer-mer

Mercredi ils organisent un grand jeu-jeu-jeu

Jeudi ils se promène au vent-vent-vent

Vendredi ils se dandinent comme ça-ça-ça

Samedi ils se lavent à ce qu'on dit-dit-dit

Dimanche ils se reposent et voient la vie en rose

La semaine recommence et on se voit demain, coin coin

Then they did activities to find words that rhyme together.

Elementary school:

I think my favorite class is honestly the first and second grade, even if they're a bit energetic it's easy to calm them down and they understand empathy better.

they were nice even if they pushed the line while the teacher asked me to watch over them, they didn't respect the rules and a good 3/4 of the class got a punishment (nothing too hard, just writing on a paper why they didn't listen to me)

Third and fourth grade were f they didn't need much help but still sometimes did, I was just pretty lost when I had to correct their math test and they had multiplication table of 12 and 13.

I did use to know them in elementary school but with time I forgot so it took me some times to remember (I hope I corrected correctly because the teacher didn't say anything). They were really nice towards me even if they were really shy about asking me help they eventually got comfortable and trusted me.

Fourth and fifth grade were boring as hell 😭 they didn't need my help at all and could do everything by themselves (I also happened to be in their class when they were preparing their dance show so I didn't do anything at all).

Surprisingly they were really calmed (even my class in highschool isn't this calm) but I guess it's because their teacher is the director lol

That's pretty much all, I don't have much to say and it was really nice to help them with everything even if some took time to come to me. (For those who are curious, yes I'm going to their dance show I'll be in the public).

They were pretty sad to know it was my last day today but they appreciated having me here and I was happy to be here too