#anyway go step on lego :)

[amazingdeadfish]

(Explosion Noises)

[mamawasatesttube]

this is so obnoxious im actually wondering if it's a troll but hey. a) never call my work "content" again. b) no writer owes you shit. i don't care how long you have to wait ohh you poor thing. c) if you're lurking on my tumblr for """content""" you know i had final exams and a death in the family to deal with in the last few weeks. d) you didn't even comment on the first chapter i literally could not care less how agonizing the wait was for you uwu.

it takes so much work to write 24,000 words. pulling that off in 7 weeks with a lot of other shit going on, plus writing several other oneshots in the meantime, is a lot! i am a person not just a content-generating machine. can't believe that is something i have to say?

anyway. the point being. get blocked idiot

[guinevereslancelot]

fifth graders will look you right in the eye and say shit like "crap isn't a swear word" and "well our teacher lets us say it" and "no, mr. [name] says crap all the time and he lets us say it"

[thelightofmylife]

I genuinely don’t care what people ship because I like to be left alone but pro shippers have this notorious running thing of stealing non pro shipper content or disrespecting their boundaries all together.

Your love for problematic f/o’s doesn’t make you a bad person. Your disrespect and inherent lack of care for people who choose to disagree and disengage DOES make you a complete fucking shit bag though!

Pro shippers idc if you interact just don’t be fucking weird about this or straw man a whole ��oh but an anti did this once and that’s why I steal content :(“ I am begging you to shut the fuck up and use a SINGLE brain cell

Stealing content is literally never okay and neither is actively disrespecting a DNI. PLEASE be a grown fucking ass adult that you claim to be and leave them alone !!!!

The ONLY moral of the post you should take away from this is “respect other people’s boundaries and don’t force your ideas onto other people and stop stealing content” because it’s so horrifically toxic and it’s why a good lot of you are so nasty to be friends with.

[imminent-danger-came]

I THINK I FINALLY PUT TOGETHER WHY LUZ'S ARC IN S3 OF THE OWL HOUSE BUGGED ME SO MUCH.

It's because they made her defining moment helping Belos meet the collector—which feels disconnected from the core of her character (and also it happened in an episode over halfway through season 2). That's not her defining moment, and it never has been: it was her choice to walk through the portal door, and become a witch.

That's what makes her similar to Philip, right? Like, Luz has this grand idea in her mind of becoming a witch. Philip has his own grand idea of being a heroic witch hunter and saving the human realm from this great evil. That's what the line "I am the great witch Azura, warrior of piece!" is meant to communicate. It's the idea in her head vs reality. That's what s1 of toh explores.

Luz choosing to walk through the portal door and become a witch is what leads to...well, everything. It leads to her not being able to go back. It leads to her mother's grief. It leads to Eda losing her magic. It turns Amity's life upside down. It leads to Belos meeting the collector. It leads to the near destruction of the Isles.

And that ties in with her foil to Philip WAY better, and it makes her decision to stay in the human realm at the end of 3x01 actually relevant. She wanted to be this great witch, to follow in Philip's footsteps creating a portal door and learning about the isles, she wanted to live her dream...and look what that lead too.

So, Luz feeling like her and Belos are both motivated by love and by their own childish notions...like that would have been SO interesting. She wasn't becoming the villain and didn't wake up one morning evil, but some of her decisions undeniably hurt others. But it also lead to some good things. And that's life, isn't it? Taking the good with the bad and accepting that.

But idk, instead it was like a "blah blah your one single mistake makes YOU the true villain!", which just isn't compelling or at the core of Luz character.

[saintsarefake]

tiktok and tumblr stop stalking the ex victim of a stalker to send him photos of his stalker and re-traumatize him challenge

[justmenoworries]

Thank you, X-Men '97 Episode 8 for providing me with an easy way to see whether peeps on here are worth listening to or not.

[nomairuins]

i do need 2 work on rewiring my brain so that my immediate very first thought whenever i dont do a small task (like brushing ny teeth taking a shower picking up my room etc) isnt 'We Should Kill Connor ." this would be pretty good for me to do. putting this on the list

[lonely-night]

whichever one of you repost my bering and wells gifs on twitter I wish you a very go step on lego :)

[imjustaf444keriguess]

you are literally illiterate

endogenic systems is an umbrella term that encompasses created-plural experiences. you can yell all you want about if it's cultural appropriation to use the term tulpa but like it or not they are part of the endogenic umbrella term.

people who create sentient "others" or have sentient "others" that are formed without trauma are endogenic. internet tulpamancy / psychological tulpamancy, the thing scientists are studying in SOME of the sources i shared, is a form of endogenic plurality.

you even linked wikipedia, which TALKS ABOUT TULPAMANCERS from internet sources!

you also refer to endogenic systems as "endo alters just kinda seem to spawn like a Minecraft pig and are usually fictional characters the "host" loves." when tulpas, in the usage i'm referring to, started from BRONIES. wanting to talk to the ponies, in their brain. mentioned ON WIKIPEDIA. (bold text mine)

Influenced by depictions in television and cinema from the 1990s and 2000s, the term tulpa started to be used to refer to a type of willed imaginary friend.[9] Practitioners consider tulpas to be sentient and relatively autonomous.[4] Online communities dedicated to tulpas spawned on the 4chan and Reddit websites. These communities refer to tulpa practitioners as "tulpamancers". The communities gained popularity when adult fans of My Little Pony started discussing tulpas of characters from the My Little Pony television series.[4]

sure, we could get into how silly that is in reality, or how the experience was inspired by religious practices, but do you think we'd have scientists performing BRAINSCANS and similar research into tulpas if they weren't more than some bronies larping online?

but again, endogenic systems and tulpas are not all fictional characters and to dismiss either because people have attachments to fictional characters and the brain likes to latch onto that? is silly.

although if you're going to brush off the research because they said tulpa and tulpas are religious and imaginary to you, een though the wikipedia page you linked mentions the kind of tulpamancy i'm referring to and you seem to ignore the actual definitions of tulpa from psychological tulpamancers themselves (examples include the tulpamancy reddit and tulpa.info link i screenshotted above), then maybe critical thinking and logic isn't your strong suit.

i think you just like assuming you're correct without any evidence to back up your claim and i hope you continue to live in blissful ignorance. and a headache for a few more hours.

(starting off, we are a traumagenic did system. we have did.)

endogenic systems are absolutely punk and they belong in punk spaces (pluralpunk, systempunk, whatever) and here’s why:

- punk is about embracing who you are and living your life authentically and unapologetically

- punk is about not letting other people dictate how you live your life and who you can be

- punk is about radical acceptance, equality, and solidarity

- punk is about rejecting authority and the establishment (and yes, this includes the medical establishment which is often ableist and causes disabled people real, long lasting harm)

there is no room for anti endos in punk. being anti endo literally is being anti punk. learn more about what punk means, and do better.

[themthistles]

imo people complaining and saying 'so what? i can't like this thing anymore?' when asked to stop buying and posting about certain stuff is because of the idea that caring about something automatically means (1) buying everything that has thing's name slapped on it and/or (2) broadcasting your thoughts and feelings about it on the internet. fandoms are fun but they aren't the only way to enjoy media and you can live without a thing if you know that buying it funds shitty people and their shitty beliefs

[amass0fvoices]

So anyway I’m way fuckin upset

We (my family and I) have been doing Lego sets all day

And I opened up my new starry night set I got for chrismis

That was 200 and some dollars

An I start pulling out the bags all excited to start this 2316 piece set that my mother purchased for me for 200 and some dollars to and gave me for chrismis

AND I SEE THIS SHIT

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK

[fandomscombine]

New Kid

Spencer Reid x Reader

BG: It’s your first day at the BAU and meeting the team. The team is surprised with how you’re hitting it off with a certain Doctor but what they don’t know is that a bigger surprise is yet to come.  

A/N: My first Criminal Minds/Spencer Reid Fic! It’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year now and finally tied an ending together. (Are we over a 2-year writing slump? We’ll see!)

Honestly it’s pure season 1/season 2 team fluff crack and chaoticness! Wanted to capture the early seasons team dynamics. Hope you all enjoy!

Fun fact, it’s all the Spencer Reid x Reader fics that kept popping in my recommendations that I started reading and falling in love with Reid prior to starting the show!

WC: 1307

>>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<<

>>>CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST<<<

This is it. Your first day as a Special Agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Growing up reading detective stories and solving mysteries were your favorite pastimes. 

You’re grateful for having a family environment that was supportive of your thirst for knowledge and endless curiosity.

The receptionist has informed you that the team is waiting for you upstairs, ready to give your orientation tour.

"Thanks." You replied, half mildly picking at your nails. In just an elevator ride away, you'd be in the midst of the smartest profilers alive. And nothing goes unnoticed – that you know very well.

A vibration in your pocket breaks your thoughts. A smile slips to your face. 

"Stop picking at your fingers." The voice on the other line says.

"Hello to you dad." You can't help but roll your eyes. "I wasn't even–" You look down at your left hand. Shit. "How'd you even know?" 

"I just do, I watched you grow up for 25 years." 

"Yea yea."

"Hey kid, sorry I couldn’t be there—“

“You’ve got a whole auditorium full of nerds dying to hear your lectures, I understand.” The door in front of you opens and you step inside.

“Thanks kid. I’ll make it up to you. How does an extra large, extra saucy lasagne sound?”

“Oooh yes, don’t forget with extra cheese!” The monitors indicate: 3/F, 4/F, 5/F.  “By the way, you’ve told them right?” As you step out, you spot a group of agents handled near the department entrance. “Anyway I’ll see you later, gotta go. Bye.” Quickly cutting the line off, not wanting to seem unprofessional, chatting on the phone.

“Special Agent y/m/n?” Said the brunette.

You opted to be referred to by your first and Mother’s maiden name, when you first started out. Wanting to stand on your own merits and making a name for yourself.

“That’s me.” 

“Special Agent Greenaway, this is Agent Jareau, and Agent Garcia.” You shake hands with the two agents “Call me JJ” 

But you are quickly engulfed into a hug by the third, which you have to admit took you by surprise.  “You can call me Penelope.-- Opps sorry, just excited to have another female member in the team!” You give her a warm smile, patting her shoulder, “No worries, Penelope. Just caught me off-guard.”

“Come on, let’s meet the rest of the team.” JJ says, leading you all into the bullpen.

“So this would be your desk right here” points Agent Greenaway. “Which is right across from Agent Morgan–”

“Derek, Derek Morgan m’ beautiful lady.” cuts in the man. 

You can’t help but blush from the compliment. “You always flirt with the new kid, huh Derek?” You challenge, playing off his energy. 

“Ignore him,” 

“Cmon’ Elle. It’s all good fun!”

Elle directs you to a hunched figure behind Derek.

“This is our resident genius, Dr. Spencer Reid.”  She points to Reid, who is preoccupied with a lego model to have noticed the group. 

“Dr. Reid! I’ve heard so much about you!” Reaching out your hand, to grab his attention. His head instantly shoots up, eager to know the culprit who distracted him from finishing this model of the Delorean and give them a piece of his mind.

“Hey! I was just finishing -.” His voice trails off upon realizing that A. it wasn’t one of his teammates making fun of his legos but instead a face he doesn’t recognize and B. feeling bad on being the reason why your bright smile turned into a frown. “Oh Sorry! Sorry Ms–”

“y/m/n” Your father had shared stories about the team, especially Spencer, his protege. He was the person you were most excited to meet, though with this first interaction - you were discouraged with how it went. Perhaps you shouldn’t have run multiple scenarios on how you’d wow the team with such high standards. 

Dropping your arm, eager to quickly change the subject, you turn to Elle. “ So what cases do we –”

“y/m/n? As in y/f/n y/m/n!?” Spencer exclaims, his eyes wide. Big hand gestures dancing through the air as he raved.  “ The author of ‘The Correlation Between The Probability of Sudden Adult Anger Outburst and Childhood Familial Upbringing.’ ?

You’d had your thesis quoted back to you by professors and peers, but never with such childlike wonder written all-over Spencer’s face, making you blush. “Yes! But how -”

“I’ve read so much about you! Your work, I mean.” Spencer isn’t normally affected by how he’s perceived by others. Spitting out facts in the speed of light is synonymous to his identity and it’s nothing he’s ashamed of. But it's rare to have someone beautiful and intelligent be into the same niche interests that he has. Spencer only has one shot on not coming on as weird and it’s not going well, so he elaborates.  “I got it from Gideon’s pile. I picked it up on a whim but your writing is spectacular! I read through it in 12 mins!”

“Wait, you read through my 250 page dissertation in under 12 mins?” You questioned, looking around the team to check if you’ve misheard. 

“Affirmative. It would have been faster, but I was jotting down some notes.”

“Notes, huh?” Crossing your arms, the paper had gone through multiple reviews from your professors before submission. It should be damn near perfect. “Alright, Doctor Reid. I’m interested, how about you show me your notes over coffee?”

“Actually…” Spencer raised his finger, interjecting. “It might take a bit longer than an hour and I would love to dig into your brain. Perhaps we could go over it at dinner?”

“Name the time and place.” You grabbed the nearest post-it and quickly wrote down your phone number. “Now will you excuse me, I believe I’m late for my introductory meeting with Agent Hotchner.” 

With that you broke away from the make-shift team circle and headed you to Hotch’s office, leaving the team still frozen in their spot.

Derek was the first to speak. “Did pretty boy just ask out the new girl without stuttering and succeed?”

“Good, so everyone else witnessed that too right?” Added Penelope. 

JJ nodded in agreement, too stunned to speak as if it would break the illusion.

“What?” Spencer’s voice cracked. “I simply asked if we could compare notes!”

“No. Technically she initiated it.” Elle clarified.

Shaking his head, Spencer eyes trailed to the now closed Hotch’s door. 

“Yea, to which you effortlessly turned from coffee date to a dinner date!” Exclaimed Derek, earning Spencer a pat on the back. “The boy’s got game!”

“It’s not a date! At least I don’t think it is - I bet she doesn’t see me that way. Nobody does.” Spencer sighs, sulking back down to his seat. Reality catching up to him by the second, erasing any hope that a woman like you would have any romantic interest in a nerd like him. 

“Trust me kid.” Come a voice, effectively cutting Reid’s thoughts. Gideon nonchalantly walks up to the empty desk marked “Agent y/n y/m/n”, moves the box of your belongings to make space for  what seems to be a plastic bag of takeaway. “You're her type.” 

“What?” Spencer asks, more confused than ever. The looks across the team’s face reflect his own reaction. “And how would you know that?” 

“With all due respect, sir.” Added JJ, careful not to overstep. “You haven’t seen y/n and you got all that from her untouched desk?”

“Yea Gideon, we know you’re good but you can’t be that good!”

Gideon brushed off Derek’s brassiness and smirked. Proceeding to head up to his office, finally addressing the group only halfway up the steps. “I know, cause she's my daughter.”

“WHAT?!” exclaimed the BAU team, who once again found themselves frozen by a member of the Gideon family.

[ddejavvu]

the force is strong with him

pairing: darth vader x reader

summary: various ways vader manipulates the force around you

cw: smut - minors dni, toxic relationship (it's literally darth vader), improper use of the force, sensory deprivation/overstimulation, manhandling, don't like, don't read.

happy indy day @hanasnx !!! okay i know i'm a bit late (for your time zone, at least) but uhhh. i was watching indiana jones and building legos okay i promise i was thinking about you the whole day. anyways vader is sexing you soooo hard for your birthday. so so hard and mean.

You are so much more, so much different than a partner to Vader. You're allowed autonomy, of course- what you eat, drink, wear, read, watch is up to you- provided the outfits are selected out of the closet he stocks for you, and the meals are taken at his right hand. But in the desolate grey walls of your lover's in-progress battle station, nothing but vacuous emptiness beyond its walls, your autonomy has merged with his own complicated being, and more often than not you find yourself being directed by the invisible Force that guides his life.

He strides a half-step ahead of you down the halls, but a tight ring of pressure still encompasses your bicep - he's got you in his grasp, even if there's a disconnect between the bruising force around your arm and his curled, leather-clad fingers. He makes elegant, sweeping turns, and you do the same only because he makes you- he's still holding tight to your arm with the Force. If you tried to keep going straight, or turn the other direction, your arm would be separated from its socket.

You obey; the joint stays in tact.

He is particularly fond of nudging you aside with the Force. He doesn't need to - he could wait for you to catch on that he's trying to move past you, or he could simply shoulder you out of the way with his broad frame. But instead an invisible wall bumps into your left side, and you stumble to the right as it prods you sideways, making enough room for the black-clad figure to sweep by.

It doesn't matter if you huff and puff at him, 'I could have moved myself, y'know!' or if you stutter out apology after apology, 'sorry-!', he answers it the same each time. A silent, head-on stare from a menacing mask with no eyes.

Being regarded by your lover is as terrifying as feeling the Force suck the air out of your lungs, and you endure both. A thrill shoots up your spine whenever you hold eye contact with the mask, and Vader is more than happy to stare at you for as long as you'll be stared at. Blinking does not shift his attention; it is a staring contest that cannot be won. Only continued, prolonged, dragged out until your eyes flit elsewhere, and his remain fixed on your figure, watching, always watching.

He doesn't often need to restrain you- who would dare make that mistake twice? - but he does catch you once, only once with his lightsaber.

It had been set carefully aside for your lover's stint in the bacta tank, and you'd stolen it away to your chambers to inspect it. You've always seen it at his side- never out of its holster unless it rested in his black leather grip, and it's been intriguing to you since the day you'd seen it. You'd never gathered the courage to touch it before, though, not until you were confident you could squirrel it away while Vader was unconscious.

The hilt is heavy and cold in your hand- so heavy, so cold. You know the blade inside vibrates with plasma as hot as the fire that had warped your lover's skin, but it feels so soul-suckingly frigid that you're amazed it's ever been used. It's the weight of a thousand kills, the crimson of gallons of spilt blood, and it rests heavily in your hands.

You're only aware of the footsteps steadily pounding towards you after you're frozen in place, limbs suddenly locked- tied with zipties that can't be cut by your mortal hand.

Vader doesn't lecture you- not right away, at least. Instead he thumbs the triggerplate of the saber in your hands with one finger of the invisible hand that's holding you still, and the red blade hums to life mere centimeters from your face. The heat stings at your skin like a swarm of wasps, itchy, tight, hot stinging. It paralyses you only further, and your eyes yearn to widen where you're being held as a statue.

"That is what a lightsaber feels like when it is an inch from taking your life." Vader rasps, his voice mechanic and bone-chilling, "I urge you not to find out what happens when that inch disappears. I will take it away myself if you dare handle my weapon again."

He snatches it away from your grasp, but your hand is still trapped in his cosmic grip, molded perfectly around the hilt of his blade.

"See to it that you do not make me kill you." He speaks plainly, robotic voice inherently devoid of emotion as he towers over your frozen form, "I would not like to spend time replacing you."

Vader's insertion of the Force into your life is present even in sex. Sex with Vader is convoluted, something he enjoys very rarely in its traditional sense. But to reward you for your unfailing loyalty and obedience, you're pleasured quite often, and Vader revels in manipulating the Force around your body.

Sometimes it is merely that invisible hand prying your thighs apart, dipping into the wet warmth of your cunt and spreading you open for him to see. You're sure it's an obscene view, your cunt bared and open and hollow for him to watch as it expands and contracts around a girth that isn't there.

Other times, however, it is darkness, it is the absence of sound, it is the emptiness of floating in a void of your lover's creation. He steals your senses, takes your sight, your sound, your touch. He isolates you in your own body, you can no longer feel the sheets beneath you or hear the rustle of them in your fingers. All he lets you hear is the raspy rhythm of his respirator, not even your own sounds.

He does it because the less you can hear of yourself, the louder you become. You're sheepish to scream when your own ears pick up the sound, but when he blocks it from your senses, your shouts reverberate around the desolate grey walls of your chambers and each one fills up a meter of satisfaction inside of him that he didn't know was still active.

All he lets you hear his him, all he lets you feel is him.

Sometimes he leaves you in the void- all sound and sight and touch absent - for minutes. Sometimes it is an hour, until the surface of your skin beads with sweat and your brain itches desperately for sensation. Then a finger that isn't really there- that's just an extension of the leather-covered one that your lover is holding out beyond the inky blackness of your consciousness - plunges into your cunt, and the only sense you can feel is the penetration. After minutes- hours of feeling nothing, that single thick finger dips past your slit and shorts out the neurons in your brain. It is everything, it is something after nothing and it is Vader watching intently with that permanent stare that you can never escape.

It is touches far too few in quantity that make you squirt and writhe like you've been fucked within an inch of your life. It is something mysteriously disembodied tweaking at your perked nipples, something phantom putting pressure against your clit.

It is Vader, and it is the way he merges his autonomy with yours as a reward for your unfailing loyalty and obedience. You serve him and now you are granted a space within his person- budge over there below his mechanized lungs, settle into the weary cage of his ribs, stay a while.

[tlbodine]

Stuck? Try junebugging.

I don't know who needs to hear this, but we're 5 days into nanowrimo so maybe this will be helpful.

Do you want the safety and surety of knowing what happens next in your story but can't stick to an outline? Does knowing in advance what will happen suck the joy out of discovery writing? Do you try to wing it through plots but get tangled in plot holes or have a story that runs out of steam because you can't figure out what went wrong? Are you at your most creative when you have a little bit of guidance? Do you tend to under-write? Do you get ideas in your head for random scenes and snippets that drop from the sky without context?

If any of these apply to you, junebugging a draft might be for you!

What Is Junebugging?

Since you're on Tumblr, you might already be familiar with the concept of junebugging as it relates to cleaning. If not -- I think the idea was first introduced to me by @jumpingjacktrash.

The basic idea is that you tackle cleaning by way of controlled chaos. You pick a specific area you want to focus on, like your kitchen sink, and then wander off to deal with other things as they occur to you, but always returning back to that area. You end up cleaning a little bit at a time in an order that may not make sense to an outsider but which keeps you from getting overwhelmed and discouraged.

How Does Junebugging Work in Writing?

OK, so that's great, but how does this work with writing? Well. In my case, the general idea is to jump between writing linearly, outlining, and writing out of order. It usually looks something like:

Start free-writing a scene, feeling my way through it and enjoying the discovery process.

Thinking, ok, now I have this scene, did anything need to happen to lead up to it? Do I need to go back and add some foreshadowing? Does this scene set anything up that needs to be paid off? And then jump forward/back to make those adjustments.

I'll usually have a bunch of disconnected ideas of ideas that have popped into my head, so I'll write those down in a list somewhere and then try to figure out what goes in between them and what order it goes in.

I'll write what I call "micro-scenes" which is where I'll just sketch out a few essential elements of what's going on without worrying too much about details, description, etc. -- just he did this, she said that, the setting was this, real bare-bones script. Then I can come back through and flesh out each of those microscenes into an actual scene later.

Got a story that has a complex structure? No problem. Write through each storyline one at a time and then chop them up and weave them together afterward. Write all the B plot scenes first then come back through to do A plot and C plot. Move the pieces around like legos. No one ever has to know.

This method works for me because I can't "decide" story elements in advance. I have never been able to just sit down and "figure out" what happens in a story beyond a couple steps ahead -- I have to discovery-write my way forward. But at the same time, that gets really daunting. So I zoom forward with micro-scenes, roughing out the beats in the most bare-bones way possible, then when I run out of clear vision for what happens next I backtrack, flesh out those scenes, build in connective tissue, etc. and by then I will probably find more inspiration to jump forward.

It's basically folding drafting, outlining, and revising all together into a single phase of writing, which is chaotic and goes against everything people teach you, but if it works? then it fuckin works.

Anyway, sorry for the jumbled-up post, I'm dashing this off quickly while I heat up a pizza and I'm about to dive back into my WIP -- but I hope this was a little helpful. If nothing else, take this as my blanket permission that it's 100% OK to jump around, write out of order, write messy, outline sometimes, pants sometimes, and do whatever else it takes just to get through the story. You've got this. Good luck.

[katz-chow]

inspired by the post you made of having a child by your hip and then him walking in and going to kiss his "pretty girls"

So, here this, Simon Riley, bad mood, and tired, just came from base to his home, his wife and daughter in the kitchen, unaware. He was going to be grumpy all night long when he heard the babbles from his baby daughter, his wife trying to teach her how to say 'mum' after the kid said 'dada' first.

Bare with me, make it extra fluffy, I'm taking it so fluffy it roots your teeth from how cute it is. The dream he never knew would happen, was now in front of him.

anyway, you'll probs get a smut req from me after this one

a/n: i did not see this until it was like an hour before i wrote and posted this. my bad, man.

warnings: fem!reader, baby, stressed out simon, fluff, domestic, maternity leave, what a family man

Simon was not a stranger to stress and aching muscles, it came almost like sleep to an already dying body. He saw himself as that whenever it got quiet and lonely. Thankfully, nowadays he finds himself in the comfort and joy of people that enjoy his company to any extent. So this stress came in a familiar yet unexpected, especially when it came in a form of 12 hours of office work and not dirt, grime, and blood. Also unusual is how this tsunami toppled him down, so close to the place he called home, in a neighborhood where only old people find themselves retiring to and grand kids running along the street.

He pulled up to the light of his home, which seemed unchanged to when he left the same house earlier that day, completely with the total darkness that consumed the sky. Keys in one hand and a lunch box in the other, he unlocked the front door and was met with the warm glow of lamp lights. The smell of dinner drifted in the air, inviting him into bliss and heat, compared to the cold and damp night outside.

One lock clicked, the other one followed, and then the tumbling of his steel-toed boots against the hardwood. A quiet draft moved around the living and dining room, a remnant of a busy, eventful day still present along the floor. Wooden peg dolls lay slain from a fight hours ago, Lego bricks scattered around from an explosion that seemed to have been devastating for the population and infrastructure of the city, how cute.

His ear perked up at the sound of soft cooing followed by the shrill of your baby voice for your girl. Behind the door to the nursery propped you up against the wall, slumped down onto the floor. The little cow onesie sat on your lap, leaning against your thighs as you held her hands, bouncing her up and down.

"Can you say 'mama?'" You whispered sing-songy, slowing down the last part, making it easier for the baby to understand. The little one giggled at you and forced you to wave your hand with its tight grip on one of your fingers.

Simon couldn't help but shake his head and roll his eyes, your diabolical plan of getting her to say 'mama' instead of 'dada' has started-which was especially unfair because you got parental leave before he did. "I heard that."

You look up at him from your spot of the fluffy rug, sticking out your tongue at him. 'How mature,' he thought as he sank down next to you. He raked a hand through his hair, resting his head against the wall as you rested yours onto his shoulder. Your cowpoke stuck her tongue out at him as he peaked open of his eyes to glare at her. "Already putting my own kid against me, how considerate of you, Lovie."

You giggled at him and thus, your baby girl also giggled, following in her mama's steps. The three of you settled down, Simon taking her from your lap and into his own, holding her close as she snuggled up into his uniform. You held onto his bicep, leaning into him. Soft lips meet your forehead as normal, just like the hundreds of times before this moment. "You got home late."

"I know, I'm sorry..." he sighed, eyes heavy and heart full,domestic life looked good on him. What looked even better was his beautiful girls in his grasp, shielding them away from the horrors of war that he fought all those years ago. This was it.

"I'm glad you're home though... we already had dinner and she insisted that we stay up to wait for you." You laughed. You missed him and the days that he wasn't so caught up, working overtime. You know why though, so paternity leave wouldn't be so out of reach.

He let out a soft laugh smiling and making funny faces at your little calf. "Yeah, I saw the destruction and war crimes the two of you caused out there."

"Womp, womp." You shrugged and let in a deep breath, content with the little family the two of you had created in a span of a few years. This is what life is supposed to be like; simple, warm, and your kids mocking you at the ripe age of 10 months.

Simon Riley, a man built on anger, pain, and built walls, is no longer just that. He's no longer just a soldier, a pawn that's willing to do anything for the greater good, sacrificing sleep, time, and himself. No, Simon Riley can no longer do that, he needs to come home at the end of day, see his girls terrorize the squirrels outside, see his girls nuzzled up watching tv, see his girls make fun of him, and most importantly, see his girls sleeping soundly in his arms.