#but i promise she does it

[rvby]

a never-ending dream

i knew he wasn't well. he never had been. but that was all normal. that was our normal.

i didn't know anything else. i didn't know anyone else but him.

it wasn't his fault, of course. he did the best he could. but still, i knew, as i have always known, that he wasn't well.

he would tell you, like he told me, that he wasn't very good with children.

he would tell me this, with his head lowered and his eyes stuck to the floor, guilt flooding the room, as if i had any other choice at all.

i didn't. i knew that. he knew that, too, even if he wished i might have.

so it didn't matter very much if he was good with children or if he wasn't. i was his burden and he was mine. and we were each other's in that way for a very long time.

i asked him, once, what he thought of this burden. what he thought of days spent exhausting himself on the battlefield, just to come home and have to tend to me.

i don't know why i asked. perhaps i was greedy, hoping to come to some truth of our existence that he had so adamantly refused to reveal to me before then. but can you blame me, for wanting to know what i was worth?

my brother has never been so eloquent of a man. his schooling was little more than whatever he had picked up along the way, lessons taught out of necessity more than interest. but still, for me, he tried to speak.

i wish i had been more grateful, then.

he told me that day, with his gun still in his hands, that he came home to me every time because no one else was there to do it.

my brother is not an eloquent man. i know this. i knew this. and yet, it struck me then that i must have been as much of a burden upon him as i thought i might be.

it is the same responsibility a parent has to a child, for the sake of continuing the cycle of life. nothing more, i thought, than what was natural.

still, there existed that difference between us and that nature that he always hated to speak about: that we weren't related at all.

he owed me nothing more than he owed every other war orphan he's seen along his journeys. he's seen them dead and alive, in the same sorry state across every border. and yet, i was the one he chose to save.

something, then, must have made me special. but no amount of asking would tell me what. what made me worth saving compared to every other starving child we would pass? what would keep him from returning me to that same place he rescued me from, having given up on whatever it was he saw in me that i couldn't even know?

`she sighs, languidly.` yes, i couldn't know. he would never tell me. my brother was many things. secretive is another. it was only another norm in our lives that i wasn't allowed to question.

of course, that didn't stop me. all i had back then was my curiosity and a drive to learn. secrets only led to more questions, and eventually we both had enough of it all, the back and forth of knowing and not knowing.

my brother may not have been the most learned man, but he was clever. and though he says he isn't so good with children, i imagine he must have been, to raise me as he did.

he told me- no, that's not right. he challenged me, with words that have driven me to this very day: to "use that brain of mine to find out."

he told me to, to one day ask him, when i was finally sure of the conclusion i came to, what it is that made me special. why he chose me and no one else to save. and he said that he'd let me know, then, if i was right or wrong.

`she lets out a small huff of a scoff, one bordering a laugh.` you can imagine i was far too impatient to wait to be sure. i'd come up with one idea after the next, just on the off-chance that i might be right, accidentally. for a time, it was all i'd think about. some fantastical reason why i must have been special.

`she glances aside.` i suppose i never did stop thinking about it. i wonder if he knew what he was doing, telling me that all those years ago. i wonder if he'd remembered it still, as we got older.

i had hoped we'd have more time. that i'd get my degree and i'd lead the research to bring me back to my past, so that i could tell him one day that i knew why he decided to look after me. so that i could hear him tell me i'm right. that after all the years he'd been my brother, he could finally tell me at least this one truth of myself, for the both of us.

...i was naive, to think those days could go on forever, dreaming of a past i never had. but that's all i really had, isn't it? dreams. dreams of the past. of the future.

he was good with children, i think, to an extent. if not, then at least he was good with me. he knew what it would take to keep me alive in the middle of a war, helpless as i was. he knew what it would take to keep me going beyond that, too.

he gave me hope and a dream. a reason to push myself past the mere point of survival.

he gave me everything.

everything he didn't have to give.

everything he didn't even have for himself.

i wanted to give something back to him, eventually. proof that it was all worth it. that i was worth it all. but war is never so kind as to give you something as meaningful as time, no matter the weight of your hope or your dreams.

in the end, we ran out of time. as i had always feared, he left, never to return, and i could never ask him again what made me special to him. what responsibility he owed to me to raise me higher than he could have ever managed for himself.

it was a choice, yes, but a continuous one. one he could have abandoned at any time. no longer is it merely a question of why he chose me, but of why he continued to choose me.

was it something i earned? was it something i was given? ...and why did he choose to leave now?

`she pauses, now, to sit up again. swapping the legs that were crossed and readjusting her position. maintaining for herself a dignity in spite of her words.` children often lack control of their surroundings. they create meaning in things and in places that, in reality, may hold no correlation at all.

in my position, i did the same. there was no other way to withstand the fear of living out there, waiting for our chance to escape.

`bitterly, she corrects herself.` for my chance to escape. i suppose i was the only one looking to escape that hell he'd always return to.

some of it makes sense, in hindsight, the things that i'd do. studying as hard as i could so he could have news to return to, as if the simple lessons i had learned were worth returning for.

others, of course, weren't so rational, in ways children are prone to. superstitions, formed from a desperation for survival.

one i remember notably was always leaving a bite leftover from my meals while frank was gone. i told myself that if there was food leftover, then he must come home to finish it for me. `she scoffs at her own admittance. the embarrassment of innocence.` it left him worried that i wasn't eating. he didn't understand that i was doing it for him. it got to the point where i was leaving more than just a bite, as if doing so meant he'd return sooner, until there were times i was afraid to eat at all.

i can imagine why he'd think he wasn't so good with children. he made me cry when he told me he wouldn't come back unless i made sure to finish all my food the next time he left. there was nothing else he could have said to me, then, to ease my fears. he only did the best he could.

`again, she sighs. wistfully now.` he wasn't well. i knew that. but neither was i.

no, i'm still...

`her foot taps slightly as she dwells on her childhood regrets.`

i only wish i knew... if i knew it was going to be our last chance speaking, i would have asked again, why?

`despite it, a small smile, soft and fond picks at the edges of her lips.` but he must have known not to. he was always clever like that. it's a way for him to tell me to keep dreaming.

to keep dreaming until i can ask him one last time.

[ why, after all that time, did you finally have to leave for good? ]

[chloesimaginationthings]

The ending of FNAF Help wanted..

[bluerosefox]

Her Astrophel and Sterling

hmmm

Hmmmmmmmm

You know what.

You know those AU's where the Batfam finds or learns about either hidden or thought to be dead Al Ghul Danny! with a deaged/daughter Dani (Ellie) (I should know, I created a few of those storylines) but what if, now hear me out, what if instead of them finding Danny first its Talia.

Do I want Talia discovering her thought to be dead son to be alive? Yes. Do I want her to find him while investigating Amity Park when the League gets reports of 'Lazarus creatures/water'? Yes.

DO I WANT HER TO KNOCK ON THE FENTON'S DOOR, fully ready to pretend/honey talk her way into the house to uncover what the Fenton's know, ONLY TO MEET A LITTLE ELLIE?!

YES.

Ellie whose eyes and hair look like a copy of her Beloved but she can see bits and pieces of herself as well. Talia knows the child in front of her was not fully her's though but everything makes sense when she hears a voice, a voice she hasn't heard in ages but as a mother just knows, speak out.

"Ellie! I thought I said do not answer the door my Sterling."

"But Daddy, yous was busy fighting the hotdoggys!"

Talia's eyes widen when she finally catches sight of familiar black hair and blue eyes.

and she could only lightly whisper a old nickname she hasn't dared uttered in ages, a name she secretly gave her son due to his love of the stars "Astrophel..."

[cowboygenes]

Explosive Triad Shenanigans

[coffeeandtoastforbreakfast]

It’s all going up into flames…bright, white flames…

[breaths-of-fresh-air-zelink]

If zelink was a Hallmark movie

[copypastus]

Feyre's selective hearing is the origin of my villain arc.

[dcbnam-aep]

missed opportunity to see ghost Agatha’s reaction to her grave and get reminded of rio’s love and final gift to her-

[roomba-mangga]

Curry pt. i // Curry pt. ii

yeah alright okay. fine. cool. alright. yeah

[loulovingho]

okay so I wrote a fic based off this post that I made earlier today so... enjoy!

read here or on ao3

Thomas Kinard is eighteen years old and he just graduated basic training.

He's standing among nearly two hundred other graduates, all filled with some form of anxiety and excitement.

They're all standing at attention, although Tommy knows everyone's eyes are searching the audience.

They've all been given their orders.

They stand at attention until a family member or loved one comes and taps them out. Only then can they be at ease.

Tommy had called his dad a couple weeks ago. Left him a message on the landline about the date and time of his graduation. He hadn't expected a call back. The payphones at basic weren't great and you didn't have much spare time to be on them, but he knew his dad would get the message.

He wrote a letter to his grandparents, just in case. His aunt on his mom's side, and his older cousins too.

They'd been proud when he told them he was graduating early, joining the service, would be celebrating his eighteenth birthday in boot camp.

Even his dad has slapped him on the back and told him he was glad he was finally becoming a real man.

Tommy's eyes scanned the crowd, but it was hard to make anyone out.

He waited patiently through the ceremony. His heart skipped a beat or two when people began making their way toward the graduates.

He stood still, only his eyes darting around as the people beside him began to get tapped out. He listened to the cries of parents who had done nothing but miss their children for the past 10 weeks. Saw grown men cry at the site of their moms. Heard the laughter from boyfriends and girlfriends who surprised their partner by showing up. Watched little kids run to their sibling and wrap their arms around them in a hug.

He was certain that only a few minutes had passed, but it felt like hours.

As more and more seconds passed, his heart continued to pound, but for a different reason now.

Surely he wasn't the only one. As he glanced around, he didn't see anyone else waiting. No, he couldn't see everybody, but he was near the back in the center row so he could see most people, and they all had somebody with them.

A hand tapped his shoulder and his head jerked to the side, eyes wide. He felt a lump in the back of his throat when he saw his commanding officer standing beside him. He had the softest look on his face that Tommy had ever seen.

Pity.

“At ease, soldier.”

Tommy takes a breath, relaxes his posture. His CO moves in front of him, shakes his hand. “You've done well, Kinard. You should be proud.”

Tommy nods. Can't find his voice to speak.

He feels tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away.

He shouldn't have expected anyone to show up anyway.

He lowers his head as he walks off the field. A part of him wonders what it was all even for?

*****

Thomas Kinard is forty-eight years old and he just got promoted to captain.

It's not something he ever thought about until the past couple of years. He wouldn't get to fly much as captain. There's more paperwork, more politics, more people to answer to.

But there's also more stability. Especially with being the captain at Harbor. A regular schedule, forty-eight on and ninety-six off.

It was safer. There had been a scare a couple years back. Engine failure on his bird. He went plummeting toward the ground and, if not for a dense area of trees slowing his descent, the chopper would have exploded the second it hit the ground.

He survived, obviously, but his injuries were severe. He had a broken pelvis, fractured leg, thirty stitches down his arm, cranial bleeding, and ended up in a coma for nearly two weeks.

The recovery was long and so, so painful but he had Buck by his side every step of the way. Even the times he'd push Buck away, tell him to please just leave him alone, Buck stayed. He stayed and he learned all the physical therapy techniques and he loved Tommy through all of it.

Flying hadn't felt the same since. He was relieved when he had fully recovered. When he took his recertification classes and passed with flying colors.

But the freedom he had always felt with being in the sky changed into something completely different. There was anxiety. Relief when he was back on solid ground.

He stared out into the crowd, at the little girl sitting on Buck's lap.

Juniper. Six years old and looking more grown up every day. She was glancing all around the room, her eyes never staying in one place for very long. She kept pointing at things, leaning back to whisper into Buck's ear. He'd nod, smile, then whisper back. Tommy was sure they were swapping facts.

So much like her father, he thought.

He'd never forget the day he got home from the hospital. Juniper, only four then, staring at him as he was wheeled into the house. She was clutching onto Eddie's hand, her knuckles snow white. She hadn't gotten to see him in nearly a month, besides an occasional Facetime call.

Once he had gotten settled into the hospital bed that had been delivered to the house the day before, he called her over to him. She slowly climbed up onto the bed, Buck helping her settle beside Tommy without really touching him.

“You scared me, Papa,” she spoke quietly, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Please don't do it again.”

No, flying was never the same after that.

His eyes wander over the rest of the crowd.

A small smile breaks out over his face when he realizes he knows everyone in the first two rows.

Besides his husband and daughter, Maddie, Chimney, and Jee were there. Hen- or, Captain Wilson, now- and Karen. Eddie, Ravi, and Athena. Behind his family were all the firefighters from Harbor. They had been thrilled when they heard Tommy would be the new captain. He'd been taking cues from Bobby recently, starting special dinners with the crew and getting to know them better before he even became captain. He wanted his team to know he'd be there for them, that they could count on him. From the excitement they showed when it was officially announced that he'd be the new captain, he was fairly certain he'd done a good job so far.

The only person not in the audience today was Bobby. But, that was simply because Chief Nash was the one leading the ceremony.

Tommy takes another look around at the family in front of him. He waves at Juniper. She grins wide, showing off her missing front teeth, waves enthusiastically.

His eyes meet Evan's. Tommy gives him a wink. Buck smiles, winks back.

He straightens his posture as the ceremony begins.

He thinks, this... this is what it's all for.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Okay, but Elizabeth being an absolute savage girlboss isn't something that's talked about enough.

Love how you're spitting facts for our girly pop. 💪💪💪

TBH I go off the personality baby has, and gotta assume some of that sass is definitely Elizabeth

[shellsweet]

I did it! I made a comic! A comic about my OC (Alice) and her trauma ✨️!

[mercurymacaroons]

arrives 15 min late with a latte

......sup

[sunshinemoonrx]

Tisarwat really is one of the Most characters ever written. I'm 17 years old I'm 3,000 years old I'm six months old. I've died twice and been born three times. I was secretly emperor of the universe for about a month and I spent most of that time throwing up. I spent my first paycheck on surgery to get purple anime eyes. My interests are hot girls of all genders and (distant second) fish

[blackseafoam]

I’m too excited about this WIP to not share it, big group shot for the next update! Gonna color this one :)

[introspectivememories]

sorry but do you ever think about the fact that the bernard we have today is a direct amalgamation of everything that happened in his past and i know that sound like such an obvious statement to say but it actually kills me to know that you can draw a direct line from who he is today all the way back to that sixteen year old boy who watched his best friend bleed out. like it is the defining moment in his life. it fundamentally shaped who he is and the person he's become. he is the bernard we know and love not despite the grieves shooting but because of it. because the gangs all got together and shot up his school. because tim walked out of that room with nothing but a baseball bat. because his darla got shot. because he watched her gasp and cry as she died. because he watched the blood coagulate around the wound. because he sat there and held her hand as her life drained out of her. because he walked into school that day with a joke he knew would make her laugh and her nose would scrunch up and she'd snort a little and tim would roll his eyes at him and call him ridiculous and instead he walked out with a bloody white shirt, blood under his fingernails, and two friends less. because, even now, almost half a decade out from the shooting, he thinks that if he closes his eyes, he will always be that stupid, scared little sixteen year old, holding the cooling body of dead best friend.