#i toil after her night and day as her mother and this is now she repays me :’(

[rookinthecrownest]

My toxic trait is that every time my cat decides to cuddle with my husband instead of me i must resist the urge to remind her that he didn’t want her initially

[soulessjourney]

Vengeance Trail

Paring: Billy the kid x Reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: You and Billy had known each other during your younger years. However, following an argument, you departed to forge your own path, leaving things on bad terms between the two of you. Years later, circumstances led you back, having been recruited to assist John Tunstall. As the war drew nearer, tensions resurfaced between both of you.

Warnings: Slight mature themes nothing too detailed, Billy not knowing how to make up his mind

A/N: So this was supposed to be one long drabble but I got 4k words in and wasn't even half way through so I will now be turing this into a small series.

Your life hasn’t been easy. For years, you had to fend for yourself, even as a young girl. At such a tender age, loneliness was your constant companion until you met him—Billy McCarty, as you knew him. It all began in Kansas, just days after their arrival. His mother, a kind and gentle soul, his rowdy and energetic brother—these were the first faces you encountered. But Billy stood apart, calm and soft-spoken, especially towards you. Little was known about Billy’s father except for his ailing condition upon their arrival. When he first encountered you, you weren't dressed like the other girls in town. No, clad in a simple, dirty white cotton shirt and brown-stained trousers, mud tainting your braided hair, you were as fiery then as you are now.

Billy swiftly became your closest friend after your initial meeting, and the two of you were inseparable. You stood by him during the loss of his father, just as he stood by you when your parents abandoned you for greener pastures. The McCartys became your surrogate family, and you were willing to sacrifice everything for them. After his father's passing, the McCartys decided to seek new opportunities in Santa Fe, extending an invitation for you to join them.

As your new life unfolded in Santa Fe, you chose to assist Billy's mother at the inn, doing everything in your power to ease her workload. You shielded her from advances made by older men and helped restore order after brawls erupted in the bar. But over time, Kathleen and the others grew distant. She met a man who prompted her to move in with him, taking the boys along, while you remained stuck living at the inn, toiling tirelessly to make ends meet. As you and Billy matured, a shift occurred between you two—a growing chasm that led to that pivotal, fateful night.

Standing in your room, you tucked your shirt into your trousers before slipping on the boots. "Y/N, don't do this. You're not thinking straight," Billy urged, positioned near the door to impede your departure. Rolling your eyes, you tied your hair back with a ribbon, keeping the strands from obscuring your face.

"It doesn't matter, Billy. My decision is final. I can't spend my life here in the inn or aiding you in poker, especially after what happened with Carlos," you retorted, arms crossed, referencing the tragic incident that occurred last time you attempted to help him. "This can't be my life anymore. I have no family, and constantly fending off the advances of older men isn't the future I want."

"You have a family, Y/N. We're your family," Billy insisted, attempting to reason with you, taking a step closer.

"You're not my family, Billy. You ceased being my family when you left me here to work for my bed," you replied firmly, brushing past him to retrieve your gun belt from the nearby chair. If there was one thing you appreciated about Billy, it was his lessons on shooting, and you had become quite proficient.

Billy followed closely, his voice growing desperate as he tried to persuade you. Moving around his brother and acknowledging Kathleen with a nod, you stepped into the night air. "Fine, leave. But where will you go, Y/N? You don't know how to survive out there on your own. You'll end up dead in a ditch, and I can't bear to bury another friend," he implored, quickening his pace to block your movements.

Shaking your head, you reached your horse, a striking brown and white paint, and began fastening your belongings. "I'll figure it out, Billy. I grew up alongside you. I'm confident I can handle myself. But I'm tired of stagnation. What happened to the Billy who dreamt of running away with me, exploring the world? You're not the same friend anymore. I'm happy for you and your mother, but I need to discover who I am, and I hoped you'd support me in that," you murmured, pausing your actions, refusing to meet his gaze.

Waiting for a response that never came, you mounted your horse and rode off into the night, leaving Billy behind, watching you vanish from his life.

---

A few years later, you had earned quite the reputation, becoming one of the most renowned outlaws. To conceal your past, you adopted a new alias, known to many as Sadie Bennet, while others foolishly dubbed you "The Wolf," a title you found entirely absurd but resigned to endure as there was not much you can do besides complain. One of your crew members had rationalized the nickname, claiming it suited you because you tracked your targets before striking, often appearing as a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Seated not far from the bar, your hair cascading down your back, you leisurely sipped on whiskey. "Ms. Bennet, I assure you this deal will benefit you. Your marksmanship is unmatched, and we desperately need your expertise. Mr. Tunstall won't rest until we secure your assistance. While we may not match your previous compensation, he's vowed to collaborate with you to clear your name," the man before you spoke. He appeared relatively young, likely just a few years older than you.

Setting down your glass, you arched a brow, sucking air through your teeth. "Mr. Bowdre, I appreciate the offer, but as I've reiterated, a petty power struggle isn't in my best interest," you stated, adjusting the suspenders chafing against your skin beneath the blue plaid shirt. "If Mr. Tunstall is genuinely in dire need, he should make a personal appeal. His absence leads me to believe otherwise."

Charlie ran his hands over his face, growing increasingly desperate, an almost amusing sight. "He's away on business, Ms. Bennet. That's why he can't request your services in person," he explained, using a word that made it seem as though you were peddling yourself to men, a notion that irked you.

"Very well, I'll consider it. There's not much occupying my time currently. I'll head to Lincoln County in a few days. There, we can convene and discuss details further. I have a few loose ends to tie up here before departing," you announced as you stood. Noticing his instant relaxation upon your agreement made you ponder just how desperate they were for your aid. Retrieving your hat from the table, you brushed it against your brown trousers to rid it of any table dirt before placing it atop your head. Tipping your hat, you offered a faint smile before pivoting on your heel. "I'll see you in a few days, Charlie. Ensure Tunstall is present; it would be nice to meet him after your vivid descriptions," you remarked, striding out of the saloon, unaware that accepting his offer would soon thrust you back into the life of a close friend.

---

As promised, you arrived in Lincoln County a few days following your conversation with Charlie. While making your way toward town, you were intercepted by Charlie himself, evidently waiting for your arrival. "Ms. Bennet, welcome! We were starting to worry that you might have had a change of heart," he greeted you as you turned your horse to face him, a smile gracing your lips.

"Nonsense, Mr. Bowdre. I may be many things, but I always keep my word. I said I'd come, and I intend to follow through," you replied, meeting his contented smile as he guided you toward his house. Though the ride had been somewhat lengthy, the scenery was undeniably picturesque. Looking up, you caught sight of an eagle soaring above, circling twice before disappearing. Closing your eyes, you reminisced about the last time you had seen an eagle. It was just after your departure from Santa Fe, when illness had nearly claimed you. Lying on the ground, an eagle had soared overhead, and you'd tracked its every movement before succumbing to sleep. Days later, you'd awoken in an unfamiliar bed, unsure of your whereabouts.

"Mr. Tunstall will be delighted to meet you. We have a few others more directly involved in our operations. They'll also be present to greet you. Don't be put off; some of them relish being intimidating," Charlie's words interrupted your thoughts, eliciting a soft laugh from you. Shortly after, you arrived at a small ranch, where a woman stood waiting. Radiant and evidently excited to greet the man beside you, you assumed she was Charlie's wife, judging by the ring adorning her finger and her joyful expression upon seeing him.

Dismounting your horse and patting her gently, you followed Charlie toward the house. Taking a deep breath, you entered and glanced around. It was a lovely, well-organized home—neither too crowded nor too sparse. Charlie guided you into the living room, where you paused, noticing a group of men engaged in conversation. Some appeared older than you, while one around your age gazed out the window.

"Mr. Tunstall, gentlemen, I present Sadie Bennet," Charlie announced, prompting the men in the room to straighten, catching their attention. The young man by the window turned towards you, causing your heart to skip a beat. Standing before you was your old friend, Billy McCarty, though markedly different from your last encounter. Life had evidently molded him into a hardened man. His widened eyes and the way he uttered your name revealed his surprise and disbelief at seeing you again.

Tunstall scanned you before removing his hat and extending his hand in greeting. "Ms. Bennet, I've heard a fair amount about you from Charlie, including the challenge it posed in persuading you to assist us," he remarked, his smile softening as you firmly grasped his hand. Indeed, you hadn't been the easiest to recruit, having encountered Charlie multiple times before, his persistent attempts at recruiting you finally wearing you down.

"I apologize, Mr. Tunstall. I wasn't initially certain about joining this endeavor. However, Charlie's persistence eventually led me to agree. I hope my delayed acceptance didn't hinder your plans too significantly," you offered, ignoring Billy's intense gaze as he positioned himself beside you.

"That's quite alright. What matters is your presence now, and your skills will undoubtedly be invaluable. Now, allow me to introduce you to the others," Tunstall said, shifting his focus around the room. "This is George," he gestured to the man on his left, "and you're already acquainted with Charlie." Charlie offered a reassuring smile, leaving only one person to introduce.

"Finally, we have B—" You abruptly interrupted Tunstall, turning to extend your hand.

"William Bonney, it's a pleasure to meet you face to face. You're quite the celebrity; I was concerned about competition for the title of most notorious outlaw," you jested, noticing a subtle change in Billy's expression. Unsure whether it was anger or disappointment, you shrugged it off. Arching your eyebrows, you awaited his response, but as he made no move, you scoffed and turned back to Tunstall. "Well, as famous as he is, he certainly lacks manners," you grumbled, crossing your arms, eliciting a surprised cough from Charlie, who attempted to suppress a laugh.

Billy cleared his throat and shook his head. "I apologize, Ms. Bennet. That wasn't my intention. I was merely surprised to encounter a fan. It's delightful to make your acquaintance. Please forgive my lapse in manners," he said, his gaze fixed on yours.

"Oh, I'm not a fan, Mr. Bonney. Just pleased to meet the most wanted man in several counties," you shrugged, distancing yourself from him. "Mr. Tunstall, can we discuss my involvement privately? I won't commit until we've reached mutual terms," you proposed. Tunstall nodded, dismissing the others, and you shot a lingering glance in Billy's direction. Removing your gun belt and placing it on the table, you settled into a chair. "Tell me the details of my role."

Tunstall positioned himself opposite you, crossing a leg over his knee and folding his hands. "As you're aware, there's a feud between Mr. Murphy and me. He's a power-hungry man, exploiting the land and its people. He indebts them, then employs unsavory means to seize their property. I'm sure you're familiar with his tactics." You nodded, feeling a simmering rage within. "We aim to confront Murphy, reclaim the land, and provide these people with the rightful homes they deserve without enduring such hardships. I require your skills to assist in taking him down. You and Mr. Bonney will offer exactly what's needed to dismantle Murphy's corrupt hold."

As you reclined in your chair, Tunstall's words raced through your mind. This man was willing to fight and die for a cause—bringing a better life to Lincoln County—and he sought your aid above all. "Alright, let's assume I agree to assist you. What assurances can you provide? I'm not interested in money; I seek something more secure and dependable," you challenged, noticing Tunstall's surprise, though it didn't shock him, especially given your reputation.

"I can offer you an opportunity to clear your name. As far as I'm aware, you're wanted across at least four counties, three of which have bounties on your head. However, by assisting me and transitioning away from the outlaw life, I can advocate for you. I'll speak to judges, emphasizing your change of heart and commendable actions, working to eradicate those bounties against you," Tunstall proposed. The offer held undeniable appeal. Clearing your name from charges that weren't your doing in the first place seemed like a tempting prospect.

Nodding, you contemplated the offer more deeply. "Very well, I accept these terms. I'll collaborate with you to take down Murphy and assist in your objectives. But it's crucial that you uphold your end of the deal, Mr. Tunstall," you affirmed, running your fingers through your hair. "Now, could you tell me further about William Bonney?" Tunstall's eyes brightened as he eagerly briefed you on what he knew about your former friend.

---

That evening, you lay outside, your coat serving as a makeshift pillow while your gaze remained fixed on the stars. A gentle cool breeze kissed your cheek and nose, while the nearby fire crackled softly. Your eyes flickered open as the sound of footsteps approached, halting beside you as a figure settled down. "I didn't expect to see you roped into all of this," Billy spoke softly. "Honestly, I thought you were gone for good until I spotted your wanted posters everywhere. Who would've guessed you'd dig a deeper hole than mine, but I suppose stubbornness runs in your veins, so that's no surprise," he said, glancing down at you.

Sitting up, you drew your knees to your chest and released a sigh. "What do you want, Billy?" you asked, pressing your lips together tightly. "Don't expect anything from this. I'm here solely to clear my name, not to mend something that shattered a long time ago," you added, redirecting your gaze back to the starlit sky. Billy sighed and fiddled with his fingers, uncertain of his next words.

"I tried to find you. After my mother passed away, and I was falsely accused of a crime, I searched for you. I assumed you'd moved on to another town or two, but you were nowhere to be found. Then I kept hearing about this remarkable woman named Sadie Bennet—how impressive she was, especially for a female outlaw. It wasn't until I saw your wanted poster that I knew it was you. Part of me felt relieved, but another part wanted to keep searching," Billy confessed, joining you in gazing skyward.

"I wasn't far when Kathleen passed. I'm sorry for your loss; she was a remarkable woman," you began, "I knew you were alright, still alive, as people talked about you often. Imagine my surprise when they accused you of murder. I couldn't believe it because you were always about settling disputes, not escalating them to violence. No matter how much I might have disliked you, I couldn't believe those allegations," your words struck a chord, leaving him silent.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he uttered quietly. "I took advantage of your presence, assuming you'd always be there for me, even when I distanced myself. You were a constant in my life, and I took that for granted. Life turned into hell after you left, and realizing my mistake hit hard when I didn't have you to turn to anymore. Joe was furious with me for weeks; he blamed me, rightfully so."

"Don't blame yourself, Billy. I left because I needed more than the life we had. Our rift was just one part of why I left; it's not solely on you," you said, meeting his gaze filled with sorrow. Wanting to comfort him, you hesitated but then pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Stop looking so forlorn, Billy. You're not alone; there are people who care."

Billy wrapped an arm around you, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. "The reason I regretted it so much was because I was in love with you. You meant everything to me, and you showed me what it felt like to be truly wanted," he whispered softly, tightening his embrace. You remained silent, uncertain of how to respond to his confession. When you attempted to pull away, he shook his head, drawing you closer. "Please, just listen. I was so deeply in love with you that my mother was helping me gather the courage to confess my feelings. But then you vanished, leaving me with unspoken words and a heap of regrets."

"Billy," you murmured, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. "You carry so many burdens and regrets. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. You didn't deserve to feel alone, and I regret leaving you in that state. I had feelings for you too, but when you distanced yourself, I took it as a sign and fled like a coward," you confessed, feeling his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb caressing your skin. Lost in each other's eyes, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

His lips felt weathered against yours, yet the kiss conveyed volumes of unspoken emotions, making you disregard any roughness. Your fingers entwined in his hair, gently tugging on his brown locks, and a subdued moan escaped as he pulled you into his lap. Breaking the kiss, Billy placed a tender one along your jawline before meeting your eyes. "Let's head inside. It's getting late," he murmured, guiding you along. Pausing just outside the spare room, he kissed you again before ushering you inside, where the evening was spent memorizing each other's bodies and sharing quiet confessions.

---

The next morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. Stretching your arms, a smile naturally spread across your lips. For once, you felt truly rested, and the usual ache in your back was noticeably absent. Sensing movement behind you, you felt an arm around your waist draw you closer. Memories of the previous night flooded your mind, and you suppressed a smile as you turned in bed to meet Billy's bright blue eyes. "Good morning," you whispered, gently cupping his cheek.

His lips curved into a sleepy smile as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Good morning," he mumbled back, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on your lips. Pulling away, he nestled his head on your shoulder, his arm holding you tighter. "Do you think we should come clean about knowing each other?"

Running your fingers through your hair, you pondered his question. "I'd say we might have to. There's hardly any believable excuse, especially after last night," you chuckled, placing kisses along his jawline. "But we should probably get up and start our day," you sighed, only to squeal as he playfully rolled on top of you, tickling your sides and eliciting high-pitched laughter.

After some playful moments and shared affection, Billy rolled off and got up, heading to the small bathroom. Lying on your stomach, you observed him dressing and attempting to tame his tousled hair. Catching his gaze, you noticed a flicker of something before he grabbed a black shirt from the wardrobe. Handing it to you, he sat on the bed, tracing his fingers over your exposed back. "I'll head downstairs while you get ready. I'll try to hold them off until you're ready to face the grilling," he said with a playful eye-roll, making you stifle laughter in the pillows.

Eventually, you sat up and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. "I'll see you downstairs, cowboy. Don't let them chew you up," you teased, rolling out of bed. As you started dressing, you ran a brush through your hair, noticing the red marks on your neck and collarbone. Groaning, you tilted your head back, silently blaming Billy. Once dressed, you made your way downstairs, overhearing hushed whispers. Some sounded teasing, while others seemed more disgruntled, likely discussing you and Billy. Walking into the room, you stood behind Billy, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Good morning, gentlemen. How was your night's rest?" you greeted them with a wide smile that faded as Billy distanced himself from your touch.

Charlie greeted you with a small welcoming smile while Tunstall settled into the chair at the table. Positioning yourself next to Billy, you observed him, puzzled by his sudden shift in emotions. "Sadie, or should I say Y/N, what exactly is your relationship with Billy?" he asked. Part of you hesitated, uncertain of what to say, as his expression demanded nothing but the truth. Before you could respond, Billy interjected.

"There's no relationship. Last night, we both had a bit to drink which led to events that should have never happened. I want to apologize for our actions. We have more important things going on, and we should have been more careful." His words hit you hard, and your face contorted into a mix of horror and shock. It was a mistake—this whole situation. Just moments ago, he appeared content waking up beside you, but now you felt reduced to a mere error. Clenching your hands into fists on your thighs, you bit the inside of your cheek to restrain any comments on the brink of escaping.

"Billy is right, Mr. Tunstall. We both got carried away, and I'll ensure it never happens again. I allowed myself to become too vulnerable around someone, and I shouldn't have." You managed to force the words out, your voice strained. "Now, if you boys excuse me, I need to tend to my horse and maybe explore the town to familiarize myself with the area," you grumbled, rising abruptly and causing the chair to scrape against the floor.

Charlie stood up swiftly. "I'll join you. Perhaps I can give you an overview of the town and how everything operates." You nodded at Charlie and left the kitchen, purposefully avoiding looking in Billy's direction. Charlie followed closely, slowing his pace as you reached the horses.

"What truly happened between you and Billy? Anyone who can read a room can tell that you're more than just a drunken mistake. So, what are you to him?" Charlie inquired as he mounted his horse.

Swinging yourself onto your horse, you shrugged. "I thought I meant something to him, but I should've known better than to believe his words. I apologize if things were awkward this morning, Charlie. That wasn't my intention at all." You offered him an apologetic smile as he joined you on horseback. A part of you wanted to cry and vent your frustration after Billy's sudden indifference. You had opened up to him and comforted him, only to be discarded once again. Last night felt too perfect to be true, but it hurt to realize that you had exposed yourself only to be hurt in the end.

Charlie shook his head and regarded you as the two of you began riding towards town. "You don't need to apologize, Y/N. Sometimes people change, and sometimes they change in a matter of minutes. All you can do is look ahead and move on. You're a wonderful and kind young lady. Billy just doesn't know what he's doing," Charlie consoled. Part of you felt weak for letting Charlie comfort you, but his words resonated and lingered in your mind. He was right. You couldn't let this consume you. All you could do was fulfill your duties and keep moving forward.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Silent Heir, Hidden Dangers - 2

Character: Lawyer!Bucky x Female Character

Summary: She suddenly inherits a fortune from an unknown father, navigating dark secrets with lawyer Bucky Barnes in a suspenseful journey of deception.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , -

Main Masterlist

Y/N couldn't shake the unease settling in her stomach as she looked at Bucky, her eyes reflecting the uncertainty bubbling within her. "Where are we headed?" she finally ventured to ask.

Bucky's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead as he replied, "To a safe house."

The word "safe" didn't offer the comfort Y/N desperately craved. Her mind raced with unanswered questions, and the shadows outside the car seemed to morph into menacing shapes. Bucky, sensing her fear, turned to her, a faint glimmer of sympathy in his eyes.

"I guess you haven't read the whole will?" Bucky remarked, his tone measured.

Perplexed, Y/N took another glance at the document. As she skimmed through the legal jargon, Bucky began to recite, "After you received the letter, the day has counted. The notary will give you all the access from your father next Thursday."

"5 more days?" Y/N echoed, a mix of anxiety and anticipation clouding her voice.

Bucky nodded solemnly. "I'll try my best to help you stay alive for 5 days.”

The car sped through the night, each passing moment thick with suspense. Y/N's mind raced with the implications of the countdown, and the realization that her life hung in the balance heightened the tension in the confined space.

As they arrived at the designated location, Y/N expected a typical safe house, but the reality surpassed her expectations. The so-called "safe house" revealed itself as a luxurious penthouse, perched high above the city lights.

Y/N couldn't hide her surprise. "This is a safe house?" she asked incredulously.

Bucky, with a faint smirk, began to shed his suit, revealing a concealed gun holster underneath. The transformation was both subtle and startling, hinting at a side of Bucky that transcended the image of a simple lawyer.

Y/N's eyes widened with realization. "You're not just a lawyer, are you?"

Bucky, now more casually attired, met her gaze with a mysterious glint in his eyes. "Let's just say I wear different hats depending on the situation.”

As Bucky sensed Y/N's unease, he assured her, "You can rest." Observing her discomfort, he then casually mentioned, "I'll be on the second floor."

Y/N's shoulders visibly relaxed at the prospect of having the space to herself. Grateful, she entered the empty room, its pristine condition suggesting it hadn't seen much use.

She threw herself onto the inviting bed, finding it far more comfortable than what she was accustomed to. The softness embraced her, and she closed her eyes, yearning for a few hours of respite from the tumultuous events of the night.

As Y/N grappled with the chaos unfolding in the penthouse, a distant memory surfaced—a recollection of her mother's hardened expression. 

She vividly remembered her mother's face, the lines etched with regret as she squeezed Y/N's shoulder and uttered, "Your father is a bad man. I regret every second that I've spent with him."

Y/N, burdened by the weight of her mother's words, had refrained from probing further into the mystery of her father. Yet, in the quiet moments, she harbored a silent wish that this elusive man would someday step in to ease her mother's hardships.

Her mother, a single parent juggling three jobs, had toiled relentlessly to put food on the table. Life was a constant struggle, and Y/N witnessed her mother's unwavering determination to provide despite the challenges.

Now, faced with a sudden windfall of wealth from the father she never knew, Y/N grappled with a dilemma. 

Did she deserve this money after a lifetime of neglect?

The unanswered questions about her father lingered, and the allure of the fortune conflicted with the years of hardship she and her mother had endured.

Should she accept the inheritance, a seemingly deserved respite, or reject it as a tainted gift from a man who had been absent throughout her entire life, even in death?

Whispering to the quiet room, Y/N admitted, "It's exhausting." 

****

On the second floor, Bucky found solace in the embrace of a cigarette, the city sprawled out before him like a glittering canvas. With each exhale, tendrils of smoke dissipated into the night, carrying away the echoes of the day's adrenaline-fueled events.

As a mafia lawyer, Bucky was no stranger to danger. Guarding Y/N is risky, but Bucky isn't doing it for nothing. There's something in it for him too.

Y/N's father is Max Wolfe, a hidden powerhouse in the mafia realm—an esteemed figure and a silent executioner. Bucky's association with him traces back to a grim alley where Max rescued him from the desperation of begging for food. Max, a father figure to Bucky, became the anchor in the tumult of his life.

As Max's health deteriorated, he lay on his deathbed, revealing a deeper connection between them. "My daughter, my first-born, Y/N, protect her," Max pleaded with a tremble in his voice. 

Bucky, holding Max's fragile hands, vowed, "I promise."

In his final moments, Max made a chilling revelation. "If you could save my daughter, you could have some of my fortune." He added with a knowing smirk, "I knew you love money.”

Bucky smirked; Max was spot-on. Money was Bucky's love, his anchor in a world without it. Life felt worthless. He knew that feeling well—being unseen, dehumanized—before Max took him in.

As Bucky contemplated the promise he made on Max's deathbed, the amount of money he'd receive remained a mystery. 

Now, as he faced the unknown bounty tied to protecting Y/N, Bucky couldn't help but reflect on the stark contrast his life had taken.

The prospect of wealth was a double-edged sword, promising a way out of the shadows but also veiled in the uncertainty of how much he would gain. 

******

The quiet night shattered as the sound of a helicopter sliced through the air, jolting Bucky from his thoughts. "That's weird," he muttered to himself.

Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed from downstairs, shattering the uneasy calm. "Aarghh!"

Bucky's instincts kicked in. He grabbed his gun and raced downstairs, his mind racing to comprehend the unfolding chaos.

As Bucky stormed into Y/N's room, a gust of chilling wind greeted him. The shattered glass window revealed the audacious point of entry for the uninvited guests who now held Y/N captive.

Two figures in black suits held her captive, each connected by a belt that dangled from a rope. 

Bucky couldn't help but be impressed by the audacity of these kidnappers, daring to descend from the towering building with a helicopter as their escape route. 

"Impressive," he mused under his breath.

Y/N's eyes widened with both fear and accusation as she screamed at Bucky, "You said this place is safe!"

Bucky, unfazed, retorted, "I did."

The tension escalated when one of the kidnappers pointed a gun at Y/N's head, issuing a grim warning. "Know your place. Don't accept the money.”

Defiance burned in Y/N's eyes as she shot back, "I didn't even know I had a father until today!!!"

"SHUT UP!!!"

Bucky, assessing the situation, tsked. "Is that how you talk to your eldest sister, Mark?"

The man who had threatened Y/N fell silent, a tension hanging in the air.

Y/N, bewildered, exclaimed, "Huh?"

Bucky, with a wry smile, revealed the chilling truth. "Y/N, let me introduce you to Mark Wolfe. Your 3rd brother."

Y/N's incredulous response cut through the chaos, "This is the wrong time and the wrong place for family introductions!”

She can't fathom that her savior is a madman!

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , -

Author Note :

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[glassartpeasants]

Run Rabbit Run .08

Yandere!Eustass Kid x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, reader having a crisis, pregnancy, angst, probably slight cringe cause i've been sleep deprived and think everything good idea then, and most likely other shit i can't think of atm

A/N: apparently my body can't decide whether to write Kid or Kidd cause i wrote Kidd half way through this after spelling it 'Kid' in the last two fic's. So please bare with my stupidity

music playlist

@rebeccawinters @iggy5055 @dairygrrl @childconnoisseur @menifire1092 @nerdgeekandeverysweet-blog @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10 pt.11

~~~

Even though you’ve been counting down the months to finally reach Sabaody, a part of you yearned for just a few more weeks with G-5. Now, with only three more days till you dock at the archipelago, the excitement is palpable. Time seemed to have a mind of its own, neither hastening nor slowing. They say time flies when you're having fun, and indeed it did. Four months dwindled to three, then two, and before you knew it, you were down to mere days.

You couldn’t wait to see everyone, to reveal the person you’ve become during the two-year separation. The anticipation to demonstrate your newfound devil fruit powers and everything Smoker and G-5 have instilled in you. To prove that you've earned the title of a Straw Hat.  That even in the face of pregnancy, you stand strong, capable of protecting yourself and your friends. You’ve toiled day and night to hone your abilities and devil fruit powers, all while nurturing the life growing within you.

Tashigi helped you in buying things that’d make your life a bit easier. Pregnancy pillows, maternity clothes, vitamins to keep yourself healthy, and everything in between. She even convinced you to write a journal for every day of your pregnancy. It did help a lot more than you thought it would. You wrote what you wouldn’t tell anyone else and how you truly felt about your situation that day. Some good and some bad.

A wave of emotions would often overwhelm you when something triggered memories of your time with Kidd. The echo of people calling your name, the rumble of thunder, all reminiscent of your time spent in the shadows. While you knew you’d never be the same person you were before Kidd, you have strived to heal from all the things that have transpired.

It wasn’t working very well, though.

Looking at any reflective surface has your heart shattering when your eyes land on the visible scars on your body. Trying to picture yourself without the scars was impossible as you struggled not to imagine Kidd in the image as well. It was almost easier to pretend you were born with your scars rather than think about the one that gave them to you. Even in everyday life, he'd pop into your head when you weren’t thinking about him. Closing your eyes, you still see his amber eyes staring right back at you.

Being alone with your thoughts always makes things difficult. If it were too quiet, you’d hear his voice whispering in your ear. Feeling his fingers touching your skin when you wore short-sleeved shirts was also common. Times when you were so close to slumber, you’d start to smell his presence. The only thing that seems to calm you down now is a tune your mother used to sing to you.

It had been sealed away in your memories for years, and now you managed to remember the words and tune after having a dream about her singing it to you. You watched her rock yourself as she sang the little song before tucking you in. Her face was a blur, but you could still hear her. At least you could still remember her voice. Yet when she stopped singing, you immediately woke up.

Since then, you’ve been subconsciously humming it when working around the ship. You remember getting embarrassed when Tashigi asked you what you were singing. When you told her that it was something your mother sang to you when you were a baby, she got stars in her eyes.

“You should sing to them! I heard it’s extremely beneficial to the baby!” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Your more invested in this pregnancy than I am, and I'm the one carrying the baby.”

“I heard it’s great for bonding and-” She stopped herself before she could finish. You knew what she was trying to say and that there was no ill will behind it.

“It’s okay. I know you meant well. Maybe if the situation were different, I’d be more excited. But I don’t want to get too close to them since I’m putting them up for adoption.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot about that. I guess I just got excited for something other than listening to men yelling and fighting.”

“No, I promise it’s okay! Things happen. You meant well, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Leaning against the railing, you look out at the setting sun. The beautiful colors you memorize as you imagine sailing off with the Straw Hats. Happy laughter as you’d hear them tell their stories of their adventures from the two years you’ve been separated. You couldn’t wait to hear Luffy’s infectious laughter or see Robin's calming smile. Only three more days until you make it to Sabaody then-...

…What then?

You’d still be pregnant, on the run, and scared that any second Kidd’s going to show up and whisk you away. Even after you put up the baby for adoption, your body would still look pregnant for a while before going back to normal. Your body would wonder where the baby had gone and when it’d come back. How were you supposed to live life normally after this? Knowing that you have a baby out there that you’ll never get to see grow up. Always worry if they're safe and scared that Kidd might find them and use them as leverage to make you come back.

But at the same time, you couldn’t take them with you. The sea is no place to raise a child, let alone a baby. They could fall overboard, get kidnapped by Marines or rival pirate groups, hell, they could get ill at sea, and you wouldn’t have the medicine to make them better!

Anyway, you looked at it, it felt like nothing was the right choice. The negatives outweighed the positives in your head. It’s possible that everything you’ve experienced has made you an internal pessimist. That, or maybe you were just thinking logically. Either or, it still sucked.

“What are you thinking about?” Tashigi’s voice pulled you from your negative thoughts as she stood beside you.

“Everything and nothing at all. Three days, and then we’ll be enemies. Feels weird knowing that.”

“Yeah. It’s gonna be weird not having you around. I’m gonna be stuck as the only girl once again.” You laugh a bit at her admission.

“If only we’d be able to call one another. But it’s too much of a risk in case any higher-ups were to find out.” Both of you sigh before turning to each other.

“Why do you have to be a pirate?”

“Why do you have to be a Marine?” The two of you laugh as you see the stars start to appear in the night sky.

“The stars are pretty, huh? Maybe we can find constellations if we look hard enough.” You can see Tashigi thinking out of the corner of your eye before her head perks up.

“What if we take pictures? Like a group picture? We’d be able to remember each other even if we can’t talk.”

“You're right! We can do it tomorrow morning! I heard it’s supposed to be sunny and clear!”

“Perfect! We can go around telling the other Marines about it, and they’ll all agree. Vice Admiral Smoker, we might have to convince or drag.”

“I think it’ll be worth the extra chores.”

~~~

As you lay in your bed once more, you look out over the multiple sleeping marines. In a few days' time, you’ll never see them again. If you do, then you’d have to fight them. Once you get back to the Straw Hats, you’ll undoubtedly have a bounty from the government. Then you’ll genuinely be ‘enemies,’ but the thought of hurting any of them made you want to cry. How could you hurt those who took you in, no matter who you were? They risked getting in trouble and put themselves in danger just for you.

Maybe if your forced to fight them, you could just run away? Usopp does it a lot, so why couldn’t you?

You move slightly to get more comfy, only to hear a ‘thud’ come from the side of your bed. Gently moving to the best of your pregnant abilities, you manage to see a particular journal that you haven’t read since the first week you met the G-5.

Heat’s journal.

Biting your lip, you mentally fight to figure out whether you should read it or not. After taking months to try and process Heat’s internal thoughts and the truth about your home, perhaps you were ready to read the rest of it.

Scooting closer to the edge of the bed, you manage to grab the book by the tips of your fingers. You bring it up just enough for your other hand to hold it. A slight pain rummages through your body as you try to bring it up. Thankfully, you manage to pull it up just enough to grab it with your other hand. Snuggling into the bed more, you use the moon as a light source to read the book.

Something happened. I don’t know what it was exactly, but whatever it was, put (Y/N) in the hospital on the island we’re currently docked at. No one but Killer and Kidd himself were allowed to see her. Doctors must have been in and out of that room when (Y/N) first entered.

I can’t see (Y/N) trying to kill herself. Not with the small determination I can still see in her eyes. It had to be something involving Kidd. If Kidd can put a hot metal branding on her, then I don’t think he’d be above doing something to land her in the hospital.

I’ve talked to Wire about his thoughts on what could have happened. He told me that while he saw nothing, he heard multiple thuds and yelling coming from beneath the deck. Immediately upon hearing that, a sour taste filled my mouth. I have to go down and see for myself the room Kidd has been keeping (Y/N) in. There has to be something down there that could tell me something.

Of course, Kidd didn’t want his crew to know he almost killed you. Typical. What did Heat say when he saw you come back from the hospital? When what was the starting time when you forgot your memories. Gently skimming through the pages, you found the entry you were looking for.

I don’t think my eyes have ever widened as much as they did when I saw Kidd and (Y/N) holding hands. There was a bright smile on (Y/N)’s face when she finally came aboard the deck. Her legs are wobbly, and it looks like she’s learning how to walk again. She had bandages covering her head. Behind her and Kid was a doctor along with Killer.

Obviously, somethings not right. (Y/N) or Kidd must have hit her head so hard that a real doctor is needed. While I know it’s a very cliche scenario, I think that she must have hit her head so hard that her memory fogged. And if that’s so, what lies had Kidd told her already? Maybe if I'm able to get the doctor alone, I can get some information.

So Heat saw you the day you returned to the Victoria Punk after the incident? You were shocked that Kidd didn’t bring you back to the ship during the night. But thankfully, he was too stupid, and it allowed Heat to see the first part of the aftermath in real-time.

You don’t remember the first week or two when you got back to the Victoria. Not the doctors or leaving the hospital. It was probably for the best, though. You don’t need any more trauma than you already have.

“What were his thoughts during those five months?” Looking back at the marines to ensure they were sleeping, you flip through the pages again.

Caught (Y/N) staring out to sea earlier before the night entirely took over. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to her, honestly. I felt like I was going insane trying to figure out how or if I should help her now. She looks so happy now, but at the same time, her happiness is based on lies and blood.

Why did this have to happen? What sins did (Y/N) do in a past life that made this her reality? One minute, she was living her life, then the next, she’s stuck in a storage room on a pirate ship. I try not to think how alone she must have felt before this incident. Always being stuck in the dark and only seeing the same people over and over again. Me talking to her can only do so much. It won’t bring back her parents or friends. Nor will it bring back her home.

It still eats me knowing that I’m the reason this woman has no one left. No friends or family. Well, there’s those Straw Hats she’s told me about.

I remember them from Sabaody. Their captain was a strange one, but it did seem like he cared for his crew. If he’s willing to risk his life by storming Impel Down and Navy headquarters just to save his brother, then I think if there is any place or pirate crew for her to be in, it’d be the Straw Hats.

Maybe if I mention Saboady, it’ll spark something and clear the fog that’s invaded her mind.

"If only you knew Heat. It was the thing that made me realize somethings not right.” For a Kidd Pirate, he truly was a fallen angel in disguise. While you’ll never forgive him for what he did to your home, he proved that almost everyone deserves a second chance.

Holy shit. I can hear my heart beating in my ears. I haven’t run as quickly and quietly as I could in forever. Not to mention the underlying threat of getting caught giving (Y/N) a devil fruit.

Finding the damn thing was entirely on accident but a pain in the ass to bring on the ship without anyone noticing. Even stealing the fruit was a feat in itself. I don’t know how that fisherman found it or what he was planning on doing with it, but in the end, it’s going to a better cause. 

I managed to have (Y/N) eat it by luring her outside the dining hall earlier. When I watched her eat it all, it made a slight ease wash over me. At least now, she’d have a bit more of a fighting chance against Kidd if he did anything.

I feel bad that I couldn’t tell her everything right then and there, but I was already pushing it by being so close to everyone, especially with Killer being somewhere on deck. I didn’t want to cause a scene and have Kidd freak out or anything. The longer he’s in the dark, the safer it is for (Y/N) and myself.

Honestly, I thought Killer would have knocked some sense into Kidd when he found out about (Y/N). I was obviously very wrong. 

“If anything, he was just as insane as Kidd. Fueling his crazed thoughts and obsession. I still remember that dumb conversation I heard between him and Kidd about boarding up the storage room.” It pissed you off more that if it weren’t for Killer’s mask, you probably would have put two and two together quicker. Facial expressions are everything. 

I caught (Y/N) staring at the sky again. Thankfully, Killer and Wire were on the opposite side of the ship, so I was finally able to talk to (Y/N) alone. She didn’t know what I made her eat initially, which shocked me. Maybe she hadn’t done anything to trigger it yet.

We both found out pretty quickly what her devil fruit power was, though.

I was trying to tell her that everything she knew about Kidd was a lie. That her life was a lie. I wanted to be more collected and calm about it, but how do you carefully say something like that?  It was hard seeing her eyes flash all her emotions, but it soon turned to pain when a harsh shock hit my hands. It felt like a burning hot pole went straight through my hands. 

It hurt like a bitch, but the pain subsided when I saw her looking at her hands. When I also looked at them, I saw electricity slither across her hands. I watched her put her hands together and was speechless when a ball of pure electricity formed. She started panicking when the ball was getting too big for her to control and starting to hurt her. I told her to throw it out to sea, and when she did, I felt like I was watching the moon shrink. It was so bright and slightly calming. The farther it went, the more at ease I felt. (Y/N) had a chance. She had a chance to defend herself and run away.

And I’ll be there to make sure she’s safe.

Tears fall profusely down your face, reading the last line. How can the world be so cruel? All he wanted to do was help, and yet he lost his life.

You go to read the next page only to see it’s blank. Feeling your throat dry, you start skimming through the rest of the pages, hoping to see more writing, yet there is nothing. It felt like your heart had been ripped directly from your chest. That was the last thing Heat has ever written, and it just had to be the most heartbreaking thing to read.

Curling up as best you can, considering your belly, you hold Heat’s journal close to your chest. You try your best not to sob as you don’t want to wake up the rest of the Marines sleeping next to you. Between sniffles and the slight shaking as you try to control your breathing, you whisper to yourself in hopes that wherever Heat is, he’ll hear you.

“Thank you.”

~~~

Another island was reduced to ashes after falling victim to Eustass Kidd’s wraith. A once lush and thriving island is now in flames and crumbling as the ruthless pirate searched tirelessly for a certain someone last seen there.

“God fucking damnit! When I get my hands on whatever Marines are holding her, I’m going to kill every single one of them! They’ll wish they never got involved when I break each of their bones!” Kidd’s voice boomed across the town as his amber eyes scanned everywhere.

Where are you?! Why aren’t you here?!

“Kid.” Killer’s voice breaks through the brute's rage, making him turn his head.

“What Killer?!”

“We’ve searched everywhere, and there's no sign of her. It’s not like we can ask anyone either since everyone has evacuated before we arrived.”

Ever since the incident on Halyard Island, as soon as your location was revealed in the paper, people would evacuate their homes to try to save their families and avoid the unstable tornado of destruction that was Eustass Kidd. 

Some people stayed because it’d been their home since birth, and they’d rather die than leave it defenseless. There have been rebellions to try to stop Kidd, but they were always snuffed out the moment Kidd saw them. The same could be said for any Marines that were sent to stop him. Getting sent on a mission to any island that you had been spotted at was a death wish. Sometimes, the Marines were too late, and Kidd had already destroyed the island. But when Kidd would see them, he wouldn’t let any Marines leave until he talked to each and every single one of them. And since none of them had you, none of them would leave the island alive.

Your name had become a jinx to any Marine that spoke it. Speaking your name would always have the Marine that spoke it sent out on the next mission to stop Kid from destroying yet another island just to find you. And since none of them had you, they’d never come back alive to say what they’ve experienced.

After being the ‘cause’ of death for so many Marines, some rookies have given you the nickname ‘Devil’s Darling.’ It was a joke at first, but as the death toll rose and how Kidd’s name got more infamous, more and more people adopted it. And with a nickname like that, more people have come to hate you.

While you haven’t done anything, the fact is that if it weren’t for you escaping, no one would have gotten hurt. If only you had bit the bullet, no one would have lost their lives. Many victims of Kidd’s rage blame you for it. Anger and fear take over the hearts of many, and to the civilians of the New World, you’ve become as feared and hated as the man hunting you down.

The government had become more conflicted on where to stand with you. While you were technically innocent, the people have been nagging them to put an official bounty on your head. If they did, you’d only be wanted alive. The power they could hold if they managed to capture you. You could be the key to finally catching and imprisoning Eustass Kidd.

And Kidd knew all of this.

He knew the hatred the people had started to hold for you. How they’d give you to him if they managed to recognize and grab you before you left the island. In a way, he had the whole New World in his hand. Their hatred and fear was and will be the town’s own undoing.

The only people stopping him were fucking journalists who don’t say or do a thing when they see you. They are so desperate for a story and to lead him on that they don’t care about how they’ve helped in the destruction.

“Of course, she isn’t here. Fucking hate those journalists and Marines.” Kidd kicked a smoldering piece of wood in anger. Ashes fly to the sky as it did nothing to soothe his rage.

They don’t understand that he needs you. He dreams of you every night. Dreams of you laying next to him and kissing his face. Some where you were holding his child, soothing them to sleep. Humming a small tune before noticing him and smiling. You’d say something to him, but he could never remember what it was when he woke up.

And while there were dreams, nightmares followed suit. Nightmares of you falling into the ocean and sinking to the bottom with your hand outstretched for Kidd to grab and save you. Or the times when you’d be running from Marines to him only for you to get shot as soon as he had you in your arms. The nightmares plagued him much more than he dreamt of you. He’s always had nightmares when you weren’t lying next to him. Ever since the first night you’ve slept with him in his bed, he’s never been able to sleep alone without waking up sometimes during the night. The warmth your body gave him while you slept, go thim addicted.

Those first few months you left and joined those damn Straw Hats, the same nightmare happened every night. It replayed the scene of you sailing away from him over and over again. No matter what, those months without you behind closed doors were pure hell for Kidd. You were just gone from his life after being by his side for a year and a half. He’d never get to kiss you or hold you close again.

But just as Killer tried to get Kidd over you, he saw you.

He was fighting a pacifista next to that dweeb Trafalgar Law when he turned his head, and there you were. You were running as fast as you could, and there he saw you. What you were running from, he didn’t know, but what he did know was that you were alone. No Straw Hats or Marines to take you away now. You were his for the taking once more, and this time, he’d make sure you knew it-

“Earth to Kidd!” Blinking a few times, Kidd’s pulled from his memories by Killer snapping his fingers in his face.

“I was thinking! What is it?”

“Haven’t you noticed a pattern? How each island she’s at, she gets closer and closer to the Navy Headquarters?” A pit filled Kidd’s stomach hearing Killer’s words.

“What are you saying, Killer? Spill it!”

“What if their taking her to the safety of Navy Headquarters? Or worse, Impel Down?” Kidd grits his teeth at the thought. No way in hell was he gonna let those fuckers take you.

“Any Marine ship we see, attack. Don’t care if they're not in our course. No Marine ship will get past the Victoria. Search every part of the Marine ship, and if she isn’t there, sink the ship to the bottom of the sea.”

“And the Marines on it?”

“Kill them all.”

~~~

“You wanted to see me, Vice Admiral? If it’s about the pictures we did yesterday, I have some here if you want to choose one.-”

“Sit. We need to talk.” Your heart stopped for a second, but you managed to snap back and sit on the chair in front of his desk. The way he sat in his chair behind the desk made you bite the inside of your cheek. When Tashigi told you that he wanted to see you, you were nervous. She said that while she didn’t know why he wanted to, you had no need to be scared.

Obviously, she was wrong.

“O-Oh? What about?” You can feel your palms sweat as the room seems to heat up.

“The government has finally put up a bounty for you.” Hearing those words come from Smoker's mouth made time stop as thousands of scenarios played through your head. Would he turn you in?

“But I haven’t done anything! Why do I have a bounty?!”

“You haven’t done anything. But Kidd has.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“He’s been destroying islands, villages, and Marine ships nonstop. Anything in his path has become a victim of his rage. According to headquarters, we’ve lost a lot of good men to him. Rookies, Vice Admirals, and Admirals even have been killed. His bounty has tripled in the last six months. Wouldn’t shock me if it raises the next time the new bounty posters come up.” You were speechless. How many people have been hurt or killed because of you? So many deaths for simply living. This has to be a nightmare.

“I don’t understand. Why do I have a bounty for things he’s done? I’m not out here hurting people!” Smoker sighed before running a hand through his hair.

“They want to use you to lure Kidd so they can capture him. That and many people of the New World are treating you as much of a threat as kid himself is.”

“I’ve never hurt anyone! I hate Kidd as much as they do, so why do they hate me?...”

“Fear. Kidd’s insanity has caused fear to cover the entire New World. Seeing your name and last known location in the paper is a death wish for the island you were last seen at. I don’t know how these damn journalists keep spotting you no matter what disguise we put you in.”

“It’s like they’re actively looking for me. Why are they so determined to find me? People have been hurt, yet they don’t care!” Guilt starts to eat at you as the thought of countless people getting hurt because of your problems eats at your heart.

“First Heat…now this? Why is this happening to me? What have I done to deserve this?” You whisper to yourself as you lay your hands on your thighs before gripping your pants tightly. Tears start to whelm in your eyes as you bite your lip. The images of people's faces you’ve never seen before start to pop up in your mind as if to make you suffer more. The survivor's guilt already consumed you after Heat’s death, but now, with having so much more ‘blood’ on your hands, the pain was unbearable.

“Heat? Where have I heard that name before?”

“He was a crewmate on Kidd’s ship. He’s…no longer with us.”

“A Marine kill him? I don’t think I’ve heard of any Kidd Pirates getting sent to Impel Down.”

“No. Kidd did.” Even though you spoke between sobs, SMoker still managed to catch your words. He was stunned to hear such a thing. Killing his own crew? If he can do that without remorse, what else is he willing to do?

“He helped me escape the first time I was stuck with Kidd. He undid the chain that was connected to a collar Kidd had me wear and told me to run. When he saw that I had gotten captured again, he tried to help me again, but…”

“But?”

You ran as fast as you could around teh deck to try and find Heat and Kidd. In the dark, the whole boat felt like a maze. Each passing second was an eternity. How can you find them in time?

“Your fucking stupid to think I wouldn’t notice how you're trying to play hero! At first, I gave you the benefit of the doubt when you let her go the first time. But now, when everything’s good, you're trying to ruin it!” Kidd’s voice rang in your left ear, making you stop in your tracks.

“What are you talking about Kidd? Are you drunk or something?”

“Don’t play dumb! You know damn well what I’m talking about! Your telling (Y/N) shit she doesn’t need to remember! Telling her things that’ll ruin what I’ve worked so hard for! She’s happy, and you want her to be sad?!”

“That’s not happiness, Kidd! Her ‘happiness’ is based on lies! I know I’m not the greatest person. I have skeletons in my closet, but what you're doing is insane!” Hearing Heat bite back makes you dash towards the two voices.

Just then, a few loud thumps accompanied by a cough echoed across the deck. A bang was soon heard right after, and it only made you run faster. When you finally made it to the source, your horrified to see Kidd with his back facing you and a bloody, jagged knife in his hand. In front of him, you see Heat on the deck with his back leaning against the railing. Red starts to seep through his clothes, as you can hear his breathing become erratic. You watched him cough harshly and see droplets of blood shooting out from his mouth.

“I don’t remember asking for your input, Heat. I won’t let you ruin this for me. If only you had minded your business, then none of this would have to happen.” Heat gives Kidd a strong glare before laughing at him. His teeth covered in blood as he smiled at Kidd.

“She’ll find out. It may not be by me, but your house of cards is crumbling, Kidd. She’s gonna find out whether you like it or not.” You can hear Kidd crack his neck at Heat’s words.

“Not to mention, she and the rest of the crew are gonna wonder what’s happened to me. How are you gonna explain that?”

“I can just say you fell overboard. Since your a devil fruit user, you’ll sink to the bottom. The crew will believe it, and so will (Y/N).”

“Doubt it. She’s not stupid, Kidd. She’s gonna remember everything that’s happened. Her home, friends, family, and everything you’ve done to her, she’s gonna remember. And when she does, I’ll be laughing in hell.” You watch Kidd charge at Heat with the knife clutched tightly in his hand.

“No!” Running from your hiding spot, you jump in front of Heat. Despite the fear that coursed through you, you spread your arms out to a T so you can protect him from your knife-wielding lover. Your arrival brought silence among the three of you.

“(Y/N)...” Glancing back to Heat, you see the shock in his eyes. Your heart bleeds as Heats breath becomes more ragged with each second that passes. 

“(Y/N)! What are you doing?! You need to get away from him! He’s working for the Marines! He’s a traitor!” Biting your lip between your teeth, you try not to cry as your lover lies directly in your face so casually. 

A strong, familiar tingling feeling circulated through your arms and legs as you stood in front of Heat. Buzzing rings in your ears as the feeling grows stronger as you anticipate Kidd’s next move.

“Move (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you! He’s going to hurt you, it’s not safe next to him.” Looking into Kidd’s eyes, you stand yoru ground and still stand in his path. You can feel your heart race as he reaches out to you. The feeling of his fingertips from his real arm just barely touching your wrist before a loud ZAP could be heard echoing across the Victoria Punk.

“Son of a bitch!” Kid recoils his hand back and tries brushing it against his red feathered coat. The buzzing of the zap still ringing in your ears as you quickly turn your attention to Heat. You're quick to start inspecting him for more wounds but can only see one. A stab wound dangerously close to the heart but at a perfect position for it to be in the lungs. While Kidd missed the heart, he managed to puncture a lung which could be just as fatal. It also explains the coughing up of blood.

“Heat! Hang on! Everything will be okay! Just give me a second!-”

“Where did you get devil fruit powers?...” You stutter as you try to figure out a lie to say. Yet, you watch Heat give Kidd a bloody smirk. From that, it didn’t take long for Kidd to put two and two together.

“You gave her devil fruit powers?! I’m going to fucking kill you, you bastard!” Your heart almost stops completely as you see Kidd stomping towards the two of you. The way his face looked so sinister made it feel like you were living another nightmare.

Quick to jump to your feet again, you place yourself between Heat and Kidd. The buzzing continued, and you watched as electricity slithers around your arms and legs, helping you give off a threatening aura.

“Don’t you dare hurt him, Kidd!” Despite the electricity covering you, Kidd still reaches out. Just as you watch him reach for your arm, he changes direction and grabs your hair. With a harsh tug, Kidd throws you behind him. Your body hits against the hard wooden deck with a ‘thunk.’

You can feel the air being knocked out of your lungs as tears prickle your eyes. As you struggle to get over the pounding in your head and the ache in your body, you hear Heat cough harshly again. When you open your eyes to look at the two men, your eyes widen in horror as you watch Kidd hold Heat up by the throat. Lifting him to his feet, you see Heat struggle to get Kidd’s metal hand off his throat. 

“Enjoy the bottom of the sea Heat! Say hi to the sea kings that’ll feast on your corpse, will ya?” Jumping to your feet despite still being dizzy, you dash towards Kidd and Heat. But just as you took three steps in, you watched as Kidd threw Heat against the railing, making him tumble over it and fall off the boat. 

Running to the railing and praying that he’s simply hanging on, your hopes were crushed as soon as you heard the heartbreaking sound of water splashing. Leaning over the edge to see if you could throw him a rope, you only had time to see bubbles rising to the water's surface before Kidd grabbed you by the hair and began to drag you away.

“Kidd found out about it. My devil fruit powers wouldn’t be a thing if it weren’t for Heat. If it wasn’t for him, who knows how long I would have been stuck with Kidd and his web of lies.”

“How long has it been since his death?” While he could see that this was obviously a sensitive topic for you, perhaps if you spoke about it, it might loosen whatever burden his death has caused.

“A week had passed after his death when you guys found me. So, as long as I’ve been here plus a week.” Letting out a hum, Smoker continued to listen.

“It’s all my fault…If only I had been more careful then maybe he’d still be here. He’d still be alive instead of at the bottom of the sea.”

“I watched Kidd kill him. I saw Kidd kill the only friend I had and there was nothing I could do about it!”

‘That explains a lot. There’s a lot more layers of trauma she hasn’t told me or Tashigi about. If there's something that traumatic she’s keeping to herself, what else could be going on inside that she’s not talking about?’

“There are times when I feel like he’s haunting me. I see him sometimes in my nightmares. Or times when I’m leaning against the railing and go to look down at the sea only to see Heat standing beside me. But when I go to check if he’s really there, it’s always an empty space. I’ve caught glimpses of him staring at me through the crowd. People walk back and forth and I see him staring at me. But then somebody walks in front of him, and then he’s gone!” Smoker watches as your body shakes and tears begin pouring down your face. You grip your uniform pants even harder as you try to stabilize yourself as you begin to hyperventilate.

“Every time I see him, I don’t see the Heat I know. I see him as a corpse. No matter what he’s always just staring at me with lifeless eyes. It always looks like he’s…”

“At the bottom of the sea?”

“Yeah. Down there.” A minute os silence passes before SMoker speaks.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for his death. From how much you’ve told me, it sounds like he knew the risks that came with trying to set you free. That he’d be putting his own life in danger to help yours. Do you think he’d want you to feel guilty for a sacrifice he was willing to make?”

“No.”

“Then don’t blame yourself for something that someone did of their own free will.”

“Yes, Vice Admiral.” While Smoker knew a single sentence wouldn’t fix all the trauma Heat’s death had obviously caused, he supposed it was better to get it off your chest. With Heat’s death, along with the people Kidd’s hurt in your name lingering in your mind, he can’t imagine the toll it’s taken on you.

~~~

Today’s the day. According to Tashigi, you guys should be at Sabaody before 3 pm. After months of training and pregnancy, along with your time with Kidd, you’ll finally be able to return to the Straw Hats.

It feels unreal. Almost as if it’s a dream. Yet, the dangers of Sabaody didn’t slip your mind. Bounty hunters, potential civilians willing to hunt you down, and the navy waiting to use you as bait. All odds were against you.

You did know the sunny was docked at tree 41, so maybe you could have G-5 bring you close but not too close to the sunny? The closer you are to it, the safer it’ll be for you. Well, you and the baby.

Not a second goes by where it’s not on your mind. Any time you move, you have to be cautious you don’t hit your tummy on anything. Eating foods became a test as foods you used to love, you now despise. Now, you're studying foods that are healthy for the baby and what’s not. Anything an over-paranoid pregnant woman does, you did. Even though you're gonna give up the baby for adoption when the time comes, you are gonna make sure the baby is healthy. 

There was a nagging feeling that ate at you whenever you were alone. Sometimes, you could feel the baby kick whenever you tapped your belly purposefully or on accident. It was as if they were responding to you. If they could feel the vibrations from a simple tap, could they also hear you talk about not wanting them? Even if six months old, what if? You knew it was impossible for them to understand you, but the nagging feeling never went away. 

Maybe when you reunite with the Straw Hats, that nagging feeling will fade away.

~~~

Another art thing. not really proud of it but it is what it is

[irenadel]

And if the devil...... 7/10

TW: Blood, domestic violence, talk of SA, miscarriages (this is HotD after all) This chapter is short on Aemond but I promise he'll be back on his bullshit next chapter. Also it turns out I am an absolute idiot and erased this chapter so here I am publishing again. Once more beautiful banner courtsey of @barbieaemond's gorgeous gifs and we have now ten chapters instead of 9

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

The moment he sees you, bag in one hand, jaw clenched so tight your teeth hurt, your uncle orders you close to his chair. He can move, but not well and will not risk it for the likes of you. He demands the truth, and slaps you when you dare withhold it from him. It isn’t a particularly good slap, but nothing ever erases the sting of humiliation. When he rails and grabs for your wrist, twisting it painfully in his slack grip, you still refuse to answer. Your eyes fixed back on the floor, your back having lost its rigid posture. You don’t look stubborn. Just defeated. He does not insist.

Your cousin Angus is white as a sheet, home for a brief holiday, wondering if he’ll be able to go back to his apprenticeship after this is done. The little ones are hushed up by their mother and you sit at the table, eating nothing, feeling nauseous with anger and dread.

Your aunt does not shout, does not ask what happened. She waits for a quiet, private moment. Looks at you with a tired, pinched face and says, “Did you get a recommendation?”

You do not answer this either. You look away, too ashamed and heartbroken to face her.

“I’ll earn the coin somehow,” you promise, cold dread already spreading through your limbs, fear so terrible that your heart seems to have caught in your throat and you are choking on the stupid, wretched thing. “Don’t fret.”

And for a time you keep your word.

It’s grueling work. A miserly merchant’s house that you take on, because a noble house would have required the letter of recommendation you had refused with your fist and your spit on the prince’s face. The sort of merchant who hires only a couple of girls and expects his wife to direct it all, no steward to be had and enough work for a staff of thrice that number. But that is also the kind of merchant who will not care if you worked at the Red Keep or not. It is the butcher’s on rest days, in spite of the neighbors talking about hours sacred to the Seven, and laundry taken in at night because you still can’t manage sewing.

Even then it’s just barely enough.

Your aunt suggests the butcher, over sixty and with bad gout and a house full of children might need a strong, young wife he would pay a good bride price for. It would be enough to pay for Angus’ apprenticeship. You would have a place near them, an allowance of your own and less work. You had done enough, she told you. You deserved some rest from all this toil.

She could not know how you recoiled inwardly at this thought. She could not know that when there had been no laundry to take in, and the miser’s wife had been particularly scathing with you and you were feeling desperate enough to do anything, if only you could ensure there would be enough of everything for your family tomorrow and the day after and all the days after… only then had you considered going to find a man who would buy the only thing of value you possessed.

But you couldn’t. Not now. Not ever again. Thrice had been thrice too many times. And you had known without a shadow of a doubt that if you had to touch a man you did not want, after knowing the taste of flesh, love and blood of the dragon… then you would begin to scream and never stop again, until you had driven the whole world mad with you.

Not even for a butcher and a fat bride price.

You are half thankful you are too miserable and tired to eat much and try not to miss the room and board you got at the Red Keep. All you want to do is sleep and forget. Instead you are awake at dawn, haggard and full of worries. It would be easier to endure misery again if only you could forget happiness. You turn away from talk of the castle. You cannot bear the sight of babes in arms, thinking that the princess’ time will come and go and there is nothing you can do to help her.

At night you go to bed so exhausted you do not dream. When you see his face before you, twisted in a grimace of hatred, you are always wide awake and scrubbing floors, bent down over bread or under buckets of water or heavy gaudy furniture. You wash other people’s filth so hard your hands bleed because all you want to do is work and work and work… work until you are too tired to remember Prince Aemond’s beautiful, wounded expression.

You hadn’t wanted to hurt him further then, but had had no words of comfort for him. No words to explain the ways of the world to a prince, born over gold and silver and dragon eggs, who looked at you as furious as he was heartbroken.

“Aegon is less than a worm,” he had hissed in defeat. “You could’ve broken every bone in his body before you let him touch you.”

You had not known who the anger in his face had been for. You or his brother or himself.

You do your best not to think of him. Even when food tastes like ashes in your mouth and you cannot even be bothered with anger and shame of your own when your uncle throws a laden plate at you, reminding you he is tired of dumplings and turnips, and it is all your fault for managing to ruin the one good chance you had ever known in your life. If you had had any tears left in you, you would have wept until your throat bled. But Princess Helaena had been right. A dragon’s love leaves nothing but devastation in its wake.

Your aunt watches you like a hawk. You can feel her worried eyes drilling a hole in the back of your neck. You avoid her as best as you can but even toil relents after months of careful vigilance. She catches you at night when you are boiling white shirts and scrubbing small clothes by the light of the sputtering, old castle lamp. No one else is awake at this time and you know she has sought you out to give you your privacy. She has always been kind like that, for the small things if not for the big ones.

You are prepared to fend her off, claim you are too tired to talk, but her question catches you off guard.

“Whose is it? That lad who didn’t marry you?”

It takes you a moment to understand it fully. You gape at her and immediately prepare to deny it but the words die on your lips. The truth is you don’t know. Hadn’t even thought of the possibility. Had been too miserable and heartsick to realize it had been over two months since…

Your aunt takes the lamp off its perch and gives you a handful of seed wheat and tells you to go plant it in the yard and piss on it. Better to be sure, she had said. You could not know that Dothraki women had done the same thing for centuries. You had not known any Dothraki women. Just her. Just the woman who had never been a mother to you but always there at least. Even now.

Even when you know, a week after, from the first little seedlings sprouting. Even when you throw up what little food you have managed to eat and sit with her, at night again, too stunned to think, too scared to move.

All you can hear is Aemond’s recriminations. That he should have known from the start the snake he had allowed in his bed. Fool. Thrice damned fool. Blinder than a man with both his eyes gouged out. Telling you, you were to be banished from his and the princess’ presence lest your lechery infect her and everything around her too. You would have begged in that moment. You would have fallen on your knees and tried to explain the world you inhabited, the one where you do not dare say no to princes, even when you know full well you could break their noses.

But you hadn’t been able to look at Aemond Targaryen and lie to him. You had no words to tell him the truth you lived. You couldn’t tell him you had not wanted his brother, or how hard you had tried to keep wanting him even after he spoke to you, if only for a second, before you realized the futility of it. Before you had realized how drunk he was and that only jesting boldness could have ever brought about his interest in you. Because he was beautiful too. A king’s son too. No lice. All his teeth. Hands soft as silk. And he wanted you when no one did. Wanted you before Aemond or Helaena had deigned to notice you existed at all. When all you knew was the small, meanness of the world and endless work without thanks.

But then he had spoken and you had felt your heart die. Because they all had to speak in the end. Prince Aegon and the rancid sea captain and that one drunk, old lecher who had backhanded you and almost refused to pay, when you had been only fifteen and desperate to get your family the things they needed from you. It was as if they could not help but ruin your simple, pitiful illusion that this was anything but animal filth. The knowledge that you had carried every day of your life after you had left the Dothraki Sea: that a man would sooner piss on you than fuck you.

And then you had wanted to rip that silver hair off his head, his eyes from their sockets, knock in each one of his perfect teeth. Because he hadn’t even dignified you with desire. None of them ever did. And you had shredded your nails to pieces against the stone floor, willing it to be over soon, willing yourself not to enjoy it, because it had been so long since someone, anyone, had touched you.

And then Aemond had come into your life and changed it all. With his daggers and his insane, impossible demands. Blood and desire mixed inextricably together for the both of you, so much that love would forever more taste of copper to your tongue. Because that had been his gift to you. Leave to lay hands on him as easily as men had ever laid hands on you. You had used it then, one last time, when he had said, venom overflowing his lips, that he should have known your falseness when you had been kind to Helaena.

And that had been the end of it. You swinging at Prince Aemond one last time. Spitting on his face after splitting his lip open, because there was no more love for you on his sharp, cruel mouth. And because you had had nothing to lose, no further thing to be taken from you, you had said to him you would rather walk the rest of your days, like the old and infirm of a khalasar, before you ever laid eyes on him again.

And Aemond, fierce Valyrian purple eye fixed on both your red ones, looking more regal and perfect than any man with a bleeding mouth had the right to, had cursed you in a single breath, “That is exactly what you’ll do.”

You had left with nothing because you had wanted nothing of him, or his blood. You had refused to look for the steward or Princess Helaena or the queen. And now here you were, staring at your aunt, feeling sick again, with your heart torn from your breast and a belly full of prince.

Your aunt holds you, even when you still cannot find your tears. All you can think of is that the gods had known. From Stranger to Mother of Mountains, to the gods of Old Valyria you had once known the names of because Aemond had taught them to you. The gods had known who you were, stupid, eager girl. Because when you had laid with Prince Aegon you had washed his seed out of you as quick as you could and used honey and prayed. There had been no money for moontea and the terror that you might lose your position had been too great to ask anyone for help. So you had prayed to any god who would listen to you until your blood had come but now… You hadn’t prayed hard or often enough for Aemond. The gods could tell what you had truly wanted.

So when your aunt, face as pale and frightened as yours, had suggested you could go to the Street of Silk to find a way to flush this problem out, or you could marry the butcher, quickly enough that he would not suspect the babe to not be his, you had pushed her away so fast she had nearly fallen and you had stood straight as a spear to tell her you would not.

“He is Blood of the Dragon.”

And your aunt had looked as broken and defeated as you knew you should’ve felt. Had been too horrified by the certainty and conviction in your face to notice your cousin Angus, lumbering as he was, trying to wedge his ungainly big-boned frame closer to the staircase so he could hear you both and remain unseen. Home and awake at this hour because you had finally been unable to continue paying his master.

“The… king?” Your aunt had guessed breathlessly, not knowing the blow she had dealt you when doubting, quite naturally, that you could have caught the eye of a prince. Let alone two. You do not think about it. Refuse to linger on Prince Aegon when you know you carry a babe in your belly.

Your babe. 

You do not know what you are thinking, merely shake your head in denial and murmur furtively,

“The prince. Aemond One-Eye.”

And you do not blame your aunt that her knees buckle under her and she sits down, her hand on her mouth holding in her fear. She knows next to nothing of the royal family, except what little she has pried from you. But this she knows.

She looks at you in something close to awe. Her savage girl. The one born of horses and spite.

“Gods save us all.”

And that was exactly what she had screamed, when your uncle had hauled you out of bed in the morning, after she had let you sleep in while she made breakfast alone, having begged you already to reconsider dignity and heartbreak, to go back to the Red Keep and inform someone, anyone, of the danger you carried in your belly. Because a royal bastard, no matter the mud on its mother’s feet, was an entirely different beast.

But there had been no time. No accounting for her husband’s newfound strength, aided by Angus on his bad side, as shocked and horrified as any of them, but still unable to let his old father falter, as he dragged you out of bed and house.

“I’ll not have you in my home,” he had panted, hard at work dragging you behind him, tripping on his own weak leg, his useless arm all but forgotten in his scorn. “I’ll not have a harlot carrying on like this! With my daughters here!”

You can hear Bree and Delma comforting the younger ones. You can hear your aunt crying and begging and doing nothing. You catch a glimpse of Angus’ stricken face, sick with shock, but still holding up his father’s mangled body.

Always there, never a part of them, you had told Prince Aemond. And he had known exactly what you meant. Had devoured your lips with hunger and urgency and kissed your hands, angry thoughts full of Luke and Jace, Baela and Rhaena.

The worst part. The hardest to swallow. The most painful thought. That you loved them, all of them, sleepless nights and resentment and enduring silence… but still you had loved them.

And there might have been some love left for you in your uncle’s rage. It was the hidden truth behind every man who had ever called a woman he loved a whore. There might have been tears still left in him for the little orphan child he had taken in, his sister’s wild girl, a little ghost of a thing he had sent to work for strangers and been unable to protect.

But it was not enough. It had not been enough for Aemond to hear whatever words you had been unable to speak to him. And it was not enough to stop your uncle, exhausted from the effort of dragging his strong, young niece out the house, and unable to haul you further. It wasn’t enough to stop him from feeling the shame of his aching and weakened body, and of taking that shame out on you, one gnarled hand with a handful of your hair, finding no strength to keep moving, but finding enough anger to slam your face against the door frame again and again and again.

And you would have let him. If you had been nought but the resigned, lonely girl Prince Aegon had shoved against the stone floor, then you would have closed your eyes and prayed it would be over soon.

But you weren’t that anymore and it had been foolish to think you ever would be again. You had tasted fire from Aemond One-Eye’s lips. You had tasted steel and sulfur and hatred. And you had tasted love. You were growing a dragon inside you and you would broker no disrespect for him or yourself.

It’s one swift motion, one even a prince could be proud of. Your right hand grabbing a hold of your uncle’s left and your left using your momentum to swing. You hear a sickening crunch and feel something breaking under your knuckles. Good. You almost don’t feel sorry.

Your aunt and cousins are sobbing and you can barely see through the film of blood seeping from your forehead and the ringing of your abused ear. You want to spit on the floor of this place you had thought a home. You want to say something proud like your father would have, something fierce and scornful like Aemond.

You don’t get the chance.

Angus is a big lad now, a big hurt lad, who had never understood you but had always looked up to you. You don’t want to blame him for knocking you into the floor with the awkward, hulking launch of his body for your midsection.

He’s only a boy. Your boy. Whose hurts you have patched. Whose food you have paid for, in tears and sweat and hate. He’s only a boy defending his father… but you can’t afford pity today. Today your coin’s all spent.

You knee him in the groin, and he does not laugh like Aemond. There are tears of pain and humiliation at the corners of his eyes. A penniless boy’s dignity much dearer to him than to a prince. And you don’t flee him as you had fled Aemond, a lifetime ago, because you know, instinctively, the danger of pursuit. You climb on top of him and grab a hold of his head, hitting it once, twice for good measure, so he will know to stay down.

He does not. For a second you are proud.

Then you feel his fist knock the air out of you, but you do not falter. You do not back down. You find his nose with your left hand because you do not trust your exhausted sight, and ram the heel of your right between his eyes, breaking one more thing in this house before you leave it forever.

Angus does not try to hit you again, just lays on the floor, clutching his face, moaning in pain. You grab a handful of his hair so you can haul him up to you, so he can hear you. Shout it so the rest can hear it too.

“I am fucking done with all of you!”

You don’t want to look at your aunt. You don’t want to try to discern her expression behind the veil of sweat and tears and hate. But your eyes are as treacherous as they are dead and you seek her out anyway. You do not know if it is rage or hurt or grief on her, but you know something is wrong.

She is crying, unmoving but crying, her older girls in her arms are looking at you with something close to horror. And through your pain and nausea and heartbreak you can hear her say it again.

“Gods save us all.”

When you look down at where she’s looking, you see your skirts blooming red with blood.

[drippingmoon]

Aquiver, Aglow: Beta Call Post

After being one of the biggest parts of my life for some years now, I'm very very happy to announce 'quiv is ready for its beta stage. I'm gonna echo my previous post: writing this story has been a soothing experience for me, and I'd love for this to apply to everyone. Never heard of 'quiv? No problem, new eyes are often wise. Old acquaintance? No pressure on you. Take a cup of steaming tea, or maybe not since it's summer, lean back and just tell me whatever crosses your mind. Believe me, it will help me enormously. And the stress is all with me, not you. So while I'm asking for help, I truly wish whoever gives me a hand to have a pleasant experience🥰

Sign-up period: till July? I might be more flexible, depending on the applicants, and there won't be any selection (a maximum of 7 people), which means you can start on the day you sign up

Deadline: October (SOFT deadline, since ideally I want to do another round of line edits then proofreading in November), with the possibility of extending until December (and don't sweat it if you need more)

Long story short: a human child restores faith to an angel, who in turn restores faith to Heaven.

Long story long: There's a place beneath Heaven where, in a shoddy little cottage, a mother and her child live. They are to wait for her promised day, when angels shall descend and devour their souls. For faith has been broken. Memories of kindness and warmth remain mere whispers, cracked under two centuries of prayers answered with bloodied chapels and trails of corpses, and callous wings plucking souls out of their once faithfuls' chests.

Tyrone knows his Mother is just waiting for the day the angels will come. She wishes to sacrifice herself to see her child out of the Promised Lands, so she fills his childhood with horrible stories meant to make him afraid and get him used to the inevitable. She succeeds. Tyrone is afraid, but of everything. Most of all, of the loneliness that keeps him company, and disperses only at night. Because, under the stars, he sees an angel on the rims of Heaven, taking care of her field of clouds, a mirror to how he toils over his wheatfield. That’s when he first feels they are the same. So when she falls one day, he asks not that she spare him, but that she stay.    And, slowly, the nights turn so very warm.

It’s been two centuries since the angels knew where they wished to go. They live suspended in time, caught between memory and hatred. Anne, their Angel of Lies, has only ever cared for Heaven. For them, she’d draw their anger onto herself, if only they acknowledged they were still hung up on humanity. She’s tired. She’s old. Even the stars have closed their path off to the angels, and she doesn’t know what to do. So when she is met with sincerity for the first time in centuries, she wonders if she’s found a way. If nothing else, anger would reanimate Heaven, and for a little while stop the angels’ slow fall towards death. She listens to a child’s quiet wish, and agrees.    Curiosity, she calls it.

They begin by using each other. With time, this no longer holds true, and they learn something. It was a thin line between that and caring about one another. And warmth, as it were, comes with sorrows shared.

GENRE: character-driven dark fantasy with humans, angels and stars interspersed with peaceful moments

WORD COUNT: 195k (standalone)

STATUS: sixth draft

WARNINGS: violence, gore, suicidal thoughts, abusive relationships, terminal illness

What I'm looking for

Content criticism, as in character arcs, plot development, your fav and least fav parts, and mainly if you think there are too many feathers in the story

The sky's your limit actually. Every thought counts 🙌

Typically you can ignore typos, but if any of them really pisses you off, feel free to shout at me

Same with line edits. The style is meant to be experimental at times, but not at the cost of intelligibility. So if I went overboard somewhere, please do shout but otherwise it's due a line edit

You get

Return betas! No time limit; and of course no word count limit

To save Private Jan (my penname lol) because there's no way I can afford editing prices, so we're pulling off an Atlas here no matter how many drafts I'll have to go through

Hopefully a great time?

You can just contact me in the DMs, but I'll put up a Google Forms as well for whoever would prefer that. Also, you can request a sample (the first/first few chapters) to see if it's your thing.

And that's it! Hope to see volunteers, and thanks so much for your interest! Have a lovely day🥰

[mask131]

The other Olympians: Eris

After Eros, I just HAD to do Eris. Everybody keeps speaking of “Eros and Thanatos”, the pulsion of life and the pulsion of death – but what about Eris and Eros? Hate and love. One causes division, the other unification. One destroys the world, the other creates it. Heck, they are even just one letter away from each other!

“But…” I heard some of you say. “Eris isn’t an Olympian!”. Well yes and no. Sometimes she is, sometimes she isn’t. Let us explore that.

Who is Eris? The word “eris” means “strife” in Greek, and this is exactly what Eris is. She is the goddess of strife and the embodiment of discord (in fact, her Roman name was Discordia). She is the eternal enemy of peace and order, always searching to break harmony and cause troubles everywhere she goes.

Now before going further, I want to insist on something. Eris is not an actual goddess, in the sense we can understand it. Yes Eris is presented as a goddess in Ancient Greek literature and in the various epics forming Greek mythology. However here’s the thing… Eris was not part of Greek religion. Or if she was, she had no temples, no sanctuaries, she received no cult and no worship, nobody prayed or sacrificed to her. Eris only seems to exist in literature and philosophy – she was not an actual religious figure of Ancient Greece, even though she was a key character of Greek mythology.

I) The Hesiodic Eris

The Eris most people are familiar with today is the one I would call the “non-Olympian Eris”. It is the Eris described in Hesiod’s Theogony, as well as in his “Works and Days”.

Hesiod describes Eris as the daughter of Nyx, the embodiment of night and one of the primordial goddesses who manifested at the very beginning of the universe. According to Hesiod, Nyx was a quite negative figure, since all the children she gave birth to were actually the personifications of ills and disasters: beyond Eris, Nyx also gave birth to Thanatos, the god of death, to the Keres, the spirits causing violent and painful deaths on the battlefield, Oizys, the personification of misery, Apate, the embodiment of deceit and treachery, Geras, the god of old age and aging, and many many more… Interestingly, in turn Eris also became the mother of a large brood of personifications, each embodiments of even more evils that plagued and tormented humanity. No father is mentioned for these children – but given Nyx seemingly used her powers as a primordial goddess to have her children on her own, without the participation of any male entity, it is very likely that Eris inherited or used the same abilities. Remember, from our talk of Eros in previous posts, the beginning of the world in Hesiod’s universe was not defined by gender, and the primordial Eros was a creature of cosmic, abstract procreation that went beyond mere sexes.

Hesiod gives us an exact list of the numerous children of Eris. On one side you have “singular” children acting as specific personifications: Ponos (toil, hard work), Lethe (forgetfulness, oblivion), Limos (hunger, starvation), Ate ( mistakes, delusions, folly, recklessness, all things that bring ruin) and Dysnomia (lawlessness, absence of civil order). On the other side, Hesiod lists groups of entities, representing “swarms” of concepts: the Algea (the pains and sufferings), the Hysminai (fights and feuds), the Makhai (battles and conflicts), the Phonoi (murders), the Androktasiai (literaly the man-slaughters), the Neikea (the quarrels), the Pseudo-Logoi (the lies), the Amphilogai (the disputes)… Remember what I said previously, Eris was not an actual religious figure but a literary one – and the same way, all of her children are here mere metaphors and allegories. Hesiod is merely listing here all the effects that strife and discord have within human society. Hesiod adds to this list of children a final son of Eris, Horkos, the god of oaths. Why would “oaths” be a bad thing you ask? Because Horkos is more specifically the deity in charge of punishing oath-breakers, the spirit that all those that make false oaths fear. Hesiod even says that Horkos will make more damage to anyone breaking an oath than all of his siblings – and he later mentions, in his “Works and Days”, that the ERYNIES themselves acted as midwives when Eris gave birth to him.

Hesiod describes Eris as a hateful and harsh being, only concerned with causing slaughters and “evil wars” on Earth (remember the Athena/Ares divide, there was for the Greeks a good way of making war, and a bad way of making war). He mentions that no mortal being loves Eris, but that human still “promote” her – but only due to either compulsions (the natural drive of humanity to fight with each other) or by the “will of immortals” (when the gods purposefully send Eris among mankind). When Hesiod describes the legendary shield of Herakles, he mentions that Eris is depicted upon it among the many terrifying entities meant to frighten his adversary – he adds there that Eris is without pity or mercy, and that her mere sight will break the mind of anyone trying to attack the hero.

However, mind you, despite this very negative portrayal of Eris, in his “Works and Days”, Hesiod allows himself a philosophical or social myth about Eris, where he divides her into two identities, one good and one bad. If you recall my Eros posts, there is yet again a parallel with how there are two Eroses. According to Hesiod two Eris are at work among humans: the one he keeps describing above is the “evil” Eris ; but there is a “kinder” and older Eris, who is the one born of Nyx at the beginning of time, and who is even… likeable! Because this Eris is a positive form of strife, a productive form of discord that isn’t about having people slaughter each other, but prompts each human to excel and outdo each other in talents and arts. Specifically sent by Zeus among humans for this very purpose, the elder Eris will for example make a poor man envy his rich neighbor, prompting him to work even harder to become rich himself – and thus she can turn even the laziest man into a hard worker. This Eris isn’t so much about discord, as about a sort of mutual envy between humans that creates a competitive society, indeed, but one that prompts each human to try their best at becoming better than others.

II) The Homeric Eris

Hesiod mentions that of the two Eris, only the “elder” is the daughter of Nyx. Then, where does the “evil” Eris comes from? Well, Hesiod might have been evoking here another cosmogony… I am of course speaking of Homer’s own works, The Iliad and the Odyssey. For you see, the Homeric tradition and the Hesiodic tradition diverge strongly when it comes to the figure of Eris, and it is in the Homeric cosmogony that Eris is presented as an Olympian goddess.

Homer depicts Eris just as negatively as Hesiod. He describes her as a goddess with “relentless wrath”, as the “lady of sorrow”, as a “destroyer of cities”, and even depicts her during a battlefield scene as working in a triad alongside Ker (the spirit of violent death) and Cydoimos (the personification of confusion). But where he changes the story (or rather where Hesiod changes the story, since it is agreed that the Homeric tradition is older than the Hesiodic one, and reflects a more primitive form of the Greek pantheon), is when it comes to Eris’ parenthood. Homer explicitly presents Eris as working in a duo with Ares, the Olympian god of war, the two being “companions”. But more than companions… Siblings. Homer insists heavily on the fact that Eris is Ares’ sister, and given Ares is in the Homeric tradition the son of Zeus and Hera, it is very clear that Eris is also the daughter of the king and queen of the gods.

No need to tell you that Eris’ strongest presence in the Homeric tradition is within The Iliad, aka the epic describing the greatest mythological conflict of all times, the Trojan War. Eris is there usually paired with another deity: sometimes she forms a duo with Athena, and helps her in her role as a “war goddess” to encourage men to fight by her side ; other times she is alongside her brother Ares, as the spirit of hatred that complements the god of murder and bloodlust. This depicts Eris as a very ambiguous deity, that can serve and help as much the senseless, brutal, “wrong” war of Ares as the “good”, ordered, intelligent and civilized war of Athena. An even more interesting detail however shows that this ambiguity does not actually exist: Ares fought on the side of the Trojans during the war, while Athena fought with the Achaeans. This is a detail Homer himself notes and explains in his poem: Eris purposefully played both sides, and found herself on each line of the battlefront, since all she cared about was spreading bitterness and pain, so as to make the slaughter of the Trojan War even greater. Sometimes she does this to further the gods’ desires and plans: Zeus at one point, wishing for the Achaeans to keep on fighting and not just give up, send Eris among them so that she would bellow a great war-cry, so “terrible and so loud” it made every man who heart it want to battle again. But other times, she disobeys even the orders of the king of the gods out of pure perversion: most notably, when Zeus at one point gave the order to all the gods to stop interfering with the war and remain far away from humans, without causing interferences, Eris is the only goddess that remains upon the earth and among humans – merely because she takes a “great pleasure” in seeing them “battle like wolves”, and wouldn’t miss it for the world.

In short: while it seems from the outside that she is actually more of a neutral power that can serve both sides, good and bad, in truth she is a selfish, neutral psychopath only existing for chaos and destruction, and who only accepts to play by the rules when it furthers her own goals.

One last interesting fact: Homer, in his poems, keeps using another name for Eris, a name that many later mistook as being a different goddesses – however, at least in the Homeric tradition, they are just two identities of a same deity. “Enyo”, that is to say the female spirit and embodiment of war, the female counterpart of Ares. Beyond Homer, Aeschylus, in his tragedy about the Seven against Thebes, describes the Seven as making an oath upon the dreadful trinity of war formed by Ares, Enyo and Phobos – in a similar way, Eris was already described by Homer as part of a trinity involving Ares and Phobos (who also stood for his brother Deimos). The idea of Enyo and Eris being different deities seems to come from quite late sources, such as Quintus Smyrnaeus’ epic “The Fall of Troy”, from the fourth century CE, which did a very clear split between Eris (the deadly strife, which causes the battles by causing an “unbalance in the scales of war”, and then watches and gloat as humans fight) and Enyo (a ghastly and wrathful deity who fights inside the battles, and ends up gore-covered and all bloody and sweaty from her constant massacre of mortal beings). In fact, from the third to the fifth century, it became common to attribute to Enyo a “gore-fetish”, as she was described as delighting in piles of corpses left on the battlefield, or getting drunk on the flow of blood ; as well as the power to drive completely mad whoever she “touched”. Mad with war-lust and battle-fever, of course. But originally, for Homer and other early authors, Enyo and Eris were clearly just one and the same, two names for a same goddess.

What is quite fascinating with Enyo is that, unlike Eris which is purely literary, Enyo has some ground for actually having been a religious figure. Now, this is to be taken with a grain of salt, as the Greeks gave the name “Enyo” to several non-Greek deities of the countries east of Ancient Greece – but we have records of a statue of Enyo appearing in the Athenian temple of Ares, and it seems that the deities honored during the Homolôïa festival (in Thebes and Orchomenos) included Enyo. But beyond those two little facts, we don’t have more information about a potential cult of Enyo, who truly seems to be more of a female counterpart or extension of Ares. A last interesting point with Enyo is the presence of a name: Enyalios. Enyalios is the male form of Enyo, and is the name of a deity associated with her – but how? That is the question. Very, very late commenters of the Iliad (we are talking Byzantine commenters) made Enyalios a minor spirit of war, son of Enyo and possibly fathered by Ares. However, a more careful study of the use of Enyalios reveals that it is not the name of a distinct deity as many like to believe. Homer uses it as an epithet for various characters, but most notably for Ares. Other Ancient Greek authors also used Enyalios as an alternate name for Ares: Aristophanes in his play “Peace” (people claim it is used as two different deities, but I do not read it that way, I do think Aristophanes used the name as a nickname of Ares), for example, and Ares is also called “Enyalios” in the Argonautica. Plutarch did mention the existence of a temple of “Ares Enyalios” too, and the late myth collector Pausanias did mention the habit by Lacedaemonians of chaining up the deity Enyalios to prevent him from leaving the city – a custom identical to the habit of chaining up statues of Ares in Sparta. Overall, when you actually look carefully at things, it is extremely clear that Enyalios is just Ares.

And this confirms the true bond and link between Ares and Enyo: Ares is called by the male version of Enyo’s name, or rather Enyo is named after the female version of Ares’ nickname. This reinforces the idea of her being equivalent to Eris, presented by Homer as the sister-companion of Ares, and this feeds into this topic of the “duo of slaughter gods”. Ares/Enyalios, the male god of war, and Eris/Enyo, the female goddess of discord.

III) The golden apple

“But… What about the golden apple?” I hear you cry. “You talked about the Trojan War, but not about the golden apple!”

It is true that the most famous myth of Eris today is the one centered around the start of the Trojan War. It is the story of how Eris, upon not being invited to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, despite all of the other gods being there, decided to take her revenge. It is the legend of how Eris threw among the feast of the gods a golden apple with on it written “For the most beautiful”, and how this random gift caused a deep feud between Athena, Hera and Aphrodite who all believed the apple was for them. It is the myth of how to settle the feud, the goddesses demanded the opinion of a Trojan prince by the name of Paris, who gave the apple to Aphrodite, resulting in her rewarding him as a gift with Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world… Who also happened to be the wife of Agamemnon, the Achaean king who promptly declared war upon Troy since their prince had kidnapped his wife – a war where the scorned Hera and Athena supported the enemies of Troy, while Aphrodite defended Paris’ city, leading into the legendary decades-old conflict we know today.

Well, you might be surprised to learn that this story does not come from Homer. Nowhere in the Iliad is a golden apple mentioned, or the involvement of Eris in causing the war. It comes from other sources. It does not mean the story isn’t ancient: on the contrary we have records of very ancient epics, probably created around the same time as The Iliad, who described and explained this legend. “The Cypria” for example is the oldest record we have of the story of the “Judgement of Paris”, caused by Eris’ apple of discord. However these ancient epics were all lost, so all we have are secondary testimonies about them, and much later and modern retellings of the story – such as the “Bibliotheca” of Pseudo-Apollodorus, where this old myth was collected in an abbreviate and concise form, or the fifth-sixth century CE poem the “Rape of Helen”, which like Nonnus Dionysiaca, was an attempt at reconstructing the ancient myths of the now-gone Ancient Greeks. While this is not an exact source and has to be taken with a handful of salt, this poem is quite fascinating because it adds all sorts of details about the situation: including how the decision of not inviting Eris came from both Peleus and Chiron (the latter sent out the invitations), and how, before imagining her devious golden apple plan, the furious, fulminating, jealous Eris conjured up plans ranging from stealing Zeus’ thunderbolt and use it as a weapon against the gods… to freeing the imprisoned Titans so they would overthrow Zeus. (Yes, Disney’s Hades does exist in old – but not ancient – Greek literature, and her name is Eris). There is also the additional detail that the golden apple used by Eris is one of those that the Hesperides grow in their orchard, the same golden apples Herakles had to collect during his labors.

Speaking of Herakles, all the way back to the sixth century BCE, Aesop wrote a fable about Eris. Yes, THIS Aesop of the Fables. And he wrote one with Eris and Herakles – one that also involves an apple, and thus furthers proves that the story of Eris using apple to cause discord was an ancient part of Greek mythology. In Aesop’s fable, Heracles was going through a narrow pass when he saw an apple on the ground before him. He tried to smash it with his club, only for the apple to swell to twice its size. Heracles hit it again and again, but every time he tried to destroy the obstacle, it grew bigger. In the end, the whole pass was blocked by the giant apple (slip a Roald Dahl joke here), and as Heracles stood amazed and confused, Athena appeared by his side and explained the situation: this apple is actually the product of two personifications, Aporia (impasse, puzzlement, lack of passage) and Eris. By trying to fight it, Heracles made it larger and bigger – if he had just left the thing on the ground untouched, and ignored it, it would have stayed its size. In short, the moral is that strife and discord will always be there somewhere, but that it only becomes a true obstacle or something serious if you let violence take over you or decide to enter the fight instead of just passing over it.

This conception of Eris as something “growing in size” is not actually a pure invention of Aesop: it was already present, way back in the Homeric tradition. Indeed, when Homer first introduces Eris in The Iliad, he describes her as such: she always appears first as a “small thing”, as a little force, a miniature goddess, but as chaos and battles and discord grow around her, she too grows, and gains in size and largeness, until in the end she becomes a giantess who feet are on earth while her head is in heaven.

[lothiriel84]

Things New and Old

They were married six weeks later in Cádiz, with only Frederick and Dolores in attendance.

A North and South ficlet. AU. John/Margaret. Sequel to There Will Your Heart Be Also.

They were married six weeks later in Cádiz, with only Frederick and Dolores in attendance. Enticed by the prospect of a lucrative partnership with Mr Barbour, Mr Hamper had consented to send Mr Thornton back to Spain rather sooner than he had originally intended; they were to spend the next fortnight in Cádiz as the final details of the business arrangement were agreed with Mr Barbour, allowing the newlyweds enough time for a honeymoon Mr Thornton could not otherwise afford.  

Two days before the wedding was to take place Dolores took her sister-in-law to one side, detailing in plain words what was to take place on the wedding night. Margaret was somewhat alarmed at first, but Dolores assured her in the warmest terms that everything which happened in the marriage bed was perfectly natural, and could be a source of great comfort for the bride and groom alike, so long as they were open and honest with one another.  

Fortified by so frank a speech, Margaret Thornton approached her wedding night with more eagerness than trepidation. Still, nothing could have prepared her for the reality of the physical consummation of their love, and they were both of them so moved by their union they could not speak a word afterwards; they simply lay in each other’s arms, breathing in the same air until they drifted off to sleep one after the other.  

And so it was that, while most of Mr Thornton’s days were spent in business negotiations, the nights were all for exploring the joys of this new, deeper connection; it was a gift, and it was theirs alone to cherish and share. Their time in Cádiz would forever be imprinted in Margaret’s mind as one of the happiest periods in her life, and she knew the same to be true of her husband.  

Back in Milton proper, Mr Thornton was faced with the mortifying reality of introducing his new wife to the life of hardship and toil that came with his reduced circumstances. Since giving up his business he had moved to a modest house not far from Crampton, retaining only two of his former servants; in vain he had tried to reason with his mother that she ought to take up residence with Fanny and her husband, instead she persisted in her self-appointed task of running her son’s household with a firmer and more parsimonious hand than ever before. 

If Hannah Thornton had not been best pleased with John’s happy news, she still had enough sense to keep her objections to herself; what was done was done, and if nothing else, no one could accuse Miss Hale – as was – of mercenary intentions now that the man she had once refused had fallen so low from the position of power and influence he had worked so hard to achieve. Mollified by her son’s explanation as to the exact nature of the connection between his wife and the man from Outwood Station, she swiftly decided that there was nothing to be gained by persisting in her former hostility towards Margaret, and resolved to work alongside her daughter-in-law to ensure that enough of John’s income could be put aside to provide for all children that might come out of this marriage.  

Little did any of them suspect that a new life was already growing inside Margaret, a gift they had unknowingly brought home from their Spanish honeymoon; Margaret herself was so busy with her many responsibilities that she did not realise until much later, determined as she was to overcome her occasional ailment so as not to burden her husband with unnecessary concern while he strove to make a position for himself in Mr Hamper’s employ.  

“He would want to know,” Hannah told her one morning, as she took possession of the basket of laundry Margaret had been meaning to carry upstairs by herself. “Even if it all comes to nothing, he would want to be told.” 

“I do not wish to disappoint him,” Margaret made to protest, even as she reluctantly let go of the basket. “And I haven’t seen Dr Donaldson yet.” 

“You forget I carried three myself, lass; I know the signs. It’s a wonder John hasn’t caught up yet, though it’s true he’s been much taken up with his work of late.” 

Still, Margaret reasoned that the best course of action was to delay any announcement until the quickening came; and so she carried on as before, though Hannah eventually persuaded her to hire a girl that would come in for a few hours a day to help with the housework. Mary Higgins was only too eager to accept the position, and while she did not quite meet Hannah’s approval, she was still a great comfort to Margaret in her current situation. 

“I trust you and Mother, always,” John broached the subject one evening, as they both undressed for bed. “But I fear I do not see how we can afford to pay the Higgins girl on top of our other servants.” 

“Your mother and I have been over the household accounts twice already,” Margaret assured him calmly, taking off the last of her pins and reaching for the hairbrush. “And we’re both taking up as much needlework from our neighbours as we can manage, so as to cover the greater part of the expenses.” 

“You know best,” her husband conceded, mesmerised as ever by the sight of her hair cascading around her shoulders. “I am only sorry that I cannot give you the life you have every right to expect.” 

“Nonsense, John. I knew what I was marrying into, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.” 

Seized by a momentary impulse he felt powerless to resist, he walked up to his wife and sneaked his arms around her. “You cannot possibly know how much I love you, Mrs Thornton.” 

“I think I have a fairly good idea, Mr Thornton,” Margaret laughed, her hands covering his own where they rested lightly upon her waist. John’s fingers trembled in awe as she guided them to trace the faint curve of her stomach, the first tangible proof of the miracle they had created out of their love.  

“Oh, that I could finally see you with our child in your arms,” he whispered, overcome with emotion, looking forward already to the long-dreamt happiness that was to come.  

[s-milesart]

Ashes to ashes. Memories, to dust. | Heartsink.

An old etching, charred but cherished.

Sanctified memories of easier days - of decidedly droll monastic toil and blessed children who deserved smothering love.

She would bear the worlds cruelty ten-fold to return to those days - but alas, days like those are gone.

Not forgotten.

--xXx--

"It is days like these, when my mind starts to wander. The quiet days, Agnes. Where no raiders threaten the poor souls of the fields, or where unholy abominations shake the land to it's core."

My mind yet wanders -- to days of quiet. Where most of my worries were whether or not I should hold myself more to the teachings of Her good book, or what should be made for dinner that night.

Did we get another shipment of carrots?

Ach, did the children have enough to eat that day? Especially with little Mary -- her sensitivity to the textures of what she eats vexes her so. She just cannot stand any fresh fruits we receive. She likes her things... Mushy. Makes quite a mess!

A donation that day? Oh! A noble from the Upper Blocks was here to drop off some sweets. I know that wonderful smell... Yes! Apple and Blackberry Jam Twists! The kids will love these so. I just hope She, Above doesn't mind if I sneak one or two...

More prayers today. Mother Superior believes we need as many blessings as we can get these days. I always pray for the children.

Andrea's eyesight grows poorer every day, and I fear we not have enough to get her a pair of glasses. And little Marcel, his education grows by leaps and bounds -- but we must find a scholar willing to take on an apprentice! A sharp mind like his needs a whetstone, after all.

The twins got into another fight today. Hellions, the both of them. I understand they both cannot ride the swing at once, but to have such a scuffle over it? I will talk to both of them tomorrow, when they've both cooled off. I might even surprise them with a slice or two of pie. But...

Something is... Wrong. I don't know, but even the children are starting to notice it. The well-water is starting to turn. I haven't heard the songs of the birds in the mornings. The Watch is telling citizens to avoid blocks in-case of... disappearances. Vivienne is even telling the kids to stay off the streets. Troublemaker she is, she's even cutting her courier services short to help around The Orphanage.

Even my dreams are starting to turn.

I hear it. Below us. An abhorrent thudding that keeps beat with itself. A siren call of evil. The pumping of blood to something that should not live. A cacophony of vile beasts, assembling themselves to make us all suffer. To make us all bleed.

And a vision, clear as day. The city, cracked open, rivers of blood pouring into its caved in ribs.

Screaming, endless screaming. A choir of suffering that never seems to quiet.

A sinkhole in our center, a pit of absolute hell spewing ash into the air. The sun, blotted out, day choked dark to signal the end.

An earthshattering beating, every pulse sinking more and more of the city into it's cavernous maw. And deep below... In the true center beats...

A Heart.

Goddess above, what is going o--

A cry. Looks like little Lucy is awake again. In the here and now. She's growing up awful fast. I keep her in my room, just in case. I glance at the photo on my dresser. A window into a past I still yearn for. But, alas.

I cannot have it. But Goddess above, I will fight for something like it. For the children.

[pettyprocrastination]

Unravel

hey who wants to read some silly Odyssey fanfiction I wrote for my humanities final hehe

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Penelope’s fingers were beginning to grow calluses. 

She had only been entertaining the suitors for a month. If that were the right word for maintaining a strained smile as men ravaged her house like a pack of wolves, pillaging her kitchen and dining hall while leering like they wished to do the same to her. 

The idea had come to her two weeks into their stay, when she sat by her loom to find the remaining thread slowly beginning to lose its tension and fall from it’s place. 

Unraveling. 

Night by night. Undoing the hours of work she had toiled over during the day so she may begin again in the morning. An hourglass that will never empty as she waits for him to return. 

Odysseus.

The fleetings moments of sleep she allows herself are spent in a blinding nightmare where his demise is placed in front of her. Each night is a new death.

Drowning. 

Starvation. 

Hung. 

Betrayed. 

Slain in battle. 

Each night she sees the light leave her husband’s eyes and each day she must endure the men who so desperately wish to replace him. She stares as the unwoven ends of the textile before her, letting her fingers slowly run over the fibers and feel each ridge. 

A wife weaving a burial shroud while waiting for her husband’s return. 

The irony is not lost on her. 

A soft cry comes from the corner of the room, pulling Penelope from her thoughts and to the polished cradle by her bed. The noises continue, a low whine that slowly begins to build and build until she leans over the cradle and smiles. 

“Good morning, my sweet.” 

Telemachus does not have his father’s eyes nor his nose. Odysseus had jested about the fact when the babe had first been brought into the world by her own strength. After hours of labor he lay sleeping in her arms as her husband watched them both fondly. 

“The boy looks nothing like me.” He whispered with a smile. “A small gift from the gods, to give him his mother’s face rather than his oafish father’s.” 

Penelope was too tired to properly chastise him for such self loathing, nor would she risk jostling the infant sleeping on her chest. She simply scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I happen to quite like the oaf.” 

Odysseus leaned over the bed, allowing his lips to graze the shell of her ear and grin as a smile grew on her face no matter how hard she fought it. 

“And I thank the gods everyday for it.” 

She takes the fussing child into her arms, gently shushing him as his cries slowly quiet until they stop completely. He grins at his mother, proudly showing off his complete lack of teeth that makes her smile in return. 

Her son holds no features of his father. She hopes he does not grow to live in his shadow. 

A glass shattering in the dining hall breaks the tender moment of mother and son. Frightened, Telemachus’ lip quivers before he begins to wail. Penelope is able to soothe him once more, letting him slowly drift off to sleep on her shoulder. 

But she must leave, as she does each day. 

Penelope gently lowers Telemachus back into his crib and kisses the soft curls atop his head, whispering sweet words to her son before departing from the room.

She can hear them clearly now. The call of the morning by those violating her home. The vulgar voices of the men in her home, hollering and laughing amongst one another like friends in reunion. With slow, even, breaths, she walks down the hall, listening to the voices grow louder and louder until she is faced with wooden double doors, all that keeps her from them. 

Odysseus, she pleads to nobody. Return home.

The last gentle thread of the mourning wife is wiped from her face as calloused fingers curl around the handle and rip the door open. 

Another day begins. 

[agooberscast]

Nichijou no HEARTLESS: Entire Season 1 Synopsis

OP1:

ED1:

Episode 1: Nichijou no Heartless/Cherry Bomb!

A quiet day at home leads Freia to checking in on her family to see how they’re handling the boredom!/Freia’s cherry gumdrop stash has mysteriously vanished! It’s up to her and Melissa to find out where it went as Freia does her best to not cave into her heart-cravings!

Episode 2: There’s No Place like Home/Oh, There’s Two of Them!

A long day out running errands is proving to wear out Freia to where she’s hoping for home!/From one manor and right into another, Freia and her family go over to visit her bestie, Erin, at her manor with her family!

Episode 3: Honeypot Honey/The Cool Aunt

The Spring thaw really wires up Melissa! Freia must make it through the day as she is ambushed at every corner for her honeybee’s libido!/Freia is asked to babysit for her bestie and the kiddos are alright! Well, mostly. They’re definitely a handful or two!

Episode 4: Bubble Bubble/Movie Magic

Freia dips a day into her side-hustle, for fun, and decides to fill out a few alchemical requests from the locals./Freia is pulled aside by her niece, Mallow, to help her film a home movie! They have to fill their cast and proceed to lights, camera and action!

Episode 5: The Frog Prince...ss?/Stop and Smell the Roses

Freia decides to hit up an old friend of Erin and hers, Kero, and the three of them have an interesting day out together./A day in after their day out, they all get to spend some personal time with Kero and her family, being her husband, Axl, and their daughter, Amaya.

Episode 6: Once Upon a Time Part 1/Once Upon a Time Part 2

After a movie marathon night with the family, Freia turns in for the night and has a fantastical dream that seems to have and her family fill the roles of some of the movies they saw that night!/Soon enough the dream of Freia’s daughter, Jackie, wanting to explore the world around her comes into view. A parallel of a movie where parents should talk with their children about serious enough topics and trusting them to do so alone while making sound decisions.

Episode 7: Slime Time/Which Witch?

Freia decides that is a goopy kind of day and it’s time to be a slime!/Halloween time! Freia and the fellow older ladies of the two houses have a mean trick to show bullies who have ruined the kiddos’ holiday.

Episode 8: That Magic Number/Two Can be as Bad as One

The summer heat is intense, so Freia needs to do her best to last the whole day as others try their best to steal her away for cooling them off for the day./Freia decides to spend the day with her bestie, Erin, and they make it everyone else’s problem.

Episode 9: Pornucopia/Toil and Trouble

Freia decides today is a good day to have a revolving door of lovely ladies in and out of her home for some good times!/Freia tries her hand at a new recipe in her alchemy list, leading to surprising results!

Episode 10: Jackie of All Trades/It’s Not a Family Without You...

Freia and Melissa reflect on the time spent together that led to Jackie’s conception and eventual birth, as well as the early days of motherhood./The other daughters of Freia and Melissa share stories with Jackie about how their mothers found and adopted them.

Episode 11: Loungin’ Lady/Snow Day!

Freia decides she wants a hobby that gets her out of the house more, so she heads to town and tries out a few jobs and hobbies for the perfect fit!/It’s Christmas time! However, it’s an unusually warm day. Freia and her friends decide to improvise their White Christmas!

Episode 12: Surprise!

Freia’s friends and family are throwing a surprise party for her! It is Melissa and Jackie’s job to keep her preoccupied until everything is ready! However, Freia also has a surprise she’s ready to share with them all, as well...

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I did it! I made the fake synopsis for the fake first season of the fake anime! But my aches and pains in my fingers are very, very real. It was good fun and maybe I’ll do Season 2 before the end of the year. For now, I’m gonna let this chill through the weekend and let Taylor boost the hell out of it on her blogs.

Oy...

[yveltalreal]

stories ? 👀

OKAY SO. lets start with something. simple. the beginning of the hounds. the start of my family. at least as how we know it. the story im telling now... its what i was told as a child. in this past year or two i have learned more of how this story goes. more details. how things fit into place. names and faces. i will not be including those. it makes it more personal. puts things in a context i did not have as a kid. and sure there are contexts i had as a child you dont but. its what i will do.

im putting it under a cut cause its kinda long

The subject of this story has long since lost her name. Perhaps it was not uttered because of who held it. Perhaps it was lost with languages long gone. Perhaps it wasn't important. To us, she is The First. The First of Many. The First to Be Punished. The First to Steal From The Gods.

The First was born with many gifts: a talented psychic born in an era when lifting entire islands from the sea was easy, a skilled warrior said to have been trained by the best fighters in the world, and most importantly, The Legends could not see her.

Not literally, of course, but she was gone when looking in ways other than eyes. Dialga was blind to her place in time, and Palkia could not hope to see the space she occupied.

The First used this to her advantage. Clueless to her plans, the Legends did not fear what would come. That was until she stole Lugia and Ho-oh's most prized bells and a fistful of their feathers. The Legends were outraged. How could she sneak past them all like this! How had not one of Gold and Silver's most devout monks noticed her?

They sent the Lake Guardians after her and commanded them to remove her psychic abilities before ensnaring her in the Red Chain. This would soon turn out to be a mistake.

The Guardians had just finished, suppressing what power they could and wrapping her in divine shackles when suddenly the chain shattered. No mortal should have had such strength, but it was then they realized what she had in her possession. A knife forged from griseous ore, a weapon said to be gifted by Giratina itself. In shock, they let The First get away with pieces of the Red Chain.

The First affixed the bells and feathers to her knife with the chain, and her rampage began. No Legend was safe, and no follower was spared. The First travelled the world, attacking God after God and stealing artifacts and treasures. No one knows why she did this, and no one knows what her plan was. All that is known is that through it all, her mind was sharp. She was calm, collected, and precise.

Finally, though, it seemed The First's time was up. Xerneas, Yveltal, and Zygarde were called forward by their fellow Legendaries to put an end to the violence. The battle waged on for six days and nights until the siblings finally defeated The First. They Celebrated for another day and night before finally moving to check the body. When they did, however, they were shocked at what they found.

The Body had vanished, and so had the knife. They were sure she was dead; no being less than Arceus could survive a total onslaught from the three together, but nothing was left. Not only that, though, but they found a baby. The First's only spawn.

Yveltal stepped forward, determined to ensure that this tragedy could never happen again, but her sister stopped her. "It was only a child," Xerneas argued. "We should discuss it with the others." And so a meeting was called, with every Legend and Myth in attendance, all except Arceus, who had slept soundly.

The Legends chose their kindness for the child. Not death, but a different punishment for its mother's crimes. The child would live to serve the Gods. Their life would be filled with work and toil to help the people and Pokemon of the world. When the child grew up and had children of its own, they, too, would work to pay off this debt to the Gods.

A Pokemon was chosen to be blessed by The Legends to be their companion. A mark of who they were, a guide through their task, and a helping paw in the years to come. This Pokemon was Houndoom, and on that day, The Hounds began.

-

anyways yeah thats the story of the first great great granny murder knife (she was a lot more greats than that)

[takeheartdaughter]

"Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised."

 A GODLY WOMAN IS A WOMAN OF VALUE

"She is worth far more than rubies."

She is valuable to her husband. She is not only his helpmate and the mother of his children, but her actions show how much she means to him.

As a mother - "she provides food for her family"  As a model - "and portions for her servant girls" 

"My dear and honored Mother:

I think you have been the best mother and the best woman in the world. I think often of all the years you have toiled so faithfully, and loved us so tenderly.

I think of the years you have toiled in the fields; of the nights when, after the day's toil was over, you watched by the cradle of your babies, and now, we have grown big and old. Only God knows all you did for us.

We children owe you more than money, mother - more than honor and love. We owe you ourselves - our lives. Even now, mamma, I remember how I used to say my prayers at your knee, and now since I have gone out into the world, and have learned of its awful sin, I wish sometimes that I could always be a child."

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Chapter XIV

"Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding as it did a number of circumstances, each interesting and wonderful to one so utterly inexperienced as I was.

"The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was descended from a good family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence, respected by his superiors, and beloved by his equals. His son was bred in the service of his country; and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the highest distinction. A few months before my arrival, they had lived in a large and luxurious city, called Paris, surrounded by friends, and possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford.

"The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin. He was a Turkish merchant, and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some reason which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. He was seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from Constantinople to join him. He was tried, and condemned to death. The injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant; and it was judged that his religion and wealth, rather than the crime alleged against him, had been the cause of his condemnation.

"Felix had accidentally been present at the trial; his horror and indignation were uncontrollable, when he heard the decision of the court. He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him, and then looked around for the means. After many fruitless attempts to gain admittance to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an unguarded part of the building, which lighted the dungeon of the unfortunate Mahometan; who, loaded with chains, waited in despair the execution of the barbarous sentence. Felix visited the grate at night, and made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favour. The Turk, amazed and delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deliverer by promises of reward and wealth. Felix rejected his offers with contempt; yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who was allowed to visit her father, and who, by her gestures, expressed her lively gratitude, the youth could not help owning to his own mind, that the captive possessed a treasure which would fully reward his toil and hazard.

"The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made on the heart of Felix, and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in his interests by the promise of her hand in marriage, so soon as he should be conveyed to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to accept this offer; yet he looked forward to the probability of the event as to the consummation of his happiness.

"During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several letters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to express her thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old man, a servant of her father, who understood French. She thanked him in the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her parent; and at the same time she gently deplored her own fate.

"I have copies of these letters; for I found means, during my residence in the hovel, to procure the implements of writing; and the letters were often in the hands of Felix or Agatha. Before I depart, I will give them to you, they will prove the truth of my tale; but at present, as the sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat the substance of them to you.

"Safie related, that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a slave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of the father of Safie, who married her. The young girl spoke in high and enthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom, spurned the bondage to which she was now reduced. She instructed her daughter in the tenets of her religion, and taught her to aspire to higher powers of intellect, and an independence of spirit, forbidden to the female followers of Mahomet. This lady died; but her lessons were indelibly impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of again returning to Asia, and being immured within the walls of a haram, allowed only to occupy herself with infantile amusements, ill suited to the temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble emulation for virtue. The prospect of marrying a Christian, and remaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in society, was enchanting to her.

"The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed; but, on the night previous to it, he quitted his prison, and before morning was distant many leagues from Paris. Felix had procured passports in the name of his father, sister, and himself. He had previously communicated his plan to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under the pretence of a journey, and concealed himself, with his daughter, in an obscure part of Paris.

"Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons, and across Mont Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions.

"Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she should be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in expectation of that event; and in the mean time he enjoyed the society of the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest affection. They conversed with one another through the means of an interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie sang to him the divine airs of her native country.

"The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place, and encouraged the hopes of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other plans. He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a Christian; but he feared the resentment of Felix, if he should appear lukewarm; for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer, if he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they inhabited. He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled to prolong the deceit until it might be no longer necessary, and secretly to take his daughter with him when he departed. His plans were facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris.

"The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their victim, and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer. The plot of Felix was quickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were thrown into prison. The news reached Felix, and roused him from his dream of pleasure. His blind and aged father, and his gentle sister, lay in a noisome dungeon, while he enjoyed the free air, and the society of her whom he loved. This idea was torture to him. He quickly arranged with the Turks, that if the latter should find a favourable opportunity for escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a boarder at a convent at Leghorn; and then, quitting the lovely Arabian, he hastened to Paris, and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the law, hoping to free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.

"He did not succeed. They remained confined for five months before the trial took place; the result of which deprived them of their fortune, and condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country.

"They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany, where I discovered them. Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for whom he and his family endured such unheard-of oppression, on discovering that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and ruin, became a traitor to good feeling and honour, and had quitted Italy with his daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money, to aid him, as he said, in some plan of future maintenance.

"Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix, and rendered him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could have endured poverty; and while this distress had been the meed of his virtue, he gloried in it: but the ingratitude of the Turk, and the loss of his beloved Safie, were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable. The arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul.

"When the news reached Leghorn, that Felix was deprived of his wealth and rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her lover, but to prepare to return to her native country. The generous nature of Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to expostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his tyrannical mandate.

"A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter's apartment, and told her hastily, that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn had been divulged, and that he should speedily be delivered up to the French government; he had, consequently hired a vessel to convey him to Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours. He intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential servant, to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his property, which had not yet arrived at Leghorn.

"When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it would become her to pursue in this emergency. A residence in Turkey was abhorrent to her; her religion and her feelings were alike adverse to it. By some papers of her father, which fell into her hands, she heard of the exile of her lover, and learnt the name of the spot where he then resided. She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her determination. Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her, and a sum of money, she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn, but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for Germany.

"She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage of De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Safie nursed her with the most devoted affection; but the poor girl died, and the Arabian was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country, and utterly ignorant of the customs of the world. She fell, however, into good hands. The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for which they were bound; and, after her death, the woman of the house in which they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at the cottage of her lover."

[chimsmom1013]

On Ballet, PJM's thighs 🤭, Gender Norms, Society, and Parenting Teens...when insomnia plays you like a plague.

Four in the morning and I'm in my walrus form...rolling on the bed like it'll help shut down my brain, until this walrus decided to give up and get up. Welcome to today's insomnia episode feat. me and my attempt to write/blog again.

It's on nights, rather early dawns, like these where my mind ponders on the mundane things in life...like where the hell is Min Yoongi?...Lol! Is slime liquid? Is water wet? Silly questions until the most precious nerds in my life go on a full scientific debate on these (true story). Today was me scouting frames online for my kids' ballet recital pics. I was being a cheesy mom admiring with googly eyes, my children's photos until I was "mom mode no more" when the quads my not so little boy's ballet tights were showcasing caught my attention...and I went *😳* my boy's really starting to morph into pre-debut PJM (Jimin's thighs for President! woot! woot!😂)

It's been over a year since my children decided to "formally" learn ballet. My eldest would be considered late to the game at 16 as most ballerinas start tippy toeing garbed in pink tutus as early as three; she though, has always had an eye for the arts. As a little girl I remember her craning her neck to the other toddlers who were attending the ballet classes held on the second level of the local grocery we used to frequent in QC. She never really says anything, she just watches and stares at the cute girls her age in tutus with her big bright eyes; meanwhile the dense, sleep deprived, mother *c'est moi* never paid it much thought, my last braincells running on the remaining 10 mg of caffeine and whatever nicotine poison was still lingering in my bloodstream. A walking zombie on auto pilot trying to get my errands done so I can hit the sack, wake up to the moon and live life as part of the vampires toiling the night shifts. This was 2010.

Fast forward to the pandemic era when we all got sucked into the purple rabbit hole *another story for another day* and count 2 more years of my whole fam being fans of a particular kid from Busan, SoKor who studied Modern Dance in an Arts School (before an Army gets the wrong idea, we're OT7, just putting that out)  and you see me enrolling my children in their first ballet class.

I will spare you the details of how this debacle gave rise to the Kraken that, unbeknownst to la maman, actually lives inside my sweet, darling girl (segway...you know those moments when you look at your child and say, I can't see any of me in her *of which you're mighty glad* then BOOM! Yep there it is, that's definitely me right there. I had that scene play in front of me in 4HD...end of segway). Now despite being a bit relieved in discovering that she actually had this side - when the need calls for it - I knew the crowd that triggered it wasn't healthy for them anymore. I pulled them out of that place in a snap. It was just a summer thing after all, it was just me letting them dip their toes into ballet because we were PJM stans, it was ever really just that - haha! NOT! As I witnessed my daughter's demeanor turn a full 360° because some kids thought it was a good idea to mess with her brother...to which of course they were wrong. I thought that exiting them out of that cesspool was the "parent thing to do'' and that-that experience eventually pulled the lights out on their, "what I initially assumed only as", fangirling/boying fascination for ballet, but like those silly kids who ate the bars that were spat out my daughter's angry mouth for afternoon tea- of course I TOO WAS WRONG.

My then 12yr old son was crying his eyes out, feelings of disgust, betrayal, self-doubt, anger, self-doubt again doused him like an August monsoon, bouts of nausea and a slight fever followed thereafter. It was a sight any mother would demand someone's head for *ofc I'm being exaggeratedly dramatic but you get my point*. I could have *metaphorically* dragged someone by the hair for it, I knew I was entitled to that -we had receipts. But as much as I love my boy, he is THAT- a BOY, biologically assigned male at birth who'll soon turn into a MAN. He needed to learn from this, know how to profile people. Learn the consequences of being naive and gullible, understand the inevitable outcome of what you're getting yourself into. The little vixen was no Taylor Swift and my son is absolutefanfucktabously NOT her John Mayer. Society, however, in this province that is, wouldn't, even at this present day & age, agree with me.  Petite, pretty, doe-eyed, damsel type girls will always bag the biggest crowd. He needed to understand this, cuddling and soothing him would be second nature to any mother, but I would like to think I knew better. So that was that or so I thought. We can go back to baking giant cookies, mocking the diabetes curse that ran in our genes, but my son wanted to write a different ending to this chapter and start a new one. So with eyes puffy and tears endlessly falling; nose so red Rudolf would've been threatened, speech garbled from sobbing and the urge to not ingest his snot *graphic ain't I?* he let out a phrase that left me momentarily stunted. "But Mommy, I really wanna dance ballet". I was silent as my incoherent son tried to get his message to my skull. I watched his beautiful face being aggressively rubbed with the collar of his shirt by his own hands. Sounds reminiscent of trumpets being blown ensued right after and I thought to myself, "whoa 😧 the laundromat ladies has got work cut out for them" before I snapped out of my momentary Ally McBeal moment and reminded myself that I'm this human's mother.

And so after a financial debrief with the chief of command in my household a.k.a my husband, the hunt was on for a new ballet school that would be willing to take in my then 16 yr old princess and my 12 yr old snot factory of a son *oh shut up, we all have different love languages mine just happens to exclude being a mopey unfunny mother*. I swept through Metaverse overnight and by 9am-ish the next day, I was on the phone with the owner of the Aims Academy School for the Performing Arts formerly known as Arts in Motion Studio *all puns related to "the artist formerly known as Prince" intended tee-hee* with my V8 of a motor mouth ranting at the speed of light. The school's headmistress being the poor soul to become recipient of my motherly verbal diarrhea. A millenia and a half on my verbal rampage on mean girls, my take on the performing arts, my hope that they could consider taking in my 2 dorks and I'm purchasing a ballet barre online... just like that, my 12 yr old son is once again the only ballet student with a third leg in this new school - grateful for this new chapter in their lives.

Has it ever bothered him that he's the only student danseur in ballet school? nah...he was raised a feminist - and by that I don't mean Beyonce and her booty shaking to "Who Run the World? Girls!" I mean, being raised to respect the differences and contribution each biologically assigned sex contributes to humanity, did I phrase that out right? I am honestly too old to delve into the complexities of pronouns and the whole LGBTQrstuv you know the rest of the alphabet. My son understands and respects that you can embrace whatever pronoun you find fits you, yet equally respects that a pea sized pie hole can pop out a human head but the Jr nestled between his quads will never be able to. He understands that we, biologically assigned women at birth, cannot play the game of how many d*cks around a coffee mug can fill it up with pee in 30 secs *no you cannot unread that bwahaha evil laugh* My son understands that colors, fragrance, one's palate has no gender assignment, munching on siling labuyo does not make one MORE male, lmao. He loves playing war games on his pc but cosplays in a Japanese maid costume without a care in the world if some people raise their brows and think that's queer. Most importantly he knows the difference between a hobby and an art form, and that art is gender fluid.

My kids were unfortunately birthed in an obnoxiously patriarchal society that associates sh*t to being male or female. Society expects my daughter to be domesticated, she is, but equally so is my son. If you can't cook, don't eat, if you don't know how to wash your undergarments then by all means itch where it hurts the most. No one dares give an opinion on my son studying to be a danseur, either they actually funnily think it's just a hobby (believe me when I say what an insanely expensive hobby it is then for a middle class household) as I've caught conversations from older male figures subtly hinting at basketball and taekwondo... or they're very much aware that trying to meddle with how I raise my kids is a pretty bad idea, knowing that I am literally able to get away with murder haha.

Let me ramble on this just once...DANCING is NOT merely a HOBBY! PERFORMING ARTS is WHAT it reads as A-R-T! Ballet is not for wimps and girly soft boys, as is with any other artform - it's a DISCIPLINE; an utterly painful one at that. If anyone then, gets the slightest misogynistic itch to poke fun at my boy in tights- try standing on relevé with a steady bras bas for 20 secs then you can talk to me about how pain makes a man a "MAN"...*blows knuckles*.

Some misguided poor souls can cheat their way into academic high honors; some screwed up parents can kiss ass and/or payV the way for their children, but believe me no amount of ass-kissing skills or deep pockets can ever fool a room full of audience into knowing what talent or the absolute lack of it looks like on stage. Not everyone is born with it, and when you see it, you don't call it a "hobby", you call that talent, skills, what you're seeing is an execution of "Art".

The insatiable and savage thirst for raising ruthless fighting cocks for merciless cockpit battles is what I can call an example of a "hobby" - a gruesomely barbaric one at that but absurdly regarded as Ultra Male — not a skill, definitely not a talent and watching two rooster try to unalive each other will never be a form of Art. I object -  admiration for the showcase violence is not manly, on the contrary it defies all that nature intended the male species to be...the supposed caretaker and nurturer of all things created by the Almighty. 

My children were sadly born into a society that sees ART as a hobby and the belief that one's only gateway to a stable meal ticket is through the traditional academe. Where grades define them and their peers parents' brag about them like trophies with necks clad in metal you can't even pawn for a cent; and while me and the hubs have hardcoded the importance of school and the sometimes absurd rules of society to our kids' psyche - that a good college degree is still their gate pass to a stable future, we keep them grounded and sane by reiterating that reciting Newton's Law will not help you cook an egg. Life skills are just as important. Social skills, street smarts and most of all empathy, compassion, and kindness are what make you human. No, we are not the type of absurdly idealistic, incel, "stoned hippie-like" parents that teach our children to blame the gov't for our effed up lives or blind them with the idea that politics is divided into black & white. We don't romanticize poverty and tell our children that money isn't the most important thing in the world- eros LOVE is (oh cge shutamez, kumain ka ng pagmamahal tignan ko kung mabusog ka sa kaka-bebetaym haha). NO! we actually tell them that in the hierarchy of things to help you survive, it is next to oxygen. Money can be both a blessing and a curse, you need it but don't be obsessed with it. Recognize the power it holds, respect that to a certain degree but never be a slave to it. Be wary of how people act around money. Do not classify people according to their lack and excess of it, and equally stay away from those who would do just that to you. Work Hard/Play Hard. Be kind to yourself. Pat yourself on the back for a job well done. Recognize and humble yourselves when you realize you're at fault. Learn from mistakes and learn to forgive mistakes and never wallow in them. Try to always see the good in humans. In this cruel world, it will be the only thing that keeps you from being part of a herd made up of bad sheep that despite having a shepherd and being surrounded by a fence, still always think that everyone around them are predators (the disgusting mentality na kala mo laging iisahan, dadayain at lalamangan, these are the worst people to trust as you will never have theirs). Be careful of those who believe that in order to survive, the best mantra to live by was coined by Machiavelli. School, at some point, will teach you the idea of Utopia; tell you what it looks like, explain to you the do's and don'ts and make you think you're it's future hope as long as you keep the black from bleeding into the white. When you get out in the real world though you'll realize that Utopia is a unicorn. The great Kim Namjoon once said, "Life is a soup, and I'm a fork", my personal favorite is "Life isn't Burger King, you can't always have it your way."

In a year where people are still at odds as to whether the 1969 moon landing was real, the greatest mystery and challenge is still the perfect formula in raising Gen Z teens. I have yet to figure it out as well. I've once been called to speak on the topic of successful parenting and gladly indulged my audience with what maybe perceived as food for thought; when in truth my anxiety laced brain was just as clueless to what successful parenting really is. I guess people think having well mannered and well behaved kids qualifies me to hold a podium. In reality though; while I'm definitely accountable for their upbringing, I can't take any credit for the humans my children decide to become. They are their own person/s the moment they realize they have the ability to feed themselves with their own cooking that will not have them dying from food poisoning. 

And so with all these letters jumbled to become words, that become sentences and progressed into paragraphs of mundane thoughts that decided to fill insomnia nights instead of being sleep waste products called dreams; I spill my mind into writing, if you can even call this that. Whoever is reading this has been fooled into tagging along a rollercoaster mumble-jumble ride that started with my admittedly disgusting simp/thirst for Park Jimin's thighs, ballet, gender norms, society, and trying to be a passable parent to my teens...like how in the fowcking world did it jump from there to here? Insomnia indeed plays me like a plague. 

[shilohxovo]

A Story I'm making

So I'm making a story and this is how it is so far it might change later though:

A maiden with locks of red did recline upon her resting place within her chamber, clad in her night attire. Though the sun had ascended to the sky, slumber still graced her form.

"Constance," a voice, low and unfamiliar, did utter. "Constance," the voice did sound again. Now roused, her eyes of hazel did swiftly unseal, yet no other presence did her sight perceive but herself and a raven, perched upon the sill.

Striving to shoo away the raven yielded no success, prompting her to rise and attire herself in garments meant for daylight. With a final glance toward the raven, she departed the chamber, her siblings already begun upon their day's tasks.

Constance descended the stairs, her parents' gazes met hers, laden with inquiry regarding the lateness of her slumber. She perceived their silent interrogation. Reluctant was she to speak a falsehood, yet she yielded to the temptation, knowing deceit to be a transgression. "I was ailing, and thus I tarried in sleep's embrace," she uttered, though in her heart she knew the tale to be untrue. "Forgive me for not beseeching your consent beforehand."

In truth, her nocturnal pursuits had drawn her into the bosom of the woods, driven by an unwavering curiosity that characterized her tender years. Alas, innocence outshone wisdom, leading her to venturesome endeavors amidst the woodland's shadows.

Her parents exchanged a knowing glance before her mother, a woman of gentle demeanor, spoke. "Dear Constance," she began, her tone soft but tinged with concern, "thy health is dear to us. 'Tis well that thee found rest, though we hope thy ailment does not persist."

Her father, a man of wisdom acquired through the passage of years, added with a measured nod, "A goodly night's sleep hath its virtues, yet perchance seek the counsel of thy mother or myself should such ailment recur. We are here to provide care and guidance, as parents ought."

And so, the parents' words carried the warmth of parental concern, unaware of Constance's true nocturnal escapades amidst the mysterious woods.

Constance did incline her head courteously to the thought, though words of her own did not readily pass her lips. Instead, she did take her leave of her progenitors, exiting the dwelling to unite with her kin in the yard, where they did await her presence to aid them in their day's labors.

After the fullness of their daily toil, Constance and her siblings found themselves drawn unto a patch of green beneath the fond embrace of a venerated oak. The sun's descent did tint the heavens with hues of amber and crimson, bestowing a placid luminescence upon the landscape.

Seated in a circle upon the verdurous tapestry, they partook in the rites of camaraderie known to kin alone. Laughter, tales, and the sharing of visions became one with the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle sighs of zephyrs.

As twilight spread its duskened wings, the embers of a small fire did kindle, a meeting ground wherein stories found voice. They exchanged chronicles of eras long past, of realms remote and marvels distant. Each narrative bore the spark of fancy, enkindling an enchantment mutual and transcendent of the mundane sphere.

Beneath the starry arras of night, they leaned upon one another's presence, a mosaic of souls interwoven by the loom of kinship. With each moment elapsed, the concerns of day's labor yielded to the sorcery of the night, a sorcery that murmured secrets to attentive ears.

And as the moon ascended its celestial throne, Constance and her siblings did surrender to the gentle embrace of slumber, their dreams a portal to realms both familiar and obscure, both worldly and wondrous. The night watched over them, its shadows a silent guardian over the tranquil scene.

Thus, in the quiet core of the night, they did rest, the tendrils of darkness weaving a tapestry of dreams that connected them to the enigmas that awaited in the waking hours.

The following morn, Constance stirred to a sensation tugging at her feet. 'Twas but one of her kin, a younger sibling, whose departure marked their leave-taking. "Constance," the voice, known from yester's eve, resounded once more. As the crow took wing once more to the selfsame window, she wondered, though uncertain, if 'twas the very same corvine creature.