#it hurt me so much when he died and only now five years later am i ready to remember him

[deanofsam]

i’m back on my tony stark shit 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[ilyrafe]

after seeing so much one direction content these past couple of days, it got me thinking. one direction really was the last boyband to ever happen. no one will ever come close to what they did in only six years. it’s a once in a generation kind of thing to happen. they didn’t even win the x factor and ended up being the show’s biggest act, 14 years later.

yes, they were manufactured, but at the same time, they were the least manufactured band to ever exist in recent times. they didn’t dance, they weren’t actually meant to be a band, they got everything they had because of charisma and talent. these boys were so talented and charismatic. they didn’t really dress the same, they were working class teenagers with a dream and they did it. and it was beautiful.

after seeing their statements, it’s finally downing on me that one direction is really over and i will never see all five of them together again. 11 year old me is absolutely devastated, and so is 24, almost 25 year old me.

the fangirl in me never went anywhere, it turns out. i still have my 1d concert tickets (the only one i went to and zayn was still in the band!), my albums and dvds, books, theater tickets and every once in a while i would take them out of the box and reminisce of the good old days, never thinking i would mourn one of them so soon. i genuinely thought i would be way older when they would go.

i can’t help but feel so sad that liam’s last years were so erratic and horrible. he was hurting deeply and he deeply hurt other people, and there is no excuse for what he did. i mourn what he once was, what he could have been and how it all ended up being. i take maya’s allegations seriously and i encourage you to do the same. what she is going through right now is impossible to imagine.

for those saying they’re glad “an abuser died”, think about what you’re saying. his death helps no one. his victims will never get justice, he will not take accountability for his actions. no one will ever get closure.

for those saying they feel bad for hating or mocking him, you really should. he was called an opportunist for showing up at the boys’ concerts and yet, when harry would do it, everyone loved it.

liam wasn’t perfect, he fucked up a lot, but like anyone, he had the right to, at the very least, apologize. 31 is too young, and no one deserves to go like this.

all i think about is his little son, who will grow up without his dad. no kid should ever lose their parent, especially at such an young age. the fact that he never once exposed his son to the media (like many celebrities do) to protect his privacy tells me that he loved his boy and knew all too well the damage this exposure would cause.

i saw that some 1d songs are trending again, and as much as i would love to take the day to listen to them, it is too soon. i haven’t been able to watch friends since matthew perry died, haven’t been able to watch brooklyn 99 since andre bragher died and will not be able to listen to 1d for a while.

it’s too soon.

call me dramatic, i don’t really care. the most magical part of my adolescence has ended tragically and i am really at a loss.

for those who are conflicted as i am, take your time. it is okay to be sad he’s gone and, at the same time, feel disappointed or even angry. it is okay to mourn and, at the same time, support maya.

edit: i would also like to express my support to his parents, sisters, cheryl, kate and friends.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for correcting my niblings without my brother's input?

I had a massive falling out with my family when I was a teenager. I was into goth/edgy/horror culture and true crime before it was accepted by the mainstream, plus my parents were older when they had us and we lived on a farm. They needed my brother and me to keep the farm going, and I decided to pursue college instead. At some point after this they sold/lost their farm, but I do not know when, which fueled their resentment. At their request I did not speak to them until 2021, when my brother found me on Facebook to tell me my parents both died of covid and we held a Zoom funeral. After that he moved several states over to be closer to me so we could work on reconciliation and forgiving me for the farm incident.

So now I (45f) babysit his (44m) two youngest children (10m, 8f) for free, and have been since 2021. Initially he had full custody as his ex wife did not have a job or any job experience when they divorced (before we reconciled) but she now has a full time job so they share custody currently, although she is in our home state, so they decided the kids should go to school there still and spend holidays and summers with him. I am currently an art professor at a local university and for summer semester I only have morning classes and he works afternoons, so it works out.

Last week, his youngest asked me; "OP, how come you lie so much?" Her brother tried to shush her but I asked for clarification. Her brother told her she wasn't supposed to tell me, but she did anyway, and then he also chimed in to confirm. Turns out, whenever I told his kids about any vacations to other countries I took, he said I was making it up to sound important. When I told them I went to medical school, he said I was lying and was a glorified art teacher and only went to community college. I have a serious boyfriend who I have mentioned, although I do not spend time with him while babysitting per the mother's request not to have any adult with her children before meeting them and giving the okay, and so my brother insists I made him up.

I was very hurt, and so I showed them pictures, diplomas, videos, etc proving I was not lying. It is true I got into a community college near our home town on an art scholarship and an FHA grant, but I was able to skip generals due to advanced courses I was taking in high school. I quickly got interested in the medical field and was able to transfer to a medical school on several scholarships and obviously loans. I became a pediatric oncologist and was happy with that until my later thirties. I had kept art as a hobby but eventually realized I wanted to do more with it. I retired from pediatric oncology and then became an art professor five years ago. When I was a doctor, I met my current boyfriend (46m) who is a trauma surgeon. Starting in my late twenties, until covid, I was able to travel throughout the US and even to many foreign countries, sometimes for work, sometimes for vacation. There was no way for him to know this as we were not in contact, but I was very hurt that instead of believing me, he has been telling his kids I'm a liar for the past two years. So yes I did show them the photos and videos specifically because I was hurt.

The following day my brother called me and shouted at me, angry I had deliberately contradicted him. He was angry enough he was shouting at me. He has been dragging this on through text for the past few days. His ex wife also contacted me, asking for my version of events, as apparently their children called her crying about the situation. I told her exactly what I said here. He called me not an hour later screaming. Unbeknownst to me, she has been trying to get full custody of the children and he's convinced that this situation will get his kids taken from him, something he has a fear of due to the fact he has two adult children from a previous marriage who went no contact when they both turned 18. He insists that his ex wife turned them against him, and now he is terrified it will happen again. I was not aware of this until recently, nor did I think this would cause an issue with his custody. It has been very awkward babysitting his kids, as they have been very quiet since this whole thing happened. I don't have kids myself, nor have I been divorced, so I don't understand parenting or divorce etiquette, but I am still very hurt and even angry with him for calling me a liar to his children. Before I make any further decisions regarding an apology, I wanted to get advice as to whether I am the asshole for not bringing it up with him before showing his kids evidence that I did, in fact, do those things, and if so, how I can rectify this appropriately.

What are these acronyms?

[hollandsfavbabe]

Where Do We Go Now

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis: in which the death of y/n's father leaves her determined to bring him back and her boyfriend peter determined to save her

warnings: endgame aftermath, death, parental loss, isolation, suicide attempt (but magical?), it gets better - I promise

word count: 7.1k

masterlist

a/n: Hey guys. This is going to be a bit longer than my usual notes, but I feel like I should explain why I've been gone for so long and why this story is a lot sadder than my usual ones. My community has been riddled with tragedy recently as we've lost a lot of people to suicide this past year, some of which have been as young as middle school age. One of my friends died by suicide a couple months ago. I can't express to you guys how hard it's been trying to deal with the pain and the guilt his death has caused me and my loved ones. So many days have passed where I wish I could've been a better friend for him while he was here. It hurts more knowing that other people are hurting too. Writing this was the best way for me to cope for many reasons. I wanted to write about how I'm feeling and honor my friend in some way even if it's through a silly little fanfiction. I know I'm late, but I also wanted to honor one of my favorite characters, Tony Stark as he canonically died this past October. That being said, if you are struggling please, I implore you, talk to someone. There are so many people on this planet who would be so torn without you. My dms are always a safe space if you need anything at all <3

Also I'd like to thank Gracie Abrams for her music that I had on repeat the entire time I was writing this. I hope you like it!

“I am Iron Man.”

The words replayed in your head, over and over like a broken record with no one to turn it to a new tune. That’s exactly how you felt. So alone in your grief that even if miraculously every wish you'd ever made in the whole of your existence had been granted, it still wouldn’t be enough to make you happy again. To make you feel anything besides the constant regret and incessant grief that anchored you down as you wasted away in your bed.

It had been exactly a week since the passing of the great Tony Stark. Everyone else in the compound had mourned their coworker, riddled by a somewhat lesser version of your sadness for only a few days after his death. It’s not as if their grief had been washed away as if it never stained their cheeks with tears or weighed down their hearts with sorrow, but it eased much quicker than yours and before long they could continue their duties. Everything was so much harder for you because Tony hadn’t just been a coworker. He was your father.

You relieved every memory you had of him like bittersweet torture. You remembered when he held you as a little girl, wiping up a bloodied knee. When he discovered you had powers and helped you control them. Later on when he banned you from joining in on the Avenger’s Civil War and afterwards when he thanked you for sneaking in to help anyway. You could almost feel his comforting embrace as if it was only yesterday that he was assuring you before a failed battle against the mad Titan Thanos, the same one that left you dusted and missing your father’s last five years on Earth. And finally, of course, you remember his last moments all too well. It played out before you like the tragic ending of a stage play. 

“Let me do it,” you shouted over the sound of war cries and carnage that surrounded you on the packed battlefield. “I can take it!”

You were almost certain that your power, your immeasurable magic, could handle the debilitating strength of the Infinity Stones making you the most reasonable choice for snapping Thanos and his army out of existence, but your father refused to risk losing his eldest.

“No,” he breathed, the metal plate shielding his chest rising and falling from the heat of the action. There was only one way to succeed, only one way to put a stop to the destruction of the universe. It had to be him. “I won’t risk losing you, not while you’re still so young. You have so much life ahead of you.”

“Not without you!” you cried, a tear streaming from your eye.

There wasn’t much time for your conversation as the world was moments away from being wiped of its human history, but despite the odds your father pulled you into a tight hug, as if he knew it would be the last. You both did.

“You are the strongest person I’ve ever known and I’m so proud of what you’ve become already.” he smiled when you finally pulled apart.

“I need you dad,” you sobbed, still reluctant to let him leave you. With the threat of his death, suddenly Thanos’ defeat didn’t matter anymore. Not nearly as much as having your father by your side. “I’m not ready.”

Your dad looked down on you with the saddest of smiles, but if any part of him was upset about his decision, he made no other hint toward it. He just held you close for as long as possible and comforted you in the way that you could always count on him for. In the way, it hit you, that you could never count on him for again. But yet, in the face of death, he cradled you close and spoke in his signature fatherly tone: assertive yet on the edge of softness.

“No one’s ever ready -,” he answered truthfully. “- but I know you can handle it. You always do.”

You looked up at him as he finally pulled away and headed towards the purple giant, but not before turning to you for one final declaration.

“I love you, junior, to the edge and back again.”

And then he was gone. You never got the chance to say it back.

Yours was the last name he uttered before his heart stopped beating and the light on his suit went out. By then Pepper had already said her goodbyes and you both were huddled close to his body, weeping as the other Avengers knelt around you in honor of your father. Peter was hunched behind you, one hand on your shoulder while the other worked to wipe away his own tears. Oh Peter, you had your father to thank for him.

It was Tony who was credited with setting you up with your long term boyfriend, Peter Parker, even if it was a complete accident. You two had gotten acquainted on a fateful plane ride to Germany and eventually ended up together after many failed attempts at confessing your feelings. There was something about him that had you smitten with him from your first encounter, your liking only strengthened when you learned that your father approved. He’d been with you through thick and thin and even now, Peter was the only person who could even remotely share your pain besides Pepper. Tony was like his father too.

He’d taken care of you ever since the incident. Brought you food and water, helped you dress in your black attire for the funeral, laid with you in your bed each night to calm you whenever you awoke in a nightmarish terror. He showed his love for you prevailing over his grief in the most selfless of ways and yet all you had managed to do since you father’s funeral was stand to use the restroom every once in a while. It piled on more weight that your poor soul could already take. You were nothing, but a miserable burden now.

The door to your room opened with squealing hinges as Peter stepped in, returning from school where he had spent the morning reuniting with your shared friends and finding out when the official return date was. You were supposed to join him, but instead you hadn’t moved an inch since he left. It wasn’t as if you wanted to waste the entire day in your lonely sheets again. You yearned for everything to go back to how it was; when Peter was happy and you could share it with him. When your father used to smile upon the two teens he didn’t mean to bring together. When your father was alive.

“Hey,” he said, softly as if not to startle you from your endless torturous pondering. He set something down on your dresser, a small stack of papers he must have gathered from the school, and removed his fall coat before sauntering over to you. The bed creaked and shifted under his weight as he took a seat next to you. “Good news, we don’t have to go back until the next semester so we get a break until January. Ned was asking about you. He wants to know how you’re doing.”

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes red-rimmed from all of your crying and your lips cracked and dry.

“What did you tell him?” you croaked, your voice hoarse from under use. There was little to talk about and no one else to talk to whenever Peter wasn’t around. Pepper had visited you once, but with Morgan to look after, she couldn’t spare much time for her late husband’s grieving daughter. You’d seen Happy a couple times as well, but he needed his own time to recover and reflect on his past time with his best friend.

Peter was gentle as he tucked some of the hair strands snot cemented to your jaw behind your ear and cupped your cheek in his palm. He was cold from the autumn chill outside, but his hand ignited the same soothing heat that his touch always brought forth.

“I said you were recovering,” he answered truthfully. “And that it’s different for everyone. And no matter how long it takes, I’m here for you every step of the way.”

The ghost of a smile graced your lips and had it not felt like it stopped beating after losing your father, your heart may have fluttered in its cavity in your chest.

“Thanks Peter,” you curled closer to him in the most sincere of ways. “But I’m afraid it’s going to be a while before I can get up to see Ned again. Give him my best.”

“Take your time. I’m sure he understands.” Peter assured before pulling off his flannel and laying down beside you to wrap you in his arms, allowing you to tuck your face in his chest. As unhappy as you were, all the swirling emotions of suffering were always suppressed by the sound of Peter’s heart and the feel of his body around yours. You stayed like that for a while, holding each other before Peter broke the silence as it neared time for your midday meal.

“I think you should come with me today,” Peter suggested, rising to run his daily lunch retrieval before running a loving hand through your hair. You couldn’t understand how he hadn’t gotten sick of you yet. You hadn’t been able to wash in over a week. “It’s not good for you to stay here all day long. You need to start moving.”

His voice was full of worry, though he wasn’t overbearing. He wanted the best for you, it’s all he ever wanted really.

“I don’t know Peter, I don’t think I can.” you sighed as tears started to fill your eyes again. How could anyone stand to be around you when you were being so pathetic. You wished there was a way to erase your pain, anything to bring you to your normal self again.

“It's okay baby,” Peter hugged you into a tight embrace, kissing your tears as they fell in slow salty streams. “I know it hurts, I feel it too. But I read somewhere that the best thing to do is keep a consistent routine. Maybe you should start today. Come get lunch with me.”

You wanted to agree, but there was no part of you that could move from the weight of your grief. It pressed you down, gravity multiplied by the mass of your sadness as it consumed you. It felt as if only a miracle could save you now.

“I’m so sorry.” you stated with remorse, but Peter made no move to share his disappointment if he had any at all. Instead he leaned down from his seated position and placed his lips on your forehead, a gesture as if to say that all was alright.

“Please don’t cry, y/n. It’s okay.” he assured you before standing to leave and get you something that you figured you probably wouldn’t even eat very much of.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, turning the handle of your door to leave before looking back at you sprawled on your bed. Suddenly, as if he had recalled the cure to the rainiest of days, he expression shifted to one of great excitement as he stopped back into your room.

“I almost forgot,” he began. “Doctor Strange was here earlier. He wanted me to tell you he’s offering some meditation sessions for you if you’re interested. He said they’d be good for your powers and that they might help you feel better if you want to think about it. He’s free at 8 tomorrow.”

You nearly perked up at the sound of the man’s name, picking up your head to cast a last longing glance at Peter as he waited for a parting word.

“Thanks,” you managed. “I’ll let you know.”

And off Peter went to get you both something to eat.

You weren’t sure if he knew how dangerous it was for you to be left with your thoughts, how the mention of the magic doctor sprouted a myriad of mystical ideas all aimed at the same goal that would erase your eternal lonesome aching. How to bring your father back. By the time Peter returned with his hands full of two homemade sandwiches and more sweets than the two of you could ever finish in one sitting, your mind had been made up and you were ready to set the plan in motion.

The following evening was your first time out of the confines of your rooms for days. Peter had helped you greatly with all the tasks you did not have the mental power to do all on your own. He had brushed your hair and made your bed and before you left in one of the less expensive cars held on Avenger’s campus, he sent you off adorned with one of his favorite sweatshirts, a peck on the forehead and enough I love you’s to last more than a lifetime.

You pulled the sleeve of Peter’s sweatshirt over your palm as you drove off, using the cloth to wipe away fresh tears that had fallen after you left your boyfriend’s loving gaze. You’d always been an overthinker, but your bad habits crept up on you worse in your unbreakable stage of sadness. Especially in your father’s favorite car.

You didn’t understand why he hadn’t left you already. Maybe he would. Peter had offered to join you at Strange’s, but after you insisted you had to go alone, he made plans to go help his Aunt May figure out their apartment situation as the pair had been inadvertently kicked out after being gone for so many years. You’d almost forgotten he used to split his nights between the compound and his own bedroom. Recently he’d only stay with you.

He promised to be back before dinner so that the two of you could keep up your progress, but an unsolicited voice within you convinced you that he wouldn’t want to return. You weren’t good enough for him anymore, not like you used to be. Your plan was better for the both of you and as you pulled up to the familiar building on Bleecker Street, all the pieces started to fall into place.

You stepped up to the door, raising your fist to knock only for the door to crack open by itself as if to invite you in. You waited for the familiar sternness of Doctor Strange’s voice to greet you once you were past the stone floored foyer, but only wisps of the autumn breeze caught your ear. 

“Strange?” you called, your voice still not stable enough to be louder than a whispery dialogue. You were met with no response. It was just like you had planned. The wizard wasn’t home.

You felt a strong tug towards the room of your desires, the forbidden library. It was as if fate was leading you or some other force from above, another sign that you were meant to do it.

Your steps were more sure than they had been in days as you made your way to the self, passing any magical fire walls with the sheer unfiltered strength of your powers. Strange once told you that they were guided by your emotion, the quintessential essence of every magic holder even to people like you and Wanda Maximoff who were outside of his world protecting wizard cult. It was easier than it should have been, like slicing paper with a katana, you broke each enchantment until all that was left was the cool leather cover of the book you were looking for. The book with every answer you needed inside its ancient yellowing pages, but you only needed the spell that would revive your father. Locating it near the middle of the book, your tore out the page and turned back to your car, leaving the Sanctum with the same unhurried pace you had entered it with. There was no stopping you now.

Peter was only an half an hour late for your agreed meet up time when he arrived at the campus. He expected you’d be in your room as per usual and as he made his way to your door, the excitement of getting to hold you and talk about your first day out of the campus since the funeral built up in his chest. He wasn’t sure if any accomplishment in the world could make him as proud as he was of you. With two brown paper bags of groceries in his hand, he couldn’t wait to shower you in the affection that you deserved with all of your favorite snacks, enough to share of course.

“Y/n,” he smiled, using his webbing to open your door handle only to find, much to his disappointment, that you were nowhere to be found.

He checked all over campus, leaving the bags by your bed. No one had seen you since you’d left and the spot where the car you’d taken was still empty, the normally pristine concrete covered in fallen crisp maroon leaves. It didn’t make any sense. Where could you possibly have gone?

“Y/n!” he called, circling the perimeter of the campus looking for you. There was still no sign of your reappearance. “Y/n- oh. Hi Ms. Maximoff.” Peter forced a strained smile as he nearly bumped into the woman.

“Peter, we’ve been over this,” Wanda answered, her voice calm. “You can call me Wanda.”

Like you, the witch hadn’t been doing the best in recent days as she had lost something just as valuable as a father: her partner. While she occasionally had days where the ground would’ve been lucky to feel the grace of her step, her superhero duties had kept her from spending each day hidden from society. She had a different way of coping, but like others, she seemed to start getting back into routine again.

“Right, sorry Wanda.” Peter apologized.

“What are you doing out here?” inquired the witch in her native Sokovian accent, always intuitive. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s y/n. I can’t find her anywhere and we agreed to meet back here nearly - an hour ago!” Peter pulled up his coat sleeve to check the time on his watch, the face of which bore a picture of him and your father from only a few months before the snap. It had been a birthday gift, one of his favorites in fact, though it couldn't top what you had given him the same year: a lego set and your first kiss.

“I didn’t know that she got out of bed. That’s a big step!” 

“Yes it is and we were going to celebrate tonight, but she hasn’t come back yet which is really not like her.” worried Peter.

“Where did she go?”

“Strange’s. He was going to give her a meditation lesson for her powers.”

Confused, Wanda's eyebrow furrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Doesn’t she know how to use them already?”

“Yes, but he thought it would help her manage her grief. Working out is a pretty common method, but she hates going to the gym so he figured some meditation would be better for her and -“

“Wait, hold on. Did she go to him this morning?”

“Yes and she was supposed to be back around noon, but it’s nearly six and she’s still gone.” Peter explained.

“Peter!” Wanda chided. She couldn't believe he could make such a grave mistake.

“What?”

“Strange hasn’t been at the Sanctum all day!”

“What?! Where is he?”

“Do I look like a wizard to you?" the witch gestured to her casual leggings and cardigan pairing that drastically differed from Strange's usual eccentric costumes. "How should I know?”

As if summoned by the topic of conversation, a figure appeared in the distant grass, hovering over the blades until he was close enough to be able to walk. His cape that flowed in the breeze like a blood red stream with a mind of its own was a dead give away. Doctor Strange had indeed arrived in the flesh.

“Parker,” he greeted, though he did not smile. “Is Ms. Stark ready for our lesson?”

Peter’s eyes went wide as he realized his mistake.

“Oh no.” he muttered, shaking his head in defeat. He was met with confusion from the wizard.

“No?” Strange repeated. “We agreed upon 8 didn't we? I know I'm a little early, but I assumed she wouldn't be busy. Didn’t you let her know I was coming?”

“Yes,” Peter confirmed. “I told her to be ready and then I sent her off to your place at 8… am.”

“What?!” Strange exclaimed as he summoned a portal to appear leading directly to his found home on Bleecker Street. He stepped through the fiery ring, a silent invitation for the others to follow as he hurried passed your car, up the steps, and into the door which did not part of him the same way it had earlier. Inside he was met with the most frightful of discovers accompanied by the looming feeling of doom as the situation became clear.

The Sanctum, unguarded with his absence, lay littered with books that had fallen from their homes on his shelf’s yet one stood out from all the others. It laid on the floor open with its pages to the ground while every other book was shut. Levitating it with the simple flick of his wrist, a horrifying sight awaited Strange as he turned it over. One of the pages in the sacred book was missing.

“Do you know how serious this is?!” Strange exclaimed and although Peter at first took it as a barbed criticism aimed directly at him, he was able to distinguish Strange’s tone from when he was reprimanding. This was a separate kind of worry, the sort of tone that he had used heavily on the fated spaceship you three had been stuck in until you landed on Titan, Thanos’ home world, nearly five years ago. Treachery was afoot and if your powers were involved, the whole fabric of your current reality could change.

“Which one did she take?” Wanda pointed to the book, clearly noticing the giant tear in its center.

Strange’s voice answered, heavy with concern. “The revival spell.”

“You don’t think she knows, do you? She can’t possibly know how to conjure it.” asked Wanda, the same concern for their future written all over her face.

“That’s exactly what I think.” Strange confirmed.

“What?” Peter asked. “What are you guys talking about?”

“There are many types of magic, Parker, and the Sanctum, the building where you sent your girlfriend, is full of all of them, good and bad alike. Every spell comes with a price, the bigger the spell, the bigger the price and the spell she took comes with one of the biggest prices there is to pay.”

“Think about it, Peter,” Wanda paled. “What does y/n want most in the world right now?”

It hit Peter harder than fresh fallen hail. You were going to try to bring your father back.

“We have to find her. Now.”

Strange tried to use his sling ring to appear wherever you were, but in your grief, the extent of your powers had grown massively. Intentionally or not, you managed to prevent even the most powerful of wizards from using his Sling Ring to access your location.

“She's blocked me out.” Strange frowned. “We’re going to have to track her on foot.”

“She can’t be far,” Peter agreed. “She always takes the shortest path whenever she wants something.” It was one of the many things he loved about you: your ability to turn any taxing task into something much simpler. You were one of the cleverest people he knew. He just hoped it didn’t work in your favor this time.

It was Wanda who had the idea of tracking your magic. She led them to the nearest withering woodland area, where trees with bare branches and dying leaves sprawled endlessly. It was the perfect place to perform dark magic, away from the unyielding eyes of society. The trio didn’t hesitate to run in.

The further they got, the closer you felt especially to Peter despite the fact that he was the only one without his own source of magic. If he lost you tonight, he feared he’d never feel any sort of magic ever again.

They were only half an acre in when Wanda and Strange called out in anguish, the witch falling to her knees while Strange stayed standing, pounding the air with his fist as his trying to break through an invisible barrier though it was to no avail. Whatever was holding him back, it wasn’t fading anytime soon.

“Keep going, Parker!” he shouted, urging Peter forward. “You’re the only one who can stop her. The spell will only allow that which she loves.”

“How do I do it?” Peter shouted. “How do I stop the spell?”

“The page,” Wanda replied, quicker than Strange could as his reply was easy for her to access. “You have to tear it apart.”

Without wasting a second more, Peter sprung back towards where he could feel you, running without fatigue as his superhuman endurance supplied him with plenty of energy.

It was only a minute later that he caught his first sign of you. There was a break in the tree line out of which a bright amber glow poured like an incandescent warning. It was a dramatic contrast from the normal comforting emerald greens of your magic, but it was you nonetheless and Peter didn’t stop until he was so close he had to shade his eyes from the light.

If it weren’t for the dark nature of what you were doing, Peter would’ve considered it one of the most beautiful events he’d ever seen take place. He wasn’t sure if the circle of trees that surrounded you had been a natural formation or one you made for the sake of the spell, but he was sure the way they seemed to bend to your will, despite the hard wood of their birch trunks, had to be because of your power. In the center of it all was you and the page you had stolen atop a pile of purple and golden leaves. You stood before it, eyes closed as you whispered some sort of incantation. Your powers spread above you in orange flickering flames as you outstretched your arms and summoned what looked like the beginnings of a portal, though it was hard to peer through like a bride covered in a veil of night black.

Peter shouted your name, screaming for you to stop, but you didn’t so much as flinch as the portal grew. You couldn’t hear him over the force of your will. He could start to feel what Wanda and Strange were trapped behind. There was some sort of invisible wall that threatened to push him back from you, but he couldn’t be defeated. He had to stop you. Step by step, he got closer and closer to you, watching in horror as your body was lifted from the ground and floated in midair. A new energy started weeping through the fabric that covered your chest, soft and white like a sheer glittering fabric. It drifted towards the portal and as Peter neared you he could make out the outline of a face forming from it in the black center of it. It started to take shape, growing a neck and a body and becoming more concrete than a fragmented part of your energy. He became more unmistakable as the color grew back into his face. Tony Stark, in the flesh. Peter hurried towards the page.

You opened your eyes to gaze into the face of your father, tears flowing down your face partially from the exhaustion of bringing him back and from being able to see him again.

You tried to say something, tell him how much you had missed him, but you were left rendered without a voice. Your words came out as mouthed nonsense, though it seemed he had regained his voice.

“Y/n,” he uttered, though it seemed more like a warning than a greeting after being torn from you for so long.

You mouthed something you knew he’d understand. I love you too, dad.

Some other force called your name, but you ignored it. You couldn’t focus on anything else, but the father you had lost regaining life right in front of you. With every part that he gained, you felt a part of your fade. It wasn’t painful, more numbing than anything like the final dose to end all your sadness. You couldn’t help but relish in it. You were bringing back one of the greatest men to ever live.

You were so distracted, you missed the web that landed on the page below you and pulled it away.

“Y/n,” your dad said again, nearly having enough of one of his legs to step out of the portal when suddenly, the inky blackness swallowed him whole again and dissolved in the forest light, taking back the only thing you ever wanted.

“NO!” you cried as your voice returned to you and you fell back down to the dry grass and dead leaves, crumpled on the forest floor as all of the magic you had summoned faded away save for the glittering cloud that returned to your chest with such force it made you cough. You had failed.

“Y/n!” someone called and you shuddered away from their hand on your shoulder as loud sobs erupted from you. 

“Leave me!” you begged. “Just leave!” Peter refused to leave your side, tossing behind him the page he had shredded into tiny scraps of paper as he knelt beside you, careful not to touch you again. “Why did you have to do that? Why did you take him from me?”

“You were going to die! I couldn’t let you di-“

“I WANTED TO DIE!”

Peter froze as you whimpered, the truth spreading above the both of you in the cold air like storm clouds as you cried to him.

“I want him back. Everyone wants him back. No one cares about his depressed daughter and I don’t want to hurt anymore, Peter.” you paused to take a deep breath. “It- it hurts so much.” you could barely get the words out as you were choked by your sobs. “It hurts knowing I could’ve saved him. It hurts knowing it should’ve been me that snapped those stupid stones. And I don’t want to live with that anymore. I had to try to bring him back for the world. It needs him more than it needs me.”

You brought a hand to your face, wiping away some of your tears, though it was no use as more came pouring out.

“I need you.” uttered Peter, looking into your glossy eyes. The sight of your tears and the echo of your screams couldn’t deter him from you. You can’t be repelled from the ones that you love.

“But you miss him, don’t you,” you argued as hot tears coated your face. “You want him back too.”

Peter nodded in agreement.

“I think about him everyday. Our moments together. Like this one time he saved me from drowning in a lake. Or-“ Peter grinned. “- remember when he caught us making out that one time before we told him we were together. He was so mad.” Peter smiled to himself, looking fondly on the memory until he began again.

“I miss him so much and it makes me so sad that I'll never see him again. But I wouldn’t trade you for him. I wouldn't trade you for anyone. You’re worth more to me than anyone else in the universe.”

Your sobs slowed yet the tears did not cease as they still cascaded down your face.

“It hurts me so much.” you restated.

Peter opened his arms. “May I?” he asked. You nodded and before you knew it, you were engulfed by a warmth unlike any other as Peter hugged you tight enough to make sure you wouldn’t try to leave him again.

“I know you do,” he related. "And I wish I could take it away. I wish I could just bag all your pain and throw it all away. But it doesn't work like that. It's going to hurt. It's going to be painful, so much so that you won't move from bed for days and days. You haven't." 

"But I feel like everyone else has already moved on. Why can't I?" you shivered.

"No one else was as close to him as you. Everyone else lost a friend. You lost a father. There's a big difference. You can't expect yourself to move on from it. That's not healthy. It's just like I said, I'm here for you no matter how long it takes. You have to take your time with it, don’t rush the process." Peter pressed the lightest of kisses to one of your dampened cheeks.

"I just don't know what to do."

"Breathe."

As silly as it sounded in its simplicity you did as he instructed and inhaled deeply, allowing the air to coat your lungs that hadn’t been exposed to so much fresh air in a week. As you exhaled, you let out another sob in his arms, but somehow it felt better than all the others. You were not rid of your pain by any means and sadness still corroded your core, but for the first time in so long, you didn’t feel so hopeless. Peter placed another gentle kiss on your cheek, encouraging you as you took several more slow breaths and quiet cries until you found the strength to speak again.

“Was it like this for you when your parents died?” you wondered aloud as you pulled away from Peter to look into his chocolate brown eyes that you almost forgot you loved so much, yet not so far that he couldn't keep his arms around your frame that was still bearing his sweatshirt. You hadn’t spoken much about them before and while you weren’t sure where the question had arisen from, it felt like the right thing to ask.

“I was so young when they passed, sometimes I feel like they were never mine to begin with,” he admitted. “I took a couple days off school when it happened, but I don’t remember crying all that much. It’s tragic and sometimes it makes me sad that they’re gone, but I’m glad that it does. It’s a reminder that they were there for me in the first place, that I knew them enough to miss them. The grief is proof that I loved them while they were here.”

You were both silent for a moment as you thought about his words in relation to your situation. All your pain was put into perspective. Everything you had been through since he died, all the days you wasted away in bed, it was all the proof that you had loved him so much when he was alive and that you were still carrying the love you had left for him. You missed your father so much you were willing to die to get him back and for a moment, you almost did.

You parted from Peter’s arms to stand though you still grasped onto his hands as you weren’t strong enough to be upright on your own. You closed your eyes again and listened to the sound of the forest, the swaying of the leaves that still clung to their branches, the faint twittering of birds, and the calm of the sky that was oddly cloudless for autumn. The sound of your name falling from your father’s reformed lips was still faint in the air and for a moment you felt as though you were with him again.

You remembered when he taught you how to ride a bike one evening when you were only four. You remembered the day he pulled you from public school and started teaching you at home. You remembered the look of shock on his face when you showed him your powers for the first time and even more, you remember his pride when you completed your first mission with the Avengers (that he'd approved ahead of time to avoid any more Germany -like surprises). He wasn’t there, but at the same time he was everywhere. And you missed him, but at the same time the absence he left in your life felt less empty.

The tears came out in slow smooth streams, flowing down in slow trickles as you finally sat back down. You didn’t say anything and neither did Peter, but you knew he could feel what you felt. He could feel your father too and minutes slipped by as you sat and cried together.

There was a sudden rustling in the distance and soon enough, Doctor Strange and Wanda had arrived at the scene, no longer held back by invisible barriers. They rushed to you bringing flooding guilt through your system as you began to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m so sorry.”

Strange opened his mouth to speak, but he had nothing to say. You could tell by his expression that he was disappointed, but there was more to it. He had empathy.

It was Wanda that leaned down to place a friendly hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you home.”

The months following were some of the hardest of your life. Every battle you faced was uphill, but you no longer felt like you were fighting alone. You started going out again, first to visit Pepper and your half sister Morgan who lived in their cabin home. Peter joined you of course, but he played with Morgan for the most part while you and Pepper talked. You cried with her, but you laughed a lot too. She shared with you so many of her own memories, times when your father didn't know what to get you for your birthday, when he had managed to mess up cooking dinner in the strangest of ways, and when he’d accidentally burned your favorite stuffed animal in the drying machine all of which Pepper had to remedy. Though she hadn’t raised you, she was the mother you never had and through her stories you learned that your father had been just as good raising Morgan with her as he had been with you.

You hung out with Ned and MJ again shortly after that. While Peter had suggested a brief check-in at a cafe so you could go home quickly to rest, you surprised him with a much more time consuming idea: laser tag. The four of you had the best time targeting each other, you winning more rounds than any of the others. You ended the day with smoothies, talking as you drank and making plans for the next time you would all see each other. MJ made you promise you would text her if you ever needed anything and Ned gave you a whole plate of his Lola’s ensaymadas, your favorite dish of hers.

Finally, though he was locked up in his house and avoiding humanity, you visited Happy. Peter offered to join you like all the other times, but you assured him it would be best if he stayed home, promising you would return later. Happy was in a similar state of dismay to you when you saw him and while he was able to care for himself and continue with his personal routine, you could tell he was hurting.

You didn't say much when you first entered his apartment, but there was comfort within the silence. You sat with him on his sofa and watched whatever mind numbing program he had turned on to distract his thoughts until you had both worked up an appetite for lunch. It was there, in the middle of a random Burger King in Queens over a plate of cheeseburgers that you both broke down. You told him what you had nearly done, trusting him with the sensitive information as he was almost a second father to you. You took your time telling him the story of how you had nearly died to bring back your father.

Happy cried as you did and when you were finished, he told you how much you meant to him. He traded your story for one from your father after he returned from Afghanistan where he had famously been kidnapped.

"You could tell he was shaken," Happy began. "He told me he wasn't scared to die, but he was scared of losing time with you and leaving you alone. Pepper and I had been so busy trying to get him back, he was worried you had been neglected while he was gone. But when he came home and he saw your room clean, your toys put away, and a fridge full of leftovers from meals you prepared yourself, he was so proud. You inspired him to turn his life around. It was after that he told me that he knew you'd be okay if he was taken from us one day."

You both cried after that.

Long after you had finished your food, Happy drove you to the Parker's new apartment with the promise that he would be okay too, eventually. He also admitted that he was starting to develop quite the liking for your faithful boyfriend after hearing all that he had done for you, though he’d skin you alive if you ever told Peter.

It was that night in Peter's new bedroom that you knew you’d be okay. It still hurt to think of your father and you knew you’d never entirely recover and that the pain would never fully leave you, but there was a certain comfort in it now. You knew Peter felt it too as he snuggled half asleep into your side, his arm slung around your body in a protective manner, but also to keep from falling of the twin bed you shared as he let you sleep on the side with the wall. There were still days when you didn’t want to leave your bed, but there were also days when you felt more elated than ever. You could feel your father in those moments the most, like the shine of his smile took form in the light from the sun. You couldn’t see him nor could you speak with him, but you knew he wasn’t really gone. It was love that kept him around. And it was the love you carried for him that would suspend you for lifetimes, through light and dark until the end of time.

“I hope this grief stays with me because its all the unexpressed love” - Andrew Garfield 💙

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Wash Away the Pain #1 - Echo

Returning to Kamino following a string of back-to-back missions after Anaxes, Echo receives the news he never wanted to hear.

Pairing: Echo x gn!reader (can be seen as platonic or romantic)

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: whump, reference to Fives death, Echo has self-esteem issues, mourning and grief, hurt and comfort, you and the boys rally around Echo, bittersweet ending.

A/N: I was heavily inspired by these gorgeous drawings by @thattoothpick.

This is part of a mini-series where each of our boys will get their sad/angsty shower time, but they can be read as standalones.

Check out the whole series: Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair.

Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.

The sound of falling water drowned out everything else in the fresher, the water temperature so hot it should’ve been uncomfortable, but after years in cryofreeze, Echo welcomed the heat. 

He was gone. 

He was really gone.

“I’m sorry, Echo. I really am. He should’ve been stunned. I still don’t know why it went down like that.”

Rex’s voice as he’d broken the news still rang in his head. Echo had received a message from him only an hour ago, after you’d all landed on Kamino following a string of back-to-back missions following Anaxes. He’d thought they would just shoot the breeze like old times. He hadn’t expected this.

Echo’s eyes drop, fixating on the metal legs the Techno Union had attached to his body. The scomp on his right arm, the ports littering his body. Self-loathing coils through him.

Why did he get to live? Why was he turned into a machine while Fives died, lost in panic, in a dirty Coruscant street? The only saving grace was that Rex had been there to hold him. 

So lost in his thoughts, Echo misses the sound of the fresher door opening, of you slipping inside and shutting it behind you. 

Echo might’ve only been with you and the boys for a few weeks, but you’d quickly grown fond of him. So much so that when he’d returned to the barracks 10 minutes ago, crest-fallen, clutching a bucket painted in the colours of the 501st, and then promptly headed for the fresher without so much as a word, you’d known something was wrong. Your datapad had pinged a few moments later, a message from Rex filling you in, asking you to keep an eye on Echo – as if you wouldn’t have done that. 

Physically, he was fine, albeit still getting used to his new body. As the squads nat-born medic, called in because of the inability of your boys to get along with regs, it was your job to look after their wellbeing. And now it seemed Echo needed some care.

You step into the shower behind him, not caring that you’re still clothed, and slowly press a hand to his back. Echo jolts at the touch, caught off-guard, turning in place to meet your gaze. With space tight on the Marauder and sharing barracks, seeing the boys in various states of undress had become commonplace. Heck, half the time, they had to be stripped out of their ruined blacks when injured. The nudity no longer bothered any of you. Echo had adapted to it quickly, too.

“Echo…” His name falls from your lips quietly, hand rising to cup his face. His head tilts away from your gaze, taking your hand with him. Thumb smoothing across his gaunt cheek, you watch as a myriad of emotions flit across his face.  

Echo’s eyes were now clouded with grief and guilt. The water from the shower mixes with the tears streaming down his face, creating a bittersweet cascade that mirrored the turmoil within him.

“I should’ve been there,” Echo mutters, his voice strained and filled with regret. “I should’ve protected him. He’s gone because of me.”

Your heart aches for him, and you rest your free hand on his waist, pulling him closer. The prosthetic attachments on his body feel cold against your skin – even with the shower’s heat – a stark reminder of his sacrifices for the Republic. “Echo, you couldn’t have known. You’ve been through so much. Don’t blame yourself.”

He shakes his head, a mix of frustration and sorrow in his eyes. “I can’t shake the feeling that I failed him. And now I’m just a machine, a reminder of everything we lost.”

You gently trace the contours of the implants on his arm, your fingers dancing over the hard surface. “You’re not just a machine, Echo. You’re a survivor. You’re still here.”

He finally meets your gaze, and for a moment, he searches your eyes. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but you let him take his time. “I don’t know how to be here without him.” He finally admits.

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Grieve, remember, but don’t forget that there are people here who care about you, who want to help you through this.” You tell him softly, the water continuing to pour down around you both.

Echo’s shoulders slump, and he leans into your touch, the warmth of your presence starkly contrasting with the cold metal that now makes up a significant part of him. The weight of loss and survivor’s guilt hangs heavy in the air, but your steady support gives him a small anchor in the storm of his emotions.

“I don’t want to be alone again.” He admits, voice barely above a whisper.

“You never will be.” You assure him, fingers continuing their gentle exploration of the cybernetic enhancements that have become a part of him, wanting to show him that it was okay, that there was nothing wrong with his new body. “We’re all here for you, Echo. The boys, Rex, and I.”

He nods, a silent acknowledgement of your words. The water washes away not just the physical grime but also some of the emotional turmoil that has gripped him since Rex delivered the devastating news.

As the two of you stand in the warmth of the shower, Echo may feel like a machine, a remnant of a past he can’t forget, but your touch, your empathy, reminds him that he’s still human beneath the prosthetics. 

Eyes flitting towards the counter just outside the shower cubicle, Echo lets out a small sigh as he looks over his brother’s helmet. Memories of them painting their armour together surface, of the multiple attempts it had taken to get the lines crisp, of Fives dipping his hand in blue paint to reapply the print on Echo’s chestplate.

Following his gaze, a sad smile passes over your lips. “Remembering him doesn’t mean you must carry the weight alone.” You say, voice a gentle murmur. “We’re all here to share the burden. Fives will always be a part of you, and you’ll carry his memory forward.”

Echo's gaze lingers on the helmet. The loss of a brother is a wound that cuts deep, but perhaps, with time and support, the injury could heal into a scar - a testament to the strength it took to endure.

As the water cools, you guide Echo out of the shower. The small space feels intimate and comforting, a refuge from the harsh realities of the galaxy. You hand him a towel, and he begins to dry himself off on autopilot, his mind still processing the emotional whirlwind.

Over the following days, the barracks become a place of healing. The boys rally around Echo, offering support and understanding. When Echo’s new armour is finished – having undergone some modifications courtesy of Tech – they paint it in their colours while you distract Echo in the medbay. You’d also procured some blue paint from Rex, and they make sure to add a small Aurebesh ‘5’ and a fine-line domino to the back of the chestplate.

The tears that had clouded Echo’s gaze as he’d been presented with his new kit and had turned it over to find the hidden tribute were a mixture of sorrow and gratitude. The pain of loss still lingered, but each stroke of the brush, each carefully applied detail, was a silent affirmation that he was not alone.

In the quiet moments, you still find Echo gazing at Five’s helmet, stored securely on the Marauder. But now, there’s a small smile playing on his lips. The pain may never fully fade, but Echo carries the memories of Fives with gratitude for the time they shared, and the squad learns that even in loss, there’s strength in unity.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @littlemissmanga @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411

[seobnity]

⚉ characters: keeho x fem!reader

⤷(with rest of P1Harmony)

⚉ wc: 3,1k

⚉ genre: slice of life, angst, comfort, found family(?), family drama

⚉ theme: stepbrother!keeho, stepsister!reader

⚉ warnings: discussion of grief and loss (death of a parent), family abandonment themes, mention of nursing home and mobility problems

⚉ a/n: welcome or welcome back! This one was little tough to write but still very fun. I also need to say thank you to my friend who helped me with this story because I had some struggles. And also thank you so much for reading, leaving a heart or even reblogging - it means a lot to me! If you see any mistakes, please feel free to kindly correct me ♡

"So... what did he say?" Your gaze remained fixed on the phone your step brother now held in his hand, having just picked it up from the table when a notification appeared.

Keeho didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he read the message from his father—a response you both had been anticipating, though you already knew exactly what it would say. Keeho's silence only confirmed your suspicions.

"I can’t come, right?" You lowered your eyes to your cup of coffee, your voice trembling slightly, betraying the emotions you were struggling to suppress.

"It’s not... that." At last, Keeho spoke, though his voice lacked conviction.

"No?" You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. "Then what is it? What’s the reason I can’t come with you?" Before Keeho could answer, you cut him off. "Let me guess," you said, pausing for effect, your tone edging on bitter. "The place where you’re supposed to meet isn’t ‘appropriate’ for someone like me. Am I right?"

"Y/N," 

"Keeho, don’t." You shook your head, a small sigh escaping your lips. You were so tired of his father’s behavior, always acting like you were never truly part of the family. "I’m just... It makes me sad, you know? It’s like I never mattered to him. Which doesn’t make any sense after everything he has done for me and my mom." You paused, taking a moment to collect your thoughts.

This whole... situation that began after your mom passed away left you angry, sad, and confused. You felt many emotions at once—overwhelmed, like a battle raging within you, where every feeling fought for dominance. It always ended with you in tears, wondering how things had spiraled to this point.

"I think it’s just funny how Mom always said he treated me like his own daughter. But now? He tells me we’ll practically be complete strangers after she’s gone. I mean, he has a point, but c'mon? How can you say that to someone you basically raised?" Your frustration spilled over as your voice broke slightly. "He was my father figure, my dad, for over a decade. And now? Now he’s acting like all those years never even happened. Like he's completely fine with calling me a stranger. It hurts. It seriously hurts," you looked up, trying to hold in your tears. You promised yourself not to cry about this again, yet, it always ends up like this.

Keeho watched you sadly, but more importantly, he listened. He didn’t excuse his father like others did with sentences such as, “Not everyone can handle that. You’re lucky he took care of you for this long,” or, “Oh, he’s still a young man. He needs to go out and find someone.” Comments like these only made you feel like a burden. But Keeho was the only one who truly understood your point of view, and for that, you were always grateful.

Once you calmed down a bit, you continued your rant. All those bottled-up emotions came rushing out in waves. Knowing yourself, you’d probably feel bad later for making Keeho sit through all of this—but that was a problem for future you.

"And let’s not forget that he found some chick not even two months after Mom died and married her five months into the relationship." You shook your head in disbelief.

Even though the words had come from your own mouth, you still couldn’t believe them. He and your mom had been in a happy marriage—everyone saw that. It was obvious, even to strangers. People could see how healthy their relationship was; it was almost sickening how sweet they were to each other. They had known each other since childhood, so their bond wasn’t just romantic—it was also built on a strong friendship. They always had each other’s backs, always went the extra mile for one another. And yet, with your mom’s death, all of that just... disappeared?

That didn’t sit right with you. And you had a theory about why that could have happened—a theory that, sadly, felt too accurate. You knew Keeho thought the same thing as you, though neither of you wanted to say it out loud because it wouldn’t change a thing.

You hunched over the table once again and took a sip of your coffee, which had already gone cold. Keeho, on the other hand, didn’t have to deal with this problem; his coffee was long gone—a complete contrast to you as a slow drinker, him being a quick one.

"Look, Y/N, I promise that as soon as I save enough money to buy a proper house, I’ll take you out of this nursing home." Finally, it was Keeho’s turn to speak. "I know you don’t deserve this. I know you don’t deserve to live... here." He eyed the room you were both in, and you did the same, even though you were here 24/7 and knew the room like the back of your hand.

Plain white walls with one small window overlooking empty fields and plain white furniture (two chairs were actually gray) that you had to buy yourself because this nursing home didn’t provide furniture for the rooms. And that was completely fine; you could at least make it to your liking. But buying furniture, even for one room, could get pretty expensive. You didn’t have money to throw around, especially when your stepdad—or ex-step dad—didn’t help with anything. He was the one who made you find a nursing home for yourself, in the first place.

To be honest, you were forced to find one because he casually told you that you had four months to get out of the house because he couldn’t take care of you anymore. Which you knew was total bullshit, but everyone around him bought it and actually praised him for doing it for so long. They never asked you about your opinion or how you felt. Only Keeho did.

"You get used to it," you shrugged. "I plan to put up some posters on the walls. I don’t know how I'll do it yet, but I’ll figure something out," you added, still eyeing the somehow depressing white walls.

"That doesn’t change the fact that you don’t deserve to live like this. To live here, in the middle of nowhere," Keeho insisted. "Have you ever been outside since you got here? No, right? Because there’s nowhere to go, and all around you are just old people you can’t have a proper conversation with." He looked you in the eyes, and the two of you held the gaze for a moment before you turned your attention back to your coffee, gripping the cup tightly.

"You know what?" Keeho said, pulling out his phone, which he had pocketed after receiving his father’s text earlier. "I won’t go. I know he’ll actually be happier being alone with his chick rather than having me around," he muttered while typing. "And... done." He set his phone down after a moment, having apparently responded to a few other messages as well.

"Are you sure about this?" You raised your eyebrows, not entirely convinced he was making the right decision. "I mean... I don’t want to hold you back from spending time with your dad," you admitted honestly.

Yes, Keeho and his dad didn’t have the best relationship, but he was still Keeho’s father, after all. You also knew Keeho rarely visited him unless it was something important—which it never was. His dad only invited him over for food or to "hang out" to get credit and admiration from others, pretending to care about his son when it suited him.

Keeho gave you a look of disbelief, as if wondering how you could even say such a thing. "I’d much rather be here with you, my little sister, than with my dad."

You searched his face, trying to see if he was lying, but his sincerity shone through, and his words warmed your heart. "You meant stepsister," you corrected him, even though you knew this term, after your mom's death, wasn’t also accurate anymore.

"Nope, I meant sister," he said firmly. "My dad may see you as a stranger now, but to me, you’ll always be my little sister."

Thanks to his sincerity, a small smile tugged at your lips. "Can you stop calling me little? I’m twenty-one already," you teased, shifting the topic slightly to avoid getting emotional again.

"But you’re still younger than me, lil’ sis," he said with a sweet, teasing smile.

To be honest? You weren’t complaining. That teasing was exactly what you needed—a distraction from all the heavy emotions swirling in your mind.

Suddenly, Keeho’s phone buzzed again with another notification. This time, you paid it no attention, focusing instead on your coffee, which was growing even colder in your hands. It was probably his dad pretending to be disappointed that Keeho wasn’t coming over, but honestly? You didn’t care.

"Do you want to stay overnight at my flat?" Keeho asked, catching you completely off guard.

"What?" You furrowed your eyebrows, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Do you want to stay overnight at my flat? It shouldn’t be a problem if I take you out, right?" A playful smile appeared on his lips.

"Well, no," you said, shaking your head. "It’s a little sudden, but I just need to tell the caregivers here that I’ll be leaving and coming back tomorrow. That’s all," you explained.

"Perfect." He smacked the table with his hand, signaling it was time to go. "Just grab a jacket and whatever else you need. You still have everything at my place from the last sleepover forever ago," he reminded you, and you nodded.

"Could you please put the cups in the sink?" you asked. Keeho nodded, stood up, grabbed both cups, and placed them in the sink as you requested.

The kitchen was part of your room, so it only took him a few steps to complete the task. While Keeho waited, you released the brakes on your wheelchair and moved towards the drawers where you kept your belongings. You pulled out a light jacket (just in case it got chilly outside) and your backpack, which held your essentials. You also grabbed your phone and charger—items you never left behind.

"Ready?" Keeho asked, taking your backpack and jacket for you to keep your hands free.

"Yes." You nodded with a small smile, already feeling happy about leaving this place, even if it was just for a night. The two of you exited your room, you locked the door, and headed towards the elevator. Keeho pressed the button, and you waited.

"Which floor are the caregivers on?" he asked as the elevator doors closed once you were inside.

"The first one," you replied, and he pressed the button. "You can wait in your car while I talk to them, okay? It won’t take long, but they’ll probably have some questions," you added with a small chuckle.

"Okay, if you say so."

When the elevator dinged, signaling it had reached the first floor, you wheeled yourself out while Keeho continued to the ground floor. You made your way to the caregivers’ office, hoping someone would be there. Fortunately, luck was on your side—it was one of your favorite caregivers.

You explained your plans to her, and she was genuinely thrilled to hear about them. Her excitement warmed your heart. She asked a few questions, mostly out of curiosity about where you were going and who you’d be with, since you rarely left your room. In fact, you never left. There was simply nothing to do, either in the nursing home or outside, so you didn’t see the point in going out.

Once that was done, you made your way back to the elevator, went to the ground floor, and found Keeho waiting for you, leaning casually against his car.

"How does it feel to be outside?" Keeho asked smugly, grinning as he opened the passenger door for you.

"Boring," you shrugged as you moved from your wheelchair into the car seat. You were never much of an outdoors person anyway.

"Oh, come on. Can you try being a little positive?" he teased, shaking his head in mock exasperation before closing the door.

He walked to the trunk, loaded your wheelchair inside, and finally settled into the driver’s seat. Keeho started the car and pulled away from the nursing home. As the building vanished behind you, you felt a huge sense of relief — it felt like something heavy had finally been lifted from your chest, even if it was just for a few hours. It was interesting how much lighter and happier you already felt, knowing you wouldn’t be there for at least a little while.

The ride to Keeho’s flat took about an hour. Yeah, you could say it’s not that far; you could travel that by yourself, but it takes an hour by car. If you wanted to take the bus, it would take at least two hours, and from the nursing home, there’s only one bus that runs twice a day. You didn’t want to stress about that, nor were you exactly thrilled about traveling for that long, both there and back. Plus, the bus tickets weren’t exactly cheap either.

During the drive, the two of you talked about random topics to pass the time and even had a mini singing session to the songs playing on the radio.

When you arrived at the apartment complex where Keeho lived, he unloaded your wheelchair from the trunk while you unfastened your seatbelt and opened the door. Once you were back in your wheelchair, Keeho grabbed your backpack and jacket from the car, locked it, and the two of you headed inside the building.

When you reached the door to his flat, Keeho unlocked it and let you in first. You were immediately hit by the familiar smell of apple and cinnamon — Keeho’s favorite candle scent. 

To avoid being in Keeho’s way, you moved into the living room, where a big surprise awaited you. At first, it gave you a bit of a heart attack, but you quickly realized it was just Keeho’s dumb friends, who had gradually become your friends too, and you cherished them dearly.

"Y/N!" five boys shouted in cheerful unison the moment they saw you. All of them rushed over to greet you, each giving you a warm hug.

Well, except for Theo, who was also very excited to see you after a long time, but he was smart enough to wait for his turn to hug you, so he wouldn’t get squished by his friends while they were trying to group-hug you.

You didn’t even have time to properly take a look at the living room, which had been turned into a cozy haven by the boys, but there would surely be time to appreciate it later.

"Hi, guys," you said, still a little in shock (though, of course, you hugged them back), happy to see them regardless. "What are you all doing here?" you asked, curious.

"Keeho texted us that you’d be here overnight, so we decided to organize a proper sleepover," Jiung answered enthusiastically. "We got loads of movies, especially horror ones, fluffy blankets, and tons of snacks and drinks," he added with a big grin, clearly proud of what they’d pulled together while you and Keeho were on your way.

You looked up to see Keeho entering the living room, which was way too small for all of you, but no one seemed to care. After all, it was about having a good time with your friends, not about how small Keeho’s flat was. Keeho glanced at you with a small smile; no words were needed. Yet, you wanted to say thank you, to somehow show him your gratitude, but you couldn’t, because you were suddenly lifted into the air.

"What the—" you looked around and quickly spotted the culprit who had picked you up from your wheelchair. "Intak! What did I tell you about randomly picking me up? You can’t just do that!" you scolded him in a nagging tone but couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto your face.

"I know, I know," he acknowledged with a nod as he carried you towards the couch. "But you have to understand, I missed you way too much and just couldn’t resist holding you in my arms." He flashed you a sweet smile, complete with puppy eyes that always worked on you. That’s why whenever the boys wanted something from you (or did something that might have made you mad), they would use Intak and his puppy eyes to soften you up and get their way.

"Sure," you said, playfully rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t help letting out a chuckle, which made Intak smile even wider. "What a romantic you are."

"Me? Always." As soon as he said it, you heard fake gagging noises from the other boys, especially the younger ones, which only made you laugh; how much you’d missed this.

By the time your conversation ended, Intak had already reached the couch and carefully set you down. You ended up right in the middle, with the best view and easy access to all the snacks and drinks the boys had brought.

"Hey, I was supposed to be the one sitting on one of her sides!" Intak complained, frowning when he noticed Soul and Jongseob, the two youngest of the group, already sitting on either side of you with a big blanket draped over all of you.

"Hm, yikes," said Jongseob, barely paying attention to Intak’s whining as he grabbed some chips from the table. "Sounds like a you problem," he looked at Intak with a triumphant grin, and Soul quickly nodded in agreement.

"These kids, really," Intak muttered to himself, turning toward the armchair right next to the couch. "Seriously?" he said, frustration kicking in.

Theo was already lounging in the armchair, his legs draped over one armrest and a bowl of popcorn balanced in his lap. Without a word, Theo simply shrugged, clearly having no intention of moving. Intak groaned and turned back towards the couch, ready to claim a spot near your legs, only to find Jiung and Keeho already seated there.

"This is impossible," he sighed dramatically, collapsing in defeat on the floor in front of the table — the only space left for him to occupy.

All of you (except for Intak, of course) burst into small fits of laughter at his misfortune. But the moment passed quickly as Jiung pressed play on the TV remote, starting the first of many movies for the night.

With Soul and Jongseob snuggled up on either side of you, your arms wrapped protectively around them under the blanket, you let out a slow exhale through your nose. A wave of contentment washed over you as you relaxed into the moment, savoring it to the fullest.

[pardi-real]

Tarot of Destiny / Chapter 14 - Happier Than Anyone Else

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Warning: also definitely spoilers

Hanamaru: “Aight, then. Finally, just the 2 of us, huh… Let's get along as fellow grim reapers, my lord.”

> “Yours is reversed though…”

Hanamaru: “Yeah. As said before, my ‘Death’ card is in the ‘reversed position'... It seems to mean things like… ‘retry’ or ‘restart’.

Well, leaving aside whether this tarot fortune-telling is accurate or not, if it's to save you, my lord... I'll do whatever it takes. Hmm… look back at myself through this card and convey the feelings that arise from it to the lord, huh… 'Retry'... 'restart'....

Hmmm… Well, some parts of it might really apply to me.”

> “Apply to you?”

Hanamaru: “Ah, it might get a tiny bit serious, but... I had a rough life, much worse than now.”

Then Hanamaru calmly talked about his past. He lived as a bounty hunter in the eastern lands, angered a corrupt authority figure, and his hometown was burned.  It was the first time he talked about what happened before he came to the church orphanage.

> “That sounds tough…”

Hanamaru: “Well, you know how it went afterward, my lord.  I've always... wanted revenge against the angels. The ones who killed those kids five years ago... I wanted to avenge them so badly. 

Of course, I didn't let on how messed up I felt about it to the kids who survived.  I was seriously regretting it, like it was eating me up inside… I was so angry, I felt like dying.  But now, meeting you, becoming a devil butler and all, I've finally got the power to take on those angels.

It's something to be happy about, but sometimes I think... if you weren't in this world, my lord... I might have died trying to avenge them without releasing the devil's power.  I couldn't exact revenge without it.

So when I think about it... I'm glad you're here. Thanks to you, I can continue avenging the kids without being killed by angels. Wait…  Saying it like this makes it sound like you're just a tool for revenge. My bad. 

I didn't mean to hurt you… but frankly, before meeting you... I only thought about using you for revenge. Because back then... I had no idea what kinda person you were.

Remember?  When we first wore tailcoats and went to show ourselves to you... You were like... ‘I want you guys to be happy.’ You know… I'm pretty good at identifying scammers. So when I heard that, I became convinced and was like, ‘Ah, this person is really good.’

Of course, being adored by the butlers helps, huh? Yo! Look at this charmer right here! So, just like everyone else, I fell for you, my lord. I want to stay by your side forever... 

I thought my life would be just about hunting angels, a grim existence... But It turned out to be a pretty enjoyable life. Thanks, my lord.  And, let's continue to get along from now on. I hope we can be together for a long time.

So... Don't worry about the tarot's result. You could even turn it into tissue paper and throw it away.”

> “Y-you're right…” > “Can I, really…?”

Hanamaru: “Oops. That wasn't very butler-like. Oh well. I guess I really am unrefined.”

~ A little while later ~

Having received the feelings of all 17 butlers, I decided to think again about what Ms. Elvira had said about ’the way to be saved from an ominous fate.’

Teddy: “So, my lord... Have you come up with anything?”

Yuhan: “Lady Elvira mentioned, ’You have experienced the answer firsthand.' Is it possible that the answer lies in our shared experiences?”

> “I'm not quite sure yet…”

Hanamaru: “Well, let's take it easy. It's just a talk about fortune-telling anyway. Some fortune tellers even intentionally sell ‘comfort goods’ together with ‘anxiety-inducing predictions.’  It might be a loss to take it too seriously.”

Teddy: “But, both Mr. Berrien and Mr. Haures said that Lady Elvira's fortune-telling is accurate... I want to be optimistic, but I can't help worrying.”

Hanamaru: “Oh, right. How about this, then?  If the upright Death card is making you uneasy... Then, my lord, you can do a ‘handstand'.”

> “Handstand...?”

Hanamaru: “Yeah. If you do that, you'll become the Death card reversed, just like me. If we're both in the reversed position, you should feel reassured, right?”

Yuhan: “Mr. Hanamaru…  Please think more seriously about this.”

Hanamaru: “Haha, sorry, sorry. But don't you want to see the lord doing a handstand too?”

Yuhan: “Sigh... I definitely can't let my lord do a handstand, but for my lord's sake... Perhaps we should try anything. Well then, Mr. Hanamaru, please try doing a handstand.”

Hanamaru: “......Huh? Me?”

Yuhan: “Yes. If Mr. Hanamaru does a handstand, the tarot will change from the reversed position to an upright position, right...  That is to say, if there's a change in Mr. Hanamaru's fate, it means that handstands have an effect.”

Hanamaru: “......Yuhan, you…… ...You want to use me as a guinea pig?”

Yuhan: “Oh? Who was it that wanted to experiment with my lord?”

Hanamaru: “......Hey~ Teddy. Help me out here~.”

Teddy: “Huh? Oh, okay... Then... I'll grab your legs as you do a handstand to help you, Mr. Hanamaru. Alright, go ahead!”

Hanamaru: “Hey! That's not what I meant…”

I couldn't help but smile at the playful exchange between the three. It lightened my uneasiness about the ominous fate, and I started feeling a bit relieved.

Hanamaru: “Ohh. Seems like my lord is feeling a bit better now.”

Teddy: “That's right! Even if we don't find the answer now, there's no need to hurry!”

Yuhan: “Yes. We will protect my lord no matter what happens. You are an irreplaceable presence to us…”

Hanamaru: “Yeah. And of course not just because ‘you can release the power of devil butlers.’ You've brought us many other, more precious things.”

Teddy: “For us, my lord is more precious than life itself! Please don't forget that. From now on, we will protect you and live by your side, my lord. So... There's nothing to worry about.”

> “Thank you, guys”

All the butlers were trying to make me feel less anxious, promising to protect me no matter what. Their powerful words… little by little, made me feel at ease.

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[mswyrr]

taking a moment away from my rebecca ferguson thirst to express my appreciation for the writing and acting on ewan's monologue here. gorgeous work - both showing Dan as someone who was buried alive under his addiction and pain and now, eight years later, as someone who has found the life within him again

"I'm not much of a speech guy. I just thought I'd hold the chip and talk about whatever popped up. So, here I am. And I'm thinkin' about my dad. I saw a chip like this in his hand once. A couple months before he died. Five month chip, I'm pretty sure.

He hurt me once when he was drunk. Broke my arm. Then he dried right out. He died when I was five, so the only way I got to know him, really got to know him, was when I went dark. When I… When I drank to dull the… or, uh… whenever I wanted to break someone's face, 'cause the drinking and the temper and the anger, those things in me were his. And they were all I could know of him.

But now, well, now I get to know him a little different… 'cause he also stood in a room like this once… wanting to get well for me and my mom. And he held the chip in his hand and the chip said five months, and on that day, he… Before it all… Well, on that day, all he wanted in the world was to stand where I'm standing now. And here I am, so thank you for us both, I guess."

[blondeboyff]

A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing | Aemond Targaryen x Ofc

Tw: Death, Violence

~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time, long ago, there was a young girl. She was beautiful, brave, smart, and most importantly, she was kind. Anyone that met her would tell you of her kind and gentle personality and how she would never hurt a fly. She was trained, like many other high born ladies, to be polite and gentle and never speak out of turn. However unlike other high born ladies, she was not just high born, she was the daughter of a lord, a very powerful lord at that. Lord Rickon Stark of Winterfell was her father and Lady Melara Bolton was her mother. Now unfortunately, her mother passed away during childbirth when the girl was but seven years of age, neither her or the babe made it. The girl also had a older brother, the future Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark. After her mother died it was just her father, her brother, and her left. She may have been the daughter of a Lord but she was still always left out by the other ladies of the winter court and she liked it. Now the name of this girl is Naemera, Naemera Stark, and I am here to tell her forgotten story.

~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time, long ago, there was a young girl. She was beautiful, brave, smart, and most importantly, she was kind. Anyone that met her would tell you of her kind and gentle personality and how she would never hurt a fly. She was trained, like many other high born ladies, to be polite and gentle and never speak out of turn. However unlike other high born ladies, she was not just high born, she was the daughter of a lord, a very powerful lord at that. Lord Rickon Stark of Winterfell was her father and Lady Melara Bolton was her mother. Now unfortunately, her mother passed away during childbirth when the girl was but seven years of age, neither her or the babe made it. The girl also had a older brother, the future Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark. After her mother died it was just her father, her brother, and her left. She may have been the daughter of a Lord but she was still always left out by the other ladies of the winter court and she liked it. Now the name of this girl is Naemera, Naemera Stark, and I am here to tell her forgotten story.

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~

I was standing on the deck of the boat, watching the Stark flags fly in the wind. I could hear my older brother, Cregan, sparring with his teacher, and our protector, Ser Aeron Tully. Ser Aeron was the fifth son of Clay Tully so he, along with his two other brothers, were sent to be squires where they eventually became knights. All I could do was scoff at how serious Cregan would take his training. My father was talking about plans with one of his advisers under the small tent we had set up on the ships deck for rain coverage, so I just stayed to myself. My mother and I would usually be the one sticking together but since she passed it has just been me.

I would always miss my mother. I miss when she would come into my room at night if there was ever a storm and sing to me but according to my father, "Those days were over and I needed to mature". My mother was the second daughter of Samwell Bolton and was sent to marry my father when she was only ten and five years of age. She then had my brother a year later and two years after that, she had me. Five years after she had me she fell pregnant again but unfortunately she got bed fever and neither her nor my little brother survived. I usually would try not to think about her death but now that I was on my way to Laena Velaryon's funeral, it brought up all of my memories. I felt bad for Baela and Rhaena, as I knew what they were feeling. I also knew that they're father, Daemon, probably wasn't comforting them as much as they needed. I heard footsteps from behind me and soon felt a hand rest on my shoulder.

"My lady, we need to start getting you ready for port, we are almost there." My handmaiden, Tara, was like a second mother to me, especially after my mother died. I looked out at the sea one last time before I walked into my own room to get changed.

Tara told me we would arrive to Driftmark before supper so I needed to get ready now. Tara sat me down a pulled out a brush to detangle my knotted hair.

"Remember Mera, you will be meeting the royal family, so I expect you to be one your very best behavior, and make sure your curtsy's are low," Tara reminded me. "I also want you to show the greatest respect to the Prince Aemond." The last part confused me.

"Why the Prince Aemond and not Prince Aegon or Princess Rhaenyra?" I asked, turning around to look at her.

"Don't worry about that right now, I just want you to make a good impression on him, that is all little love." She finished brushing my hair and went over to my chest to get out one of my dresses. It was a black dress but it was lighter than my other dresses due to it not being as cold in Driftmark than it is Winterfell. Tara also decided to put my hair in a half up half down style so the wind wouldn't mess up my hair too much. Above me I could hear the ship crew starting to prepare for port.

After Tara finished doing everything necessary, I headed up to the deck to meet with my father and brother. Once I made it to the deck I saw my father and brother waiting for me. I bowed my head to both of them as a sign of respect. I looked over to my left and was amazed at what I saw. To my left, was the biggest beach I had ever seen, and what was on the beach was even better. There were dragons. Actual dragons. I gasped and looked up at my father only to see him smirking down at my shocked face. We were always told that dragons were real and the Targaryens rode them but no one in the North had ever actually seen one to prove the stories. And what shocked me most of all, was Vhagar. The biggest dragon in Westeros. I knew that Laena Velaryon was her previous rider, but now I didn't know who would get her. Who ever did would be very lucky.

"Naemera, I need you to be on your best behavior, no loud talking, no wondering off, and do not go anywhere near the dragons." My father said sternly. He then turned to my brother, "Cregan, watch your sister at all times and do not let her out of you sight."

"Of course father, I would never let anything happen to her." He then looked down at me and, without father noticing, he stepped on my foot. I let out a gasp and turned around to shove him put was interrupted by our fathers adviser, Rodrick. Rodrick had been my father's adviser before me or even Cregan was born. Rodrick pulled my father away and whispered something in his ear. Cregan and I both tried to hear what he said but with the sound from the waves and wind, we couldn't make out anything.

A few minutes later we finally arrived at port. The bridge was lowered onto the dock and  my father stepped out first followed by my brother, and then me. After me, it was Rodrick and then Tara. I stepped off the dock and our family was greeted by the  Targaryens. My father and brother bowed to the family while I curtsied to them. My father greeted the King first before moving to the Queen.

I had always looked up to the Queen and thought she was amazing. I looked over to the Queens right and saw three of her four children, Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena, and Prince Aemond. I had assumed Prince Daeron was back in Kings Landing, as he was still a young boy. I curtsied to all of the royal children and moved onto Princess Rhaenyra, and her children. I did the same thing with them as I did the other royals. We then moved onto Prince Daemon and his daughters. I looked at Rhaena and Baela and felt pity for them. I kept eye contact a little longer than the rest of the royals and bowed my head slightly to show them some extra respect.

After introducing everyone we all headed to the funeral ceremony. It wasn't a typical Targaryen funeral, instead it was Velaryon funeral. I wasn't exactly paying attention to what was happening, mainly because I was bored, but what I did notice was Prince Aemond. I looked over at him, only to see him already looking at me. We kept eye contact for a few seconds before he looked away. I just continued to look at him with a puzzled face before Tara tapped my shoulder to get my attention. All of a sudden I heard Prince Daemon laughing. Everyone gave him a confused look. I didn't understand why he would be laughing at his own wife's funeral. I looked around and saw some people rolling their eyes.

After the ceremony was finished we all went up towards the castle. Everyone was there except for Prince Laenor. I could only guess he was down by the water, grieving his sister. I saw Rhaena and Baela sitting together on a bench and decided to go up to them. They were both around my age so maybe I could even make a few friends here.

"Hello, I'm Naemera Stark. It's a pleasure to meet you both," I introduced myself while sticking out my hand to shake. Baela was the first to shake my hand followed by Rhaena. I could tell Rhaena was taking her mothers death the hardest by the way she acted. Baela, on the other hand, seemed to be taking it better. "I am sorry for your losses." I truthfully tell them. "I lost my mother too." I say in a quieter tone. I tried to relate with them to see if that would help.

When I told them about my mother Rhaena looked up at me. "Really?" Her eyes were red. I nodded gently. I was about to say something else but my father called me over. I walked over to my father and saw he was with the Queen and her second son, Aemond.

"Naemera," my father called. I walked next to him and he put his arm around my shoulder. "This is the Queen Alicent and her son Aemond." I curtsied to them and I felt a hand under my chin to pull me back up. I looked up and saw Alicent checking out my features. She smiled at me softly and removed her hand from my face.

"You are beautiful." She completed and I blushed. I over to my father and saw him with a proud smile.

I bowed my head. "Thank you your majesty." I said softly. I looked over to her right and saw her son looking at me with a stoic face. My father spoke up again.

"This is the Queens son, Aemond." I smiled at the boy. He only looked to be a year or two older than me. This time the Queen spoke up.

"Maybe you would like to walk with Aemond. To take his mind off of things." She suggested and Aemonds head perked up. I looked over at my father, unsure of what to do, and he nodded.

I looked up at the Queen and smiled before looking over at Aemond. "It would be my honour." I told them and waited. The Prince looked over at me and stuck out his hand. I took it and we began to walk. I looked over my shoulder and saw my brother staring with confusion.

Aemond and I walked in silence for a bit before I spoke up. "My name is Naemera," I smiled, even though I knew he knew my name.

He continued to look ahead of himself. "I know." He said briefly. I sighed and looked over to the ocean.

"I've never seen the ocean," I stated calmly. I looked to see his reaction and all he did was nod. "Do you not have anything to say?" I asked, starting to get annoyed. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You do not know me. We have nothing to discuss." He said curtly. Another sigh escaped my lips as I tried to think of something to say.

"Do you know why we're supposed to walk with each other?" This finally seemed to get a reaction out of him. He stopped walking and faced me with a judgmental expression.

"Is it not obvious?" He scoffed and muttered something under his breath about me being foolish. "They want to form an arrangement between the two of us." I looked at him, not understanding what he meant, and he rolled his eyes. "A marriage arrangement." He clarified.

I stopped walking and stepped away from him. "But why? You are a Targaryen and I am a Stark." I was still confused. I knew my house was powerful but I had always thought the Targaryens would marry their own family members. "Are you not supposed to marry a sister?" I asked him with genuine concern.

"No. My brother is to marry my sister," He stopped waking again and looked over at the sea. "Your house is the second most powerful. It would make an alliance between our houses if we were to wed." He continued. I nodded my head understandingly. Between the crashing of the waves I heard a dragon roar and I turned around in awe.

"They are beautiful creatures." I stared while staring at a gold and pink dragon. He turned to where I was looking and nodded.

"That is Sunfyre, Aegons dragon." He stated. I continued to stare at the magnificent dragon.

"Do you have one?" I asked him suddenly and I could feel him tense up. He turned away from me and shook his head no.

"No, and it is none of your business or concern." I could tell it was a sore subject so I didn't talk about it again. I whispered an apology and turned back to the sea. I felt the wind blow through my hair and I felt at ease. The quiet was interrupted my someone shouting my name.

I turned around to see my brother walking towards us. Once he reached us he bowed to Aemond and began talking. "The sun is about to set. I am here to escort the both of you back." He told us. I nodded and we began to walk back to the castle. Once we were inside the castle, we were greeted by my father and Alicent.

Cregan bowed to the Queen and walked away. Alicent walked over to her son and whispered something in his ear. The prince nodded and slightly bowed his head to my father before walking away with his mother. My father turned to me and smiled.

"How did it go?" He asked almost cheerfully. I looked at him confused and shrugged my shoulder.

"He is very stoic." I think back to our brief conversation. My father nodded slightly and sighed.

"You are to marry him." My father said suddenly and I looked up at him with wide eyes. I know he said we were to marry but I didn't actually believe him.

I averted my eyes to my dress and nodded. "Yes father." My voice was quiet. I did not know how to process this information. My father walked over and placed his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him and he smiled reassuringly. "Have you told Cregan yet?" I grinned. Father let out a soft chuckle and shook his head no.

"No. And I won't until I know he is ready." I smiled some more. "Now, off to bed." He added. I rolled my eyes playfully and he pushed my shoulder gently. Tara came into the room and escorted me to my room.

She changed me out of my dress and dressed me into my night gown. She finished my nightly routine and sat down on the bed with me. "I assume your father told you?" She grinned as she fluffed a pillow. I scoffed and leaned against the bed frame.

"So everyone know but me?" It's a rhetorical question but it still feels that way. She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "He does not like me." I complained. She grinned and finished making the bed.

"Give him time Mera," She stroked my hair. "Maybe he is just a diamond in the rough." She half joked. I looked up at her and smirked.

"What if I don't like diamonds?" I asked playfully.

She looked at me and shook her head with a grin. "Then maybe he is a sapphire in the rough." She tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead. "Now go to sleep little wolf." I nodded and heard her walk out the door and close it. I shut my eyes and felt darkness invade my vision.

Just as soon as I was about to fall asleep I heard a loud roar that shook the entire castle. I got out of bed and looked out my window. My jaw dropped when I saw someone riding Vhagar. I quietly left my room and ran to the beach. I gasped in awe as I watched someone actually ride a dragon. I thought of who it could be and an idea flashed through my mind. No it couldn't be, I thought to myself. I squinted my eyes to look at the rider closer and I gasped. It was Aemond! I laughed in amazement. He did it. I didn't know why, but I was proud of him. I smiled to myself and began to walk. Back to my chambers.

I snuck back into the castle and walked into my room. Right before I laid down again I heard shouting from the throne room. My curiosity got the better of me again and I snuck down to the throne room. When I entered the room my eyes widened.

I looked and saw Baela, Rhaena, Jace, Luke, Joffery, and Aemond all yelling at each other. I took a closer look at Aemond and my heart sank. Aemond sat in a chair with a Maester next to him. Aemonds left eye had been cut out. I could tell he was in a lot of pain and I felt bad for him. He had gotten a dragon but lost an eye.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder and quickly turned around. I saw my father looking down on me with a stern face before he leaned down to my ear. "Go back to your chamber. Now." He demanded sternly. I nodded my head but before I left I looked over my shoulder. When I looked I noticed Aemond staring at me. I stared back and was about to give him a smile but was pushed away by my father.

[marypsue]

I'd love to hear your thoughts on S1 of ST being a tragedy! No main character dies, so I never thought of it that way before

I mean, nobody has to die for a story to be a tragedy (at least, in the modern definition. I'm pretty sure '(almost) everybody dies' is a requirement of Greek tragedies and Renaissance revenge tragedies). But also, no main character dies in season one...if you take season one as part of a series. Which it wasn't originally conceived as.

I am not going looking for copies of the original pitch bible, because I am lazy, and also I only saw them floating around this webbed site. But the show changed a lot from the initial pitch (Joyce had a Long Island accent! Lucas' parents were divorcing! Murray was there and named Terry Ives! Most of what ended up in Hopper's character originally belonged to Mr. Clarke! The original pitch bible is fascinating). And part of the original pitch was a proposal for possible sequels.

The Duffers' proposal for a possible sequel was "It's ten years later, and Eleven is dead".

So that's the setup. Everything that came after season one was made up wholecloth after season one was a hit and people wanted more, but also people loved the adorable little psychic murder child (cue the Duffers shockedpikachu.jpg) and Netflix obviously recognised it would be a bad call to make a new season without her in it. So it makes sense to take season one as a unit, as a self-contained story on its own. You can also take it as part of a whole, but it makes sense to read it first as a complete story. Especially given the thematic drift of later seasons and the way they are...I'm just going to say it, each new season is very much added-on to what came before rather than being built on foundation that the earlier season(s) laid. It is very clear there was never a planned five-season story arc from the beginning. (This isn't necessarily always a bad thing, when it comes to sequels, but it does mean it makes sense to 'read' each season as its own thing.)

Okay, now that we've established all of that. Season one has one very clear goal, one very clear stake for the characters: save Will Byers from the Upside Down. (I like this. It makes the stakes both extremely high and extremely personal, it makes it very easy to understand each character's motivation, it also keeps the stakes grounded in reality. I like this a lot.) And by the end of the season, that goal is accomplished. So at first blush, you're right, season one doesn't look like a tragedy.

But when you start to unpack it a little, you start to see just how many important things were lost along the way. It's most glaringly obvious with Mike and El, with Nancy and Barb. The whole Wheeler family is fractured down the middle, with Mike and Nancy on one side and Ted, Karen, and Holly on the other, and Karen, who's been trying so hard the whole time to be part of her children's lives and understand what's going on with them, is aware of the ever-expanding gulf between them but will never be able to cross it, and will never fully know why. Hopper's finally managed to snatch a kid out of the jaws of death, save a woman he obviously cares about from the pain of losing a child, and Joyce has finally had someone believe her, support her, trust her. But it became blindingly obvious to me on my fourth rewatch that Hopper's plan, from the moment he went to leave the middle school gym, was always to trade El for Will. And that decision (and the fact that Joyce obviously understands that he did something to get the lab to let them go after Will, but she obviously doesn't dare press him on what) has broken her trust in him, and left him with what looks like an equally heavy burden of guilt as what he was carrying before. The lab stays open. The government gets away with everything. No one will ever know the true extent of the hurt they've caused.

And in the end, none of it even saved Will. He's back. He's alive. But he's spitting slugs in the sink. He's permanently marked by the Upside Down, and by trying to hide it from his family, he's putting a crack down the centre of them, as well. They're losing Will, just as surely as they had when they thought he was dead, just without him going anywhere.

And there's still a hole in the world.

The fragile bonds of community, the things that people share in common, the way catastrophe can bring people together and bring out the very best in them, are the major thematic threads woven through season one. Human connection is the only thing that can change what seems inevitable, the only thing that can bring back what's seemingly lost forever.

And it's still not enough to protect anyone from the random tragedy of the world.

The love was there. The love mattered. The love bent the entire course of the world around itself.

And it still wasn't quite enough.

If that's not a tragedy, then I don't know what is.

[mamalunawolf]

The life of Amaya

An MC behind the lore

A birthday special ~ TW Some minor dealings of violence. Rated mature. For sensitive readers.

They say, all the best parts of you. Were a gift a talent. A breath of fresh air to new life. How one could take a step into life and given the opportunity of a lifetime. But for me. No. Not for me..

My parents. They were mafia lords. Spanish lords that hardly was noticed. They were good at it. My mother married into it. That’s when they had my sister, Isabella. The intelligent one. She was keen on perceptive behavior. Always begged mom and dad for a sibling. Who would have guessed. Although my father was calm, docile and happy at the time. He loved mom. Until years later. I was born. Coming into this world was painful. I saw darkness. I didn’t scream. Neither did my mother. Except for my father. I couldn’t understand why he refused to hold me once my heart started to beat. I was born early. So I didn’t understand. Until a year later, with a frustrating father and a nanny who hardly kept tabs on me.

Isabella had to be my mother. And she was only 7. And it was awful. Being blamed for something I hardly understood. But when I turned five. That’s when I knew.

I killed my mother. Just for existing.

A shame to myself really. I just wanted him to notice me. To love me. To tell me how proud he was that his daughter knew so much. But Isabella and I didn’t get that loving father. The smell of alcohol was a bitter thing to smell. And his men stared at us like we were good. But Isabella knew well what to do in situations like this.

I was young. I didn’t know. I didn’t know why daddy would hurt me physically the way he did. My sister took the hits some of the time. He kept saying how we had our mother’s eyes. And it stung. Since that’s all we had of her. Until one day, we found a picture of her. With Isabella. And that’s when we left.

I think she was in her teens, close to sixteen or eighteen by the time we left Spain. We got onto a boat without notice. With stolen money and a few clothes. And a picture… of mother.

We stayed in a small town of London. The smell of fish and smoke. It didn’t bother us since we used to enjoy eating cod on most days when we were offered it. My sister worked, inside a bakery. Owned by a cute older couple. They took us in and raised us until they died of old age. It was a confusing matter when I tried to tell my sister that they never woke up for morning shift. Isabella ended up having the store. A will they didn’t know the older couple had kept. They didn’t love us, but this was a testament to what we now know. They did. And we were too afraid to admit it.

Over time, my sister was a smart woman and we both worked the bakery. Selling Spanish coffees and baked goods. Delicious in their own way. Until I decided to change my path. Leave. That’s when my life changed for the better. And I am who I am.

From the world full of witches and wizards. To the battlefield of the task force. To the deepspace of Linkon City. Stardew valley. Or maybe, as a Druid in Baldurs gate. What ever it was. I went down this path. But it’s up to you. On whether I go down it.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Part 2 to this ficlet here

Jiang Yanli pours him a cup of tea, her movements elegant and smooth as she angles the kettle and pours the hot, perfumed liquid into the ceramic, not even a drop spilling.

Wei Wuxian watches her, keenly. She isn't sluggish or uncoordinated, she doesn't seem to be struggling - she isn't at all like a fierce corpse.

And yet, much like a fierce corpse, she always responds to Chenqing's call, or gets tempted to speak by Inquiry.

"I know what you've come to talk to me about." she says, in the same kind, soft voice Wei Wuxian is used to. "And I will tell you, but you must promise to keep it a secret. Nobody is allowed to know, not even A-Cheng, okay?"

Wei Wuxian nods, fingers nearly burning around his hot cup of tea.

"I was five years old when my golden core manifested. I'd been looking forward to it for as long as I could remember. I kept asking everybody what it would feel like, whether it would hurt, how I'd know." a smile, "I did know... but not in the way that everyone else did."

She sipped at the tea, seemingly unreactive to its heat. "I woke up one morning, a week or two after I turned five, and went into the training grounds to prepare for when my core would burn alight, like mother instructed... Except, as I went in to attack the disciple that had been teaching me self defense, there was a sudden glow to my hand, it felt warm almost as if I'd burnt a candle on my palm, and then she fell over screaming in pain."

Yanli closed her eyes, "I got scared and started crying, and mother rushed over to see what was going on. She paled when she realized, and whisked me away immediately. It wasn't a golden core that I manifested..." her eyes open, slowly, then all at once, "it was the ability to melt golden cores."

Wei Wuxian drops the tea cup from his lips right as he was about to drink it, spilling the hot liquid all over the fragile skin of his hand and the cheap material of his robes. He feels the burn, distantly, as his hands begin to shake. No, no way... there is no way...

"My father is... was Wen Zhuliu. My mother had hoped I wouldn't inherit his gift, but fate had not been on her side. I do not know whether father - uncle Jiang - knew about mother's infidelity, because he never spoke of it. But I've later learned he had been the one to spread the rumor in Yunmeng that I've been kidnapped." There is an expression on her face that Wei Wuxian can't read, but he figures he matches it as well. All those gripes about uncle Jiang and Wei Wuxian's mother, all the while knowing...

"I remember mother sealing my lips and taking me to Meishan.." Jiang Yanli smiles, like she always does, but it looks haunted now. "That is the place where I died."

Wisps of resentful energy curl protectively around Wei Wuxian's legs, much like overprotective, affectionate cats. He usually waves them away, but this time he allows their presence, the ghostly touch grounding him through the earth-shattering information he's receiving.

"My mother's relatives performed a forbidden spell on me, which forced my soul out of my body and... well, I died." She's done trying to be soft about it, her features come together in a frown as she remembers the experiences. Wei Wuxian thinks it must not have been pleasant.

"They trapped my soul and then cut half of it away, to get rid of my ability. Then, they forced my soul back in through a summoning ritual, and I came back... but only by half."

"So... you're only..."

"I'm half alive. Or, rather, half dead. I have a small golden core, despite the ritual that's been performed on me, but mother was afraid to let me cultivate it, so I have not." A sad smile. "I wish I had."

Wei Wuxian stares - at her, through her. She's here but she's not. She's always been, she's never been at all.

"This is the truth. I respond to songs for the dead because I am." Her smile appears lopsided now, uncanny, "And I know you've been too."

[gender-collecting-forest-goblins]

I never realised how hard it is to exist with plurality when our trauma isn't really defined as trauma.

TW:Death, mental health issues, physical issues, self harm, body dysphoria, suicide/suicidality, medical trauma.

So like, nan died when we were five, I don't have many childhood memories, but seb was the first to "exist" other than me. Then there's the bullying and masking of autism, ADHD, and the trauma of having a post alcoholic parent trying to be a parent again. All with the struggle of things a kid shouldn't have to deal with that mom didn't know how to keep away from us, such as money stuff and food issues. We lose marmalade, a beloved family cat. Then we lose Monty her daughter not long after. The memory of her being cradled in my brothers arms as she has a seizure from the stroke and falling down the stairs, forever imprinted on my mind. Skip to a few years later, it's gotten to the point where we don't know how many we are, because our mental health has already reached the point of passive suicidality and everything that goes with it. Age eleven, deciding whether or not to jump into traffic before school. We form a protector with no name, a shadow figure. He later becomes void. The trauma of not knowing if I'm autistic was way more present around that time. It got way worse and then of course, we didn't know that autism was something to consider, we just thought we were broken. Never mind the trans trauma of being plural and a traumatized child with trust issues, seeing people that aren't there and being terrified of losing my "friends in my head". The bullying gets really bad. We realise we're trans. We're in denial. We think "Oh what if we just come out as non-binary?" It doesn't go well. We are severely suicidal at age 13, finally diagnosed with autism and ADHD. Hospitalised multiple times from then on. Everything is blurry. There are times where I can recall the trauma timeline perfectly, but today is not one of them. This is all quite vague but I think the protectors are ok with that. I needed to get this off my chest. Many have come and gone. I still don't know everyone and everything about the system. I don't know if we'll ever be diagnosed as a system. For now, I just want my life to get easier. We are in constant physical pain. We have hypermobile joint spectrum disorder, recently confirmed. Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome is also suspected. We use a walking stick just to get around the house. We can't stand for more than five minutes. We're still masking our system from our family and friends. Mom thinks we have a dissociative disorder of some sort. The trauma is too complicated even for us, to explain to her how "broken" we feel. Being plural with trauma that is probably nowhere near what people would consider enough to form a system is exhausting. It feels invalidating. Like we shouldn't be this way because we weren't sexually abused or groomed or beaten or tortured or something. We have trauma, it should be enough. So this is me, getting this off my chest. I needed to vent. It hurts so goddamn much. I'm always fronting. I never switch out unless something major happens, like if seb triggers a switch for our safety or if Kai is triggered in due to talking about a memory I'm not supposed to know about to keep me safe. I'm always co-fronting with somebody. I barely know who I am, let alone the fact of being plural making it even harder. What I do know is that, my plurality has saved me. Even if I wish sometimes I wasn't plural. Even if sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I could remember all of the school trauma and the hospital trips and the self harming and the surgery from when I was a kid to fix my eye that I only sort of know about from void. I'm just tired. The body is always hurt or ill or in pain. We never get a break. We mask constantly. We can't even call ourselves we. It's I or me or single anything. We aren't diagnosed with anything system based or plural based. The only reason I have some knowledge of how our system might work is because of the helpful information from other sysblogs on here. Like the info about p-did and median systems and autism based system stuff. Hopefully, we'll get to a good place mentally. For now, we'll just have to take each day as it comes.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I know it probably doesn't read very well or make much sense. I might redo our system intro at some point. Its kind of outdated now. I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

[appreciatingtokrev]

hello, i am happy that you're back and feeling better! ^^

er, i am a bit disappointed but since time had passed, i have realised it was the right move. that is sad but if both parties naturally drift apart, there is always a chance for it to rekindle later on even if it is years on in the future. but moving on does tend to be the less messer route despite it being hard.

i did that too for HSR, all players are probably guilty of that lol. i believe most fans prefer GI over HSR and there is a lot more GI contents on here. i've never played HI so i don't know the fight mechanics 😭

that sound like such a long system ;-; on my end, you could complete a five year degree (like medicine) and be finish before 24/25 or do a three years degree and a master on top before 23/24. at least you still have time to figure things out.

that is true and a part of koko probably died after the fire incident, he probably just needed mikey's approval to join though.

tbh, i just realised his colour palette (outfit/appearance) is really nice too and does contrast xiao's one. maybe, browse online for inspiration? or go to the hair salon and ask the staff? i did that for dying my hair, they said i need to bleach it 4 times where i went lmao.

but i've heard the anime/manga merchandise is pretty cheap in Japan? that is a nice start to your collection and i'm sure the tokrev dolls will be a nice finishing touch when you feel motivated enough. but don't force yourself. i think if she was a kpop fan, i would found it less shocking because they are something else lol. that is a sensible idea and others may mistake it for a bell's bike? if it jingles that loudly and you're walking behind them. i hope you are ready then, styling wigs does seem to be a craft of art in making.

have you found your birthday twin yet? or am i still the closest one? and i actually gave up on makima. the fanart is something else but you can't help but feel intrigued like you said. i dislike her for the same reason. that's great! have you tried taking it to a tailor and get the sleeves shortened? i did it for a blazer and it worked.

ah i’m glad, me too! :) <3

i very much understand. it hurts, but sometimes the right thing to do just isn’t what initially makes you the happiest,, and it’s still for the best.

hm, true. maybe one day lol. rn we see each other maybe twice a year, and go visit a museum together. it’s nice, but certainly not how i pictured my life a few years ago haha. tho i’m content with our relationship the way it is, i think.

understandable understandable lol. i think my pref for genshin does stem from me having played it for longest by far + it being the game that got me into gaming, which both ends in an obvious bias. but hsr has been v fun so far as well! honkai impact fight mechanics are more similar to genshin than to hsr, but the controls for the whole game don’t involve the mouse, only the a, s, d, w, i, j, k, and l keys (if i remember the keys correctly- the point is you only need a keyboard to play) lol. makes it easier to play it in class.....

okay tbh i did repeat/got pushed back more than once 😭 most people here probably are finished with a five years degree at 24/25 too, but a bunch each year will be one/two years older bc they had to repeat. and i’m gonna be one of those lol. but yeah, i’m glad i’ve still got time to decide on what to study bc there’s too many things i’d like to do... omg i used to have a classmate who’s a kpop fan, and she pretty much made her locker at school into a kpop shrine plastered with photos and filled with merch lol. she also was the one to introduce me to kpop funnily enough.

true. i’ll figure out how to make it make no sound before wearing it in public, then i’ll be fine. bc i do think the earring looks funky even when silent hehe.

i have a (bad?) habit of thinking i can do anything i want to, so... wig styling can’t be that hard, now can it..... and there’s a first time to everything anyway.

no birthday twin for me, you’re still the closest. if i ever do find one, i’ll make sure to tell you dw lol.

no, i haven’t been to a tailor yet, but i might try that once! i just hope it wouldn’t be too expensive afhjfdj

[nyc-uws]

This Is What No One Tells You About Losing A Child

“It’s easy to wonder what one thing I could have done that might have changed the events of that day.”

By Casey Mulligan Walsh

At 8, my oldest son, Eric, practiced juggling a soccer ball on his knee for hours most fall afternoons, waiting for the big kids to walk by our house on their way home from practice.

By high school, he spent most evenings on the phone with one girl or another; he’d listen, commiserate and advise. On weekends, he was off to the lake or the soccer field or, in winter, the slopes, already teaching kids the snowboarding he loved so much. He was a carefree boy with big plans of his own.

But in the year and a half leading up to Eric’s high school graduation, my marriage exploded and, despite my best efforts, the kids were trapped in the middle.

Further challenged by a failed romantic relationship and other roadblocks, Eric was no longer the gregarious teen who’d taught his teachers to snowboard, too, and answered my serious observations with a light-hearted, “Thank you, Captain Obvious!”

He finished his senior year a volatile young adult, on the edge. He’d turned into someone I hardly recognized.

I had no answers back then. I hardly knew the questions to ask. Though I’d tried everything to make Eric see how much I loved him, I didn’t know how to help him find his own way out of the downward spiral he couldn’t seem to escape. What I did know was that I would do anything to make whatever had gone horribly wrong into everything that was right.

On graduation day, Eric donned his cap and gown and walked down the aisle, reaching out to shake the school board president’s hand and receive his diploma — just as I’d always imagined. His brother played in the band, and I sat alone, grieving the family I thought I’d built.

Though I worried about Eric’s future, I had no way of knowing that a year later, he’d be killed as he rounded a curve on a road he’d taken countless times before. His old silver Audi flew into the air then fell to the ground, mercifully hurting no one else. But he was gone.

I was no stranger to grief. Having lost both parents by the time I was 12 and my only sibling when I was 20, I had determined to do everything in my power to recreate the family I’d lost. Yet I’d also come to believe, as Carl Jung said, that “I am not what happened to me, I am who I choose to become.”

I clung to this conviction even after Eric died, determined to never forget my beautiful son while also embracing what lay ahead for me.

As it turns out, grief and joy can — and do —coexist. Today, more than two decades later, I have a life I could only have dreamed of back then. Married now to a wonderful man, together we have five kids and 10 grandkids. We laugh — a lot — and are grateful every day that we’ve ended up here together.

I’m no longer deeply sad on holidays and birthdays and at other times when Eric’s absence once cast a long shadow. Now, on Christmas, I think of the years when Eric was with me with a gentle fondness that often brings a smile.

Yet grief is anything but linear. It’s here, then gone; dormant, then wild. It’s the monster that sneaks up on me when I least expect it and whispers in my ear about the things I could have done, that could have been, that can still bring me to my knees.

Eric died on June 12, a peaceful sunny Saturday sandwiched between college and high school graduations here in the Northeast. It’s sometimes difficult for me to identify with the joy of parents who burst with pride as their teens move into a future filled with promise when my own graduate is gone.

Those achingly gorgeous late May and June weekends, sun high in the sky, gently warming the earth and all of us on it, can still leave me overcome with grief and the cellular memory of a carbon-copy day those many years ago. It’s easy, then, to wonder what one thing I could have done that might have changed the events of that day.

A decade after I last saw Eric, I sat with my husband in a New Orleans café, an escape from the happy chaos of Bourbon Street, and caught sight of a young man with his parents at the table across from us. I imagined they were visiting him in his senior year of college or maybe helping him settle into an apartment for his first job. He had a soccer player’s build, an irreverent glint in his eye, a freckle-faced, sun-kissed complexion. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was the Eric who had figured things out. He was the Eric who had lived.

Fifteen years after Eric’s crash, we drove up the New England coast following a relaxing few days at the beach. As I navigated to our destination, my eyes were drawn north to South Portland, Maine, where Eric had hoped to study and play soccer, though those plans were dashed as his life began to unravel.

Suddenly I was thrust into a litany of “what-ifs.” Visions of the life he could have had. If only. Overcome with regret, I felt the pain come roaring back so hard I could barely catch my breath.

I still miss Eric every day. Again and again, life sneaks up on me and puts me right back in that time and place those many years ago. In a craft brewery in Vermont, a tribute to the life of a boy who had died in a snowboarding accident reminded me of my own boy in so many ways. In an Edinburgh pub, a crowd of young men sang loudly — and amusingly off-key — and raised their beers to celebrate their football club’s victory. I looked for Eric in the crowd.

Yet it’s when I feel the loss most strongly that the joy is strongest, too. I see Eric’s enormous grin, hear his sweet voice, feel the stubble of his freshly buzzed haircut. The pain and the pleasure live side by side, because life doesn’t stop, even when we think it should.

There’s another thing I’ve learned in the decades since Eric’s death: Life rarely works out as planned. Looking back on those tumultuous years and the times I’ve struggled with whether I could have changed things for him, I’ve come to understand how little control we really have as parents. As human beings.

We can’t hold on to something that was never meant to be ours forever. Accepting that so much of life is outside our control is both frightening and freeing. I’ll spend the rest of my own life seeking the sweet spot.

In the end, it wasn’t knowing when to work harder, cling tighter, care more deeply that was the real challenge for me. Though these things have their place and time in our careers as parents, a different lesson was mine to learn.

From the moment our babies arrive, we’re learning to let them go.

Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch!

Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch!

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/death-of-a-child_n_60b7abf6e4b0f479d60c2249

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 89

Free To Be You and Me

The weather is starting to get a little crazy like it did last weekend when my power was threatening to go out, so noon is the perfect time to watch…will it kill my previously functioning executives? Probably

“Free To Be You and Me”

Plot Description: Not sure he trusts himself anymore, Sam gives up hunting. Meanwhile, Dean teams up with Castiel to find the Archangel Raphael

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No one died

I could never be a Sam girlie but I will say I understand him in this moment. I can’t decide if he means “I won’t make the mistakes that cost me everyone I’ve loved again” or “I won’t be close enough to anyone ever again so the prospect of their death can’t be used against me. If I have no ties to anyone, no one can get hurt because of me”

Couldn’t he have just become the new Ash? Not that Ash is replaceable, he most certainly isn’t, but he could have gone with Ellen and Jo and been their research guy, their “i’ll figure out the omens so other hunters can go hunt” guy.

This montage of Dean hunting and Sam bartending…I hate seeing them apart

CAS STANDS SO. CLOSE. TO HIM. PLEEEEASE

“Me and Sam are taking separate vacations for a while” because he knows Sam WILL come back. 😭😭😭

Castiel, I love you so much, but this feels like a bad plan. You’re going to go find the ARCHANGEL who HAD ALREADY KILLED YOU ONCE and…and somehow trap and interrogate him? Babes, please

“I need your help because you’re the only one who will help me” should go in the canon of gut wrenching ship lines with the likes of “who did this to you?” and “I didn’t know where else to go”

And to have “whoa! whoa! Last time you zapped me some place, I didn’t poop for a week” follow it barely seconds later….*gestures grandly* Supernatural.

See? He can’t help but see the omens. I mean, they ARE all over the place because it IS the APOCALYPSE (how fortunate to be watching apocalyptic episodes on the 10th anniversary of the Mishapocalypse)

You didn’t teach him how to hold the fake FBI badge?? Bestie, what the fuck did you DO on the car ride there?? Not ONE lesson on how to be human? How to pass for an FBI agent?? Come on…

Ohhh. Oh Cas…oh no, Dean, where are you taking my precious angel on his last night on earth??

Those hunters aren’t coming back, are they??

Oh so Sam DID mean the “not forming any more ties to people” way while Dean is still fully expecting him back at some point. I hate this show (affectionate)

“This is a den of iniquity. I should not be here.” I love him.

Sometimes I hate the writers, and sometimes they send Cas to….I genuinely can’t tell what this location actually is (strip club but like high end? Brothel of dome type? I am VERY VERY ACE) and meet a woman doing sex work going by the name Chastity.

Aaaaaand the writers ruined it again…ooooo women in sex work having daddy issues. It’s cliche af

This girl doesn’t know Sam broke the last seal that kickstarted the apocalypse

Dean…stop antagonizing the archangel. Just because he don’t kill you because you’re Michael’s vessel

Yeah……I knew at least one of those hunters was gonna eat it. Gruesomely.

“You remember the 20th century. You think the 21st is going any better?” Raph’s got a point from where I’m sitting in 2023

Is there ANYONE ON THIS SHOW WHO DOESNT HAVE DADDY ISSUES? And yes. I AM talking about Raphael here

Bet Lindsey is regretting wanting to know Sam’s life story now…

Her little gasp! Like she’s never seen a bar fight! Girl, please!!

Dean continuing to call an archangel a ninja turtle is so funny

Ouch! “I’ve had more fun with you in the past 24 hours than I’ve had with Sam in years. And you’re not that much fun” Dean said a burn on both of you

The Deanificatiom of Touya/the Touyafication of Dean agenda continues…

Stop taking away Sam’s hope, dream/ghost Jess!!! Oh…you know, when I saw mark’s name in the credit but then there’s only like 2 minutes left. Yeah, that’s the devil talking, Sammy. Literally

And now we get the drop that Sam is Lucifer’s true vessel.

“Been On My Mind…”: I mean, Lindsey was throwing herself pretty hard at Sam, but he wasn’t biting. 7?