#might have been at the crux of this thing. the giving others so much room that you lose substance of your own

[lesamis]

If a face, as Johann Gottfried Herder says, is nothing more than a Spiegelkammer of the spirit, then we should be a little frightened of Keats's variety of expressions. [...] Keats is unable to contemplate himself. His gift is not knowing how to reconcile himself. The identity of a person who is in the room with him presses in and cancels his own out in a flash. When Keats speaks, he's not sure he's the one talking.

"John Keats", in These Possible Lives, Fleur Jaeggy

[nerdygirlramblings]

omegaverse 141

a/n part of this once again inspired by @dragonnarrative-writes and their comment on a previous chapter. also, if you have ideas for a title, that'd be great 😂

cw: a/b/o dynamics and typical omegaverse breeding (m! and f! omegas can get pregnant) mentioned

previous

In the interim between your meeting with Captain Price and dinner with the task force you call your family pack. You know your moms and dad will give you their honest opinions, and right now you want that more than anything.

"Hey pretty girl," Dad says when he picks up the video call. "Everything okay? You usually don't call on a weekday unless we've planned it." For a moment you simply take in his smile and the way he's trying to reassure you.

You deflect. "How are you feeling, Dad?" He's carrying another litter, and after losing the last two, you know how important it is to everyone that this one is successful.

"Your moms have pretty much put me on bed rest," he says, rolling his eyes. "But you called us, honey, what's going on?"

You sigh. This is what you called them for. "Well, I wanted your opinion on something," you tell him.

"Just my opinion, or do you want the moms' too?"

You tell him you want everyone's opinion, so he moves through your childhood home to where your moms are, each room he passes drawing forth another bittersweet memory that has you missing him and your pack even more.

He finds your moms in your childhood bedroom, being transformed into a nursery, again. He sits on the rocking chair you remember, the one that floated between the three kids' bedrooms each time there was a new litter. Once your moms are standing behind Dad, you tell everyone about the offer to join Price's task force, and by extension his pack.

The more you tell them, the more your mind snags on how appealing being part of a pack is. But you can't help but be scared of the implications of that desire. Despite how Price laid things out, it's going to be hard enough to prove you're worthy of being on the 141, and if you become part of their pack, you'll never escape the talk about sleeping your way on the task force.

Your parents can tell your mind is somewhere else when you hear Mum insert your name into Bowie's "Space Oddity."

"Sorry, Mum. Wha' was i'?"

"I was just saying this - the task force, I mean - sounds like a great career opportunity. But I can't abide how much more danger this puts you in."

Mama adds, "Sounds like this alpha knew how to broach this. Didn't cock it up. And I agree with Mum, this is much more dangerous than what yer doing now. But sweetie, ya didn't see yerself when ya talked about what this would mean ta ya. And what doors it might open for other omegas like your brother."

You tear up. Both your moms see this for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity it is. You notice no one's mentioned the other half of Price's offer. "Dad?" you prompt, "Wha' da you think?"

Dad watches you for a few minutes, smiling but sad: you can see it in his eyes. "I think you need to say yes, honey. Even if it scares us more, i's the right thing fer you." Your moms don't chime in; they don't need to. But you need want their thoughts on becoming a pack omega, Dad's in particular.

"And the other part?" you ask quietly, looking away.

"Honey, becoming pack omega fer yor moms was one of the hardest and easiest decisions I ever made. I love yer moms," you watch their faces through his declaration, both putting a comforting hand somewhere on him, "and they gave me all of you pups. If Price is as good an alpha as he is a Captain, if 'e's a guiding hand for his pack, then you couldn't have a better mate. In the end, trust your omega."

And that's the crux of the matter isn't it. Your omega has been scratching at your hind brain all afternoon because she wants to take Price up on both offers as soon as possible, but you need to be smart about optics and your career.

You tell your parents you love them and thank them for their honesty, promising to tell them what you decide before the ink dries. You end the call with a few minutes to spare before dinner and take that time to pull your emotions together.

next

[lime-bloods]

Reading Roxy and Meenah as doppelgangers: a digression on manifestation theory

A brief introduction to manifestation

Manifestation theory sounds scary - the idea that the appearance of trolls and other fantastical creatures might double as insight into the psychological goings-on of our human protagonists is not one that necessarily comes intuitively to all readers. But as blogger azdoine succinctly put it: it's basically "just symbolism". Characters in a story symbolise something, and, understanding that Homestuck is chiefly about its human protagonists, it's logical to presume that the non-human elements symbolise things that are relevant to the protagonists' human experience.

mmmmalo has written at length about what he identifies as the signs linking Meenah to Roxy's inner psychodrama - the things that make Meenah an "esoteric mirror" or "doppelganger" of Roxy. For comprehensiveness' sake, I'm going to outline from scratch what I have identified to be the key signs, and to that end this post is going to discuss the topics of reproduction, reproductive coersion and miscarried pregnancy (with text-pertinent allusions to grooming and incestuous abuse).

One big happy family

Looks like a little girl's room. This all strikes you as a bit odd.

Hussie suggests only briefly in commentary that the young Roxy's (β) upbringing was at the hands of "a younger grandpa Harley" (Book 2, p. 106), but we needn't take their word for it; the scenery here speaks for itself. Roxy grew up in a dark green basement, trained from childhood to become an agent of Harley's goals, just as Damara (β) - and then by succession Meenah (β) - would be trained as English's agents. So, by analogy, Grandpa Harley is Lord English.

This is another point mmmmalo has (in)famously already made, but regardless of your thoughts on the particulars of that specific reading, the key clues pointing to English as a manifestation of the "Grandpa" character are still plain to see. When John says "the worst case scenario" would be "[facing] our grandfatherly paradox-dad as a last boss", he's explicitly referring to he and Jade's family patriarch, but he's also implicitly foreshadowing Lord English - a character who, in the maturity of 2024, we should now all be able to recognise is in one way everyone's grandfatherly paradox-dad. He represents the same upper echelon of paternalistic power on a cosmic scale that Jake (β) represents on a familial level.

Moving this along towards my point: essentially all of Acts 1-4's adult characters form part of this elaborate Nuclear Family Roleplay - a pantomime of the 'Suburban' setting Homestuck is founded upon. In the same way Jake being known as simply "Grandpa" symbolises his arch-patriarchal position, the reason Roxy is known only as MOM for the first five acts of the comic is because this is the archetypal, impersonal role she has been reduced down into. Her relationship with the character named DAD is a direct invocation of this - the two are essentially playing house, living out the gendered roles that have societally/cosmically been laid out for them. The comic's exposition coyly brushes over this, but a deeper look at Alternian culture gives us a much clearer vision of why 'MOM and DAD' make such an iconic matespritship: on Alternia there ARE no real family units, only procreation, and therefore matespritship is understood by the planet's inhabitants as a mere expression of "mating fondness". MOM and DAD make such a cute couple because they are exactly what their assigned titles depict them as - a breeding pair.

This is basically the crux of Roxy's arc right up to the very end of the comic; though Roxy's (Α) post-apocalyptic anxieties about the extinction of the human race bring these thoughts to the forefront, her struggle within the patriarchal structures of the household / society / reality itself has always been that she is only valued as a MOM - as a breeding machine.

The problem therein is that Roxy is seemingly incapable of having children.

The grieving mother

Within Sburb's scheme of universal childbirth, a "void session" is one that simply doesn't have the eggs required to bear fruit. So it's immediately easy to see why the Hero of Void would have similar trouble bringing a pregnancy to term. But certainly not for lack of trying!

Sorry, Jaspers [...] your final resting place is already a mockery. You should have decomposed years ago under a bed of petunias like a normal cat. Not given to a taxidermist and fitted with a tiny, custom-tailored suit, and then stuffed in a coffin built for infants.

When Rose was still very young, Jaspers was found dead. Roxy took the death of her CAT so hard that Rose found it difficult to take her grief seriously, interpreting the cat's elaborate mausoleum as a "structure erected with a spirit of scornful IRONY in response to [a] youthfully innocent request to hold a funeral for the animal." But more than any other, Rose and Roxy's relationship is one defined by miscommunication, and this assessment of Roxy's grief doesn't even seem to hold up to Rose's own recollection of events: later, we hear that the funeral service was something Roxy "insisted upon".

And thus begins probably Homestuck's most clear-cut example of a character's arc stretching across multiple iterations, because from this point - parallel to her neverending quest to settle down with a nice hubby and start a family - Roxy (both β and Α) becomes fixated on bringing back her baby - I mean CAT - only to produce failed mutant after failed mutant. These freaks of nature are not Jaspers, and by the laws of time travel dictating the lives of Paradox Clones they can never be Jaspers. The younger Roxy's first few attempts are literally stillborn; while she's eventually able to create what she calls "healthy felines", she still keeps those monsters locked in the basement they came from, for fear of upsetting her real CAT.

Even as over the course of her Sburb quest and her interactions with the new arrivals from the other session Roxy is seemingly able to address and even overcome some of this obsessive gnostalgia for the things she's lost, her apparent inability to bring to term resurfaces when she's made the reproductive object of another grieving mother.

The lamenting queen (or: the other mother)

Her Imperious Condescension is not so immediately recognisable as part of the family pantomime because the troll social structure doesn't use the same terminology we're familiar with, but she's always been there; just as Lord English is grandfather of grandfathers, Meenah is the family tree's literal grandmatriarch of grandmatriarchs, placed upon the Earth in the guise of Betty Crocker - archetypal nurturing housewife - so that her children's children might seed the events architected by her master. This kind of familial roleplay is exactly how English and Meenah's story is passed down to her descendants; Jake recalls that "the witch used to be married to a terrible man named english." Dirk is insistent, though, that this is a masking of the truth, and that English was only ever "her superior". And while it's true that we can't say for sure a young Meenah (β) slept in the same bed Damara grew up in, the fact that Meenah was only formally recruited after Damara's death should not be mistaken for suggesting that Meenah was not one of English's many daughters. She was "the Lo+rd's slave all alo+ng", even if implicitly.

ARANEA: Once she claimed the throne, she would have to serve for many thousands of years, until the next successor was ready.

For all the differences between Meenah and Roxy's cultures, slavery in the form of motherhood has always been the expectation of the female fuchsia caste, right from the very beginning of Meenah's arc - not as the empress of Alternia, but on Beforus, where the hemospectrum is reframed in far more familial terms:

ARANEA: The jo8 of each 8lood caste was to serve the needs of all those 8elow it. ARANEA: We were to use our progressively greater longevity and wisdom to help the lower castes learn and grow. To listen to them and try to provide whatever they were missing. Like a hierarchy of caretakers with increasing social responsi8ility.

Crucially, this is where Meenah and Roxy appear most to act as reflections but not carbon copies of each other; because where Roxy constantly strives to contort herself into this motherly, wifely role, Meenah perpetually runs from it. Saddled with the "incredi8le responsi8ility" of sitting atop Beforus' structure of care, Meenah "viewed the empress as a glorified slave" and fled to the moon, and even forced into ascendancy on Alternia she finds implicit ways to be absent from her children, spending her life flying further and further away from the planet where they're born and taking every opportunity to hand off any real political authority to clown rappers (a tendency reflected in her human heirs - the company is always passed on to the son and never the daughter).

But when Meenah finally returns home to find her children suddenly massacred by a galactic apocalypse, her arc begins to pull into line with Roxy's in earnest.

A fluffy twitching prison

TT: The rumors say it was her own "pet" who killed them.

From the moment of her dramatic introduction, Meenah's tragedy is that though she can extend life indefinitely, she cannot have back what she's lost, and this continues to be true as she attempts to resurrect her children on a new planet; attempt after attempt, her babies all die. Despite Gl'bgolyb's explicit death in the meteoric holocaust which claimed the rest of her family, the creature has inexplicably returned on the trolls' prospective new homeworld with the apparent sole purpose of making sure Meenah can't carry to term. We're left to our own devices to figure out just what's going on here.

Act 6 of Homestuck introduces Watchmen to its repertoire of intertexts through Jane's poster of cobalt beefcake MANHATTAN. Watchmen's Dr. Manhattan is an omnipotent world-shaping being who flees the responsibilities of Earth to settle on the planet Mars, iconically rendered in beautiful rosy hues by colourist John Higgins - when we hear the story of Meenah's refusal to the call of being Beforus' own god-empress, it's against the backdrop of a photograph of Mars literally hue-shifted pink (see fourth image), and images of Meenah's ship flying over a settlement on the red planet are included among the products advertised by Crockercorp. Far more explicitly, though: Watchmen originated the idea of using the screams of a psychic alien squid as political leverage, and that's why Gl'bgolyb has to be here for this part.

Alongside commenting on the political landscape of the 80s and the fascist undertones of the superhuman archetypes found in comic books, Watchmen pays particular attention to these characters' sexual eccentricities, and particularly their hangups with women. It stands to reason that of the latter closet homosexual Ozymandias' are the most severe, but they also become the most explicit: the artificial 'horrorterror' he uses to usher in his new world order is his fear of the female body made manifest. With its single clitoral eye and sphinctered mouth, the creature is unmistakeably yonic, and included in the horrific psychic imagery it broadcasts to instill fear into the Earth's population are nightmarish images of juvenile aliens chewing their way out of their mother's womb - the very same image trolls use to describe their disgust at human reproduction in The Homestuck Epilogues. Meenah's relationship to Gl'gboylb should be thought of the exact same way; one of the rare insights we receive into the adult Meenah's psyche is that she finds the process of giving birth "revolting", and it's for this reason she insists that humans procreate only through impersonal cloning. Gl'bgolyb reappears as Meenah's own manifestation: alienated from her own lusus after spending centuries literally running away from it, and traumatised by repeated miscarried attempts at reviving her race, she sees her own reproductive organs as nothing more than a hideous, baby-killing monster. It's no coincidence that when we see our single glimpse of the enigmatic emissary to the horrorterrors on Earth, it's with its tendrils wrapped around the throat of a symbolic depiction of the Genesis Frog (see above image) - the baby that grows in the womb of Skaia.

Breaking the cycle

By Act 6, the matriorb has already long been associated with failed and aborted pregnancies, having been rescued from the first mother it killed and taken into the care of Kanaya, who is then blasted through the abdomen just as it's destroyed, symbolically miscarrying through physical trauma. So when Roxy is tasked with finally bringing a dead baby back to life, it's a coalescence of multiple disparate threads.

(p. 6463)

Meenah unwittingly - or perhaps uncaringly - perpetuates a patriarchal cycle which has been repeating for eternity by selecting a younger, more fertile doppelganger to take over the role of mother, and locks Roxy in a dungeon with the intention of making her have the baby in her place. But, cycles being cycles and doppelgangers being doppelgangers, the same problem arises. Roxy can only create mutants.

When Roxy does ultimately overcome this, ending the comic with the culmination of this long, meandering motherhood arc, superficially it's because of time spent blitzing her Void chakras in the space outside of reality, and with the help of Calliope as a Muse. But in the time Roxy spends in the white nothingness, she's crucially able to take steps to end her own obsession with reviving the past - not just by burying a version of her own mother, who she spent so much time hoping to resurrect in sprite form, but also in sharing a tearful reunion with the literal ghost of her dead CAT. As with so much of Homestuck, the key to ending the suffering is breaking the self-perpetuating cycle that causes it; made literal, in this case, by Roxy's slaying of her dark mirror image using a sword known for splitting vinyl records - symbolically, for breaking the ever-turning circle of time. And in passing the matriorb off to Kanaya rather than letting Meenah have control of it, Roxy never actually brings this baby to term herself, either - at the end of the day, the minutiae of biology aren't really what motherhood is about:

ROXY: the way i see it is you shouldnt have needed to worry about makin the thing ROXY: i think it will be challenging enough like... ROXY: hatching it?? ROXY: and tending to all the stuff that comes next ROXY: isnt that basically being responsible for the preservation of an entire race of people?

Physically overcoming her demonic doppelganger isn't the end-all of Roxy's struggle with gendered expectation, either. Roxy's complicated relationship with their sex and their motherhood, introduced to us only indirectly through the relationship between Meenah and Gl'bgolyb, becomes central to their understanding and exploration of their own gender identity as they grow into adulthood. Anxieties about the inherent femininity of a childbearing body - the glorified slavery that is seemingly inherent to the cosmically-assigned role of the mother - give way to an understanding of the human body as "something altogether different [...] A flesh machine" with "a specific, practical purpose."

But I digress

The threads running between Roxy and Meenah exist along the types of lines most Homestuck readers will already be familiar with in some form. When two characters share a class, or an aspect, we expect that traits from one character can be used to analyse and further our understanding of the other. Manifestation theory simply asks that we look for even more subtle and non-literal connections between characters than these - a process which Andrew Hussie themself has identified in authorial commentary as part of what they call "persona alchemy". (Book 4, p. 151)

Roxy and Meenah's particular relationship, though, should also be thought of in terms of another phenomenon which is central to Homestuck's structure - escalation. Homestuck constantly reorders and transmutes the alchemical elements that compose one character into 'new' characters, but it also consistently stretches these fundamental concepts to their logical extremes. Just as a game that destroys planets works its way up to the destruction of universes, John striving to leave his house in Act 1 should be taken as the logical precursor to our heroes leaving reality itself in Act 7. The forces keeping these children in their houses - essentially the story's first ever antagonists - are their parents, and as we scale this story up to a cosmic level, we find that the cosmos is dictated by the same suburban family structures; by celestial GRANDPAs and MOMs, raising/grooming/training/neglecting entire worlds or even galactic empires at once.

By allowing us to meet not only the teen MOMs and BROs and NANNAs, but also the teen Lord Englishes and the teen Condesces, the scratch takes us in the opposite direction, reducing these faceless, larger-than-life figures into their smallest, weakest, most fundamentally human forms. And in some cases, as in Roxy's, this creates the opportunity for the child-form to confront and overcome the very darkest of their potential; by being the one to put Meenah down, Roxy not only liberates herself from her own expectations for what a mother has to be and do, but shatters the very cosmic image of MOM itself, breaking the mold that reality had set in stone for her entire sex - her entire caste.

[456x001]

okay huge essay incoming:

and this is based off a post i saw earlier by my awesome mutual @midnight--sadness (her blog is awesome btw) where she talked about gi hun’s ability to forgive in ho. so i’ll start off by prefacing some of the great points she made about gi hun’s trusting nature and his selfless ability to forgive others:

we’ve seen time and time again how trusting gi hun is even if it’s to a fault. it’s simply in his nature to trust and love and to care about other people in the selfless way he does. given that, i think he could forgive in ho. if he sees in ho actually working to make a change and make things right for the betterment of others that have been wronged by the games (and whether or not in ho will or actually even wants to is what we’ll be getting into later), i believe he can forgive him. despite all the horrible things he’s done, despite the unforgivable, irredeemable mistakes he’s made. he’s more than justified in not forgiving him but i’m just saying he might because if anyone could it’s gi hun. he’s made the point time and time again that he isn’t like the masked men and would never become hateful in the ways they are.

now let’s talk a bit about gi hun’s relationship with young-il. gi hun's worry for young-il during the games is so raw and heartfelt. he’s not just strategizing or playing to survive-he genuinely cares about young-il's well-being, even in a scenario where survival often demands selfishness. his willingness to risk everything to make sure young-il was okay shows how deeply gi hun values connection and loyalty. in ho, as the frontman, watches all of this unfold. seeing how much gi-hun cared for his alter ego “young-il" must have left a mark, even if in ho wouldn't openly admit it.

when the truth comes out that young-il and the frontman are the same person it's going to hit gi hun like a ton of bricks. gi hun will have to reconcile the caring, vulnerable young-il with the cold, calculating frontman. it will once again challenge everything he believes about people and their capacity for change. in ho, for all his control and detachment, won't be immune to this confrontation either. gi hun's unwavering belief in him as young-il could be the thing that cracks his carefully built armor.

this dynamic is so layered with unspoken emotions, unacknowledged bonds, and so much potential for heartbreak and redemption. it’s no wonder they gave us at the edge of our seats. now here’s the crux of the discussion. do we think gi hun’s belief in young-il's goodness, his inherent belief in the goodness of people could be enough to pull in ho back toward redemption?

we don’t know the answer to that yet, but i will say this. we’ve seen the final defying act of the villain sacrificing his life at the end for the greater good many times before. however, redemption doesn't always have to end in self-sacrifice. it could mean in ho finding a way to dismantle the system from the inside or choosing to protect gi hun and others while carving out a new path for himself. gi hun's belief in young-il could serve as a bridge for in ho to reconnect with the part of himself that still values humanity, without needing to face total destruction.

in a show like squid game tragedy feels inevitable but in ho's complexity gives him the potential to break free from that cycle of the self-sacrificial villain. if the writers explore his humanity further, there's room for a story where redemption and survival coexist— where he doesn't have to lose his life to find the good within himself.

it’s okay to hope. even in a world as bleak as squid game. personally, to me that feels a lot more compelling than the trope of self sacrifice that we’ve seen in the past. it gives in ho a chance to truly live with his choices, grow from them, and navigate the complexities of redemption, rather than taking the "easy" way out of a grand gesture. it’s a more challenging story to tell for sure but it would also feel satisfying.

i know it may seem like i’m trying to paint a fairy tale but here’s why i think it could work.

squid game thrives on subverting expectations. taking in ho down a path where he survives, changes, and potentially becomes an ally or disruptor within the system could be far more groundbreaking than another shock-value death. it could challenge the audience to grapple with forgiveness and morality in ways that are more impactful than a tragic ending. gi hun's unwavering hope in humanity could become the key to helping in ho see his own worth and capacity for change. in ho is such a layered character, and his survival would be more shocking in a show as grim as squid game. it would challenge the bleakness and give the story a deep emotional payoff. the shock value of how he survives and redeems himself could carry as much weight as a tragic death.

i really value the complexity and emotional depth in this show gives us in within the narrative and i can’t wait to see how hwang dong-hyuk continues to challenge the bounds of storytelling and reach beyond the obvious in season 3 as he’s done with these past two seasons.

[shmisky]

What do you think was Stan's fate in the Better World Timeline?

Ooh, very interesting question! Thanks for the ask and sorry in advance for the enormous answer you’re about to get, hahah ❤️

So, to begin answering that (I promise I will eventually!), I have to first point out that what always caught my attention in Ford’s Better World description in the journal is that not once he meets his parallel self. On that hangs my entire analysis.

Instead, he gives us a reason why they didn’t meet: parallel!Fiddleford explains that he had been leading a portal expedition to a certain dimension, but one of the security officers ran into his parallel self and as soon as they touched hands, the entire dimension started to warp and fizz with static. Fiddleford and his team barely escaped alive!

But that’s the thing: as soon as they touched hands, only! Not as soon as they saw each other, or as soon as they were in the same room together, or as soon as they talked to each other, like you sometimes see in fanfic! No, it very much required actual skin-to-skin contact. You would think that Professor Stanford Pines, celebrated star of the scientific community, founder of the International Institute of Oddology, and our Ford, 12 PhDs (or a few less PhDs at the time) would have enough sense and self-control to... just not try and touch each other? Or, for security reasons, stand at least a few meters away from each other? If they feared an accidental touch so much, they could have talked through a glass panel or some kind of physical divide. I do believe every Ford must be a deeply curious individual, and you’re telling me that parallel!Ford, known genius, wasn’t capable of creating a way to enable himself to interview his parallel selves safely? Wouldn’t you be very curious to meet your parallel self? I think it’s more likely than not that other versions of Ford would end up pushed through the portal, so our Ford might not even have been the first Ford to visit that dimension.

But instead Fiddleford goes so far as to detain our Ford and hold him captive without even attempting to explain things first! A bit overkill, no? You could say, “but Bunny, Fiddleford just didn’t want impulsive, reckless Ford to go and run to his parallel self upon seeing him for the first time!” But herein, my friend, lies the crux of the matter: even after Fiddleford explains things to our Ford, even after our Ford understands he couldn’t touch his parallel self... He still doesn’t meet or talk to parallel!Ford. Wasn’t he trusted enough/allowed to do so, even then?

My Doylist explanation (that considers what led the author to choose a certain path) to that is: the writers just didn’t want the two Fords to meet and wanted to leave it ambiguous. It’s really not that deep 😭

My favorite Watsonian explanation (in-universe headcanon) to that is: Fiddleford didn’t want them to meet 😏

Now, would Fiddleford ever lie to Ford? Yes. In fact, he already did, in our original timeline! Ford asked him to destroy the memory gun, Fiddleford apparently agreed. “He was crestfallen by my advice, but after some discussion he came to see the wisdom in it. He said that he didn’t want to risk forgetting his wife and son. I ordered him to destroy the gun, and he did.” (“Ordered”... Oh, Ford, never change...) Reality: Fiddleford hadn’t destroyed it at all, and in fact used it on Ford to erase his memories without Ford’s consent or knowledge.

So even though I don’t think this was, necessarily, either Alex’s or Rob Renzetti’s intentions, I like to think parallel!Fiddleford was bullshitting our Ford a bit. To which extent, I don’t know. The thing about the parallel selves touching and causing a dimension to end might very well be true (in fact, according to Alex’s Word of God, it is! he has said on Twitter that parallel selves really can’t meet in their home dimensions, but can meet in the in-between spaces!) BUT because of the reasons I explained above, it’s my headcanon that it wasn’t the main reason why Fiddleford didn’t want the two Fords meeting.

I just love, love the vibes of A Better World. I love how utterly smitten with that world our Ford is. He describes himself as “drawn” towards the Institute “like a moth to a flame,” and mentions his desire to “revel in [his] parallel self’s success.” He’s utterly smitten it with it despite never once meeting his parallel self. He imagines his parallel self as the happiest man on Earth despite never once meeting his parallel self. He leaves that dimension sighing wistfully despite never once meeting his parallel self. I love how parallel!Ford is just... shrouded in this very ambiguous mystery. It all sounds a little bit ominous to me. Is he happy? Is he satisfied? Does he like what he accomplished?

Our Ford, of course, imagines that he is. Our Ford doesn’t even wonder about parallel!Stan, because that’s who Stanford Pines is: self-centered as all hell, hahah. His brother doesn’t even cross his mind, since he’s too busy being dazzled by his apparent great success and the fulfillment of his dreams! I think he subconsciously assumed parallel!Stan must have been fine.

What do I think happened to parallel!Stan? Oh, well, he’s very much dead 🪦💐 And parallel!Ford, the man Ford believes to be so lucky, is actually miserable. Fiddleford was merely protecting our Ford from the truth.

If you want to get a bit darker, just look at this excerpt from the Not What He Seems script:

Meanwhile, in the Lost Legends comics, Ford is saying shit like this:

We stan an insensitive king who is utterly and blissfully oblivious to his brother’s dangerously low self-esteem and borderline suicidal thoughts ❤️

Before TBoB, I might have been reluctant to think something so dark could happen in GF, since it still is, after all, a cartoon for kids, and Stan’s a main character! But then TBoB went and revealed to us that Dipper and Mabel died horrible deaths in all the other timelines! 😭 And while I do take that with a grain of salt because it was revealed to us by Bill Cipher and Bill is not trustworthy but a professional liar, just the fact Alex acknowledged and played with the possibility of the two protagonists dying horribly is already pretty telling in and of itself...

I think that once parallel!Ford called Stan after a decade, unwittingly gave him hope, and then ripped it out from his hands... Yeah. We know how Ford is important to Stan. Reconciliation with Ford might very well have been what was pushing Stan forward. Stan can be very, very stubborn—working on a portal for 30 years—when Ford is involved. But having no Ford at all...

Parallel!Ford might have planned to call Stan back, but by then it was probably too late. So yeah. I like to imagine that parallel!Ford would be, ironically, so, so jealous of our Ford’s happy ending with Stan.

Actually, as I type this, the funniest idea occurred to me. The real reason Fiddleford didn’t allow the two Fords to meet is that parallel!Ford, upon listening our Ford praise his accomplishments and shit-talk Stan (“I can’t believe Stanley listen to you! He’s so stubborn, so selfish, he never listens!”) would disregard all reason, all training, and all self-control just for the precious chance to punch himself in the face. Dimension ending catastrophe? A minor detail.

[theflyindutchwoman]

Why do you think Tim kept his breakup with Ashely a “secret” from Lucy? Like why didn’t he want to tell her?

My guess is that, at first, he probably didn't want to talk about it. At all. Tim is already not the type of person to easily open up on the best of days, and this wasn't a good day. So I can see why he would not want to have this conversation, especially while he was at the hospital. There was no way to escape which put him in an extremely vulnerable position. Besides, he most likely needed time to process the break-up too. He was just waking up from a major surgery, still feeling the effects of the anesthesia, when Ashley decided to call it quits, and Lucy showed up a few hours later. It was too fresh. He needed some time for himself, to lick his wounds so to speak. On top of that, he was also having a moment with Lucy : it was the closest they got to normal since Vegas. I can understand the instinct to stay on safer topics and the desire to linger in that moment. Talking about the break-up could have made things awkward again, forced them to acknowledge the elephant in the room and honestly, I doubt he was ready for that.

As for later, once he was back at work… Well, the fact that they were at the station couldn't have helped… it's hardly the most private place. It's one thing to talk about personal matters in the shop : there's still a sense of privacy - despite the cameras. But at the station : decidedly not. Which brings us to the other issue : the first time he saw Lucy at work, she was laughing with Chris. Judging from the way he greeted them, it's clear that he shut down. This encounter just brought back so many things to the surface that he didn't want to deal with. Hence the extra grumpiness. There was a moment later in the episode, when he confronted Lucy in the bullpen : it looked like she was getting through to him. But he chickened out. And we come to the crux of the matter. Telling Lucy meant coming to terms with his feelings for her. He could no longer hide behind his "I'm with Ashley so I can't have feelings for Lucy" any longer. He was pining and was trying to hold on to his denial as long as possible. And there might have been a bit of fear in the mix. Because what if he tells her and that changes everything? Or what if he tells her and it doesn't change anything?

It is extremely telling that in the end, he did fess up, but only once Lucy admitted feeling like she had overstepped his boundaries. The scavenger hunt was her way of trying to reach out and cheer him up, despite not knowing why he was upset, and I think that a part of him actually enjoyed this little game between them. As the senior officer, he could have just ordered her to give him back his radio otherwise. But the second she became unsure, he told her about the break-up and promptly reassured her that she didn't overstep anything, that he was touched by her attention - and intention… And that's the irony : all this time, he didn't want to talk about it, only for him to practically treat it as an afterthought. In that moment, he was more focused on making sure Lucy knew how much he appreciated her gesture. I'll always be curious as to what he was going to say before Chris' interruption by the way. But in any case, his defeated posture when he saw Lucy leave with her boyfriend makes me believe that this was precisely why he was keeping it a secret.

And lastly, in terms of storytelling, it was a way to showcase how Tim and Lucy's dynamic was still a bit off-balance. They were tiptoeing around the other, and while they had made headway at the hospital, things were still awkward between them. At least, that's how I interpreted it :)

[ineffable-dads]

Don't Wait Up

Ineffable Husbands, Ineffable Dads, Light Angst, Mentions of Bullying, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Crowley, Child!OC

Ineffable Dads Masterlist

A/N: Hey! I'm not dead. With all the hype around season 2, I remembered this was still kicking around my files and decided to finally finish it. I have NOT had a chance to watch season 2 so if this isn't in keeping with new information, I apologize. Please no spoilers in the meantime. Once I get a chance to watch it, I'll likely have plenty of thoughts to share. Thanks!

Also, PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS. I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!

Summary: Aziraphale finds himself waiting for Isabelle to come home from her first date. Unfortunately, humans can be rather unpredictable creatures.

Word Count: 1.9K

Aziraphale wasn’t waiting up. He had no reason to. Isabelle had been very clear on that score. 

She was going to meet a boy from school at the cinema. She had told Aziraphale what time it started and when she’d likely be back. He had nothing to worry about and therefor had no reason to wait up.  The fact he had decided to catch up on some reading while taking a seat closest to the front door was a mere coincidence.

His eyes scanned over the pages, but halfway down the second, realized he hadn’t truly read any of it. With a slight huff, he set the book down and leaned back in the chair.

He really shouldn’t worry. Crowley certainly wasn’t as he made himself comfortable watching telly in the other room. Still, the whole thing nagged at him.

It wasn’t as if he were keeping vigil over Isabelle’s virtue or whatever it was fathers were so paranoid about to the point of threatening young suitors with violence. What Isabelle decided to do or not to do was entirely her decision. She was a smart girl after all and had been taught from a young age not to be afraid of the word no. All the same, he knew he’d feel much better once he saw her come through the door safe and sound. Isabelle might be good at saying no, but it didn’t mean other people listened.

That was the real crux of the issue, he supposed. Other humans. There was no telling what they would do.

With a slight effort, he got up from the chair, adjusting his waistcoat as he did so.  No point in pretending to read.  She’d be another hour at least. Might as well make some tea and think of something else to do. Maybe he’d even give that show a try Crowley seemed so addicted to.

Just as that rather shuddering thought ran through his mind, the front door clicked open. Relief immediately spread through him as he turned towards the entrance.

“Ah, Belle you’re back. How was your evening?”

She ignored him, keeping her head down as she quickened her pace toward stairs.  The smile which had appeared on the angel’s face quickly disappeared.

“Dear, are you alright?”

Isabelle didn’t answer. She only let out a shuttered breath of one trying hold back tears and failing.  She just ran the rest of the way up as fast as she could before slamming the door to her room shut.

Aziraphale blinked, finding himself standing rather uselessly at the bottom of the stairs. Of course, she wasn’t alright. Something had to have gone wrong if she came back this early. Different scenarios flashed across his mind, most of them ending with Isabelle giving a boy a well-deserved slap, but none of them provided him any useful insight.

“Was that Izz?” Crowley said, poking his head out from his study, undoubtedly clued in by the proceeding bang. “Something wrong?”

“Um yes,” Aziraphale said distractedly.  “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

Before Crowley could get another word in, the angel walked up the stairs, and stopped just in front of Isabelle’s door.

“Belle?” he called gently. “Dearest, what’s wrong?”

He received no answer, aside from the muffled cries.

“Isabelle please open the door. I promise you’ll feel much better if you let me in.”

“Go away,” her voice came tiredly.

“Alright, you don’t have to open the door,” he conceded. “Just talk.  What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said, more forcefully this time. “Just leave me alone.”

He gave small sigh, halfway between exasperated and concerned.

“Belle what have I told you about lying?”

“You do it all the time.”

He pulled back, his brows furrowing. “Now that is a bit of an exaggeration.”

“You let people think you’re human, that’s lying.”

“That’s different, if I went around saying--,” he stopped himself, directing a tight-lipped expression straight into the door frame.  “Now that is completely off the subject.”

There was a pause. Aziraphale could practically hear her annoyed look at being caught.

He took a deep breath. “Dear,” he said as his voice slipped back to its parental tone, “please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Isabelle snapped. “Can’t I just not want to talk about something? Leave me alone!”

Aziraphale jerked back from the door, startled by her outburst.  He opened his mouth to retaliate, but quickly realized it would do no good.  For whatever reason, she wasn’t going to talk to him. 

A slight pain came to his chest at the thought.

There had been times Isabelle kept things to herself, but not for long and never anything serious. She knew she could tell him and Crowley anything. Yes, he had read enough books to know finding independence was part of the growing pains of adolescent, but he hadn’t thought it meant she would willingly shut him out.  He felt rather stuck about the whole thing and slowly made his way back downstairs, chewing his bottom lip the whole way.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts, he was a little surprised to find Crowley waiting for him, arms crossed, and stone faced.

“What happened,” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, sadly.  “She came in crying and went straight to her room.”

The demon’s brows creased. “She was crying?”

“Yes, she tried her best to hide it, poor dear.  I don’t know what happened, but it must have been something very bad.”

Crowley nodded.  “Right, best let me take the lead.”

“What are you going to do?” Aziraphale asked.

“Tough love.”

He then turned his attention up the stairs.

“Izz! I’m coming up!”

It was her only warning as he stormed the steps with a determination which normally left Aziraphale flustered.  And he was, rather, having followed him halfway up the stairs before he knew what his legs were doing.

“What part of ‘leave me alone’ do you not understand?” she shouted back as Crowley reached the landing.

“All of it,” he said. “Now let me in.”

“No!”

“Izz, I have respected your privacy by asking, but using my authority as your father I’m coming in anyway.”

He snapped his fingers and there was no longer a door.

Isabelle sat up on her bed, her eyes flashing with tears and anger.

“That’s not fair!” she shouted.

“Lesson one for the evening, life isn’t fair,” he said sternly. “Lesson two, privacy is an illusion.  Now are you going to tell me why you’re crying?”

“It doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “I just need to cry, okay? Sometimes you just need to cry. It’s human.  It’s a very human thing to do.  Now can’t I just cry?!”

It was then Isabelle finally caught Aziraphale’s eye. The anger was still there, but it was obvious just how hurt she truly was. He hadn’t seen her eyes so red since she had broken her arm after attempting a rather precarious trick on the monkey bars. This was different though. He couldn’t miracle it away, for one. 

Isabelle instantly put her head down looking ashamed at having both of them see her like this.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, crossing the room toward her.  He took a seat on the bed and quickly wrapped her in a hug.  “There, there, it will be alright.”

Isabelle tried her best to look annoyed at his gesture, but her body language gave her away as she leaned into the embrace. In all honestly, it made him feel just a bit better too. At least he felt like he was doing something useful.

“Dearest, what’s wrong?” the angel tried again.

She let out another shuddering breath, shaking her head. “It’s stupid. It was a stupid joke.  I’m stupid to have fell for it. I’m sorry.”

“What joke was that?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Isabelle,” Crowley said.

That got both their attentions. 

Aziraphale looked up at him and saw an uncharacteristically soft look on his face as he looked Isabelle right in the eyes.

It wasn’t the first time he had given that look, but it was a rare enough thing, that Aziraphale always felt a little off balance at seeing it. There was something different about it, just a glimmer of that angel he used to be back before the world.

The girl in his arms seemed to feel the same thing as whatever fight she had left in her slipped away.

“It was all a joke,” she said quietly.  “Thomas asking me out.  It was all a joke.”

Both Aziraphale and Crowley remained silent allowing her to continue.

“He told me to meet him at the cinema, so I did.  After a while it looked like he was going to be late so I texted him and he told me he was sorry, that he got caught up with school stuff and he’d meet me there in a bit so we could get dinner.  So, I waited and about half an hour later he drove up with his friends and they just started laughing.”

She let in a sharp breath as she started to feel the familiar tightness in her throat.

“They just thought it was really funny.  I mean c’mon it’s hilarious, why on earth would the school freak think that anyone would be interested.”

The tears were flowing freely now.

“I mean how naive is that? It’s so stupid.  I’m so stupid.”

She tried to compose herself, but every attempt she made seemed to make it worse.

“I’m sorry. I should have seen it coming.  You taught me how to spot liars and I didn’t. I’m smarter than this.”

She broke down again no longer having it in her to form words.  Aziraphale pulled her in tighter and she let him.  He slowly rocked her back and forth rubbing her back soothingly.

“Shhh, it’s alright, you have nothing to apologize for.  That’s it.  Just let it all out.”

Crowley for his part said nothing as the last of Isabelle’s tears trickled down her cheeks.  His stance was much stiffer now with balled knuckles and hardened gaze.  Something was brewing deep inside his mind and, needless to say, it was decidedly unpleasant.

Isabelle eventually calmed down and Aziraphale let her go with the promise of coco and the fact it would be better in the morning.  She only half believed him, but accepted the idea of coco with as much enthusiasm as one could muster after having their feelings stamped on.

Both Aziraphale and Crowley left the room in mutual silence not speaking until they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Poor dear,” Aziraphale said.  “It’s going to take a while to recover from this.  She’s really taken what those boys said to heart.”

“Yes,” Crowley said, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but mental scars are forever, or something like that.  You got this angel?”

“Yes,” he said suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

“Got to take care of something.” The demon then grabbed his keys, coat, and sunglasses before heading out the door. “Don’t wait up.”

Aziraphale did not need to ask what it was that Crowley needed to take care of, or more accurately who. 

He also knew somewhere, deep down, he should intervene, but the crying girl upstairs gave him pause.  He didn’t know exactly what Crowley had in mind, and if he didn’t know, there was no real way he could reasonably stop him.  Aziraphale was satisfied with this circular logic and allowed himself to settle in for the night. There was no need to wait up, after all.

[esselbathfittings]

Small Kitchen? How to Maximize Space with the Right Kitchen Sink

There are kitchen sinks but are they saving you space? Your kitchen sink might be taking up more space than you realize and must not fit with small areas. In this article, we will discuss how handmade kitchen sinks and press kitchen sinks are making single-basin and double-basins more space-savvy.

Crafting Handmade Kitchen Sink

Handmade kitchen items are always involved with very chic designs. Think of German cars and their handmade engines. It makes them better and gives them an opportunity to be the best of the most. Similarly, a handmade kitchen sink is made to be specific, particularly with style and longevity.

Single Basin Handmade Sinks:

The types could be many but single handmade kitchen sinks are the needed asset for a small space. A smaller kitchen does not have enough space and needs something efficient that lasts longer. Therefore, this basin can be the crux for accommodation.

Advantages of Single Basin Handmade Sinks:

● It is for those who do not have a way for extra and free space and need to make the room free from such cabinets.

● Since the kitchen sink is handmade the whole thing can be customised and ready to take off with depth and designs. Even a small basin can do it with such a good design.

● Any kind of handmade kitchen sink is accustomed to building water if not maintained properly. Whereas, at Essel, the kitchen sinks are much more convenient and reduce the chance of water buildup in the corners.

Double Basin Handmade Sinks:

Now if the parts are small and yet not enough small, you can always look for a double basin handmade sink. Handmade kitchen sinks have always been the core of compact kitchens as they can be crafted to fit in a particular space.

Advantages of Double Basin Handmade Sinks:

● They are helpful with multitasking and it is known by everyone for a fact. You can always rinse veggies in one sink and keep the other one for washing dishes.

● It is not that far-fetched to understand that since it is a handmade double kitchen sink, it will be customized according to your needs and desires.

● As much as you customize them to your desired look, you realize that they can fit in with most types of styles and uniqueness.

Nothing so Functional as Press Kitchen Sink

The name itself suggests the matter with the press kitchen sink. In this process, the steel for the sink is pressed to be made stainless and therefore turns out to be durable and affordable. Now they can’t be as customized as the handmade sink but they do value great for shaving space in a compact area.

Single Basin Press Sinks:

A single basin press sink is a great space-saving option for small kitchens. These sinks typically feature a deep, spacious basin, perfect for large pots and dishes. Pressed sinks are often designed with clean, minimalist lines, which can make a small kitchen feel less cluttered.

The design plays a crucial part in stainless steel kitchen sink. This is because the space is sleek due to the designs which gives a clean and important area with them. The design is mostly clean and not too cluttered.

Advantages of Single Basin Press Sinks:

● When we say stainless kitchen sink we indirectly mean maximum counter space. With a single kitchen sink, you can have a counter space for food and dishes.

● They are pocket-friendly in most cases. A stainless steel kitchen sink can be accommodated in minimum space and can be made affordably.

● As said previously, stainless steel kitchen sinks or press sinks in general have sleek designs that impact the space making it more functional.

Double Basin Press Sinks:

In a similar manner, a double kitchen sink or press sink also has two separate areas for various chores.

Advantages of Double Basin Press Sinks: Tackling most tasks is easier with two hands by the side and therefore double kitchen sinks are helpful.

They are great with installation and maintenance and therefore easier to pull out in busy kitchens.

They have an integrated drainboard which makes them a functional design to take up the least space all over.

Conclusion

It is also important to understand that you choose the right kitchen sink from a great place. At Essel, we provide most of all bath fittings and the best quality kitchen sinks be it a handmade kitchen sink or a stainless steel kitchen sink.

Source Link

[biggerchallenge]

I was originally going to put this in the tags but I had so much to dwell on about this that I figure it might as well be a full-on response. As a preface, I'm not in game dev and this is mostly going off of secondhand knowledge and general observations.

txttletale is correct, Saints Row 2 has one of the most impressive character creators in gaming history, with a significant amount of options for your character's appearance, with an immense amount of versatility for not only faces, but fat, weight, muscle, and body proportions. Not only could you be fat, you could have amounts of fat that no character creator before or since has been willing to give a player. Gender was a slider, ranging from more masculine to more feminine shapes.

Why did they do this? There's two key reasons:

Having this would (in theory) allow them to have a baseline with which to design all NPCs, and hoo boy was there NPC variety in 2.

THQ was putting a LOT of time and money into a huge gamble in creating something that could compete and even surpass GTA in popularity.

What were the costs?

Time and money, as stated earlier

The wellbeing of developers. I haven't a single doubt in my mind Volition's dev team was being crunched to hell and back, especially since there was only 2 years between the release of 1 and 2.

The game has so much packed into it that it's kind of a Mario 64 or Generation 1 Pokemon situation where they were pushing both hardware and software to their limit. This can mean glitches, and a lot of them.

It's important to keep in mind that not only did the game have a robust character creator, but a deluge of main game and side game content, voice work, animations, cutscenes with incredibly impressive cinematography, as well as an incredibly unique map with a huge amount of variety, meaning a huge amount of unique assets.

And as for the crux of the question, which is "why not replicate this character creator", well those three big costs are probably the reasons why. And sadly, while Saints Row 2 was a success and the character creator remained a huge part of the series identity, all the way into the failed 2022 reboot, the sad truth is that the majority of people who play video games just end up going for a kind of generic white guy. Fairly recently this came up for Baldur's Gate 3, and while there are only 2-4 body types for each playable race, there's still room for fantastical things like having horns or scales or being an anthropomorphic dragon. While I'm certain that 16 years of technological progess (at least in terms of pure hardware and software) could allow for some truly impressive character creators, it simply isn't that high a priority compared to all the other parts of game development, for better and for worse.

how the fuck did character creators peak at saints row 2

[selenium77]

What are your thoughts on Chromedome and Brainstorm (their friendship is sooooo !!!!!!!!! to me like two assholes who’ve clung to each other for millions of years and yeah CD calls himself Bstorm’s only friend but he doesn’t seem to have a very extensive social network himself BUT IDK THO…)

yeah!! I think Brainstorm and Chromedome are actually very similar in that regard, there's just a bit more focus on Chromedome and his interactions with others throughout the comic which might give off the impression that he has "friends" when he does not - at least not close ones (see his interactions with Rodimus, Drift, etc; Skids stands out as one of the few people who makes attempts at reaching out to him, but he's very bad about recognizing when his friends need help [see Swerve] and so that doesn't really go anywhere) kind of just shows how important Brainstorm is to him and vice-versa.

another thing they both struggle with is living in the present - it's a bit more obvious with Brainstorm because that is literally the crux of his arc, and it might seem out of character for CD given that his thing is forgetting, but his lack of close relationships is also the result of kinda just watching as things happen rather than making an effort to hold on to people. it's kind of amazing that they've stuck around each other for so long given all of this and everything else, but it's also just because they both feel love so deeply, and they both care about each other so much!!! they've got each other's backs no matter what.

their relationship goes wayyy back to the New Institute, a very dark time in CD's life, where Brainstorm witnessed his friend's suffering firsthand - he can understand and empathize with it because it's similar to what he's felt before himself. this doesn't come to a head until the Overlord arc, which just shows the lengths Brainstorm is willing to go to for the people he loves. I'm not saying anything here that hasn't been said before regarding the Time Case and Chromedome, but the fact that Brainstorm so quickly chooses to jeopardize his own existence and modify his Big Project (one originally intended solely for his own satisfaction) after seeing his only friend fall into such a deep grief that he feels partially responsible for is just... aghhh. his friend is worth all of that and more. it just says a lot that it is Chromedome who caused that change in him. another thing - Brainstorm's not exactly on "friendly" terms with Rewind until after Elegant Chaos, but it's their strong relationships with Chromedome that kind of helps bridge that gap between them. it's so................... there's a lot going on there and the BS/CD/RW dynamic is kind of really fun to think about too, not necessarily in a ship sense but just in general.

but yeah outside of ALL OF THAT... yeah they're both assholes and their dynamic is so fun, they have a lot of great banter going on. there's also that other aspect of their relationship where they do care about each other but also do things that hurt each other - a good example of this is the way Chromedome doesn't even wait until Brainstorm is out of the room to pull his needles out in 16, or the way that it seems Brainstorm has never objected to Chromedome injecting despite presumably being aware of the consequences it has on him and his health. what are friends for ^_^

ship-wise though - it's fun to think about CD being Brainstorm's first kiss or something back at the New Institute. I don't think they could feasibly go anywhere further than that because of what they each have going on, especially during that time, but still. fun!

[daughterofyourdarklord]

if they’re so similar then tell us ten things that delphi and voldemort share in common

1.) It's his own eyes staring back up at him on Bellatrix's face. He pauses, having never thought he'd see the exact shade in such perfect clarity again. The familiarity of it shakes him so much that he hands the child immediately back to Bellatrix, a strong grip from a little hand finally releasing his finger. It takes him a long while to get used to it.

2.) He recognize's his own flawless eyebrows on her next. They are thinner than Bella's, and stretch a bit longer - they're also less expressive. They frame the child's eyes (his eyes) perfectly and unmistakably. When she looks at her mother (and when she looks at him, too) there is a glimmer of love sparkling in her eyes, and a wrinkle of affection in those brows. He wonders if he'd ever looked at anyone like that.

3.) She's a born Legilimens. He's not sure why it surprises him, Bellatrix's Legilimency skills are almost as well honed as her Occlumency, and the ability has always been second nature to him. It's interesting, watching a child attempt to navigate the doorway into other's minds. He doesn’t remember how he’d handled it.

4.) When she smiles, it's Tom Riddle's perfect smile. Nothing crooked about it, a row of perfect pearly teeth on full display. No one else really recognize's that it's his, aside from Bella, he supposes. Delphini’s smile reaches her eyes though.

5.) He understands that jealousy is a common emotion, especially among young children. But the look she gives baby Scorpius as he bounces in Draco's arms, the hatred simmering in those dark eyes, it's painfully familiar to him. She's seethes in silence, the same way he had. He wonders how long it will be until little baby Scorpius gets mysteriously hurt, enough so that he finally asks Bella about it months later. The babe is in perfect health, and a part of him is surprised to hear it.

6.) The first time she picks up her new yew wand it's in her left hand. She holds it the same way he does - slender fingers caressing above the handle, the crux of it balanced almost carelessly in her palm. It looks as though it would slip right past her fingers with one strong flick, but it doesn't. As if magic itself is commanding it to stay. He smiles.

7.) She works a room in a way that is impressive even to him, for one so young. The entirety of Wizarding Britain eating out of the palm of her hand in minutes. She knows just how to act her age, and more importantly when not too - it's an entirely different type of witchcraft. He watches her pensively, and is surprised when an emotion close to pride seems to slither through him. She has his charisma and her mother's face.. She'll be lethal one day.

8.) Her affinity for dark magic does not come as a surprise to him. He'd been expecting that since the moment he felt her kick within her mother's womb, and was forced to rationalize what a daughter of theirs might grow to be like. She's much older when the consequences of such dark spells are staring him in the face following an unusually invigorating training session. She looks up to him from her bowed position, a streak of scarlet shinning brightly in each of her irises. It fades quickly. Overtime, he begin to consistently notice a flash of crimson in her gaze following assignments and missions. It doesn't seem nearly as permanent as his own, but certainly seems unique to only them.

9.) They're all engaged in ferocious combat when out of the corner of his eyes he sees Bellatrix fall. She'd been surrounded by over ten former Order Members, and one curse managed to slip just below an outstretched arm. He turns at once, and doesn't even notice his daughter stepping with him in tandem. They both scream, the same raging shriek, before an identical stream of red erupts from each of their wands. They meet at Bella's side in the same second, not even moments later. It's not until after Bellatrix is well again that he realizes just how in sync their reactions were.

10.) They never really had to remind Delphini that she is above everyone else. From a young age she seems to know it, exuding a confidence well beyond any of her peers. He blames Bellatrix. That Black blood brews vanity. She seems peeved at his remark, and is quick to remind him just how humble he's always been - 'along with all the rest of the Gaunts'. He goes rigid, but eventually concedes.. Salazar wasn't exactly known for his modesty, after all..

[ddarker-dreams]

Division. Yan Scaramouche x Reader [Implied x Yan Childe]

Warnings: Kidnapping, unwanted physical contact and implied suggestive themes. Word count: 1.3k.

While your body might be sore, it’s your arms that feel the worst.

They’re hoisted above your head with a rope secured tight around your wrists, longing for an opportunity to rest. You’ve been standing in this awkward position for many miserable hours. No windows in this dreary cobblestone prison make it difficult to tell the time or to find anything interesting to look at. There’s still no clear indication as to why you’ve ended up in this nightmare, much less when it will end. The person you’re assuming to be in charge has been subjecting you to malicious verbal jabs for the entire duration of your confinement.

“Truth be told,” he circles you like a hawk, his tone deceitfully sweet as honey, stopping only to admire your immobilized form. “I wasn’t sure what the appeal to you was at first.” 

Scaramouche leans forward, soft strands of indigo hair brushing against your face as he closes the distance. He runs a finger over your exposed collarbone, mirth dancing in his eyes at the goosebumps following in its wake. “But now… I think I’m starting to get it.” 

Mustering up your strength and courage, you narrow your eyes, glaring daggers at your captor. He’s thrilled at the sight, unable to hold back his laughter. The finger tails up, to the crux of your neck, which he then wraps his hand around. Your pulse accelerates at the unwelcome sensation, an element he doesn’t miss.

“You’re… you’re Fatui, right?” You inquire, refusing to take this torment in silence. Curious, he nods his head, the pad of his thumb rubbing up and down your neck slowly. 

“If this is about the Northland bank loan, then you’re making a mistake. I’ve already cleared things up with your boss.” As soon as the words fell from your lips, you regret them. Scaramouche’s mischievous attitude dissipates, his eyes piercing through you and a scowl on his face. The tension in the room rises to new heights, thick and palpable. 

“‘My boss’, you say,” he repeats with an irate click of his tongue as if it were the highest insult. “Tartaglia is no such thing, I can assure you.” 

What can this be about then? Your final line of defense is crumbling, now aware that using Childe’s favor on you won’t be viable. It felt reprehensible to use it in the first place, but lowering yourself to such a level would’ve been inconsequential if it earned your freedom. Instead, it’s done the opposite, adding kindling to the flame. Never have you regretted anything in your life as much as your involvement with the Fatui bank. 

Scaramouche removes his hands from you, a minor victory. What you said must’ve struck a nerve. Swallowing thickly, your mind searches desperately for any plausible escape. While you deliberate a plan, he crosses his arms against his chest, mouth set in a straight line.

“Tell me. Do you enjoy his company?” Scaramouche asks with a tilt of his head.

Licking your dry lips, you consider the question. Denial is the obvious answer, but speaking ill of a Harbinger feels like a death wish. Though he did seem rather displeased by mentioning Childe. Just when you thought you were beginning to understand the situation, that self-assuredness has been stolen, leaving more questions in its wake.

Testing your luck, you reveal the truth with a strained rebuttal. “No, I don’t.” 

More laughter. He doubles over, clutching his stomach as if your serious confession is the funniest joke he’s heard his entire life. This unabashed cruelty is a far cry from Childe’s code of conduct. Childe prefers to openly flirt with you, acting coquettish, whispering dirty promises into your ear. Scaramouche’s methodology is entirely different. He revels in your discomfort, actively saying anything to gain a reaction, positive or negative. With a preference for the latter.

“Ah, what a shame he didn’t get to hear you say that,” Scaramouche wipes the corners of his dark eyes, laughter finally settling down. “I’d give anything to see what his reaction would’ve been.”

“Are you two… enemies, or something…?” 

“He certainly thinks so now. I’m interested to see what Tartaglia plans to do, due to the fact Harbingers are forbidden to fight one another,” he hums, wrapping his fingers around a strand of your hair and playing with it. “Just how far would he go? I’m not sure myself, but I can’t wait to see.” 

The word Harbingers rings in your head like a funeral toll. Does that mean Scaramouche is one as well? It would explain his lack of concern for Childe’s combat prowess if he has similar capabilities. When he first approached you, there was no doubting the power he possessed, even with a smaller stature. Why is it these terrible individuals are drawn to you like a moth to a flame? Why are the Archons subjecting you to such torment?

“Another question. Just how far has Tartaglia gone with--” 

“My lord!” A booming voice interrupts, capturing the attention of you both. A person dressed in what you’ve come to recognize as Fatui’s uniform appears, bowing before a less than pleased Scaramouche. 

“Lord Childe is demanding to speak with you,” The agent relays. “I know you said not to interrupt, but, this seems rather urgent.” 

Scaramouche sighs, releasing your hair with a frown. “That was faster than I anticipated.” 

So he was expecting this from the start. Is it relief that you feel? Your emotions are a mess, due to a lack of eating and bodily fatigue. While Childe is unpleasant company, Scaramouche is equally awful, even going so far as to restrain you. You curse yourself for almost preferring being subjected to Childe’s self-serving antics over this. At least Childe gives an illusion of freedom, even if you know it’s only that, an unobtainable reality. When he doesn’t make any movement to leave, the agent speaks up again. “My lord? What should I do?” 

“Did you tell him to leave?” “As you commanded to, yes. I’m afraid he... insisted.” 

“Of course the lovesick puppy did,” Scaramouche shakes his head. “No matter. I’ll deal with this myself. Head back and tell him to await my arrival.” 

The term ‘lovesick puppy’ brings questions anew, as you’re solid in the belief what Childe feels for you isn’t love. Voicing this sentiment won’t get you anywhere, so you resolve to hold your tongue, silently steaming in your indignation. 

The agent’s body stiffens and they clear their throat. “T-that’s the other issue, my lord. I’m afraid he’s… coming as we speak.” 

Scaramouche doesn’t seem visibly bothered by the revelation, treating it as a mild thorn in his side than an urgent dilemma. You’re left speechless by the unfolding events, looking past the kneeling agent expectantly. Would you finally be able to leave this awful prison? You’d be going into the hands of one madman to the other’s, but the option is sounding oddly appealing at the moment. 

Scaramouche returns his attention to you, appearing pleased with himself. “Be sure to tell him what you said to me earlier.” 

Shifting uncomfortably where you stand, you look to the side, preferring not to be subject to his scrutinizing gaze. Objecting to Childe has never ended well for you. Then there’s the problem of Scaramouche -- how would he react to blatant disobedience -- is it possible his response would be worse for you? While you consider these things, Scaramouche starts to work on loosening your bonds. 

He presses his lips against your ear and the ropes hit the ground.

“Or I might just say it myself. Your choice.” 

[randomrosewrites]

The aftermath of the tempest

Pairing: Kaedehara Kazuha x GN reader Summary: Many, many years after Kaedehara Kazuha fled from Inazuma, a lot of things have changed, but his past burdens remain. Or, Kazuha has settled into his new life in Liyue, but still desires his home across the ocean. Words: ~2.7K Tags: Fluff, established relationship, Kaz and reader have a kid, gn pronouns for reader, kaz gets emotional at some point, implied beigguang as well

a/n: What's this? Rose is actually writing??!!

Read it on ao3!

The young girl furrows her brows, front teeth catching her lip as she stares at the board. She's in deep concentration, barely paying any mind to the sweets or the apple cider (poured within a much too expensive cup) beside her.

Her opponent, on the other hand, is the opposite, holding a cup of tea within her palms, white steam drifting from the cup the same colour as her hair. A mystical smile on the woman’s face gives nothing away.

The young girl places a hand on a chip. Then hesitates, thinking a moment more before making a move.

The woman sets her cup down, ruby eyes scanning over the board before she lifts a jewelled hand, moving chips across the board in great succession.

"And with that, I believe I win," Ningguang says. "You did very well this time."

The young girl pouts, trying to hold back the tears in her eyes.

"Oh, don't tear up. It's alright," Ningguang produces a handkerchief and holds it out.

The girl takes it gratefully, hiding her face in the cloth. "Uh- huh."

Ningguang exhales. Children are so delicate, like the petals of glaze lilies. "How about you go to the other room? I'll clean up here."

The girl nods, and slides off her chair. "Can I take my juice?"

"Of course, you may. But remember to hold it carefully."

She nods.Holding the cup carefully with two hands, she slides open the silk screen and enters the next room.

Your head turns at the sound, looking up from your spot by the window: perched upon a lounge chair, feet up. You smile and gesture for the girl to sit beside you. She sets her cup down and crawls next to you, burying her face in your chest.

"How did your game go, Haruko?" You ask, combing her hair free of tangles.

Haruko shakes her head and a sniffle escapes her. "I lost."

You hum sympathetically, “I'm sorry. There's always next time. You and Lady Ningguang were playing for a really long time! Good job."

Harukao's grip loosens a smidge. "Thank you."

The screen door slides open again and Ningguang steps through. The material of her gold dress drags behind her as she walks, the movement smooth as water. She has a familiar treat nestled in the palm of her hands, a famous Liyue sweet candy.

You nudge Harkuo gently. She lifts her head, crimson eyes widening when she sees the candy. She scrambles out of your lap.

Seeing them side by side, Haruko looks more like Ningguang’s daughter than yours. Their eye colour and hair are almost identical. But Ningguang has high cheekbones and a sharp jaw, whereas Haruko has round, filled in cheeks, like her father.

"For you," Ningguang offers it to Haruko. "As thanks for an excellent game of checkers."

Haruko takes the candy with an excited beam on her face. "Thank you, Aunt Ningguang!"

“You are most welcome.”

With the candy, Haruko’s sadness about losing the match is all but forgotten. She rummages through one of the cabinets by the wall, pulling out a colouring book (A collection of cartoon-like Rex Lapis drawings in his dragon form) and the crayons that are specifically kept there.

Many years had passed since the first golden house went crashing into the ocean after the battle with the Ancient God Osial. But the loss only pushed Ningguang to rebuild the new one, bigger, more elegant, and efficient than the last.

Currently, it was parked atop Mount Tianheng, overlooking the harbour. It was fancy, the walls a rich cream and the floors polished dark brown. Some things had to be kid-proofed (especially when Haruko was younger and Beidou insisted on bringing her to visit.) But now, she’s old enough, and familiar enough with the building, that you’re not worried. Not even by the koi pond that circles the living room.

Ningguang plants herself across from you on the couch as Haruko begins to colour in Rex Lapis’ tail. “She’s growing bigger and bigger every day.”

You nod in agreement. “I swear, she’ll be taller than her father soon enough.”

Ningguang laughs. “Sooner or later.”

Haruko’s finished two drawings and is on the third when you look outside the window to the Port of Liyue harbour, glimmering with the midday sun. The familiar outline of the Alcor’s sail and ship dots the horizon. You stand up.

"Are you finished with your juice, Haruko? We're going to get ready soon."

She perks up. "Is dad here?"

You smile at her. "Yes. Almost. You want to be the first to greet him, don't you?"

She nods adamantly, hurrying to put away her things in their proper places.

"There are some ingredients in the kitchen if you'd like to prepare a lunch before you depart," Ningguang suggests.

“Thank you,” you say to her, before turning to your daughter. “What would you like to make?”

She thinks for a moment. “What do you think dad would like?”

“Hm. Anything that isn’t fish,” you make your way to the kitchen, Haruko following closely behind. “After a month at sea, I think he’s sick of fish.”

---

Lunch made and packaged, you and Haruko begin the long walk down to the Port. Steps of green plaustrite appear as you walk. They used to frighten Haruko terribly. Now, though, she loves the way they appear under her feet and disappear when she steps off.

“Watch your steps,” you remind her. Though you trust Ningguang’s architects, you want her to be careful.

“Uh-huh,” Haruko says, half-listening. She’s always distractible on these types of days.

Kazuha isn’t a frequent member onboard the Alcor anymore, but occasionally Beidou will plead with him to accompany her. She says his anemo vision makes cutting through enemies so much easier.

Kazuha will go on month-long voyages with the Crux, maybe two months if he feels like it, but refuses anything more. He doesn’t want to spend time away from you or your daughter.

By the time you arrive at the docks, you’re sweating and the Alcor is pulling into the harbour. Haruko hops up on a dock anchor, waving to the ship.

“Hi!”

A deafening honk sounds from the ship, making Haruko laugh. Then again. Then once more. Honk honk honk honk-

Jeez, Ningguang can probably hear the boat from Mount Tianheng.

Haruko stands back just enough so that the sailors can tie the boat off and lower the gangplank, then she’s rushing onboard the ship. A woman hops down from the wheel, holding out her arms as Haruko leaps into them.

“Auntie Beidou!”

“Hiya Haru!” Beidou grins, swinging your daughter around in a bear hug, long brown hair flying everywhere. “How have you been? Jeez, you’re getting tall!”

“Good! Aunt Ningguang said she misses you.”

Beidou’s grin widens. “Has she, now?”

“Beidou,” you greet sweetly. (Walking on board with much more restraint.) “It’s good to see you’re well.”

Her eye softens. Haruko slowly slides out of her arms. “The same to you. I thought you guys were coming to meet us tomorrow?”

Your house, the one you and Kazuha have, is right on the border between Mondstadt and Liyue. It’s far from the port but it’s quiet, nestled by the beaches of Yaoguang Shoal.

“Well, Ningguang offered us to stay last night, so we did. Haruko wanted to see her dad as soon as possible.”

“Ahh, I see. Well, good to see you again.” Beidou turns to Haruko, mischievous smile on her face. “Your dad’s gonna be thrilled, watch this.”

She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “Kaz!”

High up on the mast, a tuft of white hair pops out from the crow’s nest. You smile and give a wave. The tuft disappears, and quick as the wind, the man reappears, hastily scaling down the mast.

He jumps the rest of the way and rolls to his feet, brushing white hair from his eyes, and is promptly tackled by Haruko, nearly losing his balance.

“Daddy!” she squeals.

“Haruko,” Kazuha grins, hoisting her up to rest against his side. “It’s been so long. How are you?”

“Good, dad. How was your trip? What did you do? Did you see any scary monsters?”

“Scary monsters, hm, I may have encountered a few.”

“You gotta tell me over lunch – can we eat it in the bird's nest? We made lunch for you!”

“Crow’s nest,” Kazuha corrects gently. “And really? Wow. Did you help make it?”

“Uh-huh! But I’m not telling you what it is; it’s a surprise! You’ll have to open it like a present.”

“That sounds lovely, Haruko. Thank you.”

You walk up to them and press a kiss to Kazuha’s cheek. “Hi, Kaz.”

“Hello, love,” Kazuha purrs, leaning into your touch. “You look stunning.”

Beidou guaffs, Haruko’s nose wrinkles. “Ew.”

(She used to scream at Kazuha to stop whenever he’d recite sappy love poems to you, covering his mouth with both hands so he’d stop talking. It always made you laugh.)

You pull away from Kazuha and save your daughter and Beidou from your ‘gross’ affections. “The journey to Inazuma ok?”

His eyes briefly harden. He smiles tightly. “It was alright.”

There’s a hidden we’ll talk about this later in his voice, unnoticed by Haruko. She wriggles and Kazuha sets her down.

“Can we climb the mast now?”

Kazuha takes her hand, “Ask the captain.”

“Auntie – Captian Beidou, can we climb the mast please?”

Beidou ruffles her head. “Of course you can, kid. Keep an eye out for me on there, yeah?” Then to Kazuha. “I gotta run some errands on land. If I’m not back by the time you’re gone, thanks for everything.”

Kazuha raises a brow. “Might those ‘errands’ have anything to do with that golden brocade you bought?”

Beidou just waves and grins, trotting off the gangplank and jogging towards the Jade Chamber.

---

The crow’s nest is really only meant for one person standing up, much less three adults and one child, but you make it work. Haruko is obviously given the best seat, you’re squashed beside her, and Kazuha balances on the edge of the nest, legs dangling over the air.

“Why can’t I do that?” Haruko asks as you unpack lunch.

“Because it’s dangerous. Your dad’s very experienced and can catch himself if he falls.”

You’ve seen it happen many times before. Kazuha losing his footing or grip, that split second when he fell and your heart stopped. Then the gust of air that followed, propelling himself back up to safety.

“Once you’re bigger, you can do this,” Kazuha says.

Haruko huffs. “You always say that…”

He chuckles and pats her head. “We just want you safe, is all.”

You pass out bowls and chopsticks around. Kazuha helps affix a chopstick holder to Haruko’s (she’s getting better, but it’s still a challenge to her.) Haruko insists Kazuha close his eyes as you pour out lunch.

“Ok, you can open them!” she says once things are all set.

Kazuha opens his eyes. A steaming bowl of Jueyun Guoba rests in his hands. Juicy cuts of ham, crisp Jueyun chilis, and the rich aroma enough to make your mouth water.

“Ta-dah! What do you think?”

“Oh, Haruko, it looks divine. You made this?”

“Yep! Hurry and taste it!”

Kazuha takes a bite, closing his eyes. “Delicious. So tasty. Captain Beidou should hire you as a chef, or better yet, wanmin restaurant should hire you.”

Haruko grins ear to ear, “Hehe, thank you.”

As you all eat, Kazuha tells you all about the adventures from his trips. How he saw the most beautiful of flowers, or how he fought a translucent glowing eel, Captian Beidou cooked it up and ate it, how she was sick for three straight days afterwards.

Haruko listens to him intently, staring at Kazuha with such a light in her eyes that makes your stomach flutter with pride.

You snuggle closer to Haruko, wrapping an arm around her. The three of you like actual crows, tucked high away, safe from the clutches of the outside world.

---

Haruko wears Kazuha out that day.

She seems to want to do everything Kazuha missed for the past month in a single day. You told her she needn’t rush – Kazuha wasn’t going away any time soon - but that didn’t deter her in the slightest.

You soak your feet in the icy ocean and search for seashells in the sand. You catch crystal flies in the old ruins, delighting in the way Haruko’s face lights up when the yellow wings fade, leaving just the core. You scale one of the many stone cliffs just to enjoy the view as Kazuha plays a tune from a passing leaf.

On your way home, you get some mora meat from a vendor and share the remaining candies from Ningguang as the sun dips below the horizon. When Haruko’s eyes begin to droop, Kazuha carries her on his back the rest of the way home.

Kazuha brushes the hair from her face, kissing her forehead delicately. “Good night, my starlight. May your dreams be as sweet as shooting stars.”

“Poetic,” you murmur, barely containing a laugh.

Kazuha’s eyes gleam as the two of you tuck the covers tight around Haruko, kiss her once more for good measure, then gently close the door on her bedroom.

Finally, alone, Kazuha wastes no time in wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head against your shoulder and sighing.

“Tired, pretty boy?” you ask, a lilt of mirth in your voice.

Kazuha hums in agreement, releasing you to intertwine your fingers. He gazes at you, eyes-half lidded, and presses a smattering of kisses to your hand.

“Shall we go on a walk?”

You glance at Haruko’s bedroom.

“Don’t worry,” Kazuha reassures you. “The wind will watch over her.”

You’re tired, but you’ve also missed Kazuha enough to fight off your slumber. You both wrap up, then make the walk down to the sandy pools of Yougung. The full moon is high in the sky, the breeze cool against your skin.

“Things are still bad over in Inazuma,” Kazuha begins, softly. The wind almost carries his voice away. “It’s gotten better. The vision hunt decree is struck down. Some visions have been returned to the people, but things are still very tense over there…It’s not a place where I want to bring our daughter…”

You squeeze his fingers tightly. It’s felt like ages since you first met Kazuha, when he was just a spry young man onboard the crux. His hair was shorter, he still wore bandages over his arm to hide his injuries from escaping Inazuma.

Now, he lets his hair loose. He wears more Liyue-style clothing. His right hand – the one in your grasp, has healed. Though the physical pain has left, the scars remain.

“I miss my homeland,” Kazuha croaks. “I love what I have with you – I love our home. But a part of me feels forever trapped in Inazuma. Longing for it. I-” He shakes his head, speckles of crystal tears forming in his eyes. Your heart aches at the sight.

“It’s alright, Kazuha,” you wrap your arms around him, rubbing his back. “I can’t begin to understand what that feels like…but I can be here to help you.”

“I just fear-“ he chokes, gripping your shirt. “I fear I’ll never be able to see it again. I’ll never get to bring Haruko to see the cherry blossoms that bloom in spring, or let her feed the cats that roam the islands like wanderers.”

Though you want to, though every part of you wants to assure him he’ll see it, you can’t promise him that. He knows it as well.

You comb your fingers through his hair as his tears stain your shirt. “If that’s the case - If things never get better in our lifetime - then we will make the most of it. Nothing lasts forever. Inazuma will one day change.”

You pull his head from your shoulder to meet his eyes. They’re red and puffy. You rub your thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away tear tracks.

“But no matter what, we’ll see it through together.”

Kazuha covers your hand with his, leaning into your touch. “Thank you, love. I am forever grateful that I get to spend my life with you.”

You rest your forehead against his, pressing forward just enough so your lips touch.

“Forever,” you murmur. “And then beyond where the wind lies.”

[whumperooni]

Belonging

Pairing: Enji Todoroki x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 3k

Tags/Warnings: incest, possessive behavior, exhibitionism, mentions of being roughly handled by your big bros while daddy was away u.u

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is written in response to a big brained, beautiful minded nonny <3 I was going to put it in the answer to the ask but I’m gonna chuck this in ao3 too so I’m making it a separate post.

THANK YOU nonny for this /chef’s kiss of an ask and please feel free to slide into my inbox again because this is primo content right here.

I hope you enjoy your crumbs <3

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

How long has Enji been away from home? Two days? Three days? Four? Certainly not away long enough for you to be in this condition.

Enji frowns despite the sweet kisses you’re peppering all over his face and grabs onto your waist, lifts you up and holds you back so he can look you over. You’re a mess- bruises on your wrists and hickeys mottling your neck so much he can’t see a speck of your natural color. You look tired, worn out and Enji can tell that you’re exhausted, that things have been busy since he’s been away for his team up. He’s not happy about the vivid bruises on your thighs or the fading carpet burn on your knees. He is really not happy about the bandage on your forearm. Enji’s frown deepens and you grow nervous before him- smile twitching anxiously and hands clenching at the fabric of one of Touya’s shirts that you’ve been made to wear. When he puts you down and reaches to grab your arm, you flinch- barely noticeable, so tiny in your movement; something that anyone who wasn’t him would miss. Enji’s eyes narrow, big hand circling over your wrist and he tries to soften his expression when he feels you tense up underneath him. Whatever has happened while he’s been away is not your fault- he knows this. He is furious that you’re so skittish from it, though. Again, not your fault- his sons are sure to blame. “...what happened?” You tense up even more- eyes darting anxiously around the room and smile wavering and fading from your face. He thinks that you might pull away from him whenever he runs his thumb over the bruises on your wrists, but you remain as good and obedient as ever and simply twitch in place where you are standing. “N-Nothing, daddy,” you mumble, lips trying and failing to smile once more. Enji frowns at you and you squirm under your father’s stern gaze- anxiety whipping through you and upset starting to creep all over your face. “It was just...they didn’t mean…” Oh, yes, they did mean. Enji scowls and he sets his irritation toward the bandage on your arm, has to clench his free hand into a fist so he doesn’t hold onto you too tightly. “What is this from?” he demands. “Give me the truth, little one.” Your bottom lip quivers and he can tell that you are torn. You are such a sweet daughter, a sweet sister- you cannot bring yourself to lie to the father that you love so much but you also do not want to get the brothers that you hold dear in trouble either. You are a good girl- you should not be in this position right now. Enji breathes in deep and he lets it out slow, tries to keep a leash on his temper. You are the only thing he truly loves in this world- his little one, his youngest, his perfect little girl. He doesn’t want to see you cry over something your brothers have done. Enji huffs and he pulls you closer to him, picks you up. Your legs wrap around his waist on reflex- arms looping around his neck and face burying into his chest as he positions you. There’s a quiet whimper from you whenever he cups your bottom and Enji feels his anger grow even darker when he feels you sniffle against him. “Are you sore there?” he asks, gruff as he totes you off to his bedroom. You don’t answer him for a  moment and even then you can only give him a tiny nod in response- arms clinging tighter to him. Enji lets out a tch and he’s careful as he sits down on the bed, as he sits you in his lap. Your upset is more than clear on your face now- bottom lip wobbling and eyes glistening with unshed tears. Enji frowns as your head lowers and he rubs your back with one big hand, touches your cheek with the other. “Did they spank you?” he asks. Your squirm in his lap- eyes averted and fingers curling into his shirt. Enji waits, patient, until finally your lips tremble and you give a tiny nod. “Touya-nii...he wasn’t...he wasn’t happy that I slept in Natsuo-nii’s bed,” you whisper. “They’ve been…” You trail off, nerves and upset skittering over your expression, and Enji grunts his annoyance as he eyes the bruises littered all over your body. “They’ve been fighting over you. Again.” A wince passes over you and you hang your head as if you are ashamed. There is a sniffle and that is all it takes to further cement Enji’s decision that his sons need a reminder of their place. “I- I’m sorry, daddy,” you whisper- eyes wet, lashes wet, voice trembling. “I- I tried to be good so they wouldn’t fight, but- but Touya-nii told Natsuo-nii that I- that I belong to him and it made Natsuo-nii mad and then- then Natsuo-nii was sad after and I tried to cheer him up and then that made Touya-nii mad and then- then they started fighting and then they kept dragging me to their rooms and I couldn’t- I couldn’t make them happy and I’m sorry, daddy! I didn’t mean to make them fight!” Your voice pitches with a whine of a sob and Enji grits his teeth, wraps his arms around tight so he doesn’t let his temper explode. “It’s not your fault, little one,” he tells you- gruff, stern, but soft for him. You sniffle against him, tears wetting the fabric of his shirt, and Enji rubs your back, places a kiss to your hair. “Tell me how your arm got hurt.” You sniffle, again, and it is pathetic, weak. It grinds at Enji’s fury more, but he closes his eyes as you press against him and seek comfort. “I- I fell,” you mumble to him, voice wobbling. “N-Natsuo-nii was holding my hand and- and Touya-nii didn’t like it so he...he grabbed my other one and he yanked me away, but I- I lost my balance and I fell...I hit it against the table and it...cut me…” Your voice gets smaller and more quiet with each word- reluctance to get your brother’s in trouble making it so hard to admit what happened to your father. Enji’s control snaps as he listens and his fire flares from him- something he is quick to put out whenever he hears your panic sounding against his chest. Enji breathes in deep and he buries his face into his daughter’s hair, holds you just a little too tight in his arms. “...okay, little one,” he says once his temper calms down enough that he can talk without growling every word out. “Did anything else happen?” You shake your head against him and it’s a bit too swift of a denial for his taste. He senses that there is more- knows that there must be- but he does not push; he does not want his little one to collapse further into upset. Enji takes another deep breath and lets you go, cups your cheek to smooth away one stray tear. “You’re a mess,” he tells you. “Come- take a shower with me and then we will relax.” You nod- one small, upset sniffle leaving you- and Enji presses his lips to your forehead before gathering you up in his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. He strips you down and reduces Touya’s shirt to ash- letting it fall into the waistbasket with a scowl. You do not comment on it, but you hug yourself tight- eyes wide and worried and body littered with bruises. They have been especially rough with you this time and Enji is not pleased. He is careful with you as he washes you- big hands moving as gently as he can manage but still firm as he washes your tangled hair, scrubs down your tired body. You relax as he takes care of you, melt under his warm fingers and let out soft, sweet noises as your father eases the anxious tension that has wound your body up so tight. He kisses you when you tilt your head back to look at him- your eyes half-shut and sleepy, a serene look on your face as he runs his hands over your breasts. It is a chaste kiss- loving and brief- and Enji feels a certain satisfaction whenever you sigh after, lean against his broad chest. “Daddy takes good care of me,” you mumble- words fuzzy with exhaustion and the gooey warmth spreading through your body and making your mind melt from much needed tenderness. “Not like…” You trail off softly, guiltily. Enji knows what you mean, though, and there is pride in him from it- a possessive, vindictive pleasure as his little girl nuzzles against him adoringly. You are daddy’s little girl- you always have been and you always will be. Enji finishes cleaning you and he sets you out of the shower to wrap yourself in a towel and wait for him. Your clumsy attempts to clean him before he does are cute, but he knows that you are tired and does not wish to push you just yet- he has plans and he needs you to rest while you can. He cleans himself and you wait for him obediently- wrapped up in a towel and yawning, propped up on the sink where he had sat you down. Seeing him emerge from the shower is a treat- water steaming from him and dripping down rippling muscles, through chest hair and a thick happy trail. A soft noise leaves you as you watch him dry himself and your cheeks pinken without notice despite heavy eyes and a fuzzy, tired mind that’s begging for sleep. Enji watches your soft thighs rub together and he goes to you, kisses you like you deserve- lovingly, hungrily but not forcefully. He breaks it once a sweet, low moan sounds from you and then he kneels, parts your legs and hooks them over his shoulders before burying his face into the honeyed crux of his little one. The bathroom echoes with your whimpers and mewls as Enji runs his tongue through your folds and burrows his tongue deep inside your cunny. He keeps your hips still whenever they begin to twitch, but he allows you to grab onto his hair, grunts with approval when you arch your back and whine out a needy little, “Daddy, please!” You come whenever he slips a thick finger into you- slick and warm insides fluttering and clamping down onto the digit as you cry out, grip his hair tight. Enji works you through it and he slips a second finger in at the peak of your orgasm, makes it trip into another and has you whimpering, gasping out “daddy, daddy, daddy!” “That’s right, little one,” he praises- voice coming out low and husky as your cunny clenches and cums around his fingers. “Who makes you feel good?” “Daddy does!” Enji hums, pleased by your mewled answer, and he allows you to ride out your pleasure before slipping his fingers from you. You look so sweet as you pant and flush- so worn out and vulnerable; a tender girl flustered by the dulcet, mellowed pleasure that you have been craving for days. You whimper whenever Enji stands- arms reaching for your father and eyes bright with needy tears. He picks you up and he kisses your cheek, cups your bottom whenever you wrap your legs around him and teases your wet, fluttering hole with a stretched out finger as he totes you off to the living room. The boys are there- arguing as always, in each other’s faces with heated, hissed words and glaring eyes- and they only look up when Enji slips a finger inside your cunny and coaxes a moan from you. Their reaction is immediate- heads snapping up and shock halting their anger only to multiple it. Touya’s lips pull back into snarl and Natsuo’s eyes widen, narrow as he watches your hips grind down against Enji’s finger. Enji glares them down as he eases another finger into your eager cunny, kisses your cheek when you whimper and cling to him even tighter. “Little one,” he asks, voice gruff but calm even as he glowers down at the furious brats that he calls sons, “who made you feel good earlier?” “Daddy did,” you mewl out- sweet and sleepy and showing the pleasure that is slowly wrecking your tired body. Enji hums and he spreads another finger to smooth over your clit, makes you moan softly and try to grind your hips against him. A growl rips from Touya and your lashes flutter from it, a tiny noise of worry leaves you and is instantly forgotten when Enji curls his thick fingers inside of your honeyed insides and causes your mind to blank from pleasure. “And who is making you feel good now?” Enji demands- hard and nearly imperious as you tremble and cling tighter to him. “D-Daddy is!” “Do you want your brothers to fuck you, little one?” Enji asks, narrowing his eyes in challenge when Touya takes a step toward him. A hiccup of a sob leaves you and you shake your head, bury your face against him with a whimper. Enji’s lips twitch with the hint of a smirk and he pushes you to answer with, “And why is that?” Another sob and you shake as guilt, frustration, repressed anger and upset at your brothers twine through you along with the honeyed, warm pleasure that your father is giving you. You sniffle- hips rocking against thick fingers and your syrupy, sticky juices leaking from you and coating your father’s hand. “Because- because,” you whimper as your heart pounds and your cunny throbs with need. “Because they’re- they’re mean! I don’t want- I don’t-” Guilt causes you to whine against your father and Enji hums as he teases a third finger against your entrance, looks over his sons. Touya is furious- hands clenched into tight fists and shaking with anger that’s close to exploding out. Natsuo, at least, has the decency to look guilty, ashamed. He ducks his head and looks away as Enji spreads your little cunny wider and makes you cry out as he slowly stuffs your squishy, warm insides full even more. “Who do you want then?” Enji asks- voice low and gruff. He grunts as your insides spasm around his fingers and his cock flexes against himself- hard and big and so ready to fill his sweet baby girl. “Who do you want to fuck you, little one?” You choke on a sob- the questions overwhelming your tired mind and your body racing toward another orgasm. You arch against him, head tilting back with a cry whenever he places a hot kiss to your neck. You can’t help the way you pant and shake against him and you can’t help your answer either, the way you moan out a loud, needy, truthful- “Daddy! Want- I want Daddy!” You cry a little after from guilt and need and the pleasure that is making your mind melt and your head spin. Enji lets out a growl of satisfaction and he slips his fingers from you- soothing you with a kiss whenever you let out a panicked whine. Enji slides you lower down his waist and presses the head of his cock against your fluttering hole, looks at his sons with challenge and superiority in his eyes, the set of his lips. “And who do you belong to?” Enji asks- voice low and demanding, making a desperate shiver crawl up your spine. You whimper and you lift your head from him, turn it so you can look at your brothers. There is no fear in your gaze- not like how there was over these past few days whenever they yanked you to and fro between them- and you shudder against your father- eyes heavy and cheeks flushed, body soft and pretty and clinging to him with pressing, loving adoration and need. “Daddy,” you mewl out sweet as honey. “I belong to daddy.” “Good girl,” Enji murmurs to you, sliding his cock into your eager cunny. “My good girl.” Choked anger tears itself from Touya and he snaps out a “fuck you” to Enji before stomping out of the room- singing the doorframe whenever he slams his hand against it in fury. Natsuo is frozen in place- eyes wide as he watches you come along your father’s cock- and he flushes from frustration, from anger whenever he finds himself hardening at the sight of Enji’s dick stretching your pussy and making your glistening folds part as he slides into you slowly. He clenches his fists whenever your moan and then he stomps out of the room- angry and needy as your chanted mewls of “daddy, daddy, daddy!” sound behind him. Enji smirks as his sons flee in a temper tantrum, smiles as he kisses your cheek and rocks his hips up to make you moan and go limp against him in pleasure. You nuzzle against him with a needy, tired whine and Enji hums his satisfaction at that, turns to carry you back to his room and his bed. “Shh, little one,” Enji tells you. “Daddy will take care of you.” A whimper leaves you and you tremble before giving a weak nod against him, clench around his cock even as he slips out of you to lay you out on his bed. “Love you, daddy,” you slur out through your pleasure and exhaustion, the overwhelmed feeling making your mind melt. “Love you so much.” Enji braces himself over you and he kisses your forehead, soaks in the soft mewl that sounds from you as he sinks his cock back into your honeyed insides. “I love you too, little one,” he tells you. “My little one.” You nod, panting and dizzy, and Enji kisses you, starts to fuck you slowly. You’re his. You will always belong to your daddy.

[catboynecromancy]

The first time Adam and Ronan share a bed they're both a little hesitant at first because of the enormity of everything: their feelings for each other but also everything they've just gone through. They're lying next to each other not quite touching but almost. Adam wants to reach out to him but is overthinking it when Ronan just lets out a small breath and pulls Adam to him. Adam, secretly pleased, takes a moment to himself with his face tucked in Ronan’s neck but he reaches for Ronan’s hand and links their fingers together, and it grounds him enough so he can pull his face away from Ronan’s neck and kiss him and he thinks about how he's never had someone to kiss goodnight before.

"Bedtime, Parrish."

Ronan kicks at Adam's ankle with his barefoot. The sudden, unexpected touch jolts him awake from where he's been dozing on the couch for an undeterminable length of time. Last Adam remembers, the late afternoon sun was still up, spilling in through bay windows and keeping him warm much the same way a blanket might. Now, however, the living room at the Barns is dark and the only light is artificial, fluorescent, providing no comfort whatsoever.

"Mm," Adam responds, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes but his vision is bleary, spotty. His lids are heavy from the sort of exhaustion that is not only physical but mental, too. "Don't wanna move."

The other boy tsks and, though Adam can't see it, he knows there is a scowl on Ronan's lips.

"C'mon, you need a good night's sleep," he says, voice still hoarse despite it having been days since the terrifying predicament that nearly tore their lives apart. "Can't get that on the couch, so get your lazy ass up. Not gonna carry you."

Adam considers the benefits and disadvantages of refusing. On the former, curling up right here is easy, he wouldn't have to stumble upstairs to Ronan's bedroom, and he'd be a safe distance from the boy he so desperately wants to touch but is still scared of breaking into a thousand tiny pieces after everything that has happened. The latter would be how the couch is old, cushions a little too broken in, there's no warmth to be had down here, not anymore, and no Ronan. There's not enough space for both of them to sleep, at least not comfortably.

"M'getting up." Even though Adam says this, it still takes him a lot longer than it probably should to slowly, clumsily peel himself off of the couch and stand with a stretch-yawn combo. He rubs his still cloudy eyes, his weariness seemingly neverending.

Yeah, maybe Ronan is right. Maybe Adam does need to sleep properly.

Ronan gently puts his palm to the small of Adam's back, the ghost of a touch, and still, despite that he can still feel heat through the thin fabric separating them.

He allows himself to be led upstairs, going through the motions of brushing his teeth while Ronan makes himself scarce. Leaving his jeans and socks in a sloppy pile on the bathroom floor, Adam finds his way into the familiar childhood bedroom where they'd shared their first kiss what feels like an eternity ago yet hasn't really been much time at all.

They haven't spoken about that night, not yet, whatever they are is still undefined. Adam wants to ask, but he's scared. Not of Ronan, no, he knows Ronan would never hurt him on purpose. What Adam is scared of is himself; he's scared of how much he wants Ronan, of taking too much, devouring everything because his desires are insatiable, until Ronan has nothing left to give and Adam is left still wanting for more.

"Be back. Better be comfy before I get back, or else." It's a fake threat, a Ronan Lynch specialty. He waits for Adam to nod his assent before he excuses himself.

Alone now, Adam stands there awkwardly, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom, the crickets chirping outside, and his own, wavering breathing as his nerves grow. He doesn't know how much time passes, the only answer is enough, because he soon hears the bathroom door slam shut and Ronan stomping down the hall. Remembering the not-threat, Adam scurries onto the bed, just managing to pull the heavy comforter over himself when Ronan walks through the threshold.

Adam holds his breath as Ronan crawls on the mattress to join him, holds his breath when Ronan grabs a corner of the same blanket to cover himself, holds his breath as they settle close enough for the other's presence to be apparent but not overbearing. Ronan is there, so close all it would take is for one, or both of them, to shift just an inch, maybe two, and bridge the distance. So close it would be nothing at all, yet is somehow everything to him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, forces the thoughts down. This is fine, for now, because Adam doesn't know where the line is drawn between them. Best to let Ronan decide, he's the one who initiated this, after all, and he's the one that has some semblance of self-control. Laughable, really, how Lynch is the mature one in this situation. Really says a lot about Adam, how he can't restrain himself when he thinks there is even the slightest thing to be gained and hoarded.

But, God, he wants to just touch Ronan, and is that so bad? Is that so selfish of Adam? To demand the affection he's so desperately wanted his entire life?

Ronan lets out a soft breath and, suddenly, strong arms wrap around him. He tugs Adam until their ribs fit together like matching puzzle pieces and a surprisingly muscular leg nudges between his, limbs tangling. It's everything Adam has wanted and more, his head spins from a mix of exhilaration and nerves, the potential between them paralyzing.

Adam tilts until his face is buried in the crux of Ronan's neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of pine and lemongrass and sweat. It's familiar, soothing, but not quite enough. Underneath the blanket, the hand not smushed between them reaches, searching, until he finds Ronan's hand and twines together slightly trembling fingers.

Warmth radiates from one calloused palm to another, spreading through Adam, filling him with enough confidence to pull away and offer a shaky but cheery smile. He catches a glimpse of the look being returned right before swooping up, capturing Ronan's lips with his own. There's a spark and Adam can't tell if it's really there, if he's imagining it, if Ronan can feel it, too. Adam hopes it's not just him, prays to a God he's not even sure exists, because now that he finally has someone to kiss goodnight, he never wants to go without.

Like air, water, food, shelter, kissing Ronan is a need, not a want.

Adam pulls back but not far, his lips brushing Ronan's as he whispers, "'Night," and brushing as Ronan returns, with a reverence Adam could grow used to, "'Night."

[angelfishofthelord]

📓?

because i know you like that good fucked up angst imma give you my most angsty ideas. major tw self harm so i'll put it under the cut:

so its also a s9 cas idea. sort of set around 9x11, but cas is still human. anyways the main concept is that cas has been self-harming, but because cas doesn't have a concept of self, or body shame, he genuinely doesn't see anything wrong with it. he knows from experience that other people feel uncomfortable seeing scars so that's the only reason he hides it. and sam comes across him cutting himself and is horrified, and cas is completely nonchalant, like "oh so you're also one of those people who don't like to see this" and sam is like what?? people?? this ensues a lengthy conversation about self-harm, and cas explains that self-harm helps him survive being human; he's like "soldiers do whatever they have to in order to survive. this is helping me function. this is a good strategy." and sam has to try and Convince him that it's not but cas is like im not harming myself in a lethal way. whats wrong with this. it Helps me.

and sam asks him well have you thought about killing yourself? and cas says "no its not allowed." sam thinks he's referring to some kind of religious idea of suicide being forbidden and cas is like "for a soldier the only thing worse than losing a battle is to run from it. my training as a soldier prevents me from being able to kill myself. if i held a different position it might be acceptable" and sam just wants to cry.

anyways. they have a very long talk about self-harm and mental health and when it comes down to it sam tells cas that there Are other ways of coping, less harmful ways like talking to someone. and cas is like no i can't talk about it. and thats the crux of the whole fic. cas is like i cant look someone in the eye and admit weakness. thats not a feasible strategy for survival. i can manage on my own.

in my head eventually sam convinces cas to talk to him. but cas makes sam leave the room and listen from outside the door. like the only way cas can admit to how much mental emotional and physical pain he's in is if he feels like no one else is there and no one's listening.