#my mother is catholic and my father was in the navy

[strawberri-syrup]

nothing worse than saying something u thought was normal and people just give u that look

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - North and South - Chapter 2

After the wedding, Margaret heads home with her father, who was also at the wedding. Her mother is noticeably absent, due to not having money to afford a new gown — despite it being her only niece’s wedding. Mrs. Shaw does not guess this is the reason, due to her only complaints being consumed by “I was in an age gap marriage” (I am paraphrasing, but this is kind of what it says!) and unable to remember what it’s like to be poor.

It seems that Mrs. Shaw thinks that her sister, Maria (aka, Mrs. Hale) got the better end of the husband bargain, with him being handsome, only eight years older, mild-mannered, and most importantly, they loved each other. However, as it shows later in the chapter, Mrs. Hale thinks Mrs. Shaw got the better end of the bargain, because she got a rich husband and now has to want for nothing material.

What can we glean from this? Both sisters are very similar and have “grass is greener” syndrome. They let their anxieties consume them rather than being happy with what they have, and, at least in Mrs. Hale’s case, it does affect those around her.

Margaret does not seem to mind that her mother is not there, as she has been needed by everyone in the past 48 hours and getting to meet her mother in the comfort of their home is preferable to the hustle and bustle of the Shaw/Lennox clan. In reference to how busy they have made her, she says she had to play the part of a “Figaro”. After some research, I found this was a comic character from several plays, operas, and serialized newspapers that was a barber-turned-valet. I believe the symbolism comes from the character being a busy servant that was very much in demand from how useful he was, though feel free to correct me/dive deeper into this.

While Margaret is happy to be going home, she is sadder than she thought she would be at the prospect of leaving Harley Street and notices something is different about her father sleeping in the carriage beside her. Not only has his hair (once a rare blue-black) gone gray, his face is also still anxious even in sleep, which it never used to be in waking. She tries to discover the cause of this change and wonders if this has anything to do with Frederick not being in England anymore.

Because of the way she laments about him and his situation, I can only assume Frederick is her brother and because of “terrible affair” as a navy man, he is unable to come back to England, though he does write to his family occasionally. The issue is Margaret was not there when the incident happened and only got a partial story from her aunt: all she can hope to do is comfort her parents and ease their anxiety.

Margaret is excited to return home, of course. She is back in her element with the forest and returns to her old habit of tramping along the underbrush, breathing in the fresh air. However, not all is well at home. As aforementioned, her mother is not happy with her situation and while she does not take it out on Margaret, she does take it out on Mr. Hale.

Mrs. Hale constantly compares how the bishop treats Mr. Hale compared to how he could be treated if they moved elsewhere. I tried to find some context on how this system works between the parish priests and the bishop — as I’m not Catholic myself and have no personal knowledge of this — but I could not find much. I’m assuming this is the Catholic church we’re talking about, since they reference a bishop and Mr. Hale as a parish priest. Of course, please feel free to add onto this. All I can conjecture is that because Mr. Hale is a parish priest in a small town, this does not afford him much connection or wealth. My understanding is that the bishop is aligned more with the government, so he could — in theory — give Mr. Hale those connections or move him to a better position if he tried for it. He has done so with other priests (less qualified than Mr. Hale, in his wife’s opinion), but has not budged with Mr. Hale.

However, Mr. Hale does not want this: he’s happy with what he has at Helstone and the increased pressure from his wife causes him to “shr[i]nk”. Margaret does what she can to make her mom happy in their home, rather than also pressuring her father. Why does she take her father’s side in this? I believe it’s for a number of reasons:

1) Margaret is more like her dad than her mom — she doesn’t long for the rich, fancy life that her mother does and that is one of the things she misses least about her life on Harley Street. She also have a more mild temper and can empathize with her dad.

2) She loves her home by the woods — if they get a “better living” (as her mother put it) that would likely involve moving to a more central part of the town — or a different town entirely — and she wouldn’t be able to spend her time outside in the forest or walking to different cottages all day.

3) While this isn’t a new change in her mother, perhaps she believes she can talk her out of it easier than her father, even though he is mild-tempered. After all, just because Margaret is mild-tempered does not mean she doesn’t have a determined streak; indeed, we’ve already seen evidence of it and so she assumes her mother can be reasoned with easier than putting more pressure on her father.

4) The request itself is bound to lead to more; “grass is greener” people are usually never satisfied. Perhaps Margaret has seen this before in the past, where her father has given her mother what she wants and it has only led to her asking more of him. Maybe she hopes to nip it in the bud this time since it’s obviously gotten worse and is negatively affecting her father.

Keep in mind, these are theories on my part; we don’t know the exact reason as of yet, but I think it’s interesting to think about the reason why she takes her father’s side!

We can also trace the source of her mother’s discontent: “the time of the mutiny in which Frederick had been engaged.”

Ok, so that does tell us a lot here. While in the navy, Frederick took part in a mutiny and was likely exiled from England (from the limited understanding we have — more is likely going to be said later). Now — if this is what happened — the penalty for mutiny is usually death in those times, so it’s a pleasant surprise he made it out ok. Later passages state he’s in Rio (Rio de Janerio, Brazil, I’m assuming?) currently and the few letters he does send, Margaret does not know the full news of. Why would her mother start to resent their home for this? Many understandable reasons:

1) Obviously, the house carries many memories of Frederick. Having daily reminders of your son that can never come back to this home and you can never see again (with you in too delicate health to travel — which she is) is painful.

2) Perhaps the neighbors closest to her were not very sympathetic when they found out about this mutiny. Mrs. Hale had hoped they would be a listening ear and instead the Hale family became the center of gossip in that part of town (that she knew of). Maybe the other part of town brought her gifts and became that listening ear. But doesn’t that seem backwards for the “richer” side to be nice and the “poorer” side to be gossipy? Yes, it does, but everything is about appearances. If I had to guess, both sides were probably gossiping, but the “richer” side did their part of bringing gifts to seem sympathetic and Mrs. Hale took that as actually being sympathetic. From what we’ve already seen of her, she values material things (gift-giving is probably her love language lol) and this would win her over. This is a lot of reaching I know, but it could be possible, right? The only reason we don’t hear about it is because we’re in Margaret’s POV and she doesn’t know anything about what happened when Frederick’s mutiny took place.

3) Similar to the first point, sometimes when you’re somewhere with an extremely bad memory, you want to leave that place and will justify your reasoning with whatever you can. Think about the feelings Mrs. Hale must’ve felt when she opened a letter to find that her son was exiled and would not be coming home. Did she even find out from him, or was it a generic navy office letter? Sometimes, people cope by wanting to start somewhere fresh and this could be a product of that.

4) Being “poor” is what got their son into this situation in the first place. He wouldn’t have had to become a navy officer if they had more money, right? He could have taken up a different position, such as a merchant. Perhaps in a misguided attempt to “fix” this, she is trying to better their situation. Of course, it is too little, too late to actually change anything, but she still wants to try for her daughter. She is already trying to match her with a handsome tradesman from the other part of town she wants them to move to!

5) A bit unrelated, but I also think she’s moving her worries about Frederick onto worries about their living situation. Kind of like how you can feel anger when you’re actually sad, her whole “we need to be more rich” isn’t actually the problem she has; the problem she has is “we need our son back”. Having more money or influence wouldn’t be able to bring their son back — it can’t — but channeling those worries is (what she thinks) a better use of her time because it’s something she can actually control.

6) Her maid, Dixon. Later in the chapter, it describes Dixon as seeing Frederick as her favorite and cleaning his room once a week as if he was coming home, despite her never doing housework. Sweet, right? Well…I see Dixon as causing more tension in the house than good because she resents Mr. Hale for taking her and Mrs. Hale away from their cushy lifestyle at Beresfords House (where Mrs. Hale grew up) and she sees herself as a “protecting fairy” against Mr. Hale. If Frederick was her favorite and Mr. Hale’s situation is what led Frederick to be a navy officer…yeah, I imagine Dixon often laments about their living situation and how perhaps Frederick would still be there if they were living somewhere else (that’s not guaranteed, of course, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t say it!!). Having someone constantly whisper disparaging things about your husband and his house is not a good idea — almost an Iago to your Othello, if you catch my drift. Again, it’s not entirely related, but I think it does link back to Mrs. Hale’s resentment of the house.

After reading this, you may think one or the other side is “more correct” — and that’s fine if you do — but I think both sides are valid and just need to communicate. It’s not Mrs. Hale’s fault she resents Helstone and it’s not Mr. Hale and Margaret’s fault that they love it. What they need to work on is communicating as a family and reaching a good compromise that suits everyone.

Margaret does attempt to do this by taking her mother on daily walks, which works for a bit until autumn sets in and her mother’s health is affected. It’s hard for Margaret to engage with either of them at this point or find much of anything to do; her mother doesn’t like being read aloud to (go off, I guess?), and encouraged her husband to spend all of his time in his study with parish affairs rather than fun card activities, so no family game night either. He doesn’t even go to visit his parishioners (which Margaret could probably be a part of), because his wife discouraged that as well (not to be mean, but I’m starting to see why maybe they weren’t the nicest to her after Frederick got banished, she doesn’t seem to engage with them very much?!). The books they have on hand for her to read are ones she has already read — or just very short. In other words: this girl is about to start singing “When Will my Life Begin” from Tangled. /j

So, she tells her mother about life in Harley Street, but it often leads to her mother comparing their homes again and Margaret longing to ask about Frederick. But she has a conundrum: around her mother, she thinks she should ask her dad instead and then the reverse happens around her father. She procrastinates this difficult conversation and I can kind of understand why. Her parents both seem like delicate people who get anxious easily; now that she has noticed how “old” her dad looks, I imagine she’s noticed a similar change in her mom and doesn’t want to risk damaging their health. Additionally, their emotional health seems pretty unstable as well and she probably sees that in a new light as an adult and doesn’t want to risk destabilizing that.

Margaret does seem to notice that her father seems…off. He’s not only more anxious (which can happen at the slightest of causes), he’s distracted too and he’s the first to snatch up letters whenever the postman arrives. So does he have news of Frederick that he’s not sharing with either of them? It sure seems that way.

BUT enough gloom! Margaret’s a fall girlie and she’s determined to sketch what Helstone looks like, since she learned art with Edith. It’s a fine October day when a housemaid announces Margaret has a visitor: Henry Lennox.

My honest reaction:

This guy again?! He did say he would be checking up on her…

Jk jk, I’m eager to see what this meetup is going to be like and it’s going to be super hard not to read ahead!!!! But I won’t, because I like being surprised and giving my reactions/analysis as it comes.

In the meantime, I want to sum up a bit more about Margaret’s mother and father, since I think they are characters we’ll be seeing for the foreseeable future. Again, using bullet points because I went long.

Mrs. Hale:

Ambitious

Loves her family

Deep sadness for her son

Apathetic to the parishioners

Hates fun (jk but seriously what is her deal — no reading, backgammon OR visiting schoolchildren??)

Controlling towards her husband

Dreams of grandeur for her daughter

Married for love — happy at one time

Delicate health

Not inflexible (walks did help temporarily)

Overall, not a glowing character review, but like with Mrs. Shaw it’s early and she’s not heartless; she does describe her as kind towards her daughter and did marry for love, so at one time she was a more tender person than she seems to be now. The whole “apathetic to the parish” thing did happen before Frederick though, so I attribute that to her having come from a more well-off family and not understanding the importance of these visits. Perhaps she also wanted to keep her husband closer to her — although you’d think she would do that by actually engaging with him, but ok? Overall, like every other Gaskell character, she is not black and white and we cannot paint her as such. I hope to learn more positive traits that I can add here because I do seem to be just bashing on her, but I am trying to find good things to say!

Mr. Hale:

AnxiousTM

Aging

Mild-tempered

Quiet

Tries to please his wife

Determined streak

Bottles up issues

Content with his life OR

Does not like confrontation

Easily depressed/distressed

So, it’s unclear whether he won’t better his living situation because he doesn’t want to confront the bishop or because he’s actually happy with Helstone. Due to his anxious personality (can relate btw), I would *guess* the former, but it could very well be the latter — or both! For someone who is anxious, it is very difficult to walk up to what is the equivalent of (I’m assuming is) your boss and saying “Hey, give me a better living situation right now! I’m better than the other parish priests you hired!” His wife makes it sound easy, but…idk from my standpoint, that is quite the opposite!!! However, if I saw that my partner was as miserable as Mrs. Hale so obviously is (and for more reasons than just the living situation thing), then I would at least consider it. Again, it’s a complex situation, and I feel like both of these characters are not helping each other by not communicating and continuing to ignore the other’s needs. In that sense, Mr. Hale is also in the wrong for just kind of shying away from the conversation, instead of telling her no OR having a deeper conversation about this. I want to add more to Mr. Hale’s character chart other than “anxious” but we don’t hear much from him in this chapter, so hopefully we get more of him soon!

One more thing: I made some important additions thanks to someone in my reply section, so if you want to peer review/correct me, I may have actually already done that in the reblog section, so please check that out first! I also explain why I’m reblogging it over just editing this post. If I didn’t address it, feel free to add on and I’ll edit the additions post!

I think that’s it: see you next week North and South fans!

[anamelessfool]

Scenes from the Void AU Ages and Timelines Masterpost

Note, this is my AU. Ages and years are different. Also they're Americans. Why? Rule of cool, bro🤘

Primo

b. 1953 New York City d. 2001 Ministry HQ

Irving Robert Olson Parents: Nance and Nihil

Left the Church in 1960 with Nance, returned after her death in 1972.

Bodyguard for Mater Emeritus Jocasta 1972-1979, Groundskeeper/Super for Ministry HQ until elevation

Papa Emeritus: 1994-2000, died from exhaustion caused from the Papa Emeritus Curse

Secondo

b. 1961 Ministry HQ

Michael Aulenbach changed to Michael Leider in 2008 Parents: Rebecca and Nihil

Rebecca passed over for a promotion to Mother Imperator due to her surprise pregnancy (the magic ritual would kill the fetus)

Child prodigy pianist. Tours eastern United States as "Modern Mozart" from the ages of 6 to 10. Piano teacher to this day.

Magician of the Church 1977-2008. Head of the Conclave of Magicians 1990-1999. Papa Emeritus II 2001-2008.

Married Sandra Leider in 2006. Three children Paul (2004), Eden (2010) and Samuel (2013). Left the church in 2008 to help Sandra's family run the Leider Memorial Home. Funeral Director.

Terzo

b. 1965 Milan Ministry location d. March 2018 Ministry HQ

Arsenio Moretti Parents: Nihil and a Catholic novitiate only known as "Maria"

Fathered during Nihil's first major tour of Italy. Mother died and so he was returned to Nihil in the US in 1969.

1984 Last seen at Bishop Camino's funeral in NYC. Missing for two years, returned to Ministry in 1986 and never speaks about it to anyone (except Omega eventually) Now has photography and filmmaking skills.

Director of promotional materials, films Primo's tours 1994-2000. Elevated to Cardinal in 1998. Choir Director until his elevation to Papa Elect in 2004.

Summons Omega in 2005.

Papa Emeritus III 2008-2017. Forcibly removed from office 2017 for [REASONS REDACTED].

First Papa Emeritus formally executed by the Church in 300 years for the crimes of [REDACTED]. (you will have to read hehehe)

Copia

b. 1976???? Unknown

Copia is his real name. Unknown origin. Unknown parents, although raised as prev characters' youngest brother.

Found by Primo in mysterious circumstances in 1979. Parental figure found murdered. (My fic Violence and Gentleness focuses on this mystery)

Raised primarily by Primo. Homeschooled by Rebecca until 13. Secondo is his piano teacher.

He had a very strong bond with both Primo and Secundo and considers them father figures. Primo taught him how to be a moral person and Secondo taught him how to be an intelligent person. Secondo started teaching him piano at the age of five and by fifteen he was learning on the organ.He had an interest in math and science and pursued that at the academic level. He was the first of the family to actually go to a college outside of the Ministry. He graduated top of his class as a CPA in 1997, and immediately began working under the Head Treasurer. He was head treasurer for the Ministry from 2005-2017.

Met Cardinal Marian in 2006 was in a relationship with her until 2017, then back again in 2019.

Elevation to Cardinal 2010. Elevation to Papa Elect 2012. Finally Papa Emeritus upon Nihil's death in 2019.

Nihil

b. 1930 Milwaukee, WI d. 2019 onstage Mexico City

Robert Irving Olson Parents: Betty and Irving

Father gambler and alcoholic. Mother church organist. Church choir and guitarist. Older brother Archie lost at sea in 1946 (WWII Navy). Forced to drop out of school and work to support family in machine shop. Ran away from home in 1947. Rode the rails with the nickname "Zero". Picked up by the Satanic Church of the Void in NYC 1950. Multi-instrumentalist in Bishop Camino's house band until 1958. Odd jobs all throughout his life from taxicab driver, singing telegram, model, busker, roadie, trucker, etc.

Transferred to Ministry HQ thru Bishop Camino's recommendation. Brought Nance and Primo with him. Affair with Rebecca led to Secondo's birth and Nance leaving the church altogether. Elevated to Papa Emeritus 1963. First American Papa since Papa Camino in 1940s. Sister Imperator 's first Construct (after she underwent her magical rite she bestowed on him the Curse to make him Papa). Toured Italy and Europe 1964-1965. Secret bastard child Terzo discovered in 1969.

Got his ghouls terminally addicted to slot machines in 1972, foisted from position for that mistake. Protegee Jocasta took over until 1979.

Personal Assistant to Sister Imperator 1972-1984. Leader of the College of Cardinals 1986-2017. Return to Papa Emeritus 2017-2019.

[jungle-angel]

Three's Company But Four Is The Best Crowd (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: You and Calvin were not expecting to take on a new member of the family at all, but in the end, it was the best decision you had ever made

Warnings: Parenthood, mentions of birth etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse My dear, I hope this brightens the day a little bit, I hope it's not too much but it's something

"So technically he didn't get the question wrong but they whacked him on it anyways," Calvin rattled off as you and him walked up the street with Ellen in her little stroller and Six-Thirty on his leash.

"Are you serious?" you asked him. "Why? Arnie is one of your smartest students."

"Because he screwed up one of the formulas for balancing a reaction in a base compound and it ended with making a substance that smelled like a noxious fart," Calvin chuckled.

"So that's who the stinkbomb culprit was!" you blurted out. "I knew it!"

"I kept telling Arnie that he's gonna have to start a stinkbomb business," Calvin chuckled. "He might even end up getting a contract from the Secretary of Defense if he's lucky."

Your laughter was suddenly interrupted when something darted around the hedgerows, startling the both of you and Six-Thirty who began barking. To your amazement, it was a frightened little cocker spaniel with curly ears and a squished little nose. She whimpered and whined, pawing at both you and Calvin, begging as though she were in danger of something.

"What in the blue hell is this?" Calvin wondered.

From around the corner you could hear the shouts of miscreants and a familiar one at that, Frieda Burns's grandsons, Dean and Ritchie. They came around the corner with the rest of their neighborhood bullies but stopping dead in their tracks when they saw Calvin and you standing nearby.

"Where's that dog?" Dean demanded.

"Yeah where'd it go?" Ritchie cut in.

"I don't think you two little shitheads deserve to know," Calvin answered coldly.

"Listen Calvin," Ritchie spat.

"That's Mr. Evans to you, you little twerps," Calvin reminded them sharply. "Didn't your mother ever teach you manners and respect for your elders?"

"Ma doesn't care what we do," Dean retorted.

"Yeah," said Ritchie.

You and Calvin both glanced at each other before turning your attention back to the boys. "Oh," Calvin said. "Well in that case perhaps we ought to tell someone else then. (Y/n) what do you think?"

"Oh certainly," you answered. "The last thing I'd want is for Father McDowell to find out about this little incident."

Both Ritchie and Dean swallowed hard, their little adam's apples bobbing in their throats. Every neighborhood bully feared the fiery Irish Catholic priest who ran both St. Mary's church and his end of the block like a Navy ship. More than once a big, tough bully had the gall to act up in front of the good father, only to be met with a birch rod on his backside.

"What in the damned hell is all that yellin fer?!" thundered a voice from behind the hedgerows. "Blast it! Can't a man work in 'is own bloody garden in peace?!"

"Shit! It's him!"

"Run for it!"

Six-Thirty barked and growled at them as they ran away, tugging at his leash and wanting nothing more than to go after them. "Go get'em boy!" Calvin ordered.

He loosed Six-Thirty from his leash, the dog taking off like a bullet as Father McDowell continued to thunder a string of obscenities from behind the hedgerows. The other bullies had scattered, but Six-Thirty had returned chasing Dean and Ritchie back up the block, the two of them clutching their backsides to keep from getting bitten before running smack into the priest.

"Well, well, what've we here?" Father McDowell chuckled icily. "Jest as I suspected, Dean'n Ritchie Burns. What'd ye two get into this time now eh? Breakin the windas down at Mr. Kennedy's lunch counter again are ye?"

The boys tried to make an excuse as Father McDowell grabbed ahold of each of their ears, the priest's wrath incurred even further when he caught sight of the frightened little spaniel.

"Oh-ho!" he concluded. "Chasin a stray were yas? Jest like your miserable excuse of a father and uncle ye are."

"Go to hell!" the boys shouted.

"Now don't ye gimme that!" the priest snapped. "I ever hear it outta either o' yer mouths again, I'll string ye both up by the balls by thunder! Now get yer skeeter bitten carcasses home to yer mudder!"

Dean and Ritchie took off, both terrified of their ordeal. Father McDowell gave a bullish snort as soon as they were out of earshot. "Detestable little piss worms," he hissed under his breath.

"Sorry to ruin your afternoon Padre," Calvin laughed.

"Bah!" Father McDowell said with a wave of his hand. "T'weren't nothin. Makes fer an interestin breakup in the mundane of it I always say. Now why don't the two of ye come into the garden fer a bit, Helen'll be home soon."

"I think we'll have to save it for another day Padre," you said. "We weren't counting on any of this."

Father McDowell tried to pet the poor little cocker but she backed away, a high pitched whine catching in her throat. "Poor little thing," he sighed. "I've seen'er down by Kennedy's lunch counter."

"Any chance the vet's office is open?" Calvin asked.

"Nah," Father McDowell said. "Last I saw they close 'round suppertime. Best bet would be for'er to go home with ye and go in the mornin."

You and Calvin scooped up the little dog and bid Father McDowell farewell before heading for home. You both thought it a little odd and funny that she refused to leave Six-Thirty's side, the same going for your beloved companion.

Back to the house you went where Pat and Henny were out on the front porch, waiting for Henny's husband Paul, to close up his barbershop and bring the girls back from her sister's house.

"You two are back early," Pat remarked.

"And it looks like they brought a little friend with'em," Henny laughed, setting her glass of peach lemonade down on the porch table.

"Funny story Henny," you chuckled, lifting Ellen from her stroller.

"Oh honey I heard it all," Henny laughed. "Marshall came runnin all the way back from the store and he could hear the good father givin the Burns boys hell."

You and Calvin went into the house to get Ellen settled and dinner ready, hoping that Henny and Paul would stay with their granddaughters. You found an extra one of Six-Thirty's food bowls and filled it with a little bit of food, the little cocker eagerly coming to eat and gobbling up her foot as though she hadn't eaten in years.

Sure enough, Paul came by with his and Henny's two youngest granddaughters, Betsy and Ruby, the four of them staying for dinner. By the time they had left, you and Calvin noticed Six-Thirty and his new little friend, laying together on his bed cushion near the window, neither of them wanting to get up as he lay his head on top of hers.

You had just given Ellen her bath while Calvin was reading to her from her little bedtime storybook, gently rocking back and forth in the rocking chair in her nursery. By the time she had been tucked in and had fallen asleep, you peeked back downstairs to find your two canine companions fast asleep.

"That is the oddest sight I have ever seen," you chuckled.

"Who would have ever thought that Six-Thirty would find a mate?" Calvin remarked, smiling broadly.

"Well, you and I found each other so it's not entirely out of the ordinary," you said.

Calvin pressed a kiss to your forehead and several down the side of your head and cheek before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. "You know she's gonna need a dog license, papers and a collar and her tags."

"We can do all that tomorrow," you laughed.

You and Calvin turned in for the night, eager to officially welcome your new little friend into the family.

[persephone11110]

Three Chances

Bradley Bradshaw x Mitchell Reader

Warnings: past parental death, grief, someone dies, past funeral,mention of pneumonia—lung damage surgery ,childhood friends/ex bfs->almost lovers, unintentionally self harm?(bradley takes a scolding hot shower) mentions of catholic religion( in my story i gave a carole a catholic background), medical inaccuracy!!—i am not doctor

Summary: What thats saying again?— death pulls people apart and together. Together, after 10 years plus you and Bradley mends your relationship. Apparently it took death to draw you both back together.. unfortunately you both were to late. or 2 times bradley should’ve told the reader how much he loves her and one time he’s too late.

bradley calls her sunny

unfortunately mav still pulled bradley’s papers

AN: I needed to write a death fic, i honestly can’t help it, also summary sucks, i liked writing a 2+1 fic so im doing it again. also she dies right before the mission— tbh i read somewhere on google that people do typically tend to die from pneumonia if left undetected/untreated. Also also Idk if a nurse has the power to take someone off life support?

1. 1999

It’s hurts hurts, really fucking hurts— the last thing Bradley Bradshaw wanted to do during his summer vacation is bury his mom. The last thing he wanted to do is stand over her casket and say goodbye. He didn’t want to do this again, Bradley’s already done this, thirteen years his dad was the one being buried.

I can’t cry, I wouldn’t cry. Bradley thinks while sliding on his suit without thought, his eyes are raw from spending the last previous hours sobbing into pilliow. He hates how the suits clings to back— sinking into his burnt back. He took a hot scolding shower at midnight, attempting to rid the thoughts of his mothers fragile body , her last words. “I love you Bradley Bradshaw”, even in Carole’s weakened mindset she still recognized her son.

Bradley painfully rolls his shoulders back, memories of the sight of his dead father wasn’t something he needed right now. He’s walking into the church and he’s met with dozens of people yet the only face he can and wants to make out is you. Y/n Mitchell, a.k.a sunny.

He’s touched by many people—shoulder grabs, pats on the back: Uncle Maverick pressing a kiss into the side of his head, and Uncle Ice pulling him into tight hug. But you come from behind him, and tightly grabbing his hand with reassurance makes him teary eyed.

“Hey Sunny” Bradley bites his lips, shoving his emotins back down his throat. “Thanks for coming”.

You nodded solemnly, hating the reason you both were in church together. “Where else would I be Bradshaw”. you gripping his hand with yours.

“Kiddo”, Maverick come back to his godson and daughter— his own eyes red, the veins in his are more apparent you couldn’t tell if was exhaustion or sadness or both. “Hey Y/n”. he smiles sadly at you—the priest is ready when you are Brad”.

“I’m coming Uncle Mav, see you in a bit Sunny”. Bradley tightly grip’s your hand before walking away.

You twisted the rings on your fingers nervously, being a navy brat you’ve gotten accustomed to funerals. But seeing Aunt Carole in a casket wasn’t sight you needed or wanted to see. “Shut up Y/n, this isn’t about you”. you warned yourself, Bradley needs you, dad needs you. a thought rolled through your mind.

Bradley loved his mother to no end, but he’s grateful no asked for him to do the eulogy, he didn’t think anyone wanted to hear him sob in between words, hear him stutter through the whole speech. If he was being honest Bradley didn’t have the heart to do so. He didn’t have the guts to stand next to dead mother casket, spewing loving words about her.

“May Carole Anne Bradshaw rest in peace”.

You slip your hand back into Bradley’s hand.“Chicken”, you whispered into his ear, in return you earn a small smile.

“Sunshine”. he whispers back to you.

He so badly wanted to say something else, maybe the words I love you were to slipping from his lips.

I love Y/n Mitchell.

—

2. 2002

“Bullshit!”. You loved Bradley but ever since Aunt Carole died he gotten more angrier, his temper bubbling up like lava and exploding on everything around him including you. It’s not his fault the death of two parents can and will change someone inevitably, losing and burying your mother the end of freshman year isn’t fun. You just wished he wasn’t taking it out on you too.

“Shit Sunny I’m sorry I didn’t mean to snap at you”, he pulled you into his strong arms.

You step back from the kitchen doorway, after flinching from Bradley yelling you almost drop a box of old pictures.

“Bradley—”.

“Dont even go there with me, you allowed me to fall in love with the idea of flying all for you strip it from me!”. “I trusted you, I loved you how could you do this to me?”.

“You know thats not true”. Maverick tries to get through to him. “Baby Goose”.

“No, No! you don’t get to call me that not ever, and I don’t want your fucking lame ass excuses”. Bradley voice reaches to higher octave. You ponder if you should move in and stop what’s happening but you can’t. Your feet are glued to the floor.

“I fucking hate you!”, he yells, “I don’t what with you and Bradshaws and death— but i’m not dying either”. Your too astonished to move, and much to your dismay your dad doesn’t deny it.

He side steps dad, leaving him alone in the kitchen— leaving him to deal with the impact of his hurtful words.

Tears rapidly fall from your face,“Don’t go Bradshaw”, your voice is wobbly, too much sadness is rising in your throat.

He paused and almost turns around as if he thought about it.“Fuck you and Uncle Mav, why did I ever talk to you Y/n?”. A seconds passes and its all a blur as you watched Bradley leave and his pickup truck backfires.

A sob rips from your mouth, your knees buckled from under you. Your father strong arms instantly wrap around you as you sob into his chest. Your pretty sure this was first time you’ve seen dad cry so openly.

I fucking hate you Y/n Mitchell.

—

3. 2022

“Can you hang on for bit sweetheart?”, Maverick whispers, holding Sunny’s hand. “Bradley not here yet—he needs a chance to say goodbye”

This wasn’t supposed to happen, Maverick Mitchell wasn’t supposed be standing in a hospital with his unconscious daughter infront of him. He wished he could switch places with her.

The surgery was going to help her, it was going to remove the fluid from her lungs. Maverick thought back to when Sunny kept waving off her fluid induced cough.“Dad I’m fine, It’s just a little cough”.

It wasn’t a little cough, it wasn’t a small little cold either. Each and everytime you coughed your chest felt like it was rattling— your practically destroyed your voice from coughing so much.

“Y/n, sweetie don’t you think it’s time to visit a doctor?”, your dad eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Dad I’m going to be fine, I just need to keep taking medicine and I’ll be good as new in a week or two”.

Y/n wasn’t good as new, her stubborn streak kept her from being treated properly— it took her fainting from her collasped lungs to be in a hospital room.“Y/n what were you thinking?”, Maverick questioned his daughter for the millionth time.

“Captain Mitchell”, a gentle voice pulled him out of his thoughts.“A man by the name of Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw is here as a visitor”.

Maverick hastily wiped the tears from his face, “H-he can come in”.

“Uncle Mav”, Bradley starts— his voice to brittle for his liking.

“Baby Goose”.Maverick murmured and Bradley doesn’t dare and snap at him and tell him he hasn’t been baby goose in over twenty years. He doesn’t have the heart to yell at his griefing uncle— despite how angry he is at Maverick, he knows right now it isn’t the best time to dwell on their differences.

Maverick takes in his godson appearance, his hair is all over the place, purple eyebags under his eyelids— stained tear tracks. The one thing that stood the most out to Maverick was how much guilt was in Bradley’s eyes even in the way he stood.

“Oh God”, Bradley can’t reel in his emotions like he normally does. Too much guilt and anger is eating at him.“Im so sorry Sunny”. Bradley’s words are rolling off his tongue after holding them in for over a decade.

“Brad c’mere”, Maverick gently drops Y/n’s hand back down to her side. “It’s okay Baby Goose”. Maverick pulls Bradley into a hug.

“But Mav, I’ve never apologized to her, I never told her I loved her”. Maverick releases Bradley from his arms.

“Trust me kiddo, she knows— Y/n never faulted you”. Maverick stares at the machine next to him. Maverick knew—he knew Y/n was about to go home. He again let go of her hand and pressed the red button her bed.

The same nurse appears at the door. Bradley catches her name tag—Nurse June. “Captain Mitchell, Lieutenant Bradshaw— are we ready— Is she ready?”

“Yeah she is”. Maverick whispered to her.

“Ok”, Nurse June simply says with a small smile.

Bradley’s sitting on the bed to Y/n’s left— holding her hand. “I love you Sunny Mitchell”, he picks up her hand, and places a kiss onto it.

Maverick moves in a puts a kiss onto your head. “Your okay Y/n— I promise we’ll be okay”, Maverick swore to you.

The numbers on the machine start to drop— a sign that death is ready to take you. Both Bradley and Maverick drag their eyes from the machine— wanting to look you instead.

You looked so peaceful as you were finally able to relax.

“Welcome home kiddo”Uncle Ice pulls you into a tight hug.

I really loved you Y/n Mitchell.

[hetagrammy]

I wanted to start making some family trees with a little info about the characters' family backgrounds for my Regency AU! I decided to do the biggest family first: the Kirkland-Donnelly Family! Even if she's deceased during the course of the plot, I wanted to include Lady Kirkland with all of her disaster children and grandchildren, hence why she's wearing clothing more appropriate for the 1780s-1790s.

Lady Igraine Kirkland had two marriages. Her first was to a rare Catholic member of the landed gentry, with whom she had her first three children. Although she was fond of her first husband, the marriage was arranged rather than Igraine's choice. After the death of her first husband, she remarried by choice to a viscount and had two more children. This is why Alasdair, Seán, and Molly aren't titled, but Alwyn and Arthur are. These marriages also led to inheritance issues: Igraine's first husband left her his property in his will because of Alasdair's youth. However, when she married her second husband, it became his property under coverture and therefore became Alwyn and Arthur's inheritance.

After the death of her second husband, Igraine acted as the family matriarch and managed the family's affairs, as although Alwyn inherited his father's entailed property, he was too young to manage it on his own. When she died of smallpox at 41, Alwyn was still only 15 and relied heavily on Alasdair and Seán for help. Although of lower rank, the three Donnellys are still highly respected within the family unit, and Alwyn frequently includes Alasdair and Seán in running their estate and finances. Though her brothers are more concerned with marrying her off, Molly is also trusted as a caretaker to Arthur's children and she instructs them much in the way a governess would.

After the death of his mother, Arthur joined the Navy at 14. He was very successful and quickly rose through the ranks, eventually becoming an admiral. While at sea, he sired four "natural" children who he has claimed and cares for. There's more information about where they came from here. Despite this, Arthur is still highly respected for his military career and his noble rank. The only problem now is that he needs to settle down and have legitimate children, because as estate is entailed, it cannot legally pass to Alfred. If Arthur doesn't have children, it will pass to one of his older siblings and their children- hence why Arthur wants Molly to marry someone (preferably Protestant) of his choosing in the event it should pass to any sons of her's.

[fynnisshit]

Nina the killer: Rewrite

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

Update 1/?

For my Nina rewrite, I just wanna put some things down for debate on if I should include this. A lot of what I'll be saying here are personal headcanons and such of the type because from the original story, there isn't too much to go off of. I am also going to be referencing Seireitonin's (on tiktok and tumblr) headcanons for Nina because I agree with some.

For starters, I am going to write Nina as a Blasian person (Dad was Black, Mother is Chinese). I think in a lot of ways it can add depth to her character, and it also makes sense in a lot of ways to me. In Seireitonin's post about why she thinks Nina is black she mentions how in a lot of cases black people often have absent fathers (That is not coming from me, that was said by Seireitonin who *is* a black person) and it lines up with how Nina's father was never once mentioned in her original story. In my rewrite, I want to write that her father actually dies from an illness like cancer. I think that it could be more sympathizable when it comes to her insanity that her father passes away when she is still growing rather than is absent since she was a baby. Also, in regards to her being part Asian, I think it could add to why she was bullied. I'm aware that many Asian people have and are often times made fun of and picked on for their ethnicity, and that also goes for African American peoples (in no way am I excusing this behavior). The bullying part of the story isn't only going to be motivated by her race, and I do not wish for it to be.

As I'm sure many people and myself headcanon her as a scenekid, I'd like to include that. I assume she is a scenekid and has just moved to a suburban area with her mother and brother. Many suburban parts of towns are generally middle-upper class, white, and typical "normal" people. I would assume that if a Blasian scene teenager moves into their part of town, it would probably give them some "bad" impressions.

For the setting of the rewrite, I'd like to make it known that Nina has just moved from California to a small town in Michigan. I think the generic trope of a girl from a small town moves to a big city is very fun, but I think it'd be super rad if the trope was reversed. In the rewrite, I want to include that one of the only reasons that Nina moves to a small town in Michigan is because of her mom having a job relocation. There's a city in Michigan called Freeland that is really close to a river, which I think later on it'd be handy for Nina herself when it comes to discarding the bodies she had killed. Also, Freeland is very close to a city called Midland, which is the headquarters of a big chemical plant/company called Dow (This is true, I actually researched for this, lol). Dow has a location in Hayward, California, which I think would be a good place for Nina to move from, assuming that her mom works at Dow.

I researched and found out that Midland is actually pretty expensive to live in, so I thought that the smaller and more affordable town nearby, Freeland, would work just fine.

In the rewrite, Nina and her little brother, Chris, would go to school at a Catholic or Christian, K-12, school. I don't think that Freeland actually has any religious schools, but I'm not going to be *that* accurate. At the school, I imagine that they would have a uniform and dress code that Nina tried her hardest to push the limits of with out breaking them to get away with being able to express herself in the way that she likes. That's where her canon outfit would come into play. The classic black skirt, purple hoodie, and red striped stockings are seemingly tame outfits. At school, I imagine the dress code is not too strict. Simply, a black or navy skirt, stockings, or tights with no more than two colors and a school polo. I'm sure they allow sweaters or jackets when coming and going from school, so thats why Nina would be able to wear her purple hoodie.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

fin

[the-whispers-of-death]

So I did get asked to expand more on the version of Stone who has a daughter and I'm a man who jumps on the first opportunity he gets to talk about his different AUs (someone please let me know if you all want to know about the AU where Stone still gets lent to the 141 but was previously in a squad called The Tigers, I don't care that it would make my OCs' count be 10 OCs,)

Anyways, so as previously stated in the dilf!reader post, this version of Stone got pregnant at sixteen because that's when he got kicked out by his father. So he gets kicked out on his sixteenth birthday, in November, and so he's in North Carolina now and he's living on the streets. (This is obviously before he transitions, since he does that when he enlists in the U.S. Navy two years later.)

He luckily manages to get a spot in the local youth homeless shelter and he spent quite a while there, and that's how he met the other dad. They were both sixteen, both kicked out and struggling to survive. It's important to note that Stone had barely any sex education due to previously being isolated and home-schooled by his father, so that's how he ended up getting pregnant because he didn't know any better.

The boy who impregnates him leaves the youth shelter before Stone finds out that he's pregnant and they never meet up again, because Stone was like "Why tell him something that would change his entire worldview?" And originally, Stone plans on putting his daughter up for adoption when she's born, because at this point in time he's planning to enlist in the U.S. Navy when he will turn seventeen.

But then he sees his daughter on the ultrasound and he just can't give her up, and he's now living in a Catholic church because a priest had taken him in when a staff of the youth shelter told said priest that Stone had gotten pregnant. The priest promises that the church will help him raise the child and so Stone keeps his daughter.

Flash-forward about nine months and Stone gives birth to his daughter, who he names Saira after his mother because while she did abandon him, the very few memories he has of her are better than the numerous memories he has of his father. He'll never admit this to anyone but Saira, but he cried for the first time in years (and honestly the only time after that) when he held her tiny baby form in his arms.

Stone and Saira both spend her first year of life in the church, due to the fact that Stone can't enlist in the U.S. Navy at seventeen because of there being no record of him having any education. So he's not only taking care of a child, he's also on a program that will give him his education so he can enlist when he's eighteen.

We're just going to condense everything that happens after he gets enlisted in the U.S. Navy because that's sixteen years. Saira grows up like any military brat, always on bases and in foreign countries. Despite how her father grew up, Stone made sure to give her as much freedom as he could while also making sure she was safe. He was heavy on making sure she grew up differently than how he did, so while he couldn't really express his emotions well, she knew he loved her.

He learned how to ride a bike so he could then teach her how to, he filled his entire house with children's books when she was younger, so he could read with her and help her improve on her reading comprehension (he refused to let her potentially be bullied about not being smart). He was so soft with her, kissing every boo-boo she got (every soldier who saw him do that was jealous because they wanted to get the same treatment when they were injured but they instead got his roughness) and he made sure she never got touch-starved.

Also in this AU, Kali spends way more time with Stone since he's Auntie Ashok here (though Saira tries several times over the years to set up her father and Kali) and he's part of the reason Saira knows how to smile and laugh (because poor Stone, even in this AU he can't manage to figure out to smile). He was the cool and fun uncle, helping Stone with anything he could help with.

And by the time Stone gets lent to the 141, she's about to be seventeen, obviously able to follow Stone to where the SAS base the 141 works out of, staying with an old Marine friend Stone served with who has a daughter Saira's age while Stone works. She's a senior and about to go to prom, which scares Stone so much because where did the time go by???

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part X): One Breath and the Scully Men

I'd forgotten to write up an analysis of Captain "Ahab" Scully's speech to his daughter in One Breath-- ironically, the title drop moment of the episode; and, while starting that process, I then realized I'd forgotten Scully's brothers, too. So, I have one last post to squeeze out of this episode before I move on~.

Scully Brother Speculation

Where were the Scully brothers in One Breath? In the opening monologue, it is clear that Scully shared a close relationship with both her brothers (which I touched on here and here): they saved up to buy her a bb gun for her birthday (although the dates are off-- again, no show bible) and were very enthusiastic to further fill in the gaps of her shooting instructions once their father had left. But as their sister lay dying, Bill and Charlie weren’t anticipated or mentioned by the Scully women; and the only time that Maggie perhaps indirectly refers to their absence is when she greets and thanks Melissa for coming-- and neither she nor her daughter are, seemingly, surprised, phased or burdened. So… what is going on? 

What we do know: Bill Scully, at least, is enlisted in and at the whims of the Navy. In future episodes, he is able to take time from his career to check in with Scully’s cancer (only after Maggie tells him the cancer metastasized) and to successfully accomplish an unspecified number of IVF trials with his wife which results in her pregnancy and delivery near Christmas. I’ll touch on it more in the future, but it would seem big brother Bill spent more time at sea earlier in the Scully family relationship then switched tracks to some degree before the events of A Christmas Carol (i.e. understanding-- though not liking-- why his sister was “chained to the job” and avoiding the family celebrations… until)-- which is interesting, because he would have had to recognize how much could be lost by sacrificing too much in the dogged pursuit of his career, a lesson his own father learned too late. Bill, at least post Gethsemane, seems to have taken a more deliberate path to be more involved with his family and loved ones. So, likely, Bill was at sea when his sister was returned, unable to swoop in and arrange things to his satisfaction.

And what of Charlie? It’s often hypothesized that Charlie, like Melissa, was the shunned misfit of the family. However, that seems to be unsupported with the canonical evidence we know. In Beyond the Sea, he and his wife and their children were at Captain Scully’s funeral, post here (and noted in the script here-- thanks, @x-files-scripts!-- as twenty-five? A young Catholic wedding, I suppose-- maybe even married someone a little “older” who already had a child, since at least one of the kids is too grown to have been born sometime after Charlie turned eighteen); and he’s mentioned by Scully in Roland and in Home (having babysat one nephew in the latter episode, perhaps lending credence to my unsupported "the second boy is Charlie's biologically" theory) without the restrained awkwardness she sometimes displays when talking about her father or Maggie or Melissa. The only other times that “count” in canon are two phone calls: a deleted Memento Mori check-in (script here, outtake scene here) that pinpoints Bill as the "Charlie go-between" (a role Bill fills in for Maggie and Melissa as well) and the Revival's Home Again follow up for his mother's decline. Besides a deleted script featuring Charlie escaping death by psychic powers (read here), there isn’t anything more to glean from his character. So, all we know is: Charlie Scully was close enough to his dad to bring his whole family to the funeral (and cry at it), is close enough to Bill to always call him with updates, and is simultaneously close enough and distant from the other Scully women enough for his absence to not affect them and for his two deathbed calls to be taken as a matter of course. Interestingly enough, it would seem Bill Scully is closer to his mother and two sisters-- rushing in to “mother” (read: boss) Scully about her cancer, advocate for his mother's stress and hurt, and later reveal a picture of Melissa she had given to no one else but himself-- than Charlie actually is. 

Again, I touched on this briefly in my Typing Post here, but my hypothesis that Charlie is disconnected from his family by virtue of not gelling with them rather than a huge familial blowout seems to, at least, be heavily supported by what scraps canon does provide. (Even more shockingly, Maggie and Bill Jr. seem to be the two people keeping the family glued together-- i.e. shaming Bill Scully Sr. and Scully for their withdrawn ways-- and insisting on keeping up family tradition-- i.e. Christmas and baby showers.) No one seems to hold expectations of or grudges against him, even though the only time Charlie is there for his family (other than the odd mention) was at Captain Scully’s funeral. As an aside, another theory I hold-- but also cannot be supported with evidence-- is that Charlie can’t tolerate or is afraid of death-- showing face only at his father’s funeral while calling to get updates on his sister’s and mother’s health (and not at all for Melissa’s, likely because everything happened too suddenly.) Perhaps Charlie can’t abide watching his loved ones die; and everyone knows it and lets him be.

Captain Scully's Last Farewell

Captain Scully’s speech is the crux of One Breath, acting as one of the three most pivotal scenes that happens to Scully during her coma. 

He advances to his daughter’s “morgue” table in a firm military stride; 

but stops a few feet away, keeping this distance between them while standing at ease-- emblematic of his relationship with Scully: accidentally cultivated in life, and physically enforced by death. 

Ahab is aware of this great gulf fixed, clenching and unclenching his fists in distress while softly calling out, “Hello, Starbuck.” There’s a tremble in his voice and a long pause after he adds, “This is Ahab.” No matter what happened before and after, he is affirming that his and Scully’s special bond was never broken; and that she was and will always be his little first mate. 

Continuing to open and close his hand, Captain Scully goes on in a halting, heavy voice: “People… would say to me… ‘Life is short…. Kids, they grow up fast-- before you know it, it’s over.’ I never listened. 

But me,” he deviates, narrating the past to explain the lessons learned by his failures and choices-- a lesson Scully will repeat to her own revelation in All Things, “I’ve went at a proper pace. Earned many rewards.” Again, he pauses, his expression filling with despair as he briefly reflects on the emptiness of the pride felt then. 

“...Til the moment that…” a long pause as Captain Scully gulps down a wave of emotion with a heavy sigh, 

“--I knew, that I understood that… I would never see you again. My little girl.” Tears on the brink, he continues: “Then my life felt as if… it had been the length of one breath.” Another heavy pause as regretful tears choke his confession.

Recollecting himself, Ahab finishes the choked-off sentence: “One heartbeat," looking meaningfully at his daughter-- sharing, silently, the heartrending truth that his heart had beat in time with hers; and, while he had shared that beat and that breath with her, he realized, too late, that had never told his little Starbuck.

The weight of that unspoken admission takes the most out of him, his voice having dipped from soft to low, from gentle to desolate. 

“At that moment--” he barges forth, fury at the missed opportunities and his own blindness giving strength heretofore lacking in his voice, 

“I would have traded every medal… every commendation, every promotion, for… one more second with you.” 

Here the Scully family trait kicks in: Captain Scully licks his lips to steel himself against a swell of emotion and to prepare himself for the approaching farewell. 

“We’ll be together again, Starbuck. But not now.” And it’s both beautiful and heartbreaking: that he is glad this is not Scully’s end-- quirking up a side smile for her sake-- but is miserable with the depth of his longing-- eyes hungrily devouring her with a last look. 

“Soon,” he emphatically promises, swearing as much to himself as to his daughter.

Then, with a slow, reluctant turn, Captain Ahab retreats back into the whitened hallway, back to the afterlife where he will wait for their soon. 

With all of Captain Scully's love unspoken and his attention swallowed up with his work, it's easy to see how Scully internalized and applied the setbacks of their relationship into other relationships with "obsessed with his work" men, ingrained as her wiring was to seek out the approval of "other fathers" (Never Again analysis post here and Typing post here.)

Captain "Ahab" Scully's second chance may have soothed the doubts between them, but his accidental neglect will continue to haunt Scully and her choices for most of the series-- until All Things serves as her own personal revelation and absolution, guiding her out of her father's footsteps and into independent freedom.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

[quordleona03]

Not quite a Christmas story

My mother was born in 1935. In 1940, she and her mother went as refugees from WWII to Canada, where my mother spent the next five years in a Catholic boarding school and my grandmother worked in a munitions factory and they saw each other on Sundays. My grandfather was in the navy. After the war, my grandparents had two more children, hated each other, and divorced in 1969 when their youngest child turned 18.

My mother came to Scotland in 1959, taught school for a year, met my father, went back to Canada to get married, and came back to Scotland in 1964. She had three children, and when we were young, she gave us a wonderful childhood with - moments.

At Christmas she would devise each of us a stocking with small presents she had bought through the year, just right as stocking-stuffers, and also always fruit and nuts tucked into the toe. She taught each of us to cook - I have been baking expertly since I was eight years old. She taught each of us to read, and never banned us from reading any of the books that crowded our family home. She gave fantastic birthday parties, and because my birthday falls inside the Christmas holiday season when everybody is partied out, she also used to organise a second party for me elsewhen in the year - at Hallowe'en, or in the summer holidays. She liked to give thoughtful perfect presents but when I made clear my favourite present was a book token and an afternoon in the biggest children's bookshop, that's what she gave me, plus oddments to unwrap so it wasn't just booktoken envelopes to open on the day. She took us to a cottage in the Borders every summer, a 4-room cottage with no electricity, water heated by the fire in the living-room, and we spent golden weeks there.

She got me my first set of adult library cards, two years early, when she realised I had literally run out of books to read in the children's library. She gave me blank lined notebooks for journals, and my first two manual typewriters, and bought me paper and pens. She read aloud to me: The Once And Future King, and Ivanhoe, and The Lord of the Rings.

And then there was a birthday party that was cancelled at the last minute because my mother realised she had left too much undone and couldn't do it: the teacher told the class and told me separately and sent me home early and must have told the children not to tease me about it. There was any number of times I got screamed at for offences I didn't understand at the time (and only sometimes understand now). There was the strange distancing that happened between ten and seventeen, as I became less and less able to fit the mold of the daughter she wanted. I came out to her at seventeen - she was almost the first person I told: and she was horrified, and I lived for the next two years in an atmosphere of unremitting disapproval. The disapproval didn't end when I was 19: I left home.

My mother was homophobic til the day she lost consciousness: she just got better at hiding it over the years. The measure of her love for me is that despite wishing all of her life that I would stop being a lesbian, she never could bring herself to disown me.

My mother dealt with my neurodivergence - I am dysphraxic - by deciding it wasn't real: I spent decades of my life not sure why I was always so clumsy and so kackhanded with anything requiring delicate coordination. She didn't want me dysphraxic any more than she wanted me lesbian.

I found a page in one of her journals, a Christmas fantasy of her family in ten years time: of her oldest child married and with kids, her youngest child married with another kid. I was not in this fantasy: the unsatisfactory daughter.

My mother was a hoarder: it took me months to clear her last home of stuff. I found the teddy bear she'd had since she was five, tucked away in the clutter, and gave it to the undertaker to include in her coffin at the funeral. It seemed to me she should go with one of the things she'd loved and kept in life. My mother hoarded things. She and my father, who died ten months before her, lived in a large flat that was cluttered wall to wall with things - with books, of course, and with food, with clothes she no longer wore, gifts she had never given, inheritances and things picked up in charity shops, the once-useful and the might-be-useful and the someday-useful. And papers. And journals. And spent lottery tickets. She hadn't held down a job since the 1980s, and she had - from her journals - sometimes elaborate fantasies about what she'd do when she won.

We were waiting for the paramedics to take my mother to the hospital after the last bad fall she had, and because it wasn't an emergency they were very late. I made us cocoa and toasted cheese sandwiches in my mother's kitchen, while we were waiting. The last meal I made for her. I can't remember what the first one was, when she first showed me how to cook.

A couple of months later, I invited a couple of volunteers from a soup kitchen/food bank to come over and take what they wanted from the kitchen. I had meant to have it better organised but when they came, they looked at me, and at my mother's kitchen, and one said "You haven't been able to get started on this, have you?" and I said no, and they said "we'll do it". They boxed up everything they could take with them, and sorted the rest into cardboard boxes of what a charity shop would likely take and what should just go to the dump, and somewhere, I hope, some of that hoard of mugs are still in use, being drunk from with hot tea by someone who could really use a cuppa.

My mother died on this day, on 23rd December 2015, and over the years I have dealt with the anniversary of her death in different ways: I've gone on holiday, I've gone swimming, I've gone for a walk, I've gone to see Cats the Movie, I even one year worked a full day at work because Christmas fell on a Sunday and they were offering full hours to anyone who wanted to work the last Friday.

This year, I'm tired and in recovery from COVID. I've made bread, done laundry, done the dishes, had two naps, tried to read a Mira Grant novel, changed the cat litter trays, taken the rubbish out, gone for as long a walk as I could manage, and I'm still sitting here, contemplating my mother's life and death and legacy and wishing for, I don't know what.

My father's life is so much easier: he had a happy childhood, work he loved, a retirement spent writing and walking and caring for his wife. My father's life makes a satisfying story: he wrote some of it down in a memoir for his children.

My mother's life was strange and muddled and broken and full of cluttered things and unfocussed anger and a lot of misery. And yet: I still miss how she would say my name, sudden and joyous, "Oh, it's you!"

[lalalovezfrenchfriez]

Flyin Frydays

authors note: this is a story that appeared in my brain and now u can read it! whoa! I will update this every Friday. pls be nice I haven't done this since my fanfic days- which this is not. this is a love story to myself, and to hopefully, everyone who needs that kick to go forward. love you guys!

"¡Oye!"

I turn from the window, and there is Laura, shaking her skirt in the mirror at me. I don't know why I was looking out the window. I think I saw a bird. Or something. Maybe. I can't remember.

"How does it look?"

I rub my eyes, standing up. I look at her, then the skirt. I don’t remember much about colors, and sizes from beaut school. She would look good in everything. But I turn my head to the side. “I…think it's too short."

Laura sighs desperately. "I need to choose something cute! This is my FIRST college party! I don't know how these work! You WORK in beauty! Help me be beautiful!" She throws the skirt down and slumps on her bed face down. Her weight causes a wave of stuffed animals to quake. A dog plush falls on her light brunet hair.

I lick my lips, nodding with her words as I pick up her puppy plush. I really wish I could just smoke in her room. It would just be so simple, she's on the top floor and I can just puff out the window. But that’s not the point, I convince myself, taking a big breath. "Can I look in your closet?"

She muffles a yes from the blankets. I turn the light on in the room, illuminating the tan dorm atmosphere and the bright pink hues of Laura’s side, and the goth black of her roommate’s. Her wardrobe is old, stained, and slightly moldy, but it doesn’t smell when I open the door and start to go through her pants. I forget how little she has, fashion wise. It’s nice though. Models brag to you too much about their sprees. My good friend Laura owns simple black cargo pants that are stained with chemicals, loose black sweatpants she works out in, two pairs of jeans, and several neutral colored skirts that are academic-looking.

Laura peers behind me as I shift to her tops. “Everything okay?” She whimpers.

“Uh huh.” I lie.

Something catches my eye. I ruffle inside the small bin, and I pull out a sky blue crop top. Bingo. “Pair these with any jeans you got and wear those Pumas. You'll get a man."

"The ones from Old Navy?" She inquires as she tosses the outfit from before, going to her pants and pulling out the standard black cargos from her chemistry labs.

I shake my head with a tiny smile, "Loca- nah those tight ones. Tight always gets the boys looking."

Laura repeats what I say under her breath as she gets out tight grey jeans, the top, and comfortable sneakers. I would suggest to her heels, but in junior high she broke her nose dancing with this boy. She swore for me to never tell.

How could I? We’ve known each other forever because of our parents. My father beat her father once in a game of lotería and now every time it’s my father’s birthday, they give us tamales equal in number to his age. Laura since then, was always determined to beat me. She has only beat me twice.

Because she’s smart. She was the only one out of the people I hang out with to get into UCLA. She always rose her hand first. She always had those skirts ready. She was the first person to suggest to my mother about coffee in the bakery- Máma won’t stop talking about how business boomed. Laura is the perfect image of the first generation, first born, virgin Catholic daughter. She speaks Spanish, English and her grandmother’s native Quechua near perfect.

Why she ever wants a man when she can simply get rich off alone is still beyond me.

"How do I look?" Laura turns. I smile as I look at her outfit, then at her eyes and smile. Her dimples are hiding beneath a prideful grin and she is trying to suppress her bright brown eyes that are filled with excitement.

"Perfect. Now!" I get up, looking at her from the mirror. "Makeup? Hair?"

"Both? Ugh." Laura grumbles as she sits at her desk, her large vanity in front of her. "Can we do it light? And have my hair down?"

"It'll look too simple,” I play with her curls. “How about a ponytail look?" I advise.

"Fine. Okay. Okay!" She looks in the mirror and takes a deep breath. "I'll like that." She looks at me in the mirror. Her dimples reveal. “Gracias, Río.”

My hands go faster than my brain. I move her hair oil and her makeup bag on the desk. My cheeks are hot. She’s the first person to call me that since… 

“Hey, how are you and Ms. French?” Laura asks with difficulty as I wipe a cleanser over her face. I can’t even attempt hide my frown.

I take her makeup case and look through, my face hidden behind the mirror. “We broke up.”

“What?!” Laura tries to hide the shock on her face. “But-but why?! How? What happened?”

She has the perfect light and bright makeup to pair with her outfit. It would formulate to the Perfect Party Look. But also I can’t think because Laura is asking questions that I can’t even answer.

May Thomas and I broke up less than two hours ago. To summarize the already summarized conversation, May told me she found someone else, that she couldn’t love me anymore. She left to go to her art show after kissing me. I smoked a cigarette and cried in my car until Laura asked me in tears for help for her party. We dated for a year. She was my first partner. I came out of the closet with her. May Thomas still is on my dashboard photos. Her ringtone is a beat we heard at Santa Monica on our first date. She told me we could move to Paris together. 

“I don’t know.” I push through, though my hands quake with rage. I hold the desk to not rip out her hair by accident. I look at Laura. Her big eyes plead with me. I smile at her. “But that doesn’t matter right now,” I tease her hair with my fingers which causes a small frizz. “I’m going to make you look like the Belle of the Ball and you’re going to get your Beast.”

Laura smiles, sadly for me, but my words fuel her. “You’re the best. Te amo.”

I repeat it to her, but Laura doesn’t hear.

[mad2jokes]

Funny

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[circusgoth-dotcom]

Hooky/First Kiss

Ship: Jack Torrance x Keaton Diamond (Childhood Friends AU)

Word Count: 1054

Summary: Keaton & Jack are around 15 in this story. When Keaton isn't seen at school, Jack skips part of school to check up on him. As a result, he gets his first kiss. Attempted to use some fun fifties slang since that would be when Jack was a teenager if we put the events of The Shining in 1980. CWs for mentions of abusive parents, Jack (kind of) breaking into Keaton's house (granted, he was given a key), and self-image issues.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @rexscanonwife

When Jack didn’t see Keaton at school that day, he knew he had the perfect excuse to play hooky. Yeah, maybe his best friend was just sick, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant to go through the school day without him, either. At lunch, he slipped past the uncaring school secretary and began walking through the autumn-coloured neighbourhood and out to Keaton Diamond’s house. Jack and Keaton had been close friends ever since Keaton’s family had moved him out to Garden City, Long Island, and ever since the two confided in each other about their oppressive home lives.

Jack had to deal with his both verbally and physically aggressive father and his devoutly Catholic mother, while Keaton dealt with an emotionally unavailable father and a physically unavailable mother, along with the incessant calling from his overbearing grandparents… needless to say, confiding in each other was quite cathartic and came easily.

Rounding the corner, Jack scrambled over his neighbours’ fences until he ended up in Keaton’s backyard, gold and red leaves crunching beneath his worn boots as he approached the window that would open into Keaton’s bedroom. He knocked on the glass first in an attempt to be polite, but when the blackout curtains didn’t shift, he dug around in his coat pocket until he retrieved the key Keaton had snuck him so that they might be able to see each other without any adults noticing. Glancing over his shoulder, Jack unlocked Keaton’s window and pulled it open as quietly as physically possible before launching himself over the sill and struggling past the thick curtains. The room was completely dark, but Jack could hear Keaton scrambling to sit up in his bed.

The bedside lamp flicked on. “Jack! You can’t be here right now!” Keaton hissed. Jack looked toward him, still halfway through the window, but he was hiding beneath his sheet.

“Whaddya mean I can’t be here, Keats, your dad isn’t home, is he?” Jack asked, beginning to swing his legs into the room.

“You can’t be here because you’re supposed to be in school-- for Christ’s sake, at least take your boots off, I don’t need my dad asking about mud on the carpet…!”

Jack took off his boots and dropped them outside the window before planting his grey socks on the carpeted floor. “Fine, fine. Seeing you was more important than listening to Mr. Inbody drone on about algebra… so what’re you doing in bed, anyway, you don’t sound sick to me.”

Keaton’s form folded his arms subconsciously under his sheet. “I-it’s something you wouldn’t understand…”

Jack scoffed. “Oh yeah? Try me, Diamond.” He leaned over the baseboard of Keaton’s bed and snatched at the sheet, making Keaton bury himself further under his blankets.

“Jack, no! You can’t look at me…”

“Why not?” Still leaning over the baseboard, Jack looked around Keaton’s room. He had been there before, of course, but he always liked it much better than his own. At least Keaton got to have posters from his favourite sci-fi and horror flicks. The walls were painted a soothing navy blue while the carpet was an unoffensive cream colour. A cluttered desk sat in the corner opposite to the bed, where the duvet was a white background patterned with varying shades of blue birds.

“I’m all… broke-out…” Keaton murmured against his blankets.

“Broke-out??”

“Y’know. Red and spotty.”

Jack slowly wandered to the side of the bed and finally sunk down onto the mattress. “Why do you care that your face is red and spotty??”

“I told you you wouldn’t understand, it’s absolutely bogus! I scrubbed my face with soap and water until it bled and I think it just made it worse…”

Jack’s brow furrowed at this. “Keaton…” He felt around on top of the blankets in search of his friend’s hand, making him squirm and squeak when he accidentally grabbed at his side- “Sorry, sorry!” -before finally squeezing Keaton’s hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“It’s disgusting! And it hurts like a bitch on my nose…”

“Didn’t your daddy tell you anything about not having a dirty mouth, you little shit?” Jack grinned as Keaton feebly laughed. “C’mon, I wanna see that smile… spots and all.”

Slowly, Keaton’s dark hair appeared at the top of the sheets, followed by his forehead and bespectacled eyes.

“Well, it’s not looking too shabby so far,” Jack observed, playfully ruffling his hair.

“Oh, trust me, it gets worse…” The sheet slipped down to reveal his nose and cheeks, inflamed, shining, and pimply, followed by his lips and chin. He squeezed his eyes shut as he sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. “I feel like the surface of Mars.”

“Oh, Keaton… can I…?” Jack raised his hand, letting it hover over his cheek. Keaton opened one of his eyes to see what he was doing and hesitantly nodded. Willingly, Jack placed his hand on Keaton’s cheek. “I don’t think you’re disgusting.”

Keaton shuddered slightly, still with his eyes closed. “You don’t?”

“‘Course not. When have I ever cared about appearances?”

Keaton opened his eyes, glancing down at Jack’s outfit. “You can say that again.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Hey, I’m trying to make you feel better, could you do less ragging on my sense of fashion?”

“I don’t know, I think that is making me feel better,” Keaton hid his smile behind his hand. “No, no, I quite like the way you dress, actually… flannel looks real bad on you.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks.” He stroked Keaton’s cheek with his thumb, unbothered by the slick yet bumpy feeling of his skin. He cleared his throat as he admired Keaton, he was cute whether he was sporting clear skin or the worst acne flare-up of the year. “Would it be wrong for me to want to kiss you? Right now?”

Now Keaton’s face was flushed for a different reason. He bat his eyelashes. “I…” He found his hand trailing up Jack’s arm, past his neck, and up into his hair, almost of its own accord… “you… kiss me?”

“Yeah, caveman. I kiss you. Because you big cute. And Jack big handsome, so, only suitable, yeah?”

“Oh my God.”

And suddenly they were leaning in and kissing deeply, sweetly, eyes closed, hands on each other's bodies, and an autumn breeze flicking the curtains behind Jack’s back…

[latewinter00]

(Slight blood warning)

OC LOREE

Azaliya is an OC ive had for a few years, shes kind of been on the back burner aside from one apocalyptic story ive written. I decided to use her for the server thing we’re partnered with, but ima explain the zombie thingy.

Azaliya is a somewhat normal highschool girl, aside from her war obsessed freak of a father and a dead mother. As a typical rich kid, shes snooty and cock, not to mention teasing and mocking. Although having an incredibly rich family, she has no desire for most earthly possessions.

Azaliyas hair is long and wavy, shes a natural blond though enjoys having the ends of her hair dyed hot pink. Almost always dawning two large pigtails on either side of her head, (I swear i designed her before i even knew about pjsk and saki…) Her eyes are similar to milk chocolate, a soft brown but a sharp shape.

Her school uniform, from her richy preppy catholic school, is a simple white short sleeved button up, plaid navy and grey skirt, navy tie, white crew socks, black cuffed mary janes, and a navy sweaer with white accents tied around her waist.

At the current period in her timeline, her clothing is scuffed, dirty and bloody.

To start with her past, Azaliya was born into a rich family. Her father and mother owned a large manor, her life nearly completely planned out. All of that was until her mother devolpled a terminal sickness. See her mother was someone she liked, surprisingly. She had always been a bratty kid, to her parents maids and workers, even to family, though her mother was an exeption. It devistated her when her mother passed when she was 11. Her father, a selfish and strange man moved on fairly quickly, seeming unaffected.

Her father, a retired Veteran, had a strange intrest in world war II. Memorabilia, authentic weapons and uniforms lined a large room where he kept everything he owned. Azaliya was only let in their once when she was younger.

Moving on to nearly 4 years later, power around her suddenly went out, as she was at school, everyone around her thought it was a storm. Though when let out to walk home for the day, Azaliya and her peers realized just what happened. Chaos met the high schoolers, everything straight out of an apocalypse movie. Like most around her, she ran home, away from the screaming people and smell of blood.

When she got home she had found her father was already infected, though she wasnt saddened. She had to fight him off herself, finally ending him by shoving a snapped broom into his head, destroying his brain.

Again another timeskip later, Azaliya had been wandering since the start of the apacoplpsye, murdering zombies with a real and authentic DS-39 Machine Gun, stolen from her fathers War collection… (My fav gun if you cant tell) when she came across a man in a large hole…After some taunting she helped him out. The man was Cassius, a military member who had left his base where he was stationed after his team was infected. The two then began traveling together, mainly out of curiosity how a 16 year old had survived the apocalypse.

[mxb1jokes]

Clean Jokes

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[rylredrants]

Dads of GenX

Seems the theme for today is Dads.

One friend that I grew up with shared stories of the abuse she suffered at her dad’s hands… some of which I saw firsthand. We were teenagers getting ready for church at her house, in the bathroom doing our hair and makeup when he yelled at her and shoved her so hard that she flew behind me and landed in the bathtub… then we all went to church where he sang in the choir.

Another friend posted about the anniversary of his dad’s passing and how much he missed his parents because of how much they taught him and how well loved he was as a child.

We’re all roughly the same age (early/mid-40s, late GenX/Xennials) but I think our dads were of different generations. The good dad was a bit older than the abusive one and my friend with all the positive memories of his parents was adopted.

The abusive dad was close in age to my own ‘dad’ (and my father) which is what all of this brings to mind. The man who raised me and the man I recently discovered was my father were both in the military during the Vietnam War. My bio dad was a Soldier & Marine while the man who raised me joined the Navy to avoid combat. Their drugs of choice were also on the opposite end of the spectrum with the man who raised me smoking copious amounts of (then illegal) cannabis and my bio dad (allegedly) being a heavy meth user.

The man who raised me was the picture of undiagnosed depression, hiding in the garage and avoiding me when he wasn’t working on a construction site, slinging racist rhetoric, or screaming at fast food employees. If he’d been alive on January 6th I have no doubt that he’d have been at the Capitol in a red hat. In my childhood home, I was the one who did the yelling… yelling at my brother in the middle of the night for pissing on the toilet seat or at my ‘dad’ when I came home from school because we had DARE that day and I’d discovered a bag of weed in the pocket of the jacket I’d borrowed from him. I remember calling him by his name and yelling, “What the fuck is this shit?” as I flung the baggie at him.

I was eight.

I was constantly told how grown up and mature I was but in the times when I truly needed an adult there wasn’t one who I trusted to parent me. My ‘dad’ was afraid of me and/or so deeply resented my resemblance to my mother that when I looked straight at him with some hard or uncomfortable truth he literally ran away muttering, “I have to go to the bathroom” where he would lock himself away until I retreated to my bedroom.

As for my bio dad, I’m told he was a yeller as well. His widow said that she didn’t think he was made to be a parent and that he was constantly hollerin’ at the kids. She had 2 when they met and they later had my sister. My little sister, his youngest, described him as kind and loving but also that he could get scary at times.

My husband’s father is also a Vietnam Vet who survived a horrific incident that left him pretty badly wounded. His parents went in the opposite direction of my own, becoming deeply religious. Their home had no drugs or alcohol, only Jesus.

Oh! And a missionary trip to Africa with all 3 boys during a political coup that became its own trauma fuel for my husband and his brothers.

My childhood home included a pot-growing babysitter which was fitting because apparently my ‘dad’ was a dealer. Their disco cocaine days only slowed down after my baby brother walked into the living room with a McDonald’s straw up his nose because he’d seen them doing lines.

From where I sit now I can see all the trauma across my family tree.

I see the abuse my mother endured as the later-in-life accident in an otherwise ‘perfect’ Catholic family.  Her anorexic mother chided her about her weight and the magnet on the fridge read, “Holy Cow! Are you eating again!” with a small bell that alerted the household that the door had been opened.

I see the quiet acceptance of poverty from my ‘dad’ as the child of a teenaged mother whose bio dad abandoned them shortly after his birth… a mother who’d grown up picking cotton in the fields, a ‘rich Oakie because they had 2 mattresses for all dozen or so kids.’ And I wonder how much he heard as a child about the traumatic birth she experienced because breaking her hips to deliver him was the way it was done before C-sections. I can only wonder because they all passed away before I could begin asking these questions.

I see my bio dad’s family and the stories my living blood relatives have told of alcoholism, parental estrangement, murder/suicides, drug abuse and a host of Jerry Springer episode fodder. Add all of that to combat in Vietnam and it makes sense that he would self-medicate into an early grave.

I see it all and it makes sense, but none of that means they are forgiven for the way I grew up. You can’t forgive away that kind of deep damage.

And where I sit now, that also helps me understand why my own daughter cut me out of her life like she did. I understand her trepidation at reconnecting after her father’s suicide and the fact that no matter how many times I’ve said “I love you” to her since, she’s never said it back.

Do I expect forgiveness from her for everything she had to endure because of my own trauma? No.

You can’t forgive things like that away.

What I can hope for is that she’ll understand and accept that I know better now and I’m trying to do better. I will never be the mother she needed because I can’t go back in time. I can’t bring back the dead. I can’t fill the holes in her soul or mine that festered and grew because our parents didn’t have the tools to support us when we needed it most.

The best I can do from here is speak up and tell my story so that others don’t feel so alone in it. I can break the silence around the parts of our GenX/Xennial feral latchkey kid narrative that so many of us are only beginning to voice.

We were alone. Unparented. Abandoned by parents who were also very damaged people struggling to make sense of the world around them.

A world full of Vietnam veterans and the women back home who were suddenly told that being a wife and mother wasn’t enough.

It’s a wonder that so many of us have made it to middle age at all!