#she was handed the bill perhaps because it was hoped that as the youngest member

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children [DP x Batman Crossover] Ch. 2

In which: Danny thinks, Talia is concerned, and we finally see Ra's al Ghul's pride an joy: the Lazarus pit

AO3 | Prologue | 1 | [ 2 ] | 3 |

---

DANNY COUNTS THE DAYS by the hours he is in the monitor room. One hour is all that he is allowed. One hour after a day of learning and fighting, of ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no sir’ and ‘stand up straighter, boy’ and ‘remember that you have feet.’ Of being handed a sword only to have it knocked out of his hand (pickitup-pickitup-pick-it-up). Of ‘here’s eight plants, only one of them is the antidote to the poison you just ingested, and you better hope you remember the difference because this is the life you live now, Danny.’ This is what you agreed to for some time in front of a few television screen.

One hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand and six hundred measly fucking seconds was all he got to see his family before he’s ushered back to his room. Dark. Barren. Windowless.

God, when was the last time he saw the stars?

He spent his multitude of ‘one hours’ simply watching. That was all he could do, really. Watch and collect snatches of Amity—of Before. Like torn pieces of an antique photograph, unable to be restored but too precious to throw away.

Talia would call him too sentimental. Danny would love to remind Talia that if it wasn’t for her and her freaky older-than-dirt dad, Danny wouldn’t even need to be fucking sentimental.

Breathe in for four. Hold for seven. Breathe out for eight.

Repeat.

Repeat again.

One more time.

There’s a voice in Danny’s head that sounded too much like Jazz telling him that this kind of behavior was unhealthy. The Jazz in Danny’s head didn’t exactly know why, though they’re both pretty sure that constantly watching your family and friends move on after your death probably isn’t good for one’s sanity. Especially since Danny isn’t really dead.

Well.

Dead-er.

He isn’t—

(family-love-mememe-why aren’t they looking harder-don’t they care-they care-for their own good-what about-happy-no-me-them-me-them).

Truth be told, Danny isn’t angry that everyone in Amity seemed to be getting on with their lives. God, he’s seen how his suppsed-death affected them. He can’t—he won’t be responsible for holding them back from living when he can’t even be sure if he’ll ever be able to return to Amity again.

(He’s seen what happens when someone refuses to move on. Hell, the Zone is full of it. It’s either you obsess with grief…or you try to rip it out of yourself entirely.)

Danny wanted them to live on. Be happy. (With him.)The FentonWorks portal remained under constant vigilance, and since Pariah Dark, most ghosts recognized Amity as his haunt and tended to stay away. With any major threats he could only hope that Clockwork would step in somehow and at least keep it contained. Tucker and Sam were more than capable enough to handle most of his regular rogues gallery, especially if Red Huntress was backing them up too.

Amity…didn’t really need Danny anymore to protect it.

(Family-happy-protectprotectprotect-what?-safe-not safe-not needed).

For all that they tried to find out, Danny, Sam, and Tucker never did manage to figure out what his ghostly obsession was. Sam went out on a limb and said Heroism which…wasn’t quite right but fit the bill well enough.

And what was the point of heroes?

To build a world where they aren’t needed.

------

There was a noticeable shift in her son’s demeanor after he learned of the true nature of his parentage. Though it should be noted that while Talia showed a photograph of her beloved to Daniel, she did not disclose his true identity as to Ra’s al Ghul’s orders. Her father reasoned that it was more advantageous for Daniel to develop a closer connection with the maternal side of his family as opposed to the Waynes—a name that would be more familiar and thus better viewed than the strange people who kidnapped him.

No; ‘Recovered’ would be the most appropriate term. Daniel was her child. Would always be her child, no matter who raised him.

Daniel was…quieter. Somber. His eyes glazed yet sharp—blue eyes bloodshot despite maintaining a regular sleep schedule. Like pit madness with neither the madness nor the pit; simply the look of rage that bubbles beneath the skin, close to boiling over yet never there.

He continued to watch his false family obsessively. Yet…he had taken to watching Talia as well. Quietly. Unobtrusively. Small glances at the corner of his eye. Contemplative looks with furrowed brows whenever he presumed she did not notice. He had even taken to meticulously check his reflection in the mirror; pinching cheeks and turning his face this way and that, cataloguing his features as if to find what parts of him was from her—or perhaps if there was any part of him that ever resembled the paranormal scientists he once called parents.

Even if the physical similarities were not there, the DNA testing—regardless of the anomalies found in Daniel’s genes—was proof enough that he was her son.

“You have been keeping with your diet regimen, yes?” Asked one of the League’s physicians. He pressed his gloved fingers against Daniel’s skin, brushing the ridges of his ribcage. Marring her son’s skin was a large, faint scars. Fractals branching across his torso like the branches of a gruesome tree. “You are still too thin.”

“Fast metabolism,” Daniel mumbled. He is sat on an examination table in their medical wing, black shirt neatly folded beside him. His figure, though not skeletal, per se, was gaunt. His ribs poking from his pallor skin, stomach still concave for a boy who ate double the portions than any other member of the League of Assassins. “I’ve had it since the accident, but it’s never gotten this bad.”

The physician hummed, jotting his notes down along side the results of Danny’s vitals. The exact numbers were unknown to Talia, standing as she was by the door, though she could infer the results from previous physical examinations. (Low blood pressure and core body temperature. Faint pulse, slight tachycardia,) “Do you have any ideas why?”

Daniel’s lips thinned, eyes darting to the side as he always did whenever Phantom was related in anyway. His face was too open; Talia needed to train him out of that. “My…” He took a deep breath. “Ghosts aren’t supposed to stay very long in the Material world. It lacks the ectoplasmic energies that helps them ‘stay alive,’ so to speak. Usually they can supplement some of this by filtering some of the ambient energy in the atmosphere to strengthen themselves—it’s why Amity was such a hotspot for ghosts because of the large concentration of ectoplasm in the atmosphere—but it still isn’t a good long term solution.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Since I’m still somewhat human, I’m able to spend way more time in the Material world and can substitute spending days in the Zone by instead filtering ambient energy and eating.”

The physician made another noise, the tip of his pen tapping against the side of the clipboard. “So I take it then that, as your other half doesn’t have access to this ‘ambient energy’ as you call it, it is forced to take what energy it needs from the calories you’ve consumed, yes?”

“Basically.”

“What will happen if you do not have enough calories to supplement this energy?”

Danny shrugged, a rueful smile on his face. “Dunno. Maybe this time, death will stick.”

Talia narrowed her eyes.

Such a thing will not happen. She had been forced to give up on Daniel once, and then later on she lost her youngest to her beloved. Never again.

This child was hers.

------

“Father, did you not say that the anomalies found in Daniel’s DNA were similar in composition to the Lazarus pit?”

Ra’s al Ghul did not pause in pause in his reading to look up at Talia. The bird shaped magnifying glass held steady above the ancient manuscripts spread across his desk, eyes focused on the words and figures carefully inked onto the page. “Yes.” He set aside the magnifying glass and gently flipped the page. “It is what strengthened my belief of the connection between the Lazarus pit and these spirits.”

Talia straightened. “With your permission I would like to place Daniel into the pit.”

Her fathered looked up, curious. “You forget what the pit does to those who are in good health.”

She placed the results of Daniel’s most recent physical exam on to of his desk. Ra’s sat back in his chair and idly flipped through the folder, reading the contents as if no different to reading the newspaper instead of how his grandson is slowly being starved by his own biology. “Well, well. This would be a problem.”

He closed the folder, a wry grin curling at his lips. “Have him ready for tomorrow. I am curious as to how the pit would affect one already half-dead.”

------

Danny is awoken by Talia sometime the next day. “Come,” she said. “You do not need to change, so come quickly.”

He got off the bed with a silent groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Where are we going?”

“Not far. Somewhere that will help you.”

He snorted. “Letting me go home would help me.”

Talia doesn’t answer, simply waiting for him at the door. Danny groaned, combing away as much of his bedhead with his fingers as he followed her.

For the first time since being dragged to Nanda Parbat, Danny is allowed to venture beyond his small section of the compound.

He didn’t really know what to expect.

Still didn’t stop everything from being so…anticlimactic.

Beyond the steel door, normally kept locked and guarded by two of his shadow guards, was a hallway. Endlessly long with a wide pathway, lit enough by the fluorescent lights overhead but not enough to banish the shadows that clung to the stone walls. The hallway looked empty. ‘Looked’ being the key word, here. Even if he couldn’t see them, Danny would bet on his half-life that the shadows were teeming with life.

Talia led the way through the maze of twists and turns (were they underground?), a couple of shadow guards quietly following behind them.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Talia looked at him from over her shoulder for a moment, then turned away. “Have you heard of the Lazarus pits?”

“Lazarus? Like the guy who came back to life?” Neither of his parents were really religious. His dad only really Baptist in name because he was born into a Baptist family that, too, wasn’t overly strict in their religion. The only reason why Danny knew of this Lazarus guy was because of Mr. Lancer’s unit on Greco-Roman and Christian allusions.

Talia nodded, turning a corner. “The Lazarus pits are natural pools with restorative properties, capable of rejuvenating the body, healing grievous injuries, and even bringing the dead back to life.”

Danny nearly tripped over his own feet. “What? That’s—” Impossible. He ran up to Talia, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “What’s dead is dead. Resurrecting the dead goes against the natural law of the universe!”

“Well, you seem to be doing fine.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “That’s different. I’m still dead, even if my entire existence seems like the but end of a Schrodinger’s joke.”

“Be that as it may, what I speak is truth.” She stopped in front of a door and opened it. Then, stepping aside to usher Danny in first. “See of yourself.”

Danny stepped inside, Talia following behind him, and—

Oh.

Before he even saw the pit, he could feel it. A low and steady hum reminiscent of the ghost portal. But…different. Not necessarily fainter but garbled, like hearing someone speak underwater.

The room was a large, open space, with stone walls framed by red wooden pillars. It was dim, lit only by the green glow of the pit that consumed the majority of the space. A square pool of too-clear waters and toxic-looking steam rising from the surface.

The waters felt of the Zone but…not.

“Ah, Daniel.” He nearly jumped out of his own skin. Ra’s al Ghul stepped out of the shadows behind him, hands folded behind his back. The green glow highlighted the sharp contours of his face; the shadows that clung to him only making his visage harsher. “It is good to see you.”

Danny greeted the Demon’s Head with a League salute. “Grandfather.”

The word felt foreign on his tongue despite being in English. To formal for a boy who never really had the chance to interact with his own grandparents. But Danny was told to refer to Ra’s like this, and so he did. (He was only grateful Talia didn’t insist on calling her ‘mother.’)

Ra’s al Ghul was an enigma. Centuries old yet he looked only about a decade older than his mom and dad. (Jack and Maddie Fenton will always be his mom and dad. They raised him. Loved him, in their own eccentric, science-y way. No blood test or adoption or ninja-assassins could change that). Like Danny’s still-unnamed biological father, Ra’s carried himself with theatrical purpose. Comically villainous in his attire and grand gestures, though unlike Vlad, Ra’s had this overwhelmingly intimidating presence that engulfed whatever room he stepped in.

Ra’s was a man that commanded attention as opposed to demanding it. And now, at the focus of the man’s calculating gaze, Danny could not help but stand stiff at attention.

“You’re mother was right,” Ra’s said. Danny barely restrained himself from perking up at that word. “You are wasting away, Daniel.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“Well, at least you still have that fire in you.”

Danny startled, slapping his hand over his mouth. Shit, he didn’t know he said that out loud. Out of the corner of his eye, Talia suppressed a small smile.

“You have that in common with the Detective,�� Ra’s continue, circling Danny like a carrion that spotted its next meal. “That and the rather foolish notion on not properly reporting the extent of your injuries.”

“With all due respect, grandfather, I wasn’t expecting on staying here for this long.”

Ra’s gave him a knowing look. “But something is keeping you here, isn’t it?”

“Keeping my family and friends hostage is a pretty good motivator, apparently.” An insidious thought bubbled in Danny’s mind. But that isn’t all, is it?”

“I have consulted your mother and your physician as to the nature of your condition, and I have decided that the Lazarus pit would be a sufficient way to restore your health.” He gestured to the pool. “It appears that your DNA shares several similarities to the composition to the Lazarus pit.”

Danny crouched at the edge of the pit, hovering his hand above the water’s surface. “It’s because it contains ectoplasm. An impure kind, I think.”

“Will the impurities be harmful to you?”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t think so? My body can filter out the impurities just fine, it’s just that I’ve never encountered thistype of ectoplasm before. It’s so clear and—aqueous, I think is the word.”

There’s a strange glint in Ra’s eyes. Dare Danny say it, it even looked mischievous. It made him uneasy, and just as Danny made a move to step back, Ra’s al Ghul picked him up by the collar of his night shirt—

And threw Danny into the Lazarus Pit.

[athena-karras]

Prompt 54: Time was always a measurement of this relationship and we finally ran out.  (Bill Weasley x F! Reader)

The scent of open bottles of iced pumpkin juice, freshly turned soil, and the previously sun-dried large flannel blanket you laid on tickled your nose while a symphony of crickets in the surrounding tall sea of grass played. On your lips and tongue lingered the taste of Bill Weasley, who like you, laid naked under the canopy of stars and heavy full moon.

This night had been like most nights that summer… well the past two summers if you were being truly honest. Once Bill has graduated from Hogwarts, you had been without the frequent kisses you two often stole between classes and the dark hours spend at the edge of the Forbidden Forrest had become an almost painful memory while you pushed on with classes. Luckily, however, he has written to you what seemed like every other day and when the end of your 6th year came, the letter arrived.

“Will you spend some of your holiday at The Burrow?”

After getting permission from your parents, who adored Bill, you accepted.

His mother, Molly, fussed about the moment you arrived and from that day on had seemed to unofficially adopt you as a new member of her family.  The woman had a way of making you feel as if you were truly her very own daughter with the way she prodded about our studies, future plans, and had even taught you her tricks around the kitchen when Bill went off to his apprenticeship at Gringotts.

Like this summer, you shared a room with his youngest sibling, Ginny, who like her mother had seemed to accept you into the family. Perhaps one of the best things about her though was she had no problem surely pretending to be asleep whenever you would sneak from the room late at night and join her oldest brother for a few hours. This year, however, you were officially graduated from Hogwarts, and now the summer between you two could go on for as long as you desired.

“What are you thinking about?” Bill asked, pulling you from your daze as he wrapped his firm arms around you. Reaching up to play with the loose locks of his red hair, you turned your body into his, nuzzling into his chest.

“I’m thinking about how happy am,” You grinned, your hand now tracing down to his neck, “And how much I’d like another bottle of that pumpkin juice.” Bill kissed the top of your head, giving your hair a quick ruffle before pulling on his dark button up shirt and pants and reaching into the small ice filled cauldron only a few feet away,

“Aww,” You frowned playfully when he handed you the last unopened cold bottle, “I was enjoying the view.”  Taking a deep swig, you also put your own clothes back on, noticing that Bill didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time you did so.

“I can’t have you getting tired of me, can I?” He said, taking a small sip of the juice, “Plus, I think I’m the one who gets to look at the better view.” Bill always had a way of doing this; To look and touch at every scar, freckle, or “imperfection,” and make you feel like you were an artistic masterpiece. He put his arm around you, this time kissing the top of your head.

“Never,” You replied, “I could never get tired of you. But I guess I will get to see more when we go to Shell Cottage.”

“Exactly,” Bill murmured into your hair, his willowy fingers caressing your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to bring you there for a long time. I used to… well all of us used to go there during the summers. When I was a kid I swore I would live there one day.”

“I can only imagine what you were like as a little boy,” You teased after finishing off the last of the pumpkin juice, “I’m sure you drove your poor mum mad.” Bill laughed at this and shook his head, but his ears turned a bright shade of scarlet proving that you were right.

“Nah, that was all Charlie, and the twins. They started with their mischief as soon as they could lift their heads up.”

“Liar,” Giving him a playful nudge, your fingers touched his hot ears. “They always give you away. Let’s hope that you never have to lie on your job because you’d be ousted instantly.”

“That, or I’ll just keep my hair long. Now that is something that will drive Mum crazy.”  Bill began to gather the several bottles of pumpkin juice and butterbeer that you two had drank, as well as a half-eaten pumpkin pasty that had been split and placed them in the small cauldron.

“Well, I like it; Your ears, and your hair.” Bill helped you up from the blanket, being sure to place a kiss on your forehead, as he frequently did, and with a wave of his wand had the blanket neatly folded up in the cauldron.

“I love everything about you,” He grinned, but his blue eyes became solemn and bore in your own with an intensity that you were sure would have scared off an army of Dementors. “I mean it,” He continued on, one of his free hands starting to stroke ends of your hair, “I love you, all of you. I don’t want anything to ever come between us. My job, us getting older, anything.”

“Bill…” You began as your brows started to furrow together, but the somber look in his eyes stopped you.

“You’re my best friend, my everything. I want us to always be together. I want…” Bill looked away, pulling his hand from you. His other hand fumbled around in his pocket as he let out a frustrated grunt. “I’m an idiot.”

This time you couldn’t help but laugh and you took his face in your hands. He truly seemed to get more handsome every time you looked at him, and he was yours, and you were his.

“Not at all,” You said with a slight smirk at seeing your normally cool and collected lover in such a tizzy. While you were dying to know what was on his mind, you knew he would tell you once he was ready. Secrets were foreign to the both of you. “You are wonderful, handsome, smart, and the farthest thing from an idiot. It is you and me together, and we always will be, I promise.”

“You’ve no idea how much that means right now.” He smirked, a look of relief washing over his gentle face. His hand still fumbled around in his pocket, a habit you weren’t used to seeing from him, and from a brief look you managed to steal, it looked as if there was something besides his hand in the pocket.  

“What’s that?”

Again, Bill’s ears became crimson and he pulled his hand out, holding nothing.

“I tell you what, I’ll show it to you in the morning before we start to pack for the cottage. Deal?”

In truth, you were more than just a little curious to know what was setting Bill so on edge, but for now, you decided to settle.

“Deal,” You agreed with a nod of your head before you let out a small yawn. “I’m getting tired anyway.”

The two of you gathered the last of your things, piling them into the cauldron, Bill insisting he carry it back to the Burrow which was several yards away. Your fingers interlaced with his during the walk back and little more was spoken until you arrived back home. To your surprise, Molly and Arthur were both in the kitchen despite the late hour, each holding a cup of tea. Molly especially wore a bright expression, but her own face seemed to be fighting itself in an effort to make it appear neutral.

“I’m sorry,” You began to say, “I hope we didn’t cause any alarm.”

“Oh no, of course not, dear!” The grin on her face suddenly began to melt, however, when Bill walked in behind you. Quickly turning, you could have sworn you saw a shaking movement from his head from out the corner of your eye, but it was too fast to be sure.  It felt like there was some sort of inside joke or secret that they all knew but had decided not to make you privy to. Arthur cleared his throat, looking back and forth between you and Bill.

“Molly and I just wanted a spot of tea before going to bed. Decided to go on a late-night picnic, then? You two need to start packing soon for Shell Cottage don’t you?”

“We do!” You nodded, although you still couldn’t shake the awkward feeling in your belly. You had never felt this around the Weasleys, Molly especially who doted on you as if you were her own daughter.

“Well, don’t let us keep you then, we’ll also be to bed soon.” Arthur replied, looking over your shoulder at Bill. “Your mum and I would like to just have a talk with you quickly if we could, son. Ran into Claudia Cooper today.”

Claudia Cooper you knew to be Bill’s main boss at Gringotts, a strict but talented witch, he had said, and one who took a sharp eye on his budding career. Was this that could be what had Bill acting so strange earlier? Was his job on the line, but he couldn’t find the words to tell you?  Whatever it was, they clearly wanted to talk about it as a family before bringing you in the picture.

“Oh, um, I’ll just grab a shower and head to bed then. Good night Bill, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”

“Good night Dear.” Molly said, Bill throwing you a soft, yet still somber smile as you went up the stairs.

O.o.O

You were sure you fell asleep before your head had even hit the pillow, but as easy as it had come, sleep did not stay with you. For most of the night you had tossed and turned until you could stand it no more. You were not sure how much time had passed, minutes, and hour, or three, but the only sound in The Burrow you could pick up was the gentle whistling of Ginny’s nose as she slept.

“Jealous.” You thought as a grumble emitted from your belly. As it turned out, a few bites of a pumpkin pasty weren’t enough to settle an empty stomach but was indeed enough to keep you up. “There should still be some buns or something from dinner last night. Just something to hold me over.”

Taking great care not to wake Ginny, you silently rose from your bed, painfully being slow with her creaking door, and started to tip toe downstairs. Telling from the now dark navy sky, you guessed that you had only managed two hours of sleep. Silently chastising yourself for the wreck you’d surely be today, you were stopped by the hushed tones of Molly and Arthur, both still at the kitchen table. You froze, silently debating on your next move. True, you were hungry, but whatever had kept them awake until know what clearly too important to interrupt over a loud belly. Still, the nosy side of you suggested to nestle into the dark corner at the top of the stairs and listen to what they were saying.

“I’m not doing that to them,” You resolved until the next moment, you heard your name on Molly’s lips.

“He loves her Arthur, and she’s a good girl that is clearly just as crazy about him. That’s what we should be wanting for our son. Not some dangerous lifestyle!”

You curled yourself into the tightest ball you could manage as your butt became well acquainted with the wood floor and the shadows that cloaked you.

“I’m not saying I don’t want that. I do. It’s just that… he’s so young and has this opportunity handed to him on a silver plate. Egypt Molly, Egypt. Cooper didn’t have to tell me that this is a once in a lifetime offer for this job, even I know that. If he turns this down, Bill could be disenchanting disgruntled tea kettles for the rest of his career.”

“If that is what makes him happy!”

There was the sound of a teacup clanking angrily against its saucer that it was enough to almost make you spring from your shape.

“Bill was offered a job in Egypt… and didn’t tell me about it?” You murmured. No, there had to be some mistake, there were NO secrets between you two, especially not when it came to Bill’s dream job of being a curse breaker.

“Molly, it won’t make him happy, please, you know our son. He’s in love, but-”

“How can you say that? He was going to propose to her tonight and he’s going to do it this morning once we leave. If she calms Bill down into a more domestic life than I am for that Arthur. I don’t want our firstborn hopping around in ancient ruins and getting himself killed! For all we know, Claudia Cooper is just angry and wants to send Bill away because she doesn’t care for him clearly being the next in line for her job.”

“Cooper has taken Bill under her wing since the day he walked into the Bank. You know that. Molly, I adore Y/N, I do. I couldn’t have picked a better wife for him, but he has wanted this since he was a boy, despite our best efforts. Gringotts isn’t hiring on and she has no experience yet so it isn’t like she can just go with him. Bill isn’t taking the job in Egypt because he doesn’t want it, he isn’t taking it because of her. This is his dream Molly; his dream and he is letting it go for her.”

Your head began to spin as the bitter taste of iron laden saliva filled your mouth. Your stomach turned itself inside out and right side in back and forth so many times that if it had not been for the awkward explanation that would have had to follow, you’d have vomited. Although, truth be told, you had awoken several times these past two weeks with an ill stomach and a dizzy head but thought nothing of it. Slowly, you started to crawl from your spot and back into your bed.

“Bill, Bill… why didn’t you tell me?” Your head repeated this several times as Mr. Weasley’s words rang through your head as loud as a bell.

“This is his dream Molly; his dream and he is letting it go for her.”

You always knew Bill had wanted to be the very best curse-breaker since the day you had met him, hell, it was sometimes all he had spoken about during school. And he was throwing away his dream…for you.  What had Molly said… Bill had meant to propose?  Tears started to swell up in your eyes and as tempting as they were to spill into your pillow, Ginny began to stir and the last thing you wanted was to answer questions you didn’t have answers to.

Mr. Weasley had been right, there would be no place for you in Egypt, especially with your parents being as old as they were and your lack job skills from being a fresh graduate, all you would be is a burden.

“I can’t let him do this, I won’t let him give up his dreams for me.”

You would leave in the morning as soon as day broke, before Bill had a chance to propose.  You wouldn’t ruin his life, especially not for you. As you fought the tears and pounding headache, the words you never thought you’d have to say to him played out in your head. It would be easier if he hated you, a cleaner break, but no matter how many scenarios you thought of, the idea of hurting him tore you apart. That was, until, the memory of Bill first telling you his dream of being a top Curse Breaker sneaked to your mind.

“I’m going to make something of myself one day. I’ll find the oldest treasures, break the most powerful curses, and travel the world.”

Swearing, you buried your head in your pillow, tears soaking the soft fabric when they broke free from your eyes. It was the way things would have to be; Time had run out on you both, life had that nasty habit, and it was time to let him go, to let Bill live.

O.o.O

When you awoke, your nose was raw and crusted into your pillow. Your eyes were still sealed as well, and it took a rather embarrassing amount of effort to pry them open.

“No, no, no!” You gasped, realizing your mistake in falling asleep. You neck twisted uncomfortably to Ginny’s bed, your belly dropping when you saw it empty. The whole family, of course, including Bill, was surely already awake, which ruined your original plan of simply sneaking out and dropping him an owl. You’d have to face him.

With a wave of your wand you would fill the empty basin besides your bed with warm water and took great care in washing your face. You were meticulous and slow in doing every could to delay going downstairs and facing your nightmare that YOU would have to create. After pulling on a simple, yet comfortable, set of clothing, and running a trembling comb through your hair, you sluggishly made your way out of the room. The Burrow was silent, save for the chimes of the family grandfather clock and the clucking of chickens from outside, which filled you with the brief hope that perhaps that whole family had gone out and left you to sleep.

“Maybe there is still a chance.”

Still, your feet dragged as they trudged down the stairs into the dining room. The moment it came into full view, your heart seemingly dropped into your belly with a single thud.

The whole room had been stunningly decorated with silver strands of twinkling lights that hung from the rafters reminding you of the stars that you and Bill has spent so many nights under. Tiny bouquet of bluebells had been entwined in the wooden columns and held together with more silver bells of light. It was all a very intricate and surely complicated enchantment and the wizard who had assuredly spent hours making sure it was all perfect looked at you with a wide grin before saying your name.

Bill wore his best robes; A deep purple velvet that was fitted perfectly to his body. His shoulder length hair had been brushed and smoothed back and tied in a loose ponytail revealing the sharp high cheekbones that you had run your lips across countless times. He was nothing short of utterly beautiful. Again, your name came across his full lips, and it was almost enough to make your resolve melt.

“Bill…” You muttered, feeling yourself involuntarily pull back to the first step. Using all your resolve to keep your eyes from his, they instead fell to the incredible decorations that he had charmed, and tears once again threatened to fall.

“I’m sorry if it flashy, I just wanted to make sure it was perfect. I tried to get it to look like our spot in the Forbidden Forest.” Bill let out an uncharacteristic nervous chuckle, his eyes unable to look away from you. His ears were already beginning to turn the scarlet red they always became when he was nervous, and his hands began to fumble with a blue box that you’d somehow failed to notice earlier.

“Where is everyone?” It was all you could manage to say, the words you had rehearsed somehow seemed to have up and vanished in the emotional fog of your mind. Bill’s grin grew, his willowy fingers still fidgeting with the box.

“They went to Diagon Alley. I asked Mum and Dad if they wouldn’t mind giving us an hour or two. Turns out there was some shopping they had to do… and I needed that hour to ask you something.”

Finally, you allowed yourself to look into Bill’s blue eyes and almost instantly you regretted it. Countless nights had been spend being held in his arms and gazing into his deep eyes. They had always been a source of comfort but now…now all they caused was pain.

“Bill, please…whatever you are going to ask, don’t.” Your tongue buzzed and your lips became numb as the smile started to drop from his gentle face.  His hands finally stopped toying with the box and his brow arched.

“What…what do you mean?” It wasn’t like Bill to stammer. Even in the face of the Cursed Vaults he had always remained cool and in control but now he almost resembled Ben Copper for a few brief moments.

“All of this,” You answered pointing to the lights and flowers, “You can’t ask me whatever you’re planning.” Your eyes focused on his mouth as you found you no longer had the emotional strength to see the confusion in his eyes. If you were to do this, you needed every ounce of control you could muster.

“I.. I am…I was going to ask you to marry-”

“No.” It has come out harder and louder than you had intended but if he had finished, you knew you couldn’t hold out. “You need to live the life you wanted. The life you promised yourself…please.”

“No…?” Bill repeated looking down at the box, “I don’t understand.”

“I’m leaving today Bill.”

“What?” Bill placed the box on the table, the top opening. His long hands reached out to yours, but you were quick to pull them away. “Leaving? Where? What’s happened?”

“We happened,” You replied crossing your arms, “Time was always a measurement of this relationship and we finally ran out. I don’t want to throw my life away on some silly teenage romance. School is over, the summer will be over soon, and I need to focus on what I want to do with my life. Marrying you was never part of that. This,” You pointed to the decorations, your eyes now firmly focused on the dark tie Bill wore. “All of this. It is too much. Way too much for something like us. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to gather my things and get my life together.”

You turned on your heel wanting to run as far away from him as possible. An ocean could have appeared between you both and still you would have felt too close to the boy who was first in your heart. He said your name again, his voice low and unwavering, but you knew him well enough to know that his heart was breaking. This was enough to finally force you to face him. His eyes were heavy but his brows furrows, any color on his pale face had drained.

“How long have you felt like this?”

“Long enough, Bill. I’m sorry if I lead you to believe this was more than what it was. I’m going to get my things.”

You didn’t remember going up the stairs, packing your things, or casting the weightlessness charm on your trunk. Your stomach turned with the same nausea that had plagued you the past weeks, but you paid it no mind. Whatever this bug seemed to be; you were sure it would pass, and you wanted to leave before any of the Weasley’s came home or worse… falling to your knees and apologizing.

[hungryhearted]

❝ He said you were gentle. The most gentle person he knew. You are not gentle. You have a ruthless heart. ❞ BENEDETTA GARGARI? No, that’s actually ARABELLA MCGONAGALL. Only NINETEEN years old, this GRYFFINDOR alumni works as an AUROR IN TRAINING/BARTENDER and is sided with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. SHE identifies as a CIS-WOMAN and is a HALFBLOOD who is known to be CALLOUS, RUTHLESS, and STUBBORN but also BRAVE, KIND, and PATIENT. 

okay here’s ara mcgoggles 

really only her parents and her grandma call her arabella so she mostly just goes by ara. well, her grandma doesn’t call her that anymore, obviously, but used to. sore point!

so i kind of envision that there were three mcgonagall brothers, and ara is the daughter of andrew, the youngest of the three. ara has two older brothers as well, michael and john, but there’s a five year difference between her and michael, and john is two years older than michael, so there’s always been a bit of a gap between them. 

all three of them -- and her cousins, even -- have always been very independent and self-sufficient, maybe just how they were raised, and they’re all determined to pave their own path in life. michael and john, in particular, have never been ones that desired to stay in the nest and have always wanted to explore the world around them. john ended up moving to new york two years after graduating hogwarts -- the original plan was to work there for a year or two, explore a different culture and get more work experience, but he ended up staying there permanently. fell in love, got married, and is now expecting his first kid. michael, meanwhile, is a successful wildlife photographer and spends a lot of his time traveling; likes to be out in nature and despises being rooted down in one place for too long.

the whole point of that is that she really doesn’t see them that often. during christmas time, maybe, and perhaps once or twice during the year besides that. they do write and call each other, but they’re not close. ara doesn’t really mind, though; she has other family she’s closer to, even if it’s not by blood.

DEATH TW. ara is. god. she’s so fucking furious and devastated and doesn’t even know how to process it. the family member she was always closest to was her grandma, and she loved her with her whole heart. minerva was genuinely just ara’s hero growing up, she admired everything about her and thought she was the coolest and most badass grandma ever (which she was). ig ara just never imagined someone would be able to get the upper hand over her and able to kill her? so that was just. she couldn’t really believe it at first, didn’t want to, but then there was harry and kingsley as well and she’s just. still processing and grieving, ig? but mostly she’s just angry. and she wants revenge. END DEATH TW

ara has a very... black and white view of the world? in particular when it comes to this war, she sees the order as good, and the death eaters as bad, and that’s that. she honestly could - and wants to - kill a death eater, and probably wouldn’t feel guilty over it?? i think the act itself would be... tougher and heavier than she’d expect, but she wouldn’t feel bad over it. if anything, she would see it as something done for the greater good, or the betterment of their society, and an improvement of their stance in the war. if she could, she would just chuck all the death eaters over a cliff so the rest of them can just move on with their lives without having to deal with that bs. 

ara is a very patient person, which i think can be seen as both good and bad. good for the obvious reasons, especially when dealing with her friends’ more chaotic ideas lmao, but also seen as a bad thing, probably for herself? take her anger, for instance. she’s not an impulsive person, she won’t run with her anger and do something dumb she’ll regret later. but she will let it build, and she will plan a revenge out later, and that might be worse in the long run, depending on how you view it. is she a good person? idk, she would do bad things for good reasons, so make of that what you will. (that might just have made sense in my head idk)

ara is many things but forgiving she is not. i mean, she’ll forgive her friends for most things, especially smaller stuff - she loves them, and she’s fiercely loyal, after all. but someone actually betraying her? she won’t forgive or forget, she’ll just drop you immediately. bye

fulham flat means the absolute world to her. she loves them so goddamn much, she cries over them when she’s drunk fuhjsdhk

no but fulham flat are frankly the people she loves the most in her life? they’re her chosen family, and she feels so fucking blessed to have befriended them in hogwarts and that they’re her family now. she would do anything for them, including kill or die for them, and she has definitely insisted while drunk that they all agree to a blood oath not to die before her hfjshdfkl

ara is the youngest both in her immediate family but also when you count in her cousins, and also the shortest, but somehow ended up the most Mum Friend™

she just loves to take care of her friends. especially loves cooking and having family dinners in the flat gfhjs

is in fact crushing hard on james and is in fact too dumb to realise

she just assumes everyone loves james the same as she does because it’s james 

she’s pretty fearless, tbh. not much shakes her? except losing a loved one, so she’ll do anything to avoid that from happening again 

knew she wanted to become an auror ever since she was a kid, really. she’s a protector at heart and was always drawn to it as a career, especially after meeting her best friend’s dad (aka harry) and hearing stories from his career. it just always seemed like the natural choice to her? she was very dedicated at hogwarts to ensure that she got good enough grades to be accepted into auror training, which she thankfully was. she works part time at the leaky cauldron while in training since she has to pay her bills somehow hvjf 

okay the fact that the ministry is.... in the state that it currently is in definitely puts a bit on a damper on her actually going through auror training, but she has hopes they can win this war and that it won’t be overrun by death eaters in the future bfjhdkzh 

here is her pinterest board

[justanotherdadblog-blog]

Hi... My name is Stu and I have Depression... and Anxiety... and OCD.

Pretty sure that's all I have, god I hope that's all I have, its enough to deal with.

I'll tell you a little about myself before I get launched into the reason for starting a blog, but before I do you need to understand that above all other things on this earth, I love my daughters and I would do anything for them and to have them in my life.

I'm 37 years and 6 months on this planet, I have until 2 months ago lived a relatively happy and what most would class as normal life. I have three wonderful daughters, and I've been married twice. Like I said, a normal life.

I'm currently a single father and my 2 youngest daughters (6 & 7) live with me 3-4 nights a week, whilst my older Daughter (13) lives with me when she feels like it, which is usually at the weekend. Sometimes I don't see her for weeks, but we chat by text every day.

Like all good depression stories, mines starts with a girl and a guy.

Flash back to May 2017, I met a girl through a good friend, this good friend also owned the shop that I worked in at the time. (you can already see where this is going)

This girl and I got on like you dream about, we were into the same things, she allowed me to be myself, which was something that had previously been denied to me in other relationships, she made me cups of tea when I would go over to hers after work. She did all the little things that I had craved in both my marriages.

She was phenomenal with my Daughters, had so much time for them, couldn't do enough to entertain and provide for them. She also had a son of her own, she was the model mother, he is such an amazing little boy who will one day smash the patriarchy with his feministic views.

I honestly couldn't see it ever being anything other than absolutely amazing, and I knew I would do anything to make this relationship work.

Fast forward 11 months, this amazing girl who I now lived with had asked me several times if I paid child support for my daughters, to which I had repeatedly answered no, which wasn't strictly a lie, but also not entirely the truth. What I did pay was £200 a month towards her rent, which was the reason for not paying child support. I had kept this a secret, because I don't know why. Was I scared of how she would react? Sure I was, I was terrified it would end everything, and so I kept my secret and continued to pay.

Then one day, in a conversation about my ex wife, I was asked, why does she still have my surname? Truth is I don't know, I guess since our kids have my surname she decided just to keep it, and to be honest it didn't bother me greatly, so I didn't bother to rock the boat. This amazing girl didn't agree, she asked me if I would ask her to change it back to her maiden name, and me being the doting man who didn't want to upset or lose this amazing girl did just that.

It felt wrong before I had even started typing the text, I knew right away this was going to blow up, this needless act was going to cause me some sort of mental anguish, and I was so right... still did it though.

The backlash from ex wife was not surprisingly aggressive and cold, she didn't want to have a different surname to her children, she didn't want to go back to her maiden name because she hated her family and didn't want associate with them, and she didn't want to go through the hassle of changing all of her details with the bank, passport, licence etc.

During this tirade at me, I was being directed by amazing girl with how to respond, we would pay all costs, we would cover anything that needed covered, anything that would get this surname changed, and make all well with the world... little did I know this was only the beginning.

I guess since ex wife was all riled, she decided to drop a bombshell on me, she was moving away, and she was taking my children with her. Her new house would be 2 hours drive away, so I was suddenly going to go from having my children 3-4 nights a week, to seeing them every other weekend. I wasn't getting a say in it, that was it.

Looking back now, I think that this was the point my 'Mental Health Crisis' started, it's what they call a nervous breakdown nowadays apparently.

Ex wife revealed that my £200 a month to cover rent wasn't enough anymore and she needed to moved to a bigger house because she was expecting another child with her new partner.

KABOOM!

Amazing girl was reading all responses with me as they were coming in, and there it was in full text, confirmation that I was paying £200 a month towards my children and that she was expecting another child. Amazing girl would have loved nothing more than to have more children, but due to my vasectomy that wasn't going to happen for us with out surgery of some kind.

I had a full emotional breakdown, on one hand I had lied to this amazing girl who was the world to me, and on the other hand my life was being ripped away from me by my ex wife who was going to take my children away. My life was literally being torn in two and there wasn't anything I could do to stop it.

I fled, I went to my parents, in floods of tears, I was totally broken, not one part of my body didn't hurt, my heart felt like it was being torn from my chest, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak. My mum held me for a long time, I remember thinking, this is why I'm such a good parent, because my Mum has given me these skills that she still bestows on me today.

Over the next couple weeks my relationship with amazing girl broke down because I had betrayed and lied to her and because emotionally I was destroyed and didn't have the words to say anything to her to make it better, my work suffered, and that's not good when you're self employed. My relationship with my friend who owned the studio I worked in suffered, I think now for two reasons, 1. because I had hurt his friend, and 2. because I wasn't making money for his studio. In the end he let me go. That was the triple whammy right there, the kidney punch on top of the heart ripping. No Partner, No Kids and No Job.

That was the lowest I have ever felt, I don't even know now, today, if I could ever feel lower than that, I don't think I'd ever want to.

That weekend I had a text from my ex friend who owned the studio, he laid it out for me and his reasoning for letting me go, he explained that my behaviour had been erratic and I had lost sight of my business and in that he had lost his trust and faith in me. It actually made me feel a little better, it was the first thing I didn't have to over think, here was an explanation I could understand. I responded that I was grateful for his text and his explanation, I was sorry things had gotten to where the had and I had no hard feeling towards him or the shop studio. He asked me if I would train a new member of staff to do my old job, and he would pay me to do it, honestly I thought that was pretty cheeky, but I had no job and bills coming up so I was considering it, but didn't respond to it just yet.

Within an hour of those texts I had a message from another Studio, who had caught wind that I no longer worked in my old studio, he asked me if I'd come see him for a chat. Understand that I had not even considered what I was going to do for work yet, I hadn't even put the feelers out. Long story short he offered me a position at his studio on the same deal I had already been on, and I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. This studio had always outsourced their clients to me anyway, so now I would just be working in house.

Did I mention the new studio is literally across the road from my old studio? I mean, literally across the road, they can see each other from the front doors.

Cue ex friend catching wind of my new career prospects, I still don't know how he found out, as I only told two people, but I suspect perhaps some in-house chatter between the two studios, it doesn't really matter. I received a text from ex friend 'under no circumstance, am I to work at [this new studio]' I ignored this text, another text arrived not even 10 minutes later calling me a baby for not responding (how ironic).

So I responded that I had been made an offer that I was considering and that he had let me go, so he didn't really have any day in the matter. I got another text stating 'I've just messaged [the new studio], and it looks like that door will be closed to you now haha'. My first ever panic attack happened there and then, what had he done? What had he said, what did he mean? I couldn't breathe again, my mind was in overdrive.

A message arrived from the new studio owner, it was a screenshot of the message he had been sent by my ex friend. He went into a full account of how I had been sacked for stealing money from the studio and the other businesses within the studio. My heart sunk, what had I done to deserve this? I messaged my ex friend and asked for an explanation, at first I think he was shocked that I had been sent this screenshot, I don't think he anticipated that it would come out, he had hoped I think that the work would continue to be outsourced to his studio and his new employee and that I would be on my merry way jobless once again.

Thankfully, the new studio saw through the idiocy of his plan, and coupled with the texts I had been receiving just hours earlier still gave me the position.

To this day, I don't know what I did, other than take an offered position, to offend him. It makes me sad that we're not friends anymore, he continues to maintain my guilt, he has taken all my clients, but I still don't hate him. He has verbally and physically assaulted me, and I still don't hate him. He is a very bitter man, who is perhaps struggling with some mental issues of his own. I feel sorry for him in a strange way.

Every day now, I wake up and I'm riddled with Anxiety about what people think of me, what if I meet him in the street, what if I'm not good enough for this new studio. The texts from him have stopped, I received one randomly from his wife, and I receive text from my ex amazing girl now and then. I have yet to respond to a single one of them. I think that I need this chapter of my life to end, this new job is the start of the next chapter, it's a new start, but the old one is still being tied up. This anxiety brings on bouts of depression, especially when my kids are not around, I find myself sleeping in the afternoon when I'm off work, or visiting my family a lot more just so I'm not alone, I think about everything, constantly, the thoughts come very suddenly and my brain just screams BOOM, FUCKING HAVE THAT TO DEAL WITH!!

Oh yeah, about my kids, I still see them 3-4 days a week, my  ex wife hasn't mentioned moving away again, and I'm not bringing the subject up again.

So there you have it, how I got to today. My hope is that I can write here, just a little every day or every other day, little snippets and updates of daily life with me, my dog and my kids. To record the good times and the hard times and hopefully notice just how strong I am and continue to become every day.

Thank you for reading.

Stu

[jghouse-asia-pacific]

New Post has been published on https://www.jg-house.com/2020/10/16/all-innocent-ones-back-home-paris/

All the Innocent Ones Back Home: Paris

Sylvere placed his saxophone next to its case on the small stage, walked to the bar, and sat on a stool near one end, staring into the black, heavy night. Outside it was hot and humid, but inside it was cool and comfortable. A large air-conditioning unit, humming along softly, was set into the wall opposite the bar, not far from an archway which led to an adjoining room with about 25 tables and a larger number of chairs. Summer in Paris, he said to himself, is getting hotter every year.

Sylvere turned back toward the bar and ordered a glass of beer from the bartender, a boy who would seem to be too young to work in any bar but who had approached from the other end and who now looked to his right at the stage on which Sylvere and the three, other members of his band had just finished their set. The band was popular in Paris among those who enjoyed listening to live music of the jazz variety, although not many people had attended the latest performance, perhaps because it had started at 5:30 in the afternoon and lasted only an hour.

Today had been a difficult day for Sylvere, a talented musician, but, at the same time, an indifferent and, sometimes, careless performer, especially when he was preoccupied by events back home. He preferred American jazz, primarily a series of obscure compositions by Miles Davis, Dave Brubeck, and others of their generation, although this music, Sylvere admitted to his friends, didn’t make sense to him.

But playing the saxophone, for Sylvere, was not, and never was, a particularly enjoyable way to pass the time. The reactions of others to his playing surprised Sylvere and, often, amused him, as if other people’s admiration for his talent had nothing to do with him. Music was a medicine Sylvere took to make it through the day. It was, more precisely, a sedative, something to help him relax and, perhaps, even forget, if only for a short time, the death and destruction.

Now music erupted from speakers somewhere in the building, filling the bar and the adjoining dining room, where a wedding celebration was picking up speed. A few minutes earlier Sylvere had noticed a young man, who, like him, was African or else African European, pass through the bar and enter the dining room, where the man had proceeded to set up the equipment he brought with him, a computer and various other electronic devices connected to it. He was the DJ hired to provide entertainment for the wedding celebration.

Bartender

The boy placed a glass of beer on the bar top in front of Sylvere and slipped away. Sylvere grasped the tall glass in one hand and brought it to his lips. Today, after receiving a report of another massacre of men, women, and children in his hometown, including the killing of a childhood friend, a village doctor, he knew that music no longer could help him. All the innocent ones back home were trapped in a cycle of violence from which few had any hopes of escaping. Theirs was a world of pain and suffering. It offered little possibility of anything else.

Sylvere took a long drink of beer from the glass, then two more gulps, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing, not even the 40 to 50 people eating, drinking, and dancing to the DJ’s music in celebration of the marriage of a French man in his fifties to an African woman in her twenties. Sylvere placed the empty glass back on the bar top. As he looked around, realizing his three band-mates were gone and he was the only one sitting at the bar, he could think of only the people who would die next.

“Another wedding, so much joy and hope,” Sylvere said, but he wasn’t talking to anyone in particular. He had spoken his words in the dialect of his ancestral home. Still, the boy, who had approached from the other end of the bar and picked up the empty glass, looked at Sylvere, raising his eyebrows. The older man, though, turned on his stool, once again, and looked into the black, heavy night.

Suddenly, an image of his third-oldest daughter emerged from the darkness. Sylvere closed his eyes. But the image remained. He could see Julienne clearly. She sat motionless in the back seat of a taxi, staring straight ahead, as the driver loaded her suitcases into the trunk of the white Mercedes sedan. It was the day she left for nursing school in Brussels. She never would look at her father, who stood in the road next to the back door of the vehicle, peering through the window, hoping to exchange some final words with his daughter before she departed.

“Whisky,” Sylvere said, abruptly, turning back toward the bar and gesturing to the boy. Sylvere could still see the image of his daughter in the taxi. But he knew Julienne wasn’t in Brussels any longer. Where was she now? The boy placed a wider, shorter glass on the bar top in front of Sylvere this time, filled the glass with an amber liquid from a green bottle, and moved back toward the other end of the bar. Sylvere stared at the amber liquid, but he made no attempt to drink it.

Young Woman on Street

The bar and dining room occupied the second floor of a popular restaurant outside Combs-la-Ville, a suburb of Paris, where Sylvere had lived for forty of his seventy-three years. He was entering the twilight years of his life, but he didn’t look like a man who was in the habit of sitting in front of a television set all day long, waiting for his death to overtake him.

The restaurant, called El Bulle Petite, a reference to the famous Spanish restaurant, now defunct, located in Roses, Spain, was always crowded. Sylvere, though, called the restaurant, La Bulimia. It was not one of his favorites. Because he liked to indulge himself at mealtime, he carried too much weight on his 5’10” frame, but he would never pass through the doors of El Bulle Petite, regardless of the occasion, if the decision were his alone. Always, Sylvere, when he entered the restaurant, grew irritated.

Life in the small town 30 kilometers southeast of downtown Paris went on unremarkably most of the time, and it even could be full of joy and hope. But, now, Sylvere felt only despair. He knew life would be less complicated for him and for the people around him if only he could accept reality. But he could not. He wanted to replace it. In a world of never ceasing violence and the death and destruction it caused, Sylvere found himself, on occasion, gasping for air but nevertheless, against all odds, resisting the forces pressing down on him and everyone who mattered to him.

Sylvere looked at the amber liquid in the glass again. The music had stopped. He could hear someone giving a speech in the room next door. He drained the contents of the glass, stood up, and removed a wallet from the inside pocket of his dark green blazer, catching the eye of the boy. Sylvere took a few bills out of the wallet and waited as the boy approached.

“Monsieur,” the boy said, speaking in French, “the drinks are on the house.”

Sylvere looked closely at the boy for the first time. Maybe he wasn’t a boy after all, Sylvere realized, thanking the younger man and replacing the money in the wallet and, next, the wallet in his pocket. Sylvere walked over to the stage, picked up his saxophone, and inserted it into its case.

Small Girl

“See you next Saturday?” the bartender said, looking up from some bottles of mineral water he had started transferring from a cardboard box to a small refrigerator. Sylvere, who was walking toward a side door which led from the bar to a set of external stairs and the street below, stopped and stared at the bartender.

Then Sylvere recalled that he and his band-mates had agreed to perform in the bar at El Bulle Petite the following week too. It was their idea, but he realized he didn’t mind. Maybe after the second performance he would even start to like the place. Anyway, playing his saxophone for an admiring audience, no matter where the audience was, or how small it was, would do him some good.

“Yes,” Sylvere replied in French, making his way to the exit, “We’ll be here.”

Sylvere opened the door and stepped into the dark, heavy night, an image of a pot of fish stew simmering on the stove now appearing before his eyes. His house was only a few blocks away. He wondered if his son or youngest daughter had left him any of the fish stew. It was his wife’s specialty and, also, his favorite dish.

**

#Europe, #France, #LifeCulture #Beauty, #Culture, #Love, #Paris

[le-sejour]

He Said, She Said

Words: 4,356

Pairing: Alexander x Reader

World: Modern/College AU

Warnings: Cursing, drunken canoodling, TJeffs (he’s a warning all on his own), mentions of slut-shaming?, dabbing, p e g g y

Fic Request:  “Hi! Could you write about a jealous reader watching Alexander flirt? Thank you~”

A/N: So. I took this request and ran with it all the way around the world, twice. This turned out way longer and more serious than I anticipated, and contained a lot more angst than I originally planned. Woops. But aaaaaaa first request! 

I really hope this was to your liking, anon! c: 

“I’m too sober for this.”

John, your dear freckled friend, watched you knowingly from his seat beside you. You’ve been nursing your fourth glass of bourbon for a while now, your eyes trying not to stray to a particular figure on the dance floor.

“Well, you haven’t exactly been drinking since your third glass…” He reminded you, an amused lilt to his words. You scowled. The smug bastard may be your closest friend but right now you wanted to punch the smirk off his face.

“Smartass.” Finally, you took a small sip from your glass.

“Thanks, my ass graduated with Latin honors.”

Your face contorted with a mix of confusion and amusement. “What the hell, Laurens?”

“Just trying to cheer you up, babe.” He winked at you before an understanding smile spread across his face. You smiled back weakly. God, was this man an angel amongst mortals.

The only other member of your pity party had already downed his second beer for the night, and was now casually fiddling with the peanuts in front of him while you poured your soul out. You looked down into your drink for the nth time that night.

You felt bad, really you did. You, the boys, and the Schuylers had all agreed to go out tonight to unwind from the hell that was finals week, but all you were doing was wallowing in your own grievances. Now you somehow managed to suck one of them into your sphere of sorrows.

“You don’t have to,” You murmured, swirling your drink around. “You should go have fun tonight; land a hot lay or, I don’t know, get shit faced drunk. Maybe buy another turtle.”

Your eyes strayed to the dance floor, glossing over ever so slightly as you watched your friend chatting up yet another girl who looked way too happy at the attention. You gripped your glass tighter, your knuckles turning white at the pressure. Don’t cry, [Name]. Deep breaths.

“Just do something, anything instead of listening to my sob story.”

John opened his mouth to say something, probably to refute your statement, but was cut off by the one person you really wanted to avoid tonight.

“Hey, bartender! An appletini for this beautiful lady. On me.”

Just your luck. Just your dumb fucking luck.

You swallowed an enraged sob that tickled your throat as Alexander leaned across the bar space beside you; his newest, extremely giggly conquest hanging off of him and playing with his hair.

He had leaned down to whisper something in the brunette’s ear, but due to how inebriated he was, you heard it loud and clear.

“And perhaps have the beautiful lady on me?”

The slurred speech was promptly cut off by his companion pulling him into a deep kiss.

Unbelievable.

Your eyes quickly filled with unshed tears as you slammed a few bills on the shiny, redwood bar top, your cheeks red with indignance. Without waiting for John’s reaction, you picked up your glass and downed the contents in one gulp before making your way outside.

Across the room, the Schuyler sisters were dancing in a small circle with their partners; Angelica was swaying to the beat with Lafayette, the two of them in some sort of conversation, and Eliza was shyly following Maria’s lead as they danced together. Peggy had been performing a variety of iconic (and ironic) dance moves that made Hercules double over laughing.

When you finally made it to the door, the youngest Schuyler paused in her movements. Her brows knitted in concern, thinking you probably had too much to drink as you’ve been at the bar since you arrived. But as her eyes landed on John scrambling to pay for his drinks and Alexander sucking face with some rando, the gears in her mind clicked into place.

Oh no.

“Liza, Angie,” Peggy called out to the other two, her voice laced with concern.  Maybe this outing was a mistake. Her sisters, however, were still caught up in their own bubbles, completely oblivious to what was happening around them.

She rolled her eyes, turning to her own partner instead, “[Name] just left the bar. Alone.”

“What?” Now, despite his intimidating and hulking appearance, Hercules Mulligan had quite the soft spot for you and the Schuylers. He had always treated the four of you like his sisters; looking out for you more, and getting overly protective. “Stay here and tell the others. I’ll go after her.”

Peggy wanted to come with, but ultimately knew the Irishman could handle things better than her. She’d probably suggest clocking Alexander square in the nose anyway. Still, she felt her heart ache for you, unable to imagine what was going on in your mind right now.

You leaned against the nearest lamppost, the cold metal contrasting heavily with your overheated body.

This day was a disaster.

“I should have stayed home,” You mumbled angrily to yourself, tears trailing down your cheeks. “This was a mistake. That party was a mistake. Alex was a goddamned mistake.”

Shaky inhale.

“God, I’m so stupid.”

“We both know that’s not true, [Name].”

You sniffled miserably, slumping to the ground, “I let him lead me on, Herc… I let him kiss me, and make me feel things and-and-!”

Strong, bulky arms wrapped around your shivering body as you let out the sobs you’ve held in for so long.

“I don’t understand! He-He kissed me that night! He showed me he was interested! We made plans for a date before he completely cut me off…” The utter defeat and hurt lacing your voice caused Herc to tighten his grip around you. He tried not to get mad at his friend, knowing he must stay a neutral party for both of your sakes. But what the hell did Alex do?

Moments later, the door to the bar opened to reveal Eliza and Lafayette, the former obviously worried while the latter seemed to be a lot more collected. They made their way over to you, Eliza brushing your hair back behind your ear.

“What’s wrong, [Name]?” You couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears pouring from your eyes as the gentle tone reminded you so much of your mother, and the gesture reminding you so much of Alexander.

“Please tell us what’s wrong, chérie.” Lafayette knelt to level with you, his expression calm but his eyes glazed over in worry. You appreciated how he was always the voice of reason, the rational thoughts to your weepy emotions. He always seemed to be the level-headed one in tense situations, even when other people were running around like headless chickens.

“We have noticed you and le petit lion at odds lately. We have all just brushed it off as how you say.. hellweek stress? But clearly, it is something more.”

“I…” Your breath hitched, lips hesitating to form the words. Eliza nodded encouragingly at you, her hands clasping your own. You kept your eyes trained on hers, her gaze calming you enough to continue. “It was during the sem-ender party. The Debate Society was having it before finals, you know? Because most of the members would be leaving as soon as… as soon as finals ended, and they wanted to distress everyone before final reqs…”

Loud music reverberated throughout the hallways, sometimes shaking a few pictures when the bass drops. You brought your red solo cup to your lips, gulping down the last of whatever concoction your host had put together. It probably contained enough alcohol to knock you out in a few minutes, but hey, it tasted deceivingly like lemonade.

You placed the cup on the protruding window sill, a sigh escaping your painted lips.

It had been a while since you found yourself on the driveway of your teammate’s house, the chilly autumn air raising goosebumps along your arms. The living room had gotten a little too warm and stuffy for you, where, incidentally, most of the party was happening. You turned back to peek through the window, vaguely seeing someone being lifted up by one of your clubmates.

This wasn’t really your scene. Sure, you didn’t turn your nose up at a drink here and there, but you weren’t really that well assimilated with the other members of the Society. You were only here at the insistence of Angelica and Alexander. They, mostly Angelica, had insisted you deserved a little break for the wins you’ve landed this year.

But, you only agreed because of the look Alexander shot you. He seemed genuinely interested in going, so you acquiesced. God knows Alexander needed the break more than you did, and it totally wasn’t because he caused your heart rate to speed up tenfold with just a look.

“Aha! There you are.”

A smile broke through your lips, turning to face the very reason you agreed to this in the first place. He looked a little ruffled, his hair mussed up, his clothes and glasses askew.

You wolf whistled, “Wild night?”

Alexander flushed, his hands going everywhere to try and fix his appearance as quickly as possible, “You left me for dead at the mercy of our ‘friends’! They had Jefferson manhandle me!”

You laughed, your brain quickly connecting the dots from that little scene you saw through the window.

“Ohh, so it was you I saw being held up like a little pup.”

“[Na~ame].” You felt your cheeks getting redder than it already was, finding it cute how he whined your name like that. You only ever saw him this way when his system was shot with alcohol. Normally, he’d be barking angry tirades of how Jefferson was pulling a Julius Caesar to get what he wants and would be better off muzzled, lest he rip the very fabric of your Society to shreds.

“I was just getting some air, Alexander. It was getting a little crowded in there,” You answered after a while of silence, your eyes still trained towards the street. Sensing his suddenly sobering aura, you smiled mischievously, “Thomas’ ego took up half the living room.”

“[Name],” Your smile dropped to a reassuring one. You knew what that tone meant. And while the concern wasn’t unwelcomed, you’d rather he didn’t worry about you on the night both of you were supposed to be relaxing.

“I’m fine, Alexander.”

You felt his fingers brushing the side of your cheek, leaving flames burning in its wake. He had tucked a few loose locks of hair behind your ear before cupping the side of your face, a gesture that made your breath stall. His eyes bore into your own when you finally turned to face him.

His face was close.

You raised a hand to rest against his own, your head leaning into his hold despite yourself.

“You should have come to me, [Name].” He whispered, his thumb stroking your cheek lightly. He had leaned his forehead against your own. “I know what this feels like… We’re in the same spot.”

Your heart threatened to jump out of your chest with how fast it was beating. You tried desperately to calm yourself, willing your breath to go from quick and shallow to slow and deep. This was a side you’ve never seen from him before. He was never this gentle, this intimate. Alexander was an outspoken, hard-headed, loud young man who did everything he could to be seen as someone worth listening to. He was constantly on this uphill climb, he never seemed to have time to slow down or take a break.

But Lord, he smelled so good up close, even when his breath smelled like fruity alcohol. Your lips parted slightly, your pupils blown out in desire.

He was so close.

“Alexander…” You breathed, your eyes closing on their own accord. “What are you doing…?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

He closed the gap between you.

Sparks and tingles ran across your body, overwhelming your systems so much you accidentally let out a soft moan. You pulled away, blushing, stuttering your attempt to apologize. But Alexander had just pulled you back in for another kiss.

Angelica stared at the slowly sobering man in front of her, her gaze hard and unreadable. Alexander sat in front of the eldest Schuyler and Peggy, Maria and John on either side of him, while his little friend nowhere to be found.

“So you decided to be a dick and hook up with Chuckles over there because?” The youngest Schuyler, unlike her sister, was completely readable after the story he just divulged to them. “Seriously, Alex. None of us here gets it. You kiss the girl of your dreams, she doesn’t smack you straight to next week, and then you drop her like a hot potato? What gives?”

The man in question mumbles his response, his eyes dropped to the table as he shifts in his seat.

“What?” John stared at him in disbelief, Maria quirking an eyebrow at what she heard.

“What ‘what’? What did he say?” Peggy looked back and forth between the two, not having heard what was said.

“I said she hooked up with Jefferson.”

Alexander was on cloud nine.

He was practically floating down the halls of the men’s dorm a few days since the party. He may have gotten a bunch of crass and teasing remarks but for once, he didn’t dignify any of them with a response. Why?

Because! You reciprocated his feelings!

He let a goofy smile take over his lips, thoughts of you occupying his mind. You even agreed to go on a date this weekend! He was going to make sure everything was perfect for you. He was even going as far as to enlist the help of James Madison and Aaron Burr. He could try to put their differences aside just this once since they both grew up with you, and most likely knew things neither he nor the others in your little squad knew about.

He rounded the corner to his dorm before he felt the world screech to a halt, his heart plummeting to his feet.

There you were. As beautiful and mesmerizing as always.

Emerging from Jefferson’s dorm room.

“Thanks for the book, T.” You were smiling that bright, sunny smile you always had. As if you didn’t just walk out of his mortal enemy’s room with said enemy half naked. “And, look, I know I was stubborn and gave you shit for it at first, but thanks for last night too. I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

He couldn’t believe his ears.

You- with- But why! He felt so much rage and confusion filling him; he didn’t even notice his sight blurring or the wetness on his cheeks. He wanted to call out to you, demand why in the world you were in that man’s room. But you had your back to him.

Jefferson, however, saw him. And the smirk he threw him had him seeing red.

“No problem, doll,” He heard the Virginian fuckwad drawl out, his hand coming up to brush a lock of your hair behind your ear; reminiscent of how he did that to you just a few days ago. “It was my pleasure. Perhaps we could do it again sometime?”

“Sure, why not?” He heard you answer as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “You’re surprisingly good at what you do, Thomas. I guess I’m lucky you found me when you did, because I probably wouldn’t have finished if it weren’t for you.”

The smug look on Thomas Jefferson’s face had him walking up to you, ready to beat the ever living hell out of him, but your next words stopped him in his tracks.

“And, look, while I do appreciate your help, can you keep this from Alex? He’d flip out if he knew, and I really don’t want to end a relationship before it even started.”

“Oh, trust me darlin’. He won’t hear it from me.”

“Wait, what??”

You had already calmed down enough for Herc to let you stand on your own, but Eliza still had your hand in hers. Lafayette looked troubled.

“Yeah, exactly,” You whispered, your heart still caught in your throat. “Yeah, he… I didn’t think of it anything at first, but the week after the party, I barely saw him. It’s like he suddenly fell off the face of the earth. We made plans to have lunch together, and have study dates, but he just… I thought he was busy!”

A frown pulled at your lips as you exited your last class for the day, ready to just bury your face in bed. You anxiously checked your phone, wondering if Alexander finally had the time to talk to you.

No notifications.

You tried to reassure yourself as you put away your phone. He was probably just really busy. You and the rest of your group knew how Alex could be during finals week. That man was non-stop. You smiled to yourself at the thought before getting a brilliant idea; maybe you could get him to de-stress with you! You’ll get all his favorite snacks and just have an afternoon to yourselves.

You were making your way through the little forested area on the way to grab stuff from your dorm when you heard noises just off the path. Thinking it might have been one of the campus cats, you ventured to check it out.

Boy, you wished you hadn’t.

Your throat ran dry as your eyes started to water.

There was the man you had fallen for since your first year, engaged in a furious make out session with a blonde haired stranger.

You’ve never ran as fast as you had that day.

“Congratulations.”

Everyone at the table stared at Angelica with apprehension. She hasn’t given her thoughts on the matter the whole night, so now that she chose to open her mouth, everyone knew not to get in the way. Maria, however, seemed to let a little smirk slip as she bowed her head. Alexander visibly flinched, knowing whatever she was going to say, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You’ve invented a new kind of stupid.” She started, her voice level and soft, betraying the actual emotions behind her words. But she just went increasingly biting from there. “A ‘damage you can never undo’ kind of stupid. An ‘open all the cages in the zoo’ kind of stupid.”

The rest of the table stayed quiet, knowing the wrath of Angelica was about to be released. “’Truly, you didn’t think this through’ kind of stupid. Let’s review:”

“Maybe I should have seen this coming…”

The look Eliza gave you made you feel like you just offended her great ancestors and kicked her puppy. You gave a weak laugh.

“Alexander’s always looking to rise above his station. He has big dreams for himself, and I guess he realized I would be pinning him down.” You explained, wringing your hands. Hercules frowned, opening his mouth to rebut that statement but you cut him off.

“We all know he’ll never be satisfied with this kind of life; uncertainty and loans always looming above us. I should just come to terms with it. It wouldn’t have worked out well, anyway.”

“Non, ma chérie, that is not the case.” Lafayette’s voice finally reached your ears for the second time this night, his concerned expression softening to a more comforting one. “That is not the Alexander we know. He is not as shallow as to kiss you and then how you say ‘hook up’ with another femme. There must be something bothering him.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not a reason to ditch [Name] with another woman, Laf. If something was bothering him, he should’ve just talked to [Name] about it.” Hercules crossed his arms, shaking his head in disapproval.  

“Oui, I understand this. I, myself, cannot wrap my head around why Alex would have done what he did, and I know nothing he says would make it excusable. However, the only way to know why he is giving our petite chou the freezing shoulder-“

At this, you couldn’t help the small laugh that left your lips, “It’s cold, Gilbert. Cold shoulder.”

“Ah- Oui, oui, desolée,” The sides of the Frenchman’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, finally glad to see some semblance of the you they’ve come to love resurface. “The cold shoulder. The only way to know why he is giving [Name] the cold shoulder is to have them ah… tête-à-tête. There must be something to this story we’re not seeing.”

“-and you chose to mess around with a bunch of unremarkable women! You even implied to us that she was whorish enough to sleep with Jefferson after admitting her feelings for you! So yes, good luck getting the woman you considered the ‘best thing’ in your life back!” Angelica’s face had gone slightly red at how disgruntled she was by Alexander’s behavior. “Because if she doesn’t want you back, we can all understand why.”

By the end of the rant, Alexander seemed to have shrunk into himself; a first for the typically outspoken young man. For once in his life, he couldn’t seem to find the drive to argue with the woman in front of him. He tried to review the memories of the past weeks. Maybe there was something he was missing? Some angle he didn’t consider?

Angelica was right. By jumping to the conclusion he did, he basically branded you a slut. His throat suddenly felt cottony, his face aflame with shame. How was he going to explain himself to you?

You were now on your way back inside, Lafayette’s suggestion of talking to Alexander had the small group agreeing it was the best course of action. You were skeptical, however. Unsure of how he would react to this. Would he lash out? Brush you off? You clutched Herc’s hand tighter in unease, him squeezing your own in reassurance.

Soon enough, there you were; standing in front of the man that started it all as both of your groups dispersing to grant you some privacy. Well, as much privacy as there is in a bar packed with people.

“[Na-]”

“Alex-“

“No, [Name], wait. I just- I want to apologize for everything. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about you. I reacted too quickly, failing to give you the time you needed to explain yourself. I’m sorry, [Name]. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I know nothing I say will take away whatever you’ve felt the past few weeks, won’t erase the hell I put you through… I just-  I want you to know how much I regret everything I’ve done.” He breathed a little before looking down. You’ve never seen anyone look so despondent. “But that kiss that night… I don’t regret that. That was the only good thing I’ve done, it seems…”

You remained silent, scooting yourself over in the seat beside him. None of you said a word for a while, just listening to each other’s breathing over the loud music pumping in the bar.

“Can you tell me why, Alex?”

And he did.

He told you about the walk to his dorm, the plans he had about contacting Madison and Burr, him seeing you walk out of Jefferson’s dorm, the conversation he overheard. How the urge to beat up his rival fizzled until all he could do was bury himself even more into his studies.

He told you about the hurt that threatened to spill out of his eyes, how, in the height of emotions, he decided to mess around with girls to spite you and make you jealous. Through everything, you stayed silent at his side, your eyes never leaving the table top.

The end of his story was followed by another barrage of apologies. How he regretted his actions, how childish he was, how he wouldn’t blame you if you decided to go to Jefferson after all. He probably would have continued too, if you hadn’t raised your hand to his mouth.

“[Name]?”

“I was borrowing a book. You knew that, yes? You heard me thank him for it.”

Alexander nodded, his mouth still behind your outstretched hand.

“It was a book I needed for my World History research paper. I was writing about The Arabian Nights and how it contributed to the telling of Asian history. The library’s copy of both The Arabian Nights and Orientalism and The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research was taken out and has been overdue for 3 weeks prior to my asking for it.“

You sighed, bringing your hand down before pinching the bridge of your nose.

“For the conversation you decided to sexualize: Thomas found me while I was struggling with my design elective. We were tasked to produce at least five alternate designs of items found around campus and I could barely finish one that I was satisfied with. So when help sat its inflated ego down in front of me, how was I going to refuse?

He offered to help me in exchange for being on his team during the first debate next semester- don’t look at me like that, it was a fair enough deal- and we got to work. After a while, we started talking and one thing led to another and I ended up spilling my frustrations over the MIA books for my history class and he offered to lend me his.”

Silence settled over you two like a looming cloud.

“So… were you jealous?”

You glared at him enough to cause balls to recede.

He coughed.

More silence.

“Date this Saturday?”

“Try again, Alexander.”

“Fair enough.”

Your friends, who had gone back to enjoying their night, glanced over at the both of you, some shaking their heads.

“You’d think they’d make up a lot faster considering they never seem to shut up.”

“Maybe we broke them. I know Angie broke Alexander. We haven’t heard a peep from him since her outburst. L m a o”

“Did you actually just say ‘lmao’??”

“Fuck off, turtle-boy, I can say w t f I want. If you don’t like it, g t f o h8r.”

“What the fuck, Peggy.”

“DAB ON THE H8RS”

“Wait, where are you going!”

[gingeralecans]

Dream Daddy: My Problem w/The Joseph Route and Character Analysis; Before and After Release-

When I first discovered Dream Daddy, a Dad Dating Simulator, I was ecstatic. There had never been a game like this, or at least I'd never seen a game like this before. When I mean "like this" of course I mean the style of being a dad wholesomely dating other dads. Most dating sims are men dating women, women dating men, the "Meet N Fuck" games on New grounds (I guess they count). I enjoyed the fact that this game wasn't based on sex, had diverse characters, and an interesting plot. I also enjoyed that it was mlm, a rarity of sorts in dating sims. To say the least, it was a lot of things I thought were good, combined into one good game.

My first choice in dad was the so called "Bad Dad", Robert Small. My thing has always been for the "edgy" character types. Robert fit the bill and I was ready to pay my tab. But Then some sneak peek play through’s came out. I hadn't known about them, they just kinda popped up in my feed and I eagerly decided to watch the streams for any juicy content my eyes could devour. The first one I watched was on Youtube, the games creators playing with a few faces I think were either friends or co-workers on this game. They only managed to get to Robert's infamous after the bar scene, when he invites you to walk home with him. I was still p/invested in Robert. The first dad we met, however, was Joseph. Joseph came off as polite, sympathetic, and funny. He offered cookies as any neighborly neighbor would do for their new neighbor. He apologized for his mistake when bringing up the subject of the deceased spouse. He even gave some kind advice, sympathizing with how it was hard to preform as a parent by one's self and that, if the advice was needed or just a ear to vent to, he'd be happy to offer them. It was touching. After Joseph and before Robert, we met Mary. Didn't know who Mary was at the time because we didn't get that far in this particular video. I didn't really like or dislike her when we saw her at the bar. She did make me curious as to what her role was in the game and that's about it. The next video was the day before the first stated release. Twitch stream with the game creators and the Game Grumps. We managed to get all the way through Roberts "after the bar scene." I was still hanging onto Robert, though the next morning, after they had the character sleep with him, put me off. What not with Robert giving off this "Why are you still in my house?" atmosphere towards the character the gamer plays. I was still hanging in there though. The other dads were interesting and I mildly connected with Mat, but only through his social anxiety. They managed to get to the bar-b-q scene. In this instant, I started to shift from Robert to Joseph.

Why the sudden, and extreme, shift? It was strange to me too. Joseph was definitely not my usual drink of choice, so to speak. It was like going from hard liquor straight to water, maybe with some flavoring powder in it. Maybe. But I understood where my soft spot for him was coming from. When I watched this second stream, I was analyzing  his and Mary's character and how they acted towards each other, as well as others. I wasn't exactly paying close attention, but it kind of grabbed me enough to note the things I did. During the bar-b-que I couldn't help but to see Joseph struggle with Mary and her "antics." The way she spoke to Joseph, how she disregarded their possibly lost child twice, paying more attention to her wine then anything else. Joseph had to collect himself multiple times, obviously well versed on how Mary operated by now was my assumption, knowing how to handle things. He had concern for his children, seemed thoughtful of his guests by preparing them food particular to their diets, talked on his religious beliefs, but only briefly and never shoving the "good word" down anyone's throats. Despite his wife causing him stress he managed to keep things together and be an excellent host and father. The stream ended with exemplary dad jokes about grilling and bar-b-q's.

What I took from the second stream and first stream combined was a sort of theory, if not character analysis, on Joseph and Mary's personalities and relationship as husband and wife, prior to the games release. From what I saw, Joseph was a dutiful father, well respected by the community but not by his wife. I suspected that Mary was cheating on Joseph (scene from the bar as an example) and that she was neglectful of her children, as well as abusive towards Joseph. Joseph seemed to love Mary and put up with what she was going through. But Mary? Not so much. I suspected Mary had become bored of Joseph and her life as a "good christian wife," perhaps wanting to kick her feet up and have fun. I assumed that her sudden urge to take on a wild life caused her to take up drinking, focusing more on the party culture then her family. It left me feeling. . sad, for Joseph.

My assumptions drew me to Joseph and his possible struggles. Back in the first stream he lent the gamer’s character an ear to vent to because he knew how hard being a parent was. I took that as Mary wasn't much of a parent, making him feel like a single parent, which is of course hard and especially with four children to tend to day and night. Mary usually hitting up the bars at night made me imagine Joseph, putting the children to bed by himself, making sure they were fed before hand and cleaned up after, their toys put away, the house picked up until it'd be messed up again tomorrow. What not with Mary coming home late from bar hoping she'd probably have a hang over the next day, leaving Joseph to tend to the children again. Breakfast made early, dressing them making sure they were cleaned up, preparing lunches for school, making sure they had their back packs, walking them to the buses, etc. And what about when they got home? I'm sure Mary didn't always bar hop but, from what I saw in the first two live streams, she didn't seem like the type to be mindful of what her children did, having taped over veggie tales with The Shining and losing track of their youngest while giving the excuse "I'm sure he's probably off eating dirt some where, he's fine." This made me think he probably helped with home work for them all, made dinner, and then did the nightly routine over again. What not with how Mary treated Joseph in public I could only assume she treated him the same at home, if not worse. Ridiculing him, disregarding him, making things stressful for him such as making sure the children were tended to and safe. I couldn't imagine that even being a good environment for the children, growing up to their mother harshly downing their father who always seemed to accept his wife's cold/rude behavior towards him.

These assumptions I concluded to made me enjoy Joseph as a character. He was a representation of the kind of man we some times forget exist in our world. Enduring and keeping an abusive marriage going, actually being there for his children and raising them the best he could do while handling said abuse, being the bigger person in public and possibly even at home to be a good example for his children, keeping good appearances as a neighbor by respecting them and their ways of life, and even going as far as being an exemplary member of a religious belief system by speaking good on the word all while accepting others who are different from him and never pressuring anyone to believe in his beliefs. He was like a fresh of breath air. I've never seen a character with representation like this and I sympathized with some of his plights, what not in the areas of abuse and feeling alone in his struggles through life, even when he has a partner by his side.

Then, the game came out. It came out late, albeit, but it came out. People flooded to Steam to buy the game and finally play it to reach the goal of a successful date with their preferred "daddy." My plan was to save Joseph for last because I wanted to enjoy and savor his route. I was so excited to see his life unfold, to see how he handled his struggling marriage, his cold wife, and raising his children basically on his own. I was eager to see how my character would be able to aid Joseph in his struggles. But the idea was dashed as I'd see that the plot I had drawn from the signs pointing towards it in those sneak peek play through’s, was wrong.

Joseph and Mary's marriage was indeed in jeopardy. I discovered she never actually "goes all the way" with the men she flirts with through her bar hopping endeavors, Neil the bar Keep saying "it's not her thing" to go home with them during the "Walk Mary home" scene. She is still cold towards Joseph and continues to embarrass him through out the dates, of course in public no less. He still comes off as a pretty respectable neighbor and parent. Though the "walk Mary home" scene insinuates that she is struggling with something that no one is really sure of. This is where I began to lose hope for Joseph's route.

The only "good" ending I've seen is Joseph telling the gamer’s character that he can't be with him and has decided to try and work things out with Mary. In this ending, you get to kind of date Joseph, but you don't get to completely BE with Joseph. Your character is left a single dad. Joseph admits he cared about you and cherished all of his time with you, but he ultimately realized through being with you that he loved his wife and he wanted to make things work. Though he managed to be nice about it and even say he had feelings for your character, your character still gets "margarita zoned" to say the least. I don't advocate for being a home wrecker, but that's kind of what you do through this route and then fail at it. It was kinda disappointing and unsatisfying to say the least.

Then comes the second ending. The bad ending. There's been a lot of speculation with the bad ending. No one has ever gotten this ending but there has been picture evidence, possibly official game art, as proof of the bad ending existing somewhere out there in some strange combination between Joseph's route and the "Walk Mary Home" glitch scene. Now, the pictures could possibly be doctored. This ending may not even exist at all. But it's a possibility. This ending shows Joseph as a cult leader, almost like a Jim Jone's type. He dawns a priests black robe and his eyes have dark bags under them, giving off an even sinister stare. The ending insinuates that he's possibly taken you hostage and you aid Mary in escaping his clutches, ending up with Joseph being stabbed and the two of you running away. Mary appears as a disheveled, terrified woman, the victim, and ultimately her husbands maker. Though this ending hasn't been canonically proven as true, it hurts to see that it possibly may be true. Through out the entire route Joseph was represented as a good christian man who even winced when you told a white lie about baking brownies, yet, accepting of those who were different from him. For him to suddenly show up as a cult leader and possibly even a murderer is. . .it's just such a reach and so demeaning to what he was. Who his character was in it's truest form. I mean, it's a cool concept as a Halloween DLC, perhaps not linked to canonical time lines. Maybe all the dads could get weird, creepy Halloween endings? But a cult leader as a canonical ending for this man who was represented as such a good religious man? It just doesn't add up with who we saw in the beginning to what we are being given.

My final thoughts on Joseph. Joseph was a good character from first glance. His story had potential. HE had potential to be someone great who our character could have helped through so much. There were so many possibilities for his character that just never came to fruition. We could have helped him understand his marriage was unhealthy. We could have helped him through his struggles as, practically, a single dad. There could have been a scene with the children where we help them understand that their parents bad relationship isn't their fault and they shouldn't worry, comfort them and show Joseph you're there for him and his children. There was just so much. Sadly it just wasn't meant to be and the only thing we get to have with Joseph, is Margaritaville.

Though Joseph's ending leaves a sad taste in my mouth, in the end, it's just a game and I'm not going to bash it or attack the creators for something I don't like (and I don't advocate for others to do that either, that's wrong). The creators did an amazing job developing the game and i commend them for a job well done. They worked hard and the other characters are beautifully done. Though I don't exactly sympathize with the rest of them, other then Mat who I sympathize with through his social anxiety, the characters are fun and entertaining, as they should be. Despite the small hiccup that was Joseph's route, I love Dream Daddy, and maybe one day we'll get a Dream Daddy 2 with all new Dads to date. I'm staying positive and hopeful.

[blisserial]

Eight

Ross kept nearly a score of performers in his circus troop. Most of the players were human as I.  Seven were not; two dogs, three cats, one parrot and a hog. The mule who pulled the circus cart was not officially counted as one of the players, nor was the old stallion Will rode during the conclusion of his axe-throwing performance.

The Menagerie, as Ross billed his trained creatures, needed a good deal of attention. Their care always fell to the newest member of Ross's family. That first summer their care fell to me.

My mother had a kitten when I was a child. An owl took it one night. I think I wept into her skirts at the loss. I think she wept with me. I do know she never replaced the cat and that although she enjoyed the canaries in Her Ladyship's solarium, she later turned away the stray mutt my older self cajoled home from the fields.

My mother had no patience for grief.

So the performing animals in Ross's Menagerie were my first attempt at a nurturing instinct. I found I enjoyed the two little dogs and their dancing tricks. The one-eyed tom who road a miniature bicycle had never been sand trained and preferred to shit in the caravan. It was my job to keep him from his choice of latrine. He and I soon became mortal enemies although he would sometimes deign to warm my feet on especially cold nights.

The other cat, a small female who could strum a guitar with her front paws, wanted the parrot. The parrot wanted to live and so spent any uncaged moment on my shoulder, thinking to hide behind the scant protection of my right ear.

As for the hog, when she was not playing 'dead' on command, she ate. And ate. I was rather fond of the hog. She had big brown eyes and he muttered deprecations in the language of her kind whenever food appeared.

"No good circus troop is complete without animals," Ross explained one evening as I cussed and whined and angrily cleaned cat shit from the my bedroll. The parrot on my shoulder echoed my curses with enthusiastic panache.

"The marks come to see jugglers and flame," Ross continued, smoking one of Maurice's small cigarettes as he watched me toil. "But they won’t go home happy until they've seen at least one four footed creature dance."

And he was right. I soon learned that the pig had her own following and that the guitar- strumming cat was a legend in the back country. The parrot, who sang the King's Lay in high, spine shivering tones, often brought in more coin than even Will and his axe.

So when the bird unexpectedly flew free one afternoon in the middle of a particularly well attended show, I expected a beating. It was after all my responsibility to see that the wing feathers were clipped close and the parrot kept flightless.

Ross struck me once, gruff. And then he sent me away.

"You'll not come back unless you bring my bird," he said. "Maurice will care for the rest of the Menagerie until you return. We're heading east in five days. Don't tarry."

At first I didn't understand. The surrounding countryside was fenny and wet and plagued with willow trees, a parrot's perfect small kingdom. I searched for the rest of that long day and when I returned to the circus empty handed, cold, and starving, they pelted me with stone and stick until I was forced away again.

Four days passed before I finally found the bird hunched in the branches of a drooping willow. He was nearly as miserable and starved as I; we were both covered with mud and grit.

Elated, I set him on my shoulder and rushed back to camp. I daresay he recognized his home and regretted his flight. He began to sing as soon as he heard Ross's voice.

Ross fed me and Maurice dug up clean clothes. I washed and ate my fill and, as I sat tending my blistered feet on the edge of the wagon, looked up, startled, into Ross's seamed face.

"You've learnt your lesson, Bliss," he said as I paused, ointment stinging my toes. "But so's you don't forget it." He bent forward and dropped the parrot's limp body onto my lap. The bird's spine was broken. The small body was still warm.

"We all have our own parts to play," he said as I stared, mute, at the ruffle of blue and green feathers. "And there's no excuse for shirking."

                                                           *****

As soon as the shawl was stolen, Moire Kler knew their arrival was inevitable. Expectation was a torment. Joy and fear and hunger and grief mixed to form a knot beneath her breast bone. She beat that pain back with work and with prayer and, as the ache grew larger rather than smaller, with fasting and penance.

Every morning of those three fortnights she opened her eyes on anticipation and every evening, when she returned home to find her cell unoccupied but for her own belongings, she had gone into sleep carrying regret.

When they came, she told herself behind the shelter of tightly closed lids, she would be ready.

But time passed and they did not come after all. Winter ripened and the rains came to ease some of the heat. Moire knew there would be snow above the River Ann and roads would be dangerous with ice. She began to relax. Perhaps the thievery had not been what she thought. Perhaps she had no reason for anxiety or hope.

She relaxed. Oh, yes, she relaxed and forgot to listen for Bliss's strident tones. Initiation was approaching and that meant Moire was very busy, sometimes worn to the edge of exhaustion. She dismissed the lost shawl and she stopped endlessly waiting.

And now, a scant seven days before her induction, here they were.

She felt her hard-won calm threatening to shatter as she strode down the barracks hall, Corporal Aansi and his irritation riding her wake. Indeed, when the corporal had arrived with his news she had been briefly dizzy, lost, even short of breath. She'd wanted to run, and she nearly had.

But of course in the end she didn't. Moire Kler had never run from anything in her entire life. She had risen from soldier's whelp to captain to field major and on to become one of the Seat's twelve right hands. She was honored and would soon be glorified. Old matters of the heart held little consequence in the now.

She did have to pause for a moment outside her quarters. But when she finally stepped through the door she had herself under control again, her expression one of genuine pleasure.

Because she'd learned long ago that pleasure was always easier than regret.

"Sergeant," she said, holding out her hands in welcome. "You bastard. You haven't aged a day."

Maurice smiled. It was the old, shy smile she remembered and missed. He did not take her hands, of course. But he didn't fall back on the formality of salute, either. He bowed, in the way of the north, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Major," he said, and fumbled in his belt for a cigarette. The familiar nervous habit turned Moire's throat dry. "How goes the war?"

"Bloody but true," Moire answered, the required response, and met faded blue eyes with mutual understanding.

When she turned, Shaara blushed in the amber light.

"Ma'am." Her youngest remaining soldier stood rod straight. "The door -"

"I understand." She spoke gently to hide the sudden surge of fondness. Shaara had grown. Somehow he had filled out, and stretched nearly as tall as Maurice. Moire had never been able to ruffle his hair, not this child who had done murder on the battlefield at her command. But he was no longer the lad she'd snuck sweets to beneath a brigadier's disapproving eye.

She'd forgotten Corporal Aansi. He shifted and coughed. "Ma'am," he said, unconsciously echoing Shaara. "Perhaps you might remind your honored guests that smoking is not allowed on barracks."

Maurice regarded the little man calmly through  pastel smoke. Moire laughed and turned to the corporal, because it gave her one more excuse to ignore the living disapproval lurking on her cot.

"Let it be, Aansi," she said, easing the soldier with a light touch. "Maurice is an old carnie, you'll never be able to break him of the habit." And then, more firmly, "Back to your desk. We're well enough here."

"If you're sure." But Aansi saluted and departed eagerly enough, no doubt relieved to be free of this new and peculiar burden.

Moire shut the cell door on his retreat. When she turned around Bliss had moved from the cot to the floor, soundlessly, and now stood so close Moire could feel the heat of rage radiating from the other woman's flesh.

"You've let your hair grow," Bliss said, sharp as a pike. "It's a bird's nest. And it's gone grey."

Moire pressed her lips together. "And you look as though you've been grubbing in the mud, Captain. Has work become so very hard to get above the river that you've taken to performing in the Northern sewers?"

Maurice chuckled. The perfume of his smoke, so different from that of the Temple, made Moire feel suddenly light and free.

"No matter," she continued as Bliss glowered, "we'll find you a bath. We'll find you all baths. And proper clothes and a room. Two, perhaps. And something to eat. Surely you're hungry? You’re all too skinny. You look near to crow bait, Maurice."

"The pickings have been slim, lately." Maurice admitted quietly. "But we'll do." He lapsed and Moire felt a prickle of anticipation.

Surprisingly, it was Shaara who ventured the obvious, dangerous question.

"Major," he said, "you're dressed like a priest. And we've found a shawl. A temple shawl. Embroidered with your mark."

Moire steeled herself and crossed the room, deliberately avoiding Bliss as she did so. To borrow time she lifted the shade from her lamp and carefully checked the oil in the basin. The wick burned true and clean. She would not have to fill the base until morning.

"And that," Bliss said from directly behind. "Is a temple lamp."

"So it is," Moire replied, mild. She could feel the woman's breath on the back of her neck and for a brief, secret moment she allowed herself longing. "Although I'm surprised you would know that, Captain. As you've never set foot in a temple even once in your life."

"And I'm all the better for it." Bliss tangled long fingers in the sleeve of Moire's day robe and yanked. Because it was Bliss, and because it had been three long years, Moire allowed herself to be pivoted.

"What are you doing?" Bliss demanded, suddenly and impossibly nose to nose. She must be standing on her tiptoes, Moire thought from somewhere very far away, for surely she would not have grown as well. "What have you done?"

"Use your eyes, Bliss." Maurice said, calm. "And stop being stubborn. Our major's joined the order, obviously. The robes are a nice touch, ma'am. They suit you."

"They do not." Bliss returned, breathing hard. "They do not suit her at all. They make her look sallow, and timid, and old.”

Inexplicably, the words hurt. As they were meant to. And because they did, Moire plucked Bliss's cold hand from her sleeve and dropped it.

"Three years is a long time, Captain. Some of us have changed, grown up."

"What?" Bliss spat, fierce. "Horrid, woman. You couldn't live without me in your bed, so you took the vows?"

Shaara twitched audibly, and gasped. Maurice finished his smoke and sighed.

"I think the lad and I'll go in search of that bath you promised, Major," he said. "And maybe a bite to eat. Steam room hasn't moved, hain't it?"

"No." Moire found a smile. "Come back when you've finished and I'll see about quarters."

"Coward." Bliss snarled. "Run and hide because you don't want to look at your commander in a priest's dress."

"You are my commander, Captain." Maurice replied. He took Shaara by the elbow and before the young man could form a protest, walked him firmly from the cell.

Moire forced back anger. If they had been on the field she would have slapped down Bliss’ insolence without hesitation. If they had been in bed she would have found it amusing and chased it away with hands and mouth.

"You didn't send for us," Bliss said through clenched teeth. "I thought you had. That you were in trouble or…" She turned away and paced the room twice. "You didn't send it, did you? The shawl."

"No. It was stolen. Nearly a season ago. Do you have it?"

"Yes." Bliss jerked her chin at a battered pack decorating Moire's cot but made no move to retrieve the shawl. "Are you going to tell me why?"

Moire shook her head. "Not every question has an answer.”

"Were you called to service?"

"By the Seat?" Because she felt too off balance to sit, Moire made herself drop neatly onto the edge of her cot. The pillows smelled of Bliss. Mud and sweat and smoke and below that, something much more intangible.

"I wasn’t. Not by the Seat." She folded her hands in her lap. The scrape of the rough dun wool she had chosen over leather still startled. "But by the gods? Yes." And that, too, still surprised.

Bliss hovered again, eye to eye. "No. You've done this to punish me. Because I left you."

Laughter bubbled free, a trifle too shrill. "Listen to yourself. You sound like the spoiled, self-centered child I dug out of the conscript's pen, Bliss. What has become of the hero of Green Hill?" Moire shook her head. Bemusement felt safe. "Have you forgotten everything I taught you so easily?"

Slowly, Bliss drooped to her knees. For a frightened, hopeful moment Moire thought she would lay her head in Moire's lap, as she had done that last night, before she ran. But she did not. And seeing that she would not, Moire could breath again.

"I am not sorry I left," Bliss said. "I'm not sorry I left. But I am sorry I didn't take you with me."

Moire had waited so very long for that particular apology. So very long. And after so very long, it meant nothing.

"What?" She said, amused. "You would have thrown me over Maurice's shoulder and stolen into the night? Impossible." She grinned. "I would have killed you first chance I got."

"You never," Bliss said, hoarse, "forgave me for being a peasant."

"No." And to Moire's shame it was she who reached out, spreading steady fingers to touch one dusty, muddy cheek. "Bliss. I never forgave you for being a Northerner."

Bliss jumped to her feet. She spun with an acrobat's practiced grace until she stood with her back against the cell door.

"Moire," she said, "you still haven't told me why."

"I did, but you don’t listen. I will say it again: the gods called to me."

Bliss snarled. For a brief moment Moire saw the unbendable will that had so impossibly won for the Seat his victory.

"Horrid take you, woman." Bliss said in a whisper. "If you won't tell me the truth of it, I'll find someone who will."

The door slammed and she was gone, leaving behind a scattering of mud on the cell floor.

 Moire swept the tiles clean because she found the simple, menial task soothing. She worked the broom until the plain squares shone and then she swept on. The broom felt right in hands that missed a sword. The rhythmic scratch of twig and bristle calmed her thrumping heart.

When the floor was clean and more than clean Moire set the broom aside and dipped her hands in the tepid water she kept in an earthenware bowl near her cot. She scrubbed her palms together, then massaged her eyes and cheeks with damp fingers. After she dried her hands on the hem of her robe, she bent over the flickering amber lamp and slowly inhaled. The warm cloud of perfume brought the world back to center and the knot she had been carrying since Bliss's reappearance relaxed.

The floor vibrated, a nearly imperceptible thrum, the subterranean echo of the world above. The giant bells lodged in the Seat's white spire were singing, and on the grounds of the Low Temple priests and initiates alike would be prostrate and proper, spread across the floor in worship, glorifying the gods.

Moire need not fall on her face away from the temple arches. Her vows were not so stringent, at least not yet. Nevertheless, she dropped to her knees on the newly swept floor and bowed her head.

It could not hurt to remind herself of the choices she had made.

[angelsandemons]

So it’s offically been about a year since I started this blog. I joined this fandom near the end of the show, so I’ve seen a lot of people come and go, but BOY did I not expect to get this fair. Even if things are slowing down now, I have an unreal 959 followers, several of whom are still active. And I plan to continue to be one of them, I ain’t going anywhere.  I’ve met SO many lovely people over the past year, I couldn’t possible begin to cover it all in a single post.

However...

There are some members of this fandom that have made an especially big impact on me. You guys have been a joy, an inspiration, and a pleasure to interact with both IC and OOC, so I want to say a few words about each of you now in one big, disgustingly mushy post.

What Dying Fandom? I Don’t See A Dying Fandom Look At These

@mynameisdopper: Compared to many on this list, I’ve known you for a relatively short time, but I already feel as close to you as I do most of my long-time friends. I love talking with you almost every day IC and OOC, I love the thought and insight you give your characters, including ones in other fandoms like @conniethejam and @rosefquartz, and I love the skill you put into your replies. And even despite that innate talent, you NEVER stop striving to improve. You also have a sense of humor that matches mine almost exactly, and that’s something I’ve learned not to take for granted over the years. But most of all, you have a heart of gold, all jokes aside, and I know you are going to do great things. I know you already have.

@pine-dexter: I still can’t believe it took me so long to find you, but every moment since has been a treat. I love hearing your take on Ford, I love exploring post-show scenarios and post-show AUs with you, and I love indulging extensively in our trashy ship together, be it via IM RP or simply exchanging horrible fanfics we’ve found. And of course, on the occasion we DO get to thread together, that’s always a pleasure. We need to do it more.

@llamanorthwest: You might be the youngest member in this section (not in terms of your actual biological age, but in regards to how long I’ve known you), but I’ve gotta say: I had high hopes for you because of our mutual friends, and you STILL surpassed them. Your take on Pacifica is really interesting, and your writing for her is a CONSISTENT joy. I’m still over the moon that you were willing to explore the LTOLOXA AU with me, and that you seem to get just what I’m going for with Bill.  Not to mention I love the art you draw for it, it gives me life. I can’t wait to RP more with you in the future. 

@widdleolgideongleeful​ as well as @leavethattomabel​: Your Gideon is top notch in all the ways, and you’ve gone above and beyond the source material in a way all roleplayers should aspire to. You’ve kept him IC while still adding a unique flare of your own, and it never fails to entertain. Your passion is contagious, and constantly fuels my drive to continue improving and exploring my own character in new and exciting ways. The same is true for your Mabel, but I’ve gotta say, like to be REAL honest with you here...your Mabel has taught me something else too. This is gonna sound kinda mean (hey you already knew I was a bitch), but the other big lesson your Mabel has taught me is to never judge a book by its cover. When I first came across your Mabel blog, I was THAT roleplayer: I saw your layout, I saw your huge icons, and I thought “this is someone who only kind of knows what they are doing, but ehh I guess I’ll give it a shot”. In time, of course, I discovered you were an EXCEPTIONAL roleplayer, and most if not all your design choices were very purposeful, especially on your blog layout. And rightfully so: I mean it DOES look like a blog Mabel would make. Finally, portrayals aside, you are often a joy to discuss things OOCly with, be it GF related or something in RL, you always carry that unique insight with you in whatever you do.

@flannelandchill​: Wendy can be a surprisingly hard character to nail down, if only because she’s very much portrayed from Dipper’s perspective in the show, and that’s an obviously skewed view. But when I read your writing for her, I don’t JUST see the super cool redhead (though that certainly is still there), I see the side of Wendy only briefly shown in canon: a girl who is stressed just like the rest of us. And I love, love, LOVE how you work those two together so seamlessly. I look forward to all our interactions, always, and your appreciation for my portrayal never goes unnoticed. Please continue to stroke my ego.

@captivatinginnocence​: From the very beginning, I could hear Mabel’s voice in your writing loud and clear. You have a masterful command of her tone and characterization, and you carry that to places I’ve never seen other Mabel RPers go. Seriously, do you know ANYONE else who explores her later years in life to the extent you do? As if that wasn’t enough, you are an AMAZING artist, and a very generous one too. I treasure each and every “doodle” you send my way, and love the care and effort you put into every aspect of your character. It’s always a pleasure to write with you, even if I might take a while to reply sometimes. Same goes for OOC convos about life too! And I’m super thrilled that you’ve decided to dip your toes into the SU fandom with @fantomshards recently too, bringing all that skill with you.

Dormant In Activity But Not In My Heart

@stanfordsixerpines: As my first Ford on this blog, you will always have a special place in my heart. Back when I still had a lot of shame about this billford ship, you were ready and willing to jump in the deep end with me, and never looked back. I love everything we’ve done together, and look forward to anything we might do again in the future.

@hillbillyisms​ as well as @stan-punches​, @soosquestion​, and a bunch of others honestly and every single one is worth a follow becasue this mun writes em: You are perhaps the oldest friend have on here, considering I met you back when I first started on Tumblr in the Legend of Korra fandom, and we are still in occasional contact. We’ve always been so in sync, to the point that the LoK fandom legit thought we were the same person for a while, and I still feel that connection with you now. Although you might not think yourself a success story, I have and will always see you as a victor over the massive shitstorm life has thrown at her, someone who came out a writer in all the ways, despite all the odds. And you continue fighting every day, all the while never falling short in the quality you produce, even if it has understandable lulls in output. You’re always worth the wait, and I’ll always be here ready to pick up where we left off.

@sweatersandsprinkles​: We’ve RPed quite a bit in my post-show verses, and have always talked very extensively OOC about new and exciting possibilities. I love the relationship our muses have formed with each other, and I love the darker directions you are willing to take those interactions without sacrificing the fluff. You are a constant reminder that one doesn’t HAVE to choose between cute and dark, you can have a weird medium. And isn’t that what RPing Bill is all about?

@illusionare​: Unicorn, most of your muses I know of are just as much a majestic bastard as your name implies (except for Mickey Mouse wtf), but YOU are a SWEETHEART. You are one of the few users on this website I would honestly unironically call senpai. You’ve been an inspiration to me ever since I followed you on @desbearer, and you continue to be as you come out of every hardship in your life a little brighter than you were when you went in. Both in real life struggles and roleplay ventures, you constantly make me think “well if she can do it, why not me?” You are an unapologetic meme, artist, and writer – a true gift to us all. Never forget that. And even though your Bill might be on the inactive list here, the little interaction we DID have helped me get over one of my biggest irrational fears: interacting with other quality Bill Ciphers. And we both know you have an unwavering dedication to your murder bear, so that’s pretty awesome.

The Cross-Fandom Treasures I Never Expected

@sandsofchaos​: Never did I ever think I’d find such a perfect match for Bill, dare I say MORE perfect than my in-fantom OTP.  I mean go figure it’s chaos herself, right? I don’t think I’ve ever had this deep a relationship with another muse outside the fandom I roleplay in, and I love every second of it.  As a mun, you are probably the other one on this list I can unironically call senpai, because I really truly look up to just about everything you do. Your writing is top notch ALL the time, and your dedication to your character despite an obvious lack of fandom is a constant reminder to me that all you need is a vision and a passion. In real life too, you’re an inspiration to me; whatever you might think of yourself, I see you as a successful woman I hope to be as I continue my life, and it’s a blessing to see first hand that I don’t need to give up roleplaying to do that.

@yellingmetatron​: We don’t talk AS much OOC, but you still need to be on this list because your character absolutely floors me, both in concept and execution. Like with Eris, this is a relationship I never would have dreamed of my Bill muse having, but it just fits SO WELL. Your dedication is inspiring, and again, even though we haven’t talked a great deal OOC, you’ve privately helped me work through some pretty difficult questions early on regarding my portrayal of Bill, and I’m forever grateful for that.

@familiarfortunefox: I’ve asked it before and I’ll ask it again: how do you make a quality RP blog for a fandomless wolf with no powers or special abilities, except maybe speech? It’s such a mundane concept, a lost cause, and yet you’ve tackled it anyway with great success. And the fact that you revived it just to RP with my human Bill? I’m still not over it. You’re also the first blog in literally YEARS that I have actively enjoy the autoplay for, so kudos for your taste there. I know I’ve been slacking on our roleplays, but know that you are in my thoughts nonetheless.

@thecaptainofcrunch​: Technically this is the same mun as the afore mentioned Dipper, but since I have a specific unholy cross-fandom ship with this FUCKING CEREAL MASCOT, I felt the need to mention it here. You are a meme Dean, a fucking meme, and I hate you for getting me to ship this. 

Now these were just some super special people that have had a special impact on me and/or this blog in particular.  This ISN’T an all-inclusive list of roleplayers I love and adore. But as you can see, this thing has already gotten PRETTY freaking long, so just know that if you aren’t on here, I still love you.

Although...

There are some RECENT arrivals I want to give a quick shout-out to because I got my eyes on you. I know what quality l👀ks like when I see it. Call me.

@tadsthename, @mystcriiious, @bruiiser​

And that’s about it! Oh, but one more thing: although this isn’t someone I’ve RPed with on this blog very much, she IS a big part of the reason I finally checked out Gravity Falls at all a little over a year ago, so a quick shoutout to @marelapis as well. 

[shopgirlanonymous]

It was announced yesterday that the Ringling Brothers Circus is to close that final curtain before the start of summer.   The cause they say are many things; show attendance and the trouble caused by PETA to name two.

Thank You PETA: slowly destroying my childhood one magical memory at a time.

When we moved to Alabama, I did notice an incredibly low show attendance, and I always worried about how our low attendance could discourage the circus from visiting our town, I didn’t even fathom we were facing the end for the circus altogether.

Is it Lack of Interest or Lack of Funds?

Less than a decade ago chairman & CEO Kenneth Feld handed the circus off to his daughters, just as ticket sales were beginning to plunge.  They blame the plunge in sales with kids’ general lack of interest due to the high excitement of video games and the movies.   Though, as we’ve discussed on Shopgirl before, declining ticket sales coincide with the the many reasons retailers are now finding themselves shuttering across the nation, tighter pockets.   The circus for a family is expensive at forty dollars a seat, twelve dollars for popcorn, and twelve dollars for one cup of lemonade.  This makes for a several hundred dollar afternoon when potential audience members of America were still questioning how they were going to put food on the table next week.

Absence of Elephants or Absence of Variation?

I also have to call out a lack in show quality and variation.   The last Ringling Bros. I attended that wowed me had to be around 2011 when they were touring their steampunk like Side Show themed series, this of course was before I even had kids, just a single adult who found myself to be quite the circus enthusiast!

Attendance has been dropping for 10 years, said Juliette Feld, but when the elephants left, there was a “dramatic drop” in ticket sales.

This I find to be a bold claim since the elephants were just officially dropped this past year, exactly as my hometown received a rerun performance at equal cost.   How many families are going to pay to see the same show twice?  How can you place blame on the elephants, when you haven’t even given a new fresh circus a try?  I must agree I was concerned by the absence of elephants this past trip to the circus, but the tigers, pups, and horses kept my kids beyond enthralled.  I actually found myself leaving the circus, knowing that without the crutch of an elephant this would force Ringling Bros. to research new exotic ways to catch our attention.

The Heart of Ringling Bros.

I have been a regular Ringling Bros. attendee since before I can remember.  It was something my father did with me that I treasured as a young girl, and it was a memory I wanted my children to have and cherish as well.   Growing up, my parents were not individuals of means and of the two jobs my father worked one was as an usher at The Summit where the circus came at the time in Houston, now it stands as the encompassment of Joel Osteen’s following.  This employment was his favorite as it gave him free access to Rockets games and to me it worked out because he was able to purchase the tickets on the front row at a discounted rate.  He would patrol the aisles and I would sit and watch in wonder but not before having the one-of-a-kind opportunity to sneak behind the scenes and encounter the animals and clowns first hand.

These nostalgic memories of whimsy makes their mission statement ring true:

“make parents heroes for their kids.”

Each and every year this is exactly what the circus does for our family.   It brings us together, it rewards our children, it fosters their wonder and excitement to explore and learn.   They look up to us, and thank us for gifting them with this experience, no matter the costs.   To see their smile and their delight makes them my hero in return, they remind me what raw wonder is.  My childrens’ smiles pull me from chores, bills, and the fleeting life that surrounds me, and they resuscitate me into a dreamlike wonder I had long forgotten.

But Aren’t the Millennials Seeking Experiences Over Things? 

It’s not just for children.  In my adult years I have introduced many to the wonder and merriment that is Ringling Bros.  At the conclusion of the show, just as the lights come on to lose that enchantment and return you back to the empty arena my accompaniment is left in aw and thanked me for convincing them to take in this experience.   Millennials is the largest generation, and as we age with our own families we crave experiences.   We spend so many hours in front of a computer that we want our investments to be tactile, in person, and immersive.

Not shockingly, more than 8 in 10 millennials (82%) attended or participated in a variety of live experiences in the past year, ranging from parties, concerts, festivals, performing arts and races and themed sports—and more so than other older generations (70%). But millennials can’t get enough. 72% say they would like to increase their spending on experiences rather than physical things in the next year, pointing to a move away from materialism and a growing demand for real-life experiences.       -Eventbrite Research

So please, tell me again, why the Greatest Show on Earth couldn’t manage to attract the very demographic that is eager to drop some serious coin on them? Video games you said?

The Final Bow

Despite the fact that this year we needed their magic more than ever, I was not going to go; mostly because it was the Xtreme tour, one my husband and I had just seen here in Huntsville less than two years before and did not find to be anything special.  It was strange to me that they had yet to change the roster, but I assumed for us it was for the best since money was tight this year.  As I drove around town for an errand, I somehow made the fateful error of a wrong turn, driving directly the circus train, “I want to go to the circus mommy!”

Birthday girl got front and center for the Pre-Show at Ringling Bros.

I sighed, it was Lil A’s birthday week and I had not planned a party considering our move and a rough year in health had made finances tight and life too complicated.   We went online and found a special of four tickets for half off and we indulged.  I contemplated driving Lil A and Baby K to the circus train itself and taking a picture with them in front of it, and then I shrugged it off as I have the past four years and said, “Next year *Insert youngest at the time child’s name here* will be older by then”.  Of course.

We took in all the stops, purchasing each girl a special souvenir, and allowing Lil A to get her face painted.  I looked at Baby K, who watched her sister with envy and smiled as I thought,

‘I can’t wait until she is old enough.‘

Is There Hope For A New Generation?

My favorite part of the show has always been the pre-show; if the entire circus was the cabaret style dance of whimsy I would not be one to complain.    Perhaps there will be a new line of circuses to emerge with the largest player of the game out of the limelight.  Perhaps they could make it intimate and personal?

Whatever the case, at present, I’m in utter mourning, and I’m so incredibly thankful I received the opportunity to share it with my family one last time.

Up Close and Personal with the contortionists at the Pre-show!

Up close and Personal at the Pre-Show

Ringling Brothers face painting

Me and Baby K awaiting the Big Event to Begin

Birthday girl got front and center for the Pre-Show at Ringling Bros.

We thought we are counting down the days until we would no longer lay eyes on the Astrodome, we didn’t realize it was Ringling Bros. we should have held so closely

The Elephants Marching into town for the Ringling Bros Circus

Baby K’s First Circus With Mom an Gigi

Please share your favorite Circus memories!

To Save This Article, Please Pin This Image.

References:

http://www.tampabay.com/news/business/retail/for-kenneth-feld-the-141st-edition-of-ringling-bros-and-barnum-amp-bailey/1142162

http://www.foxnews.com/us/2017/01/15/ringling-bros-circus-plans-to-shut-down-greatest-show-on-earth-after-146-years.html

http://eventbrite-s3.s3.amazonaws.com/marketing/Millennials_Research/Gen_PR_Final.pdf

#RinglingBros why is this the #finalcurtain #family #elephants and #millennials It was announced yesterday that the Ringling Brothers Circus is to close that final curtain before the start of summer.  

[goswagcollectorfire]

CARL’S BLOG: DARK CLOUDS OVER ALAMBAM; carlsblog.online; http://sbpra.com/CarlJBarger; Arkansas-Hillbilly.com

1-9-20:  Obadiah leaves for Corinth, Mississippi

 My entire family was present for my going-away party. Mother did an excellent job putting the party together. Just as I was headed for the refreshment table, I saw Dent coming across the room. I had been wondering when my big brother would corner me and quiz me about how Penelope was reacting to my departure to Corinth.

“Hey, Little Brother, what’s going on?” Dent asked.

“All is well, Big Brother!” I said, as Penelope poured me another glass of eggnog.

“Is there anything I can do for you while you are away?”

“Thanks, Dent, but everything has been taken care of. You might look in on Mother and my children from time to time.”

“I’ll do that! Hey, let’s take our annual stroll through Mother’s garden. I could use some fresh air.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“Are you regretting making your decision to volunteer?” Dent asked.

“Dent, I wish I didn’t have to go, but as sure as I didn’t, I’d be caught up in a three-year draft, and I certainly don’t want to have to deal with that.”

“I don’t blame you one bit, Obadiah. Sara and I have been worried about Marion. We’ve asked him not to volunteer. We’re hoping the war will be over within a year. Maybe he won’t have to go!”

“I’m hoping you’re right about the length of the war. I’d like to see it end as soon as possible.”

“How did Penelope take the news of you leaving?”

I knew this question was coming. Dent just can’t stand not knowing what’s going on between Penelope and me.

“Like everyone else, she hates to see me go but knows it’s best for all of us to get this one-year commitment behind us.”

“Have you two been together yet?”

“There you go again, Dent!”

“Well, I know you asked her to marry you, and I know she said yes.”

“Who told you?”

“Our dear mother whispered that in my ear tonight.”

“Then you probably know everything.”

“No, I don’t! I was just wondering since you’ve gotten yourself engaged to Penelope if this has done anything for your love life.”

“Dent, our love is still strong and maybe more so than before, but no, we’ve not been having sex.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Little Brother.”

“Strong will, and respect, my dear brother!”

“I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re being sent to Corinth, Mississippi.”

“I wondered that as well until Daniel Pratt enlightened me on the military importance of Corinth to both the South and the North.”

“What kind of military importance?”

“There are two railroads that cross at Corinth. One goes east and west, the other north and south. The South wants to keep the railroads open to move supplies to the South, while the North wants control of Corinth to stop supplies from being shipped to the Confederate Army in the South. Does that make sense?”

“So, are you saying the North and South will do battle at Corinth?”

“I think that’s a strong possibility.”

“Obadiah, although you may not be exposed to combat, you will still face danger. You be extremely careful. Don’t take any unnecessary chances. Stay away from the battlefields. Concentrate on saving those soldiers who will be brought to you off the battlefield. You will have your hands full. You be alert and be safe, you hear!”

“Dent; by the grace of God, I’ll survive this war. I believe in my heart that God wants Penelope and me to be together. She and the kids will be my strong and shining armor.”

“Well, needless to say, we will all be praying for your safety.”

“Thanks Dent! That means a lot to me.”

“Obadiah, you are one lucky man. Penelope is so beautiful. I know she is going to make you a fine wife. You keep focused on your plans. Don’t lose sight of your goals and objectives. Be smart and pray often! That’s the last advice I have for you,” Dent said as he smiled and put his arm around me as we headed back to the main house.

It was nice seeing everyone, but things turned a little sad when the goodbyes started. Several were fearful for my life, and that, I can understand. The war has just started and already there have been numerous casualties. Family members are grieving over loved ones who have already died or are badly wounded. Those dead have been buried hundreds of miles from home, and those seriously wounded are presently lying in hospitals somewhere trying to recover from their wounds. Several will die of infection and never again be able to see their loved ones back home. What a tragedy unfolding right before our eyes.  

The last one to hug me was my sister Sarah. I knew she was hanging around for a purpose. Sarah and I have always been close. We were not only brother and sister, but Sarah was perhaps my best friend. As she hugged me, she said, “Obadiah, you be safe. You’ve got to stay alive for Penelope, Charles, and little Belle. The children need their father, and I need my youngest brother. You find some way to stay alive, you hear!”

“Sarah, I plan to stay alive. I’ll do everything I can to stay alive. Please look in on Penelope from time to time. Maybe you and she could go shopping together in Prattville. I think she would like that.”

“Obadiah, I promise you, I’ll look in on her.”

“Thanks, Sarah!”

After everyone had left Twin Oaks, Penelope and I took our last stroll through Mother’s garden. There was a full moon, and the sky was full of sparkling stars. God’s universe was remarkably beautiful that night.

“Obadiah, this is a sad night. I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight knowing you will be leaving in the morning.”

I took Penelope in my arms. She was trembling. I held her close to my chest. She looked up at me with those gorgeous blue eyes. It wasn’t long before we were kissing each other passionately.

“Make love to me, Obadiah!” she said in a soft whisper.

“Penelope, we have to stop. We can’t do this. We have to wait.”

“Obadiah, I hate your social and religious beliefs. I don’t understand why it’s wrong to have sex with the man you will later marry. Oh, Obadiah, I love you so much!”

“Oh, Penelope, my love, we’ve gone through this time and time again. It’s my desire to wait. Please understand that. The passion we feel for each other is not going away. It will still be there a year from now. Please trust me!”

“I do trust you, but I don’t understand.”

“In time, my love, you will understand. We will be spending our whole life together.”

“My greatest fear, Obadiah, is you will be killed, and I’ll never know what it was like to have been made love to by the man who has my heart and soul. I don’t think I would want to live without you, Obadiah.”

“Don’t say that, Penelope. I need you to be strong and look after my babies. You will be their mother, and they will always consider you their mother. They need you while I’m away. My God will see me through this war. I promise you; I’ll be coming back to you. I will not be killed. When I come back, we will start our lifelong journey together. We will never be separated again. Our days will be filled with joy and thanksgiving. You just wait and see, my love.”

“Will you write me often?”

“I’ll write you every chance I get. Don’t expect to hear often because I’m going to be quite busy caring for the sick and wounded.”

“I’ll write you every chance I get. I’ll make sure that Charles and Belle know where you are and what you’re doing.”

“Penelope, we better go back into the house. Seven o’clock in the morning will be here before we know it.”

“I heard your mother say she was going to have Betsy make you some flapjacks in the morning. I’m looking forward to some of them as well. I know Charles likes them.”

I had trouble going to sleep. I couldn’t get Penelope out of my mind. I kept seeing her piercing blue eyes and hearing her words, “Please make love to me, Obadiah.” I caught myself several times sitting on the edge of my bed telling myself to go to her. Each time I lay back down on the bed, I tried to justify doing what my mind and body wanted me to do. I had never struggled with this type of temptation before. Why was it different? I wanted to believe it was because we are now engaged to be married. The fear of sinning was different. What would it hurt, just this one time? Finally, sometime in the night, I fell asleep.  

At seven o’clock, I sat straight up in bed as hungry as I could be. I smelled the aroma of the fried bacon cooking and knew that in about thirty minutes I would be enjoying those flapjacks and sorghum molasses. The bacon would just top everything off.

After breakfast, Bill loaded my luggage in the carriage, and I said my goodbyes to Mother, Charles, Belle, Mattie, Betsy, and Penelope. Penelope hugged me so tightly. I thought she would never release me. She whispered in my ear and said, “You stay alive, my love!”

As Bill drove us away in the family carriage, I looked back through the rear window and waved bye one more time. In about an hour, we would be in Selma, Alabama, where I would board the train for Corinth, Mississippi.

[theconservativebrief]

In Illinois, 31-year-old Democrat Lauren Underwood pulled off a victory in a predominantly white and solidly Republican district, becoming one of the youngest black candidates elected to Congress. Ayanna Pressley, who defeated 10-term Democratic incumbent Rep. Michael Capuano in September and ran unopposed on Tuesday, will become Massachusetts’s first black woman to join Congress.

Minnesota’s Ilhan Omar will be America’s first Somali-American woman in Congress and along with Michigan’s Rashida Tlaib, one of the first Muslim women elected to Congress. Lucy McBath, a gun control advocate whose son was murdered in 2012, won in Georgia’s Sixth District, flipping a seat that had been in Republican hands for nearly four decades. And Jahana Hayes, a 2016 National Teacher of the Year, will be the first black woman to represent Connecticut in Congress.

These women’s victories in the 2018 midterm elections will make them part of the largest female congressional class in history next January — overall, more than 100 women will become members of Congress. And almost exactly 50 years to the day that Shirley Chisholm (D-NY) became the first black woman elected to Congress, the results of Election Day 2018 meant that the number of black women in Congress will climb above 20 for the first time in its history.

It’s a historic development, coming after a record number of black women ran for office. According to the crowdsourced Black Women in Politics database, at least 468 black women ran for political office in 2018. Higher Heights for America, a group that works to increase the number of black women running for office, notes that 40 black women were on congressional ballots in the midterm elections. Seventeen black women were candidates for statewide office.

This wave comes as Democrats, in particular, have been criticized for failing to treat black women as viable political candidates, and for failing to center the issues of black women voters, a crucial bloc in several recent elections.

“The electability question is no longer out there for black women candidates,” Higher Heights co-founder Kimberly Peeler-Allen said. “I don’t think we’ve ever seen so many competitive races in a midterm election, for Congress, for statewide office, in our nation’s history with black women as the leading candidates.”

It’s part of a bigger shift happening for black women, who have helped deliver victories to Democratic politicians in recent contests in Virginia, New Jersey, and Alabama. For much of 2018, and for years before that, black political candidates and strategists have stressed the need for black women, a group that has played a significant role in elections, to be better represented in political office. The number of black women who won in 2018, and the even greater number of black women who ran, shows that with the support of voters, black women are converting electoral power into political power.

At the beginning of 2018, black women held just 3.7 percent of state legislative seats, 0.96 percent of statewide elected executive positions, and just five mayorships (six after the election of London Breed in San Francisco) in the US’s 100 largest cities. That’s according to an analysis from Higher Heights and the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University. Less than 20 seats in the House of Representatives were held by black women, while a single black woman, Kamala Harris (D-CA), serves in the Senate. Collectively, black women made up just 3.6 percent of Congress.

In the 2018 election cycle, a wave of women ran to change these numbers. According to Higher Heights, seven black women ran for Senate, although none won. When it comes to statewide elected offices seven black women ran for open seats, while another 10 challenged incumbents. Higher Heights notes that just three black women held statewide elected positions prior to the election and just 12 black women have ever held these positions in history.

Black women also made gains in these areas on Tuesday. Letitia “Tish” James became the first black woman, first woman, and first African American elected to the position of New York attorney general. Illinois House of Representatives member Juliana Stratton was elected lieutenant governor of Illinois. At the local level, a group of 19 black women dubbed the “Houston 19” all won election to judgeships in Harris County, Texas. Rachael Rollins became Massachusetts’s first black district attorney.

In Georgia, Democrat Stacey Abrams, perhaps the highest profile black woman running for office this year, competed to become the first black woman governor in the US. Abrams’s opponent Brian Kemp is narrowly leading Abrams in the still-undecided race, but Abrams has promised to stay in it, hoping that uncounted ballots can force the race into a runoff.

While Abrams’s campaign did not result in an outright victory on Election Day, her candidacy is historic, marking the first time that a black woman has been a major party’s gubernatorial nominee. Georgia in particular unleashed a wave of organizing among black women, many of whom have said that Abrams’s campaign has broken a barrier for black women interested in statewide office.

The black women who won and ran in 2018 are significant not only for who they are, but also for how they ran their campaigns. At the congressional level, many of the black women on the ballot this year spoke about expanding access to health care and improving public education, but didn’t shy away from frank discussions of race.

By doing so, they were responding to the needs and concerns of black voters. Earlier this year, polls of black voters showed that the group is dealing with high levels of racial anxiety, and that they are looking for politicians capable of emphasizing issues like health care and the economy as well as racial justice.

Several of Tuesday’s victors emphasized this in their campaigns. Pressley, for example, told Jezebel in August that she was focusing on “economic inequality, the wealth and wage gap, structural racism, and gun violence,” while also criticizing her opponent for voting for a “Blue Lives Matter” bill. McBath, whose son Jordan Davis was shot and killed by a white man who fired into a car of teenagers after complaining about their music, made her fight for justice after her son’s death a central pillar of her campaign while also discussing the importance of health care.

Peeler-Allen of Higher Heights points to the successes of McBath and Underwood in Illinois as particularly significant wins, because these women campaigned in districts that were predominantly white but did not avoid discussions of race and racism. She says that their wins further dispel belief in political circles that black women aren’t viable candidates, or that their campaigns can only succeed when they run to represent nonwhite voters.

That reality could change how black women candidates are addressed by political parties, with women gaining more access to funding and campaign support in the earlier stages of their campaigns. And for black women witnessing the victories of 2018, Peeler-Allen says it will inspire more women to run for office in the future.

“After the energy around the races [in 2018] we will see many more black women stepping off the sidelines to run,” Peeler-Allen says. “They see that it is possible, it is doable, and that our representation matters.”

Original Source -> Black women turned electoral power into political power in 2018

via The Conservative Brief

[torreygazette]

A Grief Remembered

The day my mother died was a rainy one.

My dad later told us that it seemed like every significant day in their marriage minus their actual wedding had been a rainy one. I remember how disgusting that day was. The rain was heavy and the humidity made it feel like you were swimming through the air.

Today marks a year since that day. It occurred to me that I had not reflected on what it was like in the days leading up to and including her last day here on this earth.

A few weeks before she died, shortly after Thanksgiving of 2016, my mother lapsed into a comatose state. The doctors had been giving her pain medication, but the cancer that ravaged her liver had slowed down the processing of those medicinal substances. The comatose state was the result. We had to wait for her liver to filter the medicine. I had driven down from San Marcos for the weekend when my father told me her current state. I sat in the hospital room, listening quietly while the family members around me softly cried and tried talking to my mom. I had tears in my eyes, too, but my allergies were extraordinarily bad that day. Nevertheless, it seemed to make my family feel better that I was crying with them albeit not for the same reasons.

Different family members and friends came in and out of the hospital room trying to get my mom to respond in some way. At one point it was just my father, my brother, our next door neighbors, and me in the room. My father asked me to sing to her, that maybe she would hear and respond. I didn’t think it would, but it didn’t hurt to try. I began to softly sing “It Is Well with My Soul” as I stood by her bed and held her hand. The next door neighbor joined me after a verse, and she sang a lovely harmony. My father had tears in his eyes. My brother began to sob and left the room. My mother remained unresponsive through the final notes of the song.

A few days later, she woke up.

Just A Smirk

My father told me that the doctors had recommended no further treatment, as her body was already too weak and the cancer had spread too far. They gave an incredibly vague timeline of three days to three weeks before she died. He told me they were sending someone over to talk about hospice options later that afternoon.

When the hospice attendant came, he began talking and I stopped listening. The majority of our immediate family was in there; my grandparents were listening with tears streaming, my father held my mom’s hand and smiled softly, my brother just stared at the man. But I caught my mother’s eye. I smirked at her. She smiled weakly back at me. I don’t know what she took from my smile. I had meant to convey all the love and affection that I held for her, telling her with a smirk that everything was going to be okay—even as her body was ravaged by cancer and death lurked at the door. Later that evening, I took her hand in mine. I don’t remember the conversation that followed, but I do remember toward the end of it she said, “I’m going to miss you, Michael.”

In hindsight, I’m surprised I didn’t burst into tears. I think I responded with something like, “You won’t even be worried about me. But I’ll miss you.”

Finally, she was moved to hospice. My father opted to not take her home that she could have twenty-four-hour care from professionals. I think it was also on his mind not to place a greater burden on my mother’s parents. I think I was able to see her twice at the hospice facility. Both times, I walked in to see her in her bed, free of wires, tubes, and IVs, hopefully, a little more comfortable.

For roughly six months, she had greeted me with “I love you.” This day was no exception, except that I finally understood why when she whispered it to me that day. She didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to see me, or how many times she would get to tell me that she loved me.

I don’t remember the final words my mom and I shared. I only remember helping my grandmother clean as my mom got sick, my dad’s constant presence, and holding her hand as we both fell asleep. Time was up, however, and I had to work the next morning in San Marcos. I kissed my mother, hugged her, and (hopefully) told her I loved her. And then I left, never to see her alive in this world again.

Two days later, I woke up to rain. I got up, made my coffee, and headed to church. Everything was normal, but it didn’t feel like it. When I finished teaching Sunday school, my best friend asked if she could come with me to see my mom. For whatever reason, I said, "No, perhaps another day." Something about the day didn’t feel right.

So I drove in the rain. Fast—what my mom always said not to do. I was hungry. I texted my dad, told him I was almost to the hospice facility and asked if I had time to stop for food. When he responded that they would wait for me, I asked again, “Do I have time to stop for food?”

“No,” he said.

I pressed the gas pedal down a bit further.

When I arrived at the hospice facility, the lot was empty. The only two people standing right outside its doors were my father and brother. And that’s when I knew for sure. I quickly got out of my car and walked up the stairs to them. Neither greeted me, my father only half smiled through tears, and then both he and my brother buried their faces in my chest, sobbing. I held their heads against me, trying to control my own breathing.

A minute passed, and I walked into the facility, past the front desk, past my already mourning family, and into my mother’s room. I choked back a sob and grabbed her hand, alarmed that it was already cold. 

A host of things followed. More family came through, some of my brother’s coworkers came by, and some of my friends came too. One brought me a bottle of chocolate milk.

I remember excusing myself to use the restroom, whereupon I collapsed on the floor, unable to stop the tears and sobs from exiting me. Believe me or not, it was at this point that I forced myself to whisper the Gloria Patri:

“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.”

Perhaps it was a bit sanctimonious, but I had to force myself to say it. I truly meant it, and I could feel unbelief wanting to corrode the hope I had in the forgiveness of sins and the resurrection of the body, and the eternal life that my mother had already begun to share in. Despite pain, anger, loneliness, and grief, I felt a joy that my mother was no longer in pain. So I had to confess with my mouth.

We finally took our leave of the hospice facility and returned home. I arrived first. With a friend’s help, I began to clean out our refrigerator which had begun to smell in due to the absence of my family. More family members began to arrive and a man from my old church brought Bill Miller’s for us eat. I don’t even remember if I ate or not, I just remember having a couple beers.

For some reason, they chose to go into my parents’ room to return some items that my father had with him, and to sort through some of my mother’s jewelry. I remembered that when I was young, I had bought her a pair of clip-on earrings from a thrift store that were gold colored and set with fake sapphires. She never really wore them, because she was a grown woman who didn’t want to wear clip-on earrings, and she preferred wearing silver jewelry. I searched for those clip-on earrings that night in every nook and cranny in her dresser and couldn’t find them. I broke down in hysterical sobs, truly uncontrollable this time, as my hands scrambled to find the stupid little gift I gave my mom.

I don’t remember much else from that day. The last memory I have is falling asleep between my father and brother in my parents’ bed.

The next morning, I was sitting in my adolescent psychology class at 11 am. I still had assignments to complete, finals were the following week, and I had offered to plan, sing, and speak at my mother’s funeral. But the week flew by, and everything got done, by the grace of God.

And suddenly, a year has passed by.

Not Left Orphans

I miss my mom. I feel very lost some days. Her death has left me in a dark mood for a whole year. I’m told that doesn’t go away but recedes some. She left a gaping hole in my family, at her job where it took three people to replace her, and in my own life. As a son who has lost a mother and the deep ache that I still feel, as though a part of me is gone, I cannot imagine my grandparents who have lost a daughter, or my father who has lost his wife.

The monotony of my life in the last year has almost driven me mad. The silence in my life has almost done the same. Her death was a catalyst in my life for many unfortunate scenarios.

I couldn’t help but feel and utter those terribly selfish words “Why me?” I am but the youngest of those who knew her well, which means, to my utter dismay, that I had the least amount of time with her. My grandparents saw each of her 52 years. My aunt had 44 years, my father had over 32 years, and even my brother had 25 years.

I think of the twenty years I was able to spend with her, despite being cognitive for even less time, and I feel slighted. But then I remember a friend of mine from childhood who lost his mother around age 6. I remember the friends of mine in high school who lost their mother sophomore year. Or another friend who lost their mom just after they had graduated. They all would count me more fortunate than them for the additional years I was able to share with my mom.

A year later I feel more like a child than I did when I planned her funeral nearly alone. I feel less equipped to deal with prolonged loss and grief than the immediate shock when I was forced to act. I am trying so hard to not wallow in the grief of “why me” to the extent that I forget the grief of my family who need me. I am trying so hard to remember that I need them as well. I am trying to fit into my mother’s shoes, helping my family where I can, being with them where I can, and mediating where I can. But I am twenty-one. And I am scared of the future. I still have so much to deal with in my own mind, how can I help those around me?

Or perhaps these must happen simultaneously.

I am told by those who have lost their parents that the first year is the hardest. And it has indeed been hell. But despite my wandering heart and the incredibly incessant wave of depression and unbelief, I have hope. I struggle to keep it, but I have it. Of course, I do not worry about my mother. She is beyond all harm and woe. But for my family, I have hope that we might heal. I have hope that we might grow in Christ and with each other due to this tragedy. I have hope that we might delve deeper into the truth of what it means to be Christians, bonded both by baptism and the blood flowing in our veins. I have hope that we might be kept steadfast in the faith, that we might see Jesus and my mother when He raises us from the dead.

I can no longer run to my mother for hurt, help, or a hug. She is no longer able to defend me like lioness of a mother that she was, nor is she able to counsel me with her incredibly sharp mind. Once upon a time, the idea of not being able to help her family would have driven her crazy. But even her faith has been made perfect in death. And I have this image of Mary, the mother of Jesus, the Theotokos, greeting my mother as she came into glory and reminding her that I, too, am entrusted to her Son. And that is the safest place I can be.

“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live.” – John 14:18-19

“His grief he will not forget; but it will not darken his heart, it will teach him wisdom.” – J.R.R. Tolkien