#tragic found family you wound me

[atomikats]

sometimes i remember law has a father

[a-shade-of-blue]

Hi everyone. Mohammed Khalil (@ahmed0khalil) has asked me to share his story, and I’m writing on his behalf. Mohammed created the donation campaign for his little brother 6-year-old Ahmed, and he aims to raise funds to evacuate his family of 8. You can see in his blog how much he loves and worries for 6-year-old Ahmed. Mohammed is only 19 years old. This is not normal. He should have been in school, not begging for our attention to try and raise enough funds so that they can buy food, water, medicine, and a chance to evacuate to safety.

In Gaza, where the sounds of bombing blend with the cries of children, Mohammed and Ahmed's family experienced days they never imagined they would endure. Mohammed (19) and Ahmed (6) have four other siblings: Fathi, Aya, Anas and Abdullah. Aya (21) is a uni nursing student and Anas (15) is also a school student. Neither of them can study anymore with the current genocide. This war is especially hard on Fathi (23), who is blind and suffering from coronary artery disease, Abdullah (11) who is autistic and does not understand what is happening, and Ahmed (6), a small child who had barely started kindergarten before his education came to a halt.

The destruction that struck the area left them with no place to live. The sounds of explosions fill the horizon, and the homes that once sheltered them have become piles of rubble. They suddenly found themselves outside their home, homeless.

The bombing not only destroyed their home, but also severely injured Mohammed. Mohammed was sitting at the entrance of the school his family was sheltering in when three bombs were dropped in front of him. The bombs destroyed a residential tower in front of Mohammed. Dust filled the air and the resulting rubble and shrapnel fell on Mohammed, injuring him in the leg. Mohammed was so severely wounded that he could not walk, and he had to lie there, hurt and bleeding, for 2 hours before the Palestinian Red Crescent came and carried him to the hospital.

The bombing shattered the glass in the school Mohammed and his family was staying at, but thankfully the children sustained no serious injuries. Soon after, they were asked to evacuate the school immediately as there were news that the IOF were going to bomb the Abbas prison near it. And so even though Mohammed was wounded, he could not rest and wait for his leg to heal, but had to leave again with his family.

Now they are living in a small tent in a refugee camp. Mohammed told me that they had to bathe in polluted water and the place smelled of sewage and corpses. Camp life was difficult not only because of the scarcity of food, the infectious disease, and the polluted water, but also because of the psychological torture they endure. Looking at all the devastation, and how the world seems indifferent to their suffering, Mohammed told me that they, including young innocent 6-year-old Ahmed, had begun to lose hope for a better future.

Internet is unstable and often lacking in the refugee camp. Mohammed is using the precious time when Internet is available to tell me his story. I hope you will not turn away their calls for help. They urgently need donations to provide for shelter, food, and medicine, as well as to evacuate out of Gaza. Donations are coming in really slowly for Mohammed’s campaign, and I beg all of you, please, don't turn a blind eye to his story. 

Mohammed’s campaign has been shared by 90-ghost and I’ve also been talking extensively with him. He is a very nice person and he just really wants to help his family survive. Please, please, help Mohammed evacuate himself, his 5 siblings and his parents! Little 6-year-old Ahmed does not deserve to live in fear of falling bombs every day, and neither does Mohammed and the rest of his family. 

Really low funds! Only €1,185 raised of €50,000 target!!

Please share/reblog and donate to help a family of 8! These are children we are talking about, and my heart breaks for what they have to endure.

Please follow Mohammed and Ahmed on @ahmed0khalil to get updates on their situation!

[yanderestarangel]

Will there possibly be any more Tio Miguel O’Hara au???

𝐌𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ┆ 𝐓𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 - 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘

꒰∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ ── Hi guys, I remembered I have a blog, hehe:3

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ "Before you, silence and emptiness for me were like an open, painful wound that stained my clothes a calloused, uncomfortable red. But with you, silence became just a space to be filled with your laughter and ethereal presence. My thoughts turn to you, my sweet nephew, loose and deliberate... I really shouldn't feel this way, but you don't know how much it affects me just by you being you." - 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: 𝓽𝓲𝓸 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵.

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

➜ This AU will probably become a fic with non-linear chapters, that is, I will post in non-chronological order of the canonical events that happened. [ There will be several alt. routes and you can suggest more ideas about this AU. ]

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

★☆ Notes: This is a work of dark romance/content, please do not read if you are a sensitive person, I am not romanticizing abuse or abusive relationships, this is just fiction.

♡ ┆ TW: written in the form of a poem, corruption, step!incest, dark romance, ftm reader, abusive relationship, mourning, dumbfication, manipulation, age gap, eat out, creampie, sex without a condom, dub con, afab anatomy

You weren't so naive as to not notice your Tio's lascivious gaze on your body ─ especially when you wore short, white dresses on hot days, your skin shone with a thin layer of sweat while your curves were otherwise hidden by thicker fabrics and dense spaces were exposed to the world and the cowboy's dark eyes.

The same lips that kissed you so innocently one day, held the hot tongue that would bring your ruin filled with lust. He had a negligent look, a harsh air, he was the same man who had made you taste the fruit of forbidden desire ─ far from everything and everyone, you two did not share the innocent courtship of being just a nephew and uncle... But before for you to stop like a whore, with your legs open for someone you swore would never feel anything... It hadn't started like that.

Desire, like all things in the world, had to have an origin, guidance and explanation ── everything could have started with the cruel grief of losing the wife that Miguel loved so much, the woman's name was not even uttered by his mouth, the same painful memory of lost nights of empty promises cut by the tragic and sharp scythe of death and destiny. The tanned-skinned man spent nights questioning the direction of his life and the classic question: "why me?".

Without an answer however, he sank even deeper into his own mind, the emptiness of his home now without a wife and the future children that were idealized by both of them had not come to fruition.

A foolish, lost and purposeless man was what he was.

So, just as the devil tries to make sin, he had finally found something that filled the void that was once held in his hard and dirty soul ── you. He tried to repress these feelings, it wasn't love, it wasn't a pure and polished love, it was a corrupted feeling of possession and obsession ─ he wanted to control your life, control you and make you his forever, trap you somewhere where you would stay safe from the dangers of the dirty world where they lived; but he himself was this dirt.

Then, slowly he began to enter your life even more like a parasite implanting the dirty thoughts you would later have about him. Taking you away from your family and manipulating everything and everyone into believing that he was the best person to take care of you ─ after all, he was just a concerned Tio... Or not?

Like a waltz with the devil, it all began that hot summer night with a dance ─ without protests and murmurs of complaints you followed him to an isolated place where your family's celebration was taking place that night, the warm orange light coming from the old tile ceiling warmed your cheeks and made you blush even more under the brunette's deep gaze.

Miguel watched as you moved to the music, his gaze mesmerized by the fluidity of your movements. A soft smile graced his lips as he took in the sight before him- the youthful vigor and elegance you possessed. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you, even if it sometimes stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within him.

He wasn't just your tio, was he? No more, if he ever was to begin. His large hand caressed his waist, gently but firmly gripping the fabric of your blouse soft under his touch. His thumb brushed against his back, effortlessly guiding you through the dance.

"My precious angel", he murmured, his voice practically low. "You look like a dream, like a celestial being that has somehow landed among us mortals. It makes me want to take that dream and hold on to it forever."

He brought you closer, as if he was going to devour you ─ He moved like a predator, he looked at you like a predator... He was a predator.

Tio Miguel's lips traced a burning path along the sensitive skin of your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of heat as his hands slid down and squeezed your ass possessively. His breath was hot against your skin, a mix of whiskey and desire that sent shivers down your spine. His moans were hoarse, filled with a primal hunger.

He pulled back slightly, dark eyes ablaze with lust, his gaze falling to your chest, where your breasts strained against the fabric of your blouse. The hunger in his eyes was almost palpable, tacit and obscure, there was no point in running and maybe you didn't even want to escape, it was like a tempting trap that would hurt you deliciously.

"Mi prince," he rasped, his voice rough with need. "You're so beautiful. So fuckin' beautiful."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and predatory, as he grabbed your waist with one hand and pressed you against him. His hardness nudging between your legs, making you aware of his desire for you.

"Let's go somewhere more private, mi vida. It's time to show you just how much I want you." His lips crushed against yours, the intensity of your kiss staggering. His tongue thrust into your mouth, tangling with yours, the taste of whiskey and raw desire overwhelming. His hands moved with purpose, tugging at your clothes, urgently trying to rid you of any barriers between you both. He nibbled gently at your lips, pulling back to whisper against your mouth.

"Don't fight me, mi chico guapo. We both know you want this." With a low growl, he pulled you close once more, your lips crushing against his as your hands moved with purpose. His fingers expertly explored your soft body, teasing and coaxing you to the edge of pleasure. As his thumb brushed your clit, he swallowed your moans, his own desire heightened by the sacred taboo of his actions.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, my life. But I can't promise I will." Miguel said, but you both had the idea that that wasn't what was going to happen, especially when his tongue licked your pink flesh so well and made your legs tremble around his head ── his calloused and warm hands separated the flesh again softness of your thighs, making your breasts bounce and you tremble and whimper slyly for more.

Sin was good, so you two were condemned to a hell of unlimited pleasure and lust, without judgmental looks from others. Just you and your dear Tio Miguel. You moaned dirty, incoherent sentences, just looking for more friction with the other man's mouth, you were both moaning with need ─ you were both a mess of repressed desire and unthought-out consequences.

Your tio's hot tongue left your entrance, but before any scream of protest you saw him take off his pants quickly and lower them to his knees, exposing his muscular thighs and his thick cock with veins pulsing strongly, the smell of musk filled your nose as you felt the heat radiate from the older man’s member.

Uncle Miguel's cock pulsed as it passed your entrance, the swollen head teasing your clit before entering your comfortable, warm pussy. Every inch of their sensitive flesh reveled in the forbidden embrace, eagerly awaiting the moment they would finally become one. He growled softly, muscles tensing as he thrust inside, filling you with his thick erection.

Miguel's grip enveloped you like a vice, the sensation overwhelming you both-- his eyes locked with yours, the intensity of the connection incendiary, as he slowly advanced. His size made him feel huge, stretching you despite the ample lubrication. His moan of pleasure joined his groan of pain, a symphony of raw desire and urgency. His hands shook slightly as he thrust into you, the animalistic sounds of your union echoing in the small space.

Each thrust was deliberate, calculated to maximize his pleasure and his own desire. "Mi rei, are you okay?" he panted, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he continued to move. "Tell me if you need me to stop..."

Despite the agony of his position and his size, your nod was slow and deliberate. Your eyes never left his, each thrust bringing with it pleasure and submission. You could count how many thrusts there were by the weight of his balls that hit your soft ass, leaving a red, painful mark on your sensitive flesh.

"Good boy... Taking everything in that cute pussy..." He growled as the veins in his neck bulged with each effort of his hips to not stick it all in and feel the tip of his dick tirelessly kiss your uterus ── but he didn't I could scare you now, despite wanting to take out all the frustration and excitement accumulated in your cunt. Your breasts bounced as you cried with fat tears coming down from your orbs, pleasure, guilt and undefined feelings in your mind made you bite your lip and just enjoy the moment.

"Fuck, mi angelito," he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. "F-Fuck, I can't control myself... Mierda-"

His movements became erratic, his need overpowering him as he drove into you, chasing the peak of his release. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat as he thrust deeper, harder, his desire fueling the intensity of your coupling.

"Just like this, mi carinõ," he cried out, his voice hoarse with lust. "Just like this, with you..." His words are the catalyst for your own release, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, wracking your body with pleasurable contractions that milk him of his release.

Miguel follows suit, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you with his warm, pearly essence, marking you as his once again. He collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding, both spent from the intensity.

"I don't deserve you, boy, but I need you."

[mystiffox]

— the apple's falling from the tree

from Cross: The Star Sans by @overflowofcrows

star!cross makes me incredibly ill with the tragic found family vibes ... (lays on the floor)

also have some doodles too (slight spoilers on the fic's lore below! to explain some of my thoughts on clothes n stuff)

does Cross have a star necklace in the fic? no, probably not. did i show off about my thoughts on a star necklace to Simple anyway? yes, yes i did. anyway idc where u think the necklace is from (whether its a gift from dream or a remold of his broken heart necklace, who knows atp) now ONTO THE GANG (+ Error and Fresh)

to preface this: im mostly assuming for most of the lore beyond the crumbs given to me. so, i'd imagine that when the fight ended with the gang losing, Dream and Ink immediately jailed them up. they both seem keen on keeping the gang alive, so they probably would've tried to help them with anything to make sure of it- that is, if any of the gang would even accept it in the first place.

i'm making a small guess that if there were any wounds, they used what they had to take care of it, aka ripping out parts of their own clothing to use as makeshift bandages. dream might've gave them some supplies (out of pity.. or something) but whether that was not enough or not used, i won't know

even if it was enough, there's still the factor of inevitable outburst/breakdowns from any of the prisoners. i'd imagine it'd be so hard to calm any of them down because the gang were too used to being close together that using touch became the usual grounding method— so putting a barrier between them makes it infintely harder for everyone.

i think Nightmare doesn't use his jacket anymore. it probably feels like shit/too itchy and ragged to wear and reminds him of a past he wishes he could forget. (he must feel so helpless seeing all his boys suffer after taking care of them for so long... like a lost father trying his best and seeing how much he's failing at the same time.. man.)

Dust is almost always wrapped in a blanket, the hoodie completely zipped up as if he was trying to hide in it, keeping himself as small as possible (knowing his own breakdowns are the biggest And loudest)

Horror is probably yanked back to the memories of when he was back in his home au, quietly starving and losing all the progress he had with the gang.. trying to press himself against the barriers in hopes that maybe he can feel the others on the other side of it.. (one of his outbursts would be why he ripped off the sleeves of his jacket id assume)

Killer too.. unable to get to anyone and just. with his soul going haywire sometimes, having no available output that he's forced to ride it out on his own And in front of everyone.. yeah, you get the gist for those three

Error's a mess of threads- picks at his clothes and sews em back up, just to have a reason to move his hands. he's not too worried i'd say- it's a little reminiscent of the antivoid, and he's experienced insanity already (not to say it doesn't tug at his own soul-strings to see it happen to everyone else)

Fresh might be the "cleanest" out of everyone, with barely any visible tears, but i have a good feeling his body language is different. maybe the cap is now worn correctly. maybe he took off his jacket. he's tense. his guard is up. because a parasite would never want to be locked up in one place, right?

god.

God.

they make me so sick (message is mine btw)

[j2hoes]

Police Cars And Paintings. (Wally Clark x Reader)

Summary: Wally helps Y/N get her justice.

Word count: 2,593

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings - Murder? Swearing.

“Y/N Y/L/N was loved by all, caring, supportive and kind are just three words that her family and friends used to describe the young woman whose life was so tragically cut short at the age of seventeen. Y/N was a senior at Split River high school, with hopes of attending New York Fashion School, in order to pursue her dreams of studying fashion design. She was the valedictorian with a passion for the arts. We learn today that her body was discovered in the school’s art room, with multiple stab wounds to her  neck, chest and stomach. Police believe the attack was premeditated and to remain vigilant as her killer is still yet to be caught.”

Letting out a pained scream, I launch the tv remote directly at the screen in front of me, causing the image to shift and blur before settling into a dull, gray static. Feeling multiple pairs of eyes on me, I grip my hair, tugging slightly to feel the tightness in my skull as a way to relieve the emotional pain weighing me down.

“Hey, let’s not do that okay. It won’t help you.” Wally tells me, gently grabbing my arms and forcing them down as he wraps his arms around me in a comforting hug. Well as best as he can leaning from behind the sofa.

“Are we not gonna talk about the fact that she just broke the tv? She’s ruined movie night for everyone.” Rhonda complains, eyes shooting daggers at me.

“Like you even care about movie night. There’s other TV's in this school, we’re not gonna miss one.” I snap back, rage still coursing through my body. “At least your murderer was caught.”

Rhonda scoffs, turning to look at Mr Martin, who has remained oddly silent, as she slips her lollipop back into her mouth. Mr Martin simply shares a disapproving glance, not impressed by either of our actions or comments though he still remains silent. Not wanting to make the tension in the room any worse. It’s so thick you could cut it with a knife, cliche I know.

“At least you know who did it, that’s got to count for something and I’m sure the police will work it out soon enough. I mean, they already know that it was a planned attack.” Charlie comments, hoping to make me feel a little better, yet I still feel just as bad. If not worse than moments prior.

“Yeah and he’s still walking about school as though nothing happened! The cops don’t give a shit Charlie, I’m already dead, it’s not like anything worse is going to happen to me that they have to worry about.”

Wally’s embrace relaxes as he stands up straighter, arms falling to his side, causing me and everyone else in the room to turn and look at him. A serious expression is settled upon his face, an unusual sight as he is normally sporting a soft smile or at least a playful lightness in his eyes.

“Wait, the guy that did this goes to school here? He’s still here?” Wally asks, his questions directed at me as though nobody else is even in the room. Clearly something has rattled him.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m so pissed off. I still have to see him every single day and there’s no escape. Not even in death I get peace.”

With a huff, I push myself off the sofa. Forcing a smile at the group as I make my exit, the moment I step out of the gym I start running. Sprinting as fast as I can to the other side of the school before climbing up the stairs to the rooftop. The art room used to be my quiet place, where I would find myself able to relax and feel at ease. Not anymore. So, the roof is my quiet place now. After moving all of my art supplies here, I’ve found that there’s no reason for me to even step foot in the art room anymore. It’s been a month and it’s still too painful to be in there.

Picking up my paintbrush and dipping it into my paint to continue the mural I have been working on, I hear another pair of footsteps lightly jogging up the stairs. I know it’s Wally, I don’t even need to turn around to know it’s him. Ever since I arrived in this world, he’s been my rock. Helping me get through everything and it’s safe to say that in the short amount of time I’ve known him, he’s found a special place in my heart. It’s not a crush. I swear it’s not a crush. I just happen to have a soft spot for him.

“Holy shit. I knew you liked art but this is insane, why have I never seen this?”

Wally’s stare is glued to the mural I’ve painted, each ghost gazing back at him from their position on the wall. Rhonda’s trademark moody stare, Charlie’s sweet but somewhat shy smile, even Dawn’s curiosity shines through in her chestnut brown eyes. I watch as he notices himself. A proud smile resting on his lips. Wally was the most difficult to paint, I wanted to make sure I captured his beauty properly, though that tends to be very hard to do when someone is physically perfect.

“You even got my necklace, Y/N this looks so real. Like you’re so talented, this belongs in a gallery or something.” Wally continues, brushing his finger down the side of his painted face, still in awe.

“It’s still a work in progress. I haven’t even started on Mr Martin, or the band kids or the girl in the theater whose name I always forget.” I tell him, swatting his hand away from the wall before he smudges any paint that may still be wet.

“Yeah, but do you really want them on there? Mr Martin sure, but the others, they never show up to the support group. You should keep it contained, no? You haven’t even painted yourself yet.”

“That’s kind of rude Wally. I painted Dawn and she never comes to the group, but she’s my friend.” I tell him, placing my paintbrush down and beginning to walk over to the rail at the edge of the roof. “We’re all dead, we deserve some sort of memorial.”

Leaning against the rail, I watch the kids below living their lives as normal. As though nothing is wrong, as though I wasn’t just murdered a month ago. God, if they knew this is what happens after death, they’d be terrified.

The football team are running drills on the field, accompanied by the cheerleaders who are going over the same routines. Students sit in the bleachers, either reading or making notes as they study. Occasionally laughing together as they discuss the latest gossip or show each other something they’ve seen on social media. It’s a peaceful scene, watching as they stress over things so trivial, things that won’t matter in ten years time.

“How come you never told me that the guy who killed you still goes to this school? I knew he hadn’t been caught but I assumed that’s because was on the run or something.” Wally asks me, leaning with his back against the rail so that he can watch me rather than the school.

“I don’t know. I try to avoid him and I know how nosey the rest of that group are, especially Rhonda. No doubt you’d all be following him around the school like a bunch of creeps.”

“Yeah but that’s just because we care about you.” Wally nudges me as he speaks, trying to get me to smile, which proves to be very easy as I make eye contact with him.

My heart flutters, making me nervous as I stare up at him. Wally’s height would intimidate me if I didn’t know how much of a big softie he was. I truly don’t think there is a bad bone in his body, he breaks the stereotypical idea of what a jock is. Charming and popular, sure, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Feeling his hand touch my chin, my smile grows wider as it gently moves to cup my cheek. His other hand combs through his hair, a nervous trait of his. Something I picked up on a while back, it doesn’t happen often because Wally isn’t one for getting nervous. He opens his mouth slightly, about to ask something. However, before he can my eyes catch sight of something on the field below.

“That’s him.” I point out, a flash of disappointment crosses his face before he removes his hand and turns to see what I’m looking at.

Harry Cole, clad in a dark hoodie is walking by the side of the field, heading straight to the art block. His pace is quick, almost like he’s in a rush and it’s the most panicked I’ve seen him since my death. Clearly something’s happened, a breakthrough in the investigation maybe? Police hot on his tail. Whatever it is, I need to know.

“That’s the dickhead that killed you?” Wally asks, scowling now as he takes him in.

“Yeah, come on, he’s up to something.”

Without even a second thought, I grab Wally’s hand, taking off in a slight run in order to catch whatever Harry’s up to. Wally’s gripping my hand in a firm hold, as if he’ll lose him if he lets go, thumb gently tracing circles into my skin despite us running.

Upon entering the art room, I immediately see Harry at the sinks, furiously scrubbing at something. Sharing a confused glance with Wally, I slowly approach him. I know he can’t see me and yet I’m still worried that I’ll disrupt him and spook me off, leaving me with no answers.

The closer I get the stronger the smell of bleach is, and then I finally see what he is cleaning. Butcher knife gleaming under the bright white lights, I spot the specks of blood still coating the handle and I know he’s trying to remove any evidence. Gloves adorn his hands in an attempt to mask his fingerprints. A silent tear rolls down my cheek at the thought of him never getting caught.

Wally’s arm wraps around my shoulder delicately. “You don’t need to see this.”

To my surprise, I don’t fight with him as he gently escorts me out of the room. I make no noise as I let the tears fall down my cheeks and I know Wally sees. Yet, he stays quiet. Not wanting to further upset me. He helps me to sit down on the old sofa that resides on the roof. With his hands on my knees he crouches in front of me, a concerned look on his face.

“You’ll be okay Y/N. I promise.” He tells me, words soothing my pain little by little. “Look I’ve got to run somewhere but I will be back so fast. I swear.”

Nodding my head gently, he presses a soft kiss to my forehead before dashing off to wherever he needs to be. Allowing me to wallow in my pain. The more days that pass, the more I feel as though justice isn’t possible. The more I feel like Harry will get away with everything.

Curling up into a ball, I allow my emotions to take over. Wails audible and body shaking with anger and sadness. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I don’t understand how the others do it. They’ve been dead longer but surely they still feel the pain and anguish of being dead. Surely they must be hurting too.

I’m brought back to reality by the sounds of sirens, I’m not sure how long I was sat consumed in my sadness but I know that Wally is standing by the rail. Watching whatever it is that is taking place below. The sirens ring through my ears and I jump up to stand beside him, his arm instantly wrapping around me despite no words being said.

Police cars fill the car park, grabbing the attention of pretty much everyone in the near vicinity. Students stand in shock at the commotion being caused. Each window is filled with faces, eager to bear witness to what is happening outside. Wally’s arm squeezes my shoulders, a show of encouragement and support. I swear if he wasn’t by my side, physically holding me up with the arm that is wrapped around me, I think I would be a nervous heap on the ground.

With that, I spot it. Several police officers surround Harry as he is walked out of the school building in handcuffs. His hood shielding his face from view to the majority of students, however, I know it's him. Same outfit, same demeanor, same person. They’ve got him. I feel a weight lift from my shoulders and I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

“How did that happen? How did they know it was him?” I ask, completely bewildered by the entire situation.

Wally looks down at me, a shy smile on his face. He knows something I don’t. Turning to face him properly, I take his hands in mine, raising my eyebrows in an attempt to get an outside. Only for him in turn to focus his stare onto the floor.

“Wally?”

“Dawn has a pretty big social media presence within the school community. She runs it as though she’s an anonymous gossip blog, nobody knows who she is but everyone knows her.” He starts, still leaving me confused as to how this happened. “I managed to get her to the art room in time to take a picture of him with the knife. She posted it, it went viral and now the police are here.”

Feeling a rush of emotions run through my body, I somehow gain the confidence to pull Wally down by his gold chain. Gentle enough that it doesn’t snap but with enough force that he’s taken off guard. My hands hold his face as I press my lips to his, feeling his hands hold my forearms as he delicately moves his lips against mine. As I pull away slowly, my mouth drops open in shock as I gaze at Wally who is now eye level with me. Hunched over in order to kiss me.

“I am so sorry Wally. I have no idea where that came from, I just -”

Wally cuts me off with his lips on mine once again, he maneuvers slightly so that my back presses against the rail and I wrap my arms around his neck as the kiss begins to grow more passionate. His hands are holding my waist, body pressed tightly against mine as I feel every inch of my body tingle with excitement. I know Wally feels it too. When I force myself to pull away for some air, he doesn’t hesitate before moving to press light kisses against my neck.

“I’ve never felt this with anyone before Y/N.” He whispers against my skin, goosebumps raising at the feel of his lips moving against my neck.

He moves to look at me, a big, goofy smile on his face as I move my hands to play with the necklace dangling in front of me. Wally places his hands on the rail besides me, watching me eagerly, awaiting my next move.

“I really, really like you Wally.”

He chuckles softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I really, really like you as well.”

[irisintheafterglow]

Just Wanna Keep Calling Your Name (gojo x you)

summary: you check on megumi and yuuji before they begin their mission to find tengen and unseal the honored one.

wc: 1.8k

cw/tags: angst/comfort with hopeful ending, swearing, mentions of eating and food, just sad separated found family things

note: part 3/4 of my "i don't wanna live forever" little series. yeah writing this made me so sad i just wanna tell them it'll be okay and this shit hasn't even been ANIMATED yet

likes/reblogs/feedback is appreciated <3

In any other circumstance, he’d be pushing you away in exaggerated melodrama because of how tightly you’re constricting him. He’d gently wiggle from your grip, saying something about you embarrassing him or that he wasn’t a kid who needed hugs anymore. You’d frown a little bit, staring at him in disappointment until he huffed in surrender and squeezed you even tighter. After a few moments, Satoru would inevitably come over and create a “Megumi-sandwich,” wrapping his lanky arms around both of your bodies and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Sometimes, Yuuji would catch wind of the affection and race over, tackling all three of you to the ground until you were in one familial heap. Satoru would take your hands and help you off the floor just to pull you to his lips. Yuuji would coo fondly at the show of affection while Megumi made a gagging gesture with his finger. In any other circumstance, it would be a perfectly normal hug. 

But, these were not normal circumstances. 

Because they weren’t normal circumstances, you weren’t able to utter a word before Megumi’s arms were shakily wound around your body, hiding his face in your shoulder and trembling. You catch Yuuji’s ashamed gaze from inside Megumi’s dorm and reach out your hand, which he takes and pulls both you and Megs closer to him. As much as you like to remind yourself that they’re capable of holding their own as sorcerers, you couldn’t ignore the reality that the Shibuya incident was not something that seasoned sorcerers should have experienced, much less two teenagers. With Panda, Inumaki, and Nobara in grave condition and Nanami soulless in the morgue downstairs, you were truly the only family the two boys had left. You never allow your mind to drift to Satoru. 

“Eat, Megs. Please.” You set the bowl of ginger chicken in front of him, his favorite ever since he was little. You silently thanked past you for putting frozen containers of ginger chicken and spaghetti in the teacher’s lounge freezer, which you picked up on your way to check on the boys. The picture in front of you was tragically familiar–Megumi on his bed with a bowl of ginger chicken and his stuffed wolf in his lap. You couldn’t guess the last time the two ate, but it must have been quite a long time from how quickly Yuuji scarfed down the first bowl of spaghetti. The second tub of spaghetti is still warm, thankfully, and you slide the bowl over to him in understanding. Megumi, on the other hand, simply stared off into space, the enticing steam of the food unable to pierce his broken exterior. “I’m gonna take the wolf back if you don’t eat.” His eyes are dark and dangerous when they flick up to you, the same look he gave you for the past however many years you’d been using that threat. Despite its age, you’re surprised to find that it still works as he finally takes a bite of food. “Thank you.”

“When’s the last time you ate?” 

“This morning. I had breakfast with Shoko.” You also tried one of her cigarettes again and hated them just as much as the first time. She’d poured a few shots for you before work to make it up to you.

“Coffee doesn’t count as breakfast,” Megumi deadpans and your first impulse is to laugh. But, you can’t stop the memory that breaks loose and it slams into you like a freight train. 

He was giving you that odd look again, something between the lines of skeptical and adoration. You stick your tongue out at him in defiance and his hand finds yours from the driver’s seat of the car. It was an early morning mission and you argued that you deserved a treat after dragging him out of bed. To Ijichi’s annoyance, Satoru stops at a grocery store, running in to grab you a muffin and scolding you for not having enough fuel for the day. He kissed you so fervently when he returned to the car, like you were going to disappear in his absence. He said he could taste the coffee on your lips and that you didn’t make it right; when you looked at him with an offended expression, he shrugged and said he made you the best coffee. You’d never admit it, but he was right. 

“I-I had a muffin, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice still comes out as a choke and Megumi’s face falls guiltily. He knows exactly what his words had accidentally triggered. “I split it with Shoko.” You take his hand while he avoids your eyes, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles reassuringly. “Eat, Megs. It’s okay.” 

“Did the higher-ups really confine you to the school?” Yuuji asks after he’s finished the second tub of spaghetti. “I heard…some things about you and it made me nervous.”

You hum in assent. “Well, I’m still alive. There’s no way I’d let them kill me before checking on you two.” The words are meant to be reassuring but aren't received that way as their heads both snap to look at you in alarm. “Yeah, no point in lying. We talked about it, before everything happened. I know he didn’t say anything about it because he didn’t want to worry you, but we discussed what would happen in his…absence.” 

“Have they sent anyone yet?” Megumi’s voice is low and threatening but you knew the warning wasn’t directed toward you. 

“No, but I also know they haven’t sent anyone after Yuuji either, right?” They nod but still eye you warily. You give them a weak smile in an attempt to ease their worries. “So, that means the brass is still such a shit-show that they can’t dispatch sorcerers to apprehend Satoru’s associates. We have time, but not a lot of it.” 

“We have a plan. Or, at least, the beginnings of one. To get him back,” Yuuji says carefully, each word delicate like you were a grenade on the verge of exploding. Your walls go up immediately, shutting down to prevent the storm of emotions that welled up at the optimistic hope in his words. “We’re going to unseal him.” The sentence goes in one ear and out of the other; you can tell by their expressions that your eyes have gone empty and blank. It wasn’t anything against them. You just couldn’t handle thinking about him too much, lest you truly break down. 

“Okay. Try your best.” Your smile is pained and forced, but you still nod in weak encouragement. Megumi’s eyebrows suddenly furrow in thought, like he’d remembered something important. “What is it, Megs?”

“Who is Toji?”

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru, Satoru please. Satoru, please look at me,” your voice cracks into broken cries while your hands frantically shake his shoulders, willing him to wake up. “Baby, I need you to look at me, please. Satoru, please, baby. Please, I can’t–” You can’t breathe. The words are getting caught in your throat and staying there. Every inhale tastes like blood and every exhale emphasizes your boyfriend’s lack of a pulse. “I can’t get to Suguru, Satoru. I can’t get to Suguru and he needs you. I need you. I need you, please. Please, wake up.” The tiniest bit of movement catches your eye and you stare in amazement at his hand, drenched in a pool of his own blood, twitching and violently blazing Cursed Energy. “There you are, baby. Come back to me.” 

“He was a sorcerer from the Zenin clan. Why do you ask?” 

“Was?” Megumi echoes, and it’s your turn to mirror his confused expression. “Like, he’s dead?”

“Yeah, he’s been dead for over a decade. Again, why do you ask?”

“There was a guy that Naobito called ‘Toji’ in Shibuya with us. He had no Cursed Energy but was stronger than the special-grades we were fighting.” Dread drops into your stomach like a dead weight. Fushiguro Toji coming back from the dead was the last fucking thing you needed. 

“Is the man still alive?”

“No, and that’s what I’m curious about. He asked me what my last name was and then killed himself when I said ‘Fushiguro.’ He could have killed me, but he didn’t. I just want to know if I have any kind of connection to that man.” 

“I see.” You felt guilty for lying to the boy’s face, but you also recognized that it was Satoru’s decision alone if he wanted to tell Megumi about his family history. “I’m not sure, then. I’m sorry.” He nods, face taut in suppressed disappointment and you rush to change the subject. You could feel time passing too quickly, the instinctual feeling that they had to keep moving hanging over your head. “I read about your fight with Awasaka in the report. Thank you for taking care of each other and taking care of yourselves.” You didn’t mean to strike a nerve, but your chest aches when they simultaneously dart their faces away, contorting in quiet agony. 

“He killed thousands using my body,” Yuuji hisses, squeezing his eyes closed to shut out the memory. “I don’t deserve gratitude for my survival–”

“Stop. Don’t tell me that I can’t be grateful you survived,” you state firmly and you feel emotions start to well up in your eyes again for the first time in hours. All three of you have tears quietly streaming down your cheeks; you have no more energy for the hiccuping and gasping-type of sobs that wracked your body days earlier. “You’re alive to keep fighting, so please recognize that as important.” 

“Would you ever marry me, Satoru?”

He looks at you like you’d just suggested cliff diving into sharp rocks. “Of course. Once all this shit is sorted out with Sukuna and I reform Jujutsu Society, we’ll have a rager wedding.”

You scoff in disbelief. “You want to have a rager wedding?”

“Was that not what you had in mind?”

“Mmm…no. I was thinking something small, you know, with Yuuji and Megs and Nanami and Shoko and the rest of your students. Save your strobe lights and fog machines for the bachelor party.” You both know damn well Nanami would never set foot in a club with Satoru, but it was still a funny image for the mind. 

“You want to involve my students in our wedding?”

“I thought that was self-explanatory. You care about them, I care about you, so I automatically care about them. Whatever you would do for your students, I would too.”

“I’d pull down the planets for you, you know.”

“Just the planets? You must not love me that much tonight.” His eyes shine in the moonlight as he rubs his nose against yours. “Break up with me now and put me out of my misery.”

“You underestimate my abilities, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. I’d pull down every planet in the entire universe for you if you asked, not just the ones in this solar system.”

“There’s my sappy Satoru.”

“I’m yours forever.”

“Do your best, okay?” You say before Megumi and Yuuji leave to find Master Tengen, leaving you alone in Megumi’s dorm. Reaching over for his stuffed wolf, you summon a portal and store it in your domain for safe-keeping. You’d give it to him when you were all together again, your boys and your boyfriend. 

I’m yours forever.

[skywalker1dream]

Title: The uncertain future

note: im sorry if i hurt anyone.... believe i cried while writing this too.... i wanted happy ending but.....yea..dont hate me pleas.

Summary: As the sister of Lewis Hamilton, you watched the friendship between him and Nico Rosberg flourish and then crumble. Your heart, however, has always belonged to Nico. Now, with old wounds reopened and hidden feelings exposed, you find yourself torn between the love of your life and the brother you adore. In this tragic love story, you must make a heart-wrenching decision that will change everything.

Warnings: Angst, emotional conflict, family tension, panic attack

---------------------

The sound of engines roaring in the distance was a constant reminder of the world you lived in. The world where your brother, Lewis Hamilton, was a star, and where your heart had silently but steadfastly clung to Nico Rosberg.

You were standing at the edge of the paddock, watching as Lewis and Nico avoided each other, the tension between them palpable. It had been years since their friendship had broken down, and yet the pain was still fresh. You could see it in Lewis’s eyes whenever Nico’s name was mentioned, and you could feel it in the pit of your stomach whenever you saw Nico.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The three of you had grown up together, sharing dreams and ambitions. But as Lewis and Nico’s rivalry intensified, so did the cracks in their friendship. You were caught in the middle, torn between the love for your brother and the hidden feelings you harbored for Nico.

Nico spotted you and walked over, his eyes softening as they met yours. “Hey, can we talk?” he asked quietly, his voice a blend of hope and hesitation.

You nodded, your heart pounding. “Sure, let’s go somewhere private.”

The two of you found a quiet corner away from the prying eyes of the media and the team. Nico took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t keep this to myself anymore. I know it’s complicated with Lewis and everything, but… I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Nico, I… I’ve felt the same way. But Lewis… he’ll never accept it.”

Nico reached out, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s not fair to ask you to choose, but I can’t pretend anymore. I need to know if there’s a chance for us, despite everything.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked into his. “I want to be with you, Nico. But I don’t want to hurt Lewis. He’s my brother, and he’s already lost so much.”

“Then what do we do?” Nico’s voice was barely a whisper, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how.....how to choose between you two.”

-----------------

The next few days were a blur of races, press conferences, and strained conversations. You avoided Lewis, knowing that your face would betray the turmoil inside you. But you couldn’t avoid him forever.

One evening, Lewis cornered you in your hotel room, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt. “What’s going on with you and Nico?” he demanded, his voice tight with emotion.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the secret you had been carrying. “Lewis, I didn’t want to tell you because I knew it would hurt you. But… I’m in love with him. I have been for a long time.”

Lewis’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, as if physically struck by your words. “You’re in love with Nico? After everything he’s done?”

“It’s not that simple,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “I love him, but I love you too. I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Lewis shook his head, his expression hardening. “You have to choose, [your name]. You can’t have both. If you’re with him, you’re betraying me.”

Your heart shattered at his words, the decision you had been dreading now laid bare before you. “Lewis, please don’t make me do this.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to,” he insisted, his voice cold and final. “It’s him or me.”

----------------

That night, you met Nico in the hotel lobby, your heart heavy with the decision you had made. He looked at you, hope and fear mingling in his eyes. “What did he say?”

You took a deep breath, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “He said I have to choose. And I.....I choose him, Nico. I’m..... I’m so sorry.”

Nico’s face crumpled, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I understand. I always knew it might come to this. I just… I wish things were different.”

You clung to him, the tears flowing freely now. “So do I. More than anything.”

-------------------

The days that followed were a blur of pain and heartache. You watched as Nico moved on, his eyes losing some of their spark. Lewis, too, seemed more distant, a part of him closed off forever.

You had made your choice, but the cost was more than you could bear. In choosing your brother, you had lost the love of your life. And in losing Nico, you had lost a part of yourself.

As you stood alone at the edge of the paddock, the roar of the engines a distant echo, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice. But some choices, once made, can never be undone.

One particularly grueling day, the weight of your decision bore down on you more heavily than usual. Every interaction felt hollow, every laugh forced. You felt like a ghost of yourself, drifting through life without purpose. The pressure built until you could no longer hold it back.

You were in the paddock, surrounded by the familiar noise and chaos of race day, when the panic attack hit. Your chest tightened, and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. The world spun around you, and your vision blurred. You stumbled, clutching at your chest as you tried to draw in a breath, but it felt like your lungs were being squeezed by an iron fist.

Lewis was the first to notice. He rushed to your side, his face etched with worry. “[your name], what’s wrong? Talk to me!”

You couldn’t speak. All you could do was shake your head, tears streaming down your face as you fought for air. Lewis wrapped his arms around you, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear. “It’s okay. Just breathe. I’m here.”

Gradually, the world came back into focus, and you managed to draw in a shaky breath. But the relief was short-lived. The emotional dam broke, and you snapped.

“This is all your fault!” you screamed, pushing Lewis away. “You....you made me choose! You made me give up the love of my life!”

Lewis’s face fell, hurt and confusion mixing in his eyes. “[ your name], I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” you spat, the anger boiling over. “You tore my heart in two! You made me choose between you and Nico, and now I’m broken. I can’t....I can’t live like this anymore, Lewis. I can’t live without him.”

Lewis’s expression crumpled, and he reached out to you, but you stepped back. “I need to fix this. I need to be with Nico.”

Before he could respond, you turned and fled, your heart pounding as you made your way to Nico’s home. Every step felt like a race against time, a desperate bid to reclaim the happiness you had lost.

------------

When you arrived at Nico’s door, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the doorbell. What if it was too late? What if he had moved on, leaving you behind in the wreckage of your choices?

But you had to try. Taking a deep breath, you rang the bell.

After a few moments, the door opened. But it wasn’t Nico who stood before you. It was a woman, her expression one of polite curiosity. “Can I help you?”

Your heart plummeted. “I… I’m looking for Nico. Is he here?”

The woman hesitated, glancing over her shoulder before looking back at you. “He’s not here right now. Can I tell him who’s asking?”

You swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. “Just… tell him [your name] stopped by.”

She nodded, offering a sympathetic smile. “I’ll let him know.”

As the door closed, you stood there, feeling the weight of the world crashing down on you. It was too late. Nico had moved on, and you were left standing on the doorstep of what could have been.

----------------------

The drive back was a blur. You felt numb, the pain of your decision and the realization of its consequences settling like a leaden weight in your chest. When you arrived at your hotel, Lewis was waiting for you, his expression a mixture of concern and guilt.

“Did you find him?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, unable to meet his eyes. “He’s not there. He’s with someone else now.”

Lewis stepped closer, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, darling. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you finally looked at him. “But you did, Lewis. And now I’ve lost everything...”

He pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as you sobbed into his chest. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

But as you clung to him, the void inside you remained. The love you had lost, the life you had given up, all of it weighed heavily on your heart.

[samsalami66]

Here we go again with a fun little drabble, this time for a spontaneous Knight!Hob and Prince!Dream au (which will probably get a few more additions lmao). It all started with my lovely @im-not-corrupted handing me the prompt "you know, it's ok if you're not ok" from this wonderful prompt list.

----

Dream ran down a corridor, his coat billowing behind him like an angry cloud of black smoke, set to destroy everything that would dare to stand between him and this God-forsaken door deep within the bowels of the castle. 

Dream ran, and it was the first time Dream remembered running since his childhood years, when he had been a naught but a babe, excited to explore every nook and corner of the massive palace that he called his home. Of course the first time he was forced to engage in such physical activity in as many years, it would be Hob Gadling's fault. Because it was always Hob Gadling's fault, from the moment he stepped foot into the throne room and announced he would become Dream's personal guardian, a Knight in his name alone, loyal to none other than the Prince of the Dreaming. 

What is he at fault for? a curious reader might ask, and Dream would whirl around on his heel and give a whole list of things Sir Robert Gadling could be blamed for, if only indirectly. 

For the blush he forced onto Dream's pale cheeks anytime their gazes met over a particularly boring dinner with his family. Perhaps also for the way Dream's heart skipped a beat whenever Hob spoke up to the King and Queen on his behalf, a feat so terrible even the most noble of men had failed before him. Good thing Hob was no nobleman, no son of high houses nor of new money. 

He was an idiot, first and foremost. A talented, quick witted and patient idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. After all, who just waltzes into a room with the King and Queen in it and promises undying loyalty to their adolescent son who no one particularly likes and expects it to simply work? And who decides to simply enter a jousting match without any former training or experience for fun?

Hob Gadling, of course, which was just one more example of things he could be blamed for. 

Nil consideration for his own physical well-being. 

Idiot. 

Dream was about to say as much as he threw open the door to Hob's chambers, but every ill thought spent towards his Knight's stupidity was immediately dropped as Dream found him hunched over the back of his armchair, one hand clutching at his bare chest as it rose and fell in quick succession. 

God's wounds, Dream had seen how Hob got shoved out of his saddle, how the lance had connected with his armor plate and sent him flying from his horse in one spectacular arch. But he never could have guessed just how bad it must have hurt, even through the steel and cloth. The bruise on Hob's chest was an angry black, his sides spotted with a deep red where his ribs were most definitely fractured. 

"Hob," the name left Dream's lips like a plea, like God's name would fall from a sinner's lips who prayed for salvation. And he did pray for salvation, in a way. Not his own, but salvation from endless pain nonetheless.

The man in question looked up between sweaty brows, a pained grimace painting his usual smile an ugly gray. Dream found himself by his side faster than lightning, hands coming up to hover helplessly over Hob's chest. 

Hob sighed at the concern clearly plastered into every corner of Dream's face, the way his lips tugged downwards in an obvious display of his dislike for the position he found Hob in. 

"Don't you worry for me, my Lord. I'm… fine. I'm fine, I promise." 

Tragically, the trustworthiness of this statement was negated by a heavy cough wrecking Hob's body, which left him groaning in pain over his injuries. 

"You are not fine, Robert Gadling," Dream hissed in response, hands finally coming to a rest on Hob's back. "Which is. Alright. It is alright if you are not alright. Just, please, lay down, my friend. You must rest."

Thankfully, Hob did not fight Dream as he was pushed towards his bedroom, and neither did he when Dream gently pressed him down into the mattress with a careful hand to his shoulder. His breath was still heavy and his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at Dream, something vulnerable hidden behind the dark brown of his eyes that Dream could not quite decipher in the near darkness of the bedroom. 

"Will you stay? My Lord?" Hob whispered, apparently balancing carefully between the realm of sleep and the world of the waking. 

"No duty could possibly force me from your side, my half-witted Knight." Dream responded quietly, his heart warming considerably at the soft smile that crept into his friend's eyes at the endearment, before they eventually fell close and Hob got pulled into deep and restful slumber. 

Dream placed a single feather-light kiss to the dark spot on Hob's chest before settling into the other side of the bed, his eyes fixed on the slowing rise and fall of Hob's breast. 

Hob Gadling really was an idiot.

Dream's idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

[oldfashionedbooklove]

tell me about your favorite lm montgomery novel please <3

Okay this is SO hard because her books are amazing but I just have to admit Rilla of Ingleside is my favourite, which is saying a lot because I LOVE HER BOOKS, okay! I adore the Story Girl duology and I absolutely love the Anne series and Jane of Lantern Hill.

But Rilla. This book is a heartbreaker. And it’s so beautiful.

I don’t know if I can fully express how much is to be found in this book. I have been reading it yearly for many years, and always come away with new thoughts. As I grow older, and see more of the world, I relate and understand more, and another level of the book is discovered.

The setting—a small P.E.I. town carrying on through WWI. I’m pretty tough when it comes to war books, but I have to take breaks from this one because it is so raw and real. The agony is intense. I cannot even cry over it—my heart hurts too much for tears. This shows exactly what the Great War was for people. You sway back and forth, feeling the dread and terror. You know how it ends but you are broken anyhow. And when the end comes, you too can only rejoice softly. You feel as if you have paid part of the price yourself.

“‘We’re in a new world,’ Jem says, ‘and we’ve got to make it a better one than the old. That isn’t done yet, though some folks seem to think it ought to be. The job isn’t finished—it isn’t really begun. The old world is destroyed and we must build up the new one. It will be the task of years. I’ve seen enough of war to realize that we’ve got to make a world where wars can’t happen. We’ve given Prussianism its mortal wound but it isn’t dead yet and it isn’t confined to Germany either. It isn’t enough to drive out the old spirit—we’ve got to bring in the new.’”

The characters in this book—they are alive. Splendid Jem, brave and merry and true; Jerry, steady and dutiful; Walter, sensitive and courageous; Carl, cheerful and fearless; Shirley, honest and reliable; Nan and Di and Anne, all heart-wrung and smiling; Gertrude, tragic and grasping for hope; the Doctor, determined and self-sacrificing; Susan, simple and true—and Rilla, who starts out a silly, frivolous girl and ends a strong, mature woman. Then there are all the minor and side characters—the Merediths, Cousin Sophia, Jimsy, Ken, Irene, Whiskers-on-the-Moon & his family, Mary and the Elliotts, Norman + Ellen, and everyone else. They’re all so alive, so real, so funny and terrible and beautiful—I swear Glen St. Mary exists and all the inhabitants thereof.

The story follows the Great War, from the first days in August 1914 to the bitter Summer of 1919, where peace has come but normal will never return. As a child, this story was simply World War One—a faraway, long-ago grief and horror and agony. Now, in 2024, as a woman, I have experienced a slight taste of what the people of 1914 felt, and it has humanized the story of the War. This, more than any other book I have read, brings the War and the world of 1914-1918 to life, showing how they were people just like us. The heart is wrung by their suffering, and there is no escape, for the war must drag on for long bitter years. And the price! Walter has become the face of unknown, forgotten heroes, and Jem has become that of the scarred heroes who returned. Every November we grieve the young men who never came home, and for the ones who came home missing a part of themselves, physical or otherwise. I have wept thinking of the children of Rilla, Ken, Faith, Jem, and the others—children who fought in WWII and whose parents were forced to relive the horrible conflict of mankind.

“It has been such a dreadful week,” she wrote, “and even though it is over and we know that it was all a mistake that does not seem to do away with the bruises left by it. And yet it has in some ways been a very wonderful week and I have had some glimpses of things I never realized before—of how fine and brave people can be even in the midst of horrible suffering.”

And yet the book overflows with humour—real laugh-out-loud scenes and witty, clever banter on princes and politics. It is another aspect of the humanity—the part that cannot fully let go of laughing despite the drain. Another angle is the shrewd commentary on principalities and powers, nations and cultures, is thought-provoking, as is the remarks that show us how the war truly changed the world.

“There was a time,” she said sorrowfully, “when I did not care what happened outside of P.E. Island, and now a king cannot have a toothache in Russia or China but it worries me. It may be broadening to the mind, as the doctor said, but it is very painful to the feelings.”

But the biggest things to me is the SPIRIT of this book. The spirit of perseverance, endurance, courage, and love. Of course, man is man, and there is suspicion, contempt, and a feeling of superiority—but this is not exclusive only to Anglo-Saxons. As someone who isn’t Anglo-Saxon myself, and actually of mixed cultures, I can attest every nation is guilty of such. World War One was a battle of good vs. evil—not of man vs. man, but Idea against Idea—the idea of civilization against militarism. Perhaps not on the part of the leaders—but when one studies the writings, letters, poems, and speeches of the everyday folks caught up in the war, one sees this distinction plainly. It was not a war of European against European, Anglo-Saxon against German—it was a war between an old, terrible Idea of Prussianism (Frederick the Great, anyone?) and the Idea of Respect and Peace.

“And you will tell your children of the Idea we fought and died for—teach them it must be lived for as well as died for, else the price paid for it will have been given for nought.”

May we never forget.

A REMARK: I discovered that Rilla of Ingleside was abridged by about 4,300 words (~14 pages), so I searched for an unabridged copy. I definitely encourage you to take the extra trouble to find an *unabridged* copy. It is SO worth it! I’ve read both versions and the unabridged is so much fuller, with a great deal more humour and fun.

I just have to pick out my favourite quotes, too…

“We all come back to God in these days of soul-sifting,” said Gertrude to John Meredith. “There have been many days in the past when I didn't believe in God—not as God—only as the impersonal Great First Cause of the scientists. I believe in Him now—I have to—there's nothing else to fall back on but God—humbly, starkly, unconditionally.”

“‘Our help in ages past’—‘the same yesterday, to-day and for ever,’ said the minister gently. ‘When we forget God—He remembers us.’”

Below her [window] was a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom.... Beyond Rainbow Valley there was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrise breaking over it. The far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone above it. Why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?

And I can’t leave without some humour:

“‘The Germans have recaptured Premysl,’ said Susan despairingly… ‘and now I suppose we will have to begin calling it by that uncivilized name again. Cousin Sophia was in when the mail came and when she heard the news she hove a sigh up from the depths of her stomach, Mrs. Dr. dear, and said, ‘Ah yes, and they will get Petrograd next I have no doubt.’ I said to her, ‘My knowledge of geography is not so profound as I wish it was but I have an idea that it is quite a walk from Premysl to Petrograd.’ Cousin Sophia sighed again and said, ‘The Grand Duke Nicholas is not the man I took him to be.’ ‘Do not let him know that,’ said I. ‘It might hurt his feelings and he has likely enough to worry him as it is.’ But you cannot cheer Cousin Sophia up, no matter how sarcastic you are, Mrs. Dr. dear. She sighed for the third time and groaned out, ‘But the Russians are retreating fast,’ and I said, ‘Well, what of it? They have plenty of room for retreating, have they not?’ But all the same, Mrs. Dr. dear, though I would never admit it to Cousin Sophia, I do not like the situation on the eastern front. [But] Grand Duke Nicholas, though he may have been a disappointment to us in some respects, knows how to run away decently and in order, and that is a very useful knowledge when Germans are chasing you. Norman Douglas declares he is just luring them on and killing ten of them to one he loses. But I am of the opinion he cannot help himself and is just doing the best he can under the circumstances, the same as the rest of us.’”

[bumblesimagines]

When Fire Meets Fate

Request: Yes or No

TW for this series: Incest, implied incest, violence, typical GoT warnings.

If any of this may be upsetting to you, the reader, please avoid this series and instead check out my other work.

~~~

Within the castle, deep within its thick walls, resided part of the Hightower family; Otto Hightower and two of his children, Alicent and (Y/N) Hightower. For as long as the twins could remember, King's Landing had been their home, their safe haven. The Red Keep held many memories from them, from the beginning of Alicents' friendship with Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen to the tragic passing of their beloved mother, Marin Hightower. The twins had been brought up under the watchful eye of their father, but no amount of words or comfort could fill the gaping wound Marin had left on her death day. She'd left behind heartbroken children, and a son who let his anger warm his heart.

"Back already?" (Y/N) questioned, back pressed to the wall and one hand beneath the book propped up against his leg. His thumb had been wedged between the two pages, fingers pressed against the cover of the book to keep it from falling. His eyes never left the pages, even as his sister approached the windowsill he had been perched on. 

"You should come see the dragons with me someday, (Y/N)."

"You hate them." 

"They frighten me, is all." Alicent reached over, pushing her brothers' legs off the windowsill and smoothing out the back of her dress as she sat. The only words he could use to describe his sister were graceful and naive. She'd always been a daddy's girl, even more so after the death of their mother. He could do no wrong in her eyes. Something (Y/N) found pitiful. But still, she was his darling sister. 

Delicately folding her hands in her lap, she smiled at him. "Rhaenyra asked about you. She always does."

"Because it is only polite to ask about family when you're with someone, Alicent." Slipping his thumb out from the book, he pressed his fingers against the cover and it snapped shut, a cloud of dust shooting up into the air from the pages. "When I'm with Lord Daris I ask about his sons, even if I find them particularly vexing. It is called manners, Alicent. And Princess Rhaenyra has them."

"Oh, but..." Trailing off, Alicents' lips formed a pout and her shoulders sagged, her attempt at bringing her favorite people together dismissed with one sentence. "I care much for her, and it would bring me much joy to see the both of you getting along."

"You say that as if we fight."

"I say it because you ignore her." 

"I ignore everyone, not just her." 

"(Y/N)-" Alicent stopped herself, shutting her eyes and inhaling deeply. Patience is a virtue, their mother would say. Gently setting his book aside on the drawer beside the window, (Y/N) scooted closer to his sister, leaning over and resting his chin upon her shoulder. He reached out, dipping his hand between hers. Alicent wrapped her fingers around his hand and opened her eyes, pressing her cheek against his head.

"I just miss... I miss Mother, I suppose."

"I miss her too," Alicent muttered softly. "But she wouldn't want you to hide in this room forever," Alicent added, lifting a hand to gently caress her brothers' cheek. It was true, that he knew. His mother wouldn't want him grieving her forever. She'd want him to live his life, marry someone he loved, and have many children. But he wanted her there with him, every step of the way. It was unfair, but he supposed life couldn't always be easy.

"Come to the tourney-"

"As if Father would even allow me to miss it." (Y/N) groaned and leaned back, rising from the windowsill and picking the book up from the drawer. "He'll have my head on a pike if I don't show." He grumbled, running his fingers down the cover of the book as he neared the bookshelf. Alicent chuckled and stood as (Y/N) slid the book into the shelf, eyes raking over the rest of the books they had. Marins' books. He'd collected a few, wishing to have as much of his mother as possible. 

"I'm sure you'll find it exciting." Alicent smiled, standing behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his back.

"I promise it'll be worth going."

                    ✶        ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶

Staring forward at the rows of people before him, (Y/N) had begun to seriously doubt his sister. He found no pleasure in listening to a crowd of fools cheer knights on as they threw each other from horses. But, he supposed her smile when he took a seat beside her made it all worthwhile. He looked back toward his father, meeting his eyes. Otto gave him a nod, showing his approval at his attendance as if he hadn't spent the previous night lecturing him on the importance of attending events as a family unit. 

"Be welcome!" King Viserys began, rising from his seat and smiling widely. For a man his age, he had the energy and joy of a child. "I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise you will not be disappointed! When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equals in our histories." He continued, even as his daughter hurried past the seated children and took her seat beside Alicent. Fashionably late, one could say. "And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share. Queen Aemma has begun her labors." 

The crowd erupted in cheers and claps and when his father's gaze burned into the back of his skull, (Y/N) clapped as well. "May the luck of the Seven shine on all our combatants!" With that, he finished his speech and the crowd continued cheering as the knights began their rounds. (Y/N) watched absentmindedly, hoping the knights knocked each other out without delay. He'd rather be enjoying the meals and refreshments. 

Strolling up, one of the knights declared, "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of The Queen Who Never Was." (Y/N) smirked, bowing his head to hide it when Alicent lightly kicked his ankle. Princess Rhaenys approached the knight and slipped her token down his lance, amusement etched all over her face. 

"Good fortune to you, cousin!"

"I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it." The knight grinned back at her, moving away when Rhaenys turned and headed back to her seat. 

While his sister and her friend gossiped, (Y/N) watched the two knights get into positions before racing toward one another. Perhaps Rhaenys cousin should've taken her good fortune, seeing as he had been knocked off his horse rather roughly. Criston Cole, if he'd heard Rhaenyra correctly, proved to be rather good at the game. The remaining knights lined up and Prince Daemon began making his rounds before ultimately making his choice, a choice that made (Y/N) shift uncomfortably in his seat. 

"For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King!" Alicent placed her elbow on the armrest, hand lifting up to her lips, the anxiety on her face clear as day. (Y/N) would've loved to be optimistic as he loved all his brothers and believed in them. But going against Prince Daemon almost always resulted in blood being spilled. (Y/N) watched closely as his brother and Daemon ran at each other, his body relaxing when Gwayne successfully broke Daemon's shield. But the round wasn't over yet. And (Y/N)s' thoughts proved to be right as Daemon pointed his lance at the legs of Gwaynes' horse, bringing both his brother and his horse crumbling to the ground. 

"Fuck.." (Y/N) muttered. Blood dripped down the side of his older brothers' head and Gwayne was quickly dragged off out of sight. Alicents' breathing quickened and she glanced back at their father, pressing her lips together. 

"He'll be alright, Ali." (Y/N) whispered soothingly. "Gwayne's stubborn. He'll be walking it off by the end of the day." Alicent swallowed and took a few deep breaths, calming herself and shaking away the bloody image of her brother from her mind. Daemon smugly approached next and Rhaenyra stood up with Alicent right on her heels. 

"Nicely done, Uncle." Rhaenyra praised, leaning against the railing to look down at him.

"Thank you, Princess." Daemon shifted his gaze onto Alicent. His father had surely said or done something to irritate the prince, but then again, Daemon had always hated Otto. Not that (Y/N) could blame him. "Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it." Tilting his lance toward Alicent, he grinned. Rhaenyra turned her head, eyes following Alicent as the brunette retrieved her token. Her eyes, however, shifted on (Y/N) and her gaze lingered on him until he looked in her direction. Daemon smirked, gaze trained on his niece until Alicent slid her token down his lance.

"Good luck, Prince Daemon." Alicent smiled and returned to her seat with Rhaenyra, excitedly clapping her hands.

The game went on, fights breaking out between winners and the enraged losers. Something that had certainly become a tradition during tourneys. The crowd cheered the brutality, only growing louder with each drop of blood that got spilled. They didn't care for the knights that got their heads bashed in, their blood and brains coating the earth. They didn't weep for the lives that were lost over a mere game. They didn't care to check on the children present, the ones who watched the carnage in fear.

King's landing. His home, his safe haven... His hell, his cage. A place he'd be bound to, no matter how far he went.

"Ser Criston Cole will now tilt against Ser Daemon Targaryen, prince of the city!" The two men stared each other down as they got in positions, wasting no time in charging at each other, withholding nothing as shields were broken. The second time around, Criston Cole's lance made direct contact, and Daemon was knocked off his horse, dragging along until his horse reached the other end. Seething with rage, Daemon called for a sword whilst Criston Cole retrieved his flail and the two men went at it again, swinging their weapons and blocking with their shields, knocking each other down just to get right back up again. It would've been admirable if it weren't over a tourney out of all things.

Successfully knocking Ser Criston Cole down, Daemon turned away from his opponent and lifted his arms, soaking in the cheers, too preoccupied with his gloating to notice Criston Cole rising from his fallen position. With a swift swing of his flail, Daemon was knocked down, arm pinned. Without bringing his flail down on the prince, Criston got him to yield, taking the spot as the winner. Approaching the stands and taking off his helmet, he revealed his Dornish features and stared up at the princess, panting softly.

"I was hoping to ask for the Princess's favor." He called up and Rhaenyra retrieved her wreath with a smirk, tossing it down to the man.

"I wish you luck, Ser Criston." 

"Are you quite serious?"

"Indeed." The sound of his father's voice took his attention off the girls, making (Y/N) turn in his seat to look at his father as he gathered the lords of the council. The grim look on Otto's face as he looked at Rhaenyra spoke volumes. The same grim, pitiful look the maesters had given (Y/N) the night his mother had passed. Watching the lords disappear down the steps, (Y/N) frowned and looked back toward his sister, watching Alicent whisper reassurances to the girl who knew her mother did not make it. Rising from their chairs, the wives of the lords spoke amongst themselves before hesitantly leaving as well. 

"Come on, Alicent." (Y/N) murmured, standing and touching his sisters' shoulder. 

"But-"

"We should head back inside. The Princess's father will call on her soon." (Y/N) reminded and Alicent sighed, gently taking Rhaenyras' hand. The Targaryen clenched her jaw, lips twitching as she fought back tears. 

"Oh, Rhaenyra..." Alicent breathed and wrapped an arm around her friend, gingerly pulling the girl up from her seat and leading her out with her brother trailing behind. It wasn't his place to comfort someone he barely knew, much less a princess who happened to be a Targaryen. The most he could do was wait for the funeral and extend his condolences. Because losing a loving mother felt like losing a heart. One felt it in their bones. On a rainy night when his mother had passed, he'd felt a coldness wash over him, as if she were hugging him one last time before departing. His sweet mother. The woman who had given him life. The woman who had cried and laughed when she saw her two little ones side by side. The woman who comforted him when his father did not. The woman who fell suddenly ill and was rarely visited by her busy husband. (Y/N) remembered her face each time Otto didn't visit when she requested. How she wanted to weep but refused to in front of her children.

King's Landing had lost their queen, but Rhaenyra had lost her mother, and she hadn't even been there to properly say goodbye. It'd be a pain she'd carry until she died. A pain the Hightower children knew all too well.

So when Rhaenyra's father finally allowed her into the bedchamber, Alicent buried her face in her brothers' chest as Rhaenyra's muffled cries escaped past the walls and echoed down the halls. Wrapping an arm around his sister's shoulders, the two made their way to their fathers' bedchambers. Alicent wept into the palms of her hands while (Y/N) ran his fingers through her long brown hair, letting her release her sadness.

"Poor Rhaenyra." Alicent sniffled, using a handkerchief to wipe away her tears. 

"She'll need you now more than ever, no matter what Father may say." Alicent blinked, shiny dark eyes looking at her brother, brows furrowing as she took in his words. 

"What?"

"Father-" Clamping his mouth shut and turning toward the door as their father entered the room, (Y/N) removed his hand from Alicents' hair and lowered his gaze onto his lap. The older man sighed upon noticing his daughters' state.

"What happened today is a tragedy indeed. No child should go through such a thing." Otto sighed. "Both Princess Rhaenyra and King Viserys' will need us more than ever. We grieve the loss of both Queen Aemma... and Prince Baelon." Alicent gasped, covering her mouth, Rhaenyras' name falling from her lips. The heir King Viserys had so desperately wanted had been the very one to result in the death of his beloved wife. 

"How's Gwayne?" (Y/N) asked quietly, lifting his head to look at his father. His brother had likely been the least of Otto's concerns given the circumstances.

"He has a mild head injury. A day's rest and he'll be well enough to return to Oldtown." Some good news in the midst of the chaos. The last thing the Hightowers needed was to bury another one of their own, and (Y/N) was sure his mother could wait a few more years for one of her children to join her.

The funeral, like all funerals, had been quiet and solemn. King Viserys stared blankly at the wrapped corpses, never once looking toward his teary-eyed daughter, even when she stared at him pleadingly. With Syrax looming over the hill, the she-dragon only moved closer when her rider commanded her, blowing fire onto the bodies and putting an end to the funeral and cementing the reality of Queen Aemmas death. As they headed back to the castle, (Y/N) felt dread bubbling in his stomach at the calculating look on his fathers' face. Among many things, Otto Hightower was an opportunist, and (Y/N) knew whatever he had planned couldn't be good.

Staring into the fireplace, (Y/N) listened to the scraping of pen meeting paper. His father wrote swiftly, still reeling from what he had described as a disappointing meeting with the council. That could only mean someone had evoked King Viserys' wrath, not that he ever truly followed through with his threats. Tilting his head toward his father, he watched him hand the letter over to the maester, quietly instructing him as Alicent entered the room. 

"My darling," Otto cooed, enveloping her in a hug and kissing the top of her head. He extended an arm for (Y/N) to join them, but his son merely stared at him, features hardening. His rejection only made Otto sigh. He pulled back to peer down at his daughter, tenderly stroking the side of her head.

"I found myself thinking of your own mother today." He murmured. 

"How is His Grace?" 

"Very low. Which is why I sent for you." Otto detached himself from his daughter, meeting his son's glare for a second before he took a seat as his desk, leaning back to address his daughter. "I thought you might go to him, offer him comfort." 

"In his chambers?" Alicent questioned, swallowing when Otto quirked a brow. Looking down, she anxiously brought a hand to her lips, nipping at the skin around her thumb. A habit she'd fallen into after the death of their mother. "I wouldn't know what to say."

"Stop that." Otto scolded softly and Alicent dropped her arm to her side, lowering her head further. "He'll be glad of a visitor. I'm sure your brother wouldn't mind keeping an eye on Princess Rhaenyra while you tend to her father." It wasn't a suggestion. It was a demand. One he expected his twins to follow. Alicents' trembling lips pulled into a small smile and she nodded, glancing at her brother before she turned toward the door. 

"You might wear one of your mothers' dresses." Alicent stopped, lingering by the door and looking back toward her brother. She pressed her lips together and looked forward once more, leaving the room. (Y/N) waited until her footsteps disappeared down the hall before stepping toward his father's desk.

"When will it be enough for you, Father? Why must you use us to get what you want?" 

"I'm doing this for us," Otto responded cooly, dipping his pen into ink. He wrote a few words on the paper before looking up at his son.

"And if you care for this family, you'll do as I say."

[desultory-novice]

I recently found out that “weekend Susie” is a mistranslation and it’s actually called “susie on vacation” in jpn. I’m pretty sure she’s supposed to be Susie in the future like Manager Magolor..any ideas on why shes missing her hairclip and the “Secretary” title she always has in jpn? Susie is so hard to figure out..like how she only smiles three times in the entirety of robobot (once when she takes the program controller and twice when singing the noble haltmann but ONLY when saying the words father in jpn) so I’m curious on what your thoughts are on her (and unfortunately has the worst localization ever…i had to look at the robobot translations from @/kaialone on tumblr) sorry for rambling but shes so interesting to me and it’s a bit sad seeing how a lot of the details she has in characterization never get talked about

Anon...Did you somehow know I've been replaying Robobot in Japanese?! And it's basically strengthened my confirmation that some people - though less than before - are a bit too harsh and/or restrictive in their takes on both Susie and her father. 

That said, I do I try to give people room to "safely hate" these fictional characters as, for a lot of people, it may be one of their only ways of processing a gross problem that affects the real world/so much of history that they can't do much about.

But I love the silly/tragic Haltmann family. I'm sympathetic and even semi-defensive towards 'em. Which is why I'm happy to answer any good faith Haltmann asks.

Ahem! Also, before I get into it, I wanted to say that technically "Weekend Susie" vs "Susie on Vacation" is not a mistranslation per se.

What it IS is a localization.

休日 can mean "vacation," yes. When you break down the kanji, literally it is made up of the words "rest day." So it can also be just about any day when you're not working/not at school/not busy.

For most of western civilization (not me because I'm a contractor XD ) the weekends are people's "rest days." To read 休日 as "weekend" might not even be that much of a stretch/localization!

Probably explains the lack of "secretary" title. She's literally not on the clock! As for the hairclip, who can say...? Similar reasons? I know in Susie's case, it's sentimental, though hairpins in Japan often have this association with studiousness/"time to get serious" so removing it is an easy indicator "She's allowing herself time to be silly!"

I do like to imagine that this is a post-canon Susie though. That girl deserves something nice after her trauma...

Anyway, reminder that post-FL, the localizers have been working more closely with the Japanese team to create a more accurate translation for us. I know the wounds from PR's rough translation (and SA's fast-and-loose in weird places one) still hurt, oof, but the Kirby series is getting better about its translations!!

Actually... you know... there's not THAT many cutscenes...

Maybe I will make my own "If they'd hired Dess to translate Planet Robobot" translation of the game? I've already threatened several times to do a full translation of "The Noble Haltmann" with all references/metaphors intact...

But yes! Speaking of how Susie uses her emotions, I was so moved by something in her first meeting with Kirby, I actually wrote about it! And I'm going to share it here, because you might find it interesting~

-

So, I had my eyes peeled for any interesting bits of characterization left behind on the cutting room floor. Immediately, I was amused by how politely Susie talks to Kirby in the beginning. She doesn't really "talk down to him" or insult his intelligence in the slightest. (One could argue that it's a false business politeness, of course. Although she only breaks that in like, the second to last cutscene) Any dismissal of him feels very "company-mandated." (And the company is run by a murderous computer but leaving that aside...)

She gently praises how beautiful the water and the air on this planet is and that's when something... starts to change in her...

Susie gets impossibly sad. And her attitude changes COMPLETELY.

I stopped for a second reading this. "Hold on. What? Why does she lose her cool HERE? Is this some indication that the place she and her dad used to live on was a really poor planet without clean air and drinking water?" And heck, maybe that is the case!

But something else struck me about her line:

"...You don't even know the value of what you have..."

It's not the snooty we-know-better-than-you "misappropriation of resources" that is triggering her. It is having something precious right next to you and you don't even recognize it.

It's about her dad. Right from the beginning.

She can't NOT talk about it. It affects all her actions. Maybe another reason while I feel like it's better to judge Susie on a whole than any one individual action she takes, because (like Magolor, oops oops oops) she is masking her intentions alllll the time.

Also, omg, I know some people are still sensitive about the Mechaknight thing but that is PEAK grim humor in Japanese! It is treated way too cold and business-like in English, imo.

In Japanese, she starts to describe him exactly like she's telling her bestie that she just met the man of her dreams and then the WHAM line: "So, I gave him a full-body modification!"

Yes, it's unhinged. But it's also wonderful. (She's so Eggman-core.)

[suffersinfandom]

OFMD is so important.

To illustrate, allow me to tell you a tale about one of my dearest blorbos.

This blorbo was a side character who spent most of his time diligently keeping things going while the main characters fucked around. He was underappreciated. He had a complicated relationship with a man who was a hero, a coworker, and then -- tragically -- an enemy. He was queer. He was shot in the leg by someone who was supposed to be an ally, and that wound festered until the leg had to be removed. He had a lovely singing voice. He died a sad and needless death.

That blorbo is Felix Gaeta from Battlestar Galactica and no, I'm still not over him, thank you for asking.

But you know what? That was the 2000s and now we have a show like Our Flag Means Death -- a kind show.

In BSG, Felix died hated, alone, and with absolutely nothing. Even his boyfriend turned away from him when he led a mutiny. The crew -- his found family -- killed him. He wasn't mourned. He wasn't even mentioned after he was airlocked; his boyfriend slipped right into his role because one queer nerdy navigator is as good as another.

In OFMD, Izzy died loved and surrounded by people who cared about him. Ed held him in his arms and sobbed. Izzy had the chance to give a beautiful little speech that tied his entire arc up in a way that won over me, an Izzy disliker since the jump (I mean, the arc won me over; I should clarify that my overall Izzy opinion hasn't shifted). He was buried next to his friends overlooking the sea.

It hurts to lose a character that you're attached to no matter the circumstances. That said, I'm so grateful that OFMD gave Izzy's fans the gift of a respectful and emotional sendoff.

And me? I'm elated to see a character who's queer and disabled and morally complicated treated like someone worth caring about. To be honest, OFMD healed something in me that's been hurting for almost fifteen years. I get to live in a world where a character like Izzy -- a character who's not dissimilar to Felix -- is loved. It's beautiful.

This show is so, so important to me and I love it so much.

[roalinda]

Prompt: Sirius & Harry, stray cat

ok, so this was supposed to be for my bday but it ended up a Halloween treat 🍬🍭🍫

I got distracted and forgot to insert the cat in it that much 😭 Also Sirius is alive cause I said so 😤

***

"Did you know that your parents owned a cat?" 

Harry didn't look up from his bowl of steaming soup but a listless shrug was his silent response. His hold tightened on the expensive silver spoon, yet another reminder that despite a clear name, his godfather and him were still living in 12 Grimmauld Place. He didn't really understand why they were not moving out, but then again these days his mind was pleasantly numb. After all said and done and Voldemort gone, the radio silence in his brain was a blessing.

He was so tired. The countless fights and painful losses had caused an emotional collapse in him. He had not joined the victory celebrations. He had sneaked out of the parties he was invited to. He had locked himself in his room, seeking comfort that he hadn't found since Halloween 1981. Still, there was nothing but a vast void, a place that should have been occupied by Lily and James Potter who were buried under the cold ground despite everything.

What a useless triumph, just a tragic success. 

It was Halloween night again. 

"They had one. She was a stray. You hated her because she kept stealing my attention." 

Harry could imagine. He could see a picture perfect of a small happy family, a cat purring on his godfather's lap while he was pouting in his mom's arms, seeking attention and his dad's boisterous laughter. He smiled softly at that.

A warm hand cupped his cold face and caressed away a single tear drop he hadn't realised had fallen on his pale cheek. He was falling apart without even realising.

"Hush." 

"It's Halloween," replied Harry, as if it was self-explanatory and it was.

"And that means trick or treat," Sirius barked a laugh despite his wet eyes.  

Harry eyed him warily. "Is my treat a cat?" He tried to offer a wobbly smile.

"Maybe," teased Sirius and pushed a magical photo towards him gingerly.

Harry frowned at the photo, a punch of a bizarre melancholy knocking the air out of his lungs. It was a small cottage in a small garden filled with sunflowers. The scenery was familiar and after a second Harry realised he was looking at the Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow. 

Sirius softly tapped on the photo with his wand. The setting changed. Now Harry was looking at the inside of the cottage. There was a small kitchen and a cosy living room, filled with crimson cushions. There was a mantelpiece with pictures on top, of his parents' first dance on their wedding day, of his father and godfather laughing together, of his mom embracing him while his dad and Sirius were cooing at him.

It was a beautiful mirage of what could have been. 

"Your parents' cottage looked like this, Harry," said Sirius tentatively. "I have been absent from your life when I should have been present and for that I am sorry." 

Harry grunted in disagreement and Sirius hummed. "I have promised a home to you, remember? I am a man of my word," he said, his voice hushed and concentrated.

"We are going to move there soon. It's your home. It's where James and Lily are going to receive you for their happy memories linger there." 

Harry blinked and blinked and blinked. Home…he was going home to his parents. Not under piles of soil but to a warm loving household. So, he did the only thing he longed to do all this time. He wailed, loud and shameless before throwing himself into Sirius' arms. 

Sirius ran his fingers through Harry's messy hair soothingly but made no effort to stop his sobs. "Let it all out," he whispered and Harry did, as the old wound bled and bled until there was nothing left to bleed. 

"Home is with you, Sirius," he murmured into his godfather's chest. "home is with you and the happiness your presence brings me." 

"Home is the peace you blessed our souls with. Thank you for taking care of our son in our place. Be happy and live a long life, until we meet again." 

[sourcreamuwu]

I have a bunch of headcanons about kid Scarecrow and the Mentor! (though I was thinking if it's just better to be an au but for now I stick with it) (Followed by a bunch of wonky doodles, of course!)

In his preteens Scarecrow had very little of his parents' attention, almost none for whatever reason(whether they were busy on their work or just didn't care) So most of the time he spent on his own somewhere in streets. He was a kid who climbed every tree, knew every dumpster and visited every abandoned building in his neighborhood. Had tons of bruises and wounds on his knees from falling and regularly got splinters.

He was an outcast. Other kids' parents found him weird and a bad influence. Always walking on his own, going to dangerous places. So they told their children to not hang out with him. Not like they wanted to. Because "Ew, Scarecrow! Why are you showing us a dead rat?" or "Aaahhh! Put it away! Put it away!"(Holds a jar full of beetles). All in all, he was well known in the area for his antics.

One day he found an old acoustic guitar on a dumpster (this can happen. Trust me XD) Of course such thing got his attention. He took it and tried to pull the strings and spin the qbbsbdhsshs(THE TUNING KEYS!!!). He could give up on the instrument after an hour or take it apart if a lonely old man, musician in the past, wasn't passing by(👈👈read the Mentor). He sat on the bench near Scarecrow and just chatted to him. That type of kind old people who may start chatting with random neighbours or passing by people about the weather, the books... He showed Scarecrow how to play a few chords, told some interesting facts about guitars, shared a few stories from his life. The man definitely found a way to the strange kid's heart. Scarecrow literally fell in love with the instrument and the old man wasn't lonely anymore. (Y'know , elderly very often remain alone as their family has their own lifes and it's pretty tragic and he treated Scarecrow as he would treat his own grandchild/child) Scarecrow became a frequent guest in the Mentor's flat and it became his second home. The old man let him to see his collection of vinyls, taught him to play the guitar and taught him music in general. That's when Scarecrow decided that he wanted to dedicate his life to music and go further. I think later he applied to some music conservatory and finished it well.

And Scarecrow's guitar could be his present on the graduation day :D

Now to the songs! In Shelter from the Rain Scarecrow visits the Mentor once again and tells him about his crush and gots an inspiration to write his own song for her. The main message is the love being the biggest source of creation and being a light (shelter) in trying times. And in Wastelands they argue badly because the Mentor doesn't support Scarecrow's way and tries to convince him to not go that destructive path but he refuses and believes that the old man is jealous of him having glory the Mentor didn't have in his years.

BOOM

(The post is provided to you by @codenamejudas ' ask :) )

[exonerin]

19

Okay, 19 is pretty cool. Let me give you some background first. When I graduated high school, I spent two years training to be an officer on cruise/freight ships.

I quit doing that to study (plasma) physics instead. But it means I have some knowledge on SAR (search and rescue). And since I loved it, I've been keeping up watching videos (and I know that that is a far cry from any qualifications, but I suppose I can't be stopped).

And I wanted to write a fic about the search and rescue thing so badly. Incidentally, this is the only modern Obikin AU I have written so far.

Here's the synopsis:

"Dear Mister Kenobi, you are my last hope. I did not kill my mother. She's out there. You're the only one who can find her."

Obi-Wan was no stranger to the family of victims contacting him, desperate for his help to find their missing loved ones. Something about the case of Shmi Skywalker stands out to him.

Maybe it's the images of the young man crying in a small court room, pleading his innocence, begging law enforcement to continue searching. Those images and clips plastered over the internet and newspapers. They haunt him.

Anakin Skywalker haunts him.

And if only a fool would search every damned lake around Naboo, then Obi-Wan fears he's guilty as charged.

Here's an opening snippet (and please bear in mind that this is not edited and just a wip):

"They moved here from Utah. Think middle of the desert, small town, he abuses her and she escapes with her son," Quinlan said, his voice pitched to engage an audience. He would draw them in with short sentences, creating a sense of urgency.

"Picture this; they need a place to go. And she has relatives in Oregon. Seems good, right? Well, she is convinced her partner knows where she is. They relocate numerous time. Then, they end up in Naboo. A small, peaceful village surrounded by forests, sprawling nature. She's convinced this is the place where he will never find her. A year later, she disappears."

Obi-Wan had read the newspapers and watched the podcasts. He could dream the headlines and bold claims.

Shmi Skywalker still missing, police scale down search efforts.

Nine-thousand culmative search hours yield nothing in search for single mother

Lake County swallows another victim. Will the body ever be found?

Accident or murder? The odd missing case of Shmi Skywalker

Foul play suspected. Son A. Skywalker (19) arrested.

Fruitless search yields no body.

A. Skywalker released due to lack of evidence.

The world had already spun a tale, a dreadfully tragic one in which Anakin had murdered his mother over cash and driven her and her car in one of the lakes around Naboo.

"Now, you must understand, this case is new. Very new. But we were requested to help by family."

Obi-Wan's hands balled into fists, though he kept his expression placid as Quinlan refered to the request. One letter addressed to him that he had inadvertently memorized.

Dear Mister Kenobi, you are my last hope. I did not kill my mother. She's out there. You're the only one who can find her.

Finally, Quinlan wound down his speech.

"That's it," he said, and Ventress nodded before cutting the recording. Finally, Obi-Wan pushed away from their van, joining the duo by the picnic table Quinlan had selected as the throne for his regaling.

==============

I know where I want to take it and what I want to write. Furthermore, it wouldn't be a big fic, so it would be relatively low effort. But I haven't found the time to sit down and write it yet because I'm working on so many other projects. Maybe next year. (This here is the reason I never get anything done!)

[almostgenerallyalways]

tgm fic recs

@stcverogers tagged one of my fics in a rec list yesterday and i thought it was such a good idea, i wanted to share some of my own favs

in no particular order:

* * *

hangman 

one time thing // kiss the sun (fight the fire) // love that’s a real long shot  He nods again like that’s exactly what he expected you to say. “I think you’re wrong. Doesn’t matter now though, does it?” i would rec anything by @callsignvalley but this is probably the series that got me most. i also love tailspin and its rooster follow up steady

california coast in your green eyes // i’ll carry my bags just until i can hold you again (2 different series) Bob’s older sister gets the news that his plane went down during a training drill, and shows up at the hospital at the same time as an arrogant pilot. //  Six months after they break up, Jake shows up at Julie’s Family thanksgiving. A second chance holiday romance with fake dating, family drama, and fall festivities. @theharddeck these fics, esp carry my bags, feel so so real and human to me, i love julie and the characterisation of jake feels so on point i also love her series out of the clear, blue sky as well as kinda might, sorta like, love you a little bit + its follow ups

i’ve been holdin’ out so long (4 part series) You can’t stand Hangman, but your dreams lately say otherwise. He notices. @steadfastconviction i adore Bluegrass and her sass

do not engage (series) You hate Hangman. Really, you do... Or so you like to think, until it begins to seem like that distaste might not be as strong as you’d prefer to believe. @clints-lucky-arrow the entire f&f universe is great but Duchess especially is a badass

afterburn (series) It had been clear from the moment you got inside a cockpit that you were going to be something special. You certainly weren’t the youngest Naval Aviator to be invited to TOPGUN, but you had been the youngest to graduate at number one in more than thirty years. Which is all the more reason why it was so tragic that you would never, ever, be able to fly again. @top-hhun is a master of setting a scene

the off-season (series) It was supposed to just be one summer. But somehow you found yourself living in your grandparent’s Maine vacation house indefinitely. It was quiet when the summer tourists left, but tolerable. That was, until your brother’s friend from college needed a place to crash and he somehow wound up staying in your guest bedroom. Also indefinitely. @ereardon just started this series but i’m so into this world (au) already

fuck (the universe) (series) You’re a Kazansky–Tom “Iceman” Kazinsky’s youngest daughter–and you’ve taken after your father and become a Naval aviator. You finished at the top of your class at Top Gun and have worked diligently and fruitlessly to get to where you are now: North Island. You don the call-sign Wisteria not only because the beauty of the flower but because of its lethal qualities. i mention @roosterbruiser below bc i read landslide first but holy fuck indeed

* * *

rooster 

landslide (series) It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. @roosterbruiser landslide is one of those fics i have to read in little bits because it’s just too good. beautiful writing that just transports me (and i love faye, she may be the most developed fanfic oc i’ve ever read - and I love her taste in music)

baby let’s play house // pt 2  you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas. @seasonsbloom i just really love this fic, it shows all the quietest best parts of bradley

first impressions  at the induction day for the newest recruits of the Golden Warriors of VFA 87, rooster assumes you’re a civilian, instead of, you know, a member of his team? you see how far you can push it before he figures it out.  @ohcaptains‘s pilot in this fic is the badass bitch i wish i could be. as well as fucking funny.

like i can (series) After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay. @sometimesanalice perfect blend of cute, funny and heartmelting

* * *

bob 

he’s so pretty (when he goes down on me) // pt 2  things between you and Bob are strictly business: he’s your backseater, and that’s all there is. @seasonsbloom‘s writing is so good it made me want to try writing fic myself

* * *

hangman x rooster

we’re fools to make war In a Walmart at three am, between beef jerky and tortilla chips, with the lights flickering above them like it’s the fucking twilight zone, Bradley wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone. or: it's a hundred degrees in texas. i can’t find a tumblr link for this but the writer is @baroness-elsa. this is 66k words and i read it in two days which probably says enough. holy shit.

* * *

there are many many more (this fandom is FULL of talented writers, damn) but this already took me an hour so that’ll be part 2 haha