#unfortunately i am a neglectful parent.

[sparky-is-spiders]

🌹 for tma if you don't mind 👀👀👀👀

From the space illness AU!

The pain is releasing its grip, slowly, slowly. On the kitchen floor, illuminated by both the stove light and the distant moon, Jon curls into Elias' arms. The sheer, overwhelming warmth of them almost makes him weep. Delicate fingers grip his jaw and slowly ease it open, then gently remove his wrist from his mouth. Jon hadn't been aware he was still biting it. Elias shushes him. "None of that now, Jonathan. You're alright. You're alright."

And as a bonus (because it's been over a week since you sent that request lol):

The sound of the door opening lights a brief spark of fear in Jon, which fades into a pleasant, low buzz of anxiety. Not enough to be filling, of course, but still enjoyable. He lets his voice tip just slightly into irritation all the same. “Ah, Jonathan, there you are.”

Send me a rose for a line of a WIP!

[grossillygirl]

My brain is actually broken. In so sleepy that in barely even doing my nightly Tumblr scroll, plus im sleeping at someone else's house yet my brain is like "just do a bit of camming come on just go on and show ur tits that doesnt require moving around too much and u wont make much noise faffing around" like ???? Ok but... I'm tired as hell???

Need to rewire my brain to have regular expectations of myself for real. I push myself to unhealthy habits to the point it gets to this where i cannot differentiate between kinky fun/ sexualising myself and actual self sabotage

Like camming? Sure thats fun! But... For the whole night to the point that the sun is up and the day has started?? NO. At

[hexastitchimera]

Hey folks, got another something to consider here, especially in regards to the safety of minors in adult spaces.

Let me preface:

I started off with having computer access as early as 4 years old. Granted, it was purely on the children's games my parents would set up for me on the living room computer, and I didn't even know how to click because all the games required was you hovering over your choice with your cursor.

However, because I was thick in the nest of neglect- what with one of my parents working constant, back-to-back overtime, the other unable to give a damn- this set me up for catastrophe.

To play Devil's Advocate, both of my parents were immigrants who still, to this day, struggle with their own Internet usage because they just don't understand the severe consequences and ramifications of putting things online. Their home cultures didn't even HAVE the kind of tech Americans in the 70s-90s had, due to war, poverty, and manipulated economy.

It was only when they immigrated that they realized computers weren't exclusively for Westerners, and for the few scientists/politicians in their countries lucky enough to be entrusted.

However, there is no denying that, without parental supervision nor adult attention, I sought out what I needed elsewhere. What was more convenient than having that at the push of a button?

Just like them, I didn't know better.

Unlike them, it was because I was a child.

Because I was a child, unfortunately, I was ripe for the picking. You name it, I lived it. All the way down to almost being trafficked, by the same person who had been thick in primary school when I wasn't even born yet.

Thankfully, times are different now, and awareness of these issues has never been more prevalent. There are helplines, in-school education on Internet safety and abuse, and then some.

In addition, many adults- myself included- don't feel comfortable engaging in minor-targeted spaces, let alone with minors period.

Whether it's out of respect, out of traumatic experience, or other reasons, it doesn't matter as long as it isn't a harmful one (i.e "I hate kids", which yes, IS considerably harmful, as someone who heard such constantly as a child and thus felt less safe to tell adults about the abuse).

This leaves us adults to create our own spaces, where we often do and say things that are adult-oriented. Again, this is perfectly fine, as long as there is no harm coming from it.

What is not fine is how- despite the abundance of awareness and caution- there are minors who will sadly undergo a repeat of the cycle in our spaces. All despite the prevalent messaging of "keep minors out of adult spaces," and how many of us adults have some form of "Minors DNI" on our pages.

Again, having been there myself, I completely understand that neglect of ANY kind can make one look to the outside world instead of further into their unreliable inside group. Being alone, or even isolated/sheltered, is an inherently anti-social experience that our social animal brains cannot handle without succumbing to dissociation, "acting out," etc.

As children especially, we are wired to rely on adult attention for survival, and we do experience extreme psychological distress when that necessity isn't met.

Nevertheless, it truly is imperative for minors to understand the following:

Adults on the Internet will NEVER be a safe replacement for your own parents, families, guardians, teachers, etc.

Even if an adult is well-intentioned and otherwise on their best behaviour, there is no guarantee that their friends are the same. Digital abuse can, and does, often start by proxy, especially in fandoms.

We created these adult spaces to keep YOU safe. It is not an exclusive club that we are gatekeeping you from. You can join of your own accord once you're 18 or over.

This isn't to victim blame, nor to shame minors for seeking out what they should have been given since they were born.

There is a reason why it's up to adults to check ages, to make sure their age-restricted servers are watertight (which they never can be, so long as someone out there is being dishonest about their age/ID), and to avoid privately messaging minors period.

All the same, it's also up to minors to learn how to keep themselves safe. Not to the point of paranoia- you too will be an adult one day- but to the point of being able to protect yourself as both child and adult.

After all, predation doesn't stop once a fawn has grown into a deer, and adult protective services exist for good reason.

So, instead, minors ought to:

Seek out well-moderated spaces that are curated for minors with the safety of minors in mind (note: avoid self-proclaimed youth cults like the plague).

Learn what makes a safe friend and an unsafe one (i.e learn about the signs of abuse).

Never be afraid to block anyone who gives you The Ick (i.e gut feeling), especially if they're an adult or otherwise age ambiguous.

If someone makes you feel unsafe, tell a moderator ASAP, or simply block + report them. If you aren't taken seriously, escalate to their supervisor, and even go straight to the top if need be.

And 5., the most important:

If someone has committed a crime against you, DO NOT POST IT ONLINE, EVEN TO WARN OTHERS. REPORT TO YOUR LOCAL AUTHORITY ASAP.

If you do so and THEN go to the authorities, you will either not be taken seriously due to perceived ulterior motives on your part (ex. your post gaining significant external attention), or you could get into legal trouble yourself if failure to report and/or smear laws exist in your country.

As well, if you do report it- whether or not you're taken seriously, they have to make a case file by law and you must enforce your right to as much- the authorities will pick up on the pattern if ANOTHER victim makes their own report, and will hopefully escalate the situation then.

You can still denounce the actions and inactions of your local authorities, and use their services in a time of duress because they are the ONLY authority that has the resources to do something about it. You are not a hypocrite for keeping yourself safe and alive, and it's not your fault that alternative options do not exist.

-

Though it always is up to adults to be responsible around minors, only YOU can curate your own Internet experience.

The block button is your bestest friend.

Use it well and use it often.

Cheers, thanks for reading, and be safe. 💜

[pepprs]

ok. giving myself 4 minutes to make this post and then i finish my homework. i just am so deeply miserable. i really think i made a mistake. i should not be in grad school. i only took a year between this and undergrad and i am still so burned out and mentally ill. im working full time. im only taking one class and this program is supposed to be so good and aligned with what i want and all of that. but i just cant stand having homework. i just cant stand it. i think i am not cut out for academia even though i work in academia. i think i will never get better as long as im still living at home but i have to get better before i can no longer be living at home but i cant get better until im not living at home and every day i still live at home saps away at my will to live quite literally. i should not have started doing grad school without regaining my will to live. without restoring my love for reading and writing that i used to have voraciously when i was younger and less deeply miserable. without recovering from the burnout. i think i made a mistake. i need a masters degree so bad so that i can be safe but i need to not have fucking homework when i already struggle to get through my days without school. i feel so stuck in my life and hopeless and helpless. i dont know what to do

[anneonomus]

i’m joining the war on fanon. on the side of the fanon

[taylorsabrina]

it's taylor and sabrina's first night performing together and i'm so sad and depressed, i hate this. 😞

[bamgyw]

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ c.bg; six nights ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

summary: six nights of emo boy gyu sneaking into your room without your daddy knowing. aberrational catholic guilt ridden catcher in the rye wannabe porn document. afab reader x softdom!beomgyu. warnings: everything, unfortunately. minors dni. heavy smut ahead. lots of pretentious writing, too. catholic guilt and imagery. abusive behaviour, parental neglect. drug use. violence. everyone is sad. i’ll keep on updating part-specific tags. index: prologue: the house of god, first night, second night, third night, fourth night, fifth night, sixth night, dawn of the seventh.

prologue: the house of god

when daddy wanted to hide something from you, he would turn to his beloved bible. and ever since you turned fourteen, he had been holding on to a passage that he would repeat to you every night before going to sleep: 

"let no one say when tempted, "i am being tempted by god," for god tempts no one. but each person is tempted when lured by his own desire. then desire gives birth to sin, and sin brings forth death."

that is the only sex talk your daddy ever gave you. it was more of a sex mantra than a talk, or a warning, or even a prohibition. just a rule of nature that he wanted you to have engraved in your mind: desire is sin, and sin is death.

when daddy didn't want you to do something, he'd blame the rule on god. and there's little you could say against that. 

as you grew up, you realised that god might not be real, but daddy most certainly was. a punitive, disciplinary god. and one feels much more compelled to obey divine rule when god lives under your roof. when you can touch him, and he can touch you.

when god lives in your house and his wrath can tear your flesh apart not in hell, not in heaven, but in this life; you become more cautious than the most devoted of christians. so even when everyone in your grade started drinking, dating, having sex; you had it very clear that the priority was to protect yourself. not from the dangers of drinking, dating, or sex; but from daddy, that is to say, from god.

none of your friends from school understood it, that the fear of god was not irrational. you had scars and bruises that god had given you which you could perfectly show them. but then daddy would get in trouble. besides, he wouldn't like you showing your body around. 

none of them could ever understand what living with god was like, so they were the kind of people who would ask that stupid question; if god loves us, why does he hurt us? 

the first person to understand god was a boy called choi soobin. 

daddy had remarried choi soobin’s mom the year before you started college. she was a beautiful woman, lively and hopeful to start a second life after becoming a widow. it must be thrilling to get a chance at a second life when your first one has gone wrong. soobin’s mom could have been very happy in another universe. you felt sorry that she had stepped into daddy‘s trap. 

you had always wondered how daddy had managed to get a woman like her. bright, cultured and affectionate. but then you figured that maybe, as he was god, he didn't necessarily need to be yahweh, or elohim. he could also be zeus and disguise himself as a swan to kidnap and rape leda. 

you found out later that soobin‘s mom had never fully recovered from the passing of her first husband, and she often suffered from major depressive episodes. daddy saw that void in her, and her urgency to fill it. he forced himself into the hollowness of the void, and obstructed her veins, bones, and heart with the word of god.

soon enough, soobin’s mom had no limb or internal organ she controlled herself. she had once had colours, you remembered; rosy cheeks, a hazel head of hair, lips tinted with vibrant red. but daddy had turned her grey. 

soobin’s mom had been kind enough to see the good sides of daddy, you had liked her for that. but you regretted that she hadn't learned to hide her colors so that daddy couldn't steal them away, like you did. 

she became a shadow of herself, an almost non-verbal phantom trapped between the real world –that is, the confines of daddy's house– and the world of hopeful prayers and the salvation of soul.

the boy called choi soobin would never forgive daddy for that. but it was alright. you understood. in a sense, he had killed his mom. you had to love daddy because he had created you, but you didn't think choi soobin was obliged to. 

people said choi soobin had changed, too. that he used to be a gentle kid, polite and sweet, but he had turned hostile. that, like most teens, he had become self-absorbed and belligerent without a cause or that he had gotten those adolescent mood changes so late in his life because he was an attention seeker. people say things like that when they don't understand what living with god is like.

you were the only one who didn't believe daddy when he said that soobin had a demon inside. you knew better than that, you knew that daddy saw demons everywhere. but soobin’s own mom believed it. when daddy tried to exorcise the demon away from soobin with fist and blood, she looked away.

all that soobin had wanted by acting up against daddy was to save his mom. to bring her back from the dead. but after that betrayal, he stopped trying. 

soobin had never been violent towards you, though. not once. not even mean. you were the only one who understood him, the only one who told him he wasn't evil. you knew that god's tyrannical rule could break a person, fill them with hate. and so soobin and you became close, often talking against god. every whispered defamation, every blasphemy, the danger of it felt so exciting. not because of the mischievous sin, or because of the disobedience, but because you felt like you could speak your mind at last.

your first kiss was soobin. you felt loved when it happened, something you realised you weren't used to. the feeling bloomed throughout the following week as you hid from god's watchful eye to be together.

soobin told you a hundred times that you were the most beautiful girl in the world, kissing all over your face, clasping you as close to him as he humanly could. he would sneak his hand under your skirt and whisper, "don't think about him right now. it's just you and me." and though his touch never went very far in the magnitude scale of sin and punishment, it was enough to breathe a new life into you.

you sensed that a big part of why soobin wanted you so bad was because he got turned on at the idea of defying daddy, and groping his holy daughter was the greatest offence he could commit. but that was alright. you felt the same way. and you hoped that that hate-induced lust would turn into love, in time. you could then be happier, even in the house of god. 

or you could have been happier. because god is omnipresent. and he would soon act to see you separated. the blossoming flower was brutally ripped from the soil.

when daddy found out, he locked himself into the master bedroom with soobin one morning and didn't let him go until the sun began to hide. soobin left that room broken and dead in life, just like his mom, but he didn't have one single bruise. maybe daddy really was god, after all.

soobin never talked to you again. spoken, yes, but it was hollow. you never felt loved again. you learned a lesson that day: your pleasure brings pain to everyone around. the mantra became true. desire is sin, and sin is death.

so if there was any need left in your body to touch, to kiss, to lick, to possess or be possessed; you confined it to the darkest pit of your ribcage, way past your heart, never to be accessed again. 

until choi beomgyu came around.

he was the second person to understand god. but he had brought his lesson learned from home. he knew god’s ways even before he met daddy. he had a god of his own. you called yours daddy, he called his ‘that narcissistic sadist’. but strangely enough, you felt like they meant the same thing. 

choi beomgyu was sort of soobin's friend, if you could even call it that. they never labeled each other as such, never sought out each other's company for the sake of friendship. they just wanted to live through their loneliness while sitting in the same room.

beomgyu’s dad was a dealer. he made a living out of ruining people's lives, as beomgyu saw it. growing up, he had promised himself that he would never be like that, the kind of person who doesn't care about poisoning someone's body if that meant keeping the cash flowing. but as he grew up, he learned that it wasn't all black or white. that all of those fools kept showing at his father’s doorstep, like they had no other choice. like they enjoyed hurting themselves. 

beomgyu, like soobin, had become hateful. one of the things that bothered him the most was the "why me?" question. how unlucky he could have been to be born of such a father. but then again, he could run away. he could sort his shit out, get a job, never see his father again. but he kept going back. like he had no choice. like he, too, enjoyed hurting himself.

his dad barely knew he existed, and if beomgyu ever tried to make himself heard, he would silence him in cold blood. so any semblance of love or validation beomgyu could aspire to, he sought out with mathematically strategised plans. he craved the drug of attention and knew exactly where to get it.

he'd linger around fancy schools and church events, scoping out a certain type of girl. there was always a few of them going through a rebellious phase, desperate to go out with a bad boy and piss off their high-official dad. 

it didn't take much effort for him to get what he wanted. he was handsome enough to make it easy, and even though he was a spiteful nihilist, he could be charming on command. just a smirk, a tousle of the hair, and some cheesy lines like, "i'm messed up, but with you, i feel like maybe i could be better," or "you're too beautiful for a screw-up like me." and he would have them wrapped around his finger. 

he would bring them over to his place and fuck them rough on his drug-money-bought mattress. if there was shouting, or a gunshot coming from another part of the house, he'd fuck into them harder, muffling their fear with a rough kiss, using their panic to fuel his own twisted thrill. you fucking scared? i've gone through this crap every day since i was a kid. 

if he could crack the shell of a privileged princess, dragging someone along with him down to his mud, his pain would slightly numb out.

for just a little, but never enough.

that pattern of behavior didn't lead to happiness. not even to satisfaction. it was a vindictive way of muffling his pain with the aching moans of someone who had it easier. but in reality, it only pierced what was left of his soul, making him even more hollow. it was soobin who made him realize that.

until that day, beomgyu saw soobin as almost a kid—pitifully weak and too sheltered. but when he told him about his exploits of going after posh girls, soobin didn't applaud in shared bitterness as he often did.

beomgyu explained to him how hard he got seeing the fear in their eyes as they realised that the life he led, that freedom of the rebel, wasn't as cute and bohemian as they had romanticised.

soobin responded curtly. "and then what? you cum, the spell wears off and you stare at the ceiling in silence, thinking of how miserable you are." he said. "and then you feel guilty for being a piece of shit and using that girl as a blow-up doll. and because of that you feel even worse about yourself, which means becoming more hateful and ruining more people. its not a you thing, you're not that special. that loop has been said and done. probably how your dad feels after beating on you."

beomgyu was taken aback. he didn’t even find it in himself to get offended. he remained pensive for a while before saying, "hyung. do you think i'm a bad person?"

soobin replied; "i think you can choose not to be."

and beomgyu took the advice. he put an end to the hunter-gathering of rich girls. he respected soobin from then on, too. soobin had therefore been a good influence, one could say. or at least an influence beomgyu was willing to accept. he started hanging around your house more, to the point of almost never leaving.

you learned about him as if he were a mythological figure—someone everyone talked about but whose existence you couldn't confirm. as a friend of soobin, beomgyu was bound from the start by an unspoken rule to maintain the least possible contact with you.

beomgyu was made aware of that rule very early on. what he didn't know, because he had been misled, was your age. that's why he didn't think much of it at first; he thought you were a kid. so, whatever—he couldn't talk to soobin’s annoying little stepsister. big deal. he didn't care about kids anyway.

this, combined with the prison-like structure of daily life in that house—minimal time in common areas and endless hours rotting in your own cell—fulfilled daddy's command to keep your life and soobin's, and therefore boemgyu’s, completely separate.

but even though you hadn't seen choi beomgyu in person, you had been able to construct a fairly accurate forensic portrait of him, pieced together from your father's warnings about people like him.

about the piercings, daddy believed that the body is holy, and anyone capable of mutilating within sin. about the music they played when locked up for whole afternoons in soobin’s room, he believed that god is serene, and disturbing that peace is a sign of the devil. he considered long hair on a man an abomination, and much like the eccentric clothes, a mark of a sodomite.

daddy didn't approve of him, and saw him as no more than a threat to the sanctity of his home. but beomgyu was quick to remedy the situation.

beomgyu was most acquainted to the ways of gods. he knew they were capricious, proud and pathologically narcissistic. so he made sure daddy could see he was a troubled young man and played the role of the lamb seeking guidance. he convinced daddy that he could abduct him, like he had done with soobin and his mother.

when soobin recounted the scene to you, his voice had sounded more hopeful, more full of admiration than you had ever heard. "he went to your dad and talked to him as if he was the buddha. said that he was lost and needed someone to guide him on the right path." soobin said. "he had some quotes from the prodigal son parabole learned, and he just delivered so naturally. not a trace of shame because when he lied to his face like that. it was like watching a play. your dad bought everything."

from then on, beomgyu became an unsung hero in your eyes. the boy who had outmanipulated daddy into having it his way. the boy who had defeated god.

around halloween that year, beomgyu and his dad had a terminal fight. it ended on a threat so destructive that beomgyu thought it was for the better if he stayed away from his father's place for a couple days. maybe a week. soobin, knower of the impotence and humiliation of having to sleep under the roof of the one who lacerated you and torn you to pieces, offered him shelter.

daddy's eyes lit up with greed. he saw the definitive chance to welcome a prodigal son into the fold. for beomgyu it was almost a joke. he was amused at how fast daddy allowed him in. so clueless and hasty, like one of the girls he used to charm into his bed.

in truth, beomgyu wasn't even to blame when he inevitably bumped into you. it had been daddy's mistake, he had let him in himself. you thought maybe that made daddy more human, somehow. that he forgot to close the back door to the prison and the devil strolled in.

but it wasn't really a matter of having let his guard down. daddy was still as stern, still as disciplinary, still as paranoid as he had always been. choi beomgyu was just much smarter than daddy.

he was a demigod, he was a promise. he was soon to make you his.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ please let me know if you think reading about booty sex is gross (i'm doing market research)

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head. (3.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ A/N: Thank you to my numerous beta readers, including but not limited to @the-unforgivenn, @lofaewrites, @lokis-army-77, and @corroded-hellfire, and to @hellfire--cult for the divider. I am forever indebted to y'all.

chapter one: room for one more

It was always the quiet nights, wasn't it? The ones where the only sounds came from cars barreling down Queens Boulevard and splashing through puddles left by an earlier rainstorm, or from the clock ticking on the wall. 

The ones where your mind wandered until you’d thought yourself in circles, overanalyzing every last decision you had ever made.

The ones where you allowed your guard just down enough that the slightest oddity threw you off-balance—something or someone out of place. 

It was during the quiet nights like that night where you should have expected the unexpected, because New York City never stayed still for long. 

The evening’s sluggishness was normal; tourism always slowed in the springtime. The newest shows on Broadway were already months old, not to mention the warmer weather brought both an uptick in crime and pollen count. If out-of-towners were going to schlep to the East Coast, they’d prefer to see the cherry blossoms hours south in Washington, DC than to get mugged on the 1 train. 

Business picked up in the winter months when people flocked from around the world to witness the Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, even though they were several bus and subway transfers away. Outsiders to the tri-state area struggled to differentiate between boroughs; it was unfortunate for them, but you counted on it to keep business alive. 

The only guests who consistently frequented your family’s motel were junkies looking for a place to shoot up away from the NYPD’s watchful gaze or affair-havers who were considerate enough not to sully their marriage beds—just their vows. You were in no position to judge; their money was what kept the lights on, but it was impossible not to compare your clientele to the suits who stayed at the Marriott down the street. They wouldn‘t even allow homeless folks to sit within twenty-five feet of the building, let alone stay under their roof.

You leaned on the desk, wood grain pinching your elbows. You tapped your pencil against your textbook as you read, its margins cluttered with notes about different types of parent-child attachment styles. 

Sleep prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Focus. 

Secure attachment occurs when—no, you’d already read this line. Twice. 

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, gently slapping your cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake. Taking a full course load instead of your usual part-time was your academic advisor’s ill-conceived idea, bolstered by the prospect of an earlier graduation. In your haste, you’d neglected to consider two important factors: all of your studying now had to be done during your night shifts, and graduating meant telling your parents a truth they were unready to hear. 

They were so proud of the motel, regardless of its reputation. It might as well have been The Plaza from the way your dad boasted about it. The three of you shared an unspoken understanding that you worked the front desk because paying an actual employee would put them under. Maybe if finances weren’t so tight, you could have freely admitted that your future plans didn’t involve taking over the business. 

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your head rested on your book, a small puddle of drool pooling atop Bowlby’s theories. 

Ping ping ping ping!

Time slowly stretched out before you, your conscious brain clawing its way out of its hazy fog. It took a beat for you to recognize that the incessant noise came from someone repeatedly smacking the tiny bell that sat on the desk. 

“Hey, hello?” an impatient voice called out, jolting you from your impromptu nap. You blinked away the residual sleepiness and took in the sight in front of you: a curly-haired man, likely not much older than you were, a cigarette that had been nearly smoked down to the filter tucked between his lips. He had a patched guitar case strapped to his back and clutched a black garbage bag filled with what you hoped was clothing.

“Sorry,” you grumbled, wiping the moisture from your chin. “Need a room?” 

“Mhm.” You could practically hear his eye roll: no, I just stopped by in the middle of the night for a quick chat. Fancy a cup of tea and a scone? 

He plopped the garbage bag on the ground; its soft landing and the way it wrinkled told you that whatever was inside was, thankfully, not a body.

You nodded and turned around to the wall of keys behind you. There was no shortage of rooms; the only occupied one was being rented by Phyllis, a sixty-year-old self-described ‘entertainer of gentleman’ who paid double her bill in exchange for your silence. 

He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the countertop, grinding it into the base for good measure. “How much per night?” he asked, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a wallet held together with duct tape. 

“Fifteen.”

The man breathed out, his bangs fanning over his forehead. “Jesus.” He fished two twenties and a five from the billfold and placed them in front of you. “This should cover me until Friday, yeah?”

Nodding, you folded the bills and tucked them into the register kept under the desk, only accessible by key because of a series of break-ins during the late ‘70s.

The man lit another cigarette as you pulled out the ledger and a pen. “Name and date here,” you said, pointing to the ‘check in’ column. He took a drag before scrawling his name on the line: Eddie Munson, 5-4-93. 

“All right, you’ll be in…” you scanned the assortment of keys dangling from their hooks. The walls were thin, and this guy seemed decent enough, so you decided to spare him the theatrical sound effects of Phyllis’s room 10 endeavors. “…room 4. Make a right down the hallway, and it’ll be the second door. Can’t miss it if you try.” 

Your attempt at humor fell flat, both of you too exhausted to laugh. You strode past it, clearing your throat as if dispelling the tension. When you placed the key in his calloused palm, you couldn’t help but notice that the base of each fingertip is a half-shade paler than the rest of his skin. 

“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled. He tapped the cigarette above the ashtray, the gray flakes falling into a neat pile. His right bicep flexed underneath his denim jacket as he heaved the garbage bag over his shoulder, careful not to bang it against the guitar. 

He scuttled out of the tiny room masquerading as a lobby, shoulders hunched from the weight of the bag and of the burdens he inevitably carried. No one shows up to a motel in the middle of the night without a story or two. 

After years of greeting guests at the front desk, you liked to think you had a decent read on them. Eddie was quiet, maybe even introspective, but not necessarily shy. He was tired; no, more than that: he was worn down, like so many other people who had come through these doors. 

Most importantly, Eddie didn’t seem like he'd be much trouble. He didn’t stumble in wasted and reeking of booze or fidgeting as he awaited a fix. He wasn’t shouting or poorly concealing a wandering eye or making lewd comments. He’d made pretty much no impression at all besides being a bit gruff, which was just fine with you. Your personality wasn't composed of rainbows and sunshine at this hour either.

You looked at the clock and sighed when it only read 2:17. It’s already tomorrow, you thought grimly. Just under four hours until you could walk ten feet to your room, curl up in your bed, and sleep until it was time for your afternoon class. After years of balancing school and work, you were in the last two weeks of your final semester, and then…what? You casually inform your parents that you were leaving the family business–essentially forcing them to close it–to pursue a career in social work? 

That was sure to go over well.  

To their knowledge, you were studying hotel management and hospitality in order to “improve the business.” That was why they’d relented when you’d asked to start taking classes, switching you over to the night shift to avoid having to hire a new employee.

What they didn’t know is that your school didn’t even offer that as a major. Nor were they aware of the acceptance letter into NYU’s Masters of Social Work program that was stashed inside your dresser drawer, hidden from sight. That was a conversation for another day when you found the strength to face their disappointment.

Chaos waited to strike until the end of your shift. 

Just as you packed your book back into your bag, a familiar, skunky odor wafted past your nostrils. 

Ignore it, you thought. Let it be Dad’s problem when he takes over in five minutes. But if you could smell it, so could any of the cops patrolling the boulevard. One more citation and the motel was in jeopardy of being permanently shut down, and you couldn’t take that risk.

With a frustrated sigh, you yanked open the desk drawer and reached in for a pen, instead pulling out an unopened box of crayons. A twenty-four pack of Crayola—the good kind. You plucked a waxy cornflower blue from its spot and scribbled Be back soon on a Post-It note, sticking it on the front of the desk. Grabbing the pepper spray canister from its spot next to the register, just in case, you started down the hall. Marijuana wasn’t Phyllis’s drug of choice, though it might have been one of her various gentleman suitors’, but the scent was too strong to be coming all the way from room 10.

Maybe this Eddie Munson was trouble, afterall.

You knocked on his door, firmly but without aggression. It certainly wasn’t the first time you interrupted someone’s buzz, and it wouldn’t be the last. You knew better than to go in guns a-blazing; it’s easier to catch flies with sugar than vinegar. 

Eddie opened it after a moment, cracking it halfway and revealing a lit joint pinched between his plush lips. One forearm was perched on the doorframe, showing off faded ink of a litter of flying bats and a dragon-esque creature. He was clad in only navy blue boxer briefs, but his lack of attire was no surprise. Many guests were shameless, not bothering to cover the holes in their Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities and showcasing faded yellow stains on the crotch. What confused you was the elastic waistband proudly proclaiming ‘Calvin Klein’ that cut off the soft hair trailing from his belly button. It seemed absurd that he would have been lugging around any designer clothes in that trash bag, but there was no other possibility. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his curly bangs out of his face. Half-lidded brown eyes scanned your form, trying to determine whether you were a narc or trying to bum some bud off of him. His window was cracked open enough to let in fresh air, which also meant that the acrid smell could easily be let out.

“You can’t smoke that here,” you reported matter-of-factly, just as you had a million times before. When he cocked a challenging brow, you continued. “Cigarettes are fine, but no weed. The police will come after us and you.”

He looked around the room, unbothered, and absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. A demon’s head was sketched just above a sparse patch of hair. Under different circumstances, or maybe in another life altogether, you would’ve asked him about his tattoos; if they had some philosophical meaning or were the products of spur-of-the-moment decisions. You could have blathered on about the ideas you had for your own future tattoos, if you ever worked up the nerve to actually get one. 

“You mean to tell me that with all of the skeevy shit that goes on around here, the cops are gonna waste their time on a little pot?” He scoffed and took another defiant pull, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling away from you.

I guess chivalry isn’t dead, you mused, stifling an eye roll. “No, but they’re always looking for an excuse to ‘investigate,’’' you threw air-quotes around the last word, “so they can bust us for more serious things, and that is the perfect one.” You gestured to the joint only to be met with an eye roll. “Look, you can either put it out, smoke it somewhere else, or you can leave. Full refund, but you can’t stay here.”

His stare locked onto your steely eyes and clenched jaw, only breaking when you’d straightened your posture to stand your ground. “Whatever,” he huffed, but he snuffed it out. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips, disappearing nearly as quickly as it arrived. Despite its fleeting nature, it managed to thaw you enough so that your arms weren’t held quite so tight to your body, your expression less rigid. “Just trying to relax and get some sleep, like you were while you were supposed to be ‘working.’” It’s his turn to supply the air-quotes, both in mockery and as a gotcha. A teasing lilt elevated his voice, smoothing out the edge he’d greeted you with earlier. 

“I wasn’t sleeping, just…resting my eyes,” you volleyed back, your smirk betraying any semblance of the tough façade you’d worn. 

Eddie crossed his arms and walked over to the garbage bag of clothes. He rummaged through it for a moment before procuring a pair of gray sweatpants, stepping into them hurriedly as though he just remembered his minimal attire. 

“Maybe if you chose more interesting reading material, you wouldn’t be sl—resting your eyes on the job,” he amended, gesturing to the textbook in your canvas tote bag. “Ever heard of Stephen King?”

“I live in a motel, not under a rock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You live here?”

Shit. That wasn’t information you regularly divulged. Sure, this guy seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Prime example: wearing designer underwear while using a trash bag in lieu of a suitcase. 

It was too late to double back, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. The sole of your sneaker dug into the old carpet. 

Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, lips parted and eyes wide like there was a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, your gaze landed on the clock radio: six AM on the dot. 

“I need to go,” you said hurriedly. Shame at your sudden shyness burned a hole in your belly. Eddie Munson was a guest; for all intents and purposes, he was a total stranger. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. “Good luck falling asleep,” you added with a weak smile. 

The easy banter that had been building between you dissipated in an instant, taking his good mood with it. His goodbye was a sardonic salute, the mattress springs creaking wearily as soon as you closed the door behind you. 

Sure enough, your dad was in the tiny lobby, assessing some peeling wallpaper. “Gotta fix that,” he mumbled to himself, thumbnail picking at it aimlessly. He turned around when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw you. 

“Sorry, I was helping out a guest,” you rushed to explain, hoping he wasn't too anxious to find the desk left unattended. 

The wrinkles in your dad’s forehead became more pronounced. “Is everything alright?” The phrase ‘helping out a guest’ could range from unclogging a toilet to calling the police for a domestic dispute. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him quickly, flashing an exaggerated thumbs-up. “No law enforcement necessary. Didn’t even need to use the pepper spray.” You waved the canister in your palm before placing it back. 

He beamed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your scalp. “It’s times like this where I just know I’ll be leaving this place in good hands.” 

You swallowed the bile that crept up your throat and feigned a smile when  he pulled you in for a tight hug. The mingled scents of Irish Spring soap and drugstore aftershave tickled your nose, and tears stung along your lash line. 

If only you knew, you thought, giving him one last squeeze before you headed to your room. Disappointed wouldn’t even begin to cover it. 

Your parents would never say the word aloud; they’d look at each other and heave identical weighted sighs. Their lifelong goal of a long-standing family business would vanish in the blink of an eye. Dad would pretend there was a chance that they could afford a new hire, even going so far as to fumble through the years of financial statements before inevitably throwing in the towel; Mom would force a pained smile and hoarsely encourage you to follow your dreams, even at the expense of theirs.

You shook the thought away as you trudged towards your room, sneakered feet like sandbags below you.  Dwelling on this scenario had you teetering on the brink of insanity, so you’d willed yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Like the motel’s newest guest and his smile. The way it softened the hard lines on his face, offering you a glimpse of how he wore happiness. Something about it made you want to see him happy again. 

You can’t even figure out how to make yourself happy, you thought, peeling back the starchy sheets and finally crawling into bed, much less a stranger. For all you knew, he was just relaxed because his high was starting to kick in, and not from some warming presence you’d supplied. 

The sun cracked pink through the sky, visible through the paper-thin curtains hanging on the window. You had become accustomed to this backwards routine, able to fall asleep while daylight broke. It took a few extra moments this time; you were anticipating marijuana-tinged fumes to float through the vents when Eddie ignored your instructions. 

It was that flicker of a smile that had you almost certain he would spark up once you’d left. The smile of someone who so naturally flouted authority that he no longer bragged about it. Yet time ticked by without a hint of evidence that he was smoking again. 

Which begged the question: if the smile didn’t signify defiance, what did it mean?

Eddie Munson is definitely trouble, you surmised just before you drifted off, but nothing you can’t handle.

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @chrissymjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @reidsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @bewitchedmunson @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[pienhime]

my ten manga/game/anime/etc recs for jirai

hiii long time no long ass recs post! i wanna recommend media that is popular w landmine types for newbies to the subculture, and recommendations for those who might have been here long enough to know the most popular media within jirai subculture and want some recommendations beyond that!

so without further ado...

1. Tomorrow, I Will Become Someone's Girlfriend

TW: unsafe sex work, abusive relationships, body dysmorphia, self harm, substance use, misogyny, and parental death

Okay you knew this was coming. It's probably the most popular manga amongst jirai girls as it literally is about Kabukicho, sex work, trauma, and jirai culture. Everyone's seen Yua at this point, and she is a jiraicon, but the other characters are interesting and may be relatable to jirai girls too!

2. Mahou Shoujo Site

TW: sexual assault, r@pe, abusive family dynamics, transphobia, self-harm, suicide, murder, gore, bullying, human sacrifice

This is probably also familiar to people in the jirai community and yandereblr. Super mega fucked-up parody of magical girl animes with a cast of memorable but mentally unhinged and often morally gray-to-terrible characters with a hopeful message at the end. The most unfortunate girls around Japan get given magical girl items to improve their lives, but using them drains their life force- and someone's on the hunt for magical girls, all while the countdown to the apocalypse ticks down on the mysterious magical girl site. DO NOT BOTHER WITH THE ANIME, JUST READ THE MANGA!!

3. Needy Girl Overdose/Needy Streamer Overload

TW: substance abuse, self-harm, murder (potentially), suicide, non-graphic sexual content, abuse (player is being abused by the main character), unreality, internet addiction

Duh. I can't not have this game on here! Created by a renowned menhera subculture artist and featuring Jirai icons Ame-chan and KAngel, this game has blown up unexpectedly since its release, getting art exhibits and collabs with brands like DearMyLove. You play as P-chan, Ame/KAngel's boyfriend and producer, while you try to help her achieve her goals of becoming an influencer and prevent her from killing herself or going insane along the way. If you've been in a relationship like this as the P-chan, I'm sorry we relate but this game was super therapeutic to me so maybe it'll help you process too!! Also the soundtrack fucks. Hard.

4. Neeko wa Tsurai Yo!

TW: agoraphobia, existentialism, substance use (kind of), ecchi (of both adult and high schooler characters), suicidal ideation, internet addiction

This is a super underrated personal favorite I've posted about a few times before. It follows hikki-NEET gacha gamer Niiko, as she faces jealousy of her little sister for being farther in life than her as a high-schooler, the trauma of a particularly horrific job rejection keeping her from going outside or trying for another job, and being totally fed up with her life. It's a pretty depressing read for the first half, but becomes a realistic story about recovery by the end.

5. Wristcut Warriors: Menherachan

TW: suicide attempts, self-harm (duh), parental abuse, parental death, parental neglect, attempted sexual assault, mild gore, societal ableism/sanism

Much more popular in the menhera subculture than anywhere else, but still popular enough with landmine types to be included, and a personal comfort series of mine. This is a satire manga about three teenage magical girls who have to self-harm to transform, meant as an allegory for how suffering and self-sacrifice for the sake of upholding societal norms is seen as more noble in Japan than speaking out etc. It's pretty short with only 20 chapters and some supplemental material, and tons of merch collabs but due to Ezaki being the actual fucking worst i encourage you to only but fanmerch and second-hand.

6. Danganronpa

TW: murder, suicide, ableist depiction of DID, misgendering (kind of, im not getting into ******* discourse so ill put it jic), SA, addiction,and general violence and blood

I'm biased as a Danganronpa multi-kin and selfshipper but I personally think every jirai should play Danganronpa, read the supplemental materials and watch DR3 if they can. Quirky teens with mental issues locked in a school and forced to kill each other or themselves? Prime insanity and mindbreaking ensues, with some really cool characters coming out of the franchise. Despite the premise, theres a pretty hopeful message.

7. Oshi no Ko

TW: stalking, teen pregnancy, exploitation of minors, suicide attempts, murder, terminal illness, age gap relationships, bullying, abortion, parasocial relationships, and... sigh... pseudo-incest is apparently in the manga as well

If you are into idol anime and expect your standard cinderella story about passionate girls and guys hitting it big... Oshi no Ko isn't the idol anime you're used to. This doesn't even follow the hit idol herself- rather, her two children who are reincarnated fans. They have to find their way in the exploitative and often dark showbiz world while trying to solve their mother's murder.

8. Bocchi the Rock!

TW: agoraphobia, alcohol abuse

I only watched this one recently, but it's already an all-time fav. It follows agoraphobic and severly socially anxious Hitori (aka Bocchi), and her newfound friends as they do their best to become a successful local band! They make odd friends along the way and Bocchi starts to try to recover and better herself, with often comedic failures along the way.

9. TUYU's interconnected songs

TW: abuse, substance abuse, unsafe SW, dysmorphia, suicide, self harm, parasocialism

Okay so... ik the timing is bad but I meant to make this list ages ago and this was on it so... a lot of the TUYU songs and MVs are interconnected! Some specifically cover jirai kei and ryousangata otaku topics! My favorite songs and MVs are the ones involving my favorite characters, Anhiro and Anzu, who are heavily featured in the Under Mentality album.

10. School-Live!

MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!! I RECOMMEND GOING IN BLIND FOR THIS ANIME SPECIFICALLY!!

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TW: unreality, major character death, parental death, self-harm, animal death, graphic depictions of delusions and hallucinations

I loved the anime, so I picked up the manga recently. I'm only a little ways in, but I want to complete it since the anime didn't cover it all! You don't even know the plot until the final seconds of the first episode, where it's revealed that Yuki is the only member of the squad who doesn't realize what's going on- she's not in school for class, she's living there for shelter in a zombie apocalypse. Oh, and she sees dead people. She has moments of clarity, and the story often follows other characters' memories and POVs, so you still get to have a clear look into what happened and what's going on for real.

That was my list of my current top ten media recommendations for jirai kei! Please lmk if you decide to give any of these a try! Remember that I also regularly post music recs under #music too! Bye-bye!!

[boinday]

The God and The Devil

Just a little folk-gothic about loneliness, the countryside, and keeping a cat. For the spooky season! 1.8k words ^_^ (Copyright Bóín Day 2024)

---------

There's a fire in the garden. Again.

I step outside, careful to close the sliding glass door behind me so Cock Robin can't get out. He prowls the length of the glass with performative indifference, pretending he only follows so far to rub his whiskers against the doorframe. Pretending not to notice the orange flames spitting up into the blue-dark twilight sky.

I take the watering can, already full, from the patio and walk to the center of the garden, where the effigy burns. It is bigger than the last one. About as tall as my knee. I douse it before it catches in the dry summer grass.

Our cottage is in the middle of County Leitrim. In that typical part of Leitrim where nothing really is. I bought it because I could afford it, derelict and rotting as it was, surrounded by a sea of disused fields, twenty kilometers from the nearest shop. It still cost more than my parents' first home; a restored Victorian townhouse purchased in the eighties. I do what I can with the cottage. Funnel all my earnings into making it habitable. Close off the rooms that drive me into despair. I think I got Cock Robin because I was lonely. Or because he was lonely. I can't remember which.

I remember I found him quite endearing at the shelter, though. He is a peculiar shade of brown for a cat – almost chocolatey – with a striking ginger breast by contrast. His eyes are yellow, and suspicious. He's large and fat, and maligned by a snaggletooth that gives him a permanent sneer. Despite his unfortunate face, he is docile, cuddly, and a formidable companion. I don't blame him completely for what's happened, though he must think I do. Why else would he be confined to the house, he thinks. Why else would his dear mother jail him.

Cock Robin, for all his lazy mornings and babyish ways, is a talented and voracious hunter. I never exactly approved of him catching mice, but I suppose I tacitly endorsed it by allowing him outside, into the fields where he was undoubtedly the apex predator. At first I would only find pieces of the mice: a half body, a dismembered foot, an internal organ licked clean of blood.

But as Cock Robin acclimatised to the good life of being a kept cat, and gradually grew rounder from tinned tuna and cold cuts of chicken, he must have grown bored with the taste of mice. Because more and more often, he would bring them home alive.

He would bring them home alive, and with them stunned and confused between his careful teeth, he would howl for my attention. Once I would rise from whatever task I was at, he would wait for me to approach, present his quarry, and kill it in front of me. People say this is a cat's way of teaching hapless humans how to hunt, and perhaps they are right. But from the way Cock Robin would proudly deposit the poor creature on the step, whole but for the killing wounds, and bounce along to the cupboard where he knows I keep his treats, I think this ritual is more akin to a crude, kitty capitalism.

'I have rendered you the service for which our two species coexist,' Cock Robin says with his closed eyes and loud purr. 'Now I shall collect my fee.'

I don't like to watch things die. Even spiders, which I hate, I can't bring myself to kill. Even indoor plants, which are a chore to keep, I endeavour to save from my own habitual neglect. And now even mice, already trapped in the jaws of death, I am compelled by my conscience to rescue. Cock Robin objects to my charity, but he is stupid enough to trust my approach whenever he has some poor living thing in his maw, and once I am close enough, I grab him. Sometimes he drops them instinctively when he hears my stern demands, and sometimes I must pry his mouth open, but he always gives up without much fight.

The difficulty then is re-catching the mouse. I keep gardening gloves by the sliding door for this task, now. If they are sufficiently traumatized, I can simply scoop them up, walk to one of the neighbouring fields, and gently release them into the long grass. If they are lucid, though, they jump away; run, climb, scramble for their life. Those times are harder – especially if Cock Robin is still in the room. But I always catch them. Once they're out of his teeth, I find a way to cup them, grab them, cradle them. Out they go to the fields. Alive to survive another day.

I must have caught at least a dozen mice when the first gift appeared. I didn't know it was a gift then, of course. It was four raspberries, piled together on the doormat. I'm sure I thought it was odd at the time, but I simply picked them up and set them on a fence-post for the birds.

A few days later there were twenty raspberries. A whole punnet's worth. I certainly thought that was odd, and it ignited some paranoia in me. There are no other houses in sight of my cottage, only fields. Not even cattle graze there, so there is little cause for anyone to come out as far as my place on the quiet country road. I fretted about axe wielding maniacs, countryside bandits, the sort of nightmarish characters you might hear about on a True Crime podcast. Of course, as far as threats go, raspberries are a tame and obscure one. Hardly worth calling the Gards over. I think I mentioned it to some friends, and they laughed like I was crazy. I think I laughed too. I didn't want to be crazy.

The raspberries continued to appear for weeks, sometimes with a whole apple rolled into the mix, sometimes ornately arranged among picked daisies and buttercups. I tried to ignore them. Hoped if they rotted on the step, that would send a message. But the damaged, old raspberries were removed in the night, and replenished with fresh ones by morning.

At a certain point, I decided it was best to just wait up. I drank three cups of coffee and, with heart pounding and carving knife in hand, sat in the perfect dark of my kitchen, and waited.

It was just before dawn when I saw them. I'd imagined every manner of strange or dangerous person, - I'd spent the night staring at the middle of the glass door, the height you would expect a person to stand - and so I almost missed them. The tiny, moving bumps of darkness scuttling along the ground towards the door. It looked like the patio stones had come to life, and were rippling towards the cottage in little waves.

I stood and approached. Quite a stupid thing to do, in retrospect, but I did it anyway. I could see them in their droves: hundreds of mice removing the old, imperfect fruit and rolling in the new. Some of them carried the flowers in teams of two or three. I crouched slowly by the glass door, enraptured by their industrious energy. By the sophistication of the endeavour.

One of them must have noticed me, and the noticing spread, because almost instantly the bustling and bumbling little bodies went still. I went still as well. It was relatively dark out, the sky just lightening to a gloomy blue, but I could tell they were looking at me. Then, in another wave of collective movement, their bodies stretched upward – stretched towards the heavens, tiny front paws raised above their mousey heads – and then fell down again. Prostrating themselves on the ground.

I watched the motion repeat several times, paws stretching skyward, then falling back down, before I realised I was watching some strange, cultish worship. They were bowing to me. They were bowing to me.

I ran away, as any rational person would. I closed myself into my bedroom with Cock Robin, who was sleeping none the wiser. And I thought about how truly impossible it is to keep a mouse out of your home, if the mouse has a mind to get in.

It was the following week that Cock Robin was attacked. He came in from the fields, mewling in a pitiful manner I'd never heard from him before. There was a piece of wood lodged in his right eye, about as big as a toothpick. I rushed him to the vet. They couldn't save the eye. An unfortunate accident, they supposed. A mishap while Cock Robin was climbing through a hedge. We agreed he ought to be an indoor cat from then on.

Now they've taken a liking to effigies.

I kick through the smoldering remains of this latest one. Their understanding of human proportions has certainly improved. I see they've stitched leaves together with plant fiber and bug silk to simulate clothing. I wonder how they learned to light the wood. I wonder if this is what we looked like, too, when man discovered fire.

I look up the length of the garden to my rotten little cottage. Cock Robin is sitting politely behind the glass door, watching me through his surviving eye, tail ticking away in simmering upset. He wants to be out here, I know. He wants to exercise his divine wrath.

I wonder, as well, how they make sense of us. It seems impossible to me, that they cannot know how dearly I love Cock Robin. How I infinitely prefer him to any little mouse, no matter what mercy my conscience mandates. How he sleeps beside me, inside the cottage that is so alien and fortified compared to the world of empty fields around it. I suppose it is a contradiction inherent, that they should give me tribute while reviling the cat I openly adore.

I suppose that even God adored Lucifer, once.

I stomp out the last of the embers and wriggle my phone out of my pocket. I've been photographing these things, for posterity – not that anyone would believe them. It would be written off as some natural phenomenon, or AI fakery, or perhaps they'd simply say I'm lying. I photograph it anyway.

Trudging back towards my cottage, I turn on the phone's flashlight. This is a newly formed habit. I hold the light above my head and sweep it over the neighbouring field, in an arc. Tiny pinpricks of light glow back at me. An ocean of beady eyes, watching in the darkness.

I shout at them to go away, please. I say that I have nothing for them, and thank them for their worship but I'd really rather they just move on. There's no response. There never is. They cannot understand my prayers. I am too huge and powerful to be understood. But still, I pray.

[deconstructthesoup]

Personal Ranking of the Fantasy High Moms, From Worst to Best:

Arianwen Abernant: -19999/10. She's not as bad as Angwyn, since she's convinced herself she's a good mother, but her "I just want the best for you" shtick isn't any better, and the fact that she's ignorant about how horrible she is doesn't make up for years of neglect. And she also attempted to rope her daughters into raising a being of pure nightmares because she lost her status, so.

Donna Applebees: 0/10. Conservative, racist, judgmental, only loves her kids conditionally... you get the gist. Also, she's absolutely a Karen.

Hallariel Seacaster: 3/10. Yes, I know, she's a MILF, she's got such an iconic vibe, she's a badass with a sword, but none of that excuses years of being emotionally absent from your son's life. She's not a bad person, but she unfortunately doesn't know how to be a mom. Sorry, Hallariel. I wish I could rank you higher.

The Last Phoenix: 5/10. Bird. She's a bird. We don't know enough about her except for the fact that she is the last phoenix, she started out as a "haha Arthur Aguefort is a crazy motherfucker" gag, and she gave us the incredible gift that is Ayda. I cannot rank her fairly, but given that she is Ayda's mom, she goes on the list.

Roz Last-Name-Unknown: 6/10. Same deal with Gorbag---we don't know enough about her for me to properly rank her, but we do know that she was a teen mom, and she's made the choice to reconnect with her son and be in his life. Props for that.

Sandralynn Faeth: 7.5/10. I am ranking her realistically, but let it be known that I love her so much. She is such a beautiful example of a flawed person who consistently tries to be better, and even though she does relapse into old behaviors, she's still growing---and outside of the serial cheating (that is a response to trauma, by the way) and occasional lapses in social skills, she's a pretty damn good mom, all things considered.

Cathilda Ceili: 8/10. She's the parent that Fabian needed, even if he didn't always realize it. She's sweet, she's caring, and if anybody hurts her boy, she will fucking rock your shit. (Also, the reveal of Cathilda being an incredibly fearsome and ruthless pirate outside of Solace was one of my favorites.)

Wilma Thistlespring: 9/10. She's a caring and supportive mom who writes songs, is sex-positive, and loves her son! Again, she does need to recognize when she's embarrassing Gorgug, and she needs to recognize that he's gotta learn how to be angry, but still! We all love her!

Lydia Barkrock: 9.6/10. While she doesn't quite get the full score due to the fact that her son was briefly an ass, it clearly was not her fault, and from what we've seen of her, she is a fantastic mom. She's a badass disabled powerhouse who cooks incredible spreads and cares about her son and his friends a lot. I love her a lot. She's amazing.

Sklonda Gukgak: 10/10. She took that spot in her very first scene, where she poured water in her cereal so Riz could have milk in his, and she's been holding it up ever since. Despite the fact that she's constantly swamped with work, Sklonda is literally one of the best moms you could ever ask for. She deserves the world and it's a constant injustice that she's not getting it.

Bonus: Garthy O'Brien, while having transcended gender and therefore not being able to fit into either of the "mom/dad" rankings, is an 11/10 parent---not just to Ayda, but to everyone younger than them who they've essentially adopted. Words cannot express my adoration for this person.

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

it is not really a shock that this fandom has a bit of a misogyny problem, but i think a specific one is how the boys are often somewhat babied and given all sorts of pity for every single tiny thing they go through, while the girls with similar issues are often ignored entirely. there are many examples of this, but right now, i am going to talk at length about the Tenmas and the Shinonomes in particular, as them being pairs of siblings allows very direct comparison.

firstly, the one that irks me most: Tsukasa Tenma, and how a ridiculous number of his fans will make absolutely everything about him. including Saki's disability. i do think it's right to acknowledge the impact on him as well- but it gets overdramatic really quickly. i'm sorry to be harsh, but Saki did not spend her childhood in and out of hospitals, believing that she was dying, just for half the fandom to completely brush over her trauma and be like "oh... poor, lonely Tsukasa..."

i rather hate this, because not only does it feel quite ableist to skim over the one directly suffering from the condition in order to massively favour someone who happens to feel a bit of the knock-on effect, but it's also used to unreasonably villainise the Tenma parents. people will go on about how "neglected" Tsukasa was... very well, how exactly would you have handled the situation? they did their absolute best. it was a highly unfortunate situation for everyone involved, and it's unfair to deem Mrs and Mr Tenma as "bad parents" simply because they prioritised their dangerously ill daughter over their confident son who always assured them that he'd be alright. yes, they could have made better choices for Tsukasa, such as hiring a babysitter... but i think people tend to forget that Saki's illness flared up very suddenly and randomly. as the good parents the Tenmas are, they very likely couldn't think properly due to their panic for their daughter. it was instinct to drop everything and get her immediate help. and Tsukasa himself understands this, so it's an absolute wonder that the fandom doesn't. he was not ignored. he was phoned, updated on the situation, reassured that his sister was recovering... and praised by his parents for being such a wonderful brother.

also, with the situation of Saki's hospitalisation, i do feel like Tsukasa's own personality is sometimes not taken into account, ironic since it's him that everyone's interested in. because i would, in fact, be more critical of the Tenma parents, had Tsukasa been a more fragile child. if he had been the type who was easily scared, who could not handle being by himself, who would, in fact, have been traumatised from being left alone- i would say that the Tenma parents would have deserved the treatment they get from the fandom. but... that's not Tsukasa. it has been shown that Tsukasa was always a very bright, self-assured boy, positively brimming with confidence. even when little, he was creative and strong- and his parents knew this. they could have some peace of mind during a stressful time, knowing that their son could entertain himself with ease, such as how he was practising some acting just before his mother rang him. all of this is shown within the Dazzling Stage event which is, funnily enough, the very same event that the lovers of Tsukasa angst latch onto.

of course Tsukasa was heavily concerned about Saki. he is an incredibly caring person, why wouldn't he be? and yes, of course he missed her while she was in the hospital. no one is trying to deny that, nor minimise his suffering. the fandom does that to Saki. while acknowledging that Tsukasa was affected is good, in fact, it is very interesting to see the impact of disabilities beyond those directly affected... it's the fact that it is majorly Tsukasa's issues that are focused on that confuses me. it's disproportionate. i do wish we saw just as much sympathy and discussion about Saki herself, in addition to her brother. the psychological impact that her illness and consequential exclusion had on her, as well as the obvious physical aspect. because that is just as interesting, if not potentially more so, and i will be making a future post about it.

moving on from the Tenmas, i'd now like to talk about the Shinonome siblings, in a little less detail, considering i personally have not witnessed the unfairness of their treatment as much as that between the Tenmas. though, make no mistake, it still exists.

now, Ena is a character who i feel has a certain percentage of those who dislike her. and what are the general traits that people point out when asked why they aren't a fan? from what i've seen, it is her anger management issues, past violence, and a general "tsundere" type of personality that earns her this criticism. i'm not saying she does not have any of this. she absolutely does. she is flawed, as good, complex characters should be. though, everything she is despised for... who else regularly displays the exact same traits?

none other than her own brother, Akito. yet the dislike for him, while it is obviously around, does not seem quite as common as hers. a very short and hot temper? check. shows of violence? check. a sometimes harsh way of speaking? check. can sound aggressive and off-putting on occassion? check. Akito and Ena are incredibly similar when it comes to their more negative traits. i suppose it's not a surprise, considering that they were both brought up in the same, questionable environment. though, why does Ena seem to be hated so much more?

most will bring up the very infamous mention of how Ena and Akito's fights would get physical when they were younger. and how this makes Ena an "abuser" because supposedly, as she is the elder one, there was an imbalance in power... but was there really? it is incredibly controversial to say, but i do believe that the violence between them, particularly that which was committed by Ena, is quite exaggerated by fans. and here is where i think that Akito tends to be babied.

Ena was not significantly stronger than Akito. perhaps not ever physically stronger than him at all except when they were literal babies. there is only one year of difference between their ages. in the current day, it is no debate that Akito is one of the strongest characters, regularly going on runs, being able to sprint with Tsukasa on his back, while Ena is quite on the opposite end of the spectrum, preferring the indoors and such. what i am saying is that it is absurd how the fandom makes it seem like Akito was some utterly defenceless little toddler that was getting beaten up by his Big Bad Sister. realistically, he was fully capable of fighting back- and he does. it's hardly as if we see him cower before her. he has absolutely no issue retorting to her in a snarky manner. when people bring up the whole drama of Ena scratching him, they conveniently forget what he says directly afterwards- that he could dodge her attacks. not to mention, sibling fights getting physical and a little violent is incredibly common, take it from me- i am an oldest sister myself. if you call Ena an abuser, you are saying that you want half the older siblings in this world behind bars.

oh, and people will talk until they're blue in the face about how the "nasty" and "crazy" Ena scratched up her brother when they were younger- are we forgetting that Akito punched Toya in the literal main story? that left a massive bruise on his cheek. that isn't talked about nearly as much as some common sibling scrap.

if you can let similar behaviour slide from Akito... how come it is unacceptable from his older sister? who is, arguably, from what has been shown in the story so far... under the greater amount of stress from the tension within their family. it was her that was explicitly discouraged by their father. we haven't seen such conflict between Shinei and his son, have we? that's not to say that Akito's current personality isn't also explained, having grown up in that environment, but why is it that Ena receives so much less sympathy than him when she, understandably, lashes out?

Saki and Ena have both had it rough. in their own, very different, ways. yet, a staggering amount of pity is given, not to them, but to their respective brothers.

and i must, sadly, wonder... if the mere genders of these four characters happened to be swapped and all else remained as it is...

... would the perception of any of them be quite the same?

[letoasai]

dp x dc 2

A what if... 

If Danny was originally a ghost child, born from one of the seven ancients that sealed Pariah Dark. In an unfortunate accident, he was caught by the Fentons and experimented on. In a twist of strange fate, he was turned human, and basically given life. Because he was no longer a ghost, they decided to adopt him.

 Danny had no memory of his earliest years, or the experiments done on him but Jazz does and she quietly took better care of her brother than their parents did of either of them. At fourteen, he still dies and becomes a half ghost, partially because of his heritage kicking in. He still defeats Pariah Dark and becomes the Ghost King and the only one that knows his original identity is Clockwork who didn’t figure it out himself until Danny became a halfa. His human self being untraceable for them.

Danny is sixteen when he tells his parents about himself, oddly enough against Jazz’s advice. They didn't take it well and were ready to put him back on the table to experiment on him a second time to ‘fix him’ again.

It was Jazz that ended up sabotaging everything and grabbing her brother to run. She’d been packed and ready to go, expecting Jack and Maddie’s overreaction. Jazz finally tells him about the hazy memories she can recall about his arrival. Being only two years older than him, she was just a child but she remembered enough on top of their neglected childhood to decide to bail with him.

Clockwork was the one to give them their destination. Head to Gotham, where Danny could meet his mother, Lady Gotham, who is eagerly awaiting and preparing for his arrival. ~ ~ Batman did not like being summoned for meetings, he especially didn’t like being summoned for a meeting in his own batcave. That was his own space being infringed upon and he didn’t like it one bit. Meetings were for mutual areas unless it was called by one of his own children. Even then, those meetings were usually at the dinner table.

Constantine contacting him to have an ‘urgent chat’ was the last thing he wanted. Constantine usually avoided work when he could, and anything he would bring to the table meant trouble was on its way.

He’d had enough apocalyptic chaos for one month. It was only worse that Constantine insisted they meet tonight instead of the League meeting at the end of the week. Things that couldn’t wait meant more work for him.

Batman’s eyes narrowed at the sound of footsteps moving through the west side of the batcave. Even knowing it was coming, he was unhappy knowing that Constantine used the private door that only a few knew about to get inside.

“You’re early. That’s unheard of.” Batman commented, smelling the smoke of the man’s cigarette before even turning around. “Put that out.”

“Don’t think i will.” Constantine said, a hint of stress in his voice. “I dunno what you did but i don’t appreciate being dragged into it.”

“What i did?” Batman frowned, turning away from his computer to stand. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one that wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Constantine said, inhaling. His free hand held another cigarette that he likely planned to light when the first was gone. “Someone wants to speak to you. You’re going to speak to them.”

“Tch.” Batman crossed his arms. It wasn’t a wonder to him why his children were so stubborn. He could see himself in many of their habits. “Am i?”

Constantine shrugged. “Yeah, i think you are. They’re your bloody benefactor so i really don’t think you got a choice. I’m just a middle man.”

“Benefactor?” Batman scowled, a list of possible names running through his mind but nothing held. Something that required Constantine’s presence was even more baffling. “What are you talking about?”

The atmosphere in the cave suddenly changed. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but given the way Constantine tensed, they both felt it. It was like a wave of something spread out through the room, brushing against both of them and moving out to fill the rest of the corner.

“John, who did you invite here?”

“Oh, i don’t think i could do something like that. Way above my pay grade.” Constantine muttered, turning to face the same direction he’d just come from. There was no noise, no footsteps, nothing to indicate an intruder other than the feeling filling every inch of the batcave. “May i present to you, the spirit of Gotham herself. Lady Gotham.”

For a long few seconds nothing happened. It wasn’t an overly timely introduction but a woman did appear. She moved fluidly, silently, disappearing and reappearing between every step. She looked to be made of stone, everything from the visible skin of her legs and bare feet, to her cloak. She could have been a fixture somewhere in the city, a beautiful gargoyle but she moved with complete ease.

The hood of her cloak was drawn low, a veil covering her face. Even making her way through the moderately lit cave, she was nearly shrouded in shadows still. The most visible feature she had were bright, toxic green eyes that almost seemed to swirl.

Sharp horns protruded through her hood that wrapped behind her head and at her elbows were a small set of stone wings that must have been useless but she gave no indication one way or the other. Not even when they seemed to flutter.

“Lady Gotham?” Batman blinked, trying to absorb what he was seeing. To commit everything to memory. Her appearance should have given away so much but instead he got nothing.

“Yes. She is who this city was named for. She is this city’s soul. Powerful, old, and the beginning of… well a lot.” Constantine muttered. “She apparently likes your ragtag team of bats and birds too.”

“Protectors…” She spoke, her voice was like a whisper, but there was an edge to it that made it seem like her speaking at a normal volume would be a very bad thing. “Protectors are always welcome here.”

Batman stared and didn’t know right off what he was supposed to say. He didn’t feel like he was in danger, but he had no idea what a supposed spirit would want with him. He’d been playing his role as batman for years without a trace of this Lady Gotham before.

Constantine cleared his throat. “Well since that introduction was made, i’ll see myself ou-”

“Stay.” she said, stopping only a few few away from them. She still blinked in and out of existence. Sometimes pieces of her would be visible while the rest of her faded in and out.

“Yes…” Constantine reluctantly muttered.

Batman straightened. “Never heard of you.” Constantine nearly groaned. “But i can’t refute what’s right before me. What can i help you with?”

She tilted her head, and the motion should have been impossible if she were actually made of stone. He got the impression that she was amused despite not really being able to see her face.

“Protector. Knight. Hero. Father. You have assumed so many mantles.” Gotham spoke softly. “There is only so much i can do, i do interfere when i can.”

He nodded though he had no idea what she was talking about. He’d always pulled his own weight but if there was an otherworldly entity assisting him, would he know?

“I come to you, to ask for a favor. You, with the means to grant such a thing.”

“What sort of favor?”

“A halfa has been directed to my core with his human sister. They require living arrangements.” She spoke firmly. “I can offer them my love, my welcome, my embrace, even a taste of my power but monetary needs and documents are out of my hands.”

“A halfa?” Batman frowned, not understanding the phrase other than them not being human if their sister being human was clarified.

“Nooo…” Constantine stared, looking like he’d prefer it if the floor just opened up and swallowed him. “Not the halfa that defeated Pariah Dark...”

“The very same.” Gotham clasped her hands in front of her, form flickering again. She radiated pride.

“The halfa that defeated Pariah Dark and became the Ghost King?” Constantine obviously wanted to get the hell out of Gotham.

“The same.” She repeated.

“Ghost King?” Batman frowned. “Why is he coming here?”

She disappeared, reappearing several feet to her left. “He is in need of a home. He is only sixteen human years old.”

“He’s a child?!” Constantine looked horrified. “And he became the Ghost King!?”

“Yes.” She said, somewhat patient. “My son is welcome here, so you will welcome him.”

Constantine was lighting that second cigarette. “Son… I gotta...I gotta sit down.”

Batman however was trying to ignore what he couldn’t grasp at the moment, and focus on what he could. “Documentation and lodgings for two minors is well within my means to provide.” He glanced back at Constantine who was walking away to grab a chair. “You’ll explain the Ghost King thing later.”

Constantine just waved him off as he collapsed into a chair.

Lady Gotham had moved, now standing directly in front of Batman without having moved a muscle. “My son and his human sister know what it means to be hunted. My child’s core screams for help and receives so little.” She suddenly seemed to tower over batman in a way she didn’t before. “He will receive assistance here.”

Batman stood firm, but it would be a lie to say he was completely unaffected. Despite that trickle of fear in his chest, he’d always done his best to be there for his kids. It didn’t mean he was successful, but he tried. What was two more? “I understand. Whatever he’s running from will be handled. When will he arrive?”

Lady Gotham paused. “Soon. Travel is slow, but steady. Another day.”

Batman hummed, that was plenty of time to get everything set up temporarily. He would talk to the Ghost King and his sister to discuss more permanent plans. His attitude however, seemed to be just what Lady Gotham expected.

She turned to Constantine. “You will find him easiest. Bring them here.”

Constantine heaved a sigh and pulled out a flask from his jacket pocket. He didn’t barter, try to make some kind of deal, or attempt to gain some form of payment. Lady Gotham was a force of nature all on her own but there was no way he was pissing off the mother of the Ghost King. That was asking for trouble even if the kid was a king. His power must have been something else… “Got it.” he agreed.

She sighed, the sound content. “Thank you, Knight. My son will be in good hands.” Or Else, didn’t need to be spoken.

She turned, and just like that she was gone, her powerful aura along with her. In a flash it was like she’d never been there at all.

Batman took a moment to just breathe and regain his bearings before turning back to Constantine. “What did i just agree to?”

“Not much.” Constantine said dryly. “Just being the foster dad to the Ghost King. King of the Infinite Realm.”

Well… It wasn’t the first time he’d adopted a teenager. Batman just reaffirmed his plans for the rest of the day and turned to change back into his civilian attire and head back up into his mansion. He needed to talk to Alfred immediately.

“Better you than me…” Constantine grumbled. This was going to be pure chaos, but he also had to wonder…what it was that spooked the kid that defeated Pariah Dark? That was something to look into.

Neither man had noticed when Tim had walked in, having watched most of that interaction from a safe distance away. “What the absolute fuck was that....?” 

~~ ~~

I would really kind of enjoy a 16 year old Danny meeting and bonding with a 19 year old Jason… Also… Constantine texting Bruce the very moment he lays eyes on Danny. Yep! This kid is totally Wayne material. He’ll mix in with the others seamlessly.

No plans to continue this at this point if someone else wants a turn. 

~Edit- I apparently lied...  Part 2  

[littlebumblebeesstuff]

Request: heyy idk if you write for bucky barnes but if you do could you do a bucky x little reader who's never had someone who actually cared for her? like she never had a cg or her parents always neglected her so she keeps feeling like shes a burden to Bucky?

For @crazyforbarnes - I hope you enjoy!

Notes: GN!Reader, fluff, angst, mentions of trust issues and neglect

Not alone anymore

Work. Home. Eat. Sleep.

Work. Home. Eat. Sleep.

Work. Home. Eat. Sleep.

The repetitive routine was long and hard but you just kept pushing through. You had always had to work hard and you had no choice but to work in the little downtown cafe to pay rent and bills.

Of course Bucky had tried to encourage you to move in with him, but you were so ingrained into your own personal survival mode that you kept refusing.

The only escape you had was stepping into your little apartment, or into Bucky's floor in the Tower and letting yourself regress.

Unfortunately, there was a difference between regressing alone and with Bucky.

When alone you could be as little as 3, and you had the small spare room as your little space so that you wouldn't hurt yourself.

With Bucky, you never got younger than 6/7.

To say you had parental issues was an overstatement. Born the 7th child of a family that couldn't care for themselves you were often neglected and left to look after yourself.

So when Bucky stepped into his place as your dada, you couldn't stop yourself from still trying to be independent.

It was finally the weekend and you were staying with Bucky in the Tower. He was in the kitchen cooking as you finished up some paperwork.

You had been pushing away your regression for the whole week, under pressure to finish this project but now you were just overwhelmed, over tired, hungry, and frustrated.

All too big for your little brain to handle at the moment.

Bucky had a 6th sense about your regression. He knew that you were holding back but he always let you do what you wanted to do so that he could build that trust. He knew that you struggled to let anyone in and to let yourself be loved, but he hated seeing how hard you worked yourself because you believed that was the only way you would be worthy of attention and praise.

With a dish towel slung over his shoulder he walked up behind you where you were working at the dining table and gently starts to rub your shoulders, hoping to give you a little nudge towards regressing.

"Hiya pumpkin, dinner is almost ready. How about we get you into some comfies, huh?"

His voice was a soft rumble, tugging at that loose thread in your head in hopes that it would all unravel.

"Can't da-Bucky, gotta finish 'dis" Your own words were soft and slurred as you did feel yourself slipping.

The appeal of getting into comfy pjs and cuddling your dada while a movie played was slowly starting to take over the urge to finish the project.

"Hmmm.... Pumpkin, it's not your job to finish all this. You can go in on Monday and your team can help you. You need to rest too. You deserve it"

You shook your head, doubling down on your work. Your stubbornness drew a sigh from Bucky who gently took the pencil from you and pulled the chair away from the desk so you couldn't keep working.

He squatted down, cool metal hand cupping your cheek as he guides you to look at him.

"Baby, it's time to stop. No more working tonight, how about we-"

"But I have to finish dis!" You normally would never interrupt Bucky, but right now you were on the verge of regressing and also your exhaustion and frustration was starting to manifest itself as a temper tantrum.

Rather than getting frustrated, Bucky held your hands in his, attempting to calm you down a little bit.

"Pumpkin... can you tell me why you don't want me to look after you and help you regress? Am I doing something wrong?"

Bucky felt confused. He worked so hard to make you feel safe and comfortable when you regressed, but it was as if you didn't trust him.

"I- I, you not doing something wrong.." Your speech started to slip more and more, your own frustrations becoming too difficult to explain.

"I just never had a daddy or mummy.... always jus' me"

You couldn't bring yourself to look at Bucky as you spoke, instead deciding to look at your feet.

Bucky felt his heart break at your words. It wasn't that you didn't trust him- you simply didn't know how to let yourself be little and let someone look after you.

"Ok..... ok. Pumpkin, how about tonight we try something different, hmm? How about dada makes all the big decisions and you can just relax"

Bucky hoped that by getting you to agree to let him make decisions that you would let yourself properly regress without your survival instincts kicking in.

You take a moment to think about it.... it did sound nice to have dada making all the big decisions...

Finally you nod and Bucky breaks out into a big smile, kissing your forehead.

"That's dada's brave lil' pumpkin! Now, let's get you into some comfies"

Scooping you up into his arms, Bucky walks into his room, all the while pressing kisses over your cheeks, forehead, and nose.

By your little giggles, he was already very aware that you had regressed younger than you ever had before with him.

However, when you first brought up age regression he had done so much research and had bought a load of different things for different ages.

Wanting to give you the best experience as he could, he kept you on his hip as he dug around in his drawers for a duck print onesie that he had always wanted to use.

Once he had it, he sat you on the bed and helped you get changed.

"Aaand there goes one sock! And two socks! Now we gotta lift those little arms up to take your top off- that's it, you are doing so good Pumpkin!"

Soon you were in the fluffy duck print onesie, with fluffy socks in to protect your feet from the cold tiles of the floor.

Before leaving the room, he snuck a paci into his pocket.

Bucky took you through to the living room, setting you down on the massive sofa and making sure that you were propped up by pillows. He asked Jarvis to put on Bluey for you while he went and sorted dinner.

He could still see you from the open plan kitchen as he put the meal that he had originally prepared in the fridge and instead made you a plate of chicken nuggets, apple slices, cheese cubes, carrots and some goldfish crackers.

You were really engrossed in the cartoon that Bucky had to sit you on his lap and hand fed you your food.

He praised you for every bite and kissed your cheeks when you finished everything.

It felt so natural to be looking after you like this. You let yourself relax and you were so desperate for it that you couldn't even try to look after yourself.

Soon you were full and snuggled up on Buckys lap, staring to doze off as your day of big emotions caught up with you. Looking down to check up on you, Bucky smiled as he sees that you have put your thumb in your mouth as you self soothe.

"Oh baby, let's not put our fingers in our mouth- look, dada has a paci for you"

He gently pulls your thumb out of your mouth, aware that you are half asleep and eases the paci in to replace it.

Your eyes slip shut as you sook on the paci, your body finally giving in and letting you drift off to dreamland.

Bucky waits for a couple of minutes, to make sure he doesn't disturb you, before slowly standing up and carrying you to bed.

He asks Jarvis to turn everything off as he tucks you into bed before quickly changing into his own pyjama pants and laying in bed, tucking you into his chest.

Sometimes you will have bad days, ones where you feel like you have to look after yourself. But Bucky will always be there to help you.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my parents to attend my graduation?

So the story involves another person I (22F) will call Lisa (23F). She is one of my neighbors that my mom treats like a daughter. Lisa's parents aren't really involved in her life, so my mom acts more like a mother to her. Her parents were neglectful. My mom says Lisa is the ideal daughter she always wanted. She doesn't think that I am perfect enough.

My mother and father both are looking out for Lisa and have helped to pay for her college tuition + textbooks which they did not do for me. I had to pay off most of it on my own. We are both graduating in the same year, but from different universities. Unfortunately graduation day falls on the same day and time for both of us at different venues.

I thought it would be reasonable to ask my parents to attend my graduation, but they said no and that they were attending Lisa's graduation. I got upset because I had reserved 6 tickets for family and bought 4 extra since other family members also wanted to go. But now they were all informing me that they would be going to Lisa's instead since she wasn't going to be having family there to support her.

I ended up complaining to my grandma (someone who had gotten really close to Lisa) about it. Grandma decided to go to my graduation instead of Lisa's which really broke her heart. My younger brother also decided to go to mine too. So that meant I had 8 extra tickets. I spoke to some friends and gave them the extra tickets since they had some other family members that were now free.

My parents and other family members that had gone to support Lisa got upset with me for taking Grandma and younger brother away from Lisa's special moment. I said that I didn't think it was fair that they had went back on their word and left me for Lisa. I was their family, but they just chose someone unrelated to them instead. My mother and father argued that it was important for Lisa since she was graduating and I hurt her by making grandma and younger brother attend mine instead.

I don't think I have done anything wrong by asking them to attend mine. Why am I wrong for wanting my family to be there for me over a stranger? I refuse to apologize to Lisa for taking Grandma and younger brother to my graduation. If I hadn't asked them, I'd have no one there. It shouldn't hurt her to not have two people attend hers.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[koolades-world]

Hi! I dunno if you're taking requests, and if not then I am so sorry!

But I was wondering like, what if MC was a single mom when she was teleported to the devildom? Like what if she was in the middle of grocery shopping and BAM she was teleported into hell,

hello! don't worry, requests are open :)

since you wanted it set right at the beginning of the game, i swapped out belphie for dia! hope you didn't mind. if you still want belphie i'd be happy to include him in a part two!! i feel like this would also could make a cute mini fic omg

enjoy <3

Single Mom Mc

Diavolo

he instantly feels guilty for stealing you away haha

after having a quick chat with lucifer, he's ready to arrange for your kids to be brought down to the devildom

when you're at school, he (and by default barbatos) is more than happy to look after them for you

he's the cool uncle who will sneak them sweet treats behind barbatos' back, even though he's never very secretive about it

Lucifer

he totally understands your struggle of parenting, even though one of his housemates is only really his child, but they all might as well be

he makes sure your school workload is less than others because he understands you're busy with something more important

even though he himself is often busy, he's willing to lend a hand where he can

who knows, your kids might even start calling him dad...

Mammon

at first, he was just signed up to take care of a human, but now he has to take care of a human and their little gremlins??

unfortunately (fortunately) for him, your 'gremlins' love him

they look forward for when the two of you get home from rad and while it's caused lucifer to really get on him for neglecting school more, he really loves to spend time with them

he's always loved kids, and even though he won't admit it, he'd give the world to you guys

Levi

children? he doesn't know how to feel at all. they're quite cute

of course, he feels bad for you, and the fact that your whole life was uprooted but he swears he won't get involved

the minute the kids find out he's the video game expert, it's too late for him and he adores the undivided attention they give him

from time to time, when they run to him, asking him to hide them so they can avoid something they dislike, he'll do it and it actually works haha

Satan

he's not interested in you at first, and your initial freakout scares him a little at first, but he sees that you're a kind, loving person who just wants the best for their kids

he ensures he's keeping his distance from you early on because the last thing he wants is to kick you while you're down

but slowly, you melt his icy barrier and after you really connect, he becomes a different man

he keeps a special shelf of children's books just for you guys <3

Asmo

he will be the first to ask if he can babysit because he just love playing with them!

tea parties, dress up, playing dolls, he's all for it. he can also play cars and other stuff too. he just love to hang out with them

however, he's always asking if you need help with them and such, because he cares about you

anytime you need a break, he's more than willing to take over for you

Beel

if you've got anything from the store still in your hands, he'll be the first to ask if you're gonna eat that

but will also be the one to reassure you that you won't get in trouble for stealing by accident (he will still eat it)

despite this strange meet cute, the two of you quickly learn how well you get along

always makes sure your kids finish their food!