#before even my oldest grandparent was born

[bobbinalong]

listen to him, he's great

#dc #clark kent #superman #superman on radio #bud collyer #this soundbite is from an arc called emerald of the incas ... which was recorded in the 40s ... so. hm. #but the first to arcs were definitely fun except for some minor stuff which like. you just expect in something that was recorded #before even my oldest grandparent was born #this isn't even the best soundbite but it's the first one i found in the the hourlong mp3 i downloaded bc i can't very well download it #from spotify

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Was I the asshole for burning the bridge w my half brother last xmas?

(pls read to the end, tw for drug use mentioned and death mentioned, r slur mentioned)

So I (23, agender) am the youngest of 4 siblings, all my older siblings are from my mom's first marriage and I'm from her second. I grew up with my 3 siblings as my siblings, no half sibling language bc it doesn't matter. However, the one who was born before me, S (31, m) has never particularly liked me, he was kind when I was very small, we played hockey together briefly in the gym of my old church, he showed me miniclip games, etc. but at one point due to my oldest brother's (would be 35 this yr, rip) drug problem S was sent to live w my grandparents, my grandfather is very against hugging or crying for men and just caused S to bottle everything. Plus, my mom suspects that S felt abandoned understandably by the family. But my mom had a bipolar husband, a son w undiagnosed BPD and a c-ke addiction, my sister was, iirc, either in another province with her bio dad and I was under 6 years old. She was going through it and just physically couldn't handle any more than she already had. She had a nervous breakdown a few years after the whole older brother thing. After my oldest brother died, and I came out as agender I just kinda became bitter, I was raised in a very conservative christian environment so I wasn't encouraged to be queer and my initial coming out caused a lot of pain. A few years later I got into a relationship with my fiance and just overall started wanting to run away, something I'd been thinking for years, but it was even stronger. Even my sister ran away in her way. My brother too. My dad passed away last year in March, and that was just...the last straw for me. My dad, despite all his flaws was always there for me, and now he was gone. Throughout all this time (the 13 years sibce we were last a happy family), anytime I'd express interest in something, S would call it r-t--ded, he'd put down anything and everything I liked, I'll admit I always was a cringey kid, but it's no excuse to call me that. Over this time, he'd make little comments and things and my dad would also make small mentions that led me to believe that some of the gifts he'd given me were stuff he didn't want anymore, so he just handed them to me. One bday he gave me his old gameboy and a few games. No wrapping or anything, just my mom reminding him it was my bday and him calling me over and handing it over. I loved that gameboy mind you.

Cut to last xmas! I was bitter and feeling petty. S at this point had never bothered building a relationship despite my attempts. Relationships, family or otherwise, are a 2-way thing imho.

So, I gave him some candies, this reindeer dog thing he had given me when I was like 10, and wrapped it up w a card I wrote that said "I burn this bridge" and a few other things. He was disappointed with the plush, I thought it was bc he had actually put thought in that one. He said "no it's just the principal of things!"

So, Tumblr, am I the Asshole?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #slur cw

[panther-os]

Full Name and Family Headcanons

For the extended 141 family plus the fruity bastard betrayer (derogatory (affectionate)), some more complete than others. If any of this is directly contradicted by canon, I don't care, that's why they're headcanons

Soap

John Steven Donald MacTavish

Two loving parents, the youngest with at least 3 older siblings, all sisters. Closely enough related to the Chief of the Name and Arms of MacTavish to a) be considered low upper class and b) know his exact place in the line of hereditary succession. Also the kilt he wears on special occasions is always the modern MacTavish tartan, do your research. Grew up in Bonnyrigg outside Edinburgh and is emotionally attached to Sir Salter Scott

Ghost

Simon Lorcán Riley

Same family and circumstances as '09 Ghost (extremely poor, abusive dad, oldest of two boys), but give him loving maternal grandparents and three cousins. He's Irish by ethnicity and heritage, which a few family members kept alive and passed down to him, but British by nationality. His great-great-(great-?)grandparents migrated to Manchester during the Great Hunger, but his aunt moved back to Ballylongford where some of the family originally lived. His cousins and maternal grandmother are all alive but think he's dead and he keeps it that way for their safety. His middle name is after his maternal grandfather who died when he was young and was given to him by his grandma. I do also hc he's trans and have a deadname headcanon for him but I don't share those. The specific neighborhood he grew up in inside Manchester was Beswick

Gaz

Kyle Adam Garrick

Grew up in Brixton in London, relatively poor with two loving but working parents, but also with an enormous tight-knit community and more neighborhood aunties and uncles and cousins than he knew what to do with. Has one baby sister but she's 20 years younger than him so she's a baby baby and he was already enlisted and moved out when she was born

Price

John Matthew Price

Grew up in Anfield in Liverpool, near the football stadium. Avid fan, ropes Ghost into Liverpool vs Man United debates every season. Ghost doesn't even like football. Middle class, working dad and stay at home mom, older sister, younger sister

Roach

Gary Parker Sanderson

Working poor, older sister, younger brother

Laswell

Katherine Emma Laswell

Middle class child of divorce, no step-siblings or step-parents, lesbian wine aunt who's basically Kate Kane (coincidentally Kate's favorite superhero)

Nikolai

Nikolai Antonovich Pokrovsky

Absent parents, one younger sister

Farah

Farah Leyla Karim

Canon family - two loving parents killed by AQ, one older brother. Her middle name is the Georgian spelling of the Arabic name Layla (see my post about Urzikstan and Abkhazia for why this spelling)

Alex

Alexander Jeremiah Keller

Two older sisters, two triplet sisters (one an hour older, one three hours younger), two younger sisters, single mom, also raised by aunt and grandmother

Alejandro

Alejandro Ernesto Vargas Leon

Grew up working poor, dad died when he was three, mom had to work, older brother 4ys older took jobs for the cartel starting at 12-ish to make ends meet and left Ale as the "man of the house" at 8. Also has one 4ys younger sister (same dad, mom was pregnant) and 12ys younger twin baby brothers (different dad who chose not to be in the picture, oopsie babies). He loves the twins but wants to hang them upside down by their shoelaces more often than not, his sister is just as mischievous but more mature and subtle about it which made her easier to raise

Rudy

Rodolfo Ildefonso Parra Rosales

Born into a poor family, cartel killed his parents when he was three, adopted by a single mom after that. His new family is unrelated to the Cartel but his bisabuela is just as feared and respected as El Sin Nombre and La Araña before her, if not more in some parts of the city. Learned his best chancla skills from her. Only child but grew up in a massive multigenerational multifamily home with at least 20 older cousins - was the baby until he was 7 and now he's the second youngest

Graves

Phillip Windsor Graves

Upper class, born to parents who had an heir to the company because it was expected of them but who didn't actually want or like kids. Essentially raised by a rotating cast of nannies

#/incoherent noises/ #call of duty #cod mwii #soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #gary roach sanderson #kate laswell #farah karim #alex keller #alejandro vargas #rudy parra #phillip graves #headcanons #call of duty headcanons #cod nikolai

[far-side-skies]

Strike Family Tree - Last Descendant

So Aerrow's family tree won the poll for which Storm Hawks headcanons I should dive into first, and I'm here to deliver.

Aerrow's family tree is... well, it's quite bare.

In a painful way, Aerrow is right to call himself the last descendant of his bloodline. Not necessarily of the original Storm Hawks, but eh, semantics. He's 14, people can say incorrect things.

I think the first things you've likely already noticed here are:

Contrary to popular fanon, Lightning Strike is not Aerrow's father in this. Their exact blood relation was never confirmed as canon, not even in interviews with the team as far as I have managed to find, so nobody can tell me I'm wrong. I made this choice based on the themes I chose for my interpretation of the show.

There are two Lightning Strikes. I'll get into that in a minute.

Aerrow comes from a long, long line of Sky Knights, starting with, as you can see, Lightning the First. The Lightning Strike we see in the intro sequence of the show was named after the one who started it all. Vigil Strike was not very good at naming his children, Tara picked the name for Valkyrie and you should be glad Vigil had no input on his grandson's name.

Born to Valkyrie Strike and Martin Swift, when Aerrow was a small child, still living with his family, he idolised his uncle Lightning. He always wanted to follow in his family's footsteps and be just as great a Sky Knight as his ancestors. When the Storm Hawks were betrayed, he and his mother went into hiding on Terra Nimbus, his father's birthplace. Sadly his father died in the crossfire of a battle before he was born, and his mother passed away from a terminal illness when he was eight years old. As a result, he was made to stay with his paternal grandparents, who weren't particularly kind to him. After meeting Radarr at the age of nine and saving him from some animal smugglers, they both ran away and eventually met Piper and Finn. Ten years after the fall of the old Storm Hawks, Aerrow returns with a rebuilt team, and you know the rest.

Valkyrie is the oldest child of Vigil and Tara. She never much liked the idea of following her father's path and getting involved in the war that had been going on since before she was even born. There were other problems that needed addressing in Atmos, and so she chose to go to law school. Vigil would never admit to being disappointed in this decision, but he was proud of her nonetheless. Losing her husband Martin was dreadfully sudden, neither of them had even been aware that she was expecting their first child at the time, and when Aerrow was born, she swore she would never allow him to get involved in this pointless war that raged around them.

If she could see Aerrow now, she would be terrified for him.

Lightning Strike the Second was not entirely like the history books portrayed him. He was surprisingly meek, but his care for those around him was what rallied people to "his" cause. A loving uncle to Aerrow at twelve, his initial ambitions had been to become a cartographer. He wanted nothing more than to explore past the Known Atmos alongside his friends. In the end though, he chose the same path as his family and enrolled at the Sky Knight Academy not long after Aerrow was born, wanting to protect his family. His beginnings as a Sky Knight and leader of the Storm Hawks were eerily similar to Aerrow's. He graduated the Academy right before he turned 14 and registered his own squadron. Due to his age though, the Council decided they couldn't operate without the aid of a senior Sky Knigh. So his own father, Vigil, decided to return to active duty and fill that role.

Things were great, for about two years. The Storm Hawks did things quite similarly to how their successors would over a decade later. Lightning's earnest charm lead other Sky Knights to start working closer together with each other, and one could say that he did unite everyone in the end.

Then Vigil was killed whilst protecting Light's co-pilot. It went downhill from there.

Lightning Strike died at the age of 16. His body was never found.

Some would argue that Vigil Strike was the true hero behind the original Storm Hawks. He certainly had all the confidence and credentials to do what Lightning was credited for in the history books. He started his career as a member of the Rex Guardians, his supposed greatest claim to fame was defeating and killing one of Cyclonia's Champions, Crimson Rain, and he eventually made his way up the ranks to lead the Red Eagles. But no, Vigil made an active effort to avoid overshadowing his son's efforts. Technically he was retired and a member of the Sky Knight Council's Top Brass (the oldest Knights who have the final say in most things regarding the war), but it was nice to be working alongside family, even if Wren liked to mock him for 'babysitting'.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so encouraging of his son's involvement in the war...

Tara Trace, Vigil's wife and Lightning and Valkyrie's mother, didn't have any claims to fame unless you counted looking after her younger brother Parrin. Parrin was a racer on Terra Zooma who constantly got himself into some sort of trouble or another. Vigil actually met Tara through him after losing several races to the younger speed demon. Aerrow gets it from both sides of the family, it seems.

The First Lightning Strike was, well, the first. About 700 years before the events of the show, and long before any major war with Cyclonia at large, the Free Atmos territories had recently gained independence from the Empire, and were in dire need of protectors. Pirates, rogue dragons, and various other threats were at large, with very few people capable of rallying together to fend them off. So the first Sky Knight squadrons were formed, starting with the Rex Guardians, lead by Gabriel Olor (ancestor of our very own Harrier). Lightning the First's squadron has been lost to time over the centuries, but their legacy persists in their descendants.

#op #storm hawks #storm hawks headcanons #storm hawks lore #sunny's headcanons #sunnyverse headcanons #sunnyverse lore #sunny's storm hawks headcanons #storm hawks headcanon

[thatravenpuffgirl]

Susan Bones

Canon:

She was born around 1980

She's a Half-Blood. This means that either her father was a Pureblood (since her last name comes from his side) and her mother was a Half-Blood, or her mother was a pureblood and her father a half-blood, or both of them were half-bloods already.

Her wizarding family were rather powerful and respected during the First Wizarding War, but because of this most of her family were murdered by Death Eaters in the aftermath.

We don't know if her parents were murdered during this time, but the only relevant family of the Bones that is canon is Amelia Bones, Susan's aunt, but she was killed in July 1996

She was a Hufflepuff, in the same year as the golden trio.

She seemed to be friends with Seamus Finnigan and Hermione Granger, as Hermione and Susan were paired together for Herbology and DADA in their second year and both had a crush on Professor Lockhart during that time, although it's unknown if they were friends after that. She's also seen talking with Seamus during classes and DA meetings.

We do know she was good friends with the Hufflepufss in her year, Hannah Abbott, Ernie Macmillan, and Justin Flinch-Fletchley, all of who were also members of the DA. It's unknown if she was friends with Zacharias Smith, another Hufflepuff in her year, even though he did attend DA meetings.

In her sixth year, she splinched herself while attending Aparating classes, losing one of her legs, although it was later reattached.

She was a member of the DA Army, but it isn't known if she was present during the Battle of Hogwarts, although it is most likely since she did attend Hogwarts for her seventh year at that time.

It is also not confirmed in canon whether she survived the second wizarding war, although it is most likely since her name wasn't listed among the deceased.

We also don't know what she did in the aftermath of the war

My Headcanons and Fancast for her (some of these are info about the bones family as well):

Eleanor Columbus as young Susan Bones:

Alice Englert as older Susan Bones:

She was born on October 22nd, 1979

Her Patronus is a Beagle

Her wand is made from Willow wood with a Unicorn core, 10 inches long, and swishy.

Her star sign is Libra

She's a half-blood

Her parents were Oscar Bones (Half-blood) and Eleanor Bones (Pure-blood).

Her grandparents were Alfred (Pure-blood) and Dorthory (Muggle-born), and the parents of Oscar, Amelia and Edgar Bones. Edgar was the oldest, Amelia was the middle child, and Oscar was the youngest.

Her grandparents were nicknamed Alfie and Dottie

Since she was raised by muggles, Susan's grandmother grew up reading muggle literature, which she absolutely adored. She was the one to come up with the names for her two sons, who were named after Edgar Poe and Oscar Wilde, both muggle English poets

Her uncle, Edgar, had three kids with his wife, Edith (Pure-blood) Chester Bones (eldest) and two daughters, Theodora and Mabel, who all died in the war in 1981, shortly before Voldemort was finally defeated.

Edgar and Edith were both around 33 when they died, their son Chester was around 12, and Theodora and Mabel were around 10 and 8 respectively.

Her parents were murdered by Voldemort shortly after her 1st birthday in 1980, a year before the war ended. They were both around 24 years old.

Her aunt, Amelia Bones, one of the few surviving members of the Bones family, took Susan in just after Susan's parents' death and raised her as her own, she was about 28 at the time.

Susan would call Amelia aunty mum.

Although Amelia was quite busy with her Ministry work, she did try to spend as much time with Susan as possible.

Susan had lived in Godric's Hollow with her parents, along with her uncle Edgar, Aunt Edith and her cousins, although once Amelia became her guardian, she moved to Wimbourne. Her uncle and aunty stayed, as Edgar was working alongside the Order of the Phoenix and James and Lily Potter, fellow members, lived there as well, albeit secretly, and Edgar thought he should look out for the Potters.

The Abbot family also lived in Godric's Hollow and were close with the Bones family. They stayed at Godric's Hollow until Edgar and Edith Bones' deaths, and then they moved to Wimbourne to be with Amelia and Susan Bones.

Hannah Abbott and Susan would grow up together, and their two families would make the trip to King's Cross Station to see the girls leave for each of their years at Hogwarts.

Susan and Hannah were both obviously sorted into Hufflepuff.

Susan wasn't one to actually play quidditch, but she rooted for the Wimbourne Wasps.

She loved Herbology and the History of Magic, and eventually the extra-curricular subjects, Muggle Art and Wizarding Art.

You'd just constantly find her in the greenhouses working on her plants or sketching, drawing and painting. or pouring over history books from the library.

Susan and Hannah would become good friends with Ernie Macmillian and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

They were basically known as the Hufflepuff Four.

She developed a crush on Ernie in her second year

She was good friends with a few Gryffindors in her year, like Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan.

Dean was quite talented in art, although he didn't tell many people, and Susan was one of the few he'd show his artwork to.

Hermione and Susan would meet officially on the Hogwarts Express at the start of the second year, and the two loved discussing the book, History of Magic, both of them having read it thoroughly.

They were also paired in Herbology, DADA, and History of Magic, and you'd often see them giggling together.

Susan was the one to make Hermione open up very easily early on, which she wouldn't do around even her other close friends, Ron and Harry, until much later.

Susan was upset when Hermione was petrified during the second year, along with Justin.

She'd visit the Hospital Wing constantly, and took notes for classes for both Hermione and Justin.

Although they weren't necessarily close, Susan was an acquaintance of Harry through Hermione and was one of the few who didn't think that he was behind the attacks in the second year, and would tell Hannah and Ernie off when they were convinced he was.

And Susan was friends with Seamus through Dean and would confide in him about things, especially since his mother was also working at the ministry. Although, they'd get into a disagreement when Seamus didn't believe the trio about Voldemort.

During the third year, she'd pick Wizard and Muggle art, Muggle Studies and Music as her extra-curricular classes.

Hermione and she were in the same Muggle studies class, and they'd often study together, and discuss recommendations for muggle books and music.

She loved music class as well and played the harp.

Susan would be concerned for Hermione because she was aware Hermione was using the time-turner to take so many classes. Although, she did enjoy the story of Hermione punching Malfoy, and thought it was a good thing Hermione was letting loose.

Before the beginning of the fourth year, Susan's Auntie would get free tickets to the Quidditch World Cup because of her position in the ministry, and Susan would go along with Ernie, Justin and Hannah. She'd also run into a few of other her friends there, including Hermione, Seamus and Dean.

Although she was excited when Cedric was picked as Hogwarts Champion and thought that Harry should not have been allowed to enter the tournament, she didn't believe that Harry put his name in the goblet of fire. She supported both Harry & Cedric, and refused to participate in picking sides, unlike Ernie and Hannah. Justin was the same, as he learnt his lesson from 2nd year, realising that he shouldn't have judged without all the facts.

Susan stood by Hermione and didn't believe the rumours Rita Skeeter was making up about her. Susan was the only one who knew that Fred Weasley was Hermione's first kiss and not Victor Krum and that Hermione only viewed Krum as a friend.

Susan went to the Yule Ball with Zacharias Smith, mostly as friends though.

She was over the moon when she found out that Hermione and Fred were dating

Susan was saddened by Cedric's death. Although she was afraid, she did believe that Voldemort was back.

In her fifth year, she was upset when Ernie (who she still had a crush on) started dating Leanne, a Hufflepuff and friend of Katie Bell after they both joined the Hufflepuff Quidditch team to honour Cedric (who they had admired greatly) as a keeper and chaser respectively.

However, she started dating Zacharias Smith that same year. Zacharias was a Chaser on the Hufflepuff Team as well.

And Susan would read up on quidditch to support both her boyfriend and friend

Justin and she were also definitely the conspirators behind getting Neville Longbottom and Hannah together when they started noticing the two hanging out together a lot more.

Suan had previously been friends with Neville for a while, as they had been paired together for Herbology the year prior, but thought Hannah would be a good match for him.

She'd also joined Dumbledore's Army that year, and enjoyed the lessons., Susan was the one to convince her 4 Hufflepuff friends (Ernie, Zacharias, Hannah and Justin) to join.

However, this caused issues between Zacharias and her, the former being continuously sceptical of harry, Hermione and ron, and the return of Voldemort, whereas Susan believed it was true, and didn't like the comments her boyfriend would make towards her friends. After about 6 months of dating, the pair would split.

Note: Part 2 coming soon!

#harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter headcanon #hp fandom #hogwarts #hufflepride #hufflepuff #hogwarts houses #hannah abbott #ernie macmillan #susan bones #fred x hermione #hermione granger #fred and hermione #the golden trio #ron weasley #harry potter series #harry potter books #cedric diggory #neville longbottom #dean thomas #seamus finnigan #wizarding world #first wizarding war #second wizarding war #wizarding families #history of magic #herbology

[butterfrogmantis]

Human/Grandparent AU! Wooly

Prewarning for the backstory, there's nothing graphic described but there's mentions of alcoholism and unhappy marriage, yay!

Wooly Sherman was born in a tiny, cut-off-from-modern-technology rundown little town in Texas, US.

There was seldom to do in town for amusements and what activities they had were often unscrupulous or unsavoury. Even the town Sheriff – a lawmaker in a lawful town – could be found trying to pry away sheer BOREDOM with heavy drinks and gambling. He also wasn’t a stranger to starting as many bar fights as he finished; one of which ended up with him being hauled backstage in the town saloon after several cuts with a broken bottle. It was here he was tended to by a young and pretty dancer. Saloon was a girl with dreams of being an actress, but with little success in the big cities had somewhat begrudgingly ended up in this remote location getting the gigs she could on a rickety saloon stage.

A docile and respectful woman, Saloon doted on her husband and their eventual son, ignoring her husband’s late nights out and shady antics, and protecting her son from the brunt of his drunken tirades. Wooly was a happy, enthusiastic little kid that adored his papa and didn’t understand why he was always tired or grumpy – nor why he smelt so funny or why he never tucked him in goodnight the same way his mother did.

As a teen Wooly finds a job working with the town cattle boys and sheep shearers – something he comes into his element at as an athletic and competitive teenage boy, challenging other cowpokes to horse races and bull wrastlin’ with little regard for personal safety. Life was OK in a sort of mundane and repetitive way.

It all changed when Wooly came home one night to find the house a wreck, and his mother’s stuff gone. Sheriff angrily (and slurredly) told him that his mother had cleared off with a younger, richer man than Sheriff and called her vile names (truth be told she was just sick of her husband and the man she ran with was her chance to escape). Wooly and his father didn’t get on much after that and Wooly vowed to never end up in a horrible marriage like his parents (being somewhat unaware of his own sexuality at the time; small town, little education)

Wooly eventually travels to the city during his 18th year, originally seeking his mother from letters she’d sent to him apologising for her disappearance and explaining that she loved her son always but that Sheriff hadn’t been the man she’d always pretended he was. Instead, Wooly meets a travelling man by a culture he’s never known of with dreams of opening his own safe haven in Europe. Wooly thinks it sounds like a dream come true and half-jokingly asks to accompany him. The man seems delighted, introducing himself as a Mr.Smurf and asking that Wooly respectfully call him Papa. Well Wooly stopped calling his own father that a long time ago so why not, he offers his services and help getting the village started. (My hc is that Wooly is the oldest stork delivery so for humanverse I want him to be the first villager)

Wooly writes to his mom sometimes. He never wrote to his father, and the only letter he ever received in return was a note of his passing some years after settling in Belgium. Wooly had a short relationship with an English man that arrived in the village a couple of years later with his own parental issues, before ultimately discovering that Wooly just … really wasn’t all that interested in romance or family actually. In fact, Wooly couldn’t foresee any reason for him to ever end up a father, and certainly didn’t think the three new arrivals from New York would have anything to do with it later on.

Wooly knows the agreement – it was his condition in the first place. Wooly’s a good man, a kinder man than his father. But what scares him is that he sees his father in him – his temper. Wooly knows he could easily be tempted by the same activities his father wasted his life on and Wooly would never want that. He certainly wouldn’t want to fuck up a kid the way Sheriff almost did. But Wrangler Chait is just so damn PERSISTANT at hanging out with his favourite ‘Unka Wooly’. The scrimps and scrapes he gets himself up to are just like the kinds of stuff Wooly used to do as a child. And if Wrangler’s anything like Wooly was as a child, Wooly knows he deserves a better chance.

TL;DR: Butters makes oc that's specifically intended to be Spinner's kid, gets more attached to the complicated Wooly dynamic

Wooly (c) The Smurfs

Sheriff, Saloon and Wrangler are mine

#smurfs #the smurfs #BFM ng: Wrangler #BFM grandparents #humanverse #wooly smurf

[psychoticallytrans]

I'm in a mood tonight.

Let me tell you my oldest story, one I've had told to me as long as I can remember. It's a disjointed one, told in fits and starts and anecdotes. It starts shortly after I was born.

The first thing that worried my parents was that when I tried to cry, I didn't make a sound. I turned purple from the effort of it, and couldn't get anything out. People brushed it off, mostly, saying that it was normal for babies to cry themselves purple. My pediatrician humored my parents, and poked around me a bit. Found an enlarged liver, and sent for a scan.

Turns out, my heart wasn't quite fully formed, and one part of the main pipe leading out, the aorta, was still stuck to the intake pipe. Blood was building up in my heart. By the time I'd have surgery, at one month old, it would grow to collapse one of my lungs. That surgery started being arranged the minute the scans came back.

My parents asked what the hospital would have done if they'd refused the surgery. The surgeon replied that they would have taken my parents to court. The surgery was a clear cut case where I would die if it didn't happen, and I had about a good chance to live if it was done. I was one of the lucky babies.

They understood, once they saw the other babies in my ward. Every infant that was there in the cardiac unit when I arrived was there when I was discharged. All my problem needed was splitting the tubes properly and patching them. The other babies, they needed more than one surgery.

I'm the only one of my siblings who was baptized. Neither of my parents are religious people. My Christian grandparents were so terrified that I was going to die before I got to make a choice that they asked my parents to get me baptized just in case. My parents didn't see how it would hurt, so they did.

My parents didn't process how bad things were until the nurse asked for the milk to be pumped for a feeding tube. They didn't want me spending calories on suckling. If I'd been a week later, they said, I wouldn't be alive.

The surgery took hours. The surgeon came out of the room smiling.

I have a seven inch scar on my chest, these days. Runs straight up and down the middle. Easiest way to the heart is to crack open the ribcage, after all. Used it as show and tell in elementary til I got old enough for teachers to tell me off for it. I muse sometimes that it'd make a good song lyric, or line of a poem, that I was born with a broken heart. It works just fine these days, if with a bit more scar tissue than average. That may well make a good line too.

I draw different things from this story, depending on what I need. Sometimes, I need the reminder that there are people in this world, like that surgeon, that will move heaven and earth for one sick baby, even if that baby has no other significance than it's a sick baby and needs help they can give. Sometimes, I need to remember that when there's something wrong, like how I couldn't cry right, deciding that it's normal is a terrible answer. Sometimes, I need the reminder that there's people sicker than me, like the other babies who were all there before and after me, and that just because I got what I needed doesn't make them less sick.

Sometimes, before I got a med that worked for my bipolar, there were long nights where I needed the reminder that if that didn't kill me, hell if I'll let anything else do it- including my own brain.

There is one thing that never leaves me about this story: I couldn't do it alone. There was no way for me to survive without intervention. There was no way for me to get intervention without someone else noticing what was wrong. All I could do was fail to cry. Someone noticed, and someone helped. And that's why I got to see the end of the year, and all the years after.

I suppose that's why I'm telling this story. It's gotten me through hard times. If there's anything you can take from it, feel free. That's what stories are for.

#medical #cardiac

[val-dautremer]

And Then There Were Four

Date: June 5th

Location: Her home and St. Catherine's Hospital

"Mom, can I please just...not? Can't you do it?"

Val sighed as her daily face-off with her oldest son commenced. The reason differed from day to day but most often it was the fight over making his bed, as it was now.

"Isaac, even if I could," she paused to gesture to her enormous stomach, "you're old enough now to be doing it yourself." Nine years old enough in fact.

Christ when did he get so old? They all had. Noam was now seven and her very soon not to be youngest rounded them out at four. Her hand rested on her bump, the other on her hip. "I won't ask again. Don't make me call you-" The pain that shot through her lower half was enough to make the blonde pause and take a deep breath. "Please Isaac, just this once don't fight me on this." She barely got the sentence out before another pang of pain rolled through. Her eyes narrowed. Now?

They'd hit the forty week mark just a few days ago and while it was uncommon to go the full forty with the amount of pregnancies she'd had, it wasn't anything to worry about. Both her own knowledge and the reassurance of the doctor confirmed it. Still, she was more than ready to have this child. While pregnancy was not horrible it certainly wasn't her preferred state.

Val sank into the nearest chair and breathed through her nose as the second pain subsided.

"Mom? Maman?" He rarely called her that these days, instead opting for the English version. It melted her heart and the smile she gave her eldest was one of pure love. "Are you okay?" He moved over and kneel next to the chair but didn't touch her. He had still been a baby himself when his brothers had been born. This time would be different for him and for Noam.

Val placed a hand on his cheek. "I just need to sit down for a while, that's all my love." With an understanding she didn't realize he had, Isaac nodded and stood up. He leaned over and returned the kiss before heading to his bedroom. The sound of bed sheets and covers could be heard a few moments later.

-

5 hours later

-

It was all Val could do not to step on Aurélien as she paced the length of her bedroom, body slightly hunched over with hands on her hips. "Maman I want to play." The whine in his voice suggested a possible meltdown as it was the third time he had asked. He didn't understand that she wanted to play with him but couldn't. She was about to respond when Isaac scooped his brother up and bounced him out of the room. "I'll play with him." He shot her a worried look. "I'll help Maman." It took everything in her not to cry.

Miriam Halévy swept into the room a moment later, patting Isaac on the shoulder before placing a cold washcloth on Val's neck. There was no mistaking it now; she was in full on labor. The look she gave the older matriarch was full of appreciation and pain. Having been through this three times already didn't make it any easier.

"Your husband will be here any minute. Then to the hospital. If you had gone in too early they would have just turned you right back around." She knew all of this and yet wanted to tell the hospital staff exactly how she felt about the policy. Utter bullshit. Val still managed a weak smile at the woman who had become like a mother to her.

Ever since Noa's passing, Miriam and Avraham spent a majority of their time in London. They claimed most of the time taking care of Yael but Val knew it was also so they would be close to their remaining daughter. Through it all, they had taken on the role of grandparent to her and Yves own hoard of children. It was such a change to what they had been used to, though not unwelcome.

"Noam-" Miriam cut her off. "Avraham has him, talking about God knows what. Rambling is more like it but don't you worry about that. We have the boys." Her eyes were firm and full of love.

Val might have kissed her if another contraction hadn't rocked through her body. This one, unlike the others, made her knees go weak and she could feel herself going to the floor, Miriam's arm under her elbow to guide her there. A low moan escaped her lips. Her eyes closed in an attempt to block out the pain. She was vaguely aware of a change in pressure at her elbow and when Val opened her eyes again it was Yves eyes she was looking into, not Miriam's.

"I'm here. I love you. Let's go have this child."

-

13 hours into labor

-

"I gave birth to three boys with out an epidural before and I will do this same for this baby." The look Val leveled at the medical staff in the room brooked no argument. The nurses had gently tried to persuade her at hour ten with no success. If they thought bringing the doctor at hour thirteen would change anything then they were sorely mistaken.

Yves stood at her side, a hand on her back. They'd just returned from their umpteenth lap around the labor floor. She hated laying in bed while the contractions morphed her body and mind into something foreign to her. Better to be standing and moving anyway.

"It was just a suggestion Mrs. de Metz. I only worry because you should have been closer to the end by now. Any pregnancy past the first is normally quicker. Your other two were, as you know."

"Dautremer. My last name is Dautremer but that is beside the point right now." She waved her hand only slightly annoyed. "I don't want to snap at anyone but I will repeat myself. I will not be getting the epidural." Val paused and looked each and every person in the room in the eye, including her husband. "Next topic."

Her husband let out a sighing chuckle, the tension in the room dissipating with it. The nurses might not know who they were up against but he certainly did. The doctor nodded, no more argument in her eye. "I suggest we start with the workout ball then. Bouncing, moving, and if that doesn't work then we have a bath ready. You mentioned that worked with your middle child."

Val finally smiled at her. "Thank you."

-

19 hours into labor

-

She knew this was abnormal without them having to tell her. The sixteen hour mark was when a voice went off in her head telling her that this wasn't how it was supposed to go. The glances the nurses kept giving her were another confirmation. The last and final one came from her husband's face. Full of love but tense like he too knew how much stress this was putting on her body, on her mind. He'd gone through enough of these with her.

Her contractions were still five minutes apart and had been for a while now. There was little they could do though but wait.

A hand on her lower back had her head snapping up to look into Yves eyes. "You're so goddamn amazing, did you know that Val?" As if he didn't tell her daily. She leaned into his touch as another bout of pain radiated through her body, clamping down on his arm with both hands. The grimaced at each other simultaneously and he took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he was about to say.

"You know that you call the shots here. Whatever you want, I'll make happen. The doctor though..." He glanced at the woman in the door talking with her head nurse. "She's talking about a caesarean." He stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. Throughout everything, that was the one thing Val refused to even consider. It came with its own complications both during and after. The thought of it made her stomach churn. Yves took her face in his hands, matching his breathing to her own. "I won't let them if you don't want to. I wanted you to know though, exactly what they're considering."

It was one of the many reasons she was in love with him. He would always put her first so long as it didn't put her in danger. He trusted her to make this decision about her body.

Val thought about it for a heartbeat before shaking her head no. "I can do this." Her teeth ground together as yet another contraction began. "I can do this."

Her husband put his forehead to hers and she could feel the smile on his face.

-

21 hours into labor

-

The body that lay against her was soft, warm, and nothing short of a miracle. Her hands cradled the tiny back and head, her own supported by a mound of pillows. Yves hands were twined with her own, both of them making as much contact as they could with the pink skin of their child.

She looked away for a moment to look at her husband and found tears in his eyes that matched her own. He put his lips to her forehead. "I love you," he murmered.

When they looked back at their baby, a pair of large pale eyes were staring back at them. The sight brought on more tears and Val didn't stifle the laughing cry that came out.

"Welcome to the world Gabriel. We love you more than words can say."

Val held on tighter to her son. Another one to add to her greatest treasures.

#self para #and then there were four #june 5th #dating this up a bit so I can write out stuff with people and hopefully not get too far behind! #lowkey teared up a few times

[ro-botany]

@silque Hope you don't mind me pulling this into it's own post; it's a critical enough point that I really wanna expand on it.

For context for those who didn't read my recent longass post about Frederick in general: We're talking about the canonical age at which Emmeryn was crowned Exalt of Ylisse.

According to the numbers from Awakening Chapter 6, when Emm took the throne she was

NINE YEARS OLD

Maaaaaybe 10, at the most, if you stretch the meaning of "before her tenth year" a bit and play around with the exact date her dad died.

(To be clear, Frederick's age in that table is a headcanon, not canonical in any way)

You are making several excellent points and I'm Big Emotional about all of them, so naturally, I'm going to take four miles of post length to screech about this in more detail.

It is fucking wild to me that the game breezes by the war timeline and the ages of the royal kids so fast. To the point where I straight up missed it! Or forgot, I guess, in the years since my last full playthrough.

I just. I have to set the scene.

Ylisse has just been through an unfathomably bloody holy war. Almost anyone of fighting age was given a weapon and dragged to the desert to fight, leaving behind a halidom populated almost exclusively by children and the elderly, with a dwindling food supply. A country driven into desperation and chaos by its own ruler.

We don't know how the Exalt dies--if his own men turned mutiny or he was routed by Plegian forces or what--but the Exalt does die, and the war dies with him. When the news from the front finally trickles back to Ylisstol alongside what few broken men and women survived the violence, the oldest person of exalted blood is duty-bound to take his former place on the throne.

Overnight, nine-year old Emmeryn goes from playing with her baby brother and awaiting the day her baby sister is born, to being crowned Exalt of a dying country and a shattered populace that now turns all their hurt and ire onto her.

She has her council of old, withered politicians to guide her hand. She has the castle guards--all either old enough to be her grandparents or young enough to be her peers--to protect her from the worst of the violence. She has her mother, too--until one day, too soon, she doesn't.

The game certainly doesn't gloss over the tragedy of that. It neglects to emphasize the ages these kids were dealing with all this at, though. I could tangent off into another 500-1000 words about how fucked that family situation is if I chose to and the unique ways that has played into the characterization of everybody involved. That Emmeryn grew up to be as competent and well-loved a ruler as she did is a monumental feat, not only on her part, but on the parts of the people who supported and raised her.

And to bring it back to the man of the hour on this blog… At some point, Frederick became one of those people. He's been looking after Chrom and Lissa for who even knows how long; there is no doubt in my mind that, like tumblr user silque suggested, Frederick also helped look after Emmeryn. Helped her and her siblings make whatever sense of the ongoing tragedies they could, while probably dealing with a mountain of issues of his own.

He's something at the nexus between older brother, father, bodyguard to all of them. He's been by their side, a constant rock, since all four of them were arguably children. Frederick doesn't let his guard down for a second. He sees the weight on the shoulders of these kids, and he knows helping them bear it is the best thing he can do to help the people starving in his village and every other like it, or to help avert this war, or end that war swiftly. He devotes himself to this duty so utterly that he's practically killing himself from stress and overwork. Always watching for the wolf in the shadows, that Emmeryn and Chrom and Lissa might be able to avoid the fangs and continue being the beacons the halidom needs them to be.

Even when they're at peace, the eyes at the edge of the firelight are all he can see. It confuses Chrom and Lissa; and that's how he knows he's doing his job correctly.

And this relationship between Frederick and the royal siblings.

Is reduced to jokes about pebble-clearing and overzealous recruitment posters a solid 80% of the time.

I JUST.

I want to clarify that these games being goofy and silly and over the top as often as they are is one of their draws, and that I do enjoy how just, cartoonishly cautious Frederick can be. I love the jokes. I am that guy who played the Before Awakening DLC in Fates literally 128 times to max out the pebble joke weapon. In no world do I think we need to wholly kill comedy here.

But at the same time I can't help but be blown away by how often the heart in this relationship is neglected in favour of comedy. The second you start thinking about how Frederick got where he is and why he is the way he is, there is just, SO much there.

It's of dubious canonicity at best, but I want you to read the conversations that Chrom and Frederick have with Emmeryn during her recruitment paralogue. I want you to notice how Chrom, though clearly emotional, is capable of putting his emotions aside, and opts to focus on keeping her safe rather than indulging in his grief, which he knows would only confuse her.

And then I want you to notice how Frederick, stoic, icy Frederick, breaks down. A paragraph of two years of repressed grief comes tumbling out all at once to a woman who, ultimately, is only a ghost of the person he knew. He begs her forgiveness. He cannot, cannot think clearly or objectively in this moment. He hurts too deeply. He cares too much.

The so-called Cold Lieutenant of the Shepherds cares so deeply and self-sacrificingly about everyone and it can be really damn funny, or utterly heart-melting, or utterly heart-breaking depending on the situation and how you play it. AND YET. THE SIDE CHARACTER CURSE. The most genuinely they ever play this bond is in a side chapter that isn't even canon.

How do I end this post.

I am inconsolable for SEVERAL REASONS.

#fe awakening #frederick #emmeryn #chrom #lissa #long post #i continue to be allergic to brevity #like half of this is being stunned by the immense childhood trauma the ylissean royal sibs went through #and the other half is weeping over how fred's side character curse interacts with that #there's barely a coherent point to this #i made the mistake of listening to divine decree and then saw that reply and got riled #and when i get riled i vomit 1000 words out and then collapse

[batboyblog]

hi, i'm the anon who told the story of finding out im jewish only recently when an aunt came to visit and told us of how her mother (my grandma's sister) and her siblings came from poland fleeing the nazis because they were jewish. thank you so much for your reply. i kind of cried. learning about this was an Experience for me. It seems my grandma and her siblings didn't exactly want to hide being jewish, but didn't tell anyone. they didn't assimilate into christianity and didn't raise their children as religious. we didn't celebrate any christian holidays, observe any customs, but also didn't practice any jewish ones (obviously). since learning about it, my aunts and mother talked to my grandmother and asked for her story. she fled when she was about 10 around 1940 in an unlabeled merchant ship with a few other family's, only they didn't come with their parents. they dropped all their practices and grandma only broke their pretense to observe shiva when their brother passed away, and now for her sister. my grandma is a very old woman and no one wanted to upset her further, i mean she's already lost both her siblings and her only family from before her marriage, so the whole thing's been dropped by now. our aunt says their older brother actually became a practicing Jew once he moved to the big city and had a few photos of them as kids in Poland that he gave to his oldest son that she can show us, but apart from that there's no connection. It's strange, I've never been antisemitic but it feels kind of prejudiced of me to have mixed feelings on this. It feels like we got all the bad parts of generational trauma and missing stories and none of the good parts like community and a feeling of belonging. Though that does also mean we were never the victims of hate, so for that we should be grateful. It hit my mom much harder though. She's named after my grandma's sister (which is apparently a Jewish custom, to name your children after past family members? all of us are named this way. i didnt know this). I feel reluctant identifying as Jewish, I don't even know if by Jewish law I would be classified as such. Anyways.

i know this is a bit heavy, so don't feel preassured at all into replying. I just wanted to say this whole thing took place since early december of last year and your reply has kind of caught me vulnerable. thank you for your kind words. sincerely

first off thanks for writing back, it was very interesting and people so rarely ever follow up with anything these days.

One I'd like to say I'm touched by how your grandmother and her siblings stayed close over the years and you are connected to their families still. I can imagine 3 little kids from Poland in a ship with only each other, the horrible heart breaking choice their parents had to make to save them. So so many Jewish parents couldn't bare to part with their children... your great-grandparents made the hardest choice imaginable, your grandma was an incredibly brave little girl and it worked, it worked

I certainly understand feeling conflicted about it all, I can only imagine getting news that realigns your view of the world, yourself, your family, world history, and who you are. You wouldn't be human if that didn't leave you with a lot of mixed feelings and I can't tell you what to do with it.

Yes it is Jewish tradition to name children after dead loved ones, my nephew is named for my grandfather who passed a week after he was born. I'm not a Rabbi, or an expert in Jewish law, but by my understanding your mother is almost certainly Jewish since your grandmother is and you likely are as well. I've been assuming you live in America but that might not be the case, here Reform Judaism is the largest movement and tends to be pretty open about "who is a Jew" else where the Orthodox movement is most often the majority and they tend to be more strict but again I strongly think you both would be Jews.

Any ways I keep thinking of one of my favorite monologues, from Angels in America

"You can never make that crossing that she made, for such Great Voyages in this world do not anymore exist. But every day of your lives the miles that voyage between that place and this one you cross. Every day. You understand me? In you that journey is."

whatever you do with this, it is with you, every day that crossing in a boat is a little girl from Poland, that journey that she made is in your soul.

I can't tell you what to do with that, and I think it goes against the grain of my religion to tell you what to do with that. I will say there are times when the candles are lit and I look into them and I say the words I can see eternity, being chosen is not easy the path is hard, and I'm ALWAYS learning more and I will till the day I die, but I wouldn't trade it.

I guess what I'm trying to say in a super disorganized and emotional way is, a door has opened in your life, whatever you do you'll never see your grandmother the same way again, and you'll carry that story with you always. The question is do you want to know more? I think it's clear I hope you do and one day your kitchen might fill with the smells of baking challah the way your great-grandparents in Poland might have done before the war. But I can't make that choice for you and I feel bad even saying what I think.

What I said before stands you and are a miracle, and whats more a testament to love undying, so many children sent away by parents who loved them enough to save them, little pieces of ash in the wind blowing away from fires of Armageddon, really little seeds blowing out of a forest fire to grow a tree in a new world and look at all its branches. I hope whatever happened to your great-grandparents the idea of their children having a future was a comfort in the darkest moments. May their memory be a blessing.

#Jewish #Jumblr #Holocaust #asked #answered

[slavicafire]

Learning family secrets is so wild - I learned a few years ago that my oldest aunt (born in rural fucking Poland in the 60s) is not my grandfather's biological child - he met my grandmother when she was pregnant. And I'm like - i wish I'd known this earlier? Maybe would have been able to see my grandparents differently, see kindness and humanity and love in them i had a hard time noticing before they died!

it is always a strange feeling to discover secrets like that - not only the discovery itself, but also this wider effect that ripples through us and affects so many other of our emotions and contexts and memories, making us wonder. wish we'd known sooner, wish we'd ever known, wish we'd know why it was a secret in the first place, too.

and then, the slowly setting unsettling realisation that well, after all, everyone is entitled to have secrets. even - or perhaps especially - when they affect us and the way we think about the person.

thank you for sharing, sending love your way.

[cheetah-roll]

Just letting you guys know, I think that the most important things in this post are the last 3 1/2 paragraphs. Everything above is still, just as important, but it is mostly me just ranting. If you want to read the point that I'm trying to get across, just skip to there. Would still appreciate it though if you read everything however.

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

I went to a funeral prayer for a man who lost 10 family members in Gaza. Ten. Please think about that for a second. Ten lives is ten lives too many. Ten people is practically my whole family, on my mothers side at least. Ten people is my grandparents, aunts and uncles. The twins and Baby Grace. Ten people, is literally all of my friends, plus my sister, gone. No one should lose that many people in such a short amount of time. No one should even lose one person to outright mvrd3r and g3n0c1d3. And we’ve lost thousands of people. Thousands of innocent men, women, and children, and for what? To claim a land that wasn’t even yours to begin with? A land that you’ve slowly taken over, over a course of 75 goddamn years? 

I’ve been well aware of what’s been happening in Palestine since before October 7th. This conflict didn’t start then. It’s been going on since 1948. For years, the Palestinian people have been pushed from their homes, attacked, and killed. They welcomed the Jews into their land after the H0l0c@u$t. Giving them a home. A place to live, and feel a sense of safety. Instead, their land was taken over by people who didn’t even belong there in the first place. 

I$r@3l has tried to erase Palestine. They have tried to make it seem as if it never even existed. That there has only ever been I$r@3l. Well, it can’t. Palestine has always been here. It’s in your goddamn bible. One of the world's oldest churches was destroyed. Why aren’t people upset? Jesus Christ was born in Palestine. Look it up. He was born in Bethlehem. Does it say that Bethlehem is in I$r@3l? Well, forget that. Bethlehem was a part of Palestine before I$r@3l took it over. There is proof. Jesus was Palestinian. You're literally destroying his birthplace. His home. If you love Jesus so much, maybe think about that shit before you blindly start following every stupid Zionist, western, colonist nation there is. Stupid colonists who think that they have the right to just waltz right into any country they please, rob them of their resources, mess up their systems, destroy their land, and just leave. And then, years later, they complain about how corrupt those nations are. How uncivilized, and impure. You’re the reason they’re like this! You think that you have the right to do whatever you please? Well you DON’T. YOU are the ones who put these corrupt people in power. My homeland is  messed up because of these stupid colonist nations. These countries may be corrupt, but at least we’re not like America or Britain. At least we didn’t force Native Americans from their land. The land that was rightfully theirs. At least we didn’t k!ll them all. Right, cause that was fucking America. At least we didn’t capture and enslave generations of African Americans. At least we didn’t drop TWO ATOMIC BOMBS on Japan! You’ve gone and messed up everything that you’ve touched. So many groups have lost so much, or now have health problems or are facing poverty because they still carry the weight of what you did to them. 

Another thing that I would like to point out, which I’ve been told is now common knowledge, but I’m not too sure that enough people know about it. 9/11 was an inside job. It was all planned by the US. They hijacked their own planes. The people flying them were most likely forced or were offered money or some shit. The whole point of 9/11 was to get an excuse to attack Iraq and rob it of its resources. Because America just COULDN’T STAND another country having all that oil. So, they took it for themselves. They STORMED into Iraq, killed so many people, stole their resources, and then left, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. 9/11 caused a huge wave of Islamophobia in the US. Muslims were sent to jail for no apparent reason. Muslims were killed. We were feared. We were called terrorists. A security guard had to walk my mother and other Muslim students to their cars so they wouldn’t get attacked. People were so afraid of us, but really, we were the ones in danger. All this, just so the US could get some oil. Now, because of what’s happening in Palestine right now, Muslims and Arabs are more at risk. I don’t want to be afraid that the mosque I grew up going to will have ugly, red words sprayed onto its glorious walls. I don’t want to feel scared of my visibly Muslim mother going out one day and never coming home. I don’t want my beautiful religion to be tarnished by the hate and ignorance of others. 

I was talking to my mom one day. I asked her if we could hang a Palestinian flag outside our door. She took my hands in her own, looked me in the eyes, and with such resignation and certainty, she told me that if we did that, we were going to get killed. Hearing your own mother say that? That’s scary. Its fucking terrifying. That tiredness in her voice is something that I never want to hear ever again. And the sad part is, I know that she’s right. If we did that, our chances of getting murdered right on our front doorsteps would skyrocket. 

I feel like I’m living in some kind of dystopian, alternate reality. People are dying. You can see it on TV, read about in the newspaper, but no one is doing anything to help. People are just going on with their lives as if a genocide is not happening right at this very moment. They don’t care. Why isn’t this on the forefront of our goddamn minds? Are the lives of millions of people not worth talking about? Is their safety and their future not as important as your own? The people of Palestine are fighting for their lives right now. They don’t have access to food, water, or electricity. They are stuck in an open air prison, with bombs dropping directly on their heads at any given moment. They have been deprived of basic human rights and their dignity. How is any of this okay? How is the murder of thousands of innocents something that people are choosing to actively ignore? This isn’t okay. This has never been okay. And yet, it happens time and time again. Over, and over, and over. An endless loop of oppression, hate, and bigotry. When will history stop repeating itself? When will we learn?

I know that people have been speaking up about what has been happening recently. So many people have been showing their support, which I appreciate a lot. It makes me so happy to see people that I look up to speaking out about injustice and doing their part. I really hope that things will get better. For the people of Palestine, and for the world. A world where I’m judged for the God I worship, the people I choose to love, my gender, the color of my skin, and even for the way I think and perceive my surroundings, is not a world I want to be living in. I want to live in a world where I’m respected. A world where my choices, and my views, and my life is valued just as much as the next person. So please, do your part helping to end the occupation. Every little thing counts. Post about it, boycott companies, donate, please, just do something. Standing by and doing nothing will not solve anything. If you think that your small contribution won’t make a difference, you’re wrong. Your life matters. Your help will make a change. We can do it.

And with that, I will be signing off. I hope my questionable writing skills helped to inspire at least one person. Stay safe everyone, and do your part.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!!

#palestine #free palestine #free gaza #i stand with palestine #gaza #gaza genocide #free free palestine #current events #palestine genocide #colonialism #call for ceasefire #please donate #do your part #im well aware that some of this might be seen as controversial #i'm just really upset. i wrote most of this in a fit of rage #i've done my research #but some of this may be wrong #most of it is not #a lot of it is facts #i apologize if things aren't censored correctly #gaza strip #gazaunderattack #israel

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

My Son's Middle Name

My oldest living relative, and therefore my son's oldest living relative, my uncle, passed away on Tuesday. He married my aunt, my dad's sister, in the early 1950's, right after my dad was born, basically. He shares a first name with my dad and my grandad, which must have been kinda weird for my aunt, but that's love for ya. This is my son's middle name. He's obviously named after my Granda and my dad, but my uncle makes an abundance of men with this name in my life that are worth honoring a little, so that's what I'm gonna do here for a moment.

I think my aunt married my uncle when she was 18 and he was 21. He married one of his best friend's (my dad's actual brother) little sister. He met her standing up at my dad's brother's wedding (which was before my dad was born), and that must have been weird for my actual uncle by birth, but hey, again, that's love for ya. And they were married for 40 years, when she died at at age 58, which I've always thought was tragically young, even when I was 12 when it happened, and I know people tragically die even younger. But the fact that he lived to be 93 means he lived without her for 32 years, never remarried...never even went out on dates. And that somehow makes it sadder. He was a gentle, generous, kind man. He loved animals, especially dogs, and until the very end of his life, always had at least one. He invited everyone to his house on the Fourth of July (his birthday), and Christmas Day (my dad's brother's birthday-it's strange and special that these big holidays are also attached to a good man in my life), after spending Christmas Eve night with everyone already. He was supremely devoted to his family. He took in his daughter as a single mother of 3 before my aunt passed, and raised those kids like they were his. His grandson legally changed his surname to match my uncle's (his grandfather) instead of his dad. He walked both of those granddaughters down the aisle when they married, one of them, when asked if her father was going to be at the wedding said, "My Grandpa's my dad."

And I'm just his niece...one of very many, because we're a huge Irish Catholic family...but damned if he's not one of a small handful of people in my life who have given me a moment where I knew with certainty that they were only thinking about me. The Christmas after I met J, nervous that I'd perhaps finally met someone I could make a life and a home and a family with, and cautiously fielding questions about why I didn't bring him to Huge Family Christmas, my uncle took me aside and gave me a gift I wasn't expecting. It was an old newspaper cutout of me as a newly walking toddler, walking down a city street hand in hand with my Gramma and Granda. I teared up. He knew how much I loved my grandparents and missed them, years after they'd passed when I was a kid, and he'd thought to give me this at Christmas when everyone else was asking me about someone else. Not only that, but way back then when I was a baby, he clipped that out of the newspaper and saved it for 24 years to give it to me at what seemed at the time like a magical moment of connection with my grandparents when I really needed it.

Anyway, he wasn't my Granda, and he isn't my dad, but I'm glad he shares their name, and that is my son's middle name.

#my writing #personal #grief #rest in peace you dear sweet man

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #20: LotR, but make it First Age!Legolas (2.0)

The more I think about this idea, the more I love the idea of Legolas being one of the oldest elves left in Middle Earth by the time the events of The Lord of the Rings take place.

It does, however, involve creating a lot of back story for Legolas and his family that doesn't exist.

I've seen fan!backstory for Thranduil make his father Oropher the younger brother of Galadhon, Celeborn's father - thereby making the royal family of Mirkwood descendants of Elmo and cousins to Celeborn, Celebrían, and Elrond's brood.

I, however, prefer the idea that Oropher and the rest have only tangental relations to the important elves of the First Age. Mainly, that Oropher's sister was Galadhon's wife, keeping the kinship between Celeborn and Thranduil, but making their claims to kingship in Mirkwood that much more presumptuous.

As I said before, I also love the idea of Legolas being born as his family flees Doriath in 506 of the First Age.

To make the whole situation as painful as possible, give him an older sister in the Doriath guard, who died in the fighting the same day as he was born.

Give his mother and maternal grandmother high positions in the guard as well. His mother was obviously unable to fight due to her pregnancy and feels guilty about this for the rest of her life, while his grandmother was captain of Elwë's personal guard and died with her king when he refused to pay the dwarves for the Nauglamír four years before.

Legolas, his parents, and his paternal grandparents spend some time at the Havens of Sirion with the other survivors of Falls of Doriath and Gondolin. I love the idea of young!Legolas meeting barely older Eärendil there, if only because it introduces the whole my old childhood friend is now a star issue to cope with.

Although only 40 years old at the start of it, Legolas and the rest of his family fight in the War of Wrath. I imagine Legolas watching his mother die on the battlefield there, though his father and grandparents - who I all imagine for some reason as being apprentices of Melian - survive.

In the Second Age, Oropher leads the remnants of his family and some followers east, eventually winding up in the Greenwood. Rather than conquer the local Silvan population and make themselves king, I rather like the idea that the Silvans chose them as kings - either out of a strangers from far away being elevated to kingship narrative that happens in RL every so often, or because they'd rather live their lives in their trees and left dealing with foreigners to other foreigners.

Legolas adapts to being a prince not at all, and spends a lot of time hunting orcs and the like outside the borders of Greenwood until the War of the Last Alliance. I picture his paternal grandmother dying in the fighting there, leading Oropher to throw his life away in the Battle of Dagorlad.

At the start of the Third Age, Legolas and Thranduil are all that's left of their family. More than most other elves, death haunts their line - but even so, they've never quite learned how to cope with it.

Legolas caries on as before, hunting orcs and spiders, and rather than any of the movie nonsense falls into the Battle of Five Armies on accident, having followed and harried the host from Gundabad until they took the field.

I also imagine Legolas' reason for being in Rivendell for the Council to be somewhat different - he found himself west of the Misty Mountains and hoped to winter there, but instead was drawn into the fellowship because, as the elves say, he is a child of war. He was introduced to death and destruction too early; for all he loves his adopted forest, he's most at ease fighting the darkness that he was born into.

I go back and forth on how much of the fellowship I want to be aware of Legolas' great age and background and at what point any learn the truth, but I want little bits of it to slip out regardless of how everyone around him choses to interpret it.

Most important, however, is that after 6000+ years is the fact that Legolas doesn't learn how to cope with death until he spends time around mortals.

I also want to play into the whole lust is something elves only feel for the person they fall in love with, which happens only once thing. Because I love the idea of Legolas seeing Gimli in Rivendell before the council and just... falling head over heels and having no earthly idea what is happening to him or how to deal with it.

I also have this idea that Legolas is just horrible with directions, which is how he ends up on the wrong side of the mountains in Rivendell to begin with - mostly because his memories of these places are thousands of years old and landscapes have changed since he was last there, so he keeps looking for landmarks that aren't there anymore.

His relationship with Thranduil is also complicated and tinged with grief, and the suggestion that, as much as Thranduil loves his son, there is distance between them because they're always preparing to lose the other, as they've lost everyone else important to them.

But otherwise: 1) a lot of Legolas learning how how to cope with death and romantic attraction, both deeply intertwined with the other because his love is mortal; 2) Gimli having to make nearly every move in their relationship because Legolas is utterly clueless; 3) exasperated Aragorn watching all of this from the sidelines like a soap opera he has become invested in against his will; 4) the immense, inescapable weight of history echoing in everything from the last time I was here... to stealing boats has never gone well for elves.

So, yes, mostly just expansion upon the original idea and a whole bunch of things I would want to include if I had the time, energy, or willpower to do a LotR fic justice, but I had to share. As always, feel free to adopt the bunny, just let me know.

Other Legolas Headcanons: First Age | Second Age | Third Age | Half-Maia | Half-Elven

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #legolas #lotr #lord of the rings #legolas x gimli #the lord of the rings #legolas headcanon #tolkien #lotr headcanons

[firefly-sky]

very angsty backstory incoming for baylie, read at your own risk

tw: mentions of drugs and such, depression, suicide, the works in an angsty oc backstory.

So!

What I think I’m gonna do with Baylie is have her have her be the second oldest out of seven siblings. She has an older brother, a set of twin siblings, ones a boy and ones a girl and the youngest is her youngest brother. Shes freshly 14 at the time of the move. Her brother is 18. The twins are around 9, her brother is 7, her youngest sister is around 5 and the youngest, an intersex child, was freshly born.

She loved to South Park from somewhere-debating between Australia and somewhere in Europe, likely Ireland or something. But her family moved to America because they didn’t have enough money to live where they were living. So she moved in with her grandparents for a bit. But then her parents and siblings move into a run down shack (think like Kenny’s home but not quite as bad).

Her father ends up in prison because the only way he was anle to make any money was by selling things illegally. After this, her mom kinda spiraled into a depression. At that point, her brother left her with her siblings while he went off to college because he didn’t want to deal with his crumbling family and depressed mom. So around this time, Baylie is basically parenting her three siblings while trying to keep her mom happy, hence her sunshiney exterior. She had been putting it on for years to keep those around her happy and peppy for years, so much so that it kind of just became her personality.

Her mom ends up taking her own life while Baylie and her siblings were at school, leaving Baylie to pick up the pieces. (Baylie was about sixteen at this time) So Baylie ends up having to work just as hard because the police force in South Park is absolute trash, so half the time she’s working four or five jobs on top of school. But the sunshine facade never really leaves her. She keeps in constant with her brother, but he’s off in college and can’t help her out much with money so she’s kind of on her own.

She ends up organizing everything for her siblings. She takes them to church/synagogue whenever she can-she did have a happier childhood before this where her parents were interfaith. her dad was Catholic and her mom was Jewish. They let the kids pick their own pathways when they’re old enough. So Bay tries to honor that. She organizes the twins’ bar/bat mitzvahs, if any of her siblings want to be baptized she organizes that…stuff like that. She looks older than she is and likely has a fake ID so she probably uses that a lot of the time. But she barely sleeps or eats. She’s lucky if she gets two hours a night. Even a meal a day is hard for her because she needs to make sure her siblings have food.

Anyway. I like to think that when some of the other kids find out, they help her somehow. Idk how or if they would but I like incorporating that into her backstory. In this timeline she’s sixteen. This all happened in the span of two years. She probably ends up having a mental breakdown at some point. So that’ll be fun

stay tuned for a comic yall-feel free to send in asks if you want!! i’d love to answer your questions about her/her backstory, i may be slow since i’m away with my family rn but i’ll do my best!

#tw drugs #tw suicide #tw depression #south park #skipper speaks #oc #my oc #oc backstory #baylie rosen

[owlmoonboi]

Daisy

Chapter One: The arrival

Daisy sat on the train, nervously pinching her arm, her brown hair tinged with red in the sunlight. Her neatly braided hair was matched with a tight, dark blue dress that made her feel constricted. Across from her, a woman comforted a crying baby whose face was red and glistening with tears. “Shh…shh it’ll be ok darling.” The woman whispered sweetly as though it was a lullaby. The scene tugged at Daisy’s heart strings as small tears rolled down her face. She could feel a memory coming. Her memories come and go like the sun rises each morning. It was undeniable and true. Her past clung onto her tight like a looming shadow.

She was in a small room which had white walls and grey carpet. Cradling a baby in her arms she paced up and down. Her feet were tired. She was small, lucky to be six at the oldest. There was a sixteen year old girl slapping a girl about the age of thirteen until she bled. The younger girl was crying as another girl who was around fifteen pulled her curly blonde hair. Tears drenching her face. Daisy tugged the baby tighter with fear. The caretaker Mrs Higgins was in her room with a man and she had warned them earlier “If anyone comes knocking at my door I’ll come at you with the wooden spoon.” Mrs Higgins brought men over a lot and was often drunk. Whenever a man came over she’d say ”I think I might be having twins.” Or the children would hear moans coming from the room.

At just twelve, Daisy had already faced more than her fair share of hardships. Her parents, Andrew and Anna, had passed away before she even reached her first birthday. Andrew died in an accident while constructing the town bridge. Her mother, Anna, followed, succumbing to the measles. With both parents gone, Daisy's life seemed to disintegrate.

On top of her parents' tragic deaths, both sets of her grandparents had passed away before she was born. Daisy's only hope after her parents' passing was her aunt, Lily, but fate didn't allow their reunion.

Lily, Daisy's sole living relative, had herself been pulled into the chaos of war. She worked as a nurse and had left Daisy to serve the country in times of need. However, upon her return, Lily found Daisy in an orphanage, but lost track of her whereabouts as she sought to care for her. Tragically, Daisy had been moved between different orphanages, and Lily couldn't trace her down. Lily's wartime experiences, the haunting sights of men succumbing to their injuries despite her efforts, left a lasting mark on her. It plagued her every sleep, acting out her nightmares, and Lily was later institutionalized in an asylum.

This torment lingered in Lily's heart, manifesting in the form of nightmares that she couldn't contain. The guilt for leaving Daisy when she needed someone the most tore Lily apart. She was devastated at her inability to help those she watched die and those she couldn't nurse back to health. The realization that she couldn't rescue Daisy in her most vulnerable moment had haunted Lily and continued to haunt her in her own shattered state. The pain eventually became too much for Lily leading her to jump from the roof of the asylum as an escape from the harsh reality known as life.

Daisy carried the heartache of never really knowing Lily, the aunt who was her last, fragile link to her family. Lily was a nebulous figure in Daisy's life, someone she encountered sporadically, yet whose presence had a remarkable impact on her childhood. Their few interactions were fleeting moments, but ones filled with tenderness and a fragile sense of connection that Daisy held onto dearly.

The limited time they spent together felt like a brief flicker of warmth in an otherwise chilly existence. Daisy held onto the pieces of those moments—vague snippets of stories, fleeting smiles, and hushed conversations. Lily's voice was an echo in Daisy's memories, a soft, comforting whisper in a world otherwise cold and unfriendly. However, these memories were fleeting and never truly formed a complete image of who Lily was.

These scant recollections left Daisy in a peculiar state. She wished for more—more memories, more conversations, and more time. The void in her heart deepened as she yearned for the presence of a guardian she never truly knew. Lily was a puzzle with missing pieces, a mystery that haunted Daisy's lonely existence in the orphanage.

As Daisy moved from one place to another, the longing to know Lily, to feel the connection they might have had, grew stronger. Each time she entered a new home, her heart ached for the stories she never heard, the guidance she never received, and the love she never fully experienced from the aunt who had fought her own battles and ultimately succumbed to them.

This yearning for a deeper connection with Lily added to Daisy's sense of displacement. Her only anchor to her past was a series of fragmented memories, and a desperate yearning to understand the person she could never truly know. When she was seven she attended the funeral for her Aunt Lily dressed in a black dress and placing a rose at her tombstone.

In her turbulent journey from orphanage to orphanage, Daisy's life was a series of disrupted routines and shattered hopes. Ten different orphanages in just as many years painted a bleak picture of instability and perpetual transition. Each place was a transient and often unfriendly environment where she never had the chance to lay roots or find the stability she desperately needed.

The orphanages were places of despair, not of refuge. Daisy, shifting from one to another, found herself the target of maltreatment, always the scapegoat for the other children's frustration and anger. The older girls found pleasure in exerting their power over her, their pranks, often cruel, became her nightmares. Daisy, vulnerable and defenseless, was a convenient victim in their pursuit of a sense of power.

She was assigned chores that weren't appropriate for her age, forced into a life of responsibility that robbed her of her childhood. Cleaning at the age of three and tending to babies at the mere age of five created a burden far beyond what a child her age should carry.

The caretakers were no saviors either. Most were inebriated most of the time, bringing strange men home and leaving Daisy in an environment she couldn't comprehend. The careless brutality she faced was more evident during the caretakers' drunken escapades. "Making a baby tonight," they'd slur, the lewd and suggestive remarks tinged with an underlying cruelty that pierced Daisy's innocence.

As if her life weren't tumultuous enough, Daisy was later sent to an asylum. It wasn't because she needed mental health treatment; it was simply due to the lack of space in the orphanages. There were many other children there as well. Some who seeked help while others were there for the same reason as Daisy. The asylum was a realm of sheer horror, its walls echoing with tormented screams that reverberated into the silent nights. People would shout at the top of their lungs, their terror and nightmares transforming the place into an abyss of fear and despair. There were adults who ran around chasing each other with knives, many people who committed suicide and there was even babies who were addicted to drugs.

The other children's cruelty seemed to know no bounds. Daisy endured frightening assaults, such as being shoved near the fireplace or pushed down the stairs. If she wasn’t able to get up quick enough from the ground they’d kick her. The laughter that followed her distress at their hands haunted her dreams forming nightmares. Babies would cry ceaselessly, and nights were laced with maniacal screams or incomprehensible ramblings. Some, perhaps haunted by their traumas or haunted by imagined phantoms, would scream and gesticulate as if trapped in the clutches of their worst nightmares.

It was in this grim place that Daisy's fragile hope, already teetering on the brink, flickered and began to dim. It was a world away from the care and comfort a child her age should have experienced. Her hope was fire and the terrors she faced was rain. Fire can’t last with water.

“Are you alright darling? You seemed to be in a daze.” The woman sitting across from her asked. Daisy, too nervous to speak, nodded. Her whole life she had been told “Children are to be seen not heard.” Daisy found herself boarding a train, unsure of where the journey would lead her. She carried her essentials in a bag slung over her shoulder and, due to the limited funds, didn’t have the chance to purchase any food during the trip. With just her clothing and a series of heavy memories, she disembarked into the unknown.

She hopped off the train wandering through a crowd of bustling people. Men in suits with briefcases and women with their children. Daisy often felt jealous of children she saw with parents. She always felt a sense of longing for love. At the station, she noticed a weathered man with a white beard holding a piece of paper which said “Orphan” on it, “Who on Earth could that be for?” Daisy thought to herself as she stood still weary of the man. “What are you doing just standing there girly. If you’re an orphan, come on over.” The man grumbled. “Yes sorry sir.” Daisy mustered trying not to sound nervous. “I’m Grant Johnson. You’ll be living with me and my wife Martha.” He said breathly. She followed him to a cart which had a silver horse with a black mane and tail and a horse with a caramel coat that had a brown mane and coat. “What are their names?” Daisy asked shyly. “The silver one is named Mune and the caramel is named Toffee.” He responded with a smile. Mr Johnson is fond of animals. He likes to believe that a dog is man’s best friend even though he doesn’t own a dog. Mr Johnson was responsible for escorting her to the place that was to be her new home. As they traversed on a horse-drawn cart, Daisy tried to remain hopeful about the new chapter in her life. As Daisy looked at the tall trees and small shops with colourful window displays she began to imagine she was a lost princess being taken to the castle. When they arrived at their destination, she discovered that reality did not match the idyllic images she had conjured.

The farm was far from the welcoming scene she had hoped for, with mud-soaked grounds and a slightly dilapidated cottage. Yet, it was in this unforeseen setting that Daisy’s life was poised for an unexpected change.

“Who's she? What is she doing here? I asked for a boy. Why didn't you bring a boy, Grant?" Martha sternly questioned. "I'm sorry, Martha, but she was the only orphan there," Grant sighed. "I want her gone this instant. Send her back so we can get a boy. We need a boy to help you with the chores on the farm as your arthritis is worsening," Martha demanded. "Alright, honey, I'll send her back tomorrow at dawn."

"Please don't send me back. I'll do whatever you want. I can do whatever a boy can do if you give me the chance," Daisy pleaded with tears in her eyes, getting to her knees, ready to beg. "Tell me your name and get up from the ground. I won't have it," Martha said abruptly.

"Daisy Smith," Daisy stammered as she got up, wiping mud off her dress. "Daisy, seeing as I am a fair woman, I will give you a trial over the course of a week, but like baseball, it's three strikes and you're out. Do you understand?" Mrs. Johnson said.

"Yes, I understand. Why thank you very much, Mrs. Johnson. You won't regret having me," Daisy cheered. "I very well hope so," she responded as they went inside to the dining room. A hot meal of beef, bread covered with beef fat, greens, and baked potatoes awaited them on the table, served onto white plates with a gold leaf pattern and a glass of milk.

“Would you care to say a prayer?” Martha asked Daisy as they sat at the redwood table, before they began to eat. “I’m sorry but I don’t know any prayers. We didn’t eat meals together. Let alone pray. We were lucky if we were given dinner.” Daisy muttered meekly with a loose strand of hair hanging over her face. “Well child we’ll have to teach you how to say a prayer tomorrow. Tonight you can just say amen. Grant will say the prayer.” Martha stated appalled at the idea of someone not being raised to act for god.

After dinner Daisy helped Martha with the dishes. Daisy always strangely enough felt pleasure when doing the dishes as it had always been one of the nicer tasks she was given. She was always able to escape into a world of her own where the strife and hardships she faced could not bother her. She liked to imagine herself with the mother and father she never got to know. In most of her imaginings she is sitting in front of a fire with her mother brushing her hair while her father reads a story. She likes to think one day she’ll look like her mother, not that she knows what she looked like. She imagines her mother as a woman with skin that could be confused with snow, hair that cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall, a warm smile and eyes that melt the heart.

Martha assisted Daisy in saying a prayer before she went to bed. Daisy had let her long locks loose. Her hair sat at her waist. She was wearing a long white nightgown that was made of satin. Satin is a material similar to silk but a more cost friendly fabric. “Goodnight Daisy. Sleep well. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.” Martha hummed softly leaving the door ajar as she left the room. Daisy flicked the lamp next to her on the bedside table before gently placing her head on a pillow stuffed with duck feathers. The pillow had been made last winter when Grant had to kill a duck since it had grown ill.

Daisy smiled as she shut her eyes and went to sleep since for the first time in her life she felt like she was at home.

#my writing #words #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #story #storytelling #original story #taleblr #story blog #bookish #my write #writer things #writerscommunity #anne of green gables #books #bookism #bookislife #stories #creative writing #period drama #drama #booklr #bookblr #writblr #writers and poets #writting #writer stuff #fiction #yound adult