#i recently attended my brothers graduation

[lonelycowgirls]

Been There All Along

Another concept nobody asked me for coming in hot...

I don't know about you, but I love the thought of Harry being in a long-term relationship. Call me old-fashioned, but the idea of him being truly in love with one special person since before One Direction just makes me feel all the feels!✨

So, I took influence from @satanhalsey's Since Forever universe - if you haven't read their writing you simply must because it's amazing - and here is my take.

For a bit of background, Stella is a midwife and Harry is everything he is in real life. This is a taster to their story, I'll see if you all like it first...

Please like, reblog and follow if you enjoy it!

My asks are also open for feedback and ideas to how this universe can continue.

Nel xxx

~

Where Stella goes to Harry’s last night at Madison Square Garden and gets a call that could change everything

Part one of two

“He’s so amazing, Stell.  You must be so proud.”

Stella nodded to Jeff, Harry’s manager, who stood beside her in the arena.  She couldn’t believe that little Harry Styles from Cheshire was selling out 15 consecutive shows in New York City.  After 13 years together, she’d seen him play endless amounts of shows, not all of them he’d left feeling happy with but every one of them feeling grateful.  He’d been blessed and in turn, she’d been blessed too.  But they’d been through hardship recently, and she was beginning to lose faith in them as a couple and him as a partner - something she’d never seen coming.

“You’ve become exactly what we always feared.  You’ve become selfish and egotistical… you’re all... Hollywood now.  Remember who you are, Harry.  Remember the kind of person you wanted to be.  Remember us… Remember where you came from.”

That was the last thing she’d said to him before he’d hung up on her in a huff.  But she was there, of course, at the last show of his residency.  Because she was always there.  She was starting to worry that that was their problem.  She was always there, no matter what.  He, on the other hand, couldn’t always be there.  He’d missed her graduation from her midwifery course because he was on tour with the band.  He’d missed her beloved Granddad's funeral because he had a movie premiere he was contractually obliged to attend.  He’d missed her brother’s wedding because, “we’re running really behind on the album, Stell.  I can’t miss a single day, the release date is literally a month away.”  She’d cried all evening from embarrassment.  And from the seven shots of tequila that she’d downed before the first dance.

But still, she was always there.  Because she loved him and she loved being there.

They hadn’t spoken since he’d hung up on her that night she’d had a go at him.  She wasn’t someone who lost her temper easily, so it truly shocked Harry when she spoke to him in the manner that she had.  He was shaking when he’d hung up the phone.  Out of anger mostly, but also out of fear.  Fear that he could actually lose her this time.  That all they’d been through would be a waste.  He didn’t know what being without her was like.  They’d been a partnership since they were teenagers.  13 years on, he didn’t know his world without her.

She clapped along to Treat People With Kindness and did an awkward small two-step to Cinema, inwardly cringing at, “you’re getting yourself wet for me,” just like she always did.  Harry hadn’t even written that line but Tom knew the fans would love it.  She didn’t like the line and thought it was too on the nose and tactless.  Harry was clever and artistic when he wrote music.  And they were so private as a couple that it cringed her out to no end to think other people were thinking about and imagining their sex life.  Never once had he uttered those words to her because they both knew it would kill the mood. She loved when he talked dirty to her, but not if it sounded like he'd ripped it straight off a porn film.

She actually felt nervous in those moments before the encore.  She knew he’d want to see her but she didn’t want to feel the awkward tension that would probably encase the room that surrounded them.  She got her phone out to look at the time and saw a text from a friend at work.

George: 9.55pm

Mel’s gone into labour

George: 9.55pm

Got it dealt with but thought you might want to come in to support her x

George: 10.02pm

Let me know!

The hair on her arms stood up on end.  She’d been reviewing Melanie’s pregnancy for practically the whole eight months, she wasn’t due for another three weeks.  She’d grown very fond of her as a patient and knew that she was having the baby regardless of the fact the father wanted nothing to do with them.  She vowed that she wouldn’t miss the birth and would be there to support her.  Trouble was that she was thousands of miles away… in New York.  Harry had the means to get her back in six hours but she didn’t know how he might feel if she was to shoot off while they were having issues.  Just as Harry was rising back to the stage to sing Sign of the Times she tapped Jeff on the shoulder and held up her phone to signal she was taking a call.  He nodded and turned back to cheer on his friend.

Stella: 10.09pm

How far along, G?! x

George: 10.09pm

Not far at all, water’s only just broke and no contractions

George: 10.09pm

She’s only just left her house

George: 10.10pm

Wouldn’t have messaged if I thought you wouldn’t make it

Stella bit her lip in thought as Jeff put a hand on her shoulder, she jumped and swung around.  “Last song.”  He said in her ear, meaning it was almost time to head backstage.  Harry usually headed straight to the vans waiting outside, meeting Stella in the backseat and the two of them journeying back to their hotel.  Tonight they were planning to celebrate a little longer at the venue with the crew. Jeff said the arena had a surprise for Harry and that when the last song came on they would all move together to a designated area closer to the stage so that Harry could see them clearly.

She followed Jeff and the rest of Harry’s extensive entourage behind security guards.  She thought about the afterparty and tried to imagine herself drinking and mingling whilst she knew Melanie was giving birth, without her. It was Harry’s last night at The Garden… but she had to go.  She glanced back up at Harry on the stage, and then caught sight of Olivia’s silhouette dancing wildly with her friends to Kiwi.  She questioned whether if she left tonight, the shoulder Harry would choose to cry on would be Olivia's.  Would she be pushing him straight into her arms?  She shook her head to rid the thought and made the decision.  She turned and split from the group to rush back to Harry’s dressing room and pack her bag.  There wasn’t time to go back to the hotel, she’d have to hop a jet with what she’d brought to the arena.  Luckily, she always carried her passport as ID when she was in foreign countries.  Her hands shook with adrenaline as she used one to stuff things into her tote and one to call Harry’s travel manager.

“Stella?  What are you doing?”  Jeff said from the doorway.  She glanced at him before snapping back to put the phone to her ear.

“I’ve gotta get back home, Jeff.  Ugh, why aren’t you picking up the bloody phone?!”  She groaned in frustration as she redialed the number.

“I can get you a cab back to the hotel, Stell.  Just let me g-,”

“No, I mean I need to get on a plane back to the UK and these bloody people aren’t answering!”  She began to anger.  Jeff frowned and turned when he heard footsteps down the hallway.  Harry’s brow furrowed as he caught eyes with his confused manager who just shook his head back before stepping aside to allow him to enter the room.

“Stell?  You alright?”  His first response was to be concerned at how flustered she looked.  But he felt uncharacteristically nervous in her presence because of how they’d left their last conversation.  He stepped across the threshold as she put the last of her belongings into her bag and zipped it closed.  “Going somewhere?”  He laughed humourlessly, never expecting her to actually be leaving on a night like that.  One of the most special moments in his career.  He’d looked over, teary-eyed, to where he thought she’d be stood as his commemorative banner dropped and he saw everyone but her.  He saw Jeff, Glenne, James, and even Olivia.  He imagined there would be an influx of gifs and videos of his face falling all over social media by the time he got into bed that night and unlocked his phone.

He saw her bursting tote bag and felt his stomach turn over.  “Has something happened?  Is your mum okay?”  He said turning her to look at him with hands on her shoulders.

“Yes, Harry.  Everyone’s fine but I need to go home,” she looked up at him and sighed, avoiding his eyes.  “I need a plane.”

“Oh, why?  Urgently?” She’d shaken off his hands from her shoulders and was heading for the door.  “Stell, everyone’s in the other room waiting to celebrate.  You need to tell me what’s going on or I’ll start to think this is it.”  Stella's shoulders sank and she sighed deeply.  Even just hearing him talk about them ending like that made her feel sick.

“I need to go back home because a patient of mine is in labour.  George texted me during the show.”

“Seriously?  You want to travel eight hours to see some woman give birth, something you see every day, when we haven’t seen each other in weeks?  When I haven’t seen you since you had a go at me over the phone?”  She swung back around and jumped when she realised how close he was.  He looked angry, but when Harry looked angry he looked about as intimidating as a growling puppy.

"Come with me then!"

"Really? That's unfair, you know I can't do that." He said defeatedly. "Stell, she's just another patient, you'll have hundreds more to take care of in your lifetime." He said, softer, trailing his fingers down her arms to hold her hands in an effort to convince her. She snatched her hands away.

“Are you serious right now?”  She poked his sweaty chest.  “She’s not just a patient, she’s a woman in my care.    She’s someone I’ve spent most of my time with for nearly a year and someone I’ve grown to care about.” She turned to walk down the hallway, him following close after her.  She whipped around again in frustration. “You’d know all about it if you paid attention to anyone talking about anything that wasn’t to do with you.”  His eyes blazed and he opened his mouth to argue before they heard someone pointedly knock on the wall.

“Hey, H, we’re all waiting to toast you.”  Olivia smiled from the doorway of the catering room.  They both turned to look at her and Stella breathed deeply through her nose and glared at Harry when he glared back.

“Go on, H," She made a point of using the nickname.  "You deserve to celebrate.”

“Stella,”

“Just get me a plane and I’ll be out of your hair.”  She smiled, short and tight-lipped, checking her phone for the time, every second she spent arguing with Harry was time she couldn’t afford to waste.  He stepped forward so that Olivia couldn’t hear as clearly.

“If you think it's more important, sure, I’ll get you the plane.”  His nostrils flared but she stayed stoic.  “This hurts me though, Stell." She softened slightly at his words. "How do you think it’s gonna look to everyone that you raced off somewhere instead of being here for me?”  Stella scoffed. She couldn’t even force herself to argue with him anymore, she couldn’t believe how selfish he’d become.  She didn’t even want to look at him, he was nothing like the boy she’d fallen in love with.  She took her gaze to the floor to keep from rolling her eyes.  He nodded in submission.  “I’ll go get Jeff to sort the plane out.  Hope you get there safe.”

Stella sat in her aeroplane seat, taking deep breaths to keep herself calm as they flew over France.  She was so close to returning to the UK and ached to take her phone off of safety mode.  But a part of her was thankful to switch off, to be forced to stop doom scrolling through endless pictures and videos of Harry that fans would post on social media after a show.  She prayed that Melanie was holding back, that she’d make it on time.  The way she’d left things with Harry made her very anxious, to the point where she’d picture him and feel nauseous with anxiety.  They’d never been in such a state.  She questioned every move she’d made leading up to boarding that plane. The plane that he would end up paying for.  She shook her head and leaned it back on the headrest, closing her eyes and running her hands over her face.  She didn’t want to cry in front of the crew, she couldn’t trust whether they’d be taking pictures, despite it being a private plane company.  All the years with Harry had caused her to become paranoid.

“Would you like another coffee, Miss Mallone?”  Stella jumped again, the day’s events had caused her to have the serenity of a doe in headlights.

“Oh, yes, please.  Thank you so much.” She said, smiling softly at the kind air hostess, she looked barely 21 years old.  ‘Caitlin’ was written on her gold badge pinned to the lapel of her sleek navy blue skirt suit.  Caitlin probably knew exactly who she was, and probably wondered why Harry wasn’t on the plane with her.  Stella went red with embarrassment and awkwardness and lifted the beige cashmere blanket up to her chin.  She rolled over to her side in her reclined seat and stared out at the passing clouds through the small plastic window.  She glanced at her watch, around ten past eight in the morning back in London.  About five o’clock in the morning back in New York.  She thought of Harry,  she couldn’t help it.  He’d probably just be getting back to the hotel after a night of celebrations.  He’d flip the lamp on, and see her suitcase that she’d had to leave to go straight to the airport.  He’d roll his eyes as he collected up her makeup that was sprawled across the bed where she’d sat in her fluffy hotel dressing gown an hour before the show, dragging eyeliner across her lids in a rush because, as always, she’d been running late.  He’d see her neatly folded stack of fresh underwear and pyjamas that rested on top of her pillow, ready for when they stumbled through the door, full of Champagne bubbles and Don Julio shots, giggling with wandering hands and greedy lips.  Perhaps he’d smile a bit at the clothing knowing she’d done the same thing since the first time she’d stayed the night at his mum's house.  He’d imagine her doing the same for their children, so they could have cosy memories of when they stayed at big fancy hotels away from home with mum and dad.

She opened her eyes when she felt a slight shove to her shoulder and turned to see Caitlin again, the lights were off, replaced with a low twinkle from the warm strips that glowed from the overhead bag compartments.  

“Miss Mallone, apologies for disturbing your nap.  We’re preparing to land in ten minutes.”  Stella nodded, still a bit out of it and wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth and cheek with her thumb.  Caitlin helped her push her seat back up from its reclined position and handed her a glass of water, assuming correctly that she’d have a dry mouth.

“Thank you, Caitlin.”

“You’re welcome.  Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Mallone?”

“No, thank you, you’ve been fantastic,”  Stella smiled genuinely at the young girl who nodded.  “Just ready to get home now.”  She leaned forward to take a big gulp of water before resting back, clipping her seatbelt and bracing for landing.

As soon as the tyres hit the tarmac and she was ensured that she could turn her phone off aeroplane safety mode, Stella called George.  She skipped over the texts from Pauli checking on her and went straight to dial.

“Hiya Stell, she’s still going,” Stella sighed deeply in immense relief.  She grabbed her bag with the phone to her ear and nodded to the flight crew as they lined up to show her off the aircraft.  “Where are you now?”

“Literally just getting off the plane,” she walked over to the car that had been organised to take her straight to London Royal Hospital.  “Tell her I’m coming, won’t you?”

“She already knows, she said to tell you you’re mad!”  Stella chuckled and sunk back into the soft leather, thankful for the heated seats after coming straight from the heat of New York City, and being dressed accordingly.  She stressed to George to keep her updated and then hung up.  Tapping through to the messages app, she navigated to Pauli's chat.

Pauli: 10.24am

You good, S?

Pauli: 10.35am

H said you dipped, you've spun him out

Me: 11.02am

Tell him I’m fine x

She tapped out the message and locked her phone to watch London go by as she sped to her destination.  She was fine, regardless of how she couldn’t sit still and how her hair had become greasy with how many times she’d raked her fingers through it.  She thought it was nice of Pauli to check on her, but she knew Harry was pissed off and would most likely be puking up the walls by now.  He never handled anger well. With all the free booze, she knew he would be taking everything offered to him when he was in a certain headspace.  She just hoped Olivia wasn’t an option on that list.  But she couldn’t imagine him doing something so hurtful.

Finally, the driver pulled up after getting stuck in what felt like endless traffic.  She rushed through the double doors of the hospital and ran past the desk to the lifts, bashing the button to call it.

“Morning, Val!” She exclaimed as the maternity check-in clerk frowned in her direction, confused as to what she was doing there when she’d booked the week off.  

“What on earth ya doing here, girl?” She yelled brashly in her Jamaican accent, waddling behind Stella as she whipped her way through the ward towards the staff changing rooms to get into her uniform.

“I couldn’t miss Mel’s birth.”  The older woman’s face fell before she kissed her teeth and threw her arms in the air, stomping and mumbling back out to man the desk.  Thankful to be ridding herself of the clothes she’d travelled almost seven hours in, she opened her locker and grabbed her scrubs and shoes.  She bundled her hair into a, ‘as neat as it’s going to get,’ top knot and washed her hands and forearms with warm soapy water.  She took a deep breath in the mirror and tapped at her under-eye bags to try and get the blood flowing and skin de-puffing.  Stuffing her belongings into her locker she exited the changing room and as luck would have it, ran straight into George, the head of her department.

“You’re here!” He said, wide-eyed.  “Come on, she’s well on her way now.  Doing brilliantly.”  He marched ahead of her back to the ward and drew back the curtain to where Melanie was led, belly strapped up and gas and air flowing.  “Got a visitor for you, Mel.”

Melanie’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she saw Stella peek around the corner.  “Oh my God!” She tried to get out but it came muffled due to the tube she was holding in her mouth.  Stella manoeuvred herself around the side of her bed into Mel’s open arms for a squeeze.  “You must be mad, Stell.  Oough.” She groaned the last part, contractions taking over.

“Alright, how are we doing with examinations?  Dilation stats?”

“She was at four centimetres half an hour ago.  Contractions seem to be every three minutes.”

“Okay, so we’re definitely in active labour.  Shall we do another quick check?”  Mel groaned again and took a good pull off the tube, turning onto her back and spreading her legs.  It’s true when they say dignity goes out the door in childbirth.  Stella manoeuvred the stool over to where Melanie’s legs were perched on medical stirrups.  “Okay,” she said, lubing up her gloved fingers and diving right in.  “Hmm, just relax for me, Mel.  That’s it, well done.”  Mel leaned her head back and groaned in pain as she contracted once again, the pangs coming faster as time went on.  Stella pulled her hand out and passed the glove to George to get rid of.  “That’s about seven centimetres.  Time to get you through to the delivery room I’d say.”  Stella grinned excitedly at Melanie, she always tried to keep the energy positive during labours, especially for first-time mothers who would usually be terrified.  She moved up to the head of the bed and stroked back Melanie's hair away from her forehead. She was well and truly sucking the life out of the gas and air machine by then.  Her watery blue eyes stared up at Stella with worry and pain.  “It’s all going to be fine.  We’ve got you.”

The room turned to chaos as the curtain was yanked back and nurses flanked each side of Melanie’s bed as they wheeled it to the nearest free delivery room.

~

Part two coming soon!

Author's note: I realise this is the second angsty piece I've posted on here... we're 2/2 now.

I guess I really am a messy bitch who loves drama.

#harry styles fic rec #harry styles #harry styles writing #fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles series #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles headcanon #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

Absolutely anything

Platonic yandere older brother Azul with an adopted human sibling reader.............. I think that could be cool.......

Warning(s): platonic yandere, manipulation, not sure how good this will be but I hope you like it!!

One day, a human baby was abandoned at sea.

Before the baby could succumb to hypothermia or tip over the small raft it was in and drown, A kind octopus lady found it. She fed the baby a potent water breathing potion so she can take care of it while she tries to find out who its parents are...

The parents never come forward, and seeing no other option, she adopts the baby as her own.

That baby was you, (Y/N) Ashengrotto. You're a human child who grew up under the sea...

For the longest time, you and your brother, Azul, were frequently bullied and felt like you could only rely on each other. It didn't matter that you two were bullied, as long as you had each other, you could handle anything...

Absolutely anything.

Recently, you started attending Night Raven College, the same school Azul goes to! An elite college for mages!

But... the most important part is... it's on land.

You've rarely ever gone on land... it feels so strange. Your body is built for the land, but you've lived underwater your whole life, so the situation just feels... wrong.

You were placed into Scarabia, but you still made sure to check in with your brother and give him a hug before you made your way to your new dorm...

However, the very next morning, right after orientation, you say the Headmage in your dorm room, who then told you that you were being transferred to Octavinelle. When you asked why, you were simply told that a student who wished to remain anonymous complained about you.

You were so sad. You were so excited to begin your new life on land, and had you loved how warm it was in Scarabia, it was so much nicer than the cold temperatures of the northern Coral Sea... but, it seems things just don't work out some times...

...

At least your brother is in Octavinelle.

...as long as you two are together, you can... you can handle anything, right...?

"Someone complained about you?" Azul asked you as he helped you set up your dorm room. "But it's the day after orientation! How did you manage to make such a bad first impression that someone wanted you gone on the first day?"

"I... I really don't know..." You said.

"Well, regardless, I'm sure you'll love it here in Octavinelle. I'll make sure you have a good time." Azul smiled and patted you on the back.

"...thanks."

Azul simply couldn't have his precious little sibling being in a different dorm than him.

Ah, but he doesn't want you to be miserable, of course... he'll take every precaution to make sure you enjoy yourself!!

You've really enjoyed your time on land! It feels so much more... natural to you...

"Azul..." You began one day.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I've been thinking..." You paused. Do you really want this? ...yes, you do. "I've been considering staying on land after graduation."

Azul's hearts dropped the moment he heard you say that.

"Staying on land? That's absurd! Your family lives underwater! Why would you... want to leave your family...?" Azul cautiously asked.

"No, it's not like that!" You insisted. "Of course I don't want to leave my family... I love you, and mom, and dad, but I..." You sighed. "I just want to figure myself out..."

"Figure yourself out? What are you talking about?!" Azul yelled, looking almost betrayed.

"I just want to know more about myself, you know...? I want to know why I was abandoned, what life on the surface is really like, and why-"

"Your human family abandoned you, what more do you need to know?!" Azul yelled. "...you should just stay under the sea. Isn't life better down there?"

You stared at Azul for a moment.

"No. I want to learn what it really means to live on land... I want-"

"We're done discussing this."

You noticed your life slowly getting worse after that day.

People started bullying you for not knowing how things worked on land. You started getting made fun of for things you weren't before...

And it all came out of nowhere.

But it's ok... just as he always was, your brother was there for you.

As long as the two of you are together... you can handle... anything...

...

Can't you...?

That would be the case for the rest of your life at NRC.

You hated it, you absolutely hated it...

That completely ruined your view of the surface. You didn't want to live above the waves anymore.

You just wanted to go back home...

When you graduated and returned home to the sea, you were met once more with your lovely brother.

He looked so happy to see you...

"I'm so glad you decided to stay under the sea with your family... with me..." Azul sighed as he gave you a tight hug. "...(Y/N). I have something I want to talk to you about..."

"What is it...?" You asked, cautiously.

"Follow me."

Azul led you somewhere...

A spot only the two of you knew about... a place you would hide together when he wasn't in his octopus pot...

It gave you a nostalgic feeling... as if, for just a second, you were back in your childhood... like nothing truly mattered...

"(Y/N), I... I have a deal for you." Azul told you.

"You... y-you do...?" You were surprised and confused.

"Yes. It's all right here." He snapped his fingers and summoned a golden contract and fishbone pen. "I remember, when you were a kid... you'd talk about how you just wanted to be like all the other kids... I remember you cried to me about wishing you had a tail, or tentacles like mom and I..." He handed you the contract and pen. "If you just sign here, you'll get everything you ever wanted... you'll get to be just like the other kids."

You grabbed the contract and began to read it over, before Azul grabbed it back from you again.

"N-no no, no...! There's no need to read it over, just... sign it." Azul paused, before smiling. "You trust your brother... don't you...?"

...

Of course you do.

Of course you trust your brother.

After all, when you're together, you can handle anything...

Absolutely anything.

You signed your name.

"That's good." Azul said as some kind of magic bubble encased you... and the spell began to take it's effect.

The spell was painful, you could hardly stop yourself from screaming out in pain.

"I know it hurts, (Y/N), I'm sorry... but this is what's best for you..." Azul sighed. "Of course, this means you'll never be allowed to go to the surface again, but... it's not like it matters... you have everything you could ever want down here!"

He's right...

Everything you could ever want, it's here, under the sea...

Sure, Azul will make sure you never go to the surface again, but does that really matter if you're surrounded by your loving family?

...no.

No, it doesn't...

Because when you and Azul are together...

You can handle anything the world throws at you.

#azul ashengrotto #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere x reader #platonic yandere x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul

[vldkeith]

character bios for my fanfic! 🎥🪩

y'all know how i'm writing a lengthier au fanfic right now right? well i have character bios/intros for it! these basically lay out who everyone is in this au. i just think it's neat and hopefully gets ppl excited 👀

--

takashi shirogane - extremely talented actor with a lot of social capital, despite the fact that he is an out gay man. played the adorable, lovable leading man in rom-coms and sitcoms for a while and has recently graduated to more dramatic roles, which he excels in. everyone seems to love and respect him for the most part. picked up keith when he tried to steal his car at a younger age (10?) and hasn’t stopped looking out for him since; they’re like brothers. 

keith kogane - guy who hates celebrity culture but got foisted into it due to his association with shiro. has a reputation for being handsome goodboy shiro’s naughtier younger brother who flips off the camera, punches paparazzi, and has no filter. hates every moment he’s forced to endure hollywood life, but does so to protect and be there for shiro. has been smeared by the tabloids extensively, both for being a delinquent and for being gay. keith did not choose to come out, like shiro had before him, but instead was outed by a member of a gay forum he frequented who figured out his identity (he was 17 at this point). hates society and has a chip on his shoulder.

lance mcclain - starry-eyed hopeful fresh off of his first non-extra role and new darling of the press. gunning for lead man roles in romcoms; knows he’s bisexual but doesn’t want to come out for fear of his family’s reaction and because he believes it will smear his reputation and thus chances to get the roles he wants. this view is understandable and pretty accurate, but it means that he is actively hiding himself and presents intense complications when he and keith start being “a thing.” has a reputation for being charming (if a little sleazy) and flirty with women, which is both natural to him and carefully cultivated so he has the best chance at getting romcom roles. he idolizes shiro–in part because he’s an out gay man, though he’d never admit that–and wants to be mentored by him so badly he’ll make himself a nuisance in shiro (and keith’s) life until he can. 

(more under the cut)

allura altea - orphaned daughter of famous actress mother and professor father who died in a hit-and-run when she was 16. keith’s best friend; they’ve affectionately dubbed themselves the “dead parent’s society,” but the press likes to call them “?????.” allura was being brought up as a future actress by her parents, having starred in many dcom-esque roles as a child, but when they died she quit all of that and kind of just does her own thing now. currently, she’s enrolled in UCLA as a politics major. 

coran wimbleton-smyth - retired acclaimed director who occasionally signs himself on as a producer for works he thinks are particularly meaningful. he’s the producer for shiro’s next film, a sci-fi space opera a la the hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy, and he’s gunning for shiro’s character to be explicitly gay. genuinely good-natured and wants to be involved with his projects; has a reputation for being the kind of director/producer to bring donuts in for everyone and cancel shooting days if the weather gets too hot. would support the current (2023) strikes. wants to see everyone succeed, but especially shiro and his family. 

hunk garrett - lance’s bestie and bisexual-awakening! aspiring personal chef to celebrities, but currently works at a restaurant and attends california institute of technology for engineering, because why not? met lance when lance went to eat at the restaurant he worked at and liked the food so much he asked to personally thank the chef; hunk had changed the dish last-minute as it went out the door, ratatouille-style, and so he gets the credit. they’ve been besties ever since! 

matt holt - lance’s young agent! saw potential in lance because of their shared personality-type, but he can be ruthless when it comes to matters of public opinion and which roles lance should take, which lance both appreciates and dreads. committed to doing what’s best for lance’s career, whatever the cost.  katie “pidge” holt - matt’s younger sibling that is pushed into lance’s orbit unwillingly due to her big brother’s job. hangs around because, whatever he may say, she really does like lance as a friend, and warms up to hunk quickly once they meet due to their shared interest in engineering/computers. has a geocities website dedicated to weird lizards and insects. low-profile enough to get away with things none of the others could manage.

nyma - shiro's ruthless but skilled publicist. knows how to turn public opinion around her finger, all while pretending to be innocent and nice the whole time. this doesn't mean she's uncaring, though; sometimes she'll let slip that she actually cares about shiro and keith's images because she cares about them, not just because it's her job and reputation on the line if she doesn't. isn't afraid to advise them to do painful and sometimes downright demoralizing things, but it's always in the interest of saving their necks, at least from her perspective.

--

this isn't an exhaustive list of the voltron characters that will be included btw; i'm going to find a way to put adam & romelle in if i have to die for it. but these are the main cast i have so far :) let me know what you think!

#yes im doing this instead of writing said fanfic. lol. #klance #voltron #klance fanfiction #op💢 #mbim🎥🪩 #this is ok to rb btw!

[phoebenpiperx]

Having recently posted my HSM4 fic here, I went back and reread all my old fics on fanfiction.net and thought others might be interested in them as well.

15 of the fics were part of a series called Extra Innings that were all written by me and a friend immediately after HSM2, exploring the relationship between Ryan and Chad that started with the baseball dance # “I Don’t Dance”. I also deal with Ryan's relationship with Sharpay a lot as well as his friendship with the other Wildcats.

See below for links to my HSM fics (in the chronological order of the show).

Inspiration= A missing scene from HSM1. Kelsi observes the Evans twins rehearsing.

Musical Auditions= Sharpay and Ryan discuss what musical they'd like to perform in next.

Fantasy Football= Ryan's decided to go out for the football team, and Sharpay realizes why.

Extra Innings stories

Wildest Dreams = Ryan is upset that his team didn’t win the staff baseball game, but running into the Wildcats—especially Chad—in the locker room afterwards cheers him up.

Hanging Out = After the baseball game, Ryan finds himself welcomed by a new group of friends.

Dancing Lessons = The dance lessons weren't going as well as either boy had hoped. Perhaps it was time to try a new tactic.

Fever = A sweltering dance lesson, a kiss, and the aftermath. [6 chapters]

Oh Brother! = Sharpay tries to come to terms with a recent discovery about her brother.

Advice = Ryan seeks dating advice from friends and family. A continuation of our other ChadRyan stories.

First Date = Chad and Ryan have a disastrous first date, but all's well that ends well. [The final Coda is rated Mature.]

Second Date: Bowled Over =Chad and Ryan's second date is comandeered by Wildcats.

Ryan's Musical Revue = Sharpay decides it's time to introduce Chad to Ryan's past lives...all the roles he's played.

Karaoke Night = Sharpay invites Chad and Zeke to join the twins at Wednesday Karaoke Night.

Clueless = After Gabriella calls him "Clueless", Troy tries to pay more attention to his friends...and discovers something about Ryan and Chad.

Back To School = The Wildcats return to school for their senior year after the summer at Lava Springs. Has everything changed, or is it back to the old routine? [3 chapters]

Freaky Friday = The students of East High get to walk a mile in each other's shoes during a school-sponsored Freaky Friday event. [5 chapters]

Family Courtside = Mr. Evans takes Ryan to a basketball game as he tries to deal with the fact that Ryan is dating Chad.

Double Skate = Sharpay goes on her first "date" with Zeke. [4 chapters]

RHPSM = Chad attends a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show with his friends. Chad/Ryan. Please note: coarse language and references to a rated-R movie -- may not be appropriate for younger readers!

--

canon to HSM3:

Obvious = It's obvious why Ryan and Chad are reacting differently to their high school graduation. Inspired by Hey Monday song "Obvious". My HSM4 fic is canon to this one.

A Last Huzzah = It's only days since graduation, and Ryan and Sharpay are discussing their summer plans.

Nov 15, 2008: Txting Txting 123 = It's November 15, 2008, and the Evans twins are communicating across the miles. [In November 2008, a law called Prop 8 was passed in California which took away the right for gay couples to marry! On Nov. 15, millions of people across America participated in marches protesting this law—I researched the marches in each of the cities mentioned so they’d be accurate.]

Just Desserts, a sequel to Txting Txting 123 = A sequel to "November 15, 2008 -- Txting Txting 123". Everyone's home from Thanksgiving and eager to talk about their experiences at the "No on Prop 8" rallies.

Spring Musical Awakening = The Evans twins are each cast in a production of their colleges' spring musical production of "Spring Awakening". Dialogue only, but based on an R-rated musical so beware. [2 chapters]

Concert Chaos = Ryan and Sharpay go to see JONAS in concert!

HSM4: The Reunion = It’s the 15th anniversary of the best class ever, but the returning East High Wildcats aren’t quite as happy as they should be. A lot has changed, but there’s some things that never do. Maybe getting the whole gang back together was just what everyone needed. [based on HSMTMTS s4; canon to HSM3 & my fic Obvious]

--

set post HSM2 – Rated Mature!

Dancing Now = After the Star Dazzle show, Ryan hooks up with Chad...fully aware that Chad isn’t really interested in HIM.

Only Time Could Tell, a sequel to Dancing Now = Immediately follows Dancing Now, showing how Chad redeems himself after betraying Ryan.

#hsm #hsm fic #hsm fanfic #chyan #chyan forever #chad x ryan #high school musical #evans twins

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Death is Not a Teacher

a reflection on lessons human beings cannot learn

I put my grandfather in the ground last weekend. His death prompted the usual sorts of things that, as you will know from your attendance at funerals and experiences with people in mourning, tend to occur when someone dies. You know, as I know, that people say a lot of things, not because they are useful to say, but because one cannot escape the feeling that something must be said. You have perhaps tried to remain silent—but only for a time—as you will have found that it simply does not do. Eventually you say the same kinds of trite things that everyone else says.

His death cannot be said to have been unexpected. I watched his decline for what must have been at least twenty years. My wife remarked upon seeing him in his casket that he looked surprisingly like he did in life—a reflection of how very nearly dead he had been in his twilight.

I say that to say, now, that even watching his death come, as it were, from afar, even at a leisurely pace, when the end finally came, my father probably articulated best the sense among our branch of the departed man’s family.

“I really took him for granted.”

—

Because death involves reflection on life, and the life of the deceased, as one encounters people who knew the departed for longer, or in another capacity, were more or less close, we come to appreciate something we could have realized if we’d thought about it—that the person was in many ways unknown, that we mistook our small piece of their existence for a whole, that their life in its complexity and interiority involved many stages and many experiences they never shared with us. We didn’t know them at the time, they never volunteered the information, we never thought to ask.

But all this is well known. The piece upon which I wish to focus is the always implicit, but often explicit, pang of regret, and attendant call to action. We ought to have spent more time with them. We ought to have asked them the questions it never occurred to us to ask. We ought to have told them how we felt about them.

We ought not to have taken them for granted.

—

These pangs and appeals add to their triteness a certain edge when death arrives suddenly. A friend’s mother recently passed; she’d had a cancer diagnosis a year or so prior, but one Friday took a dramatic turn for the worse, and by the end of the weekend she was gone. He reported with gratitude he had some time to tell her, as she laid in bed, how fortunate he had been to have her as a mother, &c &c. When my wife was 16, her mother died at 40. She’d gone to the hospital for what appeared to be a severe panic attack and was gone within hours. No goodbyes.

Be sure to tell people how you feel about them, because you do not know how long you will have them. So the wisdom goes.

In my final year of undergrad I became an eleventh hour addition to an honors colloquium that I had learned late I needed to take to complete the honors program. That spring the course was to be taught by a literature professor I had seen but did not know, and I and some two dozen students were to read The Brothers Karamazov. The course immediately took on a mystical significance; professors saw me carrying the book and gave me strange looks, cryptically referring to it as the greatest novel ever written. One class the professor mentioned the example of the novel had prevented a fellow professor from suicide. The novel appeared to carry and to portend mysterious powers.

It is perhaps impossible to overstate the significance of this man to my life. We became Facebook friends soon after I graduated and I stayed on that website in large part to maintain contact with him, commenting here and there on his posts, but, eventually I felt like I didn’t really have much to contribute to his conversations. They tended to unfold between himself and some old friends and I felt like I was sort of a third wheel, and so my admiration took on a greater distance.

I learned recently that in the spring of 2023, that professor threw himself from a bridge.

Suicide makes the question stranger still, because suicide carries a sting of implication. I have observed suicides in other circles, and we are often admonished that we must check in with the people we love and assure them we love them. We are told the warning signs but are told the warning signs are not obvious, and the formal resources our society has for the suicidal are so dramatic and themselves so life-altering we question when it is appropriate to summon them.

I ask you, if he had known that I love him, do you really suppose that would have stopped him from jumping?

Try to find someone in your life and tell them how you really feel. Think carefully of everything they mean to you, stare into their eyes, and say those unspeakable things. Can you even do it? Will they even believe you? You cannot, as you yourself know if you have lost someone, even know—know—what they mean to you until they are gone, in the same way that you cannot know what food means to you until you are starving, and what air means to you until you are suffocating.

—

Death’s lessons do not stop there. Consider this lyrical example from a song that I hate:

He said "I was finally the husband That most of the time I wasn't And I became a friend a friend would like to have And all of a sudden going fishin' Wasn't such an imposition And I went three times that year I lost my dad Well I, I finally read the Good Book, and I Took a good, long, hard look At what I'd do if I could do it all again And then I went skydiving I went Rocky Mountain climbing I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fumanchu And I loved deeper And I spoke sweeter And I gave forgiveness I'd been denying" And he said "Someday I hope you get the chance To live like you were dyin'"

The twee sentimentality of this saccharine appeal hides more than it shows. None of these things require a death sentence.

What do you suppose it would really mean “to live like you were dyin’” ? Would it look like this? If you knew death was a week away, if you could grasp that rue oblivion waited and soon, where would your time and your money go? Would your posture toward your credit cards change? How would you eat and drink? Where would you go? What would you say to people? How do you imagine a society that embraced this posture on principle would look? Will you go on living that way now?

As G.K. Chesterton wrote in Heretics of life under the shadow of Death:

Many of the most brilliant intellects of our time have urged us to the same self-conscious snatching at a rare delight. Walter Pater said that we were all under sentence of death, and the only course was to enjoy exquisite moments simply for those moments’ sake. The same lesson was taught by the very powerful and very desolate philosophy of Oscar Wilde. It is the carpe diem religion; but the carpe diem religion is not the religion of happy people, but of very unhappy people.

The threat of Death carries rather a more sinister implication than even Chesterton allowed. It is not solely a question unhappiness numbed through hollow pursuit of transient pleasure. For this we will turn to The Brothers Karamazov and the philosophy attributed to brother Ivan Fyodorovich, summarized in this instance by Pyotr Aleksandrovich Miusov:

Ivan Fyodorovitch added in parenthesis that the whole natural law lies in that faith, and that if you were to destroy in mankind the belief in immortality, not only love but every living force maintaining the life of the world would at once be dried up. Moreover, nothing then would be immoral, everything would be lawful, even cannibalism. That’s not all. He ended by asserting that for every individual, like ourselves, who does not believe in God or immortality, the moral law of nature must immediately be changed into the exact contrary of the former religious law, and that egoism, even to crime, must become not only lawful but even recognized as the inevitable, the most rational, even honorable outcome of his position. From this paradox, gentlemen, you can judge of the rest of our eccentric and paradoxical friend Ivan Fyodorovitch’s theories.

The lessons of Death include not merely fear but terror, narcissism, immiseration, dissipation, desperation, and resignation.

But it is not merely evil to take Death as your teacher, and to internalize these lessons.

I wish to submit to you, as you yourself know, that it is impossible.

—

Whenever anyone tries to take Death as their master, to live out these lessons, reality soon presses against them, and they set themselves at odds with the life they are seeking to cherish to its fullest. Those who “seize the day” in the form of the hedonism that the carpe diem religion encourages invariably hasten the very thing they seek to defy, their embrace of momentary pleasures soon landing themselves and others in misery, and often an early grave. We simply cannot live like we are “dyin’”.

More abstract but no less important, I rather doubt that you or perhaps anyone who has ever lived seriously believes that you will die someday. You know it will happen. Sometimes perhaps the awe of the realization creeps up on you and you become very close to grasping it but life itself soon whisks it away. Even when the philosophers and the theologians tell you memento mori, they are setting you up not to die, but to live. They tell you to remember this to impel you to orient yourself toward what follows your death, which is to say the thing you wish to outlast you, to live on, or else to mind your own eternal destiny.

Which is to say, they say it in expectation not that you will die but in fact that you will live for ever.

And here we come to an odd point. One of the exquisitely pious mourners at my grandfathers funeral said at one moment as an aside and with significant tone, “well, it is just sad, because, well, we tried to get him to go to church but he was just never very open to it, and so, it is sad...”

Did that person seriously believe he was in Hell? Does anyone seriously believe in this place? No, for the same reason that nobody seriously believes in Death. It is so astonishingly incapacitating that life simply refuses to allow you to go on in this posture. You may feel yourself come close to grasping it—close enough even for conversion—but the most devout, the most relentless, the most frantic evangelist cannot even at the very height of their exertion truly live out a belief that the vast majority of souls are destined for eternal misery. The magnitude of the prospect exhausts individual capacity far before it exhausts itself.

We find ourselves, when faced with That prospect, wondering things that sophisticated and dogmatic theologians tut-tut—asking simple questions to which they have powerful refutations, while forgiving quite easily offenses we know cannot be forgiven. We are faced with the impossible prospect, the great heresy, that we desire their good more than God Himself desires it.

As I reflect on my grandfather, who bore no visible sign of faith, I ask even as I know better, is it possible that I am more merficul than God? I reflect on my professor, who died committing a mortal sin, is it possible—is it possible—that I love my professor more than God?

—

The point that I wish to make is not a philosophical or a theological one, though it is those things, but a practical one.

Life itself forces us to live as though we will go on living. To connect as though we will connect forever, to love as though we will love forever.

Even to take people for granted, because we feel—even when we think we know otherwise—that it cannot ever be The End.

We will see them again.

#this is sort of a sketch of some thoughts that have been floating around a while

[wriothesleysgf]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ MAKE U MINE — denki kaminari .

about you attend one of class a's reunion parties with your boyfriend, denki. you never anticipated that events would take such an unexpected turn.

genre fluff, a tiny bit of angst but it's quickly resolved.

notes this is my entry for @hystix 's petals of love collab ! it's super duper self induglent, and full of tidbits i associate w my selfship !

wc 1.1k

despite the fact that everybody from class a had graduated a number of years ago, they tried to meet up whenever hectic schedules allowed them too. this year, yaoyorozu had decided to take it upon herself to host a new year's eve gathering, with champagne flowing and japan's newest pro-heroes celebrating another year of successfully kicking villain ass.

being a member of the support course, you were never as involved with school events as much as your boyfriend of the last few years, denki kaminari, was. in fact, you considered it to be an act of fate that brought the two of you together. had you not been in mei's workspace, helping her tinker with her recent invention, you may never have been introduced to the loud-mouthed katsuki bakugou and his blonde, sort of dopey looking friend that you later fell in love with.

he gave you butterflies instantly. having noticed how bakugou's angry demeanour seemed to make you jumpy, denki warned his friend to tone it down. though no words were exchanged between the two of you, the small smiles you offered one another, a wordless "thank you" in your case, the boy caught sight of you in the crowd at the school's festival later that year. he even threw his guitar pick your way — and yes, you do still have it tucked away between the pages of your favourite novel.

you slowly became acquainted with the rest of his class, as when the dorm system was integrated at ua, you often payed a couple of visits to him. though you were timid at first, you found yourself opening up very quickly and becoming a more sensible yet still bubbly counterpart to the hyperactive kaminari. you even made friends with some of his, all of whom welcomed you with open arms — kirishima and mina were particularly fond of you, with the former even slowly becoming something akin to a brother to you. they all adored seeing how happy you made denki, and enjoyed having a beam of sunlight such as yourself around. hell, there were even a couple of squabbles at the beginning of the school year over who would be assigned to you for adjustments and improvements to their hero gear.

before you knew it, midnight was shortly approaching. you hadn't really seen denki that much tonight, and when you had, there just seemed to he something off. the shy little girl that hid inside of you slowly began to tackle you for control, and you had to do your best to reassure her that no, denki wouldn't just throw you under the rug, especially not at a party with all of his friends in attendance.

a call of your name snapped you out of your thoughts. "is everything okay? you look a bit pale," mina asked. she was still swaying to the music thudding through the speakers, moving carefully so as not to spill the brightly-labelled can of whatever alcoholic beverage she had been sipping. "it's denki, isn't it? what did that asshat do?"

her expression shifted to one more serious as she pulled you slightly away from where you were standing and towards the edge of the room. you explained your concerns, how you didn't even know where denki was right now, and how he'd been acting a little bit distant this week.

"sweetheart," mina cooed, "it's nothing like that, i promise. that man is head over heels for you, he has been since the first time he even saw you!" she took a sip of her drink and offered you one too, though you declined. "i remember him coming back to the lunch hall after seeing you. he barely touched his soba because he was busy gushing about 'the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen'. we were sick of it by the end of the week, but in a cripplingly single kind of way, you know?"

there was a small smile on your face when she finished speaking. mina checked her watch before fully returning to her bright and bubbly self — which was only heightened when she was drunk. "you going to be okay, baby? i need to go find kyo!"

you nodded and bid her farewell before returning to the heart of the party once again in search of your boyfriend.

as if on cue, when the clock struck 11:55, a strong pair of hands gripped your wrist and spun you around where you stood. by the static electricity radiating from the touch, you knew exactly who it was.

"hey, sunshine!" he beamed, though nervously scratching the back of his neck. "'s almost midnight. . ."

"mhm, i need to go find sero," you replied teasingly.

denki looked utterly confused and not yet catching onto your bit. "and why would that be?"

"who else is gonna kiss me at midnight?" you giggled softly, smirk giving away the fact that you were joking. denki chuckled a little before switching to a much more serious demeanour, one that you rarely saw with him.

"look, y/n," he trailed off, looking at the clock: 11:57PM. "you've probably noticed that i've been a bit distant recently, and it's just. . . i don't know how to say it."

you grasped both of his hands with your own and ran your thumb over his knuckles, silently reassuring him that whatever was bothering him, he could share it with you.

"i don't. . ." he sighed. "three more minutes." he whispered to himself. "i don't want to start the new year with you as my girlfriend."

your heart broke. no, it shattered. all you wanted was to run away to the nearest bathroom and process that last sentence. mina was wrong. that harmful voice in your head was right, no matter how much you had been working to drown it out. maybe he'd found someone else. maybe he realized that he was to good for you. maybe he's never liked you.

tears welled up in your eyes, and you pleaded with them not to fall just yet. however, the grip that denki had on your hands was unfaltering, so you couldn't move despite wanting to.

"no! no! oh my god, you probably think i'm breaking up with you. . ." he stammered, and you nodded in response, not trusting your voice. "it's the opposite, actually."

although the countdown to ring in the new year had begun, with everybody in the room bellowing at the top of their lungs.

FIVE.

FOUR.

THREE.

"marry me?" denki spat out.

you barely had a second to process it. without even thinking, your lips were on his before the countdown even reached zero. your hands snaked around his neck and his around you waist, letting the rest of the world slip away into a blur. everyone's initial celebrations were reaching a halt as you pulled away from one another.

you lazily rested your head on denki's shoulder, ensuring that your lips were close to his ear as you uttered a single word, returning the sentiment that he was oh so petrified you wouldn't.

"yes."

#★ — delilah's musings. #❁ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ❁ #denki kaminari x reader #denki kaminari fluff #mha x reader #mha x you #mha fluff #bhna x reader #bhna fluff #my hero academia x reader #my hero x reader #my hero academia fluff

[darksideofthemamon]

Read The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes over the holidays, and I need time to absorb the ending and maybe re-read several parts, but right now I wanna talk about my favorite recurring piece of writing, and that’s the flashbacks Snow gets whenever someone he knows dies

(Full spoilers, beware!)

One big difference I saw from the start of the book is that unlike in the original trilogy where Katniss didn't have a long history with the people in the Hunger Games, 2/3 of the prequel book has Snow in the Capitol, surrounded by his classmates who he’s known since childhood. 

And I really liked it when there was this flashback thing whenever one of them died, it really hammered it in that the mentors were all childhood friends, and basically school kids. I also just have a thing for recurring themes and echoed lines in writing X’)

1) Arachne Crane

“Arachne hadn’t been his favorite person, but she’d always been in his life. They’d played as babies, been at birthday parties, stood on ration lines, attended classes together. She’d been dressed head to toe in black lace at his mother’s funeral, and he’d cheered her brother’s graduation only last year. As part of the wealthy old guard of the Capitol, she was family. And you didn’t have to like your family. The bond was a given.”

This was the first to happen in the book, and possibly my favorite. My favorite because, Arachne wasn’t a good person. She was arrogant and snobby, and she died taunting a starving Tribute with food (a cruel and also foolish move).

And Snow didn’t like her. Yet when she died, he still grieved, and I find that reaction so real, of grieving a person who’s been a constant presence in your life even though they weren’t pleasant, and just the shock that suddenly comes with losing them. That last line especially about the bond being a given and how you didn’t have to like your family to grieve them. It’s just really good writing. 

2) Apollo Ring & Diana Ring

“As the twins’ matching silver coffins came into focus, all he could think of was this silly game they’d made up on the playground during the war called Ring-around-the-Rings. The rest of the kids would chase down Didi and Pollo and then grab hands, forming a circle around them and trapping them. It always ended with the whole lot of them, Rings included, laughing their heads off in a heap on the ground. Oh, to be seven again, in a happy pile with his friends, with nutritional crackers waiting at his desk.”

This is the second and third classmate death that happens in the book. We didn’t see much of the twins, but Snow still had a fond childhood memory of all of them innocently playing. 

3) Gaius Breen

“Coriolanus couldn’t process it. Gaius, dead? Gaius Breen? He remembered a joke Gaius had recently told him about how many rebels it took to tie a shoe.”

Terribly elitist, but the sentiment is there. A longtime friend and classmate died and he’s shocked. 

And last but definitely not least, 

4) Sejanus Plinth

“As they passed him, Coriolanus locked eyes with Sejanus, and all he could see was the eight-year-old boy on the playground, the bag of gumdrops clenched in his fist.” 

I feel all the previous flashbacks built up to this final and most heartbreaking one. I teared up at this scene. When Snow looks at the guy he betrayed and who he always felt resentment and annoyance towards, and sees the 8 year old boy from the playground, it just kinda crashes down. It’s such a “what have you done?” moment.

In general, I just really like that kind of writing style, when things get repeated throughout the story. 

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #spoilers #hunger games #just my thoughts

[narutocharacterpolls]

wait why are so many sasuke fans saying fugaku wasn't so bad...... 🤨 didn't he make sasuke feel inferior and like a dissapointment bc itachi was his favourite child, and didn't even care enough about sasuke to attend his graduation until itachi basically pressured him into it. their mother is the one who was like "oh he's just bad at communicating" making excuses for him lol, but it doesn't change how badly he treated sasuke for years. not that samurai are a better option, but fugaku should go in the fire with all the other shitty dads lmao (ps. thanks for running this poll btw, life has been really tiring recently and this has amused me so much, I appreciate all the effort you've put in for us haha)

As we discussed, I will just be responding to the initial question of this to hopefully give some insight as to why many Sasuke lovers do actually like Fugaku.

First and foremost Sasuke doesn’t even dislike his father, Sasuke loves him!

Aside from that though, to actually delve into it, I feel that most Sasuke lovers are Uchiha lovers to begin with. People who tend to sympathize, relate to, understand, and adore Sasuke extend that to his clan which has been wronged for far longer than the Uchiha genocide. They went through decades on decades of being oppressed, and Fugaku had that weight on his shoulders to be responsible for the fate of his clan and how they were to be treated ongoing. He was under a lot of pressure and his focuses, unfortunately, did have to be diverged from Sasuke, and from Itachi in a way that Itachi actually needed. Sasuke was a kid and wasn’t included in knowing the situation their clan had been put in. He doesn’t know why his father is so incredibly busy and not solely focused on family. He’s a kid. He just doesn’t know. He wants attention and praise— which he does actually get from Fugaku, just not in the way and the intensity he desires it.

Fugaku never treated Sasuke in an abusive or even negative way, he just hadn’t given him praise in the exact way that Sasuke desired. His comparison of Sasuke to Itachi, to me, seems to be put in a way of encouraging Sasuke to grow, and alternatively sometimes telling him that it’s okay to slow down and not be like Itachi. Did this sit well with Sasuke? No, Sasuke didn’t receive that in a way that was beneficial to him, however Fugaku clearly had no malicious intent. Sasuke was a kid— a younger sibling at that— he’s going to take comparisons to his brother very personally. Nonetheless, Fugaku still praised him and gave him attention when he could, it just wasn’t well received from Sasuke (again, a clueless child to the situation at large).

Fugaku was frankly bad at communicating, and he was absolutely a little emotionally reserved. He wasn’t good at expressing his emotions, but he still clearly loved his family. He was with them when he could be, but again he had a LOT of expectations and weight on his shoulders at all times.

Yes, Fugaku gave more attention to Itachi, but he genuinely needed to. It wasn’t that Itachi was his favourite child, it’s that Itachi was (supposed to be, believed to be) a large and important role in the Uchiha coup d’état. So not only was Itachi someone he could give attention to during family time, but he was also involved in the other massive part of Fugaku’s life in this point of time. Sasuke however would see this and not understand, he doesn’t have the knowledge to be able to see why his brother is getting more attention than him.

All in all, Fugaku was burdened with a lot while his kids were both very young. It’s unfortunate, for sure, but it’s something that while looking at the big picture is understandable. Unfortunately it just wasn’t in a childs eyes. Was Fugaku the best dad in the world? Absolutely not. But is he really comparable to some of the other horrible fathers in Naruto? No, at least not in my opinion.

Additionally, I also just want to state that Fugaku taking Itachi to the war zone as a child was not canon to the manga. I believe it was a part of the Itachi Light novels.

I think this ask here also gives a nice perspective on the pro-Fugaku opinion too. I’m sure there are plenty other very good reasons I could add here too, I simply don’t have the time at the moment and this is already super long anyways LOL. Any Fugaku defenders can add to this as well with some other perspectives :)

Anyhow, I’m glad you’ve been enjoying the poll and I hope this explanation may give a bit of insight as to why many Sasuke lovers do not actually hate Fugaku.

#sorry i took a bit to get this out.. it has been a busy day #i hope this is written out in a coherent way.. i don’t have the ability like usual to answer this atm. sorry! hope it’s okay nonetheless #asks #anon #pro fugaku #scheduled

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

my first and only graduate school admitted students' visit was a success in that it helped me make up my mind. but maybe not in the way that people expected.

readers of this blog will know that i have a slightly complicated relationship with Institution B (the school i was visiting). but to make a long story short, four years ago, i was convinced that i would be enrolling there for undergrad. i had grown up there; for most of my life, the thought of 'what if we had never been priced out of living there' has haunted our family. we went to the area to visit old friends often when i was a kid, and four years ago, i saw going to Institution B as a sort of homecoming. however, my current, home institution unexpectedly awarded me an extremely large scholarship, and i wound up enrolling at the start of the pandemic.

it was not at all what i had wanted, and i felt a little embarrassed about it because some people i knew had considered it 'less prestigious' than Institution B. four years later, with a greater degree of awareness, i'm pretty sure i can pinpoint a bit of the underlying cause of that. my home institution is significantly more ethnically and economically diverse than Institution B. despite being older than Institution B, my home institution does fall behind because it lacks the endowed immediate surrounding area that Institution B has.

from the minute i stepped onto Institution B's campus, i felt it. Institution B's department sees itself as a 'big brother' to my home institution. many of Institution B's faculty work collaboratively with faculty from my home institution. it seemed like to them, me moving to Institution B was the obvious choice to make.

i interviewed with three professors: Professor A (who the grad students warned me was an advisor who could potentially break a student, but had many connections and could set me up), Professor B (the supervisor of the graduate student buddy i was assigned for the duration of the visit) and Professor C (contacted me in january but i never got around to reaching out)

Professor A (who i met with first) revealed that he was on the advisory board for the matsci program of my home institution. he also asked me what my research background was, and when i started enthusiastically going into it, literally put his hand up, interrupted me, and said "hold on. ✋🏻😐" which was genuinely so embarrassing. i wanted to jump out of a window. he asked me if i was considering any other options, and when i truthfully said i was considering staying, he bluntly said it was a poor idea.

Professor B revealed that not only had he recently given a seminar presentation at my home institution, he had literally gone out for dinner with my capstone mentor/PI on his visit and spoke positively of the city. he was a little awkward, but seemed very supportive and my graduate student babysitter had nothing but positive words about him.

Professor C had genuinely surprising research, and when i pointed out a few things with the projects he showed me (it had to do with phase transformations, but since i've just taken the class the concepts were fresher in my head) he was absolutely ecstatic. his enthusiasm for me asking questions about the manuscript was genuinely endearing. he also very eagerly mentioned that he intentionally made sure that half of his group were women.

speaking of which, i was the only woman in attendance among the potential incoming students. there were other women already in the phd program, but not very many. i didn't feel uncomfortable, but i did get the sense that the guys in my potential cohort didn't really know how to deal with me at first. i did feel at times that i was like the diversity hire, and my interests beyond matsci were so dissimilar to everyone else's that i just really wasn't sure how to connect. but then again, story of my life lmao.

i spent more time talking to the current grad students, who were all genuinely so hospitable and kind and looked out for me. however, something i didn't like was their constant conversation about alcohol. it wasn't that they weren't serious about their research: plenty of research stories got passed around and students had received various fellowships and grants. but many of them were drinking excessively at the social events. no one pressured me to join, but being the only totally sober person at the table was a little uncomfortable.

the second night was spent at the chair's house for a party with many of the faculty we had been interviewing that day. two things of note occurred.

one, i found myself next to one of the admits and Professor A, who asked us if we had seen the transmission electron microscopes (TEM) during our facilities tour. off our answers to the negative (we'd run out of time) he was like 'give me ten minutes and i'll drive you to campus and show you' which is where i got the picture from that one post taken. (Professor A offered.) he was very much under the influence and probably should not have been driving, and nearly made me carsick on the way back to the chair's house from his abrupt hard braking. i thought i was gonna die but tbh, it was worth seeing some of the largest microscopes i had ever seen in my whole life. so basically, a professor kidnapped me and two other guys and almost killed us with his atrocious driving. which is not the weirdest thing i've ever done with faculty but that's a post for tomorrow morning.

two, i found myself conversing with a professor who had moved to Institution B from my home institution a few years before. when i told him i was considering between the universities, at first, he said something like 'speaking as someone who's moved from [home institution] to Institution B...' and gave me a knowing look. use your words like an adult for god's sake. he then asked me my current faculty mentor and commented on his research a bit, then asked, 'who would be your PI at [home institution]?' i told him, and he said, 'oh! well, then,' sent me another knowing look, and said 'well, whatever you choose...' as if name dropping had changed something. again, man, please don't be cryptic.

i think all in all, even though Institution B was trying very hard to sell themselves to me, and posit themselves as a school of diversity and inclusion, i still felt isolated in a way i didn't feel when i was undergoing the process of interviewing faculty in my home institution in my grad school search. i felt out-of-place and terrified of making the wrong impression. some things people were saying to me went straight out of the window because i was trying so hard to monitor my facial expressions and fidgeting. i truly felt like i had a mask on and was trying not to let it slip. also, being the first in my family to go for a phd made me feel like there were so many unwritten, unspoken rules that i was just breaking irreversibly.

i can't help but compare this part of the experience to the professor in whose lab i'd be at my home institution. even though i had had her for a class, i had never interacted with her at length since the class was a little big. but i had also impressed her, and she had wanted to hear from me. i felt like i could relax around her, and our energies matched so well. she brought up me staying in orchestra even before i did, whereas i didn't feel like i could admit to any of the other professors that i wanted to also pursue music. it was nothing like the interviews i had had at Institution B.

something my grad student buddy had told me about was how he had done both his B.S. and M.S. at one institution, but decided to move for the Ph.D. i wondered why, since the program at his old home institution has been world-renowned. and he told me that if he had stayed, he would have still felt like an undergrad.

and i think that helped me to solidify how i felt into words. i don't feel like i'm undergrad anymore. it's been like that since mainly winter term of my third year. i still feel like there is work to be done and a need to be filled. i've mentally graduated already. there are days i walk across campus and i feel like a graduate student already. sometimes even a professor. it's strange, i can't explain it fully and even seeing that out feels so pretentious. but it's the best i can do to verbalize it.

i think the best image with which i can sum up this experience is of me in my little car on the highway back to my home institution, thoughts churning in my head as i drove. i watched the landscape outside change from coast to valley as i drove my way inland. and at last, i saw the mountains that tower over my school, and felt the most overwhelming sense of relief come over me.

i saw those mountains, and my first thought was: i'm home.

#the road to doctor em #if you can guess the institutions involved. you didn't see it #i tried to keep it as ambiguous as possible but i have been pretty lax about geography #so if you recognize anything i just said. no you didn't <3 #ok bye! love the airport!

[sometownie]

I was looking at my college picsets and just had to throw these pics together! These are graduation pics paired with pictures from their freshmen year!

I play two uni years per round, which means there's always two different age groups in the university at the same time.

Top down from oldest to newest, names go left to right on the rightside pics:

1: Oliver Aoki, Rayna Limestone (not in first pic) and Neil Waters

Rayna is the oldest of the third generation Limestones. My original plan was for Rayna and Neil to get married and start a family but it just felt SO wrong without Oliver, so now they're building a family all together! They now have two kids, third on the way. Neil and Oliver are CAS made.

2: Kanerva Huotari and Storm Limestone

Storm is Rayna's little brother, and Kanerva is a townie who was good friends with Rayna. Storm and Kanerva are married with two kids.

3: Milo Lovett, Lemon Farwood, Johnny Mills and Rosa Limestone

Rosa is the next sibling of the Limestones in university. Johnny and Lemon are cousins. Lemon and Milo are married with two kids, while Rosa is currently dating and Johnny just got married to Rosanna Sherman.

4: Apple Farwood, Jenny Mills and Shane Limestone

Shane is the youngest of these Limestone siblings in the university! Apple is Lemon's younger sister and Jenny Johnny's. They're all very fresh out of college still, only one round into adulthood, so their future is still very open :)

5: Kevin Rogan (not in first pic), Lila Hart and Ilona Tannen

Ilona, Lila and Kevin are the most recent graduates from university! Lila and Ilona are CAS made, but Kevin was the next Limestone to attend college: he's the cousin to all the earlier Limestones!

The current freshmen include Katy, who's Kevin's younger sister, and Ruby, who's another Limestone cousin to these all! And Mango is the younger brother to Lemon and Apple!

#can't just post the pics and be done with it huh #must always ramble and list everyone's names and family connections and and #sometowniesims #hood: whitewave #ig the reason i'm doing this is that i'm currently alone at a summer cottage and being alone is scary so i need something soothing to do #i'm doing this on mobile so sorry for weird formatting and stuff #also i hate mosquitoes and moths sm pls help #limestone third gen is basically where i properly started taking pictures of the hood #the second gen has very few pics of their childhood #and the founders are nowhere to be seen lmao #jsyk: limestones are the ones who define how old this hood is because they're the first ones

[airdeari]

* his allergy is tomatoes and if he smells ketchup he will get red and sniffly. once we went to NYC to see a show and he had a spoonful of soup at a restaurant that probably used a vegetable stock with tomato and only through the power of sheer determination and heavy breathing did we go see the show instead of going to the emergency room. as far as I know, he does not carry an epipen, despite this and also the plane incident. do you know how many foods have tomatoes in them, it's insane. I do though. I have to

† it was trivial pursuit. iirc he got the answer very confidently wrong and subsequently his teammate engaged him in a retributive scuffle

‡ it didn't start that way; he was a junior in class with all seniors at a college where the spring semester didn't end until mid-June. to stay competitive with the job market, seniors were allowed to graduate and leave their classes mid-May with the marks that they had thusfar. rather than write off the class for the singular junior remaining, the professor continued the (either 8 or 9am) class for another month with only my father in attendance by pulling up a desk alongside his and drilling him on the content. the course was music appreciation

** it is a ranked list of baseball umpires by their accuracy percentage when calling pitches at home plate, adjusted for standard deviation, which he cross-references every time he attends a baseball game

†† seeing as he is undiagnosed obviously this is not necessarily Fact™, but the sibling who runs her own clinic as a licensed therapist recently confided that, now that they are out of the '60s and '70s, a lot of things make much more sense if she considers that her brother has been autistic this whole time. also literally he's so autistic did you read about the spreadsheet

#hyperspecific poll #more archetype than man #the biphasic queue

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: INFJ here. I have been feeling emptiness lately. I am surprised that I feel it, because I'm generally doing well in life. I'm not stressed or depressed. I'm also surprised because both my Ni and Fe have been working well. Recently I've found my meaning in life. After years of questioning, I've finally found a perspective that satisfies me fully, and I can envision myself living with this meaning my entire life. It is not narrow, instead, it is both specific and all-encompassing. Even in my work, relationships, self-care, this meaning is omnipresent and that is so fulfilling and peaceful. 

When it comes to my Fe, it is true that it was fairly dysfunctional for a long time, but recently, thanks to your blog, I've been working on developing it. I've got a long way to go, but even the smallest improvements I make with my Fe make me feel fulfilled. I've been reading on communication skills, relationships, learning to make value-based decisions, reaching out to my old friends and going out with new ones. 

Because of the early influence of my ISTJ brother, my Ti developed a bit earlier than my Fe, so I am not really concerned with Ti. After I engaged Fe, my Se was pretty happy too. My meaning of life also makes room for appreciating life as it is. My desire to consume is getting lesser and I am learning to be content with having my needs satisfied. Of course I will need a good deal of practice to make sure I don't repress Se unwillingly.

So in light of all these considerations, I am surprised that I feel emptiness. Firstly, I'm thankful that I don't readily identify with my emptiness. I noticed this feeling, but didn't get all depressed and hopeless. I am thankful for the progress in my emotional intelligence. Secondly, I got curious and tried to think of what this feeling may be pointing at. I thought perhaps this is because I haven't been connecting with people enough, so I am trying to meet people. I thought perhaps I need a more systematic approach to maintaining my relationships and now I want to develop and deepen my relationships. 

I also thought that maybe it is because I am graduating this year. I have been in this university and city for 7 years. I came here right after school, so I didn't have a different life other than this. Now I'd like to move to another city and start working, which changes both my place of living and my role in the society. I know that my Se may be resistant to change and I may feel fear. At the same time, I can envision all the wonderful possibilities this change may bring. I indeed believe that it is a good time for me to make some changes -- I think I've received what I could from this part of my life. My Se demands novelty and I agree. So I wouldn't say that I am particularly stressed about this change -- I would say challenged and hopeful. I want to work as a teacher and be a good influence in the world. Before I start working in the fall, I would like to spend some time teaching children in my village for free.

Finally, I thought that perhaps emptiness is telling me to... speak? When I think of emptiness, the immediate idea is to fill up myself with something, to replace the emptiness. But I thought what if emptiness isn't all that empty actually and I need to express myself to feel full. I also thought that perhaps this is a good time for me to process some negative experiences of the past? Not that I have been repressing them. I am not disturbed by them either, but in a day-to-day life, I normally have other things to attend to, so I didn't purposefully pay attention to these experiences. Maybe I feel empty because my negative feelings want to speak?

I once read something like this on apathy on the internet -- that when a person cannot feel negative emotions, they stop feeling anything. Again, this is strange, because I am generally welcoming to my negative feelings. I used to repress my anger a lot and a few years ago I learnt to accept it. I researched a lot on this topic, so I gained a good perspective not only on anger but negative feelings in general.

The experiences that I am talking about in this case is specifically my family history. My unhealthy dad and mom had a dysfunctional relationship, which also sucked me and my siblings in. There is truly a lot to unpack here. I thought that maybe this emptiness was making room for me to process negative experiences that were unattended before. I understand that we don't have to react to every emotion, but emptiness seems to be a recurring feeling in the past couple weeks, for whatever reason. If you have any ideas, I'd be happy to hear them. Thank you a lot.

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

I congratulate you on your progress. I've highlighted a few points in what you wrote above that I believe deserve scrutiny:

1) Saying that you've "found your meaning in life" and that you can envision it working for you for the rest of your life sounds like a good thing on the surface, because it seems to promote inner peace and align with what your dominant Ni wants. However, I usually raise a yellow flag whenever I hear someone say something like that.

From my observations of pitfalls in type development, such a belief is not unlike believing in a false idol for the sake of comfort. It's a trick of the mind that is designed to bury unpleasant things. It potentially signals a process of stagnation, death, or decay of the mind, the logical conclusion of which is... emptiness. Whether this is true for you, only you can say.

2) According to the principles of type development as I understand them, a tertiary function cannot develop before an auxiliary function. I don't know where you got the idea. According to my experience doing type assessments, anyone who makes this claim is usually not as aware of the tertiary function's operations as they believe they are. This means you could be much more susceptible to tertiary loop than you realize. If that's the case, the path you're on might not be taking you toward but away from growth.

For example, as I hear you describe your state of mind, there are some hints of intellectualization, a common symptom of Ni-Ti loop. Intellectualization slices up and reduces the whole world into a collection of oversimplified concepts, which leads one to believe that everything is known and under control. Intellectualization is a popular defense mechanism because it allows a person to believe they are being perfectly rational in their thinking, beliefs, and judgments. Intellectualization is designed to mute feelings and emotions in a way that feels much more "legitimate" or "acceptable" or "evolved" than other brute-force methods like denial, repression, or suppression. Of course, the end result of muting feelings and emotions is, yes, you guessed it, emptiness. Whether this is true for you, only you can say.

3) You repeated several times the need to "speak", because you believe it is one potential way of feeling more full, a means to address the emptiness. This might indicate some kind of lack or deficit in your sense of identity.

Drawing from point #1 above, if your mind has indeed stagnated, it could also mean your sense of self is stagnated, which isn't conducive to growth. Drawing from point #2 above, if you are engaging in intellectualization, it means you are not granting your voice/identity full freedom to speak/exist. Put these two things together and you now inexplicably feel an impulse to express something, but you don't know what, because you've become too closed off to that aspect of yourself.

.

You've basically asked me to critically examine your thought process, but I don't like to do anything to poo-poo people's feeling of progress. The journey to knowing oneself is very long and winding. Beware that, sometimes, when you believe wholeheartedly that you understand something, it actually indicates your mind is closed to new learning, which means losing opportunities to grow. If you think you've got yourself or life figured out, especially at a young age, then you're most likely deceiving yourself. However, this is not a bad thing. It is through meeting these hurdles and tripping into these crevices that we realize we're off track, which is an opportunity to course correct. For Ns, it is through getting slapped by reality that they realize the true extent of their fantasy. When you're ready to see the truth, it will reveal itself. Until then, all you can do is live your life the best way you know how, just like everyone else.

#infj #emptiness #apathy #intellectualization #ask

[carriesthewind]

Like many people, I enjoy reading advice columns. One of the things that fascinates me about them is what they reveal about how people think: not because of the scenarios the questions describe, but how the people asking questions and giving advice talk about those scenarios. (For example, I had to stop reading AITA because doing so revealed that a lot of reddit users really, really hate disabled people.)

Today, I want to talk about a question and answer from a recent Care & Feeding column in Slate, and discuss what it shows about how many people think and talk about disability. Up front, I want to say that I don't think either the asker or the columnist are malicious or bad - I think they are both genuinely trying to approach the situation outlined in the question in a productive and caring way. Nevertheless, the way they talk about the situation is a classic example of how people conflate equality and equity when discussing disability.

In the November 28, 2022 column, a reader writes in with a question that they acknowledge is coming from a place of privilege. Both the writer and their husband have high-income jobs, and a relative set up a trusts for both of their young children with a great deal of money, intended to be used for their education and a post-graduation inheritance. Their oldest son is "neurotypical," but their younger daughter has several mental health diagnoses that she struggles with. Unfortunately, while their insurance will cover the mental health therapies and treatments she needs, those providers all have multi-year waiting lists. Fortunately, they can afford to pay out of pocket, but would have to forego various luxuries ("restaurants, vacation, the fancy legos, etc.") if they did so. Instead, the writer (whose husband disagrees) wants to take money out of the daughter's trust to pay for her mental health care.

The columnist responds with advice that seems, at first glance, perfectly fine. She advises getting on the wait list and in the meantime, either paying out of pocket, or, if the writer can get their husband to agree, paying partially from the daughter's trust and partially either out of pocket or from the son's trust (and then paying the son back later in life).

But.

I'm going to start by glancing past some...questionable language the writer uses to talk about their daughter's mental health. It's not important to my main point, so I'm not going to linger on it, but I do think it's worth noting that the writer doesn't lead by describing their daughter as disabled, or how her disabilities affect her. Instead, they lead by describing their 9-year old daughter through the lens of how her disabilities affect them as parents, describing her as "much more complicated to parent—needier, has bigger feelings, has a hard time eating, sleeping, etc. She is in third grade, but we have all the same struggles we had when she was a 3-year-old." They also note that the kids will likely attend different colleges and state, "It’s also unlikely they’ll ever compare notes [about the amount of money they inherit]", which is an absolute wild assumption when they are discussing amounts in the tens of thousands of dollars, and which the columnist doesn't call the writer out on. It's nothing concrete, but there is a whiff, continuing through the columnist's answer, of an assumption that regardless of available funds, the daughter will not get into (or be able to attend) as prestigious of a college, if she attends college at all, as her non-disabled brother.

That said, what's more important to me is that the writer assumes that it is perfectly fair to use the daughter's trust to pay for the accommodations and treatments she needs, and the columnist never pushes back on that assumption. Although the writer states that their husband disagrees with them, they frame his disagreement as being about "absolute financial equity between the two kids in the long run," and argue against his position by pointing out that because of market factors and individual choices, the two kids would never inherit the exact same amount of money. The columnist's answer follows this same framing, saying that she "tend[s] to agree with your perspective on things," and even as she suggests taking half the money from the son's trust to make things "equal," she also suggests paying the son back for that money. There's an intuitive understanding in both the question and the answer that by paying out of pocket (or taking from both trusts), the parents would be sacrificing to give the daughter "extra" financial support.

If you haven't already picked up on what's messed up about this assumption, let me try to reframe the situation for you. Remember, the parents have plenty of money to pay for the daughter's support and medical care out of pocket. The question isn't, "should we pull from her trust because we don't have enough money in the present?" Rather, it is, "should we provide out daughter with less resources in the future because providing for her needs in the present will inconvenience us?"

Looking back at the cartoon at the top of this post, it's like both kids have been given two boxes to see over the fence. But the daughter, through no fault of her own, is going to need an extra box to even get to the baseball park (I know I'm stretching this metaphor a bit, please stick with me). The parent has an extra box to give her, but it would make their experience slightly less comfortable. Instead of doing so, they want her to use one of her existing boxes to get to the park. While on the one hand, this is "fair" between the two kids (they both got one box), it's not equity between the two kids, because the son will have two boxes but she will just have one.

This is especially messed up because mental health disabilities usually don't just go away. If the daughter needs the kind of expensive care they are describing as a 9-year-old, it is very likely that she will continue to need some degree of additional support in the future. In our box metaphor, we can imagine the son as the middle-height person and the daughter as the shortest person.

In essence, both the writer and the columnist have a view of disability where they see it as ok to steal from the daughter's future because she has greater support needs now. That it is ok to give less to her in the future, because she has "demanding" more resources now.

This is is made crystal clear by the columnist's concluding paragraph:

"Final thought: no one likes to find out that they are the reason for others’ disappointments. If your daughter learns that she and her disabilities are the reasons the family couldn’t go on vacations, etc., that could have ramifications of its own—especially if she realizes there was money there the whole time."

She frames, unquestioningly, the idea that if the parents pay out of pocket, the daughter and her disabilities would be "the reason the family couldn't go on vacations, etc." This is victim-blaming bullshit. If the family can't have luxuries because they have to pay out of pocket for her care, the reason would be capitalism and the insurance industry. She did nothing to prevent them from having those luxuries - she simply existed and needed care.

Unfortunately, this kind of framing is prevalent throughout society. The idea that disabled people are a burden and a drain, and that providing us with additional resources is stealing from someone else. It's not surprising to find it in an advice column like this - but it is both instructive and disappointing.

#care and feeding #slate #ableism

[thebuckblogimo]

More kids means more worry. Was it always so?

October 20, 2023

I attended a luncheon recently put on by the alumni club of the small Catholic school that I attended in Dearborn. I sat at a table with fellow members of my graduating class (1965), and one of the topics we discussed was the number of "large families" when we were growing up.

Among friends from my class alone, the Flanigans had 11 children. The Laczynski family had eight. And the O'Reillys had seven.

I had many friends from other classes who also came from mega familes: The Geisingers had 11 children. Another branch of the O'Reilly clan had nine. And the Academy Award for the biggest family of all at St. Alphonsus (which encompassed grades one through 12) went to the Horrigans with 16 kids (including two sets of twins).

There were children everywhere in those days. In fact, I would put the average number of kids per family in my old neighborhood at five. Which is why classrooms at St. Al's had upwards of 60 students when I started grade school in the early '50s. (Today, 35 kids per class is considered practically criminal.)

I guess our parents took it to heart when the Lord said, "Be fruitful and multiply..."

Now, to the point of all this:

On an absolutely gorgeous day earlier this month, my wife and I received a phone call from our neighbors across the street who asked if we'd like to sit on their boat that evening to enjoy some cocktails and conversation.

"Sign us up," we said. The world was looking sunny and bright as we anticipated kicking back and watching boats return from a day out on Lake Michigan. Until, that is, we started getting phone calls from our kids that afternoon.

The first came from one of our daughters, informing us that another surgery would be required if she hoped to have a second child. Then one of our sons called to report that he'd been experiencing panic attacks. By the time we were into our second beer on the boat, a call came from our other daughter, letting us know that her baby had been diagnosed with cellulitis.

Thankfully, we did not receive a call from our other son who lives near Chicago that day.

Like most fathers, I suppose, I started worrying about my kids on the spot. Upon lying down that night I tossed and turned in bed, continuing to worry. And to think deep thoughts.

I thought about how much my wife and I have enjoyed having four children--a large family by today's standards--and how much we unconditionally love them all. And yet, I reasoned as I attempted to relax, if we had decided to have only two kids, perhaps we would experience only half the worry.

Then I started to think about my folks.

They had five children. It's not entirely clear to me how much they worried about my siblings and me. My Dad was a hands-off parent, leaving most of the responsibility for raising us to my stay-at-home Mom. If there was worrying to be done about us kids, I'm sure she shouldered the load. Her greatest worry, quite frankly, was my Dad--every time he drove home drunk from the bar. Which was often.

In those days, we all walked to school. Played outside into the dark. And took the Tireman bus downtown, unchaperoned. If my folks worried about us doing those things, I was oblivious to it. Except for one of my brothers, we all did reasonably well in school. Plus, other than toncilitis, knee operations and some broken bones, we were all healthy. I think it's safe to say that about the only thing my parents really, really worried about was that, when we were teenagers, I or one of my brothers would get some girl pregnant. Or that one of my sisters would get pregnant.

As regards those supersized families back in the hood, I suspect there were times--although I don't know--that some parents may have worried about how they would feed all those mouths. In the case of the Horrigans, Mr. Horrigan died somewhere along the way when practically all of their children were in school. If anyone had a right to worry, certainly it was Mrs. Horrigan. How could she not? And how in the world, I wonder, was she able to raise 16 kids alone? If she had signigicant help, I was oblivious to that, too.

I only know this for sure: It's true that your kids are your kids for life. And that you're likely to worry about them until the day you die.

[findingmypeace]

So this is about my baby brother and why I am so proud of him. First, he was born when I was 16 and now he’s all grown up. So sad and so cool. How did we become adults?! Second, he has always been very high achieving despite a few recent disappointments. He graduated from undergrad with a 4.0! I don’t remember his actual major but it was related to history and/or linguistics. He is fully fluent in the Icelandic language and he is obsessed with the history of Iceland.

And now, like I said, after a few recent disappointments, his new goal is to attend grad school in the UK! I think he applied to 4, maybe 5, UK universities. I believe (but I’m not positive) he got into all of them. First, he got into University of Glasgow but that wasn’t his first choice. So few weeks ago I found out he did it! He got into his first choice! The University of Edinburgh. I am overjoyed for him. I am so excited and so very proud of him. And, lol, guess what he wants to study? Medieval history with a focus on Iceland. (Or maybe it was Scotland?) But specifically ancient and medieval cultures. He told me what he wants to do with degree but I can’t remember. When my sister was visiting a few weeks ago she and I were joking that he could be an international ambassador. But, actually, I think he said something more related historical research.

And then a sad thing. :(  He decided to defer for a year so he could work and save money to pay for tuition. I did my grad school education through student loans. He and I had a discussion about it and although he didn’t rule it out I get the feeling he’s rather not use student loans. So then, does anyone in the US or UK know how to get funding for a University level education in the UK? I really want to help him achieve this goal. I’m going to do my own research but I thought I’d also ask here since all of us live around the world.

Anyway, I am so, so proud of him! He will always be my ‘baby’ brother but now he’s a fully grown, smart, intelligent, and amazing adult. Despite the stuff with my parents I love my family and I love seeing them succeed or experiencing exciting milestones in their lives. I really, really hope this works out for him.

#personal #family #brother #proud

[dragoneyes618]

The most recent generation bar one of the wealthy Fitzwarren family of England consisted of two sons: Peter, the elder by two years, and Richard, his younger brother. Despite growing up with the undercurrent of tension that the knowledge that Peter, as the firstborn, would inherit the majority of their father's wealth as well as his title created, the two brothers were the best of friends. As boys, they were each other's favorite playmate. As they grew older, they attended the same school (Eton), with each of them graduating nearly at the top of their class. They befriended the same people, ran in the same circles, and they even married sisters, Daphne and Emily Podwell, in the same year.

Here is where their fortunes began to differ. For while Richard and Emily were blessed with a child, a baby boy, scarcely a year after they were married, Peter and Daphne were not.

Nor were they blessed with a child after the second year of their marriage.

Or the third, or the fourth, or the fifth.

And so Julian Fitzwarren grew up with the knowledge, always in the back of his mind, that someday he would be the sole inheritor of the Fitzwarren title, manor, and fortune.

He was five years old when his grandfather, Lord Fitzwarren, died. He didn't remember him well, only in fragments- a silver-tipped cane, crinkled blue eyes.

He remembered the funeral-standing amid a sea of adult legs in a suit that itched; his mother clutching the golden locket around her neck, identical to the one her sister had, tightly in her right hand; his father's face controlled, emotionless.

He also remembered, around the time his uncle was officially confirmed Lord Peter Fitzwarren, overhearing his mother tell his father, "It's only money, Richard."

"It's not only money!" Julian's father exclaimed. "It's also the title, it's our son's future, it's-Julian, what are you doing here? Go back to bed."

So Julian never heard the end of that conversation.

It must be stated here that Richard Fitzwarren had developed a small gambling problem. Small, but a problem nevertheless, and he soon owed money to several different people. This led to friction between Richard and Peter. Peter restricted Richard's access to the family finances, saying that many a noble family had been driven o ruin because of gambling issues. Richard pointed out that if his brother allowed him enough money to pay his creditors, they wouldn't have this problem. Peter noted that if anything, the opposite was true. Emily and Daphne begged their husbands to get along, if only for their sake.                                                                                                                  Eventually, Richard, with the help of his wife, was able to manage and control his gambling problem. Mostly.

All this Julian was supposed to know nothing about, but he knew everything. Adults so often forget how perceptive children are.

It didn't particularly affect him, however. It was all under control. Besides, one day he would be Lord Fitzwarren anyway, so what did it matter?

This attitude, unfortunately, accompanied him throughout his young adult life-the attitude of I am wealthy, and I will be even wealthier, so I can do what I want.

And then Rose was born.

Rose was born when Julian was fifteen and Daphne and Peter had all but given up hope of ever having children.

When Julian's family heard the news, Emily was overjoyed that her sister had become a mother at last, but Richard was oddly stiff hen he shook his brother's hand; he kept glancing at Julian and muttering things like, "A loss for you, my boy."

At first, Julian was not particularly perturbed. Girls couldn't inherit, could they?

Actually, now they could, it turned out.

Then Julian understood how his father felt.

Rose was weak and sickly when she was born. She had to be kept away from other people until she gained strength, so Julian and his parents didn't get to meet her until she was healthy, when she was six months old.

Peter and Daphne greeted them in the front parlor. It was the first time Julian had seen either of them since before the baby's birth. His uncle looked ten years younger, and his aunt was almost glowing.

Emily and Daphne hugged each other, laughing and crying; Richard shook hands with Peter and clapped him on the back, but he seemed tense.

Then the nurse entered with the baby.

Daphne scooped baby Rose up and held her tenderly while Peter-who had always been stately and dignified-made silly faces at his daughter.

Then Daphne held Rose out to Julian. "Come, meet your cousin," she urged.

Interested despite himself, Julian stepped forward. So this was her: the baby that, as the eldest child of the eldest child, would inherit the Fitzwarren fortune, estate, everything, leaving Julian with nothing-or to be micromanaged, as his father had been by his brother, by this baby girl fifteen years his junior.

Rose had a few wisps of pale blonde hair and big dark blue eyes. She scrunched up her nose.

Then her gaze fell on Julian. She blinked. Then she giggled, a peal of innocent laughter ringing out in that old house that had not heard the sound of happy children in far too long.

Julian hated her already.

Julian and his parents began spending a lot more time at his aunt and unc-his cousin's. Apparently it was good for him and Rose to get to know each other. Not to mention that it was also good for the future Fitzwarren heir to grow up on good terms with her cousin and aunt and uncle. Not that anyone spoke of this to Julian, of course. Honestly, for how long would they insist on treating him like a child? He was nearly sixteen!

Two years passed in this way.

His mother loved to spend time with her sister and niece. Even his father seemed to loosen a little.

Julian was mostly bored on these visits. Rose was a toddler. She wouldn't remember this anyway. What was the point?

Besides, Rose, by dint of being born, had stolen his inheritance. From him! Why were they bootlicking her in this way? She was an infant!

He didn't voice these thoughts to anyone, though. They would be deemed too childish, too petty.

The main parlor of Fitzwarren Manor was set up like this: It was a big room, with several small tables and soft sofas at the sides, and a slightly bigger table near the entrance. There was a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. In the center was a grand staircase, which led up to a small fenced-in indoor balcony that had hallways branching off into the house from either side. Rose loved to go up onto the balcony and look down on everyone else. It made her feel big.

Julian was sitting at the top of the staircase by the fence, listening to his father and his uncle disagree about something while pretending they weren't disagreeing. His mother and his aunt exchanged identical worried looks.

Two-year-old Rose toddled over and wrapped her arms around her aunt's knees. Emily laughed and kissed her niece on the cheek, but she sounded tense.

"Have it your way, Peter," Richard snapped, turning on his heel and stalking away.

"I'm sorry-" Emily started.

"Julian!" Richard called. "We're leaving!"

"Yes, Father," Julian said obediently. He put away the pocketknife he had received for his seventeenth birthday-really, did his parents think he was thirteen?-stood up without holding on to the balcony railing or the banister, and walked down the steps.

As he joined the others, Daphne, in a transparent effort to change the subject, said, "Julian, why do you so often sit on the top of the stairs? Our company isn't good enough for you anymore?"

"Of course, not, Aunt," Julian said, inwardly tensing slightly. "I just like the view."

"We'll see you tomorrow?" Emily asked Daphne.

"I hope so," Daphne said.

Peter and Richard both grunted, sounding identical, and then each pretended that he hadn't noticed the other.

Daphne and Emily exchanged helpless looks.

Julian kept his face expressionless, but inwardly, he was rolling his eyes.

Rose looked worried.

The entire next day, Emily kept pushing Peter to apologize. "They're our only family, Richard!" Julian overheard her once. "My sister! Your brother! Do you really want to estrange them over such a petty-"

Then they both noticed Julian and changed the subject.

So they were going to keep this charade up, then? Did they think he was blind to the tension between his father and his uncle?

In the late afternoon, Richard finally gave in to his wife's persistence. "Fine! I'll go talk to him tomorrow!"

"No," Emily said firmly. "You're going now."

Richard sighed.

"And I'm coming with you," she added.

"May I come too?" Julian requested. "I would like to see Rose."

And so all three of them called upon Fitzwarren Manor as dusk fell.

In the main parlor, Peter and Richard stood facing each other, not yet saying anything. Emily and Daphne stood a few metres away, each sister keeping an eye on her husband. Julian, meanwhile, had been sent away from the adults to "play" with Rose.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping now?" Julian asked his young cousin.

Rose shook he head, golden hair bouncing this way and that. "No!" she announced

"All right, all right," Julian acquiesced. "Well, would you like to play something?"

Rose nodded vigorously.

"How about peek-a-boo?" Julian suggested. "Go up to the balcony and play peek-a-boo with me from there."

"Yes!" Rose said. She began to climb determinedly up the staircase, stopping after each step to look behind her and make sure Julian was still there.

Finally she reached the top of the staircase. She leaned against the wooden bars of the balcony and, covering her eyes with her hands, said "Peek-a-"

She was cut off by a loud CRACK.

The noise caught the attention of the other adults, and for a moment they watched in mute horror as the wooden bars of the fence Rose was leaning against broke and the two-year-old heir, too shocked to scream, plummeted to the floor nine metres below.

The world stood still and silent for a moment, a little figure in pink falling slowly, almost floating, yet dropping so, so fast.

Hold up your arms, Julian thought to himself, and he raised them slightly above his head.

Then Julian was abruptly shoved aside; he stumbled, caught himself, and turned just in time to see his uncle catch Rose moments before she would have hit the floor.

The impact drove Peter backward; he staggered back a few steps before regaining his balance, keeping an iron grip on Rose all the while.

Daphne rushed over, and Emily, and even Richard, and they all crowded around the shocked, silent Rose in Peter's arms.

Then Rose gasped, and burst into tears, the tears of a healthy toddler, and Daphne started crying also, and even Peter blinked back tears, suddenly terrifyingly aware of how close he had come to losing his only child.

"Should I send for a doctor?" Richard offered, his earlier quarrel with Peter all but forgotten in the spectre of near death.

"She's safe," Daphne half sobbed, seizing Rose and clutching her to her chest. "You're safe."

Peter looked up at the broken balcony fence. "What, exactly, just happened?"

Investigation of the fence revealed that several of the bars had been half sawed through with a knife, so that they would break if pressure was applied, such as a small girl leaning against it.

"Someone did this on purpose?" Daphne asked in disbelief.

Peter sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. "It looks like it, dear."

"But who? And how? And...why?"

Peter answered all her questions with a simple, "We don't know."

The servants were interrogated. all of them claimed to know nothing, and all of them either had strong alibis or had been trusted members of the Fitzwarren household for years.

"You can know someone for years and find out he isn't the kind of person you thought he was," Richard muttered darkly.

"Richard, not now," Emily hissed.

No concrete conclusion was arrived at, but eventually the furor died down. Rose had no further "accidents," and thankfully was too young to remember what har family had started calling "the incident."

One day when Rose was four, she insisted that Julian play hide-and-seek with her. Which, in Julian's opinion, was absurd. He was nineteen. What was he doing, playing childish games with an infant fifteen years younger than him?

But no one ever listened to Julian's opinion anyway.

His mother gave him a look that said she would be very disappointed in him if he didn't drop everything and play with Rose. Well, if that was the worst punishment she could think of, he was fortunate.

His mother was always saying how good it was that her only child and her sister's only child should be so close.

And his father was always saying that it would be good to endear himself to the Fitzwarren heir, even when she was very young.

And his aunt was always worried that Rose had no one to play with.

And that was how Julian ended up playing hide-and-seek with his cousin fifteen years his junior.

This was humiliating.

As Rose skipped along the hallway of one of the lower levels of Fitzwarren Manor, a necklace bounced against her chest. Julian realized it was a golden locket, identical to the one his mother and his aunt had.

Actually, had Daphne been wearing her locket-which she always wore-earlier? He thought not.

So his aunt had given her locket, identical to his mother's locket, treasured tokens of the sister's love for each other, to her precious daughter.

He wondered how his mother would feel upon learning that her sister had given away the locket she had gifted Daphne on her wedding day-the twin of the one Daphne had given Emily on her wedding day-even if it had been given to Rose.

Probably she would be just fine with it.

Rose was still a baby, really. You didn't trust babies with items of sentimental value, or heirlooms.

(Or inheritances...)

"Julian!" Rose said, interrupting his reverie. "Who hides first?"

Julian looked at his young cousin, considering. Still, perhaps this was an opportunity.

"Rose," he said, "shall I show you some excellent hiding places?"

Peter found Julian reading in an armchair in the library.

"Julian." He sounded pleased, but surprised. "I thought you were playing a game with Rose?"

Julian looked up from Bleak House. "She wandered away somewhere. I thought she didn't want to play anymore. Why, isn't she with you?"

"No." Peter sounded concerned already.

Well, of course he would be. Rose is his only child. And heir.

At first, everyone assumed that Rose had simply been distracted by something, or maybe fallen asleep. She would show up sooner or later.

But she didn't.

The search for Rose began in earnest, and grew more frantic as time went on.

Fitzwarren Manor was big, and there were a lot more places for a little girl to hide than Julian would have thought. His legs began to ache and his throat began to grow hoarse from walking up and down the hallways over and over calling Rose's name. Still, Julian reminded himself, it would all be worth it in the end.

Rose was not found.

Daphne was on the verge of summoning the police when suddenly one of the maids cried, "Lady Fitzwarren! Lady Fitzwarren!" and came running up, dragging with her by the hand a red-eyed, tear-streaked Rose.

The reactions of the other Fitzwarrens were pretty much the same as they were after Rose's fall from the balcony-crying, hugging, etc. Of course they were.

Don't be so childish, Julian berated himself. You'll have other chances.

"How can we ever thank you?" Peter was asking the maid who had found Rose.

"'Twas no trouble, sir," the maid said, ducking her head bashfully. "Anyone would've done it. I was just doing my job."

"Where did you find her, Beth?" Daphne asked, hugging Rose tightly.

Apparently, Beth the maid had been sent to the cellar on an errand and had heard crying coming from a small storage room at the very farthest end of the cellar, the door of which had somehow gotten locked from the outside.

If Beth had bot been sent to the cellar...if she had not gone as far in as she did(which hardly anyone ever did)...if Rose's cries had been any quieter...the young Fitzwarren heir would not have been found for hours, days, weeks. And by the time she was found, it would have been too late.

Rose, being only four, would later remember nothing of this episode except that she was left with a fear of small, dark places.

(The asylum, later on, did not help with this. Neither did having to hide in a secret room in the basement of Rookwood School.)

She was also left with a lingering wariness of her cousin Julian.

Three days after Julian turned twenty-one, Richard and Emily Fitzwarren died when the brakes on their automobile failed during a too-sharp turn and they went straight off the road into a tree.

The inheritance wasn't as much as Julian expected. Apparently his father's gambling issue had been greater than he had thought. And of course, his uncle Peter was in control of most of the family's money.

Everyone cried at the funeral.

Peter immediately invited Julian to live in Fitzwarren Manor with him and his family. They were, after all, the only family he had left.

But Daphne's face was shadowed by suspicion, and she refused to look Julian in the eye. Her face seemed to twist and crumple whenever she saw him, she whisked Rose out of his way, and she had many whispered arguments with her husband.

It was soon common knowledge among the Fitzwarren family members(the ones that were left, anyway), even Rose-adults so often forget how perceptive children are-that Daphne suspected Julian of engineering his parents' accident.

"How can you suspect him of something like this?" Peter demanded. "He's my brother's son!" You really think he would stoop so low?"

"And he's my sister's son!" Daphne shot back. "You think it doesn't break my heart, that my own flesh and blood could do such a thing? He was supposed to go to town with them but changed his mind at the last moment, the brakes had been tampered with-I'm not having him around Rose!"

"I refuse to believe my brother's son capable of such heinous acts!" Peter roared. "He's all I have left of Richard! I'm not going to accuse my only nephew of murder based on nothing but groundless suspicions!"

So it went.

Richard refused to believe that his only brother's only son was capable of what Daphne was suggesting. Daphne, for her part, didn't want to believe that her own sister's only son was capable of murder, but the facts stood, and the events of the past few years suddenly made an awful kind of sense.

Eventually, Peter and Daphne reached an uneasy compromise. Julian would be sent away to university. He would mature there, and only come back to Fitzwarren Manor infrequently. Hopefully, Peter thought, this would give Daphne time to come to her senses and realize that there was no way Julian could have tampered with the automobile. It was unthinkable.

The night before Julian was due to leave, Peter knocked on the door of his room and asked if he could speak to him.

"Of course, Uncle," Julian replied politely.

Peter entered the room and began to pace back and forth, while Julian sat in his chair and watched him unblinkingly. 

Peter coughed, cleared his throat, coughed again, and finally began to speak. "Julian," he began, and repeated himself. "Julian. I hope-I hope you realize that this is not a reflection on you."

Julian understood immediately what his uncle was talking about. "Of course, Uncle," he replied. "It's for the best."

"You should know," his uncle continued, "that I do not for one moment believe-what your aunt has said."

"I know," Julian assured him, although he felt slightly queasy.

"She's not thinking straight," Peter said, fiddling with his watch chain. "She's grieving. But I'll talk to her. She'll come around."

"I very much hope so," Julian replied, and then added. "Thank you for all that you've done for me. I-I really do appreciate it."

"Of course." Peter looked surprised. "Of course."

He hesitated, wanting to say more but unsure of how or what. Communication had never been his forte.

He settled for nodding and pumping Julian's hand. Then he left, thinking of his now-broken family. The only thing that had made his brother's death and his wife's accusations bearable, he decided, was Rose.

Barely five minutes after Peter had left one of the maids knocked on Julian's door and informed him that Lady Fitzwarren wished to speak to him in the drawing room.

Julian made his way to the drawing room and entered without knocking, feeling nervous.

Daphne was sitting in a red armchair at the far side of the room. There was no other chair nearby for Julian to sit, and she made no move to invite him to pull one over.

"Hello, Aunt," Julian said, giving her a formal half-bow.

"Julian," Daphne almost hissed.

There were several moments of tight, uncomfortable silence, which Daphne suddenly broke by saying, "I wish you were not my nephew."

Julian decided not to respond. Anything he said would only make it worse.

"If you were not my nephew," Daphne continued, "then my sister would not be your mother, and she would still be alive."

"I-"

"Silence!" she commanded. "Listen to me, Julian Fitzwarren."

She stood up abruptly, drawing herself up to her full height, which was actually two inches shorter than Julian, although it didn't feel like it. He was suddenly struck by her eyes, which looked exactly like his mother's.

"I know what you did," Daphne continued fiercely. "I may not have proof, but I know it, and you know it, and I hope it eats you up inside and never lets you sleep another night! And Rose will know it; I will tell her everything, and she will never trust you. Why have you tried to live with us? Are you waiting for us to die so you can have everything?"

"Of course n-"

"Go!" she shouted. "Go far away from my family, go to your university. And never come back! But know this, Julian Fitzwarren. I am watching you."

Right. Time to regain control of the situation.

"My dear aunt." Julian tipped his hat, forcing his tone to stay polite and emotionless. "You are overwrought by grief. I shall see you later, when you are in a better frame of mind. Good night."

He bowed to her and walked away, out the door.

Behind him, Daphne shouted, "You are a vulture, Julian Fitzwarren!"

Julian closed the door to the drawing room and took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He was rattled.

His gaze fell on Rose, who had obviously been standing by the door eavesdropping the entire time; her face was pale and her eyes were very wide.

Julian gave her a sardonic bow and left to his room.

University was all right. Some of the classes were interesting. Some of them were boring, of course, but that was only to be expected. He made some new-well, he wouldn't call them friends yet, but definitely friendly associates.

He also made the acquaintance of a lovely young woman named Phyllis; they planned to marry as soon as they graduated from their respective universities and they had enough funds, which, for Julian at least, should definitely not be a problem.

Peter wrote occasional letters, which Julian answered. Sometimes, at his uncle's urging, Julian would spend breaks or holidays at Fitzwarren Manor, but they were always awkward, what with Peter's forced joviality and Daphne glaring at him from the other end of the table.

Rose observed everything that was going on, clutching her locket so tightly it made a mark in her hand.

On one such break, Julian returned to Fitzwarren Manor to find that both Lord and Lady Fitzwarren had fallen ill.

"Just in the past couple of days, sir," the housekeeper explained worriedly. "There wasn't time to notify you."

"With what?" Julian demanded, his mind whirling. "How seriously?"

"Pneumonia," a new voice said. The Fitzwarren family doctor walked into the room. He was an older gentleman, in his sixties, gray-haired, but despite his age, the Fitzwarrens had trusted him with their health since before Julian's birth. He had attended Julian's grandfather in his final illness. "As for how seriously-rather so, I'm afraid. I would have sent for you already, if the staff hadn't told me you were to be returning now. I fear....."

Even after years and years of being in the medical practice, he still could not deliver bad news with the equanimity of some of his colleagues.

Julian nodded in understanding, his ears buzzing. "I see," was all he said.

Peter and Daphne were, indeed, very ill. Scarcely anyone was allowed in the sickroom besides for the doctor, for fear of contagion. This meant that Rose was not allowed to see her parents, no matter how much she begged.

She took to spending all of her time either in her room, in a corner of the kitchen where the staff congregated, or sitting on couches or chairs of various out-of-the-way sitting rooms, warily observing the strange new activity in the house. For, around the second week of Peter and Daphne's illness, Julian had realized that with his aunt and uncle severely ill, and Rose young and timid, he was essentially in charge of Fitzwarren Manor. And, with the sad death of his aunt and uncle, it would be his. Well, Rose's, but Rose was too young. At least that.

So Julian began to make a few changes: the first, assessing the value of the property in the house; the second, replacing much of the household staff with new servants who would know only him as their employer.

Beth was the first to go.

Rose was sitting on the floor of the parlor late at night, her back against the front of an armchair, reading a book.

She heard footsteps, and looked up to see her cousin Julian. Every warning her mother had ever said and all of the strange happenings in the house flashed through her mind, and she jumped up and ran out of the room, weaving through the house to eventually arrive at the servant's staircase and take it upstairs to her room; no one would be on it at this late hour.

Julian sighed. He really would have preferred it differently, but it was clear that his aunt had poisoned his cousin against him. This was a problem. He clenched his fists.

Something caught his eye; he bent and picked up the book Rose had been reading; in her rush to leave, she'd left it on the floor. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. 

Idly, he opened the book to a random page.

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.

"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat. "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

Julian closed the book and stood for some time with a pensive look on his face.

Time stretched interminably. Fevers raged, lungs struggled for breath, and Lady Daphne Elizabeth Podwell Fitzwarren died of pneumonia on the fifteenth of March.

On the thirteenth, she called for her solicitor, insisting that several changes be made to her and Peter's will, the force of her persistence becoming so strong that the doctor eventually ordered the solicitor to make the called-for changes, for Lady Fitzwarren's own health.

Julian approached the solicitor as he closed his briefcase outside the sickroom. "May I ask what my aunt had you do?"

"You can ask, but I can't answer." The solicitor shrugged. "Rules of confidentiality and all that. I'm sorry."

"I see..." Julian said slowly. "What's your name, by the way?" he asked as the solicitor stepped out the door.

"Bloodworth," the solicitor called over his shoulder.

On the fourteenth, Rose was admitted into the sickroom, an exception being made just this once. She stayed for hours, and fell asleep next to her mother, heedless of possible contagion, awaking on the morning of the fifteenth to find her mother dead, and herself Lady Fitzwarren.

After her mother's death, Rose stopped speaking, although it took some time for Julian to realize this, since Rose scarcely spoke around him anyway.

Her already troubled sleep began to be even more disturbed; she saw her mother's face, beautiful and pale and unmistakably dead every time she closed her eyes. She went to the kitchen once, to see if she could have a soothing chamomile tea like her mother used to give her whenever she had trouble sleeping, but the cook was new and strange, and so was most everyone else there; one of the new maids asked her what she wanted and she simply stared at all of them for a moment, then ran back to her room.

Julian was walking through the main parlor late at night, carrying a letter to be mailed to Phyllis, when he noticed a flash of white in the shadows on the other side of the room.

He froze.

The figure moved closer.

He laughed suddenly. It was only Rose, in her nightgown, her blue eyes wide. "Rose! What are you doing here at this hour?"

Rose stared blankly at him, her eyes big and eerie.

"Rose!"

Rose showed no reaction.

A chill trailed down Julian's spine. She's sleepwalking. He snapped his fingers in front of Rose's face. "Rose!" he almost shouted.

Rose jumped, her eyes suddenly awake and wild. She looked around in confusion before her eyes settled on Julian.

"You were sleepwalking, Rose," Julian said quietly. What a peculiar girl. "You just walked right across the room, sleeping the whole time. It looked very odd."

Rose frowned.

Julian took a step forward so that his shadow fell beyond her; he loomed over her. He was so much taller than her. "Do you know what they used to say of sleepwalkers in the old days, Rose?"

Rose shook her head, interested despite herself, clutching her locket tightly with her right hand as though it were a protective charm.

Julian smiled sharply. "They said they were possessed by the devil."

Rose turned and fled upstairs.

After his wife's death Peter declined greatly; hope was all but given up for him.

But then, perhaps it was the thought of his daughter, perhaps it was a miracle, but against all odds, Peter rallied and began to recover. His health grew steadier by the day. Rose could now occasionally be seen with a small smile on her face.

Eventually the day came when the doctor pronounced Peter well enough that he no longer needed constant tending.

"Give him this twice a day," the doctor said, handing Julian a small blue cloth bag filled with white powder. "Once in the morning, once in the evening. He should recover within the month; six weeks at the most. Leave the windows open unless it's cold or rainy; he needs fresh air. You can allow your cousin to visit him; she'll lift his spirits considerably, and that can make all the difference. My condolences on the loss of your aunt."

"Yes..." Julian said, holding the bag of powder, only half listening to what the doctor was saying.

After the doctor left, Julian remained staring at the wall for a few minutes. Eventually he arrived at a decision. 

He put the blue bag in the back of the bottom drawer of his bureau. Then he want on a walk. He needed fresh air, and he had an errand to run.

Julian assiduously gave his uncle powder from his green bag twice daily, sprinkling it in Peter's tea or broth. But Peter worsened, his fever climbing, his breathing labored, his cough hacking.

Julian told two of his new hired servants to stand guard at the entrance to the sickroom and make sure that Lady Rose would not enter, lest she fall ill as well.                   And so Rose was left to pace the floor of her room, back and forth, back and forth, almost a prisoner in her own home, in an agony of terror and grief and self-recrimination, wishing she was braver, smarter, more outspoken, something.

Lord Peter William Fitzwarren died on the tenth of April.

At the funeral, Julian wore all black, shed a few genuine tears, and promised to do what was best for his young cousin no matter what.

No one suspected(except perhaps Rose, but she was too scared to say anything and no one would have believed her if she had)that the medicine the doctor had given Julian, which still sat patiently in its blue bag in the bottom of Julian's bureau, was not what he had given his uncle at all.

#scarlet and ivy #rose fitzwarren #julian fitzwarren #fanfiction #writing #sophie cleverly