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#a widow and fatherless children
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This is a shout-out to all the 'unwanted' Christians. The ones who turn to the the Church and find no help, no support, and only a shallow and conditional welcome - which is no welcome at all. The ones who sit through message after sermon after Bible study which is entirely irrelevant to them. The ones who mess up the church's picture-perfect image.
This is for the Side B Christians, the divorced Christians, the single parents trying so desperately to fill the role of two people. This is for the Christians who have never taken Communion, or who have - for whatever reason - never been baptized. This is for the Christians who must choose between food and rent this month, or tithing. This is for the quiet Christians, the shy ones, the ones who'd rather hide under the table than volunteer for helping with the fellowship dinner.
This is for the Christians who admit something in shame and repentance and sorrow and are drawn away from and ostracized. This is for the Christians condemned by their 'brothers' and 'sisters' for things beyond their control. This is for the fatherless children who are not orphans but abandoned by their parents, for the widows left struggling while the local assembly hall is remodeled. This is for the children shut out of the friend groups and pushed away from their peers because of their parents.
This is for the Christians who are blamed for being abused. This is for the Christians who are trying to escape abuse and finding only platitudes and closed doors. This is for Christians who are trying to learn new behavioral patterns and find only condemnation for the old ones and no help. This is for the Christians struggling with mental illness who are told to pray it away. Christians struggling substances. With addictions. With anything. For the Christians who have gone to their pastor or the elders or their peers and found no help.
This is for all the Christians who have no home and no shepherd and no church to nourish them because they are inconvenient. The Christians who mess up the optics. The members who are least in honor.
This is for anyone who has ever sought the comfort of the Church and found instead stones and snakes.
I see you and I love you. Even more than that, God sees you and loves you.
You are not alone.
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missmonsters2 · 11 months
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🥶
WandaNat
Pairing: WandaNat x Fem!Reader
Warnings: awkward!reader. clint slander. WandaNat no mercy.
Note: i miss them
Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3
Count: 999 (🧍‍♀️)
Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘
Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.
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This was your worst nightmare—trapped between the bodies of two incredibly hot, kind, and funny women. 
And no, it wasn't in the sexy way—your brain refused to even let you go down that route. You'd implode at even the slightest thought of it. 
This was Clint's fault, you quietly seethed, plotting his gruesome murder that could later be turned into a true crime podcast. Laura will have to be a widowed single mother, and the children will have to grow up fatherless, but surely it was for the best. 
"Come down to visit us!" Clint said to you, your mind mimicking his voice unflatteringly. "It's been way too long since you guys came to stay with us."
It was a normal occurrence; you thought nothing of it. You, Wanda, and Natasha often went to stay with Clint and his family quarterly. Natasha visited more with her girlfriend, Wanda, and they invited you every time, but you settled that four times a year was enough. 
It was usually fun, and the time spent was enjoyable, so you really had thought nothing about it.
Until Clint decided he was actually the incarnate of the devil and condemned you for some undisclosed sin. 
"Oh, you three are cool sharing a room, right? The other spare bedroom is under renovation. I mean, one of you can take the couch but I highly don't recommend it with what the kids have spilled on it over the years."
No, it wasn't okay, you wanted to say at the time, but Wanda and Natasha nonchalantly waved Clint off and told him it was fine, and the conversation breezed on, never to be returned to again. 
Why would he invite all three of you if there wasn't enough space!? You tried to tell Wanda and Natasha that you could drive to the nearest hotel at night, but they looked at you strangely and asked if you hated them. It was jokingly, but you could hear a tinge of hurt in their voice, which silenced you from offering to leave again. 
But now you were suffering. 
The bed was way too small for three people but left enough room for just a couple of inches to keep you from coming into skin-to-skin contact with either redhead.
You stared at the ceiling, despite being unable to make out any details of the room in the darkness. 
Why the fuck were you in the middle?
You should've been on the edge. At least then, you could hang half your body off it to keep some distance. 
You started at the edge of the bed—make no mistake. But then Natasha came to your side and asked you to scootch over. You assumed she preferred sleeping on the right side, so you started to make your way down to the other side. But then, to your horror, Wanda climbed in from the other end, effectively trapping you in the middle. 
The words were caught in your throat as you tried to force them out and ask if you could have the edge, but Natasha and Wanda mumbled their goodnights before promptly falling asleep. 
This was unacceptable; you mentally cried. This was—weird. You know that Wanda and Natasha have been together for ages, and they probably didn't care, but it was strange to be in the middle of them like this. You're way too awkward for this. 
It brought up the unwanted feelings you've been trying to get rid of for months. 
The worst part was that it was winter, and this room was so fucking cold. Was Clint going through financial hardship? Why isn't there any heat in this room?
You wished him ill, you wished him ill, you wished bad things upon Clint Barton. 
You shifted, trying to pull the blanket up higher and shrink yourself to retain some of the heat. You turned on your side, facing Wanda's back, and frowned. You could practically feel the heat radiating off her and wanted to scoot away from her. But you couldn't. You'd scoot right into Natasha, who was also radiating heat as she faced your back.
At this moment, you hated them for being so unaware of their temptations. 
You swallowed. Moving a little closer to Wanda wouldn't be too bad, right? Just to steal a bit more of her warmth, so you could fall asleep and wake up early to get out of bed. 
You scooted a little closer, your nose just inches away from her back since there wasn't much wiggle room. Her heat emitted off her like a goddamn fireplace, and you sighed a little at the warmth on your nose and the parts of your cheeks. 
It was still pretty cold, and you shivered a little. 
Your movement seemed to wake Wanda as she lifted her head to look around at you. You looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Turning back, Wanda lay her head back down and shut her eyes with a yawn. 
You started to scoot back to where you were, but Wanda grabbed your wrist from under the blanket and pulled it over her waist as she shuffled back into you.
The warmth pressed against your front jolted you, and you were stiff, despite how good it felt. 
"любимая, she's cold," Wanda mumbled in the dark as she threaded her fingers through yours.
Wanda was clearly speaking to Natasha because the redhead behind you shifted and moved closer until she was pressed against your back snuggly. Her arms wrapped around your midsection as she tangled her legs through yours. 
You wanted to die. 
You wanted to kill Clint Barton and then run into oncoming traffic. 
"Um," you croaked. 
"Is this better?" Natasha mumbled sleepily, and she was so close you felt her lips move against your shoulder. 
No.
Yes.
No.
"Uh," you dragged out before finally deciding with an awkward stiff, "Yes."
It was warm—almost too warm now. You closed your eyes with a silent groan. 
You weren't getting any sleep tonight.
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Some headcanons with Captain John Price x F!Reader for folks who want to dodge the breeding, pregnancy, kid-centric stuff:
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Plenty of people warned you that John would be disappointed when you explained your child-free, pregnancy-free position.
So you were nervous and fidgeting with your fingers as you told him. Your heart was in your throat a little bit.
But John covered your hands with him, stilling your fretfulness. And he cups your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.
"Thank you for telling me, love."
Regardless of John's feelings on the subject - whether he wants kids, whether he doesn't want them - this man would absolutely never breathe a word of attempting to change your mind.
His job is a demanding one. That would force you to take the brunt of the parenting responsibilities, which he knows wouldn't be fair.
And if - God forbid - anything happened to him in the field, you would be widowed, which he struggles to cope with already. He wouldn't want to leave a child fatherless on top of that.
He fully recognizes the physical demands of pregnancy as well, and he understands why someone would choose not to go through that.
If other people give you grief for your decision in any way, whether that's telling you that you'll change your mind, or insisting that you need to give John babies because it's your "duty", he is rock fucking solid in alignment with you.
He stands up for you in a heartbeat without batting an eye.
He 100% supports his your decision and your happiness.
And he'll stare down anyone who tries to turn him against you on the subject.
There are many, many times when it's you and John curled up quietly together at home, when he's actually grateful that he has you all to himself and he doesn't have to share.
Sometimes, little doubts creep into your mind once in a while.
What if John resents you for your decision?
What if he stops loving you because you don't have children?
But when those worries slip out - or when John has to pry them out of you - he holds your gaze so steadily.
"That will never happen, sweetheart. You have my word."
He doesn't say it often because he doesn't want the sentiment to lose its value, but there are occasions where John will say something along the lines of, "You make my life really good, you know that, love?"
He wants to make sure you know just how grateful he is to come home to you.
Masterlist
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lemon-bread-owo · 16 days
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Nightlight
(This is base off an Au by @novalizinpeace of their smiling critters cartoon au I hope they like it, also sorry for the poor spelling an or grammar not only did I wrote this late at night I'm just a little dyslexic)
Warning mention Character Death and War
Queen Gaia just got her twins to sleep. Both Dogday and Catnap wanted to see their father when he came home tonight. She couldn't blame them she too wants to see her husband tonight. Not only will he be there for a longer but also be home for the twin's 4th birthday next week. She can only hope he will stay longer before going out again for the war. She was all most to the throne room when she heard a yell be hide her. "Your highness" it was rush out of the Messager mouth as they ran in. "What new do you give tonight?" she asks with a smile. "It your husband, he died this morning in the battlefield, I'm sorry your highness." the Messager softly said to the now widowed Queen Gaia. Queen face slowly turned one of shock, as she run though her head of what they just said. "I-I I'm sorry come again" she said not believing the words coming out of the Messager mouth. Her beloved die on the battlefield without the warmth of his family by him. Leaving not only her not only widowed but their children fatherless. This must be some cruel joke someone came up with. "My highness, I only speak of the truth you husband had die this morning" the Messager said in pity. "I'm sorry I need to take my leave" Gaia said before rushing off. Gaia heart couldn't take it, he was gone, and she can't do anything about it. She opens the door to her bedroom now. She tries to stand up using her bed, but she couldn't keep herself up any longer and falls onto the floor. she let out soft sobs, that slowly turn into a wail of pain. How is she going to explain this to her boys. She didn't get any sleep that night.
(Hopely I didn't do Queen Gaia dirty. I also know I took some leap with the ages(maybe), but I think Catnap and Dogday being thee made more senses to me. They remeber their father but like not a lot if you know what I mean. Nova I hope you like this, it is my first ever fanfic I posted that wasn't for myself. Also, if people like this I may write more about nova au and or mine own)
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kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months
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do you think konig would retire early if engel wanted him to? maybe to start a family, travel, etc
I think it would be difficult for him because soldiering is König's second nature. The army saved him from himself, so to say. Without a way to "express himself" König would become anxious. Not perhaps violent, but more like… confused, even depressed? He feels like he’s lacking a purpose.
He has to fix the whole world during his lifetime, and the best way to do that is to campaign against evil. König could be provided with distraction, you can give him broken cars and make him assemble computers for a while, he'd happily go to the gym 5-6 times a week, but his passion for life (death) would be gone.
König loves his Engel dearly and treats her as an extension of his life purpose at the very least. He would want nothing more than to start a family with her, spend as much time with her as his work permits and take care of her because to him, it's a given that a wife needs her husband. But at the same time, König needs an outlet, he needs his work or else he’ll crawl out of his skin.
So I doubt he would retire early unless Engel started to demand it with gentle, roundabout ways (such as wet, pleading eyes and softly whispered suggestions). If she starts to openly worry about the possibility of König leaving her a widow and their children fatherless, he would eventually crumble no doubt.
Engel and their beautiful kids would be a strong motivator for him to quit, but damn, it wouldn't be easy. People like him don't integrate well into a peaceful society.
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iesnoth · 4 months
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 “Cursed is anyone who withholds justice from the foreigner, the fatherless or the widow.” Then all the people shall say, “Amen!”
Deuteronomy 27:19, from the Torah
THIS PIECE IS BEING SOLD FOR CHARITY
I've been thinking/praying alot about Palestine and how to help. I didn't want to just donate, but to find a way to keep this humanitarian tragedy, and others like it, in mind.
This piece is on sale at redbubble, you can find it here. All sales will go to the Palestinian Children's Relief Fund, which I have already made my own donation to.
***Note: "foreigner" is the direct quote from the Scripture, I'm not saying Palestinians are foreigners. Regardless, it was God's command to care for the foreigners, immigrants, etc. Other Old Testament examples are: Deuteronomy 10:19, Leviticus 19:34, Job 29:15-17, Jeremiah 7:5-7, Ezekiel 47:22, and Zechariah 7:9-10
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scotianostra · 5 months
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Scotland's worst ever mining disaster happened on 22nd October 1877 at Blantyre.
The mine like others in the area was known to be very gassy but complaints by miners a few days before the disaster were fobbed off by the foreman, Joseph Gilmour. He told the miners "There'll no be a man fall in this pit, I'll guarantee that".
On the fateful day the shifts went down the mine as normal at 5:30am. There was nothing unusual as the men carried out their backbreaking work in the low tunnels or 'stoopings'. At 8:45am the history of Blantyre changed as there was a loud explosion and flames shot from no.3 and no.5 pit shafts.
Women and off-duty miners hurried to the scene and soon 7 bodies were hoisted from no.2 pit but it was no.3 pit that concerned them. At midday the mines inspector went into the pit and found roof falls and a clear smell of firedamp. The main shaft had to be cleared and men worked in teams until they broke through at 10pm. Four miners were found but they were so seriously injured that they died later.
Work continued throughout the night and into the next day and despite very poor weather, sightseers arrived from Glasgow and Hamilton. The crowd around the pithead was so large that a hundred police were on duty to control it.
It was to take a week before the bodies were removed entirely from the mine which caused great distress for the families and incensed the villagers. In time the awful reality hit home when it was revealed that there was a death toll of at least 215 killed, resulting in High Blantyre having some 92 widows and 250 fatherless children.
Blantyre entered the history books as having the worst ever Scottish mining disaster................
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ask--eggman · 8 hours
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Eggman, do you ever stop to think about home Maney widows, widowers and orphans that you and your robots have created over the years? So many fatherless children running about.
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It doesn't cross my mind often because I couldn't care less who lives or dies, as long as I get what I want. It's their fault for getting in my way and I need not waste any of my time to dwell on it. But sometimes it does get me thinking...
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About how much it's such a great testament to my brilliance and credibility as a force to be reckoned with, hoho! I've changed so many lives, haven't I? Wiping out inferior organic families isn't my problem, it's their fault for not creating them in superior scientific ways like I did, so they couldn't die in such ways.
I love knowing I've made such an impact on the world and left my mark on so many lives and erased others, even before I've succeed in my goals and ruled it the way I deserve. It shows my true power! That I'm to be feared and obeyed so they should give me what I want if they don't want me to do much more and worse!
I also like how they'll never be able to forget me because their life will never be the same, all thanks to me/my robots. It gives them a way to think, talk about me and remember I exist everyday. And one day, everyone's entire lives will be entirely reshaped and redefined by me when they have no choice but to submit to the empire!
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bird-brained-biz · 11 months
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Y’all think about the fact Brook canonly still blames himself for every single man’s death and, the worst thing is… it is his fault. Brook did
He could have stayed to heal, or perhaps made some other choice as the new, however inexperienced Captain, however his choices even if not truthfully meant to be, ended those men up there.
Brook created widows and fatherless children that genuinely have no clue what happened to their parent. Franky makes a passing comment of “those skulls were so heavy, we could not load them onto to the Sunny or else it would sink!”
Those are just SKULLS.
How many men died at those skeletal hands, and how much of it utterly falls on Brook?
In anyway, he still clearly feels that it’s his fault, shown in Whole Cake and Wano through acts of wailing, angry, or simply sorrowful comments and actions by Brook, not blaming his crew for sorrow or loss, but himself.
“If only I had…
If only I had,”
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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 9 months
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Flesh and Blood
Part 5: Feast Day
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3   | Part 4
Pairing: Prince Aemon the Dragonknight x Fem. Reader (Northerner /House Stark | Third Person POV)
Themes: Some angst
Warnings: References to canon Targcestuous marriages (Daena and Baelor) | Mentions of war, death and PTSD | Kissing
Word count: 3.4K words.
Summary: It is the feast of the warrior, and y/n must attend along with the rest of the Royal Family. 
Minors DNI | 18+
Rules and tag form can be found here.  
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The sun had not yet risen when they made their way to the Royal Sept. 
Aemon had come in a carriage long before dawn prayers. He insisted on escorting y/n back to the Red Keep. Y/n took great care with her dress. Today was not just an important day. It was a sacred day, even if the significance of it meant little to her.  
The Feast of the Warrior, Aemon called it, was a day dedicated to the Warrior aspect of the Seven Who Are One. Battle-seasoned warriors would give thanks to him. Those who had lost loved ones to war would ask him to bring peace and comfort to those who were slain and to judge their souls favorably. Those who took orders as household guards and new knights and members of the Gold Cloaks would be anointed. Y/n smoothed the skirt of her dress. Gold and red were the colors of the day, and gold and red were the colors of her garments. Her skin prickled. When she turned to face her husband, she found him watching her. 
The look in his eyes gave her pause. It was the same look she caught sight of the evening she walked out of the water, and it was the same look she had been seeing every day after that. Every time Aemon called on her, his eyes would darken whenever he glanced at her. Sometimes, she found warmth in them. Other times, hunger. Other times, they would follow her every move. Y/n looked away before turning to Aemon again. His eyes had darkened even now. They seemed to travel the length of her, studying her intensely.
She flushed and went over her damask dress. The bodice clung to her, revealing as much as it concealed, and left her completely bare-shouldered. Dagged sleeves that nearly kissed the floor when she walked had been slashed down the side, exposing her arms. Y/n looked at her husband again, thinking the dress was too daring for a prayer service. It was the only red and gold dress she had; she did not consider having another dress made.
"Is this too revealing for the Sept, my lord?" she blurted out. 
"No," Aemon assured her. His voice was oddly hoarse and thick. "It is not. And you look glorious, truly."
Y/n managed a shy smile before turning to look out the window. There were red and gold pennants everywhere, dimly lit by nearby torches. Roads had been cleaned, and the tourney grounds made ready for the races that would come after the service. Everyone had been heading towards the nearest Sept. Some were warriors with salt and pepper hair. Others looked very young and were accompanied by proud families. Others still had no warrior with them. Their offerings had black ribbons fluttering in the wind. 
Widows, thought y/n. Fatherless children. Sisters, grieving for their brothers. Mothers and fathers and friends remembering someone who had fallen in battle.
A hand calloused and hardened by years of sword use rested over hers, startling her. 
"I... would like to be called husband," Aemon insisted, not unkindly. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Please." 
It confused her. Aemon had never asked such a thing of her before, even after he started addressing her as wife. He never asked her to call him husband, not when he called on her the day before, or the day before that. She kept her eyes trained on her lap, uncertain what to say. Aemon squeezed her hand again, as gently as before. She glanced up at him. There was tenderness in those beautiful eyes of his. And anticipation. He was waiting for an answer. 
"If it would please you," she mumbled after remembering her courtesies. "I will call you that."
His lips tugged at the corners. "It would please me to make you happy, wife." 
He turned to look out the window, his hand still over hers. Y/n's mind was a roil. Aemon had been more open with her. He confided in her about his parents, about the struggles they faced when their mother left them and returned to Lys. He listened to her when she talked of her home, and her family, asking countless questions about them all. He had been less formal with her and always sought out her company. He was not the cold man she thought she had married. Still, she kept her guard, wary of saying too much to him. 
The carriage lurched when they pulled to a stop. Y/n heard someone shout orders and the groan and clank of heavy chains; the portcullis was being drawn up. The horses whinnied and moved forward again. By the time they reached the Royal Sept, the sky was already lit with a faint tinge of golden yellow. Aemon got out first and offered his arm. Y/n let him help her out of the carriage and lead her across the middle bailey. The air was still and cold and fragrant with the scent of late summer blooms. Y/n would have stopped to admire the new buds of golden and crimson roses had the bells not chimed the hour. 
"Come," Aemon urged, "we must hurry."
She let him lead the way inside. Most of the court had already found their places. Aemon escorted her to a place by his father. Visery rose and moved to the side so y/n could sit at the end. 
The Sept was aglow with the light of dozens, if not hundreds, of red and yellow candles. A garland of red and golden roses had been draped around the neck of the Warrior. Y/n studied the likeness, the armor and plumed helm, the golden shield. The sculpture looked supple and almost lifelike. She could not help but admire the skill it took to draw such beauty out of cold marble.
"It took nearly a year to sculpt that," Viserys said. "Beautiful, is it not?"
"It is," y/n agreed, "and Aemon tells me the king has plans to commission the building of a larger Sept in the city?" 
Viserys moved over to her. Aemon went to speak to Lord Commander Hardyng and the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks. 
"He is," Viserys conceded gravely, "but such a scheme is years into the future. Pray how are your kin? Aemon tells me they all stay in a manse near Starlight Cove."
"They are well, my lord." Y/n glanced at Aemon. He was walking towards them, the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks in hand. "Although... they are not all that happy with the weather."
Viserys snorted, though not derisively. "I remember the North. Even the hottest summer day can be cold, but I hope they are comfortable. I also hope they will be staying until the coronation."
"Yes," y/n replied, smiling when she remembered her cousins talking about their new clothes and what they expected to happen. "They look forward to it, they tell me. The hunt too."
"Good, good. I..." Viserys was interrupted when Aemon reached them.
"My pardons, father," he said, "but I would like to introduce y/n to someone."
"Of course." Viserys rose with y/n. Aemon urged the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks forward.
"My lady," he said, "I would like you to meet Ser Brynden Flowers, the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks."
"My lord," Y/n smiled and held out her hand, as was the custom in the south. Brynden did not hesitate to take it and raise it to his lips. He flashed her a gap-toothed grin afterward.
"My lady," he said, standing straight. "Your husband has spoken a great deal of you. I trust you will be joining us after the service."
The feast in the Red Keep barracks to honor new recruits. The Royal family was expected to attend. 
"Of course," y/n replied. "Will you be joining the procession to the main square?"
"I fear I must," he said, flashing his grin again. "The commons will expect a show."
"Yes. The races," Viserys joined in. "I hear you put your name down as well."
All conversation died when the doors opened, and a Septon walked in, calling for their attention. "The king and queen will join us now," he said. "Please stand for the procession."
Brynden made his excuses and left. He had to be part of the procession. Everyone found their places and stood to attention.
First came two novice septas holding golden censers, swinging to and fro on chains. The air was soon filled with a fragrant haze. Then came the High Septon, garbed in robes of fine white silk and a magnificent crown of spun gold and crystal. A riot of color flashed and shimmered every time the crystal caught the light. Behind him was the Grand Maester, his ponderous chain of office clinking with every step he took. 
Next came the Lord Commander of the King's Guard. A simple pin of red and silver broke the chilling white of his raiment. Brynden followed, the gold of his cloak gleaming. After them came the princesses. Rhaena and Elaena had been paired off with two young lords. 
"Their intended husbands," Aemond leaned in and whispered. "Rhaena is with Edgar Redwyne, and Elaena is with Trystane Martell."
Young lord Edgar seemed pleased with his intended. And she with him. They would steal glances at each other before blushing and looking the other way. Trystane, on the other hand, was bolder. He would lean in and whisper something. Eleana would struggle to hide a snort. 
Last came the king and queen. Y/n could not imagine a more mismatched couple. Baelor was dressed in simple gray robes. He wore no crown and bore no ring of office. There was nothing about his person that was kingly or regal. Daena, on the other hand, was radiant. She was a vision in red silk slashed with cloth of gold. Gold and rubies glinted around her wrists and fingers and throat. Visenya's diadem gleamed amidst her hair. They moved right to the front, to the seats of high honor. After they took their places, the service began. 
Y/n tried to follow as much as she could. The service was beautiful; she could not deny that. Still, it all felt strange to her. These were not her gods. Her gods had no names and needed no statues. They were in the earth she walked on, in the very air she breathed, and she had to forsake them when she wed her husband. She sighed, her heart filling with sadness. Her skin prickled again. When she glanced up at her husband, she found him looking at her. Y/n smiled and turned her attention back to the High Septon. She listened while he led the prayers and offerings and when they gave thanks to the Warrior. Before long, she found herself outside the steps, waiting for her husband. Aemon said his farewells before joining her.
"What troubles you?" he said gently. 
Y/n merely shook her head. "Nothing, my lor..." She remembered what Aemon asked of her: not to address him as my lord. "Husband. I am just a little tired, that is all." 
Aemon studied her intently. "You can talk to me, wife," he said, looking around. He led her to the Godswood, where they could talk more freely. "I will not be angry." 
Y/n was uncertain and refused to speak, fearful of what he might say. Aemon led her to the shade of a Wierwood tree, one that was gifted to the Conqueror after the North bent the knee. 
"Talk to me." Aemon caressed her cheek with one hand and moved closer. He was so close that if he leaned in, he would kiss her. "Pull those walls of yours down and talk to me. Please."
Y/n sighed. She glanced at the wierwood tree, its white bark, and its blood-red leaves. They rustled when the wind blew through them. A voice called to her, one that was warm and familiar and distant. Her very soul was being pulled to it, to memories of her home, of running through ancient forests and snow crunching beneath her feet. She reached out and touched the bone-white bark with the flat of her palm. The tree groaned all on its own and she could have sworn the sweet scent of winter roses and pine and dark earth and cold wintery winds hung in the air. One breath. That was all she was given. One deep breath and the smell of home was gone, leaving nothing but an empty void behind. Tears came unbiased and y/n understood what it all meant. She was being told to remember she was of the North, and of the blood of the First Men.
"I want to keep to the old Gods," she replied even as her husband wiped her eyes. "Not to the Seven. I have tried husband. I really tried, but my soul will not accept them. I... I am sorry."
Aemon said nothing. Y/n thought she had angered him. The Godswood was eerily quiet. It felt as if a thousand eyes were watching them. Y/n wanted her husband to say something, anything. His silence was maddening. She wanted to shake him, to scream. Finally, he raised her hand to his lips.
"You can pray to the old gods, if that is your wish," he swore. "I just want you to be happy."
"Are you lying to me?" She asked, suddenly fearful. For all she knew, this could have been a ploy to keep her and the North bound to the crown. 
"I am not lying to you, my sweet wife," Aemon promised. "I never have. I hope I never will." 
Y/n looked at him. Aemon was watching and waiting. His gaze drifted to her lips. The leaves of nearby trees rustled again, and the world around them quietened. Y/n neither heard the waves roaring and crashing against the cliffs nor the cry of birds. She inhaled deeply, her lips slightly parting. Aemon closed his eyes and leaned in.
His kiss started out clumsy and hesitant before morphing into something soft and languid. Y/n felt, more than heard, his breath hitching. She sighed and melted, yielding to him slowly. Her hands brushed against the wisps of his hair. She felt the tips of his fingers on her cheeks. Y/n had hungered for this—a kiss that was sweet and worshipful, one that she had only ever experienced in her dreams, one that tasted nothing like duty. She shivered when Aemon moaned and slipped his arms around her waist. His hands brushed up her spine, his fingers trembling over her skin. She whimpered tremulously.
He pulled her even closer, as if coming undone by the sounds of her pleasure. He kissed along her jaw, the span of her throat. His tongue skimmed over the soft curve of her neck. Y/n slipped her arms around his broad shoulders, her fingers digging into his tunic. The hold around her waist tightened and stoked the fire growing in her belly. Fear rose within her, lashing at her like a new coil. Was this all just a dream? Was she going to open her eyes and find herself alone in a cold bed? Or was it real? Would Aemon pull away, claiming he did not wish to sin? She did not know what to do or even say, fearful of doing anything that could break the spell that wove itself around them. 
The next kiss put an end to worrying thoughts. Aemon’s mouth sought hers again with a kiss that was heated and consuming. His breath was ragged like he had been running hard and fast for hours. "My sweet wife," he whispered with each kiss. "My sweet, beautiful wife."
He did not stop. His kiss grew hungry and deep, his touch frantic and demanding. Y/n found herself being pulled along with him. When she opened her eyes she found him guiding her to the tower she once called home. Her blood heated. She whispered his name. He trembled and pressed against her, his hands delving into her hair.
It had to end. The spell that overcame them crumbled when nearby bells chimed the hour. Aemon pulled away slowly and reluctantly, his eyes clouded with the sweet haze of bliss. "We must go back," he whispered huskily. "Lest someone comes here and finds us."
They stayed there, composing themselves and setting themselves to rights before returning. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary. If they had, they said nothing. 
The barracks feast was splendid. They broke their fast on freshly baked bread and honey cakes, tiny salted fish roasted to crackling, gammon steaks and bacon, and the choicest fruits of the season, with pitchers of milk and cold barley tea and water to wash it all down. Members of the Gold Cloaks picked up instruments, often breaking into singing. Elaena would shout out the names of bawdy songs. Trystane and Edgar tried to sing them, and failed. Most of them laughed, even Viserys. Baelor, utterly red in the face, rose and made his excuses. He would have said more had his uncle not given him a look of warning. The king returned to the Sept to pray. 
The rest of the day passed like a beautiful dream. Y/n joined the others to watch the procession to the main square. She went with the others to watch the races and a boxing match. Aemon had been thoughtful and attentive, rarely leaving her side. 
He did not kiss her again. They did not have enough time alone to do that. She felt his attention in other ways. His arm would go around her waist one moment, and his hand would rest against the small of her back the next. He would blush whenever she smiled at him. Sometimes, y/n would feel the callused pads of his fingers tracing lazy lines over the back of her hand whenever they sat. Her skin would soon warm. Aemon would reward her with a shy smile. 
That too, had to end. The day came to a close. Y/n did not mind. She had drunk deeply on the magic of the day. Aemon brought her home, sitting as close to her as possible in the carriage. There could be no private moments here either. The curtains were too sheer, and anyone who peered in could see. They talked instead, with y/n asking about Dorne, the war, and how her father fought.
"He was one of the bravest men I had ever met," Aemon said truthfully. "He saved Daeron's life once. My brother's more than once. He talked of your mother, of you, and of your sister. He even spoke highly of Uther. Your father was proud of all of you, you must know that."
Y/n felt a flush of pride. "Uther wants to join my grandfather's household guard. My aunt and uncle have said yes, but Uther said it was hard for them to do so."
"I cannot blame them," Aemon said. He reached over and curled his fingers in her hair. "War is an ugly and dreadful business," he confided. "The singers will wax poetic about gallant deeds and handsome warriors fighting bravely, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. You do not hear of the side that is less than poetic, the one where the air reeks of blood and worse, how even hardened men fall to the mud, crying for their mothers. Or how they all soil themselves before they die. The singers do not speak of those things in the songs."
It was his thousand-yard stare that gave her pause. Aemon was not seeing her. His gaze was fixed somewhere else, seeing something she could not. Y/n hesitantly reached up and cupped his cheek.
"Husband?" She whispered. "What do you see?"
Aemon sighed and shook his head, his gaze turning to her. "A distant battlefield, wife. My horse dying after taking a spear. Me roasting underneath my armor. Some Dornish lordling rushing at me, sword drawn, thinking he could finish me off with a single blow." He laughed bitterly, his purple eyes ablaze with anger. "He was wrong."
Y/n pulled her hand away, afraid. "I am so sorry."
Aemon glanced at her, the anger in his eyes dying instantly. He took her hands into his and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Never fear me, wife. I will not hurt you."
Y/n nodded, sighing when he took her into his arms and kissed her chastely. 
The rest of the journey passed in blissful silence. Aemon did not talk after that. He preferred to hold y/n to him instead, and playing with her hair. They found the Manse silent upon their arrival. The others had gone to the beach for a picnic. Y/n invited Aemon to join them. 
"I fear I cannot," he replied, albeit reluctantly. "I must help Hardyng with preparations for the hunt. We need to have everything ready before we leave on the morrow."
The hunt. Y/n had all but forgotten about it. They would have to depart on the morrow as well. "Of course."
Aemon looked around. They were alone for the present. "I was hoping you could stay with me, in my tent. Not because I want to claim my rights as a husband... I... I just want to be near you."
Y/n was startled by the request. She felt dizzy. To share the same featherbed with Aemon all night because he wanted to, and not for the sake of duty. A flush crept into her cheeks. When she glanced at him, she found hope and fear warring in his eyes.
He wants me to say yes, she thought. He actually wants me to say yes.
The hunt would go on for three days, four at the most. There was no harm in it, no one could say anything against it. They were husband and wife, after all. 
"Yes," y/n replied, blushing when Aemon kissed her. "I will stay with you during the hunt."
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tags: @immyowndefender​
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my-name-is-apollo · 2 months
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How do you see Admetus’ character/personality? Your post about the Apollo-Admetus-Alcestis situation made me go looking, and I noticed a lot of takes online describe Admetus (or specifically his actions in Alcestis) as cowardly, which doesn’t sit with me at all - it’s cowardly to not want to die and leave a huge power vacuum behind you, apparently. Trying to get someone else to die in your place is morally… something, but I still wouldn’t pick cowardice as Admetus’ fatal flaw.
Always love to see your posts on ApolloxAdmetus; they’re a big inspiration behind my own retelling :)
Yes! I think the entire situation is much more nuanced than him just being a  coward. Yes, asking for someone else to give their life in your place is unfair. But Admetus not wanting to die early and his reaction to his fate is definitely justified. A lot of people do tend to brush aside that because he's a king, his early death would only mean dire consequences for the kingdom, especially his family. It's also worth noting that Alcestis was never explicitly asked by Admetus, but she volunteered to give up her life in his place. Both in this poem and in the play, she says that dying for her husband would bring her glory, and that she would rather die than live the life of a widow, watching her children be fatherless. In Alcestis, Admetus even begs her not to forsake him, but she is still firm in her decision. Clearly because the life of a widow back then was much worse than the life of a widower. Things were complicated for them.
He might be a coward in some sense but that's not his defining trait at all. I would say he is pious and...soft hearted? And simple minded. He can be assertive when he needs to be, he is a king after all. But he doesn't chase after glory like kings and warriors usually do, but one of his friends wants to chase after it he will definitely help if they ask. He is the type of person to give and expect kindness from everything and everyone (perhaps including from Death himself :') )
And I'm very happy to know that my posts were able to inspire you!! 🥹
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wickedsrest-rp · 5 months
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Name: Ramona “Mona” Ahn Species: Kitsune Occupation: Temporary owner of Amity Road Photos Age: 73 Years Old (Looks about 30) Played By: Ci Face Claim: Han Sohee
"No, I did not get dip-dyed by children."
TW: Parental death, emotional abuse
Born as one of the middle children in a family of six, Ramona was often left to her own devices. The constant care and adoration was reserved for those younger than her, and the trust and understanding was given to the eldest. She and her twin sister, Yoo-Jung were often cast aside, placed in the care of their siblings or of each other. Nobody so much as batted an eye when the pair were up to no good while in one another’s company. Sometimes, the sisters acted out in desperation, eager for their parents’ attention but often came away feeling less than thrilled by lack of engagement. As they got older, they learned to instead rely on one another, until Yoo-Jung became the obvious favorite. It was simple, she’d been the first to gain entire control over her foxfire– something that not even their older siblings had managed, even if there were only a few years that put them apart. 
Suddenly, the camaraderie between her and her twin had been tarnished, exacerbated by the way her parents fawned over the skills Yoo-Jung presented. Feeling hurt, Yu-Jin (now Ramona), began to act out in even more ways than she had before. She felt it unfair that because her sister was good at something that she deserved more attention, especially when the two had often gone unnoticed for long stretches of time before making a play for their parents’ attention. 
Never the type to think things through before doing them, Ramona decided to try her hand at something that not even her sister could do; to control her foxfire not in orb-form, but in lightning form. Only problem was, she hadn’t learned enough from her parents to understand that regular fire and lightning could and would hurt her. The night she was struck by lightning, her father found her in a field barely breathing. He broke his Hoshi no Tama in an attempt to bring her back from the brink of death, losing his last tail in the process. Suddenly, she’d become something else to them– a liability, but one that her mother and father kept close nonetheless. 
A few months after healing from the strike, it became apparent that she came out of it a little different, not only in human form, but in fox form, too. She showcased her scars with little fear of them, knowing that she had survived the unthinkable, even if it’d been with her father’s help. The scars that came across in her foxform had more to do with the color of her fur than any actual scarring, which made her more noticeable than the rest of her family. What should have been long stretches of orange and white had mutated into something adjacent to the blue that crackled across the night sky when she’d nearly been killed. Blue and whites morphed into each other, mimicking the scarring that traveled up her neck and down her shoulders while standing on two feet. 
There was no reason to think that the cost of losing a tail would have any impact on the family, but when her father did not come home from a hunt and was later found dead in the forest, ensnared in a trap of a ranger’s making, it became apparent that because he’d spent it on his daughter, there’d been no way for him to save himself. Almost immediately, Ramona’s mom blamed her. Her siblings had no say in the way things had gone, because they’d almost lost a sister, but were now left fatherless. Ramona tried to argue that there was no way they could have known what would have happened, but there wasn’t much a twenty-five year old could say to a mourning widow to make things right. 
It took a few more years of antagonizing from her mother for Ramona to finally lose interest in sticking around. She disappeared into the night, just after she turned thirty. Her siblings remained home, including her twin sister whom she pleaded with to accompany her. Instead, she left on her own, leaving South Korea and traveling west, trapezing both in human and fox form across continent to continent. She stayed in some places longer than others, but what she took away from each individual place she went was to never trust anyone. She’d been burned (literally) by her family, and the last thing she wanted was to be burned again. Unfortunately for her, a kitsune’s eagerness to help is hard to remove oneself from, even with the frustration and anger she held onto. 
Ramona decided to settle in Dublin for a while, meeting a few like minded nymphs, but not before word of her fox form could get out. Unfortunately for her, a few of her own came to find out about her, and eventually, word traveled back to her family with whom she’d gone no-contact with thirty years prior. Her twin showed up within the week, begging her to go back to Busan, explaining that they could fix things together, but Ramona refused. She had a new life now, one void of clamoring for attention and care, and left the next morning without so much as a word to her sister. Dublin was more of a home than she felt in years, so leaving it left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she’d make do somewhere else, and that’s just what she did. She coasted for a while, making the move to the United States, traveling as she had done before, until recently when a familiar and friendly face came knocking at her door.
It was a friend she’d met years past, and though she was curious about their unchanging face (as they’d never mentioned being not-human), she was asked to go back to Wicked’s Rest with them for the sake of watching after their store while they attended to some business across the globe. It was an odd request considering they had saved her life, but she obliged for the sake of having somewhere to go, even if it was temporary. 
Arriving in Wicked’s Rest, Ramona was caught off guard by the supernatural presence, but figured it’d be a good enough place to blend in, or at least she hoped. Unfortunately for her, not long after her friend left, off on their own grand adventure, photos of Ramona’s fox form began to pop up throughout town, most notably on messaging boards and cryptid forums. There wasn’t much to worry about yet, she didn’t think. Or, she hoped. If her sister did show her face again, she would just leave once more. In the meantime, she’s trying to engage with the town and understand its ways of operating, slinking around the fact that she’s now referred to as the dip-dyed fox. She isn’t thrilled about the title, but as long as people think she got into chemicals and she’s just some dumb fox living in a burrow somewhere, her secret is semi-safe.
Character Facts:
Personality: Dutiful, persuasive, self-reliant, intense, forthright, stubborn, argumentative, disruptive, irascible, tactless
Ramona assumed her name in the early 90’s. Before that, she went by her Korean name (Yu-Jin) exclusively. 
When she was struck by lightning, she was brought back from near-death due to her dad healing her at the cost of a tail. Because of the odd circumstances with fox fire vs “natural” fire / electricity, she was left with scarring from her neck and down her arms/back. This translates to her fox form by appearing as a mixture of orange/blue/white fur and a constant static to her appearance, causing her fur to stand up on end. 
After having been helped out of a precarious situation, she’s arrived in Wicked’s Rest to repay her “debt.” Unfortunately, she’s landed herself a photography studio while having no clue how to actually photograph anything. 
Ramona has lived in several different places and likes to think of herself as an experienced traveler, even if sometimes she’s doing it on four legs rather than two. 
She has a habit of sleepwalking, most often done while in fox form. This has been known to get her into trouble on more than one occasion, but luckily she manages to get out of it. 
Ramona has only ever had a maximum of two tails at any given time. She doesn’t think she deserves the second, but is holding onto it for the sake of her sanity. 
Has a vague idea of most supernatural identities, but has most often come into contact with other shifters, fae, and undead. She thinks that selkies are fake.
She is self-taught when it comes to her fox-fire. Considering her history with her abilities, she has a pretty good understanding of them and has even mastered creating lightning, which unfortunately for her, only brings on bad memories, so she’s reluctant to use it and sticks to the orbs instead.
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major-richard-sharpe · 11 months
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My favorite part of the whole scene with Bruno and Henry in chapter 12 is that the bible verse Bruno mentions, ("and my wrath shall wax hot, and I will kill you with the sword; and your wives shall be widows, and your children fatherless" ), is immediately followed by "If thou lend money to any of my people that is poor by thee, thou shalt not be to him as an usurer, neither shalt thou lay upon him usury." Or as put in the ESV: “If you lend money to any of my people with you who is poor, you shall not be like a moneylender to him, and you shall not exact interest from him"
Having that verse be so conveniently ignored by Bruno, a loan shark? Mwah. Literal masterpiece
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It is not unusual for nations recovering from wars to incentivize their populations to raise their birthrates. The post-World War II Soviet pronatalism campaign attempted this on an unprecedented scale, aiming to replace a lost population of 27 million. Why, then, did the USSR re-legalize abortion in 1955?
Mie Nakachi uses previously hidden archival data to reveal that decisions made by Stalin and Khruschev under the rubric of 'family law' created a society of broken marriages, “fatherless” children, and abortions, each totaling in the tens of millions. The government reversed laws regarding paternal responsibility, thereby encouraging men to impregnate unmarried women and widows, and blocked available contraception, overriding the advice of the medical establishment. Some 8.7 million out-of-wedlock children were born between 1945 and 1955 alone. In the absence of serious commitment to supporting Soviet women who worked full-time, the policy did extensive damage to gender relations and the welfare of women and children. Women, famous cultural figures, and Soviet professionals initiated a movement to improve women's reproductive health and make all children equal. Because Soviet leaders did not allow any major reform, an abortion culture grew among Soviet women and spread throughout the Soviet sphere, including Eastern Europe and China.
Based on groundbreaking research, Replacing the Dead traces how the idea of women's right to an abortion emerged from an authoritarian society decades before it did in the West and why it remains the dominant method of birth control in present-day Russia.
the Soviet Union was kinda messed up imo
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bbnny · 5 months
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For all the lives lost at war.
"And He called a child to Himself and set him before them, and said, “Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven" - Matthew 18:2-5
"Jesus, knowing their thoughts, took a little child and had him stand beside him. Then he said to them, “Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. For it is the one who is least among you all who is the greatest.” - Luke 9:47-48
“But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you” - Matthew 5:43–44
"Learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow's cause." - Isaiah 1:17
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God." - Matthew 5:9
"He shall judge between the nations, and shall decide disputes for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore." - Isaiah 2:4
"He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken." - Isaiah 25:8
"For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places." - Ephesians 6:12
“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you." - Matthew 5:38-45
"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." - John 14:27
"So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you." - John 16:22
"Come to me, all who are weary and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." - Matthew 11:28
No matter you religion, race or nationality. Please, pray for our brothers and sisters that are being affected by war, so their hearts may know peace.
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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months
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Hi sweet! If you're comfortable with this, do you have any thoughts on what kind of dad Ghost would be?
I personally imagine him being a girl dad for some reason but that's all i got. What do you think? :)
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Omfg girl dad Ghost has me melting JESUS CHRIST.
Ok I'll try to be decent about this since we're talking about children here for chrissakes but something about the idea of Simon being the most patient, proud and empowering father to his baby girls is just GAAHHH. *flops* Like... why is this so hot? Am I in need of therapy again?
All in all, I think he would absolutely kill it as a father. People tend to go through their own childhood memories while watching their kids grow, so this would of course bring a load of painful things to mind... but I don't think it would affect him in a debilitating way. The horrid memory of his father would only motivate him to do the hell better.
Ghost is not as helpless a victim to his traumas as we might think, but some things have a more unconscious grip on him than others. I have a strong feeling that children wouldn't be his Achilles' heel here though. He wouldn't actively pursue having kids, but neither would he run from the prospect. The only thing that has him crippled is the thought of getting KIA and leaving his s.o. a widow and his kids fatherless. But he would never, ever abuse anyone.
He would teach his kids survival skills, martial arts perhaps, and teach them how to shoot someday: I see Ghost as someone whose worldview is filled with threats and different strategies on how to prepare for them. He is an expert in weathering any storm, so he would teach his children how to survive in case a day comes he isn't there to protect them.
But girl dad Ghost. God. I'm walking around with a huge smile on my face rn. Thank you for implanting this thought in my head anon, I love you 🫶
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