inked father

oh my father; who came before me, and his father, who died early, and his father, who liked whiskey, and his father, who ran drugs through countries, and his father, who ate too much and shouted plenty, and his father - was this the one that started the cycle? who first raised fist like man raises torch with fire? who first called down thunder onto cowering heads, who brought storms into houses? was it his father before him? where does the blame rest? on whose shoulders do i shrug it? do i pass it off and make my father a better man? cut out the pieces of him that make him a catastrophe? without rage do his hands become carpenter hard but soft and loving, do i no longer flinch when he moves them towards me. without anger do his words become lighter, balloon up and trail on our ceiling and float around without us fearing they will catch on fire. will i see the father of better mornings, when he is at his best, when he is smiling over pancakes and being the man my mother fell in love with. will i no longer guess which father i get today, which switch is flicked, which creature comes out of him. and oh my father, and his father, and so on to the first who raised sons to be a rifle - when i meet him, will he finally be the one to tell me i am loved? that i’m a good enough daughter? when i meet him - god, what if i meet him and the only thing i know how to do is beat him? what if i start the cycle myself, the way that it threatens to keep breathing in me when i raise children. what if. what if.

i see his hands, and carpenter scars and a laugh that shakes a building.

happy father’s day, i write him. oh my father. there will be no more raised hands after me. it doesn’t matter who started it, he’d say to me, i’m ending it. and i’m ending it. after all of this i forgive you, or i’m learning to, or at least i’m learning how not to let it ruin me.

oh my father. i am sorry. and i am free.

Heres to the girls who’s hearts were broken by a man long before any boy got ahold of it.
Heres to the girls who believe that they can’t be loved because the one man who was supposed to always love them didn’t.
Heres to the girls who can’t stay in a relationship because all they were ever taught was how to leave one.
Heres to the girls who are in an abusive relationship and don’t know it because it’s what they grew up seeing.
Heres to the girls who can’t trust men because the man they were supposed to always be able to count on left.
Heres to the girls who are scared to have kids because they never want their kids to face the same pain they had to endure.
Heres to the girls who refuse to say they have a dad because all their father ever was is a man who helped create them.
—  You’re not my dad, you’re just the man who helped create me// 4am
A CONVERSATION WITH MY FATHER’S GHOST
 
  
                               Where is all the woman
                               you were born with?
 
Everywhere.
I’ve been setting it down
in pieces my entire life.
  
                              This is the body your mother and I
                              made for you. Why
                              isn’t it good enough?
 
It is good, but it’s not finished yet.
  
                             Do you wish you’d been born a boy?
 
I wish I’d been born an ocean.
Alive and boundless,
with a name too wild
to fit in man’s mouth.
—  A CONVERSATION WITH MY FATHER’S GHOST by Ashe Vernon
did you know, someone once told me i had my father’s smile
i told them thank you even though i wasn’t sure; that just wasn’t something i had seen in a while
i saw the back of your head more often than not
and even more than that, i saw your fist a hell of a lot
the physical pain was nothing compared to the way you left
mom tried to hide it but i heard those tears that she wept
she never saw mine, locked myself away in my room
and i cried and i cried and it’s all because of you
see, you were never a dad; you’re nothing more than a sperm donor
you never saw us as a family, just property and you were our owner
you never really loved us, because love doesn’t cause pain
had a temper that exploded worse than a bottle of champagne
and i tried and i tried to be the son you always wanted
years of not feeling good enough has left me feeling haunted
but now i’m older, wiser, and i know that i wasn’t to blame
and even if you apologized now, nothing would ever be the same
despite how much i hate you, i think i still love you regardless
i’d tell you happy father’s day if i thought this collect call was worth the charges
—  happy father’s day ii - anonymous
(cc, 2017)
4

I had an incredibly sweet commission for a gift for Father’s Day recently: drawings for a story written by the mother of these two little girls, featuring her family and a hapless little dino, unable to fly home with a hurt wing. Luckily the girls take care of the sad critter and their dad manages to fix things.

Thank you Anitia for this inspired commission for a personal family story!

If you hurt her, I will not break you, or hurt you, or injure you. I won’t even need to get involved. Because I raised my daughter to be independent and skilled enough to break you for herself, and her way is a lot more painful than anything I could even dream of. She may share her mother’s mind and my heart, but everything about her is individually, confidently, completely her own and that is a very dangerous combination to mess with. I raised my girl to be a wolf so she can deal with predators, not a flower to be admired, then trampled upon. Remember that.
—  My Feminist Dad to my Decidedly Not Feminist Ex | Nikita Gill
Don’t tell me about heartbreak. When my parents got divorced I was only 9 years old. I heard my father say it hurt him more than a thousand knives being stabbed into his heart all at once. I never understood what it means. I thought this is just some poetic way of expressing that you don’t want to lose someone. My father loved my mother for 10 years after the divorce and still probably does even though he knew that she moved on. He still talked about her like she puts the stars in the sky.
When my mother had a brain injury last year in October and it wasn’t sure if she would make it through my dad wanted to see her again, but a lot of things happened and my family decided not to let him see her. I don’t think you understand how hard it was for me to tell him that he isn’t allowed to see the love of his life again. I saw him cry because there is nothing we could do to help my mom. My dad got diagnosed with cancer in January 2017. I turn 20 next year and I saw my dad taking his last breath 4 months ago. I saw how he suffered to his very last moment. I get it now. It was his last wish to see her again. The realization of it hit me when I noticed the picture of my mother hanging above his death bed a few minutes after he died. And in that moment I felt the knives.
—  My father is the reason I believe in true love

anonymous asked:

"Hey babe, you wanna go on a date with me?" - blackvxiledimp

“Oho~! A date? That sounds fun~!!”

@blackvxiledimp , @askdaddybendy

HERE THEY BE!!!
They are meant to be Sorta the Antagonist/Rival type characters. I wasn’t sure about names and Sun suggested I stick with the letter B’ for first names like Boris and Bendy got. 
I don’t have a lot of idea for how they all are, but I do know that Beth is supposed to be that character who just causes Trouble for the Usually Main character. and F.Bart is supposed to be like the I guess…Elmer Fudd to Bendys Bugs Bunny?? If you get what I mean. S.Beverly is kinda like……Trying to, I guess, get him to be less a little shit????and such but the attempts backfire often I would think. 
I also have this Idea that Joey and Henry (more so Joey) are not that religious. I feel like Joey probably thinks that Christianity is kinda bs? (I mean we are talkin’ about the guy who did some demonic ritual or some shit). I feel like the show would be a VERY bold move in its time seeing as Bendy, the main character and center of attention is a demon. unless it was one of those stories where the Protagonist is the bad guy, I feel like it would be kinda looked at weirdly. I mean if you have a cartoon where the “Good guy” Is someone who is something that a lot of people’s beliefs see as bad, chances are they won’t let their kids watch it. It’s also no surprise that a lot of cartoons have a more serious meaning to them some times, and with the idea I had, it was, maybe, something along the lines of, “Just because you may believe in god and go to church on Sunday doesn't automatically make you a good person. Believing is one thing, but what actually makes you a good person is your actions and how you lead in life” If that…makes sense…I mean. It also could be something that says something like “Don’t spend life worrying about what happens after your dead rather than enjoying what’s going on while you’re alive." 

AAAA I’m typing too much! I don’t even know what I’m saying I'm just making this up as I go! That’s all I really have to say about them so…Uhm…Yeaaah there you go!!
-Cosmic

Wait For It (M)

Anonymous Requested: Jungkook Royal AU
Pairing: Jungkook | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Smut; Royalty AU 
Word Count: 11,013
Author’s Note: I pretty much took a whole day off from life to work on this, since I start school on Monday and wanted to try and get through as much writing as I can before hell starts.

Summary: As royalty, you were forced to be sent off and married to a prince of the neighboring kingdom to strengthen your country. But when you are betrothed earlier than you expected, you seek comfort in a random stranger until you realize that perhaps fate plays a bigger hand in things than you ever thought possible.

.

For the record, you never asked to be a princess. Not that you think you would ever have had an upper hand in a situation like that in the first place, or that you expected things to be different if you could go back in time to watch your family history unfold. It’s just something that’s short, and simple, and a fleeting thought you ponder about on more than one occasion, which is certainly a lot more times than someone who was actually happy with their lives would think.

Now, it’s not that you’re ungrateful with the life you’ve been gifted with, you’re well aware of the luck you’ve received, because at the end of the day, it’s the kind of lifestyle that guarantees food upon the table. It promises a roof over your house during the night, during the rain or snow, (more than) comfortable clothing to keep you warm throughout the bitter winter. The gold and motivation and rule your family has over the kingdom is nothing to shy away from.

It just, it provokes a lot of… pressure in your system, in your heart and in your mind.

Most of these things sprout from your father, who is probably just as ruthless as he is caring and hard-working and passionate about the land he is expected to rule over with grace and respect and an equal amount of force to make sure the people of the kingdom didn’t take advantage of him. He’s always been a loving father, albeit expecting the most out of you between your two other siblings. As caring or thoughtful or empathetic has he could be, there were often moments in your life when your best was never good enough for him.

You’ve been taught since birth to follow the orders and rules set up by your father because, as so graciously pointed out by the servants the dusk and clean and care for you on more than one occasion, your father always did what he believed would be best for you. So every piano or violin or guitar lesson he ever made you take, those foreign language lessons, classes on discipline and how to look, think, behave like a princess—those were always for your own future benefit.

“Keep your back straight, shoulders back, smile pretty.”

Always cut small pieces of your meal. Take small sips of your drinks. Always remember to wipe your mouth with a napkin.”

“Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

It’s not that you hate being a princess. You just hate having things being done for you, you hate how decisions and that free-will of choice and responsibility has been ever-so-graciously lifted off your shoulders as if these were things you would never have to burden yourself with. You hate not having a voice, your words drowned by the ones of your father or mother. Your existence has constantly been overshadowed by those greater than you could ever hope to be. You hate the role you have to play into society, how you had to spend your days dealing with other people’s problems. Shouldering a kingdom is no laughing matter, there are rules and regulations and decisions that constantly need to be made to ensure the safety and well-being of everyone who live within the borders. Your mere existence is to live for other people.

It’s exhausting.

But in spite of your feelings, you know that changing fate is practically impossible. So you roll with your father’s wishes, because you understand that this is duty you owe to your kingdom. Perhaps at the end of the day, it will truly never really matter what you desire. From the moment you were birth, your entire life story has already been written by you, the quill of ink belonging to your father and mother and every other person who thought they could know you better than you could ever know yourself.

You let yourself take everything in. You visit the nearby villages and listen to everyone’s problems, their hopes and wishes and promise to become stronger and stronger to help them. You take the lessons set up by your father. You keep your back straight, your eyes forward, your mouth shut. You accept the fancy parties and the wine, the dancing and the violins echoing through your ear, speaking only when you are spoken to. It’s torture, but you have to remind yourself that is it your duty, your obligation and your responsibility.

You even let your father tell you that there will come a day when you will be sent off to a predetermined prince in a neighboring kingdom, be married off into a family you don’t know and perhaps will never truly belong to—all for the benefit of your kingdom. You let him tell you this, and you accept it. You give yourself a few years to mentally prepare yourself, expecting your father at the very least to grant you this one wish.

A raised eyebrow. “But the prince could be ready to meet you any day now.”

Keep reading

Shoutout to all the people for whom father’s day is hard.

Hard because he isn’t there, hard because he wasn’t there, hard because he was, hard because he is. 

Hard because there was abuse, there was alcoholism, there was neglect, there was heartache. Hard because there still is. 

Hard because there wasn’t any of that, and yet, there is still no relationship - because his love came with conditions that you didn’t meet. 

Hard because he left, or was taken, or is incarcerated. 

You’ll get through this, like you got through everything else. <3