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zepp eight

local boogeyman
aliasbex, jeepers cats
pronounsshe/any
733written posts
sister ghoulearned bits
offlinecurrently
sister ghoul
Part of the Furniture
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they pull the axe out your face and say "was it the boogeyman?"
01. Conqueror
02. Clean Slate
03. Beloved
04. Storm Warning
05. So They Say
06. How Have You Been?
07. Dollhouse
08. Call & Response

09. To the Moon
10. Risk
11. Magnetic
12. Forbidden
13. Palace
14. 1924
15. From Afar
16. Smoke & Mirrors
17. White Sand
18. Burn it Down
19. Symmetry
20. Going Nowhere
21. Emptiness
22. Gold
23. Once More, With Feeling
24. Heartbeat
25. Creation
26. Judgement Day
27. Free Fall
28. Hero
29. Coming Home
30. At World's End


[b]prompt # - [/b]

[b]content warning for: [/b]

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[table style="width:450px;padding:20px;line-height:16px;font-family:verdana;font-size:11px;text-align:justify;"][tbody][tr][td][div style="font-style:italic;text-transform:lowercase;text-align:justify;padding:10px;"]"Good morning, Worm your honor, The crown will plainly show The prisoner who now stands before you Was caught red-handed showing feelings, Showing feelings of an almost human nature. This will not do."[/div][div style="text-transform:uppercase;font-weight:bold;font-size:9px;float:right;"]- pink floyd's "the trial" from 1979's [i]the wall[/i][/div]

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last edit on May 1, 2024 19:06:38 GMT by sister ghoul

local boogeyman
aliasbex, jeepers cats
pronounsshe/any
733written posts
sister ghoulearned bits
offlinecurrently
sister ghoul
Part of the Furniture
sister ghoul Avatar
they pull the axe out your face and say "was it the boogeyman?"
prompt #26 - judgment day

content warning for: mentions of eye loss & mild eye gore, murder, roleplaying warriors in 2024 on an anime resource site lmao



"Good morning, Worm your honor, The crown will plainly show The prisoner who now stands before you Was caught red-handed showing feelings, Showing feelings of an almost human nature. This will not do."
- pink floyd's "the trial" from 1979's the wall


Somehow, Deadeye had always known that it would come to this. He had wanted to make things work with his new clan, but he had known from the get-go that this was unlikely to be a permanent arrangement. DuskClan was not known for its kindness nor its generosity, so the dark warrior had expected to pay duly for his rescue moons prior. Knowing that if it had not been for DuskClan's timely discovery of his mangled body, he surely would have bled out on the forest floor. And now, Deadeye's new clanmates were eager to remind him of this.

The dark tabby warrior had anticipated to pay for his salvation, but he had had no idea that he would become essentially a prisoner of DuskClan, despite having no political advantage to do so. Since Deadeye had been the one to challenge Lightningstar and the one to end his final life, he knew that he was not welcome back in SkyClan, even now that his former clanmates knew that he was alive. In life, Lightningstar had ruled with an iron claw, and though he had been disliked by many of their own clanmates, it was unprecedented for a warrior who had murdered their own leader to stay in their clan.

Deadeye had never wanted nor expected that his life would have come to this. All he ever wanted to do was serve his clan as best he could. But he had failed. He had murdered Lightningstar, and had fled SkyClan with his life barely in tact. But he could not stand by any longer and watch Lightningstar destroy the clan he loved so much. The leader had gone renegade, turning his back to the warrior code in favor of his own pursuits. He pushed for kits to be apprenticed younger and younger, and emphasized conquest. Lightningstar did not seem to care that the cost of expansion and war was at the expense of his own clanmates. Under Lightningstar's leadership, Deadeye had seen so many cats die, including his own apprentice, Rainpaw.

Rainpaw had died horribly and unnecessarily, and her death would not go unanswered for. Deadeye had owed her that much.

His days with his young and incorrigible apprentice felt like a lifetime ago already. Deadeye feared that Rainpaw was watching her mentor from StarClan, as she wouldn't have wanted this. But at the time, it was all Deadeye could think about. He had ruminated on his young (frankly, too young) apprentice's death, and how avoidable it had been. She nor the other apprentice that had died that day should not have been at that battle with MeadowClan. Not only had the apprentices been sent in to a warrior's fight, but they had been ordered to do so by a leader who knew that they were too young and inexperienced to hold their own in battle.

Rainpaw's death had been avoidable, but Lighhtningstar's had not been. From the moment Deadeye had gotten word of his apprentice's passing, he had become preoccupied with an unhealthy mix of grief and a desire for revenge that he felt justified in acting upon. Rainpaw's death was the final straw.

Deadeye wanted to leave it all behind him. Not because of any newfound loyalty for his new clan, but because it was simply too painful to look back. Stormclaw of SkyClan had perished alongside Lightningstar that day.

Although by all accounts, Deadeye had won his duel with Lightningstar, who in life had been renowned for his fighting ability, Deadeye no longer had the confidence he had had as a younger warrior. His injury and subsequent banishment from the clan of his birth had shaken him in a way that even the loss of his eye had not. Deadeye was a firm believer in the warrior code, and knowing that he had violated one of the core tenants of it disturbed him in ways he could not begin to fathom.

Loyalty and honor had, and still meant everything to Deadeye, and it gnawed at his soul that he was now known to be both a traitor and a murderer. In this regard, he supposed he belonged in DuskClan, then. DuskClan was known to take in outsiders of all walks of life, many being former rogues or loners who clearly held little regard for the importance of clan life. To many of the members of DuskClan, the warrior code was a mere suggestion, and not a way of life. DuskClan had long since lost its way, and was poorly regarded by the two other clans that shared the forest with them. It did not help that its current leader, Hollowstar, was seemingly going out of his way to destroy any good will that DuskClan had accrued under Cranestar's leadership.

Deadeye had never realized how much one depended on their sight until he had lost his eye. One of Lightningstar's first blows to land on him had been to his face, and the duel had nearly been over then and there. But Deadeye had done the unexpected and had gotten back up, launching himself with a fury he had not known possible. With blood dripping down the side of his face and his right eye vacant, Deadeye felt as though his warrior ancestors were on his side in that moment.

Despite his status as a seasoned warrior and a skilled fighter in his own right, Deadeye had never killed another cat before. He believed there was no honor in killing and got no pleasure from it. But any mercy that Deadeye may have otherwise shown to his leader were dashed the moment he had learned of Rainpaw's death. Their clanmates watched in abject horror as Deadeye flung himself on top of Lightningstar, the older tom weakly thrashing about as he went straight for his throat. Deadeye could feel his leader's life slowly leech out of him, his brilliant emerald eyes fading to a lifeless shade of green.

Deadeye escaped with his life, and not much else.

He had been found by a DuskClan patrol, having just narrowly escaped being chased down by his former clanmates. If he had not been found when he had, he surely would have bled out. Due to the severity of his injuries, he spent over a moon without leaving the medicine cat's cave. Hollowstar made it abundantly clear to Deadeye that he owed a great debt to not only DuskClan, but to Hollowstar personally. The debt weighed heavily on Deadeye's mind and his spirit, and his new clanmates did not make it any easier on him either. Upon his release from the medicine cat's den, Deadeye had been subsequently renamed, Stormpaw, though he had been a SkyClan warrior for many seasons. Hollowstar put him through the humiliation of an apprentice ceremony, relishing in seeing a once proud and strong warrior humbled so profoundly.

Ever since his apprentice ceremony, Stormpaw knew that his time in DuskClan came with an expiration date. Though Hollowstar had made it clear that Stormpaw was now a member of DuskClan (whether he liked it or not), the dark tabby warrior apprentice could see the writing on the wall, and knew that as soon as Hollowstar was no longer entertained by him, that he would be cast aside yet again. On some levels, Stormpaw wanted to make this work, and serve his new clan. Clanlife was all he knew, was all he had ever known. All he had ever wanted to do was serve his clan and to be a good warrior.

Stormpaw bided his time. He put up with the abuse from his new clanmates, feeling as though he deserved it. He spent the rare time he had to himself practicing his fighting skills, trying to recapture what he had lost when he lost his right eye. He was off kilter, uncomfortable with his footing now that he had this handicap. He was surprised when Hollowstar informed him that his trial was over, and he would be accepted into DuskClan as a full warrior.

He had expected the possibility of a new warrior name, but not the one he was given. Deadeye. In any other context, the dark tabby would have been angry to be named after his disability, which was something he was still profoundly self-conscious of. But knowing that taking on an often cruel sounding name was a DuskClan tradition, it was the first time that Deadeye felt that maybe, just maybe, he had finally been accepted as one of them.

"Do you have anything to say in your defense, Deadeye?" Hollowstar asked. The small tuxedo tom stared coldly down at Deadeye from his place beneath the Speaker's Stone, surrounded by his new clanmates. But what was there to say? In DuskClan, being accused of treason, proof or not, was a serious offense. Weeding out supposed sedition was a favorite pass time of Hollowstar's close associates. Deadeye had been accused of betraying DuskClan by being a SkyClan spy; and though this was not a knew sentiment amongst those in DuskClan who had opposed his entry in the first place. His accuser stood before him next to their leader on the Speaker's Stone, a glint of amusement in her eye. Deadeye opened his mouth in protest, but was quickly spoken over by his clanmates. 

"I knew it! Once a SkyClan cat, always a SkyClan cat."

"It was a mistake to let him live!"

"Kill the traitor!"

This was nothing more than a kangaroo court, and they all knew it. There was no evidence because Deadeye was innocent. He made it a point to avoid the shared DuskClan and SkyClan border for this reason, but had been sneaking out into the forest to train on his own at night, wanting to avoid the judging and cruel eyes of his new clanmates. Now he saw that that would be his undoing. 

"SILENCE!" Hollowstar bellowed, and like that, the clan camp was silent. The two toms exchanged a long glance at one another, and Deadeye wondered if he was about to be told he was going to be executed. It was not the first one that Hollowstar had ordered, and it likely would not be the last. 

"Well, Deadeye," the leader of DuskClan said, "do you say anything in your own defense? Or are you so overcome with guilt that you have forgotten how to speak?" He was enjoying this a little too much. Deadeye steeled his gaze and narrowed his remaining eye. "I am innocent."

Outcry from DuskClan cats broke out, and Deadeye felt a sting of anxiety for the first time since had been brought before the Speaker's Stone. He refused to show that anxiety, though. DuskClan had taken so much from him, and now they sought to take the only thing he had left, which was his life. 

"Mmm, is that so?" Hollowstar mused. "Then why were you seen at the SkyClan border, hmm? Am I supposed to believe that you were what, out for an evening stroll?" The smaller tom said with a bemused chuckle. The foxheart actually laughed. Deadeye glowered at the DuskClan leader, subconsciously unsheathing his claws and flexing them in the soft earth beneath him. If he was going to die, he would go down fighting. 

I'll see you soon, Rainpaw. Deadeye thought to himself, and he closed his eye for a moment and exhaled, waiting for Hollowstar to give the order. He waited, and when the anticipated violence did not start, he opened his eye in surprise, Hollowstar's amusement once again gone from his face. 

"Deadeye, it is clear that while DuskClan has opened its heart to you, you have not returned that kindness we have shown you. We have given you purpose and a new name, and yet, you lie to cover up your sedition. DuskClan does not abide disloyalty." Hollowstar said as he flicked his tail towards the camp entrance. "Deadeye, you are stripped of your rank as warrior, and hereby banished from DuskClan."

Deadeye blinked a moment, unsure if he had heard the small tuxedo tom correctly. Banished? He was not to be killed? Confused and angry murmurs broke out behind him, but Deadeye barely registered what was being said. 

"Does anyone question my decision?" Hollowstar spat, and once again, DuskClan was suddenly and immediately silent. No one dared speak out against their leader, knowing what the small tom was capable of. Lightningstar may have ruled with an iron claw, but Hollowstar ruled DuskClan with fear. No one dared to voice their opinion if it went against Hollowstar, not even the closest of his associates. 

The dark tabby tom stared at Hollowstar for a moment, frozen on the spot. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. Deadeye was being exiled for a second time, and there was not anything he could do about it. Hollowstar had decided he was no longer amused by Deadeye's situation, and decided that leaving him alive, as someone whom he knew cared so deeply about being a warrior was a more fitting punishment than killing him. The slight, crowfood eating grin that the small tuxedo tom wore on his face was all that Deadeye needed to know. 

Deadeye refused to give him that satisfaction of showing any emotion whatsoever. He wouldn't let him, Lightningstar, or any of them win. 


last edit on Apr 29, 2024 3:39:42 GMT by sister ghoul

local boogeyman
aliasbex, jeepers cats
pronounsshe/any
733written posts
sister ghoulearned bits
offlinecurrently
sister ghoul
Part of the Furniture
sister ghoul Avatar
they pull the axe out your face and say "was it the boogeyman?"
prompt #7 - dollhouse

content warning: transphobia, intentional misgendering, some flavor of internalized misogyny, suicide, narcissistic parents


"Hey girl, open the walls Play with your dolls We'll be a perfect family"
- melanie martinez's "dollhouse" 2014's crybaby


It was past four in the morning when Lorelei received the call. It was a cold night, dead of winter in upstate New York, and it had  taken her some time to corral herself out of bed in order to answer the phone. Already incensed by the late night disturbance, the 51 year old heiress floated down the stairs to the foyer where the phone continued to ring off the hook. Lorelei's frustration with being disturbed at such a late hour was momentarily interrupted when she reached the foot of the stairs, only for the telephone to stop ringing.

Had it been a wrong number? Lorelei felt inclined to dial star 69 (a trick her assistant, Maria, had showed her) and give the caller a piece of her mind. The Lady Hobbes was not someone who could be arbitrarily summoned and then dismissed as if it had been no inconvenience to her at all.

Her thought process was interrupted when again, the phone began to ring. In long strides, Lorelei crossed the marble floor and snatched the phone in her hand, and slammed it to the side of her ear. She gripped the telephone tightly, her long and polished red fingernails scraped against the hard plastic of the phone. "Hello? Who is this? Who do you think you are, calling here so late?" Lorelei hissed into the phone.

"Hi, yes, I'm apologize for calling at this hour ma'am, but is the Ho-"

"Are you deaf? I asked who you are, and why you are calling so late?" Lorelei's voice was laced with venom, and though she wanted to hang up the phone, she had a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that this was no wrong number or prank call. People did not usually call this late for no good reason. Lorelei however, debated if she cared to know what the call was about. Whatever it was, it could almost certainly wait until a sane hour of the day.

"Ma'am, is this the Hobbes residence?"

"Yes, it is. Now what is it?" Lorelei's responses were clipped, and to the point. She could tell that she had rattled the person on the other end of the phone, as he was clearly unprepared to deal with someone who was not only upset with being woken up so late, but positively exasperated. He sounded cautious now, and she felt that she could hear him nervously swallow before he spoke.

"Mrs. Hobbes, my name is Officer James Keenan, and I am with the Buffalo Police Department. I....I have some news about your son."

Lorelei felt her whole body go rigid, stock still. She had a death grip around the phone now, and she felt if she were to squeeze any harder, the phone would break apart in her hands like a claymore. Before she realized it, Lorelei felt the words slip out of her mouth, an inkling of vulnerability snaking in her voice that was unexpected, even from her. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but your son, Marcus, was found deceased in his home this evening. It is unclear yet what happ-"

And like that, Lorelei felt that anger boil up inside her again. "I don't have a son named Marcus" she snapped. 

"But Mrs. Hobbes, it states quite clearly here that you are Mr. Hobbes mo-" the officer challenged, though he seemed unsure of himself now. Surely, a mother would know if it were her own son, would she not? Could he have made such a mortifying error?

But then Officer Keenan understood in that moment what was happening here. "I....see. Your child, then, was found in the early hours of this morning, ma'am. We would like to ask you or your husband to come in as soon as possible to make a positive identification."

And with that, Lorelei slammed down the phone into the receiver and ended the conversation right then and there. Surely, this could not be happening to her. Why would she do this? Did she relish in upsetting her mother and father? The Lady Hobbes stormed up the large staircase, her robe softly dragged on the sparkling white marble as she climbed the stairs. She didn't know how she felt, really, but she knew she felt something. Anger? Frustration? Grief? Perhaps all three of the above.

But this was nothing new, Lorelei had been grieving for the death of her daughter long before this night.

Before she realized what she was doing, the heiress found herself standing in front of the closed door that had once belonged to her. Red nails trailed silently over an artisanal sign that read out the name that had not graced her lips in almost five years. Lorelei stepped into the room, as if for the first time. Pink walls with pink linen to match, Lorelei had painstakingly handpicked every decoration, perfectly curating her daughter's bedroom and designing befitting a young lady.

The piece de resistance was the handmade dollhouse that Lorelei had had specially made for her. It devastated Lorelei that she seldom touched it, and a part of her always resented that her daughter had not loved the bedroom like she had imagined she would. She had not been her first child, but she had been the first and only daughter. As someone who had never had a mother or a sister growing up, Lorelei had wanted to give that to her. But instead, she threw it back in her face over and over again.

In hindsight, perhaps Lorelei should have seen it coming.

The heiress opened the wooden dollhouse, which had been modeled after the Hobbes' family estate. Each room reflected the interior of the house, and came with custom dolls for every member of their family. The mother, the father, the son and the daughter, the quintessential family unit. Lorelei instinctively picked up the doll that represented her daughter, forever 6 years old, bright eyed and full of life. Things between them had been good then, when she was still young. Lorelei had been caught off guard by her daughter, unable to cope with her lack of interest in feminine things like she should. She refused to let her mother even touch her hair, let alone braid it. She never wanted to play with this beautiful dollhouse that Lorelei had had commissioned special for her.

Lorelei loved her eldest son, but she had craved to have that mother daughter bond that she always dreamt of. But she just couldn't be what her mother wanted, she never was quite right. What started out as heartbreak and feelings of rejection for Lorelei would grow to resentment. The Lady Hobbes had tried everything to fix her daughter, whether that was through punishment, or insisting on finishing school; but nothing took. She was fundamentally broken, and eventually, Lorelei had grown to accept that she would never have the relationship that she wanted with her daughter, and had begun to withdrawal from her. 

When she eventually left home, she did not even know she had plans to until Lorelei and her husband came home from a trip, to find that their daughter was gone. She had left many of her belongings behind, including the dollhouse. Lorelei was not surprised by this, as even when she did play with it, it was infrequent. She never appreciated what her parents had done for her, how much they sacrifice to give her and Matthew a good life. 

Lorelei clutched the perpetual 6 year old doll version of her daughter to her breast, her eyes felt hot and stung. She blinked away any tears that threatened to leak from her eyes, the doll clung so tightly to her chest that she felt the hard glass eye buttons dig into her breast. Lorelei felt light on her feet, as if she was now suddenly for the first time, feeling the gravity of the situation. She took a few steps back and sat at the edge of the bed, and she looked down at the small doll as if it were the actual person it was meant to represent. 

Lorelei had been the one to find the note that their daughter had left. She had destroyed it as soon as she had finished reading it, knowing that she could not allow for her husband to read the letter. Despite having ripped the note to shreds and thrown it out, as if out of sight, out of mind, Lorelei remembered every word of the last piece of communication they had ever had with their child. Perhaps it had been selfish of her to keep this to herself, but she felt she was protecting not only him, but herself as well.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

The doll fell to the floor, its eyes staring blankly in the direction of the dollhouse. Lorelei put her head in her hands, and for the first time in many years, she wept.



last edit on Apr 29, 2024 5:19:48 GMT by sister ghoul

local boogeyman
aliasbex, jeepers cats
pronounsshe/any
733written posts
sister ghoulearned bits
offlinecurrently
sister ghoul
Part of the Furniture
sister ghoul Avatar
they pull the axe out your face and say "was it the boogeyman?"
prompt #21 - emptiness



content warning for: explicit suicidal ideation, depression, alcoholism, mentions of child abuse




"My gift of self is raped My privacy is raked And yet I find, and yet I find
Repeating in my head If I can't be my own I'd feel better dead"
- alice in chains's "nutshell" from 1994's jar of flies


Another day.

Sometimes, Alphonse wondered what the point of all of this was. You get up, you go to work, you take care of the kids, you drink yourself to sleep, then repeat the cycle the next day. To say that the routine was repetitive or draining would be a gross understatement, but Alphonse did not see another option available. Things had at least been easier when Rachel was still around, but now that his ex had bailed, it was just him and two kids under the age of four years old. Alphonse had never been under the illusion that being a single parent would be easy; but it continued to amaze the 21 year old single father just how draining it was. He had already felt like he was burnt out even before Rachel left, but now? It wasn't even that he was running on fumes. He was just

empty.

This feeling was not new to him though. To him, it felt more as if he briefly had days where he felt good versus having a "bad" day. For Alphonse, every day was a bad day, and it had been that way for as long as he could remember. Even as a child, he had noticed that he had not been like other kids. Where his peers were happy and content most of the time, Alphonse felt like he was weighed down. He couldn't shake it, either. Never been able to. And as he aged, the feeling simply grew and changed with him. He had long suspected that perhaps, something was wrong with not just him, but his whole family.

Alphonse didn't know much, but he knew his family wasn't like every family. Before her death when he was 6, what Alphonse remembered the most about his mother was how much time she had spent time by herself, alone in her bedroom and "stuck" in bed. He had not understood as a child, how one could get "stuck" in bed when you physically looked fine. It hadn't been until he was older, that he finally understood what his mother had meant by that. Because now, he had that problem too.

More than anything, Alphonse feared that his kids would have those same memories of him that he had of his own mother. He didn't want to be this way, but no matter how hard he tried to push through and do what he could for others, when it got to be too much, he retreated to the safety of his bedroom, as he had always done. But it was all he had ever known. It was the only thing that seemed to work, too. His ex and the mother of his children had always mocked him for his moods, and made him feel worse for it than he had before. Their relationship had not been perfect, but Alphonse felt a nagging voice in his ear that liked to tell him that he was the sole reason that Rachel had abandoned him and their children. Maybe if he had just been better. If he had been more patient with her, if he had tried harder to save their relationship, maybe his kids would still have a mother.

Alphonse had always dreamt of having the one happy family unit, with two parents, a nice house, a good job. But that wasn't feasible for someone like him. Not for a high school drop out and two small kids. Someone so fundamentally broken and unlovable. His kids would realize sooner or later, maybe when they got a little bit older, just how shitty of a human being he was.

Sometimes Alphonse wondered if it was all worth it. His kids were worth it, there was no question about it. But they were his only drive to get out of bed every morning. He felt love for his children, but nothing else. The blond supposed he should be grateful for them, as if he knew that if he had had not had children as young as he had, he had no idea where he would be now. Or maybe he did, and he just couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.

Vivid images of his mother, curled up in bed and staring blankly at the wall flashed in his mind. Alphonse had complicated feelings about her, knowing what she had done, and how she had essentially abandoned her three small children to a man she knew was a violent drunk.

If he followed through with what his mind told him was the right decision, he would be abandoning his children to the same fate. He wouldn't do that to them, he couldn't.

So why do I still feel this way?

Alphonse had stopped asking that question long ago, knowing that he would never get the answer he was looking for. He wanted to believe that everyone felt this way from time to time, and that maybe this was a natural feeling for someone in his situation to feel. If it were anyone else, he may agree. But for Alphonse, his dire financial situation simply felt like just another reason to add to his list of reasons why drinking himself into a coma felt simpler. He craved it, every second of every day. He didn't want to be like his father, and had promised himself that he would never let his drinking get to be a problem. But in the days since Rachel had left, the temptation became stronger and stronger. The booze helped make it so that he could feel again. That hollow, empty feeling that Alphonse felt every second of every day was washed away for a few hours, and life once again felt as though it were tolerable.

But then he'd wake again the next morning, and that hollow feeling was now accompanied by a horrific hangover. Alphonse would muddle through his day, living off of diet coke and cigarettes to stave off hunger, as it was more important for his kids to eat than it was for him. His kids shouldn't have to suffer just because they had one parent jump ship, and the other was a basket case.

He wanted a better life for his kids, better than he had had. Alphonse was barely hanging on, but he would do it for them. His kids needed him, but he needed them more. They were what gave him purpose, his single driving force for not killing himself. Alphonse just wished he could be the father he wanted to be for them. Instead, he feared that the emptiness would become so overwhelming, that it would eventually become too much. He feared becoming a footnote in his children's memories, just like his own mother was for him.

He couldn't let that happen, he won't.

"Daddy!" a redheaded little boy exclaimed, as he threw himself into Alphonse's bed. It was early, whatever time it was. Through the heavy fog of sleep, the blond grunted as his son crawled under the covers and snuggled up next to him. Alphonse rolled on his side to face his son Marcus, who was far more awake than he was. "S'early, Marc. S'not even 6 yet." Alphonse said with a yawn and lazily rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. The little boy blinked in return, and asked, "can I stay in here until it's time to get up?"

Alphonse did not respond, but pulled the redheaded toddler into a hug against his naked chest. Marcus giggled at the sudden closeness, but snuggled closer to his father. Alphonse looked down at his son and smiled, seeing his bright blue eyes staring back into his own. 

"Love you, y'know." Alphonse muttered and closed his eyes. "Love you too, daddy." Alphonse didn't feel much these days, but in this moment, all he felt was overwhelming love.


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