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"Cloudward, ho! Is a bad name" you hate whimsy + adventure + the ability to say Ho all the time

Fabian's getting a sibling. his friends are all excited for it. Hallariel and Gilear are over the moon. he burnt all his baby clothes and as a result, everyone has been shopping, been preparing for the new baby. Fabian hates it.

once it's born, everyone coos over it, adores it, makes it laugh and looks at it. there's pictures being taken left and right, handmade blankets and shirts with embroidered initials and the softest plushies imaginable gifted from everyone around.

Fabian doesn't want to look at it. he avoids going near its room in the house, starts training and dancing even more and avoids being home as much as he can, so that he doesn't have to watch his mother smile at the little creature, doesn't have to listen to her coo or sing to this child that she loves.

Riz remarks to him that his sibling is cute. Kristen keeps trying to get him to hold it, tells him how you're supposed to keep one arm under and one arm across to ensure it's steady. Fig tells him he must be so excited to be a big brother, and that even though they're step-siblings, it must be thrilling to finally have a biological sibling. Fabian doesn't respond.

he had siblings. numerous ones, all without names and faces, all dead. he never met them. they never got to live much of their lives, murdered by Whitclaw for his father's feuds. no one speaks of them. no one thinks to remember them.

this baby will be the first Lomenelda-Faeth baby, his first biological sibling that doesn't share his Seacaster name, and he feels it viciously. good. it doesn't deserve his name. his legacy.

his friends coo over this baby, this stupid little thing, and his mother has spoken more to this child than she has to him in the past 18 years combined, and it's not jealousy fueling him when he sees his own baby blanket in its clutches. it's grief.

this baby doesn't get to have his stuff. it was a gift from his father, his family, and it doesn't belong to this new creature. it's done nothing to deserve this affection, this adoration. love is earned. love is what happens when you make a mark on the world, when you write your name on every place you've been and are respected and admired.

love is what you get if you become Maximum Legend. it's what you get when you defeat your enemies, or defeat your mother in fencing, or come out in victory after a harsh battle. love isn't freely handed out just because you exist. it's hard earned once you're enough, and Fabian is so, so close to earning it. he's done it all. he's saved the world. he's worked so hard, and done his best, and gotten his mother to stop drinking and be ready to be a mother. so why is she devoting her time and affection to this stupid little thing that hasn't done anything yet?

it's not fair. and he thinks about it when he slams the door behind him in the morning, the unfamiliar lilting notes of his mother's lullaby burning in his ears, until the roar of the Hangman finally drowns it out.

it must be so exciting to have a sibling, Fabian! it echoes in his ears. he thinks of Captain James on Leviathan, his grotesque tentacles crawling over his head, his foul breath just inches from his face. "Oh, I have so many of your siblings’ brains in me stomach already." how many of his siblings met their ends like that? how many of his siblings died without ever getting to tell him their name, without making their own mark on the world or knowing that there were more of them?

the wind howls around him and the Hangman furiously blasts down the roads, Elmville rushing past. he has enough siblings. none of them survived long enough for him to ever learn their name. this child, this baby, this stupid little sibling has done nothing to earn all the affection it's been getting, this love that's now handed out freely where he's never ever received a scrap without fighting for it tooth and nail. it's got enough.

he takes his crystal out, debates for a moment, and deletes all new notifications. he puts it on Do Not Disturb. he owes this new child nothing. he never got to learn the names of any of his other siblings. this baby, he decides, has done nothing to earn that privilege. there's nothing special about it. he's had enough of siblings, and he doesn't need another. he's a Seacaster, the last of his name. this child is not. it's a Lomenelda-Faeth, two people whose name he does not share and two people who haven't looked at him in weeks. he doesn't need them. they don't get to need him.

the Hangman's engine roars, and he thinks about his mother's singing. how he hasn't heard her ever sing before. he tries to recall it, and the song slips into a Halfling accent before he can stop himself. the motor revs, and he drives on.

let me be very clear that if you voted for donald trump or support him in any capacity you are not welcome here. my blog is not the place for you and i do not want you interacting with me. 

Text: Sometimes in the dead of night on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water, I see an extra door in the hallway, black and imposing. 

reminder that this blog, while not politically focused, supports BLM. bootlickers and racists aren’t welcome here, and never will be.

Service Offered: Professional Third Wheel

Unwanted suitors? Not sure if you’re on a date? Too nice to turn him down? I can help! With nearly four years of experience sabotaging romantic encounters, I’m the uncomfortable silence you deserve… and now, I’m offering my services professionally. 

Bring me along as a platonic bufferzone on unwanted or ambiguous dates with suitors you’re not interested in but don’t know how to turn down. Guaranteed to kill the mood or your money back!

Basic services include: Terrible puns, poorly-timed jokes, casual physical displays of affection, bringing up unappealing facts about you (to be established or fabricated ahead of time), including myself in attempts at cuddling, domineering the conversation, irritating laughter, talking about I may have finally found an apartment for rent that’s big enough to house all of your cats, subtly making remarks about how nice it is that you’ve made a new friend.  More advanced services: Creating diversions (available at tiers 1, 2, and 3; examples include pouring water over my head, impromptu hula dancing, and  triggering alarms), intimate displays of physical affection, accidentally spilling drinks on your suitor’s clothing, laughing at everything your suitor says while drinking until I manage to time it so that water comes out of my nose and sprays onto them. 

 Package deals: 

The Gay Best Friend: What it sounds like. Because this persona runs the risk of stereotype and exploitation, I prefer to keep this subtle. Willing to engage in mild flirtation with your suitor. Please use discretion when requesting this service; the intention is to make him realize that your feelings towards him are platonic. Do not even consider this package if he is aggressively homophobic. 

The Imposing Older Brother: I scowl, smirk, and huff judgmentally. Comes in two flavors: the Violent Ex-Con and the Insufferable Elitist. Can flex my physical or intellectual muscles as needed. 

The Irritating Younger Brother: I bring a gaming device along, snicker rudely and roll my eyes whenever he speaks, complain about the time, chew with my mouth open, shrug indifferently, prop my sneakers on his chair, wipe my nose on my hand, and bluntly interrupt the conversation whenever it strays out of your comfort zone. 

The Priest: Why the heck would you bring your priest on a date?! I don’t know, and neither will your suitor! Obfuscate them into backing off. If that doesn’t work, I will recite dry Biblical passages until they are driven away by crushing boredom or fear of Hell. 

The Son from The Future: Depending on the age difference, I can also pose as your Son from the Current Era. Will dress in conspicuously unusual clothing (ex. holographic baseball cap, life preserver, roller skates, VISOR-like sunglasses), continuously ask for the date and time, and anxiously mutter about how it’s almost time for you to ditch this place and meet my father for the first time.

The Enslaved Zombie Ex-Boyfriend: I don milky, semi-opaque contact lenses and follow you around mindlessly, with jerky, unnatural movements. I am at your beck and call, controlled from beyond the grave by your occult powers - the fate of all the boyfriends who displease you.  

The Demon Prince: I wear a stylish fawn suit, soft kidskin gloves, and silver cuff-links etched with strange symbols. I have a ring or a cane decorated with the head of a ram. I say little, but smile often. Now and then, I pull out a little silver hourglass from a chain around my neck and examine it, tapping my foot, my fingers, or my cane impatiently. I adopt a curious and subtle accent and ask him to appraise his immortal soul. I carry a sleek briefcase rigged to emit a bright light if I crack it open a hair. Optional: I carry a cube of sulfur in my pocket for the smell.

The Mulder: A proven classic. I periodically derail the conversation with crackpot conspiracy theories, the nature of reality, extraterrestrial intelligence, and ESP. May accuse your suitor of being a Reptilian, or demand that they feel the scar where I had an alien implant removed. Insist that we change tables because this one is bugged and we are under surveillance by the secret shadow government.    

The Fiance You Thought Was Lost at Sea: I burst through the door, dripping wet, with barnacle-encrusted clothing and a crab dangling from my ear lobe. I’ll smell of brine and have a haunted look in my eye. This will require some acting skills from you; you’ll need to throw yourself sobbing into my arms and cry, “I thought I’d lost you!” and I’ll hold you and mutter something about Davy Jones getting ahead of himself.  

Other: I am happy to work with you to develop a persona specific to your unique needs and preferences. 

Rates: Sliding scale, determined by me on a case-by-case basis. I want to make my services available to all who need them. Factors such as the relative heinousness of suitor is considered; affluent clients can generally expect to pay more as likelihood of physical or spiritual harm increases. For swanky dates in nice locations with minimal levels of danger, I typically ask only that you cover the cost of my meal, entrance fees, transportation, and other expenses.

IMPORTANT: Although I am prepared to deal with any number of eventualities, I am not a professional: bodyguard, assassin, exorcist, crocodile hunter, or escort. If you expect that any of these services will become necessary, I am happy to put you in touch with a specialist. ADDITIONALLY: If your suitor is non-human, please be upfront with this so that we can plan accordingly. We do not want a repeat of the events of Halloween 2012.

ADDENDUM 2014: I reserve the right to terminate our deal at any time. This is a exclusively a professional relationship, and any physical or romantic affection we may share may be considered performance and unrelated to my personal feelings. ADDENDUM 2015: If you are trying to orchestrate a set-up because you get off on watching your significant other jealously beat the crap out of perceived rivals, fuck you. Vengeance will be swift.

Inspired @connorsquarter ‘s post

A lesson that we can’t afford not to be taught.

Please help my friends & cuzzins!

I don't have the patience to dig through all my old posts to find this, but I thought I'd share it again