#father tw

[d0ll-part-s]

who art in heaven

i.k.b

[sweetpeauserboxes]

[id: two light gray userbox with a gray border and gray text that reads “this user sees argo as a father figure”. on the left is an image of argo from 7 Days! : Mystery Visual Novel and the prequel Argo's Choice: Visual Novel. /end id]

[paradoxesofgalaxies]

Memories of my father follow me like ghosts

I catch a scent of him in the air and my whole being recoils in disgust as my eyes quickly scan the room for a figure that isn't there.

A certain laugh and I can hear his voice dripping with mockery. Words of the past echoing through the present. An inescapable phantom always lurking behind me.

The horrifying visions of him that plague my nights.

Memories of my father follow me like a ghost

If only that's all he were

[nettles-vent]

I don’t miss my dad, but I miss what having a dad could have been like. I miss hunting trips that weren’t excuses, acceptance and a family line. I want to be somebody’s son. I want to wake up early in the morning to catch the sunrise on the porch.

Sometimes it hits me that I’ve aged past the time where I could be looked after, like a kid should be. I never was. Nobody took care of me. And I guess a part of me was still expecting I’d get that. But I’m 18 now. No-one’s coming to save me.

I never had the kind of dad I should’ve had.

And another part of me knows I couldn’t have any kind of relationship with an older man without making it perverse. I imagine a father I could count on, and what I imagine is exactly the same as what I conjure when I think about my ideal man.

Its all messed up in my head. I cant get what I want. I hate what life’s turned out to be.

[alienthegreenalien]

little moment to think about my dad who is a 67 years old albanian man who’s lived a devastatingly hard and sad life under dictatorship for half of his life but still has it in him to make beautiful paintings and write poetry about colors and sometimes cries because he thinks cows are so kind and gentle and he can’t fathom how such perfect creatures exist

[theauthorlives]

Monologue - Father's Day

"One, two and -"

"One, two and -"

The grumbling from the greaser was reminiscent of musical timing as the bounces from the small ball hit the wall, the floor, and landed back in his hand.

It was Visitation Day, and Yancy had intended to spend the free time in his cell, armed with just a tennis ball that one of the guards had snuck in for him to borrow today. He sat on the bottom bunk and, after pushing the small table aside, had a clear aim of the wall opposite him. A half-hearted throw was more than enough to hit the wall, yet still provide enough momentum to give a bounce high enough for him to catch it.

"One, two and -"

"One, two and -"

By right, the tennis ball was contraband, but the older staff knew that today was an exception:

Visitation Day fell on Father's Day.

It happened every year. For many prisoners, it was the one day they looked forward to most in the summer. Fathers were permitted to have a longer time with their kids, and they were brought out to the main rec yard that was specially decorated for families to spend time together. It was a positive aspect of the rehabilitation process, Warden Murder-Slaughter had once explained. If a father could see the life he was missing out on, it would give him motivation to work toward parole and making a better life for himself.

(Of course, he also insisted the same on Mother's Day, although that fell on the second Sunday of May.)

Yancy was not the only prisoner in Happy Trails with a difficult family life. However, he was the only one presently incarcerated for murdering his parents. Not only that, this was the only day that he needed the extra eye on him.

Mother's Day was fine. He could make a passing gesture to mark the day and then bury his head in other tasks for the rest of the day.

But Father's Day...? That was always a difficult one, even from childhood.

--

--

"Now then, class. How is everyone doing with their Father's Day cards?"

A cacophony of excited chattering rose up in the room as all the 8 year olds tried to get their teacher's attention. Using a design on the board as inspiration, they were all encouraged to draw them and their dad or male guardian doing something they enjoy together. Some children drew sport scenes, others drew people playing video games, others even drew them walking a dog together.

One child still had an empty page, and this caught the teacher's attention. She walked over and gently tapped the child on the shoulder.

"You struggling to come up with ideas?" Her voice was soft as she crouched down to the boy's eye level.

"Mmm... Yeah..." He didn't lift his head to look at her. Instead, he was focused on arranging his colouring pencils into shapes.

"Well... What have you and your father done lately?" The teacher knew it was going to be a difficult answer. This child in particular had been uncomfortable with the topic of Father's Day, but nothing was on his record about a bad family life. If anything, the principal's only comment was that the father was particularly stern about his son's so-called laziness.

(The teacher wanted to argue that the boy did genuinely struggle in some areas, but she was in no position to overrule either her boss or the child's parents.)

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Don't do anything at home."

Ordinarily, the teacher would try to prompt further suggestions from her students, but she couldn't shake her hunch that this would be a bad idea. "Well, why don't you write 'Happy Father's Day' in bubble writing?"

It wasn't an ideal solution, but he couldn't go home empty-handed.

-

The house was buzzing with activity as the whole family arrived for Father's Day. Only the little boy and his older sister still lived at home, and the older two had moved out for lives of their own. They all sat around the kitchen table, drinking coffee and chatting about recent happenings.

The youngest sat on the bottom step, holding the hand-drawn card tightly with both small hands. Nerves had crinkled the page, and panic in trying to fix it only resulted in a small tear on the back. He didn't want to do this, but his teacher had said it had been so nice that anyone would like it.

And if she meant that, well... Maybe his dad would like it.

"Hey... Pa?"

He had shuffled into the room, wincing when everyone turned around to look at him. having five adults and teenagers giving you their full attention was nothing short of terrifying. But he had made it this far, he couldn't back down now. "Happy Father's Day. I made you this." The card was presented with both hands.

Sure, it wasn't as pretty as the cards that were bought, but there was still time put into it. There was no present either, but his mother never asked if he wanted to go to the store to buy anything.

(He was eight years old. It wasn't like he had a lot of money to his name.)

Silence.

His father skimmed the card and placed it on the table in the span of ten seconds.

"Is that everything?" A monotonous question broke the awkward silence. Yancy peered up, wide-eyed, at his father.

"I-I, uh, I don't have anything else -"

"Good. Go back to your room."

"Yes, pa."

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, in the hope that someone would comment on his card.

"He did a good job with that card. The colouring's getting better." The sound of the sister closest in age could be heard.

"He forgot the apostrophe in 'Father's'."

Ah. Of course the only comment his father would make was finding the flaws. He didn't know why he bothered waiting to hear. Disheartened, he trudged back upstairs and climbed into bed. What else was worth doing today after that?

--

--

"One, two and -"

"One, two and -"

The rhythm had increased. He was throwing the tennis ball faster. Every year as a child, he had tried to do something that he father might actually like. It was never good enough. At least his mother could lie and pretend she liked the art project he had to make in school.

"One, two and - and..."

He caught the ball, and his grip tightened on it. The urge to fling it at full strength and break something nearly consumed him, but he managed to pull himself back at the last moment.

"Fuck."

The tennis ball dropped on the drop as he fell back into the bottom bunk. He couldn't stick being alone today, but there was no one he felt comfortable spending the time with.

"Fuck this..."

[wellfell]

i am starting to believe some of akina's bfs probably told her something along the lines of ' if your daddy issues healed you'd leave me ' and she's never really cared about it but i'm ready to write an essay why you're always with an angry man if you've grown up with an angry man in your house . anyway .

[shittysadpossumposts]