“Ma...” Not yet a man plastered all over the news and papers, it is enough for Frank to go unnoticed as anyone special in unremarkable clothes and a cup of coffee-- just another guy doing rounds in the supermarket that Delores favors, the cart in his hands holding random cereal boxes and an assortment of non-perishables just to complete the look of the excuse. Unbeknownst to him, he is echoing the very steps of his other mother, the one whose blood ran through his veins. He’d never heard the story of the time Luisa Castiglione haunted a store just like this in Brooklyn just to get an audience with the same woman he’s counting on now.

There’d been words prepared for the moment, apologies and explanations, but they leave him the second that his other ma looks up at him and realizes... That’s when he’s abandoning the cart, letting it gently roll into a wall of shelves, and launching himself full-tilt at her, bone-deep faith telling him that her arms will catch him like they have every other time he’s had need of them. He doesn’t deserve them-- he’s thought about the hurt she must have felt, the worry, the questioning... his return date having come and gone and no show of the small Castle family at her dining room... and then the news, the godawful news about Maria and Lisa and Frankie...

and Frank just missing in the middle of it all... now here, wrapped around her and pressed into her shoulder the same as he had been when she told him she knew that he was due to become a father.

he should get into collecting antique dolls and delores will have plenty to talk about…..

SEND  💙 TO MEET MY MUSES’ MOTHER ( ACCEPTING / @maternalmelancholy )

I would make this a little drabble/starter but I don’t know how Delores and Vera’s mother would meet, so I’m making this like a mini bio headcanon-y thing.

But anyways, this is Vera’s mom, Isabella Adamari: 

-Isabella came from a pretty decent background. She had enough money to send her off to university where she became a stockbroker on Wallstreet. She also met Vera’s dad, Angel, there.

-She had Vera at age 23, at the beginning of her stockbroking career, but she kept her daughter and loved her very dearly. Soon after, she ended up getting married to Angel.

-Their marriage was very short lived. Between the stress of their jobs and having a child that was unexpected, they were destined to get divorced and so they did. It was a very nasty one. Angel wanted custody of Vera but somehow, Isabelle got custody and something about their divorce was so nasty that he cut off all ties with her and even with Vera just because she lived with Isabelle.

-The divorce took a HORRIBLE toll on her and she turned to drugs as a coping mechanism. She got fired from her job because of her bait, ran out of money pretty quickly, so she and Vera were forced to move to a sketchy area of the Bronx.

-She was an okay mother. She was an addict, so she was the best mother she could be in that sense.

-To fund her drug habit, she ended becoming a sex worker since she was positive no job would hire her after she got fired for drug use. 

god was crouched down, smelling the roses outside a lovely woman’s house (a woman who had just passed, incidentally) when the question was posed to her. she glanced back and smiled, passing her fingers over the soft petals of the flowers.

roses were her favourite. they thrived in the poorest conditions, no matter what. they were a lot like humans.

because i’m a deity, not a prison guard. what would you do without free will? wait for instruction every day? how and who would you love? what would you eat? when would you sleep? do you really want someone making every single choice for you, no matter how you might feel about it?

she stepped up close, looking less the regal pictures in the bible of some old dude with a beard and white robes, in her yellow flip-flops and her tulle skirt. 

i know it’s hard. i know that making choices can be difficult, that sometimes there is no good outcome, and either way you turn, there’s a chance your heart will be broken. i know it might be easier if you didn’t have to think, decide, ask. but honestly, i think it would suck, too. it’s not what i intended. i wanted you to have free will because it’s what you deserve. to live without it, it’s.. well, pardon the pun, hell. 

god inhaled, exhaled. 

but i also like seeing the choices you make, good or bad. i like seeing where your heart takes you, where your brain takes you. where logic and emotion end up, split apart. it’s a beautiful thing, your choices. to love the man you want, to pursue the career that makes you happy, to order the steak instead of the salad. choice is a beautiful thing. you have the power over yourself, and that’s what i wanted. i never wanted anyone to live their life according to my rules. moses kinda’ got that wrong, but we won’t go there right now.

she put her hands on delores’ cheeks, framing her face with both palms.

That little coffee table wasn’t made for a grown man to be using it as leverage as he pops a hip: but at the moment, he’s only trying to be more interesting than whatever she’s reading.

“Hey little lady, don't you say maybe--”

She reminds him of a someone. Probably that teacher in grade-school who told him he wouldn’t amount to anything: she was right--  Remi figures she should’a went for the big bucks with a neon PSYCHIC sign and crystal ball instead of pushin’ pencils for brats like him-- but especially at the moment, that’s wholly irrelevant, and he’s already straddling the seat across from her.

“You and I could leave right now...”