#I need to be a root- that which supports so much and is the core of it all- but doesn’t have to be above grown

[kanizsacollage]

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[fondcrimes]

the "labru chapter" is the kabru chapter

this is a dungeon meshi love manifesto, but not in the way you think. sorry not sorry for the labrubait

what makes chapter 76 so amazing is kabru’s desperation has little to do with laios specifically. it’s not just about kabru being obsessed with laios and making sure he doesn't cause tragedy, either. I think this chapter emphasizes kabru's struggle with the concept of love and companionship. the point of this chapter is that every critical part of kabru collides at once and renders him useless.

(disclaimer: this post includes a lot of projection/speculation but it's to understand kabru's character arc i promise. for clearer analysis and examination of how kabru's ideologies are constructed, check out this really great post)

kabru is a lone visionary

in ch 76, kabru’s threatened by lycion exposing his true intentions to laios not only bc he wants to prevent laios from joining marcille in her destruction, but also bc laios is also from a short-lived race and kabru needs an ally in his power struggle against elves (esp when the chips are down)

but has kabru really accepted his need for allies in his plight? kabru has spent his adult life suppressing a human urge to connect meaningfully with others. he even keeps rinsha et al. at arm's length in the name of achieving his masculine hero complex/survivor's guilt goals. he's already quite disillusioned bc most adventurers don't have the same goal as he does. so he uses people and gets on their good side for systematic support. he’s well-intentioned and takes care of his party. but the idea that an ally could also protect HIM and make HIM feel safe as well doesn’t really register with him until later on in the narrative bc camaraderie and allyship, at its core, is about acknowledging intimacy. kabru struggles with intimacy sub-textually (his self-neglect and social insincerity) even though he knows how to simulate it to gain others' trust.

but he can’t crack laios, he can’t get him to listen. for lack of a better word, kabru is spoiled by the fruits of his superb perception and emotional intelligence. he also doesn’t cope well with failure (bc his goal is too valuable to ~not~ devote himself to) he puts too much value in conquering laios and when he thinks he's failed, he basically crashes out. the real problem is he still doesn’t understand his true feelings--not feelings for laios, but the root of his desire. the root of his goals and the endless search for companionship.

kabru is a strategic historian

at his core, kabru is a storyteller. he tells himself a variety of stories about his trauma and his goals, which serve as motivation and to some extent, self-protection (as shown in his conversation w mithrun). he deeply understands the role of storytelling in regards to the construction of history and drastic shifts in power.

as an utayan, he understands that the tragedy that overcame his people was not random, but resulted from elven negligence of a disenfranchised people. it is imperative for kabru to cement himself as a voice for otherwise voiceless people. in his story, he has no choice but to handle the hero, if not become the hero himself.

kabru even has a story about his pursuit of laios, mainly that laios is currently the most capable person of defeating the mage and that he must do whatever it takes to ensure laios doesn’t fuck it up. his instincts are right, sure, but at first, he places special value in laios’ capabilities that almost seems unearned… like yes he’s studied the island adventurers with frightening expertise, so it makes sense he would have a good idea about who is the most equipped to succeed. but his early suspicions of the toudens seems to complicate my perception of his knowledge by adding emotional depth and a layer of tinhattery so to speak.

canonically, kabru has been rebuffed by laios multiple times (which is so... lolll) when he's talking with his party, kabru hides behind the excuse of dungeon but he’s been trying to get his attention this whole time. to me it reads like he's got a bruised ego from being ignored and is being a hater about it (so real lol). it's funny bc kabru is usually great at taking shit from others (esp elves) if it means nobody suspects/interrogates his true intentions and he can keep the peace. so why does laios tick him off so bad? now we have to get into the psychoanalysis of it all!

kabru is a cynic

first and foremost, kabru’s cynical philosophy about humans is challenged by the touden mission. but plenty of people don’t care about the impact of their actions, so why does kabru obsess over the toudens at the start? I figured kui changed gears with kabru's characterization following his introduction, but I want to try to connect it to kabru's unresolved survivor's guilt. kabru is the sole survivor of a catastrophe caused by negligence and oversight. he criticizes the negative impact of the toudens' generosity and naïveté and confirms his cynical worldview (the road to hell is paved with best intentions), but still maintains a level-headed perspective. on the other hand, kabru's interactions with laios are tinged with irrational jealousy/resentment/desperation, even prior to kabru learning laios' character/intentions as an adventurer. I cannot emphasize enough that I am employing a neutral definition of jealousy here--it seems kabru is jealous of the freedom to not care the way laios does not care about the fate of the island. this isn't to say laios doesn't care about humans, he does, but he seems so singleminded compared to kabru esp in ch 76. kabru sees laios going to the literal end of the world to save his sister. laios gets to be human selfishly, kind-natured but ultimately self-prioritizing.

kabru correctly assesses motives (besides his own maybe). falin said she’d do anything to protect laios and marcille. laios has been socially rejected by people his whole life, and at first, he only cares about his sister and monsters. kabru has survived horror but only by accident… he doesn't agree with their pov and more importantly, it doesn’t exactly compute with him. the toudens are wholly unaware of their impact, which does not sit well with kabru at all, who understands the impact of negligence better than anyone else, esp how it ends up harming the less fortunate and extremely marginalized in society. it's reminiscent of the age-old trolley problem. while kabru has been the victim of senseless pain, I suspect kabru can’t yet make sense of senseless love. he gets to look down at their cause and call it selfish because it directly contradicts his lived experience.

kabru is an ethicist with a heroic streak

it's easy to glean that kabru wants to be the hero utaya should’ve had. while he's hardcore and intense, but not paranoid enough to do something rash. he uses violence as a means of achieving peace. he's self-aware enough to know his skill limits, which seems rational at a glance but the pressure he puts on himself suggests he views himself as inadequate until he achieves his goal. the races of humans are so split up and he sees that this is a matter of power first and foremost.

with the canaries, kabru submits to political pageantry to make a separate case for innocent people. senseless tragedy is unforgivable, but so is the "too little too late" reality of the canary system. he takes on the impossible task of rallying people together to save the dungeon. one read is that he's saving his childhood self from trauma perhaps by saving those like him… he's wishing someone did something before it got bad, wondering why nobody intervened when they had every opportunity to step in. it’s deeper than a sense of duty or fairness, this is about betrayal and retribution.

throughout his life, kabru struggles with the material inequity and limits of love. the human population is fundamentally segmented into a hierarchy due to lifespans and access to power/resources. his mother was the only one who loved him in utaya and she was ostracized because of his appearance and then she was killed due to senseless tragedy. his frustration with the elves encapsulates this idea perfectly, because he is aware of of the limits of their empathy as a long-lived race and adjusts his strategy and rhetoric accordingly. I think milsiril’s love for kabru is genuine, but still infantilizing and smothering due to the racial imbalance. this continues to inform his politics, as he views their perception of short-lived races with contempt. the worst offense is that their bigotry is nonsensical, meaning their hearts cannot be reasoned with.

dungeon meshi is a story about power and politics, yes, but genuine love and acceptance are the catalysts of change and equality. the "invisible gulf" that marcille is referring to is the inability to view other races with love and care. such is the essence of camaraderie. kabru's backstory, family history, and beliefs/motivations raise two important questions for me: who gets to be loved enough to survive, and then to thrive?

kabru is a monster

the emphasis on distinguishing between humans and monsters is quite interesting too. of all sentient beings, who qualifies as worthy of "human" treatment? who deserves empathy and acceptance? kabru seeks these answers to fix the world, but also to justify his place in it.

kabru's lack of self-worth is evident here, but what’s more interesting is he knows many humans suffer worse fates than some monsters. the dehumanization/neglect of fellow humans does not compute, if the premise is humans are superior to demi-humans/non-humans because mutual empathy and understanding. he clings to the superiority of humanity as an appeal to ethos to those in power despite what he might actually believe about himself. to kabru, the true injustice is that humans won’t even save “inferior” humans despite being the same. his unclear heritage manifests as guilt, as he feels directly responsible for his mother's suffering because he is monstrous. then here comes laios, a human who somehow can find it in himself to love monsters.

kabru doesn’t want laios to love him, per se, but laios’ love for monsters and for falin reveals life-altering possibilities for kabru: there is a world where someone could love him even if he were a monster. there is a world where somebody would go to extreme measures just to save him. kabru does not know the extent of laios' trauma but recognizes a sort of kindred spirit but inverse. taking off the ship goggles here--it has less to do with laios specifically, and more to do with what his beliefs/abilities represent for the trajectory of the world (because kabru studies how beliefs/abilities manifest into material reality, after all)

kabru is seeking the power of love

in a different story, kabru would be laios’ archnemesis. they would have a disastrous battle of opposing worldviews in their struggle for dominion. kabru has every right to want to take laios out bc while his affinity for monsters is sympathetic and even charming, it is still a natural threat… kabru has the true hero pathology. he believes he only deserves to live if he can save people for a variety of reasons/traumas. he should do whatever it takes to exterminate laios. but the expectation is subverted in chapter 76 bc we see kabru’s curiosity and ongoing quest for understanding win over his worst fears.

I feel like I’ve been projecting a lot but bear with me... a huge part of kabru’s character is him trying to figure out how to matter to people, or figuring out why people matter to others in general. it’s not to say he doesn’t matter to his friends or milsiril, but why else would he bother with all the manipulative people-pleasing? it would be less meaningful if he had ulterior motives like greed or power, but he plays into people's expectations/desires for a disastrously noble cause. he’s still actively living in his trauma as a deeply traumatized adult. it’s pure serendipity that laios can send him right back to his past and then pull him right out again. I don't think it's crazy to say kabru (correctly) projects a lot of shit on laios bc he doesn’t know how to deal with those injustices and barriers between people himself.

this is also why I believe kabru's beef with laios is as personal as it is strategic. we have to consider the trajectories of their character arcs (their big missions, respectively) in relation to one another as foils. if laios' love for falin can move mountains and do impossible things, kabru is subconsciously drawn to the magnitude of that love like a magnet. his response to cognitive dissonance is quite remarkable as well. at the root of his unbelievable capacity for understanding and curiosity is the deep wound of being unloved and unprotected. kabru does not avoid or run away from his fears, he quite literally keeps running toward them and follows it down to hell. he wants to identify the true source of his deepest wound.

to me, this omake connects his childhood curiosity to his search for love, almost as to ask “is there enough room for me to be loved?" and the same can be said for marcille's character arc/ backstory. her biracial heritage has caused her great existential pain and social isolation.

in dungeon meshi, the issues of protection and justice continue to be interpreted through love. if kabru were to go back in time and save utaya, he would’ve needed incomprehensible magic, a supernatural power to save himself, his mother, his hometown. in contrast, laios' mission to save falin is just one manifestation of the surreality of love, all of the impossibilities it permits. the touden party wade through invisible gulfs to save falin, but also each other. kabru doesn’t hate their story, he just can’t fathom it yet.

kabru is a skilled strategist and communicator. and does not listen to his heart or body until he’s absolutely forced to do it. he has insane goals and expectations for himself and will go to great measures for those goals. as cerebral and cold as he might seem, it’s critical to understand that his character arc is about love too. in my opinion, it’s almost as if he’s trying to change his reality in hopes of finding love. my favorite thing about kabru is that he has all the narrative makings of the perfect misunderstood villain who self-destructs at the end of the story. but kabru is too smart for that, too focused on the big-picture impacts and the historical trajectory of the cause. instead, kabru finds the wherewithal to stand down once he understands that laios is capable of loving humanity like he does, or that he could help him see the value in humanity at all.

to love is to understand, and then to surrender.

[comicaurora]

I'm sorry that the terfs made their way onto your blog but it does feel good to see you support trans people. Thank you for that

Always.

I think, charitably, that the discourse going down on that post is an extrapolation and over-focus on one element of the point I was making: that for me, determining with certainty that I was cis was a rather fraught process. I was presented with many alternatives, but underlying their imposition on me was the oddly regressive idea that the things I liked, the principles I valued, the parts of myself I was proud of were not permitted of women. My whole life I got smacked with the background radiation that I couldn't like being strong because women aren't allowed to be stronger than men. I couldn't like being loud and boistrous because women aren't allowed to take up space. I couldn't be a math geek because women aren't smart. It was all deeply regressive misogyny from day one, but I started getting hit with it slathered in a fresh coat of paint - all those assumptions still held to be true, but now there was the out that I could do all those things if I just wasn't a woman.

Concluding that the underlying bioessentialist premise was wrong was very important. Absolutely none of those statements were true, and were only ever maintained by cultural saturation, goalpost-readjustment when they were actively disproven, and the occasional bout of lying with statistics to pretend they weren't just Shit All The Way Down. The core premise that certain things were only permitted of or possible for men was bullshit, and I didn't need to surrender the gender I liked best in order to play in the spaces I wanted to. I could simply exist the way I was already existing. I didn't need anything else.

The misinterpretation is the assumption that this being true of me means this is everybody's relationship with gender. I turned out to be cis, so for me, feeling that holding onto my assigned gender wasn't allowed was distressing - just another invocation of the same bioessentialist bullshit I'd been dealing with since the preschool playground. This is because misgendering is fundamentally denying that a person has the right to express themself the way they want. When aimed at me, it says I'm not performing traditional femininity well enough to deserve my pronouns. The same disrespect is the root of misgendering when aimed at trans people. "Perform your gender to my satisfaction or I will confiscate it."

The problem is, bioessentialism is 100% ingrained into the terf playbook, which is why, for instance, all their shitty talking points about trans athletes eventually boil down to "no woman can ever defeat a man in any contest because we are simply naturally weak and stupid and there is nothing we can do about it" and quite frankly nothing disgusts me more than the defeatist acceptance of the very lie that feminism is dedicated to overcoming. Instead of accepting that the paradigm of bioessentialism is a false dichotomy right from the jump, they embrace and weaponize it against the people whose existence proves the dichotomy is a lie. If gender essentialism is fundamentally false, then it is nobody's fucking business what anybody does with their gender. If the lines don't exist, nobody needs to enforce them. And yet there the terfs go, hunting down people whose lives are none of their business and trying to argue that they represent some great and terrible evil, some downfall of society made flesh, something that makes it totally correct and normal for them to spend so much time thinking about strangers' genitalia. They want this to be a noble crusade so badly they won't even examine what flag they're flying.

I love and support the trans people in my life and will always, always stand on the side of your right to exist, but alongside that, terf rhetoric especially disgusts and infuriates me because it is, at its heart, utter cowardice. The world told them they were weak and stupid and inferior and they fucking believed it. And now they think Fighting The Good Fight For Women means turning around and using the same paradigmatic weapon that hurt them to hurt the people whose existence outside the binary proves the weapon is a lie. They're the same shithead schoolyard bullies who made me believe my entire existence was foundationally wrong for years of my life and I will never, ever side with them or the shitty, cowardly rhetoric that contributed to the loneliest years of my life.

Figure out who you are and do it on purpose. Find the real source of the misery in your life and try fighting that instead of the other crabs in the bucket. Trans rights.

[natalchartnurtures]

PAC: Energy Check~ for wherever you are right now

This was completely unplanned but frankly spirit doesn't give a fuck about my plans. So if this found you, here are some messages you probably need right now-

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pile 1: Ooh.. as I was preparing to start your reading, I saw 11:11 as the Chariot card showed up for you. This. Tells me that you are pretty strongly connected to your divine path right now, which simply means that you're doing something that's keeping you in alignment, sweet pile one! Good job! Keep going down this road because you WILL stumble upon amazing experiences and people! This message is coming through quite strongly. Now, isn't that lovely? Hehe.

Here's the thing, though.. Although you're actually IN alignment with your greatest timeline and life, you seem to be completely UNAWARE of the fact! You might be going through the necessary purging emotionally and/or mentally as a result of this alignment since the "old stuff" has no more room in your new vibration anymore. So, you've probably had to go through some intense endings and/or tower moments in life lately and THIS has left you feeling really, really sad. Maybe even depressed. For some of you, if that's the case, please seek help, sweet soul. It doesn't have to be therapy but even as simple as talking to a trusted loved one, you know? Or even journaling about it could help if you're into it. It seems like you could use a new perspective on the things you're going through right now. I'm sensing that you might be feeling emotionally numb right now too, but that's because you've been doing a lot of emotional processing lately AND IT'S ALL PAYING OFF. I just need you to know that. You just can't see it right now because you're slap dead in the middle of the storm, and I'm looking at it from a bird's eye view, you know?

While you're purging old stuff, I also see you making your way through an old core belief - "I gotta work hard to be deserving of anything because I inherently don't" Or something along those lines. You may have started purging this belief as a result of life showing you that it's simply not something worth keeping alive inside you. Maybe recently, you caught yourself overworking yourself to death only to receive very little in return (in any area of your life - relationships included) and this experience helped you wake up to this unhelpful belief of yours. You're unlearning this belief as we speak. It's not easy though, but I CAN assure you, you're acing it.

If you find yourself worrying too much about anything and everything or simply feeling a general fear, just know that it's a normal reaction to having things uprooted in your life. Life, right now, is asking you to do your best to focus on what's right in front of you because if you do this, the future is guaranteed to sort itself out. I promise.

I love you so much, pile 1. I see all your hard work and am rooting for you SO hard, bro. Love and light.

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Pile 2: Seems like to me that y'all have been STUCK in a particular pattern for a while now, maybe years? For some of you folks reading? Let me spell it out for you what this pattern looks like to me - an imbalance of the mind and heart. Too much mind and too little heart. Maybe none at all.

I can't seem to tap into the root of this imbalance, maybe because it's different for each of you reading, OR maybe it's not relevant to us right now because you can simply begin to address this imbalance as you see it in your day-to-day. But I sense that you're really good at addressing things, so once you're conscious of this pattern going on subtly in the background, running your life, you can really do something about this. This pattern may show up as you struggling with feeling fear, and this is blocking you off to one very important thing fear is here to show us, and that is how to support ourselves. If we are afraid of something we desire and have a healthy relationship with fear, we go for the desire while caretaking our fear. I read a quote the other day, it said "Do that thing you love but if you find that you're scared, then go do it scared." The point I'm trying to make is, fear isn't going to go away on its own, it's you who will simply expand your ability to hold space for it AND your desires equally. When you figure out how to do this, magic will happen in your life. You'll find that your unwillingness to caretake your fear only gave you more things to be afraid of (because, hello, Law Of Attraction *lol*), BUT you'll also find that when you radically start taking responsibility for your fear(s), you'll be able to act from a wiser space and be your full badass self. You'll find that there are so many things you CAN do and so much life you CAN live. Everything you've wanted to start doing in life will start to happen almost seamlessly. It WILL surprise you big time. You're currently making your way through an important part of your healing, and that is to hold yourself in all your glory. To hold all parts of yourself, even the ones that are scared shitless. Once you've integrated this segment of your healing, SO many doors will unlock for you. Sweet soul, you have no clue of JUST HOW MANY. And this… is probably because you manifest with your heart primarily (meaning you feel things deeply and so you unknowingly tap into the frequency of what you want easily) and your fear is keeping you stuck in your head, which means you're only 40% of the full You right now, PRIOR the healing of c. You might even feel it sometimes. You might feel like you're only a shell of a person (been there myself, you're not alone in this!). Listen to that feeling. Your truth lies in there. You're meant to be the 100% you, and I see that you're already halfway there!

I love you so much, pile 2, sending you so much light and love. Hope you find the resources you need to make it through to your new life where you live in more love than fear.

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Pile 3: Man… y'all been fighting for your lives, huh? I see that you may be in the midst of a lot of divinely evoked darkness? Lol, I literally heard that - divinely evoked darkness. Maybe you're going through a dark night of the soul, perhaps? Whatever your're going through though, it seems like you've been hanging on for dear life.

Some good news for you- no matter the circumstances you're in right now (be it good, bad, or terrible), you've been doing all the work necessary to keep your head above water and have been diligently nurturing your own light, positivity, and essence. THAT'S incredible resilience, sweet pile 3, and I'm really proud of you! It's not easy to keep an open heart through bad times, and that's such a grand achievement in my eyes. UGH, BEAUTIFUL.

Your energy SCREAMS transition period vibes. You seem to be neither in your "old" timeline nor in the new one yet. You're sorta hanging in the middle right now. I see the Hanged Man in the third eye as I tell you this. Feels like you're in the void right now, and things just seem… bleh. Boring. Colorless. This is probably because you're already done with the ugly part of the process, "the divine shakeups", the loss, and the purge. Think… the bland but peaceful feeling you feel after having an intense ugly crying session, you know? Yeah, you're energetically there right now. You'll probably be here for a while longer because you've let go of MAJOR stuff, pile 3. Did you let go of people recently, maybe? Or that old bad habit, perhaps? That was the purge, so to speak. And now you're in the aftermath of it all, the uncomfortable but necessary calm.

-Side note: You might've struggled to embody your divine feminine earlier, but the timeline you're entering right now is the exact opposite of that. You might be attracted towards things that will help you nurture your own divine feminine right now. Give into it. Nurture patience, stillness, and compassion for self. It will HOPEFULLY speed up the void period if you consciously take part in it, you know?-

You're quite emotionally intelligent, and it has guided you throughout the whole process, and it also seems like it ain't your first rodeo in the process of proverbial death and rebirth. Good on you because you're doing a real good job keeping your calm through venturing into the unknown. You know what? You remind me of Elsa from Frozen, taking on the unknown like it belongs to her. You are such a queen, omg.

Yep, all that's left to do now is celebrate yourself, pile 3! Try your best to embrace this period, the void, and you'll be on your way to your next happy adventure! Love and light, sweet soul. Thanks for sharing your energy with me today.

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[ghost-proofbaby]

who could stay? (you could stay.) (eddie munson x reader)

summary: you're convinced that being loved comes with a cost. he finds a way to prove you wrong. (wc: 9.7k+)

order up! i've got one ash's special for anonymous. ♡

Keep going, keep going, keep going. 

Agree to run that errand for someone. Offer a shoulder to cry on for that person. Fix that problem for this friend. Keep going, keep offering, keep becoming indispensable. 

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact age you’d figured out the formula. You can never know for sure if the day was sunny or if it were rainy, if it were a calm December morning or a buzzing July night, but those details aren’t very important. The only important detail is that you had finally cracked the code at some point – you had finally figured out the solution to feeling unlovable. And that was that, truthfully, there wasn’t a solution. Once you were destined to feel this way, to feel so sour at your core, there is no easy way to rid yourself of that rotten pit. It would always be there – always churning, always burning, always yearning. Yearning to be loved, yearning to feel those waves of warmth cascading over your brain and down your spine, the ones others had always described to you but you’d just never… experienced. Never became familiar with.

It felt like everyone was playing an over-elaborate prank on you. They’d all conspired against you, invented a false feeling in which someone claims to feel loved, only to sit back and watch as you fumbled to find it. They’d laughed as you dug through a graveyard of relationships, caked your fingernails with dirt as you sobbed and would continue to claw deeper, trying to find just one set of bones that might hold that warmth for you. 

The only solution to that detrimental feeling of being unlovable, was to feel needed. 

You needed to feel so necessary, so essential, to everyone around you at all times. It never mattered how much of you it took. You’d give away every piece of yourself a million times over just to feel wanted at some capacity, even if that capacity were one you’d forced upon the other person. You didn’t care if you’d built the glass cages of theirs – you just cared that they kept you around to wipe away any smudges that appeared. 

Being wanted wasn’t quite the same as being loved. And if you thought about that for too long or too often, you might just break irrevocably. 

“I just don’t understand him,” Nancy sighs from the head of your bed, reclining against a wall of pillows you’d lined your headboard with. Two of which were body pillows. Long tubes of fluff to try and fill lonely spaces, you suppose, “Why didn’t he just tell me he didn’t want to go to the same college? Why… Why do I feel like I am forcing him to be with me?” 

Because you are. Just like I force you all to need me. 

“I don’t know, Nance.” 

That bland, bitter, half-thought out answer lingers on your tongue, almost burns your throat with the whisper of say more, say something useful, say something comforting. It’s the whisper of those four words not being enough. It’s the whisper of that threat that those four words could be the beginning of the end, the thing that makes Nancy realize she doesn’t need you. 

After all, what use is a friend that can’t give good advice, or be supportive during relationship rants? 

You open your mouth to add on something sweeter, something to coat the conversation like honey and smooth out the lines forming on Nancy’s forehead, but she beats you to it, “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?” 

Yes. “It’s fine,” at least that wasn’t a lie – you’d dug this specific grave, had rooted down tooth and nail only to find another empty coffin of a friendship curtained with want instead of love. You’d all but asked for this, “What he did really was shitty. It’s not fair to you.” 

The words are almost robotic, telling Nancy Wheeler what she wants to hear rather than what she needs to hear.  You don’t always do that, you do make a point of investing in the truth from time to time to truly secure your position as someone who is genuinely needed in her life, but the headache nagging at your temples tells you it’s not worth the fight tonight. You’re tired, you’re agitated, and you really just want to get Nancy to the point of contentment in her rambling so that you can send her on her way. 

God, you’re an awful friend. 

It turns you quiet, a ricocheting thought that bruises your inner skull the rest of the time Nancy sits on your bed. The guilt eats you alive for that moment of irritation the rest of the night. Even after Nancy goes home, even after you’ve brushed your teeth and you’ve tucked yourself into bed. The guilt gnaws on the edges of that emptiness inside of you, that ever-present black hole that already existed, and says this is why you cannot be loved. 

Maybe the pity party for feeling like a bad friend is what makes you a bad friend. 

And maybe if you were a better friend, you would be loved instead of wanted for once. 

It’s all part of a cycle, never-ending and treacherous. It’s always been this way. You make promises to your friends and rip yourself to shreds before remolding yourself into whatever they need; giving rides to the younger kids within your circle to the pool all summer which evolved into taking turns with Steve as to who would pick them all up after their D&D club ran late every Friday night, always lending a listening ear to Nancy once Johnathan moved away and she’d had to witness her relationship and her love vanishing in real time, always being the one person who will listen to Robin ramble for hours about her sudden interests. None of it was born of ill-intent, but when you’d go home lonesome at the end of the night, you could see it all for what it was. 

You were trying to fill a void. A hollow rot, a black hole. And it was only working half the time. 

Half the time, until he came along. 

And make no mistake, his arrival was as bloody as anyone who had previously entered your life. For a while there, you believed his headstone was at the end of the line already, sanctioned away in this graveyard of the ability to be loved. He came crashing into your life on a random Friday night, and you had sworn you could already see the end as it began, but you had been wrong. 

“So, you’re the infamous babysitter.” 

His voice caught you off guard. You’d been sitting in your car with your windows down, enjoying the reprieve of a cooling autumn evening as you waited for the boys to finish up with their D&D club. With your head buried in the latest sci-fi novel that Dustin had recommended and would no doubt be grilling you on once he got in the car, you hadn’t even heard the club exit the school. 

“Nope,” you fought a smile as you glanced up from the pages to see an older guy standing there, closer to yours and Steve’s age than the kids. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was the famous Eddie all the boys would ramble on about for hours on end, “Harrington’s the babysitter. I’m just the taxi driver.” 

There was something particularly pretty in the way he threw his head back with laughter at your words. Curls that messily fell just beyond his shoulders, full lips disappearing as his teeth peeked through and shined beneath the parking lot’s lamp posts. His denim vest looked purposefully distressed with a mirage of patches and pins, and he was wearing a leather jacket beneath it, even if it wasn’t quite cold enough for it yet outside. He was cute – and watching him laugh because of you sparked something irreversible inside of you. 

“C’mon now,” he sighed as his cackles quieted, “Give yourself more credit than that. At least call yourself something fancy, like ‘chauffeur’.” 

“Ah, but ‘taxi driver’ insinuates that I charge them,” you don’t miss a beat, and your quick wit has him chuckling again. 

You caught sight of his eyes, corners creased with joy – brown. They were deep, russet, tantalizing brown. Almost indiscernible from his pupil in the dark. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

You took his hand that he shoved through your open window with ease, and felt an immediate shiver run down your spine. Not quite from the cold, but not quite warm. You saw the first flash of his grave, and you knew you’d be digging your greedy hands into it soon enough. 

As you gave him your name in return, you knew you wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone. 

You had been half right that night. You wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone, you would be seeking out the impossible from Eddie – but so would he. 

It quickly became apparent that Eddie was a pest. Someone who weaseled his way into the lives of others, who made his presence felt and never forgotten. 

You’d started with the same slow dance as you did with every new person, a hesitant dipping of your toes into their waters, unsure if your presence in their life would only cause more trouble than you’re worth, when you quickly discovered that nothing could ever be hesitant or slow with Eddie Munson. He’s the one constantly reaching out to you. Driving the kids home now takes double the time it used to, long conversations being had with him that has the kids dragging you away, practically begging to just be taken home. The day he’d asked for your number, you couldn’t tell which one of you burned brighter red. And the moment he had your number in his clutches? Forget about it. You never heard the end of Eddie Munson, and you never really wanted to. 

Unlike your friends you already had and loved deeply, Eddie was observant. 

It’s within the first month of knowing you that he had picked up on your insecurities. Maybe he hadn’t directly seen that gaping hole in your chest yet, but he noticed your habit of running yourself dry to see others thrive. 

The need to be needed. He picked up on it quickly. 

“What about Sunday?” Eddie’s voice traveled over the line as you laid on your stomach, stretched out across your bed for a few moments of rest before you had to get up and take the cookies you’d baked for Steve and Robin into Family Video, just like you had promised, “I’m free then if I finish all my fuckin’ homework on Saturday night.”

Surprisingly, that phone call with Eddie hadn’t been something expected or planned. It had been impulsive; in a rare moment of peace, you found yourself craving to hear his voice. Somehow, the two of you had ended up trying to figure out a free day to properly hang out. Eddie wanted to go to Benny’s for milkshakes, and you wouldn’t turn down the free fries he also promised.

“I can’t,” you paused just to hear his predictably dramatic sigh, grinning as you continued to explain, “I’m taking Max to the skatepark that day.”

“And it’s going to take all day?” 

“It could!”

“There’s absolutely no way.”

“You clearly haven’t seen that girl skate.” 

The conversation continued, light-hearted enough with plentiful jokes made. Something about talking with Eddie made your heart lighter, the usual unbearable and contradictory weight of emptiness no longer on your mind as you listened to him ramble about something that had happened in one of his classes – a teacher tried to embarrass him when he caught Eddie doodling for a D&D campaign by asking him a question, not expecting him to know the answer. Eddie had, of course, leaving the teacher baffled with a smirk.

 It’s all about my charm, sweetheart, he responded when you asked how he hadn’t earned a detention from that. 

Only towards the end of the call, when the conversation finally lulled and the two of you found yourselves settled into a comfortable silence, did Eddie finally circle back to the beginning of your conversation. 

“You know,” he started, “When I first met you, I never took you to be someone so…”

“Amazing? Wonderful? Funny?” you jokingly attempted to finish his sentence.

“Busy.” 

Oh. You hadn’t expected that one. 

“Busy?” you repeated back to him, “I’m not that busy.” 

Your mind immediately started racing with thoughts of what he had meant. Was he feeling neglected? Maybe you should have canceled on Max on Sunday, agreed to Benny’s with him instead. No, you couldn’t bear Max’s disappointment. Maybe you could tell Max you had a time constraint, even though you knew she hated those when it came to her skating days. Was there any other plans you could abandon? Anyone else you could bear to let down for the sake of not leaving Eddie high and dry? No, no – all your other weekend plans involved going to the movies with Robin, helping Steve look into colleges finally, taking the boys to the Starcourt mall to shop for supplies to make figurines for their newest campaign. The room was suddenly getting smaller, your chest constricting, your head spinning. You couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing any of those people, no, but what about Eddie? Maybe he was right in feeling neglected, maybe you deserved whatever guilt was to come from whatever his next words would be. He was your friend, you were supposed to make time for h-

“Sweetheart,” he scoffed over the line, and you swore you heart stopped right then and there, “You’re the highest thing in demand since Cabbage Patch Kids last Christmas – and trust me, I should know how in demand those fuckers were. I worked seasonally at the mall, remember?” 

Your breath caught. He was feeling neglected. You weakly began your apology as tears were already filling your eyes, that panic turning over itself in your gut, “I’m-”

“And it’s not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong,” It’s clear your voice had been too soft, too weak, for him to hear you, “Just means I’ve gotta fight harder to be worth your time, am I right?” 

You had to clear your throat, but it did nothing to subsidize that anxiety that rattled your bones. It’s blatantly evident as your voice shook with a second attempt at an apology, “I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean- I can… I’ll… Just tell me when for Benny’s. I can make it work, I swear-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

He had to have heard the tears that had escaped down your cheeks. The shake of your breath as you’d stuttered over your words, grasping for a solution. 

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” his voice was soothing and soft, the most gentle it had been the entire night. You pinched your eyes shut and just tried to imagine those stupid, big doe eyes, those ungodly messy curls (you’d started to tease him about if he ever even brushed or combed them). The panic remained, but Eddie’s voice started to give it a run for its money, “I was just playing around. You know that, right?” he paused to give you room to answer, but your throat was still tightly squeezed by overwhelming emotion, overwhelming fear of having scorned Eddie, “You could only have enough time in your schedule to see me once a year, and I’d still be your friend. We could only have these random phone calls, even if they were never longer than a minute, and you’d still be worth it. You know that, right?” Another pause, another wave of silence from your end, “Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.” 

Each word made the panic settle. You weren’t sure how he did it. You weren’t sure how mortified you should be that he had only been in your life for a month at most, and had just overheard you at your most vulnerable. 

All you were sure of was that you believed him. 

“Okay,” you croaked, finally feeling that ring of fear loosen, vocal chords finally functioning once more. 

“Okay,” Eddie repeated back in that same gentle, soothing, soft tone. 

You weren’t disappointing him. You weren’t making him feel neglected. He still found use for you, he still wanted you around – he still needed your friendship. That had to be enough.  

It was quiet over the line for a few moments. 

It has to be enough, you reminded yourself. 

“Say,” you finally said, voice back to normal strength and the tears having dried themselves up for the most part. Your heart had almost returned to normal rhythm, “How does Benny’s sound tonight?”

“Tonight?” he chimed back, sounding as excited as a little kid the morning of a cherished holiday, something like Christmas. 

A shiver ran down your spine. It’s not from the cold, and you tell yourself it’s not quite warmth – it can’t be warmth. 

“Tonight,” you confirmed, “With a detour by Family Video, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a special delivery of cookies to fulfill.” 

“What kind?”

“Excuse me?” 

You were grinning - God, you were a pathetic fool, grinning and clutching onto that phone like a lifeline. Like if you let go of it, you’d lose his voice, and if you lost his voice, that would be the end of the world. 

“What kind of cookies?”

“Chocolate chip.”

He hummed, not answering right away as if he were deliberating this information. When he finally spoke again, another shiver wrapped around your spine, spinning down, down down. Waves of what you almost believed were warmth. “Okay. I suppose I can be your taxi driver, for a price.”

“What’s your price?” 

“One cookie.”

“Deal.”

It had to be enough, because you were still clutching that telephone tightly to your cheek, long after the phone call ended with Eddie’s promise of being at your house soon enough. It had to be enough, because after that night, it became clear; the world would not end with the loss of just Eddie’s voice from your life, but the loss of Eddie, period. It was the first night of many in which you played a very, very dangerous game. 

Even with Nancy gone, you felt restless. You couldn’t help but linger just a little longer in all that self-pity, still replaying the night and all you could have done differently. 

Had she caught on with how out of it you had been? Had she seen through your act and immediately assumed the worst – assumed you weren’t worth keeping around? 

The thoughts might be an overreaction. 

You were definitely overreacting. 

You didn’t really care that you were overreacting, though, because you really couldn’t control it. It was just another dark path you couldn’t stop your mind from traveling down. It was endless, and it was lonesome, and… and it was just normal. What should be devolving into a panic attack can only settle like an emptiness deep within your chest; you’ve been staring at the blank wall of your living room for so long without blinking, your eyes have gone dry. 

A pattern. That’s what the therapist said. You had a pattern for overthinking these interactions, for projecting feelings onto others that didn’t exist. You think all your friends hate you, you think that a stranger found your smile to be more of a grimace, you think your mom hasn’t called in months because she recognizes you as a failure finally. But none of it is actually what those people think. It’s like a mirror – you look into the eyes of others, and you see all your own insecurities reflected back. 

She’d asked you to work on it. To take a step back and just breathe, just remind yourself of that, whenever this happens. You’d decide whether you’d mention this minor slip up later. For now, you were going to wallow. You were going to spiral with just you, this damn blank wall, and maybe even the bottle of wine in the fridge. 

Yes, your mind was made up, and you force yourself to stand from the couch and wander into the kitchen, eyes still dry and chest still caving in on itself as you open the fridge. 

That’s as far as you get. Your fridge is wide open, the bright luminescent light flooding your kitchen floor in time with the trickling chill that sneaks up on your warm cheeks and already numb toes, when you spot it. 

A box of takeout. It’s old enough now you could throw it out, you had known the moment he’d taken the last of his meal to-go that he wouldn’t finish it. Teased him about it, even. But he was stubborn and you weren’t capable of turning down the opportunity to let another piece of him, another flash of evidence of his place in your life, occupy this apartment. So there it sat, a half-eaten burger he hadn’t revisited. 

But he had revisited the apartment – revisited you. He’d been here every night this week, and you’d practically had to shove him out on the street to get him to leave this morning to get to work on time. 

The edges of that emptiness that weighs down your insides blur, already lightening microscopically as you slam shut the fridge and forgo the wine completely to grab the phone instead.

“You don’t have to always take care of everyone, you know,” he murmured as he joined you in the kitchen to retrieve popcorn for the gang, everyone gathered in the living room for a movie night. 

“Pardon?” you asked, hardly glancing over your shoulder as you punched in the designated time for the microwave to turn the kernels into an easy, mouth-watering snack of butter and crunch. 

“You always take care of everyone. You don’t have to.”

His words rang clearer that time, loud enough to have stopped you in your tracks. You paused mid-reach, the cabinet for the Harrington’s bowls wide open and shelves nearly too tall for you. 

“I-” you weren’t sure exactly what to say, “What do you mean?” 

His brows scrunched, eyes having narrowed in the slightest in your direction, “Please don’t play dumb right now.” 

“I’m not playing dumb. I’m trying to get popcorn for our movie night,” you waved your hand towards the shelves lined with bowls for emphasis on your point, “That’s not really taking care of everyone – it was just being polite. Steve’s hosting, it’s the least I can do.” 

“The least you can do? The least you can do is actually just sit with friends, enjoy the movie,” the crease between his brow deepened, eyeing you with an unfamiliar concern. You shifted beneath the weight of his gaze. 

You don’t know what to say. Except, “It’s not that serious.” 

He scoffed, and you nearly flinched from it. Fear threatened to bubble up – he’s upset, he’s getting irritated at you. He’s getting tired of you. 

You waited for him to say something more as the buzz of the microwave filled the tense space, but he remained silent. Brooding. 

“What?” your voice shook, your entire being torn between succumbing to all that fear and anxiety in upsetting him further and that voice in the back of your mind that urged you to push him, to hear what he really thought. “I know you have something more to say.” 

“In the six months I’ve known you, you haven’t taken a single break for yourself.” 

He met your push, stood his ground and didn’t let it put any distance between you two. It felt like a goddamn revelation, right there in the Harrington kitchen. 

“I take plenty of breaks, Eddie,” you tried to laugh off, “I do spend time away from you all, hard as that may be to belie-”

“Hardly,” he cut you off as sharply as the first resonating pop that echoed from the microwave. 

“What’s your point? I just like being around you guys. Like I said, it’s not that serious.”

This was the part where the distance would happen. You kept pushing, took the inch he’d given you to bite back and ran with it. Normally, you avoided conflict with any of your friends vehemently. Always afraid, always assuming the relationships to be so fragile and so delicate. You would take such care in never giving them a reason to hate you that you’d never taken to a battleground before.

But there had been a look in Eddie’s eyes that night. A shine that, breaking through all the worry for you, whispered, fight with me. Stand your ground with me. I’ll still call you tomorrow, no matter what words we exchange tonight. 

A safety net had formed that you’d never even noticed. That delicacy wasn’t needed here. You could pick up the sword, there in that kitchen, and it wouldn’t turn Eddie to smoke and shadows. 

“My point is…” he paused, he swallowed hard, he exhibited the delicacy that was usually expected from you, “You can like being around us. But you should put yourself first. At least once. At least on movie night.” 

“How is me making popcorn not putting myself first?” you got the question out, you took a deep breath, ready to go on some sort of defensive tirade for your habit you were well aware of.

He beat you to it, “Every day last week, you only got three hours of sleep, at most, before your shifts. You gave up sleep to hang out with us all way too late, refused to throw in the towel and go home before anyone else.”

“I could have napped-” 

“You didn’t nap,” he stressed, taking a step closer to you. The popping of the snack turning in the microwave was erratic, mere seconds left on the timer. Static noise to the conversation at hand, “I know you didn’t fucking nap after your shifts because you were immediately running errands for everyone else, or hanging out again. You offered to give Robin a ride to work every single day, and her shifts start… what, an hour after yours ended? And then you had to give her rides home, right? But in those hours she was at work, you were helping Dustin with an essay for school – that little fucker told me all about it. You were awake when Johnathan called you and we were all stoned off our asses, went and got us food we didn’t need but still wanted. We didn’t even expect you to pick up, you know? I told them, I swore to them, you wouldn’t pick up. You had a morning shift. You were scheduled literal hours from when we called you. But you picked up. You fucking picked up, and you went and got the fucking food for us fucking idiots.”

Your brain completely malfunctioned. You couldn’t comprehend how he was saying all of these things that should be good things, things that proved you were needed and you were reliable, but with such venom in his tone. 

Anger had sparked within you as you pictured how giddy Dustin had been over the B he’d earned on his essay, that sincere appreciation on Robin’s face every time she left your car last week, the dopey grin that Argyle had worn when you’d arrived with their food order in your pajamas. All previously things to fuel you, filling that aching hole inside of you, now being tarnished because he was concerned.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you seethed at him, “Would you prefer I hadn’t been awake? Would you prefer I let Dustin just… get a fucking F on that essay? Or Robin walks to work?” 

“Yes!” 

You were both shocked at the sudden volume in your voices. The quickness in his reply. The quiver in your lip. 

“Yes,” he breathed out, quieter this time, “I would prefer those things if it meant you were taking care of yourself. The word ‘no’ should be in your vocabulary, sweetheart. I… The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.”

But you all needing me might.

“Just… just…” your breaths came out in huffs, eyes downcast and unwilling to meet Eddie’s stare. A final push, and it came out more fragile than you’d ever intended, “Just mind your business, Eddie.” 

He opened his mouth to say more, but the microwave started to go off, signaling what you saw as the end of the conversation – the fight. You’d raised your voice at him, you’d swung that sword in his direction, and he hadn’t vanished. His friendship – he – wasn’t as breakable as you’d thought. 

You spun on your heel, you took the popcorn out and divided it into bowls for the group, busying your hands in any way possible. All the while, he never left the kitchen. He stood just feet away from you and let you do what needed to be done, and only stopped you as you turned to exit the kitchen with the snacks acquired. 

His hand caught onto your elbow, “You have bags.” 

“Excuse me?”

“You have bags under your eyes,” he elaborated. He no longer looked frustrated, but defeated, a morose distress pinching the edges of his feature.

“Jesus,” you were now scoffing, adjusting your grip on those bowls, “You really know how to compliment a girl, don’t you?”

“They’ve been there for months,” his grip refused to loosen, thumb trailing over the crease in your arm, “Please don’t run yourself into the ground.” 

You gave him a cold shoulder as you left him behind to rejoin your friends, unable to shake his consternation. It was so genuine, it terrified you. It made your insides churn, it turned your anxious attachment to dust. 

It made a shiver of warmth travel down your spine. 

The empty space beside you on the couch only remained for seconds after you’d passed around the bowls, keeping one for yourself. He was back there, back at your side, as if the two of you hadn’t just exited a battle ground. As if a stand-off hadn’t just occurred, as if it all hadn’t ended in a draw. 

He looked at you with those eyes.

Fight with me. Stand your ground with me. Don’t walk away from me. I will still call tomorrow.

He did more than call that night. As the movie started, he didn’t so much as flinch when your head fell to his shoulder in exhaustion. He only tucked an arm around your shoulders, only shifted you to be more comfortable as you used him as a personal pillow. He glared at everyone in warning not to grill you on the plot of the movie when you’d awoke mildly disappointed, he’d let you sleep on the drive home. He never once brought the fight back up. 

And he still called the next day. 

After your shift, he was the first voice you heard after dragging your feet into your apartment. A brief apology was exchanged before it was back to business as usual between you two. And somewhere between his rambles, you fell asleep with your phone balanced half-haphazardly between your cheek and shoulder. You could only dream of the grin he wore when he’d hear your soft snores over the line, quieting down immediately to let you rest. He never hung up – he was content to sit on a hushed line if only for the assuredness that you were finally resting. 

The warmth no longer traveled down your spine, instead curling up timidly near that hole inside of you. You let it. 

“Munson residence!”

That warmth that had found home in your chest still remains to this day, rousing at Eddie’s voice over the line. It’s nearly enough to make you cry – the relief that floods you just by the sound of him and his endless chipper. His optimism that always seems to exist, even in contrast with those harsh edges he tries to portray. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, as if you’re not the only one in your apartment, “Can you… Are you free?” 

Even after a year, you still sometimes felt guilt, asking so much of him. Asking so much, and giving so little in return. 

But you weren’t the one who set that standard. Eddie had. Ferociously, fiercely, stubbornly. The insistence that you simply being was enough for him. 

“For you, sweetness?” he chuckles lowly. He recognizes your voice immediately; you never have to say it’s you calling. You could have shrugged it off as Caller ID, but you knew the Munson’s phone didn’t have that. No, he recognized you by voice only. He’d once joked that only you would one day be able to rouse him from the dead, based on the ‘sweet melody alone’. Recognition in death – you had managed to burrow your way so deeply into his life, you’d earned recognition in death. “Always. What’s up?” 

You could have just kept him on the phone. Had one of your infamous conversations about everything and nothing. Sat on the cold tiles of your kitchen and smiled like a child as you listened to him rant. But the cold chill of your lonesome apartment was becoming suffocating, and you remembered that take out in the fridge and the way one of his socks had ended up in your laundry last week. You remembered how you started keeping his favorite brand of beer in your fridge and how one of your pillows started to permanently smell like his aftershave.

He had a toothbrush in your bathroom. He had a key to your apartment. He had a space, here, in this lonesome apartment. And all you had to do was beckon to him, and he would come to fill it. Always. 

“Can you come over?” 

You don’t even have to explain yourself. He complies readily, whispers out a soft yes in the voice you’d also recognize even in death, and promises to be there within ten minutes. 

He makes it within eight. 

And you’re still leaning on your kitchen counter, your head still swimming dangerously with all the different ways you’d let down Nancy. Once upon a time, you might have worried about inviting him over, worried that your anxieties and your short-comings might bleed into your relationship with him. In the beginning, it had been simple enough. You kept him at an arm’s length away the moment you realized you couldn’t make yourself needed to him, not out of selfishness but out of fear. Fear, because if he didn’t need you, why would he stick around? 

Because without need, if you did the wrong thing, there was no necessary thread tying them to you. Because without need, there was no chance for the day that you might find love in your grave robbings, and you couldn’t handle the thought of someone like Eddie Munson deciding you weren’t worth his time. 

It hadn’t occurred to you for a very long time that maybe, possibly, you’d been going around the concept of love with a very wrong mindset. 

Your safe place. That’s what the back of the van had become over these sticky summer nights – your safest refuge. 

It was always the same scene; Eddie on his back beside you, lazily nursing a joint, while you sat up reading passages of the latest book you two had embarked on together. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes it was fantasy, and sometimes, it was just a reread. That night, it was a reread. The Hobbit. 

“‘I don’t see that this will help us much,’ said Thorin disappointedly after a glance. ‘I remember the mountain well-’” you recited off of the page, when Eddie suddenly sat up abruptly and snatched the book from you. 

“No, no, no!” he wagged his finger at you after he discarded his joint into the ashtray you’d made him start keeping in the fan, “Sweetheart, you’re doing the voices all wrong.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, reaching to take the book back, “Not all of us have a Dungeon Master voice to whip out, Munson. Give it back.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Do I need to say please? I’ll say please.” 

It was best like this. Just the two of you, away from everyone else. Some nights, the two of you hadn’t even needed a book to bond over. You’d just gaze at stars, or indulge in whatever weed he’d brought along with him. He never pressured you, though – if you shook your head at his offer of the joint, that was that. He seemed to apply that to most aspects of your friendship this last year. 

You never had to prove anything to him. He saw your worth as if it were glaringly obvious, as if it were as simple of a concept as breathing. No extra effort needed from your end. 

Just by being, you had managed to become something important to him. He needed you, if only because you were you. 

“The puppy dog eyes aren’t gonna work on me,” he snorted, shifting so that his shoulder pressed against your own. A warmth spreads from the point of contact. “Let the master show you how it’s done.” 

You tried to not let it show, but your grin was radiant. He was the master at those ridiculous voices, at theatrics and at bringing the story to life. You were transported from the shore of Lover’s Lake, in the back of that stuffy yet comforting van, to meadows of soft grass and hobbit holes of comfort. To a place where all the threats were mythical and all the expectations of you were released. 

You’d spent the week helping Steve finish up his college plans. His parents had tried to pressure him into picking his top three universities, but the moment he had confided in you that he might prefer a community college to begin, you’d held his hand as you guided him through the process. A rewarding process, have no doubt, but it had left you numb and reeling. Sharing someone else’s stress, shouldering their burdens – it had been a bit much.

You needed this. You needed Eddie’s ridiculous voices and the sharp press of his shoulder against your temple. 

“Falling asleep on me already?” he teased when he’d noticed how quiet you had gone. 

“Never,” you lied through a yawn that quickly exposed you. 

“Liar,” he huffed. You didn’t even need to glance up to confirm the smile you knew he wore. “We can head back home, if you need. I know it’s getting late-”

“No,” you quickly sat up, effectively making yourself dizzy, “No, I- It’s fine. I’m awake. I swear.”

“It’s okay that you were falling asleep,” he was quick to reach out, to tug you back down to his side, wrapping his arm around you to press you even closer than before, “I just don’t want to keep Cinderella out past Midnight.” 

“It’s barely ten.” 

“Nothing gets past you, Sherlock,” he scowled as you pressed your grin against his t-shirt clad shoulder, “I’m serious, though. Do I need to take you home?”

“No, Eddie. I’m good.”

“Swear it? Swear you don’t have an early shift, or some… some obligation?” 

“No shifts, no obligations.” 

“And if I just kidnap you for the weekend? Am I going to have an angry mob at my doorstep, demanding your service?” 

You smiled wider at the thought. The idea of him hiding you away, letting you live in this reprieve for the entire weekend. It was a nice thought, “I certainly wouldn’t complain.” 

And so the two of you sat there like that for an hour more. Eddie coming up with ridiculous tones for the various characters, you slipping in and out of consciousness as his warmth stayed wrapped around him. You don’t even notice when the warmth he’d planted in you finally covers up that hole inside of you, not even missing the absence of that emptiness until Eddie went quiet.

In the silence, you noticed it. 

The gash you’d grown accustomed to, the hole that had become an extra limb for you. Vanished. Gone. Disappeared without a trace.

It was a sudden and terrifying realization. Everything in you urged you to jump up, to scramble around you to find the darkness again, like a comfort blanket you couldn’t stand to lose. You went against the instinct, though, and rose slowly from Eddie’s hold. 

In lieu of scrambling, you peered at Eddie curiously. “Hey, Eds. Can I ask you something?” 

He nodded sleepily, almost as drowsy as you. You’re shocked when he shifts and instead of pulling you back to him, he opted to lay his head in your lap. 

That hole was still gone. The weight of his head on your thighs, the feeling of his breath on your bare thigh. For a moment, you can’t breathe. 

You’re warm. Not uncomfortably so, but encapsulated with an internal warmth. Like a fever spreading, the ice in your spine that you had lived with for years had begun to thaw. 

“Why do you keep me around?” you whispered, still sitting stiffly, staring in awe down at the way he just nuzzled his face into your lap.

With his eyes still closed, face smooth from any worry from the question, he mumbled, “What do you mean?” 

You only hesitated due to the thought crossing your mind; what if you bringing this up reminds him? 

You thought back to the night in Harrington’s kitchen. The push and the pull, the bloody battle and the way he still called.

He was not as delicate as you took him for. 

“I- What do you get out of this?” you couldn’t figure out how to phrase it correctly. You knew what you got out of this, but what does he get? 

“Get out of what?” 

“Get out of keeping me around.”

His eyes finally opened, twisting in your lap so that he could stare up at you. “You say that as if you’re forcing me to be your friend.” 

I could be, that nagging voice in your mind whispered. You could very well be forcing him, and just be blinded because you were enjoying the summer of warmth that he carried with him too much to let him go. 

“You never let me do anything for you,” you sighed, fingers finding themselves tangled in his roots against better judgment. But you needed to touch him, to ground yourself, as you admitted this hard truth, “You do shit for me all the time. You drive all the way out to this lake just because I complain about everything being too much. You’ve started playing chauffeur for the kids to give me a break. Harrington said you even offered to look at college brochures with him. And…. And I’m not stupid, Eds,” your voice shook as you looked down at him, a sudden feeling of undeserving striking you in your chest, “You do so much for me lately. And you don’t ask for anything in return – you don’t let me do anything in return. Why?”

His smile twisted with a hint of sadness, and brown eyes met your gaze without so much as flinching, “Sweetheart, why do you think you have to repay me for that stuff?”

“I-”

“No, hear me out,” he reached up, taking your hand out of his hair and lacing his fingers with yours, slowly dragging it down to rest on his sternum, “I chose to do that stuff. And, yeah, maybe I was trying to take some of that shit off your plate. But you didn’t ask me to. I chose to. I wanted to do those things, do nice things for you, because you won’t let anyone else.” 

You bit back a scoff, “I let people do nice things for me-”

“You really don’t,” his hold on your hand tightened, “You really, really don’t. You constantly…. You just, you take care of everyone else, but you act afraid to let someone take care of you. People are allowed to take care of you, too, y’know? You should let them. They love you – they want to take care of you, just like you take care of them.” 

They love you. 

The air drained from your lungs in a slow, silent sigh. You waited a few minutes, but the oxygen never replenished as you tried to grasp his words. 

They love you. 

Why would they love me? 

“Why wouldn’t they love you, sweetheart?” Eddie looked more concerned now, suddenly prepared to sit up and remove his head for your lap. But his hand still held yours tightly, still clung to you, “You know they love you, right? God, you gotta know that. We all love you.” 

You hadn’t realized you’d spoken the bitter thought out loud until he looked at you, utterly heartbroken, in complete disbelief. “I…”

No. I don’t know that. What have I done to deserve their love? 

“They need me, sure,” you started, narrowing your eyes at the breaks in the waves of Lover’s Lake, “I mean, I just try to make myself useful to them. It’s the least I can do when I… when they…” you struggled to get the words out. You saw that hole again, like a light at the end of the tunnel, but so far from the relief most mean by that metaphor. Something peeking around the corner, ready to devour you all over again. So you plunged, you prepared yourself for it to spring to life and take you whole as you nearly whimpered, “When they put up with me. It’s the least I can do when they put up with me.” 

“No one puts up with you,” Eddie’s voice cracked. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “Least of all me.” 

The deadliest of blows. He cracked your hardened surface with that, shook the foundations of every belief you’d held for eternity. 

“Most of all you,” you corrected without thinking, “God, I- Eddie, seriously. What reason do you have for keeping me around? I don’t know how the fuck you put up with m-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you’d never heard him beg so painfully before then, “Please. Don’t… You want to know my reason?” you nodded numbly, finally looking to find him with wet eyes and lips pressed into a fine line, “Because you’re you. I… Fuck, I love you. I keep you around because you’re you. You’re good for me. Whether you believe it or not. You’re good for me just by being you, and there’s nothing you have to do to accomplish that,” you started to look away before he grabbed your cheeks, turning you to face him as he emphasized each word, “You don’t have to earn love. That’s not what love is. Got it?” 

You looked into his eyes, and saw all the soft declarations of love echoed back to you, even from the very start. 

‘Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.’

‘The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.’

The entire time you’d been so worried about taking care of everyone else, he’d been worried about taking care of you. Endless late night phone calls, careful check-ins when he saw the exhaustion take the frontlines, sparse fights about putting yourself first. The only thing he ever wanted from you was for you to take care of yourself. 

While you were busy being there for everyone else, he was busy being there for you. 

He never once made you dig to the bottom of his grave to find the warmth. He’d handed it over on a silver platter. 

So how could you look him in his at that moment, and tell him that you didn’t ‘get it’? That you’d never been sure if what you were seeking from your friends was really love? That, really, you’d given up on being loved a long time ago, assuming it was asking too much? 

How do you look him in his eyes in that moment and tell him you had long since declared yourself unlovable? 

He didn’t make you say it. Only kept your cheeks pressed between his palms, as he leaned forward, forehead meeting yours and whispering words for only you, “I love you, no strings attached. You’re my… friend. I love you. Okay?”  

No one had ever fought so valiantly to get the point across. Not just that night at the lake, but in the entirety of his friendship with you. 

The hole slinked back behind the corner. The darkness decided it could wait another day. And in its place, warm brown eyes filled the void. Whether he even realized it or not. 

You nearly believed him. Nearly. But you bit down hard on that belief, throwing it out of sight, and instead of echoing back the ‘okay’ you assumed he was seeking out, all you did was sob out another, “Why?” 

When you collapsed into him, he held you. Your sobs remained dry, your confusion palpable as you clung to him and tried to let that belief envelope you like his arms had. 

I love you. 

How could someone love you? 

He didn’t press it the way you thought he would. He didn’t scold you for continuing to question him and he didn’t lash out at your disbelief. 

He just held you. Letting your face press into his neck as his fingers ran up and down your spine, giving it a moment before he started talking again. 

“Your humor,” he hummed after a couple moments of silence, heavy breathing eventually evening out. 

“What?”

“The way you take care of others,” he continued on like he hadn’t heard you, “That spark you get in your eyes when you tell someone about something good. A favorite book, movie, story from your day – whatever it is. The way you give the best hugs – and you don’t give me them nearly often enough. The way you snore, and the way you definitely deny snoring.” 

You opened your mouth, about to lift your head and argue with him, but he just placed an encouraging palm on the back of your head to keep you close to him. 

“The way your favorite color changes with the seasons. The way you only like artificial cherry flavoring, not the real stuff. The way you look at night when we’re driving and you’re just screaming your favorite lyrics. The way you look at me to see if a joke lands. The way you fuss about my wrinkled clothes, even when you also don’t care about the wrinkles in your own shirts. The way you take your coffee. The way you always offer to paint one of my nails to match yours. The way you treat your recipe for chocolate chip cookies like some top secret, government trade. But we both know it’s just some recipe from a cookbook you thrifted when you were ten. The way you get excited over the small things, like the cows we pass by on the way out here. They're always there, and you always point them out. The way you just… are.” 

He didn’t have to say it. He was answering your question. 

He was listing his whys. 

“You don’t have to earn it,” he didn’t say the word, not this time. You felt it, “It just… it’s there. It’s there and it’s not going anywhere. I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.” 

Loved. For the first time ever, it felt like a possibility; to be loved. 

Eddie always knocks on your front door a certain way – a pattern he rarely strays from. But you can always tell. He’s the only fool who would find humor in knocking out such an annoying compilation of hits on the wooden panels until you finally unlatch the lock and open it to find him standing in your threshold. 

His hair is frizzy and in a low ponytail, wearing a baggy band shirt and plaid pajama pants. He greets you with such a wide smile, your chest aches. 

“Hey there, sweetness.” 

You don’t say a word, just drag him inside before you wrap your arms around his waist. Ever since that night, and his admittance of enjoying your hugs, you made a conscious effort to hug him more often. 

“Miss me?” he chuckles, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek as you softly pinch his side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him only laugh harder once you pull away. 

“Not at all,” you snark back as you make sure the door is securely shut and properly locked.

“Not even a little bit?”

“Nope.” 

He smacks a fist to his chest as if you had stabbed him with your words, “Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.” 

“Get over it,” you tease. Your head has finally stopped swimming, your chest no longer tight with the fear of not being enough. Nancy is long forgotten as you say, “Have you eaten dinner?” 

“Depends,” he hums as he toes off his boots, “If you’re offering to buy me some, then no, I definitely did not eat spaghetti with Wayne right before you called.” 

You throw your head back laughing as he’s already making a beeline for your kitchen, digging out that damned takeout menu and reaching for the phone, already so sure of your order.

Knowing your order at restaurants. Without having to ask. Apparently, that was part of the whole ‘being loved’ gig. 

Adjusting has taken months. Since that night in Eddie’s van, he’d kept his word. Not a day went by without him finding a way to remind you, whether it be by direct words or small actions, that he loved you. You both kept it under that friendly guise. He loved you in that familiar way, the way the others supposedly loved you. A way you could manage to recognize some days. 

Other days were still rough. Days like today were still rough. 

The takeout is ordered and Eddie sets up camp on your couch, rambling about something that had happened during one of the DnD nights he still hosted with the kids. Something about a dumb decision Mike did that cost most of the group their character’s lives. You have a hard time following along, and he’s quick to pick up on it. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” he murmurs as you lean into the back couch cushion, smooshing your cheek as you watched him animatedly speak.

“Hm?”

“Bad day?” 

He never judged you for the rough days. He never judged you for the days you still couldn’t find the love, even after he worked so virtuously to show it to you. He may never understand it, that hollow ache that resided in your darkest corners and whispered that none of it was real, but it never deterred him.

He loved you on good days, and he especially loved you on bad days. 

You consider lying to him, but you can’t. Not when he looks at you so earnestly, “Yeah. It… yeah.” 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks you, shuffling to be more comfortable where he sits as he motions for you to lay down. You do so immediately, head finding a home against his thigh and his fingers stroking over your cheek before they toy with the ends of your hair. 

All you can do is shake your head. You didn’t want to talk about that fear of failing Nancy as a friend, especially when you know that wasn’t her take away from it. It felt silly now; all that overthinking, when you know now if you questioned her on it, all she would have seen from the day was a friend lending a caring ear. You know because you had asked her about it once, if she found your listening habits too callous, upon Eddie’s insistence. 

She hadn’t. In fact, all she could do was thank you, had insisted that she was just grateful someone would listen to her ramblings. And you understood that, left it at that. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, voice so quiet you nearly miss it. His fingers continue to play across your shoulders now, barely weighted against bare skin, “That’s fine.” 

He didn’t mind if you didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t mind if you never spoke another word, if all you needed was him here. You just needed him close by and to sit with you, to make it all a little less much. 

Nothing. He needed absolutely nothing from you, asked nothing of you. Because you didn’t have to earn this. All you had to do was simply be, and he would provide this. 

Love. What an odd concept, to have found warmth in a grave you never even got the chance to dig your shovel into. 

“Hey, Eddie?” his fingers pause at your croaking voice. You smile at his stillness, at the way he hums carefully in response, still trying to offer the silence you quietly begged for, “I love you.” 

There’s more to unpack there. More than just familial love, more than just two friends that love each other without conditions. But tonight is not the night, and you both see that it is enough. There will be other nights to dig your claws in and to dissect what those three little words mean between you two. There will be other nights to consider how your other friends don’t have a permanent spare toothbrush on your bathroom counter or a space for their takeout in your fridge. But not tonight.

For tonight, this was enough. The quiet, and the warmth, the being was enough. 

“I love you,” he emphasizes the last word, leaning down and his lips grazing your temple. 

You notice the way he leaves off the too. He’d love you, even if you didn’t love him. You’d love him, even if he didn’t love you. Unconditional, no strings attached. A warmth you do not have to fight to earn. A rarity you never encountered before, and may never encounter again, but you have for tonight and for as long as he chooses to stick around. 

Your shovel sits abandoned in a shed in the distance. Your fingernails are clean of the dirt. The graveyard, it seems, would go another night without its robber. 

[vickysaurus]

(Image, as well as much of my information, from Carboniferous Giants and Mass Extinction by George R. McGhee Jr.)

Take a look at this tree. On a scale of 1 to 10, how weird do you think it is?

You quite possibly just gave it a 3 or a 4 or something. Sure, it's a little odd, but does look vaguely normal, right? A friend of mine guessed it was some sort of baobab when I showed him the image.

This is, in fact Lepidodendron, an ancient tree from the Carboniferous, and by modern tree standards it is absolutely bizarre. Its closest surviving relatives, quillworts and clubmosses, only grow to a height of a few centimetres, yet Lepidodendron were giants that shot up to 50 metres tall... Briefly, before dispersing their spores and completely dying off.

(Lycopodium and Spinulum, modern relatives of Lepidodendron, photos by Bernd Haynold and Pete Pattavina)

You see, Lepidondron lived like a gigantic dandelion. For most of its life, it was a stumpy little thing that stuck close to the ground. Just an odd scaly green stump with some long leaves poking out. The green scales its bark consisted of were the place it conducted its photosynthesis, and thus basically did the work of leaves. The Lepidodendron would stay like this for a couple years, slowly expanding its roots and getting ready for the next step. But its roots would grow mostly horizontally, down not so much! And part of why is that even they had the scaly leaf-like photosynthetic bark. That's right, even their roots could - and to some extend needed to - photosynthesise!

(Fossil Lepidodendron bark in the National Museum of Brazil, photo by Dornicke; a fossilised relative of Lepidodendron with some of its roots visible, photo by Michael C. Rygel)

So why would you ever try to photosynthesise with your roots of all things as a plant? Surely it would make much more sense to just transport the sugars created in other parts there than to have your roots be so shallow that bits of them can catch a little light and make it in situ? Sure, if you're capable of that! This is what modern trees do, but they have two separate vascular tissues they use for transport: xylem, which moves water from the roots to the rest of the plant, and phloem, which moves sugars and other photosynthetic products from the leaves to the rest of the plant. Unfortunately for Lepidodendron, it only had xylem, no phloem, so its sugars were only ever going to move as far as they could diffuse, so every part of the tree needed to have at least a little photosynthesis happening, even the roots.

This truly gets ridiculous when the Lepidodendron decides after a few years of charging up that it's time to reproduce. That's when the weird green stump we have so far starts shooting up, up, up, very quickly, all the way until an enormous 40 or 50 metres in height. Now, modern trees grow this large by being supported by a sturdy wooden core, but that's not what Lepidodendron did. To hold up the entire tree, it relies entirely on its outer bark thickening as it grows. In mechanical terms, it was little more than a huge hollow pole, probably creaking and swaying terribly in the wind. Although I have not been able to confirm this in the literature so far, I suspect that between the shallow roots and the whole thing being held up by its bark, you could probably total a Lepidodendron with a good kick.

Now remember, all this growth is happening without phloem, so the entire length of that stem has to not just be sturdy enough to keep the tree standing, but it also has to keep doing photosynthesis to feed itself. When it reaches its full height, the top of the tree finally starts sprouting branches and small leaves, leaving it looking like the picture at the start. But those are not what it's all about for the tree: the cones that develop among them are. At a height of 50 metres, the spores produced by the cones can very easily be picked up by the wind and blown far, far away. Being spores, rather than seeds as modern trees have, they have no supplies built in whatsoever, so they need to get lucky to land in a spot that has immediate access to water. Luckily, there are a lot of those in the vast Carboniferous swamps, and with the trees doing so much work to spread the spores very widely, some of them are sure to find good spots. And then, with the spores dispersed, the tree is done for. The entire thing, which has just grown to the skies, dies off and soon comes crashing down.

So how weird is this tree? I'd call it a perfect 10.

[uramitashi]

radfem got an hate i never fully understood, as an outsider. i was pretty much a libfem following the stream, so i just justified it with "oh, they are probably hostile towards trans people". still i was weirded out by the comparison to nazis, the kill threats and the desire to assault them.

i got into radical feminism for two reasons:

• the whole concept of women oppression was understimated in any other social group. growing up i independently realized that sexism and misogyny were pervasive AND the root of all human misery in a way or another. they shaped wars, greed, and ALL kind of crimes in a way or another. it weirded me out that no one mentioned it ever, nor did anyone notice how fucked up gender roles were; in fact, i was disappointed in liberal feminism for starting to justify them and even encourage them. women and girls around me were becoming more hyperfeminine than ever, with all the anxiety this kind of focus meant. i wanted to rip out my gender from my body and exist outside of it. a libfem friend of mine asked me "maybe you're non binary?"

i was disenchanted.

• the whole male sexuality expression was fucked up. first I thought I was angry at porn, but surprisingly I wasn't. the problem felt deeper. after some reasoning I realized - men felt sexually entitled and compulsively stimulated by women's body. It wasn't about porn per se. it was about the fact that a photo of me in a bikini could become a screenshot men could sexualise and masturbate to - something that wasn't porn but could be sexualised anyway. female sexual objectification, the hypersexualisation of women's body made me angry in a visceral, primitive way.

non-feminists could not even grasp the topic. liberal feminists were very supportive of the topic, considering it a sexually progressive stance and indirectly calling me a "conservative prude" (i am anti religion and very leftist and those friends knew). that made me angrier! because how can you suggest sex work is an ok thing to do, if it's not equal among the genders? why do women not buy sex? why don't men beautify themselves to be bought? all those questions could have been answered with gender essentialism and the reinforcement of toxic gender roles, so i never tried to argue with them again. It felt pointless; liberal feminism became empty in my eyes.

i noticed something, while becoming a radfem. i noticed it in the news, in my real life circles, while studying surveys and browsing socials - people despised radfems more than they despised nazis, or communists, or each other. it dawned on me that radical feminisms was in fact just Feminism with the capital F, like normal textbook Feminism, and that everything else (liberal feminism, proletariat feminism etc.) was its sibling or child. but radical feminism, from a historical point of view, was just the core ideals of feminism. and I realized people hate it so much even today because its opposition to the status quo rises uncomfortable questions, which in this day and age are too much of a taboo to even elaborate them properly. to put it bluntly, people hate radical feminism because misogyny is blatant, pervasive and unquestioned. women are properties - whether private or public. No one discusses it. men are entitled to sex - what, you want to ban porn? Christian prude bitch. oh you don't want an hourglass figure and an obsession with beauty that you need to constantly validate with male attention? then you are invisible in society.

Choice feminism is only popular because it allows women to choose the patriarchal option, therefore not representing a problem for the status quo. that's what it all boils to: women can choose to be whatever they want, as long as they are fuckable.

but those people aren't your friends. the male friends who call (all) feminists "annoying bitches who need to be fucked so hard they forget how to whine" don't see you as human. the girls in your class who strictly adhere to hyperfemininity are only going to be seen as fleshlights and trophies for men to collect and trashtalk about with other males - they gain no power from their gender role. The people who defend sex workers' existence don't give a fuck about those women as human beings but just as spank banks. In fact they hate them with every fiber of their being, and they can't even justify the reason.

all this to say that no political current has bought me so much sense of community and intellectual enrichment as radical feminism. realizing how unfairly hated it is, made it much clear to me why i need it.

it is a cruel world.

[the-travelling-bitch]

BRO IS IT JUST ME BUT I WANT TO DRY HUMP RIN SO BAD OMG. Pls make one 😭. Why the hell Rin thighs look so ehem,... Attractive. I'm so concerned of what effect Rin had on me 😬

i can assure you, you’re definitely not the only one; those training suits simultaneously leave nothing to the imagination and have my imagination racing,,, like how

[gn!reader]

It started out as an innocent little peck in passing, just wanting to show your boyfriend a little love as he relaxed on your shared bed. Apparently Rin needed a bit more of a pick-me-up though after a gruelling day of practice, so he latches his arms around your waist to pull you onto the mattress with him.

Between the heavy kisses that turn more heated by the second and Rin’s hand settling at the small of your back while the other angles your face to his liking, who could blame you for the rising need churning in your stomach? Especially when your boyfriend lets out a deep groan when you pull at his dark roots?

Without so much as a second thought, your hips start rocking over the taut muscles; tentative at first, until the material of his sweats pressed against you just right and you break the kiss to moan against his spit-slicked lips.

“Feeling a little needy, darling?” He’s not trying to tease you, you know that but the way the words roll so smoothly off his tongue has you grinding down harder. You almost manage to suppress your whimper at the big hands splaying on your hips, fingers digging into the plush of your ass as Rin helps you move along his thigh. “It’s okay, baby. Does that feel good?”

Cerulean eyes study the way you bite your lip and your brows knit together as you grab onto his shoulders for support to keep you upright. The muscles in his arms flex as he encourages you to keep rolling your hips into him despite the sporadic twitch of your thighs.

“Fuck, Rin, I—“ you breathe into the air of your bedroom as your legs close around his.

“Need a little more help, huh?” One of his hands leaves your backside to press the pad of his fingers into your most sensitive spot and your whole body jerks at the bolt it sends up your spine. If your underwear wasn’t ruined before, it certainly is now and even more so with what you feel is to come.

Rin’s voice sounds a lot clearer with his lips right next to your ear despite the the low whisper in which he speaks “I know you’re close, so be good and tell me who has you acting this needy when you cum for me, alright?”

With the fervorous nod of your head, he presses down just a little harder while simultaneously jolting his leg up, making you topple over the edge with a cry of his name, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders and leaving little crescents behind.

Before you can completely calm down, you feel your world spinning and you find yourself on your back looking up into your boyfriend’s lidded eyes. Letting your hips go in favour of pushing up your thighs and spreading your legs for him, you watch him settle between them, his clothed cock resting against your soaked underwear.

Throwing your head back into the pillows at the overstimulation as you feel his throbbing cock grind along your sensitive core, twitching helplessly in his hold. A mean little laugh brings your attention back to Rin, who’s fixed you with a raised brow.

“What? You didn’t think you’re the only one who deserves a turn, did you? Or are you really that spoiled?”

[magicalonsomanydances]

Back again to rank my latest feelings for the F1 Grid

Carlos Sainz Jr. - this will never change I will love him until I die I do not care what car he drives he will be my fav top step or DNF. I am the definition of ride or die when it comes to this absolutely pure wholesome hottie whose character somehow manages to outshine his good looks which is saying something given he literally looks like a fairytale prince

Fernando Alonso - can't have sweet without the spicy and I love this filterless agent of chaos whose persistence and ability to outperform his car throughout his career have made him the legend that he is

George Russell - a wholesome little crumpet who I would die for. He's so sweet and sincere while simultaneously being posh and classy. I love it all the more because his background is pretty working class

Esteban Ocon - speaking of working class gotta round out my trio of drivers with humble origins with the one who worked his way up on the sacrifice and belief of his family. Ocon is a working class hero and I will be an Estie Bestie perpetually unless he fucks up Ollie. This is his last chance to not lash out at a teammate because he'll clearly have the position of seniority at Haas next year so no reasons to fight Ollie Bear. If he hurts Ollie I may have to give him up but it will be painful and I will cry about it.

Oscar Piastri - I love pastries and Oscar is no exception. He's absolutely showing all the potential to be a legend of his generation. He's the second coming of Kimi Raikkonen and I'm here for it. Also much like Carlos and George he has absolutely impeccable gentleman vibes and because he's Aussie it comes across even a little more down to earth, like if he cycled past while you were having a flat tire or something he'd stop and try to help

Ollie Bearman - yes I know technically he isn't on the grid but like I lost Logan this week so let me have this. He's a sweet wholesome little nugget who I would die for. Just a little floof. And he's a promising little floof too!

Charles Leclerc - the more I watch this sport the more I realize that the Leclerc haters are insane when they say he's only popular because he's attractive and drives a Ferrari. The man is a bloody good race car driver and that's enough as is. His looks and his loyalty to the prancing horse are just bonuses.

Sergio Perez - help me Sergio Kenobi you're my only hope SO PLEASE START CLOSING THAT GAP BETWEEN YOU AND MAX it's embarrassing and I do NOT need him losing that seat because then who will I root for as a "home" driver. I've lost Logan, if I lose you too Checo I will have to switch to a different continent because I REFUSE to support the Canadian Nepo Baby who's wasting a perfectly good seat that someone else could be making much better use of

Max Verstappen - my brother in trauma. I swear I have the most sibling-core feelings for Max. As in I love and support him but also can't stand to see him win all the time. I cannot compliment him without adding some spice of insult to the compliment. We're two traumatized kids from different families with hard ass dads. Hence why on a personal level Max is probably like #3 for me. I'm very emotionally attached to that Dutch menace but I don't want to see him win more than 3 or 4 races a year

Daniel Ricciardo - if I lose Checo I will be claiming the man whose speech to his younger self wakes me up every morning as my home racer because good lawd he loves Texas lol. And who can have a top ten of drivers and NOT include the ray of fucking sunshine that is Danny Ric. He just fills the world with joy and tomfoolery

[lavampira]

(COUNT)DOWN TO DAWNTRAIL — day seven: free day

one thing about ffxiv that has had the biggest impact on me is the core message in the power of bonds that people forge. camaraderie is as much of a driving force as hope throughout the game’s overarching narrative, and it’s the main part of what made me invest in it so quickly, and why I continue to love playing it.

and so, keeping on that theme, I want to take the opportunity to gush about some of the people who’ve also made the game and community a lovely experience over the last 2 years.

first, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention how glad I am that @hythlodaes and @birues came with me from swtor to give this game a try. it’s always so nice to have a friend who understands you so intuitively like gigi does with me when trying new things without judgement, building fun routines together in a new game, risking it all as an AST-DRK duo in frontlines, or slipping back into our old co-tanking roots, and she’s been my biggest emotional support and favorite guinea pig to level new things. and rue’s eternal willingness to fuck it we ball with me and all of her thoughtful meta and silly memes alike bring me so much happiness. I’ve loved sharing all the developing lore of our ocs and thoughts on the story as we’ve progressed mostly alongside each other.

I will also forever be grateful to @coldshrugs and @gefiltefished for all of their guidance when I was a sprout learning the game! azia and ash have always been so helpful and encouraging, and many of my fondest memories of the early raids, trials, and pre-duty support dungeons involve one or both of them holding my hand, and even braving queues to tank or heal for me at times despite being aiming mains until I was brave enough to consistently tank myself. they built up much of my confidence while venturing into a new mmo and I don’t think I would understand things as well as I do without either of them.

getting to know @scionshtola as we played more, dragging each other into the mines and bozja respectively, and bonding over same taste in dps jobs has been such a highlight, too. and so many of my frontlines assists are owed to them channeling a hidden inner zenos on the battlefield as well.

raiding with my extremes static in our brave little sparkle has been some of the most fun and challenging few months! @lilas is an absolute powerhouse of organizing, keeping the positive mood alive, and wrangling everyone into voice chat and party on time each week. azia is an excellent strategist and gentle advice-giver, which has gotten us to barrel through barriers that had us stumped at times. @zimmena is a radiant gem for crafting our tinctures, making consistent calls to move us through the mechanics, filling in any role that’s needed, and my partner in repairs. I owe @greyyourwarden my life many times over for keeping me alive or scraping me off the floor when things go awry as a very trustworthy healer, and trusting me without complaint despite healer instincts when I ask to be allowed to die for my invuln. gigi has not only been a powerful and attentive melee dps amidst our sea of ranged/casting players, but a cheerfully good sport when a stray tankbuster goes her way, too. kels and their carby have saved many, many pulls with a well-timed raise, and always is my reliable stack buddy. @the-rogue-mockingjay is a brave soul willing to try new things and brings so much enthusiasm to raid. and @galadae has been a trooper for filling in whenever we needed someone and picking up things so quickly despite the occasional short notice. I’m so proud of how much we’ve all grown as players and as teammates since the very first night!

my foray into crafting and gathering has also been greatly helped by the many tips from @impossible-rat-babies and the set of endgame gear graciously offered and made for me by @lxdymaria so I’d have an easier time once I was leveled.

and I’ve also enjoyed talking to and seeing posts by @drk-brain, @drkmissionaries, and other sidwol shippers and dark knight enjoyers over on the bird site, collectively boosting all the writing and losing our minds over our little guys and the big spiky man we all love.

I could keep going - the ffxiv playerbase is truly one of the most friendly, encouraging, and wonderful communities - but I’ll leave it here: ffxiv is a game full of love and support from the people we meet along the way, so it’s no wonder why it’s fostered such a similar space for all of us!

[girl4music]

INTERVIEWER: “So we meet up with Waverly and Nicole. We’re about 2 years later since we last saw you. They’re still very much in love. But like all couples they’re going through something really unique and personal. Nicole has really come into her own. Kind of, you know, in charge of the town. Has all this respect coming towards her. But Waverly’s craving adventure and like ways to use that big brain of hers. How will WayHaught tackle these fundamental differences and still remain this beloved couple that so many fans have been rooting for for 8 years?”

KAT: “I think the thing that I love about WayHaught is that they always trust their love at the end of the day and I think that’s just a testament to how genuine and across all universes their bond is. I think it takes a lot of strength in a couple to say ‘this is what I want to do, this is what you want to do - how do we give the space for each of us to grow as individuals but still trust that we’re going to come back together at the end of the day?’ I think that’s one of the amazing things that continues to make them iconic, continues to make them aspirational. It’s just that they trust that they’ll come back together and that their love is strong and their relationship is strong and there’s a lot of space to be their own people - which is so fundamental for a healthy partnership.”

INTERVIEWER: “Oh, that’s so beautifully said, Kat.”

DOM: “So beautifully said and I completely agree and I think that it is so wonderful to see the representation of the reality of a couple and what comes after happily ever after. You know, we’ve seen this beautiful wedding and it’s like where do we find them after a little bit of time and you said it yourself, Dana. Waverly has such an ambitious spirit and that it would be a disservice if she lost that. It’s such a core fundamental piece of who she is and so allowing that to live and then Nicole actually seeing that and embracing it is a testament to their strength as a couple. That Nicole sees what Waverly needs and I think Waverly’s trying to figure out why she is irritable and why she’s craving more but she’s incredibly happy with her wife - and so both things can exist - and being able to like work with that within their relationship is such a blessing and seeing the representation of a supportive partner that wants their love to go off and spread their wings is such a stunning way to end the special.”

INTERVIEWER: “I think it’s something a lot of couples go through and so I love being able to see this very realistic thing in a relationship in this very fantastical world full of demons and monsters, right? And it’s also a real testament to Emily and the writers and the crew to be able to put conflict in a queer relationship without it being about death, breaking up, all these others things. I think it’s a really nice evolution so I was really excited to see it.”

Just in case people didn’t understand the choice made with WayHaught temporarily separating and Waverly’s leaving with Jeremy to reconstruct Black Badge at the end of the special - here’s a rundown of Kat and Dom talking about why it matters that this happened and that it’s actually a good thing and it does not mean that they’re breaking up or getting tired of each other or any of these negative thoughts and worries that I’ve seen so many people have on it.

This is just all part of their relationship evolution and their evolutions as individual people too because one evolution does not have to clash or exclude the other.

I think sometimes we just need to take a step back and listen to what the creators/cast/crew say about the content that they’ve made and have been a part of because they’ll often have the answers we seek. They’re a very passionate family of co-workers that really love the art/entertainment they put out and really respect the storytelling for the characters. Their evolutions both individually and together as a couple’s dynamic and you don’t often find that very often in TV art/entertainment. Most casts for TV shows or movies couldn’t give a shit about any of this as long as they’re getting paid for it at the end of the day, week, month.

The creators/cast/crew of the IP ‘Wynonna Earp’ are a little different and we should trust in them more for it. If things go south with this new venture with Tubi as far as the way WayHaught are treated, I think we can have faith that DomKat will speak up. After all - they’re no longer just our queer allies. They’re LGBTQ+ too.

[dragon-communion]

I'm gonna sit here and ponder my characterization for St. Trina, considering a couple spoilers I've gotten. I crave character study fanfic about her.

Miquella, as a character, is incredibly driven and what he can't achieve by intellect he achieves by charisma. I don't think that charisma is independent of him- it didn't split off into Trina, I think she has it too, which implies to me that both of them still maintain his Empyrean curse. So then what did become Trina?

Assuming the way they divide is similar to Marika and Radagon, there's a combination of alchemical philosophy and something that I would recognize as the start of a dissociative disorder. Marika seems to be trying to reject the Golden Order; Radagon tries to keep it whole. Maybe Marika intentionally split off Radagon, maybe she didn't, but he nonetheless served the Golden Order by playing the long game to bring Rennala to heel. And then, after that, Marika herself. They split, purified, achieved xanthosis, and then there was some point of critical failure right before rubedo likely rooted in an inability to truly compromise their own desires. Godfrey never got the chance to truly attempt rubedo with Marika, I think, but he's definitely hit xanthosis by the time we truly fight him, and manages a kind of rubedo with Serosh.

The easy answer for Miquella/Trina is that Miquella is a workaholic, which is how he expresses love for others, while Trina isn't because she represents self-care and by extension self-love. She distinctly represents pleasure, oblivion, and repose, while Miquella is very focused on freedom and knowledge and action. Very much his sister's twin. Both of them at their core have love, I think, but to some extent Miquella's evolves into a very performative thing.

His goals go from wanting a better world for his sister, and by extension all maligned creatures in the Lands Between, to simply seeking a better world at any cost. Perhaps that's his Empyrean nature kicking in; a god can want for the sake of wanting, because they embody what they are. In becoming a god he forgets his personhood, abandoning true agency for becoming a core support beam of the world. Eerily similar to Radagon, actually. Marika was a person, and that's why she had to die. By extension, Trina was also a person, which is why she was abandoned to winnow Miquella down into a god.

So where does that leave Trina?

I think Miquella was the origin of the twain, for lack of better terminology, and Trina is conceptually his Radagon, embodying a certain ideal or methodology that he rejected but ultimately found useful, to a point. Maybe he intentionally created her, maybe he didn't, but she formed along a preexisting fault line in his psyche: just as Radagon embodies the Golden Order, Trina is the Cradlesong. That could be familial love, it could be self love, it could be love in general. I've compared Miquella to Gideon before- sometimes the pursuit of knowledge, and especially perfection, requires cruelty that violates morality.

I think Trina cared about people, and there's a reason Sleep and Frenzy are so entwined and opposed. I think she'd agree with Melina and argue against nihilism, but I also think she had her own hedonistic branch of it, a selfishness that could match Miquella's underneath the apparent selflessness. Miquella actively hunts his peace, for better or for worse, while Trina invites it. She's the opiate to his stimulant.

I think she may have had just enough in common with the Formless Mother to be intensely curious about her, and may or may not have had dealings with her. I think all of the outer gods utilize love, in their own way, but something about blood in particular is very close to Miquella's own alignment. Trina might have also been connected to Miquella's twisted relationship with his eternal childhood- he wanted to be an adult in a way she didn't really need, possibly, and which neither of them could truly achieve.

I think the disturbing visage of adult Trina on her torch might've been Miquella's dream, which is why that depiction is so rare.

I think they were both dreamers, and where they diverged is what they dreamed about.

[princess-of-the-corner]

So, more serious musings on Aware Lila.

I tend to gloss over post Season 3 stuff due to not really watching it extensively or at all and not liking what I heard though I will borrow bits and pieces from time to time.

With that in mind, Lila is where she's at in season 1 to 3.

IE, she has one mother, a Madame Rossi who is an Italian Diplomat recently moved to France. She is a woman who is evidently either profoundly gullible or profoundly checked out when it comes to parenting. Given Lila was able to stay home for six months based on a lie, despite efforts by the school to reach her.

Given her line of work I am going to say its the second one, as I know some people who work in the diplomat cores and unless you are a major nepotism hire, you are fucked if you aren't at least decent at your job and being easy to lie to will fuck you over.

With that reference point of RL in mind too I have a fun observation.

Its been noted to me that children of diplomats tend to come up a bit oddly. An anecdote I was told involved a six year old clicking their fingers for a wait, doing the finger swirl and casually ordering a round of drinks for their table of other children.

The main take away is that diplomat kids tend to be expected to or by dint of circumstances, start acting like mini adults.

This works well for Lila cos she is rather like Chloe in that both come off as presenting as older than they are in terms of fashion and manner and the like. Not totally, but of all the class they feel the least "Childlike" upon a quick glance.

Moving on from that, we know Lila lies a lot and wants people to admire her and she's convincing enough that she can usually get away with it for long enough periods of time that her mothers never noticed.

She's also prone to intense reactions that dwarf even Chloe's most bitter grudge holding given she spent six months locked in her room faking being in Achu. Even when it was clear the class still bought her deceptions she didn't go back.

I will note some of this could be tied to Hawk Moth as Nathalie did note they'd apparently been keeping an eye on or perhaps handling her in that interim. Still, girl has a temper and grudges and clearly doesn't see her mother as someone to confide in.

With all this in mind, here's what I think her situation is:

Her mother is a diplomat, and a fairly high ranked one. Enough so that Lila actually can occasionally get pictures with notable figures at events, which helps sell her lies.

This means she is an intensely busy person and they never stay anywhere for more than a few years. Meaning Lila's never really had a chance to put down roots that didn't get ripped out & her mother doesn't prioritize her needs.

Madame Rossi also expected Lila to be able to be 'mature' beyond her years when meeting others, dealing with her not being home and to otherwise get along well with others and not cause her problems.

I imagine she's very much one of those, "I work hard for you. Look at all the nice things you own because I work hard. Is it so difficult for you to just not complain, just not cause trouble?"

IE, neglectful, has high-ish expectations but only in the sense that Lila not make waves and if so barely checking in on her and prone to emotional manipulation like guilting or shaming.

So yeah, Lila' definitely abused. She's very much a latch key kid, but one who was chastized for being a kid and wasn't able to form long lasting connections to support her in place of a family.

To compensate for the utter dearth of affection and lacking sense of home and identity, she sought the approval of others but only in the most superficial sense. This means her mother won't complain, and she won't get attached, while still getting a form of positive affirmation.

If thing start to get hard, she will lie, neg, shame and guilt others to keep the con going. Because that's how her mother kept her pliant for as long as she did until Lila just stopped viewing her as anything other than another person to lie to to get what she wants. It is an incredibly empty life with a flashy mask.

Like with the others I doubt she will consider herself abused, though she might be the most willing to say it but the least willing to mean it. She'll likely be dismissive or defensive, quick to cast off the idea that her actions are motivated by anything other than desire or aren't justified. & that she likes having a mother who is so disinterested Lila can 'do anything.

She likely has a bit of Chloe's "I can make X parent do what I want by playing this role or telling this lie" and feigning it makes her happy to have the situation "In control" like that. But its just another way of trying to give herself the impression of control in a life she actually has zero control over. Where everything could slip away at any moment.

Why she reacts so intensely to what went down in Volpina is harder to say:

Is it just that she's never had this happen before and wildly overreacted by pretending to move away? Or is it that it evokes a different time she was uncovered? Or is t a trauma response? Or did it come down to just her being pissed off initially and then Hawk Moth continuing to stoke the flames to keep it going?

But I think this is a pretty good personality profile.

Or at least I hope so.

Oh yeah no 100% this is about what I have her for HC/LL aka: not conning a bunch of women

I also added things in for like. Her former classmates accidentally enabled her by giving her stories more attention than her, Lila learning the lesson of 'if one person unravels the lie, they all turn on me and act horrible' which causes her to discredit anyone who catches on, and her dad dying right before moving to Paris which is why she's scrambling so desperately to cling to this little 'happiness' she's created.

[crystal-mouse]

Thoughts on snw 2e6 (contains spoilers)

Okay ik i was saying this in my previous post but i really can't get over the whole chess sequence and how it leads up to how spock and jim's relationship/friendship in TOS.

Subtextually speaking, it shows how chapel and spock, whilst having some level of feelings for each other, are really not on the same page- Spock in his words and game actions, wants to be more committed in his relationship/moving faster/looking for someone on his level, whereas Chapel really just wants to take her time/not necessarily be in a 'relationship' relationship- she can't keep up with Spock in the fast-paced game he wants to play.

As we know, good relationships are usually based on having both partners wanting the same goal (in terms of what they want from a relationship) and good communication (which lets face it theirs, re: prev episodes, isn't that great, although it could be worked on etc etc) and regarding what both characters have communicated in the past (Spock valuing his career and relationships but not wanting to be 'settled on a planet' as T'pring does, and chapel who loves but wants a more FWB situation and wants flexibility and understanding in this) Ultimately, they're doomed by the narrative.

then we bring in Jim to the whole situation, he hasn't had many scenes with spock so far in snw so there's not loads to go on, but from the interactions we have had so far, we can see that they already have a much stronger basis (from their own core traits).

Jim is someone, who like spock, is career minded- he's always pushing forward (see his convo with sam about his promotion) but he's also someone who desperately wants roots within this, he's never truly had a solid home as his family has always moved about. This isn't necessarily about settling down and sticking on a planet, but it's about needing someone who understands him and he can share his goals with (cough cough mr spock)

Jim, particularly as we've met him in snw, is a really smart guy, and because of this he's been isolated as no one can level with him (ep3- his first officer couldn't keep up with him in chess) and once again this is something he can find in Spock.

Now back to the chess scene- they haven't met during this scene, and yet, from viewing the game from the bar- Jim is on par and even thinking ahead of the game Spock is playing. He can see the trouble Spock is in ahead of him, and this as we eventually see in TOS is how they can match each other and provide the support/dependency that both desire.

In each other ,Jim and Spock can find someone who they can finally keep up and level with, they can complete each other and support where the other struggles.

[zeroducks-2]

Can we get um. Can I have a. Heavily pregnant Barry being fucked by Wally? Please

😳

🙏🏼

You can 🩷

(smutty smut under the cut, pregnant sex, omegaverse)

There's something about the way he's still somewhat petite, lean muscles supporting a small frame made heavier by the pup in his belly. He needs to support the swell of it while he's face down in the nest, one arm wound around the bump as if he was clutching it to his core, while the other hand pulls and twists the bedding as Wally keeps his thighs spread apart, and both his holes exposed to lap and suck at them.

Spearing his tongue through either has Barry whine with his legs quivering, his scent thick and overly sweet and his pussy so wet it's almost dripping. He's possibly even more sensitive than while in heat, and just like when he was in heat, he doesn't seem able to finish without a knot.

"Please..." He whimpers into a pillow, hips rolling to get friction but it just isn't there.

Wally caresses his side with a hum and then smacks a full palm on his pussy, rumbling pleased at the way Barry cries and hides his face, but the tip of his ears still turns a bright, embarrassed pink.

"I'm going to knot you enough times you'll fall asleep on it." Wally says and dips two fingers into his wet passage, fitting them to the root. The third finds a bit of resistance given how much his walls are twitching, overstimulated. "And I'll keep at it while you're down, so you'll wake up still on my knot." He's moving his fingers now and Barry shakes his head, hard to say if at what he heard or because he's so close.

The fourth finger is a tight fit, and Wally rotates his hand and closes it in a fist, growling in response to the jerks of Barry's hips and his little cries as he locks around the hand, the right nerves stimulated enough to feel like a knot.

But Wally pulls it away way sooner than it would take a real knot to go down, but the harrowed cry he hears only makes him twitch harder, pre already pearling on his tip despite he hasn't been even touching himself.

"You're making a mess." He grunts at Barry's ear after pulling him up, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his navel, supporting the weight of his belly. "You dripped on the bedsheet. For a fake knot."

Barry hiccups and cries out again as Wally finally thrusts into his still twitching heat, and as after a minute he's still unsettled, Wally pacifies him with a bite right on his mating gland. It tastes sweet like pregnant Omega and something like static which could only belong to a speedster; Wally moans through the bite while feeling the other finally softening up in his arms, his pussy opening up more and allowing him in up to the bulge of his growing knot.

He holds Barry still like that, one hand clutching his upper arm and the other pressed on the lower swell of his belly, feeling just how heavy the weight of the other feels as Barry leans entirely on him. He's not going to take long to pop a knot, but he does intend to keep going as long as he can.

He needs to enjoy it while it lasts. The pup is due soon, and he doesn't like the idea but with them out he's not going to be able to do this anymore. The thought of getting Barry pregnant again just for this has Wally thrust and bite down harder, moaning with his whole chest as Barry whines and pulls at his hair, unwilling or unable to put any real strength into it.

[rhinozilla]

Detroit: Become Family 2022 - Prompt 8: Real

@dbh-found-family

Hank was okay.

He wasn’t okay, but he was going TO BE okay. It could have been so much worse. This was…This was the optimal result.

The doctor had explained that the bullet had passed cleanly through Hank’s left shoulder. Clear entry and exit wounds. Connor’s first aid at the scene had minimized the blood loss and risks of infection, and the hospital was taking every precaution to keep it that way. The more concerning injury came from the concussion that he’d gotten from falling backwards and hitting his head on the concrete.

All things that Connor had already determined from his own scans at the scene and his continual scanning as he waited in Hank’s hospital room. The glass monitor screens mounted on the wall displayed Hank’s vitals in real time detail. Hank himself had told Connor that he had been through worse, and he was just right there in front of Connor, finally succumbing to exhaustion after the evening’s events.

He was going to be fine.

And yet Connor was still worried for him.

So he stood by the window for a while.

Then he sat in the recliner by the bed.

Then he stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the monitors, at Hank, at the wall.

He didn’t have brain chemicals or have organic nerves, yet it felt like his skin was crawling with anxiety.

He could distinctly recall the scared expression on the WR600’s face as he’d realized that Hank and Connor had chased him into a corner between two buildings and a wooden fence. The shaking and panic in his frame as he’d pulled out a gun, raised it, and fired. Androids, even lawncare and landscaping maintenance models, were designed to have perfect aim in all things. His emotions had compromised his aim…if the WR600 had even meant to shoot to kill, which Connor didn’t think he did. He had just been afraid and trying to get away.

And Connor’s emotions were compromising him now.

The mound of bandaging around Hank’s shoulder was rising and falling with his breathing, which was good. The bandaging around his head was making the rest of his face look pale and washed out, which was bad. He felt very far away.

Connor remained standing at the foot of the hospital bed, watching the monitors and comparing them to his own scans of Hank’s person for a while. A long while. Perhaps too long.

When Hank finally stirred, Connor’s eyes locked onto him, even as he remained rooted to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Hank cracked his eyes open, swallowing against a dry throat before bringing Connor into focus.

“Hey,” Hank greeted in a raspy voice.

He frowned and coughed once, and that was rewarded with pain aggravating his head injury and possibly his shoulder, going by the twist in his facial expression.

Connor felt a pang of added worry, and he hurriedly moved to the table beside the bed, filling one of the glasses there with water from the small pitcher that an orderly had brought.

“Hank?” he asked, inwardly wincing at the shaky tone in his own voice.

Hank lifted a hand to rub at his chest near his shoulder, and he cracked his eyes open again to look at Connor. He blinked once, and the fog seemed to clear the rest of the way.

“Hank, it’s me. It’s Connor.” He felt it needed reinforcing. Just in case.

Hank smirked and lifted a hand. “Hey, Connor.”

Connor caught his hand and held it supportively. The warmth and weight of his hand abruptly made all of this real.

It wasn’t just monitors and screens and scans and diagnostics.

Hank had been shot. He had sustained a head injury. He could have been killed.

The distress of that abrupt punch of reality must have been visible on his face, because Hank’s smile sobered. He gave Connor’s hand a squeeze.

“Hey. I’m all right, kiddo.”

“You were shot,” Connor said shakily. “I should have stopped him. I should have anticipated—”

“You can’t predict how people are going to act when they’re scared like that android was,” Hank tried to reassure him.

“I can,” Connor pressed. “That is one of my core functions. And I failed.”

Hank frowned, and Connor felt guilt pile on top of his feelings of failure. Hank was injured; he shouldn’t have to comfort Connor too.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized for both of those shortcomings. “There was a lot of blood.”

Hank waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, head wounds always bleed like…I’m fine.” He glanced at the glass of water in Connor’s hand. “That for me?”

Connor fidgeted and gave him the glass, watching him take small sips from it. It looked like the cool water was a relief, and Connor felt some of the tension ease from his own body.

“They didn’t let me…They kept me away from you until they got you settled in this room…Hospital policy. I am not…family,” Connor mumbled.

Hank finished the water and looked at Connor with an unreadable expression as Connor took the glass back.

“Yeah, they can be real sticklers about that stuff,” Hank said, shifting more gingerly in the bed. “Well, I’m awake now, and I want to go home. Can you get a nurse, and we can get this release paperwork going—” he said, starting to sit up.

Connor frowned. “You were knocked unconscious. Perhaps you should take some time to recover before—”

“I can recover at home,” Hank assured, leaning more on his good elbow, trying not to move his other bandaged arm. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself there.”

I don’t need you to take care of me. Clearly you can’t.

Hank would never say that. That didn’t stop Connor from hearing it.

Connor braced himself and nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop the WR600 sooner. My preconstruction identified him as a threat, but I didn’t notice the gun sooner and didn’t…anticipate that he would shoot.”

Hank shifted, looking at him with a frown. He sat up the rest of the way and kept his eyes on him.

“Connor. Come here.”

Connor hesitated, but when Hank lifted his good arm, Connor stepped closer. Hank looped his arm around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him in for an admittedly awkward half-hug.

Again, the warmth and weight of him made it all the more real, dispelling the what-ifs and could-haves and should-haves. Connor eagerly returned the hug. Hank moved his hand up to ruffle his hair at the back of his head.

“I’m all right. You’re all right. We’re all right,” Hank assured. “All right?”

Connor gave a small smile. “All right.”

Hank bobbed his head. “All right. Now go find a nurse. I want to go home.”