#Men crying

[alpaca-clouds]

Let Men Cry

Just a small thing that I adore about Castlevania as a show is that we see a lot of men cry. And with that I mean really ugly cry, rather than having a single tear sexy-cry. I love it.

Let men cry. Men deserve to cry, too.

[slurt2]

[leopar6eyes]

he’s so pretty when he cries

credit: nxncys

I NEED HIM SO BAD ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY

[k1d-stfu]

I still think that we need more men crying and begging for help.

[tobaitfishwith]

this man needs to get his life together

[starlight-and-whiskey]

Seams are Torn

When a hunting trip with Arthur goes bad, you find yourself holed up miles from camp and inches from death. This story takes place in the cabin you take refuge in, with fear burrowing into your bones, Arthur's honeyed reassurances, and the threatening icy embrace of death's hand looming at your shoulder.

Tags for: hurt comfort, angst, fluff, caretaking of reader, and Arthur Morgan crying. A03 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

For the second morning in a row, you woke to the soft rustling of wind through the trees. The hunting trip Arthur had persuaded you to join him on had come as a welcome respite, and as you woke once more to the lack of clanking of pots and pans, the absence of shouting and a day’s rigid plans, you hoped you wouldn’t have to turn back too soon.

Stretching the stiffness from your limbs, you sat up and brushed back your hair, stealing a glance at the sky as it bled into soft blue and gold. Arthur was already up and pottering by the small fire, but that was hardly a surprise. With a deep yawn, you pushed yourself up on your elbows to watch him. It was something you’d never admit, not to him, not to anyone, but you enjoyed watching Arthur more than you should.

Arthur had been an enigma when you’d first joined the gang. A gruff, taciturn presence that people either feared or dismissed. Some thought him mean; others thought him stupid.

You knew better.

After eighteen months of riding together his wariness of you had waned inch-by-inch, replaced gradually by a trust that you felt sometimes even teetered on the edge of respect. Long hours spent on watch had taught you how to tease out the lighter side of him, how to coax a smirk or a chuckle when no one else could. Hushed conversations by a campfire when sleep just wouldn’t come had forged a bond. A bond that month by month had blossomed into teasing that bordered on flirtatious. Over a year and more, Arthur had grown on you like a limpet, latching on without you even realising.

Sometimes, you felt like the only person who truly saw him. He wasn’t cruel, and he certainly wasn’t dumb. Not to you.

When you’d first met, he seemed this sullen mountain of a man, but about eight months ago you’d noticed him. Really noticed him. And then his self-deprecating humour was no longer funny to you.

Amidst the bustle of the camp, you found yourself noticing the way his shoulders shifted as he hauled hay bales, each ridge of muscle flexing beneath the taught confines of his shirt. The way his hands moved with practiced ease as he saddled his horse, gentle fingers stroking along her neck. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled in the rare moments when he laughed – really laughed – the sound full-bodied and rich. Even now, crouched with his back to you, hat tilted low over his brow and brewing coffee against the backdrop of a painted sunrise, you found yourself noticing him.

Feeling a blush rise to your cheeks, you scrubbed the back of your neck and tossed off the blanket, hauling yourself to your feet.

The sun had fully risen by the time the two of you reached the patch of land Arthur had been keen to hunt. Dismounting and leaving the horses to trail languidly behind, the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath your boots filled the quiet as you moved through the dense forest, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth.

Arthur walked ahead of you, rifle slung over his shoulder, his broad frame cutting an easy path through the undergrowth. You followed a few steps behind, not because you needed to, but because, well… the view wasn’t half bad.

“You starin’ at my ass again?”

Your eyes snapped up, his words jolting you from your thoughts.

“What? No!”, you retorted a little too quickly, your voice coming out a touch higher than intended.

Arthur glanced back, smirking.

“You sure?” He slowed his pace just enough to fall in beside you, that knowing grin still tugging at his lips. “’Cause I swear I felt your eyes burnin’ a hole back there.”

You rolled your eyes, huffing for effect. “Arthur Morgan, I do not spend my time ogling your backside.”

Arthur chuckled, low and warm, clearly enjoying himself. “That so?”

“Damn right,” you shot back, stepping over a fallen branch. “I’ve seen better.”

Arthur let out a soft hum, his smirk pulling at dimples in his cheeks as he nodded thoughtfully. “That’s right. Didn’t you see Bill drop his towel last week?”

“Ugh! Arthur!”, you grimaced through a whine, barging your shoulder into his as you pulled a face. “I only just got that image outta my head!”

Arthur’s grin spread wider, and a deep rumbling of laughter emanated from his chest as he adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, turning his gaze back to the narrow path winding through the trees. You side-stepped a patch of brambles, the sharp thorns tugging at your pant leg.

“Yeah, well,” he said after a moment, “I still say you were starin’…”

“Oh, you sure are full of yourself today.”

The trees thinned slightly as the two of you moved into a small clearing, and that’s when you saw it – a small house, isolated and nestled against the slope of the hill. It wasn’t grand, barely more than a cabin, but there was something about it that made you smile. It looked as though it belonged there with its moss-covered roof sloping down in such a way that it seemed it had grown right out of the hillside, settled into the land rather than imposed upon it.

Arthur let out a low whistle. “Well, look at that.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “Huh. Wonder who lives there?”

Arthur didn’t even pause. “No one.”

You frowned, looking up to Arthur with knitted brows. “How do you know?”

“’Cause I know things.”

“Oh, well, that’s specific.” You narrowed your eyes at him and crossed your arms.  “What is it? What do you see?”

Arthur’s eyes flicked to you, then back to the house with the tugging of a smile at the corner of his lips and an exaggerated shrug. “Nothin’.”

Leaving you with mouth hanging open, he adjusted his rifle and flashed you that shit-eating grin once more before trudging back towards the trees.

With an exasperated sigh and a final glance at the house, you followed after him, jogging a little to catch up to his long strides.

“You seen it before? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Nope.”

You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, quickening your pace until you were walking beside him again. "Liar."

Arthur smirked but kept his eyes ahead. "Ain’t lyin’. Swear on my life, I ain’t seen that house before.”

“Alright. So, Hosea or someone’s seen it?”

“No. I told you, I just know things.”

 “Oh sure, you obviously have some ancient cowboy wisdom”, you drawled with a scoff, waving your arms.

Arthur turned to you with an exaggerated, patronising smile. “Finally, you get it.”

You groaned. "You are impossible."

"I dunno why you’re gettin’ so riled up over my knowledge of homesteads”, he chuckled.

"You just like seein’ me annoyed," you muttered, kicking a rock out of your path.

Arthur grinned and nudged your shoulder. "I do enjoy that, yeah."

“Fine”, you huffed. “Keep your spooky cowboy secrets.”

Arthur huffed another laugh, his smirk softening. “I plan to.”

You’d just about opened your mouth but before you could speak, a sound shattered the tranquillity of the woodland, sharp and unnatural against the soft rustling of the leaves. Twigs snapping, louder than any deer could have made it. Deliberate. Close.

In a split second, Arthur's smile faltered, his body tensing like a coiled spring as he swung down his rifle. You hesitantly followed suit, eyes flicking through the trees.

Like shadows shifting, three men stepped from the trees with slow, casual arrogance and weapons drawn. Their grins wolfish. Hungry.

“Ain’t often we see folks wanderin’ out this way.”

Arthur exhaled slowly through his nose and shifted his stance ever so slightly, placing himself just a step in front of you.

The rustle of boots against fallen leaves behind you made your stomach twist. Slowly and steadily turning your head to look over your shoulder, your mouth went dry as a fourth man took a few steps closer to the rear of you.

“Arthur…”, you murmured through trembling lips.

Arthur’s gaze flicked behind you for just a second before snapping back to the three men in front. His jaw tightened, and you could almost feel the tension rolling off him.

“It’s okay”, he said firmly, just loud enough for only you to hear.

For a split second, everything was still. The trees themselves tensed. The wind held its breath.

Then… everything happened at once.

Once again, you’d failed to see something could Arthur sense before it happened. As one of the bandit’s fingers moved to squeeze the trigger, Arthur reacted in the same heartbeat. Rifle coming up, braced tight, the crack of the shot split the air.

Arthur shoved you down behind cover, bullets splintering bark around you as chaos erupted. Adrenaline surged through your veins as you ducked behind a tree and fired back. Time seemed to slow along with your breath as you aimed and fired again. Missed. The yell that echoed through the leaves told you Arthur hadn’t though.

Your world tunnelled into a blur. There was shouting, but it didn’t make sense. Just noise, just static. Bullets tore into flesh. Bullets missed. You didn’t think, didn’t feel, as you reloaded and took aim again, losing your sight of Arthur. Men lunged. Men fell.

Your bullet hit its mark, and a figure jerked, crumpling into the dirt. You didn’t register his face, didn’t watch him fall. You were already moving.

Spinning from behind the tree, you spotted Arthur on the ground, a man atop him. Grunting through bared teeth and biceps flexing, Arthur struggled for leverage against the man straddling him, boots digging into the dirt. Both broad hands were wrapped around the man’s wrist, around the hilt of the knife that was edging ever closer to his chest, fighting against the downward force of the blade.

You didn’t hesitate.

The shot rang out.

The impact snapped the man back, his body slumping sideways onto the ground as silence fell.

And just like that, it was over as quickly as it had begun.

Arthur shoved the man’s dead weight from him off with a grunt, chest heaving as he pushed himself up. His eyes darted up, catching yours for the briefest of moments, before chuckling under his breath and hauling himself to his feet.

"Well, ain't never a dull day with you around”, he exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow and shaking his head as he retrieved and shouldered his rifle. "We better get outta here before more –“

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you.

You were stood still as stone, staring down at the hand clutching at your side.

Arthur's expression shifted instantly. The breath he had just exhaled, the tension he had just begun to shake off, all of it returned in a crushing instant.

His steps were cautious - deliberate - as if moving too fast might make it worse, his eyes not leaving you for a beat and palm outstretched. You didn’t hear your name when he said it, only the unfamiliar tinge to the softness of it.

You forced a weak smile as you looked up at him, now inches in front of you. "I… it's okay."

Arthur’s jaw clenched. "Let me see," he murmured, gently wrapping his hand around your wrist.

You resisted for half a heartbeat, eyes stinging, but then you let him guide your hand away from your side and saw the exact moment his stomach dropped.

“Goddamnit”, he muttered, voice low and tight. “You’re hit.”

The blood seeped freely now, darkening the fabric of your shirt, blooming like ink on paper. You barely registered the way it painted his fingers as he pressed your hand back over the wound, his own palm tightly covering yours.

Funny. You hadn’t even felt it.

If Arthur felt panic, he certainly didn’t show it as his eyes darted over his shoulder, locking onto the house just through the trees before exhaling a cool, measured breath and turning back to you.

“We’re gonna get to that cabin, and we’re gonna fix you up.”

“You just wanna prove you were right that it was abandoned…”, you half smiled through a hollow chuckle, but Arthur didn’t seem to hear you. That or he chose to ignore you as his hand searched your back for an exit wound.

“You’re gonna be alright.”

“Well,” you blinked, feeling your lips twitch, a sickening heat rising upwards through your body, “that’s… good news.”

Arthur huffed, shaking his head, but the usual amusement that danced in his eyes wasn’t there. “Ain’t funny.”

Your breath stuttered, a weak chuckle escaping even as blood oozed, hot and sticky between your fingers, even as the edges of your vision dimmed. “S’a little funny.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened but his voice was soft. “Not even a little.”

It wasn’t even cold out, but suddenly you couldn’t stop shaking. The tremors started slow - just a slight shiver in your fingers - but within seconds they were rolling through you, unstoppable. A deep, bone-deep chill settled in, creeping outward, numbing your limbs.

Your breaths were coming faster now, shoulders shaking as you suddenly felt the cold. Your heart pounded in your chest, the blood rushing too loud in your ears, your limbs buzzing with a strange, disconnected kind of numbness. You felt the shivering now, the way it rattled through your limbs, making it hard to think, hard to focus.

You blinked again, slower this time, trying to focus through your narrowing vision on the lines of worry etching his face as he gripped you tighter. Arthur never looked worried. For some reason, you found it deeply amusing.

“It…it doesn’t even hurt…”, you whispered just as your treacherous knees gave out beneath you.

Arthur grunted a curse at the sudden weight, adjusting quickly, one arm scooping beneath your knees, the other locking around your back as he pulled you against his chest. As he started towards the house, your head lolled against his shoulder, staring up at him with half lidded eyes.

“You’re gonna be just fine”, he said, readjusting his grip and casting a quick glance down at you.

A pulse of warmth flickered through you - somewhere between panic and a strange, deep sense of safety. Your lips trembled, and you swallowed hard before whispering. “…Okay…”

“You look at me, darlin’”, he said firmly. “You just keep lookin’ at me.”

[never-kissed]

/ABATE/

[1428elmstrt]

Josh Hartnett('s Big Brown Puppy Dog Eyes Crying) as Ethan Chandler in Penny Dreadful (2014)

[beanmom]

Please reblog for reach!

[xoxohannas-world]

blondie the man that you are

[nonbinary-thot]

Okay okay, this has been rotting my brain all fuckin' day. He's so needy I need him :(

Virgin Choso! Is so needy and whiny it's almost impossible not to wanna tease him !! They way he whines when your hands haven't even touched his cock, but literally his mid thigh.

Virgin Choso! Bucking his hips into your sweet hand, head thrown back and salty, fat tears running down his cheeks. It's so cute, you just have to lean up and lick the tears off his black strip on his face.

Virgin Choso! His eyes rolling to the back of his head when he's so close and it's only been half a minute. The poor baby is so touch starved, it's almost comical.

When Virgin Choso! Finally cum, its thick, thick ropes of cum that cover your hand in that creamy pretty white color. You lift your hand to lick it, keeping eye contact with him, and he's instantly hard again, whining and crying for you to fuck him this time !! He just needs it so bad :(

Virgin Choso! Who's instantly sobbing as you tried to calm his aching cries when you pushed a finger into his tight,tiny little hole. He wanted this, why is he crying? But God is he such a pretty crier. The rounds of his eyes turning a brighter red than they already were, his lashes clumped with tears that hit the light in the room almost perfectly.

Virgin Choso! Who's cumming the second your push your cock in his hole. He couldn't help it, it just felt so good :( his cock has a mind of its own.

a/n help me, this isn't proof read. REPOST ARE APPRECIATED !!! I LOVE YOU GUYS, ITS CURRENTLY 2AM LOL

[zanazirafanfic]

💞 post-nightmare cuddles with charthur pls -- dealer's choice on who has the nightmare

I loved writing this prompt, you wonderful, beautiful anon, you! I chose Charles as my "lucky" recipient this time, since one of my upcoming Whumpcember fics is a Charthur fic revolving around Arthur's nightmares.

CW: temporary major character death, semi-graphic description of a corpse (both in the context of a dream)

Whoever you are, I hope you enjoy it! (And keep those requests coming! I'm down to just 1 in my inbox right now!)

~RDR~

When Charles stirred awake in the middle of the night, it was with an immediate sense that something was horribly wrong. For a few seconds he just lay there, blinking groggily while his eyes adjusted to the dark and trying to figure out what the hell could possibly be amiss. Had he had a nightmare, maybe? One he'd already forgotten? There was no noise from outside, no indication that a coyote might have gotten into the horses' corral or a fox was in the hen house. It was just him and Arthur, lying asleep together in the quiet of their - 

Wait. The quiet.

Arthur was never this quiet. Even at rest, there was a rough, wheezing rasp to his breath that had never quite left, despite it having been years since he recovered from the TB. It was a permanent fixture in their lives now, a constant, familiar kind of background noise neither of them really noticed anymore.

And he couldn't hear it.

Charles bolted upright, as wide awake now as if he'd been dunked in an ice bath, and turned over to get a better look at his husband.

"Arthur," he said softly. The man didn't so much as twitch, and Charles's heart began to race. "Arthur, wake up," he said, louder, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. "Arthur."

Arthur didn't answer, didn't move. Even through the fabric of his woolen union suit, the arm beneath Charles's palm was unnaturally cold.

"No... no, no, no -" he whispered as dark, oily tendrils of dread began clawing their way up the inside of his chest. "Arthur, no..."

It couldn't be. Arthur was doing so well, it had been two whole years since his last bad flare-up. They had dinner plans with the Marstons tomorrow, they were going on a hunting trip with Hamish in the Grizzlies next week, for God's sake! He was better, he was fine! It couldn't - He couldn't -

Charles reached over to turn on the lamp beside the bed, if only to confirm what he already knew. Even then, he still wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him.

Arthur's skin was ashen, lifeless, and gray. His face was frozen in what almost looked like a scream, mouth gaping, features tense. Blood trickled out of his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, thick globs of it crusted and congealing in his beard. His eyes, which had already begun to go cloudy, were wide and scared, fixed straight ahead on something only he could see now. His right hand was extended, lying in the center of the bed like he'd been trying to reach for something.

When he realized what that "something" was, Charles had to fight back the urge to vomit. While he'd been sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware, Arthur had been using his last breaths to try to reach for him, to tell him he needed him. His husband had been dying right beside him, gasping for air and choking on his own blood, and Charles hadn't even heard him. He wasn't there for Arthur, the single most important time he should have been.

Arthur Morgan was dead. He'd died alone, afraid, and it was all Charles's fault.

A raw, keening wail escaped his throat as he gathered Arthur's limp body in his arms, cradling him to his chest and rocking them back and forth. "Oh, Arthur..." he sobbed, clutching him impossibly tighter, as if he could force some of his own warmth and life back into the other man by doing so. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry..."

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to those cold, blue lips -

- and then suddenly found himself holding onto nothing, as Arthur dissolved into a cloud of smoke and vanished before his eyes.

Charles woke with a start to find himself soaked in a cold sweat, his chest heaving with panicked gasps and his heart thundering in his ears. His face was cold, damp with the tracks of still-drying tears, and he had to blink to clear more of them from his vision before he could make out more than black, shadowy blurs all around him. He was in their bedroom, lying in bed beside Arthur, just like always. The man in question was stretched out beside him, nestled underneath about three-quarters of their shared quilt and snoring softly.

A dream. It was just a dream. 

Knowing that did little to chase the chill from his blood, though. It had all felt too real, too final. He'd had some variation of this old nightmare many times over the past few years, but it never got any less terrifying no matter how many times he saw it. If anything, it only ever seemed to get more vivid. A quiet sob escaped the confines of his chest before he could stifle it, and he clamped a hand over his mouth, hoping it hadn't been loud enough to wake Arthur up.

No such luck. Arthur was an incredibly heavy sleeper - twenty years spent napping out in the open with a couple dozen other people would do that to a man. But even the slightest noise that was out of the ordinary and he'd be wide awake in an instant, alert and ready for danger. Unfortunately for Charles, "crying husband" definitely fell into that category. As soon as the sound left his lips, Arthur's snores abruptly stopped, and Charles tensed from head to toe.

God damn it.

"Mmh...? Charlie? Y'okay?" he murmured, turning halfway around to look at him. Charles must have looked a sight, because he couldn't even try to answer before Arthur rolled the rest of the way over, blinking the fog of sleep from his eyes and laying his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, 's goin' on? What's wrong?"

"I-I... I was... You -" he stammered, before blowing a harsh, frustrated huff of air through his nose and shaking his head. I can't. That was another awful thing about these dreams; they always seemed to steal his ability to speak properly for a while after. It was humiliating, and made him feel like a child, but whenever this happened he just couldn't make the words come no matter how hard he tried.

"It's okay, you're alright," Arthur murmured, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight against his chest. "Ain't in no hurry here. Just give yourself a second."

One of his hands gently cupped the back of Charles's head and guided it onto his chest, right above his heart. While he fought to pull himself back together, reassured by the sound of that strong, steady drumbeat beneath his ear, Arthur's fingers worked their way lazily through his hair, scratching his scalp and carefully untangling any knots that had formed while he slept.

Every few seconds, the older man would draw in a deliberately slow breath - slightly wheezy, as it always would be, but still deep, unwavering, alive - and then let it out, before starting the pattern all over again. He didn't speak, just continued that rhythmic, even breathing, silently encouraging Charles to follow along with him. They lay that way for a long time, curled up in each other's arms while they just breathed. Arthur never rushed him, or tried to ask him questions; they'd been through this enough times over the years to know it would only make things worse.

After what felt like hours, but was probably fifteen minutes at most, Charles finally let out an exhausted sigh and slumped against Arthur's chest, feeling as weak and boneless as a jellyfish. "Sorry, Arthur. Didn't mean to wake you," he mumbled guiltily.

"Charles," Arthur sighed. "You never gotta apologize, you know that. Just... are you okay? "

"Yeah," Charles sniffed, wiping his eyes. His entire face felt swollen and puffy, and it was hard to breathe through his nose. Fantastic. "Just a nightmare. Same one it usually is."

Arthur nodded and hummed, a low rumble that vibrated through his chest beneath Charles's ear. "I figured as much." Arthur's lungs weren't the only things left scarred by his long illness, and they both knew it. "But you gotta know I'd never do that to you, darlin'. After everything we've been through, all the things you put yourself through for me, you think I could ever just up 'n leave without even tellin' you goodbye?"

Charles chuckled, a watery, fragile thing. "You'd better not, you bastard. Or I swear I'll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you again."

"And it would be well deserved," Arthur said with a smile. He wrapped his arms tighter around Charles's back, shifting both of their weight until the younger man was lying fully on top of him like a very warm, very heavy blanket. "But it ain't gonna happen, I promise you."

"I know," Charles whispered, turning to press his lips against Arthur's - no longer cold, like they had been in the dream, but warm and soft and perfect. "I love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart." He pulled the quilt over them both, smirking when he realized Charles had once again let him steal the vast majority of it while they slept, and brought his hand back up so he could comb his fingers through the long, silky waves of raven hair. "Go back to sleep. Still a few hours 'til morning, yet."

"You still gonna be here when I wake up?" Charles teased, knowing full well that Arthur was now completely pinned until he decided to move off.

Arthur smiled, pressing a kiss to Charles's temple, and then whispered into his ear, "Always."

[zdravomacko]

why isn’t it socially acceptable to say men are prettier when they’re crying or in pain

[deliciouskeys]

I find it simultaneously endearing and mildly harrowing how readily Homelander cries when someone he considers close betrays/abandons him. Even though he’d laser most of the betrayers in the face, given the chance. Madelyn end of s1. Ryan end of s2. Maeve and Noir in s3. Ryan visiting Butcher in s4. ATrain in s4. Highly likely Ryan again in s4e8.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

❧ 𝔽𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒 𝕄𝕒𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝

Michael Corleone x Reader (gender neutral), 700 words

In the wake of Fredo's death, with his wife gone and his family in shambles, Michael reluctantly talks to you about what he has lost.

TW: grief, hurt/no-comfort adjacent (reader tries to comfort him but somewhat fails)

Image Source

The leaves are moving over the grounds of Michael Corleone’s home. An unseen force of northern wind hurries them away, where they will tumble over the wooden dock, and then into the lake. The master of the house sits watching them, and watching nothing. He’s not even smoking his cigarette.

Fredo Corleone is dead.

“Michael.” His name is an address, a well-worn and star-studded thing. It isn’t like other people’s names, it isn’t like other words. It has become a title. But a man still lives inside it.

He doesn’t look at you.

“Will you tell me what you’re thinking about?”

It confuses him that you’re addressing the man and not the title. He has forgotten how to answer as a man. He clears his throat. “No.”

You stay silent until the no becomes a yes.

“My father’s birthday in 1941. We were all gathered, all of the brothers and Connie too. They bought this big…this big cake, and we were all talking about the Bombing of Pearl Harbor, the soldiers there... And Sonny told me something I’ll never forget, he said: ‘They’re saps because they risk their lives for strangers. Your country ain’t your blood, you remember that.’ And that’s when I told ‘em I enlisted in the marines.”

“How’d they take it?”

“Just got too quiet. Sonny even tried to knock some sense into me but he got held back. And then they all filed out and there I was.”

Another silence that you spend not saying the wrong thing until he speaks again. “The only one who said a kind word to me was Fredo. Too stupid to know any better.”

"You wanted to follow your own path. I get it. It's not like you knew where it would lead."

He twitches, a fraction of a movement, like he’s responding to something internal that’s so unpleasant he has to physically shy away from it. He looks so old.

You say the one thing that has to be said: “I’m sorry about Fredo.”

He flicks at his cigarette so hard you think it’s going to break in half. You know exactly what happened, of course. It’s obvious to anyone who knows the intricacies of the situation. His own damn kids will know. “That’s rich. Apologizing to the devil for the fall of man.”

And now you’re out of words. You can’t exactly say it’s not his fault. The best you can do is, “I’m sorry things turned out this way.”

Finally, he looks at you, and it’s with those too-wide eyes, that look that proves he’s held a gun before. Suddenly he’s yelling. “SORRY FOR WHAT!? Sorry I lost everything? Sorry I RUINED everything?”

“Yes.” That shuts him up. Your frankness – that’s the one thing you have that can disarm him when all else fails. “You’re a good man. You love your family, and that has never changed. It’s a tragedy, how things got torn apart. I want to do something for you. I want to make this hurt less.”

“Well, you can’t.”

“I know. You need your family. And I’m…not. But this isn't about me. I'm just somebody.” You were never really a part of that circle. Not like Kay, and even then, even for her, even before she did everything wrong…she wasn’t enough. She didn’t pull him back.

Still. Doesn’t it mean something, that somebody sits beside him now? Anyone at all. He puts his head in his hands. Maybe if you hadn’t been here, he wouldn’t have bothered to do that. Maybe he would have just kept staring at those leaves until the sun went down, or until there was work to be done.

Instead, his head is resting in his hands, and there is a hand on his shoulder, too. “You’re not alone, Michael.” He can’t take it. He’s sobbing, because he is alone in every way that matters. You do not matter to him. So be it.

So be it if you cannot help him. You will die trying. So be it if you’re not enough to stop the pain. You live to make sure that someone, anyone, sees him.

You do not matter to him. But he leans into you anyway.

[yuckcuy]

batman audio adventures twoface is something else. like yes bbg have a bad trip due to penguin. cry bc ur coin is gone. beg bc you’re stuck on a flagpole. love that shit.