#but are actually just being selfish and projecting all of their failure into their kids

[sunshinechay]

Oh so she’s one of those parents…yikes

[heartsofminds]

‘cause no one breaks my heart like you

“Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore.” or Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though it’s hard to see). 

A/N: Okay so EXTREMELY long time, no see! I’ve been working on this little project since the end of September and have been driving myself crazy in trying to sculpt the words the way that I wanted and how to make this seem as realistic as possible. I appreciate every single person who has been so patient with me and my inconsistent posting and hope you enjoy 19k words of our favorite guy in the sky. 

(Year 3)

He loves me. He loves me not. 

He loves me. 

The strange thing about crying is never knowing when the tears will fall. There’s this burning sensation that comes with it; clearly juxtaposed to the watery mess your eyes want to produce. Your nose burns, your face is hot, and the all-consuming, mind-numbing squeeze of rubberband-like pressure around your temples makes you dizzy. 

Whether the dizziness is because of the crossed wires in your psyche (the hurt feelings and the busted-up ego that comes along with it) or the metaphysical spiral that sent you into a breakdown in the first place is up to your discretion. 

The thought pattern sometimes breaks you out of feeling so non-descriptively shitty. 

Because the thing about being a twenty-something that you’ve come to uncover is that life is shitty. Paying rent is shitty. Paying an arm and leg for a pilates workout is shitty. Office jobs are shitty. Office jobs that house cruel know-it-all men are even shittier. 

Shit, shit, and shit. 

You used to pride yourself on having a more extensive vocabulary than one filled to the brim with the swear word, but as of late, you can’t be damned to care. It’s not like anything you said at the office held any value to anyone anyway. 

You’re just a “kid” - “You and my sister are the same age!” And you’re also a woman; one of the fifteen employed by the grounds and building company you’re a consult for, and one of three on the fifth floor working on engineering consults and software materials for digital blueprinting. 

And the preparation for working in an environment like this - one where mumbled insults at the findings of a mistake on your colleague's draft or small comments about your body being made in passing (never enough to be called harassment, but certainly enough to make you question why it was even being brought up) - wasn’t new. 

The patent leather diploma propped up on the desk in your home office gave proof of it. Years spent with dreaded calculus exams and awkward office hours spent with even more awkward professors and snooty boys with poor attitudes served as the price you paid for the merit. 

So who can even be put to blame for thinking that you could handle it? 

The answer is definitely “you”, but accepting blame for these kinds of things - accepting the fact that in a way, you’re only reaping the consequences of your own actions - is never an easy thing to do. 

And your lips are chewed raw from all the intrusive thoughts plaguing your brain and sometimes you wish that you didn’t have this overarching tendency to view things from “outside of your body.” Sometimes being so critical inwardly kicked your conscience into a God’s eye perspective. 

The worry of if your work pants actually did make you look frumpy or if the makeup around your nose was caking like how it usually does if you blend it in before you let it get tacky. You worry if your hair sits the right way or if the secretary downstairs thinks you have a Dunkin’ Donuts addiction. And then that makes you worry if she notices the breakout forming on the left side of your face.

The worry then transpires from material to emotional and manifests in the form of the two things you’re most deathly terrified of; being a failure and being a failure who finds herself alone. 

Because what if you fucked around and lost the information to the three billion dollar hospital that you’ve spent the better part of fifteen weeks working on? What if you got fired because your bosses realized how inaccurate your math was sometimes? What if everyone was constantly laughing at you and that’s why you struggle to find a commonality with your coworkers? 

And what if, through this whole slue of hypotheticals that hadn’t happened yet but had the potential to happen, you found yourself in a position to be alone? What if your boyfriend - your darling, kind, and sweet boyfriend - finally saw you how you saw yourself? And what if what he sees makes him want to walk away? 

Bradley would never, you try and rationalize, but the more your brain tries to force the pieces of the jumbled insecurities to fit, you aren’t too sure. 

The fact that the same work colleagues who spark the flame of your self-doubt are the same age as he; thirty-somethings with wives and maybe a toddler or two. Your bosses who scare the shit out of you are in the same age range as the men Bradley knows and loves; his Uncle Maverick and Uncle Ice, and the commonalities are far-fetched but multiply the more you think. 

The more you torture yourself, really. 

And the excruciating rug-burn-like feeling slides its way from the depths of your stomach up your throat. When you were little, you used to imagine that it was slimy and plasmodia-esque. The Mucinex guy, you used to call it, and the feeling is so sickening and ugly and horrific, that the ugly little cartoon ploy almost seemed cute in comparison. 

You’re not really sure how your emotions caught up with you today. From how you run from them and shove them down and turn them off, you forget that you have feelings sometimes. 

But then you wake up freezing because Bradley took all the covers in the middle of the night and Dunkin fucked up your coffee and you spilled said fucked up coffee on your new work shirt that you know the stain is gonna be a bitch to get out. 

On top of that, your hair seems frizzier than what you remembered when you left the house and your lips are chapped with not a damned chapstick in sight in the abomination that happens to be your purse. 

David across the hall from your office says something about how you’re late and it’s probably because “You changed your outfit about six times. Know how you women are. My wife is the same way.” And that’s not the reason why you’re running behind at all, but you’re sure indulging in the fact that your boyfriend hopped in the shower with you uninvited and then proceeded to invite himself to bruise your cervix this morning isn’t exactly “safe for work” content. 

And your vagina hurts like a bitch because Bradley went too rough and the report you had filed was sitting on your desk with an intimidating note about how the numbers were inaccurate (“Fuck you, Michael and Rick from downstairs,” you think). 

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re so tired and that the cogwheels in your brain are doing that fucked up thing again where it sends you into overdrive and your entire body feels numb. Maybe it’s the fact that you know you can’t cry; that you can’t actually process what you’re feeling until after five when you leave the office today. 

But the burning sensation doesn’t go away no matter how much ice water you drink or how many times you excuse yourself to the bathroom to splash your face with cold water. 

It’s all one big, nasty, slimy feeling that clouds your conscience until you’re met with the front door of your safe haven; Bradley Bradshaw’s home. The sniffles scratch at your chest like a stray dog begging to be let in. The whimper you let out is pathetic and you would’ve laughed at yourself if you hadn’t been so concerned with getting inside. 

Fuck. Was unlocking Bradley’s front door always this difficult? 

Bradley can sense you before he has any indication that you’re home. He joked how he could feel you oceans away when he was on deployment and while you thought that he wasn’t serious (Bradley was a sap and had a tendency to be so tooth-achingly sweet) you know that there’s some truth to it. 

It was odd how he was always so attuned to your needs; how he could always tell how you were feeling before you were even aware that you were feeling it. It was something that you had raved to your friends about in the earlier stages of your relationship. It was also certainly something that they had witnessed on nights out at the club when visiting you in San Diego.

Something inside Bradley loves you so deeply, but he also can’t deny the fact that he loves the praise; the reassurance that he’s a good guy who is always doing the right thing. He’s not doing it for brownie points, “per say”, but the praise does feel nice, and after having to fight tooth and nail to stand out - to be someone and mean something to someone other than his family - the good deeds and the compliments that arose because of them were satiating enough. 

But if he’s being honest with himself, he had always been that way. Despite his innate desire to recreate his parents’ epic love story, being empathetic and filled with space to make homes of other people’s sorrow was just something he was born with. 

Nothing new, and nothing special. 

You force the door open and try and breathe; the cold air of Bradley’s living room hitting your face and the dry heat of Southern California constricting your lungs even more than they had been. You just need a moment, you think. You just need to breathe and you’ll be okay. 

In, out. In, out. In, out. 

Suddenly you’re too aware of your heart beating inside your chest; the anger and sadness and frustration demanding to be let out. You can feel your trachea eroding away with your sobs. Your eyes feel like salt had been poured into them. Your body is heavy with the weariness of your soul, and something about today’s events and your life, really, has made your legs feel like they weigh a billion pounds. Moving them would only land you flat on your face.  

And then you’re made aware of your breathing and your heartbeat is out of sync. The feeling claws your insides and makes every fiber of your being sting.

Fuck. 

In. In. In. In. In! 

Bradley rounds the corner where your hallway extends into your living room. He has a basket of laundry in his arms. His chest is admonished with a shirt with a comically stretched “UVA” logo. Under different circumstances (one where you could breathe, for starters) you would have laughed at him and his expression reads that he’s prepared for it; the slight smile line near his mouth is quirked up on one side being his tell.  

“Hey, baby!” he says before coming into full view of you. 

You can see the light in his eyes leave and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he drinks in your appearance. 

Your own eyes widen as you damn near suffocate in the doorway of Bradley’s home. Your sweet, sweet Bradley who you’re sure you’ve traumatized in the span of three seconds. 

You’ve had episodes like this before, but never in the presence of another person. 

They don’t happen frequently, and from various self-help Refinery29 articles and Google searches, you were certain that what you were experiencing - the sudden shortness of breath and the tunnel vision and the pent-up, white-hot frustration making your head woozy - was not normal in the slightest. 

And if it was anyone else you would tell them to get help. You would tell them that what they were experiencing didn’t make them any less of who they were before and that it would be absurd to define someone by such a small fragment of their experiences. But what you say to others is different than what you feel about yourself, because admitting there is an issue that you can’t solve by yourself is equivalent to weakness in your mind. 

Weakness isn’t something you’re allowed to show very often; not with Mikes and Bills breathing down your neck looking for something to boot your sorry ass out of the front doors of their company. 

Bradley recognizes the look you have on your face. It resembles that of new recruits during hypoxia training and even those unfortunate ones that experience g-lock while up in the sky. He’s had his fair share of freakouts and anxieties and he knows that the feeling is awful. Something inside the shelf of him breaks when he sees the same glimmer of fear in your eyes and a call for help on your face. 

He drops the laundry basket to the ground and rushes toward you. His feet move faster than his mind and if people on the base could see him now, it would be the last time they called him slow to react. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispers, softly grabbing your forearms and rubbing his thumbs over your wrists, “You’re okay. Breathe. Just breathe.” 

His grip on your forearms drops to your waist as he subtly moves you into the entryway of his home. You can feel the vacuum of air behind you as he reaches around your back to shut the door and lock it. 

Bradley’s pupils search your face for answers your mouth can’t give him. He sees the slight bloodshot hue in the whites of your eyes. He sees the slight flush to your cheeks and knows that the dewiness of the shade isn’t because of the heat outside or the blush he had watched you apply this morning. He sees the forced movement of your chest; your lungs overworking themselves to keep you standing. 

Your eyes are staring right back at him but your brain can’t seem to register that you’re safe. You’re home. You’re with Bradley. 

The longer he rubs his thumbs in the crease where your elbow meets your bicep, the more feeling you regain. Your heart rate has slowed a good deal and the air you’ve so desperately been engulfing has allowed itself to make itself useful to you. 

He shushes you and steps closer, engulfing you in a wrap that could envy that of a boa constrictor with its prey. He peppers the top of your head with small kisses and he makes sure your ear is pushed up to his chest so you can hear the thump of his heart. 

You don’t even realize that you’re crying until he moves your conjoined bodies so that his back is facing the door and you’re being held close to his front. Bradley slides down the navy blue painted oak so swiftly and carefully with you in his arms that you can’t even be sure when your view changed from his face to being at eye level with his coffee table. 

His hold is comforting and the dam that you’ve worked so hard to maintain all day has finally hit its peak of pressure and broken completely.

“You’re safe, baby. I’m here.” 

The sob that leaves your mouth is one that you don’t even recognize as yours. The last time you can remember hearing something remotely similar resonates in the memory of your niece throwing the biggest hissy fit ever known to man at her second birthday party last summer. 

Man, if only she knew that her competition was you instead of her new baby brother. 

“My sweet girl,” Bradley whispers into your hair, holding you as your body shakes so violently it jostles his large frame behind you. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Get it all out.” 

And you don’t know when the crying stops and turns into shallow sniffles or when the sky changed from its yellowed hue to the dark navy that usually blankets your late-night talks with the man behind you, but all you know is that Bradley Bradshaw is a saint. 

Your sweet, sweet Bradley who would stop the world from turning if that’s what you asked of him. 

Because it’s what you would do if he had been the one to ask instead. That’s how love works. 

He loves me. He loves me not. 

He loves me.  

(Year 4)

He loves me not. He loves me. 

He loves me not. 

Looking for blame was never your strong suit. 

But as you look outside the passenger window of an inherited Bronco on a chilly November night, the fingers you always seem hesitant to point uncurl themselves from your fist without resistance. You have half the mind to not actually point at the culprit of your anger who manifests in the form of the six-foot-one man seething beside you.

The radio is clicked off and the joyous laughter and cacophony of faux karaoke is absent in the midnight blue starlight. The windows are down despite the air surrounding the coast bringing the atmosphere to a standing fifty-five outside, and the wind from how fast your lover is driving taking the temperature down to at least fifty degrees even. 

Your eyes refuse to drink in his appearance for more than five seconds at a time because you know that you’re an angry crier who gets set off very easily. Exchanging looks with the fuel that set fire to the burning in your belly would not do you any good at this moment. 

When you had pulled on the pretty little cocktail dress and left Bradley to his own devices in the living room of your apartment, the thought of the anger brewing between you like a hurricane didn’t cross your mind at all. 

And how could it? 

In the four years of being together, there were a fair share of disagreements but nothing that wasn’t just a product of stress or small tidbits of jealousy and hurt feelings that brewed into something bigger than it was ever intended to be. They were usually resolved with a mature conversation on the floor of whoever’s living room followed by cuddles and on a few occasions, fervent makeup sex on the floor. 

It always gave you rug burn but you never complained. Having Bradley was something you craved so deeply that no consequence could ever outweigh the desire; even damn near purple knees and a sore ass from how domineering he could be. 

Love has a way of making the world stop turning. Nothing truly matters besides the feel of a warm body holding you in bed and the promise of sweet nothings weighing you down lovingly. That always is (at least in your case)  until too much pressure is applied and you begin to freak out - the ugly truth of how much love can hurt with each pained exhale that mimics simultaneous cries of pleasure and calls for help. 

“Does he really love me?” “Am I too much?” “Am I not enough?” 

Insecurities upon insecurities and you really have no true basis for why you think this way or why you feel like you will never amount to what Bradley deserves. If you’re being honest, it’s all a jumble of things and it reminds you of the ABC spaghetti-o’s you used to beg your mom to buy. 

Superficial and never really making sense, much like the word scramble of letters in your soup.

But despite you trying to tell yourself that you were being ridiculous - that the pit in your stomach that refused to move was nothing more than an overreaction - the ABC spaghetti-o mixture started to make sense of your anger and what may have caused it. 

And the insecurity you had felt that you tried to push down inside of you; tried to deny the existence that it was there and was, in fact, so excruciatingly real made way at Rueben’s wedding shower. 

It’s not like you hate being around Bradley’s friends - not like they’re strangers that you try and force small talk with so that the three-hour minimum interactions required for a get-together go by faster. Most of these gatherings have an imaginary itinerary that you’ve come up with and if you play the game right, you never come home with too bad of a hangover. 

The first thirty minutes will be spent giving side hugs and enthusiastic “Hey! How are you?”’s being tossed around. You’re always grateful that the years of sorority recruitment have prepared you for holding “safe” conversations; ones that don’t deter any deeper than being happy to see each other and the San Diego weather that never seems to change.  

Every now and again, one of the guys will hold up your left hand and inspect for an engagement ring before pushing Bradley’s shoulder slightly. A “You better lock her down before I do, Bradshaw,” nipping the air and making your cheeks turn slightly pink. 

Hour one will entail being tucked beneath Bradley’s arm as he sips a Budweiser and joins the circle of regulars that you often go to the bar with or host for dinner parties at his place. Mickey and Rueben will give you friendly exchanges and ask about your work and siblings. Javy and Jake will give you a curt nod and then start to babble away with your boyfriend about whatever hazing-like endeavor they’ll pull on the new pupils in their class. And sweet ole Bob will stand to the side with his hands in his pockets before offering to show you the newest picture of his two-year-old niece, which you graciously partake in viewing because she’s a cutie. 

You’ll slosh around the heavily poured margarita you’ve had in your hand for the past hour before Mickey will laugh and ask if you plan on drinking it at all, and you’ll give a faux introspective hum before shaking your head “no” and offering your drink to Bradley. And Bradley will ask what’s wrong with it and you’ll say it’s too strong and he’ll graciously take the glass and drop a sweet kiss on your temple.

And when he downs the drink with no grimace at the shit ton of tequila and triple sec poured into it, you’ll make note of how the margaritas you make at home are probably more of a mocktail than anything to him. You’ll then marvel at his ability to handle his alcohol, and recall asking him one time at the start of your relationship if a high alcohol tolerance was required to join the armed forces. 

Hour one and a half would be spent with Natasha kidnapping you from the group of aviators Bradley has concerned himself with. “Sorry not sorry, Bradshaw. We got stuff to talk about,” she’ll say and then drag you across the room to another corner of aviators (thank God they’re all women this time). And then you get another round of “Hi! You look so good!”’s thrown at you and a mojito to replace the margarita on account of Cali. The funny stories of hookups and boyfriends paired with all the constant belly laughing are reminiscent of college roommates after a night out at the bars. 

Hour two will include drunken karaoke (even if there isn’t a karaoke machine in sight) and some kind of serenade from Bradley. He always goes to the piano willingly (though it’s always anticipated that dear old Rooster is bound to end up there if the instrument is available) and he’ll pretend like he doesn’t enjoy it, but you know that his ego is inflated by everyone singing along and the praises sung to his playing. 

Hour two and a half will bleed into hour three and usually ends with people starting to head out and “See you tomorrow!” being tossed around. Nat always gives you a tight squeeze and holds your shoulders before making you promise her to get lunch sometime soon. You’ll agree even though you know that your schedules will never align and it more than likely won’t happen, but the drunken stupor you’re both in creates a bubble of extroversion that neither of you can seem to put a cap on. 

Bradley then takes you back to the car and turns on the radio. He’ll look over at you lovingly before kissing your forehead and rolling all the windows down. He knows that the sea breeze has made the air chillier than the number displayed on the weather app in your phone. You’ll groan as he gives you a, “C’mon, baby. You know I run hot!” with that cute laugh and head-shaking smile, and then you’re off down the interstate back to Bradley’s home, where you’ll stay the night and leave out back to yours around the same time he gets up for training. 

That’s how the itinerary usually goes, and the comfortability of it all keeps you sane and acts as a warm blanket that keeps you distracted from the sheer differences between your boyfriend and his world.  

But tonight was different, and the minute you step into the lavishly decorated venue, you know that your unofficial itinerary has no room to unravel despite the massive square footage of the party taking place around you. 

You recognized Natasha alongside the other female aviators that you were friendly with but certainly not close to. Because of the occasion at hand, a few girlfriends and spouses were also huddled around them including Rueben’s fiance, Izzy. 

And somewhere between the three glasses of champagne you had and Izzy’s stories about how she and Rueben were secretly “trying” but didn’t want anyone to know (you’re not sure how it’s a secret anymore because she blurted it out to her soon-to-be husband’s coworkers, but truly to each their own) planted a cherry pit of insecurity in your stomach. When you finished your glass of champagne and took note of how dizzy you were, the insecurity started to grow into the slimy monster that you were familiar with. 

Then came the picking yourself apart. 

Your eyes found the glimmer of engagement rings, baby bumps, and phones with family pictures as the home screen. Wearing your undergraduate alma mater’s class ring on your finger seemed infantile, and you made the conscience effort to slip it into the clutch you had been carrying with you the entire night. 

Phoenix noticed the sudden stiffness in your spine and how your eyes had a glimmer of sadness in them; how they held sparkles of wishing that you could relate. It’s a look she remembered having during her time in flight school. And because she had taken it upon herself to act as your big sister turned good friend since you’ve been dating Bradley, she knew that you wouldn’t speak up or excuse yourself from the conversation. 

Because you, much like her and so very much like Bradley, would rather suffer in silence and let the thoughts of not feeling good enough eat you alive until the joys of who you are become eroded to make room for the sorrows of who you aren’t. 

It came as a surprise to feel her hand guide you away from the giggling women to the front table housing cupcakes and plastic water bottles with the cheesy Canva-designed “Hitched to Fitch” labels replacing the ones they had come with. 

“Thank you,” you said, and she only nodded before handing you a bottle and grabbing one for herself off the table. 

“M’gonna head to the bathroom and then go outside for a bit. Meet you there?” she asked and you agreed, your hands busied trying to twist the cap off of your water bottle. 

Phoenix disappeared and your eyes started to search the room for Bradley. You’d even be satisfied to see some of the familiar faces that you’ve come to know via pool at Hard Deck or biweekly group dinners at your boyfriend’s house. 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you scanned the room and realized that you didn’t see anyone you recognized for that matter. Instead of doing the smart thing and texting him about his whereabouts or trying to get some kind of idea about where he may have disappeared to, you did the opposite and headed outside to the back area where the sky swallowed any light in its darkness and the greenery around you smelled earthy. 

The November breeze chilled your bones and it took everything within you to keep your teeth from chattering audibly. You internally scolded yourself for being insistent that you didn’t need to bring a jacket to wear with your cocktail dress. When the wind chill had been brought up when you were putting on your earrings, Bradley had only shaken his head and laughed before making sure to put on the baby blue suit coat of his that you loved. You both knew that you’d have it across your shoulders come nightfall when the sun had set and the late fall wind chill kicked in.

The back of your heels dug into the blisters that had formed sometime during the evening and your champagne-induced mind can’t force you to walk any farther. And your intention was never to wander off and not let anyone know. It was to find Bradley and get some air, and you fell short in finding your boyfriend, so the latter had to do for the time being. 

Thoughts of the Law and Order episodes you watched leisurely slammed themselves into the forefront of your mind as the thought of a dangerous predator sent shivers up your spine. You chewed on your lips and crossed your arms over your chest; half thinking and half trying to preserve your body heat. You took a small step forward before your action was interrupted by the loud cacophonous laughter of the men that made up your boyfriend’s friend group. 

You smiled fondly and decided to wait a moment longer before making your presence known. Not very often do they get to joke around like that. 

“She’s letting you hit raw and you still haven’t knocked her up yet?” you heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Jesus, Fitch, are you broken?”

You can hear Bradley chuckle along with the other males making up the group as you remained standing hidden behind the archway of the garden. If you had common sense, you would hit the gopher of your curiosity on the head like some dumb carnival game and would reveal yourself; softly joining in on the conversation and maybe even getting to put a face to the voice you had just heard. 

But instead, you stayed put and tried to flip through the catalog of voices that you had come to know. 

Reuben was ruled out because the statement was about him. Mickey’s voice was naturally quieter and softer in nature. “Hit raw” would never come out of Bob’s mouth ever. Hangman is an actual menace to society, but would “Never use the Lord’s name in vain, sweetheart. Was raised better than that.” And Javy was on leave visiting his family in Ohio for the next three weeks, you remembered Bradley mentioning earlier. 

So who could it be? 

An instinct - that old know-it-all voice that was cemented into your subconscious from years of mistakes and warnings from your mother - told you that the curiosity would actually kill you this time. Part of you thought it would be best if you found the bathrooms and waited for Natasha there. Your frozen toes and embarrassingly hard nipples would certainly thank you, but yet you do the opposite of what your panicked brain is telling you (one thing that the ABC spaghetti-o’s made clear to prevent you from getting your feelings hurt).

You had decided to snoop some more and God, did you wish you could beat yourself upside the head to forget what you had heard. Maybe a concussion wouldn’t be that awful. 

And by the time Natasha caught up to you, you had thanked God that the night sky concealed the sadness written on your face and that the cool air could be used as an excuse for your sniffles. 

Bradley, your sweet Bradley, had betrayed you, and he wasn’t even aware of how deeply that had cut you yet.

As you and Natasha made your way to the group of men huddled outside, you could feel the energy from Bradley shift, and from one look at you, he can tell that something in you has changed. His eyes are softened from both the scotch in his system and the tenderness he held in his heart for your being. Something in you just won’t allow his hazel irises to bleed into you. You already have enough blood surrounding the metaphorical stab wound that he unknowingly caused you tonight to last you through the goddamn week. 

He had reached out to bring you into him and tuck you into his front and wrap his arm around your torso. He knew that you were freezing and his suit jacket had been abandoned inside so blocking the wind with his body was the next best thing to warm you up, he had thought. His hand had grazed the goosebumps on your arms, but you pushed him away forcefully. He didn’t raise the question out loud, but when he turned to face you and saw the red tint on your cheeks and the straight line your lips were in, it confirmed what he had thought. 

You were pissed off. 

The thing about Bradley, though, is that he’ll never bring up someone else’s issue with him. He’s confrontational at heart but only about things that cut him deep; about things that stain his fingertips red with anguish and disappointment. And he knows that he has a lot of problems. He knows that what you had heard had to be beyond upsetting, and as you stood shivering with your arms folded over your chest and a good three feet put between you and him, he noted that the look on your face was something that he had caused. 

But because he’s him and because you’re you, he decided to let you come forward and let you confront him with your problem because the absolute last thing he ever wanted to do was upset you, and he certainly fell short in avoiding that scenario tonight. 

You stayed quiet and distant for the rest of the night. Your smiles and hugs and sarcastic quips were kept to a minimum and everyone noticed that something was off with you. When you had given Reuben and Izzy their parting hugs, he had whispered in your ear to “feel better soon.” Izzy had even made an effort (despite how “off her ass” drunk she was) to comfort you, and it was then that you realized that everyone had noticed you but Bradley. 

Your sweet, sweet Bradley who always happily obliged to love you and make you feel known and seen no matter the cost, but clearly, that was short of a few oceans away and the contempt of what he had done took precedence of the space you held for him in your heart now.  

All the realization did was piss you off more. 

Bradley had tried to give you his suit coat but you had just brushed it off your shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Normally, you would profusely apologize and declare that the action was an accident, but you simply watched it fall, raised your eyebrows in a gesture of being unamused, and started making your way to his car. 

He had opened the passenger side door for you, but you stared at him; a look of utter silent disbelief and frustration rampant in your eyes. He couldn’t even process all that he was seeing reflected in your face before you reached your hand out to slam the very door he opened. You slung it open again before damn near hauling your body into the leather interior of the seat. 

He had half the mind to subconsciously reach out and shut the door for you until you started angrily buckling your seatbelt, to which he ultimately decided to back away and round about his vehicle with half caution and half emasculating retreat to the driver’s side. 

The wheels of how you were acting and how he could even begin to tread the water of what exactly had made you so painstakingly angry. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t speak to him. You didn’t even acknowledge him, and through the years of being an only child with a mother who doted on him like no other, Bradley had to admit that he was selfish; that he always wanted attention and always had to have it. The older he had gotten, the better he had become at concealing this, of course (Well, that’s debatable, you would have said if you were speaking to him) but he doesn’t like to share. Never likes to be pushed aside to have to make room for something else if he can help it. 

And his thinking is selfish…and absurd…and a “doorway for toxicity” (all things that his therapist had said before Bradley had stopped seeing him because he hates being called out), but he can’t help it, and despite keeping it at bay in his friendships, he certainly has a more than difficult time keeping it concealed in his relationships. 

Bradley blames the scotch he downed before he said his goodbyes on why he felt so wounded; on why the guilt and embarrassment were eating him alive. Everyone had known something was wrong with you and it hurt his confidence that he couldn’t be the one to pinpoint what exactly had caused your sour mood. He certainly had an idea, but he’d come to learn throughout the years that assuming things would never do him any good. 

The wound you had given his ego was further agitated by your show of slamming the door as soon as he turned on his heel to go to his side. Knowing eyes in the parking lot of the venue had made their presence known with hushed whispers and heeled footsteps walking faster to avoid running into him. 

Your anger angered him, and instead of being open to the idea of criticism and accepting his party in making you miserable tonight, his need to deflect kicked in instead. Old habits die hard, and he just couldn’t resist.  

He knew you would always forgive him; would always say sorry and mean it because you love him. He has a right to be mad too, he had thought. You let his suit coat fall to the ground on purpose. You refused his touch. You slammed the door to his Bronco not once, but twice. If anyone had a right to be angry, he knew it was you but who was to say that he wasn’t a second runner-up? 

Bradley knows that he was so incredibly wrong for trying to play you; trying to play chess when you weren’t even aware that there was a game being played, but so help him God if he got into a massive blowout fight with you in the goddamn parking lot before the night was over. 

And he’s pissed off but he isn’t an asshole (at least he doesn’t think he is intentionally). He settled for keeping his mouth shut because he knew it would keep your anger at a minimum with less material to be upset at. 

He backed out of his parking space and put his hand behind your headrest, his fingers lightly grabbed the ends of curled pieces of hair that wrapped themselves on the wrong side of the seat. You can feel the wispy touches and you tried your best to shrug him off. 

The ghost of his fingertips on your body drove you up the wall. Instead of harshly pulling your head away from him, you bend down to unbuckle the strap of your heel. You were sure you almost saw the tail end of a frown when you had come back up, but he was absolutely the last thing you wanted to look at for the time being. 

You could feel his stare on your face. His eyes traced your collarbone and followed the labyrinth of shadows up to your jawline. The temptation to give him some grace, to entertain his worries for just a second rang the bell inside your heart, but you were stronger than that. You deserved better than that. 

He didn’t care about you in front of his coworkers, so why should he get the privilege of caring about you now?  

Bradley, obviously attuned to your every move and gesture, sensed your subtle attempt at fleeing from him. He never knew how far away someone could feel from another despite being stuck in the confined space of a front seat.  

He could tell that you were digging your heels in; doing your best to avoid him and remove your brain from the peanut butter-thick tension that plagued the scene. It didn’t stop him from searching the side of your face for answers - for any indication that the metaphorical distance you’ve created between you two actually exists and isn’t just a figment of his chronic overthinking. 

The radio was tuned to some 80s throwback station, a Bob Seger song that you knew the melody of but certainly not the words to, which filled the uncomfortable silence. The age gap between you and your boyfriend was further cemented as he sang the song quietly as if he had written it himself. 

You’re sure you would have spiraled all the way down to the abyss located in the treacherous unknown of the Pacific Ocean if you were given the chance to. Anywhere would be better than here, you had thought. 

Bradley’s hand slipped to the heat to turn it on amidst the chilly fifty-degree fall air that had you shaking in the passenger seat. Your anger was so rampant and rage-induced that your body felt like it was on fire. Your annoyance has no place to go, as he didn’t even bother to lower the windows in the car this time. He had known that the routine of you two going out was thrown off, and trying to keep a small sliver of expectancy would do you both no good. 

Bradley could be so observant yet so self-absorbed at the same time, and it drove you absolutely nuts. 

And you started to spiral and the heat that was being blasted in your face crafted a tornado of grievances that you weren’t even aware you were holding against him. 

Bradley is a blanket stealer. He always gets the wrong kind of grapes for you at the grocery store. He can never tell the difference between Alexandra Cabot and Casey Novak no matter how many times you force him to watch Law and Order: SVU. He always gets an absurd amount of water on the bathroom floor when he showers. He never fills up the Brita filter after he uses it. He always places his shoes sideways on the rack near his front door; not quite crooked enough for you to say something about it but always slightly slanted enough for you to notice it. 

Most of all, he hurt your feelings tonight and he had yet to acknowledge that he was the cause of it. Yet here he is, trying to get in your good graces because the guilt of knowing that he had done something was chewing him up and spitting him out currently. 

So attuned to your needs but never to your feelings. Same old Bradley. 

His hand traveled to the bare skin of your knee; his large palm cupping the bone before moving it upward so his fingertips could trace the shallow gaps where your joints were relaxed. Your breath hitched in your throat and if it would have been acceptable to scream - ie; your boyfriend not currently driving you both across a narrow two-lanes-of-traffic bridge over the ocean - you would have. 

His touch burned you. Made your heart volcanic. Sent fiery tears streaming down your face. His touch had betrayed you. Made you small. Made you insignificant. Made you feel like he never cared. 

If you could’ve caught a glimpse at yourself you would know that you were beet red. You could feel yourself visibly shaking with anger and you knew Bradley could feel it too. You smacked his hand away as if you were smacking a blood-sucking mosquito off your body in the suffocating heat of June. 

Except this wasn’t a mosquito. This wasn’t the soft glow of a summer sunset with a pesky little bug slurping down your blood. This wasn’t a fond moment that you would laugh at later.

You’d been bruised; so deeply hurt. Made to feel so goddamn stupid for ever thinking that he loved you. That he respected you. Fuck him for making you feel the same way you do at your 9 to 5 every weekday. 

Bradley reached and turned the radio off. The deep exhale and the pink flush that crawled up his neck was his tell of truly being pissed off. You had only seen it happen a handful of times. Most of the time Maverick or Hangman served as memorable faces to cause the reaction. 

But this time, the time that extended your handful into two handfuls, was because of you. Part of you is prideful of that fact. Now he can feel what you’ve felt the entire night. 

“What the actual fuck is your problem?” he griped at you. He shifted in his seat and his left hand gripped the steering wheel significantly harder. “Been acting like a pissed-off toddler all night.” 

The desire to roll your eyes bated you with knowing it would satiate you in getting your point across. But the desire to do him one better, to see if you could irritate him more, took over. You know that nothing gets under Bradley’s skin more than someone taking the high road; someone one-upping him in his “noble and kind” act. 

“I’m not starting a screaming match with you in the car,” you deadpanned. You heard him huff beside you, still avoiding his presence with your eyes. 

“Would rather you fight with me than take an oath of silence.” He cracked his neck and stiffened his back against his seat. “More grown-up ways to go about telling me you’re mad, you know.” 

The anger ran up your spine and reared its head in your ears. “Hmm,” you sneered pensively, “More grown up than my pussy then, huh?” 

Bradley slammed on the breaks of the Bronco. His sudden change in speed caused you both to jerk forward. He thanked God that the road was dark and no one was directly behind him. His abrupt decision could have resulted in disaster. But even if someone would have rear-ended his prized possession, his biggest fear at the moment would have to be the fact that his suspicion was confirmed.

You had heard them and that’s why you were so royally pissed off. 

He simply swallowed and pushed his foot on the gas pedal, the car slowly starting to move forward. He turned the radio off completely and his raised brows to signify that he was deep in thought. 

How the hell was he going to get himself out of this now? 

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

The scoff you let out rumbled in his ears; eardrums rubbed raw from how accusatory the pitch of your laughter sounded. “Does it fucking matter that I did?” Your voice sounded thick and the puff of air you blew out of your mouth told him that you were seconds away from angry tears. 

“You’re laughing, Bradshaw but what about that youngin’ you brought tonight? She even old enough to drink yet?” his friend and old squadron partner, Yankee, had laughed. 

Bradley had forgotten how loud-mouthed Yankee could be. Completely unafraid of asking the questions everyone was dying to know the answers to and unapologetically crass (even more so than Hangman, believe it or not). Call sign given to him by how goddamn opinionated he was about the MLB and how much of a ride-or-die fan of the New York Yankees he was. 

Yankee was one of those people who you didn’t tell your personal business to because he was bound to have some opinion about it; whether it was if he could tell that your flight suit was slightly stained or if you were making the right choice about proposing to your long-term partner. 

Come to think of it, Yankee was one of the friends Bradley had that he was sure he would never be caught dead hanging out with one-on-one. Something about the two never aligned. Bradley never found Yankee’s jokes to be funny and more often than not found his demeanor to be beyond annoying. But he can't help who his friends liked, and Yankee had never brought anything up against Bradley that made him want to beat him to a pulp, so he was found in the same hand-shaking and bar-hopping circle of friends with Yankee until the other pilot was moved to Corpus Christi. 

“Hey, Rooster’s girl is at least twenty-three. Old enough for a master’s, but can’t hold her liquor for shit,” Hangman declared, sipping the Budweiser he had been holding by its neck. 

You stuffed Bradley’s suit coat that was sitting over your lap on the middle console; desperate to have any part of him away from you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until you felt your tears fall into the dip of your collarbone.

The anger and sadness that bubbled inside you warmed your insides; turned your volcanic heart into lava. The heat from the vents of your boyfriend’s car blasted in your face and made you feel even sicker than you had previously. Your thighs stuck to the worn leather and itched due to your increased adrenaline. 

You fidgeted about in the seat. Bradley adjusted his posture, leaning his head on his fist that rested on the window sill on his left side. He wanted to drop the whole thing. He wanted to return back to your good tequila-shot-induced moods before the night turned to shit. 

He flipped the heat to a lower setting when he noticed your discomfort next to him. He haphazardly leaned over to close the vent on your side before he saw them; the tears streaming down your face and the pitiful pout adorning your lips. You looked so hurt. So broken. So done with him. Like maybe, just possibly, the love you had for him had finally given out. 

He figured no one was to blame but him. 

He tried his best to make you comfortable but the silence looming like a shadow from your side of the car sparked a wick of anxiety inside of him. His hands kept adjusting the temperature and checking your face as he turned the knob back and forth, the temperature going up and down. The air vents opened and closed as if they were playing some infantile game of peek-a-boo with you. 

“Jesus - fuck -, Bradley,” you hissed, “Can you quit it?”  The tears had turned from anger to sadness to annoyance and you wondered if it was possible for the primary purpose of tears to switch that quickly. 

Bradley let out a soft sigh before flicking the heat off completely and rolling down both windows. “Sorry.” The meekness on his face wrote regret for all that had taken place. 

“You don’t say,” Yankee joked, “Ole Rooster’s been scoping out the playground still, I see.” 

The group of men laugh, none of them in the know of the impending doom of the night about to take place. It always started like this with Yankee. One second, everyone would be laughing and having a good time. The next, he would say some “balls-to-the-wall” asshole-ish comment that even made Hangman grind his teeth in their offending nature. 

“I would say more ‘Babysitters Club’ and less ‘Sesame Street.’ Have to at least be in middle school now for Bradshaw,” Hangman fires back, and although the jokes being made about his taste in women and dating habits were being made fun of, nothing truly offensive had been said yet, so Bradley continued to laugh and nod his head with subtle “Fuck you”’s thrown in every now and again. 

Bradley had been in the Navy since he was twenty-one years old. He knows the way that Navy men talk. He knows the way that most Navy men think. “Swear like a sailor” is the common saying and the various time he’s spent on deployments or on carrier ships provided that it was true. He certainly isn’t blind to the nature of how these men viewed women from how they talked about them when there weren’t female ears around or when they didn’t have a warm body to go home to at night. 

And he’s not proud of it - knew that his mother and father would bury him alive for some of the things he’s said - but the guilt of his parents’ imminent disapproval had since been disbarred from his conscience. When it came down to it, no one gave a fuck who he had fucked the night before or what he had said about the women he was sleeping with. Not when he was miles away from home in an undisclosed location on a suicide mission with no one to go home to if he happened to make it back.

So many other people whom he had befriended felt the same way and Bradley had figured that this is why locker-room talk still exists in the military. Some of the things he heard he was sure could have been said at a random run-of-the-mill suburban high school in any part of the continental United States. All that was changed was the bass in the voices and the number of hairs on their chests. 

It’s hard to be polite when preserving your life is the action item at hand. 

“You know Bradshaw, I always knew you were smart,” the other pilot swishes around his scotch on the rocks in his hand, “They’re always so horny when they’re that young.” 

Laughter rang around the room and he joyously partook in it. “Well, I do get laid pretty frequently if you may ask,” he added before taking a sip of the beer he had in his hand. 

His gaze caught Bob’s eyes. Sweet, innocent Bob who thought the world of everyone. Sweet, innocent Bob who knew that Bradley was digging his own grave, but continued sipping his glass of red wine. The gawky metal frames that rimmed his friend’s eyes bore into his soul, almost magnifying the wrongfulness of what he was saying. 

Bradley had broken their eye contact, his arm coming up to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat and a shaky hand bringing the neck of his bottle up to his lips. He had known that Bob would never say anything, that he wasn’t one for confrontation or calling people out even when they deserved it. But that was the good thing about Bob. He always let people make their own mistakes and never really offered much to say about it afterward. 

“I knew it! You seemed looser than the last time I talked to you.” Bradley catches Bob’s eyes again, his friend’s eyebrows slightly raising in a scolding manner. “Now tell, she the tightest pussy you’ve ever had?” 

The atmosphere thickened as the side conversations had come to a screeching halt. He would be lying if he told himself that the lump in his throat was from the lack of water he had drank that night rather than the uneasiness of knowing he was in the wrong. 

And he knew he shouldn’t. He knew that he should keep his mouth shut; that he owed you the small price of privacy, that you wouldn’t like the mechanics of your sex life being discussed with men who were probably making paper mache volcanoes for their middle school science fairs when you were born. He knew that Bob wasn’t giving him a warning look for no reason and that Mickey didn’t wander back into the venue for no reason at all. 

But despite his better judgment (or lack of coherent judgment at all), he opened his big, fat mouth. He had sped up the ends to his means without hesitation; without regard for your feelings. 

“Tightest thing I’ve ever put my dick in.” 

His friends nod their heads and laugh. Some of them chuckled to avoid the awkwardness and others in agreeance with what was being said. 

Bob scooted himself closer to Bradley and shook his head with a deep sigh.  “C’mon, Rooster.” A clammy hand had come to lay gently on Bradley’s shoulder.

He had pretended not to hear him. He knew the minute that he let Bob’s words register that he would drop to his knees and beg you for forgiveness. He hated peer pressure. He hated the way he was acting. He hated the way he was treating you behind your back. He hated the way his friends were laughing. 

He hated himself more for doing it because you deserved so much better. But clearly, he didn’t feel bad enough to stop. 

The sobs that wracked your chest shook you like an earthquake. The more you pondered on why he would say the things that he had said - why he would laugh and demean you behind your back - sent you into a frenzy. 

Had he always thought of you this way? Were you always talked about so grossly? So demeaningly? Were you really anything to him other than a warm vagina to pummel his dick in when he was horny? 

The questions remained unanswered as you tried to stifle your cries. You hated crying in front of people anyway, but crying in front of Bradley always made you feel awful. Tears always made him uncomfortable and your tears made him upset. Whenever the waterworks started from you, he drove himself mad trying to remedy your issue. You had used to think it was because he cared, but now you started to wonder if it was because he didn’t know how to tell you that he didn’t want to deal with it; that you were being a bother. 

Your hand is bitten raw from trying to hold in your pathetic cries. The alligator tears that ran down your face at a rapid speed and the shaking of your shoulders did little to mask the fact that you were sobbing. Years of being told that your emotions would hinder your credibility at work, months of pent-up frustration, hours of disrespect, minutes of unkindness, and seconds of insecurity create an atomic bomb on the merits of the lesson you had been told throughout your entire lifetime; there will never be enough room for your emotions. 

And you believed it. You took people for their word. You made narratives and internalized them from how people acted. You read between the lines and the margins of what you interpret carve doubt into your heart; carve the failure that you’re so deathly terrified of so close to your lifeline of needing to please everyone all the time. 

The trait is toxic - an unfavorable condition - your therapist would say but it had become such a compulsion, you’re sure you would die without it. Something about approval is so intimately invasive and the shower thoughts you conjured up while thinking about this never seemed to uncover the answer as to why. 

Why it matters. Why it doesn’t matter. Who the fuck would even care. (You, of course, but the world is so much larger than you are and your selfishness would be disappointing, you think.) 

You wish your boyfriend could read your mind and see the twenty-five cent bouncy ball-like thoughts hitting every crevice of your brain right now. You wish that your hurt feelings could be seen by him with x-ray vision or some fictional superhero-like ability. Most of all, you wished that he had known that the events that had taken place throughout the entire night were tearing you up right beside him. 

If he felt that way about you, felt like you were around just for your body and not for you, what did everyone else think? Was Natasha only friendly because she thought you were too immature to be left alone at gatherings? Did Rueben and Mickey actually give a shit about what you had to say when they asked about your work? Did Jake and Javy even know your name? 

Did your boyfriend even like you? 

The questions imploding like fireworks in your head made you cry harder, and you couldn’t help but let the sobs out now. Bradley looked over at you. His hand brushed your knee, his palm cupped it and his fingers spread out to rub soothing circles on the lower part of your thigh. 

“Don’t cry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he begged, his voice quiet. Small. Unsure. All the things he had made you. “Please don’t cry.” 

The rubber band inside of you finally breached the capacity of tension it was able to withstand. The fact that you needed comfort more than anything and the person who usually supplies it for you with no bounds is the one who is violating that comfort made your head spin. 

“She’s got that young pussy,” Yankee continued. “Gotta fuck ‘em before they turn into moms. Not as tight anymore.” 

Bradley’s ears turned red upon hearing Yankee’s declaration. Knowing that you fucked up and realizing that you fucked up are two vastly different things and the realization hit when he heard Jake Seresin (of all fucking people) tsk and shake his head. 

“That’s fucked up, man. Have some respect.” Ever the Southern fucking gentleman. 

The sandy-haired pilot’s mouth gaped open before closing; the words loose in his psyche but ceasing to exist in real-time. He finally thought that he had a handle on what he wanted to say. Something noble. Something dignity preserving. Something along the lines of “What the hell?” and “Shut the fuck up.”, but either or never making its way out between his lips. 

Waiting for the perfect moment that never comes, he thought, and upon further internalized reflection, he realized that it posed itself as true. Jake wasn’t entirely wrong for saying that about him all that time ago. 

The clicking of heels on the ground announced Phoenix and his dashing girlfriend’s presence with the group of men and snapped Bradley out of his thoughts. Something in the way she was carrying herself, something about the way that her crossed arms over her chest blocked her usually sunny aura, told Bradley that something was wrong. 

He brought his lips down to her ear when he hugged her from behind and almost built up the courage to ask what was wrong. But he fell short when he was called away to do another round of shots with Rueben and Natasha. He had settled for a kiss to your temple instead before he bolted off. 

“Fuck you,” you manage to spit. 

Bradley raises his eyebrows. The curse word sends him into immediate fight or flight. “What did you just say to me?” 

You know that you’re teetering the line of too much. Toeing the line of immaturity. Testing if your boyfriend liked you enough to put up with your explosion of emotions. “I said fuck you.” The definitive tone in your voice that you attempt scares you with how much it resembles your mother’s. 

Bradley scoffs and squirms in his seat some more. His inability to sit still is his tell of guilt. “I told you it wasn’t like that.” 

“What the fuck else was it supposed to be then, Bradley?” Your head snaps to look at his side profile. 

The cream-colored polo shirt that you had bought him months ago was worn tonight with a different ending in a mind; one where he sped home and kissed your lips swollen and then had you withering beneath him as he fucked up into you on the wall of his foyer. Certainly not the narrative that was currently unfolding in front of him. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

Now it’s your turn to laugh cruelly. “Well, what I didn’t want you to say was that I was the tightest thing you’ve ever stuck your dick in? That I’m insatiably horny? Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?” You turn your body to face him completely, heart beating in your ears and chest starting to heave with the upset of Bradley’s attitude toward you. “How the hell is Jake Seresin defending me before you even thought to?” 

“Leave him out of this.” His face turns red and anger starts to bubble over inside him. Rooster always sweats whenever he gets flustered; so pissed off and angry that the heat inside of him has nowhere to go. The muggy threshold of the heat being flicked on minutes before pairs vexatiously with the aggravation that sits between the both of you. 

He rolls the windows in the car all the way down but remembers to roll yours down enough for the smallest gusts of wind to be let in. Even though you had made him angry and he knows that you’re completely justified in the case that’s been built against him, he still cares about you. 

He knows that you never like your window being all the way down unless the heat of the summer is unbearable and you were going on a beloved sunset drive with him; your shared playlist playing through his speakers and the top of the Bronco being taken off. 

The way that your hair dances in the wind remind him of when you’re carefree enough to lean your head backward outside of the car while driving down a backroad, the words of a Paramore song exiting your lungs with such clarity that he could question if Hayley Williams had written the song or you. 

But it’s not the heat of mid-June’s sunburn heating up his cheeks and your screams aren’t accompanied by the laughter of him poking your sides. Summer-salted air is replaced with a frigid fall breeze and your happy moods are burdened by your own frustrations. 

“Wish I could tell you the same about our sex life, but obviously too little too late.” 

His hand comes up to wipe at his nose. His eyebrows are furrowed. “What the fuck do you think we talk about then? Huh?” Bradley’s pointed tone sends a slight sliver of fear down your spine at his annoyance. “Do you think we sit on those fucking carrier ships in the middle of the fucking ocean for eight months at a time and talk about what? Girl power and Title IX? How much we love AOC?” 

The tears dripping down your face continue to fall. 

“I’m not saying that you have to sacrifice your conversations with the “bros” about jet fuel and g-forces and whatever the fuck else you always seem to insist is so goddamn important, but my vagina is not a conversation topic to have over a fucking draft beer with your buddies.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes at your mention of the word “buddies.” If only you knew how he really felt about Yankee. 

“And I’m so fucking sorry that my lack of not wanting to be disrespected disrupted what you think is a party conversation starter. Would you like my apology half-assed like yours or sincere with a complimentary blowjob because that seems to be all you think I’m good for?” 

“I said I was sorry and I meant it!”  

“You said you were sorry because you want me to accept your apology, but what next, Bradley? Are you actually gonna fix it?” 

He rolls his eyes and lets out a deep exhale. “Don’t act like I won’t do anything you fucking ask of me,” his hand comes up to rub at his temples.“ I love you more than life itself and you know that.” 

“So why are you acting like you don’t then?” 

He starts driving down the stretch of road that leads to his home. The yellow glow of the street lights makes you want to ask him to take you back to your place. You can’t stand to be sitting next to him in his car's front seat, let alone sleeping in the same bed with him tonight. 

“Take it back,” he says dismissively. 

“Show me different and maybe I’ll consider.” He pulls the car into his garage and you throw the door open before he can come to a complete stop. 

“Hard to when every little thing that slightly offends you sends you into a goddamn spiral.” 

Your weakness. He’s got you there. 

“Fuck you, Rooster,” you say weakly, stomping away inside to his bedroom as fast as you can with the heels you have on. 

“Grow up,” you hear him say behind you, hot on your tail before turning around to head to the kitchen. 

You spend the next two hours separate from each other, toeing around the house petrified of seeing the other’s face. No fight you had gotten into with one another had ever been this bad in the four years you had been dating, and part of you wonders if this is how relationships begin to fade; how people start to realize that maybe their person wasn’t their person. 

But you think Bradley is it for you. You’ve always felt that way since coming to know him. Be with him. Have him in the same way he has you. You don’t think you can function without him no matter how much of an ass he’s being to you right now. And sure, you’re independent to a fault and yeah, you don’t always know what’s good for you, but you know one thing definitively, and that thing is that Bradley Bradshaw checks all your boxes despite driving you slightly insane at times. 

You look up at yourself in his bathroom mirror as you finally scooped yourself off of the floor of his bedroom and made the decision to scrub your makeup off (or what was left of it after your meltdown, really). The patch of stress acne near the side of your forehead from the new project you had been put on at work and the ball of anxiety over what to wear to the wedding shower tonight made itself known. You realized that you had run out of makeup remover and face wash at Bradley’s house a couple of days ago, and the regret of not bringing some or asking him to drop you off at your own apartment started to settle with the burden of your hurt feelings and the freakout your skin was bound to have come tomorrow morning. 

A sigh had left your mouth and Bradley’s bathroom cabinet opened as you decided to skip washing your face in favor of only brushing your teeth. But when you go to grab the lilac-handled toothbrush from its holder, you notice the two brand-new bottles of makeup remover and face wash that you certainly didn’t bring, and then you’re reminded of how sweet your boyfriend can be. How caring he is. 

The soft spot in your heart that he owns starts to warm again. 

After you manage to wash your face and brush your teeth, you run into the problem of only bringing a sleep shirt. Bradley keeps his house on sixty-five no matter the weather outside. He always claims that he runs hot despite some of the wind chill San Diego experiences at night during the fall and winter months.  And while you have clothes at Bradley’s, most of them fall into the business casual garb you wear to work or are borrowed (more like stolen, he likes to joke) and no matter how cold you may be, your pride has so much more precedence than it would allow you to give in. 

Bradley’s Chicago Bears hoodie sits folded in your designated drawer, but you bypass putting it on. The embarrassingly large t-shirt (albeit free t-shirt) that repped a random student organization from your undergrad institution would have to do tonight. 

You waltz out of Bradley’s bedroom quietly. Not only to go undetected, but to be polite in case he had already fallen asleep on his declared refuge of the couch. The soft sound of Breaking Bad playing told you that he was still awake. He can never fall asleep with the TV on; no matter how tired he is. 

“Baby?” Bradley calls out from the couch. 

Shit. Were you really that loud? 

Your feet move faster than your brain; something about Bradley is so magnetizing. You’ll follow him to the end of the Earth if you knew that he needed you. Your puffy-eyed, pantless form moves to stand in front of him. His form still wears the clothes he had worn tonight. The only thing different was the UVA throw blanket you had gotten him last month “just because” over his lap and his printed airplane-socked feet sticking out from underneath it. 

Your gaze looks towards the shoe rack near the front door and you chuckle to yourself as you see them exactly how you imagined them. Tucked away where he wouldn’t trip on them, but slightly askew. 

His hand comes up to grab yours that lies limply at your side. “C’mere,” he whispers, testing the waters to see how much damage he had done. 

You give his hand a small squeeze, the coldness of yours allowing you to feel every callous on his palms. “Jesus, you’re freezing.” 

He opens the blanket on his lap and guides you to straddle him. He closes the blanket and immediate warmth covers you. Bradley’s hands sit on your lower back above your tailbone, soothing circles being rubbed on the bone there, and his head coming to rest on top of yours. You breathe in his scent, your face snuggled into his neck. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” he speaks and you exhale. You bite your lip, the tears welling up again and wetting his neck. 

“It’s okay,” you weep brokenly. “I’m sorry, too.”

He presses gentle kisses on the top of your hair. The sadness that fills the room; the culmination of utter sorrow and confirmation of your insecurities makes the room heavy and eats away at you. Bradley does his best to comfort you until your sobs quiet to hiccups. 

And as much as you love Bradley, as much as you want to be satisfied with his apology (or lack of a sincere one, thereof), you realize that sincerity was perhaps not one of his defining characteristics. But instead of calling him out, you so stupidly and cowardly accepted it and apologized right back.

He’s apologizing for the sake of saying sorry. For the sake of diminishing your anger. For the sake of being able to be truthful about never going to bed angry if someone asks. For the sake of doing so because if you accept, he’s still allowed to stay the same and he never has to change.

But you’re saying sorry for being a nuisance. For embarrassing him. For bruising his ego and for being accusatory that he never gave a damn about you. 

And what you don’t realize is that you should really be saying sorry to yourself, because while you’re boxing yourself up to make space for him, he’s not sorry about forcing you to do it. 

Boxes are heavier when they’re filled with resentment, you learn, and the weight becomes unbearable when sorrows are thrown out to sea with no lifesaver near in sight. 

Love is all about sacrifice and banged-up feelings; even if that means that the love of the man you would do anything for suffocates you as you lay curled into his side with a heat made by his chest and his soft snores in your ear. 

“Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is patient. Love is kind.” 

And for the first time in the four years you had spent together, you truly start to wonder if Bradley really does love you. The hot coffee on the nightstand when you wake up and the discovery of his thermostat being turned up to seventy degrees confuses you when you get up to head back to your apartment in the morning when you compare his treatment of you now to he had treated you the night before.

He loves me not. He loves me. 

He loves me not. 

(Year 5) 

He loves me. He loves me not. 

His mother used to tell him that women always knew. 

And she would say it over the sound of a cheaply made General Hospital episode that she had taped so they could watch it together during their evening “wind down time.” His pencil would be scratching away at a Calculus problem from the AP Calc booklet his teacher had passed out at school that day and the soft clink of his mother’s knitting needles would grace his ears. 

He would nod his head as he sat by his mother’s feet on the floor of their living room and wouldn’t say a word. The cocoon that the soft yellow glow of the lamp gave off wrapped him in a moment of security; a moment of comfort that he was never allowed very often. 

And he had never really thought anything of it at the time. He had figured it was just some chock-full wisdom that would blossom into a useful tool for his adult life; one where his mom wasn’t dying and he was married with maybe a few kids and a beautiful house with a backyard and a bay window. 

“Women always know,” his mom said as the female lead had discovered her husband cheating on her long before she had traveled home to catch him in the act. 

“Women always know,” his mom said as she would catch him trying to sneak a girl into his teenage bedroom at half past three in the morning. 

“Women always know,” his mom said as she comforted him when she had declared to an eighteen-year-old Bradley that she no longer wanted to continue with chemotherapy. She died not even two days later.

“Women always know,” he can hear his mom’s voice in the back of his head as he watches you tiptoe around him when you come home from work. 

The door closes with a soft click and your keys are grasped tightly in your hand to prevent them from jingling. The bags underneath your eyes beg the question of when the last time you had gotten a full eight hours of sleep was, but you both would rather not inquire out loud. 

The answer would shock both of your consciences. 

The tossing and turning you had done the night before was cruel. The anxieties of your day had breached unknown territory; the pit of your stomach hollow and your chest tight. Your mind was so frazzled with fear you couldn’t bear to stay still because the lack of movement gave way for your thoughts to be caught; for your fear and anxiousness to swallow you whole. 

Bradley would normally stir in his sleep the minute your eyes had popped open in the middle of the night, but instead, he had elected to turn over and cuddle his face more into his own pillow. The action tacked itself onto the mile-long list of things you were upset about - things that you found unfathomable that your brain scrambled together. 

And when you had finally gotten to sleep, your alarm clock blared beside you. Your heart had started to race and the monster of nerves you had successfully defeated for an hour and a half resurrected itself. 

When you had turned to face Bradley, you found him still fast asleep and that’s when you knew. 

You’re not stupid. You’re not oblivious. In fact, you’re always so painfully aware that it kills you sometimes. You notice how he’s been pulling away. You notice how he’s seemed more reserved and despondent than usual. You notice how he doesn’t kiss your forehead anymore or ask to join you in the shower when you’re both spending your mornings at home together on the weekends. 

Conversations at the dinner table are neither here nor there as most nights he can’t be damned to make it home to eat with you. For the first time in five years, you had run out of face wash and had to write a note to yourself on your phone to pick some more up from the store the next time you went shopping. Bradley had watched you type it out and his sagging shoulders wore disappointment on them. 

You knew. 

You knew he was both feet out of the door with your relationship; his hand still on the doorknob to close it but not having the guts to lock the door while he’s at it. 

You know. 

You know that you’re going to break up. You know that Bradley is the one who will be taking the initiative and doing it. You know that he’s been thinking about it for a while. The absent gasps whenever you do happen to catch dinner with him say so, and all you can think about is his mouth opening and closing like a goddamn goldfish as he searches for the words to bring it up. The thought makes the actions of the inevitable seem more bearable. 

But yet you cling to what little time you know you have left with him. 

How you know that you’ll never get to sleep beside him again. How you know that you’ll never get to snuggle into his UVA blanket. How you know that you’ll never visit the Hard Deck or the base or any spaces where Rooster Bradshaw exists freely. 

How you know that things will never be the same and that your sweet, sweet Bradley will soon become a sweet, sweet stranger. 

So you try to prolong it. 

You never linger in the same space as him for too long for fear of the dreadful topic being brought up. You bite your tongue a lot more than you usually do. You keep your stuff neat and tidy; praying for some miracle that he didn’t see your hairbrush on his bathroom counter and that it would buy you another day with him. 

You know it can’t last forever but the stupid, naive part of you thinks you can stretch the time to infinity and it’ll be some Groundhog Day-type plot. 

You had started planning your arrival home around his schedule months prior. You aimed for leaving the office when you knew he had already left base about an hour earlier. If Bradley was anything, it was predictable, and he would either be in the shower when you had made your way home or cooped up in the home office he had made of the spare bedroom. 

You nearly jump out of your skin when you see him standing in front of you; hands drying the ceramic plates Penny and Mav had bought you as a housewarming gift whenever he bit the bullet and moved you both into his parents’ old house last summer. Gray running shorts are low on his hips and a New York Yankees long-sleeve looks damn near painted on his biceps. You swallow the lump in your throat that travels down to your stomach. 

Your brain can’t even begin to think of what to do or say but Bradley beats you to it. 

“Hi,” he speaks, breaking the ice of your anxiety that freezes you both over. He knows that you can feel that something is off. He knows that you’ve felt it for a long time. He also knows that he’s about to shatter you completely and he’s not sure if he can watch as he does it. 

“Hi,” your voice quietly sounds. Your hands start to shake and Bradley’s eyebrows upturn with sympathy as he drinks in your appearance. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He places the plate down and steps towards you. “C’mere.” 

His arms stretch to accommodate you. His heart beats wildly as he approaches. He thinks you can sense it because you slam your ear against his chest. There’s no way you can’t feel the rise and fall and frenzied thumping coming from his pectoral. 

“Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her,” his heart begs, but his brain knows that either way, hurting you is inevitable. 

He wishes there was another way but he knows wishful thinking will only put you both in a landmine of resentment; a world of a loveless marriage and three kids who will eventually have to pack their bags for their respective weekends with you and him on opposite sides of town. He doesn’t want that for you. He doesn’t want that for him. He sure as hell doesn’t want that for them. So he pushes aside his selfish desire to keep you close and does what he always does. 

He decides to walk away. 

“Just get it over with,” you say weakly from his chest. He plants a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. His thumbs rub soothing circles on the backs of both shoulders. Your stomach is cold and the rest of your body is left scorching. 

“What are you talking about?” his chin comes to rest on top of your head. His hold on you unintentionally shoves your face deeper into his chest. 

“Don’t make me say it. Please don’t.” 

“I can’t talk about it unless you tell me what you’re gettin’ at, babydoll.” 

“Don’t play stupid, Bradley,” you release yourself from his grip, “You’re going to break up with me. We both know it so please, just do it already.” 

The words that you say steer clear of the convoluted plan he had in mind. Breaking up is no easy task and the guilt of the thought even crossing his mind had been weighing on him for ages. It wasn’t like he sat down with himself and crunched the numbers of the housing market to see when the best time would be for you to move out or that he had a set itinerary of how the conversation was going to play out. He wasn’t even sure he was going to do it today until you had left for work, and it seems to him that you had figured it out without having to mention it to you. 

Women always know. 

“Don’t say it like I’m just trying to throw you away.” You flinch at his words. He realizes that his tone had come off more aggressive than he intended it to be when he notices the slight watering in your eyes. 

“Isn’t that what a break up is?” you want to ask, but you’re so stunned you can’t get your vocal cords to carve out the shape of the letters, let alone thrust any sound out. 

He takes your hand and leads you to your shared bedroom. The white duvet and navy blue bordered throw pillows remind you of when he used to take the time to hold you before you fell asleep at night. The hardwood of the floors tell the secrets shared between the two of you as hushed and giggled whispers; pointless gossip and serious confessions alike. The framed pictures on the dresser show you and him in various moments of your five years together. 

Easter spent at your parents’ with your siblings and nieces and nephews this past spring. Thanksgiving with Mav, Penny, and Amelia three years prior. A selfie you forced him to take with you at Phoenix’s wedding last year. A candid shot taken by one of your friends of you two curled up on the beach; blissfully in love and lost in each other’s eyes at the start of your relationship. 

The photos and the room had seen so much of you two. Various deployments and promotions. A canvas of emotions and intimate moments. Laughter and tears. Petty fights and teenaged makeout sessions. So many things that had written the story of you and Bradley long before you had moved in and long after. The thoughts of the memories fill you with excitement. 

But the thought of him not feeling the same way - the fact that he’s bringing you to a room with the story of you both written exclusively in every crevice to end things - brings a waterfall of tears down your face. 

The story of creation and its impending graveyard. 

Another pang of anguish surges through you and the coldness in your stomach spreads to your feet. 

He sits down on the foot of the bed first. He looks up at you with worry written in his irises. Bradley can sense your discomfort; the sadness and panic bouncing off of your aura in waves of deep indigo blue - the color that he’s assigned depression. He doesn’t know why (and he thinks that if he were you, he would slap himself across the face) but he offers his hand to you. 

There’s no hesitation and his hand guides you to sit on his lap like how he always does when you’re upset and need comfort. 

You sit down and push your face into the side of his neck. The stinging sensation from the hot salt water tears leaking into a cut he had given himself from shaving that morning makes the nature of the situation all the more realistic. This is the last time he will hold you like this. This is the last time he will know you as well as he does. This is the last time he will ever have the chance to make you miserable. 

Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore. 

But the feeling of disappointment is just so intense this time. He’s sure it doesn’t even fall within the scope of what could be considered “hurt feelings.” He would classify this as torture, and he can’t help his own quiet sobs racking his chest as he holds your crying and shrunken-in form in his arms. 

“I don’t want to break up, Bradley,” you weep, “I just don’t want to.” 

He shakes his head and wipes his own eyes. “We need to.” 

There’s something so personal about failure. It’s not a stranger to you. It’s not a monster or fear or the Mucinex man that you try to boil it down to be. It’s something that you can’t obsessively try to avoid anymore because it’s right here in your face. 

Except this time, it takes the shape of Bradley’s red-rimmed eyes and gray hairs on the border of his hairline that you hadn’t noticed before. 

Bradley isn’t one for bragging. He can’t stand bragging, actually, and he wonders if that’s why he has such a hard time trusting his judgment. He considers that to be the reason why he’s always teetering on the edge of uncertainty, but he knows deep down that this time, he’s right. He’s so spot on and as much as it kills him, it would be more of a crime to deny it than to just admit that he’s right.

He knows it. You know it. He’s sure God does, too. 

 “No, you want to,” you stubbornly sniffle. 

Ever the most hard-headed person to exist, but a sweetheart when it comes down to it. He almost cracks a smile at your attitude, but then he runs into it like a wall of bricks. You’re breaking up. This is the last time he’ll ever get to see your bull-headedness in full effect. The thought makes him whimper and he prays that you didn’t hear the infliction of it in his voice.

“That’s not true, sweet girl,” he sighs, fingers tracing the seam of your work pants, “I can’t make you miserable anymore. We need to.”

“Who said I was miserable?” 

He pauses. He knows that the statement he’s about to make will send an uncomfortable chill down his spine. He knows that it’ll make him feel that way because he’s being called out. 

“I don’t want to get married and you do. That’s miserable.”

Your ears burn more than they already had because he’s right. You’ve been waiting around for a stupid diamond on a stupid gold band; for reassurance that he wants you to be his as much as you love the idea of being his forever. 

Five years and you know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Five years and you compromise regularly about what to keep the thermostat on. Five years and nine weddings you had attended with him. Five years of loving each other and knowing one another in ways that only fiction writers can dream of having someone know them. Five years of feeling like you would die without him. 

Five years and he’s ready to throw it all away because he doesn’t think you both want the same things. Five years down the drain.  

You think being kicked in the face would hurt a hell of a lot less than this does. 

“Uh-uh. No,” you say. You paw at your eyes with your hand ferociously. “No! You don’t get to do that. You know that’s not fair!” You spring up from his lap like he was a fire that had just licked your skin with white-hot heat. 

He grabs at your wrist, his eyes pleading with you to not leave him. His touch burns you but you give in. “It’s not fair to keep doing this to you.” His arms envelop you once again and you feel like you can’t breathe. 

You push at his chest. “This isn’t fair.” Your arms try and pry Bradley’s arms off of you. “You can’t - I can’t just let you throw us away like this. It’s not fair!” 

Bradley swallows down the lump in his throat. His eyes produce more tears the more he watches you struggle against him. He’s scared that if he lets you go that you’ll lose it completely. Part of him knows keeping you near is helping him hold it together too, but he tries to rationalize the overall shittiness of the entire situation by telling himself that he’s appealing to your needs - that you need him, but he also knows that he needs you. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers into your hair. 

“Then why are you hurting me?” The question explodes in the air, It’s something that he thought he was prepared to hear from the pep talk he had given himself on the ride to work this morning, but it still stuns him.  

“I’m hurting you by keeping you with me.” 

You scoff and cry harder. The fight inside of you hasn’t ceased yet. Such a stubborn girl, he thinks. It’s one of the things he loves the most about you. 

“You’re hurting me now.” 

Bradley swallows his comment. His mind ping pongs back and forth, back and forth, back and forth on how to tell you why he knows this is for the best. The truth is, he doesn’t know it. He just thinks it, and the worry of having to follow his instincts, to have to be guided by something so material and un-cemented, scares him to death. But he knows that you deserve the word and the world is something he knows that he’ll never be capable of giving anyone. 

“You deserve someone that will marry you.” The words taste bitter in his mouth. “Someone who will make you so happy that you won’t even think of us anymore. Someone who can give you that house in La Jolla and a huge wedding and babies and a dog.” 

“Someone who won’t blow up in flames while they’re in the sky,” he almost adds, but he closes his mouth instead. The conversation was already heavy. There’s no need to tack on his death that is always in the cards. 

“I deserve you,” you say, tone dripping with determination and assurance. 

He’s full-on sobbing now. “You deserve so much better, baby. Why can’t you see it?” 

You chew on your lips so hard that they start to split. The salt of the blood in your mouth is vile but you would rather taste that than the tears that have been roaming down your face. 

“Why can’t you just be better then?” 

He feels like you stabbed him in the heart. He guesses that he deserves that. “I can’t be better if you deserve the world. I know I can’t give you that.” 

The room fills itself with hiccuped breaths. His heart cracks and yours disintegrates. Bradley moves himself to the headboard to support his back. If you weren’t so concerned with your world crashing down, you would have made a joke about how his age was catching up with him. But trying to force yourself to smile feels like a crime. 

Bradley has experienced loss. He’s experienced disappointment. He’s experienced heartbreak. He thought he was prepared for what he was choosing to do, but he never had thought of how he would feel when he was experiencing all of these things at once. 

His abs hurt from how hard he’s crying. The hair on the crown of your head is soaked from his tears but you don’t mind nor do you notice. The chest of his long sleeve is stained black from your own tears. You both cling to each other even though being close is what causes you to ache. 

The bright white of the linen duvet reflects cornflower blue in the moonlight. Your throat is dry from your heaving. His head hurts from his racing thoughts. Both of your eyes sting uncomfortably; you seeing the world as if you were underwater. Not only because of your uncontrollable sobbing but because the focus of your life - the love you so willingly gave that has illuminated your world for the past five years - has finally dimmed. 

The hours spent holding each other felt like seconds and you finally muster up the courage to say something; to put on a brave face and revel in one of your lasts with him. 

“Bradley?” you croak. He clears his throat and presses a timid kiss to the top of your head as if he’s scared that his lips are more of a weapon than a tool of comfort. 

“Yes, baby?” 

“Will we still be friends in a few weeks?” 

He sucks on his lips. He wants to say that you’ll always be friends. That no one that comes after you will ever hold a candle to you and what you both had. That you’re his beginning and end, but he can’t keep dragging you along with a false promise of giving you what you actually want. He can’t make himself want to be a husband even though he knows that it’s what he needs to be to keep you. Wanting you just isn’t enough anymore.  

The risk is contemplated, but he never wants to prey on you and your vulnerability. He settles for the safe option. 

“Depends on if you still wanna be, sweet girl.” 

You plant a soft kiss on the wet spot on his chest your tears have created. The answer is sweet but not what you want. You wish it would’ve broken his resolve; would’ve reversed your relationship ending. You know that he knows better than to do that. 

The silence sets in again before you speak up. 

“Bradley?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Will you still call me every night before I go to sleep so I can hear your voice?”

“I can for a little while, baby.”

His answer is the right thing to say, you know, but you can’t help the fact that the statement breaks your heart even more. “Why only a little bit?”

He sighs. You’re not making this easy for him. “Babe, you know why.” 

“Right,” you whisper, shifting in his lap to wrap your arms around his neck. You peer into his eyes. The hazel in them is dimmed. There’s no sparkle left. “M’sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he reassures, “Just think that maybe that won't be healthy if we do it for too long.��� 

It kills him to say that, but he knows that he’s doing the right thing. It certainly doesn’t feel as such, and he would think that nearly twenty years of service in the Navy would help him separate the bad feelings from the nobility. 

Breaks up just don’t work like that, he figures. No amount of experience or preparation can concoct an easy way out where no one gets hurt. 

He gets lost in his thoughts before he hears your voice again. 

“Bradley?”

Broken. Timid. Inquisitive. A test to see if he still cares enough about you to answer. He knows how you are and that you’re reverting back to old patterns that you had lost during your time with him. He has to push aside his feelings of being slightly offended that you’ve put the wall back up so quickly, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s done enough damage to last a lifetime. He just wishes that you didn’t think he could fall out of love with you this easily. 

“Hmm, baby?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“My best friend too,” he exhales, the pang in his chest valiant in letting him know that this is the end, “Always will be.” 

You pause and tailor your next statement carefully. Part of you takes it slow to prevent yourself from breaking down again but part of you takes your time to keep him near; to keep him from walking away from you. And you don’t want to do this to him. You don’t want to anger him or upset him and that’s the fucked up thing about it. 

He’s hurting you and you don’t want to hurt him back. 

“Yeah, but what happens when you date another girl and she’s your best friend instead of me?” The thought makes your skin crawl and you dig half moons into the skin of your hand with your thumb to prevent yourself from letting out a chest-wracking sob. “What am I supposed to do then?”

Bradley sighs. The thought of you moving on is selfish but he knows that it’s inevitable. He wishes that no one will ever get to know you the same ways that he’s gotten to, but shakes the thought as soon as he realizes how selfish it is - a declaration of love or the right answer. 

He does the latter. 

“You’ll find someone who’s an even better best friend than I am,” he sniffles. He hadn’t even noticed that he had started crying again. “Someone who doesn’t make you cry.”

Your breath hitches and it triggers more tears to stream down your face. He’s hurting, too. You never want to see him hurt like this, but then you realize that after today, you will never have to ever again. The thought makes your body ache; withdrawal symptoms before any withdrawal had actually begun. 

“You promise we’ll still talk?” you speak in a watery voice. 

“Yes, babydoll,” he wipes his eyes and sniffles some more, “ We’ll still talk.”

You start to play with his hands. Your finger runs across a faint scar on his index, the freckle on his pinky, the empty space where you wish a gold wedding band would be on his ring finger. The tips of your own fingers start to burn when you realize that his disinterest in ever wanting to wear one is why you’re breaking up. 

You push the thought to the side and continue on in the conversation. 

“About life stuff?”

He gives a soft chuckle, the one he usually gives you when he’s playing into your amusements. Part of him is never serious when he does it, but there’s a new wave of promise that he has to keep. 

“About anything you want.”

The crying dies down again. The energy in the room is constantly going up and down like the waves on the beach near the back of the house. 

“Bradley?” you interrupt the quietness again. The lack of sound makes you even more anxious than you already are. 

“Yes?” He curses himself as the statement leaves his mouth. He knows you’re picking apart his lack of use of a pet name; that you’re convincing yourself that you’re an inconvenience to him and that he never cared for you the way you wanted him to. 

Bradley almost tacks one on, but the pause between adding it and answering would have been too broad and you would have noticed and called him out on it. He decides against it. He also starts to wonder when he became so decisive all of a sudden. 

Turmoil does that to someone, he guesses. 

“My heart hurts so bad and I don’t know how I’ll fix it.”

The energy in the room spikes again. The tension you can feel radiating off of him like an unbearable heat makes your eyes water. Crying was something you did often but not something you enjoyed. You’re in for some long, painstakingly miserable months, you think. 

“Mine does too but we’ll do what we always do, right?” You shift in his lap and curl into him more. You know he’s right, but it doesn’t mean that what he’s saying is what you wanted to hear.  “We’ll figure it out.” 

“I - I don’t think I kn-know how to d-do that anymore.”

He moves his chin from the top of your head to actually look at you. He had been avoiding it for the fear that he would be too cowardly and would retreat back to keeping you in this miserable, hopeless search for a marriage that he was never planning on partaking in. He can’t go back. He can’t undo what he had just done. Even if he were to announce that he wanted you to stay, it being brought up in the first place will forever have torn an irreparable hole in the fabric of your relationship. 

Bradley’s hands cup your face and he smacks his lips on your forehead. He thumbs away the tears that had been endlessly streaming all night. He rubs soft circles back and forth on your cheekbones. The pressure you get in your cheeks from crying always gives you a massive headache, he knows. 

The fact that someone else will know that about you sends him into a spiral of guilt. A spiral of weakness. A spiral of wanting to undo what he had just done. 

But he doesn’t. 

Do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing. 

And so he does. 

“Bullshit, baby. You’re the smartest woman I know. You’ll figure it out.” Truthful words, but not truthful feelings. He’s never been good at deciphering those. 

“Bradley?”

“Yes, baby?” 

The words get stuck in your throat. You never want to make him feel bad because you know how hard he is on himself. You’re not sure if saying what you want to say is even worth it but - from the way he’s holding your face, from the way you’ve gotten to know and love him, from the way that he will always be your sweet, sweet Bradley -  you determine that he needs to hear it. 

“You’re the kindest man that I know even though you stomped on my heart.”

He sends you a soft smile and delivers a soft kiss to your lips; the first one of the night despite being so close to him all evening. 

“I learned how to be because of you.” 

You don’t know how long you both stay like that - wrapped up in each other with waves of tears coming and going as they please. The soft whimpers leave your mouth and the sniffled breaths that leave his paint each corner of the bedroom with an ending. 

One where you don’t get the ring and the house and the babies. One where he doesn’t get the girl and the family and the happily ever after. One where you both don’t have a soulmate anymore. 

He knows that he shouldn’t say it. He knows that it’s probably the last thing you want to hear. He knows that he’s not ready for you to leave and he says it hoping that maybe, he can take back what had happened; that maybe you can steer the conversation in talks of staying together and compromising and “working it out.” 

“I love you. I’ll always love you.” 

You look up at him brokenly. His heart stops beating when you open your mouth to speak. 

“But you’ll never love me enough to try.”  

Bradley closes his mouth and exhales deeply through his nose. The point you made is compelling and it stings to know that it’s completely truthful. He sits with you on his lap, subtly rocking you back and forth until the sky turns from the midnight blue of nightfall to the yellow-tinted wisteria of sunrise. 

Women always know. And he would be foolish to pretend like your gut feeling was wrong. 

He loves me. He loves me not. 

None of it matters if he doesn’t love you enough to be what you need.

[onlyplatonicirl]

i like how your fanfic shows how horrible of a parent ink would realistically be

I’m glad :)

That’s something I try to go kind of in depth on in this fanfiction, which is taking a lot of the more “non canon” aspects of character interpretations (Ink being a parent, Error/Ink as a relationship, Fresh and PJ having a friendship, yadda yadda) and I kinda turn them on their head a bit and subvert expectations and try to see how those tropes would realistically work with the characters while keeping them actually IN CHARACTER.

Error/Ink in the tags? Oops jumpscare it’s not really an errink fic cuz they “break-up” (to put it lightly) in chapter 4 and basically hate each other for the rest of the 200,000 words. It’s not a shipping story it’s a tragedy looking into an aroace trying to better understand how other people work for his own slightly selfish motives and a man who is so desperate for company and attention after being alone for DECADES that he becomes nearly dependent on the emotional validation of the one person that actually seems to remotely give a shit about him.

And also realistically, the multiverse would not approve of them even being friends in any capacity. It’s always slightly pissed me off when I’ve read fanfic and Ink’s like “guys me and error are friends/dating/whatever” and everyone else is like “ok.” Wdym you aren’t gonna start WWIII. It’s an inevitable (har har) failure doomed from the start.

(Something I also enjoy a out this story is that with minor tweaking you can read the whole thing as them just being close friends - the “romance” is not a crucial part, but it does help emphasize character development with what I’m trying to write.)

So along the lines of trying to keep the characters realistic, yes ink would be a shit parent. Not on purpose and not because he doesn’t care, but because he just as a person with his horrid memory and low emotional tolerance/processing would just not be good for raising kids. Plus, he’s always traveling for his “job”, rarely would he actually stay at home for longer than a day. He treats his house like a fun sims project, free plot of land to build a crazy house for fun. He didn’t design it for much more than that, he’s not living in it full time after all.

Plus that fucked up both his kids. PJ’s become callous and wary around anyone he doesn’t know that well mostly due to having to figure things out and deal with things on their own. (Council. He doesn’t like them.) He’s nearly had to raise himself age 8 onward since Ink wasn’t much help. He just wanders the multiverse by himself. Unlike gray, who’s a total shut-in nervous wreck who barely leaves his room u less dragged by the ankle. PJ’s basically had to raise Gray as well. Neither of them have ever met Error (aside from PJ’s “birth” and a brief run-in on another occasion in which no words were spoken and that lasted maybe thirty seconds before Error ran away in terror).

I cant Write so many essays on these guys do not try me HAHAHA

Tldr I’m mentally ill about character development and emotional depth exploration

[rwbyazre]

How about Emerald’s backstory?

Emerald and Mercury, and even Ilia in a sense, were all written to have similar backstories that go along the theme of being failed by those who were meant to protect you.

Emerald was born in Vale City to a single mother. All her life was spent in poverty, as they lived in the downtrodden area of the city away from the city centre and Beacon. Her childhood home was actually not too far from the apartments that Cinder is using to hide in now.

Her mother was also a thief who taught Emerald all she needed to know to survive, installing the mentality of putting yourself first since no one else will help them.

As a kid, Emerald didn't believe that people were that selfish, and constantly tried to reach out. But each attempt only ended in failure. Emerald started to grow more and more jaded, and her mother constantly telling her that she was stupid to believe in them, that she wouldn't be anything, that Faunus like them can only cheat, steal and survive, Emerald started to embody them.

When she was around nine, they became homeless after being evicted from their home and lived on the streets. Emerald would steal things to eat, clothes to replace her old ones, and eventually started stealing things like jewellry to sell on or keep for herself.

She was caught at eleven and quickly arrested. Her mother was meant to keep an eye out while she broke into a closed store after hours, but when the alarm went off and the police arrived, her mother ran and left Emerald behind.

So, that solidified Emerald's mentality of protecting herself. She was given a lenient sentence and put into the foster system, but every home she was put in, she ran away. Eventually, the social workers stopped trying to look for her, and Emerald was on the streets onwards.

Only once did she try and go to the White Fang for help, but left when the other White Fang members objected to her inability to work with them.

She stayed on the streets, moving the cities to avoid police, until Cinder found her at seventeen. Finally, she felt that someone not only understood her, but loved her truly, and started to devote herself to Cinder and her cause, just wanting to be a part of something.

She was with Cinder for about a year and a half until Mercury joined, as Emerald and Cinder tracked him down to actually recruit Marcus, but only arrived in time to see his house on fire and Mercury crawling out of the wreckage.

Like with Mercury, there's a few tidbits I had for Emerald too:

She's bisexual, though her love for Cinder is a motherly desire than a romantic one, since Emerald projects her issues with her bio mother onto Cinder.

Like Mercury wearing her emblem on his belt, she has his on her belt buckle.

She's multilingual, picking it up on the streets while running with a few groups.

She's an asp Faunus to play into her Cleopatra look.

The red gem necklace she wears was her mother's. It's the one thing she kept after being arrested.

She's actually allergic to gold, which is why she only wears silver jewellry and pawns off any gold she steals.

She was taught how to read and maths by her mother, and is actually really good at maths.

[ericamzdm]

Adora as Audience Surrogate

So, here’s the thing.

A lot of protagonists in kids TV (and elsewhere) aren’t characters; they’re Audience Surrogates^. The things that are presented as characterization - wants, feelings, fears - aren’t actually meant to be descriptive; they’re not trying to paint a picture of a specific fictional person.

Instead, they're a kind of cold read of the intended audience - OG Adora wants to protect the innocent because you, audience member, are kind and brave and would certainly stand up against injustice if you ever saw it. James Bond is cool and calculating because you are clever and level-headed. Bella Swan is clumsy because everyone trips and drops things.

Audience surrogates are a vague collection of positive traits, because the lack of specificity allows a broad swathe of humanity to see themselves in the glossy reflection.

They have foibles (which are harmless and relatable) but no meaningful faults, because very few people see themselves as truly flawed.

They are static, because to change a character who is “just like you” is to make them no longer quite so much like you.

They are unmotivated - either lacking in wants, or wanting an undefined “something more” - to allow the audience to read in their own desires.

They are a generic flattery, a pretty “just like you” hollow shell for the audience to ride around in for a while.^^

And SPoP’s Adora superficially fits that model! She’s the main character. She speaks and acts confidently. Her failure of focus and reflexes in the final moments of evaluation is treated trivially, a harmless foible. People act like she’s always been like this - this charming, heroic, destined figure. She is told that fulfilling that destiny is what she wants, but she clearly wants “something more”.

We, as viewers, have been primed to view her as our surrogate, a Good Person, someone who is just like us. Someone we can project all the positive traits we have or wish we had onto. Someone to inhabit as we live out our fantasies of heroism.

Which leads to a lot of dissonance when, eg, Adora aligns herself with an overtly malicious authority figure, acts intensely threatened by her ex’s success, and, you know, assaults and imprisons said ex for not playing the helpless damsel to her liking.

Because Adora is Super Not an audience surrogate - she is a deconstruction of one.

Adora projects a vague “heroic” persona, not because she’s heroic by authorial fiat, but because she is terrified that failing to do so will result in instant rejection; that without that candy coated shell, she has no value.

Adora is static (over the course of the show she experiences staggeringly little character growth), not because she’s already perfect, but because her refusal/inability to meaningfully examine and process her feelings and beliefs leaves her trapped, endlessly repeating the same harmful, self-destructive behaviours because she thinks the problem was just that she wasn’t doing them hard enough.

Adora presents herself as faultless and blameless, as not having a choice. She insists that she should only be defined by her heroism and righteousness, not her selfishness or hurtfulness. But that is Adora, the character, not the text or the narrative voice. Adora defends herself, excuses herself, grants herself absolution - but the story never does.^^^

Adora is unable to articulate independent wants - but she still has them. They bleed through all of her actions, and are outright stated (As “needs”, “likes” or “fears”) in bits and pieces during her moments of self-insight.

Adora is “hollow”, not because her internality has been excluded from the text to aid audience self-identification, but because within the text she suffers from severe self-alienation. (And she is not just like that; she used to be different - she used to acknowledge the abuse, she tried to fight it - but ultimately, she succumbed to the lie that there could be safety in compliance, in being only what was demanded of her.)

Adora, as a character, is what happens when all the neediness, superficiality, and self-flattery of the audience surrogate is dragged out of the metatext and into the text - and in doing so challenges the audience and the audience’s desire for a simple, self-aggrandizing narrative.

Is this really what we want?

*

^Used in the sense of “A character who the audience (or the children in the audience) doesn't just sympathize with, but are supposed to actively see themselves as.”

^^For the record, this isn’t bad. There’s nothing wrong with audience surrogates as a device, and they can be deeply soothing and enjoyable to read about/watch. But understanding that there’s not a lot of there there, and that the lack is intentional and tactical helps with the media analysis.

^^^Mind, the story also whiffs on closing the loop and explicitly denying her that absolution. It's definitely there in the subtext, driving Adora’s uncertainty and self-loathing right up until the end, but dealing with it - actually processing her feelings - ultimately gets glossed over by the very Have Your Cake and Eat It Too energy of the finale.

[linkspooky]

The Kids Aren’t Alright

There are several things wrong with Bakugo’s mindset in the most recent chapters, and I think they can all be effectively summed up in this image. 

 Bakugo’s focus is still being stronger than the bad guys, rather than on saving people. It’s still all about winning to him. 

Bakugo makes a selfish and bull headed decision to charge right into danger due to his own personal trauma.

Bakugo’s trauma is still unresolved. Rather than coming to terms with what happened to him, he’s still stuck in the mindset that if he had just been stronger then the traumatizing incident would never have ahppened to him. He’s literally in a sense fighting his trauma and trying to punch it in the face rather than processing his feelings. 

I’ll go more in depth under the cut. 

1. The Kids Aren’t Alright

The decision to charge after Shigaraki reflects poorly on both Bakugo and Deku’s characters, and shows character regression for both of them. There’s a difference between being heroic, and making a suicide charge and the difference lies in every single person telling Deku and Bakugo not to run at Shigaraki, and the both of them blatant ignoring that sound and logical advice. 

This arc so far has been about the regression of the heroes. This applies not only to the professional heroes, but also the next generation who are set up to fix the flaws of the previous generation. However, and I hope this is what Horikoshi is setting up, it’s impossible to fix those flaws if the characters don’t even see those flaws in the first place. We are shown several times characters carrying a serious case of hero worship that blinds them tot he faults of their mentors.

When asked to think for himself by the villain, Tokoyami’s black and white vision of heroics is so extreme that he can’t even criticize Hawks. Hawks had to have been right, because the heroes are always right in the end. The fact that the heroes are above criticism at all times prevents the next generation from learning of their faults. 

This is also something that has been set up previously, All Might keeps secrets from Deku like his fallout with Nighteye because he was afraid it would make him look bad to his protege. Bakugo has been shown to have a completely different interpretation of All Might than Deku, to the point where it was called into question what he saw in All Might might have been wrong. 

Bakugo was set up to learn something, and he didn’t, and that’s character regression. Characters don’t always move forward, sometimes they stall, or even fall back. If this arc really is about the regression of hero society than it makes sense that this conflict is completely unresolved. As you said, Eraserhead and All Might both said they needed to do more to address Bakugo’s trauma about being kidnapped, and taking the blame for All Might’s end and yet six months later he is still blaming himself. 

The reason Bakugo is holding onto his feelings all this time is a complicated one and has entirely to do how Bakugo copes with his trauma. This has been a running theme with Bakugo since the beginning of the manga. Bakugo reflects the ideas of hero society, and because Bakugo believes himself to be strong due to having a flashy quirk, he thinks there is no situation where he should feel weak. He always assumes he can overcome everything simply by getting stronger, and trying harder. It’s why the expectations on him are so monumentally high. 

This is not only an idea that Bakugo has of himself, he’s also treated this way by everyone around him. When he’s kidnapped by a villain nobody stops to check if he’s okay, they just compliment him on his quirk and say how strong he was. Because he is strong he is expected to always be strong. To the point where Bakugo’s kidnapping on live television is brought up as a point of embarrassment and shame for him, rather than a point where he nearly died. 

Bakugo has internalized this idea that he can’t let anyone make him feel weak, and he can’t feel weak ever, due to the way people around him are always treating, and also his own personal failure at learning how to process his emotions. In the past Bakugo projected his feelings of weakness onto Deku and beat him up rather than try to address his own personal failings. 

Bakugo is strong, so Deku has to be weak. Bakugo is important, so Deku has to be a pebble of the side of the road. It’s also a repeat of the same biases that hero society has shown him, Bakugo gets special treatment because he has a strong quirk, Deku is put down because he’s quirkless. 

All of these unhealthy attitudes have been passed onto Bakugo and it’s left him completely unable to process his trauma. In his book if he was strong he never would have gotten kidnapped in the first place. Therefore, the only way for him to solve the problem is to get stronger. To simplify, a lot of times trauma is about control. Being kidnapped by villains meant Bakugo was completely out of control in the situation. He’d always like to imagine he’s in control, and capable of winning if he’s strong enough. Even when he was kidnapped, Bakugo kept acting like all he needed was for them to drop their guard down and he would escape. He couldn’t even admit to himself that he was scared and in need of saving. 

The key to that involves admitting that he’s not in control, admitting to his weakness, but Bakugo does not want to do that so instead he’s just gotten stronger and stronger. However, Bakugo negatively foils another character who was unable to admit to his weakness and because of that hurt everyone around him. 

Endeavor and Bakugo reflect one another in that they both have super unhealthy attitudes in regards to their own strength. This is also a parallel that was deliberately set up by the plot. 

All Might compared him and Endeavor as similiar heroes, and Bakugo even directly said he came here to reflect on the differences between him and Endeavor and how he can be better, and Bakugo just didn’t do that. We see the reason he didn’t as well, he was so fixated on strength that he thought he was done growing when he beat up a bad guy faster than Endeavor for once. 

Bakugo’s goal was once again focused entirely in developing his own strength, not caring about his emotional development at all. And so we see, Bakugo has literally no reaction to learning that Endeavor could have murdered his own son, but he reacts this much to just being faster than Endeavor. Bakugo’s priorities are still entirely on physical strength and not emotional strength because due to trauma he thinks if he were just physically strong he would have overcome that situation. Thus he regresses. 

2.  Oh No, You’re Just Another Brick in the Wall

The kids are failing to learn lessons but also adults are failing to teach them. There are several instances of this in this arc alone, and in the leadup to this arc. As you said, Eraserhead had like six months to work with Bakugo, and Bakugo still feels like it’s his fault that All Might retired and he has to fix it, so clearly Eraserhead did nothing. 

All Might is someone who has noticed the similarity between Bakugo and Enji but fails completely to notice Endeavor’s flaws, and how those things make him a bad hero. Not only does Bakugo still hold onto the idea that physical strength is what matters most over emotional strength, but every hero around him believes that as well. 

The Public Hero Safety Commission is forcing the kids into internships. Endeavor only starts mentoring the kids because the hero safety commission says it’s in his best interest. The healthy development of the children is not their number one priority here, but rather how they can be used as soldiers for the upcoming battlefield. Soldiers don’t need have well-developed emotions, they just need to be strong, and fight the thing you tell them to fight. 

Every single adult hero in the system, including Hawks who is a child soldier himself seems to think that physical strength means that it’s okay to put literal teenagers on a battlefield where extremely dangerous serial killers are going to try to kill them, and yes it’s different from normal hero work because normal hero work heroes are not allowed to kill no matter what. It’s been made clear several times already this arc is a war zone, and heroes are fighting for life or death stakes with killing intent towards the villains. 

Bakugo’s failure of growth also represents a failure on the part of the heroes because he actually shares several flaws in common with his mentors. Aizawa and Bakugo have the exact same trauma response. The reason they lose, and lose people is simply because they weren’t strong enough. They take all of the blame on themselves. 

Aizawa admits that people have died saving his life, but his survivor’s guilt is too much for him to bear. So, he tries to fix his trauma in the way that Bakugo does. He tries to simply be stronger. If he’s stronger next time then he won’t lose, and he’ll never have to lose anyone ever again. 

Not only is Aizawa’s power fantasy a bad way to handle his emotions because he’s disrespecting the sacrifices of both Crustle and Oboro who wanted him to live (he’s even going so far as to totally disrespect Oboro who is still alive as Kurogiri, by destroying his precious student he looked after like a lost kitten. In other words Aizawa is killing the cat rather than saving it.) It’s not actually about them, it’s about Aizawa’s own feelings of hurt. Just like Bakugo’s bullying, his obsessive quest to be stronger, are all about his own hurt feelings and not what’s best for others. Not only is he failing to come to terms with his own feelings he’s also decidedly unheroic. 

Aizawa’s interest is not in saving someone, but rather revenge. Like he’s the Dark Knight or the Punisher. Aizawa’s positive qualities all lie in how he can understand the needs of children, and take care of them, and yet he’s doing the opposite of that in trying to kill an abused child. 

Aizawa’s completely tunnel visioned view of the world (just like Bakugo’s) also leads to his own hypocrisy. He needs to live, and he thinks dying is the worst thing of all so he tries to teach students that simply throwing your life away isn’t heroic - and yet here he is making a suicide charge five seconds after his life was saved. He wants to protect his students, but he also lets the Hero Commission bring a bunch of sixteen year olds who have not been properly informed or consented to this at all (and legally cannot consent) to a warzone where people are trying to kill them. 

Aizawa fails to notice the flaws in hero society and correct them, and because of this while he’s talking about how he would do anything to protect his students, Bakugo and Deku disobey direct orders to run away from Shigaraki, and charge straight at him in a suicide charge. Bakugo has failed to learn his lesson, and Aizawa has failed to teach it, and if it continues this way Hero Society can’t improve it will only stagnate. 

[danaduchy]

NPCs about Seeds

Full script of Far Cry 5 (except cutscenes)

* What were those Seed brothers like? Can't imagine there's anything like a healthy sibling rivalry going on there. * John's the baby of the Seed family. His brothers turn a blind eye to his more sadistic indulgences. * Joseph and John show why it's hard to have a family business. Money and blood mix weird. Even when you're not tryin' to be a messiah.   * When you escaped the bunker... John didn't say it... but you could see it in his face. Failure. Things got worse from there... Like he was trying to make up for something. Prove to his brother he could... * Kim and I used to throw these weekend BBs. Open invite. All you had to do was bring something. If you can believe it, the whole Seed family came once. They brang watery mac and cheese. I shoulda knew they were monsters when they did that. * John's on edge 'cause his brother-Father is getting' cranky. What a fucked up sibling relationship those two got. * Maybe John will go crying to his "father". I wanna see Joseph give John a spanking. * Joseph's pissed the hell off. I hear John's sweating like a piggy. * Word's out - Joseph's had it with John. That little punk is backed into a corner now. * Good thing for us John and Jacob haven't sorted out their brotherly nonsense. I mean if we're lucky, they'll just take each other down. If not, well, I'm going to keep some grenades around with John's name on 'em, eh? It's comin' to a head man.     * Says somethin' that Joseph didn't save his brother. Family really doesn't mean shit to these people. * Wonder what Daddy Seed is feelin' right now. Oh. Shit. What if he WANTED John dead? Fuck man, I can't think about the big game. We did it here. We kicked ass. That's gotta matter. Okay that’s what I'm telling myself.  Yeah, that’s it. * I'm just sayin': If I was Joseph and I had the ability to see into future occurrences, I woulda warned my boy John that he was gon' get murdered... and made some good bets. * I'm sure it's only a matter of time before Joseph tries to spin John's death to his own advantage. * John Seed never had the Father's full confidence, what I heard. But the Joseph loves little sister Faith, and gave her everything her twisted heart desired. * Jacob always tried to look out for his little brother. Imagine what he's gonna do when he finds out you killed him.

* John was always the runt of the Seed family. I'm not surprised that you were able to get him. But I gotta warn you, Jacob's a whole lot meaner than his little brother. * Joseph adopted Faith into their family. She's going to be madder'n a wet hen that you killed her brother John. * John liked to throw his weight around, tryin' to prove how strong he was. Jacob knows he's strong. His actions are more controlled, and he's a lot scarier for it. John was always super emotional, but Jacob's buttons won't be so easy to push. * All this could have been avoided if only a mid-level cable channel gave the Seed family the reality show they deserved. * You know, if any of these Seeds ran for office, they'd win in a landslide. Mind control charisma just oozes off of them. * Come to think of it, the Seeds work just like a political office. You got Joseph, the mayor, and John, Jacob and Faith as his city councilors. It's no wonder they forced me and my people out of office - they already knew how to play the game! * Each of the Seeds has their own bunker. They call them “Gates”. * Know how I sniffed out Eden's Gate's bullshit early on?  Only the Seeds were allowed to be angry, everybody else had to be calm--even though we all had our asses in that church because we were mad at the same shit too. But now everybody gets to be angry, 'cause it's a weapon pointin' where the Seeds want it. Protect the project. Transparent motherfuckers.

John

Resistance

* John's always been obsessed with the people in Fall's End. And with Mary May in particular. * Deep down, I think John wants to die. That man has scars that run deep. * John's got a particular ritual he sticks to. You get marked with a video, then you get dunked in the water. When John wants you found, he doesn't stop. Ever. * Nowadays, if you're caught huntin’, John Seed'll have ya' killed. * John's got people getting baptized all across the valley. In rivers, creeks, hell, even in puddles. * John scrawls a fucking tattoo on your chest, then flays you the fuck alive. He nails it to a wall. * If the peggies wanted a heap of food, why didn't they drive a ways to the wholesale club and take that over? Everythin' would be canned and ready for them instead of still in the ground. You can tell John Seed never had to raise a kid.   * The cult takes people and then sorts out where they go. Whoever John doesn't keep, he sends to Jacob. Or Faith. * John really puts the dick in dictator. The fucker just loves calling and leaving answering machine messages, too. * John's always wearing a key around his neck. He calls it the key to paradise. I don't wanna know what it unlocks. * I'm pretty sure the family that used to own this farm is long gone. John Seed made an offer. They refused. That's that. * This fertilizer company was bought by John Seed a long time ago. They ran it as a legit business. * This one guy, Les Doverspike. House is northwest. He thought he could prepare for everything... Din't count on... JOHN SEED'S LAWYERING SUPER POWERS! In the blink of an eye, Eden's Gate owned Les' land, bunker, arm, leg, dingleberries, ....EVERYTHING! * I've heard some pretty brutal stories about what happens when John wants you to confess. * The peggies had to have planned all this way ahead of time - they're harvestin' at record speed. I guess they had little meetings... John probably hunkered over his map gettin' a hard-on for the sound of his own voice. Hm... now there's a thought... * The thing that always bugs me about John Seed is, who goes to a lawyer that’s tatted up more than a gangbanger? * You're attractin' a lot of attention, especially from John Seed. John's paying special attention to you. * John wants you real bad. Have you considered maybe he's in some kinda love with you? He oughta killed you like two or three times already but he's playin' cat and mouse. Just sayin', if you find yourself alone with him maybe a good long somethin-or-other could save our necks. * Man, that John, he sure does have a hard on for you. So I'm thinking, you guys should probably just fuck and uh get it over with. * I bet you John gives the best spankin's. Sorry I know that's messed up. What can I say, he brings it outta me. I'm just sayin' maybe we don't kill John is all. Seems a waste of a perfectly good set of buns. * Before you, John never lost his cool. You're driving John literally crazy. * I drank with Joey Hudson back in the day. She doesn't take shit from anyone. John's gonna eat her alive. * I know how these things go, man. Deputy, you better keep skeleton keys and wire cutters and a swiss army knife and anythin' that'll get you outta a hogtie on you at all times, because John is gonna truss you up like a dinner turkey real soon. * Always thought there was somethin' kinda twisted about John. * John the Baptist is an amoral predator, end of story. * John Seed's not gettin' what he wants, so he's pitchin' a fit. * Keep an ear out for John's fucken' plane. He loves buzzin' around in that hunk of shit. * I've known men like John Seed before. Real charismatic. They'll sell ya poison and convince ya it's a health tonic. He'd fit in real nice in Washington... * I had one conversation with John Seed and I knew! I knew... He masks his words as guidance, but deep down there is a selfishness that could only come from pure evil. * John Seed's a piece of shit. When news spread that I was expecting, that scumbag spread rumors that HE was the biological father of my baby. I don't know if he was trying to create a wedge between me and Nick or if he was just doing it to laugh at us. * I hear John Seed was a lawyer or something. Used the rules to buy up stuff in the Holland Valley. The cult must have been running damage control already, because think of what a story that'd make. Unless we're already all tapped out of giving a fuck about the shitty economy and its parasites. Huh. Yeah. He's same old, actually. Same fucking old. * I remember the first time John Seed set foot in this bar. I'm wiping down counters and Ma's countin' the till when I hear her bark, 'What the fuck do you want?' I look up and he's standin' in the doorway. Eyein' me like I'm a meal. Some people 'round here said give the Seed's a chance. I knew they were bad news from the start. * Eden's Gate took this town right from under us. They started buying up all the land, forcing business to shut down and foreclosing on homes.... My parents and me fought back, but John wanted this bar. Told 'em he'd have to pry it from our cold dead hands. So, the cult paid off the county and made it illegal to transport alcohol. We fought back with lawyers, but those leeches bled us dry, too. * Whenever there's a neighbor in need, everybody around here pitches in. A couple days after we told some people I was pregnant, we got all this secondhand baby shit from everybody. John Seed stole all of it the next day. * Heard Pastor Jerome had you saving people from being kidnapped. John Seed did that to me. The fucker made me think he was going to torture me, too. Had me wait in a room for half a day thinking he was going to do it. All that fucker did was give me one of those ink jobs. It was messed up. * John Seed is just a man. He seeks glory and riches. He immersed himself in a sea of self-aggrandizement. He pounds pulpits. He professes principals he neither believes nor practices. He stokes fear. But he is just a man. * Before you came along, John Seed kidnapped me. He has his way of getting a person to say things. It's not about my words. It's about what's in his head. When he was done, I was beaten, toed in the woods, and left to die. * A long time ago, in peaceful times, I asked John Seed what was driving him. He gave me so many answers. All of them lies. * John Seed is a cruel soul who can't be reasoned with. He enjoys making people suffer. * John and the Peggies are taking everything and everyone that ain't nailed down. Even then they just come with crowbars. * After you're marked for baptism and dunked in the fucking river, John drags you to his bunker. God save us from whatever he does in there. * There must be a reason John almost drowns people in the baptisms. It's a power play but there's more to it. * If John really wanted to, he could wipe Fall's End off the map. He's toying with the people there, like a sadistic cat. * John's got a singular mind. Dug up from a serial killer's grave, but still, singular. * There's something really wrong with John. I don't have a name for it but you can see it in that creepy smile of his. * When I first saw him on the cult's videos, John seemed pretty harmless. But when I met him in person, he made the hairs on my neck stand up. * John bought up all the businesses 'round here and promised us jobs but the only people who got work were cultists. * When John asks you for somethin', he's not really askin'. He'll get what he wants from you one way or another. * John wants us all to say yes, but I think he actually really likes it when they say no. Gives him an excuse to get mean. * Anyone who doesn't confess to John gets killed and put on display as a warning to others. It's inhuman. * John doesn't just mark people with a sin, but their houses too. You can see his calling cards all over the valley. * I got a package from John Seed the other day. // What was inside it? // A note that said I was favored and that if I admitted to my sin, I'd be cleansed. * What does John Seed do exactly...? // He messes with your head. Asks you questions. Makes you say shit you don't want to be saying. I... I really don't want to talk about it. * John was right, we all do have one sin that tends to run our life. In a weird way maybe he did give us a second chance. * My old house was a piece of shit. It would creak at night, so bad I thought for sure some boogie man was coming to get me every night growing up. // Heh, aw, that's cute. // Yeah. John gutted and burned it to a crisp last week. * Okay, I need to lighten the mood. This is unbearable. // Oh Lord. // John Seed is so uptight, he takes a ruler to bed to see how long he sleeps. // I'm not in the mood. // John Seed is so uptight, he fell down a coal shaft and found a diamond in his ass a week later. // Okay that's pretty good. * You seen that John guy? Most aggressive grin I ever seen on a human being. Like a chimpanzee before it bites ya. // God what a creep. // I hate to think what kinda life he's come from. // Who gives a shit? He's evil. // What makes a guy that evil though? // It doesn't matter. There are loads of people out there with troubled pasts but they manage not to run an apocalypse murder cult. * Not like John was the peak of sanity before, but he's going straight up coo-coo bananas with all you're doin'. * Sounds like Broseph's mad! Ouuuu, family probs! John's like that little brother who gets held down and farted on, and then curls into a ball and cries. * One thing about John -- the more you ruffle his feathers, the angrier he gets. He can't deal with embarrassment; being made to look bad. He'll start sending out search parties to grab people like us, so we gotta stay frosty. * John's lustin' for a dogfight with you, huh. I bet that kid jerked it to Top Gun or something and now it's the only way he can get a stiffie, is in a dogfight. If you have to kick the bucket I hope that's one of your last thoughts, its a good one. * John's playin' a strange game with you. Dunno what's worse, that sometimes he seems to want you dead, or sometimes he seems to want you alive. * John's no better than his brother's dog, and we all know what needs doin' to a mad dog. * John's huntin' you like an animal.  He catches you, you're probably gonna join his other trophies on his wall. * Hey dep, I just wanna say I'm sorry, I heard John's got a partner of yours It's gotta be scary, you know. Probably heard about how John cuts people up and knows all these pressure points and can make you feel pain beyond anything you ever imagined. Anyways don't think about that. I'm sure... I'm sure she's fine. She'll be alright. * Was John dead behind the eyes when you met him? It's not my imagination, there's no soul back there. * I heard there's no spare key for the bunker prison. Just one for John. Control freak. * John Seed, what a fuckin' self-absorbed dick, huh? You just KNOW he jerks off in the mirror, and marvels at his fuckin' facial expressions. * That's John Seed's Ranch. I heard he loved hiding in that castle of his. * John had this place built just for him. Even got a hangar for his fucken' planes. * Look at this place. John's got the worst case of younger sibling syndrome I ever seen. * John's such a neat freak, it's inhuman. * Ugh. John Seed's temple to himself. Fucker's got a tennis court. I ain't never seen anybody play. Just another way he's a hypocrite. * I know everyone's got a bunker out here, but John's is ridiculous. * John's taste in home decor is... awful. * John's been stealin' the planes from all over the Valley. He keeps the best ones at the airstrip next to his ranch. * Of all the Seeds, I think I understood John the least. Inferiority complex, maybe? But he was a lawyer, he could have gone out and, I don't know, been a Wall Street megalomaniac. I guess economic murder isn't as satisfying as direct murder. * John made tattoos look real bad man, I'm glad he's six feet under. You gotta respect the ink. He didn't even learn a proper letterin' or font techniques or nothing, man. No way I'd have even trusted him to touch up my tramp stamp. * With John gone, Jacob will have a harder time building up his army. But he's already got a strong force at the ready.

Peggies

* John Seed's a funny guy. But not 'ha-ha' funny. * Dang, John's bunker is so luxurious. There's parts of this bunker that only John can access. * Deputy Hudson is one of John's "special projects". Every time John leaves here, he's got a big smile on his face. * John's got the only key to the deeper parts of the bunker. We really oughtta make a copy of John's key. What if he loses it? * John knows the human heart. He's been through a lot. It's why I trust him. * I wonder if John's place will survive the Collapse? * I could get in trouble for saying this, but it smells funny in John's house. * Haven't seen John here in a long time. He's super busy. * I knew John loved planes, but I didn't know he also loved boats. I bet John's boat costs more than my old house. * I've never seen Brother John on a boat, but I know he likes to get wet. * You think John fishes? * We need to keep this place tidy. You know how John gets with his baptisms. * Bet we're guardin' John's unreleased films. * I hope Brother John takes me for a plane ride someday. * John keeps all of his favorite things stashed in the hangar. * John wants the word Yes plastered all over this place. Gotta attract new brothers and sisters. * Taking this scrap metal is good forward thinking. John's left nothing to chance. He's a smart man. * Bet John'll be a king after the collapse. * If you're marked, John believes you can be saved. I didn't want to admit my sin at first, but John showed me how to accept it gracefully. * Feels weird turning those people into Angels. I mean, they worked in the store here with us. They cooperated. // Sure, they cooperated. But they were still sinners. There's no going back at a certain point, you know? John said that this was the only way to save them. * I know it's John's will, but...I don't like killing dogs. * John's made catchin' that deputy our top priority. Wonder why John wants the deputy alive. * That deputy's fixin' to get taken into John's special room. * John's relentless, that deputy don't stand a chance. * John's gettin' awful mad. I pity anyone who has to deal with him face to face. * I don't know what's goin' on in John's head, but it's embarrassing. * I thought John had control of things, but lately it feels like he's got no idea what he's doin'. * John's got that look in his eye, I almost feel bad for the people of Fall's End. * John will make everyone atone, even if it kills him. * John was right, they never saw us comin'. * John's so smart. Burnin' what we can't take, so people know they need us, spirit and body. * Last I heard from John, he was real angry. Never knew he had that amount of righteous wrath in him. * Pray you never see John lose his cool. // He never does. // He has though. Some sinner a while back had words with 'im. I couldn't hear exactly, but I heard 'em say the Father's name - I never seen John go so red so fast. // What'd he do? // Well he gets in his plane and wipes the sinner's property off the goddamned map. He rains fire on'em. They're scurryin' everywhere, screamin'. Like a magnifying glass on an anthill. * The Seeds lost a good brother in John. * Maybe John wasn't part of the plan? Maybe this is still what the voice told Joseph? * John's faith wavered, but mine's never been stronger. * I'll miss John's pep talks. * John did so much for the project. He can never be replaced. * John proved his devotion in blood. How can we do any less? * John was always larger than life, it felt like he was immortal.

Joseph

Resistance

* Joseph doesn't like it when his family goes off-book. * I know this is an unpopular opinion, but what if Joseph's right about the end of the world? * That's the first place Joseph ever built. Back when they pretended to be good. Joseph used to preach here. We could have saved us some trouble if we had just set fire to it years ago. * Joseph Seed and his whole family are like the politicians who ran this country into the ground. They sell ya hope and change and all these people buy into it thinking it's gonna be different this time. It ain't. Might as well be buyin' magic beans. * These people in Eden's Gate have been led astray. Joseph Seed claims he loves everyone. Wants them to know the truth.  The truth is he preaches vengeance and sows lies. But the words of an evil man ring louder in the minds of the weak... * You know what really gets me? Cult leaders are usually always in it for the money. Just like a pyramid scheme. Joseph ain't like that. I keep tryin' to break this guy down into what he wants from people. If it ain't money, and it ain't sex, what the hell is it? * Joseph's a charismatic son of a bitch. I mean, you've heard him. The pitch. The tempo. The way the words roll off his gentle lips. His mannerisms. I mean he's been speech trained, probably more than any politician I've ever seen. That's how you know he's a government guy. * I know the people of this valley. They're good, hard workin' people. But in bad times, people get scared, start lookin' for someone to blame. Joseph Seed fed on that fear. Told folk the end of the world was coming. Lot of 'em believed him. Truth be told... way things are now? I sometimes wonder if he's right. Folks felt abandoned, grew weary, they needed our help. And we didn't listen, but Joseph Seed did. Joseph Seed wooed people. He told them EXACTLY what they wanted to hear. With those falsehoods, lies, his poison. It's driven a lot of good folks away from the righteous path. * I knew Joseph Seed was bad business when he wormed his way in here a few years back. I imagine the fucking mainstream media would paint us as two sides of the same coin, because they're either lazy or corrupt or both... But to me, it's simple: I'm willing to sacrifice everything for my family, while Joseph Seed wants to burn down the world for his. * Y'know, I had a dream last night that involved me, a bed, whips and chains, and Joseph Seed. Suffice to say there were a lot of conflicting emotions and sensations... * Did you have a vision? Faith dosed me with bliss, and I saw the Father come to me, personally, and tell me terrible things. * I have a lot of pity for Faith. Joseph is the true monster, manipulating that young woman into a weapon. * Who the heck is Faith, y'know? Joseph treats her both like his daughter and his sister. How much does she know? How influential is she? It's all twisted together. * I wonder how many other secret bunkers there are in the county? Joseph procured a whole missile silo and no one saw! * Faith came to Hope County to detox. Like tourism of hillbilly country for rehab. But Joseph took a shine to her and she was reborn. Hell, her real name ain't even Faith, but something rich, like Riley or Rachel. * Joseph believes in Faith. He's entrusted her with all manner of heinous activity out here. We need to take her out. * I can't see what kind of method to the madness Eden's Gate has goin' on. Three heralds of the Collapse? What are they even doin'? // They got a system. Faith sows, John reaps, Jacob... // Steps on your neck? // Deals in belief, I guess. // Nah, that's Joseph's job. He's the charismatic populist motherfucker. Jacob just wants to cull people. * Joseph's just a nobody from nowhere. How'd he get this many people behind him? * There was a time no western religious leader would be caught dead with a goddamned man-bun. Fuck I miss those days. Listen, I get that he's runnin' this big old cult and all but if you're gonna run a big old cult you gotta look the part! Long robe that's a weird color, like puce or something, stringy moustache, head shaved bald like a baby. Not like some kind of lovechild between a hipster and a country singer. * Joseph Seed's family is gone. He's gonna be vulnerable and running on emotion. He won't be thinkin' straight. If we're putting this to a vote, I'd say we close this chapter for good, as soon as possible.

Peggies

* The father's takin' a personal interest in those deputies now... Maybe his visions told him somethin'.   * Joseph said that deputy is special. I wonder what he meant by that. * Despite everything they've done to us, I know Joseph would still forgive them. * We have to love the sinners. It's what Joseph would want. * It's been too long since I've seen our Father's face. * Joseph is a gifted songwriter. You haven't lived until you've heard Joseph sing this live. * I heard that the Father got the idea for the Judges in a vision. * Jacob might teach us to shoot, but Joseph guides our aim. * President Seed has a nice ring to it. Wonder if Joseph has political aspirations? * I see why Joseph liked this county. Plenty of silos for what we need to store. * Everyone knows Joseph will not tolerate idle hands.   * The Father keeps all the best stuff for his Chosen. Leaves us the scraps. * After the collapse, we won't hear the Father on the radio anymore. * Joseph's disappointed in us, I can tell. We gotta do better. * I hope the Father doesn't take this out on us. * I can't imagine how Joseph feels now, with his brother gone.   * With Jacob gone the Father has to have a backup plan for us. He has to. * Our Father was supposed to save us. Joseph wouldn't ever abandon us, would he? * Joseph will know what to do. I just have to find out where he's hidin'.

Jacob

Resistance

* We're in Jacob's territory now. Know how I know? Wildlife is scarce. I'm not one for hunting but this area in particular used to be home to quite a few species. They've either been driven away or taken in for experiments. It's sad. * Jacob Seed's in charge out here. He's ex-military, he's a combat veteran, and he's a psycho. * Faith was Joseph's favorite, but Jacob is his toughest soldier, bar none. * Jacob's got this Chair. He straps people in and breaks them down until their souls are gone. Then he controls their mind. Don't end up in that chair. * I know Jacob's the bad guy and all, but every bad guy thinks they're this misunderstood hero, right? Has anyone ever tried to just, you know, take him for coffee and talk to him? * Strippin' people of their mind and freewill to build an army for The Father, that ain't right. I still can't believe Jacob and Joseph are brothers. * The mind is the most dangerous weapon and Jacob knows that all too well. No one was really prepared for this. * I've seen him up close once and I'll tell ya' Jacob Seed is one scary motherfucker. * Jacob had one thing right. Things are only goin' to get worse and you gotta be ready for it. * I had a dream once that Jacob took me on a hunt. We shot some deer and he asked me to skin them. As I was cutting them open they changed... it wasn't deer. I... I don't think it was a dream. * Whatever you do, don't listen to the music. That's how Jacob gets you. * One of the first places Jacob took over is the old Veteran's Hospital. No one thought much of it at the time. * Careful. Jacob likes to play mind games with ya. * This was an animal sanctuary until Jacob took it over. Looks like he's got some freaky deaky shit goin' on. Jake-n-Bake Seed really had his fingers up in everything up here. * Jacob's completely insane. He's not even trying to hide what he's doing anymore. * Heard that Jacob has been doin' some weird stuff with animals over here... and not just wolves this time. * Jacob's been putting people in cages. Keepin' them there with no food or water for weeks!  Almost better if they just killed you. * Eli worked on Jacob's special bunkers, did you know that? Turns out they didn't get along. Who would've thought? * No one is immune to Jacob's fucked up conversion. Once they hit you with that you ain't ever the same. * Jacob, he's knows everything that I'm thinking. He's got the key to my mind and he twists... and twists... and twists. * Jacob... his experiments... he takes us... owns us, speaks to us. He hears us. Jacob... he's in control. He controls everything. * Jacob knows how to get into your head. Twists things around so you don't know what's right anymore. * If Jacob can't find a use for you in his army, you become target practice for troops. * Be careful out there. Friends might not be friends anymore after Jacob's done with them. * I bet the Peggies got an armory here, too. I can't believe how Jacob got them so organized. * Jacob's using everything he learned in the military and twisting it to suit the needs of Eden's Gate. Son of a bitch is a poor excuse for a soldier if you ask me. As long as he's alive my Pops will be rolling in his grave, all bitter and mad. * Have to say, you've ticked Jacob off something fierce. * You wanna bet that Jacob had that three-wolf moon poster as a kid? I bet he was a cub scout, too. Now he's getting his badge for people-skinning and brainwashing. * I'm seeing a lot more choppers in the air. Looks like Jacob's using them to move troops and supplies. * You know, I was dumb enough to work for Jacob a few years back. Who you think built him all those Peggie bunkers? You think I saw any of this comin'? Hell no... * Jacob's new recruits gotta kill someone they care about, just to prove their loyalty. That's messed up on so many levels. * Jacob will be pied that you and the Cougars freed the Henbane River. He'll need a new source of soldiers. * Jacob sees himself as beyond the other so-called Heralds. He views his work as the most important, and that the others' purpose was to support him. * Jacob will break every bone in your body to convert you. He lives for pain. * Jacob would happily sacrifice everyone and everything in Hope County to feed Joseph's Collapse. He doesn't care about Faith. * Between John, Faith, and Jacob, I'd say our mind control freak is the worst. He makes people kill their own family. His own mind's twisted. He's a damn maniac. * I hear Jacob's looking everywhere for you. * You gotta save us from all this darkness. All this death. Jacob's losing it and he's out hunting down more people. He's gonna do anything for Joseph's plan to work. * Cult's got the wrong idea 'bout sacrifices. My neighbor killed his old man 'cause Jacob said so. For fuck's sake, you don't do that. * Jacob's gone nuts 'cause he lost a lot of his precious, mindless soldiers. I'd say it sucks even more to see our own teammates turned against us. * Jacob's pissed. That's new. He's always been the crazy type, but I'm afraid of what he'll come up with next. Stay sharp. * Using music to control people is so in bad taste, but Jacob's song pick, that's gotta say something about him. * How much do we know about this Jacob fella? He seems strong. Got a good setup going on... We ought to take some photographs of him or somethin'. Preferably shirtless... Y'know, for intelligence purposes. Know your enemy. * If Jacob he had an experienced woman in his life, this shit would not be happenin'. I'll take one for the team if it comes to that. Just don't tell Xander I said that. He'll get jealous. * I knew Jacob was trouble as soon as he showed up. I mean, did you see his face? It's all burned and twisted like his heart. * Jacob's got training grounds all over the place. I've seen them out there, shooting anything that moves. * I can almost understand why people follow Jacob. He's knows what he's doin', that's for sure. Mind you he's also a fucken' psychopath kind of a deal breaker for me. * Honestly, Jacob scares the shit outta me, even more than the Father. I've seen Jacob up close, I've looked him in the eyes they're empty, not a single shred of humanity anywhere. * Jacob's one sick fuck. Nailing up bodies? Burning people alive? That's just messed up. * You know what? I think Jacob's scared of Eli. That's why he's tried so hard to get him. * Jacob must be getting desperate and crazy. More troops out here than ever. * Jacob's plan worked. I tried to warn them. I told them not to go back. Jacob's going to win. He always wins. * Jacob was the big, mean, brute of the Seed clan. * Jacob was an example of how a vet can go bad without any help. Still glad he's dead of course.

Peggies

* Hope Jacob doesn't have another surprise inspection. Last one didn't go so hot. * Jacob asks for sacrifices from us all.  I gave up my son just so I could understand the Father's pain. * Jacob can turn these animals into weapons for the Father, I've seen him do it. * Jacob calls those wolves of his Judges, 'cause that's what they do. If you're not worthy, they tear you to shreds. * Jacob takes us, molds us and lifts us up to realize our potential. Just like this Judge. Once, it was just a simple wolf. Then it heard the voice of the Father. Now look at it. Stronger, faster... a killer. That's what Jacob does, he makes us better than we were, because only the very best of us will pass through Eden's Gate and on to salvation. * Jacob has asked us to find more recruits for the Project. We have to make them see the light... by force if necessary. * Jacob taught me how to bring a boar down will one killshot. Now I just apply the same logic to sinners. Easy. * Trust nobody, that's what Jacob told us. * Last time I was here Jacob himself complimented me on my shootin'. * Jacob will whip the strong ones into shape. The rest of 'em won't survive training. Jacob sure puts you through your paces here. It's how he makes us strong. * Jacob only wants the strongest of any creature. * Some of the converts have a hard time losing their old notions, but Jacob has a way of getting them to see the light. * If you've ever been in Jacob's presence you know just how powerful he really is. * There is no way anyone would dare stand up to Jacob. They'd be dead in a second. * Jacob's got this county locked down. There's no way they're gonna take him out. * Jacob knows what he's doin'. If he says he's got this bastard covered, I believe him. You know Jacob. He's not gonna give up. * I hear Jacob is furious. We have to try harder. We can't fail the Father. * Jacob's not dead. There's no way. He's too strong to die. * The sacrifice of Jacob must be part of the Father's great plan; we must trust in him. * The guy who killed Jacob. He fucken' cheated. You know Jacob. There's no way he would've lost in a straight up fight. Can't do anything for Jacob, but we can make sure Pratt pays for letting that bastard get away. * Do you think this the father knew about all this? // Of course. It's all part of his plan. // Even losing Jacob? // Do you doubt the Father's visions? // No! Of course not.... it's just... the guys... they have questions.... // Questions? Now's not the time for questions! It's time for action! Do you want to die a sinner? // No! Or course not! // Then get back to your post. The Father needs us now, more than ever! * So what the hell are we going to do now? // What do you mean? // What do I mean? Jacob's dead! That's a pretty big deal, if you ask me. // We still have the Father. It's his plan after all. // Sure, but he had Jacob and the others to help. He can't do it all himself. // That's why we're here. We have to step up, do whatever is asked of us. We can't give up, not now. // Yeah, you're right. Especially with what's coming. // Exactly. Get back to your post, this isn't over yet.

Pratt

* Jacob's caught himself a Deputy. I think it's Pratt. Poor bastard, he's not gonna last a day in there. * Deputy Pratt always came off as a bit of a douchebag, but that doesn't mean he deserves what Jacob's doin' to him. * I'd sure hate to be that Deputy Pratt right now. Jacob's gonna rip him to pieces. He tried to arrest his brother for God sake. * Pratt's days are numbered. One of these days Jacob's gonna have him nailed up on some billboard or something just like the others. * I keep thinking about Pratt, and what Jacob's doin' to him. That poor man's brain's gonna be totally fucked. * Can only imagine what it's like to be left in a cage with nothing to eat for days. God, do you think that's what they're doing to that Deputy of yours? Poor bastard. * I don't think that Deputy's gonna live much longer. I hear Jacob's furious and you can be sure who he's gonna take it out on. * Next time you meet your friend Pratt, be careful. Jacob does things... to your mind... he might not be the same person you remember. Don't say I didn't warn you. * Can you fuckin' believe that guy? // Who? // The Deputy. Pratt. He was wanderin' around behind the cages. // What the fuck was he doin' there? // Who the hell knows. Jacob's probably got him off doing some shit. // Yeah, he's lucky to be able to put two words together after what Jacob did to him! // Seriously. Sometimes I think it's a mistake to put too much trust in these converts. You should come willing to the light, or be struck down. * I.. I was told to feed the Judges but I didn't know where their food was. // Jesus, Pratt. Does nothing stick in that brain of yours? Over there, where it's always kept. // Right! Th..thanks Phil! It won't happen again! // It better not. * I just want go out and hunt down the bastard that killed Jacob and beat them to death.//Don't worry. They'll be here soon enough. We've got their buddy Pratt down here. Pretty sure we're next on the list.//Aren't you worried? They were strong enough to take on Jacob...// Fuck 'em. With the number of guards we got here? They'd be crazy to try to take us on. * Good thing Pratt's out man. He was lookin' like a hipster in a bullfight man. * There's not much of the old Deputy Pratt left, Jacob made sure of that. Almost would've been better that he'd died in there.       * Yeah, the Deputy might be free, but I won't say he's okay. No one is okay after they've been through the trials. No one. * Jacob sure did a number on Pratt. Not sure there's much of him left in there. * It's gonna take a while for Deputy Pratt to recover from this... if he ever does.

[we-are-the-amb]

Hey what up bro. How have you been? I was wondering if you had any headcannons of Star hanging out with Edgar and Alan? I dunno if I asked this or someone else, but ya know-

And if you wanted to take a break from talking about the lost boys, then what's your favorite fruit? I have a three way tie of Strawberries, Kiwifruit, or Mangos. Anything tart is pretty preem.

Hey there, buddy! I’ve been well, thank you, I hope you have been, too? I will happily answer both your queries! My favourite fruits are mangos, cantaloupe and pineapple. However, I also enjoy raspberries, mandarins and green apples. I agree, tart fruits are king. Funnily enough, I think I’m slightly allergic to kiwi fruit! Each time I’ve eaten it, my lips have gone raw and sore. 

As for headcanons about Star and the Frogs, I certainly have some! I’m taking note of the term “hanging out”, because I have a lot of angsty thoughts about this, but I shall keep it a bit lighter. 

- Okay, here’s the thing; Star, Edgar and Alan are all really quite similar and come from similar backgrounds. All are children of neglectful parents, and all are neurodivergent and undiagnosed. The main difference is that Star was an only child, where the Frogs are siblings and very close knit. This has affected their developments, differently. 

- It does reach a point where they can see eye-to-eye, and consider each other friends, even family. However, they have a lot to unpack, before they get to that point. Progress is slow, because while they do see each other a great deal, they rarely converse and are rarely alone with each other.  I wanted to air some of this out in a fic I planned to write, but never did, in which Star and Edgar have a heavy confrontation. Specifically Star and Edgar, because while their backgrounds are similar, their is a greater conflict of personality, than between Star and Alan. 

- The Frogs had joined the Emersons on a camping trip, and one evening the youngsters decided to play hide and seek, in the forest. Star had split off from her group, to enjoy the scenery, alone. It was on her walk that she came upon Edgar, also alone and fast approaching a meltdown. He in an unfamiliar area, and Alan was nowhere to be seen, and that was enough to make him feel like the trees, themselves were bearing down on him. 

- Star remembered seeing Marko get like this, at times, and she had not known what to do then, either. Though she liked Edgar much less, hated him even, she knew it wouldn’t be right to leave him alone in that state. So, she gingerly approached Edgar, reluctantly holding out her scent locket, her favourite stim item. When Edgar took notice of her, he growled defensively, and refused to sniff the locket in her hand, he wasn’t a dog. With some strain, she took off the locket and offered it to him to hold, snapping at him not to drop it. He did listen, holding the locket so hard his knuckles turned white. Huffing at the tiny gap in his fingers, he was surprised and relieved to smell lavender, not patchouli. He had always hated the smell of patchouli, as his mother wears it, as an alternative to bathing. He could never sit near Star, because of the familiar smell. 

- Star stuck with him, until the others found them. It was then that all the bad feelings came out. See, both parties have some strong flaws, preconceptions and issues that have gone without confrontation. Star, at her core, is a very stubborn person, with a view that much resembles those of the fantasy books that comforted her, as a child. She’s carrying a lot of guilt from that bloody night at the Emerson house, because deep down she believes she could have done more to prevent such an end. She coddles herself, by projecting her own feelings of weakness and selfishness onto the Frogs, but particularly Edgar, being the stronger personality. Edgar does not seem to feel conflicted at all about what he did, and she both envies and hates him for it. It’s easier for her, to cast him and Alan as the villains. 

Edgar, for his part, does have one regret from that night. It does scare him that he wielded a stake so readily against Laddie, even if he could have fought back and won. Laddie has sort of become his friend, a kid he wants to protect. It makes him queasy to remember standing over him with a stake, ready to kill. But, similar to Star, he comforts himself by thinking he did what he had to do, to make things right and protect Santa Carla. He wasn’t the genius who turned Laddie in the first place. And he hates Star, because that fanciful, flighty way of her’s just makes him think of his mother, who has never raised a finger to help him. How dare she blame him for her failure to fix things on her own. 

- So, that’s where the relationship really begins, with a fight. By the time the others find them, things have changed. They’ve both seen sides of themselves and each other, they had not wanted to, but had to. It’s rocky, but it’s a start. When Star gets her locket back from Edgar’s hand, the metal is hot from a clenched fist. She can hardly stand to touch it, though the fragrance has become strong in that heat. 

- Anyway, on to the lighter stuff, because things do get better! 

- Alan and Laddie are pretty close. Both share a great love for fantasy and fairytales, as Star does. More than once, Star has caught him reading one of her’s and Laddie’s books to him, with Edgar sitting back and listening (Edgar is dyslexic, and Alan frequently reads to him, too). When Alan quarrels with Laddie about whether, or not fairies are real (Alan says yes, Laddie says no), those arguments invariably end up coming up with Star. Star, for her part, very much wants to believe in fairies, but isn’t as sure of them, as Alan. The first Halloween she has with the Emersons, Alan actually tells her to leave some dishes of honey around the perimeter of the house, to keep the fairies away from Laddie. 

- As you can imagine, the three end up talking folklore quite a bit, when they do talk, at all. Star has a great interest in it, but the Frogs exhaust themselves into comas every Halloween, trying to kept the town safe. It gets to a point where she begins to help with some of the cake baking and cross making that goes into their elaborate defences. 

- Star is a very good artist, particularly when it comes to sculpture. She rediscovers her talent, living with the Emersons. She makes toadstools, and dragons and little nonsensical critters. Sometimes, when the Frogs are waiting for Sam, they furtively watch her sculpt. One year, Sam commissions Star to make a pair of little frogs, for the brothers’ Christmas presents. They repay her the next year, with a painted pebble and a hand woven bracelet. They are quite artistic, themselves. 

- Star teaches herself embroidery, and the Frogs can sew fairly well. Now and then, they sit together and customise their jackets. 

- Their taste in music is quite similar. Sometimes they can all sit and vibe along to Janis Joplin, or The Grateful Dead, or The Incredible String Band. They all really let their stims out when they listen to music, as it make sense them so happy and eases their self consciousness. 

- Star and Sam both collect crystals, which they share with great enthusiasm. Edgar and Alan have a fear and mistrust of crystals, though they played with them as children, and refuse to even touch them. Star almost teases them at first, waving pieces of her collection near them and almost getting her hands smacked, each time. Then, she and Sam make an effort to help them see that the crystals won’t harm them. Star picks out the smallest, smoothest rocks and places them in their hands, getting them used to the feel of them and showing them the stones have no power over them and won’t hurt them. 

That’s all I can think of, for now, buddy! It’s not much, I know, but I hope you enjoy it. 🖖

[bwprowl]

Me vs. The Mitchells vs. The Machines

The Mitchells vs. The Machines is a really cool movie. Seriously! It’s the Spider-Verse crew continuing to be at the top of their game, doing their damnedest to elevate and evolve 3D film animation in a way apart from the ongoing Disneyfied edge-sanding seen elsewhere. Several sequences, especially the final fight scene at the end, are absolutely jaw-dropping. A lot of the writing of the movie is also genuinely clever, with some cool tricks of weaving in Chekov’s Guns that you don’t even realize WERE Chekov’s Guns until they’re deployed, but then make perfect sense. And I also just have to say there’s something oddly heartening about a movie that does a lot to target Millenials in terms of nostalgia, but not so much via our shows and movies and music the way other project might go about, but specifically by tapping the internet meme culture of the early-00’s that’s so media-unique to that emergent generation. There’s some genuine heart visible in so many of the levels of how this thing was made that I can understand its touting as an instant classic and the waves of praise and popularity that have followed its release.

Unfortunately, I can’t so unilaterally praise this movie, mostly because I can NOT stop thinking about how poorly-implemented and mis-framed its central familial conflict is.

Oh yeah spoilers for this movie I guess

So I’ll need to detour at first and talk about A Goofy Movie, which isn’t much of an issue for me since I fucking love A Goofy Movie. And watching The Mitchells vs. The Machines my initial takeaway was a pleasant observation that someone had basically grafted A Goofy Movie to The World’s End, which could have made for an extremely fun time for me. A Goofy Movie, so it goes, centers on the conflict between a father and child trying to understand each other, spurred on by the father conscripting the child into an impromptu road-trip which the child initially resents but eventually leans into as a vehicle for understanding as the family members open up to each other and end with a greater appreciation for their familial bond as well as healthier, more open lines of communication. There are comical misunderstandings, dramatic misunderstandings, and escalating Wacky Adventures that keep the trip feeling suitably cinematic in scope. And as The Mitchells vs. The Machines continued on, I kept finding myself rounding back to that comparison and asking “Why am I not getting into this as much as I do A Goofy Movie?”

It turns out to be a point of motivation, actually. In A Goofy Movie, Goofy dragooning Max into the cross-country fishing trip is immediately borne out of his (however misinformed) desire to keep his son from going down a wrong, potentially delinquent or criminal path. Goofy has concerns about the lessened connection and communication with Max, sure, but that’s a symptom of his inability to communicate his actual worries about Max’s behavior to him, not the sum total of the problem he feels needs fixing. Goofy is under the impression there are genuine problems Max is going through, and while he’s got the actual particulars wrong, he’s not really that far off, since Max still IS the kind of kid to elaborately hijack a school function or make up extravagant lies to get attention from the girl he likes rather than just talking to her and asking her out like a normal human-dog-person. Goofy’s objective is firmly centered on helping Max for Max’s sake, and he’s only taking up a few weeks out of Max’s summer and causing him to miss a single party in order to do it.

I lay all that out so you can try to understand my headspace coming at critiquing The Mitchells vs. The Machines and negatively viewing its own take on a plot concept I ostensibly love by default. The problem, as said, is one of motivation. In The Mitchells, Rick’s dissatisfaction with his relationship with his daughter Katie is purely that: Dissatisfaction with their relationship. Katie herself is, by all accounts, doing spectacularly. She’s got a healthy relationship with friends and other family members, she’s gotten accepted into a prestigious film school, and her YouTube account seems to pull pretty keen numbers (With all the tech jokes in this movie it’s a wonder there’s never a riff on her shilling NordVPN or Raid Shadow Legends). The conflict between father and daughter is purely a case of them growing apart in her teen years demonstrably because Rick has no understanding of her current passions and makes no effort to do so, which leads to him having consistently questioned and doubted her ability to succeed in her field. The film frames the impromptu road-trip as his attempt to ‘fix’ the issues between them, but the only thing broken by the presentation of the story is Rick’s approach to parenting in the first place. He could easily have made Katie warm to him on the way out by replacing or paying for the laptop he broke and throwing her a subscription to her YouTube channel, but then the movie would be shorter and we wouldn’t be able to pretend the conflict was anything other than his own pursuit of self-centered actualization.

That’s the other issue, of course, the way The Mitchells vs. The Machines consistently rounds back to the point that Katie is somehow shouldering half the responsibility for the father/daughter communication breakdown. But as stated above, it really has hardly anything to do with her. Katie’s succeeding on her own terms, and the only outreach she would theoretically need to do to her dad would be to make HIM feel better, something he could do himself if he’d only actually pay attention to the cool videos she keeps trying to show him and not constantly deciding that HE knows that SHE will fail. It’s a fundamentally one-sided conflict from what we’re shown, and yet the other members of the Mitchell family continuously treat Katie like she needs to accommodate her father’s personal whims and not hurt his feelings despite the fact that he’s the one who went behind her back and canceled her flight, even forcing her to miss her first week of college (!) simply because he felt sorry for himself that they didn’t like the same things anymore. Again, Katie’s doing great, it’s Rick that decides to make his problem the entire family’s problem, and while I’m going to hesitate to refer to this behavior as out-and-out abusive, it is still absurdly selfish and pointedly poor parenting. 

The movie seems to nominally strive for balance in the conflict, not making it entirely Katie’s job to fix her dad’s hurt feelings, and indeed having a whole sequence where he realizes what a Big Jerk he’s been about not trying to understand or support her passions, and resolving to actually Make An Effort moving forward. The problem is that this is still framed as one half of the equation, as Katie supposedly gets to understand where her dad is coming from, which...makes her feel better about all the times he said she would fail and so she should rely on and appreciate him more? And the reason that’s a fundamental issue is annoying, because it means we have to talk about Rick’s Stupid Fucking Cabin.

Look, I hate doing this. I personally try very hard to keep in the mindset that stories are stories and things happen in them because they are stories. I am loathe to attempt picking apart the points of particular plot points, but the problem is that this Stupid Fucking Cabin is positioned as the heart of the humanity of the entire movie, yet it hinges on a sequence of decisions that no actual human being would ever come by. First off, do you have any idea how long it takes to BUILD a home like that, let alone as one guy apparently doing it himself? Rick spent the better part of his twenties building this big Fucking Stupid Cabin to fulfill his lifelong dream of ‘Living in the woods’, only for his wife to get pregnant once it was finished, leading to him just dropping like that? Was there no planning in this family? Was Katie an accident that Rick immediately was this endeared to? I mean, he totally seems like a pro-lifer. But then why do they need to sell the Stupid Fucking Cabin on account of a kid coming along? How were Rick and Linda planning on living out their lives there if not with resources that could support them as well as a kid or two? Rick could have just raised his kids in the woods in his Stupid Fucking Cabin and they would have stood a better chance at turning out like little duplicates of himself and his own interests like he clearly wanted. That’s to say nothing of this sequence of events being framed as a ‘failure’, despite that fact that Rick handily succeeded at what he set out to do, only to turn around and abandon the thing he succeeded at himself on seemingly the same sort of impulsive whim that leads to him dragging his whole family on a road trip because he doesn’t understand YouTube. There are motivating factors to these decisions he made that could inform the whole context of this supposedly tragic backstory, but we aren’t privy to anything resembling them, and the result is a plot point that seemingly only exists to make Katie (and the audience) feel bad for Rick in the third act of the movie.

The real answer is the ultimate assertion of this thing by the finale, that Katie should be ‘grateful’ to Rick for his ‘sacrifice’ of his dream that supposedly allowed her to be in the place she is now. Except Katie had no part in Rick’s bizarre impulsive choice to build a Stupid Fucking Cabin then sell it as soon as a kid popped out so he, I guess, could feel some sense of important familial contribution. That’s to say nothing of the point about parental figures who make grand, sweeping gestures nominally for the good of their kids, but are effectively and emotionally unavailable in the day-to-day engagements of their lives. Because unlike Goofy in A Goofy Movie, Rick isn’t actually doing what he’s doing for Katie’s sake. Her motivation for most of the movie is to move away from home and go to college, a completely normal-ass thing that children do. Any of Rick’s outreach or efforts to ‘fix’ relationships and situations are purely for the sake of his own hurt feelings, and the way Katie’s mother and brother consistently push her into going along with them only highlights the overt way this whole family’s problems are hung up on the insecurities of of this single stubborn jerk. But then, that’s my other major misgiving with The Mitchells vs. The Machines: Its expected exaltation of the default biological family as some hallowed unit for which it is a tragedy to fall into any degree of dysfunction. This is with pointed dismissal towards the idea of Found Family, seen as a distraction, an obstacle to Katie realizing who her TRUE people are, and coming around to a sense of fulfillment because she managed to massage her dad’s ego for long enough that he stopped being totally dismissive of the things that brought her joy. You see, Found Families are fun, but they aren’t REAL or SPECIAL because they already accept and appreciate you for who you are, unlike these people you’re biologically obligated to share living space with for 18+ years whom you have to forge bonds with through varying degrees of communication breakdowns and compromises in self-agency.

With all that in mind, it highlights some of the smaller issues in the movie’s setup as well. This is perhaps petty, but jeez was I annoyed with the film’s framing of The Mitchells as this ~craaaazy~ ~weeeeiiiird~ family which included such outlandish quirks as ‘Dad who doesn’t understand technology’ and ‘Young boy who really likes dinosaurs’. And the wishy-washy tone of the familial conflict is echoed in the ‘The Machines’ part of the plot, which mostly led to me sitting on edge throughout the whole film as I wondered how it was going to come down on the subject of those kids and their darn smartphones. It ultimately doesn’t go full anti-technology, which makes sense given how much of Katie’s character revolves around using the stuff, to say nothing of the predilections of the people who actually, uh, made this movie. But the most it can manage is a halfhearted “Maybe unregulated big tech bad?” which even then is undercut, mostly I assume because of the various big tech companies involved in producing and streaming this thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m overall glad it doesn’t go full "durr hburr technology is bad fire is scary and thomas edison was a witch", but a lack of any insight or ideas on that front means that the familial relationship element is the only conceptual element it really has to stand on, and I just spent over 1800 words breaking down why that fundamentally didn’t work!

It’s an aggravating situation, because lord did I want to love The Mitchells vs. The Machines. It’s gorgeous, it’s got some clever bits in the writing, and it can honestly sling a punchline like nobody’s business, there are some KILLER jokes in there. But it just became impossible all the way through the end for me to engage with the heart of the movie, its central connective conflict, on the terms it wanted me to. Now it’s admittedly possible that, perhaps like Rick Mitchell, that’s my problem. I’ve seen a lot of love for this movie from my peers, and it does make me question my own projections: I don’t want to get TOO personal on main, but I admit that it’s entirely possible that people who’ve enjoyed an actually functional fatherly relationship would better engage with the emotive connections this movie wants you to make. But even with that caveat, I was able to find my own way to resonate with the similar stakes of A Goofy Movie just thanks to the more effective way that one was framed, so if this one couldn’t hook me, maybe it was The Mitchells vs. The Machines’ fault after all.

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt76

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

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That night Chloe and Marinette were at the hotel. Marinette felt somewhat guilty for the way she’d been relying on Chloe. Even now she was using her as a pillow because she just couldn’t get comfortable on her own. Granted Chloe hadn’t complained at all but between feeling useless and taking up all her time Marinette was starting to feel like a huge burden.

“I know you’re not asleep, you’re far too tense. What’s wrong?” She jumped a little at Chloe’s voice, but couldn’t bring herself to look up at her.

“Why don’t you like Barbara?” Marinette didn’t even know where the question came from. Yes, the tension had been strange but it wasn’t Chloe’s normal hostile attitude towards those she didn’t like either. She’d been planning on just leaving it alone unless they interacted more. However she also didn’t want to discuss what was actually bothering her.

“It’s not that I don’t like her…” Chloe paused and Marinette looked up to see her frowning in thought.

“You don’t know why you reacted that way.” It wasn’t a question but Chloe nodded anyway. “Do you have any guesses? Or does it feel like something you’ve experienced before?” Marinette had learned not to just ignore feelings like this. First because, with the Miraculous especially, their instincts were there for a reason and ignoring them wasn’t a good idea. Second, letting Chloe mull over a problem by herself had a tendency to blow up in everyone’s face.

“It sort of feels like the way I was with you when we were little. I think…” She paused and Marinette just waited, hugging her a bit tighter so she’d know it was okay. “I think I’m jealous that she can understand you in a way I can’t. That you can share things with her you can’t with me.” The words were soft, like she didn’t want to be heard. “It’s stupid I know.”

“Your feelings aren’t stupid and I’m glad you told me.” Marinette paused to think about the problem. Unfortunately it was something time was likely to fix. “She might have a better understanding of what I’m going through, but you’re the one here with me all the time. You’re living through it with me and that’s far more important. Assuming you don’t get sick of me using you as a horse, pillow, and errand girl before I get things figured out and can actually do things on my own again.”

“Until we figure things out. And honestly I like being with you all the time. Not to mention I actually feel needed which is really nice. I know it’s selfish but before this happened I always felt like more of a tag a long than anything else. I’ve been waiting for you to decide that you deserve better, or that I’m just a phase you’re going through. Now I at least feel useful.” That finally caused Marinette to really look at her. The guilt in her expression hurt, as did knowing that she’d missed this, probably since they started dating.

“Chloe, you’ve never been a phase and even if there’s better out there, which I highly doubt, I don’t want it. I want you.” The look of shock and hope on her face caused another wave of guilt. “What’s more I need you, and not because of my legs. Whenever I feel like I can’t do something, or like I’m a failure, you’re there to tell me to get over myself and do it. Whenever everything gets too overwhelming you’re there to pick it apart into manageable pieces. When everything is just too much, you’re there to tell me that I don’t have to do everything by myself. I don’t need you because I can’t walk. I need you because you’re you.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Damian was texting Luka on the burner phone he’d bought not long after finding out Marinette was Ladybug. He’d wanted a way to communicate that his family wouldn’t have access to so that they didn’t get information they shouldn’t have. He was especially grateful for that device now that Drake was in Paris.

“Do you really have a boyfriend?” Tim’s question caused him to roll his eyes. He didn’t bother answering. No one in his family seemed to know what to do with that information though he didn’t know why. It didn’t seem to be attached to the fact that he liked another boy either. “It’s just… honestly with the way you act around other people and the fact that you’ve never really shown interest in anyone before we all kind of figured you were ace.”

Damian leveled his brother with a flat look. Once he’d started feeling things for Luka he’d done a lot of research on sexual and romantic attraction. The sheer number of orientations and vocabulary was honestly annoying to him. He understood that most people wanted to feel like there were other people out there that were the same as them, but it seemed like there were so many overly specific descriptions that it just made his head hurt. Eventually he decided that finding a specific label for what he was, wasn’t just unnecessary, but also limiting. He didn’t want to put himself in a box that would define him when he wasn’t certain about any of it in the first place.

“I didn’t realize you all talked about my personal life so much. You really should concentrate on your own rather than try to analyze mine.” Tim frowned at him but it looked more like confusion than insulted.

“We care about you, whether you want to believe it or not, and we want you to be happy. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to be with someone if you don’t really want to be.” Damian could only scoff and the stupidity of that statement.

“When do I ever do something I don’t want to do without one of you forcing it on me?” Tim actually flinched at the question. It was true though. His family had an incredibly annoying habit of not only inserting themselves where they weren’t wanted, but also pushing him where they wished with no real regard for what he wanted.

“We’re just trying to help you. You act so certain of everything but you’re still just a kid and considering a lot of your attitude and opinions were set by your mother we want to try and make you open to new things.” That just brought another eye roll.

“And you really think forcing me to do things against my will or better judgement actually makes me more open to things? Given the fact that none of you even bother to ask me what I think or feel about anything you’re just projecting your assumptions on me before making decisions about what I should or shouldn’t like or do. None of you know me at all yet you constantly feel the need to ‘fix’ me. All you’re really doing is making me less likely to try things on my own since I know you’ll all just fixate on it and then force me to do it the way you think I should.”

Tim was looking at him like he’d never seen him before but Damian just ignored him and continued texting. That was another reason he didn’t want to label himself. Everyone in his life already did it for him, no matter how inaccurate it actually was.

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[starfighter10]

tlou2 opinion

So I really had to share my opinion(rant) on the last of us part 2 and boy I have a lot to say. I am gonna dwell deep into this one, so bear with me if you can and want to

 But before that I have to share the feelings I hold for tlou1.Back when I finished tlou1, I knew I experienced something truly magical. I was pleasantly surprised by the beautifully crafted story, the execution of the characters, the music, the gameplay , and the effort that went into shaping the journey of the game,the character arcs and bonds. You could see and experience the uniqueness and passion that went into the first project. This game immediately became a favourite of mine.

When tlou2 was announced, my expectations were skyhigh,was elated to continue Joel and Ellie's journey and how it unfolds. The bar set by the first one was exceptionally high and probably impossible to achieve, but I had trust and faith in naughty dog, thought they couldn't go wrong with this one. After experiencing tlou2 , I am speechless.... not in a good way. I have no words to express my disappointment,frustration and anger I feel right now. I don't even know where to begin.... the absolute mess of a plot, the original characters being blatantly ignored, retconned and disrespected in favour of new bland characters, the plotholes in the story, the false advertising and marketing, naughty dog's hubris, making a complete mockery of your fans who are paying money to play something but getting baited for something else. I am utterly heartbroken and angry.

The plot - the driving force of the game is over ambitious, lazy,sloppy and nihilistic. It felt forced. Naughty dog bit off more then they could chew with this one. Tlou2 could have gone several ways in terms of plot with the existing characters, yet we get the cliche revenge plotline with the character abandoning the quest altogether to realise revenge isn't the answer. This trope has been done several times before, with more finesse and better execution. The writers aim for the " Ellie breaks the cycle of the revenge" but it really fails to achieve this as she blatanly annihilates several characters,npcs along the way in quest of her revenge. The damage has been done practically speaking. According to naughty dog's logic , I should expect Nora's sister or a random npc's friend/relatives in tlou3 hunting down Ellie in their revenge quest. Also Abby's quest literally does nothing for me. This character was so poorly written, executed and shoved down our throats, I didn't have any sort of attachment or empathy for her. I simply don't care about this character.

The circumstances that lead to Joel's death was out of character as well. Since the trailer drop in 2016, I was prepared for his inevitable death. Thought he would probably go out like the badass he is, maybe sacrificing himself for Ellie/tommy. The Joel I know from tlou1, a hardened survivor who has fought tooth and nail to survive the past 20 years would NEVER end up in a situation like that. Joel was intensely alert, critical,clever and intuitive. The argument here may be that he has softened in Jackson, but I feel at this point this should be 2nd nature to him. Something that is automatic. Yet the writer's now want you to believe he is a dumbass who would trust a group of strangers, make small talk and introductions and end up in a situation like that. One of the bigger issues was the constant reinforcing that Joel wiped down the fireflies in cold blood and doomed humanity for death by robbing them of their cure for survival,Ellie believing the cure would have been a guaranteed sure shot success ..... WHY? This retcons the first one completely. The beauty of the tlou1 was it's moral ambiguity and uncertainty. We were constantly hinted that fireflies is a mess of a group whose agendas weren't clearly known, whose actions caused the sacrifice of many people for the sake of a slight possibility of a cure.They were power hungry and were cruel enough to send a 14 year old girl to her death with no remorse,consent or any proper investigation or medical research. Joel initially negotiates to find someone else, gets shut down immediately, gets his means of survival snatched and was practically marched to his death. He had no option but to wipe clean these people who planned on killing someone dear to him, for something that is uncertain or in vain. And yes this was a selfish decision on Joel's part, and that was the beauty of it. The moral ambiguity. He was right or wrong or both - open to your interpretation. BUT NOW NAUGHTY DOG WANTS TO TO ERASE ALL THAT DEVELOPMENT. The active reinforcement that Joel was a cold, ruthless murderer who killed fireflies and deprived humanity of its cure? Trying to erase the fact that he was surviving and trying to keep his dear ones safe in this cold, brutal and unforgiving postapocalyptic world. So that we sympathize with Abby and enjoy golfing the tf outa Joel?. Ellie seems like a different character in this one, but again this character is immediately pushed to a whirlwind of traumatic events right from the start of the game. I missed her spark of joy,humour and enthusiasm. The treatment of the main chatacter in her own game is utterly cruel and disappointing, and seemed unfair to me. By the end, Ellie is broken beyond repair. Though she thematically chooses to be the better person and gives up on her vengeance and hate, she still manages to be on the losing side as she ends up losing her father figure which was her closest bond, loses Dina and the kid , she doesn't have her community, her people, her fucking fingers as well. Why? So Ellie could suffer a little more and be unable to do most important thing that bonded her to Joel. Not to mention she loses her switchblade too, her mother's final memory. Surprised that ND spared her mother's letter . Feel her pain and despair. Why does Ellie get such a shitty,depressing, worthless, futile and a hopeless conclusion while Abby not only gets her revenge successfully, forms a close bond in Lev and gets to escape possibly to a fresh start. Ellie? Nah she gets to suffer alone. Her BIGGEST FEAR has become a reality by the end. The least they could do is let Ellie have some solace and calm, surrounded by her loved ones on that farm,her trying to recover from her trauma slowly but surely, it's what joel would have wished for. But no, she is left all alone, absolutely traumatized, all by herself with nothing to look forward to. Oh and tommy is whole new character in every scene. So keep your eyes peeled for various versions of tommy throughout. The character inconsistencies are ridiculous.

The gameplay, beautiful sceneries, and new characters like dina and jesse are few of the positives of game - leaning more towards Jesse. Dina felt perfect for Ellie and Jesse did manage to lighten up few of the moments. The space shuttle cutscene, the museum flashback sequence, ellie and joel's flashbacks were the only parts that remotely captures the magic and beauty of tlou1. I got emotional watching them. The space shuttle sequence hits you with the feels. Joel slaying a bloater with a machete was cinematic art. (Hot too)

Abby... the forced deuteragonist, is an utter failure of character execution. Her character was forced onto us, felt hasty and lacked real build up. She starts off on the wrong foot by killing one of the most popular characters. If ND really wanted this character to work, the only possible way would have been to play her point of view and backstory prior to her mercilessly killing and torturing a guy who just saved her life. What was ND thinking? That a few hours of her pov,forced out of the blue background story, her getting to play with dogs while ellie has no option but to attack the dogs, the abby-lev bond which is pretty much discount or the walmart version ellie and joel would be enough to side with her over ellie and joel???? The part where they force you to play as abby against ellie? It made me sick. I felt cheated and disgusted.

The false advertising to make us believe joel is alive and good? That this is an ellie and joel centric game?To tug at your heartstrings like this. A complete mockery of the fans who waited 7 years to see their favorite characters get horribly treated,retconned, disrespected and thrown under the bus in favour of new unlikable characters. Butchering the heart and soul of the last of us - Joel and Ellie's bond. The fact that these two don't even get a heart to heart before his death, that Joel dies uncertain of ellie's future, maybe thought he could not save Ellie in those final painful moments, that she had never forgiven him, Ellie never getting her closure with Joel, or really getting to tell him how much he meant to her.... all these thoughts legit made me shed tears. Broke my heart. This is how much ND wanted to honour and respect ellie and joel.

The game's conclusion is hollow, futile, worthless and depressing. And in my opinion, this is non canon. This is the only way I can cope with this unsastifying conclusion. It is immaturity I guess... but I will feel better about it.

Though I utterly despise tlou2, tlou1 will continue to remain one of my favorite pieces of work in fiction. JOEL FUCKING MILLER WILL ALWAYS BE THE BADDEST BITCH AND NOTHING WILL CHANGE THE LOVE I HAVE FOR HIM.

If someone actually read it all the way, thank you for your time and effort. Really needed to rant and let these negative emotions out.

[fan-enby-anonymous]

Hi @mentosmorii, so fun story, I was going to reblog your post about why Opal was a reoccurring villain in the Artemis Fowl series again with some of my thoughts, but then some of my thoughts became ALL of my thoughts, and I didn't want to do my homework. So, I'm sorry in advance but here are all of my thoughts on all of the Artemis Fowl villains. I'm sorry.

I think forcing the LEP to be involved is probably the main factor in having Opal be the archvillain, but i also think the other Artemis Fowl villains are meant to be different kinds of foils than Opal is.

Cudgen started as Opal's partner in crime, so he could have been an archvillain, but he was a foil to Root, not Artemis, so he fizzled out narrativly speaking shortly before Root did. They both served their purpose to the story.

Spiro is a foil to Artemis, but he isn't so much a representation of what Artemis's own ambitions gone unchecked could turn him into as much as he is a representation of what his Father's ambitions gone unchecked could become.

While our Artemis definitely mirrors a lot of his father's values, and who could blame him, he's just a kid, they're not exactly the same. Artemis II values knowledge and willingly details his own plans in order to learn about/from the people on numerous occasions. (Dismantling Holly's traker so he can see how it works rather than just destroying it, agreeing to help take down the goblin revolution, etc.) And he's also loyal to his family above all else. (I don't think I need to explain that one, go read book 1.)

Artemis I however, he doesn't seem to care about anything but the family business, at least in book 1. He pays no mind to how his abuses and reckless business deals effect his wife and child, he makes promises he never intends to keep, and he gets many people killed trying to get ahead. He doesn't have his son's loyalty or any of his remaining innocence and curiosity. In book 1, Artemis I is Spiro.

Then, Artemis I is rescued and somewhat changed his ways, but, book 3 still opens with Artemis II feeling conflicted about his father's recent changes and their relationship. Some part of Artemis still longs for his past relationship with his father, because he knew his role back then and their relationship was strained and dissatisfying, but it was simple to navigate and allowed Artemis freedom.

Spiro is there to tell Artemis to stop wishing for the past. Maybe his relationship with his father was "easier" when his father was still a terrible person, but returning to those ways will only get Artemis another villain in his life, and it's better to sort through the messy emotions than let that happen.

Minerva is another can of worms altogether. She does function as a foil for Artemis in the story, but from the way that Colfer talks about her, I don't think that was his intention when writing her. By Colfer's own admission, Artemis and Minerva were supposed to be the same person, that's why he dropped her character so quickly, he didn't think he could do many interesting things with two people who were functionally one character, so he wrote her out.

The problem there is that the fandom didn't see it that way at all. I and many others thought that Minerva was actually a very different character from Artemis. Minerva's motivation for kidnapping a demon is to win a Noble Prize and be revered by the academic community; Artemis's motivation for kidnapping a fairy was to save his father's life. Minerva's relationship with her remaining parent is strained due to his ineptitude at handling her personality and her own defensiveness; Artemis's relationship with his remaining parent is strained due to Angeline's worsening delusions and the long periods of time Artemis spends away from her. Minerva is used to her role as an older sibling and treats her brother's health and safety in a casual and caring manner that most siblings are probably used to; Artemis is completely unprepared to become an older sibling at the end of book 5 and we later see him interact with his brothers clumsily, acting more like a teacher or a parent than a brother. And that's just scratching the surface.

They're very different, and more could have been done with them, but their differences aren't intentional, so nothing was done with their relationship. (And even if Minerva did show up again, I doubt it would be as a villain. She's learned too much to become an antagonist to the people again.)

And the other book 6 villain, Leon Abbott or N'zall, while a very interesting villain who could be argued to be a metaphor for many things (including government corruption, fascism, and just plain capitalism) was a very niche villain. He wouldn't pack the same punch in any environment other than Hybras, so he wouldn't have been a very good archvillain. And, the poetic justice of someone who only ever desired power through threats, manipation, and violence straight up getting turned into a hampster is just too good to pass up.

And Kronski, he's a strange case. He is meant to be a monument to Artemis's insecurities and failures, but he's modeled off of 10yo Artemis.

10yo Artemis, while narratively interesting and definitely fun to read about, never felt like our Artemis to me. He seems more like an alternate universe version of Artemis than a younger version of him that naturally progressed to become the person we met on book 1. I know that they explained this by mind wiping young Artemis but... that didn't really work for me. I guess a revenge seeking, time traveling Damon Kronski could have been a recurring villain in the series, but I'm glad he wasn't. I was very glad when Opal overshadowed him in that story, she felt like the first familiar thing in a story that had become something other than the Artemis Fowl I knew.

And finally, there's Turnball. He falls into the same trap of being a foil to Root and not Artemis, but I think he's better written, so I'm going to talk about him more. Turnball is narratively interesting because he's a representation of the greatest failures of fairy society. Namely government and police corruption, racism, sexisim, and a blindness to these very flaws. He was a corrupt politician and police officer, one of the most powerful out there for a while, used this power in order to stoke racial tensions in Haven to ensure he'd stay on top, and goes on sexist tirades against both Holly and Opal on multiple occasions. And, for all the damage he did, no one noticed for a hell of a long time and even after they did, it didn't take much time for people to forget him or for him to convince the prison staff that he was ultimately harmless.

So, why wasn't Turnball the archvillain. Well, aside from being a little late to the game, I think the main reason he wasn't the archvillain was that he'd take way too much attention away from Artemis.

Artemis already isn't the only main character of the books, he's very much sharing that title with Holly. And Turnball is the perfect foil for Holly as well as for Root, he's a perfect blend of what she hates about her society and the negative traits she has to grapple with in herself. Making Turnball the archvillain would take the focus away from Artemis and Butler and put it on Holly and Root. They just wouldn't fit in a story about confronting police corruption. And, while I'd love a more Holly centric storyline with more time to explore Root's character and more career given to Haven's problems, that wasn't the story Colfer signed up to tell.

So that leaves Opal. And, just because none of the other villains don't work as archvillains, it doesn't mean she does. But, I think she actually fits the role really well. Just like Turnball is a perfect foil for Root and Holly and Spiro is a perfect foil for Artemis I, i think Opal is the perfect foil for Artemis II.

Opal is the most cut and dry representation of Artemis's insecurities that we get throughout the entire series. Artemis feels very insecure about his relationship with his father. He's put under undue pressure from a young age to conform to what his father wants him to be and when their ideals don't line up Artemis finds it nearly impossible to communicate this dissonance in a healthy way. Opal felt exactly the same way as a child, albeit for different reasons, and destroyed her father because of it. Artemis has to deal with his selfishness throughout the series. The more he comes to terms with the fact that he has to think about other's needs, not just his own or his father's, the more he improves. And, as time goes on, Opal ends up becoming even more selfish and falling further and further into her delusions or grandeur, making her the perfect person for Artemis to project onto as the worse Opal gets, the worse Artemis's opinion of his past self becomes. Artemis is petty and jelous around his schoolmates, so is Opal, and she slowly lets it consume her life to the point where she wants to murder Foaly... because? he won? a science fair?

Anyway, this very much got away from me, but Artemis and Opal mirror each other in unique ways which is why I think Colfer chose her specifically as Artemis's nemesis.

[littleeyesofpallas]

This isn’t really translation based, and I think most of the key lines I’ve pulled for this are more or less accurate (plus im getting a little tired of juggling Japanese dictionaries) so i’m gonna be lazy and just use Viz’s translations for this...

Looking over the early Arrancar Arc for Orihime stuff, one of the HUGE plot hooks Kubo built up and then once again totally ditched part way into the arc, was the nature of Orihime and Chad’s powers, and how they weren’t just random sidekicks but a part the entire Hollow-Shinigami dynamic and hybrid powers that the arc was all about.

At the onset of the arc the premise we’d originally been given for Chad and Orihime’s powers was still in play: That their powers came specifically from Ichigo.  As it happens their powers are also actually very similar to Ichgo’s and Kubo goes out of his way to make them even more so as this arc gears up...

Right off the bat Ichigo’s name is written literally as “One Protect” and in chapter 2, Ichigo’s attitude about that is explicitly laid out: He won’t let people get hurt if he can help it,but he also won’t make the abstract or high minded commitment to protecting “everyone.”  It’s an interesting way to frame a hero’s morality, but there’s a certain pragmatism to it and Kubo actually explicitly plays with this idea in the Arrancar... until he doesn’t...

Kubo also expands on this a little when he brings up Ichigo’s relationship with his mother in vol.3.  It actually makes him a little more typically heroic.  But it also establishes that he was once a wimpy kid who got strong to protect the people he loves.

So, it doesn’t feel super noticeable that when Orihime and Chad get their powers initially, they are both based on protecting people (because that’s kind of just generic heroism anyway) but the Arrancar Arc builds on the theme pretty explicitly...

Chad’s trajectory for the arc starts when Ichigo recuses him from DiRoy when Grimmjow’s gang attacks Karakura.  Not only is Chad kind of humiliated and ashamed of his weakness compared to Ichigo, but Rukia even takes note of it and chastises Ichigo for being inconsiderate and thinking he has to do everything himself.

When Chad goes to Urahara for help, Urahara mentions to himself that Chad’s powers are like a Hollow’s: specifically he trails off, but when you turn the page the first thing you see is Ichigo’s Hollow mask.  Like with Tatsuki, Kubo is playing very deliberately with juxtaposition and scene transitions, and the natural pacing of having to thumb through physical pages of a manga, viewing two pages at a time.  Then when Chad’s powers further develop as the team invades Los Noches, Chad’s powers are explicitly described as being more Hollow-like, and the true form of his arm takes on the shape of a shield, further emphasizing the already existing them of protection that surrounds Ichigo’s team.

Furthermore, Chad’s second arm form is explicitly described as the power to fight for himself, where as his first arm power is the power to fight for others.  Although Chad doesn’t appear to have the same kind of internal struggles that Ichigo does with his inner hollow and mask, Chad is actually displaying the same dichotomy that Ichigo is here, where Ichigo’s Hollow is all about self preservation and even just raw fighting instinct which is at odds with his need to protect others: Ichigo never lets himself being “selfish,” everything he does he has to do for others.  Chad learning to fight for himself is also co-related to his more/most hollow-like powers.

Orihime too is given the beginnings of a character arc early here where she feels inadequate, at first by being unable to cheer up Ichigo the way Rukia does, then in her inability to save Chad from Yammy and Ulquiorra, and finally with the way Urahara and Yamamoto try to exclude her from their war plans.  When she’s abducted by Ulquiorra, she isn’t just kidnapped, she is coerced into making the decision to save her friends with her compliance.  And once she’s in Los Noches as Aizen’s captive, she realizes that there is something only she can do to help protect everyone, and that is to use her position as a prisoner and as an asset to Aizen’s plans, to try and use her powers to get rid of the Hougyoku... which she never does....

And this wasn’t a few incidental lines just thrown around either, it comes up multiple times and even starts to develop a little bit and point in a very clear direction.  One of the big things the arc was building toward (which never happened) was the idea that Ichigo would eventually get to Orihime and she would refuse to be rescued.  Aizen specifically planned her abduction to look like she defected on her own; Ulquiorra brings up the fact that Ichigo came to rescue her based on trust and faith, but no on the certainty that she was actually innocent; and when Grimmjow talks about Ichigo not understanding what’s going on “inside” her.  It’s all pointing to the fact that Ichigo doesn’t get that his rescuing Orihime isn’t what’s best for her, because it’ll just make her feel helpless again.  Ichigo’s drive to protect people is a strength as a “hero” but it’s actually a weakness as a character.

Also Kubo repeatedly hammers home the idea that the rescue party was doomed to failure: The team splits up because Rukia and Renji guilt trip Ichigo about how his need to protect people forces him to not trust his allies, Dordonii foreshadows that Ichigo is too soft hearted to be fighting the likes of the Arrancar, Ulquiorra’s big reveal as being only #4, all Ichigo’s friends struggling through their Espada fights...  The whole Orihime rescue arc was set up like it was going to be a twist on the last rescue arc, until week after week fights with no plot development really started to drag on, and I get the feeling Kubo got some strong urges from his editor to drop the sidestories and just move the core plot along instead of introducing yet more Arrancar, leading to more and more fights that would only further stall the plot.  The Ulquiorra-Grimmjow-Szayelaporro-Nnoitra marathon in particular wasted legitimately almost a YEAR(50+ chapters) of weekly publications without anyone actually getting any closer to their established goals.

In conjunction with the explicit time frame we’d been given at the start of the arc --roughly 5 months until Winter, when the Hougyoku would be ready.  It seemed pretty clear that the sensible development would be that the rescue arc would fail, Ichigo & co. would be forced to retreat, and then they’d all complete their actual training  in the months left before the Winter War’s projected date.  And as we knew, Aizen had found a kind of hack to use the Hougyoku even before the projected date, so the eventual confrontation would mean Aizen’s forces would be far beyond Soul Society’s projections.  Orihime would have time to try and further her plans, earning Aizen’s trust and finding time and means to sneak her way to the Hougyoku.  Chad very possibly would’ve been left in Hueco Mundo during the retreat, where he could further develop the Hollow aspects of his powers in ways he couldn’t back on Earth.  Uryuu would be forced to confront his father about breaking his promise not to consort with Shinigami.  And Ichigo would actually finish his Visored training properly.

I kinda went off on a tangent here, but yeah...  Orihime and Chad plot threads that Kubo pretty meticulously set up and just didn’t do anything with...

[transientpetersen]

I struggle with the balance between self-orientation and other-orientation, between selfishness and selflessness. On the one hand, focusing on yourself is the only real way to see your beliefs and views made manifest in the world and the only reliable way to generate good things for yourself. The good intentions of others are haphazard at best and seldom produce results exactly in line with your hopes. On the other hand, focusing on others is safe. You get a nice veneer of virtue and you don't face the prospect of internal change when your efforts succeed or fail. The emotional stakes of growth are always carried by the other party. It is because of this emotional stasis and not despite it that I personally err toward other-orientation. 

This started to come into focus in multiple aspects of my life. At work it was "no one is coming to save you, no one is coming to guide you, what will you do?". At home, the numberless personal projects that never seemed to receive my time and attention. One can only ignore oneself for so long before it becomes absurd so bear with me as I explore some thoughts below the cut.

It is evident there are situations in life that demand selfishness, where failing to act in your own interests is a betrayal of your ethos. You are obligated to keep yourself in good functional order on the scale of years so you require a sustainable way to ensure your base needs are met. Temporary sacrifice ought to be approached with the same level of caution as sprinting in the course of a marathon. I'd be deeply wary about "temporary practices" in any context, they require at a minimum a compelling justification and an explicit end condition and even then they have a way of lasting well past reasonable expectation and well past the point of usefulness.

You are obligated to keep your word and uphold the responsibilities that you agree to take on, to be reliable for your dependents. The nature of these agreements is such that even little failures have big consequences, both for you and for others. If you know that you are in a mental or financial space where you will struggle to consistently meet your word then you would be better off refusing extra responsibility up front. And be very careful in speaking for your future situation on the span of years. Kids are an easy example of this, I've seen dramatic change in many first time parents because they must remain consistently reliable. Remember as well not to stock your life full with these commitments. Sure you may have a surplus of energy now but you still need slack to absorb the changes and emergencies that arise naturally through the process of living. Having others who can support you (“pick up the slack”) is certainly a traditional method but not always achievable and brings coordination challenges with it. Under-commit to others, it’s best for you and them.

You are obligated to invest in your emotional self. There are many ways to describe what I mean by this - passion, ambition, self-actualizing, dreams, purpose - they all point toward being the person that you hope to be. The pure mechanical act of survival will not bring satisfaction on its own. It is your passion that defines you as separate from generic humanity and this is what there is to love about you.

It is this last that is the focus for much other-orientation that can be removed from your life. There is satisfaction in helping along another’s happiness but by neglecting your own, you will set yourself up for bitterness and failure.

This is true in general and particularly true in persistent relationships and close relationships. Beyond the obvious drawbacks, it also poisons the ability to reciprocate and so generates an imbalance that is hard to correct. One needs to fix the bad habits of multiple people and work through outstanding debt while also attempting to build healthy habits with good communication. Like most DIY done poorly, it’s the recovering from the mistakes that costs the most and not the actual intended project.

I note that somewhere along the way, I picked up the idea that a good partner is a perfect support. This is not just wrong but actively harmful. You will hurt your partner and you will fail your partner and when that happens, the time that you spend in shock wondering how-this-unforeseen-tragedy-could-have-been-avoided is bleeding you valuable reaction time. Invest in fixing forward, not in avoiding issues. We are simply not optimized for caring for one another and attempting to do so will necessarily destroy the bits of yourself that are lovably you. It is entirely counterproductive to a loving relationship - a construct that requires all involved parties to maintain a level of self-orientation if it is to survive. 

There’s a general problem of assuming a linear reward function when the truth is more complicated. For example, maybe baking cookies together makes you and your partner happier than sharing dinner. It is unlikely that your lives will be improved by replacing dinners with the practice of baking cookies as the linear model would predict. Don’t just replace important pieces of yourselves because the replacements seem fun.

On optimizing, there’s also the false idea I’ve seen a lot when it comes to making plans based on a notion of priority - that low priority things can only be worked on once the high priority things are all done. That’s a terrible approach. Priority ranking is a way to make sure that you balance time between tasks responsibly and don’t spend more on lower urgency tasks than higher ones. It’s not about spending no time at all on them and falling into that trap is a good way to get wrecked on unforeseen issues. Most boring routine maintenance tasks are low priority but feel free to forgo them and see how quickly your life can fall apart (that’s if you’re lucky and the damage is immediate and not something like teeth falling out a decade later). So even if you feel that your stuff is lower priority than someone else’s plans, you still have to invest time in your stuff.

Finally, the corollary of “you cannot always help” must be “you cannot only help”. If you solely identify as a helper then you set the relationship up for failure. You are not providing originality in the relationship. Instead you are fostering a dependence that will cripple you if your partner in the relationship changes. This is blindingly evident in professional relationships though true for personal ones as well. To achieve your goal of a healthy relationship, you need to oppose, to create, to be different. You need to pursue some level of self-orientation and you need to allow the relationship to support that pursuit.

One digression before I wrap up here, the above is assuming more-or-less egalitarian relationships where the parties involved are seeking a balanced dynamic. There are other models. Some families organize such that obligation flows up by age and balance is generated by bringing new children in. Some hierarchies assume that the effort you give to your boss’s plans will be balanced by the effort your subordinates give to your’s. In both, one is constantly paying forward that other-orientation and assuming that someone else is present to pay toward you. This is too similar to multi-level marketing for me to endorse and subject to the same critiques of creative accounting and exploitation. Let’s also note the jealous nature of authority (many to one and never one to many) and how even workplaces with managers/leaders who bill themselves as servants don’t seem interested in supplying more than one contact to help you progress toward your goals.

To sum up: an excess of other-orientation is an exercise in self-abnegation and you should not let your desire to provide care negate you. You cannot always help. Don’t neglect your own goals and you’ll be the better for it.

[thecreepiestcarrie]

#JusticeforJohnnyDepp: Johnny’s witness statements at a glance (Kevin Murphy & Kate James)

Things I Cover in this Post:

AH’s consumption of alcohol and prescription pills

AH consistently lying/submitting false documents in order to get what she wants

the dogs in Australia

AH lying to Homeland Security

AH’s abuse of Johnny (both verbal and physical)

the shit in the bed

AH bullying/threatening/intimidating members of Johnny’s staff

The two witness statements I’m including highlights from come from: Kate James- personal assistant to AH for a little under 3 years & Kevin Murphy- Johnny’s estate manager for 8 years, ending in 2016

Before we get into that, I would really love it if you could check out and sign this petition that is demanding an official review into the misconduct of the judge for this case, Andrew Nicol.

It’s a lot of talk about the illegal smuggling of the dogs into Australia, which could definitely come off as tedious af, but I feel this is an excellent demonstrator of the character of Scum and how she tries to manipulate/control all those around her. That is mostly what this instalment is going to be about, employees speaking to the character of Scum and her non-existent relationship with the truth.

Beginning with a woman who worked as assistant to Scum, so Scum was paying her, you would think her loyalty would be to her employer, the person she was working for and spending lots of time with. Well, nope, coz Scum is exactly that - SCUM.

More of Scum bullying/belittling Johnny. But I mainly included this part so we could take a look at Kate’s account of Scum drinking ‘vast quantities’ of wine each night. Johnny recounted in his witness statements of his ‘difficult’ relationship with drink and drugs, including visits to rehab facilities in order to get sober. He talks specifically of March 2015, in Australia (when she mutilated his finger), saying:  Under the stress of the situation, I poured myself a glass of vodka and drank it. It was with this glass that I broke my sobriety. Kate was fired by Scum (actually blindsided is how she put it) in Feb of 2015, so the testimony of her buying non-alcoholic beer for Johnny holds up to me.

Before I started reading properly into this case, I was nervous to properly research into it because I was thinking that I would read something about Johnny that I didn’t like and I was terrified that I’d never come back from that. 12 years of my life- loving, idolising, being inspired by this man- I didn’t want that to end in a blazing burn of ‘wow, what a shithead, I can’t believe that’s what I dedicated time/money/energy to’. But halleloo, he is everything I’ve always hoped he was and potentially more. So I included this section not just as a ‘wow, Johnny is the greatest’, but also, Scum’s assistant failing to see any signs of injury, which is just another voice to add to the booming chorus at this point.

Here we have Scum wilfully and knowingly breaking laws for her own benefit.

Here is the photo that was submitted as part of Kate’s evidence. It isn’t super clear but I’ve highlighted the date, as well as some of the flowery language Scum employs to portray herself as so much better than she is and just going over the top with that.

This is a check Kate submitted in her evidence. To me, the signature doesn’t seem to match the one on the document from Scum. But what is important about this check is the name: Savannah McMillian, the fact that it’s from the Bank of America and the date, of September 2014, which is the same month of Scum’s false document (if you zoom in).

There is no chance in Hell that Savannah was just a friend of Scum’s visiting America for a magical trip. No ma’am, no Pam. I also wanted to include a screenshot provided by Kevin Murphy of an email from Savannah, in which she specifically introduces herself as Scum’s assistant. So here is another lie to add to her list (is there even any room on the tally board anymore?)

‘She felt that she was above the law’

Hmm, what does that remind me of? Oh right, the symptoms/signs of antisocial personality disorders aka SOCIOPATHIC BEHAVIOUR! Referring back to Mayo Clinic, they describe: a disregard for right/wrong, arrogance/sense of superiority, unnecessary risk-taking, failure to consider negative consequences/learn from them, consistent irresponsibility and so on and so on.

She’s lied and perjured herself in the past - why wouldn’t she continue to lie to get what she wants? aka- this whole hoax against Johnny.

Grease? Calm down sweetie, you’re not in the mob. Just say bribe.

GREASE ME UP, WOMAN!

Anyway, let’s move along to Kevin Murphy, a man who worked with Johnny for 8 years and had to deal with a lot of Scum’s shit.

Here we have Johnny telling a member of his staff about the physical abuse he was being subjected to - why didn’t Scum do the same and tell members of her team? Oh right, because it never happened to her.

Kevin was very involved with all of the dog smuggling bullshit and it became a personal matter for him. All of this could’ve been avoided... If not for Scum’s selfishness.

She threatened him and his job and then tried to place all of the legal blame of the smuggling onto him.

Again, I wanted to touch on Scum’s use of alcohol and even drugs. I wanted to be fair to Scum in this, maybe she was using Provigil under a prescription, just like Johnny and his Roxicodone. So I did some digging and I found that yes, Provigil does require a prescription. 

But, from what I could gather from my reading, you can get some over the counter substitutes that have a lower dosage.

But no.2, I found a website where you can purchase Provigil.

I took the liberty of adding it to a cart and selecting checkout. I took all of the steps up to the point where I’d have to pay and guess what? Not once was I asked to provide any details of a GP or of a prescription.

Again, to be fair to Scum, I checked to see if you could also get Roxicodone on this website and guess what?

No, no you can’t.

I don’t intend for this to be taken as conclusive evidence in any way, but it was something that I found interesting.

I really wish they had gotten it DNA tested.

Scum told three different versions of this shit in the bed story-

shit? What shit? There wasn’t any shit in the bed

Yeah, lol, there was shit in the bed, just a harmless prank, got ‘im!

It was the dogs the whole time

And then she projects onto Kevin the fact that she lied, because that’s what she loves to do. She takes her own behaviour and applies it to other people to get them in trouble. This indicates to me that she knows her actions are wrong, but I guess she just thinks she can always find a way to get out of it.

Is she a child? Is she an actual infant? Is she a fucking child?

He had to go and tell 8 other members of their/Johnny’s team to make sure she wouldn’t misbehave and then she went and did it anyway! Is she a child?! It’s like she’s a fucking kid who the Dad has to tell the babysitter that ‘no, she isn’t usually allowed candy, please don’t give her any’ and then the babysitter catches her with a stash of candy anyway! It’s pathetic!

Johnny didn’t want the dogs to come at all and yet, he’s the one who bore most of the brunt over here in the media. And still does, if you refer to this incident, it’s not her dogs, it’s Johnny Depp and his dogs that he snuck in to the country that pissed off the government.

She had this man believing he was going to lose his job because he was trying to correct a legal wrong that she had knowingly committed.

And here she is making a joke about it, on her own fucking Instagram. She had someone take that photo, typed out the caption and decided: ‘yep, this is something I can stand behind, this is fine, this is great content’ and posted it to the world.

Here we go again with another example of that sociopathic behaviour, with her showing a complete lack of remorse and a lack of empathy over the damage this did to the other people involved.

I hope this has helped to provide a greater insight into the type of person Scum is, how manipulative, ruthless and uncaring she is to any/all of the people around her when she’s in pursuit of a goal. I also hope this has helped to shed more light on Scum and her habits with alcohol and pills, which she doesn’t want you to know about, of course. It’s kinda hard for her to consistently call Johnny an addict when she clearly cracks into the goon sack a fair amount herself.

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch6

This editions of Hedwig’s scribbles brings you a young TOS Jeff.  I’ve come to the annoying realisation that my camera squashes things down so the original actually looks a bit longer and narrower than this picture.  Unfortunately my scanner makes everything too white and you lose half the image.  *Sigh*

@willow-salix​ has been her superstar self again with both the fic and the art, I don’t know what I would do without her as a sympathetic critic, putting up with all my wobbles.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Six

It didn’t take long for normality to return for Gordon.  He had given one or two carefully selected interviews in the lull between his medal win and the closing ceremony of the Games but any requests by magazines had been vetoed by Jeff since his return stateside.  Any approaches regarding sponsorship opportunities had been similarly turned away.  Initially the reporters clamoured for the chance to speak to the elusive young star but in the face of continued rejections the requests tailed off.  His obligations were decidedly minimal as he slipped from the public eye.  

With no school making its demands felt Gordon was able to concentrate fully on his swimming; the World Championships and a national competition were both on the horizon and gave him something to aim for.  He often found himself heading out for an additional run or putting in more time at the gym, this was partly to keep in peak condition and partly to escape the oppressive atmosphere in the apartment.  

He had gone from being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the Games with a team mate around every corner to home with its dwindling population.  

First Virgil had returned to Denver claiming he needed access to the technical facilities, then John had gone back to campus and finally Alan had been sent off to summer camp to spend time in the great outdoors.  If the messages coming Gordon’s way were anything to go by Alan was finding outdoors to be too full of bugs and too lacking in games consoles to be considered great.  

Now it was just him and his father.  Whenever they were in the apartment together he felt like he was under the microscope.  Being judged.  Being appraised.  He tended to stay in his room to avoid the attention.  With no one else around staying in his room was becoming a habit, even when Jeff was out at work.

He vaguely registered the click of the apartment door as his father returned but it was past dinner time and he had already eaten so he didn’t feel any need to emerge.  His father would likely be reading files late into the night.  He expected his contact to be limited to the standard ‘good night’ as he brushed his teeth before bed, he was therefore surprised when a sharp rap sounded on his door.

“Gordon.  My study.”

The footsteps retreated down the corridor leaving no opportunity to ask questions and he couldn’t think of anything he had done to warrant such a summons.  He also knew it didn’t do to keep his father waiting so he paused the film he was watching and made his way to the study.

The door was open so he went straight in.  His father’s big desk faced the doorway and Jeff was already sat back down behind it by the time Gordon entered.  He stepped up and patiently waited to be acknowledged, curious as to why he had been called for.  

“Gordon, I have to go out of town for a few days.”

“Ok.”  

“So you need to decide what you would rather do.  You have two choices; either I can arrange for you to join Alan at summer camp or you can go and stay with Virgil.”

“Honestly, you don’t need to do that.  I’ll be fine by myself for a few days.”

“You are not staying here alone,” Jeff’s voice was stern and intractable.

“I’m not a kid any more Dad.”

“Then maybe you should stop acting like one.  It’s time you grew up and started planning for the future.”

The thought that his father didn’t trust him alone in the house for a few days stung, especially given the number of times he had been responsible for not only himself but Alan too when their father got held up at the office until late.  He was seventeen, he had finished school and he had a gold medal.  Apparently none of that was enough to afford him the privilege of staying home alone.  The thought of being shipped off so his older brother could do babysitting duty was pretty bad but the idea of summer camp was much worse.  Being surrounded by kids mostly Alan’s age and having to take part in enforced activities was not appealing. 

“What about my swimming?”

“I’ve already spoken to your coach.  There are no major competitions for a few months so you can afford some fallow time.”

The thought that Jeff had bypassed him and gone straight to his coach was even more belittling.  It was like being ten years old again with the schedule of events stuck to the fridge and Jeff marking off which ones he could do based on the availability of a chaperone.  

“And you might need to ease up on your swimming anyway.  Now that high school is over you need to work out where you are headed in life.”

And there it was.  The not so subtle reminder that his father didn’t consider swimming to be a viable career prospect.  Even with an Olympic gold and a world record to his name, professional athlete was not on the list of Jeff Tracy approved jobs.  Everything he had worked for just diminished and relegated to the status of hobby.  That’s not to say that his father hadn’t been genuinely proud of his success so far but it was like he had reached the pinnacle and now it was time to move on.  It was one thing to have an Olympian as a son but the next Games were four years away and there was no knowing if Gordon would maintain his position in the world rankings.  World championships had their prestige in the sporting world but didn’t have the same gravitas as the Olympics to non-sporting folks.

Even if the uncertainty of future successes could be put aside Jeff had also made it abundantly clear that he disapproved of the selfishness of the sporting world.  Athletic success didn’t improve the world beyond providing entertainment.  It wasn’t a career that would make a difference.  It wasn’t useful, and just lately usefulness had become an overriding theme in the Tracy household.  

“I’m waiting, Gordon.  Which is it to be?”

He wanted to scream and shout but if there was one way Gordon was a Tracy through and through it was in his ability to keep his emotions contained in the face of adversity, or at least repressed until he was in a safe space.  Only Alan was yet to learn the skill; his youngest sibling wore his heart on his sleeve and Gordon often admired him for the way he could express himself freely, even if it sometimes led to blazing rows with their patriarch.   His broad shoulders slumped a little.  It was a done deal that he was being sent away for the duration of his father’s business trip.  He knew there was no point arguing and antagonising his father.

“Denver, please.”  Gordon’s normally cheerful voice was carefully neutral, a testament to the feelings he was keeping in check.  He wondered if he would ever be afforded the privilege of being treated like an adult or whether he would forever be a child in his father’s eyes; a person to be managed and directed rather than trusted as an individual.

Having received an answer Jeff considered the interview concluded and turned back to his tablet to book the required flight.  He might have a private jet at his disposal but he would need that for his own trip.  Gordon would be flying commercial, as usual.  An early morning flight was soon arranged and Jeff was able to return to his work, scrolling through the multitude of files related to his latest project.  He looked up to reach for his coffee and seemed surprised that Gordon was still stood in front of him.

“Go and pack, Gordon.”

Summarily dismissed Gordon returned to his room.  Clothes and toiletries were thrown haphazardly into a bag.  He took his anger out on the drawers of his dresser, yanking them out and slamming them shut.  The clothes hangers in his closet rattled and tumbled to the floor as he yanked down shirts.  He looked at his Team USA kit; the formal blazer and whites covered in a protective dust jacket next to the tracksuit worn poolside between heats.  The uniform was a painful reminder of his achievement that already seemed to be forgotten by the father he tried so hard to please.  The garments were thrown to the floor of the closet to lay in a crumpled heap on top of his shoes.

Just a few short weeks ago those two outfits had symbolised his achievements.  Proof that, as far as America was concerned, he was worthy.  He remembered the thrill of pulling on the garments for the first time, the cut of the blazer emphasising his broad chest and shoulders.  They were his uniform.  His battle dress.  After the Games he had carefully hung them up as a reminder of everything he had worked for, a sign that all the sacrifices had been worth it.  Now they screamed failure rather than success.  Failure to live up the narrow ideals of his father.  He kicked out at a trailing sleeve that had flopped over the threshold of the closet then slammed the door on the rumpled mess.

Gordon flung himself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.  He knew he was acting the petulant teenager his father viewed him as but sometimes it was hard not to revert to type when you never had the opportunity to prove yourself to be anything different.  Anger bubbled up inside him.   Just because he wasn’t like the others with their perfect grades and traditional life choices it felt like he would never be allowed to make his own decisions.  Even the career he had strived towards and made so many sacrifices for was being slowly taken away.  How dare his father speak to his coach about training commitments.  How dare he sideline the one talent Gordon possessed.  In all other areas he was measured up and found wanting but the medal above his bed and the world record in the history books were irrefutable evidence that he could make his mark in the world and be an individual in his own right.

The seething injustice coloured Gordon’s dreams that night.  His sleep was restless and more than once his legs became twisted in the sheets, dragging him back to wakefulness in order to free the constricting restraints.  When the morning alarm marked the end of the night, disturbing his dozing form and forcing away the last vestiges of sleep Gordon felt distinctly unrefreshed.  However, years of practice at taking himself to early morning swimming training meant he was able to resist the temptation to stay in bed and so he was ready, bag in hand, when the car arrived to take him to the airport.  Evidently his father’s commitments were too heavy to allow him to perform this duty and Gordon was graced with only a brief goodbye before being handed into the custody of a driver.

xoxoxox

Denver was tiny compared to Los Angeles.  It was still a sprawling metropolis compared to the backwater towns of Kansas but Gordon instantly felt more at home in the mid-western air.  He felt like he could finally breathe again.  He had never felt settled in Los Angeles with its inescapable traffic and permanent glow.  A city that never slept.   

When he had first been told of the move to the coast he had been excited at the prospect of living so close to the ocean that held his fascination.  It was an odd obsession for a boy brought up as far from the sea as it was possible to get but Gordon had always felt drawn to water in all its forms.  The few coastal holidays they had managed were filled with happy memories of rock pooling, snorkelling and learning the dangers of his beautiful aquatic mistress but in Gordon’s eyes the Los Angeles waterfront was a shallow imitation of what the barrier between land and sea should be.  The sculpted beaches filled with sculpted bodies held no appeal.  After one visit shortly after arriving in the city Gordon never went down to the waterfront again.

Virgil was there to meet him in the airport arrival’s lounge.  Dressed in his habitual plaid he was easy to spot.  Gordon soon found himself relieved of his bag as Virgil swung it over one shoulder with ease.  It wasn’t that Virgil thought him incapable, it was just the way he was.  Brother or not, Gordon was his guest and carrying your guest’s bag was a courtesy that had been instilled in each of them from an early age.  A brotherly arm was draped across his shoulders and he found himself drawn into a brief embrace before they walked companionably towards the taxi rank.

It didn’t take long to reach Virgil’s apartment which was situated a short stroll from campus.  The campus itself was still eerily quiet, mostly populated by faculty and a few postgrads like Virgil who had stuck around to work on projects.  Term, and the influx of undergraduates that came with it, was yet to start.  The streets surrounding the campus were free of the term time hustle and bustle created by the transient student population and the area had a calm serenity that contrasted sharply to the buzzing city Gordon had recently left.

The apartment was the epitome of masculine design, each item of furniture or decoration a clear reflection of its occupant.  There was an eclectic mix of high end items and junk store finds, set off by hand crafted pieces made by Virgil himself.  Comfortable, functional and strong, the whole ensemble coordinated perfectly.  Virgil’s habitat had grown organically over his few years of occupation, it was now as warm and friendly as its owner and a place that you couldn’t help but relax in.

It felt more homely than the Los Angeles apartment which always had an air of echoing emptiness.  Jeff had wanted to ensure that his older boys had a space to come back to and call their own and with money no object the city pad he had procured was obscenely large for a place normally occupied by just three people.  The executive styling added to the cold and impersonal air of the place.  It was an environment where people co-existed rather than lived and the extra rooms for absent siblings only seemed to enhance the feeling of loneliness.  It felt good to be in Denver rather than Los Angeles, even if the reason for the visit stung.

Gordon sat down on the couch, bouncing slightly to test its springiness.  The apartment was a compact, one bedroomed affair and he knew the couch would be his bed for the next few nights.  The sound of a coffee maker and the chink of mugs from the kitchen showed that Virgil still had his caffeine addiction and the warm aroma of good coffee was soon filling the space, adding to the general air of comfort.  Before many minutes had passed his brother was back beside him and two brimming mugs sat steaming the coffee table 

“Hey, so you decided to come check out my school.  It’s a great place here, you’ll love it.  I can show you around all the labs and things while it’s still quiet, maybe introduce you to some of the faculty depending on what area you want to specialise in.”

Virgil’s enthusiasm was met with stunned bewilderment.

“Dad said you were looking at college, right?” he probed, tentatively. 

Evidently this trip wasn’t just about Gordon not being trusted at home.  Even from afar his father was making his intentions clear and pushing his own agenda of what he expected of his sons.  Virgil watched as the teenager in front of him stiffened, a defensive shell seeming to rise up around Gordon and a sullen look appeared across the features which had seemed so relaxed and at ease until that point. 

“No, Dad just didn’t want me staying home alone.  Look, I’m sure it’s great for you but I’ve got no plans for college at all.  In case you hadn’t noticed I’m not exactly college material.”

Witnessing the self-depreciation from his brother stung.  Busy lives meant he hadn’t spent much time alone with Gordon in the last few years.  The young man in front of him was clearly hurting and Virgil’s caring nature was screaming at him to make it better but he felt woefully ill-equipped to counsel the troubled teen.  

“I’m sure that’s not true.  You’d be able to go to college if you wanted to.  You’re smart; you were hardly at school the last two years and you still managed to graduate with good marks.”

Gordon turned sorrowful eyes on his brother, he had never been able to be angry with Virgil and fighting with the gentle giant didn’t come naturally.  There was something about Virgil that reminded him of Mom; something that invited him to open up, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be judged.

“And what if it’s not what I want?  Sometimes it feels like I don’t have any say in my life.  Dad wants me to stop swimming.  Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Truth be told, Virgil didn’t.  He had only ever met encouragement for his plans, he had been supported and his passions had been indulged.  Music lessons and art classes had co-existed with school, ensuring he had a therapeutic release from his more traditional studies.  His desire to study engineering had been greeted with enthusiasm and a generous allowance.  To hear that a brother was being expected to give up their passion was a surprise to him.

“I’m sure Dad only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yeah, it always comes down to what Dad wants.”  There was a snort of derision.  “But news flash Virgil, I’m not like the rest of you.  I’m never going to get into Harvard or Yale or anywhere else Dad would approve of.  And I don’t want to.  I have one thing I’m good at and now that’s being taken away.”

“I’m sure that’s not true Gordo, there are lots of things you’re good at.  Look, maybe college isn’t the right place for you but don’t sell yourself short.  It sounds like you and Dad just need some space apart from each other for a bit.  He’s got a lot on at the moment, there’s a big project in the pipeline and you know how focussed he can get when that happens.  You know, you are always welcome here if you need some breathing space.  And I promise, no campus tour unless you want it.”

“Thanks Virg.  Maybe a break will do me good.  It’s all just so tense back home.”

Gordon felt a heavy arm slung over his shoulders as he was drawn in to a hug that held more meaning than the brief embrace of greeting he had received earlier.  Virgil had always been the most free of the siblings in showing his love physically.  With Virgil moved out Gordon couldn’t remember the last time he had received a hug from anyone other than Alan and those were becoming more rare and awkward as the pair aged. 

His initial instinct was to push away but he didn’t want to hurt Virgil’s feelings.  He could feel the beating of the larger man’s heart and he found the rhythm soothing.  The tension he hadn’t even realised he was carrying began to slowly dissipate and he melted into the soft cotton of Virgil’s shirt.  He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before slowly pushing himself out of the embrace.  

“Better?”

He nodded, not yet trusting himself to speak.

Gordon settled back and savoured the coffee.  Perhaps the time in Denver wouldn’t be so bad after all.