#dad overlooking it all

[heybiji]

double life

[everyryuujisuguro]

[liliaasyoursexyvampiredaddy]

I always wonder why people are hating on Rashta and other female characters more than the male ones. But it turns out, the male characters don't have as much spotlight. (other than Sovieshu and Heinrey)

Rashta's dad rarely appeared.

I forgot Lotteshu, Alan, Kaufmann and Ergi even existed.

Who is Kosair again? Right, Navier's brother that tried to kill Rashta's baby.

[dreamerinsilico]

I need to remember that getting too distracted by intense blog posts by ancient/medieval scholars about ancient and medieval farming, iron production, etc to actually play the medieval farming sim game is not actually a failure state for the night.

[notmoreflippingelves]

Just came to the belated and unfortunate (?) realization that Esteban Flores's full name technically means "flower crown" in English.

[whydoifeelthisquiet]

lol I am nowhere near wealthy, but my mom’s cousin is and she’s a realtor in The Hamptons. She posts her listings on Facebook and I daydream about living in all of them. This backyard is actually a dream.

[cyberneticdryad]

i will solve this pc issue so help me gods

[molkolsdal]

thinking about the identity crisis i went though as a kid cuz my parents had told me very simply that my mom was pashtun and my dad was punjabi and they were both from peshawar and that was that. understandably they had simplified it so much for me cuz i was a kid, but whenever other brown people asked where i was from or "what are you" and i mentioned punjabi and they'd be like oh wow where? lahore? and i'd just be like nope lol peshawar and they would press me about how my dad could be punjabi if he was from peshawar and i just didn't have an answer. when i got a little older, i started saying well borders are manmade, you don't necessarily have to be from one ethnicity cuz you're from a certain area (and i was right! i just didn't know at the time why i was right).

as i got older and i found out more about our family background, it all made more sense to me as i came to know that the punjabi side of us was allegedly from a great-great-great grandfather from gurdaspur who had moved to bannu way back when. but as my interest in linguistics and anthropology and history grew, i realized that my old explanation of "borders are manmade" was true anyway!!! prime examples being speakers of Hindko and Derawali, as well as the Hazarewal community in general. anyways, i could go on about this, but it's all just so endlessly fascinating that i wouldn't know where to stop so i'll stop now.

[a-very-fond-farewell]

anxiety level: imma cry at the thought of finally having 1 hour to myself to just vibe 👯‍♀️

(time to write)

[cassetoi-fam]

they can copy my t-boy swag but they'll NEVER have my soul. or my ability to say strange, unsettling things with no pretense and pass it off for comedy (it works)

[the-midnight-in-me]

Maybe if I rant enough about MAGAts via public facebook posts, my toxic mom will do me a solid and uninvite me from the holidays so I don't have to be the one to bail.

[jpriest85-blog]

Omg! Wow first of all I'm glad u love my desgine for these charcters, and yes ur welcome to use them.

I recently drew a picture of Ilithyia in formal wear, with an updated desgine for her torch symbol. Normaly she dresses pretty plainly, due to how busy she is as a midwife. However on the rare occasions when Ilithyia isn't overworked and exhausted she cleans up nicely and carries herself with the same grace and poise as her mother...it also makes Ilithyia wish she could go back to being overlooked because Hera keeps bringing up all the pontentail marriage offers Ilithyia is missing out on. No thank you mom, she's quite happy being a single parent. Also doesn't help the last time Ilithyia went to a formal event at Olympus she had to deal getting hit on a lot. Thankfully Ilithyia also inherited her mother's temper, and was able to deal with the more annoyingly persestint unwanted suitors by inflicting them with labor pains.

Still fixated on Greek mythology due to Epic and ur hilarious art of the Olympian gods. Learned about one of Zeus & Hera's lesser known daughters, Ilithyia (or Eileithyia), the goddess of safe and painless childbirth, and midwives. Sure she isn't mentioned often, since both Hera & Artemis are also associated with midwives. Tbh the only time I can recall her being mentioned, is when Hera straite up kidnapps her so Ilithyia couldn't help Leto when she went into labour. Wtf mom?! Like sure it won't stop Leto from giving birth, but having twins is still rough (closest we can get with a pain free birth with modern medicen is with an epidural, and tbh I'd rather have a goddess take away birth pains then get a gaint needle injecting drugs in my spine)!

I took my insperation for Ilithyia & her son Sosipolis from ur art of Zeus, Hera & their children. Ilithyia has Hera's facial features, and red eyes. Her completion is similar to Ares, and considering how messy and dangerious childbirth can be, she can often be seen with blood on her clothes like her brother. She has Zeus' tall build, and dark curly hair. Often seen sporting a messy bun and dark eye bags like her bro Hesphaestus. Her son Sosipolis takes after his Auntie Hebe with golden hair and eyes, with completion similar to his Pappous (grandpa) Zeus'.

Sosipolis is doesn't have and named parent, but considering Ilithyia grew up seeing how messy her own parents marriage is, I headcanon she just wanted a baby but didn't want to deal with having a husband. Zeus and Hera were probably not thrilled about about one of their daughters willingly choosing to be an unmarried single mom, but Ilithyia made it clear if they can't handle that, she can just move to Crete and they don't get to see their grandson. A bit harsh but considering all the, baby mama/who's the father drama, Ilithyia had to witness from her parents over the centuries seems fair. The story of Sosipolis becoming the god and protector of the city state Elis is hilarious too. Elis was being invaded by the Arcadians, so Ilithyia shows up, tits out breastfeeding a baby, tells them my kid is going to be ur champion, and they're just alraight. So they put baby Sosipolis on the front lines, and when the Arcadian army attacked, he turned into a gaint snake and scared them away. Pretty wild but also on brand for Zeus and Hera's grand kid.

I picture Ilithyia being a middle child, often overlooked and ignored, unless needed for something.Very tired, and overworked similar to an exausted med student, or OBGYN intern.Just 100% done with her familes' BS. Ilithyia does love babies and kids she tends to be more patient and kind with them, and expecting parents. She is not as indulgent with others, unless u r in labor, an infant,or a first time parent she doesn't have the energy or time to deal with u! Now let her take a damn smoke break and nap, unless u want to know what giving birth to a 10lbs breech baby feels like?!

OH YOU COOKED WITH THIS ONE !

I really love this !! Can I adopt these designs ? (Like, I include these to my canon pantheon while crediting you every time I use em)

[abyssyby]

maybe a turtle

— Kyros thinks his papa is a ghost, but he's not afraid. Wherever Sylus runs, his son will always follow.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: it's kyros's turn!! sylus & kyros!! >0< just wanna say thank you so much for all the love and enthusiasm youve been showing the little twins. theyre so so fun to write about, and im glad there are people out there who enjoy reading about them too. i hope you enjoy this one! ❀-urs

important heads up for context of this story: kyros is (my headcanon) 1/2 of sylus's twin boys. also around 4 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩 read kyros's twin's chapter here ᡣ𐭩

sylus & kyros | sylus x reader | angst, fluff, comfort, sylus's son showing him that there will always be people missing him, dad!sylus, mom!reader

Kyros is scarily quiet. With everyone’s world so bustling and busy, he is often overlooked when he is just standing there. Walking so slowly, his footfalls were silent on tile and carpet. Each step is planted on the ground with care and patience.

Dark crimson eyes open for observing rather than knowing. Still trying to learn the earth beneath his feet and taking his sweet, mellow time with its wonders. 

In his world: his brother Lucian is a fluttering bird, always moving, above the ground, and looming larger than his size. Coming down to make sure to tell Kyros all he sees. 

His big brothers Kieran and Luke are music, loud and harmonious. Bounding around him when they play, moving him and carrying him like a melody. Making him feel an immense joy knowing they are around. 

His mama is apple juice, sweet and comforting. Arms ready to take him in her embrace and sprinkle kisses over his cheeks like the sparkling bubbles in his sippy cup. Kind eyes and a pretty smile, enough to calm big feelings in his little heart. Make him feel safe.

And his papa is a ghost. 

Papa’s presence is carefully threaded into the tapestry of his day. When his eyes open, Sylus is already there to lift him out of his crib for breakfast. When he waddles up to his papa’s bedroom or office door, without so much as a knock, Sylus is already opening it and lifting Kyros up in his embrace. When he’s out of the house— papa’s music plays in the study, papa’s food is in the fridge, papa’s scent is on the couch. 

But papa has been busier these past few days, leaving early in the morning, returning too late at night for Kyros to run up to him at the door anymore. Although Sylus never leaves without sneaking into his bedroom to say goodbye with a kiss on his pudgy cheek or his hair, Kyros just thinks he’s hiding somewhere he cannot reach. 

And each day, he feels that absence. 

For the past few days, he’s asked, “Mama, where papa goes?” 

And mama says the same thing, “On a mission, angel.” 

So he pads over to the couch, on papa’s spot and waits. He wanders by his dizzy-spinning-CD’s and listens to his music. He nibbles on the cookies and crumbs he left in the meantime. Until he comes back. Until Kyros can find him again. 

Papa is a ghost and Kyros is constantly trying to catch him. 

But Sylus isn’t running away. So when he is caught, he submits to the whims of his little hunter.

“Got you.” Sylus startles at the voice. It was too late in the night for anyone in his family to be up still on a quiet weekend. He’d just gotten home from a mission across cities, ones that left his neck with a crick and his head aching with the incompetence of the people he was with. 

So it was a surprise to find Kyros out of the blue, in the dead of night, waddling into the study. Soon, he is climbing up on Sylus’s lap, slowly grabbing a crease in his shirt, hauling his body up the legs, and wriggling to right himself to sit upright. Wedging himself between his papa and his papa’s work. 

“Hello, Kyros.” Sylus says, lips already drawn to his head in a tender kiss. “‘Got’ me?” 

Kyros clasps his hands together, clapping like he was catching a bug. “Like dis.” 

“Mm.” Sylus pushes away from the desk and curls his arms around his son’s body, unconsciously drawing him against his belly. “Papa is a mosquito?” 

Kyros smiles a little, releases a breezy little giggle like wind chimes on a warm summer day. “No. Papa not mosquito.” 

Sylus’s heart flutters at the sound. “Then why did you catch me—“ he imitates the catching with one large hand. “—like this?” 

Kyros lingers on the metaphor a little longer. Watching his own hands open and close, distracted by how they move. Sylus notices and imitates the movement with him while he waits for a response. 

Finally, it comes when Sylus closes his hand around Kyros’s little fingers, drawing him back to the conversation. “Gotcha.” 

Kyros laughs again, prying large fingers off his hand and then patting them. Sylus asks again, wriggling his fingers over his happy, squeezed-crescent eyes. “Why did you catch me, angel?” 

Kyros catches his hand and hugs it to his chest. His tone is patient, like how you would explain how soup is meant to be cooled down before you slurp, but with the hint of you should know obviousness. “Is i’cause you quick, papa.”

“I’m quick.” Sylus nods, affirming his ideas. “Papa has long legs.” 

“I haves tiny-tiny legs.” Kyros runs with the thought. “And i’cause Kyros is slow.”

Sylus’s lips quirk. “Slow? My Kyros?” 

“A-huh. Like turtle.” he’s moving again, small hands petting against Sylus’s chest, head bobbing side to side to imitate a turtle’s scooting on the sand. 

“I see.” Sylus has seen you read the boys that book before bedtime. Lucian asked all the questions and acted out all the running. Kyros always just sat there and blinked like he was downloading your voice. “And is papa the hare?” 

He thinks a little, looking up at Sylus like he was picturing him with big ears and buck teeth. He shakes his head at the image. “No, papa is papa.”

“Ah,” Sylus tilts his head, considering. “I mean, is papa like the hare? Fast?” 

Kyros nods then, getting the semantics now. “Papa like’a hare. And— and like a horse. And a race car. And flyin' ‘Pisto.” 

Sylus chuckles something sincere, finds rest in his son’s voice listing the many fast things he is like. His presence was a calm rush of fresh water over his aching bones. It doesn’t even cross his mind that he snuck out of his bedroom past his bedtime. He just listens, breathes him in, grateful. For being a tether to follow back home from being someone other than papa. 

He’s here, he promises, he’s listening. Despite the way his arms begin to slacken around Kyros’s body. Despite the way his eyes droop slowly, and the voice he listens to sounds like it’s wandering further down a tunnel he cannot see the end to. Slowly being engulfed by the crackling fire in its hearth. He takes a deep breath, he’s listening… so close to sleep— 

“… and leave Kyros behind.” Ice runs through his veins. 

Bleary eyed, but alert, he blinks at Kyros in confusion. “What… what was that, Kyros?” 

Kyros is already staring up when he peers down. There’s a look on his face that resembles when he is about to get in trouble. He’d heard the tone of Sylus’s voice, and if his children are anything they are incredibly perceptive. 

So Sylus breathes, meets him where he was and tries again. “You think papa leaves you behind?” 

The look of guilt on Kyros’s face remains as he nods. He doesn’t know just why he feels bad for telling Sylus the truth, only feels that something has changed. The quiet isn’t so warm anymore, and papa is taking careful breathing breaths like he does when he’s a little scared. 

And Sylus slips, fall headfirst down a mudslide of his own painful thoughts. Suddenly, every moment with Kyros leading up to now is a focal point— why did he stay awake until he got back? why would he say these things if he did not feel it so strongly? why would he look so sad, so betrayed at the thought if it weren’t true? 

And the truth— Sylus is so used to being a shadow if not the wind, of smoke and feathers, of disappearing without notice, of leaving no crumbs to follow. Of being alone. 

Even after all these years, he still fails to remember that he is no longer who he was. No longer a beast in isolation, no longer a monster that is feared. 

Now, he is a partner, a father. And the people who look for him aren’t always trying to kill him. And the people who witness his absence do not celebrate it, but miss his presence. 

The people who need him now need him not for his wealth or his power or his influence— they just need him. To be present, to be loving, to be here.

And now he knows, he is told, that he might be failing at that too. He opens his mouth to speak— apologize, explain, fix, something—but Kyros beats him to it. 

“Papa,” Kyros says carefully. He’s sensed the turmoil. The way papa, again, has disappeared despite being here in front of him. He rises to his knees, reaching up to plant his hands on Sylus’s cheeks— just as mama does— and ushers him back. “Papa, wait for me.” 

Sylus is thrown another blow to the gut. Another world-shattering glimpse into the true meaning of his son’s presence here now.

Sylus doesn’t just disappear physically. He runs, sprints, shoots off emotionally too. Leaving his family for the tide of shame that consumes him. Leaving his son to wonder what he said wrong that made him drift away once more. 

“Kyros…” he swallows, voice so soft it breaks at the edges. Chooses words carefully. His large hands come up to cradle soft cheeks back as he whispers, “Papa is here. I’m here, angel.” 

Kyros’s face brightens at the touch. The way Sylus squeezes his face fondly. “Hi, papa.” 

His poor heart shatters. His eyes prickle and his nose burns. He overturns all the memories and things he's done in his life to deserve this— and helplessly finds nothing. And yet, here he is. He rasps, “Hello, Kyros.” 

“Papa waiting?”

“Papa waiting.” 

“Papa wait and—and Kyros catch.” Kyros pats his hands gently on Sylus’s cheeks this time, literally catching father’s rough edges in his soft, tiny palms. Unknowingly catching his unwinding sanity, his breaking heart, and his fraying soul too. 

It floors him, drives him into the ground in a harsh wreck. How once he held Kyros’s newborn frame in a cradle of his two hands. And now, somehow, Kyros holds the entire weight of him. 

And to Kyros, it feels like he weighs nothing at all. 

Sylus watches fondly. His son, with his eyes and his hair, but your determined expression. Your patience. Your understanding. Your forgiveness. Your love.

This gift, you’ve carefully poured into this boy, who now generously douses him with it. 

“Kyros will always catch papa?” his voice shakes when he asks, deft fingers brushing messy hair away from sparkling eyes. A hope. A wish. 

Kyros takes a while to answer questions only because he likes the thinking part of it all, but for this one, he answers immediately. “Yes. I good at it.” 

His eyes close and his breath returns to him. He bows his head in his hold; a dragon succumbing to his hunter. He agrees. 

Kyros is always looking enough to see, smart enough to notice, patient enough to understand, and slow— devastatingly and achingly slow enough for Sylus to realize and do the same, to feel the same. To be pulled into his orbit as a planet to the slow burning sun. 

The lump in his throat melts and trickles away. Feels a wound once poorly stitched—reopened, disinfected and bound together again with better trappings by smaller, gentler hands. 

Of which their owner is trusting because he knows nothing else. And his son proves time and time again that his failures in this life and the last or any other life before, does not equate to the man they see now. Does not carry over to his papa. 

Kyros asks for nothing, but for him to wait. To be caught. To slow down. To stay.

The tears fall before he even takes notice. He doesn’t pull away or hide. He practices what he is asked for. He keeps still, and tilts his forehead to make contact with his son’s. “Thank you, Kyros.”

Kyros presses back, unsure why papa is crying, but happy with his touch. His presence. Clumsy fingers wipe away salty tears, which Sylus’s lips chase with kisses. “You welcome, papa.” 

He vows then, in the tranquil bubble his son has created for them, that he even when he cannot figure out what he did to deserve him, he will be what he deserves. A ghost that can be caught. A hare that celebrates the turtle’s wins. 

“What can papa do for you, my turtle?” he scoops the little boy up by the armpits and lets him rest on the crook of his elbow. 

Kyros presses his nose to Sylus’s jaw and hums. An all too familiar action again from a bigger, more motherly source. “Apple juice, pease?”

“Before bedtime?” Sylus asks, voice lilting in amusement. Though he’s already pushing his chair back and standing, with every intention to deliver. 

Kyros blinks back, eyes mirthful and sparkling. Sylus’s chest caves, he is brought to his knees at the sight. His fingers come up to pinch full cheeks, having a mind of their own.

“Ma bub, pease?” Sylus laughs, loud and resonant, at your tactics of persuasion making their way to your children now. My love’s lips press adoring kisses to his temple. 

Kyros wounds his short arms around Sylus’s neck, giggling like he knows he is his powerful and untouchable father’s weakness. Ever grateful for his presence, a too big feeling for his too little body to make sense of for now. But it is there. 

The halls echo the sound of humming, deep and rusty— a practiced lullaby whose notes are bent and twisted, but perfectly aligned to the little ears that listen.

And Sylus walks slowly, his footfalls muted against the tile and carpet. Memorizing the current weight of his too-quickly growing baby against his chest, the warmth of his breath against his collar and the tenderness of his embrace. Ceaselessly chasing these moments so as not to miss a single one. Remembering to be still once he is there.

He clings just as much as Kyros does to this love— gentle, quiet, here— if not more.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Hate ‘ishuns!” Kyros’s voice pulls you from the trenches of sleep. You make a tired, inquisitive sound like you were simply lost in the conversation.

“Hmm?”

“Shh,” he is scolded. For a moment there is quiet again, and just the static in the air, and so you start to drift once more.

“No more ‘ishuns, papa,” Kyros harrumphs and now you open your eyes to the dim light. Beside you, Sylus is seated up against the headboard with Kyros on his stomach— both wide eyed and guilty.

You release a deep breath. “Apple juice, Sylus?”

Sylus winces at your tone. “He said ‘my love’.”

“and pease.” Kyros adds.

“We’ll go, sweetie,” Sylus offers, moving to scoot off the bed, bring their little late night conversation elsewhere.

He plants a kiss to your forehead, and so does Kyros. But neither gets far, for despite your sleep laden haze, your grip is strong on Sylus’s arm. “No. Stay.”

Kyros clears his throat.

You sigh fondly. “Please.”

And so they do.

✧˚ ⋆｡ prev: maybe a dragon (lucian) || read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you for reading!

[yasministration]

A job for a godparent - Harry Potter

summary: harry knows you're the love of his life, but he just needs to know that you want kids as much as he does. a day at his house over the summer confirms it. wc: 0.8k+ harry's parents and sirius and rem are all alive. sirius and remus have a kid.

Harry had known he wanted a big family for as long as he could remember. He always enjoyed having his uncles around every day, living next door to him and his parents, but he knew that there would be one difference between him and his kids: they would have siblings.

You and Harry had been dating for a while, but he had no idea where you stood on the idea of having children. Did you hate them? Worse. Did they hate you? Harry spent countless nights thinking about it. What if you didn’t want children? It would break his poor little heart. Sure, Harry could just ask you about it but he was worried you’d think he’s moving too fast with the relationship. He just wanted to find out before he was in it too deep. It was a little late for that though, because the boy was already committed.

You came around to Harry’s house often, and his parents absolutely adored you. There was an air of elegance and composure around you that kept Harry in check, and both he and his parents were convinced that you were the woman Harry was going to marry.

Today was no different. It was a beautiful summer day, and you’d spent the morning with Harry, sharing not so secret kisses in his bedroom and talking about the year ahead while his parents and uncles spent time together downstairs. He looked at you with eyes of adoration, watching every minor movement you made: the slight tug of your lips into a shy smile or the sigh that escaped your lips as he kissed you softly. Around midday, when the sun was shining the strongest, Harry suggested to go swimming in the lake overlooking the backyard.

Your charming boyfriend had put his hands on your waist, pressing soft kisses on your neck and making suggestive jokes about taking your clothes off before he had been shooed away. He went to the bathroom to get changed, telling you he’d gather all the essentials and meet you downstairs, leaving you in his bedroom. When you were secured in your bikini, sure that Harry would struggle to untie it later today, you quickly threw on your cover-up and swung the door open, a gasp leaving your lips almost instantly when you saw the intrusion in the hallway.

A young girl, no older than the age of two or three, was walking on wobbly legs and sniffling softly. At your gasp, the girl turned around, the momentum sending her off her feet and onto the ground. You crouched down, sure that this was Harry’s uncles’ daughter who your boyfriend speaks about so often. “Hey sweetheart, is everything okay?” The toddler shook her head, bottom lip wobbling with a threat of crying. “Are you looking for your dad?” You asked softly, unsure if she could understand you at all.

She did. With a nod of her head, the girl repeated “Dada.”

You extended your arms towards her, which seemed like enough convincing for the girl who pushed herself off the ground to walk straight into your arms. “I’ll take you to dada, yeah?” You stood up, balancing her on your hip and taking careful steps towards the stairs. Your heart instantly warmed up when she rested her head on your shoulder, her small arms hugging you loosely, curly hair splayed over your shoulder.

You instantly spotted Harry and his family once you reached the bottom of the staircase, sitting next to the empty fireplace. Harry held a couple of towels, and was exchanging jokes with his family, but all eyes turned towards you and the toddler in your arms when you stepped closer to them. Remus immediately stood up at the sight of his teary eyed princess, and you said “Uh, she was looking for you in the hallway.” “Thanks love.” He said, lifting his precious daughter from your arms, who instantly started repeating her dad’s name with a smile.

During the small exchange you had failed to notice Harry’s reaction to you with the child, his jaw slack and a look of absolute adoration in his eyes at the sight of you handling his cousin with such natural movements. He was frozen in place, incapable of tearing his gaze off you, despite the amused look his mother was watching him with.

“Are we going outside?” You asked, tearing Harry out of his daze. He nodded eagerly, wordlessly following outside and narrowly missing the look his parents shot each other. “He’s just like you.” Lily mumbled, watching through the big glass doors as Harry wrapped an arm around your waist, kissing your temple softly. “Would have a dozen more if you'd let me... We’ve just got to warn him not to get her pregnant before they graduate.” Lily hummed, deciding “I’m not the one having that conversation with him.” James cursed before his head snapped up, gaze stuck on his two best friends.

“Yeah, that’s a job for his godparents.”

Safe to say, Harry was horrified Sirius pulled him aside for that conversation the very next day. But that didn’t stop him from going over to your house and making love to you like he wanted to give you a baby right then and there.

[inafieldofstarflowers]

So you’re in college and one day this student athlete who’s in your improv class asks you to be his date at an event for his team. It’s nothing serious—everyone knows he’s in a committed relationship, but it’s also a long-distance relationship, and he explains that they’ve decided to keep it at least semi-open while apart, so you could totally hook up with him—and he’s nice and easy to talk to, and so you overlook the fact that his team is consistently wrapped up in some scandal or another (especially the new guy). The drive there is pretty chill, except as soon as you get there, the coach gives the star player (who’s also famous) a bottle of vodka and he just goes to town on it, which is weird, but whatever. And then you go inside and find your seats, which are across from the team’s rivals (which—really? who planned this?), and the world’s tensest, most confusing conversation devolves into the new guy ripping into the other team’s captain (who, by the way, is also famous), and you all get moved to sit with the coaches, which is weird but fine. After eating, things are good—you dance with your date, some people have a volleyball game going, and other than some altercation happening off to the side of the room (you’re pretty sure the guy’s team captain just hit a guy in the balls with her heels), everything is normal, and eventually the coach rounds you up and you head back to campus, and after that you don’t really do anything with the guy again, but around thanksgiving one of his cousins kills a guy, and then the new guy comes back from winter break with one of the face tattoos the two famous guy and their friend have, and then a few months later he gets kidnapped by his dad (who was apparently a serial killer he was running from?) and even with all of that they somehow not only make it to finals but are the first team to ever beat their rivals out—and for the championship trophy, no less—and the other team’s captain maybe tries to kill the new guy on live tv but the guy from improv’s other cousin stops him by breaking his arm, and shortly after the game the news breaks that the other team’s captain killed himself after losing, after which his coach steps down and a bunch of information starts leaking suggesting that the rival team was some kind of cult. Your name is Jim, and you kind of think you should quit improv and maybe transfer schools.