#god there's so many dysfunctional men in my brain

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

Bitches will really see two men who don't know how to communicate properly with each other at all and start fantasizing about them having a healthy sexual relationship. As per usual, it's me, I'm bitches.

[siremasterlawrence]

Payback Is A Bitch (Literally)

Revenge is best served cold where that ne family, friends or foes then there is the Hart Von Al family my worst enemies through out my history.

Who knew exactly eighteen years and three months exactly since they ruined my life back in collage him and his stupid horde of children.

Of course I had I known they would book my illustrious hotel on the sandy Florida resort of my creation which I did by the way the plan is perfect.

The moment I saw them walking onto the the fiery hot sandy beach radiating down on me when I came across them meeting my eye lines.

All I can do is take a deep breath before in order to calm myself down at the sights of the two of them being bitches as per usual to the core.

They enter back into the hotel to utter lack of function everything is in disarray It is in particular when the father Jack steps up to press the elevator panel.

The button lights up racing down the cart hit the first floor opening up with a lard whoosh sound something is off as his feet tilt falling forward.

His body hits the cart with the door closing on him enclosing him in a safe line spot that surrounds him in darkness the lights begin to flicker.

His two kids start to pound on the steel door screaming for him to escape but he could not hear them as a piece of classical music airy and mysterious burst through the speaker.

“The hotel is completely in dysfunction”

“The elevator shaft is in ruins “

“Five star hotel my ass”

“SET ME FREE”

“NOW”

“PLEASE “

“Fuck!”

“I am going mad in here “

“Shit! I am stuck in this shit hole of a hotel”

In the pent house suite miles above in the gigantic floor a young man watches his first major nemesis literally going insane trapped in plan he concocted.

If he had half a brain he while he slid by way of the wall onto the floor he might attempt to remember when he did that to me with Ill intent.

“Revenge is sweet is it not?”

“Who the fuck are you “

“Oh! The bitter taste of your demise “

“I will find you and”

“You will find me and then what?”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“Don’t worry you won’t go insane in fact you will be like brand new”

“A factor reset after all you are a bastard “

“FUCK YOU!”

Andrew Lyle is his eldest shifty son a twisted two time face brat with model physique built like a hanger, pretty smirk and clothes that match.

The helicopter lands on the roof top tower in a tier of gold, white and silver spanning the area and the door slides as he walks off and on to the helicopter pad.

There is state idiot smile plastered on to his face he removes his sunshades he closes one end of glasses brim and leaves it on his lapel.

One of my many hotel employees arrives to greet him taking his bags as they descend the staircase and exit the roof top area he thinks he is going to his room.

It is really quite impressive how he manages

to trick the world into believing he is some sort of God among men and I am about to put him in place.

The hallway empties leaving him in a naked white wall hallway the lights fade to black he starts to panic calling for help when he can hear foot steps approaching.

“Hello? Anybody here? HELP ME!”

“Answer me”

“Speak”

“Say something “

“This is creepy”

“Turn on the lights”

“I said quit it”

“What is going on?”

“How can this be happening?”

“I tell you mwahahaha “

“You are scaring me”

“Oh Well!”

“This is some strange shit”

“Asshole “

The man laughs happily snapping his finger the hallway spins in circular fashion sending Andrew into a tale spin of lust, fare and his inner desire.

The bitch thinks he has his way jumps from the top of the staircase he leaps on to the stairs below making his way attempting to escape.

“Where are you going?”

“I am about to break this place apart “

“How so? You don’t want to vacate this hall”

“I don’t “

“It’s is lush, comfortable and safe “

“So pretty”

“Why would you leave?”

“I don’t want to”

“It’s impossible to even ignore me”

Tom Harry Parker races up to the hotel room

in a passionate moment he slams the door placing his back on it in a panic pounding his fist on the door. His heart beat hitting

his chest he cries loudly sliding to the floor he resumes his dramatic fit then proceeds to shut the window and pulling done the shade.

“He can’t find me “

“I am safe here “

“Right? Right?”

“I am going crazy “

“Not as much as you think “

“In panic mode right?”

“I hate you all “

“So you think”

“You might want to kneel”

“Give up and obey “

“You will fall pretty to me eventually “

“You wish “

“Don’t worry soon you will”

“I will what?”

“Eating from my ass”

“Disgusting”

“So you say come to me”

“What do you want?

“Your total submission “

“Fat chance in hell that will happen “

“Why don’t you shut up and see?”

“Why I oughta “

“Kiss me then you alright destroyed me”

“Succumb to me”

“Inside you already have “

“Like a moth to a flame “

The end

[queenofbaws]

Hey! Can I ask request 6, 11 & 14 for Wringing Blood from A Stone? ^^

well hey yourself!!! oooh, you know i'm always more than happy to rant and rave about those crazy ol' hacketts... ;)c hehehe

6. Does this chapter/fic have any twists that you’re proud of?

this upcoming chapter, no; the fic itself, yesss. i won't get into them specifically, obviously, but one of the things i'm really trying to capture the most in this fic is just...the nature of the hacketts being a family. like an actual-factual (obviously exaggerated) family, complete with all the tangles and snares any real family has. you guys already know what supernatural stuff is on its way, and the extra supernatural stuff i'm throwing in there, i think you can probably draw some conclusions about too, but there are for sure a few family-based twists i'm very, very, very excited to reveal in due time.

twists that - i very much hope - won't end up coming out of left field, but will make horrible, horrible sense in retrospect ;)c

11. What scene are you most hyped for this chapter/fic?

for the upcoming chapter, i'm super hyped for one caleb & kaylee interaction in particular. there's so much dysfunction in the family, and lord knows the interactions with the hackett brothers themselves can sometimes feel a little less than friendly, so i really relish in writing caleb and kaylee sort of being besties first and siblings second. plus, we might just get a peek at caleb's wolf story............

in terms of scenes i'm most hype for across the whole fic, GOD HELP ME. there are. a lot coming up. so here are some out of context spoilers for scenes i'm very excited to get to: a big ol' family brunch gone wrong; old men fighting, parts 1 and 2; jack eats the world's sloppiest sloppy joe; the worst damn church service you've ever seen; and they're all gonna laugh at you. genuinely, there are........so many pieces of this story i just cannot wait to share, and i wish i could just pop my head open and shake the words out like loose change aslkdjfalskdjf

14. What have you been finding frustrating with writing this chapter/fic?

alas, as happened when i was writing the (almost)s, and what i think is probably the case with most longfics in general, like wringing blood has become a very personal project that's sort of reflective of some family stuff i'm going through currently. on the one hand, that's super therapeutic, because it's a place where i can channel a lot of my emotions and frustrations and hopes and disappointments about my own family in a way i can control...but on the other hand, the reason i've suddenly gotten so slow with updating is because my family stuff does suck currently, it is sucking up a lot of my energy and sanity, and when i have a break from them, the idea of jumping into sharing my brain with the hacketts isn't, uh, immediately welcoming, let's say XD

which leads to a SECONDARY frustration, of course: i'm so, so, so, so, SO excited for this story, there's nothing i want more than to get it all to paper and SHARE, but i'm in a spot right now where things are slowed and sort of gunked-up. i can't stress enough how i have. every. major. beat. of this story plotted out, i have about 90% of it outlined in VIVID detail, i know EXACTLY what's going to happen in every chapter until the end, i have an embarrassing amount of it already written, but man. ya gurl is tired. so wanting to get everything out into the world but knowing i don't have the brainspace for it atm is also incredibly frustrating, but i'm very much hoping once the holidays have passed, maybe - MAYBE!!!!!!!!! - things over here will chill out and i can spend a little less time with my bonkers appalachian family and a little more time with theirs hahahaha!

wips, wips, wips, ask me about some wips!!!

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

anxiety and critical behavior

one nice thing about understanding anxiety by having it

is that it makes you fucking dumb often

you're not using the best meat of your brains to think

and now that I'm understanding that most people

who have this deep obsessive desire to correct and critique

often do so because they are such a fucking wreck inside

I always had the wonderful habit of internalizing it

likely why I have a spinning knife chandelier in my head

when I really get into a state of rumination because those

knives are falling on me and not others but maybe

just maybe when someone starts tossing their anxiety

onto me with critical intentions I can show them

how much practice I have throwing knives too

and not just to stab myself with all the judging voices

of everyone in my past who found it comforting to offload

their shit onto me because they were icky inside

I always kind of found losing my temper to be rather

mean and trashy but my favorite sesame street character

was Oscar the Grouch in his trash can and did you know

his girlfriend calls him oskie and it reminds me of my

grandpa carl who was an absolute genius and skillful master

of so many things but his fucking house had to be torn down

because he was like many of the men I've known and partnered with

which is an absolute slob who expects the woman he is with

to literally pick up all the slack of his domestic incompetence

and often his underdeveloped emotional intelligence

or maybe I just had a real bad habit of attracting lost boys

and everyone always thought my grandma ruth was the slob

but man if she was anything like me and I think she was

once you get to a place of resentment because the

cognitive distance that starts to manifest

when the audacity of a man tries to tell you

how to think and where your directly communicated feelings

are irrational also can't figure out how to pick up his shit

and usually he was conditioned not to have feelings either

so you can sympathize but also fuck you me too

I dunno... it's just all injustice and I'm in a bad mood

I totally forgot to set an alarm last night or something

because I woke up really late and the kids were super late to school

but I didn't beat myself about it today like I normally do

and that my friends is improvement or something

but anyways most dysfunctional households are just

two people who never learned how to deal with their

anxiety in healthy ways and one person is always going to

dominate the situation and the others will fall into line

except for the person like me who is trying to decide

if I'm going to send the sixteen page manifesto I wrote

to my soon to be ex family about their dysfunction

for my birthday because if I'm going out I want to burn

and also maybe it'll make them think twice before trying

to turn my son into the scapegoat because they'll need a new one

families like that always do and the patterns never change

so I think what I'm saying is show me your temper if you want

let me know where you're passionate and where it's too far

but fuck your anxiety and discomfort if you come at me with it

like someone who knows more than I do

about my own reality or feelings or the situation

trust my I overthink too I just learned how to do it more creatively

and I'll even draw you a fucking diagram about it

I have a whole fucking list of things I don't like about you too

and if we're going to share them I'm ready to

because anxiety is the fucking worst and I don't want it

I borrowed some for awhile and getting rid of it was shit

and I'm no longer taking it off someone else's hands

my shadow is my protection and she's been lifting weights

her whole fucking life getting ready for this moment in time

where if you unleash your demons then I'm gonna unleash mine

and mine are going to eat yours and we're fucking hungry

someone else's anxiety is no longer my problem

nor is someone else's comfort more valuable than mine

god I hope I actually practice this instead of just writing it

but, you know... spirit into matter and matter into time

[another-fantasy-world]

The Pretty Bird and The Reckless Lizard

gif isn’t mine

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Title: The Pretty Bird and The Reckless Lizard

Pairings: Alma LeFay Peregrine x Reader (Romantic)

Summary: In which a reckless girl with extraordinary regenerative abilities meets and stays under the care of a stern yet kind and gentle peregrine falcon.

Warnings: violence, constant self-harm mentions (reader isn’t sueseacideral, she just likes to show off her peculiarity in questionable ways), blood, !!Barron mentions!! (The prick deserves a whole ass warning), experimentation mentions.

Additional Tags: Really shitty fighting scene. I mean really shitty. Reader, Roe (OC), Olive, Enoch and Emma being the friend  group we never knew we needed, Enoch being an affectionate asshole, too many birb puns and references, Jake does exist in this fic, but he won’t be finding and entering the loop anytime soon. Written with a sleep deprived brain so errors are to be expected.

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 11,363 words (god, that’s long)

Author’s Note: This is my proposal to officially be adopted into @notmanagingmymischief​ and @winters-witch-bitch​ family as their chaotic dysfunctional child.

Enjoy the fic, dear readers <3

i honestly have the problem of over-explaining the little things ajbhbscbabkjy

Masterlist

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Your peculiarity really isn’t amazing.

Or so you think. Everyone around you keep saying that it's "cool" or "amazing" and honestly, you can't see it. At all.

What's cool with ultra-fast regenerative abilities anyway? It just sounds like a geeky and nerdy comic book you find in convenience stores. You can't even project your peculiarity to heal others, and it makes you feel selfish and cruel

But that all changed when a peregrine falcon just decided to land on your head. Literally.

You were just going on about your day, occasionally punching someone's face for being an asshole and then running for your life, laughing and giggling, pulling your middle finger up to insult the guy once more before sprinting off to an alleyway you know by heart

It seems incredibly childish, considering you are technically an adult now but you couldn't help it, it felt incredibly refreshing making men, who think they're better than women or worse better than everyone else, feel pain.

You sprinted through the busy marketplace, effectively shaking off your pursuers. Once you are certain that they won't follow you anymore, you let yourself rest for a while. Chest heaving as heavy breaths entered and exited your lungs, a smile on your face and a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Once you got your breath in control, you calmly walked back to the marketplace to quickly buy your food for the week. Of course, grocery stores with air conditioning are much better than the wet market but the prices were cheaper here. Once everything is done, you swiftly made your way home.

Softly humming your mother's lullaby, bless her soul, you walked the familiar path to your house. However, you were stopped in your place when you felt something drop onto your head with a small gust of wind.

You tilted your head up slightly to find beady eyes and a sharp beak staring right back at you. You were shocked of course, sharp talons were buried into your hair and that beak looked sharp enough to pluck your eyes out.

"Uhm.” You bit the inside of your cheeks in uncertainty. You shrugged your shoulders, might as well adopt a pet. I mean what's the worst that can happen?

You transferred the ingredients your sister asked you to buy in one hand and extended your free hand. The bird let out a noise of affirmation and settled on your extended arm. You chuckled at the feeling of their talons clutching your arm, they were sharp, incredibly so, but the pressure the bird grips you was just enough to steady themselves but not cut your skin.

“Hello, pretty bird.” You cooed at them, completely dropping your bags of food to slowly rub the underside of their beak.

The blue tinted feathers ruffled as they keened in what seemed like pride before leaning into your touch.

“Okay smart bird, let’s go home.” You smiled gently, careful to not frighten the feathered creature and speed walked to your home, already a few minutes late.

After a few more minutes of walking, you stopped just outside a rickety old house, the porch has one pillar askew, the steps made creaking sounds as you put pressure in your steps and it just generally looks like it’s about to fall down on your head.

Your sister’s peculiarity is awesome.

“Roe! I’m home! We have a guest.” You called out as you crossed through the door, your vision bleeds from the old destroyed shack to a decent-sized yet well kept home. It was just perfect for the both of you.

“A guest? At this hour? You know people enough to invite them home?” Your sister teased from the top of the stairs

“Oh har har. They are not a person, a pretty bird landed on me while walking home.” You motioned to the bird that was perched on your arm

“...Y/N.” Your sister’s tone suddenly turned serious

“What?” You tensed, is she going to scold you for being late again? It’s not fair! You’re older than her by 2 years!

“That’s a Peregrine Falcon.”

“And? You know I hate bird watching and studying, they’re incredibly boring.” You groaned, moving to put away what you just bought.

“They’re not native here.”

“They could be migrating.” You shrugged, the bird was now perched on the wooden railing of your stairs

“...I’m pretty sure that’s an Ymbryne.” You stood up quickly, forgetting that the drawer above your head was still open, making you bump your head on the wooden surface of said drawer quite painfully

You let out a noise of both surprise and pain while your sister just scoffed.

“You are quite correct. Miss Peregrine, delighted to meet you.”

Apparently, while you were clutching your head in pain, which was not that long due to your peculiarity, the Ymbryne had shifted into a young woman.

Well she looked young with her pale skin and black hair, perfectly styled with dark blue streaks. Her stature, although a little bit shorter, exudes confidence, authority and surprisingly, gentleness.

“Oh wow, you’re actually an Ymbryne! I thought they’re all like old hags with canes. But you’re really pretty” You exclaimed, astonishment heavy on your voice and expression

Your statement earned you a sharp glare from the Ymbryne. Her narrowed yet mesmerizing eyes stared right through your soul. You can however, see the tiny little movements of the corner of her lips

“I sincerely apologize for my sister’s rudeness, she’s an idiot. And also regrettably older.” Your sister huffed in annoyance, her own glare fixed upon you. You stuck your tongue out in response.

Unbeknownst to you, one Alma Peregrine was holding herself back from scolding the both of you for bickering. She kept reminding herself that the two of you are not her charges, not yet at least. And so she bit her tongue, a feat she praised herself on while flying back to Cairnholm later on.

“I must make this quick, I have to make a haste return to my children back home.”

You listened to them talk in the dining room while you cook supper for the three of you. She had left her charges in the care of the Ymbryne who alerted her of you and your sister’s existence. You had asked how and why did they need to seek the both of you, she didn’t answer and only expresses the importance of you joining her home for peculiars.

“...Is this about Barron.” You sister asked, making you drop your wooden spoon

“Yes.”

That answer was enough for both of you to move quickly, packing everything you could ever need, from your books about everything, especially about peculiars, to your collection.

You also packed the old photographs you had of your deceased biological family and your also equally deceased peculiar family, shedding a tear or 2 at the memories before packing them away.

When the both of you were done, the Ymbryne that was once sitting on your dining table was gone, and soon enough both of you were too. With an envelope in your hands and your long forgotten dinner sitting on your stove.

--+--

It has been a couple of days since you arrived at Miss Peregrine’s loop. The boat ride was nauseating and pair that with the dreary rain, It was a tough journey, but it was oh so worth it.

The loop was gorgeous and sunny, with birds chirping and livestock walking about, a stark contrast to the rainy and gloomy weather outside.

Ever since your old home was raided before your Ymbryne even had the chance to create a loop, you never imagined entering one again, and yet here you are, spending time and getting to know other peculiar children.

You also never imagined being the oldest looking yet actually being one of youngest when it comes to actual age. You stopped trying to understand complicated peculiar ages a long time ago and just opted to go with the flow.

“...they are going to join us, permanently.” Miss Peregrine announces at supper, making you choke on your turkey (isn’t this cannibalism on Miss Peregrine’s part?)

You had expected her to slowly break it to the children, not just dump it onto them all in one go, but you suppose that was the kind of person the headmistress was. If it were your old band of misfits, they would’ve thrown tantrums left and right, with the occasional scream of terror that came from the newcomer's mouth. You all never liked new blood.

And you thought they were like that too, given by their initial silence at the announcement. But then they erupted with noise and excitement, chattering happily, expressing their delight at the news, with the exception of a grumbling Enoch of course.

That was the true beginning of your chapter under the Peregrine’s care.

You woke up the day after that with a small smile on your face. You had been given a list of chores to do all throughout your stay. The list of chores were perfectly designed for you and you kept thinking that even if you stay in this loop forever, you wouldn’t mind doing the same chores over and over again. You stared at the piece of paper for a few more minutes, noting how dry the ink is and how the edges of the paper had creases and small, barely noticeable folds. It was like the note was a few days old, almost like the headmistress already knew of your permanent stay.

For today, you were paired with Emma as you helped her with her chores, and her helping you with yours. You could feel the distance between the both of you, you understood that she was the acting oldest before you came along, and you definitely know the feeling. So you randomly told stories about the children from your first not-so-loop. She first looked at you weird, finding your stories amusing but a little morbid because you ended each story with “They’re dead.”

Since then, you always seek her help whenever you need something and she always would be ready to help you. Millard is missing and so is Olive? Better run to the tavern and hope that Miss Peregrine doesn't know. (She always does) You want to eat the fruit from the tree but it's too high up? Tie a rope around her waist and let her get it for the both of you. It was also fun to see her baking with your sister, she admitted, albeit with a teasing tone, that she prefers your sister over you. You jokingly ignored her for a couple of hours until you had to ask for her help patching you up. She would then tell you later on that she was wrong to think of you as intimidating and mature. (She told you that after you got stabbed with Enoch’s doll and spent 2 hours chasing the little demon spawn, dragging blood all over the house.)

After the children saw how you got along well with Emma, they began approaching you to get your attention and effectively steal you from your duties, which got you to be scolded by Miss Peregrine, but honestly? It was definitely worth it.

You easily captured the other children's heart by doing the most random things that you didn’t even notice you were doing. Heck, had Alma not explained to you, you wouldn’t even know why the children bicker over who gets to sit next to you for supper.

You got Hugh's when he accidentally forgot his net when talking to you and thought that you'd start avoiding or slapping his swarm, but instead you just kept rambling and talking and not even minding his bees, even if they sting your skin. You don't mind really, it doesn't even hurt for long due to your peculiarity.

You got Horace's when you gave him one of your books and commented on his fabulous fashion choice. You even matched his coat and tie one day, much to Miss Peregrine's amusement.

You got Bronwyn's when you challenged her to throw you to the roof when you had roof cleaning duty because you were too lazy to walk up the stairs. You never saw her smile and giggle more than that day, it was quite adorable. You flew right by Miss Peregrine's study and it gave her a heart attack. Safe to say, you got another scolding from the angry bird headmistress and even got a punishment of Community Cleaning

"But Miss Peregrine! The loop resets and the village is going to be dirty again! My efforts are going to be wasted!"

"Are you perhaps questioning my decision then?"

"well no but..."

"Well, you better hurry up sweetheart, before I make you do it for 3 days straight"

You immediately ran down and got ready to go down to the village, using the stairs this time, although you did think of just jumping down but the sharp and stern glare that was fixated on you made you think otherwise.

You got Claire's when you style her hair almost every day, occasionally teasing her back mouth by poking it and laughing when it teasingly tries to bite you, you knew that she has full control of her peculiarity and you trust her to not actually bite your fingers off.

You got Fiona's when you pointed out flowers and excitedly explained their meanings in flower language. The resident seed sprout joined you in rambling about them, to no one’s surprise.

You got Millard's when you allowed him to ask questions about your peculiarity, sometimes even demonstrating it for the invisible researcher while he writes his little notes down on his journal. His curiosity was endearing.

Olive, well... Olive always liked you, she was just a sweet angel and she always welcomes people way too easily. Which really confused you when she admitted that she and Enoch are dating, maybe opposites do attract. But then she showed you her mischievous side and put salt in your tea rather than sugar and since then you both have been in a playful, passive-aggressive prank wars against each other. She especially liked it when you told her about things that she was curious about, especially when it's about the modern world.

And Enoch, oh god. You nicknamed him Broody and Sassy Boy in your brain. You definitely called him sassy and grumpy multiple times per day. In response he would call you annoying or simply, weed. Because apparently you're very annoying, you popped out of nowhere and you are amazingly hard to kill and dispose of.

Everything you did seemed to annoyed the ever living shit out of the angry Pomeranian, Edward Cullen wannabe and although he appreciates you (he would never tell you that) watching his little minions fight, or your little quips and sarcastic comments, or the fact that you simply never gave up on bothering him, he never let his guard down around you for even one second. Well, that was until you literally cut your hand off and asked him with pure and genuine curiosity if he could make your detached hand move with his peculiarity. And since then, he would still insult you, not much really changed but you definitely felt like he wouldn't stab you in your sleep now. You teased him once when you caught him making heart eyes at Olive and he actually sent his minion to stab you in the middle of your chores. He's an adorable, annoying prick who you would very much want to punch just one time. Just once. Please.

“Y/N. Where has you head been these last few days?” Emma asks with a teasing smile, the blonde was wearing a pure white sundress, the fabric softly moves along with the gentle wind that caresses the four of you, while you all stay under the shade.

“I think we all know where it’s been.” Olive teased, nudging you with her elbow

“I have no idea what you both are talking about.” You huffed, annoyed at their teasing

“It’s been flying in the sky with a certain falcon isn’t it.” Your sister giggles, to which you glared her for.

“Shut your mouth or else I’ll stitch it close while you’re sleeping.” You threatened, the look in your eyes saying that you were half-serious, half-joking.

They knew of your admiration towards the Ymbryne, a much different admiration than their own. You harbored feelings of affection and adoration towards the older woman, so strong yet gentle enough for you to keep denying to yourself and to others of your crush on the one and only Alma LeFay Peregrine.

It took a slap to the face from each of the women in your little group of friends to realize that you do in fact like like Miss Peregrine.

“HUGH!”

“IT WASN’T ME!”

You turned your attention to the arguing boys just a few meters from you, eyes analyzing the situation. It seems that one of the boys that were playing their daily soccer kicked the ball too hard and it got stuck on the tallest tree they had in their backyard. You sighed, standing up to help the bickering children.

“Oh shush you two. I’ll get it.” You ruffled their hair before you started skillfully climbing the tree, using the branches as leverage to get to where the soccer ball landed. You flicked the ball slightly and that was enough for it to move and fall right down into Millard’s waiting hands.

“Thank you Y/N!” The invisible boy exclaimed, the ball was now being dribbled by an unseen force, Hugh immediately moved to steal it and they returned to their match.

You looked down from where you were, it wasn’t as high as the roof, that was sure. However, If you were normal, you would definitely gain some broken bones. It’s a good day to not be normal.

“Perfect.” You grinned upon seeing that Miss Peregrine was nowhere to be seen.

You found a perfectly good and sturdy branch, angling your body to do a backflip and planning to actually land it.

The plan didn’t work because the next thing you knew you were falling and then dangling upside down.

"Y/N." Alma, no, Miss Peregrine's sharp voice cut right through the tense atmosphere, her torso invaded your vision as you slowly swing from side to side.

"...yes?" You smiled up at her cheekily, your foot stuck on a thorny vine, cutting through your skin, making you bleed and wince at the wet feeling

"Get yourself down please. And please don't cut your leg this time, seeing your detached leg lying about once is enough." She raised her eyebrows at you with her signature glare, seemingly challenging you to argue.

She had always expressed dislike, or maybe even hatred at the prospect of you easily hurting yourself just because of your ability.

"Yes, Miss Peregrine." You slightly pouted at Enoch's barely contained laughter.

"I want you in my office, clean and patched up, 7 minutes from now."

“You honestly deserved that, you could’ve just let Emma get it. She can literally float.” Olive snickered, taking her place beside Enoch.

Your sister nodded as she and Emma help get your foot free while Olive holds you steady.

“Enoch! Come help me down you prick!” You grunted, feeling the grip of the vine loosen and you knew Olive wouldn’t be enough to help you safely and painlessly land.

“You got yourself in that situation, why should I have to help you get out of it?” He rolled his eyes, hands on his waist as he smirked

The vine snapped and the girls near you instinctively stepped back, collectively wincing when you landed face first.

“Asshole.” you grumbled, turning so you can lay on your back as you moaned in pain.

“Watch your mouth dear, wouldn’t want to have another chili in there, would you?” Miss Peregrine threatened you, lips quirking up into a playful smirk

“No. Sorry Miss Peregrine.” You mumbled, cursing how attractive she looked while threatening you

“Very well.”

Alma walked away from her disaster of a backyard, a smile on her face unseen by the children that were now back to their daily shenanigans, letting out a puff of smoke that left a trail behind her, mentally noting that she should think of another punishment for you. The list of punishments that she has thought of just for you in the short amount of time you had stayed in her home would’ve looped around the Island of Cairnholm twice.

Her heels clicked in a rhythm that soothed her the same way the ticking of her timepiece does. Her eyes wandered to the rest of her children playing in the backyard, a ghost of a smile lingered in her lips, she truly does love her children more than words can describe.

It has been a couple of months since you and your sister joined her home for peculiar children, and to say that it was... entertaining was an understatement. You both fit in her home like missing puzzle pieces, the presence of a new peculiarity kept the children's focus away from the looming threat that lingered over your heads, the comfort and gentle happiness your sister bought paired with your troublesome excitement definitely wormed itself deeper and deeper into her heart. She was certain the children feel the same, she hasn't felt such cheerfulness in years.

Upon laying eyes on Roe's illusion of fluttering butterflies, She suddenly remembered exactly why she brought the both of you into her care

Alma sat in her office late at night, she had just finished tucking her children in after she had the loop reset. A soft instrumental melody rang out in the background as she skims through documents and reports, the subtle sound of her pen scratching the surface of the paper she was writing on as she moves her hand in fluid motions, creating elegant looking letters that soon turned into a reply to be sent to the Council of Ymbrynes, her pipe lazily sat between her lips as she lets out puffs of air and smoke.

Her train of thought was then interrupted when her ears picked up soft footsteps approaching her doorstep. Soon enough, 3 quiet knocks are heard which was followed by a groan of annoyance.

"Enter"

The door opened to reveal you carrying a stack of books, thick books, that seemed old yet well taken care of. It reminded her of the first impression she had of your house back outside her loop. Your sister followed you, holding a stack of folders with papers neatly placed between them.

"Good Evening Miss P." You grinned at her, plopping the heavy stack of books that you were holding into the floor, the sound of the books smacking onto the ground echoed throughout her office

"What, pray tell, is all of this?"

"They're records from our previous loop. All the replies that were meant to be sent but wasn't, all the research and reports our Ymbryne made of our peculiarity. We figured that this would be better suited in your hands." Your sister explained

"We were preparing to flee into another country when the Wights raided us with 5 hallows behind them. We never stood a chance. We survived with major injuries and woke up in a hospital ward on November 8th, 2015. Had it not been for our peculiarities combined, we wouldn’t be standing in front of you right now.. We decided to carry on and frankly, we didn't have time to grieve, not when we're still in danger. We were far too much in shock to realize that we grabbed the wrong suitcases."

"Or that we didn't have a single thing belonging to us. Not even underwear, or a belt! All we had were books and papers and more papers." You groaned, remembering what it was like traveling by foot and relying on risky means of transportation and crime just to survive.

“How did you both survive without the loop? Surely you both know the consequence of stepping outside a loop.” Alma inquired, fingers twitching ever so slightly, eager to skim through the new information that you both brought.

“We honestly have no clue. I figured that Y/N didn’t age because of her peculiarity. But when we noticed that I wasn’t as well, we instinctively knew that we needed to hide even more than before.” Roe replied, now sitting right next to you on the plush chair that Alma had in her office

“Our late Ymbryne encouraged experimentation for peculiars under her care that are particularly curious, she even kept records, which you see here right now. I still remember the look of horror on her face when I willingly cut my thigh with no hesitation just to see how long it gets me to heal it.” You winced in embarrassment, burning under Alma’s intense glare upon knowing that you had been reckless ever since.

“Yes, I assure you every person who has common sense and self-preservation will have the same reaction, reckless girl.” The woman huffed, at least you had the sense to look bashful.

After that ordeal, Alma had a few more inquiries before sending them both to bed and after a few small retorts of retaliation at the idea of having a curfew from your side, you both quietly walked back to your shared room and closed the door.

Alma vividly remembers skimming through the information regarding your peculiarity, along with your sister’s and the other peculiar children you stayed with, finishing the stack of thick books and folders within three days.

“If you are reading this, it means that you are the current Ymbryne tasked with their wellbeing. Greetings to you. It’s common knowledge among us that it’s rare for a peculiarity to manifest in two children of the same generation, unless they are twins and even then, they are bound to have the same peculiarity or at least have peculiarities that are similar to the other. The Odd Siblings are neither twins, nor have similar peculiarities. One has extraordinary regenerative abilities, and one has illusions that completely fools all 6 senses. However, that’s not the only thing that makes them odd, we’ve recently found out that because they share the same blood, they seem to be connected in more ways than one. Only the older sibling can see through the illusions their younger sibling casts and only the younger sibling can permanently damage the older sibling’s body. They are each other's strength and weakness. In addition to that, due to the bond the siblings have, they can live on outside of loops without experiencing the regular consequences. It is imperative that this information doesn’t go out of your own loop, not even the council can know. It is not safe. Last thing, under no circumstances shall you allow the siblings to be separated for long distances for long periods of time.”

“I see that you’ve read our past Ymbryne’s letter Miss Peregrine.” She whips her head around to see you leaning against the doorframe.

“Well yes. Which is precisely why I called you here. Come on then, don’t dawdle.” She waved you in, moving from her spot beside the window to her seat behind her desk, motioning that you sit in front of her.

"I've finished reading and taking notes about the whole stack that you gave me-"

"It's only been 3 days?! You've finished them all?" You looked at her incredulously, it took you 3 weeks reading and 2 weeks processing the information in those and it only took her 3 days? Was she secretly a genius or something?

"It is of bad manners to cut someone off, Y/N..." She sternly scolds"...and yes, I have finished reading them all, which is why we're here." She takes a deep breath

"I think I understand why your previous Ymbryne kept your information under lock and key. All the other children had their peculiarities written in history, whereas the both of you are..."

"Missing. Yeah, we were taught to look as if we've never existed. Because even among peculiars, we are peculiar." You speak with a voice that's heavy with emotions.

"That is perhaps because once Barron catches wind of your existence, he would never give up on trying to obtain you. You are the very person he's trying to be, immortal. Not to mention the fact that you can regrow any part of you rather quickly, you'd basically supply them with enough eyes to turn all of them into Wights." Alma explains with a sharp glare directed towards the photos of recent Wight sightings

"Oh. But I'm not truly immortal, my weakness is in plain sight and simple distance could kill us." You say, shivering at the idea of being an eye dispenser for Hollows

"I beg your pardon?" Alma whipped her head towards you at the mention of your death

"The reason why I'm so comfortable with pain is because I know that my sister is near, and it would just vanish within the day. Had my sister be of some distance from me, let's say I'm to remain here while Roe joins the others in raiding the village, if I so much as get a paper cut, it's going to bleed profusely and it won't stop unless Roe comes back. If the distance stretches anymore than that of the tavern, we both would feel a dull throb in our heads that soon turns into sharp pain that spreads all over our body. If we are separated for any longer, we'll start to turn feral, crazy, doing everything to return to the other and well, we eventually die if we aren't reunited."

"I see. So that is why you both should never be separated." Alma leans back into her chair, her mind already calculating countermeasures to ensure that you both never get separated ever again, hands writing down whatever you say in her notebook

"Then I imagine that he would also make use of your sister's illusions for whatever that filthy brain of his thinks of. He would threaten to separate the both of you if you don't follow his orders. Which is why it is imperative that we keep this under wraps. Only the peculiars in this loop shall know about you and your sister." Alma punctuates her sentence with the closing of her notebook

"You don't have to worry about that, Miss Peregrine. We're used to it and we can take care of ourselves and this loop. No, we will take care of ourselves and this loop. You can trust me. Now I believe it's time to prepare for supper." You say, smiling brightly and offering your hand to the headmistress

"Pardon?" She asks, her hand reaching for her timepiece, despite her having an analog desk clock and an old wall clock.

You stifle a giggle as Alma's eyes nearly bulge out of her eye sockets

"Oh dear." She simply hadn't noticed the time that quickly flew by.

She took your hand, stood up, straightened her clothes and then quickly walked out, her large strides making it hard for you to keep up.

Apparently being a few seconds late to her schedule was enough to make the one and only Alma Peregrine panic.

“Alma, I’m sure the children won’t die if they take supper a bit later than usual.”

“I don't remember your peculiarity being that of a seer.”

--+--

Alma, once again, sat in her office late at night, she had just finished tucking her children in after she reset her loop. A soft instrumental melody rang out in the background as she skims through documents and reports, the subtle sound of her pen scratching the surface of the paper she was writing on as she moves her hand in fluid motions, creating elegant looking letters that soon turned into a reply to be sent to the Council of Ymbrynes, her pipe lazily sat between her lips as she lets out puffs of air and smoke.

She relished in the continuity and consistency of it all. The routine soothed her mind, and although the routine was momentarily interrupted by your unexpected arrival, it all went back quite easily.

Until her routine was interrupted by you, time and time again. Is it because you always get hurt almost every week? No. Is it because you seem to create trouble wherever you go? Perhaps, but no. It must be the way you easily sooth her children, boredom and gloomy were the words that didn’t exist around you. Yes, that must be it.

No. That still wasn’t the reason. No. The reason was that she couldn’t stop thinking of you. Her routine would often be intercepted by you; your smile that seemed to tempt her to put on a smile of her own, your mischievous eyes that always seemed to meet her own in the most unexpected times, your arms that looks so good to snuggle up on, your lips- Dear God what the hell is she thinking about?

9 months, 8 days, 26 minutes and 34 seconds. That was all the time it took Alma Peregrine to realize she was undoubtedly and completely in love with you. The very idea of it shook the very foundation of her being, along with all the walls and barriers she set up around herself.

She needed a drink.

--+--

The sudden changes that happened around the island threw you all off the metaphorical ship of peace and comfort. It all started with Miss Peregrine assigning you kitchen duties and secretary duties, claiming that she had gotten tired of going out of the loop to fetch mail, so she assigned you on that task. You had an inkling that there was something more to the sudden change of chores but the finality in her tone left no space for questions nor arguments. Throughout the next few days that you have worked as her secretary, there wasn’t really anything going on. Olive was definitely exaggerating when she teased you.

Nothing was going on behind closed doors, the lingering looks of longing, the small brushing of skin when you give her the morning newspaper and daily patrol reports, your accidental staring at her sharp talons and hands whilst she's writing, the subtle flirting, the endearments, her teasing tone, and your daydreaming were all definitely normal.

Okay, perhaps there was a slight change but that was hardly relevant for now, there was a much urgent matter to attend to. Like the Avocet bird Emma brought in just this morning.

“She’s an Ymbryne isn’t she?” You inquired upon seeing her feeding the bird.

“Yes dear, pass me that please.” She pointed to a dropper with God knows what’s in it.

“Which means that her loop’s been found out.” You stated, sitting beside Alma, eyeing the Avocet

“...I’m afraid so”

“The next closest loop is in Blackpool. I fetched the news paper outside. I bought Roe with me, we weren’t seen. Here, livestock kept going missing and dying ever since the last ferry arrived. Large, whip like gashes and holes about 2-5 centimeters were found on their body. Alma, we need to go.” You pleaded with her and it seemed that the Ymbryne in her arms agreed, fluttering their wings wildly as best as they can

“Very well. Gather the children. We need to flee, and fast.” Your eyes flitted over to Alma with worry. Her calm and composed façade never faltering, but you knew deep down that she’s frazzled, stressed and nervous.

You know what to do. But to do that, you need a plan, and a lot of help.

--+--

A few minutes later and the children were now prepared to leave, their luggage packed light for faster travel. She can see every single one of her children here, all except you. You left to go and prepare the boat for your escape and you had been late for more than 35 minutes now and it was making Alma anxious and tense. Sure, you keep being late by a few seconds or even pushing it to a few minutes just to get on her nerves, but you had never been this late. She decided to distract herself by tending to the children, their confused yet fearful expression broke her heart. Perhaps you just needed to kill the boatman. Yes, that must be it.

The doorbell rings and Alma whips her head towards the door, you never ring the bell, you just barge right in. And the locals never have the guts to come up here and bother them, so who is at the door right now?

She slowly walks toward the locked doors, slow clicks from her heels as she cautiously opened the door.

The very sight that greeted her upon opening the door was enough to make her momentarily forget her emotionless façade, her eyes widened at the sight of you in Barron’s tight grip, his bladed hand pressed against your throat.

“Miss Peregrine, what a pleasure to meet you, at last! May we...come in?” Barron grinned at her, his bladed hand pressed slightly, a single drop of blood made its way down your neck, you winced to give the effect that you were indeed hurt as you stopped the healing process so as to not alert Barron of your peculiarity.

Alma has her eyes trained at you and Barron, glaring as she slowly stepped back to let both of you in. The tense atmosphere was making you choke more than Barron ever could, you hated seeing the children and Alma like this, but for the sake of getting out here alive and complete. This plan has got to work.

“Children, would you make your way down the stairs please?”

“I give the orders in this house Mr. Barron.” Alma’s voice is steady and stern, just as she’s always been.

“Not today. You should know that this girl has served his purpose. If you value her life I suggest everyone does as they are told! Children-” He tries once again

“Shush! No one tells my children what to do.” You let out a snort, what a ferocious little bird.

Your little slip up was rewarded with even more pain coming from the man who had his ego broken, his bladed hand dug in deeper, deep enough to make you bleed aggressively but not enough for you to die, except if you die from blood loss which is highly unlikely. You winced once again, not from the pain, but from the thought of Alma making you clean this up as punishment for the stunt that you are about to attempt. If you’re successful that is. Little gasps came from the children who was watching the entire scene, you threw them a look of apology.

“You see, Miss Peregrine-”

“I thought I told you to be quiet?” Your Alma silenced him once again and rather than laughing, which you were very tempted to do, you silently admired her instead, you really didn’t want her, or the children, to see you die, even if it’s not permanent.

“Children, come down here, please. For Y/N’s safety we are going to do what Mr. Barron asks. He wishes to take me with him to his rendezvous in Blackpool. So for his protection, he would like me to assume bird-form, preferably caged...And he'd like you to make your way into a lockable room, such as the parlor. As he won't relieve Y/N if he fears an attack could be mounted upon him once he loses his leverage. Correct, Mr. Barron?” She gently talks to the children, yet shifts into a passive-aggressive tone once she talks to Barron.

Maybe you really are in love with her.

Once the children were ushered in the parlor, silent goodbyes and farewell hugs were done, Alma moved to close the door, yet stopped.

“It's been my privilege to care for you all. Goodbye, my children.” You gritted your teeth as Alma’s voice wavered, you could tell that she was holding back the tears. Your resolve came back stronger than before, you just can’t wait until you kill Barron with your own hands.

Alma turned around, tear streaks were marking her face as she glared once again at Barron.

“Now let her go.” She gritted out

You feel the blade travel from your throat all the way around your nape as Barron moves away from you and towards the case, smirking at you and Alma as he opens it, motioning for Alma to get in.

Alma, however, pays him no mind as she captures your attention by grabbing your face, her sharp nails digging in slightly, holding tight, afraid to let you go.

“Hello, pretty bird.” You choked out, tears filling your eyes

“Greetings, little lizard.” You chuckled, tears now flowing as Alma wipes them all away.

“Promise me two things Y/N. That you'll stay alive and that you’ll try to look after them all.” Alma says as she swipes at the blood that was still dribbling down, her dilated eyes glanced at the small pool of blood below your feet

“I refuse. You’ll be back to take care of me and you’ll be back to take care of them.” You shook your head wildly

“Y/N. Promise me. Please.” She pleads, her teary eyes staring right through your soul

“...I promise.” Alma nods, satisfied by your response.

She steps back a couple of meters away from you, her eyes never leaving yours. She manages a small smile before preparing to transform.

“I love you.” She says just before she fully transforms.

Your eyes widened, following the falcon as she screeches and flies towards the cage, entering and allowing Barron to lock it. He grins triumphantly at you, you responded with a look of contempt and disgust.

“That farewell was disgustingly sweet. I hated it.” He says as he drags you towards the parlor, dragging your blood across the wooden floor.

He pushes you in, using your body to open the door and shoving you as hard as he can, grinning as he beams at your crumpled form on the floor and the fearful looks he was getting from the children. He waves at them, satisfied with himself. He begins to turn around, closing the door behind him.

“Boo!” He laughs at the gasps that rang out and even as he closes the parlor door and the front door, you can still hear his obnoxious evil laugh.

“It’s getting dark, we don’t have much time.” You state as your wound completely heals and only the blood remains as evidence. Roe hands you a towel as you wipe the blood away the best that you can.

“Hello Miss Avocet, I’m glad to see you in good health. Emma, Enoch go fetch Miss Peregrine’s weapons. Roe?” You turn to your sister, only to see her holding out the briefcase you needed.

“Right here.”

“Perfect.” You say as you scramble to open the case, grinning at its contents

“Is that... a gun?” Miss Avocet asks, disbelief clear on her voice.

“Well yes, I forgot your loop’s set in 2016. Here, I assume you know how to use it?” You smile at her as she nods

“Emma take this and leave the garden hoe for fucks sake.” You gave her a hand gun with an exasperated look

“It works like a crossbow, if a crossbow has recoil, a loud booming noise and multiple ammo.” You explain.

“Olive, Enoch and Roe comes with me, Emma, you help Miss Avocet guard the children.” You put your hand on Emma’s shoulder

“I believe in you. It’s time to show off Ems.” You smirked, remembering all the games of tag with a naked Millard while using her peculiarity to feel where the invisible being is, just to practice taking down a Holocaust.

“The moment we go through this window, all of you must go all around the house, make sure everything is locked and blocked, windows shut tight. Everything must be sealed up, do you understand?”

“Yes.” They all simultaneously say.

“Now let us go and get ourselves a free day with no chores.” You say as Roe slaps the back of your head

“What she means is that we’ll go and save Miss Peregrine.”

“Let’s hurry. Roe where is he?” You say as you help Olive down the window, watching as Enoch hauls his satchel filled with jars.

“He’s heading down the docks. He’s entered the illusion 4 minutes ago. He looks lost.”

“He’s supposed to be lost.” You rolled your eyes as you sprinted towards the docks

“Remember, only Roe and I are going to go out of the loop, here’s the rope. Only light this when we tug on it. And Enoch-”

“Use my puppets to back you up, yes I know.” He smirks, already setting up his little work station

“I was gonna say dolls but that works too.”

“They’re not dolls!”

“Y/N! We need to go!” Roe pulled you away as you smile at the two lovers

“I’m counting on you both.” You mouthed to them, then you turned to sprint alongside your sister towards the loop entrance and into the illusion

The scene that was before your eyes look scarily identical to reality, to the real Cairnholm docks. If one has untrained eyes, it’s easy to think that there was nothing wrong.

“Y/N! Here!” Roe drags you behind a rock, you peek out to see Barron walking along the shore with Alma’s cage in his hands

“Lead him to the house and keep hidden. Stay safe please.” You tell her as you kissed her hair

“You stay safe.”

The weight of the guns strapped to your legs made it harder to run, so you just walked stealthily behind them.

“...I am a man who has trudged the globe looking for just one more eye to eat in hopes of regaining sufficient humanity to return to his research! A man who spent years hunting Ymbrynes in preparation for this night. And 2... no... 3 days in Wales pretending to look at birds, just to find you. And look at what I have accomplished now. You really should be honored to be a part of history, Miss Peregrine” You hear him ranting and you can just imagine Alma rolling her eyes. A habit she does when she’s extremely annoyed, despite her saying that it’s impolite.

“She already is part of history, asshole. The greatest Ymbryne to ever exist, that’s what she is.” You call out to him once you see the gas-drenched wooden house behind your sister’s illusion.

“And honestly, all this talk about how brilliant you are, and you can’t even find a single boat?” You smirked at Barron, stepping back slowly into the shack, luring him in. You’re trying to trick him that you are merely putting on a brave front and it seems like its working.

“You must be as insane as your headmistress, coming out of here alone.” He laughed, walking towards you.

Alma let out an offended noise as she thrashed around the cage, clearly offended at Barron’s statement but also worried about you and your reckless heroics. The one thing she agreed on, in the whole half hour that she listened to his ranting, much to her displeasure, was that you must be insane.

Alma could only watch from her cage as Barron slowly closed in on you, his free hand drawn into a razor-sharp blade as he grins at you.

“How brave of you to say, Mr. Barron. When you don’t even know what my peculiarity is.” Your smirk turned into a grin as you lifted up what looked like the exact duplicate of Alma in her cage.

“What?” Barron asks, his gaze turning to his hand, only to find that he was carrying a briefcase. He growled in frustration, throwing the briefcase aside and focusing all his attention to you.

Alma, who had been tossed aside hurt her wing when she slammed into the iron bars of the cage from the force that Barron had tossed her. She was tempted to let out a screech of pain but bit her tongue, afraid of breaking the illusion

“You annoying, pesky little brat!” He grunted as you break into a sprint with him hot on your tail

“Miss Peregrine.” Her gaze switched from your slowly disappearing form to your sister who was gently holding her cage.

She watches as Roe picks up a stone and strikes the lock holding her cage closed. Once her cage was opened, she fluttered her wings open, only to immediately close them and a screech of pain finally escaped her.

“Shit.” Your sister cursed, gently scooping Alma into her hands, mindful of the headmistress’ injuries. Alma looked at her as if glaring at her choice of words, to which Roe just shrugged at

“Damn it Enoch.” She cursed once again upon seeing the puppets running towards the shack as the illusion slowly faded away. Enoch was late when releasing his puppets, it truly makes you and your sister what happened back inside the loop

Alma watched with fascination and extreme concern for she couldn’t see where you, or Barron are. All she can do is listen to the sounds of your fighting and the skittering of the puppets, that she assumed, aided you in your fight.

“Don’t worry Miss Peregrine. She’ll be fine...” Roe reassured her, smiling gently at the older woman “...She’s had a lot of practice” She grinned, laughing when Alma huffed

Their heads whipped around when they heard the distinct sound of a gunshot, it was loud enough to make Alma’s sensitive ears ring. It was followed by 8 more consecutive shots, followed by silence, nothing was heard. Nothing except the sound of your heartbeat.

“She really emptied her magazine.”

A few minutes later, Alma could see you walking towards them, holding something in your hand as some of Enoch’s puppets skittered behind you. You tugged on something and soon she caught sight of flames slowly crawling towards the shack, reaching it and setting it ablaze.

“Is there anyway we can keep this as a trophy?” Her ears picked up your voice as she turned to you.

You were grinning triumphantly and holding Barron’s decapitated head up. Your sister laughed and embraced you with one arm.

“Hello, pretty bird.” You cooed at Alma, scooping her from your sister’s hands and placed the falcon on your head.

“Why aren’t you transforming yet?” You asked her, tilting your head up to find her beady eyes and sharp beak staring right at you

“She injured her wing when you made Barron toss her aside. I think that’s why she couldn’t transform.”

“Why do you make it seem like it was my fault? Anyway, I still have a few rounds left in my gun, let’s hurry back to the children. They might need our help.” You say as you start breaking into a sprint once again, Alma’s claws digging into your hair to steady herself.

Crossing the loop, you see Olive helping Enoch put away his jars. A slight blush on both of their faces, and suddenly you have a clue as to why Enoch’s puppets were late.

“Are you two done frolicking? Are there any updates about the house?”

“No, we’re not done frolicking and yes, I think I heard gunshots.” Olive answered your question nonchalantly.

You shot her a look that says “what the actual fuck”, tossing the head to Roe, who caught it with a wince of disgust, before sprinting towards the house, Alma was screeching at you as if saying “hurry the fuck up”

“I feel like I should be offended by your screeching, love. OW! Okay! I’m going as fast as I can!” You sprinted through the bog, the sounds of military airplanes soaring above you was making you sprint harder.

Finally reaching the house, you barged through from the front door, only to slam face first into the floor, Alma hovered over your head as she managed to jump off before you face planted.

“Oh! Hello Y/N! I see you’ve met the Hallow we killed! It was rather terrifying.” You looked up and saw Millard’s floating clothes and Horace’s rare tussled look

“Did you have to put it in front of the door?” You groaned, feeling the cracking of  bones in your nose as they set themselves straight.

“Well, to be fair, we didn’t know you were going to enter through there.” Emma walked towards you, still holding her gun

“Where’s Miss Peregrine?” In response to Fiona’s question, Alma squawked as loud as she could, fluttering her uninjured wing as if saying hello

“Oh! Oh dear!” Miss Avocet scoops her former student in her hands, inspecting the broken wing.

“Is it bad?” You inquired, rubbing Alma’s head as she leaned into your touch

“No. Not as bad as it could’ve been. Just a few broken bones. If we can just secure this part and make sure she doesn’t even attempt to fly or transform into her human form in at least 5 days. She’ll be able to be fully healed by next week.” Miss Avocet explains as she passes Alma into your hands.

“Could you reset the loop for us Miss Avocet? We can discuss what happens after this when the loop is reset.”

“Of course.”

None of the children stayed outside for the reset, all of them preferring to stay inside and gawk at Alma’s bird form, the only reason you even got to prepare supper on time was because of the older children’s help. And after supper, you tucked the children in, with Alma still perched on your head. You smiled every time Alma pecks the children’s forehead goodnight as they giggle at the feeling.

“You’re such an affectionate bird aren’t you?” You teased the bird perched on your arm. She responded with a screech as she puffs with pride.

“Okay, noisy bird. Let’s go plan our next move shall we?” You ask her as you open the doors to the parlor, where Miss Avocet, Emma, Enoch, Olive and Roe wait.

“It’s no denying that Barron is dead. I’ve killed him with my own hands and watch the life from those disgusting eyes slowly fade away. He’s not going to come back. I even brought his head back, I’ll have to ask the twins if it’ll be alright for them to turn his head into stone...” You muttered to yourself, a tight grip pulled you out from your theorization. “...But! We still are very much in danger, perhaps even more so than before. Without Barron to keep the Wights and Hallows in check, they’re going to run everywhere searching for peculiars. And, there is no knowing if there’s going to be another peculiar who'll pick up Barron’s research. So, I suggest contacting every Ymbryne with established loops to leave and create new loops, I imagine not every one of them has the military power of a small kingdom so they might not have the resources the fight back if their loops are raided.” You speak to Miss Avocet, who nodded along.

“What about us?” Olive asks, clutching Enoch’s hand

“Well... We stay here for a while. Just until Miss Peregrine recovers and then we leave to make a new loop. We can defend ourselves should there is a need to be.”

And the meeting went on for 1 more hour before you all retreated into your rooms, the feeling of almost loosing your family wraps around your soul like a snake getting ready to devour its prey, you collapse into your sister’s arms, silently crying with her until you both fell asleep. Unaware of the Peregrine Falcon shedding a tear while perched on your windowsill.

--+--

5 days went by in a blur. With you, Roe and Miss Avocet (who decided to stay until Alma fully recovers), guiding the children and distributing the chores within yourselves (you personally took care of the returning hallow with your gun and every time you did, Alma watched), the house was slowly but surely returning to its former cheerfulness.

You all had quickly gotten used to the frequent screech and squawks that came from the very noisy bird that's always perched on your head. Whenever she's dissatisfied about something, she squawks and pecks at the thing she wants fixed. Whenever someone's late, she screeches and pecks at your watch. It was quite entertaining seeing a bird scolding a human being much larger than her own size. At the same time, it was quite heart-warming seeing her affectionately peck and coo at the children when they've done a great job. Soon enough, the children were clambering to finish their chores as quickly and as perfectly as they can, just so they can have a couple minutes of playing with Alma's bird form.

The next few days consists of chores, patrols and taking care of an injured little bird. Making her her own plate of food (You jokingly bought her a pack of bird food and she huffed in annoyance. The next morning, you couldn’t find the pack of bird food. You learned later on that Alma turned it into a fertilizer.), occasionally checking her wing to see if she’s still in pain (which after 5 days, she very much isn’t in any pain. She could fly the morning of the 6th day.), and making her tea. Your favorite, however, was reading to her. It became a routine that you very much enjoyed.

"Hey love, Peregrine Falcons are supposedly territorial." You turn to look at Alma, who already has her eyes focused on you. She tilted her head in question; that was a fact and she, herself wouldn’t deny that she’s quite territorial and protective

"And apparently, they kick out their young once they are of age. Is that why you still treat our children as if they’re toddlers?” You teased her, laughing harder at her expression of displeasure

You were tearing up because of how much you were laughing, the book that was in your hand was now closed and on your lap as you doubled over in laughter. Her little offended squeaks only spurring you on.

You only stopped when she flew to your head and started pulling and nipping on your hair.

“Okay, okay. Stop messing with my hair, please. Thank you.” You grinned at her, poking when she let out a noise similar to a “hmmph” as she appeared to be ignoring you.

You scooped her into your hands, settling her on the top of your stomach so she can also see and read the book you were reading. Alma snuggled back more once you started reading again, the pleasant vibration of your voice paired with you calm and gentle heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

Couple more days pass and Alma has yet to transform back. And although the children enjoyed the Ymbryne’s bird form, they missed seeing her in her human form. The younger presenting ones yearning for the headmistress’s warm embrace. You admitted to yourself that you missed the woman who would shove her timepiece to your face for even being a second late but also the woman who held your face gently as she made you promise.

That yearning was particularly obvious tonight when Horace projected his dreams of Miss Peregrine walking out of her room in her human form, embracing her children as she ushers them to breakfast with you tailing behind her. (Emma and Roe gave you a playful nudge and was about to tease you, until they remember that the object of the teasing was nesting on your head.)

The weird atmosphere dragged on until the children were tucked in bed, they voiced their concern for the Ymbryne and she just replied with a noise that seemed reassuring. As per daily routine, you walked Alma to her room, opening the door for her to fly in, only for her to not let go of your hand as she attempted to fly, almost as if she was trying to drag you in.

“Miss Peregrine?” She let out a screech of disapproval.

“...Alma? Would you like me to come in?” You asked her as she furiously nodded.

You nodded back as you laid on her bed, stiff as a board, her pillows were cold but soft, probably because Alma didn’t sleep on her pillows but rather the nest she made out of her blankets. You stiffened even more when Alma started getting comfortable on your stomach. Are you really going to sleep with Alma? Granted that she was still in bird form, but still!

You feel your heart beat faster, heat travelled all around your body as the current situation felt wonderfully intimate. Despite all the nervousness and bashfulness you’re feeling right now, you still did your best to cradle her in your hands, securing her so she wouldn’t fall down while you slept.

“I love you too.” You whispered as low and as quiet as you can. You don’t understand why you suddenly blurted that out, it simply just felt...strangely right.

The warmth from your body travelled and stayed in your heart when Alma’s talon reached for your fingers, gripping it tight, making her intentions of not letting go clear. A giddy grin etched itself on your face, you felt complete and light as if you’d accidentally taken Emma’s peculiarity, you felt as if you could float away, taking Alma away with you if you could.

With that feeling still running through your veins, you slowly allow yourself to fall asleep. Your eyelids drooping as you’re slowly soothed by the sounds of nature, and the clicking noise that came from the bird who was now laying down on your stomach.

Just before you let yourself drop into that sweet deep sleep, you felt shuffling coming from Alma. You didn’t have time to soothe her and ask what’s wrong when a sudden heavy yet pleasant weight pressed itself onto you. The scent of fresh rain on oak wood with a slight hint of smoke invaded your senses. Your eyes shot open only to be met with her eyes. Her beautiful eyes that you could never put into words, her eyes resembled the galaxy itself with cool tones of blue and green mixed together, her eyes that even if you hired a hundred of master artists would never put its color and feeling to justice.

“Hello, pretty bird.” You greeted her, squeezing the hand that was gripping you.

“I’m sorry.” She answers you, her voice raspy from the long amount of time she hasn’t used it

Well, that certainly woke you up. You had a feeling that the apology wasn’t just for her plopping all her weight onto you.

“An Ymbryne’s duty is to protect the children and I have failed the only purpose I have.” Her voice wavered, her insecurities and emotions flowing out as rapid as a newly broken dam.

“That’s not true my little bird, You absolutely haven’t failed. All of them are safe, we are safe.” You took a hold of her other hand, placing one on your cheek and one on your heart

“You feel that? I’m warm, and my heart is beating. I’m alive, well and safe. I promised you that I’d stay alive and take care of the children and I announced that you’d be back to do the very things you made me promise. We both got our wish in the end. At which aspect did you fail at, because from my perspective, there is none.” You ranted, playing with her fingers and long nails

“If I did my job correctly, Barron wouldn’t even be able to step foot in our loop and our children would never even have to use weapons to fight for their lives, especially that collection you have. Honestly, did you really think you could hide firearms under my floorboards?” She released a wet chuckle as she tells you that

“Well, I assumed you knew and just let me have it.” You shrugged, now playing with her fingers as she snuggled more

“I was supposed to protect them, and yet I’ve never felt so helpless at that moment. He-” She buries her face into the crook of your neck as you felt her tears fall.

“Hush, little bird. We’re safe and that’s all that matters. If you keep going on and on about protecting us, then who’s going to protect you?”

“I don’t matter! The children, however, does matter!” She argued, lifting her head just to stare at you with a frown on her lips

“You keep forgetting that you’re not just an Ymbryne. You, my love, are Alma LeFay Peregrine, the greatest Ymbryne to ever exist, the one who took the time to personally pluck your children out of their ordinary life to live as a peculiar under your extraordinary care. I bet Miss Avocet keeps making you the example every time she teaches at that academy of yours, like a little teacher’s pet- OW!” You chuckled when she lightly slapped your chest

“You also keep forgetting that I am one of your quote unquote children as well. And if it is your duty to protect us, to protect me, then do it. Protect my heart Alma, you are the only one I’m willing to give it to. Let me protect you, and your heart in exchange.” you run your hands through her previously well-styled hair, your fingers slipping right through her smooth locks. You had always thought Alma had black hair, yet looking closer like this, you noticed that rather than black, it was navy blue with lighter streaks of different shades of blue. It was so soft and smooth.

“You’re not alone anymore. Let me help you, please? Let us help you. You’ve been carrying the burden for far too long, my precious little bird. The children absolutely adore you, no matter what you do. They love you just like I do. Wait, no that’s incorrect, I love you more than them. But! We all love you, just as you love us. So, let’s protect each other, rather than you just keeping all the fun to yourself.” You gently declared, ending your sentence with a kiss to the top of her head, your hands pulling her impossibly closer

“Thank you, My beloved. There was just one thing that I disagree with your statement. I am a peregrine falcon, I most definitely am not small.” She smirked at you

“It’s the same thing, and you’re ruining the moment.” You pointed out, poking her cheek

“Perhaps I am, but you deserved it, calling me small.” She mumbled, tired from crying and exasperated from your antics

“Can I hold you for a little longer, love?”

“Yes. I would like it if you don’t let go of me tonight. But please drop the nicknames when we’re in the presence of the children.” She sighed out

“No promises” You grinned

“Such a troublemaker of a lizard you are.” she tiredly whispers as sleep finally has her in their crutches, the exhaustion of the day and the exhaustion of finally letting out her worries weighing down on her.

“Sleep well, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” You whispered back, your previous drowsiness coming back at full force as your eyelids drooped.

It’s going to be a busy day of packing and moving tomorrow, with Alma finally fully recovered. There’s going to be a lot of dangers that your little family will have to face as you all start to slowly write history, peculiar history. But that excitement was for the future you.

All you want and have to think about is this feeling of completeness. You have your loving family outside the very door and you have your lover in your arms, warm and content as you both fall asleep. Only a fool would want something more than this.

And you are no fool, for you are simply happy and satisfied with the fact that Alma Peregrine made you hers and you made her yours. And apparently, loving her also meant loving her children, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ausetkmt]

‘We carried pistols to defend ourselves’: the Four Tops and the Temptations on six decades of soul | Soul | The Guardian

Duke Fakir, the last surviving founding member of the Four Tops, is reminiscing on the halcyon days of Detroit’s seminal soul music label as it made its mark on the 1960s. “Motown really did feel like a big family back then,” he says. “We all hung out, partied, played golf, held BBQs, appeared on one another’s records. Those were amazing times.”

The Temptations’ Otis Williams agrees: “Motown was no happenstance. God brought that up to start. Detroit, Michigan, was known for the big three – General Motors, Ford and Chrysler. Nowthe city’s going to be known as the Big Four because Motown has made a similar impact to those automobile manufacturers.”

Fakir and Williams speak on separate Zoom calls from their respective homes in Detroit and Los Angeles before they set off. Their recollections of the original Motown period speak to their personalities: Fakir possesses a mellifluous voice and often speaks in endearing platitudes; Williams enunciates his philosophical musings in the deepest, gruffest tones imaginable. “We have such loyal fans here – they really know our songs and give us so much love,” says Williams, clearly still excited about the prospect of crossing the pond even after so many trips. Fakir concurs: “Sometimes I think Motown is more popular and appreciated in Britain than in the US.”

Fakir describes that night as “one of the most memorable and magical of my life. … I got chatting to Paul McCartney and he was asking me how we did certain vocal harmonies,” he says. “There were lots of musicians there – members of the Stones and Small Faces and other bands too. Everyone was smoking hash and having a high old time!”

Motown’s legacy in the UK is undeniable to this day, as evidenced by Diana Ross’s triumphant Glastonbury legends performance this year. Both men agree that Ross, like them, can still turn it on. “Berry Gordy’s vision with Motown – the songs, the producers, the artists, the training we all received in how to present ourselves – he was thinking long term,” says Williams. “That’s why Diana and Stevie and the Tops and Temptations are still out here.”

There’s no doubting Gordy’s genius and the durability of Motown’s finest songs. But Williams and Fakir deserve credit for ensuring their groups remain top level draws – especially given that neither were originally the lead vocalists in their respective groups. “I had a long apprenticeship,” says Fakir. “The Tops formed in 1953 and we didn’t score our first hit until 1964 but, during those years, we were busy working clubs across America and, with that, came an understanding of how to make sure things ran smoothly.”

“I learnt how to take care of business because no one else would,” Williams says circumspectly.

But over the years, the internal relationships of the two groups would come to stand in dramatic contrast: the Tops were a band of brothers, the Temptations extraordinarily dysfunctional. “We were friends who worked things out democratically,” says Fakir. It was only cancer – which claimed Lawrence Payton in 1997, Obie Benson in 2005 and the quartet’s mighty lead vocalist Levi Stubbs in 2008 – that diminished a band that formed as teenagers in 1953. “Each of us had his role in the group and we all worked together. We’re only human, so we did have disagreements – but we were a loving unit.”

Love is not a word Williams uses to describe the Temptations: the acrimonious departures of lead vocalists David Ruffin and Eddie Kendricks, followed by Paul Williams’ death in 1973, spelt the end of the classic lineup. Other members were fired, or quit following altercations. After Melvin Franklin died of a brain seizure in 1995, it left Otis Williams as the only original member. By then Ruffin, Kendricks and Paul Williams had all died – from an overdose, lung cancer and gunshot, respectively. As we speak, both men regularly thank God for their good health and lengthy careers.

For a hugely successful outfit who created such uplifting music, the Temptations’ story is a tragic one. “Success can test an individual so as to reveal their true self,” Williams says, when asked about why the Temptations were so conflicted, “I hate that there was not enough solidarity for us to hang on in there. I hate that I lost my guys, because we made such an impact on the world. But the one thing that’s constant in life is change. It’s not the guys that go ahead and take the money out and think it’s all about them who always survive. I went through a lot but God in his infinite wisdom left me here to carry on in their spirit.”

Despite the adversity they’ve faced, and the members they’ve lost, both groups are, perhaps improbably, still going strong. Earlier this year, the Temptations released a new album, Temptations 60, marking 60 years since their debut, while Fakir has recently published an autobiography, I’ll Be There: My Life With The Four Tops. Still, both Williams and Fakir seem aware that their days of touring can’t last forever. Williams is 80 while Fakir is 86; the former says he’s in “good shape, so long as God allows”, but the latter is ready to call it a day. “This tour will be my last of the UK,” says Fakir. “I’m planning on retiring in the next year.”

Will the Tops continue without him?

“The Tops will go on forever, just like Motown,” he replies. “This is forever music.”

[moonsquaremars]

Astrology Journaling

/themes

· LDS CHURCH · SATURN 9H · HOMOSEXUALITY · LIBRA · SUN 12H · /

So I am currently dating a Pisces sun, Cancer moon. I myself and a cancer sun virgo moon. I noticed when I first got into astrology, I was sitting at a table with my group of friends at the liberal arts college I attended. I started asking people’s birthdays and birthtimes so I could generate their chart online. This was before almost everyone knew their sun, moon, and rising. Circa 2014/2015. I had just started dabbling in astrology. I got hooked into searching the web late at night for what aspects meant what, how my house placements could influence what decisions I might make for say, my career, or life’s bigger questions like what is the meaning of it all. Astrology sort of became like my therapy, a search that acted as a distraction from my existential nihilism and just truly piqued my interest.

:readmore:

But, I was also LDS (mormon) at the time, and rather devout. Interestingly, I would later read that people with Saturn in 9th house like I have, tend to favor more traditional religions, such as Catholicism, Mormonism, and Judaism. When I read this in a book about Saturn, my jaw dropped! My search for existential meaning budded in my senior year of high school. Although I was raised baptist by a *fanatic in word but complete opposite in practice * father (love u dad lol), I became an atheist, or agnostic actually, at age 12. By this time, I had already realized I was gay, and that shattered my Christian faith. My pride and ego did not want to believe in a deity that (from my perception) made gay. I didn’t actively choose it or anything, so why should I be condemned for it? However, the seeds had already been planted in my brain. I remember at age 7 or so, praying to Jesus over and over and over again to save me, and that if I died that night to go to heaven. I was afraid. I was afraid one prayer wasn’t enough. Perhaps this was the start of my obsessive compulsive behaviors to come.

See, even though /I/ said I didn’t believe in God or whatever anymore, that doesn’t mean that he didn’t still exist. I figured he had to, since there’s so many religions in the world, and one of them had to be right. So, I found online that most religions are homophobic, even the Buddhists and Hindus, so I concluded that homosexuality = wrong. Even though I was undoubtedly attracted to men, I figured something must’ve happened to make me this way. After all, I was attracted to women at one point in my life. I recall stumbling upon my grandfather’s playboy magazines when I was 9, and what followed was excuse after the next to wander down into the basement so I could sneak a peek. TW - sex ||| However, around age 11 when I first started masturbating, something switched and I started focusing on men. I would look at pictures of men in speedos online, the whole shebang. Eventually I stopped looking at women all together and to this day I cannot get aroused by a woman. So what happened ? What gives ? There was nothing traumatic that happened to me. My family was dysfunctional, divorced, working class. Love was just as scarce as the money, so it seemed. Shit felt tense, no other way to say it. But I stopped living with my grandmother as much and started living with my mom more once middle school started, so with all the resentment and rage of an angsty gay 18 year old, curious for answers on life’s bigger truths, while also terrified of going to hell, and at the very beginning of building a life for myself. I delved back into spirituality, because I felt that was more important than anything else really. When it comes down to it, once you’re dead, how much does it really matter what you had on earth? This was my thinking at least.

((I have a 12th house sun and so does my father. So this emphasis on spirituality makes sense to me.))

So I search and search and stumble upon the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And I fell in love. It seemed like every answer I had was being answered by something concrete, their ideas about community and taking care of others completely aligned with my own, and let’s face it, the Mormons do a damn good job marketing themselves to others! That’s what missionary work is all about. Utah has a very big communal culture that Kentucky seriously lacks. Here, it’s practically every man for himself. People don’t go out of their way to be nice here. In Utah, they do. They walk the walk and talk the talk. I respected that, and I wanted to be like that.

Since we’re on the topic of the LDS church, I wanna say the church gives me heavy Libra vibes. Salt Lake City is the plastic surgery capital of the country. Mormon temples are just breathtakingly beautiful. They are so obsessed with looking attractive, having white teeth, etc, because it makes missionaries more effective in obtaining converts, and the church teaches that the righteous prosper. So the more you live in according to the word of Jesus Christ, the wealthier and beautifuler and happier you will be. Just seems very libra to me. Lol. I wonder if the church’s natal sun is in libra? Like whatever sign it was when the church was formed in upstate New York.

I started this post thinking I would talk about my relationships , cuz I’ve had a few and dated two Pisces now. Oh well!

[gizkasparadise]

cdrama rec/review: go ahead

KDRAMA AND CDRAMA MASTER LIST OF REVIEWS

Series: go ahead Episodes: 40 Genres: family, healing/melodrama, slice of life, romance Spoilers in the Rec: for the first 20% ish/set-up If You Like, You’ll Like: reply 1988, le coup de foudre, find yourself (same production company/main male actor), rain or shine/just between lovers, found family stories, meet again stories

Rank: 10/10** (see Drawbacks section)

PREMISE

widower hai chao and his 6 year old daughter jian jian live happily above his noodle restaurant despite the recent, tragic death of his wife. one day, dysfunction junction a married couple (he ping, a police officer, and chen ting, a real piece of work) move into the same building with their 7 year old son, ling xiao. immediately, jian jian attaches herself to ling xiao, who is unexpectedly grim for a small child. 

because ling xiao’s family is less-than-healthily grieving the loss of their youngest child, ling xiao’s sister who died in a terrible accident. The Apartment of Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms eventually implodes, ending with chen ting abandoning her husband and son. he ping, suddenly a single father, and hai chao come to a friendly partnership that is clearly alluding to gay marriage where they co-raise both of their kids--hai chao as the primary caregiver, and he ping supporting them financially through his job as a policeman.

meanwhile, the neighborhood busybody is dead-set on getting hia chao remarried. eventually she introduces him to a divorced single mother, he mei, and her son zi qiu, who is ling xiao’s age. they sort of start to date, but it culminates in he mei skipping town and leaving zi qiu behind. hai chao, man with a heart of gold, informally adopts him and zi qiu becomes jianjian’s foster brother.

from there, the trio grow up happily and become inseparable. but once zi qiu and ling xiao graduate high school, the bullshit parade their respective childhood skeletons reappear in their lives. circumstances lead to the boys moving overseas, leaving jianjian and their fathers behind. 

they reunite after 9 years, when the boys return to a home where they hope to pick things back up from where they left off. things are more complicated than that, as jianjian finds herself in a new life and surrounded by new people. 

MAIN CHARACTERS

li jian jian

hai chao’s daughter and the only girl in the family. she attended the required short-hair-low-grades training program required of all cdrama youth female leads. super positive and outgoing, as well as the youngest of the three pseudo-siblings, jian jian grows up spoiled and over protected by her father and brothers, and as a result is completely devastated once her family falls apart. it’s so sad.

after the time skip, she’s an on-the-verge successful artist who makes woodcarvings, and exudes big art bro energy. inhales sugar like it’s nobody’s business. she inherited her father’s disease called caring too much, and it’s incurable!! 

ling xiao

the eldest brother and resident fun police. ling xiao comes from a seriously toxic home that finally seems to improve once his mother leaves. but then she comes back. fucking great. introverted to the point of being withdrawn to anyone but his chosen family, ling xiao’s had to carry a lot of emotional weight that takes a larger and larger toll on him as the series progresses. please get this boy some therapy. 

becomes a dentist because jian jian needs one. wears a lot of monochromatic outfits with low necklines because heavy angst but make it fashion. has been in love with jian jian since high school and is still carrying that torch 9 years later.

he zi qiu  

the middle child who grows up in hai chao and jian jian’s home, and is her foster brother in all but paperwork. hotheaded, zi qiu and jian jian basically share two brain cells that ling xiao routinely takes from them for safekeeping. he spoils jian jian, sneaking her snacks and junk food and wants to become a pastry chef so he can open a sweet shop for her!!

my favorite character. just wants to be wanted 8( him and hai chao’s relationship is my favorite dynamic in the series. will sob while driving a pink moped. is too proud to beg

li hai chao (left) and ling he ping (right)

the greatest (hai chao) and okayest (he ping) dads in the world! noodle dad/hai chao has never done anything wrong in his life, ever, and we know this and we love him. he ping isn’t a bad person, but demonstrates pretty classic absentee parenting/isn’t as emotionally present in his son’s life as hai chao. hai chao is the heart of the family, and would do anything for his kids 8( 

SOME SUPPORT CHARACTERS 

tang can (left) and qiu ming yue (right)

jian jian’s #GirlGang and roommates. they, like literally everyone in this drama, have some severe mom issue hang-ups. tang can (left) is a former child actress who is struggling with her lack of success as an adult and gives well-meaning but absolutely terrible advice on the regular. 

ming yue (right) is jian jian’s best friend since childhood and as an adult is trying to break free from her mother’s controlling nature--she’s also had a thing for ling xiao for the last 9 years. raises fish for symbolism purposes.

chen ting

ling xiao’s mom and certified garbage human. unable to cope with the death of her daughter that was her fault lbr, she abandons her family and disappears for ten years. she forces her way back into ling xiao’s life when he turns 18, where it’s revealed that she’s remarried and ling xiao has a younger half-sister chengzi (”little orange”). shit goes down, and soon ling xiao is forced to move back to singapore to serve as primary caregiver to both his mother who abandoned him and the half sister he barely knows. 

emotionally abusive and basically hits every single square on the toxic parent bingo card. i just. i just hate her. even typing this out is making me mad.

he mei

zi qiu’s mother. after a few dates with hai chao, she ends up ditching her kid and disappearing for unknown reasons. is a slightly better parent than chen ting but that’s like saying some poison kills you slower. the show tries to bring us around on her but it didnt work for me. 

SOME OTHERS

zhuang bei, zi qiu’s best friend growing up who i would like a lot less if he wasn’t played by the same actor who played my beloved dachuan

zheng shuran, jian jian’s first boyfriend and fellow artist who’s got a weird thing for women’s waists and pretentious artists’ statements

du juan, jian jian’s friend who co-owns their woodworking studio. has absolute trash taste in men

chengzi, ling xiao’s half-sister who can be a brat but dear god does she need to be protected/saved 

**DRAWBACKS

so this is a weird one for me. what i didn’t like i really didn’t like, but what i loved i really loved. ultimately, the factors/uniqueness of this show and the loveability of the main characters outweighed the negatives and it’s one of my favorite dramas.

THAT SAID. i got some #thoughts on this one. 

first, there are literally no positive mother figures in this show. not a damn one. they are all negligent or controlling at best or down right abusive at worst. no woman over 30 is portrayed positively and that’s a big No from me. 

the last 10 eps have some pacing issues and focus on the wrong people. spending the remaining episodes focused on one of the most universally hated characters vs. the main family was a bad move 

the show tried to redeem or make us sympathize with characters that were, to me, completely irredeemable. one case is worse than the other, but both of them were terrible people that deserved to be cut out of the main family’s lives.  

REASONS TO WATCH

the main family. the characters are so wonderful and nuanced, and their dynamics with one another were amazing. you’ll fall in love with hai chao aka noodle dad and the trio. they go through so many trials but they still stick together and it’s ultimately a healing drama and i loved it very much.

the central romance was less in focus, but the pining is enough to make jane austen emerge from the grave. i loved the leads together, and while LOL ling xiao’s attachment to jian jian was not always healthy, they supported each other and it made me smile. i love me a tortured pining dude.

#Acting. everyone played their parts to perfection. the child actors in particular were so well-cast (esp baby zi qiu)

the soundtrack lmao. you watch the opening credits and know you’ll need to buckle up

idk it’s a very unique show, and i haven’t seen one like it. reply 1988 comes close, but it doesn’t tackle the same issues and it was all just very real and earnest. 

Final Thoughts.

GOODNIGHT, GOOODBYYYYYE MY CHILDREEEEEEEN

[cattywh0mpus]

This is the most personal thing I have ever fucking posted anywhere and I hope this gets buried quick but also iduno maybe other people will relate and it’ll help them maybe or make them worse i am going to regret this the second I hit post 

Ps- nobody freak out I am like, safe and not in danger lmao just fyi 

TW: so many. Uh angst, mention of self harm, implied suicide/death, lots of very bad profanity, depression, anxiety, bad poetry, abuse of rhyming scheme, rhyming best with best, way too long, dude don’t read this

I have things to do, a whole list of things I wanna do inside my head and none of them are this stupid poem, and it fills me with such dread Because it’s well into the evening and I’ve yet to leave my bed And I know that I’ll still be fucking tweaking this at 3am instead Of fucking sleeping or drinking water or taking any of my meds And I’ll keep doing it for 15 years until I’m fucking dead because

My brain is a bastard. My brain is a creep. It haunts me in the daytime, but sometimes it doesn’t when I sleep And I would sleep maybe forever if it wasn’t for this fucking spark That forces me to think of pretty things and lanterns in the dark And things I could be fucking making, frogs and gardens and dumb art Please God, it’s not what I begged for, I didn’t want to build this ark But I know without it, I would fucking drown in piss and fall apart

My brain is an asshole. My brain is a cunt. But please don’t let the language scare you, i’m just putting up a front Because I’m a lot more sad than angry and a lot more “used to it” than sad And my only outlet is the things I make although they’re fucking bad And I try to offer it some better things, with better outcomes to be had it slaps them out of my fucking shaking hands, it’s obsessions ironclad I just wanted to be healthy, helpful, and do things with my fucking dad but

My brain is a monster. My brain is a freak. It’s supposed to be a tool I use, but instead it’s using me Piloting me like a god damn gundam made out of bones and fucking meat And I’m powerless to stop it, though I kick and bite and scream Or I used to, I fucking swear I did, but now I mostly lay around and dream Of a day when I can do the things I like without injesting fucking speed

My brain is a liar, but fucking so am I. I craft such stupid fucking stories for me to crawl under and hide (somehow more believable than the truths I tell, how and fucking why?) I’m so embarrassed by it’s actions, I need to believe they aren’t mine It’s my brain, that son of a bitch, making me out to be a bad, bad guy Making my chest and heart and lungs get tied up in it’s vicious lies Forcing my mouth to spout such bullshit and waterboard my fucking eyes Sometimes I honestly believe it’s honest, and not a coward in disguise It’s last name is Puzzle, it’s all a game to it, shame and panic is the prize

My brain is a shit. My brain is a turd. It convinces me I’m dumb and mute whenever I’m desperate to be heard Sometimes I feel like a prisoner, a fat cow separated from the herd I’d do anything (that i’m able) to be the cage around the bird I need to fucking rebel, so I promise I won’t write another fucking word

...BUT MY BRAIN’S A FUCKING SHITEATING COCKSUCKING PRICK because my brain’s a fucking cannibal and it makes me fucking sick I want to tear it out by it’s ugly fucking stem and smash it with a brick No more executive dysfunction, no more confusion, no more fucking tricks Just the thought of being fucking rid of it gets me so fucking slick But my mommy would be sad, so you win this round, you fucking dick

But one day you’ll be a goner, a rotting, ruined mass So one day when no one’s looking, you had better watch your wrinkled ass And less and less people are watching, so you better think fucking fast Before I put your hippocampus in a headlock, and your neocortex in a cast There’s one thing I’m fucking certain of, your reign won’t fucking last Because thank god nothing is permanent, even this will come to pass And then we’ll be like all the other graveyard corpses, fucking normative at last

...Okay, listen brain I’m sorry. Maybe that was too intense? But you’re making me so fucking stupid, you make me make no fucking sense I’ve tried so hard to fucking work with you, to compromise, hence The doctors appointments and the pills and everything at great expense But you make me miss all my appointments and forget to take my meds And what’s the point of the watch that reminds me if you are too fucking dense To remember to put it on in the mornings, you make everything so tense Just like you strain my boyfriend’s wallet with every wasted fucking cent And sometimes it feels like none of it has even made a fucking dent Because my wisdom tooth is still rotting and my funny bone is spent My brain is the worst fucking tenant, and it doesn’t even pay the rent

My brain is a failure, but my brain tries it’s best. To distract me from the everything, to give me fucking rest But all it really does is hinder me, I’m never at my best. It thinks it’s doing something good for me, but i’m not fucking impressed The days go by so fucking quickly and I’m just as quick to fucking forget Every memory like busted christmas lights, a tangled useless mess Something that once brought such happiness but now it’s just a pest I need an exterminator in my synapses, because they’re a fucking rat’s nest I haven’t seen my friends in so so long, It puts our friendship to the test But I never wanted to fucking test them, I just want this shit to end I need a coping mechanism on which I can actually depend I’ve lost my appetite for grief eating, my emotional support animals were hens But bandits slaughtered them for funsies, so now it’s just an empty pen And I was never one for self harm, though I tried it way back when But now every time I see the burn, I have to think of it again? Which seems counter fucking productive.. hey, do you think you maybe can Stop me from doing all this fucking rambling? Though it’s been tried by better men...

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, but I can’t speak for it I’m not sure if it is sorry, cuz it’s such a fucking tit But I am trying to be better, and I won’t hate you if you split Because I wish I could bail everyday, and I don’t wanna be a hypocrite I’ll still love you, i’ll still love you, (if i remember you that is) And I’ll keep wishing every day that I can find the strength to fucking quit. Every day, every minute, holy shit.

[route22ny]

I grew up in the Bay Area at the height of AIDS panic, and all of that era’s sex paranoia remains burned into my brain, repurposed for Covid-19 and the act of commingling wet breath. A few weeks into this crisis, I found myself having a ten-foot-distant conversation with my neighbor Patty, both of us incredulous at people who still tried to talk to us in-tight face-to-face, like we weren't all suddenly barebacking reality with everyone they'd chit-chatted with that day and everyone in their lives, etc. Patty allowed that she should be able to strike people she considered a threat. I mentioned Florida's attitude toward this legal principle and firearms. I suggested she become militant. I tell that to a lot of people, but I attenuate the humor of it for the audience. I tell every teacher I know to strike.

There are more sirens now. It's hard to tell, because unlike New York, everything isn't quiet. Cars are out on the road—fewer, but enough that hearing a siren can still be vehicular idiocy and not a more sinister house call. But I still hear more of them.

I don’t know why Luke asked me to write about Coronavirus in Florida. I mostly stopped writing last year when a good friend dropped dead in front of his family. (Subscribe to my Substack—we don't update regularly!) Before that, I felt increasingly overborne by events. Things ground to a halt in 2019, but the machine began to break down long before. I ended the 2016 campaign periodically sitting under my desk, high, feeling secure because I wasn't writing anything stupid and feeling good because I was appropriately afraid of everything, but people thought I was exaggerating when I mentioned it.  

I wish I could say my seriousness about the novel coronavirus stems solely from believing in science and peer review and that I would take it seriously regardless, but my spouse is immunocompromised, and my father, who lives out in the Bay Area, had Covid-19, back in March or early April. He didn't tell us kids until he was out of the woods, but for days he had fevers over 103º. My stepmom, a former emergency room nurse, couldn't get him admitted anywhere, because he wasn't having respiratory problems. He woke up the same every day: It felt like someone had parked a Volkswagen on him.

We're supposed to say he's out of the woods. I'll believe that when he dies of old age, or something more reasonable that kills men in my family, like colon cancer or car accidents. Sometimes I think about him dropping dead like my friend, only from whatever post-Covid-19 effect triggers the brain’s forgetting to tell the lungs to breathe—or from the one that leads to storms of strokes, like a brain's blood vessels recreating the burning energies depicted on a CRISS ANGEL MINDFREAK poster. Then I wonder how I would die, or my wife, or my friend in Atlanta, or my brother. I think about drowning in open air, alone in a hissing world, and being incapable of saying the overdue apologies I ran out of time for.

After a while I realized that basically all Luke wanted was to hear from a coward living in the mismanaged kleptocracy of Florida, and the thing is, I can do that! I’m frightened right now!

I considered opening with, Every day I wake up frightened, to throw a fucking jolt into a piece about facing down a pandemic in a place where they have a paradise just for the cheeseburgers. But the joke is, I'm not wastin' away here in Coronaville. Sometimes I wake up and just have to pee, on the rare days when I don't wake up from the sensation of my son elbow-dropping my head because—how rude of me—it's 6:45 already.

In this respect, I am serene: My son and I exercise outside to burn off his energy, so I'm out in the sun for hours a day. I'm tanner, I've lost weight, and my phlegm feels looser. I grew a lushly indifferent goatee. My haircut looks like something that belongs on the gatefold cover of a concept album about a form of locomotion by a band named after geography. While the term "Lebowski Phase" has been applied to my appearance and to the fact that my leg injury and medical-marijuana prescription have collided with the reality of never having to drive anywhere again, I must insist that in many respects I have come to look like Jesus Christ. I am pro life and take no pleasure in reporting this.

As I have said, I am frequently awakened by my son, whose full name is My Beautiful Five-Year-Old Son Maitland. He is a treasure who spends quarantine within earshot of 24-hour news, regurgitating West Wing Democrat observations of mine with five-year-old precocity to harvest follows for Instagram. Maitland is an influencer already on record as supporting L’Oréal, opposing Medicare For All, and, when I first read him the shaggy start to this piece, he said, "Not a good look." He's a natural.

Waking up is violent but easy. The problem is everything after that. By the time I close my eyes, I'm not sure what I felt most on any given day—anger, sadness, impotence, a resentful churning need for vengeance, despair. Any one can seem like a day's dominant emotional dysfunction and then suddenly be overwhelmed by the dread that suffuses prolonged thought about the world outside.

I am one of the people who is Taking It Seriously. Seriously Taking It Seriously, though—not the people who say they're taking it seriously and then tell you about:

• Going to a recent indoor birthday party.

• Having a multi-course dinner at a fancy restaurant, "But it was okay because it was [extremely not-worth-a-life celebration]!"

• A full-contact playdate their kid had recently with two other children.

I abhor these people. I have an existential loathing of these people, and a granular scientific indictment. I enjoy reading new articles to learn new ways in which they are a danger to me. My apprehension is rich and exquisite. May their friends shun them, and may they be abandoned by their gods.

Sooner or later, every day, I think of the threats arrayed against me and my family. Each day, I see the most recent thing said by my governor, Ronald Fuckface DeSantis, in which he explicitly endorses and declares his intent to pursue actions that all available data say will kill Floridians by the thousands. Each day, I think about how, if I do so much as suggest fostering a free exchange of ideas about the proportional value of using every means to stop him, I will be arrested.

Every day, I bounce the "Evil or Moronic?" debate around my brain. I check in with an alumna buddy in Atlanta to see whose governor has shown more recent determination to murder his citizens. I gotta give Brian Kemp credit, because he's really holding his own. Naturally, this leads to wondering if either of them have a natural or acculturated advantage in terms of idiocy and malevolence. DeSantis' enrollment at Yale and Harvard and service in the military problematizes the idiocy narrative only for as long as it takes to remember all the people you've met who've gone to any of them and were dumber than dogshit. It would seem like fate to be murdered by an oaf, but I don't know that it's not merciful to at least be murdered purposefully rather than contemptuously and indolently.

Eventually, this leads to spending some time thinking about DeSantis as a kind of lethal bro angel. It's hard not to see his shitchyeah, brah, people are dyin', it's classic! expression and recognize that the state's chief executive resembles a lout you don't want to run into walking alone at FSU after a home loss. I prefer my jokes about the governor, but my friend David Roth nailed it when he said that DeSantis seemed like a person who would describe himself as “kind of a DUI guy.”

I know there's supposedly a culture war out there. There's a truck in my neighborhood with a Q sticker, and another with a Three-Percenter sticker, and there are more than a few neighbors of the "easily victimized white dude who owns a $50,000 truck he rarely takes off the pavement and who becomes physically belligerent when you correct him" variety, but there's a reason why you really only see “war” shit on YouTube. Few Americans are hostile to general safety protocols, and even fewer act out against them. I live where hate groups and old fashioned unaffiliated redneck trash drive in from the county to make a show of rebel flags, rolling coal and honking to intimidate protests, but people line up six feet apart at Home Depot, wear masks at Publix and get takeout at the pizza place outside without insisting on barging in. Most wars don’t need one side of them to be this manufactured.

Most of my friends and colleagues from this gig live in New York, so I've already sat through weeks of descriptions of streets silent except for ambulances, and I’ve already woken for weeks to the half-twilight of nightmares where friends died in a spare white hallway. There aren't a lot of surprises in store for Florida, and no images I can describe that would make you want to turn back now. It's like we're waiting for the rolling premiere of a franchise blockbuster. The dead won't really start packing them in for a few more weeks, but all the scariest shit hit YouTube when it opened in New York a thousand years ago. The coronavirus as an image, what it functionally is, as a horror, feels as familiar as the Scream mask, and the context that makes that scary as hell already feels dangerously been-and-gone, like an apprehension that Florida had for too long before the actual scare came.

There's a hope that all this will come to little again. Despite Governor DeSantis' refusal to take the initiative on shutting down the state until the last dollar was wrung from the last snowbird, the original shellacking never came. The Tampa Bay Times sampled smartphone data and concluded that Floridians overwhelmingly took the initiative to stay home, and they were aided in their quarantine process by the fact that Florida is car-dependent and atomized.

The heartbreaking realization, as you gradually run across more people who are Not Taking It Seriously or are Expressing Moronic Skepticism, is that for a month there about 80 percent of America was on board with doing the right thing. We, a people who suck at doing the right thing even for the wrong reasons, stood on the side of doing the harder thing if it helped people who weren't even us.

I really can't tell if I feel more anger than sadness at the fact that those who were meant to encourage us in safety, to serve us by offering difficult guidance, wasted our sacrifice and our trust. They squandered the patience given by a beggared and exhausted people. All they had to do was the right thing, and if they weren't sure what that was, they could have erred on the side of saving people’s lives and hoping it counted, and they failed.  

Instead, more people will die, and we'll be shut down again, and we will realize we are fundamentally unequipped for life with Covid-19. Florida is built on enclosed air-conditioned spaces: It's dependent on divorcing yourself from Florida as a climate and place. Asking Floridians to generate a public life under the unshielded rage of God’s angriest sun and baked from beneath by a sprawling pave-ocalypse requires asking them to rebel against everything their infrastructure has taught them for as long as they can remember. It is a car culture to the flesh and bone, and a restaurant relocating indoor tables to a road patio would park its diners inches away from eternity.

A picnic day like that is months off, again. It's time to go back inside and resume Inside Time. Inside Time melts away. I saw a headline around the Fourth of July, from the New York Times, that read, "In the Covid-19 Economy, You Can Have a Kid or a Job. You Can’t Have Both," and I remember seeing colleagues tweet, mmmm, so true, and, gets at something crucial we aren't talking about, and shit like that, and I was like, "Buddy, let's get in the DeLorean and visit March." I have nowhere to go, anyway, and all life is timeless.

We have no family in the area and have had no break. It's the three of us, like No Exit, but if most of the dialogue was the word "no" and a lot of stuff about poop and butts and farts, good guys and bad guys, and what Lego Star Wars would do, but with a lot of excruciated pleading for silence because Mom and Dad Are Working Right Now and We Love You Very Much but Jesus Christ Please Stop for the Love of God I Will Give You a Dollar If You Go in Your Room and Be Quiet and Play That Kindle App That Teaches You to Read That You Pay Attention to More Than Us Even Though I Would Read You a Fucking Novel If You'd Just Shut Up and Sit Still.

I'm resigned to staying in here until 2022. I’m screaming, but I will do it. I'm lucky in that I have access to a community pool and a neighborhood where my son and I can roam around on bikes and romp and look at water and birds and turtles. When we're lazy, we have a porch where we can feel nature without feeling exposed. We have a dependable (ok!!! haha!!!) income, and I can do irregularly scheduled work that allows me to be Parent rather than Employee. Exercise, meals and stories take up enough hours that I might as well lean into it.

But we’re lucky. We have a house and prescription mood-altering drugs and one thousand years of undersleep, but we are in less immediate danger than most. The state, almost reflexively, reaches out to open more doors even as Covid-19 blows past reopening benchmark after reopening benchmark.

The inexorable march for commerce doesn’t even come from malice in many cases; people in charge just don’t know how to do anything else but extort and scold people into working under any conditions, so long as it devours most of their time. All the exploitive principles are expected to work the same even if the world they built is fraudulent. We feed meat and the virus into the machines, irrespective of what the data says, and pray for rain. Watching Florida government on the state and local level is like watching two parents bring an alcoholic home after he got kicked out of rehab and deciding that the best course of action is leaving him with $5,000 in an apartment up the street from a dive bar and then going to Cancun for the week. It was on the calendar already, there wasn’t any choice, he looked very healthy at the time!

We have friends who are teachers, and we are scared for their spouses and kids. I don't know what Florida's plan for its teachers is other than to murder them. Again, I don't know if DeSantis is an idiot for flirting with giving enormous bipartisan sympathy to arguably the most effective labor group in the state, or a genius for flirting with finally eliminating a lobbying obstacle to conservative governance by simply liquidating its members as a class.

I worry if I start listing all the things I'm scared of, they'll never stop, but every day I see my son reach for something he should be able to reach for, and I either have a low-grade panic response and stifle it, or I have the panic response and yelp at him to get his attention and tell him to stop, startle him, and add another layer of gun-shy haunting to his day. I'm afraid he'll eventually become an animal in a Skinner Box in which all the buttons and levers are electrocuted, and there are no prizes.

I'm afraid that my son will always be emotionally arrested at two years behind the development of people the same age who had siblings in their house, or who, like many kids in my neighborhood, had parents who thought kids were invincible to Covid-19 and let them play with whomever they wanted. I worry that he may pay a price year after year even into adulthood because other kids got to practice socializing as we rode past. They got to hang out with people their own age and run around and do vitally stupid shit and say "butts" a lot, and he got look at me heartbroken and knowing empirically and epidemiologically that he couldn't play with his friends anymore but still needing to know why, and knowing that I couldn't tell him anything more sophisticated and anything less terrifying than, "So we don't get sick."

The other day he started crying and then screaming, "I hate the sickness! I hate the sickness!" repeating it in a higher and higher register, until he was up even past that piercing birdlike screech that prepubescent boys make whenever trying to sound like lasers or dinosaurs or squealing brakes. Every day I worry that I see another little bit of his capacity for happiness is dying—that the same awkward process of terror that took me from happy little kid to profoundly unhappy teen to scarred adult is even more rapidly at work, and each day another sparkling and joyous little light of childhood winks out in him, replaced by fear as a necessity of life.

I know that there is no plan for us. Conservatives don't want to be taxed or have their businesses lose money, so people are being kicked off unemployment and sent back to work with no test and trace protocols, irregular access to PPE, overwhelmed hospitals and often limited access to any care. We're doing all this as Florida blooms scarlet like paint being spilled into a mold shaped like the state. We're sending the men in the gasoline suits right at the heart of the fire.

It's a cruelly lazy little culling genocide of the working class, a Wall Street gamble that the blow to the labor force won't be more than a blip on the Dow and, a little recession aside, the One Percent will come out ten years later owning an even greater percentage of the United States. To the extent that there is a plan, that's the plan, and whether you land on the dead or the living part of any of those exchanges is more of a Your Problem than a Their Problem.

For now, it's enough to be hermits and hope the rest of Florida goes on strike by going inside and staying there and writing letters to representatives threatening to never come out. Cooking the same things, getting the same exercise in the same places, having the same awkward conversations on VOIP delay, and living every moment outside like we're three drinks in so we’re ready to get belligerent with anyone who is getting too close. Living every moment with some low-level neurasthenia that grows spine-deep and for the rest of our lives sends shuddering disequilibrium at the thought of air that never seems to move, hallways that lengthen without exits, and objects that seem both unavoidable and unclean. It’s fine. We’re all fine, here, now. How are you?

I feel a sudden Git Offa Mah Land thing about my son, a resolute commitment to homeschooling for the foreseeable future and to keeping the gummymint away. It sucks so much. I was so happy to send him to the public school just a few blocks away, instead of the shitty little charter schools nearby, but now that it’s Plague or Parents, he’s got his parents. Between us, he'll have access to 1.5 first-class educations. I still have my grandpa's service weapons from WWII, the last time America was in a war with fascism, when we took the opposing side. I'll empty a couple magazines into anyone who comes onto my property and tries to stop me from teaching my son critical race theory, Howard Zinn, and Leonard Levy's Jefferson and Civil Liberties: The Darker Side. I refuse to turn my back on the heritage of my youth, of watching thousands of hours of MASH, by refusing to wear a mask outside or in fact any time I am doing anything other than drinking gin that I made in a tent.

Outside, records fall and progress rolls on. A governor whose go-to pejorative for opponents of all ages and sexes is very likely still “queef” watches as even the president concedes that a Republican National Convention here would be too lethal, as the state repeatedly sets records for daily deaths, beats out all of Europe in terms of new daily cases, leads the nation in cases per day, then tries to set them again. And then, every day, our governor makes his ahegao-but-for-ethnic-cleansing face and psychotically clangs a bell indicating that Florida just became the 15,000 customer at Leadshoe Larry’s Kicked-in-the-Dick, and it’s time for all us lucky winners to line up and drop our pants.

Florida’s lethality is so tacky that it’s almost camp, but there is no satisfaction in being right about how wrong everything is. Nobody gets a prize for correctly guessing the surplus death toll. All you have to do is look someone else in the eye working in life under Covid.

I’m old now, so I have Humiliating Injury Syndrome (HIS), and somehow in the month between the Super Bowl and the pandemic, I tore a rotator cuff, a labrum, or both, by throwing a (mini!!!) football with friends. After four months, I broke down and went to get an MRI. I skulked down corridors and lurked in a corner of a waiting room, like playing spies with an opponent who was the air. Even the clean and modern fixtures felt miasmic and corrupted, like they were a parking garage in an Alan Pakula film.

Eventually a nurse emerged from an office, crinkled her brown eyes, waved and surprised me by asking after my family by name. She lives three blocks away from me and had hosted me at a party once. Later that day, as my car coasted down the approach to my house, I saw a garage door open and my neighbor’s son walk out on his way to his shift at the same grocery store that I treat emotionally like a Superfund site.

I thought about how much I unconsciously held my breath where they work, and how I unconsciously associate those places with poor choices. The danger of the world outside is so massive that I reflexively need to cordon off the threat into areas of blame and blamelessness. In a moment of crisis, years of conservative rhetorical conditioning in the discourse have taught me to reflexively pathologize those in harm’s way. There is less chaos if someone is at least responsible for something. There is less risk to me, if it turns out someone else’s epidemic is someone else’s fault.

But it is someone else’s fault. And it’s not some poor fucker doomed to sit in a box somewhere and accept paper money and hand metal money back and point at where toilets are, because that’s how he keeps the lights on. It’s not the person consigned to some life-sucking task that, on the best of days, is too humiliating and cruelly impoverished of purpose to ever be a reason why someone should die. It’s not the person around whom you hold your breath because you don’t know where they’ve been. It’s the person and people who put us all in position to suddenly feel like we’re suffocating together.

I hate that I sometimes unconsciously hold my breath around strangers, and I hate that they have heard it. I think of my neighbors, and of the workers on whom we’re dependent, and the permanent uncertain shortness of breath I feel, and I want every moment of their anxiety and mine gathered up and then rained on those who shepherded it into being, those who nurtured it and feasted on it, those who profited from it and were indifferent toward it. Those who consider themselves DUI guys and those who pay to elect them and give them sinecures and who are simply too rich to be arrested for boating under the influence anymore.

I think of how I hold my breath near good people and near vulnerable people in places I am wary of and that we all need to share, and I wonder if we will simply hold our breath for the rest of the year, and if we’ve bargained for standing near each other and holding it for all of the next. And I wish so eagerly that all our suspended futures and the air between us might catch at the throats of those who put us here. That justice for a man like Ron DeSantis might be a permanent and sucking terror: stuck always in an involuntary startled gasp at the sight of responsibility, afraid at the approach of every stranger, incapable of drawing a full and restful breath, and never knowing peace again.

Jeb Lund used to write about politics for Rolling Stone, The Guardian and Gawker, and a bunch of other places, and was the Spectacle of Trump Editor at 50 States of Blue. He and David Roth have a podcast about Hallmark original movies that is mostly funny and exasperated and not unkind, and it's not ultimately about the movies anyway. It's fine and people enjoy it. Don't make it weird. He also has a podcast where he watches every Dennis Quaid movie in a row. That is also completely normal.

Ok here’s me again with a couple more things.

You’ll want to read this in the New York Times today about a forthcoming documentary on ICE. After it was completed the filmmakers were apparently threatened with legal action by the agency over the inclusion of parts that made ICE look even worse than they already look doing literally everything else they do.

Some of the contentious scenes include ICE officers lying to immigrants to gain access to their homes and mocking them after taking them into custody. One shows an officer illegally picking the lock to an apartment building during a raid.

At town hall meetings captured on camera, agency spokesmen reassured the public that the organization’s focus was on arresting and deporting immigrants who had committed serious crimes. But the filmmakers observed numerous occasions in which officers expressed satisfaction after being told by supervisors to arrest as many people as possible, even those without criminal records.

“Start taking collaterals, man,” a supervisor in New York said over a speakerphone to an officer who was making street arrests as the filmmakers listened in. “I don’t care what you do, but bring at least two people,” he said.

Here’s one disgusting detail among many.

They followed Border Patrol tactical agents who took pride in rescuing migrants from deadly dehydration even as the agents acknowledged that their tactics were pushing the migrants further into harm’s way. They showed how the government had at times evaluated the success of its border policies based not only on the number of migrants apprehended, but on the number who died while crossing.

***

source:

https://luke.substack.com/p/all-they-had-to-do-was-the-right?utm_source=Brooklyn+Today&utm_campaign=dd6f63665c-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2020_07_28_01_15&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_1ba554d7d5-dd6f63665c-125128182

[jotarosbelt]

An Unwanted Reunion. [Josuke Higashikata]

god, i have so many things to say.

firstly, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 100K AND 800 FOLOWERS, Y’ALL LEGIT BROUGHT TEARS TO MY EYES. i really appreciate every one of you, please know that. honestly, if it wasn’t for y’all i wouldn’t still be updating or writing for jojo a year later.

second, got this idea while drawing rohan and josuke the other day :) posted the sketch here: x

thirdly, this is kinda a crack/hurt and comfort fic but it’s okay

enjoy!

“Hey, babe? Have you seen my tie? I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

“Yeah, it’s right here.”

Snatching his purple tie off the bed, you approached your boyfriend who was fumbling with his cufflinks in the bathroom mirror.

“Shit.” He cussed under his breath as the cufflink fell to the floor for the seemingly one millionth time this night.

“Here, let me.” You stuck out your hand to the taller man for him to drop the cufflink in and give you his sleeve.

“You’re a lifesaver, ya’know that? A really, really pretty lifesaver.”

You could feel the blush creep up onto your cheeks.

“Stop it, Josuke. You better not say that kind of stuff in front of my family.”

He chuckled. “You know I wouldn’t, babe! I’m just kinda nervous cause you never talk about them. All I know is that your parents work in the law and medical fields and you brother is an artist or whatever.”

You huffed. “There’s not much too say. Nothing to prepare you for them, anyways.”

He cocked one of his perfect eyebrows at you as you patted the back of his hand and let it drop to his side. “I’ve led a crazy life, [Name]. I’m sure I can handle your dysfunctional family.”

You let out a laugh. “I really hope so.”

——

You car ride with Josuke had been normal— the calm before the storm. Laughing loud, singing in obnoxious voices to your favorite songs— it was something you usually did with Josuke when the both of you were in high spirits.

As you two neared your destination, he turned down the music and pulled into the parking lot of the busy restaurant. He put the car in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition, then pressed his head up against the steering wheel.

“We’re really about to do this. I’m really about to meet your family.”

You felt a frown take form on your lips, quickly dissipating into a pout while you stroked the male’s strong back.

“I don’t see why you’re so worried. Besides, we’ve been together for the last 3 months— known each other for 6. I can live with my family disliking you, although I doubt it’ll come to that.”

“That’s the problem, [Name]! I can’t!”

You shrunk back and his expression quickly fell. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell like that. I just—“ He sighed.

“I’m a people pleaser— you know that! My teachers, although I give minimum effort, at work, in the bedroom—“

“Okay! I get it, haha! You don’t have to go there!”

A small smile creased his lips and he lifted his forehead up from the edge of his steering wheel, pressing it cautiously into your neck, arms wrapping around your waist.

“Sorry. I want them to like me because they’re close to you.”

You rest a hand on the nape of his neck, careful as to not mess up the strands back there and rubbed. “Don’t be sorry. You’ll be fine. Now, come on, we should go inside.”

Inhaling your scent one last time, he sat up and nodded before moving back to the drivers side, flipping the doors unlocked, and sliding out. You two walked into the restaurant, saying you had a reservation under your last name, and went to the table.

The look on your boyfriend’s face when he your brother finally looked up from his phone was alarming to say the very least.

“ROHAN!?”

The green haired man practically jumped out of his seat at the table. “Josuke!?”

You, however, were very confused.

“You two.. know each other?”

Rohan crossed his arms and scoffed. “Hardly.”

Josuke did the same. “He’s lucky I even give him the time of day.”

“What’d you say, you—“

“Okay, cut it out, boys!”

The three of you turn to see your mother, standing in a gorgeous dress and sweater, next to your father who was wearing a freshly pressed suit.

They looked very put together. Josuke was terrified.

“Mom! Dad! Hi!”

You jogged over to give your parents a hug. “Hi, dear. What’s going on over.. there?”

You turn to look at where your mother was pointing, only to see Rohan and Josuke glaring at each other in a standoff. It was a miracle they weren’t LITERALLY butting heads right now.

“Honestly,” you began as you rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, “I’m not too sure myself. Josuke and I just walked in and as soon as they made eye contact, they exploded.”

You father spoke next. “I see they have history, then?”

You shrugged. “I guess. They don’t seem too fond of each other...”

Your mother sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes still on the two men. “What a shame. I just hope they can play nice for an hour or two.”

You sighed, too. “Me too.”

——

By some miracle, you were able to calm Rohan and Josuke down. You told Josuke you’d inquire about whatever bad blood he and your brother had, but until then, you expected him to behave accordingly and like the adult he was.

Hesitantly, he nodded and you put your stern finger down as you had him follow you back to the table— Rohan, your father, and your mother approaching from the other side.

Dinner itself was going rather smoothly, as you were all able to order without Rohan making any snide remarks or Josuke lunging over the table and strangling Rohan with his own headband.

“So,” your father began, “how long have you known my child?

Josuke let out a nervous chuckle and squeezed your hand under the table.

“We’ve known each other for about 3– been together for 6— wait, been together—“

Your dad interrupted. “Been together for 3, and known each other for 6? Yes?”

He turned red and nodded sheepishly, and Rohan just turned his head and clicked his tongue, earning a glare from you.

You mother rested a hand on your father’s shoulder. “He’s just nervous, dear. Josuke, relax. We’re all friends here.”

His iron clad grip on your hand loosened at your mother’s soothing words, and he smiled. “Okay. Sorry about that.”

Your father waved a hand dismissively at him. “Don’t worry about it. Anyways, you’re employed, right? What do you do?”

Josuke thought for a minute before he spoke, hoping his mouth wouldn’t betray him this time. “I’m actually an officer at the Morioh Police Department. I’m a crime scene investigator, to be exact. Seen some things.” He followed his statement up with a dry chuckle.

Before your father could comment, Rohan spoke up. “You’re a pretty shitty one, at that.”

You mother gasped. “Rohan!”

Josuke’s smile quickly morphed into a scowl as he dropped your hand and gripped the edge of the table. “What was that, shit-for-brains? I don’t see you checking out brutal murder scenes for work!”

“Then why do the police contact me for my detective skills, Sherlock?”

“Oh, put a l—“

“ENOUGH!”

You slammed your hands on the table, silverware clattering as they were launched into the air and came back down. You were positive the entire restaurant was staring at you now since it had gone completely silent, but in that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I’ve had enough of your bickering tonight! I just wanted to have a nice, peaceful and fun dinner with my family and boyfriend, but I can’t even have that, now can I? All because the ‘Great Rohan Kishibe’ and “JoJo the Investigator’ can’t seem to put their differences to rest! It’s childish!”

The two men stared at you with wide eyes.

“[Name], I—“

“We didn’t mean to—“

“Just shut up already!” You took a deep breath as the room filled with a suffocating silence.

“I’m.. I’m going to use the bathroom. Excuse me.”

The men scowled at each other before getting up to rush after you, quickly being pulled back down into their seats by your parents.

“You’ve done enough.” You father said sternly. You mother followed up. “Let her go.”

The two sat as they waited for you to emerge from the bathroom, not expecting your face to be tear streaked as you quickly wiped your cheeks and grabbed Josuke’s arm, tugging him out of the booth.

You shot your parents a sympathetic look and mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ best you could before tiring and narrowing your eyes at your brother.

“I’ll deal with you later.”

You dragged Josuke out of the restaurant and practically through him up against the side before burying your face into his chest.

“You.. you idiot!”

You slammed your fist against his chest, not giving a damn about how it sting from how it collided with his heard him that was on the lapel of his jacket.

He stared at you for a few moments before wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on top of yours.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, baby.”

You huffed, the sound getting lost in the material of shirt.

“Can we just go get ice cream, go home, and watch some cheesy romance movies? Please?”

As you finally looked up at him, you could see the cheesy grin that was on his face. Leaning down, he gently kissed your lips. It wasn’t anything suggestive— nothing hot and heavy— but, sweet and passionate. It said “I love you” without him actually having to say it.

“You got it.”

[gothfoxx]

Bnha prompt where Easerhead is made to look over the income students files and doesn't like how bakuguo looks. So he goes to see himself and sees how he acts and has proof so in the end even after passing both the paper and qurik exam he is turned down. And bakuguo doesn't know the useless deku is in ua until he sees him win the feastal

Ok I can’t sleep so you get yours early!

Mrs Midoriya was a kind woman that loved her friends fiercely but no amount of friendship was worth seeing her baby boy charred and bloodied. She and Izuku had lost their closest friends but they were both able to grow because of it. Inko filed for divorce and Izuku saw that idled idol worship wasn’t going to get him into hero school without a quirk. They both faced ridicule for ‘forcing’ a mark on an exemplar and honored student. It wasn’t the last mark Katsuki got for harming Izuku while they attended the same middle school.

Every year Aizawa had to wade through stacks and stacks of student entry files. The ones that didn’t pass the written exam or didn’t meet the cut off number of points for consideration had already been tossed so all that was left were those deemed qualified for assessment. Which was all just fancy words for these are the kids he and Ken would be picking their next classes from. This year Principal Nezu had added on an interview to the process, one with the student and their guardian and one with their middle school home room teacher. Aizawa knew it was because he had expelled his whole class last year by the end of the first week so this was Nezu’s way around that problem.

Out of 67 candidates Hero Eraserhead had gone to 43 school rooms and homes. His next stop was Aldera middle school where two hopefuls attended. He was curious about the place that produced both a kid as clever and determined as Midoriya Izuku and a kid as brash and tactically minded as Bakugou Katsuki. He was also curious about the missing pages in both of their files, it could have been a fluke but he wasn’t an optimistic man.

The building was nothing to write home about but Eraserhead knew better than to judge a book by its cover, many had done so to him in the past. He counted his luck that he could finish two interviews with one trip once he set foot into the school. It smelled of mildew and the wooden stairs were warped in places, not a good first impression. The teacher who greeted him at the classroom was a middle aged man with a slight hunch and thin hair. “Welcome Eraserhead sir, we are so honored to have you with us today. We don’t normally have students achieve such feats but it’s no wonder with our promising prodigy Bakugou, we are so proud of him!” Praises the Aldera teacher, as he walks Eraser to a seat at one of the desks.

He notes it as odd the man hadn’t mentioned that they had two students in the running for UA and writes it in the notebook he brought for today’s set of interviews. “Yes Bakugou has shown he has the mind and skill it takes to make it at UA but there is only so much a video and an incomplete file can tell us about a child. So that’s why I’m here today. I would like you to tell me about your students today. Particularly Bakugou AND Midoriya.” He drones only putting emphasis on the fact this was for two students, not just one. The cheerful face the man was wear slips into a exasperated one at the mention of the other student. “Oh so he got into General studies did he, well can’t say I’m surprised. He isn’t much be he has a good melon on his shoulders, could probably get into marketing if he wasn’t so hung up on being a hero, that damn Midoriya.” The teacher ponders aloud like it wasn’t just for show. Keeping a straight face and not just calling the man out on favoritism Eraser pushed forward with the interview.

Drawing out the folder for Bakugou first Eraserhead flips to where behavioral records and notes should have been. “Normally a file will have at least a note or two on student behavior so teachers down the line can help curb bad habits or know how to handle a quirk controll issue. Neither student submission had one which seems like an odd over site. What can you tell me about Bakugou’s history with his quirk and other students?” As he spoke the teacher was growing more and more agitated. “He’s a good student, I don’t know what you’ve heard but he deserves to be a hero! Just because he has a slight temper doesn’t mean he’s a bad kid. That bitch and her son just wanted attention! Slandering a prodigy before he gets a chance to shine? It’s absurd.” Rants the hunched teacher, sounding like a politically backwards uncle. Eraser makes a mental note to stop at the office to get another copy of the files.

“That was informative. Do you have any notes on Midoriya’s behavior?” He asks fearing he already knows the answer. “Like I said before the kid is smart but he is constantly garnering for attention. Probably because he’s quirkless and his father ran off. Mess up him and his mother, they accused poor Bakugou of picking fights and using his quirk in public. Absurd, Bakugou wouldn’t ruin his chances on some nobody like Deku.” Aaaand that was all he need to hear. He would be advising Nezu to investigate this place, the building wasn’t the only thing that smelled.

The secretary seemed like a nice and headstrong lady. When he asked to see the original files she pulled them out of a false bottom in one of her cabinets. She must have been waiting for someone to finally see what she must every day. “I was told to lose these as soon as both boys applied to UA. I’ve seen that poor kid come in fine in the morning and then leave covered in marks or limping home.” She whispers quickly, sparkling purple eyes checking for nosy nellies. “My mom is quirkless and the stories she told me are mother compared to what must be happening to him.” He thanks her and discreetly snaps photos of both files. One taking longer because how large it was.

Bakugou’s sheet listen 7 accounts of bullying since the 3rd grade. And that was just against one student, there were many more of one off fights or arguments. No matter what though it painted the kid as an egotistical narcissist with a God complex who was not above physical violence as a first option. Not what Aizawa would call exemplary or promising. Midoriya on the other hand had no official marks but all his teachers before had called him disruptful and attention seeking. He would have to see for himself at the home interview but he might as well get the one he was sure about out of the way.

So...the Bakugou family was dysfunctional to say the least, Aizawa had been forced to not only use his quirk and also restrain the mother after she attacked her son and made several remarks about her wish for him to “just shape up or go kill himself”. Aizawa felt bad for the father he had tried to calm the situation but his eyes betrayed him, the man had known it wouldn’t work. Now Mrs Bakugou was facing charges of child abuse and suicide baiting, both were small charges but she would still serve time for it. For the two Bakugou men the court would probably suggest therapy for ptsd and whatever non-addressed issues Katsuki would probably had ignored in his childhood.

On the other side of the coin the meeting with the Midoriyas was a short and peaceful affair. The notes on the kid’s file were obviously just the teachers discriminating against a kid that was already delt a bad hand in life. He was definitely having Nezu pick apart that school, hire the secretary too for her smart thinking and strong morals. “Well Ms Midoriya I will be in touch with you soon. And Izuku, you’re going to do great things no matter what you choose to do.” Okay so the kid impressed him...multiple times. He didn’t have a soft spot for bullied kids with minds as sharp as their eyes, no matter what Mic says.

-3 months later-

The sports festival was playing on the television at the support house. The little kids were oohing and awwing. It hurt to even listen to as the students all fought for a spot at the top. Katsuki’s therapist had told him “it is okay to be upset about thing like this but the way you show that emotion should help you get the emotions out not bottle them up.” So he was letting himself be mad and sad and holding onto his dad’s hand for comfort. Another thing his therapist had told him was okay, comfort and crying weren’t weaknesses. Some of the kids were cheering now and one typically shy kid shouted “go green boy!” And there was no way.

Katsuki let go of his dad and moved closer to the tv. The smaller kids gave him room to see the screen. Just as he thought, a small bundle of wirely limbs and green hair slung a slab of metal forward on a pile of canisters. The explosion of pink and red glitter launched Midoriya Izuku, the kid Katsuki had thought he had hated for most of his life, past the losers just hopping over the obstacles and into third place. He joined the kids in their cheers, he wasn’t sure what De- Izu had done to win these kids over but to them he was already a hero. They all watched as he used all of those brains that the Bakugou’s recognized and all of the skill they did not to get further and further through the competition. He thinks his therapist will be happy to know that when Izuku was named that year’s Champion that the only things Katsuki had felt were pride, happiness, and anticipation. He couldn’t wait to get better and be able to tell Izuku just how much he saved him.

Okay so a little different than you probably were expecting buuuut I hope you still like it

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Good for You

Peter Parker had to join us some time, right? Like that was going to be a thing? Here you guys go - hope you enjoy. I’m basically easing back into writing on here with these couple songfics. “Hurts to be Human” and a new fanfic should be up in a couple days.

Summary: Various Avenger x Reader one-shots with songs from musicals. In this one — Peter Parker is struggling with guilt and PTSD, thinking everyone is turning on him. Luckily you’re there to be his light in the dark.

Warnings: Bit of angst, fluff, that sorta thing. Ends happier, I promise. There’s Peter cuddles in the end!

The sound of running water echoed through the bedroom as Peter tried to relax his tense muscles. Everything was always sore and it seemed the pain had been dialed to an eleven ever since Thanos. Because so many of the Avengers were concerned for his well being, half of his time was spent staying at the Avengers facility. Aunt May didn’t mind too much. He still spent time helping with the whole “blip” incident and he wasn’t changing schools. But Dr. Strange and Bruce had voiced their concerns about the whole thing and…well, who was Peter to argue with such brilliant men? They wanted him to see the team’s therapist, take the proper steps so that he didn’t end up as dysfunctional as Tony.

Y/N helped a lot. Unlike Ned and MJ, she was an Avenger. She understood how painful it was to balance real life with the whole superhero gig. Especially at their age. Two teens in high school and already they were Avengers, fighting bad guys like Thanos.

She understood all of his fears.

Running his hands over his face, his body was starting to turn a bright pink from the steam and pelting water. Other than a dull burn, he couldn’t feel it. Still, Peter wasn’t able to bring himself to turn the knob, dial back the temp. Instead, he braced his forearms on the tile, the cold causing a small hiss to slip past his lips.

His mind was lost, blinded by the fears that were poking and prodding inside his head.

“So you found a place where the grass is greener,” May’s voice hissed as he blinked away tears. “And you jumped the fence to the other side. Is it good? Are they giving you a world I could never provide?”

Peter’s lip quivered as he blinked away tears, remembering the nightmare. It had woken him the night before, so vivid and clear that he wasn’t sure whether it was a memory or a dream. Y/N had assured him, held him through the night and still he coudn’t forget.

“Well, I hope your proud of your big decision. Yeah, I hope that it’s all that you want and more. Now you’re free from the agonizing life you were living before.” Peter’s brain had May’s tear filled eyes, stained cheeks, and wrecked voice so perfectly etched in his thoughts that it was impossible to block out. It felt so real, sounded so there.

“M-May,” he whimpered, hand pressed against his stomach. It was twisting, clenching, and it felt like he was about to throw up.

“Well, I’m sorry you had it rough and I’m sorry I’m not enough. Thank God he rescued you.” 

Peter lurched as Tony’s voice echoed in his ears. Everywhere he looked there was some sort of memorial, memory, or recording. It could be anything and Tony was related to it. He was the world’s hero and they wanted to make it clear. Still, even with all those versions surrounding him day in and day out, the one that consistently haunted his memories was burned, barely living, and had that stupid gauntlet in his hand. 

“So you got what you wanted, so you got your dream come true,” came Tony’s voice whispering in his ears. It quivered, weak as if he was fighting to live just to sneer this truth in the young hero’s ear. “Good for you…Good for you, kid. Got a taste of a life so perfect, so you did what you had to do…Good for you.”

“Stop…stop, please,” Peter murmured, a fist beating against the wall. The idea of Tony Stark dying disappointed in him, it broke Peter’s heart. He couldn’t live thinking like that. “Mr. Stark…Tony…”

A knock came from outside the door, lost on Peter. Y/N knew his schedule and while Peter normally took showers after working out to ease his muscles, he’d been in there for longer than normal. She was concerned. “Peter?” Her muffled voice barely came through the door and fell on deaf ears.

“Does it cross your mind to be slightly sorry?” Beck’s voice whispered in his ear. Peter spun around. Water splashed underneath him, his fingers swiftly sticking to the tile before he made a bigger mess than he’d already managed.

Beck had toyed with his mind, tormented him and made him question everything that ran through his head. The therapist was working with him to help him figure out how to overcome that fear, that trauma, but Peter was…struggling to overcome it.

“Do you even care that you might be wrong? Was it fun? Playing hero? Well, I hope you had a blast while you dragged us along.”

Peter hated that part of the dream. It was always the same, every night. Beck taunting him, then everyone that mattered to him lining up as if Peter had toyed with them all. MJ and Ned were always the last two. They were always watching him, breaking his heart while he felt like he failed as their friend.

“And you say what you need to say,” Ned sneers.

“And you play who you need to play,” MJ agreed, hugging herself. She always watched him, brow furrowed as if studying him. 

“And if somebody’s in your way?” 

MJ grimaced, sharing a look with Ned. Peter just wanted to reach out to them, hug them and assure them that he adore this friends more than anything. “Crush them and leave them behind. Well…I guess if we’re not of use —“

“Go ahead, you can cut me loose.”

“Go ahead now, I won’t mind.”

Peter ran his hands through his hair, body shaking as he fell to his knees. It felt like they were circling him, their bodies so close he could practically feel their presence. If he didn’t understand his reality, if he wasn’t aware that he was in fact in the shower, the ghostly feeling of them pulling him in a million directions would shatter what was left of his already fractured heart.

“I’ll shut my mouth and I’ll let you go.” May’s voice sent a shudder down his spine. “Is that good for you? Would that be good for you?” The others joined, their voices overlapping one another, deafening him.

Y/N frowned when she still hadn’t heard anything. “Peter, I’m coming in, okay?” Y/N picked the lock, swinging the door open. Inside, the bathroom was filled with steam. It rolled past her legs and she waved a hand, trying to clear the air. The mirror was covered with steam and the water from the shower had found its way outside of the tub, leaving a rather large puddle in the middle. “Peter,” she murmured, her gaze shifting to the heap curled up in the tub. She treaded carefully, moving to straddle the tub and turning off the water. “It’s just me, okay?”

Tracing his back, she listened to his soft murmurs. “All I need is some time to think,” he kept repeating, other words coming out in mumbles that she didn’t understand. She leaned forward, placing a small kiss on the mop of wet hair that his hands were still tangled in. Y/N traced along his spine, watching as his muscles slowly eased. He kept mumbling and she grabbed a washrag. Soaking it, she ran it along his back to ease him into a cooler temperature. His mind was still lost, still in his own little world. “All I need…All the words that I can’t take back…like a train coming off the track…As the rails and the bolts all crack…”

“Sh, sh,” she whispered, other hand reaching out and carefully tracing his bicep. “Peter, I’m here.”

I’ve got to find a way to stop it… “Stop it,” he begged his mind, tears flowing freely. “Just let me out!”

Peter lurched forward and Y/N quickly used her super strength to catch him. She pulled him close, his head falling on her shoulder as sobs raked through his body. His hands fell to her sides, clutching the side of the tub as she ran her fingers through his hair. 

“Pete? Peter, it’s okay,” she continued whispering small assurances in his ear. Slowly, his body stopped crying. Small sniffles and shivers were the only movements made from him as Y/N tried to figure out what to do. She knew they were in a bit of a compromising position and while they had been on a couple dates, they weren’t exactly official in any sort of way.

But she wanted to look out for him.

“Can I grab you a towel?” Her voice was gentle, finally tearing through his mind. He nodded ever so slightly and she reached for the one hanging on the wall. Pulling it down, she wrapped it around him and went to work drying his back, then his arms and chest. “Come on, time to stand up.” She rose, pulling him with her before she wrapped the towel around his waist. 

“Are you okay to walk?” 

He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but his eyes watched every move she made. 

“Is it okay if I carry you?” 

Still a little lost, he didn’t make any immediate agreement or disagreement. So, Y/N lifted him up, carrying him into his bedroom and setting him on the large bed tucked into the corner. She went to the dresser and grabbed a pair of lounge pants. He took them from her, his movements stiff as he slipped them on before laying down.

Y/N sat next to him and immediately he curled into her side. His head landed on her stomach, a hand wrapping around her hip and absentmindedly tracing the skin exposed from her t-shirt riding up. “Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, turning so that he could nuzzle her stomach. “Not really,” he murmured as Y/N played with his hair. 

“Okay…”

Silence fell between the two and Y/N watched him carefully. Peter had good and bad days and it wasn’t often that the bad days hit. When they did, they were like this. They were absolutely awful and something she wouldn’t wish on anyone. But she was glad the he at least trusted her enough to show this side of him.

“Thank you.”

His voice was soft, barely above a murmur. She smiled softly, her hand tracing along his back. Almost immediately, he relaxed under her touch. It wasn’t too long before she was greeted by his soft snores. There was no twitching, no reacting to images haunting his mind. She hoped that, maybe this time, his mind was allowing himself some sort of peace. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and thought it might be good for her to try and catch up on some much needed sleep.

“Anytime, Peter. You never have to ask.”

[gdreamzseternal]

I’d like to thank

@myradfemblog for finding an extremely old porn blog of mine. I forgot it existed and it actually makes me sick to see that I was role playing such sick disgusting trauma that I went through thinking it would help when it made me so much worse. Thank you for abusing me over something I repeatedly asked you to give me the link to because I wasn’t going to go through your slander about me to find it.

I want to also say thanks because you pointing that out and me seeing that made me cry both from being triggered and realizing how far I’ve come. That I am extremely kink critical now. When I used to be heavily into it. That I don’t whore myself out anymore because “sex work makes me strong”. God I used to genuinely believe that. Makes me sick. I was so so sick. I was still victimizing myself back then...

But now.. I am a survivor.

Everyone advocated for and ignored the dangers of extreme methods of “beat the child into submission”. (Looking at you old people) It’s so sad cause I still see it now. The way a person who I had a normal discussion with suddenly gets to violently abuse me and degrade me just because they didn’t like what I had to say. Sounds like abusive parents. Everything’s cool til it’s not.

My dad beat my ass cause at 9 years old because I looked him in the eyes and told him to stop drinking cause he was being mean. Telling the truth got me abused. Look at that what a surprise.

Humans communicate differently than other creatures on the planet. Does that mean the other creatures don’t communicate? No. That just means they do things different. They don’t need vaccines because they were meant to survive and live here. If humans didn’t have their science we would all be dead! We are in a race with the planet to see who can kill who first. Will we kill the planet (which kills us too idiots) or will the planet eradicate us via disease and natural disasters and heal itself and start over (we still dead). Or do we chill on our population and help the earth heal by bein more considerate of our surroundings. Yeah none of you like me because I say it how it is without thinking about how it will affect any of you. So that means you get to abuse me. I’m not hurting anyone by simply sharing my views. Yet I am being hurt for speaking my views. I’m not actively slitting the throats of disabled people. I’m not saying we have to round up the retards that already exist and just shoot them. They should just be left in their natural form. Yeah give artificial limbs out cause that’s science but giving a nasty fat fuck a wheel chair cause boohoo they can’t loose weight? Nah true waste of resources. I’m saying we use the science that is our only advantage to prevent that from ever happening again.

All I’m doing is talking on MY BLOG. & I get death threats and told I should be raped by my father all over again. Simply for sharing my feelings on what will 1000000% save the greater good. It doesn’t even have to be permanent. Imagine if every grown man had to get a vasectomy for the next 20 years til all the excited potential parents get throughly processed to see if they are psychologically, psychically, financially and home stable to have children. Then there is a massive database of all the adorable kids waiting to find homes and they get to meet and have a 30 day period where THE CHILD decides if they like their new potential parents. Every couple/person wanting to adopt can adopt up to 2 kids and the kids get a say too.

Humans are not special and I don’t care if you disagree with me. Yet for some reason we literally act like gods gift (complete pun intended) That think who fucking cares what we do to everything around us including ourselves because this is OUR EARTH. We can do what WE WANT. Blah blah blah. Then the WHITE MEN put control on EVERYONE. Then slowly we colored folk said fuck you and made our own lives cause who gives a flying fuck about someone’s skin color except for white people. Then the humans just started literally takin over. Who cares if a bunch of birds nests lived in this tree? I want my new condo that I spend 2-3 months a year in right fucking here so the homes of those birds don’t matter. Let’s massively hunt these animals into extinction for our pleasure. (Okay Hitlers)

We are selfish

I wasn’t raised like you. I wasn’t raised by anyone but my own fucking brain. I never had any positive influences but the voices in my head. We see the world for what it is and not the false reality im creating for myself. I won’t even say ‘most’ if you were raised right because even today in 2019 the system and adults hide the abuse and damage that is really happening. Clearly this whole system isn’t working.

I was raised that literally everything in the whole world was both good and bad. So I learned to be objective and unbiased. Your feelings are what get you killed. Ask any dead kid who didn’t speak up about their abusive parents. And any bleeding out gangbanger who got felt offended by a color and killed someone over it. Someone who felt the desire to get high cause they have no self control and killed some to get $$. But it wasn’t them because even though they felt the need to do the drugs it wasn’t their fault.

So why are we going to keep adding more and more children to the solution when we don’t even know what to do with the poor innocent souls that we have now? We just pretend it’s not that big a deal and keep adding feul (the kids) to the fire (the shitty system). CLEARLY you all know there’s a problem and nothing any of you are doing is working.

So when do we take extreme measures? When do we ACTUALLY make a change. We have nuclear bombs hell ANY bomb and those are okay “when absolutely necessary” but allowing people to have kids they can’t afford, can’t raise, got raped into them, got one night standed with, can’t handle. A BOMB AFFECTS HUMANS AND THE ENVIRONMENT NEGATIVELY. Humans getting neutered (since that’s what you call it for other creatures) will effect the world positively. The bombs are okay though? We can MASS destroy life but we can’t mass PREVENT it from having to be destroyed or emotionally ruined in the first place? Not forever just til we get our shit together.

The abominations and retards. That’s EXACTLY WHAT THEY ARE that’s why no one likes when you mention it. They are like the endless elephant in the room. I will die by the quote, “A few bad apples ruins the whole barrel”. We think that it’s perfectly okay to keep adding bad genes to our makeup while simultaneously praying we live forever. It’s so tiresomely contradicting.

If you can all make such a fucking effort for these retard abominations that you breed. Then you can STOP breeding COMPLETELY until you give the kids homes that need them. Those kids will be more likely to become doctors getting adopted out to good homes. Then if they get left to rot in a shitty system while they walk in a grocery store with their mean foster mom and see a happy young couple PREGNANT with their first child when they could have adopted him. If you choose to give birth instead of adopting then you might as well walk up to a kid in a foster/group home and tell them they are garbage and ain’t ever going anywhere.

I still haven’t had my question answered... why does ANY HUMAN ON THIS ENTIRE PLANET need to breed when there are already so many homeless children?

So what is it are we going to stop breeding and adopt all the kids out to good homes that have been more throughly evaluated than a simple background check and having enough beds and money?

Are we going to keep creating a whole brand new system for the retards when the perfectly able children who would flourish with good parents system is still completely fucked?

Giving whole TV shows to literal human abominations for entertainment. Or humans that are forced to overbreed or sickly do it “for religious reasons”. You get to see how much their disability/struggles makes their life so hard but they are so ~brave and strong~ because society would rather force conjoined twins to spend their lives together or die trying to separate because human euthanasia is wrong until a human kills another human???????

Where does that make sense.

We are going to keep worrying more about the dysfunctional, malfunctioned, rejects of our society before the regular ones? We are going to keep following fake gods we have no proof of so that we don’t have to accept the realities of human nature.

Are we going to not do anything and ignore all the clear issues and keep adding more kids?

The same can be said about the immigrant shit in America. We have so many problems we don’t need anymore people and this place is fucked why would you wanna come here anyway? (I digress on this)

Are we going to keep throwing children out like trash in hopes that someone else will raise the busted nut you let fester in your womb?

Like out of those which one of these which one is the best option? Because all but one are things we are already doing and it isn’t working.

So hate me for being unbiased. But as my therapist (yes I discuss this with BOTH my Ts to make sure I am not delusional) put it. I am not looking at it for the benefit of humans. I’m looking at the benefit of the earth as a whole. I don’t want humans to all die off. But if it’s what it has to take in order for this planet to survive then so be it. There are so many other species, creatures, life on this Planet.

To put it simply you’re all simpleminded.

There is no god because Humans seem to think they are god. & we can breed, have our technology, have our vaccines. But as long as we are still over breeding and not adequately using our resources....

The Human Rights we are fighting for will not matter if there is nothing for the humans to live on.

This Earth is our home and there are too many of us right now. Too many of us doing too many wrong things.

Focus on the Human Wrongs then there will be no need for Human Rights because they will realize they are all just another species on this glorious and beautiful earth.

I know none of you were take anything from this.

You all were taught one way or you think one way and that is it there can’t be any other way and anyone else who thinks differently than that is wrong but at the end of the day my ideas are what will save humanity your ideas are what will destroy it. Your safe space will be irrelevant if you have no where to put it.

A human’s need to add feeling and emotion to everything is our biggest flaw.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk Typing Podcast

[brajeshupadhyay]

A man who became manic after being infected with coronavirus got so delirious he confessed to his wife that he used to have sex with men, doctors have revealed.  The unidentified 41-year-old, who was treated at St Thomas’ Hospital in London, also became ‘highly aroused’ and uninhibited, questioning and inappropriately touching nurses tasked with treating him. He also became obsessed with ‘grandiose ideas’ and tried to smear water on fellow patients as if he were baptising them, medics said in a bizarre case report. The man was sick with a cough and fever for 10 days before he ended up in hospital and tested positive for Covid-19, which doctors believe triggered unusual symptoms. He eventually had to be sectioned under the Mental Health Act because he became so out of control. Describing the experience in his own words after recovering as ‘fascinating’, the man said he thought he was ‘trying to help the doctors as much as I could’. He added: ‘I began to think that I was part of a TV show, in which I was sent back from the future to save the NHS, and I was curious to see how this would end.’   The doctors said it was possible his episode was the first sign of a condition such as bipolar disorder — but did not diagnose him with that and instead put it down to the coronavirus despite admitting they can’t prove it for certain. One mental health expert told MailOnline it is well documented that immune system reactions can affect the brain and trigger mania such as what the man suffered, calling his episode ‘bizarre but not extreme’. There is growing evidence that Covid-19 can affect the brain and nervous system in various ways, the most common of which is losing the sense of smell and taste.  There is growing evidence that the coronavirus, and the body’s immune response to it, can affect the brain and trigger mental health symptoms (stock image of a brain scan)  Writing in the BMJ Case Reports medical journal, Dr Jamie Mawhinney and colleagues said: ‘This is, to the best of our knowledge, the first report of an acute episode of mania or psychosis as a result of SARS-CoV-2 infection.’ The man went to A&E in the early hours of the morning at the London hospital where Prime Minister Boris Johnson was treated for Covid-19.  He had woken in the middle of the night feeling like his ‘brain was racing’ and telling his wife he thought he would die, doctors reported. He had told his wife about sex he had had with men, ‘mostly’ before they were married, which she had never heard him talk about before. The man also confessed to other ‘uncharacteristic’ sexual behaviours and became uninhibited and acted inappropriately while in the hospital.  In the report the doctors said: ‘He was loud and highly aroused with sexual disinhibition and overfamiliar behaviour, inappropriately questioning and touching members of staff.  ‘His speech was pressured, and his mood subjectively and objectively elevated.  ‘His thoughts were grandiose with persecutory elements, and he had persistent strong religious ideas, manifestations of which included attempts to anoint fellow patients with water.  ‘He also obsessively wrote down every personal interaction and bodily sensation. He said he found this experience “liberating”.’ The man’s behaviour became so uncontrollable he had to be sedated and was transferred to intensive care and supported with ventilation. Investigations confirmed that he was positive for SARS-CoV-2 – the virus which causes Covid-19 – but the virus was not found in his spinal fluid, which would have proved it was in his central nervous system and could have travelled to the brain. After 24 hours on ventilation, he was moved to a ward where his coronavirus symptoms lessened, but mental state remained abnormal. COVID-19 CAUSES DELIRIUM AND STROKE IN ‘HIGHER THAN EXPECTED’ PATIENTS  Infection with the coronavirus can cause delirium, stroke and nerve damage in ‘a higher than expected number of patients’, a study has found. Experts from University College London have reported a ‘concerning increase’ amid the pandemic of a rare brain inflammation known to be triggered by viral infections. Typically seen in children, acute disseminated encephalomyelitis — or ‘ADEM’, for short — affects the both the brain and spinal cord. The condition — which can follow on from minor infections such as colds — sees immune cells activated to attack the fatty protective coating that covers nerves. The researchers have warned that clinicians need to be aware of the risk of neurological effects to help early diagnoses and improve patient outcomes. ‘We identified a higher than expected number of people with neurological conditions such as brain inflammation,’ said paper author and consultant neurologist Michael Zandi of the University College London. The appearance of these conditions, he added, ‘did not always correlate with the severity of respiratory symptoms.’ ‘We should be vigilant and look out for these complications in people who have had COVID-19.’ ‘Whether we will see an epidemic on a large scale of brain damage linked to the pandemic — perhaps similar to the encephalitis lethargica outbreak in the 1920s and 1930s after the 1918 influenza pandemic — remains to be seen.’ The researchers also found that other neurobiological complications — including delirium, stroke and nerve damage — appear to be associated with coronavirus. In their study, Dr Zandi and colleagues studied 43 patients — aged from 16-85 — with both neurological symptoms and either confirmed or suspected COVID-19 that were treated at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery in London. According to the researchers, many of the patients did not experience any of the respiratory symptoms often associated with the coronavirus. Among the cohort, the team identified 10 cases of temporary brain dysfunction with delirium, eight cases of strokes and eight cases with nerve damage. There were also 12 cases of brain inflammation — with nine of such patients being diagnosed with ADEM. Under normal circumstances, the London-based team said that they would only see around one adult patient with ADEM per month, on average — but that this figure has increased to at least one patient per week amid the pandemic.  Further studies are needed to identify exactly why some COVID-19 patients are developing neurological complications, the researchers concluded. ‘By day eight, his behaviour had escalated further culminating in a security call and emergency sedation for the safety of himself, the ward staff and other patients,’ the report said.   Psychiatric assessment found features consistent with acute mania – a state of extreme energy and arousal which can be euphoric but lead to violence – and he was detained under the Mental Health Act.   Mania is often conceived as a mirror image to depression, with the two moods associated with bipolar disorder.  The man was transferred to an psychiatric hospital and commenced on regular olanzapine – used to treat schizophrenia and certain types of bipolar disorder. Twelve days after being sectioned, the patient’s mania finally subsided and he was discharged. Reflecting on his experience, the man said: ‘I was taken to hospital on the 4th April with what I would describe as the worst headache of my life. At this time, I had been suffering with the symptoms of Covid-19 for over a week. ‘I was in hospital for a total of 20 days with psychosis and mania, which I experienced as fascinating.  ‘This may seem strange from an outside perspective, but I was, in my mania, trying to help the doctors as much as I could, while at the same time trying to make sense of my condition. ‘For my family and friends it was frightening. Luckily, they had a lot of support from each other, and from the great team of doctors at St. Thomas hospital.’ On follow-up, doctors revealed the man was slowly being weaned off antipsychotics while his wife said he is now back to ‘his baseline level of function’. The doctors said they couldn’t rule out the first manic episode of bipolar disorder – which the patient’s sister had been diagnosed with previously.  But it was clear the drastic changes in behaviours started at the same time as his tell-tale coronavirus symptoms. Professor Anthony S. David, director at the University College London Institute of Mental Health and author of ‘Into the Abyss: a neuropsychiatrists notes on troubled minds’, told MailOnline the man’s condition was ‘bizarre but actually not so extreme’ He said: ‘Psychiatrists talk about hypomania – a mild form of mania with elevated mood and feeling “high” – but mania proper includes delusions, typically grandiose, e.g. that one is god or has special powers, talking very fast, spending money and being disinhibited sexually. So this is what mania looks like. ‘Mania can be triggered by stress, lack of sleep, physical illness, drugs etc – but you have to have a predisposition. This man’s family history is probably relevant.’ He said that doctors are seeing growing numbers of neurological symptoms of Covid-19, but that they usually seemed to be caused by the immune system, rather than the virus itself getting into the brain – although this was possible, too. Professor David added: ‘Fever on its own disrupts thinking and could be enough to tip someone over into mania, if they were predisposed. A change in sleep-wake cycle is another cause.  ‘The immune system can affect the brain – that is why we all feel generally yuck when we have an infection, even if the infection is in another part of the body. Inflammatory chemicals and cells circulate and some can affect the brain.  ‘The more specific effect – which is rare but well recognised following other viruses – is that an immune response is triggered and the antibodies end up attacking the person’s brain in an effort to kill the virus – sort of “collateral damage”.  ‘Depending where the damage is concentrated, this can cause delusions as well as affecting consciousness, memory etcetera.’ He said some medications being used to treat coronavirus, such as steroids, are known to cause mania and psychosis. The man is not known to have been receiving treatment before his episode began, however.        Doctors pointed out Covid-19 manifests in a number of ways affecting multiple systems – including the central nervous system (CNS). The coronavirus enters human cells by latching onto ACE-2 receptors on the surface. Although the lungs are the key site for expressing ACE-2 in the body, it is also found in endothelial cells in the brain. This may provide a route into the CNS.  Previous reports have linked SARS-CoV-2 in the development of viral encephalitis – inflammation of the brain causing delirium, changes in personality and confusion. Yesterday University College London revealed study findings that the coronavirus can cause delirium, stroke and nerve damage in ‘a higher than expected number of patients’. Experts from University College London have reported a ‘concerning increase’ amid the pandemic of a rare brain inflammation known to be triggered by viral infections. Of the patients they studied with altered brain function, none had detectable levels of the coronavirus in the brain or spinal fluid – much like the 41-year-old case report. This, they explained, suggests that the virus did not directly cause the neurological symptoms and that some complications of COVID-19 ‘might come from [one’s] immune response, rather than the virus itself.’  They said it ‘remains to be seen’ if the pandemic causes an epidemic of brain damage.  The post Delirious coronavirus-infected man confesses to his wife that he used to have sex with men appeared first on Shri Times.

http://sansaartimes.blogspot.com/2020/07/delirious-coronavirus-infected-man.html

[aneilert]

The One With Everything [MAG158: Panopticon]

This episode was delayed almost 20 hours, sending the whole early-access-community into a gradually deafening frenzy even before it launched. And then it took off for real. 

The rest of the day has been a bit of a blur, to be honest, and if I’ve done anything not connected to relistening and speculating, then at least I can guarantee that neither my brain nor my heart was involved in it.

It’s hard to be eloquent when faced with this much content. I have raved elsewhere about the quality as well as the sheer quantity of content this episode can boast, but I’d like at least to post my List of Things We Had Expected, Hoped For and/or Dreaded and that happened, were confirmed or who returned in this episode:

1. Tim mention and grief

The fandom has never stopped grieving Tim Stoker, and every once in a while, someone will sigh about how they miss him and how much they wish his death would be at least mentioned on the show. Did he have no impact? Have they forgotten him? Well, canon has spoken: They have not. 

2. Not!Sasha coming back

I can honestly say I never spent much time on the theories that muttered about how she had been enclosed in the tunnels and probably still was there. My bad. I will certainly never again forget the old rule that if someone (or something) doesn’t die on camera (as it were), they’re not dead. (And fuck were those amazing voice distortions!)

3. Leitner’s book coming back

Don’t forget where you put your evil book. It might not be there anymore when you come back for it a year or two later. (The blood on it, btw? Also Leitner. That bit was hilarious. I despise Peter, but he has brought some of the funniest lines this season; «In my defence, it’s still quite funny» is my personal favourite.)

4. Elias escaping prison

We didn’t think anything was keeping him there longer than he wanted to, and we were right; it was just a matter of timing. He would never want to come sneaking back if he could be making an Entrance.

5. Jonah!Elias

Probably the most popular fan theory (apart from those concerning various ships) is canon. And what a deliciously disturbing visual it is; Jonah Magnus’ eyeless body aging in the Panopticon while his eyes do what they have always done: watch over his Institute. Never has Elias sounded more smug and delighted with himself than in this episode, and you know what? Much as I hate him, I’d say he’s earned it.

6. Elias/Peter meeting

Trust fandoms to make feverish ships built out of characters who have never interacted in canon. And boy, do the LonelyEyes shippers feel vindicated today! Not only did the two horrible old men finally interact, but their dynamic was revealed to be exactly that of an old, dysfunctional and probably multiple times divorced couple. Even Jonny said so. 

7. Martin having A Plan / having played Peter

We love Martin and worry about Martin, and we have been extremely worried about his latest signs of being fully on board (sic) with Peter’s nebulous plan. Is he that naïve? Is he that far gone? Or … is he playing Peter? Is he weaving his own little web, like in the previous season, when he managed to play Elias?

The truth, as so often, is a place in between. He has been playing Peter (and God was that an amazing reveal and a heart-rending speech! And Christ was Elias gleeful when he reminded Peter that he had been warned not to underestimate Martin, but that he still did it!), but he has also been joining the Lonely. There is something to be said for being able to keep distance, I guess. Even though it makes me heartsick.

8. Tape with Gertrude’s death and last confrontation with Elias

This is something I have been wanted for some time now. Gertrude is awesome and marvellous and badass and truly scary, and I have been wondering: did her hubris kill her? How did Elias take her down? What happened? 

Well, now we know. Or … we know part of it. Gertrude’s body had three shots fired in it, but the tape only contained one. And the tape was numbered #0182509-A, hinting at possibly a B existing somewhere. Maybe we haven’t heard the last from Gertrude yet?

Also: How very satisfying it was to see that Gertrude had basically the same plan as Martin: Burn some Institute stuff to keep Elias from seeing the real threat! I love what this says about Elias’ complacency and underestimation when it comes to Martin (but I worry what yet another parallel with Gertrude might bode for his future …).

9. Peter taking Martin into the Lonely

The premise of a lot of fics. Can’t wait to see how it plays out in canon.

10. Hunters returning at an inopportune moment

We all, including Jon and the gang, knew they were out there and that it was just a matter of time. Still fun! (Particularly Trevor yelling JONNY BOY!)

11. Daisy going feral

Oh, this is hard; she wanted so much to be free of the Hunt. But honestly: this is why she was brought back, whether she (or Jon) knew it or not: To reconnect with her humanity, and then to give it up willingly to save her friends. And, why not, to have the savage joy of ripping out a few more throats while she’s at it. 

Will Basira honour their promise? Well, that’s a tale for another day, as the story says. For now, let’s just enjoy the amazing sound distortion on Daisy’s breath, her voice and finally her growl. Daisy scared fucking Julia Montouk, and not many can boast that.

12. Jon and Elias talk

It’s been a long time coming. It was not at all what I had expected in any way, but it was amazing. And Jon hardly even noted what Elias was saying or how he gloated, because he was 100 % focused on …

13. Jon following Martin into the Lonely

Of course he did. Of course. He went into the Buried to get Daisy, and he didn’t even like Daisy, and she tried to kill him. Of course there’s no limit anymore to how much he will risk himself for a tiny sliver of hope that he might save Martin.

I worry so for them, though. Martin has refused Peter’s plans, true enough, but he has not refused the Lonely. He has been sliding into Forsaken for Jon’s sake, but he has still been sliding into Forsaken! And Jon’s journey into monsterdom is if anything even more worrying and harder to reverse.They have both been trying desperately and without any real clue as to how to save the world for each other’s sake, but what have they given up along the way? 

Still. Jon clawed his way out of the Buried fuelled by Martin and by the signal from his rib. Who’s to say it might not work a second time?

Also: the one person we didn’t meet who I almost had expected, was Annabelle. Someone must have put this last tape on Jon’s desk – and someone must also, long ago, have given him that lighter that he never can focus on long enough to remember he has. Is there a silvery Web thread connected to it, where it lies in his pocket? Could he be able to follow that thread out again?

I have no idea. I also have no idea how I am supposed to wait for the next two episodes. Or how my head felt before this podcast ate my entire brain.