sureyeah-blog

[rainbow-beanie]

It was world shattering to finally find out the mysterious illness Maria had, “neuro-immune deficiency syndrome” not only that, but to get some insight into Abraham towers life aboard the arc, and how he was the arcs “happy little accident” (hmmmm) and was actually friends with Maria, which contextualizes the quote “but she was lost to us long ago.” Since he himself personally knew her, and thus had to have grieved her loss similarly to shadow.

Also being able to actually see maria looking ill is heartbreaking, but is definitely something we all needed to see.

Maria with the baby biolizard 🥺

It must of been incredibly hard for shadow to read all this, with the pictures full of pleasant (and not so pleasant) memories, knowing full well what ended up happening. It’s different when you’ve been haunted by the trauma of what happened in the past that you can forget that the place still had history attached to it. The arc wasn’t always an empty space filled with dust and regret, but was once full of life and laughter, reminding shadow what could have been.

[judespoets]

i just wanna be a part of your family | jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

category: fluff

warnings: mentions of family issues

summary: you didn’t have the privilege to grow up with a big and loving family, so you find comfort with the bellinghams

growing up, you never had the privilege of having a big or happy family, it was something you didn’t know.

celebrating things together like christmas? you never did that. and it was never a problem, because you didn’t know it existed like that.

the tragedy of losing your mom through cancer when you were very young was what changed the whole family - your grandparents didn’t call your dad anymore, your dad didn’t call your grandparents anymore; places you loved to visit because it reminded you of your mom, where the places your dad didn’t want to visit because it also reminded him of your mom.

turning 18 was scary, it felt like you were free. but free from what? you were never unloved, you knew that. but you never got to experience the kind of love and happiness that comes from spending time with your family.

although that changed drastically when you met jube, you felt loved like you never did before. jude and his family knew about your situation so he wanted you to meet them as soon as possible. and the day you did meet them, was maybe even the best day of your life. the moment you walked through the front door of the bellingham household, you felt a kind of feeling you didn’t know how to describe, you didn’t know this feeling yet.

“it smells so nice in here, it’s really cozy, jude.” you said softly, turning around in the big foyer with big eyes.

“do you like it?” jude asked you softly, putting an arm around your shoulder.

“i- yeah, it feels nice.” you answered, still too overwhelmed with all the emotions inside of you.

you heard so many different sounds; clattering of plates, running water, burning wood from the fire place, light music from the living room. and voices, three different voices in one house. you couldn’t believe your own ears.

“come on, love. let’s say hi, yeah?” jude interrupted your thoughts as he slowly guided you to the kitchen.

in the kitchen you walked into assumed to be jube’s mum, denise, you’ve obviously heard about her, jude told you about his family all the time.

“mum, that’s (y/n).” you heard jude say from beside you, his arm still wrapped around your shoulder, giving you a feeling of safety.

“oh! (y/n), darling, it’s so so nice to meet you, sweetheart.” denise said, coming towards you and wrapping her arms around you tightly, making jude let go of you.

it took you a few seconds to comprehend but you hugged her back tightly, maybe tighter that you needed to.

“it’s really nice to meet you, mrs. bellingham.” you answered quietly, not trusting your voice entirely.

“please, call me denise, sweetie.” she interrupted you, letting you go again to return to the stove which had something boiling on it.

“dinner is almost ready, you two can go and greet the boys and call them to the table, please.” denise called out from behind the counter to which you nodded your head, looking up to meet your favorite pair of eyes.

“come on, baby.” you heard from jude.

walking into the living room of the cozy house you were in, you saw two figures sitting in the couch, a football game on the tv.

“guys, hey, meet (y/n), please. love, this is jobe and my dad.” jude interrupted the silence, introducing you to the two strangers in front of you, their heads snapping in the direction of his voice, immediately getting up.

“(y/n)! it’s amazing to finally put on a face to the girl we’ve heard so much about!” jude’s dad said, giving you a hug, similar to denise.

“i’m mark.” you heard him speak up again.

“dad, let me meet her too!” a voice spoke up from behind mark’s back, turning out to be jobe.

“hi, (y/n), glad to meet you. i’ve been waiting for someone i can make fun of jude with.” he said chuckling, wrapping you in a hug immediately.

“it’s so nice to meet you both.” you answered, it was the only thing you could say at this moment, you probably just received the most hugs from a family than you ever did.

“come on, let’s eat.” denise’s voice erupted from the dining room, placing the last tray of food on the big table in the middle of the big room.

as you all ate the cooked food, you found yourself in plenty of conversations, jokes and laughter, feeling the occasional hand of your boyfriend grazing your thigh to let you know he’s there.

further into the night, after some amazing dessert and a few games, you decided to head home again.

“i don’t want to keep you up too long, i think i’m going to go now, it’s getting really late.” you spoke up, getting up from your sitting position on the table. but as you did that, you looked into a round full of confused eyes.

“i thought you were staying the night, sweetie.” denise said, getting up to stand next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “i gave jude some extra bedding, you can stay, you’re always welcome here, my love.”

“yeah, we can grab breakfast together tomorrow.” jobe said, his eyes following his older brother who also stood up now.

“i really don’t want to cause any trouble, you’ve already did so much today.” you said quietly, probably almost inaudible, preventing your voice from cracking.

“oh nonsense, (y/n), you’re part of the family, you can stay whenever you want, as long as you want.” mark interrupted your little discussion.

and that was the cracking point for you. you couldn’t prevent the tears from falling, erupting into sobs when you felt the familiar pair of arms wrap around you, soothing you.

“don’t cry, baby. it’s okay, you’ve got us now, we’re not going anywhere.” jude whispered into your ear, only for you to hear.

and just as you thought you completely embarrassed yourself in front of your boyfriend’s family, you felt arm after arm wrap around you, squeezing you so tightly you almost couldn’t breathe.

that was the moment you knew, that was the moment you found your family, the family you never had, the only family you ever wanted to be a part of.

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 17: Crisp Trepidation

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael is shaken up and you take care of him. But when Amanda comes around, truths start spilling out and you finally remove all the walls that have been standing tall between you.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, mentions of child abuse, blood, non-sexual intimacy, cursing, panic attack, crying

Word Count: ~11k (this is a beast but it had to be done)

A/n: So they finally talk!! It’s not a proper adult conversation because it didn't fit in here, but they do talk a little and they’re finally open with each other, which lays the foundation of The Talk that’s gonna follow. You're welcome! (It’s also a lot of dialogue and I’m not sure if it’s good, but I tried. Feedback is always appreciated!)

Michael’s house is eerily silent when you enter. He turns the lights on in the hallway and you lock the door behind you. You can never be too safe, especially not after what conspired earlier tonight.

You’re met with the sight of a cozy kitchen. His decor is minimalistic, but it fits. You like the colors, and you like the layout.

It's a nice home to live in, you note, if it weren't for the constant reminder of tragedy you know lies in the living room.

You suspect his bedroom is upstairs together with the bathroom–the stairs lead from the living room to another floor. It’s small, but it’s cozy and it seems like a nice place to live in. But the place is missing a personal touch, and that’s where you realize that he was really gone for eight years; it shows in every inch of his home.

You wonder what life before his wife’s death was like. Were they happy? How did he and Anna get along? You have no doubt he was a great father before. You’ve always wondered what life as a Kinsella looks like, but after hearing he was shot at and his nephew died, you no longer want to know. It’s dangerous and you don’t like the thought of him being subjected to it.

“You, uh–” He breaks off to catch his breath. “Sorry, you want a drink?” Michael asks.

You shake your head. “No,” you answer. “I’m good.”

He purses his lips, gets a glass, and pours some water from the tap into it for himself. 

“Do you wanna talk about what happened?” you break the silence first. 

He shakes his head. 

“Okay, that's fine.” Your voice is soft when you reach out to touch his cheek again and say, “How about you take a shower then? It might help.”

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and he leans into the palm of your hand. His head is just as heavy as his heart. A pile of bricks drags him down further under the surface of the lake. He’s drowning somewhere he’s sure no one would find him if he disappeared. You’re the rock keeping him afloat, but once you’re gone, nothing is holding him back from following the current into oblivion. 

Michael nods weakly in response to your question. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Shower sounds grand.”

You offer him a soft smile. “Do you need anything else before that? A hug, maybe?”

His hand finds yours at your side. He comes closer, his breath fanning across your face, and you move to tangle your fingers in the hairs on the nape of his neck. “I know I fucked up last night,” he says. “And I’m sorry. I...I never wanted it to end like tha.”

The dim light that fills the house reflects off the tears glistening in his eyes, and you can see the specks of green in his irises so much clearer now. The change in color always shows how he's feeling. Today, the sadness underlines the deep brown in his eyes, and that’s where you find yourself lost time and time again. He’s beautiful. The tragedy in him brings with it a certain beauty. A human and fragile kind of beauty.

Your throat dries shut. You reach out to cradle his cheek; the action carries the weight of your emotions, and yet it’s still not nearly enough. 

“You didn’t have t’stay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to repay ya for bein’ there for me the way you always are, but–”

“Shh,” you’re quick to cut him off. “You have no reason to apologize, okay? Let’s just…forget what happened, just for tonight, so I can take care of you. Nothing else matters.”

His lip quivers as he bites down on it. “I can’t be alone,” your name is a mere breath on Michael’s lips, “And I don’t wanna be.”

“You don’t have to be alone, Michael.”

He catches your chin between his fingers. “Can I–”

You don’t let him finish. “Yes,” you say. It’s a breathy admission, asking for something you both need. 

Your lips meet in a tender kiss at first. He still tastes the same as before, maybe a little more like coffee and you taste a lot more like tequila, but he isn't disgusted by the alcohol and caffeine mixture. The gentle brush turns into more when he takes hold of your face and pulls you even closer. 

All the pain, fear, and uncertainty melt into a shared vulnerability. It's a kiss filled with longing, a desperate need to find solace in each other. You hadn't been apart for long, but you both believed each other to be over, to have lost the one person that makes life worth living; now he's kissing you again and it feels too good to be true.

Your bodies press together. You wrap your arms around his neck. The soft caress of his hands on your skin sends shivers down your spine, electrifying every last nerve ending. The kiss is emotional, not as passionate as it seems, but it is exactly what you need. 

When you break apart, your forehead drops to his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into the silence. 

He shakes his head, his lips finding your forehead. “It doesn’t matter. I just thought I lost ya,” he says. “And tha what happened was somehow my fault.”

You’re quick to look up at him. “No! God, no. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving. We’ll… We’ll figure it out later, okay? Just not tonight.” It’s almost as if you’re begging.

You have both been through enough, you don’t need to add to each other’s plates with another burden to carry.

“Not tonight,” he agrees. 

He seems to want the same as you, and you don’t blame him. He has other things on his mind right now.

You press another kiss on his lips before pulling away for good. “Now go take your shower. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Michael offers a soft smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He tries to reassure you, but his own emotions betray him. He’s a very expressive man, even though he pretends he isn’t. 

He squeezes your hand, slowly untangling himself from you and stepping toward the stairs that lead, as you’ve suspected, to the bathroom on the second floor. 

So many things are still left unsaid between you, but it feels almost natural to be there for him, to kiss him, and be held by him. It makes you hopeful that there is a chance he might forgive you and you won’t end up hating each other.

You’re not sure where this night will lead, but he needs you. You keep reminding yourself that you’re doing this for the man you love and nothing else matters but being emotional support for him. If you stopped telling yourself, you would break, and he would join you. He’s broken enough as he is. 

While he showers, you find yourself drawn toward the living room.

He has a lot of books, you notice. He reads. He told you once. His collection looks well-sorted, and the titles all seem familiar. You try not to touch or disturb anything. Everything is kept in order, so he has a system and you’d hate it if someone disturbed your system, and so you leave it be.

Then, your eyes fall on the fireplace set into the wall, and the bullet holes above it cause the blood to freeze in your veins. Of course, you remember what you read about Michael’s wife and how she was shot in this very home, but for a brief moment, you forgot.

His house feels so homely. You forgot he is staying in the very same place that holds a lot of trauma, closer to his family than anything else, and he admitted to feeling stuck there. With these obvious bullet holes, you wonder how he manages to spend even a few minutes in here, but this is Michael and he shoulders a lot without wanting to talk about it. 

And you can’t say you haven’t stayed in a place that holds traumatic memories and scars from the past because that would be a lie. You know what it’s like to live in a place where the blood still lingers, but in a twisted kind of way, you feel like it will always be your home. Physically, at least.

You didn’t really listen in therapy, but your therapist said something along the lines of that, and that your dependence on the past is also the reason you’ve never really felt at home anywhere.

Michael is the first person you feel truly safe with, but you went right ahead and shattered that like any other broken relationship you’ve had along the way. You always do this.

Your fingers reach out to trace the scars left by the shooting. The wallpaper feels rough under your fingertips. You imagine the bloodbath, the tears, and the guilt that filled this space eight years ago. You find yourself staring at the floor and the carpet, wondering if someone switched it out because blood is hard to get out. You know what it’s like to try and scrub the crimson liquid out of a carpet, and it’s no fun. 

You shake your head, quickly turning away from the ghastly reminder of the trauma that befell Michael and his little family, the same trauma that caused him even more from that moment on, and make your way back to the kitchen to occupy yourself with something else. 

Time passes by, and Michael has been showering for a little over thirty minutes. You’re not used to him taking so long. After downing a glass of cold water, you make your way upstairs. There is no water running in the bathroom, only dead silence. 

You swallow. What if he had a seizure and you weren’t there? In the bathroom, there are many edges he could split his head on. Your mind starts reeling with the worst-case scenarios, and it compels you to knock on the door to what you suspect is the bathroom. 

“Michael?” you ask. “You alright in there?”

There is a moment of silence before he answers, “Yeah, grand.”

You sigh in relief, leaning your head against the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

He whispers a quiet, “Yeah.” 

You push the handle down and step into the bathroom. The mirror isn’t foggy yet, and the shower seems dry. Michael is sitting on the edge of the bathtub in his boxers, his eyes vacant as he stares at himself in the mirror. 

Your brows furrow slightly. “Hey,” you murmur. 

His head turns in your direction, but his eyes don’t meet yours. “I can’t get the blood off,” he says. His voice sounds like a monotone line. “I tried, but I…I can’t get it off. I never struggled t’ get blood off before, but it won’t…it won’t come off.”

It dawns on you. Your eyes soften as you stare at him, trailing over the stains on his neck, cheeks, and forehead. There is an unused sponge next to the towel he wet to get the blood off, but he didn’t succeed. 

You grab it, turn on the water in the shower, grab some shampoo, and kneel beside him. His eyes finally meet yours and you offer a gentle smile. You start scrubbing his neck with the sponge, and the blood almost instantly dissolves under your touch. 

The blood washes down the drain, followed by some of his tension. His eyes close. You try not to be so rough; he doesn’t want to be reminded of what happened any more than he already is every time he looks in the mirror.

Eventually, most of the blood is gone. His skin is reddened, but the physical reminder is gone. 

You stop to stroke his cheek. “Are you okay?” you ask again. 

He nods weakly, but it’s a lie. Truth is, he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling and it confuses him, which makes the numb pain in his chest so much worse. 

Putting the sponge down, you take a step back. The water in the shower is warm now, you check, and you slowly start taking your clothes off. 

Michael’s eyes fall on you and he frowns. “What’re you–”

You cut him off with a finger against his lips. “Take your clothes off,” you tell him. 

He doesn’t question your intentions. He knows what you mean. With a grunt, he gets up and sheds his underwear. You’re already bare at this point, so you step into the shower first, making sure it’s comfortable for him when he steps in. His muscles need warmth, and his mind needs a break. 

You pull him under the hot stream with a gentle tug of his hand. He has no choice but to succumb to your treatment; he’s exhausted, and your hands hold a magic he can’t get from anyone but you. 

You gently use the sponge from before to glide across his skin, starting with his torso. Your touch is tender, massaging his sore muscles in the front and back, and whatever blood you missed before joins the leftover soap in the drain. The water turns clear, and the weight falls off his shoulders. 

His skin itches and he still feels sticky with blood. He can’t get the picture of Jamie’s lifeless body off his mind. The memory is forever etched into his inner eyes, and he sees it clearly every time he closes his eyes. The darkness is bright red, the gunshots a melody in his ears that won’t stop, no matter how hard he tries to focus on the cascading water or your voice as you instruct him to twist and turn so you can clean him properly. 

You probably can tell that he’s not okay, that he’s still thinking about what happened, but you don’t push him for answers. You don’t ask useless questions because it is clear that’s not what he needs right now. You respect his boundaries.

There is too much pain in his body, and he doesn’t know where to channel it all with his thoughts raining down on him like heavy bricks, hitting him in the head over and over again until he’s bloody and bruised.

He’s a mess, he can’t deny it any longer; he doesn’t want you to see him like this, but he physically can’t be alone. He doesn’t trust himself to be alone, and you’re the only one he can count on to care enough to leave him alone and just be there, which sounds ironic and makes no sense, but to him, it’s all that makes sense in his scrambled mind. 

He called you because he knows you can be there for him while also giving him space. You broke up, or at least it felt that way, and he figured you wouldn’t come, but then you did and now he has to deal not only with watching Jamie get shot right in front of his eyes, but he has to deal with his feelings for you as well.

Though when he looks at you, he can tell you’re trying to keep the focus on him and not to speak of what happened, allowing a sense of tranquility to settle in between you. You want this to feel normal as much as he does, but there is no way you can erase what happened or forget just for one night, no matter how hard you both want to try.

It’s messy, but Michael can’t help but appreciate what you’re doing for him. You’re there for him, taking care of him without pushing him into anything he doesn’t want to do, and that’s exactly what he needs and deep down, it is the reason he called you anyway, even though his common sense told him not to. 

The movement of the sponge against his back stops. He looks over his shoulder to find you staring at your hand on his skin and his eyebrows furrow. 

Michael turns around to face you again. You snap out of it as soon as he moves, but there is still a glaze covering your eyes and turning the color of your irises darker than it should be. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

You blink. “Sorry, I just…got lost in thought,” you lie. 

He must not have noticed the bruise on his back. It lies close to his shoulder blame, looking almost like the imprint of a door handle. It's just a bruise, you try telling yourself, but you still stop and stare at it for longer than you should have.

 A lump forms in your throat. The thought crosses your mind: it could have been him tonight. The terror of losing him, the idea of his life being snuffed out by senseless violence, sends a wave of panic through your body. Michael could have died tonight. A few inches more to the side and it wouldn't have been Jamie or Eric the bullets hit. He could have died and your last conversation would have been a fight that had no reason for turning into such a huge deal. It would have been your fault. 

You take a moment to compose yourself, your hand gently retreating from the bruise on his back. It's haunting. 

You've seen bruises before. You've seen worse, too. You've looked into the mirror before and seen the very same color on your own skin, and you covered it up because it was always just a bruise. But this is Michael, the man you love, and it proves to you just how fragile life is. It could end in an instant. You could have lost your life many times before. Your sister lost her life when she was just a toddler. Michael could have died at the hands of a gun tonight for seemingly no reason other than that he is a Kinsella, or maybe not even that's the case, and it slowly poisons you from the inside out. 

Michael reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Hey, what's goin' on?” he asks. “You alright?”

He noticed you zoned out, but it's hard to breathe. It feels as if someone is sitting on your chest, not ready to budge. But this is not the place and time to panic. This isn't about you. You aren't traumatized. Lying to yourself is easier than admitting the truth. You are not the center of attention. It doesn't matter.

The things you keep telling yourself are enough fuel for the demons in your head to cruelly attack you further, but you signed up for this. You knew this would happen. You were a fool to even get involved in the first place and now look at you. You hate your mind and your body and the person you have become. It's not fair to him. 

You meet his eyes. “You could have died tonight,” you whisper. You try not to break so he won't worry because it's the last thing he should do, but you're far too late for that.

Michael's expression softens, his thumb caressing your cheek gently. “I know. But I didn't,” he says. “I'm alive.”

His words, though comforting, don't ease your nerves. “It's not...I just can't wrap my head around it. You could have died tonight,” you repeat, and it hits you even harder. “Just...Dead.”

The weight of the guilt you carry threatens to consume you, but you push it aside, not wanting to burden him further. 

He nods along, understanding very well what you mean, but he can't take the weight off your shoulders because he told you before that this is his life. “I know this is probably a lot to process...”

Taking a deep breath, you try to steady your voice. “No, no,” you insist. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let my thoughts wander like that. This is about you. I'm here to take care of you, not the other way around. Sorry.”

His smile, albeit gentle, also holds a certain amount of pity. “You’re incredible, you know tha?” he says.

You offer a small, appreciative smile in return, although it doesn't quite reach your eyes. The demons continue to torment you, but you steel yourself against their onslaught. This isn't the time or place for your own insecurities.

As you both stand in the shower, the water continues to cascade around you. Michael reaches for the sponge.

“I wanna take care of ya,” he says. “May I?”

You shake your head. “No. This isn't about me,” you are quick to respond. “I'll be fine.”

He steps closer, ignoring your protests. Gently, he takes the sponge from your hand. The sensation of his touch on your skin sends a jolt through your body.

As he washes away the remnants of the night, you allow yourself to lean into his touch. 

“You matter, too,” he tells you. “I don’t know who told ya you don’t, but they were lyin’.”

Tears well up in your eyes. You can't talk. Instead, you step closer and wrap your arms around him. 

He hugs you back, needing this just as much as you. The water continues to cascade over both of you, the steam creating a sanctuary within the confines of the shower. There's no need for words; his presence alone speaks volumes.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your tears mingling with the water. They're silent and he probably doesn't notice. His eyes are closed just like yours, and he's heavily focused on the sound of your heartbeat to ground himself, and his hold tightens. 

Time seems to lose its meaning as you cling to each other. The water's warmth envelops you, cocooning you both in its embrace.

Eventually, the need for air pulls you apart, though you remain close, foreheads pressed together. Michael brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. He doesn't ask about it. He rarely does.

“Okay?” he asks.

You manage a small nod. “Okay,” you answer.

He kisses your forehead, then turns the water off. The bathroom is still warm, but without the water, goosebumps are quick to form on your skin. Michael wraps you in a towel first, urging you to dry off, and he follows shortly after. 

The next few minutes pass by in silence as he disappears into the bedroom to grab you both some clothes, and he returns with a shirt and a pair of boxers, handing you the same along with a pair of fuzzy socks because he knows you tend to get cold easily. 

You take his offer with a small smile and continue to get dressed as well. Meanwhile, he takes your sweatpants and your sweater and hangs them somewhere where the rain can dry. It’s still pouring outside, you can hear it rattling against the window, but you don’t mind the background noise. It’s soothing, in a way. 

“You want tea?” you ask him once you’re back downstairs.

Michael’s sitting at the dining table, his brown eyes empty as they stare up at you. He nods, and you get on it without asking any more questions. 

You find his tea pretty quickly. Your kettles are the same, so you know how to use them. When it comes to getting the mugs out of the cupboard, you take a moment to search for them because his kitchen is obviously sorted differently than yours, but you also find them quickly without having to ask him. 

You feel as if you’re navigating through your own home, which is strange because this house holds many memories that aren’t yours, and they hold bloodshed and trauma that also isn’t yours; Michael has been shouldering it all for years, and there must also be happy memories hiding in some corners that he can never get back now that all is ruined. 

You feel bad for him, but you know pity is not something you want. Everyone deals with pain, trauma, and grief differently, and he’s not the type of guy who likes to be belittled. He just wants to be treated like a human being, show love, and be taken care of every once in a while because he has never been nurtured before.

It’s strange how easily you can read him and yet he’s still not an open book, while he is grappling for even the smallest piece of information from you because he thought you were an open book, but it all turned out the pretense and delusion on your part. 

For someone who likes to watch people and get to know them, you suck at giving back. But you’ve also never been loved like this before, let alone by a man like Michael. He also knows people and he always finds out what he needs to study them, so it was only a question of time when he would have found something connecting to your past. 

You figure this is what you get for falling for a Kinsella, and no matter what you do, you can’t pull away because you feel so deeply for him, this love is impossible to break. Besides, you pushed him away because of you, not because he’s a bad person or you’ve lost interest, which also adds to your pile of guilt that you very much feel like you deserve to carry around. 

When you place the mug of Chamomile tea before him, you stop beside him. He looks at you, looks at the mug, and then his eyes meet your chest which is at level with his head. He contemplates before slowly placing his cheek where your heart seems to beat out of your chest. 

Michael leans against you, and you instantly wrap your arm around him while your other hand tangles in his hair. He does the same, wrapping his arm around your waist, afraid you might leave him or drop him if he doesn’t. But your hold is strong and he soon realizes that you don’t mind holding him like this, not at all. 

He listens to your heartbeat, the familiar rise and fall of your chest that he missed so terribly the other night, and the exhaustion starts to turn into drowsiness. He wants to sleep, but he knows that if he does, he will dream about what happened and then his mind is going to play tricks on him and he’s going to feel all the pain at once, together with whatever is fucked up in his brain. He hates that he knows how his night is going to go, and he hates that you might witness it in person this time.

But knowing you, you still wouldn’t pull away. When it comes to him, you never pull away, only if it’s making you feel vulnerable. But taking care of him is not something that would make you feel vulnerable, it only makes you feel responsible, and that’s why you stayed. You can’t help but help others, especially the ones you love, and he knows you love him deeply, you just struggle–he can’t blame you for that. 

“Maybe you should finish your tea,” your chest rumbles when you talk. “And then we can move to the couch and you can rest a little. How does that sound?”

You always make sure he’s comfortable with what you’re doing.

Michael nods, weakly leaning back to finish his tea, and you do the same. The liquid is hot, but he can’t drink it fast enough. 

Once his cup is empty, you guide him to the couch, making sure he's settled before joining him. He sits next to you for a moment, fidgeting with his fingers. It's as if he wants to ask something or make a move, but he doesn't know how. So, you simply open your arms in silence. 

He takes the invitation, lowering his head into your lap, and you instinctively wrap your arm around him, holding him tightly. The weight of the world seems to press down on him, but in your arms, he finds peace.

You start dragging your nails across his scalp.

He lets out a soft sigh, his body relaxing further against you. His hair feels soft under your fingertips, like silk, almost. His hand rests on your thigh while the other rests on your arm that is wrapped around him. He's cradled almost like a baby, and he seems content with that. You're all over him, you even smell like him; the comfort you provide is something he can't put into words, but it feels good and it's exactly what he needs to finally fill his lungs with oxygen and let go. Just for a moment, he thinks, he wants to shut his mind off and focus on something other than the shit show his life has become. 

Your voice breaks the serene silence. “How are you feeling?” you ask softly.

He stirs, his eyes fluttering open for a brief moment. “Empty,” he admits. “But hangin’ in there.”

You don't press him for more. Instead, you offer a gentle nod, silently acknowledging his answer. You continue to run your fingers through his hair like you did before. 

As he begins to drift off, his breathing growing slower and more even, you hold him a little tighter, cherishing the vulnerability he allows you to witness. He didn't have to call you, but he did, and that shows that his feelings truly didn't waiver. With each stroke of your fingers against his scalp, you hope that it's enough to ease his troubled mind, even if just for a little while. 

Your eyelids start drooping too, his weight and warmth dragging you down into the abyss with him. But you have always been a light sleeper, and sensitive to sound, too. There is nothing that can't wake you. Even breathing too loud could disturb your sleep, and you figure it's because you grew up as a vigilant child, but it could also be because of whatever is wrong with your mind. It never really mattered to you because, after some time of not being able to sleep, a person gets used to living like this, even if it's unhealthy. 

Your eyes fly open when there is a knock on the door. You know you couldn't have imagined it because it happens again when you're a little more lucid.

Michael stirs. You gently move him off your lap and place him down on the pillows. It’s probably foolish to open the door on your own after what he got himself into, but he deserves to rest. 

You take a deep breath before pushing the handle down. The woman standing across from you appears familiar, but you can’t put your finger on where you know her from at first. 

“Hi!” you blurt out, crossing your arms over your chest. You introduce yourself and ask, “How can I help you?”

When the woman finally speaks, you realize where you know her from. The news articles you read online while researching Michael come back to mind and you can finally sort the face out.

“I need ta talk to Michael,” she says, her voice curt, and perhaps even the slightest glimmer of jealousy flickers in her eyes.

Amanda. She was the pretty brunette you saw in the Twitter thread about the Kinsella business, the owner of the car dealership, Michael’s former boss if you can even call her that. And she’s Jimmy’s wife, making her Jamie’s mother, and the same woman Michael told you are living next door to him. But she is–was–Jamie’s mother, and while you should feel bad, you also remember what Michael told you.

The way his family continues to treat him is awful and he doesn’t deserve it. He called you because he doesn’t want to be prodded by them, but Amanda still found her way over. You can’t blame her because she’s grieving, but you can blame her for everything else, the way they treated or saw him, and that makes you angrier than anything. You can’t feel bad for her when you don’t like her. Maybe that makes you a bad person, but she made herself the bad person when she and the rest of his family chose to treat the man you love like a pawn after he went through literal hell. 

You know what it’s like to be expected to be there for everyone, to be the best and aim to please, and it sucks. He doesn’t deserve it. No one is a saint in this world and this life, especially, and Michael did horrible things in the past, but he’s working on himself and he has a good heart. You’re not so sure about Amanda and the rest of his family though. 

Her eyes are red and she must have been crying, but you couldn’t care less. 

Your expression tightens. “He’s resting,” you say. “It’s late, maybe you can come back in the morning–”

Amanda is quick to cut you off, and kindness seems to have gone lost on her. “It’s important,” she says. 

“I know, but he had a rough night.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Amanda–I suppose it’s Amanda, right?”

She rolls her eyes.

“So it is you. I’m so sorry for your loss–”

“I don’t have time fer this. I don’t know what you’re doin’ here, but I don’t care. I’m gonna speak to Michael whether ya like it or not, so if you know what’s good for ya, yer gonna move out of my way now so I can–”

Just as she’s about to reach out and physically push you aside so she can enter, footsteps approach behind you and another hand finds its way to your elbow and pulls you back. 

“What’s goin’ on here?” Michael asks, his voice a little groggy. 

He stands between you and Amanda now, and her demeanor changes the second she lays eyes on him. 

“Michael,” Amanda breathes. 

He only briefly acknowledges her, taking more time to move you behind him to shield you from any possible danger (or in this case, Amanda’s personality). 

“You have a minute? I need t’ talk to ya. Please? It’s about Jamie.” 

Oh, so she can say please. She just hates you. You never met this woman and you don’t know what you could have done to upset her in the few seconds you stood across from each other, but she’s really starting to show her true colors.

Michael stiffens at the mention of the boy’s name, and he looks over his shoulder at you. You’re not sure what he wants to hear, so you simply stare back. 

Turning back to Amanda, he sighs. “First of all, don’t touch her,” he says, and although it sounds calm, there is a certain power hiding in his voice that comes from deep within, a certain sense of protection. “She has nothin’ t’do with wha happened tonight, so don’t drag her into this. She never did anythin’ to ya. Calm down.”

“I just need a moment alone with ya,” Amanda retorts, defending herself. “Please, Michael.”

Michael shakes his head. His stern eyes divert and turn back toward you. He tells her to wait before pulling you aside. 

“You want me to send her to hell?” you ask once she’s out of earshot. “Because I know I may not look like it, but I actually know how to punch someone.”

He chuckles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s alright,” he tells you. “I’m gonna be fine. Just give us a minute, alright?”

You’re not happy. For one, you don’t want to leave him alone, and two, he told you about how determined his family is to persuade him into doing things he doesn’t want to do, and that’s also a reason why you don’t want to leave him alone with her. But she said it’s about Jamie and maybe it’s not as deep as you think it is, just two grieving people talking about the life they lost. She’s a mother, she lost her child, and Michael lost a family member. Maybe, just maybe, it’s not as serious as you think it is and they just need a minute to talk. 

You put your protectiveness aside and nod, although still hesitant. 

“If anything’s wrong, you call for me,” you say. “I’ll be upstairs.” 

Michael nods in response, leaning forward to press his lips on your forehead. You close your eyes. He’s good at calming you down, but even better at persuading you. You caress his cheek one last time before heading for the stairs, thinking going to the bedroom might give them enough space. 

You glance at the two one last time on your way up, Amanda enters the house down, and he drags her out of your eyesight into the kitchen behind the wall. You sigh. Eavesdropping wouldn’t be cool, and why are you jealous anyway? Your mind is messed up, you think to yourself, and this is none of your business. So you sigh again, resisting the urge to be an idiot and make your way back upstairs to give them some privacy to talk things out.

Once upstairs, you find yourself pacing the room. It's difficult to silence the thoughts swirling in your mind. They threaten to consume you. 

As you walk back and forth, you attempt to distract yourself by focusing on the mundane details of the room. The flickering lamp on the nightstand, the familiar scent of the sheets, and the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. But these simple things do little to ease your mind.

You find yourself glancing at the clock; time feels like an eternity, and the silence in the house amplifies the turmoil within you.

Eventually, you force yourself to sit down on the edge of the bed, urging yourself to take deep breaths. You remind yourself that Michael knows what he's doing, that he can handle himself. Yet, a nagging voice in the back of your mind insists that something is terribly wrong and he needs you or else he will fall apart. 

Minutes turn into what feels like hours, and the silence becomes unbearable. You consider going back downstairs, unable to stand the uncertainty any longer. But then the sound of the front door closing abruptly makes the decision for you. 

You hesitate. Does that mean you can come back? There are no footsteps, only silence, even when you momentarily open the door to listen. 

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself before making your way back downstairs. 

It’s your gut that is telling you to move, and you choose to follow it this time. 

Walking into the kitchen, you notice that Amanda is gone, but her presence still seems to linger in the atmosphere. You can smell her perfume, and you figured they must have hugged, but then your eyes fall on Michael and your heart breaks. 

He’s leaning over the dining table, both hands gripping the edges. His eyes are closed. He looks like he’s in excruciating pain, and it makes you worry about what conspired between him and his sister-in-law to change his mood this quickly. Talking about someone you lost with a now childless mother is one thing, but the way his face contorts holds more than just grief. 

“Michael,” you call out for him softly. “Is everything alright?”

The only answer you receive is silence. 

You reach out to touch his shoulder. “Hey, talk to me. What happened?” you ask. 

Your hand doesn’t even brush him before he pulls away, shaking his head. He whispers something you can’t hear, maybe it’s a curse, but his eyes remain shut. There is something on his tongue waiting to be uttered, but he seems almost scared of saying it. 

Your eyebrows furrow even more. The worry shoots straight through your veins, paralyzing you. You’re not sure what to do or what even is going on; you don’t understand and it’s frustrating because you just want to help, but he doesn’t seem to know what he wants.

Sometimes, when there is a truth to be shared, your mind shuts off, afraid of admitting it because then that truth will become real and you no longer have a defense to show for yourself. You know how it is because you live by that rule every damn day of yourself, and you only now realize how much it hurts to see someone you love struggling but not knowing why, and you could kick your own ass for being so naive. 

“Michael,” you try again. 

This time though, he cuts you off. “Jamie, he was…” He swallows. His voice breaks like a glass that just hit the cement. “He was…He was my boy.”

The words reach your ears and your brain begins to process them, but it takes a moment for you to realize what they mean. It’s not just any statement, it is the raw truth, and it’s a truth that hurts. It’s a truth that breaks. 

You frown, your brain still busy connecting the dots, when he says, “Jamie was my son.”

His eyes fall on you, and that’s when it clicks. 

Oh. 

OH.

Michael grew up surrounded by violence. He was shot many times before and went through a lot in the past. He was there when his wife got killed. Watching someone get shot was nothing new for him. You never questioned his reaction to the events; he had every right to be shaken up because he’s only human, after all, but now that you think about it, his reaction hinted at how much the person who got killed meant to him and you didn’t even realize. He is downright traumatized, and someone who used to hurt people for a living would not have had that much of an emotional reaction except if the victim meant more to him. 

Jamie was his son. Not his nephew, his son. It all becomes frighteningly clear to you. The fact he even shared it with you is one thing, but it’s a truth you don’t think is meant for the whole world to hear, and that makes it so much deeper. 

You place a hand in front of your mouth. Tears well up in your eyes. You know you’re supposed to say something, but right now, you’re speechless. 

You never lost a child, but you know what it’s like to lose someone as close to feeling like a child as it could possibly get, and you know how badly it hurts. And it hurts even more if you don’t get to grieve, or if people don’t take it seriously and expect more from you. It hurts, it’s vile and it paralyzes you. 

How is he still standing?

“Amanda and I…We…It was a stupid mistake. A lapse in judgment. I never meant ta…But I was so full of hatred and self-pity and she…God, she can be so cruel. Tempting. And she…she was miserable too. We both were. And then we just…It was a fuckin’ bad idea,” he says. His voice is quivering and you’re only counting the seconds before he’ll break. 

Michael is spiraling, but is there even anything you could do to stop him? He’s confiding in you, and if this is his way to get it off his chest, you don’t want to stop him, even though you can tell it hurts him. You’re shocked and confused and all you can do is listen. 

“Never told Jimmy ‘cause that would’ve been…It was so stupid, but it kept happenin’, and then…then she got pregnant and I thought…I thought it’d be Jimmy’s, but then she tells me it’s mine, tha she’s carryin’ my child…I didn’t know what t’do ‘cause we swore we’d never tell anyone, so she just made him believe Jamie was his, but he knows,” he scoffs, “Jimmy…I know he knows. Jamie…Jamie didn’t know. I was Uncle Michael, but I was there and I watched him grow up as much as I could, and fuck! I fuckin’ knew he was mine just from lookin’ at him. I couldn’t…Couldn’t even deny it ta make me feel better. He was my boy.” 

He pushes himself off the dining table, his eyes finally opening and meeting yours. The tears are instantly visible. You want to reach out, but maybe this is a line you should only cross once he’s ready for it, and he doesn’t seem ready right now. 

“I was s’posed ta protect him,” his voice is barely above a whisper before it raises again, filled with agonizing guilt. “But I…I failed. And now…now he’s fuckin’ dead! Amanda’s right, I should’ve…I could’ve done somethin’, but I failed and tha’s my fault. Shit!” he cries out and his fist hits the wood of the table hard enough to make it shake. 

He turns away. Now you know he’s crying, and at this point, your own tears are staining your cheeks. You can’t help it. 

Michael swallows. “He was my boy,” he repeats, “and now he’s dead. He’s…He’s gone.”

And he watched him die. 

“Oh, God–” He chokes up. 

You call his name, but you’re not sure if it’s even audible. You step forward, letting your body do the talking, and you envelop him in your arms before he can break down on the floor. His needy hands dig into your hips as he hugs you back, his head dropping into the crook of your neck, and he finally lets it out. He held back all night for probably the very same reason he just bared to you–Jamie was his son, he watched him get shot and now he’s gone. He didn’t process it before, and Amanda probably forced him to face it and then put her first instead, and it all became too much. 

He has every right to break down; you’re glad it’s in your arms and not on his own, or with someone who doesn’t understand. You’re not sure you can understand enough, but you’re trying to because you’re familiar with the pain, at least. Everyone deals with it differently, but you understand, even in silence. And so you hold him as he sobs into your arms, your tears mingling with his, but the room is only filled with the sound of his broken heart. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever seen before. 

You hold him as tight as you can, making sure he knows you’re his lifeline and you’re not going anywhere. He’s not a burden, he just needs someone to take care of him. Who are you to deny him that?

He lost his son…It still hasn’t settled in fully, but it’s the brutal reality you have to look in the eyes the same way he does. It hurts, but he took the first step and admitted it, and maybe your touch is enough to at least piece him back together enough before he can fully slip away. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. 

His breath gets caught in his throat and he hiccups. You rub his back. “Shh, I’ve got you. You’re not alone…” 

You don’t tell him everything’s going to be okay because that would be some pretentious shit you don’t want to expose him to. You know it’s not something you want to hear after losing someone dear to you because you often know that it’s not true. 

He cries until he has no more tears left, and his body is almost limp in your arms. You continue to hold him. His breath hitches, but his sobs quiet down. The tears continue to spill, but even those eventually start to subside. You’re standing there for a little while longer, giving him what he wants, letting him take what he needs, and his erratic heartbeat eventually aligns with yours as he focuses on his breathing. 

“Sorry,” his breath is hot against your shoulder. “I shouldn’t have–” he says. 

Michael leans back, rubbing his wet eyes. They’re swollen and reddened, and his lips are dry now. Your eyes soften. He’s trying to take the blame again; he’s trying to downplay his pain because he’s not used to being able to share and then not having to give anything in return. He hardly ever shares his feelings. 

You sigh, your hands resting on his shoulders. Your eyes stare sternly into his, and he reminds you of a deer caught in headlights. 

“Guess the cat’s out the bag now,” – he sniffles – “Sorry ‘bout tha. Yer shirt’s soaked. And…” A pained sound forms in the back of his throat when he sees your tears, and he reaches out to wipe them away. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head softly. “Don’t you dare apologize right now,” you say. 

You take his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers with his. You guide him to a nearby chair and urge him to sit down while you grab him some water and a tissue. He doesn't protest, almost too weak to even move.

When you come back and clean his cheeks, his eyes are no longer vacant. He allowed himself to feel, and while the guilt becomes stronger now, it seems as if deep down, he acknowledges that he needed this. It was a huge display of trust you don't deserve, but he shared his truth with you and now you get to take care of him. He trusts you enough still; that's supposed to be a good thing, no matter how much you hate yourself for it. 

You meet his gaze, your eyes filled with compassion and understanding as your hand rests on his cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for,” you insist. “You don't need to apologize for telling me the truth. I can't even fathom how much you're hurting right now, but I'm glad you told me. So don't apologize. Not...not for this, not for anything, because you never did anything wrong. Jamie's death is not your fault. He was your son and shit happened and now it hurts like hell and that's okay. It's okay to let it out, to let yourself feel. You have to or...or you'll break. I know you're probably expected to move on right away, and that it's been like this every time you lost someone or something, but that's not right,” you say. “Your family...They should care about you and your pain too, so if not for them, take a break for me. You deserve to just let it all out. You deserve to grieve.”

His hand untangles from yours to cradle your cheek. “Don’t cry,” he says. “Not ‘cause o’ me.”

You place your hand over his on your cheek, intertwining your fingers with his. 

“You don't have to worry about me,” you assure him. “I'll be okay. I just…feel for you, that’s all. You're the one who needs comfort right now, and that's what I'm here for.”

You feel his grip on your hand tighten, his eyes searching yours. The vulnerability in his gaze is raw, yet there's a glimmer of gratitude shining through.

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

You nod. “We’ll be alright.”

A moment of silence follows. He finishes his glass of water, slowly regaining composure, but his voice still breaks when he talks again. “Amanda wanted to know his last words,” he tells you. “We talked about boxin’ in the car and he made fun of Eric’s flat tire ‘cause he thought it was funny. He…he died quickly. He didn’t suffer or anythin’. Tha’s supposed t’ make me feel better, right? That he died quickly. But it…it doesn’t make me feel better. It makes it feel so much worse and I don’t understand why.”

You wipe your cheeks. Jamie was just a boy. He didn’t deserve to be dragged into this, and now a lot of lives are in shambles because of what happened. 

“I’m sorry,” is all you can answer. 

Michael shakes his head. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You came,” he says. “You didn’t have ta, but ya came anyway.”

You shrug. “You called.”

Another tear slides down his cheek. Tears always find a treacherous way back once they’ve subsided. He groans, dropping his face in his hands. 

Just when you thought he was out of the woods, the downward spiral begins again. 

The whole day weighs heavy on your heart, and you're barely keeping it together as it is, but you soon realize Michael is worse off than you thought, and your blood threatens to boil over. He breaks the silence eventually with a bitter scoff that turns into a chuckle, somehow managing to send shivers down your spine that you wouldn't count as pleasant. Your eyes fall on him; you're confused and you frown, but the look on his face is just as alarming as it is unsettling. 

“This is so stupid,” you catch him muttering to himself.

You tilt your head to the side. “What do you mean?” you ask.

“I'm such a fuckin' failure,” Michael's voice cracks.

You look at him, but whatever he’s trying to say doesn’t become any clearer. He can see it on your face that you’re not following. His jaw locks. He clenches his teeth and his fists; it must hurt how hard he’s doing it, but perhaps this is the whole point of his behavior. To hurt himself.

“I couldn't even protect my own son,” he says, his voice matching the bitter look in his eyes. “I let him down. Just like I let Anna down. She's my daughter, and I can't even properly fight for her. Couldn’t get my shit together, and after wha happened to Jamie... no court is gonna say yes t'me gettin' her back now. I fucked up again 'cause I was so caught up in my own feelings. I hurt ya, I hurt Anna, Allison, and now Jamie's dead. Everythin' and everyone around me dies.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. It's a struggle to keep your composure, to hold back the torrent of emotions building inside you. “What?” you ask quietly, hoping you just misheard, but you didn't.

“You heard me,” he says, your name now sounding condescending rather than soft and sweet. “I'm a bad father and you can't tell me it didn't cross yer mind tha I'm a failure when I told ya the truth. It’d be a lie.”

“It wouldn’t be a lie,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

He shakes his head. “Yeah, it would.”

“No…”

“Yes. Don’t act like I’m a saint or- or tha any of this makes me a good person.”

But the weight becomes too much to bear, and with a mix of desperation and anger, you finally let it all out.

Was this how you sounded the other night? You're appalled. The anger lands in your veins like an injection from a needle straight into your bloodstream, and the heat rises to your cheeks as your heart starts working double time.

“Like father like son,” Michael says, and this one is directed at himself. “Ruinin' everythin' in my way since the day I was born and I still pretended it was all gonna work out. And the worst part is, if I told anyone in my family, they'd agree with me 'cause they like rubbin' salt in every goddam wound. I don't even exist as a human being t’ them, and maybe I don't deserve t'be treated like one. I don't even fuckin' care anymore. I'm just...done. And Anna deserves better. I should’ve never tried gettin’ her back. She’ll only suffer. I–”

“Stop it!” you cry out, cutting him straight off like a knife, and he looks too stunned to speak. He has never heard you yell before.

The door of the fridge slams shut and your beer bottle almost breaks upon impact with the kitchen counter. The room grows eerily quiet, only filled with your labored breathing and a soft whimper from Michael's end when he looks at you and sees the pain in your eyes.

“Just stop with this self-loathing bullshit!” you snap.

The tears are right there, and you can't stop them, but you also don't want to because he is an idiot and you're sick and tired of hearing him claim things that aren't true. This is partly your fault. Rage makes you blind, but perhaps this is exactly what you two needed; you had to reach your breaking point to finally open up the way he did, and now everything's right there on the table, your heart bleeding out into the palm of his hands.

“You want to know what a bad father is?” You look at him, your eyes big and challenging. “I can tell you, Michael,” you say.

He stares at you, speechless.

“I've lived through it. I endured it day in and day out for almost nineteen years, and then, when I was free, I signed up for another two years of hell for the sake of being the person people expected me to be. A bad father is the one who killed my little sister. My three-year-old little sister. She was defenseless,” you say.

Michael’s jaw drops. “Jesus,” the word slips past his lips like a mere breath

But you’re not done. The words tumble out of your mouth and you can’t stop them. So you continue, “A bad father is the man who abused me, who made me feel worthless every breathing second of my life since I was a baby. A bad father is a man who played favorites and took his anger out on me, had two more children, and still used me as a punching bag just because I wasn't the daughter he wanted. A bad father is a man who constantly abuses his wife to the point she developed epilepsy and makes his children deal with the aftermath. That's a bad father!”

Tears stream down your face as the floodgates of pain open wide. You can’t see anything but the color red, sadness disguised as rage, and it all blurs together.

“You, Michael, you're not a bad father. You're far from it,” you tell him. No, you insist. He needs to listen because it’s the truth. “You're decent. You're human. You have a soul and a heart, which my father didn't have, and that's what a monster is,” you say. “You loved Jamie, and you love Anna. You're grieving, and you're hurting because you loved Jamie, and it's tearing you apart.  I get that. Trust me, I do, because the little girl I was talking about, my sister? Yeah, I was the one who raised her, so when she died, it felt like I was burying my own child. You're allowed to feel all the pain you fucking want, but don't you dare compare yourself to a monster like my father is. You're not a bad father because you're nothing like him. So just shut up...please!”

You slack with your back against the kitchen counter. You said it all in one breath. You feel a little dizzy, and the panic makes your mind swirl. What did you just do?

You take a moment to process, but you can't, not really, because the wave of the endless ocean crashes into you and you've never learned how to swim, so you're drowning now, and no one seems to be close enough to save you. Not that you want to be saved, but it's your father's voice that's haunting you, and you keep seeing your own failures right before your eyes every time you close them. You have nowhere to go but to surrender. 

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. “I didn't mean to...I just...I...”

You can't breathe. You collapse into a nearby chair, your body trembling as you struggle to regain control. Michael's eyes are wide, a mix of shock and realization filling them. The silence between you is suffocating, the air heavy with the weight of your revelations. But the air keeps getting thinner, and the water is up to your lungs by now. You feel like you're dying, and none of the things you keep telling yourself, the rational things, are working. You're officially lost at sea. 

Michael reaches out to touch your shoulder, but you flinch away, instinctively recoiling from any physical contact.

Your breathing is rapid, and you feel the need to move. Without a word, you push yourself up from the chair and pace back and forth, your hands shaking.

“I'm sorry,” you begin again, and you try not to yell so much this time. “I never meant to hurt you the other night. I didn't want to push you away. I never fall in love, I keep people at a distance, and it hurts, but that's why I choose bad men to hurt me so it makes things easier.”

Your voice is thick with tears. “You're not like that. And I don't know what it's like to be loved or have someone so willing to protect me by my side,” you say. “It's just so scary, Michael! I panicked when you found the file, and everything just spiraled out of control. I wanted to tell you, but then I didn't, and I just reacted because that's what always happens. I never had anyone to talk to about it. I...It triggered me, and then I got drunk, and then I...I fucked up, okay? I've been carrying this burden for so long, and I didn't know how to share it, or how to trust anyone with the truth, so I kept it hidden. I was so alone..."

Your words spill out in a torrent, your sentences blending together as your desperation takes hold.

“It's been six years, and I've kept it all inside, the truth about what happened to my sister, the truth about our father. I have no proof,” you admit. “I tried finding it, but I eventually gave up, and I moved–and my other sister is all alone in that hellhole and I've been trying to get her back, but he...he told me he'd kill me if I ever got near her or that case again, and I stopped because I saw no point, but I...I got drunk–” Your voice cracks and you choke on a broken sob.

“It's dangerous to know, and I don't even know what I'm doing, but I thought it best to do it alone than drag anyone into it,” – You sniffle, wiping your cheeks furiously, but the tears continue to fall – “You were so caught up with your own shit, with Anna, and this could hurt you and her and I can't let that happen,” you say. “I couldn't...but I don't know what to do anymore. I'm scared, Michael. I'm so scared...”

The weight becomes too much to bear. Your legs weaken, and you stumble, your body threatening to crumble under the overwhelming weight of your pain. You start seeing dark spots from the leg of oxygen, and you start to think that that's it. It's over. Just as you're about to collapse, Michael moves swiftly, catching you in his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he says. “I've got you. Deep breaths.”

He can feel your body trembling against his. Your heartbeat is hammering against your ribcage. He can feel the weakness of your muscles due to the lack of air, and his fingers dig into your skin a little more to make you feel something other than the fear that is keeping the sobs stuck in your throat. 

“It's alright…” He cradles the back of your neck and pulls you closer, urging you to listen to his own heartbeat to ground yourself. “You’re safe now. I'm here. Just breathe with me, slowly. In and out.”

You reach out for the lifeline thrown at you. Another wave hits you, but you make it to the surface to hold onto the rope. It's steady and strong, and you cling to it. With each breath, his steady rhythm begins to synchronize with yours, and the chaos within you starts to calm.

He brushes a gentle hand through your hair. “Shh,” his lips press to your ear, “Keep breathin’. That’s it. Good girl.”

You shudder. “I’m so sorry,” you whimper in his arms. You’re a mess of snot and tears, but he still doesn’t pull away.

“No,” it’s his turn to tell you, “You have nothin’ to apologize for.”

“But I hurt you. I pushed you away–”

“Water under the bridge,” he says. 

“No, that’s not how it should be! You should hate me. You should–”

His hands find your face and he holds you rather sternly, forcing you to meet his eyes, even though he looks blurry. “Hey, listen to me!” You try to struggle out of his grip, but he’s stronger. “Listen,” he says, “I love ya with all I have, and I haven’t said tha to anyone in a very long time. You were hurt, you were traumatized and in pain, and tha is not your fault, do you hear me? It’s not your fault. It never was.”

His words penetrate the chaos swirling within you, reaching the core of your being. The strength of his love and unwavering support begins to chip away at the walls you've built around yourself. It's a fragile and delicate process, but it's a start.

You take a shaky breath, allowing his words to sink in. His presence anchors you. The panic begins to subside. You sync your breathing with his.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “That’s it. You’re doing great. Just keep breathin’. I’ve got ya.”

Michael lowers his forehead against yours, his hands never leaving your face, and you hold onto his strong arms, afraid he might not be there if you let go. “I know it's overwhelming,” he says, “But yer safe here with me. You don't have ta carry this burden alone anymore. I'm here, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect ya and help yer sister. But for tha, I need you to trust me and let me in.”

You sniffle, meeting his eyes with your teary ones. “Will you let me in, too?” you ask in return, your voice hoarse from crying. 

He nods slowly. “Yeah, I’ll let ya in. I’ll tell ya anythin’ you wanna know. Just ask.”

You let out a shaky breath. The weight that had been pressing on your chest finally begins to lift.

“Thank you,” you whisper back. “For not leaving.”

Michael's lips curl into a soft smile, and he brushes a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I'd never leave ya.”

You lean into his touch. As the minutes tick by, you both remain entwined. No words are needed. The softness of his touch and the steady rhythm of your breathing become a symphony, gently mending the cracks in your heart.

With your head resting against his chest, you listen to the steady beat of his heart. The world outside may be chaotic, but in his arms, you belong.

“I love you,” you confess. It feels like the first time you shared those three words to each other.

His grip on you tightens. “I love you too,” he says back without hesitation. “So fuckin’ much,” he says. “You have no idea.”

You realize something then: You were never alone. It just took you far too long to open your eyes and see him right in front of you. He has been there from the beginning and you didn’t realize. You were almost too late.

As it turns out, telling the truth isn’t as bad as you first expected it to be. At least not with Michael because he truly loves you and you believe him now that he would do anything to keep you safe. Why it took you so long, you don’t know, but you still curse yourself for it.

In the warm cocoon of his arms, you allow yourself to breathe. You allow yourself to finally let go of everything. “We have to talk, don't we?” you break the serene silence, your voice still barely above a whisper.

He nods. “Yeah, we do.”

“Okay–” You straighten your shoulders. “Let’s talk then.”

It has been a long time coming for you to finally trust each other enough to talk. It won’t be easy, but the stakes are higher now, and you have proven to be able to stand through everything together, so a little conversation would be the last thing to break you apart. There are worse dangers out there, and you would face them, together. 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @acharliecoxedfan @glowstick-lesbian @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky

[o-wild-west-wind]

okay…one more thing. kind of feeling crazy about how Stede, crying by Ed’s literal deathbed, thinks this is all his fault. but it’s not!!!

I’m not saying his leaving had no weight on the situation but a) in this instance it really wasn’t intentional, he was very much almost murdered and b) Ed was doing just fine without him—sad and emo, yeah, eating marmalade and writing mediocre breakup songs—but he was okay. he was healing without Stede, because he wasn’t truly alone anymore, even without him. he was retiring on his own! ready to forget piracy and just get weird and silly and artsy and let the crew be his family now. life beginning again.

but Izzy is the one that actually snapped him. Izzy is who forced death back into Ed’s mind like a virus, who forced the wheel back into tragedy after convincing them both they had steered into the wrong genre. Stede, though he made mistakes and messes of his own, is not who pushed Ed into the abyss; he actually gave Ed the inoculation that was keeping him alive! because while love is the thesis of this show, romantic love really isn’t what pushes Ed to the brink; it’s self-love, or a lack thereof, and Izzy is the one who cuts the loose threads of self-actualization away in ep 10 and reminds Ed that unless he is Blackbeard (classic comes-back-wrong trope by the way, which maybe I’ll expand on later), he has no right being alive.

i do think the guilt seeping out of all three of them is delicious, because they all have their reasons to feel it (to varying degrees)—but Stede’s is misplaced, and Izzy is doing this insanely complicated and deliciously painful thing where he’s trying to spare Stede the details out of what seems like a genuine desire to protect Stede’s feelings while simultaneously pushing as much of his own guilt onto Stede as he can get away with. saying they both did this. and from Izzy, that’s honestly growth!! he’s admitting that he fucked up and that fuck up put real blood on his hands!! but he’s still unwilling/unready to admit out loud that he’s the foundation on the pyramid of everyone’s fucking-each-other-over trauma here—including the foundation of the trauma inflicted by ed onto the crew, because he wasn’t careful what he asked his god for when he asked for blackbeard back—and this is even though he truly seems to understand what he’s done now. con’s stellar performance oozes the weight of Izzy’s guilt so gloriously (and given this show’s forgiveness theme I do think his full development is on the cards, which I’m very excited to see).

but Stede doesn’t recognize that yet because how could he!!!

i could go on but I’m too tired so I just wanna tl;dr that like…god, stede needs a hug. someone please give him a hug. and a massage. he’s going through the horrors and carrying everyone’s burdens on his back like a penance and STILL managing to stay silly despite despite despite and he needs a HUG DAMMIT

[alexaatla]

gothcleats as songs from each of the taylor swift (yes that one) album

im so sick in the head about them and i haven’t made a post about them in a while so here ya go

DEBUT-Our Song

starting out with a soft silly one first, also scarys a musician so this makes sense 😽

lyrics: “Our song is the slamming screen door

Sneakin' out late, tapping on your window

When we're on the phone, and you talk real slow

'Cause it's late, and your mama don't know

Our song is the way you laugh

The first date, "Man, I didn't kiss her, and I should have"”

FEARLESS- The Way I Loved You

i know this song is about missing an ex and all, but in the context of gothcleats i want to interpret it like gothcleats in the “betrayal arc”

lyrics: “But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

And it's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name

So in love that you act insane

And that's the way I loved you”

SPEAK NOW- The Story of Us

imo this is one of the most gothcleats songs of all time, again during the “betrayal arc” and it gives very big “enemies closer” vibes with being so close to each other but not knowing what to say. it’s also very much scarys POV

lyrics: “Oh, I'm scared to see the ending

Why are we pretending this is nothing?

I'd tell you I miss you but I don't know how

I've never heard silence quite this loud

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room

And we're not speaking and I'm dying to know

Is it killing you like it's killing me? Yeah

I don't know what to say since the twist of fate

When it all broke down

And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now”

RED- I Almost Do

ep 25 core and also after the betrayal el oh el

lyrics: “I bet

You think I either moved on or hate you

'Cause each time you reach out there's no reply

I bet

It never ever occurred to you

That I can't say "Hello" to you

And risk another goodbye

And I just wanna tell you

It takes everything in me not to call you

And I wish I could run to you

And I hope you know that every time I don't

I almost do

I almost do

Oh, we made quite a mess, babe

It's probably better off this way

And I confess, babe

In my dreams you're touching my face

And asking me if I wanna try again with you

And I almost do”

1989-Out Of The Woods

this song is being able to make it through something difficult together, which is what gothcleats had been doing this entire fucking time, they just want to be out of the woods

lyrics: “Looking at it now

Last December

(Last December)

We were built to fall apart

Then fall back together

(Back together)

Ooh, your necklace hanging from my neck

The night we couldn't quite forget

When we decided, we decided

To move the furniture so we could dance

Baby, like we stood a chance

Two paper airplanes flying, flying, flying

And I remember thinking

Are we out of the woods yet?”

AND

“Remember when you hit the brakes too soon?

Twenty stitches in a hospital room

When you started crying, baby, I did too

But when the sun came up, I was looking at you

Remember when we couldn't take the heat?

I walked out, I said "I'm setting you free"

But the monsters turned out to be just trees

When the sun came up you were looking at me”

(also “looking at it now/ last december/ we were built to fall apart/ and fall back together” december is i’m pretty sure around when ep 31 with the fireball/ “you can try to kill me but i wont hurt you” scenario would fall timeline wise)

REPUTATION- King Of My Heart

there’s not much reason to this song other than just the vibe reminds me of them and they deserve to be happy 🫶

lyrics: “Salute to me, I'm your American Queen

And you move to me like I'm a Motown beat

And we rule the kingdom inside my room

'Cause all the boys and their expensive cars

With their Range Rovers and their Jaguars

Never took me quite where you do

And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for

King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa”

AND

“Is this the end of all the endings?

My broken bones are mending

With all these nights we're spending

Up on the roof with a school girl crush

Drinking beer out of plastic cups

Say you fancy me, not fancy stuff

Baby, all at once, this is enough”

(honestly another good choice for this would’ve been dress and it might’ve fit better but I LOVE KOMH OKAY)

LOVER-The Archer

while a lot of the songs in lover are very soft and nice, and gothcleats well, isnt, The Archer i think shows scarys hesitancy to become close to link and the other teens, because people have left her continuously in the past. she doesn’t believe people should want to stay with her.

lyrics: “I've been the archer

I've been the prey

Screaming, who could ever leave me, darling?

But who could stay?

(I see right through me, I see right through me)

'Cause they see right through me

They see right through me

They see right through

Can you see right through me?

They see right through

They see right through me

I see right through me

I see right through me

All the king's horses, all the king's men

Couldn't put me together again

'Cause all of my enemies started out friends

Help me hold onto you”

FOLKLORE- exile

link defended scary for a lot of the things she did, despite her telling and proving to him that he shouldn’t have, he did. this song to me is directly after the death of tony pepperoni and realizing what she’s left him with.

lyrics: “And it took you five whole minutes

To pack us up and leave me with it

Holdin' all this love out here in the hall

I think I've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

You're not my homeland anymore

So what am I defending now?

You were my town

Now I'm in exile, seein' you out

I think I've seen this film before”

AND

“I can see you starin', honey

Like he's just your understudy

Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Second, third, and hundredth chances

Balancin' on breaking branches

Those eyes add insult to injury”

EVERMORE- right where you left me

wow gothcleats angst goes hard in evermore and folklore. this song shows the moment frozen in time of either link saying “get the fuck out of my house scary”

lyrics: “Help, I'm still at the restaurant

Still sitting in a corner I haunt

Cross-legged in the dim light

They say, "What a sad sight"

I, I swear you could hear a hair pin drop

Right when I felt the moment stop

Glass shattered on the white cloth

Everybody moved on

I, I stayed there

Dust collected on my pinned-up hair

They expected me to find somewhere

Some perspective, but I sat and stared”

AND

“Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?

Time went on for everybody else, she won't know it

She's still 23 inside her fantasy

How it was supposed to be

Did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion?

Break-ups happen every day, you don't have to lose it

She's still 23 inside her fantasy

And you're sitting in front of me”

MIDNIGHTS- Midnight Rain

something something scary growing up with a general lack of love in her life while link has felt nothing but something something

lyrics: “My boy was a montage

A slow-motion, love potion

Jumping off things in the ocean

I broke his heart 'cause he was nice

He was sunshine, I was midnight rain

He wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride

I was making my own name

Chasing that fame

He stayed the same

All of me changed like midnight”

honorable mentions!

-dress

-back to december

-you belong with me

-the lucky one (hear me ou-)

in conclusion, i love them and taylor swift, thank you and goodnight

[steve0discusses]

Ep 44 Pt 2: Name Hunt

We start this half of the episode at the card game that is currently just kinda stalled. It’s more like a D+D session at this point, where everyone is separated, random enemies are appearing in random rooms, and their biggest issue is that they were balanced to work as a team, and as a solo fight they’re gonna freakin die.

Or Bjork will come back in the time it takes for the team to reassemble.

Sorry his name isn’t Bjork, it’s Korn. Or...well it’s something from the 90′s. Zork. It was Zork. But with a c. Bjorc Necrophades.

So as Yami dumps on Bakura about how boring this game is for him, Bakura reminds him that because Pharaoh shoved his memory in a puzzle piece, Pharaoh is dumb as a sack of bricks. Which like, relatable.

I STILL don’t quite get it.

I know that Seto kills Yami in the OG timeline, they have been saying that for 4 seasons. But if Yami had to put himself in that puzzle to put back Zorc...does this imply that the fight with Seto was to resurrect Zorc? that Seto was a pawn of Bakura even in the original timeline?

Wait is that it?

(read more under the cut)

Have I finally figured out the paradox that’s been bothering me all season, where before it looked like Yami died 2 separate ways in two separate timelines? I mean, while I am much better (not fully, hence the slow update schedule but am getting much better) Long covid for like an entire year removed so much of my memory, that I was able to play Undertale again like it was the first time. Which is incredible because it’s the most memed game and y’all, I forgot nearly every line that Sans said. Which I’m not gonna lie, kind of rocks. But also kind of difficult when I’m trying to remember the plot of this show.

Bro did offer to write the blog in my stead, but when he attempted to use Photoshop he could not figure out how to leave the text editor. Making these caps will one hundred percent crash my computer if he’s doing the driving. Photoshop crashes my computer about 4 times on a normal day, if you don’t know what you’re doing, Photoshop will seal you in a demon dimension before crashing your computer, and yet, still charge you 12 dollars a month. You cannot turn your back on photoshop, just like Zorc.

Anyway, back to the show:

I mean that’s my personal gamble. I will always gamble Tristan on who’s gonna die. And him being Bakura right now is just...ooo ripe to die this season, yeah?

Bakura took a moment to try and remind Yami that this is all a simulation and all of these pieces on the board were in fact not real people, to which Yami reminded Bakura that he himself is a ghost in a box and is only loosely defined as a “real person” himself.

👁👄👁

And then Karim, who’s name I had completely forgotten, so I’m glad the show reminded me, was like “Oh no! I’m dying!” PS he’s been “dying” for like 3 episodes, so I was very surprised he actually fully died.

Like Egypt Grandpa is going to outlast this stack of bricks down there, and that’s like a lot to take in. Modern Grandpa breaks his butt like constantly but Egyptian Grandpa is built like a truck.

Isis was very upset by this, and like I don’t blame her, look at the FEATURES on that man. True tragedy right there to lose that block of cheese right there and just be left with freakin Shada. Who, in case you forgot, has a motorcycle tattoo on his entire forehead. I too would be crying my eyes out, Isis, this is looking grim for you.

It only just now as I was writing this cap realized that when Bakura was like “who would you bet is going to die first?” he wasn’t talking about Yami’s high school friends, but was in fact foreshadowing the truly tragic death of Karim, who I totally remembered the name of.

Anyway, it’s still gonna be Tristan because for real, Karim doesn’t count.

Bit of a baby manger vibe to this shot, not gonna lie. Nice nativity we got going there. Baby jesus, Mary and Joseph, a shepherd, a wise man, and uh...Shadi. Shadi could be an Angel I guess, he isn’t technically alive. There. Print this out and put it above your grandma’s Christmas tree, instant nativity.

Speaking of the kids, Joey was really testing my gamble by walking headfirst into a trap that spits daggers into your feet.

Inside of this maze is step by step the same as the story of the tomb we saw with the hot version of grandpa that opened this arc.

Including this room, where Grandpa got betrayed by a very silly slingshot.

This was the show spoon feeding us Yugi’s character growth, since he was just a barrel of nerves and sinew when we first met this boy. He is braver this season, I will give him that, but it feels like it’s more that he’s the only person who’s fully aware that none of this is real. Yugi is inside of his own mind puzzle. It’s literally the only place he’s got full control (ish).

At the end of this little walk across the fear pit that literally no one here had any problems with (like Tea walked across this narrow fear pit in 5 inch heels!) The little box that carried Pharaoh’s puzzle isn’t here, instead it’s a bunch of Egyptian hieroglyphs.

Reminder that even Season Zero Yugi, who is the most pile of nerves Yugi, would have kicked your ass even without the puzzle. Like this is mostly my own interpretation, but without the puzzle......Yugi would have straight up stabbed that guy, right? Like straight up? Yugi is a menace to society. Sure, he was nervous about having to defend himself, but Yami wasn’t a Pharaoh yet, he was Yugi’s dark side, who was backed into corners so hard by people with literal whips and people with yoyo’s with spikes on the end, he pretty much always had to choose violence in order to survive Freshman year.

Like yes he walked across a bridge without fear. Makes sense, the bridge doesn’t have spike yoyo’s, fire shooting out, a guy holding your girlfriend hostage with a gun at a burger restaurant, and whatever capitalist nightmare Seto has come up with that month. But we can still call this bridge character development, as a treat.

After Joey tricked the switch that opened the garage door to Yami’s secret name, the episode ended.

can’t wait to see Tristan hold up some fingers and have the show convince me it’s a gun.

Anyway, here’s a link to read these from the start, which I keep giving you although I need to reread my own blog myself, haha.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[heliphantie]

"The Last Temptation of Homer", ep. 9(90) of S5 (December 9, 1993).

“The Last Temptation” is a curious and weird one, even by season 5 standards, by which relatively plausible scenarios with grain of suspension of disbelief, that can be attributed to exaggeration or artistic rendition, did made way for the scenarios ranging from surrealism to outright fantasy, but not ones taking place in full-on cartoon universe yet.

It puts, once again, one side of Simpsons couple into situation, in which he/she has to fight, well, temptation of extramarital affair, keeping in mind it was already established that neither one can consider brief fling without seeing it as immediate threat to integrity of their union. It seems to be the case this time too – will Homer succumb to forbidden fruit of “office romance” or not is one obvious issue, but what raises the stake is a notion that maybe, it’s something much more – genuine soulmate met by chance, and in this case, one may think, whether Homer stays away from cheating or not, he’s going to suffer loss. Will he face his fate or reject it in the name of status quo? Anyway, the story is busy with bizarre gags and situations (and Bart’s subplot that asks for its own episode), just to end in sorta anticlimactic, and confusing for many, manner, brushed off all gloomy implications of tragedy our star-crossed lovers are going through.

Doesn’t help that while Homer’s mindset on extramarital affairs (or simply on notion of any other women by his side) is already explained in “Colonel Homer”, Mindy’s side is left cryptic, except overall impression that she enjoyed Homer’s company a lot and was at least at one point attracted to him, but since then either gave up on prospects with him (getting informed of his family status, probably?), or decided she and Homer are better off as friends, possibly not even being aware of mutual interest. Or maybe she is as much in pain as himself, up to very end, in which she vanishes without trace, visibly heartbroken. Isn’t it weird Mindy, out of all one-time mysterious figures who did enter Simpsons’ lives to show them new perspective or teach something about themselves (Jacques, Karl, Mr. Bergstrom, Lurleen…), doesn’t have on-screen departure or explanation of why she can’t stick around even as background figure? She does show up couple of times (once in meta gag acknowledging all “homewreckers”), but it’s nothing compared to, say, continued sights of Jacques as stable part of Springfield. Likely non-canonic nod in clip show, disclosing her as another victim of Homer’s propensity of ruining lives, doesn’t help either… I only may assume, creative team had unspoken agreement it’s better not to bring up sore subject given how sympathetic both sides remain through all their inner turmoil, and that there wasn’t way around to have Mindy as recurrent background member without her serving as reminder of that bittersweet in its core storyline. (There is the fact, also, that writer of TLTOH, Frank Mula, is responsible for another saddest love story in Simpsons catalogue – “I Love Lisa”, and even that one ended on uplifting note.) Rather than thinking she did hit rock bottom over heartbreak, I’m going to assume she had to take responsibility for that room service at the SNPP’s expense, and that did cost her workplace (temporarily or permanently).

Two (tangential, maybe) outtakes from it:

-           We were robbed of interesting workspace dynamics, if only Mindy could stay as recurring character and join Homer, Carl, and Lenny’s antics on occasion, also serving as both voice of reason (woman as agent of order) and catalyzer of risky adventures, depending on situation;

-           Storyline would’ve been used as exploration of concept of friendship between opposite sexes, which, surprisingly, wasn’t a subject in The Simpsons during whole its run (granted, there was once episode in similar vein between Homer and his female neighbor, but seemingly too late in game and it didn’t have any impact as far as I concerned…).

Lastly, in regard of that ambiguous ending that makes people believe Homer has had one night stand with Mindy, while imagining Marge in her place (assumption which makes everything ever gloomier). My take on it: what if it is true… but in opposite way. Whole episode is chock-full, more than usual, with Homer’s fantasies, and in general depicts him in constant state of delirium to the point imagination blends into “reality” (already too fluid in this era of the series). What if Mindy, herself, was just a product of Homer’s wandering mind, his boredom and dissatisfaction, all that time?

[hamliet]

I know it’s been years since you’ve received a question like this, but you were one of the top results when I search for tumblr advice on writing twins—so, as someone without a twin, are there any tips you have? The story I’m writing is very heavily focused on twins, which was unexpected, but I really want to do it right. It tells the interconnected story of three generations of twins and their tragic endings, despite the efforts of an immortal prophet who lost his own twin. A reoccurrence is the idea of a supposed ‘good’ and ‘bad’ twin, which each pair does their best to reject, since the main theme is the inevitability of tragedy yet the human love that existed and mattered, but I don’t want to fall into stereotypes regarding this, and I want to portray a different relationship for each pair of twins.

again, I understand if you don’t want to answer this question, but I really like this story and want to get it right so I’ve just been hunting down twin tips

thank you <3

Hi! Don't worry, and thank you for taking so much care in writing twins!

To start with, I just want to say that I love your overall theme--"the inevitability of tragedy yet the human love that existed and mattered." It reminds me of this post I reblogged the other day because it explains what the appeal of tragedy is so well--it's human to love something even when you know it's doomed to die. What else is life made of, after all? We'll all see human loved ones die, and our beloved pets, and so on. But it doesn't make it any less worthy of love.

Anyways. To go back to the twin thing. I think your premise is quite interesting and could be really cool, because it seems as if it's deliberately taking one of the worst twin tropes--good twin/bad twin--and deconstructing it in a sense. It seems like you're already aware of what the flaws of this trope and mindset are, in that categorizing human beings is not only limiting but dehumanizing. So when you write your twins, I would just keep them as their own characters rather than half of a character who exists as a whole only when they're with their twin--even as others seek to define them by each other, or at least cast light on how others defining them by each other is flawed, if that makes sense?

TBH, if you focus on writing good characters, even if they seem to fall into that stereotype, I think you'll be just fine. My issue with a lot of bad twin portrayals is that they portray them as half of a person rather than a full human on their own. You sound incredibly thoughtful, and I think that bodes well for your writing.

Best of luck! Feel free to ask anything else if you'd like!

[fluffallamaful]

Another option for The Reveal (Pet AU):

They never actually find the little white blob, because Dream manages to get just enough energy to turn back into a human before they corner him again. The server is devastated. Dream, meanwhile, has just been given a strong reminder of why he was doing all of this in the first place, and is now rushing to complete The Plan. He is tearing himself apart to do this because god damn it he wants that happy ending so bad.

What he doesn’t know, however, is that this hunt for the little white blob has done something unexpected. Everyone misses their little pet. Everyone is devastated. And by the end of it, everyone has realized that they were all talking about the same fucking pet. And nothing’s better at uniting people than a shared tragedy, so they’re all swapping stories about their little white blob and crying about how much they miss their missing baby and even going on hunts together to see if maybe — just maybe — they can get him back. So basically, Dream’s goal has been completed, and he doesn’t know it.

Anyway, because it’s basically the entire server (-Punz) vs Dream, the plan still falls flat on its face and Dream is left injured and surrounded with no chance of escape. And this is when he reverts to his true form and passes out.

Now everyone is freaking out because WHAT. Even Punz didn’t know that Dream was the blob! But now absolutely nothing makes sense about what he’s been doing, so they start looking for answers. And this is when Punz comes clean.

Dream wakes up hours later wrapped in blankets and cradled in someone’s lap (probably Quackity’s because Quackity was the one who was most attached). He panics at first, but Quackity’s grip is surprisingly tough (or maybe he’s just extremely weak) and eventually he just starts to break down into tiny, squeaky sobs because he’s so scared :((( Anyway the server gives him plenty of gentle comfort tickles to cheer him up.

FXTXYSHSS omggggggggg this one’s heckin adorable as well 😭😭

ok so the blob manhunt starts with all their posters and whatever, but they never actually find blob dream, because he has escaped to a forest (all fed and pampered now), and has transformed back into a human :(( (though despite having the energy to be human, he’s still heckin battered)

(discussion nnn beliowww)

🦙🦙🦙…

fgzgzs this one is so devastating coz you’ve got both sides just being absolutely devastated omfg. like dream is cryinf and running in a forest absolutely mourning his moment of being happy and loved, and longing so much for his reset to happen faster. and the rest of the server is bonding over this little white blob that has brought them all so much joy :((

so i think, hopefully i’m reading your description right,, but in this version they manage to find HUMAN dream (all weak and exhausted and just emotionally drained), and then he’s so panicked and in shock and absolutely terrified that he transforms into his blob form and passes out?? i hope i got that right.

and then there’s a huge eruption of confusion and anger from the server. they feel they’ve been tricked!! how could dream have done such a thing!! they’re mad at him for being his usual manipulative self,, until of course punz explains everything (whilst gently scooping up the tiny passed out blob in his hands). he explains dreams goals and aims, and manages to calm the angry cries down to sympathetic murmurs

they take the blob back to the community house. a sweater is knitted for the blob and he is wrapped in several blankets. they know he’s ok because he’s breathing, but is just clearly completely exhausted.

i love that it’s quackity that ends up to be the one cradling him when dream finally wakes up :(( that’s so cute and yet would be so terrifying for dream. it’s heart wrenching to imagine dream’s confusion and panic when he wakes up, he wouldn’t know if he’s human or blob straight away,, and would go to yell and scream but would find only squeaks to come out. which then gives him a new wave of panic because he knows how vulnerable he is in this state,, and therefore his terrified whimpering squeaks continue :((( (im going to cry)

but quackity just soothes him. he explains everything to him gently. he explains that he knows dreams plans, and that he understands why dream is scared,, but he ensures that it’s all ok and that everyone wants to help him. the rest of the server nod their head as well. dream is absolutely hesitant in believing him until he manages to catch punz’s eye and reassuring head nod

quackity starts petting him. he starts listing all the ways that dream has helped people (i’ve seen your other ask im going to link it here once i’ve answered it), and just overall explains that they’re so happy to have found a side of dream that they understand. tommy jokes and says that dreams soft. dream’s cheeks start to tint green at the compliment. they all start complimenting him more.

a domino affect of showered affection from those who had the pleasure of being dream’s ‘owner’ breaks out,, where everyone starts telling cute and slightly embarrassing stories of things that blob dream did for them. dream is absolutely overjoyed but flustered by the love and attention. he’s simply not used to it. he doesn’t know how to react. his reaction is so incredibly cute that quackity starts to tickle him. it was something that he learned that blob dream loves anyway, and he’s being too cute to not tease just a little. turns out that tickling was rather common amongst the owners, and they all share their favourite places and spots to tickle the blob (there’s a unanimous agreement that his tummy produces the best reactions)

the combination of all of the compliments, love, and tickles causes dream to transform back into his human self. and once again he is absolutely devastated and petrified because of it,, half expecting them all to turn on him. however much to his relief the cooing and tickles only increase. he’s showered with twice as many teases and twice as many hands join in the tickle attack. he’s left with no other choice but to ascend to a giggly bliss in the arms of his ex-torturer, blushy cheeks hidden into his palms as his enemy-turned-friends prod and squeeze and scratch at his healing body.

his chance at a reset is not all lost afterall :,)

🦙🦙🦙…

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

I’ve honestly been bothered by the fact that you chose to post your fic about a loved one suddenly passing away on the day Johnny died. While I get it was an anniversary of someone from your life passing, it seemed quite insensitive. I feel you could have held that fic and posted it not on that day, because I am not sure how you wouldn’t have known Johnny passed since it was pretty public on tumblr that day and even the day after. I sense that you did not know Johnny before this tragedy, which is fine, you didn’t have to be his number one fan or even know his name. However, that’s is clearly why you chose to only really acknowledge and post about him, if you wish to call it that, when you shared cole caufield changing his jersey number. And then only again said anything in relation to the situation when you found out his wife is pregnant. Not to mention so is his brother’s wife, but that didn’t seem to make you sad enough to post about it. I’m not saying you can’t be upset by his passing, everyone should be upset because it’s a horrific tragedy that didn’t need to happen. But it just seems a bit odd that you pick and choose what to post about or only seem emotional over certain details of this entire situation. Again, you don’t have to know him to be upset, I’ve seen plenty of blogs on here reblog things about him regardless if they knew who he was or not. Yet the only thing you seemed to be touched by to reblog was Cole changing his jersey number, because that must fit the content of your blog better than a photo post of Johnny/the blue jackets/the flames. And again, posting that you’re upset seeing that Johnny’s wife is pregnant? So is Matthew’s wife…didn’t see you post about that making you upset. I just think if you’re going to be selective in what things you want to reblog or post, but don’t even acknowledge the person with any sort of reblog or something, then don’t let the first thing you share be Cole caufield changing his jersey number, because that’s a choice

I hate that I have to even address this right now but I will. Johnny died August 29, my aunt passed away August 31st of last year. I did know Johnny passed away and I don’t deal with death well especially since my aunts anniversary was days away. I will be honest with you and say I wrote that fic that day (August 31st) as I said in the authors note to work through some much needed feelings. I always post things right after they are written the only time I haven’t was when I was on vacation. I honestly didn’t put together how close to dates were but they were NOT the same day.

I have also lost someone in my life (not that it’s your business) due to drunk driving, so the situation in a whole is sort of triggering. I will be honest I didn’t know who Johnny was prior to his passing which is one of the reasons I choose not to post about him passing. It feels weird to repost about people I didn’t know for the sake of posting. I am however a fan of Cole, and as someone who has lost a lot of people due to tragic events happening in their life I decided to reblog something I already saw. I know about Matthew’s wife Madeline being pregnant and have known since he passed. In general on here if you notice not many people mention Matt on here which I think is sad. But I choose not to judge people on how they grief people they look up to.

I am sad for Madeline but it’s a different type of sadness than I have for Meredith, maybe that makes me a shitty human being. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I don’t really see people on here mentioning Madeline at all or the fact she’s I believe about 5 months pregnant (I don’t know if that’s true please someone fact check me). I know people whose partners died while they were early on in pregnancy before they could even tell their family members and it reminded me of that personal connection, which is why I posted about Meredith.

And you’re right in the sense that it was a choice I posted about Cole’s number first. But I don’t like pretending I know someone or look up to someone when I don’t know them. But I do know what it’s like for someone who you are friends with or admire deeply to die suddenly by a drunk driver. And if you look back on what I said in the post about Madeline I said “why does this keep happening?” I was talking about the US and how we view drunk driving and how it’s not taken seriously enough sadly.

[tammyhybrid21]

Generation 2 Iterators

(More Highlights)

Once again, won’t be a deep, deep dive, but-- Yeah. Just some more babble and headcanons, with a few bonus things.

Firstly, just like with the Gen 1 lineup, let me tell you who all above is:

No Significant Harassment, Seven Red Suns, Chasing/Grey Wind, Spire of Standing Clouds, Loss of Words, Branches Over Redwood, Deep Seas to Fathom, Sight of the Valley, Blue Rabbit Foot, A Pleasant Tone

Not all of them are important for the headcanon babble today, and some of them here aren’t even represented 100% perfectly in this lineup because it’s an older picture... Doesn’t really matter in the long term though. Generally consider a few of these guys still in design flux, but the canon characters do now officially have some form of references!

No Significant Harassment, Seven Red Suns and Chasing/Grey Wind in vague order of importance, or more like, in the order of how much I like them. There are hints for timeline, but honestly the only key thing you really need to know is deterioration happens.

I suppose you folks do want some more information, but I only really have some basic ideas for them. NSH has pretty obvious case. Basic, with or without Scarf, and then with the Rot. Because I am fully upon the train that it’s possible Hunter was a hint that NSH’s equipment failure was... a lot more than what we could immediately tell. Also I just think it’s a compounding, complementary tragedy, but that’s me. Suns meanwhile. Well you have the basic design, and then... Consequences is what I call the other ones. Not really going to dive into them so much but-- My view on Suns isn’t so great as people know I’m not impressed with them... which will carry. Then there’s Wind, basic. Lost communication and fallen. Again I don’t have so much to say about their design. Mostly because Wind is as hard for me to catch as the wind.

And just like with my other refs, my Avatar is basically just there as a reminder to myself about the heights... even if I do have other somewhat proper height charts for those... here it’s a good visual to have. Their antenna add so much extra height to them all except NSH, rest in pieces. Short antenna club is real.

Anycase, now that’s out of the way, what about some actual headcanons then?

Two pages of NSH headcanons first. Mostly because I LOVE NSH. Absolutely has to be one of my favourite of the canon iterators. Can’t beat Pebbles(or Moonie), but boy does he come close. Mostly because I really, really love characters who hide themselves. For one reason or another.

We get hints at depth and the tragic clown... and I just took and ran with it. My version of NSH is very much a complicated boy. Even if I mostly here expand a bit into his past. Boy was made as a science facility. Not specifically bioengineering although that’s definitely become his focus in the present time of Rain World, but he has... all the sciences I do think. I’ve seen other takes where he was a medical facility, but I think general science seems more in line.

NSH is THE SCIENTIST of the local group, the smart guy who is also funny. Yet tragic. “Liked by many, Known by few” type.

He also didn’t adapt well to having citizens, albeit different reasons that Moon. But I didn’t feel like I needed to repeat so much those factors. It just wasn’t an enjoyable time for him, he also is definitely a character who I think finds the hunt for the solution the most... boring thing to be working on.

That said, he will keep doing it. Just relegates it to the backburner a bit.

Oh Suns... And my lack of explanation on NSH unmasking in front of Moon and Pebbles... I think that can wait for a later set of headcanon scribbles at another point in time. But Suns, this guy, gal, non-binary fool.

Suns is full of abandonment issues in my eyes. I still cannot stand them very well, but am slowly coming a little bit closer to been more forgiving of their flaws as I linger in the fandom. But still, I am not kind to their depiction. But do lean more towards the head empty interpretation than any intentional maliciousness.

Just more desperation. My Suns got basically ignored by their local group, as well never quite had the full ball drop from their ancients. The benefits of their secondary purpose been host to a religious community I suppose. Religious and artistic community, who continued to highly view and value them. Unlike NSH who got the same shift from God to Tool...

Suns is just... also REALLY, REALLY BAD AT CHARISMA SKILL TREE. Suns can dress things up in pretty words and metaphor but man... they cannot read the room at all and tend to make things so, so much worse. As well they still buy into a lot of the more... problematic ideas handed down by the ancients...

Self-fulfilling prophecy of loss.

Finally Wind, with a few extra notes. I really wish I had more to say about Wind but this is kind of the best I have. Initially I was headcanoning them as group therapist, but it didn’t feel right with how they dropped the Erratic Pulse information, then I started to wonder why like that and well... we eventually ended up here with this... not very smooth interpretation.

Wind is a bit of... a not great person. To be fair all the iterators are traumatised messes, but yeah. My Wind, a bit of a trouble stirrer and gossip, even if they wouldn’t necessarily do the dirty part of spreading it themself. Their goals are very, kept to themself, they fade into the background and I think that’s how they like it.

They keep their secrets close to their chest, play it softly.

They have also unfortunately as a result had to deal with witnessing folks simping and despairing over their local group in gossip... also NSH is FEARED.

Sorry none of the OCs got highlights... they’re really going to stay on the backburner for the most for me. Even in my stories for now.

[flydotnet]

How Not to Handle an Illness At School 101

WHUMPTOBER 2023, DAY 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.” Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

Day 15 was always going to be MatsuYoshi, I knew that, considering those two are professionals at pulling the "I'm fine (isn't actually fine)" spiel, to a nauseating degree considering how few times Yoshiko appears yet has managed to pull it off screen for months. Also, you know I had to do it to 'em.

What I hadn't planned on was setting this in an HSAU flashback fic. Truth be told, it's not purely out of serendipity: it's also due to some very emotional reasons linked to a recnnt terrorist attack that targeted a former school of mine. I originally had a whole-ass wall of text about it, but at the end of the day… this fic isn't a memorial, it's just a silly AU funky soccer manga fanfiction, and I don't want to take away from that. This fic is motivated by a will for this school I truly care so much about not just be a place of tragedy and I want it to be seen as such.

My thoughts and prayers to the victims, their loves ones, and current students and staff of Gambetta High. Shout-out to my profs at Carnot.

So, uhm, yes, the funny fanfiction about HSAU Hikaru and Yoshiko being who they are! Can't forget about the original stake at hand! They're in their second year of prep class, there.

In terms of HSAU Lore, this fic somehow introduces both Jeanne Mouchon, one of Hikaru and Yoshiko's former classmate, and Mr Moinot, who was mentioned in… I don't remember, actually. I think it was either We All Gotta Start Somewhere or the first chapter of "Promotion to Parent". Most likely the former. Anyway, he's 'karu and Yoshi's old lit prof! And absolutely not an OC I already have who's also kind of maybe based on my own former lit prof.

Also, slight reminder of culture and stuff: grades are given out 20, some students have scholarships as in they get money to do studies because they're otherwise dirt-poor, and we're in France.

It's a little half-baked, but I didn't get a lot of time to work on it, so it'll have to do for now. I may go back and edit it later.

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

How Not to Handle an Illness At School 101

aka: Pinmontagne, Or The Reason Why "Febris" and "February" Share a Latin Root

Summary: People don't always think it through before they try to push through illnesses. Or: asking a nineteen-year-old to have clear-cut priorities may be a lot to ask, sometimes.

Fandom: It's your friendly neighbourhood French high school AU (actually it's Captain Tsubasa, but very, very removed)

Word Count: 1.7K words

AO3 version available here.

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

It’s only seven in the morning and Jeanne is already silently telling him he’s a big-ass idiot, in that way only her can do.

“What?” He asks, still mixing in the cheap cocoa powder into his bowl of just as cheap warm milk.

“What, what?” She asks back, an eyebrow corked. “Be more precise, man. I don’t speak Pinmontagne as far as I know.”

She’s absolutely trying to get a reaction out of him – which he will not grant her.

“You’re lookin’ at me funny. What’s your problem with me?”

She immediately cringes.

“Geese Louise, you’re so snappy today! Tho I guess I asked for it.” She regains a serious expression, perhaps too serious. “You look a bit, uh… bad. God, uh, I don’t know how I phrased it when I emailed FM about that, but you look like that.”

The laugh he tries to level at her accusation turns into a coughing fit.

“You’re not accusing me of having pneumonia now?” He still tells her. “Cuz that’s what Moinot had back then, no?”

Her expression doesn’t get lighter and he hates that oh so very much.

“Maybe not pneumonia, but like, dude, you sound like shit.” She frowns. “You’re not gonna attend class like that, right?”

He clears his throat before he can talk again. His voice is already a shitshow, better not wake any suspicions among his classmates now.

“It’s just some stupid cold that won’t go away. Tryin’ to get excused outta class sounds like a much bigger chore.”

“I mean… Yeah, you’re right, but like…” Her eyes grow wide. “Wait, didn’t you have an oral with Moinot today?”

“Yeah, I do.” He coughs again, shit. “What did you pick for yours?”

“Oh, I chose Notre-Dame de Paris, that seemed – hey, don’t change the topic!!”

He shrugs.

“Same, actually.” His nose’s starting to get too clogged for oxygen’s good faith. “I, uh, don’t jive with Ernaux much. Not in text commentary at least.”

“I don’t think you should jive with any author today, dude.”

“My scholarship doesn’t say the same.”

“Just… Go to a doctor, dude, or Yoshiko’s gonna get on your case. You wouldn’t worry her, right?”

“Fuck you,” he replies with a chuckle.

“I was being serious, y’know.”

He sighs, his chest wheezing as he does. Maybe the Moinot comparison wasn’t that inaccurate…

“I’ll be fine.”

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

“I tell you, I’m fine,” he tells his girlfriend for the third time today. To say geography class hasn’t even started – not just that, the prof isn’t even here yet.

Still, he knows it’s just bravado because, yeah, his scholarship doesn’t handle missed classes well, and he needs it. And, also, worrying her is a crime… even if he isn’t sure of his modus operandi anymore. It does sound like it’s doing the opposite thing it should be doing.

“But, Hikaru… You’ve been sick for the past week. It doesn’t seem to have gotten better either…”

“Colds can be like that, y’know” he replies with as much of a smile as he can muster. “But are you fine, Yoshiko? You’ve not been catching it from me, right…?”

She smothers a sneeze in the crook of her sweater.

“No, don’t worry, I’m fine,” she replies in a manner eerily similar to him, only starting to smile again now. “I’ll go to bed earlier than usual and take some medicine. You should try and rest in the dorms when you can.”

“With our schedule that’s gonna be hard to do, but like, I don’t think I need it anyway. I’ll manage.”

“If you ever feel like you need help, get some, okay? I’m really worried for you.”

He leans against the wall, suddenly aware of how uncomfortably wet his hair is. Maybe it’s more obvious than he thought that he feels like shit.

“I’ll make sure to let you know, at least.”

It’s a lie, the only kind he’s capable of and they both know it, but before she can protest, Mr Beaubonnet has finally arrived, and class is bound to begin soon.

He doesn’t hold her hand – just because he doesn’t want her to catch the plague, dear God. Yet he watches her hand try to reach for his, even sitting in class.

His lungs aren’t the only thing that hurts, today.

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

By the time noon comes around, Hikaru isn’t even sure of how he’s still on both his feet, waiting in the cafeteria crew. The fact he’s sandwiched between Jeanne and Yoshiko helps, he imagines, not to let himself look as bad as he feels. Ironic, for someone who otherwise doesn’t give two fucks about appearances, let alone “looking right”.

He usually doesn’t even care about queue speeds, especially on Wednesdays where it’s just the four prep class rosters and their profs; but today, it’s long. Painfully slow. He wants his bed and maybe a hug from Yoshiko. Okay, he definitely wants the hug from Yoshiko, but that’s beside the point, he always wants one.

When they finally sit down, he can’t hide the relief on his face, just like they can’t hide the fact they’re worried as shit about the crap he’s trying to pull off – cut him some slack, the scholarship won’t like it if he skips over it.

Also, Yoshiko’s coughing, and that can’t be good.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks her, still twirling with the idea of ingesting food.

“It’s nothing,” she says before blowing her nose. “You should focus on yourself, Hikaru. You need the care more than I do.”

“I’m fine, I told you.” It’s starting to sound like a farce, and it shows, because both Jeanne and Yoshiko are utterly unconvinced.

“Hikaru, dude, you can barely speak,” the former replies first. “I dunno how you’re planning on survivin’ English, let alone an entire oral with fuckin’ Moinot. That guy’s gonna wring you dry of words like he always does.”

“You dun need to remind me of my last grades with him, thanks.”

“Actually, I will! You got a 6 on your first oral, which was somehow worse than my 7. Then, on your specialty oral, you got a 9, but like, can’t blame ya, Banny can’t have explained how that was supposed to go without going on four tangents in a row. And ya got a 11 on your latest one, but it was a damn close call.” She puts down her fork. “All that to say, on a good day, you’ve got trouble dealin’ with his shit, and now you want to do that while you’re literally cookin’? Dude, you’re insane.”

“I’d rather die than lose my scholarship.”

“I’m… pretty sure medical reasons would excuse you,” Yoshiko replies. “Please, Hikaru, you’re swaying on your feet, you shouldn’t be here…”

He rubs his temples, his throat hurting just as much, but no solution comes to him.

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Just, lemme handle this and I’ll go see a doctor after class.” Or tomorrow.

“I don’t think you’ll find any by the time you’ll be outta there.”

“I’ll find one.”

Oh, he won’t, but he sure can try.

“You’re so fucking stupid, man,” Jeanne adds.

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

The topic quickly changes to bitching about English class.

So, uh, fun thing about running a high fever: he can’t read text anymore. No matter what he tries, letters just start swimming before his eyes. Not that he’s actually been able to understand whatever the hell Hugo was trying to say about that rat hole or some shit – who knows, not him, that’s for sure.

And that’s a big issue, because right now, he’s in front of his own prof, and he has no idea where to fucking begin.

“I, uh, gimme two seconds, please,” he coughs out, already realizing this is going nowhere.

He swaps paper sheets around, rubs his eyes and tries focusing – but aside from the absolute urge to hug his girlfriend and find peace with his bed, there’s nothing coming up. Nothing makes sense. He almost doesn’t know where he is and he’s losing grip on if his thoughts are staying inside or if he may be spewing them out.

“Do you need help with anything?” The prof asks in a voice too kind not to be suspicious.

Or maybe it’s normal? Uh…

“I don’t need you to help with things, I can handle things myself.”

He shuffles his papers around again, and this time, he actually gets tricked by the coughing fit. It lasts entirely too long, and he’s spent by the time it ends; but watch him rise back to his hands because that oral won’t do itself.

Mr Moinot looks entirely displeased with the shitshow this has been so far, in such a manner that, when he opens his mouth, Hikaru is ready to endure a verbal beating—

“You should go back home, Hikaru.”

Dread fills his every pore anyway.

“W-wha’?!”

“You are very clearly ill. Be honest, did you even understand the text?”

He’s way too exhausted to lie. He doesn’t even like lying to begin with, do you expect him to do so when he’s down the gutter?

“No, sir, I really didn’t get it. I don’t even know what it’s about.”

It hurts so much, at this point, to speak that he can’t not cough every time he opens it, God.

“I can’t evaluate you fairly in those conditions,” Mr Moinot replies. “Let’s postpone it to when you feel better, okay? The class is small enough, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue.”

“O-okay.” The shame is almost overwhelming. “Sorry about that, sir.”

“It’s fine. I know a thing or two about pushing through an illness.” He sighs. “Now, call someone to get you. I’m not letting you go home on your own.”

Oh, it must be that bad – of course it is, you idiot, you’re hotter than a furnace and barely able to piece reality together. Even walking to his dorm room sounds like a chore. As such, in silence, he grabs his phone, scrolls to the one contact whose picture he cannot mistake for anything else, and calls.

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

It isn’t pneumonia, but it’s damn close; so close Yoshiko has decided, actually, he was going to live at her place until he can drive himself home.

It’d be embarrassing if it wasn’t a dream come true.

[jjorbles]

(Repost) Why James Bond will never fight Blofeld again

Note: This article was originally posted October 20th, 2015 on the Agony Booth, which I used to write for. Since that site is sadly no longer with us, I’m reposting my old articles here. Obviously, SPECTRE has since been released and you could tell from the title my speculations were VERY wrong here, so I'm mostly reposting this one for irony's sake.

Next month, a new James Bond movie comes out, and I’m pretty excited about it. I like Bond movies more often than I don’t, but what’s really got my attention is the title: Spectre. Say no more. A title like that can only mean the return of a villain not seen since the Connery era.

The Bond films, for the majority of their history, have been mostly self-contained stories. Ongoing plot threads like the ones seen in the Daniel Craig movies are a fairly recent development. But back in the early days, every time Bond hit the screen, he was menaced by the Special Executive for Counterintelligence, Terrorism, Revenge, and Extortion. (They’ll never mention that SPECTRE is an acronym in the new movie, of course, because spy movies at some point decided they were too cool for acronyms, but they should, because it’s awesome.)

Whoever was after Bond in any given movie inevitably answered to a mysterious mastermind whose face was always concealed, identifiable only by the white Persian cat eternally in his lap. Until You Only Live Twice, that is, when Bond finally came face to face with SPECTRE’s supreme leader: Ernst Stavro Blofeld.

Even if you’re not at all familiar with classic Bond movies, I’m willing to bet the image above is very familiar to you. But it probably doesn’t conjure up images of terrifying villainy or superspy intrigue. It probably just reminds you of this guy.

It’s been a while since the Austin Powers movies were popular. Hell, it’s been a while since Mike Meyers was popular. But the franchise still holds a place in our collective consciousness. You can go most anywhere in the United States, extend your pinky finger and demand “one meeelion dollars!” and you can generally trust the reference will be understood.

Why am I bringing up Dr. Evil? Because, dear readers, Dr. Evil is the very reason why we will never see Blofeld in another Bond movie again.

No, never. Yes, SPECTRE is returning to the Bond franchise for the first time in decades, complete with their signature octopus signet rings. Yes, there’s been much speculation that Christoph Waltz, cast as the film’s main villain and presumably SPECTRE’s leader, will be playing Blofeld. And yes, he’s even seen wearing a very Blofeld-esque collarless jacket in the trailer. But Waltz has publically stated that his character, Franz Oberhauser, is most definitely not Blofeld, and I believe him. Because honestly, how can you possibly bring Blofeld back in a post-Austin Powers world?

Sure, back in his day, Blofeld was the Moriarty to Bond’s Sherlock Holmes, his most persistent nemesis, and responsible for arguably the greatest personal tragedy 007 ever endured: the murder of his wife Tracy on their honeymoon. But unlike other famous arch-nemeses of pop culture, Blofeld has the odd problem of being weirdly obscure despite his massive influence. While Bond himself has remained a constant presence in pop culture, Blofeld hasn’t been seen since 1983, allowing him to become largely forgotten. So many villains since him have copied his iconography that he’s somehow become overshadowed by his own legacy.

Dr. Evil is the most obvious example, every bit as much a thinly veiled caricature of Blofeld as Austin Powers was of James Bond himself. The cat stroking, the gray suit, the bald head, the scars, the penchant for exotic lairs, doomsday weapons, and elaborate death traps, they all invoke the original image of the SPECTRE head. But a close second in infamy is Dr. Claw, rival to Inspector Gadget. Claw copied the earlier appearances of Blofeld, appearing only as a chair with its back to the audience, a single arm visible for yet more cat stroking. And his evil spy network MAD was an obvious reference to SPECTRE itself.

But you’ll notice a distinct difference between both those examples and their source: Blofeld wasn’t a comedy character. Aside from one weird moment where he dressed as an old lady for some reason (Diamonds are Forever was not a good movie), he was a legitimate threat to be taken at least somewhat seriously by the audience. Donald Pleasence in particular gave him a subtle, creepy menace. But Dr. Evil is a comic farce, and Dr. Claw is a literal cartoon character.

In fact, of Blofeld’s many imitators, almost all of them are parodies or spoofs. The “villain with a cat” trope has become universal shorthand for comedy villains. The Great Mouse Detective, Bolt, Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers, and hell, even the friggin’ Spice Girls movie did it. Giving your villain a fluffy cat to pet is now one of the quickest ways to inform your audience that they’re not to be taken seriously.

With that is mind, is it any wonder Spectre bowed out of bringing back the evil organization’s iconic leader? The moment a bald, scarred Christoph Waltz walks onscreen carrying a cuddly kitty cat, theaters nationwide will burst into laughter. It would take modern audiences completely out of the movie. So for the sake of maintaining immersion, it’s perhaps best that they leave Blofeld at the bottom of that smokestack Bond dropped him down in the opening of For Your Eyes Only. Tragic as it is, he’s an idea too dated to work anymore.

Which is not to say we’ll never get some version of Blofeld in the future, but at this point, he’d have to be stripped of everything that makes him unique, so what would be the point? Suppose that at the end of Spectre, Christoph Waltz does indeed reveal that his real name was Blofeld the whole time, Cumberbatch-Khan-style. It’d be a cute Easter egg, but without the cat, the look, and the hidden volcano fortress under attack by ninjas (seriously, if you haven’t seen You Only Live Twice by now, you’re missing out), he’s not really Blofeld anymore.

Now, if somehow Waltz’s character loses his hands during the movie, gets a pair of robotic replacements in a post-credits teaser and decides to start calling himself Dr. No? That would be legendary.

[herinsectreflection]

The hilarious part about Faith and how incredibly gay she comes across is that it's all a natural side-effect of her intended narrative role. According to Whedon she wasn't intentionally written to be a queer or even queer-coded character, but the way she is written and her metaphorical function necessarily meant she came across as queer-coded. I'll explain what I mean:

1) As Buffy's shadow, Faith is meant to be symbolic of Buffy's repressed desires, and specifically her frustrated sexuality. Buffy is dealing with imposed chastity throughout S3, first with her trauma over Angel getting in the way of a relationship with Scott, and then the curse preventing her from being physical with Angel. It's the centre point of Enemies, its touched on in Amends, and is one of the reasons they break up. There's a reason the season climaxes with Angel and Buffy in a passionate embrace, making orgasm faces as he 'penetrates' her. It's a whole season of sexual frustration for Buffy.

Faith needs to be constantly reminding Buffy of the thing she can't have - sex. She needs to talk about sex to Buffy - and she does, extensively. Faith is written as a very sexual person in general, but it's specifically and disproportionately aimed towards Buffy, because that's her narrative role. So you end up with this character who is constantly going around like "hey Buffy do you like sex? you should think about sex now. sex. when I'm on screen the main thing on your mind should be sex and having it". Which begs the question - why does Faith want Buffy to have sex? Symbolically, it's because she represents part of Buffy, and Buffy wants to have sex. But on a pure character level... what is the explanation? What is motivating Faith to constantly talk about sex to Buffy? A few instances you can write off as her making Buffy uncomfortable for jokes, but not all of them. How it comes across is that Faith has some sexual interest in Buffy, and is probing for her feelings.

2) Faith is a Seductress. That's not a comment about her character, that's her function in the story. She is the version of Buffy who goes down a darker path, and is trying to seduce her into doing the same thing. Part of Buffy's arc in S3 is resisting this temptation, and the symbol of what she is resisting is Faith. So Faith must be an enticing, seductive figure. To quote Passion of the Nerd's review, if Faith is there to to tempt Buffy into a moral dark side, it only makes sense that she is, well, tempting. The seduction is happening on many levels.

Faith is more or less filling the Femme Fatale archetype: the seductive, sexual figure who leads the Hero off their path. It's a trope you see all the time in male-led stories, going back to goddamn The Odyssey. Buffy as a character was invented as a simple gender-swap of an old horror trope, and part of the appeal of the show is that she gets to fill the role of The Hero as a woman. So what happens when you gender-swap The Hero and don't gender-swap the Femme Fatale? You get a gay story, that's what.

3) The Faith arc of S3 is a recreation of the Angel arc of S2. It is structured in the exact same way, with the two having a push-and-pull in the early parts of the season, a setback in their relationship in episode 7, getting closest again mid-season before a night of passion that ends in sudden tragedy. Angel/Faith then turn to the dark side, become the Big Bad, and show that they are beyond saving in episode 17. The season ends with Buffy having to fight and the kill them in order to save others. This is all an intentional recycling, as part of the show building up the Trolley Problem and the idea of Buffy being a killer, repeatedly escalating it to get us to The Gift. What this means is that Faith steps into the role that Buffy's love interest played in the previous season. This is the story that we have just had told to us as a tragic love story. We see it again, and guess what? It's still a tragic love story. Only now Faith is in the role of the love interest.

4) Part of the conflict surrounding Buffy and Faith is Buffy's fear of being "Single White Female'd". She fears Faith might steal her loved ones, and Faith does threaten that. She gets along with her mother, her friends... but most of all, her love interests. Buffy's fear of being replaced manifests as Faith trying to literally seduce away anyone romantically linked to Buffy. Angel, Scott Hope, Xander, later Riley, Spike, Robin Wood... Faith is comprehensively and exclusively attracted to men that Buffy dated. I'm honestly surprised she didn't find Owen and Parker from somewhere for a night in the sack. Again, this makes perfect heterosexual sense from a symbolic point it view - she threatens to take Buffy's place in the narrative, so she takes her place in relationships - but on a character level it becomes ambiguous. Is she actively trying to replace Buffy? Or is she trying to stop Buffy dating anyone for another reason? The simple fact is, there is exactly one common denominator with all of Faith's romantic entanglements: Buffy.

It's a canonical aspect of Faith's character that she is jealous of Buffy. We see that made explicit in Enemies - she's jealous of everything Buffy has: her family, her comfortable home life, her friends, her narrative standing, and of course her loving partners. So of course Faith displays jealousy whenever Buffy is involved with a guy. It's a necessary part of building Faith as this figure of Want and Envy. But how it plays out on screen isn't that Faith is jealous of Buffy because she wants these other guys - of course not, because we see her look jealously through the window at Buffy and Riley in This Year's Girl and Riley obviously means nothing to her. Rather, it very much appears that she is jealous of these other guys, because she wants Buffy.

There's also the added bonuses that come from the show playing with so many metaphors, that sometimes they cross in interesting ways. One of Faith's main purposes is to celebrate being a Slayer, and to encourage the same in Buffy. She wants Buffy to accept and embrace being a Slayer. Here, Slayerhood is standing in for independence and hedonism and making your own rules, all the things that Faith is encouraging. But one of the many other metaphors used is the 'coming out' metaphor. "Have your tried not being a slayer?" "It's because you didn't have a strong father figure isn't it." "I've tried to march in the Slayer Pride parade." It's a note that's hit really hard specifically around the time in the show that Faith is introduced. So if you carry this metaphor on, then Faith becomes an out-and-proud lesbianSlayer, trying to convince Buffy to accept and embrace her sexuality.

And it has a recursive effect too. All this stuff contributes towards Faith feeling like a very queer character. And Faith, of course, is Buffy's shadow self, meant to represent her unconscious desires. So when the symbol of your unconscious desires is so lesbian-coded, then the implication becomes that one of your unconscious desires is lesbian desire. Faith's existence as a part of Buffy implies the existence of Buffy's bisexuality. Which contributes to the relationship feeling ever more queer, which makes Faith even gayer.

I find this absolutely hilarious, because the queer subtext was never intended. Joss Whedon apparently was annoyed that people read this into their relationship, and the commentary from the other writers that does address it tends to point to Dushku's performance. And yeah, she is definitely leaning into that in her portrayal. But the main reasons that so many people have this reading all come from the writing. It's all stuff that is integral to the point of her character. Every metaphor and function in the narrative, every symbolic purpose she has, none of it was meant to be gay and yet it all leads directly to Faith appearing to be totally and completely gay. The queerness is accidental and unavoidable. And I just find that really fucking funny.

[shanastoryteller]

i feel like i’ve told this story before but i can’t find it on my blog so here we go again

my aunt and grandma came out to visit me from the middle of nowhere town we’re from and i was reminded how very much middle of nowhere it’s from when i asked if they wanted to order indian for dinner and they told me they’d never had indian food before

which on top of being a grade a tragedy was genuinely confusing for me because i’d had indian food before moving away. i remembered eating it several times in high school 

then i remembered that’s not because there was indian restaurant we went to but because one of my very good friends was indian and i was the favorite parental approved friend who was allowed to go over for dinner and just hang out 

i was her parents’ favorite friend not because i was the politest, or the most put together, or because they knew my family, or anything like that

it was because i could handle spice 

i remember the first time i went over to hang out - i think we were working on a project together? - it was getting late but we weren’t done and she went and asked her parents if i could stay for dinner. they argued with her about it in bengali, and i didn’t want to stay if it would cause problems, so i told her it was fine and i’d go

but she said that her mom was actually telling her that i wouldn’t want what she was making and i wasn’t going to like it and my friend was like ok i’ll warn her then can she stay?? and her mom agreed and i was just confused. so my friend was like. okay. its a sauce kind of and there’s fish with bones and it’s spicy. and i, having had the type of food i eat be a source of anxiety in a social economic stigma sense but not a cultural sense, had no idea what the problem could be and just went, great, awesome, love me some free food

i have no idea what i was served but i know it was extremely good and i loved it and i asked if i could have seconds, which i didn’t usually do at a friend’s house, but it was just that good, and her mom kept asking if it was too spicy for me and i was like no :) it’s very good :) more please :)

anyway that’s how i became the favorite friend which my friend then used shamelessly to get away with dating an older white boy that her parents did not want her dating 

when she wanted to spend time with him she’d just be like hey! can i go to this thing? yes boy will be there, BUT shana will also be there! so clearly nothing suspicious is happening :)

which was fine but then he went away to college while we were still in high school and neither of us had our license SO my friend played 3d chess and told her parents that me and the boy were such good friends, and we all used to hang out so much, and wouldn’t they drive us to this random college town two hours away so we could all hang out together? 

and they said yes

except of course as soon as we got there we split up. the parents were out window shopping and stuff and then boy gave me his id and meal card so i could go wherever on campus and buy food and then he and my friend locked themselves in his room. since you know, my presence here was actually just a decoy and i’ve essentially made this trip so my friend can see her secret boyfriend, which means i’m just stuck on my own for the day

and of course i couldn’t just stay in the student area because THAT WOULD BE TOO EASY AND SMART and there was was a bookstore i wanted to go to. so i went into town to do that, nbd, except i was crouched over looking through second hand shakespeare when who walks over to me?

but her parents! whomst i like a lot and feed me a lot! and usually i don’t have to come up with my own lies, just agree with my friends’ lies! 

and they’re like hey, where’s our daughter and the boy? and i just laughed and was like oh, they wanted to move on from the bookstore but i wasn’t done looking yet, they’re probably just up ahead at the next store :) :) :) haha please don’t question me further 

that was on brand enough for me that they were like oh okay well don’t get left behind! hahaha (do not leave our daughter alone with this boy shana they said to me with their eyes) and i smiled and nodded and booked it back to the campus to hide out in the student lounge 

which is why i’ve had indian food before even though my family hasn’t 

[my-mt-heart]

11x20 Thoughts...

This one is easily the best episode of the entire season for me, and I'm not just saying that because the bar has been set lower than low. As expected, Daryl's and Carol's arc is pretty action heavy and while I'm still frustrated by the lack of anything overtly emotional, there is a noticeable and beautiful journey playing out for them, so let's focus on that for right now. I'll save most of my cynicism for the end.

The flashbacks in the opening scene are the summation of that journey from Carol's perspective, starting on a bike and ending on a bike. Daryl helped Carol navigate a world overrun by death and tragedy, renewing her sense of purpose (and vice versa). He's her ride or die, the person she can always depend on, but also the person she'll do anything for. Judith says in her voiceover that it's "not just about words, but action," which probably serves to remind us how well their relationship can thrive on the unspoken communication they've established with each other and the acts of service they provide each other.

Lately though, it seems that's also become a point of contention for both the characters and the audience. They need to have at least one heartfelt conversation to verbally expression what they mean to each other so there's no longer any confusion. As disenchanting as this season has been, I do have to imagine that's coming. The pacing has just been all over the place unfortunately. As far as canon goes, if I'm reading the subtext correctly, it's still very much a possibility, but I'm still wary of what it might look like and whether or not it'll be for shock value.

But what a huge relief to see Carol (and Yumiko), driving the story after being unfairly boxed out for so long. We get to follow the women through the thick of everything instead of getting more lovesick Eugene and Daryl the action hero. By the time we even catch up to Daryl, the life is literally being choked out of him because he is in fact "not a superhero" according to Kang (:P), and sometimes needs his partner in crime to his rescue him. Speaking of crime, it's weirdly exciting to watch them play bad cop, worse cop with Lance. I'm going to assume it's because I missed their teamwork so much and not because I'm a sadist. Then again, I also got butterflies seeing the pain on their faces when they had to separate, Daryl staying behind to shoot it out with the CW soldiers while Carol escapes with Lance.

"You were right to leave him behind," Lance tells her after they make it outside the walls, "he was slowing you down." At the same time, he recognizes how close Carol and Daryl are, going as far as to compare them to him and Pamela which you can take however you want, though maybe it's worth noting the sexual implications of their scene in 11x19 ;)

Lance has always seen a lot of himself in Carol, and it's fair to say she sees some of herself in him too albeit a darker version. It wouldn't be the first time Carol's demons take the shape of one of the show's villains. Remember when the apparition of Alpha tried to coax her into killing herself? She resisted the temptation after realizing she didn't want to lose Daryl, and with Lance, it's kind of the same thing. While walking down a dark tunnel, he asks her to think about the possibilities for the future, and yes, there's a larger message in there, but on a personal level, Carol's happiness is with Daryl. He's the light at the end of the tunnel, ready to reciprocate everything she's willing to do for him. After he saves her, they give Lance the opportunity to run away and he doesn't take it, knowing he wouldn't survive being on the run. Carol has to shoot him down, and I'd like to believe this is her way of rejecting that part of herself that always found a reason to run away from Daryl.

The title "What's Been Lost" is unintentionally ironic because if anything it reinforces how integral Daryl and Carol are to each other's stories, and yet there's an emotional void because we're assuming the ending/new beginning their characters deserve is being abandoned for a solo journey that absolutely does not and cannot work. If Daryl's story isn't over yet, Carol's can't be either. Melissa McBride has said as much and I'm going to keep clinging to that desperately while also hoping the next four episodes can somehow make the gross amount of injustices right.

I feel like I've barely scratched the surface here and will probably have more to say later. Apologies if this is all incoherent. It's 5:45am and I'm running on no sleep. The things I do for Caryl...