#it never ends and all i can do is climb uphill

[kaisollisto]

[shadowed-dancer]

Villains and Their Fates - A Tragedy Would Have Been Fine By Me

I've seen a lot of people who try to write off frustration with the league's fates by saying "you just wanted them to survive" or "you're just upset your favourite character died". And while that may be true for a few people, I know that it's at least not true for myself (which must mean there are others who feel the same way). So today I'm here to share my thoughts. Despite liking the villains and wanting them to be redeemed, I was also willing to accept a well written ending if they died. I just wanted to ramble a bit about the three main villains (mostly Toga) and how I felt a tragic ending could have been improved.

The only villain I felt should have lived is Dabi, but that's more because of the awkwardness his unconfirmed death caused for Shoto (read this beautifully written analysis for more). If Dabi had to die, he should have died on the battle field OR in the hospital surrounded by family where he gets a few last words in. Leaving his fate unconfirmed leads to the ruined Shoto arc, but is also just weird for a character who has existed for so long. You're telling me that even Overhaul gets a confirmed ending but DABI doesn't?

I've also talked a bit about how Endeavor's survival ruins the subplot, and in 426 he continues by making Touya's final appearance about him (rather than the two brothers) but that's something I've talked about too much. If Endeavor has to be alive and hogging screen time, the least Hori could do is imply Touya will survive rather than die, so at least Enji isn't literally stealing time from his other family members to have some interaction with Touya.

If Touya has to end up in that machine, an ideal ending would have been the doctor saying "it will be a gruelling and near-impossible uphill climb to recovery" and then Shoto can smile and say "he's done it before". Boom. Simple as that. Leave it open, but at least on a positive note so we can assume that the family will have plenty of time to reconcile, as opposed to an unknown (but limited) amount of time that Enji vows to use to talk to him (yeah I know it's supposed to be a sweet gesture but even Touya calls bullshit on it). Let Shoto and Touya eat their soba, damn it!

For Shigaraki, my grievances extend to the writing of the entire final battle between him and Deku. As such, I don't have much to say aside from that because it really is just a product of poor writing. Neither were really allowed to talk before the big moment (hell, the vestiges were narrating Deku's emotions half the time like "he must be upset, this quirk meant so much to him". Why not let him tell us???) and the back-and-forth of Shigaraki being destroyed and then not only to be destroyed again was too much. It felt sloppy and hard to follow, and once you figured it out it just felt dumb. It's as if each chapter needed some massive reveal, but the story had done it so much at this point that it just felt tired and like it was happening "because Hori said so", and that should never be what drives a story.

Speaking of "because Hori said so"...

Oh Toga. Out of all the villains, I actually liked her confrontation the most. (Lies. If Dabi vs Shoto was the end of Dabi's fight, THAT would have been the best. But the Endeavor fight ruins it). Despite having limited screen time, Toga and Uraraka had a surprisingly well-built dynamic. Their few interactions were actually meaningful and created a strong foundation for a fight, and at the very least they had more of a personal connection than Deku and Shigaraki ever did. I think that Toga giving her blood to someone she loves (as opposed to drinking/taking their blood like she had said the whole series) is a beautifully tragic end to her character, but still something that could have fit.

To me, the problem comes with how she died. Let me replay the scene for you: Toga stabs Uraraka in the stomach and Uraraka bleeds too much because she keeps moving around. Toga then realizes she doesn't want Uraraka to die. To save her life, Toga has to do a blood transfusion with herself as a donor and she dies because she has to give ALL her blood.

Now... sure. Ok. Fine. Yeah. Maybe by real-world logic this makes sense. I guess. Whatever. But within the world of MHA, this setup is laughable.

Here's a list of things characters survived (or at least, they survived LONG ENOUGH to get to a hospital rather than dying on the battlefield): Deku shattering his bones with 1 million percent, whatever happened to Best Jeanist when AFO attacked him, Nighteye getting a massive spike through the torso, All Might with "his entrails strewn across the ground", Bakugo becoming Swiss cheese, Grand Torino being punched so hard a crater forms beneath him, Touya being a literal flaming skeleton, Bakugo's heart exploding, Edgeshot becoming a worm. Mirko getting a limb ripped off and then running full speed at Shigaraki. That's just off the top of my head, I know there's probably more.

But you want to tell me that Uraraka getting stabbed and then moving was a fatal wound that required ALL TOGA'S BLOOD? ALL OF IT? The reason Toga's death bothers me is that the setup cheapens the actual moment of sacrifice. It feels preventable, so when she tells us that Uraraka is going to die without her blood, all I could do is roll my eyes because I'm not allowed to use critical thinking skills, I have to just accept what Hori says and take it at face value.

If the author wants you to live as Edgeworm despite saying you were gonna die, you can. But if the author needs a stab wound to be fatal and require ALL of someone's blood? Well tough luck bud, that's just how it goes. Mirko can run and move all she wants after having a limb ripped off, but moving a bit after one stab wound is fatal. Why? Because I say so.

If Uraraka's wound was actually serious then this ending would have been a beautiful tragedy. But as it stands now, the ridiculousness of her wound makes it all feel preventable.

Oh, there's also the fact that Toga switching blood types when she transforms was never established, but I've rambled enough.

That's it. Thanks for reading!

[theemporium]

hi cece congrats on 10k! what an amazing accomplishment! can i request a 💜violet fluff with luke hughes for this prompt please: "Please, never apologise for wanting to be loved."

ps the cocktail celebration is so fun and unique i love it!

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

53. "Please, never apologise for wanting to be loved."

.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget what different worlds you and Luke came from.

Family was everything he knew growing up. There wasn’t a day in his life that he doubted his parents or his brothers wouldn’t have his back, wouldn’t stand by his side, wouldn’t be there for him if he asked. Despite the petty fights and dramatic tantrums, the Hughes family were a tight-knit, loving family who only wanted to see each other thrive. They wanted the best for each other. They loved each other unconditionally. They were what people imagined—what people dreamed of—when they thought of family.

You couldn’t say the same for yourself.

It wasn’t like you grew up in a bad or horrible household, it just felt like you had to earn the right to be there. Because yes, you had food on your plate and a roof over your head and got gifts on your birthday. But you didn’t receive any of those things without being told how much effort it took to give you those things, to be constantly reminded how much of a burden you were, to constantly feel like things would be easier if you weren’t there. 

Because yes, your achievements were celebrated and you knew you were loved. But it was conditional. The happiness and love and affection came with a price. It constantly felt like you were in a competition, and no matter how much you did, you could never win. It felt like an uphill battle that never ended. 

And it was something Luke could never quite comprehend. Not that you wanted him to ever know. But sometimes, it still took him by surprise. 

You tried to avoid phone calls as best as you could. They were usually draining and long-winded, and it wasn’t a situation you always wanted to put yourself in. But you were riding the high of feeling happy and proud of yourself, of your own achievements.

And, like always, you convinced yourself it wouldn’t be that bad this time round. 

But it was. It always fucking was.

A happy, quick phone call turned into an hour-long lecture about how you don’t call home enough, how you wouldn’t be where you were without them, how you were ungrateful and greedy and still not good enough. 

You had mentally checked out by the time Luke wandered into the room, his brows furrowed in confusion when he didn’t hear you call back out as he arrived. He only heard snippets of the berating voice over the phone before he stepped in, making up some trivial excuse that you doubted your parents believed before he hung up. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say ‘thank you’ as he climbed into the bed next to you, saying nothing as he wound his arms around your body and hauled you onto his chest until almost every inch of you was pressed against him.

“I just wanted to tell them the good news,” you eventually spoke, your voice a little croaky and your words accompanied by sniffles. “I thought they’d be happy but—”

His arms tightened around you. 

“M’sorry,” you murmured, letting out a breath as you tried to sit up a little. “You just came back from practice, you do not need to hear about my issues when you’re probably tired—”

“Hey,” Luke interrupted, his lips turned downwards and his expression mimicking one of a kicked puppy. “Please never apologise for wanting to be loved or appreciated.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the emotions get caught up in your throat.

“I love you,” Luke said, so firmly that there wasn’t even any room for the doubting voices in your head to question him. “And I am so fucking proud of you, baby. Always. You always have me.”

“I love you too,” you whispered because it was all you could bring yourself to say at that moment before you laid your head down on his chest, basking in the feeling of Luke’s arms tightening around you.

.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

Hey, idk if requests are open but could you write a fic where the reader gets back stabbed by her only friends (them shit-talking her behind her back when she’s already going through shit) and Ghost’s reaction to the reader telling him about this?

It’s literally just happened to me so it’s kind of sucky. Thank you if you do end up doing this, it means a lot to me. Take care of yourself and have a lovely day <3

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ~ 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 '𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭' 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: After a long and difficult mission that completely goes wrong you return to base for a much-needed break. Instead, you're met with harsh words overheard by the friends you held dear, and it breaks you. Luckily Simon is there to hold you for as long as you need. OR Simon is sweet and soft and holds you close as you cry. Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN!Reader Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Bullying, cursing, mentions of violence but other than that it's just really soft. Hurt/Comfort is my favouriteee. Author's Note: Hi Anon, I'm sorry it took so long for me to finish your request, and I'm even more sorry that this happened to you. But you don't need my pity, instead, hopefully, this fic acts as a bit of comfort, what happened to you was really shitty. Ghost will make it feel better though :))

It was a gnawing sort of feeling, betrayal. One that ate away at your very soul and left nothing but pain in its wake. The action alone may not be the worse thing in the entire world, something that anyone would look at and be forced to look away from because it was that terrible. But what made betrayal ache was that in the before, in its place, was trust.

Trust comes differently to everyone, to some it may be as simple as a flick of the wrist, whereas for others it may be a slow uphill climb, but once established, it should not be broken. It should never be expected to be broken, because at its root that is what trust is, is it not? To place a piece of your soul into another person’s hand and believe that they will treat it gently.

And yet sometimes, people grasp onto that and squeeze as tightly as they can until it shatters into irreparable pieces.

~

“Gods they’re such a fuck up all the time, who wants to place bets as to why their mission failed? Oh! I know! Them,” Roxanne had sneered before laughing along with the rest of the group. The group you had once called friends. You listened in from the shadows as they talked loudly in the corridor, false hope building in your chest because maybe, just maybe, they weren’t talking about you.

“Gods I don’t even know why they were allowed to go in that mission in the first place, Ghost and Soap? They’re the best of the best, and then…” Lucille said, trailing off and allowing them to fill in the blanks. Your heart drops, weighing as heavy as the gear you still wore from the mission. You hadn’t even had time to go back to your room yet and word had already spread of the result of the mission.

You had seen your friends in the hallway, ready to go greet them all before you overheard their conversation. About you.

It had already been a difficult few weeks already. It seemed as though every mission you had gone on went awry. Whether it’d be faulty intel or teammate injury, hell, one time the people you were after weren’t even at the base you were set to infiltrate! Regardless, you had failed.

The one mission prior to this one had been the worst though. You were on a recon mission when all of a sudden the enemies were raining down hellfire. You were the sniper of the team, their eyes in the sky if anything went awry. It allowed you to protect your team in a way you couldn’t on the ground. It was a difficult gunfight but your team was pulling through and the end was near. But then you spotted a child huddled behind a dumpster a bit of a ways off in the distance, trembling as she covered her ears from the sound.

You had radioed in that you were going to help her, but received orders back that you were to continue killing off enemy soldiers until there was no one left, it would compromise the mission should you abandon your team for this child.

But you knew that your team could handle themselves, and like hell you were going to let this little kid be out there in the open. That was a death wish! And you were not going to see a civilian die if you had a say in it. So you had dropped your position to save this kid, putting her in a safer spot until the end of the fight.

Your team had made it back alive, with a few more injuries than necessary, but alive. But that wasn’t good enough for your superior, so you got the chewing out of a lifetime.

“The HELL were you thinking compromising the entire fucking mission for a god damned civvy?! I could have you written up for this, disobeying direct orders when the entire team was in danger. You know your duty, you cannot compromise the mission, whatever the fuck the reason may be.”

All you were able to squeak out was a ‘Yes, Sir’ before you were sent out of the office, tears threatening to fall.

That mission had eaten away at you for the longest time and had you questioning whether you were right enough for the job. Putting the mission first? Even at the risk of killing innocents, you had the capability of saving? That mission was the breaking point, and whispers began on base as people began to recognize the common factor in each of the missions that went wrong. You.

It was a miracle it didn’t meet Simon’s ears really, how often people would gossip behind your back. You knew that if he even caught the faintest wind of it he would be tearing people apart left and right.

Your sweet, sweet boyfriend.

You knew that he noticed something was up, but that man was anything if not patient and would never prod at anything you weren’t willing to tell. Because he understood better than anyone that sometimes things were difficult to talk about. And so, he waited for you to come to him. But you never did.

“Isn’t that a little mean? I mean, you know missions don’t always go to plan, even the best of the best still mess up. And isn’t she ranked the best in our unit? Surely-” Stella said before she was cut off sharply.

“Enough, Stella, you know she’s not worth it,” Mikayla bites back snarkily, making Stella shrink into herself.

Well, at least one person stood up for you.

“I don’t care if they’re Ares himself, why should they get to go on these high-profile missions with the 141 while we’re out here getting the scraps?”

Oh, so that’s what it was. Jealousy. A disgusting emotion, no doubt, but that wasn’t an excuse to be horrible to someone you called a friend.

They were your closest friends on the base, the ones you had movie nights with, and went bar hopping with knowing they would protect your drink with their life. You were close to the 141 too, but with them, it was a different vibe entirely. 141 were your friends and colleagues, but they also knew you as Simon’s partner as well. But the other friend group, well, seemed as though they weren’t your friends as much anymore.

How long had they been thinking like this? How many times had you hung out with them only for them to show their fakest selves?

Looking back now, it all began to make sense, all the backhanded compliments and snarky comments. You brushed them off as playful banter but it all added up now.

You didn’t even have the heart to confront them, because while they were being cruel, there were many moments too precious to you that you wanted to cling onto. At least for a little while longer. You knew it wasn’t healthy, Gods know that if you could let them go in a snap it would be so much better, but it wasn’t that easy.

Tears brimming your eyes, you slipped through the shadows and out of sight, headed to your room where you could take a shower and just forget it all.

You walked through the hallways silently, head tilted toward the floor to avoid anyone’s gaze, you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle anyone else’s judgement, not today at least.

Right as you arrived in front of your door an arm is held up in front of you, blocking your way. You blink hard to force away the tears before your head snaps up to the person. All you’re met with is the familiar pale skull mask, and the comfort it brings you makes a sob climb up to your throat that you choke back down.

“Mind if a join you for a bit?” Simon asks, voice gentle as his gaze trails over your face and the expression you can no longer find the ability to hide from him.

You only nod as you go to unlock your door, knowing that your words would fail you if you tried to speak.

He follows you closely from behind, clicking the door closed. At long last you could let your guard fall down, tears pouring from your eyes as you sob. Your legs no longer have the capability to hold you up as you lose yourself to the sorrow, but before you can hit the floor Simon is capturing you in his arms and pulling you to his chest.

He doesn’t say anything, knowing that nothing he could say right now was what you needed. No, all you needed at this moment was to be held, to know you were loved.

With careful hands he guides you to the bed, lying down first before pulling you down on top of him. One arm was wrapped around your waist as the other was gently holding your head, allowing you to cry into his sweater.

And that you did, for longer than you would admit. You loathed crying, it felt weak, it’s what was instilled in you since you were young. You knew this wasn’t the case, but habits were hard to unlearn. Crying was a way to express emotion, a healthy and normal way to, but in this type of work, you couldn’t afford to show emotions. That’s what got you, and others, killed.

But you were only human after all.

So you cried, and you cried, and Simon only held you close, even as his own heart broke as he listened to your broken sobs. If he could will your pain to go away, to become his own, he would do so in an instant. But that’s not the way the world works, so he would be here for you in every way that he could.

~

After a little while your sobs had died down to only the occasional sniffle, the tears run dry. You don’t say anything though as you try to collect yourself fully, but that was alright with Simon. He does however sweep you away to the washroom, carrying you like a bride that brings the tiniest quirk of a smile to your lips at the cheesiness of the action.

Placing you down on the countertop he wets a washcloth wordlessly, before trailing it up and down your face with soft hands, the dried-up tears washing away with it. The tenderness of the action makes your heart melt as you lean into his touch, soothing the pain if only a little bit.

“Wanna tell me what’s been going on, sweetheart?” He asks cautiously, prodding but patient. You only sigh softly before looking up at him, his mask long gone, taken off some time in between when you were crying and now.

You can’t help but reach out to stroke over his face, a smile gracing your lips that don’t quite meet your eyes, but it's an effort. His face was still rough with stubble after the long mission, not that you minded in the slightest. His eyes close as he relishes your touch.

“It’s just…” you pause, trying to find the right words to say. “Things have been, rough, lately, I guess. All the missions that have been going wrong, they have just been piling up I suppose, and they were weighing me down.”

His eyes open as he listens to you speak, the hazel colour meeting your own, leaving you feeling like you were bearing your soul for him to see.

“That one mission with Captain Oberon was the worst I think. I know saving that kid was the right thing to do, or at least that’s what I tell myself. I mean, if I can’t save one fucking kid in a job that’s supposed to ‘save the world’ then what good am I for?” You say, your tone irritated at yourself more than anyone.

“But I think that was the breaking point, where I started to question what I was really doing here. What’s ‘top of my unit’ if I can’t do the one thing I’m meant to do? That’s…when the whispers started. Saying how I was the reason missions kept going wrong, how I was the ‘bad luck charm’ and such,” Simon’s eyes harden as he takes in your words before he collects himself, knowing now was not the time to be angry.

“And I know that they’re not my fault, believe me, I do. Things go wrong all the time on the job, it’s what’s expected really. But then,” you trail off, a shuddering breath escaping your lips as you feel your eyes well up once more.

Simon’s thumb catches them before they fall, however, and you smile at him for a moment before continuing.

“But then I come back from our mission today, and I see my friends in the hallway talking. Here I am, thinking that I can find a moment of repose in this difficult world when all I hear is them saying these cruel things, about how I’m the fuck up, and how it’s not fair that I get to go on missions with the task force because I don’t deserve to. And I know that I’m not the reason why missions go wrong because sometimes that’s just how the world goes, but…” your head slumps over, forehead pressing into Simon’s shoulder.

“But when half the world tells you that you’re the reason why, it’s hard not to believe them too,” you whisper brokenly.

For a moment the washroom is silent, but all at once Simon’s arms are wound tightly around you in a hug so all-encompassing it only makes you cry once more.

“Never believe what they say, alright doll? You are one of the best soldiers I have ever seen on the field, your tactical skills and intelligence carry every team that you’re on, and I say that with every ounce of truth. I have never seen anyone more efficient and fucking badass than you, don’t forget that now, alright? I will continue to say this until you believe me entirely,” he says, his tone final, so full of confidence that you can’t help but believe him too.

“Okay,” you whisper, but that’s good enough for him.

“Do you need me to do anything?” he says, his tone hardened as thoughts of what he could do to everyone who has done you wrong fly through his head at 100 miles per minute.

“No,” you say panicked before recovering, pulling away to look at him. “no.” A bit more softly.

“I can deal with them myself. I know I don’t have to prove anything to them, but I can damn well show them that I’m meant to be where I am. Their jealous asses can suck it,” you say harshly but self-assured, and Simon can’t help the smirk that forms on his face. He was proud knowing that you could more than handle yourself.

...That did not, however, mean that he was not going to put them through absolute hell in training.

“There you are,” he says fondly, hand brushing your hair back. “You show them, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, the first true smile forming today.

“Let’s go make some pancakes,” he says, sweeping you up into his arms. On instinct your legs wrap around his waist.

“Right now?” you say with a laugh, and he can’t help but chuckle along.

“Right now.”

[maddsmallow]

madyy do you have any hankcon fics for me im on a kick (￣▽￣*)ゞ

@subway-dove i went thru my ao3 bookmarks, here's literally all of my favorites that i can remember by the plot summary LMAO

just a little scheme-lady drace

found (my) family (in the woods)-lady drace

aging with grace-trash_heap

stupid sexy priest-connorsjorts

ruining a perfectly good mattress-lady drace (NSFW)

calling in a favor-halcyandream (NSFW)

red all over-ghost_teeth (NSFW)

7 human habits you should try at least once-moonwalkingcrab (i dont remember the plot of this one but i have a feeling i really liked it) (NSFW)

promise-jerk3max (FUCKING SAD BUT GOOD)

dieu et mon droit-plutoandpersephone (NSFW) (also this one is a staple hankcon fic)

two different stars in the same sky-blackeyedblonde (NSFW)

the mermaid of fox creek-atropaazraelle

blue canary-beepgrandcherokeeper (NSFW)

though bright be the morning, brighter still be the stars-bibliomaniac

bend, twist, and shape-dbhprincess

the other way to someday-bigspoonnoya (NSFW) (this one is also another staple hankcon fic)

bound to you-mango_lioncat (NSFW) (this was a twitter fic and it's written in a way that makes that super obvious lmao, but the story is still really good imo despite that)

a tourist in a dream-octobig (NSFW) (this fic was technically never "finished" because the writer didnt really have an end in mind, but it leaves you very happy even so! no major cliffhanger or anything)

the gap in between-molias (NSFW) (another staple fic)

lilacs in bloom-molias (NSFW) (again, another staple fic—to be fair, basically all of this person's fics are fucking fantastic)

too much, never enough-jolli_bean (NSFW) (this is another hankcon fic writer whose fics are like ALL staple hankcon fics)

he's making a list; i'm checking him out-connorsjorts (NSFW) (ABSOLUTE STAPLE FIC)

blue skies, white slopes-highlyexplosivecontent (NSFW)

peppermint mocha-gildedfrost (NSFW)

the copper valley cowboy-highlyexplosivecontent (NSFW) (i made some art kinda sorta inspired by this for an art exchange!)

be brave, my heart, winter is coming-lady drace (not really nsfw but makes references if i remember correctly) (ALSO THIS IS MY FAV HANKCON FIC OF ALL TIME)

getting home-atropaazraelle (NSFW)

H & C, '39-blackeyedblonde (NSFW)

downloading to paris-sevdrag (the fact that this fic still isnt done is kind of a meme at this point. feel free to bully sev about it 👍 (only slightly joking LMAO))

eighteen wheels on an uphill climb-blackeyedblonde (NSFW) (this is like THE staple hankcon fic)

from the window-sumoattack (NSFW)

slow down, you're doing fine-jilliancares (NSFW)

i'm sure there's been plenty more that i have enjoyed, but if they're in my bookmarks, i didn't remember the story by the summary 😅 enjoy!!! if any of my mutuals have any to add, go ahead!!

[stevethehairington]

33 "Close your eyes and hold out your hands" for Steddie? 🖤

helloooo, thank you for sending this in!!!! 💕 i LOVE this one and omg i have been wanting to expand upon the idea i had below for SO long and this gave me the PERFECT chance to do so so THANK YOU ahh.

33. "close your eyes and hold out your hands"

Let it be known that the Munson’s are collectors. 

Wayne has his baseball caps, his mugs. Eddie’s mother collected vinyls. His father — prison sentences.

And Eddie? Eddie collects rocks. Sometimes buttons, occasionally shells, if he can find them. Feathers, once in a blue moon. But mostly rocks. Big rocks, small rocks, rocks that are round and perfectly smooth, rocks that have jagged edges and funky protrusions. Rocks made of coarse granite and rocks made of translucent quartz, and once, notably, a rock made of sleek, inky obsidian. He collects gray rocks and brown rocks, green rocks and red rocks. His favorites are the purple ones that crack open to crystals.

So Eddie collects rocks. But he never keeps them for himself.

You see, every rock he finds — every bottle cap, every loose coin, every lost charm — he gives to Steve.

And Steve? Steve holds onto every single one of them. He keeps a shoebox tucked away safe and sound beneath the bed, and inside the shoebox is his trove of cherished treasures. All of the things that Eddie has gifted him with over the years. Every so often, he’ll take the box out, sit on the floor, and sort through the trinkets. He’ll smile at the sea glass and marvel at the marbles, and count all of the rocks, laughing as the number climbs and climbs. (His favorite is the purple one too.)

The trails are a pretty good place to find rocks — the best, actually. This is something that Eddie has learned personally.

In his bid to find hobbies outside of carting overgrown children to the arcade and the local diner and holing up in stale basements to watch movie after movie, Steve takes up hiking of all things. There’s something about the combination of a good workout, fresh air, and the chance to become one with nature or some bullshit like that that ends up being too damn irresistible to him. He takes to it like a fish to water.

Eddie, to the surprise of them both, likes to tag along on Steve’s hikes. Or — likes to isn’t quite right: Edide tags along. Outdoorsy activities have never been his favorite, and exercise isn’t exactly his idea of a fun time, but Steve likes both of those things, and Eddie loves Steve. He wants to be able to do things with his boyfriend, things that Steve likes. He wants to show his support for Steve’s interests the same way that Steve shows support for his.

So Eddie goes on hikes. 

Has been going on hikes for the past three years now, believe it or not.

The hikes are hell, mostly. Uphill battles that leave his lungs burning and his calves straining and his feet aching. By the end, his bangs are always stuck unflatteringly to his forehead, and his shirt is soaked through. 

Even after all this time, they still don’t get easier. 

(That probably has something to do with Eddie’s healthy appetite for cigarettes and chalices of mountain dew and those god damned Scotcheroos of Claudia Henderson’s that he can never just eat one of. But whatever. Some things are too good to give up.) 

The twinging muscles and the fucked up hair and the general funk seeping out of his skin are always made worth it when they finally reach the peak and Steve positively glows. The way his smile stretches across his face, big and bright; the way he angles his face towards the sun and breathes in the clean air; the way he turns to Eddie and grabs his hand and says, “Isn’t this great?” in the most genuine, wondrous manner.

“The greatest,” Eddie always agrees, and he means it every time.

They are also made worth it by all of the rocks that Eddie finds along the way. Because old habits die hard. (Or not at all, in this case.)

It is these two things — the hiking and the rock collecting — that come together as the perfect catalysts to set in motion the plan he’s been hanging onto for months now.

“Isn’t the view beautiful?” Steve asks, looking out past the edge of the cliff they’d just made it to the top of. In the distance, the sun is just beginning to peak out from behind the trees, casting a golden glow across the lake below.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Eddie replies, nearly tripping Steve up as he sidesteps into his space to lean in close and pop a kiss to his cheekbone.

Steve ducks his head and bats Eddie’s shoulder with his free hand, laughing softly. His other hand is clasped in Eddie’s, hanging between them and swinging lightly with each step. “Cheeseball,” he says, and Eddie just laughs.

They continue to follow the path, enjoying the view of the lake and the dewy morning air and the companionship of one another.

As always, it doesn’t take long before something hidden away in the greenery catches Eddie’s attention. He perks up, dropping Steve’s hand before he darts ahead towards a little patch of dandelions.

Steve shakes his head fondly as Eddie crouches down and starts to pick something out of the weeds. He wonders idly what it is, exactly, that snagged Eddie’s eye this time. 

There are a few dandelions between his fingers when he rises back to his feet and starts towards Steve again, but there’s something else too — something clutched safely in the cup of his hand, concealed by his fingers.

He comes to a stop in front of Steve, bouncing on his heels as an enthusiastic smile spreads across his lips. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” he instructs with a tilt of his head.

Steve obliges, always willing to go along with the silly little rigamarole Eddie puts them through each time he has a new trinket for Steve. His eyes flutter shut and he extends his hand.

“I gotcha another rock, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, pacing something gently into the center of Steve’s hand before folding his fingers securely around it.

Eddie’s gift settles into his palm and it feels lighter than any of the other rocks Eddie’s given him. Steve contemplates what kind of rock it might be, what it’s going to look like, if there’s any defining feature that drew Eddie to it in the first place.

“You can look now,” Eddie says.

Steve opens his eyes, and looks down at his hand. Slowly, he unfurls his fist and —

Oh.

It’s not a rock that sits against his palm. Not the kind you find on the ground anyways.

It’s a ring. The rock in question — a diamond, small and tasteful right in the center of a thin silver band.

Steve promptly loses his breath.

When he looks up with shining eyes, Eddie is kneeling in front of him. He’s still red in the cheeks from their hike, kind of sweaty too, with his hair sticking up from where it’s tucked behind his bandana. They’ve had plenty of time to cool down, but he looks breathless, as he gazes up at Steve with big, hopeful eyes and a crooked little smile.

He’s beautiful.

“So what do you say, Stevie?” Eddie asks, holding his little bouquet of dandelions. “Wanna add that one to your collection too?”

The laugh that bubbles up and out of Steve is giddy and electrified and tinged with wetness as the happy tears start to spill over his lashline. He closes his fingers back around the ring and he stumbles forward to fist his other hand into the front of Eddie’s t-shirt and haul him to his feet so he can tug him into a kiss.

“Yes,” he mumbles against Eddie’s lips, “yes, yes, yes.”

Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s waist and he laughs too, until they’re smiling into one another’s mouths more than kissing.

Steve grabs Eddie’s wrist and flattens his hand, depositing the ring into his open palm. He sticks his own hand out then, the left one, and wiggles his ring finger eagerly. “Put it on me!” He requests.

Eddie laughs, but does just that. He takes Steve’s hand gently into his own and slides the ring down the length of his finger until it fits snugly at the base, right there against his knuckle. It glitters in the sunlight, and Eddie draws Steve’s hand up to his lips so he can press a sweet kiss just above it.

“Thank god you said yes,” Eddie says, twining his fingers with Steve’s and pulling him back in for another kiss in between. “If you made me climb a whole ass mountain and then said no…” he trails off, shaking his head.

Steve snorts. “You love it,” he says. “You love me.”

Eddie softens. “I do,” he says. “And I get to do it forever now.”

“Forever sounds pretty damn nice,” Steve tells him.

“It sure does.” 100 ways to say i love you prompts

[goldenlaurelleaveswrites]

[Redacted]

AO3

How do you talk about the unspeakable? How do you share a secret you can’t tell? 

____________________________________________________

This was a complete accident. I was chatting with @quickspinner and @rierse and I plunnied myself and I somehow ended up with... this.

I'm still not entirely sure what this is 😅

_____________________________________________________

She dragged her feet along the cobblestones as she made her way to the bridge, doing her best to prolong what little time was left and delay the inevitable. The inevitable that was like lead in her heart.

She had been so stupid. To think that…

Being Ladybug had been hard enough. She had had so little time for her family. Her friends. Herself. 

And that had been before… 

She should have known better. She should have known that secrets and love didn’t mix.

That Ladybug had to come first. And the box now too…

That all she would ever do was hurt people. 

And she had hurt the person in Paris who deserved it the least. 

And it had been entirely her fault.  

Despite her her heavy heart weighing on her and her best efforts, all too soon, she was at the bridge she knew Luka would be waiting for her on. 

Her footsteps were too loud in the quiet of the night. The city was mercifully if not painfully quiet; the streets, usually bustling with nightlife were all but deserted. The river too, usually choke full of tourists taking romantic strolls along its banks, or taking in the city lights from boats, was serene and silent.  It was like the city itself was holding its breath. Like it knew what she was about to do. 

What she had to do. 

Slowly, she made her way towards its centre, where a lone figure stood. 

He was staring down into the river below, his shoulders hunched and head hanging heavily as he leaned against the railing. She knew she wore her heart on her sleeve, and in his own way, Luka was just as much an open book. She could tell by the way he was drumming his fingers on the railing that his mind was going a mile a minute, and that he was trying to slow it. Just like she could tell he was frustrated with himself by the way he was digging the toe of his shoe into the ground. 

That he was hurting. 

She had to stop herself from going right up to him, to stand beside him the way she had grown so used to doing. So fond of doing. It wasn’t fair to him. 

None of this was. 

She opened her mouth, and floundered with words that were suddenly lost to her. 

“Marinette,” he said quietly, still looking down into the water. 

“Luka…” she managed to say. A lump was forming in her throat that made even just his name difficult to say. “I…” 

Luka pushed off from the railing, turning to look at her as her voice trailed off pitifully. His face was haunted by pain. Pain she had caused. But because he was Luka, there was patience there too. And that deep sense of understanding. 

The lump in her throat was suddenly impossibly bigger, turning her already uphill battle of trying to find words she didn’t want to say into a treacherously steep climb. And it didn’t help that Luka was watching her with so much patience and care. The way he always did when she tripped over herself.

She had never wished more than right now, that she had never been chosen. 

Uselessly, she opened her mouth. No sound came out. She wetted her lips and took a shaky breath. 

“Marinette-” he started to say. Just the way he said it, so gently, yet so heartbroken.  

“I don’t want to lie to you, Luka,” she almost whispered. “I don’t think I can-” the hurt was still so raw in his eyes. She dropped her gaze. Maybe it was cowardice, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. She wouldn’t be able to say the words she had to say if she did. “I mean-” her voice cracked. Hot tears were pricking at her eyes. “Maybe we should…”    

“I’m sorry, Marinette.” Her eyes snapped back to Luka. Unshed tears blurred her vision, but she could see the anguish on his face, as clear as day. “I- I saw that you were upset.” It was so horribly odd, seeing Luka so distraught. “But I wanted to know. Secrets and lies,” he sighed, his eyes refusing to meet hers, “they’re hard for me.” 

“Luka… Luka no…”

“And I meant it, whatever it is, I will support you. If you ever tell me. But I don’t want you to- not if you don’t want-”

“Can’t,” she corrected.

He paused, his brows furrowing together. His fingers plucked at invisible strings, the way they always did when he was trying to puzzle something out, whether it was a song or a math equation. And then his fidgeting froze, and he looked up at her. “Can’t?” She nodded dejectedly. He frowned, but it was the frown he got when he was concentrating on something. And then, understanding flashed in his eyes. And then he nodded solemnly. “If you can’t tell me… maybe…” despite the heaviness in his eyes and in the space between them, a familiar glimmer of what she had come to recognize as Couffaine Chaos shimmered in his eyes, “Maybe you can tell me, without actually telling me.” 

“What? Luka, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Just hear me out,” he said with what sounded like an attempt at a chuckle. “You know how whenever legal or government records are released to the public, they redact private or sensitive information?” 

“Yeah…” she said slowly.

“You could try that?’ he offered. 

“You want me to write a report on-”

“No. I thought…” he ducked his head, dropping his gaze to stare down at his shoes. “Well, I thought since you’re here now…” he finished, somehow peeking up at her through his hair despite being so much taller. 

“Oh. I…” 

“But only if you’re comfortable with it!” His head had shot up, and he had taken a step towards her, his hand reaching out in a familiar gesture of comfort. 

Only… 

His hand had frozen. Just above her shoulder. His eyes wide with hesitation and his face wracked with guilt. 

And then he had taken an uncertain step back. 

And her heart had broke. 

“How do I… how do I do it? Do I actually say it or do I just skip that parts I can’t tell you or…?” 

A shred of a genuine smile slipped through the heaviness on his face, dissipating the guilt that had been there. The guilt he shouldn’t have shouldered. It had been her fault Shadowmoth had gotten to him… 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s a right way to do it. But you’re sure?” She nodded. “Ok. Take as much time as you need,” he said with a tiny, encouraging smile still tinged with the heaviness that had been there since she found him on the bridge.  

“Ok…” she said slowly, still not particularly convinced. “I-” she stopped to take in a shaky breath. Luka nodded again in that patient way of his. Her breath rattled her chest as she let it go. “The reason I kept leaving your date was because redacted. Not because I didn’t want to be there.” The words came out- tumbled out faster than she had anticipated. 

“How did that feel?” He asked quietly, and suddenly his hand was on her shoulder, its familiar weight comforting even with how light- how hesitant his touch was. “Better?” She looked up into piercing blue eyes brimming over with concern; she hadn’t even realized she had flinched as she had spoken, well, almost spoken the words she had kept secret for so long. 

She frowned. She- she was still reeling from how Luka had been akumatized. How it had been her fault. How this whole mess had been… 

But she was also… 

She hadn’t told him. It was still a secret. He was still safe. 

She shouldn’t have, but.. 

Swallowing the thick lump in her throat, she slowly nodded. “I- I do.” 

His concern melted into a relieved smile. 

“But I still didn’t- I still can’t…” 

He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “But you did.” 

“But I… you still don’t know…” 

His eyes softened. There was a weariness in his eyes. A tiredness. But understanding as well. 

“I don’t know where you disappear to. But I do know that it’s not a matter of won’t, it’s a matter of can’t. You said it yourself.” She gave a small nod of agreement. “And I also know that you just told me. Or at least,” he amended with a tiny chuckle, “told me what you could. And maybe it’s not the truth I wanted to hear. What I wanted you to share. But I can’t- I don’t want to force you to share your secrets…” his gazed flickered down, and his shoulders slumped. 

“Luka… that wasn’t your fault. Shadowmoth… he took advantage of you. I know you would never do that. He twisted your pain. After I… after I hurt you…”

“Marinette…” 

“I am so, so sorry, Luka. I never wanted to hurt you. But I did. So many times. I know I did,” she said when he opened his mouth, no doubt to protest. “I know I did,” she said again, quietly. “I hated leaving you. I hated lying. I couldn’t bear it- I can’t bear it, hurting you.” 

Suddenly, she was enveloped in familiar arms. Clutching her tight to a chest, their comforting weight and pressure offering her the promise of safety and security they always did. And the dam finally broke. 

Hot tears streamed down her face as she buried her hands in Luka’s hoodie. As she curled into him. “And I wanted to tell you. For a long time. But I-” she clung tighter to him, burying her hands in the soft, threadbare fabric of his favourite hoodie as she took in another shuddering breath. “I’m scared.” 

Luka’s arms tightened around her protectively the second the words left her lips, and she let herself melt into him even more. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath in, trying to ground herself in the familiar scent of clean laundry and wood and something faintly aquatic- his body wash maybe. She had never asked. One of his hands had found its way to the nape of her neck, and was cradling her head as he ran soothing fingers through her hair. 

“If you- if anyone found out… if I redacted… I would lose my redacted. All of them. The ones of my family. My friends. You.”

He held her as he let her cry, murmuring sounds of comfort and encouragement, and humming soothing tunes under his breath. He let her cry until she didn’t have any more tears to cry. 

At some points, she had felt tears that weren’t hers trickle down the back of her neck as he held her. 

“Are you…” he finally asked, breaking the quiet, “are you safe? I don’t want to- you don’t have tell me anything- But you said you were scared. I just want- need to know if you’re safe.” 

Sniffling, she nodded. “I- I’m safe. You don’t- don’t have to worry about me.” 

She was surprised by the quiet rumble of laughter in his chest. 

“I will always worry about you, Marinette. I care about you,” he murmured into the crown of her head.  

She pulled away from him, despite his protests. But just enough so that she could look up at his face.His eyes were red and slightly puffy. And there were tear tracks cutting down across his face. Her own eyes were itching, and she knew her face was just as tearstained, if not more. 

“And I’ll always worry about you. I love you.” 

His eyes widened ever so slightly. And then they softened before drifting down to her lips. Her own gaze shifted to his. With her hands still clutching fistfuls of his hoodie, she braced herself against him as she pushed up onto her tip toes as he leaned down to meet her halfway. At the last second, her eyes slipped shut, and her lips found his. 

Despite the taste of his tears on his lips, it was sweeter than any of the first kisses she had ever imagined. 

When they finally broke apart, they didn’t go far. He held her, and she was only too happy to stay there in his arms. 

It was impossible to say how much time passed. Some of it, they spent in silence, content to just hold onto each other. Sometimes the time slipped by with murmured words of comfort and whispered reassurances. And some, with quiet talk of how they were going to navigate this place between truth and lies. 

She sighed with contentment as she shifted in his arms to rest her cheek against his chest. And then she blinked. 

That couldn’t be… 

No… 

She blinked. Tried to clear her vision. 

But it was the same, loud, exaggerated purple hair. The same loud ensemble. There was no mistaking or denying it.  

“Luka,” she whispered. 

“Hmm?” 

“Look.” 

She felt Luka shift. She felt him turn enough to follow her gaze. She felt the sharp inhale of his breath.  

It was hard to tell if Jagged could see them both staring at him; he was awkwardly hovering on the pavement, halfway between the bridge and the Liberty. He was standing close enough to one of the lights that she could see the way he shifted his weight, fidgeting as his eyes darted from the two of them and the Liberty. Like he wasn’t sure if he should retreat or wait where he was. 

It was so odd… if was hard to reconcile the awkward, uncomfortable and uncertain looking Jagged with the rambunctious rockstar she knew. 

“He’s my father,” Luka said quietly. 

“Do you… do you want to talk to him?” she asked quietly. 

Luka hummed, and the vibrations in his chest tickled against her cheek. “I do,” he said quietly. “But not yet. I just… I want to stay here. With you.” His arms tightened around her with his words, holding her so close she swore she could hear his heartbeat. “Just a little bit longer.” 

She nodded. And then she tightened her arms around him as well, pulling him closer. 

So that she was holding him, too. 

[jennyislander]

The difference a good physical therapist can make

So I have a thing. What is it? No idea. It could be two things. Diagnosing it or them requires me to not be managing the health crises of other family members at a time when I can also afford testing, so.

Anyway, I used to walk four miles pushing a stroller uphill both ways and then make dinner and do laundry. (I was fat, BTW.) I went on birdwatching hikes and camped. But starting mumbleteen years ago, slowly increasing chronic pain and joint softness and muscle spasms and my heart occasionally going like a jackrabbit in spite of obstinately normal blood pressure stole it all away. Now I have to ration my steps in order to get the absolute basics done.

In the midst of this slow fall, I had to fire my doctor. I was describing my symptoms and she interrupted me and told me to join a diet club. I had belonged to that specific club for years. Being in the club had reduced my weight, but had not prevented my pain from increasing or my mobility from decreasing. She did not want to hear it. Fat was my problem. Fat, fat, fat! So I fired her and never got a referral to anybody who might have helped. I just lived with it.

But I at last have confidence that this is going to change.

I had an acute attack of shoulder pain and immobility that got me a visit to a different doctor and a referral to a PT that I could afford. And this PT listened to me say "I am tentatively sure that I have fibro and/or some variety of bendy people disease, but I can't get a diagnosis RN" and instead of clucking at me about my ass size, she accepted that I had in fact been fat back when I spent all day outdoors and in motion, and showed me--this is the biggie--how to start again.

I had tried to "get more steps in" and "be more active" and "do cardio" and all I got was white-out pain, increased stiffness, and sometimes my legs collapsing, which is a thing they like to do. I had been following plans that assume a certain baseline that used to be my normal but is now higher than I can reach. The PT helped me map out my new baseline and then laid out a plan for getting above it.

The path is different for everybody. Some examples from my path:

To build strength, I first lay on my back and pressed a broomstick straight up. Then I did the same exercise sitting, then standing. Then I switched to 3-pound free weights. When those are easy, I'll add more reps. When those are easy, I'll go to 5-pounders. And so on. And if, at any point, stuff hurts? I can go back a step. I have an alternative to giving up.

In the same way, slopes and steps are unspeakably painful for me to walk on anymore but I miss walking. My PT helped me figure out how to just add a tiny bit more walking to my day. I park in a neighborhood that is flat, has a sidewalk, and has a lot of houses on small lots. I walked to the first driveway and back until it was easy. Then the second. I am working on getting to the third driveway. 15 more driveways after that. Take it slowly, she said. Don't push beyond your comfort zone, that's how you hurt yourself more. Don't focus on numbers of steps or calories burned or anything abstract. There's the driveway. Can you get there and back today? No? Can you do any driveways today? No? Then go back to what you could already do before you started seeing me. Just walk around the car. Practice your good posture and let yourself feel how good it feels to move within your comfort zone.

I am never going to climb mountains again; I know that. But for the first time in mumbleteen years, I have a reasonable hope that someday--I am aiming for the end of next summer--I will be able to just go for a walk. Maybe even uphill.

A PT who understands that your goal is not to recapture your youth or get skinny or something else externally validated is worth their weight in gold. She is helping me reach my true goal, being able to move my arms and legs in ways that feel good to me, regardless of what anybody else thinks of my looks. I expect my circulation will continue to improve and so will my strength and endurance. Who knows? My free weight set goes up to 35 pounds. If I keep on adding a little at a time...

If you are looking for a PT, I hope you find somebody who looks at you where you are and helps you start from there. I hope you find somebody who cares more about your joints and muscles than about your butt or belly fat.

[omegalomania]

i keep trying and failing to articulate what heartbreak feels so good feels like. but i guess the best way the say it is that the lyricism feels, to me, like a discussion of catharsis through the act of creation. and it sounds SO happy but it genuinely feels a bit sad to me? it might just be me. i swear to god i know i was just like "i dont really do lyrical analysis so much except in little snippets" but this song has me so intrigued and i have no idea if anyone else got those kinds of vibes from this.

but basically. right from the start, we have hope mixed with cynicism. the first line of the first verse is a compelling, optimistic hook: it's about how the future is up for grabs, and you have the power to shape it. and the second line adds in, no matter what they sell you, followed by that reference to the 2022 jordan peele film, "nope." i have not seen this film (yet) so i could not expand on the themes of it, but i did rb a really good analysis of that particular line there and i thought that was super compelling, especially given my read on the rest of the song. one thing that the analysis there says that REALLY got my brain going was how the movie nope comments on how the "bad miracle" is the spectacle of the complacency in watching something self-destruct. and op phrased it better than i did, but it's VERY applicable to the way fall out boy's whole legacy was shaped - through the commodification of the band, and of course primarily of pete, and the deification/demonization of his pain, his intimate details, the invasions of his privacy.

given what the rest of the song says, i thought that was super super applicable, especially paired with the prefix of no matter what they sell you. commodification is already a theme here.

nobody said the road was endless, followed by could we please pretend this won't end?

the road will end. you will eventually overcome that hardship. but crucially, the song doesn't want to overcome hardship. it wants the hardship to never end. it wants it to always be there.

and of course the line between those two - no one said the climb was friendless - because they've always been a band of brothers. they've always climbed this road together. again, that little kernel of hope sandwiched between those subtly saddening implications. nobody said the road was endless - and the road is not a good thing, as the prechorus will indicate to us. the fact that they're not alone is the only consolation they have in this.

It was an uphill battle but they didn’t know we were gonna use the roads as a ramp to take off

naturally, there's commentary on determination and persistence in the face of overwhelming adversity. but i love the way it's not just "we push through despite all that" it's "we succeed BECAUSE of that" - the roads are ramps! you take your pain and turn it into something that will launch you into the fucking stratosphere! but rather critically, you don't get anywhere without the uphill climb. a flat road is just a road. it's only with a steep incline that you can actually use your momentum to head skyward.

and that's the point, isn't it? heartbreak feels so good - not because it actually, legitimately feels good, but because it's only through heartbreak that you can make something profitable. heartbreak feels good because if you are broken, if you are not fixable, you can guarantee that you will remain a fixture in the industry. your pain is compelling. the second verse really cements that for me.

we said we'd never grow up It’s open season on blue moods

because obviously everyone writes about heartbreak. again, blue moods are big themes in music. if you're heartbroken, then as far as the world is concerned you're producing good art. likewise with the idea of "never growing up," since well especially with fob and the way they've been perceived, there's a general preconception that they're at their "best" when they've been kind of frozen in a state where they don't get to grow, change, or learn. if you're at your most prolific creatively at your saddest, then maybe the fans, the world, the industry likes you better like that. never growing up. never getting better.

taking a look back at the chorus, there's the whole interplay of crying and dancing, and that is what really makes my brain go brrrrr

We could cry a little Cry a lot But don’t stop dancing Don’t dare stop

the "don't stop dancing" part reminds me a bit of the song of the same name from bojack horseman. and if you're unfamiliar with bojack horseman, the cliff notes summary is that it's about a washed-up actor who was on a famous 90s sitcom and all the ways he is fucked up and hurts himself and hurts the people around him and how he struggles through it. it is RIFE with commentary on celebrity culture and it's an excellent show but also a genuinely hard watch. it is a show that i know that pete is at the very least familiar with, and thematically i can see why it would interest him.

anyway, the song "don't stop dancing" is sung twice in the show. the first time is while bojack is having a tremendous mental breakdown and he hallucinates/dreams his co-star singing to him so she can mock his self-pity and comment on the inherent absurdity of celebrity culture - the line that stands out for me here is why not sell your sadness as a brand? the second time, it is sung by a mental construct of his former co-star (who died an unnecessary, tragic death for which bojack was directly responsible) while bojack is drowning in a pool. the reprise is about the inevitability of death and what your legacy leaves behind - because bojack is dying in that moment, and the character singing the song here is dead and her death has cast a permanent shadow over the entire remainder of the show.

all this is to say that the "don't stop dancing, don't dare stop" bit feels genuinely kind of...like it sounds joyous, it's delivered as such, but it's also got that darker undercurrent to it? the thing is that the heartbreak is inevitable - the whole song is about how heartbreak is inevitable and it is gonna happen anyway. and you can cry all you fucking want about it, but you are not allowed to stop dancing. you are not allowed to stop turning your pain into art. because your pain is the most profitable thing about you.

We’ll cry later or cry now You know it’s heartbreak

cry later, cry now. cry a little, cry a lot. it doesn't matter when or how much you fucking cry about it as long as you keep dancing - keep creating. keep making something, making your fucking pain and misery and heartbreak worth it. because that is what the people love. that is what the people want to see. that is what sells records.

heartbreak feels so good precisely because it means you can make something out of it.

but then, that last bit of the chorus...oh. oh, my heart.

We could dance our tears away Emancipate ourselves

that last line. emancipate ourselves. i am reasonably confident that this is a direct reference to "redemption song" by bob marley. pete is familiar with marley's body of work and the phrasing is too specific, too deliberate. that line in "redemption song," emancipate ourselves from mental slavery, is in and of itself a reference to a speech made by marcus gavey, a jamaican activist. and there is legitimately so much in that alone. the fact that both the song and the speech are about slavery. the fact that marley wrote this song in '79 while he was already dying of cancer, and confronting his own mortality through his art. i wish i could articulate all that there is in that but i don't think i'm the right person to. but the fact that the chorus ends on that note, punctuating it with one last refrain of we'll cry later or cry now / but baby, heartbreak feels so good, that is what makes the song for me. that's what gives it that little zing. that's what elevates it to something much more hopeful. because again, the song sounds happy but says some pretty saddening/harrowing stuff. but the parting note is on that. emancipate ourselves.

"We are going to emancipate ourselves from mental slavery because whilst others might free the body, none but ourselves can free the mind."

and to have that happen in conjunction with "we could dance our tears away" is like.......you can survive free of whatever pain might plague your legacy - in more ways than one. we could dance our tears away - because while we are required to never stop dancing, never stop creating, it still helps, doesn't it, to make something beautiful from all that has hurt you? and there will always be people who want package that, sell it, make it into something that can be bought and advertised. but you can make yourself free of that, if you have the inclination. and i think the upbeat nature of the song is what supports that. it sounds jubilant but it also sounds...free. for all the ways that you might be weighed down by the onlookers, the people who want to profit off your pain, the people who prefer you broken, your ability to find catharsis and freedom through your craft is yours, and yours alone. and despite everything else, you can still find a release in that.

thats what gets me about this one. i cant stop rotating this song in my head and thats all

[thatnerdinthecorner]

Reason I HAte Jamie No. 46849

'If I hadn't believed in you I wouldn't have loved you at all' from If I Didn't Believe In You

so much of this show is Cathy thinking about her insecurities. Jamie is so successful and she isn't, and throughout the show we get her talent confused with her insecurity: in Climbing Uphill we see her unsuccessful audition and how terribly it goes, and we as an audience are supposed to think she's a bad actress/singer, but she spends the summer touring, and we know that this is something that she does regularly:

'Is it just that you're disappointed To be touring again for the summer?'

Touring isn't a bad job for an actor. It's not Broadway, it's not her dream, but it's a good job and it takes work and talent. Jason Robert Brown got sued by his ex, and consequently had to change parts of the show because it was too close to the reality of their marriage. In other words, the writer is Jamie, the entire show is told by Jamie, and even the songs from Cathy's perspective are written and told by Jamie. Given everything else in the show, I'm not particularly inclined to trust Jamie's account if he's the one telling us that she's bad at her job.

In If I Didn't Believe In You Cathy doesn't want to go to one of Jamie's work parties. She's feeling frustrated about her own career and doesn't feel like spending the evening faking it to appease Jamie's colleagues. So Jamie digs into that. The entire song is very manipulative, but with these lines it fits into a continued theme throughout the show of saying that because Cathy hasn't managed to reach the pinnacle of an incredibly competitive field that she is automatically bad at her job and completely unskilled. Which we know isn't true, because otherwise she wouldn't be touring.

When Jamie says:

'If I hadn't believed in you I wouldn't have loved you at all'

what he's really saying is if I didn't think you would be successful, I wouldn't love you. But because her success is constantly conflated with her talent, when Jamie is talking about her success, he's also talking about her talent, so he's also saying that his love for her is dependent on her being talented, which he is measuring by her success.

Also, for the rest of the song Jamie says 'If I didn't believe in you' not 'hadn't'. I'm probably simplifying this a lot, but in this context, 'Didn't' works in the past and the conditional present tense. 'Hadn't' works in the past and conditional past tense. When Jamie switches to 'hadn't' at the end, he's saying that his belief in her is in the past tense. When Jamie says 'I wouldn't have loved you' that's in past tense too. His belief in her, and his love for her, which are intrinsically tied, are both in the past tense, because she has failed, because she is untalented. The song ends with him confirming all of her worst insecurities and saying he no longer loves her, and the next and final line is:

'Now why don't you put on your dress and we'll go, okay? Cathy? Can we do that, please? Please?'

In other words, the last few lines of this song is Jamie saying telling his wife yes, you're right, you don't have a good job, and you'll never get a better one, you'll never be successful, because you're not talented, and I don't love you anymore, because I only loved you because I thought that you could be successful one day, so why don't you just shut up, stop whining and do as I say, and come to my party to celebrate me and my work and my success.

I hate this man more that I can say.

[perspectivestarters]

Perspective's Sentence Starters; So Much (For) Stardust by Fall Out Boy (Part I)

LOVE FROM THE OTHER SIDE

"It kills me."

"You know I'm dying out here."

"What would you trade the pain for?"

"I'm not sure."

"We were a painting you could never frame."

"You were the sunshine of my lifetime."

"This city always hangs a little bit lonely on me."

"I'd never go, I just want to be invited."

"Get the feeling."

"Don't fight it."

"Sending my love from the other side of the apocalypse."

"I just about snapped."

"Don't look back."

"Every lover's got a little dagger in their hand."

"I'm falling in and out of love."

"Nowhere left for us to go but Heaven."

"Summer falling through our fingers again."

"We're taught we gotta get ahead."

"No matter what it takes."

"The kind of pain you feel to get good in the end."

"Give up what you love before it does you in."

HEARTBREAK FEELS SO GOOD

No matter what they tell you, the future's up for grabs.

"Is there a word for bad miracle?"

"Nobody said the road was endless."

"Nobody said the climb was friendless."

"Could we please pretend this won't end?"

"It was an uphill battle."

"They didn't know."

"We could cry a little."

"Don't stop dancing."

"We'll cry later or cry now."

"You know it's heartbreak."

"We could dance our tears away."

"Heartbreak feels so good."

"We said we'd never grow up."

HOLD ME LIKE A GRUDGE

"I know you mean well."

"Who am I dialing tonight?"

"That's a bummer."

"I love my life."

"I guess I'm getting older."

"I'm less pissed when I can't get onto the guest list."

"You put the "fun" into dysfunction."

"Hold me like a grudge."

"The world is always spinning, and I can't keep up."

"Can't do it on my own."

"Part-time soulmate, full-time problem."

"I guess, somehow, we made it back."

"I am a diamond on the inside, just add the pressure."

"I thought I knew better."

"I thought it would get better."

"I figured somehow by now, I would have got it together."

"We'll do more than just get by together."

FAKE OUT

"I make no plans and none can be broken."

"Remember us just like this forever."

"This can't last."

"Do you laugh about me whenever I leave?"

"Do I just need more therapy?"

"Love is in the air."

"I just gotta figure out a window to break out."

"It was all a fake-out."

"My mood board is just pictures of you."

"I didn't take the love when I had the chance."

"I swear I'm not sad anymore."

"We did it for futures that never came, and for pasts that we're never gonna change."

HEAVEN, IOWA

"Kiss my cheek, baby, please."

"Would you read my eulogy?"

"I will never ask you for anything."

"Dream sweet of me."

"Tell me when the party ends, will you still love who I am?"

"Scar crossed lovers, forever."

"I'm checking myself out forever."

"I'm saving this all for later."

"Here we are untouched forever."

"They don't know how much they’ll miss."

"Save your breath."

"Half your life you've been hooked on death."

"Be careful what you bottle up."

"I closed my eyes inside of your darkness and found your glow."

SO GOOD RIGHT NOW

"I got this doom and gloom."

"I feel alright."

"I got love in my heart."

"Let's sneak in from the cheap seats."

"We'll drive until the engine just gives up."

"Feelin' so good right now."

"We'll crash and burn somehow."

"I know I've made mistakes."

"At least they were mine to make."

"All of our wildest dreams, they just end up with you and me."

"I ripped myself apart."

"I'll be whatever you need me to be."

"I cut myself down to whatever you need me to be."

THE PINK SEASHELL

"Parents got divorced when I was, uh, (age) years old."

"I saw my father about three times a year after that."

"The answers are all inside of this."

"There's no point to any of this."

"It's all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes."

"I take pleasure in the detail."

[ilexdiapason]

Repostober Day 16 - make up your mind (before the salt burns your eyes)

This is what they don’t tell you: sometimes, when the ship is going down, you are not its captain. Sometimes you are the iceberg. Sometimes you are the cargo. Sometimes you are the piano. And the piano is the most important thing in the room when the job that must be done is entertaining the passengers, but when the job is staying afloat, it becomes a different story before you can do anything about it. Grand pianos are useless in a shipwreck for anything but sinking faster. And people are growing tired of Sam’s tune. Or: In which Sam is the captain of the sinking ship that is his life, and there's one very obvious dead weight on deck, but he can't quite bring himself to throw it overboard. Not yet, at least.

I wrote this fic for the Clout Farm Dream Fic Exchange, where the intent was to write according to the prompt that was your giftee's ideal fic to read. Not a lot of the works ended up being finished - and I am part of that problem, because I still never ended up writing what I was supposed to pinch hit for Eloise. But I did write the piece that Cherry wanted - the awesamponk reconciliation and happy ending - and this is what that is! It was definitely an uphill climb getting to the point where I felt comfortable writing in Ponk's voice, as she's not somebody I watch super often, and I didn't have the experience from seeing him second-hand on Tommy streams like I did with Sam, but I think this is still a really nice and hopeful piece about leaving all your wrongs behind and getting to go somewhere new.

[puckrph]

FALL OUT BOY'S "SO MUCH (FOR) STARDUST" STARTERS

taken from the 2023 album. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

LOVE FROM THE OTHER SIDE

' i'm dying out here. ' ' what would you trade the pain for? ' ' we were a hammer to the statue of david. ' ' we were a painting you could never frame. ' ' you were the sunshine of my lifetime. ' ' this city always hangs a little bit lonely on me, loose like a kid playing pretend in his father's suit. ' ' i'd never go, i just want to be invited. ' ' you've got to give up. ' ' don't fight it. ' ' i'm sending my love from the other side of the apocalypse. ' ' i just about snapped. ' ' don't look back. ' ' every lover's got a little dagger in their hand. ' ' i'm falling in and out of love. ' ' i'm getting that tilted feeling. ' ' nowhere left for us to go but heaven. ' ' summer's falling through our fingers again. ' ' we're taught we've gotta get ahead no matter what it takes, but there's no way off the hamster wheel on this rat race. ' ' i saw you in a bright clear field, hurricane heat in my head. ' ' it's the kind of pain you feel to get good in the end. ' ' give up what you love before it does you in. '

HEARTBREAK FEELS SO GOOD

' no matter what they tell you, the future's up for grabs. ' ' is there a word for a bad miracle? ' ' nobody said the road was endless. ' ' nobody said the climb was friendless. ' ' could we please pretend this won't end? ' ' it was an uphill battle, but they didn't know we were gonna use the roads as a ramp to take off. ' ' we could cry a little, or cry a lot. ' ' don't stop dancing. ' ' don't you dare stop. ' ' we'll cry later or cry now. ' ' we could dance our tears away, emancipate ourselves. ' ' but baby, heartbreak feels so good. ' ' heartbreak feels so good. ' ' we said we'd never grow up. ' ' it's open season on blue moods. '

HOLD ME LIKE A GRUDGE

' when you ask how i've been, i know you mean well. ' ' who am i dialing tonight? ' ' that's a bummer. ' ' burn feelings for twenty summers. ' ' i'm just a cherub riding comets through the night sky, screaming at the stars like night lights. ' ' i love my life. ' ' i guess i'm getting older, cause i'm less pissed. ' ' to the end of the world. ' ' you put the "fun" into dysfunction. ' ' hold me like a grudge. ' ' the world is always spinning, and i can't keep up. ' ' i can't do it on my own. ' ' part-time soulmate, full-time problem. ' ' i guess somehow we made it back with a few dreams of ours still intact. ' ' i am a diamond on the inside, just add the pressure. ' ' i know it's inside me, but i've got no map to my own treasure. ' ' i thought i knew better. ' ' i thought it would get better. ' ' i figured somehow by now i would have got it together. ' ' if you put your heart in it, then we'll do more than just get by together. ' ' i'm like a storm on the horizon. '

FAKE OUT

' take a knife and cut through the darkness. ' ' i make no plans, so none can be broken. ' ' remember us just like this forever. ' ' this can't last. it won't last. ' ' do you laugh about me whenever i leave? or do i just need more therapy? ' ' love is in the air, i just gotta figure out a window to break out. ' ' i'm buried alive inside my dreams. ' ' my mood board is just pictures of you. ' ' i'm not sad anymore. ' ' i didn't take the love when i had the chance. ' ' do i still need more therapy? ' ' we all started off as shiny dimes, but we all got flipped too many times. ' ' we did it for futures that never came and for pasts that we're never gonna change. '

HEAVEN, IOWA

' you and i and a screw top bottle of wine? ' ' i feel so "a star is born." ' ' kiss my cheek. ' ' would you read my eulogy? ' ' i will never ask you for anything, except to dream sweet of me. ' ' when the party ends, will you still love who i am? ' ' scar crossed lovers forever. ' ' i'm checking myself out forever. ' ' i'm saving this all for later. ' ' here, we are untouched forever. ' ' they don't know how much they'll miss, at least until you're gone like this. ' ' save your breath. ' ' half your life, you've been hooked on death. ' ' half my life i've been hooked on death. ' ' twice the dreams, but half the love. ' ' be careful what you bottle up. ' ' the chemistry is a mess, it seems, but i'm still a sunbeam. ' ' i closed my eyes inside of your darkness and found your glow. ' ' shake things up, and see what comes down. '

SO GOOD RIGHT NOW

' i got this doom and gloom in my mind. ' ' i feel alright. ' ' let's sneak in from the cheap seats. ' ' we'll drive until the engine just gives up. ' ' feeling so good right now, so we'll crash and burn somehow. ' ' i know i've made mistakes, but at least they were mine to make. ' ' all of our wildest dreams, they just end up with you and me. ' ' i was drifting from the start, and i ripped myself apart. ' ' i'll be whatever you need me to be. ' ' i'll cut myself down to whatever you need me to be. '

THE PINK SEASHELL

' my parents got divorced when i was five years old. ' ' i saw my father about three times a year after that. ' ' he gives me this big pink seashell, and he says to me "the answers are all inside of this." and i'm all like, "what?" now i realize that the shell's empty. there's no point to any of this. ' ' it's all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. ' ' so i take pleasure in the detail, you know? a quarter pounder with cheese, those are good. the sky about ten minutes before it started to rain. a moment where your laughter becomes a cackle. '

I AM MY OWN MUSE

' here i am. ' ' not sure you should take a chance. ' ' i like playing dumb, letting you figure me out. ' ' i was faded, in my own defense. ' ' drop a bomb on all the things we dreamed about. ' ' smash all the guitars 'til we see all the stars. ' ' we've got to throw this year away like a bad luck charm. ' ' the trumpets bring the angels, but they never came. ' ' no one let them in, 'cause they didn't know my name. ' ' i know i keep my feelings tucked away. ' ' it's just another day spent hoping we don't fall apart. ' ' let's twist the knife again, like we did last summer. ' ' i'm just trying to keep it together, but it gets a little harder when it never gets better. ' ' i'm trying to keep it together. '

FLU GAME

' i guess to you now i'm just a face in the crowd. ' ' oh, god. kindly, please, would you kill me now? ' ' late at night in my room, i lie awake, think of you. ' ' last night i dreamt i still knew you. ' ' i carved out a place in this world for two, but it's empty without you. ' ' i've got all this love i've got to keep to myself. ' ' it takes all this effort to make it look effortless. ' ' confront all the pain like a gift under the tree. ' ' i can't be who you need me to be. ' ' i'm so real that i feel fake. ' ' one day, every candle's gotta run out of wax. ' ' one day, no one will remember me when they look back. ' ' i can't stop 'til we catch all your ears, though. i'm somewhere between mike tyson and van gogh. '

BABY ANNIHILATION

' time is luck, and i wish ours overlapped more, or for longer. ' ' the first time i took the mask off, just had another one on underneath. ' ' i'm just melted wax on a birthday cake. ' ' another year fades away. ' ' it's self-sabotage at best. ' ' you know what they say: if you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself. ' ' this palace was crystal, but the world was a cruel joke. ' ' what is there between us, if not a little annihilation? '

THE KINTSUGI KID (TEN YEARS)

' i'm pretty sure, as far as humans go, i'm a hard pill to swallow. ' ' i'm not your intended dose. ' ' roll the highlights. ' ' i've got the wrong insides. ' ' i spent ten years in a bit of chemical haze. ' ' i miss the way that i felt. ' ' i passed my old street, the house i grew up in. it breaks your heart. ' ' i felt you at the beginning, but i needed you at the end. ' ' stop me if you've heard this all before too many times after too much alcohol. ' ' you don't know me anymore. '

WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE

' that's the way the world used to be before our dreams started bursting at the seams. ' ' we're out here and we're ready. ' ' i don't care if it's pretty. ' ' the view's so pretty from the deck of a sinking ship. ' ' everything is lit except my serotonin and my lightning bolt brain. ' ' i just need someone to hold me. ' ' i just need someone to hold me, even though you don't even know me. ' ' what a time to be alive. ' ' they say i should try meditation, but i don't want to be with my own thoughts. ' ' i just want to be your cherry on top. ' ' when i said "leave me along," this isn't quite what i meant. ' ' what's left? ' ' sometimes you wonder if we're ever looking back. '

SO MUCH (FOR) STARDUST

' i'm in a winter mood, dreaming of spring. ' ' i've been burning myself down. ' ' i feel like something that's been stretched out, over and over again, until i'm creased and i'm about to break down the middle. ' ' stars are the same as ever. ' ' i don't have the guts to keep it together. ' ' i'm stuck in the permafrost. ' ' life is just a game. ' ' i'm stuck in a lonely loop. ' ' so much for stardust. we thought we had it all. ' ' i need the sound of crowds, or i can't fall asleep at night. ' ' i can't take my thoughts. ' ' another year of possibilities left unwrapped like gifts the day right after christmas passed. ' ' i'm pretty positive my pain isn't cool enough. ' ' ache 'til you make it. ' ' i think i've been going through it, and i've been putting your name to it. ' ' in another life, you were my babe. ' ' in another life, you were the sunshine of my lifetime? ' ' what would i trade the pain for? i'm not sure. ' ' i used to be a real go-getter. ' ' i used to think it'd all get better. '

[thiswasinevitableid]

Unfinished Business (Sternclay)

The winner of the "things that happen when you're alone" prompt poll was" I regularly go for walks in the cemetery AKA the only place I can find quiet. Credit to @bellafarallones for playing in this space.

Indrid loves the new house; it’s just the right size for the two of them, he loves the neighbors, and the house was in juuuust the level of disrepair that Duck is having fun doing small woodworking fixes without them being without a roof, plumbing or a safe staircase. 

Better still, it backs up into Kepler’s historic Eastwood Cemetery; the place fell out of use in 1971 but is well-maintained, sloping uphill to a tiny church with a dog for its weathervane. Indrid nearly made the offer then and there when the realtor showed them what was at the back door. 

What Indrid does not love is the fact that the bar across the street opens at 11 am and closes at 2 am, and that the acoustics of the street mean the noise is neverending. 

All that is to say, Indrid spends a lot of time in the cemetery. 

Duck is leading a night tour at the national forest tonight, and the bar is favoring repetitions of Sweet Home Alabama, so Indrid decides it’s time for a long walk in the graveyard. 

At the last moment, he packs a small thermos with cocoa, in case the fall chill hits hard once he’s at the top of the hill. He climbs up, then takes to his usual meandering through the tombstones and odd mausoleum. There’s no sound but his footsteps in the dirt and the wind pulling orange leaves from the trees. Blissful peace at last. 

The crying is all the more jarring because of the silence preceding it. Indrid whirls, looking around for the source. He doesn’t begrudge the person their choice of location–weeping in a graveyard is rather classic–but perhaps if he soothes them he can get his quiet back.

He follows the sound in a half circle to the other side of the church. On the bench is a man in a grey suit, bouquet of roses in his hands. From so close, Indrid realizes he misunderstood; the man isn’t crying. 

He’s sobbing. 

Indrid gingerly sits on the other end of the bench, looks out at the town below them. From here they can see the road to the cemetery, the old gate, and the newest batch of graves. He assumes the man will notice him in a moment, but when nothing happens but more shaking shoulders and choking sobs, Indrid clears his throat. 

The man freezes, tries to cover his mouth but only succeeds in slapping himself with the roses. It’s then that Indrid sees that they’re wilted, that his hands are bleeding from gripping them, and that he can see the corner of the church through the man's shoulders. 

Feeling rather bad about scaring a ghost, he says, without thinking, “Hello. My name is Indrid. I promise I am friendly.”

The ghost blinks at him, wipes tears from his short beard, “I, I-I I’m sorry, I, I was, was waiting for someone.”

“I gathered.” Indrid says softly.

“He, he never came.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry.” 

“I can’t leave. I know he’ll come. Everyone’s waiting for it to start.”

Unsure if soothing a ghost is easier than soothing a human, Indrid murmurs, “Well, maybe he will come soon. A busy day can make someone late.”

“He’s never late. He hates being late. He has to come.”

The man is fading away, crying again as he does.

“I was waiting for someone. He, he never came.”

Indrid reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the thermos, “Here, we can have some cocoa while we wait for him.”

The ghost is suddenly fully visible, sweet brown eyes staring at Indrid with such shock he’s worried the spectre has mistaken him for his missing groom. 

“What did you say?”

“I…I offered you some of this” Indrid opens the thermos, “I do not know if ghosts can eat, I know people leave offerings but maybe that is symbolic? Regardless, this is very nice. My friend brought me fancy hot cocoa mix from her honeymoon.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s alright.”

“No, I mean I literally don’t know what to say. I, I don’t think I’ve said anything new in fucking years.” He sniffs the air, “ohhh, that smells good.” 

Indrid pours the thermos into the cup, hands it over, and the ghost disappears in order to take it and drink it in one go.

“Fuuuuck” The cut clicks on the bench and the man reappears, “there’s some good stuff in there. Cardamom and cinnamon at least.”

Indrid nudges the thermos towards him, “I take it you have been here awhile.”

“Since 1923. Uh. I really don’t want to ask but how many years ago was that?”

“........A century.”

“Fuck” the man tears up again, “fuck, why am I still here. If, if I could just move on I could find him, I could.”

Indrid tries to take his hand and whaps his palm into the bench instead, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know….no, wait a moment, I do know!” He bounces in his seat, “a friend of ours is an expert on the paranormal. If anyone knows how to help a ghost move on it’s him. Would you like me to ask him about it?”

“M-maybe. What if he’s like me, trapped between worlds, and if I move on I, I’ll-”

“Nono, do not cry” Indrid re-caps the cocoa, “there is no rush. I’ll ask around but that does not mean you have to do anything. I, ah, I should go. I just realized I forgot to feed the cat and she will open cupboards if she has to.”

“Will you come back some other night?”

“I’m here nearly every day.”

“Oh. Uh, Guess I never noticed much beyond” he gestures to the road and the town beyond. 

“What I meant was it is no trouble to see you again if you’d like. It was nice to meet you-”

“Barclay. And thank you very much for the hot chocolate.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fascinating” Joseph refills his wine glass, offers the bottle of red to Duck, who takes it and tips the rest into his own, “Indrid, do you have any idea how lucky you are? Not only did you see and hear a full apparition, he talked to you. Like in a conversation, not just a repetition of his post-mortem loop.”

“I mostly feel sorry for him. It’s not that I do not appreciate the occultness of it all but…I did not know anyone could cry that hard without cracking in half.”

“Poor fella.” Duck stands, kissing the top of Indrid’s, “Gonna make some coffee. Joe, you want any?”

“No, thank you. Better not mix the two” He lifts his glass.

“It’s decaf, fancy-pants. We don’t all got your caffeine tolerance.” 

“That’s probably for the best. But no thanks all the same.” Joseph stands, picking up the raspberry tarte from the kitchen counter; his contribution to dinner. In spite of Duck telling him it’s fine to come over without anything, the man never comes empty handed. 

Indrid appreciates his manners, though he suspects Joseph has been told one too many times to read between the lines of a stated expectation for the secret message. Yet one more reason he and Duck agree that what ex-FBI agent would benefit from is an evening bent over one of their laps while the other turns his ass red. It’d relax him, and goodness knows he deserves it.

As Duck returns to the table with forks, he frowns and leans to look more closely at Joseph’s face. 

“You been sleepin’ okay?”

“Not exactly. Most of my stress dreams stopped once I quit being an agent. But there’s one that won’t stop no matter what I do. I’m in a car, and the car is sinking, and I’m doing everything I can to get out but the doors won’t open and the windows won’t break  and I…I die.”

“Thought the whole thing was you’re supposed to wake before you die? Or is that only falling dreams?”

“If that’s true then my brain missed the memo. It happened two nights in a row this week. “

“Well then” Indrid brushes his hand as Joseph passes his a plate, “let us hope for more pleasant dreams tonight.”

Joseph stays well past ten, says goodnight with a yawn as leaves the house and walks the fifteen feet to the left and the set of steps it takes for him to get to his place next door. Indrid is lounging on the couch, but Duck waits on the porch, his wave signaling that Joseph made it to the door safely. 

When his husband returns to the living room, Indrid murmurs playfully, “Would you still love me if I was a ghost?”

Duck scoops him up into his arms, a feat that never ceases to delight him, “You know I would. But let’s not go testin’ that theory any time soon.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

There are a few Newtons buried in the Eastwood Cemetery. Duck can’t decide if the habit of visiting to tend them and leave a few flowers is from a sense of familiar duty or the fact that he’s pretty sure the ghost of his grandmother would haunt him if she found out he lived so close to the graves and wasn’t looking after them. 

He’s tossing the last of the weeds in a compostable trash bag when the faint sound of sniffling reaches him. Looking up, he sees a bearded man in a suit at the corner of the church, looking down the hill at him. 

“Howdy” He calls.

“Hello” The man calls back. He lifts a foot, hesitates, then steps clear of the little path forming a square around the church. His feet don’t quite make contact with the ground, no matter how many steps he takes. 

“You must be Barclay” Duck holds out his hand.

“And you’re Duck. Indrid’s husband.” The hand goes through his own, both of theM cringing a bit, “I’m sorry, sometimes I see you walking together. And Indrid mentioned you when he visited yesterday.”

“Yep, that’s me alright. You doin’ okay? You look kinda scared.”

“I haven’t moved away from the church before. But I figured since I haven’t talked to people before, I could try stretching my legs to see what happened.”

Duck isn’t sure how to be encouraging to someone who died when his grandparents were babies, so he does what he always does when someone says they’re looking to take a walk.

“You ever been in the national forest? There’s a little sliver of trail on the far end of the cemetery that links you into the bigger thing.”

The ghost shakes his head but asks Duck to show him the way. As they walk, he asks Duck when the national forest got so big and if he thinks anyone will be upset to see a ghost there.

“Look, if I know most folks, they’re dyin’ for some kinda supernatural shit to happen. Makes for a great story.”

“Huh. I guess I asked too soon.” 

Duck turns to find Barclay’s unable to follow him through the gate. Every time he tries it’s like he’s bumping into a sliding glass door. 

“Well, fuck.”

“No, this is great. I know where the boundary is. I was so scared something strange would happen when I found it but this is totally manageable. Thank you so much for helping me out, Duck.”

Okay, he can see why Indrid likes talking with the guy, “Anytime, big fella.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph comes to the cemetery, sometimes for research and sometimes just to sit and read. Like Indrid, he finds the acoustics of their street trying at times, though he suspects he doesn’t get quite as overwhelmed by them. 

Today is the first time he’s hoping to hear noise while he’s up here. The fact that Duck was able to see and speak with Barclay is promising; Duck would prefer nothing weird happen to him, so a ghost being active enough to make him believe in it without a doubt is really something.

Weird things happening to Indrid is just an average Tuesday. 

He stands where Indrid normally meets the ghost and clears his throat. 

“Hello. I’m not sure if you can hear me, but I’m Indrid’s friend. The one he told you about. I think I can help you find answers.”

There’s no response. 

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to talk. Or if you’re not even here.”

The hair on his neck tells him the latter is not the case. 

“I’m going to take a little walk, you’re welcome to join me. But it’s…it’s alright if you don’t want to.” He manages to conceal his disappointment, even when a half hour later he reaches the gate by his house without so much as a ghostly hello. 

His luck doesn’t improve on Thursday, or Sunday. But on Tuesday, as he’s up checking the names on some of the older graves, an old instinct tells him someone is looking his way. Raising his head, he sees the outline of a person against the encroaching grey clouds. 

Joseph waves. The ghost waves back, shyly, and fades from view. 

The next day he’s not even looking for the ghost; the bar is doing some horrendous “wacky Wednesday” promotion and the ruckus is so bad even his white noise machine can’t save his focus. So he takes his notes and heads for the tombs. 

He half-expects to find Indrid waiting for him, but his friend must have fled for even quieter pastures. Or he foresaw the rainstorm that sweeps across the hills the instant Joseph reaches the top of them. The church doors are left open during daylight hours, so he slips inside to keep himself and his notebook getting soaked.

There’s no one else inside, and only the plunk of raindrops on the roof and tiny, stained glass windows accompanies his footsteps as he selects a pew and sits down. 

Each section of his notebook is dedicated to a chapter for his new edition of The Haunted Southeast, complete with scans of other book’s versions of certain stories and his own notes from research and interviews. Coincidentally, today he’s working on his chapter about haunted public spaces, such as parks or roads. 

He finishes his review of the stories about the ghostly Huntington hitchhiker, then turns the page. This story centers on ghostly women, seen by the side of the road in some kind of distress, who disappear when you stop to offer help.

As he’s comparing the story of the jilted bride to the dead flapper to see if they’re actually the same, he shudders and buttons up his coat. He knew the drafts in here were bad but this is ridiculous. 

No. Wait. The air on his right is far colder than that on his left. 

“Barclay?”

A figure fades into view. Joseph’s first thought is wondering why Indrid neglected to mention this was the ghost of one of the most handsome men imaginable. The short beard is the same auburn as his hair, his lips form a cupids bow that lands a perfect shot on his heart, and his eyes are coffee brown and render Joseph twice as awake as the first cup of the day.

“I’m sorry.” The ghost murmurs, “I got curious about what you were reading.”

“I’m happy to share it” Joseph scoots closer so the other man can read the notebook, “though I’m betting most ghost stories sound ridiculous to someone who really is one.”

A honeyed chuckle, “Might sound ridiculous, but you probably know more about ghosts than I do. There aren’t many here to talk to and they kind of…ignore me when they’re around.” A slightly see-through hand hovers over the photocopied article of the bride, “Does anyone know why she’s stuck?”

“That version says she was left at the altar and, while tearfully speeding home in her car, died the same day. I think she and this “flapper” are from the same sighting or the same folktale, because all that changes is it’s an elopement instead of a wedding.”

“So she’s stuck because she’s jilted?”

Joseph chooses his words carefully, not sure if frank talk of death upsets a ghost, “That’s one theory. Or the sudden and unexpected nature of her death may have trapped her there. A lot of researchers think that ghosts are the product of either unfinished business or a death that’s so inexplicable to them that they retrace and replay their last moments, trying to make sense of it.” 

“My death….I was going to say it makes plenty of sense but only if you believe someone can die of a broken heart. Doctor said I made myself sick by spending hours in the rain watching for…for his…” his face crumples into a sob. 

Joseph closes the book, wishes he could touch him to comfort him as he says, “You don’t have to tell me this if it’s too much. I don’t want to upset you. I just want to help.”

“No, no” Barclay wipes his eyes, “I want to tell someone. I’m so tired of reliving it alone. I…even though I died in bed two days later, I think I’m stuck here because this is where my heart died and my body took two days to catch up.”

 A sniff, and out of habit Joseph passes him a handkerchief. It falls to the bench through his lap, only for the ghost to disappear and the fabric to float back up to eye level.

“Do you think I’m foolish for believing that?”

Joseph shakes his head, “Not at all. It’s theorized that, at times, a strong emotion is supposedly enough to tie a ghost to a place. More importantly you, a ghost, have just told me that’s how you understand what happened, so theory can take a hike for all I care.”

Barclay tries to laugh but it comes out as a choked squeak, “Is it okay if I sit here a little longer? We don’t have to talk, I just, I don’t want to leave you just yet.”

“Sure, but I can’t promise it’ll be all that exciting to watch me work.”

“After this long, fucking anything is exciting.”

Joseph picks his notebook back up and opens it. He’s not sure how long Barclay stays by him, as after a few minutes he’s no longer sniffling and stays quiet as, well, the dead. 

His only clue that he’s alone is that the handkerchief eventually folds itself and settles into the spot on the pew where Barclay once was. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ooooh this is so exciting!” Indrid flaps his hands as Joseph plugs in the last string of lights, “I hope it works.”

“It should. We did everything McElroys Spirit Guide said, and it’s generally reliable.” 

“There!” Indrid grabs his arm, “look, he made it past the gate.”

At first it looks like a fuzzy halloween projection appears on the back wall. Then it floats closer and Barclay comes into clear, stunning view. 

“You fellas really put this whole to-do together just for me?” Barclay takes in the lights, the bowls of burning, dried flowers, and the chalk on the door. 

“As the one who extended the dinner invitation, it seemed only polite for me to do whatever was necessary to make sure all my guests could get into the house.”

Indrid and Joseph had both gone to chat with him more, but It had been Duck who pointed out that if Barclay could drink cocoa, they could probably have him over for dinner, and then nobody would have to freeze their ass off just to talk with a friend. And it’s Duck who’s happily tending the stove as Indrid shows Barclay around. When the ranger calls for an extra set of hands, Indrid excuses himself, leaving Joseph and Barclay in the living room.

“This is embarrassing but I never actually learned your name.” 

Joseph offers a sheepish smile, “That’s because talking to you is always so interesting, other details slip my mind. I’m Joseph.”

The instant the words leave his mouth, Barclay disappears.

“If you both would like to come get–where did he go?” Indrid looks around owlishly. 

“I’m not sure. Here, I’ll go check the garden for him.”

On a hunch, he moves towards the back wall and finds the outline of a man faintly visible against it.

“Are you alright? If the ritual is glitching you around or making it hurt to manifest we can try to fix it.”

“No.” Barclay appears staring at the grass beneath them, “it’s not that. Fuck, this is embarrassing. His name was J-Joseph too. When you said it was yours I, it was too much for a second. It’s ridiculous, and if my mother knew how rude I was being right now she’d spin in her grave.”

Joseph uses his best, soothing special agent voice to reply, “I did give myself an incredibly common name. People have all kinds of associations with it.”

“You’re an unflappable one aren’t you?” Barclay says softly, looking at Joseph with a century of bottled-up tenderness.

“I try to be. Come on” he offers his arm, “dinners ready. Duck makes amazing enchiladas.”

“....What’s an enchilada?”

—----------------------------------------------------

Joseph carefully traces over the symbol on his back door to make sure the path stays open. After a successful dinner, he added the same path to his house that Indrid and Duck did so Barclay can come visit like any other neighbor. But it’s been rainy the last two days, so he’s touching everything up just to be safe. 

When he comes back inside, there’s a bouquet of small, pink roses sitting in a mason jar on his kitchen table. 

They were red and near petal-less when he stepped outside. 

This, or something like it, has happened every few days for the last month. 

It started a few nights after they first had Barclay to dinner. Joseph had spent the afternoon working on his notes in the cemetery and chatting with Barclay about his research. When he’d stepped onto the porch to go play cards with Duck, there was a chain of dandelion flowers circling the window of his front door. 

The first bouquet arrived the morning after the first movie night in the cemetery. Indrid had suggested to the Friends of the Eastwoods Cemetery that they show movies during October and ask people for a dollar or two at the door to help raise money for upkeep. The three of them chose a spot towards the back of the crowd to spread out a blanket so that no one would notice Barclay joining them. He’d been so scared by Halloween that he’d spent the entire movie hiding against Joseph, even when nothing terrifying was on screen. 

Joseph’s an observant man; he knows that over the last few weeks, Barclay has lingered longer during his visits, seemed sadder when Joseph says he has to leave the cemetery to go home and write. Knows that the roses outside the church are pink, the ones at the front gate red.

He also knows that he’s not imagining the moments when he’s cooking or doing the dishes and he smells faint, woody cologne and feels fingers hovering at his hips. Or the moments when he’s straightening his coat before going out and phantom touches brush across it, as if sweeping away lint.

More than once, before bed, he’s followed his instincts to the back door and opened it, expecting to find someone waiting. Nothing’s there except a breeze that somehow smooths his hair. 

He needs to figure out why Barclay’s flirtation is so fearful before he goes insane from trying to embrace air. 

A short, damp walk to the library later, he’s sitting in a repurposed closet, staring at microfilm. Barclay told him his wedding was supposed to be in the spring, and he’d talked to Duck about the Monogahela fire of 1923 in a way that suggested he’d been alive for it. Then Indrid had found Barclay’s headstone (and taken to bringing it flowers now and then), identifying his date of death as May 8th, 1923. 

But Joseph doesn’t find what he’s looking for until he reads the issue of the Kepler Observer from May 13th. 

Body of Joseph Swan Retrieved from River. 

After over a week of search and coordination, the wreck of a Model T containing the body of local lawyer Joseph Swan was finally pulled from the Silver River. Swan was reported as a missing person after failing to appear at his wedding on May 6th, and while authorities believed it was likely his car which had broken the rail on the Silver Bridge, it was not confirmed until today. 

Joseph reads through the remaining details, skin prickling as he remembers what he dreamed about last night. He wishes there was a picture. Maybe of the two of them in happier times; Barclay might like a copy.

He forms a plan, but doesn’t put it into motion until the roses wilt. The evening they do, he steps into the yard, ostensibly to sweep off the walk. Instead he replaces the symbol on the door with a new one, returns to his living room, picks up Farewell, My Lovely, and waits. 

There’s a soft thunk from the back door, then a louder one, and then the doornob rattles, panicked, only stopping when Joseph comes into the back hallway. 

“Barclay, we need to talk.”

“We talked this morning.” Barclay becomes visible, looking anxious rather than annoyed. 

“And if you were going to come see me tonight, you could have told me then. You know I like having you over, that you’re welcome anytime. But before I accept any more flowers, I need to know why you keep sneaking in to leave them instead of just knocking on the door.”

“I like surprising you.” It’s the truth, but not all of it, that much he’s sure of. 

“Try again, big guy.” He says gently. 

“If I tell you, I, you, you won’t want to see me anymore.”

“There are very, very few things that could do that. I promise.” He steps forward and Barclay shrinks against the door. 

“It’s not just your name that reminds me of him. Y-you’re like him in so many ways, god, you even look like him. And I know you’re not him, I know, and that’s somehow worse because I feel the same way about you I did about him. I thought I’d never get to love without grief again, and then here you are. I needed to show you somehow, and some nights my heart ached to see him, and to see you so I would hover around the house and try to pretend it was ours. God I hate how that sounds. I, I don’t know what will happen to me if you don’t want me back, if I lose you too, but I didn’t w-want to make you think you had to, to l-love me back.” His tears border on hyperventilation.

Joseph gingerly reaches for him, “You never made me think that. Even if you did, my heart beat you to it. I’m not sure it’s love, I’ve always been, well, cautious about calling things that too soon but…but I think it could be.”

Barclay sniffs, “really?”

He nods, “There’s something else I think you should know. My entire life, I’ve had a nightmare where I’m in a sinking car. What I’ve never told anyone is that, as I’m drowning I’m afraid, but not of what you might think. I wasn’t able to articulate until a few days ago. I’m afraid I’ll never see the most important person in my life again.” He looks up into teary, brown eyes, “the last thing he ever thought about was how much he loved you, Barclay.”

The face in front of him disappears and he’s crushed in a hug, Barclay’s face buried against his neck. Tearful thank-yous gradually give way to steady, anticipatory breaths from a chest without lungs, and for a moment he’s worried that his confession is what Barclay needed to move on. 

“Joseph?” A beard tickles his ear, “Thank you. Now I know what he was thinking about. But…what are you thinking about right now?”

Joseph rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder, “How being in your arms feels like coming home. And how glad I am Indrid talked to you that first time, because it means you’re in my life and my life is so much better for it. Also if it’s okay to ask if you’d like to be boyfriends, because I have no idea how you feel about pacing, or if this is fast or slow compared to what was normal when you were alive-”

A chuckle that makes him shiver, “It’s not too fast, pretty boy. I promise.”

“Oh.” He gasps, “that’s a new one.”

“Been wanting to call you that for weeks. It’s all I can think when I see you.” A ghostly finger traces his cheek, “can I kiss you?

“As much as you like.” 

Chilly lips press against his own, and when he returns the kiss, phantom hands cup his cheeks. With his eyes closed, it’s as if he’s being dropped off after a very successful date, trading slow, curious kisses with someone on his front step. His back bumps into the door; he hadn’t realized Barclay had turned them. Maybe Joseph did it himself. His attention isn’t interested in straying from the taste of ethereal kisses anytime soon. 

Strong hands tip his face up and cool kisses run down his neck. He groans, manages to tangle his fingers in Barclay’s hair and hold him there. The ghost grins against his throat, and one hand disappears only to slide beneath his sweater a second later.

“If this is too forward tell me to fuck off but: can I take you to bed? Please?”

“Only if you’re really sureOH, okaythen.” Joseph, now in a bridal carry, holds tight as the ghost carries him to the bedroom. Once he’s placed on the bed, he adds, “can you be visible while we undress? I haven’t looked at you enough today.”

“We saw each other for most of it.” Barclay is visible again, hair messier than before eyes bright.

“You heard me, big guy. Not enough.” He pulls off his sweat and unbuttons his jeans, folding both and setting them on a chair. 

Barclay touches his ghostly jacket, then pulls it from his shoulders “Huh. I honestly had no idea if I could even take this off. Let’s see…” the tie, dress shirt and vest come next, revealing a hairy chest and belly straight from Joseph’s dreams (his good ones). 

Barclay sets his dress shoes by Joseph's own next to the closet, then strips down to nothing. A gorgeous, thick cock sits between gloriously shaped thighs. The sight shorts out Joseph’s brain so thoroughly his fingers hitch the band of his boxer-briefs but forget what to do next. 

“Let me get those for you, sir.” Barclay flickers away long enough to yank the blue fabric down and off. When he reappears, he’s staring at Joseph’s dick in surprise.

“Sorry, I know it’s not what you expected. Usually I tell partners beforehand but in my defense there were way more important things on my mind.”

“I don’t mind one bit, pretty boy.” Barclay licks his lips, “it’s just kinda funny. I used to tease him that what he really needed was one of these” he tips his head at Joseph’s crotch, “because he was always so fucking needy and would beg me to get to it before he was open and slick enough for me to get my dick in him.” He grins, “from the look of it that’s not gonna be a problem tonight.”

“Not at all.” Joseph spreads his legs and Barclay settles between. 

The ghost pauses, “I can only touch you if I’m invisible. Or, uh, I guess I could be visible and tangible but not able to talk? Which do you want?”

“I want to be able to talk with you. At least tonight. Some other night you can show me how badly you want to fuck me by giving up your voice.”

Barclay growls playfully and disappears. Joseph watches his own legs bend and open wider, then moans as Barclay pushes into him. 

A kiss finds his cheek, “Fuck, Joseph, you feel incredible. Jesus, do not remember being inside someone feeling so warm. God, maybe I should have been fucking living guys all this time. Not like anyone would’ve seen it.”

“Such naughty ideas, big guy.” Joseph wraps his legs around Barclays.

“We, fuck, we did fuck outside once, and he was nervous we’d get caught. Until he got into the whole thing and ordered me to suck him off.” The memory, accompanied by a happy sigh and sharper thrusts, gives Joseph an idea. 

“Do you like being ordered around?”

“Uh huh. Like being good.” He whines into Joseph’s shoulder. 

“What else do you like?”

“I, I like it rough, but only sometimes. I, a few times we’d see how slow we could go, how long we could last, under the covers when, when we didn’t have anywhere to go, fuck, it’s like heaven.”

“I make my own schedule so–oh, oh, you like that idea” he works his hips harder, “should I order you to stay inside me until I’ve cum at least three times?”

“Yes, yes sir, baby, please” 

“Or maybe I’ll set up the house so you’re stuck right in that doorway and, ahgod, only allowed to watch me until you beg just right?”

Barclay moans and fucks him harder, “but that’s n-not fair.”

He manages to grip Barclay’s chin, “I decide what’s fair, big guy. Just like I decide whether I want to have that magnificent cock inside me or make you hump my boot and beg like a dog.”

A wave of cold pushes through him, and suddenly Barclay isn’t above him anymore. He’s inside him. 

“Holy shit” he says to the empty room. 

Sorry. I got so fucking turned on from you saying that I kinda lost control for a second. Jesus christ”  his hand rubs his folds, “You really were having fun.”

“Yes. Ahfuck, shit, yes like that.” His fingers move inside him all on their own.

“Never played around with one of these before. But from how you feel when I do this” a finger curls and Josephs legs kick the covers, think I’m on the right track

“Barclay” he whimpers to the empty room. 

Right here baby. Lay back and let me take care of you. Us? No let’s go with you. The other hand joins in, rubbing his dick, and Joseph allows himself the luxury of utter surrender. He doesn’t need to say a thing or move a muscle because Barclay is there, can feel his pleasure and his desire as he moves his body like a toy. Better still, Joseph can feel Barclay’s reaction to it all, the surge of pride whenever something he does makes Joseph moan, how much pleasure he gets from pleasing, and how badly he wants him. 

Now and then he feels a memory, Barclay trying something from long ago to see how it works now. More often, he feels a fantasy, Barclay testing out whether his–apparently copious–daydreams about Joseph are fun for them both in reality. 

Joseph’s so distracted by Barclay thinking next time, I want your cum all across my face that his own orgasm is a shock, rocking him like an old house in a thunderstorm. 

He’s laying there, panting Barclay’s name, when the ghost separates them with one, decisive movement, then sinks his cock into him with another. Joseph yells, clawing at his chest in delight.

“Don’t whine sir, you wanted this” The ghosts grunts as the picture frames rattle, “I could feel it. Got a lot of fantasies in there about being fucked hard and filled up, almost as many about making big men cry. I’ll, fuck, I’ll let you make me cry any day, long as I, I get to watch you choke on my dick afterwardsoh, oh Joseph, baby.” He cums hard, collapsing against Joseph’s chest as he pulses into him. 

When he pulls out, Joseph sees the liquid is different than normal. Ectoplasm maybe? Later. 

Barclay is visible and solid as he pulls Joseph into a hug. Joseph kisses him once, then murmurs, “None of the crying fantasies anytime soon, I think. Not that I don’t think they’d be fun but…well, you’ve shed way too many tears than you deserve, big guy. All I want is to see you smile.”

The expression blooms on Barclay’s face, bright as a churchbell on a wedding day, as Joseph leans in to kiss him once more. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

“You think Barclay might just disappear someday? Maybe his business will finish up without us noticing.” Duck pulls on his bathrobe, “I mean, I hope not. I like the guy.”

Indrid peers into the grey dawn as he sips his cream with a splash of coffee. Their bedroom window looks into Joseph’s, and while his blinds are usually drawn, today they’re open. His friend sits up in bed, laughs as a breakfast tray floats into view and turns his cheek as if receiving a kiss. 

“Oh, I would not worry too much about it. I do not think his business will be finished for a long, long time.”

[kurtvonney19]

every love before yours has left me unbalanced

i thought my life would be spent loving with all my might, to the best of my ability, and never having it returned

always being the giver and not the receiver

i was prepared to spend my life this way

unequally

loving as an effort

as an uphill climb

but with you

god even the words escape me

i can’t seem to craft anything

that does it justice

i want somehow to capture this feeling

this envelopment of love

this equality in giving

my love i cherish every minute with you

the only look of mine i wish you knew

but am glad stays hidden

is the one i give you when you aren’t looking

when your eyes are closed

it’s a gratefulness

to know i can spend the rest of my life

feeling this way

i still get worried

my entire life has been endings and beginnings

humans are encoded with patter recognition

and my pattern is uprooting, starting again

i have spent my entire life feeling less than

feeling not as good

and to suddenly be met with someone

who so fully tells you the opposite

and to question what i did to deserve it

this kind of love and life

the one i’ve always dreamed about

the one i’ve wrote poems about

i’ve written longing

for as long as i can remember

with no subject

a fictitious “him”

i was prepared

for those poems to remain without a subject

for my words to fall on deaf ears

and for my dreams to go unfulfilled

of a domestic love

of a quiet love

this love does not scream at me

it is not loud

this loves makes me feel worthy

that i deserve it

that i’ll be fought for

looked after

but god all i want to do for the rest of my life

is make sure you know how much i care

[leam1983]

"Eat up, piggy!"

Mom always means it as a kind of exhortation to eat. If you know her, however, it's always something she lobs when stuck serving something that she, herself, wouldn't have picked. Add to that the fact that I had a share that was twice the size of hers, and there's a kind of unconsciously dismissive cocktail that sets in. She'll never say it, never admit to it, but she feels like she's being served slop, or that she's stuck serving us slop for a pig's trough.

Add the fact that I'm disabled, given to a fair bit of body dysphoria in a way that's specific to non-trans disabled people, and that fitness and general well-being's always been an uphill climb to me. The end result is my mind doesn't go to "Oh-ho, what japes! Such a spirited quip!" but rather to outright objectification.

I know she doesn't mean it like that, but when she dredges that line, the subtext I feel is "You're slovenly for eating more filet mignon than I am, in my eyes, and the plate of mushrooms and potatoes is so fundamentally unappetizing to me that your eating this momentarily likens you to an animal."

I calmly asked her to stop saying this at the table, to her general confusion. Walt tried to suggest it was inappropriate, but anger made him stumble over himself in French. Dad came to his rescue with a little too much earnestness.

The thing is, Mom is an expert at victimhood. Bring up a criticism, ask for some sort of reparation from her, and you're instantly made the villain of her tale. She pulled her Uno Reverse, shut down the argument and walled us in silence. Walt having more spine than I, he eventually wiped his mouth, curtly thanked my parents and told me we were crossing over to our side of the duplex.

Now, Walt is quietly seething. "Your mother's a wonderful woman, Grem, but when she has one half a glass of wine too many, she gets these ludicrous ideas as to what is and what isn't a welcome joke. I've seen you train, I've helped you walk, I've seen you ask for something more sensible when all I wanted was to ride the Cholesterol Express - you are not a pig. You're not in shape, none of us three are - but you're trying, and you're pushing against obstacles few people could ever guess at!"

Walt looks at me like there's something I need to grasp. "You are not a pig. I am not a pig. Sarah, for God's sake, is not a pig either. We're all doing our best, and all of us - your father included - deserve more than the implication that we can make do with half-rotten vegetables thrown into a field for pigs to forage. That is not a joke that you can just land."

How could I do anything in the moment, other than hug him?