#strike! strike! strike! strike! strike! strike! strike! strike!

[sexhaver]

the worst part of studying and working with robots is how jaded it's made me to fellow USAmericans pearl-clutching over the idea of "killer robots". not to say that it's not a topic worth worrying about, but the two biggest giveaways that someone has no idea what they're talking about is if they speak about these "killer robots" like they're 1. hypothetical future inventions and/or 2. a threat to USAmerican citizens. because they already exist and are being used by the US overseas. meanwhile i have to see people on here freaking out about someone stapling a flamethrower to Boston Dynamic's decade-old Spot platform like this thing with an hour of battery life and top speed of Ambling Gait is going to do anything except controlled burns for forest fires or agriculture. did we not all spend the last year or so watching drone POV videos of Russian soldiers getting blown up? or does that not count because it's not happening to you yet? be so serious

[scrumptious-finicky-illusion]

Support Amazon workers!

AMAZON IS STRIKING LETS FUCKING GO!!!!!! LETS GO!@!

as someone who has worked in amazon warehouses for many years, this is crazy like. oh my god. DURING PEAK SEASON?? LETS GOOOO

media and companies are already trying to say "DONT LET THE UNIONS MISLEAD YOU WE PROMISE WE TREAT OUR WORKERS WELL!!!" well hey ive worked there for YEARS. they do not ! dont listen to their bullshit. it might be difficult to not get frustrated if packages are late at the most important time of the year but thats the whole point -- strikes happening when the workers are most necessary is a massive blow to showing just how essential the workers are . anyways stand with amazon workers this holiday season god fucking bless

[chuluoyi]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄, 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

husband and wife, at the pinnacle of their love. on a night filled with wonders, you will know that he sees only you and everything that you are

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, explicit smut: slightly rough & drunken sex, fingering, missionary. you and zayne have a daughter (her name is meirin!)

note: god what have i written... the anniversary banner pv made me do it T^T anyhow, this is also a direct prequel to the upcoming angst fic in the name of love :))

“Whoa, so that’s Dr. Zayne and his wife...”

Soft whispers rippled through the crowd the moment you and your husband stepped into the pristine ballroom, all eyes subtly drawn to your arrival.

Tonight, you were accompanying Zayne to Akso Hospital’s anniversary dinner party. His sharp gaze and immaculate three-piece suit made a striking impression. Naturally, you matched his sophistication in every way—your flowing black dress accentuated your figure, while your hair styled into an elegant updo.

A sight for sore eyes, that was what the two of you were.

“Mind your step,” he murmured softly, his voice reassuring as the two of you gracefully ascended the stairs. His left arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but notice the envious gazes of the ladies fixed on you.

“How does such a perfect couple even exist?”

“She’s so pretty… Of course, Dr. Zayne only wants the best.”

“Oh! And I’ve heard they already have a daughter too!”

A smile curled on your lips, a subtle boost of confidence washing over you as their murmurs reached your ears. You felt giddy too—on most days, you were a hunter in a life-and-death situations, rough and rugged. But tonight, draped in elegance and arm-in-arm with Zayne, you felt like a princess.

“Don’t smile that wide...” he suddenly whispered to your ears, a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “You’ll look like Meirin when she’s munching on her cookies.”

You shot him a frown. “Wha?”

“All those praises are going straight to your head.” Even in a prestigious event like this, Zayne couldn’t resist teasing you. “Sooner or later, it’ll get too big for me to handle.”

Fixing him with an unimpressed glare, you deadpanned, “Shush, you!”

When you reached the main hall, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, blending with the elegant music playing in the background. The hospital director, an elderly man with a warm smile, greeted you both along with his wife.

"Zayne, thank you for coming," he said, shaking your husband's hand and giving him a light pat on the shoulder. His gaze then turned to you. "Ah, this must be the stellar hunter wife of Dr. Zayne. You look absolutely radiant, madam."

"Ah, please don't call me that..." You mustered your most polished facade, supplying a soft, graceful laugh.

The director's wife grinned and added, "Why didn’t you bring your daughter here? Everyone’s looking forward to finally meet her already."

"She's a handful," Zayne immediately replied with a smile, his tone warm and affectionate. "And she gets fussy when her bedtime nears, so we decided to leave her with my in-laws tonight."

The director let out a hearty guffaw. "No matter how fussy she is, she must be really adorable with a mother this beautiful, eh?"

Throughout the night, it was a compliment you frequently heard. While you were flattered, a thought lingered in the back of your mind—what were your husband's true thoughts about all this attention to you?

Zayne was keenly aware of how captivating you were.

There was a surge of pride whenever he had you on his arm. Just like any man out there, he too wanted to show his hot wife off and flaunt her so everyone could see, as if saying: This is my woman.

But he too knew that it was in a human's nature to covet what they didn't have. And it was rightly proven when he stepped away for just a moment, only to return and find you engaged in conversation with a man.

The hospital director's son, no less.

"Miss, I've heard you're part of the Hunter Association?" he asked you inquisitively. "What a noble profession it is! Keeping all of us here safe on daily basis."

You responded demurely, "And those in Akso do the same, don’t they?"

Your conversation was harmless, and Zayne was a rational man, so he didn’t feel the need to intervene. He just made sure his gaze was on you every so often.

But when the director’s son began persistently offering you drinks, filling your glass time after time, Zayne's patience began to wear thin. The sight of the man’s insistence grated on him, stirring a possessive unease he couldn’t entirely ignore.

. . .

You could’ve sworn your vision swam a little after the third glass of alcohol. The warm buzz coursing through you also made everything seem a little brighter, and left you feeling just slightly off-balance.

"Miss, the white wine here is the best—" the man standing before you declared with a convincing grin, swirling the bottle in front of you. "Don't you want to try some?"

"Ah, no, sir..." you replied with a polite laugh, raising a hand in subtle refusal. "I've already had whiskey and gin just now—"

"Just a little! You really have to try it!"

You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck as the alcohol already coursing through your system made your cheeks flush. You didn’t even like alcohol much and only drank socially, but this was the very son of your husband's boss. Refusing outright seemed rude—

“Can you kindly not make her drink too much?”

Or so you thought, until your knight in three-piece suit suddenly stepped in and saved you from your plight.

Zayne’s tone was gentle yet firm, his words striking an authoritative balance. He flashed a placating smile. “My wife doesn’t have a very high tolerance.” Swiftly, he grabbed the glass from your hand and, without missing a beat, downed its contents in one go.

“If you’re looking for a drinking partner, let it be me instead.”

You knew better than anyone that your husband didn’t have a particularly high tolerance for alcohol either. Yet, for the next 30 minutes, you watched, equal parts impressed and concerned, as he matched the man drink for drink, deflecting further offers directed your way with a subtle, protective grace. Though Zayne’s words remained measured, you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

And soon, you’d witness just how far his limits had been pushed.

“Zayne! Are you alright?”

Worry laced your voice as you placed both hands on Zayne's cheeks, your brow furrowing in concern. Somehow or another you managed to drag your husband away and led him to the hotel room.

The warmth of his skin was unmistakable, and his face contorted in discomfort as the vertigo hit him full force. “Oh no, what have you done? Why did you even drink that much!?”

“I’m fine,” Zayne grumbled, his voice thick.

“You’re drunk!” You couldn't help but scold him as you started pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt, trying to help him breathe easier. “You can’t even handle alcohol properly, and yet you’re trying to keep up with him...”

To Zayne, your voice somehow felt comforting. His mind was hazed, but your touch—your hand against his neck—felt like a cool splash of clarity.

His pretty wife... The dizziness was making it hard to stay upright, but the sight of you grounded him, and he instinctively leaned into you—

“Zayne—!”

You barely managed to catch his weight, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. He was so warm against you, his breath uneven, not to mention the slight tremor in his body. "Are you alright?!" you asked in a flurry. "Oh, let me get you some water—"

"You talk too much..." Zayne murmured, his words slurred as everything around him swayed.

Gripping your shoulder to steady himself, his unfocused gaze lingered on you, drawn to the curve of your lips, the delicate line of your neck, and the outline of your cleavage.

How can he have a wife this ravishing and do nothing?

And suddenly, he was sober. Very sober.

Or maybe not. It was simply just him finally giving in to his desires.

In one go, he seized your wrist, yanking you against him with sudden force— and with a quick tilt of your startled, precious face, he devoured your lips in heat.

"—!" It was like a spark igniting, burning through every thought. His mouth was urgent, demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second to feel the rush of your closeness. His kiss was intoxicating—almost overwhelming—as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to gain better access.

Zayne's hands moved to your back, pulling you into him, so close that the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then those sinful hands wandered to your hips, guiding you toward the desk. With reckless urgency, he swept everything off the surface, sending objects crashing to the floor with a sharp clang and made you sit on it.

"Ah, Zayne, you—!" You accidentally pushed him back, and he growled the moment your lips parted.

"Are you trying... to escape?" His gaze turned dark with lust, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Why? Isn't this exactly how you wanted me to be...?"

In that moment, you gulped as your heart thundered in your chest. What was even happening now? How did it escalate into this?

You stuttered, eyes widened, "Z-Zayne..."

But your husband had shed all traces of his usual composed self. In the haze of his muddled thoughts, he was driven purely by need. He swiftly removed his glasses, tossing them aside without a second thought, and this time—

His lips went straight for your neck, which, unbeknownst to you, had looked so enticing to him all evening.

"Hahh..." His breathy grunts were hot against your skin and his touch no longer gentle but firm and possessive. His mouth moved with a mix of hunger and desperation, and you struggled to contain the moans as his hands slipped inside your dress, and his fingers—

A shiver ran down your spine when he spread your legs, and you couldn’t help the titillating gasp that escaped when inserted his two of his fingers in you all at once, edging you.

"Ungh, ngh! Hah—" Your body jerked and you clung to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Zayne wasn't usually this brash, but tonight it was as if a screw had come loose.

"Louder," he commanded in your ear, and your heart pounded at his authoritative voice. He pushed his digits deeper as if punishing you, that you yelped. "Do not hold back."

He lifted you by your waist, effortlessly pressing you against the small table by the window. You were on the 20th floor, the world below far out of sight, but the thought that anyone might catch a glimpse was somehow... thrilling.

"I-I'm close—" you stammered, and the moment you did, your husband vigorously moved his fingers inside your squelching folds, "A-ah!"

The room felt smaller, the air thicker. The way your walls took his fingers alone made your thoughts scatter, and when you came undone on him, you latched onto him, your head resting against his chest as your breaths came in shaky, uneven gasps. "Z-Zayne... please..."

He pulled out his fingers, looked at your cum coating them, and brought them to your lips. You, still trembling, sucked the essence off with teary eyes.

Sweaty, disheveled, lips swollen and cheeks flushed... how he had reduced you into this state was gratifying.

Zayne’s gaze darkened, his breath heavy as he stared down at you. "Are you ready to take me now?"

You nodded.

He gave you a small smirk, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw gently. "Good girl."

He lifted you over to the bed, and you gasped in surprise as he tossed you onto the soft sheets, the motion quick but not unkind. You barely had time to react before his intense gaze locked onto yours, his presence domineering above you.

“Spread your legs.”

Was this man really your husband? Sometimes, you still struggled to reconcile the tender part of him and the man consumed by a unrestrained intensity before you now.

By now you had swallowed all shame and did so. You wanted to look away, but then unable to when the sight before you caught your breath—

All the while, he had his eyes on you. Zayne pulled at his tie with deliberate intent, then he shed his suit pieces, casting them to the floor with a casual abandon, before undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt, revealing his bare chest altogether.

Your husband looks so hot. The way he gazed at you throughout it all too...

He glanced at the space between your legs. “Wider.”

You complied, letting your face burn impossibly hotter, anticipating him.

He eased in slowly, starting with just the tip. You whimpered at the intrusion.

"Hurts?" he questioned with a frown.

"No," you refuted quickly, desire too burning in your gaze as you met his eyes. "I can take more."

You arched your back as Zayne sank deeper, his full length filling you. A moan tumbled from your lips as your walls clenched in response, and he pushed himself completely inside you.

"Hah..." You inhaled sharply, giving yourself a moment to adjust to his entire length, and seeing you like that, your husband cradled the side of your face with his palm.

"So beautiful..." Zayne whispered, his glazed gray-hazel eyes fixed on your spent face. His other hand clasped yours, pinning it beside your head. "My wife... is so incredibly beautiful."

It was heart-fluttering to know that your husband found you pretty. Everyone might compliment you the same way, but his were the only one that truly mattered. After seven years of marriage, your heart still skipped a beat every time he held your gaze like this.

Without warning, Zayne started to move his hips. Your moans got louder and unabashed as his movements were slow at first, before he picked up the pace and thrusted in and out of you with fervor.

"Ahhh!" You threw your head back as his thick cock messily dragged itself against your walls. In, out, in out— Stars began to blur your vision, your nails digging into his shoulder as you reached for him.

You could see that excited glint in his eyes, the lust exploding at the sight of you. He watched you intently, savoring the way unbound desire twisted your face, each mewl you made filling the air. Your thoughts turned into puzzle pieces—

Thrust. So full, you are.

Thrust. What if... this time— you become pregnant again?

Thrust. That would be... nice. You can call it “New Years’ baby.”

Everything was incoherent. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, each hit to that one spot sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, pushing you to the brink of tears and screams.

Then, unexpectedly, he reached his climax first. His cum shot through, filling your womb to the brim in spurts after spurts, and you cried, trembling beneath him. Your release followed suit though, and you went limp in the aftermath.

Zayne collapsed on top of you and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in the crook of his neck, his name still falling off your lips as a whisper in his ear, a gentle song laced within moans. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, panting heavily against you.

“I love you.”

The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in a tangled web of desire.

The first thing he heard was your whimper.

With a groan, Zayne cracked his eyes open the morning after, instantly recognizing the dull ache in his head—it was a hangover. But before he could press his hands to his temples, his gaze fell on you, curled up in a blanket next to him.

And the whimper came again, and it tugged at something deep inside him.

“What’s... wrong?” he asked in a groggy voice, turning toward you, his hand instinctively reaching for you despite the pounding headache. “Are you alright...?”

You blinked up at him, a flicker of resentment in your gaze, and Zayne gathered you into his arms. The events of last night came back to him in fragments, and realization dawned on him.

“Are you... sore?” he murmured, concern edging his tone.

“I hate you,” you retorted in a scratchy voice, mushing your head in his shoulder. Zayne widened in slight surprise, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“Is that it...? I’m sorry...”

He gently patted your head and back, trying to soothe you. The sight of you—vulnerable and distressed—made his heart tighten with a pang of guilt. Just how rough had he been with you last night?

“There, there, it’ll pass...” he said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s normal... because we went longer and more vigorous than usual... Probably just mild irritation in your—”

“Don’t pull medical facts on me,” you muttered sullenly, weakly punching his chest. A smile made its way to his face at your mini attack.

“But it’s true though?”

How endearing. He couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, his heart softening at the sight of you, even in your grumpy state.

And in that moment, Zayne thought, nothing could've possibly ever shatter his world ever again.

[gigizetz]

Now the final saga is out, do you have a finalised list of songs ranked?

there you go

1. There Are Other Ways

2. Legendary

3. Ruthlessness

4. Warrior of the Mind

5. Would You Fall in Love With Me Again

6. Wouldn't You Like

7. Hold Them Down

8. Little Wolf

9. Thunder Bringer

10. Dangerous

11. Get In The Water

12. Scylla

13. The Challenge

14. Keep Your Friends Close

15. Love in Paradise

16. Mutiny

17. God Games

18. Monster

19. Odysseus

20. Suffering

21. Full Speed Ahead

22. Not Sorry for loving you

23. Just a Man

24. I Can't Help But Wonder

25. Remember Them

26. The Horse and the Infant

27. We'll Be Fine

28. Different Beast

29. The Underworld

30. Storm

31. Six Hundred Strike

32. Puppeteer

33. Done For

34. Open Arms

35. No Longer You

36. My Goodbye

37. Charybdis

38. Survive

39. Luck Runs Out

40. Polyphemus

[help-mona]

🩸🩸🩸 2025 🩸🩸🩸

the second christmas and still genocide 😔

Your kind hearts are the source of our patience.♥️

The blood is still bleeding from our bodies, and hunger and cold are gnawing at the bodies of our children

Think of our children and

donate Click here ⬇️🙏

Two years of war, two years of displacement, two years of hunger, two years of cold. 😔

We have lost everything. We are exhausted. Happiness has not entered our hearts since the beginning of the war.

We have not had good food in our bodies for two years.

We have not celebrated any holiday for two years. You are our hope, you are our supporters.

With your donations we are trying to survive.

We wish you a coming year in which everything beautiful for you will come true.🫶🏻🎅

Do not forget us while we are in the tent under the winter and cold.

[lalchimiedecupid]

me me me me me me me me me me me me me me

this is how i flirt

[gunsatthaphan]

"I haven't given you your reward yet."

[queen-of-arts-nlb]

Six Hundred Strike

[sci-fi-gifs]

Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back dir. Irvin Kershner | 1980

[adhdrizzy]

I'm a young gen-z BUT I actually remember when we got whiteboard in my school! It was like.... Kindergarden (not sure though since most of that year I don't remember because of ✨trauma✨) and everyone was confused

That relatable (older) Gen Z memory: when all the projectors and white boards got replaced by Smart Boards™ around like fifth grade and none of the teachers knew how to use them but they Had To Use them otherwise the school just wasted a bunch of money and it was a rlly weird transition

[electronicmail]

people often say to me, “wow, your hair is so luscious and your face is so striking, and you are so charming and witty: please, tell us, how can we be like you?” and to them i say, “you must carve your own path.” but it’s just because i am deeply selfish and also lazy

[fucktoru]

cum necklace

The gift sat on your lap, and you gently peeled back the intricate wrapping paper, letting out a sharp, delicate gasp at the sight that greeted you.

“Oh, Satoru. It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful it was indeed, a stunning piece, sitting inside a black velvet box, held securely in place. The design was simple, dainty, something you’d be able to wear every day — yet still eye catching and an elegant display of wealth. A single, creamy pearl hung low on the silver chain, small glistening encrusted diamonds sitting at the very top; white and of course, blue, hinting at the striking shade of Satoru’s eyes.

Such gifts were nothing new to you, and as he went to retrieve the expensive jewelry from your grasp, you turned your back to him out of habit, moving your hair to the side.

“Only the best for you.” He murmured, breath puffing against your nape, planting a wet kiss before drawing back.

Long, deft fingers opened the clasp, pale hands maneuvering their way around your neck. You shiver at the cool metal brushing against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of your husband’s fingertips.

Once it’s fastened, your chin dips down to your chest, continuing to admire the necklace. It wasn’t the most extravagant or expensive thing you’ve received from him, but it was just as beautiful as anything else he’s ever gotten you. The tiny gems sparkle against the Christmas lights from the big tree, appearing even more dazzling.

However, upon further inspection, you couldn’t help but notice something about the necklace seemed a bit…off.

You’re vastly familiar with pricey accessories and clothing thanks to a certain someone. Therefore, you could easily spot a real from a fake. Pearls in their nature were cool to the touch, which it was. But they were also heavy, which this one was not.

It strikes you as odd. You know your husband well enough to know he’d never buy you a counterfeit— it’d be a slight to his ego if you ever insinuated he did for he was certainly not lacking in wealth — and even so, Satoru only buys custom made jewelry, all in order for no one else in the world to ever own or wear the same thing as you.

Examining the singular pearl further, you pinched the white orb between your middle finger and thumb, tapping on it repeatedly with the tip of your perfectly manicured nail on your pointer finger to test the hollowness of the sphere.

Satoru looks over, jaw resting on your shoulder while his arms hooked themselves over your waist. He watches intently, hypnotized by the movements and soft, reverberating clacking sound, unable to think of anything else but you repeating the exact motion on the tip of his cock.

“Mm, what’s wrong? Not to your taste?”, he grumbled, and though you couldn’t see it, you could practically hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

It was a ridiculous—no—outrageous question, and he knew that. Your husband knew you better than you knew yourself. And you knew him better than he knew himself. With that, you could tell there was more to that cheeky smile than he let on.

“Satoru.” You warned, only to receive a pout in response from the corner of your eye.

He blinks. “Whaaat? I didn’t even do anything and you’re scolding me.”

“Yes, you did. Tell me. Right now.”

A childish whine sounds beside your ear at the chastising tone. He hugs you tighter into his arms—willing you not to be mad—firm, muscular chest pressing against your back.

“‘S nothing baby, just—”, and he giggles, flicking the little ball so that it makes a soft ping! sound.

“Wanted you to always have a piece of me with you...” He finishes, biting his lip, trying to fight back his laughter at his little inside joke.

Satoru bats his lashes at you when you turn to face him over your shoulder—innocent. Your brows furrow in confusion, and your eyes fix back onto the light, creamy pearl nestled between your fingers with a glare, daring it to give you the answers to all of your questions.

The silence that follows tells your husband of your ongoing obliviousness to his implication. He sighs at his ever-so dumb wife, gaze locked onto your face from his place behind you, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement and mischief.

“Oh, don’t make that face, my dear. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

A hand releases your waist, taking the pearl from you and stroking it. His fingers caress the sphere in a slow, sensual rhythm and he leans in, lips brushing against your ear, voice dropping to a whisper.

“But for now, let’s just say that this pearl has a unique...essence.”

Ping!

“One that’s all mine.”

[ddesole]

EMPIRE STRIKES BACK // SKELETON CREW 1.05

[faejilly]

#hmmm trying to decide who’s which ghost #Eliot as future bc future is Death #and then it’s a question of who’s ’remember how idealistic your past was’ vs ‘here’s the current suffering’ #could see that going either way #or Eliot is past=nostalgia and then who is current suffering vs You Will Die And What For? #phrasing it like that makes it harder to see Parker as Future bc as much sympathy she might have for tiny Tim (Sam if we’re going Full AU) #she does love her money #so Parker is Past or Present #past is harder to picture for her since she never really had that kind of family #so final answer: Hardison=young joyful past. Parker=seeing how other families suffer. Eliot=You Will Die and What For (via @turquoiseorchid)

reblog to send three ghosts after elon musk

[celestine-witch]

Still thinking about EPIC because I just love how EPIC handles Ody’s guilt.

Now, I don’t think I need to deep dive on how Odysseus’ guilt drives him in Act I. We’ve been obsessing over that for ages lmao, but very briefly: He feels awful for killing the infant Astyanax, and tries to force Polites’ “Open Arms” philosophy in order to ease that guilt.

Then, in “Monster,” Odysseus grapples with how his guilt leads him to make mistakes, asking: “What if I’m the one who killed you / every time I caved to guilt?”

And the implication is that gives up his guilt, deciding he needed to be a monster who “threw that guilt away.” And yet.

He never does.

He never stops feeling guilty—not about what he does in Act I, and not about what he does in Act II. We see it in how he agonizes over Zeus’ impossible choice in “Thunder Bringer”; in “Love in Paradise” when he’s haunted by the ghosts of his loved ones. And it’s not like he’s unaware of what he’s doing—Odysseus knows he’s been trying to suppress his feelings, most of all guilt and remorse.

In “Six Hundred Strike,” Poseidon rhetorically asks “How will you sleep at night?” He wants to know how Odysseus is going to live with his guilt, if he even still feels guilt. Odysseus answers his rhetorical question literally, “Next to my wife.”

Which, not only is that just a raw line, but it also does give a rhetorical answer. Odysseus knows that he isn’t going to be okay, that the guilt will way him up inside for the rest of his days, but he also knows he can count on Penelope. That she will help him shoulder his burden.

And he’s prove right in “Would You Fall in Love with Me Again.”

Because, finally. After twenty years, Odysseus is home, safe and sound—and all at once the guilt hits him. The pain and regret over every decision he had to make comes crashing down the moment he no longer had to suppress it.

And he hates it; he hates himself for making those choices, even when there was no other way to get home.

So he tries to dehumanize himself once more—to convince Penelope and himself that he’s become some kind of remorseless monster. Because that’s how he coped with it last time. That’s how he survived “Monster.”

And Penelope sees right through his bullshit. She cuts through his guilt and self-loathing to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he is still human; that he is loved. And in doing so, tells him that it’s okay to grieve, to feel that guilt and let it go. He’s suffered enough.