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ay0nha · 1 month ago

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Please Forgive Me | Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

SUMMARY: You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. You were both slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

Where you and Robby explore the first steps towards Ho'oponopono.

PAIRING: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!attending!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.2K

WARNINGS: Canon-typical things, blood, death, smoking, Myrna, ANGSt-heavy, the "Kraken" mentions (mental health is no joke, I have opinions), seizure mentions (also no joke, although used humorously), plot driven by movie magic, reader getting physically hurt, flashbacks, arguments, fluff if you squint, word vomit, therapy session w/Kiara, mentions of terminal cancer, incarcerated patient, razor blades, glass, (let me know if I missed anything, I've been staring at this too long), etc.

Inspired by @skulandcrossbones's post, @xxdrixx's post, and @sunkissedburns' post. Also inspired by Joan Didion, that one Grey's episode, and other things I can't remember, so remind me if I missed things. CREDIT GOES WHERE IT IS DUE.

A/N: So I REWROTE this part because it was just Not It for me tbh. It didn't hold the angst/vibes I wanted it to, so please forgive me (*wink*) if this is confusing or jumbled, I just felt like this fit better for what I'm trying to do. Comments are HEAVILY encouraged; they truly keep me going and motivated to write. Many thanks to @hummusforthewin, @est1887, and @sunfairyy for helping me out! Enjoy.

prologue

“They all say ‘Life doesn’t work that way,’ ‘Live with the consequences and learn,’ ‘No one can cheat the system,’ but I did.” You paused, letting the admission be a placeholder. “Why would I regret that? They want to humanize everything; they just see wanting to die as a crime.”

Kiara always started with a baseline. It helped ease you into conversations you avoided. Yet, today the air was different. You came in with vexation. You kept storing up all that anger. You hoped for it to spill over. Otherwise, you’d drown in it.

“And you don’t?” Kiara prompted. She was subtle with her interjections, learning your habit to retreat when prodded.

You’d already mourned what could have been, what would not be, what you couldn't save. It was a daily practice. But this, what got you here, this was different. This didn’t come with the same leverage of sadness and authenticity; this felt radical even for you.

“I’ve seen so much life and death that it’s become one and the same.” You continued. “I’m not trying to be clever, here…I just—” Another pause before you decidedly gave up. “—don’t get it.”

Kiara hummed. She balanced her opinions well. She never pressed you too far, but you could tell that with your little progress, she needed to be more critical.

“How poetic.” Kiara rested her hands on her lap. It was picture professional, minus the smirk settled on her face. “Yet another doctor who thinks they can control life—death. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“Administration doesn’t see it that way.” You welcomed being brought down from a pedestal. It was the last thing any doctor’s ego needed. “Aren’t I lucky?”

“Who doesn’t?” She challenged, eyebrow perked. “You gave Gloria more paperwork, but more than that, she doesn’t have the time—or energy to evaluate your morals, frankly.”

“Dana—

“Please,” Kiara laughed.

You frowned.

There was no point in arguing; you’d fallen for the bait you’d spent weeks avoiding. Kiara saw it firsthand, eyes always finding yours when you were both on the floor of the ED. It was easy to brush off, blaming time and urgency.

Now, you were just stuck, trapped. Your eyes fled to the clock, its slowness insulting you.

“Everyone’s eyes are always on me, waiting for me to crack with regret, with…guilt…” You held in the bitter laugh, knowing the reaction would be scribbled down. Your humor wasn’t always appreciated. “...but—nothing. I know what I did and I didn’t hesitate.”

As the topic shifted, the spacious room felt like it was suddenly collapsing in on you. You kept your breathing even. You learned young that nobody touched you when you looked sharp, but Kiara’s gaze could see through whatever facade you felt the need to put up.

“If Robby is who you’re referring to…” She eyed you as she pressed further.

“Robby?” You scoffed, echoing Kiara’s humor. “Please.”

“Your anger seems pointed.” Kiara was specific with her words, adjusting in her seat.

The office felt awfully small.

Robby stood far away from you, leaning against the opposing wall stiffly with hands in his pockets. His hair was a mess, a clear indication of the utter frustration he was in.

Despite the distance, the tension between the two of you was palpable. He was absolutely livid.

Deservedly so. You should have listened to him and stayed out of it, but you didn’t—couldn’t. Now you had to simply stand and take whatever he was about to throw at you.

You swallowed the knot in your throat, preparing for a half-hearted apology. “I’m so—”

“You—” He straightened himself, finger pointed out in accusation, “—had one job. I asked you to stay out of it— no, I ordered you to stay out of it. And what the hell do you do? The absolute fucking opposite. The actual fuck were you doing?”

Robby’s eyes narrowed deeper, the sharpness of the glare hitting you right in the chest. You flinch. “What makes you think you can ignore the rules? Have you forgotten that I’m your attending? I—”

“Do not pull rank with me.” You snapped. So much for just standing there and taking it. “You know damn well I am just as competent as you are.”

“Competent doesn’t mean that you’re—” Robby paused, taking in a tight breath. His voice stayed level, a refusal to let his anger get the best of him. “You were reckless. Out of line. I have to pull rank if you choose to act like one of the students. What is not clear here?”

You can’t help the bitter laugh that burst from your lips. You had a meanness inside you, real as an organ. With a slit down your belly, it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor just so you could stomp on it.

“You can pretend to be Adamson all you want, but this morning, you froze.” Low blow. But the ripple of emotion in Robby’s face was satisfying.“ So, sure, I’m fucking sorry for taking things into my own hands when you couldn’t.”

“This was not your patient, and you are too stubborn to understand that. Now she’s dead.” Robby kept going, “Gloria is expecting you this afternoon. You will listen to her if you want to stay here. Don’t fuck up again.”

You tried opening your mouth, but nothing came out; your face was too hot, too hurt, too full of rage.

“I’m not angry.” A lie.

“What’s your diagnosis then?” Kiara was kind, her tone carrying her warmth.

Just like most people in the ED, you struggled to show your appreciation for Kiara. She was always present and shared everyone’s bad days. She braved the follow-through once the doctors walked away after the patient stabilized. She not only took on the burdens of the patients, but also the doctors.

The guilt made you prickle.

“She was going to die anyway. By my hand or theirs.” You put it starkly. “I just made her fate more bearable…she deserved the dignity…”

You had never addressed what you had done so directly. It always lingered as something you both just knew. Everyone knew. It was memorable. You sat in the quietness, letting your words sink in, remembering the day the Earth stood still.

“...what I did was wrong. I was willing to lose my license—prepared even.” Your arms crossed across your chest protectively, your voice becoming hushed. “But Robby—Robby told me I was playing God..…can you believe that?”

The words came to you so suddenly, it felt like you’d lost your breath. They wrapped around you like a boa. You heard them when you slept, and they loitered until you rubbed the exhaustion from your eyes. It had never cracked down on you like this.

“And now, this—” You gestured around you. “It’s a Sisyphean act, never-ending, useless—whatever you want to call the write-up, the babysitting, the obligation, the—t-the…”

One must imagine Sisyphus happy. Robby’s words mocked you.

“You can convince anyone that I meant well. Robby, though? You’d die trying.” You jeered. “He expects me to be grateful for keeping me here. Prick.”

Kiara was proud; you could see it in the soft look she gave you. The foundation was finally laid bare to explore.

Yet, you recoiled at your vulnerability. At your harshness. It shocked you, how gentle a tug it took to unravel everything that you built up. Truthfully, you were petrified. The core issue had been exposed, and you felt like a child throwing a tantrum.

However, it took many years of vomiting up all the filth you’d been taught about yourself, and half believed, before you were able to walk on the earth as though you had a right to be there. You’d be damned to forget that because of him.

—

The ED was slow.

No one acknowledged it; everyone was too superstitious to.

The quiet no longer felt like rest. The weather consisted of sleet that kept everyone off the streets. All that could be done was to wait idly for those who were brave enough to come in and those who had no choice but to succumb to the danger of it all.

The snow fueled your smoke break; it was a subconscious way to find warmth and stave off the anxiety that lingered from your morning with Kiara. Neither was remedied. Instead, your fingers were stiff from the temperature, and there was no relief from how the pit in your stomach grew.

“I could fake a seizure.”

“Too ‘boy who cried wolf’…” You shook your head. The strike of your lighter was motivated by agitation. On the first exhale of your newly-lit cigarette, you said, “It has to be a…casual—believable lie.”

“All this for what? Feelings?” Myrna gestured at the air with mocking disgust. “I know a thing or two about a crime of passion.”

“Robby’s allergic.” Something swirled in your chest, but you brought the cigarette to your lips to suffocate it.

“Oh, honey, I knew you were stupid, but not that stupid.” Myrna cracked with humor. Her insults made you feel electric. Normal. They humbled every egotistical vein in your body. “Robby looks at you with nothing but feelin’.”

“That ‘look’ is….” Disgust? Resentment? Loathing? “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’d bend him over my knee for what he did to you.” Myrna carried on with her opinions, humoring herself as she continued. “I like big butts and I cannot lie…”

Your eyes sparkled with the image. You’d pay good money to see Robby’s face painted with discomfort. His self-control irked you, got under your skin without even trying. It used to drive a competitive friction between you both, one that was light, teasing, even. But it festered to the point it controlled you; you relied on proving a point.

“Breach of duty, my ass.” She barked. “So you were a drug dealer, so what! I know plenty. God forbid you did something about healthcare in this country.”

“Myrna,” You warned. You wish you were just a ‘drug dealer.’ Instead, you became the judge, jury, and executioner. “When are you going to stop bringing it up?”

“When you do something better.”

“It’s temporary, anyways.” You said more to remind yourself. It hadn’t quite stuck as a mantra, but it was enough to get you through a shift. “Family emergency? No—Robby would call my sister and that’s—

“Find an obituary.” Myrna shrugged. “You’ve got four grandparents to choose from.”

“Can’t.” You filtered smoke through your nose, half-lidded eyes remaining ahead. The thought caused your lips to tingle with indifference. Deep down, you knew nothing would change. “Used that one not too long ago, Robby’d sniff that out…”

“You asked me how to get him off your back: seizure.” Myrna snapped playfully, not letting your eyes glaze over for too long. “Give me a few minutes, I’m sure I can start foaming at the mouth.”

“He’s already onto us.” You didn't have it in you anymore to struggle and fight and suffer; you wanted to enjoy the quiet when you could find it. You smiled. “‘Fruitcake,’ though—that always gets me through the day.”

“Happy to oblige.” She snorted. “Now, if you really need him gone—I can make it look like an accident.”

A laugh bubbled through your chest. “I’ll remember that for when I really need it.”

“Listen, girlie…” Myrna gave you the least offensive nickname in the ED. It was why you passed the dwindling cigarette to her; you always played favorites. “...whatever you do, don’t bet on a losing dog.”

You hummed in response. You didn’t need to look too deeply into her words, but you knew they’d ring true when things got too quiet, when you’d want to avoid them the most.

“I’ve made that mistake before, and lemme tell you: not worth it.” She smothered the roach on her wheelchair, flicking the remains to melt into the snow. “Sad eyes comin’ in, twelve o’clock.”

The hospital door popped the bubble created. The interruption was overdue.

“Everything alright out here?” Robby’s voice was traced by the cold air, cautious enough not the call too much attention but aware enough to know you weren’t.

“Just gettin’ some air.” Your sigh was heavy. Your day was not ruined. Your world was not over. Take a deep breath. It’s just temporary.

“Patients shouldn’t be out here.” Robby's lips pressed together. You knew he wasn’t surprised, but entirely unimpressed.

“I don’t clock in for another…” You looked at your watch. “...eight minutes. Not my circus, not my patient.”

“Myrna.” He greeted her. Robby ignored you, nodding to the nurse who followed him out. “Please make sure someone keeps an eye on her.”

Before being rolled past him, Myrna winked at you. “Fruitcake.”

Robby stayed quiet, head dipping with feigned politeness.

You looked ahead, avoiding his eyes. It gave a moment for Robby to imagine the way your fingers deftly played with your lighter. The way your side profile was traced as you exhaled the smoke. The smell lingered, and his finger twitched with desire.

From your peripheral vision, you watched Robby rock on his heels, wanting to say something. You didn’t smoke often, so he knew nerves formed the habit. His attentiveness made you nauseous.

“Need something, doctor?” You snapped first.

“Nicotine lowers the seizure threshold...” He hummed. You focused on Robby carefully, watching how his disappointment fed through his body language. “...but there’s no way Myrna can smoke with those handcuffs, right?”

“Right.” Your tone was always tight around him. Sterile. “I’ll meet you inside.”

You meant to be firm. To give Robby no option other than to leave you to the cold. However, the more you spoke, the more he lingered.

“You’re gonna freeze out here.” His hands were deep in his pockets, as if talking about himself. “Coffee’s fresh in the lounge.”

“I’ve got a few more minutes until the frostbite kicks in.” You clicked your teeth with sarcastic resistance.

Robby left, his attempt futile. He only got a few strides away before bursting.

“You’ve got to stop—” Robby rubbed his palms to his eyes. “Besides it being extremely unprofessional, you’re doing my head in. You fucked up. Accept it.”

Your eyes widened. It was early for him to be fed up with you. It usually hit after the day’s first coding, or if Gloria hit below the belt. This was new. Anger rarely settled so explicitly in Robby’s voice.

You were always quick to retaliate. “You think I enjoy this?”

“I’m starting to think you do, yeah,” Robby egged you on. He’d come to his boiling point. “We save lives, we work with the circumstances given to us. We strategize. We treat. We cope—

“She swallowed razor blades—” You bit. Prepared. “—then, a lightbulb, Robby! How’s that for coping, huh?”

“She wanted a break from solitary, do you know how many incarcerated—

“She did what she did because she had to.”

“That is not for you to decide.” Robby provoked in a low voice. Hissed. “And neither was her death.”

“She was metastatic! What difference would it have made?” Your words were weak with exasperation. Yet again, a repeated conversation. “What I did was safe and comfortable. No one deserves to go through that in prison—”

“She would have received another round of radiation—”

“She was non-responsive to chemo for years.” You laid the well-known facts bare. The patient wouldn’t have made it to the end of the month. It was a surprise that the ED was able to bring her back. “Besides, you know prisons are the first place the shortages affect.”

Robby spoke to you distinctly. Professionally. He didn’t delve into morals or politics, but standards of care, something he was usually willing to be flexible on. He was the first to put himself on the line or take the hit for perilous risks. Yet, now he suddenly remembered standard treatment: evaluations that measure the quality and adherence to established medical protocols or best practices.

“We did what we were supposed to do.” Those textbook methods always forgot how much empathy could treat. “You went rogue.”

“This is more than that—” The air stilled. This was new. Things haunted. Things existed long after they’d been smothered. “—and you know it.”

You remained leaning against the brick building. It’s frigidness bled through your thin scrubs. Yet, you could feel the warmth, the frustration, in Robby’s movement towards you.

“What are you saying?” The lines of worry between his eyebrows deepened, and hands hands pulled at the ends of his stethoscope to stop fidgeting. Yet, they couldn’t decide to settle with irritation or confusion.

“I doubt you would’ve batted an eye for Abbott, Langdon—Jesus—even Whitaker.” You finally confessed the truth, your anger. “They’d get a slap on the wrist. Yet, I’m not allowed to be anything but perfect; you second-guess my every breath, Robby.”

You’d noticed it before, a pattern when Robby was sinking. The days were hard, the hours unrelenting. The times that were harder than others, his inclinations, conscious or not, took control. Robby moved on instinct, but it always revealed how he saw you.

Now, he understood. You accepted your so-called punishment. You just expected more from him. Disappointment was never a welcome feeling, and it struck Robby sharply, painfully. He didn’t move fast enough to apologize, so you did.

You pushed off the wall, the eight minutes up. “Forgive me that losing this patient only proved my point.”

—

Mr. Krakozhia woke up.

The sedation wasn’t monitored. The fault didn’t fall on anyone when the ED had resources spread thin; no available beds, never enough nurses, and emergencies that required split attention.

No one volunteered to restrain the ‘Kraken.’ Robby declined Dana’s request for assistance, merely providing a verbal order for sedation. Nurses, inexperienced learners, and you were left to haphazardly fill the gaps. All your strength combined, you still received a boot to the mouth.

A metallic taste spread in your mouth. You tongueed at the teeth that’s nerves felt stunned. All twenty-eight were accounted for, but blood spilled from your tongue and lip.

“Oh, he got you—you alright, kid?” Dana laughed sympathetically, pulling you up from where you’d been knocked back. “I’ll keep ‘em off your back for a little. Take a break. You know the drill: direct pressure, cold compress.”

You had a love-hate relationship with hospitals. You thought they were always too bright with a bleak atmosphere. There were phones constantly ringing, monitors always beeping, people coughing all of the air out of themselves; everything was too overwhelming to the senses.

So, your attempt to decompress, to stop your lip from throbbing against your heartbeat, was always found in the stairwell. They were rarely used and acted as a sound barrier to the city’s whelm.

You sighed heavily, letting your head drop.

The tears that fell from your cheeks left dark bruises on your scrubs. Quiet, like they always do. You wiped at your eyes; your tears felt like a burden. But they wouldn’t stop until they ran out. Then, you were still and silent. Because if you opened your mouth, you were afraid you'd never stop screaming.

“Hey—”

You hadn’t heard the door creak. Or felt the hand that rested on your shoulder. It was the first time in a long time you didn’t flinch. The words I’m fine died before you could breathe them out. Instead, Robby met you at your level, sitting on the stairs next to you.

“Let’s take a look.” Robby’s gloves were pulled on with dexterity. Your bloodshot eyes were wide, reading worry on his expression. Robby assessed you softly. Even softer when you winced. “Tender?”

“Dana told you where to find me?” You exhaled slowly, the edge of defiance in your posture softening into something a little more tired.

“She could only hold me off for so long.” He pulled his gloves off, hands retreating tentatively. “Feeling dizzy, headache…did you hit your head?”

“No LOC, EOM intact, just a busted lip.”

Your pupils were wide with stress, but they were equal and reactive. You knew Robby wouldn’t press further, but he was reading into every twitch and movement just in case he missed something crucial. But he knew not to misread your calmness, healthcare assault, accidental, incidental, or not, happened.

For the past few shifts, you didn’t need to avoid Robby. He gave you space, still processing your last interaction. You wouldn’t admit it, as if felt hypocritical, but it was strange not having him close. Even his eyes had stopped tracking you, and it felt like something was wrong.

It felt like your fault that one day you both woke up, no longer speaking the same language. You hadn’t heard from him since. You couldn’t translate how badly Robby wanted to tell you he knew you didn’t need to be saved, protected. That you needed to be found and appreciated.

“I’ve been thinking,” Robby started, but you heard an undercurrent of hesitation. Nothing haunted him more than the things he didn’t say. “About what you said…”

You’d been thinking too.

You knew he’d been trying to catch you for days. Weeks. But his irritability got in the way. Impatience for Gloria got in the way. He had trouble sleeping, and when he was awake, he was vigilant. Then, when you didn’t see him, you knew he carried his sadness to the roof.

“Let’s not—not now, at least.” Your plea was soft. You cleared your throat, as if telling the tears that pricked your waterline to stop.

“Okay.” Robby swallowed everything with that tight-lipped, polite smile and nod. That smile that he wore—it didn’t shine. Soft and a little sorry. It settled over guilt.

You needed to let go of the illusion that it could have been any different. Both Robby and you were slowly losing yourselves and your patience. Instead, resented for being weathered and callous. But the pain and hurt were still there; nobody acknowledged how it had gone so long ignored.

You were both stalling, not used to being so close for so long. You both desired one last deep breath, but the air was running out. You both didn’t know how to exist so softly.

You heard a new tone when people asked how you were, a tone you had not noticed before and found increasingly distressing, even humiliating: these people seemed impatient, half-concerned, half querulous, as if no longer interested in the answer. As if all too aware that the answer will always be a complaint.

You’d been trained to speak, if asked how you were, only positively. That was healthcare; you were not allowed to not be OK. You framed the cheerful responses. What you believed to be the cheerful response, as you framed it, emerged, as others hear it, more like a whine.

Do not whine. Do not complain. Work harder. Spend more time alone, you told yourself.

You listened.

You did not whine when hunger sawed your body in half. You did not complain when, after you worked for hours, trying to get the sound of a sentence right. You bled politely all over Pittsburgh.

However, the cold was catching up to you. So was the exhaustion. It weakened your senses and put your emotions at the forefront. You wanted to be held, to be cared for in ways you couldn’t provide alone. Robby was familiar with the feeling, but was better at hiding the ache.

Now, Robby could handle your anger. Anger was good. Anger meant that there was something he could react to, challenge. But your self-restraint dwindled. The smallest gesture of affection brought a lump to your throat, whether it was directed to you or at someone else.

So, Robby stood, hand reaching for yours. He had the awkward tenderness of someone who had never been loved and was forced to improvise.

“Ready?” For the chaos.

He pulled you gently, eyes still roaming you for discontent. It felt good, as if one thing were normal. The rest of the shift, you knew he’d be back to lingering, back to playful chiding that would burn your skin, and watching you so closely for any pain he could relieve.

It wasn’t a long-term solution, but this shift’s abatement.

“Yeah, yeah,” You sniffed through your words, clearing any emotions that loitered. “I want a good case after that beating.”

Once you stood, Robby was going to release you from what he suspected was torture. Yet, your grip tightened, palm to palm. You clung to his hand so that something human could exist in the chaos. Hand in unlovable hand, you stay attached until the buzzing took over at the nurse’s station.

Robby understood why people held hands: He'd always thought it was about possessiveness, saying, "This is mine." But you had revealed to him that it was about maintaining contact, speaking without words, and saying, regardless of everything, "I want you with me, and don't go."

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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months ago

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Blue states should play “constitutional hardball”

NEXT WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

Nothing's more frustrating that watching the GOP smash norms and decency to advance policies that harm millions of Americas, unless it's that, plus Democratic officials stamping their feet and saying, "C'mon guys, play fair."

The GOP's game is called "constitutional hardball." Think: Mitch McConnell refusing to hold confirmation hearings on Obama's federal judiciary appointments, not never for Merrick Garland's Supreme Court seat – then filling the Federal judiciary with the least-qualified, most FedSoc-addled lunatics in US history, all for lifetime appointments.

As bad as this is at the federal level, it's even worse at in the states, especially the Republican "trifecta" states where the GOP holds the governorship and the state house and senate, where shameless gerrymandering and legislative attacks on hard-won ballot measures are the order of the day. GOP-held state governments engage in rampant interstate aggression, targeting out-of-state abortion providers, publishers, and journalists.

This is a one-sided Cold Civil War, because state Dems, for the most part, are unwilling to play hardball in return (the closest they come is when, say, California sets strict emissions controls and manufacturers adopt them nationwide, rather than making special cars for the giant California market). Republicans engage in constitutional hardball and Dems refuse to fight back, a phenomenon called "asymmetrical constitutional hardball":

https://columbialawreview.org/content/asymmetric-constitutional-hardball/

Writing for The American Prospect, Arkadi Gerney and Sarah Knight make the case for symmetrical constitutional hardball:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-10-18-playing-hardball/

The pair argue first, that the best way to get Republican state houses to play fair is to credibly threaten them with retaliatory action. They cite the recent attempt at a last-minute change the way that Nebraska's Electoral College votes are apportioned, which would have given all of five the state's EC votes to Trump. Maine threatened to effect the same change to its Electoral College system, which would have given all four of its EC votes to Harris. Nebraska surrendered.

But there's also a second advantage to playing Constitutional Hardball: it makes blue states better. For example, Minnesota gives free college tuition to exceptional low/middle-income students. Neighboring North Dakota got tired of losing all its smartest kids Minnesota schools and created its own subsidy. As Gerney and Knight point out, Minnesota (and other blue states) still has a huge advantage when it comes to attracting top talent, because attending university in a state with legal abortion is vastly preferable (and safer) than doing a degree in a forced-birth state.

Red states are bent on making life horrible for some really great people. The hardworking, talented Haitian migrants caught in the Springfield pogroms that Trump incited would be a fine addition to any blue state town – anyone who's got the gumption to haul ass out of a failed state and make their all the way to Springfield is gonna be a fantastic neighbor, citizen and worker, just like my refugee grandparents and father, who endured a million times more hardship than their neighbors ever did, getting to Toronto, finding jobs, and starting their family.

Influxes of young, hardworking immigrants are especially good for rural towns with dwindling populations. No wonder rural towns with above-average net migration swung for Biden in 2020.

All over America, families are despairing of their lives in red states. Whether you're worried that you or someone you love might need to terminate a pregnancy, or you're worried about gender-affirming care for you or a loved one, you can put your worries to rest in a blue state. Same goes for nurses and doctors who are worried they can't do medicine unless it accords with the imaginary dictates of Bronze Age prophets as claimed by pencil-neck Hitler wannabe Bible-thumper with a private jet and a face from Walmart. Fill the blue states with great schools, libraries and hospitals, and invite everyone who wants to do their job in a free country to come and work at 'em. Line every state border with abortion and mifepristone clinics, and set up billboards advertising the quality of life, the jobs, and the freedom in blue state America.

Every blue state public pension fund should ban investments in fossil fuels, and invest like crazy in renewables, especially in Texas, to hasten the bankrupting of the petro-kleptocracy that controls the state. Blue states should tack surcharges on goods imported from "right to work" states where unions are effectively banned, to compensate for the additional product testing needed to ensure that scab products are safe to use (ahem, Boeing).

Create joint occupational licensure rules across blue states: if you're certified as a teacher, nurse, hairdresser or auto-mechanic in New York, you should be able to carry that certification with you to Minnesota, California, or Maine. Create multi-state funding pools to build public housing. Offer med-school scholarships to the smartest red state kids, at universities where they'll learn evidence-based obstetrics rather than the Lysenokist nonsense taught at the Roy Moore College of Pediatrics and Obstetrics.

Dems have to get over their fear of "states' rights" and start playing state-level hardball. This doesn't mean escalating cruelty. Quite the contrary: every cruel measure enacted as red state red meat is a chance for blue states to extend a kindness, and capture even more of the best, brightest and kindest of the nation, creating a race to the top that Republicans can only win by abandoning their performative cruelty and corruption.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/18/states-rights/#cold-civil-war

#pluralistic #states rights #cold civil war #constitutional hardball #extraterritoriality #federalism #abortion #lgbtq

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hargreeves-duncan · 14 days ago

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⎯⎯ ROBERT “BOB” FLOYD HEADCANONS

a/n: i love bobby SO much i had to expand a little on my characterisation of him

warnings: mentions of parental death/grief

word count: 879

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

- 34 (during the events of Top Gun: Maverick)

- Grew up in Montana

- His mother is old money, but his dad was new and refused to have a child until they’d gotten themselves set up independent of her family

- They ended up having Bob well into their thirties and after Bob’s mother had complications during child birth, they decided not to have another child

- Being an only child meant that Bob grew up absolutely cherished by both of his parents

- His parents met at a Honky-Tonk and even after they had Bob, they still went there every Friday night

- He used to sit up on the railing to watch them until he was old enough that his mom let him dance too

- He was a really shy and quiet kid and his mom signed him up for dancing lessons because she thought it was important for a boy to know how to lead and have a little charm

- By the time he was ten, girls his age would line up to dance with him and even though he’d blush his way through most of the numbers, dancing slowly brought him out of his shell

- His father, Richard Floyd, didn’t care much about religion but his mother, Elizabeth Joan Floyd, believed in bringing him up Protestant

- Bob attended Sunday School when he was a boy and all the way until he was eighteen, he volunteered with his mother to help at charity drives and church suppers

- He was brought up in a gentlemanly manner - all “sir’s” and “ma’am’s” and always opening the door for a lady

- His mother agreed to let him pursue his career in the Navy, so long as he got a degree whilst he did it

- He got his degree in Systems Engineering at the US Naval Academy at 22 and, from there, began his active duty in the Navy

- Two years before his time at Top Gun, his father was diagnosed with a terminal illness at aged 71

- He was torn between the hospital and the naval base during the months where it accelerated and on the day that his father passed, he wasn’t there

- He still feels guilty for not being there for his mother, or his father, that day and now, to try and make up for it, he visits his mother whenever he has any time to spare

- Communication is everything to him, especially after losing his dad - Bob is sure to send you check-in texts anytime he has a moment to breathe and when he’s deployed, he never misses a letter home

- In the words of Lewis Pullman, Bob’s a “library dweller”

- Often, when he’s reading, he’ll find a passage that reminds him of you and he’s sure to dog-ear the page to show you it later

- He’s read almost all of James Baldwin’s works

- Best believe that there are bookshelves lining almost every wall in your home

- Bob has a habit of tucking your feet into his lap when you’re sat together - whether it’s in bed or on the couch, he’ll take your feet into his lap, rest one hand on your ankle and let the other press circles into the soles of your feet

- He doesn’t have any social media and only really uses his phone to talk to the people he cares about

- His camera roll is full of pictures of the two of you and, of course, his favourite picture of you - laughing at something he said at your anniversary dinner - is his lockscreen

- Prior to meeting you, he used to take himself on solo-dates to the cinema or, on occasion, a museum

- Was obsessed with Star Wars as a kid

- Had a movie-quality Luke Skywalker costume that he wore four Halloweens in a row, it was too big the first year and too small by the last but he didn’t care

- He was heartbroken over what they did to Luke in the sequels and rewatched Return of the Jedi over and over like it could undo the damage after seeing them

- “That wasn’t Luke. Not my Luke.”

- Bob savours all of the time he has with you - keeping his phone on silent and his eyes on you, hanging onto your every word

- He’ll happily spend his mornings mumbling sweet nothings into your skin, half-asleep and cuddled up to you as sunlight spills onto the bedcovers

- And he loves evenings on the porch watching the sunset, under a blanket or two on the swing chair, just as much

- His favourite chore is doing the laundry - it’s therapeutic for him to switch his brain off and go through the motions of folding and sorting for a while

- Bob’s not particular about much except for his cedarwood soap bar and when you replace it with your own fancy body scrub, you hear about it

- “I just- what happened to the other one?”

- “I threw it out, Bobby. It was worn down to a sliver.”

- “Yeah, a sliver that was still usable, baby.”

- He doesn’t yell, or throw a fit, but he’ll dramatically fish the old bar out of the bin and balance it on top of the new one in protest

- You eventually decide that his soap stays in the shower and your scrub by the sink - much to Bob’s chagrin

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick #tgm #fanfic #fanfiction #lewis pullman

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breckstonevailskier · 2 months ago

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Frederick Sinclair's true colors were shown during the TV series

Among the other named business oligarchs we see in attendance at the Vault-Tec meeting in the final episode of season 1, besides Robert House, is Frederick Sinclair. He's representing Big Mountain.

Those who played the Dead Money DLC for Fallout: New Vegas will recognize Sinclair, as he's the guy who constructed the Sierra Madre Resort & Casino at which the DLC's events take place.

However, some fans have felt that there's a discrepancy between how Sinclair is depicted here vs. the image of him we are given from reading terminal entries and looking at murals around the Sierra Madre.

For instance, Dead Money and Old World Blues have it stated that Sinclair is just a client of Big MT, whereas the TV series has him serving as Big MT's representative at this meeting.

Another point of contention is how Sinclair's physical appearance and personality in the TV show is very different from how it is depicted in Dead Money. In Dead Money, Sinclair is portrayed as a suave man of average weight with brown hair and a mustache (albeit only on pre-War murals), and has a much more youthful and regretful personality. But the TV series makes him older, portly, and very crass.

We have remarks made by Dead Money's project director Chris Avellone where he felt that Sinclair's physical appearance on-screen "didn't really mesh with his appearance in the Sierra Madre."

However, I'd argue that we're not seeing any retcons at all, and nothing about Sinclair's presence at the meeting contradicts what we learn about him from Dead Money. In fact, if anything, his presence in the show informs a lot of the backstory we learned in Dead Money.

Sinclair's foreknowledge:

One thing that is clearly noted from reading terminal entries and a few journal entries, is that Sinclair clearly believed that a nuclear war was imminent:

Now that we know he was at this meeting to collaborate with Vault-Tec, we understand why he felt this way: much like Mr. House, he had foreknowledge. That's why he built the Casino like a fortress. That's why he invested in technology like the Vending Machines, the holograms, and the Auto Docs.

Sinclair and the Cloud:

Sinclair almost went broke in the process of procuring the Vending Machines and the holograms for the Sierra Madre. To compensate, he permitted Big MT to conduct some experiments in the Villa. One of the experiments that Big MT did at the Villa was put an airborne toxin in the Villa's shoddy ventilation system, and then pump it out to see what would happen. This put several construction workers out of commission due to the effects it had on them, and is ultimately the source of the Cloud. To deal with the problem, Sinclair negotiated with Big MT to procure hazmat suits for the workers to go in and try and find where the Cloud had originated from. Unbeknownst to Sinclair, the hazmat suits were intentionally designed poorly, such that the users were exposed to the Cloud and also found themselves getting trapped in the suits (and could only be freed by having someone else cut them out with a Cosmic knife). These two experiments combined are what led to the construction crew becoming the Ghost People who inhabit the Villa.

While terminal entries in Old World Blues suggest that Sinclair didn't know about the Cloud being a Big MT experiment, the TV show makes me think that actually, he DID know. When the executives begin tossing out ideas for vault experiments, listen to the second idea that Sinclair pitches: he proposes a vault where psychotropic drugs are pumped into the air supply (which was ultimately implemented in Vault 106 out in the Capital Wasteland). That's an experiment that's very similar to the Cloud experiment, which involved an airborne toxin being pumped out of a ventilation system. Perhaps Sinclair knew exactly what the Cloud was, and its true origins, and this discovery was still fresh in his mind at the time of the meeting with Vault-Tec.

Sinclair's relationship with Vera Keyes:

Sinclair's depiction as an old and crass businessman does change the nature of his relationship to Vera Keyes. If the Sierra Madre murals of Sinclair are taken at face value...

...he comes off like a middle aged man in love with someone close to him in age, who was very heartbroken by finding out she was an unwitting accomplice to Dean Domino's plans to rob from him.

But with his depiction in the show, his relationship with Vera looks a lot different. Instead of being this middle aged man pining for a woman close to him in age, he's an old man who's obsessed with a young starlet at least 40 years his junior (information on Vera suggests she was in her late 20s when the Gala Event took place, and Sinclair looks to be in his late 60s/early 70s).

Him being an old man also makes a lot of sense when one considers his relationship to Dean Domino. Dean Domino was probably in his early to mid-60s in 2077 (going off Barry Dennen's age at the time that Dead Money was being developed), so close in age to Sinclair. It makes it more believable that Sinclair would've readily trusted Dean regarding Vera and the Villa construction, and thus be blinded to the truth that Vera was Dean's accomplice in the scheme to rob the vault, and also not be aware that Dean was profiting from Mr. Yesterday's scheme to cheat Sinclair by intentionally constructing the Villa with subpar building materials.

There's also these lines from Dean's dialogue regarding Sinclair and Vera that make a lot more sense when you know Sinclair is an old man:

"Ghost in name and image. Still a looker, though. Got to hand it to Sinclair, sure can pick 'em. Well, or get picked. Whichever."

"Vera was a big star, back before the Bomb. Not the best actress, but… well, she had other talents. Nice voice, nice legs. For some reason, Sinclair... he built this place... she caught his eye. Once he was hooked, that was it, had to have her. So made the introductions, and guess what? He builds this place for her, like some kind of Cleopatra obsession. Wasn't always a deathtrap."

And:

Courier: "Why did you need [Vera]?"

Dean: "Because she could get closer to Sinclair than I ever could. Sinclair was already puppy-eyed, so all I had to do was the introductions. She smiled, fluttered her eyes, showed a little leg ...and he built this whole place for her. Made her the key to his vault, like a joke, cause of her name. Her fake Hollywood name. Except Sinclair didn't know I'd been there first. I could twist her whatever direction I wanted."

With that age gap in mind, coupled with his foreknowledge of Vault-Tec's plans, it also makes a lot of sense why Sinclair would build the Casino like a fortress, as he came to value Vera more than anything else in his life. He probably viewed her as the one thing he didn't want to lose when the Great War broke out. It's also understandable why he'd be so devastated to learn about Vera's betrayal and turn the vault into a death trap for her and Dean, though eventually came to regret this (and ultimately died trying to undo the trap).

Additional thoughts:

Regarding the discrepancy in Sinclair's involvement with Big Mountain, I think it's safe to say that he might've actually invested a lot of money into buying a controlling stake in Big MT in order to get them to install the Vending Machines, the holograms, the Auto Docs, and all the other technologies that went into the Sierra Madre. That's my explanation at least for why he'd be the person sent to represent Big MT when Vault-Tec reached out seeking to collaborate with them on the vault experiments.

My opinion as to why the murals depict Sinclair as a young man is because he's rather vain. He was pretty suave way back when, but whereas House has largely retained his good looks up until 2077, Sinclair is now old, balding and fat.

It's worth noting that Cooper Howard has an indirect connection to Sinclair and Dean Domino, as he once starred in a movie with Vera.

...and considering a number of Season 2 set leaks have established that we'll be seeing flashbacks of Las Vegas before the Great War, I think there's a strong chance we'll get to see Cooper interact with Vera and Dean. Dean was very much present in Las Vegas at the time, as evidenced by some of his dialogue and the pre-War posters of him that can be found on loading screens and at a few locations on the Strip in the main game. So maybe Cooper will get to interact with the two of them as they were before Vera died and Dean became a ghoul.

And if they canonize Dean surviving Dead Money (which happens if you didn't bruise his ego while recruiting him), maybe Lucy and Cooper will get to interact with him when they get to New Vegas as his ending slides suggest that that's where he goes after he leaves the Sierra Madre.

I think that Vault-Tec invited Big MT to the table because they also wanted access to the same technologies Sinclair was installing in the Sierra Madre. The Vending Machines and the Auto Docs are pieces of technology that would definitely be useful to have in a Vault, especially when the Vaults are supposed to be self-sustaining.

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dallasgallant · 7 months ago

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Time period post : Buses and public transport

This one extends a bit off of my post on car culture, as I’ll cover motorlodges but also public transportation! As usual this is sort of an introduction or crash course to the topic, I do encourage you to go looking if you want to learn more!

Public transport-

In the 60’s flying was still fairly expensive and formal, it was a really nice trip or more for business men or other upper middle or outright rich people. There was a matter of price but popularity and access also played a part, most people would likely prefer to drive or take a bus or maybe even a train!

Trains were still a huge part of transportation up until following WW2, after all there were huge efforts like the transcontinental railway in the 1860s to connect the country. They were still fairly popular long form travel up through the 40s and 50s (old movies can be evidenced to that) but as car culture began to rise and interstate highway were built - people shifted their focus to individual passenger vehicles and the freedom of control. The rail system was much more in tact than the remains today but was on the decline.

Busses on the other hand? Huge, especially in small towns (some may even still have trolly systems!) they’d be kept neat and relatively on time — it was also a way to travel! Some who either couldn’t afford or didn’t want to drive a long distance themselves could take a longer bus ride/charter busses and travel the country! Greyhound absolutely ruled the roost in this regard and is still sort of synonymous!

Similar to trains there were bus terminals alongside regular street side stops, it’d be returned to on its regular run or a place to hop onto the next one going a city or so over. Some big and nice stations had little tv chairs that I am obsessed with:

Ash trays and shoe shine stands, news stands and vending machines (hot drinks, candy, cigarettes.) and brochure stands are some other notable features. Yes people used to actually man shoe shine stations… I feel in modern day they’re the stand equivalent to a mall that’s somehow still standing.

Most buses you’d pay a few cents or dollars (depending, likely cents) wherever you’re picked up. But if you’re going a considerable distance. Like Tulsa to Detroit you’d buy a ticket and then show that, you wouldn’t just hop on.

This isn’t to say there aren’t still busses in America, but our towns are larger, cars are the main focus and busses have become a bit dirty and less reliable. Isn’t to say they aren’t still a thing, similar to trains.

“Milk run” - this is an interesting bit of slang I’ve heard from my grandmother to refer to a bus going on its complete route stopping at every small town along the way.

She took a bus by herself from one town to another that were a few hours apart from eachother… about 15 in the 60s and got stranded at a bus station. (Needless her dad chewed out the attendant.)

That story highlights the detail of kids traveling on their own! It was safe* enough if they were aware and knew things well, this would be more contained to a town. Not small children either more 8+ and teens.

Motor lodges-

For a good portion of their existence, Hotels were dedicated to long term stays and located in cities, usually bachelors or businessmen etc. or sometimes renting a room at an older woman’s home.

Motor lodges became the place for the average vacationer. “Motels.” It was more common to see independently owned ones but chains did arise, like Howard Johnsons. An absolute staple of the 60s and roadside Americana… it cannot be understated just how huge these places were- sometimes their restaurants would stand alone! They were nice, fun and amenity filled place, honestly almost a toned down resort of sorts.

Most motels you’ll see beds, shower, perhaps a tv etc. they’d be clean and comfortable.

A nicer motel you’d be set! A color tv, refrigerated air (ac), a heated pool , a cafe next door.

Motor lodges rose alongside automobiles, existing all the way back in the 30s in a slightly different form. They began to kick off in gimmick and style in the real height of the Route 66 tourism era.

The view of Flying and hotels also began to change by the end of the decade, flying became cheaper and incentivized. Hotels began to spring up and offer more amenities and push out some motels, these happening simultaneously.

#the outsiders #outsiders #time period post #time period post: Buses and public transport #outsiders meta #1960s #space age #mid centruy modern #roadside america

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shinjisdone · 3 days ago

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The Potential of Yandere Nagito Komaeda

So, I played Danganronpa 1. It was really fucked up and really good. But somehow it made me NOT want to play 2+3 for some reason, Im getting too impatient for VNs nowadays lol but I REALLY got stuck on Komaeda. I know ppl call him yandere already (and some hate that hes associated with it) but he got such a unique twisted mind and obsession on hope that I can't help but think of him.

Analysing(?) the potential of Yandere Nagito and his connection to his obsession with hope and his Ultimate Luck.

TW: cursing, murder, self-harm, self-depracation, obsession, objectification, suicide, spoilers for DGR 2 and case 5, yandere behaviour

Nagito is a special case when it comes to a Yandere and thats due to the fundamental beliefs and state that define him:

A general mental unstability due to trauma.

His usage but also hatred towards his own talent, Ultimate Luck, due to the trauma.

A lack of empathy.

Constant lying.

Distancing himself from others while longing for stability and love.

His obsession with hope and gambling with his talent to gain ultimate hope no matter how.

His own insane amount of good and bad luck has defined his life. A loss of family and close ties in return for freedom and wealth. A terminal illness though he survives longer than the average person.

It makes Nagito believe he doesn't deserve anything. Any good thing follows a terrible one and vice versa. There's a constant need to force himself to see the bright side of things, to be proud of his talent but the truth is that he barely has any control over his own life.

The only thing he can do to cope is to close off any negative emotions or reactions and vehemently believe in and obsess over hope - thinking that there will always be light on his dark road. He may not have any parents anymore but for that he is now free. He, undeserving as he is, is allowed to attend Hope's Peak but ended up in a killing game.

But that's it, isn't it? The despair of it all may seem suffocating but if he endures and believes long enough, his good luck will come to rescue him and bring hope again!

What's the point of fearing anything when he got his own personal karma system by default? Why fear his own sickness and mortality, when he can cling unto hope until his very last moments instead?

Unfortunately, his luck hasn't made him popular with others.

Even when some of his good luck affects others, they're never keen on befriending him.

It's fine though and completely understandable! He is trash! Scum like him doesn't deserve a single friend, especially someone talented!

But as much as he reasons the distance of others due to his own worthlessness, Nagito knows that it's because he struggles to connect to anyone. He doesn't really get a lot of cues, jokes or any sarcasm. People don't hang around for too long no matter which response or action he takes, even those he thinks would be a good ice breaker in the moment. Even when he tries compliments, which is often added to his self-deprication, the others always seem to take it as an insult. It's tough, but Nagito made peace with the fact that he is just that terrible. Why would and should anyone understand trash like him?

So, he often finds himself lying. At times it comes naturally since he knows direct and brutal honesty might scare someone away, and other times it just is convinient. Oh, but he has no intention to be a filthy liar! When someone asks, he always reveals his lie.

Besides....they could get the short end of the stick due to his luck. Get struck by lightning, fall down the stairs, or get crushed by a meteorite...they could be gone in a second, just like his parents.

The only thing he can be sure of, and what the puts his faith in, is hope.

The world can be cruel, and people forcing despair to take over in this killing game, are even crueler. But no matter what, hope always returns, always wins! Ultimates such as his dear classmates will have no problem defeating that ugly despair, that ugly Junko, no matter what! He knows it!

So, let him be a stepping stone. The ladder they can all climb on and then abandon as they reach the top and end the game! It would be an honor to be of help to those who will bring hope.

No, its not only an honor. It's fate.

With all this in mind...there are several interesting ways for him to not only obsess over hope but also over you.

To get any kind of attention from Nagito, you'd first have to willingly talk to him.

It doesn't need to be anything in particular. You do not need to be kind and soft, direct and open, harsh or mean. Seek him out and he will notice how you are the only who keeps coming back to him.

He silently appreciates the attention. To know someone asks for his well-being, wonders where he might be or wants to hear his input.

Even if you are bit of the meaner side, he woudn't mind. Point out how his responses come off as weird, offensive or thoughtless and he'd agree! Yes, scum like him is just terrible but hey, here! Please accept his apology!

As long as you don't dislike or bully him, he keeps on being social and polite to you.

Things only go deeper once the killing game starts.

What an awful situation everyone is in! However, if we all work together, we will not give into despair!

Nagito would notice you in a positive way if you had a similiar role to Hajime.

(Here might come my own headcanons as an ace attorney fan...) In fact, if you were the Utimate Defense Lawyer, you already scored jackpot with Nagito. As a lawyer, you'd of course had to find the truth to end the class trial AND to defend someone who was innocent - that was what your intuition at least told you.

Finding the true culprit while believing in someone else...that takes an immense amount of selflessness and hope to put into someone! You could lose your life and endanger the lives of the others but you still choose hope out of your own free will! And why? Because that's just how you are.

It's a shock to Nagito but equally fascinating. An Ultimate such as you...of course you'd have to have hope! Or else you wouldn't be worthy of your talent!

So, after the trial, Nagito will be frozen at the spot when you come to speak to him.

It can be about anything but his silence and widened eyes concern you for a moment.

"Wow...! You solved the class trial in such an inspiring way and still decide to come back to talk to garbage like me?!"

Immediately he began laughing as if you told a joke and grabbed your hand, shaking it with both of his. "It must be my lucky day that I got stuck in this game with someone like you!"

His on-and-off behaviour is confusing. The guy you barely know seems so overjoyed everytime he sees you, so selflessly open and nice and always willing to help you in any kind of investigation or when exploring the island.

It's just such a convinient way to stay close to you and observe you! What else are you like? Does your talent bring out such hope in you? Are you like that in other, safer situations? Nagito is dying to know!

And when you keep on being nice to him...it brings in so much hope in his heart!

Of course, Nagito revealed how nuts he is in the beginning. So, it's not likely that you approach or hang around him to be his friend.

You keep on being polite and civil with him at best but Nagito takes each nice gesture to heart. Any request to hang out, any (reluctant) agreement to have him stick around and chat or be your 'sidekick', any kindess towards him - like bringing him food you remembered he liked and feeding him ever so gently when he was tied up - each of these things just make his opinion of you skyrocket!

These feelings intensify when you defend him in a class trial. Suspicion of murder could be placed on him and even if it lasts only for a few arguements, the fact that you put such faith in him that he isn't a killer (which he well could be!) just makes him squeeze in glee.

"Oh....ngnhn...ha..haha, ahahahha! You believe in me? Aha, all the evidence points to me but you put your faith in me? I'm the worst but you defend me! Oh, it's the accumilation of hope, a peak only you could achieve!"

It's not like in a sense that he's delusional and thinks you're doing these things because you love him - no, in fact, that thought would never cross him mind. A worthless insect like him can't be loved unconditionally. His parents didn't seem to love him so, nor can anyone really stand him and if there was potentially someone, they'd just be scared away by his ultimate bad luck.

No, it's not love. It's...admiration. Objectification.

Fixating all that he loves about hope in you.

Somehow...that makes him admire you more than anything he had ever admired before.

You ARE hope. There is an unshackling belief in you that no matter what, you won't give up. You won't give into despair and will fight even when you have no clue on what to do.

Nagito is a waste of space and air...but there is this inkling in the back of his head that makes him think you and him are the same.

Equals.

You'd understand him, right? He understands you. He understands the hope that dwells within you, the wish for it to win and to end the game.

Let him help then. Let him be your ladder, your sidekick in this story, this stepping stone of achieving the purest form of hope.

Nagito won't say it. He might shower you in these weird strings of praises, worship the ground you walk on and stick by you as if he physically is a part of you but he won't ever say that he plans to achieve hope with you.

"It stinks that I can't really control my talent like you can...I don't know when something will strike me as good or bad luck. But...I know, for certain that my ultimate good luck brought me to you. Maybe it affected you and got you into this killing game instead! Still...I can't be grateful enough. You...you are everything and...I don't ever want you to lose that! Everything that you are, you've got to keep it! You are the hope I always strife for...my luck finally brought me to you! Therefore...I've got to do everything to make sure nothing the both of us did ever goes to waste. You'll see."

It is a pain - is an understatement.

Nagito is quiet most of the time. But when he speaks and intervenes, he's the loudest of the group.

His clinginess and obsession with you is not something he hides and his brutal honesty (when he's not lying) is so off-putting, the other contestants can't help but notice.

The nicer ones would be concerned with you. Are you sure you're okay? Nagito sounds like a stalker, a weirdo guy who desperately wants to be your friend. He, like, talks about you like a servant talks about their majesty.

Those that disliked him from the start only have more reason to dislike him more. In trials, no one is open-minded enough to believe him or give him a chance. In fact, the trials consist more of insults than detective work (much to the annoyance of Monokuma).

It adds fuel to the fire when you have to step in and prove that Nagito is innocent. It just makes him more fixated on you!

However...that doesn't mean that their words don't sting.

"Who says it wasn't Nagito, huh? The guy was ready to kill Byakuya for his weird hope fetish! He'd more than enough willing to mess up everything! He's a nutcase, a weirdo and a stalker!"

"Huh? Stalker? I don't go to such lengths...we all are cottage neighbors anyway, how could I stalk?" Nagito brushed off Akane's accusation, more perplexed than insulted.

"Don't lie," Kazuichi added, "You cannot not be aware how absolutely...fucked up in yer head yer are! You harass them constantly and cling to 'em like a koala! And in the trials you always try to stir things up to get their attention! Dude, if we weren't on an island, you'd be charged with more accounts than we can count!"

Nagito awkwardly laughs it all off. C'mon, that's not...he's stupid and ugly and useless and terrible...but his friends can't see him as some crazy stalker, right?

It would sting the most if people like Mikan were to agree. She understands a lack of attention, affection and love. She understands having no one. And yet she speaks like them, too.

"...I-I...can't say what's right here but...I don't know if its healthy."

She has taken care of him. Has heard what he mumbles in his sleep, the way he laughs and talks about you. It's scary.

"So, maybe...yeah, in a way, you are fucked up, N-Nagito."

Hm?

What? Him? Fucked up in the head?

How can he be? It's all for hope and...for you.

For everyone. He can't be bad. Can't be desperate for you and the hope you represent.

He can't be. You'd agree, right?

It's the final step.

As he plants the bombs, he is almost giddy.

The final step, the thing that will turn the tide and force the traitor to come out.

Yet you...weren't fond of his idea.

It depends on how much Nagito thinks you are like him if he decides to tell you of his plan. Not if he trusts you.

He does, he believes so! But he also knows that he believes more in hope than the others, including you.

So, if he does tell you, he'd think you'd agree!

Once you don't, tell him how terrible that all is...he'd be so disappoined.

Really? You? You don't agree to capture the traitor, end the game and let hope win? Weren't you hope?

What a pain...now he needs to tie you up or something, so you don't go telling the others. At least long enough until the bombs themselves explode.

Don't worry! Nagito won't be rough and kidnap you to a safe location!

The room is clean and comfortable as he feeds you. It's the least he can do after all everything you did for him! It's a shame though it had to come to this...you're all alone, tied up with ducttape.

"Haha, isn't this funny? Now I'm the one feeding you! All tied up, too. Kind of ironic, huh? But don't worry, this won't last long! Once the first bomb goes off in the lobby, I'll come straight here to get you!" He tells you to open your mouth as he feeds you your favorite meal. Though as calm as he seemed, a dark glint passed his eyes. "It's a real shame. I thought you'd understand but you're just another disappointment. The traitor would just have to come out, is all. But people like you just make things unnecessarily difficult."

Of course, he plans all this after finding out the truth. There is a high chance of his opinion of you changing as well, especially if you lack the determination to do everything for hope, but...you are so close, so alike, that he cannot not use you as means to achieve hope. He can't deny your talent, your strength and he doens't want to. Part of him doesn't want to dismiss you like he does to the others.

Maybe you will understand soon. It's unlikely but hey, he can't give up hope, right?

"You can finish it after this is all over." He gives you the calmest smile you've seen on him, "In some way, we are alike, right? A part of you must understand me."

You are truly scared of Nagito now.

Before all that it was...unnerving, unsafe and uncomfortable...

At times you can find it in your heart to empathize. He'd switch around between pleasant and insane. If you were him and had his talent, maybe you'd come out being the same?

He's still nice, especially to you. Cheering you on, praising you, hanging around...

He was never overly affectionate and you couldn't quite tell what he wanted from you. Company, a good friend, or more?

Even as he tied you up and fed you, he was considerate. Never had the intention to hurt you or make you uncomfortable but he still managed to do both.

And now, as he planned his own suicide, he still thought of you.

In this way, he was also planning your murder.

You'd die and it'd be his fault...but he barely feels any guilt. If you are like him, you'd understand. If not, then...you are a disappointment.

You looked so scared, tied up. He flopped down on the ground with you, knees touching yours as he asked you to say 'aah' to feed you. If you were so scared back then, how terrified would you be now when you get called the blackened?

When you see his corpse and find out that you can't find the killer? Will you be scared?

Or...will you feel scared for another reason? Will you...mourn him?

Start crying when seeing him tortured and impaled, grief and miss him?

Will you call out to him? 'Oh, my dearest Nagito! The one I accept, cherish and love! My equal, my friend, my everything!'

That...sounds nice.

The thought of you being sad about his death even though it's all for hope makes him feel better. It's nice...to be mourned.

And as quickly as that thought came, another of you being the one to throw the poison at him feels exciting.

Oh, what if his bad luck hits him and you were to one throw the bottle and be his killer? Ahaha, you'd be the one who murdered him!

Oh, it's so exciting but he hopes not! He knwos you aren't the traitor so he counts his lucky stars that it won't be you. But the irony of it all...it ignites such hope in him like you truly are two peas in a pot, destined equals and friends and more! You'd bring an end to despair together forever!

You, the hero, and Nagito, your sidekick!

And then another thought popped up. Contempt.

He is the one scheming all of this. Cutting himself up and ramming a knife into his hand. And you'd be the hero? He carried these cases!

He attempted to start the killing! He found out the truth! He planted the bombs and will out the traitor!

Why do carry all that hope?! You'd never go to such lengths as he is doing now, never do your utmost to stop the killing game!

Nagito is the Ultimate Hope. You are the sidekick.

Nagito's obsession is a twisted adoration to the hope you carry. It's diffucult to understand if its platonic or romantic - or if he likes you as a person at all. If he just loves the hope you bring and the person that you are is just a vessel.

For it to be platonic you will have to be the one to call yourself his friend. For it to be romantic you have to tell him you love him.

These possibilities don't ever cross Nagito's mind. He is nothing but trash so he cannot ever bring himself to believe you'd be his friend or lover.

You'd have to prove that you care. Stay with him as he is sick, save him from stumbling and falling due to his bad luck, tell him you'd like to understand him and not sacrifice himself for 'hope'.

All of that confuses him, leaves him often speechless. But they ignite that longing in him to be loved. To have someone who cares for him, friend or lover, it doesn't matter! Just see him! Love him! Don't leave him alone when he dies!

He doesn't wanna die before anyone could ever love him!

If he got this confirmation from you that you do care, then he will cling and stay close. Before that he'd linger in your shadow. As your friend he'd link your arms as you investigate and proclaim you two as the most perfect pair and as your lover, he'd barge into your cottage - not to kill you - but to hold you as you sleep.

And still...you don't know if he actually cares.

Does he care for the hope you bear and just sees your love as a bonus he'd want to cherish and monopolize before he dies? Either through his own means or through his illness?

If he had to choose hope or you...would he actually choose you?

Or do you just happen to bear all that he obsesses with and you just had very bad luck to be his target of his twisted love?

#nagito komaeda #yandere nagito komaeda #yandere danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa spoilers #nagito komaeda x reader #yandere x reader #omg one hyperfixation after another #im the one obsessed rather #and now im thinking about zuko #AAAAAAAAA #headcanons #danganronpa headcanons #yandere #male yandere

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jbaileyfansite · 10 months ago

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Interview with NBC News (2024)

Jonathan Bailey admits he’s still grieving the loss of Tim Laughlin, the wide-eyed congressional staffer turned fervent gay rights activist he played in Showtime’s groundbreaking limited series “Fellow Travelers.”

“Playing a character who is always searching for truth and has something to fight for that is meaningful and important made me really think, ‘How do you want to leave the world behind?’” Bailey told NBC News. “It’s a tiring thing for everyone to be like, ‘I want to make the world a better place.’ But Tim is an example of someone who’s a normal guy. He didn’t come from wealth, and he lived life to its fullest, including loving in a way that was just spellbinding.”

That love is the animating force of “Fellow Travelers,” which chronicles the decades-spanning romance between Bailey’s Tim and Matt Bomer’s Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller against the backdrop of key moments in queer history. After falling in love at the height of the Lavender Scare in 1950s Washington, D.C., Hawk and Tim weave in and out of each other’s lives for years at a time, unable to sever their bond. But after learning of Tim’s terminal AIDS diagnosis in the ’80s, Hawk drops everything to take care of Tim in San Francisco, where the former lovers are forced to address the true nature of their volatile relationship.

“Fellow Travelers” was nominated for three Emmys in limited series categories last month: Bailey (who also won a Critics Choice Award) for supporting actor, Bomer for lead actor and creator Ron Nyswaner for writing.

Following the success of Netflix’s romantic drama “Bridgerton,” in which he played a rakish viscount looking for his viscountess, Bailey expressed a desire to tell a sweeping gay love story. He booked the coveted role in “Fellow Travelers” six weeks before the start of filming in Toronto, following an electric Zoom chemistry read with Bomer — one of the most prominent openly gay actors working today — that even brought one of the executives to tears.

While he said he inherited the “inherent shame” of the AIDS crisis as a gay man who came of age in the early aughts, Bailey, who is English, knew very little about the Lavender Scare. He credited the writing of Nyswaner for helping him capture the spirit of Tim, a devout Catholic struggling to reconcile his faith with his growing infatuation with the emotionally unavailable Hawk, who is adept at playing the system to avoid getting outed.

“There’s something so childlike and full of wonder and unadulterated kindness about Tim that never leaves him,” Bailey noted. “When you see the huge effects of the societal pressure and control on gay people and how it affects Tim, I thought, ‘How do you tell a story of someone who’s bruised, battered and frayed by relentless, unforgiving control?’ I think the older he gets, the more painful it is for him.”

Bailey, like many queer people, has had a complicated relationship with religion. He attended a Church of England school and, at 11, was a scholarship student at his local Catholic school, where he “was completely aware of the lack of education around sexuality and gender identity.” Like Tim, he began to question his own “inherited beliefs” in his 20s, when he came to terms with his own identity.

While Tim’s religion makes him believe that something is innately wrong with him, it also gives him the capacity to believe in a love that he has felt but cannot always see with Hawk, who complements him in a way that is both “beautiful” and “painful,” Bailey said. “I think to say that they broke up a few times somehow assimilates it to a heteronormative relationship — they were completely not afforded that.”

“What Tim realizes is that the act of loving is the thing that you want to survive with and live alongside and to die with, and to be the more loving one is sometimes easier,” added Bailey, who thinks “there was no other” man whom Tim loved as deeply as Hawk. “I think the power of their dynamic — the brilliance — is that they met at that time, and it’s just a genius way of discovering and exploring how political and social attitudes really can’t kill love.”

Bailey and Bomer, who have both acknowledged that a show like this might not have even been made a few years ago, see “Fellow Travelers” as a kind of love letter to the queer actors who came before them.

“The way we look at each other is also about the opportunity that we’ve got that wasn’t there before,” Bailey said of his and Bomer’s palpable on-screen connection, which has evolved into a close off-screen friendship. “There’s a weight that comes to telling your own story or other people’s story that are similar or shares elements of your identity.”

On the day of the Emmy nominations, Bailey was in Malta — where he has been shooting the new “Jurassic World” film — with one of his best friends. They had already planned to find somewhere to grab a celebratory drink together in the late afternoon. But by the time they had settled in and tuned in to the livestream announcing the nominees, Bailey’s phone began to ring off the hook.

“The thing that was special, if a little ridiculous, is that we took a little selfie, and I realized there was just a pride flag that was in the distance,” Bailey recalled. “Having now spent a lot of time in Malta, you realize there’s only a few.”

Now on the precipice of superstardom with his roles in “Wicked” and “Jurassic World,” Bailey is redefining what is possible for an out gay actor in Hollywood, becoming a heartthrob to male and female audiences alike — even if he doesn’t often think about that label. “I’m excited to play more roles the older I get, and we will see what the heartthrob status is when I’m in my 50s,” he said cheekily.

As his profile has risen, Bailey has wrestled with which parts of himself he is willing to share publicly. His Olivier Award-winning turn in a gender-swapped West End revival of “Company” gave him an opportunity to speak openly about his sexuality — something he didn’t feel the need to reveal unless it was tied to his work. Now, he feels much more confident in interviews to volunteer certain stories about himself, including a harrowing experience in which a Pennsylvania man called him an anti-gay slur and threatened his life in a Washington, D.C., coffee shop.

For Bailey, who is still adjusting to the privilege of being able to choose his next projects, the company he keeps going forward is just as important as the material he is given to work with. He will return to the stage next year in Nicholas Hytner’s London production of “Richard II” and will reprise his role as eldest sibling Anthony in the next season of “Bridgerton.” He will next be seen as Jack Maddox, a charming academic and celebrity crush of protagonist Charlie Spring (Joe Locke), in the sixth episode of the third season of “Heartstopper,” which premieres in October.

“I recognized in the show something that I obviously didn’t have growing up, which is aspirational, generous storytelling about queer identity and gender identity that wasn’t necessarily a gay [show],” Bailey said of his initial reaction to watching “Heartstopper,” which, like many older queer viewers, made him feel slightly melancholic. “There’s so many people of that generation who just love it, because it’s brilliant and so well-performed by such an incredibly talented young cast.”

But truth be told, Bailey doesn’t think he will ever be able to let go of Tim Laughlin, who he likes to believe had “a very happy end of his life” fighting for AIDS awareness with the ACT UP movement without Hawk by his side. After having spent a year unpacking the life-changing experience of playing the character in post-screening Q&As and media interviews, Bailey has grown to feel the power of his work “more than [he’d] ever known.”

When playing a character who is confronting his own mortality, “you just think about how life is futile and quick,” Bailey said, “and if I can live a life as front-footed and as curious as Tim, then I’ll be a lucky man.”

Source

#jonathan bailey #jonny bailey #fellow travelers #nbc news #nbc news interview #max gao #interviews #interviews:2024 #NEW!

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xichilie · 6 months ago

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Two sides of a Gem (Part 4)

Aventurine x (stoneheart)reader

Part3

_______________________________________

A.N

So we finally made it to penacony, but I didn't write everything exactly like in the quest i changed some things, and I kept the arrival brief 😅 hope u still enjoy♡

______________________________________

The Astral Express crew stepped into the grand Penacony Dreamscape Terminal, greeted by an overwhelming display of luxury. The golden hues of the marble floors reflected the sparkling light from towering crystal chandeliers. The air carried the faint scent of exotic flowers and fine perfume, mingling with the murmur of countless conversations and distant, melodic music.

At the reception desk, the crew gathered, Himeko, Mr. Yang, March 7th, Trailblazer, and Y/N standing together as a hotel attendant in an immaculate uniform scrolled through a holographic terminal.

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist said, her polite smile unwavering despite the tension in her voice. “But there’s no record of this ‘Trailblazer’ in our system. The invitations were sent in advance, and it seems this… addition to your party wasn’t accounted for.”

March 7th crossed her arms with a huff. “Seriously? The invitation list was made ages ago. You can’t just add one extra name?”

The Trailblazer scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I don’t mind sleeping on a bench if it comes to that…”

Himeko stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Surely there’s a way to resolve this? We came here under invitation, and I’d rather not have to start our visit on this note.”

Before the receptionist could stammer out a response, a smooth, sharp voice sliced through the conversation.

“Well, well… trouble already, Astral Express crew?”

The group turned as Aventurine approached, his sandy-blond hair catching the ambient golden light, his vibrant magenta and cyan eyes sharp with amusement. He wore his usual confident smirk, hands tucked into his pockets as he sauntered over.

“You’ve barely set foot on Penacony, and yet here you are, causing a scene at the front desk.” Aventurine gave a mock sigh, shaking his head dramatically.

Himeko’s smile didn’t waver as she turned to face him. “you must be the IPC’s ambassador. How fortunate that you’re here.”

“Fortunate indeed,” Aventurine replied, flashing a grin before leaning slightly on the counter, his gaze flicking briefly to Y/N before returning to Himeko. “But what seems to be the problem? Did someone forget their golden ticket?”

“The Trailblazer wasn’t on the original invitation list,” Mr. Yang explained calmly.

Aventurine let out a low whistle. “Ah, a clerical error, then. And here I thought the Astral Express was always perfectly prepared. Guess even legends trip up sometimes.”

March 7th bristled, but Himeko cut in smoothly. “Mr.Aventurine, let’s not waste time with banter. You’re someone with influence here. Surely you can help us resolve this little hiccup?”

Aventurine chuckled, running a hand through his sandy hair. “Well, I could… but what’s in it for me?”

Himeko’s smile sharpened slightly. “How about this—we’ll owe you a favor. And if there’s one thing I know about you, Mr.Aventurine, it’s that you love having favors to call in.”

Aventurine paused, his grin widening. “Oh, Miss Himeko, you do know me so well.”

After a brief moment of exaggerated deliberation, Aventurine sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. You’ve twisted my arm. I’ll give up my room for our dear Trailblazer.”

“Wait, your room?” March 7th asked, surprised.

“Don’t look so shocked, dear,” Aventurine said with a smirk. “Generosity is one of my many virtues.”

With a flick of his wrist, Aventurine accessed the terminal and made a few quick adjustments, the receptionist nodding politely as the details were updated.

“There,” Aventurine said, stepping back with a flourishing bow. “One luxury room, generously donated. I expect your gratitude to be eternal.”

Himeko offered a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr.Aventurine. You’ve been… most helpful.”

“Always a pleasure,” he replied, his grin lingering as he turned on his heel and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving a faint trail of mischief in his wake.

As the crew began moving toward their accommodations, a figure stepped into their path—Sunday, head of the Oak Family, flanked by his darling sister, Robin.

Sunday wore a tailored suit, his silver hair swept back, and his eyes sharp but kind. Beside him, Robin practically glowed in a dress of shimmering blues, her voice carrying softly as she greeted those who passed.

“Ah, guests from the Astral Express!” Sunday said warmly, spreading his arms in greeting. “It’s an honor to meet such esteemed travelers.”

Robin stepped forward slightly, her serene smile lighting up her face. “Welcome to Penacony. I hope our home brings you peace and joy during the festival.”

Himeko stepped forward with a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr. Sunday. And Miss Robin—it’s an honor to meet you both.”

Sunday chuckled lightly. “Please, no formalities. We’re all guests in this dream together, aren’t we?”

Robin’s gaze flickered briefly to Y/N, a curious glint in her eyes, but she said nothing.

Sunday gestured grandly toward the inner halls. “Please, settle in and enjoy yourselves. The festival is about to begin, and the real magic happens when the sun sets.”

With that, the Halovian siblings moved on, leaving behind an air of effortless charm and authority.

As the crew continued onward, Y/N stayed slightly behind, her sharp crimson eyes narrowing as she watched Sunday and Robin disappeared into the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” she murmured to herself.

Himeko, hearing her, glanced back. “Stay sharp, Y/N. This dream might become a nightmare if we aren’t careful.”

Y/N nodded, her expression unreadable as the crew moved further into Penacony’s glittering embrace.

_______

The golden halls of Hotel Reverie stretched endlessly in either direction, their soft lighting casting rippling patterns over the plush velvet carpet. Faint strains of distant piano music drifted through the air, mingling with the faint hum of the dream machinery buried deep within Penacony's gilded skin.

Y/N walked with deliberate steps, her sharp eyes scanning every detail the hum of energy lines pulsing beneath her feet.

It had been a long day, and Penacony's beauty—no matter how pristine—felt hollow. Artificial.

As she rounded a corner, her shoulder collided lightly with another figure stepping out from a room.

"Ah, my apologies, friend.”

The voice was smooth, honeyed with a sharp edge hidden just beneath its surface.

Y/N took a step back, her eyes immediately locking onto Aventurine. He stood with casual elegance, one hand in his pocket, the other raised slightly in mock surrender. His sharp, mismatched eyes—magenta and cyan—gleamed under the corridor lights, and his lips curled into an all-too-familiar smirk.

"Aventurine," Y/N said calmly, her tone sharp but not unkind. "You're far from your room, aren't you?"

Aventurine tilted his head slightly, his grin never faltering. "Sharp eyes, friend. But aren't we all a little far from home here in Penacony?"

Y/N crossed her arms, her gaze drifting briefly to the door he had just stepped out of. The Trailblazer's door.

"And yet, this isn’t your home, either. Care to explain what business you had with them?"

Aventurine let out a soft chuckle, his shoulders rising in an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, come now. You make it sound so sinister. I was just paying a visit—welcoming our newest little star player to the big stage. Friendly conversation, nothing more."

Y/N’s brow arched slightly. "Friendly conversation? You mean the kind that leaves shadows on the walls and locked doors behind you?"

For a fleeting moment, something sharp flickered in Aventurine’s eyes before disappearing behind that practiced, playful mask. He pushed off the wall and stepped just close enough for Y/N to catch the faint scent of expensive cologne.

“You’re an observant one, friend. That much is clear.” He grinned wider, showing a flash of sharp teeth. “But let’s not stand here throwing accusations like cards at a table. Why don’t you tell me why you seem so interested in my little meeting, hm?”

Y/N didn’t flinch under his intense gaze. Instead, she stepped slightly to the side, her body language relaxed but her stance firm.

“Because, Aventurine, people like you don’t make casual house calls. You don’t breathe without calculating the odds first.”

Aventurine laughed again, loud enough to echo faintly down the hallway. It was a genuine sound, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, you’re good. I can tell. You’re very good. But why so serious, friend? We’re here at the grandest party in the galaxy, in the most luxurious hotel money can build. Can’t we at least pretend to enjoy ourselves?”

Y/N studied him closely for a moment before exhaling softly and lowering her arms. Her voice lost some of its sharp edge, though her eyes remained watchful.

“Alright, Aventurine. We’ll play your game. But don’t mistake my patience for trust.”

Aventurine’s grin softened slightly, and he gave a theatrical bow, one hand over his chest. “Ah, trust. Such a fragile little thing, isn’t it? But I’m glad to hear you’re willing to play along, friend.”

He straightened up and let his grin shift into something smoother, almost charming in its casualness. “Since we’re being friendly now, what do you say we share a drink? You strike me as someone who appreciates fine company and finer conversation.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “That depends. Are you buying, or am I walking into a carefully laid trap?”

Aventurine placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Me? Set a trap for you? Oh, friend, you wound me!”

Y/N rolled her eyes but turned on her heel, starting down the hallway towards the hotel lounge. Aventurine fell into step beside her, his long coat brushing against his legs as he walked with a smooth, confident stride.

The silence between them was comfortable for a moment, filled only with the faint hum of distant dream machinery and muffled laughter from somewhere deeper in the hotel.

As they walked, Aventurine glanced sideways at her, his voice lower this time, almost thoughtful.

“You know, friend, people here are all wearing masks—metaphorically and sometimes literally. But you… you wear yours very well. I can’t quite see the cracks yet.”

Y/N glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her expression neutral but her gaze sharp. “And you, Aventurine? How many masks are you wearing right now?”

Aventurine’s grin widened, and he let out a low chuckle. “Oh, friend, let’s not ruin the surprise just yet.”

They arrived at the lounge—a grand, open space filled with faint golden light and the soft sound of piano keys being played in the corner. Crystal glasses clinked, voices murmured, and the faint scent of expensive cigars lingered in the air.

Aventurine gestured toward a quiet corner booth. “Shall we?”

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and sliding into the booth. Aventurine followed, smoothly taking the seat opposite her.

As a waiter approached, Aventurine gestured grandly. “A glass of your finest for the lady, and for me… surprise me.”

The waiter gave a short nod before retreating, leaving the two of them alone in the golden glow of the lounge.

For a moment, neither spoke. Aventurine’s grin softened into something more relaxed, but his mismatched eyes remained sharp, ever-calculating. Y/N, in turn, studied him with a quiet intensity, her expression unreadable.

Finally, Aventurine broke the silence, his voice low and smooth.

“So, friend, shall we see where this little gamble takes us?”

Y/N leaned back slightly, her arms crossing lightly over her chest as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Let’s.”

The camera pans out, the golden light glinting off the glassware as their conversation begins—two players at a table, masks on, cards in hand, and the stakes rising with every word exchanged.

#aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine #hsr art #genshin impact #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x you #honkai stelle #fanfic

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louisupdates · 6 months ago

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WORLDMUSICAWARD: Happy 33rd birthday to the gorgeous, hugely talented Singer, Songwriter, Producer & Global Icon, #LouisTomlinson, who rose to fame as a member of #OneDirection, one of the best-selling Boy Bands of all time, and became a chart-topping, history-making, award-winning Superstar in his own right! 👏🎂🎉🌟🐐👑❤️

Louis has contributed more in songwriting to One Direction than any other band member, with credits on most of the tracks of 'Midnight Memories', 'Four', and 'Made in the A.M.' and on 38 songs across the band's discography, and was the main guy in shifting 1D's music towards a more mature sound...

Louis is an amazing Solo Artist and has so far released 2 studio albums, 1 live album, 11 singles, 1 promotional single and 11 MVs! Louis debuted at #1 in the UK with his 2nd studio album 'Faith In The Future' in 2022 which also reached #5 on the Billboard 200, and spawned the hit singles singles "Bigger Than Me", "Out of My System" and "Silver Tongues"! His debut studio album 'Walls' (2020) debuted at #4 in the UK & #9 on the Billboard 200, becoming the 1st new album for Arista Records in almost 9 years to hit the US top 10! Louis' debut single "Just Hold On" with #SteveAoki reached #2 in the UK, and was certified platinum! In 2017 Louis released "Just Like You", "Miss You" & "Back to You" with #BebeRexha, which was certified platinum in the US and UK! In 2019, he released "Two of Us", a Tribute to his mother, followed by the hits "Kill My Mind", "We Made It", "Don't Let It Break Your Heart" and "Walls" in January 2020!

Louis has embarked on 2 world tours! His 'Faith in the Future World tour' began in North America in May 2023. In the context of the tour, Louis performed in North America and Europe in 2023 and Asia, Australia and Latin America in 2024. In November 2023, after a sold-out concert at the O2 Arena, Louis was nominated for the Live Act Award at the Rolling Stone UK Awards. During the Latin America leg of his 2nd World tour, Louis made history, becoming the 1st male Solo Artist to headline Mexico City's Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez! He held a charity livestream of the event titled 'For Every Question Why', donating the proceeds to War Child UK. This year, Louis toured a summer 2024 festival circuit, including the Main Square Festival, Pinkpop, Ruisrock, Santander Music, Untold Festival, Sziget Festival, Frequency Festival, Victorious Festival, and Lollapalooza Berlin!

Louis has received numerous accolades including an MTV Europe Award for Best UK Act (2017), an iHeartRadio Music Award for Best Solo Breakout (2028), 3 Teen choice Awards for Choice Music Collaboration for "Just Hold On" (2017), Choice Male Artist (2018) & Choice single Male Artist (2020), a TDY award for Album of the Year (2020) for 'Walls' and most recently a Northern Music Award (2024) for Artist of the Year!

Louis is also a successful Producer and in 2015, he created his own record label, Triple Strings Ltd. In 2021, Louis founded and curated the indie music festival 'Away From Home' and in 2023, he officially launched his 28 streetwear-inspired unisex clothing line!

Louis is an active philanthropist and personally donated £2 million to Believe in Magic, which supports terminally ill children! He's also a Patron of the Bluebell Wood Children's Hospice. In April 2016, he joined the Soccer Aid 2016 star line-up, a biennial fundraiser for UNICEF. Louis actively supported the Black Lives Matter movement in May and June 2020, and attended the George Floyd protests in London.

#hbd louis #hbd 33 louis #happy birthday #louis update #louis tomlinson #louis press #24.12.2024 #louis33

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momojedi · 8 months ago

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— OMEGA

topic. hunter x gn! jedi! reader

type. loss, pt 5 note. it’s back baby. hi, hello, I’ve been super busy lately. I started my graduation year in september and I’ve been so busy since, it’s crazy :’) I’m trying to save some time out of school for writing and art so I can bring back this blog for you all! warnings. tantiss, creepy hemlock? laboratory, panicking tag list: @ooostarwarsfandom501st @shadow-rebel-223

star wars masterlist/loss masterlist || pinned post

The air is tense as we march down the endless, sterile corridors of Tantiss, the commander's blaster barrel digging into my back threateningly while troopers and scientists scurry past us in a rush. Confused, I raise a brow. It's only when my focus drifts away from my steps and my gaze is following another hurrying doctor that I bump into someone, shoulder hitting another shoulder and a hiss erupts from the very person in front of me. "Sorry!" I immediately turn to look at them when I'm met with a deadly pair of brown eyes.

Clone eyes are nothing I'm unfamiliar with. Over the course of the Clone Wars I worked with more republic troopers than I could probably count. Time and time again have I interacted with those very brown eyes, laughed with them, cried with them and sometimes even watched the light drift from them as they slipped into a final slumber. Still, the eyes I'm pierced by now are different. They're far sharper yet exhausted, too, as if they'd seen things, very bad things. I scan the stranger's face. He looks nothing like a clone; taller, slimmer and with edgier features, yet the eyes give it away. A fine crosshair covers the side of his face.

"Watch your step." He snarls at me in a rough tone before being shoved forward by the prisoner behind him. I barely have time to register what just happened when the commander drives the blaster into my back, pushing me to move further myself.

I remain silent for a bit, stumbling forward while lingering on the strange clone internally. He seemed so ... familiar. But my mind is quickly cleared when, suddenly, the static of a comm makes my ears perk up. The commander grips my arm, making me still.

"The guests will arrive shortly, sir," a voice chirps from the other side of the line. Then I'm shoved again. "Hurry," the commando barks behind me, "we can't be late." Digging my nails into my palms and trying my best to swallow my already battered pride, I stumble ahead.

Eventually, we halt in front of a doorway. The commando types a code into the terminal and the path ahead opens, leading into a large laboratory. The air smells sterile and sharp, likely influenced by various chemical reactions and a distant beep erupts from a monitoring system behind us, far enough to seem insignificant, yet loud enough to be irritating. But that’s nothing compared to the sight in front of me that leaves me wrinkling my nose in disgust.

Dr. Karr and Hemlock stand together, deep in conversation as we approach. Hemlock looks up with a smile, and there’s a glint in his cold eyes that unsettles me, as if they see right through me. “Ah, Commander,” he addresses the trooper, assessing me while clasping his hands behind his back. “Thank you for your attendance.” I scoff. “Didn’t exactly have the choice.” At that, Hemlock chuckles dryly. “Well, Dr. Karr, they’re all yours now.” His voice is low as he speaks to her, but his gaze never leaves me. My stomach tightens, but I refuse to look away. Whether it’s an act of defiance or fear, I don’t know, but I don’t really have time to think about it anyway when I hear Dr Karr’s voice pipe up.

“Omega,” she calls flatly, and the familiar face of the little girl who had once brought me comfort appears beside her. Suddenly, as soon as the name reaches my ears, the sight of her makes my blood run cold. Memories crash into me—Hunter and his brothers, Tech’s quiet stories of their lost sister, and the night that tore me from them forever. My eyes widen, locking onto Omega. It takes every ounce of control not to start hyperventilating. My pulse races, my breath shallow, and in my head; one word repeats. Omega.

Lost in shock, I barely register the shackles loosening around my wrists. Hemlock’s smug voice drifts through the haze, but I can hardly focus. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he hums, his tone dripping with false courtesy. “I have important business to attend to. Though I trust you’re in good hands?” His question is more a statement, leaving no room for defiance. Dr. Karr nods. “Yes, sir.” He smiles, that infuriating, condescending smile. “Wonderful.” And just like that, he’s gone, the commando trailing after him.

I watch them leave, feeling utterly paralyzed, drowning in the chaos of my thoughts. What now? What am I supposed to do with all this… this truth that stands right in front of me? The weight of it presses down on me, so heavy I can barely breathe. Hunter’s desperation and sleepless nights looking for clues, Tech and Echo’s constant connections, Wrecker’s ongoing nightmares. Everything we’ve been searching for—every answer we’ve bled for—is here. But now that it’s staring me in the face, I don’t know how to handle it.

“Uhm, are you coming?”

The sound of her voice snaps me out of my daze. I spin around to find Omega watching me, hesitant, unsure. She seems smaller now, more fragile than the image I’d built up in my mind. I run my tongue over my cracked lips, trying to form words, but the world feels too overwhelming to speak. All I can do is stare, frozen in place, lost in the enormity of it all.

So I just nodded and followed quietly.

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aeclectick · 3 months ago

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Leboosh & Kavir hurt/comfort (?) fic double drop below the cut—major episode 10+14 spoilers and pre-canon headcanons abound

teen, no archive warnings, cw in author’s notes (canonical character death for both)

mr. sandman, lend us some time (2289 words)

Character Appearances: Kavir, Leboosh, Dandy, Chuckles, Rai’s, Soraya

Additional Tags: Character Study, Canon Era, Pre-Canon, Extended Scene, Backstory, Angst

Summary: In space, time can feel as endless as a satisfying morning stretch. Trying to corral it with finite timepieces sounds insulting, but Kavir has always been a master of diplomacy. Here are three of his compromises shaped like hourglasses.

it’s easy to miss the stars for the ships for the wink out of the corner of your eye (3530 words)

Character Appearances: Leboosh, Kavir, Hank, Pyke

Additional Tags: Character Study, Relationship Study, Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Linear Narrative, Backstory

Summary:

“I am certain that you have an emergency termination button,” Leboosh says, “Rett would attend to this.” Hank offers him a whuffle that’s more cooling fan than speaker system, and thumps his tail against the navigator’s seat in a rhythm not dissimilar to the heartbeat that does not run through either of their frames.

Space. The end stretches so far away that you might have to find a word stronger than infinite to describe it. Leboosh can find no words or strength to describe himself after the death of his friend, but time will tell their tale as it does to all of our ends.

(bonus insane person Leboosh/The Weaver/Grimwm 2nd person fic: #copinghardorhardlycoping)

#stardust rhapsody #legends of avantris #kavir stardust rhapsody #leboosh #stardust rhapsody spoilers #sorry if the formatting is ugly as shit I’m stuck on mobile lol #the timing is good enough but I had soemthing funnier planned no matter #is there even a character tag for the weaver bc fuck it we’re throwing in that one too #it actually was supposed to be part of the leboosh pov but if you look at the dates. lol #I don’t think the timeline is clear enough in the Leboosh one but that’s bc I fucked up the timeline lol #I hope it’s emphasized enough that Leboosh & Kavir spent a Long Time tgt b4 the rhapsody and that’s when he learns verbal communication

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democracyunderground · 8 months ago

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"In April 2020, Vanessa Guillén, a 20-year-old Army private, was bludgeoned to death by a fellow soldier at Fort Hood, in Texas. The killer, aided by his girlfriend, burned Guillén’s body. Guillén’s remains were discovered two months later, buried in a riverbank near the base, after a massive search.

Guillén, the daughter of Mexican immigrants, grew up in Houston, and her murder sparked outrage across Texas and beyond. Fort Hood had become known as a particularly perilous assignment for female soldiers, and members of Congress took up the cause of reform. Shortly after her remains were discovered, President Donald Trump himself invited the Guillén family to the White House. With Guillén’s mother seated beside him, Trump spent 25 minutes with the family as television cameras recorded the scene.

In the meeting, Trump maintained a dignified posture and expressed sympathy to Guillén’s mother. “I saw what happened to your daughter Vanessa, who was a spectacular person, and respected and loved by everybody, including in the military,” Trump said. Later in the conversation, he made a promise: “If I can help you out with the funeral, I’ll help—I’ll help you with that,” he said. “I’ll help you out. Financially, I’ll help you.”

Natalie Khawam, the family’s attorney, responded, “I think the military will be paying—taking care of it.” Trump replied, “Good. They’ll do a military. That’s good. If you need help, I’ll help you out.” Later, a reporter covering the meeting asked Trump, “Have you offered to do that for other families before?” Trump responded, “I have. I have. Personally. I have to do it personally. I can’t do it through government.” The reporter then asked: “So you’ve written checks to help for other families before this?” Trump turned to the family, still present, and said, “I have, I have, because some families need help … Maybe you don’t need help, from a financial standpoint. I have no idea what—I just think it’s a horrific thing that happened. And if you did need help, I’m going to—I’ll be there to help you.”

A public memorial service was held in Houston two weeks after the White House meeting. It was followed by a private funeral and burial in a local cemetery, attended by, among others, the mayor of Houston and the city’s police chief. Highways were shut down, and mourners lined the streets.

Five months later, the secretary of the Army, Ryan McCarthy, announced the results of an investigation. McCarthy cited numerous “leadership failures” at Fort Hood and relieved or suspended several officers, including the base’s commanding general. In a press conference, McCarthy said that the murder “shocked our conscience” and “forced us to take a critical look at our systems, our policies, and ourselves.”

According to a person close to Trump at the time, the president was agitated by McCarthy’s comments and raised questions about the severity of the punishments dispensed to senior officers and noncommissioned officers.

In an Oval Office meeting on December 4, 2020, officials gathered to discuss a separate national-security issue. Toward the end of the discussion, Trump asked for an update on the McCarthy investigation. Christopher Miller, the acting secretary of defense (Trump had fired his predecessor, Mark Esper, three weeks earlier, writing in a tweet, “Mark Esper has been terminated”), was in attendance, along with Miller’s chief of staff, Kash Patel. At a certain point, according to two people present at the meeting, Trump asked, “Did they bill us for the funeral? What did it cost?”

According to attendees, and to contemporaneous notes of the meeting taken by a participant, an aide answered: Yes, we received a bill; the funeral cost $60,000.

Trump became angry. “It doesn’t cost 60,000 bucks to bury a fucking Mexican!” He turned to his chief of staff, Mark Meadows, and issued an order: “Don’t pay it!” Later that day, he was still agitated. “Can you believe it?” he said, according to a witness. “Fucking people, trying to rip me off.”

Khawam, the family attorney, told me she sent the bill to the White House, but no money was ever received by the family from Trump. Some of the costs, Khawam said, were covered by the Army (which offered, she said, to allow Guillén to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery) and some were covered by donations. Ultimately, Guillén was buried in Houston.

Shortly after I emailed a series of questions to a Trump spokesperson, Alex Pfeiffer, I received an email from Khawam, who asked me to publish a statement from Mayra Guillén, Vanessa’s sister. Pfeiffer then emailed me the same statement. “I am beyond grateful for all the support President Donald Trump showed our family during a trying time,” the statement reads. “I witnessed firsthand how President Trump honors our nation’s heroes’ service. We are grateful for everything he has done and continues to do to support our troops.”

Pfeiffer told me that he did not write that statement, and emailed me a series of denials. Regarding Trump’s “fucking Mexican” comment, Pfeiffer wrote: “President Donald Trump never said that. This is an outrageous lie from The Atlantic two weeks before the election.” He provided statements from Patel and a spokesman for Meadows, who denied having heard Trump make the statement. Via Pfeiffer, Meadows’s spokesman also denied that Trump had ordered Meadows not to pay for the funeral.

The statement from Patel that Pfeiffer sent me said: “As someone who was present in the room with President Trump, he strongly urged that Spc. Vanessa Guillen’s grieving family should not have to bear the cost of any funeral arrangements, even offering to personally pay himself in order to honor her life and sacrifice. In addition, President Trump was able to have the Department of Defense designate her death as occurring ‘in the line of duty,’ which gave her full military honors and provided her family access to benefits, services, and complete financial assistance.”

The personal qualities displayed by Trump in his reaction to the cost of the Guillén funeral—contempt, rage, parsimony, racism—hardly surprised his inner circle. Trump has frequently voiced his disdain for those who serve in the military and for their devotion to duty, honor, and sacrifice. Former generals who have worked for Trump say that the sole military virtue he prizes is obedience. As his presidency drew to a close, and in the years since, he has become more and more interested in the advantages of dictatorship, and the absolute control over the military that he believes it would deliver. “I need the kind of generals that Hitler had,” Trump said in a private conversation in the White House, according to two people who heard him say this. “People who were totally loyal to him, that follow orders.” (“This is absolutely false,” Pfeiffer wrote in an email. “President Trump never said this.”)

A desire to force U.S. military leaders to be obedient to him and not the Constitution is one of the constant themes of Trump’s military-related discourse. Former officials have also cited other recurring themes: his denigration of military service, his ignorance of the provisions of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, his admiration for brutality and anti-democratic norms of behavior, and his contempt for wounded veterans and for soldiers who fell in battle.

Retired General Barry McCaffrey, a decorated Vietnam veteran, told me that Trump does not comprehend such traditional military virtues as honor and self-sacrifice. “The military is a foreign country to him. He doesn’t understand the customs or codes,” McCaffrey said. “It doesn’t penetrate. It starts with the fact that he thinks it’s foolish to do anything that doesn’t directly benefit himself.”

I’ve been interested in Trump’s understanding of military affairs for nearly a decade. At first, it was cognitive dissonance that drew me to the subject—according to my previous understanding of American political physics, Trump’s disparagement of the military, and in particular his obsessive criticism of the war record of the late Senator John McCain, should have profoundly alienated Republican voters, if not Americans generally. And in part my interest grew from the absolute novelty of Trump’s thinking. This country had never seen, to the best of my knowledge, a national political figure who insulted veterans, wounded warriors, and the fallen with metronomic regularity.

Today—two weeks before an election that could see Trump return to the White House—I’m most interested in his evident desire to wield military power, and power over the military, in the manner of Hitler and other dictators.

Trump’s singularly corrosive approach to military tradition was in evidence as recently as August, when he described the Medal of Honor, the nation’s top award for heroism and selflessness in combat, as inferior to the Medal of Freedom, which is awarded to civilians for career achievement. During a campaign speech, he described Medal of Honor recipients as “either in very bad shape because they’ve been hit so many times by bullets or they’re dead,” prompting the Veterans of Foreign Wars to issue a condemnation: “These asinine comments not only diminish the significance of our nation’s highest award for valor, but also crassly characterizes the sacrifices of those who have risked their lives above and beyond the call of duty.” Later in August, Trump caused controversy by violating federal regulations prohibiting the politicization of military cemeteries, after a campaign visit to Arlington in which he gave a smiling thumbs-up while standing behind gravestones of fallen American soldiers.

His Medal of Honor comments are of a piece with his expressed desire to receive a Purple Heart without being wounded. He has also equated business success to battlefield heroism. In the summer of 2016, Khizr Khan, the father of a 27-year-old Army captain who had been killed in Iraq, told the Democratic National Convention that Trump has “sacrificed nothing.” In response, Trump disparaged the Khan family and said, “I think I’ve made a lot of sacrifices. I work very, very hard. I’ve created thousands and thousands of jobs, tens of thousands of jobs, built great structures.”

One former Trump-administration Cabinet secretary told me of a conversation he’d had with Trump during his time in office about the Vietnam War. Trump famously escaped the draft by claiming that his feet were afflicted with bone spurs. (“I had a doctor that gave me a letter—a very strong letter on the heels,” Trump told The New York Times in 2016.) Once, when the subject of aging Vietnam veterans came up in conversation, Trump offered this observation to the Cabinet official: “Vietnam would have been a waste of time for me. Only suckers went to Vietnam.”

In 1997, Trump told the radio host Howard Stern that avoiding sexually transmitted diseases was “my personal Vietnam. I feel like a great and very brave soldier.” This was not the only time Trump has compared his sexual exploits and political challenges to military service. Last year, at a speech before a group of New York Republicans, while discussing the fallout from the release of the Access Hollywood tape, he said, “I went onto that (debate) stage just a few days later and a general, who’s a fantastic general, actually said to me, ‘Sir, I’ve been on the battlefield. Men have gone down on my left and on my right. I stood on hills where soldiers were killed. But I believe the bravest thing I’ve ever seen was the night you went onto that stage with Hillary Clinton after what happened.’” I asked Trump-campaign officials to provide the name of the general who allegedly said this. Pfeiffer, the campaign spokesman, said, “This is a true story and there is no good reason to give the name of an honorable man to The Atlantic so you can smear him.”

In their book, The Divider: Trump in the White House, Peter Baker and Susan Glasser reported that Trump asked John Kelly, his chief of staff at the time, “Why can’t you be like the German generals?” Trump, at various points, had grown frustrated with military officials he deemed disloyal and disobedient. (Throughout the course of his presidency, Trump referred to flag officers as “my generals.”) According to Baker and Glasser, Kelly explained to Trump that German generals “tried to kill Hitler three times and almost pulled it off.” This correction did not move Trump to reconsider his view: “No, no, no, they were totally loyal to him,” the president responded.

This week, I asked Kelly about their exchange. He told me that when Trump raised the subject of “German generals,” Kelly responded by asking, “‘Do you mean Bismarck’s generals?’” He went on: “I mean, I knew he didn’t know who Bismarck was, or about the Franco-Prussian War. I said, ‘Do you mean the kaiser’s generals? Surely you can’t mean Hitler’s generals? And he said, ‘Yeah, yeah, Hitler’s generals.’ I explained to him that Rommel had to commit suicide after taking part in a plot against Hitler.” Kelly told me Trump was not acquainted with Rommel.

Baker and Glasser also reported that Mark Milley, the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, feared that Trump’s “‘Hitler-like’ embrace of the big lie about the election would prompt the president to seek out a ‘Reichstag moment.’”

Kelly—a retired Marine general who, as a young man, had volunteered to serve in Vietnam despite actually suffering from bone spurs—said in an interview for the CNN reporter Jim Sciutto’s book, The Return of Great Powers, that Trump praised aspects of Hitler’s leadership. “He said, ‘Well, but Hitler did some good things,’” Kelly recalled. “I said, ‘Well, what?’ And he said, ‘Well, (Hitler) rebuilt the economy.’ But what did he do with that rebuilt economy? He turned it against his own people and against the world.” Kelly admonished Trump: “I said, ‘Sir, you can never say anything good about the guy. Nothing.’”

This wasn’t the only time Kelly felt compelled to instruct Trump on military history. In 2018, Trump asked Kelly to explain who “the good guys” were in World War I. Kelly responded by explaining a simple rule: Presidents should, as a matter of politics and policy, remember that the “good guys” in any given conflict are the countries allied with the United States. Despite Trump’s lack of historical knowledge, he has been on record as saying that he knew more than his generals about warfare. He told 60 Minutes in 2018 that he knew more about NATO than James Mattis, his secretary of defense at the time, a retired four-star Marine general who had served as a NATO official. Trump also said, on a separate occasion, that it was he, not Mattis, who had “captured” the Islamic State.

As president, Trump evinced extreme sensitivity to criticism from retired flag officers; at one point, he proposed calling back to active duty Admiral William McRaven and General Stanley McChrystal, two highly regarded Special Operations leaders who had become critical of Trump, so that they could be court-martialed. Esper, who was the defense secretary at the time, wrote in his memoir that he and Milley talked Trump out of the plan. (Asked about criticism from McRaven, who oversaw the raid that killed Osama bin Laden, Trump responded by calling him a “Hillary Clinton backer and an Obama backer” and said, “Wouldn’t it have been nice if we got Osama bin Laden a lot sooner than that?”)

Trump has responded incredulously when told that American military personnel swear an oath to the Constitution, not to the president. According to the New York Times reporter Michael S. Schmidt’s recent book, Donald Trump v. the United States, Trump asked Kelly, “Do you really believe you’re not loyal to me?” Kelly answered, “I’m certainly part of the administration, but my ultimate loyalty is to the rule of law.” Trump also publicly floated the idea of “termination of all rules, regulations, and articles, even those found in the Constitution,” as part of the effort to overturn the 2020 presidential election and keep himself in power.

On separate occasions in 2020, Trump held private conversations in the White House with national-security officials about the George Floyd protests. “The Chinese generals would know what to do,” he said, according to former officials who described the conversations to me, referring to the leaders of the People’s Liberation Army, which carried out the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989. (Pfeiffer denied that Trump said this.) Trump’s desire to deploy U.S. troops against American citizens is well documented. During the nerve-racking period of social unrest following Floyd’s death, Trump asked Milley and Esper, a West Point graduate and former infantry officer, if the Army could shoot protesters. “Trump seemed unable to think straight and calmly,” Esper wrote in his memoir. “The protests and violence had him so enraged that he was willing to send in active-duty forces to put down the protesters. Worse yet, he suggested we shoot them. I wondered about his sense of history, of propriety, and of his oath to the Constitution.” Esper told National Public Radio in 2022, “We reached that point in the conversation where he looked frankly at General Milley, and said, ‘Can’t you just shoot them, just shoot them in the legs or something?’” When defense officials argued against Trump’s desire, the president screamed, according to witnesses, “You are all fucking losers!”

Trump has often expressed his esteem for the type of power wielded by such autocrats as the Chinese leader Xi Jinping; his admiration, even jealousy, of Vladimir Putin is well known. In recent days, he has signaled that, should he win reelection in November, he would like to govern in the manner of these dictators—he has said explicitly that he would like to be a dictator for a day on his first day back in the White House—and he has threatened to, among other things, unleash the military on “radical-left lunatics.” (One of his four former national security advisers, John Bolton, wrote in his memoir, “It is a close contest between Putin and Xi Jinping who would be happiest to see Trump back in office.”)

Military leaders have condemned Trump for possessing autocratic tendencies. At his retirement ceremony last year, Milley said, “We don’t take an oath to a king, or a queen, or to a tyrant or dictator, and we don’t take an oath to a wannabe dictator … We take an oath to the Constitution, and we take an oath to the idea that is America, and we’re willing to die to protect it.” Over the past several years, Milley has privately told several interlocutors that he believed Trump to be a fascist. Many other leaders have also been shocked by Trump’s desire for revenge against his domestic critics. At the height of the Floyd protests, Mattis wrote, “When I joined the military, some 50 years ago, I swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution. Never did I dream that troops taking that same oath would be ordered under any circumstance to violate the Constitutional rights of their fellow citizens.”

Trump’s frustration with American military leaders led him to disparage them regularly. In their book A Very Stable Genius, Carol Leonnig and Philip Rucker, both of The Washington Post, reported that in 2017, during a meeting at the Pentagon, Trump screamed at a group of generals: “I wouldn’t go to war with you people. You’re a bunch of dopes and babies.” And in his book Rage, Bob Woodward reported that Trump complained that “my fucking generals are a bunch of pussies. They care more about their alliances than they do about trade deals.”

Trump’s disdain for American military officers is motivated in part by their willingness to accept low salaries. Once, after a White House briefing given by the then-chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Joseph Dunford, Trump said to aides, “That guy is smart. Why did he join the military?” (On another occasion, John Kelly asked Trump to guess Dunford’s annual salary. The president’s answer: $5 million. Dunford’s actual salary was less than $200,000.)

Trump has often expressed his love for the trappings of martial power, demanding of his aides that they stage the sort of armor-heavy parades foreign to American tradition. Civilian aides and generals alike pushed back. In one instance, Air Force General Paul Selva, who was then serving as vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, told the president that he had been partially raised in Portugal, which, he explained, “was a dictatorship—and parades were about showing the people who had the guns. In America, we don’t do that. It’s not who we are.”

For Republicans in 2012, it was John McCain who served as a model of “who we are.” But by 2015, the party had shifted. In July of that year, Trump, then one of several candidates for the Republican presidential nomination, made a statement that should have ended his campaign. At a forum for Christian conservatives in Iowa, Trump said of McCain, “He’s not a war hero. He is a war hero because he was captured. I like people who weren’t captured.”

It was an astonishing statement, and an introduction to the wider public of Trump’s uniquely corrosive view of McCain, and of his aberrant understanding of the nature of American military heroism. This wasn’t the first time Trump had insulted McCain’s war record. As early as 1999, he was insulting McCain. In an interview with Dan Rather that year, Trump asked, “Does being captured make you a hero? I don’t know. I’m not sure.” (A brief primer: McCain, who had flown 22 combat missions before being shot down over Hanoi, was tortured almost continuously by his Communist captors, and turned down repeated offers to be released early, insisting that prisoners be released in the order that they’d been captured. McCain suffered physically from his injuries until his death, in 2018.) McCain partisans believe, with justification, that Trump’s loathing was prompted in part by McCain’s ability to see through Trump. “John didn’t respect him, and Trump knew that,” Mark Salter, McCain’s longtime aide and co-author, told me. “John McCain had a code. Trump only has grievances and impulses and appetites. In the deep recesses of his man-child soul, he knew that McCain and his achievements made him look like a mutt.”

Trump, those who have worked for him say, is unable to understand the military norm that one does not leave fellow soldiers behind on the battlefield. As president, Trump told senior advisers that he didn’t understand why the U.S. government placed such value on finding soldiers missing in action. To him, they could be left behind, because they had performed poorly by getting captured.

My reporting during Trump’s term in office led me to publish on this site, in September 2020, an article about Trump’s attitudes toward McCain and other veterans, and his views about the ideal of national service itself. The story was based on interviews with multiple sources who had firsthand exposure to Trump and his views. In that piece, I detailed numerous instances of Trump insulting soldiers, flag officers and veterans alike. I wrote extensively about Trump’s reaction to McCain’s death in August 2018: The president told aides, “We’re not going to support that loser’s funeral,” and he was infuriated when he saw flags at the White House lowered to half-mast. “What the fuck are we doing that for? Guy was a fucking loser,” he said angrily. Only when Kelly told Trump that he would get “killed in the press” for showing such disrespect did the president relent. In the article, I also reported that Trump had disparaged President George H. W. Bush, a World War II naval aviator, for getting shot down by the Japanese. Two witnesses told me that Trump said, “I don’t get it. Getting shot down makes you a loser.” (Bush ultimately evaded capture, but eight other fliers were caught and executed by the Japanese).

The next year, White House officials demanded that the Navy keep the U.S.S. John S. McCain, which was named for McCain’s father and grandfather—both esteemed admirals—out of Trump’s sight during a visit to Japan. The Navy did not comply.

Trump’s preoccupation with McCain has not abated. In January, Trump condemned McCain—six years after his death—for having supported President Barack Obama’s health-care plan. “We’re going to fight for much better health care than Obamacare,” Trump told an Iowa crowd. “Obamacare is a catastrophe. Nobody talks about it. You know, without John McCain, we would have had it done. John McCain for some reason couldn’t get his arm up that day. Remember?” This was, it appears, a malicious reference to McCain’s wartime injuries—including injuries suffered during torture—which limited his upper-body mobility.

I’ve also previously reported on Trump’s 2017 Memorial Day visit to Arlington National Cemetery. Kelly, who was then the secretary of homeland security, accompanied him. The two men visited Section 60, the 14-acre section that is the burial ground for those killed in America’s most recent wars (and the site of Trump’s Arlington controversy earlier this year). Kelly’s son Robert, a Marine officer killed in 2010 in Afghanistan, is buried in Section 60. Trump, while standing by Robert Kelly’s grave, turned to his father and said, “I don’t get it. What was in it for them?” At first, Kelly believed that Trump was making a reference to the selflessness of America’s all-volunteer force. But later he came to realize that Trump simply does not understand nontransactional life choices. I quoted one of Kelly’s friends, a fellow retired four-star general, who said of Trump, “He can’t fathom the idea of doing something for someone other than himself. He just thinks that anyone who does anything when there’s no direct personal gain to be had is a sucker.” At moments when Kelly was feeling particularly frustrated by Trump, he would leave the White House and cross the Potomac to visit his son’s grave, in part to remind himself about the nature of full-measure sacrifice.

Last year Kelly told me, in reference to Mark Milley’s 44 years in uniform, “The president couldn’t fathom people who served their nation honorably.”

The specific incident I reported in the 2020 article that gained the most attention also provided the story with its headline—“Trump: Americans Who Died in War Are ‘Losers’ and ‘Suckers.’” The story concerned a visit Trump made to France in 2018, during which the president called Americans buried in a World War I cemetery “losers.” He said, in the presence of aides, “Why should I go to that cemetery? It’s filled with losers.” At another moment during this trip, he referred to the more than 1,800 Marines who had lost their lives at Belleau Wood as “suckers” for dying for their country.

Trump had already been scheduled to visit one cemetery, and he did not understand why his team was scheduling a second cemetery visit, especially considering that the rain would be hard on his hair. “Why two cemeteries?” Trump asked. “What the fuck?” Kelly subsequently canceled the second visit, and attended a ceremony there himself with General Dunford and their wives.

The article sparked great controversy, and provoked an irate reaction from the Trump administration, and from Trump himself. In tweets, statements, and press conferences in the days, weeks, and years that followed, Trump labeled The Atlantic a “second-rate magazine,” a “failing magazine,” a “terrible magazine,” and a “third-rate magazine that’s not going to be in business much longer”; he also referred to me as a “con man,” among other things. Trump has continued these attacks recently, calling me a “horrible, radical-left lunatic named Goldberg” at a rally this summer.

In the days after my original article was published, both the Associated Press and, notably, Fox News, confirmed the story, causing Trump to demand that Fox fire Jennifer Griffin, its experienced and well-regarded defense reporter. A statement issued by Alyssa Farah, a White House spokesperson, soon after publication read, “This report is false. President Trump holds the military in the highest regard.”

Shortly after the story appeared, Farah asked numerous White House officials if they had heard Trump refer to veterans and war dead as suckers or losers. She reported publicly that none of the officials she asked had heard him use these terms. Eventually, Farah came out in opposition to Trump. She wrote on X last year that she’d asked the president if my story was true. “Trump told me it was false. That was a lie.”

When I spoke to Farah, who is now known as Alyssa Farah Griffin, this week, she said, “I understood that people were skeptical about the ‘suckers and losers’ story, and I was in the White House pushing back against it. But he said this to John Kelly’s face, and I fundamentally, absolutely believe that John Kelly is an honorable man who served our country and who loves and respects our troops. I’ve heard Donald Trump speak in a dehumanizing way about so many groups. After working for him in 2020 and hearing his continuous attacks on service members since that time, including my former boss General Mark Milley, I firmly and unequivocally believe General Kelly’s account.”

(Pfeiffer, the Trump spokesperson, said, in response, “Alyssa is a scorned former employee now lying in her pursuit to chase liberal adulation. President Trump would never insult our nation’s heroes.”)

Last year, I published a story in this magazine about Milley that coincided with the end of his four-year term. In it, I detailed his tumultuous relationship with Trump. Milley had resisted Trump’s autocratic urges, and also argued against his many thoughtless and impetuous national-security impulses. Shortly after that story appeared, Trump publicly suggested that Milley be executed for treason. This astonishing statement caused John Kelly to speak publicly about Trump and his relationship to the military. Kelly, who had previously called Trump “the most flawed person I have ever met in my life,” told CNN’s Jake Tapper that Trump had referred to American prisoners of war as “suckers” and described as “losers” soldiers who died while fighting for their country.

“What can I add that has not already been said?” Kelly asked. “A person that thinks those who defend their country in uniform, or are shot down or seriously wounded in combat, or spend years being tortured as POWs, are all ‘suckers’ because ‘there is nothing in it for them.’ A person that did not want to be seen in the presence of military amputees because ‘it doesn’t look good for me.’ A person who demonstrated open contempt for a Gold Star family—for all Gold Star families—on TV during the 2016 campaign, and rants that our most precious heroes who gave their lives in America’s defense are ‘losers’ and wouldn’t visit their graves in France.”

When we spoke this week, Kelly told me, “President Trump used the terms suckers and losers to describe soldiers who gave their lives in the defense of our country. There are many, many people who have heard him say these things. The visit to France wasn’t the first time he said this.”

Kelly and others have taken special note of the revulsion Trump feels in the presence of wounded veterans. After Trump attended a Bastille Day parade in France, he told Kelly and others that he would like to stage his own parade in Washington, but without the presence of wounded veterans. “I don’t want them,” Trump said. “It doesn’t look good for me.”

Milley also witnessed Trump’s disdain for the wounded. Milley had chosen a severely wounded Army captain, Luis Avila, to sing “God Bless America” at his installation ceremony in 2019. Avila, who had completed five combat tours, had lost a leg in an improvised-explosive-device attack in Afghanistan, and had suffered two heart attacks, two strokes, and brain damage as a result of his injuries. Avila is considered a hero up and down the ranks of the Army.

It had rained earlier on the day of the ceremony, and the ground was soft; at one point Avila’s wheelchair almost toppled over. Milley’s wife, Hollyanne, ran to help Avila, as did then–Vice President Mike Pence. After Avila’s performance, Trump walked over to congratulate him, but then said to Milley, within earshot of several witnesses, “Why do you bring people like that here? No one wants to see that, the wounded.” Never let Avila appear in public again, Trump told Milley.

An equally serious challenge to Milley’s sense of duty came in the form of Trump’s ignorance of the rules of war. In November 2019, Trump intervened in three different brutality cases then being adjudicated by the military. In the most infamous case, the Navy SEAL Eddie Gallagher had been found guilty of posing with the corpse of an ISIS member. Though Gallagher was found not guilty of murder, witnesses testified that he’d stabbed the prisoner in the neck with a hunting knife. In a highly unusual move, Trump reversed the Navy’s decision to demote him. A junior Army officer named Clint Lorance was also the recipient of Trump’s sympathy. Trump pardoned Lorance, who had been convicted of ordering the shooting of three unarmed Afghans, two of whom died. And in a third case, a Green Beret named Mathew Golsteyn was accused of killing an unarmed Afghan he thought was a Taliban bomb maker. “I stuck up for three great warriors against the deep state,” Trump said at a Florida rally.

In the Gallagher case, Trump intervened to allow Gallagher to keep his Trident insignia, one of the most coveted insignia in the entire U.S. military. The Navy’s leadership found this intervention particularly offensive because tradition held that only a commanding officer or a group of SEALs on a Trident Review Board were supposed to decide who merited being a SEAL. Milley tried to convince Trump that his intrusion was hurting Navy morale. They were flying from Washington to Dover Air Force Base, in Delaware, to attend a “dignified transfer,” a repatriation ceremony for fallen service members, when Milley tried to explain to Trump the damage that his interventions were doing.

In my story, I reported that Milley said, “Mr. President, you have to understand that the SEALs are a tribe within a larger tribe, the Navy. And it’s up to them to figure out what to do with Gallagher. You don’t want to intervene. This is up to the tribe. They have their own rules that they follow.”

Trump called Gallagher a hero and said he didn’t understand why he was being punished.

“Because he slit the throat of a wounded prisoner,” Milley said.

“The guy was going to die anyway,” Trump said.

Milley answered, “Mr. President, we have military ethics and laws about what happens in battle. We can’t do that kind of thing. It’s a war crime.” Trump said he didn’t understand “the big deal.” He went on, “You guys”—meaning combat soldiers—“are all just killers. What’s the difference?”

Milley then summoned one of his aides, a combat-veteran SEAL officer, to the president’s Air Force One office. Milley took hold of the Trident pin on the SEAL’s chest and asked him to describe its importance. The aide explained to Trump that, by tradition, only SEALs can decide, based on assessments of competence and character, whether one of their own should lose his pin. But the president’s mind was not changed. Gallagher kept his pin.

One day, in the first year of Trump’s presidency, I had lunch with Jared Kushner, Trump’s son-in-law, in his White House office. I turned the discussion, as soon as I could, to the subject of his father-in-law’s character. I mentioned one of Trump’s recent outbursts and told Kushner that, in my opinion, the president’s behavior was damaging to the country. I cited, as I tend to do, what is in my view Trump’s original sin: his mockery of John McCain’s heroism.

This is where our conversation got strange, and noteworthy. Kushner answered in a way that made it seem as though he agreed with me. “No one can go as low as the president,” he said. “You shouldn’t even try.”

I found this baffling for a moment. But then I understood: Kushner wasn’t insulting his father-in-law. He was paying him a compliment. In Trump’s mind, traditional values—values including those embraced by the armed forces of the United States having to do with honor, self-sacrifice, and integrity—have no merit, no relevance, and no meaning."

Jeffrey Goldberg is the editor in chief of The Atlantic and the moderator of Washington Week With The Atlantic.

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queenshelby · 1 year ago

Text

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 51: Mother

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Miscarriage

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

A week had passed and, just as you slowly recovered from your miscarriage, your excitement grew to see your mother again for the first time in over 15 years.

Although you struggled with mixed feelings—anger, resentment, and fear—the overwhelming desire to reconcile with her prevailed.

After all, she was your biological mother, the person who bore you in her womb and gave you life. The knowledge was impossible to ignore, and as Cillian held you close, you couldn't help but fantasize about finally having a mother figure back in your life.

By this point, you had already spoken on the phone and you learned that the authorities in the US had separated you from her during the immigration process. Neither of you had a visa at the time and while she was being deported, you were placed into the Forster care system where you struggled to cope.

Over the years, she searched tirelessly for you, desperately trying to track you down and bring you back into her life.

For years, she lived in hope that fate would reunite you but she never found out where you were until she saw a photograph of you in one a magazine, attending an event with Cillian.

The article claimed that you were lovers and this revelation shocked her. Shocked because it meant that you were alive and, most importantly, safe. Overwrought with grief, she reached out to Cillian's agent who ignored her emails, thinking that this was a hoax and then she spent all of her savings to fly to New York and attend his premiere, hoping that you would accompany him.

Unfortunately for her, however, you didn't. You had to remain in Ireland as your spousal visa was being assessed, leaving her to approach Cillian instead.

Cillian was also the one who was picking her up from the airport a week later now seeing that you were still dealing with the aftermath of your miscarriage and weren't allowed to drive.

He drove you to the airport early morning to pick her up, and you were struck by how much your nerves resembled a tight knot in your stomach.

The memory of your last encounter with her—a tearful goodbye inside the US Detention Centre where you were left behind—haunted you, and you grappled with conflicting emotions. Anger, sadness, longing, and fear wrestled within you.

"Hey, breathe," Cillian whispered soothingly, sensing your anxiety. "Remember, she loves you just as much as you love her," he reminded you, placing a comforting hand on your knee. "She didn't abandon you and you will be able to reconnect now," he assured you, the warmth of his touch radiating through your jeans.

"I know, I know," you stammered before taking a deep breath and focusing on the task ahead.

"Good," Cillian nodded, his expression filled with support and understanding. He knew better than to push you any further, allowing you to gather your strength for the encounter.

As the car approached the terminal, your palms began to sweat, and your heart raced with trepidation. A feeling of unease washed over you, and your stomach churned with anticipation.

You gripped the armrests of the passenger seat, clenching your fists tighter and tighter as you stared out the window at the bustling crowd rushing past.

"Okay, I'm going to park the car in the long-term parking lot," Cillian announced, breaking the silence as he maneuvered the vehicle into a vacant spot. "We can wait for her at arrivals," he added, turning off the engine.

"Sounds good," you mumbled, reluctantly unbuckling your seatbelt, your legs stiff and heavy.

You knew full well that no amount of preparation could prepare you for this moment. Nevertheless, you had to face it.

Stepping out of the car, you felt the crisp autumn air hit your face.

The weather was cold, but it did not dampen the intensity of the situation, only adding to the mounting anticipation.

"Let's go," said Cillian, reaching for your hand.

His grasp was firm and reassuring, his knuckles tensing beneath your touch.

You laced your fingers firmly with his, allowing the connection to strengthen your resolve.

The walk seemed endless as you followed Cillian towards the arrival hall.

The sound of people chattering surrounded you, and their faces blurred into indistinguishable masses.

You focused on the ticking clock above the information board, watching the minute hand move in slow motion. Each second dragged on, stretching the seconds into eternity. Your heart echoed loudly in your ears, pounding relentlessly against your ribcage.

"Don't worry, she'll be here soon, and you will get to know each other again. It will be fine," Cillian murmured in your ear, pressing a kiss against your temple. His lips were warm and comforting, providing solace amid the chaos surrounding you.

You nodded, your throat constricting, making it difficult to speak. You scanned the crowded airport lounge, searching for a glimpse of your mother.

Your pulse quickened every time someone caught your eye, mistaking them for her. But each time, your heart sank a bit lower.

Cillian squeezed your hand, offering a comforting squeeze. "She's going to be here, Y/N," he whispered, his tone filled with confidence. "Just give it some more time," he urged, urging you to stay patient.

The tension within you mounted as you waited, and your impatience grew stronger with each passing second. Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Your heartbeat accelerated, and you instinctively clutched Cillian's hand tighter. "There she is I think," you whispered, pointing at her.

Cillian turned around, and his gaze followed your finger. "Yes, that's defiantly her," he confirmed.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel the lump forming in your throat. Your palms began to sweat, and the butterflies in your stomach intensified. The realization that this was truly happening consumed you, threatening to break down the barriers you had erected all these years.

"It's going to be grand," Cillian whispered, his grip tightening around your hand. "Just relax," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the din of the crowd as you watched your mother walking toward you, dressed in a simple, elegant outfit, carrying a single suitcase.

She looked different from the woman in the photo, but the resemblance was unmistakable. The same bright eyes, the delicate nose, and full lips. Time had taken its toll, but the essence of the loving mother you remembered remained.

The distance between you narrowed, the gap closing faster with each step she took. You watched as her eyes flicked nervously between you and Cillian, her gaze darting to your hand intertwined with his.

"Hi," you called out tentatively, waving a shaky hand. The mere utterance of the word "hi" unleashed a torrent of raw emotions coursing through you. Your breath faltered, and your voice cracked under the weight of suppressed feelings.

Your mother stopped mid stride, her eyes widening in recognition before tearing up completely.

"Y/N!" she cried out, her voice shaking with emotion. "My baby girl," she sobbed in Spanish, hastening towards you, her suitcase forgotten by her side.

Cillian released your hand, stepping aside to allow space for the reunion. He watched with a swelling heart as you stepped forward, meeting your mother halfway.

Her face contorted with grief, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she threw herself into your arms. "I got you back," she wailed, hugging you tightly.

You closed your eyes, letting the scent of her perfume fill your senses. It was a mixture of lavender and vanilla, a scent that instantly brought a sense of nostalgia and comfort. You breathed deeply, taking in the moment, savoring the warmth of her embrace.

"Mum," you managed to utter, your voice hoarse and weak. "I...," you whispered, unable to form a sentence, holding her even tighter. She reciprocated the gesture, her tears soaking your shoulder.

"It's okay sweetie. I never forgot about you," she confessed, her voice quivering. "I dreamed that one day I would hold you in my arms again," she continued, clutching you tightly. "I never gave up," she added, squeezing you tightly.

"I know," you cried, releasing her but holding her hands in yours.

"Oh, my darling," she murmured, her eyes brimming with tears.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

"Look at you," she marveled, gazing at you admiringly. "You're so beautiful," she praised, her voice quivering with emotion. "I cannot believe how grown up you are. A beautiful young woman," she added, her voice wavering.

"Thanks, Mum," you responded shyly, looking down at your feet. "And you haven't changed at all," you smiled, noticing her radiant smile. "Save for a few wrinkles here and there," you teased, pointing at her forehead.

"Of course, I have aged, mi hija," she chuckled, patting you affectionately on the back before turning towards Cillian and giving him a quick hug also.

"Thank you, Cillian," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "For bringing me to my daughter, "she added, her eyes welling up with gratitude.

"You're welcome," Cillian replied confidently, his posture erect and proud. "I would do anything for Y/N," he added, flashing a grin at you.

"That's true actually. He so would," you chuckled, smiling at Cillian.

"So, shall we head home?" Cillian asked, breaking the spellbinding silence between you and your mom as he noticed how some people were taking photographs of him, which was always something that was bothersome for you both.

"Yes," your mother agreed, nodding eagerly. "I would love to see where my daughter lives these days," she said to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she tried hard to communicate in English.

"I've been dreaming of this moment for so long," she added, her voice quivering with emotion as Cillian reached for her suitcase and led the way towards the parking lot.

***

Half an hour later, you arrived at your new home by the coast, a spacious house with a nice garden near the beach.

Cillian parked the car in the driveway before helping your mother with her luggage.

"We only just moved in together, so I hope you like it," you told her shyly before walking her inside, which is when, immediately, her jaw dropped.

"Wow, it's absolutely gorgeous," your mother exclaimed, her eyes scanning the entire length of the house, awestruck.

"Isn't it?" you chimed in, leading her inside. "This is the living room and there is another one upstairs, like an entertaining area or something," you pointed, gesturing towards the cozy seating area with plush couches, bookshelves and large windows overlooking the ocean.

"And when I'm done decorating, I promise it'll be even better," you giggled, seeing that the house still contained some rather dated features.

"It's a big house for just the two of you though, isn't it?" she commented, her eyes wandering around the spacious rooms. "I mean, there would be plenty of room for some children, don't you think?" she suggested playfully, her eyes twinkling with delight, causing your heart to drop.

You had not told your mother that you had not one, but two unplanned pregnancies, both of which ended in miscarriage.

The thought of bringing such pain and loss into her life seemed cruel, especially considering the circumstances of your reunion. Besides, you had yet to fully come to terms with what happened yourself.

"Can I make you a cup of tea?" you thus offered, ignoring her question while Cillian stood there, not knowing what was being said between you in Spanish.

"That would be lovely," your mother said, not pressing you on the matter. "I will put my stuff away first though," she noted, indicating the hallway where her suitcase lay.

Cillian raised her suitcase, holding it aloft with ease and walked it to her bedroom on the ground floor.

Your mother trailed behind him, peering curiously at the interior design while you busied yourself in the kitchen preparing tea.

"Thank you for taking care of my little angel," she murmured appreciatively, setting her belongings down gently. "She seems very happy here, with you," she observed, looking at Cillian intently.

"It's my pleasure," Cillian replied earnestly, his gaze locked onto your mother. "She is everything to me," he confided, his voice softening. "And I love her a lot," he insisted, his eyes glistening with sincerity.

"I am glad to hear that," your mother commented, studying Cillian closely.

"I can tell you're a good man," she added, observing your bond. "She's lucky to have you," she concluded, smiling broadly.

"Thank you," Cillian replied humbly, his eyes lingering on you. "She makes me feel incredibly happy," he admitted quietly, glancing briefly at your mother before looking away, seemingly embarrassed.

"You're welcome, my dear," your mother cooed softly, reaching out to caress Cillian's cheek before he disappeared to give her some privacy.

To be continued...

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