#bring me the familiar dysfunction

[whentherewerebicycles]

ok reworked a big chunk of my cover letter and then ran out of steam (I have slept… so badly all week) but I’m feeling positive about it. I really don’t want to spend a ton of time obsessing over it so I’m going to try to finish it tomorrow after my morning meetings. I have an annoying work meeting first thing (about the situation I rage-cried about earlier today) but then I get to follow it up with a meeting with my all-time fave student. those calls always leave me feeling sooo happy and energized so I should be in a great headspace for finishing the letter. I ideally want to submit tomorrow but if I feel the materials aren’t quite there for whatever reason I’ll allow myself the weekend to tinker. I am qualified for this job! and pretty sure I would greatly enjoy literally every aspect of it!! cross your fingers for me!!!

[gentlenotes-moved]

(vent in tags)

[aziraphale-rights]

So, what is the deal with the world’s most conspicuously uneaten Eccles cakes? (A meta)

Well, I wouldn’t say it’s bad writing, not even the on-purpose-as-a-secret-message kind. I agree there is a visual ‘loose thread’ here that the creators wanted us to notice, but I don’t think the meaning has anything to do with Metatron or the eventual plan for S3. I think the eccles cakes are all about what’s going on in this episode with Crowley and Aziraphale, and they’re unsettling in exactly the way they’re meant to be, even if we might not register the full implications consciously on first watch.

On the most straightforward level, this shot is the punchline to a joke set up by Aziraphale and Nina in the coffee shop. Crowley orders six shots of espresso, bound to get him all worked up and stressy. Aziraphale, who desperately wants Crowley to be thinking clearly when he learns about the Gabriel situation, says to Nina: ‘What do you sell that calms people down?’ And she replies: ‘Eccles cakes.’ From this moment on the cakes are a visual symbol of what Aziraphale needs from Crowley right now.

That’s why they get so much screentime as we cross the road and go into the shop. Aziraphale won't leave those eccles cakes behind because he’s still hoping that Crowley will respond to the request they represent: Please stay calm, please be patient and listen to me with empathy.

But Crowley never does respond, and as he storms out we get that close-focus shot of the abandoned plate to make sure the subtext hits home. The cakes are framed sitting in front of the horse statue, brilliantly dressed up in Crowley's sunglasses, to remind us that they were brought there for him and he's dismissing them. (Crowley is the frantic horse who can't be managed!)

There’s another level to it, though, which doesn’t fully become clear until episode 6. The episode 1 meeting in Nina’s café is the first time that Aziraphale and Crowley share a scene in the present-day in S2, which means that the last time we saw them together was when they were dining at the Ritz. As viewers, we quickly recognise the visual language of their partnership: a table for two, a drink, a dessert. It feels familiar. But the food gets delivered and then nobody eats it. On that level, it is a set-up without a pay-off and it really niggles as you watch. S1 closed out their relationship with a happy toast after a resplendent dinner; S2 opens it with a snack that gets ignored. The dynamics of who offers food to whom are also off, atypical. It’s a sign of how things are going to go later on, hinting at the fact their dynamic is dysfunctional right now, even though it might seem OK on the surface.

Which brings me, finally, on to the other thing I’ve wanted to point out…

The punchline is that Crowley doesn’t eat the eccles cakes, but the really subconsciously disconcerting thing is that Aziraphale doesn’t. That he seemingly never planned to, and never orders anything for himself. In fact, we don’t see Aziraphale eat anything substantial in any of the present-day scenes in S2. The only things he consumes onscreen are sherry, tea, and a travel sweet. (Oh, and Manipulation Coffee, which is definitely a callback to Crowley’s disastrous sextuple-espresso.) We see him with food, yes, but primarily he wants to give it to other people.

For me this little detail of S2 – not something you even fully notice until you think about it – is a very telling understated cue in terms of Aziraphale’s post-Heaven state of mind. It's about what amuseoffyre puts so well in another meta: 'the whole series looks like he’s having so much fun doing silly human things, but there’s this brittleness to it.' At first glance, we see Aziraphale interacting with food and assume he is now living the happy Earthly life we wanted for him, but on closer inspection he's not engaging much in the pleasure of eating for his own sake. He gets a quick sweet pick-me-up on his way somewhere else in the Bentley - all alone - and that's it. He's too anxious, too busy, he doesn't have time. Crowley doesn't have time to invite him for lunch.

I find it fascinating that Gabriel gets a squillion cups of cocoa in this season, waxing all lyrical about them, and Aziraphale gets none. Aziraphale's mug becomes Jim's mug, even. And he mostly makes the tea to show Muriel how to blend in. In short, S2 Aziraphale is terribly preoccupied with looking after/managing others, and not taking the time to look after himself. Like the Maggie and Nina match-making, all that kindly treat-offering is displacement, displacement, displacement.

No wonder it all goes wrong.

[elliespeach]

tear you apart | ellie williams

˗ˏˋ"if your friends won't watch over you, i will." ´ˎ˗

pairing ellie wiliams x fem reader synopsis ellie owns her own vinyl store and the day you wander in changes both of your lives forever. she quickly becomes infatuated with you, desperate for your love that she believes is meant to be. when things in your life begin to spiral, ellie is there to catch you, but you'd never suspect she was the reason you fell in the first place. heavily heavily based on the book/tv show "you" on netflix wordcount 4k warnings gosh where do i start, stalking both cyber and in person, ellie is obsessive, manipulative, a gaslighter, a pervert lowkey, possessive and easily jealous, she breaks into readers apartment and goes thru your stuff, shes also so delusional like top tier delulu, shes based off joe goldberg so i mean put the pieces together. this is all from her perspective, most if not all of the inner monologue is ellie's thoughts about you, the italics is verbatim what she is thinking in that very moment if that makes sense. like joe, all of her actions are justified in her mind, and she doesn't see anything wrong with them. reader has a dysfunctional family. pls lmk if i am missing something! authors note hi hello hi, i have been so excited to post this!! just wanted to clarify this rn, i am bringing in a LOT of elements from the book and show, especially in this part, if it seems very similar thats why. i don't plan on following the plot line for season one, but i needed a good base to jump off of, dont hate me. n yes, readers best friend is shauna from yellowjackets i couldn't help myself. i needed a girl group, sue me. cat is apart of this girl group, not ellie's ex along w dina, also not ellie's ex in this au lol

fuckin’ trash, ellie thought to herself, looking over the torn up vinyl in her hands. the guy who returned it obviously had no fucking clue how to take care of something. especially something so needing of love. she placed the vinyl down on the counter beside the register before stepping into the back of the store, grabbing her tools of restoration. as she rummaged through a drawer, the familiar bell rang from the front door indicating a new customer, but she ignored it and continued searching for the sandpaper she always left laying around somewhere. the last drawer she opened was the winner, taking her supplies, she emerged from the small room into the front of the store, the beads in the doorway swaying as she walked through them. 

thats when her eyes found you, examining the vinyl left on the counter. you hadn’t noticed her yet, too engrossed in the mishandled vinyl. she watched you for a moment as you looked it over, tracing the scratches that lined it. to ellie, you looked to be the definition of a nice girl. sporting a flowy sundress that laid just below your ass. nice girl who likes attention, she thought to herself, looking you up and down from afar. 

she played it cool, keeping her eyes on the sandpaper and cloth in her hands as she made her way back to the counter. you finally took notice of her when she stood in front of you. “oh, hi,” you smiled brightly, to which ellie looked up. “whoever handled this vinyl should be in jail.” a sense of humor, ellie smiled at you, letting a breathy laugh fall from her lips. and an appreciation for vinyls, rare.

“a life sentence, for sure.” she spoke, and you laughed. a laugh that was genuine, not forced by politeness. 

“can you point me to where i could find a david bowie album, ellie?” you asked sweetly, and she had to remember she wore a name tag. flirting with me and you like david bowie? ellie’s grateful its a tuesday afternoon, the store is dead. giving her more time to talk with you. you, who seemed to never stop smiling at her. 

“against the wall,” she pointed. “third box from the left.” she lets you wander over yourself, taking the time to admire the way you carry yourself. you had a pair of red, heart shaped sunglasses resting on your head. ellie could tell you liked to pay attention to details, it was evident in the way you matched your sunglasses to your dress, and she wondered just how many pairs you owned. both short dresses and uniquely designed sunglasses together. her head tilted at the thought, switching her over chewed gum to the other side of her mouth. 

you rifled through the box as ellie’s gaze pierced your back, although you were seemingly unaware. david bowie, she thought again. not another stuck up gen z who only listens to who is in the top one hundred, no. no, you were special. ellie put her focus onto the vinyl in front of her, slowly dampening it with the cloth before grinding the sandpaper over the scratches. but she kept you in her peripheral vision and she couldn’t help but notice you were struggling to find a specific one, or at least it looked like it. 

“need help?” she asked you, keeping her voice neutral.

your body turned to face her, meeting her eyes and a faux pout on your lips.“i think the only one i want isn’t here, or i’m seriously blind.” 

ellie chuckled, coming out from behind the counter, “my money’s on blind, just organized this box a few days ago.”

you huffed lightly, standing to the side while she approached you and the box. “i can’t find the rise and fall of ziggy stardust, it’s one of my favorites.”

of course it is. ellie barely looked in the box before she saw the album, pulling it out and holding it out for you. “i’ll book your eye appointment,” she said with a light grin. 

“ugh, my hero,” you gushed, taking the album from her hands gently. i’ll always be your hero, but something tells ellie that you didn’t really need her help to begin with. 

“c’mon, i’ll ring you up,” ellie led you back to the register and you placed the vinyl down on the counter lightly.

“promise i won’t do what that guy did,” you joked, reaching into your bag for your wallet. 

ellie almost wishes you would. you’d come in a few days later, apologizing for being so clumsy but asking if she could fix it for you. of course, she would say yes. how could she say no to someone like you? “you couldn’t if you tried, pretty sure he did it on purpose.” 

“what makes you say that?”

“just a hunch,” ellie shrugs, scanning the barcode on the vinyl. 

“maybe his dogs got it, or worse, his kids.” you kept eye contact as you spoke, which shocked ellie. a lot of people would break away, divert conversation, maybe even stay silent all together. but not you. 

“if that guy had kids, i’d feel bad for them,” to a lot of people, this comment would rub them the wrong way, and ellie internally cursed herself for saying it. you’re a sweetheart in her eyes, someone who wouldn’t think things like that, but again, you laughed. the transaction was almost over and she was grasping at straws, so she kept going. “guys like him blame everything on everyone else, i wouldn’t be surprised if his kids actually hated him but,” 

your head tilted, waiting for more. to ellie, it looked like you were hanging onto every word she said. and she relished in it. “–thats only if someone wanted to have kids with him, which i highly doubt.” 

“from what i’m hearing it doesn’t sound like anyone would want to,” you’re trusting my judgment. ellie’s lips curled up with your words, and she bagged the vinyl in a plastic bag. you handed her a credit card, which was decorated with flowers along with your name. and you want me to know your name. you could’ve used cash, the vinyl was less than twenty dollars. but no, ellie knew better and she knew you better. your eyes found the scratched up vinyl yet again, “but you can fix it?” 

ellie swiped the card against her own wishes. she’d give you the whole store if you asked with that pretty smile. “it’ll be back in the box within the hour, why? you like pink floyd?”

“yeah, for the most part. i haven’t listened to that album yet,” 

“i can put it on hold for you.” ellie rushes out, and she feels like she came on too strong. you could easily listen to it on spotify but she reminds herself that you’re in her store for a reason. you probably own a vinyl player, an older model you got off of facebook marketplace because the newer ones don’t match your personality. maybe a pioneer or a yamaha, and now shes thinking about how you probably dance around your room listening to music. your response breaks her from her imagination. 

“that’d be great, thanks ellie,” but she can see it so perfectly in her mind, you’d wear a big t-shirt and a dainty pair of underwear. twirling and spinning about, the t-shirt riding up as you did and as you stood in front of her in that short dress her mind seemed to unravel and she had to clear her throat. 

“anytime–” she tacked your name at the end of her words with a smile, handing back your card which you very quickly put in your wallet. her eyes glanced down for a split second, admiring how the dress pushed your tits together before bringing them back up to your face. 

“aren’t you going to tell me to have a good day?” you teased much to ellie’s enjoyment, reaching out for the bag she was holding for you. 

“have a good day,” your fingers grazed hers, and ellie knew it had to be on purpose. a flirt, and a good one at that.

“you too, ellie. i’ll be back for that album.” 

you left the store as quickly as you came, taking your sweet vanilla scent with you. ellie thought about your interaction all day, it consumed her walk home and when she entered her small apartment she fell to her couch and opened her laptop. 

plugging your name into any and all social medias was easy, who could forget a name like yours? all your accounts were public, and very quickly ellie could tell just what kind of person you were. the sweet girl who loved vinyls who had an addiction to posting online. your twitter was filled with random, obscure thoughts and always with a hashtag at the end of them. from time to time you’d tweet about where you were, and ellie tsk’d out loud to herself. anyone could find you within seconds, you need to be more careful. you seemed to tweet about everything in your life and ellie refreshed the page, wishing to see a post about the cute girl in the vinyl shop who helped you find your favorite album. 

yet, there was nothing. and for a moment it hurt her, but the more she thought about it, it was better you didn’t post about her. that means it was real for you, hope remains. 

facebook provided the basics of your family, although the account was inactive. but your parents who divorced a few years back seemed to only post about your younger siblings, leaving her to wonder if they didn’t approve of your lifestyle in the city. she stalked their pages like it was her job and at this point it felt like it was. she discovered that your two younger siblings went off to college out west and your parents even sold their home to be closer to them while still living separate lives. ellie felt pity for you, how could they just leave you behind? 

your instagram feed was an aesthetic one, pictures posted solely to appease your followers. a pretty sunset here, a mirror selfie there, a quick post about the food from the restaurant just down the road from ellie’s shop. there were also posts about your own art, colorful and detailed, just like yourself. a painting you did was the last thing you posted, but this one wasn’t like your other ones, it was black and white and had a lonely floating balloon in the center and the borders were lined with overlapping words. ellie could make out only a few of them, ‘melancholy’, ‘nobody’, and ‘distress’. 

there were lots of group pictures of you with friends. ellie could see you looked more authentic than them, who all seemed to resemble something out of a factory for young adults. you were a pearl in a sea of clams. 

out of curiosity, ellie brought herself to your friend’s pages as well. she needed to see the types of people you spent time with, seeing if they were someone she would approve of for you. one friend made an appearance more than others and she assumed that was your so-called best friend, a spunky city girl named shauna. her own instagram was like an influencer’s guide to posting online, and she seemed like someone ellie would avoid at all costs. shauna’s posts of you always had you in the background, or if you were directly in the frame it was a candid where shauna looked better. she's making herself look better at your own expense, can't you see that?   

your other friend’s social media were bland and unhelpful. ellie brought herself back to the task at hand. she typed your name into google and watched the loading screen. your name brought up a string of links all connecting back to your art pieces you’ve submitted to local papers and art galleries. an artist in new york city, aren’t you ambitious. maybe your parents didn’t like the instability of being an artist. but yet, you still pursue your passion. its admirable. 

what also popped up was a white pages link, with a few clicks, and a small charge to her credit card she found exactly what she was looking for. there wasn’t much she could do with your phone number, texting you would be creepy. there was no way for her to explain how she got it, so the next best thing was your address. which, lucky for ellie, was only six blocks from her own. 

if she could find it this easily, she needed to make sure that no one else did. which is how she found herself standing across the street from your apartment, peering into the windows that had no blinds, no curtains, no protection from the outside world. you were on full display for all of new york. first thing were doing together is buying you blinds. you were lounging around on your coach, scrolling through your phone and periodically shifting in your spot to get more comfortable. 

it was dark now, and again, luckily for ellie, someone standing on the sidewalk of new york wasn’t a weird thing to do and no one paid her any mind. for days she would stand in the same spot, studying your movements throughout your apartment. sometimes you would go to bed on the early side, but most nights you were fully awake, sipping something out of a purple mug which she could only assume was coffee, and drawing lines on a canvas. 

everytime you would take a break and scroll through your phone, ellie would refresh every social media, waiting for a post. your fingers danced on the keyboard and after a few refreshes on ellie’s end, your twitter had a new post. 

@yndoesartstuff: if anyone has tips on how not to procrastinate finishing a wip, please enlighten me

if you just put down your phone, i’m sure you could get it done.

one night she watched as you dipped your wet brush into the purple mug instead of the designated paint water cup. they didn’t even look similar, but ellie laughed to herself while you groaned, tossing your head back before getting up to dump the liquid out of the mug. this would also be the first night ellie gawked at you while your hands dipped below your shorts, she quickly looked around. no one else seemed to notice that you were pleasing yourself with your own gentle hands and her eyes found you again, sprawled out on your couch. 

your back arched, obviously hitting your sweet spot and ellie swallowed hard. blinds. were getting you blinds. 

some days, ellie was too busy with the store to watch over you and she hated herself for it. too tired to walk the six blocks and instead just looking over your social media again, looking through your friends posts to see if you’ve been up to anything. you had never come back for the album, which ellie had finished nearly two weeks ago now. but tonight, as she locked up the store she knew she was going straight to the sidewalk adjacent from your apartment. 

when she arrived at her usual spot she saw you through the windows and you looked too well put together for a night to yourself. you were dolled up and ellie liked to imagine it was for her, you’d leave your apartment and head to the store for the album you said you’d come back for weeks ago. but her hope was squashed when a cab pulled up outside your apartment and a woman who looked way too old started to walk up the steps to the building and entered the main door. ellie had been here enough to know the general look of your building's inhabitants, and this woman wasn’t one of them. maybe someone's mom, maybe she's visiting a friend. she can’t be here for you. no way. 

but through the windows, with no blinds, she saw you open your door for this woman and welcome her into your home. your mom. it has to be. ellie’s eyebrows narrowed when you pulled this woman into a hug, then pulled back and let your lips kiss hers. okay, so not your mom. who the fuck is this?

ellie, whose eyes were going from her phone to the big windows of your apartment, began to search through your online presence and found no traces of her. this mysterious woman who, now, you seemed to be having a highschool make out session with on your couch, was all over you, touching you, kissing you, and worst of all, pleasing you. that sweet smile that had previously been for ellie, was now for this woman and it made ellie’s stomach turn. but she didn’t leave, instead watched while the two of you began to peel each other's clothes off. 

were getting you blinds and were getting rid of this woman. 

the next day while she opened up her store, she couldn’t help but think about you and this woman. she was frustrated, of course. but she couldn’t blame you, obviously this woman was prying on your weaknesses for her own pleasure. taking advantage of you. it sickened her, and she had to know more. she had been through every following list she could think of and still, this woman was a mystery. and as she refreshed your twitter (a new hobby of hers), a new post popped up. 

@yndoesartstuff: lunch date with @shaunamavisxx never felt so right – at hoppers tavern

seeing that, ellie locked up shop way too early. it was fairly easy to make her way into your apartment, all she had to do was play the part. “sorry, my girlfriend hasn’t given me a key to this door yet,” she said with a friendly smile to your neighbor, who out of the kindness of his heart let her into the building. she waited until he was in his own apartment before picking your lock. 

it smelled like you once she stepped inside, and she let the aroma fill her nose as she walked around. it was messy, canvases piled up everywhere along with dirty paint brushes. clothes lined your floor from the bedroom all the way to the kitchen and she had to force herself not to clean it up for you. she examined your paintings up close, admiring how the strokes on the canvas looked. she noticed you draw a small bird in every corner, the bird is plump, uncolored and holding a small twig. it was your signature, and it matched you so well. but, what she really was after was your laptop, she found it sitting on your unmade bed. 

no password? she was shocked, and made a mental note to tell you that you needed to secure your devices. it’s almost as if you wanted her to search through it to get to know you better, and ellie did just that. it was linked to your phone and as she went through your messages they all seemed to be relatively normal. for someone like you, at least. 

loads of messages from a group chat labeled city gals, and she knew it wasn’t you who had named it being as you were funnier than that, and less basic. scrolling up, all the conversation in the chat was merely nothing of note, no mention of this woman to your friends which ellie found odd. maybe just a hookup? but even then, wouldn’t you tell your friends? 

ellie could gauge your friends' personalities through the texts they would send, shauna was most definitely the unnamed leader of this group, probably also the one who named the chat. her texts were mostly about planning activities, meanwhile the others just tacked on with fake enthusiastic responses. even yourself. 

leaving the group chat, she continued to scroll down your messages and found an unsaved phone number which seemed to be the winner. you don’t have her number saved, this is good. a lot of your texts to her went unanswered, left on seen and only responded once you’d ask for her to come over. that usually generated a reply within minutes from this woman, who ellie still didn’t know the name of. it angered her even further, realizing she was just toying you along. only using you for your body when you were so much more than that. 

ellie jotted down the unsaved number into her notes app, saving it for later when she could find out just exactly who this woman was. it was clear from the texts that she wanted nothing to do with you, and you still kept texting her like a sad puppy. it was pathetic, really, but ellie didn’t judge. she knew that your attention seeking habits were brought on by your dysfunctional family, she just wished it was her on the receiving end.

she found herself in your emails and saw you had an abundant amount of unread ones. it was a lot of spam and a waste of time, so she moved on. she decided it was best to go into your search history, restaurants, art galleries that allowed online submissions, sometimes even silly questions that ellie would most definitely answer for you if you asked. 

“how do magicians do their cutting in half tricks?” you would ask her from the couch while ellie made you both dinner. 

she’d call out from the stove, “there’s a fake table, the girl puts her legs through that. the legs you see on the other end are fake, baby.” and you would giggle sweetly as you always did, thanking her for being a know-it-all. 

but as she continued to scroll further and further down your search history, she saw that the day you two had met, you googled “vinyl stores near me” and ellie’s was the first to pop up. she thanked every star in the universe for such a coincidence, but the more she thought about it, it couldn’t have been a coincidence because to her, it was always meant to be.  

suddenly your laptop dinged and a new message appeared at the top from city gals. it was shauna and she was proposing a night out and it didn’t take long at all for the rest of the chat to respond. 

shauna: drinks at our favorite spot tonight?

dina: totally what time 

shauna: like 8 ish? 

cat: sounds good to me

shauna: im with our heavy drinker, she says yes too!! see u guys then

dina: hangin w out us :( rude 

cat: yeah wtf 

shauna: oh hush its no biggie, we’ll see you guys tonight 

ellie sat back as the texts rolled in, heavy drinker? ellie didn’t like the sound of it, and your friends seemed to think it was funny. bet they don’t even watch over you when you’re plastered, leaving you alone where anyone could hurt you. a few clicks on your instagram and she found a group mirror picture in a dirty bar bathroom, and the location clear as day at the top of the post. she confirmed it with a few other pictures and a deep dive of your twitter. gotta stop putting your location everywhere. 

ellie knew your lunch date with shauna would be ending soon and you’d return home to start getting ready for the evening. she shut your laptop down, placing it exactly where it was on the bed before and started towards the door to leave. as she was on her way out, a bright red thong caught her eye. it was so carelessly thrown between the couch and the table next to it and she stuffed them into her pocket before locking the door behind her on the way out. she knew you’d never notice, your apartment already looked like a tornado had been through it seven times over. 

she played with the string of fabric in her pocket as she walked down the sidewalk back to her place, contemplating the night to come. if your friends won't watch over you, i will.

read part two here :)

[darlingshane]

Salt of the Earth ~ Part 1

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x OFC

Summary: She was Carmy's best friend growing up, and Michael never looked at her as anything other than that until years later when she comes back to Chicago to start over. In the process, she turns his sorry excuse of a life upside down.

Content/Warnings: Friends to lovers, Fluff, Angst, Family Drama, Dysfunctional relationships, Implied/referenced drug addiction, Alcohol mention, Divorce, Pets, Pet names, Dialogue heavy. Undisclosed age gap (in my mind Michael is late 30s and OC is late 20s, but it's really up to your interpretation).

Word Count: 6.8k // 4 chapters // AO3 link.

A/N: This is set in the year of the Fishes episode on season 2. It starts in summer and slowly builds up to that Christmas.

— This was an anon request that I got a few months ago, I hope you're still around. I tried to fit all the ideas you sent as best I could. There's a bit of info dump on the first chapter, but I hope it isn't too off-putting.

Chapter 1: Best thing since sliced bread

Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes elongate into long hours on slow days like this at The Beef. Especially in summer when the air conditioner stops working for the second time in the middle of August. Any living soul that crosses that door must have a dying wish or be the devil themselves to adventure themselves to what has become Michael's personal hell.

It's been a testing year, and there's so much he can do to fix this place right now. While he waits for Fak to come check the damn AC unit, Michael tends the front while Ebra takes his lunch break.

Turning the paper's pages on the counter, he comes across an article about the extensive fires eating different parts of the country. A wretched thought crosses his mind as he reads – maybe it'd be better to burn this place to the ground and start over. He entertains the idea for a second until the door swings open, inviting more heat into the boiling pot.

He lifts his eyes from the words to find a familiar face approaching the counter. It's not Fak, but a much better vision of someone he used to know.

“Mayhem Maya.”

“Magic Mikey.”

That former thought of burning down this place disappears somewhere in the midst of that beautiful aura that saunters with her big brown eyes, long raven hair, nervous smile, and firm steps.

“It's been a while, Maybird.” Almost ten years since she set foot in this establishment. “What brings you to this hole in the wall?”

“Came to collect that meatball sub you promised at uncle Teddy's funeral, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

Ever since she moved to a different state, he only had seen her a handful of times when she came back for the holidays. Last time he saw her was at the beginning of spring, when her uncle, Ted Silva, passed away.

“I also had an interview at the new vet clinic on the next block.” She places her cross-body bag on an empty stool while she perches her ass on the one next to it.

“How's that going? Did you get tired of California already?”

“No, I love California. But I needed a change of scenery. It's been rough after… you know…” the divorce. She wasn't married for long, but she still can't bring herself to say the word.

“I’ve heard some of it.” He’s pretty much aware of how everything went down. Well, he’s got grapevine’s juicy version of the story, but he never heard her side directly.

Though Michael and Maya know each other as if they were related, they were never close confidants. She always thought he was the coolest guy in Chicago. And he always thought fondly of her, given their families association, and Maya’s close friendship with his brother.

Michael places an order for her sandwich and grabs a soda for her, while she explains she has two more job interviews later.

“Does your mother know you're back?” He folds the paper and props his elbows on the counter.

“She probably does.”

“Still not talking, huh?”

“It's not my fault she made me the black sheep of the family. She’s like vitriol on steroids.”

“Yeah? What happened at the wake? You left before I could say goodbye.”

Michael recalls the tension at the funeral, particularly at the wake when Angela Silva grabbed Maya by the elbow and took her youngest daughter outside the house as if she was still a child that needed to be scolded.

“Nothing. I barely said a word that day. Guess everything I do feels like a personal attack to her. I can admit that I'm not perfect, and that sometimes I've acted up just to get a reaction out of her, but that day she just went off again…” She pauses without finishing that thought to take a refreshing sip of her coke. “And that wasn't nearly as bad as the day I told her I was getting…”

“Divorced? Why can't you say the word? It's not Voldemort.”

“What the hell do you know about Voldemort?”

“How do I… Who took you and Carmy to buy those damn books? Have you forgotten?” Maya shakes her head. “You even tried many times invoking his name, so I was haunted by eaters or something like that. You two were real potterheads.”

“And you were just a pothead,” she laughs, stirring the ice cubes in her drink with a straw. “I totally blocked that out. We were just a couple of nerds.”

“I’d say!”

“Meatball sub!” Richie calls from the pass-through window and takes a second look when catching Maya in the joint. “Maya Papaya?!”

“Please, don’t call me that.” She scoffs while Richie promptly abandons the kitchen and goes around the counter to give her a welcoming hug.

“Did you know she was coming?” He asks Michael, as he props his ass on the bar.

“Had no idea. She just showed up.”

“Did you tell her about Carmy?”

“What about him?”

“He’s in Copenhagen.”

“Oh, I knew about that.”

“You two talk often?”

“Sometimes, I guess.” Barely more likely. They don't even text anymore. She's tried but there's been nothing but crickets at his end for months.

While Richie grills her about Carmy and what she’s been up to, Michael can’t help but look around the shop to notice, from every corner and wall, memories bouncing all at once in his direction. It takes him back in time to those days when she and Carmy were as thick as thieves.

Their shared history goes back to that same street their families have lived on for over thirty years… It’s still clear in his mind, like it was yesterday, when he was forced to babysit them when they wanted to go to the movies or trick-or-treating or the bookstore. That was a little annoying back then, now he fondly remembers all those times in summer, when they’d go to the convenience store to get ice pops on their bikes. Then they’d ride back and sit in the middle of the swanky rug in their living room and watch TV for hours. More than once they were yelled at by Mama Berzatto when she would come home to find melted colorful stains in the fabric. She would lose her shit. Carmy was used to it. Maya wasn’t, but the girl never flinched once cause Donna and her own mother were cut from the same unstable piece of cloth.

Maya and Carmy were really close up until they went separate ways for college. Their bond was something to admire. They had something so special that inevitably, Carmy fell in love with her. She was his best friend and confident. They kept each other's secrets, and Carmy thought she'd feel the same in return. It wasn't a crazy notion. They spent so much time together, everyone thought it'd lead to something more, but that never happened.

Mikey and Richie used to tease the youngest cub relentlessly. They tried multiple times to encourage him to ask her out, but he never found the guts to do it. Especially if it could potentially end their friendship. Carmy didn't want to lose that. Though he never confessed his feelings, Maya always knew. Even in her teens, call it a woman’s intuition, part of her already knew. Maya wished she'd felt the same toward him, but the heart wants what it wants, and she couldn't change that.

What was really fucked up was that she had the most ridiculous crush on the older Berzatto when she was a teen. While she knew he'd never look at her as anything other than Carmy's annoying little friend, that didn't stop her from daydreaming about it for years. It was a secret that no one ever knew and that was placed in a drawer at the back of her mind after she left Chicago.

After graduating, Maya and Carmy stayed in touch for a long time, until their calls and texts became less frequent. They followed different dreams that required a lot of attention and sadly their friendship got hurt in the process.

While she attended Vet School on the west coast, he became a chef on the east.

Maya thrived at school and work. She really went out on her own, and became the woman she always wanted to be. Unsheltered, confident, outspoken. She outgrew her shell and opened herself to new experiences and people. She loved it all. It wasn’t smooth sailing, but for the most part she was pretty happy with her choices.

And now she's back in Chicago, set on a new path and awaiting to see where it takes her.

She’s living in a house in Oak Park with her dog, Coco; Richie fishes out of her. Apparently, she got some money from uncle Teddy, and she’s invested it in a home for her and her beloved staffy.

“Does Carmy know you’re here?” Richie circles back.

“No, I haven't talked to him in months.”

“Why? Did you two have a fall-out or something?”

“There's no why. We're just busy.”

“Mike, help me out here. Weren’t these two fools supposed to get married?”

“Yeah, everyone thought you'd ended up together.”

“Man, I don't know what to tell you, we just didn't,” her head sinks between her shoulders.

“Just get over yourself and hit him up. The kid has been hung up on you since forever. It looks like things didn’t go so well with your marriage and all. You should take that as a sign, you’d never find anyone better than Carmy. The boy could really use some excitement in his life. And so could you.”

“C’mon, leave her alone. Go back to work, Cousin.”

Michael throws her a lifeline, noticing how miserable she looks every time Richie opens his unfiltered mouth.

“He’s not wrong, you know? You and Carmy… it looked like you two had something special.” Michael offers once Richie is back in the kitchen.

“It’s called friendship. You should look it up.” She points out.

“I have Richie.”

“Exactly. You have Richie. Why don't you two marry the other and leave me alone? If you think about it, you were as close to Richie as I was with Carmy. Even more. Should everyone assume you are in love with him? Cause that's what you're implying.”

“Touché. I'll drop it.”

“Look, as hard as it is to believe, there was nothing else between us. I was aware he felt something for me, but I didn’t feel the same.”

“You should give him a chance sometime. He might surprise you.”

It’s not the first time these two have been trying to play matchmaker between Maya and Carmy, and it’s bizarre to see they still do at any given opportunity.

“Okay, if I give Carmy a chance, you have to give Richie a chance. Those are the rules, Berzatto.”

“Oh, I've tried. He's not into me,” he remarks, amused, and leans closer to confess something in a lower voice. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

“Uh, sure.”

“He and Tiffany are having a baby. He just told me a few days ago.”

“What? You let him reproduce? I'll pray for Tiff.”

Chapter 2: Cool as a cucumber

Everything falls slowly into place as Maya settles back in Chicago. She secures the job at the clinic near The Beef, which is a huge relief after her rushed decision of moving back to her hometown without securing a job first. It was part of the plan all along to practice what she loves but never thought this would be the year. As much as she loved California, once her divorce was finalized she felt like something was trapping her there. And the money she got from her uncle gave her some leeway to improvise, get away from all that, and start over.

Maya is spending her morning going through the stack of unpacked boxes, finding a good place for everything, making it feel more homey. It's not a big house, but spacious enough for the two of them. The big selling point was the backyard for Coco to zoom around and cool down in her wading pool, which she loves. It didn't take long for the five-year-old pup to get used to her new neighborhood. They've even made a couple of friends at the park nearby.

A moment before the doorbell rings, Coco whines from her spot by the window, where she often sits to watch passers in the street.

“Who is it?” Maya playfully asks her dog as she makes her way to the front door.

Through the peephole, she sees Michael's profile as he inspects the porch.

“Hi,” her eyes widen as she opens the door. “Didn't know you were coming.”

“Yeah, I would've called, but I didn't get your number the other day.” But he got her address from Richie's intense questioning when she visited the shop.

“I knocked on two different houses until I got the right one,” he explains as Coco curiously circles around his feet, sniffing his pants, hitting his crotch with her nose in the process.

“No, Coco. Sit. How many times have we talked about no nut-tapping?” Maya glances at her with amusement as the dog sits on her haunches.

“It’s fine,” he snorts. “All dogs do that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But she’s not any other dog. I thought I had taught her better. So what brings you here?”

“This.” He offers the paper bag hanging in his hand. “It's just a little house-warming gift.”

“You didn't have to.” As she takes the bag from his hand she ushers him inside before closing the door.

“It's nothing, really.”

He glances around as Maya takes out the box from the bag.

“Wow, a set of knives? That's not nothing.”

“Everyone needs one good set of knives. But you can exchange them for something else if you want.”

“No. I like these. But I gotta warn you that I'm not much of a cook, and I'll probably use the same one for everything.”

“That's fine I can show you sometime though. Is she friendly? ” He points at the dog that keeps staring at him. “Can I pet her?”

“Yeah, she loves everyone. Go ahead.”

Michael cautiously pets the brown coat of her head as her floppy ears lower at the passing of his hand.

“Never pictured you with a pit bull.”

“Me neither. I always thought I'd be a cat lady. But I met her at this adoption drive when she was one, and she stole my heart.”

“I can see why.” Michael crouches down, and pets Coco with both hands. “She's really sweet.”

He lets her lick his chin a couple of times before standing back on his feet. Then they go on a tour around the house.

“It's still a work in progress. I'm thinking of painting a few walls, but we like it so far.”

“Yeah, it has good bones.”

“So you don't have to work today?” Asks Maya.

“No, we've had some trouble with the gas line, and we've been shut down for a couple of days.”

“That sucks. Now where am I going to get my sandwiches and coffee on my way to work?”

“Heard Starbucks is pretty good.”

“Shut up. Don't even joke about that.” She playfully shoves his shoulder as they go back to the living room.

“Are you doing something later?”

She shakes her head. “Why?”

“I don't know, thought you were having a comeback party or something.”

“I don't really have any friends here. And I don't feel like inviting my family yet. As you can see, I still have a lot to unpack.”

“Physically or mentally speaking?”

“Both,” she scoffs.

“Let's do something then? Just you and me. We could grab some pizza, or go out for a drink for old times’ sake?”

“Old times’ sake?” It's amusing, surprising and confusing his sudden interest in her. Maybe he can see how pathetic she thinks she is, and he's taking pity on her. Although, that was never Michael style.

“Yeah, c'mon, Mayhem. You look like you could use some fun.” He picks up a book that's sitting on top from the box opened by the couch that's titled — Dating Again with Courage and Confidence: The Five-Step Plan to Revitalize Your Love Life after Heartbreak, Breakup, or Divorce. “And maybe a rebound or something. You don't need a fucking help book. You only need me to show where to get the best guys, or girls. Whatever you're into.”

“Give me that. I don't need a rebound, a help book, or you for all matter finding me a date.”

“No? Then why do you have that?”

“My friend Paige thought I should give it a try.”

“Maybe she was onto something there.”

“I'm perfectly fine. Just want to finish organizing everything, focus on work and this handful I have right here.” Her hand gestures at Coco. “What are you so interested in my love life anyway? First you try to play matchmaker with Carmy, and now you want me to do what, exactly? Hook up with the first guy I see?”

“No, I'm just asking you to go out and have some fun. I know Carmy was the only friend you had here. And if I was in your shoes, I'd feel pretty lonely.”

“I'm not lonely, Michael. Do I miss my friends in Sacramento? Sure,” she admits. “But I don't wanna force anything. I'm just taking it slow. When the time comes I'll jump right in but for now, this is all I need. Really. Stop pitying me.”

“I'm not pitying you, sweetheart.”

“No? Then what is it? Where is this coming from?”

“I don't know… I've always thought you were the salt of the earth. And though we never really hung out together, I thought you could use… But I can see now that you're different, and that you know what you need right now, so I'll just shut up and back off. Let you do your thing.”

“Thank you. I do know what I'm doing, by the way. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. But I appreciate you coming here anyway.”

“Yeah, of course. And I can help you unpack if you need.”

“Hm, if you don't have anything better to do, be my guest. We could grab a pizza later, if the offer still stands. Or just order some food.”

“Sure.”

Michael helps Maya unpack all the boxes and put everything in place in half the time it'd have taken her alone. They order some food for lunch and spend half the day talking and laughing until late in the afternoon when they decide to go out for some drinks to keep the good vibes going.

At the end of the night, she offers to drive Michael back to his apartment as a thank you for inviting her.

“Did you have fun?” Michael asks from the passenger seat as she pulls up in front of his building.

“Yeah, I did. I'm glad I changed my mind.”

“Me too. I didn't know you were this fun. You're nothing like I remember.”

“Yeah, I was kind of weird growing up. You guys probably thought there was something wrong with me. ”

“Nah, don't be so hard on yourself. We were all weird in our own way.”

“Uh-uh. No Michael Berzatto. You were the coolest guy back in the day, and you still are.”

“I don’t know about that,” he scoffs. “For the record… I never thought there was anything wrong with you.”

“You were probably the only one… Anyway, thank you for today. I know I said I didn't need this, but I guess I did.”

“You're welcome, Maybird. I'm glad you’re back.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Thanks for bringing me home,” he softly squeezes her arm before reaching for the handle to open the door.

“No problem.”

“You know you can call me if you ever miss your friends, y’know?” he throws casually.

“I uh…sure. I will.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she echoes back as he pulls the handle and the door opens.

“Have a good night, Michael,” she says as he gets one foot on the pavement.

“You, too, sweetheart.”

He closes the door and vaguely waves as she sets the car in motion and watches her drive away.

Chapter 3: Don't cry over spilled milk

In the few weeks he's been spending time with Maya, Michael has found himself enjoying her company more than he'd like to admit. Being with her grounds him. She makes him forget for a little while all that's wrong in his life. She's like a beacon in that immerse darkness that his sorry existence has become. Despite having her own set of problems, he's watched her rise above all that with poise. He wonders what it's her secret to her steadfast determination, even when her own family has disavowed her.

After closing shop, he dives into his stash to tame that brewing headache before driving to Oak Park to pay her a visit. She told him earlier via text that she was at Home Depot buying some paint to update the color of her bedroom and asked him to come over to hang out after work.

For some reason, he couldn't say no. Not even the storm in his head is strong enough to deny her request. He has a pull on him, tugging him hard like a dog tied to a leash in her hand, he can’t help but follow her lead.

When he arrives at her house, she's halfway done. Two of the walls shine bright new in a lavender tone as she starts working on the next one.

After having beer and playing a tug of war game with his new friend, Coco, Michael offers his help to finish painting the walls. He uses a brush to paint the corners, while she gracefully uses a roller like a pro with her denim overalls over a tank top, and her raven hair pulled up in a ponytail sprinkled with lavender paint beads. When she lifts one of her arms, he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on the side of her rib cage, leveled to the roundness of her chest that looks like the outline of a dog paw.

“What are you looking at?” She asks after catching him staring.

“You have paint on your chin.”

“Oh.” She wipes it with the back of her hand, but she just spreads the stain along her jaw. “I made it worse, didn't I?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugs it off and continues with the task ahead until the whole wall is covered.

“Is everything okay, Bear?” Maya puts down the paint roller. “You're quieter than usual.”

“Yeah, everything's alright.” It sounds so honest, he almost believes it. “It's just been a long day.”

“I'm sorry that I put you to work.”

“Don't be. This is relaxing.”

“Yeah?” She takes a step back and surveys how much brighter her bedroom looks already after covering most of the former downcast grey. “Is the color right? Do you think it's too girlish?”

Giving the room a once over he says, “it's a good shade. I dig it. It doesn't matter what I think or if it's too girlish, as long as you like it. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

She dips the roller on the tray to cover another section of the wall.

“You never told me what happened at the funeral with your mom,” Michael leans on the stepladder, taking a short break.

“Do you really wanna know?” She glances over her shoulder.

“Yeah. Everyone does. I’ve heard some crazy stories about it. Thought I should get it straight from the source.”

“I never pegged you for a gossip girl.”

“I’m not. I’m just making conversation.”

She mockingly narrows her eyes, drawing a lopsided smirk, “liar.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. But yeah, can’t help being a little curious about it.”

“I don’t mind telling you, but it won’t be as entertaining as those crazy stories people have made up.”

“I’m not here for entertainment. I just wanna hear your side of the story, Maybird.”

Maya lets out a heavy sigh and while keeping her focus on the wall she shares with him what really happened. She’s right to say that is not the best story she’s ever told, though when it comes to her mother, all her stories tend to have a surreal element even she can’t fathom sometimes.

That day at the funeral, she was taken outside during the wake by Angela Silva to get scolded about her imminent divorce. It wasn’t finalized by then, and her mom invoked one last Hail Mary to convince her to stay with her husband, who was also currently dating someone else. It was a messy situation that Maya couldn't wait to get out of, and the fact that her mother never offered an ounce of support wasn’t surprising, but still devastating. Somehow, Angela found that the reason for her separation from her husband was that Maya didn’t want to have kids, and that really vexed Angela. All she wanted for her three kids was to follow the same traditional path Angela was forced into, no matter how miserable she was. Her two older sisters followed her mother’s narrowed traditional values. But Maya, ever-the-nonconformist, swore she would never follow anyone’s drum beat but her own. Her husband thought she’d change her mind eventually. He was wrong. She knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which led her here, to this moment.

“Is your mom ever happy?” Michael has always wondered.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her happy, except when she’s drunk. That’s why she has to make everyone else miserable.”

“Yeah, but she’s always had a fixation on making you miserable.”

“Like I said, every family needs a black sheep, and I’m it.”

“Is that why you became a vet?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So, it's true, you don’t wanna have kids? I’m not judging. I’m just curious.”

“I honestly don't know. I just knew that when he told me he wanted to have a baby right away, it didn’t feel right. I said that maybe in six or seven years I’d be okay with it. Told him I wanted to travel and just be us for a while, and he said that was too long to wait. I don’t know… he stopped talking to me, and it was clear that he wasn’t changing his mind, and I wasn’t changing my mind, so. At some point I got tired of trying… He got a girlfriend as soon as I filed for divorce and I got a text from Paige the other day that said he got her already pregnant, like… that was never me. I guess it served me right… I married him on a whim, an impulse without really talking about what we wanted…”

“Hey, don’t feel sorry for yourself. You dodged a bullet there.”

“You really think that?.”

“Yeah, I do. You stood up for yourself and knew when to step back when it didn’t feel right. Not everyone has the balls to do that. Think how miserable you’d be by now if you had tried to please him or your mom. You seem happy now. That's what matters.” He means that with all his heart, and wishes he had the same drive to follow those same steps. As much as he loved the restaurant, he chose to run it to please people within his family. And that love turned into a nightmare he couldn't escape.

“You know… I liked you better when you were quiet,” she quips.

Michael huffs a soft laugh, picking up his brush to resume painting.

When the room is finished, she plugs a couple of fans and closes the door to keep Coco away.

Maya washes her hands and face in the bathroom sink. When she comes out, she catches the motion of Michael's arm as he shoves what looks like a pill into his mouth before taking a gulp of water from one of her glasses.

“What was that? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It's just a headache,” looking down, he runs a palm over his short growing beard.

“Is it the fumes?”

“No, I had it before coming here.”

“Michael,” she sighs softly at his name. “You should've told me. I wouldn't have let you help if I knew.”

“Would you stop that? I wanted to help.”

“Okay, c'mere. Let's sit down.”

“No, I think I should get going.”

“Nonsense. I'm not going to let you drive until you feel better.”

He yields with a long exhale, and follows Maya into the living room, where her bed is settled askew in the middle of the space.

She takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and waits for him to sit next to her.

“Give me your hand,” she shows her palm up, as his eyes narrow. “C'mon, don't be a baby, give me your hand, Berzatto.”

“When did you become so bossy?” He slowly lifts his hand and as he lays it on top of her palm, his fingers tremble upon contact with her skin. Maya then uses her opposite hand to clip the webbing between his thumb and pointer fingers with her own and begins massaging that spot.

“My friend Sierra is really into acupressure. She says this is a pressure point that helps with headaches.” She explains while slowly increasing the force. “Does it hurt?”

“Not one bit. Is that like acupuncture?” His voice comes as a whisper as he focuses on her diligent fingers.

“Kinda. I think. I’m not really sure.”

“You don't have to fix me, you know?”

“I'm not trying to fix you, Bear. I just wanna make you feel better.”

“Admit it. You just love a good wounded animal.”

She smiles softly, placing his hand down on his knee and picking up the other. “Does it feel any different?”

He’s not really sure, it wasn’t truly a headache that led them to take that pill but the annoying rambling of his thoughts. She shouldn’t have seen that. And he shouldn’t have lied. But having her hands on his like this is straight up lovely. Inside of him, it truly feels like something is broken, wounded, and missing, and this is giving him a sliver of relief as he waits for the pill to kick in. If he was a better man, he’d tell her the truth. But he’s too far gone for saving. All he can do is keep that facade up.

“Does it?” She insists after not getting an answer.

“A little.”

“Do you wanna lay down?”

Swallowing, he responds with a nod, and they both lean back on the mattress at the same time. Looking at the ceiling, she keeps kneading that pressure point, unsure if she’s even doing it right.

They stay in comfortable silence for a good five minutes and when she finally places his hand down, Maya glances to the side and sees that his eyes have closed, and his chest gently rising and falling. She calls his name softly, but she can see that behind the sharp edges of his face and the ever-growing shade of his beard, he’s truly exhausted, so she doesn’t insist. She extends her hand to turn off the lamp, and curls on the other side of the bed without disturbing his sleep.

“Good night,” she says softly and closes her eyes.

From a dusty corner of her mind comes crawling that little forgotten part that used to harbor a lot of feelings for Michael. Though a few weeks ago he seemed practically the same Michael she knew, over the past month she’s keenly noticed little changes here and there. His eyes sometimes cast a dark shade tainted in nothing but sadness, it’s barely noticeable for other people. It comes and goes, but it tells her he’s not truly as happy as he pretends to be.

Michael wakes up disoriented at the crack of dawn.

It takes him a few seconds to remember he’s still in Mayas’ bed in the middle of her living room and that the weight that has his arm pinned is her body pressed against his. She’s warmly snuggled on his side, with her arms tucked between his chest and hers, and a peaceful expression on her beautiful face. She’s so awfully close, he can smell the scent of her hair, and feel the heat of her breath every time she exhales.

It's such an odd moment for him to have her that close. He's unsure of whether it would be better to slip out of bed unnoticed before she wakes up, or just stay there and watch her sleep for a bit longer. Either option would make him look like a creep, he thinks. So he opts to gently wake her up. His free hand reaches to his forehead to move a stand of hair away. Her brow scrunches as his light-feather touch grazes her skin. His lips curve up as he traces the shell of her ear to see her stir awake. She blinks slowly a couple of times until her focus shifts onto him.

“Hey, Maybird.”

“Hey.” Her lips move, it's barely audible.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” His fingers absentmindedly massage her earlobe.

She's so stunned by waking up to that level of intimacy, she simply nods, as her mouth softly draws a smile.

“It's fine. Does your head feel better?”

“Much better. That pressure thing really worked.”

“I'm glad.”

“Listen, I gotta go open. Maybe we could do something later?”

“Okay,” she swallows nervously, hoping that waking up with him like this isn't just a dream. “Can you do me a favor first?”

“Sure.”

“Can you stay five more minutes?”

“I uh… I think I can,” against his better judgment, he decides he can stay for a few minutes more holding her.

The way her lips pull up timidly at the corners, revealing the dimples framing her mouth, completely disarms him. He’s always felt a certain affinity towards her, but being this close to her awakes a longing within that feels dangerous. He can’t bring someone new into his life. Not while everything around him is falling apart. It’s already hard enough having to pretend around other people.

He couldn’t do that to her. He won’t.

Michael will have to fight harder because when her arm tucks around his waist he can’t help but press his lips against her forehead.

Chapter 4: Hard nut to crack

Four months later…

After that initial moment of weakness when he fell asleep on her bed, he fought hard to elude that odd longing that has only grown into a big mass of love toward Maya. To anyone else in the world, a feeling as big as that would be a blessing, especially when it's reciprocated. To Michael, it's a weakness he can't afford right now.

Spending all that time with Maya has been like discovering a whole new planet Michael never thought existed. She's all vast, uncharted territory that fazes him more than it should. Despite his best efforts, he’s fallen into her alluring orbit and can’t find the way out into his own universe.

Far gone is that moody teenager that would mumble a few words here and there. And now there's this tragically stunning woman that looks you directly in the eye, says anything that crosses her mind, and laughs without a care in the world.

Though falling in love with her wouldn’t be completely wrong, it's not quite right either. It fills him with guilt to think about her in that manner. Moreover, it feels like a betrayal to Carmy, who’s far away in a different continent, prospering in his craft.

Michael tries to fool himself into believing that this is just temporary infatuation. He’s even attempted several times to convince her to get in touch with Carmy but hasn’t succeeded. It’d be easier for him if she were to put her focus on someone else instead of him. He has nothing to offer to her and has deemed himself unworthy of her, or anyone for that matter. If she only knew what’s really going on with him, she wouldn’t want Michael nearly as she believes she does.

Layer by layer, she’s tearing all his walls and defenses down. And after all the back and forth, he's absolutely sure she wants more than he can offer her. She’s been giving him the right signals. She doesn't shy away from it. Maya is direct and impulsive, and everything about her is fascinating and intimidating.

It’s time to either cut her loose, or accept that he’s madly in love with her and do something about it.

Amidst coming to terms with a final decision, he's lured into a surprise party she's organized for his birthday.

Michael is left speechless by her determination. And a little annoyed too for reasons he can't explain. To be honest, he’s never been a fan of surprise parties, but the main problem is that this would make things much harder for him to let her down easily. She’s carved herself into his life and the longer he drags this out, the worse this is going to hurt.

He’s aware that it’s selfish and obtuse of him for being that ungrateful that someone who cares that profoundly about him, that they would go all out to prove that. He feels like an asshole, but the train has already left the station.

Using the same tiring self-defense mechanism, he draws his best smile and brings out the Michael everyone seems to love. Not without help. There's always that crutch tucked in his wallet in the form of a pill. Being high numbs him enough to deal with the situation.

The cherry on top comes at the end of the night, when he walks her up to her car and asks if he's had a good time. He lies through his teeth and for the first time, he can tell Maya is not buying it. Perhaps she never did, but he's well-versed on her tells by now, and he can clearly see she's fed up with all the bullshit that comes out of his mouth.

“Look, it's not that I didn't like the party. It's just that I hate surprises, and I was exhausted today. But it was a nice thought, sweetheart. I just… I wasn't in the right mood.” It's seemingly convincing the second time around, but her face shows nothing but regret. “I love the jacket you bought me, though.”

Michael has never been interested in fashion, but he's always loved vintage jackets, and the one she picked it's a perfect addition to his collection. It's a bomber jacket, aviator style, in brown leather with a couple of patches and fur collar.

As they reach Maya's car, they come to a stop. She turns to him, “I know I can be a little too much sometimes. But I promise no more surprises from now on.”

“You and I both know, you won’t be able to keep that promise even if your life depended on it. That's part of what makes you– you, sweetheart. Don’t let my bad mood ruin that.”

“I’ll try.”

After a beat, without hesitation she leans in to leave a goodnight kiss on his bearded cheek and on a whim, she decides to press a second one on his lips.

It takes him completely aback. He wants to dive so badly into her mouth, but he freezes on the spot. And when Maya attempts to deepen the kiss, he finally reacts by placing a placating hand on her shoulder as he pulls his head back.

“I'm… I'm sorry we can't do this, Maya.”

“Wait, I thought… Did I misread something?”

“No, you didn’t misread anything. I just can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“I can't.”

“You can't or don’t want to?”

“Guess I don’t want to.”

“Can you at least tell me why? Did I do something wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.” He wants to spill out the old – it's not you, it's me – excuse, but he refrains. Every thought and action go against every good instinct he's ever had. He hates himself for making her feel insecure. And yet, he can't backtrack now.

“Stop calling me sweetheart. You see how misleading that is?”

“Sorry. I think I gave you the wrong impression.”

Her eyes narrow, and he can see the gears turning for a long moment before opening her mouth.

“I don't think you gave me the wrong impression, Michael. I think you're too chickenshit to admit that there's something between us and, for whatever reason, you're just taking the coward's way out. You've been weird the whole night, especially with me. I just threw a party just for you, the least you can do is tell me why.”

“I didn't ask you to do that. And I don't owe telling you shit! I was trying to let you go easy, but nothing is ever easy with you. So I'll just say it. This, you and me, is never going to happen.”

It sounds ridiculous as it comes out of his mouth, but he stands firm on that statement as her heart breaks in front of him.

In the end, it'd be better for her, he believes.

[peakbys]

A MINUTE AND GONE

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader Summary: Quieter moments with Tommy almost feel like you're in another world, and you can't bring yourself to walk away when they present themselves. Request: Yes.            → @runnning-outof-time asked: Hi there! I saw that your requests were open and couldn’t pass up on the opportunity - you’re such an amazing writer! Would you be willing to write something for Tommy using the prompt "I believe this belongs to you."  ?? I’m not sure how you feel about prompts, but I’m not the best at requesting things and so they’re always a go-to for me. Feel free to ignore this if you’re not interested. Thanks so much in advance if you choose to write it! 💕 Warnings: I went into this with the intention of fluff, but it got more angsty than intended. So, heads up for a dysfunctional relationship and reader's conflicting feelings. There's still some lightness to it, ofc. It's a mixed bag. Note: Thanks for sending this in! Took me a minute to get around to it due to life, but I hope you enjoy it!

Things were never simple with Tommy.

Sure, you knew what he and his family were, yet it was difficult to be pulled into that life from what would have been considered outside. Even with the close and intimate relationship you had with Tommy, it was a hard feeling to shake. Outsider, not really allowed in too close. Whether that meant you not being too involved in the business or not being allowed too deep into Tommy’s mind depended on the day, sometimes. For a while, you had accepted that. Some days, you accepted that the human mind and heart was too complex for a simple black-and-white idea that he didn’t have room for you. 

There was always someone else, you knew that. It filled you with such bitterness sometimes, and yet in others you supposed you could understand. 

It had you feeling like you were being torn between two mindsets on it. Sometimes you swore you were done, that you’d leave. Other times, you just couldn’t shake him and you found yourself trying to just make it work to the best you could. It was overly complicated, sometimes too much to really explain with words. (As much as you caught the odd knowing look from some of the other Shelby women.) 

Perhaps that was why you weren’t berated too hard for the little outburst you had the other night. Usually, you did your best to keep that behind closed doors, yet it felt like you couldn’t really stop it from coming out when it did. A little spat and argument at a public function with Tommy didn’t seem too bad for what you had seen in pubs and other functions like that, yet a part of you couldn’t help but kick yourself when the anger had subsided. Yet, your pride wouldn’t let you admit that in the moment. Really, you were stuck with some feelings that were all too familiar. 

Anger, discarded, hurt, like you couldn’t compare or compete. It wasn’t until a few days after the event that you realized it was that sense of competition that caused you the most issues. 

That night, Tommy hadn’t really done anything to set you off. Other times, definitely, but that fact had settled in when you had fallen asleep without saying another word to each other. You were lashing out from an insecurity that had plagued you long before you even got close to Tommy, but it certainly had a lot to play off of with him. That realization had come with a heavy pit of embarrassment that took another day before it was too much for your pride to push back. 

Apologies weren’t always a huge struggle for you, but when it came to things like this? It was hard to form the words. You knew you didn’t want to pick at it, make things worse, but it was more like you didn’t really have the words for the explanation that followed. 

It was with those thoughts you found yourself approaching his office, stepping inside with somewhat slow, cautious steps. You shut the door behind you softly, lingering by the door as you took in the scene before you. 

It was almost ill-fitting, how beautiful the day out was. 

It lightened up the room, giving a natural light that seemed all too inviting. As much as Tommy had only given you a flicker of his gaze in your direction in acknowledgement of your presence, even he seemed relaxed. He was notoriously difficult to read, sometimes. Expressions flashing in a small flicker on his face, his eyes more cold than you could stand at points. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, especially when things were rough. 

On the other hand, ironically enough, he was easier to read in neutral moments like this. 

He was focused, yet he didn’t seem that frustrated. A touch bored, maybe, but nothing that really suggested to you that you couldn’t approach him. That you should rethink your intentions on showing up there. 

With a small, reassuring breath out, you finally approached him. 

“Are you busy?” you asked, placing your hands on the back of a vacant chair in front of his desk. 

“I’m always busy,” he replied matter-of-factly, “This can wait, though.” 

Tommy looked at you, then, giving you his full attention. His expression was neutral, gaze expectant. You had a hard time not meeting his gaze, feeling your fingers dig into the back of the chair somewhat as a sense of nervousness settled. You couldn’t help but wonder if it would have been easier if he had just let you talk while he worked, yet you knew this was the best way to do this. In a way, you were almost intimidated by the genuineness of it. 

“I…wanted to apologize,” you stated after a moment, “For what happened a couple of nights ago. That it’s taken this long to even say that. I was…lashing out over something that wasn’t anything you caused. I was acting like a frustrated child. It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry.” 

He seemed to take that in for a moment, meeting your gaze before he leaned back in his chair somewhat, the touch of a grin crossing his face. 

“Believe it or not, that was not the first time someone’s lashed out at me in public,” he replied, “I thought it was something like that. I’ve already forgiven it.”

“I…still wanted you to hear that. From me,” you said, taken a little off guard by the casualness of the conversation. Yet, in all honesty, you weren’t sure how he’d react anyway. 

Despite only giving you a nod in return to that, you couldn’t help but feel some sort of relief upon hearing his words. There it was again, pulling you back toward him again when you had promised yourself, yet again, that you weren’t going to. A part of you knew that it would probably do you better to actually say what you mean–to actually explain your behavior outside of acknowledging that it was out of line. 

Yet, a bigger part of you in that moment was just tired. Of the overthinking, the seriousness, the isolation, the frustration–all of it. 

You knew you let it win when you backed away from the chair, but didn’t leave the room. The wheels in your head had started to turn, and the idea that formed was quite appealing. If he’d humor it, you supposed. It wouldn’t hurt to offer. With some mild amusement, you stepped forward as you fought to keep a small grin from slipping onto your face. 

“Well, if that’s how it is…” you began, pausing a moment before you held your hand out toward him, “I believe this belongs to you.” 

It was hard not to grin at the slight confusion that settled into his expression, his sharp gaze searching your own as you flexed your fingers somewhat invitingly. Amusing as it was, and you didn’t want to ruin the moment by spelling it out for him, yet you knew you wouldn’t leave him in suspense for much longer. Though, after a few moments, you realized that you may not have to. The realization that settled softened his expression, his eyes brightening in a similar amusement. 

Tommy’s smiles were rare–the full ones, at least. The ones that almost changed his face and let you catch a glimpse of someone he might’ve been before the war and the world he lived in hardened him. The ones you were fortunate enough to catch always seemed to catch you off guard–in a good way, at least. So, it was hard to hold back the one you were hiding when he gave you one at that moment. 

“Now you want to dance, eh?” he asked, making you chuckle. 

“I promised,” you replied with a light shrug, still (somewhat awkwardly) holding your hand out. 

You had left that night before you had gotten the chance, and you figured perhaps this would be a good signal to show that you really just wanted to move on from the whole thing. You knew it didn’t solve what caused it in the first place, but it was hard to make the decision to ruin a moment like this. Despite everything, moods seemed high and your resolve had crumbled plenty over the last couple of days. 

Luckily, it seemed like his resolve didn’t need much poking to fall in that moment, either. 

“You’re leadin’, then?” he asked teasingly as he took your offered hand, which prompted a small chuckle from you as you pulled him further into the office where there was some more space. 

“I barely know how to dance as it is, so no,” you said, letting him pull you in closer to him. 

Tommy slipped his arm around your lower back as you rested your own on his, your free hands entwining in what was a loose representation of waltzing positions. You tried to mirror his movements in what was a light sway, no music and much too close for what it probably would have been if you had managed a dance that evening. Yet, you really couldn’t find it in yourself to care about that, sinking into his touch as you leaned your head onto his shoulder. 

It was odd. For all the violence that Tommy had within himself, it was moments like the current that surprised you. The small, tender moments that he could show behind closed doors or with people he trusted. So, in a way, you supposed that it had to mean something that he was willing to do this so freely with you. Yet, it was hard to say that with much certainty, especially when it came to Tommy. 

Yet, despite the doubts, it really only had you grasping these moments alone with him all the tighter. 

“...I don’t know if I understand you, love,” Tommy admitted quietly after a few more moments of your silent dancing. You couldn’t help but let out a soft huff at that, almost a touch bitter. 

“Next to you, I must look like a half complete puzzle at worst,” you replied, somewhat muffled as you still were pressed close to his shoulder. 

“Maybe.” 

“Maybe we just don’t know each other that well,” you muttered, although you knew the proximity and the quietness of the room would allow him to hear every word of that. 

You weren’t entirely wrong, either. On your own side, at least, but you doubted if he wanted more out of this than the odd event and nights spent together that the crumbs that he knew about you would be enough. Really, maybe a part of you should have realized that he wasn’t someone who would just let you in easily–from what you knew about him, that made complete sense. In a way, a part of you knew that was the case and made sure not to share more than what he gave you. 

You weren’t without your own walls, after all. 

Still, it seemed like it was enough to keep you around. The rope that kept you close to him certainly pulled tight at points, but it hadn’t snapped just yet. 

“We’ll do somethin’ soon,” he said, pulling you back into the current moment. The certainty of it caught your interest, as much as a part of you hated that it did. 

It was odd to hear–for the most part with him it was a lot of ‘try’, ‘maybe’, and ‘might.’ 

“Just you and me,” he continued, making you pull back somewhat to look at him, “We’ll go to London, take the car into the country or the horses. Whatever you want.” 

“I’d like that,” you replied with a light nod, not ready to put much stock in his word about things like this. You knew that his life could change depending on the day. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a pit of hope that settled in your gut. 

Yet, in your mind, it was still another ‘maybe.’ You accepted the lingering kiss he pressed to your mouth anyway, still holding onto that light feeling in your chest that had built up throughout the last while with him. As it was, in that little world in that moment, you wanted to pretend that you could trust that. 

In time, maybe you actually could.

[devondespresso]

My Sunshine

G | 815 words | also on ao3 | cw: minor reference to child neglect and a dysfunctional household, mild blood

STWG prompt: Sunshine

Thank you so much to @stellarspecter and @vegasol for betaing and helping with clarity! You guys are truly amazing 💕💕💕 Dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💛

Steve is 8 years old again.

That’s old enough to form memories that will last longer than a year or two, and he's starting to hate how that's the way time has to work, with the old stuff mostly forgotten. This memory, even, he didn’t realize had slipped away.

But all it takes is the vague tune of a song, and he's 8 years old again.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."

Steve is 8, before she learned about the cheating, before he had to learn what that meant, before screaming, and before all of that was taken to New York, Chicago, then Seattle, because she said too quiet was better than too loud. 

"You make me happy, when skies are gray."

He is 8, and he is laying in bed. He has two scraped knees and an ever uglier elbow that Mrs. Hagan almost fainted at the sight of. He is a little tired, but he is not ready for Saturday to end.

"You'll never know, dear,"

But his mom is sitting on the side of his bed and running a hand through his hair. She is wearing her rose-tinted Sunday best. And she is singing.

"How much I love you."

Steve isn't eight years old.

And he definitely isn’t 8 years old.

He's nineteen, too close to twenty, sitting in the doorway of a room that isn't his, in a house he didn’t grow up in, stopping himself from getting comfortable leaning back on a door frame despite the current strain in his back, because it would only hurt the wound there more.

He's on the outside this time, looking over because no one told him he had to leave yet, as Ms. Henderson sits on the side of Dustin's bed and hums the tune like he isn't nearly fifteen years old.

And then, of course, the song is over, because it's always been too short.

And Steve is not eight years old.

There's too much strain on his back, so he brings his legs in carefully and pillows his head on his knees as she starts humming a new song that’s not as familiar.

Tews pops his little head into the room, looking at all his options before deciding to bump his head into Steve's legs and start purring, like he doesn't already have plenty of food in his bowl.

"You have food, you little rat," he whispers, petting Tews' head.

Tews leans into his hand, but still meows, circling to his other side to bump into his other leg.

"Mhm, pretty sure it was still half full five minutes ago.”

Tews meows again and darts behind him, trying to lead him back down the hall. Steve leans back a bit to try and find him, but he can’t.

Tews sticks a paw on his stomach, right where his bites are freshly bandaged, clearly thinking he was jumping on a lap before Steve yelps and shoots a hand over to get him off.

“Tews, Tewsie, c’mere,” Ms. Henderson calls from the bedside, a hand still in Dustin’s hair, and with a little sound all cat people somehow know how to do. Tews meows at him again with the same tone, then runs over to Ms. Henderson.

“Sorry, bud,” Steve whispers, holding the spot as he tries to relax again, laying his head back on his arm.

Tews bumps his head into her ankles, circling back and forth before meowing again.

“Too sweet for your own good,” she chides, picking Tews up so he can curl up in her lap.

And she starts humming the song again.

And Steve is not an eight year old.

“You okay, honey?”

Steve looks up.

“Yeah, just hit the edge of it, it’s probably not bleeding or anything.”

She nods, but she doesn’t believe him.

“Alright, Tewsie, up–”

“No, I can get up,” his hand finds the door frame to make it easier, and he stands without a fuss. “There, easy peasy.” 

Then he joins her and Tews, because it’s easy. 

Ms. Henderson pats the bed, just barely so it doesn’t wake Dustin, and Tews goes to the spot. Steve pats his head again.

Ms. Henderson stands, and offers a hug.

Steve’s nineteen, but nobody can really say no to a Henderson hug.

She avoids poking at the wounds on his back that are too fragile to handle it right now, somehow holding only around them, almost like there's nothing there. Steve might be bleeding.

And she starts singing a song only moms seem to know when to sing.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”

And he closes his eyes. 

“You make me happy, when skies are gray.” 

And he hugs tighter.

“You’ll never know, dear,”

He’s bleeding, and it’s going to fall onto the shoulder of her sweater.

“How much I love you.”

And–

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

And Steve is 19.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hi! I love your writing so much, you portray all the characters so accurately!! Could I possibly request the M6 with an MC that procrastinates a lot?

The Arcana HCs: M6 with a procrastinator MC

~ ... why do I feel personally called out by this lol

Dear procrastinators, you are not alone and you are not lazy. It is very likely that you experience executive dysfunction or are a perfectionist, and neither of those things say anything negative about you - brainrot ~

Julian

This man screams undiagnosed ADHD

He is painfully familiar with looking at several large tasks made up of lots of smaller tasks and mentally blue screening

It's such a common habit for him to put things off until the last minute and then do two days' work in an hour and a half that he just assumes it's the default way of functioning

So the first time you tell him about how you're going to put off practicing a spell until two hours before you need to use it, his reaction is just "mood"

You'll have to be the first of the two of you to bring it up and point out that it hurts your ability to function

Once you do, he's giving you all of his emotional support. You agree to hold each other accountable since neither of you can justifiably hold a grudge about it

Just don't say "I'll start working on this once you start working on that," or else you'll end up in a procrastination deadlock as you sit and experience the existential dread together

Asra

They don't seem to understand how much stress this causes you. They're the kind of easy-going person who shows up five minutes before an airplane flight

He assumes it's just your working style

Until they catch you stressed to the point of tears one morning because you know you have to take inventory today and you know you're going to wait til sundown and you know it'll keep you up late

He's immediately pulling you into a firm hug, rubbing your back and giving you little forehead kisses while you rant about it

Volunteers to begin tasks with you until you have the momentum you need

"Would you like me to read the numbers to you while you check? Or would you like to make some tea for us while I get started, and then you join me when you're ready?"

Faust is very good at reminding you to take breaks when you start to work too frantically

They will (lovingly) tease you about it

He will keep a kisses reward system and praise you until you blush over every effort

Nadia

She doesn't deal with this at all, but she does know what it's like to feel overwhelmed

Picks up on your struggle instantly

The moment she asked you to take over a murder investigation with 0 leads she saw the frozen dread on your face and knew

She doesn't want to cramp your style by imposing her own habits on you, so instead she'll ask you questions about your day's to do list and guide you through formulating a plan of attack

She's an excellent strategist, you're in very good hands

Tackling a big goal is a lot easier when you already have the steps planned out and can concentrate on one at a time until you've picked up enough steam to carry through

The struggle never goes away, of course, but in the moments when something unexpectedly big makes your brain begin to stall you can almost hear her silky voice in your ear:

"There is no such thing as only one problem, my darling. Look for where it breaks apart, and we'll conquer one piece at a time."

Muriel

He doesn't procrastinate things the way you do, but he certainly avoids uncomfortable issues for as long as possible until he's forced to confront them

He can tell that this is different. Sometimes the thing you put off is actually good and pleasant for you, you just can't seem to do it

More accurately, you can't seem to start

He notices you, and he notices how well you work once you've started. It's the part where you have to set up the tools, or write the first word, or get up out of your chair that makes you balk

There's a book on magic you need to read? He'll leave it open on the table to the chapter you mentioned, next to a pretty feather

If it's just a matter of getting up, he'll start sweeping the floor and ask you to move your seat

Sometimes he misreads the situation

You might be relaxing after having finished something on time for once, only for him to come in and start hustling you around because he thought you hadn't started yet. It's fun to call him on it and watch him blush

Portia

She cannot relate at all

Nobody can fit as many tasks into one hour as she can. Nobody can wrangle a to do list like she can. She gets stuff done

She might get frustrated with you at first

When she left you this morning, you had one thirty minute task to do before you could enjoy your day off, and now it's evening and you're stressed out because you still haven't done it yet

This makes no sense to her. Just do the thing

Once she realizes that it's not on purpose, she'll support you tirelessly. Tell her about your to do list

Oh, that task? Here's a few tips she follows to make it easier. An errand to that part of town? Here's a shortcut to try. You need to write a letter? She'll dictate the salutation and opening sentences to give you some momentum

It can be hard not to compare yourself to her productivity levels, but nobody has the unquestioning faith in you that she does. You'll be alright

Lucio

Procrastinating? He loves procrastinating

But only if it's something he'd rather not be doing. Or something that takes more effort than he thinks is worth it. Like chores

But when it's something that will make life easier, or something actually fun? It takes a while for him to notice, but once he does it really bothers him how much of a party pooper it is for you

Not to mention that when you get stressed, he gets stressed, and that's not fun

As loathe as he is to admit it, he knows he can be really annoying when he puts his mind to it. So that is what he does

He'll threaten to sing the entire score of Phantom of the Opera until you start doing the Thing that you need to do

All it takes is him mimicking the pipe organ's starting notes for Mercedes and Melchior to start whimpering, howling and barking:

"Don't get mad, you asked for it, MC." *deep breath* "BWAAAAAAAA! BWAM DUN DUN DUN DUUUNNNNN -"

Your productivity goes up but now you wince every time you see a chandelier

[dizzyscabiosa]

character/story influences tag

rules: write up a blurb or make a visual collage of the people or characters (from books, TV shows, movies, etc.) that inspired your story and/or OC, either visually, personality wise, or just a general vibe

Thanks sm for the tag @orphyd !!! I took some creative liberties and made a collage for Payton (I still need to do a characters page, bear with me).

I'll take this as an opportunity to talk a little about her and give some backstory to her since I haven't properly gotten into it yet. (feel free to skip this yap session, ty) TW for death, dr!g use, add!ction

So, to start off, her family used to live in this old duplex house in a small town. They were poor, but they had each other. Not long afterward, her mother got into an accident and passed away. Payton doesn't remember much; she wasn't told anything about her mom's death either since she was just six years old. Since then, they left the house with her uncle, her dad's brother, and Payton and her dad, Victor, moved to the city and lived in a small apartment. Her dad was obviously grieving bitterly; he started drinking, and Payton pretty much took care of the whole household. She found comfort in her boyfriend, who took care of her while Victor couldn't. Years afterward, the fire at the apartment happened, which wasn't a surprise. They were living poorly, and a simple electrical dysfunction led to them ending up without a home. This brings us to the beginning of the story. Everything in the small town feels strangely familiar but foreign at the same time: forgotten playgrounds, forgotten friends, and forgotten dreams.

hope the story makes a little bit more sense now 😭😙

tagging @peonypyxels @folkbreeze @rebouks @simandy @pleuro @birdietrait + any mutuals who want to!! feel free to ignore ofc

[mythserene]

John in the Star Club Tapes: No Mr. Lewisohn, he is not charming

It is so stressful to listen to the December 28th Star Club tapes. And for anyone who has endured a relationship with an out-of-control person, who has tried to minimize the damage in public, terrified in every moment, it is borderline traumatic. You’re not terrified of anything in particular, but you still feel terrified. As moments stretch out, beat by beat, every hair on your body feels electrified. Your senses are on fire. Your blood seems hot and thick. You can hear and feel your pulse BOING-BOING-BOINGing in your head, and you are just trying to get through another second. You are blind to everything else and any future. All there is is now and you must, somehow, get through this because there is no escape. 

I can remember the understanding that dawned on me when I first heard Paul trying so hard to keep it together. Heard Ringo trying to distract with little drum fills, and for the first time truly understood how much George’s guitar is his voice.

But that is not at all what Mark Lewisohn got from these tapes. (By the way, I’ve done a few threads on this night as it breaks down, and I don’t have it in me to parse through and post all that audio again now.)

--

LEWISOHN: I mean, John— we need to talk about John Lennon on this recording. These recordings. Because he’s uh— he’s- he’s- he’s belligerent. Um, he’s under the influence of— I’m sure he’s under the influence of Prellies. Probably drink, as well. Um, he’s beguiling, he’s rude—

CS: —Yeah.

LEWISOHN: —He’s still charming. He’s— I mean he’s not horrible. He’s just —yeah— he’s just edgy!

--

On December 31st John’s “Battina” might indeed be beguiling, but on the 28th nothing is fucking “edgy” and it’s certainly not “charming.” It’s a dysfunctional family at Cracker Barrel desperately trying to get dad to stop screaming at the waitress.

But what is clear from the first moment to the last is that Paul is the conductor. At first John is just shambolic and a little wild, and Paul seems fairly relaxed, but it changes. All the sounds of everyone change as John unravels. There are times when I can just see Ringo, George and Paul looking at each other, and although Paul is the one who is landing the plane, it feels so much like a team effort.

(John, playing out the cycle that would become so familiar, has shaped up and is on his best behavior on the 31st and the band sounds great.)

I think we need to realize that this was just the dynamic. This is by far not John at his worst. By all accounts this was one of John’s best behaved Hamburg trips. It was a short trip, they had real bedrooms and a real manager, and they had a future they didn’t want to screw up. All those “funny” stories about John wearing a toilet on his head and laying on the stage drunk just smudge out the three other people in the picture. How much fun was it for them? 

Derek Taylor says that one of the things that helped bring George back after he walked out of the “Get Back” sessions was Taylor going to him and saying, “Come back, don’t make Paul shoulder the burden of John all alone.” The tape from December 28th makes that so explicit. 

There is the whole separate issue of Lewisohn seeming to be a terrible listener. He listened to the NAGRAS like a tribute and has gotten so many things wrong about them in interviews that I hope someone else (wink, wink AKOM) will handle the mess, because I do not have a podcast and this ain’t the best format for lots of audio. But hearing Lewisohn gush about John being “edgy” in these recordings in that weird, fawning voice—and completely fail to see and hear what the band was going through—troubles me in a much deeper way than almost anything else regarding the man. How can anyone be that blind?

[lucky-bishova-42]

Anniversaries

(oneshot that takes place between chapters 16 and 17 in Malen’kiy Yastreb)

May 4th.

Most people celebrate this day by bingeing as much Star Wars content as possible.

Others go out to get supplies for margaritas and tacos for the next day.

And some, mostly the people in New York City, they take the day to parade, celebrate, and remember the time the Avengers banded together and saved the city.

But for Kate, it is a day that is filled with heaviness and sorrow.

Kate knew that this year was gonna be different. But she didn’t realize how different it would feel and she definitely didn’t realize how much harder it would hit her.

She barely felt like getting out of bed.

In fact, she didn’t.

Which is why around 10:30 she hears a knock on her door.

“Malen’kiy yastreb?” Natasha calls from the other side of the door, “can I come in?”

Kate lets out the tiniest, “yes.”

Natasha comes into the room and softly makes her way over to the bed. She sits down on the side facing Kate and gently brushes a piece of Kate’s hair back behind her ear, trying to inconspicuously check to make sure Kate doesn’t have a fever like last time she stayed in bed so late.

“Are you okay, malyshka?” Natasha asks, momentarily relieved that she found no evidence of fever or other illness.

Kate shrugs and Natasha frowns, immediately racking her brain to try and figure out why her daughter would be so down.

Then it dawns on her as she remembers and her heart clenches.

That day, for Natasha and the rest of the team, had been victorious but also had its fair share of darkness associated with it. But it is also the day she had found this dysfunctional family.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she looks back down at Kate, who still has dried tear marks on her cheeks, “How can I help? Is there anything you usually do today or is there something specific you want to do? Or would you like to just have a cosy day? It’s totally up to you, dorogoy.”

Kate thinks for a moment before responding. When she does, her voice is slightly hoarse from crying earlier, “There is something that I usually do. And I usually do it by myself, but… I think… I think I want you to come with me this year.”

———————————————————

Kate holds Natasha hand as she leads her down to the familiar path. Once she reaches the stone, she feels Natasha give her hand a gentle squeeze.

Kate looks up at Natasha, who senses Kate’s need for some space and sends her a small comforting smile before releasing Kate’s hand and starts to wandering down the next few aisles.

Kate watches as Natasha slowly distances herself from her. Releasing a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, Kate slowly makes her way closer to the stone and takes a seat on the grass in front of it.

“Hey dad,” she starts softly, “I didn’t bring you any flowers because I know how much you hated them…

“And I want you to know that I am not mad at you for being involved with Kingpin. Unlike some people, I know you were only doing it to build a better life for me. But I won’t lie. Because of that, this past year has been tough. I broke some ribs. There was a nasty trial. Bishop Securities has been dissolved. I was involved in a high speed chase, which was kinda scary but also really cool. Mom’s in jail. She was even more involved with Kingpin than you ever were. And, well, mom’s not even my mom anymore. She fully signed her rights away… and to be honest, I am not even mad about that.

“But as you would always tell me, things happen for a reason. And it’s true. Because of all that, I now enjoy the life I live. I have some great new friends at school, I am on track to win the archery championship in the end of May, and my home life is infinitely better than when it was just me and Eleanor…”

Kate looks up to see Natasha leaning against a tree far enough away to give Kate her privacy but close enough to keep a protective eye on her.

Kate smiles.

“And you’d be happy to know that I finally have a parent that cares and loves me just like you did. You would love her. She is both overprotective and understanding as well as funny and sweet. And—no big deal or anything—but she is literally an Avenger. She is the best thing that has came out of this whole mess. She is the reason I am still here today.

“Just know that now I am finally safe, loved, and being taken care of.”

Kate gets up, dusts her pants off, and leans closer to the stone. She kisses her hand and then rests her hand against it, “love you daddy and I miss you so much.”

Kate walks over to Natasha and throws her arms around her, tucking her head into Natasha’s chest. Natasha immediately reciprocates the embrace and holds Kate tight, dropping a kiss to her temple.

“Are you okay, malyshka?” Natasha asks, softly.

Kate nods, slowly pulling her head back to look at Natasha with a soft smile, “Love you Tasha.”

Natasha kisses Kate softly on the forehead, “I love you too malen’kiy yastreb.”

[buckybarnesss]

So, I'm rewatching LotR a lot these days and during The Two Towers, Denethor (Boromir's dad) is super dismissive of Faramir, insults him and his abilities, and pushes Boromir to go and try to bring the Ring back to Gondor. It's clear he's abusive, in the way that they avoid looking him directly in the eyes and how neither want him around. They're visibly uncomfortable and upset, even though they do try to tell him to fuck off.

And I'm like, wow, if these movies came out today, there would be too many people on this website who see this behaviour and say "You know, Denethor's not actively hitting them, so he's clearly not abusive!!"

I was expecting racists to come crawling out of the woodwork. I was not expecting people to see blatantly abusive behaviour and say "That's not that bad, let's see Sally's bruises."

all my homies hate denethor. how he treats his sons is a very clear golden-child and scapegoat dynamic. such blatant favoritism is abusive too.

it's been, uh, interesting to see the reaction to the changes to gabe. in the books i found him to be an over the top abusive step dad trope. he's like a greasy car sales man. i was always reminded of danny devito's mr wormwood from the 1996 adaptation of matilda.

i read the percy jackson books when i was 20 and was always personally deeply uncomfortable with the underlying "stay with your abuser for your kid" that was simmering under the sally and gabe relationship in the books.

it made me uncomfortable because i had lived it. my parents separated mere weeks after i had turned 18 and my mother has explicitly told me one of the reasons she hadn't divorced my father sooner was because of me.

that shit does stuff to you as a person. kids are smart but they also internalize things and it's not always the right things.

sally doesn't need to suffer to keep percy safe. suffering for righteousness or martyrdom smacks of puritanical ideology that's very pervasive in the america consciousness.

what i saw on screen with gabe and sally was an intimately familiar abusive and dysfunctional relationship. i appreciated the changes as to me it appeared that in the 20 years since rick had written the lightening thief he had reflected on what he wanted to polish and change from the book.

i think the changes to gabe's storyline also might be connected into how medusa seems to be getting a more sympathetic storyline.

gabe is still an abusive shitty person and he doesn't have to physically harm sally to be that way and who knows maybe he still is. physical abuse doesn't have to happen all the time. it can be infrequent too.

some of the comments i've read online have felt very "sally isn't beat enough and cowering so gabe isn't abusive." or "sally was able to stand up to him so he's not abusive" but off the top of my head:

gabe was shown as being a lay about with unreliable income leeching off sally financially yet still refers to the apartment as "his" house. this says he sees her money and assets as his.

he answers sally's phone which indicates a lack of boundaries and privacy for sally. he even indicates that he answers "whatever" is ringing in "his" house.

he's aggressively argumentative with the super, sally and percy.

he insults percy's intelligence and applauds the idea that percy physically assaulted another child.

sally has to negotiate use of the car to have time away from the home.

i'm sorry if this isn't abusive enough to some people i guess.

[citadelsanchez]

Hey there big fan of the blog, um, kinda sad request but could I get something with rick comforting reader who just had to put down their childhood dog? Just happened to me and it’s been a rough 24 hours, but also if it’s too sad or triggering for you please don’t feel bad

I'm so sorry to hear this. 🥺 I wasn't sure what gender the dog was so I just made him a boy, hope that's okay! And I hope this helps some.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bzzzzt.

Bzzzzzt.

Your phone vibrated in the sheets beside you as you stared blankly at the ceiling. You really couldn't care less who was texting you or why. Nothing felt real and hadn't for the past few days. Time moved in its daunting pace, but still you holed up in your four walls away from it.

Bzzzzzzt.

You glanced at the floor near the door and felt yourself choking up yet again, unable to even exist in your house without the memories. That's where he's supposed to be. How can the space just be so.... deafeningly empty?

One of your family members called out from the kitchen downstairs to let you know that dinner's ready if you're hungry, breaking your dissociated state. You wanted to go down there and join them. Make the effort because you know that you're not the only one suffering, but you can't bring your legs to move. The weight in your chest holds them down.

Another emotion strikes and swims in your head- guilt.

Your phone goes off and you grunt at the noise, letting it ring as you lay down on the bed and pull the covers over your body.

I've already told everyone what happened and that I needed some time to myself. That will have to be good enough. Whatever it is can wait, you think to yourself.

The ringtone plays again and you shove the phone under your pillow to muffle the sound. Tears begin to cascade from your eyes as you bury your head into the pillow, a particular memory playing in your head.

{"Go get em, squish!" You exclaim, extending your arm and tossing the red frisbee into the air in front of you. You watch as your dog bolts for the disc, bursting with excitement as his legs almost collapse from the speed. He leaps and nearly catches it, mouth hanging open as it falls to the ground instead. "WOOO! That's my boy," you beam as he rushes to drop it at your feet again.

You're sweating from head to toe, having been out in the city park for about an hour to get out of your noisy, dysfunctional house. Nothing about being a preteen is fun, but your companion coming along definitely improved your mood.

Sitting on the shady patch of grass near a tree, you guzzle water from your tumbler as you watch your dog lay at your feet in content.

"You know why I call you squish, right?" You ask the unsuspecting pup. Tongue hanging out, he begins wagging his tail as if prodding for your answer. "Cause I love to just SQUISH that face," you sing, rubbing his head and face before resting your head on his. He puts a paw up on your arm and you smile. "I love you too, boy."}

Once more, your phone rings. In frustration, you leave and go into your bathroom, deciding to at least wash your face since taking a shower was too much effort.

You get a towel to dry yourself when you suddenly notice a familiar face in the mirror behind you. Gasping a little in surprise, you turn to glare at the older man.

"Jesus, Rick. Who needs to knock when you can just spawn somewhere without warning?"

"Hey, n-not my fault that you didn't hear the poRTALL over the water running" he burps, tall frame looming over you as you both stood in the doorway.

"Besides, I gave several warnings. To which you ignored," he says, frowning now while holding his phone to indicate his calls and texts.

"Rick, I'm sorry, you know, I mean I've told you that I just needed some space" You look down now, feeling bleak and slightly embarrassed.

"Alright then. S-should've said it sooner" His hand reaches inside his pocket before detracting his portal gun and shooting a green orb into the air. He lightly grabs your arm and pulls you inside with him.

After the initial shudder, your eyes snap open to find Rick had transported you both to what appeared to be a rooftop with a tent placed in the center. Instead of the normal sky, however, there were an abundance of twinkling stars and faraway planets. All glowing blue, purple, green, yellow, pink like Christmas lights. Shooting stars were occasionally flying through the galaxy. To say you were fascinated was an understatement.

You turn now to look at him, smiling. "Oh, Rick, it's beautiful."

"Well I'm, uhh, glad you like it," he says, careful not to let any of his relief show. Of course he'd hoped you would.

You peer inside the draped white tent and find a large flat screen tv and blankets and pillows, along with food lined up. Looking closer, you stifle a laugh. "Shoney's, huh? Quite the addiction," you tease.

"Shut up, it's the best. Even though you claim to hate it, I scanned your taste palate."

"You're ridiculous."

You both sat in the tent, silent and watching the stars before he finally spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. He was a good dog."

You leaned your head over onto his shoulder, taking in all of his striking features against the bright sky. "It's okay. Thank you Rick."

He nods. "We all need space sometimes."

[dandelionjedi]

Current AU/Crossover idea that won't leave my brain:

Daredevil (and other Marvel characters)+Star Wars (Specifically Quinlan Vos)

Disclaimer: I have never watched Daredevil. I have no intention of watching Daredevil (I've been told there's too much blood for my tastes). I have read a bunch of daredevil fanfic. All my knowledge comes from that. For that reason I will not be following the plot of Daredevil, I'll just use the characters and the setting.

Ok, so AU starts during Order 66. Quinlan is on Coruscant, investigating some case with Fox. They've been sorta dating for the last year. The order comes through, Fox tries to kill Quinlan. Quinlan knocks Fox out and kidnaps him. Eventually figures out the chips, and gets Fox's chip removed. They go on the run together.

At some point they run into teenager Boba Fett. Boba remembers Fox a little from Kamino, and also that Fox was nice to him when he was in prison. Boba joins their dysfunctional found family unit because I think it would be fun. Between Quinlan and Fox he becomes a mostly decent person, without being eaten by a sarlacc.

Quinlan tries to track down Aayla. When he confirms that she's dead, he decides to try to track down and free Bly, because he knows she would have wanted him to. Also because he's Fox's brother.

It doesn't go well, Bly dies, and they're all sort of drifting. They eventually decide to find some backwater planet to lay low for awhile and try to get back on their feet.

Fox has some health problems from Palpatine being evil, plus the chip surgery was a little rocky, since his had been activated on and off by Palpatine for as long as he'd been on Coruscant, so he wants to step back from combat a little. Quinlan needs to grieve, everyone does honestly, and Boba is having an identity crisis and needs some space.

They end up on Earth, a planet halfway to wild space with no contact with the rest of the galaxy. They're all most familiar with big cities, so they eventually end up in New York. Hells Kitchen, specifically. Quinlan whips them up some fake identities, and they settle down for a while.

Fox gets a job at a bakery, Boba decides to go to high school. There are a few incidents with Boba bringing knives to school. Parents (or in this case older brothers) get called. In front of the teachers there's the whole "oh Boba we're very disappointed in you why did you bring a giant knife to school". Boba is trying very hard not to laugh. He gets suspended for a day, which Quinlan uses to give him lessons on how to hide weapons better.

On Boba's first day he starts hanging out with Flash, who immediately reached out to the new kid for coolness points. Then Flash is a jerk to Peter. Boba asks why, Flash just says 'because'. Boba ditches Flash and starts hanging out with Peter and friends.

Meanwhile in Hell's Kitchen, Quinlan is hearing about all these vigilantes running around. He thinks 'Hey, I'd be pretty good at that! I can help people, stay in shape, and still keep a low profile.' He's a spy, so his go to is to take down big organizations from the inside out. So he finds a big organizations (maybe connected to Fisk somehow idk) and gets a job as a henchman. Starts learning all their secrets. He's very careful about keeping himself clean if the police come around. He doesn't consider Daredevil.

This is pretty early on in Matt's Daredeviling career. He's still the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, and hasn't met Claire yet. He finds some drug dealer warehouse or something and goes to beat up all the guys inside, but one guys like 'Wait! I'm not actually here to sell drugs! I've got a flashdrive full of evidence about these guys I can give you. And if you ever need help, let me know. I will not beat up people quite as much as you do, but I can knock them out and tie them up to be arrested. And I won't kill anyone. Here's my burner phone number!"

Then they give each other advice about being vigilantes, and give each other stitches as needed. Quinlan isn't as tight lipped as Matt about his secret identity, so he invites Matt over for dinner, and they eventually become pretty good friends.

At some point Quinlan meets Matt when he's not out Daredeviling, which is all he needs to figure it out via force presence. Matt knows that Quinlan is enhanced in some way, but doesn't get the full story until Obi-Wan and Cody turn up looking for Quinlan a few years down the line.

Quinlan is generally more balanced and less traumatized than Matt (having a good childhood and being trained in good coping techniques helps a lot) and that eventually rubs off on Matt. Quinlan convinces Matt to tell Foggy, rather than have Foggy figure it out when Matt turns up on his couch near death.

Matt still meets Claire, and she still becomes designated vigilante doctor, but now with additional support from Quinlan, Fox, and Boba. Fox and Boba mostly stay out of the whole vigilante thing. They offer support as needed, and every now and then will help with a particularly difficult mission, but Fox is enjoying the chance to have a life outside of fighting, and Boba is having fun with Peter and friends.

Eventually Peter starts Spidermaning. Boba, Quinlan, Matt, and friends figure it out pretty quickly, and offer quiet support and fighting lessons. They make a pretty good team handling smaller lever threats.

At some point the avengers drop by, and they come up with a system to let threats of various levels be handled by the appropriate parties that works for everyone. Between Quinlan, who was trained in negotiation even if it wasn't his preferred way to help, and Matt and Foggy's lawyer skills, the whole mess with the accords and Bucky gets worked out mostly peacefully.

Deadpool drops by at some point (another character I know only from fanfic), mostly because I think he and Quinlan would get along like a house on fire. As in they set the house on fire. Deadpool and Boba bond over bounty hunting work, and Team Red forms because I think they're neat.

Quinlan and co hadn't planned to stay long at first, but they find a sort of peace in New York none of them thought was an option. They can't sit back forever while the empire is still in control, so Quinlan starts setting up a place for force sensitive children to stay in relative safety, with minimal risk to Earth's citizens. He makes sure to leave a way for allies to contact him, and eventually Obi-wan and Cody (now married) track them down.

There's a very happy reunion, and Quinlan finally explains his past to Matt, Peter, and the rest of the superheros/vigilantes. The force sensitive kid shelter gets set up, and Quinlan starts helping with Rebellion business.

This probably exists in my somewhat vague 'still sad but not as sad as it could have been' AU where Anakin isn't evil, Padme doesn't die, and a few of my favorite Jedi survive.

I'm not quite sure how I'd end it. If I were to try to write the whole thing, I'd probably just stop after Obi-Wan and Quinlan are reunited. The fix it isn't really the point, thought it would definitely somewhere in the nebulous future. The main focus is on character interactions across fandoms.

However it happens, Palpatine gets defeated, with some help from the avengers and co. Quinlan and Fox get married, the surviving Jedi work together to rebuild the order, separate from the New Republic. Galactic laws are similar enough to American laws that Matt and Foggy can help.

Earth and the rest of the galaxy mostly stay separate, but everyone comes to visit at least once a year. There are still threats, there always will be, but a system is worked out to help everyone coexist. Everyone still alive lives mostly happily every after.

[niffala]

I Quit (Pt. 3)

Warnings: Ransom being Ransom

A/N: Reader insert version found here. The Thrombeys’ opinions are NOT my own. Thoughts in italics. 18+ only due to smut and dubcon situations. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 2  Series Masterlist     Main Masterlist

Chapter 3

It had been a few days since the Thrombey family dinner. Elizabeth welcomed the return to her mostly quiet routine. Grateful that those nights didn't usually happen more than once a month. The whole family seemed to have a flair for the dramatic and only interested in their own image. Hiding their misery behind luxury and fake smiles. How Harlan spawned such a bunch, she'd never know.

Elizabeth was sitting at the kitchen island, enjoying her drive-thru lunch. Because let's face it, she cooked for a living, and sometimes the greasy fast food hit the spot. An added bonus that it involved no work on her part. It's like they say, food tastes better when prepared by someone else. She found that all the more true on days she felt exhausted or moody. 

She nearly choked on her cheeseburger when an unknown figure appeared in her peripheral vision. The man strode past her without a glance, straight into the pantry. The sound of drawers opening and slamming shut seemed extra loud as the stranger rummaged around. An angry voice rang out, “Who moved the damn cookies?”

Who does this guy think he is destroying my kitchen?

Elizabeth firmly answered, “I did.”

The kitchen invader stepped out, seemingly surprised to see an unfamiliar face staring daggers at him. Although the apron clued him into her position here. “Where's the old broad?”

“I assume you mean my predecessor, she's retired. I'm Elizabeth. I’ve been working here for a few weeks now.” She pointed her chin behind the man, “The cookies are on the bottom left.”

Instead of returning to the pantry, he moved closer to her, “Elizabeth, that's a lovely name.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “I'll be sure to tell my mom you approve.” She recognized him now from the family portrait hanging in the parlor. “I assume you're Hugh.”

His face lit up, “Smart girl.” His eyes scanned her from head to foot, openly ogling her. “A pretty girl like you can call me Ransom, though.”

This time her eyes rolled without her permission. “Is that supposed to make me feel special?”

Ransom didn't answer. Instead he leaned over the island, snatching a french fry. He made a show of slowly bringing it to his mouth and eating it, daring her to say something. She wanted to slap it out of his greedy hand. Or maybe shove the whole lot down his throat. She wasn’t sure.

“Well, it's been fun, but I have to see my grandfather. I have an important matter to discuss with him.” He sucked the salt from his fingers. “Maybe I'll swing back after so we can chat. Get to know one another better.” He winked at her, walking out with a swagger and a smile.

What an ass.

Was he cute, absolutely. But Elizabeth was all too familiar with narcissistic jerkwads like him. Her school was full of them. She refused to let him get to her.

Fran had told her Ransom liked to show up whenever he felt like it, stir the pot, then slink off into the darkness after he had his fun. His family took the bait every time, so he delighted in causing them any amount of misery or aggravation he could. She also mentioned how he and his grandfather seemed to thrive in having a go at one another. Pissing the other off was their favorite pastime, but they loved each other dearly. The relationships in this family were beyond dysfunctional.

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

A few hours later, Ransom made his way back into the kitchen, intent on seducing Harlan's new chef. The old man put up a fight, but eventually caved in to his demands. He always did eventually. Too kind to let his first grandkid suffer through life and legal battles alone and without a new car. A few choice words, a few rounds of Go and he was putty in his hands. 

Now it was time to get something else he wanted. He paused, leaning against the doorframe, quietly observing the young chef while she chopped vegetables. She looked so innocent, so unbothered. Poor thing didn't know what she was in for.

It was quite sexy watching her work. Smiling to himself, Ransom closed in on her, wanting a better look. The shk shk shk of the blade hitting the cutting board didn't falter. It was a bit hypnotic, her expert hands made it look so easy. He wondered what else she could do with those hands. Promising himself he’d find out.

“You'd look better with your hair down.”

Elizabeth didn't bother looking up at the attractive nuisance. He was so close that whatever expensive cologne he wore filled her nostrils, distracting her. “That's not a good idea while I'm cooking.”

“So grouchy,” Ransom pouted. “You should be nice, smile more. I'm sure you have a beautiful smile.” She turned her head to glare at him. That was not the reaction he wanted. What would it take to get her to play? “You realize one word from me and my grandfather will fire you?”

“Do YOU realize I'm holding a big ass knife?” She waved the blade for emphasis. 

Ransom held his hands up in surrender, backing away dramatically. “Take it easy there, Killer. I was just being friendly. It wouldn't hurt ya to do the same. You might actually enjoy it.” The shit eating grin remained plastered on his face as he exited.

No, but it very well might kill you, asshole. Not wanting to lose her position, Elizabeth smartly chose to not speak that part out loud. Just in case.

A breath she didn’t realize she was holding released upon hearing the front door slam. He was gone. She got back to the task at hand, but would be lying if she said her mind didn’t start to wander.

Damn he smelled good.

Chapter 4 (Coming Soon)

[ina-nis]

Loneliness: It's not something we have, or something we're victims of. (...) Depression is easier to talk about, Kim argues, because it “is a recognized illness with a biological basis.” The liberally minded, at least, “understand that the depressed are victims rather than makers of their misfortune." Loneliness, by contrast, does not enjoy this objective status. Nor, Kim notes, does it “benefit from the same sympathetic perspective of victimhood.” Loneliness, which “cannot yet be attributed to brain chemistry,” is often perceived instead as “a social dysfunction of one’s own invention.” It is rarely raised as a personal issue, he continues, because the “unspoken assumption” is “that if you are lonely, then you must be unlikeable or socially maladapted.”

(...) The trouble with loneliness, in other words, is that subjective experience cannot be eliminated. Talking about a disorder like depression transforms feelings into something more physical (...) something that has you. The personal difficulties I am struggling with and the beliefs that shape my emotional experience disappear, replaced by the abstract it of depression, a malignant external force. But Kim does not have loneliness. He is lonely (...) His “confessions of loneliness” leave him open to judgments of inadequacy. It is so much safer to be considered a “victim” of depression. Then, all this human messiness disappears from the conversation. (...) Murthy recently revisited the subject (...) Loneliness, for Murthy, is something people often bring on themselves, as he illustrates with both his own experience and that of a friend. It can be addressed by simple choices to “prioritize human connection.” His tick-box recommendations for success: strengthen existing programs “that bring people together,” use our devices less, and “reach out to people we care about” more.

It’s a familiar list, often repeated. Loneliness, in this scheme, is a lack of social interaction. But people like Kim are rightly wary of this reduction. They know that many outgoing people with active social lives are lonely. (...) Kim described his loneliness in various ways. He talked about a lack of “deep, nourishing bonds,” a feeling that “no one truly understands me,” an emptiness and sense of isolation, and the “awful feeling of being encaged” in his own mind. Such characterizations do not suggest a mere lack of social contact or the need for programs “that bring people together.” They suggest an estrangement from others. Not an absence, but a quality, of relations that lack meaningful connection, feel alien, or are non-responsive. Relations, in short, that are “relationless,” that are mute and do not speak. The element of estrangement stands out in another word that Kim uses for loneliness: alienation. Alienation, though not synonymous, is a helpful concept for thinking about the personal experience of loneliness because it can be defined only in relation to specific contexts or social expectations—to what a person is alienated from. Rather than another abstraction, it can direct our attention to the ways in which people feel disconnected from their social worlds.

Among the possible forms of personal alienation that might relate to loneliness, three feelings stand out: homelessness, insecurity, and powerlessness. By homeless, I don’t mean a physical condition—being homeless—but a sense of not belonging. Disconnection, for instance, might follow a loss of meaningful others and accompany grief or homesickness or health challenges that restrict interaction. It might reflect a detachment from a situation or community, such as when we do not share the values or goals that are highly regarded by those around us. We might feel homeless when we do not feel respected, or our abilities or accomplishments valued. A sense of disconnection might also arise from a marginalization enforced by others, as when our “type” is disfavored, or we have been singled out and ostracized.

By insecurity, I mean not a lack of confidence or a feeling of anxiety but a distressing awareness of the tenuousness or superficiality of our social relations. The lack of depth and satisfaction may be especially felt in educational and professional settings, which can be highly competitive and where rewards hinge on carefully orchestrated presentations of self. Rather than being cultivated toward genuine friendship, associations are developed for such networking purposes as enhancing prestige or climbing ladders. Rather than being open and honest, relations are characterized by diffuse distrust, invidious comparisons, and mask-wearing. There is an enforced aloneness when no one can afford to be vulnerable. Finally, by powerless, I mean not so much the inability to control situations, as a perceived lack of self-efficacy to make meaningful bonds. Much in our world is unstable, precarious, unpredictable. The few remaining rules of conduct tend to be negative: what not to do. Lack of guidance and sheer self-protection can lead to a closing off from others. Retreating into ourselves, we may find, to quote Alexis de Tocqueville, confined “in the solitude of [our] own heart.” A truly responsive relationship, one in which both parties speak with their own voice, may seem unattainable. We may doubt not only our ability to reach another person but our ability to make an accommodating response should they be touched or affected by us.

Loneliness, in short, is complex. It defies the language of victimization, on the one hand, and the reduction to merely quantitative terms, on the other. At stake is often an estrangement from our surroundings that is neither external to us nor a matter of the number of people with whom we might interact. Loneliness concerns the quality of our relations, their mutuality, the ways in which they speak or fail to speak to us. If we want to understand loneliness, this is where we have to look (x)