#i'm a world beyond truther

[neilissevered]

SCARS AND SOUVENIRS

After Su-ho falls into a coma, Si-eun is consumed by guilt and isolation, pushing everyone away—even you, the one who stayed. Yeon Si-eun x gn! Reader takes place when Su-ho fell into a coma, mild angst, hurt with comfort, slow burn, it gets lighter towards the end I swear wc: 6k+

an: Hello! This is my first time writing for whc, and I love Si-eun so much (I'm a Si-eun truther fr) anyways, this might be a little study on his psyche after the events of Su-ho, like how it affected him emotionally, physically, and socially. (So this is going to be LONGG) And it makes me wonder how he dealt with that and how someone could possibly help him. I hope you can enjoy this fic!

Edit: this turned out longer than I expected😭 each scenes are separated by a divider!!

It’s strange how guilt works. It consumes unforgivably, and it doesn't matter whether the person deserves it or not.

Si-eun was no exception as he stood transfixed, gazing at Su-ho's motionless body. The rhythmic hiss of the ventilator, the only sound breaking the silence, seemed like a cruel irony—a mechanical substitute for life, barely sustaining Su-ho's fragile existence. The mere thought that his friend might be slipping away, irretrievable, sent a chill down Si-eun's spine, filling him with an unspeakable dread. 

How did it all happen so fast? He does not know. It’s beyond his knowledge. No amount of textbooks can give him the answers that he needs.

Because when he finally finds something good, something tangible, he has to be the one to watch it all crumble away. 

Si-eun admits he isn’t good with friends.

God, much less a friend group that has an odd mix of people. He, the ‘human calculator’ as the others would comment, you and Beom-seok being the new transferees, and Su-ho, who has made the school his home. He’d grumble, brood, and even nearly stuff his ears with cotton because the combined noises that his three friends made were equal to an entire classroom during break time. 

He clung to the memories of those chaotic moments, cherishing every second as if they had occurred yesterday. It felt like an eternity ago when he was desperately trying to keep their group from falling apart. He vividly recalled the struggles of understanding Beom-seok's motives on Young-yi, of restraining both you and Su-ho from making reckless decisions, as the situation spiraled out of control like a runaway train.

The weight of those responsibilities still lingered, making his heart heavy with the burden of what could have been.

Jealousy happened,

Secrets were made.

Punches were landed.

And kicks were delivered to the head.

Now, you and Si-eun were left with the debris of the destruction. Both left to gather the pieces, desperately trying to go back to how it was before. Even when the damage had already been done. 

That would have been okay, a lesson-learned moment. Just start again, right? But as you gazed into Si-eun's eyes, you realized that he, too, was spiraling gradually, with his grip on reality being tenuous at best.

And god, how much you wanted a solution to everything. But how could you make one when even Si-eun can’t?

So now, you are here. In a classroom that has become a shell.

Sometimes, if you doze off during a lecture or if you close your eyes a little tighter, you could hear it—the cackles of laughter, the teasing, and the little calculated voice that always comes right after. You can sense it too, in the air, where something or someone is missing. And you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the empty seat next to the door.

You glance around the classroom, feeling a wave of frustration wash over you. Your gaze falls on your classmates, who are chatting and laughing with each other, completely carefree. It's as if they're oblivious to the pain and suffering you and Si-eun endured, like they're living in a different world.

The bitter, awful taste settles in your mouth, like a sour lemon drop dissolving on your tongue. You can't help but wonder how they can be so normal, so indifferent, while you're still reeling from the trauma. It's like they're pretending nothing ever happened, and that's what makes it so infuriating.

But really, it felt like you were on your own with suffering.

You look towards Si-eun, honing in on his textbooks as usual, posture slightly slouched as he takes notes, earbuds stuffed into his ears. From an outsider's view, it just looks like Si-eun being Si-eun.

But for you? There’s tension all around him. The guilt and suffering are too suffocating when you get close. What was once warm between you two has now turned cold and stale. His back faces your front, acting as a wall, and he sits there in front of you like a stranger.

And oh, how it toyed with your heart. Because this was your only friend left.

Young-yi was gone, having distanced herself from your group ever since she saw the state Su-ho was in. It makes sense to stick closer to Si-eun. To figure out a way to slowly mend things. To be there for Su-ho until he wakes up.

But no matter how much you stared, knowing that Si-eun could feel your intense gaze, he would not look back. He would not even acknowledge you.

He left you there in your world. And for the entire day, you switched between staring at the empty pages of your notebook and the empty seat beside the door.

“Si-eun.��

.

“Si-eun, it’s lunch time, we should get something to eat.”

He hasn’t been eating, you noticed. Like you also noticed the heavy bags under his eyes or how pale and cracked his lips have gotten. He can keep pushing you away if that’s what he wants. But you're firm. You'll wait patiently, ready to offer a lifeline when he's ready to accept it. 

He does not say anything. Not even spared you a glance as he took out his earbuds and crossed his arms to lay his head down on the table. 

You stood frozen, a statue of silence, as the heavy air between you hung like a challenge.

But you didn’t push. You left and came back to leave snacks on the space beside his head—a silent way of saying that you were still there, and you were going to wait for him to come to you when he was ready.

And that was it.

For weeks, you orbited his world, a constant but invisible presence. Not touching, not speaking, just silently there. And as you gazed at his back, a mix of concern and longing swirled within you, leaving you to wonder if somehow, you could absorb the weight of his guilt. To ease the pain that seemed to pull him down. To set him free.

Si-eun: “Su-ho, today felt just the same as it did weeks ago. I visited your grandmother last night. She’s okay. She told me Young-yi still calls now and then. Dropping by on the rare occasion, and she seems to be okay as well. I’m being transferred to a new school soon after finals. Thankfully, it’s not too far from here. I hope you’re doing well. Wake up soon.”

You and Si-eun would visit the hospital after school.

In reality, though, it felt more like shadowing Si-eun as you followed him. It had been a while since you walked beside him. For some reason, the closeness of that felt too much. It’s like the tension between the two of you would pop if you stayed too close. It made your hands clammy and your jaw tense while you tried to focus on matching his footsteps to ground yourself.

You’re both so painfully aware of each other that it hurts. Breathing the same oxygen, sharing the same memories—and yet he’s so close, but so far. You missed him.

Moments like these, you wished he would say something. Anything. Tell you to leave him alone, or stay, or just acknowledge that you existed in his orbit. That he can still see you.

But he was quiet.

To the hospital, and to the room where Su-ho stayed. He didn’t go inside, though. He stayed outside, typing away on his phone.

He was always like that, you noticed. You’re always the one inside. And maybe it was because the reality of Su-ho's condition was too difficult for Si-eun to confront. Maybe he forced himself to imagine his friend as usual, complaining about the unnecessary hospital stay, or pleading for some seaweed soup.

As Si-eun's thumbs danced across the screen, you suspected that he was sending messages to Su-ho, clinging to the hope that his friend would soon respond, and everything would go back to normal.

“Su-ho, look, your favorite drink was in stock this morning.” You brought Su-ho’s favorite drink this time. You hoped that the mention of it would make him wake up, say something cheesy and teasing while happily accepting the drink.

Sitting down at the cold, hard hospital chair, the drink in one hand, you took in the sight of your motionless friend.

The stillness was unnerving, and you felt an overwhelming urge to leave, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room. The antiseptic smell, a pungent mix of disinfectant and stagnation, hung heavy in the air, making your head spin.

You didn’t want to stay too long. You know Su-ho would hate that too. You also hated the stupid beeping of his heart monitor. It was supposed to be a reassurance, a sign that he was still clinging to life, but to you, it felt like a cruel taunt, a harsh reminder of his fragile state.

Your eyes turned glassy as you recounted the past few weeks. A lump forms in your throat as you tell the struggles of trying to be there for Si-eun, trying to wake him up from the guilt that he buried himself in.

A guilt and suffering so raw and all-consuming that you can feel yourself getting drowned in it too.

You squeezed the drink in your hand as you let out a sob. Your voice became shaky and jumbled. Phrases broke as you tried to make sense of everything. You felt defeated, as the world you once knew was no longer there.

And finally, you fell.

You fell on the fragile structure you made yourself stand in—the structure that you offered to Si-eun as a lifeline for both of you, and a silent plea that you would, and could, carry some of his burdens too. That you and your remaining friend can share the weight of it all.

Sobs shattered your entire body, no longer caring if Si-eun could hear you. You were so tired, so exhausted from keeping your own emotions in check so as not to overwhelm Si-eun with your desperation and weakness.

And as if the universe itself was mocking your despair, it rained hard. The thunderstorm matched the whimpers you let out as you held onto the drink.

You felt nothing. You felt like nothing but the overwhelming buzz of pain and desperation beneath your skin. Your head pounded with the rhythmic sounds of Su-ho’s heart monitor, your eyes blurring and unblurring each time you tried to wipe away the downpour of tears.

Overwhelmed with so much emotion, your mind gave control to your body as you abruptly stood up—the scrape of the chair against the hospital’s floor left unheard as your cries filled the room.

And you did the only thing your body wanted to do.

You ran.

You ran out of the room where your friend was tethered.

You ran away from Si-eun, his worried call of your name falling on deaf ears.

You ran out of the hospital, and in doing so, you abandoned the world you once knew.

The rain welcomed you like you belonged there, underneath the merciless droplets as your clothes became wet and soggy, clinging uncomfortably to your figure as you tried to quell your tears.

You held your chest tightly, trying to breathe and letting the rain wash out your tears. Your legs felt like lead, your body drained from the adrenaline rush that had left you spent.

You felt like sitting and wallowing in your puddle of despair without a care in the world, even if it would ruin your pants, and really, you didn’t mean to be dramatic, but you were just so confused; you and your friends are just a bunch of high schoolers.

The complexity of the situation seemed to mock your naivety, leaving you wondering how something so ordinary could unravel into such chaos.

Before you fell any further, the rain suddenly stopped. You no longer feel the droplets of water hitting your body, and you are left shivering in the cold. Slowly, you turned around 

And he was there.

Yeon Si-eun was there. His face contorted to a mix of genuine concern and fear. His dark, doe eyes are glassy, almost begging you to tell him what’s wrong as he shakily holds out an umbrella over your head. You noticed his labored breathing, almost panting.

You wondered if he had chased after you. His clothes were damp, too, and you saw that the umbrella only protected half of his body.

In that moment, the rain-soaked world around you melted away, and all that mattered was the fragile connection between you and Si-eun.

He whispered your name, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, but before he could continue, you interrupted him. Your voice was laced with a mix of emotions—pain, sadness, and a hint of anger.

“Hey, Si-eun.” You gave him a pained smile. Your grin not reaching your eyes as a scoff escaped your lips, a sound that was both bitter and disbelieving. You weren't even sure yourself what emotion was driving it.

“Is this how you feel? Every day?” You asked the question, your voice barely above a whisper.

You stared right back at his eyes, and for once, Si-eun saw the hollowness that yours held. He didn’t reply. He just gazed, his eyes drilling into yours, searching for something, anything, that could explain the void you were carrying.

But he couldn't hold your gaze for long. His eyes wavered, dropping to the wet ground beneath his feet, as if the weight of your words had become too much to bear. Suddenly, he was aware of everything around him—the sound of rain, the feel of the cold air on his skin, the smell of wet clothes clinging to his body, and your disheveled state.

“Look at me, Si-eun.”

He doesn’t, he couldn’t. He’s trying to wrack his mind for something. Something to solve this. Something to fix every— 

“I said, look at me when I’m talking to you!”

You grasped his shoulders as you let out another broken plea, the sudden action making him drop the umbrella that was protecting both of you from the rain. The material of his jacket wrinkled under your shaky grip as you looked right into him.

“Su-ho…he’s not gone. He’s still there. You know how strong he is. We both know that.” You lightly shook him as you spoke, as if trying to shake him awake while you broke down in front of him.

“But why, why do I feel like you’re the one who’s gone?” 

“I’m right here–”

“No, you’re not!” You cried out in desperation.

 And he finally looks. His mouth was slightly agape as he tried to find the right words to say. It was too much for him. The vulnerability that you bared for him. The pain that you held in your eyes, as he could feel every tremor of your hand on his jacket. He realized then that he can’t logic his way out of this. 

Because Si-eun had always been the rational one. He solved things, Fixed things. Calculated outcomes and plotted next moves like it was all a chess game. But this..you?.. You weren’t an equation. He couldn’t use his pen. Couldn’t punch it out or bury it in a textbook behind silence. And that terrified him more than anything.

“He’s not coming back any faster, no matter how much you ignore me.” 

For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of rain. No umbrellas. No pretense. Just the two of you, soaked and broken, under the weight of what had been lost and what still could be.

You said that last sentence in a whisper. Almost like an ultimatum. You were tired, spent, maybe about to get a fever from the cold and rain. You shakily let go of his shoulders. The sorrow in your eyes returned to its empty state the longer that Si-eun was silent. 

Half-expecting him to walk away, you started to leave. Maybe to go back to your home, or a convenience store. You weren’t sure. You just wanted to be away from everything.

But before your second step even landed, you felt it. His hand wraps gently around your wrist, lightly squeezing as if begging you not to go. Not yet. 

You hated that you stopped. Hated that part of you still wanted him to stop you. That some fragile, stubborn corner of your heart had hoped he’d reach for you. Just once. Just this once. Even after what you went through to finally get to him. This was your last prayer, whispered in silence.

And he heard it. Not in words, not even in the tremble of your breath, but in the way your wrist stilled under his touch, not pulling away. And the air between you was thick with everything you didn’t say. Every apology left unspoken. Every moment lost in hesitation. His hand was still on yours, unsure, as if he was still trying to figure out whether he had the right to hold you there. Or maybe he had already lost that right long ago.

But he held on anyway.

His hand remained on your wrist. Warm and almost grounding.

“Don’t go.” It sounded like a plea. Soft and wavering and so unlike the Si-eun you knew. 

“I know I don’t deserve to ask that.” He added. Catching his breath for a moment while you silently listened. “After everything.” 

Si-eun was aware of what he did when he distanced himself from you, his last friend. He can practically feel the desperation in your voice whenever you try to talk to him. Or every time you left food on his desk when lunchtime rolled around at school. He knew the turmoil that you were also quietly suffering in, and how his guilt slowly turned into your guilt, and his sorrow became your sorrow. 

Your silence urged him to continue.

“I thought if I kept you away..I wouldn’t break anything more than I already had.” You can hear how much it cost him to say those words. He was hesitant; you can feel it in the way his grip on your wrist wavered. It was almost as if he wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to go. He won’t force you to stay. 

And that’s what undid you. 

You turned. You finally looked at him and you saw his eyes, red, puffy, and tired. His face was flushed from how freezing it was to stay in the rain. He looked like a boy. It made you realize how messed up all of this was. Both of you were too small for a world so big, and the burdens too heavy to carry for some high schoolers who were supposed to be reviewing for the next exam.

“I wasn’t asking you to fix anything, Si-eun.”

“I know. I see that now”

“What happened to Su-ho… It wasn’t your fault.”

He was stunned by that. His lips slightly quivered from the cold or your words, he wasn’t sure. It felt like a dam finally broke within him. And with it came silent tears. Not loud, not visible at first. Just the kind that slipped quietly from his eyes, mingling with the rain on his cheeks. The kind of crying that looked more like surrender than sorrow. A collapse too quiet to be noticed unless someone was looking.

You were.

The wound was still fresh on him, seeing Su-ho stuck on that bed became his daily nightmare, and what he did out of revenge didn’t make it any better. 

For a moment, you pulled away from him and bent down to pick up the discarded umbrella, bringing it over both of you, even though you and Si-eun were already soaked to the bone. 

“You don’t have to go through it alone, Si-eun.” 

Finally, it feels like a weight has been lifted off both you and Si-eun. It wasn’t completely gone, of course. The pressure and the mark it left stayed there as both you and Si-eun went about your days. After that moment in the rain, you felt like you cracked his walls a little. Hope was renewed, and you had something new to cling to.

A silent routine fell between you. In the early mornings, you both walked to school, always meeting at an intersection before continuing up the street. Sometimes you would ask how he is or if he has eaten breakfast. He would do a one-word answer that was typical of him or just nod at what you’re saying.

 It wasn’t like before when there was Su-ho, Beom-seok, or even Young-yi. The rowdiness of your once-friend group has left something peaceful. You missed all of it, of course. But change was change, and you accepted this one, albeit reluctantly. 

You’d always admired him. His sharp mind, his laser-like focus, the way he could tune out the entire world for the sake of a problem set. It was impressive. Annoyingly so. He was the kind of student who made teachers beam and classmates groan.

But Jesus, did he ever stop?

Your physics teacher was deep in a monotonous rant about projectile motion, gravity, and God knows what else, his voice dragging across the room like nails on a chalkboard made of sleep deprivation. Meanwhile, you were locked in a life-or-death battle to keep your head from surrendering to gravity in the most literal sense. One more droning equation and you were going to face-plant into your desk, no hesitation.

So, naturally, your only reasonable option to stay alert and awake?

Challenge Si-eun, distract the genius. Stir the unshakable.

Si-eun, for his part, was completely focused. He took down notes as the lecture went on. Ignoring everything and everyone around him. It has been a while since the noise in his head finally settled. He started to sleep a little easier now, and he no longer felt too bitter about switching schools with you. Besides, he could still visit Su-ho as the hospital was a walking distance away from the building and—

Thwack!

A crumpled piece of paper nailed him right on the back of the head. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to derail whatever train of thought he was riding and bring it crashing into the station. The paper hit his collar, bounced, then rolled dramatically down his shoulder before falling onto the floor.

Si-eun blinked. Pen paused mid-stroke. He didn't even need to look back.

There was only one person bold enough to mess with him during a lecture like this.

You.

And God help you, you were grinning.

You were already leaning forward by the time he straightened up, chin propped lazily on your hand, an innocent expression on your face that was anything but innocent. Your eyes met the back of his head like you were waiting for him to combust. You can see it. The way his attention wavered, and he stopped drawing stupid diagrams. Days with Si-eun no longer felt cold or heavy. Things were finally starting to get better.

 And there is no way in hell he is going to continue listening to how Newton just made math even more complicated.

When he didn’t turn around, you leaned in closer, voice just above a whisper. “Hey, Einstein.”

And finally, Si-eun sighed through his nose, eyes flicking toward the crumpled paper now lying sadly on the floor like a fallen soldier. He could already predict what would happen next. 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you asked, blinking. “I haven’t even said anything.”

“You’re thinking loud enough.”

A grin curled at your lips, mischievous and playful. Just the fact he was entertaining you with banter was already more brownie points for you. You have him hooked. “Good. Saves me the trouble of whispering.”

Still no turn. Still scribbling notes. Classic Si-eun. So you upped the ante.

You gently tapped the back of his chair with your foot. Once. Then again. A steady rhythm before you decide to drop the greatest idea you've ever had.

“I’m bored. You’re overachieving. It’s raining. Let’s skip.”

Now he turned. Just slightly. Head tilting enough to give you the meanest side-eye to ever exist as if to question your entire being. So, you responded in kind with a raise of your brow as if challenging him. He only blinked before letting out a sigh.

“You want me to skip class. Physics, of all things. To do what exactly?”

Finally. “Convenience store run. Ramyeon, hot canned coffee, maybe strawberry milk if you’re feeling nostalgic. You, me, fluorescent lights, freedom.”

 You gave him a playful wink, your fingers drumming against the desk steadily and loud enough because you were trying to distract him from the teacher’s announcement of an upcoming quiz, and you weren’t losing your progress of finally getting back your friend. The bond was a little shaky, but you decided that baby steps were better than nothing. 

In reality, though, Si-eun already knew about that quiz. It was announced a week ago during a lecture where you were fast asleep on your table. Drooling. 

“Tempting,” he muttered, but you caught the flicker of amusement behind his eyes.

“I know you’re hungry,” you added, nudging his chair one more time. “And don’t lie and say you’re not, because your stomach made a noise two minutes ago. It sounded like a dying bear.”

“That was your pen falling.”

“No, that was my patience falling.”

He gave you a long, exasperated look—but it didn’t reach his eyes. No, there was something else there. The smallest tug at the corner of his mouth. A softening. You could almost see the scales tipping, and it only made you grin even wider. Suddenly, you didn’t care about what was happening around you. Not when you finally find that little smile that you have been working on to bring back. 

And then you said, more quietly this time, “Come on, Si-eun. Just one break. The world won’t fall apart if you breathe for forty-five minutes.”

A peaceful quiet sat between you for a second. He knew what you meant, and you didn’t have to say it. He’d been carrying too much. Always pushing and enduring. There were times he would go back to his self-wallowing, where he would still accidentally push you away, and studying has always been his escape.

 But today, you were offering something else. A moment outside the pressure, the guilt, the relentless pace of trying to be okay.

He looked down at his open notebook, the half-finished diagram of an arcing projectile staring back at him like it, too, was trying to convince him to stay.

And then he exhaled. A quiet, almost imperceptible surrender, and he began packing up his things.

You blinked. Leaning over his shoulder to confirm what you were witnessing, “Wait… seriously?”

“You want to go or not?” he said, zipping up his bag without meeting your eyes. “Before I change my mind and remember I have a conscience.”

You shot up from your seat, already grabbing your bag. “You had a conscience?”

“Don’t push it.”

Thankfully, the teacher didn’t care. Si-eun was transferring, and he is an excellent student on his own.

And you..well, you’re transferring with him.

The sun slanted low through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the dusty shelves. The library was near silent, the kind of quiet that felt sacred, like even time had been asked to hold its breath as students slowly filtered out of the library until it’s just you, Si-eun, and a handful of other students who buried their noses into books.

You sat across from Si-eun at one of the back tables, your notebooks spread out in disorganized chaos, while his were stacked neatly, probably even color-coded by subject, knowing him. Between the two of you were a handful of empty candy wrappers from the snacks you'd brought. Well, mostly for yourself..Si-eun had eaten two, while you’d somehow managed six. You weren’t sure why you were keeping count.

 The original plan was simple: study together, then head out to visit Su-ho at the hospital. That was the plan, anyway.

But at some point, the words on the pages had begun to blur. 

Si-eun leaned back in his chair slightly, brows furrowed in focus, scribbling notes into the margin of his textbook. You were supposed to be solving a physics problem, but instead, you watched him and the way the sunlight caught in the strands of his hair, how his mouth moved just slightly when he read in his head. 

Has he always looked like this? 

Peaceful and just absorbed in his world, but not in a bad way. You felt some pride to see how much you and he have improved compared to a few weeks ago, and Si-eun’s resilience was one of the things you admire about him.

Until you couldn’t tell where admiration ended and something else began.

You didn’t mean to speak. It just... slipped out. 

“You look peaceful like this.”

His pen paused mid-stroke.

He didn’t look up immediately. You could see his shoulders tense slightly and the way his eyes blinked once, then twice, like he’d heard something he wasn’t sure he was supposed to. Because it wasn’t one of the things he predicted you would say. Maybe another convenience run to abandon all school work. But not..this.

A long moment passed.

“I’m just studying,” he said finally, voice low, almost cautious, his words carefully picked out.

“I know. That’s what makes it weird,” you replied, a soft tease in your voice to disguise the trembling truth underneath as you continued to look at him. Like, really…look. To others, it’s creepy and a little unnerving. But for you? You were just appreciating him. His doe eyes, the long flutter of his lashes, and the gentle slope of his n—

He glanced up now, eyes catching yours, and the look there was unreadable. Careful, guarded. Like, he wasn’t sure what page you were both suddenly on. But it felt like at that moment, you were sure you knew where you wanted to be. 

You leaned forward just a little, elbows on the table, fingers grazing the edge of his notes.

“You don’t let yourself rest much,” you said. “Not really. But right now… You look like you can breathe.”

Si-eun blinked, clearly thrown by the tenderness in your tone.

He opened his mouth. Maybe to change the subject, maybe to deflect with sarcasm or just deadpan at you and throw something monotonous and witty—but then he stopped. Closed it again. The moment felt too raw, too vulnerable, and he knew he wasn’t good with moments like these. 

 Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. Something new and foreign, and Si-eun doesn’t know if he likes it or not. 

Hesitantly, he lets that feeling consume him.

“I don’t know how to anymore,” he admitted quietly. “Breathe, I mean. Not unless it’s for someone else’s sake.”

The words landed between you like a confession. Raw and unguarded. And you blinked slowly at him, as if trying to process the words he just said.

You let the silence settle, not awkward, but reverent. You reached forward, slowly, and placed your hand beside his on the table. Not touching. Just there. Close enough to feel the warmth that radiated off of him. Just close. Close enough to feel the quiet warmth radiating from his skin. There had been no tension before, but now it hummed softly between you, fragile and electric. 

And in that moment, you knew everything between you and Si-eun was about to change.

He looked down at your hand that was beside his. He felt frozen in his place, unsure of what to do next.

“You don’t always have to hold everything alone,” you said. “I seriously meant what I said a few weeks ago. You don’t have to go through it alone, Si-eun.”

“I know.”

It was a Thursday.

Nothing remarkable about it, at least on the surface. It was the kind of day that existed simply to pass time, quietly folding itself into the end of the week.

The halls had emptied hours ago. On days like these, students tend to want to leave a lot earlier. Friday was just tomorrow, after all.

But for you and Si-eun, it was just another day closer to getting transferred. To start anew. Or even better, another day wherein both of you could stay longer in Su-ho’s room and do your homework there.

But today?

You woke up feeling different. Not your usual happy self. You figured it was just one of those days where the air felt heavy, and some things around you reminded you of the reality that you lived in. An empty seat beside the door, or the fact that you still held so much concern for Beom-seok.

It made you feel sick.

The entire day went by in a blur, and you just lay down on your crossed arms, trying to cover your ears to subtly muffle the noise around you. Even Si-eun noticed it.

He noticed you.

Your clipped and short answers. Your blank stare outside the window of the classroom. The way you barely touched your food.

So he came up with an excuse.

At the end of the class, he made you sit down with your books while he offered to guide you through your homework. Something about kinetic energy and inclined planes, but your brain was too tired to cooperate. Too full of everything else. Everything unspoken.

Everything you had been holding in was like water behind a dam. Breathing became a chore, and blinking became too tiresome.

You sat together in the corner of the classroom, desks pushed together, books open but long forgotten.

You weren’t sure what was heavier. The ache in your chest or the silence between you. But you weren’t trying to solve the problems anymore, and neither was he. His pencil had stopped moving ten minutes ago when he noticed you were no longer listening and saw the subtle quiver of your lips on his peripheral vision.

You sat in that quiet, not strained, but fragile. And you were the first to shift.

Your hand brushed his, accidentally at first. Then… not.

He didn’t move away.

His hand was warm, a little rough, as if the world had asked too much of him too young. But it grounded you. The moment you felt it, the weight and reality of it? Something inside you cracked open. You hadn’t realized how much you needed something steady until it was there. Until he was there. This... was his way of carrying your burdens, too.

You didn’t say anything.

Words felt like they’d cheapen it.

Instead, you let your body speak the truth your mouth couldn’t form. You leaned, slowly, carefully, until your head came to rest against Si-eun’s shoulder.

At first, he went still. Rigid.

He didn’t know how to do this, how to be this. A safe place. Not when he was used to being sharp edges and deadly intelligence, used to carrying his grief and guilt like armor.

But then you sighed. Barely audible, a breath more than a sound, and something in him shifted.

He let you stay.

He let himself want it.

And in doing so, he finally made peace, albeit briefly, with the storm inside him.

The vulnerability still frightened him, though. That you could see through him like this. That you knew he wasn’t always strong. That there were parts of him still bleeding, still unsure. He didn’t know what this meant, what you meant—but for the first time, he didn’t want to shut the feeling down. He didn’t want to retreat into his silence.

Because you too felt like a safe place for him amidst the trauma that you and he shared.

You made sense in a way that terrified him.

And as he sat there, your head warm against his shoulder, your breaths slowing, your fingers still close enough to find his again if you wanted to, he realized something he hadn’t dared put into words until now.

He didn’t want to let go of this.

He didn’t want to let go of you.

And it scared him more than anything, how right it all felt.

How much the two of you made sense.

Anddd that’s it! Thank you soso much for reaching the end!! My phone and laptop were lagging like crazy trying to edit this so I tried to make it as readable as possible for everyone😭 I went thru about three revisions but if there’s any wrong grammar im so sorry!! dividers by: @/uzmacchiato

[waylamia]

Growing Pains

recommended listening: Ribs by Lorde

"Why can't you just GO AWAY!" There is a resounding thud, as the door is closed in his face, and that's the end of it. He stands outside the slammed-and locked?-door in shock, shoulders drooping as the clear rejection settles in. Then he hears Josephine choke out a little laugh from her place in the kitchen. "She's at that age..." It takes everything in him not to snarl at her.

-> You reject Caleb's presence for the first time your shared lives. Caleb comes to terms with his role in yours.

reader experience notes: second person perspective. reader uses she/her pronouns, reader is MC but is not addressed by name in this fic, reader is not physically described beyond having hair of unspecified texture. reader is 12 and Caleb is 14.

content: teen angst </3 #brocken, extremely brief and vague mentions of child experimentation/torture/death, my fascination with grandma Josephine as a character of questionable morality, Caleb and MC were raised as adopted siblings and I do and will continue to engage with the complexities of that dynamic in my work (if you don't rock with that scroll past or block freely. protect your peace and party on. <3) pip-squeak usage as I am a pip-squeak truther.

approx. 9k words

also on AO3 (available to registered users only)

Thursday, Caleb decides, is the worst day of the week.

He's sat in the entryway of Josephine's house-two years and he still can't bring himself to call it 'home', not when you aren't around to hear it-after returning from his run. Waiting, now, for you too to return. He unties the laces of his right shoe, slowly. Mind drifting, as it tends to, when you aren't present to keep him present.

The ink had hardly dried on the adoption papers before Josephine had loaded you both up with extracurriculars... Well, maybe that isn't entirely true and maybe it isn't entirely fair, she'd given you a few weeks to adjust. But what little time she was willing to give wasn't nearly enough in Caleb's opinion. Not for two kids who's whole world (at least as far as your memory served.) consisted of the walls of the orphanage and an overgrown garden.

He remembers the first time she'd brought you to a playground. Your face settled in confusion, processing the presence of the colorful plastic structures, their cleanliness and distinct lack of rust. He remembers your little hands darting to cover your ears when two kids hopped on the seesaw, anticipating the familiar, grating screech that would not come from this parks well kept equipment. He remembers being worried. That it was too much too soon. Remembers glaring at Josephine as she sat nearby, watching, neutrally. Like if your little heart exploded again, right then, it would make no difference at all.

He doesn't notice he's practicing the speech until you speak.

'It's okay if you forget... I'm Caleb, I'll always be by your side.'

'Even if you don't remember anything, I can always say it again...'

'I'm Caleb. I-'

"Caleb!" Your voice jerks him from his thoughts, eyes darting around the playground to find you. Tenseness he hadn't even realized he was carrying falling away when he spots you. You've climbed to the highest point, not on the playground-where the other kids are giggling and racing and shoving at each other-but on a nearby tree. He squints up at you through the harsh light of the midday sun. You're smiling, full of pride at your successful ascent. He laughs. All these shiny new toys and you take to the tree. Just like the one in the garden of the orphanage. It's awful smart of you, he thinks, to find something familiar to cling to in the midst of all this uncertainty. He races to the base of it. Knowing your eyes will follow him, that when your gaze lowers down and down and down you're courage will waver and you'll need his help getting back to the ground. It's a bad habit of yours.

Cheeks puffed out at the dinner table from too big bites bites of your food, always a little more than you can chew.

Sure enough, the next time his eyes lift you're own have widened, a barely there tremble where your fingers cling to the branch supporting you. He grins up at you, making no effort keep the little bit of smug amusement at this familiar game from his expression. "You want down?" You do. You always do. But you've gotten wise to the meaning of that particular look on his face, and he can tell you don't want to give him the satisfaction. You've started to take issue with him knowing what you need before you do. Telling him it doesn't make any sense at all.

But how couldn't it? He's spent more time with you than you have.

"I can do it myself." You huff. Stretching your leg in an attempt to reach the next lowest branch, only just grazing it with your toes. Caleb folds his arms and waits. This is a part of the game too. It will go one of two ways, and in the end, the way of it will make no difference at all. Two roads always leading to the same destination.

At the table, he cuts up your food. From the treetop, he catches you.

'...Must be feeling particularly stubborn today.' He thinks as he watches you extend your arms to lower yourself down. All you'd have to do is ask and he'd get you grounded. He wouldn't even make you say please. He's not going to tell you that, obviously. You get away with enough as it is. But it's always true. You've made it half the way back when you slip, the sudden jerk you make to recover causing your load-bearing branch to snap. Your startled shriek catching just as it starts when a soft pressure envelops you. Gravity warping around you until your feet are flat on the ground.

The clanging of pans draws him back to the to the entryway. He blinks down at his shoe, which he has seemed to unconsciously retie, brow furrowing as he moves to undo it once more. A cabinet creaks shut. Josephine is in the kitchen, preparing supper. An increasingly infrequent sight, with her too long hours at jobs that pay only just well enough to provide for the three of you, often keeping her out of the house long past dark. He supposes very few things are as lucrative as groundbreaking human experimentation... But he's a little too preoccupied to tug at that old thread at the moment.

Your new schedules keep you busy from dawn to dusk. Every morning: your stretches, breathing exercises, and pills-vitamins for you both, heart medication for you-then school, then your assortment of after school activities. 'To make up for all the time you lost at the orphanage.' Right. The orphanage. Caleb rolls his eyes at the memory. 'It will give you an opportunity to get to know the other children in the area.' He could almost laugh. Maybe, to an extent, there is some amount of truth in her words when addressing you, but when it comes to him... She can try to spin it however she'd like, Caleb hears the message loud and clear.

'I'm doing you a favor, letting you stay here. So keep out of my hair.'

He gets back to untying his shoes, ignoring the presence in the kitchen. He'd seen her car in the driveway when he'd made it back, hadn't said a word when he came inside and neither had she. It was always like that, always quiet between the two of them, words only ever exchanged out of necessity and, whenever possible, through you. He could comfortably call it loathing, on his end, but he could never quite tell what exactly she felt about him. From where he stood she didn't seem to feel much of anything beyond whatever twisted attachment she had to you.

You were the only thing to ever make her eyes soften at the lab. At the orphanage, you were the only one she had wanted.

He was panicking, running down the hall to the Director's Office, told by one of the younger kids that you were 'having a test'. He'd had to rack his brain for what that could mean. Shook off memories of evol experiments and observation pods until it hit him. Adoption interview. He skids to a stop at the door, knob collapsing in on itself before he's even bothered to check the lock. It crashes heavily into the wall as he bursts in. Shouting, already, as he takes stock of the room's occupants.

"You're not taking her!"

The Director, stern set of her features uncharacteristically disturbed by the suddenness of his entrance, has her brows raised, eyes wide, mouth agape. It is seconds before she schools her expression. Tells him this is 'none of his concern', demands he 'leave at once'. He thinks of the doorknob he just reduced to nothing. Thinks she would be just as easy to-

You move into his line of sight, head poking out from behind the woman sat in the chair beside you. You tilt it at him, curiously, sat very politely on the uncomfortable leather chair in front of the Director's desk. To your right, occupying the other seat, is-

His right shoe is undone again, he peels it away from his foot, moving to set it neatly on the rack by the door, gaze pulled to the sturdy wall of wood on his way, hoping to see it finally, blessedly swing open. No such luck.

Taekwondo had been Josephine's idea. All of your activities had been Josephine's idea, really. Options laid out and organized for you to look over, ultimately not a choice at all, she demanded the time be filled with something. He'd resented it-mind reeling with images of padlocked rooms, meals pushed through quickly closed shutters. 'Time's up' and 'lights out' and 'test complete'-and he'd have fought her on it, if you hadn't been so awed. You, thrumming with energy over the possibilities, asking an unending string of questions about each option. 'do you get to dress up all fancy for dance class?' 'is sewing the one with the machine or the big sticks?' 'do you have to swim even when its super cold?' 'what about-' His defiance had died on his tongue in favor of trying to convince you to sign up for basketball with him. It made him feel better, the idea of doing these things together. Josephine could take you to as many playgrounds as she wanted, you'd find a tree, and when you couldn't, he'd be one. In his focus in the planning of your new schedules, he hadn't noticed Josephine pursing her lips.

It took a good few hours of back and forth and cross-referencing school and activity times before you'd come to an agreement. On Monday's you'd go to ballet and on Wednesdays, your study groups. Piano lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then on Friday, basketball. All of it done together. Josephine had made a face at that, one he could not name but knew he didn't like. His instincts were good, he'd discover, when just after a month into this new routine she'd called him back to the table after supper.

"She should know how to defend herself." She spoke flatly, Caleb wasn't sure she could speak any other way. Not to him at least. His brow furrows.

"...From what?" He's daring her to say it, more than anything. He knows 'from what'. Had lived through 'from what' already. Hasn't heard a word about 'from what' since Josephine brought you both into her home like it was normal. Like she was normal. Like anything she'd helped everyone at 'from what' put you through was normal.

She sighs, leaving the question to die on the table just like you. Over and over again. He scoffs. She can play pretend all she'd like with you, he is never going to let her get a do over, not really. Not when he still remembers everything.

Silence occupies every bit of space between them, gazes fixed on each other through it. Beacons on separate shores, never to meet. Caleb scowls as Josephine studies him. Like some sort of equation. Something with a solution, rather than someone with a well earned grudge. Always an obstacle, never a boy.

In the end, he'd agreed with her. You should know how to defend yourself. You won't need to, not ever. Not as long as he's around, but just in case. Everything in case.

He didn't understand why she'd felt the need to run this one thing in particular by him first. She'd been plenty comfortable making your decisions up until then, and he harbored no delusions about who held all the power here. Who's will it was that allowed you not to be separated. It is only when he goes to untie his left shoe that he notices his leg bouncing anxiously.

He doesn't like being apart from you. Always afraid when he cannot see you. He's not ashamed to admit it, at least to himself. He has every reason to be scared. Two years of uninterrupted peace. Two years since Josephine clasped your little hands across the hard metal arms of those squeaky chairs in the Director's cold office and promised you a home. Two years and he still sees bright white lab lighting in the back of his mind. Feels static in the air when he jolts awake, gasping, from his sleep. 'Don't... take her away.'

He unties his shoe, takes it off, and just holds it. He can't put it on the rack with its pair. He can't leave the entryway until you get back.

He didn't understand why she'd bothered to mention Taekwondo classes to him, to get his assent, until they had finished with signing you up.

It was an all girls class. Caleb would not be attending with you.

Josephine was very good at solving problems. And that's what he was, wasn't he? An exponent attached to you? A negative factor that needed canceling out?

It will be a very long time (a lifetime, his first) before he understands what it was she was after, what she had already started to see in him-what she was afraid of, for you.

From then, their relationship settled-like scum on the surface of water-into what it is now, which is not really a relationship at all. A family, by law. But by circumstance, by experience, something worse than strangers.

He's still adjusting to being away from you at school, now that grade division has seen you sent to different campuses entirely. The daily relief of the final bell sounding, signaling he's soon to see you, quickly stolen by the dojang with it's bolded sign reading 'WOMEN ONLY' at the door. For the first few weeks, when he'd walk you to the building after your piano lessons, he could swear that instead of the soft thud of the double doors swinging shut he'd hear the shrill beep of an observation room door being unlocked. That while he waited outside for it to be over, when he heard your name called it wasn't your name at all, but your number, or one of the other not-your-name's they used to call you. He'd still be waiting outside the dojang now, instead of the entry to Josephine's home, if the workers hadn't started shooing him away. The world, like he's always suspected, seeming to exert every effort to keep him from you.

That was when the running had started. Going straight back to Josephine's house to stew in all of his anxiety and overthinking was an unproductive and unappealing prospect. He had to find some way to get the energy out, to save himself from rumination. The first day, it came to him like instinct. You'd finished your piano lessons, he'd walked you to the dojang, the workers stationed at the door watched to be sure he'd leave, and he took off, running. By the time it was exertion making it difficult to breathe and not the fear that you wouldn't come back out of those double doors, he would return and your class would be over and the pair of you would walk home, together, how you were meant to be.

That schedule, that routine, got you through the better part of two years, and then you decided to introduce a new variable.

You've made some new friends at the dojang. Which is... good, of course. He's trying to let it be good. Trying to ignore the scratching in the back of his skull that says what your lived experience thus far has shown, that everyone is out to get you.

There'd been an argument at the dining table over it, your request to walk home with your friends instead of Caleb. The two of you locked in a silent glaring contest after you'd asked Josephine and he'd said 'No.' and you'd said 'Why?' and he'd said 'No.'

"Caleb." Josephine's voice is stern. It gives him pause, even as he refuses to break eye contact with you. It's not her tone, though he could never shake his irritation at her seemingly unshakable neutrality, it's just that he's trying to recall the last time she'd addressed him directly. Three weeks ago, he thinks, Sunday afternoon. He'd been caught sneaking an extra soda for you. "Caleb." She tries again. This time, he hears what she means to say. 'Who do you think is in charge here?' Caleb is 12, and Josephine is however the hell old she is, and he harbors no delusions about who holds the power here. But it's you they are talking about here, your safety. Of all times, of all things it should be now that the two of them see eye to eye.

"Grandma, she-"

"Is nearly a teenager herself. If you can walk twice that distance to the grocery store alone, there is no reason she can't make it back here with the company of her friends." Always hyper-logical. Always leaving little room for argument. Always serving her own ends. Either unknowing or uncaring of the turmoil he is under. Probably both. Everyone is out to get you. Josephine's continued presence, continued control of your lives, his constant reminder.

That's the end of it. The table is quiet.

'Fine,' he thinks, 'he'll just have to run farther.'

And so it becomes: get out of school, pick you up, go to piano lessons, walk you to the dojang, run the distance between there and the house and keep going after that, until he's pretty sure he feels his lungs starting to collapse. Then he'll turn around and run the distance back to Josephine's. This way, when he gets there, you're already back. He steps through the front door, you call out to him, and he can breathe again. It was a system that'd worked every Thursday since, up to and until today. Hence the sitting by the door, and the issue of his shoes.

He's back, Josephine's back, the sun is going down, and you are nowhere to be seen. In the weeks since this routine began you've never been this late before. After class corner store and park visits with your little pals never keeping you out this close to supper.

"Your time would be better spent working on your assignments or helping prepare the meal than standing idle at the door." Josephine is matter-of-fact, as ever. And as ever, Caleb is unmoved, he's still cradling his left shoe. She sighs, not having to look up from her work to know she is being ignored. "She is perfectly fine. She'll be home soon." A statement made with the surety of someone who has a tracker in your flip phone, a heart rate monitor on your little wrist watch. But Caleb really doesn't give a damn what the data points on her phone screen are telling her when its been 2 hours and 43 minutes since he last saw you. Of course he's been counting. "She needs to be allowed to find her place in the world." He frowns at that. You had a place, both of you did. Next to each other. What else is there to have?

He raises his left knee, poised to slip his shoe back on. Glancing briefly toward the kitchen. Josephine couldn't stop him, if he chose to go look for you. And the longer he spends in her home, the older he gets, the less afraid he is she'll try to send him away. Try, being the operative word, he wouldn't go without a fight. He thinks you'd fight too.

He's just begun retying his laces when the door bursts open. Nearly sending him straight to the floor, collapse halted only by quick activation of his evol. Though it isn't his influence over gravity that finally lifts the weight from his shoulders.

You look like you went running, like you ran all the way back home. Which doesn't make a lick of sense to him, considering the hour. Something's off.

"That was a dramatic entrance." His tone is light, relaxed, like he hadn't just been preparing to rip a hole through the fabric of the city to get to you. He stands, looking you over. The anxiety that's been threatening to burst from him like foam from a shaken can of soda not dissipating so much as he crushes it down, just as he would a can that'd dare to spray at you. "Having such a good time you almost forgot supper, they said it couldn't be done!" He ruffles your hair, the action familiar, playful and purposeful. He draws himself closer to you, inspecting for damage, reading you for signs of discomfort or discontent.

Your breathing is ragged, the first thing he'd noticed upon your arrival-that and your shaking-which isn't uncommon after your classes but is never so... noticeable. Especially so long after the class itself has concluded. His mouth curves downward. You're also not looking at him, which is weird for you. You've always had kind of a staring problem. Josephine has a theory about that, about you taking in as much information-data. is the word she'd used-as you can to make up for all of the blank spaces left in your memory. Caleb tries not to think about it during the day time, it only makes him angrier at her. He lets his hand graze your cheek as he removes it from the top of your head. It's warm... and wet?

"Pipsqueak, what's wrong?" He's on his knees in front of you in an instant and, yup, you're crying. The hairs on the back of his neck raise at the same time as his eyes soften. Caught between wanting to make someone hurt for the expression on your face and wanting to help you forget why you're making it. You still won't look at him, no matter how he angles his head, and you won't speak either. Josephine is quiet from the kitchen. Listening, surely, but making no effort to intervene. The first step of the scientific method is observation. Caleb prefers a more direct approach. "Hey, talk to me." He moves to wipe the tears from your cheeks, attempting to hold your head still enough to make eye contact. This appears to be the wrong move.

"Stop it!" You swat at his hands. Rubbing at the tear tracks he'd failed to sweep away. Your gaze still lowered. "Just leave me alone!" You take a single step forward, but make no other effort to get past him. Mostly because you can't. The entryway is small and Caleb is making himself as wide as possible to block you. Unwilling to let you go when you are so clearly upset. There's a way that this is supposed to go, has always gone. Tell him why. Let him fix it.

"Not until you tell me what made you cry." He's using what you call his 'don't-do-dumb-things' voice, though it cracks in the middle, betrayed by his age and the depth of his feelings both. It is a voice that has always left admonished enough to raise your white flag. Today though, it just seems to further incite your ire. You huff, show your teeth like a cornered animal, shaking your head aggressively as you wipe a fresh wave of tears away with your sleeves. When the task is done you leave your arms high, defensive.

...defensive?

He's shrinking in on himself before he can put conscious thought behind it.

"Just move!"

He does, a little. For show more than anything, a vain attempt at compromise. He is torn between wanting to abide by your wishes and feeling that this is all wrong wrong wrong. Your behavior today... it's all so weird and backwards. He's left scrambling to keep up.

You're quick to take advantage of the gap he's created, attempting to wriggle past him, all sniffly and tense. He has this feeling that if you make it to your room it will be hours before he gets the chance to get to you, he has to stall you long enough to get you talk to him. "You need to take your shoes off before you come inside!" Does he care even a little whether or not you track dirt or mud or grass into Josephine's house? No. Is he going to lay awake in bed tonight thinking about how stupid it was to reprimand you when you were so obviously at the end of your rope?

Yeah.

You look at him for the first time since you got home, which feels like progress until you full on growl, crouching down to untie your shoes in the most comically angry way he thinks anyone has ever done it. He mirrors you out of habit, reaching out to where your hands, in all their shaky frustration, struggle to undo the knots in your laces. "Let me-" This is another, in his growing series of wrong things to do.

"I told you to leave me alone!" You shriek, and then there's quiet. Caleb freezes, making note of his mistake and your reaction to analyze later, and giving you a second to process what just happened. Usually, this is the part where you take a deep breath, cry harder, say you're sorry for being mean, and let him hold you and stroke your hair and tell you 'shh shh its ok' until you're ready to talk. Today, you take your finally undone shoe and throw it at him.

...What the hell is going on?

While he's left stunned from your surprise attack, you shove him. Pushing him into the wall, more from the way it feels like you really mean it than the actual force applied, regardless it is enough for you to dart past. "Hey-hold on!" He's quick to recover, to follow your hurried steps through the living room and down the hall. He catches up, he's always been faster, and all that running- "Wait, can't we just-" He reaches for you before thinking better of it, fingers just grazing your arm before pulling away, every time he's tried to touch you you've just gotten more mad. It takes you only a second more to cross the threshold of your bedroom, not sparing him a glance as you shut him out.

"Why can't you just GO AWAY!" There is a resounding thud, as the door is closed in his face, and that's the end of it. He stands outside the slammed-and locked?-door in shock, shoulders drooping as the clear rejection settles in. Then he hears Josephine choke out a little laugh from her place in the kitchen.

"She's at that age..." It takes everything in him not to snarl at her. She almost sounds... relieved. Like a breath exhaled after too long being held. Does she think this is funny? He turns his gaze back to the door, the lock. He could just... open it. Could break the door down, if he felt like he needed to. "Give her time to settle." It bothers him that she knows what he's thinking. It bothers him more that she's right. He sees your face in his mind, eyes all teary and red, brows drawn and lip curled, all teeth.

"She doesn't shut me out. Not me... Not ever."

"Come cut the vegetables." There has always been a distinct difference in Josephine's treatment of the two of you, though it could be noticed only by one who knew to look for it. She is always straight faced, always composed. She does not strain herself in speaking, neither out of joy nor agitation. It is down to the choice of words. To the order of them.

Josephine offers you guidance. Suggestions, advice, requests. To Caleb, she gives orders.

And Caleb, who has always known his place, follows them.

With a sigh and a final glance at your door, he turns to pad over to the kitchen. Josephine studies his face, that same clinical manner that makes him tense even now, before smiling and handing him a knife. "She's growing up, Caleb." She gestures toward the cutting board, the assortment of washed veggies. "There are things she'll want to work out on her own." Her gaze is focused on the bubbling pot, stirring diligently, steadily. She contains what would otherwise overflow. He understands, in theory, but can't reason why 'on her own' can't include him. The thought alone turns his stomach. He redirects his attention to the work provided to him, the rhythmic movement of the knife, the repetitive thud of it hitting the cutting board. "I had... thought you'd be the first one to want for distance." The knife slips, crashes harder than intended into the board. He looks up to her, face drawn.

"Why." It is a question as much as it is not. Leaves him in the same robotic manner as small talk. 'How are you' and 'what nice weather' and 'why would I ever try to be without her?'.

"You're at that age." The non-answer of someone who has been alive longer, who has seen more, and believes themself superior for it. He can't bring himself to care. Even as she turns to him with that familiar, analytical gaze. Seeing him, standing beside him, but never with him. The relationship between the lens and the slide in the microscope.

"What age Grandma?" He jolts at his own words. The title he only deemed necessary to use when you were in earshot. Reasons with himself that maybe you can hear from in your room.

She pauses, gazed fixed but unfocused, before finding the words. "Older brother's start to find little sisters more obnoxious than cute." Up and down her eyes go, then briefly to the counter, before she turns back to her work. She sighs. Whatever she was searching him for she cannot seem to find. "You're pretty good at that." She says, not bothering with another look up. He observes his progress. Vegetables finely chopped, a small collection of which have been cut into the shape of flowers, hearts.

He hadn't realized. He bristles, feeling in some way caught. "You work late. Someone has to make sure she eats." He means for it to be a barb. As with everything else, she accepts it neutrally.

"You take care of her Caleb, very well." A pause again, a call to attention. "Like a good brother." His brow furrows. That word keeps coming up. Ever since she brought you two home. You've started to use it too. There's something that feels not quite right about it.

He's not your brother.

Before the orphanage and the lab and the orphanage, he was nothing to you. You were nothing to him.

The train of thought cuts off abruptly. That isn't right either.

Josephine watches, quiet. The scientific method demands observation first.

It isn't right for you to be nothing to him. Not ever. So there is no before. He's fine with that. But what was he, to you, at the orphanage and the lab and the orphanage again? What is he now?

Josephine turns on the radio.

It strikes him as odd. She is someone who does not need outside stimulus, someone who takes no interest in distraction. When he looks to her, watches as she stirs the pot, he tilts his head in question. She does not face him as she responds.

"She is a very special girl." Caleb knows this, resents her saying it anyway. To him, you're special because you're you. Because your eyes are your eyes and your hands are your hands and they took his without needing a reason to. For Josephine, for the other scientists, for the company that funded them, you're special because of what you do. What they can do to you. What it means that what was done could be done and you could live.

You are a breakthrough, not a person. A future, not a girl with one.

"I know you aren't fond of me."

He won't argue that. Without you present there is no need to pretend at anything else. Josephine turns the radio up.

"You understand the work we were trying to do. Whether or not you agreed with it." She lowers her voice to a whisper. Caleb stands silent, wires crossing, gears turning in him.

The mechanics of the conversation click into place.

"I didn't. And I don't." The music is a cover, in case you can hear from your room. Their separate work is a cover, in case the discussion pulls expressions from them they'd prefer the other not to read. It is oddly compassionate of her. Oddly just.

The expectation, for the first time in two years of wool and shutters and roses, is honesty.

"Perhaps because you didn't see it for yourself." There is a dreaminess to her voice that makes him feel ill. "It was... remarkable. Like watching the birth of a planet in the flesh." 'Watching,' He thinks. 'like some kind of god.' But he can't say it, not through the growing tightness in his throat. How she speak so casually about it, find any sort of beauty in it, is lost to him. He hadn't seen, no, but he'd heard. Still hears you screaming in his sleep, still wakes shaking.

"You should know that I protested." There is a creaking, cracking sort of sound, and when Caleb goes to bring the knife down on the half of uncut leek before him he finds it has been twisted beyond recognition. Josephine hums. A sound like a confirmation. "Though I suppose that wouldn't matter to you. Your concerns are more... present. Too young to be troubled with longevity."

He is concerned with your longevity.

With that, he tires of the game. Dropping the useless knife. Silencing the radio himself, a brief bout of whirring and static before all is quiet, all is crushed. Even still, when he goes to speak he finds himself whispering.

"There is nothing you could say to me that will make me think you were in the right. Not when you killed her over and over while she screamed and hurt and apologized." His breathing is ragged, has been for longer than he's been speaking. " I heard everything. I remember everything." He raises his head, evol dragging Josephine's gaze to meet his. "I remember for her."

He is met with the mask. Always the mask. He wonders if there is even anything to see underneath. If, with pretense peeled away, her face would be hollow and black, like looking into the depths of a well. From the surface, no way to see if it has gone dry. Or maybe, it would be better described as blank, like an untouched page.

No, not untouched. Erased.

What other way is there to live with what you've done.

"Do you care about her?" He doesn't mean to ask. Doesn't even mean to think it.

"More than I can express in words." There is no room for doubt in her tone. Nowhere to hide a lie in the silence surrounding them.

Still, he doesn't believe her.

"You... wanted to stop it. You protested." All of her assuredness is met with equal uncertainty on his part.

She nods slow. "I did."

"But you didn't." The whole room is heavy, ceramic dishware straining against the increased pressure, a low hum in the air, all around.

"And did you?" For once he has provoked an emotion, something unnamed, quiet and cutting. She sighs, aggrieved. "What could one person be expected to do. Even if I had voted against-" She cuts herself off abruptly, expression shifting to something calculating. Some sort of clarity settling over her. Focus. "It wasn't a failing, on your part. To not have saved her. What could you have been expected to do? Knowing so little, watched over as you were?" Something new breaks through the usual, almost robotic, calm. A fraction of a fraction of the warmth she brings to her voice when speaking to you. The shift in attitude causes his control of the space to falter, a weight lifts, pressure lightening over everything but him. Josephine takes a step forward, he takes one back. She hums, low, gathers up his chopped vegetables to deposit into the pot. Temperature lowered to a simmer. "...You're old enough to be told. Smart enough, I believe, to understand." The knife, the one he'd mangled, scrapes across the cutting board. The practical, evenly sliced bits and cute, carefully shaped pieces of veg falling indiscriminately into the vessel. Everything about the scene unsettles him.

"Caleb, I need to know that I can trust you." He doesn't respond. He knows he isn't seeing the full picture, that in whatever game they are playing she is dozens of steps ahead. 'It wasn't a failing ... to not have saved her ... what could you have been expected to do? Knowing so little ... You're old enough ... Smart enough ... to understand.' Josephine cuts the heat on the pot, steam rises, simmer receding. There is no relief in the realization that everything he believed is true.

"I don't trust you. I'm not going to trust you." He gazes at the ground, head lowered. A small sign of submission. "But that doesn't mean I can't... understand." His eyes flick up and back. A half a second not enough to see a deceptively gentle smile settle on her face.

The deal is made. Transparency traded for cooperation. Information for compliance. There is the feeling of something wrapping around his throat. Invisible, but nonetheless felt, over faded scar tissue, the memory of the buzzing and beeping collar he'd earned after he'd-

"The food will get cold, and it is getting late." Josephine says, content. Pointedly avoiding looking at him, lest she have to extend herself to offer him care on top of everything else she's done for him. "Just for tonight you may eat in your room." She prepares three plates, portions entirely equal, but only one carefully arranged, specially shaped veggies in neat little piles.

In exactly one aspect, she and Caleb are identical.

"Take this one to her door on your way." She holds two plates out to him.

'And be on your way.' Goes unspoken.

He takes the offerings wordlessly. Turning to walk, stiff and careful from the kitchen and down the hall.

"Caleb." she calls as he reaches the arched threshold between the kitchen and the living area. He freezes, but does not turn. "Be a good brother."

His brow furrows. It is said like a command, like a fine print term to their agreement he'd missed.

"...I will."

He could swear he hears the smile in her voice when she replies. "We'll talk on Thursday. When she is out."

He thinks he nods, or he tells himself to nod, but the only action of his body he is cognizant of is the falling of his feet as he covers the distance to your room.

----

He isn't surprised when his knocking at your door is met with silence.

His mouth is drawn into a line, empty hand still raised as he debates knocking again, knowing you won't answer. Your plate of food hovers at his side, held in the air by his evol.

"...Gran said we can eat in your room tonight, I brought your plate." He waits, for a beat and then longer, nothing. He frowns. Barely swallowing a frustrated sigh. You'd had a long day, a physically demanding class, and you would still rather go hungry than see him. 'Alright then,' he thinks, 'other means.' He grabs your plate from the air.

"Okay, okay... I'll leave it at the door for you." He lowers both his plate and yours to the ground simultaneously. Righting himself slowly, and taking one, two, three, four and a half steps in place before your door-the distance his stride measures between his and yours-lowering himself to the ground with each step. He sits, arms and legs crossed in front of him, uses his evol to open and close the door to his own room, and waits.

It isn't long at all before your door clicks open and you come, as he guessed you would, crawling out-low to the ground, like a little mouse-to retrieve your supper. Your hand freezes, half extended, when you notice two plates instead of the expected one, and the pair of legs folded just behind them. You sigh, like someone bested, but otherwise remain unmoving.

Caleb waits patiently for you to decide the next move, hopeful that your lack of shaking is an indication of some amount of calm. That you have settled, like Josephine said, and will let him in. While the silence drapes over you both like a blanket fort, he busies himself looking you over. Searching for clues pointing him toward the problem. Whatever left you worked up enough to shut him out entirely. You aren't hurt, not anywhere he can see, and he does feel some relief at that. Nothing physical seems to be wrong with you. The only visual difference he can find between earlier and now is a changed shirt, and a significantly less tearful face. Your head stays low, body shrinking in on itself the longer the silence looms. Behavior from you, finally, that he has a frame of reference for.

You get quiet after you yell. It's one of the first things Caleb figured out about you. A burst of emotion followed by shyness, worry. Josephine commented on it once, and only once, halfheartedly joking under her breath that perhaps it was 'just your nature to explode'. Her mug had shattered in her hands, ceramic slicing into the tender flesh between her right thumb and pointer finger. Neither of them spoke a word about it.

"...'m sorry-" you only barely get the word out before he is reassuring you.

"-it's okay." His arms unfold. Hands sat in his lap, open, always ready for you to take.

You don't say anything else. Apology as far as you had planned, as far as you are willing to go, and then you are stuck. Caleb grabs both plates, holding them out to you.

"...Food?" Your growling stomach replies for you. You nudge open the door.

----

Your chopsticks are placed gently onto your emptied plate. As you ate in your-relatively, considering the day you've had-companionable silence Caleb has been careful to keep his tracking of your movements to the corner of his eye. For all of your staring you don't particularly enjoy the favor being returned. He takes the last bite from his own plate-his pace set to match yours-before stacking the dishware and utensils in the space between your bodies on your floor. A physical barrier providing you the distance you require to be open and honest. Caleb, once more, exercises his endless patience.

"...I'm mad at you." You finally say, knees hugged to your chest. And, yeah, he kind of figured.

"Aw man, really?" The frowning emoticon is all but spoken aloud in his tone. You look at him, expression somewhere between glaring and baffled and he snorts. Maybe it isn't the time to play with you, but you just make so hard to help himself.

And maybe, secretly, there is a small part of him that thinks you deserve to be poked at, just a little, for scaring him.

"...You're the actual worst." Your head falls over your knees, face tucked in. He's grateful you don't see his mouth twitch downward, the furrow he quickly straightens out of his brow. He shuffles around the remains of supper over to you.

"Alright, alright. 'm sorry for teasing..." He pets your head, smoothing your hair as he goes. "...do you wanna tell me what happened?" You tense and his hand freezes, afraid to have re-triggered whatever part of you didn't want him touching you earlier, but you are quick to relax again. He moves his hand to rest on your shoulder, thumb tracing a heart over the peak of your arm before stilling. He should tell you that you don't have to talk about it, if you aren't ready. But he doesn't want to, can't bring himself to.

Tell him why. Let him fix it.

"...they don't like me." You whisper, a choked little sound immediately following. Tears still left to shed, it'd seem. He puts an arm around you, hugs you into his side as best as he's able with you all folded over yourself.

"Who doesn't like you?"

You mumble something into your knees.

"Huh?" He leans into you, cheek resting on your shoulder.

"The girls in my class."

"...your friends? Or other girls?" Your head lifts with an annoyed huff. Like the problem is him being slow and not you being extremely cryptic.

"They aren't my friends and its your fault." He turns his head to meet your eyes, face twisted in confusion. You're glaring, again.

"My fault? What did I do?" He'd only even seen the girl's on maybe three occasions, crossed paths while seeing you off or meeting at the door on your return home. And he'd been polite even though, if he's being honest with himself, he kind of wished they'd never shown up.

You shake your head. "It's not what you did it's what I said I wouldn't do." You turn your head away from him, gaze dropping to your fingers drawing shapes into the floor.

His jaw drops. "Okay. Pip. You've lost me." You shut your eyes, take a deep breath, and shove yourself out of his hold. There's no real aggression behind it, not like earlier, but he allows it all the same.

He thinks he might still get yelled at.

...Or, he would think that, if you didn't look so shy.

You've turned to sit facing away from him now. He leans back and watches you with a tilt of his head. You take another deep, steadying breath before your hand shoots out to rip the comforter off of your bed, huddling yourself under it completely. He blinks, and, afforded the security of you being unable to see his face, grins a little.

Silly girl.

"Uh oh. My pip-squeak got swallowed by a blanket monster. Now I'm gonna have to eat all the cookies and chips in the house by myself." He nudges a lump of covered extremity with his foot.

"Caleb..." You groan, muffled by the thick, downy barrier between you and the world.

"Pip!" He replies, with all of the enthusiasm of a guy who would really like to know what's going on.

There's no further groaning or sighing or huffing from you. Just quiet. You're sat so still for so long that he's almost worried you fell asleep sitting up. He opens his mouth just as you finally speak up.

"They were only being nice to me 'cause they wanted me to introduce them to you. 'Cause they thought you were cute." He hears you, even through the muffle and your keeping your voice intentionally low. His lips purse. "They asked me to, while we were hanging out today. Got mad when I said no." He stares at the blanket pile that makes up your body. "They said... a bunch of mean stuff about me over it... I forgot most of it already. One of 'em threw her juice at me, and they laughed when I started crying about it." Your hand reaches out from the wadded comforter, pointing at your discarded shirt on the floor, the front stained pink. He worries himself over not having noticed, and as if you can hear his thoughts you continue. "...I turned it backwards before I came in, so my jacket would cover it. I don't know. It's embarrassing."

It's silent. In the wake of your confession. You stewing in your mortification, and Caleb trying to get to somewhere more useful than really angry at a collective of little girls.

As usual, he grounds himself by focusing on the most important thing he can do, taking care of you.

"...Does the blanket monster have room in its stomach for one more?"

You contemplate it, for a moment. Caleb is already gripping at a corner of the comforter, waiting for your permission to move in.

"...yeah... I guess."

He lifts the comforter, slides underneath, and places himself in front of you. The limited space leaves your noses all but touching. Your gaze is on your lap, where your hands sit, you're picking at the skin of one of them. Caleb keeps one arm raised above you both, providing what little structure he can to your makeshift tent. The other, he uses to swat at yours. "Hey, don't do that..." He takes your hand in his to stop you, to steady you, an anchor.

"If they got to hang out with you for a month and they still don't like you then they don't deserve you. And frankly, I think they should have their brains scanned, something is clearly misfiring." It's dark under the covers, but even still he can see you trying to fight down a smile. He smiles too, no fight at all. "And if they don't like you, I don't like them." You start to giggle and his grin widens. He doesn't tell you that he didn't like them regardless. That he is, in some part, relieved that the last few miserable weeks of Thursdays are finally over. "You can tell them I said that. Or I can, next week. When I pick you up." Silence falls. His smile slowly falling with it.

"I still... want to walk home by myself. After Taekwondo." To his great misfortune, you choose now to look directly at him. Leaving him to hope desperately that the relative darkness, covers him trying to school his expression.

"...how come?" He asks, quiet and making great efforts to suppress a whine. "I'm gonna be 13 soon. And I have to... I want to... be able to do some things by myself."

'She's at that age...'

He had been doing so well, not thinking about his conversation with Josephine.

'She's growing up, Caleb.'

'There are things she'll want to work out on her own.'

'Be a good brother.'

He doesn't know how.

He doesn't want to.

He wants to tell you no and to walk you home and to tell those little brats from your class to fuck off and-

"...alright."

You perk up, surprise evident on your face. "really?"

"I have conditions." He looks at you seriously. You nod, a single, strong movement of your head. He raises his hand to count. "One, you get a 30 minute window after class time to make it home." a finger raised. You are already furrowing your brow in protest. "Two, if those girls say or do anything else to you you have to tell me. Right away, no exceptions." Another, and you make a contemplative noise. "Three, if it rains or snows I will come to get you. You don't leave the dojang alone when the weather is bad." Message delivered, he lowers his hand. "If you agree to the terms, your request is accepted."

"...what happens if I don't come home in 30 minutes?" Your smiling when you say it. He scoffs, you must be feeling better if your already feeling mischievous.

"Well, pips its seems that the obvious outcome is that I would come find you. And you'd lose your privileges. Indefinitely."

"What? That's not fair? What if its super windy and I-"

"Clause 3."

"Well fine, no weather but what if I wanted to-"

"Clause 1 Pip, come on."

"You are such a meanie!" Your pounding at his chest with your little fists, but your both laughing, and there's no venom behind it. "Fine, whatever. I accept your stupid terms." You hold your hand out to shake his. The verbal contract warranting seriousness, a real seal. He rolls his eyes like he isn't the one that started it and gives your hand a firm shake. Neither of you bothers to let go.

For a moment you just sit there, quiet under the comforter together. A somberness falls over him, a resignation.

Being a good brother... kind of sucks.

He doesn't know where the thought comes from, what part of it is difficult to swallow, but regardless he shakes it off. Pulls up the roots before they can dig deeper into him. Josephine was right about everything else. Whether he liked it or not, she was probably right about this too. Besides, all he wanted was to be what you need. If this is it, he can do it. He can. He has to. He gets to. He'll be happy to. He won't ask for anything else.

Actually, that's a lie.

"One more thing." When he turns his eyes back to you he catches that you've been staring, a familiar warmth washes over him.

"Hm?" You tilt your head. He makes sure you intend to hold his gaze before speaking, a finger brushing your cheek affectionately.

"Next time you're mad at me, don't run away. Don't hide from me when you're upset." He tucks an errant bit of hair behind your ear. "I don't care if you throw things, or hit me, or yell. Just let me..." Fix it. "...just let me help."

You look him over, he doesn't know what for, what to show you, just hopes you find it. Whatever you need, whatever you want. He'd give you anything. You extend your pinky to him. "Promise?" A question. Another contract. More serious, even, than the last.

He locks his with yours, mouth lowering to rest on his hand. "Yeah. Promise."

...

This fic did everything but take me out back and shoot me I swear. I estimated this concept to run me a clean 2.5k words. Brother. It has been a long week. Thanks for reading! love ya <3

[pluckyredhead]

You write Jondami so well I'm in love with it 🫶 What's your favourite aspect of their relationship?

Thank you so much!

I think it's a combination of two kind of contradictory things, which is: 1. I love that they are not terribly impressed by one another and don't take each other too seriously and 2. I love that they are Abnormal about each other and devoted beyond all measure.

Like, one hand, 10-year-old Jon meets this weird intense older kid who introduces himself by kidnapping Jon and he's an assassin and super serious all the time and Jon is like "Lol. Lmao, even. Can I see your cow?" And Damian meets a half-alien demigod who is in at least one timeline prophesied to destroy the world and is like "Actually you're kind of a twerp. But yes you can see my cow." Like they meet each other on such a human level where mostly all they want to do is annoy each other and they accidentally become friends about it, and it's so charming. They see Jon and Damian, not a Kryptonian and the Son of the Bat.

But on the other hand, they are NOT NORMAL ABOUT EACH OTHER. They swear a solemn oath to Clark to protect each other!!! Like almost immediately!!! Jon is apparently just constantly monitoring Damian's heart for Reasons! He travels a thousand years into the future and immediately goes back and gets Damian because he thinks his friend will like it! He travels to another dimension and picks a fight with that universe's Batman over being mean to that universe's Damian, just because he killed Dick a little bit! Okay maybe it's mostly Jon who's Not Normal about Damian but to be fair, Damian is Not Normal about anything.

Anyway yeah, it's that combination of "just two buddies! WHO ARE OBSESSED WITH EACH OTHER" that I enjoy so much. And also height difference. (I am a Short Damian truther.)

[bethanydelleman]

It bothers me so much that people latch onto this quote from Darcy but ignore the context around it:

“Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?” said Elizabeth, still addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers?” “I can answer your question,” said Fitzwilliam, “without applying to him. It is because he will not give himself the trouble.” “I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,” said Darcy, “of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.”

This is the big proof that Darcy is shy/socially awkward/whatever. But there are two answers right there! Colonel Fitzwilliam has an explanation that makes Darcy look far worse: he is rude because he doesn't care to be polite.

Darcy likes Elizabeth, and while I'm sure he didn't outright lie because he's a radical truther, he definitely did not tell the whole truth! Because the girl he likes just called his behaviour "very dreadful" and he needs to make himself look better. And then we know what he says later when he feels actual remorse for his prior behaviour (which he does not feel at Rosings):

I was... allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own.

Where is his problem with conversing now? It's nowhere, because that was never the real problem. I am sure that Darcy does not converse easily with others, because I don't think he lied, but that is not why he was an unsociable asshole at the Meryton Assembly. It's because he did not think the unwashed masses of Hertfordshire were worth him putting in the effort.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Plinkpump linkdump

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. After that, it's LONDON (Jul 1) and MANCHESTER (Jul 2).

Every now and again, I reach the end of the week with more stray links that I've been able to squeeze into the newsletter, and when that happens it's time for a linkdump. This is linkdump number 31; here's 1-30:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

It's been five years (to the day!) since Wired killed off "Beyond the Beyond," Bruce Sterling's excellent blog, a wanton act of online vandalism that, among other things, made it much harder to figure out what was on Bruce's mind, a subject I find endlessly fascinating:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/17/cheap-truthers/#cheap-truth

Sterling's got a Medium that he almost never updates. I follow it through RSS, the best way to keep up with both things that update frequently and also hardly ever:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

This week, he posted a long, thoughtful, and seriously intriguing review of Cafe Europa Revisited, Slavenka Drakulic's followup to her 1996 international blockbuster Cafe Europa:

https://bruces.medium.com/cafe-europa-revisited-2025-be8875c06c4c

I confess that I had never heard of Drakulic, though, as I read Sterling's review, it became clear why he dotes on the acerbic Croatian essayist, a keen observer of the material world and theorizer of political upheaval:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/602764/cafe-europa-revisited-by-slavenka-drakulic/

Drakulic is well-known for an essay collection called "How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed," and the subtitle of this volume is "How to Survive Post-Communism," which just about says it all. Sterling characterizes it as the start of a new hot genre, "Old books directly written for old people by old people."

"The West" (whatever that is) is getting old. For more than a decade, Bruce Sterling's been predicting a future of "old people, in big cities, afraid of the sky." Original Sin, a new heavily reported book on the 2024 election makes a good case that Biden was indeed in a state of advanced senescence through much of his presidency and the entire election campaign, and had no business occupying the White House, much less running for another four years:

https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/13/books/review/originial-sin-jake-tapper-alex-thompson.html

Biden's unwillingness to confront his age and frailty, along with Trump's obvious mental and physical decline, has many terrified American political thinkers talking about the gerontocracy that's running the country:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/01/designated-survivors/

Corey Robin got in some good licks on this one, in a piece called "We really are the oldest democracy in the world":

https://coreyrobin.com/2025/05/15/we-really-are-the-oldest-democracy-in-the-world/

"Oldest democracy" as in, "the democracy with the oldest leaders." The Democrats are gearing up for the midterms with such repeat offenders as Maxine Waters (86), Rosa DeLauro (82), John Garamendi (80), Doris Matsui (80) and Bonnie Watson Coleman (80). Also running: David Scott (79) who had to step down as ranking House Ag Committee member over health concerns. And: Dwight Evans (70), who missed most of last year's votes after suffering a stroke.

Meanwhile, Nancy Pelosi (85), Steny Hoyer (85), Danny Davis (83), Frederica Wilson (82), Emanuel Cleaver (80) and Alma Adams (78) won't say whether they're running in 2026:

https://www.axios.com/2025/05/15/house-democrats-age-members-reelection-biden

At 53, I can tell that I've lost a step. Sure, I have the benefits of wisdom, but man, I am so tired. Maybe the reason our Democratic leaders have sat idly by and watched as Trump dismantled democracy and installed fascism is that they're too tired to scale the fences like their South Korean counterparts did?

https://www.theverge.com/24312920/martial-law-south-korea-yoon-suk-yeol-protest-dispatch

I'm not saying everyone over 65 in Congress should retire. I'm saying that a caucus that skewed younger might be more, you know, vigorous. I'm minded of my favorite John Ciardi poem, "About Crows":

The young crow flies above, below, and rings around the slow old crow. What does the fast young crow not know? WHERE TO GO.

https://spirituallythinking.blogspot.com/2011/10/about-crows-by-john-ciardi.html

Meanwhile, young people might just be getting something out of the regulatory apparatus. Thanks to a smashing court loss in the USA and regulation in the EU, Apple is now required to allow app makers to use their own payment processors, skipping the 30% App Tax Apple levies on every in-app purchase, to the tune of $100b/year.

Among other things, this means that every Fortnite skin and upgrade could suddenly get 25% cheaper without costing Epic Games a dime. The only problem is that Apple refuses to obey the regulation or the court order:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/01/its-not-the-crime/#its-the-coverup

This week, Apple blocked Fortnite's app from the App Store:

https://www.macrumors.com/2025/05/16/apple-blocks-fortnite-return-to-ios-app-store/

And defied EU regulators by slapping deceptive warning labels all over any EU app that accepts payments without kicking 30% up to Apple:

https://www.theverge.com/news/667484/apple-eu-ios-app-store-warning-payment-system

Apple's in a lot of trouble in the USA (Apple execs who lied to a federal judge about this stuff now face criminal sanctions), and it looks like they're spoiling for a fight with the EU. After all Trump flew to Davos and threatened to destroy any country that tried to regulate US Big Tech. The rest of the world doesn't seem scared – or at least, they're more scared of the risk of trusting US cloud technology that can be cut off to kneecap a rival economy, or used to spy on government and industry, or both. In the EU, Cryptpad – a free, open cloud based document collaboration platform – is luring away Google Docs and Office 365 users at speed:

https://cryptpad.org/

Meanwhile, back in the USA, things are looking grim for Meta, as the FTC's case against the company moves into the end-game. The stakes are high: Meta could be forced to sell off Whatsapp and Instagram:

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/from-roadshow-to-expert-witness-courtroom

That is, if Mad King Trump doesn't step in. Seems like nothing is too petty for the Trump admin. How petty are they? This week, Trump's CBP seized a load of t-shirts from the subversive design studio Cola Corporation:

https://www.404media.co/cbp-seizes-shipment-of-t-shirts-featuring-swarm-of-bees-attacking-cops/

Why did CBP seize Cola's tees? Apparently, it was design that featured a cop being attacked by a swarm of bees. Cola knows good publicity when he sees it: he's printing up more of the tees and selling them in a new line he calls "the confiscated collection":

https://www.thecolacorporation.com/collections/confiscated

Get yours while supplies last!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/17/odds-and-sods/#cafe-europa

[lastofthewardens]

i know hearing the same interview responses over and over is getting annoying, so i don't blame anyone for being upset about hearing it another time because it's discouraging.

but i just wanted to give an alternate take on that answer about foggy that i think is a little unique because of my position.

for context, i personally don't think foggy is coming back. my nuanced feeling is that i'm like 90/10 on the issue because i said i'd stop letting myself get baited if vanessa explicitly wanted foggy dead, and i drew my line in the sand there.

so my interpretation of a lot of different things coming from this team is usually pretty uncharitable and i honestly feel like many things being said are rooted in baiting angry fans into watching s2 hoping he'll be back.

but if you're a foggy is alive truther or just someone who isn't being as cynical about this as me, i don't think this answer today is really anything to worry about.

charlie's been saying this exact same quote about foggy's death for months. i've noticed a pattern almost every time where he seems to talk genuinely about foggy and then segues into what is clearly a coached answer that he's "allowed" to say. because when he talks about his own personal feelings, it changes and varies, and he's made it clear multiple times through words and emotion that he doesn't agree with the decision, sometimes much more openly than i ever would've expected an actor to do.

then after, when he segues into what i believe to be coached PR answers, these quotes about 'starting off with a bang' and 'no one feeling safe' are all worded and phrased exactly the same. i think these are things he's told to say. i remember there was even one interview where someone else cut in because he kept talking about how much they were losing out on by not having foggy, and they interrupted him to be like 'but also we get lots of new stuff!' lmao.

i think if we're going to take anything away from this, it should be the fact that charlie notably said some fans are rightfully angry, and this was before he segued into those PR answers.

if you're like me, that's pretty validating in my opinion. he's made it as clear as he can without getting in trouble that he doesn't agree with the decision, and he's now telling the fans they're valid for being upset. i don't really think he could say more than that even if he wanted to, and he's said more validating things than anyone else involved besides elden. it also means that they're seeing the fans' anger, which surprised me considering how much people try to shout down disappointed fans. they're seeing it, we know for sure now, and this is why it's so important you guys keep talking and keep asking for foggy.

and if you're a foggy is alive truther, this is actually even a good thing. because it's clear to me that nobody is allowed to talk about foggy for whatever reason. even elden hasn't really been able to talk about it much beyond that he felt bad for fans and that he's grateful for the love and that he loves foggy. my take is that the people who make these decisions about what they can and can't talk about are baiting to make angry fans watch s2, and maybe also hoping the less they talk about it the backlash will go away, but in a world where the 10% of the 90/10 comes to pass, it could just as easily be that they can't 'spoil it' like they claimed in that one interview.

but yeah, i mean. this is a nothing answer really. it didn't make me feel better or worse. it just sort of made me feel a little annoyed that they won't talk about it further.

but most importantly, everyone telling you you're not valid for being upset or angry is wrong, and you can point them to charlie's answer next time they try to shout you down.

[charliemwrites]

Burst into tears jumped up and down rolled around on the floor 500 times did 3 laps around the block at the platonic (more like queer platonic) Krueger ask.

Don't get me wrong I love a good soft romance fic(MAW readers fic has me in a CHOKEHOLD) but I'm aroace and I JUST WANT TO READ ABOUT A BEST FRIEND:((( WHO LOVES IN VERY MUCH IN A VERY NON SEXUAL WAY:(( AND THE TAKING CARE OF EACH OTHER IS MUTUAL.... Honestly I just want to give him all the love in the world.. and like cook for him and give him hugs and gentle kisses on his forehead and cheek but like. .... Without fucking him .. honestly I just want to be coddled without the expectation of sex..... Or like... Idk making out or smthn do you see the vision

Sorry I'm yapping anyways just wanted to say I lost my shit at any mention of platonic anything thank you for this service I love you.

No no it’s totally okay!!! I’m more than a little obsessed with friendship dynamics that make people question if the two are dating. Like, closer than close, besties beyond the grave type vibes.

Give me Krueger who’s a stonewall asshole to everyone but his bestie. Krueger who lets his favorite teammate throw themselves on his back, steal food out of his hand, pull on his hood/clothes, only to pull a knife on anyone else for standing too close.

Completely straight faced as his bestie calls him “Seb-Seb” and they put charms on his boot laces to match their call sign. Looks ready to commit murder even while they feed him taste tests of new meals and boop cake batter on his nose. They absolutely do not fear when his hand comes down, way too fast, just to fix their holsters or pin their hair back, shooing them off with a grunt.

I am a platonic dom krueger truther

[sugargirlfigurine]

my besties pushed me to make my tumblr debut so now you all have to read my thoughts on will graham! so here you go…

i’m gonna yap about will grahams speech patterns and overall syntax of his voice and words because it’s just so fascinating to me like his whole character and the way hugh dancy portrayed him so clearly

and yes i am a will autism truther it’s non debatable for me and i truly dgaf if bryan fuller or hugh denies it

so i know in hannibal he’s a british man using an american accent so of course words are going to sound a little off, but i’ve seen adam where hugh is not putting on an accent and the man still sounds like autism turbo blasted!

so to start, reading red dragon by thomas harris, literally 3 pages into the book you get met with this

“Jack Crawford heard the rhythm and syntax of his own speech in Graham's voice. He had heard Graham do that before, with other people. Often in intense conversation Graham took on the other person's speech patterns. At first, Crawford had thought he was doing it deliberately, that it was a gimmick to get the back-and-forth rhythm going.

Later Crawford realized that Graham did it involuntarily, that sometimes he tried to stop and couldn't.”

so it gives a very good foundation for the concept of wills speech patterns in the sense that he Doesn’t consciously know the patterns he’s picking up on and taking on himself.

hugh reading red dragon absorbed that quote and STUCK to it because the way he talks with hannibal versus jack versus bedilia verses alana ETC his speech patterns change every time.

i wanted to highlight this part of the script and i unfortunately couldn’t find a recording of the whole quote but it’s this one

Hannibal: You stood in the breathing silence of Garrett Jacob Hobbs's home, the very spaces he moved through. Tell me, Will, did they speak to you?

Will: With noise and clarity.

Hannibal: You could sense his madness, like a bloodhound.

Will: I tried so hard to know Hobbs. To see him--past the slides and vials, beyond the lines of the police reports, between the pixels of all those printed faces of sad, dead girls.

Hannibal: How did you feel seeing Marissa Schuur impaled in his antler room?

Will: Guilty.

Hannibal: Because you couldn't save her?

Will: Because I felt like I killed her.

the way will talks is so….not neurotypical whatsoever like saying dead bodies spoke to him with “noise and clarity”

first thing is they’re dead they don’t talk so the word noise is very interesting to use and Clarity as well

and his monotone face as he says guilty i cant

and the way he feels guilty to an extreme as though he himself killed her feels so….idk the word but yeah pure empathy etc etc but i feel like autistic people (myself included but this isn’t gonna be intentionally projecting) but walk around feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt for even existing in a neurotypical centric world and having a brain that need something different just can feel very burdening.

and this is just crazy his ‘breakup’ scene w hannibal where he says

“I miss my dogs. I'm not going to miss you. I'm not going to find you. I'm not going to look for you. I don't want to know where you are or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore.”

like i miss i’m not im not in not i don’t Want i don’t Want UGHHH he knows he will always think about hannibal but he doesn’t Want to what the flip it kills me

[remcycleskip]

I got an ask about it and thus an excuse to yap about them, I think you deserve one too.

share your clancybearer headcanons now 🔪 HAND EM OVER

I was literally in the middle of reading your Clancybearer HC post when you sent this lmao

Uhhhh I think 99% of these are things we've already talked about, but I always like an excuse to yap about my boys. Plus I've been wanting to start posting tøp headcanons on here anyway :)

• So first of all, I am 100% a 'Clancybearer childhood friends' truther. Clancy and TB became friends when they were around 6 years old, but were separated when they were 8. Clancy forgot about TB after a while, and it wasn't until he spent a decent amount of time with the Banditos that Clancy actually figured out TB was the friend from his childhood.

• Clancy and TB both seem confident, but neither of them actually think very highly of themselves. They think very highly of each other, though. They both consider each other to be the coolest guy in the world lol

• TB and Clancy try to keep a professional yet friendly relationship with the Banditos. Despite leading a rebellion, neither of them like being treated like authority figures (TB especially hates it. Despite all his efforts to seem like a normal guy, the Banditos can't help but idolise him).

• They both love a good joke/harmless prank. Once Clancy gets comfortable interacting with the Banditos, he and TB become an unstoppable duo of pranksters. Every new Bandito falls for their bs at least once 😔

• TB has great people skills, and Clancy has abysmal people skills. But they're both really good with kids.

• They're both terrible at dealing with their own emotions/trauma/other issues. They want to help with each other's problems, but absolutely refuse to address their own.

• What Clancy and TB have goes beyond the concepts of 'platonic' or 'romantic'. They don't even need to label their relationship tbh, they're just soulmates no matter what the nature of their relationship is. But the Banditos start to assume they're in a romantic relationship, since there's only so much cuddling, kissing, sharing a tent, etc, that they can do before everyone else starts being like 🏳️‍🌈🤨???

Ugh I have sooo many more things I could say about them but these are just some that came to my mind right now :) I'm also purposefully avoiding my ✨angsty✨ Clancybearer headcanons because if I include those, we'll be here forever lmao. But maybe I'll post some of those at some point too >:)

[geekgirles]

Lady Echo: A Character Analysis

Before we dive in, there's something about me you should know. I'm a TV Tropes truther. That site is my Bible. If a piece of media interests me, then you'd better believe I have visited its TV Tropes page.

And because of that, Echo in particular is a character I've been meaning to talk about for a while now, because I get the feeling people tend to overlook what I feel is the true core of her character at the end of season 3.

As you can see, while other tropes go more into detail about her true motivations behind betraying Oropo, that part of her character ends up being reduced to being a Woman Scorned, and while that certainly applies here, I really don't think that's the trope that best encapsulates her character and her decisions at the end of the season.

A Woman Scorned is essentially any woman who has been wronged by the person she loves and seeks revenge or has at least expressed great anger. And it can go from being cheated on by a partner, or simply being rejected by their love interest and not taking it well. And both heroic and villainous characters can be the ones to break her heart. In fact, Arpagone too would be an example of this trope, as even if her feelings for Ruel are still there, most of her actions are motivated by the pain she feels for his decision to choose money over her.

As you can see, this all fits with Echo's actions and feelings at the end of season 3, but it's very general overall. Which is why, in my humble opinion, Echo is a better example of Love Forgives All but Lust.

This trope is essentially a deconstruction of tropes centred around the appeal bad boys have for women. The thing about women falling for bad boys is that those women tend to know they're bad news, and beyond a desire to be the ones to change them, the real reason that interest is born is because they're attracted to the idea of the bad boy being a jerk to everyone, but them. Love Forgives All but Lust is what happens when the woman is rudely awakened from that delusion.

In other words, when they realise not even they are safe from their partner's worst actions. And what is the best way to have a woman feel betrayed to the point of seeking revenge? Unfaithfulness.

Sure, they will forgive their partner if it turns out he's a serial killer, but if he cheats? Then he's the one who's dead.

An example of Love Forgives All but Lust is when the police is trying to get a mafioso's wife/girlfriend to testify against her lover, but she refuses to cooperate... until she discovers her husband/boyfriend has a lover, then she'll do everything to bring him down.

If you think about it, this is essentially what happened between Echo and Oropo after he revealed he only ever "loved" Amalia. Even if Echo is a much more active player in Oropo's machinations than simply being aware of them, having helped him carry over his plans for centuries as his second-in-command.

After he kissed Amalia and claimed Echo never meant anything to him compared to her, that's when Echo totally lost it. And her subsequent actions are a direct result of his betrayal. It never had anything to do with Echo seeing the error of her ways, as we all know.

Think about it, it wasn't until Oropo chose Amalia over her, after everything they had ever been through, that Echo truly struck. Once it became apparent her lover didn't care for her nearly as much as she cared for him, that's when Echo revealed his true plans: to destroy the gods, he must destroy the World of Twelve and deprive them of followers. In other words, he was willing to commit mass genocide for the sake of his dream.

Moreoever, the fact that she got to reveal the true extent of his plans at all already highlights that only she knew about them. All along, Echo knew what Oropo was planning, the consequences of his dreams, and she never once stopped believing in his cause. Their conversation in episode 6 even going as far as explaining Echo already believed in him and supported his dreams before ever falling for him, meaning she can't even excuse her actions by saying her feelings blinded her. Because she was perfectly aware of Oropo's plans all along.

And yet, that didn't stop her from loving him. If anything, it was only another reason she fell in love with him.

No, it wasn't until Oropo broke her heart that she ever went against him.

If you ask me, this all reads as Echo not minding Oropo's most questionable tendencies because she was convinced she was exempt from ever being at the receiving end of his worst actions. After all, she had been by his side the longest, witnessing how he got rid of demigods that failed to meet his standards or were no longer useful (going with what the show claims, I haven't read Ogrest's manga). It wasn't until he kissed Amalia and shoved her aside that Echo realised not even she was safe from him.

And it was because Oropo had had no qualms to screw her over that Echo decided it was her turn to screw him over. And hence, she revealed his plans to the Brotherhood of the Forgotten, not because she'd seen the error of her ways, but because Oropo had hurt her and she wanted to make him bleed in turn.

In the end, Echo's actions weren't fuelled solely by revenge or even jealousy, they were fuelled by the bitter realisation that she never meant as much to Oropo as he meant to her. It was about realising he had no qualms hurting her, not about how he had no qualms hurting anyone else.

It was about Echo not being enough for Oropo.

And for me, that's why Echo is a better example of Love Forgives All but Lust.

[chickycherrycola]

snippet sunday, first of june edition 🌈

thanks @worldismyne for the tag! in honor of pride month, today i'll share a special sneak peek from a future chapter of KOMH (this one's for all my fellow bisexual Soul truthers out there):

“And what about you?” Maka says. Even though it's just the two of them, she feels the urge to get closer to him– though it's the end of a long night and they can finally drop the couple act, she finds she… doesn't really want to. Her fingers itch to reach for his hand, mere inches from her where it rests on the balcony railing. She swallows down the urge with some difficulty. “Have you ever… felt like you had to hide who you truly are?”  His expression turns pensive, and there's something almost bitter in the small smile that curls his lips. “It's complicated.”  “How do you mean?” Soul averts his eyes then, dropping them to the nearly-drained champagne glass in his left hand. He gives it a gentle swirl and regards it with an expression that makes her feel like he's far, far away from here.  “I'm an escort, Maka.” He laughs, but there's no humor in it. “And I'm bi, but I'm really only out at work when I'm with my clients. I feel like I'm always wearing a mask.”  She recalls that information from his profile— the night all of this began, weeks and weeks ago on the other side of the world— the section that read Interested in Male and Female Clients, but hearing him say it out loud is different. The pain in his voice makes something deep in her chest ache with an intensity that surprises her.  “I'm always playing a part. Always acting in some role— the perfect boyfriend, the charming wedding date. The hired lover that always satisfies and never complains, never shows any emotion beyond what they pay me to show.” He shakes his head. “Even now, the only reason I'm here with you is because I have a role to play— the bad boy who seduced a princess, the American scoundrel marrying royalty and pissing off as many people as he can along the way. Sometimes I–” his voice breaks. “Sometimes I don't even know who I really am, beneath it all—” She doesn't know what has her reaching for him— whether it's the acidic tang of guilt rising in her throat or the sharp sting of tears pricking the corners of her eyes— but his hand is impossibly warm and pleasantly rough as she curls her fingers around his.  “I'm sorry.” 

For the rest of the year, I've decided I'm going to lock in on King of My Heart, and try to get as close to finishing it as possible. 🤞And beyond that, I'd like to try to branch out to other pairings, other fandoms, and more original work. Expand my horizons a bit, so to speak.

Tagging all the usual suspects - @mellancholy-morose @vautour-coccinelle-serpent @silluuuu @blackbloodteeth

Happy Pride Month y'all!! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[mybigmouthh]

I'd love to hear your wellernoel thoughts and whatever else you've been ruminating on

Thanks anon! I didn't want to bother explaining myself unless someone asked so, I dedicate this post to you.

Okay so about wellernoel I'm just so into them cuz I think Paul is the perfect gay match for Noel. Everyday I yearn for them to be husbands lmao, feel like they'd match eachother freak so good. Paul seems to be the service top Noel needs, more dominant and experienced than him! Their age gap is not that big but it's delicious anyways, a whole decade! We could explore Noel's daddy issues with Paul. Imagine a fic where Noel feels like a kid everytime he's with Paul cuz he's actually being taken care of, basically (not sexually at first). Need to read Noel slipping away from Liam's hands as he meets Paul more and more deeply, until he makes his final decision (kind of like in real life but with Sara). That's how I've been feeling about wellernoel! Feel free to send me more ideas about this pairing ♥️🙏🏻

About what else I've been ruminating on, since I posted my last fic the other day I've been feeling more distanced from gcest. Not because I don't like it anymore, but because I'm kiiiinda annoyed with the content lately. It's hard being a bottom Noel truther beyond the sexual role aspects. I can't even talk with some of my friends in the fandom because they're just so rooted into top Noel they won't even discuss it with me haha, I sent something and I was completely ignored in the gc. It's sad, but I understand their preferences. So I'm bored, basically. If you read my last fic you will notice how I like the gcest dynamic truly, with Noel still being the dominant in the relationship, and Liam still feeling vulnerable even while topping. (Also I just can't see Liam bottoming anymore lately, cuz I perceive him sooo straight cis sometimes. He gives me the impression of those dudes that say "is not gay if I'm the one on top" right, mate, whatever you say)

So yeah that's it, sorry if this is annoying for the rest of the fandom. I miss being horny here but I'm just so out of it lately I'm even participating ON TWITTER more, talking about the brothers WITHOUT incest, and making anti gcest mutuals 😭😭😭 I feel like Hannah Montana..best of both worlds!!!

AAANYWAYS this became too long. Thanks for passing by anon ♥️

[monstress]

arcane s2 thoughts

prayinggg we get a no soundtrack version because while i do like a few of the tracks (yes even Enemy!!!), there are more duds than hits and they take me out each time

also obviously i'm a Jinx Is Alive truther because of the ending scene of cait staring at the air ducts to the hextech tower fiddling with a fragment of her bomb...come on. jinx has said in the start of the season that she wanted to leave piltover/zaun and with isha gone and her sister happy, she can finally do that

i am very invested in jinx and vi's relationship so when jinx without any hesitation chose to let herself go from vi's grasp and destroy warwick (both something that vi could not do) which in one fell swoop legitimizes her agency, protects vi from a monster, saves vander from eternal hell - i'm like yea...[sniffs] that's a redemption arc baby

jinx and vi. piltover and zaun. they'll always be sisters...yea....

i admire the open ending with the airship. but she did say she'll ride one of those things one day. yay.

maybe an unpopular opinion but i liked cait this season. finally some bite and controversy and trauma to her choices. she was way tooooo comfortable in s1. while she's still a cop, at least she's interesting now!

also ok....yelled and hollered when lesbian sex is finally happening. rejoice guys - i thought we will never get it

the writing pace of this show is bonkers and i understand they need to keep it tight because of animation budget but what the helllllll was that viktor machine herald speedrun. it felt like it needed a good one more season to incubate and i was overwhelmed with that + jayce's heel turn + mel's superpower reveal like hold on hold the fuck onnnnnn what does this meannnnnn

gay sex in hextech void deus ex machina goes crazy tho

like oh yeah i am cosmically tied to only one man in this world and he alone can guide me to the error of my ways in any universe

ok!

mel being the most specialest princess in the entire world seems right imo. i can easily be riled up to sycophantic fervor to serve in her army just say the word ma'am 🫡

let's not forget the tragic irony that Mel was exiled by her mother and has tried to carve her own path through diplomacy and peace in defiance but ends up finding herself sitting in her mother's steel ship in her colors with her army with so much power in her veins and now leaves the city she loved that her mother ruined too. mel merdada one of the characters of all time......

and i am a number one sap so!!!!!!! the flashback scenes this season got me hurting real bad. when i thought i was devastated by Remember Me...here comes s2e7 to punch me in the gut

the fact happiness and normalcy was possible for powder...the fact that powder will never use hexcore because of what happened to vi and it made all the difference. vi's death unknowingly protecting her sister (and the world!) from beyond the grave...i am sobbing my eyes out

also as a season one timebomb shipper, thank youuuu arcane writers i didnt expect this at ALLLLLLLLLL???? it was written like everyone knows they were an item except themselves??? i have done nothing to deserve this but thank you

UPDATE: i hv been informed that they are already dating in the alternative universe from background details. even more delicious

i am just happy to be here and prepared to be devastated

vanderco Real. like don't even waste your breath to say they aren't when they look like they are glowing in domestic bliss. what's some light stabbing and drowning between married couples amirite fellas

claggor and mylo!!!! i didn't expect to get emotional seeing them since idrc but seeing them grown up like ohhhh these are vi and jinx's brothers...and they'll never know this life...okay.....

the alternative timeline pretty much put a bandaid to the pain and suffering for the past 2 seasons and as contrast for more suffering. i love it. the writers are so diabolical

heimerdinger sacrificing himself for ekko is ok for me lol idc abt him goodbye cheesepuff

i still need to process the Ambessa vs MelCait fight. im quite sure there's some great parallels there

but Ambessa as a character is sooooo fascinating. while i hv qualms making a prominently Black character be an imperalist warlord (othering her with her accent too), Ambessa i fear is so so very cool and i was slightly rooting for her ngl like i can't hate a cunning ambitious woman it's against my nature!!!!!

i am gonna think abt mel holding up ambessa like repin's painting of ivan the terrible for a longggg time

side note: i love that sevika finally got what silco wanted all along - a seat at the (council)table. like that's my wifeeeeeee. lib ending i know i know since the best ending is a free state of zaun but like narrative wise it would notttt make sense at the point of time. but also since they never confirmed anything, i wanna say they'll have a go at dismantling the power structure that is oppressing zaun with sevika keeping an eye on it. not a perfect solution but i'll take it rather than leave it

so will i watch another show on LoL?

mmmm.......anyways guys watch Penelope of Sparta!

[pokemonblack3white3]

I'm the trans Calaba truther. I headcanon her as mtf, and if I ever get around to doing my second attempt at my fic I plan on delving into that a bit since the protag is some flavor of nonbinary and I am gnawing furiously at the prospect of exploring that aspect of the Pokemon World

HI EVER SINCE I POSTED TRANS INGO (who I've been thinking of calling Myrtle?) I have been obsessively sifting through ideas of how transgenderism is done in the Hisui clans. Just from what little I've gleamed of non-Western ideas of gender there's is SO much to be explored there. Like essentially Calaba and Ingo don't nessecarily ID as transgender women because that specific concept as we know it doesn't exist in 150-ish years ago Hisui. I imagine it's a pretty religiously significant thing? I haven't sat down to really write down my ideas beyond this ask or done any real research yet I just love letting it bounce around in my head.

[hamletkin]

this is just me complaining about different hamlet adaptations i hate so take it with a grain of salt i'm a sad little man and if you disagree with my opinions i still love you unless you're a blond hamlet truther /j it's literally just MY opinion and if it doesn't align with yours that's okay i just have to get it out

i hate kenneth branagh hamlet but you all already knew this. i hate him solely because he's blond and my sister is blond and she bullied me. no but in all sincerity i just hate how this man acts like he's god's gift to shakespeare in every production he's in whenever it's CLEAR he doesn't understand hamlet as a character or as a play. he's just concerned with his ego and how he looks and how clever he is when he's really just not. it's not hamlet. there may be infinite hamlet realities but his is the only one i can't accept. kate winslet deserves the world though.

hamletmachine has a few brief shining moments, i'll give it that, but otherwise i'm just too firmly against it to really love it. maybe "hate" is too strong a word for this piece. i know this goes beyond the scope of hamlet but for my intents and purposes i'm just examining it as an adaptation of hamlet and i'm aware that's a narrow viewpoint!! i just don't like it all that much.

ophelia is one of the worst adaptations of anything i've ever seen. it's such a shallow view of not only ophelia's character but every character. i can say that the only thing i enjoyed were the women's costumes!! claudius' wig/clothes looked like they came from a fancy dress store. hamlet and ophelia's love is nonsensical in this adaptation and they have absolutely no chemistry or time to get to know one another, leading to their parting/hamlet's death as having no emotional weight at all. there was no real character development done for any character with the exception of maaaybe gertrude considering her turning on claudius. but it was just poorly executed drivel hidden behind the curtain of "girl power feminism" instead of actually giving ophelia, getrude (and getrude's twin whose name i refuse to look up) any agency or an actual feminist narrative. ophelia deserved better.

i do not like to knock amateur shakespeare productions but it keeps coming up on my dash and it fills me with secondhand embarrassment just thinking about it so i'm going to talk about it. idr the name of it or if it had a special name but that one time loop hamlet on youtube? i've seen so many people praising it and i don't know how they COULD. it was so painful to sit through. honestly just writing this i'm actually cringing thinking about how bad the acting and pacing was.

hamlet/horatio. i bought this on dvd for $4 so who is the real loser here? it's me. i think the production had a few interesting ideas honestly! but the execution of those ideas was terrible and they should be punished for their art /j. i don't get how this is hamlet from horatio's pov when that is literally not something that happens. the acting is so cheesy. the sets are bad. the lighting hurts to look at. my friend and i did make memes out of some images from it but that's the only good that really came out of it.

suddenly i can't remember anything else????

honourable mention to david tennant's hamlet for being not very good with the exception of horatio. i didn't HATE it but i didn't like it. the actors are all good in other things but pretty terrible in this and it makes me sad. there was no passion in this show. funny faces does not equate to acting. it could have added so much if the performance wasn't otherwise stilted.

[caliburn-the-sword]

whether or not it was the intention of one mr chris colfer, it is undeniable that alex and conner bailey are EXTREMELY mixed race coded, reason numero uno being their parents quite literally coming from two entirely different worlds yet coming to love and understand each other

it has been abundantly clear from the start of the text that alex had a profound lack of belonging and a disconnect from her peers (ofc i'd be entirely open to the idea of this being exacerbated by the possibility of her being neurodivergent. additionally, i'm an adhd connor bailey truther). i've found among other second generation immigrant children who move back to the home country of their parent(s) for a year or 2 of study abroad often do not want to move back and if they are young enough that they're forced to, find it really distressing. this is reflected in alex in the enchantress returns when she had an emotional spiral (and i would even go as far to say situational depression) about being forced to live in the real world

furthermore, there is the pressure that alex and connor experience to "pick" one side of their culture; for alex her fairy side, and for connor his human side, and the responsibility that they feel they have and the people they know and love in each world. it really resonated with me as a child who felt like i was in a tug of war between all of my cultures and ancestry

in an ideal world, i (a 18 y/o software dev with no professional screenwriting experience) am the director of a tlos movie despite the fact that chris colfer announced the news years ago and nothing has come out of it since, and also the world is not vindictive or cruel to child actors for reasons beyond their control. the twins, in my eyes, are like that one pair of twins from the uk because ofc where alex struggles with finding acceptance with her peers, connor experiences no overt trouble, and he is undeniably white passing (though ofc he's just as much a poc as alex is). it would also be like harry potter/percy jackson/stranger things where it's fresh new talent for these two