#morally grey bug

[new-bug-ideas]

A bug who lies about having a PhD to brag at parties. Nobody believes him because he is 7 bug years old

[midnightcadenza]

nami and sanji have such a hilarious dynamic like she could tell him to tie cinder blocks to his feet and jump in the ocean AND HE'D FUCKING DO IT

[questionsandqueriesdotpng]

Nah I feel like some of y’all are getting this so wrong. I don’t think it’s correct to say that “earth 42 miles was supposed to be spider man” and “our miles is supposed to be prowler” it’s literally they could’ve been either or none at all. The fact that they “swapped places” shows that. We can’t all for sure say that if our miles wasn’t bitten he would’ve been prowler. It’s possible, but we have no way of knowing. But that’s also like the whole point right? Miles is fighting against the idea of a canon event and a predestined path, which aligns with the idea of the potential to be either prowler or spider man or neither. If the first movie was “anyone can wear the mask” then this movie is “what happens when people don’t believe you should” and saying that there’s a strict order everyone and everything has to follow. We got to allow some flexibility, unpredictability, and wiggle room here. It’s all about the butterfly effect people. Anything can happen.

[armysantiny]

Imma just say, changing my MC's eyes to red on a whim months ago was a brilliant decision upon hindsight

[wickedghxst]

okay. finished lost judgement. story was kinda really weak compared to the first one. some really emotional moments but i feel like the fantastic music was probably the biggest cause of that. overall tho kinda misguided & annoyingly very self righteous. entire plot is basically just batman vs punisher -_-

[luxurychristmaspudding]

On Call | Masterlist

frankie morales x f!reader

summary: there are many things frankie morales used to laugh at in romcoms. falling in love with the girl next door, the babysitter, your best friend. and then he met you.

pairing: neighbour!frankie x f!babysitter!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. best buds to lovers, idiots in love, reader is good with kids. a little canon divergent. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. mentions of experiencing biphobia and heartbreak. talk of dead/absent parents. frankie fixin' stuff, competency kink, makin' a man some lunch (in a neighbourly way). mutual pining, f&m masturbation, drinking and smoking. tooth rotting fluff and then eventual devious post-bedtime activity (smut).

reader is a teacher and has hair, but she is otherwise a blank slate :)

an: howdy, y'all. in an effort to write something like a normal length fic, i've split this one shot in three lol. excited for you to meet these guys <3

pt i - arizona

pt ii - on call

pt iii - mi amigo

pt iv - you and i

epilogue - birthday

extras

weightless

super graphic ultra modern girl

the immortals

frankie and bug’s whisky night playlist

frankie grey sweats drabble

read on ao3

[transmascdagothur]

Idk how to say this but I'm kinda tired of uwuifying every single aspect of Elder Scrolls and Dagoth Ur especially. I know the transmasc dagoth ur blog has been pretty funny so far but you know, TES lore by nature is insanely dark and i don't see many people appreciate that over here on tumblr. I want to see more horror. I want to portray Dagoth Ur as a fucked up husk of a sad man, I want him to be an absolutely horrifying monster. There's nothing wrong with taking terrifying characters and turning them into comfort characters because at the end of the day it's just fictional shit like go off monarchs, you want miraak to have a chiseled jawline and sheogorath to have a family, like that's cool and whatever. Tbh I love it when people use their imagination and come up with shit like that.

BUT. Personally I find it insanely cool when people can take a villain as a comfort as well as portraying them as just that: villains. Like can we all agree that if you portray a comfort oc as inherently evil or at least morally grey, IT DOESN'T MAKE YOU A BAD PERSON. You can like Dagoth Ur as the fucked up thing he is in game, you don't have to ignore that he literally wanted to drive out all the other races from morrowind and take over tamriel with a god robot. It doesn't mean you support ideas like that if you like the character. Idk why I need to say that.

It's not just Dagoth Ur, I see it with all the other evil characters too. Miraak, Mannimarco, all the daedric princes, Alduin, the tribunal, like ESPECIALLY the tribunal. I don't wanna hear anyone go like "nooo my babygirl Vivec has done nothing wrong" to me he is a bug eyed little freak and I LOVE HIM BUT HE ALSO BETRAYED AND SPEARED NEREVAR ALIVE. I'm looking at all of you rn. lol

Anyway so if you disagree with this idc, this is just my opinion. I'm just saying, I'm gonna focus on more darker aspects of this franchise from now on, at least with my other nerevarine oc Kazakir. But yall can still ask stuff about Dravas and his super romanticized AU with Dagoth Ur! Remember to hydrate and stretch your legs, rant over.

[pastry0w0rlord]

OK REAL TALK.

Why is Trailblazer so horrible to Sampo?

The only good interaction I remember so far is having the option to take his bribe at the museum event.

OK. Listen. I know. Sampo is extremely shady and has given Trailblazer some trouble here and there in the past.

But Sampo has also saved our ass very majorly which Trailblazer acknowledges in the latest trash event.

Also the ways Sampo wronged or tricked Trailblazer is nowhere near in the same magnitude as say, Firefly or Aventurine etc. (Not a shade, I love them. Also by magnitude I do not mean moral intentions, I mean how life threatening the situation ended up being.)

I am not saying Trailblazer should throw themselves in Sampo's arms and give him a smooch. I get that Trailblazer is cautious around fools but holy shit this guy has helped you overthrow Belobog's government, be a little more filtered at least. My issue is with the options the game gives me. You can choose your attitude towards each stellaron hunter (they have bounties and crimes way worse than Sampo's lil in comparison scam circle) and Aventurine. IDK about Jade or Topaz but I am pretty sure they are there too. I am not clumping Aventurine into this since he is also a victim but the IPC has done leagues worse than anyone we have seen in the game so far. Yet the game gives you the option to be nice.

But no, as soon as Sampo is in front of you, these are your options:

A) Tolerate him.

B) Be awful to him.

C) Be horrible to him.

You do not even get option A sometimes:

Either Sampo is gonna end up doing something horrible for sure and the writing team has no idea how to write

or

Trailblazer needs to get humbled FAST because they are a hypocrite.

I dont know why I can choose my attitude towards every character but Sampo. You can't have your cake and eat it too.

By the way I am not making this post because I am biased, I own a lot of morally grey characters in star rail and only Sampo getting this treatment severely bugs me.

Let me know if there are any other characters that are victims of this. I've only noticed the blue porcupine so far.

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

I admire your patience with those readers who need you to spoon feed them the story. Everything is in the comics but they still manage to go pass it. I can't help but feel a bit sad for them? Do they not understand what they read? Are they not attentive when reading it? I'm legitimately concerned because I function so differently I can't fathom this. If you like a story, isn't it normal to make your best to grasp it's essence and reflect on it? I know I project a lot about this, everyone works and registers things differentely of course but sometimes it's very frustrating to see people consume any media and just completely miss all the important messages in it, or even just fail to get the scenario sometimes, and it feels like it's very common now... Idk I just wanted maybe to have your perspective on this? Sorry for the long post (Been here for a few years now and your a true inspiration to me. All my luv to you! ❤️)

You know, I'm gonna be honest. I used to stress out about this... a LOT.

As a story-brained person, this is definitely something that comes naturally to me, and perhaps to you, and to many other people who are wired similarly. To us, following the path of a story in an analytic, highly detail-motivated manner and unwrapping the themes can be as exciting as lifting up a rock to see the bugs underneath. It's an exciting mental activity that's stimulating and feels effortless.

And yes, as an author who spends literally 60% of my day thinking about this comic and how to draw it, panel it, script it, make it better (I script and panel in my head constantly)........ I have trouble realizing/dealing with the fact that some people are just here to CASUALLY enjoy the story that I am lowkey obsessed with.

But I've come to realize that... that's NORMAL! And healthy.

People have different attention spans for different things.

People have varied ways to read a story and engage with it.

People have unique interests.

People don't have the same amounts of energy to devote to reading!

Maybe someone missed a detail I lovingly and painstakingly put into the dialogue because they're reading the update late at night after a long shift at work. And maybe someone scrolled past the dialogue completely and just got the gist from looking at the art, because they're in a hurry to get to practice at their favorite sportsball.

And maybe someone just had a really bad day with a really bad encounter, and they're reading the update in a terrible mood and instead of seeing MY grey-morality narrative, they're focusing on all the negative points and misread the vibes because of their own biases that stem from places of hurt.

The thing is, I have to be okay with that as an author, because I will NEVER be able to get into my audience's heads and read this comic 'correctly' for my own sake.

They will always have a slightly different interpretation of things, and they will always misunderstand details and miss clues. And sometimes, they will be wrong about the way they read a character's motivations... and sometimes maybe they won't be! That's just a part of communication. That's a part of telling a story.

An imperfect delivery, and an imperfect reception should, in my opinion, be a natural and accepted part of storytelling. We're human, and we all have a different lived experience, and we will ALL have different takes on a comic, even if it's so close that we THINK we are both getting the exact same thing. That small human interpretation variation is a home-made touch that makes it feel more organic.

In short.... Not all light particles make it here from the sun, but damn the result is stunning anyway.

[convoloutedinjoke]

Rating Disco Elysium characters based on how funny I think their kinks have the potential to be

Harry: the DSM of getting off on things. He likes piss he likes feet he likes the idea of being soooo small and tiny you could step on him like a bug, and while none of these things are funny on their own they are when he does them on account of his being a clown. He would also fuck a clown, incidentally. 8/10, knocking two points off because this lacks the element of surprise.

Kim: Leather and uniform fetishist. No wise guy shenanigans here. Will fuck you serious will fuck you professional. His strap is extremely normal, his daddy/boy dynamics are not a laughing matter. 4/10 because he wants to have relations with his car and is embarrassed about it

Jean: No idea what gets him off but he genuinely believes whatever it is means he’s evil and weird, making him the proud owner of The Worlds Funniest Kinks. 9/10, steals mustard from the homeless without remorse but has a moral crisis every time he cums while fantasising about getting gangbanged in a holding cell. Sad!

Trant: not funny. too passionately open about the things hes into. if you tried to make light of his trampling fetish, he would recite the wikipedia entry on cock and ball torture to you from memory and look delighted to be sharing his interests with you the whole time. 3/10

Klaasje: not funny to most on account of being conventionally attractive and good at billing her sexual encounters as suffused with romantic, literary ennui but it SHOULD be funny to be such a Lana Del Rey motherfucker in the sheets so I’m pulling rank and saying 7/10

Joyce: cringefail class dynamics fantasies. Bodice rippers and the opposite of CEO erotica feature heavily here. This wouldn’t be funny if not for the fact she literally owns a yacht. Also wants to get stabbed a little bit. 5/10, probably read the elysium version of lady chatterlys lover as a teen and still jerks off about it.

Garte: a normal man if there ever was one. has kinks but they aren't funny. wears a bra sometimes and it looks cute. 1/10 probably fun to hook up with and a decent communicator

The Deserter: given the 5 decades of loneliness, im willing to bet his brain has rewired itself into having some interesting potentially bug-related reward pathways but whatever he's got going on is too sad to laugh about. 0/10 :(

Sunday Friend: his kinks would be funny on anyone else, but he’s very very very boring. 2/10, you can pay a twink to do raceplay with you, but it wont dispel the grey miasma of being a mid tier government employee

evrart: I don’t know honestly, the lying and manipulating and petty power plays scrambled my brain despite the rube-Goldbergian elements of all his little tasks. Maybe he’d do predicament bondage? Uh. 3/10. Id let him hit, but he also has kind of a Wallace n Grommit thing going on so I can’t say 0

Steban: big on role playing but isn’t very good at it. Starts giggling halfway through when it becomes apparent how silly the fake muttonchops are. 4/10, less funny than it could be because he has a sense of humour about it

Ulixes: probably has a guro thing but also hasn’t had sex since he started focusing on reading theory and feints at the sight of real blood. This should be less funny than pretending to be Kras Mazov in bed, but he takes himself extremely seriously. 6/10 until he starts getting laid again, then still 6/10 but for other reasons

Gary: cuck chair. 10/10. I am not elaborating because I’m tired now, but someone else made a convincing post at one point

[sehtoast]

I’m glad you said something bc the number of people acting like they want Ryan dead is insane 😭 like usually a lot of posts are like “the morally grey characters in the morally grey show are acting kind of bad?! I want them dead” but doing it with Ryan is a whole other level like c’mon

99% of the time I don't engage in fandom drama (unless they walk up in my house, in which case that shit's fair game lol) but it REALLY bugs me when people are shitty about kids.

i don't get how people are missing the point of him being a literal CHILD that's being forced to choose between awful and awful. he's like 12, just lost his mother, found out his whole life had been illusionary all except for his mom's love, got swept up into a war he never asked to be part of, and hot-potatoes back and forth between Homelander and butcher because they're both family but there's no world in which he can truly have his family be whole without alienating the other half.

he's clinging to what he's got left. he's a little kid. he's afraid. if he loses Homelander, he loses his father- he loses his last parent and the person who taught him that he doesn't have to hate himself for his powers. if he loses butcher, he loses that last part of his mother. he loses someone who loved her just as much as he did, who can talk about her and share the beauty of her memory, and there's no world in which that won't tear his little heart out all over again.

grace dropped homelander's shitty deeds on Ryan as if the laundry list of them would somehow make turning on homie a cut and dry decision. Ryan now has to rationalize that the father he knows is the same man who did x y and z. he has to grapple with the idea that he'd be committing to killing another one of his parents if he were to join butcher's side.

he's TWELVE YEARS OLD.

there is no choice that doesn't break his little heart all over again. if I were him, I'd have run out of that room too. i'd have shoved grace too, especially if I thought she was going to lock me in a box and force me to become a weapon- especially if I knew that humans had done all that and worse to my father.

Ryan's not a monster for having a heart. in fact, he's the most human of anyone on that show.

[new-bug-ideas]

Bug who is procrastinating on really important things but it has adhd so it's pretending this is not a problem

[queerstudiesnatural]

i find it so interesting to look at sam and dean's respective views of society and people vs monsters, especially in early seasons, and then how that shifts and evolves throughout the show. like when we first meet them dean is very anti establishment whereas sam is literally studying law at an ivy league college. dean is very vocally anti police, and you're like wow for someone who was raised by an authoritarian father and is trying his hardest to please him this guy sure hates authority. he is aware of and cares about issues like racism and classism. but then when it comes to anyone non human he pretty much has no grey area, he sees them all as monsters to be put down. they are Things and they all killed his mum. whereas sam is pretty neutral about people, he doesn't even seem to be aware of systemic inequalities, he has a more individualistic approach to society. but this means he also sees monsters as individuals, just as capable of being good or redeemed.

This has everything to do with the way they grew up and the challenges they faced that affected them the most. dean's biggest challenge was putting food on the table. dean grew up poor and hungry. he was arrested for stealing, he had to use his body to get by, and he had to starve to try and feed sammy. and sam also grew up poor, but he was somewhat shielded from the reality of it. he wasn't the one who had to get food and pay for the extra week in a motel john left them in. his issues were much more personal. because sam knew he was a freak by all standards, he felt impure, and he knew in his heart that the monsters they hunted weren't too different from him. so his hope was in believing that anyone could be saved. anyone could choose to be good. where dean saw a system, with people in power and people who suffered because of them, sam saw grey individuals, and he was drawn in particular to the ones that had something "wrong" with them (max, madison, the kid from bugs, etc)

dean grew up so isolated that he couldn't be individualistic. he could only look at people from afar and that's why he sees the systems. and the violence he faced wasn't targeted at him personally, it was targeted at people like him. poor people, drifters, queer (or queer-looking) people. sam grew up trying to make connections. he made friends, he wanted an education. he tried so hard to belong.

and it's interesting to me that dean ended up being the one who formed the most personal bonds with people who were different, or ostracised, or monsters. see crowley, benny, charlie, claire.

sam tried to build communities (see his s14 arc) but every time he tried to get close to someone it ended in disaster so he ended up keeping his distance. and building a system. throughout the show he takes on leadership roles, and as time progresses he keeps his relationships more and more goal-oriented. whereas dean ends up forming personal bonds with a lot of people, and focusing less on helping oppressed people in general, and more on saving the individuals he cares about. i'm not saying they switched roles, they both kept their original views of the world, but they shifted towards a more confused and confusing moral compass that pointed somewhere in the middle and made it harder for them to understand each other. and ain't that just what growing up is like. dean cared about the whole world as a teen and young adult, but then that became too much to bear, and he had to focus his energy on his circle of loved ones. still caring about the world, but he had individual connections now and had to prioritise them. and sam still saw the potential for redemption and goodness in everyone, but he grew weary of people too, afraid of them or afraid of losing them, and he built walls. tried to help by giving himself missions rather than getting personally and emotionally involved.

psychologically speaking this show is so rich, the characters don't feel one dimensional (despite some of the writers' best efforts), and following their journey for 15 years means we saw them change and evolve, they don't remain the same people they were in season 1, but they keep some of that, and they just grow organically. sometimes i just love spn

[catgirl-catboy]

Not sure if you're interested, but if I can give my perspective on Kokichi's treatment as a certified actual compulsive liar, you're absolutely correct that the other characters are deeply hypocritical in how his lying is treated in comparison to others and that beyond being kind of annoying and kind of an asshole he really didn't do anything that bad up until chapter 4, but in my experience the way he's treated is very true to life and honestly hits me personally very hard because I relate. When people realize someone lies often even about mostly small and petty shit, it changes how they treat you and everything you say that they don't like is often written off as a lie, you being a known liar becomes the easiest excuse in the world to treat you poorly and gives people a convenient justification for disliking you. Himiko lying about her magic isn't treated the same because it's one thing she lies about (I'd argue for the sake of not breaking the illusion and ruining the wonder) and while they do get annoyed with her about it, mainly in chapter 2 where her refusal to be honest is actively being a hindrance to the investigation, it doesn't change their overall attitude toward her because it's still just the one thing and they kind of know how to work around it. As for Shuichi, I honestly am not sure how many members of the cast even really notice that Shuichi lies as often as he does, and even those who do probably find it easier to excuse because they can recognize that he's doing it to reach the truth, Kaito and Maki in particular find it easier to both excuse and play along with simply because they trust Shuichi's judgment. As far as Kokichi is concerned, they don't trust that he's lying for any good reason because they don't know why he's lying at all, because he does it constantly about both important and meaningless things which makes it easier to just assume that he's at best unreliable and at worst a threat. It is a flaw and it is hypothetical, but it's also eerily similar to how I was treated by my peers as a teen.

Anyway sorry for the rant I just have a lot of feeling and thoughts about Kokichi because he actually was the first time I saw a compulsive/pathological/whatever liar in fiction that wasn't treated by the narrative as just pure evil without any nuance or grey area, or some kind of high school mean girl (looking at you Miraculous Ladybug), and that had a really strong effect on me and allowed me to actually confront and cope with that part of myself.

Oh, I am VERY interested.

May just be the autism, but what lies the Danganronpa characters do and don't seem to care about seems entirely dependent on their pre-existing biases.

Sure, Kokichi lies about enjoying bugs during the meet and greet. But Kaede and Shuichi do the exact same thing in Gonta's intro, and its completely brushed off!

Considering how truth vs lies/fiction is one of v3's main themes, it feels like Kodaka is shooting his message in the foot.

As a whole, one of my major gripes with the franchise is that it has a serious problem with protagonist centered morality, and those problems are named Syo and Kaito.

I would argue that a lot of Kokichi's lies also play into his persona, and that he always has to "perform" in a sense due to his talent, if that makes sense. Himiko's skill as a performer wouldn't be questioned because of who she is offstage, but Kokichi's absolutely would. Then again, there's a lot of skepticism about Kokichi's talent in canon and in the fandom itself, so that could explain it.

People are weird. Danganronpa characters are even weirder.

[silentwalrus1]

Then they start spending 100% of their time thinking about Desperate Spacewives instead of only most of it

Honestly tho this would be such a morale problem. How do you as an officer keep these goddamn ghost shits in line when there is no longer ANY incentives in either reward or punishment to keep them from distracting the fuck out of everyone who still has, like, a job. And a body. That has to acquire food and shit and sleep and so on. Every time there’s a wilhelm scream and yet another goddamn vod pops up in the matrix like “oh shit oh fuck! I’m dead! Wait that just means i can ricochet around Clone Chat bugging all my favorite buds and watch TV and argue about stupid sports stats forever? Yippeeeee!!!” another staff officer sprouts a grey hair

Alternatively, vode are extremely motivated to stay alive, because if you die as a clone, you get stuck in a kind of permanent Dead Babysitters Club teaching every new influx of baby clones Psychic Manners

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Weightless | On Call

summary: your curtains are closed, truck silent on the drive. today of all days, you shouldn't be alone.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. loooots of angst. active grieving for a dead parent. a very soft frankie. vibes are better in the next chapter lmao.

wc: 2.1k

an: my grandad was a man who loved flowers. today marks seven years since we lost him. he was gentle and kind and so talented.

have some forget me nots, which are in my garden and now also in your hands. for @morallyinept's flora and fauna challenge. for anyone you may also miss <3

When the time came Just like you are He was weightless In my arms

- weightless, elbow

series masterlist | main masterlist

Your house is quiet.

Quiet like Frankie has never heard. 

There’s always some kind of noise. A record turning, the hum of your voice. The TV on, windows open to birdsong. But today, there is nothing. 

His legs are heavy. Heart heavy, fingers shaking, wrapped around the bag of groceries he’s brought. He’s taken two steps in through your front door, and now he doesn’t know what to do. 

He watches the dust motes swim in the sun of your hallway. Shifts on his feet to look through into the living room. You must be upstairs, but to call your name in the silence of the morning feels like too much. Invasive. Cruel. 

Instead, he swallows and takes the remaining strides into your kitchen. Breathes in the fresh smell of your plants, the familiarity of your spice rack in the corner, the spread of miscellaneous stuff that he’s rarely seen tidied away. He gently places the bag of groceries on the counter before opening your cupboards for a vase. 

Once he finds one, he fills it with water and trims the stems. Forget-me-nots and white carnations. Something simple. Remembrance and love. Bright and pretty. No lilies. They only remind you of the funeral.

He’s biding his time. Trying to tamp down the nerves swirling in his gut, the somersault of his heart in his chest. He knows from the gaps left in his own life that today will be hard. And he wants to make it easier for you. He just hasn't worked out how.

He knows what works for him. The long hikes, the pull of a bottle. In murkier times, many years ago now, the sharp taste of powdered gums. Knows what works for the boys. The days with drawn curtains, video games played in the gloom. Tequila and memories shared across barbeques. Even his parents - honorary pastel de choclo, flicking through photo albums. But for you, he’s not sure. 

Once he’s happy with the way the flowers are arranged, he takes off his shoes. He leaves his cap on the counter, and pads up the stairs.

It’s still quiet. You’re not in the bathroom. No reason for you to be in any other of the rooms. He holds his breath and raises his knuckles against the wood of your bedroom door.

He knocks, softly - once. Waits for an answer that doesn’t come, but pushes it open anyway.

‘Bug?’ He says gently into the morning sunlight.

You’re swaddled in bed, still in your pyjamas, eyes red and swollen. You sit up slightly with a watery smile as he edges in, managing a crackled hey, Fish.

A sharp lump rises in Frankie’s throat. Something about seeing you upset has always hurt; the same kind of ache he gets in his chest when Lucia or his mum cries. His eyes flick from yours to your bedside table, to the picture of your father settled on top of it. Frozen in time, his smile is wide - just like yours. Greying hair, a little more chin fat than he would have had as a younger man. A younger you tucked into his side, his arm slung over your shoulders. Your arms around his middle, squeezing, laughing. Fuck.

Frankie’s heart shoots out the bottom of his legs and skids across the floor. He looks you over, and your chin wobbles. Too much. Too vulnerable. The smile drops, your face cracks. Your mouth clamps shut with a snap of teeth, and a fresh wave of tears begins to pour down your cheeks.

Frankie feels his own expression crumble, and he’s at your side before he can even think for his feet to take him there. Perched on your mattress, arms around your shoulders to pull you close. Shushing like the gentle in and out of waves, lips pressed to your hot forehead. 

You’re tense, so tense. Breath coming in choked hiccups, shoulders up to your ears. Hands gripping the sheets. There’s another pull in Frankie’s chest.

‘Stop trying not to cry,’ he murmurs, ‘I can feel it.’

You release a ragged breath, a heartbroken cry as you cling to his sleeves. Like you're being ripped apart. Like you're being drowned.

‘I’m sorry,’ you gasp, ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Frankie shifts you further across the bed so he can fit next to you, shaking his head. 

‘Don’t be sorry. Why should you be sorry?’

‘You don’t have to be here,’ you choke, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to stay.’

Frankie closes his eyes. Leaving you here is the furthest thing from his mind, a notion that wouldn’t even cross it.

‘I want to.’ He says.

You nod, curled tight to him. He can feel dampness seeping through his hoodie, and he sits back against the headboard, cradling you to his chest. His heart is beating so fast. You can hear it, the conch of your ear pressed to the cage of his ribs. You try to focus on it, try to think of nothing else. Try not to think of this day four years ago. The weightless feel of your father in your arms in the last minutes of his life. How you held him when he could hold you no longer.

‘What do you need, baby?’ Frankie asks.

The streams of tears, the bow of your brow, serve to split his heart in two.

‘I don’t know.’ You whisper.

So Frankie holds you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Unwittingly, he’s answered the question for you. For the last four years, you have needed to be held like this. Needed to be held together by someone who is not yourself, someone who can shoulder the weight of the grief you have carried alone for years, just for a moment. 

You lose yourself to it. To the warmth, the smell, the comfort. You let the flood come, you let Frankie rock you. You ask him how Luc is, and he understands the need to hear about life outside this room. So he tells you about her arts and crafts, her newfound dislike of mac and cheese, what she wants for her birthday. The daisy chains she's been making, the sweetpeas they're growing in their garden. And it’s wonderful. It reminds you of the good of the world, that it keeps spinning, that there is love out there even when it feels lost to you. 

If there is something out there other than life, you hope your dad is in it. On a deck chair with a beer on the beach, a little basket of fries delivered to him every so often. He’s smiling, laughing. You hope he’s still around, because the idea that he’s not is too big, too great to face. It’s too lonely. Too terrifying to be alone in this world, no anchor, no tether, a family with their backs to you after you’d told them who you loved, too far in the distance to turn back to you with outstretched palms. An ex-fiancée who simply didn’t love you enough.

But he’s here, you feel. Here in this moment, watching from somewhere above. Mixed with the fabric of now like clothes in a washing machine. A spiral of colour and feeling. Pink, purple, blue, green. Love, joy, heartbreak, loss.

Orange. Orange and white is what Frankie can see. The warmth of the sunlight, the pale of your sheets. You’re far away but safe in his arms. He wants you there always. Wants to be wherever you need him.

He thinks of this day in his own life, four years ago. The tiny, warm body of his baby in his arms. Weightless as you are now and yet so heavy, the two of them fighting sleep in a nursery elsewhere in Florida. He can still smell her hair, still hear the way she’d babble, the way she still fit tucked into one arm. He swallows, hard. Holds you tighter still, thumbs rubbing your shoulder, your side. There is so much of his daughter’s life to see. He can’t imagine having it cut short. Can’t imagine knowing it would end soon, counting down the days as his body wasted. The milestones he’d miss, the moments and memories. The stories and people she’d introduce him to. It doesn’t bear thinking about, her out in the wide world without him to guide or protect her. And he knows you’d hate it, but he’s sorry. So sorry that that’s the life you have, that you don’t have him to turn to anymore. And he’s sorry for your dad. For him to have missed who you are now, to miss who you will be. 

He presses another kiss to your head, hoping to convey this. This nebulous thought, this strange feeling.

‘He wrote letters for me,’ you whisper into his neck. So quietly, voice strained to breaking as you force the words out. ‘For birthdays. For jobs. For my first home. For my wedding. For a first child.’ You try to smile, but it’s flattened with a broken breath. ‘He thought of everything. And I read them again today - the ones I’m up to - but it’s like - it’s like his voice -’ you cut yourself off, burying your face in your hands as you try to calm down. ‘Sometimes it’s like I can’t hear him properly anymore.’ 

Frankie strokes the back of your hand, and it drops easily. He holds it in clammy palms.

In the cold days after your dad passed, through numb dissonance you had googled everything to do with grief. The stages, the remedies, the processes. What you forget first.

Voice. There would be a day, before anything else, when you wouldn’t be able to remember how your name sounded spoken by his lips. When you couldn’t remember the texture of I love you spoken in his tongue.

Frankie knows this. He googled it after Colombia, when the weight of every body he’d seen or carried seemed to settle on him. It had comforted him. He didn’t want to remember shouts and screams, couldn’t stomach the memory of Tom’s orders rattling through his brain. But he feels so desperate to take this from you, to retract and hide what you know. So useless in the face of so much hurt, so much loss. Even when he knows the best he can do is sit here in it with you. 

You press your free fingertips into your eyes. 

‘I’m so scared, Frankie,’ you whisper from behind the dark in your head. ‘I’m so scared I might forget him.’

Frankie’s seen the simplicities of grief before. Knows them intimately. Knows the horror of these realisations, understands as he presses his lips to your hairline and you shake in his arms. He loves you too much to lie.

So instead, he tells you a truth.

‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

When the light turns from golden to white, the sun a little higher in the sky, you disentangle yourself to blow your nose. You manage a laugh as you do it, muttering a bashful ew as Frankie watches you, still stretched out on your mattress. Any other time, and your heart would be hammering in your chest at the sight. But now, it’s all the comfort you need. 

He stands, stiff, stretching his arms to the ceiling before gathering you briefly in his arms again. 

‘You okay?’ He asks.

‘Better.’ You say, brushing a curl from his forehead.

His eyes are so warm, so gentle. 

‘Breakfast?’

You hum, offer him the best smile you can. A sludge of guilt slops in your stomach, but you try to swallow it.

‘Thank you. I’ll be down in a bit.’

When he’s downstairs, listening to the sound of your shower, he unpacks his grocery bag and begins making a stack of pancakes. Blueberry, banana, strawberry, chocolate chip. Syrup enough for you to taste through the salt at the back of your throat. Methodical, mechanical, more focused on listening for your movements through the floors of your house. The shutting off of the water, the soft thunk of your drawers. Your footsteps heavy on the stairs, down the hall. You appear in the doorway, hair washed, eyes red, cosy in sweats and a t-shirt. He smiles at you, and you smile back. It’s small, but it’s a start.

You move closer, and he takes you under his arm as he turns the stove off. You wrap your arms around his middle.

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ you say, quietly. Frankie follows your eyes to the bouquet arranged in the vase. Forget-me-nots, white carnations. ‘Thank you for not getting lilies.’

He smiles, kisses your forehead. Wonders whether he could leave a mark simply from doing it so often, so you’d always feel safe.

‘No problem.’

He guides you towards the table, pulls out the chair and makes sure you’re settled. Makes sure you have your coffee, your pancakes. The smell of the flowers is sweet, something blooming in your stomach. You trace the outline of them before you, the simplicity, the thought. Frankie asks what you want to do for the rest of the day. You deflect the question back at him, and he smiles.

‘Anything.’

‘Anything?’

You raise an eyebrow at his mhm.

‘That’s dangerous.’ You say with a wry smile.

Something in Frankie’s chest lifts. There she is.

Later, when Luc is tucked into your side and you’re tucked into Frankie’s, you’ll wonder how you can ever repay him. The kindness he shows you, the patience.

You only hope that you will, someday. Promise it, head leant against his shoulder.

Even if it takes the rest of your life.