#so when things get too much he knows better than to continue

[strwberri-milk]

Oooh could you give reactions of the LaDS guys when MC rescues them?? I can imagine their stunned faces followed by intense worry for MC

Zayne didn't think that disaster would strike the hospital but here he is using his Evol to try and help patients and their families escape. Anybody who had an offensive Evol was part of this shoddily thrown together front lines, desperately trying to buy time until the authorities arrived.

He thinks he's about to be closed in as the roof comes down, doing his best to try and lessen the damage when he sees you come to the rescue. Somehow you manage to push him out of the way, rolling the two of you to safety as you get up to continue your path. He immediately grabs you by the wrist, wordlessly asking if you're okay. You offer him a quick nod before running off to continue, both of you understanding that time is of the essence.

When he finds you again later he's giving you a full physical, wanting to make sure that you're okay despite the accident. He can only rest once you're safe, holding you close.

If you sustained a life threatening injury he's there the entire time. He's making sure that you're okay, monitoring your progress as much as the doctors will allow him to. They don't want him getting in the way, knowing that he's especially emotional because it's you despite never having seen him like this before. He knows he shouldn't be interfering but honestly, he can't help it. He's worried and he's going to blame himself for the rest of his life if you don't get better.

Xavier lost his mind when he lost sight of you, trying his best to fight while also looking for you everywhere. When he finally sees you after you took out a Wanderer he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tightly as he asks you if you're alright. He does his best to appraise your current condition, doing whatever he can to mitigate any pain you feel and trying to convince you to rest before things get worse.

The attack doesn't seem to be letting up at all and you know that the two of you have to split up to continue no matter how much he hates it. He decides fuck the orders and follows you anyway, knowing that he won't be able to focus if you're not there with him.

He hears the Wanderer too late - turning around and drawing his sword half a second later than he should when he hears your guns going off. The Wanderer immediately turns to you, giving him an opening to strike back. It's faster than either of you thought it was, the scream he hears from you shutting him down.

He's glad you saved him but not at the cost of your life and he wastes the creature, knowing his body will suffer the consequences from how powerful his attack was but that doesn't matter if it means it saved you. He immediately takes you to get help, refusing to leave your side until you're actually 100%. He promised himself he'd protect you and he's going to be even more protective of you from now on.

Rafayel didn't think that his studio would be ambushed like this but he was more than capable of handling it - or so he thought. He was close to burning down his whole studio if he needed to in order to escape the assailants, surprised when they suddenly start collapsing without him doing anything.

When you emerge with your weapon drawn he's happy to see you but immediately worries about how you got through the other people they said they brought with them. You were able to take them down thankfully but he's not convinced you're alright, securing his studio with you to ensure that the two of you have nothing else to worry about.

If you sustain a life threatening injury he's immediately calling for help but also takes care of you right then and there. He doesn't want to lose any time to waiting for medical staff to arrive or your fellow hunters - he knows how to take care of you and his fire Evol is thankfully good at cauterising wounds despite how awful he feels about you trying to be brave as he burns your skin. The scars that linger upset him deeply because to him, they represent a time he failed you but in spite of them he doesn't let it drag him down. He knows it'd just make you more upset to know that's how he feels so he just focuses on making sure his skills stay sharp enough to protect you.

Sylus doesn't normally get attacked when he goes out on a job but this was a first. He was a little underprepared, thinking he'd have a quiet evening but the fight wasn't too rough, thankfully. He turns, preparing to leave without realising that there was another figure hidden in the shadows, ready to strike him down when he hears someone fall behind him. You stand over their unconscious body, a little worse for wear but nothing some TLC couldn't solve.

Sylus insists on taking you home, knowing that while you look fine there was always a slight chance that something was being overlooked and he did not want to be negligent in your care. He doesn't like the fact that you got attacked most likely because of your association with him, telling you that you need to be more careful to avoid things like that happening.

When you do get attacked because of your connection with him he has no reservations killing the person who had the audacity to hurt you. He takes you back home, patching you up and making sure you're okay in the comfort of his house. You have round the clock care and you think that Sylus isn't too shaken about your near death experience until you realise his sleep is even lighter one night. He can't sleep properly and probably won't for a while. He'll always be even more alert, constantly having either Mephisto or himself on your trail to ensure that nothing like that happens again.

[julietsf1]

Post-Race Snuggles - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: After an intense Singapore GP, Franco’s idea of the perfect cool down is snuggling up in his girlfriend’s lap; very fluff <3

warnings: possibly incorrect Spanish?

AN - I can't keep lying to myself I think I am not just on here to read anymore lmao, this one is just 1k but I have another longer story coming tomorrow or so! enjoy my lovelies

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The sticky warmth of Singapore’s night air clung to me as I sat in Franco’s motorhome, waiting for him to return. I flicked through some post-race coverage on my phone, knowing how drained he must be after a race like that. The screen showed him smiling during the interviews, but I knew better—Franco’s green eyes gave away just how tired he was.

When the door creaked open, I glanced up and saw him there, looking utterly exhausted, his brown hair messy and damp from the heat. His race suit was unzipped, hanging loosely around his waist. Franco didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. He walked over with heavy steps, wrapped his arms around me, and buried his face into my shoulder.

“Hi there.” I laughed softly, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair. It was fluffier than usual, curling slightly from the sweat and humidity. “Tough day?”

He let out a low groan, not bothering to lift his head. “Si…” His voice was muffled, and I could feel the exhaustion in the way his body leaned into mine. “So tired.”

I smiled softly, running my hand down his back, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his suit. Suddenly, Franco shifted, pulling back just enough to take my hand in his. His eyes, though heavy with fatigue, met mine for a brief moment, and without a word, he gently tugged me down onto the couch beside him.

With a quiet sigh, he laid back, guiding my body to follow his until I was leaning into him. His head found its way into my lap as he settled in. I felt his hand resting on my waist first, a soft, grounding touch, before it slid down to rest comfortably on my thigh. His thumb moved lazily, tracing small circles, as if he needed to hold onto me even in his tired state.

“You want me to make you something? Mate, or a snack?” I asked quietly, brushing my fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin.

He shook his head slowly. “No, just this. Esto es todo lo que necesito.” His voice was soft, the Spanish slipping out naturally as his eyes fluttered closed. His arms loosened slightly around my legs, his thumb brushing lazily against my thigh, the lightest touch, as if even that small movement required too much effort.

I chuckled, running my hand through his hair again, smoothing it down where it stuck up in odd places. “You did amazing today. P11! I’m so proud of you.”

A faint smile curved his lips. His breathing started to slow, the tension melting away as I continued stroking his hair. This was my favorite version of Franco—the quiet, soft one who didn’t need to be witty or flirty. Just the one who wanted to be close.

Franco’s weight settled fully against me, his eyes were shut now, his messy curls resting in my lap. His thumb continued its slow, lazy patterns on my leg, the sweet small gesture sending warmth through me. His skin was warm from the heat of the race, his hair slightly damp, and I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he looked, even when he was this tired. His lashes were long, his green eyes hidden behind them, and his lips, parted slightly as he breathed, were soft, with the faintest smile still playing there.

“You looked so good out there today,” I whispered, knowing he probably couldn’t hear me in his tired state. “Fast, confident… and you know, kind of cute with all that sweaty hair.”

He let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “Most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

I grinned. “Don’t get used to it. I’m only nice to you when you’re too tired to remember.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but he didn’t respond, his breathing evening out even more. The motorhome was dimly lit, casting soft shadows, making everything feel even cozier. The sounds outside—people moving around the paddock, the distant hum of engines cooling down—faded away. It was just us, tangled up in the warmth of each other’s presence.

As I stroked his hair, I could feel him relax completely. His body was fully at ease, and I knew he was almost asleep. He looked so peaceful, his usual spark of energy tucked away for the night. I smiled down at him, my heart full. These moments, after the chaos of race days, were our little slice of quiet, where it felt like the world didn’t exist outside this motorhome.

Franco shifted slightly, nuzzling deeper into my lap. I thought he was fully asleep until his voice broke the silence, soft and raspy.

“Te amo,” he murmured, his eyes barely open, heavy with exhaustion.

My heart skipped a beat. He’d said it before, but hearing it now, with his defenses down, made it feel different. I glanced down, expecting to see him fully asleep, but instead, those green eyes peeked up at me through his lashes, tired but full of something deeper.

I felt a rush of warmth fill my chest. “I love you too,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead again, my fingers gently running through his hair.

His eyes fluttered shut at the kiss, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Más que a nada en el mundo…” he mumbled, his voice trailing off into sleep, the weight of his words lingering between us like a quiet promise.

I stayed like that, holding him close as he drifted off completely, my hand still in his hair, thinking about how easy it was to love him—especially in moments like this.

[alwaysmicado]

Callisto I

10.2k | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 9

Series Masterlist | Joel Masterlist | previous | AO3

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, emotional hurt/comfort, weed, mention of domestic violence, toxic dynamic, graphic vomiting, emotional rollercoaster, fluff Summary: Your car ride home from the beach is...eventful. Joel does something special for you to express his feelings. A/N: This part was going to be much too long, so I split it in two. It was important for me to post part I of Callisto before my birthday, and I’m so excited that I finally get to share it with you. Happy reading & please let me know your thoughts if you’re up for it. Thank you for your continued support, guys! ♡ Dividers by @/cafekitsune. Songs: Backburner by NIKI & My Exes by Snake City

“Why do you keep coming back?”

You bring the joint to your lips, your fingers brushing lightly against his as he passes it over. You take a deep drag, letting the familiar burn of the weed settle into your lungs before you exhale, slowly, the smoke curling into the night air. It’s a slow haze, softening your anger, making it easier to breathe even if only for a little while. 

The pressure in your chest doesn’t lift—it never does, not really—but the weed at least dulls the edges.

For now, anyway.

The streetlight casts long shadows on the chipped concrete, bathing you both in a murky orange hue. You sit side by side on the curb, the shared joint passing lazily between you, the quiet of the night only disturbed by a dog barking further down the road.

Simon leans back, his shoulders slumped, the hood of his jacket pulled up, obscuring most of his face. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, tracing the outline of his jaw, the way his lips curl around the joint. You hate how he still looks good to you, even after his latest stunt. 

“Why do you keep coming back?” he asks again, his voice low and gravelly, as if he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it. “If all we do is hurt each other?”

You shrug, looking up at the stars, or what little of them you can see through the haze of city smog. You know the answer, but it feels too pathetic to admit out loud. The truth? It’s not that simple. It never has been.

“Maybe because the pain is addicting,” you whisper, your voice barely cutting through the stillness. “It’s like…a twisted dance, and we can’t stop stepping on each other’s toes.”

Simon smirks, and you catch the briefest glimpse of that crooked smile that makes your heart race. “You always were poetic,” he mutters, his tone tinged with both affection and scorn. He passes you the joint again, and this time, when your fingers brush, it sends a jolt through you—familiar, electric, dangerous.

You take a drag, letting the smoke cloud your thoughts, dull the ache. “I mean it, Simon,” you say, the words coming out slower now, heavy from both the high and the weight of them. “We know how to hurt each other in all the right ways. It’s almost like…we’re better at hurting than loving.”

He chuckles, but it’s empty, hollow. “Maybe we were never supposed to love in the first place,” he says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe all we’re good at is fucking things up.”

There’s no denying the truth in his words. You’ve been here before, countless times, caught in this cycle of destruction, breaking each other apart piece by piece, only to come back together, craving the chaos more than the calm. Simon would get restless after a while, he’d cheat and lie, you’d find out, you’d scream, cry, threaten to leave, and then—somehow—you’d end up in his arms again.

It was exhausting, suffocating, but it was also magnetic. You didn’t know how to leave. And neither did he.

You sigh, flicking the ashes of the joint onto the ground, your hand trembling slightly. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it?” you say, more to yourself than to him. “The way I can’t seem to let you go, even though I know you’re bad for me.”

He tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he studies your face for a moment. “Have you ever considered that you’d be a lot happier if you just admitted to yourself that you like it?”

He reaches for the joint, his fingers brushing yours for longer this time, deliberate. “You can keep telling yourself I’m the bad guy all you want, babe,” he says, his voice low, “but we both know you ain’t innocent in this either. You like it. The fighting, the drama, the sex. You like what we have.”

Your stomach tightens at his words, because there’s a part of you that knows he’s right. 

You’ve said things, done things, you’re not proud of. Screamed in his face, hurled insults meant to wound, thrown plates that shattered like the fragile remains of your relationship. And then, when the storm passed, you’d pull him into bed, your anger melting into a desperate kind of need. It was all you knew—this toxic spiral that twisted love and pain together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Maybe,” you admit softly, feeling the weight of your own guilt settle on your shoulders. “Maybe I do.”

Simon turns to you then, his gaze locking with yours, and for a moment, you can see the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he never lets anyone else see. “So, what are we doing here?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “We’re just gonna keep doing this? Over and over?”

You swallow hard, the question hanging between you like a knife. You know the answer, even if you don’t want to admit it. You’re stuck in this loop, and neither of you knows how to break free.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Simon leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and for a second, your heart races with that familiar, dangerous anticipation. “We don’t have to stop,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “We can keep this going; keep fucking up, keep hurting, keep loving. It’s what we do.”

You let out a small, tired laugh, and shake your head. “Yeah, Simon, great plan,” you say, your tone light, almost condescending, though there’s no real bite behind it. “Let’s just keep breaking each other into pieces. That’s gonna end well.”

You don’t even have the energy to fight properly. It’s all too much, and you’re too tired. Tired of the fights, the back-and-forth, the constant cycling through pain and passion like it’s the only way you know how to exist together.

He watches you closely, his gaze unwavering, as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking, waiting for you to snap at him, to tell him off. But you don’t. You can’t. You feel the exhaustion settle in your bones, making it impossible to muster up any anger.

Why is it so difficult?

What the hell is wrong with you that it’s so difficult for him to love you? To not hurt you? You wonder if it’s something about you, something broken deep inside, something that makes you impossible to love. 

You’ve tried, haven’t you? You’ve bent yourself to fit the version of you he seems to want, the version that’s easier, less complicated, less demanding. But no matter how much you bend, no matter how much you give, it’s never enough.

What is it about you that’s so unlovable?

“I’m sorry, you know,” Simon murmurs, taking a long drag from the joint.

You blink, your head feeling light, detached, like you’re floating just above the surface of yourself. The words come slower now, softer, like you have to pull them from some faraway place.

“For what?”

You hear yourself ask the question, but it feels distant, like it’s not really you speaking. The world around you is muffled, like you’re wrapped in cotton, the sounds, the lights, all muted. Simon’s face swims in your vision, and for a moment, you focus on the way his lips curve as he exhales, the smoke curling lazily from his mouth. You watch it drift up, swirling in the air between you, and it’s almost beautiful, the way it moves, weightless and free.

Simon glances at you, his eyes half-lidded, bloodshot, but there’s something in his gaze—something that makes you feel a tug of recognition, though your mind is too foggy to grasp what it is. He takes another drag, slower this time, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft.

“You know what.” He hands you back the joint and you take it, and you inhale deeply, the burn in your lungs calming your nerves.

“Then why’d you do it?” 

He hadn’t even tried to hide it this time. You heard the story from someone else first, a smug, offhand comment meant as a joke. Simon, with his arm slung over your shoulder, laughing along like it was nothing, like you weren’t standing right there, feeling the ground crumble beneath your feet.

“I was drunk as fuck ‘cause they kept bringing shots after shots after shots, and she took advantage of that like you wouldn’t believe. That’s what those girls do, and shit, I wasn’t the only one they got like that—Ben, Jake, Alex, Teddy too, I think.”

All of them in relationships, one to be married in two weeks, one with a baby on the way. 

Disgusting.

“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Simon furrows his brow, turning to you, confusion flashing across his face. “What do you mean?”

You shake your head, unable to look at him directly, your gaze fixed on the joint between your fingers. “Going through life, knowing nothing is ever your fault,” you murmur. There’s no anger in your tone, just a tired sort of resignation, like you’re saying something you’ve known all along.

“What are you talking about?” he scoffs. “Nothing’s ever been easy for me. I fucked up royally, yeah, I get that, but it wasn’t my fucking fault. I didn’t even wanna go to the damn club, but Alex wouldn’t stop begging, so I gave in.”

“You see?” you say, your voice quiet, but firm. “You’re fine as long as Alex was the one who made you cheat. It’s all good ‘cause the stripper took advantage of you, right?” You can hear the bitterness in your own voice.

“You don’t need to change or grow, ‘cause, what’s the point, your parents fucked you up anyway. It’s your boss’s fault your coworkers complain about you, it’s the cops’ fault that you got a DUI, and it’s my fault that you resent me.”

You watch Simon’s face as the words sink in, the flicker of defensiveness in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens.

“And I know that deep down you really do believe all that.” You pause, staring at him through the thick fog clouding your mind, your body sinking deeper into the concrete. “So, I guess my question is…why even bother with me anymore?”

“Baby…”

“No, I’m serious,” you say, cutting him off, but there’s no fire in your voice, just a dull weariness that matches the slow pulse of your heartbeat. “Why? Why keep me around when you could be happy, doing what you wanna do, without me holding you back?”

Simon sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “I wouldn’t be happy without you.”

“But I’m not enough for you,” you whisper, tears inadvertently filling your eyes. “I’ve never been enough. Despite trying everything in my power. I’m not enough for you.”

Simon doesn’t answer right away. He takes the joint from your hand, inhaling deeply, staring at some distant point in the darkened parking lot. The quiet stretches, thick and uncomfortable, and for a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all. But then he finally sighs, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to buy himself more time.

“What do you want me to say?” he mutters. “You know I’m not always good with words or expressing feelings and all that shit…but you’re wrong. You’re everything to me.”

He hands you the joint and you shake your head, a mirthless laugh bubbling to the surface. “Yeah, that’s why you fucked a stripper and had unprotected sex with me right after. Do you hear yourself?”

He exhales exasperatedly as he leans back, palms pressed against the cool concrete. “It’s not– it didn’t mean anything,” he says, his voice defensive. “It’s not like I’m looking for someone better than you.”

“Then why?” you press, your voice shaking now. “If I’m so important to you, why do you keep lying and sneaking around? What’s the point?”

He sighs again, louder this time, like he’s tired of this conversation before it’s even really begun. “I don’t know, okay? I get restless sometimes. I’m not…thinking when I do it.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a small, almost absent-minded gesture that makes your heart clench. “It’s not like I’m trying to hurt you. I’m really not, baby. And It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

His hand tightens around yours, grounding you in the moment, and for a second, you almost feel comforted.

Almost.

But then, like a flash, the memory hits you—sharp, vivid, paralyzing.

The pain shoots through your wrist all over again, that awful, sickening crunch echoing in your ears. You’re back in the ER, the blinding white lights overhead making your eyes burn, your head pounding as you sit there, staring at the sterile walls. You’d made up some story, but the nurse looked right through you, her eyes filled with pity.

You remember how you sat there, waiting, your body aching but your mind empty, not even able to cry a single tear. Just numb. Completely detached from yourself, like you were watching it all from the outside.

You remember the young doctor, the one who stitched you up. His voice was light, conversational, doing his best to distract you from the deep gash in your wrist. He told you about how his daughter had just started kindergarten that day. How proud and terrified he and his wife were, how they’d taken a hundred pictures of her in her little backpack. How she was such a happy, bright girl, full of curiosity and excitement.

You could barely listen, but you remember the way his voice softened when he said, “I just hope she always knows how loved she is.”

That was the part that stuck with you.

The way his voice cracked just slightly when he said it, like he was imagining all the ways the world could break her. How someone could end up hurting her like someone hurt you. And as you sat there, the needle pulling your skin back together, all you could think about was how far away that feeling was—how you had no idea what it felt like to be that loved, that safe.

You swallow hard, looking down at your intertwined hands. “You’ve said that before, you know. When you drove me home from the hospital.” Your voice is soft, almost too quiet, but the accusation is there.

Simon stiffens. His grip loosens slightly, and you can see the flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it’s the kind of guilt that runs shallow, just skimming the surface. His jaw clenches, and he pulls his hand away.

“I thought you were over that,” he mutters. 

You stare at him for a moment, then let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah, sure,” you say with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You hold out your hand to him, the small scar visible on your wrist, faded but undeniable. “Totally over it. Look, it’s almost like it never happened.”

Simon’s face falters as he hesitates, then takes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over the scar as though trying to erase it with that simple touch.

“I wasn’t right that night,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on your hand before you pull away. “You know I’m not…I wasn’t right.”

You chuckle and take the joint from him. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s silent beside you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you again but doesn’t know how. You can feel his eyes on you, heavy with unspoken words, but you don’t look at him. Instead, you take a slow drag from the joint, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

“I’m not doing that anymore,” Simon says quietly.

You don’t respond. You don’t even look at him. You smoke in silence, absentmindedly rubbing over a faded bruise on your leg.

“The past few months were nice, weren’t they?” Simon’s voice cuts through the silence, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. “I mean, we were fine, right? You were happy?”

You nod, exhaling slowly as the smoke leaves your lips. “I was happy, yeah.”

“Then let’s go back to that. I don’t wanna fall asleep without you in my arms again.” He moves closer, his hand reaching for your chin, gripping it gently, so you’ll look at him. His eyes are wide, pleading, the same look he always gives you when he’s trying to pull you back in. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Which time?

“Hey, I mean it.” He turns your head back, his grip tighter now. “I’m trying to be better for you, I really am. Just…tell me what you want me to do to make it right and I’ll do it. Anything.” 

“You know, I never wanted you to become a better person for me, Simon,” you say softly, removing his hand from your chin, and letting it fall to his side. “I wanted you to look in the mirror, and realize that you’re a fucking asshole, and change for yourself. I wanted you to realize you’re turning into the very man you always told me you’d rather die than become.”

He stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head as the mask he so carefully wears is slipping. “You love doing this, don’t you?” he mutters. “Pushing, prodding, trying to make me feel like shit.”

You curl your arms around your legs, pulling them close to your chest, your voice calm. “If the shoe fits…”

“Oh, really?” he scoffs, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re so much fucking better than me, don’t you? Well, let me tell you this, princess. You’re not as fucking perfect as you think you are, and if you think other people can’t see that, you’re hallucinating.”

“I don’t think I’m perfect, Simon. I wouldn’t be here if I did.” Your voice is softer than you intend, like the weed is suppressing your strength to yell. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“Then why the fuck are you here if you hate me so much?”

“‘Cause I’m an idiot.” You bring the joint to your lips and inhale deeply. “I’m an idiot who can’t let go. ‘Cause I still think you could be better if you just tried. If you stopped listening to your friends, if you stopped drinking, if you stopped blaming me for every shitty thing that’s happened to you in the last five years.”

He’s shaking his head before you even finish. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And your solution is to just up and leave without telling me where you are? Very mature.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t talk to you, Simon. Every time I try, it’s like I’m talking to a wall.”

“You could talk to me if you actually wanted to,” he snaps back. “But it fits your narrative better when you can storm out, make your big scene, and go enjoy your little power trip. That’s what you do, right? It’s easier than actually being a grown-up and talking things out with me.”

“You’re delusional,” you mutter, brow furrowed.

“I’m delusional?” Simon’s laugh is hollow, his eyes flashing. “Yeah, right. I think you’re the one who’s lost it.”

You feel the words leaving his mouth before he even says them, the familiar sting of what’s next, and it’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. “Like you’re any better than me. Look who the fuck’s talking. Her mother’s daughter.”

There it is. The blow he always lands when he’s desperate to hit you where it hurts.

It’s his ace, the easiest way to throw you off-balance, to bring you down to the level where you feel vulnerable and he can control the conversation again.

You feel an old pain rising to the surface, but instead of letting it show, you smile. It’s not a real smile, but a small, knowing curve of your lips, the kind that hides everything you refuse to let him see. You’re not taking the bait this time.

“She had to go to the hospital again,” you murmur, your eyes on the joint as you bring it to your lips for one last drag. Then, you stub it out on the curb, watching the ember fade. “Thanks for asking.”

Simon’s face falls, the sharp edge of his anger crumbling away. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“Oh, you know,” you cut him off with a casual shrug. “It is what it is.”

“Why didn’t you–”

“‘Cause you were balls deep in a goddamn stripper, Simon,” you interrupt, your voice cold and flat. “I can’t rely on you.”

His face twists in frustration, but his eyes soften, and if you weren’t as high as you are, you’d see the little lines of guilt written all over his face. He reaches out to touch your shoulder, his hand hovering for a second before he gently rests it there.

“Baby, you know you can rely on me,” he says softly. “We have our problems, sure, but I always have your back.”

You roll your eyes, but he presses on, his voice earnest. “Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not true.”

Your eyes meet his. You know exactly what he’s referring to.

That one thing he holds onto as proof, as his trump card, the one time he truly came through for you when it mattered most. The time you thought you’d lose everything. If it’s not your histrionic mother he uses against you, it’s this.

“You can’t hold that over my head for the rest of my life,” you say, your voice steady but sharp. “You don’t get to help me when I need you most and then throw it in my face every time things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

His hand falls from your shoulder. He knows you’re right, but he doesn’t want to admit it. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m agitated. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

He shifts uncomfortably beside you, his fingers twitching in his lap as he glances away. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, hesitant. “Is she gonna be alright?”

You nod, but there’s no relief in it. “Mhm.” 

There’s a long pause, heavy and suffocating, like an unseen barrier between you two. The night air is crisp, and your bare legs peeking out beneath your skirt are starting to get cold. Simon breaks the silence first.

“Baby, look at me. Please.” 

You blink slowly, your eyes struggling to focus as everything around you starts to blur. The edges of Simon’s face seem to dissolve into the night, his features soft and indistinct, almost like he’s not really there. But you find him again, his eyes, his nose, his lips, his disheveled hair. He looks…lost. It’s rare to see him this vulnerable, this unsure.

How beautiful.

“Can we go home?”

You don’t hear him, not really. All you hear is the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoing in your ears. It’s distant but persistent, a steady pulse that reminds you of things you’d rather forget. Then, a disembodied voice, calmly announcing that, “This could have been prevented. This is your fault.”

The words float through your mind, circling, wrapping tighter and tighter around you.

“Baby?”

You try to focus on Simon’s face again, but it’s hard to think, hard to find the words. Everything feels slow, muffled, like you’re moving underwater.

“I have to go,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, like the words are slipping away from you even as you say them.

He tenses up immediately, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean, ‘go’?”

“It means I’m tired, Simon. It means I can’t do this anymore.”

The silence that follows is deafening, like the world has suddenly come to a standstill, waiting for the inevitable fallout. You can practically feel Simon’s frustration pulsing off him.

But as you tilt your head, your gaze wandering over his face, the familiar lines of anger are there, yes. But beneath that, hidden in the set of his shoulders, in the way his hands rest uncertainly in his lap, you can sense something different. Fear. Real fear that this time, you might actually mean it. That this time, you might actually leave.

He doesn’t say anything as you stand up, your legs trembling beneath you, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. The world spins around you, dizzying, your vision blurred, and you stumble. Instinctively, Simon reaches out, steadying you with his hand.

But you shove him away immediately, your skin burning where his fingers brushed yours. You can’t let him touch you right now. If he touches you, you know you’ll crumble. You know you’ll fall back into his orbit like you always do.

And you may just be unable to afford that anymore.

But then, like a shadow moving through the haze of your high, Simon is suddenly in front of you—close, too close. His presence is disorienting, his words pouring over you before you can even process the distance he’s just closed.

“You don’t mean it,” he says, low and sure, like a statement of fact, as if he’s already decided this for you. His eyes lock onto yours, and it feels like you’re sinking into them, the pull of him as strong as ever, like gravity. He knows how to make you feel small, like your words hold no weight next to his certainty.

“I love you,” he whispers, and the tenderness in his voice makes you shiver, even though your mind screams for you to stay strong. His words wrap around you, weaving through the cracks in your resolve. His face is so close now, his breath warm against your skin, and you can’t tell if it’s the weed or the way he’s looking at you, but everything feels…slower. Softer. Like you’re slipping into a warm, dangerous comfort.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you? Yeah, I messed up, I know I did. But don’t let this ruin us. We’re too good together for that.” His voice is so gentle, hypnotic…irresistible.

“Simon…”

He steps even closer, the space between you disappearing as his hands find yours. His touch is warm, grounding, and despite the cold night air biting at your skin, his presence feels like shelter. He squeezes your hands softly, and your heart stumbles over itself.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he whispers, pleading. “Don’t walk away from us. We’re not perfect, but we belong together. You’re my family, baby. You’re all I have in this godforsaken world. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I matter…like I deserve love.”

It’s incredible, really, how easily he can break you down, how he can strip away all your defenses with just a few words. He knows exactly which buttons to push, how to weave his need for you into something that feels like love, something that feels like safety—even though you should know better.

He sees it, too. He sees the way your resolve falters, the way your eyes flicker with that familiar softness, and a satisfied smile curls on his lips. He knows he’s got you. He always knows when he’s won.

“C’mere,” he says gently, his hands sliding up your arms, pulling you toward him, and despite every instinct telling you to run, you let him. You let him hold you, let him wrap his arms around you like a protective shield against the world.

Your body sinks into his, your cheek resting against his chest, and you can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Each beat is a rhythm you’ve known for years, one that’s soothed you through your darkest moments, even as it’s caused some of them. His scent wraps around you, familiar and intoxicating, like the remnants of a home you’re desperate to return to. You let yourself drown in the warmth of him, in his steady presence that has helped you through so much. His hand strokes the back of your head, his touch soft, soothing.

It’s messed up how right it feels.

How comforting it is to be here in his arms, even when your heart is breaking inside.

“I love you,” Simon whispers again, his breath warm against your temple. “I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so fucking sorry. But you’re all I have, babe. I need you.”

You close your eyes, biting back the sob that threatens to escape. His words seep into your skin, and you want so desperately to believe him. 

You love him. God, do you love him. Even when it hurts. Even when it breaks you. And right now, with his arms around you, you miss him so deeply it feels like a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t want to be without him. He’s the only thing that’s ever felt like family to you. The only person who knows all your scars, all your flaws, and still pulls you close.

“I need you too,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s the truth, as ugly as it is.

Simon holds you tighter, his arms enveloping you, and for now, you let yourself sink into the comfort of it. Into the warmth of his embrace, into the way his hand rubs slow circles on your back like he’s trying to erase all the hurt, all the broken pieces between you.

You let him tell you he loves you, let him soothe you with his words, let him promise you the world, even though deep down, you know you’ll both end up in the same place again.

And before you know it, you’re slipping into the passenger seat, the door closing behind you with a soft, final click.

“You okay, darlin’?”

Joel’s voice pulls you back, the deep rumble of his question cutting through the fog of memories clouding your mind.

You blink, taking in the familiar interior of his car, the hum of the road beneath the tires, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminating his profile. The past feels too close, too heavy, pressing on your chest like you’re still stuck in it. But Joel is here, real and solid next to you, grounding you in the present.

“Yeah,” you answer quietly, your voice a little rougher than you mean for it to be. “Just tired.”

You see him glance over at you, concern evident in his eyes, but he doesn’t push. Not this time. He’s trying his hardest not to pry, not when he knows you need space. He just nods and keeps his eyes on the road, his hand resting on the gearshift, close but not touching.

“We’re almost there,” he says after a beat, his voice gentle, steady—so different from the frantic beat of your heart.

You nod, staring out the window at the darkened streets passing by. It’s quiet this late at night, and the drive back to your place feels longer than it should. The weight of the past few days lingers like a shadow, gnawing at the edges of your mind, making it hard to breathe. 

You can still see Laura’s hand on her bump, the way her sad eyes looked at you like you were in the wrong. You can feel Simon’s arms around you, the way he pulled you in even when you should’ve pushed him away. The way you couldn’t help but let him.

But you’re not that person anymore. This is different. Joel’s different.

Your stomach churns, a wave of nausea rising so suddenly it feels like the world tilts. You grip your bandaged hand tighter, shift in your seat, trying to breathe through it, but the sensation intensifies. You can taste the bitterness of the meds in your mouth, the stress squeezing your chest like a vice as cold sweat starts spreading on your skin. The movement of the car only makes it worse, and you know what’s coming.

“Joel…” you manage, your voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Huh?” His head snaps toward you, eyes widening with concern as he sees how uncomfortable you are. “Shit. Hang on.”

Without hesitation, he tightens his grip on the steering wheel and scans the street for a place to pull over. It’s late, but the road is still lined with parked cars, neon signs glowing from nearby buildings. Finally, he spots a small gap along the curb. He turns on his blinker and slows down, smoothly guiding you toward the side of the street.

You fumble desperately with the seatbelt, your fingers trembling and uncoordinated as nausea hits you like a wave. Before you can manage it yourself, Joel leans over, his hands quick but gentle as he clicks the seat belt free. “Here,” he murmurs, and the moment the belt retracts, you’re already reaching for the door handle.

The second the door is open, you lurch out onto the sidewalk, the city air thick with petrichor from the short downpour that made you leave the beach earlier. The nausea hits hard, and you bend over, retching violently onto the pavement. It’s mostly bile, bitter and burning in your throat, and each wave of sickness feels like it’s tearing through your body. You grip the door for support, your hands shaking, your body trembling from the sheer force of it.

You hate this. The vulnerability, the pain, the utter helplessness of it all.

Joel moves quietly, reaching into the glove compartment for tissues. He doesn’t crowd you, just watches carefully, his expression tight with worry. He’s there, but giving you the space you need. After grabbing the tissues, he steps out of the car, making his way around to the back. You can hear him rummaging in the trunk, though your focus remains on trying not to accidentally cough up your lungs. 

“Goddamnit,” you choke out, your voice strained as another wave of nausea forces the last of the bile from your body. It burns, raw and painful, your whole frame trembling as you lean over. Joel is next to you, hovering, trying to be there, but keeping his distance. 

“I hate this,” you whine dramatically, your head pounding as you try catching your breath. 

Once you feel like the worst is over and your stomach is settling, you straighten up and look at Joel through watery eyes. He’s smiling at you sympathetically, taking a step closer to wipe your mouth and chin with a couple of tissues.

You’re about to tell him not to touch you, but the concentrated look on his face and the deft but gentle motion of his fingers put you in a trance. He’s cleaned your mouth and wiped away your tears before you could even say anything.  

“Do you remember how hot I looked in that short red dress?” you murmur, furrowing your brow at the unexpected pain coming from your sore throat. 

“Yeah, how could I not?” Joel chuckles as he opens and hands you the water bottle he had waiting for you in his back pocket.

“Good,” you nod before swishing a mouthful of water, and spitting it out onto the concrete away from you. You take another sip, letting it cool your throat before you cap the bottle and look into Joel’s eyes. “I want you to think of that really hard and forget everything you just saw, okay?”

He just smiles at you, touching your shoulder with his warm hand. “Sweetheart, you’re vastly underestimating my attraction to you. You think a little puke’s gonna deter me? If you weren’t in pain, I’d kiss you no problem.” The way his eyebrow automatically twitches makes you roll your eyes. But it also warms your heart. 

“You’re disgusting,” you say, trying your hardest not to smile. 

“Says the girl who wiped snot off my face and kissed me while I was sweaty and gross after rolling around in bed with a fever. Guess we’re both disgusting, then.” 

“Hm,” is all you manage to get out, a tiny smirk on your face, but it falters just as quickly as you suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up again. 

“No, no, no, please, no,” you murmur, terrified, clutching the open car door for dear life. Your body tenses up, desperate to avoid another wave of sickness. You can’t do this again.

“I’m right here,” Joel whispers softly, his hand coming to rest on your back. He begins rubbing slow, soothing circles, his touch gentle and steady. There's a hint of helplessness in his voice, as if he wishes he could do more, but knows this is all he can offer right now. “It’s okay, just breathe.”

You focus on his hand, the warmth of it cutting through the cold sweat covering your skin. The nausea grips you, but Joel’s steady touch draws you back, grounding you. Your breath steadies, and when the sickness passes, you focus on the warmth of his hand, his touch comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

You’re usually not one for people being around, let alone touching you, when you’re vulnerable like this. The only time you’d allow anyone to get this close is during sex. But that’s different. Especially with Joel.

No one else gets to do the things he does with you. Not that you’ve ever admitted that to him.

He’s seen you at your most unguarded—tied up with your ankles behind your ears, covered in sweat, drooling, crying, bruised from his hands, begging for release, and confessing all the depraved things you’d let him do to you if he’d just finally let you come. He’s seen you laid bare, stripped down to nothing but raw desire and submission. And in those moments, there’s nothing but trust and desire between you two.

It’s freeing. Being able to let go of your body and mind so completely.

But this?

The idea of Joel witnessing you vomiting bile on the side of a dingy city street while your hand is bandaged, your face contorted, and your body shaking like you’ve been dragged through hell…

Not good. Especially after what happened.

You don’t know how to navigate this new territory with him, and the last thing you want is for him to see you weak like this. Not when you’re already feeling fragile.

You’re embarrassed, your cheeks burning from the humiliation of it all. You know this moment will haunt you on sleepless nights when your mind drags up every cringe-worthy memory. But right now, there’s an unexpected comfort in knowing he’s here.

“I think it’s over,” you say quietly, almost afraid to voice it, half-expecting your body to betray you again just because you dared to say it out loud. But it doesn’t. The nausea ebbs away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. It’s over.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “Just take your time. Don’t rush it.”

You inhale deeply, drawing in the cool night air. The city smells faintly of petrichor and there’s a soft hum from the distant traffic, cars rolling by on the nearby streets. It all feels surreal, like the world is far away from the small bubble you and Joel are in.

The steady circles he traces on your back continue, grounding you further. You let your eyes close for a moment, soaking in the calm of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, not looking at him.

He shakes his head, his brow furrowed in worry. “You got nothing to be sorry for. Do you think you’re okay to go on now?”

You nod and swallow hard, the sting in your throat making you wince. You manage a weak, half-hearted smile, though the world still feels off-kilter. “Yeah, I think so. But if I start dry-heaving again, just do us both a favor and push me out of the moving car, okay?”

He smirks, his lips curling in that familiar, teasing way. “As if I could ever deny you something,” he says softly, his humor not quite hiding the concern in his eyes. “Let’s get you home, darlin’.”

He pauses, like he wants to say more, his mouth opening slightly as if searching for the right words, but he holds back. Instead, he just watches you carefully as you make your way back into the passenger seat, waiting until you’re settled before gently closing the door behind you.

You lean your head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a heavy blanket as you continue your way home.

The words are there, inside you, loud, persistent, trying to break free; but you can’t. Where would you even start? What’s the point in revealing more of yourself? What good could come from it?

Nothing. That’s what.

Nothing.

You watch the city lights blur outside the window, your thoughts darker than the night. Your life feels like it’s crumbling, piece by piece, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold on. And once again, you know—deep down—it’s your own doing. It always is. No matter how many times you try to make things right, it always ends up the same way.

When Joel finally parks in front of your apartment building, the car idles quietly, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts. You can feel him looking at you, trying to find the right words. You don’t move, your mind still preoccupied with your own self-doubt.

“We’re here,” Joel says, a soft smile on his lips. He’s trying, you can tell, but you’re too far gone, too lost in your own spiral. When you don’t respond, his smile falters, but he presses on, determined to lift the weight between you.

“I was thinking…” he begins, his voice light. “I could cook for you tomorrow if you’re up for it? I remember I owe you a nice dinner, and no, it’s not just frozen pizza this time. It’s a frozen pizza with a side salad.”

He grins, hoping to coax a smile out of you, some kind of response. But you don’t laugh. You don’t even crack a smile.

Joel clears his throat and shifts slightly in his seat, his fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel. He’s trying to pull you out of whatever hole you’ve fallen into, but you can’t meet him halfway. You don’t have the strength.

He looks at you, his heart sinking as he takes in your sad, distant eyes. It’s like you’re not really here, like you’ve drifted somewhere far away, unreachable. How he wishes he could climb inside your mind and pull out whatever it is that’s weighing so heavily on you, take the burden for himself.

“Darlin’?” he repeats softly.

You blink, refocusing, but the smile you give him doesn’t reach your eyes. “Hm?”

“Can I cook for you tomorrow? You could come over to mine after work, or I can come here. Whatever you prefer.” There’s a hopeful smile on his face, a softness in his gaze, and the way he looks at you, almost like a puppy waiting for a treat, makes your stomach twist painfully.

You remember the dinner with Tommy and Maria, cursing yourself silently for agreeing to go. It’s not that you don’t love them—you do—but the thought of sitting through that dinner, of having that conversation with Tommy, feels like a nightmare.

“I can’t tomorrow.”

Joel’s smile falters the slightest bit, but he remains undeterred. “How about Saturday? I’ll plan something nice for us. Something I know you’ll love.”

Oh no.

You want to say it so badly it physically hurts.

You’ve been better, haven’t you? Over the past year or so. You’ve tried—really tried—to keep your cool, to express your feelings in a healthy way, or at least something close to it. You’ve worked hard to stop falling into that old mentality where uncomfortable emotions make you feel cornered and you end up lashing out. You’ve made progress. 

You’re not the same person you used to be. He’s not Simon. You don’t act like this anymore. You’ve outgrown this. Don’t do it. Don’t say–

“You’re free on a Saturday?” 

Joel blinks, the confusion clear on his face. “Yeah, like always when I’m not working,” he says, unsure where this is coming from.

“Oh,” you murmur. “Would’ve thought you already had plans with your, uh…with Jan.”

How subtle.

“I’m not planning on seeing her again,” Joel says simply.

You glance at him. “You should probably tell her that. Didn’t really seem like she knew when she was fondling you under the table.”

Joel exhales deeply and shifts slightly, turning his body toward you, trying to make sure you hear him. “I did tell her, and she does know,” he says firmly. His gaze softens as he looks at you, his voice gentler now. “Sweetheart…I’m not gonna pursue anything with her. And I wouldn’t have agreed to the date if I’d known it would hurt you.”

You shake your head, not wanting to let the conversation go where it’s headed, your thumb rubbing over your wrist brace. “Can we please not talk about this right now?” you murmur, your voice tight, barely holding it together. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. Thank you for driving me home, I’ll see you– “

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Joel interrupts, his voice firm. “We had a good time, but that’s it.”

You blink, furrowing your brow and tilting your head slightly as his words begin to sink in. He watches you, waiting for your response, but when it doesn’t come, he shifts again, trying to close the distance.

“Hey,” Joel says softly, reaching for your left hand, his fingers gently wrapping around yours. He rubs your skin with his thumb, more to soothe himself than you. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

He searches your face, waiting for a reaction, any reaction. But you just sit there, unmoved, your expression frozen in place. There’s no relief, no anger, no hint of anything. Just…nothing.

The silence stretches, and Joel’s heart sinks. He doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Maybe he thought you’d smile, maybe he even hoped you’d fall into his arms, that this would be the moment things would start to feel okay again. But you’re distant, your face unreadable.

His eyes scan yours, searching desperately for something to hold on to, and what he finds hits him like a punch to the gut.

“You don’t believe me.”

You meet his eyes for just a second longer, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips before you nervously look away and whisper, “Look, I’m, uh– I’m extremely tired right now and this close to crying, so I’m gonna go upstairs and call it a night, okay?”

But Joel doesn’t let go of your hand. His grip tightens, just a little, his voice strained. “You really don’t believe me. You think I’m lying to you.”

“I don’t– Can we please do this another time?”

“I’d love to, but I feel like it’s important that we–” 

“Joel.”

“–get this sorted out, so you don’t–”

“Joel, please.”

“–keep on thinking I’m a liar. I didn’t know you thought that ab–”

“Jesus Christ,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration, “don’t you hear what I’m saying?” Without waiting for a response, you push open the car door and step out, the cool air hitting your skin. “I can’t fucking do this right now.”

The door slams shut behind you with a hard thud, cutting through the quiet of the parking lot.

Joel watches you for a moment, taken aback, then quickly follows, stepping out of the car. His eyes are full of concern, his brow furrowed as he watches you pace, but his voice is calm, steady, trying to reach you.

“Darlin’, I do hear you,” he says, taking a cautious step closer. “And I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it right now, I just…”

You spin around, exasperated. “You just what?”

“I just wanna know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Why in the world wouldn’t I be?”

He opens his mouth, trying to form a response, but before he can say anything, you cut him off, the words spilling out like a dam breaking.

“But it doesn’t even matter, okay? It doesn’t matter if I’m fine or not. I don’t have time to think about it.” Your voice cracks slightly, your throat constricting as you try to keep control. “Because now I gotta get to bed, so I can go to the office early tomorrow, ‘cause afterwards I’ll be sitting at a table with Tommy, who probably fucking hates me now. Do you have any idea how much that fucking sucks?”

Your voice lowers, the vulnerability creeping in despite your efforts to hold it back. “What if he…doesn’t want me in his life anymore?”

Joel shakes his head, vehemently. “Darlin’, that’s nonsense. He’s not mad at you. If anything, he’s mad at me. And I’m sorry for not asking you first, but you gotta understand that I was worried about you and thought this was the best solution.”

“Oh sure, yeah,” you scoff, bitterness lacing your words. “You know so much fucking better than I do. That’s it, right? Yeah, of course. Don’t you get how fucking weird this all is? It’s exactly what I was afraid of. You all talking about me behind my back, pitying me, judging me, and figuring out that you’re better off without me. That I’m not who you thought I was. That I’m not able to give you what you want.”

Joel hears the panic in your voice like he did yesterday, the way it’s rising, how your words are becoming more frantic. He gets the sense you’re not hearing him anymore, not really. You’re caught up in your own head, lost in the whirlwind of your fears. His mind flashes back to Tommy’s words. He can see it now, the way your frustration, your hurt is morphing into something darker, more overwhelming.

God, how he wishes he could just pull you into his arms right now. Hold you, protect you from the weight of everything that’s crushing you. But he knows, deep down, that he’s part of that weight. 

No matter how good his intentions might have been. 

“That’s not what happened at all,” Joel says, his voice calm, measured, even though his heart is racing. “We didn’t talk about you like that. I just needed Tommy to help me figure out where you might be, and I’m so glad he did. It was nice…sitting with you, holding your hand…”

You shake your head. “Good night, Joel.”

“Look, I– I know you’re going through something right now that makes you think I’m insincere,” he blurts out, “but I need you to know that I’m really just trying to help you.”

Your body stiffens, his words hitting a nerve. “I don’t need you to help me,” you snap. “I don’t wanna be your little damsel in distress, that’s not who I am.”

Joel flinches at the bite in your words, but he doesn’t back down. “I know that. And that’s not how I see you. I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.” He pauses, his eyes searching yours, desperate for you to understand.

“But allowing help from the people who love us isn’t about being weak or incapable. You may not see it right now, but I’m on your side. And if anyone’s weak it’s me, ‘cause I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this.”

You sigh deeply and murmur, “I’m gonna go now,” your voice flat as you turn toward your apartment.

Joel steps forward cautiously, not wanting to push too hard, but he can’t just let you walk away without saying more. “I get it, it’s all too much. But please, just…don’t shut me out, okay? Call me if you need anything. Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night. I’ll be here.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his promise, but you’re too drained to respond. All you can do is nod.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice full of regret. “I wish I could take some of this off you, make it easier somehow. But I’m not leaving, alright? Not now, not ever. ”

You nod again, your throat too tight to speak, and turn away, walking toward your apartment. Joel watches you go with his hands falling uselessly to his sides, his heart heavy, knowing there’s so much left unsaid, but hoping—praying—you’ll let him know when you’re ready.

Wow, well done.

Sitting on your sofa, you stare blankly at the black TV as the silence of your apartment settles around you, your mind already starting its cruel commentary.

That’s for sure going to make him think you’re a mentally stable person. No, seriously, why wouldn’t he want to be with you?

The thought twists inside you like a knife, but you can’t help it. The voice in your head is relentless, mocking your every move, dissecting your behavior from earlier.

You think you’re slick, don’t you? Pushing him away so you don’t have to face your feelings. Aren’t we way past that?

You sigh deeply as if that would quiet the storm inside you, but it doesn’t. Your self-reproach lingers, heavy and biting.

Still, you drag yourself to the kitchen, forcing yourself to eat a few bites of the leftover pasta sitting in your fridge. It’s tasteless, going down like sandpaper, but you know you need something in your stomach before you can take the painkillers. Your body aches, every muscle tensing under the weight of the unresolved strain still coiled within you.

You wash the food and the pills down with iced tea, grateful for the cold sweetness, because water turns your stomach right now. The pasta, the tea, they’re just fuel—a necessary evil before you can move on and hopefully find some peace in your sleep.

After you’ve eaten, you strip off your clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water rush over you. You stand there for a while, eyes closed, trying to wash away everything. Joel’s concerned face, the hurt, the frustration, the embarrassment of how you acted. You let the water pound against your skin, hoping it’ll somehow cleanse more than just the sweat and grime from the day.

When you finally step out, you feel a little more like yourself, a little more human. Still shaky, but better. 

By the time you crawl into bed, exhaustion drags you down like an anchor. You pull the blankets tight around you, hoping to find some comfort even though the dread of the day ahead lingers. Your phone is already in your hand, and you pull up Netflix, choosing something mindless to drown out the sound of your own thoughts. The chatter of the show hums in the background, but your mind barely registers it.

Your eyes grow heavier with each passing minute, and the warmth of your bed starts to pull you toward sleep. Everything starts to blur as the fatigue takes over.

But then, just as you’re about to drift off, your propped up phone vibrates loudly against the bedside lamp. The screen lights up, a small notification appearing at the top.

Joel Miller.

Your heart skips a beat, a strange mix of relief and anxiety rising in your chest. You blink away the sleep and swipe the notification open.

It’s a voice message, and the length—four minutes—makes your heart sink. You’re not sure you can handle whatever it is he has to say right now. It feels too heavy, too soon.

Your finger hovers over the play button, your mind running wild with possibilities.

What if something happened to him? What if he’s telling you he doesn’t want to see you anymore? What if you scared him off for good? Why else would the message be so long?

Before you can spiral further, another notification pops up.

Joel: Sleep well, baby 😘 

You blink, staring at his message, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. He’s being sweet. Maybe this isn’t what you’re bracing for.

You take a deep breath, your heart still beating a little too fast, and press play.

At first, there’s a small pause, like he’s gathering his thoughts. Then you hear his voice coming through the speaker, soft and gentle, the familiar rasp of it cutting through the quiet of your bedroom.

“Hi darlin’. It’s me, Joel…Miller…obviously.” 

Your smile widens. He’s such a dork.

“I know it’s late…and you’re probably already in bed. But I, uh…I wanted to say something. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I didn’t want you to go to sleep without hearing this.”

He sounds like he always does, calm, collected, but he’s being careful with his words. You shift under the covers, feeling more awake now, your body attuned to every note in his voice.

“I know you’ve been going through a lot on your own, and I don’t wanna make it worse by pushing or prying where I shouldn’t. But I just want you to know…I’m here. I’m here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to handle it alone, okay?”

There’s a small pause, and you hear him exhale, like he’s letting go of something he’s been holding in for too long.

“I don’t know if I always say the right things, and God knows I’ve messed up plenty…but you mean a lot to me. More than I can put into words right now. And I, uh, don’t expect you to have all the answers. Hell, I don’t even know if I do. But I wanna be there with you, figure it out together…if you’ll let me.”

Another deep breath.

“You’re never not on my mind, sweetheart, and I just…wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I felt it the first time I saw you, you know? You stood there, the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. And then you looked into my eyes. You looked into my eyes and that was it for me.”

Joel’s voice softens even more, almost like he’s afraid you’ll drift off before he’s finished. “I was thinking about Saturday, too. I got something in mind that I think’ll be good for both of us. Nothing big, just…I think you’ll like it.”

There’s a brief silence on the line as if he’s gathering himself, and then you hear it—the faint strum of a guitar. Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s playing for you.

His voice, low and gentle, hums the opening notes of a country tune you’ve never heard before. The sound drifts over you, warm and comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket of soft clouds and something that feels like home.

You close your eyes, letting the music take you, and as Joel begins to sing, his voice carries a depth of emotion that reaches deep inside you. The lyrics flow, full of a quiet tenderness, and you sink into the sound, letting it wash away your troubles:

“I’m just a lonesome traveler, Drifting down this road, But darlin’, when I’m near you, I know I’m not alone.”

You just listen, your heart swelling with the softness of it, with the fact that Joel is doing this for you. Never in a million years did you see this coming. 

The song continues, the melody sweet and simple, his voice lulling you further into a sense of calm. It feels like everything else fades away—the weight of your past, the uncertainty of the future—and all that’s left is this moment, this gentle connection between you and him.

As he reaches the end of the song, his voice drops to an almost-whisper:

“But darlin’, when I hold you, I know I’ve found my home.”

The final note lingers in the air of your bedroom, and for a moment, you just lie there, your heart full, your body completely relaxed. You can barely keep your eyes open now, the edges of sleep tugging at you.

Still, you gather all of your remaining energy to text him back. You need to.

You: I’ll bring snacks on Saturday

You: Ever thought about switching careers btw? Cowboy boots, a hat and you’d make a fortune. Groupies, fame, rich old ladies letting you run wild with their credit cards…

You’ve barely pressed send when Joel responds. 

Joel: Groupies, huh?

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. Another buzz.

Joel: Nah, sweetheart. My music comes from the heart. It’s only for the people I love. Not for anyone else.

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[ethereal-blossom]

Deep dive on Victor and his possible past + curse

This man is as attractive as he is mysterious and the curiosity is killing me, so I just need to let out some thoughts.

** I'm going to be referencing some translations and posts so I'll link them and their OP's (I'm too afraid to tag hehe but they deserve all the love and appreciation🩷)

Be aware of JP and EN spoilers

First, what are some things we know and are safe to assume when it comes to Victor? He's the co-founder of Crown and the Queen's Aide. I think it's safe to assume Victor is the oldest in Crown; Harrison calls him an old goat, he acts like a mom, and I believe in the Valentine event the dynamic between Harry and Victor was labeled child-parent. Through this detailed post that @/kurishiri made we can guess that Victor is 30/32+ years, which I have to subjectively note is very hot. William was 14 when he was invited to the castle where he met Victor, meaning that Victor has been associated with the castle for at least 14 years. Was he already the Queen's Aide back then? High-likely, yes.

But how long exactly has Victor been the Queen's Aide? And how did he become one in the first place? One thing that stands out to me is this dialogue in Victor's Wicked Little Secret event:

For context, Victor is sharing why he started doing magic tricks. He explains it's traced back to the queen and how she does them as a reminder of how difficult but precious it is to get someone to smile.

Of course, it can be that Victor simply didn't go with the queen to the slums that day or that she told him about it, but I like to think about the possibility he didn't know the queen at this point but knew about it anyways because he was a kid in the slums. It might explain why he doesn't necessarily pay attention to status and why he treats people such as the villagers and Kate as his equals despite being the most powerful man in the country. Does he stay humble due to perhaps having experienced the lack of power, money, and status to a severe degree? And is the Victorian slums the reason why he suffered enough pain for a lifetime?

@/Reccyls translated an event in which the suitors are meant to win over Kate's heart by having her give the suitor a heart-shaped necklace. Jude, Roger, and Alfons are being very proactive while Elbert, William, and Victor are drinking tea. The nobles team points out there's no rush because it's the end of the day that matters. Victor agrees but then suggests they're also probably laid back because they are rich. It might be nothing but if you ask me, that's pretty self-aware and honest for a rich person. Not every rich person will realize having money does influence you, and not everybody loves to point out the frowned upon behavior that comes along with money, especially when it applies to yourself. So, it's a very small thing to say and I might be reading too much into it, but I think the people who know the affect of money better than anyone are the people who weren't born first class.

Victor continues to point out what makes William and Elbert rich, but right when he wants to talk about himself he cuts himself off (🖕/affectionately) . It confuses me because sir, you are the Queen's Aide. Why is it a mystery that you're rich? Elbert asks if Victor comes from nobility but we never get a yes or no answer to that. So is there still a chance he might have been born in a rich family? Yeah, but I'm not a strong believer of it. Victor is known to cook and sew, and I don't remember where or when but I believe he said somewhere that if he can do it himself he won't let the maids do it. Does that sound like the skills and the mindset of a man born in nobility during the Victorian age? Not to me, so here comes my next thought: what if queen Victoria has taken young Victor under her wing?

I don't know how it would necessarily end up like this, though. But I was thinking: it didn't go unnoticed by us that Victor and Victoria's names are scarily similar to each other (it's like yeah whatever we're a bit like Sherlock ourselves yknow💅). What if his name was quite literally inspired by the Queen's name in the story itself? Maybe Victor chose it or Victoria gave it to him.

Because @/shatcey recently made a post pointing out that William said "the man who calls himself Victor." I heavily agree with her that the phrasing is suspicious, mostly because of Victor as a character.

If he is from the slums then perhaps he's an orphan who doesn't know his actual name, or maybe he took up another name? If Victor is not his actual name, it might explain why we don't have a last name in the first place. Also, @/otomefiend translated the Black Wedding event when it came out in JP. While the official English translation uses "business smile" to describe Victor wearing a smile to bury his dark comment, I like her translation saying "Victor, the Queen's Aide' expression" much better. I genuinely could go into depth about this but I sadly digress. It makes me think back on the summary reccyls did for the first christmas event wherein Victor was wondering if he should give a "Victor-like" response.

Naturally, it can also mean he just has different persona's connected to his masks as this is a reoccurring theme and topic in his content. Victor said in the Between Villains' epilogue (translated by otomefiend) that he wants to be seen as the gentle Queen's Aide by Kate, so after showing a bit of his darker side it's natural he goes back to his gentle side that still implies distance to ease Kate. However, that doesn't make any of his masks a lie or someone he is not. Important disclaimer to put out there because this doesn't have to be proof that Victor isn't who he says he is. The phrasing just reminded me of this.

So, it wouldn't be a deep dive if I didn't talk about the theory that Victor might be the queen. Harrison has pointed out twice that Victor lies a lot. I think it'd be so funny if Harry is going to be like "stay away from Kate you old goat >:(" in Victor's route and then William is going to be the complete opposite like "listen to your desires and get a room already :)"

I think we might have seen the queen once, but it's canon that people have cosplayed her so who says it doesn't happen all the time? Victor only has to say the Queen's safety is in danger and then someone will fill in. I think it's safe to assume Cybird is making us doubt whether the queen is alive on purpose and what does that say about the mystery? You don't create mystery when there's nothing to reveal.

In Wrapped in Wicked Romance, something broke from the Queen's tea set only for Victor to reveal that, surprise, it's his own set! During the first anniversary epilogue (talked about by shatcey here) Kate gets told the queen is waiting for her in Victor's office and surprise, it's Victor! Or how in Between Two Villains it's mentioned how Victoria doesn't seem human because of the dedication she has as queen but then the doubt of humanity is a theme in Victor's events as well. Or how in Harrison's route Jude is reading the morning's newspaper and it mentions a criminal situation and surprise, Victor shows up from behind and says the queen ordered a mission related to it... almost like he overheard the news and decided on the spot it had to be dealt with.

To be honest, I don't know what to think when it comes to the queen. If she's actually dead, I think she might have died from an illness and then the veil + private persona might have been crafted to make it easier to look like she's alive (a bit like this one thing in Ikemen Prince). Why she should give the impression of being alive? I don't know, there's a high chance I am reaching. Maybe the queen is very healthy and happily living her introverted life.

Going back to another translation by reccyls, here Victor ends on the note that even if he has feelings for Kate he can't offer anything as "I belong to her majesty/ Victor belongs to Victoria." Ignore that you can call me the wicked witch of the west with how green of envy I turned, but this stood out to me a lot.

I think it shows an incredible amount of dedication and loyalty, and I read it in two ways. If Victor was saved by Victoria, it might be that he feels like he owes her himself, or perhaps a deal/promise was made? But, in a way, I also read it as Victor belonging to England. His loyalty towards queen Victoria is loyalty towards the safety and well-being of England, a land he's passionate about keeping safe.

The relationship between Victor and Victoria is lowkey fascinating to me because if she's still alive, they have been together for so many years. Victor always talks so positively about her so even though we barely interacted with her, I became to really like and admire ikevil!Victoria. Victor is also the only one who we know speaks with the queen directly. For the tea set mentioned earlier, Victor said he replaced them with his own because he is known to break them when he and the queen are drinking tea. Victor braids the queen's hair and helps her with fashion. William even said in this event translated by @/judesmoonbeauty that the queen knows everything about Victor.

We've almost reached the end but the last thing I want to talk about is Victor's birthday event translated by @/archiveikemen. Victor murders a bunch of criminals with what I assume is his curse or something in that direction. He commands them to succumb to his wickedness and the people essentially kill themselves with a peaceful expression. William makes a comment about it, saying these men look as if almost possessed by a God. Victor thinks to himself it's like saying "Her Majesty The Queen" was no God, and then he says humans can never be God. To be honest, I'm slightly confused because I feel like this can mean different things. When Will makes his comment he's speaking about the peaceful faces, so I don't think he's talking about how the criminals were unhealthily worshipping the queen but I assume he's talking about Victor's ability.

One of the reasons why I think it's a curse is because of this post Shatcey made. One of the screenshots translates to Victor saying he doesn't want Kate to end up lying at his feet with a happy face. It sounds an awful lot like what happened to the criminals in the event. Victor worrying about Kate's fate like that makes me believe it might has something to do with the fate of his possible curse. Think about it: Kate essentially gets dragged in every cursed fate of the suitors and if Victor is another cursed individual, it's high-likely his curse is related to death.

There must be something special going on, though. Is Victor's curse like any other but kept a mystery because something about Victor's identity should stay a mystery? Or is there actually something special about his curse or whatever ability he has? Because his birthday event convinced me he's not an ordinary human. However, something special must be going on for this to be a mystery.

Funny story but for a while I thought that if Victor is cursed it might be Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Sometimes you can see Easter eggs of the suitor's curses back in the outfit designs so when I looked at Victor's outfit, I saw he has scrubs on his jacket (reminding me of fish) and something that looks like knots/ropes (reminding me of sailboats), plus the deep blue and black aesthetic still reminds me of the dark sea. There is also a part in the christmas event where Victor thinks to himself he has sacrificed his human soul to death in order to get what he has now, and who has a song about doing business with poor unfortunate souls?

In this flashback translated by reccyls, I think we are witnessing the moment he's sacrificing his soul. He has a choice that'll impact him as a person greatly and I feel like it's safe to assume he's close to dying, so it'd make sense if this part of his life triggered a curse related to death. Also, his flashback says "the path of becoming the dust of history" which is another reason why I think Victor might have come from the slums, or at least not nobility. It sounds like Victor himself thought he had left no footprint on the world, which actually aligns with his character if you read the translation of Will saying Victoria knows Victor better than anyone till the end.

But I got sidetracked a lot. I think the comment Victor made about the queen in his birthday event is another micro-hint. I sometimes feel like I'm reaching like a clown trying to figure out if Victor isn't keeping up the idea the queen is still alive. It almost feels like having a gaslighting lover; am I picking up clues or am I picking up clowns makeup? Wouldn't it actually be a possibility for Harry to help Kate unreveal the mystery that is Victor? Because while they're not the most interactive dynamic, I feel like Harrison will at least have a little role in Victor's route. As I mentioned before, Harrison pointed out twice that Victor lies a lot: one time in his own route and the second time in the Christmas event. He goes a step further in the latter one, saying that if Kate takes the first step towards Victor's darkness, he'll open her eyes to the truth. Plus, Harrison already had his "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth" moment in his route so I think it makes sense for the Sherlock lover who is a walking lie detector to play a role in the most mysterious suitor who is a walking liar's route.

The actual last thing I want to talk about (guess I'm a liar like Victor) I notice that in events wherein Victor and Kate are together, they declare their love in an interesting way. Since death seems to be a huge part of Victor that possibly is connected to a curse, the two put focus on loving each other even after death. I'm curious if this is part of Victor's possible fate or if this is just a romantic way of thinking that fits Victor's theme. Either way, I think it's perfect to end on this note.

So, I think this is mostly what I wanted to get out. Thank you for having read all the way through and please share any theories you have! And spread love for the people mentioned in this post because I'm eternally grateful for everything they translate and post🩷

[janeyseymour]

Without a Shadow of a Doubt

This has been sitting in my WIPs for literal months- and here it is. I hope you enjoy her.

Summary: Melissa helps you raise a child, and on more than one occasion, you have serious doubts that you're a good mother.

WC: ~5.1k

When you moved into your new apartment complex with your three month old baby girl, perhaps the last thing you expected was to meet someone who would fill a hole in your heart that your ex-husband left when he up and abandoned you and the new baby that he claimed would be the love of his life. 

Of course, that statement came with a caveat; he wanted a son. So when the doctor gleefully announced that you had given birth to a daughter, he fumed and stormed his way out of the hospital. And when you came home the next day, once your mother picked you up and took you back to your quaint little apartment in, anything that belonged to you was in a box. He told you to get out, and the divorce papers would come through a few weeks later.

Your mother had been gracious enough to let you and your little girl stay with her for some time, but you need your freedom and space. So, not only did you have an ongoing divorce- you also had a three month old baby that depended on you for everything, and on top of that, you were dealing with moving into a new apartment. So, maybe the last thing you expected was to meet someone who would fill a hole in your heart, but the absolute last thing that you expected was to fall in love with a woman. But it would end up happening. 

Your mother has been a huge help in this whole ordeal- helping to bring the various boxes into the new little one bedroom apartment that now had your name on the lease, holding and rocking your little girl while you did as much as you could, fed you and the baby when you were too exhausted and would fall asleep sitting in the rocking chair that she had helped assemble, and above all else, she has been your rock. She’s been the one person who shows you unwavering love and support in terms of your impending divorce. Almost everyone else in your life attempted to show sympathy, but it oftentimes came off as judgmental or downright pity.

But now, your mother is sitting in the Philadelphia airport waiting for her flight back to Indiana to take off, and you’re in the new apartment all alone. All alone, aside from the baby. She’s strapped to your chest as you attempt to make dinner for yourself, but something in her little body is not having any parts of this. She wails- ear-piercing shrieks that make you want to burst into tears too. You quickly get her out of the sling and attempt to hold her and soothe her all while continuing to stir the pot of soup you have on the burner. This was so much easier when you had both hands free.

But your little love just continues to cry, her face bright red, and the tears are running down her pudgy little cheeks as she clenches her little fists and beats your chest repeatedly.

Giving up, you turn off the stove and turn your attention fully to the baby.

“Sweet Ellie girl,” you sigh. You stroke her cheek gently with the tip of your finger. “What is it?” You know she isn’t hungry- she ate half an hour ago. She burped afterward. Her diaper is dry. What on Earth could this sweet little thing want? You suppose that she just wants to be held and loved. You can do that- you can do that far better than your soon-to-be ex-husband could ever. With a little exhale, you open the pantry and grab yourself a granola bar to eat before settling into the rocking recliner that you have in the living room thanks to your father. You eat around Ellie as you mindlessly hum a few lullabies before switching into a few of the softer songs you know. You were somewhat hoping that she would be lulled to sleep with your soothing voice and sweet melodies, but your efforts are fruitless. That sweet little love of yours continues to stare up at you with wide eyes as she clutches your pinky in her own hand.

You sit there for what feels like forever, humming songs ranging from Adele to Bob Dylan to Join Mitchell and everything in between. That is, until you hear a knock on your door.

That in itself is odd. You don’t know anybody here, at least not yet. And it couldn’t be your mother. You know she had boarded her plane an hour ago and is in the air- she had texted you that much. She then followed that text up with a reminder to take care of yourself and that she was always just a phone call away if you needed her for anything. Your heart almost flies into your throat at the thought of it being Michael, your ex. Why would he show up here after serving you with divorce papers and telling you that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the ‘little worm’ you brought into the world?

“Let’s go see who’s at the door,” you whisper to the little one in your arms. You continue to mindlessly hum a tune, one that you’ve always adored- ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by the Beatles- as you make your way over to the door. Looking through the peephole, you see a redhead with a box in her arms. Her green eyes nearly stare into your soul as she tries to decipher if you’re going to answer or not.

Out of curiosity, you open the door. “Hello, can I help you?”

The woman, whose green eyes have already been imprinted into your memory, just gives you half a shrug as she looks down at the baby in your arms.

“Uh, I didn’t think I left any boxes in the moving truck?” you question with a nervous chuckle.

The woman almost snorts out a laugh before she remembers why she’s here. “No. I uh, I’m your next door neighbor. I saw that you had a baby, and I work at a school, and I-“ she hums absentmindedly. “Some of my coworkers were getting rid of their baby items, so I came to offer them to you- if you want them.”

“Oh!” your eyebrows creep up your forehead. “That’s- that’s really kind of you.”

“Do you want the stuff or not?” the redhead asks.

“Please,” you smile softly. “Thank you.”

“Where you want it?” she asks a she looks around your place.

“If you just want to put it on the kitchen table, I can handle it once I get Ellie in her crib for the night.”

The woman, whose name you still don’t know, enters your apartment, sets the box down, and looks around.

“Did you not eat?”

You look up at her, lifting your gaze from your baby. “I did.” Your eyes dart to the wrapper from your granola bar, and you’re just a bit embarrassed that you hadn’t thrown it out. But how were you to know that she would drop by?

“All you had was a granola bar?” she asks as her own eyes follow your gaze. You nod sheepishly. Her eyes go to the pot on the stove, and before you can stop her, she looks inside. It’s just chicken stock, onion, and celery- that was as far as you got with making dinner before Ellie started wailing and effectively put your meal on hold. “Sit down,” are the next words out of her mouth. “Hold your little girl, and I’m making you dinner.”

“What?” your mouth opens and closes a few times. “I- You don’t have to do that. I don’t know you, you don’t know me.”

“Melissa,” is all the woman says as she opens up your refrigerator and grabs the chicken breast that you were meant to put into the soup. “Now sit and relax.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, so you settle in a chair.

“Th-thank you,” you say quietly after a few moments of awkward silence.

She waves a hand in dismissal. “So, what’s your story?”

You mull over in your head just how much of your past you should reveal to this woman, a stranger- but also your next door neighbor who is cooking you dinner. You end up detailing that your husband left you days after you had your little girl, just dipping slightly into the fact that he left you due to the fact that you had a daughter and not a son. “Her name is Elizabeth, but I’ve kind of landed on the nickname ‘Ellie’,” you tell her softly.

“And your name?” she prompts.

You give her your name as she stirs the dinner she’s making. And it smells heavenly.

“Well, Y/N,” Melissa says your name in such a way that you’ve never loved your name more. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be better off without him. He sounds like a jackass.” And then she sets the bowl down in front of you and holds her arms out expectantly.

“Oh,” you whisper. “I uh, I can hold her while I eat. You don’t have to. You’ve already done enough.”

“Just let me hold her.” Green eyes are rolled before practically daring you to protest. ��You’ve been holding her for the last hour, at least. Your arms have to be tired.”

You bite your lip before hesitantly handing your sweet pride and joy over to the woman who stormed her way into your life not an hour ago, expecting Ellie to fuss- the only people she let hold her were you and her mother. She’s not even particularly fond of your father holding her, much to his disappointment. And somehow, Melissa knows just how to keep your little girl calm and quiet while you eat one of the most delicious bowls of soup you’ve ever had. She even has your little girl giggling before managing to get Ellie to fall asleep. You see the way that she’s a natural with your daughter, watching over both her and you with soft eyes that you weren’t quite expecting.

And since that day, Melissa has been a near constant in your apartment. Whether it’s to make a meal, to hold Ellie while you simply rest and reset, or to keep you company, she’s almost always there. Her presence is always warm and inviting, which is something that you’ve come to learn isn’t necessarily the norm for the woman that lives next to you.

You’ve discovered that she usually likes to keep to herself and her personal life is under wraps to almost everybody she knows. You’ve also discovered that you are the exception. Melissa Schemmenti, a woman who is usually very reserved and has described herself as ‘an aloof bitch at times’, is beyond soft for you. She’s even softer when it comes to your little girl, who you swear is growing up before your eyes.

About three months pass of you living in this new apartment with your next door neighbor almost always keeping you company before you finally give into the fact that you have a small thing for your neighbor. It takes another month before you ask her what her game is.

“What do you mean?” Melissa rolls her eyes at your question.

You hum softly as the two of you prepare a meal while Ellie is down for her nap. “You’ve told me yourself that you’re tough, aloof- and yet you’re always so gentle and kind to my daughter and me.”

She laughs, like fully laughs. “I thought my intentions were pretty clear.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I started by helping out a neighbor, but I may or may not have fallen for her and her sweet little girl.” Green eyes search your face for your reaction. The only reaction she gets is you taking a step towards her before pulling her in by the waist and planting a soft kiss to her lips.

Her eyes are blown wide when you pull away, and for a split second you think you made a mistake. But then she’s opening her mouth again. “Wow.”

“I- I may have fallen for you too,” you admit, cheeks flushed. “But I never thought you would want to-”

“I thought you were straight,” Melissa bites her bottom lip. At the shake of your head, she breathes a quiet, “Oh thank God,” before pulling you back in for a second kiss. 

That is the beginning of your relationship with Melissa Schemmenti, next door neighbor. From the start, it’s been a serious relationship. You made it quite clear that you did not have the time for any flings, and she just rolled her eyes before heading towards the little nursery that you had set up for your daughter. Sometimes she jokes that she’s really only here for Ellie and not you.

She’s always been great with your sweet girl- and as you would come to find out, she will always be great with Ellie. So great actually… that sometimes feel that she’s a better mother to your daughter than you are. 

The first time it happens is when Ellie is turning one year old. You’ve been so wrapped up in your job and making sure that your little girl is as happy as she can be at any given moment, that you entirely forget about planning a first birthday party for her.

“Shit!” you groan as you’re finishing up a project that you brought home for the weekend. “Fucking dammit!”

Your girlfriend stops her cooking and turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “Care to share with the class why you’re yelling out curse words while our girl is asleep?”

You pause your tirade when you hear her refer to Ellie as both of yours- it’s something she’s started doing recently, and it makes your heart flutter for a second. A dopey grin washes over your face for a moment before you frown again.

“I’ve been so busy trying to work on this website that I forgot to plan Ellie girl’s birthday party,” you admit quietly, planting your head in your hands. “I can’t believe I forgot. I’m a terrible mother.”

“You are not a terrible mother, and you didn’t forget,” Melissa tells you as she turns back around to tend to the pan on the stove.

“What are you talking about? I absolutely did.”

“You’ve been mumbling about planning it in your sleep, but when I never got an invitation, I planned it all for the two of you,” the redhead reveals.

“Wha- how?”

“If you checked your personal email once in a while, you would know this,” Melissa teases you. “It was pulled up on your laptop when you fell asleep in bed a few weeks ago, so I just sent out some e-vites.”

A few clicks of your laptop later, and you see that what she’s saying is true- there are quite a few responses to a birthday party being held at the apartment this weekend.

“I’ve been quietly cleaning while you’ve been working yourself to the point of exhaustion too, so the place will be ready,” the teacher chuckles. “I figure we use your place for the actual gathering, and we can put coats and presents and things like that at mine.”

You stand and make your way over to your girlfriend, spinning her around to face you. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“I ask myself that about you every night,” Melissa hums as she leans in to give you a quick peck.

“Thank you,” you whisper as you close your eyes and press your forehead against hers. “I’m glad that Ellie at least has one mother that didn’t forget to plan her first birthday party.”

Your girlfriend rolls her eyes, not that you see it. “I already told you, you didn’t forget- you just needed a bit of a push to send out the invites.”

“You planned the whole thing,” you point out.

Melissa kisses you softly. “I’m just looking out for my girls the best I can.”

The birthday party is an absolute success. It’s filled with her coworkers who have come to love and adore your little girl almost as much as Melissa, your parents were able to fly out for the gathering, and a few of your coworkers from your new job are able to make it to help celebrate the milestone of your little girl.

After everyone heads out, you’re exhausted, Ellie is absolutely beat, and you’re sure Melissa has to be tired too. But still, she insists that you hand over your little girl for her to hold while you take a nap after all of the emotions that you’ve felt today.

“Babe, I can handle it,” you try to tell her. “I’m-” you stifle a yawn. 

“Go take a nap, hun,” the redhead says softly as she kisses your cheek. “Miss El and I are just going to do a bit of cleaning up before we come lay down with you.”

About an hour has gone by by the time your little girl and girlfriend are finished tidying up, and you’re dozing in and out of sleep. Feeling the bed dip slightly, you peel open your eyes and hold out your arms for your little girl to come into them. Ellie wiggles in the redhead’s arms and reaches for you, and as Melissa lays the two of them down, Ellie squeals with delight- she’s between two of her favorite people. She lets out the softest yawn before promptly falling asleep.

Melissa watches as your eyes soften, gaze on your little angel. “She’s perfect,” she muses softly.

“She really is,” you agree just as quietly. “And it has a lot to do with the fact that she has an amazing second mother who has really stepped up.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s because she has you for a mother,” the teacher argues.

You roll your eyes. “I’m hardly a great mother,” you sigh. “Honestly, there are some days I think you’re a better mother than I am.”

Melissa frowns, the lines in her forehead deepening. “Hun.”

You shrug. “I do my best with her, but you pulled all of this together for us. If it was up to me, there wouldn’t have been a first birthday party.”

“There would have been,” your girlfriend tells you. “And it would’ve been just as great.”

“I still should’ve-“

“You do everything you can for that little girl of ours,” the redhead says softly as she reaches over and brushes a few hairs away from your face. “Sometimes you need a little help, and I’ll always be here to help.”

As the years go on, there are times where you feel that you’re doing wonderfully as a mother, and there are other times that you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing and are beyond terrified that you’re ruining your child’s life. 

Every time, Melissa is there to reassure you that you are perfect for your little girl.  

The second time that you feel like Melissa is a better mother than you and you are feeling doubtful tenfold, at this point, you’ve been married for three years now. Ellie is five and entering kindergarten. The day where you send your little girl off comes quicker than you ever could’ve imagined, and yet here you are, walking hand in hand with your wife and your daughter into Abbott.

“You’re going to have such a great time with Auntie Barb,” you tell Ellie softly.

“It’s Mrs. Howard, Momma,” your daughter giggles. “At school, she’s Mrs. Howard.”

“How silly of me,” you playfully roll your eyes. “You’re going to have a great time with Mrs. Howard.”

And all is fine, and Ellie is excited, until it comes time to part with you and Melissa. Then it’s waterworks, and she can’t believe that you would even leave her for this long (despite the fact that she’s spent several nights with Barb and Gerald).

Despite every word of encouragement and praise that you give your little girl, she’s still absolutely hysterical. She clings to you, yes- but she’s mostly clinging to your wife. Ellie wants you, yes- but she really wants Melissa. The redhead looks down at the little girl she loves more than anything and sighs. She really should be down in her own classroom prepping for her little eagles, but Ellie comes first- she always has and always will.

“Baby,” Melissa breathes quietly as she kneels down in front of the girl in pigtails. “You’ve been so excited for school. What has you so nervous all of a sudden?”

“I want you,” Ellie mumbles into your wife’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna go to school; I just want to spend time with you.”

“Well,” the second grade teacher says softly. “Little girls have to go to school. But can you think of it this way? You get to make new friends, and I know Auntie Barb is so excited to have her little Ellie Belly in her class. During lunch, you can come say hi to Mom for the first few days, and we can call Momma if you want. And then when we get home, you get all the love.”

Your little girl looks at your wife suspiciously before furrowing her brow and sticking out her pinky. “You promise?”

You see the warmth wash over Melissa’s face as she sticks out her pinky. “I promise you, lovey. So, why don’t we let Momma head to work, and you and I can make our way down to Auntie Barb’s?”

Ellie worries her lip between her teeth before looking to you. “I guess.”

Green eyes meet your own as she pulls your little girl into her arms again. She whispers conspiratorially to your daughter, “I think Momma might need a hug before we head down, what do you think?”

Ellie flings herself at you with a bright, somewhat still teary, grin. “I love you Momma.”

“I love you too, sweet girl,” you tell her softly as you hold her close. You pepper her face in kisses before releasing her back.

Your daughter’s first day of kindergarten has you anxious as all hell. You hope she’s having an okay day, and you really do expect to receive a phone call at lunch from the two of them. You don’t.

You having a good first day? Is El? you text your wife.

It takes a minute, but you get a reply back. These kids are going to be the death of me, but El is having a grand ol’ time with Barb. She told me at lunch that she can’t wait to come back tomorrow.

You smile at that. You knew once Ellie actually made it into the room, she would be just fine. You only wish that your words of encouragement and affirmations would’ve made her feel more at ease. Instead, it was Melissa’s words. Thank you for helping get her to class today when I couldn’t. You’re the best Mom that little girl could ask for.

I’m pretty sure that’s you.

I couldn’t get her to let go of either of us, you reply. You just seem to have the magic touch with her.

Babe, you get a response. You have such a way with our daughter, but you also have to remember that I’ve been a teacher for years and have dealt with kids not wanting to go into school for forever- this is new to you just as it is for El.

That day when you get home from work, Melissa and your Ellie are already curled up on the couch relaxing. They’re both dead tired from their first days, and you can tell that it’s going to be an early night for everyone the way both of their eyelids are drooping as they try to stay awake for dinner. You drop your bag on the bench you keep by the front door before pressing gentle kisses to both of their heads and walking into the kitchen to start on dinner.

“Don’t,” your wife’s voice floats into the room as she carries a barely awake Ellie in. “I ordered your favorite on my way home, it’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

Your face falls just slightly- you were planning on making their favorite, in order for them to be able to relax and enjoy the first day of school being over. You just give her a soft smile instead, before you turn yourself back around to face the counter. And that’s when you see the beautiful bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase.

“Honey,” you sigh.

“Miss Ellie girl and I stopped on our way home to pick up flowers for Momma,” Melissa says softly. “Didn’t we?”

Your daughter nods in her arms before reaching for you. With a small grin on your face, and a few tears now beading in your eyes, you take your little girl. “Thank you,” you whisper as you delicately press a kiss to your wife’s cheek. You then dot a few sweet kisses to Ellie’s hairline.

Dinner is a quiet affair aside from Ellie sleepily telling you about her first day in kindergarten. The three of you settle on the couch to relax once dinner is cleaned up. It doesn’t take long for Ellie to fall asleep, sprawled out on both you and Melissa.

Melissa quietly details her first day- how the children were, how she was so happy to see Ellie giggling along with her classmates at lunch, and how Barbara just gushed about how your daughter was a big help in calming others’ nerves.

“She’s a good kid,” your wife finishes. “You’ve done great with her, babe.”

You look down at the little girl laying in your lap. “I didn’t do much.”

Green eyes stare at you incredulously. “Honey, I wish you could see how amazing you are. You’ve done wonderfully with her. She has your kindness and your compassion- she has your heart. And unfortunately for both of us, she picked up on my stubbornness. You’ve done so much for our little girl, and you are the perfect mother to her.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I just… you know how I feel about this.”

“Tell me.”

“You already know,” you sigh as you rest your head against her shoulder. “And I think we need to start heading up to bed.”

“It can wait a few minutes,” your wife tells you. “So talk about it.”

With a breath, you tell her how you feel that you’re failing because you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re hurting Ellie because you’re so unsure of what you’re doing that your little girl is aware of your hesitations in the way you speak with her and act with her sometimes.

That weekend you head out to the grocery store, and for once Melissa and your daughter are not with you. No. Instead, they’re at home. Your wife has Ellie make you a card telling you that you are the world’s best mother and listing the things that she loves about you while Melissa writes it out. Then, the two of them get to turning the living room into a comfortable space to watch your favorite movies.

When you return home, your welcomed with a new bouquet of flowers (you later find out that Barbara dropped them off while you were out), the card, and what you can only describe as a blanket fort.

“What is this?” you ask softly as you carry in an armful of groceries.

“The best, for Momma,” Melissa says softly as she takes the bags out of your hands. She sets them down before pulling you into her arms. “Enjoy today.” She kisses you quickly before heading back out to the car and bringing in the rest of the groceries while Ellie pulls you into the massive pile of blankets on the floor.

“Momma, read the card,” your little girl tells you. You pull her into your lap and cuddle her close before reading the card. On one side is what Ellie had to say, while the other side is what your wife wanted to tell you. Their words and kindness bring tears to your eyes.

“Did we make you sad?” your daughter looks to you fearfully.

“No, baby. These are happy tears. Happy tears,” you promise her as you repeatedly kiss her head over and over.

Once your wife is finished putting away the groceries, she plops herself down next to the two of you and reaches for the remote. You put a gentle hand out to stop her, and when she looks at your curiously, you just kiss her gently.

“Thank you,” you sigh quietly as you press your foreheads together. The moment of silence most likely would’ve been longer if not for Ellie squealing about putting the movie on that she had picked out for you.

The rest of the day passes by in a blissful haze full of movies, warmth, and lots of snacks. The two of you put Ellie to bed before cleaning up the living room mess, and as you clean, you pick up the card again and read what Melissa had to say.

“I mean it, you know,” your wife says softly as she wraps her arms around your waist. “I am the luckiest person alive to get to have fallen in love with you, to help raise our beautiful little girl, and be the one who gets to love both of you through every high and low- every doubt and fear. But I promise you, we are the lucky ones to have you.”

You crane your neck to kiss her gently. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Melissa repeats back as she tucks a few stray hairs behind your ear. “Please know that I will always be here for you- my wonderful, lovely, perfect wife, as we work our way through motherhood together.”

From next to your wife, you groan as you let your head fall against her shoulder.

“What?”

“If I’m feeling like this now, how the hell am I going to feel when she’s a teenager?”

The redhead chuckles as she brings your left hand up to her lips and kisses just under the rings that sit beautifully on your finger. “I’ll be there for you, and Ellie. Always.”

And she is there for you. She always has been. She always is. She always will be.

tags and lmk if u wanna be on this list: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie

[possessionisamyth]

Not to kick a dead horse, but there is a way to make Pier's death genuinely very loaded and tragic that fandom consensus just seems to continue to miss! I've never seen a take about Piers's death being about PIERS, but all about "ooohh chris lost a good one" and how the two are not able to fuck anymore. But I am going to free you from these shackles while I zero in on Chris' comment of

"I wanted him to replace me."

Surely Piers was being trained to take Chris' job ideally after a decent retirement party, but neither of them get that luxury because Edonia happens, and Chris is gone. The beloved captain has vanished, and the person who's supposed to take his job is right there, so they give it to him. It's Piers responsibility to not only be a face of what the BSAA represents, but also the heavy shackles of expectations are slapped onto him.

Everyone wants Chris, which means Piers can't be himself nor figure out how to run the same jobs his way. No, it has to be Chris' way. There's no time for anyone to adjust and shift gears either with the C-Virus outbreaks, the terrorist attacks from Ada*(Carla), and the search party he shambled together to locate the missing Redfield. So he tries his damnedest to fill Chris' shoes and suddenly realizes just how out of his depth he is. There were so many reasons people called Chris for certain tasks, even tasks Piers hadn't known about and definitely hadn't been trained on, that Piers never saw. There's no mentor to dial. No reference other than fellow soldiers saying things like, "We don't know how, he just got it done," which is the least helpful thing in the world. Hell, there's barely any notes to go through when he searches Chris' office for a semblance of a hint as to how he should do this job.

Maybe it turns out Chris was doing his best to gently ease that heavy mantle into Piers' hands. It's why his scheduled retirement seemed so far away at the time. Perhaps, after one comment too many where he'd been accidentally addressed by the name of his captain for the 50th time, Piers breaks. He can't do this. He's not ready for this. He needs the one person who did all this back by any means necessary, so he drops all the work and joins the search party. He verbally harasses an amnesiac Chris into coming back because maybe it isn't that bad. Maybe Chris just needs a reminder of what he's been doing everyday for literal years and things would be back to normal again.

But it's not. It's messier. It's uglier. This isn't the Chris he worked so hard to fight alongside. There are glimpses of him in there, but most of the time in China, Piers feels like he's working with a stranger. People die, and Chris keeps pushing forward no matter how much he's shouted at, and Piers feels like this is all his fault. The deaths are his fault because he couldn't buckle down and do what Chris originally wanted him to do. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him.

So when they go to that underwater facility, and their backs are against the wall, there's the looming sense of failure and a terrifying amount of pressure. If they get out of this alive, who knows when Chris would be back in shape to work again if that ever happens. Piers would have to be responsible. He was already responsible for the squad he gathered to take up this job, and they were skewed into pieces around downtown Lanshiang. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him, and Piers failed on all accounts. He couldn't get Chris back the way he was supposed to be. His squad was dead. The responsibility he'd have to take up if they made it out alive would be nigh unbearable, and then he gets infected.

He gets infected and suddenly the decision is so easy. To let go. To hope for the best. To be the one left behind when he was supposed to be the one moving towards the future. Another glimpse of the Chris that Piers knew is seen, a more confident glimpse wherein Chris does everything he can to try and save him. And Piers smiles when Chris fails. When he saves Chris. When he seems to finally do one thing right after things never seemed to stop falling apart.

It's the last thing Chris sees. That smile and the ever encroaching weight of immeasurable responsibility that'll grasp him tight as soon as he breaks the surface. The weight Piers couldn't take from him, and maybe never wanted in the first place.

[callsign-muffin]

Heal Together: Chapter 6

(Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic)

Sorry this chapter took much longer than usual. I wasn't sure if I wanted to share this on the page but y'all might already know... I'm a nurse. So my schedule is nice because I only work 3 days or nights a week but... sometimes those days/nights knock me on my ass. This week was no exception.

I really appreciate every single person who has liked, reblogged, and commented on my work. It means EVERYTHING to me. I hope you all enjoy this part!

Masterlist + Playlist

Word Count: 2.2k+

You had been flipped to nights this week and your body was suffering from the sudden change to your circadian rhythm. You and Carly walked to the parking garage in exhausted silence together as the sun rose over the hospital. It was a hard night to say the least, you both were assigned to unstable elderly patients that seemed to be circling the drain. It almost felt cruel to keep them from dying peacefully because there was no way they were ever going to get better. The life sustaining care you were forced to give was just prolonging the inevitable. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, Bradley tried to text you when he woke up at 5am for work to ask how your shift was going. You quickly responded that it was crazy and that you couldn’t talk until you got off at 7:30.

Bradley Bradshaw: Please tell me you’re out of there and able to see this incredible sun rise

You: I am, thank God! I love San Diego sunrises

“Who’s that?” Carly peered over at your phone and saw the name, “Oh my god! He’s checking in on you post shift?!”

You rolled your eyes, “It’s his second time checking in on me, he texted me when he got up earlier but I said things were too crazy on the unit to talk.”

“What happened between you two then?” She asked, “You said he didn’t stay the night or anything.”

You knew she was going to ask for more information soon enough. You two were on your feet caring for your patients all night so there was no time to catch up at the nurse’s station. “He didn’t. But we hung out for a while, talked, drank a lot of wine, and he couldn’t drive himself home. So he took an Uber and then took me to brunch when he came to pick up his car.”

“He didn’t kiss you?” She asked.

You shook your head, “Nope, didn’t after brunch either.”

“Huh,” she looked puzzled, “He’s obviously so into you, we could all see it at the bar. And he took you out on a date. And he’s texting you first thing when he wakes up… he obviously likes you. Why hasn’t he kissed you?!?!”

You shrugged, “I mean, maybe he isn’t and he just wants to be friends. I also feel like dating a former patient probably breaks some kind of nursing ethics code.”

It was something that occurred to you after brunch with Bradley the day before, the possibility of this flirtation messing with your professional life.

Carly’s face dropped when the two of you stopped at your car, “Oh my god… I hadn’t even thought of that.”

You shifted your weight uncomfortably, “Yeah… so I’ve gotta ask you and I’d like you to pass it on to Madi and Sam too, not to discuss Saturday or my… friendship with Bradley at work.”

She nodded, “Of course, I’m sorry I even brought it up briefly when we got on the unit last night.”

“It’s okay, no one was around to hear. I’m just not very well liked by the senior nurses and some of the providers. I just don’t want to give them something to talk about, you know?” You explained.

“Absolutely. When is your contract up?” She asked.

“4 weeks, they asked me to extend though.” You rubbed your eyes, desperately trying to stay awake.

“Are you gonna do it? Or is it too early in the morning to talk about this?” She giggled.

You nodded, “Bingo. Let’s leave this as ‘to be continued’.”

“Alright, get home safe.” She waved you off and headed towards her car a few spots away. 

Once in your Toyota Corolla and buckled, you blasted loud music and freezing cold AC to keep you awake and alert on your commute home. Once there you peaked at your phone.

Bradley Bradshaw: Now that you’ve enjoyed the sunrise, you gotta get your ass to bed.

You: Yes sir, I’ll be out of commission until 1500 hours.

When you arrived home, you looked at your phone again to see Bradley replied with the saluting emoji. You dragged yourself out of the car and up to your apartment, in front of your door was a plastic takeout bag. The parcel was still warm when you picked it up, it was clearly left there just minutes ago. You blinked through your exhausted blurry vision and saw a note typed in the comments on the receipt… it was from the same place you had brunch with Bradley two days before.

“After working through the night, you deserve a true Californian breakfast and a nap. —Bradshaw”

This may be one of the most thoughtful things anyone had done for you in a while. You were so exhausted, you didn’t realize how hungry you were until you caught a whiff of the parcel. When you entered your apartment, you threw your bag down and went straight to the kitchen. You opened the bag to find a breakfast burrito neatly wrapped in aluminum foil, Bradley’s go to menu item. Maybe it was because of the surprise of it waiting for you at the door or because you were absolutely starving, but that thing tasted better than sex. You started your post night shift ritual with a shower. After brushing your teeth, doing your skin care, and changing into comfy clothes, you drew the black out curtains in your room, turned on the sound machine, and set an alarm for 2pm before popping a melatonin gummy. After many years as a nurse and often flipping between days and nights, you had this sleep ritual down to an absolute science.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █ 

Y/N <3: thank you so much for breakfast. That may be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me.

Rooster’s heart fluttered when the message flashed across his phone around 8AM. The Dagger Squad had just finished running a drill that ended with 200 push ups. That small rush made him forget how his muscles were screaming at him. He went to reply and saw the “do not disturb” icon was on. He was so glad since that meant you were most likely sleeping. So he left a reply for you to wake up to.

Bradley: I’m glad it came just in time! Hope you’re taking the best nap ever :)

“Is that sexy nurse?” Natasha inquired as she peered over his shoulder.

Rooster rolled his eyes, “Phoenix, she has a name… and that’s none of your business.”

“So yes,” she smirked, “you are texting her.”

“I’m replying to her,” he corrected, “she worked all night last night and is on again tonight. So she won’t get it until she wakes up.”

She stood on her tip toes to get a better look at the screen, “You sent her breakfast?!?!”

Bradley was not loving this line of questioning but he knew he had to answer or Phoenix would never lay off, “I sent UberEats for her to come home too.”

“You are down bad, my friend.” She shook her head.

“Am not.” He quipped back.

“ Are too!” She shoved him.

“That’s not fair Phoenix, just cause you’re one of the boys doesn’t mean I’ll stoop low enough to shove a woman.” He groaned.

She chuckled, “You’re just scared to get your shit rocked, Bradshaw.”

Hangman suddenly appeared beside Phoenix, skillfully placing her in a headlock. “Is this little lady giving you trouble, Rooster?”

She squirmed and screamed, “Hangman, I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

“Ya know Phoenix,” he sighed, “Forever the bully.”

Phoenix reached over and Hangman a firm tap in the junk, causing him to jump and release her.

Rooster couldn’t help but smile as the two of them fought like siblings.

“I was asking him about the hot nurse from the other night.” She explained, “He’s texting her and sent breakfast to her place for her to come home to after work.”

Hangman’s face lit up, “Bradley, Bradley, Bradley… I never thought I’d see the day. You’re courtin’ a fine lady.”

Bradley rolled his eyes, “Courting is a strong word. I’m showing her that I’m… kinda interested.”

Hangman and Phoenix gave each other knowing looks.

Natasha nodded, “Uh huh, yeah. Sureeeeee.”

2pm rolled around and Bradley was wrapping up his work day on base.

Y/N <3: Not the best nap ever but pretty damn good. I’m gonna walk on the beach and get some sunshine before it’s back to the dungeon for the night. What are you up to for the rest of the day?

Should he shoot his shot? She wouldn’t keep engaging with him if she wasn’t at least a little interested, right?

Bradley: Joining you for a walk on the beach if you’ll allow it.

Y/N <3: I would love that. What time can you be at my place?

This was good. This was really good. She’s invited him back to her place. 

Bradley: I gotta change out of my uniform and stuff, how does 3 sound?

Y/N <3: Perfect, I’ll see you soon :)

Rooster had an extra skip in his step as he packed up his things, grateful for the 6am start allowing his work day to have an early finish. Once in his Bronco, he sped home to change into some casual clothes. He decided to really shake it up and not wear his usual Hawaiian shirt and jeans combo. A UVA t-shirt and some gym shorts seemed a lot more appropriate for a casual beach walk. Bradley really couldn’t believe he was putting that much thought into what he wore for something so casual. 

When he walked up to her door he could hear music through it. Whatever Y/N was listening to, she was clearly jamming. When he knocked, she quickly called out, “It’s open!”. He got a better listen to the music once the door was open, it was high energy with a… saxophone? It was kind of lit.

“What is this?” Bradley asked, “It’s awesome!”

“Modern Woman by Bleachers,” she entered the living room wearing a similar outfit to his, a university t-shirt and gym shorts, “Isn’t it great? Kinda gives me Springsteen vibes.”

He paused and listened a little more, “Yes, that’s spot on!”

“Let me just make sure I have my life together for work, so I can just change and leave later.” She said, heading toward the kitchen.

He took another good look at her as she took her lunchbox, water bottle, and an energy drink from the fridge and set it out on the counter. Fresh faced from her nap, hair in a bun, shorts and a t-shirt… he had never seen anything more beautiful.

Y/N paused for a moment and looked over at Rooster, “Is everything okay? Do I have something on my face?”  

He shook his head, “Yes, everything’s great… you look great.”

She smiled shyly and continued her task, “Thank you, Bradley… are you ready to head to the beach?”

“Hell yeah,” he asked, “which beach are we headed to?”

“Nothing fancy, just the beach a few blocks away.” She shrugged, “Hope you don’t mind tagging along on my normal, boring jaunt.”

He shook his head, “Y/N, nothing with you could be boring. I’d have fun watching paint dry.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █ 

The two of you walked along the shoreline; the waves ebbed and flowed across the sand and towards your feet. The wind whipped across your face and through your hair, making it dance wildly. Bradley looked so handsome beside you, you couldn’t help but stare and hope that maybe it would be less obvious since you had sunglasses on.

“I should start doing this more, it’s much more pleasant than running.” He chuckled to himself, “It’s so peaceful.”

You giggled, “Drinking bleach is more pleasant than running, in my opinion.”

“You’re not a runner?” He asked.

“Not unless something’s chasing me.” You quipped.

A smirk slowly crept across Bradley’s face. You weren’t exactly sure what was going through his head but you felt the sudden urge to start sprinting. Next thing you knew he was hot on your heels and you couldn’t help but giggle breathlessly, running on sand was so freaking hard! Two strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off your feet with ease.

“BRADSHAW!!!” You cried out through your giggles, leaning your head back on his shoulder behind you.

His face burrowed into your neck, “You say you’re not a runner but you’re pretty speedy.”

You turned your head to look at him, nose to nose, still giggling breathlessly.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said simply.

It was like two magnets, your lips crashed into his, there was no force that could stop it. Once you realized what you did, you quickly pulled away, “I’m so sorry.”

He placed you gently back on your feet, “Y/N, the only thing you owe me an apology for is stopping.”

Your stomach fluttered, “Soooo… you wanna do it again?”

“Kiss me, you fool.” He chuckled, grabbing you by the cheeks and stroking them sweetly with his thumb.

You stepped closer so you two were chest to chest and gently brushed your lips against his. With a jolt of pure electricity, you pressed deeper into his kiss. It wasn’t until this moment, when you tasted his lips, that you realized how fucking starving you were.

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[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 21 Shade

(You can all blame @voidsentprinces and one of their posts for inspiring this one cuz I sure as heck am. Spoilers through Dawntrail.)

-

In the colorful forests of Kozama’uka, a strange movement of light green catches my eye. For a moment, I imagine.

“This one finds this forest so lively! Will these ones feast soon with the bright feathered ones again?”

It was a trick of the light on banana leaves. The shade of our little courageous one is gone again.

-

We’re still in Kozama’uka, but the roar of the waterfalls is below instead of above, and we’re trying to reach out to the bandits harassing the Potsworn.

I think of a boy with gold hair and an eager smile, no longer wearing blue. “You gave me a second chance, and I’ve never regretted it. We’ll find a way to help them, too!”

I blink, and realize the only resemblance in the bandit before me is that he’s young and blond. The shade of our foolishly brave boy is gone again.

-

I cross the bridge to Shaaloani, with its hot, dry plains rolling into the distance, eventually leading to grasslands in the northeast and craggy hills in the west, toward what was Yyasulani.

A Landsguard officer speaks an order, but in familiar tones, a comrade to his men. His voice stirs a memory, and my mind wanders again.

“We’re a long away from Quarrymill, but this reminds me in some ways of home. I bet you still hear thanks enough whenever you go back.”

I look at the soldiers laughing with each other before dispersing to their duties. The shade of our revolutionary captain is gone again.

-

The sky always seems so close in Worlar’s Echo. The Yok Huy see a few more traders these days. I’m watching the moon cross the sky when someone lights a pipe, the smoke wafting past my nose. Comfortable as I am, I’m halfway to dreaming already.

“Foolishness. We know what it is now, hardly deserving the veneration bestowed upon it for so long. And you surely have better things to do than mourn the likes of me.”

I turn to protest, but now I am fully awake and see the pelupelu merchants smoking and haggling. The shade of our spiteful witch is gone again.

-

There’s a sense of responsibility to the people afflicted with levin sickness, especially the children. I make sure that Oblivion is getting the families everything they need. I visit the first boy we met with this illness, and offer a treat of real fruit juice from the farms. It’s a good day, and he smiles as he sips, his mother smiling through her tears as he manages the straw.

“You learn to take what moments of happiness you can get. You figured out how to help the light afflicted and the tempered; this too will be defeated in time. But find the little victories where you can meanwhile.”

I look up from the boy’s bed. It’s just him, his mother, and me in the room. The shade of our fierce carer is gone again.

-

I’m still awake in the pre-dawn hours, so take a mug of mate with me to the end of the boardwalk to watch the dawn. The endless blue of the water, with the light piercing into my eyes, makes me remember a similar sight at the end and start of everything.

“There is no true challenge in this land. ‘Tis a wonder you are not bored. But you always have found meaning and pleasure in people and their small matters.”

The sun continues rising and the city wakes. The shade of my antagonistic mirror is gone again.

I finish my mate, return to my cabin, and go to bed.

-

They come and go, these ghostly memories. Some not as much as they used to, since that journey into the aetherial sea. Perhaps their aid and that last chance to say goodbye made a difference.

Maybe I am simply sentimental.

“The burden of heroes and leaders,” one of my newer ones says. “We spend all our time fighting for their lives and happiness, and feel it keenly when we fail them. Yet they helped to shape us, and so stay with us. And we strive to do better by those who come after them.”

I look up, but the shade of that heroic father is gone, the echo of his boisterous laugh ringing through his city’s streets, in his daughter’s own laughter. She waves to me now, her brother, her nephew, and our comrades with her. They are all exuberant and bright and alive, with so much possibility ahead.

I laugh as I wave to my friends.

[4dkellysworld]

Lester Levenson's self-realisation story

This is the more detailed version of Lester Levenson's story of releasing thoughts & feelings to self-realization that should have been in his autobiography (you can read the more condensed version from the book here). It is a much more detailed account of Lester's process and journey to self-realization in the three months, a very short version was included in this post on why clear the subconscious mind to realise Self.

Reading this was enlightening to me - perhaps it will spark some resonance in you for your own path and practice :)

(I didn't include the parts before this excerpt where he just started self-inquiry after his health issue, the excerpt below starts from when things really progressed for Lester)

In the morning, he woke very early feeling rested and refreshed. His first thought was, "Well, then, what is happiness?" He laughed at his tenacity as he rolled out of bed and into the shower. Preparing breakfast, his thoughts continued to explore the question which dominated his mind. Well, then, what is happiness? What is the common denominator in all these moments? There was Sy, there was Milton, then June, and his Nettie... What was the common denominator? Somehow he knew it was tied up with love, but he could not, at first, see how. When it finally came, it was so simple and pure and complete an answer that he wondered why he had never seen it before.

"Happiness is when I am loving!" He realized that in every instance, his feeling of love for the other person had been intense and that's where the happiness had come from, from his own feeling of loving. It was so clear to him now that being loved was not the answer. He could see that even if people loved him, unless he felt love in return, he was not going to be happy. Their loving might make them happy, but it would not, could not, make him happy. It was a new and mind-boggling concept and even though he instinctively knew that it was correct, his old scientific training didn't allow him to accept it without testing. So he looked into his past, remembering those times in his life when he had been loving and happy, and he recognized that at those times, the other person had not necessarily been loving him.

He looked at the other side too, the unhappy times and now that he knew what to look for, it was very obvious that he had not been loving. Oh, he'd thought at the time that he loved them, as with Nettie and June. He loved them, needed them, wanted them. But was that love, he wondered now? No, it was painful... he was experiencing pain that they didn't love him. And even though he called it love, he was really wanting to possess them completely, thinking he needed all their love to be happy.

That was the key! He had been experiencing a want or lack of love, expecting the other person to supply the love, waiting for the other person to make him happy. He had to laugh, it seemed so ludicrous. To think that someone else could make him happy seemed like the funniest thing in the world. He knew, better than anyone that no one could ever make him anything. He'd always been very proud and stubborn and self-sufficient, sure that he never needed anyone or anything. "What a joke!" He thought. The truth is that he'd been all the time dying inside for want of love, thinking he had to get it from someone. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he laughed and laughed at the realization that what he'd been looking for all his life was inside him. He had been like the absent-minded professor looking everywhere for his glasses which were on top of his head all the time.

"What a shame," he thought, wiping away the tears. "What a shame that I never saw this before. All that time, all those years wasted; what a shame." "But wait a minute!" he thought. "If happiness is when I'm experiencing love for the other one, then that means happiness is a feeling within me. "And if I felt unloving in the past? Well, I know I can't change the past, but could I possibly correct the feeling now inside myself`? Could I change the feeling to love now?"

He decided to try it. He looked at his most recent unhappiness, the day he left the hospital. "First," he asked himself, "was I experiencing a lack of love that day?" "Yes," he answered aloud. "Nobody gave a damn about me, not the nurses, not the orderlies, not even Dr. Schultz. They did not care. As sick as I was, they threw me out, sent me home to die so they wouldn't have to watch one of their failures. Well, the hell with them. They can all go to hell." He was shocked at the vehemence in his voice. His body trembled with rage and he felt weak. He really hated the doctor. He could feel it burning in his chest. "Oh, boy," he thought, "this sure isn't love."

"Well, can I change it?" he asked. "Is it possible to turn it into love for the doctor?" "Hell, no," he thought, "why should I? What did he ever do to deserve any love?" "That's not the point," he answered himself. "The point is not whether he deserves love. The point is, can you do it? Is it possible to simply change a feeling of hatred into a feeling of love—not for the benefit of the other person but for yourself?"

As the thought crossed his mind, he felt something break loose in his chest. A gentle easing, a sense of dissolving, and the burning sensation was gone. He didn't trust it at first. It seemed too easy, so he pictured again the scene with Dr. Schultz in the hospital. He was surprised to find that it brought only a mild feeling of resentment rather than the previous intense burning hatred. He wondered if he could do it again.

"Let's see," he thought, "what did I just do? Ah, yes. Can I change this feeling of resentment into a feeling of love?" He chuckled as he felt the resentment dissolve in his chest. Then it was totally gone and he was happy. He thought of Dr. Schultz again, pictured him in his mind and felt happy, even loving. He saw now, reliving that last meeting, how the doctor had hated to tell him the things he had to say. He could feel the doctor's pain at having to tell a young man in the prime of his life that his life was over. "Doctor Schultz, you son-of-a-gun," he said, grinning, "I love you."

"Well, it worked on that one," he thought. "If my theory is sound, then it should work on everything." Eagerly, he began trying it on other moments, and the results were consistently the same, each time that he asked himself if he could change the feeling of hostility or anger or hatred to one of love, the dissolving process took place. Sometimes he had to repeat it over and over until he felt only Love for the person.

At times, the entire process would take only a minute or two; at other times, it might take him hours of working on a particular person or event before his feelings were only loving, but he would doggedly stay with it until it was completed on each person and each incident.

His entire life came up for review in bits and pieces. One by one, he changed to Love all the old hurts and disappointments. He began to feel stronger as the weight of his pain dropped away. He was happier than he had ever been in his entire life, and he kept it going, feeling even more happiness with each new thing corrected. He stopped going to bed because he had so much energy that he couldn't lie down. When he felt tired, he would doze in his chair and awaken an hour or so later to start in again. There was so much to be corrected in his life that he didn't want to stop until he had looked under every stone and around every corner.

Another thing that intrigued him was the question of how far he could take this. As he corrected each thing, he became happier, he could feel it; but he wondered how far he could go. Was there a limit to happiness? So far, he hadn't found any boundaries to it and the possibilities were staggering. So he kept on, around the clock.

His strength was returning, but not wanting to be distracted, he avoided getting involved in social activities and would sometimes even pass up the Sunday get-together with his family. He did his food shopping in the middle of the night, around two or three in the morning. There were very few people up and about at that hour, and he enjoyed the quiet of the city. He went on correcting his life, even while doing the necessaries. And he noticed that when someone in a store or on the street would annoy him, he was able to correct that response with Love either immediately or shortly thereafter. This pleased him, and he found himself loving others with intensity far beyond anything he had imagined possible. As he described it many years later, "When I mixed with people, and again and again when they would do things that I didn't like and within me was a feeling of non-Love, I would immediately change that attitude to one of loving them even though they were opposing me. Eventually I got to a point where, no matter how much I was being opposed, I could maintain a feeling of Love for them."

He continued to correct his life with consistent results for about a month until one day he got stumped. He was working on the last time he had seen Nettie, the day she chose someone else. He had already corrected a lot of the pain with regard to her; she had come to his mind again and again, and it had not always been easy. In fact, it had been very difficult at first to work on that old relationship but gradually as he gained strength, he had been able to confront some of those long-buried feelings and correct them.

But on this particular day, no matter how hard he tried to correct it with Love, there was still a feeling of despair which he could not dislodge. He wanted to escape, to get out of his chair and run, to get something to eat, to do anything that would get him away from his intense feeling. Instead, he decided to sit there until he handled it.

Something told him that if he let that feeling push him around, if he lost that battle, he would have lost the war. He stayed in his chair, determined to ride it out. He probed, "What's wrong here? Why isn't it dissolving? Nettie, oh, my Nettie." He began to cry now, tears streaming down his cheeks, all the pain he had locked up on the day they parted came now in a flood. "Why did you do it, Nettie?" he cried aloud. "Why did you do it? Why did you leave me, my darling? We could have been so happy, we'd have married and been so happy."

"Damn," he thought, "why do people do things like that? They throw their happiness away and everyone else's, too. They have no right to do that. They shouldn't be allowed to do that. There should be some way of making them change; some way of changing the things they do and the effect they have on people."

He felt the old pain of ulcers starting up again in his stomach and realized with certainty that the ulcers had started that last day with Nettie. He'd drunk the beer and thrown up; that had been the beginning. He wished it had been different. More than anything else in this world, he wanted to change what had happened. He wanted to go back and live it over again the other way with Nettie choosing him, with them getting married and being happy forevermore.

"Well, you can't change it, stupid," he shouted at himself, "so you might just as well stop trying to." That jolted him. He saw that he was still trying to change something that had been finished more than twenty years ago. "No, it can't be finished," he cried. "I won't let it be finished." His throat hurt now and he felt like screaming and smashing things. Then, like instant replay, he heard what he'd said, "I won’t let it be finished." That was the source of his anguish; he'd wanted to change it all these years and so he kept it alive inside himself, buried deep, eroding his happiness. "Well, to hell with that," he said, almost flippantly. Suddenly, with that decision, the whole thing was gone. He couldn't believe it. He felt for the hurt, the pain, the despair. It was all gone. He thought of Nettie as he remembered her, so young, so beautiful, and he simply loved her. There was none of the old painful feeling left.

He began to look now in this new direction. He realized that the cause of his ulcers was that he had wanted to change everything, starting with his nearest and dearest and extending out to the rest of the world, including the United States, other countries, government heads, the weather, endings of movies he had seen, the way businesses were run, taxes, the army, the President; there was nothing he could think of that he had not wanted to change in one way or another.

What a revelation! He saw himself subject to and a victim of everything he wanted to change! He began dissolving all that. When he thought of something that caused him pain about a person or situation, he would now either correct it with Love or dissolve wanting to change it. This added a new dimension to his work, and his progress accelerated.

By the time a second month had gone by, it was all he could do sometimes to stay in his chair, he became so energized. And there were times, when he had worked on particularly painful incidents in his life, that he literally could not sit and would go out into the city and walk for miles, reviewing, correcting, dissolving until he had burned off enough energy to sit still again. Sometimes he felt as though he had hold of a chain with many links of incidents on it which needed correcting. Once he got hold of the chain, he would follow through incident by incident until there was nothing left to be corrected. An example of such a chain was jealousy.

He had always been intensely jealous but managed to hide it most of the time under a facade of not caring. Nevertheless, his insides used to burn if the girl he was with so much as looked at someone else, or even mentioned another man. He decided to correct this tendency in himself. He would probe his memory for instances where his jealousy had driven him; correct it; then look for more. When he thought it was cleared out, he tested himself by imagining the girl he loved most making love with the man he would least want her to be with. It was a good test because he could see immediately that there was more work to do. Sometimes the intensity of his feelings would almost drive him mad, but he continued for days until there was no last vestige of jealousy left in him. When he could finally enjoy their enjoyment of each other, he knew he was finished with jealousy.

Insights came with increasing frequency. He would often gain a sudden, complete understanding of something which had always puzzled him. Philosophies he had studied became clear, and he could see that they had often started off on the right track, only to veer off into distortions, having been diverted by an incorrect idea springing from the author's own storehouse of uncorrected feelings. His mind began to feel like crystal, clear and sharp. "Colors seemed brighter and everything was more sharply defined" says Lester.

"Above all, I saw that I was responsible for everything that had happened to me, formerly thinking that the world was abusing me! And I saw that my tremendous effort to make money and then losing it was due only to my thinking; that I had been always seeking happiness, and thought that making money would do it. So whenever the business started to make money, and the money did not bring me the happiness I wanted, I began to lose interest and the thing collapsed. I had always blamed it on other people and circumstances, not realizing that it was simply my subconscious knowledge that this is not happiness which caused me to lose interest and that, in turn, caused the business to collapse."

"This was a tremendous piece of freedom, to think that I am not a victim of this world, that it lies within my power to arrange the world the way I want it to be; rather than be an effect of it. I can now be in control of it and arrange it the way I would like it to be. That was a tremendous realization, a tremendous feeling of Freedom."

"Discovering that my happiness equated to my loving, and that my thinking was the cause of things happening to me in my life gave me more and more freedom; freedom from the subconscious compulsions that I had to work, I had to make money, I had to have girlfriends. Freedom in the feeling that I was now able to determine my destiny, I was now able to control my world, lightened my internal burden so strongly that I felt there was no need for me to have to do anything.

"Plus, this happiness was so great. It was a new experience for me. I was experiencing a joy that I never knew existed, never dreamed could be. So I decided, "This is so great, I'm not going to stop until I carry it all the way." I had no idea how far it could go. I had no idea how joyous a person could be. But I was determined to find out."

During the third month, things went even faster. There was a depth to Lester’s feelings that threatened to bowl him over at times. His knees sometimes buckled, but he stayed with each feeling until it was corrected. He was becoming happier and happier, still looking to see if there were any limits to what he could accomplish with this new process.

"How much further can I go?" Lester would ask himself, then push it even further. It was also during the third month that he ran into an old adversary, one he had seen out of the corner of his eye again and again throughout his life. It had lurked nearby, always on the periphery and he had never before been willing to meet it head on. It was the fear of death.

Now he recognized it as the basis of every single feeling he had ever had. He began to coax it out into the open, wanting to take a good look at the biggest foe of all, which had so very nearly won the battle only a few months ago. He began to lure those feelings into the open and to dissolve them. And it worked!

He got to the place where, with great confidence, he laughed and laughed and laughed at this foe which had kept a fire lit under him his entire life so that there had not been one moment of real peace, ever. This last of the monsters turned out to be, after all, only a feeling. As he dissolved the fear of death, he realized one day that his body was sound, healed. The physical impairment was corrected. He couldn't explain to anyone how he knew; he just knew it as surely as he knew who he was. His body was sound.

At the end of the third month, he had slipped into a blissful, joyous state, which he could only describe as feeling like a million orgasms surging all at once through his entire body. It went on and on and he realized that this feeling, although not sexual, was what he was always been looking for but never found in sex. He felt light, living for weeks with joy exploding inside him every moment. Everyone and everything became exquisitely beautiful to him. He kept looking for more things to correct, but there didn't seem to be much. Occasionally something would occur to him, but it would be gone almost before he could define it and the joy would surge through him even more strongly.

After several weeks, he began to wonder if there could be anything better beyond this joy. He was sitting in his chair in the usual position, slumped down, legs stretched out, chin touching his chest. He had an idle thought without expecting an answer, but the answer came.

What was beyond this incredible joyous state that didn't stop? He saw that it was peace, imperturbability and he realized with certainty that if he accepted it, if he decided to move into that peace, it would never, ever go away. And he went—slipped into it so effortlessly – with just a decision to have it. He was there.

Everything was still. He was in a quietness that he now knew had always been there but drowned out by incessant noise from his accumulated, uncorrected past. In fact, it was more than quiet; it was so far beyond anything imaginable that there were no words to describe the delectable deliciousness of the tranquility.

His earlier question about happiness was answered too. There were no limits to happiness, but when you have it all, every minute, it gets tiresome. Then this peace is just beyond and all you have to do is step over the line into it. "Is there anything beyond even this?" he wondered. But as he asked, he knew the answer.

This peace was eternal and forever and it was the essence of every living thing. There was only one Beingness and everything was It. Every person was It, but they were without awareness of the fact, blinded by the uncorrected past they hold on to.

He saw this Beingness as something like a comb. He was at the spine of the comb and all the teeth fanned out from it, each one thinking it was separate and different from all the other teeth. And that was true, but only if you looked at it from the tooth end of the comb. Once you got back to the spine or source, you could see that it wasn’t true. It was all one comb. There was no real separation, except when you sat at the tooth end. It was all in one’s point of view.

[i-love-ptv]

You Know Me..𐙚⭑

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Based on the prompt: “no, i’m not going to give you a bite because i know you’re not going to like it. then you’re going to ask me how the hell i like it, and i don’t want to listen to that right now.”

Wc: 915

No warnings! Just fluff tbh! :]

An: This is a random blurb I made today at 6am lololol

buttttt NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED!!! It’s fall, and i’m missing stranger things rn 😣

ALSO!! I don’t know who made the prompt, since I got it from Pinterest, but if y’all know, tell me!!

Not proofread, i’m tired

feedback is ALWAYS appreciated mls <333

You truly think that you’re being discreet. Taking subtle glances at your boyfriend, and more specifically, what he’s eating.

Steve’s mom has this special tuna casserole recipe, and she made it on the off-chance she’s actually home.

Just looking at it makes your stomach turn a bit, it takes you back to the dinner you had at Steve’s house when he first introduced you to his parents.

You can’t remember what his mother made, but what you do remember is how after Steve dropped you off at your house with a kiss, you were in and out of the bathroom all night.

You blame it on the fact that you may have a sensitive stomach, it’s not uncommon!

But, a part of you felt bad, she put her time and effort into making a meal for you. She doesn’t even really do that for Steve himself.

So you couldn’t just reject it, besides, your mother always told you to ‘try everything first!’.

So now, that’s exactly what you were going to do.

Steve had only come back to your shared home with one plate, so you had to think strategically.

Maybe you could distract him, tell him something’s wrong with the bathroom sink. Yeah! That’ll work!

“No, I’m not going to give you a bite because I know you’re not going to like it. Then you’re going to ask me how the hell I like it, and I don’t want to listen to that right now.” Steve’s sentence catches you off guard.

You whip your head towards him, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“..What do’ya mean, honey?”

“No, don’t give me that look. Baby, I know you, and I know you aren’t the biggest fan of my mom’s cooking. I’m not either.”

You jump up at this, nearly falling off the couch, which makes Steve grab your waist with his free hand. He tries to get you to sit back down, rather than kneel on the couch.

“What? I love your mom’s food!” You practically yelled, your voice picking up in pitch.

Steve gives you a look, in both disbelief and amusement.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to lie to me. D’you remember the 4th of July?”

You cringe at the memory of that day.

Steve’s family, meaning his parents, two aunts, an uncle, his grand-parents, and like four cousins - two of which, were kids - had came together for the 4th of July.

Steve, of course, invited you. He figured it would be better for him to bring you so you could meet his family, and so that he didn’t have to be alone.

The company was great, you loved talking and getting to know everyone, especially his grandmother.

But when it was time to eat, you were a bit….Hesitant, to say the least.

Steve’s dad worked the grill, and to be honest, you didn’t think it was going to be all that good, but it was!

But your dinner was spoiled by Steve’s mom’s watery macaroni and cheese, her oddly sweet potato salad, and her rock-hard rolls of bread.

But you refused to cause a scene, so you shoved all your thoughts down, and ate.

…Which resulted in you barking at Steve, telling him to drive home faster so you could use the bathroom.

You shiver at the thought of how you spent the rest of the night, in and out of the bathroom.

“Yeah, but, I think it was cause I ate too much!” You stammer, before continuing. “I’m all good now, though! Let me try some!”

You try to reach over to the plate, which is being tilted away from you by Steve’s right hand.

Your hands are resting on the brunette’s shoulders, while your body leans in the direction of the food.

“Baby, please. You don’t have to eat my mom’s cooking, I know it’s not good. Please save us both the trouble.” Steve sighs, you know he’s not mad at you.

He’s actually anything but.

He admires how you’re pushing down your feelings, only to uplift his and his mother’s. But he doesn’t want you to think that you’re required to do so.

After another 5-ish minutes of you blabbering on about how you ‘want to try her hard work’ and Steve arguing back, you slouch back onto the couch with a huff.

“I know y’wanna be nice, baby. But you don’t have to.” Steve softy coos, while rubbing your stomach.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to Steve.”

Steve hums at you, and moves your legs from his lap as he stands up.

You track his body, as he walks into the kitchen, scrapes his plate, then sits it in the sink.

Steve goes back to the couch, picks you up, and then lays you on top of him once he’s comfortable laying down. He puts a blanket onto the two of you, and then rubs your back.

Steve leaves a firm, but sweet kiss on your forehead. “My sweet girl, always so nice to everyone, huh?”

You giggle softly, your eyes growing heavy at the feeling of him drawing shapes on your back.

The last thing you remember is him briefly reaching over you, and using the tv remote to turn down the volume.

Steve doesn’t know how he got so lucky with you, but he’ll spend the rest of his life thanking any, and every god for you.

And you’ll never be able to lie to him.

Cause he knows you.

────♡────

[theloganator101]

The Great BNHA Review: The Finale

So in the end... where does this leave us?

A society that really hasn't changed that much, Izuku was alone once again because his hero friends are too busy, and it ends with Izuku being handed a suit to fight alongside them... Reinforcing the fact that Izuku couldn't be a hero on his own without someone handing him something to make him a hero.

What a lackluster and rather bleak ending when you think about it. Because they still have the ranking system so it's once again enticing heroes to compete in a popularity contest to be known, which is why Bakugou is doing poorly and Aizawa admitting that he didn't do shit to curve this behavior.

(Points at Aizawa) Teacher of the Year everyone 🙄

So with the story now completed, what I hope to eventually happen in a few years is for people to truly see the series for what it is. A poorly written story where the main character never grows, the worst anime character hogging all the attention away from things that should be important, and contains harmful messages for preteens-teens if we were to take this at face value.

So let me ask this: Was this story worth telling?

I'm only asking because since it's known that Hori just got tired and wanted to be done and over BNHA as soon as he could. Which I know WOULDN'T have happened if he just pulled a Yana Toboso and just put the manga on hold to truly figure out what he wants to do instead of working on it continuously with only a handful of one week breaks.

His story couldn't explore the themes it established, and what it DID covered, was handled poorly.

And if you want a piece of media that explores what BNHA tried to do, here're some of my recommendations .

The main character being the odd one out? The Owl House.

Family Issues? Gravity Falls.

Discussions on justice and the grey area of good and evil? Death Note.

Hell, Glitch Productions does a better job at developing the romances of their characters than this anime series did in it's entirety!

And trauma being handled in a tasteful manner?

But back to the topic!

The thing is why couldn't we explore these themes and topics that was promised to us? Was anyone REALLY asking for Endeavor to make amends with his family? Did anyone RELLY think that Endeavor's redemption was worth screwing over the Todoroki family members?

This series just wants to have it's cake and eat it too! We want to have cool fight scenes and root for the heroes to win, but we would also want to explore the world they live in and how it functions. And since considering the badly handled topics of the story and the characters themselves are as interesting as caricatures of the tropes they embody to where there's no depth or complexity.

Then you just have a story that GOES NOWHERE!

How much of Hero Society has really changed at the end? It only beckons for the same events that happened throughout the series to happen again! And the people who were horrible, I.E Bakugou and Endeavor, get they want without consequences! None of the major characters go through significant development so it makes it hard to see that they've grown at the end!

So overall, BNHA is an Anime Series that crashed and burned. Something that I hope more people will start to recognize and call it out for both the mistakes of the series and Kohei Horikoshi.

And with that, my career of criticizing BNHA has come to an end. Thank you all for liking my rants and posts, and I truly do hope you'll keep following me for whatever's in store.

So now that's done, I can finally move on to something actually good...

[stargazer-sims]

Yuri's Birthday

20 September is Yuri's birthday.

Yuri: Happy birthday to me!

He really likes his birthday and he loves to celebrate it. Each one signifies another year of defying the odds, and he likes to think of birthdays as a sign of good fortune. Rather than lamenting the fact that he's getting older, he always wants to celebrate another year of being alive to learn new things, achieve new goals, and to love and be loved by his family and friends.

In the morning, Caroline and Victor were busy in the kitchen, making some treats for Yuri's birthday.

Then, Caroline went to change while Victor organized everything. Presents, flowers and Yuri's favourite strawberry cupcakes... it definitely looked like a birthday party!

Caroline chose a strawberry-themed outfit for the occasion.

It looks like these two are excited for the festivities!

Victor: Everything looks awesome! Thanks for helping out.

Caroline: No problem. It was fun, and I think maybe I like Yuri's birthday as much as he does.

Victor: Happy birthday, love. You made it one more trip around the sun.

Yuri: Thank you. Forty-seven's not too bad for someone who wasn't expected to live for more than a day or two, don't you think?

Victor: I'm glad you're still around. Every day is one more day I get to love you.

Yuri: I intend to be around for a lot longer yet.

Victor: Good, 'cause I'm not done loving you yet.

Yuri: I hope you never get done.

Victor: Don't worry. If we both lived forever, I still wouldn't stop.

Yuri: Neither would I.

Victor: For you.

Yuri: They're beautiful!

Caroline: Is it time for cupcakes yet?

Victor: I don't know, but I'd say somebody thinks it's time for wine.

Yuri: Don't judge me. It's my birthday.

Victor: Look at you! You must be feeling really good. I'd better document this moment, 'cause if you keep enjoying your wine like that, you're not going to be feeling all that great later.

Yuri: I'm forty-seven years old. I can do what I want.

Victor: *laughing*

Yuri's birthday photo ♥

This family wouldn't be who they are without a little silliness, so they had to break out the party hats for some cute family photos.

It looks like Yuri might be starting to feel his strawberry wine a bit...

Yuri: You're my favourite.

Victor: You're my favourite.

The silliness continued when Victor brought out this box of mochi. This is one of Yuri's all-time favourite treats. The boys thought it'd be funny to try feeding it to each other. They made the most exaggerated faces and spent more time laughing at one another than actually managing to get any mochi into each other's mouths.

It seems there'll be more birthday activities later...

Yuri: Excuse me? Did you really think we were going to let you see that part?

Happy birthday, Yuri!

[masakuterarr]

HxH Character Analysis : UVOGIN

*cracks my fingers* alright peoples, I've been cooking this for DAYS now and I finally have everything gathered (at least I hope so). So lean back, get something to drink and maybe some paper and pen to take notes :) This will be a long one! (btw if there are missspellings I am really sorry, english is not my native language and it's too much that I wrote and I do not have the energy to look over it again- :') )

Character Analysis of Uvogin, regarding the Sarasa Incident

Numbing and Emotional Detachment

A dumb brute with just muscles and purely driven by the joy to kill. That's probably how a lot of people would describe him. This is actually not really true and I will explain why I think that.

In my perception Uvogin kills because a) it's his 'job' and b) because he wants to drown his own emotions.

There are generally 2 Options we can work with.

Uvogin kills because it's one of the only things that give him a positive feeling, which lasts short term.

Uvogin kills because it's something that numbs his emotions

If we go with option 1, we assume that Uvogin relates positive feelings with killing.

Killing the people who came to kill himself, assumingly gives Uvogin the most pleasure (kinky lol). Assumingly it gives him some kind of kick of adrenaline, knowing he might potentially gives his life. It's probably a same kind of feeling with the russian roulette. (Most people play it because of the death wish, but I don't wanna focus on that too much for Uvogin. This death wish with Uvogin can be a giant topic for itself-)

I simply think, Uvogin got addicted to this kick of adrenaline over time and now simply can't stop.

In the german dub of HxH 2011 it's even put a bit better. There Uvogin says "Because dudes like you appear here and there, I just can't stop killing. It's like an addiction"(I am just obsessed with some of the wording in different languages. Plus I LIVE for german dub Uvogin lol)

NOW, what is ironic about this, is that some moments before Kurapika asked Uvogin what they feel when killing innocent people they don't even know. To which Uvogin answers with "Nothing"

I found this weird so I came to the conclusion that Uvogin has a) to difference between killing innocent people and people who come to revenge or b) he doesn't even know it himself and he is just a confused mess, which makes sense if you consider how his mental health state is after unhealed trauma and unhealthy coping mechanism (but I will go intot his now anyways).

But if we consider Option 2, that killing people is actually numbing his feelings, he might even be the complete opposite of what we thought he is. In this case he might be a emotional mess and killing people is what calms him down.

No matter what tho, Uvogin is heavily addicted to the act of killing and he continues to kill because it's something that distracts him from his emotions. Because judging for how long this has been ago, Uvo is way too deep into this entire hole of killing as coping that he can't bare to face the reality that by now, he is probably even worse than Sarasas murder. So he drowns himself in distraction, pushing the reality down his throat so he does not have to face it. But even if he wanted to, he would probably just break at the actual realization of what he has become.

Extreme Punctuality and The Urge to Control The Uncontrollable

(ah my favorite and the least thing looked at)

At first look it is just a cute funny detail added to Uvogins character to make him a bit more relateable and whole as a character. But looking at it I actually realized a sad thing.

Remember when Sarasa went out alone? The others thought she was just gonna get the tape and come back.

If you look at it and put it simply. Sarasa was late. You know what Uvo hates? Someone being late. Nice when the realization kicks in, is it? :)

To explain it now;

When they found Sarasa in the forest, it was already too late. Uvo realized that if they were to search for her earlier or just arrive earlier, they might have had a chance to make an impact on the outcome. Or even save her life.

With this in mind, Uvogins focus on being punctional now seems less random. His anger towards his comerades being late probably isn't even intentionally. Sarasa's death might have impacted Uvo with a strong sense of responsibility as well.

He wants to gain control over things he can't even control, which is a really common coping response to trauma. He once lost control over something, which led to a tragic consequence and now he fears to lose control once again. So Uvogins 'anger' is not because he is actually mad, but because he fears that the same thing happened to them. He simply just cares and is scared that the ones he cares about are getting hurt and worst case, even die.

Because it happened once. So it's much likely to happen again, right? This is a common anxiety thought process.

Outer Persona and Antisocial Behavior

It is obvious that Uvo has a certain 'tough-guy' persona that he shows to the outside world. It becomes very clear when he fights against Kurapika

When Uvogin begins to realize that Kurapika is stronger than he thought and (from his view) maybe even stronger than himself, you can see how this persona is slowly breaking down.

Outer Personas are a common thing for people with Anxiety and Depression. So I think it is save to assume, this is the case with Uvogin. The reason for that can be really simple; from just wanting to not let the others worry about his mental state or just to seem invincible to other people/enemies.

But it can also be, that Uvogin tries to convince himself that he is invincible and not wants to accept how vulnerable he actually as. And yet again, not being able to accept that he wasn't strong enough when Sarasa needed him to be.

To the 'antisocial' part;

When they found Sarasa in the bag back then, Uvo was about to leave her and the others. This always seemed a bit off to me. Why would he leave if he cared so much about her?

People have various reactions to when they don't know how to handle a situations or emotions. Some people laugh, some cry, some stay silent and some get angry. Uvogin is seemingly someone to cope with aggression or isolation/detachment. He probably just wanted to vanish because he felt weak and helpless, and his body instinctively reacted with aggression and the attempt to cut himself out off the scene.

Even at some point in the fight against Kurapika, you can see how Uvo started to gave up and just emotionlessly repeated himself to Kurapika: "Kill me" .

This also leads to (imo) Uvogin's biggest weakness :

Uvogin and Panic

Uvo is a strong and smart fighter, when it comes to combat. He can probably plan out a lot within just a few moments and has an incredible skill at creative problem solving.

Tho, for me, it tends to panic really easily, leaving him extremely vulnerable. The best example is in his fight against Kurapika but also against the Shadow Beasts. Theres a moment when he got caught off guard and starts to slightly panic, which led him to instinctively cope with aggression;

In the 2011 anime he even calls one of them "bastard" after collabsing onto the ground.

(small addition here cuz Shal wtf, why do you look like someone got you flowers after your comerade just collabsed onto the ground, obviously about to get tortured now??)

anyways-

Uvogins Ego and Self Blame

Ofc this can just be Uvo being Uvo, as he thinks a lot of his own abilities and skills, but since this is an analysis, why not looking into it too?

Maybe Uvogin tends to have an ego problem and high temper because he does not want to get reminded that he can fail too. Because in his opinion, the last time he failed, it led to Sarasa's death.

Logically it is obviously not his fault that Sarasa died. The kids straight up didn’t know what would or could happen. But I am very sure that Uvo always blamed himself for it. The same probably goes for Chrollo and the others as well. And since Uvogin is not in a healthy envirnment, nor got treatment for his trauma ever, he surely blames himself.

(And at this point he surely is not able to stop/change his mind on that anymore. Uvo would straight up rage if he was put into a therapist's office LOL)

A similar thought process might have happened when Uvo got kidnapped by the nostrade family and the others had to save him. After all, it would fit a LOT into his pattern of feeling vulnerable and coping with aggression trying to protect his ego. Cuz if he doesn’t he has to face the reality that he was too weak (again) and the others had to save him, putting them indirectly in potential danger.

His thought process is probably something like: I was too weak → others had to save me → IF they get injured or worst case someone dies bc of it, it is his fault → Cuz they had to save HIM. Because this again is a comon pattern when it comes to Anxiety and Depression.

which leads me to the next point;

Overcompensation with strength and the fear of weakness

My last point. A simple but sad one.

Uvo simply feats of being weak. So he purely focuses on physical strength and mastering his nen as an enhancer.

"If I am too weak, I just need to get stronger, right?"

Because he is an enhancer, he would probably think this simple. And even if we look at it from a depression perspective; A quick way out and taking the first idea to not waste any more time. Especially since Uvo does not seem to be much of an overthinker.

He had emptiness and many questions inside him and his first instinctive answer was strength. As simple as that.

gosh this was a lot- but I warned you before so don't blame me LOL

I hope I was able to explain my thought about him and how I look at him :) I will maybe do a second part, focusing on the "death wish" part I talked about earlier! We will see, no promises.

Feel free to tell me your opinion on this! I would love to hear them 🤍

[mr-damian-s-power]

Luz defends Hooty from Amity

Lately, I've been coming up with ideas for an alternate story in Owl House where Luz actually becomes very close friends with Hooty first. She sees that they're on the same wavelength and he's actually really sweet and innocent.

At the same time, she can't stand it when people berate and hit her new friend. Due to her past experiences with people belittling her for simple interests, she won't sit by and allow her Hooty to be abused. She will fiercely defend her friend from anyone who wants to use him like a punching bag.

My mind then went to that scene where Amity beats Hooty up for annoying her, where I imagined Luz not just sitting back and watching, but having a spine when it came to dealing with Amity and telling her what's what.

-

*Like in the show, Luz invites Amity around to the Owl House, she gets in, Hooty does something (I can't actually remember what he does), but Amity stands beating him up. She leaps upon him and delivers blow after blow while he writhes around. Luz bolts up at the sight she's seeing.*

Luz - AMITY, NO!

Hooty - HELP! HELP!

Luz - Amity, stop!

*Amity continues punching and kicking Hooty, his scared screams tearing at Luz's heart.*

Luz - Stop!

*No response. Luz furrows her brow*

Luz - I said STOP!

*Luz shoves Amity back onto the floor. She sits up and sees Luz holding the Bird Tube's face like a baby, face stricken with worry*

Luz - Hooty, are you okay? Come on, speak to me, buddy?

*Hooty opens his eyes and looks at Luz with tears in his eyes*

Hooty - That hurt!

*Luz looks down at Hooty's body and winces at some bruises*

Luz - Aww, you've got ouchies! Don't worry, I'll patch those up! I'll get the bandaids with the little kitties on that you like!

*Hooty smiles weakly*

Hooty - Kitties!

*Hooty wraps himself around Luz and rests his head on her shoulder. She hugs him and looks down at Amity, her face twisting into a scowling glare*

Luz - You just wait here and try not to move too much! I'll patch up your ouchies once I've dealt with THIS problem!

*Luz carefully lowers Hooty down onto her sleeping bag before turning and marching forward, yanking Amity up by her arm*

Luz - Come with me!

*The pair leave the room as Luz closes the door before whirling back around*

Luz - Why did you do that?

*Amity jumps at the sudden yell from the Human*

Amity - It was annoying me!

Luz - And you started hitting him? Why didn't you just ask him to stop, or ask ME to ask him to stop?

Amity - It wanted to mess around and it foun-

Luz - HE! Not it! His name is Hooty! And I'll have you know he's one of the sweetest and most genuine people I've ever met! He gets enough abuse from people he called friends, so he doesn't need you coming in here and reminding him of how things used to be! He's no one's punching bag! He's just as much a person as you or me!

*Luz groans and pinches the bridge of her nose before looking back at Amity*

Luz - I want you to apologise!

Amity - Okay, sorry!

Luz - Not to me, to Hooty!

Amity - You want me to apologise to that thing? I didn't even hit him that har-

Luz - Then get out!

*Amity's words stuck in her throat at the Human's words*

Luz - If you don't think Hooty deserves an apology for what you just did, then I don't want you here! The door's downstairs! I'm sorry that you have a bad homelife, but you don't come in here and take it out on people who don't deserve it.

*Luz opens the door and steps inside, turning once again to look at the shocked Amity*

Luz - You know, I was willing to give you another chance. I was ready to let you show me you were more than what I saw at Hexside. That you were better than that and there was a good person under there. But now I see what you are. Just a Bully!"

*The door closes, leaving Amity alone in the hallway*

-

Thoughts

[aesrot]

Kian seems like the type that he would be squeamish enough that he absolutely would Not put his hands inside Rolan's chest cavity but he would most certainly be down (and into it) to watch Rand do it

oh yeah, he sits a bit far from them and watches and as his fascination and arousal grows he gets closer and closer, not close enough to touch anything, but he sits by them and follows every movement. curiosity and fear battle inside of him and he just cant look way

[kariachi]

Sorry-not-sorry I'm back on my normal 'Kevin and Argit were so small' bullshittery.

Because they fucking were. Kevin was twelve when Servantis tossed everybody, and Argit couldn't have been far off. They were middle school aged. 'Puberty would be starting about now if we weren't wandering the Null Void and therefor likely not eating near enough' aged.

A pair of children, with minimal education, no paperwork, no homes, no guardians. Wandering the Null Void and then the Milky Way, on their own. One a prime target for the slave trade, both prime targets for adults looking to take advantage of them (*coughcoughOttocoughcough*). With only as much security as they could provide themselves and each other. Only able to rely on themselves for the basic necessities of life.

And then this show has the audacity to try to tell me that they turned to crime due to poor morality. That they're money focused because they're just naturally greedy. That they don't trust people and look out for themselves because they're bad people that either will always be bad people or will only improve because of the power of Tennysons.

What options were there for them? What jobs are there in the Null Void? What jobs are there in the galaxy that'll hire barely-teens, if even that, with no paperwork or educations, that wouldn't ruin them as badly and pay worse than the crime they already had experience with? Will keep them fed and clothed and sheltered? When one of them already has a criminal record, for violent crimes at that? When there's nobody there to stop even the 'good' adults from taking advantage of them?

The show will sit there and tell you that Kevin's violent crimes were the result of a rough childhood, but he and Argit's non-violent ones? Totally on them, no excuse, wholly a matter of greed and not giving a shit about other people. Fucking bullshit. This is a pair of kids who had to grow up way too fast, up against an existence that saw at least one of them as easy profit, with nothing but themselves and each other, and no opportunities. They're a pair of traumatized kids who grabbed the opportunities available to them with both hands and were molded by the problems they faced.

Of course they're money-focused, unlike the Tennysons they don't and haven't had anybody making sure they had enough to get by. They've had to support themselves and live with the constant worry that something is going to go pear-shaped and they'll have nothing.

They spent years with anybody and everybody being a potential threat (even between the two of them, Argit's noting that Kevin's snapping while he worked for the Rooters was the worst he'd seen 'before or since' makes it quite clear he's seen him on and passed the edge at least as much if not more than we have), of course they're going to be slow to trust, quick to toss people aside, and unwilling to help their enemies without some sort of payout, they've been burned before.

Just- Damnit these two come from some shitty fucking situations, the effects they had on them are obvious if you bother to fucking look, and they both deserved better than the series just going "oh yeah they're assholes what do you expect they're criminals" and moving the fuck on. Like, for fuck's sake at least acknowledge that they're like this because life was a fucking lead pipe to the teeth to them! We know Kevin's situation was shit even before they met, we got to see it, but even if Argit had a perfectly good life beforehand (unlikely) the earliest we see him is being held captive for illegal experimentation purposes by law enforcement! These two have been through shit! At least acknowledge it!

Fuck, they could've replaced Color of Monkey with that, hitting on the differences between how Kevin and Argit adapted to their circumstances, give us upfront the Tennysons being a safety net that let Kevin heal (rather than just 'oh the Tennysons taught him morals because they're the Good People') while Argit's issues and lack of security kept him stagnant. It would go better with what we see of him over the course of OV leading up to the Rooters arc, and what we're shown in the Rooters arc. Give us him still being far from great or on the up-and-up but improving with the stability that comes with his 'hero' status, a repairing relationship with Kevin after that arc, and a flourishing, above-board business. Rather than backpedaling on any good the writers had thrown at him like they'd realized they were coming up against a cliff.

Shit that makes you want to get the writers by the shoulders and shake them mercilessly.