#richard's death hurts the most

[delicatebluebirdruins]

i like this bit on its own merit and its small call back to my boy Richard from RE1 when we find him hurt near the attic

and it is such a great introduction to Nikolai

#resident evil #resident evil 3 remake #resident evil 1 hd remaster #resident evil 1 remake #jill valentine #murphy seeker #nicholai zinoviev #richard's death hurts the most #re3 remake #lets take care of what? #we don't know how he was injured #my screenshots

[waugh-bao]

Keith talks about his journey with loss and grief in the wake of Charlie’s passing (2023)

#this is a whole new level of heartbreaking #you can tell it hurts him so much not to have been at Charlie’s last recording session #and not to have Charlie around at all anymore #the way he talks about their inside jokes and how he’s still having a ‘very difficult’ time more than two years later… #the rolling stones #charlie watts #keith richards #old married band #video #sound on #I also have to say #I hate the way this video is edited and some of the subtitles are bad #but I really like the interviewer #it’s pretty clear he’s an ESL speaker but he treats Keith with more sensitivity and asks better questions than most of the British and #American journalists I’ve seen #(although no one rivals that German one who asked Keith if ‘playing live got you over Charlie’s death?’ right after the 60th anniv. tour #that was a whole new level of awfulness)

[deadsetobsessions]

Damian Wayne was like a duckling. A violent, stab-happy, danger-prone duckling, yes, but a duckling all the same. Which means when Danny almost got stabbed by a sleepy, instinct driven Damian, he was able to wave it off with a laugh. Damian, on the other hand, stared in horror at the butter knife firmly lodged in Danny’s arm.

“PENNYWORTH!” Danny jerked back at Damian’s scream. “RICHARD! FATHER!”

God damn, the kid had a pair of lungs on him. Danny’s wince was interpreted as pain to Damian, who gently grabbed his injured arm and started to pull him towards the kitchen’s marble island.

Danny blinked, non plussed as his hearing picked up a thundering of feet as the present family members scrambled towards Damian’s distress call.

“Wait, Damian, I’m fine. It’s-”

“You have been impaled, you imbecile! Had it been any of the other simpletons, they would have-!”

“Ouch.” Danny put his other hand in mock hurt over his slow-beating heart. He literally doesn’t care about the butter knife. He’s just impressed there was enough force in there to impale him. “Are you calling me names now? After- gasp- stabbing me?”

Before Damian could reply, the beginnings of regret, remorse, and guilt on his face, Alfred, Dick, and Bruce burst into the kitchen.

“What happened?!”

“My word, master Danny!”

“What is it?!”

“I’m fine. It’s like a small stab. Not even a big stab. I’m good.”

Dick paled, seeing Danny’s arm clutched in Damian’s hand.

“That’s- that’s a knife. In your arm. How is that ‘fine’?!”

“What happened.” Bruce asked Damian, gently removing Danny’s arm from Damian’s death clutch.

“I- I did not mean to,” Damian starts, guilt coloring his voice.

“He didn’t,” Danny cuts in. “I startled him and got stabbed for being dumb. I won’t fault him for having a defense mechanism like that, ancient knows what I might do if you guys startled me.”

The awkward silence that settled at his words made Danny twitch awkwardly.

“Uh, so, can I add this knife to my collection? Even if I didn’t get mugged?”

“Danny.”

“Bruce.” Danny stared stubbornly back. With his uninsured hand, he patted Damian on the head. He was going to enjoy the fluffiness before Damian’s guilt was no longer enough to hold him back from snapping at Danny’s hand like a grumpy alligator. Bruce loses, obviously. He’s a teenager who was also an ex-vigilante. Batman’s got nothing on a determined halfa.

“Master Danny, I must insist you refrain from getting stabbed. There is only so much gauze and antiseptic cream in the house.” Alfred returned- huh, when did he leave?- with a med kit.

Danny called bullshit because he knows there’s a whole ass medical bay beneath the manor.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Alfred said, promptly beginning the extraction of the butter knife.

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, hovering worriedly. “He- are you…?”

Damian was allowing Danny to ruffle his hair, so…

“Yep, I’m good. This isn’t even on my top thirty most painful stabbings,” and it really wasn’t. That honor was given to the GIW and that one time Jazz accidentally stabbed him with her earrings. “That was pretty impressive, actually. It’s like, a butter knife. The other ones had pointy ends.”

“Do not clump me with those pathetic wastes of spaces. I am naturally superior and would… would never harm you on purpose.” Damian said, getting quiet at the end like he was trying to plead to Danny to believe him.

“Of course not. But- if you want help me keep the knife, you can hit me with a mug, it would technically be a mugging.”

The pun got the desired effect. Damian leaned away with a disgruntled look and Dick stopped hovering as close in order to let out a small cackle.

“Done.”

“You should go get changed, kiddo. We’re going to see Tim’s photography at the Gotham Gallery today.”

“Oh, for real?” Danny patted Damian’s fluffy hair one last time, pushing away from the counter. “Oh, I’ll clean up here first and-”

“That will not be necessary,” Alfred scolded, a mop somehow already in his hands. “Please see to it you are prepared for the day.”

“Thanks, Alfred. Can I keep the knife.”

“Very well.”

“Sweet. See you guys later?” Danny pranced off after seeing the nods.

——

“He’s… he got stabbed a lot. Before us, I mean.” Dick tapped a furious rhythm onto the counter. “Not that we’ve stabbed him until now but even once is concerning for a civilian.”

“He was used to it.” Bruce replied.

“Perhaps we should join Todd in his endeavor and ensure that his worthless tormentors are permanently out of the picture.”

“God, he said top thirty. He was counting.”

Damian silently withdrew a kitchen knife.

“No murder with my quality chef’s knives, Master Damian.”

“Tt.”

“Master Jason follows the same rules. Now, out of the kitchen. I may be old, but I remember the last time master Bruce and master Dick stepped foot in here and I will not have a repeat.”

#danny phantom #danny phantom is a little shit #dc x dp #batman #bruce wayne #jason todd #bamf danny phantom #nightwing #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #Alfred is ninja #Damian is attached #damian wayne #bruce to the GIW: I don’t kill #behind him: a contingent of his pissed off kids #bruce: but they do #danny dropping trauma and lore in one go: lol #Damian’s way of bonding with people is stabbing #Danny’s used to ghostly violence as a way of being a friendly hello #he sees no issues with being stabbed #everyone else not so much

[blondephenobarbitol]

TSH hot takes 🔥

-Julian was actually a dick. He isolated and groomed vulnerable students (do you think it's a coincidence that every single member of the greek class had a difficult home life?) into thinking that these very outdated concepts of love and power were good for them. He compared their dangerous behaviour to that of ancient gods. Then, rather than face the consequence of his actions and take accountability, he left when it mattered.

-Charles was an asshole, but he's not a scapegoat. You cannot blame all the problems on Charles, he was an addict as a result of his trauma. He needed help. This doesn't excuse him from his actions, but it explains them. At the beginning of the book he physically could not bring himself to hurt Camilla. He's not a "bad" person. He's a sick person.

-Bunny didn't deserve to die, but he was also probably going to condemn the group at some point. He didn't just die for no reason. (Believing that Bunny's death was truly pointless also means believing that Henry was an actual psychopath who killed his friend for shits and giggles.)

-Judy, Cloke and Sophie ended up the happiest. That is literally the moral of the book. Judy wasn't all tortured when Richard didn't want to hang out with her, she shook it off and kept living her life. That's literally the point.

-Richard was never in love with Camilla. He loved the idea of her, but didn't see her as a person. Because of this specific dynamic and the fact the Richard is narrating, we know nothing about her actual personality. Anything he says can be disputed, and a lot of it contradicts itself.

-Francis is not blameless or unproblematic, but of the group he probably had the best intentions. Most of his behaviour that can be interpreted as creepy can be chalked up to Richard's internalized homophobia (remember, everything is told from his point of view, and Francis was a gay man in the 80's) When you look objectively at what Francis did, you see that he made a pass, got rejected, then dropped it and moved on. There is (i think) one more attempt made later on in the book, and that is furthered by Richard and only interrupted when Charles shows up.

-Henry may be the metaphorical representative of death when talking about the book, but in the narrative it's important to remember he's also just a person. Otherwise everything he does seems beyond question, and he's assigned this label as just "evil." He was 21!! Literally still a kid

-There were not good or bad characters. The reason they hit so hard is because each of them are so layered. They all have good traits and bad traits, but calling one "evil" takes away their humanity and dismisses their complexity that makes them so great.

#the secret history #tsh #donna tartt #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #henry winter #richard papen #bunny corcoran #francis abernathy #judy poovey #booklr #hot take

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

Damian has learned many things since joining the family. He's found joy in Gotham even fighting Rouges and stopping crime he's made more happy memories here than he did while in the league.

Although he will always love his mother and be grateful for everything she has taught him many of those skills have been retired and he can't say he's partically angry about it.

What he's truly enjoyed most is his family Father and Richard, even Todd when he cooks and lets him sketch the alley cats that frequent his terrace.

'So Baby Bat guessing you weren't invited to the brother meeting tonight".

-

The pencil rolls hitting the floor. Jason was half paying attention more focused on the pasta he's stirring.

"I don't understand, what do you mean by that Todd"

Now Jason knows he's not exactly kept up to date on all the family's lovely adventures. But he can't place why Damian's voice is shaking.

Or why his little brother seems so hurt a part of him wants to scoop him up and wrestle his problems back to wherever hell they came from. But something stops him.

"I figured you were here cause of Dickbird and Timmy aren't you" he says carefully.

" Why would Drake and Richard have anything to do with my presence here." He spits, pausing.

"Are they together, Richard said he had something important to do and why would that be with Drake."

"Shit Dami sorry I must have made a mistake on the day it's the 16th not the 23rd my bad. The thing with Timmy is next week photography or something."

"Idiotic as ever Todd I will go back to my drawing now."

Jason would feel more offended at the blatant dismissal if he hasn't just lied.

Because Baby Brothers shouldn't be told that they aren't Dickie birds little Robin always.

That Dick is taking Tim on their weekly getaway to gone only knows where. That always seems to end with blood and death.

That their eldest brother is more fucked up then all of them combined and that only one is trusted enough to see what that means.

That as kind as Dick and even Tim can be they aren't always like that. There angry, vengeful, sadistic little shits that burn as much as they warm.

How's do you explain to the kid who's thinks the sun shines out of someone's ass that they are off galivanting with the favorite brother.

That the kid got off lucky for trying to kill the golden apple.

You don't.

You make food and watch him sketch the cat who's seen almost as many fights at Jason himself.

Ingnore your own twisted jealousy and pretend you wouldn't cut off your own arm if replacement asked.

Because only one Bat is unaware of who's the deadlist of who is lurking in the shadows weaving.

It's not Jason's place and more importantly he can't destroy the very pedestal that Jason still worships.

"Come on Dami, stop bugging the fucking cat and come eat."

Who's he to explain about the brothers who would put each other above all others even their own.

How do you explain that if you weren't practically the son of the last flying Grayson you would be another hidden name on a list more guarded than Bruce's emotions and that you would be rotting six feet under dead at the hands of your beloved Richard.

#tim drake #batfamily #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #batfam #bamf tim drake #bamf batfamily #Damian is Dicks son not his Brother #Jason is scared of both Dick and Tim #he should be #Dick and Tim are killing assassins #no one is invited to the party and Jason only knows cause he gets Drunk dialed

[celaenaeiln]

i mean this in the most neutral tone, but, im genuinely confused with this eldest daughter syndrome dick thing? as far as i know, he never lives in the manor with other batsiblings and personally take care of them except damian, and just "yeets" from any possible trouble or tension within the siblings or when they have issues with bruce

No worries I totally get it! And I'm here to deliver!

First, to be fair to Dick, no one lives in the manor aside from Damian and sometimes Tim.

Dick lives in Bludhaven, Steph lives in Gotham U? She's been in and out of comics but otherwise her own house. Cass lives in Leslie's clinic, Tim alternates between the Titans and the manor, Jason lives anywhere that doesn't have Bruce, and Duke lives with his uncle.

However that doesn't mean they don't all rely on him.

I think the confusion comes from scenes like this-

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #10

Where it seems like Dick just left Tim to deal with Bruce on his own. But-

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #10

Dick called him. When Tim when to him for advice, he gave him advice but also knew it couldn't just stop there. So he called Bruce to get it through his thick head that he's allowed to be happy. If there's anyone that can change Bruce's mind on anything it's Dick.

Which brings me to my next instance of Dick acting as the mediator and emotional burden lifter of his family. When each batkid dies (or almost dies in Dick's case), Bruce grieves in a different way. With Jason he took it out on criminals, with Tim he took it out on himself, with Dick he took it out on criminals and heroes, and with Damian, he wanted to undo what happened. He torments Jason about it, goes too hard on the criminals, gets worsened by Barbara, gets helped a little by Selina but also feels a billion times worse about Damian's death so-

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

He locks himself in a simulator for days trying to see and fix where he went from when Heretic killed Damian. Nothing gets through to him so Alfred pulls out the Big Guns - he calls in Dick.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

"Richard just came in from Chicago to--"

"Talk some sense into me?"

"Yes, I've implored you to shut this...thing off and join the living, but you have turned a deaf ear for days."

"This calling in the cavalry routine is getting old, Alfred."

Since the dawn of Batman and Robin, Dick has always acted as the mediator for Bruce and the family. Always.

With Dick's help, finally, after days, Damian's saved.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

And Dick finally brings Bruce back to life.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

He took a destructive, dead-man-walking and breathed life and hope back into him to stop him from taking his grief and anger out on his family and criminals.

Also-

LOOK AT THE WAY THEY'RE SEATED. DICK IS LITERALLY BRUCE'S THERAPIST.

Batman and Robin (2011) Issue #23

Calling in the cavalry always works.

Of course there's times when Dick doesn't help mediate. But the issue is not that he doesn't want to or he pushes it off, it's that he can't. What the hell are you supposed to do when the mediator who mediates all your problems is themself broken?

Dick really wants to help Tim but he can't. He can't find it in himself to barely live right now because Donna-his platonic soulmate-is dead.

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files

He really can't.

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files

She was his sister too. Pretty much blood.

I actually think the fact that Dick doesn't live in the manor makes the fact that he still takes care of all his siblings and their problems with Bruce even more important. To calm and rationalize down Bruce and take care of his siblings, he's constantly flying or driving back and forth between different cities, dropping his cases and work, ignoring his problems, just to be there for them.

For another example, when Dick hears that the newest Batman is causing problems in Gotham and Bruce just abandoned Tim to deal with everything and Tim nearly got hurt, he comes all the way back to Gotham to rail Bruce out for doing that to him.

Robin (1993) Issue #8

When Bruce teams with Damian their relationship so tumultuous but once again Dick steps in.

Batman: The Return

"I need a partner who can stay focused and keep up."

"Bruce, come on! I made a career out of not doing anything I was told when I was Robin. He gave up everything for this. You can't just take it away...you can't cut him out."

He keeps Robin from being fired and continues being Damian's support system.

It's not just mediating though, Dick fully steps in to take care of the batfamily whenever Bruce absconds or there's trouble.

Batman and Robin Eternal Issue #24

He's like the command center of the family.

This picture just embodies his role.

Batman (2011) Issue #15

And as Bruce once said-

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #22

He's really the eldest daughter and caretaker.

#dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #tim drake #red robin #robin tim drake #damian wayne #robin #alfred pennyworth #batfamily #cl anon asks #thanks for the ask!

[faeriekit]

The Firstborn Son

dp x dc | Batman 👻 tw for: dead body, brief reference to human trafficking

(Part II available now!)

****

Once upon a time, there is a boy who dies forever...mostly.

****

Once upon a time, there is a man who wants to live forever.

He does.

****

Once upon a time, there is a daughter born to an immortal man.

"I need an heir," her father commands.

She gives him one.

****

Once upon a time, there is a King.

(He is a dead boy.)

(Most do not know that.)

"My heir, for a hundred years of your power," the immortal offers; the King accepts.

****

Once upon a time, there was a family of acrobats.

There isn't, not anymore, but the son still loves his mother and father, and gravity cannot steal his wings forever.

He sleeps restlessly, and rarely in his own bed. The allure of flying is too much to resist. At night, when the world is quiet, the acrobat joins the black darkness of an endless sky, and claims it as his own.

His guardian is one with the night.

The petit Robin is bright light and spectacle, no matter how well he hides his colors. He is spotted first.

****

Dick didn't really remember waking up from his nap. Alfred had put him down for a cold; his head hurt, and he was sleepy all the time, so B was out without him and Dick was stuck in a too-big bed in a giant, dark mansion, all alone.

Except. At some point, Dick must have gotten out of bed. Because now he's in the chandelier.

Dick doesn't remember jumping to the chandelier. And jumping to the chandelier is hard work; it's not something he could have done in his sleep. It requires weight, heft; the shirking of gravity. The night is dark around him; there are no street lights outside of their windows to light up the hallway. The darkness makes the grand persian carpet so much farther away than it is in the daytime-- entirely, unfathomably far below him. Pale moonlight flickers across cut shards of crystal. It's Dick's own little bird's nest.

Dick and the chandelier gently sway. He doesn't notice the-- the ghost, the illusion-- for a whole minute. It just looks like moonlight, until it doesn't.

It's a body. A boy's body-- not much older than Dick. Suspended, midair.

His heart drops. But Dick doesn't scream.

For a second, there are two boys midair, silent and still in the morning moonlight.

The body raises its head. Hello, Richard.

Dick doesn't move.

I have a question for you. The body blinks sightless eyes. Does your guardian treat you well?

Dick...doesn't know what that means. He rolls his weight forward, careful, so careful not to tip himself over the edge and send him plummeting.

"...Why are you asking?"

I need something looked after, the body says. Its limbs sway in wind that isn't here. It is very precious to me.

"Oh." Well, B is Batman, sometimes. And when he's not Batman, he's Bruce Wayne, and he is in charge of a lot of people. "Yeah, he's respons- reponsbile- he does a good job. Can I see it?" Dick's interest is piqued.

The body stills. And then-- like a zombie clawing its way out of its grave, it reaches through the rotting skin of its own stomach and removes. Something.

It's a baby.

Dick leans so far forward that he almost does go toppling but he's gripping the silver of the chandelier so that he doesn't, and, look! It's a baby! It's so small and tiny and it's still purple!

"He's so new!" Dick gasps, and releases one arm from its death grip to make a grabby hand. The body only floats close enough that Dick can pet the baby's cheek with a careful finger, can feel the softness of the baby's hair.

He is my charge, the body explains. As such, he is precious to me.

The baby is so small. Dick wants to bounce him, like he's seen mamas and papas do with their little ones. "Can I hold him?"

The baby disappears back into the body. It looks like a maggot burrowing back into the corpse it's eating, and Dick is heartbroken and sick about it. No. Not until I know it's safe.

Dick pouts. Also, he needs to know how to get the baby away from the...body. Babies need a lot of light and warmth. A dead body monster can't give him that.

Your guardian played his part in making the little heir, the body says. This baby was given to me by his grandfather. His mother passed him onto her own father, and her father sold him to me.

"Oh no!" Dick gasps. That is one of the things B has had to explain to Dick, one of hundreds of terrible things that happens to people in Gotham. And it happened to B's baby?

Yes. The body floats sightlessly, thin skin sliding over too-pale eyes. I must know if he is safe before I leave the baby in his care. Will you help me?

Dick...doesn't know what that means. He bites down on the soft presence of his lip. (He tastes blood.) "How?"

The body and the baby inside it are still. Quiet. Dick is two stories off the ground, midair, and any wrong motion could be his-- his-- Dick can't even see the ground. It would hurt so much. He's so high up from the distant hardwood floor and with only ghosts to keep him company.

...It would be very scary.

Dick swallows.

Do you trust that he would come get you, if you were in danger?

Dick knows so. He nods.

Do you trust he would be smart enough to find you? Mean enough to defend you? Care enough to comfort you? the body asks.

Dick nods.

The body floats closer. Closer. Until they are almost touching-- limp limbs entangling on the crystalline arms of the chandelier. It would be very scary, if you said yes, the body admits, as heavily weighted as any corpse that cannot help you hold it. But you would be in no danger. Should your guardian succeed, I will entrust him with this precious thing.

One circus boy's fears for the safety of B's baby. It's an easy choice. Dick is Robin. He is always going to pick helping people over maybe getting hurt.

His pinky touches the cold, dead flesh of the body's.

And then Dick wakes up sweating and heaving in bed.

#ooo spooky ooky #idk kid maybe ask your dad about this before you agree to anything?? #this is why I can never finish anything #I always have like ten things in reserve #contracts signed by minors without consent are illegal DANNY #dp x dc #Danny Phantom #DC #DCU crossover

[zehiiro]

My take on the current fandom discourse

As well as a little reminder.

It hurts and is unfortunate to see many people on here and on Twitter who are worried and hurt by things they saw within the new teaser and sneak peek and their interpretation of what it means.

So I've decided to post this as a little reminder of who Daryl and Carol are to each other and how much they truly mean to each other, hoping that it can reassure at least a few of you.

I won't be disputing people's interpretation of the teaser and sneak peek, but I will be using a parallel I saw within the sneak peek and another similar scene. I'll let the gifs below speak for themselves for a moment before I continue, and I think most of you will know exactly where I'm headed with this.

She gets hurt She dies She catches a fever She gets taken out by a walker... She gets hit by lightning Anything... anything happens to her, I'll kill you.

- Daryl Dixon TWD 07x10

These were Daryl's words when the Kingdom, Alexandria, Hilltop, and everyone he knew were in danger, and even then, not even for a split second was he willing to put Carol's life and safety on the line.

There is not an ounce of doubt in me that Daryl feels any differently now; in fact, his love for her has grown even more because of everything they've been through since and all the time he's been forced to be away from her, never knowing if he'll ever see her again.

If the way he cared for the people of Alexandria, Kingdom, and Hilltop combined couldn't outweigh how much he cared for Carol, there is ZERO chance that Isabelle, Laurent, and the people from Nest ever could.

When Daryl finally lays eyes on Carol in season 2, compared to her, nothing else will matter to him anymore. The second Carol is ever in danger, Daryl will immediately prioritise her safety over all else.

Of course, he'll help the Nest as much as he can, and so will Carol; that's who they are, but if it ever came down to choosing between one or the other, they will always choose each other.

Yes, it's his nature to always fight for people who need him, but his feelings towards Carol led him to overcome that nature once, and he'll do it again without a second thought.

Trust the man who risked his life looking for her daughter

Trust the man who instantly ran into danger to protect her

Trust the man who ran into her arms when they reunited

Trust the man who would risk death to keep her safe

Trust the man who held her when she lost her children

Trust the man who ran to shelter her from seeing her son dead

Trust the man who puts himself between her and danger

Trust the man who stood by her when she lost herself

Trust the man who always made sure she was okay first (this)

Trust the man who has always put Carol first

Trust the man we've known for 13 years!

In 07x10, as a last attempt to convince Daryl to follow the plan and sacrifice Carol to save everyone else, Richard says:

"What we have to do requires sacrifice one way or another... Guys like us... we've already lost so much"

Daryl responds by saying:

"You don't know me"

Because it's true, Richard didn't know him, he didn't know what Carol meant to him, he couldn't imagine, but we do. And just like Richard, the people in France don't know him and don't know how much Carol means to him, hence why they don't understand him no matter how many times he has said that he has his home to get back to and promises he needs to keep.

So why don't they understand? Why doesn't he tell them about her? Why doesn't he explain who he wants to get back to and why? Wouldn't that just make things easier?

The amazingly insightful @haircoveredwriter reminded me of something here: Why didn't Richard expect Daryl's reaction towards Carol being put in harm's way? Why do Isabelle, Laurent, and Losang not hear Daryl when he tries to explain himself?

Daryl has always held the people he cares about the most as close to his chest as possible, like they're his fragile secrets, like he's scared of sharing them in case they get hurt or he loses them. Of course, you might say that that's more something we do as children, but we can't forget that Daryl never got to have a childhood, and he lost the only people he ever loved while growing up, so no, I can't fault him for trying to protect the person he cares about most, even if it's not in the most conventional ways, instead of talking about her and sharing her with anyone he has an acquaintance with.

This is also a way for Daryl to protect himself; I can see how he believes telling others about her is like advertising his weakness, his achilles heel, like holding up a sign to them that says "Here, this is where you can hit me if you want it to hurt the most. This is my weakest spot. This is how you take me down".

Speaking about her out loud is too painful; a reminder of how much he missed saying her name, what he can't have and may never be able to see again.

Listen to the hesitation and the way his voice softens when he says, "There's a lady named Carol" after Laurent asks who he misses from home, and how within a second, we see his guard go right back up again.

Look at how he can't help but smile when he hears her voice saying his name again after however long, or how he can't stand still, and his shoulders move like someone who's overwhelmed by an emotion that they're trying to contain.

The Daryl we see in the new teaser/sneak peek and the Darly we'll be getting in TBOC season 2 is the exact same Daryl he has always been, the one that's always seen as distant and guarded on the outside and a man of few words but incredibly loud actions; almost all of these have been developed as a self-defence mechanism, but none of these means that internally he isn't dying to leave France and get back to her, to hold her again, to see her smile again, to make her laugh again, to wipe her tears when she cries, to be her support and man of honour again.

The list from earlier in this post is just a few examples (of many) of how he has repeatedly shown us, through his actions, that she is the most important thing in the world to him.

~~~~~~

To wrap this up I just wanted to say that I can't wait to see how their bond strengthens even more in season two because I see these two as the definition of soulmates.

I love them, I love how they love each other, and I always will.

Or in @lola-andheruniverse's wise words (her post), which have stuck with me:

"I'm choosing to hope [and trust] and ignore the fear of disappointment... I'll always love them... They changed the way I understand love, and I'll never regret a second spent loving them."

For those who want to watch the scenes mentioned above, the timestamps are as follows:

TWD 07x10 scene between Richard and Daryl is 8:45 - 14:27.

TWD: DD 01x05 scene between Laurent and Daryl 9:20 - 10:50

TWD: DD 01x05 radio call between Carol and Daryl

Thank you to those who read through this; I know it's a little long, and I could have honestly made it 3x longer because I always have so much to say about these two, but I hope it helped ease your minds, even if it was just a little bit.

#carol peletier #daryl dixon #caryl #caryl positivity #the book of carol #tboc #the walking dead daryl dixon #twd #my gifs #CarylArchives

[myosotisa]

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 2/2 - What did you bury?

ǁ  summary: After your altercation with Eddie, you find yourself facing a lot of questions and uncertainty. Attempting to look closer at why you're in rehab, how you feel about him, and what the future holds for you feels like more than you're willing to take on until you realize it's only hurting you more not to.

ǁ  tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers. happy ending!

ǁ  content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ  word count: 12k

ǁ  Part 1 ǁ  Read on AO3 ǁ

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

You’re sitting on an examination table in the hospital wing in a paper gown with Dr. Lincoln fluttering around you like a nervous mother. Penelope had taken you right here after you had gotten all of the dirt off of your hands and pants, explaining Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln insisted on seeing you. Despite your assurances that you were completely fine, just shaken up, they had gotten you into a gown and prepared for a full exam.

“Are you able to lift your arms above your head?”

You do as asked, face stoic despite the pain in your shoulders from the movement.

“How about twisting? Carefully! How does that feel on your lower back?”

Performing the action, you also easily hide the discomfort the throbbing in your tailbone causes when you shift in your seat. “It feels fine.”

“And your head? You didn’t hit it? Does it hurt? Blurry vision, nausea, confusion?”

“No,” you sigh out, quickly losing patience with Dr. Lincoln’s anxious questioning. You can’t remember now if he was like this when you were first admitted or if he’s going overboard now because he’s worried about some kind of lawsuit. “I told you, I’m fine.”

He plucks your chart off the edge of the table, pen clicking as he begins to write furious lines along the bottom of the page. “I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain. Nothing stronger than that, of course. Given the circumstances.”

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “I don’t want anything. It doesn’t hurt.”

Liar.

Penelope steps up from where she was having a hushed discussion with Mr. Ford off to the side. “Are you sure? It looked like quite the fall.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want any painkillers.”

This pain is good. I need it. I deserve it.

Mr. Richard Ford steps up then – a severe looking man in his late 50s, always dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie, with his hair combed just so and his mustache neatly trimmed across his upper lip. You’re still not sure if he’s related to the Ford’s that founded the facility or if it’s just a coincidence that he shares the surname.

His dress shoes click across the tiles as he approaches you, throat clearing uncomfortably when he enters the circle that has formed around the table. “Miss…” He looks down at your file and repeats your last name like he’s never read it before, earning him a cold glare from Penelope. “I am deeply sorry for what occurred. I assure you we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here.” He adjusts his tie along with his posture, looking proud as he explains, “We’re already in the process of having Mr. Munson transferred to another facility.”

A lick of panic rockets up your spine. “No.” 3 sets of eyes lock on you, emotions ranging from curious to concerned. “You don’t have to do that.” Your fingers curl into fists where they sit on your thighs before relaxing, taking some of the tension in your body with it. “I don’t want you to transfer him.”

He seems to hesitate then, bushy eyebrows drawing together on his wrinkled forehead. “Are you positive? It’s important to us that you feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here,” you press, looking back and forth between the three of them before settling on Penelope. “It was an accident. Eddie’s barely into his detox – barely started therapy – and I should’ve known better than to get into an argument with him.” Her face remains passive, unreadable. No insight into how she feels about what you’re saying. “It’s my fault as much as his. It wouldn’t be fair to move him, not when he’s struggling this much, this early into his treatment. I don’t want him moved.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you should be more concerned about yourself.” Dr. Lincoln takes a small step forward, adjusting the collar of your gown to take another look at the quickly forming bruises near your collarbone. “You’re not worried about something like this happening again with him, maybe even worse?”

You think back to the moment you hit the ground. Looking up at him, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun, leaving almost all of him cast in shadow. The way he looked utterly terrified at what he’d done. How quickly he had tried to apologize when he came back to himself.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

“No, it’s fi–” Hazel eyes narrow into a squint, stopping your sentence in its tracks. Another deep breath, in and out, and you try again. “I’m not worried. He won’t do something like this again. I want him to stay.”

A few moments of silence follows your declaration, Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln glancing at each other before looking to Penelope. Her calculating gaze remains on you, entirely unwavering even as the other two stare holes into the sides of her face. For the first time, you make a conscious effort to keep eye contact, to remain firm despite your desire to shy away.

The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in response.

“Then that settles it.” She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach, looking back and forth between the men beside her with a placating smile. “Mr. Munson will stay, pending further transgressions.”

Your shoulders sag in a relief you hadn’t anticipated feeling, but you’re quick to straighten when she addresses you again. “Any other incidents, with you or any other resident, and he will be moved to another facility. Understood?”

It feels like a lifeline. Like a chance. Like an opportunity.

If you want him here, then help him stay.

“Understood.”

The next morning when you walk out for breakfast at 8:30 sharp, there’s something sitting on your table. It strikes you as odd immediately given you’re one of the first people out of your room today and there doesn’t seem to be anyone milling around. You withhold your curiosity – follow the same pattern of line, meds, line, breakfast. Stamp down the nervous feeling in your gut as you cautiously approach.

Completely dusted free of dirt and with your bookmark perfectly in place, is Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d even dropped it. You place down your tray with shaky hands and pick it up, flipping through the pages like you’re checking it for wounds. There’s no note, no sign, nothing that could indicate who brought it back for you.

But you know who. It scares you half to death that you know just who, that you know it with certainty.

When is the last time anything felt certain?

The question lingers, festers, and grows as you push around your food and wait for him to plop down in front of you. Imagining what stupid thing he might say, how you would brush it off with a groan and a snarky comment, how he would take that reaction with a smile and never press for more. 

He never shows.

It’s with great annoyance that you find yourself looking for him all day. Sitting in your chair by the window, you glance up every half a page to see if you can catch a glimpse of his shaggy hair around the hall. You actually take a walk during your outside time instead of hiding, and you tell yourself it’s because you want the exercise and it’s finally cool enough outside to not sweat your balls off, but that doesn’t exactly account for the way your eyes search the grounds for any sign of tattooed forearms and lanky legs.

When you walk into Therapy House with the others that afternoon, Eddie is already inside. He’s in the chair beside Penelope, slumped down so far most of his ass is hanging off the edge, legs out long, and looking every bit a kicked puppy. You silently beg him to make eye contact with you as you sit, willing your stare into a physical sensation that might force him to just look at you.

He doesn’t look away from his own hands once, silent as a mouse the entire session.

The moment group is over and the counselors come around to collect their first resident of the day, you’re walking across the sunbathed birch wood floors and stopping short just behind him before you can even think about it.

“Eddie,” it comes out as a sigh, eyes pinned to the way his shoulder blades tense before your very eyes, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve, uh… Been in here, for the most part,” he explains over his shoulder, still not turning to face you. His voice is hoarse around the edges, ragged and torn from overuse.

“Oh, okay.” Your face pinches in concern, hand raising like you want to reach out to him but hesitating there. “About… about yesterday–”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off sharply, turning halfway toward you with red-rimmed eyes still trained on the floor, “I’ve gotta go.”

He’s halfway across the room and climbing up the stairs to the lofts two at a time before you can say another word.

The image of the swollen redness around his teary eyes, half covered by his hair as he refuses to look at you for even a moment, haunts you for the rest of the week.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

Penelope is dressed in a teal silk blouse. It washes out her skin tone and the boat neckline makes her shoulders look too small. Not to mention the strange height of the cinch just below her bust, giving it the appearance of a child’s nightgown. Plainly, it looks really bad on her. All of her clothes are carefully curated and fashion forward – meant to make a statement about who she is and the authority she holds. This is absolutely not making that statement. And you were staring at it for all of group, trying to wrap your head around what it meant.

“Who gave you that shirt?”

This might be the first time she’s ever looked even half surprised at something you’ve said, her lips parting slightly as she glances down at her chest like she had forgotten what she was wearing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she looks back at you, passive expression back in place.

“You would’ve never bought it, I’m surprised you’re allowing yourself to be seen in it,” you continue, eyes narrowing into a squint as you continue to search it and her for clues. “The fact that you’re wearing it makes me think someone gave it to you and you’re going to see them today, so you felt obligated to wear it to please them. Maybe one of your parents or a sibling or a friend… A partner?”

She uncrosses her legs just to recross in the other direction, attempting to appear amused as you explain. Gotcha.

“A partner, then. One who obviously doesn’t know you very well, or doesn’t understand fashion at all, because the color is god awful and the shape even worse. But you want to impress them enough that you’re willing to wear it anyway.”

If it was an after work date, she would’ve changed after. So it’s someone she would mostly see during her normal day. Plus, she lives and breathes her job, when would she have had time to meet someone?

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I wear… Or that you were so into fashion,” she offers casually. Too casually to play off.

A bit too sharp, a bit too pointed, you snap back. “I’m not into fashion and you’re deflecting.”

She blinks at you for a few moments before she settles back into her chair, draping her arms over her stomach. “And you’re projecting.”

“No, I’m not,” and it comes out defensive. Too defensive to play off.

So then the quiet kicks in. Queen Penelope Windsor’s beloved uncomfortable silence. Part of you is convinced one of her professors taught her that awkward silence is an invaluable tool in psychiatry. You want to know who that professor is, so you can inform them how utterly wrong they are.

Penelope is, however, utterly right.

“I’m projecting,” you concede, gaze casting down to your lap to settle into the discomfort.

Her pen clicks and it feels like salt in your wound. “Okay then. Would you like to talk about what you’re avoiding?”

And maybe you’re not quite done being snarky when you reply, “Isn’t the whole point of deflecting because you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It can be. But I still would like to give you the opportunity to. You never know, it might help you feel better.”

Your eyes roll hard enough to just see white for a moment, looking off to the stupid little white noise machine in the corner. It’s the size of a radio clock and sits directly on the floor by the door – you’ve almost tripped on it 10 times.

Probably an accessibility hazard. Someone should really complain about that. If someone less coordinated, or even Thomas with his cane, tried to walk in they could really get hurt.

“Fuck!” The exclamation comes from nowhere, probably just barely loud enough to draw attention from outside the room. Penelope remains incredibly passive despite the sudden change in your attitude, not making a move or a sound as you bury your face in your hands with your elbows propped on your thighs.

Probably just interrupted other therapy sessions. Made them lose track of what they are talking about. Maybe even triggered someone unintentionally with your sudden yell. Great job, idiot.

Digging your nails into the skin along your hairline, you take in a hissing breath through your teeth and attempt to exhale some of the tension. It’s been weaving through your muscles all week, infecting all of your time, distracting you at all hours of the day. A part of you hoped it was just another phase in recovery but it just keeps getting worse and worse.

Penelope’s voice is softer when she speaks next, more cautious. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now that’s distressing you?”

“It’s the fact that I’m fucking thinking that’s distressing me.”

Realizing that probably doesn’t help at all, and most likely makes you sound insane, you release your hands to clasp tightly in your lap as you raise your head to look at her again. “I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop noticing everything. I can’t stop.”

“Okay,” she gives a small nod of encouragement, sliding her notebook further into her lap to focus more attention on you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything. Your shirt and the noise machine and how someone could trip on it and hurt themselves. And how we are required to have 1 hour outside a day but half of us sit in the shade the entire time because it’s too hot or we don’t want to get sunburnt, and they aren’t exactly going to start stocking sunscreen and ointment just to facilitate 60 minutes in the sun. I’m thinking about how I finally figured out that there’s a different cook on the weekends and that’s why the stupid scrambled eggs they make us every day are oversalted Friday through Sunday and undersalted all the other days. I’m thinking about how all of the books in the library used to have an organization system but no one takes care of it – so all the books are all in the wrong places and now I feel like I have to take some of my free time to fix it because I know nobody else will, even though I can’t figure out why I fucking care so much. I’m thinking about how you asked me to help Eddie so he could stay here in recovery and I want to do that because he latched on to me when he first got here and now I suddenly feel responsible for him, even though I didn’t even like the guy at first, and now he won’t even fucking talk to me so I can’t do that.”

You inhale sharply, talking way too fast but unable to stop. “I’m thinking about how this facility is built to house 50 people or more but only gets one new resident a month, maybe two. So why is it so big? Why not bring in more people? Probably because they’re only accepting the people willing to turn out their wallets in order to get help or because they know someone who will so then all the people who really need help are left to fucking die under highways and in abandoned buildings because if they don’t have money, they don’t fucking mean anything to anyone. But for some reason I still care about that and feel bad about it and feel responsible for it even though there is literally nothing I could possibly do to change any of it.”

Another heaving breath that makes your chest feel too tight and you’re squeezing your eyes shut against the brunt of the pressure. “I can’t stop thinking about everything and I feel like it’s fucking crushing me and I just want something to turn my brain off – but that’s the entire fucking reason I’m here in the first place. I started using because I just wanted something to numb it all.”

The admission feels like a slap across the face. Like being dunked head first in ice water. The reality of where you started. 

The sprawling, trembling fault line that led you here – to where the tectonic plates move and shift. Where the earthquakes, that used to feel like subtle vibration in the dirt beneath your feet, now knock you to the ground with ease. Standing on the edge of the chasm between that you’re still not ready to cross.

Because what’s on the other side?

And what if I fall through?

The next week of your life passes in a sort-of overwhelmed daze. The realization of that pit before you– what it means, what it could do. It hangs around like a spirit haunting your home. It’s always been there, you just couldn’t see it, too focused on your own feet and keeping them moving to see anything beyond the inches of ground in front of you.

Now, the inches of ground before you are darkness. Unfathomably deep and impenetrably dark. And on the other side, there’s sun. Grass. Trees.

Shouldn’t I want to get there? Shouldn’t I be excited to jump?

The questions follow you through your days on autopilot as you keep to your schedule.

On the two week anniversary of your argument with Eddie, Penelope announces that, instead of talking in a circle for group today, she’ll be pairing you off into partners to play games. Trust exercises, she assures you when you all look at each other like she’s lost her mind. It wasn’t the first time she had used her slot of time to do some kind of activity – but it hadn’t been something like this.

And really you should have seen it coming.

Because Queen Penelope, in her oh so infinite wisdom, points you and Eddie to a pair of chairs facing each other below the skylight. While Eddie shows little to no reaction as he shuffles over, you cast a pleading look at her. Hoping to get across some of the betrayal you’re feeling in your eyes.

She just smiles. Meets you with silence before shuffling around the other pairs of residents throughout the room.

When you sit down on the metal folding chair across from him, you get your first good look since the day after you’d argued. The last few times you’d seen him, he looked no better than a zombie – half awake and half asleep as he went through his days. He’d kept quiet for the most part in group, only adding in a sentence or two at times, and left his 1 on 1 session in the lofts with red rimmed eyes and looking about ready to pass out. But he’d also gotten into the habit of playing cards most days with his roommate, Howard. And while you couldn’t imagine the gruff old man of few words was very good company to keep, sometimes you could have sworn you’d look over and see them smiling.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The both of you wordlessly adjust on the seats, warmed by the sunshine filtering through the circular window overhead. Penelope had placed the chairs close enough together that, with his long legs, you both accidentally kept knocking knees. The third time, you muttered, “Sorry,” which brought a small smile to his face.

He ends up with his knees splayed wide, hands resting on his thighs, while you bring your knees in tight together, propping your feet up on the bar beneath your chair as you settle into soft tapping of your fingertips near your knees. Beyond your apology, neither of you say a word or make any eye contact as you watch Penelope and wait for instruction.

“So, the aim of the exercise is simple,” she explains, projecting her voice slightly as her heels click along the wood, “it’s a question and answer. Going back and forth to learn more about each other, being as honest as you’re comfortable being. This is not supposed to be something that causes you intense distress. But don’t be afraid to lean into some discomfort if you feel it. You might end up discovering something valuable about yourself.”

When you glance back at Eddie, his big brown eyes are already looking at you.

A warm feeling creeps up your spine, your fingers twitching in your lap as you adjust to the unexpected attention. His expression is pensive, gentle… Soft. He doesn’t look mad, or hurt, or upset. He’s looking at you like he’s happy you’re here – sitting across from him in the subtle heat of the sun. And while you’re glad he doesn’t seem upset to be forced to speak with you, you’re more confused than anything.

In a move that surprises even yourself, you break the silence first. “Hey.”

His chest rises in a deep inhale, shoulders and arms relaxing on the long exhale before he responds. “Hey.” You offer a small, slightly awkward smile, and he mirrors it as you adjust to tuck your hands under your thighs, bringing your shoulders slightly forward. “I wanted to apologize.”

Blinking at him a few times, you manage an unsure, “Oh?”

“You were right,” he sighs, hands coming together over his abdomen to fiddle with his own fingers. “I… I needed a wakeup call. Some sense knocked into me.” The corners of his eyes pinch up in pain before he returns your eye contact again. “I’m just really, really sorry it came from hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you rush to try to assure him, pushing away the ache of the bruises that have faded from your tailbone, “I was more just shocked than anything.”

He winces, forefinger and thumb pinching some skin between his nails. “I appreciate you saying so, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” His eyes cast down to your knees before he continues, “I know what a push like that can do.”

Unsure exactly how to take that statement, mind absolutely swirling with possible solutions, you swallow dryly and offer an, “Okay.”

Tense silence falls back over you both, the murmured conversations of other residents echoing throughout the open space into a white noise of unintelligible words. You sit and you wait as Eddie rubs the pads of his thumbs together, lower lip drawing up between his teeth as he continues to stare at your knees. He looks deep in thought – eyebrows twitching together a few times before he seems to remember himself again. Adjusting to sit up straighter in his chair, one of his knees knocks against the outside of yours before he clears his throat. “What are we, uh, supposed to be doing again?”

“Asking each other questions.”

A small scoff leaves his lips in a puff of air, the corner tilting up in amusement. “Like asking what’s your favorite color and shit?”

A soft smile and a smaller shake of your head, you flex your feet to point your toes toward the floor before relaxing again. “I think it’s supposed to be more drug and rehab and therapy related shit but… She really didn’t specify.”

“Ah… A tempting loophole,” he agrees, nodding his head as if he’s really thinking about it. “But I guess we should try to do what the good therapist thinks will help us, huh?”

A wistful sigh leaves you as you roll your shoulders back to sit up straighter. “I guess so. You can start.”

“Oh, shit.” You laugh softly at the awkward face he pulls when you put him on the spot, and the sound seems to put him at ease. “Okay… Oh! I asked you a couple weeks ago what you were in for. Like what you are, were, addicted to?”

A simple enough question, you answer quickly. “Oxycodone. And Alcohol. Normally together, I guess.”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t show it, just lets out a low whistle through the side of his mouth. “Downers and downers, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, pressing your lips together and offering an awkward shrug. “What about you? You’ve mentioned coke and meth before…?”

“Mostly coke, meth, and alcohol,” his head rocks slowly back and forth in a nod. “But I’ve probably done a bit of everything – ecstasy, xanax, opioids, ketamine, the works.”

“Truly a man of culture,” you attempt as a joke, and his half smile tells you that you were successful.

“You could say that. So how’d you start? Using, I mean.”

“Like, where did I get it?” He shrugs and waves for you to continue with that thought. “A friend of mine, she was already involved in… All of it. And offered to connect me.”

“A stellar friend,” is his attempt at another joke.

The statement twists in your chest painfully, the cold feeling seeping out like a wrung washcloth. A sad smile and a deep breath to try to move past it. “And you? How’d you start?”

“Are you just gonna repeat all of my questions? Feels kinda unfair.”

“I’ll come up with a new one after this. Scout’s honor.”

He snorts, cracking a smile as he shakes his head again. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use that if you’re not a boy scout, but okay.” You’re about ready to retort back that he doesn’t know that you weren’t really a boy scout, but he answers your question before you can. “I was a dealer, back in high school. After my buddy Rick got arrested, I took over the mantle. Mostly just weed to suburban kids. I had other shit but didn’t sell it often. Back then, I needed the money more than I needed to sample the merchandise so… I would only smoke weed once in a blue moon when I had the extra stock.”

“As for when I really started…” He looks back down at his hands in his lap. “Our first tour. It was hectic – fucking nuts. More than we ever thought it would be. But we were living out our dream, y’know? It was like being in a fuckin’ movie sometimes.” A small, wistful smile tilts his mouth as he recalls the memories. “We were going 24/7 between the travel and the concerts and the afterparties. At one of ‘em, someone, understandably, brought the white shit.” The knuckles in his hands momentarily turn white as he grips them together, a subtle show of tension before they relax again. “You can, uh… You probably know where it goes from there.”

“I can assume, yeah,” it comes out softer than you thought it would, affected by his vulnerability. The Eddie you met on his first day would’ve never done anything like this. Would’ve never even spoken like this. How had so much changed so quickly? How had he surpassed you?

“Okay, how about…” Like he’s trying to bring some life back into himself and you, he begins a drumming tap on his thighs, shoulders rolling forward as he applies himself to the motion. You don’t bother to try to withhold your laugh, feeling your nose crinkle with the force of it. His chin tips up towards the sun, a cheeky grin splitting to show the whites of his teeth as he starts to hum a single note out into the open space, an over dramatic representation of his thinking.

“Eddie!”

The sharp call has both of you freezing, faces dropping as you slowly turn toward where Penelope stands with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl. “A little quieter, please?”

Your lips press together tight to withhold your laugh as he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

When he turns back to you, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly scolded, you can stop the laugh from escaping you in a snort through your nose. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You got in trouble with mom,” you whisper yell, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “It’s kinda funny.”

His expression breaks – smile stretching against his will as you make fun of him. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you’ve never even gotten in trouble before. Ever. At all.”

Taking it as a challenge, a single eyebrow raises as you lean back into your chair. “Is that your question?”

Intrigue showing clearly, he nods, hair shifting from behind him over his shoulders as he does so. “Sure, that feels close enough to the topic. Have you ever gotten in trouble before?”

Tapping the tip of your finger against your chin, you make a small show of trying to think about it even though you already know what you’re going to say. “Three times come to mind.”

“Three?!” He gasps, hand flying to his chest in mock drama. “Say it ain’t so.”

“First, I convinced my grandfather to buy this huge box of ice creams for dogs. He thought it was for us so, when he walked into the kitchen, and I was holding it down for my dog to lick, he immediately started to yell at me. When I told him that’s what it was meant for, I swear to god – I thought he was going to pop a fucking blood vessel he was so mad.”

Eddie snorts as he shakes his head back and forth slowly. “That would be the kind of thing you’d consider getting in trouble.”

“Hey!” You point an accusing finger at him, falling into this comfortable dynamic between the two of you. “I’m not done yet!” Putting his hands up in surrender, he mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth as he settles down to look at you again. “The second… Well, I got called to the principal's office in high school. Because,” you take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction you’ll get, “because some kids were spreading a rumor that I was sleeping with a teacher.”

This finally seems to entertain him, jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widen. “Well, did you?!”

“No!” You’re quick to deny, voice rising slightly in pitch as you do. His chin dips down, looking up through his eyelashes at you, extremely unconvinced. “I mean, I probably could have, but I didn’t want to!”

His head rocks back as another low whistle presses out of the corner of his mouth. “Wow, sunshine… Now that’s some juicy gossip. Have you mentioned that one to Melissa?”

Your foot kicks out, knocking into his shin hard enough for him to sit up straighter in surprise. “Shut it, Munson.”

“Okay, okay! Sorr-ee, geeze.” And yet he’s nothing but smiles as he returns to making eye contact with you. “And third?”

“Third was definitely drug related.” You’re quick to amend, tucking your hands back under your thighs. “I was picking up some oxy after completely running out. Desperate enough that I went to his apartment while the sun was up – which I always tried not to do.” His head dips in acknowledgment, showing he’s actively listening as you continue. “It must have been my lucky day because the bag was barely in my hand before the door slams open, police screaming his name and boots stomping inside.” Adrenaline kicking up slightly at the memory, you can vividly picture the way your skinhead dealer went deathly pale in mere seconds at the noise. “It was a good thing that I wasn’t on anything that day because before I knew it, I was out the window, down the fire escape, across the alley, and over a fence. I didn’t stop running until I ducked into a Walmart – hiding in the crowd.”

“Damn.” He sighs, looking impressed but attempting to sound disappointed. “There’s a bit of a rebel in you after all.”

And while you’re not exactly sure if it’s something to be proud of, you’re at least happy to earn his approval as you raise your chin slightly. “See? More to me than meets the eye.”

The moment between you stretches out a bit too long as he seems to appraise you, a soft smile made warmer by sparkling eyes. It takes some conscious effort not to react to his study – heart thumping hard in your chest a few times before he agrees. “Pretty metal, I’ll give you that.”

Exhaling some of the tension in your shoulders, relaxing more into your chair, you’re quick to try to move on from talking about you. “You said you were dealing because you needed the money. Were you saving up to move out or something?”

His expression shifts, smile turning awkward as he brings a hand up to hook behind his neck, bent arm laying beside his chest. “Not exactly.” Giving him your full attention and what you hope is an encouraging smile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. “I moved in with my uncle when I was a kid. My dad’s brother Wayne. My parents weren’t…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to think of how to phrase it. “My dad ended up in jail and my mom didn’t have it in her to be a single mom. Hadn’t worked in a long time, didn’t have the money, all that. So she dropped me off with my uncle with a promise to try to get her life together and come back.”

The implication there is heavy enough, sorrow settling into your gut like a brick, but he still adds, “That, uh… That never happened. So it was just me and Wayne and his one bedroom trailer in a small town in Indiana.” His arm drops from his neck, hands coming together in his lap so he can fidget with his own fingers again. “He did the best he could for a guy who never expected to have a kid – more than I could ever ask for. Gave me his room, worked night shifts at the power plant to bring in cash, made sure the pantry was never empty. But it was more than that, y’know? He is… He taught me how to change the oil of my car, how to fix the little AC unit in my window, how to tie a tie.”

His lips part in a smile, his eyes far off as he tells you, “we used to play cards a lot. I swear, no one has a better poker face than Wayne. You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of him, but he used to make a killing in Texas Hold ‘em back before I came into the picture.” His face drops slightly at that, eyebrows tipping up in an emotion that he’s quick to shake off. “But he has a tell – I learned when I was 13. When he’s bluffing, he’ll do a little sniff as he’s leaning back from raising. It’s really hard to tell but it’s there.” His excitement grows again, fidgeting in his hands ceasing. “He had this crazy collection of hats and mugs, and the one time I accidentally knocked one off the shelf and it broke – man,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna cry. Never that he was gonna scream or yell or try to hit me or send me away. He would just get so sad, like he was about to start tearing up, and I’d always fold – scrambling to apologize and asking what I could do to make it better.”

Brown eyes flick back up to yours, quickly followed by a dusting of pink across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. As if realizing he was getting off track, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway. It was always a struggle for him to get by, having to feed a boy with the appetite of a fucking rhino and everything else on top of that. So, when I got old enough, I started looking for anything I could do to bring some cash in. To try to… I mean, I could never repay him but like, to at least try to help, y’know?” You nod, not sure if he was actually looking for confirmation but he seems to appreciate the gesture regardless. “So I was doing odd jobs and started getting involved with stuff and eventually became an errand boy to Reefer Rick. Who I took over for when he got put away.”

Sensing a pause in his story, or at least what you perceive as one, you can’t withhold your curiosity as you press for more answers. “Is Wayne still alive? Like are you two still close?”

His face falls, that heavy feeling in your gut following closely after. “He’s alive, at least, as far as I know.” His attention is off in nowhere again as he visibly shrinks back as far as he can into the metal chair. “I went back to see him a year or so ago. I wasn’t doing so hot – couldn’t seem to even get out of bed without a line. He caught on pretty quick what was going on. Got more mad than I’d ever seen him.” He swallows harshly, attempting to get rid of the lump he feels growing there. “We both said some nasty shit – how he wasn’t really my dad and didn’t know what he was talking about. And he said I was turning into my dad, that I’d never looked more like him than I did that day. I stormed out. And we haven’t talked since.”

Your heart bleeds for the defeat you can see in his expression, the pain in the way he explains. How heavy it must be for him to carry that. While your first instinct is to offer apologies and words of comfort that really won’t matter much in the end, you settle for looking to the future. “Are you gonna reach out to him again? When you get clean?”

“I…” He looks confused then, hand coming up to rub at his forehead roughly before he settles. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Taking a deep breath of your own, you muster up some courage. “It’s not my place, at all, so feel free to tell me to fuck right off but… I feel like you should. I think he’d be happy for you.”

The sentiment rocks him – face twisting in a mix of emotions before he brings up both hands like he’s going to rub them off of his face. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

Silence falls, heavier like it was before. The momentary comradery falling away to reality again – two strangers trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. The tension in the air is palpable, at least to you, as he continues to stare off for another minute or two because coming back into himself.

“So…” He clears his throat, anxiously adjusting in his seat and knocking against your knee again. “What made you decide to get help?”

The million dollar question.

Another thing you feel like you should’ve seen coming, should’ve prepared for in advance. But here you are: sitting across from a stranger you feel inexplicably tied to and faced with a question you still don’t know the answer to. The question that has hung over your head for the past week and half.

Why are you trying to get better?

“Well, ending up here – like, in rehab – was easier than the alternative. So that part wasn’t hard.” The skin between his eyebrows folds as he looks at you, a bit confused but not interrupting to ask for clarification as you continue. “As for why I’m getting help…”

The rest hangs there, suspended by hesitation. Uncertainty blooms in your chest like a burst of frozen air – like blue tipped fingers gripping your heart in their fist. A threat and a warning.

Eddie hits the toe of his shoe against yours, bringing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to answer. Not if… You don’t have to.”

And the sun is shining down on him from the skylight above, casting him in a glow. A soft auburn hue shines in his wiry hair, the red undertones coming forward in the sun. He’s still pale but you can see them now – freckles across his face and the skin just beyond the collar of his shirt like a dusting of cinnamon. Brown eyes that have a bit more life in them than they did before.

There’s still a sense of frost beneath his skin, half alive and freezing like it used to be, but it’s thawing. Warming. Before your eyes and beneath the light of day, Eddie Munson was coming out of his cold shadows, one small step at a time.

“But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things." "Like what?"

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” Out comes the honest truth. Truth he wasn’t expecting based on the way his eyebrows raise, skin wrinkling beneath his bangs. “It feels like there should be this big reason – some grand goal or something that would be a good answer in a biography. And I don’t really have one of those. Not right now.”

There’s a long pause then, like he wants to make sure you’re not going to say anything else before he replies. “I don’t think it has to be something fantastical or anything like that. Maybe it would be a better story if it was but… I dunno, I think any reason is as good as any other.”

A self-deprecating smile and joking change of tone, you ask him, “Even if my reason is just because I want to make more bad jokes that people can’t decide if they want to laugh or groan at?”

His answering smile is filled with genuine determination when he tells you, “I think that’s a fucking stellar reason, sunshine.”

Your 60th day of rehab comes with a party.

Not for you, of course. It would be a lot of resources for the center to celebrate arbitrary anniversaries like that for every resident. No, this is a graduation party. A going away party. A ‘see you never’ kind of party.

When you walk back into the main hall after group, there’s a hastily made banner hung between the nurse’s station and the kitchen that says ‘Happy Graduation Tony!’ in shades of blue and yellow, with some splashes of green mixed in. There’s a weird animal drawn on the right side that you can’t identify – but you guess it’s supposed to be a wolverine based on the ‘Go Michigan Wolverines!’ underneath in blocky text.

There are various basketball-themed party decorations scattered throughout the tables, all looking like they came from a big wholesale package of party favors. It looks alarmingly like an 8 year old’s birthday party, but Tony’s smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it as he laughs at the attempt Kathy, Melissa, and Thomas made at decorating for him.

The University of Michigan Wolverines is his favorite college basketball team, he explains to the rest of you as you look on confused. He gives Thomas a joyful ribbing at having remembered a comment like that in passing, and Thomas’ bashful smile makes even Howard soften with fondness as you all filter in among the tables. There’s music playing – a Best of 80’s CD spinning in a shitty old speaker system in the corner of the main hall that is barely used. Down Under by Men at Work plays softly as you settle down at one of the tables covered in plastic-y yellow, feeling lighter than you have in weeks watching Tony cross the room to where there’s a small selection of snacks and a sheet cake with his name written on it.

Eddie sits down beside you at the same time Howard sits down across from him, the older man immediately brandishing his deck of cards and arcing them into a professional shuffle. Lola, the newest resident, an older woman who kept taking morphine long after her hip surgery healed, sits down uneasily next to Howard, content to quietly watch him deal out the cards between himself and Eddie.

Switching back and forth between watching Eddie and Howard playing a game you can’t seem to identify and watching Melissa and Kathy grill Tony about what he’s going to do first when he gets out, you feel a sort of contentment. An emotion you’re so unused to, you’re not really sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting in front of you.

Two games in, Eddie drops his cards with a groan before pointing an accusing finger at Howard, who smirks in pride. “This isn’t over, Finbar.” And while your eyebrows draw together in confusion, lips parting in preparation to ask, Eddie keeps going before you can. “I’m going to go grab a water and some cookies, anyone want me to get anything while I’m up?”

Howard waves him off without a word, huffing as he has to lift up slightly off his chair to pull in the cards Eddie left on the other side of the table so he can shuffle the deck together again. Lola, in her syrupy, southern drawl, asks for a cup of water, if he doesn’t mind. A short nod and then he looks down from where he stands beside your seat, a gentle smile on his face as his eyebrows raise in expectancy. The words get caught in your throat for a moment before you are able to force them out. “A cup of water and some chocolate chip cookies would be great. Thank you.”

Another cheeky smile and a dip of his head and he’s walking off, lanky legs knocking against a chair or two like he’s a newborn calf who hasn’t learned how to walk steady yet. The sight makes you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you turn back to the table.

Lola is watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, when you turn back, making you jolt backwards in surprise. “Y’all make a cute couple,” she says sweetly, with a smile just a kind as always.

“Couple?” You question in a slightly higher pitch, feeling the blood rushing north to warm your face and make your brain spin. “We’re – we’re not a couple. Just friends. We just met here, only a few weeks ago.”

“No?” Her head tilts in curiosity, but her expression reads like she knows something you don’t. Can see something you can’t. “That’s a shame. Looks like a match made in Heaven to me.”

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing uselessly, as you try to think of something you could possibly say to that when Eddie walks back up, shakily balancing three plastic cups of water between his hands and a packet of napkin wrapped something tucked under his chin. The waters are safely set on the table, one passed to Lola, who replies “thank you, sugar,” before he lifts his head, the packet falling directly into his now-free hands. Dropping into his chair, he sets the packet on the table before unfolding the white napkins to reveal several slightly smushed cookies.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times at them before offering you a sheepish smile. “Guess they didn’t quite survive the journey. Hope you don’t mind picking at crumbs?”

You shake your head, mischief infusing your smile as you tell him, “I don’t mind, I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to be a pigeon.”

He snorts in amusement at the same time Howard rolls his eyes and Lola uses her hand to cover her smile. The mix of reactions is perfect – exactly what you were hoping for – as you pinch a big chunk of cookie between your fingers and pop it into your mouth while Howard deals out another hand of cards.

Your contentment continues through the next hour or two, watching as Eddie and Howard go back and forth between winning hands while songs play on – Come On, Eileen, followed by Pretty in Pink, and Africa.

When Melissa shrilly announces it’s time to cut the cake, everyone turns toward the front of the room while Billie Jean by Michael Jackson weaves its way into the open air. Tony laughs at himself and how his hands shake in nervousness, making jokes about how he feels like he’s at a wedding, as he cuts into the sheet cake directly through his name. Using the plastic serving utensil, he deposits a huge square on his paper plate, the ‘o’ from his name completely removed as everyone cheers and claps.

Looking incredibly embarrassed, he turns and gives a little bow to the crowd, missing Kathy as she reaches over the table to grab the huge slice. A sing-song call of his name, and you all watch as he turns and is met with the slice of cake to the face, white frosting smearing across his skin before the entire plate hits the floor with a dull slap. No one moves for a few moments, quiet enough you could hear a pin drop, until he starts to laugh. Almost the entire room joins in, cackling as he scoops frosting away from his eyes and shakes it out onto the floor.

Everyone who wants a slice of cake moves through to grab one before settling back down at the tables. And when you look over at Tony, glowing as he has an animated conversation with Melissa, you can see a small smearing of frosting across his cheek that no one seems willing to tell him is still there.

You all say goodbye to him that evening before the sun sets, watching as he departs out of the double doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and is immediately met by a young boy – a Michigan Wolverines jersey on his back as he tackles Tony around the waist in a tight hug. The doors click closed just as Tony’s hand meets the boy’s head in a rub, both sporting the exact same bright smile.

Despite being back on good terms, Eddie continues to sit across the room from you during group therapy sessions. You kind of like it better than way, not that you’d ever admit it to him. Sometimes you find yourself looking over for reactions to things people say and it makes it easier to give him your full attention when he adds to the conversation. Being able to sneak glances  without it being too obvious makes you feel a bit more comfortable than before.

And although you feel like you’ve been making progress, you still rarely join in the conversation in these group circle sessions, and you never talk about yourself in them. Penelope has never tried to push you – she is satisfied as long as you continue to make progress in 1 on 1 sessions. Talking in a group setting isn’t for everyone, she explained, but it can sometimes be more beneficial than you think it might be.

It just never struck you as something you wanted to do. It never spoke to you, as some people said. Besides, other people always had plenty they wanted to say after Penelope did a bit of prodding.

“I talked to my husband on the phone the other day,” Kathy admits following a small silence. She’s playing with the drawstrings on her sweatpants as she speaks. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks – the kids have been staying with my mom while I’m here.”

Penelope shifts in her chair to face her more directly. “How did that go?”

“Bad,” she answers with a sigh, eyes falling closed for a second before she forces them back open. “I guess I was just hoping he misses me… Misses the kids, misses our life. But he actually seems like he’s happier now.”

“That must’ve hurt to think about.”

“It did. It does.” She takes a deep breath, eyebrows turning up in what looks like an attempt not to cry. “It’s hard to think that picturing going back home to be with him and Sarah and Ben is what really gets me through all this but he… It doesn’t seem like that’s what he pictures anymore.”

“No offense, Kathy, but he sounds like a dickhead.”

Her and Penelope both turn on Eddie, looking surprised and annoyed in that order. “Eddie, that’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, hands coming into play as he tucks his elbows into either side of his waist, “but neither is the way he treats you. I mean, the whole reason you ended up here is because he refused to help you – with anything! Ever! And left you to take care of him and the kids and the house and everything.”

Kathy’s face twists, looking conflicted. “Well, yes, but–”

“But he works to put food in the fridge. That’s what you’re gonna say, right?” Her mouth presses into a tight line before giving him a sharp nod. “And yeah, that’s important. Having money to survive is essential and all that. But so is taking care of yourself. And your kids. Taking care of your house. Those are all things people should try to do the best they can. Sure, a lot of people fall short sometimes. It can really suck trying to get everything done by yourself. But that’s what your partner is supposed to be for. To help you.”

Everyone watches on silently as Eddie continues, looking entirely impassioned in his defense of her. “Yeah, he works a job. But you work three jobs just trying to take care of yourself, him, and both your kids. It’s not fair. And it’s fucked up that he not only doesn’t do shit to help but also doesn’t appreciate how much fucking work it is for you and the fact that it was killing you.”

“I mean, that’s just how marriage works,” she tries to argue. “Men go to work and women take care of the house and the kids. I’m sure that’s how your parents did it.”

“No,” he answers with a humorless chuckle, “not even close.”

“Then what did they do?”

“My dad beat my mom.”

The room falls into a tense hush, all eyes on him. While a part of him still looks worked up from his debate with Kathy, and another looks angry at even admitting the fact, the rest of him looks like an exposed nerve. His shoulders shake slightly as he takes in a breath and lets it out just as slow. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, my dad. Kind of a piece of shit actually. In and out of prison on assault, drug charges, petty theft, the works. And whenever he was out, he was coked out of his mind and making my mom’s life a living hell.”

Brown eyes descend to the floor as his voice wavers, clearing his throat to try to fix it. “I remember one time, I was 6? Maybe 7? My mom was trying to convince me to do my homework at the kitchen table. And in storms dear old dad, fresh snow on his nose, and already screaming.” His eyes close, hands clenching with white knuckles. “Mom always made sure to get in between us. She didn’t want him to hurt me. But I guess he was mad at me for something, and her getting in the way was even worse, because before I knew it she was on the floor.”

Teary eyes open, glancing up and meeting your gaze. Eyes entirely focused on you as a few tears escape with his blinks. “I can see it so clearly, y’know? My mom was on the floor, bruises around her eyes, begging him to stop. And my dad was standing over her with his fists clenched like he was ready to go another round.”

I know what a push like that can do.

Your mouth opens wordlessly when you realize – chest twisting in agony as he offers you a sad and knowing smile.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

A feeling in the base of your stomach catches hot and burns. Ashes smolder and leak smoke up your esophagus until it brings tears to your eyes. Beneath the dull roar of your blood in your ears and the murmured ‘Thank you for sharing’ from Penelope, you can hear the tremble of the earth beneath your feet. A vibration that rumbles up through your bones in a cold shiver that breaks out across your back. Stones fall into the chasm before you as the world shakes and bends with the force of the quake. 

You stare into the cold darkness of the space between the tectonic plates and the cold darkness stares back.

“I have something I want to talk about.”

All eyes turn to you, a pair of wide brown iris the most important of all. Penelope is nothing but encouraging as she says, “By all means, what would you like to say?”

A deep breath in, an attempt to clear the smoke in your lungs, you force the words out into the open. “I… I want to talk about how I got here.” You pause, eyes leaving Eddie to glance over at Penelope to register her shock. “Why I’m here. Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay,” is her simple reply, an attempt to be encouraging. But you’re already faltering, the cold creeping in and dampening the ashes until you return to making eye contact with Eddie. And while his expression shows very little, attention wholly focused on you, he does dip his head in a slight nod.

Go ahead, the movement says. You can do this.

“Two days before I got here, I was with my friend Luna.” The name feels like ice water down your throat, swallowing hard to try to push past it and keep going. “Luna was the one who got me into taking oxy in the first place. I’d told her I was too wound up all the time and couldn’t relax, too caught up in my head. She told me it would help. We’d been friends for a long time by that point. She… She’s my best friend. She saw me at my worst and didn’t blink an eye. And maybe it was a fucked up way of helping, but she was really just trying to help. Suggesting what she thought would help.”

“That day, she called me all excited. Saying she got some pills from a new guy and she couldn’t wait to try them. So I went over to her place like we always did. She was all excited about the new stuff, but in my head, it was just the same shit, so I told her I was going to take from the old stash of pills. I guess I didn’t want to waste them or something. She just kinda said whatever, your loss, didn’t fight me on it.”

The visuals start to press in now, like a slideshow playing behind your eyes. “I remember waking up in her bed. It was dark. I don’t know how long I was out for. I got up,” your feet hit pink shag carpet, “I called her name,” you look around the girly bedroom, barely lit by the lamp on the bedside table. “I was still pretty out of it. I walked out from around the bed and…”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking to try to clear the images like an etch-a-sketch. It doesn’t work.

“She was on the floor. I thought maybe she was just in it but her – her lips a–and her fingers were blue and she wasn’t breathing. I called 911 but… She was already cold when they told me to check for a pulse.”

“Those new pills she was so excited to take were laced. Fentanyl. She overdosed. And… And maybe if I had been awake, y’know?” When you blink back into the room, there are tears pouring from your eyes, your breath coming in hiccuping gasps. Cutting yourself off from any more what if’s, you rub your forearm under your nose as you sniffle. “Anyway, I got picked up when the ambulance came. I don’t really know why they gave me the option but it was basically rehab or jail so it felt kind of like a no brainer.”

You huff a wet laugh, crossing your arms over your stomach as you try to fight back the sobs, breathing through the freezing cold feeling in your chest. “It’s easier to be here. Then to think about leaving,” you admit softly, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “In here, I don’t have to see her stuff around my place. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to spend my Saturday’s with. I don’t… In here, I don’t have to face the fact that she’s gone.”

When your eyes meet his, they’re watery again. Red rimmed, swollen. His hands open and close on his thighs like he’s holding himself back. Pale, pink-toned fingers, cast in warm, gentle light from the sun above, that look like they want nothing more than to reach out to you.

Blue tipped fingers reach out from the cold below, a threat and a warning of what lies before you if you fail. But on the other side – the sun shines. There’s grass and cherry blossom trees and birds singing and music playing and life.

“She’s dead. And I can’t get her back. But I’m still here, and I still have a future. I… I want there to be a future.” 

You jump the gap.

Bright green grass folds beneath your sneakers as you cross the field, hand raised along your brow to search for a familiar face. It’s the first Saturday of July and there are people everywhere – blankets and lawn chairs and folding tables set up across the wide open greenery ringed with trees.

A familiar whistle echoes toward you, giving you a vague direction to continue your trek. Sweat collects at the base of your neck and trickles down your spine as you go, the heat of the summer sun bearing down despite your careful choice in clothing. You’re just about desperate for a drink when a familiar flop of brown hair catches your eye.

“Steve?” You call, hoping to confirm before you walk all the way over. His head swivels in a full circle before his eyes catch you, a grin stretching across his face as he waves you over.

Steve is a relatively new friend, you’ve only hung out with him a handful of times since you were introduced. He’s shirtless, cotton discarded after sweating through it, and a pair of shorts that show off an alarming large amount of his tan skin. He’s tucked under a large umbrella with Robin, another new friend. She’s draped over a beach chair with her head rolled back, an unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders over a bikini top and a pair of oversized shorts. The closer you get to their blanket in the grass, the more clearly her complaining becomes.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she moans, arms flopped down beyond the sides of the chair. “Why did I agree to this?”

“The music is going to start soon, so shut it, Buckley.” He turns toward you, head tilting back as he braces his arms on his knees. “Hey, good to see you.”

“You too,” you set your things on one edge of the picnic blanket, dropping to your knees at the boundary of where the umbrella covers. “And good to see you too Rob, even though it looks like you’re actually melting.” She groans loudly, sliding further down in her chair as you laugh. “Speaking of melting, cooler?”

Steve heaves it over his lap toward you and opens the lid, twisting back toward another bag as you dig through the melting ice and drinks. Drink in hand and an ice cube in the other, you use your elbow to close the lid again before pressing the ice cube to the nape of your neck in an attempt to get some relief from the heat.

Just as your mouth opens to ask, you hear an, “Incoming!” ring out right before a heavy object makes impact with your side, knocking you into the cooler with a yelp. The furry projectile pants wildly as it rights itself from its sprawl across the blanket, paws immediately climbing up onto your thighs in a happy greeting.

“Hey Oz,” you laugh, chin receding into your neck as you try to dodge his eager licks toward your mouth. “Are you having a good day, buddy?”

“He better be after the fucking pain in my ass he’s been all morning.”

Both hands scratching at the dog’s ears, both to calm him and keep him away from your face, you tilt your head back to catch sight of warm brown eyes. Eddie’s hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the back of his head, the wisps by his ears and parts of his bangs slicked down with sweat. He’s in a tank top that looks like a modified graphic tee, arm holes cut absurdly low to show off almost the entirety of his tattooed ribs. As he settles onto the blanket beside you, the light wash ripped cut off shorts he’s wearing stretch further to show more of his thighs.

His arm loops around your back, hand pressing into your ear as he directs your head lower so he can press a happy kiss to your temple. “Hey sunshine. Have any trouble finding us?”

The heat suddenly feels more like it’s diffusing from the inside out as your smile grows. You shake your head as you sit up straight again, Eddie’s arm still propped behind your back. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I could hear your stupid dog whistle from space.”

“Hey!” He cries in mock offense, leaning away from you as he yanks on the purple plastic whistle around his neck. “The training is going really well with it, actually! So shove it.” And he ducks down toward the pup sitting in front of you, coming to eye level as he says, “Isn’t that right, Ozzy?” The dog lunges forward in an attempt to lick his face but Eddie’s expecting it, blocking the attack and using a gentle force to push the dog down onto his side. “Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy!” He chants as he rapidly rubs the pup’s stomach, both of them shaking with excitement.

“Munson, you’re gonna work him up again and the fuckin’ music is about to start!”

Eddie sighs in disappointment, slowing his scratches and rubs considerably, running his hands along fur in an attempt to calm the dog. “I know, buddy. Your mom is so lame and doesn’t know how to have fun.”

Steve levels another glare at him, leaning back on one arm as he complains, “I’m not his mom. We’re both dads, dude.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ozzy. That man is your mom and you know it.”

The dog doesn’t care either way but does settle, laying out long with his belly in the sun just as some speaker feedback echoes out into the space around you.

“Finally!” Robin sighs in relief, pulling her sunglasses down her nose as she lifts her head. “I was starting to think we were roasting out here for nothing. Might as well be in Hell for how hot it is outside.”

Steve snorts, cracking open a gatorade as he explains, “Pretty sure Hell would be way hotter than this.”

“How do you know, dingus? Have you been?”

And the two start to bicker, something you’ve come to learn is a pretty common occurrence. Tuning out of their platonic marital dispute, you look back toward your boyfriend only to find him already looking at you.

“If Hell is this hot, I never wanna go,” you joke, vaguely aware of the sweat that continues to collect on your skin and how much you dislike the feeling.

“I dunno babe,” Eddie sighs long and loud, head tilting your direction as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, smile tilting in mischief. “It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes.”

The cherry blossoms in your chest unfurl in the heat of the sun, petals stretching out at the same rate as the smile parting to show the whites of your teeth. A soft laugh of disbelief, a grin that matches your own, and you’re quoting Good Omens back at him by saying, “It’s true. But Heaven has the best choreographers.”

And he laughs. Head thrown back, the sun’s rays grace the planes of his face as he barks out laughter into the blue sky above. Robin and Steve look at each other confused before shrugging slightly and then you’re laughing too. Falling backwards onto the blanket beneath you, you roll with it, shoulder knocking against Eddie’s when he falls backwards too.

Warm with the heat of the day, the music pouring out across the field, and the hope of a day just as bright tomorrow – you and Eddie laugh like it’s the best joke you’ve ever heard. Like there would never be a better joke than this.

If you want to imagine the future: imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

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thank you so much for reading. the response to this story was more than i thought it would be and i hope you're satisfied with the ending. i'm grateful you chose to come on this journey with me. i hope you find your way to greener grass and gentle sun whenever you're ready to find it <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myos ideas #myo4munson

[thekatebridgerton]

Eight deadly sins: Bridgerton partners edition

Companion piece to my 8 deadly sins Bridgerton siblings edition. So let's get started

Kate: Wrath

I think I chose her as Wrath because its the driving force behind most of her actions in TVWLM. Take playing pall mall, she doesn't want to win, she just wants Anthony to lose. Anthony pisses her off so much during their book that her almost in perpetual state of annoyance drives most of the actions she takes and also, it is often mentioned in later books, how much Anthony dreads making his wife angry. If you ask me, out of both of them it's Kate who has a tiny bit of an anger management problem. ( She's capable of ruining Maria Rosso whole career in a pique of annoyance, just sayin)

Sophie: Lust

Self explanatory. Sophie spent her entire book acutely aware that her lust for Benedict was a particularly terrible weakness of hers and as such she guarded herself against sleeping with him with all trough thick and thin. So much that when she does fall into bed with Benedict it makes her feel like she betrayed herself and makes her want to immediately run away from the situation.

Penelope: Pride

Penelope's pride was what ultimately led to her downfall. So proud of Lady Whistledown, so happy to have made a name for herself right under the ton's nose, so confident nobody would ever figure it out. Penelope likes being the smartest person in the room, she likes the invisible power her secret gives her. So much that the moment Cressida tried to take credit for LW Penelope's pride wouldn't let her get away with it! And her hurt pride also leads her to lash out at Colin when he discovers her secret. It's her life work! She's not going to let anyone minimize what she's achieved

Simon: Vanity

He does think he's hottest snack in the room and needs protection from matchmaking mamas. No Seriously all jokes aside, for someone that insecure, he does have a very high opinion of himself that borders on vanity. Simon has worked all his life to build his public image, to hide the parts of him that his father deemed undersirable and cultivate an image of aristocratic aloofness. It's Daphne seeing past all that, which makes Simon break character and start liking her

Phillip: Sloth

More like, he was content with the bare minimum, before Eloise came into his life. Most of Phillip's sins in TSPWL can be blamed on inaction, some because he didn't know what to do,(deal with the aftermath of Marina's death) others because he was too passive to actually do what needed to be done (take charge of the raising of his children) Phillip is content with inaction, with isolation and distance. That's all he's ever known. At least until Eloise lights a fire under him and pushes him to make things right

Michael: Gluttony

I guess I put Michael in this category because Gluttony is the sin of overindulgence and he's the merry rake. Michael is an overindulgent person, not just in Francesca's eyes, but also in the eyes of everyone else. Which makes it ironic that the only thing he's had restraint in, has been his desire for Francesca.

Gareth: Greed

His greed comes in good faith okay. We still love him. But truth be told he still has to replenish his family fortune by marrying an heiress and he's still looking for the family diamonds for this reason. Gareth's greed is ultimately channeled into healthy outlets but we all know that had lady Danbury left him to his own devices, he would undoubtedly have married for money

Lucy: Envy

Like Gregory, Lucy ended up getting envy by process of elimination. Which is fitting considering that while she doesn't Envy anyone's life, she does envy the fact that they have a choice in the outcome of said life. Lucy's entire life has been controlled by her uncle while Hermione and Gregory did grow up with families that let them have a choice in how they wanted their lives to be. Even Richard has more choices than she does. And Lucy envies them for this. Not to the point of wishing anyone ill, but yes to the point of trying to make sure the people she loves don't squander the chances they got, because she doesn't get to have those chances

An: honestly this post was hard because I do think all the Bridgerton partners are Angelic beings who have done nothing wrong. Still I did my best with the prompt

#bridgerton #simon basset #Kate Sharma #sophie beckett #penelope featherington #sir philip crane #7 deadly sins au

[hello-eden]

revere robins au

I have more ideas for my reverse Robins AU.(Most ideas are about Alex)

I have split the bat kids into groups in my head

 terry, helena, Anastasia and Carrie  - older siblings

 matt, alex, Steph and Tim -middle siblings

 duke, cass and Jason -younger siblings

 Richard and Barbara -baby siblings

The groups that I usually followed my head for who they are the closest to 

 I have somehow given Alex eldest daughter syndrome due to her ending up taking care of her younger siblings. 

Stephanie, Tim, Alex and Matt originally met due to Stephanie starting a brawl with a bully that had a lot of kids involved, they became friends in the principal's office.

Tim was taken with Stephanie by the joker but was the last one to know that she died.

Tim was still missing when Anastasia killed the Joker and when the big fight happened. He ended up being found by Alex  a few hours later. 

Alex and Matt got into a huge fight after the big fight due to Alex wanting to stay behind to look  after Tim and to not go to bludhaven with him. the fight only lasted 2 weeks before Matt caved and called Alex after a bad injury( it was not life-threatening but it did hurt badly)

Alex originally only stays at the Manor to find Tim but then realizes that Bruce is not taking care of Cass due to his grief and ends up staying there longer.

Alex went from the youngest to being the oldest in the house taking care of her younger siblings; she is still the oldest in the house when Bruce starts taking in more kids. 

Duke thinks that Alex is the oldest child until Carrie comes to the house to talk to Alex about Anastasia and the rest of her siblings.

Alex has a lot of resentment towards her Elder siblings due to them  not contacting her thinking that she was on Bruce's side. 

Tims not paralyzed in this au but he does switch between canes and his wheelchair Due to the torture that he endured. 

Alex gets into a lot of fights with Bruce due to him taking in more children but not talking to his Elder ones until Stephanie is back. She feels like she has taken care of the children more than he has for a long time And she is very much not afraid to yell at his face about it though not in front of her younger siblings. 

 Carrie runs a diner in this Au. I do not know why but it just has been something that I've had in my head since the beginning. 

All of the older children except for maybe Carrie have gone at least borderline villain though they do end up being more of a morally gray hero in the end.

Tim and Alex become codependent for a time due to them being the only person they can lean on for their grief. They can also talk to Matt but he is literally another city to get away from what happened.

 I feel like the younger siblings end up thinking that the older ones are so cool And because they didn't see what happened for them to leave they definitely don't understand what Alex Matt Steph and Tim feel about the older ones.

 I have so much angst for how Matt Alex Steph and Tim view there older siblings you do not understand the amount of angst that I have. 

 Duke is taken in barely a year after Stephanie has died and all of the older siblings are not talking to Bruce. Everyone in the family is still grieving and Duke is now thrown into a family still in morning but not able to talk about it due to Stephanie technically not being legally family. Unlike Jason's death in Canon that was very publicized Stephanie's was very much on the down low as to not Turn Stephanie into a spotlight tragedy and to not link their identities. 

 While Bruce is in the timestream all of the older siblings are fighting for the cowl. The middle siblings are taking care of the publicity and custody of the younger siblings. The younger siblings are trying to figure out if Bruce is actually dead and the baby siblings are traumatized.

#batfam #batfamily #batman #damian wayne #Eden's reverse bats au

[sea-owl]

Okay here's what I have so far for mythical creatures spouses. For those wondering this will be set in a universe where the Bridgertons are hunters. You may have seen that one shot I did already in this universe found here.

Kate, Shapeshifter:

Kate has probably not seen her real face in years, or at the very least has not let it be seen in public. While both she and Edwina possess this ability Kate is the one who far uses it more. Their changes are always more subtle, just to help along things and to blend in a bit more. If Kate uses the ability to make herself appear a bit older, a bit taller, or a bit more like an image where someone will take her a bit more seriously, all of it's to her advantage as head of the Sharma family then so be it. If it wasn't so well known that the Sharma family had no sons and two daughters she would probably have shifted her body into a man. Taking her father's form at least in the passed has helped, especially when his death was not public knowledge. When they came to England Mary had Kate promise not to change her form too much, or too noticeably. Kate agreed, she saw the reasoning as they are new to the ton don't do too much that could hurt Edwina's chance for marriage. Mary's reasoning was actually trying to get Kate to be herself more. Mary was hoping for Kate to get a shot of her own happiness and possible marriage while in England. But she didn't believe that possible without Kate showing some vulnerability, so she's starting by having Kate show her real or at the very least most subtly changed face.

One day in England Kate went out for a ride. This morning she just so happened to have her real face showing. Kate was tired from the journey and didn't have the energy to shift as she normally would. During the ride another rider appeared wearing black coat. Was he trying to race her? Very well it could be fun. Midway through their race something was off to Kate. Every time she tried to turn a certain direction the rider in the black coat would slow down or speed up just enough to block her path or force her to go in a different direction. This man was trying to lead her away from something. They slowed down enough to talk and taking a closer look at him her muscles tightened. A hunter, shit, and he saw he real face, double shit. Later on, her features shifted to just how she plans to be while in public among the ton she sees the hunter again. This time he's introduced as Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. Triple shit.

Sophie, Selkie:

Sophie's mother, Isabella, was once the bride to the Earl Richard Gunningworth of Penwood, or at least by Selkie law she was. While never legally married under human law, the earl had her pelt, which made her his bride. To the humans, Isabella was no more than a mistress. Day after day, Isabella would look for her pelt while Richard was busy with some task or the other. She always secretly suspected that her pelt would be moved to a different property from the one she was at. One day, by some stroke of luck, Isabella found her pelt and off into the night she went back to her pod. When she returned to her pod, she had discovered her pregnancy to Sophie and sadly passed on after giving birth. For a time, Sophie's grandmother raised her until she became too sick, and with no one left in the pod, there was no choice but to send Sophie to her human father.

Now unlike with her mother Richard didn't keep Sophie's pelt from her, but he did isolate her in the country estate with only the servants. And that is how Sophie lived, ignored but still having her pelt. When the old earl married Araminta and brought her two daughters to Penwood not much changed then either except little Posy who always seemed to prefer Sophie's company over her relatives. It was when the earl died that Sophie no longer had her pelt. Araminta took it, trapping Sophie under her control and forcing her to become a servant.

Things came to head after a costume masquerade. Posy claimed to be going as a mermaid, but the tail, it looked like Sophie's pelt. It wasn't, but to the untrained eye, it could easily pass for it. Sophie, unknown to Araminta, had also gone to the masquerade where she danced with a handsome gentleman. After that night, Sophie gained a new determination to find her pelt and leave. Even if she didn't have a pod to return to, and even if Sophie knew human customs better than selkie's, she was leaving as soon as she found her pelt. Araminta's cruelty of locking Sophie in her closet to polish shoes gave her a chance she needed. Posy revealed the truth of her decision after she came to unlock Sophie out of the closet why she chose that particular costume. In Posy's hands, there was more fabric than there was before. No, wait, it was Sophie's pelt. Posy had found it. Well, guess Sophie did have at least one pod mate.

A few years later, Sophie is ready to fist fight that damn horny hunter for her pelt back. How dare he use it against her so she'll come to London! Posy, who has remade her old costume into a look alike for Sophie's pelt, is bidding time so she can make the switch.

Penelope, Witch:

Penelope was born into a coven of witches from her mother's side. Penelope herself ended up being very talented as a mind witch. Some of her magic includes illusion, telepathy, mind reading, and mental manipulation. She's never sure if her father ever knew or just never paid attention enough to know what his wife and daughters were. For the longest time, they spent their time between Portia's homeland in Ireland and the Featherington country estate. Both homes gave Penelope and her sisters the freedom needed to learn their magic. Every time Lord Featherington went to London, it was usually by himself, Portia refused to go, with the majority of her daughters still learning, too many of those nasty hunters running around London.

It was after Lord Featherington's death that Portia made the decision to move the coven to London, at least during the season. She was still the lady of a barony and with no husband or father it was technically her job to see to it until one of the girls had a son. Per her husband's will whoever has the first grandson shall inherit the estate. It's just her luck though that they somehow moved across street from one of the most prolific and celebrated family of hunters in London.

It's also just Penelope's luck that she accidentally knocked out one of these hunters via a magic blast to the face. Well shit, despite what Felicity argues, Penelope can't leave him in the streets. Not with clear evidence of her magic on him. Besides, maybe Penelope will learn some secrets while she heals him. She does love secrets.

Phillip, Vampire:

Now Phillip isn't an ordinary vampire like his father and brother. Phillip took after his mother, who is a lesser known type of vampire that is similar to fruit bats. So, instead of blood, he drinks the juices of fruit and nectar. It's how he got into botany both with regular and mystical plants. He's tired of traveling every six months okay? He's gonna be self sufficient damn it, and the extra income from trading plants used in potions helps too. His fangs are a bit smaller, but honestly, he doesn't need big ones when one's meal doesn't constantly move. He still has the characteristics and abilities of other vampires such as the pale skin, fangs, hypnosis, inhuman strength, and reflexes. I mean, he still is a vampire.

But due to Phillip not being a more traditional vampire has caused issues in his life. Starting with his father beating him every time he did something his father considered wrong or weak. Constantly saying Phillip wasn't good enough. The constant comparing between him and his brother George had left Phillip with a bit of imposter syndrome when word got back to him that he was now the heir to Romney Hall, something his father said Phillip will ruin.

Phillip finds it so ironic when his heir, George's blood, is also born just like him. Drinking the juices of fruit instead of blood.

Raising the twins is something Phillip is struggling with. While Oliver takes after him, Amanda is more traditional and requires blood to survive. The twins don't realize how they can come across yet either, what would be a harmless prank to a vampire is dangerous to a human. Plus the twins have this awful habit of using their ability to transport through mirrors to randomly pop in places and scaring people. This habit leqding a hunter who the twins just so happened to pop in on.

Michael, Werewolf:

Michael was born from a peace union between the hunters of Kilmartin and the werewolf pack that makes Scotland their home. Some of the hunters agreed with this some didn't. Fearful that despite the peace agreement a hunter might try to hurt her son Helen gave strict instructions to Michael to keep his wolf a secret, not even John could know. So Michael did, creating his Merry Rake persona so no one questions his disappearance every full moon, and make it seem like to the other hunters he would be so unreliable they wouldn't dare push him towards a hunter's lifestyle.

The irony is not lost on Michael when it turns out his mate is a hunter in her own right, and his cousin's fiancé soon to be wife. The moon goddess is laughing at him he just knows it. Now more than ever he's thankful for his Merry Rake persona. With his wolf screaming at him about their mate, and trying to hide said wolf Michael is ready to explode. Thank god he's not the earl on top that too, John better hurry up and have some pups soon so he can kick off the title of heir too. God could you imagine that mess? A werewolf as the earl of Kilmartin?

#bridgerton #hunter x supernatural au #kathony #shapeshifter kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #benophie #selkie sophie #sophie beckett #witch penelope #polin #penelope featherington #philoise #phillip crane #vampire phillip #franchael #michael stirling #werewolf michael #hunter bridgertons

[reluctantjoe]

‘After rehearsal, my face hurts from laughing!’ The Ghosts cast on fun, fame and their festive farewell

One of the UK’s most cherished comedies is bowing out for ever. The stars talk about nicking things from the set – and being called ‘outrageous and shameful’ by Piers Morgan

Thanks, I tell the creators of Ghosts sarcastically, for making my daughter cry. The evening before, my family watched the supernatural sitcom’s final episode, and the only dry eyes in the house were mine.

This reaction, I tell Martha Howe-Douglas, Laurence Rickard, Jim Howick and Mathew Baynton over Zoom call, is going to be replicated across Britain. Did you think about how you were going to ruin everybody’s Christmas when you wrote this tearjerker? “Ah, you can but dream,” says Baynton, who plays the Romantic poet Thomas, wistfully.

The Ghosts team implore me not to reveal plot twists from the last episode, but there are some tantalising details I can share without spoiling the viewing experience. First, this is the episode where the final secret about the ghosts is revealed, namely how the Captain died. Second, there is a flash-forward to Alison and Mike in their dotage. But most of all, this is where we learn the fates of everybody, living and dead. I’d like to reveal more about whether Alison and Mike do sell land from the estate to build a golf course, or if any ghost is going to emulate Katy Wix’s character Mary and be sucked off (their words) into the spirit realm, but if I did it’s quite possible the cast would hunt me down and chop off my head. Or maybe they’d just haunt me for ever which, to be honest, doesn’t sound so bad.

The show’s premise – that the ghosts can never leave the grounds of the house – is a tragicomic trope of Britcoms, ie that the protagonists can’t escape their fate. It was Harold’s psychic wound in Steptoe and Son, and now in Ghosts all the spirits are stuck in each others’ company for good as if Button House is a home counties Hotel California. Or if you prefer, the Horrible Histories team have made a funny Uncle Vanya.

Four talking heads nod on their respective Zoom screens.

“I always think Chekhov is funnier than it’s usually done,” says Rickard – who plays two parts, Humphrey the headless and Robin the caveman. “They’re fixed somewhere and also utterly baffled as to why they’re there. So you have these existential crises going on with people who are already dead.” “I was in a production of Vanya once,” says Howick, who plays Scout leader Pat. “It was nothing like this.”

Baynton says: “On the face of it, it’s about ghosts, but it’s really just a metaphor for what it’s like to be a person. You’re born into the world and everyone’s got different opinions about what everything means. To do that in a family sitcom always felt like an amazing trick to me. It kind of is Beckett, but it’s um ... silly Beckett.”

Cast your mind back to April 2019, when the team behind Horrible Histories unveiled a new comedy. Did your careers ever recover from Horrible Histories being endorsed by Michael Gove as a tool for teaching? “I think that was nicely ballasted by James Cleverly or Piers Morgan a few years later around Brexit saying that it was a waste of licence fee,” says Baynton. It was actually Morgan who, with his unerring grasp of the national mood, in 2020 tweeted that the show was “an outrageous, shameful abuse of public money”.

At the outset, Ghosts seemed like a spin-off from Horrible Histories’ Stupid Deaths segment, in which the team recreated a laughable demise (King Harold shot in the eye at Hastings, self-styled gong farmer Richard the Raker drowning in his own poo, Aeschylus killed by an eagle dropping a tortoise on his head). The eponymous Ghosts often died similarly stupidly: Howick’s Scout leader Pat died in an archery accident and wears an arrow through his neck for all eternity; Lolly Adefope’s Georgian noblewoman Kitty was slain by a spider bite from a transatlantically imported pineapple.

In episode one, thirtysomething herberts Alison and Mike move into an ancestral pile that she’s inherited, only to find that it’s haunted. After she falls through a window and cracks her head open, Alison can see the ghosts but Mike can’t – though if he could he would probably put out the lights of the dead Romantic poet who keeps putting the moves on his wife.

Ghosts has been a lovely antidote to our times. For the cast too, making it has been a joy. “We’re very different people,” says Rickard, “but the thing we’ve got in common is a sense of humour. And if you can have one thing in common, that is the best thing, because it’s a light, fun, nice thing you want to keep returning to.

“At the end of rehearsal day, my face hurts from laughing. It’s a really unusual feeling that you’re giving yourself a headache from having a good time, without being horribly drunk.”

A few days later, I interview Charlotte Ritchie and Kiell Smith-Bynoe, who play Alison and Mike. “I think it has real kindness at the heart of it,” says Ritchie. “The core of the show, I think, is that all these people you might label as different are navigating things together.”

That said, Ghosts also manages to tackle some pretty important social issues. The second world war army veteran Captain, whose love for a junior officer dare not speak its name, is fondly imagined. More significant yet is the representation of people of colour. Smith-Bynoe says he was especially delighted when last year’s Christmas special depicted something he’d never seen on TV before: a Black family having Christmas dinner. “I’ve had couples come up to me and, them being an interracial couple, say that it means a lot to them to see that at the forefront. It’s not talked about, just there.”

Ghosts has made the pair famous. “If I wear Alison’s jumpers when I go out, I get recognised,” says Ritchie. Or misrecognised: “I was out the other day and this woman came up to me and said: ‘Liked you in Fleabag.’ So I went with it.” “Why not?” laughs Smith-Bynoe. “I had a thing where somebody was convinced I did a warm-up for Mo Gilligan.” But you never have done? “Of course not! But it was hard to convince them I knew better.”

Both Ritchie and Smith-Bynoe would like to have a word with the writers. They’re not happy the show has come to an end. “I’ve got nothing in January,” she says. “Me neither.” They have a point. They are unemployed in a cost of living crisis while several of the writer-actors on the show have parlayed their fame into work on other lucrative franchises. Baynton can now be seen as Fickelgruber opposite Timothée Chalamet as the eponymous Wonka, while Simon Farnaby co-wrote Wonka, Paddington 2 and the forthcoming Paddington in Peru.

In theory, Ghosts need never end: spirits are eternal, so shouldn’t a sitcom about them be, too? Perhaps the Ghosts team should consider making a spin-off. What would be the Frasier to Ghosts’ Cheers, I ask. “Mick,” says Baynton. He means the ghost who shares the cellar of Button House with other plague victims, each one played by a member of the main cast. “It’d be called Mick with an exclamation mark. And it’d have a live audience. I’d come on and say: ‘Hello everyone! Hiya! I’m home!’ Like Happy Days. Don’t even bother with the makeup, the lights aren’t on.” It sounds terrible, to be fair.

Perhaps we have to accept that Ghosts is dead. Certainly, the cast have plundered the set for memorabilia. Ritchie has snaffled Alison’s jumpers, Smith-Bynoe took Mike’s monocle, Howe-Douglas has Lady Button’s rings and Ben Willbond has taken the Captain’s stick. Rickard proudly holds up Humphrey’s severed head to camera.

All that remains now are the repeats. “I think, more so than drama, people will go back to comedies they love and want to experience them again and find more in them,” says Baynton. “There are plenty of shows that are comfort. Sometimes you put them on so you can have a nap.” He seems to be suggesting that Ghosts is part of that soporific canon. I look at the four screens, each interviewee giggling happily at the thought of Britain not sobbing over the last episode, but dozing through repeats. It may be ending with a Christmas special, but Ghosts will be haunting us for many years to come.

#bbc ghosts #the guardian #martha howe-douglas #martha howe douglas #laurence rickard #larry rickard #mathew baynton #jim howick #mat baynton #charlotte ritchie #kiell smith-bynoe #kiell smith bynoe #6 idiots #six idiots #the six idiots #themthere #them there #rj: interview #rj: bbc ghosts #rj: the guardian #rj: martha howe-douglas #rj: laurence rickard #rj: jim howick #rj: mathew baynton #rj: charlotte ritchie #rj: kiell smith-bynoe #rj: 2023

[catwyk]

silt versing now heres my immediate thoughts

"rejoice! the authorities are on their way" love the blending of the mundane and divine i eat it up every single time

faulkner so silly messing up his scary evil sermon thank god for this sibling rane realness

"I, high prophet faulkner, chosen by the trawlerman- I-I was responsible for the return of the withermark? and the revelations at bellweathers you might have heard. that it was the linger straits but thats untrue thats all been debunked" hes so cringefail i love him

him talking about being unbound from his duty....... someone introduce him to atheism QUICK

i need to make alpha male podcaster faulkner fanart

THE OPENING CREDITS 😭😭 THEIR LAUGHS😭😭 IM GOING TO THROW UP I LOVE THEM SO MUCH THIS IS THE HAPPIEST WE'VE EVER SEEN FAULKNER

"he does not, in truth, care about the people who took him in and gave him a home" sending greve a mail bomb rq hold on

"he will die as he lived. alone" SENDING 5 MILLION MAIL BOMBS

b narr ripping out my heart. again

my god faulkner really will not let up on building his own mythology. he is so desperate to be somebody

🔥RANE LORE🔥

FAULKNER DAD AND BROTHER APPEARANCES EX FUCKING SCUSE ME?????????????

did they ever find out about charlie. who is we eddie. do they know about faulkner's insane life right now. how long has faulkner even been away at this point

stopppppp eddie calling faulkner richie is so cute 💔💔 jon naming faulkner richard just to avoid the three brothers having -ie names and it happening organically anyway

his dad calling faulkner charlie. oh.

the fucking serials faulkner and his dad are watching?? hello??? silly as hell

i was right when i said sibling rane's family came from the faith hell yes vindication

"its not blasphemy if the high prophet does it" eyebrow raise

faulkners desperation with these prayer marks is breaking my heart. theyre so not gonna work

not missing the parallels between faulkner and paige begging and threatening their gods for protection. very interesting

faulkner standing off against uncle just is the most intense scene ive experienced in so long

this heart to heart is KILLINGGGG ME. faulkner is just a little boy oh my god and his dad is only acting in his interest NOW when its too late..... someone hold me

"every god's a god of death. it's the only thing we need them for" COME BACK COME BACK COME BACK C

NO FAULKNER TRYING TO FOLLOW CHARLIE??????? this is NOT ok im gonna cry poor blorbo

dear lord this episode hurt me so badly. why are the voice actors so damn good. why are the characters so well written. i love them so much and i rlly like the direction faulkner is going in, i feel less like hes doomed to die by the trawlerman

#i have a lot more to say about the dementia too since i have my own experience with my grandma's decline #but im gonna keep that to myself for now #siltposting #the silt verses #tsv faulkner #tsv #brother faulkner #sibling rane #sibling rane realness #the silt verses.txt #catwyk.txt

[henrywinterswife]

henry’s attacks on charles (camilla involved?)

can we take a moment to brief through what charles went through?

it’s clear henry was the one to tell charles to go with cloke to bunny’s dorm and request marion to call the police. why charles specifically? by getting the police to come over when charles is there, he’d be the one questioned most, henry knew this and took advantage of it. most of the FBI investigation and questioning fell upon charles, and he spent countless hours in their offices, while henry just let him take it on. not to mention he was very clearly morally against the idea of killing bunny from the start. so why charles? henry knew charles had a growing alcohol problem, and this added stress would make it worse. why would henry want it to be worse? because henry wants to be with camilla and charles disapproves. by making his alcoholism worse, camilla would be less inclined to being around him and leaning more towards henry.

later on, we see henry beginning to make attempts to straight up kill charles. why do you think charles ended up being arrested for drunk driving in henry’s car? henry and charles had just ended an argument, would it be plausible to assume henry just handed over his car sweetly to him afterward? certainly not. henry knew charles was drunk, and by giving him the car, henry knew he’d either 1) crash and get hurt 2) get arrested for DUI.

henry then attempts to murder him through pills. giving him pills claiming it’s to help him sleep better, but knowing full well those same pills react fatally with alcohol, knowing that charles has a drinking problem. (and we know henry knew that because richard had told him that same fact at the Corcoran’s house the night before bunnys funeral.) he also was seen by charles walking around his apartment in the middle of the night?? clearly he had certain evil intentions. creepy ones, at that.

now for my theory…

camilla had much more in the involvement of henry’s treatment towards charles after bunny’s death.

clearly from an outward view, camilla cares deeply about charles and henry cares deeply about camilla. i highly doubt henry would treat charles with such crap if camilla didn’t like it. camilla may have been so fed up with charles’ behavior that henry talked her into an idea where it would be better if charles died? why else would henry make multiple attempts to kill charles and camilla didn’t do a thing, but stay by henry’s side? and let’s not forget, at the very last scene in Albemarle, henry outwardly says they’d all be better off if charles just died. camilla didn’t even say anything? and i know it wasn’t out of fear.

i’m sure she loved charles but it’s either 1) she didn’t know of henry’s attempts 2) henry brainwashed her, OR 3) she herself is evil and self conceited too.

#the secret history analysis #the secret history #henry winter #camilla macaulay #charles macaulay #richard papen #francis abernathy #bunny corcoran #edmund corcoran #donna tartt #books #dark academia #tsh #the secret history aesthetic #judy poovey #julian morrow #dark academic aesthetic #papenathy #booklover #dark acamedia #winterpapen

[joviepog]

Ceux qui nous détruisent

Translation: the ones who destroy us

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

Warnings: Lots of mentions of blood, death, running away, fire, arson,

Pronouns: she / they

Word count: 637

Tag list: @gaytoadwithapopsicle @haunted-headset @ax-y10 @loversj0y @lillylvjy @lanaxoxoxoxoxox @phxntomsdusk @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @when-you-cant-think-of-anything @danny-yagami @poraphia

Anything else: this is like, the gist of a story I’m working on rn. Also I wrote this with a song! So if u want, you can listen while you read! You would most likely have to time your reading with the music lolz. (YFN means Your friend’s name!) if I missed any warning let me know!

Ps. I will be using the same siren photo for all of my siren stories lol.

This story is NOT proofread

Listen to this while you read! Try timing your reading with the story! :D

“Wait!” You screamed as you see your parents get dragged away by the police. Blood dripping from your head and tears flowing from your eyes.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

“Get them!” A worker yelled as you and your best friend ran off into the cold night. You two decided to never come back to that orphanage

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

“Hide here.” You say as you look through the trash. “It’s going to be okay.” You say with a smile as they sit beside your legs. They’re trembling, scared.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

“School isn’t that bad.” They nudge your shoulder and you roll your eyes as blood drips from your cheek. “Sure thing boss.” They laugh.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

“You dont have to risk your life to save me!” They cough as you run towards the smoke. “I do. I took this job so that i can get you your meds.” You yell back, annoyed.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

“YN!” You turn around to see them on the floor, coughing blood. “YFN!” You shout as you run towards them, fighting of villains. Save your breath…

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

“You’re going to die!” You shout at them. As you protect yourself. “It’s okay.” They say with a smile. “NO ITS NOT! JUST- just stay alive!” They sigh. “You know i wont make it another week either way.”

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

You carry their body to the hospital, angry that the heroes didn’t help you save them. You regretted ever becoming a hero. You wished death upon them.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

You set an apartment on fire just to catch the hero’s attention to let them know you were a villain. You laugh as you see the building go up in flames, crazed.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

You train and train for years. Trying to get your body enough strength to fight heroes. You knew their weaknesses. You knew their strengths. You just hoped they didn’t become stronger.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

You become a villain, working along side them. You worked together with Siren for most of this time. You hates to admit it, but he was the only decent villain that you could talk with.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?”

“YOU’RE GONNA RUIN THE PLAN!”

You shrug and give them a smirk. “Oh well.”

You grab the lighter from my pocket and set the building on fire. Going against the villains. Trust no one.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

You work alone, fighting the villains, fighting the heroes. You never let you guard down. Your only goal was to kill the main hero, dream. You just wanted to see the hero’s downfall.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

You become friends outside of your villain life with a man named Wilbur, finally letting your guard down. After some time, you begin to have a crush on him. After some time, you two start to date.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

Siren begins to pop out of nowhere, when you’re fighting the heroes, he’s there helping you. When you’re fighting the villains, he’s there flirting with you, giving you tips, not exactly helping you

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

You make a deal with the villains, helping them destroy the heroes. You then go on a mission with them, Siren right beside you the whole time.

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

Siren gets badly hurt, bleeding from his chest. “Just wait here Siren!” You begin to cry, “I’ll go get Tommy.”

“No. just stay.” He sighs.

“I’ll be right back..” you hated yourself for letting this happen again.

he grabs your hand, “YN. Stay.”

“No-“ you paused “Wait.”

He takes off his mask and there he is. Wilbur, the love of your life. He laughs, “this isnt how this was supposed to go.

You start to bawl, “Wilbur! I’m so sorry. This is my fault. We should have never gone on this stupid mission. I should have protected you. I should have-“

“Its fine YN, just… stay.” He breaths out, “Plus, how was i supposed to show that i was better than you?”

You laugh as you sit beside him on the alley’s wall, still crying.

Suddenly you don’t hear his shaky breathing.

…

“Wilbur?”

“WILBUR!”

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#dream smp x reader #dream smp x yn #dream smp x you #dsmp x reader #dsmp x yn #dsmp x you #Wilbur soot x reader #Wilbur soot x yn #Wilbur soot x you #Wilbur x reader #Wilbur x yn #Wilbur x you #sirenbur x reader #sirenbur x you #sirenbur x yn #siren x reader #siren x you #siren x yn #dream smp #dsmp #Wilbur soot #Wilbur #sirenbur #siren #tommyinnit’s clinic for supervillains #clinic #joviepog