The thing driving me so insane about Loid and Yor communicating so openly is that this is how a couple in an actual relationship would address the problems they're having
She's asking him to rely on her, saying that he doesn't need to put up appearances all the time, that she knows he's capable but she's here to help and wants to, that he doesn't need to be perfect.
They're in a fake marriage. Loid has repeatedly told her she doesn't have to do anything but be around for specific events, but Yor still genuinely took up the role of Anya's mom and has been actively working to be a good mother to her fake husband's daughter this entire time, and now she's gently pushing back on Loid about not helping him either.
They aren't in love yet, or at least aren't aware of any developing feelings, but Yor is still reaching out to Loid in a way that someone in a real committed relationship would to their partner. She doesn't need to!! She's completely in her right to not help him, to not care!! He has given her the explicit permission of it multiple times!! But she cares about him, Anya, and Bond, this little family they've created. She wants him to lean on her like she does on him
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i actually have to wax lyrical about fourth of july for a minute because it might legitimately be one of my favorite fall out boy songs ever written primarily because it's not a song i think could have been written prior to the hiatus. it feels a bit like a logical extension to "miss missing you" in how it's a song that discusses what it is to live without someone more than anything else.
say you loved someone. could be a friend, a family member, a significant other, whatever. say you loved them. say that relationship split apart for some reason or another. say it's been years since you thought about them and you realize you can't picture them so easily anymore. the little details that once shown so clearly in the walkways of your memory have begun to fade, and in a strange solemn kind of way you feel like you have to mourn that, the entropy hemorrhaging away your recollections of them. you have a weakness for nostalgia. you obsess over old scars. you obsess even more over the way that they dont ache the way they used to unless you pry them open of your own accord.
here is a song that presents an old, fractured relationship. here is a song that says that maybe it was for the best that it fell apart. it is not spiteful or angry or resentful of the other party. it's almost apologetic. it acknowledges that you're so far out of each other's lives at this point that it doesn't really matter, whether or not you miss them, or whether or not they miss you. sometimes things simply don't carry out to completion. and that's okay. the torture of small talk with someone you used to love.
it's the refrain that sticks with me, more than anything. it's a lyric i carry so close to my heart to this day:
may the bridges i have burned light my way back home.
this part of your life ended. the bridge was burned, it collapsed beneath its own weight, it is nothing but cinder and fucking ash underfoot. this person in your past is not who they once were to you, and they never will be again. you used to love them. you don't anymore. maybe sometimes you miss them, but they'll never get to know that now. you burned that bridge and you found hope in it - you found such hope and earnest joy and relief in that part of your life being sent for the burning. you watched that relationship fall apart and you were better for it, you turned its embers into a beacon, you saw your way out of it and maybe sometimes it still hurts, maybe sometimes you still feel lonely, sometimes you miss this specific persons company, but thats okay.
its a song about grief, more than anything. you mourn the people you used to be. and you live without them anyway. you live without the version of you who loved this person. you live without the person you once loved. past tense. and it burns a little venom out of your veins when you think of them, but you feel better and you breathe a little easier afterwards.
it's a song that has all the affectations of a love song but is anything but. it's a farewell song. it's a song that acknowledges that maybe once you loved someone, but you don't anymore. and that while maybe you were better off for having loved them, you are better still for having walked away in the end. for all its upbeat nature, the son lux sampling that picks up the whole tempo and transforms the chorus into a soaring, almost triumphant anthem, "fourth of july" is about what it means to walk away from a relationship and realize that you are better for having done so.
like i said. it's not a song they could have written pre-hiatus. it's utterly devoid of the spite and agitation that permeated so many of their early songs. it's about acceptance and the way some things end, and that's okay. they were meant to. and you're better for it. and if anyone turns this post into about a ship i will be coming to your house and peeling off all your skin like a fucking orange.
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Destigmatize Munchausen syndrome
This take may be too nuanced for the Internet right now, and that's okay but.. Instead of calling out people who seem to fake any type of illness, instead of complaining about how annoying they are, and ALSO instead of pretending that these people don't exist- what if we just destigmatized Munchausen syndrome??
It seems like everyone is all for mental health until it comes to Munchausen syndrome. And, extra nuance here, we should destigmatize this debilitating mental illness, while still allowing space for chronically ill, disabled people, and those hurt by people with Munchausen syndrome to speak their truth about it.
At the end of the day, those with Munchausen syndrome deserve help as much as anyone with depression does and if they could feel less shame about it they could get help sooner and create less harm to themselves and others.
(I am only talking about Munchausen inflicted on self because destigmatizing M by proxy is a very different type of issue)
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A drabble for an anon asking about the prisoners watching their music videos! This is focused on specifically Mikoto’s initial shock at seeing MeMe for the first time, but just know that Double comes with a whole new set of shocks as he truly listens to John for the first time ;-;
Mikoto was no criminal.
He didn’t know how to break into locked rooms, or hack into complex prison security systems. He figured there was no way in hell he’d be able to see these so-called incriminating videos that the Warden was recording, and had resolved himself to an eternity of wondering what they could be. He was shocked when he didn’t need to do a single thing to gain access to them – Es simply adjusted the computer monitor and told him he could hit play when (and if) he wished. Then they left the room.
“A-are you sure?” he called, but they were already gone.
Mikoto blinked at the screen. It showed a stretched version of his apartment couch, near his bathroom wall, broken to reveal sky above. He thought he could spot his tarot cards at the bottom of the frame. Had Milgram broken into his home to film this?
He scoffed, and hit play.
Distorted guitar started up. He flinched as his own face appeared for a moment – looking directly into the camera and making a wild expression he would never have made if someone was recording. His body tensed up more as he heard his own voice start to sing lyrics he’d never spoken before in his life. He wasn’t even a good singer, and here he was sounding like a professional.
There were plenty of ways to accomplish all of this, of course. Software could mimic one’s voice, making him say anything these crazy reality hosts wanted. A team could easily add some digital effects to a stunt double and match his appearance perfectly. Knowing that didn’t make the experience any less unsettling.
He watched himself commit a nasty murder. He watched himself return home bloodied. But it was all ridiculous. How could Milgram even claim that this was him? He’d never raised a hand to anyone in his life. Were the other prisoners’ videos as outlandish as this one?
But then, a switch.
The song shifted to a new melody. He appeared to wake up from his couch, and suddenly Mikoto got the sense that this was him.
He was struck with how familiar this new segment sounded. It simultaneously felt like a favorite song he must have played on loop not too long ago, and one that he’d never heard before. As it played, each new note and lyric felt right on the tip of his tongue.
It ended as quickly as it began. The song returned to the heavy-metal-murder aesthetic it had started with, and once again he felt like he was watching a cheap copy of himself onscreen. He watched another murder, a shower scene (had the warden seen all that? How embarrassing…) and then he turned to his bathroom mirror.
At the same time as his musical counterpart, Mikoto leapt backwards in horror.
His eyes remained glued to the screen. His hand flew up to grab the lower half of his face. It was fake, he told himself. AI and CGI and all that. It was fake. It had to be.
Something deep inside of him said “no. That’s real. That’s me.”
Something else deep inside of him echoed the sentiment.
The video was less than four minutes of music, but by the end he was panting and tugging at his hair as if he’d endured hours of prison torture. He burst out of the room. He sucked in breath after breath. The melodies still played in his mind, lines repeating in his memory as he tried to put as much distance between himself and that little television screen.
He found the others in the common room. They gave him a knowing look, but somehow he knew his experience had been very different from their own. Es approached him.
They studied his expression for a moment. Thankfully, they didn’t ask anything stupid, like “how did it go?” or “what did you think?”
Instead, they just told him, “if you ever want to watch it again, just let me know, I can get it set up for you.”
He would want to see it again. Of course, it would be better, then. He would take a moment to calm down. He’d watch it later and everything would be okay. He’d have a clearer mind. He’d pick out all the little camera tricks they used to make it. He’d be sure it was a fake, and laugh about how ridiculous he was being now.
Of course. Of course.
He nodded to Es, unable to produce any words. Es left him.
The rules in this prison never made any sense, but in this case, he was grateful. He wouldn’t need to figure out any snooping or hacking to get access to the video again. After all, he was no criminal.
… he wasn’t, was he?
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