parent test

Best parts of Moana:
-no love interest
-Moana had proportions like an actual human and wasn’t sexualized
-Disney princess set to inherit is actually depicted being trained in running her society
-no dead parents!
-bechdel test pass
-respectful depiction of source material and culture
-the music oh my god!!!!!
-Maui’s 4th wall breaks
-no actual villain
-closest thing to a villain was David Bowie crab
-Lin-Manuel Miranda
-the chicken
-only white in the cast voiced the chicken
-my giant green wife

kageyama bros fight!


she had the world // panic! at the disco

Why is school the only part of my life you care about?
Why do you ask me about my test scores but not about my feelings?
Why do you tell your friends how you’re proud of my grades,
but not my kind heart or creative mind?
The fact that the first thing you ask me at dinner is
how my finals are going is so sickening
I almost stopped eating right then and there.
The night those college letters came,
you happily announced my PSAT scores to my father
before suggesting I go study some more,
then changing your mind and telling me to read
all the letters out loud to the family instead.
I still can’t believe that happened.
The whole thing was insane,
and I was the only one who could see that.
I’m more than a number.
I’m not just a bit of small talk you can
brag about to your friends.
You couldn’t hear the malice in my voice
as I read those letters.
You couldn’t tell I hated every syllable
printed on that crisp white paper.
All you can see are the numbers on my report card,
and those are mattering less and less to me every day.
—  sincerely, your straight A daughter // c.r.h.
dutch gothic
  • You go to HEMA for office supplies. You go to HEMA for bed sheets. You go to HEMA for bread. You go to HEMA always, for everything, every day. There is no other shop. There is only HEMA.

  • You cycle to school. You cycle to HEMA. You cycle to your friends. You cycle to the big city closest to your tiny town. You cycle to the train station. You cycle to your grandparents. Your bike has broken down more times than you can count, yet, you keep cycling.

  • You take public transport to somewhere too far away to cycle. You’re inexplicably unnerved by this fact. You look out the window and you spot a mill on green stretches of land. You see another mill and another mill and another. You’re approaching the city center. Still, you see mills. You accept this, as everyone seems to do.

  • You enter Utrecht central station. You wonder if you are on an airport. You walk along the platforms, heading for platform 1. You don’t notice 6 and 10 and 13 are missing: no one ever does. And if they do, they don’t question this. Hours pass. You’re still walking toward platform 1. You thank god NS makes sure the trains are always late, so you’ll make it just in time. You arrive at the platform. “+10” it days on the sign. You sigh. You wait another 10 minutes and look again. “+20”, it says.

  • At the end of the basis school you take The Test. Your parents are more nervous than you. They tell you this Test dictates your entire future. The news tells you the same in a grave, slightly more ominous voice. You’re twelve years old.

  • When you’re in middelbare school, you notice the seniors suddenly disappear for approximately two weeks each year to perform a secret ritual in the largest room of the building. There are signs outside of this room warning you not to enter. You are frightened as the years pass, senior year coming increasingly closer; your fate uncertain as you finally enter the Forbidden Room. You cry. It’s the two most nerve-wrecking weeks of your life.

  • Everyone wants to go on holiday to the united states. Only a few chosen (read: rich) go. You ask them how it was and they tell you strange tales of shops other than HEMA, such as “target” and “costco”; of guns on display in supermarkets; how no one owns a bike. You stare, shaken, in disbelief and shock.

  • It’s the first real day of summer. It’s 20°C and kind of cloudy. You go to the beach. Everyone goes to the beach. You’re stuck in traffic for hours: everyone is headed for the same beach.

  • When you get to the beach, the water is cold as ice and there are jellyfish in the water. There are jellyfish on the sand. There are jellyfish in that shallow pool over there. There are jellyfish everywhere. You come back the next day. The jellyfish have vanished.

  • You’re sitting in the sun under a half broken windscreen. A few meters away, a boy is digging a hole. This means that the boy is german, you’ve learned. You look to your left. There, another german man digging a hole. And another. You smile ruefully. What would the beach be without germans digging holes? This is all very normal.

  • You go on holiday to another country. People think you’re german. You’ve accepted this. People always think you’re german. I’m Dutch, you say. They don’t understand. They laugh. You’re from germany right? They ask.

  • Stroopwafels seem to have built an international reputation. Foreigners adore them. You don’t understand. They’re cookies. Very good ones, yes. But the adoration for anything Dutch is something you cannot grasp.

  • There is a song about a guy named Herman reading in the newspaper that the man he’d sold his car to has crashed it and died. Everyone think Herman is dead, though. This makes him very happy. No one questions this fact. No one wonders if he tells his family he’s alive. No one asks who identified the body. Everyone knows the lyrics to this song.

What if at the end of Reality Trip Danny hadn’t wiped his parents minds (which would’ve made hella more sense than what actually happened). What if the next season (or at least the beginning of it) was spent on focusing on Danny and his relationship with his parents after the whole thing and them having to come to terms with their son’s half ghost status and the fact that they’ve literally been hunting him like an animal the last two seasons.
The rest of that summer after Reality Trip where his parents are fixing their equipment so it won’t lock in on Danny anymore. They’re learning more and more about ghosts from their son and how not all ghosts are evil. They start taking family trips into the Ghost Zone for Danny to show them around and meet the nice ghosts. They’re all becoming closer as a family because now there’s not this huge ravine of fear.
However not everything is all well. Old habits do die hard. Sometimes his parents will test his abilities and the line between their tests and actually treating him like a lab rat starts to blur. They’re so fascinated by him that they start to see him as this puzzle that needs to be solved instead of their son. Danny who is very uncomfortable with this is too afraid to tell them to back off. He wants to show them what he can do and he wants them to be interested but they almost start to dehumanize him when they run their tests on him. Maybe at some point Maddie accidentally jabs Danny with something and he goes “ouch that hurt” and her instant reaction is “ghosts don’t feel pain” and right there they realize they’ve fucked up. Danny flies the fuck out of there and they feel ashamed.

There are so many other good directions this idea could’ve been taken as well!! It makes me so angry that this potential was ignored because for some stupid reason he always has to keep his secret from his parents even after they accepted him!! I’m anger

Sitting in the car with my dad driving:

Before I learned to drive: “wow dad, you’re really good at driving! You’re faster than a lot of the other cars!”

After I learned to drive: “dad what the fuck are you doing WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK STOP IT NOW”

Daily Capital Journal, Salem, Oregon, February 7, 1923

Has anyone heard of this before? Apparently it was a pretty common way for parents to test if their children had the mumps (or adults to test themselves). They’d give them a pickle to bite (or, I guess in this instance, smell) and it would affect the salivary glands. If you had a stronger than usual reaction - not just face contorting but almost yelling in pain - to the sour flavour, you probably had the mumps (or so the idea was). 


Featuring Young Linh with pre-dipped in silver hair (。•́︿•̀。)

Small rant: Linh was noted to be very young when the flood happened, I’m guessing around 12-14 y/o, so what makes the Council think it’s ok to send a young elf straight to Exillium for an accident which she did not do on purpose?? Were her parents punished for their ignorance in bringing a young hydrokinetic to Atlantis? They seem too eager to have Tam as their “only child”, with Linh out of the picture in Exillium.

anonymous asked:

Danny arrives at the watchtower, injured and bloodied, looking absolutely terrified. The heroes keep asking who the enemy was. A new ghost? Should they help? When they finally managed to get the truth out of him, they don't know what to say. It was his parents, testing out a new weapon to destroy ghosts, and now he's too scared to go home. - Not Angsty

Wow. Just wow.

Flood my Mornings: Climbing

Anon said: This is a prompt for Bonnie & FMM: since BabyBree is becoming quite the strong minded little lady, can we see her get into some antics at the worst possible time?

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

Fernacre, July, 1951 

JESUS, lass!” Jamie hissed as he lunged to snatch Bree mid-stride and prevent what would have been a flying leap off the picnic table. He forced himself to exhale before setting her onto her feet and asking, “Why in the name of all that is holy and right do ye turn demon the instant we go out in public?”

The demon giggled. 

“Brianna, hear me, it’s no’ a game, this.” He dropped to a crouch before her, trying to keep his already-worn temper in check. “I mean it. NO climbing up upon things, d’ye hear?” 

“Okayyyy!” she trilled, beaming with joy, already turning on her heel. 

“Wait just there, we’re not—” 

But she was already out of reach, scampering off to join a pack of other children headed toward the play-slides. 

“Stay within the yard!” he called after her. “Heaven BLOODY help me,” he groaned under his breath in Gaelic, getting back to his feet and his conversation. “I’m terribly sorry for that wee hooligan, Tom.” 

“It’s alright, bud,” Tom Harper laughed, handing him back his bottle of terrible American beer. “Kids will be kids, no harm done.”

“Perhaps it’s some great test of parenting, to see how well I cope wi’out Claire to hand….or how poorly, as the case might be.”

It was the annual Fernacre employee summer picnic, or as Bree saw it, a battlefield ripe for the carnage her impish soul apparently craved. Scarce an hour the two of them had been there, and she’d already knocked over a pitcher of Lemonade, bitten another child who had bumped into her, squirted tomato sauce all down her front, and managed to get a lollipop stuck in her hair. This was to say nothing of the tantrum on the car ride about not being able to see the clouds (it being a hot, blue day and there being no clouds), and several outbursts of language he was more than grateful Claire had not been present to overhear. Nine days out of ten, Bree’s heartbreaking sweetness outweighed the net destruction (though there was plenty of the latter in any given day, and no mistake); but there would be a full moon brewing in the sky this evening, certainly, for Brianna Fraser had come out IN FORCE. 

“Really, though, she’ll grow out of it,” Tom said with a veteran’s confidence. “Our Rob was just the same at that age. It’s your first kiddo’s job to put you through the wringer. It’s in their contract and everything!” His wink went suddenly sideways as both brows furrowed over his Sunglasses. “Speaking of which, Claire’s okay, I hope?” 

“Oh, aye, she’s well enough,” Jamie assured him, taking what restorative strength he could from the watery excuse for a draught. “The babe kept her up all through the night, and she didna think she could manage being out the heat, besides.” 

“Don’t blame her one bit.” He wiped sweat from his forehead before adding significantly, “Not long, now, huh?” 

“No,” he grinned back, “not long at all.” 

Earlier that morning

Will you absolutely hate me if I stay in bed today?”

“Of course not, mo nighean donn,” He tucked the covers more securely around her and then stood, looking around to see what he might bring her. 

“Would it be pressing my good luck to beg you to take the monster with you?”

He kissed her, then Ian. “…Which one?” 

“Oh, I’d happily give you BOTH, if I could!” She rubbed her now-still belly ruefully and winced a bit. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, little one, you have got to give Mummy a BREAK when she’s trying to sleep. We can’t keep having these midnight drill parades!”

A whinnying horse galloped into the room and catapulted herself onto the bed next to Claire. “Mum-ma, you comin’?”

“No, lovey,” Claire said, pulling Bree close into a great, warm hug. “Mummy’s going to stay here and take a nap.” 

“Nappin’ isna FUN!” 

“Oh, it’s LOADS of fun for me! But you and Daddy will go and have a lovely time at the picnic, just the two of you.”

Bree grumbled for a minute, then brightened. “Can’see iffee’s ‘wake? If Beeyin’s ‘wake?”

Claire smiled that warm, sweet smile he loved so well. She pulled up the hem of her nightshirt from under the blankets, patiently letting Bree inspect the whole expanse of her with exuberant pats. 

After a few moments, Bree glowered up and whispered in a confidential yell, “I dinna heer’im.”

“I don’t feel him ei—Oh! There he is!” 

Bree shrieked in delight, dissolving into insane giggles as she poked the heaving mass back to and fro. At such a degree of intensity, it was rather like the game Jamie had seen the Fair where you clubbed the stuffed groundhog with a mallet only to have another pop up on the other side. ‘Clubbed’ indeed, for Claire was obliged to grab Bree’s hands and croon, “Gently, Bree, baby, *gently*…” 

After a long, peaceful while, Claire happened to glance up and catch his expression. She was a canny one, his wife, and she gave him a gimlet eye at once. “And just what are you smirking at like a cat in the cream?”

In truth, he WAS grinning, so widely he must have looked positively deranged. “You. are. SO. BIG.”

“You ARSE,” she laughed, managing to land him a kick in the belly even through the blankets.

“Ye ARE! I mean, LOOK!” He came to sit on the edge of the bed and joined Bree in outlining just how massive she was. “Big as a—a—”

“A HOUSE!” Bree finished helpfully, “or A ‘POTTAMUS!” 

“I do hope wee Ian comes out a fair shade more polite and complimentary than YOU lot,” Claire said, splitting a glare between the pair of them. 

“And just think, you’ve *two weeks more,* forbye.”  

One and a half, thank you very much,” she corrected primly.

“But let’s just stop and consider.” He raised a significant brow. “Should wee Ian see fit to bide his time…

“Don’t EVEN suggest it.”

“….It could be THREE weeks more…” He was having trouble speaking normally through the bubbling laughter. “….or even FOUR, until—”

“You wish four more weeks upon me, Jamie Fraser, and I will make you wish otherwise.”

Bree turned her coat in a flash. “Don’ wisp that at Mum-ma, Da.” 

“Oh, verra well, if ye say so,” he said, mock-abashed, with a wink at his wife. Glancing at his watch, he groaned and straightened with a yawn. Claire’s tossing and turning in the night from Ian’s acrobatics hadn’t done him any favors, either.  “Alright, a leannan, let’s see to your clothes and get along to the picnic.”

“You really do delight in seeing me as huge as a beached whale, don’t you?” Claire asked sardonically as Bree scurried from the room, cheering.

“Aye, I do,” he admitted freely, wrapping both his arms around her and nuzzling his nose against hers. “Truly one of the happiest sights I’ve ever seen.” 

In the cave, he had many a time wondered—longingly—what Claire might look like at the time of her full term; and what he had imagined paled in comparison. She was full and lush in every single inch of her. Hair thick and glossy. Skin softly glowing like sunlight on a flower petal. Whisky eyes seeming to sparkle with the same light, heavy with a soft, sleepy happiness. Claire was absolutely exquisite in this height of her bearing, and he would happily spend all his days glorying in the memory of her, this way. 

“I never imagined…” He bent and laid a kiss on her straining navel, reflecting that spending a fair number of those days in good fun and laughter would *also* be greatly rewarding. “…that anyone could get even bigger wi’ child than JENNY.” 

“Bree!” Claire shouted, swatting him with a pillow as he lunged up to kiss her cheeks and neck ferociously, “tell your Da to take his imagination and shove it up his—”

A crash sounded from the other room, followed by a ‘whoops-eeee’, which, in retrospect, had not boded well for the rest of the day


His head whipped around so fast he heard his neck crack.

She was on the top rung of the fence separating the yard from the adjacent pasture, and he felt his heart stop as she fell from it headfirst. 

The next moments as he sprinted toward her seemed to pass as slowly as in a dream. He could hear shouts and cries behind him, but he didn’t stop for an instant until he was vaulting over the fence and snatching her up off her back. He didn’t remember what words he may have uttered, or in what language, but a few moments later, he was exhaling in great gasps of relief seeing that she was conscious and not injured, just badly scared with the breath knocked out of her. 

Dazed, she began to cry with great long wails that drove away the two mares that had come to investigate the visitor to their pasture. Thank the Lord she hadn’t chosen the next paddock over, where the true brawlers were kept. 

“You’re alright?” he demanded once more as he got back to the right side of the fence, vaguely aware he was speaking in Gaelic. “You’re not hurt?” 

She coughed and gasped for breath, considered, then showed him, lips trembling, a slightly-red patch on the fleshy part of her palm.

He laid a fervent kiss in her hand—silently praising heaven she hadn’t broken the wrist, for all that she was still crying like a banshee—and then could contain himself no longer. 

“What did I say about climbing?” His teeth were gritted tight and his hands were shaking even as they strove to remain gentle. “AND about wandering off??”

“I din’knowww,” she wailed, hearing his tone and trying to hide her face in his chest. 

“Ye DO know.” He pulled her up and made her look at him. “Brianna Ellen, ye must listen to what I say! Don’t ye understand ye could have gotten very badly hurt? Lass, look at me.”

She was sobbing, now, working herself up into hysterics. “C—can—na—

“Why not?”


He went completely still at that. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, deep breath. 

Help me, Da. 

With gestures and apologetic looks, he shooed the well-meaning onlookers back to their picnic and made for the big oak tree in the opposite corner of the yard. It was well-shaded, and he sat down against the trunk, holding his daughter to his chest as she sobbed against his shoulder. 

Thank God she wasn’t hurt. Thank GOD. 

“Bree, cub?” The walk had calmed him, and he was glad to hear his voice was gentle and soft. “Look at me, aye?” 

After a moment, she glanced timidly up (face red as an apple and covered in liquids of all description) and he smiled at her, stroking her cheek and her hair. “I’m here, a leannan. It’s just me…just Da… I love you.” 

“Love—” she hiccuped through her tears, “—too.” 

He kissed her and held her close for a minute before setting her on his legs facing him and saying gravely, “But ye made me verra afraid today, a chuisle. Ye disobeyed and could have hurt yourself.” 

“I did’nint mean to,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“Aye, I ken ye didna mean to get hurt,” he said, gently pulling her fists away from her face, “but ye meant to be climbing the fence, even after I told ye not.” 

“…It was fun, though,” she offered with a shrug, voice tremulously defiant.

“Aye, well…” 

Come on, Da…. How would ye have explained this to me?  

A shrill whinny sounded in the distance, then another, and Jamie glanced around to see the two sorrel foals playing together in the south pasture, teasing and prancing about one another.  

He smiled and felt peace whispering through the grasses. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away. 

“Ye ken, when wee Ian is born, Bree, he’s going to grow up fast. Before long, he’ll be as big as you and running about on his own! And you’ll want your wee brother to be safe, aye?” 

She straightened at that, no longer crying. Bairn safety was no small matter, in her book. She nodded. 

“Say there were something like a great, nasty snake crawling about in the grass about to bite your brother on the foot…..Would ye just stand by and let him be hurt?”

Brianna looked up at him in absolute affront. “NO, I’d kill dat snake!”

He very nearly choked, but managed to keep a moderately straight face. Call upon a Fraser, and a Fraser ye shall get, he supposed;  but he cleared his throat and plunged on, determined to make his point. “But what if wee Ian didna understand the beast was dangerous? What if he went running to the snake because he thought it would be fun to play wi’ it?”

“Well…I jus’tell him not.”

“Aye, just so,” he said, “because we have to protect the people we love, d’ye see?” 

“Uh-huh.” She was staring up at him, rapt but not quite understanding. 

“So when I tell ye not to do things like climb the fence, mo chridhe, it’s only to keep ye safe, to keep ye getting hurt because I love you so. And when the bairn comes, it’ll be your job to keep him safe, too.”

She nodded emphatically. “I’ll do him safe, Da, promise.”

“But that means ye have to keep yourself safe, as well. Elder sisters have to be the best at obeying Mam and Da so the smaller bairns ken what’s the right way of things. Can ye do that?” 

“Aye,” she said at once. “I’ll ‘bey.” 

For precisely sixty seconds out of every hour, he predicted. 

“Hear me, though, Bree: the next time ye disobey like ye did today, I shall have to strap ye. I dinna want to do it, not one bit, but it’s how you’ll learn. Are we understood?

“….What’s s-tuh-rap?” 

“Getting smacked hard on the bottom wi’ a belt.” 

Hard?” she clarified, shocked. 

“Aye, hard enough that it hurts.” 

“But ye said—” She scrunched up her face and gestured with both hands. “NOT do things to KEEP me of getting hurted….”

A Dhia, Da, he laughed silently, how by all the saints did ye raise three—


His head snapped up and he saw Marian rushing down from the house, beckoning wildly, with a look of—

“Da—ddy—” Bree gasped out from where she bounced against his shoulder. “Why we runnin’?”

His heart was pounding.

“Because your brother has decided he’s going to arrive early.”  

On FP Jones and his son, Jughead

Originally posted by dailytv

I don’t talk about my personal life much on here. Suffice to say, I grew up in an intensely chaotic and dysfunctional home, with an addict, often absent parent. 

And there’s something really beautiful and real about how RAS and the Riverdale writers have chosen to tell FP’s story, specifically as it relates to his relationship with Jughead. 

I’ve learned (from years of therapy) that more often than not, addicts do love their children, more than they can put into words. That doesn’t mean that their inability to be there for their kids, to parent their kids, to show that love for their kids, isn’t destructive. But it also doesn’t mean they’re pure villains in their story. 

You can see the destruction that FP has wrought on Jughead: in his reluctance to open up to others, in his tendencies to withdraw, in his distrust of genuine love coming his way. 

It’s why he immediately pulled away from Archie when his childhood best friend bailed on him. It’s why he doesn’t believe that Betty will stay with him. It’s why he goes out of his way to be a weirdo, why he wears that stupid hat. He pushes people away because he’s used to them going away and he just wants to get on with it.

Originally posted by fyeahriverdale

You can also see the guilt and shame FP feels over how he’s failed his son: in his inconsistent but genuine attempts to communicate with him, in his fury over Fred stepping into his place, and definitely in his tendency to go back to drinking. 

FP has chosen his addiction over his family again, and again, and again. And the hurt from that pattern of choices can take years, and years, and years to mend. If you’re not ready to start that process, trying to start that process will more often than not wind up being a chaotic failure.

Originally posted by cloudyytaay

The way FP and Jughead’s story played out in S1 felt so accurate to me. Because when you’re the child of an addict, you know you shouldn’t hope that this is the last time they’ll let you down, this is the time the sobriety will stick, this is when we’re finally going to be a normal family.

But you hope anyway. And it’s devastating every single time they let you down.

So when Jughead went to see FP in jail, when he cried and told him he was really happy until it all fell apart again, it broke my heart in pieces because I’ve felt that. Because our parents are our litmus test for strength, and love, and stability. And when they can’t give that to us, it makes it hard to believe we can find it anywhere else. And when they give it, and then take it away again, it calls into question anything else that’s good in our lives. 

In having FP let him down again, Jughead wasn’t just losing the sense of happiness that came from getting reacquainted with his father. He was losing grip on the hope he had for the rest of his life going okay, too. 

And when FP was every bit as sad, every bit as brokenhearted that his attempts at mending his relationship with his son had gone south, I felt sad for him, too. 

Dysfunctional people choose dysfunctional ways of showing their love. They can’t come out and say “I love you,” they can’t display it by getting up, and making school lunches, and planning play dates. 

FP’s ways of loving his son are so fucking dysfunctional. He knows where his son will go to live once he’s left home. He shows up drunk to try to bail him out of jail. He tries to stop him from self-destructing, too. He lets himself be framed for a damned murder to try to protect Jughead. He keeps his favorite stuffed animal from childhood.

That’s what makes that deleted scene from 1x10 so especially, exhaustingly sad. The thought and care that went into FP keeping something he knows meant a lot to his son. The hope that, once again, Jughead feels in seeing that his father does care. It’s all so sweet, but it’s so sad, and it’s so typical.  

Originally posted by bugheadotp

Because FP wasn’t a good father. He isn’t a good father. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love his son. And despite all the hurt, and the frustration, and the anger at being emotionally abandoned, Jughead still wants to love his dad. 

Queercoding & Troy Otto's Death

I wasn’t going to post about this, but tbh Madison killing him after all the Troy x Nick gay subtext / outright implications really left a bad taste in my mouth.

We can all agree Troy was racist and psychotic (sins of the father IMO). And we all know FTWD has done the POC cast members dirty.

I just want to talk about Troy Otto and Trick / Troik and the queercoded messages being sent.




– Madison killing Troy, to me, is reading like a homophobic mother doing whatever it takes to keep her kid from The Gay. “But wait!” folks cry. “Strand is her BFF and he’s gay! She can’t be homophobic!” But many parents are okay with people being gay, so long as it’s not their own children.

Madison already knew what Troy was capable of - am I REALLY supposed to believe she didn’t deduce that Troy led the walkers to camp? That she didn’t already know just what kind of person she’d been manipulating all along? Troy repeatedly demonstrated the horrible things he was capable of doing.

The ONLY thing that changed was Troy and Nick’s relationship, which she didn’t expect – and this is whether you agree Troy/Nick was intentionally queercoded or not. His death came AFTER Nick already demonstrated in the prior episode that he’d rather be with Troy than her. She took the first opportunity/reason that presented itself to kill Troy.

“He was more threat then friend,” she says. To Nick???? Nick taught TROY fear for fucks sake – AND Troy warned Nick about the horde. He was not a threat to Nick, unless we’re talking about a homophobic mother trying to keep her kid away from the gay. “You took everything from me,” she says to Troy. And it’s been repeatedly reinforced that Nick is essentially Madison’s world.

She killed Troy to keep him away from Nick.

Given the parallels drawn between Nick and Troy by characters IN the show, it makes this a literal representation of Madison killing Nick’s homosexuality – she was fine with EVERYTHING else Troy had done up to the point where he got too close to her son.

Troy’s admission to Madison regarding his relationship with Nick also reads like someone who knows they’re dealing with a homophobic parent or testing the waters. Nick’s his “only friend– like a brother.” He quickly tacks on “like a brother”, as though to reassure Madison of his intentions or in case she’s not okay with his admission of his feelings.

It’s a far cry from the proclamation of love that Troy made in the car when alone with Nick.


** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


Nick’s history of addiction, his strained relationship with his mother, his damn near panic attack in Troy’s arms at the thought of having to go back with Madison can ALL read as someone who’s been unable to come to terms with their sexuality or faced repression during adolescence or in their home life. If he had a mother who clearly wouldn’t accept her children being gay, it would explain A LOT.

Being unaccepting doesn’t mean Madison was outright cruel. It can be even more painful to have someone in your life that’s subversive or manipulating (as Madison has shown herself to be) and always claiming they just want what’s best for you.

This would also explain Nick’s confusion over his feelings toward Troy, and why Alicia had to outright say, “You like him.” This scene could also be read as Nick subconsciously testing the waters with a family member. He knew how he felt already - he just needed someone else to say it out loud without rejection afterwards.

In the car, Troy claims that Nick stayed behind because he’s in love with Troy, which Nick doesn’t deny. And that they’re both the same though Nick wishes he wasn’t (another queercoded allusion to being ashamed of his sexuality or repressing it).

Troy was also the person who Nick repeatedly fought for, lied for, and put himself in serious harms way for. If Troy were female, these would all be items to check off on a list for a character’s love interest.

He even hallucinates that Troy rescues him and reaches out to take Troy’s hand – not Alicia, not his ex-girlfriend, and certainly not Madison. Compare it to Ofelia hallucinating her father in the desert – it was the person she cared about most.

And after Troy’s death, Nick wanted to die. To make a point, according to some articles I’ve read. It doesn’t make sense until you consider the queercoding that had been going on with his character and Troy’s. His mother, who he wanted to escape in the last episode, just killed Troy in front of him, the boy that it’s already been established he had feelings for and who returned them.

It’s the end of the world and he still isn’t free.


** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **


– Troy’s person was so largely shaped by his father’s influence. There are references made to him being a “crybaby” (replace it with sissy) and his father’s abuse… his father wanting to make a man out of him, excusing Troy’s progressively more violent behavior – all indications are that Jeremiah, who’s an established racist and abuser, would accept a monster rather than accept a gay son. And so his son becomes a monster.

I don’t believe that Troy and the horde is just about him wanting to destroy the land for racist ideology or a psychotic episode. When he and Nick are in the house during the shoot out, he says “it’s beautiful” (hannigram reference much). He repeats this line while warning Nick and staring at him through the panel in the door, and when he, Nick, and Jake are standing before the horde. In the house shoot-out, it seemed more like Troy was fighting as a fuck you to the his abuser who dared to die a hero’s/martyr’s death rather than fighting a race war. After Nick confesses that he actually killed Jeremiah, the fight goes out of him. When he brings the horde down on the ranch, it’s more plausible that he’s destroying his father’s legacy rather than doing it for race reasons.

Troy again demonstrates this tactic of defaulting to his father’s racist programming when his final confrontation occurs with Madison. He doesn’t seem emotionally invested when he starts spewing racism – it’s again, like a default script. He gets emotional when he tries to explain that she should understand, she would do the same thing (and we know Madison is also a child of abuse).

My point with the above is to support my stance that Troy shows signs of changing once Nick and he develop a relationship and once Jeremiah, Troy’s enabler and abuser, is dead.

He warns Nick about the horde, knowing Nick would warn other people. He attempts to stop the horde with Nick. He takes Nick and tries to warn/save everyone at the dam. He’s speaking SPANISH to Lola after a few days spent with Nick.

He tries to make right with Madison when they are alone, but she seems repulsed by him – given everything she’d seen him do already, what made her suddenly recoil when he got too close physically? She supposedly didn’t know about his involvement with the horde… he came to the dam to SAVE her and her friends…

But, this scene was after Nick and Troy stayed behind together at the bazaar, after the MULTIPLE scenes centered around the two of them and their developing relationship.

And within the show, parallels between Madison and Jeremiah were plenty. Just like him, she could accept a monster but apparently drew the line at homosexuality.

What people don't tell you about being a parent

In the beginning it’s waking every hour of the night to feed them, it’s lack of sleep and drifting in a sleepless/happy daze. The days blend together as you try to focus on adapting to the new life. Then it’s dressing them up and taking them out - you’re so over protective, even loud sounds set you off. You find yourself glaring at loud trucks and motorbikes while muttering angrily. Your baby wearing cute clothes is more important then getting yourself ready.

It’s their first bath, the stress of whether the water is too hot or too cold. Their every sound makes you panic. It’s pulling them out and wrapping them up snuggly in a fuzzy towel. It’s holding them close to your chest, you hand cradling their head. As soon as you get used to a routine, they grow and change again; with every new month comes a new challenge.

It’s showering with your little one in a chair babbling to themselves on the other side of the curtain. Peeking out every two seconds has become a habit. You get used to showering quickly because you’re never sure know how long the peace will last. 

And then comes their next milestone; a heartwarming smile and their first laugh, it makes your heart ache with happiness. It’s taking them for a walk and watching their eyes widen with the excitement around them, the trees loom overhead, the bright blue sky in the backround. They stare at them for a moment and then go back to examining their own fingers. It’s reading to them and having them babble along. Their first crawl stuns you as you watch breathless, filming it and encouraging them. First words catch you off guard because you’re never expecting them, your constant talking to them has finally paid off.

Their first steps - you watch cautiously with your arms open ready to catch them at any moment. Then it’s kissing little fingers, toes, knees and elbows better when they get hurt. It’s sleeping beside their crib holding their little hand because they’re scared. It’s colouring with them, watching them scribble and then observe your colouring only for them to get jealous and steal your crayon away.

It’s walking into their room in the morning, their bright smile and loud “Mum!” make you laugh in your groggy morning state. Making sure to encourage them is your number one priority, it’s squealing with excitement when they colour a full page in their colouring book, it’s telling them how smart they are when they point things out to you, it’s telling them how beautiful they are. Watching them learn and grow everyday gives you such joy. Eventually they grow even more. When you read them stories they yell out “Moon! Grass! Trees! Water! Puppy!” When you take them to the park they can play, when you go for a walk they’re silently observing, being sure to point out every puppy that crosses your path. It’s their laugh making you laugh. It’s watching their happiness expand yours as well.

It’s bath time, when splashing is a war you can never win, when they laugh at your reaction to them splashing around like a fish out of water. It’s pulling them out of the tub, wrapping them securely in a big towel, picking them up and hugging them to your chest for old times sake.

It’s holding them securely in your arms after their bath and right before bed, quiet time; cuddle time. Combing your fingers through their baby hair and planting kisses on their forehead. It’s telling them how much you love them but being careful not to kiss them too much because you don’t want them to squirm away.

Being a parent tests every aspect of your personality. What I can tell you though, is that I feel more like myself then I ever have. I have felt more love then I ever felt capable of and that feels pretty incredible.

-what I have learned so far, (0-2.5 years)