#If anyone is reading this and your instinct is to tell us to get therapy - kindly go fuck yourself because we ARE seeing a therapist

[cozza-frenzy]

Struggling a bit right now; hoping maybe getting those feelings out there will help. There's this persistent problem that we have where we just can't restart anything after being away from it for a certain length of time, because it's "too late" and therefore there's no point. It doesn't matter how much we know we should restart, it doesn't matter how much we want to, there's just this part of us that's like "it's too late now" and we just, can't. There doesn't seem to be any specific time limit for it to happen either - it just happens and becomes a near-immovable mental block. And we don't even know why. I don't know if this is an as-yet-undiscovered alter we have, or if it's one of our "critters" deciding to act out. "Critters" are like temporary splits that we have occasionally; emotions or intrusive thoughts that become detached from the rest of the system, with no will or motivation of their own. But this seems like something rooted deeper than that - it feels like it's anchored to some kind of big knot that's going to come loose if we pull on it too hard. The implicit message I'm getting seems to be "if you think this hurts, wait until you try digging too deep, and it'll be your fault". Whatever or whoever this is, I'm not sure it wants to be found, but we can't continue like this. I'm not really sure what to do about it, but this is affecting everything. Everything from answering the asks in the inbox to working on writing and art to taking the meds and supplements we're supposed to be taking. We're not able to do anything because this part of us is dragging us down and holding us back like a lead weight. I don't know what it needs exactly - maybe reassurance that nobody's mad at us? - but this is fucking miserable. Any advice is appreciated but we're not tagging this, we don't want a bunch of parasocial morons in the inbox again. - Terry (& Bitter, currently lurking)

[queerprayers]

1/2- Sorry if this is a weird ask. You're a person of sincere faith who doesn't judge and I'm desperate for outside opinions. I've recently learned that many modern tarot readers don't believe in divination or spirits, but rather that the images on the cards can help us think about things and bring out deeper ideas from our own subconscious. Zero future telling, only for self reflection. That sounds ok to me, and using the cards for visio divina has done really good things for my prayer life.

2/2- But still I worry- what if the more conservative types are right and all use of the cards is bad? What if it's displeasing to God? I beg and pray but I can't seem to find any peace or inner sense of guidance on the topic. Can you please pray for me, and share any wisdom you might have about this? Thank you so much.

Hello, beloved--I don't think this is weird at all! There's so much fearmongering among Christians about things being Satanic or pagan or whatever else, and it's important to not give into that panic while also taking our faith seriously.

None of the people I know who have been interested in tarot do it as a religious or really even spiritual practice--for most of them, it's been a fun thing, like getting your fortune read at a county fair, and it's not something to "believe in" so much as do and think about. I also know people who, as you said, find it useful for reflection, usually for finding new ways of looking at things. I'm not scared of tarot, and I don't think it's demonic.

Christian history is full of things like opening your Bible to a random page to see what God has in store for you or protecting yourself from evil spirits or saying a certain prayer so that a saint will do something for you. Everyone has these superstitious instincts, to find stories in chance, to not waste the few things that are in our control. I don't think there's inherent evil there--evil comes when we trust these things more than God, when we look in our own actions more than God's, when we think we can know the full story, when we try to pin God down. And I don't think superstition with Christian wrappings is any less superstitious, or any more truthful, to be honest.

A lot of people fearmongering about stuff like this are scared about where it might lead--that you'll end up somewhere chanting around a human sacrifice. And of course there are people who start with harmless religious experiences and end up in evil places--lots of Christians go to a potluck and end up believing in prosperity gospel and putting their kids in conversion therapy. But I don't hear you in danger of abandoning God or of harming anyone. And any religious practice can go too far, no matter how pure its roots. What you bring to the practice makes up most of whether you are reaching out toward God with it, and we can balance it with other traditions and other impulses.

In case someone's using the Bible to scare you: what the Bible tells us about fortune-telling/magic/communing with spirits is from a very specific Ancient Israelite perspective that I'm not qualified to unpack, but we don't find it an applicable worldview today. We have different ideas of how to live in community with other religions, and religious practices serve very different functions. We don't follow Ancient Israelite cultic practices--nor do modern Jewish people, for that matter. Christian practice has developed in the past two millennia in so many directions, and barely any of it would be recognizable to the Biblical authors. I obviously trust that God gave us these writings for a reason, and am not saying to ignore them--we can find useful ideas, but not a rule book.

The tarot deck most people know was created in 1909 by an occult secret society, who used symbols from Christianity and astrology. I think it's misguided to find truth in them as they exist, but neither do I think they're inherently evil--they're archetypes, stories. They're just human. I find occult secret societies generally more silly than demonic--although there is lots of racism/cultural appropriation in their histories. I respect those who avoid tarot based on its origins, just as I respect those who won't do yoga because it's a Hindu practice. But so many things come from non-Christian origins, and we cannot throw away the world if we want to live in community with it. (Yes, we are called to be set apart from the world as Christians, but also to love it--there is the line we must walk.)

There is real Biblical precedent for avoiding a practice associated with things outside of your faith--ancient Israelite religion was very concerned with these associations. Paul did not think meat that had originally been offered to pagan gods was sinful to eat, but basically advised people not to eat it because of how it would affect others or perhaps normalize idol worship. These are things we're continually navigating, and in any Christian community you're gonna have to be clear where your faith lies and probably answer some questions. I think it's a good thing that we're called to be purposeful, and to be aware how our actions affect others.

So my general advice would be to really think about it, to do it all purposefully, paying attention to how it affects your life, relationships, and practice, and whether it's bringing you to the life you know God wants from you (one of love). But this sounds like what you're already doing! I think you care more about this than most people I know, and you're coming to God genuinely--these are gifts.

Prayer is sensory, story-filled, interactive. It's a way of moving through the world. You say this has done good things for your prayer life, and I believe you. Contemplation is a major Christian prayer tradition. Anything can give us a new perspective, anything can shove us toward the truth. You're not causing harm, and neither are you abandoning your faith. There are other people navigating the same things as you--Contemplative Tarot is a book by a Catholic tarot practitioner, and it looks really interesting. I know people who have made their own tarot cards, and I wonder what that would look like with more intentional Christian symbolism/stories, even saints. Sometimes I pick a random prayer card to say--this is coincidence, and while it's not something I'm depending on, it does affect how my day goes.

Don't fall for anything or anyone that claims to know the ultimate truth, don't fall for the people who say that tarot has ancient Egyptian/kabbalah roots, don't fall for people who are just selling you things, don't believe anyone who tells you the truth is inside you if they aren't making clear that it's God that's living there, don't base your entire religious practice on something like this. But don't throw away a way of looking at things if God has led you through it. Don't put your life in the hands of cards, but move through your life with stories and new perspectives and contemplation. God's mercies are new every morning.

I don't know if I've given you peace--maybe just more questions. The good news is, you don't have to figure it all out now, and the bad news is you'll never figure it all out. Religious practice is a continuous dialogue and negotiation with the world. I have faith in you, and in the ways God is moving in your life. Bring Jesus with you, wherever you end up--he'll come regardless, of course, but see it happening. A man with a sword or a cup doesn't know your future, nor is he doing anything--but you know that. You're seeing more of the story, you're contemplating the wonders of God, you know the swords and cups that matter, and they are present with you, and seeing them everywhere is a gift.

Something my mother says before I start anything new, or go anywhere important--what she said when I went to the psych ward, and on the first days of school, and when I go to a protest--is "remember your baptism." I think my grandfather said it to her, too. I don't know whether you've been formally baptized, but remember your calling. Remember the beginning of your journey, and why you're still on it, and how you're being a representative of it. Remember your baptism, whatever that means to you. We have been marked with the cross of Christ forever.

<3 Johanna

[bopeisdope]

I posted an Unwind AU fic! It's from a Ghost!Roland au I made up. Read on Ao3 here

Connor wakes up in a haze, unsure of where he is. His whole body has a dull ache and there is pressure over his right eye. A bandage. The smell of bleach penetrates his nose. A soft and constant beep comes from his left.

He peels his left eye open to reveal a hospital room. His right shoulder aches as he moves his hand over the bed. The sheets are soft and feel as cottony as his brain does at the moment. Blinking the cobwebs from his mind he recalls what he can remember last.

The chop shop. The doors closing on him for what felt like the last time. An explosion. A revolt. And Lev, standing over him. That's all he can remember.

A nurse walks in carrying a chart, "So you're finally awake! How are you feeling?"

"Good," he croaks, then tries again. "How long?"

She glances down, "You've been in a medically induced coma for a little over two weeks."

Two weeks? The way his life has been going over the past year, where everyday feels like an uphill battle, two weeks seems like an eternity.

His mind is slowly catching up to him.

Risa... what about Risa?

He's too tired to mask his desperation. "There was a girl," he says, "She was on the roof of the Chop- the harvest clinic. Does anyone know what happened to her?

"That can all be sorted out later," the nurse dotes.

"But-"

"No buts. Right now you need time to heal-and I have to say, you're doing better than anyone expected, Mr. Mullard."

Connor's brain stutters, he must've misheard. "Excuse me?"

The nurse shuffles things around, "Just relax now, Mr. Mullard. Let us handle everything."

His first thought is that he's actually been unwound. He was unwound and his brain was put in another body. But realistically he knows that's not right. The voice he hears is his. He can feel his teeth as he moves his tongue across his gums. He can feel his unkempt hair on his head.

"My name is Connor," he tells her. "Connor Lassiter."

The nurse gives him a mysterious look. One filled with kindness and a deep sense of knowing. It's calculating- disturbingly so. "Well," she says, "as it so happens, an ID with the picture charred off was found in the wreckage. It belonged to a nineteen-year-old guard by the name of Elvis Robert Mullard. With all the confusion after the blast there really was no telling who was who, and many of us agreed that it would be a shame to let that ID go to waste, don't you agree?" She changes the angle of Connor's bed until he's in a more comfortable sitting position and looks into his eye. "Now tell me," she asks carefully, "What was your name again?"

Connor gets it. He closes his eye, takes a deep breath, and opens it again.

"My name is E. Robert Mullard."

The nurse smiles widely and reaches out her hand to shake his. "A pleasure to meet you, Robert."

Instinctively Connor reaches his right hand to reciprocate and gets that same ache in his shoulder.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "My fault." She shakes his left hand instead. "Your shoulder will feel a bit sore until the graft is completely healed."

"What did you just say?"

The nurse looks like she's been caught saying something she shouldn't. "Well, the bad news is that we weren't able to save your arm, or your right eye. The good news is that, as E. Robert Mullard, you qualified for emergency transplants."

Connor rotates this in his mind, letting it sink in. Eye. Arm. Emergency transplants.

She sighs, "I know it's a lot to get used to. I'll let you be alone while I get your lunch." She heads for the door.

"Yeah," Connor replies absently, having focused all of his attention to the arm. "Lunch. That's good."

The arm has a slightly darker complexion than his skin tone and the nails need to be trimmed. It is more muscular than his left; he recalls reading about physical therapy for this type of thing. He touches all of the fingers to his thumb. His sense of feeling is the same. He flexes the fingers. They flex. He twists his wrist. It twists. When he rotates it a bit farther he sees something that makes him stop. His stomach plummets and he feels a surging wave of panic. He doesn't want to believe it. Connor refuses to even acknowledge it. On his arm is the unmistakable tattoo of a tiger shark.

Still reeling from shock, Connor hears a voice he thought he would never hear again. A voice that, given the arm surgically grafted onto Connor, couldn’t possibly be here at all.

"So," the figure sneers, "the Akron AWOL goes into the Chop Shop and lives to tell the tale.”

Roland is leaning against the wall, looking hatefully down on Connor. But once what used to be a whole boy is now a nightmarish apparition covered in stitches. He could almost be real if it weren’t for the gaping hole where his arm used to be. While there is no blood, the wound seems to emit an inky blackness that Connor cannot tear his eye away from.

“H-how…”

“You did this to me, Connor.” Roland’s glare shoots daggers as he moves closer. Suddenly, Connor is acutely aware of his vulnerability, his logical mind is telling him this ghost can’t hurt him, but his heart doesn’t get the message. The monitor to his left starts screaming.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish, “No! You- you should be dead!”

Roland stops at the side of his bed, remaining hand toying with the cord of Connor’s IV. “Don’t you remember Connor?” A malicious grin spreads across his face, “Unwinding isn’t death.”

Paralyzed Connor watches as Roland silently reaches for his arm. “Weren’t you ever taught to share?”

A nurse rushes into Connor’s room, finally coming to investigate the shrill noise coming from the machine beside him. “Your heart rate is through the roof! Are you all right Mr. Mullard?”

Connor turns to where Roland had been mere seconds ago to find him gone. What just happened? Was that… real?

“Oh, I see you took your IV out! You really have to be more careful next time.” His heart rate slows but his mind fires at full speed. When did he take his IV out?

The nurse pats his hand satisfied that he’s all fixed again and goes to leave. “Wait,” he has to make sure he’s not going crazy, “has anyone been in my room since you left?”

Her smile never falters, “No, hun, just me. If you want to see any of your friends you’ll have to wait till after lunch.”

“What drugs did they give me? Would any, um, cause hallucinations?” Her picture-perfect smile wavers, probably rethinking her decision to save some kid who turned out to be a nutcase. “It could be a side-effect from your coma. The brain often tries to fill in gaps or create its own explanations when recovering from a trauma like this. It should wear off after a good sleep.”

Connor is doubtful more sleep could do him any good. He just slept for two weeks straight after all, but he doesn’t want to be here any longer than he needs to be by convincing people he’s insane. He returns a smile to the nurse, “You’re right Doc, thank you.”

—--------

After a hearty lunch of jello and chicken soup, Connor is finally allowed to leave his room to see Risa.

The nurse leads him to her room, most likely glad to be rid of him for a few minutes, and he lingers in the doorway. Risa is in a bed that reminds him more of a dentist’s chair. There are pins and rods supporting her up that Connor recognizes as signs of paralysis, something he’s only read about in textbooks heralding unwinding as the solution to all of your problems. His gut swirls with guilt. Risa didn’t accept unwind parts and she’s much worse off than what he would have been if he hadn’t either. How will he face her like this?

“You have a visitor.” The nurse steps aside and he can see Risa’s face. Her eyes fill with tears and she holds back a sob. “I knew they were lying,” she says. “They said you died in the explosion–that you were trapped in the building–but I saw you outside, I knew they were lying.”

“I probably would have died,” Connor says, “but Lev stopped the bleeding. He saved me.”

They talk of the victory at Happy Jack and the losses taken to get there. He tells her of his coma and new identity. In his happiness of seeing Risa he almost forgets his arm and the demon that came with it until he spots Risa looking at it. He flinches and the bandage shifts, revealing the tattoo. Her breath catches in her throat and Connor turns his head. She’s going to hate me. I mean, how could she not? This arm will always carry him with it.

“Connor…?”

“I promise,” he breathes, “I promise I will never touch you with this hand.”

Risa looks at Connor and he looks back, a broken soul. Connor takes her in, for this might be the last time she will ever want to see him.

“Let me see it,” she says, giving nothing away.

He hesitates, so Risa gently takes it from the sling. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

She brushes her fingers across the knuckles of that hand, and her voice is quiet, “Can you feel that?”

He nods. He watches her lift the hand to her face, the palm against her cheek, and she holds it there. When she lets go he decides. He decides what this hand will do. He decides its pressure, its direction, and its intent. And he tells himself he always will have that choice, not his parents, not Proactive Citizenry, and certainly not Roland. His hand brushes a tear from her face, moving down her cheek, across her lips. He takes his hand away and Risa opens her eyes and tightly clasps the hand in hers. “I know this is your hand now.” When she speaks, there is not a single thread of doubt, “Roland would never have touched me like that.”

She pulls him into a hug and he closes his eyes, sinking into her embrace. This moment is for them, after two eternal weeks of not knowing, after surviving the Chop Shop, after escaping the PC’s grasp, they can finally be teens again. There is still much more to do, but at least they will have each other to rely on.

However, a twitch in his arm shatters the peace, and he opens his eyes. Roland peers back at him from the doorway, watching them silently.Doctors and nurses shuffle about, unconcerned about the boy standing in the doorway, for this is not their fight. Connor realizes he’s the only one who can see him, because whether he likes it or not, they are now connected. He suddenly remembers what Roland said before he disappeared as he feels another uninvited twitch in his arm—Weren’t you ever taught to share?

A/n: I hope you guys enjoyed it! Feedback is always appreciated. Also I have a LOT of thoughts about this AU so let me know if you want me to spill lol

[somenamewithepineapple]

✨You gave some splendid answers so far dear giftee, wonderful!✨ I thoroughly enjoyed reading them 😊. But we’re not finished yet!

Here’s some more:

Tell me about some of your favorite Silrah songs! They can be general Silrah, but I’m also curious if you have any songs that scream divorced or separated -but still in love- Silrah 👀.

What is your favorite line from Farah? And from Saul? Why?

In your prompt you spoke of Silrah separating due to a misunderstanding. Any ideas about what that misunderstanding could be? I myself am more inclined to go the "their-bottomless-guilt-and-subsequent-bad-communication-skills-drove-them-apart" route, so I could really use your input on this!

Arrivederci!🌞

aaahhhh i‘m soooo sorry for taking a whole weak to answer!! My week was super busy and I wanted to take time to think about my answers 🥺😭 I‘m really sorry 🥹

Very sorry!

But now onto question number one: when I think of divorced silrah songs I immediately think of Sam Smith’s Fire On Fire 🔥 hear me out! imagine this scene: Farah and Saul being divorced but forced to dance together by the plot… lot‘s of drama, the UST, the memories, the banter… and in the end one of them dramatically leaves the dancefloor 💕

Also Breaking Down by AILEE and while I don‘t understand the language it gives me the silrah vibes. Don‘t ask me why it just does!

I even have a whole Silrah enemies to lovers playlist (anyone surprised?)

Okay so about my favourite lines from our favourite idiots (I thought about this for ages): I love love love Farah‘s „I feel like a glorified babysitter“ because this tells us so much about what‘s hidden behind that headmistress facade. Between the two Farah is the reckless and impulsive one, fight me!

Saul‘s „Did it break you skin?“ killed me because a)our boy just had to fall in love with a person with zero self-preservation instincts and b)I’m sure back then in their soldier youth Saul asked Farah that particular question on at least five different occasions because she has no chill. Saul probably learned everything about emergency medicine just to keep up with Farah‘s various injuries (not that he was any different, poor Ben). Aaaalso just one episode later, he was the one getting injured, oh the foreshadowing!

My dear HEX anon, your brain is perfect! I imagine they‘d separate for this exact reason (communication? admitting vulnerability? lol) If only they went to therapy, they‘d be happy as a pair of butterflies together. Also Farah definitely has a habit of thinking and assuming things for other people in a sometimes misguided way of protecting them. She’d certainly do the same for Saul which is not ideal. But yes they‘d totally get divorced for a stupid reason (according to literally anyone else) and stay divorced because the S in Silrah stands for Stubborn.

I hope you could gain some insights into my weird headcanon-brain 💕 and I‘m soooo sorry for taking so long 😭

Ciao ❤️🥰

[ask-karlachbear]

Congrats on 100 Tavs, Karlach 💚 sooo first off, I'll tell you about some spicy ships I have of you & your companions. You+Wyll/+Dammon, a sweet wholesome romance, Lae'zel+Shadowheart, love-hate very passionate relationship, Gale+magic artifacts, he loves them very much, Astarion+anything with blood <33

Okay now about myself... I'm introverted, depressed and like to cause chaos (because I'm bored most of the time and need others to entertain me) and then watch it from the sidelines. I'm asexual who switches between being touch-starved to being disgusted from the idea of someone being even close to me. I hate authorities, hate submitting to anyone, and hate being told what to do (unless I ask for it). I like sarcasm and dark humour. I'm kinda nice and loyal to those I like and I offer free "therapy". I'm shy and dislike loud noises and crowds of people. I like cats, nature, games of any kind, reading and writing. My Sun is in Leo. 💥

Wyll, Dammon and I? ALL THREE OF US TOGETHER? Now im a blushing mess, thank you.

Yk, about shadowheart and lae'zel i've been noticing that sexual tension, and honesty, you are right about them.

I think gale has a thing for magic boots in particular, whenever i pass by and he's eating something, it's always a boot..like the other day he was devouring those boots that electrify water and i was afraid he was gonna electrify the water in his body and die, but he never refuses boots... curious uh?

Astarion and his blood bank are so sweet together..

Anyways everyone might say that Rolan is just a whiny bitch, and they would be true, but he's a very chaotic person at the end of the day. He's so stubborn you could enable him and just look at him fight with someone like a rabid cat, and that's a different level of entertainment right there.

He's Ace too, and definitely understands when you are repulsed by touch.

He will be there cheering on you as you refuse to follow rules, as you punch someone in the face for telling you what to do, like HE WILL OPENLY SUPPORT YOU IN PUNCHING THE GUARDS THAT GIVE YOU A WEIRD STARE.

He literally answers only with sarcasm so you are gonna be FED.. Your dark humor cracks him up, like you are gonna see him falling off chairs laughing.

Deep down he's actually a sweet and caring guy, and you find out because he will accept that free therapy, especially after you get rid of Lorroakan. He will literally pour it all out, he starts talking abt his sister, and ten minutes later he's sobbing in your arms talking about that time, when he was 6, that is the seed of his trust issues...

He will act all pissed when you ask him to join you for a walk or to play something with him, but deep down he does it out of habit.. he hates that his first instinct is to be a bitch, but he actually enjoys his time with you, and he will try anything you propose him.

[iloveyoukyra]

4/21/24 7:05pm

We been in no contact for 3 days. Im oddly not freaking out about it anymore.

I originally broke contact a while ago and we planned to meet. We did and you told me how good I was doing in comparison to you. I had no idea what to say. I can’t be honest with you anymore so it hurt me to have to bite my tongue around someone I instinctively trust, but my head knows that’s not true anymore. I need to keep acting with my head not my heart.

You said something about you not reaching out again. You gave me a reason that I don’t remember but it just sounded like a dull excuse. I didn’t fight it. I knew that I’d snap eventually and give up, you just gave up way sooner.

I couldn’t look at you. Not once. You prefaced us hanging out by saying “no romantic stuff” and I didn’t think twice about it..but looking at you stirs up all the sappy feelings I have for you. It’s bittersweet.

We didn’t get to hangout because your mom called and I had to take you home. You looked at me in the face when getting out, but told me you loved me. I felt myself biting my tongue yet again and avoiding your eyes.

For the next two days I tried initiating just to hangout, text, or call, and you blew me off over and over again. It really hurt my feelings and it was a slap in the face I needed.

After your last text I decided not to respond anymore. That was 3 days ago. It shows how much you didn’t value me/friendship/ any kind of relationship. It really hurt my feelings. After 7+ yrs of knowing each other bro. Idk man it’s just wild how quick you switched up.

My plan is to heal and grow as much as I can. I want to be a better version of myself for myself and others that I hold dear to me.

1. Gym

2. Working on my core wounds/attachment style/ triggers.

3. Acting less emotionally more rationally

4. Become more engaged at school

5. Try new things

6. Journaling

7. Therapy

8. Mindfulness and Self love.

I really want to change and grow as an individual. I’m eager to.

After reading all these psychology books I realized that I never have really worked on my core wounds and they are surfacing their way into my adult relationships, and that’s something I want to work on. As well as my attachment style from that core wound, I want to be secure with or without someone.

I will finish up my school this spring and leave for a few months back home so we can be physically separated again. There I’ll focus on myself physically, emotionally, and mentally. I want to be a different person the next time we cross paths.

Maybe in this time you’ll truly understand what you did and what you lost in return. Maybe you won’t. I can’t control that. I just can only hope. I thought what we had was a really good thing. I really did. But you have consistently chosen other people and things over me. Even as a long term friend I feel so disrespected and hurt. I know I don’t deserve this, yet I still want to come crawling back to you just to hear your laugh, or see your smile.

I really hope our time apart gives you time to also feel remorse and regret. You still haven’t admitted to anyone what you did, but will focus on all my wrong doings. It’s unfair. It’s so unfair because I’m the complete opposite of my friends, I tell them everything even the things I never wanted to admit, but that’s because what they tell me next will be a full honest response that I can use to further improve myself. I want to be the best version of myself and I want to learn and grow. You just keep avoiding out of fear, shame, and, guilt. You keep getting the information that you want to hear, not what you truly need to hear, but that again ties back to your personal agenda. I can’t influence that only you can actively decide to work on it. That hurts. And when I did bring it up you said “well what can I do now it’s in the past”. It’s just so aggravating. I wish you’d just listen to yourself and observe the conversations we have from a 3rd person perspective.

I guess you can say I’m starting to reach the angry stage of grief. While I’m still hurt, and sad, I find myself getting angry at things I overlooked just because I wanted you back so badly. I’m still not mad about the cheating and I hope I’ll reach that point soon. Maybe it will give me the push I need away from you.

I still am worried you’ve already started talking to another. Maybe you are. That’s not my business anymore and I’m trying so hard not to find out. If it’s true that also just shows me who you really are so yet again it’s bittersweet, but I can use it as motivation to keep moving forward.

I’m worried to see you Sunday. I know most likely you’ll be locked in your room, or out. I somehow wish it wouldn’t be that way, that you would come to me desperate to see me again, but that’s not how it is going to go. I just need to lock in and focus on MY boundaries. As much as I want it I know even seeing you will set me far far back. I can’t even look at you. I’d try to speak or I’d try to touch you and that’s not good for me or either of us.

If it were for some reason my deepest fantasy played out and I got to see you come to me asking to speak or for a hug I feel like I’d cave in. I’m so worried. Last time at the apartment you hugged me and then tossed me aside again. I can’t keep letting it happen. It hurts so bad. You get to choose when you want and have me whereas I don’t.

I’m also scared about sex. This last two times were fine, but again you ignored me the two following days. I know for a fact if you came up to me after a workout or something I would cave in so fast OR HOPEFULLY I will excuse my self and give myself time to process it. But brooooo. It’s like dream after dream I have about you which sucks. I wake up wanting you, I go to sleep wanting you. It’s no one else. No one else can capture my heart like you. It hurts so bad knowing that’s not the same for you tho lol. You’re just using me till you find what you want, I know. It hurts so bad. I was fine with you being my one and only but you’re not. It hurts so freaking bad brooo. Every intimate moment I’ve shared with you was special to me. I never let another soul see me the many different ways you have, and I planned on that forever, but you on the other hand dgaf and are also using me knowing it hurts me, your only thinking about your short term gratification. It’s partially my fault because my boundaries are nonexistent and that’s something I’m working on. I’m just ashamed and embarrassed because I want you so bad, and I see it as a sacred act of love and you just see it as “oh he’s easy and available”. Ouch!

In all honesty I dream that I give you space, so much of it, you realize you fucked up badly. You’ll see me changed and better and realize you fucked up. I hope you’ll finally have addressed some of your issues too. You’ll be better bc you put in the work! You’ll be remorseful and want me back in your life. You’ll slide back into my life somehow, I’ll give it a shot, we both feel the same sparks as before and hop right back into a better version of our past relationship. A secure, healthy, communicative, loving, respectful relationship. We ease slowly into it because I want us to both be rational with our feelings and minds and that can take a while.

I know I shouldn’t have to beg for you, I shouldn’t have to emotionally bend for you, I shouldn’t have to warp my boundaries to please you, I shouldn’t have to overlook what you did. I deserve a good friend who is respectful, understanding, and caring. I really hope one day you can become this person for me. Right now I don’t even know who you are.

If not hopefully these next few months will give me enough time to process and reflect on everything to effectively move on. Maybe we will never speak again, maybe I’ll never see you again. I really wish it wouldn’t be so uncertain but it’s out of my control.

I want to improve on me to be the best version of myself for me. If you choose not to stick with me that’s ok. I’ll let it go, and move forward. The only thing I can control is how I respond.

If it comes, let it.

If it goes, let it.

[day-dreamsinthedark]

Apologies

↳ Summary: Miguel never fell over the railing, Robby never left Miyagi Do, and Sam chose herself. What follows are a few moments between the boys after Miguel has decided that he wants to fix things. (Kiaz)

TW: Lots of cursing, vague allusions to an anxiety attack, talk about bad parents/parenting/talk of trauma?, use of the word pussy which is the part of the show that makes me cringe the most tbh, tell me if I missed any pls

If this is ooc or just bad, I am so sorry. I'm still learning, but thank you to anyone who reads this! (HC that Robby loves baking and is a major chocolate addict, bye.)

❤ [ angst with a sweet ending?? ] ❤

4.2k

—

When Robby Keene heard what felt like a half-assed apology from the cheater that had him pinned by the back of the arm, his anger grew tenfold. As he was let go, his first instinct was to jump up and grab the kid by the collar. He pushed him back, stopping when he felt Miguel’s back hit the ledge. “Why?” He asked, because he was just as heartbroken as he was angry, and if Sam couldn’t explain it… maybe Miguel could. 

“I’m sorry.” The boy repeated, but this time his eyes were glossed over and Robby could see the sadness on his face.

“Oh, fuck you.” Robby spat, pushing him so that his back slammed against the railing one more time. He wanted to leave–run away before anyone could see him cry, but they hadn’t heard the police arrive. Holding a kid against a ledge didn’t look too great in the midst of a giant karate brawl. 

—

It’d been an awful junior year so far. Miyagi Do and Cobra Kai both were both mandated to shut down for two months, which wasn’t much of an issue considering the fact that most of the students had police-mandated therapy sessions, months worth of detention, or court dates to fight off juvie time. 

Johnny Lawrence had never fought harder for his son, and Carmen Diaz had never been more annoyed with hers.

The boys were allowed to remain in school together, but their schedules had been adjusted so that they were never in the same section of the school at once. Samantha LaRusso had ended it permanently with both boys because it was all too much–and the scars on her arm were a permanent reminder. Daniel LaRusso had no issue employing a rehabilitating Tory Nichols so that she could have enough to support her family, much to Sam's dismay.

It turned out that dating when your sons despised each other was hard. Also, it turned out that Johnny Lawrence could find a way to focus on both his business and his kid, sadly, the ridiculously gorgeous Carmen Diaz could not be a part of that plan. She was okay with that, because her baby came first too. 

Still, living across the hall from your archnemesis was not the most fun thing. And being in a karate dojo with your ex-girlfriend sucked. The boys were completely different and yet somehow exactly the same. 

Junior year was not going well.

It also turned out, however, that when all of the karate students were literally forced to group together to avoid jail time and expulsion— most of them found that they had a lot in common. 

It seemed like everyone else had already moved on, but these two couldn’t. At least, Robert Swayze Keene couldn’t. So when he found himself standing in front of the boy holding a container of hot food at his door, he couldn’t help but stare past him. 

“What do you want, Diaz?”

“My Yaya made extra, she knows your dad doesn’t have the whole cooking thing down yet, and you shouldn’t have to eat bologna sandwiches every night.”

Robby wanted to be angry, because fuck you Miguel, you don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. But Rosa Diaz had quickly become like the grandmother he never got to have. He’d only known Rosa and Carmen for a little under a year now, but they always made sure to remind him that he was family. The Diaz women were wonderful, but their male spawn was–at least according to Robby– evil. 

He looked up at the taller boy and fought the glare that was desperate to come out. “Tell her I said thank you, yeah?”

“Hey–” Miguel said, using his hand to stop Robby from closing the door. “I know your dads out with his high school buddies. You could leave this in the fridge and just eat with us tonight?”

“Uh–”

“We’d love to have you over. My Yaya insists, and uh, my mom’s stuck at work late–so we have an extra chair set up anyway. It wouldn’t be an issue.” 

Miguel wasn’t an idiot. He knew that the Keene boy was still raw from their interaction at the beginning of the year. Robby was soft, he was gentle. It was obvious how desperate he was to be wanted and it took a while, but eventually Miguel got over the pain of his first relationship and realized how shitty it was to have hurt Tory and Robby in that way. He didn’t mean to–he was just so infatuated with Sam that he couldn’t think about how much he’d hurt everyone else around him. Tory completely cut him off, deservingly, and Sam seemed like a whole new person. 

Miguel fucked up. And if he couldn’t make it up to Tory, he could at least try to make it up to Robby. He’d start by refusing to take no for an answer. Robby might hate him, but he loves his Yaya, and Miguel knew he’d never refuse her offer.

Robby inhaled sharply. “Fine. For her.”

“Yeah, for her.”

–

Dinner was awkward. Dinner was always a little awkward between the Diaz and Lawrence households. There was a lot of history, but it was kind of nice when they stuck together. Sometimes the adults would get a little tipsy and the boys would get lost in the moment and everything didn’t seem so shitty anymore. Those moments were fleeting and rare. 

The lack of parents made the awkwardness hard to avoid. Then Rosa left… Robby really only understood “Buenas Noches.” It wasn’t hard to figure out that she was going to bed, but the issue with that was that now it was just them two. Alone. 

The tapping and light scratching of their plates was uncomfortable, but as much as Robby hated the kid, it felt rude to leave before either of them were finished.

Miguel was purposely avoiding finishing his plate.

“Didn’t think your grandma could eat that fast.”

“She might’ve been a little high.”

“Oh.”

“So uh, how are your classes?” Miguel asked. Usually Robby snapped pretty quickly, but he started the conversation this time, and the unusual move left Miguel hopeful.

“They’re alright I guess. Mr. Gonzalez has made physics kind of horrible, though.”

“You have Hawk for that class, right? He’s always saying that Gonzalez is an asshole.”

Robby laughed. “He really doesn’t hold back, does he?”

Miguel could not have been any more excited. This was a breakthrough. They were going to be friends–and then maybe their parents could get back together. He felt bad about that too. Johnny was another part of his mom's life that she had to sacrifice for him. 

“Yeah, it’s nice. He can be kind of a dick, but you should’ve seen what he was like before. Couldn’t get a word out of him.”

“You mean before he dislocated my shoulder?” Robby said, and the lightness of his voice had evaporated.

“Listen Robby, I’m so sorry abo–” 

“Oh shit. No, I’m messing with you. We’ve talked about it, he’s apologized.”

“Yeah, but I never did.” Miguel paused, he hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten. “There’s a lot that I still need to apologize to you for.”

Robby pushed his chair back, standing up and making his way towards the front door. He preferred being angry at the other boy, but for a moment it felt like they could be friends, and suddenly he was anxious. The comfort felt weird–dirty almost. He didn’t need an apology. He didn’t need a friend. He needed Miguel Diaz to leave him the hell alone.

“I don’t need anything from you.” Robby said. He was already halfway out the door when Miguel did the only thing that came to mind. He grabbed his hand.

“Robby, please… Just–”

“Fuck off.” 

Miguel waited for his neighbor to get inside before he went to bed, fighting the urge to cry. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but he knew that he wasn’t going to give up.

–

It’d been a month since the boys had that conversation, and because Miguel was the most annoying instigator, all they could really think about was each other. While they hadn't really spoken since then, Robby had to hide to avoid him, and whenever they came into contact, Miguel tried to start up a conversation– all of his advances were quickly pushed away by the annoyed Robby. 

“Jesus Christ Miguel, you’re starting to sound like you’re in love with him.” Hawk sneered, “I mean… he does kind of look like Sam. I wouldn’t blame you.” He opened his locker and pulled out a biochemistry textbook to slip into his backpack. He smirked at his best friend’s dumbfounded expression.

“What!? No, that’s–that’s dumb.”

Miguel wasn’t quite sure why he stuttered. The thought was ridiculous. Yeah, sure–Robby Keene was attractive. Like actually, really pretty, if he could describe him in any specific way. That didn’t matter though, it couldn’t. The kid despised him, rightfully so, and Miguel hadn’t had the best track record with relationships. His first two happened quickly, probably too quickly, but that’s what made it so easy. How couldn’t he fall for them? They were strong, challenging, and with their long soft-brown hair and big, bright eyes, he was a goner.

Oh. 

No. He decided.

“Thinking about Robby now, huh?”

“What?! N-No. No. Fuck off, Hawk. I want to be his friend, you know? I want us to be in a place where–”

“Where you can kiss–”

“I’ll kick your ass.”

Hawk put his hands up in a defensive position, as if he were giving up. "Hey man, you're the one getting defensive."

"Dude, we were almost step brothers."

Hawk smirked. "Hey, it’s a popular genre." His eyes dropped at Miguel's glare. 

"I don't like him."

"Sure. You’re a damn bore, Miguel. And who gives a shit? Your parents broke up like a year ago. It's not weird anymore."

–

Miguel had suddenly stopped with his constant nagging, and Robby was relieved.

For about three days. 

He did not realize that he’d miss those 7:00am knocks at his door where the boy next door (across the tiny court, actually) would offer him whatever breakfast his Yaya had made, nor did he think that he’d miss being chased down to his door after school because, “I think I missed some notes for Akridge. Could I look at yours?” (And Robby was much too nice to say no.)

So now Robby found himself standing at the Diaz door at around 8:00 pm, trying to find the courage to knock. It was fighting back. He couldn’t quite defend why he was doing this. Rosa might want some. So might Miguel. So might Carmen.

“Robby! It’s so nice to see you. Are you here for…” The woman paused, she realized that the boys weren’t exactly friends, and she was suddenly flooded with confusion as she stared at the boy holding a plastic container. “Actually, uh… what’s up mijo?”

“Oh, uh. Hi! You’re back early today. Well,” He paused. Robby Keene was not someone who stuttered. No. So he took a deep breath. “You always make sure I have something to eat, and I just baked some cookies. I wanted to see if maybe–” 

Carmen could almost melt at the sight of the kind, lonely boy in front of her. “I’m sure they’d love some. Come on in, Robby.”

–

“Miggy, we have a guest!” Carmen’s voice rang out, and Miguel figured that it was just Johnny, because he still came over sometimes to have dinner. It wasn’t awkward anymore though, which was nice. He only hoped that everyone eventually developed the ability to avoid the awkwardness that tried to latch itself onto situations like that.

Their guest was not Johnny Lawrence. Miguel, who hadn’t bothered to change out of his tattered sweats and worn out Dodgers tee, thought it might be best if the earth swallowed him whole. No, he did not know what he was feeling. No, he did not want to think about it.

What did Miguel Diaz want? For the first time in a while– space. He wanted time to figure out why the thought of his supposed archnemesis/frenemy suddenly made his chest flutter, and he especially wanted to ignore whatever these feelings were because he fucked up. 

“Heyy…” Miguel said, his hands were conscious of his body for the first time in forever. He usually liked being visible, but in the moment it felt like he’d walked onto a stage in his underwear. He was desperate to get away. 

Robby noticed the way the other boy crossed his arms in front of his body, as if he were shielding himself. As if he were shy. 

“Hey.” He nodded. “Cookie? They’re pecan chocolate chip.”

“My Yaya’s going to love you.”

“She already loves me.”

“Ha. Ha. How’d you know her favorite?”

“She mentioned it last time I caught her smoking outside. Apparently arthritis is a bitch.”

Miguel hummed, nodding in agreement and reaching for the tub and pulling a cookie out. “She’s in the shower right now, but she should be out soon.” 

He took a bite, catching the crumbs with his other hand. "Oh my gosh." He said in a muddled mess of sounds. "From scratch?" He asked, and Robby nodded.

It was nice to feel appreciated, it wasn’t that his dad hadn’t been pretty great this last year, but even now he wasn’t really around as much as Robby would have liked. He’d always been convinced that he’d never do anything good, and maybe this wasn’t all that important, but that reaction–from a kid that he mostly hated– was enough.

"Dude, amazing." Miguel said. His voice, muffled by the mouthful of cookies, was a compliment itself. Robby almost blushed. The realization made him want to run.

"Thanks. I suck at cooking, but my mom used to ask me to bake her things whenever she was hungover." He furrowed his brows. "Don't know why I said that, sorry." 

Miguel offered a sweet smile. “No worries. I like learning about people. And hey, it’s a cool skill.”

Robby nodded, but he pulsed his body with the movement. For the first time in a long time– probably the onset of puberty– he didn't know what to do with himself. He was nervous and he despised it. 

"Well, uh. I actually have to work on that Great Gatsby essay so…" Miguel paused, eyeing the plastic tub that was now on the counter, "I'm uh, going to steal another cookie and then do tha–"

"Have you decided what you're going to compare?"

"That's actually what I'm trying to figure out right now." Miguel took a step back, hoping to cut the conversation short. He had an idea— a glint of hope, maybe— as to where this conversation was going, and it made his stomach turn. "I've never used so many highlighters."

"Oh well, if you need any help, you know. I've got a couple outlines that I decided not to use. You could always–"

"Didn't take you for a nerd, Robby."

Robby furrowed his brows and held his right hand up to his chest. “Rude.”

Miguel was a little annoyed that the urge to run faded away. All he could do was smile and fight the clamminess that was trying to take over his hands. “My place or yours?”

–

Apparently, Miguel had some sort of mood swings–and they irritated the living hell out of Robby. He knew he’d decided to give the kid a chance the moment he pulled out the flour and eggs, but why was it that annoyingly-friendly Miguel Diaz was suddenly distant and quiet? As if they hadn’t been sprawled out on the floor, throwing crumpled pieces of paper at each other, and laughing about some stupid Great Gatsby meme that they saw earlier that night. 

Things had almost been normal for a couple of hours when it seemed like some sort of switch flipped and his neighbor decided that he couldn’t wait to be anywhere but here. It was surprising in the worst way. Miguel, who had spent the last few weeks–months, really– annoying the living daylights out of him–who was usually warm and inviting– was now closed in and painfully distant.

“Thanks for the help. I need to get home.”

“Ok. What’s up, Diaz?”

“W-what?” Miguel stuttered, his hand only grazing the doorknob. He had basically sprinted towards the door after he decided that he was too tired to go on for the night. This decision came about when he found himself dozing off on Robby’s shoulder. It was too comfortable; an intimacy that Miguel wasn’t so sure he should have with this particular person. They had only just gotten on speaking terms and he didn’t want to push it. He quickly realized that he needed his neighbor as far away as possible, or he might ruin everything again.

"You used to fucking berate me about everything. Breakfast. Lunch. Homework. Dinner. You've asked me my froyo order like 3 times, even after I told you to fuck off."

“Didn’t stop you from ordering.” Miguel shrugged.

"Not the point." Robby stepped closer. "Why'd you stop? What happened?" Robby took another step forward, and for a second Miguel thought it was a threat, but the sadness in his voice said otherwise. “Did I do something?” 

He was inches away, and for the first time, he was open and vulnerable. Miguel was going to lose his fucking mind. 

“No, Robby. I just…” He said, trying his hardest to look anywhere but at those dumb green eyes. Miguel realized it now. He, Miguel Diaz, was weak. And he did not have a damn clue what to say, so of course, he snapped. “You wanted me to leave you alone, so I left you alone. What’s so hard about that?”

“Oh, yeah… I guess. I just thought–”

“What? That it’s okay to be a dick all the time and-and when you decide that you wanna be friends I have to just give in?”

To this, Robby did not have a response. He froze, suddenly able to feel the warm draft of the usually shitty heater. He couldn’t help but stare at the floor, eyes constantly shifting from the brown carpet to Miguel's new sneakers. They were black with red highlights, two colors that Robby decided suited Miguel quite nicely. It was all he could think about to avoid the current conversation. The sound of the front door closing was what snapped him back out of his trance. 

He stared at his door for a moment, weirded out by his brain's choice of a distraction, trying to ignore that the rejection made his stomach ache. 

–

It had been about a week since that interaction, and all Miguel could think about was how instantly the regret came. It was ugly and overwhelming. It probably would have been worse, but miraculously–or torturously– Robby managed to avoid him all week. He literally had not seen him in 7 days and each day that he didn’t see his neighbor leaving for school in the morning made the bad feeling carve itself deeper into his being.

He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be friends anymore, not after Hawk had gotten into his head; especially not after he realized how right his friend might be. 

As he found himself standing in front of Robby Keene’s front door, the idea suddenly felt fucking ridiculous. The longer he waited, the worse his stomach turned. Robby came to him with a gift and then a secret that he definitely didn’t mean to share, but he figured that this was the closest thing to a moment that they’d ever had and he hoped it was enough. 

His eyes went wide as the door swung open. “What do you want?” Robby asked, the annoyance clear on his face. Miguel noticed the way it faltered when his eyes landed on the tupperware he held. He tried not to get too hopeful.

“Those are brownies.” Robby stated, not bothering to hide the way his eyes jumped back and forth between Miguel’s hands and face. 

“Brownies.” Miguel nodded, the sweet release of anxiety made him floaty. I can do this. He thought, refusing to acknowledge the likelihood of rejection. That issue was for future Miguel.

“You made these for me?” The shorter boy asked, the arch in his brow aligned with a crooked smile that Miguel had never seen before, the newness of it made his heart jump, and he knew it was now or never.

“Maybe.”

“From scratch?”

Miguel froze, hoping that the burning in his cheeks wasn’t visible. “No, I bought the Ghirardelli mix.”

Robby laughed. The relief was palpable and Miguel couldn’t help but smile. “I’m horrible at this, so I thought I should at least buy the branded mix.”

“At what?”

“Apologizing… and explaining. Also baking.”

“Wanna come inside?”

“Please.”

_

The brownies were meant as an offering, a means to patch the torn up relationship between the two boys, but Miguel was certain that they’d be garbage. He denied a seat at the table, opting to lean against the back of the couch instead. Watching Robby bring the crumbly brown rectangle to his lips made him regret the decision– having to dig his nails into his palm to avoid staring.

“You know, these are pretty good.” Robby finally said. “Double chocolate?”

“Your dad said something about you being a chocolate addict a while back, so I thought–”

“I’d be less of a dick?” 

Miguel’s eyes widened.“No! You’re not a dick. Well, you kind of were for a while, but-but that was my fault, you know? And then you were–and I was– shit.” He paused, trying to take in a real breath, because the cold winter air was particularly unforgiving at the moment, and it seemed like his asthma was back for the first time in over a year. The only saving grace was the subtle smirk on Robby’s face.

“It’s just– I was desperate to be your friend but now I– I’m not so sure I want that anymore.” Miguel said, ripping the look right off of Robby’s face. Robby was also pretty sure he tore any semblance of comfort that once existed in the apartment; what he was still trying to turn into his space suddenly felt like it belonged to someone else.

“You… came over to tell me that? Couldn’t have–” He couldn’t even look at him, for a second he contemplated just turning around and going to bed. Maybe pretend that none of this happened, not like he needed anymore friends. Miyagi Do gave him all he needed.

“No! No. I want,” Miguel paused, he was breathless and a little red, reaching for the back of the couch to lean on. Robby unconsciously let his worry take over, standing from his seat and stepping towards the person in front of him. “Hey, are you alright?” He asked, resting his hand on Miguel’s elbow. “Do you want to sit?’

“No. Fuck, your dad was right, I am a pussy. Can’t even admit that I like you without having a full blown asthma attack.”

“My dad’s a dick, you don’t– what?”

“What?” Miguel was surprised by his own admission. It was meant to be smooth and charming, not born from a lapse of judgment because the oxygen refused to find its place in his lungs. He didn’t hide the frown that came when Robby backed away. “I should go.”

He didn’t lift his gaze to see the other boy’s face, the thought of seeing any negative reaction in real time made him queasy, the floor was much easier to focus on. Johnny Lawrence’s tendency for spilling beer everywhere almost resembled a puzzle, he thought it was kind of calming, all things considered. He had spent so much time in the apartment that he realized he could use them as a guide out the door. What a way to go.

“Don’t.” 

The word was soft– inviting only because of the context– and it felt as though all of the organs in Miguel's body found a way to flip themselves. A desperate bout of hope drummed its way up his entire being, whether it was a kind rejection or maybe  –hopefully–  something more, all he knew was that he was grateful that the boy behind him seemed to be nice about it. Anything was better than the horrific walk of shame he had only just previously expected. 

Miguel turned on his heels, ignoring the violent beating of his heart, and looking directly at the Miyagi Do design on the front of Robby’s shirt. It almost bothered him that he’d never noticed it before.

“Hey,” Robby said, using a timbre that Miguel now knew made him particularly weak at the knees. His favorite blend of green and brown came perfectly into view. “It’s okay.” Robby said. 

Miguel wondered if the fighting still would have happened had the boy just used that voice earlier. He was sure that the answer was no, because he’d never quite felt so at home in a sound. 

Robby said nothing. He had always been rather quiet, being much more comfortable letting his reactions respond for him.

“Can I–” Miguel was surprised by the interruption, but considering how horrible he thought the visit would go, all he could do was smile at the feeling of Robby’s lips against his own.  —

@mybeautifulillusion I am SO sorry for the wait!! I had a lot going on, but I'll finally be posting a lot more Kiaz and CK overall in the coming weeks. Thank you so much for the request. I really hope you enjoy!

[plaidbooks]

Ask a Dad part 5

A/N: Hey y’all! So, this is the last chapter I have written so far for this series--let me know if you want more! Next chapter would be some Sonny/Jude bonding time.

Tags: none

Words: 1401

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba  @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy  @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl  @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @beardsanddetectives  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

After your confession to Sonny, your relationship became much smoother. In the dates afterwards, he’d offer to pay, rather than just doing it, and if you said that you wanted to, he’d let you without a fuss. Eventually, neither of you kept count on who paid for what; it was just unconscious.

But the question that came with every relationship appeared in the back of your mind; when were you going to have him meet Jude? Though, it was different with Sonny; he had already met your son before you were dating, and he had had a great rapport with him. But dealing with Jude as first a fan, then a delinquent, wasn’t the same as….

The word son floated through your mind, but you squashed it quickly; you didn’t want Sonny to be Jude’s dad. Okay, well, that wasn’t quite true—it was more complicated than that. You didn’t date anyone with the intent to give Jude a father. And while it would be nice to have a fatherly figure in the home, it was ultimately up to your son. The first step was always finding someone who genuinely liked kids and could raise them well. But the second and most important step was Jude accepting him, too.

Jude was as integral in your life as you were in his. There was no hiding the fact that you were dating—you wouldn’t hide that from him, anyways—but you were hiding the little tidbit that it was Sonny. You just didn’t want to bridge that gap, not yet. But, of course, Sonny was the first to broach the subject.

“Hey, there’s a new exhibit coming in at the MoMA,” he started. “I bet I could get tickets for the three of us…you, me, Jude.”

Your first instinct was to shut him down, but you hesitated. Jude was getting more into art after the talk with his counselor about possible college paths. And the fact that Sonny remembered what Jude was interested in—you told him once, months ago—was heartwarming.

When you didn’t answer right away, Sonny continued. “Look, I know you’re highly protective of him. But…I want to take the next step in our relationship.”

“Like…moving in together?” you asked softly.

He grinned. “In a normal relationship, that may be the next step, but I think that’s step three for us. No, the next step is meetin’ Jude. Officially, not as a youtuber and definitely not as a cop. I wanna meet him as your boyfriend, but only if you’re ready for that.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat; how would you tell him? “Hey, just so you know, I’m dating the ‘Ask a Dad’ guy….”

Sonny squeezed your hand reassuringly, and you looked up into his eyes. “I do want you two to meet—officially—but I’m not quite sure how to go about it.” You shook your head, “it’s not like when he was younger, and I could introduce you as mommy’s friend….”

He chuckled at that. “Jude’s old enough to understand what a relationship is, doll.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “it’s up to you; I’m not gonna push ya. But I’m ready if you are, and I can be there if ya want me ta be.”

“I think I should…do it alone. At least to break the news. If it goes well, then we can go to MoMA together, maybe catch lunch?” You thought about Jude and Sonny sitting down for a meal, and it just made your head start to spin.

“Let’s take it slow, one step at a time, doll. Talk to him, first, and we can go from there.”

 *****************

Sonny had been right; trying to think about the future made you anxious. Your mind drifted from where you were currently, to Sonny just living with you both, being a part of your lives. It was the in between that was muddy, and it made you hesitate. If Jude didn’t approve of Sonny, you weren’t sure what you’d do. You loved Sonny; you hadn’t told him yet, of course, preserving the words for after you told Jude, but at this point, you were having trouble picturing your future without him.

You decided to tell him on a Friday night, that way he could mope in his room all weekend if he wanted, rather than having to go to school like everything was normal. You ordered a pizza before you left work, then let Jude know so he could answer the door if they beat you to your home.

The pizza was indeed there before you, and Jude was already happily eating it as you came into the apartment. You froze for a fraction of a second when you heard Sonny’s voice before realizing it was coming from Jude’s laptop.

“New video?” you asked, voice a little dead-panned.

He hit the spacebar, pausing the video. “Nah, just a repeat. How was work?”

You both fell into your routine of asking about your days—and making sure homework was done—as you went to the kitchen for a drink. You stuck with water and grabbed a soda for your son before joining him on the couch with your own slices of dinner.

“Can we talk?” you asked. You felt a little silly saying that to Jude, but you wanted him to realize this was an important talk and to pay attention.

As such, he sat up a little straighter. “Oh god, I’m going to meet your boyfriend, aren’t I?” he replied. Sometimes, he stunned you with how smart he was.

“You are, if you want. But, um…you’ve already met him before.” When Jude simply blinked at you, you quickly blurted out, “it’s Sonny.”

“Nuh uh,” he said in a childish tone.

“Yeah huh,” you answered, just as childish.

He smiled at you, eyes disbelieving. “Yeah, and I’m dating Betty Crocker.”

“I’m being serious here!”

“Oh, so am I,” he replied, taking a bite of pizza. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your phone. “What’re you doing?” Jude asked, sitting up and trying to look at your phone screen.

“Texting him to come over,” you said, tucking your phone back into your pocket.

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

It took Sonny fifteen minutes to knock on the door, and the entire time, Jude was trying to call your bluff. But once you opened the door and ushered Sonny inside, your son’s jaw dropped.

“You��re really dating Sonny?!” he asked, quickly getting to his feet.

The former grinned sheepishly. “I am, yeah. Your mom and I have been dating for a lil bit. Is that okay with you?”

“Okay? That’s awesome! Mom’s dating a famous guy!” he exclaimed. Before you could correct him, he asked Sonny, “can I be in the next video? Please?”

Sonny looked to you, “um…ask your mother.”

“Can I mom, please, can I?”

Well, at least he was taking this well. “I’ll have to…think about it,” you responded. There were privacy issues you’d have to talk to Sonny about. Another time. “But first, I wanted to tell you that Sonny invited us to see the new exhibit at MoMA—”

“No way; the Rembrandt exhibit?” Jude looked from you to Sonny, eyes sparkling. “I was going to try and convince mom to take me!”

Sonny smiled, a more genuine look on his face. “Well, no need ta convince her; I’ll pick up the tickets tomorrow,” he looked back to you, “as long as there’s no objections?”

“None,” you replied, smile matching his. This went much better than you had hoped…even if you had to sit Jude down and explain the difference between internet famous and famous. You also didn’t want him to only like Sonny because of some grandeur image of fame.

Jude jumped up and down, unable to contain his excitement. “Is Sonny staying over? Can I show him some of my art?”

You glanced at Sonny with raised eyebrows—he seemed just as excited as Jude was. “Ask him, not me,” you replied with a smile.

“I’d love ta see your art,” Sonny said, eyes crinkling with his smile. Jude turned and hurried to his room, the sound of things rustling emitting from within signifying his search for his art books.

“There’s pizza in the kitchen; want me to grab you a slice or two?” you asked Sonny with a soft voice.

His expression was warm as he smiled. “I’d love that.”

[sky-berrie]

How do you think the batboys (+ possibly Bruce) would react to a male SO having an inappropriate emotional response. Specifically laughing as a reaction to pain/extreme emotions. Not being able to control it and seeming hysterical. - ⛓

Hi there!

Thanks so much for the ask! I hope you enjoy this 😊

-Sky

Bruce

When you and Bruce first start appearing in public as an official couple, Bruce’s public relations (PR) manager will probably voice their concerns about your relationship. His PR manager might feel that you are not good for his public image. “If Y/N has a fit of laughter at the gala, you’ll be the laughingstock,” argues the PR manager. Bruce will fire them on the spot. It’ll probably blow up into a big scandal in the tabloids.

If you happen to read the stories, it probably plants a seed of doubt in your mind. You might start to feel like you don’t deserve to be with Bruce. However, don’t bother trying to be noble and break up with him to preserve his public image. He won’t let you go unless you truly don’t want to be with him.

Bruce doesn’t like it when you use self-deprecating humor. If you say something like, “Your PR manager isn’t going to be happy with me. You’ll probably have to give them a raise for all the damage control they’re going to have to do,” Bruce will immediately shut that down. He refuses to let you talk about yourself as if you’re a burden, even if you are half-joking. He reminds you that, “laughing isn’t something you can control and that’s okay.”

If you’re nervous about attending an event, Bruce helps you prepare by scoping out the building and figuring out where to stand and mingle so that you always have a quick escape if you start to feel overwhelmed or need to take a break.

If people are gossiping about you, Bruce will confront them. He doesn’t use threats. He’s composed and professional when he insinuates that they’re insolent ignoramuses for being judgmental. That usually leaves them feeling embarrassed and Bruce is satisfied with that.

Dick

Dick is a former entertainer so he enjoys making people smile and laugh. He doesn’t see your uncontrollable laughter as a negative trait. If you need some cheering up, Dick will tell you how much he adores your laugh and how lucky he is to hear it. Of course, he understands how uncontrollable laughter might cause you distress, so during those times, he will likely hold you and tell you that everything is going to be okay.

Dick won’t force you to go out in public if you’re anxious about having an uncontrollable reaction in a social setting, but he will strongly encourage you to try. He doesn’t want you to miss out on life and he also just really loves your company. Some days are good and you challenge yourself to get out in public while other days are harder and you don’t feel up to doing anything outside. Dick will let you know that it’s okay to take the day off. If you’re skipping an event (e.g., graduation, a concert, a party), Dick will do his best to bring the event to you. He’ll decorate your home appropriately for the festivity and make sure you have a great time.

If an episode of laughter occurs in public, Dick will find you a safe and comfortable place to calm down. If people are sincerely concerned for you, Dick will politely explain if you are comfortable with him telling people. If people are being obnoxious to you, Dick will tell them to mind their own business. If you are getting harassed, Dick will pull out his badge and become Officer Grayson. He’ll give the douchebags a warning and will make arrests if necessary.

Jason

When Jason witnesses your laughing fit for the first time, he’s genuinely worried about you. He doesn’t know what to do and feels useless. He’s not sure if you want physical contact or space so he just hovers around, waiting for a hint. If you want comfort, he will hold you in his arms and rub soothing circles on your back. If you want alone time, Jason will busy himself by making you your favorite snack so you have something to eat when you’re feeling better.

Jason absolutely hates when you feel ashamed of your emotional reactions. If you put yourself down and say, “I laugh like the f*cking Joker! I’m as screwed up and damaged as him!” he will immediately tell you otherwise. “You are nothing like the Joker. You’re kind and compassionate and selfless. Living with inappropriate affect doesn’t change any of that. And I don’t want to hear you say you’re damaged ever again. There’s nothing wrong with you. Got it?” he says sternly.

If someone else dares to compare you to the Joker, Jason will go berserk. Even if he doesn’t intend to seriously hurt the person, he will by accident because his strength multiplies by tenfold when he’s beyond furious. Sometimes Red Hood’s foes will mock you because it never fails to get a rise out of Jason. Anyone who knows Jason’s story knows that the depraved clown is still a major sore spot for him. Having been mercilessly beaten and murdered by the supervillain and being forever haunted by his maniacal laughter, Jason’s hatred for the Joker is probably justified. Jason refuses to let others disrespect you like that.

Tim

If you are distressed by your inappropriate emotional reactions, Tim will do everything he can to help you manage them. He will suggest therapy and doctor’s appointments and will offer to take you there. He will even ask to attend a meeting with you so he can learn how to best support you. If your therapist recommends using an emotion chart to practice labelling your emotions, Tim will constantly remind to use it throughout the day. He’ll even print out the chart and hang it on the fridge so you have the option to share your feelings with him if you are comfortable. If your doctor prescribes medication, Tim will make sure you take it properly (e.g., at the right time, with/without food).

If you are feeling down about yourself, Tim will use logic to try to convince you that you shouldn’t be ashamed because it’s not something you can control. “Would you tell a person with allergies to be ashamed of themselves? No, that would be ridiculous because they have no control over it.”

Tim, like the rest of his family, is treated like a celebrity in Gotham. Naturally, the public is interested in his dating life which means you are also a target of the paparazzi. If you are worried about experiencing a laughing attack in public and having it captured on camera, Tim will get you “anti-paparazzi” clothing. It’s made out of a reflective material which causes the flash from the camera to reflect back and completely ruin the photo. It’s common for celebrities to wear an anti-paparazzi jacket, but Tim will get you all sorts of custom-made clothing pieces so that you can still be stylish. For example, if you are attending a gala, he will have some fancy clothes designed for you.

Damian

If kids at school are cruel to you, Damian will stick by your side and act like a personal bodyguard. He’s witty and often has a snappy comeback for the taunts and teases that you endure. You might be hysterically laughing and a passerby shouts at you, “You sound like a donkey!” and Damian will retort, “Your native language, I presume?” He won’t engage in physical fights unless it’s necessary for your safety. For example, he will intervene if someone is shoving you around or stuffing you in a locker, but only using enough force to stop their harassment.

Damian is overprotective which can make things worse for you. He’s always fighting your battles and that’s just one more reason for bullies to pick on you. They prey on you when you’re alone, “Hey chuckles, you going to man/woman up and fight me like a big boy/girl today? Or should I wait for your nanny to show up?” If you mention this to Damian, his first impulse is to confront the bully about their behavior. You have to remind him that would only prove the bully right. Damian will grumble something about injustice but will leave the situation be as per your request. He makes an effort to respect your independence and let you stick up for yourself, but he often slips up because it’s his instinct to protect you.

If you must leave class because of an episode of uncontrollable laughter, Damian will accompany you. The teacher might tell him to sit back down because he doesn’t have a hall pass, but he doesn’t care. He will walk out of the room without a second thought. He’ll stay with you and help you calm down in any way that he can. He’ll also offer to work on the homework with you so that you don’t fall behind.

[lunar-wandering]

reverse reverse

so, i wrote a one shot for my Uno Reverse Card Swap AU- and i’ve decided to put all my oneshots and drabbles for it in one fic on ao3.

...anyways though, boom, heres the fic, bon appetit-

Word Count: 1.4k

Read on Ao3

-

MK tossed the staff as hard as he could, his frustration at his lack of progress seeping into the move. Wukong briefly looked shocked for a split moment (a very rare sight to see), before he ducked down, letting the staff sail over him.

Having missed it's initial target, the staff crashed into the electric panel on the wall, loud enough to grab Mei and Red Son's attention, from where they had been training on their side of the room.

"....Uh." Red Son said, watching how the electric panel sparked and hissed. "That's probably not good."

And then the training room doors slammed closed.

"Ah. That's very not good." The fire demon holstered the water gun he'd been using, walking over to inspect the damage.

"I'm sorry!" MK said, running over and pulling the staff out of the electric panel. Surprisingly enough, he didn't get shocked, instinctively twirling the staff in a circle before sliding it into his pocket. "I'm- I'm really sorry, can you fix it??"

"...If we were on the other side, yes." Red Son poked the panel, pulling his hand back just before a stray spark could hit it. "As of right now...I'd say we're pretty much trapped."

"What if somebody needs Dragonmist or Spitfire though?" Mei asked, "We won't be able to help if we're stuck in here."

"..I'm sure Sandy or my parents could do the job just fine..." Red Son mumbled, barely paying any attention to what Mei was saying, as he turned on the electronic band on his arm, a holographic screen appearing in front of his face. "I think I can get the doors to open again if I can reactivate the system....But with all the changes I had to recently make to prevent a certain few hackers from getting in the system again it might take me a while."

That seemed to be all the incentive that Mei needed, and MK watched in confusion as she took a few steps back.

Said confusion changed to comprehension just seconds before Mei took off, running at the door at full speed.

...And slamming into said door, falling backwards and landing hard on her back. The loud clang made MK cover his ears, and startled Red Son out of his focus.

"You- did you just try to break through the door?" Red Son knelt beside Mei, poking her to check if she was still alive (which she was). "The door that I specifically designed to be unbreakable?"

Mei only groaned in response, accepting MK's help in lifting herself back up into a standing position. As MK steadied her, he looked over her shoulder, noticing how...quiet Wukong had been the whole time.

The Monkey King was just standing there, exactly where MK had left him, in fact, it didn't seem like his mentor had moved at all.

MK lightly tugged on both Red Son and Mei's jackets to draw their attention over to Wukong

Just in time for Wukong to let out a scream of frustration, taking the fake circlet off of his head and throwing it at the wall- karma immediately playing it's hand as the circlet bounced off the wall, flinging back to hit Wukong on the nose, before reverting back to being a strand of hair.

"Fuck." Wukong hissed, staring at the hair that now rested on the floor as though it had personally offended him.

"....Monkey King? Are.....you okay?" MK quietly asked, Red Son and Mei also looking at Wukong in concern.

"I'm fucking fine- Leave me alone!" Wukong glared at them, before turning around and sitting on the floor, cross-legged, his tail swishing back and forth in irritation. MK, Red Son, and Mei shared a worried look.

"...I'll get back to trying to unlock the doors?" Red Son said, "Also Mei, please do not try slamming yourself into the door again. It's not going to work, and I really don't know why you thought that was a good idea in the first place."

"I didn't think it was a good idea, I just thought we might as well try it." Mei shrugged, "I did think it might go faster than just you trying to hack your own system though."

MK tuned out the bickering between his two friends as he focused in on Wukong's back. The Monkey King's fur was all....bristly, standing on end, as though he'd been startled. In between that, his little outburst a few moments ago, how his tail was rapidly swishing from side to side, and the fact he was chewing on his thumbnail, well, MK could only conclude one thing.

Wukong was scared.

As for why he was scared, MK had a few guesses. Most of which pertained to mountains and furnaces.

MK wondered if he should give Wukong some of the advice Macaque had given to him during their last therapy session- but almost instantly dismissed the idea. Wukong would definitely pick up on the fact that MK was quoting Macaque, and the Monkey King simply refused to take any advice the shadow monkey handed out.

MK couldn't just walk over to Wukong and try to distract him either. For one, he had no idea how to even start that kind of conversation, not to mention that Wukong didn't look like he wanted to talk to anyone right now. He couldn't tell Wukong that he knew that the Monkey King was scared either, from what he'd manage to garner about Wukong's personality, that would surely just send Wukong down a path of denial and overcomplicate the whole situation.

Which only left one option. Waiting.

Many people didn't know this, because of how quiet and reserved MK tended to be, but he absolutely hated waiting.

"Hey, Red Son?" MK asked, interrupting Mei and Red Son's petty bickering. "...How long exactly will it take you to hack the doors back open?"

"Uh...." Red Son glances at the holographic numbers hovering over his arm. "...I think the shortest amount of time I could do it would by 15 minutes, at most about 2 hours."

Out of the corner of his eye, MK could see Wukong's back tense, and something tells MK that even 15 minutes would be just a bit too long.

...This was all his fault. If he'd been paying more attention, hadn't gotten so frustrated, they wouldn't even be in this mess.

MK pulled the staff out of his pocket, looking at how it lay small and innocent in his hand. He looked back over at Wukong, who was still resolutely facing away from the rest of them.

He took a step towards the control panel.

"...MK." Mei noted his movement. "MK, what are you doing?"

MK doesn't give a response, the staff extending in his hands.

This was his fault. He's going to fix it.

"Wh- hey, MK, you'll get yourself electrocuted you-" Red Son takes notice of MK's actions a moment too late.

MK shoved the staff into the electrical panel, ignoring the way the electricity made his arms go numb and his nerves tingle. He'd been forced to get used to the sensation a long time ago. Focusing as much as he could, he grabbed hold of the warm power that lay within him, channeling it through the staff and into the control panel.

He didn't stop until he heard the whoosh of the doors opening, and was certain that they would stay open.

He pulled the staff out of the control panel, setting it down as he rolled his shoulders, shaking the tingles out of his arms. He registered Mei and Red Son staring at him in concern, but purposefully ignored it.

A breeze went past him, and suddenly Wukong was standing on the outside of the room, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet, wearing an obviously fake smile.

"So uh, MK, the next time you fight me-" (Wukong' refused to actively call it training, instead saying that MK was simply fighting him for real. Since he was actually somewhat teaching MK now, nobody dared to call him out on it.) "Try seeing if you can catch me off guard on Flower Fruit Mountain, yeah? Yep, okay, uh- fuck, I forgot something with the monkeys, should make sure they didn't fucking destroy it, so uh, bye!"

Wukong vanished, leaving behind no trace that he had even been there. MK blinked, processing the Monkey King's parting words.

Did.....did Wukong just invite him to Flower Fruit Mountain for the first time?

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X TRANS MAN / MAN ALIGNED READER COMING OUT - Pt. 2 - Over the Moon

This title is NSFW. Pt. 1, Under Your Skin, is Safe For Work. If you're a minor, please read that one instead! This one has s*x in it!

It's been a year since you came out to Bo, and while there have been ups and downs and a lot of new things to get used to, you've both done your best to keep the relationship going. But has he learned how to treat you like a man?

CW: NSFW, descriptions of dysphoria, mentions of deadnaming/misgendering, mentions of murder and mortal peril, words that could be considered slurs and/or fetishizing/objectifying (I mean, come on, it's Bo. We're talking extremely raunchy BUT GENDER AFFIRMING sex.)

Soundtrack: x

Words: 3,431

Part One

Masterlist

***

The sun was just setting over Ambrose by the time Lester's truck pulled up to the washed-out road. With a smile, you shifted the big paper bag in your arms and slid out of the passenger side, calling, "Thanks, Les!" over your shoulder.

"You take care now!" he said back, patting Jonesy's behind as she jumped out after you. "Tell those good fer nothin' brothers of mine 'm sorry I couldn't make it to dinner."

You nodded, filling your lungs with fresh air. You loved the hell out of Lester, but you still weren't used to the smell of his truck. "I'll tell them. Drive safe. Thanks again."

Lester waved as he backed out, then pulled a sharp turn to head down the dirt road again, truck clattering the whole way.

You looked down at Jonesy, who had paused to pee in a nearby bush. "You ready, Jonesy?" When she looked up at you, panting, you said, "I know, it's hot. Come on, let's head home. Go home, Jonesy."

She knew the way, taking point and leading you across the small creek, around the bend and into Ambrose.

Your heart soared the moment you stepped into town. You could see pretty much the whole thing from where you stood: the church, the gas station, the house of wax ... and of course the Sinclair house.

You were eager to go find Bo, but you followed Jonesy to the house of wax first, opening one of the front doors to let her in. She'd find her way down to Vincent, and he'd know to come up to the house for dinner in about an hour—unless he didn't show up at all, which wasn't out of the ordinary.

Jonesy pranced into the dusty darkness of the museum, and you watched her retreating form for a few moments, zoning out.

It had been a year since you'd come out to Bo, Vincent, and Lester. A year now that you'd been living as your true self. It felt like much longer than that, and yet, when you thought about it, it somehow felt like only yesterday that you'd told your favorite mechanic.

After stewing over it and your talks, he'd come to terms with your new lifestyle ... gradually. Grudgingly, at times. But he was trying, and that meant something. These days, he only had to correct himself occasionally.

And that was the thing about Bo. He may be ignorant, and he might not get it, but once he had come to terms with something ... once he had decided that something was acceptable ... he was protective as hell. It might take some work, and he might still tease you about it, but if anyone else said something? God help them.

"Boo!"

You jumped, nearly dropping your paper bag as strong hands squeezed your waist. You turned quickly and were met with Bo's grinning face. "You douchebag!"

He snickered. "Scared you, darlin'?" He leaned to look into your bag. "Get anything good?"

"Get your nose out of there." With a grin of your own, you pushed him gently away by the chest. "It's a surprise."

"You know I hate surprises." Nonetheless, Bo relented, straightening and adjusting the brim of his hat. "I'll lock up the shop, meet you up at the house in ten?"

"Sounds good." You craned your neck to kiss his stubbly, sweaty cheek, then passed him. As you did, he smacked your ass. "Ugh! Come on, dude."

"You know ya like it, dude."

You could still hear him snickering to himself like an idiot as you parted ways, starting up the hill to the house while he returned to the garage. The door was unlocked as usual. You stopped in the kitchen to shove the groceries in the fridge before starting upstairs. It was hot as hell today, and you were in desperate need of a shower, slicked with more sweat than you cared to think about.

Once in the bedroom, you kicked your shoes under the end of the bed, then stripped off your shirt. You'd been wearing your binder for a few hours now, so you peeled it off, relishing the feeling of air hitting your hot skin. As you chucked the binder to the floor, you glanced into the full-length mirror near the dresser.

Your hormone therapy was going well. You were hairier, your face was slightly different, your fat had redistributed and made you squarer in a way that made you downright giddy. Your chest wasn't flat, but more and more every day, you found you didn't care—even enjoyed the look of it. Wearing a binder in public saved you from being misgendered, but around Ambrose, you didn't wear it all that much.

You ghosted your fingers over the hair on your arms and hands, thinking back. The road to the place you were at had been rocky, to say the least. For you and for Bo. When the HRT had started taking effect especially, he'd gotten weird and silent all over again, like it was finally really setting in for him. But he'd rarely voiced any criticisms aloud besides some offhanded asinine comments, so you'd just let him deal with whatever internal struggle he was dealing with.

Those days had been a struggle for you, too. But by now, he'd gotten over himself. He even dutifully helped with your shots, administering them like they were the most serious shit in the world.

It made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, how far he had come. How far you'd both come. For a few long minutes, you were lost in your scrutiny, fingering stretch marks and admiring your hands.

You were so deep in thought that when the bedroom door creaked open, you jumped, instinctively covering your chest before you realized who it was. "You scared me."

"That's twice today." Bo smirked as he hung his hat on one of the bedposts. "You sure are jumpy."

"You're almost as quiet as Vincent when you wanna be." You bit your lip and glanced back at the mirror.

In the reflection, you noticed Bo looking you up and down slowly. After a beat, he approached from behind, wrapping his arms around your middle and meeting your gaze. As he did, he raised his hands to your chest, strong fingers rubbing your breast tissue in deep circles. Ever since you'd complained about how tender you got after being compressed for hours, he'd done this. You were pretty sure it was just an excuse to touch your boobs, but it felt nice at least.

You relaxed back into him with a sigh, letting him support you a bit. "How was your day?"

"A lot better now that you're home, handsome." He craned his head to kiss your neck and stayed like that, mouth buried in the crook. "Fuck, you smell good," he mumbled into your skin, fingers never stilling.

You couldn't help but squirm a little under his praise. You smelled like sweat, and worse, man sweat, but Bo always seemed fascinated with it, more than content to snuggle up to you and take your changing body in.

"I smell like a highschool gym locker," you mumbled, though you couldn't hide your goofy smile in the mirror.

He raised his eyes and brows to meet your gaze in the reflection again. "You sure? I used ta play football ... don't remember the other guys smellin' this hot."

You squeezed one of the arms around your waist, trying to ignore the heat of your face. The sight of him rubbing your breasts and the feeling of his rough fingers against your sensitive skin was already crazy-making enough. "I bet you found it a little hot."

A year ago, you wouldn't have dared make a joke like that. You didn't even wanna think about how offended he would've gotten. Now, though, his only reaction was a smile that crinkled his eyes and a little sparkle in his pupils.

"All those sweaty, strong guys bumping up against each other in steamy close quarters." Your smile turned into a grin. "Bet it kinda turned you on."

Bo snorted. "Wouldn't really know. I usually changed in the janitor's closet." A bit of vulnerability flashed in his eyes, but he quickly recovered by focusing the attention back on you. "Anyway, none a' them were like you. Where you goin', lookin' like that?"

As he spoke, his hands slid down your front, hugging your hips so your ass was pressed tight against him. You shivered hard. "Looking like what? This is just my body."

He grunted, and you watched in fascination as his gaze ate you up. He rubbed your flanks with his thumbs. "You're a real pretty boy, you know that? Not like other guys at all..."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you suppressed the urge to hide your face in your hands. Still, you averted your eyes from the mirror, too shy to look at yourself any longer. "I dunno about that, but thanks."

Bo shifted. He huffed in your ear, and you lifted your head enough to see him frowning down at you. After a few moments, his expression changed to something slightly more neutral, eyes alight. "Don't make me hafta teach you a lesson, sweetheart. I might enjoy it too much."

Those words sent a thrill up your spine, flipping your stomach. He looked like a predator about to strike its prey, and god, it took everything you had not to give in right away. You raised your chin in a challenge. "What lesson is that, hm?"

Bo's expression shifted again. He grinned, bottom lip caught between his teeth. One hand left your hip, wrapping around your throat just under your chin.

Then, he pivoted, and with one good yank, threw you onto the bed.

You loosed a soft breath as you bounced on the mattress, looking up at him. Defiance fluttered its wings in your chest. "Well? You never answered my question."

"Shh." His hand returned, this time over your mouth. "None a' that now. I'm not in the mood for dolin' out punishment. You just sit there nice 'n' lemme show you what ya do to me, understand?"

Even if you could say something with his hand over your mouth, all you wanted to do was stare at him—at those beautiful blue eyes that seemed to see right through you.

"Tch." His crooked grin made a brief appearance, though it was more of a snarl, showing off his gums. "What a good li'l soldier."

With that, Bo moved in on you, kissing you hard. Teeth and noses clashed painfully before he drew you closer and deeper, his tongue exploring you like he could drink you in. You returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, grunting into his mouth, then giving a groan when you felt his large hand cup you between the legs.

A sharp inhale, and he pulled back slightly. His lips moved against yours as he whispered, "Whose is that? Who does this pussy belong to, dickbait?"

Your breath hitched. "You."

"Me. That's right." He squeezed and rubbed through your jeans. You could already feel how wet you were, folds sliding together. A second later, he'd undone your button and zipper and slipped his hand into your underwear. "Fuck, that's nice." His lips still brushed against yours, breath hot on your face and in your mouth. "Love that boy cunt. You're just as wet, aintcha?"

As he stroked you, his thumb found your swollen clit. You gasped when he put pressure on it.

"So wet for your man."

You shuddered and dared to quip back, "And it looks like you're pretty hard for yours."

Finally, he pulled back to meet your eyes, lust warring with challenge. He stared for a few moments before saying, his voice nearly a growl, "I'mmuna make you come, pussyboy. Yeah. Squirt all up my stomach 'n' chest ... we'll see if you still gimme an attitude once you're screamin' and shakin' under me."

You had no smart comeback for that. You simply melted onto his hand, grinding against him as he slid two fingers inside your hot, needy pussy. The feeling of him curling his fingers and stroking you deep already had you biting back incoherent dirty talk, every nerve electric.

"Pretty young buck like you, walkin' around lookin' like that ... you're just askin' for dick." He licked his lips and used his other hand to help you shimmy out of your jeans. Soon, you were bare, gushing all over his fingers as he loomed over you. "Am I right?"

"Y-Yeah," you pushed out, leaning back on your palms so he could get a better angle. "Fuck, Bo—"

"Y/N," he mumbled back, free hand gripping the back of your head. "Y/N."

You heard him say your name all the time, but the way he said it now, the way he was staring into your eyes ... you knew this meant something more. He wasn't just fucking you, he was fucking you. He was seeing you.

You couldn't take it anymore. Your head was spinning with every circle his thumb made around your clit, but you needed more. With a strangled gasp, you gripped his biceps. "Bo, baby, inside—fuck, please, I need you."

He smirked above you. "Not until you admit you're the handsomest goddamn man in Ambrose."

You groaned. "Come on!"

"Sorry, gorgeous, those're the rules. C'mon, lemme hear you say it."

Your cheeks burned, but he wouldn't stop playing with your pussy, and you didn't want to come without his cock inside you. "I-I can't," you muttered, only half joking. "What about you, big cat?"

"Besides me." He thrust his fingers in particularly firmly, drawing a shout from you. "Say, 'I'm the handsomest goddamn man in Ambrose.' I wanna see you say it while you're ridin' my hand, and you better convince me."

You panted for a few more moments before finally giving in, sputtering, "I'm the ... handsomest goddamn man in Ambrose," followed immediately by a groan, your eyes rolling back in your head.

"I'm not buyin' it."

"I'm the handsomest goddamn man in Ambrose!" He certainly made you feel like it.

"Good boy." After one last jerk, Bo drew his fingers from you, going to work his belt off. His cock sprung from his Dickies, already red and glistening with precum. He caught your calves in iron grips as he lined himself up with your hole. "I c'n smell you. Slut. So fuckin' messy for me."

As he slid in, your head lolled back. You dropped to your elbows, then gave up completely and laid flat, unable to hold yourself up for shaking.

Bo almost cooed, throbbing gently inside you. "Lookit my beautiful boyfriend ... already half way ta heaven. Haven't even started poundin' that sloppy boy pussy yet. Ya can't lose it on me already, ace."

Even the stupid nicknames got you hot somehow. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, panting. When he began to thrust, you yowled like a hurt animal, the drag of his dick sending flames spitting through your limbs.

His grip tightened as he rolled his hips into you, in and out, in and out, picking up pace. "You like that, loverboy? Shit, sure looks like ya do." He lifted his chin. "Stick your tongue out."

Obediently, you parted your lips with your tongue, trying not to drool too much.

Bo couldn't hide the way his eyes sparkled as he watched your mouth, or the way his dick swelled in you. His hips moved faster, your slickness enough for him to glide. It felt so nice, but that alone wouldn't make you come, and he knew that—he was savoring this.

Eventually, his shirt found its way to the floor, followed by his pants and boxer-briefs. The sight of him bare with you, glistening in the hot afternoon, made it hard to breathe.

With one of his hands, he propped your leg up so it was resting against his chest and slightly over his shoulder; with the other, he explored your torso, dragging his calloused hands up your hip, across your stomach, to your breasts. He still played with them often, sucking and squeezing, and you found you didn't mind. The way it made you feel and the way he was looking at you, how could you ever hate it? Plus, you weren't sure he'd take no for an answer regardless.

A growl ripped from your chest as he bent to suck one of your nipples, latching on for a few moments before flicking his tongue, then running it flat in circles. He whispered heatedly, lips brushing against you, accent slurring, "I love your tits ... you know I love ya tits, righ'? Fuck, ya so hot..."

You knew he'd miss them if you decided to get rid of them. Honestly, that was half the reason you were reconsidering that idea. You never wanted to forget the way he worshiped them: licking, sucking, slapping, squeezing his dick between them...

"Come on, romeo," Bo panted, his mouth still against your chest as he plowed into you. Wet clapping filled the room as his balls met your ass, again and again, almost unbearably warm. "Come on, fuck ya'self off tha'."

He loosened his grip on you, giving you more freedom to move. Now he was fucking firmer, his angle more deliberate, the hot head of his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. You loosed another yowl and bucked your hips to meet his.

"Bo," you groaned. "Bo, Bo..."

"Tha's my man." He was losing control of himself, his voice choked and desperate. "Tha's my man. Tha's my fuckin' man."

"Yeah—! You— you like fucking other guys, angel? Huh?"

Bo exhaled harshly, twitching inside you. "Like makin' 'em scream, too. 'Specially this one. My— handsome li'l— pussyboy—"

You could feel the muscles of his sweat-slicked thighs and abs flexing as he tried to hold himself back, trying to keep himself from finishing. You knew one comment from you would push him over the edge ... so you waited until you were at your edge, too, to choke out: "Fill that slutty boy pussy up, cher. Show me who's the big man around here, who gets to come wherever he wants. Show me who's boss— fuck—!"

Bo lurched, sinking his teeth in the crook of your neck. Every inch of him tensed, cock jumping, and you saw white as your entire core became molten between your orgasm and his.

When you were next aware of your surroundings, he had collapsed into you, slumped a bit awkwardly over the edge of the bed. He was breathing hard, his hair damp with sweat. It dripped down his spine, too, and down the back of your thighs. You gripped him tightly, wrapping your arms and legs around him, and the two of you stayed like that for a minute or so.

Eventually, he pulled away, rolling onto his back beside you. One of his strong, square hands still gripped your wrist, though, thumb brushing the back of your hand lightly. He opened his pretty blue eyes, all long lashes as he blinked away the haze of his climax.

Then he looked over at you—and, of course, found you already staring at him. His lips quirked up in a smirk. "Angel?"

You could feel yourself flush. "Romeo?"

The smirk turned into a wolfish grin, and he propped himself up on one elbow, stealing a kiss. "You're cute," he declared after a moment, like he was giving his official opinion on the subject.

"You're one to talk. Can we at least agree that I'm the second handsomest man in Ambrose?"

Bo heaved a sigh. "A'right, a'right, fine. Guess numero uno is my cross ta bear."

"Always."

With a laugh, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close for a kiss. It started heated and rough, but as the seconds passed, it became more tender. He slipped a hand into your hair and held you in the kiss for an extended period before pulling away, an intense gaze searching your face.

"I love you," he breathed. "Ya know that, right?"

It wasn't often he said it unprompted; usually when he told you he loved you, it was because you'd said it first. At once, tears sprung to your eyes, and you leaned in for another quick kiss.

You did know—you did. And more importantly, he knew. He knew everything and he still said those three little words. He saw you and this and he still wanted all of it.

And fuck, you wanted it, too.

***

Masterlist

Tip Jar

[negasonicimagines]

Revelation; Part One

warnings/kinks: a/b/o (if you’re penis-repulsed this isn’t for you), smut (duh), brief daddy kink, even briefer mommy kink, cum-eating, cum-marking, cockwarming? (does it count if it’s a/b/o?), light bloodplay, borderline somniphilia (consensual), poisoning, suicidal ideation, allusions to cheating, mentions of conversion therapy, vague mentions of s*xual ass*ult (it doesn’t actually happen in the story, it’s just referred to a lot due to the nature of this universe)

uh… this is another one of those stories that’s just kinda Heavy, please be careful & don’t continue reading if doing so is unsafe for you. I have a variety of other works that don’t have such intense themes, which you can find on my masterlist!

request (+details): Omegaverse: Alphas Yukio and Ellie with a beta reader, but it turns out that reader is a late-bloomer omega who goes into her first heat unexpectedly. / Omegaverse: The setting could be anywhere. The three of them waking up with reader burning hot, believing to be sick but is actually going into heat. The reader could be by themselves when it happens and her alphas come home to a omega in heat / I can’t get this omegaverse idea out of my head, and I hope you don’t mind me telling you this. Reader being alone and confused when her heat came, her alphas gone on a mission. During the time they were gone, Reader made a nest of her alphas’s clothes out of instinct on their bed. By the time Yukio and Ellie returned, Reader is a hot mess from trying to get off, moaning their names and begging for her alphas to help her for she don’t know why she feels like this and is scared.)

synopsis: After Wade discovers you're dealing with suicidal thoughts, he takes it upon himself to help you out, leading to one disaster after another.

author’s note: thank you so much to the lovely anon who requested this for spending so much time with me & making sure everything was juuuust right! Fun fact: we pined, started dating, and broke up, started dating again, and broke up again all before this was published 🙃 sorry everybody, it’s been a rocky road for the past… forever.

Standing guard after school for a few extra bucks is a pretty sweet deal, you have to admit. You mostly just sit around with a pair of binoculars munching on your snack of choice, using a gun loaded with tranquilizer darts to drop anyone who threatens the safety of the school and its residents. If given permission, or an order to do so, you can use your bow and arrow to really take down your enemies.

You’re pretty lucky in life overall, you also have to admit, with two alpha girlfriends and a variety of friends and acquaintances, not to mention the advantages your mutation gives you.

It makes you feel even more guilty for what you’re really thinking about right now. Not Ellie, not Yukio, not keeping an eye out for threats, nothing but a simple question:

Would it be more efficient to slit your wrists with the point of one of your arrows, or to fling yourself from the top of this turret? Which would hurt worse? You look from the sharp arrow you hold in your hand to the plush grass below, managed by some of the other students.

It’s far cheaper to pay students to maintain the yard and house, not to mention it gives students like you a way of earning the kind of spending money that other students receive from their parents or from jobs in town. Your post would be snatched up in no time if you were to pass.

Speaking of parents.

Your father’s exact words to your mother were “I hate that you use a highschool mistake to keep me trapped with you forever!” the last time you happened to hear them argue. They were no longer invited to parent-teacher conferences after that.

It’s a fine reason for him to be angry, but, unfortunately, you’re the highschool mistake he was talking about. The one he’s always talking about whenever they fight. Maybe if you were gone, he’d finally be free. Maybe you’d finally be free from his resentment. He, fortunately enough, rarely lashes out at you directly; however… There’s always been a distance.

Would he love you more if you were gone? If you saved him from… Well, you? You’ve always wanted him to love you, to look at you with something other than anger or resentment. Would he finally be proud of you, for owning up to every horrible thing you are and have done by paying the ultimate price? Would everyone?

You’re holding the bladed tip of the arrow right against your wrist, almost like a normal person might hold a bracelet to their wrist -- trying it on for size, without really thinking about it.

Suddenly, though, Wade’s here. And he’s definitely thinking about it. He yanks the arrow out of your hand, accidentally snapping the wood that makes up its length.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I- Uh, I don’t know,” you mumble, embarrassed, because you honestly don’t. Being alone with your thoughts gives them the space to grow from their poisoned roots into something dark you don’t really recognize as yours.

“You- You don’t know?!” Wade questions, and the unusual severity of his tone stuns you to the point of laughter. “This isn’t fucking funny, what the hell is wrong with you? Why were you-?! What were you-?! What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I’m standing guard. What the fuck are you doing?” you echo dryly, resorting to quips to avoid telling him any more than he already knows.

“I’m freaking out! I can’t kill you for apparently wanting to kill you, so that’s all I can do! I thought you were on antidepressants!”

“I am. Have been for years. They don’t cure depression, they make it easier to manage.”

“Apparently fucking not! Come on, let’s go talk to somebody and get you an appointment with a psychiatrist. You’ve been on the same prescription all these years, right? Maybe you just need your dosage upped.” Wade’s not asking, he’s telling, his hand wrapped around your bicep to pull you along, although his grip isn’t as tight as you’d expect for a man of his stature, let alone an alpha.

Why does he care so much? He’s always so gentle, even when you piss him off like this. Tears well up in your eyes but you blink hard. You know he’s been through worse. That most people here have. You have no right to cry.

Wade yells at a surprised Charles Xavier until an appointment is set up, which goes pretty well. Four days after that incident, you meet with the psychiatrist who agrees that upping your dosage is the smartest decision, frankly, she’s surprised it wasn’t done sooner. And, after about a week of your new dosage level, you’re feeling better than ever.

Way better.

“You… You’d really wanna do that? For everyone to know I’m yours?”

Ellie nods, cheeks darkened. You’re straddling her, and the two of you have been trading heated kisses with Yukio. Who would’ve thought more of the medication you were sure killed your libido before you could even develop one would be what rescued it?

“Of course we would. I know you don’t like to stereotype, but some of the stereotypes have truth to them. We’re… Territorial,” Yukio reminds you.

“I’m… A beta,” you remind her in a teasing echo of her tone.

“Our beta,” Ellie cuts back in. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Even if I’d rather not let you guys, y’know…” Your hand rubs at the space between your neck and your shoulder - where they’d likely mark you with their teeth - nervously. “...today? Or go farther than what we’re doing right now?”

“Of course, baby! The fact that you’ve even done this much…” Yukio trails off, looking over you. Your lips are swollen and still slightly parted as you continue to pant a little. The top few buttons of your (well, borrowed from Ellie) flannel are undone.

“We’re so grateful, and so proud of you,” Ellie continues, drawing your attention back to her. “We’re willing to wait as long as you need, even if that waiting only ends because you’ve decided that being with us like that isn’t something you want.”

“I do. I always have, I just… I don’t know.”

“The feeling’s still there, in your stomach, right?” Yukio wonders.

“Yeah, a little. It’s like… I know it’s not wrong, but something doesn’t feel quite right. Maybe I should just try to ignore it, I mean, you two have needs-”

“Hey. You know better than that, Y/N. We don’t, okay, babe? Not like that. We wanna have sex with you, not- Not hurt you. You understand that, right?” Ellie reassures you.

“I do, I just feel bad for being such a- I don’t know, a tease?”

“We love you. As in, you. If you forced yourself to do something you didn’t want to, just for us, how would we forgive ourselves?” Yukio says what she’s said a million times, but every time it surprises you. You tend to see yourself as only being valuable in what you can offer others— protection, a laugh, some good advice every now and then —you never expect anyone to care for you outside of that. But here they are. Absolutely perfect.

And you were thinking of flinging yourself off a tower a couple weeks ago. Should you tell them? They just think you went for an overdue checkup, which is technically the case. You don’t know what’s worse, hiding it or telling them. You’ll have to talk to Wade, he’s good at giving advice. Might not be good advice, but he’s definitely good at giving it.

“Everything okay, sharpshooter?” Ellie hands gently squeeze your hips to get your attention.

You blink back out of your thoughts, smiling a little and blushing at the nickname.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry, I just zoned out. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

“Everything okay?” your alphas ask, again, in unison. Your alphas. They probably couldn’t handle it if you had a problem they couldn’t solve, the guilt of not being able to provide for you would overwhelm them.

“Yeah, totally,” you reply, because it is, now, especially here with them. Ellie starts to button up your flannel.

“Oh, we don’t have to-”

Ellie gives you a pointed look, then looks down at her crotch, then back up at you. Your blush deepens.

“Yeah, I’m guessing a cold shower’s in order,” Yukio agrees. “El, you can go first.”

“We can’t go together?” Ellie asks.

“Well, I don’t wanna leave Y/N alone. Our brave little beta did a lot more than usual. Don’t want you to feel used, baby,” Yukio explains to you both.

“Oh, duh,” Ellie agrees. You give her a quick smooch on the forehead before dismounting her and allowing yourself to be pulled into Yukio’s arms. Ellie grabs some clean clothes and heads off. As soon as the door shuts, Yukio giggles, and you look to her with a curious, confused expression.

“Now you’re all mine to cuddle.” Yukio gloats, kissing the top of your head. “Mm… You smell really good, babe. New shampoo?”

“Ish, yeah,” you agree, despite the fact that you started using it nearly a month ago at this point. Maybe the body heat you built up from the makeout session made it smell stronger, though.

Yukio keeps sniffing you, but you don’t call her out on it. She’s a little bit quirky, sure, but there’s no need to make her feel self-conscious about it when the tickling sensation feels kinda nice. She tosses in a few soft presses of her lips against your skin, too, so it’s not like she’s the only one who benefits.

Yukio eventually stops this, though, instead requesting to scent you. You’ve told the girls before that they don’t have to ask, but they— especially Yukio —seem to prefer to. You figure it’s likely to reassure them that you not only tolerate but appreciate their alphahood.

“I love you, you know that? Not just ‘cause you make me smell like petrichor. I’m surprised Ellie doesn’t spend all day huffing your scent, I… I know I would, if I could smell it.” You didn’t mean for the sad envy to ring so clearly in your words, but it’s as sharp as a knife, cutting deep enough to make Yukio gasp softly with sympathy as she rubs your wrist against her scent gland, eyes snapping open.

“Well, next time it’s about to rain, we’ll go outside, then. Every time it’s about to rain,” Yukio insists. “Who- Who told you?”

“Wade. I was just curious. He said Ellie smells like a campfire, the scent even clings like it. He even said I smell a little weird. Most betas smell like something, but I’m just… A blank canvas.”

You feel her rumble a bit with a growl, and her arms wrap tightly around you… Protectively? You blush.

“Y-Yukio?” you nervously ask, caught off guard. Ellie’s usually more of the growling type. Yukio’s pretty good about keeping her possessiveness and any other “negative” alpha traits in check. This side of her doesn’t come out often.

“What was he doing that close to you?” she snarls protectively, and if the growl wasn’t enough to get your heart racing, that was. “Sm- Smelling you?”

“Yukes, Wade’s the same age as my parents. Honestly, he’s- He’s kinda- He’s nice to me. We’re friends. I think if he was going to hurt me, he would’ve done it by now. You two keep forgetting I’m just a beta. No one wants a piece of this pie except for you and Ellie.”

“You’d be surprised at the way some alphas… It’s sick, but they- Because betas, you know, they don’t really produce slick like omegas do, and they don’t have quite as much give, uh… So, some alphas, um, they… Just let me hold you, okay?” Yukio requests. “I can’t talk about it, it’ll make me too mad.”

“I respect that. Thank you. I, uh, I didn’t realize that at all, so thank you for helping me be even safer,” you reassure her. She’s trembling. “Do you want me to hold you, instead?”

“No, no, this will make me feel better. I just… I love you. Can you just…? Just- Just say you’re mine.” This is a request Yukio has semi-often. When she feels weak in comparison to other alphas, when she feels overshadowed by Ellie, any time she needs reassurance or is just feeling bad, she’ll probably ask. You get it, being hers (and Ellie’s, of course) makes you feel better, too.

“I’m yours, Yukio. Always yours. You make me so happy, both of you. Happier than- You make me feel so-“ You get a bit choked up. These girls, these alphas… They’re so important to you.

“Oh, no, baby, please don’t cry,” Yukio implores, watching your eyes water. You turn so that your face doesn’t just rest on her chest but is buried in it.

“It’s just that no one ever loved me before you two. No one, ever. Not my parents, not my ’friends,’ no one. I don’t know why I’ve been so emotional lately, I’m sorry.”

“No one at all?” Yukio questions, but that’s the missing puzzle piece, she realizes. You’re always treating hers and Ellie’s love for you like it’s something you have to earn, no matter how much they insist being yourself is enough. She fully grasps now that it’s never been enough before.

She holds you even tighter.

“Mm-mm,” you confirm, shaking your head a little. “You and Ellie just mean the whole world to me. And- And… Wade’s my friend, too. Can I still, y’know, spend time with him?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I just- He’s a nice guy, but… I don’t want him to put you in danger. You can handle yourself, though. Can’t you, sharpshooter?” Her fingers trickle up your ribs as she says the nickname, making you giggle and squirm.

“Absolutely, but it is nice to have two strong, sexy alphas take care of me instead every now and then,” you admit, albeit a bit teasingly, blushing softly. You turn back so that you can see her adorable face.

“Really?” Yukio asks, but she knows.

“Really,” you agree with a smile.

“I’m yours, too. You know that, right?” Yukio checks, fiddling with your hair a bit.

“Mhm. It’s nice to hear you say it like that, though.”

“I can think of other ways you might like to hear it,” Yukio flirts.

“Yeah, you think so? Show me,” you tease back.

“I will…” Yukio trails off as she trails her finger along your jaw, tipping your head up to the perfect kissing angle and- “Eventually, little beta.”

“I- I’m taller than you,” you weakly protest.

“Your breath still hitched,” Yukio reminds you with a giggle and a gentle tap on the tip of your nose.

You stutter a little more before giving up, burying your face again and whining.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I just can’t help myself. You’re too cute,” Yukio half-heartedly apologizes, still chuckling to herself as she strokes your back.

Ellie returns from her shower, inky tendrils of hair ruffled around but with no product in.

“She’s asleep?” Ellie asks, sounding a bit disappointed, but there’s still a significant amount of fondness in her tone.

“She’s not,” you mumble back, and both girls chuckle, Yukio untangling herself from you. You can’t help but pout a little, already missing the bubblegum-haired alpha.

“I know Yukio’s your favorite, but you could at least act a little bit happy to see me,” Ellie half-jokes, and you smile, pulling (though she doesn’t give any resistance) the girl back into your bed. She holds you the same way Yukio did, but you don’t really mind the lack of variety.

“You’re both my favorite,” you argue. Ellie takes a deep breath, likely taking in the way you’re completely embraced by Yukio’s scent.

“I don’t think that’s how favorites work,” she chuckles.

“Out of all the people in the world, you two are both my favorite,” you insist. She takes the hand you have resting on her ribcage and holds it inches from her scent gland. “Please,” you say, before she can even ask. Ellie takes a whiff again.

“Did she leave anywhere untouched?” She wonders.

“N-not really,” you stutter, because now you’re thinking of where she didn’t touch you.

“Well, she’ll have to share a little, then,” Ellie says.

You hum with delight as she scents you.

“You make a new friend?” Ellie questions.

“Huh?”

“You smell… Different,” she responds, looking at you… Well, differently. “Like roses.”

“I have a new-ish shampoo?” You offer, but that just seems to intensify the look.

Your phone rings. It’s Wade. You wriggle out of Ellie’s loose hold on you, answering.

“Hey, you know how I’m your academic advisor?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Well, apparently, thwarting your suicide attempts isn’t my only job. I also have to tell you when they need you in the office, which is now.”

“Seriously?! I didn’t even throw that pencil at Richard, and even if I did, he deserved it for being such a-“

“Oh, right! Should’ve opened with the good news. Your parents are here to visit.”

“What?! That’s-“ You sigh, not wanting to alarm Ellie any more than you already have. “Okay. I’ll be there. Just give me a second to get dressed.”

“Wow, no shame at all. I salute you. Toodles!” Wade hangs up before you realize he misunderstood you.

“What’s wrong?” Ellie asks.

“Nothing, just… My parents are here.”

“Your… Parents?”

“Kind of have to have those to exist, usually,” you remark, and she snorts.

“I know- I- Well, we’ve known each other for a while, and you don’t really talk about them, so I sort of assumed…” Ellie trails off.

“Oh, um, yeah, no, they’re very alive,” you confirm with an awkward chuckle.

“Right. I’ll go get ‘Kio, and we’ll all go, okay?”

“Uh- Um- Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“My parents, they kind of… They- I love you. And I’m not ashamed of you.”

“But they’ll be ashamed of you,” Ellie understands.

“I haven’t seen them in so long, they don’t even know that I like girls, let alone that I’m dating two, or that they’re both alphas… I want you and Yukio to come with me, but, if they start to- If they’re how they are, I-“

“Give my energy to helping you instead of hurting them,” Ellie uses Piotr’s words.

“Perfect,” you agree, and Ellie smiles back, but it falters. You didn’t mean to worry her so much.

“I’ll go get Yukio. You get changed, okay?”

“Mhm,” you agree, and she heads off to the bathroom. You steal one of Ellie’s band tees and an oversized cardigan of Yukio’s for comfort, finding a pair of high-waisted bottoms to tuck the tee shirt in. You throw on a pair of sneakers, and when the girls emerge from the bathroom, you pop in to freshen up.

Once you’re done, Yukio’s caught up on the situation and the three of you make your way to the front offices.

Wade meets you outside.

“Oh em gee, Y/N, you’ll never believe it, I actually went to high school with both of your parents.”

“Uh… Cool?” You respond, because you’re not entirely sure how to.

“Yeah, uh, I get now that it’s probably not really good news that they’re here, huh? No wonder I found you doing that the other day.”

“Doing what?” Yukio and Ellie ask, though for some reason, Ellie’s is tinged with suspicion, maybe even anger.

“I- Listen, it’s not a big deal, I got my prescription updated and all that good stuff, okay?” You prime them. “I was thinking about killing myself the other day and Wade caught me.”

“Thinking?! You’re gonna call holding the fucking tip of an arrow to your wrist thinking?!”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ellie sounds as angry as Wade does, but she looks pained. This is why you didn’t tell them.

“Hey, she doesn’t need this right now,” Yukio argues, but she looks hurt, too.

“I mean, I was just considering if it would be more painful than jumping off of the turret,” you mumble, your defense embarrassingly weak.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Ellie decides, and Yukio nods. You three follow Wade to Xavier’s office. Wade breezes in, but you’re practically stuck in the doorway, nervous to look at even the backs of their heads, before they turn around.

“Y/N,” your mom says with a grin, but you know all too well how fake that is. She approaches you, pulls you into a hug, and you want nothing more than to push her away and scrub yourself clean. She doesn’t really love you. The second you speak out of turn, or make a mistake, or give her any excuse, she’ll remind you of your worth. (Or, rather, the lack thereof.)

She slips back into her seat next to your father, in front of the desk where Xavier sits, simply observing.

“It’s been so long,” your father says, but his smile is almost blatantly fake. “Your hair, it’s different.”

“Like you said, it’s been a while,” you say, giving a grimace and an awkward chuckle.

“I don’t think I like it,” he says, like he’s giving his opinion on a sculpture in an art exhibit by some long-dead artist who doesn’t care what he thinks. Like it’s something just… Objective.

“Not sure what to do about that,” you reply sheepishly.

You don’t fully realize that you’re holding Ellie’s hand until she squeezes it reassuringly, three times. A secret code. You step further in to make room for the girls.

“So, uh, I have to ask… Why the sudden visit?”

“Well, we got an e-mail about your medicine, and we wanted to come check on you. Make sure this is the right environment for you,” your mother explains.

“You weren’t sure before you stopped talking to me for two years?” You half-joke, playing dumb.

“Has it really been two years?” A normal person would be asking this rhetorically, and they’d be embarrassed. Your mother, though, is simply trying to gaslight you.

“Longer,” you assure her.

“I thought this place was supposed to provide conversion therapy,” your father says, eyeing your hand, then Ellie’s other hand. “You’re such a fucking liar,” he hisses to your mother.

“Wow, maybe my mom dying when I was young was for the best. Better than this for sure,” Wade jokes, gently elbowing your side. You chuckle, grateful for even the slightest ounce of comic relief.

“You’re even more of a freak than you were in high school.” You squeeze Ellie’s hand tight as your father’s expression darkens even further.

“Funny you should say that, considering-“

“Wade,” your mother cuts him off.

That’s weird, to say the least. You just file that away for later. You have bigger fish to fry, like surviving this visit.

“Y/N, why’d you go for a check-up at all? You barely needed the anti-depressants in the first place,” your mother wonders.

“Because it wasn’t barely. Why else would they raise the dosage?” You ask, and the expression on her face is as stupid as the question she asked.

“Don’t speak to her that way,” your father scolds, like he didn’t just call your mother a fucking liar himself. “You are so ungrateful for everything we’ve done for you, do you realize that?”

“I’m sorry, what have you done for her, exactly? Answer quickly, please,” Ellie retorts.

“El-“ you start, but realize this isn’t anger, but advocacy.

“Well, we sheltered and fed her for over a decade,” your father remarks, smirking like he’s won.

“That’s your job!” Wade argues.

“Mr. and Mrs. L/N… I politely asked that you refrain from visiting the campus, and while I appreciate your concern for Y/N’s well-being, I must ask that you remain respectful of her, her fellow students, and my staff. Causing unnecessary conflict is exactly the reason you were almost banned when you last visited,” Professor Xavier finally speaks.

“Almost banned?!” Wade wheezes.

“Yeah,” you sigh, and Wade’s laughter immediately ceases. “I was cheating in school, according to- To Dad.” The word is poison in your mouth.

“Come on, we all know you’re not smart enough to get those grades on your own. Probably screwing some teacher, just like Mom.”

“That’s enough,” Ellie snarls, eyes glowing orange.

“I never screwed a teacher!” Your mother protests at the same time.

“Oh, that’s right, you just blew Mr. Morin. My bad. Wow, Y/N, you really must be something special for all these alphas to be fawning over you. Maybe I did fuck up once or twice, after all, I’ve heard daddy issues-“

“Well, you visited! Now get the fuck out,” Wade chirps.

“Mr. L/N, must I repeat myself? I know you and Mrs. L/N were interested in a tour. Perhaps a less crowded area would help ease your minds,” Xavier reminds you all of his presence once more.

“That sounds like a great idea,” your father agrees.

“I’m starting to get a bit of a headache, maybe you could show us your room first and I could lie down for a bit in there?”

“I-“ You look to the girls, not wanting them to have to deal with her alone.

“Actually, Miss Phimister and Miss Kitsuna would be perfect additions to a rescue team. The orphanage your friend Russell came from was actually part of a network for mutant trafficking, and we found another hub in Maine. The jet takes off in fifteen minutes, and you two will be back in time for dinner. Better get ready and briefed.”

“But-“ Yukio starts, looking to you.

“Go, be superheroes,” you tell them, and they head out. “Uh, how about we swing by the library first, to give them time to change, and then to our room?”

“You share a room with them? Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“We were roommates before we started dating,” you correct him.

“Dating… Aw, I bet you really think that’s what it is, too. Having parents in a sham of a marriage really did a number on you, huh?” Your father condescends.

“You know, it’s pretty fucked up how fixated you are on her sexuality. Do you like to picture it, you goddamn creep?” Wade defends you, and your skin crawls. You’d never thought of it that way before.

“Let’s just get that tour started, ‘kay?” You squeak. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner they’ll be on their way, hopefully.

“Good idea, Y/N,” Wade says. “Come on, Textbook, let’s go.”

“You didn’t just call me-“

“Oh, but I did, Textbook. Hey, Y/N, did you know that was your dad’s nickname in highschool? ‘Cause he was so fuckin’ easy to shove in a locker.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying not to laugh and failing.

“Just show us the library already, Y/N,” your mother says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

You take your parents to the library, as requested. Wade keeps pace with you while your parents fall back. You can’t hear their exact words, but you know your parents are bickering.

“You never said it was this bad.”

“It’s not that bad. It’s definitely been worse,” you admit, busying your eyes with the paintings that line the walls so that you don’t have to meet Wade’s gaze. You might just cry if you do; you can feel the sympathy radiating off of him.

In these past few months, Wade’s been more of a father than your dad, even more of a mother than your mom, but for some reason that doesn’t make you feel more justified in how you feel about your parents. In fact, it just makes you feel worse, and even if you’ve never actually expressed it, you’re still ashamed of the fact that you wish Wade was your father instead. He actually cares, while your parents are simply legally obligated.

From the day you met, Wade’s always been there for you. If you were to tell your parents what you almost did the other day, they’d just call you attention-seeking and insult you in other ways. All they’d do is make you want to try again.

You and Wade stop at the entrance to the library and wait for your parents to catch up. They do, and you open the double doors to reveal the room.

“It’s like Beauty and the Beast,” your mother gapes.

“I thought so, too,” you agree, attempting a smile, but your parents just ignore you, wandering around the large room. Your mother excuses herself after a few minutes of spinning, saying that the dizziness is making her headache worse.

“All these books and you’re still… The way you are,” your father comments, looking at you with such disdain.

“Winner of the science fair with her loving partners, three years in a row?” Wade questions. “Oh, or maybe you’re talking about the fact that she’s a published poet. How embarrassing for you, I’m sure.”

“Wade,” you protest under your breath, embarrassed. They don’t even know that stuff. After middle school, you stopped telling them about your accomplishments. You figured out that all they’d do is ruin them for you.

“No, no, trust me. It’s more about the fact that she’s slutting around with alphas and won’t even save us the embarrassment of them being girls,” you father spats.

“That’s enough,” Wade snarls.

“Oh, that’s right, we can’t forget that she’s yours, too. I guess anything with a dick is daddy considering I was too busy putting food on the table to play dollies,” he remarks, and you suddenly feel light-headed.

“Seriously, Textbook, I really don’t want to hurt you, especially not in front of Y/N, but I fucking will if you make me.”

“Just go,” you urge Wade, starting to feel a bit dizzy, surely from the stress. You brace yourself on him, disguising it as a touch meant to comfort him. He looks concerned as the edges of your vision start to darken a little.“I- What you’re doing, I appreciate it, but-“

“You appreciate it? You appreciate him disrespecting me, disrespecting our family?!”

“Our family?!” You finally snap. “All I ever wanted was for you to love me, and you couldn’t do that. You just couldn’t. And now we’re a family?! No. No, you…” You start to pant, your face feeling even hotter than before. “You… I hate you,” you manage to get out before your world goes completely dark.

“Fuck yeah, Y/N! I’m so prou-“

But when Wade turns to you, you’re halfway to the ground. He catches you, though, and he catches a whiff of something… Familiar.

Lavender. It’s not just the Wilson scent, sure, but it’d be too much of a coincidence. You smell just like him. You are him, or, rather, made of him.

He’s torn between ecstatic and furious.

“Hey, can we get some help over here?” your father calls out to no one. It’s not a school day, and lots of students are out on missions. He reaches out to you for once in your life, but Wade’s now sitting on the floor, cradling you in his arms.

“No,” Wade argues. “Not yours. Mine.”

“What?” You father asks incredulously. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“She’s. Not. Yours,” Wade repeats, and the more he inhales your scent, the more out of control yet calm he feels. Like he’s in the eye of a hurricane. “My baby. Mine.”

“You’re not saying…” your father trails off as Wade gets up, still cradling you. Wade has to take you to your room; help make you a nest, now. He can smell it on you.

You’re in heat.

He gets to your room quickly, practically tossing you onto your bed. Wait… Isn’t your mom supposed to be here?

And that’s when he hears the sound of pills spilling onto the floor.

He nearly rips the bathroom door off of its hinges. Luckily, your mother spilled what Wade quickly realizes is suppressants, and not your prescription.

“You. You could’ve killed her. You are very, very lucky that my baby-“

“Our baby,” your mother corrects.

“No, you take pills, you can’t even smell her, let alone feel her like I can. It- It’s so much it fucking hurts. I’ll say it again, you’re very lucky my baby is in heat, or your arteries would be emptying in that shower. Now, go. Don’t come back.”

You groan in pain, stirring, and your mother takes Wade’s advice. Wade calls Yukio. Then Ellie. Then Yukio. Then Ellie.

“What the fuck, dude?!”

“You need to turn around. Now. I don’t have the time to explain. It’s Y/N.”

“Is she okay?” Ellie, always skeptical, asks.

“Obviously fucking not, or I wouldn’t be calling. She’s in heat.”

“But-“

“I said that I don’t have time to explain, fucking turn around! I’m on the verge of going fucking feral, Ellie. You both need to get here, now.”

“Wade, get out,” Ellie immediately demands.

“I can’t,” he admits.

“Get out! Shit, Wolverine! We need to turn around!”

“I can’t. It’s not like that I swear, it’s… I’m going fucking crazy, just one of you will do, but someone needs to get here.”

“Wade, go.”

“I would never hurt her! Come home!” Wade barks before hanging up. He returns to your room to find you’ve made a nest instinctively - thank goodness for Yukio’s affinity for pillows and blankets - and now you’re curled up in pain in the center of it.

“Wade,” you whimper. He’s scared to step closer, not sure if he’s what you want, even if you despise who you thought was your father. “What’s happening to me? Everything hurts.”

“I really don’t know how to say this, but… You’re in heat.”

“But I’m a beta,” you argue, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“That’s what we all thought. But… Remember how you didn’t smell like anything before? Uh, let me start over. When did you start on your anti-depressants?”

“I was about twelve,” you confirm, not sure what that means.

“Yeah, I think those were suppressants. That it’s always been suppressants, no matter what the bottles said. Until you got a prescription without your mother knowing. Do you understand why your mother would do that?”

You shake your head, and he approaches the bed, sitting down carefully as not to disturb your work.

“Her boyfriend around the time she got pregnant with you was a beta. We know him as Textbook,” Wade teases, before continuing: “But, what no one realizes is that he was at Niagara Falls on spring break around the time when you were conceived, and she was hanging out with her next-door neighbor the whole time. Her next-door neighbor was me.”

“Oh, so I’m your highschool mistake,” you say, connecting the dots.

“Huh?”

“Ha, well, whenever my parents- Well, I guess not my parents, but that’s beside the point, uh, whenever they argue and it gets really bad, my father- Well, not my father, but, uh-“

“Continue,” Wade urges.

“Basically, sometimes he uses ‘a mistake I made in highschool’ as code for ‘Y/N,’” you explain. “But the truth is, I’m the mistake you made in highschool.”

“You’re not a mistake,” he disagrees. “You’re- You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Lots of things are made by accident, but that doesn’t make them mistakes! Penicillin, potato chips, Post-It notes, popsicles! They were never supposed to exist but they do and the world is much better off with them in it.”

“You really do have a lot of useless knowledge,” you realize.

“So do you, that’s why our team always wins trivia night.” Wade slips off his boots, joining you in your rearranged bed. “C’mere,” he suggests, guiding your head to his neck.

“S’really you,” you mumble, already weary, and Wade worries for what’s to come. He almost doesn’t even want to let the girls in. He could get you pain medicine, he could probably even find sedatives. Then no one would ever be able to even touch you, let alone hurt you. “Lavender. You never mentioned the lavender, just the sandalwood.”

“I didn't think you’d be impressed,” Wade admits.

“It’s relaxing,” you tell him. “It’s nice to have things in common with someone.”

“You smell like roses, too, not just lavender,” he makes sure you know.

“Yeah, but I think that’s mostly concentrated in an area I’d rather not discuss with you.”

“Well, just make sure that if you do decide to do anything more with them than cuddle, which I can gladly go through the rest of my life without knowing, bee-tee-dubs, that the girls are wearing alpha condoms, especially if one of them knots you. Standard condoms work in a pinch if it’s just for one, y’know, go, but for heats they’re basically useless because of everything I just said. If they hurt you, I will make their deaths look like accidents.”

“S’not like I can get pregnant anyway…” You mumble, embarrassed. “I’m- I’m really glad it’s you. I- I wished so many times that it was you instead of him. Ow, ugh, that one was bad,” you groan, massaging your stomach.

Meanwhile, on the jet, Ellie is furious with herself.

“Yukio, you don’t get it, I smelled her. She smelled like an omega, but I thought- I assumed she was cheating on us. That maybe she didn’t want to be with us like that was because she wanted to- I don’t know, to be on top? It seems so stupid now.”

“Hey, I noticed she smelled different, too. There were other signs we both missed, anyways. Think about how emotional she’s been lately, or how much farther we’ve been going in other ways. How clingy she’s been, too.”

“I guess I didn’t really notice it because I liked her being more open and needing us more,” Ellie admits. “She- She almost fucking killed herself. And I thought cheating was what she was hiding. I- I just-“

“You can’t beat yourself up over it,” Yukio insists. “We’re on our way back, and Wade’s there to protect her.”

Speaking of Wade being there to protect you, he continues to comfort you as the pain gets worse.

“S’too hot,” you complain, and he releases you from his hold, rising from the bed. He knows he’ll have to leave you soon, because you’re likely going to need privacy before the girls get home, but it’s hard to part from you knowing you’re in pain.

“I’m gonna get you some water, okay? And after that, I’m just gonna stand guard outside the door until your girls get here. I know there’s some stuff you need to do, and that’s only gonna get worse.”

“It’s already awful,” you admit, and he chuckles.

“Good luck, kid. I love you.”

Wade gets a case of bottled water from the school’s industrial-sized pantry, bringing it to your room and tearing it open for you before leaving once more. You take one, immediately guzzling it down.

In privacy, you take off Yukio’s cardigan and your bottoms, leaving you in Ellie’s tee shirt and your underwear. You decide to go ahead and free yourself from the constriction that is your bra, feeling a bit embarrassed that you’re not leaving much to the girls’ imagination for your first time together. You eventually decide to undress completely, wondering when the hell your girls are gonna get here.

[oliviridian]

I find doing little journaling exercises on tumblr helpful because very few people read it but knowing someone has the capacity to read it makes it easier for me to write. I’ve spent a lot of time not being seen or being seen incorrectly or being told to take up less space and any time I want to take up space, I feel guilty about it. Here’s a small place where it doesn’t really matter what I say as much, it’s a little more distant. I’ve been simmering on some thoughts and I think getting them out of me will help. Two vignettes, not really related.

i.

I think being a trans woman is a little bit like belonging to a breed of “aggressive dog”. There are people who swear up and down they love us, that we’re uniquely wonderful in our own ways and that there’s a mountain of misinformation about us. They show you videos of their pit bull sitting on their lap, desperate and anxiously attached to a person they love and are so dedicated to. They show their pit bull gentle and soft with a baby, a cat, something small and dainty. I feel sometimes like that boxy headed, muscular, square dog that keeps you out of nice apartments. But I love pit bulls. I always have.

ii.

I have been losing a lot of things to memory lately and I am trying to reach my hands into the pool and drag a few things out. Exposure therapy. When I feel the discomfort of connection with the people who aren’t with me anymore I greet them like old friends instead of recoiling. It is a practice. I am not always good at it. Today was a hard one. I woke up feeling a little lonely and slow to get out of bed. I put on a playlist and climb into the shower, I begin to shave my legs. A song that I used to think belonged to the dead starts to play. I nick my leg but instead of rushing to silence it, I listen. What harm can come of listening to a song I’ve heard hundreds of times?

It is an elegy now, I realize I have never really listened to the words.

You were the only one I fancied you all I had left We knew it was true and instinctively left one another to mend our own holes in our chests in a dream we were pieces of ships we were attached from our feet to our hips and forgetting that icebergs were only the tips as we crashed I could read the relief on your lips

You never loved me the way I loved you because you couldn’t bear to be attached to anyone. You didn’t like what I was, who I was. You hoped I would be someone different. I hoped you would love me someday and I let you hurt me because I thought that hope was love. It’s so much easier without you. I feel so much more confident. I missed you a lot but when I look at my life without you all I feel is relief. But, this is a beautiful song and I grew in my time with you. You might have hurt me, might have made me feel so small and so awful but I became better while you didn’t really love me. I like who I am better after you than before you. I suppose I should thank you for that.

and our lives blended better than our bodies ever could in the days when we were made out of flesh or wood yeah we weren’t the same color though we knew that we could be we were ourselves but blended at the edges like it should be and now separated your color now shines on my sleeve with my parents, favorite teacher, first ever pen pal and me and the more that we share i guess the more that we grow and we all became tiny rainbows

I am trying not to strangle my happiness where it lays in it’s crib. I am trying to water it just enough. I am watching myself bloom with care and love from my friends, my family, new connections and old. I have more without you than I had with you. Letting you go let me bloom. We were never blended at the edges but I’m stained with some of your color. That’s okay, I like yellow. It’s an accent in a portrait I’m painting. You’re not a part of it and it’s better that way. I’m going to be myself and I’m not going to let anyone tell me to quiet it all ever again.

[extasiswings]

How we feeling clowns?  Wrecked?  Anyway, here, have an episode tag for both the crossover and Buck Begins.  Also on ao3.

Eddie’s driving nearly on autopilot, the roads familiar as they get closer and closer to El Paso. Part of him almost wishes he hadn’t taken the driving shift to get them to his childhood home, even if it made the most sense—he can feel the tension in his jaw and shoulders creeping in, curling tighter with every mile they come closer, and his fingers itch for his phone, for the commiserating sympathies of his sisters who understand what he’s likely to walk into much more than Buck or Hen. 

Technically they could have skipped the detour. Eddie hadn’t even planned on telling his parents he was coming to Texas at all—it was Christopher who let it slip, and then Eddie had been immediately put on the spot and he hadn’t been able to come up with a good way out of stopping by after his weak deflection that it wasn’t a social trip was met with well, you have to stop and eat somewhere, don’t you. 

Sophia told him to lie and say the department said no. But she’s always been much better at lying to their parents outright than he is. Adriana shrugged and said if he didn’t want to go he didn’t need to give them a reason and should just say he wouldn’t be coming. But then, that’s her tactic as well and always has been—putting her foot down to establish hard boundaries, forging her own path and bucking all expectations.  Eddie’s always fallen somewhere in the middle, which he supposes is fitting—struggling to set boundaries, often getting there only when pushed, wanting approval but lacking Sophia’s talent for gentle manipulation that usually leads people to think that whatever she wants was their idea. 

So. Here he sits. Driving to El Paso. 

“Eddie?”

He blinks and clears his throat as he registers Buck’s voice, the edge of concern that says it’s not the first time Buck has called his name. 

“Yeah?”

“I was going to ask if you could pass back the aux cord,” Buck says. “But now I think I should ask if you’re okay.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder—Hen is in the back of the truck, head pillowed against the window, dozing with her eyes closed.  He swallows. 

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen my parents is all,” he replies. “And usually when they call it’s to talk to Christopher so...it might be uncomfortable.”

Buck’s voice drops. “Have you talked to them since the thing? Other than about this I guess.”

The Thing, also known as the huge fight they got into when Eddie decided that if he was going to keep working he couldn’t live at home for awhile and they tried to once again insist that he take Chris back to live with them. Like some terrible combination of the arguments they had before he moved to LA and after Shannon’s funeral, only even worse because Eddie had been raw enough over the decision to move in with Buck and let his abuela take care of Chris for awhile and really didn’t need to hear anyone tell him that choice made him a bad parent—

Sophia had been spitting mad when he told her and while he doesn’t know what she said in her own subsequent call to their parents, he knows that the next time they called him, the subject didn’t come up again.  Which, he supposes is as close to an apology as he’s ever likely to get.  

He probably could have used that as an excuse to not visit.  But then, that’s not really how they are.  Don’t apologize, pretend you don’t hold grudges, act like everything is fine, and repress until it feels like it is—the Diaz family way.  

Eddie sighs as he focuses on the road.

“Not really,” he replies.  “They’ve called Christopher every few weeks, but we’ve only talked directly...three times maybe since then?  Things seem to go south more quickly when we’re in person though so I guess I’m…”

“Bracing for impact,” Buck fills in quietly.  “I get that.”

“Yeah?”

Buck shrugs.  “I don’t talk about my parents,” he points out.  “Don’t talk to them either if I can avoid it because they always have a way of managing to just—anyway.  The last time I even called was after everything with Maddie and Doug.  Haven’t seen them since...since before I started with the 118 at least. So.  Yeah.  I get it.”

He hesitates, then adds, “You know I have your back, right?  You’re my best friend and you’re an amazing father.  I’m not going to let anybody get away with talking badly about you in front of me, even if they are your parents.”

Eddie glances back and manages a faint smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.  

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admits.  “Even if you did try to steal a fire truck in the middle of the night without me.”

Buck laughs and shoves at his shoulder.  “At least it wasn’t this truck.  Besides—you caught up before I did it anyway.”    

“Yeah, my Buck’s about to do something dangerous senses were tingling, couldn’t let that slide,” Eddie teases.

“Just give me the damn aux cord,” Buck shoots back, but he’s grinning.

And as they pass the next exit, Eddie feels like maybe things won’t be quite so bad.

***

Buck hates Eddie’s parents.  

It’s not the most charitable thing to think about someone you’ve only just officially met—he saw them at the ceremony when Eddie passed his probationary period, but he’d been on pretty strong painkillers at the time and Maddie had shuffled him back home as soon as possible—but he really does.

He hates the tense, anxious set of Eddie’s shoulders, hates the way his smile looks forced—it triggers the same fierce, protective instinct that rears its head whenever he gets between his parents and Maddie, and, well, he did promise, so—

He really doesn’t feel bad for interrupting the very first digs about how seeing Christopher over video isn’t the same as in person, but it’s nice to have the option and technology really is wonderful, Zoom calls must have been a great improvement from your army days, right son with—

“You know, it is wonderful isn’t it?  Did Eddie tell you how amazing Christopher is handling hybrid learning?  It’s really so great how his teachers have adapted, I can’t imagine he would have kept up so well anywhere else.”

Buck smiles brightly as Eddie’s mother’s lips thin.  Hen coughs and takes a long sip of lemonade.  Eddie blinks in surprise from across the table and clears his throat, grasping at the lifeline.

“Yeah, top of his class,” Eddie says.  

“He even has a reading group once a week with some of the other kids in his class that Eddie started to help them stay social.  I know a lot of the other parents appreciate it,” Buck adds, and Eddie rubs at the back of his neck.

“We definitely do,” Hen says, glancing at Eddie’s father as she clarifies, “I have a son Christopher’s age.  They used to play together all the time before all of this.”

“His therapist said kids are resilient, but I wanted to at least try and give him something normal,” Eddie replies, and his mother’s brows raise.

“Christopher is in therapy?”  There’s a note in her tone that makes Eddie tense and Buck’s hackles raise.

“I took him to see someone for a few sessions after Shannon died, mom,” Eddie says evenly.  After the tsunami, Buck fills in for himself.  “It didn’t seem like a bad idea to go back again to make sure he’s okay during a time that’s pretty unprecedented for just about everyone.” 

“Really, I think more parents should send their kids to therapy,” Buck interjects.  “If it’s a feasible option, I can’t see that it’s anything other than great parenting to make sure your kid has the best tools they can to take care of their mental health.”

God knows if he’d gone to therapy a hell of a lot sooner, he might not be struggling through sessions with Dr. Copeland now that he’s nearly thirty, but that’s not really the point.

“Well, some people feel those sorts of things are best taken care of within the family,” Eddie’s mother replies.

“With all due respect, sometimes the family’s way of handling problems just makes things worse,” Buck replies, his smile dropping briefly before he forces it back again.

“This lemonade really is delicious, Mrs. Diaz,” Hen jumps in as Eddie pushes his chair back and starts collecting empty plates.  “I would love to get the recipe before we leave.  If you don’t mind.” 

Startled, the older woman blinks.  “Oh.  Yes, of course.  I’ll write it down for you.”

Buck pushes back his own chair as Hen continues redirecting the conversation and follows Eddie into the kitchen where he finds his best friend gripping the edge of the sink.

“Hey,” he says quietly.  

Eddie looks over his shoulder and exhales heavily.  “Hey.”

“Sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie assures.  “I’m just...exhausted.  And ready to get back on the road and home to my kid.”

He hesitates, then adds, “you know, my sisters would be impressed.  I haven’t seen someone manage our parents like that since they left.  I—thank you.”

“I meant what I said in the truck, Eddie,” Buck replies.  “You’re an amazing father and a great man and—it’s not right that anyone should pretend any different.  So.  I won’t let them.”   

Eddie glances at the hallway.  “Guess we have to go back eventually.  I didn’t quite think this escape plan through.”  

“Once more unto the breach?”  Buck offers.  The smile he gives Eddie is far different from the fake one he’s had up since they arrived, and when Eddie returns it, a spark returning to his eyes, it makes Buck’s stomach flip and his pulse race.

He tries not to think too hard about that.  They still have a long drive ahead of them—plenty of time to save it for later.    

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.”

***

When they get home, Eddie barely manages to shower and plug in his phone to charge before falling into bed and immediately going to sleep.  When he wakes up, he finally checks his messages and sees several missed calls and texts from his sisters.

So? Sophia asks.  How was it?

<em>You were right</em>, Eddie taps out, and then waits. His phone rings a few seconds later. 

“I’ll save the I told you so in favor of asking if I should get Adriana on the line for an emergency Diaz sibling parental grievance vent session or if I’ll suffice,” Sophia greets. 

“It’s not that serious,” Eddie replies. “I’m okay—a little annoyed still, but...I’m okay.”

He’s not quite sure what compels him to add, “Buck was there. He, uh, he told them off about it a little actually. Politely, but that kind of polite...you know the one.”

“The one that’s basically go fuck yourself with a smile and/or plausible deniability?” Sophia fills in, and Eddie laughs. 

“Yeah, that.” He rubs at the back of his neck and leans back in his chair. “It was—he kept pointing out things about what a great dad I am.”

There’s something about the feeling in his gut that he can’t name. Something he wants to poke at, to explore, but that also makes him wary. Like a yellow caution light—it’s not a do not enter but it’s not risk free either—and he’s not sure whether it’s a risk he can take yet. 

Sophia is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “You are a great dad, Eddie. In spite of them. I’m glad you have other people in your life who recognize that too.  You deserve that.  You deserve to trust that you’re good at things, even if mom and dad say you aren’t.  You deserve to be happy, so...”

The silence that follows feels weighty.  

“What?”  Eddie asks.

“Is Buck—?”  Sophia cuts herself off.  “—nevermind.  Hey, the twins are calling, so I’ll call back again later, okay?  Love you.”

Is Buck what? Eddie wants to ask.  But he swallows it back.

“Love you, too,” he says instead.  “Talk to you later.”

As he hangs up and tosses his phone aside, his mind wanders back to that feeling.  Right up to the edge of warning lights and caution tape.  And Eddie wonders for a moment if he should—

There’s a knock at his door.  

“Dad?  You awake?”

“Yeah, buddy,” he calls back.  “Be right there.”

Later.  He can think about it later.  

***

Eddie figures it out at the worst possible time—in the middle of a five-alarm fire when Buck’s trapped inside and he doesn’t know if—

What do you do when you realize you might be in love with your best friend and they could die?

“We have to go back in there,” he says, before he can think of any reason why he shouldn’t.  “We can’t just leave him, we have to—”

“You’re right,” Bobby interrupts, and the other captain makes a noise of frustration.  

“Captain Nash—”

“You’re right,” Bobby repeats, holding Eddie’s gaze.  “We’re going to get him back.”

Maybe it’s stupid, four trained firefighters diving back into an active blaze in an unstable building with unclear direction, but Eddie can’t regret it when he sees the desperation on Buck’s face.  The relief.  The impending breakdown.

After, he’s assigned to take care of the victim and Buck’s carted off to the hospital to get checked, and Eddie thinks maybe that’s better.  It gives him time, at least.  Time to figure out what to say, what to do, whether he should say or do anything at all.  Part of him doesn’t know.  The rest is screaming I love him, I love him, I love him, wants to get his hands on Buck to verify for himself that he’s fine.  That he’s alive.  That he’s going to stay that way.

But when he gets back to the station, Buck’s parents are there, sitting at the table, and Eddie just—

He thinks about the look on Buck’s face earlier in the shift when he spilled everything, when he explained how he was apparently born just for parts and how he used to throw himself into bad situations because it was the only way to get their attention.

He could ignore them.  But he doesn’t.

“He saved my son, you know,” Eddie says, gripping the top of the staircase as the Buckleys look up.  And it’s probably somewhat insane to keep talking because he knows they don’t even know who he is, but he can’t help it because he just needs them to understand—  “Buck.  He wasn’t even working at the time, he was on medical leave and didn’t know if he would ever be able to be a firefighter again.  But he saved my son in the middle of a tsunami—my then eight-year-old son, and god knows I can’t imagine losing him, I think that would be the worst thing I could possibly go through, and I’m not sure I would survive it, but I didn’t have to because Buck saved him.  And probably twenty other people as well.  That’s just the kind of person he is.  The kind who saves people.”

They don’t say a word, so he keeps going.  “He could have died today.  Because he didn’t want to leave anyone behind.  Because he is a good man, even if he doesn’t ever feel like he’s good enough.  And he hasn’t said a lot about you, but he’s said enough for me to know that while he’s gotten the latter impression from you, he learned the former himself.  He built his life here himself.  So...I don’t know why you’re here, if you want to explain yourselves or just want him to forgive you because you feel guilty, but I just wanted you to know that.  That he’s a good man.  The best man that I know.  And if you’re proud of him for that, he deserves to hear it.  That’s all.”

Eddie walks away then, heart beating too fast, blood rushing in his ears.  

The best man that I know.  And I’m in love with him.

That wasn’t for their ears though.  

It thrums in his veins, the words caught in his throat as he showers, changes, waits for Buck to return to the station.  And when he does, Eddie almost—

But something stops him.  

“You have visitors,” he says instead.  And leaves Buck to it.

Buck finds him in the locker room after.

“So, my parents said they heard stories about me while they were waiting,” he says.  “When I asked them who from, they said they didn’t know, but that I saved their son in a tsunami—and trust me, that got a hell of a lot of questions.”      

Eddie is grateful for the open locker, the excuse to hide his face as he pulls out his street clothes.

“Yeah, well—just because they’re not going to appreciate you doesn’t mean that nobody else does.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie pulls back and takes a breath before looking over at Buck.  There’s a look in Buck’s eyes like he’s trying to piece Eddie together like a puzzle, to work out all the things he hasn’t said.  And Eddie suddenly feels exposed, far more than he had when Buck was sitting in his childhood dining room staring down his own parents.  

“You’re a good man,” Eddie says quietly.  “They should hear that.  And...someone should be willing to defend it.”  

Buck’s quiet for a moment.

“I have to go see Maddie,” he says finally.  “But maybe I could come by later?  And we could...talk?”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck,” Eddie replies.  “You know I—”  I always want you.  “—you’re always welcome.”

Buck watches him in silence for another long moment, then nods.  “Okay.  Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

It’s hours before there’s a knock on the door.  Hours in which Eddie burns dinner and then orders takeout because he’s too busy thinking, hours that he spends trapped in his own head, thinking through all the worst case scenarios, through every what if of how things could go wrong.

But also how they could go right.

And by the time he opens the door, he’s almost ready to just let the words trip off his tongue, but before he can, Buck says—

“Please don’t tell me I’m wrong about this.”

—and kisses him.

Eddie freezes, but before Buck can pull back, he slides a hand around the back of Buck’s neck and kisses him back with everything in him—every bit of thank god you’re alive and I was so afraid and I can’t lose you that he can muster.  By the time Buck pulls away, they’re both breathless. 

“I’m in love with you,” Buck admits.  “I’ve been—”

“Me too,” Eddie replies.  “I thought—I thought you were—”

Buck kisses him again.

“I can’t believe you told off my parents.”

“Well, you told off mine, so—”

Eddie pulls Buck through the door.

“Chris is in his room,” he says quietly.  “But...you should stay for dinner.  And…”

You should stay.  Just stay.

Buck does.  

[thenewdeck]

What are the Actionable Steps You Can be taking right now? | Pick-A-Card

SWITCHING TO

@alisheaburgess

This reading is for whenever you see it! Take a moment to choose your pile. In this reading, I will be using the Mystic Mondays, Lightseer's, and Mermaid Tarot decks along with Spirit Animal, Self Care, and Spellcasting Oracle Decks. Each pile uses all of the decks. I pulled one card from each deck and they have specific meanings.

The Spirit Animal and Self Care Oracle decks will be showing you the steps you should be taking while the Spellcasting Oracle shows you where that will bring you. The Mystic Mondays Tarot shows you where you have been, the Lightseer's Tarot shows you the first step to take, and the Mermaid Tarot will show you what that first step will do.

Disclaimer!! This is for entertainment purposes only! This is not intended to replace professional help. All decisions are your own!

Pile 1:

What steps can you be taking right now: Armadillo ("Set healthy boundaries"), Clear Your Energy Field.

Where is that leading you: Animals

Where you have been: 7 Swords

First step: Knight Wands Reversed

Results for the first step (if followed): 5 Cups Reversed

So the message I'm getting for you is that there are people or circumstances around you that are taking your energy and affecting you negatively. You are being lied to and possibly gaslit about things and it is affecting your trust in your instincts. The first thing you should do is cut out the person or thing that makes you doubt yourself and causes confusion (if it is safe to do so). This will get you out of the feeling like everything is horrible and icky. You will see that there is something more. Then it is important to learn and implement healthy boundaries. You should also cleanse your space (and do this regularly). By doing these things you will get back in touch with your natural instincts and intuition. The path will become much clearer after that.

Pile 2:

What steps can you be taking right now: Deer ("Bring a gentle touch"), Read

Where is that leading you: Truth

Where you have been: 10 Pentacles Reversed

First step: 4 Pentacles Reversed

Results for the first step (if followed): 3 Cups Reversed

The message I'm getting for you is that you may be struggling with how you view money due to how your family's relationship with money was while you were growing up. You may be stopping yourself from buying things you need in order to save money and then randomly go shopping for things you don't need...and may not even like. Your first step is to let go of control. Not buying the things that you need causes a lot of stress, only to then try and relieve that stress with "retail therapy." By letting go of the control you will more clearly see how much you truly need to bring in and will help you further plan for the future. By no longer stopping yourself from buying the things you need you will lessen the overspending on random shopping. Since your views towards money have been skewed, learning more about money and not judging yourself for how you previously handled money will greatly help. There is no such thing as "people who just aren't meant to have money." By learning more about money management you will see that it is possible for everyone, you just need to know how to do it.

Pile 3:

What steps can you be taking right now: Dog ("Be loyal to what you Love"), Make a Meal

Where is that leading you: Strength

Where you have been: Kings Swords Reversed

First step: Queen Wands Results for the first step (if followed): Queen Swords Reversed

The message I'm getting for you is that you seem to have told or are telling yourself that you cannot go out on your own. That what you are wanting to do and how you want to live your life isn't possible. The first step you should take is to start following that passion you have! Even just a little step at this point. This will help you get rid of the negative self-talk that is saying you can't. Because you will see very clearly that you can. Once you start it will much easier to keep going with other things that you love. Don't let anyone stop you (including yourself) from following your dreams. Be creative if you feel like being creative! Find ways to incorporate things that resonate with you into your life. They don't have to be big things. Just watching Youtube videos on the topics you are interested in will help. Making sure you are taking care of yourself by cooking your own meals and doing things of that sort for yourself, will help restore your confidence in yourself. You can do it!

Thank you so much for checking out today's reading! Please leave a like if it resonated and follow for more daily readings. 💙💙💙

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 2

Thanks so much to everyone who read and voted on part 1! The votes were very close. In the end, option A won out, with 6 votes, while option B received 4 votes. That means that Villain will tell Journalist the truth.

I received a number of amazing suggestions for this part, based on the questions from last time around. I would like to publish their names to credit them, but I am currently waiting to see if they would like this or not. I’ll edit this post if they give me permission to publish their names.

Edit: @jenny-ruths-writing-blog has given me permission to credit them for their ideas. I would appreciate it a lot if you would give them some love, they’re just starting out.

I hope you enjoy!

CW// Imprisonment, collars, shock collars, villain whumpee, implied torture, depiction of a panic attack, scopophobia, mentions of death, mentions of hostage taking

Villain didn’t notice when they fell.

They weren’t even sure that they fell at all. One second, they were on their feet, face stretched into a smile. The next, their knees grew weak, and they were on the ground, a pain growing in the back of their head as though it had been struck.

Their vision blurred as they felt their breathing speed up, paradoxically increasing to such a point that they were no longer taking in sufficient oxygen. They couldn’t feel their hands, or their legs, or... Oh god oh god oh god, where were they? Why couldn’t they breathe?

It was hard to be sure whether the pressure on their shoulders was real, or just another hallucination of an oxygen-starved mind. As the other pains softened into the background, however, that pressure stayed.

There was a noise... where was it coming from?

Was it a voice? Or music? Or just a far away hum of the fluorescent lights? Slowly, slowly, it began to fade closer and closer to reality.

“Hey, hey, oh god, please don’t tell me you’re having a heart attack or something. God dammit, you hit your head, can you hear me?”

The words blended together into a mix of slurring syllables, all spoken with a tone of nerves and concern.

Concern.

They had almost forgotten what that sounded like.

“Please, please say something. You’re not dead, right? That’s not how death works, right? Come on, come on.”

The pressure on their shoulders tensed and loosened in rapid succession, managing to somewhat revive their consciousness. Breaths rapid and shivering, they opened their eyes. Though it took a few seconds for their vision to clear, they still jumped at the face only a few inches from their own.

“Hey, hey. Are you awake? I see you- Your eyes, come on. Are you okay? Please, please be okay.”

Villain’s thoughts swam in their head a moment, a plastic ball drifting about in a fishtank. Their training returned to them faster than their senses, and their empty expression suddenly sprung to one of politely metered cheer.

“I’m just fine, Journalist. I apologize. I must have fallen.”

They shook their head, shaking off as much of the panic as they could. The words had come out on instinct, not out of thought, and Journalist seemed to have noticed.

“You... You fainted. I think? You don’t have a fever, do you?”

One of the hands on their shoulders moved to their forehead, flinching away a moment later.

“You’re cold. Um... is that bad? That’s like, the opposite of a fever, right?”

“‘m okay...” Villain muttered, remembering where their half-numb hands were and using them to right themself into a sitting position on the tiled bathroom floor.

“What happened?”

“It’s... I’m fine.” The words came out dully. It was hard to feel sorrow when feeling emotion at all was nearly impossible.

“Is it this thing?” Again, the hand moved, this time to their neck. A shiver ran up Villain’s spine as fingers ran along the scarred flesh beneath their collar.

They should have been used to being touched, even when in such a state, but for some reason, it was just making them feel worse.

“Please. It’s okay.” They protested. They just wanted to go back to sleep. “Don’t worry yourself.”

“No. No.” Journalist, who seemed to have formerly been in a kneeling position, shifted their legs so that they were sitting criss-cross before Villain. Their breathing slowed, panic turning to concern on their countenance. “If you’re sick, or hurt, or something, I can’t let you go out there and do that interview. It’ll just make you feel worse.”

“I’m not hurt! Or sick.” Their protests grew in volume and intensity as they fought to get to their feet. Their attempts were, however, thwarted, as the feeling in their legs had yet to fully return just yet. “Please. Just drop it.”

Journalist frowned.

“Villain. Tell me what’s going on. Please. We- I can get you to a doctor? We have a van just outside... Fainting out of nowhere isn’t normal.”

Villain blinked a few times, lips ajar. They didn’t know what to do. There was no script for this. They could do ‘how are you,’ they had the response for that well memorized, but ‘are you okay’ ? They didn’t know that one. They’d never been taught that one.

They...

Villain wanted so badly to lie. To smile, perhaps say that they slipped, or that they were narcoleptic, or something. Anything that would get them out of here and back on script.

But...

When would anyone ever ask them again? Ask them what was wrong? Offer to help? With their luck, it would almost certainly be never.

Almost unconsciously, they wrapped their arms around their chest. A comforting hug. The kind that no one had offered them in so long.

“The...” They raised their hand to their neck, curling a finger as far under the metal ring as it would go. “The collar. It’s a collar.”

“A... collar?”

The smile that crept onto their lips was one of sorrow. A sadness so profound that it became funny.

“What did they tell you?” Their self-hug grew tighter.

“What do you mean?”

“About me. How did big, bad villain go from terrorizing the city to, fucking, making television appearances? What was their story?”

“They- I guess they just said you’d seen the error of your ways. That you were a good guy, now.”

That sorrowful smile grew wider.

“I just chose to be good? Is that it?”

“Well, they said they talked to you, there was something about therapy?”

Villain’s smile turned to an audacious laugh.

“Therapy?” They shook their head. “Is that their code word for beating someone into submission?”

“W- What?”

Villain tapped the collar, a hollow noise ringing out.

“Shock collar. 100,000 volts, or something stupid like that. They didn’t fix me. I’m not a good guy. I’m still just as dangerous as I ever was. But now I’m... under control.”

At that, they hung their head.

More gently this time, Journalist again raised their hand to Villain’s neck, placing their finger under the collar. Feeling the burnt flesh.

“You’ve been here- You’ve been in their custody for months.”

“How could I forget?”

“You just... gave up?”

Those words alone were enough to send a pang of nausea through their chest.

“What choice did I have? Anything to make the pain stop. Heroes and Villains... all of them, they’re just as human as anyone else. They feel pain just as much as anyone else. And sometimes, that pain just gets to be too much. Fighting back just isn’t worth it anymore.”

They raised their head, forcing a rehearsed smile back onto their lips.

“But it’s okay. It’s the best way to keep the city safe. Sometimes you have to break a few eggs.”

Journalist’s concern turned to frustration, but whatever words they were about to say were halted by the sound of knocking on the bathroom door.

“Journalist? Are you in there?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re live in ten. We need Villain on the set.”

Their head turned back to Villain, who nodded.

“Okay. We’ll be right out.”

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“Turn your head a little to the right... Raise the chin, little more- Keep going, there! Okay, stop. And look at the camera. Right here, this lens. Sasha, can you go touch up their hair, please?”

Villain struggled not to flinch away from the blindingly bright lights that stared at them in a semi-circle. They sat on a small stool, hands perfectly held together in their lap. Their neck was already cramping from the position they were fighting so hard to maintain.

Stage lights always made the burns on their neck hurt. Hurt worse, that is.

From the bustling area behind the cameras, an assistant appeared, rushing over to Villain and yanking a small, black comb through their already-done hair.

It took all the will they had, and a little more than that, to choke back the tears that desperately wanted to rise in their throat. To scream and shove the stupid, clueless assistant to the ground. So they would stop fucking touching them.

But they didn’t. They sat perfectly still, cheeks aching from their smile.

“We’re live in one!” A screeching voice came from somewhere Villain could not see. The assistant retreated, and the cameraman started up the device that was his namesake.

It was difficult to see behind the blaring lights, but silhouettes that may have been people seemed to be rushing about in a panic, taking position. That shrill voice began to count.

“Thirty...”

“Twenty...”

“Ten...”

‘And we’re live!”

A red light appeared on the camera, and Villain tried not to imagine just how many eyes were on the other side of it. For a terrifying few seconds, they were there, alone, before the world. That was, until footsteps sounded, and someone sat in the chair next to them.

They didn’t dare look. Didn’t dare to turn their head away from the camera, to muss their perfect posture and hair.

“Welcome, everyone, to News at Nine!”

A single bead of sweat formed on their forehead.

They had assumed that Journalist was simply one of the many busybodies that the news crew dragged around with them. Not the reporter.

They could only hope that their gulp couldn’t be seen in the recording.

“As promised, tonight, we have a very special guest. Villain, it’s so good to have you here, tonight.”

“It’s great to be here.”

“Yes. Now, I really wish we could spend some time on niceties, but we have promised our wonderful viewers at home a very special interview, and we wouldn’t want to disappoint, now would we?”

“Of course not.”

“Now, Villain, I’m sure everyone remembers you in your, well, in your villain days. Would you care to explain where you have been since then?”

An expected question. They had a script for this. It flowed from their mouth like water.

“Well, after my capture several months ago, I have been working with and learning from the Heroes of this city. I understand that what I did in my previous occupation was wrong, and since then, I have been working to right the wrongs I have caused. Now, I am an advisor for the Heroes’ Organization. They say to catch a villain, you need to think like one, and, well, I have plenty experience in that field.”

They didn’t take a breath, not the whole time. When they did, after finishing their monologue, it sounded far too much like a sob.

The script was bullshit. They weren’t any kind of advisor. It was a fancy word for prisoner. ‘Advisor’ would imply that they weren’t locked up for 20 or so hours a day, when they weren’t eating or appearing before the cameras. They couldn’t advise the Heroes on anything if they tried. Their very voice was treated as though it was the funniest joke anyone had ever heard.

“And it is your position as an advisor that has led to the events of last night. Is that right?”

“I would say that it played no small part in it, yes.”

What the fuck happened last night?

“That event is what I want to speak to you about today. Our viewers have been very keen to know your thoughts on the matter, so let’s get right into it.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“So, Villain.” Journalist seemed to let their chipper attitude fall in favor of a more relaxed one. “How did you feel, exactly, when you first heard about Supervillain’s death?”

They wanted to throw up.

The Heroes did not allow them access to any outside news, but could they at the very least have said something? Anything?

Anything?

Keep to the script. Keep to the script. Keep to the script.

But they didn’t have one.

They swallowed.

“Um... I- I felt... Uh...”

The collar felt to be tightening around their windpipe.

“It’s okay. Do you need a moment?”

“No, no. I apologize.” Villain shook their head. “It’s just so shocking, to hear it said so plainly, like that. When I first heard the news, I have to say, I felt... conflicted. Certainly, it’s a good thing. But at the same time, I worry about what their absence will mean for the other villains in this city.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I suppose I’m afraid of a power vacuum forming. Or that the other villains will attempt to act out in vengeance, of a sort.”

“That’s understandable. Did you know Supervillain personally, at all?”

Of course they did. Everyone did. Every villain, at least. Their organization was informal, but entirely centered on Supervillain. If a villain was seriously hurt, or worse, Supervillain was there for them.

Some called them mother.

“I wouldn’t say I knew them personally. I met them, a few times, but they were always very distant. Not to mention that they were a bit terrifying.”

Behind the camera, Villain spotted a form appear. One of a very familiar stature, and wearing a very familiar cape.

“I’m sure they were. I’ve never met them in person, but even just on TV... that’s scary in its own right.”

No. It wasn’t. Supervillain wouldn’t hurt a fly. Not unless they were acting in self defense. Hell, they made sure their hostages all got lunch, for gods sake.

Villain nodded.

“It is scary.”

“On that note, do you believe that the city will be safer, now, with Supervillain gone?”

Two more figures. Two more capes.

“I do. Even with the possibility of a power vacuum or avenging attacks, ultimately, this will be a good thing for our city. Anything to keep those at home safe.”

“Of course.” Journalist paused a moment. “I understand that some villains have already made announcements decrying the actions of Hero. Do you believe that they were right in their decision to kill Supervillain?”

Villain gulped.

Behind the camera, Hero joined their comrades. Their gaze pointed directly at their prey, sitting beneath the blazing stage lights.

“No. I don’t believe that Hero was right.”

The words made their mouth feel numb.

“Supervillain was dangerous, yes. But there is a difference between stopping someone from causing harm and ending their life outright. Had it been me, I wouldn’t have committed a murder.”

The cameraman raised his eyebrows.

Even in silhouette, Villain could see Hero clench their fists.

“That’s a very interesting take on the matter, and that seems to be the stance that many others, villain and citizen alike, have been taking. I believe that’s all the questions I have for you, today.”

Journalist’s gaze turned to the camera.

“After a word from our sponsors, the weather! It’s gonna be a scorcher this week, folks. And don’t forget to stick around for the reveal of the new fashion line: Be Your Own Hero. Thanks, everyone!”

The little red light on the camera blinked off. Villain felt about to puke.

Finally, finally, they felt able to move their neck. The cramps were bad enough that doing so hurt terribly, filling their muscles with pins and needles. They stood as the stage lights flicked off, one by one.

Revealing, in full detail, the Heroes.

Most of them looked various degrees of concerned or frustrated. That was, all except Hero themself. Their face was twisted in a horrid mask of pure, unadulterated fury.

Villain felt their legs lock up, as if staying on set would protect them. Already they couldn’t breathe. They wanted to gasp for air, but the collar was crushing them, choking them, and they wanted to cry. Oh god, the tears were already beading in their eyes. They swallowed them, but more threatened to well up, to take their place.

A pressure on their shoulder nearly made them jump. Only their eyes would move, all else locked up, but they could see well enough to locate what was touching them.

Journalist.

Their face a mask of concern. Panic, concern, and worry.

They dropped their hand, stepping back as Hero practically stomped over to Villain. Their face had turned to the brightest smile, but that did nothing to diminish the rage in their eyes.

“Villain, good job on the interview. That must have been a difficult one.”

“A little difficult, yeah.”

“Well, good on you for getting through it. If you wouldn’t mind, let’s go back to my office for a minute. Just to have a little chat.”

Villain paled.

They knew full well that Hero didn’t have an office. What they did have was a sound proofed room with a very specific purpose.

That pressure on Villain’s shoulder returned. Journalist’s hand.

“Well? Are you coming, or not?”

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What should our Whumpee do? It’s up to you to decide!

There are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. Alongside each option is a question specifying what exactly will happen. Answering this question is completely optional, but it is great if you have any particular ideas! Otherwise, feel free to just put a letter.

To vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes, and will choose whichever answer I find the most interesting to base the next part upon.

The choices and questions for this part are as follows:

A) Go with Hero - What should Journalist do?

B) Refuse - How should Villain try to get out of it?

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. This is my first time doing anything like this, so I apologize if it’s odd or confusing ^^