#TW Internalized Homophobia Mention

[moremysteriesthantragedies]

Actually, I kind of love writing characters with internalized homophobia/transphobia for reasons other than religion. Because yes, some religions can absolutely cause that to happen, but also, people can internalize that stuff for multiple reasons and I like reminding people (especially those trying to be allies and those struggling with their identity) that just because they didn't suffer from an overly religious environment or parent or whatever doesn't mean they don't struggle with that crap.

[shaylogic]

The way Edwin looks at Charles right after he claims without hesitation or consideration: "Nah, they're just best mates." !!! [and not for nothing, look at how Charles looks at Edwin as he says it]

"If I tell Charles. . . is this what he would think of us? Is it an option? Would he even consider the notion?"

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 42

Chapter 42 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, across town from one another, both Eddie and Buck try to deal with Eddie’s decision not to come home, wondering where the future will take them. If they’ll ever be home together again.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: referenced ableism, internalized misogyny, internalized homophobia, insecurity

~~~

Chapter 42: Two Worlds Apart

The next morning, Eddie isn’t there. Buck checks about three times, but Eddie’s bed is still empty and perfectly made, his truck isn’t outside, his jacket and shoes are not by the door, and his bag is nowhere to be found.

Eddie didn’t come last night.

That reality sinks in and Buck looks to Chris’s closed door. He’s still asleep, the exhaustion of the emotions from yesterday having sunk in. Buck doesn’t know how he’s going to explain that daddy still isn’t there when he wakes up, when Buck all but promised that he would be.

He grabs his phone and dials Eddie’s number again. He gets send to voicemail immediately, as if Eddie turned his phone off or let it die. It’s not something Eddie usually allows to happen, always wanting Chris to be able to reach him.

Something is wrong and Buck doesn’t know what. Doesn’t know if something is wrong with Eddie himself, between him and Eddie, or if Chris did something, which is practically impossible. Or maybe it’s with someone Buck doesn’t even know. The possibility of it being an affair is still very much alive in Buck’s mind, however, he also hasn’t forgotten the possibility of Eddie having an addiction, he doesn’t care that Hen and Bobby aren’t worrying yet, they haven’t been there and Buck has been trying to minimize what it’s like.

Buck is almost dialing Athena’s number before he stops himself. Eddie hasn’t been missing for 24 hours yet, he can’t file a report. He thinks. Plus, Buck is his emergency contact. If Eddie was wrapped around a tree somewhere, Buck would have known already.

Most likely scenario is that he is somewhere without a charged phone. No need to worry anyone else. Not yet. Buck can figure this out on his own, they’ve already leaned so much on the others, he can’t keep dragging them into their issues.

So, he doesn’t call Athena, instead calling Eddie twice. Both go to voicemail.

He collapses on a seat at the table, trying to think of what to do now. He sits there for at least thirty minutes, before he hears Chris’s bedroom door open, the sound of crutches going up the hall, before another door opens. “Papi, daddy’s not in his bed.”

Buck remembers a second too late that Chris likes waking Eddie up by clambering on his bed and now he’s already seen it empty. Chris comes down the hall, frowning in confusion. “Is he awake already? He always sleeps in after shift.”

Right now Buck wishes Eddie would get over himself and come home. Buck can deal with whatever fucked up thing he’s doing, so long as Eddie stops leaving him in the dark and comes home to his family. If not for Buck, then for Chris.

“Daddy’s not home yet, Superman. I’m sorry,” Buck says, deciding to just be honest and rip the band aid off instead of lying to Chris. He’s done enough of that already.

“You’d said he’d be home,” Chris accuses, angry, hurt and confused.

“I know I did,” Buck says helplessly. “Maybe he’s stuck in traffic, I’ll call him, yeah? You want pancakes for breakfast?”

Chris eyes him suspiciously at that. He normally won’t hesitate to agree to pancakes, but it seems like he’s catching on to Buck’s desperate attempt to mollify him with a nice breakfast, because he has no clue if he can keep any other promise. “Yes,” Chris finally decides.

“Okay, I’ll do that while I call. Why don’t you brush your teeth,” Buck suggests, pulling out the ingredients and his phone.

After one last look to the phone, Chris nods and leaves. He’s more quiet than he usually is when he goes and Buck hopes Eddie will come and fix this. Chris is starting to remind him of those first weeks after Eddie was deployed. He doesn’t know if he can go through that again, especially if Eddie doesn’t even call.

Or doesn’t pick up the phone, as he does all throughout the pancake making process. He also doesn’t come home all morning, the portion of pancakes made for him goes into the fridge next to the snack Buck left him for when he would come home after shift yesterday. Buck’s insides feel the same as how Chris’s face looks.

It’s confusing to miss someone and be angry at them. To have always known this was coming and be surprised anyway.

Buck misses Eddie like crazy. He’s his best friend, the one person Buck has let in wholly. Eddie is the love of his life and he’s pretty sure he’s never going to love anyone else like he loves Eddie. He loves his company, his face, his jokes and even his bad days.

He loves being the person Eddie can come to and, despite it all, he is so worried about him. Wants to make it better, to fix whatever is wrong. But Eddie isn’t letting him in anymore, isn’t letting him try and fix it like he did when Shannon left.

And Buck always knew this day would come. Always knew that one day he’d wake up and Eddie would turn to someone else and leave him behind. That no matter how much he loves Eddie, he will never be loved back and one day he’s going to have to let Eddie go.

However, now that the moment is there, it’s still taking him by surprise. Because it’s not supposed to go like this. It’s supposed to be a slow process, one he’s a part of. Not this. Not being abandoned again. Not Eddie running.

It fucking hurts to be left again. Out of the blue. No warning in sight. Buck didn’t think Eddie would do that, but here he is and if it was just Buck, he’d be heartbroken, but he can’t be heartbroken, because it’s not just Buck.

Eddie is leaving Chris too.

Chris isn’t supposed to be caught up in this. The plan has always been to be divorced, but it was supposed to be an amicable divorce, one that would allow Chris to keep both of them in his life without being surrounded by thinly veiled hostility or outright anger at each other. He was never supposed to feel their divorce.

Yet here Chris is, feeling abandoned by his own father, much like he’s already been abandoned by his mother. It pisses Buck off. Eddie knows Chris has been through more than enough already, does he not realize what he’s doing to his own son?

Buck can’t believe that. He refuses. He knows Eddie. He wouldn’t just abandon Chris like this unless there was a reason. Yet he doesn’t know that reason, he’s groping in the dark with worry and anger clinging to him.

Still alone, still abandoned, still responsible for Chris.

He calls Eddie again, heart making an excited jump when the phone actually rings. It rings, and rings and… nothing.

His shoulder sag in disappointment, but he tries again. This time he gets send to voicemail again, but there is something interesting about it. The phone doesn’t ring all the way through, Eddie must have clicked reject.

Buck must call Eddie about a hundred times after that, but he gets send to voicemail every time. He knows Eddie must be somewhat okay, because he’ll cancel the call. The timing is different, so he’s likely out there somewhere, contemplating whether he should pick up, then deciding not to.

Chris is refusing to go to his sleep over. Buck tries to convince him to go, hoping that being among his friends will cheer him up, but Chris refuses to go, wanting to stay until daddy gets home. Last night Buck said Eddie would be there to bring him to the sleepover and it becomes clear that Chris isn’t going unless that’s true.

Across town, Eddie is indeed getting the phone calls. That morning, more like afternoon, he’s on the couch with a blanket messily spread over him and a crick in the neck as a cat sits on his face until the suffocation wakes him up.

He must have fallen asleep before Bosko came home. The door to her bedroom is closed, but Eddie doesn’t feel like waking her. He’s still out of sorts after yesterday and he needs time alone to center himself.

Eddie makes himself coffee and steals some bread from the freezer to eat as breakfast. Then he sits quietly on the couch, staring at the wall.

What is he going to do?

Last night, he panicked and ran. He always runs, he ran with Shannon, he ran with Chris, he ran with his parents, and now he’s running from his family. From Buck and from Chris. The two people that mean the world to him. The two people he has never wanted to run from.

And stupidly he thought it had been going well, that he was coping. That his life wasn’t falling apart, but that he was holding on and making it through. He should have known better than to think he wouldn’t fuck this up. His plan was so simple too, just bridge the gap. And he can’t even do that, can’t stop himself from letting Chris down, letting Buck down. Dragging both of them down with him.

Chris misses him, Chris wants him home. Buck practically begged him to come home for Chris’s sake.

Eddie misses Chris too. He’s been so focused on getting his next fight in, on getting that fix so he can continue on, that he hadn’t even realized how much he was missing him until it was already too late. Because it is too late.

If he’d heard that voicemail before that fateful fight, it might have been different. It might have been enough for him to go, or enough to calm him down so much that he wouldn’t have bashed that guy’s skull in. However, he didn’t hear it before that fight and he did bash that guy’s skull in. He did that. Him.

How can he trust himself around Chris? Around Buck? Buck’s been pissing him off ever since he found out he- Ever since he found out.

The way Eddie keeps liking everything he does makes him feel things and he hates feeling those things, so he gets mad, because anger makes him feel in control. What if that doesn’t disappear? What if he keeps being mad at Buck, but now without an outlet? What if he hurts him?

Eddie can’t live with himself if he hurts Buck. Or Chris, but he thinks that chance is smaller. Chris always makes him feel better, but the chance isn’t zero. He snapped at Chris. He got angry. He never wants to be angry at Chris.

Of course, he probably is going to be angry at Chris at some point. He’s a kid, but he’s going to be a teen. He’s going to rebel and break rules and Eddie will have to enforce rules, but that is completely different than being angry the way he is now. He doesn’t want to risk getting angry at Chris with the head space he’s in.

But is having that risk enough to not come home? To stay away without as much as a goodbye when he knows Chris has gotten that enough already?

With guilt churning in his chest, he grabs his phone, wanting to see if there is a manhunt after him yet. He didn’t come home last night, he won’t think it too out of place if Athena comes kicking in this door sometime soon.

However, when he tries his phone, he finds it empty. He curses and looks around the apartment, trying to see if Bosko has a charger lying around. Mayo is still hissing at him as he looks around, but Butter is trying to trip him up during his search, apparently finding joy in weaving between his legs as he walks. In the end, he does find a charger that fits his phone near the couch, plugging it in and waiting for it to charge.

When it’s charged enough, he turns it on, getting jump scared when it starts to ring. Not wanting to wake Bosko, he turns off the sound, before looking down to see who it is. It’s Buck. The contact photo of Buck and Chris smiling at the camera together from a trip to the zoo is staring up at him accusingly.

Suddenly, picking up seems like a Herculean task. Words have never been his thing and he doesn’t even know where to begin this conversation. Doesn’t know what to expect or what to prepare for, what expectations he has to fulfill.

Before he can figure himself out, the phone stops ringing and he lets out a sigh of relief. Only for it to immediately start ringing again. On instinct, he rejects it, before he wonders if that was the right move.

All day Buck keeps calling and every time he does, Eddie finds himself spiraling. He doesn’t want to pick up, doesn’t want to face his own screw up. Doesn’t want to face Buck when his mind is still one big fucked up place and he has no clue what he’s feeling or what he wants. He’s just scared, terrified really. Picking up will make it all real. He doesn’t want it to be real yet.

Buck hasn’t left another voicemail yet. Probably deciding it’s not worth the effort. Eddie feels hurt by that and guilty about being hurt.

As he hangs up for what must be the hundredth time that day, Bosko’s voice startles him. “You know you can’t avoid him forever, right?”

“What?” he asks – though it might be more of a surprised shout – as he turns around to find Bosko, holding Mayo in her arms while the big white fluffy cat purrs gently, instead of the hissing Eddie has endured from the little monster.

“I’ve been watching you looking constipated at your phone and then hanging up for a few minutes now. It’s getting sad,” she informs him bluntly. “At some point, you have to pick up. Or call him back.”

Eddie glares at her. “I know that.”

“You do? Oh, my bad, I thought you confused the red and green button,” Bosko shrugs.

While Bosko puts Mayo on the ground, so she can start rummaging around in her kitchen, Eddie clenches his fist at her tone. His hackles are rising and he can’t reach back to the memory of last night to ground him because of how it ended.

Bosko notices the clenched fists and quirks a brow as she challenges: “What are you gonna do, Diaz? You gonna punch me?”

“No,” he grits out, trying to force his hackles down. He’s not doing violence as an outlet anymore, he needs to quit.

“Good start,” Bosko grins brightly. Before continuing: “I got Ronnie of your back. He recognized you too, wanted to go to Captain Nash about it. I told him I was the one that got you in and if he’s disciplining you, he’s disciplining me. So, you’re clear there. Off the record. Anyway, pasta for breakfast-dinner?”

“Sure,” Eddie says, not really having an opinion. He is grateful to her for saving his job, two suspension is quick succession would have been bad. Still, his heart isn’t in it and he feels as if he’s floating outside his body as he turns back to his phone, seeing another missed call from Buck. He sighs, then puts the silenced phone in his pocket.

Contrary to his prediction, Bosko doesn’t push more, instead telling him about her shift – the guy he punched made it to the hospital okay and likely isn’t going to press charges – and updates him on Kelsy and Heather, who are going on a trip this week and have roped her into cat sitting Tubs.

The pasta is good and Eddie finds himself unclenching as they talk. So, it feels a bit like she built up a false sense of security by the time they’re done with dinner, when she suddenly asks: “So why are you dodging Buck’s calls? I get that going home after yesterday was a lot, but I half thought you’d be out of here by the time I woke up and I had to go chase you down to finish our conversation.”

Eddie looks away, not meeting her eyes as he crosses his arms. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t know what to say?” Bosko repeats incredulously.

“Yeah,” Eddie exclaims defensively. “It’s not like I can say: ‘Hey, Buck, sorry I’ve accidentally abandoned you and Chris, because I’ve been running away from my problems and I can’t act like a normal person, so I’ve been bashing people’s skulls in to cope and now I might snap and punch either of you, because I’m quitting cold turkey after I nearly killed a guy. Anyway, what’s for dinner?’ Like what do you think?”

“And letting him think you’ve driven off the road somewhere or fled the state, is better how? You can at least let him know you’re alive.”

“Buck isn’t worried, he’s probably mad at me,” Eddie insists, a little petulantly, even though he knows Buck well enough to realize that he’s likely still worried about Eddie, no matter how pissed off he has the right to be. Buck is good like that.

“He’ll probably get more mad if you keep ignoring him,” Bosko rightfully points out. “And I don’t think you’re scared of the anger. What are you really afraid of, Diaz?”

“I’m not afraid,” Eddie says hotly. He’s a man, he doesn’t do scared and he doesn’t do panic, he doesn’t care how rapidly his heart is beating at the thought of facing Buck.

“Then why aren’t you picking up the phone?” Bosko counters.

Suddenly he is really interested in anything but her face. Butter and Mayo are napping in some bits of sunlight, that’s interesting.

“Eddie,” Bosko prompts.

“I already told you, I don’t know what to say.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t fucking know, Bosko. What do you want me to say?”

“What do you think?”

“I said I don’t fucking know,” Eddie yells, slamming his hand on the table, before startling back at his own outburst. Shocked he looks down at the hand, then back at Bosko, before stammering: “I- I am so sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know.”

He rubs his hands over his face, before thunking his head on the kitchen table. With his face smushed against the wood, he says: “I need to get my head on straight. I can’t answer the phone until I’m normal again.”

“You keep using normal, what do you mean with that?” Bosko asks curiously, but also like she already knows the answer and is prodding him towards something.

Eddie looks up from the table and glares at her as he huffs: “Just normal, you know. Not needing to punch people all the time, not being able to live my life like I used to. Normal.”

“Okay, so normal is going to work and going home without feeling the need to punch people,” Bosko summarizes. Eddie nods. She then cheerfully asks: “So, when did you want to start punching people?”

“You know that,” Eddie says, not wanting to get into it, because that means having to talk about the- the… revelation. “You bailed me out the first time.”

“I bailed you out after you punched your first guy, we’re talking about why you wanted to punch that guy,” Bosko says annoyingly not letting Eddie get away with it.

Deflecting, Eddie puts his nose up and says: “I wanted to punch that guy because he was being an asshole.”

“You’ve always punched every asshole you encountered?”

“No?”

“So what made this asshole different?”

“He insulted Chris.”

“He’s the first asshole to ever insult Chris?”

“No.”

“So why punch him?”

“Because he was there and I was angry,” Eddie yells at the onslaught of rapid fire questions.

“What made you angry?” Bosko asks, leveling him a look, completely unimpressed by Eddie’s outburst. “Really think, Eddie. What made you mad?”

Eddie looks away, jaw squared and gritted teeth. He knows what actually made him mad, but he doesn’t want to admit to it.

But Bosko keeps looking at him and a part of him knows he has to do this if he ever wants to go home. He can’t go home like this, he’ll have to get through this conversation with Bosko. Actually work through his shit. So, he lets out a breath and admits: “It all got too much.”

“What did?”

“Just everything,” he throws his hands up. “Buck was injured, so everything was on me. I had to do the driving, the grocery shopping, the housework, the bills, the maintenance. Everything. It’s like drowning on land. I tried so hard, but it was so much and I couldn’t do it. Buck did it when I was injured, but I couldn’t even do that for him. I mean, what kind of man am I that I can’t even provide for my own family without falling apart? Buck can do it. Buck isn’t like me. He’s good and capable and not- not-”

“Not what?” Bosko asks pointedly.

“Not me,” Eddie manages to get out, despite nearly strangling it in his throat. Buck is a man. He’s a man. It’s a shameful fact that Eddie feels every time he thinks about it. How Buck could do it like Eddie couldn’t, how Eddie feels a pull towards him, even though he shouldn’t.

“Not you how?” Bosko pulls him ever closer to crossing a line he can’t cross back. He knows that once he’s said it out loud, he can’t put the skeleton back in the closet so to speak.

He bites his lip and shakes his head, not wanting to say it. Not wanting to admit it. Not wanting to make it real.

“Come on, Eddie. Just tell me. What’s different about Buck?”

“He’s normal and good. So good,” Eddie wobbles. “Too good for me and I- I just- I just wanted to- to give that to him too. Take care of him, like- like he takes care of me, but I- but I can’t. All I did was trap him. I trapped him. I- I- I took advantage of his kindness and I trapped him. I tricked him into marrying me and now I can’t even let him go, even if I’m failing him, because- because-”

Bosko moves to sit on the chair next to him, scooting closer so she can rub his back as she assures him: “It’s okay, you know. You can say it, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Eddie chokes on a sob, then quietly cries: “I love him. God, I love him so fucking much and I’m not supposed to do that. I’m not allowed to do that.”

He’s crying so hard, he can’t even see the heartbreak on Bosko’s face as she pulls him into her side so he can cry on her shoulder.

This is the first time he’s admitted out loud, the first time he has let himself feel it since he realized it. I mean, truly feel it without immediately stuffing it down. It’s overwhelming. Buck is such a big part of him. Of his life. His family. Buck is everything to him, together with Chris. The three of them are a unit and he has put so much of himself in that. As has Buck.

The two have put in the work like he and Shannon didn’t. Like he didn’t want to with her. She’s always been right, saying he couldn’t love her and deep down he knew that too, deep down that’s why he ran, why he didn’t try to stay like he’s doing now with Buck. He just pushed it down so far that he forgot she was right, but now he remembered. He remembered and he can’t forget.

He wants to stay here with Buck forever. When he thinks of spending forever with Buck, it feels like a balloon in his chest that expands without anywhere to go, filling him up and making him feel light, making him float. It feels so good, even though it’s not supposed to.

Eddie hasn’t wanted to acknowledge it, because it’s not what he is supposed to feel. He’s not allowed to feel good. He’s not allowed to feel happy at the thought of being married to Buck. He’s not supposed to pretend their marriage is real and the family they have is permanent. He’s not supposed to want to stay married, instead of divorcing Buck like he should.

If he is honest with himself, he can admit that that’s why he didn’t let himself feel it. Because if he felt it, he knew he couldn’t let himself have it and then he’d have to let it go.

But now he’s managed to let it slip through his fingers anyway. Clinging on too hard until it flew from his grasp, like wet soap in the shower. And he knows that if he picks up that phone, that is what Buck will tell him.

Buck will tell him that it’s over. He’ll tell Eddie he’s done and that is worse than living in this constant state of hurt. Of feeling like he’s wrong and broken and not good enough. Feeling like he has to run continuously, like he has to pretend, like he has to try so hard to be normal, despite knowing he’ll never be able to.

It’s so selfish and unfair to Buck and it only serves to make Eddie feel more horrible. He’s always been so dependent, asking more than anyone should have ever had to give. Always asking for help instead of doing it alone. Buck never let him do it alone, Buck always gives and gives as Eddie takes and takes. It’s time to give now, it’s time to let Buck go, even if it will destroy him.

~~

A/N:

I got to be honest with y’all, I’m hurting my own feelings here omg

[wildflowercryptid]

sometimes, i think about the extra bit of depth alex's romance is given when you date him as a guy and i just gotta. stare at the ceiling for a bit...

[the-spooky-children]

Talked about this in the tags of another post but I think I wanna talk about it on its own post:

I think hatred of Skid x Pump is rooted in internalised homophobia

Why? Well I myself used to HATE the ship (as some of you probably know), had the shippers in my DNI, everything, and my one reason was "they're kids, it's weird"

And

You know how in the shower and stuff you'll argue with yourself to boost your confidence? Well I was doing that and the "myself" I was arguing against in regard the to ship was like,

"Well, if Skid and Pump were a boy and girl instead of two boys you'd have no problem with the ship!"

And I realised

Shit

So yeah even though I'm queer as fuck apparently I had mild internalised homophobia and Spooky Month was the way I realised it

So after that I had a long think and decided that it was a stupid double standard and took Skump out of my DNI and went through my own ✨character development✨

So yeah, Skid x Pump dislikers, take a second to think if the reason you hate the ship is because they're kids or if it's because they're both boys

You might learn something about yourself

And if instead you're like "no I know for a fact I'd 100% feel the same about a het ship" then well done you passed! (/lh)

[amarithegreat42]

St characters and wether or not I think they would be homophobic (part 1)

Mike: Internalized, mf is the whole fruit salad. Also look at his dad, he learned some prejudice from him. Actively bettering himself though.

Will: Would say he hated himself and it makes him homophobic. Other than that he loves everyone (except bigots).

Dustin: My man would NEVER.

Lucas: He's bi. I don't care. He is. He would support fellow queers till the day he dies.

Max: She's a girl lover in some way form or shape (I personally think she's bi). Like Lucas, would support every queer person (except Mike, not cause he's gay though).

El: The concept of homophobia would confuse her. She would be happy for anyone. Look at her and tell me she's a bigot, I DARE you.

Erica: Loves her brother. Why would she be homophobic? She thought Lucas had a bf in season 4 and seemed fine with it (the sass was still there tho ✨)

Next part is with the big kids, aka all the young adults.

[mothoclock]

I stand in this bathroom pristine as ever

(the tiles, not me).

A sink so clean

I have to wash it

after I’ve washed the day

off my own grubby hands.

The room is small and empty

and I feel as empty as I’ve ever felt in this house.

You say you’ve kept my makeup bag,

my bras, underwear,

my jumpers,

like I should feel some bittersweet nostalgia

but this is the first time

I’ve stared at myself

wearing boxers in this mirror.

You ask what I’m doing when I finish uni

and say I must have a plan

but haven’t even mentioned

I’ve got light behind my eyes

for the first time since I was a child.

You won’t mention that I smile now

or laugh

but you chuckle at me in ridicule

when I tell you my only plan is to be happy.

You won’t say my partners name,

even acknowledge their existence

but I won’t acknowledge yours

nor think twice

when I push a ring onto their left hand.

How shameful for you

that your denial of me

will in turn deny you

of seeing me in my happiest moments,

and will deny you of sharing

such unadulterated joy.

I’d like to say it doesn’t hurt me

but I’d hoped a decade later

you might have looked me in the eye

and told me you love me for what I am.

[dc-said-bi-robin-rights]

The first floor window of the Ranger HQ explodes outwards as Steel crashes through it, plummeting several feet in the air before hitting the ground, rolling, his armored fingers carving a line into the tarmac as he digs them into the ground to halt his momentum and rises to his feet. Above him, Blindspot walks forward calmly, his cape billowing behind him in the cold December wind as he looks down on his fallen enemy from the window ledge. He can feel the power rushing through the neon yellow veins of his armored suit as he clenches his fists, the simple action diverting all the excess power that isn’t being channeled into his telepathic boosters straight into his diamond-tipped knuckles. It was Mortum’s latest masterstroke: a strength upgrade that didn’t require any additional power storage. Just the action of curling his fingers into a fist would fill his gauntlets with excess power, power that would then be diverted elsewhere as soon as he uncurled them. He felt a chuckle coming on—he was gonna have to send the good doctor another check. It really was a brilliant workaround.

The roar of rushing air fills his ears, and he looks up to see a helicopter with the LDNW logo hovering overhead. He smirks beneath his helmet, raising a hand up to his eyes as their spotlight switches on, illuminating him in all his glory for their millions of viewers to see.

That was more than fine by him. Let them watch. Let the world watch their heroes be embarrassingly brought low, again and again, until they woke up to the truth that they didn’t protect anybody, least of all them.

He walks off the ledge and drops down onto the parking lot, shockwaves emanating from the fist he’d smashed against the ground, breaking the windows of all the cars around him and splashing him with glass shards as he rose to his feet. Another gift from Dr. Mortum, one that was as much for the drama and intimidation factor as it was for the usefulness that clearing a room of goons just with his landing represented. Armored as he was, Steel barely felt the shockwaves, of course… but the little trick was a godsend in front of the cameras, and there were few messages that weren’t enhanced by a visible display of power from the one who spoke it. Even now, he could imagine the viewers at home oooing and gasping at his little display. The thought amused him, and he wondered what the Breaking News! headline was saying at this very moment. He hoped it was something scary: an intimidating reputation was as valuable as a dozen fiery speeches, if not more so.

“I don’t want to fight you, Cyrus.” Chen’s voice was serious and stern, and as irritating to his little fantasies as the stubbornly conscious state of the man himself. Even with half his visor torn off and his breastplate dented almost beyond repair, the Marshal of Los Diablos refused to bend or break, even to a man he privately wasn’t sure could even be considered a villain. “You won’t enjoy what happens if you make me.”

“Cyrus Brown died in an ambulance, alone and abandoned.” Blindspot’s voice is a garbled mix of his real voice and the intimidating growls produced by his failing voice moderator. The effect is disturbing, and more than a little offsetting. “Or at least, that’s what you told the others, isn’t it? But you knew better.”

A flash of something indescribable passes over the half of Chen’s face not covered by the ripped visor. “I would take it back if I could.”

“But you can’t,” Blindspot hisses as he walks forward, fists clenching, power filling his hands, his armor’s pulsing veins glowing in the dark between the black plates. His own featureless faceplate was still intact, but visibly glitching, showing more of his snarling face than he was comfortable with. That hadn’t been part of the plan. He was meant to be the coldly gloating one, hiding his emotions behind the stark neon wall that was his faceplate and the echoing nothingness of his voice moderator as he threw out vicious taunts and condemnations. Steel wasn’t supposed to be able to see the savage hatred on his face, and he was especially not supposed to be able to hear the broken fury in his voice. That had always been his problem. He succumbed to anger too easily. “You can’t, can you? You can’t undo what they did to me!”

“I can make it right,” he growls, as close to pleading as he’ll ever get. “I can help you. I can keep you safe from them.”

“No one can keep me safe from them,” he says, taking a steadying breath pulling himself back into neutrality with great difficulty. Not for the first time, he’s glad news’ helicopters don’t typically come with long-range microphones. “Only I can do that.”

“And Ortega?” They’re circling now, watching each other for the slightest sign of weakness. “I know she cares for you. I know she’d believe you can put this behind you, like I do.”

“And let them get away with it?” Blindspot demands, disbelieving. “Let them do it again?! To me!? To others?!” He gave a harsh laugh. “I chose this path for a reason, marshal . Not that I’d expect you to know what that is.”

“A path?”

“A choice,” he corrects, mocking. “The military man, through and through. ‘Yes, sir’, ‘no sir’, ‘how high, sir’? ‘How deep, sir?’ ‘The whole thing or just the tip, sir?’”

Steel meets his eyes for a long moment. “From what I’ve heard, that sounds more like you.”

The next thing he knew, Blindspot was pummeling Steel, frothing with rage. If it had been Steel’s goal to provoke him into a hasty attack, it’d worked too well: his fist crashes into Steel’s broken visor, cracking what remained of his helmet and smashing aside his jaw. Steel stumbles back, but Blindspot gives him no quarter, raising his fists above his head and bringing them crashing down on his shoulders. Steel is forced to his knees, but he still manages to catch Blindspot’s next kick and launch him backwards a few feet into the air.

He lands in a crouched position, teeth gritted behind his glitching faceplate. Okay, lesson learnt. There’s still a pretty sizable strength difference between him and Steel, and he needs to remember that. Fine. Let’s see how he likes a fight on Blindspot’s terms, then.

He plunges his hands into the tarmac, sending his nanovores towards Steel. The ground cracks as they approach him, and though he jumps back, deploying jets all along his lower body to guide his ascent, they follow him up, forming a long ramp that reaches out as if to catch him. Blindspot can see the controlled panic in his eyes as his jump-jets start running out of steam, but he pulls the nanovores back before they can swam over Steel and bring his career as a Ranger to a grisly end by devouring him and his half-cybernetic body alive, letting Steel crash to the ground. The fallen marshal’s heavy armor leaves a small crater in the tarmac, but it’s one he quickly picks himself out of, leveling an unguided wrist-mounted rocket and firing it at Blindspot. The Rat-King chitters out a warning, though it’s unneeded—the pressure on Blindspot’s mind has lessened somewhat, meaning some of Steel’s dampeners had to have been damaged by the fall. His will surges forward, wrapping around Steel’s mind like a set of hands and squeezing. The rocket goes wildly off-course, hitting a nearby car and sending it vaulting into the air in a fireball, the impact doing nothing but kicking up his cape as he advances. The part of Cyrus that was Sidestep registers Steel’s unwillingness to use the more dangerous class of missiles he has mounted on his shoulder somewhere in the back of his mind, but the rest of him is just focused on how sweet it’ll be to make the bastard pay.

“Tell me something, Chen,” Blindspot starts, his voice distorting strangely. “I’m curious. How many mes would it take to make up one Ortega? Ten? Twenty? By what exact percentage is my life less than hers?”

“You’re making this something it wasn’t,” Steel growls, leveling another rocket at him.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t try it. We know how that goes.”

A pause. “I guess that’s true.” Steel slowly lowers his arm. “What happens now?”

“Now?” He gives a harsh laugh. “Now, we beat the crap out of each other for the cameras. And we don’t stop until one of is dead.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Liar,” he says calmly. “You’ve wanted that since the beginning.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re my enemy.”

“Do you?” Steel gives Blindspot a meaningful look. “What have I done to make you think that?”

“Left me in the Farm, for one thing.”

“I was trying to protect Ortega.” Another pause. Chen liked his pauses. “I thought you would understand that.”

“Didn’t tell me that you knew, for another.” Now who’s the one with the lists?

“You were dead. Then you were back. What did you want me to say?”

“You could’ve pulled me aside at any moment.” It was hard, to muster the anger from earlier into his voice. Even though he was angry. Even though he was furious. “Explained. Let me know what you had done before I started to get close to you.”

And there it is. The ugly truth.

They’d almost been friends. Now, they never will be.

“I fail to see what that would have accomplished.”

“I…” He let out a long groan of frustration. “It’s useless, with you. Guilty feelings aside, it’s like you don’t even realize you did something wrong.”

“I made a choice. I stand by it.”

“A choice to pick Ortega over me.”

“A choice to pick a living Ortega over a probably dead you.” Steel looks guilty, but not guilty enough to shy away from the truth. That’s something you can give him credit for, at least. “You weren’t a Ranger. There was no other choice I could make.”

“I was part of the team, damn you.” He feels so tired. “You know that. You’ve said that.”

“I do. I have.”

“So why…?” He chokes on his next words. “Forget it. Would you have made a different choice? If I wasn’t a Re-Gene?”

“I… don’t know.” Steel looked troubled by the admission.

“You don’t know,” Blindspot echoes, shaking his head. “I think you do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You can say it. Either answer will make me hate you.” He wondered what the news chopper made of this conversation, being unable to hear it and yet still seeing him and Steel standing there, talking when they should be fighting. “Either you decided I wasn’t worth the risk because I was a Re-Gene, or you did it because I was inherently worth less than Ortega in your eyes.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“I could rip the answers out of your head,” he threatens without any real heat. “Your dampeners are down. You’d have no way of stopping me.”

“Do it, then.” Steel looks about as tired as Blindspot does. “I’m as curious to hear them as you are.”

He almost does.

Almost.

His will surges towards the chopper like a spike, piercing their minds with urgent thoughts of heading home. He waits until they’re out of sight to remove his helmet, exposing his face to the empty parking lot. To Chen.

“I had plans for how today was gonna go, you know.” A slight chuckle. “I was going to walk in, all righteous fury, and take my revenge.”

Chen holds his gaze. “What changed?”

Cyrus laughs, the sound free and pure away from the voice moderator. “What makes you think anything has?”

“You’re not killing me.”

“No.” He leans back, taking a seat on the hood of the nearest car, which groans under the pressure of his heavy armor. It’s a very casual act of criminality, but he doubt Chen is going to lambast him for it under the circumstances. “I guess I’m not.”

There’s a long silence. Chen breaks it first.

“I saw your interview. The one on the bridge.” A slight pause, shorter this time. “I never knew you were into politics.”

“Any system that puts people through what I want is rotten.” He puts the helmet down and lays back, staring up at the stars. “We talked about it, you know.”

“It?”

“The sky,” he clarifies, like it’s not a total non sequitur. “What it looked like. Someone… I can’t remember who… thought it’d be green.”

“Oh.” A hesitant breath. Cyrus can sense Chen’s confusion… but also his interest. “Were you disappointed?”

“With the sky? A bit,” he admits, his eyes still skyward. “Then it got dark. And I saw the stars.” The last word is uttered with an almost dreamlike longing, with the tone of breath one might reserve for speaking about a goddess.

The Farm had taken a lot from Cyrus the second time around. But it could never take away the stars.

“They’re even more beautiful in the country.” Cyrus can sense Chen has no idea why he volunteered that information, but he continues anyway. “Especially overseas.”

“I know. Ortega took me to her ranch. More than once.”

Chen nods, but he doesn’t move from where he is standing. “You know I have to take you in.”

Cyrus sighs. “You don’t. You really don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Cyrus could hear the stunner being primed, but he didn’t bother sitting up. “But I do.”

“Using my own tech against me?” He chuckled. He’d been wondering where that old toy ended up. “That’s a new low.”

“You were dead. It was a way to honor you. And it did it’s job,” he admits.

“Not well enough,” Cyrus says, before grabbing ahold of Chen’s mind and drowning it as violently as he could. Every thought he’d had in the last four hours, every memory, every possible impression is found and ripped out, violently brutally, viciously, without the slightest hint of mercy or consideration being given for the sanctity of his mind. By the time he is done, Chen is a drooling puddle on the floor, unconscious thrice over. Blindspot barely gives him a second glance as he walks away into the night.

[veil-over-miitopia]

Breaking Down the Main Problems of Neksdor, And How I Would Go Around Fixing Them

Alright; It’s Monday evening. I have Touhou OST playing on one tab, and the Miitopia wiki on the other. Let’s rock.

NEKSDOR, the desert kingdom without a monarchy present and possessing a loose pun for a name. When compared to the more lively neighboring kingdom of Greenhorne, you can tell that the difference between them is like night and day, and, unfortunately, the list of contrasts are not stacking up in the favor of Neksdor-

Before we start with the rant, I wanna state that I get that second stages in Nintendo games usually tend to be much weaker than the first, and that they are almost always desert-themed, but here’s where the problems start to take root; these levels also bring in new mechanics and challenges in order to make them fun and engaging enough for the player, and can you name anything new that Neksdor brought to the table that helps it differentiate itself from Greenhorne? You’re right! Almost nothing!

And, besides, if it isn’t the lack of freshly baked goods, then it’s a whole other slew of issues that are weighing Neksdor’s potential down; the story is half-baked, the area map is bland even for a desert region (you know you’ve messed up when Genshin did better), the NPCs serve little to no purpose, and the inner workings of this supposed kingdom make absolutely no sense. All that, and I still haven’t touched upon the blatant bias against this evidently-Arab based kingdom’s residents. The general opinion the fandom has towards Neksdor is that it is the weakest of the four areas present within Disc 1 of the game, and I couldn’t help but agree.

So how would I, your everyday Nintendo fanbrat with way too much free time on her hands, would fare against a Megacorporation when it comes to writing a fictional desert kingdom? Would I somehow make it feel like the breath of fresh air it deserved to be? Or will I fall into the same orientalist shit-hole Nintendo found themselves in?

I guess there is only one way to find out!

-

Before we begin, I need to state right off the bat that I am not Egyptian, so, unfortunately, I will be very, very inaccurate on a lot of things. Due to my lack of knowledge on the matter, I will be accepting of any and all constructive criticisms heading my way.

To make this easier for both myself and the readers, I will be slicing this post into a handful of segments. That way, I can detail each individual issue present while also giving ya’ll the freedom to scroll down to the issue that has weighed on your mind as well and see how I would handle it.

Lastly, I would also appreciate it if you guys told me how you would handle the Kingdom of Neksdor if it was in your hands; you know what they say, the more the merrier!

Now, let us begin with the big one;

1. The Problem with its Inspiration

Starting off strong here, aren’t we?

First, we have to look at Greenhorne for a quick moment; it is evidently more European-themed, first off, but you cannot exactly pinpoint the exact country it is supposed to be based on, if any. This is what makes GH more mystical and available to the players; it is ambiguous enough that they are free to make up their own headcanons and inspirations, and even make an original kingdom for themselves. I, myself, have decided that Greenhorne was Greek in origin- not really 100% accurate, but I am happy with how it turned out.

In that case, then what about Neksdor? You see, it really doesn’t take a genius to see that its inspiration is Ancient Egypt- and a very, very stereotypical version of it for that matter. Right off the bat, the criticism starts to construct itself before our very eyes; the lack of ambiguity mixed with the linear and honestly terrible storyline (which I will get to later on) makes the region boring and not open enough for anything to be left to our imagination.

It is rigid, yet also hollow. There’s so much yet so little going on for it as a level, and that is not mentioning how what we are able to see constitutes as a spit on the face of those who notice the blatant orientalism going on. How are we going to ever fix this disaster from the get-go, I wonder?

The answer? Nuke it all. Give Neksdor a fresh start, much like how Greenhorne and Realm of the Fey were created out of nothingness.

Now, in order to recreate Neksdor from scratch, we have to be a little more original; create new customs for it, a more fleshed out ruling system, and even rehashing the environment- all while leaving just enough for the imagination of the player and without abandoning the Arab-esque inspiration for it (this is not, and I repeat, NOT, encouraging the idea of putting every SWANA/MENA country in a blender, mind you; the general idea is to get creative over here, not, ahem, racist). I will be mostly focusing on the environment here, for I will be discussing the other two issues later down the line.

First thing’s first, we can still use the idea of pyramids as a resting place for the dead without exactly referencing the ancient kingdom, as it was also custom in other areas like Ancient Mesopotamia AND Mesoamerica (the more you know). We’ll be keeping this area for now, but the feel of it is subject to change, as Pyramids were usually a place of eternal rest for the deceased royals of old and not some spooky treasure trove full of riches and secrets. This will give this final dungeon a more serious vibe (as if the DL stealing your party members didn’t already do the job), as not only are you saving the living, but you’re also in the company of the long-deceased who wish to end this nightmare once and for all.

We start off our quest to fix a broken level with the furthest side of the map, right next to the Realm of the Fey; you see, most Arab countries had a lot more flora back then, and, even then, forests are no stranger to the modern Arab world; they’re a lot more plentiful than what the media suggests. To state that every Arab country out there has little to no plant-life save for oases is flat-out ignorant. What I am suggesting here is that, instead of a repetition of the sandy route we took when we entered Neksdor, we should have another map that serves as a well-earned good-bye from the desert kingdom; one that is full of greenery and lush trees. Fitting for a border between this level and the next (much like the Arid Frontier in GH), no?

I’d also wager that even the Wetland Bay deserves a bit of polish, because, to me, it appears like some river delta full of minerals that are suitable for farms. With the existence of the caverns below, I’d also imply that this river was much larger and deeper back then before it dried up for whatever reason; leaving behind remnants of the sea life that once thrived there long ago and have been re-awoken from their eternal slumber by the Dark Lord.

These suggested changes would provide more lore in regards to the spirits that exist within Miitopia and more mysticism surrounding Neksdor. We had GH’s internal politics and RotF’s knowledge of the mystical arts, so Neksdor should be the area that provides the most history out of the three. Expanding the map to be on the same level as Greenhorne’s and Realm of the Fey’s was another reason behind these plans.

I am not sure on whether I should replace the hieroglyph enemies or not- mainly because they are tied to a boss redesign I have been considering for quite some time now. Perhaps they could be given a rename and a bigger role in the story tied to said history of Neksdor and Miitopia as a whole, but I am also more than open to suggestions for when it comes to these lil’ buggers.

One last detail that needs to be addressed is the existence of the Minotaur in the caverns. Call me crazy, but this brings the Greek invasion of Egypt to mind, and, honestly, this is quite the stroke of genius on the developers’ part, so I will give them that. Believe it or not, there are Greco-Roman ruins littered across several Arab countries, and my country, Jordan, is almost full of them. In that case, I’ll keep the Minotaur, as it also serves its purpose of expanding upon Neksdor’s history.

2. The NPCs

Ah, shit.

My main gripe with the Neksdor NPCs is a really simple one- an issue that really doesn’t need much explanation, and that is that the majority of them are portrayed as the negative counterparts to the more European-based Greenhornite NPCs. They’re either “darker contrasts”, or just flat-out jerks- even without having to compare them to their nicer counterparts.

Aside from the Dancing Guide (who has her own set of issues), Rambling Old Man and Worried Explorer, the comparisons are as clear as sunlight; the Shady Merchant Father is encouraging his daughter’s bad behavior while the Worried Mother is doing her best to teach her son about politeness, the prickly couple are in need of a divorce- especially when compared to the love-struck Lovey-Dovey Couple, and the Desert Celebrity...honestly, I’ll give her a pass- her sass shines through even in the letters she sends us. She and the worried mayor need to be besties, I swear.

So, this leaves us with five NPCs total; the Dancing Guide, the Shady Salespeople, and the Prickly Pair (prickly....prickly like cacti-? Oh my goodness).

I will begin with the shady merchants- yeah, I do love their father-daughter dynamic, and, if you do look closely, you’ll notice that the father’s rescue animation is that of the Kind personality, which adds in a whole new level of depth to his character. So, if I love these roles so much, then what’s my big problem with them?

You see, it’s not much an issue with them as their own characters, but more of an issue with most stories that feature fictional Arab-esque countries in general; from Aladdin to even Cookie Run’s Yogurca, you are bound to find tropes that coincide with one another, and Miitopia is no stranger to that, alas. One of the tropes that are prevalent in these kinds of stories is, you guessed it, the “shady snake oil merchant”, who only exists to showcase how dangerous this new and strange world is to our “valiant and heroic (and probably white)“ heroes- one where not even the CITIZENS can be trusted, oh woe is us! Yeah...let’s shuck that shit out of the window.

So, without abandoning their eccentricity, shady nature, and familial bond, I’ll instead turn them into magicians or even trickster ironworkers; them being magicians would reflect the royal "clerics” that served the Pharaoh back then and attempted to one-up the prophet Moses’ miracles, and ironworkers would justify the existence of a weapons shop in-universe and why the teammates would bring back bananas instead of what they asked for (they more or less decided to do a little trolling when delivering the goods to the inn).

Despite the trope now being lifted, morality-wise, they’re still not good people; if they’re magicians, then they would boast about their own magic, and they would not be above scamming you if they were ironworkers. These job suggestions are not the best replacements, I’ll have to admit, but they’ll do for now.

Now unto the Prickly Couple- frankly speaking, they just needed more time in the oven. They’ll still bicker like the old couple they are, yes, but maybe a little more depth was what they needed all along. Like, come on, we don’t need another couple in media who do nothing but hate one another without any reason for even staying in the first place- it is fucking exhausting, even without the looming issue of racial stereotypes above us.

To showcase a quick example of what I had in mind, instead of the wife bickering even when her husband’s face was stolen, she’d probably break down mid-argument (i.e her way of trying to “keep things under control”) and get quieter. When the hero speaks to her again, she’ll be silent- save for a soft apology escaping her.

Upon rescuing her husband, she’ll probably be mad- but this time it’s over his safety. He’d be pissed over her still screaming at first, but, as the conversation goes on, the two will calm down. Yes, they have their issues- but what kind of marriage that exists that doesn’t? That doesn’t mean they have to hate each other. After Neksdor is saved, the two will still bicker, but over the more mundane things- with the wife ending the argument with a swift “Your energy will end your life the same way it started our marriage” with a nostalgic smile on her face (I am aromantic and autistic af- so idk if this came off as lovey or not).

Finally, unto the Dancing Guide- again, all she needed was a little more time. After saving her face, we can have her stretch her back and gleefully state how energy-taxing dancing can be, as it is an art form first and foremost. In spite of the pain, she still dances in order to show newcomers the beauty of Neksdor’s rich culture and welcome them to this vast and marvelous kingdom. I’d also rework her clothes a little in order for her to be a little more accurate to the belly dancers of today, and maybe have her visit the travelers’ hub every now and then.

Yes, Nilou from Genshin is one of my favorite characters, how can you tell?

3. The Monarchy- or Lack Thereof

(TW: Punishment directed towards kids, overly-strict parenting, internalized homophobia/transphobia, implications of collectivism and abuse)

This section will be split into two smaller parts; one to fill in the literal power void in Neksdor, and the other existing to flesh out our lil’ asshat Prince that we’re all familiar with.

Man oh man, do I have a lot to say about this one. In stories like these, it isn’t uncommon to see Arab-coded royals to be portrayed as generally incompetent or even malicious, especially when compared to the more Western-based monarchy - often portrayed as the good guys and good judges of character -.

I know, art reflects life, and most monarchies tend not to do jack shit for their countries- but, without the threat of me getting arrested creeping up outta nowhere, it’s the aforementioned comparison that gets to me. Let us be honest here; monarchs in general just fucking suck, not just the middle eastern ones we see on TV and video games. Wanna know why we all celebrated the Queen’s death a while ago? Come on, take a fucking guess, hon.

So to make sure whatever royalty that exists there still has this air of whimsical parody that the GH royal family possessed while also not resorting to orientalist themes, we have to establish the only known member of the royal family sans the prince- the Queen of Neksdor.

Honestly, if we’re gonna go with the route of making these roles contrast with one another, I can see that the queen is actually more competent than the king. The first scene where we meet here, we witness her giving a bunch of guards (those who were supposed to accompany the prince) a tongue lashing- reminding them of the evil threat that is imminent, and that they should be lucky that her son arrived safe and sound.

Not all is fun and games, however- I love girlbosses as much as the person next to me, but what I love even more is character depth. You see, she is quite uptight and is doing her best to make sure her kingdom is well-prepared against the Dark Lord’s fiends, so she is quite strict towards everyone- including her own son. Think Yellow Diamond from SU.

Right off the bat, the similarities between the Queen of Neksdor and the King of Greenhorne become visible; they appear to want nothing but the best for their children, but their methods and attitudes cause nothing but harm for their only known families. The king was more passive and nonchalant towards his daughter’s conflicting emotions of sorrow, nostalgia and even rage, whilst the queen promises to ground her son for making himself out to be an incompetent fool in front of their neighbors AND for unleashing a powerful jinni upon their people. As we chase down the genie, we see that she has locked the prince inside his room until she could cool her jets.

Here, we start to diverge towards the prince’s characterization and his goals. We see that he loves the princess, yes, but he loves his mother moreso and sees her as a guardian figure who is able to rescue him from the Dark Lord. The combined desires to marry the princess and appeasing his mother weighed on him so much that he was willing to take any opportunity to achieve either - or both - of these goals even if said chance (i.e jackass genie) appeared too good to be true. Aside from these two traits, we weren’t given much else...aside from his entitlement and apparent delusion of grandiose, but that is beside the point.

So how are we going to place these two puzzle pieces together in order for us to get the clearer picture? This next section...is going to be a lot heavier than I expected, so if the aforementioned list of TWs are too much, please skip this part and move on to the next or even close this post’s tab. I am a Miitopia fan and aspiring writer, yes, but I also know that not everyone is a-ok with such heavy themes. Just be safe, my fellow simple travelers; your comfort is of higher priority than a simple theory post.

We first dissect the reason as to why he wants this marriage so badly- he might just be attracted to the princess, yes, but he also laments on how is he ever going to explain all this to his mother; implying that he is afraid of her wrath or just generally disappointing her. It is obvious that the prince is not above lying to anyone, whether it is towards us or his supposed-to-be in-laws, but to his mom? He appears to be way too scared to even think about that, as if she is able to see right through his usual deceits or is just afraid of making her sad.

How this ties to my suggested characterization of the queen is a lot more messed up than how I initially planned it to be. The core cause behind the prince’s obsession with marriage is that he is afraid of his mother. He loves her, but he’s also terrified of her- of disappointing her, of lowering his status in her eyes. He is an asshole towards everyone, but, as they say, the apple does not fall far from the tree- and while the queen may not be a liar, per se, her son may have picked up that trait under her care in order to dampen the blow of her anger.

He may only want the perfect wedding in his mother’s eyes, but...does he really want the princess? Is he in love with her as her own person? Or is he just enamored with the idea of a picture-perfect royal marriage?

Once darkness falls upon Neksdor and the queen is out guarding the pyramid with the guards, we’ll finally be able to enter the prince’s room within the royal palace. There, we see that the prince is in a sad, broken state on his bed; not wanting to talk to the traveler and even asking them if they’ve come here to wreck any more of his possessions. No matter how respond, he’s not gonna do much, for he believes he’s already caused enough trouble as is.

As we explore the room, we manage to find a stack of perfectly-sealed wedding invitations, a really old picture of the princess, an image of him and his mother, and...a bunch of old shoujo comics, with the main protagonist being highlighted and the word “me!!” written next to her as she is in a loving embrace with her own beloved prince; I’ll leave the implications of this to the viewer, because it is by selecting this item that we finally warrant an actual reaction from the prince.

As we unlock more dialogue options, he drops several sentences alluding to lingering self-esteem issues and questions about his identity; is he really ready to inherit the throne after his mother? Will he ever escape her eyes? Or will he see them in the masses of his own people? Just before we leave, he parts with us with one of the last keys needed to enter the pyramid and his own apology- on how badly he treated you and your last party -. He then states that he cannot bear his face to anyone- not to the royal family of Greenhorne, and not even to his mom. He wishes for you the best of luck on your adventure as you leave the room, and, once you look back, you see that he’s locked the doors yet again.

After saving the faces all over Neksdor, we are finally able to actually enter the pyramid. There, we meet the queen, who urges us that this is no place to fool around...right before a boss fight get activated, and we show her that we’re more than able to defeat the evil force threatening the kingdom.

Once we have proven ourselves to be hardened warriors capable of smiting the foe awaiting us at the top of the pyramid, she gives us the pass to go further- heck, she even accompanies us as an additional party member much like the fab fairies, with her abilities being those of the Princess (or Vampire, for beautiful foreshadowing) job.

As we venture deeper into the pyramid, the queen explains the relations Neksdor has with both its neighboring nations, and how her royal family is responsible not just for keeping political relations afloat and stable, but also making sure incidents like the Dark Lord’s attack don’t ever occur. She gives us the excuse that she’s only harsh to her prince so he could harden himself and learn that the world is a cruel place-

This is when the hero interrupts her. Yes, there are trials and tribulations awaiting her son, but it’s not all gloom and doom out there. She tries to state that it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, either, but she’s then given this revelation on a silver platter:

If the world really is as horrible as she sees it, then why does she bother? Why the hell is she even trying in the first place? What’s stopping her from giving up?

If nothing but pain and horror awaits for him, then what’s going to help him push forwards? What is helping you, oh Queen of Neksdor?

The story of the prince and his mother not only is a glimpse at the issue of collectivism and family honor that, unfortunately, is still plaguing Arab homes to this day, but it could be a message to both kids and parents alike-

Kiddos, if you are in a restrictive, harmful and unfair environment, please do not be afraid to reach out and call for help- there are people who are more than willing to assist you, and the world is a kinder place than what we would assume.

Parents, even if you mean well, just note that actions speak louder than words, and the gate for an apology is closing with each passing day; your children will only remember how you’ve shattered their ambitions time and time again because you apparently hated them, and how nothing they wanted would ever appease you.

4. The Story is Half-Baked

Before I start, yes, the story present in GH is as tropey as it gets- it is whatever you get from a stock fairytale, that I admit, but, despite the corniness present, it also left us with a lot of open doors- questions that are only up to us to answer. As an example, why was there supposed to be a wedding between the two future monarchs of the two kingdoms? What exactly happened between the royal trio while we went out to get the calming fruit? Why was the CF so necessary to break up the fight?

With Neksdor, on the other hand, what we saw was what we got; a greedy genie and...that is really all. No open questions, no branched out storylines, no nothing. We’ve been dealt with what we got; nothing but sand on a plate and boiling vegetable oil in a wine glass. I am no Gordon Ramsay, mind you, but I think we all deserved a better meal than that.

So, combined with every one of the points above, I guess we can finally redirect our attention and ire towards the big boi himself, the Genie.

The genie is...missed potential. Not just for his characterization, but also the worldbuilding of Miitopia, the species that exist, his relationship with the other spirits that we know of, and how his powers actually work. This time, we will take some real-world inspiration and look at the most primordial form of genies we can get; the jinni.

When thinking about Jinni helping humans out, the story of Prophet Solomon (PBUH) - aka the King Solomon - comes to mind, as he had the ability to speak with animals and jinni, as well as being able to have demons and div under his control. Upon his death, he was still giving off the illusion of him standing up thanks to his staff keeping balance; an illusion that even tricked jinni back then - for they, too, are unaware of “Al-ghaib”/The Unseen -. Once his cane gave in thanks to a small creature, the truth of his death was finally visible to them.

So, where can we head with this knowledge? Perhaps the genie in-game had a sort of connection to the royal family of Neksdor back in the day, and perhaps attempted to deceive said royalty on occasion (not only reflecting the tale of Solomon and the Ifrit, but their general trickster natures as a whole). Ultimately, he might have been a jolly ol’ uncle figure to the ancient Neksdorian family, who also offered the people knowledge of the domain of magic.

I’d also wager that the genie possessed mastery of dark arts that are synonymous with the Dark Lord/Curse, as the cloud he resides on shares a similar color to that of the curse/Darker Lord. In the world of Miitopia, we see elemental, light, and dark magic utilized by a variety of jobs available to us, and the genie is no stranger to them, evidently, as he is able to teleport and use the powers of the wind to his aid in-canon. Jinni are so powerful it is stupid, so one can only imagine the genie at his full potential.

Dark powers coming from creatures who are normally invisible to the human eye...perhaps, the Dark Curse, in their human form, sought out a way to get rid of the face that they so despised- any way, even if it meant seeking out knowledge from the unknown.

Yes, it’s true; people can commune with demons and djinn, but not only is that considered a great form of sin, but even the methods of summoning one are outright blasphemous, as it all indicates that you have abandoned your faith in God and have resorted to disbelief. By ridding themselves of the face they hated so much by using otherworldly arts, they have barred themselves from the gates of Heaven, and were left a withering husk of the mii they once were.

Upon learning that the royal genie was suspected of creating a cursed soul and letting it run loose, he would be condemned by the Great Sage and be eternally trapped within this lamp- just like how he was summoned by using his name, so shall his name be the glue that binds him to this accursed object for all time.

Before we skip to the modern days, I have to mention one of the outing events that we are able to select, as it is crucial for setting up the genie’s goals and justifying his rage towards the kingdom. In the museum, the dialogue exchanged between two party members reveals to us that the artwork depicting the genie being sealed into his lamp was painted over 100 years ago, but the people “didn’t appreciate it at the time”.

The question of the Great Sage’s actual age being placed aside for now, 100 years is enough for the whole world to turn upside-down, and that’s not even thinking about the implication that it must have been even longer, considering how the painting wasn’t appreciated during the time period it was created in.

Imagine being trapped in this tiny artifact for who knows how long, only to be released over a CENTURY later by the descendant of the family who you considered your own- a descendant who doesn’t even know your name. Of course you would be mad- beyond livid, even; not only has history erased your existence in its entirety, but everyone you knew and loved were just...gone. Deader than the autumn leaves he was familiar with that are so full of melancholy.

Just by looking at this little twerp - a parody of the great monarchs he once served -, he knew that this kingdom was not worthy of all the achievements of their predecessors. He laughs - a pathetic attempt at blocking out the surrealism of all that is around him from making him howl from horror and sorrow -, and immediately talks the prince down; telling him that he and the rest of his pathetic kin have no idea of what’s coming for them, and that it is time for him to retrieve what is rightfully his...

[riggedtraps]

Mandy Writes #1

trigger warning for: self harm, semi-graphic description, burning using a cigarette & a lighter, r slur, f slur, internalised homophobia & ableism, don't read this if you struggle with any of this i don't want anyone to be triggered

content warning: mandy smokes a cigarette then burns herself. third person pov (she/her). haven't edited this/re-read it.

The smoke curled around her lungs in an uncomfortably comfortable way, a mini tornado swirling in her chest as it wreaked havoc on her breathing. Ash weighed her down so much that, for a few moments, she believed she could sink right down through the Earth and burrow herself underground. Six feet, preferably.

She was scared. A long time ago, she'd done it before—but not with a cigarette. With a lighter.

She couldn't remember it, but she remembered that it must have been a warm sensation singing all her arm hairs off, and she remembered that it must have been good because she hadn't stopped for quite some time. It was curiousity that lured her in that time. Right now, she wanted the pain to quieten her mind.

Hands shaking, she held the cigarette beside her arm. It was terrifying but she wasn’t sure why. She'd burnt herself on hot glue before, then scraped it off—alongside a few layers of skin. That was easy. Fun, even. So why was this so hard?

She just had to take the leap.

It was a predictable yet delicious sting as she pressed the cigarette's ash to her arm. The shock of it caused her to jerk her hand back, the remainder of the ash hitting the dirt underneath her feet. Wiping off the muck from her arm, she could see a soft pink mark.

She wanted—needed—more.

Again, again. More, more. The pain soon receded and it was like a sort of experiment to her. How many burns could she resist? Too many. She would have gone farther, but the cigarette was burning close to her finger. Not brave enough to put it out on her pretty pink mark, she took a final, long drag, enjoying the lightheadedness that came with oxygen deprivation, and then stubbed the cig out under her chunky boots.

When she looked down again, there was no more pretty pink mark. Instead, there was an ugly, gutclenching blister filled with yellow pus.

Panic roared through her for a few moments. Her first burn and it was already infected. Was she stupid? Fucking retarded? She knew it was wrong to use that disgusting word on herself, but it was true. Fucking fag couldn't take a fucking fag, either.

Slowly, the worry subsided. It was done with now, there was nothing she could do. Telling someone was not an option. Seeing a doctor was not an option. She would have to see what'd happen, keep a close eye on the ugly mess she'd created.

She did it to herself.

[crazykuroneko]

The Newsreader S2 Ep 5

a.k.a where I'm clutching my fist the whole time because Rob's family are racists to Noelene, and, let's be frank here, Dale got raped by a stranger

OMG THEY'RE STILL ACTING THEY'RE TOGETHER IN FRONT OF PEOPLE 😭

Helen has been thinking about going overseas I see

They used a lot of overhead zoomed in shots on objects at the start of The Walters school scenes

The score when Evelyn saw Helen and ran up the stairs is 🤌

LINDSEY IS KAY'S GODFATHER???! omg they really have no life beside work, don't they?

Oh Helen. She did say if something happens they  have to tell the other, but she didn't say anything about Charlie 😔

Reminding your child you're also her landlord and not respecting her space is NOT the way to do it Geoff

Gerry wants to be the middle man when he hasn't known Helen/Dale has broken up and knew they're monogamous is kinda 😅

They really should have chosen the more private area 

Tim is such a great guy, but Dale keeps only using him as a rebound or to scratch his itches. If I were him, I wouldn't want to see Dale anymore

We hate to say it, but Dale is basically just got raped. Like, he definitely looks like he doesn't remember anything from last night with that guy. That, on top of his existing trauma, heartbreak, and his self-worth being crushed knowing Helen has been going to Charlie is insane. oh baby

NOT ROB'S FAMILY BEING RACIST TO NOELENE. "we're okay eating chinese" SHE IS KOREAN! "is there MSG?" CHINESE PEOPLE ALSO HAVE TRADITIONAL FOOD YOU SINOPHOBIC 

thank god Rob spoke up. but KONNICHIWA?? okay

yeah, her potential sister-in-law IS def racist.And expect her to be a stay-at-home mom like her. Noelene is definitely what Helen's running from. The thing is I think Dale and he mom would love her to keep pursuing her career. But it's very understandable for her to get scared about that and the children

"I intend to stay clean with or w/o my parents' support" GO KAY

God, the scene where Helen and Noelene hear Kay's words is so powerful. "A model daughter" is about three of them. And the directing. UGH beautiful 

And the words about the parents and children. Parents who choose the children, or choose each other. Powerful

Good portrayal of an addict

Thank god Rob is asking Noelene. But his words are kinda... he needs to stand up for Noelene more in front of his family and others if he wants it to work out. 

I think this episode is also a foil to Helen's mistake in Ep 1 when she didn't really care about the side effect airing the shooting location. Here Kay shows her that the news will affect her even when it's herself giving the story. 

LET'S GO HELEN. this is insane. she's only doing this because Dale aka her voice of reason has tapped out. But it will save Kay (which The Walters don't deserve).

I remember my take away from watching S1 is that Helen/Dale has a power imbalance and they're codependent. And this episode really shows us the risk of that codependency. They both go off the rails now omg

[colby-jac-cheese]

Growing up I didn't really know I was trans. I just knew i hated being dressed up in girls clothes. My little sisters, blessed little gremlins we were as kids, on some level understood that despite being peek girlhood themselves.

As children they joked about my name, and how it could be shortened to 'Carl'.

For some unfathomable reason little me HATED that name. Cringed and writhed every time they called me that as a tease.

Once i really understood that I was trans I thought back on that.

At first I assumed my hatred of that name was some kinda internal transphobia. But . . . I was very progressive as a kid. I grew up around lesbians grandmother's . . . My mom was bisexual. . . I had no ick or anything with other trans people. I didn't even feel bad when I realized I was trans.

But I has SUCH a strong reaction to that name. . . So obviously I must have had some level of fear about them finding out before I even knew myself, right?

Years later I have come to a more simple, but much more accurate realization.

I just

REALLY

Hate the name Carl.

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 40

Chapter 40 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie is back at the 118 and while he is welcomed with open arms. However, they now know and keep talking about him being married to Buck, which makes it harder to cope. Until, finally, it boils over and he snaps.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: referenced emotionally abusive parents, internalized misogyny, internalized homophobia, insecurity, self loathing, injury, homophobia mention

~~~

Chapter 40: The Affair

When he comes into work again, nine weeks after last being in the 118 firehouse, he is greeted by cheers. Hen comes up to hug him first, squealing: “Welcome back! We missed you.” Then she whispers: “Chim did the cake, I told him it was a bad idea, but he insisted.”

“Thank you,” he whispers back, before stepping out of the hug.

“It’s good to have you back, Eddie. You were missed,” Bobby says with a kind smile and a clap on the back.

“Yeah, missed you too. Thanks, Cap,” Eddie smiles, feeling a little overwhelmed. He half thought they wouldn’t want to have him here either, but instead, there is that warmth again, just like there had been on his first-first day. It feels good, albeit a little too much.

“Eddie,” Chimney grins, presenting him the cake, “welcome back, my man.”

He is grateful for Hen’s warning as he looks down at the cake. It’s a standard rectangular party cake with frosting that they often get for occasions like these. With swirly letters it reads: Welcome back from your honeymoon!

If circumstance had been different, it would have been a little funny. However, right now it’s just a reminder of everything. Eddie never had a honeymoon, two marriages, but never a honeymoon. He never married out of love. No one ever actually wanted to be with him. Buck doesn’t want to be with him.

So, he just stares at the cake for a beat too long, his eyes sad. He hates that despite it all, he can’t just be normal, so he mentally yells at himself, until he has manages to suck it up. Then he deadpans: “Har, har, Chim. Very funny.”

“Thought so too,” Chimney grins, luckily having missed the split second of pathetic-ness that Eddie let slip through the cracks.

He plasters on a smile and they dig in. Eddie hasn’t seen them often, but they don’t mention him running, instead telling him of the horrors that were the floaters send to replace him and how glad they are that he is back. By the time the alarm goes off for the first time, the smile is real.

However, one thing Eddie hadn’t taken into account when saying yes to Bobby’s offer to come back, was that they know now. That they know and are okay with it now. Which means that they talk about it. Mention it. Eddie hadn’t counted on how often they would mention it.

That first 24 hour shift, Chimney jokingly calls him Buckley-Diaz and at the end they all tell him to say hi to his husband when he gets home.

They probably mean well, wanting to show him that they’re over the anger from the hospital, that they don’t have any bad opinions of his life choices. That they can joke about it. A part of Eddie thinks it’s sweet. It’s more than his parents have every managed and they’ve had three years to get used to the fact that Eddie and Buck are married. Another part of him aches at the reminders.

While the Buckley-Diaz dies out, the joke of telling him to ask this or say that to his husband sticks around. He’s heard them do it to Buck too when he came home earlier than expected and caught Hen on her way out, but still.

Furthermore, they ask him about it. It’s always innocuous, just them trying to fill in the blanks of what is their two year scheme whenever something comes up that reminds them of something that’s been bugging them.

Eddie can’t judge them for being curious, for wanting to know. He just wishes that they didn’t make him know alongside them.

Naturally, he knows the most of it, since he and Buck started actively lying together. However, Buck had been deflecting by himself for a year before that and Eddie is now getting to know some of the fibs he gave them.

Because of that, he now knows Buck said he had a hottie to pick up when referring to Eddie that time his parents came to Chris’s seventh birthday. That he went to Bobby for advice on how to deal with them. The in-laws, that is.

It makes him feel weird and he hates it.

Everything makes him feel weird. The jokes, the questions, the casual reference to the fact that Eddie is Buck’s other half. That he will go home to Buck. That Buck is Chris’s other father.

He’s never had that before. His parents have always pointedly ignored acknowledging Buck’s role in Eddie and Chris’s life and with tía Pepa and Abuela it was never this frequent and he wasn’t aware of it like he is now. To have people confirm his reality over and over again makes him feel exposed in a way he isn’t sure he dislikes entirely, which only makes him feel horrible.

And that is not even mentioning the new fresh hell that is being aware of Buck in more than a romantic light. Of dreaming of him sucking Eddie’s dick or, more shamefully, him pushing Eddie into the mattress as he plows into him. Which are now playing alongside the flashes of domesticity and unmasculine tenderness that Eddie shouldn’t crave. He instated a self imposed ban on jerking off to avoid thinking about it after he found himself wondering if Buck’s calluses would feel the same one morning in the shower.

So within a week, he finds himself texting Buck that he’s meeting up with Bosko to catch up, a lie he can’t verify. Instead driving to a different shady spot than a random parking lot after texting the number of an even shadier guy.

The atmosphere is very different to the fight club he went to before, more a fighting ring. There are spectators and there are fighters, as well as underhand dealings that are probably smarter to stay out of. Everyone got that memo, it seems, because everyone leaves everyone alone. In a way, it’s nice.

What is even nicer, is the wad of cash that gets pushed into his hands after he’s beaten the shit out of some guy. It’s a lot. It’s enough that Eddie can be reasonably certain they can buy Chris that Nintendo Switch he wants without issue when his birthday rolls around again or Christmas. Or save up, pad up the savings they lost during the suspension that was Eddie’s fault.

It’s the start of a spiral.

He acts normal at work and home, but Buck’s presence is everywhere, driving him insane with emotions he doesn’t want to deal with. If it’s not that, he gets randomly attacked with an anger at how unfair the world is. The fear of almost losing it all. How easily they left. How he is glad to be back, but it’s not going to last. Not to mention the pressure of the expectations that tug on him and the fact that he’s not managing to push the feelings down like he was able to before Buck.

All these things have him returning to that fighting ring over and over again. It’s a craving. A habit he can’t seem to kick.

When he tries not to go, he feels himself tightening like a spring, ready to shoot off into space. He gets snippy and grouchy, which is fine. It’s fine. He can deal. … Until he snaps at Chris during a stressful moment as they’re getting ready for school. Then it’s not fine.

It’s just an irritated: “What the hell, Chris. Why are you not ready? I told you to get ready. We have to get going now! I don’t care about your excuses.”

He apologizes and Chris doesn’t seem to affected, but it sticks with him. Haunts him. He wants to bridge the gap, not deal with any of this internal shit and just continue on as normal until it falls apart.

Snapping at Chris isn’t normal. He doesn’t want that for him. He’s never wanted that for him. So, he accepts that he needs the outlet. Just for now. Just to bridge that gap.

Thus, Eddie finds himself going to the fighting ring more often. It escalates from being once a week to going twice, until he finds himself there almost nightly, as his excuses get less and less believable.

Buck hasn’t tried to bring it up yet, but Eddie makes sure to evade him just in case. He either comes home late enough that Buck has dropped off on the couch or when he’s at PT. Or he only makes Chris’s pick up, forgoing his usual pre-pick up nap so he’ll arrive with Chris, who has become his oblivious human shield.

It’s only a matter of time until Buck can’t take it anymore and busts down his door instead of letting him ‘sleep’ until Chris needs to go to school or comes home. The unspoken question of where he’s been, bubbling closer and closer to the surface as Eddie’s avoidance of answering becomes more and more suspicious.

After six weeks, it finally boils over.

His shift has just ended and he feels the itch, but thinks he can push it forward until tomorrow. He can make bedtime tonight, but tomorrow Chris has that sleep over. So it’s better to be late then. He has already been missing dinner and bedtime here and there. It’s not a lot, but it’s been unavoidable and for now it’s better than the alternative: snapping at Chris.

As he’s mulling it over, Hen slides up next to him, opening her own locker as she says: “Me and Chim are gonna go out drinking. Just a beer or two. Want to join?”

“No, I can’t. Thanks though,” Eddie replies, putting away his stuff. It’s true, since he has to make bedtime when he can.

“Sure,” Chimney snorts behind him.

Eddie whirls around, frown on his face as he demands: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, you’ve been pretty chipper at work, but Buck says you’re being weird at home, staying out late. You’re worrying the husband and that can only mean one thing; you’re having an affair. I put good money on that, so don’t lie now, Edmundo, what’s her name?” Chimney grins.

The grin feels like a trap, like he’s being cornered. The confrontation with what is supposed to be truth, but Eddie is too broken to adhere to, combining with that stupid husband comment. His heart slams into overdrive and his defenses rise up from the ground. He snaps: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Chimney’s eyebrows immediately lift, but before he can say anything, Hen does: “We’re just curious, Eddie. He didn’t mean anything with it.”

It’s a tad too gentle for his taste as if he can’t take it, as if she knows he is sensitive. He’s not sensitive. He can take it. “Well, mind your own business.”

Now Hen and Chimney are exchanging looks and Eddie starts aggressively stuffing his shit into his bag so he can get out of here before he implodes.

He’s not fast enough and now Hen’s voice is even more gentle. “You don’t have to tell us, but we’re here if you want to talk. I know we might not have always given you that impression and we’re sorry for that, but we won’t judge. You can tell us.”

“Maybe,” he slams his locker closed, “I don’t want to.” He glares at her. “There is nothing for you to know. I’m not Buck, I don’t want you invading my life. Just because I share it with him and you know now, doesn’t give you a right to know anything about me, okay? I forgave you guys for what you did to us, but I didn’t forget. You have no right to demand any trust of me, now leave me the fuck alone.”

With that said, he stalks out of the locker room, anger wafting off of him. Hen and Chimney are too stunned to speak after his outburst, so he makes it to his car safely.

Inside, he punches his steering wheel and lets out a muffled noise of frustration. Any thought of having a peaceful night at home is now ruined. If he turns up like this, he’ll only fuck up the happy atmosphere of home. Especially since a part of his anger is directed at Buck.

Buck had no right telling everyone he’s acting weird. Eddie is allowed to act weird, which he isn’t by the way, Eddie is behaving so normally. Now Buck put thoughts into everyone’s head and they’re assuming things about Eddie that aren’t true. Confronting him with the things he wants to avoid. It is all Buck’s fault. All of it.

If Buck weren’t so kind, Eddie wouldn’t have met him. If Buck weren’t so amazing, Eddie wouldn’t have- If Buck weren’t so good, Eddie wouldn’t need to be worried about him. If Buck weren’t so sweet, he wouldn’t have remembered all he forced himself to forget, to push down, to suck up. If Buck weren’t so attractive, Eddie would have never had to flick that switch and he could have lived his whole life in ignorance. He would have been normal.

Tears well up in his eyes and he angrily wipes them away. He doesn’t want to feel any of this, he doesn’t want to think about any of this. With harsh movements, he starts up the car, automatically finding himself at the fighting ring.

The organizers are more than happy to see him, gladly putting him in a match. Eddie is good at this, money flows.

He doesn’t care right now. He isn’t thinking of the bills that can easily be paid, the crappy car he might be able to replace soon, because he won’t be able to rely on the Jeep anymore after the divorce, the gifts he could buy Chris, the money he can save up for a rainy day. There is just the anger. The rage. The fury that needs to get out, the control he needs to get back. The failure he needs to override with a win.

Nothing exists except for the ring, his opponent and his emotions.

Eddie gives a beating like he has never given before. It’s a spectacle probably, because he can hear the cheering even through the rushing of blood past his ears. He’s punching the world, punching Buck, punching his papi, punching the 118, punching Brandson and the priest at the Church he grew up with. Punching himself. They all blur together on the face of his opponent and he beats them until he goes down.

For a moment, he stands there. Victorious. He’s a winner. He’s doing good. He’s a man. He’s normal.

Then he realizes his opponent isn’t just down. He’s seizing and choking. Instinct takes over and he checks on the patient, any feelings forgotten in the face of professionalism. The man needs medical attention.

He yells for them to call 9-1-1, but no one does. The guy that got him wrapped up in this even starts arguing with him as he pulls a bit of the guy’s nose out of his airway. Tells him not to do it when he rips someone’s phone out of their hands.

A part of him thinks that he shouldn’t. This operation is shady, has been from the start. They keep record of 9-1-1 calls, it could be Maddie on the other side of the line. However, then he looks down on his opponent, on the guy he punched so hard he started choking on a bit of his nose, and he knows it wouldn’t be right to walk away.

Eddie calls 9-1-1.

The second he does, everyone scatters. With this kind of report, there’s a chance police will show up and no one wants to get caught.

It’s not like he wants to either – one stint in jail was more than enough for him – but he needs to make sure he didn’t kill a man tonight. So, he sits the man upright, then retreats to a building nearby and waits.

Inside his pocket his forgotten phone vibrates. He grabs it to see a slew of increasingly worried texts from Buck as well as a voicemail. The others probably told him Eddie stormed out and Eddie never bothered to even text an excuse. With a heavy heart, he plays the voicemail:

“Eddie? Where are you? You’ve been missing dinner and bedtime left and right and that’s fine. It’s fine. You’re a grown man and I don’t care what you do, but you gotta come home,” Buck’s recorded voice says desperately.

Buck lowers his voice, as if he’s covering the mic so no one can hear. “I keep making excuses to Chris that you’re at work and he tries to understand, but he misses you, Eddie. He wants his daddy to tuck him in and I-” he cuts himself off with a choked off noise that almost sounds like a sob.

He takes a deep, but shaky breath: “I can’t replace you. I never want to replace you. Chris needs you here. He needs you home. You can’t keep staying away like this. I can’t keep disappointing him with your absence. I can’t keep lying. Come home, please.”

Fuck.

Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck.

Eddie thought it was okay. Thought it wasn’t that much. Thought Chris was oblivious. But he isn’t, he misses him. He and Buck both miss him. They want him home. He’s not been home. Buck’s been lying that Eddie has to work, so Chris will understand. In Chris’s mind Eddie hasn’t been home, because he has to work.

Eddie has become just like his father.

No, he’s even worse, because at least papi was actually trying to provide for his family. Papi might have been never home, but he has never needed to do this like Eddie does. He never needed an outlet like this. He could just be normal, instead of nearly beating a man to death.

God, Eddie nearly beat a man to death. The reality of what happened settles in on him. He nearly beat a man to death. He’s a monster. He’s violent. Dangerous.

The first responders arrive on the scene and Eddie almost drowns on dry land in the shame and the fear when he recognizes his former coworkers. He ducks for cover, but he’s pretty sure Bosko spotted him. He prays he’s wrong as he attempts to swallow down the guilt. It’s a feeble attempt.

He can’t sneak out, so he stays hidden, but it doesn’t work. Soon Bosko is right in front of him, not even bothering with a hello as she asks: “So, are you the one who saved him or the one who almost killed him?”

“Both,” Eddie answers, honest and laden with shame.

“What the hell, Eddie!” Bosko exclaims. “Fighting was supposed to be a healthy outlet, not an obsession. I thought you’d realized that, that you’d quit.”

“I know,” he says, curling in on himself. “And it’s not. It- It just got out of hand tonight.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Bosko looks angry as she crosses her arms. “Tell me, that hit to the nose, was that a lucky shot? Or had he dropped his hands?”

Eddie feels her tone grating on his nerves. He still feels out of whack, his mind buzzing with the high of the fight, the adrenaline of having to save the guy’s life and the horror at what he had just done, as well as all the guilt brought on by the voicemail. He can’t use her judgment. Her anger. So, defensively, he says: “Tap out or knock out. Those are the rules. He didn’t tap out.”

“He was so punch drunk, he couldn’t even lift his hands to protect himself. You think he should’ve had the presence of mind to tap out?” Bosko retorts, giving him a challenging look, before her face drops into something more gentle. “Eddie, you need to talk to someone.”

A part of him is rearing up to fight her more, but then the police sirens start up. Bosko looks back and groans, then starts shrugging out of her turnout coat.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving myself the trouble of having to bail you out of jail again,” she says, handing him the turn out coat. “Put this on until the cops leave.”

Eddie does and she leads him to his car without any trouble. When they get there, she takes the coat back and recrosses her arms: “I’m not done with this conversation, by the way. You’re lucky I didn’t turn you over. What you’re doing is dangerous. You can’t go on like this.”

Now that he’s had a moment to cool off, the horror has overtaken again. He remembers Buck’s desperate voice pleading at him to come home, but it’s overlaid with the visual of the bone crunching under his hand.

He can’t keep doing this, but he doesn’t know how to be normal at home without it. He still remembers the built up last time he tried, the way he snapped at Chris. It was minor then, but what if it gets worse. What if this time he goes too far? What if he hurts either of them? He can live with being absent like his father, if he never has to be violent. He never wanted this for himself. For his family.

“I know,” he says, sounding distraught to his own ear, but unable to bring himself to care. “I- I can’t- I can’t go home.” He looks up at Bosko with big eyes. “I can’t go home after this.”

Bosko looks at him critically for a moment, then sighs. “Fine. You can stay at mine for now. I’ll text you the address and meet you there after my shift. There’s a spare key taped above the cat-flap on the inside, you can take the couch.”

“Thank you,” he says, so overtaken with relief that he doesn’t even comment how unsafe it is to have a spare key there.

“Now get out, before anyone else sees you and I’ll make sure your man doesn’t die,” Bosko tells him and Eddie flinches slightly at the words.

He’s still in shock as he drives to Bosko’s apartment. It’s alright, not particularly nice, but not especially shitty. Just average. Normal.

It seems like everyone can be normal, except for him. He is a freak, who hasn’t just been lusting after the man who does so much for him, who hasn’t just been imagining a life he isn’t allowed to have. But he’s a freak who nearly killed a man.

Eddie hasn’t been home for enough nights that Chris is starting to miss him. He’s absent and leaving a hole like his papi had. However, he doesn’t fill it with good intentions, with needing to provide. He’s filling it with violence.

Tonight, Eddie nearly killed a man. Tonight he came face to face with the kind of person he’s become.

Bosko was right, he can’t go on like this. He needs to regroup, get himself in check, maybe take Bosko up on the offer to help. She said Ronnie did it for her, that he helped her get out of a dark place, gave her space to figure herself out.

He needs that right now. He needs to sort himself out. Figure himself out.

A yellow-y cat jumps onto the couch next to him. Eddie hasn’t made a move to lie down yet, unsure if he should or can, or if he should wait for Bosko. She said she’d meet him here after the shift and that he can take the couch, but he’s not sure to what extend that was an invitation.

The cat – who he assumes is Butter, since there is a white cat who has been glaring at him from the moment he arrived – has no such reservations. He just makes himself comfortable on Eddie’s lap, wiggling around until he’s comfortable.

Eddie holds his breath, unsure what he should do. It doesn’t feel safe to be to close to such a fragile animal, but pushing him off also feels dangerous. The last thing he wants to do is hurt Bosko’s cat on top of it all.

Desperately, he looks around, meeting Mayo’s eyes. She glares at him and hisses, Eddie looks back as if to say ‘I know, I agree, I also don’t know what this idiot is doing.’

Then he realizes he’s trying to reason with a cat and he looks back down. Butter wiggles again, nudging against him as if to entice him into petting him. Again Eddie hesitates, then gently strokes one finger across Butter’s back. The second he does, Butter starts purring happily.

Message received, he thinks, continuing to gently stroke Butter’s back as he stares at the cat. It feels wrong to have the trust of such a small creature. Just a small, dumb animal, who doesn’t realize how dangerous Eddie is.

Butter has a tiny little brain, he doesn’t know that Eddie a danger. He doesn’t know that he should run instead of curl up. Eddie is sure that anyone else who saw him, would know that he is a monster. Something to be feared. To be backed away from.

How can he ever face Buck and Chris ever again?

~~

A/N:

Poor Eddie, I just keep making it worse for him, don’t I? But don’t you guys worry, it will be just as bad for Buck and Chris >:3

Also I keep telling myself that I’m not going to add more Bosko, but then I end up adding more Bosko. She wasn’t meant to be such a big part of this, but I love the version of her I created, however pushy she may be. We deserved to have lesbian Bosko and I will not take criticism on that.

Sidenote: I don’t actually think Eddie is a danger or violent. However, this is the current vision he has of himself and we are in his head.

[artificialqueens]

Rock Hudson’s Parties, Chapter 2 (Jadore/Biadore) - Imafuckinglibra

Summary: A fresh faced young man gets off a bus in New York to move in with an estranged college friend, now a broadway star. Old flames flare up again but are potentially derailed when an older man’s temptations threaten to come between them.

Fair Warning : There is actually smut in this one yay! Including a little illustration to go with it but tbh it's pretty sfw - no bits or anything.  Brief mentions of death & that's about it me thinks.

A week. A whole week Danny had been in New York already and he still hadn’t adjusted. He still didn’t feel any more in control of his life than he did in Azusa.

“Dammit.” He winced when his razor nicked a bit of skin below his lip. He stared at it, watching where the tiny bubble of blood came up.

Right below where he felt Roy’s lips brush past before he walked off into the night. As if absolutely nothing had happened.

‘Nothing did happen. If you don’t think about him he doesn’t exist,’ he scolded himself. Repeating the same mantra he did every time he walked past Roy’s apartment building as if he was the boogeyman. ‘Focus.’

He drew his attention back to his reflection in the mirror. What he thought was his reflection at least.

He looked somewhat unrecognizable to himself. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it reminded him of a saying his mother used to throw around.

‘I can't put my finger on it, but if I could - I’d have to wash my hands!’

Maybe it was just nerves, some lingering stress from being the new kid on the block at work that made him uneasy. The alienation he felt was palpable. Between you and me though, it was most likely the fact that it was Monday morning before the sun had even come up and his head was still buzzing from the ‘quick’ cocktail party he’d attended with Jinkx the previous night. Was it the previous night?

He swore they left the apartment on Saturday night, yet he didn’t remember coming home till just a few hours ago, when he fell into his bed at long last. Drowning happily in a flurry of warm blankets and Jinkx's limbs sprawled over him where she had passed out, too drunk and too lazy to go find her own bedroom.

He settled on the pang in his stomach and his throbbing head being the cause of the discomfort he felt, and made his way to the kitchen for relief.

Coffee, that’s what would fix him. Coffee and the absolutely glorious spread of greasy breakfast foods Jinkx had made - bacon, sausages, eggs - butter smothered on everything, even the poor pan-seared potatoes Jinkx placed next to him as she sat down finally.

“You know,” Jinkx lulled, twirling a loose strand of hair from Danny’s forehead between her fingers. Unraveling all the hard work he’d done to finesse his unruly hair flat despite him swatting at her hand, “Shangie might’ve been right the other night. You’d make a gorgeous girl. Absolutely adorable.”

“Yeah? You think?” Danny gulped. “What does that mean? Is it something I do or, or how I sit?”

He slurped down another gulp of orange juice, the only unbuttered item on the menu. Not that he’d put it past Jinkx to experiment with that type of thing.

Although she was a great cook, every now and then she’d slip something in that she whipped up all by herself without the help of ladies’ magazines or cookbooks.

He wasn’t much better though. Outside the usual toast or bowl of cereal he made himself, he never had gotten the hang of cooking.

Not for lack of trying. His first morning there he had tried earning his keep by assisting with breakfast, assuming Jinkx would be far too sloshed to be any good, but she had very quickly put him in his place. She reminded him that as the lady of the house, she’d be taking up the housework and meal preparation before going to rehearsals; all he had to do was bring home a (not fat but at least plump) paycheck.

And maybe screw her brains out when she so politely asked him of course, like a proper friend should.

“Of course not, dear. It’s perfectly natural to want to play in girls’ clothes once in a while, didn’t Fred Mertz even dress up for an episode of I Love Lucy about some club thing?”

“That was different.” He scrunched his top lip. “And I’ll have you know it was the Ricky Asks For a Raise episode and they ALL dressed up.”

She shook her head, unamused. “You watch too much television; it’s gonna rot your brain one of these days.”

“It’s gonna rot your mep mep mep,” Danny sarcastically mimicked her disapproval with his hand, making her laugh as he did most mornings.

“You suuuuuure you never dabbled? Never played in your mother’s makeup or put on her shoes? Not even a brassiere?” she kept teasing, "You've always had such a fondness for breasts, I assumed you'd have some complex, dear.”

“No. Never.” Danny laughed uncomfortably, blushing at the implication. “I told you my father would’ve, well. I mean, he was in both wars, you know those guys. They can’t help it, different generations.”

He didn’t really want to think of his father too much. He didn’t openly hate him or anything, he was just sort of scared of him. He’d have violent fits of rage if the coffee had been burnt, if Danny flunked a test or even if a dog barked too loud.

It’s difficult for a child to bond with a man like that, or any parent for that matter, always tip-toeing around any small confrontation where even praise could be taken negatively. Suspicious you were out to get him at every word.

His brothers weren’t like that though. They were kind and gentle souls, till enlistment day. When a naïve 9 year old Danny watched them all join the service, dutifully joining their father fighting in the Pacific.

Don’t get me wrong, he admired them, idolized them for their bravery and their ability to come back and still see the good in humanity. However, he envied them. He’d never dare say it out loud though, especially considering how one of them, Charlie, never made it back.

Still, he saw the way they got a pat on the shoulder from every neighbor when they came home, or the praise and attention he’d always longed for from their parents - he couldn’t help but feel jealous.

Fine. Maybe there were some issues there, but he’d deal with them his own way. ‘Eventually,’ he lied to himself, like we all do.

He’d gotten so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed at first how Jinkx’s eyes had glazed over. As if she was still there, just perhaps not as present. Even so, she kept her chipper smile, taking a big bite of runny eggs on toast.

“You know? Uh, the way those military men are?” he repeated.  

She snorted, “That I do.”

“Say here. How is your family? Folks doing alright?” he asked, trying to make polite conversation rather than openly intrude. “I can only imagine how excited your mother must be to have a daughter.”

“Yeah…”

“Must have been strange for you, I’m sure to, to…am I stepping on some toes?”

“Oh heavens no, I just haven’t talked about it in ages. I wasn’t ready yet.” She shook her ginger hair to lay perfectly against her shoulders, sat up straight with her hands folded in front of her, and smiled her best attempt at a pageant smile. “Go ahead, ask me again.”

Danny quickly swept his hair flat with his palms and mimicked her straight back demeanor, going at it again but this time as if he was asking a colleague about the weekend. “Okay. How is your family, dear?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes flicked around aimlessly before back at him. Probably trying to avoid thinking too hard. “I haven’t spoken to them in over 4 years.”

Uh oh, she was curt.

“Oh. I just always assumed your mother would be understanding.”

He wasn’t quite sure if he should keep pressing the issue, but Jinkx was casually eating her breakfast with the same vigor and gleeful energy as she had before the conversation shifted, so he assumed she was okay with it. Besides, he’d known her long enough. At least, when he used to know her ‘before Jinkx,’ he’d known her well enough that she’d never hide anything from him.

Could it really be that maybe he missed something? Maybe she was struggling all those years he’d pushed her away and he never saw past himself to reach out. He assumed she’d be strong enough to handle anything without him, it never even occurred to him to stop and just ask. Just check in at least once.

“She was.”

Without missing a beat, she stood up to put the tin coffee pot on the stove and flick the burners on.

“I sent my parents a letter and a photograph, of me, obviously. You know. I explained everything. My mother called me first. She told me that she didn’t quite understand it yet but that she loved me regardless.”

Danny studied her face, on the edge of his seat as her eyes hinted at a tearful glimmer. Her face turned back to stone before he could even register it happening.

“Later that night my father called me. He’d shot her dead.”

Danny’s heart sank. He instinctively reached for his shirt buttons, fiddling with them, twisting them - anything he could do to keep himself distracted from processing the horror of it just yet.

She swallowed, then went on. “And, he was planning on shooting himself too because he couldn’t get to me. One of us had to go, he said, but they arrested him before he had the nerve to go through with it. Worthless coward. Coffee?”

“How-“ He knew she wouldn’t want sympathy or a show of weakness, at least the old Jinkx wouldn’t, so instead he followed her lead and swallowed his pity. “Absolutely, I’d love some.”

The room had stalled quiet after her revelation, except for the noise of water bubbling in the pot, the traffic outside the window gearing up as people left their home to start the day, and a gentle hum from the neighbor’s radio.

Danny watched Jinkx prepare another cup of coffee for each of them, wondering what was going through her head as she tapped her long beige claws rhythmically against the countertop. Like she was tapping herself a little beat.

He felt a very heavy knot of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Like he should’ve known better, not just about inquiring so much but about the way he abandoned her for so many years after college. Never even a letter or anything.

As usual, someone else had to make the move for him before he’d finally pull himself together. He knew which letter she was referring to; he’d gotten a similar one 2 and a half years after ‘she’ dropped out of college.

He didn’t recognize the name on the envelope at first, but he knew the handwriting anywhere, he’d spent enough time studying it while copying notes she’d taken in their shared classes.

He understood what her mother meant; he didn’t understand it either. He couldn’t process it for weeks, couldn’t decide what to do. He’d spend hours and hours after class just staring at her photo.

All he could remember thinking was, ‘Look at how happy she is.’

One day, he got brave enough to call her like she’d asked, and it was amazing. It was like he’d blinked and she’d blossomed, not just the noticeable things. Her laugh - even her energy seemed happier, vibrant and alive.

It didn’t feel like talking to his college roommate, it felt like a whole new person. Never putting the two of them together in his mind, maybe he didn’t want to, maybe he wanted to keep them separated just enough he wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of his feelings.

Maybe he just wanted to enjoy having her and what she brought into his life as a ‘new’ friend. Including the butterflies you get seeing them laugh for the first time. The little smile you get thinking back on a joke they’d told you just knew would become a lifelong memory.

Even learning new details about her he never knew before - she liked white chocolates more than milk, she liked red wine more than white, she preferred coffee over tea but only on rehearsal days, she liked when your hand would caress the back of her neck but not her thigh.

Fine, yes. He may have explored more than just her mind after so many outings together, where they’d met in San Francisco one night. He couldn’t tell you how it happened the first time, and to be honest neither could I.

These things never have a beginning, it’s the way it goes when two friends finally get brave enough to acknowledge what they’ve both been feeling.

‘Besides,’ Danny had told himself. ‘I’ve done it with girlfriends in the past, she’s a girl and my friend. Why not? Would this really be that different?’

‘Oh god.’ He realized he had spiraled down a tangent. The knot in his stomach turning tighter as it hit him that never once during their letters, calls, dates, what have you - never once did he ask her about her parents.  

They’d never discussed their families much before so it never hit him till now that she was unusually vague about them. He assumed that well, so was he during that time so what gave him the right to push her on the matter.

‘Dammit.’

“Say, I…I really am so sorry, I didn’t mean -“

“Oh no. I’m fine, mean it.” She dropped herself back into her seat and resumed eating some bacon. “See, people complain about how the poor dear family must weep for losing their son or daughter. Why must they suffer so having lost ONE family member? Nobody stops to think maybe the son or daughter has to grieve too, not just for themselves but, but for their family. Even the supportive ones.”

Danny found himself remembering a very different Jinkx, who’d made a very similarly grand speech to keep themselves from crying in school when they’d been caught cheating on a math test.

‘Why must we quarrel so over x = y or 2 + 2 doesn’t equal 3 when there are STILL children in this country starved. Not just for food, neigh, for nourishment of the mind, of the heart and soul. Not…algebra. After all, time goes by…so slowly…'

It made him happy thinking of those days, right when they’d met as college freshmen, and more importantly, before Jinkx dropped out to move away and change her life, leaving him behind. Back when it was just them, best friends daydreaming together in their own world.

“For what it’s worth,” he finally began, breaking the awkward sounds of a lonely knife and fork sliding over the plate. “I am very, very grateful I didn’t lose you.”

He stared up from his own plate to see Jinkx watching in shock at the sudden display of affection. The corners of her mouth twisting into a sincere smile, her brow furrowing as if she was holding back too many emotions to think about right now. And just as suddenly as you could say blink, she was back to herself.

“Thank you, dear. Now finish up; the bus won’t wait for you and if you miss another day what will they think?”

“You’re right.” He beamed, happy to see the color return to her cheeks.

He downed the last quick cup of coffee she made, despite the stinging burn it caused down his throat, and reached for the coat and hat combo that she’d purchased for him, so he’d look more professional. He foraged around some bills and newspaper clippings she’d left on the small desk by the door, trying to locate the briefcase he’d forgotten there on Friday.

“Does it bother you?”

“You kiddin’, not at all. I like reading your reviews between breaks. It gives me something to look forward to in meetings. Makes me feel like Lucy Ricardo if I’m honest with you.”

“Daniel,” she spoke seriously. Halting his movements with a firm grip on his wrist so he’d look at her while she stayed seated in the old, painted blue dining chair. “Does it bother you? Me?”

“Oh.” He finally caught on. “Why no. Why would it?”

“It’s just that since you’ve gotten here, every time we fuck...You seem…distant. I know we’re not exactly going steady or anything, but I’d like it if you were a little more attentive once in a while when you made love to me. Properly.”

“You mean…” Danny inhaled hard, fixing his tie.

He couldn’t particularly say why this bothered him so much, but suddenly this talk felt like something he shouldn’t be a part of. It terrified the shit out of him. Maybe he’d made a romantic gesture that he’d missed sooner.

“I mean, if you’re so unbothered, would you mind looking at me, or touching me, or kissing me? Not that I don’t enjoy getting straight to it. Maybe we could just…try it?“

“Oh.” He nodded, considering her sincere words. Not just thinking about them but really, really taking in what she was asking of him. Intimacy. A connection, anything. Not a proposal, just some comfort. It certainly wasn’t unreasonable; it was realistic.

She eventually dropped her head and her hand, clearly fed up with him taking so long to answer. “You’re right. Forget what I said, old friend.”

Shit. The last time Jinkx made an effort towards a deeper connection, he chickened out. He didn’t want to make the same mistake, he had to be more reasonable now.

“Dollface," he tried salvaging the situation, dropping to his knees in front of her so he could look at her face. “What time does your rehearsal end tonight, huh? I’ll try to pick you up and we’ll go out, make a night of it. Nice place to eat, maybe dance a little and then we can come home and, and I’ll - I’ll do whatever makes you happy? Okay?”

Jinkx’s frown began twitching back into a smile without her intending to, unable to keep a straight face at the big hazel eyes staring up at her with such empty promises and well intentions.

“Sure. I’ll call you at work.” She rolled her eyes. “Now go before you miss the bus.”

“Swell.” He jumped up, planting a big wet kiss on her forehead before he rushed out the front door and down the hall to the elevator.

He was sure she’d see through his façade, but he’d managed to pull it off and keep his cool under the pressure. Once he got on his bus though, he couldn’t help but drop his head in his hands as that knot of guilt dug itself deeper into his soul. His miserable, pathetic, black soul, he punished himself.

Thinking about her parents, which made him think about his own dead brother. Thinking about Jinkx and how she must’ve felt. Reaching out for the one thing we all want, a connection. It wasn’t all lies though—he did love Jinkx, but merely as a friend. Maybe. He couldn’t tell anymore.

Sure it’s swell having someone looking after you, cooking and cleaning for you, sucking your dick for you. Once or twice, they’d even come home drunk from the club together and he’d fucked her, which was enjoyable, make no mistake. Something had changed since their stolen moments together before moving to New York, and he couldn’t quite get his heart or his head to be as eager about it anymore.

He blamed Courtney and the Pink Flamingo Club. And Roy. And Morgan that…stupid emcee with the big muscles and even bigger breasts who’d walk around in slacks one night and a skirt the next. And Raja with their deep voice, short, fringed dresses and non-existent breasts that still somehow aroused him.

‘I’ll be damned, she's right, I do have a complex,” he groaned internally.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He heard a, strangely familiar, rough voice next to him.

“No. I’m scum, and I’m broke. I’m broke scum,” he whined, rubbing his eyes furiously with the back of his knuckles before he sat up. His mother would scold him for talking to strangers like this if she could but so be it, he deserved it.

“I’ve seen scummier,” Roy cackled from his chest next to him, clearly amused by his childishness. Wait, Roy?

“Roy!” he recognized, face draining white in a panic. “Oh...Roy. I- I-“ He began to stutter, his breathing picking up.

Roy darted his eyes around to see if the people around them had noticed, then quickly leaned in, pretending to lift his coat tail out from under him as he whispered, “Shh, it’s fine. Not here.”

Danny knew what he meant. Not in public, not this open. This wasn’t the time to regret curious questions in a bar or a kiss with a man you don’t even know past a first name.

He took Roy’s lead and turned it around, grabbing his hand with both of his for a vigorous, masculine shake. “Good t-to see you again, chum, how’s the mi- I mean how’s it going?”

He could tell despite the stern expression at first Roy was hiding a small smile behind it. The dimples in his cheeks noticeably deepening when their hands touched. 

A touch Danny dropped as soon as possible, unsure how long was the appropriate time for acting natural and cool.

‘Shit. Has he been waiting for me? Is he mad? Should I say something?’

His panic began bubbling to the surface again. His hands reaching up to nervously fix his tie, his collar, fiddle with the buttons on his shirt - anything.

“I started a new job,” he blurted out, “at the bank.”

Roy nodded along with him, clearly unsure of where this was going at first too. “And you’ve been too busy to call or stop by the bar at the club or…walk down the street and wave at me?”

“Yeah.” He smiled his best ‘get out of jail’ grin. “Something like that.”

“Meaning, you and I are okay then?”

“Yes?” Danny swallowed. Unsure what he meant by ‘okay’ but he didn’t want to risk pushing the issue any further and explaining why he couldn’t wave to him or dare see him at the club.

His very presence haunting his sober brain with images of their inebriated kiss replaying in his mind over and over.

Roy coughed, maybe not so subtly, to get his attention back from his momentary daydreaming. Smoothing his thick black hair under his hat. “Now, it’s not the ‘bank’ getting you down, is it?”

Danny shook his head no.

“Then what’s got you so blue?”

“Girl troubles, roommate troubles. Both I suppose.”

Roy leaned back in his seat, nostrils flared, scraping some lint from his pants. “I see. I didn’t realize you and Jinkx were going steady.”

“No, we’re not. I don’t think we are. I mean, I - see, why do women have to be so damn complicated!” he huffed, crossing his arms like a rotten child. “You know a girl over eight years, she insists that all she wants is to stay your friend. Promises you nothing will come out of it and then bam!” He smacked his hands together. ”Suddenly she wants flowers and dinners and rings.” Hyperbole of course, but Roy didn’t know that.

“Sounds like you need a drink,” he tried sympathetically suggesting. Drumming his fingers on his knee while he waited for Danny to deny his request, but when neither could think of a good reason not to they settled it.

Roy stood up and pulled on the lever, asking the driver to stop the bus, directing Danny to come with him.

Danny was a bit hesitant about missing another day of work, but Roy reasoned with him that as long as he called them from the phone both outside the club and claimed he had a terrible cold, what could they do? It’s not like all of New York would come to a standstill because one bank teller had to miss a day’s work.

Besides, it was easy, he realized, mimicking Roy’s speech to his own employer, the same woeful little cough and clogged nose bit that a school boy would try with their mother.

“I thought you made costumes for movies?” Danny asked, confused when they finally made their way inside a depressing little dive bar tucked between two restaurants.

Roy hadn’t called a company or studio like he anticipated; he called the owner of the Pink Flamingo Club, pathetically promising to work every opening and closing shift for the rest of the week.

“That’s just Jinkx being facetious. Most of the time, I work behind the bar at the Pink Flamingo. A friend of mine who works in pictures calls me up to do jobs when something comes up that’s up my alley. Then I go back to the bar, so I can earn enough to last me till the next picture, rent a new closet to live in and sling drinks to keep from being broke. Or bored to death in some godforsaken office job.”

“Wow.” Danny gasped, amazed either way by how much more impressive his job description sounded than his own. As if every job didn’t sound more impressive than his own. “You’re like a superhero with a double life.”

Roy’s face completely broke at the seriousness in his compliment, making Danny click just how absurd what he said sounded. It was nice though, seeing him so happy, it made you feel at ease with the lightheartedness.

“I’m no Clark Kent, kid.” He kept cackling loudly even when the bartender slid their drinks over. “I just like to work while I can, you know. And be grateful for it.”

“I guess…” he sighed.

The shift in his attitude must’ve been a lot more noticeable than he believed as suddenly Roy’s tone softened. Guiding him to go sit in the back corner of the bar where they were hidden in the shadows, free to discuss all his woes with their 8am liquor.

First, he was a bit reluctant to share, so he asked Roy some questions about his own life, and where he came from. Roy told him about immigrating from Cuba, to which Danny had to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking like Desi.

However, Roy obviously either got that question regularly, or knew Danny well enough at that point, and acknowledged it before he could with a snippy, “Not like Desi. We were poor and Papi didn’t own half the fucking country…but I do like their rum.”

He talked about the few movies he’d worked on, talked about the actresses and actors he got to meet that made Danny swoon. He even mentioned how he'd been a veteran of the war, stationed in France during the invasion and then Australia - Danny made a note to ask him if he knew Courtney's elusive serviceman at a later date.

Eventually, as Danny grew more comfortable, it was more give than take. He began rattling off every single life event since his first day in kindergarten, when a little boy kicked sand onto his apple, but Roy listened and gave his input on everything. Praising his honesty, encouraging him to open up more.

He’d reached a boiling point he didn’t know he had and once he let it all out, he let it ALL out. For hours, he nursed the same 2 Irish coffees, too busy talking to even take a drink anyway. It was remarkable, the conversation flowing between them as freely and naturally as lifelong friends.

He told Roy about how he rushed home the day his father and brothers returned from war, how excited he was to finally tell them about everything they’d missed, how he wanted to hug them, kiss them - anything. Something he assumed Roy’s own loved ones must have been feeling.

Instead all they did that day was plan Charlie’s funeral. All the things he wanted to share about his budding adolescent firsts seemed so small and inconsequential as he watched his mother stoically browse through caskets.

“How did they find him?” Roy asked solemnly, his warm hand hovering over Danny’s knuckles hidden beneath the table, soothing him softly, carefully.

Danny took a sip from the dismal remains of his coffee, pulling a face at the bitter bland taste before he acknowledged the question. The fact that Roy wasn’t just listening but openly and patiently inquiring into what he was saying finally gave him the courage to say the words out loud.

“He managed to make it through 3 years of fighting in the Pacific, just to crash the truck he was driving back to the base. Isn’t that just like life sometimes?” He chuckled halfheartedly to keep his voice from breaking. He couldn’t help himself from clutching at the hand still holding his, desperate for a bit of human warmth. His eyes locking with Roy’s. “Just when you think you’re gonna be okay, something knocks you down.”

Maybe it was the poor ventilation in the bar, or the alcohol he’d sipped on without eating anything besides breakfast that day, but suddenly Danny felt his head go dizzy. Everything around him was almost standing still in a fog as he watched Roy’s lips.

Pondering how he got to this moment in his life, where the only thing he wanted was for him to kiss it all better.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.” Roy broke the silence, making Danny quickly fall back into his seat, frantically rubbing his face and smoothing out his hair as if he’d just woken up from a bad dream.

“What time is it?” He flailed around, looking for the watch he’d forgotten to put on this morning when he spotted a familiar blond man standing in front of the club at the bus stop.

“Shit!”

“What? What is it?” Roy tried asking.

“That’s Willam, shit, he’s a coworker. If he sees me here, he’ll think I’m…I’m -”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “Think you’re what?”

“You know!” Danny exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “He’ll think I’m…like you!”

“Like me, eh?” Roy retorted, sitting back in his seat with an unreadable expression, shooting back the last of his own drink before taking out a cigarette.

Danny was frozen; he didn’t know whether to run or hide. He didn’t want Willam to see him skipping out on work and report him, but without ever having to say the word out loud he knew what he meant, and he knew he couldn’t escape it this time.

“I thought that tur-” Roy started, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Looking around at the other four people in the bar. “I thought you were implying something different.”

“I - I never implied anything.”

“Yes you did and you know it.” He gritted his teeth as if he was holding something back. “I guess I was wrong about you though, huh? Or did you just get off on the idea of messing with me? Having a nice laugh at me giving you my number.”

“No.”

“Oh, so I wasn’t wrong then? You liked it?”

“No!”

They’d once again met at that pond, lost deep, deep in some repressed memories Danny held where their eyes met, predator and prey. Kicking himself for letting this happen again.

“Hold on." He approached the subject slowly, taking a deep breath. Palms defensibly held out by his hips. “Yes. I had a momentary lapse of judgment but I’m-I’m pretty sure, I’m not like, you know,” he swallowed, “that.”

Either it worked, or Roy had gotten too good at putting on a face as he seemed to return to his usual composed self. His expression, however, still felt as if he knew more than he was letting on, like he was 10 steps ahead in a game Danny didn’t even know how to play. “Okay.”

“Huh?”

“Okay,” he repeated, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he stood up, throwing some cash on the table. “If you say so. I’ll be at the club tonight though if you want to not talk about it some more.”

“I can’t, I’m taking Jinkx out…”

“Sure you are.” He patted Danny’s chest one last time and left. Leaving him there on his own, unsure of what to do.

Luckily, he managed to sneak home just in time to avoid being caught for his little day off escapades. But when he crossed the threshold, he suddenly had the urge to wash off something dirty from his soul and immediately hopped into the small shower.

Scrubbing for ages to try and cleanse something tainted from his hair, his skin, his very spirit maybe. The water turned cold by the time he realized how shriveled his fingers and toes had grown.

“Hey!” He heard Jinkx running into the living room, followed by shoes being kicked off, a coat thrown haphazardly onto something making it rustle, and then she reached his bedroom.

He’d been standing in front of the bed with his clothes all spread out, wondering what to wear but too lost in thoughts of what Roy had said. His spirit still dirty despite the raw skin.

“Well hell-o,” she teased by digging a finger into his brief’s waistband, not so subtly looking down at his ass.

“Hello to you too.” He feigned a sense of normalcy, reaching around to give her a quick cheek peck and a big fat hug. Her boundless enthusiasm was too much for him to contain, however, as she ran out before he could fully close his arms.

Heading towards her bedroom to change into an evening dress, he gathered, by the big closet door’s signature hinge squeak.

“Listen. I know you were so sweet to promise a date for tonight but I have a show business thing I have to do.”

‘Thank god.’

“You can come though! I need to meet the new director and go over some things with him, so I suggested we meet at the club.”

‘Shit!’

“Actually, I would just feel like I’m in your way, dollface. Why don’t you go alone?” he tried to argue, leaning against the doorway, forgetting he was still in his underwear.

“Nonsense! I’ll buy you a drink and you can talk to the band boys about that audition. It’ll be great. Once you get dressed. Hop to it.” She snapped her fingers.

“Great for who?” he mumbled, almost certain she heard it.

By the time they’d met up with the director at the club, Danny’s heart felt like it was going to fall out of his ass. It was beating violently, making him nauseous, knowing Roy would take this as a win.

He tried fighting Jinkx on the matter but she seemed so insistent he come along that he couldn’t say no.

Fine, he didn’t fight that hard. He barely fought at all; he wanted to see Roy. Despite what he said, he still wanted to see him. He couldn’t stop seeing him every time he closed his eyes and he needed the real thing.

“Thank god,” he praised under his breath when they walked in and Roy was nowhere to be seen. He could relax. Coming to terms with this being some joke the older man had tried playing on him meant soon enough he could breathe normally again.

The rest of the night went great. They chatted, danced a few numbers, had a great meal and again, more than a fair share of drinks.

He felt so at ease, so affirmed in his role as the straight-laced man of the house his parents had expected of him. Jinkx was in her element, flattering the director with grace and elegance, buttering him up with invitations to dinners at their apartment as she lazily played with the button on his sleeve all night.

He finally felt like things might be all right. Ish. As always though, when things were going a little too great, he came back from the bathroom to see who but Roy and that night’s singer, Trinity, at their table.

Roy positioned, coincidentally of course, in the seat next to his acting as if he hadn’t seen him in ages. Shaking his hand and dropping a phony, “Daniel right?”

A name he knew good and goddamn well from their discussions that day that only 2 people called him - Jinkx and his mother.

Trying to keep his composure, Danny politely nodded, shaking his hand before he sat back down. Unable to follow the rest of the conversation that took place about singers, back up dancers and even costuming.

His only contribution being when Trinity asked what he did and if he was also in show business. He didn’t hear her at first due to Roy’s leg pressing against his, causing a momentary brain lapse.

“Banker.” He coughed. “Well, bank - um bank teller.”

“Oh please.” Jinkx cackled, patting his hand. “That’s just temporary, he's the best singer around here, besides myself and Miss Bonet of course.”

“Is that so?” Trinity inquired, shooting Roy a brief glance.

“Y-“

“Of course!” His drunk roommate interrupted again, making Danny purse his lips into a forced smile. “He also plays three instruments AND writes his own songs. I keep telling him he should audition for the band here but he’s a little shy.”

“That’s enough, dear.” He tried to play it cool through his blushing, struggling to tell her to shut up without using so many words.

“Why didn’t you say so? I got this little thing her first gig here, I can get you one,” Roy nonchalantly commented from next to him.

‘Oh sure,’ he thought, but the rest of the table began encouraging him to go for it. Words of affirmation made it too embarrassing to reject the offer so he agreed and followed Roy out to the back of the stage where, allegedly, the club owner liked to work alone.

“Bunny?” Roy knocked on the big red door before he pushed it open, examining the empty office space. “Guess she’s not here.”

Even if he tried, Danny couldn’t tell you what came over him, he grabbed Roy by the perfectly starched collar and slammed him against a wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What?”

“You can get me a gig, really? And that leg thing, what's wrong with you?”

“What?” Roy asked, seeming genuinely taken aback. “I thought I was helping you? I thought we were friendly? What leg thing?”

“…oh.” Danny tried pulling away, suddenly feeling very silly, but his head was too clouded by the realization that he still had Roy pinned beneath him. Worse, that he had Roy pinned beneath him with a growing erection.

Roy had obviously noticed the bulge pressed against his thigh, as anyone would, and smirked with a slight glint in his eyes. “Not like me, huh?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” He quickly let go, shooting to the other side of the small room like a frightened deer with his hands desperately covering his crotch.

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Roy teased, scratching his chin awkwardly pretending to look away. “But, the offer still-uh, still stands. About Bunny, not the debauchery, or the number, as you’ve pointed out.”

“I wanted to call, um, but -” Danny tried defending but it felt pointless. He felt tired, unsure of what to do or say. Instead he just shook his head and buttoned his jacket back up to hide his embarrassment.

“I don’t understand you?” Roy crossed his arms, turning further away from him, this time with his whole body.

“What?”

“You asked me those things at the bar which, I’ll admit I took the wrong way. Clearly…” He tilted his head in Danny’s direction but kept his eyes on the wall. ”But you sat with me all day, I mean, I genuinely thought maybe you liked me.”

“Oh,” he repeated. He hadn’t considered that. Hadn’t taken Roy’s feelings into account, instead trying to think how he could still win this fight.

“Why are you hiding now though?”

“I’m not.” He was. Talking about your parents all day will have that effect on you, bringing that recognizable self-loathing back in a person. Even making him a little sheepish at that moment. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine. Better get back to the table then,” Roy exhaled, holding the door open for him.

He nodded, leaving Roy alone in the office.

As he made his way back to the table, defeated, he was intercepted by Jinkx going towards the bathroom, the two of them colliding into each other with a thud. Danny managed to grab hold of her by the shoulders and steady them both.

“Sorry, Doll, I didn't think to check where I was going.”

“I see that. Blood rushed somewhere else maybe?” she joked, eyeing between them where the bigger than usual bulge was still poking through.

‘Shit.’

“I guess it just…really likes running into you,” Danny quickly recovered, trying to save face before she asked too many questions.

Jinkx smiled a big grin and leaned into his ear with a husky tone, “Didn’t know you were such a romantic, why don’t I take care of that for you before we go back?”

Her whispers sent shivers up and down his back and straight to his groin, making his underwear painfully tight and his head painfully cluttered. How could he say no though? He needed to forget this day, he needed someone safe and familiar to hold onto till his world stopped spinning.

They rushed out the back door where he’d witnessed the spectacle with Courtney and a certain set of lovers, checking first this time that they were in fact alone.

They wasted no time, crashing into one another the second they established they were out of sight. Frantic kisses landing on exposed necks, lips, ears, wherever they could.

Danny’s hands cupping her face aggressively to pull her in for a passionate open-mouthed kiss. Hearing her moan, her cheeks and neck growing hot against his lips as he finally gave her the attention she’d asked for. Even if he knew it wasn’t for her, his mind could barely keep track of who it was picturing, Roy flashing into it every so often as he fought against his temptations.

“My my,” Jinkx moaned, dropping to her knees to wrestle his belt off. “Poor baby, you look like you’re fit to burst.”

“Maybe you’re just - aaah, that amazing,” he cried out when she took his thick cock into her mouth. Biting into his knuckles when the sensation overwhelmed him.

She didn’t seem to notice, or react if she did. Her red hair jostled wildly as she moved her head. Enveloping him fully, causing the thick vein on the side of his cock to pulse and his legs turn to jelly.

He held onto the wall behind them, bare palms flattened against it for support as his hips bucked wildly into her mouth. Groaning and cursing so loud and without care, he didn’t hear the door next to them open.

Barely enough for the light to poke through but enough that once he noticed, he caught Roy’s eyes watching them. His mouth opened as if he was about to say something before he saw them. An unreadable expression plastered across his sculpted face.

‘Dammit to hell,’ he cursed mentally, wishing Roy would be more animated like Jinkx with her heart on her sleeve. It’s tough enough trying to figure out what’s going on in your head let alone someone else’s.

Regardless, his own mind told him to stop, to immediately pull out and pretend nothing happened, maybe even confront Roy. Call him a bastard, a pervert, anything. He couldn��t.

He grabbed Jinkx and quickly spun her around, unable to contain himself any longer, spitting a good glob of saliva into his hand and onto his cock while she lifted her many skirt layers, reading his overzealous intentions all too well. Giggling like a lovesick schoolgirl, eager to please on prom night.

“Don’t bother being gentle,” she growled against the wall, arching her back to let him slide in and push her chest further into the bricks.

Trying to get on his tippy toes for easier access, he cursed her high heels vehemently before he grabbed onto her hips finally and dropped his forehead against the nape of her neck. Success! Sweet, sweet success.

Jinkx moaned loudly, unabashedly enjoying the moment. Distracting him briefly from the onlooker who caused this peep show to begin with.

His face tilted to the left where he could keep an eye on Roy, Jinkx pushed her hips back further with another loud wail, his own lips parting into a silent scream as her tight asshole stretched over his cock.

“That’s it. Like that,” she praised when his hips resumed their furious humping, hooking her fingers with his, unaware that while she was moaning out his name he was too busy saying silent prayers to Roy to even register.

His teeth gritted, eyes straining against the poor light so he could watch Roy for just a little longer. Studying the way his dark eyes sparkled in the softest bit of glow coming through. He’d pressed his lips into an acknowledging smile and started moving back towards the noise of the club when Danny shook his head no.

‘This is wrong.’

He knew it was. But his body craved the familiar, that human warmth again. His tipsy, confused mess of a mind however wanted the thrill of it.

He wanted Roy to see that his cock might’ve been inside Jinkx at that minute but not his mind. His mind was his to play with, to live in, not hers.

He couldn’t hold it any more, too filled with lust to care if he couldn’t last long enough, he furrowed his brows and tilted his head down as he grunted one last time. Slamming his hip bones flat against Jinkx’s round ass cheeks as he came.

Dropping his heels back down onto the ground with his twitching, limp dick sliding back out of her. His body felt as spent and tired as his soul, saying one last prayer to whoever would listen. Even if it was Roy or Jinkx. Anyone willing to hear.

“Sorry.” He whispered tentatively into her back, not just for what a mess he’d made between her legs but well, you know.

He didn’t have to say it, he didn’t have it in him yet.

“It’s okay, baby,” she reassured with a gentle lilt, taking the handkerchief he’d handed her to wipe them both clean. “You know I love it when you don’t hold back.” She turned to face him, adding, “So animalistic.”

He wondered if he should laugh at her dirty little comment but some shame still hung heavy on his shoulders. “Did you, um, should I?”

“No dear, you did good. You did very very goooood,” she praised seductively, planting a barrage of kisses on his face. Smothering him with the compliments he needed to soothe his ego.

Danny felt that pang of guilt again. Lavishing in the giddy affection he was receiving from her despite knowing that mere moments ago he pushed her aside, no pun intended, so he could focus on his fantasies again. Worried that if she ever found out, she’d think this was some sick joke he was playing on her.

When they went back inside, the director and Trinity were still chatting at the bar, presumably none the wiser of what had just occurred. No one knew, it seemed. Except Roy. Roy was sitting down in his chair with the most smug, shit eating grin plastered on his face as Danny sat down next to him.

“Where’s your little friend?” he asked, lighting two cigarettes between his teeth.

“She’s powdering her nose,” he responded, trying to avoid eye contact.

More lies. He was getting good at this, what would his mother say if she saw him?

‘When are you gonna man up and take responsibility?’

“Of course she is.” Roy leaned over to place one of the cigarettes he just lit into his mouth before the others returned. “Saw everything at Rock Hudson’s parties huh?”

“Yeah,” he winced, taking a big puff, still keeping his eyes straight ahead rather than acknowledging him.

“Yeah…”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Danny whimpered like a scared child, unexpectedly reaching his hand over, desperately gripping Roy’s hand before the others came back. Just a small act of comradery to assure him they were still okay.

“I…won’t.” Roy shifted uncomfortably in his seat briefly before snapping back to his laid back persona again. Patting Danny on the shoulder reassuringly, instructing him to follow suit. “Just act normal…”

[transmascwillbyers]

Most people's transition expectations vs. reality: Oh, I was hoping that going on T would be 100% perfect all the time, but it turns out I'm getting mood swings a lot more and I really hate doing weekly injections. Still worth it for the deeper voice, though!

My transition expectations vs. reality: Welp, I wanted to look like Will Byers, but I accidentally became Mike Wheeler instead. I don't look like him, nope. I just am him.

Oops.

[noidretina]

Someone commented on my pride pin and asked if I accepted pedos into the queer community and I said no, none of the queer community accepts pedos into the queer community. He stated that some do and that some use queer as a protection blanket. I said that I don't doubt that, but the queer community won't let them in. Long story short, I hope I broke down some internalized homophobia within that person. He left the conversation with one thing to say: "people like you should speak up more about it."

So let me say it loud and clear:

No one with half a brain cell will condone pedophilia, queer or not.