#Yeah so anyway I really think I do have PTSD

[hiddenbysuccubi]

Y'know what we're not gonna feel bad about crying or about imagining making everyone feel obligated to cater to my crying, we're gonna focus on the fact that I rallied and that so many beautiful humans came over to console me and ask me to dance. That would never have happened at a school dance or club. (AKA I went to English Country Dancing and I fucked the fuck up on dance 3 or 4 and lost my partner and actually the entire group and got overwhelmed and cried) I'm not happy, I'm not proud. It was goddamn inconsiderate of me to my partner and to the others. To be fair, once I returned from getting water and collecting myself I watched nearly every single other experienced dancer also losing the steps and not getting it either, but in the end, I did rally and I went on to dance 3 more dances. I danced a good hour and 45 of the 3 hour shindig (after this the instructor let us know the last two dances would be advanced and hard for beginners so my HS best friend and I left for dinner ---- she also is diabetic and needed to eat) Anyway. They taught us bare minimum positions and concepts in the first 15 minutes (groupings, corners, 1st/2nd, partner, neighbor) but every dance introduced 2-4 new steps and such for each new dance. And didn't call the steps AS THE DANCE WENT (I don't know what I expected really) I did best on the easier dances (point A, obviously) and later when I said the steps out loud / called them as we went into them (point B) It was actually really fun and cool! I can see why they seem so romantic in period dramas and also why they are difficult! And I am so so so so very grateful to everyone who came to ask me to dance and took my hand and led me to the line up!!!! There wasn't a single dance I wasn't asked to! Most dances I was asked by more than one person (both men and women). And I watched experienced dancers fuck up left and right here and there so I'm not mad I fucked up, or even that I cried. I feel bad that I almost gave up and that I felt like giving up. But I didn't. And then my friend and I walked past a few places I haven't seen in forever and got good food and had a good chat (and for the first time all year I was able to pay for her instead of vice versa - though I only got away with it by her being in another room both times)

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[wonderjanga]

How would the League react to learning that Marvel was in the war? (Or have you already done something on this-)

I don’t think I have ever written something on this. The only thing similar would have to be the one where he started out in the 1940s as a hero and was there for almost every major war. And if I have, I don’t think I’ve gone into much detail about Billy in the wars. So anyways.

Flash: “You were in a war??”

Marvel: “I was in wars. The nineteen hundreds were so war filled now that I think about it.”

GL: “Which ones?”

Marvel: “All of the major ones besides the first Great War.”

GL: “So World War 2, Korea, Vietnam, and everything else?”

Marvel: “Yeah.”

Flash: “Wait, where were you during WW2…? I remember hearing about you in all the other ones but that one.”

Marvel: “I was mostly on the home front because of Hitler’s magic spear.”

GL: “What…?”

Marvel: “Hitler had this magic spear that could control superheroes so Roosevelt kept most heroes away from the front lines. I wasn’t apart of the All-Star Squadron, and I technically wasn’t supposed to be there, but I did wanna hang out with my buddies so I would go and fight there too.”

Flash: “You talk about hanging out with your buddies like you wouldn’t be hanging out in a war zone. Also, Hitler had a magic spear???”

Marvel: “Yeah? You didn’t learn about that in history class?” *forgot that’s supposed to be classified information*

GL: “No??”

Flash: “Does Germany still have it?”

Marvel: “No? I think the Blackhawks do. Or maybe someone else?”

GL: “You don’t know where it is?” *sounds extremely concerned*

Ever since this interaction, Hal and Wally have now seen their buddy in a new light. Like every time his face goes practically emotionless, (Ref to this post) what if he’s experiencing war flashbacks or something?

Villain: *laughing maniacally and holding someone hostage*

Marvel: *face blank, thinking how to do this*

Flash: *thinks he’s having a PTSD episode* “Cap.” *zips over* “Cap, breathe.”

Marvel: *pauses his thinking and looks over to him confused* “Huh?”

Flash: “Breathe, buddy. Breathe.” *doesn’t really know what he’s doing but is trying his best*

The villain was just awkwardly standing to the side, having been forgotten. Meanwhile, Billy’s just completely confused, but he did go along with the breathing thing Flash wanted him to do for whatever reason. That seemed to make the speedster stop worrying about… whatever he was worried about.

Martian Manhunter accidentally over heard GL and Flash talking about this and as someone who probably has PTSD from watching a lot of his people die in the war against the white Martians, he now invites Marvel at have tea with him because he heard it can calm human nerves. …the Captain is human, right?

Some of the other GL’s were also a little happy at this because this means Cap is technically a military man and they’re military men and women so yippee. Or at least it was a yippee until Hal told them about Marvel having PTSD. Again, Billy doesn’t, it’s just that after the breathing thing that he went along with, it confirmed for Flash that he did have shell shock.

When heard about this he actually went to ask Marvel if he wished to join a veterans group

Batman: “It’s for people who went through war the same as you did.” *gives Marvel a little brochure*

Marvel: “Thanks…? But I can just talk to the JSA, All-Stars, or the Squadron of Justice if I have to.” *sounds confused*

Batman: “Then I guess you could use that for your civilian identity.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “Maybe.” *doesn’t think they’ll accept someone who looks twelve but is just going with it*

[heavyhitterheaux]

Wife and Mother To Be

Synopsis: While you and Joe are shopping for a friend's baby shower, he has a realization about his future with you.

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Girlfriend!Reader

Requested by @hoodharlow 😘💕

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Standing in the baby section of Target and holding up two different onesies to compare them, your phone started to vibrate in the back pocket of your jeans. Placing one of them across your arm, you pulled your phone out to answer it and was greeted by a frantic boyfriend.

“Baby! Where did you run off to this time? You said we were coming in here for toothpaste and face masks. Next thing I know, I turn around and my girlfriend is missing! Are you at Starbucks again?! You ALWAYS do this when we come in here.” You heard your boyfriend say as you picked up and didn't wait for a proper greeting.

“You were literally standing there for fifteen minutes comparing different ones so I walked away. I'm in the baby section looking at clothes. And no, I already went to Starbucks and my drink is gone so I'll need to make another stop before we leave.”

“No, no, and no. I am literally taking you to lunch so no more stops and wait a minute, why are you in the baby section? Is there something you need to tell me?” Joe asked and you immediately rolled your eyes.

“For Gabby! Her baby shower is tomorrow, remember? Just come over here and help me pick things out for her.”

“Oh, right. Be right there, I'm walking over now.”

It was another two minutes when you saw Joe coming towards you and he greeted you by placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“Wait a minute, why do you have a cart? We got a basket when we came in here. What did you plan on buying her? The entire section? Am I paying for this?”

“Joseph, will you relax!? I'm just getting her a few things and then we can go eat. Now what do you think about these?” You asked as you held up the same two onesies to show him.

“Hmm, what is she having again?” Joe asked as he was looking at both of them.

“A girl, Joe. Both of these are pink.”

“So? What's your point? I wear pink too.”

“But not something that says princess on it!” You responded to him as you laughed.

“At least not yet anyway and I like both of them.”

“Okay good. Both it is and I’m ignoring you.”

“I should ignore you for leaving me by myself.”

“Oh, that's right. I forgot that you need supervision all the time.”

“No, that's you. I'm a responsible adult. You're the one who comes in here for one thing when you tell me you'll be back in twenty minutes but an hour goes by and you're nowhere to be found.”

“And you use whatever I bring back home so you benefit from it so I don’t want to hear it.” You told him with a smirk and now it was Joe’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Come on and help me. Sooner we finish, the sooner we get food and go home.” You told him and he quickly agreed as he started browsing the baby toys.

Before you knew it, another thirty minutes had passed by and the two of you had a cart full of different things for Gabby. You were satisfied with how much you had gotten, but Joe was still browsing.

“Babe, come on. This should be enough.” You told him as you came up behind and wrapped your arms around him as he was now comparing two different diaper brands and you suddenly got a flashback to the toothpaste situation.

“You can never have enough diapers though, right?”

“Sweetheart, we got her four packs already.”

“Yeah, but are those really the best ones? I think that these might be better in case she has a blow out. My nephew did that to me and I still have PTSD. Therapy was needed after that.” Joe told you as he put the other diapers back and you couldn't help but to laugh.

“Not funny, babe. I didn't realize how much shit could come out of someone so little.”

“It is funny, Joseph and I wish I was there to be able to see your face when it happened.”

“Keep going and I'm not feeding you.” Joe told you as he put the diapers you had gotten in the cart back and replaced them with the brand that he wanted.

“But, I need energy in order to ride you later.” You replied and Joe immediately turned a bright shade of red as you began to laugh.

“BABE!”

“What? What'd I say?”

“You know what you said. Come on so we can go.”

Later on that night you were sitting on the middle of the floor in your shared bedroom with Joe when he walked in to see what you were doing.

“You run away from me in Target and at home. Did I do something?” Joe playfully asked as he sat across from you and began to help you wrap the gifts for Gabby.

“Nothing at all, Joey. Doing this so I can spend the rest of the night cuddling my amazing boyfriend whom I love to the moon and back.”

“Just the moon, not further?”

“Well we aren't going to the sun unless we want to burn to a crisp so yeah the moon.”

“I'll take it.”

You were folding the onesies when Joe was simply admiring you. Before he could stop himself, he blurted it out.

“When are we going to have one?” He asked and your mouth instantly hit the floor, but you tried to compose yourself.

“Um, have a what?” You asked clearly flustered and Joe simply laughed.

“You know what I mean.” Joe responded as he pulled you to sit in his lap as he kissed the top of your head while his arms wrapped around you.

“You want a baby? With me?” You asked with your voice dripping with uncertainty.

“I want everything with you. I thought that much was obvious. And not just one baby, multiple.” He answered and you turned around to look at him.

“You're serious?”

“I love you and I'm as serious as a heart attack.”

“Well you low key just gave me one.” You muttered against his chest and he laughed.

“Don't you want that with me?”

“Of course I do. I want nothing more than to make it a reality. I just didn't really know how to tell you or if you were ready. I mean you are literally at the peak of your career.”

“Baby, you can tell me anything and everything. You know that. And so what? If this is something that we both want, we're going to make it work.”

“You're not messing with me?”

“Now, why would I do that? I want to make you my wife too whenever that time comes. Mrs. Sheisty has a nice ring to it, don't you think?”

Now it was your turn to shy away and hide in his chest and all he did was laugh.

“In that case, I can't wait for you and our daughter to have matching pink outfits.”

“Oh, so you want a girl first?”

“Of course, girls run the world and she is going to have you wrapped around her little finger just like I do now.” You told him as you poked his nose.

“If that's the case, you want to get started? I heard that making the baby is the fun part.”

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time Chapter 2

<prev> <next>

So Danny? 100% has PTSD. I do have a vague plan for this. And most of the next chap written. The Fentons may or may not be terrible parents. You’ll have to wait and see. I do have plans to break everyone’s hearts at least once. Anyways. This is considered my like…. Audience test before Ao3. Things may change. As a reminder all I know about dc is from fandom and wiki and everything I remember about dp is prob poorly remembered.

—

Once upon a time, there had been a young boy who was happy. Once upon a time, there was a young boy who had dreams and a future. Once upon a time, there was a boy who had been alive in every sense of the word. Once upon a time, everything shattered. Once upon a time, there was a man who was filled with anger. Once upon a time, there was a man just as alive as he was dead. Once upon a time, there was a man who was haunted and hunted.

As the stabbed kid shuffled off, leaving Jason baffled, he grabbed the guy who he had slammed into the wall. His head was bleeding but his breathing was steady and Jason huffed. He knew he definitely cracked the guy’s skull, but he had survived worse.

“O, what do we know on this guy?” He asked the woman in his ear. Oracle’s answer would determine whether he took the guy in to the ER or let him roll the dice of fate.

“Rap sheet about a mile long. Pretty basic stuff. Armed robbery, possession with intent, B&Es, assault and battery, the usual.”

Jason shrugged then and dropped the guy against the wall. Rolling the dice it was. He turned away, looking towards where the kid disappeared around the corner “and what about the guy he was mugging?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Oracle’s typing was coming through loud and clear. “It’s hard to get a clear picture of him. He has some sort of distortion on the feed. Everything else comes out clear but…. He’s a mess of pixels. Voice too. Scrambled. It’ll take time.”

“Think he’s a meta?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, considering he got knifed and just…. Walked off with it. Wonder what his issue with B is though.”

“Couldn’t tell you. Think it might be time to update my armor if I’m being lumped in with people B and the bird brains have pissed off.” Jason took an evidence kit out of his pocket and swiped at the blood on his chest. Old habits and all. “Got a sample of the kid’s blood though.”

“Good thinking. Wonder if he’s in any databases. I’ve got a cleaned up picture now. Enough that it’s pinging in GU’s database. Dan Nightingale, Mechanical engineering major. It says he’s 19, it’s his freshman year and he’s in like every remedial class he can take, high school transcripts are mediocre at best. No other information about him really. Rogue in the making that one.” Oracle reported. Jason groaned, grapneling up to the rooftops to follow where the kid went off to.

“Someone should keep an eye on him. Ugh. This’ll be a conversation for B and the birds won’t it? Kid won’t like having a bunch of birds following him.” Jason flicked through the different visual modes on his visor, finding…. Cold moving through one of the apartment buildings. It was human shaped, but where he expected to find heat…. “Weird…. You seeing this?”

“Very weird,” Barbara agreed, tapping into his visor’s feed. “And hey, you could just…. Not tell him. You wanted a Lit degree right? Go to class, befriend him. Do some recon.” Jason knew Babs always walked the fine line between what Bruce needed to know about the rest of them and what she had to keep secret to keep helping them. He didn’t envy her position. Jason still wanted Bruce to hurt sometimes. Not as much as he used to, something about the sins of the father and all that. He just wanted Bruce to be aware that everything he had ever hoped for his boy to be was… out of both of their reaches forever.

“That sounds annoying.” He was 23. He didn’t have any interest in taking on a degree on top of his full time crime fighting and criminal empire running jobs.

“Yeah, but what other choice do you have? It’s go back to school, tell B, or wait for him to become a rogue.”

“I hate you sometimes.” He muttered, unsure of what made him suddenly so interested in that angry guy.

“Feeling’s mutual Hood,” She replied with what was definitely a fond tone. He grimaced.

—-

In the apartment, Danny was less than thrilled. That was his favorite shirt! Now not only was it covered in blood, it had a huge hole in it. His core still thrummed with the urge to fight, but he tamped it down. Slowly, as he pulled the knife out, he sealed the wound with a layer of ice, pulling his shirt off and throwing it into the bathroom sink. The knife was dropped into the kitchen sink. His keys and phone in his bedroom on the battered nightstand next to the bed.

He returned to the bathroom and turned the water on cold. He let it spray full blast before working on scrubbing the blood from his shirt. He looked up to eye himself critically in the mirror before noticing the waistband of his jeans were saturated with blood too. Damn it. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants off, throwing them into the now overfilled sink. The bathtub would probably be a better choice. Turning off the sink and turning on the tub Danny picked up the sopping clothes and dropped them with a wet thump into the basin of the tub. Carefully he lowered himself onto the floor, wincing at the way pain clawed through him.

He would need to actually eat food to heal from this at any reasonable speed. He thought of the two dollars he had, then the emergency stash of….he racked his brain to remember how much of the emergency cash he was left with once he got to Gotham…right. Twenty bucks…. That was all he had in the wall.

He missed the days when Sam would just throw money at him whenever his parents forgot to do things like pay rent or put food in the fridge.

As if agreeing his stomach rumbled loudly, demanding actual food to sate the expense of energy healing his injury would take. He thought about calling Sam. Seeing if she could arrange a prepaid card for him. He knew she would in a heartbeat.

Even cut off from family money she seemed to be doing better than he was. Wracking his brain, Danny thought she was working in Bludhaven as some sort of personal assistant. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion that came from sustaining a human body on nothing but ecto or if he had been too distracted in the moment to pay proper attention, but he couldn’t remember if that was right. Getting the blood out of his clothes he wiped at the remaining blood on his body, getting most of it off. He grabbed the clothes and turned off the water.

Slowly, Danny pushed himself to his feet. He had survived worse, multiple times. But pain never seemed to stop being painful. It lanced through his side and he almost fell back to his knees with the way it stole his breath and doubled him over. He wished he could go back to the Zone and just… wait it out. But in order to do that without drawing attention he’d need a portal. The only ones he knew of were either destroyed or…. Compromised.

Maybe he should call Vlad. Danny shook that thought away almost immediately as he realized how silly it was. Vlad spent most of his teen years antagonizing him. Besides the GIW had probably gotten to Vlad too. If he wasn’t captured he would likely be compromised. Memories of Amity Park flooded in before Danny could stop them. Of asking for help. Over and over. Of the GIW storming in and locking everything down. Of Danny frantically telling his parents, only for their eyes to dart to the kitchen before they could stop it. Of the sound of energy. The smell of his flesh burning. Of pain.

Danny forced himself to take a breath. He focused on the wet clothes in his hands. On the tiles beneath his feet. Of the too harsh fluorescents in the bathroom that buzzed. The sounds of the people above him arguing over bills and needing better jobs.

Slowly he banished the memories back where they belonged. He’d… figure it out. He had to. Somehow. For now, sleep. Danny hung up the wet clothes over the shower bar, made sure there was a towel on the floor and shuffled into the bedroom. Double checking that his alarm was set, even though his class wasn’t until early afternoon, he didn’t want to miss it, he slid into his bed and pulled the pile of blankets up over him.

Almost instantly, he was out.

—-

“B,” Jason said in lieu of a proper greeting as he stepped into the Batcave, hood tucked under his arm.

“Jason,” Bruce looked up and turned the surprised expression into something more fond. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Jason leaned against the rock. Foot braced against the wall. “I know semester’s already started, but something came up. How hard would it be to start at GU?”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and Jason knew it was his way of trying to figure out what buttons to press. Then he tilted his head and turned back to the computer screen. “Not too hard. It is early yet. Anything I should know?”

“Babs was lonely.” It was an out and out lie, but it seemed to soften things in Bruce further, reminding him of the two children that failed him within months of each other.

“Hm.” Bruce was silent at his computer for a long moment. Convinced that was the end of the conversation, Jason tightened his grip on the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “Either way. It is a good choice. Literature?”

The comment and question rankled Jason, the thing from the pit scratching at his carefully contained emotions. Pushing for any crack. Bruce was trying he reminded himself. Too little too late, but trying.

“Yeah. Going in in the morning.”

“Should I call ahead?”

“No. I can handle it. If not I have no business being there.”

“You will do fine.” The ‘you are a Wayne’ was left unspoken.

Jason snorted. “Right. Good talk.”

“Are you staying the night?” An olive branch. Jason wanted to burn it. He tempered the impulse to a spark.

“I have my own place.”

“Your room is still yours when you want it.”

“Yeah. The room of the worst Robin in history. Pass.” Jason turned and walked stiffly back up the steps. Hearing the soft growl of Batman behind him. The start of an argument.

He considered it a victory that he didn’t run into any of his siblings or Alfred on the way out.

[rodolfoparras]

Cw: 18+, single dad Price, top Male reader, one night stand, age gap, widower! Price

Summary: In which Price happens to hook up with his son’s boyfriend

Thinking about single dad Price who’s been single for many years but gets encouraged by his friends to try the dating scene. After finding no luck on dating apps, he tries going to a gay bar.

At first it's the same old story, men who just want him for the night, not much different from the men from the dating apps and he’s just about to give up when you show up.

He hadn’t planned to talk to you at first and you hadn't even tried to approach him but you had gotten your drinks mixed up and thus a conversation started up.

From the low light of the bar he could see that you were much younger than him, and for a second Price thought about cutting this conversation short because Price knew boys like you, boys who thought they could take on the world boys who didn’t even know what they really want.

But he didn’t want to cut the conversation short, and found himself intrigued by you. Besides you’re the only normal person that approached him tonight so why not?

The two of you spoke about anything and everything under the sun. He had even let it slip that he was a single dad who hasn’t been in the dating scene in a while but you didn’t seem to mind it at all, only giving him a soft smile in response as you continued to listen to him.

But every word exchanged, every time your gazes met, every accidental graze and touch Price had realized you were just his type.

And suddenly Price wanted you in a way he hasn’t wanted anyone since his late wife passed.

But you didn’t seem that much interested in having sex, instead you continued to sit with him at the bar, and talk to him.

Price thought it must’ve been because of his age, why would you want to hook up with an old man anyway?

But if Price has learned anything from the dating scene it’s that sometimes you have to take the first step and see where it leads you.

So he downed his drink, cleared his throat, and asked you if you’d like to come home with him.

You’d been surprised at first not expecting those words and Price almost took your hesitance for rejection but you quickly spoke up again, ending any doubts in his head, and only asking if he’s sure about it

Price felt heat creeping up his neck, ears and cheeks but nodded eagerly, pants growing tighter as the two of you walked to his apartment.

When he first stepped foot inside he thought you’d push him up against the wall rip his clothes off and crash your lips onto his, truth be told if you were to do that he wouldn’t mind it but instead you hung your jacket up and put your shoes to the side and looked around the apartment , with a curious look in your eyes.

Price tried to scramble his brain for something to say. It had been so long since he brought someone home, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say anymore but all of sudden his thoughts are cut off by the sound of your voice “Is that a picture of you in the army?”

“Hm? Oh yeah” Price nodded in response as you inspected one of the pictures hung on the wall.

It had been one he’d taken with the rest of tf141, a keepsake for when he went into retirement.

“You were a captain?” You said, voice full of wonder as you continued to inspect the picture.

“Been plenty of things kid, I spent many years in the army” Price shrugged in response and walked closer to you, so that your shoulders were brushing up against each other.

“I always wanted to enlist but never passed the physical test,”

"Yeah?" Well it’s not all what it’s cut up to be, I got a bad knee and ptsd from the years spent serving”

“I’m sorry” you said, and turned to meet his gaze.

“Don’t be,”

Your gaze dropped down to his lips, as your arms snuk around his waist

“Price,”

“John” he corrected and leaned further into your embrace.

“John, can I kiss you?” You said, hand cupping his cheek and stroking flushed skin.

“Please” before he knew of it you crashed your lips onto his and he lost himself in the feeling of finally being kissed, in the way you tasted, the way your sweet cologne engulfed his senses, the way you licked into his mouth as if trying to memorize every nook and cranny.

It didn’t take much before you were stumbling into his dark bedroom, but instead of ripping the clothes off of his body you were gentle as ever as you slipped pieces of clothing off of him, all while trailing kisses all over his skin.

But it didn’t end there because you were gentle as ever as you pushed him onto the bed, and ever so careful as you crawled up the mattress and pinned him down under your weight and Price couldn’t help the butterflies that swarmed his stomach.

You spent the night taking him apart with your hands and mouth, having him perched on your lap as he worked himself up and down on your cock, or having him sobbing into the sheets as you fucked him into the bed that his wife and him used to sleep in, even having him screaming -crying enough to make him worry that the neighbors’ would complain in the morning.

When he woke up the next day you weren’t with him in bed but you had left a sticky note saying you had to rush home for whatever reason.

Luckily you had left your number on it but Price didn’t have the courage to call.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and he’d forgotten about the young man that had given him the world in just one night until one day you showed up at his front door and introduced yourself as his son’s boyfriend.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the dead ringer

buttercup, chapter three

a/n: yeah, this did happen to me in real life, although it happened on a bus so i couldn't immediately get away... ANYWAYS! enjoy this hurt/comfort heavy chapter!

summary: “I think I know something that might help a bit.”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, crying, panic attacks, matt using his superpowers for the sake of hurt/comfort, boxing

word count: 2057

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Drizzling the flour into the wide bowl, like a dusty snowfall, you watched the number on the scale carefully as you neared the desired number. Though just before you hit it, Walter’s head suddenly poked in through the doorway leading behind the counter and interrupted you and Howard’s all-too-important discussion on what the day’s music choice should be. 

“Hey, Y/n? There’s someone here to see you.”

Laying down the scoop still holding a bit of flour, you dragged your palms down the brown apron tied around your frame and exited the kitchen. A bright smile spread across your face and crinkled up your gaze as you spotted who was standing on the other side of the counter. 

“Matt, hey–, oh my god,” you then suddenly noticed the bruising that blossomed out from under his tinted glasses and stretched up over the patched-up scrape that split his left brow, “what happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just wasn’t paying attention last night, tripped and fell, that’s all,” he waved a hand, “I just wanted to stop by on my way to work, get a round of coffees to-go for everyone and perhaps some breakfast for myself, just whatever you think I’d like.”

“You’ll let me pick?” your eyebrows rose slightly. 

But Matt simply smiled and said, “I trust your judgment,” his grip shifted gently on the cane standing tall before his chest. 

As you moved to make the coffees, “alright,” you drew out a pondering breath, “are you in the mood for something sweet or savoury?”

Thinking about it a second, he uttered, “savoury.”

“Do you like sandwiches?” you popped the lids on the to-go cups. When he nodded, you placed the coffees in a little cardboard tray, “okay, I think you’ll like this one,” grabbed a brown paper bag and moved further down the counter, “it’s made with focaccia and has pesto in it as well as some tomatoes and cheese and stuff.” 

“That sounds amazing.”

“I also–, you know what? I’ll be right back,” you then abruptly turned and momentarily disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing a few of the pillowy buns still on the cooling rack into a bag. As you returned, you also snuck a hand into the display case and stuffed a few other goodies into the sack, “just for the others, if they want,” you placed the bundle onto the counter beside the coffees, “I just pulled them out of the oven a bit ago and they’re still warm.”

“What is it?” Matt tilted his chin. 

“Uh, some raisin buns, but I also threw two croissants in there in case they didn’t like raisins...” 

A soft smile warmed his bruised features as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, “what do I owe you?”

“Oh no,” your hands waved lightly before you, “it’s on the house.”

“Y/n, come on,” he cocked his head. 

“Fine,” you light-heartedly sighed, “if you really wanna sing for your supper, then I’ll cash it in at a later date. I don’t know, maybe if I get arrested someday or something you could help me out.”

“You don’t have to bribe me with free baked goods for that.”

“No, but it sure doesn’t hurt, does it?” you chuckled. 

“No,” he joined in as he reached for the bags, “I guess it doesn’t.”

“You want some help carrying it?” you asked, hope seeping through your tone, “I could take my break and walk with you the rest of the way.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we just got through the morning rush, they’ll be fine without me for–, I don’t know, 15 minutes or however long it’ll take to walk to your office and back.”

“Alright, thanks,” he smiled, one paper bag hooked in the fingers that also clutched the cane.  

“I’m just gonna go grab my jacket, one second,” you said before ducking into the back to do so, letting your uncles know as you slipped out of your comfortable work clogs and into your sneakers. 

You ended up dividing the load, with you carrying the coffees and the last bag in one arm, though a few protests left you at first, begging him to let you carry all of it, they melted away as his free hand enveloped yours. 

When you reached his office, your arms wrapped around his frame as you hugged him long enough for your heartbeats to sync up, and just as you pulled away, his wide palms still warm on your back, you leaned in and planted a brief peck on his scruffy cheek. 

One of his hands swept up to meet the side of your face as your lips retracted. You pulled back so slowly that you weren’t sure you were moving at all, being drawn in by his warmth like a moth to a flame. 

His nose gently grazed against yours as he let himself linger, but just as your eyes fluttered shut in expectance that he’d kiss you, his warmth withdrew and he slowly breathed, “have a good day.” 

In a matter of seconds, you had gone from giggling, glancing down at some silly joke on your phone as you walked home, to panic instantly kicking in as a passerby’s voice pierced your soul and made your blood run cold.

Glancing around, you saw a stranger standing off to the side and yapping into his phone. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t Michael, but it sounded exactly like him, so much so that the tone sent your body right back to that very night as if no time had passed at all.

Willing your body to move, forcing it to conquer the short rest of the way home, once your front door shut behind you and your quiet apartment consumed you, painful sobs began to burst out of your trembling frame. Hyperventilating, you crashed into the nearby wall of the entryway directly across from the door, incapable of getting deeper into your home. 

Soon, a quiet and surprising knock found your door. 

“Y/n?” the worried tone of your neighbour sounded from the other side. 

Your shaky voice came out no louder than a whisper, “M-Matt?” 

There might not have been any other instances you could recall where accidentally forgetting to lock your door turned out for the better, because when Matt then tried the handle, it gently complied. 

Shutting it behind him, he rushed to you, “hey, hey,” he uttered softly, a hand soothingly finding your arm, “what’s going on?”

Attempting an answer, “I–, I–,” only incoherent sobs managed to seep from you. 

“Okay, alright,” he sucked in a controlled breath, one of his hands sliding up to the strap of your backpack, “how about we start by getting all the way inside, huh?” gently gliding it off you and resting the bag on the floor. 

You let yourself lean into him fully as he supported you on the short journey towards the couch. Wobbly taking a seat, his touch left you as he settled beside you.

Spine curving, you buried your puffy face in your trembling hands, letting the whole world drift away as small lakes were birthed within your palms from your pain. 

When the sobs eventually began to subsite, growing further and farther apart, your frame slowly unfurled. Instinctively flicking your hands before your form, you tried to physically shake even a fraction of the excruciating sensation off of you, but without success. 

Matt hadn’t moved an inch, simply stayed there right beside you. 

When your quiet voice eventually filled space, it came out broken and overflowing with emotion, “I thought it was him… it wasn’t, b-but it sounded exactly like him… I’ve done double takes every time I saw a stranger with the same haircut or felt nauseous every time I encountered the same name, but this really did sound like him. Same voice, same accent, same everything… but it wasn’t him… it wasn’t… it just sent me right back, you know?”

Hesitantly, you grasped his hand in yours, expecting the contact to only make it worse, to somehow taint and ruin his wonderful and soothing touch, but it didn’t, he didn’t. It was Matt. 

Trying to regain control of your breathing, you shakily sucked in deep breaths, feeling your gulps of air slowly become calmer and migrate from the very top of your chest, down to expand your sore stomach. Eyes only half open and utterly exhausted, you noticed that your head was now leaning against Matt’s shoulder. 

Glancing hazily down at yourself, you muttered, “fuck… I still have my shoes and jacket on…”

Reaching down, he offered, “here,” before sliding your coat off, resting it on the back of the couch, and leaning down to pull your shoes off. 

Curling your legs up onto the couch, the shift in your position offered you more relief than you’d expected. As you attempted to get as comfortable as you possibly could in the state you were in, you snatched up Matt’s hand once more. 

Offering your palm a soothing squeeze, he asked quietly, “what do you need, huh? What can I do?”

“I–…” you thought, your brain just as drained as your body was, “I don’t know… maybe–… maybe just be here a bit?”

Exhaling lowly, he flashed you a faint smile, “of course.”

Glancing down at his fingers, sweeping across your own, you said, “hey, Matt? Could you maybe–, uh… could you give me a hug?”

Not hesitating, his strong arms engulfed your quivering frame and a fresh wave of sobs swiftly bubbled out of you as he held you tight, though your cries didn’t push him away, he stayed steadfast, embracing you close till the eruption ultimately simmered down, leaving you nearly asleep against his tear-stained shoulder. 

As he gently lowered you down to lay on the couch, you tightened your grip on his shirt as he began to pull back, ushering him to sink down as well, allowing you to curl into his safe embrace and let slumber drift you away. 

When you finally stirred, the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey,” you blinked up at Matt still in the exact same spot as before. 

“Hey,” you replied groggily, “what time is it?” swiftly fishing your phone out of your pant pocket before Matt could conjure an answer, “oh, fuck… it’s nearly midnight… did you sleep as well?”

“Not really,” he shrugged, “maybe for a little bit, but no.”

“Oh…” you breathed, averting your gaze. 

“How are you feeling?” his thumb swiped your waist where his broad palm was planted. 

“…I don’t know…” you exhaled, “…exhausted… sad… angry… really fucking angry… so angry that it kinda scares me…” 

After a beat of silence, with only your woeful breaths filling the space, Matt then uttered, “I think I know something that might help a bit.”

Your gaze drifted from the faded paint on the walls to the worn punching bags as you and Matt sat on the edge of the central ring and his fingers worked at wrapping up your hands. 

“Do you come here a lot?” you asked, your vision gliding back to him. 

“From time to time,” he tilted his head slightly, “reminds me of my dad,” tucking the last end of the strip under the weave, securing it into place, he closed your hand into a fist and exhaled, “alright, you’re ready,” he adjusted your grip, briefly offering your wrist a squeeze as he said, “just remember to keep your wrist strong and your thumb right here,” he slid your finger down below your knuckles. 

You hadn’t gone into it with much hope, in fact, it was only out of your desperation just feel better that you even humoured the experiment. In the beginning, it did feel as silly as you’d imagined, nearly stopped completely, but at some point in the mess of it all, your punches grew more ferocious, they grew more brutal, and suddenly something inside of you snapped and unravelled. It wasn’t some magic pill, but the physical act did loosen something within you and gave away to a fresh release of sobs, though not the painful and unbearable kind you’d had to endure earlier. It was the kind that felt like relief. Even if it wasn’t permanent, in that very moment, you didn’t feel like you were drowning anymore. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[iaure]

𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢

𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 2: 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4: 𝔰��𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 CW: self-awareness, stalking, obsession, delusion, ptsd, mention of a brother's death, thoughts of kidnapping. Written in the third person. Use of Y/N. Spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ heaven have mercy on my simple soul. we might have another dearest series on our hands, but for miguel. god. jesus. i made this in one (1) day. it's two am.

wc: 1.7k

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻❜𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀.

Miguel knew that feeling all too well. Gabriella faded away in his arms, a flash of technicolour and geometric shapes. An entire world, falling away and escaping from him, like grains of glass as fine as sand but still so colourful. That's what kept him moving. He never wanted someone to make the same mistake. But he was only a man. he couldn't be alone in the isolation of his own making forever. He built up those walls, praying he'd have the sense to never knock them down. But brick by brick, other people did. First was Jess. She was his friend, his sister in arms. Then Peter, then a thousand other faces and names and hearts and morals and everything that made Spider-Man, Spider-Man. They each took a brick, as though it was nothing. It was just by pure chance that she was the one to take that last brick. She was a new addition. Friendly, witty, quick on her feet. Just like everyone else. Another Spider in another place and another time. Another in a million, another clone, another warm body as fodder. But when Jess brought her to him, Miguel knew; she was one in a trillion.

She had stood next to Jess, firm, with a thousand yard stare like she'd been digging around Miguel's soul and yanking out her favourite bruises. Harrowing was a good word for it. Her estranged brother, a captain in the police, had died. She looked like she'd seen Hell. Fresh bruises, scarring, her suit torn in some places...and she stood tall.

"Spider-Woman, from Earth 7290. Also known as Y/N."

Jess spoke softly, a hand on Y/N's shoulder. Her breathing was steady but her eyes had glazed over, completely tapped out to the situation. Miguel felt his heart tug. He knew what it was like. Everyone did. Most Spiders were sad, upset, but she simply seemed...angry. Furious, even. Like if Miguel made a move towards her, she'd chew him up and spit him out. He'd seen people try to tame horses before, ones that would buck and kick and neigh until someone's leg was broken. It was like Jess was doing that. The one hand on Y/N's shoulder, keeping her in place.

"Miguel?" Jess spoke up, and he came out of his haze. "Are you listening?" "Yeah." He nodded, quietly clearing his throat. "Sure. Get her a watch." Jess shared a look with Y/N, one that he couldn't quite tell the reasoning behind, but the glance of her eyes was enough.

Spider-Woman of Earth 7290 took the last brick.

He'd see Y/N around, walking around the Spider Society and speaking with other Spiders. She seemed to hold that anger close to her heart, despite the other Spiders telling her that it'd get better over time. They'd healed, or got over it, or pushed it out of their mind. But not Y/N. She stayed mad. She stayed angry. Miguel understood that more than most. Mourning took time. So many had gotten over it after years. It wasn't fair to expect Y/N get it over it so fast. He didn't think so, anyway. After all, it was an anomaly that took her brother's life. A mistake. It had fallen off the proverbial map, but according to Jess, Y/N had 'handled it her own way'. Whatever that meant. Miguel didn't really care. All he worried about was her. Rather than just taking the brick off his walls, she smashed it in with a hammer and ran it over with a bulldozer. She had a wrecking ball to smash a single blue and red brick. And he hated it. Because what about Gabriella? What about his wife? Did their deaths mean nothing now? And how was this healthy? Granted, Miguel wasn't a healthy person. Not like that. But the sudden way his mind dedicated himself to her was absurd. Did it have to do with his DNA? With the spider mutation? Rapture? Mating season? There had to be an explanation. A cure.

But there was none.

Now, Miguel's mind was rotting away. He wished he could pry it open and take to it with tweezers, to prod out the parts that he hated. But his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long, and he knew he didn't stand much of a chance anymore. It was all Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Even just the faint, passing scent of her was enough to drive him up a wall that very much shouldn't exist. Passing word of her wellbeing made him tune into conversations he was never part of. He began to develop a seventh sense: touch, hearing. sight, smell, taste, spidersense, and Y/Nsense.-the uncanny ability to know when she needed help. Trademarked, owned by Miguel O'Hara exclusively. Peter once teased him about how Miguel would suddenly jump up and scoot over to the cameras, checking in on Spider-Woman 7290.

The teasing didn't last long when given way to the severity of the situation.

Gradually, Miguel leaned into it. If he couldn't fight it, then join it. Revel in it. Let his eyes linger on her frame. Let his waking hours resort to thinking of her. Let him suffer. He deserved it. He began to follow Y/N around. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. And sometimes, Miguel would see enemies-a Vulture here, a Doc Ock there-and he'd help when she wasn't looking. Little favours here and there began cropping up. Getting her groceries. Taking care of her cat. Fiddling with the gas for the car of the one creep that kept following her around that was so sure she was Spider-Woman. Granted, the creep was right. But he didn't know that.

(He did. Love comes in many shapes and forms.)

Y/N never seemed to notice. She was off, battling her own demons and fighting the good fight in her own world. She was good and kind and still angry but she used that anger so well, and Miguel loved her for it. She burned with the anger of a thousand dying stars. She was everything. When Y/N would stop by the Spider Society, Miguel made sure to look good. Brush his hair, brush his fangs, make sure his eye bags weren't too obvious, or if they were, then they looked good. He was trying to get her to like him, after all. Check to make sure his suit didn't have any tears or holes. Because Y/N was gorgeous. She could drag herself in with her guts spilling out like roadkill and he'd still think she's the most beautiful thing to grace the multiverse.

The beauty of delusion, he supposed.

He was aware how delusional this was. He knew how absurd it was that he saw her and fell immediately. Was this what happened in fairy tales? Is this what Prince Charming felt when he saw Cinderella? The world completely spinning the moment there's even a hint of her? The complete dedication of his heart to this woman that barely acknowledged him...someone who would only glance his way if it was a requirement. Y/N was cordial to him, but little more. And it made his heart ache. She spoke to Jess more than she spoke to him. It felt wrong. It felt cruel, like a tease, trailing up and down his spine but never providing relief. One word to him was ten to Jess.

Miguel refuses to admit it, to accept that he was willing to stoop so low. But there was a brief moment where he thought about hurting Jess. Or getting her on some mission that would take forever. Breaking her bracelet when she least expected it so Y/N would have to come to him.

He'd never act on it. He was sure of that.

If there was one thing Miguel was proud of for himself, it was his restraint. He had the unparalleled ability to simply...hold off. Another day, he'd tell himself. Next time, he'd self-assure. Then another next time. Then another. Until heaven knows how many next times it's been, and he's aching for her to even look at him, but why won't she glance his way? Why was she so cold? He's done everything he could. Just look at him! For god's sake, just fucking look at him! That's all he wanted! Five minutes with your eyes on him, your undivided attention.

But no. Another day, he said. Next time.

But maybe he could simply...take Y/N away. Her world was inconsequential. It'd be easy to take care of any villains. He'd do it for her, single-handedly. She were everything. He could just keep her there, in his office, never allowed to leave. He could come back after a long mission to her loving arms, her warm embrace, flush to flush to flush to flush. He'd do unspeakable things just for her to trace the vague outline of his body with her eyes. If Y/N told him to kill, he'd do so without question anymore. Miguel barely had any control over himself.

The next time he saw her, it was while dealing with Miles. It was so much, all at once and never at all and undying and swarming his senses. It was so much that he didn't realise how much she'd been smiling at the two teenagers, how sweet her gaze got, the gentle touches and warm laughter and how Gwen and Miles looked up to her.

He didn't know Y/N had a soft spot for kids. And he found out most vividly when she was the first one to help Miles escape, blocking off what must've felt like half of the Spider Society with the same undying rage, now spent on protecting her new friend, the child she called such sweet things. That she saw as her own.

Miguel felt his heart shatter when he had to take her down. The way she fell into the floor, limp and dangling like she was nothing more than occupied space. His heart was wounded, wailing like a dying dog. She picked the newcomer, the anomaly, over him. Him, her one true love. Did it matter that she'd known it yet? No. It only mattered that she helped Miles escape.

Lord, he thought. I worry that love is violence.

[tangents-within-tangents]

Thoughts on Echo as amputee/disability representation

First and foremost, I am not disabled or an amputee and I don’t claim to speak for those communities (and if I was I couldn't speak for everyone). What little I do know mostly comes from this youtube channel (@oakwyrm), this post, and other research I’ve done for my writing (and like one amputee I kinda knew in passing). By all means correct me and add to the conversation, I just have some thoughts I want to share because I haven’t really seen this discussed anywhere

Overview

So Echo is interesting. He is a triple amputee which is pretty rare in media. His disabilities come from extremely traumatic circumstances: injured in a near-death experience, imprisoned and dehumanized as an experiment with no autonomy over what happened to his body.

There are a few moments in the shows where Echo is treated… questionably. Like this bit where Rex uses him as an example of the Separatists' evils to convince the locals to fight back:

To be fair, yeah Echo’s treatment does prove that the Techno Union is not neutral like they claim. The modifications that everyone is gasping in horror at here obviously weren’t made with comfort and accessibility in mind, nor with Echo’s consent. But you still just want to be sure that “They took away his freedom, his humanity, they tried to turn him into a machine” is about using him as a living computer, not the fact that he is missing limbs. 

The Batch is also pretty insensitive toward him and his trauma imo, which is weird considering they've supposedly also faced discrimination for their mutations

Disabled people do have to deal with stuff like this in this day and age so I guess it can speak to those experiences. I think especially him being mistaken as a droid (and Hunter going along with it (bruh)) might resonate with some people. 

Aside from that stuff, Echo isn't really treated any differently as a character/person which is really good (as low of a bar as that is).

We get this moment in CW where Echo contemplates that yeah things are gonna be different now

While also (imo at least) showing that he is still the same person regardless, evidenced by the fact that he just echoed Rex :,) I also think it's significant that he joins the Bad Batch on his own terms and we're given a really emotional scene to specifically show that he's not just like 'lumped in with the other misfits' but that it is his choice to go where he feels his place is.

A lot of people, myself included, are disappointed that TBB didn't have more time to explore Echo's PTSD, but I think the one panic attack scene we did get is really good. Even thought it's minor it at least is an appropriate reaction from a guy who was medically tortured (which is more than I've come to expect from Star Wars shows lol)

And it's really sweet to see Omega showing Echo some empathy and consideration.

It would have been nice to see more of his adjustment period, and other side effects like chronic pain and maintenance, but there’s a lot of daily life stuff the show never had time for (i.e. we don’t know if he removed his prosthetics to sleep, but we also never saw him sleep anyway). His disabilities might take on a background role (much like the character himself sadly) but for the most part they aren’t invisible or erased, nor do they define his character and arc.

Physical Appearance

Okay this one is bit dicey, bc on the one hand, yes complaints that Echo’s paleness (most likely caused by burns from the explosion or chemical burns from the cryo-chamber) is whitewashing are totally valid. But I also think you can draw comparisons to real life conditions that affect pigmentation/complexion (like you know burns). So while I understand why a lot of fanart will depict him with his original skin tone and with hair, consider that there are real people who have to live with temporary or permanent changes to their appearance, and the idea of “fixing" him by making him look more like his old self can be problematic.

It's also interesting to note that Echo could act as a reversal of the 'disabled/disfigured = evil' trope. He's pale and bald and wears black and red, which is so often visually associated with villains, but we all know Echo is the bestest boy™

The Headpiece

Echo’s headpiece is interesting because within the show we don’t actually ever learn much about it (idk if there is more info in books or whatever bc i don’t have them so?). He didn’t have it in CW so we know it didn’t come from the Techno Union and therefore Echo probably had more choice with it. We don’t know its exact purpose but it’s most likely related to his scomping abilities. When he is hacking with his scomp in CW, before he has his headpiece, it’s clearly very mentally straining:

We don’t see him struggling like this in TBB once he does have it (though that could be bc he got more used to it over time). There doesn't seem to be much of an impact when he removes his headpiece in s3 ep14-15, except that he gets stuck in the ports every time he uses his scomp which is not something we’ve seen before: 

There might not be an exact real-world equivalent, but the headpiece is some kind of accessibility aid. It means that someone specifically designed a device to help him adapt to the changes the Techno Union made, as well as a helmet that integrates it. It’s removable and visually very present, much like a cochlear implant would be. (A lot of people actually headcanon it to act partially as a hearing aid, since it makes sense that Echo’s hearing would have been damaged in the explosion, but there isn't really any indication of this in canon.) The headpiece is never really acknowledged in the show, but I think that's a good thing. It's something he needs/wants and it just exists, completely normalized, and that's pretty cool 👍

Legs

Sigh... So from the very first episode of TBB I was really disappointed that the animation team or whoever completely visually erased Echo’s prosthetic legs (I think we all were, honestly, if fanart is anything to go by). It’s one thing when he’s in armor because he would probably want to protect his prosthetics, but we literally see him in his blacks and there is no indication whatsoever that he lost his legs even though it was not left up for debate at all in CW:

Like ??????!?

This is just really strange to me! Idk what went on behind the scenes with this decision but I don’t really see why it would be that much harder to animate or anything since it’s 3D and they've done it before. We do see some pretty sophisticated cybernetic technology in Star Wars canon that mimics real limbs:

But Luke’s fancy hand is technically 20ish years from now, so Anakin and Maul are more of a representation of what level we could expect here

So yeah, for no apparent reason, his leg amputation is effectively, visually and narratively nonexistent. Which is not great 👎

Arm!

The scomp on the other hand (uh lol!) is the complete opposite and I kinda love it!

At first I, like many others, thought it was a bit odd that they didn’t give Echo a prosthetic arm. Losing hands is basically a Star Wars tradition at this point, so robotic arms/hands are well established within the worldbuilding: 

We aren’t necessarily given a canon reason for why Echo doesn't get a cybernetic arm (again unless it's in some lore book I haven’t read, sorry). General fanon explanations I’ve seen are that he either couldn’t because the Techno Union wired the scomp too far into his nervous system, and/or the resources to give him one were deemed too expensive for a clone (what about his legs tho?), or that he chose not to, usually because he thought the scomping was useful. 

Regardless, I actually really love this choice (and it's the whole reason I made this post), because here's the thing: There’s a lot of problematic tropes out there that either erase/cure disabilities or compensate them with perks (like how pretty much any blind character is actually not blind by some sort of magic power). With amputees that is done with robotic arms. The character is still an amputee or course, and there is still value in that representation, if this story from Mark Hamill that makes me tear up is anything to go by:

but for the most part these characters function like anyone else, just with a limb that looks a little different. It’s no more than a video game skin, an able-bodied actor with a green screen glove. It “cures” the disability, or it actually makes the character even stronger than usual: 

It usually makes sense within the world of the story, but the reason it’s not so great in my opinion is that in the real world we just do not have technology anywhere close to that yet. Prosthetics can more or less replace any mobility from lost legs, but not for all the complexities of a hand (and even if they could the average person wouldn’t be able to afford it).

So

I think it's actually really super cool that Echo’s scomp bypasses the canonically-established amputee erasure and functions much like a stump would irl. He integrates it into his movements and everyday life and it’s (as far as I know) a lot closer to an everyday amputee’s experience. 

It doesn’t define his character, it doesn’t hold him back, he lives a full life, the other’s don’t treat him any differently, and he’s still a total karking badass 

The only additional thing is that he sometimes uses it as a weapon (which given his story, I think it’s cool to see him taking back autonomy in a way, and we only see that like twice)

And also the scomping, which could be seen as the 'added/compensating superpower' trope. But narratively it's no different than if he was plugging in with a hacking gadget of some kind (he didn't necessarily "need" to lose his arm for it) and it’s not like Echo is completely defined by this skill. Personally, I think it's well worth the positives of him actually having a visible and realistically impactful amputation. 

I see a lot of posts or comments out there that say stuff like “how come Echo doesn’t get a hand?” or fanworks that do give him one and I just think it’s a bit of a shame. If he did get a robotic hand, it just would have disappeared the same way his legs and Anakin’s arm did (aside from that one time he got yoinked by a magnet). When Echo did “get a hand” in the last two episodes there were comments like “yay he finally got a hand! but it doesn’t even work” but I was actually so relieved that it didn’t! Bc for one thing that wouldn’t make any sense, he grabbed it off a droid, it wasn’t designed to implement with his scomp, that would be really complicated. But more importantly because it again refused to erase/cure his disability! It functioned like a real-world cosmetic prosthetic (useless beyond appearance) which is exactly what he needed it for, so that he could blend in better with his disguise.

And he continually took it off throughout the episode and ditched it at the end. He only used it for the necessity of a stealth mission, he doesn’t feel the need to visually “fit in” in his daily life. 

And, last but very much not least, he made a dad joke and from my intel that is very accurate representation!

TLDR: Echo’s scomp is actually really cool from an amputee representation perspective, especially within Star Wars, and I think that deserves some appreciation 

[mulletmitsuya]

Toman Captains + BajiFuyuTora Groupchat

Warnings: swearing, suggestive, mentions of substances, mentions of PTSD

Desc: Baji tries to make a polycule work with some heavy convincing

Baji: alr guys, i'm gonna ask Fuyu and Tora out on a date at the same time

Mitsuya: that's not gonna work

Draken: don't they hate each other? just pick one

Baji: no i'm in love with the both of them so i'm gonna ask both of them out

Baji: also they actually have feelings for each other but haven't realized it yet

Draken: you're pushing it

Smiley: first of all, Kazutora likes women

Baji: no, he has feelings for me but he hasn't realized it yet

Smiley: alright man

Mikey: Baji, your chances are better with Chifuyu. sort that out first because you're gonna ruin the entire friendgroup dynamic with this shit😟

Baji: we're not a friendgroup, we're lovers

Mikey: i'm talking about us, dipshit

Baji: who

Mikey: everyone who isn't Chifuyu and Kazutora??

Baji: idgaf

Mikey: ayt

Pah: weren't we your treasures or smth 🧐?

Baji: i've moved on to bigger things

Baji: smaller twinks

Baji: you get me?

Smiley: Chifuyu's short but he's not a twink.

Smiley: now Kazutora, we can call a twink

Smiley: you guys are using this word wrong

Mikey: it's it just a skinny guy?

Smiley: "a gay or effeminate man, or a young man, regarded as an object of homosexual desire, usually a bottom. they are attractive and slim in appearance."

Draken: this is just Mitsuya

Mikey: 🧐

Mitsuya: ?

Smiley: that is correct but i didn't wanna say anything cause that twink got hands🤷‍♂️

Mikey: now that i think about it, Mitsuya used to be kinda built. not buff but not skinny. fuck happened

Pah: Draken died

Pah: "died"

Baji: so he stopped eating? lame

Mitsuya: do you guys get how mourning works

Draken: well i'm good now so let's get this grub 🗣

Draken: sorry for making you sad, brother

Draken: it's my mission to bulk you up again

Mitsuya: i'm fine👍

Mikey: no one dying is going to get in between me and a meal😭🙏

Mikey: skill issue on Mitsuya's part

Smiley: skill issue is when your friend dies and you go into a depression so deep that you can't even eat anymore

Mikey: that's what i'm saying❗

Smiley: leave it up to Draken to get shot 3 times in the chest and just walk it off

Smiley: that was kinda hard tho

Draken: thanks👍

Draken: it hurt really bad

Draken: i think it traumatized me

Draken: i can't go to amusement parts now. or listen to fireworks cause i'll start hallucinating shit that happened from that night. weird

Mitsuya: ...that's called ptsd

Baji: yeah man you have ptsd

Draken: what's ptsd

Baji: PTSDEEZ NUTS LMAOOOOOOO

Baji: GOT EM

Draken: i wish your suicide attempt worked you mentally challenged, wanna be werewolf, loreal shampoo ad looking ass bitch

Baji: BANG BANG BANG💣💥💣💥💣💥

Mikey: DUDE💀

Baji: do you guys get it

Baji: it's the gunshots

Baji: because he has PTSD

Baji: 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Draken: do you remember how you killed Shinichiro

Baji: 😐

Mikey: GUYS💀

Draken: i'm sorry Mikey

Draken: but

Draken: Baji do you remember when you were screaming his name and watched him bleed to death

Smiley: ☠️

Draken: the skull represent Shinichiro, who you killed

Baji: anyway

Baji: back to my kittens

Baji: before Draken decided to take shit too far😒

Draken: when you go low I'll go lower

Baji: cause you were almost 6 feet under???

Draken: where you put Shinichiro??

Baji: ANYWAY

Mikey: Ken-chin he's gonna kill himself again😔

Draken: that is exactly the point

Baji: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY ANYWAY

Baji: anyway

Baji: back to the topic at hand 😐

Baji: i'm doing it tonight

Mitsuya: ahem

Mitsuya: do you know how awkward it's gonna be when Kazutora rejects you? we don't wanna have to deal with that

Baji: he won't reject me

Mikey: your delusional

Baji: can you guys name a situation in which things didn't work out for me?

Baji: no you can't

Mitsuya: 1) Bloody Halloween??

Draken: 2) Your grades🤨?

Mikey: 3) Not making your mom cry🤔?

Baji: ...

Baji: those don't count

Smiley: it's so hard trying to talk to stupid people

Smiley: he doesn't use logic at all

Draken: Baji don't fucking ask them out

Mikey: ask Chifuyu!!! that f slur is obsessed with you😍

Draken: don't say that word😐

Mikey: i literally didn't say it😭

Mitsuya: Baji please just think for literally one second

Baji: too late cause i just texted them

Mitsuya: omfg

Mikey: you fool😞

Mikey: what did you say??

Baji: i went to our groupchat

Baji: "yo let's cut the bullshit. i'm in love with the both of you so why don't we all date and love each other in a relationship with all three of us and shit"

Baji: i sent that

Smiley: you're very... direct

Smiley: i'll give you that

Smiley: Kazutora's gonna say no

Draken: obviously

Baji: bet

Baji's kittens:

Kazutora: Chifuyu can you please change the fucking groupchat name

Kazutora: i know you and Baji do kinky shit together but i am NOT anybody's kitten

Chifuyu: but Baji-san changed it and i can't change it back if he doesn't want me to

Chifuyu: and Baji-san and i do not do "kinky shit"

Chifuyu: we don't have a sexual relationship😐

Kazutora: you have free will mothefucker!! you don't need his fucking permission

Kazutora: is he your dom or something😭

Kazutora: why are so obsessed with him jesus

Kazutora: you guys are gay af

Chifuyu: just because i don't stab my friends doesn't mean i'm gay

Chifuyu: i just respect him a lot cause he's cool 😒

Chifuyu: nothing you'd know about

Chifuyu: you psychopath

Kazutora: you slobber on his dick all day

Kazutora: "Baji-san!!! What a cool kick!! Can you teach me😁?"

Kazutora: you might as well just ask him to put it in

Chifuyu: shut the fuck up all you've ever known are the prison walls that enclosed you

Kazutora: NOT ANYMORE😁

Baji: ladies, ladies

Baji: there's enough to go around 😏

Baji: ew. alright i'm never using that emoji again what the fuck

Kazutora: CHANGE THE GROUPCHAT NAME

Baji: no

Kazutora: you and Chifuyu can do your pet play somewhere else please leave me out of it 🙏

Baji: nuh uh

Baji: you're a tiger

Baji: tigers are cats

Baji: so you're a kitten

Baji: done deal

Kazutora: i'm an adult tiger not a kitten😐

Baji: i'm the alpha and you and Chifuyu are my omega's

Kazutora: what the fuck does that mean????

Chifuyu: haha Baji-san😂

Kazutora: i've never seen someone ride someone else's meat so hard before holy shit

Chifuyu: if you don't understand what respect is, just say that 🙄

Baji: don't lie Chifuyu

Baji: you're in love with me

Kazutora: LMFAOOOOOOOOO

Baji: you are too Kazutora

Kazutora: 🤨

Baji: yo let's cut the bullshit. i'm in love with the both of you so why don't we all date and love each other in a relationship with all three of us and shit

Baji: you guys are in love with each other too just by the way

Kazutora: what

Kazutora: that's not how anything works

Chifuyu: Baji-san i ask again is this a prank 🤣🤣🤣

Kazutora: it has to be cause i'm not a boy kisser like you mfs

Baji: Kazutora be fr. you just got out of prison, you're clinically insane, you're on parole, people feel unsettled by your presence, you have an ankle bracelet, you belong to the state, you have mommy AND daddy issues, you've killed someone

Kazutora: damn

Kazutora: you didn't have to list it like that

Baji: all i'm saying is that i'm your best option because i don't care about all of this and i'll take care of you for the rest of your life even tho you're crazy

Baji: cause i love you (gayly)

Baji: you could even stab me again

Chifuyu: NO

Baji: Chifuyu shut the up i'll get to you babe

Chifuyu: yes Baji-san

Kazutora: "yes daddy😩😍"

Kazutora: what the fuck dude you could least try to hide it 💀

Baji: can u focus

Kazutora: oh right

Kazutora: what about gay sex tho

Baji: i'll teach you

Kazutora: but you have a dick

Baji: uhhhh

Baji: fine you can use yours

Baji: nah nevermind i'm not a bottom

Baji: fuck you

Kazutora: i didn't even say anything

Kazutora: but whatever ig

Kazutora: i'm not gonna be with Chifuyu tho😐

Baji: you are

Kazutora: 😒

Baji: Chifuyu we've been in love for years so i know you'll say yes. just needed to convince Tora babygirl

Chifuyu: but is this a prank tho🤣🤣

Baji: no

Baji: you are my boyfriend now

Baji: both of you come over

Kazutora: ughhhhhhhhhhhhh

Kazutora: fine

Chifuyu: are the both of you pranking me🤣😂

Baji: just come over you fucking idiot

Baji: that was too mean

Baji: please come over you fucking idiot❤

Captains:

Baji: they said yes and we're all about to have sex now

Mikey: you're just gonna lie Baji

Draken: should i get beers? you can cry if you want i won't even laugh at you

Draken: i promise

Mikey: you're just gonna lie Ken-chin

Mitsuya: what did they actually say

Baji: they're coming over? and we're about to make love? are you guys dumb 🤨

Baji: it worked out how i said it would

Smiley: Draken gets the beers i'll get the cigarettes

Smiley: Baji we tried to tell you

Draken: don't piss me off cause you know i don't smoke

Draken: you're gonna influence Angry into an early grave

Draken: do you want your brother to have lung cancer

Smiley: chill

Smiley: Angry tried a cigarette and almost died

Smiley: so you don't have to worry about that

Smiley: fine i'll bring weed instead

Mitsuya: where are you getting drugs😐

Smiley: my plug, duh 😁

Mikey: can i have a weed as well please

Smiley: idk man what if your dark impulses come out or something

Mikey: my therapist said that only happens with specific triggers so it's fine

Mikey: plus i have a shock collar in case that happens

Draken: i don't think that's normal 🤨

Baji: you guys are pissing me off

Mikey: dude it's fine we can comfort you even tho we told you so

Draken: i'm gonna be the better man and forgive you since you've just been rejected

Baji: yk what idgaf

Baji: i'ma just nut in my kittens

Baji: bye losers

Baji: no one does it like i do

Mikey: poor thing🙁

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Okay, i know you have request closed but if i don’t write it down I’ll forget. First love your soldier boy dad writing! I have binged it all now! But what if soldier boys comes back and he realizes his baby needs him cause homelander is like freaky obsessed with her. And like she meets with homelander or something and HL hurts her so she runs to her dad cause he’s the only one that can really protect her and soldier boy gets so mad at HL

I'm a sucker for dad!soldier boy and soldier girl 😭

Suddenly

Warnings: homelander being a creep, reader devastated that he isn't the brother she grew up with, hl giving off incesty vibes, papa soldier boy coming back into the picture, this time he's not going to disappoint his baby girl, dark themes, you've been warned, homelander giving ick vibes, assault, fighting back

Time in Russia had Ben coming to terms with cold, hard truths. By now Payback was never going to rescue him. Not like he'd hoped. Maybe due to his personality being on the constant 'dickhead' switch, no one was really in a hurry to save him. There was no leaving Russia alive for him. Another painful fact. Nowhere near as agonizing than the fact he'd royally fucked up as a parent. He didn't spend the time he should have with you and Homelander. Soldier Boy regrets not using a softer tone and hand with Homelander when he was disciplining the boy. Shouldn't have shooed you out of the way when all you wanted to do was show him a fucking picture you'd drawn.

He replays the last time he saw his kids. Your birthday was coming up soon. Your 18th birthday, a milestone. Soldier boy would never consider himself a sentimental man, but something in his battle weathered heart thawed and warmed that his little girl wasn't so little anymore.

You never asked for anything for your birthday. The most Soldier Boy would do (if not given a hint from Homelander as to what you'd want) is give you money and maybe a doughnut in lieu of an actual birthday cake. Regardless of what Soldier Boy bought you, you always gave him a genuinely grateful smile, appreciating that he was performing the bare minimum. Homelander's gifts always blew whatever Soldier Boy gave you out of the park anyway. He was the one who really knew you.

It dawned on him that he shouldn't have relied so heavily on his son to care for you when Homelander was a child himself. The two of you ended up developing an unhealthy attachment. Moreso Homelander than you (Vogelbaum had brought this to his attention some years ago).

An 18th birthday was something to fucking party about though. When Payback's military grade helicopter landed in Nicaragua, Soldier Boy had been thinking about where he'd hidden your special present. For once he was excited about something that didn't involve killing or fucking.

"Hey, earth to Ben." Your voice catches him off guard, pulling him from his dark revere.

He's not in Russia anymore.

He's not even in the same year as he had been when abducted.

Ben stares at you for a moment. That vacant stare of his has you going on guard just in case something triggered his PTSD.

You're older than 18 now. A full grown woman standing in a rundown, shitty little motel kitchenette. The pan you were using was set aside and you turn off the burners of the stove before facing your dad.

"You good?"

Blinking once, Soldier Boy shakes off whatever spell was cast over him. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?"

You understood the moments of displacement you 'd feel when you realized your father was alive and right in front of you. He hadn't aged a single year since his supposed death that Stan Edgar convinced you happened. It was just so fucking weird.

"I was saying that I need to run out for an errand. Hughie and Butcher will be here if you need anything."

The usual Soldier Boy returns with a roll of his eyes. He exchanges a glance with Butcher who was intently watching Vought News in the armchair near the motel window. Butcher merely offers him a shrug.

You doubt he would actually need anything. The Boys hooked up your dad with several pounds of weed, alcohol and cigarettes that would last a normal person a lifetime. This was nothing to Soldier Boy. He would demolish it within a couple of days.

Hughie leans in to whisper in your ear "Are you sure you want to go back to Vought? Annie said she had everything under control over there."

Watching Soldier Boy eat his breakfast and taking a swig of some good old fashioned morning whiskey, you lower your voice so only Hughie could hear. "I love Annie and respect her, but I HIGHLY doubt even she has control in regards to Vought and the Seven."

Before leaving, you shoot the three of them a menacing look. "Behave. All of you."

You'd lied to Hughie though.

When Butcher returned from Russia with Soldier Boy and after the incident incident with Crimson Countess, you thought of the brother you used to know frequently. It wasn't long ago that Homelander had been your best friend. You hoped beyond all hope that you could bring that brother back.

You'd purchased a burner phone and, memorizing Homelander's personal number, called him. His immediate reaction was to curse you out, naturally. You let him before reminding him of the bond both of you built through years of surviving Soldier Boy's home together. Making something of yourselves without the looming shadow of your father. You'd told him that if there was any chance of reconciliation that he should meet you at a disclosed area. Just the both of you. There was guarded refusal. You could be luring him into a trap. Finish him off once and for all. And like the rest of the world, Homelander didn't believe you when you finally told him that Soldier Boy was alive.

That was enough for Homelander to agree.

One might consider you paranoid by the many times you'd looked over your shoulder as you flew to the top of Vought Tower. A semi-public place where if a struggle ensued, many people would be tipped off below. You'd also have more options of escape in the open air.

The door to the top of the roof opens. You stand taller and square your shoulders off.

Homelander lets the door fall closed behind him. His strides to you are slow and calculated, imitating a predatory animal circling a scrumptious morsel of meat. Blue eyes dart around you, assuring himself you didn't bring any unwelcome visitors.

"He's really alive?'' Was Homelander's greeting.

You toss him the cheap burner phone that was capable of taking subpar pictures. Homelander eyes you before leaning down to pick up the flip phone. His lower lid twitches when he makes out Soldier Boy in the picture sitting across from Butcher at some small table.

Adam's apple bobbing, Homelander's expression difficult to read. "How?"

"Apparently the Russians had him. Payback was working with them as well as Vought to get rid of Soldier Boy." Would he believe you?

Scoffing, he tosses back your phone but there's no point in keeping it anymore. You crush it in your grip, fingers opening to let the crumbled remnants be carried away by the wind.

"John, please. I miss my brother." The man in front of you was a stranger wearing your brother's face.

He tilts his chin up. "You're the one who ruined us. YOU fucked right off to join William Butcher and his band of miscreants. And its you who has no one to blame but yourself."

"John-"

He's fast, his hand inches away from grabbing your face before you dodge out of the way, deftly avoiding him. His temper has grown worse, you observe, since you left the Seven. Homelander was already on a rapid decline mentally after killing Madelyn Stillwell. Your abandonment was simply icing on top of the shitty cake.

You had to tread VERY lightly around him.

What was your aim for this interaction? Homelander would never leave Vought or the Seven nor would he want to join you and the other vigilantes. Hell, the Boys would never accept him.

You wanted to see for yourself if there was any piece left of your childhood within him.

Starting into his red rimmed eyes, you saw nothing of the boy who held your hand as the both of you crossed the street to get to school. He was gone.

"You" He points a red gloved finger in your direction "betrayed me."

He won't listen to reason.

"I didn't want to." You whisper, recalling the moments when Homelander actually made you feel unsafe just before you made the decision to leave. How he'd started to stare at you for an uncomfortably long time. His simple, innocent gestures and caresses were becoming. . . worrisome.

You'd thought it was just you imagining things. Homelander was just like that with you. He practically raised you after all. Homelander was the one to make your sack lunch for school. The one who got you ready, choosing your clothes for the day and braiding your hair.

His touches had changed though. They lingered and tightened on you, becoming possessive with each passing day since Stillwell's murder.

There was an instance when he'd captured your face in both his hands. You'd thought maybe there was something on your face, remnants of lunch, but no. He'd nearly kissed you full on the lips. For once you're grateful for the Deep popping up out of nowhere. It was the only thing that had Homelander dropping your face and returning to a semi-normal facade.

You see that Homelander right in front of you. The one that made your stomach curdle and goosebumps prickling upon your arms.

"I never thought you'd become an ungrateful bitch." With each step he took closer to you, you took another one back. "You're mine. You have always been mine from the moment Soldier Boy brought you home, you've been mine." His hands kept clenching up as if he was trying to will restraint in himself.

You're ready for a fight.

What you aren't ready for was Homelander being faster in grabbing your arms so you couldn't escape and smashing his lips against your's. You feel yourself scream as a struggle begins. He's trying to keep you in his arms, pull you down to the ground. His kiss turns aggressively desperate with teeth biting down on your lower lip when you try to turn your face away.

Heart rate freaking out, you go by pure animal instinct to get out of Homelander's hold. Your teeth sink down into his forearm, tearing cloth and skin alike. Letting out a howl, Homelander throws you to the ground, reeling back to examine the sizeable bite mark you gave him. He wasn't used to seeing his own blood.

He forgot that he should have been just as fearful of you as you were with him and his own powers.

The stickiness of his blood covers your mouth as you glare at him.

Since the brother you once loved was no longer present in Homelander, you weren't afraid anymore of pulling punches.

You stand up to your full height and feel the heat of your lasers burn in the back of your eyes.

Homelander seemed to match your feelings as his heated glare literally shines from his eyes. "I'm not letting you get away to go back to him."

"That's unfortunate. I've got no plans on staying here." You snarl and just as you levitate off of the ground, Homelander is grabbing you by the ankle and tries to slam you back down.

He could easily rip your leg off.

Your panicked jerking manages to free you from his grasp.

Like a bullet you take off across the sky. Looking back every so often just to make sure he wasn't following you. He wouldn't dare to make a scene where civilians can easily spy the both of you from the ground.

You're certain you've broken a few records by how fast you flew across the city to get back to the hideout.

Nearly ripping the motel door of it's hinges, you startle the men in there. Hughie gapes at the actual bruises developing on your face and the red smear across your mouth. Everything about you must have looked a horrifying mess.

Soldier Boy stands from where he'd been sitting on the bed. Eyes wide as he takes you in. "What the fuck happened to you?" He's the first one to take action and go to you.

Looking at him now, the feelings you'd tried pushing back start trickling forth. You realize Homelander had not just physically assaulted you, but it had nearly turned into a sexual assault too.

You damn the tears that well up your eyes, distorting the image of your father. "I. . . John. . ."

"John? John did this to you?" The words felt hollow coming out of his mouth as he stood in a daze. Homelander had harmed you? That didn't sound right. Then again, a lot had changed.

Mentioning Homelander's birth name caught the others' attention.

You touch your mouth where Homelander had kissed you. You realize the blood around your lips may not just be Homelander's blood. Where he'd bitten your lower lip is a tender gash that is also leaking red.

"Sit down. You're shaking." Soldier Boy, taking on the role of a caring father (and surprising everyone with his gentle tone) pushes past Butcher and Hughie who helplessly watch. Using your shoulders to guide you to the arm chair, your dad sits you down. He kneels in front of you to get a good look at the wounds all over you. "Tell me what he did."

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you're focused on your hands and the specks of red on them. "He tried- I don't know. . . He. . ."

Gently, Soldier Boy uses his index finger to raise your face up. "Tell me, baby girl."

That got you. The tears were now freely rolling down your face when you meet similar blue eyes. "I wanted to see if there was anything left of the brother I knew." You whimper, voice warbling. "Dad. . . he didn't try to kill me. He tried doing something worse."

Ben's eyes widen, as if dots were being connected. His soft demeanor which he'd revealed just to you hardens into something ugly. You didn't like how quiet the motel room had become.

You flinch when Soldier Boy attempts to hug you. He stops and not wanting to upset you further, didn't try again. You're the one who wraps your arms around him.

Fiercely, Soldier Boy returns the embrace.

"I promise you, I won't ever let him lay a hand on you again." He feel his jaw tighten as he snarls out. "The next time I see him, I'm going to kill him."

[bananastarion]

Rambling headcanons about how Astarion's trauma could manifest in your relationship.

Disclaimer: I am not fetishizing trauma or PTSD here. I have C-PTSD myself, and have dated others with it as well. So some of this is (loosely) inspired by my own experiences. It's not pretty, it's not fun, but I'd say it's pretty realistic. So yeah, fair warning! Anyway, let's gooooo

Astarion isn't fazed by much, but he IS claustrophobic- having to claw your way out of your own coffin, being trapped in a mindflayer pod and being trapped in a tomb for a year straight would do that to anyone. If he is ever unfortunate enough to be stuck in a small space again, he'll go into a blind panic. He'll hyperventilate and try to force his way out any way he can, and if he can't get out in time he'll just completely mentally shut down for a bit. If you plan to pull him into a little broom closet for a sneaky fuck, just forget it ok? You will probably get your eyes accidentally clawed out.

There is a long period in your relationship where Astarion is gradually getting more comfortable with being vulnerable around you, but he's also very self-conscious about it. He doesn't want you to pity him or think he's weak. You will be tempted to give him lots of validation and praise to make up for all of the psychological abuse he endured, to reassure him that he's finally safe and free, and that you love him for more than just his body. That his problems won't ever drive you away, and that you don't judge him. He appreciates your words deeply, he wants and needs them more than he cares to admit. But at the same time, they completely overwhelm him. Finally being in a good place with a caring partner is such a stark contrast to what he's been through, that it forces him to see even deeper into the void inside him and recognize just how badly he was treated, how deprived he's been. They hit him hard in both good and bad ways, and sometimes he'll tell you to stop because he just can't handle feeling so much right now. It's best to stick to mostly surface level stuff and ease carefully into the deeper, more meaningful observations.

The sweeter your words, the more his mind races with fears that you are idealizing him and eventually you'll come to see him for what he really is- and then abandon him. Fears that he'll come to depend on your kindness only for it to be ripped away, whether by you or by circumstances beyond his control. Fears that you don't really mean it, that you're just manipulating him the way he did to others. Deep down he hopes and trusts you're sincere, but it's just so hard to accept when Cazador's voice is in his head, countering all of it. This is all so new to him, so unknown. And the unknown is terrifying. He gets frustrated that your kindness does this to him, he wants to be able to embrace your words, he's so impatient to heal and finally be over this shit already. He judges himself so harshly for still struggling with all this. Cazador's dead, he is free, he has someone who truly loves him- why isn't that enough?! Why can't he fully appreciate it, is he just going to feel broken forever? He worries he'll take too long to get over his past, and you'll get tired of it and leave. Expect to give him lots of reassurance about all of this.

He doesn't like to cry around you, but over time you will lower his guard enough that he'll stop fighting back the tears quite so much. Sometimes it's a bad dream, sometimes you say something that just hits him hard (even if it's in a good way), and sometimes he has no idea what triggered it. You tell him he can wake you up any time if he needs you, but often he chooses not to wake you and just suffers through it alone. When it happens while you're both awake, at first he would roll over and face away from you when the tears started flowing if he couldn't collect himself, and you'd just hug him from behind. But eventually he feels comfortable enough to bury his face in your chest and just let it all out. When it's really bad, he'll be trembling and hugging you so tightly as he sobs into your shirt that it's almost hard for you to breathe. The best thing you can do is just be there with him, stroke his hair, caress the tears off his cheeks. It can be dicey, but eventually you learn to read him well enough that sometimes stroking the scars on his back very gently can be healing for him. There are other times though, when this will be too much for him. Same goes for kissing. Also, don't even think about telling anyone you've seen him like this. But of course, why would you?

Don't go into therapist mode with him when he's that vulnerable, and if he decides to talk, just let him talk. Hold space for him and be there with him. Afterwards, help ground him in the present and reconnect him to his senses by pointing out things in the room, remind him that it's not all happening to him right now. Realize how special it is that he feels safe enough with you to be so vulnerable. There are times when he even breaks down during sex, and he'll say that he's fine and you can keep going, but it's for the best to stop what you're doing and check in instead. He often dissociates when he's triggered, and doesn't realize something is wrong until it's too late.

Trauma isn't always pretty, and there are times when it does strain your relationship. When he's really triggered, he might take it out on you. He'll try his best to push you away, and say terrible things he doesn't mean. Perhaps things Cazador said to him. His articulate manner of speech can be sharper than his blade when wielded against you in the heat of the moment. He doesn't believe you can love this side of him, that he is fundamentally broken and unlovable, so it's a test of sorts to prove his own fears. He doesn't necessarily realize what he's doing, he's just lashing out from a point of pure fear. Trauma is an explanation for this behavior, but not an excuse, so it's important you set very firm and consistent boundaries when he gets like this. He might not appreciate it in the moment, but he will once he calms down.

It takes some time for him to feel truly secure with you, but he's getting there. In the meantime, he's starting to get a little clingy and codependent. He's not used to having so much freedom, and doesn't always know what to do with himself when you're not around. Being in your presence is when he's closest to feeling safe and at ease, and being apart for too long can cause his mind to race, especially when he has nothing to distract himself with. It drives him crazy that it gets to him so much- he's never been dependent on anyone before, and this side of him surprises himself. He hates it, which only stresses him out more. He tries to play it off, but it's very obvious he is struggling with separation anxiety. You don't want to overindulge him, but to ease his fears you decide to get a pair of magical rings. You can make each other's rings glow whenever you want- so if Astarion is feeling lonely, he can make your ring glow and you can make his glow back. Sometimes, just that is enough to get him through a rough day without you. Once he has done some more healing, eventually he will come to enjoy his alone time in a way he's never gotten to before in his life, and as much as you enjoy spending time with him, you'll be so happy for him to finally have that.

[very-d1pper]

inspired by a post from @jamandjazz

How Johnny Cade, Dallas Winston, and Steve Randle are affected by their parent issues.

ok so keep in mind i havent read the book since december (i dont have my own copy) so this might be a bit wrong. im using info from my mind, the movie, the musical, tiktok, and here.

Johnny Cade

so its canon that johnny wouldve ran away if it werent for the gang (starting off strong with dally-johnny parallels OUCH)

the abuse from his parents definitely gave him a fucked up sense on what it means to feel loved

which is why johnny gets along with dally so well, i'll get into that more in dally's part

he 100% thinks that the entire world hates him except for the gang

someone said that he is so sweet its sick, not true. the abuse definitely toughened him up enough that he will be mean to strangers

he canonically is somewhat responsible (going out to the store to buy supplies and giving ponyboy a note)

im saying that because im pretty sure pony says something like twobit and someone else in the gang would forget to buy something johnny remembered

johnny learned that from having to live out on the street sometimes when his parents fought or kicked him out for multiple days

he is the living definition of forgive but never forget

he just wants a home

i personally hc that the abuse started as johnny grew older, maybe when he was 6-8 years old

which is why johnny (especially in the musical) still cares about his parents

because he remembers that they WERE good people

and he hopes to bring them back eventually

Dallas Winston

oh this man...

ran away from his problems. thats canon

his mom died when she gave birth and thats why his dad is the alcoholic deadbeat abuser he is

the abuse from his parents gave him a fucked up sense on what it means to love

which is why he can talk to johnny so well because johnny is used to the type of love dally gives

he 100% hates the world except for the gang

the abuse toughened up both johnny and dally, the thing is dally grew up with it, johnny was raised with love at first

also dally's environment in ny, that place is rough in many areas

tulsa doesnt have that, at least not on the level of ny

he's rough with everyone because thats what he learned

Steve Randle

UGH THIS MAN BRO

screw u se hinton for giving us NOTHING abt him

anyways!!

the neglect sooo fucked him up

then his dad giving physical money for forgiveness?

hell nahhh

steve definitely felt like he cannot be loved without paying someone

like with real money

which made him feel unlovable because he's like broke as fuck

soda was the first person to show him what love actually is

his mom uhh eloped to wherever after steve's birth ig idfk

steve thinks everything in the world comes with a price, even an ounce of love

i literally cant think of shit for this man rn

All Three

accidentally trauma bonding

johnny mentioned something then both steve and dally said "same"

genuinely concerning from an outsider standpoint but really funny to them

if it was modern au darry or soda wouldve sent them to therapy

one time johnny got kicked out and went to the curtis house and found steve in the kitchen

j: "kicked out?"

s: "...yeah"

j: "same."

then dally walks in

d: "bottles got thrown at me in buck's place"

j: "ptsd?"

d: "no-" *remembers he's with two people who had it happen to them* "...yeah"

j and s- "its good."

johnny convinces them to do a cuddle blob thing (the gang's done them before)

darry wakes up and see them, doesnt comment but remembers for blackmail

[typing-catastrophe]

https://www.tumblr.com/typing-catastrophe/761175471448883200/ford-falling-for-youngerreader-and-writing-page

GRRRR I am frothing at the MOUTH I need that paranoid old man!!!!!

I think I specifically would make him a little crazy. Like.. Yeah, someone who also has PTSD and weird hands they might or might not be a little insecure about (I have a joint hypermobility disorder) just HAPPENS to show up, acts really nice to him, listens when he talks, takes interest in DD&MD with him, and thinks his sciencey shit is cool, and this has nothing to do with Bill, mind control, or succubi. SURE. Oh, AND their eyes are a little fucked up looking (disorder again)! He would not trust my ass

Anyway! I love your writing I want to gnaw on it like a dog with a bone

(anon talks about this post) aaahhhh thank you so much! i'm happy to hear u enjoy it ^^

ohh most definitely, what do you mean you like to listen to him ramble on and on about his interests without interrupting not even half way through, wanting to do something else? actually asking questions and wanting to hear more about his passions?? not thinking he's boring, or weird for taking in a liking in those things? the moment you ask if you can join him playing dd&md? he thinks he might actually have a stroke all that he could eventually get over, he thinks, but the fact that even physically you are suspiciously similar to him? get out. that paranoid old man might actually go insane if he thinks about you for too long

his trust issues would act up reeeal bad, but if you stick around for long enough he might calm down and open up. just have a little patience, he comes around eventually

he might fight his feelings for a while, at least until he is absolutely sure you won't just use him for your cause or turn on him and his family but once he accepts the fact that there really is someone as wonderful as you and that you like him (??? how?? he still isn't sure), he makes sure to show you just as much love as you show him. it takes a bit until he is fully comfortable and used to physical touch again, but he will take your hands in his, kiss them and makes sure you know that there is nothing to be insecure about. that you are wonderful and amazing and stunning just the way you are and deserve to not feel bad about yourself

once he accepts that he is in fact, head over heels for you, the tone of his notes in the journal shifts to a much softer one and he asks himself how he could've ever thought about you the way he once did (trauma. the answer is trauma. bill fucked him up bad)

[riordanness]

pretty things - [c.fisher]

wordcount: 2.2K

requested: no

warnings: sa mentioned; bad parents; reader has ptsd

I was curled up in the foetal position on my bed, wrapped around my covers. Tears stained my cheeks, and my hair was messy and bedraggled. I hadn’t moved all day, not even to eat or go to the bathroom. I felt like an empty hole of guilt and pain and horror.

There was a knock on my bedroom door. I had no energy to even answer, so I just waited. I was pretty sure who it was, and I knew he’d let himself in. He always did.

My door creaked three times as he slowly pushed it open, trying to be quiet. “y/n?” Conrad whispered. “Are you sleeping?”

My back was to him. I didn’t look at Conrad at all, but I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak yet.

“It’s getting late. My mum and Laurel are getting worried about you. Are you sick?”

Again, I just shook my head.

I heard his footsteps on my floorboards. They creaked too. Conrad came around to the side of the bed I was facing. He gently sat down on the edge of the mattress. I felt it sink slightly with his weight.

“y/n?” His voice was still really quiet and soft. “Are you… okay?”

I wiped my face with my fingers, trying to figure out what to say. Obviously not the truth. Anything but it. “Um, I’m fine. Just really tired from the party last night…”

My voice was croaky from crying all day. I swallowed nervously, wishing I had water to mask the pain in my voice.

“What’s wrong?” Conrad asked, his tone hardening a little.

“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m fine.”

“y/n.” The way he said my name made me shiver with both delight and worried anticipation. “You’re clearly not okay. You never sleep in after eight in the summer. You always go to the beach first thing. It’s nearly four pm. You haven’t been seen since the party last night. What’s wrong?”

The fact that he’d memorised all that about me made me fall even deeper in love with him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell him what had happened. It was all my own fault anyway.

I pushed myself to a sitting position. I tried to drag my fingers through my matted hair, but it was useless. I needed a brush to fix that mess. I wiped my face again, just in case it helped hide the tear stains. I blinked a couple times, then licked my lips, finally meeting Conrad’s eyes.

“Please, y/n,” he begged. He moved his hand to cover mine. I glanced down at it, then back up at him, and his gorgeous blue eyes, pleading with me.

I shook my head. “I… I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Conrad looked disappointed, but he didn’t argue. He never did with me. “Okay. If you’re sure you’re alright. Do you want to go swimming with me?”

I hesitated. “Alright.”

“Okay.” He smiled. “Meet you downstairs in ten.”

Conrad was waiting for me at the front door, dressed in his dark blue swimming shorts, with a dark blue towel thrown over his shoulder. His eyes lit up when he saw me.

I’d run a brush through my tangles, changed into my usual white swimsuit with the tiny dark blue stars all over it, and grabbed my matching white towel.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Conrad gazed at me for a moment. I felt strangely comfortable with him looking at me. Even with all that had happened last night. I knew I could never feel uncomfortable with Conrad. He wouldn’t ever do anything to make me feel like I wasn’t safe.

I shook my head, wishing those thoughts away. I didn’t want to think of last night. I only wanted to think of now, and of Conrad, and of swimming at the beach. Even though that was where it happened…

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Conrad’s voice brought me back to the present.

“Mhm,” I said quickly. “Let’s go and swim.”

Conrad smiled. “Yeah, let’s.”

On the way outside, passing the Fisher’s pool, I had second thoughts. “Hey, actually, can we swim in the pool this time?”

Conrad stopped and looked at me, confused. “But you adore the beach. You always have.”

“I know,” I said, feeling fidgety all of a sudden. I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Just please? Can we?”

He relented. “Course.”

I dropped my towel and instantly dove into the water, letting it surround me in its familiar, comforting embrace. The water was my home, my heart, my special place. I always felt safe in the water. I stayed under for as long as I could hold my breath, before finally bursting back up above the surface.

Conrad was sitting at the edge of the pool, his feet in the water. Watching me.

I pushed my hair back, treading water. Watching him right back. His eyes reminded me of glass. Blue sometimes, but shattered and colourful and reflective too.

“What are you thinking about?” Conrad asked.

I hesitated. “The ocean.”

“So why are we in the pool, then, missy?”

I took a moment to answer. “Well, I’m in the pool. You’re just staring at me.”

“Am I not allowed to stare at pretty things?”

I blushed. I was used to Jeremiah and his flirtatious ways, but Conrad? Compliments and Conrad never went together.

“Umm…”

“Don’t answer that,” he decided. “Forget it.” He stood, and dove. For a split second, it was almost like he was suspended in the air, and then, I was sprayed with water. Conrad came up almost right away, not staying under like I always do.

He rose above the water right next to me, breathing through his mouth. Ugh, stop thinking about his mouth, I thought desperately. Stop being so in love with him, it’s getting pathetic.

“y/n.”

“Hmm?” I focused on him.

“You aren’t okay,” he said.

I opened my mouth to argue. Conrad held up a hand. “I know, you keep saying you are totally fine. But I know you, y/n, and I know you aren’t okay today. But I know that you will tell me what’s wrong if you want to, so I won’t push you. Just know that I’m here, okay?”

His blue eyes looked very blue right now. They were staring into mine, threatening to pull out all my secrets. I blinked. “I know. Thank you, Con.”

I hadn’t called him Con in a long time. It startled him, I could tell, but he smiled a little, backing away from me in the water. “Come on, let’s race.”

I allowed myself a dry smile. “You and your racing. You boys all just love to win, don’t you?” I rolled my eyes playfully. “Competitive boys.”

Conrad splashed me with water. “Hey, you’re one to talk. You’re the most competitive person I know.”

I pretended like I was offended. “Please. I am not competitive. I just like to win. At everything. All the time.” I hesitated. “Okay, maybe I am a little competitive. But I grew up living as the ‘little girl’ with you and Jere and Steven! Can you blame me?”

Conrad laughed. “Okay. Maybe you’ve got a point.”

“See?”

“But …” He smirked. “I do remember this one time —”

“Shut up!” I gasped. “You know you weren’t supposed to know that!” I swam over to him, hitting him lightly on the arm.

“Ow!” Conrad rubbed his forearm, frowning at me. Suddenly, all I could think of was how cute he looked when he was faking being mad, his brow creasing.

“Don’t be a baby,” I said, flustered by my own thoughts. “Don’t you even bring that up again.”

“Aww, c’mon, y/n,” he whined, which was also really cute. I hated how much I was in love with this boy. It almost hurt, because I knew he would never be mine.

“It was cute.” Conrad said, tapping my nose.

I swallowed, trying to keep my breathing normal. “You think it was cute?” My voice sounded small and delicate, like glass, like whatever he said in return might shatter it.

“Umm…” Conrad looked embarrassed. “Well, I mean. I guess so, uh, because you were just trying so hard to, umm…” He trailed off, not looking at me.

I rubbed my leg against the other, staring at him while I had the chance, staying quiet. I didn’t know what to say.

“Sorry,” I blurted. “You’re allowed to bring that up. I’m being ridiculous. Ignore me.”

Conrad met my eyes, his blue one piercing into mine. “What? No. You don’t have to apologise for anything, y/n.” Worry flashed in his expression, but he didn’t say anything.

I looked down at the water in front of me, slowly kicking my legs. I chewed my lip. “No. Just — whatever. It’s whatever.” I waved my hand. “It honestly doesn’t even matter. I was just a stupid little kid.”

“Hey,” Conrad reached for my hand, giving it a squeeze. “You have never been stupid.”

I met his gaze again. I felt so incredibly seen and safe with Conrad. How could I not? I love you, I wanted to say, so, so badly, but I just couldn’t make myself. It wasn’t for me to say.

Conrad seemed to understand without me having to say it. “Come here,” he said, and pulled me into a tight hug. I wrapped my legs around his waist, burying my face in his neck, finally letting my tears go. I clung to him and cried out all my emotions.

Fear, horror, pain from last night.

Distress, anxiety, misery from today.

Love, joy, safety from my Conrad.

“y/n, please tell me what’s going on.”

I shook my head. “Con, I can’t. I can’t tell you. It-it’s too bad.”

He gently pulled me off him, looking intently into my face. “y/n. You are not alright. And you’re not alone. I’m right here. I won’t tell a soul what you tell me. But you need to tell someone what’s going on. And… I’d like it to be me.”

I didn’t want to tell anyone. I wanted to bury last night deep inside me and never think about it again. But I knew he was right. Otherwise, it would fester deep in my chest, burning and killing me from my middle to my outside.

I took a deep breath. “Okay. Um.” I had no idea where to start. “Last night, my parents were fighting. With each other, and with-with me. They were blaming me for all their problems, and calling me all these awful names and telling me I was useless to them and that they wished they’d never had me as a daughter, and I, I got really angry, I told them fine. I was gonna leave and never come back if that’s how they felt about me. So they kicked me out.”

I had been trying to keep my emotions in check, but I was sobbing now. “And then, I was walking down the beach on the way to your house when this guy—“ My voice faltered. “He… he grabbed me and tried to kiss me and touch me but I kicked him and ran. I ran all the way to your house.”

“That’s why you turned up so late and flustered.”

I nodded, wiping furiously at my tears. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

Conrad wrapped me so tightly in his arms I couldn’t even finish my sentence.

“If you ever—“ Conrad’s voice was harsh and angry. “ever say sorry for something like this again, I will kill you. Don’t you dare be sorry.”

I wrapped my arms around him, holding tightly to him. His arms were solid and warm around my waist.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Conrad said roughly into my shoulder, and I realised with a start that he was crying. Not as badly as me, granted, but tears were glistening in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me right away?” he begged, his voice ragged. He gripped my shoulders, staring at me.

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t want to bother you with my drama.” I traced my fingertip against the top of the water, making a ripple.

“y/n, I will never be bothered by anything you have to say.” Conrad looked more serious than I’d ever seen him. And for Conrad, that was saying something. “I just… I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Did that guy hurt you? Do you know who he was, or what he looked like? And, if you don’t want to go back to your parents, or you can’t, you know you’re welcome here as long as you need.”

I nodded slowly. “He didn’t really do anything. It just terrified me. I think I did more damage to him than he did to me. Especially since he just scared me and I kicked him in his sensitive place.”

Conrad managed to laugh. “That’s my y/n.”

My chest grew uncontrollably warm at his remark. “Um, and yeah. I don’t think I’ll be able to go back home for a while.”

“Well,” Conrad grabbed and squeezed my hand again. “You know you’ve got a home here, with us.”

“Thanks, Con.” I gave him a small smile, which he returned.