#and she would know because she had life-threatening cancer

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

So. Attack on Titan ended

YES AND I CANT TALK ABOUT IT BECAUSE I DID NOT REREAD OR REWATCH OR VIEW THE FINALE AT ALL DURING THE WHOLE MONTH I SAID I WOULD

also this is the best possible way you could have formatted that message

[1427]

would you? (pt. 2)

Negan x Reader

Summary: Your mom died when you were 15, your Aunt Lucille was given custody even though she was battling cancer. When the world gets upended and Lucille dies, Negan is all you have, but he isn’t cut out to be a parent. When he becomes the leader of the Saviors and takes residence in the Sanctuary he’s almost a stranger. No one wants anything to do with you because you’re Negan’s “daughter”. So when you confront Negan about needing company, he obliges. You don’t realize that the feelings you’re developing are inappropriate, but Negan does.

Setting: Height of the Saviors era Sanctuary, Negan’s bedroom. 

Warnings: SMUT, age-gap (reader is 18, Negan is early/mid 40’s), virgin!reader, manipulation, guardian!negan (technically it’s Uncle!Negan and it IS mentioned explicitly), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, stocking!kink, innocence/corruption!kink, reader is described several times as a doll/toy, read at your own risk ok

Word count: 3.3k

A/n: uhm, my heart was racing the entire time I was writing this please read at your own risk fr

// Part 1 //

masterlist

18+ mdni

I was just bending over to grab my pencil, coach. 

For a while, you don’t bring up what happened that night. Going to lunch like everything’s normal. Negan is even more disturbed by this than he was by your innocent flirting. You don’t bring it up, but you’re different. Reminding him of some of his former students. The girls with obvious crushes - ones they were trying to hide but actively weren’t. They’d do things that could easily be explained away. 

Sorry, I only packed these shorts today. I didn’t realize they were against dress code. 

It was easy to not look then, to hardly be affected by silly teenage girls who had no idea what they were doing. He could go to the teachers lounge and flirt with the TA’s if he was really looking for someone younger. But younger isn’t necessarily what Negan liked. ‘Innocent’ wasn’t something he thought he could get into. But with you? He had all control, every single aspect of your life was in his hands - and he knows he fucked up. He knows he fucked you up… but he’d gone and fucked himself up too. Finding himself wanting to teach you everything. So caught up in the knowledge of how bad you want him makes him feel like a king - moreso than any amount of wives. You only wanted him. You only knew him.

Oblivious to Negan’s dirty secret and because he’d threatened to stop seeing you if you continued this flirting behavior you stick with subtle stuff. Wearing even lower cut shirts, mini-skirts and stockings. And sure, the stockings had holes in them. But Negan liked that even more than if they hadn’t. It let him imagine you weren’t this pristine untouched thing. He wasn’t sure which was worse; fantasizing about you as this perfect little doll that’s never been held by anyone, that doesn’t know anything about a man’s body or as this thing he’d corrupted. Giving you romance novels? What an amateur mistake on a colossal scale. 

When you started wearing skirts he could smell you. Your wet cunt, sweet and unmistakable, every single time you walked into his bedroom for lunch. He tries to ignore it, tells the kitchen to make more pungent food, wears cologne, but it doesn’t matter - he could pick your scent out of a line-up of the undead, having had weeks to memorize it. 

Negan’s cologne only makes you more wet for him. You can barely make it through lunch anymore. Trying your best to keep up with the conversation that you’re almost positive he’s phoning in as well, but it’s not easy when all you can think about is him stuffing you full on the bed that sits a dozen feet away. You’re desperate to make a move and terrified that any move you make will disrupt everything. 

You scour your books for some kind of clue on what to do next, how to make it impossible for him to say no - but there’s no obvious answer. With no experience to tell you that Negan was losing his goddamn mind waiting for you to make a move or proposition so that he could oblige it. 

He gets sick of waiting. Sick of drinking down his disgust with himself. It only makes the fantasies more vivid. Almost tangible and right there. All he really had to do? Touch you. And he knows it. 

He’d stopped getting you gifts and novels after that night, but today? Today he had something real fuckin’ special. 

You’re sitting across from him eating… only desserts? Weird choice, but still delicious. “What’s the occasion?” You ask, taking a bite of the strawberry shortcake set out in front of you. 

“Do I need a special occasion to treat my favorite girl?” He says it so casually, but he’s never said anything like that to you before. 

“Okay,” you breathe out a chuckle, “who are you and what have you done with my uncle?” 

“Woah now, ‘Uncle’?” The title made him visibly uncomfortable, but not because he didn’t like it. He was too far gone with you, and now anything that made it more taboo just spurred his hunger further. 

You breathe in deeply, as if you’d just confessed to something. Simply put, you had. He knows how bad you want it. He can smell it on you, and you didn’t care he was your family. Not even just your almost supposed ‘guardian’, no. You saw him as your uncle and you still wanted it. Bad. “Yeah, you are my uncle, aren’t you?” 

“That makes you my niece.” He says it like it’s news. Not understanding that he’s trying to gauge your reaction. 

For some reason, it makes your heart pound. Your ears get hot, and that same smile you’d tried to will away that night he’d forced a confession out of you (in the form of a moan at his touch) blossoms on your face. Pink cheeked and starry eyed, “It does,” you nod, you really don’t know any better, “Anyway, what’s all this about?” 

Negan scrambles for an answer that isn’t the one he can’t say out loud, “Missed your birthday, wanted to… make it up to you.” His voice is low, droning, and it makes you shift in your seat, crossing your legs. Negan notices and smirks at your body giving you away. You’re so easy. 

“Oh… thanks.” You take another bite of the shortcake before moving your fork to his plate to take a bite of chocolate cake. He lets you, he’s been letting you get away with so much more disrespect than he’d ever allow from anyone else. Telling himself that no teenager shouldn’t be getting away with little stuff like that, but really it’s because he likes it. He wishes you would take more control, and just ask him already. He’d wished for weeks that you would press yourself up against him like you had before he’d made you aware of your own feelings for him. And he hates that he told you that you weren’t allowed. That it was wrong. Because it is, but he doesn’t care anymore. 

He’s sick of waiting for you to understand how to make a move, “I got you a little something too.”

It’s almost unbelievable that he’d gotten this for you. One of the saviors had tried to smuggle it to keep for himself, and once Negan saw it… he couldn’t think of something better for you. “Now close your eyes,” he purrs. 

You slam your eyes shut and put out your hands eager to receive another gift. Feeling a hard plastic case being slipped into your fingers, “Now open them.” 

It was a… you had no idea. Looking up at him in confusion you’re met with a look of complete and total satisfaction from Negan. Smiling wide at your reaction. “What is it?” You whisper, smiling back. 

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll show you.” And he winks. He fucking winks. You’re a mess. You’re putty. You have no idea what this little pink egg shaped thing is, enclosed in the plastic balanced in your hands, but you know it’s something… different. He can tell you still have no clue what it is, what it’s for, but he sits and waits for your thanks. 

You can feel it, your legs tremble as you’re about to stand up but you stop yourself. You’re not supposed to flirt with him. And he told you that that’s what hugging him is. At least when you do it. You look to him, chewing on your lip, you want to feel him pressed against you so bad it’s making your knee bounce in anxious anticipation. You think about the fact that if you were hugging him you’d be able to smell his cologne even stronger, maybe you could even get away with kissing him on the cheek. After all, you could just blame it on the gift again. 

He’s just sitting there, leaned back in his chair, staring toward the window. It would be so easy to just… you get up and crash down into his lap. Draping your arms around him, pulling your face into the crook of his neck like you always do. This time is different, like everything else has been different since that night. You can’t will yourself to move. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze travels upward. All you can see is his neck, his chin still pointed away like he’s trying to hold himself together. You feel a guilt creeping into your periphery but it’s drowned out by the heat between your legs. Without even realizing you’re doing it, you plant your lips on his neck. 

He’s quick to react, his hand coming to grip your thigh just as instinctually as you had kissed him. Negan is sick of waiting, he was not built for this. “Do you want me to show you how to use your gift?” 

You’re melting, all your senses dizzy with his hand so firmly on your leg. Feeling his calloused palm through the tears in your stockings, your skin prickles. He puts his one arm underneath your legs and the other under your arms and picks you up, placing you gently back down in his chair. The suspense courses through you, tightening and moving to your limbs. The personification and embodiment of an exclamation point, you’re trembling as he stalks around the room. Taking the still unopened gift off of the table, you hear the click of the knife from behind you as he paces. He’s cutting into it as he leans down and breathes in your ear, “If you want me to stop, you tell me to stop, okay?” 

You nod in response, trying to swallow the knot in your throat.  He keeps talking, walking around to face you again as he gets the small mysterious device free from its packaging. “I fucked up with you,” you can tell he’s going to start monologuing like he always does, building up the anticipation you already can’t take. Your hands pulling at the hem of your skirt because you don’t know what else to do with them. “I want you to know that I know I’ve made mistakes. I’ve really really fucked up your pretty little head.” As he speaks he moves back around behind you. Cheeks flushing at the compliment. He’d called you pretty. 

“But don’t worry, kid,” his voice in your ear feels like his stubble beneath your lips that you’ve imagined so many times, “I’m gonna fix you right up.”

His hand glides down your chest from above you and your body dramatically arches into his touch. Shivering as he moves his way down to one leg, pulling on your stocking to maneuver the limb onto the arm-rest. He does the same with the other, as if you’re some doll he’s positioning. You’re putty, not a single ounce of resistance inside of you. He moves his hand to lift up your skirt, letting it fall to your stomach. Unable to look at yourself in such a provocative position you close your eyes. 

“Holy shit, girl.” Negan’s smile devours him as he takes it all in. You’re not wearing underwear underneath your stockings, something he was absolutely not expecting. Your pretty pussy all smashed up against the mesh, your juices seeping through. In the light it almost sparkles. He’s never seen a damn thing like it. He hadn’t even done anything yet, and you were a shaking mess in his chair. Waiting so patiently for him to fix you. 

He had planned on putting the little vibrator against the fabric of your panties and stockings, and while he still could… he can’t stop himself from putting his warm hand between your legs instead. He doesn’t want to stop himself, he wasn’t built for that. Fuck the piece of shit vibrator and fuck all of his stupid fucking plans to take this slow. No, he knows what you really need. Him. 

His big hand comes to rest on top of your mound, pressing his fingers flat against the wet fabric of your stockings hard. The pressure.. the warmth.. your hands immediately shoot up from your sides grabbing his forearm as you gasp at the feeling. Pulling yourself even more flush against him, any piece of him you can get. 

You’re shaking, Negan can’t think straight. All plans out the window, that smell, he needs to taste you. He rubs his whole hand, all four warm fingers, against the sopping fabric in circles for only a few seconds before bringing his hand up to his nose and taking a deep breath in of your scent. (He won’t lick you from his fingers, that’s somehow beneath him.)

You whimper under his touch and whine when he pulls away, but you don’t move other than to put your arms flat against the armrests of the chair. He was going to fix you, right? So you submit, not really even understanding how to react to any of this. 

His dick is so hard against the fabric of his pants that it hurts. He tries to readjust, but it only makes him groan. Your neck cranes at the noise, but before you can get a look he’s in front of you, pulling up on the mesh directly above your heat, taking the knife he’d still been holding and cutting into it. The sound of the stockings tearing only makes Negan’s dick harder, revealing your glistening cunt like unwrapping a fucking present. Just for him, all for him. He did this… all of it. 

He rips the fabric more before pulling your hips closer to the edge of the chair and kneeling down on one knee. His face buries against you with a haste you weren’t expecting, your body shooting up at the feeling. So sharp and too much, you squirm against his tongue but he keeps you still. Growling into your cunt, “I said I’m going to take care of you, doll, so you have to let me.  Stop. Moving. Just…” his tone softens, and he kisses you sweetly on your hood, “relax.” 

Negan dives back in more gently this time, taking in the taste of you slowly. Drinking from you, he’s never tasted anything so sweet. So pristine. His tongue swathing in large laps against your lips, you’re trying your best to relax but your orgasm builds faster than you can tolerate. It felt like fucking magic, filling you with stars that buzzed all the colors of the rainbow. He flicks his tongue between your folds, directly onto that spot and your orgasm shoots through you like a bullet. From your core to the top of your head, no orgasm you’d ever had had felt like that. It left you wanting, it wasn’t enough. Your walls pulsate, gushing thick white perfect ecstasy into Negan’s mouth. He snickers against you, his nose resting gently on your still quivering clit. 

He doesn’t want to wait - picking you up like you weigh absolutely nothing, bringing you and your dizzy head to lay gently on his satin sheets. Bliss; and yet, you yearned. 

Inside. 

Your whole body shouting, the personification and embodiment of a fucking exclamation point. His belt clacks against your sensitive folds as he races to get himself inside.

And then, all of a sudden and just like that - you’re whole. His lips smashing into yours in a desperate need to claim every part of you. 

When he’d imagined it in his head you were naked, all skin and blush and like sweet honey coating his senses. It was all different, but he didn’t mind you like this. Clothing soaked with sweat and your own sweet nectar; he felt like he was in high school and he’s taking your virginity underneath the bleachers. All limbs and throbbing need and no time, no breath to waste.

 He kisses you deep and rough until you can’t breathe and you pull away, still adjusting to his size which you imagine is large from the discomfort inside of you, snaring itself into your vision like white flashes of electricity.

His first few labored thrusts hurt like you imagined it would, though it’s not like anything you’ve felt before. The burn of your walls stretching over him makes your breath hitch sharply in your throat, “That’s a good girl,” he purrs in your ear as he pulls out and slams into you harder. Tears sting your eyes as you nod into his shoulder, silently willing him to keep going. Don’t stop. He couldn’t stop even if you’d asked him too, your pussy is too wet, too hungry and swallowing him whole. He knows what you need, he can tell, even if you couldn’t. You need this. 

Negan is seeing fucking stars, your hole stretching so perfectly around him like it never needed anything more, “Fu-uck,” he’s not going to last 5 minutes. He leans back, taking your hips and pulling them off of the bed to stay attached to his while he fucks you like that. Your shoulders still down against the bed, you’d never read about a position like this and it hurts but you like it. Your eyes traveling down his body as he buries himself slowly into you. All the way to the hilt, and that’s when you see it.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, causing him to look down and see what was going on but he had already pulled back. 

“Hm?” His tone is amused. 

“Do it again,” you whine. He smirks a brilliant flash of white teeth, before his face completely falters at the sight when he presses himself all the way into you again. Both of your eyes wide as the outline of his cock protrudes from your belly. 

“Jesus,” his voice is loud, it seems to vibrate your brain against your skull. He draws himself out of you and shoves back in - more unceremoniously than previous. He’d been trying his best to not hurt you, to take it as slow as he could manage; but seeing his hard length poke out of your body was too divine, way too fucking hot for him to not lose any semblance of control he’d had. 

Negan drowns you out, your loud screams, your hands clawing at his forearms, as he rails into you. Eyes fixed on your stomach as he watches; he doesn’t even realize you’re cumming until your hips shake violently in his grip. Your walls clench so tight his cock is pushed out. Negan clicks his tongue, as if you’d done something wrong. Moving himself in position back on top of you, his elbows coming to rest above your shoulders, his whole being swallowing you up. Your arms and legs wrap around him to try and still your shaking body as he ruts up and into you like a wild animal, his breathing jagged, his movements much less languid. Rough and desperate and all consuming. 

Using your body like a toy to get himself off, he’s hardly paying attention anymore. Grunting curses that you’re trying to memorize through a hazy veil of satisfaction.

He’s. Falling. Apart.  

And it’s wet and hot and so deep inside you that you can feel it in your fucking throat. You scream, loud, as he empties himself inside you.

Quickly, too quickly, he pulls himself out. He wants to watch his seed spill out and onto the gray sheets. You’d said you fucking sucked at painting, but Negan thinks this is the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever fucking seen. His cum dripping out of your freshly and newly used pussy in soft glistening strings to pool underneath of you, the white in stark contrast to the dark fabric is something real fuckin’ special. 

He’s smiling, kneeling above you with his hands on your stockinged knees as he watches between your legs. You’re in another world, on another planet and lost in your senses. It was everything you’d dreamed it’d be. Heaven. 

Negan had every intention on this being a one time thing. After all, hysteria was curable - but as he lays back on the bed to catch his breath he’s already caught dreaming about you in every position, any way he can place you. His perfect little toy, all just for him. Only his. 

[scoops-aboy86]

Realize You’re Living (Secret Admirer pt 5)

Steddie Week 2024, July 5: Reunion / exes to lovers or getting back together / Wasted Years by Iron Maiden

Sorry. Not for the delay in posting, I just think I'm gonna get yelled at for reasons.

wc: 2815 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

There isn’t time to send Steve another letter before Friday. 

There isn’t time, not through the mail, and there’s no way Eddie is risking physically putting something in the Harrington’s mailbox himself. That would mean running the risk of someone finding out, and that still ignites an old fear in the most primal part of his brain that screams at him to run. No matter who it is. 

On the other hand, standing Steve up for their phone date is not an option. The very idea makes his insides freeze over. They’ve both had to reassure each other that they want to continue this epistolary romance, Jesus H. Christ—there’s been too much hot and cold already to pull something like that. 

Eddie rolls over on his bed to lay face down and screams into his pillow. It's like they’re in a relationship, except Steve doesn’t even know who he is. It's absurd. An absolute clown town of his own making.

Okay. Okay, no, he can do this. (Can he?) All he has to do is relax and stay calm until tomorrow night. He’ll call at 10:30 on the dot and play Steve some Iron Maiden or something, maybe a little Dio, a smidge of Black Sabbath, throw in a dash of Judas Priest… Basically play the guy a mix tape, live. 

He whips his head up and all but dives for his side table, looking for the tin where he keeps his weed. It’ll help him chill out enough to come up with a song list. And he needs all the chill he can get. He’s lost his mom to cancer, his dad to addiction and prison, and his childhood home with them—he refuses to lose Steve if he has even half a chance of actually having Steve. Because if this whole secret admirer thing is going where he hardly dares to hope it is, this could be the most important mix tape of his entire goddamn life. 

Steve spends all of Friday so on edge that Robin starts threatening to drop banana peels in the circuit he keeps pacing behind the counter. 

“What is with you today, dingus?”

He stops, tapping his foot restlessly and removing his hat so he can rake a hand through his hair. “Nothing, nothing, I… have an important call tonight, is all. I think.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Oooh, is it a pretty girl?” she teases.

“Maybe,” he mutters with a halfhearted shrug. He really still doesn’t know, and it doesn’t seem likely he’ll find out tonight. “I’m not even sure they’ll call. It’s… kind of a blind date sort of thing.”

“A blind phone date?” Robin looks like she doesn’t know what to do with that, which. Fair. “Is that a thing?”

Steve shrugs again. He goes back to pacing. “It might be. I’ll find out tonight I guess.”

She gives him a minute before butting in again, spraying more Windex on the display case to get the lunch rush’s grubby child fingerprints off the cool glass. “...Is this because of the board?”

Again, Steve stops. “What?”

“The You Rule / You Suck board. Have I accidentally degraded your confidence in yourself so much that you’ve turned to blind dates as an alternative to trying to seduce any and every girl who walks in here?” 

Her tone is flippant, but because they’ve been on better terms recently—especially since Steve started offering her rides (and let her take control of the tape deck after that time she threatened to throw all of his Wham! tapes out the window)—he decides to take it as a genuine question. 

“No. Well—No, it’s more the hat than that. It messes up my best feature, you know?” He runs a hand through his hair again, fluffing it up more, then slumps against the back counter next to the milkshake blenders with a sigh. “It’s kind of a pen pal thing. We’ve been talking for a while but we haven’t met, but… I think it might be going somewhere good.”

Robin stops her bored polishing of the display case, only half of the afternoon rush’s smudges and fingerprints wiped away, to laugh with a slight shake of her head. “Oh wow, King Steve is a romantic. Who knew?”

“Not me before junior year, that’s for sure,” he scoffs honestly. 

She studies him thoughtfully for a moment. “Makes sense. Kind of lines up with something I heard the other day, when—”

But then they’re interrupted by a couple strolling in for some ice cream. Robin rushes through cleaning the rest of the glass so as to get out of their way, and Steve scoops and rings them up while she moves on to wiping down tables, conversation forgotten. 

Eddie’s finished his playlist and his plan is to call early. Not too early, just… a minute, five minutes tops. His uncle leaves for work before 10, so he has plenty of time and he’s buzzing with nervous energy. 

Way too much nervous energy to carry into the Big Call tonight. 

By the time Wayne is out the door, Eddie’s already started on rolling a joint and rereading Steve’s letters from start to current. If he’d been smart he would’ve written out copies of his own for a more complete read, that in depth analysis his English teachers never shut up about… but alas. 

Usually his memory is pretty good, especially when it comes to his own work. He also hadn’t expected this to go on as long as it had; not really. But now he can hardly imagine what it would be like to know Steve only from a distance anymore and that… colors things. Fuck only knows what he’s remembering wrong because of a simple difference in perspective. 

Because Steve has let him in, Eddie acknowledges as he lines the weed up on the paper. He’s written things about his home life, about his old friends, and definitely about his injuries over the past couple years (though oddly enough never much about what actually caused them) that Eddie would bet good money that no one else knows, if only because Steve doesn’t seem to have anyone else to tell. Maybe those kids he babysits (begrudgingly but genuinely dotes on, Eddie’s seen it from a distance). But really, how much can you realistically talk to a thirteen year old? Eddie remembers being thirteen; he hadn’t listened to anyone for shit. It was a miracle Wayne hadn’t just released him into the woods like a wild animal. 

And all Eddie’s been doing is pulling Steve close, while steadfastly keeping him out. God. 

He licks the joint to seal it, lights up, and keeps rereading. 

Steve is standing by the phone in his kitchen watching the second hand on the clock. How it sneaks around the clock face, slow but steady, until it laps the 12 line and it’s 10:31. 

He slumps back against the kitchen island with a groan. That had been an absolutely excruciating minute, and he’s staring down the barrel of another fifty-nine more until he can reasonably give up hope. Because anything under an hour is just running late, right? Something could have come up, something unavoidable like… family coming home unexpectedly, making a private conversation impossible. 

… Okay, maybe that was a stress dream he’d had last night about his parents, but something like it could happen to anyone.

10:32. The second hand barely makes it past fifteen this time before the silence is split by the shriek of ringing in the otherwise silent house. Steve multitasks, jumping out of his skin and lunging to answer the phone at the same time.

“HelloHarringtonresidence, thisisStevehowcanIhelpyou?” he rushes out. 

There’s no response except breathing on the other end of the line, which would be creepy if it weren’t exactly what he was hoping for. 

(Eddie is pressing a hand over his mouth, keeping in an equal parts amused and disbelieving laugh at how Steve had answered the phone, all flustered and cute and overly formal in an automatic sort of way that suggests an ingrained habit. From what he knows about Steve’s parents, he’s not terribly surprised, but it’s still such a delightfully dorky greeting.

And it seems like Steve really was waiting by the phone for his call, which makes Eddie want to fucking dance.)

“Is that you?” After a second, a light bulb goes off in Steve’s head and he adds, “Oh. Uh, tap once for yes, twice for no?”

It takes a few seconds, but then he hears a single tap against the plastic of the other receiver. 

(Smart, Eddie would tell him if he could. If he dared. He sucks hard on the last of his joint before letting the smoke billow from his nose like a dragon and putting it out in the ashtray by his bed. Maybe he mashes it in a little harder than necessary, blaming it for being late even though that’s really just another one of his bad habits at this point.)

Relief breaks over Steve like a wave. “Oh my god, it’s you. You’re the, um, my secret admirer?”

Tap. 

(Yeah sweetheart, it’s me.)

Steve does a little bounce on the balls of his feet and pumps his fist, too giddy to feel stupid about it with no one watching. “Holy shit. I mean, t-thanks for calling. Sorry, my parents make me answer the phone like that.” 

Nothing. 

(Eddie is smiling. Beaming, really. I figured, he imagines saying. At first it makes his heart feel full just thinking about it, but then has to stop that line of thought before his anxiety conjures up all the ways Steve Harrington, until recently Hawkins High’s resident ladies man, might react to the surprise of being on a phone date with a guy. Jesus, how is he high and still so nervous?)

“Right, you can’t answer. I mean, you can, if you want, but you don’t have to. This is, this is to see how I like your music.” Steve rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Did you want to play something for me now, or…”

Tap. 

(All the tapes are on standby, spread out in chaotic order around the second-hand player he got last year after Wayne’s old one crapped out on him. Eddie cranks up the volume as high as it’ll go; he’s used to it, the neighbors are resigned to it, and Steve won’t be able to hear it well enough to count through the phone otherwise.)

The first song starts, and Steve twists the phone cord between his fingers as he stands in his kitchen and listens. There’s a heavy beat and a noticeable bass line, even over the phone, nothing like the pop rock he usually listens to. But…

“… I definitely didn’t hate it,” he says once the last notes fade out. 

(Eddie is vibrating as he hits pause and ejects the tape, elated, a few of his worries already soothed. Steve doesn’t hate metal. That doesn’t necessarily mean Steve will like him, but it’s got to make the odds at least a little better, right? He wants to say fuck yeah or I love you or, fucking… shriek wordlessly or something, but presses his hand over his cotton-dry mouth instead, hard enough that his gums ache a little.)

“It kind of reminded me of AC/DC? Like Back in Black, or Hells Bells.”

(They’re not one of Eddie’s favorites, didn’t even make the playlist. But they’re harder rock than he expected Steve to be familiar with, and suddenly he has a wild urge to know what the guy thinks of You Shook Me All Night Long.)

“One time, the radio played Big Balls in the car and my mom literally clutched her pearls and said, ‘I don’t think he’s talking about ballroom dancing, Richard!’” 

(Eddie grins as the funny little falsetto Steve put on for the impression fades into a rich laugh, like he’s so tickled by the memory that he can’t help it. There was probably some appalled, classic white-anglo-saxon-protestant-sucking-on-a-lemon expression on her face that he’s picturing, while Eddie can only imagine. It’s okay, Eddie is too busy wanting to pour Steve’s laugh into a bathtub and soak in it.)

Tap. 

“Yeah, really not,” Steve agrees, his cheeks almost aching from smiling so wide. He feels lighter than air just knowing he’s on the phone with the person who’s been writing to him the past couple months, knowing he’s proving that they’re genuinely at least a little bit compatible. “So, what’s the next song?”

It goes on like that. Steve doesn’t know the artists or albums or track titles, but figures that Secret Admirer will fill him in with the next letter. There are a couple of songs that are more shouting than singing for his taste—“I like songs I can sing along to once I know the words, you know? Really belt out in the car after a long day, or something,” he explains, and gets a yes tap in response. 

(Eddie has to improvise. Instead of another WASP song, he reaches for an Iron Maiden tape he’d put aside as a half-assed backup and scours the track list, trying to decide… Ah, that one. He pops it in and turns the volume down for a second so he can check that he’s fast forwarding to the right spot on the tape.

This one’s for you, sweetheart, he thinks, lighting a second joint—not for nerves this time, but just for fun. He leans back and lets the smoke fill his lungs, fill his mind, send him floating off to whatever time of that big house Steve is curled up in so he can spiritually throw an arm around the other guy’s shoulders.)

Steve likes the instrumentals in the intro of this one. He doesn’t really track the words at first once they start—usually doesn’t, on a first listen-through, with so much new to take in. But he starts catching on to the shape of them by the first of what turns out to be the chorus. 

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years

Too much time on my hands, I got you on my mind Can't ease this pain so easily When you can't find the words to say, hard to make it through another day And it makes me wanna cry, throw my hands up to the sky

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years, hey!

He listens, slowly untangling himself from the long phone cord and taking a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. When the song finally fades out and he hears the far-off click of the tape being stopped and taken out, he asks hopefully, “It’s about seizing the day, right?”

Maybe they’re building up to telling him who they are, or at least giving him a little more. 

(Eddie freezes, not expecting Steve—who had told him he didn’t get things on the first try—to venture any insights. Especially on a song that hadn’t been on his list, a last minute change-up that he’d picked with the transformation from King Steve to just normal guy Steve in mind and how Steve seems so hung up on apologizing for the douchebag he used to be. 

Or at least, used to be on the outside. Every day, Eddie gets a little less sure that persona went much further than skin-deep.

A tiny sound curls out of Eddie’s throat, a barely audible, inquisitive hum. Something that says please, keep going. He knows Steve has heard it because of the quick intake of breath over the line.)

Steve clutches the handset so hard that his knuckles go white. It’s the first sound, the first crumb that Secret Admirer has given him that’s really them, not a tap on plastic or other people’s music. Too quiet to make out any distinguishing features, but it’s something. 

It feels like everything. 

“You could, you know,” Steve says softly. “You could… make a stand? If you told me who you are, or just anything more about you, I… I really like you. I know for sure that I want to know you. Maybe that makes me a romantic sap, but it’s true. What if we find out we could have our golden years right now?”

(Eddie is freaking out. The mellow of his high isn’t helping anymore, all the floaty syrupy hopefulness of it stripped away. Oh fuck oh balls oh shit, shit, shit!

He’s hyperventilating, knows Steve can probably hear it, and he’s nothing but a goddamn coward in the end.

He can't do this.)

There’s a single clunk, and then all Steve hears is dial tone.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @whalesharksart

@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever @goosesister

@dolphincliffs

[resident-idiot-simp]

BROOOO I FORGOT WHISTLER HAD CANCER IN THE FIRST BLADE MOVIE.

We appreciate easy angst in this household.

Blade who smelled the cancer on Deadpool as soon as he was near and it broke his heart as he remembered his mentor. Then when he reluctantly enjoyed the idiots company and even more so when he saved them from the void.

He asked Logan about it one day. Logan too knew the smell and he to was worried.

One day Logan and Blade were hanging out in Wade's apartment while he was out collecting money for a job he and Logan finished. Althea just casually asked when the cancerous tumor would be back.

Blade and Logan looked at one another with wide eyes. "You know about the cancer?" Logan asked tentatively.

"Of course I do one of the first things he told me when I met him. He had super cancer and now he couldn't die."

Logan looked positively startled. Blade spoke up next. "What does the cancer have to do with him not dying?"

"Oh he's dying he's constantly dying. It's just he's constantly regenerating cancer. Pretty sure it's because of you actually Logan or at least this world's Logan."

Logan looked at Blade with big eyes and Blade was even more curious now. Blade likes Althea she reminded him of Whistler in her own ways.

"What do you mean It's because of me?" Logan asked sounding as if he dreaded the answer.

"Off shoot of Weapon X got him if I remember right he said they used your DNA." Al said flippantly.

Logan felt his heart drop and a growl threatened to escape his throat and Blade held back a hiss.

"How did the offshoot get him?" Blade asked. Al sounded somber then as she answered. "The cancer. He was dying he was desperate and they convinced him they would save his life and cure it make him a hero."

Logan couldn't stop the growl then and Blade bared his own fangs with a hiss of displeasure.

[neuroticbookworm]

Love in the Big City Part 2: Go Yeong and Umma

I was chased around, threatened, bullied and emotionally manipulated for months to write this piece, so @lurkingshan, this one's for you. *please release my family*

When I was reading the book, in Part 1, I remember being frustrated with Young as a narrator because of how standoffish he seemed with his descriptions of the people in his life (except Jaehee – Mi Ae in the show). I wanted to understand the emotional distance I felt in his words. And I got my answer in Part 2, where the relationship with his Umma was laid bare for us to see. The structure of this section was so smart, for it established the roots of his behavior in his childhood with Umma, and linked it to how it shaped the relationship he currently had with Hyung. Seeing it come to life on screen in the episodes this week was a treat to watch.

It becomes evident that Go Yeong’s relationship with his Umma is complicated as soon as we see them interact on screen. She is steadfastly religious, someone who believes that miracles can cure things that humans sometimes deem incurable, like cancer. We could easily infer from what we’ve seen of Go Yeong so far that she would not approve of his life.

Before I get into how her opinions and actions affect and influence Go Yeong, I wanna fully break down some of the objective facts we know about her:

She divorced her husband after he stepped out of their marriage and didn’t even have the courage to tell her about his infidelity

She is a single mother

She is an entrepreneur (in fact, we see her working from her bed in the hospital in multiple scenes)

She is religious and believes in the power of God

She is proud of her son

She loves her son

The last two points come with the biggest asterisks, because if she loves and feels pride for her son, how could she make him feel so alone? And now I shall try to explore this woman’s psyche to the best of my abilities, with a little bit of help from my personal experiences and therapy sessions I’ve paid money for over the years.

When we try to picture a homophobic parent, the image that our brain usually conjures up is often one-dimensional. (Note: This is NOT AN EXCUSE. I’m not trying to justify her actions. I am simply trying to understand why she did the things she did, by placing the context of the events of her life around them.) It is easier to process our emotions re: bad parents who hurt their children when we view their actions as simple. “They could’ve chosen not to do it and yet they did, so I hate them” is the conclusion that is the easiest to arrive at. That doesn’t make it untrue, but oftentimes, it is not the whole truth. Life is rarely, if ever, that simple, and our parents can truly love us while also rejecting fundamental parts of who we are, and never reconcile the two.

We see in the show the circumstances under which Yeom Eun Suk (Umma) finds out about her husband’s affair. She and little Go Yeong observe him from the sidelines, hidden, and see him smile like he had never done in all the time he had spent with them. We see Eun Suk feeling crushed by the implication that whatever love and happiness she thought she had had in her life with her husband was all potentially a farce. The fact that she chose to separate from him implies a couple of things: 1. She had strength and resourcefulness to provide for her son as a single mother in a restrictive patriarchal society like South Korea, and 2. She understood that staying in the unhappy marriage would only make her bitter and would affect her son more negatively than him growing up with a single parent.

She was brave enough to make those choices, and yet was still bound by her sense of propriety molded by society, and her faith. I’ve had a dynamic relationship with faith throughout my life, but I understood pretty quickly that questioning one’s faith is a particularly painful experience. Faith is supposed to be the solace one could turn to during trying times. When one is forced by circumstance to question their faith, it leaves them unmoored on the inside and further isolated on the outside. Eun Suk was already isolated to a certain degree by her divorce and her single motherhood. From what we learned in the book, there’s a history of cancer diagnoses in her family, so I would posit that she had been in Go Yeong’s shoes before, caring for her terminally ill parents in the past. Which is additional trauma from caregiving in her young adulthood that would’ve shaped her life. So I understand Eun Suk not questioning her faith when it was shaken.

She rebuilt her life and community by pursuing her faith—attending church, making friends who shared those values, and idolizing the Christian heteronormative lifestyle even after it failed her. She followed the rules dictated by her faith and community with utmost devotion, including building an entire business around heteronormative romance, in part because she had already transgressed by breaking up her own family and needed to prove she was not bucking that ideal or rejecting the church’s teachings with her choices. We see her take care of her appearance over and over when she is in the hospital after her first diagnosis and surgery, and it is yet another sign of her conformity and dedication to presenting a certain picture of her life. I understand why she would see her teenage son kissing a boy as a blemish on “a life deemed beautiful by God” and panic. I understand why she would think a psychiatric facility would help her son, and that it was her duty to try. (Note: once again, I am not justifying her actions, I am trying to understand them. Conversion therapy is deplorable and my heart goes out to everyone who has been subjected to it, including Go Yeong.) Eun Suk’s faith saved her by giving her purpose and community after her husband’s betrayal, but it also told her that her son, in his queerness, is fundamentally flawed. And like most people in this world, she chose not to rethink her entire life, and instead chose to believe that it is her duty to save her son from homosexuality and guide him to righteousness via the same path that saved her own life, ultimately traumatizing him. Hello, intergenerational trauma, my old friend!

@lurkingshan has already discussed the kdrama-fication of Part 2, with the increased intensity of Go Yeong’s romance with Hyung/Yeong Su. Expanding on that, I think the show’s depiction of Go Yeong’s relationship with his Umma rounded out the sharp edges of Young’s cynical tone from the book. We see her enjoy spending time with him. We see her joke around with him. We see her read her child with uncanny precision that mothers seem to have when she asked him “Why are you sulking like a child?”, when he was, in fact, sulking like a child. We see her observe and deduce that her son is probably seeing someone, and that someone is likely a man. Which then leads to her asking “Must I meet them?” when Go Yeong suggests a meeting with Yeong Su in the park. She runs from direct confrontation of her son’s sexuality, and yet diligently copies Bible verses, hoping for a miracle.

Eun Suk sees her son’s queerness as her own failure, and Go Yeong, in turn, sees his righteous anger towards his Umma, as his. She is so proud of him that she saves newspaper clippings of his achievements, but she is also ashamed that she couldn’t “save” him. She loves him within the confines of her faith. It’s not enough for Go Yeong, but it’s the best she can do; their relationship remains at an impossible impasse.

Yeong Su’s presence in this section is interesting because in addition to his primary role of serving as the broody, tortured creative who swept Go Yeong up in a whirlwind romance, he also serves as a parallel to Umma’s traits. When Yeong Su exclaims that “someone like [Go Yeong] couldn’t even imagine [his struggles]”, it rang eerily close to Umma telling her son “Don’t try too hard. Everyone must go sometimes”. The expression of disdain is the same, but in Yeong Su it reads hollow, as a pretentious assumption, while with Umma it registers as tired disappointment that Go Yeong would’ve surely felt as heavy as a boulder.

After finishing the book, I found myself going back to a particular paragraph:

...[I] was old enough to know that my mother did not exist solely to hinder my existence but was a person in her own right who had fought hard making her way through life. She just happened to be unlucky. In other words, the fact that our relationship had been so terrible was as natural as cancer or fungus or the rotation of our planet or sunspots. I knew this, but the feeling that she was the source of all my problems kept nagging at me. I kicked myself for thinking this about a dying person, someone who was only skin and bones at this point, but the thought refused to leave my mind.

It took me a long time to reach the acceptance Sang Young Park has put in words here. The fact that my trauma is an unfortunate byproduct of the life my parents had lived, and was not premeditated or fuelled by hate, was a hard and unfair pill to swallow. I want to grab Go Yeong and tell him that it is okay if he can’t ever forgive his Umma. Time will wash over his hurt and let him love her, even without the apology he deserves from his Umma. And I hope that, one day, he can learn to love the people in his life differently than the love he received from his mother.

[alexanderwales]

Pitchposting: Generation Ship

(Pitchposting is a way of giving away ideas that threaten to grow in my mind until they become draft documents. They are free to a good home, though there's no guarantee that I won't try to write them at some point.)

Alright, hear me out: it's a generation ship, one expected to reach its destination with an entirely new generation of people who never knew the homeland, except instead of being a scifi concept, we're doing it as mundane as possible.

I think this is one of those ideas that only appeals to me because I immediately start thinking about the logistics of it all, and there's something in the mundane, gritty realism that really appeals to me. Mostly I'm worldbuilding and problem solving, trying to get at what it would actually be like for people to have been at sea their entire lives, to have a ship that either needs to endure the waves or be rebuilt as it goes.

I was going to say that this needs to be fantasy, but I guess technically it can be an Alderson Disk or something. An Alderson Disk has a habitable circumference of approximately a billion kilometers, a sailing ship can go maybe eighty miles a day, that's a ballpark of 12.5 million days to circumnavigate the disk, which is 34,000 years. That's a hell of a lot of generations, twice as long as we've had agriculture. (But you could also just have it be a fantasy world that's larger than our own, with a generation ship that was only trying to flee to greener pastures that are a hundred years away.)

The purest version of this story is a world that's just water, to match the void of space. The ship sails, repairs are made from flotsam and jetsam and driftwood from unspecified places, rainwater is caught and put into barrels, pitch is used for patching, fish and kelp are hauled up from the ocean, birds are captured from the sky, and the ship must necessarily endure storms and swells.

I've always felt there was something compelling about constrained living situations, places where everyone knows everyone and you have to make it work because there's absolutely no way out — where you're on a knife's edge because there's only so much preparation you can do. A generation ship needs to think about absolutely all of its needs and how it will deal with the deterioration of all things over time, along with problems that might only crop up once every hundred years, or problems that won't become apparent until long after the ship has left the dock.

Let's say you have a sailing ship the size of one of the largest sailing vessels of the 19th century, a thousand people all told. The families are carefully braided to prevent accidental incest, everyone has their position in life, every master has at least one apprentice but probably more so gout or cancer don't eliminate the last person who knew how to make more pitch.

This is clearly an Idea story, one that starts with a ridiculous premise and then explores it, but one of my favorite things about idea stories is finding the characters and the conflicts within them. For a generation ship, the biggest, most obvious conflict is the conflict between generations: the old people who once knew dry land, the middle generation who will likely die before the destination is reached, and the children who will be the beneficiaries of all this travel.

We have a woman who was born to the sea, who loves the sea, who loves the travel and takes great joy in knowing that she's probably not going to see the end of it until she's ancient. We have the grizzled sailor who's nearly risen to the rank of captain and sees the whole mission as utter foolishness. A boy of thirteen who is obsessed with writing stories about the land they've set off toward and keeps his telescope on the horizon, hoping that the predictions were off, that they're somehow two decades early. A girl of sixteen who doesn't feel suited to the marriage that's planned for her, who is secretly in love with her best friend. A scientist who has been quietly advancing the state of knowledge with every new fish brought up from the deeps.

And then there's the plot, which there are so, so many options for. I would start the novel with simple sailing, a few chapters of the daily routine, the personalities, their petty fights with each other, and the stress of being in the middle of unfathomably deep waters whose depths are only glimpsed when the nets bring up something new. Then ... an island, another ship, sea creatures that have a glimmer of intelligence, a storm that makes the ship limp, spoilage that threatens starvation unless drastic action is taken, a political squabble that might bring all the plans crashing down.

Maybe it's a book about being trapped by the past, or about hanging on by what feels like a delicate thread, or about how systems are fragile and careful thinking and brave leadership are the only things that will get us through.

Mostly I think I want to be a geek about a ship that needs to survive in the ocean for a hundred years, and I do not have the time to write this novel, not when there are so many other novels to write.

[unforth]

Alright I'm gonna try to keep this brief but things have progressed enough that they're definitely going to impact my ability to do even my basic online shit so here's wtf has been going on.

A week and a half ago, I found out my dad was very sick. He'd been keeping it a secret. A week ago, my brother came and bullied dad to go to the hospital. He had a systemic infection that would have been fatal left untreated and he also has prostate cancer (which he knew but hadn't told us). He's been hospitalized since; he was discharged yesterday to in-patient rehab because he can't even sit up without help. He is 83 and expected to recover, though if he'll reach 100% is iffy.

His wife, my step-mother, has Alzheimers that has gotten quite advanced. Dad is her sole caretaker (surely why he risked death to stay home with her). She cannot be left alone. With him unable to care for her, my brother, step-brother, and I are juggling her care, but she threatened my brother with a knife so he won't stay with her (she didn’t know who he was, thought he'd broken in to attack her), and I live 2.5 hrs away and step-brother can't do it entirely solo (like. He doesn't drive. He can't get her to appointments or anything) . She needs a long-term not-at-home solution and while dad has been saving money to make that happen, no actual steps had been taken yet.

And I discovered yesterday that I have her power of attorney while dad is incapacitated, which means the legal decisions and responsibility for getting her help are all on me.

Needless to say, that's a lot of pressure and is time consuming, especially factoring in the distances involved - the area where we're looking to place her is 3+ hr drive for me.

And I've still got my own family, two kids, our house and life, and @duckprintspress

I. Might be just a little stressed the fuck out right now.

So. Apologies in advance if I fall behind on anything or fuck anything up. I'm stretched about as far as I can be, and then stretched a bit more just for funsies and The Bit.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for starting shit with a 15 year old??

Alrighty here’s our cast:

I’m OP, I’m 19 years old, I’m FtM trans but not out nor have I started transitioning medically. I’ve graduated but live at home while I attend college

I have a little sister named “Janet”, she’s 16 and a sophomore. She’s popular, friendly, and had a big friend group

Janet has a friend named “Amy” who’s 15. Amy is the kid I think I started beef with

Okay for the story;

Janet is the leader of her group. She’s got the strongest personality and is the most sociable. Almost all the kids in her group are comfortably upper class while Janet and I are sitting very middle class. It’s always very jarring when I drop Janet off at a friend’s house and it’s a literal mansion.

Amy is who introduced Janet to this group, but it became quickly very clear that Amy has never been told “no” in her life. She’s controlling, spoiled, and jealous. Now, I’ve hung out with Amy before (Janet was there too, we were at a get together and Amy tagged along with us) and she’s a sweet girl, but definitely a product of her environment.

Now, over the last few weeks, things have spiraled out of control for that group. Amy got a boyfriend and has been repeatedly picked to spend time with him and made her friends (Janet’s group) feel like shit about it. Her boyfriend was always invited to group things, but Amy refused to let him join. She cited the other girls (who are all either lesbians or dating other boys) as trying to “steal her man”. She’s very insecure about herself and I genuinely feel bad for her

Recently, she’s been left out of group activities because she chose not to attend, but then later would send the group hateful messages on social media or would vague post about them being pieces of shit because they didn’t insist that she attend. Janet’s been under fire the most along with another girl named “Christina”. Amy even went as far as to out Christina as bisexual on Snapchat because Christina pointed out that Amy could have attended their Halloween party at any time as it lasted for seven hours

So Amy’s a mess.

Now, recently (again), Janet started talking to a boy we’ll call “Jeremy”. Jeremy’s a sweet guy, he’s in band, he’s still a dork because he’s a high school sophomore, but he’s still a cool kid. One day, Jeremy sends a bunch of screenshots to Janet from Amy. Amy, who has a boyfriend as mentioned above. Amy was not only flirting with Jeremy, but also talking shit about me and my family. She called my mom fat, said my dad was lying about having cancer (he’s a terminal colon cancer patient), called my twin sister an ugly control freak, and me a “gay whore who acts like a man” (LMAOOOO).

Here’s where I may be the asshole. I got Amy’s number from Janet’s phone and sent her what’s basically an essay calling her out for these insults and also threatening to screw her parents. I told her to never contact Janet again and that I hope she got over her insecurities. I know her insults weren’t directed towards me nor was I supposed to see them, but I can’t stand people talking about my family. I know I shouldn’t have contacted her, especially behind Janet’s back, but I wanted to defend myself and my family

Anyways, if I’m voted the asshole for sticking my nose in high schoolers’ business, I’d completely understand

🧐

^^^ so I can find this again 😭

What are these acronyms?

[thursdayinspace]

another random question but what do you think would have happened if scully had never gotten abducted?

i love this question. i mean, long-term, it would have changed *a lot*. no cancer arc, which would be the biggest and most obvious change. but what would it have changed right then and there? the abduction definitely impacted their partnership and their friendship.

in one way, it brought things to the surface, especially for mulder. he wasn't unaware of her importance in his life before the abduction. telling his tape recorder that he could only trust himself and now he can only trust her? telling her that the only reason he could see to stay with the fbi was if they were working together? he was already relying on her presence in his life. a lot. but when she was taken from him, i think he felt a fear and despair that he would not have anticipated. it's one thing to know you need someone who is right there, and who will set up secret meetings in a parking garage, and who, even if you *can't* right now, is someone you know deep down you *could* reach out to. it's another thing to need someone who is gone.

so in that way, i think he did become aware that he was feeling more than he had realized. and that realization definitely had an impact on their relationship. but there's another side to it:

the abduction was the first time he became aware of *his* role in *her* life. and what he saw there wasn't good. because mulder being mulder, of course he takes responsibility, of course he blames himself. the fact that none of it was his fault doesn't matter. this is when he realizes that their quest, *his* quest, is putting her in real, life-threatening danger. and that thought never leaves him again. we see that guilt that takes root in his mind there all the way up into the revival. so that is a huge thing. he would have eventually found other things to blame himself for. mulder takes things personally and holds himself accountable for things that are completely outside of his control. so if it hadn't been this, it would have been something else. because things would still have happened to her. but being abducted and being gone for that long and coming back on the brink of death? that, for lack of a better expression, really fucked them both up in a big way.

so, what is my answer to your question? i don't know. i mean, for one, scully's side of the story is still completely missing from this. i find that a lot harder to unpack. if anyone wants to analyze that, i'd love to hear your thoughts! but also, both these things i talked about could have affected them in any number of ways. it comes down to likelihoods and probabilities. in the end you never know for sure how a person will react to a situation until after they've done it. and you don't know how not going through an experience might change them. and no headcanon any of us might have will tell the story as it would have happened with 100% certainty because human behavior is simply too complex and complicated to predict with any kind of accuracy.

if mulder hadn't been pushed through external circumstances to confront his feelings in that way, if he hadn't carried her cross, held her hand fearing it might be the last time, that would have taken a huge weight off both of them. there might have been a greater ease to their relationship. mulder wouldn't be feeling that guilt. scully wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath of all of that. the abduction, in my opinion, brought them closer to each other, but also served as an obstacle on their way forward, because it's quite something to move on from, more so since it brought feelings to the surface that neither of them was ready for.

*i personally* think the abduction strengthened the bond between them but weakened the foundation of their relationship. because of that added guilt and the fact that they were not ready to confront certain feelings. i think his fear of losing her is something that came to define him. and he kept almost losing her. if that hadn't happened? things between them could have progressed at an easier pace. their friendship, and the love they feel for each other. but honestly, i have no idea. but i had a lot of fun thinking about this.

[prince-liest]

The more comfortable I get with the inpatient workflow (knowing how to order things, how certain things work and are done, how to navigate the EMR, etc), the more happy I am to realize that inpatient rotations aren't actually all that bad in terms of the work of them. They suck specifically because they are exhausting 12-13 hour days, 6 days a week and you simply do not get to have a life while you're on this rotation but while I'm at the hospital, it's pretty much fine.

I wish I had the time and energy to work out and also not eat two out of my three meals every day of hospital food, and more time to rest, but I'm also relieved that I definitely do not actively dread or fear going to work every day like I was worried I might. Like, it sucks, but it's not active misery, yfm? My spirits are high. Definitely not super tenable, though.

Also, I have ED next and honestly fuck the emergency department. So glad there are people out there that enjoy emergency medicine, but I am simply not ADHD enough for that shit. I didn't have any bad shifts on my first ED rotation but I still disliked the whole workflow and baseline stress levels.

Anyway, things that did stress me out this week (CW dire hospital shit):

lady who kept threatening to leave the hospital against medical advice because she hated being there that much, even though she had an infection for which she needed an IV-only antibiotic or else she would almost certainly die. everything kept going wrong. she could go home with a central or midline cath; her line was peripheral; picc team couldn't put in a picc line because of her surgical history, so we had to go to interventional radiology and put in a Hickman line; we found this out on Friday and so she wasn't scheduled until Monday; on Monday she almost got moved to the next day because there was an emergency bleed during her time that IR was needed for and she said if we didn't get her scheduled in 45 minutes she was leaving the hospital. ended up discharging her at like 6pm on Monday and I ended up crying at work on Friday (the 13th! yay,,) in the resident library which surprised even me but apparently I'm not immune to "so WHAT if I die?? what do I have to live for? cancer and pain?" after three days of doing my best to juggle "doctor" with "therapist" every time I saw her. she likes me a lot which I think means I did a decent job but that really ran out my emotional energy.

the dude whose nurse called me three times in 45 minutes while I was trying to juggle discharging the above lady and doing my first admit. he was throwing things at the walls in his room because he wanted a cough drop and simply could NOT wait. what the fuck ever.

[phthalology]

“Will you help me?” The wound is not life-threatening. But sometimes letting someone else care for you isn’t about necessity.

“Lot of fuss about Ghosts lately,” said Drifter, and he sat down bonelessly on the lush grass of the Pale Heart.

Ikora didn’t move. She stared at the pool where the Speaker’s orrery had once spun. “Of course there is. Ghosts were the ones who destroyed the Witness, in the end.” 

It all gave Drifter the creeps. To look at the Pale Heart was to look at a tyrant’s idea of paradise, an endless growth inside a glass-walled prison. Cancer in a greenhouse. Other people found it comforting, for some reason. “And how is that sitting with you, with Ophiuchus as he is?”

Ikora laughed softly. “With me as I am, you mean.”

“It takes two.”

“That’s the point,” Ikora said. “If I had been with the Guardians who dealt the final blow, would Ophiuchus have been there for me? I don’t know. But I won’t give that to new Lights as a lesson. We need confidence now.”

“Ha, I guess there might be new little Lights after this who never even knew the Witness. Weird that the Traveler would keep making ‘em. Talk about a lack of confidence.”

“With that aurora in the sky and who knows what coming next, maybe we’ll need more Guardians after all.” Finally, she looked at him, with a directness that made him wonder what he had come here to say in the first place. 

Ghosts, sure. Even Eris was buddy-buddy with Immaru now. That Micah was a regular home for orphaned Ghosts. Drifter couldn’t shake his initial impression of his own Ghost as a tool, a vindictive resurrection machine that thought of humanity as a gun it could field-strip or fire dirty until a mechanical piece gave out. So, he’d made his Ghost into the same, striking first. Drifter had no doubt his muzzled Ghost would have fired at the Witness, because he’d have ordered it to. 

“I could use the near end of the world as an excuse to reconnect with Ophiuchus,” Ikora said. “But it’s been so long … I don’t know what sign I gave that let us reach this place, he and I. I don’t know what sign could bring us back together.”

“Ask him to help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

“It doesn’t have to be world-saving help.” Drifter gestured up at the vines built of memory, at the place where outside the real Tower, the Traveler had once floated. “Just a little favor.” He sleight-of-handed a coin-sized stone eye, one of the strange pieces of detritus he’d found in the Pale Heart, out of his sleeve and across his knuckles. “A little gift.” 

Fact is, the Drifter had a little bit of that Warlock magic nowadays. He did not care what class any Guardian of this temporary age would call him, but between the Light and the Dark, he knew things even more than usual. Now, he knew Ikora was thinking of giving that heavy, little stone eye to her Ghost, trying to wrest some meaning out of the collision of Drifter’s Dark Age history and the wilderness of Light she walked. 

Her thoughts itched against his like someone stroking a feather along the inside of his skull. 

How do you stand this? He thought. Hearing other people’s brains going?

Peel thoughts apart with careful fingers, said Ikora. 

Her mental voice was somehow the exact opposite of her piercing looks. Eyes like stars, heart like the jet off a black hole. Some strange genius in between. Drifter remembered what he had come here to say. “Look, anyway, I’m setting up a Gambit arena in that little beachy spot underneath the Blooming. Forgiveness, permission, you know. Thank you, good night.” And away he would amble, neat and peachy clean, on the side of the Light and with a neat little side gig too. Only problem in the world was Guardians kept asking him if he could make some sort of tincture or moonshine out of Dread, and he’d have to say again that he didn’t do that stuff for fun, there were plenty of plants and regular supply runs in the Pale Heart now, eat those while you can, you sick freaks. 

Ikora caught his intent to amble before it even started. “So, you’re telling me I need to let Ophiuchus see I care, even after the world didn’t end.”

Drifter looked over her shoulder. “Now, I wouldn’t go that far. World might still end.” 

Ikora tossed the stone eye in the air. It floated above her palm. “I just don’t know how to do it,” she said, shoulders slumped. “How to let him help me. I can’t hug him like I can Cayde or Zavala.” She looked up, and Light her features looked different when she was about to cry, puffy and reddening. “Will you help me?”

He almost sighed with how badly he wanted to make some joke about the great Vanguard asking him for help. But he and the Vanguard hadn’t played those roles in a long time, not really. 

Without touching her, he slid his palm between her hand and the stone. He tried, Light he tried, for the first impression she received not to be of his constant urge to run as he opened his mind to hers. 

Look, he tried, clumsily. Do this. Remember the victory your people just brought you. You’re alive and Zavala is alive, and Ophiuchus and them. Remember they’re — Except he couldn’t hide anything. They’re not gonna stay forever.

Except Ikora wrestled that thought back, thinking of the people who had stayed. When she took a breath, his own lungs expanded, mechanically linked to her body now that their neurons thought they were the same brain. Could you do this to kill somebody? Drifter thought.

Ikora took another breath which had a distinct note of disapproval in it. Or maybe that disapproval came from his breath, his vicious hatred for what the Traveler had made him.  

Then Ikora found a memory of great love, of love like a field of yellow flowers under gentle sun. Gold filigree on his shell. Drifter pulled away, prey-beast startled by the second-hand affection of the Ghost. He had completely ignored his sight during the mind-meld and had to blink against the Pale Heart’s fake day. 

Ikora smiled like she hadn’t in years. “That’s it. That’s exactly what I’ll show him,” she said, looking sidelong at the Drifter. “Thank you.”

“You got us most of the way there,” he muttered. 

Ikora gave another unlikely smile, looking so gentle and comforted it shamed him. He saw in one of their minds’ eyes her hands holding the purple-and-gold shell to her cheek. Then the Light untangled from them, leaving him not sure who had tangled it in the first place — Ikora or himself or the Traveler, giving those orders it called blessings. 

Well, Ophiuchus would maybe be more likely to be around when Ikora needed him now, and she hadn’t said no to the new Gambit arena either. Off he ambled, Ikora behind him happy. 

[lilyginnyblackv2]

Misaki Unasaka - Old Habits Dying Hard - BD - E10 - SPOILERS

I like Misaki as a character. I like the complexity of her character, and I’m glad to see that the reason they had her come back for Miri was because of a truly life altering situation like cancer. 

I don’t wish ill on her (I saw a tweet over on Twitter that was basically saying they hoped the cancer killed her). She hit rock bottom, or hit the end of the sea, as the name Unasaka can mean. The kanji for sea also has the kanji of “regret” making up a part of it:

And I do think that we are seeing Misaki expressing regret here. Addicts, people stuck in abusive relationships, and other such situations, often don’t realize how bad things have gotten until they are at their absolute worst. That’s what’s happened to Misaki here. She’s trying for a fresh start:

A hair cut, new set of clothes, and wanting Miri back in her life.

I do think that she’s coming from a good intentioned place, and for wanting what’s best for Miri. But, some things are still feeling off, but not in a “she’s evil and wants to ruin them” kinda way, more in a “I don’t know if Misaki will be able to break out of bad habits that will end up harming her, her relationship with Miri, and Miri.”

When Kazuki met Misaki, she was at the end of her rope and most definitely burned out. Now, Misaki has had a year without Miri, so seeing Miri again and interacting with her can be viewed as easier, especially since she seems to want to try and due right by Miri this time. But she still seems to be floating, she mentions living with her parents, but then Rei brings up the Christmas show coming up at the daycare, so she states she’ll rent an apartment.

She lost her job and “her man,” but hasn’t stated what her new source of income is yet. And while she seemed comfortable enough in the kitchen, and Miri is nothing but smiles at seeing her Mama again, the way she interacts with Miri feels more like a visitor than a mother:

There is a distance there, which could be explained by the one year absence, but not quite. I lived in Japan for six years. I was an adult at the time, but my family experienced a lot of changes at that time. But when I came home for good, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

With Misaki, it feels more like a friend of the parents dropping by with the way Miri introduced everything to her. I do like how Misaki’s mother asked Miri her thoughts on who she wanted to live with:

It’s important. She may be young, but her thoughts and feelings on the matter aren’t pointless or useless. That being said, the way Misaki asked it seemed a bit competitive in a way. Or, a better way to say this, is that she might feel a bit inferior here. They were likely able to provide for Miri in a way that she couldn’t. Both her and Kazuki are butting heads here, since they are both trying to fulfill a similar “mother” based role, and both feel a bit threatened in a way. Rei just doesn’t fit into that role, which is why he is able to mediate between the two of them.

As the end of the episode stands, it seems like Miri is going to go off and live with Misaki. That’s what Kazuki and Rei think, that that Ferris wheel ride was the last time they would be with her. And while that could end up being the case, the series is an anime original, so none of us know what will happen yet...A part of me just don’t think that will end up being the case.

Both Kazuki and Rei have shown that they can grow and change, especially if its for Miri’s sake. They talk a lot about that in the Ferris wheel, and we (the audience) have seen this. But with Misaki, we don’t know yet. We hear her talking about change, we see her physically changing her appearance, but the moment that stands out to me is this one:

She was reaching for a cig even though she has throat cancer! She likely got that cancer because of smoking, and yet, here she is - smoking still. Rei used to smoke too, but once Miri came into the picture, and after he really started to bond with her and care about her, we haven’t seen him smoking, even at Kyu’s cafe. I think the last time he smoked was back in Episode 4 or something. It’s been ages.

He broke a habit and changed for Miri.

Will Misaki be able to do the same? Or do old habits die hard for her? 

I don’t know how, exactly, they are going to chose to wrap this situation up fully. Will they have Misaki pass away due to the cancer, and then have Miri going back to Kazuki and Rei in the end (or would she end up with her grandparents then, since they still seem to be in the picture)? Will Misaki realize that maybe motherhood really is just something that isn’t for her in the end and allow Miri to return to Kazuki and Rei? Or will they go for a “blended family” type of situation?

I don’t know. They could go in a totally different direction as well. We’ll just have to wait and see, which is a scary prospect, I know, but I’m extremely intrigued by the direction they might take things.

[hamliet]

Hamliet, can I ask what do you think of Judas Iscariot? I just heard my mom told my little niece so she don't end up like Judas Iscariot the "Traitor". Like I think it's so sad to become doom since birth. But without his actions there would not be crucifixion, right? Now when I become an adult I felt sorry for him.

And as Christian, I'm embarrassed that my Church still support Is**el even until now because that is what the Bible said, like WTF....

Also, I'm glad when I read your meta, that I'm not the only one who think David is bisexual....

To start with, yeah. That's awful. I grew up in a church with similar views. That's a very uncritical view of Scripture, to the point where it denies the authenticity/power of other aspects of the Bible in favor of literalism (and in favor of earthly powers like nation-states, which is all too often at the root of a lot of evil done in the name of not just Christianity, but any religion). The Bible tells everyone to love thy neighbor as yourself and to welcome people. Christian nationalism is a cancer and responsible for a lot of the support for the government of Israel in the US. But that again centers power, not Christ.

For Judas... well. I'm sorry your niece got told that; unless she's threatening to sell your mom or her friends out to the state for the death penalty I don't think that's a fair accusation lol.

Putting under the cut because I'm gonna talk theology!

But to get back to Judas, it actually connects to what I said above a bit--namely, earthly powers. I think Judas was well-intentioned and tragic. When Jesus entered the gates of Jerusalem the week prior to the crucifixion, everyone was shouting "Hosanna!" and laying down olive branches because they believed he was the Messiah, whom they believed would oust the Roman Empire who had been oppressing them. And them wanting the Romans gone was, to put it mildly, very valid.

But that wasn't what Jesus came to do in the Gospels. He came to do more than they could ask or think--instead of liberating them from earthly powers of oppression and moving on to spiritual ones, he started with the spiritual first (the ones we humans cannot hope to counter). He conquered death itself. But to do that, he had to die. As humans, we can't conquer death on our own--it's a natural part of life, and yet paradoxically, everyone who has ever lost someone close to them knows how unnatural death is.

That isn't to say Jesus didn't care about the earthly powers. I think he does. But he gave people the Holy Spirit to help move earthly powers; the sad thing is that the Church has all too often joined forces with them instead of, you know, reconsidering. But power is a very appealing idea, because at the heart of power comes justification and affirmation of the ones in power.

To bring it back to Judas--I honestly think there's a very good chance he was among the people who made the assumption Jesus would liberate them from Roman rule. Actually, it's pretty clear in Scripture that most if not all the disciples thought this, which is why they didn't seem to "get" the fact that he literally told them he was going to die over and over. And so Judas took matters into his own hands and handed Jesus over, hoping that this would jumpstart the revolution. Except it didn't, and Judas regretted it.

I also think it's worth noting that almost all the disciples, including Judas, were under 20 years old. At that time if they were older than 20, they would have been married. Peter is the only disciple who is said to be married; it's also plausible Matthew was older than 20 thanks to being a tax collector. The rest almost certainly were not.

So think of Judas as being like, 17-19 here. Idealist kiddo thinking he knows best and can save the world, who has grown up under occupation and seen the abuses that causes first hand, hopes to not only be liberated (a good hope) but to be in power himself; what's wrong with taking steps to force this to happen? I think it's more than understandable why he did what he did, and thought he was justified. I don't know I'd think differently.

But he wasn't. An innocent man was crucified. Yet from that act, the world was offered resurrection, a chance at a new life. From the evil, God turned it to good. Judas, it seems, didn't stick around long enough to see that.

However, that doesn't mean that Judas is in the deepest circle of hell for ever and ever. We don't know that. There is another verse in the Bible that states that Jesus is reconciling "all things" to himself. And the word for all means all, as in everything, everywhere, every time. I've got to think that means Judas, too.

[the-halloween-jack]

The Day Before ➳ Damon Salvatore x TerminallySick!reader One-Shot

Synopsis: The reader knows she is dying and to save Damon the pain of her death she makes an extremely difficult decision.

Damon Salvatore x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Angst, Death. 

Masterlist

A/N: This is my first time writing for Damon Salvatore, hopefully this is the first of many.

Words: 1,538

Y/N’s heart sunk as she glanced down at the beads of blood glistening on the tissue she clutched in her hand, she had received news the day before that her cancer had metastasised to her lungs, though she did not realise that her condition would worsen so swiftly. 

Y/N knew she would not be able to hide it for much longer, every day she became more crippled and with every passing moment her façade threatened to unveil. 

Her friends had experienced too much loss and the idea of adding to it made her stomach churn sickeningly. She would not allow them to grieve her; which is why she was leaving. 

Through clouded eyes she began bundling all of her possessions into a small suitcase, she did not pay much mind to what she grabbed, it would not need to last her very long. 

Though when she reached a small photo album sitting on her bedside table her heart jolted, with shaking hands she flipped open the small winsome book, and sure enough, smiling back at her were the faces of her beloved friends. 

She brushed her fingers over each and everyone of their grins, smiling through her tears as she recalled the moment she had taken it. Though her hand halted when she reached the last face, she could have sworn she felt her heart beating in her throat.

Damon.

It had not yet occurred to her that she would never see him again. The pain she felt at that realisation was crippling. She would never feel his gentle caress against her body or his lips on her cheek; Damon’s touch was lost on her forever. All that she had to carry her to her deathbed was his picture and her feeble memory, and that would never be enough.

Before she met him Y/N would not have believed a love so potent was possible, though she was very agreeably proved wrong. Even while living in Mystic Falls with all its theatrical and apprehensive infamousness, Y/N had never been happier. And that was entirely the work of Damon. 

Y/N knew her death would break him and she knew the kind of person Damon became when he was broken. If she left without an explanation he would eventually make his own assumptions and any assumption he made surely could not hurt him like the truth. 

She knew he would try and find her, she could only wish he was never successful. The decision she was making was far from easy, but it was easier than knowing he was mourning for her; hurting because of her.

Damon was always abundantly clear on the life he wanted for them, he yearned to turn her and live for eternity at each other's sides. Though Y/N was never sure what she wanted, she did not want to be rash and he respected that. Though now any chance of her accepting his vision was lost perpetually. She could never become like him, the possibility was lost the moment she was diagnosed with cancer; vampire blood could not fix her now.

Y/N was riddled with guilt and regret, she knew she should have said yes when he first told her what he wanted; because now in the face of death, she yearned for it too. For months the abstraction of the undying life she could have had with Damon had been eating away at her. She laughed humourlessly at the malevolent irony of her situation.

Y/N could not bear to spend another second thinking of the near future and what could have been, so to ease her mind she thought of the day before. The day that, albeit unknowingly, would become their final moments together. It was not a grand affair, they had simply spent the day in each other's company. 

They watched TV, had a nap and Damon had even offered to cook dinner, and even though he failed miserably it had still meant so much to her. She believes he noticed she was feeling unwell and was doing what he could to make her better.

But it was the final moment that had meant the most to her; when he wrapped her in his arms at the end of the day as he was leaving and whispered that he loved her. Tears ran hot down her cheeks at the realisation that it would be the last time she heard him say those words. 

A sudden feeling of lightheadedness had Y/N rushing to sit on the edge of her bed, she should not be stressing herself out like this, she knew it would only worsen her condition. Though she could not stop the unfathomable feeling of guilt stewing within her, It made her sick; she could not leave him without so much as a goodbye. 

Going against everything she had planned since her diagnosis she turned to the messily packed suitcase and began unravelling it. 

Another wave of sickness overcame her, though this time disparate. Y/N felt her body go slack, her possessions slipping from her weak grasp and falling back into their places in the case. Her body slipped downwards from the bed and found itself docile against the floorboards. 

She had started coughing up blood again when the realisation crushed her. This was it. Just as she decided to see Damon karma unfurled its caustic tendrils and enveloped her. She swore she could feel the life depleting from her body. Y/N felt akin to a spectre as darkness shrouded her being like a void, plunging her into nothingness. She was lost to the world. Her glassy, lifeless eyes stared above her; forever immortalised with the fear of never seeing him again.

Y/N had not been answering her phone and Damon knew the consternation he felt brewing because of it was completely irrational, but he found himself headed to her house regardless; he wanted to see her anyway.

When Y/N’s house met his line of sight the sound of a lack of life immediately registered with him, he could not hear her breathing nor the beating of her heart and there was certainly no sound of her usual bustle. 

He concluded that she must not have been home, though before he could turn around to leave he noticed with furrowed eyebrows that her car was still in the driveway. He picked up his pace as he closed the rest of the distance.

He pushed open the creaking old door and when the smell of her exposed blood met him immediately, his heart was sent into a panicked frenzy. Before a second had passed he used his speed to send him straight into her bedroom. But the macabre sight on the floor halted him. He discerned that her skin was the colour of death and the stillness of her frame was much the same. 

He repudiated this thought as he felt the veins grow black beneath his eyes, his fangs coming to meet his wrist. He sped to her limp body and placed his bloodied arm against her cold lips, they remained unmoving. 

‘No...’ he barely gasped out, ‘You need to drink this Y/N, it’ll help you.’ 

He shook her shoulders, her whole body moving with the disruption. Damon’s vision dimmed through the welling of his tears. He forced her taut jaw wider trying to force down his blood. He choked down his sobs as he continued to plead with her.

‘Please drink, you need to drink… Please.’ 

His weeps quaked in his chest, unwillingly observing her lack of heartbeat. He removed his wrist from her lips, replacing it with his mouth and breathing air into her empty lungs. He placed his hands on her chest and tried desperately to recall the steps of resuscitation, but his efforts were futile. 

With an all-consuming sense of despair, his hands fell slack from her inanimate frame and he acknowledged what he had known all along. 

She was dead.

The sobs that passed his lips were inhuman in sound, with shaking hands he used the pad of his fingers to gently pull the eyelids over her glassy eyes. Damon then pulled her torso up to his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. 

For the first time since he had arrived the sight of a half-packed suitcase entered his concentration. He realised hollowly she had been trying to leave. She knew she was dying and was trying to leave anyway. He wanted to feel angry at her, but no emotion could supersede the severe sense of dejection he was under. 

Who knows how long he would have been living in blissful ignorance, thinking he resided in a sphere where she still existed, a world where she still lived. 

Damon knew he could not live in a world where she did not exist. This was a pain he could not overcome, a pain he would not overcome. Her death left his humanity in shreds, and Damon knew at once he could no longer function with it extant. His emotions left him like a flame getting put out, the enthralling love he had felt for her the day before all but a memory.

[madsworld15]

New One-Shot: a heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved

I'm on a roll! This one is my third prompt submission for the QaF Prompt Challenge 2024. This one is for the prompt: Brian comforts Justin after Jennifer dies. (Prompt #5) [3/21 for me personally]

Brian sat at his computer, pretending to work on the latest ad campaign for Brown Athletics. He might head up the New York office of Kinnetik now, but there were still a few Pittsburgh clients that he oversaw the work. Brown had followed him when he’d left Vanguard because of Leo Brown’s trust in him. Now, here they were 25 years later, and Brian was Leo’s favorite person. He should be working out the kinks of the new campaign, it had been a struggle for him, but instead, he was surreptitiously watching his partner, Justin.

Justin was moving about their brownstone as if he didn’t have a purpose. At 47, his world had just been flipped upside down. For the past year, Justin had racked up their airplane miles with his frequent trips to and from Pittsburgh to help care for his mom. Her breast cancer diagnosis had taken everyone by surprise. None more so than Justin. In the 30 years that Brian had known the blond, he’d never seen him completely listless like this before.

Though he’d never admit it, Justin needed his mom almost as much as he needed Brian. When things had blown up in his face at 17, Justin’s mom had stood by him and loved him no matter what, while his dad threatened to disown him, harm him, or worse. In all these years, Jennifer had been a stronghold in Justin’s life and by extension, Brian’s too. Now, she was gone, having passed away the night before, and Justin was lost. 

Brian stood up and silently walked over toward the younger man. As Justin’s steps brought him closer to Brian, he reached out and wrapped the blond up in his arms. Brian didn’t know what to say to ease Justin’s hurt. But he knew that words weren’t going to do anything anyway. Jennifer would still be dead, and Justin would still be heartbroken. 

So, Brian hugged the man he loved close to his chest and breathed him in. His slow, steady breaths calmed Justin’s own panicked breathing slowly and surely. Brian brought his hand up to cradle the back of Justin’s head and let his fingers tangle the locks of hair. He scratched Justin’s scalp gently to give the man reassurance that Brian was there and wasn’t going anywhere.

It had been a tough few years for both of them. Living in New York meant they were further away from their family than they would’ve liked. It also meant that they couldn’t immediately be there for said family when something went south. Like Hunter succumbing to AIDS despite doctors previously saying his drug regimen was working extremely well and that he was healthy considering. Then, one bought of pneumonia, and he was gone quicker than Brian and Justin could get on a plane to be there for Michael and Ben. Then, six months later, Justin’s mom had been diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer. 

At first, they’d been hopeful that the drugs were working and that surgery would keep her alive. Brian had paid for Jennifer to move in with them in New York so that she could get treated by the best doctors in the country. Then, the drugs stopped having an effect on her cancer, and the disease spread to her lungs. It had been a long, exhausting year. Her death, while devastating, had been a relief for everyone. Justin had been there at her bedside when she took her last breath.

“I can’t believe she is gone.” Brian heard Justin mumble into his chest. “Even as a kid, I thought she’d live forever.”

“She put up a good fight.” Brian cleared his throat around the thickness of his throat. He had loved Jennifer almost as much as Justin had.

Over the years, Brian and Jennifer had had their differences. Hell, after Justin was bashed, Jennifer blamed Brian almost as strongly as he blamed himself. She didn’t want him anywhere near her son. Over time they’d come to an understanding that Brian needed Justin as much as the young blond needed him. Jennifer came to love and respect Brian as an extension of her family. 

“Did I ever tell you about the conversation I had with your mom right after the bombing?” Brian whispered, pulling away slightly to look Justin in the eye.

“That was 25 years ago. What brought it up now?” Justin looked at Brian, confused.

Brian shrugged, “It was right after you rejected my proposal.”

“I bet she was relieved to hear I wasn’t running off to marry you. Back then, she was still unsure of how deep she wanted me to be in it with you.” Justin sniffed, placing his head back on Brian’s chest.

“Actually, she told me she was sorry I wasn’t going to be her son-in-law.” Brian gave a small smile. “I was surprised. She’d never admitted she cared about me that much before.”

Brian knew when Justin’s tears resumed because his shirt started to have patches of wetness on it. He gently gathered Justin and pressed him even deeper into his chest. If his embrace could take away Justin’s heartbreak, he’d squeeze him even tighter. But, instead, he knew the embrace was providing a level of comfort Justin could accept.

“Does anyone else know she’s died?” Justin pulled back from Brian’s chest to question him. “Besides Molly, I mean.”

When it had looked as though Jennifer’s time was running short, Justin had paid for his sister’s flight to New York so that she could be with her. It wasn’t that Molly couldn’t buy her own ticket; it was just that with three kids and a husband in the military, finances were a bit tighter for her than they were for Brian and Justin. So, Molly had flown in and stayed in the second guest bedroom of their brownstone. Brian knew Justin wasn’t saying it, but it had helped him tremendously to have his mom and sister both here during this past week. 

Speaking of Molly, the woman came out of her room. Her eyes were red, puffy, and bloodshot, too. She took one somber look at Brian embracing Justin, and forced a half smile. 

“I haven’t called anyone yet,” Brian responded. Then to Molly, he added,  “There is coffee in the kitchen if you want some.” 

“I just called Dad,” Molly mumbled. “He gave his condolences.”

“I’m sure he did,” Justin grumbled and rolled his eyes. “Just like he gave his regards when I almost died at my senior prom.”

“He actually sounded upset.” Molly tried to advocate for Craig Taylor, but she was speaking to a brick wall. Their father might have always been great to her, but in Justin’s eyes, he was the worst person the blond had ever had the displeasure of knowing.

“We appreciate you making that call, kid.” Brian stepped in before Justin could snip at his sister again. “Should I call Debbie?”

“No.” Justin pulled out of Brian’s arms completely, “I will. It’ll be better coming from me.”

“Justin.” Brian tried to object, but his partner was already pulling out his phone and walking toward their bedroom for privacy.

“He’s never been good with death.” Molly shrugged. “When our grandma died, he locked himself in his room until our Dad forced him to come out. I was only four, but I remember it.”

Brian nodded, “He’s just put so much of his energy this past year into taking care of her. I worry that he’s not going to handle it well in the coming days.”

“He’s got you.” Molly pointed out and then added as she placed a hand on his shoulder, “Even if you don’t always believe it, you’re the best thing that ever happened to my brother. He’s a better person because he has you to lean on. Mom knew that. It’s why she loved you so much.”

Brian fought back his own tears at that. He’d known for years that Jennifer considered him up there with her own blood children. But, to hear her daughter confirm it showed him that he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. With a quick clearing of his throat and a wipe to his eyes, Brian headed toward the bedroom to provide Justin with physical support.

He quietly opened the door and found Justin on their bed. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, just staring at his phone. When he looked up, Brian saw new tears glistening in his eyes. He quickly crossed the room and wrapped his arm around Justin’s shoulder.

“I couldn’t do it. I tried to open my phone and dial her number, but I couldn’t.” Justin sobbed. “How is she still alive, but my mom isn’t?”

Brian paused for a minute, processing Justin’s words. He knew that Justin wasn’t blaming Debbie for still being alive. The question was more aimed at why Jennifer had to be dead at all. Brian’s heart broke even more, and his tears finally came.

“I don’t know.” He whispered and kissed the side of Justin’s head, letting his tears fall upon blond locks.

The two sat there silently crying for what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes. Then, Brian cleared his throat, grabbed Justin’s phone, and dialed the number. He put the phone up to his ear and used his other arm to squeeze Justin’s shoulder in comfort.

“Hey, sunshine!” Debbie’s cheerful voice came through the speaker. At the sound, Justin let out another sob.

“Hey, ma,” Brian responded. 

“Brian, what's wrong?” Debbie was suddenly on high alert. “Why are you calling me from Justin’s phone?”

Brian sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut against his own tears, “Jennifer died last night.”

“Oh, goodness. I will light a candle at church for her.” Debbie whispered. “Do you boys need anything?”

Justin heard Debbie’s words and mumbled, “I need my mom back.”

“Brian, give him hugs from me and the rest of the family. Do you want me to let everyone else know?” Debbie’s voice was her gentle mother's tone, and Brian appreciated its warmth spreading over him.

“If you want. If not we will be reaching out to more people a little later on.” Brian shrugged despite Debbie not being able to see.

“Why don’t you let me worry about all that? You just focus on Justin. He’s going to need you.”

“Yes, mom.” Brian intoned.

“Good boy. I love you both.” Debbie ended the call, and Brian dropped the phone. He brought his other arm around the front of Justin and pulled the man closer against his side. 

“I miss my mom.” Justin cried again. 

“I know,” Brian whispered, placing another kiss to the side of Justin’s head. Brian would give up every last penny he owned if it could take away this pain. 

“Your mom was a hell of a force. There were times when she terrified me. Like the time she marched into my office with your things and yelled at me. She didn’t want me anywhere near her precious little boy at the time, but she preferred my place to the streets.” Brian whispered as Justin continued to cry.

“Then there was the conversation we had when I officially sold my loft, for real. You don’t know this, but she told me then that she knew early on that we’d be it for each other. She said, ‘Even though Justin was only 17 and I hated it, I could see how he looked at you. And how you looked at him, though you’ll deny it.’ Then she told me to take care of you and to make sure we visited her often.”

Justin wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Last night, she was very weak, but she insisted on telling Molly and me one last piece of motherly advice. She told Molly to hold her kids tight but not suffocate them. Then she turned to me and said, ‘Jus, don’t let losing me stop you from enjoying your life. Go on trips, and see the world. Let Brian take care of you. He loves you more than anyone else ever could.’ I thought she was being silly. After all, I know you love me. But now I see that she just wanted me to know that even without her, I’d still have something to live for.” 

Brian took the opportunity to pull Justin against his chest once more. He tucked the blond under his chin and held on tight. “I love you more than I ever thought possible. We’ll get through this together.”

[anamericangirl]

have you ever even thought about WHY a woman might need an abortion? What if they were raped? What if giving birth could seriously hurt/kill the mother? What if it was an unplanned teen pregnancy or a teenager was raped? Do you still think they should carry the baby until the birth, knowing the mother could suffer? Do you think it’s ok if the mother dies as long as the baby lives? the other anons are right & you ARE fucking disgusting. You will never change pro-choicer’s minds no matter what.

I've thought about why women get abortions many times. And it's clear you've been led to believe that abortion is the solution to the reasons you mentioned but that's not actually the case.

>What if they were raped?

Women don't need an abortion if they were raped. I can understand why they might want one because that's scary. She's been victimized, violated, and hurt and now she's pregnant through no choice of her own and I completely understand and sympathize with her situation and how she is feeling. But, in this situation, we now have more than one innocent person involved. If the baby was not a living human being from the moment of conception I would say go ahead and get an abortion. But they are a living human being from the moment of conception and your solution here is to kill the child for the crimes of the father. We don't even kill the rapist in these situations but you want to give the death penalty to the baby?

There is also the fact that abortion doesn't help. It's not a safe, magical, trauma free baby eraser. It's an invasive procedure that comes with several risks of its own. It's not safe. And it remains not safe even if the woman was raped.

Abortion triples the maternal mortality rate (and, interestingly, it was also found that a safe delivery is linked to reduction in mortality risks that are associated with both miscarriage and abortion).

Abortion increases the risk of premature death for a woman by 50%.

Abortion harms women's mental health

some bullet points from the article:

″Women who have had an abortion have an 81% higher risk of subsequent mental health problems compared to women who have not had an abortion.

″Women who aborted have a 138% higher risk of mental health problems compared to women who have given birth.

″Women who aborted have a 55% higher risk of mental health problems compared to women with an "unplanned" pregnancy who gave birth.

″Women with a history of abortion have higher rates of anxiety (34% higher), depression (37%), alcohol use/misuse (110%), marijuana use (230%), and suicidal behavior (155%), compared to those who have not had an abortion.

Abortion increases the risk of breast cancer by 44% in women who have had just one abortion and the risk gets even higher with multiple abortions.

There are multiple risks associated with abortion.

More ways abortion hurts women.

Some bullet points from the above article:

31% of women having abortions report suffering physical health complications (1)

10% of women having abortions suffer immediate, potentially life-threatening complications (2, 3, 4)

Women have a 65% higher risk of clinical depression following abortion vs. childbirth (5)

65% of women suffer symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) after abortion (1)

Women’s death rates from various causes after abortion are 3.5 times higher than after giving birth  (6, 7)

Many women describe their experience as ‘a nightmare’, which can hardly equated with ‘choice’. 60% of women surveyed after abortion responded that: ’Part of me died’ (1)

Suicide rates among women who have abortions are six times higher than those who give birth (7, 8)

Abortion increases a woman’s risk of future miscarriages by 60% (9)

You are advocating for a woman to be able to undergo a very unsafe, risky procedure just because in the moment they think they want it. A woman who was raped and ends up pregnant needs emotional support, counseling, and thorough medical care. Not an abortion.

>what if giving birth could seriously hurt/kill the mother?

If giving birth is going to seriously hurt or kill the mother then chances are an abortion will too. And if giving birth will kill the mother she needs to be seen by a doctor at a hospital. Abortion is not a treatment for life threatening pregnancy complications. In situations like that the mother needs to be treated as necessary because if she dies so will the baby but the treatment for those situations is rarely, if ever, an abortion.

>what if it's an unplanned teen pregnancy or a teen was raped?

If a teen girl was raped that's terrible but you can read my above answer about abortion in cases of rape because it doesn't change for a teenager.

If it's an unplanned pregnancy, why should the baby die? They are still as much of a person as they are in a planned pregnancy. It is safer to go through the natural pregnancy and birth process than it is to get an abortion. So a pregnant teenager needs thorough medical care and attention throughout the pregnancy, not an abortion. It's still not safe even if a teenager is pregnant.

Abortion does not magically erase the baby. The woman still has to deliver it from her body. Abortion forces the body to "birth" a dead baby. That's the difference. You advocate for the delivery of a dead baby. I advocate for the delivery of a living one.

>do you think it's ok if the mother dies as long the baby lives?

No, that's why I don't support things that would kill the mother. I want both the mother and baby to be taken care of. I want them both to live. If the mother dies the baby is going to die, too. The baby cannot live if the mother doesn't. And killing the baby doesn't save the mothers' life. In situations where the mother may die she needs to be treated as necessary and every effort needs to be taken to save her life. Doctors should be try to save both lives. And if the baby dies in the process of saving the mother that is tragic but it's not an abortion.

The problem here is you just don't really understand what abortion is. For some reason you think killing a baby is the only solution to a tough situation, but you're wrong. You don't ever need to kill a baby. We can let them both live.

And I've actually had former pro-choicers tell me I have helped to change their mind so you're wrong :)