#group therapy when question mark

[magatronn]

WHO’S READY FOR ENG BOOK 7‼️‼️‼️

[novemberheart]

{overview} You get attacked. Does your pack step up for you?

{warnings} violence, blood, mentions of sexual content (no sexual abuse), fem reader, cursing, poly141, pain, crying, angst, a/b/o dynamics

Chapter 10 <- Chapter 11 -> Chapter 12

It was Simon’s last day of physical therapy. If he passed this he would be cleared to get back out in the field. On his way, he dropped you off at another Omega Committee event. This one you were actually excited about. It was a hike through the forest at the far end of the base. Priya wasn't there and you wished you had the presence of mind to have asked her for her number. But luckily you ran into Anais.

“You smell like peaches and cream. Anyone ever told you that?” she asked. The sound of Johnny yelling “peaches” instantly ran through your mind.

“A few, yeah.” you smiled.

“Well that's what I'm going to call you, PC for short.” she giggled. You had been called worse. Anais was a chatter. You didn't really mind though.

“Can I ask you something- something personal,” she whispered, leaning even closer to you. Curiosity killed the cat.

“How does it work with all five of you? Do they take turns-” she whispered.

“Oh my god, Anais.” you couldn't help but chuckle, despite the flaming of your cheeks. To be honest you were wondering the same thing.

“That was too much! I'm so sorry. I was just curious and I thought we were friends”-

“Anais it's alright. If I knew I probably wouldn't mind sharing a bit of info.” You assured. She relaxed.

“So you haven't?”

“No,” you responded truthfully.

“Have you ever?” she trailed off. You hadn't. You never really had the chance. You weren't sure if your pack members would approve of you spilling this information everywhere. “I'll take that as a no.” she snickered. You gave her a playful side-eye.

“Don’t worry about it. Took me forever to lose mine too.” she signed.

“It has not been forever!” you gasped, swatting at her. She laughed loudly causing a few heads to turn. Neither of you really cared.

“Just don't get your hopes up. First times are always terrible,” she advised, bumping you with her arm.

“Thanks for the pep talk.” you huffed.

“Do you have a favorite pack member yet?” she asked suddenly. You quickly shook your head. You enjoyed them all- truthfully. “I think if I was in a pack I would have my favorites. Hopefully one would be my alpha, but you never know,” she smirked.

“Can I ask you something?” you began.

“Shoot.”

“Did it hurt when you were marked?” you questioned.

“The first time, yes. I was in a long-term relationship with an alpha who wasn't entirely nice.”

“I'm sorry Anais.”

She quickly waved you off. “Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago. The second time, not as much. He did it during my heat and it only hurt for a day when I came out of it.” she explained.

“You’re strong Anais.” you said. She flashed you a smile.

“We’re omegas, PC. We have to be.”

The hike back was partly uphill, which was nobody's favorite.

“It was so beautiful when we left. When did it get so bloody hot out?” you panted.

“Look. The heat turns you English.” Anais chuckled through her own pants. You may have picked up a few phrases from the boys.

“Alright, everyone, take five!” One of the group leaders shouted. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. You had made it to the edge of the base, still a little under half a mile to get back.

“I’m going to go refill my water. You need some?” you asked. Anais flopped down on the grass, her arms blocking her face from the sun.

“No thank you.” she groaned, rolling onto her stomach. You made your way up to the front, intending to tell one of the leaders you were going to go get some water. You huffed as the same five omegas were consuming all their attention. “Whatever.” you sighed. You knew where it was, you had filled your water bottle up with Kyle a few days ago when he took you bird watching. Besides, Anais knew where you were.

You made your way quickly towards the buildings, going between them to the other side where the water fountain was.

“My thumbs gonna fall off,” you grumbled. You had to press and hold the button down hard. Kyle made it look easy. Your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps. Your head darted around not seeing anything. You figured you didn't need water that bad and began walking back.

You were abruptly thrown to the ground. Your shorts offered absolutely no protection against the rough gravel. The whole left side of your body slid against the ground, the force of the shove sending you a few feet. There was a low growl behind you and you acted purely on instinct. You felt a hand on your ankle pulling you back. You flipped yourself around, swinging your arm luckily catching a man's face with your claws. He howled, throwing himself away from you. You quickly shuffled backward trying to find your footing.

“Shit, that's 141.” the other man with him cursed. He grabbed the bleeding man pulling him away. Even though they were leaving, you knew you weren't safe. You were finally able to get your footing and began running around the corner, almost knocking Anais down in the process.

“What the fuck!” she shrieked. You were beginning to bleed at this point. It started dripping down your left leg, and right knee. It was starting to show through your shirt on your left side, your elbow, both your hands, and your chin. “It's okay, lovie.” she soothed. You were trying your hardest to keep it together, not wanting to create a scene, however, the pain and fear were making it very difficult.

“I can't go back to the group like this,” you whined. People will think you’re crazy.

“Don't worry. This wasn't your fault. Everyone will understand.” she soothed, gently pulling you along. You held your ground shaking your head. “PC you're bleeding a lot. You need help.” she insisted.

“I want my pack.” you whimpered. You pressed the backside of your hand against your mouth, your throat constricting.

“If you come with me you can get to them.” she urged. It was the push you needed. Luckily you didn't get very far before a group leader noticed and raced towards you.

“What happened?” he questioned. You ignored him, not really in the mood to talk to strange men, and pulled your backpack forward grabbing your phone out of the front pocket. You were lucky it hadn't shattered in the ordeal.

“Someone attacked her.” Anais growled, annoyed that he couldn't use the context clues.

“Hello?” Johnny had picked up after one ring. Hearing his voice made it impossible to hold back any tears. You sobbed into the phone. You heard him repeat your name on the other end, it growing louder and louder every time it left his lips.

“I need you, please. I'm not really sure where I’m at.”

“It's alright, Bon. I have your location pulled up on my phone, I'm near there. Just don't hang up,” he assured. Your chip. You breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the side of the building.

“I think you should head back to the group.” The group leader directed towards Anais.

“No way,” she growled. “I’m not leaving her”

“Thank you.” you mouthed.

“Of course,” she whispered back. She leaned against the building with you. The rest of the group was still there, the other group leaders trying to prevent them from getting any closer. You didn't need to worry about that, as Johnny quickly rounded the corner, gravel flying under his feet. His mouth fell open at the state of you. His arms extended out and you quickly threw yourself at him, neither of you caring about any blood, sweat, or tears.

“I got you, baby,” he whispered, causing you to lose it again.

“I want to go home.” you whimpered, against his shoulder. Your legs were wrapped firmly around his waist, his arms squeezing you so hard you might have even more bruises.

“Alright.” he soothed. He nodded his head to the group leader and Anais.

“I'll come and visit you in a few days,” Anais called after you.

“Thank you.” you sputtered back. He didn't say a word but pressed his lips against the side of your head every few feet. He stopped setting you down causing you to sob louder. He peeled off his jacket quickly. Carefully dabbing your legs, where the most blood was coming out. He didn't want you to leave a trail of blood everywhere.

He went a back way, not wanting everyone to see his bloodied-up omega. Johnny carried you like you were a feather, weaving through buildings like it was just another day. Well to him it probably was.

Luckily too many people weren't hanging out around your home, the few that did were ignored or met with a snarl. You whimpered at the sound, all your senses on overdrive. You could tell how upset Johnny was, even though you couldn't smell him. He was shaking, growls escaping him nearly every moment. “Almost there.” he soothed. He made it out of the elevator, slamming his key card against the sensor and throwing open the door.

He set you down on the kitchen counter, making no move to pull away from you. He needed to calm you down first.

“S’alright,” he repeated against your head. “I need you to relax for me, lass. Gonna get you all taken care of, aye?” he shut his eyes tightly, resting his body against yours. Your hands dug into his shirt, and you growled at the inability to smell him. “I know what’ll help.” he soothed. He pulled away causing you to whine, and he darted into John's room grabbing a shirt out of his dresser. He brought it back, holding it up towards your face. You were about to bury your face in it but stopped.

“I don't want to get it bloody.” you sobbed.

“He won't mind, bon. Plus we know how to get blood stains out.”

You didn't need to be told twice, you buried your face into the fabric, nuzzling up to Johnny again. After a few moments, your breathing returned to normal and the tears fell quietly. You were quivering now, the pain making up for the loss of adrenaline. “Gonna tell the rest, okay?” he asked, causing you to nod.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket.

-come home asap. Omega emergency

He tossed the phone on the counter, pulling away from you, sitting down in one of the stools so he was almost face-to-face with you.

“Need you to tell me what happened,” he demanded softly. He kept his jacket pressed against your legs and used a sleeve to stop the bleeding of your elbow.

“I went to get water,” you whispered. Your eyes burned, now dry. “I heard someone walking so I started to leave then all of a sudden someone pushed me to the ground.” his face twitched, his jaw clenching so hard you worried for his teeth. “He grabbed my ankle and started pulling me back, but I turned around and scratched him across his face. One of them said something about 141 and then they ran away,” you explained.

“That’s good. Did exactly what you should've. This happen by the water fountain?” he asked.

“Mhhh,” you confirmed, wondering what he was getting at. The door swung open.

“Holy shit,” Kyle hissed, eyeing you up and down. He was a bit out of breath and you wondered if he ran all the way here like Johnny had. “Let me see.” he insisted, nearly pushing Johnny out of the way. He peeled away the sweatshirt and pulled John's shirt out of your hands.

“Some bastards shoved her.” Johnny snarled.

“By where you took me to see the birds,” you spoke up.

“They've got cameras.” Kyle said exactly what Johnny was thinking. “Should get it pulled up for when the alphas come.” As if on cue the door slammed open again.

“Where is sh”- John cut himself off. “Let me see.” he demanded, pushing Kyle out of the way. If you weren't in pain you would've laughed.

“Someone pushed me, Johnny’s trying to find it on the cameras.” you caught him up to speed. Simon moved towards Johnny glaring over his shoulder at the device. “It was my fault,” you whispered to John. Everyone's head snapped to you. John had your face in his hands, looking over your chin. “I went away from the group to get some water. I should've stayed with the”-

“You don't get to take credit for this.” John sneered. “I don't care where the hell you are, who you are around, this should never happen to you. Understand?” he ordered.

“Yes, Alpha,” you responded quickly.

“Don't make it a habit though,” Kyle spoke, hovering back over by you and John.

“Got it,” Johnny said. John left you but Kyle stayed.

“I'm gonna take a few pictures of you, love. Gotta keep the evidence,” he explained.

“Okay,” you replied softly. Your eyes trained on the three men watching the video. Johnny's face curled again, gripping his phone so tight his knuckles were white. Simon and John appeared to be fairly level-headed, trying to pick up on every detail.

“Record it before someone deletes it,” John instructed. John came back to you, pressing his lips against your forehead. “I’m going to go take care of a few things. Me and Simon’ll be back soon,” he spoke through gritted teeth, taking an inhale of your scent to prevent himself from shaking. He pulled away, Simon following behind him like a dog. “Send me the pictures after.”

“You did good, pup.” Simon praised, heading out the door with John.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Chapter 12 will be up in two days! See you then! 🧡

[solar-wing]

⚣ Jason Todd: NSFW Alphabet 🔴

⚣🔴 A/N → I forgot I had written these out and had them on my old account. Did a little fine-tuning to them though. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | it's an NSFW alphabet so just expect the unexpected and the expected.

⚣🔴 Words → 3.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🔴

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This man can go from rough and hard to soft and gentle in literal seconds. It’s like watching someone come out of a trance or possession. He’ll clean you up with a fresh rag and make sure you’re comfortable, especially if you’re sore (you’ll most definitely be). He’s clingy though.

You won’t get anywhere without him right beside you. And he won’t say it, but he loves it when you try to take care of him too. Jason is dominant and prefers to be in control, but that man is as needy as a newborn baby, and it gets 10x worse after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jason’s relationship with his body is difficult, but, if we’re talking about one where he’s healed, maybe been to therapy, and (slightly) moved on from his trauma, he probably favors his arms, chest, and hands. Jason prefers strength overlooking aesthetically fit, and he kind of always looks like he’s bulking but it's defined somehow. And because that adds to his overall size and level of intimidation, he loves working on those specific groups to increase them so he can in turn use them to intimidate people, especially those who try to flirt with you in front of him.

Now, on the other end, Jason is 100% an ass man. You can not change my mind. He loves you wearing any kind of tight or fitting material that molds to the shape of your butt and just being able to oogle and smack it when he wants. And smack it he does. Dude has the equivalent of 100 cheese necks in one palm and you feel it every time he lands one on your ass. 

Bonus points if you have thick thighs that jiggle when you walk. He’ll be paying extra special attention to those, especially if you’re wearing any kind of short shorts or fitted athletic wear. He also has a slight obsession or fascination with your neck. Whether in the act or just chilling, his hands will somehow find their way to your neck whether it’s a gentle caress or a firm grip. And if he’s feeling a little possessive or riled up in the moment (which is frequent) it’s his favorite place to mark, and if you try to cover them up, it’s more motivation for him to leave even bigger ones. He likes it when people can tell and see that you belong to him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

More of an oozer than a shooter unless he’s been holding a load in for a while. And his loads are thick. He may not shoot far but he’ll definitely give you enough to fill the bottom of a glass. 

Also, no questions asked, he’s coming inside you. You just have to choose if it’s going to be your mouth or ass. Don’t ask, it’s a territorial thing with him. The thought of you walking around and greeting people while his babies are lodged deep inside your ass or fresh down your esophagus does wonders for his pride.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

If you’re not around and he’s really horny, he’ll masturbate with a piece of your clothing. Sometimes, he’ll also call you in the middle of it and won’t tell you just so he can hear your voice while edging himself to completion.

He also will purposely start arguments with you so you can have a reason to have angry make-up sex later.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Some small experiences before he died, and little hookups here and there when he came back and was somewhat in a good place with Bruce and himself. That being said, he gets most of his experience from his relationship with you. He quickly learns what he does like and what he doesn’t, and makes it known to you immediately. 

He also may or may not go to Dick for advice or tips on how to improve. Going to Bruce is out of the question. And not just because that’s still technically his dad.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy for one. It’s something about him grabbing you by your hair or even better, around your neck and forcing your body against his while he pounds into you from behind. He gets an exhilarating high from having you at his mercy and you surrendering yourself to him.

He also does favor missionary if he’s in a slightly more tender mood. But, If he’s feeling jealous or pissed off about something, he’s putting you up against a wall or in a corner with his hands around your neck and ramming you like there’s no tomorrow. Your legs will not be functioning for 24 hours.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Tends to be more serious in the moment. When he’s in the mood, he’s fully in it. Especially if he needs to get his frustrations out. However, the sound of you moaning and screaming his name will definitely bring a smug grin to his face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps himself adequately groomed. May grow some facial hair and have a little bush down there along with a happy trail but he’s good about keeping it neat and clean. And, if you want him to, he’ll shave it all, no questions needed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

This he struggles with at times. It’s something he wasn’t given much of (especially with Bruce) so he doesn’t really know how to act when in those moments and he tends to get really uncomfortable, especially if it’s a particularly vulnerable moment for him. As far as during sex, he’s definitely on the more rough and brutish side, but he’ll always do his best to check on you.

It’s something he’s getting better at though. Even in moments without sex where you two are just lounging and sitting together, he’s good at reading you and knowing what you want or how to make you happy with small gestures and actions. He just wants to make sure you’re happy and that you feel loved (and that you belong to him and only him).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Mentioned with dirty secrets. Really only does it when you’re not around. He’ll rarely do it just for the heck of it. He prefers getting his pleasure from pleasing and fucking (owning) you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dominance/Submission (Power Play) - Jason has had many things happen to him that he didn’t want or couldn’t control. It’s basically what influences this kink more than others. You submitting to Jason, letting him lead and have full control in sex and even in domestic scenarios creates a very satisfying and pleasurable feeling inside him. It also serves as reassurance for him, knowing that you fully trust him to the point where you basically surrender yourself to him. Getting back to more dirty things, this kink can include other aspects such as orgasm denial, bondage (on you), and verbal affirmation of your submission (dirty talk).

Choking (giving only) - This plays into the dominant/submission kink as well. It’s a rush from the feeling of control he has over whether you get to breathe or not while pounding your brains out. But, he’ll never go too far and he hopes you know that. However, he’s not at all okay with it being done to him. He does not like his neck being touched at all for that matter. Call it PTSD from his time with Joker and other things that have happened to him in the past, so it’s a big no-no. Although, with time and him getting more comfortable in the relationship, if he gives you a clear consenting sign that he’s okay with it, he’ll allow a gentle caress and rub down his neck, but only from you. Anyone else who tries to touch him on his neck risks several broken limbs.

Mirror Sex - A key part of his possessive nature toward you. He loves seeing himself fuck into you and even more, his ego gets a big boost from seeing you turn into an erotic mess while he’s inside you.

Size Difference - The fact that Jason can pick you up and throw you around like a rag doll, dwarfs you in size, or that his clothes (even if you’re tall and broad) can look three sizes too big on you is a major turn-on for him. He won’t say it, but he likes the idea of someone smaller than him that he can protect.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Weird enough, the thought comes to mind that Jason has a weird obsession with having sex with you in tight spaces. Mainly, places like the shower or the car. It ties a bit into his power and size kink. Something about the size of his body towering over you in a small space riles him up like no other. It’s the feeling or sensation that he’s got you cornered that drives that feeling. Kind of like an outlet for him to deal with his trauma of when he was actually trapped/cornered.

Also, he has it in his mind that whenever you move in together, he has to fuck you on every single available surface in your place. Christening your home with your love is how he likes to think of it. Plus, he gets a nasty kick out of when guests are over, imagining in his mind that they’re sitting in places where he had you crying out and cumming on his dick multiple times.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

#1:Jealousy & Possessiveness – The idea of you finding anyone else attractive, let alone giving them your attention which is only supposed to be reserved for him, he’ll be quick to snatch you into the nearest closet or bathroom to remind you who you belong to. And it doesn’t matter who it is besides your parents or his family. It could be the barista at the cafe, a random guy who gave you a friendly nod, or god forbid, an old classmate or co-worker you happened to bump into on the street. Jason is a selfish & protective little fucker who doesn’t even want to consider the idea of someone else thinking they can have what’s only for him.

#2: Clothes – Please, exercise caution when picking your outfit for any particular event. Jason’s never gonna tell you what you can’t wear, but keep in mind that again, he’s a selfish and protective little fucker who has the sex drive of a large animal. Wearing anything even slightly tight or a bit showy for his taste can and will land you in many situations where Jason has pulled you aside somewhere quiet and private to have at your body. And don’t let him catch others ogling your outfit or even giving you the slightest compliment or all hell is breaking loose. Not to say he doesn’t like it, he loves it. But, you’re for his eyes only. Now, if it’s his clothes you’re wearing out, please be aware that at some point, you may be buying him a new shirt/hoodie cause he’s about to rip it off you.

#3: Arguing – Something in that man thrives on chaos, and when you and he are going at it, he can’t help but get hard. And again, hot, angry makeup sex. Duh…

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He will not do any form of rape/forced play, including machoism and sadism. His vigilante life and past trauma already left a deep scar on him and anything that resembles that can and will trigger him. Plus, he knows he’s way stronger and doesn’t want to even take the risk of hurting you in any way.

Unless we’re talking Arkham Jason. That’s a completely different story.

He would clear it with you first that you’re okay with bondage and choking, but he doesn’t want it performed on him, especially the choking, as we’re already aware that he’s very sensitive about his neck.

Any extreme BDSM kinks like piss play or fisting is also a major turn-off for him. Exhibitionism is a straight-up no. Jason would rather drink from the Lazarus pit than have anyone looking at you in a state that he’s only allowed to see you in. Don’t even attempt to pitch the idea of a threesome or foursome or just any suggestion of bringing someone else in on your fun. It will turn into a major argument and not a good one that ends in happy fun.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Inexperienced but picks it up quickly and learns what gets more of a reaction from you. He’s a fast learner and loves it when he’s able to drive you over the edge with his mouth alone. Also, if we’re talking about eating out, he’ll happily do it till the sun turns blue. There’s something about tasting you on his tongue that just really gets him riled up.

But, if we’re talking dick-sucking, definitely prefers receiving over giving. Jason finds it extremely hot seeing you go up and down on him with your mouth, especially when he grabs your hair or head and starts to force your head up and down or starts thrusting in your mouth. He loves seeing you slobber and choke all over him. And if you look up and give him a teary-eyed but submissive look, game over (in a good way).

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely fast and rough. And if it’s not, you can bet he’s delivering some powerful strokes that will have you squeezing and clenching your legs all around him. Plus, he notices the harder he goes, the more you squeeze yourself against him while pressing your nails into his back and biting at his skin, trying to silence your loud moans and cries. Though, it’s probably not the best idea because he’ll just go even harder to force those noises out of you. And, those are marks and scars he will PROUDLY wear.

It takes him time (if you even decide at all that you want him to) to learn how to move at a softer, slower, and more sensual pace. But, if it’s something you truly desire, he’ll work on it and do everything he can to make you happy. But, that doesn’t mean rough sex goes away. It actually makes it even more hot, especially when Jason is in one of his moods.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not opposed to them. But, Jason likes to take his time with you. He doesn’t like to rush and hates the idea of feeling as if someone is going to interrupt him. No one should intrude upon your special time with each other. God bless (and protect) the unlucky souls that do.

But, if he’s really in the mood and he can’t get you to an ideal private place in a fast enough time, he’s not above pulling you into the nearest dark room or corner to get down and dirty, especially if he’s feeling a little territorial because someone decided they wanted to be brave stupid and hit on you. He’s more than happy to remind you who you’re in a relationship with. Or if you’re not in a relationship, then just who’s fucking you every single night, plain and simple. Either way, quickies to him are basically just his versions of reminders to you for what happens when he gets a bit jealous.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

You’d have to move at a snail’s pace with him if you want to introduce something new to your routine. If it’s something small, then he may go ahead and give in to it, but Jason craves consistency and normalcy, and that includes sex. Asking him to try something new can hit a sore spot cause it may seem like what you two are doing now isn’t enough for you anymore.

But, if you reassure him it’s not that, and just slowly introduce the idea to him, (double points if he likes it off the start) then you’re definitely in for a treat. For you, and you only, he is willing to step out of his comfort zone, as long as it’s not too crazy or on his no-no list.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Depends on his mood and what prompted the sex. He could go for one round or two if he’s just feeling a little feral and wants a piece of you. If it’s a jealous or angry fit after an argument, you might wanna cancel any plans after, cause he’s certainly not letting you leave the bed, the house, or wherever you are until your legs are basically useless.

The same thing goes for the duration of a round, especially if you’ve got the good good (hehe). If you’re really giving it to him. Mans may be lucky to make it past 10 minutes, but that’s not too bad. It means he can cuddle you, or you cuddle him. Either way, cuddles are non-negotiable after a round. But, if you two just got done hashing it out over something or you decided to poke one too many of his buttons, he’s dragging it out as long as he can. This means exiting out of you whenever he feels like he’s getting too close, and denying you your own orgasm as well (that damn control factor strikes again).

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jason doesn’t own any toys and never really had an interest in them. It’s not something he’d really get into on his own and only would experiment with them if you asked. The most he’s got is handcuffs or rope he’d use for bondage but that’s as far as he would take it.

If you were to use toys, he’d definitely prefer him using them on you unless there was something else specific involved that didn’t cross one of his boundaries.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

50/50. If you’re teasing him, payback’s a fucker named Jason. He’ll kiss all your sweet spots, nibble on your chest, and barely give any attention to your dick/genitals. Especially if he’s in one of his ‘I want to hear you beg for me, tell me who owns you’ moods.

If he wants to get to the point, then you can expect to be promptly thrown onto the bed or whatever surface is nearby, and the most he’ll do here is tie or cuff your hands so you can’t touch him, knowing how much you like to feel his body while he’s ramming yours.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jason’s loud. But, in a very grunty-like way. You may have to fight tooth and nail to get him to moan for you, but by golly is he expressive when you manage to get it out of him. For the most part, though, he’s giving grunts, growls, and grumbles. You’ll mainly hear him whisper into your ear, reminding you that he’s the one currently plowing your guts and that no one else is allowed to see you like this but him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes fucking you with clothes on frequently. You’re wearing a tight compression shirt that’s showing your pecs, abs, and just overall body, he’s got you bent over a surface while oogling your muscle constricting under a shirt. Wearing a jockstrap or thong in the gym and he can see it, he’s pulling them down and that underwear aside just enough to get inside you. You’re not complaining though. If he’s wearing his own compression and muscle shirts all the better for you, getting to ogle and rub his muscles while he’s hammering inside of you like an animal.

He also really enjoys massages. Particularly on his shoulders, back, and chest. He loves it when you lick and play around with the head of his dick and when you run your fingers through his hair while his face is buried in your neck kissing and leaving marks all over.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Bigger than average.

8-9 inches minimum. He’s thick and girthy down as well. Maybe narrower at the base with a really large and bulbous head. Entering can be a bit of a challenge, but it gets easier the further he gets inside. Also has a curve to his dick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jason has a fairly high sex drive and the Lazarus pit only increased that. His libido can sometimes be more emotion-driven so feelings of love, anger, or even just a slight irritation will get him hard.

Maybe you’re not fucking every hour of the day, but he’s gotta have you in some shape or form at least once or twice a day. Whether it’s a blowjob, hand-job, or one of his jealous reminder quickies.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He can go to sleep fairly quickly, but only after he’s properly cared for you and cleaned you up. Also, he has to have your body pressed against him. Cuddles are vitally important and you should never once not want to cuddle him. It’s the one intimate thing he’s got down perfectly to a T. 

However, he has more than once fallen asleep while still inside you and in the position you both finished in. It can lead to a comfortable or uncomfortable scenario, depending on the situation.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[ashen-vulture]

A Vulture In Therapy #3

The Appointment (Well, In A Few Months)

ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:15 AM

Hey so guess who just heard back from Doctor Erian's clinic after a month of waiting in the dark. I'm not scheduled until November, though Probably was too hopeful of me to think I'd have an appointment before my birthday

tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:17 AM Nice! Do you have an appointment then? Oh, heck, that's a ways off ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:18 AM November 14th, yeah But I guess it gives me time to prepare So… what should I expect going in? I've heard mixed things about Doctor Erian… tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:19 AM Oh boy that's the big question isn't it So for me, and I think for a lot of other people, he went right into the gatekeepy "one letter from a physician, two letters from psychologists, live as your preferred species for however many months" ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:21 AM He can't be too bad right? Oh yeah I've heard about the "live as preferred species" thing. Not sure he'll accept my response but that's one of the few things I am prepared for. tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:22 AM The thing is, I'm pretty sure it's all a secret test of your resolve and how well you match what you want He started hesitating once I got up in his face about how someone is supposed to live as a dragon for an entire year And he folded like a towel once I threatened to bite him But I saw him smirk, I think it was that I said 'bite' specifically ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:26 AM Huh. I guess I have some respect for that. Maybe a bitter respect but… uhg, I dunno, it's complicated. Like there are some things I certainly cannot physically do with my human body and that's the whole reason I want what I want. I really don't like arguing. This is gonna feel like my gallery capstone all over again. "No seriously I do know what I'm talking about, see it from this perspective" (strangling the Imposter Syndrome demon in the back of my head)

tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:27 AM Yeah I don't know if he would have approved it if I'd shown any kind of doubt But maybe it's different for non-predator theriotypes idk ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:30 AM Maybe. I wonder how they'll handle a scavenger. I guess there's only one way to know. Oh, do you know when you'll get your first prescription fill? Does it take a long time? tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:30 AM I'm supposed to get it in September, apparently if you're on gender hormones you have to wait for the one year mark, something about being 'biologically receptive' But you won't have that issue so you might get yours a lot sooner ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:33 AM I suspect part of the wait is having to formulate each therian's medicine individually. Giving me cat HRT probably isn't gonna turn me into a bird. tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:33 AM Yeah I guess this isn't One Size Fits Most like normal estrogen and testosterone are ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:36 AM Well. Nothing to do but wait now. Maybe getting on some of the Therian HRT support groups and hearing some more people's stories will help. Thanks for your input, hope your new therapy medicine arrives on time I might pester you with more questions in the future tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:37 AM Anytime! I'd be glad to help you along on this one ashedink — 07/03/2024 10:38 AM ^v^ (I've started using bird emoticons more, it's fun!) tigergirltail — 07/03/2024 10:38 AM I mean, you know how long I've been using cat emotes =3 So I get that

ashedink — 11/13/2024 11:01 PM

FIRST CONSULTATION APPOINTMENT TOMORROW WISH ME LUCK AAAAAAA- It's actually happening! It's actually happening!

tigergirltail — 11/13/2024 11:01 PM Gee I can't tell, are you excited? =3 ashedink — 11/13/2024 11:04 PM I am Anxcited Question: would it be considered too much if I came in with a folder of vulture facts outlining how similar humans and vultures are to each other, and how I've techincally been "living like a vulture" basically my entire life understanding that the parameters I need to fulfill exclude things that would literally kill me Because I already have the folder but now I'm second guessing myself and I can FEEL THE ANXIOUS INFODUMP INSTINCT I am either gonna say nothing at all or way too much HELP tigergirltail — 11/13/2024 11:07 PM Do it. Slap that gatekeepy doctor with every Cool Vulture Fact in your birb cranium Might improve your odds tbh ashedink — 11/13/2024 11:08 PM You are a cool and awesome friend and I am glad I have you to encourage me when I am a scattered anxious mess Thank you Alexis tigergirltail — 11/13/2024 11:08 PM You've got this Ash I believe in you =3

(featuring my long time friend and the person who acted as my gate into therian HRT, @tigergirltail)

[ros3ybabe]

August 15th, 2023 🎀

My university resumes classes tomorrow! I am so excited to really begin and solidify my morning routine and get back into the school mindset and grind. I'm really planning on being successful this semester.

With the new semester starting, I figure it's time to set out some new goals and things I want to accomplish this semester.

Fall Semester Goals 🌸

🩷 Academic Goals -

Pass every class with an A, no exceptions. I took on an easy class load for a reason.

Join 1 or 2 clubs. There's a club related to my major that I'm looking into, as well as a kpop club and a Japanese club that I'm looking into joining if I have the ability to.

Put effort into my classes. Don't miss class without a solid, valid excuse. Actually study and review class material outside of lectures. Ask questions in class and don't be afraid to go to office hours or tutoring.

🩷 Personal Goals

Stick to a consistent morning routine! Workout, journal, read, make my bed, skincare, etc. Consistency builds confidence.

Pamper myself regularly. For me, this means the occasional retail therapy moment and getting my nails done every 4 to 6 weeks. I don't normally get my nails due to the nature of my job, but if I keep my nails short and not too flashy, it'll be great! My first appointment is at the end of this week, and I'm excited! The picture of nails I included is actually how I'm getting mine done!!

Routinely attend appointments. That includes lab work, therapy, psych, dental, and general physician appointments. My health is a priority, and I want to make sure I stay on top of it this semester.

🩷 Social Goals

Attend study group sessions when applicable

Again, join a club or two. It's the best way to make friends with similar interests.

Attend social networking events on my campus. They have career fairs and professional fairs all the time. As a junior in university, I think it's time I start building some connections for future internship and career opportunities.

I also have some physical goals, but I will not be including those here as to not accidentally trigger anyone. I don't have particular deadlines for any of the goals I mentioned, but I feel like it's important to have these goals so I know the direction I want my semester to go in.

I'm really excited for this semester. It's time I put my best foot forward and succeed. I know I can do this. My GPA will increase, I will recieve more scholarships, and I will pass everything with high marks. I believe in myself.

To everyone also beginning their semesters, good luck!! I wish you all the best success in every way and that you all thoroughly enjoy everything these next few months bring!

Til next time, lovelies !! 🩷

[random-imagines-blog]

Imagine the Marvel cast finding out you’re suicidal.

It was strange, how you basically dropped off the face of the planet between shooting the movies that you were in, for the MCU. You had formed such a great family relationship with everyone, even the ‘originals’ like Mark Ruffalo, Chris Evans, Robert Downy Jr, thinking of you as one of their kinds almost. You were the youngest, even younger than Tom Holland, so when they received nothing but radio silence, and there wasn’t a single story about you in the tabloids, for four months, they all grew concerned.

When you did come in for the first day of shooting, you looked tired. The make up artists did what they could for your dark circles, but it was evident that you had been through something. All throughout the day, Scarlett, Chris Evans, Elizabeth Olsen, they all asked you if you were okay and you gave them the thumbs up but they could all see that something was wrong.

You continued to wave them off but it got exhausting, so after the long day of shooting, you asked them to meet you by your trailer. The group grew larger - everyone that cared about you came out - The Chris’, Robert, Mark, Scarlet, Tom, Paul, Elizabeth, even Benedict was there, all of them looking at you with concern and curiosity.

“I only want to say this once,” You said, a little nervously. You couldn’t look anybody in the eye, not even Tom Holland, who was your best friend on set. “And then I don’t really want to talk about it again. But um - the reason why I didn’t reach out to anyone the last couple of months was because ... I was in the hospital.”

Instantly, Chris Evans put a comforting arm around you, worry filling his face. Everyone was expecting now some sort of medical diagnosis - especially after what had happened with Chadwick. They didn’t want to lose another friend. Another member of the team.

“I um -” You said, really not wanting to say it out loud. But you had been going to therapy, having to admit to your problems wasn’t anything all that new anymore. “I have depression. And ... I tried to kill myself.”

There were collective gasps and instant questions but you put your hand up. “I’ve been being treated for it and ... I think we’ve finally found the right combination of medication and therapy so ... I mostly just .. want to ask that you be a bit patient with me. I didn’t mean to blow any of you off. You all mean the world to me.”

You were met with the utmost support. Hugs and encouraging words and they all promised you their patience. But it was when they were alone, each one of them in their trailers for the night, that their minds really started to delve in on this new information. You were so young, you had so much potential, so much life ahead of you, what had gone wrong to make you have such terrible thoughts about yourself, about the world?

It made their mindsets different. And it made them treat you different, even though you had specifically requested no special treatment. They almost lost you, and they were going to do everything - bringing you breakfast to your trailer, running to you first to tell you a joke that they heard, sending you memes - they could to make sure that they never actually did.

Requested by: Anonymous

[ambrossart]

Hello, my question is about the Bowers gang and the music. I simply found it curious and fun and since Victor also seems to be a music fan and invited Evelyn next time to listen to music, my question is about her musical tastes, if she has a group. favorite or what genre of music do they listen to or if they have a favorite singer since Belch is a character who is characterized by the fact that he loves Metallica, so he asks me what type of music would each one listen to, Belch, well, he listens to metallica and anthrax (he has a band t-shirt and it appears in a movie if I remember correctly) Victor in one of the chapters says that he likes an Aerosmith song but from there I don't have an idea of ​​the bands or singers I heard, much less Henry or Patrick, I feel Patrick would be the strangest, he doesn't even seem like a person who listened to music or is a fan of someone and Henry doesn't seem that way to me either, and also it's from the 80's so it's even more interesting because I love the music of the 80's. 80s and 70s.

First of all, I absolutely love questions like this! I’ve had the worst week, so this was a very welcome mental vacation. Thank you for this.

Anyway, let’s discuss everyone’s music preferences! I’m just gonna break this down character by character to make my life easier.

— Evelyn

Evelyn likes whatever songs catch her ear on the radio. Music isn’t a huge part of her life, so she doesn’t really have a favorite song or artist. She has songs she likes (a lot of those classic 80s pop hits), sure, but I doubt she knows the names of most of them. So far, I think the only artists I’ve specifically mentioned her liking are Olivia Newton-John, the B-52s (literally just for “Love Shack” probably), and The Beach Boys, but we’ll discover more of her interests later. It’s not a major storyline by any means, but it does get explored.

— Vic

This may be a departure from canon, but in my mind, Victor Criss is an early adopter of the whole 90s grunge aesthetic. Messy hair. Ripped jeans. Flannel. Oversized shirts. Drinking coffee and smoking weed. If this story took place in the 90s, Vic would be all up in that grunge scene. I’m honestly super bummed I couldn’t go that route with him, but mark my words, that boy will go full grunge in college. He will.

Since this story doesn’t take place in the 90s, a lot of people (and by “people” I mean the characters in the story) probably assume Vic’s into heavy metal like Belch, but that’s not necessarily true. See, Vic is very picky about his music, and I don’t mean that in a snobby way at all (although Vic can be a little snobby about it). For him, music is therapy. Vic just wants to get really high, listen to some music, and escape himself for a while. And the wrong kind of music can be painfully grating to him, like to the point where it would cause him intense physical discomfort. That’s why he’s so picky.

So what kind of music does Vic like? I dunno… I could see him being into psychedelic rock, artists like Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix, Cream, The Byrds, The Beatles, stuff like that. Vic is very private about his music, though. There’s a reason Christie Gibson can’t seem to figure him out.

It's also a pretty big deal that Vic has invited Evelyn to listen to music with him. Just saying.

— Belch

Next to Victor, Belch is probably the most serious about music. As we all know from the movie, heavy metal is his preference and his passion, but he’s also the kind of guy who can (secretly) appreciate a well-composed song regardless of its genre. That being said, Belch does tend to steer clear of the mainstream pop music scene… unless, of course, Christie Gibson is with him. Yeah, when those two are together, he pretty much lets her play whatever music she wants (because Belch is a good boyfriend).

— Henry

Yeah, I don’t think Henry is that serious about music. He listens to it, sure, everyone does, but it doesn’t impact his life significantly. Despite that, Henry’s tastes are probably very similar to Belch’s, simply because that’s how Henry gets exposed to most of his music: he listens to whatever Belch plays in the car. Apart from that, I could also see him being into bands like Led Zeppelin, Blue Öyster Cult, Deep Purple, Kansas, etc. But would he consider any of them his favorite band? Probably not, because Henry doesn’t have a favorite band.

Honestly, I think Henry has a very negative relationship with music in general. Anything that tries to tap into his emotions or influence his emotions, yeah Henry doesn’t like that. At all. He doesn’t wanna feel things. He doesn’t wanna think about his parents or his childhood. He wants all that shit to stay buried real deep.

— Patrick

For Patrick, all music sounds the same—and by that, I mean it’s all just “noise” to him. He doesn’t connect to it on any level, least of all emotionally.

In Chapter 5 (I think?) we saw Patrick using the radio kind of like a weapon. He purposefully messed with the knob to create the most annoying sounds his possibly could, hoping that it would drive the other guys in the car crazy. And it worked. Belch almost crashed the damn car. That pretty much sums up Patrick’s relationship with music. It’s just something else for him to manipulate and use for his entertainment.

So yeah, I could see Patrick listening to some really weird shit, like music that isn’t really music, but more like a bunch of random creepy/disturbing sounds put together. Patrick’s a weirdo. There’s no way he listens to traditional music.

___________

Okay, that's all I have to say on the subject. Thanks again for this ask! It was a lot of fun to think about. ❤️

[omegaverse-anthropologist]

oh wow jp’s alive and yappin up a storm

for no reason in particular, ive been thinking about bitching, both as a method of transition for omegas assigned alpha at birth and a vector for abuse. in this post, i’ll just talk about ‘delta-omega transition’ and in another post, i’ll talk about transphobia and ‘bitching’ as a vector for abuse.

also heads up that this is less pseudo-anthropology/sociology and more fantasy omegaverse than i usually get into, again because of the ‘no reason in particular’ from my danmei fandom sideblog linked above lmao

delta-omega transition (bitching)

delta(d)-omega transition, colloquially (and often disparagingly) referred to as bitching, is a method for an alpha to transition to omega. the transition is hormonally based, and does not generate internal organs or conjure the ability for the alpha to become pregnant. the houghton (slick) glands become engorged and begin producing lubrication similar to someone assigned omega at birth, and the body’s natural hormone levels shift to a more omega balance than an alpha balance. d-omega transition is impossible without some level of medical support, whether that be traditional/plant-based medicines or allopathic synthetic therapies.

as long as humans have existed, transgender humans have existed. there are records of people of all birth-assigned dynamic sexes being described as ‘delta’ or using a modifier before their dynamic sex designation. delta is used to describe a person who was assigned one dynamic at birth that does not align with their internal truth. (e.g., a d-alpha would historically describe an alpha who was assigned a different dynamic sex at birth, and d-beta or d-omega would similarly describe beta and omega experiences.) in the modern day, ‘delta’ is only used as a modifier in legal or medical contexts where absolutely necessary. a person’s ID does not reflect their dynamic sex as ‘d-beta,’ for example, but simply ‘beta.’

the use of delta as a sole dynamic sex indicator (i.e., instead of referring to someone in a medical context as a d-alpha, they are simply described as a delta) is frowned upon as inaccurate, unhelpful, and bigoted.

d-omega transition

modern d-omega transition functions similarly to other forms of hormone replacement therapy. under a physician’s supervision, the d-omega takes agonists to suppress production of alpha hormones and genesic medications to induce the production of omega hormones. support from packmates is a positive indicator for ease of transition, but in cases where a d-omega is rejected by their pack, there is support in the form of therapy groups and community-led delta-transition support centers, which often provide materials marked with either volunteers’ scents or synthetic pheromones.

historically, d-omega transition was achieved through a multi-step process that could be undertaken over the course of one to three years. the d-omega in question would brew certain plants into a tea. when consumed frequently enough as to be a constant presence in the body, the chemicals in this tea would have a destabilizing effect on the d-omega’s natural hormone balance. without support from a pack, frequent ingestion of this tea could induce a state of ferality.

with pack support, however, the individual’s hormone balance would be influenced toward a state more in line with the d-omega’s identity. creating this balance required frequent contact with alpha packmates. the contact was not necessarily sexual, though there are descriptions of regular sexual contact being requisite for successful transition. (note: these descriptions would not stand up to modern academic scrutiny, but they were, like the miasma theory of disease, accepted as fact at the time.)

typically, interaction with alpha pheromones would trigger a minor increase in omega dynamic hormones, balanced by a decrease in alpha dynamic hormones and an increase or decrease in beta hormones as appropriate to maintain homeostasis. however, in the destabilized state of a transitioning d-omega’s hormonal balance, this interaction would cause a more pronounced shift. frequent induction of this shift would, in essence, train the body to a new homeostasis. eventually, the d-omega would down-titrate from their destabilizing dose of medication. once their body was able to maintain omega hormonal balance without assistance, the therapy would be halted, and d-omega transition would be considered ‘complete.’

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter 8: Sister Winter

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: The morning after brings complicated feelings as Ben and Lydia return to their respective families for the holiday season.

Word Count: 7.7k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia is 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots-to-lovers; references to PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; serious self-esteem issues; references to panic attacks and anxiety disorders; references to the holidays; both Ben and Lydia come from families that mark Christmas; angst central.

A/N: The title of this chapter is inspired by Sufjan Stevens' eponymous song, which is one of my go-to Melancholy Winter Tracks. And yes, it was really weird writing Christmas in July.

I'm so grateful for all the love I've had for this story and for this pair. Every comment and reblog and ask is a little lift to my soul!

This chapter introduces Lydia and Ben's extended families. In addition to their chosen and found families, both in work and in their friendship groups, this pair are from closely-knit families of origin - though of course, that brings with it its own challenges.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Cross-posting to AO3.

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

@lunapascal and @julesonrecord - thank you for cheering me on and offering wise and practical advice with this difficult chapter. @tessa-quayle - I am always so touched by your enthusiasm for these idiot dorksicles (a term I am appropriating from Jules).

Taglist:

@lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro, @rhoorl

Ben is a deep sleeper - or maybe he was just completely worn out after your exploits that night. 

Either way, he doesn’t even move a muscle as you shift towards the edge of the mattress, fumbling your way out of bed and carefully tip-toeing across the floor, gathering your underwear and dress as you come across them on the floor.

The panic hit you when you woke around 5am, eyes flicking open suddenly in the dark stillness of Ben’s bedroom. The only sound was his soft, steady breathing, interspersed with the occasional tiny snore. In slumber, he somehow appeared even more handsome, more beautiful, snugly nestled into his pillow and hair sticking up at all angles. Fragments of light peeked around the edges of the blinds, picking out some of his features.

Whereas a couple of hours before his lovely face had felt like a comfort, in the wee small hours of the morning it triggered doubt. Your brain promptly forgot everything he had said about how beautiful he thought you were, how much he’d wanted you. Instead, it struck up a familiar, repetitive chorus.

He couldn’t really want you. He’s so gorgeous. You don’t deserve him. He’s sexy and kind and good and you’re a mess. Even if he thinks he wants you now, eventually he’ll realise he’s made a mistake. 

In the light of day, you might have been able to muster the little tricks you’d learned in therapy to quiet the voice of your inner bully. In the early hours, vulnerable and anxious in Ben’s bed, the chorus simply grew more insistent. 

So you carefully get out of bed and pick up your clothes. You pad out of the bedroom and find the bathroom, hoping that a splash of cold water might reset your thinking. 

Instead, the sight of yourself in the mirror just serves as further evidence for the case against you. Your makeup is smudged, settling into every line and wrinkle. You look jowly and heavy: matronly, even, and certainly not worthy of the handsome, good man whose bed you’d shared. 

You feel the defences around your heart building themselves back up again. 

You shouldn’t have let them down in the first place.

Still, you seem to want to somehow change your own mind. You tip-toe back across the hallway and peer around the door into the bedroom, as if maybe seeing Ben might quell the panic that’s beating a frantic, jolting rhythm in your chest. 

He’s still in the same position, his back to you as you stand at the door. There’s not a lot of him that’s visible, save for the tufts of messy hair and the outline of his broad form under the comforter. 

The panic eases momentarily as you feel a surge of affection and want. For an instant, you allow yourself to remember how good it felt to make love with him, to laugh and kiss and hold and touch and fuck together.

You have to leave in a few months. It would have to end one way or another. You couldn’t face that. You couldn’t go through the pain. And what if you hurt him, too? Better to get out now.

You return to the bathroom to dress quickly and quietly. In the semi-darkness, you pad down the stairs and retrieve your shoes, bag, and coat from the hallway. 

What the fuck are you doing?

“I’m getting out before he has the chance to reject me. Before we get too deep. Before I have to go home. Before it has to end. Before I hurt him.” 

Before I fuck it up, like I always do. I always ruin everything.

You remember from Thanksgiving that there’s a little notepad in the kitchen, for shopping lists and reminders. You think for a few moments before writing a note to Ben, folding it over and affixing it to the front of his fridge with a magnet. 

You know this is going to hurt him.

“Better than really hurting him further down the line, even if I’d never want to. I don’t deserve him.”

You try to block out the memory of the evening before, urgent declarations of want and your bodies pushed together against the hallway wall, as you quietly open the front door and leave. 

His immediate instinct as he blinks awake and stretches his long arms is to reach for you, to find your soft, warm body and pull you to him for another kiss, another cuddle; another chance to feel you, so wet and tight and perfect, as he sinks back into you.

“Mmmmm. Morning, baby.” Nothing.

Ben sits up and realises he’s on his own. He wanders around the upper floor of his home, calling your name, as if he’ll summon you out of the ether by repeating it.

He moves down the stairs and into the hallway, now filled with the crisp morning light of midwinter. Still nothing. 

His final hope is that you’re in the kitchen. Maybe you couldn’t sleep. Maybe you were hungry, or thirsty. 

“Lyddie?”

No you. Just a note.

“What the fuck, Lyddie. What the fuck are you doing?”

He leans back against the countertop, staring at the folded piece of paper - at his name, carefully inscribed in your neat, flowing script.

Dear Ben, 

Thank you for last night - it was great, really. I thought it would be easier if I just headed out. I didn’t want to wake you. Safe travels west. Happy holidays. See you soon. - L.

“Fuck.”

The thing that really drove you out of the safe warmth of Ben Morales’ arms and bed and out into the half-light of a December morning, walking home to your empty apartment alone and afraid, wasn’t your fear of fucking up - at least, not really. It was part of it, true, but what tipped the balance was not just fear, but feelings.

You pack the last of your things for the journey home for the holidays and try to ignore that simple fact. You had kept your defences up so sturdily and so dutifully for a long time, until he came along. Until you had to go catching feelings for a man who lived an entire ocean away from you.

You were frightened of fucking up because what you had - the friendship, whatever situation you entered into when he pressed his lips to yours and took you into his bed - meant the world to you. You were scared of hurting him, and of being hurt, because you cared about him so much. 

It was a strange paradox: you had done something that hurt the two of you now, in order to avoid the potential for greater pain further down the line. You’d always had a natural inclination to run from things that scared or overwhelmed you, after all. In your own, tortured logic, it made sense to run from the sheer force of your feelings for Ben. 

As you checked and double-checked the apartment while waiting for your cab to the airport, you remembered David’s words and felt a little guilty. You’d tried, though. You’d tried to let the light in. You just hadn’t expected it to blind you.

You’ve been avoiding your phone, save for sending a message to your family group chat to let them know you were safely en route to the airport. When your mother’s name pops up, you open the message.

MOM: Good woman, Lyd, you’re there good and early! Time to have a nice coffee and a bite to eat. Can’t wait to see you! 

Your mother was always thrilled when you got to the airport ahead of schedule, knowing your propensity for last-minute panic. You had no idea how to explain to her why you were sitting, red-eyed and heartbroken, in an airside coffee shop three whole hours early. 

You still hadn’t opened the two voice notes from Ben. A missed call on the phone, which you spotted after you got through security, then the two notes. Part of you had hoped that if you just ignored them long enough, they’d go away. Typical Lyd.

You take a deep breath and a sip of your enormous festive coffee, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles and reeking of peppermint syrup. You pop in your earbuds and press play.

The sound of his voice is like a knife to the heart. You’d feared anger, but instead Ben sounds like he’s aching.

“Hi, Lyddie - Lydia. I, uh, I got your note. Um. I guess I thought we were on the same page, about… about last night. Maybe not. Sorry if I got the wrong idea. I… anyway. I guess you’re on your way home now, or about to be. I’ll, um - I’ll talk to you. Happy holidays. Safe travels.”

It’s all you can do not to run out of that airport and hop into a cab back to his place, to hold him, to tell him how sorry you are, to beg him to forgive you for being a fucking idiot.

You’ve fucked it up. Told you you would.

You press play on the second voice note. His voice, still cracking a little, sounds stronger, steadier, more determined.

“Hi, just wanted to say - I don’t regret it. I don’t regret that we spent the night together. I’ll never regret that, no matter what. It meant something to me. I don’t want you to regret it, Lyd. Please.”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press ‘call’. He doesn’t answer. 

Ben listens to your voice note again while he’s sitting in the departures lounge, a day after you’d passed through. He hasn’t slept very much in the last day and a half. This morning, when he was washing his face and trimming his beard and moustache, he was sure he’d aged a decade in the space of less than 48 hours. The delay to his flight gives him plenty of time to nurse an enormous black coffee, though he wishes it was something even stronger.

“Hi. I’m at the airport. I tried calling, but - I guess you’re busy. Or maybe you just don’t want to talk. I understand why you - listen, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what - I can explain, it’s just - it’s hard not being able to do that face to face. I promise, I can explain. I can. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ben.”

Your voice catches at that point in the voice note, and he can hear you trying not to completely break down. It breaks his heart every time he listens to the message.

“I guess I will see you in the new year, then? I promise I’ll explain then. Safe travels west. Okay, then. Bye.”

Jet lag is a bitch. But you summon the strength and focus to slip in your earbuds in the privacy of your childhood bedroom at home, and press play on the next voice note he sent you. 

You might be imagining it, but his tone is softer. He still sounds hurt, but calmer, somehow. 

“Hey there. I’m just about to fly out. I got your message and - yeah. Probably best to see how things are in January. Maybe it’ll be good to have some space, clear our heads. Anyway.” He pauses, his voice quieter. “It’s good to hear your voice, Lyd.”

Oh, fuck. He wants space. Fuck. That’s not good. 

You take three attempts at your response before you manage to record a coherent message. 

“Hey. I hope the flights are okay, and that you get there safely. Yeah - um, yeah. Space, clear our heads. So, guess I’ll give you your space, until I see you and can explain. And it’s so good to hear your voice, too.”

You press send, your eyes glancing over the little round picture of Ben at the top of the screen. You say the words you’d left unsaid at the end of your message. 

“God, I miss you, darling.”

TJ Morales waits inside the arrivals hall at San Francisco International with his twelve year old twin sons, Dylan and Carlos. There’s only eighteen months between TJ - Thomas Juan, to give him his full name - and his older brother, and despite living on opposite sides of the country for a decade, they’re very close. It’s become an annual tradition, when Ben returns for the holidays, for TJ and the boys to pick him up.

This year, the three are decked out in an array of Star Wars-themed Christmas shirts to welcome Ben home: Dylan’s printed with a pattern of C3PO in a Santa hat, Carlos wearing a shirt emblazoned with Chewbacca wrapped in fairy lights, and their father wearing a pattern rather sweetly titled ‘We Wish You A Merry Sithmas’.

The running joke in the family was that TJ was the ‘cool brother’, a title he’d given himself when they were in middle school, much to the amusement of their parents. In many ways, that dynamic held fast to the present day. TJ, with his laidback personality, his long dark locks and neat beard, his array of plaid shirts, band T-shirts, and casual hoodies, still seemed to embody West Coast cool in a way that his more serious, anxious brother didn’t. His job certainly helped - a sound engineer for a video game studio, the kind of job both boys could have only dreamed of as they hid their shared Game Boy from their younger sister, Teresa.

Even so, as Ana Morales liked to remind people when she spoke about her sons, when she’d asked a three year old TJ what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer was clear: “I wanna be like Ben.”

The sliding doors open and passengers begin to stream out, excitedly greeted by their families and friends. The two boys keep watch at the barrier, their dark curls bobbing up and down as they compete to spot their beloved tío first.

“Tío Ben!!” 

Carlos wins this year, waving frantically to his uncle as he pushes his luggage trolley through the doors.

Ben grins widely as he wraps an arm around each of his nephews, ruffling their hair as they show off their new holiday shirts. TJ throws his arms around his big brother, embracing him tightly. “Welcome home, hermano. We missed you.”

As he pulls away, TJ notices how tired Ben looks. His smile, genuine as it is, doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“You okay, Ben?” he asks in a low voice as they follow the boys out of the terminal and in the direction of the parking lot.

Ben nods, putting his arm around his brother as they walk. “I’m okay. Just tired. It’s been a long semester. I’m so glad to be home with you guys - it’s been forever.”

“Can I ask you something, Lyd?”

Your younger - only - sibling, Kate, is bouncing her one year old daughter Evie on her lap while Cora, her older girl, dances around the room and sings along to Encanto.

“We don’t talk about Bru- sure, of course. What’s up?”

“Are you alright? You’re normally full of energy when you’re home for the holidays and you just seem - I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like someone’s turned down your brightness.”

You haven’t said anything to Kate about Ben - well, nothing more than acknowledging him as part of the wider group of friends you’d established at Barrow. You certainly haven’t told her about your growing closeness, or what had happened, or - god forbid - your feelings for him.

It wasn’t that you two weren’t close enough for sharing that kind of confidence. You’d been brought even closer together since your ex-partner had cheated and left. You just felt like if you actually articulated the words, it would make it too real. Too much. Too fragile, too likely to disappear like every other crush or love affair you’d ever had.

“I’m just tired, I think. It was a lot in a few months - moving there, adjusting to a new environment, meeting all those new people, doing new classes. You know I’m always wrecked at the end of the semester.”

Kate raises an eyebrow sceptically while Evie chews on a giraffe-shaped teething toy. “There’s something off.”

You exhale, frustrated. “I’m fine.”

“Did you meet someone?”

Your eyes widen. How the FUCK does she know?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on about. What gives you that idea?”

“You were happy when we’d talk and FaceTime. You were always so excited going out with your new friends. And now you’re back here you’re tired and gloomy. It just makes me wonder, you know - was there more than intellectual stimulation going on over there. If you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Kate.”

“They’re working you too hard, Benjamin. Doesn’t your poor brother look tired, Thomas?”

TJ exhales and takes a sip of his coffee. He was used to the annual routine - their mother fussing over Ben like he’d been thoroughly neglected since the last time he was home. 

“I asked him earlier and he said he was fine. Didn’t you, B?”

Ben nods. “I’m fine, mom.”

Ana Morales does not seem convinced. “Well, you’ve got a couple of weeks now to rest up. We’ll take care of you.”

TJ shoots a look at the twins, who giggle conspiratorially.

The door into the kitchen opens and Lucy, TJ’s wife, staggers in carrying a precarious stack of lilac-coloured cake boxes printed with the logo for Pun in the Oven, her bakery and coffee shop in the city. Ben and TJ immediately stand up to relieve her of the burden, placing the boxes on the kitchen table as Lucy - or as she’s more usually called, Luce - wipes her brow and grins in the direction of her brother-in-law.

“BENJAMIIIIIIIIN!” She grabs Ben and pulls him in for a hug, smiling widely. “Missed you, man!”

Ben smiles softly at her in turn. “You look great, Luce. Any new tattoos since I saw you last?”

Luce arches an eyebrow and holds out her left hand, revealing a simple outline of a heart in purple ink in the space between her index finger and thumb. 

“Hope you don’t mind, dude. Took some inspiration from your bullseye for this one, just because I always thought the placement was cool.”

Ben spreads the fingers on his left hand, flexing his thumb slightly as he looks at the small bullseye tattoo he had done during his junior year abroad. 

“I’m honoured. Any chance your husband might get a matching one, eh?” 

Luce giggles and wraps an arm around TJ. “You know he hates needles. He got our initials done, that was enough for me. He was so brave.” She plants a kiss to TJ’s cheek, triggering dry-heaving noises from their sons.

Ana surveys the stack of cake boxes on her table. “You didn’t need to, Luce. This is far too much.”

Luce shakes her head and holds up her hands. “Nonsense. Just a couple of the leftovers from today and a few extra batches of the holiday specials I threw in this morning. Plus, for the homecoming…”

She lifts the lid on one of the boxes and pushes it in Ben’s direction.

“Coffee and walnut - your favourite.”

Ben’s eyes light up and he hugs his sister-in-law. “This is the best gift I could ask for. Thanks, Luce.”

“Don’t you think he looks tired, Luce? He needs to rest, poor boy.” Ana tilts her head at Ben, who is already searching for a knife to cut a slice of the cake.

Luce does think Ben looks tired, but there’s something else that’s just not quite right. A sadness, somewhere, or a resurgence of his anxiety. You can see it in his eyes. Maybe her husband knows more.

“We’ll look after him.” 

There’s always been something special about Christmas Eve. As a child it was the anticipation and excitement for the day to come, desperate to go to bed but too excited to sleep. As an adult, drafted in to help prep the food for the next day’s dinner, you peeled potatoes, sliced carrots, and monitored the turkey slowly cooking in the oven while listening to carols and Christmas songs on the radio. 

More than that, there was something in the air - maybe not ‘magic’, contrary to the message pushed in every TV ad since November. But possibility: of transformation, of newness, of togetherness, whether with blood family, found family, or whatever community you chose for yourself.

Or, just maybe, you’d completely internalised A Christmas Carol. Never mind Charles Dickens, that was mostly the Muppets’ fault.

The arrival of your little nieces in recent years has brought back some of the old traditions from your own childhood. You’d been followed around for most of the day by Cora, who had turned three a few months before.

“How does Santa bring all the things, Auntie Lyd?”

You smile and continue peeling potatoes. “I think he has some magic that lets him have a really big sleigh that just carries all the toys for everyone.”

“But then it’s too big and won’t fly.”

“No, it will. Because it’s magic.”

“But then he has’ta come down the chimley.” She gazes up at you, narrowing her eyes. “Should just use the magic to put the presents down.”

You’re stuck there. Thankfully, your brother-in-law Marc arrives in search of another slice of cake, and you palm her off on her daddy. 

With Cora and Evie safely in bed and asleep, you and your parents help your sister and her husband set up the living room, carefully setting out the Santa gifts and filling the little stockings embroidered with each girl’s name. 

Marc takes a careful bite out of the slice of cake and drains the glass of port left at the fireplace. “I don’t know how he isn’t absolutely rat-arsed, with all the port and whiskey and that being left out for him. No wonder he’s falling down chimneys.”

With your parents gone to bed, and Marc watching Die Hard on a random movie channel, you and your sister unwind for a bit with tea and Christmas cookies. She eyes you up, as if steeling herself to make a confession. Or, as it turns out, to encourage you to make one.

“So, who is he?” Kate poses the question at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around her gigantic Christmas mug of tea.

You put down your own mug and sigh.

One of Cora’s favourite questions about Santa Claus is how he does it all in one night. Apart from magic, which even at three she seems sceptical about, you tend to cite time zones as an explanation.

After all, how else could Cora and Evie be already starting to wake up to their gifts on one side of the world, while Santa hasn’t yet visited the extended Morales clan on the other?

With Luce and TJ hosting Christmas this year, they extended an invitation to Ben and Ana to stay with them on Christmas Eve. In truth, they hoped being roped in for an 80s Christmas movie marathon with his nephews would help distract Ben a little. Maybe even get him in the holiday mood. 

By 11pm, Lucy has finished the prep for tomorrow’s meal and is shooing her sons to their beds. Their grandmother retired a couple of hours before to the guest bedroom, carrying a dog-eared copy of A Christmas Carol - she likes to read the last couple of chapters every Christmas Eve, even if Tiny Tim always makes her cry.

“I’m going to head up, babe - don’t stay up too late. You have all the stuff for the sofa bed, Ben?”

Ben turns to acknowledge his sister-in-law, nodding. “All here. Thanks, Luce, it’s really nice spending Christmas Eve with you guys.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s our pleasure. Teej, I’ll see you in a bit? G’night, Ben. Merry Christmas.”

The Morales boys are sitting on TJ’s couch, each drinking a beer while Scrooged plays, quietly, on the TV. 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” TJ runs a finger along the condensation on his bottle of beer, sleeves rolled up on his blue flannel. 

Ben fiddles with the cuff of his own, pine-green checked shirt. “As in…?”

His younger brother fixes him with a glare.

“As in what - or should I say, who’s - on your mind?”

“He’s called Ben. He’s a literature professor at Barrow.”

“Her name is Lyddie - I mean, Lydia. She’s a visiting professor. I’m sure I’ve mentioned her?”

“I met him on the very first day. He was my - what did he call himself? - my ‘welcome wagon’.”

“We went to dinner, as we normally do with the visiting people. And we just…man. Clicked. As friends.” 

“I mean, I made a Big Night reference and he got it? Honestly, I hadn’t had such a good time in…I can’t remember. I told him about what happened - the shit hitting the fan, and all that.”

“I guess we just started hanging out. Having coffee, talking - just friendly stuff, you know? She was new, we had a lot in common. I - I liked having her around.”

“He was so sweet to me when I was settling in. Like, I have made some really good friends over there. But sometimes he’d bring me coffee in the afternoon, and - I dunno, I started to look forward to it.”

“She’s unbelievably smart, TJ. Doesn’t think it. Always puts herself down. Same as when you try to tell her she’s pretty. But she’s so fucking bright, I swear to god. And she has the best taste in movies and music. And she is pretty. More than pretty.”

“And he’s so kind and giving. He’s running this whole diversity programme to try to make Barrow less white and wealthy and he’s had so much shit about it from fucking dickheads who think Ben’s not as good as them because he’s Latino and because his parents had to fucking work hard for a living. Assholes. All that and he’s really goddamn handsome.”

“And she’s a bit of a firecracker when she wants to be. You know that culture war idiot Lacroix? She just went for him at the away day because he was giving me shit.”

“He’s so fucking funny. The biggest dork you’ve ever seen. Actually did a ‘reeling you in’ dance at my birthday drinks to get me on the dancefloor. Once, he laughed so hard in my office that his glasses flew off his face. Hanging out with him is - was - so great.”

“She’s got this knack of knowing how to lift my spirits. I said to her one day that I’ve never laughed as much in work before - I meant before her.”

“I was the only person to get who he’d dressed up as for Halloween. That was a fun night - at Evan’s. You know Evan. You’re mutuals with Evan on Instagram, right? We were a little bit merry. Well, a lot merry. It sounds so fucking dumb but we touched and I swear I could feel electricity going off in my brain, and I…I hadn’t experienced that in years. Years.”

“Had her on my lap on the ride home from Evan’s. I put it down to being a bit drunk on Spooky Margs but honestly, I didn’t want to let her go when we got to her place. I’ll explain the Spooky Marg another time, man, you do not want to know.”

“We do - did - a lot of movie nerding out together. Did I show you the gifts he got me for my birthday? And the card? He got me a Hitchhiker’s Guide card. Y’know, because -”

“42. The answer to the ultimate question. She’s 42. I don’t think I said that to you. I guess I should have known there was something there the day I ordered that card, huh.”

“I knew there was something there on my birthday, for sure. And dancing with him, to that song - fuck. For a couple of minutes I just let myself pretend, you know? But he never did anything more, not that night.”

“I wasn’t drinking when we went out for her birthday, but she was. So I didn’t want to make a move, in case she wasn’t interested and felt I was trying to take advantage. But I wish I had.”

“He ended up alone in Barrow for Thanksgiving, so he invited me to come over. I’m sure I told you about this? The parade, the movie? Well, it was - it was really nice. God, that’s such a shit way of explaining it. It was just -”

“Mom did a video call, remember? And she saw her and she was all nice as pie and then she was giving me shit about whether Lydia was my girlfriend, and why wasn’t she my girlfriend because she was so pretty and so funny, and - god. You know what she’s like.”

“And all day I kept thinking ‘I wish I could tell you how I feel’, and then I’d remember I was just fucking visiting. I’m temporary. It’s temporary, by default. And he couldn’t want someone like me. And you know I can’t go through that hurt again. You know, Kate. You saw me at my lowest.”

“I did think about asking her out that evening, TJ. I did. But she’d said some stuff about being ‘good friends’ or something, and I just thought it was safer not to. I didn’t want to ruin what we already had. You know? She probably wasn’t interested, that’s what I thought.”

“I went to give him a kiss on the cheek to say thank you.”

“I turned to meet her. I wanted it, wanted to kiss her.”

“And we kissed, accidentally. For a couple of seconds. At least, I thought it was accidental. Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t long.”

“I wasn’t brave enough to kiss her like she ought to be kissed. She panicked and I thought she didn’t want it.”

“I should have kept kissing him.”

“We didn’t see each other for a couple of weeks, between conferences and travel. And fuck it, I missed her.”

“We messaged all the time and I still missed him. We didn’t talk about Thanksgiving. Not until - well.”

“So I told her I meant it. Meant to kiss her.”

“I don’t know what it is but tying a man’s tie is so intimate and so hot and - yep. We kissed properly.”

“We ended up back at my place the night before she went home.”

“We…we were together, the night before I came back over here.”

“I’m not being ‘coy’, TJ. I - okay, we slept together. Happy now?”

“Yes, okay, yes, we slept together that night, at his place.”

“And I asked her to stay. I wanted her to stay over. I was ready to drive her home and get her stuff. I would have gone to the fucking airport with her. Anything.”

“I woke up in the early hours and I just - fuck. I just lost it. I flipped. All the dark shit just came roaring back up.”

“She left a note. I couldn’t believe it.”

“The sex was not bad, fuck off! I can’t believe I’m about to say these words to my baby sister but - best sex I’ve ever had. Four times. Four fucking times.”

“I know I’m blushing, dude. It was really, really fucking good. Really good.”

“Who am I, Kate? A fucking cliché? I left him a fucking note? All because I couldn’t handle having real fucking feelings, because I knew I’d fuck it up. Like I always do. And oh look - SHE FUCKED IT UP. Again.”

“I really thought we were on the same page, you know?”

“He left me a voice note. Here, listen.”

“I tried calling her, but she was already at the airport.”

“I called him back. No answer.”

“I don’t think I would have been able to speak to her. She left me a voice note, too.”

“It would be easier to explain in person, right? Wouldn’t it?” 

“Maybe we needed the space and time apart, anyway. Especially if she regrets it.”

“He said we could do with the space. He said he hopes I don’t regret it. How could I ever regret that, with him? I’ve fucked it up, Kate. I know it would have been pointless anyway with the temporary visiting stupid situation, but - still. I ruined everything.”

Kate reaches over to pat the back of your hand, her festive, red and green manicure glittering as the light bounces off her nails.

“You probably didn’t, love. You always think you did. Can I - can I see a picture of him, if you have one? Want to see this nerdy sex god for myself.”

You open your phone and swipe through your pictures, finding one you’d taken of Ben on Thanksgiving. He’s holding his plate stacked with blueberry pancakes, smiling and bespectacled on the couch as you watch the Macy’s parade.

“Here he is.”

Kate studies the image carefully, eyebrows raised. She zooms in and out a couple of times.

“Well, hello, gorgeous! He’s handsome. Really handsome. Look at that smile, whew. And those eyes!” She zooms in and out again. 

“May I remind you that you are a married mother of two?”

“I can look and appreciate, can’t I?” She swats the air as if brushing your comment away.  “Fuck, it’s like someone engineered him in a lab for you. He even kinda looks like a mature version of those imaginary boyfriends you used to draw in your diary when you were thirteen.”

“He is fucking handsome, isn’t he? He’s so - wait, what? How did you know about those?”

Your sister rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Bitch, I read that thing cover to cover. You were so dramatic. Still are. You got any of the two of you together?”

You open your photos and pull up the photos Ani took of you and Ben dancing the night of your birthday drinks. “These are probably the best.”

Kate’s expression changes when she swipes through the set of pictures, zooming in every so often to look at your and Ben’s expressions more carefully. She looks up at you, hands you back the phone, and looks like she might cry.

“You okay?”

“Fucking hell, Lyd, you’ve got it bad. Both of you - I mean, look at the two of you! I know they’re just pictures but on top of everything you’ve said? I don’t think he’s just got a ‘thing’ for you, I think he’s really into you.” She chews on a cookie. “Remind me what you said in the note again.”

You recount the contents of the missive. 

“It’s just… you clearly have serious feelings for him. You’ve told me all these things about this wonderful guy. You told me it was the best sex you’ve ever had. And then you say ‘it was great’ to him in a shitty note?! I can understand why he’s pissed off.”

“I screwed this up, didn’t I?”

Kate throws her head back in frustration. “Still dramatic. You screwed it up a bit, but - surely he’s not that much of an asshole that he wouldn’t hear you out?” She drains the last of her tea from the mug. “Admittedly if it wasn’t Christmas, I’d be putting you on a flight to San Fran. However - talk when you get back. Explain face to face. Don’t assume the worst. I don’t think he can turn off his feelings that easily.”

“You don’t know that she regrets it. You don’t even know why she left without saying goodbye. You said she’d had some rough shit in the last couple of years. She said the night together was great in the note, didn’t she? And she’s been in touch, so… I dunno, man. I wouldn’t write her off.”

TJ takes the last swig from his bottle of beer and slaps his brother on the thigh.

“Can I see a photo of this Lydia, then?”

Ben sighs and digs around in his jeans pocket for his phone. He chooses the one he’d taken of you on Thanksgiving, sitting in the diner with your grilled cheese sandwich and basket of fries. You’re still wearing your glasses after the movie, smiling at him in your thick cable-knit sweater.

“That’s Lyddie - I mean, Lydia on Thanksgiving. She made that sweater herself, you know. She’s a talented woman.”

TJ smiles as he studies your features, zooming in a little on your bright, happy face.

“She’s a pretty woman, too. Beautiful smile, gorgeous eyes - kind-looking, and you just know she’s smart and funny as hell.” He turns to his older brother, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.” 

Ben smiles and huffs a laugh at the reference. “Quoting The Way We Were at me? Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Ana Morales has good taste in movies! Remember the VHS copy she always used to put on and cry at?”

Ben smiles at the memory. He turns to TJ, eyes full of emotion - worry, sadness, and affection. For his little brother, of course - but for you, too.

“I mean it, Ben. She is lovely. She sounds lovely - disappearing act aside, of course. And the way she’s looking at you in that picture - fuck, man. You can just see how much she likes you. You’ve every right to be hurt and angry, but - maybe don’t give up on her. You’re both too fucking old to let a chance like this slide, bro. Don’t let her go.”

Christmas Day is a chaotic whirlwind of overexcited nieces, a family dinner delivered like a military operation, and fighting over what to watch on TV. Same as it ever was. 

It’s nice. It’s comforting. But you’re impossibly lonely, embrace of a loving (if stress-inducing) family unit aside.

Since you’d cut and run a few days before, the steady stream of communication back and forth between you and Ben had essentially ceased, save for the voice notes. It’s become such second nature to you, the constant contact, and the rupture is all the more brutal as a result.

In the early hours of Christmas morning, lying wide awake in your old bed, you remember that during the Apollo missions to the moon they had a thing called LOS, or Loss of Signal. When orbit took the craft to the dark side of the moon, all communication between Mission Control and the astronauts became impossible for a time. 

LOS was nerve-wracking, particularly in the first attempts at lunar orbit. What if they never re-established contact? What if something happened on the dark side, leaving the crew lost forever while the rest of the world carried on? You have heard the recordings, the hiss of static fraying the nerves of those on the ground awaiting the return of the signal, the sound of a voice spinning through the vastness of space.

You’re in extended LOS, you realise. In spite of yourself, you smile, thinking how in any other circumstances Ben - with his Saturn V model and his Apollo 11 sweatshirt - would love the analogy.

“Did you send him a happy Christmas message yet?”

Kate doesn’t even look at you as she says it, all casual. She’s too busy scraping the remains of the Christmas dinner off the plates before stacking them in the dishwasher.

“The fuck?” Her ability to read your mind is starting to become disturbing. 

She swivels. “Did you send Ben a message wishing him a happy Christmas? If I was you I’d take a nice picture and send it. You look cute in that dress.”

“Do you think he wants a Christmas message from me? I doubt it. He wants space.”

Kate closes the dishwasher and presses the start button.

“I don’t think he knows what he wants, probably. Other than you. I’m sure he wants you, going on the way he looked at you in those pictures.”

You make a whining noise. “That was before.”

“You and your apocalyptic thinking. Unfortunately, Lyd, if you want to fix this you’re going to have to be the one leading the fixing. Start with a message.”

She sidles over to the kitchen counter, where your phone is safely tucked away to avoid doom-scrolling, picking it up and waving it menacingly. 

“If you don’t, I will.”

“FINE. But I’m not sending him a cute selfie, that’s ludicrous.”

You retreat to your room. It takes you a full half-hour to pick a photo and compose a message.

A notification appears at the top of your screen.

KATE: SEND THAT FUCKING MESSAGE

Breathe. Send. Run away.

Ben sneaks another buñuelo from the pile made by his mother earlier that Christmas morning. The sweet, spicy kick of the cinnamon sugar with the fried dough lifts his spirits - as does the sight of his three niblings side by side on the couch, engrossed in a game on Dylan and Carlos’s Nintendo Switch. A twin sits on either side of their youngest cousin, Julia - Jules to all - and helps her manoeuvre the controller and work her way through the game.

Newly-turned seven, and the daughter of Teresa Morales and her Irish husband Pádraig, Jules might be the youngest in the family but is a tiny force of nature. Though he didn’t have favourites among the three, Ben had a special connection with Jules, who routinely mailed him letters and drawings every couple of weeks. He would diligently respond with a hand-written letter, usually enclosing a couple of packs of stickers or a new book for her to read.

“I’M BORED NOW.” Jules hops off the couch and saunters over to her tío Ben, who’s sitting at the table in the dining room off Luce and TJ’s living room. “Can I have a buñuelo?” 

He brushes cinnamon sugar out of his moustache and off his dark red sweater, and looks over at his sister, who rolls her eyes and nods in resignation. “Your mom says yes, so…” He holds out the plate. 

Jules scrunches her nose up in delight as she takes a bite, then cocks her head as she studies her uncle. “I think you might be sad.”

This is a perceptive kid, Ben thinks. 

“I’m okay, Jules. Just a little tired.”

She chews another bite of her snack and shakes her head. “No. I think you’re sad. I can make you happy, though!” She makes a serious face. “Wait here, okay?”

She returns carrying a bundle of brightly-coloured hair clips and what looks suspiciously like a couple of bottles of nail polish. 

“Mama always says she feels happier when she gets her hair done. And has her pretty nails.” 

The little girl perches herself on a chair, sets out her equipment, and gets to work, tongue peeking out as she concentrates on painting Ben’s nails (she adds a glittery topcoat for extra effect) and carefully placing hair clips in his hair. 

“Everyone, tell tío he looks pretty!”

The rest of the extended Morales clan turn to look at Ben. Dylan and Carlos immediately grab their phones to take photos. TJ raises his eyebrows and nods approvingly. 

“That makeover stays put for the rest of the day, Ben.” Teresa is deadly serious, not wanting her little girl to see her handiwork undone. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you, Jules. I feel much better.”

You allow yourself a glance at your phone later that evening, a glass of champagne lending you some extra courage.

Still nothing.

You cast a glance at the contents of the little gift box Ben had left for you before leaving Barrow. A beautiful, dark red notebook, subtly personalised with your initials in embossed lettering - and a set of Nouvelle Vague-themed film button badges.

“Stupendous as always, Luce!” 

Ben and TJ carry stacks of empty dinner plates into the kitchen, the family well-fed and content after their Christmas meal of beef and a seemingly endless selection of side dishes. 

Lucy is preparing dessert, which mostly consists of the cakes and cookies left over at Pun in the Oven when they closed for the holiday the day before, served with ice cream and fresh fruit.

“Your mom did a lot of the work, guys. Can’t take all the credit. Hey, TJ, can you carry this cake stand in with you? Thanks, babe.”

She notices that Ben has a somewhat wistful expression on his face as he sorts out the dirty dishes.

“Hey, I just wanted to say - I asked TJ if he knew what was going on with you, and…”

Ben nods and smiles. “He told you.”

“I’m with him, Benjamin. From what you told TJ, I think this is worth fighting for. Or at least, it’s worth giving her a chance to explain properly.” 

He casts his gaze downwards. “You know, when I saw those photos the boys took of my ‘makeover’, the first thing that popped into my mind was ‘I better send these to Lyd’.”

“You miss her.” Luce pats him on the back. “So why don’t you? Send them, I mean.”

Ben turns to her in astonishment. “Seriously? We said we were giving each other space, time… and I’m still not sure what she wants.”

His sister-in-law rolls her eyes. “If you don’t send her a happy holidays message with one of those pictures - I will. And you know I don’t fuck around.”

He stands with one hand on his hip, bringing the other up to cover his face. “I know you don’t. Shit. Okay. I’ll do it. But only so you - or worse, TJ - don’t.”

Luce does a tiny dance for joy as Ben turns to leave. She spots - and recognises - a baby pink no-crease hair clip sticking out of his dark hair at the back of his head.

“JULES, have you been in our room??”

Ben settles himself at the desk in his brother’s home office, where he’d deliberately left his phone all day. He’s still not convinced that Luce is right about sending this, but she’s a woman of her word. 

He holds your gift to him, unopened, in his hands. He unwraps it quickly.

A pair of brightly-coloured socks, patterned with books and pens. And a soft, hand-knitted, merino watchcap in a Prussian blue, with a little tag stitched inside: Hand Knitted by Me.

He didn’t expect your name to be there, waiting for him, when he turned over his phone.

You had chosen a slightly chaotic photo of yourself that your brother-in-law had taken, of Cora bopping you in the face while trying to stick a huge bow on you. It would at least, you hoped, make him smile.

Happy Christmas, Ben. I was injured in a gifting incident earlier today. - L.

He selects a photo of himself showing off his painted nails, his hair festooned with coloured clips, while Jules beams in the background at her handiwork.

Merry Christmas, Lyd. I got a holiday makeover courtesy of Jules. - B.

You each hope that the other will somehow be able to read, in the gaps, the words left invisible:

I’m so sorry.

I don’t know why you did it.

I care so much about you.

I really miss you.

I think about you all the time.

I want you.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: TJ's 'Your girl's lovely, Hubbell' is, of course, a reference to The Way We Were.

[schizopilledjester]

The Daily Reality of a “Troubled Teen” at Pacific Life Teen Program

The experience of a “troubled teen” at Pacific Life Teen Program (Casa by the Sea) was marked by a rigid, dehumanizing daily schedule that further exacerbated their struggles rather than alleviating them. From the moment they woke up, the program was structured to enforce obedience through harsh discipline rather than support.

A typical day began at dawn, with teens subjected to rigorous physical exercises. One survivor recalled, “We had to wake up at 5 AM for military-style workouts, sometimes in the cold without breakfast. If anyone fell behind, they faced punishment.” Following these exercises, they were often made to clean the facility under strict supervision, using inadequate tools, further emphasizing the power imbalance and humiliation.

Throughout the day, participants attended group therapy sessions that were anything but therapeutic. Staff members often resorted to verbal abuse, belittling the teens and using their vulnerabilities against them. A former student stated, “Instead of feeling supported, I felt like I was being attacked. They exploited our insecurities and made us confess our weaknesses publicly, all while telling us we were worthless.”

The Experience of Seeking Support

The desperation of seeking help as a troubled teen often led to further psychological torture. Many students entered the program with genuine hopes of finding relief from their issues, only to find themselves trapped in a cycle of trauma. One former attendee reflected, “I thought I’d be in a place to heal, but it felt more like a prison. I just wanted to be understood, but they treated us like we were broken—something to be fixed, not helped.”

Understanding Intervention and Its Misapplication

Intervention in the context of these programs is often portrayed as a necessary step for struggling youths. However, at Casa by the Sea, intervention was synonymous with coercive control and abuse. Staff were not trained to provide genuine therapeutic support; instead, they enforced compliance through fear. A survivor shared, “Intervention was just a way to break us down. They’d restrain us if we didn’t comply or if we expressed any dissent. It wasn’t about healing; it was about control.”

Specific Harms Inflicted by Staff

Staff members engaged in various harmful practices, including:

Isolation and Confinement: Teens were frequently isolated in small, windowless rooms for extended periods, sometimes without food or water. One survivor recounted, “I spent days in solitary confinement because I questioned the rules. I felt like I was losing my mind.”

Forced Confessions: Group sessions often devolved into public humiliations, where students were coerced into confessing their supposed failures. This not only heightened their emotional pain but also fostered a culture of fear. A former participant remarked, “It felt like a witch hunt. They would turn us against each other, encouraging us to air our dirty laundry in front of everyone.”

Physical Abuse: Many reports indicate instances of physical restraint that escalated into violent confrontations. A survivor described, “There were times when staff would physically drag students away for punishment. They claimed it was for our own good, but it felt like pure aggression.”

Deprivation of Basic Needs: Food and water were sometimes withheld as a form of punishment, leading to extreme physical and emotional distress. A former attendee stated, “I remember days without food, just to break my spirit. It was horrifying.”

A Call for Reform and Accountability

The consequences of these practices extend beyond the immediate trauma; they ripple through families and communities. The psychological scars left on these teens affect their ability to trust, build relationships, and lead fulfilling lives long after leaving the program.

Families, in their quest for help, often end up suffering alongside their children. Parents report feeling guilt and betrayal, believing they were doing what was best for their child, only to witness the damage inflicted by these programs.

To prevent further tragedies, we must push for comprehensive reform and accountability in the troubled teen industry. The pain inflicted by programs like Pacific Life Teen Program underscores the need for systemic change and ethical standards that prioritize the well-being of vulnerable youth. If we fail to demand accountability, these harmful institutions will merely resurface under new names, perpetuating a cycle of trauma and exploitation.

[cliveguy]

the cycle of trying to get mental help on the nhs is like go to doctor during mental health crisis -> they admit you need serious help and put you on a list -> mental health services are so busy it takes them a year to call you -> when they call you they tell you theyre too busy to help but can refer you to group therapy 2 hours away for grief counselling (you lost a loved one 5 years ago) or alcoholics anonymous (you mentioned you drink on the weekend) -> answer further questions that concern them enough that they concede and get you a therapist -> you have 6 weeks of the worst cbt imaginable -> at the end the therapist says you can either take ssris or be marked as treatment resistant -> you refuse the ssris because you hate them -> you get discharged and left to suffer with mental health that has spiralled even further since when you first got referred -> suffer in silence for a few years until you reach your breaking point -> go back to doctor -> waiting list for mental health services has doubled but they put you on it anyway and try to force and ssri prescription on you

[comfy-whumpee]

Love Lets Go

The Birdhouse has occasional group therapy. CN: BBU, alcohol.

@neuro-whump​, @rosesareviolentlyread​, @whumper-in-training​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question, @highwaywhump

“Let’s talk,” Miss Kaur said, “about what love is.”

Avis sat on the edge of the windowsill in the living room. Beside her on the loveseat were Florence and Kamala, inseparable as usual. On the left, in the armchair by the old fireplace, Boo curled up with no apparent interest in the conversation around them. Against the opposite wall was the doorway to the dining room, and the dining chair that Miss Kaur had brought in for herself. Finally, rounding out the ring, was the green sofa with Tenten and Roman at opposite ends, sat in their identical straight-backed, hands-folded pose that was a mark of their similar training.

Group conversations were a new thing. It wasn’t strictly therapy for them, but it was a way to open topics of discussion and build connections in the group, as well as a way for them to learn from each other. They were trying it out to see who benefitted, who got nothing from it, and whether anyone would react negatively. Avis was mainly hopeful that being present would help Boo, even if they still refused to respond to anything around them.

They had picked a broad theme for the first attempt. One relevant for all involved, as best they knew. After the question, there was a long pause. They all had ideas to think through before daring to say them aloud.

Avis waited in silence for Kamala to speak. It was always Kamala. She couldn’t stand awkward moments like this. Her smile was kind and gentle. “Love is a strong feeling of care for others,” she answered. Avis would have bet money that it was the definition listed in the dictionary in the study.

Kamala didn’t seem to know how obvious it was that she often recited answers that she thought were correct, rather than give her own feelings. She also didn’t seem to realise how impressive it was that she could remember so many passages word for word.

“Love is being inc-cc-cluded in things,” Tenten offered after another hesitation. Avis thought of his occasional presence at other people’s activities. If they needed a second participant, Tenten was always willing. Perhaps that was love, to him.

The silence dragged on. Miss Kaur eventually broke it, looking at the others. “Does anyone else have any initial ideas?”

Roman stared at his feet. Boo stared into space. Florence was the one who spoke. “Love is when someone looks after you.”

Better than expected, Avis thought with relief, relaxing slightly.

“Thank you for sharing, Florence. Would you like to contribute, Roman?”

Roman glanced up, startled. His voice was whisper-soft. “Love is wanting something even if you try not to.”

Avis watched as Miss Kaur absorbed that response, nothing but the slight pause before her reply to give it away. “Thank you, Roman. Could you tell me something you love?”

“Attention,” Roman answered promptly.

“Beauty,” Florence supplied, sensing that the question was coming to the rest of them.

“Making other people happy,” Kamala put in.

There was a pause. Florence looked at Tenten while everyone else pretended not to.

He shifted in his seat, only a slight turn of his hips to give away his discomfort even as he held still in the formal sitting pose, the rest of his tics vanished under his focus. “I love - this house,” he said, looking at Miss Kaur and nobody else. “It-t’s old and has winding hallways and exp-posed beams. Everyone gets their own room and they’re all, all different. It, it-t has a range in the kk-kitchen and a fireplace in here, so it’s always warm.” He stopped, hearing himself talk, and scratched his cheek. “I’ve been um, been wanting t-to say that for a while,” he admitted.

Miss Kaur was smiling. “Thank you, Tenten, for sharing that. I liked hearing your reasons.”

Tenten smiled back, pleased at the praise.

Then, the seconds began to pass again.

Roman was checked out, staring at the floor with distant eyes. Attention was decidedly not something Roman sought in the shelter, but perhaps he was different before. Or perhaps he was told that he was, and believed it now.

Florence was playing with the hem of their skirt, drawing repeated attention to their bare thighs through the slight movements of their hands. The question had brought something up for them, too. Beauty and its form were always difficult for them to parse.

Reliably, Kamala spoke up. “I like this house too, but people are more important to me. I’m happy if I can make someone else happy.” She gave a picture-perfect Platonic smile. “And I want everyone to be well, of course.”

“Can you give us your reason for that, Kamala?” Miss Kaur suggested.

Kamala froze, briefly, subtly. It wasn’t an answer she had prepared, it seemed. “Well, that’s - that’s obvious.”

Avis knew the line. Platonic caretakers find nothing more fulfilling than being the best partner to their owner, and answering their needs with diligence and perfectionism.

“If people are happy I can feel happy too. It’s nice to know you helped someone.”

Tenten nodded in agreement.

Boo sat on the armchair, looking between them all without a twitch of an expression to show their thoughts. But at least they seemed to be following the talk, now.

“What do we think about the idea of self-love?” Miss Kaur said, when it became clear that the group had nothing else to add. “Roman,” she called his attention back, “I’d like you to start. What is your view on self-love?”

“Um,” Roman said, eyes skittering away. He wasn’t fully present, still. Some thought was catching at him. “Self-love is when you love yourself?”

“Yes,” Miss Kaur agreed, despite the non-answer. “What might that look like, to love yourself?”

There was a significant silence.

“I’d like us to think about what Kamala said,” Miss Kaur suggested, steering the ship back on course again. “Kamala said, and forgive me for paraphrasing here Kamala, that she loves people, and she especially loves looking after people and helping them. When you said that, Kamala, were you including the people in this room?”

Earnestly, Kamala nodded.

“I’ve had conversations with some of you about seeing yourselves as people. We have worked on that knowledge, that to survive the pet industry doesn’t mean you are no longer people. This means we are, according to Kamala’s principles, deserving of love, help and kindness.” She glanced at the woman in question, who looked alarmed by being used as an example. “That includes Kamala herself.”

The clock in the kitchen was audible through the doorway. Nobody else even moved. It was difficult for them all to think through this barrier, especially when she tied it to ideas of worth and support.

“We all have an idea of love,” Sunita said quietly, with the warmth she felt for this group suffusing her tone. “What we lack, and this is common of most people, is the ability to apply that knowledge to ourselves. When we love ourselves, we learn how to treat ourselves fairly. We learn how to make compromises and how to assert boundaries. We negotiate all of those things with ourselves, and it’s not necessary for us to do that before bonding with others, but it is invaluable practice for forming sustainable relationships in the long-term.”

Kamala nodded, because she thought she was supposed to. Florence looked lost.

“Only you can be your worst enemy, and only you can be your best friend,” Sunita summarised. “Learn how you like to be treated. Then you can teach those around you. Let’s take a pause now for reflection. Take yourselves off to wherever you’d like to be, and think, write or talk aloud through your thoughts. We’ll come back in half an hour.”

-

Florence sat doodling shapes on a piece of paper they’d found, with a stubby pencil Avis left in the kitchen for writing the shopping list. They were drawing hearts, one of the few symbols they knew. Hearts meant love. It seemed relevant.

It was a strange conversation they were having today. Loving others was easy for Florence; they had been made to, and the way that their love had changed hands was important to them finding their place.

They were made to give, not to keep. But they wondered if they could.

Could you love yourself without being able to see yourself?

-

It was too far to go up to their room. They could have gone up, and nobody would have said anything, but if they missed too much therapy, Avis would get involved.

They stayed in the armchair, staring at the emptied room as if nothing about it had changed. Their voice was miles away at the best of times, but today it may as well be on another continent.

No matter what they learned from Sunita Kaur, they didn’t know how to live differently. They would only learn everything that they lacked.

-

Kamala waited patiently to be allowed back into the therapy room, iPad on her lap. She had a comic book open, but between pages, when she could sneak glances, she was trying to find some information about the therapeutic conversation they were having together. Normally, Mrs Sunita followed a treatment plan or template exercise that meant Kamala could find all she needed, given enough time.

Searching what is love led to nothing useful. It was too common a question. She read some articles, but they all seemed vague and at times, in disagreement about what it was.

Still, she knew from Mrs Kaur’s expression that she had said some things right. There had been approving looks, and she had used Kamala’s words to explain something. So she was doing well.

She could be good. Good pet, good friend, and good at therapy.

-

The bathroom was quiet and private. Tenten liked bathrooms. They were designed to be easy to clean, and they were the only place nobody ever raised eyebrows when you locked the door. He could spend as long as he liked inside, and people would only give him vague, concerned questions about whether he was okay, without prying into specifics.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, resting his wrists on his knees. He breathed. He was doing well today, only his hand twisting erratically, everything else loose and behaving itself.

Mrs Kaur was asking hard questions.

He let the thought walk by. It wasn’t his place to try and predict what would happen, nor to practice what he would say. His job was to read and respond. Find what they want and provide it with the appearance of effortlessness. Mrs Kaur wanted his honest thoughts, and he could provide.

-

An arm goes around his shoulders and he doesn’t move. Carved from stone, he thinks to himself, as the lights of the television flicker over them both in the dim light. He doesn’t like that Tyler is tipsy. It makes him nervous, remembering the Christmas party last year where he got in a drunken fight with Phil. They were friends again the next morning, but it was still unnerving.

He has to be carved from stone. Unflinching, unfeeling.

But Tyler doesn’t hurt him. He just sits there, smelling of sweat and alcohol, watching the screen. They’ve gone to commercial, but Roman can’t leave now. He can’t pull away.

On the screen, two men are buying a house together, talking to a nice, smiley representative from a bank so they can get a mortgage.

“Are you gay?” Tyler asks abruptly.

It’s only after he’s processed the question that Roman realises that’s what the men on the screen are meant to be. His heart sinks. “I don’t…know,” he admits after a moment.

“Yeah, of course you don’t. You wouldn’t know unless you tried being with a guy, right?” Tyler’s voice is casual, but something shifts underneath, and Roman swallows. “You don’t remember anything, you wouldn’t know.”

“No,” Roman affirms, between numb lips. Dread is climbing up his throat with claws.

“Would you want to know? I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna date. But it’s – interesting, to know, right? It’d be good to know.”

Tyler still won’t look at him. Roman looks at his lap, feeling like the arm around him gets heavier every second, every breath, every word out of Tyler’s beer-stained mouth. “I don’t mind,” he whispers.

“’Course not,” Tyler agrees, except he doesn’t sound like he’s listening. “You don’t mind. You wouldn’t mind. And you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Roman opens his mouth to ask, tell anyone what?

-

“Half an hour is up, Florence.”

“Okay.”

They got up, leaving the scrap of paper behind. They returned to their seat, where Kamala had already returned on her own. Florence didn’t think Boo had moved.

Avis rapped on the bathroom door. “You ready, Tenten?”

“Yes, Avis.” The door opened. Neither of them commented on Tenten’s half-hour bathroom break. They both knew he’d needed the space.

With everyone else returned, Avis went looking in search of Roman, climbing the stairs. She had left him until last because she knew that, against her expectations, he had been hit the hardest by the conversation today. It would have, she hoped, a profound impact on everyone. But something had triggered for Roman, and she wasn’t yet sure what.

She didn’t find him in the bedroom. She checked the bathroom, and the music room. He wasn’t in any of them.

 She circled the floor to the big window, but he wasn’t in it. She climbed to the third floor.

 There, the library door was ajar.

 The Birdhouse’s library was a long room with a wider bottom half, taking a chunk out of the third bathroom, which could afford the loss. It was lined down one wall with huge shelves, each one containing multitudes. There was fiction and non-fiction, sci-fi, fantasy, realistic stories, mysteries and thrillers and crime, fairy tales, myths, legends, poetry and drama, illustration and photography, craft books, art books, comic books, cookbooks, books on gardening, DIY, health and wellness.

On smaller shelves around the room were the personalised collections: Kamala’s riot of colour for all her Marvel needs; Florence’s photo collections from places across the globe and their easy reading novels; Tenten’s recipe books and the two history texts he had shyly asked for. Boo didn’t have anything on their shelf, but Avis knew they used the library sometimes, when nobody else did.

 Roman was sitting in one of the eight armchairs scattered around the room. It was facing the window, but the curtains were closed from last night. He didn’t seem to be looking out of them.

 Perhaps, Avis thought as she sniffed the papery air, this room was the most like an office.

 She set herself down in the nearest armchair, nearly sinking into the plush fabric. “Hi, Roman.”

 “Hi, Avis,” he said, his voice barely audible.

 She sat for a minute, watching. He barely moved. He was sitting in the chair upright, feet on the floor, hands at his sides as though he’d forgotten to position them. His head was tilted down to place his gaze on the floor, but he wasn’t moving.

 “I like this room,” Avis ventured after it became clear he had nothing to say. “I think it’s lovely. Things can get hectic with the others around and all the things to do, but your reading time in the library is always special. Peaceful.”

 He didn’t unstick. She sensed that he wanted to, somewhere inside him he was straining to, but he wasn’t in control. He was being unobtrusive, that deadly word that both of her Help at Home rescues staked their lives on.

 She rested her arms on one side of the chair, making sure she was as close to his direct line of sight as she could be. “I’m getting the sense that you’re paralysed right now, Roman. That’s okay. It’s not unusual to get stuck sometimes, when someone is faced with something that they can’t handle. They adapt, or they suffer through it. Often, they suffer in the same way as they have suffered other things before.”

 Roman gave a slight nod, just enough to show he was paying attention. Was it genuine communication, or even a request for her to carry on? Or was it another trained motion? She wasn’t sure. He was still so new.

 “This is because your brain learns how to survive. That’s like its superpower, like Ms Marvel. Have you seen Kamala’s comics?”

 Another nod of five degrees.

 “Your brain adapts. It learns what was safe and got you through a hard situation, and when you’re put under stress again, it uses that same technique. Sometimes, that technique is freezing.”

 Sometimes, it was self-annihilation through service to others. Sometimes, it was emptying of thoughts and focusing only on sensory experiences free of trauma. Sometimes, it was becoming nothing at all.

 Sometimes, though, it was talking. Sometimes, it was Tenten gripping his elbows and trying to explain where his head had gone, so he could find his way back.

 Avis relaxed, reassured by the thought. If Tenten could do it, so could Roman. “Think about where you are, Roman. You’re in the library right now. You’re looking at the curtains. What colour are they?”

 His lips moved, almost soundlessly. “Purple.”

 “That’s right. A nice muted, dusky purple. What texture?”

 “C-coarse. Sturdy.”

 “Excellent. What about where you’re sitting?”

 He looked down. It seemed as though he hadn’t seen the chair before. “C-Cream.”

 Then his eyes went to her, and she waved. “Hi, Roman.”

 He exhaled. She wondered how long he’d been holding that one lungful of air. “Hi, Avis.”

 -

 Mrs Kaur nodded. “I’ll talk through it with him in private next time I see him. I expected there might be some difficult moments, but I didn’t foresee Roman reacting so strongly. It sounds like he needed some help to come out of his memories, but he was able to go about the rest of his day normally.”

 Avis felt tension drop away from her shoulders as Sunita laid it out so simply. “Yes. That’s true. How were the others after we left?”

 Her words were edged with concern, which Sunita politely pretended not to notice. “Oh, fine. Boo listened, the others talked. They weren’t quite able to express things about themselves just yet, but we had a good moment where they offered love to each other, and saw it reflected back. I think that’s a very positive start.”

 Avis chuckled softly to herself. “I can imagine. Kamala and Florence always have nice things to say about each other, and Tenten is nice about everyone.”

 Sunita smiled, the coy smile of someone who has a surprise to reveal. “It was more than that, actually. Florence wanted to talk about Boo.”

 Avis’s eyebrows rose.

 “Apparently, Boo helped them on a bad night some weeks ago. They needed company, and help getting food. Boo provided. Florence, by their own admission, loves very easily and very loyally… But there seems to be a connection there.”

 “That’s incredible.” Hope swelled in Avis’s chest as she tried to imagine Boo expressing feelings to Florence, even through pauses and movements. “That’s a big win from today,” she said.

 “Exactly.”

  -

 “And what is love?” Dr Cerasale asked.

 Her mouth hung open for a moment before she snapped it shut, folding her arms. Turn it back on her, would he? Typical. “Love is dedication, affection, patience and – and believing in them.”

 The therapist nodded. “And how might you describe your love for yourself?”

 Oh, doubly turning it back on her. He was good.

 Avis shrugged. “I don’t love myself or hate myself. I am myself. I just am. All my love is for my – rescues. And my son.” She cut him a look as he stopped before he could get the first syllable of his next question out. “Those are the most important people to me.”

 “Avis,” he said, almost warningly.

 “I know what you’re going to say. I didn’t replace my missing boy with them. I would have ended up here eventually, even if Florence hadn’t found me. I had to help. Even if I couldn’t help him. I know grief plays a part in it, but I won’t listen to you making it sound like grief is the only reason I’m doing such a good thing.”

 He didn’t interrupt when she paused, so she carried on.

 “Besides, no matter my reason, they’re getting help. I’m far from perfect, but I can give them resources and equip them for their new lives as free people.”

 “And how about when they fly the nest? How will you feel then?”

 Avis was about to say fine, but a sudden grief knocked her thoughts clean off track, and the word was lost. She took a breath and she felt herself circling the whirlpool. She fell still.

 Leaving the nest, letting them fly. Watching them soar. Seeing their plane disappear over the horizon, her baby leaving home for his first holiday without her.

 Kids left home to find themselves, not lose themselves.

 “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “We’ll see when the time comes.”

 Cerasale hummed and nodded. “When the time comes for them to leave, as they all will.”

 They might not, Avis thought to herself. Roman might not be able to cope with everyday living on his own. Tenten could always be vulnerable to exploitation. Kamala still recreated power dynamics that put her subservient to others. Boo was still mute. Florence was still barely literate.

 “How does it feel, to think about that?” he probed gently. “Your rescues leaving the sanctuary?”

 “Scary,” she said honestly. “Seeing them go. Not knowing what will happen to them, not being there if anything does.”

 “Do you think that is likely?”

 “Of course it is. Bad things happen to everyone, but ex-pets most of all. The survival rate in American shelters is horrifying.”

 “Permit my ignorance, but is the situation here comparable to that of the USA?”

 “Well, no. It’s better here, there aren’t WRU vans on every corner waiting to abduct them. They’re emancipated, they have distance, they have legal status. But it’s all in the data, and it’s bad. They’re gullible and overgenerous and don’t stand up for themselves. Letting them go isn’t just scary, it’s dangerous. Legitimately dangerous.”

 “But people do it. In the USA, as well as here. Do they not?”

 “Yeah. Yes, of course.” Avis frowns. “But my rescues are – the Birdhouse is for complex cases. Rescues who didn’t all want to be rescued, or rather, like, they wanted to be rescued but still want to be owned. Just in a different way. Rescues who wanted rescue, but wouldn’t have wanted it if their owners were different.”

 Cerasale nods, letting that sit for a moment. She’s stated her case. Her argument is pretty sound. But she knows he’s not just going to let that pass.

 “Again, correct me if I’m wrong. But I wonder if that description is accurate for all your rescues. You have often spoken, in admiration, of Tenten’s innate desire to be free. For example.”

 “Tenten would have stayed with his family if they hadn’t made him wear a collar.”

 He looks at her thoughtfully. She dodges his gaze.

 “For a while, anyway,” she mutters. She knows she’s not being fair, and guilt prickles at her for fibbing about Tenten to get her therapist off her back. “He wanted to try living independently. If he can’t, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

 “Think of Tenten,” he suggests. He’s gentle, but firm. “He won’t be the only one, but perhaps he is the one you can see most clearly right now. He has many life skills, he is interested in learning and growing, he participates in therapy, and he wants this.”

 She hugs her elbows, feeling chastised, the burn worse because she knows he’s right. She’s always known. Tenten will be the one who leaves first.

 “It will be a scary, bittersweet day. But ultimately a happy one.” He checks the clock on the table to the side, angled so she can’t read it. “We’re about ready to wrap up. I want to pick this back up next week. How are you feeling?”

 She thinks about it. It’s been a hell of a fucking week. They always are.

 “I miss my son,” she says.

[aiyexayen]

For the OT3 questions, how about Han Ying/Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu? 👀

👀 ooh

poly ship ask meme

Who sleeps in the middle? when they do all sleep together instead of needing a night to themselves, han ying. at first it's a holdover from when he was first recovering and easily the most vulnerable of the three. but also zhou zishu loftily declares that it's his bed and he gets first pick on sides, which leaves the other two to fight over it. wen kexing has said any day that han ying beats him in a fair spar, he gets to choose and until then he can be glad they don't just send him back to his own bed. it's simultaneously a flex and a mark of trust the first time han ying beats wen kexing and still chooses the middle. .

Who is the best cuddler? zhou zishu by far. han ying can enjoy it and is very easy to tug where he's wanted but it still takes him a lot of focus to think around the automatic physical space he leaves around himself and others in order to cross it himself. wen kexing craves cuddles and touches like air in his lungs but enthusiasm can't beat experience. .

Who gets hurt the most? wen kexing. he's a bit more careless with his body compared to the others. tianchuang training teaches one to view themself as a weapon and thus keep themself in good condition, valuing precision and balance and an exacting knowledge of their own skill and capacity until it's habit. once han ying isn't trying to sacrifice himself and zhou zishu isn't dying, they have a lot less little run-ins with injuries just by nature. ghosts are messier, comparatively, reckless with their own pain, and wen kexing in particular runs on instinct. he's almost never hurt in big ways, but occasionally he slips with his hand on a rough edge of something or clips his leg on the corner of a table when no one's around and his gracefulness fails him. sexier answer: han ying, who gets tied up regularly for this purpose. .

Who acts like the baby? han ying more often, playing up his shidi/didi status. but wen kexing has devastating babie puppy eyes that beat out han ying's when he decides to weaponise them. .

Who teases the others the most? zhou zishu. tricky shixiong who absolutely gives the other two shit and pulls pranks and taunts them whenever he can get away with it. .

Who proposes? a-xiang. backed up by chengling and weining and an incorrigible jing beiyuan. the trio is well and truly harassed into letting them have a party about it. .

Who is the most protective? wen kexing. but it's a very very close call. .

Who is the closest to the child? (Whether it be a fur baby, scale baby, or human child.) hm. the disciples vary in who they're closest to and there aren't any babies just yet. they don't really have pets, but they do have a chicken. in which case, wen kexing is the closest to it. with a knife. they're having chicken soup for dinner again. .

Who gives the best advice? depends on the subject. they all have their areas of expertise and truly many of those areas overlap. however, the one that everyone goes to for advice first is usually han ying. he's the most approachable. .

Who is like a therapist? none of them. please do not attempt to take therapy-style advice from either of these three, under any circumstances. however, the one with the most in-depth education on psychology is zhou zishu. the one with the most compassion is usually han ying. and the one with the most satisfying solutions to extant interpersonal problems is wen kexing. but again: please do not heed anything they have to say. .

Who sings B and C to sleep? wen kexing. zhou zishu has the most soothing voice but he can hardly be convinced to use it so it's a very rare treat. han ying only enjoys singing in groups and prefers personal silence elsewise. wen kexing also often has the most trouble sleeping and keeps strange hours even compared to the other two. frequently this means he sees to random tasks about the place or works on quiet little projects at the desk in their room or meditates in the courtyard. and when he's not playing his xiao he often sings to keep himself company. the other two (and everyone else in siji shanzhuang) find it quite comforting. .

Is the relationship healthy? absolutely .

Do A and B have a stronger bond with each other? Or do C and B or C and A have a stronger bond? Or are A, B, and C close together [equally]? in the end, wen kexing and han ying are both a-xu's people first, and with each other secondarily. wen kexing and zhou zishu are zhiji, and to this day zhou zishu only has two of those (the other is of course jing beiyuan). han ying doesn't even remotely begrudge them this connection; he feels he could sustain himself on just the sight of zhuangzhu thriving in this way. zhou zishu and han ying meanwhile have a shared history that lets them understand one another in such specific ways and the depth of their loyalty and devotion is impossible to replicate or supersede. wen kexing's only real thought on this is that it's pretty fucking hot. lao wen and ying'er do not suffer from this initial distance, though, and in fact their relationship is quite solid due to how intentionally they had to sit and build it with one another to make the situation and the entire sect function properly. .

Who can be trusted to be left home alone? the only one who can't is wen kexing. nothing particularly bad will happen to said home, but he simply does not handle being alone very well. .

Who cries the most? in a kink way, wen kexing. by far. in an emotional way, zhou zishu. also by far. .

Who is the softest? zhou zishu, in reality. but wen kexing's favourite thing is to play soft so you'd only know it if you were someone who knew them very well. han ying is not the one with the greatest capacity for ruthlessness (both of the other two beat him), but he is the least bendable on a consistent basis. .

Who is the shortest? zhou zishu by about 2 centimetres. .

Who is the tallest? wen kexing, by several centimetres. .

Who likes cuddles the most? i definitely already answered this one, right? wen kexing. XD .

Last of all, who sings terribly in the bath? zhou zishu. not because he can't sing well (as previously mentioned he has a lovely voice he just refuses to use it much), but because he really enjoys pissing his lovers off and that's an excellent way to do it.

[paperboy-pb]

"Willful Ignorance" [Life Story]

[Written in August, 2023]

A parent reminded me why I make PB the other night.

For those of you who don't know, I'm a very young creator. 20 in October. And I had one of my co-writers for a different comic ("Weirder Than Usual") over at my place for the weekend. And being the youngest of a hispanic family, my parents have no plans to let me move out anytime soon. When I do leave, it will likely be without their blessing.

I let one parent drive my co-writer back home for the night. I knew I wouldn't be much fun to have in the car that late (I fall asleep pretty early,) and that we wouldn't be free to discuss creative affairs with that parent there, anyway.

I don't like to be myself with this parent around. We are distant. And I keep that distance for a reason.

And despite my absence, this parent reminded me why. Because guess what my cowriter texted me not too long after!

Some hours later, I can't help but think to myself... it's so funny how she stresses my late speech so much. Because now that it's here, it's as if my words don't matter at all.

I will admit my family doesn't know everything that our Special Ed program put me & other children through. But I will ALSO say that that's their own fault. Because as I grew up, I used to tell them every awful thing that I found important. And it was their lack of response that made me stop.

The driver of that car is clueless. She's "forgotten" about the violence that surrounded me in there. Desks crashing to the ground after an adult's angriest shove. Sweaters stretched out and destroyed from middle school fights that nobody broke up.

She's "forgotten" about every time I told her that we weren't learning what we needed to know, insisting that every class must've been doing 3rd grade worksheets in 7th if we were.

She's "forgotten" her 11-year-old asking if he was on the spectrum; how she put on the confused performance of a lifetime as she told me no. But miraculously, she remembers sitting somewhere in the spring of 2005, being told so by professionals.

And she "doesn't remember" us yelling on the phone in 2022. How I spent 80 dollars on an Uber just so we wouldn't share state grounds. And how I screamed for the millionth time, in no uncertain terms, "I AM NOT MAD AT YOU FOR PUTTING ME IN A PROGRAM THAT PROMISED US HELP. You believed them! I know you believed them, they promised you I'd be okay! The problem is that THEY BROKE THAT PROMISE! And every time they did, you just looked the other way!"

Whether she is or isn't being truthful doesn't matter. It's bad on her either way.

Because I know she remembers my dentist reporting bruxism to her when I still had loose teeth. How they would ask her about my environment, or if she knew whether or not anything was stressing me out. And that she chose to question nothing as it continued nightly into my teens. Damaging my adult teeth and concerning all who would sleep in the same room as me. They could hear me all the time. Sometimes my sister would even wake me up.

I know she remembers marking her little one's height against the wall, and seeing the space under his eyes grow darker and darker across the 6th grade.

I know she remembers making leave Autism themed group chats, because to her, my name & that word should never be in the same sentence.

I know she remembers going through his journals and sketchbooks, finding concept art for our Matthew B. And how just one look was enough to make her enroll me to therapy when I was 13.

And she knows that I remember how she hates that boy. Matthew Boston, I mean. And at least one part of her hates everything that he is; disabled, creative, expressive, and headstrong.

I know because she hates those traits in me as well.

Since I spend a lot of time in disability spaces, I try not to assume somebody isn't trying to understand. Comprehension doesn't come easy to everyone. And I especially suspect that she's neurodivergent as well.

But I've tried everything with this one, and I'm truly at the end of my rope. I've tried visuals. I've tried keeping it short and sweet and simple. I've tried having complex and mature conversations where I don't skip a single detail.

I've even tried therapy with her in the room.

Nothing works. And unless this is the convenient work of an undiagnosed memory condition, there's no reason for that.

My Autistic voice matters so little to her that she insists on prying information out of my friends when I'm not in the room; asking the allistic all these questions I've answered myself one thousand times.

She doesn't want to understand. She doesn't want to question her own ableism. Or work past it. And that's why I don't show her "PAPERBOY" at all, and likely won't until years and years from now.

Because PAPERBOY is for the people who do understand. For people who do understand, and everyone who wants to.

[dastardlyobnoxious]

QSMP Purgatory finale

On a cc/streamer/lore level it'd be incredibly lame if multiple people were perma killed because they failed the equivalent of a quick time event. Holding out hope that given BBH’s return to the island, the others will see similar alternate escapes play out. 

On a head canon/fan-fic level though, I really admire how metal/angsty this ending comes off?? You could take this in so many directions, and I kinda love it for that. 

Like picture this: 

Desperately running towards the coast line as their escape stood before them, having fought long and hard to escape this nightmare.

No one could've anticipated the nuke Maximus was building, it caught everyone off guard, including the Observer, who’d failed to anticipate this penultimate attempt to end the federation.  

Vaporized in a near instant, max’s victory would mark everyone else's defeat. 

Slime & Roier helping each other in their escape, they'd arrive on the boat first, rushing round it to get that old junker started in the few minutes they had. Without them, even those who'd escaped might've perished. They'd bring a relieving levity to the survivors, hiding the grief they felt to help the others. Roier in particular starting back his therapy sessions. 

Phil & Tubbo arriving next, after the earlier madness of the two clashing, when the cards fell they still deeply cared for one another. Phil air lifting Tubbo out even as his wings tore and broke, just as they arrived. They'd be crucial in maintaining the boat and keeping count of supplies, crushed by the looming dread of potentially losing so many. They’d get help from the others when the boat was in crisis or in need of hands.  

Fit arriving next, he'd stayed strong throughout Purgatory, keeping it together for the sake of his son Ramon. Through Phil’s aid he'd manage to save Bagi with only seconds to spare, crashing onto the boat as Bagi swam behind. Desperately hoping that Pac and Ramon made it to safety, he'd take charge as a group leader, dealing with any conflicts or dilemmas alongside Etoiles.

Bagi was next, saved by Fit, she'd clung to the edge of the boat as they'd started to depart. Throwing herself aboard as they'd started to sail away, she'd actively mourned the dead while trying to maintain an optimistic outlook that the others had survived. She’d serve as a reliable emotional anchor for many in the group, serving as a sort of backup leader in case Fit or Etoiles weren’t available, she’d support the others where she could. 

Ironmouse, Etoiles, and Aypierre reached the boat as the bombs went off, missing the radiation burns by mere moments; they'd made it onboard in various ways. Catching the boat thanks to its angle towards the shore, Iron made it on foot whilst Aypierre and Etoiles made it via grappling to the sides and throwing themselves over. Once grounding themselves, Etoiles and Aypierre would be there alongside Fit to break up any potential disputes, serving as the group’s muscle whilst helping with their technical experience. Iron on the other hand, mainly managing the group's supplies alongside Tubbo, she’d take charge of gardening and rationing what was on board.  (Not the most familiar with the last four, so if any of that’s just entirely inaccurate tell me).

Nine out of sixteen made it off that crumbling island, left with the anticlimax and non-closure that came with the other’s vanishing alongside that watchful eye. They will carry those scars, never being the same happy go lucky people they’d been. Cellbit, Tina, Maximus, Dapper, BBH, Foolish, and Baghera each had their own stories ended abruptly. Whether they survived or not is an ambiguous unlikelihood, maybe they beat those odds, maybe not. 

The survivors were left with one question, what of the other eggs? They’d been assumed dead alongside the Observer, but one variable remained in play, ElQuackity. He was never a fan of the eggs, but if it came down to survival, would he work with them? It was a question that stirred in the survivors, clinging to those next to nothing odds.  Anyways, that’s just my take on yesterday's events, who’s to say what’s true or what isn’t. Up to the CC’s afterall! Hope this was a fun read regardless.

[mirror-to-the-past]

Even MORE KH3 Assorted Thoughts- because this game is giving so much, for real:

San Fransokyo is absolutely sick and I've been bouncing around the skyscrapers while jamming to the Spiderverse OST. As long as Flowmotion and Shotlock exists, KH as a franchise has gotta give me more urban settings to zip around in.

The cutscene where Sora/Roxas kind of intertwine with their experiences on top of the Golden Gate Bridge. 😭"And when you're not strong enough, he'll make up the difference." Oogh, Roxas being likened to a brother figure for Sora is painful and delicious. I like the inclusion of Hayner, Pence, and Olette through Roxas' eyes. If he had looked to his other side and seen Axel, and a glimpse of Xion, that would've really completed the scene. All the people Roxas had watched the sunset with...

Was a bit confused by the Big Hero 6 plot, not gonna lie. Like, I thought our new Org. member was the Riku Replica, but then this guy says he's KH1 Riku that gave up his body in order to time travel. That and, as I see later, the Riku Replica was just hanging out with Riku in his final moments, so... I dunno, that plotline is just all sorts of fishy. In an attempt to scrutinize here the plot's going with this... I'm unsure if it's really KH1 Riku as he claims he is, especially since Maleficent dropped a major hint with the "though I'm not sure I could tell you from when," Which, given her familiarity with KH1 Riku, tells me that me that we're supposed to be questioning the validity of the Org. Riku's claims.

RIKU'S NEW KEYBLADE LOOKS LIKE A MF CAR KEY HAHA.

Oh. My. God? The World of Darkness scene, guys. So much. It looks like Sora was able to have his Power of Waking activate in order to save Riku (since he used Eraqus' Keyblade and not a Keyblade of Darkness to dive in, the only possibility left as to how that was possible would be using his Power of Waking, so...). 😭 Damn, this is what the Disney world build up was there for, guys. Foreshadowing of power of love, my beloved. Also very sweet/funny how Riku had no way of knowing about Sora rushing to save him, so he's just in the thick of battle, desperate, and mumbling "Sora..." under his breath to keep himself going. Godspeed, champ. 🫡 Then he wonders if he somehow summoned him as Sora proceeds to jump right in for a certified mind blown moment.

Riku's slow-mo POV of Sora splashing in was hilarious. Boy looked like this ->😳

How is Reality Shift Keyblade existing outside of the Sleeping Worlds? Question mark?? So sick that they brought it back but uhm? So many questions with these World of Darkness cutscenes... But wow, goddamn.

The little smile Sora turns around to give Riku after parrying off Aqua's attack. My goodness... so sweet. Not to mention the musical side of the scene, with how Sora's theme melded beautifully into Dearly Beloved when he and Riku used their Keyblade. Man... this game really feels a bit like Sora's answer to Riku's journey in DDD. They've got each other's backs, man!

Sora reaching in to grab Aqua... and the group hug afterwards... Aqua's got to be so on edge, now, after all this. If only Keyblade wielders could get complementary therapy.

Also big-sis Aqua cradling Ventus' sleeping face. 🥹

Also, also Aqua unlocking Castle Oblivion looked so cool.

Vanitas crashing the party was hilarious, considering how hard the boy must have been hustling to get there. "I have been falling through doors for THIRTY MINUTES!"

Ventus flashing between seeing Vanitas in Sora's face was interesting. Definitely a readjustment and a half. Really excited to see dynamic between Ventus and the Destiny trio. Y'know, how he perceives them due to living life through Sora's eyes in a long dream of his own. Love how he saw the Dream Eaters and thought they were adorable...

Aqua got to have a "you got so big" moment with Sora and Kairi and I just find that adorable. I expect one with Terra to Riku once we get him un-possessed.

Btw, everything with Axel/Lea (we love a multiple name king) and Kairi has been driving me crazy this game. I love them. The redheads who get left behind, the stable anchor for their groups who go through the pain of abandonment and the guilt of helplessness. Obviously, they're different people and it'd be nice to hear more of each of their own perspectives, but KH is a series of parallels, and I think that most things haunting Axel/Lea haunt Kairi as well.

...In a similar vein, I was just as gutted by and perceive the wonderful sunset scene between Sora and Kairi to be Kairi's own "You just keep running, but I'll always be there to bring you back," equivalent moment. But since it's Kairi, and not Axel, she's melancholic in her subtle pleading to Sora. "I just want to be a part of your life no matter what. That's all." She verbally minimizes herself and her presence in Sora's life because of the growing distance between them, and that's heartbreaking, dude. Still, I'm happy that Sora agreed to have a Paopu Fruit with her to give her some level of affirmation, even if he looked a little confused/unsure at first. She needs that semblance of stability before the shit goes down so much right now, and I wonder if he realized that to some degree... Kairi, my poor child. I hope she realizes how important she is, later on.

Also, I'll just say it here, because this is just me spitballing but it's on topic. I get the feeling this scene might have been foreshadowed by the Hundred Acre Woods story (and why was that world so SHORT, AAA-). I had my suspicions back in KH2 due to the amnesia subplot, and now feel pretty confident that the Hundred Acre Woods are meant to connect to Sora's perception of "home/childhood" and therefore his perception of Kairi as well. While ecstatic to see Pooh and gang in KH1 and KH2, here he was placating and ready to leave in KH3 (which was hilarious contrast to myself, btw, because I was more like "LFG" 😂). I thought it was perhaps just strange writing at first, but then the game goes out and says it when Sora considers how he feels his connection to everyone is weaker, and he's not sure why. And this is after Pooh is all "Welcome home," (KH2 ending, anyone) and worries about "forgetting [Sora] away" (Sora's absence making Pooh lose his place in his life, also alluding to KH2, possibly). Of course Sora doesn't like that and panics, because similarly to how Kairi struggles with change of character and circumstance, Sora struggles with the idea of relationships changing or growing apart- he's very stubborn about it. So, I appreciate Merlin saying the thing about relationships merely changing form, and that it's not the end of the world. Anyway, all of this is making me very morose, because it makes me think of all of those people you grew up with that you don't talk to much anymore but still think of fondly and would love to hear from them again, as you remember them in your mind's eye.

*shakes them* SORA. KAIRI. TALK TO EACH OTHER. SORA, LET KAIRI BE AT PEACE, HER SAD-ASS SOCIAL MEDIA POST THING ON THE LOADING SCREEN IS BUMMING ME OUT. Anyway, this is why I'm happy that Kairi is making friends with Axel/Lea, so she can have other people in her life that won't necessarily go galavanting into the universe and leave her behind at a moment's notice (/hj, no Sora hate, for real, just look at my blog, he's my favorite 'lil guy along with Roxas).

Uh, so... now I'm putting off progressing the story by getting chests and finding lucky emblems, lol. Right now, all my dudes are happy and taking a little break before they confront the baddies, and I'm slightly nervous to see if the game also delivers on the foreshadowing of the Disney Worlds also having a lot of dying in them. 😬 Obviously whatever happens will get fixed with the power of love and whatnot, but I don't exactly want the gang to go through more suffering than they've got to, lmao. And GIVE ME ROXAS AND XION ALREADY.