#he's been whining about knowing my deadname all week

[magicmagica]

Why is it that people think they're entitled to know your dead name?? It's dead for a reason bitch lay the fuck off

[tuttle-did-it]

For 24 hours, I could not hit post, I couldn't respond to any posts, I couldn't reblog any posts, I couldn't message anyone, and I couldn't create any new posts. So I think something was definitely up-- mobile and browser, tried multiple browsers. I could read other people's posts, I could see when people RB my posts, but that's it. No idea why-- I didn't post anything controversial or problematic. All I can think is they didn't like how often I was reblogging Threshold day stuff? I don't know. I just know I couldn't do anything here. Bug or shadow-ban, all I know is for 24 hours, tumblr did not like me.

Apologising in advance for this rant:

The reset button is really bad in Trek in general-- DS9 pushed that as far as they could-- they go to the mirror universe and discover that Kirk completely destroyed it. Great! consequences. But even DS9-- O'Brien has an implant of being in prison for decades and killing his best friend in there, and then he's fine next week for new tortures. That man should have been riddled with PTSD-- crippling PTSD. They did the best they could with the restraints they had, but there was always a reset button. Fridge Jadzia. Rest-- here's Dax but she's neurotic and sad and a mess. And even tho we explicitely and repeatedly stated that Trill are not allowed to continue their lives when they are joined with another Trill, we're throwing that out the window and putting Ezri there because reset button, it's like having Jadzia back, but without any of the expertise, confidence, and joy she brought! yay!

Year of Hell should have been an entire SEASON as Ron Moore wanted it to be-- and they should have never reset to zero after that. They took a great storyline, great character development, and trashed it. They should have had a hobbled little ship held together by ducktape and spit by the time they made it home.

The reason we are whining about new Trek is not because there are finally consequences, but because the shows are just... they're just bad. (we meaning people who are not cis het white middle aged men who wank off to the nostalgia in Trek).

ST:PIC seasons 1-2 were a C- for me (and again-- NO consequence for what the fuck they did to the Borg in S2 but whatever). And then ST:P s3 was just the worst thing I've seen in so many years. Like... the WORST. Great, consequences. Cool. But also, worst writing I've seen in years. Worst acting I've seen in years. A kick-arse Black woman is repeatedly told to control herself by a man. She's not allowed to see her lover because ST:P s3 jumped back into 1980s politics and god forbid if we actually see a queer couple. And, as you say, 10 episodes of a reset button.

And no, Seven is too busy getting fucking deadnamed every time someone talks to her. And when she's not putting up with that, she's wallpaper sitting in the dark so a mary-sue 40-year old looking 20 year old nepo baby can wax purple prose about how hard his fucking life is. And we will spend 3 years telling you that Starfleet is corrupt, that the Federation is corrupt, and then everyone just rejoins up at the end--erasing what was the most interesting development within new Trek I've seen.

STP S3 was so, so unbearably unwatchable, it made me retroactively not only hate all of STP, but every episode of TNG and all the characters. I do not fucking care about any of them. I don't want to see Star Trek TNG ever again. Frankly, I don't even want to rewatch anything with the actors in it.

The TNG crew hijacked the entire last season. Everyone was angry when TNG hijacked Enterprise's finale to make it about them. Even Frakes said he regrets this. So what do they do? The one thing Patrick Stewart promised would never happen-- take over the entire Picard show and make it about the Legacy TNG cast. They turn all the women into wallpaper, make both Crusher and Troi's storylines about their children and nothing to do with anything else. LaForge's daughter? her storyline is about daddy issues and having a hard on for the 40 year old 20 year old nepo baby. Raffi? Her storyline is a man telling her she needs to behave herself. Seven's storyline is just being deadnamed and not getting to do a single thing that makes her worth being there. And fridge Ro. It's bullshit. They could digitally remove most of the women from the entire last season and the stories would *barely* change. Oh-- and that's only assuming you can make out a single thing in the entire series because everything is so fucking dark you cannot even recognise which characters are even there, let alone who is talking to whom. Gates has said she couldn't even SEE Patrick when they were filming because the lights were so low.

We're not complaining about consequences finally happening on Star Trek. We're complaining that the writing, directing, producing, lighting, and acting are all just BAD. We're complaining that they fucked up a perfectly great lesbian relationship for no reason. We're complaining that the Black woman was repeatedly told to control herself the whole series, but it became an entire plot point for s3. We're complaining that Deanna's story is just sitting in a cave crying. We're complaining that they fucking fridged Ro Laren for no fucking reason-- and made HER apologise when it should have been Picard.

The stories are AWFUL. How many Soongs do we need? I get it, you love Brent Spiner. But fucking hell, how many times are you going to bring Data-- in any form-- back? Just stop. Stop. Stop. Talk about consequences-- fucking kill Data and stop bringing him back every chance you can with dozens of different characters.

And don't even get me started on how DISCO botched Section 31 shit. Or how fucking uneven SNW is. Or how Lower Decks is nothing but constant references to previous things that have happened on Trek. There are no stories. It's just 'reference, reference, joke about a reference, pause for laugh, reference, joke, joke, lampshade wink to the audience, reference, reference.'

I welcome, with open arms, Star Trek that finally has consequences. That's not my problem. My problem is that the shows are all AWFUL.

I trusted the DS9 writers to ask a question like 'can you have a utopia without having a fascist shadow-government holding it up?' and you know what.. fair question. Cos humans are humans and, as Sisko says, it's easy to be a saint in paradise. But when you take away all their food replicators and easy living, are humans still going to human? turns out yes.

I trusted those DS9 writers to investigate that. But I do not trust current Trek writers to investigate that. They can't even seem to comprehend that Section 31 was actually a *bad* thing. I don't trust current Trek show-runners to run the shows, because they are just frankly awful. It's this terrible mix of 'oh yay 80s/90s nostalgia, oh legacy trek we love you' and 'hey you know what would be great? let's fridge Ro. Let's make Troi's entire storyline just sitting in a cave crying. Let's have some TNG references that will make the cis het white middle class men cheer and feel like they are part of the story. yay. And hey-- yay nostalgia-- you know how everyone was constantly telling a woman of colour, Torres, to control herself? Let's make that an entire fucking PLOT with a man ~teaching~ Raffi how to "control" herself.

Prodigy is the ONE show that I think has made a new Trek work, has shown consequences, has shown CRITICAL engagement with nostalgia to say hey, guess what? everything is fucked up. And of course, in the end of the final season, they fucking blow that with unnecessary tie-ins to ST:P.

TL;DR: post Legacy Star Trek shows are attempting to show consequences, which is great, but they are almost all unwatchable because they are so fucking obsessed with giving the nostalgia nerds something to wank off about. They do not care about quality, nor do they care about consequences. They care about nostalgia wankery and I am done with it all.

Prodigy is the only one that has even attempted to be critical about nostalgia, to make their own world-- one which has a LOT of consequence, and to show constant evolution and new character development for every one of the characters. And it was cancelled. Again.

Until there are writers I can trust who can create engaging storylines, great character arcs and stories that make sense-- and they hire gaffers so I can fucking SEE THE SETS AND CHARACTERS-- Trek and I are on a break. Like, I don't want to see any Trek, I don't want to even go out on casual dates with Trek because I just hate everything they are doing right now.

Because Star Trek is making me hate Star Trek.

What were the new organs Tom Paris got in Threshold? Wrong answers only

[yikesharringrove]

Umm, I accidentally deleted the request for this while moving it to my inbox, so here it is. (Also this is like, four months old).

I’m gonna rec this fic which is super well written and adorable

Steve is ftm. (Personally, I’m not a big fan of mpreg unless it’s like, biologically plausible 🤷‍♀️)

Under the cut bc it’s long and there’s a little bit of smut.

-

Billy’s hands were shaking as he raced out of the house.

He had a bag slung over one shoulder, had already put two others in the Camaro.

His dad had gone in hard today. Three days after Billy graduated high school and he’s already calling him a deadbeat, a fuck up. Telling him to get a job like he hasn’t worked every summer and most weekends since he was fourteen.

He lit a cigarette as he slid into the driver’s seat.

He was gonna make one stop on the way outta town.

-

Steve had given Billy a spare key months ago, after he was tired of always having to go downstairs and answer the door.

He liked it when Billy just made his way up, started kissing whatever skin was already exposed and asking Steve if he’s wet.

Tonight, Steve thought, was no different.

Billy was kissing up his calf, mouthing along his knee, a few fingers creeping up the leg of his shorts.

Billy was the best sex he’s ever had. Not a lot of gay guys will go down on Steve, some won’t even fuck him. He had been real hesitant to tell Billy, start having regular sex with his best friend, because he didn’t think Billy would want anything to do with him when he knew what he was bringing to the table.

But Billy had told him not to be an idiot, ate him out, and pounded him into the mattress.

And Steve was in love.

So he let Billy fuck him whenever he pleased, because at least Billy was giving him the time of day, at least he was getting some.

He opened his eyes, smiling lazily down at Billy.

“‘Time is it?”

“Almost two.” Billy was curling two fingers into his waistband, slowly pulling down his shorts, like maybe Steve wouldn’t notice.

Steve lifted his hips, and Billy whipped off his shorts, diving right in for his pussy.

He ate him out with the same fervor he did everything. Making all these gross slurping sounds, sucking on Steve’s cock and shoving his tongue inside him.

He made Steve cum twice on his face, as was the norm, before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and getting right to business.

He fucked Steve like he was mad at him.

He often did. And Steve knew he wasn’t mad at him, moreso mad at the other him, the him that’s ruined Billy’s life since before he was even born.

Steve wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought. Knew that when Billy snuck into his bedroom at odd hours of the night and absolutely ravished him, something bad had happened with his dad.

So when Billy finally rolled off of him, and lit a cigarette, Steve knew better than to ask.

“I’m leaving.” Steve just hummed at him. Billy sometimes stuck around after sex.

But Billy didn’t move.

“Like, leaving Hawkins.” Steve just hummed again. Billy talked a lot about leaving Hawkins. Steve had always secretly dreamed of running away with him. 

Billy just studied his face in the dark, stubbing out his cigarette and rolling over to hols Steve close to his chest.

Steve closed his eyes, let himself pretend.

Pretend that Billy loved him back.

-

He woke up to rustling, Billy getting dressed to leave as weak sunlight began to trickle through his curtains.

“Oh shit, didn’t mean to wake you.”

He smiled lazily at Billy.

“You comin’ back over tonight?” Billy looked stiff.

“Probably not. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah. Later.” Billy was sitting on the end of his bed, had just finished tying on his boots.

And then he moved, quick as a flash to kiss Steve softly before he was thundering down the stairs.

Steve was just falling asleep as the Camaro roared away.

-

Billy had skipped town that night.

And Steve never forgave himself.

-

Steve was leaning over the counter, his head pressed into the cool top of it.

“I threw up all last week, and I just feel like shit.” He had been whining to Robin practically all morning at Family Video.

“Do you think you have the flu?”

“I don’t know, Rob. I mean, my stomach hurts a lot, but like, it feels like I’m just having awful cramps.”

“Are you on your period?”

“Nah. Don’t get it very often with the hormones anymore.”

“Normally I’d suggest pregnancy, but I know you’re in a bit of a dry spell.” He rolled slightly to look darkly at her. “Still no word of Billy?”

“No. The one person in Hawkins that isn’t too transphobic to fuck me, and he skips town.” Steve sighed. “I should’ve known, too. He was being super weird that night.”

“Whatever. When you and I skip town, we’ll have the time of our damn lives, and get you laid.” He laughed softly.

“I’m just gonna go to the doctor this weekend. Get a full physical.”

“Let me know the verdict at and I can come over with some medicine, if you need.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

-

Steve was lying back on the stiff exam table.

He had already given blood and urine samples, and was just waiting for the doctor to tell him what the fuck was wrong with him.

Sometimes his hormones had to be adjusted, and caused all sorts of weird shit to go haywire in his body.

Dr. Mauch was a kind woman, always been pleasant and accepting of Steve, even referred him to an endocrinologist for his hormones.

She didn’t smile when she came in, though. Just sat down at her stool.

“I’m going to go out a limb here and say that this is not news you’ll be happy about hearing.”

Steve felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“You’re pregnant.”

He blinked.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. But you most definitely are.”

“But, but I’m on blockers, and testosterone, and I haven’t had sex in months.”

“I’d say about six months.” His mouth was dry. Billy had left in late May. About six months ago. “And being on hormones is not an effective method of birth control. Some men still get pregnant after taking them.”

“I’m not, I don’t look pregnant.”

“Some people don’t really show their pregnancy. My sister was rail thin the entire time, had a perfectly healthy baby girl. It’s all about your body type.”

“So, so you’re telling me, that I’m six months fucking pregnant.”

“Yes.” He slumped back onto the exam table.

“What are, what are my options?”

“Well, unfortunately, not many. Abortions are only legal in Indiana up to 20 weeks, or five months, or unless the person pregnant is facing severely compromised physical health. There’s always adoption.”

“No one’s gonna want a baby from a trans guy.” She pursed her lips.

“I think that’s a harsh statement. Many people are desperate for babies.” Steve just stared at her.

“So, if I have to take it to term, should I like, go off my hormones.” His stomach gave a lurch at the idea.

“I would recommend it. There’s very little research one pregnancy in transgender individuals. We really don’t know how hormones can affect the baby.” Steve sighed. “I would say, get in with an OB/GYN. I can recommend a few I know and send them your medical history. Your name change and hormone therapy is part of all of it, so hopefully they will be kind.” Steve sighed.

“Thank you, Doc. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry for the disappointing news.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” She gave him a copy of their appointment notes, a list of OB/GYNs for him to research, and a hug before she left.

He drove home slowly, feeling exhausted, like the weight of the fucking world was on his shoulders.

He got home to find Robin sitting on his front porch, her nose buried in a book, a pizza box sitting next to her.

She looked up at him, and he burst into tears.

-

“Look, Max, if he contacts you in any way, tell him to call Steve, okay? It’s important.” Robin was yammering to Max on the phone, trying to get a way to contact Billy.

Steve was laying on the couch, had his shirt rucked up over his stomach, pushing it out and sucking it in, trying to see any change in his body.

“Just give him Steve’s phone number and tell him he’s an asshole.” She hung up the phone, perching on the armrest at Steve’s feet.

“She know where he is?”

“No. She said he ran off and hasn’t contacted her at all. She didn’t even know he was leaving.” She slid onto the couch, let Steve put his feet on her lap. “You think he’d come back? If he knew?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really asking him to. I mean, I don’t think I’m in a place to take care of it, but I kinda just want him to know it exists. Like, I think he deserves that.”

“I get it.” Her voice was soft. She watched Steve stare at his tummy some more. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is just, dysphoria out the wazoo.” Steve huffed a laugh.

“I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. I think ‘cause I’m not showing. I don’t look pregnant, so how can I be pregnant, you know?” He sighed tugging down his shirt. “Going to the doctor’s gonna be a damn nightmare, though. They’re too used to dealing with women. It’s gonna suck.”

-

Steve was right.

Even though his primary care doctor had sent his medical history, he still got deadnamed and misgendered at reception, and intake, and by the nurse, and the doctor when she finally arrived.

They gave him a pelvic exam, getting him in for a sonogram as well.

And as the doctor was moving the imagining wand around on his tummy, and he heard the heartbeat for the first time, something caved inside of him.

A baby. He was having a baby.

And part of him, a really fucking big part of him, was starting to love it.

-

His parents were home for four days.

And Steve had waited for the final day of their homesteading to tell them.

He’s glad he did.

Diner was as quiet as always, and Steve had nearly choked on the words.

“I’m pregnant.”

His father had gotten out his wallet, asked how much an abortion costs.

“I’m too far along for that. Nowhere will legally do it.”

His mother had just stared at him. His father asked how far along he was.

“Close to seven months. I didn’t even know until like, a week and a half ago.”

And his father had stood up, and the yelling began.

“I can’t believe you. You kick up this huge fuss, make us change your name, and the way we refer to you, go around telling everyone your a boy, and you get pregnant like the little slut you are.”

And he had told Steve to back his shit, told him he was not welcome in my house anymore.

And Steve didn’t have a lot of shit he cared about, the clothes he liked fit in one duffel bag.

His mother didn’t look at him as he left.

-

He had called Mrs. Henderson from a payphone.

Nobody else could give him a ride anymore, and he wasn’t expecting her to drop everything and drive him somewhere, but she had freaked out at the words kicked out and for getting pregnant, and told him to stay where he is.

She was there with a tight hug and a travel mug of honey lemon tea within twenty minutes.

Steve had asked for a ride to a youth shelter he had read about, but she shook her head, said you’re coming to live with me and Dusty and Steve had cried in her passenger seat, and again in her guest bedroom.

-

Steve groaned.

He had finally begun showing, just a little bit out a mound near his belly button.

But he felt like shit, had taken to spending most days in bed.

He bat away whoever was shaking him.

“Go away.”

“Steve, it’s Max.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I found Billy, you asshole. I have his address.” Steve sat bolt up straight.

“You, where is he?”

“Boston. He went east, for some reason. But he sent me a letter, out of the blue, and I told him you had something important to say, but he said he doesn’t have a phone.” She handed him a slip of paper.

“Thanks, Max.” He gave her a weak smile, found her chewing her lip.

“Is he the father? The other father, I mean.” He had told the party about the pregnancy, figured rumors would begin spreading soon enough.

“Yeah. He’s the other father.”

“He wouldn’t have ditched you. If he’d known.”

“I know.”

“He’s not like that.”

“I know.” She stared him down. He kept his face open, honest.

“Are you gonna write to him?”

“Yeah. I just, I don’t really know what to say.”

“Just keep it simple. Tell him he’s got a kid. Let him choose what he wants.”

-

It took Steve almost a month to draft a letter.

He didn’t really know what to say.

He settled on the bare minimum.

I’m pregnant. And it is most definitely, without a doubt, yours. I’m not expecting anything from you. I don’t want money, or for you to move back to Hawkins. I just thought you deserve to know about your kid.

He read the letter about three times, one hand pressed delicately to his little bump.

I’ve decided to keep the baby. I’m going to raise them. You’re welcome to meet them, and be in their life if you choose, but if not, I’m not going to hold it against you.

He sealed the envelope, leaving it on his nightstand.

And then his contractions started.

He didn’t get around to sending it.

-

Claudia was the only person in the room with him when he gave birth.

She held his hand the whole time, coached him through his breathing.

And when his son was born, she pet his head, told Steve how beautiful he is.

-

Steve was slumped face down on the bed.

He had just gotten Oliver down, calmed him down enough for him to finally sleep.

He rolled over, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He had barely slept all week. But Oliver had smiled at him for the first time yesterday.

He turned to lay on his side, zeroing in on the envelope on his nightstand.

He sat up quickly.

Fuck. He needed to send that letter.

He didn’t bother thinking about it, just wrapped his sweater tighter around himself, and hurried to the mailbox. He put the little flag up, leaving the letter in the little inner clasp.

He looked back down at Oliver, running one finger over his fuzzy little head.

-

He didn’t hear from Billy for three weeks.

He knew the letter wouldn’t take more than a few days to get to him, and it would take just as long for Billy to get him back.

He had pushed Billy out of his mind, figured if he wanted to be part of Oliver’s life, he had given him enough of a chance to be.

He put on a thick sweatshirt, had taken to wearing baggy tops to hide his tits, too sore, too big to bind anymore. Oliver squealed at him when he leaned against the side of his crib, reaching out for him.

He strapped him into his stroller to take him on a walk, stopped dead in the doorway.

Billy fucking Hargrove was in the driveway, standing next to the Camaro like he had just gotten out of it.

His eyes were wide, trailing from Steve, to Oliver, and back again.

“Is that my kid?” Billy’s hair was shorter than when he had left.

“Oliver. His name is Oliver.” Billy stepped around the car.

“Can I, can I see him?” Steve brought the stroller down the driveway, taking Oliver out of the stroller.

Billy held him like he was made of gold.

“He’s beautiful.”

“I think he looks a lot like you.” Billy smiled at him.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here, I was waiting for my semester to end.”

“It’s okay. I just, you know. Thought you deserved to know about him.” Billy stared at Oliver, his smile going soft as Oliver squealed, tugging on Billy’s hair.

“I want to be in his life. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. He’s your son too.” Billy brushed his thumb down Oliver’s nose.

“Thank you, Steve. And I’m, I’m sorry about how I left. I was going to-” he cut himself off, looking back at Oliver. “I was gonna ask you to come with me. Chickened out last minute.”

Steve’s heart was banging against his rips.

“I would’ve gone with you. Used to dream about running away with you.” Oliver started getting fussy, making disgruntled little huffs. Billy passed him back to Steve. “I was in love with you. You know that?”

“Yeah, I knew that. Was to chicken shit to do anything about it.” Billy was still looking at Oliver, the way he nestled into Steve’s neck. “He loves you a lot.”

“It’s been the two of us for awhile.”

“You’re a good dad. Always kinda figured you would be, though.” Billy took another breath. “You know, you could’ve told me sooner. I would’ve come back.”

“I don’t want you to, to change you life. Don’t quit school, or something.”

“Steve, I got a kid. I want to change my life for him. For, for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No never did. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing my family.” Steve hesitated.

“Would you like to come in? Have some breakfast? You could give Oliver his bottle, If you wanted.” Billy’s eyes lit up.

“I’d like that.”

[love-pyramus]

Crow’s Backstory

Yeah I did it! So, Amanda is Crow’s deadname, hence why it’s referenced-

Tw: Crow gets kicked out, fights, mentions of cancer and character death from cancer, some sad shit, and hospitals

WC: 1487

Tagging: @joshkatz @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit @am-i-the-boy-you-dreamed-of

------------------------------------

The steady beeps from the heart monitor would’ve driven Crow insane if they weren’t steady like they were. The whines were like a metronome, and they used the tempo to play their moms favorite song. She was asleep in the hospital bed next to them, and Crows hands moved along the frets, each chord echoing in the large hospital room. 

The surgery wouldn’t get rid of their moms cancer, they knew that, and that her disease was terminal, so the thirteen year old wanted to spend every minute they could with their mom. But they needed to tell her. They wanted her to know the real them. Her child, and not her daughter.

Rebecca Alvarez slowly woke up to the sound of guitar chords playing, and she smiled a bit. The tune was familiar, and she quietly hummed along, smiling as she heard Crows quiet laugh. 

When the music stopped, Rebecca looked to her kid, smiling. “Mom...I have something to tell you.” 

Rebecca tilted her head, gesturing quietly for Crow to continue. They took a deep breath before speaking. 

“I’m not Amanda. I’m not a girl. I’m non-binary, and my name is Crow.” 

Rebecca smiled, and nodded, mustering the strength to speak. 

“You’re still my baby. This doesn’t change anything Crow. I still love you more than you know.” 

Tears began to roll down their face, dripping around the creases their smile made. 

Though one year later, tears fell for Rebecca Alvarez in a different way. Sobs in an otherwise quiet graveyard, a fourteen year old sitting in front of a gravestone, their dad standing to the side. The rain was pouring, soaking the teen as they sat, mixing with the tears on their face as they reached and traced their fingers over the engraving of a crow on the gravestone, and they look at the necklace in their hand. It was a crow, Rebecca's way of showing her support for her child in a hostile environment. 

Crow put it on with trembling hands, moving to sit in the car, ignoring the towel offered to them by their dad. The only relief they were given on that day was the face of Alex waiting on their steps, and they sobbed more into the shoulder of their friend. 

“I know Crow...I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” 

Two years later, Crow lost another parent. 

“Amanda-” “How many times do I have to tell you! That isn’t my name!” 

The shouts echoed through the house, and sixteen year old Crow ducked as a piece of china was thrown. Their eyes went wide as they stared at their dad, and he stormed forward, nearly pulling the necklace off Crows neck. They let out a yelp as the chain dug into their skin, and they mentally begged it not to break. Their dad switched his grip to their wrists, pinning them above them, forcing them against the wall. 

“So long as you live under my roof, young lady, you will obey my rules. And since you didn’t, you can leave. Now.” 

Crow didn’t hesitate, they wrenched their hands from their dads grip, and walked out the door, trying to ignore the trickling of blood from where the necklace had cut. 

The sun began to set, and Crow looked around, letting out a sigh. They had about 40 dollars in cash on them, but that wouldn’t get them much. The homeless shelters weren’t kind to youth, and they feared they’d be sent back to their dad. That wasn’t a home, and they had known it. It hadn’t been a home since their mom had died. 

So immediately, they turned towards the cemetery, walking the familiar path to the gravestone, and laying down beside it a the stars shone. 

“Hi mom...I miss you. Dad...I came out to him like I said I would, but he kicked me out..”

Warms tears fell from Crow’s face as they turned to lay on their side, and they let out a shaky sob, pulling at the weeds that had grown.

“I miss you mom...come back! Please, god, come back! I need you…”

Nearly a year had passed since they had been kicked out, and Crow had gotten used to life on the street. The fights they got in were never easy, but after a month they had learned how to win. Sure, there were bruises every so often, and nights where they couldn’t move after fights, and most days they went without eating, but they had convinced themself it was better than their fathers house. 

The alley they were in smelled of smoke, and each gunshot made them jump, but they were banking on the old men ignoring them. It had worked so far, and they’d managed to take about 70 dollars from the three wallets they’d managed to grab. They tossed the wallets away from their hiding place, letting the men come back and find them later. 

As the last round of men went into the range, Crow was counting the money they had stolen and yelped as they were pushed over. They shoved the money into their pocket, zipping it quickly before kicking. The man who had tackled them was older, though Crow couldn’t pinpoint his age. They yelped again as they were tackled, and kicked again, failing as the man grabbed them. 

The man grabbed their wrists in one hand, pinning them against the hard concrete, and Crows breath caught in their throat. The mans face distorted, looking like their dad. They only realized where they were when a piece of glass was forced into their cheek and dragged along, causing them to scream. The sound was masked by the round of gunshots from inside the range, and Crow weakly kicked. 

Their foot found its mark, and the man rolled off them. They shakily got up, bolting out of the alley, towards Alex’s house. They knew he’d probably be awake, so they ran into the yard, slumping against the door before knocking. When Alex opened the door, Crow backed up, even though Alex’s look showed only kindness and concern. 

“Please- let me in-”

Their breathing was laboured as Alex did so, and they walked in, turning to look at Alex before their legs went out and world turned black.

When they woke up, there was a pad on their face, and they recognized the beeping from the monitor next to them. 

They sat up, quickly looking around, noticing Alex next to them. 

“Crow! Oh thank god you’re awake-” Alex goes to hug them, but at the contact, Crow lashes out, and their eyes go wide. 

Alex backs up, noticing the fear. 

“Hey, it’s alright. We called your dad, he’s gonna be here soon-” “No! No, don’t let him come here! No!”

Their panic became even more visible, and Alex nodded, quickly texting June. 

When Crow was discharged, they went with Alex, back to the Claremont-Diaz household. They were on edge the entire time, only allowing Alex near them, and even then it was just to bring food and water. 

Two weeks passed, with Crow barely talking to anyone, spending most of the day sitting on the porch. Alex walked the few blocks to the Alvarez house, knocking on the door. 

“Hi...is Amanda here?” Alex hated the way the name sounded, and got even more pissed at their dads response.

“She’s out right now. What do you need?” 

“I was wondering if I could borrow her guitar?” 

Crows dad nodded, grabbing the instrument and passing it to Alex, who took it quickly and walked back to his house. He sat on the couch and tuned it quickly before walking back to Crow on the porch. 

“Hey Crow? I got something for you.” 

He offered them the guitar, watching them hesitate before taking it, and letting him drop the pick in their hand. 

They began practicing chords before switching to a song before beginning to sob.

Alex takes the guitar from their lap and puts it down, sitting next to them. He carefully put his arm around them, and they sobbed into his shoulder. 

“Dad kicked me out just over a year ago and I was on the streets- I slept with mom a lot, and- and-” they gasp, letting out a sob before trying to speak. “I-I had to do things to survive, I stole things, I-I couldn’t just- and I had to fight- there were other kids-” 

Crow’s rambling was near nonsensical, but Alex sat and listened through it all. 

“And-and the last fight, when I came here- he pinned me- he pinned me just like my dad did- and I couldn’t breathe- he took glass and cut my face-”

Crow’s sobs were loud, and Alex continued to softly hush them, his hand softly going to play with their hair. 

“This okay?” 

Crow nodded, and Alex continued to rock them until they fell asleep. 

“I’ve got you...I’ve got you.”

[excerptsfromunfinishednovels]

Excerpts From Unfinished Novels #11: Winter Blossoms

Genre: fantasy/supernatural, slice-of-life, romance

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2,717

Summary: University is a place where young adults come to learn and grow. For Posey, it’s also a chance for her to learn to truly master her powers, as well as a chance to meet other children of deities.

Excerpt is from the first third of the novel

Posey stepped into the bar, steeling herself against the nerves that were threatening to overwhelm her. This was so much more nerve-wracking than when she’d started her lessons with Professor Morris; zie was better than her, a master of zir powers, so she had been fine with zir judging and criticising her abilities because that’s what it was going to take for her to get better. The members of the society though, they were her peers, also learning and growing into their powers. What if she lost control in front of them? What if she filled the bar with trees? What if they laughed at her?

Someone jostled her shoulder and Posey came to with a start, realising that she was stood frozen in the middle of the bar. She took a few steps forward and suddenly hesitated, biting her lip as she weighed up the pros and cons of joining the society verses just turning away and heading home. In the end it was her curiosity about the other members that propelled her forwards and she trudged to the room at the back of the bar, her heartbeat speeding up with every step. She hesitated once more once as she reached the door, standing there for a moment, her hand on the door knob.

Last chance to turn back.

Posey took a deep breath, turned the knob, and opened the door.

She was greeted by the sight of a small, cosy room filled with an assortment of couches and worn, comfortable-looking armchairs, all surrounding a large coffee table. A pool table stood off to one side, and a fire blazed merrily in its place opposite the door. As Posey opened the door the occupants of the room all turned to look at her. There were seven in total; a man and woman, both with dark olive skin were standing by the pool table, cues in hand, and the other five were sitting on the couches and chairs, drinks in hand. Posey swallowed hard and took a step into the room, plastering what she hoped was a friendly smile on her face as she sent them all a small wave.

“I told you there’d be one more coming,” the woman at the pool table said to the rest of the room, and then walked towards Posey, hand extended. “Hi, I’m Megan. My dad’s a shapeshifting god who rules his own fifth dimension world.”

Posey gaped at her frank introduction before she quickly took hold of the other woman’s hand, shaking it as she stammered out, “H-hi, I’m Posey. Uh, my mother’s a nature goddess? Wait, that’s not a question; she is a nature goddess.”

“Wow that’s so cool,” the man at the pool table said wistfully. “Your powers must be amazing.”

“Not really,” Posey grimaced. “Trees tend to make unexpected appearances whenever I’m anxious…or whenever I sneeze,” she muttered, embarrassed.

“Ha, that’s nothing!” one of the people from the people from the couch scoffed. “At least you don’t set trees on fire when you get angry.”

“Fire?” Posey asked, frowning, turning to look at the person.

They had pale skin and long black hair, and they regarded Posey coolly with narrowed blue eyes as they spoke. “Yeah, fire. I’m Addison; my mother’s a goddess of fire and lightening. They/them pronouns please. And I’m queer,” they added as an afterthought.

“Nice to meet you,” Posey replied with a smile. “I’m gay by the way, and female.”

“Me too,” Megan said, then added quickly, “the female part, not the gay. I’m demisexual and homoromantic.”

“I’m Craig,” the man said, laying his cue on the pool table. “Male and pansexual. My dad’s a god of war, and I’m a pacifist.”

“Wow, I bet he loves that.”

“At least your dad sort of accepts who you are – to an extent,” Megan said to Craig who shot her a look. “My dad still deadnames me and sends beasts for me to slay in an attempt to get me to perform a ‘slaughter of glory’ so I can join him in his knock-off Valhalla or whatever.”

Posey stared at them wide-eyed, feeling uncomfortable and unsure of what to say.

“Jesus lads, would you give the poor girl a chance to grab a drink and sit down before you dump your parental issues on her,” a man on the couch said with a laugh in a thick Irish accent.

He had dark brown skin, brown eyes, he’d grown his hair out into a beautiful afro, and he flashed her a gorgeously cheeky smile. If she wasn’t so unbelievably gay Posey knew she’d fall instantly in love with him.

“Come over here and sit down,” he said, waving her over. “What are you drinking?”

“Whatever’s on offer,” Posey replied with a grin as she took a seat on a chair across from him.

“Beer it is then.” He pulled a can out of a bag by his feet and handed it over to him. “I’m Jack by the way; I’m a black, Irish, transman, and I’m the token straight of the group. Also my mother is a goddess of the underworld.”

“Nice to meet you Jack.” Posey saluted him with her opened can and then took a swig, relishing the taste of cold beer as she swallowed.

“Are you sure you’re completely gay?”

“Definitely; the one and only time I tried to sleep with a guy I had an anxiety attack and nearly destroyed my bedroom,” Posey told him with a rueful grin.

“Wow,” a woman beside Jack said, eyes wide and slightly amused. “That must have been pretty intense. I’m Rachel by the way,” she said, sticking a hand out. “Female, bisexual, my father is a god of the ocean, and I’m terrified of water thanks to him.”

Posey’s eyes flickered over Rachel’s light brown face, taking in her dark blue eyes, multitude of freckles, curly brown hair and full lips that were twisted into a wry smile, and felt her heart flutter in response. She was gorgeous.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Wow, you guys are all really honest,” Posey said, frowning at the people around them.

Jack laughed and said, “We all know everything about each other, and this group is basically an excuse to get pissed and bitch about our parents so it’s easiest if we get newcomers up to speed fast. If you’d turned up on time you would have gotten the full and probably more sensible introduction with Oliver here.” He gestured to the person sitting on the chair next to Posey.

Oliver turned to her, tilted a glass of red wine in her direction, smiled and said, “Hi; Oliver, genderfluid, born in Japan though I grew up here in Ireland, and I’m asexual. Today’s a he/him day by the way.”

He grinned, his dark brown eyes sparkling mirthfully, and Posey grinned in reply.

“What about your parent?” Posey asked. “What’s your issue with them?”

“My dad’s fine.” Oliver shrugged. “The problem is that he’s one of these enlightened gods, you know, all about being an ethereal being of light, and it’s not like I don’t want to be one, but I’m like, God I’m so attached to my material possessions.”

“He’s a shopaholic,” the last member of the group, a woman, who was sitting on the couch beside Jack, explained. “Can’t achieve enlightenment when you can’t stop buying boots.”

“They’re just so pretty!” Oliver whined, throwing his feet up to show off the multi-textured purple boots on his feet.

“Oh my god are those Irregular Choice?” Posey all but screeched as she reached out to stroke them reverently.

“Yes! Finally someone with good taste in shoes!” Oliver cried out happily, wiggling his feet excitedly.

“Please don’t get him started,” the woman groaned. “We’ve already had to listen to a twenty-minute ode to those boots.”

“Sorry.” Oliver grinned and put his feet down, while he and Posey shared a rueful look. “This is Harriet by the way,” he added, gesturing to the woman, who saluted Posey with her own glass of red wine. She was nearly as pale as Addison, with bright green eyes and fiery red hair styled in a sleek pixie cut.

“Hi,” Harriet said. “My father’s a god of love and I’m aromantic and bisexual. Needless to say he and I don’t meet all that often.”

“Why does he have such a problem with it?” Posey asked with a frown. “It’s not your fault you are who you are.”

Harriet laughed and said, “It’s not like that. We talk a lot on the phone and through email. He just can’t be around me; he’s specifically a god of romantic love and being around aromantics messes with his aura or something like that. I don’t really understand it, only that whenever we’ve met he’s always ended up getting the biggest migraine. He’s sweet though, always visits me on my birthday even though he knows what will happen.”

Posey smiled and nodded, then took a sip of her beer. Megan and Craig had drifted over to the couches and were curled up on a love seat together.

“So Posey, how are you enjoying university life so far?” Rachel asked, her gaze focused solely on Posey.

Posey swallowed thickly as the other woman’s eyes met hers and she felt her face heating up as she replied, “It’s good. I’m studying physics and maths which are great, and I’ve started my lessons with Professor Morris which are really interesting.”

“Oh you’ve got Morris?” Craig asked with a strange grin. “How are you finding zir?”

“Zie’s amazing; so patient and good at explaining everything,” Posey gushed. “I’ve made so much progress with zir. I haven’t had a tree sprout up around me in weeks.”

Craig snorted derisively and Posey frowned and was about to ask him what was going on when Addison said, “Don’t be surprised if you hit a block and end up losing control in a few months.”

“Wow Addison, way to be a buzzkill,” Jack said, rolling his eyes.

“What? It happened to all of us; I’m making sure she’s prepared for when it happens to her,” Addison protested.

“Maybe it won’t happen to me?”

“Trust me; it will happen,” Addison told her flatly.

“Addison’s being dramatic,” Megan said. “Yes we all hit a block after a few months, but none of us ‘lost control.’”

“You smashed a hole in a wall – a brick wall,” Addison pointed out. “And you,” they said, pointing at Jack, “summoned a guard dog from your mother’s underworld and couldn’t get rid of it for nearly a month. We couldn’t see it, but we could smell it,” they told Posey, their nose wrinkling in disgust. “It stank; we had to ban him from the meetings until he got rid of it.”

“Okay okay, we all hit a block after a few months,” Rachel said. “Some of it wasn’t that bad. I made it rain wherever I went, which is totally normal for Ireland so there was no issue, and Craig had to intervene in some minor scuffles that broke out around him. It’s not always that bad.”

Posey took a shaky breath and attempted to smile. “So maybe I’ll just have saplings rather than fully-grown oaks springing up around me,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly.

“How about we stop talking about powers and losing control and focus instead on showing Posey and Jack that this is actually a fun society to join so they’ll come back next week?” Harriet said loudly and firmly.

“Here here,” Oliver said in agreement, raising his glass.

Posey flashed Harriet a grateful smile while the rest of the group mumbled and made noises of agreement.

The conversation turned to other, more mundane topics; complaining about lectures and assignments, gossip about other students, and the latest films and music released. The drinks and conversation flowed freely, and Posey found herself growing loose-limbed and relaxed, happy to have found such a group of people who could relate to what she was going through. As the night progressed the group broke into smaller pairs and groups of threes, and Posey found herself sandwiched between Oliver and Rachel on a loveseat; Rachel practically on her lap, an arm around her shoulder so they could all fit on the seat. Posey felt a hot rush of arousal run through her belly every time Rachel leaned down to speak into her ear; it intensified when her hand started idly playing with her dreadlocks.

“Is this okay?” Rachel murmured in her ear as she gently tugged on one of her dreadlocks. “I’m sorry, I should have asked before I started playing with your hair.”

“No it’s fine,” Posey replied breathily, and then somehow managed to gather her wits as she smirked and added, “As long as it’s not coming from an ‘I’ve never touched a black person’s hair before, and this might be my only chance’ place.”

Rachel laughed and leaned in so her lips were right by Posey’s ear and her chest was pressed firmly against Posey’s arm. “Definitely not. This is coming from a ‘you’re beautiful and I’m attempting to flirt with you in the hopes that I can take you home tonight’ place.”

Posey sucked in a surprised breath, nearly chocking, and she felt a flush start in her face and travel down her neck and chest.

Rachel laughed softly, not moving away. “I hope that’s okay. You didn’t say you were in a relationship so I’d hopefully assumed…”

“You assumed correctly,” Posey said softly, turning her head so she and Rachel were staring into each other’s eyes. “I’ve never had anyone be so straightforward like this before.”

“I don’t see the point in beating around the bush,” Rachel said with a slight shrug.

She took a sip of her wine and Posey stared, fascinated, at how her throat moved when she swallowed. Rachel licked her lips and Posey chocked back a whimper at the sight.

“Would you like to come home with me?” Rachel asked softly, her eyes boring into Posey’s.

“Yes please,” Posey whispered.

Rachel put her glass on the table, then turned back to her. She slowly leaned in and kissed her softly on the corner of her mouth, Posey actually whimpering at the soft press of lips against her own. Before she could turn her head and kiss the other woman properly, Rachel had pulled away and stood up. Posey looked up at her in confusion, and her eyes widened in understanding as Rachel held a hand out to her. Posey took her hand with a shy grin and stood up. She placed her can on the table, and then grabbed her coat as Rachel pulled her own on.

“Goodnight guys,” Rachel called out as she and Posey left the room hand in hand.

There were several cat-calls and whistles, and while Posey felt embarrassment swirling in her belly, it was completely overridden by lust and the excitement of the promise of what was to come. The two women walked through the pub and as soon as they had exited the building Rachel pulled Posey to her, sliding a hand around the back of her neck as she kissed her fiercely. Posey moaned softly and wrapped her arms around Rachel’s waist, pulling the other woman tight against her as they fell into a passionate embrace, her head swimming from desire.

Eventually Rachel pulled back and leaned her forehead against Posey’s, her breaths coming in shaky pants.

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since you walked into the room,” she said huskily and Posey whimpered and pulled her in for another kiss, revelling in the feeling of their lips sliding together.

“Please tell me you live near here,” Posey murmured in between kisses.

“I’m just a five minute walk away.”

“Brilliant,” Posey breathed and then kissed her again, nipping at her lower lip before sliding her tongue into the other woman’s mouth.

Rachel eventually pulled away with a laugh and said, “As much as I’m enjoying this, I have much less public-friendly things in mind that I want to do to you.”

Posey let out a moan of desire, her head filling with all sorts of ideas of what they could do together. Rachel stepped back, took Posey’s hand and pulled, and Posey eagerly followed.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading excerpt #11 from the Unfinished Novels; if you have please like and reblog, and if you have any comments or questions I would love to hear from you!

Slán!

C.x