#how to stop genetic hair loss

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 14

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, drinking, sadness, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, swearing, references to the loss of a parent or parents, reference to past bedroom activities

Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

The ride home was spent in silence. The girls had quickly packed their things and mounted their horses after Savannah had shrieked at their father that she wanted to go home, right that second. Jake had nodded at them that they were going home, and they were all fully packed within a half an hour.

Savannah hadn’t made a peep since, only hissing at their father that his ‘chances’ with her father were now impossible before plopping herself onto a boulder and ignoring them all. Jake had only huffed a sigh and packed both of their bags up before tacking up the horses.

They had taken the short trail back to the ranch and took no stops, so they ended up back at the ranch just before dinner time, their mother peeking her head out of the curtains and frowning at them.

Savannah clumsily dismounted, Angel stomping her foot in discomfort until the petite blond had her designer cowgirl boots on solid ground. With a huff, Savannah whipped her hair as she turned towards their father and hurled her engagement ring at his chest.

“You could’ve been so much more than this,” she hissed at him, jerking her chin at his girls. “We could’ve sent them to a boarding school or to live with their mother, and you could’ve joined the Navy again like you wanted to! Instead, you’ll never be anything but some…some…farmer!”

Jake shook his head slowly at her, his eyes locked on her with a look that Charlie was very happy she had never seen directed at her.

“I would never have let you send my girls to boarding school. Being their father is the best thing I have ever done. And if you can’t see that, then it’s your fault,” Jake’s voice was calm and cool, but Rooster recognized it as he and Buttercup emerged from the house, trying and failing to look nonchalant as they rushed towards the tense looking confrontation. It was Jake’s mission voice. His Hangman voice. The same voice he had used when he had confronted Rooster about the Uranium Mission, about him not having what it takes to fly, about how he was only there because Maverick had flown with Rooster’s old man. Hangman was pure arrogance and jet fuel, with none of Jake’s tenderness and homespun, golden boy manners.

“Or is it your fault for not telling me there were two of those little demons?” Savannah sneered.

“Watch it,” Buttercup stepped forward. “Nobody gets to talk about my girls that way.”

Savannah rolled her eyes. “You can have him,” she scoffed as she turned her back on them all and strolled towards the big, black SUV that was thundering up the drive. “Nobody will want him now anyway.”

Rooster moved to stand next to Jake as Savannah clambered up into the SUV that her father was driving, offering the retired Air Force Colonel a sarcastic salute before crouching and retrieving the fallen diamond ring.

They watched in silence as the SUV roared away, a collective sigh of relief rippling through them all as it disappeared into the distance.

“I feel like I should burn this thing,” Rooster mused, staring down at the platinum band. “Y’know, douse it in holy water and set it on fire so it doesn’t attract any more hell spawn.”

Jake groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Shut up, man. Hey! Slow your roll, you two!”

Rooster peered over his shoulder at the twins, who were trying to make a sneaky exit into the house. Rooster chuckled as they glanced at each other and slowed their footsteps but didn’t stop.

“Freeze, ladies!” Buttercup barked, striding towards them. “You know what your father meant.”

With a sigh that heaved their shoulders, Abby and Charlie halted on the porch and turned towards their parents.

Jake crouched in front of them and scanned their faces with his pilot’s precision.

“Someone better start talking…” he murmured into the still air.

“Well, you see—”

“We didn’t actually do anything wrong—”

“It’s only that—”

“Nothing dangerous—”

Jake held up a hand and the air went still again.

“Chipmunks don’t just miraculously appear in a closed saddlebag,” he started, staring between them. “They have to be placed there. And I don’t know anyone better at handling rodents than my daughter Charlie, who has been helping remove chipmunks and squirrels from the hay loft since she was a toddler.” Charlie flushed, kicking at a stone beneath her boot. “And while I appreciate the concern you both had about Savannah having an allergic reaction, that doesn’t explain this.” He pulled the open packet of itching powder out of his jeans pocket. Abby gulped. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the hay around the tent spikes of Savannah’s tent either.” He looked between them. “All I want to know is why?”

He stared at them for a long moment, green clashing with green, until Abby groaned and crumbled. “I’m sorry, Dad, but Savannah was awful. She bragged about being a champion rider, but anyone with eyes could tell she had never been on a horse! And she was always hanging off you like she couldn’t do anything by herself. And…”

“And her vibe was way off, Dad,” Charlie added, stepping forward. “And I think you knew that. That’s why you didn’t introduce us until after you proposed.”

“I didn’t introduce you because you were off at camp,” Jake argued, biting back a groan as he stretched back to his full height. “And I’ll admit that I should’ve told her that you’re twins, but at the time, I thought you didn’t know about each other.”

“So, you kept Abby a secret from me, and I kept my feelings about Savannah a secret from you,” Charlie grinned slyly. “Sounds like we both did the wrong thing, old man.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Maybe…but I’m the adult here. Which means I’m the one who gets to dole out any punishment for unnecessary pranks pulled on the trail ride.”

Charlie gulped. “You’re not going to make Mom and Abby go home early are you?”

Jake’s eyes softened. “I would never do that, Charlie-girl. But you and your sister are going to be doing extra chores around here. You’re going to have to muck out all the stalls in the morning, feed the horses, and polish the tack.”

Abby and Charlie grinned at each other. “Is that it?”

“Restricted phone time,” Buttercup shot them a stern look. “You can have your phones for an hour in the morning and an hour at night. But that’s it. I have no doubt you used your phones to help coordinate these schemes of yours, so this is just a natural consequence.”

“Can Abby still sleep in my room?”

Jake met Buttercup’s eyes and nodded. “We’re okay with that.”

“And we can still go to Uncle Javy’s football game?”

Buttercup grinned at Jake and rolled her eyes fondly. “I suppose that’s alright.”

The girls cheered and hugged each other. “We’re okay with that!”

They grabbed their backpacks and ran into the house, chattering away, and Buttercup sighed before following along behind them.

“Not so fast.”

She blinked and turned to him. “What did I do?”

Jake folded his arms across his broad chest and cocked an eyebrow at her. “You know what you did.”

Buttercup’s hands met her hips as she shifted her weight to jut a hip out. “Do I?”

Jake rolled his eyes as a smile played on his lips. “What exactly did Savannah say to you to make you bail on the trail ride? I know you. Spending time with Abby, getting to know Charlie, the opportunity to see me potentially make an ass of myself? You were ready and willing to go on the ride until I went outside to get the horses ready. So, what did my ex-fiancée say to my ex-wife to scare her off the ride?”

Buttercup scoffed. “I wasn’t scared. I figured it was a good opportunity for the girls to get to know their stepmother.”

“And if their stepmother got the chance to get to know them, and didn’t like what she saw?” Jake’s grin was sharp with challenge.

“Then that would be her loss, just like you said.” Buttercup tossed her hair over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows at him. “I don’t know what you’re implying here, Hangman.”

Jake’s answering chuckle sent a small thrill through her. “I’m implying that I spent three months with Savannah, and the only way she would get near a horse would be if there was a risk of her losing face. And the only person who would be willing to put her in that situation is you. But you wouldn’t do that without reason, so c’mon, darlin’. Out with it.”

Buttercup sighed lightly. “She asked me to write her wedding vows for her. Her vows to you.” She could’ve giggled at the way Jake’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but the whole situation had left her with an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. “It was a power play, plain and simple. So, yeah. Maybe I got the feeling that the girls didn’t like her and would probably make her life hell on the ride, so I might have suggested to Savannah that she should go on the ride because it would make you happy and she would be able to bond with the girls.”

Jake chuckled in spite of himself. “You’re just as diabolical as they are, you know.”

Buttercup shrugged delicately. “They had to get it from somewhere. Too bad for you, I’m an adult too and you can’t dole out any punishment to me.”

Jake shifted on his feet, his quiet chuckle sending tingles through her body as the air around them spiked with…something.

“Not like I haven’t before,” he breathed, mostly to himself.

Buttercup folded her arms across her chest, almost as though she were afraid that her heart would beat right out of her chest. The memories of them, the things they had done together, surged through her brain, her bloodstream, lighting her up like a firefly. But he was still Jake, and any fire between her and Jake had been doused a long time ago, and it had to stay that way. For the good of everyone involved.

“Um,” she swallowed. “Rooster made chili. He said it was some sort of post-trail ride tradition. We were just setting the table when we heard the commotion.”

Jake nodded and patted Firewall’s flank. “Let me just take care of these guys, and I’ll be right in. Make sure you save me a bowl, alright? Charlie would eat the entire pot if we let her.”

Jake groaned as he pushed his bowl away.

“That was your best batch yet, Uncle Roo,” Charlie grinned a sleepy smile, inching towards food coma territory.

“I’m still pissed you couldn’t cook like this when we lived together,” Natasha grumbled, though the smile on her face stole any bite the words might have held.

Bob nodded in agreement. “The whole squadron would be shocked that Mr. Ramen and Burnt Toast has a degree from culinary school.”

Rooster grunted at them. “I only burnt my toast once. You two just won’t let me forget it.”

“More than once,” Javy grinned at him, leaning back in his chair, and Jake smiled. It seemed like, for tonight at least, Javy and Nat had called a truce. They hadn’t glared or shot thinly veiled remarks at each other all night. Of course, they hadn’t spoken or looked at each other either, but Jake found himself grateful for the lack of anything between them.

“Alright, well maybe I should prove my badass kitchen skills then, huh?” Rooster leaned forward, a smirk tugging on his lips. “I think it’s high time for a Daggers Reunion. What do you say? We can celebrate the fact that Jake isn’t gonna marry that absolute pain in the ass he called a fiancée.”

“Rooster!” Buttercup looked shocked. “I know you didn’t like her, but Jake wouldn’t have asked her to marry him if he didn’t have feelings for her.”

Javy scoffed. “More like feelings about his future. Your boy here didn’t want to have an empty nest when Charlie grows up, so he was gonna—ow, shit!” Javy winced as Jake’s foot connected with his knee. “Dude, what the hell?”

Buttercup felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “It’s alright, Jake. I get it. They’re almost 12. In six years or so, they’ll be off and we’ll be left on our own. I don’t know what the future holds for me either, and it’s a scary thought.”

“Don’t worry, Mum,” Abby yawned, leaning against her sister. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Buttercup grinned. “Thank you, baby. But I do think maybe you two should go upstairs to bed. You’ve had a busy day.”

Abby nodded and tugged Charlie off her chair before hugging her mother, then her father.

Charlie followed suit but stilled at the landing of the staircase. “I like Uncle Roo’s idea. A Dagger’s reunion sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Alright, kiddo. We’ll see if we can make it happen,” Jake smiled softly at the girls as they ascended the staircase.

“Can we also go out to dinner tomorrow?” Abby paused a few steps from the top. “Just the four of us? As a family?”

Jake nodded. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

“Okay. Night, Dad. Night, Mum. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” their parents chorused.

“Dude, you’re such a softie now,” Natasha smirked at him over the lip of her wine glass. “They just cost you your fiancée, Bagman. And you’re letting them call the shots.”

Jake fixed her with a look. “I’m not soft, Phoenix.” He grinned. “In fact, everyone else on this ranch have been pulling their weight, except you two. So, I’d really appreciate it if you and Baby On Board would do the dishes while Javy and I go make sure everything is locked up tight.”

Natasha gaped at him. “What about Buttercup? Or Rooster?”

“Rooster cooked,” Jake shrugged. “And Buttercup’s been working on her novel. What have you and Bob been up to? Other than drinking my wine, eating my food, and eating up my Wi-Fi?” Natasha glared and he grinned. “Enjoy. C’mon, Javy.”

The two men rose from their seats and left the room, clearly headed to make sure the ranch was locked up for the night. Rooster rose with a groan and mumbled something about watching the football game in his room, leaving after patting Buttercup on the head.

Natasha looked around at all the dirty dishes and grumbled. “Your husband is such an asshole.”

“Ex,” Buttercup clarified quietly, running her finger over the lip of her glass. “Besides, you shouldn’t have shot your mouth off with the softie comment. You had to have known he’d retaliate.”

“Yeah, but did he have to bring me into it?” Bob sighed, already gathering dishes and taking them into the kitchen.

Buttercup giggled as her family disappeared into the kitchen, the soft sounds of their bickering carrying through the archway as she stared at the darkened front door, waiting for Jake to return.

The next day passed smoothly, and the four occupants of the main house (plus the grumpy uncle living in the attic) fell into a rhythm of sorts. Jake and the girls were out of the house by the time Buttercup woke up, jetlag and a sleepless night weighing on her mind. However, she found a breakfast of cinnamon oatmeal and fruit salad waiting for her on the stove and a box of her favourite tea sitting next to the kettle. Buttercup settled into the desk in her bedroom and cranked out a few more pages of her book, the characters finally deciding to play along and follow the plot, though the plot wasn’t turning out exactly the way she had imagined it. By the time noon came around, she had wandered down into the kitchen, where she helped Rooster prepare barbecue chicken Ceasar wraps for everyone before going out into the ranch and calling her family home to eat. After their meal, Jake stole them all away to the local high school, where he assisted Javy with coaching their football team. Even when they had been together, Buttercup hadn’t been much of a football fan, but she found herself enjoying the time spent in the bleachers, especially when Jake would demonstrate a play for the rookie quarterback (though she would deny that last part to the ends of the earth and back).

By the time they got back to the ranch, the girls were hustling their parents into their bedrooms to change for their family dinner.

“Babe, we didn’t even make a reservation,” Buttercup sighed as Abby shoved her make up bag into her hands and pushed her towards the ensuite bathroom.

“Any place that would dress code me for not wearing a suit would be booked up months in advance, kiddo,” Jake protested as Charlie tossed his navy-blue suit onto his bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” both girls had reassured their parents. “Our aunt and uncles took care of everything.”

The statement had been less than reassuring, but both parents were determined to play ball. Buttercup had conceded to wearing her aqua coloured midi dress (a dress Charlie had insisted she pack once she had seen it in her mother’s closet back in London) and had even put on the diamond necklace that had been a joint Christmas present from her family last year. Jake had begrudgingly put on his navy suit and the silver and blue aviator watch he had bought on a whim a few years back. The girls had dressed up in matching black dresses (no doubt a gift from their Uncle Bob) and ushered them out of the house before they could say goodbye to Bob, Rooster or Natasha. 

“Alright, ladies,” Jake grinned, spinning his car keys around his finger. “Ready to tell me exactly where we’re going?” He started as Charlie clamped onto his wrist, dragging him down the dirt path towards the dude ranch.

“Right this way, old man.”

Jake craned his neck back just in time to see Abby take a much gentler grip on her mother’s arm, steadying her as the heels of her shoes sunk into the dirt.

“Charlie, your mother is going to break her neck out here without much light.” In truth, the sun would be going down in a few hours, but the way it hung low in the sky had shadows painting the path in darkness. Charlie blinked up at him, a challenge gleaming there, and Jake sighed. “Let me go, kid.”

He shook off his daughter’s grip and strode backwards until he could offer Buttercup his elbow. “C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured. “Can’t have you breaking an ankle out here. Don’t want a lawsuit on my hands.”

Buttercup chuckled as she wrapped her arm around his. “Thank you…” she whispered as Abby pranced up the path to join her sister. “Honestly, I don’t know how they come up with so many harebrained schemes.”

“You think they’re scheming?”

She shot Jake a knowing look. “Do you know any family friendly restaurants where the diners dress up like this?” She gestured to their semi-formal clothing. “And if you do know any, are any of them located down this dirt path?”

Jake nodded his head towards her, conceding her point. “They’re your daughters, alright.”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “I’m not the scheming parent, thank you very much.”

“Seriously? Wasn’t eloping in Vegas your idea?”

She bit her lip to hide her grin. “That wasn’t a scheme. That was taking advantage of the air show in Vegas and the fact that everyone we loved was there. Besides, that didn’t run the risk of potential bodily harm.”

Jake shook off the zing of pain that ran through him at the memory and forced the smile to remain on his face. “Maybe for you, but I have only the haziest memory of the morning after our wedding. Rooster and Fanboy kept pouring marga-beers down my throat even though you told them to stop.”

Buttercup giggled, and something warm flared in Jake’s chest. “Maybe they get it from them then. Rooster, Javy, and Natasha are all pretty heavy handed with the schemes, aren’t they?”

“Oh, more than you know,” Jake laughed as they approached the gazebo that overlooked the manmade pond. They’d put both features in a few years previous, trying to make the dude ranch more attractive for people who wanted more of a vacation than a chance to prove themselves on a ranch.

“Girls?” Buttercup called as they jumped up onto the gazebo before ducking out of sight. Within seconds, the whole structure was lit up, the tiny fairy lights glittering off the water.

“Speaking of schemes…” Jake muttered, guiding Buttercup over the rocky terrain and up onto the gazebo.

In the center, a small, round table for two sat invitingly, a vase of fresh wildflowers pushed to one side to make room for the plates, cutlery, and linen napkins that waited to be used.

“Hoo boy,” Buttercup whispered as he pulled out one of the wrought iron chairs and helped her sit comfortably.

“Girls, what are you doing?” Jake turned to find them standing by the stairs of the gazebo.

“We…wanted to thank you!” Charlie grinned. “Y’know, for being so nice about us switching places.”

“And blackmailing you,” Abby added.

“And blackmailing you,” Charlie nodded her agreement. “Oh! And we wanted to apologize for chasing off Savannah.”

“And you decided that a romantic dinner for two was the best way to do that?” Buttercup’s face was filled with such bemusement that Jake had to laugh.

“Well, if you’re going to coparent, you need to be able to get along,” Abby chirped cheerfully. “Consider this our way of trying to make that happen!”

“We’re going to leave you to eat,” Charlie grinned. “I really hope you can make it through a simple dinner without arguing. That would bode really well for all of us.”

Jake groaned as the girls skipped away, then groaned again when a shadowy figure stepped into the gazebo, carrying two serving trays.

“Hey man, don’t groan at me. Those two little demons are your spawn,” Javy muttered as he set the two trays of food on the table. “They’re better at finding information and using it to their advantage than the freakin’ Navy.”

Natasha scoffed as she stepped up beside Javy, brandishing a bottle of wine in each hand. “If they weren’t so damn cute, I’d want to kill them.”

Buttercup blinked at them. “You got sucked into another one of their schemes?”

Natasha shrugged. “Apparently, I need to watch what I say when Abby and I are watching trashy TV and eating junk food. The kid’s got Fort Knox as a memory. Don’t know what his excuse is though,” she added, jerking her head at Javy. “Now, do you want red or white? Because Rooster said either will work with the food, but Abby will throw a hissy fit if I don’t play along.”

“They got Bradshaw into this too?” Jake turned to Javy, who shrugged.

“You two somehow managed to raise two extremely intelligent blackmailers, with zero input from the other person and an ocean between you. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t kinda terrifying.” Javy sighed. “Natasha and I will be watching from the cabin. Buttercup, as much as you may want to, please don’t drown him in the lake.”

Buttercup stifled a giggle as their friends strolled away. “Well, at least they’re not arguing anymore,” she mused before lifting the lid off her meal and smiling. “Penne a la vodka with a side salad. How did they know?”

Jake gulped and hoped the dim lighting did enough to hide the redness in his cheeks. They had gone for Italian food for their first date, and that’s what they had both ordered. Buttercup because it was her favourite, and Jake because he’d been so taken with her that he had just said “Same” so that they could get back to their conversation without the waiter being present.

“I might’ve mentioned it once, I guess,” he murmured, taking the lid off his dish and picking up his fork.

“Should we toast or something?”

Jake smiled softly and picked up his glass of red wine. “To…fresh starts?”

Buttercup smiled so sweetly at him that his chest ached with it. “Yeah, fresh starts sound good.”

Buttercup couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so hard. Her sides ached and her cheeks hurt and she desperately hoped that she had put on waterproof mascara because, otherwise, she would have racoon eyes from the tears of laughter she had shed.

She had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t real. This was the part of her relationship with Jake that had been easy. Falling in love with him had been as easy as breathing. He could make her laugh until she cried, and he would hold her while she cried until he could make her laugh. He made her want to pull her hair out, but one look at those bright green eyes and that sinful smile, and she would forget all about why he frustrated her. She always counted herself lucky that he was there to frustrate her. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that she would rather run the gamut of emotions with Jake Seresin than risk not feeling anything so strongly with another person.

Loving him was easy. Making it work with him was another story. And now, they had two young daughters who were depending on them. She wasn’t about to risk letting them down again. Still, she found she couldn’t quite keep her guard all the way up around him.

“…and that is why I will never take Charlie to another baseball game,” Jake finished his story to Buttercup’s peals of laughter.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you two,” she giggled breathlessly.

“Hey, she’s half you. She doesn’t get those nerves of steel from me.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Oh please. How many confirmed air-to-air kills do you have under your belt?”

“Hey! That’s totally different. Having nerves of steel in the air while facing down enemy aircraft is completely different from having your six-year-old daughter try to beat the shit out of the opposing team’s mascot because it kinda looked like a monster from her nightmare.”

Buttercup snorted. “I don’t know about that. Sounds like you were both protecting yourselves with those nerves of steel.”

“You were too,” Jake said quietly, taking a sip of his wine.

“When?”

“When you left…” Buttercup froze, and Jake almost regretted saying anything. Almost. “It took guts to leave. I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but you were doing what was right for you.”

“I…” Buttercup took a fortifying sip of wine. “I hope you know I didn’t leave just because of you. I mean, I hope you know that I didn’t leave to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Emboldened by the wine, Jake reached out and took her hand. “C’mon, darlin’. Of course I know that. I know you never wanted to hurt me, and I know it felt like you were ripping your own heart out to leave Charlie behind.” He gave her hand a firm squeeze and something squeezed in his heart when she returned the gesture.

“I wish the pandemic had never happened,” Buttercup sighed. “It would’ve been so much easier to keep to the custody schedule if air travel hadn’t become so dangerous.”

Jake nodded. “I wish the court lady hadn’t transcribed our phone numbers wrong.”

Jake had called his lawyer earlier in the day and found that both of their numbers had been written wrong in the paperwork. It had happened to a few other clients, and that’s how they had come to realize that the court stenographer had been drinking on the job.

Buttercup scoffed. “Yeah…the odds were stacked against us at every turn.”

“You really think so?”

Buttercup blinked at him. “You don’t think so? Your deployments, my diagnosis, the pandemic, the clerical error? You don’t think that was fate stamping a big red X on our family?”

Jake leaned forward, close enough to her that she could smell the sharp tang of his cologne and the deep woodsy undertones that were pure Jake. “I think we had a hell of a lot going for us but neither of us knew how to handle the bumps in the road and we fell apart. Tell me, Buttercup. If we knew then what we know now, would we have made it?”

The question made her pause, made everything inside of her freeze. If her past self had all of her present knowledge, would they have made it? Would they have been able to dig through the tunnel of bullshit and make it out clean on the other side? She could imagine it. The open communication, the therapy, the fights they’d have, but together, not against each other.

She shivered at that imaging and met his green gaze. “I’m getting cold,” she whispered. “I think it’s time we go inside.”

Jake sighed but nodded, taking off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

Knowing that Javy and Nat were on dish duty, he offered Buttercup his elbow and slowly guided her down the path, the silvery light of the moon illuminating mere feet in front of them. She leaned against him more now than she had when they had initially walked the path, but Jake knew that was the jetlag and wine working against her.

“We’ll have to thank Rooster for dinner,” she mumbled as they strolled. “That was probably the best penne I’ve had since—shit!” Her heel caught on a rock in the path and she pitched forward. Quick as a flash of lightning, Jake had her secure against him, one arm wrapped around her waist and one pressing between her shoulder blades.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay,” he murmured into her hair, only realizing how close they were when the scent of Hawaiian orchid wafted over him.

“S-sorry,” she whispered, leaning into his chest more as she steadied herself. She looked up and met his gaze, their noses almost brushing. All it would take was a tilt of her head, and they would be—

Buttercup abruptly pulled away from him, leaning down to take off her shoes and dangling them between her fingers.

“Sorry,” she murmured again. “I didn’t mean to…I can’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jake’s hand warmed the middle of her back. “No harm done, right?”

Buttercup gulped back the knot in her throat as she nodded. “Yeah…no harm done.”

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Surely nothing in the world ever felt better than [THIS]

Was suggested on instagram to write from Gage's POV and thinking about how I would ever write from someone who's been essentially dog lobotomized actually got me thinking so hard I started writing. The formatting of this one is a reading nightmare but the never ending run-on sentence tightly packed into one block of text feels the most appropriate to a dog's inner thoughts so… You have to suffer for the sake of art™️

cw: ableist and misogynistic language, PTSD, panic attack, murder, vomit, loss of humanity through being genetically spliced with a dog

Right now there is only [RUNNING] and [PANTING] and the wind whipping your face and twigs digging into your paw pads and snapping under your weight and the sweat tickling the inside of your thigh as it rolls down the expanse of your (ever) hairless leg. You almost want to throw your hands down into the decaying grass and leaves to propel your body further but (something) keeps you anchored to your bipedal ways, your body knows it was never made for sprinting on all four but your body was also bent once and could probably be bent further all the way to the other side transhumanised so far the evolutionary path to break all knowns nomenclature and classification and leap from (human) to [DOG] just as you do out of the shrubbery as soon as your hear [YOUR NAME], toes skidding into the overgrown lawn as you halt, tongue hanging out dumbly trying as you might to bring moisture back into your bone dry mouth. The useless instincts you (forcefully) have inherited work against you but thankfully [HE!!!] turns on the garden hose [HE!!] uses to bath you with and fresh water springs out, splattering everywhere against your open mouth. There used to be a better way to drink but you (forgot) how so you chew at the air trying to catch this pesky pesky water into your mouth while getting drenched, you were hot anyway, running so so hot from all the excess dopamine secreted by your happy happy dumb brain, so easily pleased.

Surely nothing in the world ever felt better than [THIS]; it’s the 100th time you thought this exact thing today not with words or inner monologue only pure unadulterated stabs at your mesocorticolimbic circuit, things are only [GOOD] or [BAD] not in terms of the morals (you lacked) but in terms of [PLEASURE] and [PAIN], so simple and so good like quenching your thirst and moving your limbs and eating and shitting and nerve endings being stimulated by a [GOOD SCRATCH] just like [HE] is doing right now immediately replacing the serotonin from the water [HE] just shut off, not having a care in the world for how greasy your (hair) feels or the way you wildly shake off to dry yourself or the fact that you are (not) a dog at all. You wouldn’t get any of it anyway because all you understand now is [ANGRY] and [SOFT] tone so as long as [HE] coos at (you) softly [HE] can say anything and (you) would happily (giggle) and [RUB YOUR HEAD] against his big calloused hands even if he was (talking shit). You were liberated against your (will) and you are too dumb to realize it, of course you are why would you ever stop and try to think when you can just march alongside [HIM] like [HE TAUGHT] [YOU]] like a good stupid fuckass (dog) getting all [EXCITED] because you realize [HE] is walking towards the [KITCHEN] which can only mean any and all (doubt) or [FEAR] that’s desperately trying to join each others can be [SILENCED] by a motherfucking spoonfull of [PEANUT BUTTER HOLY SHIT] sticky and salty and obstructing your airway momentarily but thank goodness you still know how to breath through your (nose) while you smack your (lips) desperately trying to (get away from the [DELICIOUS TREAT] clawing at the leathery cushion with your splitting nails nerve endings stimulated by [HURT HURT HURT FUCK what did you do why were you bad why is this happening to you this wasn’t supposed to happen you weren’t supposed to get caught in the first place but the [BITC H] squealed and slipped through your fingers and now you’re the one being [GUD LA DET SLUTTE VÆR SÅ SNILL] you should’ve made a bigger hole and (fucked it) so [BAD] no one will ever be able to identify your whore bitch corpse you r eally fucked up this time you can barely breathe through any hole now in out in out in out head heavy with the weight of ([HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS]) getting really really light so much so you don’t feel your (claws) slicing until the victim became unrecognizable aggravated [MASSACRE] of your (ultimate reality) now there’s only [DROOL] and a little bit of [VOMIT] and your clammy skin against the (cold old tiles) of the kitchen floor and [HIS] form above you [WARM] palm encircling almost your entire still trembling arm and (garbled speech) you can never [UNDERSTAND] again, it’s so [WARM] and (nice) your [TAIL] slaps the kitchen floor, beginning to unknot [HIS] brow as you can feel yourself (smiling) dumbly at [HIM]. And now there is only [PETTING] and [ROLLING ON THE FLOOR] with the sweet-acrid aroma of [PEANUT BUTTER] and [VOMIT] [HE] stops you from [LAPPING] just before your tongue touches it.

Surely nothing in the world ever felt better than [THIS].

[shmaimy]

Okay, I had a thought a few days ago and have been trying to get it right. But. I think I figured it out. (Don't expect 100% accuracy)

So, Pallas and Athena. Athena bursts out of Zeus' head, and confusion and chaos and Hera, so Athena ends up at Triton's camp/school/military base thing. There, she meets Pallas, Triton's daughter, and as such, is Poseidon's granddaughter. The two become close, very close. I've seen them be close as sisters and be lovers, and I'm not 100% sure what they were, but, I mean, they were Greek...

Nevertheless, Pallas means everything to Athena. Athena grows close with Pallas' family, I mean, her mom lives in her dad's head and said dad kicked her out, so...

Then, tragedy strikes. Pallas dies at Athena's hand. Whether it is a true accident, or Zeus' pride... Athena doesn't know what to think. She is sent away, basically banished by the grieving, who forget that she, too, is grieving a great loss.

Poseidon remains bitter, and continues pushing Athena away. They both remain bitter towards the other for thousands of years, and encourage their children to do so as well.

Put a pin in that.

Remember how there were a bunch of people that were really angry about Annabeth's casting? They were wrong, of course, but hear me out. Leah does look practically opposite to how Annabeth was described in the books. In fact, Walker looks more like Annabeth than Leah does (though, you gotta admit, they are their characters irl too, especially Walker)(also, i think the Annabeth being assumed to not be smart because she was blonde doesn't work as well as institutionalized and the many other types of racism. Athena's "gift/curse/however Annabeth described it" is still at play, so people really need to stop it with the hate towards Leah and Riordan)

ANYWAY I think it would be interesting if they made blondeness/light hair a Poseidon trait, and that's why Athena has avoided it like the plague since Pallas' death: its too painful. Contrastly, Poseidon gives his children light hair in honor of Pallas, as well as to torment Athena.

Specifically, Percy looks basically exactly like Pallas. It would drive this point further if the casting of Athena looks just like Annabeth, too. Thus, when Athena first tells Percy, "I do not approve of your relationship with my daughter, " we see so much more than just a spat over Athens (I mean, really, a salt water spring?), we see a romance to last the ages, and a tragedy who's thorns grow ever sharper. Athena is not just being selfish, not wanting a reminder of love lost, but she knows the fierceness of an ocean's love, and would not wish it lost on anyone, especially one of her own. Percy has had a choice thrust upon him: he will be the project child. To the best of everyone's knowledge, Percy will die at 16. Athena will do everything in her power to not hear her daughter cry tears over a child of the sea, not even she knows then so well herself.

(It could also be interesting if Percy looks like a mix of Athena and Pallas (because we know genetics are weird with the Gods), since that would cause extra pain in Athena's heart)(also makes Poseidon extra sad)

(OR Athena makes all her children look like Pallas to honor her. I don't like that one as much)

I also really like an idea I had that it was NOT Poseidon and Athena who invented the chariot, or however that went. Pallas and Athena invented it together, and Athena still uses that first chariot to this day.

Also, it could add some nuance to the Mark of Athena. When the Romans stole Athena, they erased Pallas from her story. Minerva looks like Pallas, and her love for Pallas is gone. She is not just searching for herself, she is searching for the string so interwoven with her own they are the same: she is searching for the soulmate erased from her story.

ALSO, or would be interesting to see this dynamic play out in the 4th book, when Percy is thought to be dead.

I want this to be released as a short film (I would be a great Pallas???? Think about it???? Am I selfish to think that??? Ambitious??? Yes???? What's your point?????????)

[velvetvexations]

Hi there! I'm a trans man who's been taking T for about 3 years now, and I wanted to share some insights for your friend.

1: About the risks of heart issues and other health concerns. Is there a risk? Yes. But it's the exact same amount of risk that AMABs are born with. I've noticed an elevated red blood cell count for me personally, but it's never been a dangerous amount and really just means it's a good idea for me to donate blood and share that extra!

2: In terms of the mental or emotional changes, it won't make you any more aggressive or emotional on its own. However, I notice when I don't take my T consistently that it does worsen my depression, so if you do start taking T make sure you take it when you're supposed to, and be aware if you decide to stop taking for a while that might affect your moods. Other than that, the biggest change to my mood was confidence. I wasn't as "quiet/shy" because I liked how I sounded when I spoke. I was more willing to go out and leave the house because I liked how I looked <3

3: The changes that come and how quickly they come are going to be different for everyone, but a good way to figure out how it will affect you is to consider your genetics and family medical history. For example, I was concerned about hair loss or a receded hairline, and was advised to look at the hair patterns of men on my mother's side of the family to get an idea of what that would look like.

4: Know that you have options, and never be afraid to advocate for yourself. Injections don't have to be your only option. I tried them for a year before deciding it wasn't right for me, that using the needles for myself was too anxiety inducing. So I switched to a daily gel I rub on my arms in the morning. There will be a plan that's right for your needs, your comfort, and your budget. I know it's scary asking these questions, but asking questions is the best way to find what's going to work for you!

Thank you! Here are some other anons who sent in about this:

Trans guy on T here, i get 1000mg of it injected intramuscularly by a nurse every 3 months, with regular blood tests to monitor it, as directed by both my regular GP and endocrinologist who authorised my prescription, iv been on HRT for over 4 years now. some info: - in my experience, my periods ceased entirely within a few months, i grew facial hair and more body hair, my voice dropped and experienced clitoral growth. some of these things are permenant and some would revert if i were to stop taking hormones. i have had no major (or even minor) health changes in this time but obviously if it happens it happens. - also about libido, iv always been asexual even before i started T so, nothing changed for me there. Again, im not some kind of difinitive trans guy, everyone will havw different results. Just keep in mind that sexuality is a spectrum and is fluid, as long as you remain respectful of your sexual and romantic partners and be mature, youre not going to become some kind of hypersexual monster. - taking masculanising hormones IS NOT effective birth control, if you have a functuoning uterus then you need to still practice safe sex. If you intend on having children, then you need to consider that if/when you begin treatment because it would be a notable factor in your success rate there. obviously by doing anything to effect your homones has its risks, you need to be careful about it, have regular checkups if you can. honestly i have no experience in self administering testosterone so i cant advise you do that, but if thats your only option then please make sure you do your own thorough research to ensure your safety. if youre taking masculanising hormones, everyones experience will differ as with any medication, but this has been proven for decades now to be an effective and safe treatment for gender dysphoria (honestly tho imo wanting to transition shouldn't nessesarily be pathologised like that). any risks may be present, but not more so than cis men. As long as youre taking care of your general health it shouldnt be a concern. this kind of shit gave me a bit of concern before i started hormones, so i get it, but doing a bit of research will quickly reveal that a lot of it is overblown and exaggerated by TERFs and other stupid pundits. If you're considering taking hormones of any kind, id reccomend seeking a general practitioner who is specifically knowledgeable about HRT, they will walk you through any associated risks and answer any questions you have before deciding if its the right option for you. good luck and be safe out there!

yooo velvet, 1000mg T guy again just adding some extra info i thought of - if you care about ur boobs then they might lose a little bit of "volume" i guess if you go on T, this is just part of fat redistribution, which can happen to some folk. medically this isnt a concern but for aesthetic reasons its relevant. - if ur into working out, you might find that you build muscle a lot easier, on the flipside you may find yourself with more of an appetite to control. so if you have issues or concerns in either of those departments then make sure you consider that too and figure out a plan. - honestly the worst risk for me personally is that i am now at risk of male pattern baldness i suppose. this doesn't happen to everyone and ur genetics will determine if it happens to you. theres lots of modern ways to retain your hair or prevent it from falling out too, and of course there are hairpieces or you could just own the cueball look too haha. (quick tip, if possible, check CIS MALE members of your family belonging to the MATERNAL half of your family tree, the gene for MPB is passed down your biological mother's side) - T can come in lots of forms if you dont like needles. you can get it in patches or pills too. Personally, i have no experience with these methods so youll need to look into it urself or ask ur doctor for help. you can also vary the dose of it too, you cant really pick and choose what effects you get by taking T but you can control their development to some extent. also of course if you decide after the fact that it isnt right for you, you can choose not to continue (bear in mind that some changes from T are "permenant", maybe ask some of your transfem friends for tips to overcome them, voice training, makeup tips, etc) basically though, dont take advice from people who have a political interest in silencing you. also im an anonymous voice on tumblr, dont take my word for this shit at face value. by all means use it as a jumping off point but make sure you look into it urself with research from credible sources and actual doctors who can attend to your needs personally. anecdotal from T users like myself are good but they shouldn't be your only source of info.

TMI but the only bad thing that happened to me cuz of T is my dick being unbearably itchy for a few days every so often

for that anon asking about T: i'm a trans guy whos been on T since 2019 and it did not cause unstable emotions in me at all. if anything, it made my emotions MORE stable because a lack of hormonal dysphoria meant that suddenly i was able to cope with the more unpleasant shit in life because i didnt have that background noise of hormonal dysphoria constantly making me a little bit miserable at all goddamn times. the idea that testosterone makes you unstable is just gender essentialist terf nonsense.

[galactic-rhea]

irt your latest midi-chlorian/mitochondria post - what do you think would happen to him??? :0

See, this is why I shouldn't make that type of posts sleep deprived and away from home in a college field trip in which we were in four different states on a single day.

This is the post anon is referring to

Logically (now that my mind is more clear) the answer should be that he would die, if it's severe enough as how the analog fungicide i mentioned worked lol

See, the fungicide I was rambling around forces the rRNA to malfunction and thus the nucleus stops producing certain proteins needed for the cell. And is just deathly, there are certain fungi that can handle that better, if the application of that fungicide isn't consistent and thus they become resistent, but fungi are impressive organism that can multiply faster and live on incredible conditions, given that they have like, at the very least, three different types of spores (there are ascomycetes that have like 6-7 different spores through their cycle).

But allas, back to my favorite deranged blorbo.

That's stright up a death sentence for anyone, really. But especially for Anakin who has only half of human genetic material and the other half is just the force. With me theory about the midi-chlorians being the mithocondria equivalent, Anakin would be on such a perilous spot between dying on the spot and being basically a pseudo-god, because he has so many midichlorians in his cells that his cells are dying at an extre rate, but he needs the midichlorians to be able to live (and handle) that much power flowing through him due the force. This hypothetical scenario would break this balance to the core, and even if a normal person could survive until reaching an hospital and being given a diagnosis, Anakin could probably drop death on the spot, like I said, is cellular death and growth must be on record time, and this could be helpful with other ailments.

But with the midichlorian failling him and not enough energy because the new midichlorian would be failing as well, there's a chance that The Force would kill him, the equivalent of overheating or when a lightning strikes and you get too much electricity on a single lightbulb.

HOWEVER, to make this interesting and because let's be real, this is fricking Star Wars and this is fricking Anakin I-Survived-More-Deathly-Accidents-Than-I-Can-Count-Skywalker, let's pretend this midichlorian killer chemical isn't as effective as the analog fungicide I was talking about, it doesn't affect ALL of the midichlorians, but just a few to get our good-and then evil-and then good again-boy.

Whump makers take note, please:

It would depend, honestly, but generally speaking, it would mean he's out of all that supply of energy he uses the keep going. He would get something akin to chronic fatigue, momentarily he's all righty, and then of all sudden lifting a pencil is too much.

Being so strong in the force, but without the biological resources to handle it, he would like, pass out after using the force. Meditating could be the equivalent to ask him if he wants to go into comma. If he already felt cold, he's about to start shaking just by going out, this boy has not enough glycogen storage.

But that's the best of the diagnosis, the worst ones are if this affects the neuronal and nervous system cells. I mentioned briefly that an excess of ATP was linked to autism, ADHD, ocd, and other neurogivergencies, and even neurodegenerative diseases and dementia.

Well, the lack of ATP can do this as well, so there's that.

To name some few, very general ones:

-Epilepsy and seizures

-Vision loss, audition loss or auditory hallucinations.

-Disorientation

-Muscular pain.

-Headaches.

-Problems with reflexes like swallowing or breathing.

-Vomits.

-Accelerated (even more, in Anakin's case) cellular death.

-Loss of hair and muscular mass.

Given that in this second scenario, the midichlorians-killer hypothetical chemical isn't as effective and wouldn't case an inmediate death, then Anakin's fast healing qualitys would actually be super duper helpful then, it would be great to compare his healthy cells with the sick ones. In this case, I bet a doctor would be more than eager to take a sample of Anakin's stem cells.

He would be a great lab rat for both the hypothetic evil mad scientist, AND for the eager doctors looking for a treatement and cure, and since this is a chemical and we're on a far far away galaxy, I'm pretty sure the cure would be not-too-hard to find.

Oh gosh I didn't expect to write this much, sorry for that anon, but I hope this satisfied you curiosity? ^^;

[writing-whump]

Matters of the heart

We were talking about Matt running into his sister Melissa at the hospital...Plus an update on how Isaiah is doing.

The doctor saying he wanted to be alone with Isaiah for a minute was probably the tenth clue that Seline missed that she was being clingy.

But what was she supposed to do? They were one approval away from taking Isaiah home. And okay, she was kinda making every nurse and doctor explain to her Isaiah's condition, medication and convalescence over and over...but how else was she supposed to know no one missed anything?

She was writing everything down, tempted to just record all the explanations. Everytime she asked she found out some new tidbit or tip and what if it proved to be crucial?

Of course she also called her mom who was currently calling all their contacts and doctor friends for tips as well. Seline wasn't about to betray Isaiah's confidence by sending his test results around too, but she planned on convincing him to let her do that. Her mom's childhood friend's husband was a renowned doctor with 20 years of experience and her grandfather's cardiologists were proven experts.

Leaving anything to chance wasn't an option for her.

Heart angina wasn't a cause or a diagnosis. It was a condition, a state of being.

Isaiah's hard-to-explain heart problems were becoming an new project for her. Even Matt sounded a little stunned that she was reading up on it on Google nonstop, when she wasn't currently hunting down the doctors or asking the other patients for their experiences.

But Isaiah's case was special. There wasn't an illness as a cause, there were genetic predispositions, but the doctors agreed the cause could be tracked down to Isaiah's shadow. And that stress could worsen if not downright be the trigger for something that wouldn't have had to emerge years to come. If at all.

Stepping out of the office, Seline was at a sudden loss at what to do in the waiting room. Her last week evolved around Isaiah like the moon around the sun.

What she was about to do depended on if he was awake, asleep, in pain, disoriented, keeping down food, asking coherent questions or watching Matthew. They switched around Isaiah like guards on duty, whenever the situation got to one of them too much.

The rhythmic beeps of machines, the muffled voices that carried down the hall about check ups, impatient knocks on the half-open door to the offices, the chit chat at the coffee machine...it was all so very familiar now it shocked her.

Though because of the familiarity, she recognised the sudden yelling as out of place fairly quickly.

Seline turned on her heel, following after the screams, ready to chew out whoever it was for the noise. The sight stopped her in her tracks.

"Don't lie, of course you are here to stalk me! I'm going to call security on you, you- you-" A young woman with long red pin-straight hair was yelling at no other than Matthew.

Matthew, who was currently slumped on one of the small uncomfortable chair as low as possible, hands decidedly stuck in the pockets of his pants. Staring in front of himself like he was willing the girl out of existence by no answering her accusations.

It might have been a weird position for a guy, like he was trying to disappear despite his considerable size - Matt was easily the biggest person in the waiting room - so it didn't strike her right away.

That was a very very submissive posion for a wolf. It was a refusal to engage in what his shadow clearly interpreted as a fight.

Seline's eyes went to the ground and sure enough, his shadow was twitching under the chair, but it wasn't growing or thickening. More like it was shrinking in itself despite the woman being smaller than Seline.

The situation scanned after three seconds, Seline felt such a protective rage at the hunched pose and the pressure this was clearly putting on Matt's self-control, she stepped in front of him with a giant smile. "Excuse me, miss, but what exactly is your problem?"

The girl blinked, perplexed at Seline's appearance. She wore a white coat like a doctor, but the pin on her chest said med student.

Melissa Blackwell.

Ah. That explained some things.

"This wolf is here unsupervised, stalking a hospital department-"

"He is a licensed wolf," Seline intercepted smoothly. "He can go anywhere he wants unsupervised."

"But- but he is obviously here because of me-"

"I told you," Matthew said quietly, though more towards Seline than Melissa. "I'm here for a packmember."

Melissa laughed, loud and bitter, it had Seline's arms crawling with goosebumps. "Oh sure you are. What kind of pack would take such a lost cause imbecil as you? Only one crazy samaritan I know of, and he probably grew tired of you months ago."

Matthew pressed his lips together and looked away as if it was true.

"Oh lady, I don't know what's your problem, but Matthew has a stable pack. He is his pack's second, in fact," Seline said, crossing her arms.

"Bullshit, that's what that is. Is he blackmailing you to defend him? Is he paying you to play his alibi? He is capable of that, threatening and scaring to have it his way. Really Matt, that's low even for you, threatening an innocent human girl-"

"I'm a witch," Seline said, never being more proud of the fact. "I can tell very well what he is and isn't capable of."

Melissa's face went white and blank, like that was an information she hadn't seen coming in the world she lived in.

Seline always forgot how much being a witch meant to people from shadow wolf circles.

She could also tell Melissa wasn't one and the hurt at the reminder had her wincing as if Seline gave her a physical slap.

Yep, living in a wolf family without magic and when your mother desperately wanted you to wasn't fun.

It also wasn't Seline's problem and she wasn't about to let the girl make it Matthew's, his sister or not.

Seline planted her hand on Matthew's shoulder, blue eyes throwing lightning bolts. "Would you mind taking your unfounded accusations and leaving us alone? You are disturbing all the patients with your blabbering."

Melissa breathed in loudly. "I have the right to be here, I'm on a job."

"You are obviously not very into it when you are capable of such a theater around patients after difficult operations," Seline said, voice dripping with poison. "You sure you are not here just for show?"

Human children often ended up in useful jobs for the pack, forced to be doctors and lawyers just to have any standing or worth in the eyes of their packs.

Melissa felt the blow alright. She opened her mouth, closed it and then whirled around. Practically dashing away from the hall.

Seline almost felt bad for her. Almost.

She let out a long breath, sinking on the seat next to Matthew. "Fuuh. That was no fun."

Matthew slid down further on the chair, barely hanging on it. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said quietly, half his face hidden behind the collar of his jersey. It had her heart squeezing.

"That's okay. Not your fault she is such a bitch to you."

Matthew's head went back a little at the uncharacteristic swearing, but he still wouldn't look at her.

"Do you want to step out for a moment?" Seline said softly. "There is a terrace downstairs, I can go with you."

"I'm fine. I'm not going to- I swear I won't-" he broke off.

"I know you won't. Just in case it would help." She hesitated, then put her hand on his tight. "Hey. Look at me, Mattie." She hadn't used the nickname since the heart attack reveal at the hospital a week ago.

Matt took a shuddering breath, but after a long minute forced himself to look up at her.

Seline brushed the bangs from his face. "It's okay. You are not the guy she is making you out to be. Nothing she said is true."

"But she said what you also-"

"Nothing she said is true," Seline repeated sternly. "Never was. She is projecting her fears on to you, that's not your fault. You are not scary for existing and you aren't threatening when not sitting down. I made a similar mistake," she said with a wince, "but I know better now. You are not capable of hurting me. Or him. Or anyone. I know you aren't."

Seline cupped his cheek, thumb storking up and down. "What does she know, she hasn't bothered to see you for years." His eyes were glittering with unshed tears. "You only hurt yourself. But you would never hurt anyone."

Matthew gulped down heavily. "But I did. I hurt him by not speaking up...by not dragging him over to you."

It surprised her he brought it up himself. She bit her lip, only flinching a little before continuing to stroke his cheek. "It's okay. You aren't at fault for this." Her face soured. "You didn't exactly help, but I don't blame you for Zaya. I'm sure he doesn't either."

Matthew looked down in shame, but after a couple minutes straightened on the seat. Took her hand in his.

They waited quietly for whatever the doctor would say.

[nothorses]

If you take T to get bottom growth, and stop when you are happy with it, will it stay the same size if you stop? Or will you need to continue taking T? Also how long does it generally take to get bottom growth from T?

Bottom growth is permanent, so it will stay how it is whenever you stop T!

Here's the chart for the timeline of changes & what's permanent vs. not that my doc gave me:

"Reversible" means the changes will revert over time if you stop taking T.

And because the wording can be kind of alarming:

"Vaginal atrophy" is just dryness and tightening of muscles, and it's the same thing that happens to folks who go through menopause (and menopause products can help; there are lubes designed for menopause in particular that I'd recommend looking into if you notice those problems).

"Scalp hair loss/male pattern baldness" is genetic; it's a gene you can inherit (folks with XY chromosomes will inherit it matrilinealy, but most transmascs are XX and can inherit it from either parent) and the onset & exact way it impacts you will be based on those genetics. You'll also notice your hairline reshaping a bit into a more "masculine" typical one, which is where the "scalp hair loss" bit comes from.

[maedhrus]

Oohhh this was a while ago but. Pls talk more about Edward doting on Thomas during his pregnancy. He would be living his absolute best life getting to spoil his husband 🥹

don't worry, i quite literally never stop thinking about domestic!joplittle!!! they are my whole words and i'm chomping at the bit waiting for even the slightest excuse to talk about them!! 💖💖

ned little has ALL the makings of a victorian wife guy. that thomas (who is, objectively, the best man he's ever known) agreed to spend the rest of his life with edward is a gift he'll never be able to repay. but he adores thomas with every fibre of his being so the very least he can do is dote on a man who is so unused to being cherished

thomas tells him about the pregnancy around two months in. thomas knows earlier but is very terrified that he'll lose it etc. and doesn't want to get his or edward's hopes up. but he has very bad morning sickness and edward worries that it's some lingering Arctic Illness and so thomas tells him to get him to Worry Less (unsuccessful)

edward weeps upon hearing the news. just buries his head into thomas' stomach and weeps for a long time

he then becomes absolutely riddled with fear because holy shit so much can go wrong?? what if something happens to the baby??? what if something happens to thomas?????? edward considers himself a steady man but he knows that that's a loss he couldn't possibly survive

thomas is also worried that something will happen but to the baby, not him. it just seems like too many things have gone right in his life and surely he won't be so lucky as to have this child successfully? but he also knows that edward's prone to worry, and thomas is prone to sensibilities and so reminds them both that thomas' mother had four children, edward's had twelve. genetics are on their side if nothing else

still, edward will not be deterred from doing everything he can to minimise thomas' discomfort. he helps him dress in the mornings, fetches him tea, warms water so thomas can sit in a hot bath, allowing edward to gently wash him, kiss at his bump

this agitates thomas initially ("i'm not an invalid, edward. thomas blanky had one leg and got less attention.") again, he's a man for whom work is literally his lifeline, but as the pregnancy progresses and he gets more and more exhausted, he enjoys slipping into the luxury of care

more than once did thomas fall asleep in their living room, reading a book or sewing, and woke when he realised that edward was carrying him upstairs to their bedroom, setting him on the bed with a kiss

thomas had always had a sweet tooth but it worsens during pregnancy and it has edward making weekly trips to town to supply thomas with boiled sweets, chocolate, all manner of deserts

and edward enjoys this! it distracts him from thinking about how the pregnancy can go wrong and he gets to dote on the man he loves! who is giving him a gift beyond measure!!!

they both fall into absolute bits when the twins start kicking for the first time (it was early in the morning, edward practically woke up to thomas crying and pulling at his hand) and they often fall asleep with their hands pressed into thomas' stomach

(the twins eventually arrive in the dead of night and thomas cries and kisses at the soft hair on their heads and edward sobs and runs his hand over tiny fingers because now there are two more impossibly small humans who he will spend his life adoring)

[the-broken-pen]

Trapped Hero Pt. 2

For the lovely person who asked (you made my day!)

Pt. 1, if anyone wants it.

When the hero woke up, the villain was bandaging their hands.

For a moment, it was simply the soothing smell of numbing cream, the careful glide of fabrics around their fingers.

Their brain, lagging far too many seconds behind, jerked, and they tried to tug their hands from the villain’s grip.

The villain looked up at them, eyes betraying nothing, and continued their work.

Even with the power dampeners, they should have been able to pull free. They hadn’t felt this weak since before their powers had set in. They had been young, five at most when the genetic mutation had finally kicked in. To any of the other families across the city, it would have been heralded as a blessing. To the hero’s, it was a betrayal, made by the hero on purpose.

Never mind that it was their parents DNA.

Never mind that they were a child.

The villain glanced up at them once more, scanning their face, before they softly said “I drugged you.”

The hero blinked, and their head pulsed with pain.

“Why,” their throat cracked so badly, raw and aching, that they stopped.

Why did you drug me?

Why all of this?

And dully, that final question, just a stark, why.

The villain seemed to understand anyways.

“You were hurting yourself.”

They slicked a piece of tape around the hero’s fingers. When the hero struggled to sit up, they pushed them back down with a firm hand to their chest.

A bed. They were on a bed. The loss of their memories, the absence of how they had gotten to this point, was a hole in their rib cage. They hated it. They hated drugs.

After the concoction their mother had fed them throughout their childhood, first to make them normal, then, when that hadn’t worked, to keep them docile, how could they not?

The villain knew that, too. And they had drugged them anyways.

“Stop pretending like you care.” It came out more broken than the hero had wanted it to.

The villain hummed, examining the hero’s hands. After a moment, they tucked them together, lacing a firm hand around the hero’s wrists. Their fingers were warm.

“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have locked you in this tower.”

The hero froze. 

The tower. The city. Their city—

The hero bolted upright, and the villain caught them. After a moment, they tucked the hero against their chest, grip tight on their wrists. 

Over the villains shoulder, the edges of the door were chipped, surface smeared with the hero’s blood.

Escape had not come easy. Really, it hadn’t come at all.

The hero shuddered, and the villain rubbed a soothing hand on their back, as if it wasn’t keeping them pinned in some awful version of a hug.

As if this wasn’t another form of a cage.

“The city,” they gasped out, and the villain traced a slow circle on their back.

“Is gone,” the villain supplied.

The hero didn’t realize they were keening until the villain hushed them, low and soothing against their ear.

“It was for your own good, can’t you see that? It was for you.”

If the villain released them, they would see the tears on the hero’s cheek.

They didn’t release them.

“They can’t hurt you any more.”

But that wasn’t true, was it?

The bruises of their parents, the cuts of their siblings and past had twisted in their nightmares for their entire life, long after they were little more than eulogies and grave markers.

They were dead, but the ghosts of them remained.

The city was gone, but the ruins of it weighed heavy on their shoulders anyways.

“You know that isn’t true. Gone doesn’t mean it stops hurting. Gone never means—“

The hero bit back a sob.

The villain carded a hand through their hair.

“No,” the agreed. “Gone does not mean it stops hurting. The ghosts of the past are vicious, aren’t they?”

Their grip tightened in the hero’s hair, to the point of pain.

“With time, I think I can fix that too.”

The hero reeled, shoving against the grip on their wrists, and the villain let them scramble backwards. They slammed into the headboard, shaking like a newborn fawn.

The villain tapped an idle finger. “You saved me, once. You didn’t know who I was, or that I was covered in someone else’s blood as much as my own—you saw me, bloody, bearing a gunshot wound, and tried to help. I could have killed you, but I didn’t. How could I ever hurt someone who radiated such kindness? That’s when I knew you were a blessing on this wretched place. That’s when I knew I was going to save you, no matter the cost. Do you remember that?”

The sickening thing was, they did remember that. They had learned later that there had been dead body ten feet behind the villain. They had learned later that the villain had an extensive record of revenge killings, dating back years. 

But in that moment, it had only been about the person in front of them, covered in blood, with a wound.

So the hero had healed them, their telekinesis rushing over them and adjusting their tousled clothes as they went, until the wound was gone and the blood was half vanished from the villain’s clothes. They hadn’t realized it had been more than the villain’s blood staining their jacket.

When they saw the villain again on the battlefield, they recognized the face, but couldn’t place why.

Now they knew.

“You’re a monster,” the hero spat, and the villain raised a brow, as if it hadn’t hurt them the way the hero wanted.

“Maybe. But at least I’m the monster who covets you.”

“You are no better than anyone who has hurt me—“

At this, the villain jerked forward, grip bruising on the hero’s chin. Their eyes burned with that quiet rage.

After a moment, they smiled, just barely.

“I am not your parents,” they said cruelly,  “drugging you until you were too much of a zombie to be special. I am not your siblings, seeing how long they had to drown you before your powers would lash out. I am not this city, covering you with blood and calling it righteous.”

The hero had stopped breathing.

“Everything I do, I do it to protect you. And if protecting you sometimes means hurting you, then I’ll take the weight of that.”

The villain released them, and stood.

They corners of their smiled smoothed into something pleasant. Fake, like plastic.

When the hero tried to speak, all they could manage was a strangled, “Please.”

The villain tipped their head.

“I will not give you a freedom that will bring you pain.”

“But you’ll give me captivity?”

“This is a blessing. No more pain. No more hurt. No more guilt.”

The hero scoffed, chest tight.

“A life in a cage will never be one without pain.”

The villain narrowed their eyes, but their voice remained soft.

“We’ll see.”

“I hate you.”

The villain nodded.

“Oh, love. I know.”

When the villain left, the hero curled in on themself and tried to pretend they weren’t in their mother’s darkened closet once more.

This time, the hero didn’t bother screaming.

At least the villain caged them out of love, instead of hatred.

Somehow, even with the knowledge that this was some twisted form of protection, the walls still suffocated the hero all the same. 

[modern-inheritance]

Islanzadí and Arya working together (a rough snippet from the S.O.B/alcohol withdrawal Brom series) {TW: mentions of alcohol dependence and withdrawal}

(Islanzadi is far more supportive in this short than we've ever seen her, and she's certainly not nearly as awkward as she's been in previously seen moments with her and Arya. It's been probably 3-4 months of Eragon and Co. being in Ellesmera at this point so their relationship is definitely better than ever before, and Iz has begun to treat Arya as she would a mix of Evandar {who also had very strong Recall and PTSD from his previous battle experiences, his genetic link in part why Arya's is equally strong} and Brom with the more casual and easy attitude. And it's actually coming off wonderfully as a good adult child and parent relationship imo. Plus, they both care a lot for Brom, and this whole experience of trying to sober him up and get him through withdrawal and DTs reveals a lot to both of them about their own personalities and experiences I think.)

~~~

(Situation so far in this part of the series: Islanzadí visits Brom while he's still confined to the bathroom at Arya and Glen's flat, sitting and talking with her old friend to try and gain a bit more insight into why he spiraled so hard and has been hiding it. Suffering from acute withdrawal brought on by his acquired dependence on magic elf liquor the past four months, Brom is furious with Arya for locking him up to stop his attempted end but is reminded by Islanzadí of his and the Queen's shared experiences of loss, and Iz tells him that she can see he has gone through another more recently. In physical and mental pain, Brom reveals his relationship with Selena after extracting a promise for it to stay between them, and confirms that he is Eragon's father. His feelings of failure and that he abandoned everyone boil to the surface and after more talking Iz helps him finally fall asleep with magic to ease some of the pain he is experiencing from the withdrawal. She leaves him and goes to speak with her daughter outside, where Arya is waiting with problems and tangled emotions of her own as she watches her mentor and surrogate father suffer while he tells her he hates her and throws books at her head when she gives them to him.)

“He’s angry. At himself, more than anything.” Islanzadí sighed and brushed stray hair behind her ear, using the moment to gather her thoughts. So much had been said, and left unsaid, during such a short span. It was difficult to separate what she could tell her daughter from what would run up against her oath. “He came to terms with some of his loss in Carvahall, but with all that’s happened, being here again, he’s reopened old wounds and found new ones. He’s always delt with his grief through rage, but now…”

“But now he’s hurting.” Arya picked up the thread, forehead braced on her knitted together fingers and elbows on her knees. She dropped her hands and stared at the moss between her boots. “He’s hurting, and he doesn’t know how to direct that rage now that there are no Forsworn to kill and he’s stuck here. He’s on the sidelines of Eragon and Saphira’s training, without anything to do that would give him visual, solid progress against Galbatorix and the war effort beyond giving them limited pointers. He’s hurting and angry and has nothing else to direct it at.”

“Yes.” The Queen settled on the armrest of the couch. Arya’s downcast gaze allowed her mother to examine her openly, taking in the hunched shoulders, scuffed knuckles, and the barely visible rims of dark rings at the edges of her eyes. “...You two are similar enough in that. Needing an outlet.”

Arya snorted, half scoff and just a hint of wry disbelief as she lifted her head to shoot Islanzadí an annoyed, tight lipped flash of fiery eyes. “Hey, I know I’m a problem and I’m not hiding it. He’s pretending everyone else is the problem when he knows it’s a him issue.”

Islanzadí’s voice was still soft, yet her tone took on an authoritative edge. “You are not a problem. And neither is Brom.” It vanished just as quickly as it came. “You both are hurting, and you both have gone through so, so much, Arya. You, Brom and Glenwing all have had to adapt to new realities. You know these are not uncommon results of that. It does not make any of you a problem.”

The younger elf dropped her eyes again and rubbed her palms on her knees. The shift brought her mother’s attention to her daughter’s shoulders again, pink and red scar tissue rippling above moving muscle and bone. Arya’s neck was tensed more than before, jaw tight enough that her words came out in a stiff mumble.

“Problems are fixed a good bit easier than people, Mum.”  

The tightness around Islanzadí’s eyes softened. Ah. Her daughter did not pick her words quite as carefully as many of her race, but she did pick them deliberately. 

The Queen reached out and touched two fingers to Arya’s shoulder and waited for her to meet her gaze. “Then, Little Star, you and Brom are most definitely problems. And problems evolve, Arya, for good or for ill, oft changing to the point of becoming non-issues before a true solution is found. Remember that.”

The younger elf’s brows lowered, those oh so familiar twin lightning bolts that called up images of her father when he was angry…or when he was staring at some puzzle box from his mother, initial confusion almost hilariously adorable. “...In fewer words, some problems can’t be fixed. But they get better.”

“Yes. If you’d like to dampen my flare for the dramatic.”

[certifiedbitch777]

Don't Touch My Hair... I MEANT IT!!!

Entry Date: 1/18/2024 11:03 pm

Today's topic is 'Don't Touch My Hair,' and I mean it quite literally. I am tired.

Tired.

Tired.

I'm so tired of this shit, and I want to cry and scream and more.

My hair is something I've struggled with since I was a kid. It's a very sore spot. When asked what their ideal hair would be growing up, most girls would point out things such as a difference in texture, thicker hair, or even extra length. For me, it sucked because I didn't have any of the desired traits.

My hair was a lot different than my siblings. Their hair was much fuller than mine. My hair is low density, aka it's hella thin... Man, is it really thin. Reflecting on what I know about my hair now, my hair also has low porosity, while my siblings seemed to have medium porosity.

My mother struggled to plant the proper seeds to make my hair grow and be healthy. She didn't know how to take care of hair like mine. With my siblings having thicker and much more resilient hair, it was no reason why their hair seemed to flourish in different settings; meanwhile, mine would break off at the most minor inconvenience.

For the majority of my life, I grew up with short hair and even went through the phase in middle school of lying about my length so that I wouldn't be ridiculed. I would go to extreme lengths to manipulate my hair in a particular way to feel more feminine and aligned with the beauty standards. None of that would be able to erase the many years of humiliation I would feel from my peers or even my external family (grandma, aunties, etc.). It was like a running joke...

I felt so ugly for many years, but I still held the idea that my beauty was tied to how my hair looked. Even now, in my early 20s approaching my mid-20s, I still struggle with this. I struggle with prioritizing my physical appearance, though I know the beauty within is what counts the most. And trust, I do focus on building my internal world and shifting the harmful internal dialogue, but it's just so hard when the world is built on all superficial matters.

I've won over certain battles that I faced regarding the beauty standard. For example, I have big boobs. Big boobs, by nature, sag due to gravity, skin elasticity, genetics, and so many more factors. I thought something was wrong with me during my teen years. I mean, why the hell was my boobs frowning if I didn't even birth any children?? But the older I got, the less I started to care. Shit neither does my partner, so I just learned to embrace this difference within myself. But when it comes to my hair... it's the battle I'm struggling to win over the most.

I shaved my hair in the summer of 2022. It is now January 2024, and I'm still baldheaded.

Granted, the past year, for me, has been highly stressful. I suffered hair loss due to stress from work, my weight was fluctuating, and my health over was in the gutter. Due to this, I started balding in random spots. However, it's been MONTHS since I stopped balding, and my hair is not even 5 inches...

It makes me feel so ugly.

So masculine.

I mean, I've been with my boyfriend for 2 years, and since we've dated, I've been taking care of his hair. His hair is now mid-back length, drastically different from his mini afro. And yet, here I am, his girl, with shorter hair. It just makes me feel so undesirable. I feel the need to wear a full face of makeup every time my hair is out. That is just utter bullshit!

I'M JUST SO FUCKING TIRED!!

And I'm so hurt.

This never-ending battle with my feminity tied to something as trivial as my hair is draining me. If anybody asked me if I was over all of my hair struggles that summer of 2022 before I shaved it, I would've said yes!! But I'm clearly not and don't know what to do.

Outside of being overpriced for simple services, these new-age stylists LOVE adding a pile of product, mostly thick gel, to our hair and straightening it for basic styles... How are these styles being labeled protective??? My hair just simply won't thrive in those conditions.

And what sucks is I love styles such as mini braids or twists, but hair is such a low density, I end up looking like Cynthia from rug rats LMFAOO. Just 3 goddamn braids on my hair.

I want to know how do I feel pretty with my hair in its current state. That's the question no one knows how to answer, and I don't expect them to. The answer should come from me and only me, but this battle just feels so lonely...

[trainwreckgenerator]

Hi there! I just came across one of your comics dealing with your own self-image and T and I saw in the comments, one of your replies saying that you shouldn't have a singular self-image and that you should think about yourself the way you view others. I was just wondering if you could elaborate on the singular self-image idea more. I'm not trying to bait you or anything I'm just interested because I've been trying to make decisions about going on T and how I want to present myself and I didn't realize I could be thinking about it in unhealthy ways.

sure! so the big pitfall with any kind of appearance-altering procedure, especially one that takes place over such a long timeframe as HRT, is going into it with an image in your head of exactly what you'll look like by the end of it.

just like with teen puberty or aging, there is no real way of knowing precicely what you'll look like after a year, after 5 years, after 10 years on hrt. think back to being in highschool: for some people, puberty changed their whole body until they looked like totally new people. for others, it just slapped some boobs or a beard on them and called it a day. my puberty as a teen made my nose bigger! i dont know why! hrt can have similarly unexpected effects.

holding on to a detailed, idealised version of what you want to look like by the end of hrt is likely to set you up for disappointment when it gives you changes different to, or less extreme than, what you were hoping for. there are some things that are more guaranteed - like a deepening voice on T - but not everybody is going to come away with a full beard, or reduced cheek fat. there are cis men out there with round, smooth faces! hormones are unpredictable for everybody.

so, ive been trying to encourage myself to instead consider the possible changes in a vague, agglomerative way - for instance, there's a lower and upper limit to the quantity of facial hair i would consider ideal, but ive stopped picturing my future face with a highly specific hair distribution, because chances are im going to get something not quite like that, and i dont want to be bummed out about it, i want to be able to appreciate what i get when i get it.

as some people have pointed out, you can sort of predict what hrt will do to you by looking at the men and women you're closely related to and seeing if there seem to be genetic trends cropping up. chances are, hrt will do to you the same thing puberty did to your relatives. the men in either side of my family aren't tall, so im not expecting my bones to change much, but they do tend to have defined jawlines, so my hopes are high for facial fat redistribution - but again, that's only a chance, not a guarantee.

ultimately, deciding whether to go on hrt should be based on whether you want to move your appearance "in the direction of" the changes hrt can bring about - if you look at the list of changes and think "yeah i really want some or all of these, to varying degrees; and the ones i dont want, i wouldnt really mind that much", then hrt is probably a good idea.

but if youre thinking "i have an exact future body i want to achieve, and hrt could give me this body, but if it gives me a different body i will feel terrible", then either hrt isn't for you, or you need to step away and do some self-reflecting before commiting to the process.

this post is already super long but i will add one last bit of advice if you're still not sure: with some forms of hrt, you can deliberately choose a very low dose, so that changes come about much more slowly - making it much easier to notice if a change you don't like is happening, giving you the option to back out. in the early stages, many hrt effects are reversible, including fat redistrubution and hair loss. (note that voice deepening and new facial/body hair growth are not reversible, unless you undertake more surgery to reverse it.) (infertility is sometimes reversible but its complicated. if you plan on having kids do extra research specifically on that)

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Fifteen — A Surface Memory

I sorta froze; this was the history I knew. My life, the bits with Mom? It stopped here, on this page, and yet we had barely made a dent in the photo album. Why was the idea of turning the page so daunting?

Dad wrapped one arm around my shoulder, the other coming into view as it slowly turned the page. 

5k words | 20 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Continuation on the mentions of loss, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Complications, Surgery, Drugs, Gangs, Terrorism, Mass Casualty. Not like, all at once or deeply described, but definitely mentioned. Imagine if that all happened at once, jfc

I turned the page again, this section surprisingly different; the photos were of Mom and some dude with a blue mohawk, all a bit rough at the edges; like they were old, but well preserved. Mom’s pink hair was still there, but she didn’t look as…edgy, I guess. Plain shirts and simple earrings and stuff. “This is Abbs and her brother,” Dad clarified for me. 

Brent, the first Brent. 

I didn’t know a lot about him at all. I imagine that was intentional, another thing Dad had to hide. “Did you know him?” I asked.

Dad shook his head. “He died before everything, even before your mom was a DUP prisoner.”

“How?” 

Dad suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “I…” he trailed off, biting at his lip. “Gang war bullshit.”

Oh. 

I mean, Dad said Mom had a history with drugs and the Akurans, but were they actually involved with that stuff? Not just victims? “Your mom had a hard start to life,” Dad started gently, as if reading my mind. “Had to…run away when she was a kid, ‘cause her parents were trying to turn her in for being a Conduit. Brent had taken her and ran and they…well, they had to survive somehow, you know?” 

“They were gonna give her to the DUP?” I whispered. 

Dad nodded. “It was worse back then than it is now,” 

And that’s saying something, ‘cause it was still pretty fucking bad. 

But they bought into the propaganda and were actually going to turn Mom in! How could a parent do that to their kid? “Were they gonna turn Brent in too?” I asked.

Dad hummed, confused at my question before realizing what I meant. “Oh, no, Brent wasn’t a Conduit. Just Abbs.” 

I knew there was some genetic explanation to becoming a Conduit; something about both parents needing to have a recessive gene — and even then there was only, like, a 1 in 1,000 chance of a child being a Conduit. The fact that both Brent — my Brent — and I were Conduits was a lucky draw. 

Or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it. 

“So he—“ I faltered, looking down at the picture of Uncle Brent using Mom as an armrest, sat on some kind of retainer wall. “He ran away with her? Or to protect her?” 

Dad shrugged. “Both.”

“Oh, wow,” I whispered. He didn’t look that much older than Mom — he had to only have like, three years on her, max. And if she left as a kid…there was a good chance Brent was one, too. A kid, a normal kid, who threw away a comfortable life for his sister. But…when those Akurans kidnapped me, and I had those three minutes where I thought Brent was the only Conduit out of the two of us…I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same. I was totally willing to, in fact — it’s why that gun was on my temple in the first place. 

I turned the page; this next section time hopped forward, summer on the trees just in front of the house. Mom and Dad were next to an old white truck, the back full of stuff covered with a tarp and strapped down. Next to it was Mom, a shaky shot, sitting reclined in an old leather chair, staring at a TV above the fireplace. “I was really excited to move her in,” Dad said. “Y’know, not just because she’d be there but…it was the first time she really had a home since she was a kid. She deserved something stable.” 

Another page, and another flash forward; Mom’s brown roots were taking over her hair, and she sat on a bench at the patio of the Longhouse, leaned back, arms protectively caressing a decent-sized bump. Another one had Dad sitting beside her and they just…stared off into the Sound. “I managed to get Betty to sneak quite a few pics because—“ he motioned towards the pile of books on his side, “—you saw my mom’s stuff. She’s barely in it. I wanted Abbs to be in pictures more,” 

Well, Dad had quite the foresight, then. 

Next page was something Dad called a gender reveal, something that died off a few years ago. Not that there were many people in the photograph; I could pinpoint like, three of Dad’s friends I already met, some girls I didn’t know. That old lady that gave me pads was there, and one caught Dr. Sims hiding off on the side away from everyone else. They were in the recreational room of the Longhouse, I saw it when I walked by it to go to the bathroom. One of just Mom and Dad, a big group one, a few of them milling. Flipping the page came with the actual reveal, blue confetti everywhere on the wood floor beside Mom and Dad. “You guys really thought I was a boy,” 

Dad laughed. “Like I said, Brent was the only one to ‘show the goods,’ so we had to assume.”

“That had to be a surprise,” I commented, turning the page to a baby shower feature. Everything was blue, including every piece of clothing they got. 

“What?” 

“Me, coming out a girl.” I looked up at him. “Was it weird?” 

Dad chuckled. “Weird? No. A surprise? Oh yeah,” his laughter grew. “Your mom thought they brought back the wrong kid at first,” 

“What?” 

Dad nodded, flipping the page; this one was a selfie of sorts, Dad holding up a peace sign with Mom glowering behind him in a hospital bed, the captioning explaining something about inducing labor. “You’ve gotta remember; she had surgery. It…” the laughter suddenly evaporated. “This went bad. I wasn’t even allowed in when they wheeled her to the operating room. Just got shown you two before they took you to the NICU. She wasn’t awake to see you two come out.” 

That shadow crossed his face again, that dark one when he was reliving something that involved loss. And I hadn’t realized it before, simply ‘cause I never really thought of it; if Mom had an emergency surgery, that meant it was an emergency. Could we have died, all three of us? 

Maybe that’s why this page only had the one picture. 

Dad turned the page again, two porty little potatoes wrapped up in white baby blankets, shoved under some giant warming light. They had tubing in their nose, wires sprouting from their blankets like growths on spuds. “Your mom…you know what a placenta is, right?” I nodded — I took health class. “She had an abruption. It…there was so much blood, and the heartbeat reads on both of you just took a nosedive. There wasn’t even any warning to it — one moment we were watching this zombie show and then she was gone for surgery. I only got a glimpse at you both before they took you to get oxygen.” He breathed shakily, rubbing a hand on his knee in an effort to rid himself of the nervous energy. “But after a few hours in the NICU, they figured you guys were okay,”

“But we did have to be taken care of?” I asked, pointing to the picture.

“For like, four hours. But I got to be there after finding out if your mom was okay,” 

“Ah, made sure Mom knew her other boy wasn’t switched out.” 

He smiled a bit. “Took some convincing but, yeah,” 

There were a couple other snapshots of these little babies, barely distinguishable from each other. Funny, for a few moments, we really did look like twins; fat noses and fat faces and fat. Just fat. Was it normal for babies to look so squished? I was the slightest bit darker, that’s literally all that was different. That and the giant weird red mark on Brent’s forehead. 

I turned the page again, greeted with the familiar face of Mom and Dad holding Brent and I, the same photograph Dad kept on his desk. The other page had some souvenir birth certificates from some hospital called Swedish, that same cursive on the wall in the nursery writing out my and Brent’s full name…with the last name Walker–Rowe. 

“We weren’t always Rowland, were we?” I asked, as if the proof wasn’t right there. 

Dad shook his head. “Your mom and I had a deal: hyphenated last name, and she’d be willing to change it if we ever got married.” 

Rowland was probably a part of the witness protection program thing we had going on. Keep us hidden, safe. I definitely didn’t plan to ask, at least; the shadow was still on his face, and I didn’t want to make him spiral any further. 

 I sorta froze; this was the history I knew. My life, the bits with Mom? It stopped here, on this page, and yet we had barely made a dent in the photo album. Why was the idea of turning the page so daunting?

Dad wrapped one arm around my shoulder, the other coming into view as it slowly turned the page. 

Mom was there, there for the trip home from the hospital and the Akomish Naming Ceremony, something Betty dressed up in full traditional garb for. There to hand one of us in a bundle of blankets over to Dr. Sims, there in the next pic laughing as he reacted to being spit up on. There for the sudden influx of pink clothes that she happily mixed with the masculine blues before forcing my chubby little appendages into them. There rocking Brent to sleep, there feeding me a bottle. Dad was there too, don’t get me wrong; there was a sweet one with him asleep on this very couch, me laid on his chest with some sort of headband-bow around my impossibly small head. But Mom. 

Mom was there. 

We got older, grew out of the awkward doughboy look and into actual, distinguishable babies. Brent started out blonde, surprisingly, and darkened rather quickly over the weeks. He matched Mom’s brown by the time he began pulling up to stand, propped up against furniture. I browned out a bit more from birth, never straying too far from Dad’s side once I started crawling. “You remember S’mores? How she’d always shove herself under our feet when we were walking in the kitchen?” Dad asked, and I nodded. I missed that cat. “You were like that with me when you learned to crawl.” 

My cheeks heated up. “I was a bit needy, wasn’t I?” 

Dad chuckled, “Oh, yeah,”

Once Brent and I got a handle on walking, though, the pictures changed drastically; anything with Brent always seemed to be mid-motion, snapshots of him running around like a miniature tornado while ones of me were more calm yet just as chaotic, on top of a kitchen table or under somewhere that looked impossible to reach. “You weren’t as energetic as Brent, but god you were a Houdini.” Dad laughed, shaking his head. “We had Betty babysit Brent once to just watch you and make sure there wasn’t anything Conduit you were doing to get wherever you wanted.”

I turned the page again, this time to one of me on the fridge. On the fridge, like atop it, standing in that space between the top of the fridge and the ceiling. “You guys had to study me to make sure I wasn’t using random powers?” 

“Yeah. Turns out you’re just smart and don’t stop until you get what you want. Like the toy I put on the fridge to stop you and Brent fighting. You used the kitchen cabinets as stairs.” 

Ah, that’s what that weird thing in my hand was.

Next set was of a birthday party, just Betty in attendance with Mom and Dad, stock little safari animals decorating the living room. The Christmas tree was still up, paper streamers wrapped around the branches in place of ornaments and with presents under it wrapped in paper that screamed HAPPY BIRTHDAY in bold. “Is this where the birthday tree came from?” I asked. We always kept our Christmas tree up till January 18th, the bottom of the tree holding bigger presents while the branches would hold smaller things like paint brushes or video game cases or gift cards. It was one of my favorite traditions.

“We were just lazy,” Dad shrugged. “You try finding time to put up Christmas stuff when you’ve got Brent learning how to open the front door and you trying to pull everything out of the kitchen cabinets to hide in them.”

Yeah we were definitely why he was graying fast at 44. 

“But yes, your Mom and I talked about doing it after getting you two to bed that night,” Dad added. “I wanted…it didn’t hurt to keep the idea after we moved to Portland, you know?” 

I nodded. A snippet of Mom in our life wasn’t something I was upset to have around. 

The next pages were of the nursery gutted or tarped, Mom handing Brent a paintbrush while visibly holding me back from trying to eat some paint out of a bucket. Nice. Glad that’s a memory now. The wall was tarped too save for a cut out square, the elephant’s canvas in it. “So you made it before we were born?” I asked, Dad nodding. I looked back at the pictures, the next one a close up on Mom. 

The smile began to slip off my face; Mom, she…she didn’t look the same. I mean yeah it looked like Mom but I hadn’t noticed her skin was a bit gray, cheeks seeming to become sullen. She looked sick. There was life in her eyes that didn’t match her body, but she just didn’t look right. 

This had to be what Dad was talking about. Whatever our birth did to her was starting to become obvious.

I flipped the pages, ignoring a lot of what we were doing more so to track how Mom declined; her arms got a bit skinnier, her collarbones more pronounced. There were less pictures of her in action with us and more of her sitting or laying down. There were quite a few pics of her with little wrappings on her elbows, the after effects of a blood draw or something. She…she looked like she was on borrowed time. If the Akurans never got to her, would she have lived anyways? She didn’t even have the energy to keep up with the dye in her hair, the brown roots coming back with a vengeance. She took to wearing baggier tees as summer returned and I wondered if that was to hide that she lost weight. S’mores was suddenly there, a Burmese kitten that looked like a toasted marshmallow, Mom holding her as if she’d melt away in her hands. “S’mores was Mom’s cat?” 

Dad nodded. “I got S’mores for her as a late birthday gift. You guys were not nice to her—“ he pointed to a picture of me with my hand on her head in a bad pet, S’mores glowering but otherwise unmoving, “—but she was a great cat. Let you do almost anything to her, and would only swipe if you pushed too far.” 

“She never used her claws,” I commented, remembering all the feverish little rapid patpatpatpatpat smacks she’d hit me with when I tried shoving her in doll clothes. She’d smack me, run to Dad yowling, and I’d get in trouble — but she never hurt me. I never even heard her hiss till her cancer got bad when we were 13. 

Dad was torn up when S’mores died, and now I got why; it was another piece of Mom, ripped away. 

There were Fourth of July pictures featuring only Dad and Betty, Mom missing from the festivities at the Longhouse. Betty playing with me, Dad holding Brent’s hand more to keep him in place than anything as they walked the shore of the Sound — but no Mom. Mom was on the next page, wrapped up in bed with Brent and Me under her arms, all three of us having some sort of movie night where she managed to placate us two into stillness. There was a little bit more color in her face, but it could have also been from the blush she gave the camera, caught by Dad. One beside it was Brent and I now fully active on the bed, chasing around a pink light that overexposed our faces on camera — but it didn’t erase the joy. Not at all. 

Next page was a cute family one, Mom and Dad wrangling Brent and I down respectively, posed on the front steps of the Longhouse. Another one of Betty losing her grip on us, but nonetheless laughing, reaching out to try to snatch Brent back up before he could run too far as I was slung over her shoulder, looking back at the camera and laughing. 

There weren’t any other pictures on the opposite side, nor the rest of the book as I flipped through. The memories stopped there on the Longhouse stairs. “That’s the day I proposed to your mom,” Dad said sadly. “Betty wanted a picture when we came back in celebration.” 

And a week later, Mom would be dead. 

I sniffed, trying to push back the tears. I had so many emotions flowing through me, all touched with a twinge of sadness. Mom was here. On this couch, in this house, at some point — and I had proof. I could sprint outside right now and scream to the heavens that I had a Mom, that she loved me and I had proof! It was right here in this old album, which I subconsciously brought closer to my chest as I closed it, breathing shakily. 

Dad’s arm on my shoulder tightened a bit in a side hug, drawing me closer into his side. “You okay?” He asked gently. 

I nodded rather feverishly, sniffing again. “Yeah, I…” I gripped the book tighter, like if I squeezed it hard enough it’d hug back. “She knew us.” I whispered. 

“Hm?” 

I tried to raise my voice higher, but couldn’t. I may as well have been vapor, the way it suddenly vanished. Everything welled up in my chest, trying to shove its way out. 

Dad’s hand rubbed against my arm softly, and he breathed deeply before saying, “She loved you. Both of you, and it’s been hard keeping these memories from you two because you deserve to know how much she loved you.”

Tears began escaping without my consent. God, I didn’t think I could cry anymore today. Dad’s other arm came around to grab me fully and I couldn’t hold back anymore, pain and joy and sadness all flooding out on choked sobs as I cried. I even felt Dad’s breathing shake, his nose sniff — he joined at some point, but never stopped consoling me. Didn’t worry about anything but how I was doing, keeping a hold on me even as I pulled out of the hug, throat raw. 

He let the silence hang as I composed myself, trying to steady my breathing and get those embarrassing hiccups to stop. I let the book rest on my lap again, freeing my hands so I could pull the sleeves of my shirt over them and wipe my face dry. Weird, you’d think the powers would deal with them. 

Dad’s thumb was rubbing a gentle pattern into my bicep, and I tried to force my breathing to match the rhythm of his movements somehow. “She was really happy you were a girl, by the way. After the whole scare that you got swapped out and stuff, she actually was so happy she cried. Something about not being surrounded by testosterone,” 

I snorted, the sound gross because of my congestion. Yeah, sometimes it sucked being in a house full of boys, I probably would have been relieved too. 

“Brent needs to see this,” I eventually said, my voice a harsh croak that required me to cough to even it back out. 

“He will,” Dad promised. “I’ll show him tomorrow at some point.” Dad then sighed hard, giving me a slight bit of room as he went from squeezing into me to leaned back on the couch. “How was he?” 

I shrugged. “He…upset. I missed whatever fit he threw, but that construction site is completely unusable now.” 

Dad blinked, looking down at me. “Really?” 

I explained what I saw, how absolutely destroyed the site and surrounding trees were — but Dad didn’t look surprised. In fact he hummed, as if it was a curious outcome. “I’ll have to talk to him about it. I think I might know what happened,” 

“Tommy just—“ I sputtered a moment, trying to find the words. “How could he? Not exactly being pro-Conduit is one thing but he sold you out! After everything!” 

Dad stared into the fire, which really needed a stoke, thinking. “You know, when we left here and I became Damion and everything, I sort of thought that…maybe it was a good thing. I was scared of what being Abigail Walker and Delsin Rowe’s kids was going to do to you two. Not even the death threats or the stalking or the harassment but…stuff like this, with Tommy. Especially when I thought you two were normal, I felt like I made the right move. That maybe we should have done it earlier.” 

What would that have done? Tommy would still be prejudiced, we’d still be Conduits, Dad would still be Delsin Rowe. Mom probably would have died from whatever made her sick. “We shouldn’t have to hide,” I huffed. “It’s not fair! I mean, why is it so wrong that we’re Conduits? You know how much good we could do?” 

“People are scared of what they don’t understand,” Dad said sadly. “And with Empire City and the Plague and Augustine’s stunts — they have reason to be scared. They’re worried they can’t protect themselves.” 

“They don’t need to protect themselves! It’s not like we’re hunting them for sport.” I scoffed. “And even if something happens, I mean — doesn’t it feel safer to have a Conduit help?” 

Dad was giving me a weird look, like he was analyzing all I left unsaid. Probably to chastise me for the curse words I was keeping out. “Jeanie, I want you to think back to when those Akurans had you. You couldn’t do a thing to safely get out of that situation, right?” 

I nodded, the idea of that day enough to cause knots in my stomach. Even after it all, the only reason I got away from his gun was because I turned to water in his arms. If I wasn’t a Conduit, or if I didn’t form powers then…would I even be alive? 

“That fear is what everyone has about Conduits. Guns and stuff can only do so much. If someone shoots at us, we can dodge or block it — and we heal fast. What’s to stop us from killing them?” 

Not much. 

“But we aren’t killers, Dad! You’re not, me and Brent aren’t, and none of those Conduits in COLE were either.” 

Dad’s soft smile he gave me was weird, sort of like he…felt sorry for me? “There’s a lot more to this than you know, Jean. It’s not always that easy.” 

Then fucking make it easy, Dad! I’m not a child anymore, I’m 99% adult and you can tell me what you really think instead of hiding behind the ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ excuse. 

That’s what I wanted to say. Instead I sort of huffed under my breath and looked at the fire, grabbing the poker to stab at it a bit. 

A few embers shot out from my poking, and I watched them flitter down to the cold tile that lined the edge of the fireplace, dying midair before they could even hit the ground. My mind wasn’t on the argument I wanted to start with Dad at all anymore, but the absolute tragedy that happened earlier. “Dad?” He hummed. “Did…is it still at nineteen?” 

His hand came up from its lax position, running over his face. “Yeah. Didn’t go up, but there’s a couple people in critical condition,” 

So it could change. 

“So…how many of them did you know?” 

Dad’s eyes didn’t leave the fire, the flames haunting him as if he watched COLE explode in person. “All of them.” 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. 19 acquaintances or friends gone, snuffed out like those embers. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right. 

“There’s a vigil tomorrow,” Dad said. “Got an email about it. They’ve kept me on the email chains just in case I…” he shook his head as if resetting the thought, trying again with, “I hope they stay safe about it. Another big gathering isn’t the best idea.” 

The thought came to me, and left my tongue just as quickly: “You should be there.” 

Dad turned to look at me like I just ate ash out of the fireplace for a midnight snack. “What?” 

There was a brief second where I thought about shaking my head and saying ‘never mind’ — but there wasn’t a good enough reason not to. We didn’t have the liberty of reasoning anymore. “You should go. They — the Conduits need a voice right now and I know Dr. Sims is there but it’s—“ I shrugged, finishing lamely with, “It’s not you.” 

“Jeanie, I need to make sure you two stay safe—“

“Dad,” I cut him off, pulling out of his embrace to face him fully. He blinked, surprised by how serious I was being. “I don’t think we can hide anymore. It didn’t work, anyways — they found us. And besides, staying silent right now is admitting it’s the truth. They know you’re Delsin, and they know about me and Brent. There’s video and Tommy is ratting us out anyways so it isn’t like we can just pretend things are okay.” I thought back to that one on one I had with Betty on the patio; maybe she did know what she was talking about. “COLE was just blown up and I don’t — maybe if we did something no one would have died—“

“Jean—“ 

“But we can’t just leave them to fend for themselves! They need you. Not Sims, not some other guy, not the politicians, but the man they credit for freeing them. I don’t think anyone but Delsin Rowe can fix this.” 

Dad shook his head. “I’m not — Jean, this isn’t one of those comics you want to write. I can’t be that guy, I just care about you and your broth—“ 

“But you are.” I stressed, a few seconds away from dropping to my knees in a plea. “You’re that guy to them. I thought you were that guy too: you didn’t have to help them, but you did, and that’s what they care about. That’s why they need you. And I know you care, Dad! You wouldn’t have made COLE if you didn’t.” 

He looked at me for so long I eventually dropped my vision to my hands, chickening out of the staring contest. But it’s the truth: he should be there. For the people he knew, for the ones he helped. Everyone knew Delsin Rowe was alive, and it was too late to shove that fact back into its little box. We did have a choice, and ours was probably more important than any other average Conduit, because I fully believed Dad’s involvement could change the tides. 

“You really think that?” Dad finally asked, just above a whisper. I looked up; he was still staring, the ghosts of a thousand fears and the shadows of a dozen emotions crossing his face. 

“Yeah,” I answered with no hesitation. “I think they need you again.” 

Dad breathed deeply, squinting his eyes shut like the action hurt him. “I don’t want to leave you two alone, but I can’t take you back there right now,”

“We aren’t alone,” I shrugged. “Betty can babysit us so you know we aren’t drinking.” 

“Oh I’m not worried about that,” Dad suddenly chuckled. “You have a super high metabolism now. You’ll need to drink an entire handle to feel a buzz.” 

“What?” 

Dad’s stare tried to be disapproving, but cracked under the amusement. “You could pretend to not be so heartbroken, y’know,” but that pensiveness came back, and Dad went quiet. 

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. What could I say? I couldn’t force him there, and it definitely didn’t look like he was ready to decide what to do. 

So instead I shifted to lean against him again, grabbing the photo album and asking, “Do you remember anything about these pictures? Like, what was going on that day?” 

I didn’t look at Dad, but I could tell he was caught off guard by the sudden change in topic as he said, “Y-yeah, a few of them, why?” 

“Tell me about them?” 

For a moment, Dad tensed, and I was sure he was gonna shrug me off and tell me to just go to bed. But then he shifted, leaned into the couch so I fit more to his chest and opened the album like it was a storybook. “So it’d been…almost two months since I heard from your Mom — there were so many interviews with the FBI and Reggie’s funeral and Curdun Cay that we barely got a moment of peace. Didn’t even really say a proper goodbye to each other. But one day she called and asked if I was still close to Seattle, if I’d meet her at the warehouse where she sorta kicked my ass…” 

I fell asleep there, the rumbles of Dad’s chest becoming a white noise as I listened to him explain a past I was only becoming acquainted with. 

[futurewriter2000]

Low budget in losing weight: pt. 1 - food

As somebody, who grew up on the chubbier and over-weight side the entirety of my life, I can say that I have tried the easiest, the hardest, the middle, the expensive and the cheapest ways of losing weight.

I'm not a professional, I'm not a gym rat or extremely into diets. I'm a normal 23 year old, who eats as normally as I can when it comes to losing weight and throughout the last 5 years, I had realised a lot of things that comes with it.

First thing is that I am quite heavy, when it comes to the scale (101,7kg) but I want to point out that at my height (171cm), I should be 65kg. I can say, that I have been that weight and it didn't suit me at all. My family has always been like stronger women, not in the obese way but my aunts and my mom, we all have strong thighs or big breast. I also have chubbier hands on my dad's side (which, he likes to call it "worker's hands"), so when it comes to your body, you should always include your genetics because in the process of losing weight, the genetics play a big role. Such, with me, coming from a line of strong, bigger women, I cannot have less than 75kg because then I look sick and dried up. Also my imune system is horrible and my hair began to fall out during my weightloos journey back in 2020. My hands will always look chubby and my thighs will always be big. It's genetics. So, the scale, shows how you weigh, not how obese you are. That should also include the fact that in the process of losing fat and gaining muscles, you will get havier because muscle mass is heavier than fat. The number on the scale is irrelevant when it comes your weight-loss journey because all in all, you want to have a toner and more defined body, which shows even if the number on the scale increases.

If you are a beginner of all beginners at all of this, the first week is the hardest. The first week, you probably won't eat healthy, you would probably eat sugar still, eat more meals than you should because you are not used to controlling your intake. That doesn't mean you are failing, it just means that you are trying and that is the process of healthier lifestyle.

Now, I haven't really grew up with a lot of money so salmon, avocados, those expensive proteins- that didn't really play into my journey. I was devestated because I thought it was a big block in my journey. Reality check- it isn't.

There are high protein foods though (eggs, tuna, protein bars, chicken etc.) and foods strong in fiber (apples, oats,...). If you're not a fan of it, you don't have to eat oatmeal every morning. Don't force yourself to eat something you don't want to. Balance it. Today I ate bread, mayo, pork salami and cheese. No eggs, no oats. Oh, and a chocolate pudding. You know why? Because it's breakfast and breakfast is king of all meals. The best thing you should do is start eating breakfast because you will be less hungry in the evening, not eating or snacking after 8pm. At breakfast, you break fast, so you should eat somehing strong to keep your energy levels high throughout the day.

Balancing food in the process of trying to lose weight is actually a struggle. You cannot snap your fingers and decide the next day that from that moment on you will eat healthier. Every food is healthy. Understand that. Oats are just as healthy as bread. Apple can increase your insulin levels just as chocolate can. The only difference is the intake. If you eat too much of chocolate, you'll feel sick but if you also eat too much of apple, you'll feel sick. People are used to over-eating. That's why the first week is the hardest, because you will continue the habit of over-eating but in your second week, your body will start to force you to stop over-eating.

[redwoodrecords]

good wigs!

i promised you all a short story about max ages ago, and i swear i hadn’t forgot so it’s here for you. i posted pictures of their hairstyles earlier and although their hair is short now, for most of high school they kept it really long. so here is the story of how it was cut short! also as this is a drabble it isn’t proof-read so if there are any grammatical issues…. ignore them 😍☝️

also quick refresh - drew + dani are max’s cousins and carla is max’s aunt. i used gender-neutral pronouns for this drabble but next time i think i’ll write them separately for both f!max and m!max (and other lis).

“are you sure about this?” carla’s eyes are pained as she watches dani wield a pair of barber scissors that she ordered overnight. “max, darling, is this really what you want to do?”

“i’m going to college auntie. i need to get rid of all of this.” max gestures to their hair, it cascades over their shoulders like a shampoo commercial.

drew walks in with coffee, painkillers, a first aid kit and jennifurr winding her way around his ankles. he places the coffee in front of max and after a second, he also puts down the painkillers.

“i know what you’re doing drew.” dani rolls her eyes. “i watched two hair tutorials! max is not going to die, stop being dramatic.”

she gestures at the word two, pushing forward her index and middle finger and when drew laughs, she puts the index down and just flashes the middle finger. usually carla would have gotten in the middle of the argument at the point but she was too busy mourning the loss that was to come.

“are you sure.” carla widens her eyes and pulls a strand of max’s hair with her fingers. as much as max loved their aunt, her obsession with this topic is getting a little tiring at this point. max gently pushes carla’s hand away, and wraps it in their own.

“auntie i promise. this is 100% my idea, i wouldn’t let dani rope me into this.” max lets go of her hand and shrugs. “i just needed to do something different.”

“but this is a big different! not a little different! maybe just chop off an inch and see how that works.”

“great idea!”

“really?”

“no.” max’s face is deadpan as they gesture for dani to come forward with the scissors. as dani grins, carla closes her eyes and drew leans in excitedly. max sips coffee contentedly as jennifurr moves to the desk and stretches her whole body.

“just before i start.” dani places her hand against her chest and takes a breath. “i just wanted to thank you for trusting me with your hair and not that loser over there.”

“i’m your twin? if i’m a loser so are you.”

“loserness isn’t genetic dumbass. if it was you’d be loser-free. too bad!” dani tucks a piece of her long hair behind a pierced ear. “anyways, i’m going to give you the greatest haircut in the universe.”

“literally not possible.” drew interjects.

“i would just be grateful if it was the best haircut in this house.” max chimes in.

“also not possible.” drew cuts in again, smoothing a hand through his hair before dani points the scissors at him.

“keep talking and you’ll wake up with not a hair on that dumb ugly head.” she moves towards max and starts brushing through their hair. as she starts to style their hair to cut, carla speaks up again.

“okay max, i’ll just be downstairs if you need anything. i mean anything. my friend sidney has a wig shop and she does quality wigs if you need one. no one would even tell!”

“mama, i’m not going to do that bad a job!” dani whines and carla puts her hands up in a peace gesture but as soon as dani turns away to max’s hair, she mouths over at them. good wigs!

for a moment, everything is silent. besides the television in dani’s room playing whatever song that drew has decided to play. no one knows who granted him the role of in-house dj but neither max or dani really cared and the music wasn’t half bad.

dani, to her credit, was really taking her time with the hairstyle. she had spent the day before buying a bunch of products that she swore that max would need. now max didn’t think a basket full of snacks would count but apparently hairstylists need food every five minutes? max couldn’t argue as dani was doing them a favour.

(“you know she’s lying right?” drew whispered to max as dani piled more food into her basket.

“literally why are you even here? who invited you?” dani turned to drew who just laughed.)

“okay.” dani smiles after two hours. “i’m done!”

“finally!” drew leans back on dani’s bed. “show me!”

“why are you tired? you did nothing but complain, eat my snacks and watch my tv?” dani furrowed her eyebrows and planted her hand on her hip.

“it’s called mental health support-“ dani hit drew with a pillow as max turned to the mirror. dani had managed to frame their face with the shorter style, and their hair looked fluffier and healthier than it had before dani took to them with the scissors.

“wow dani. it actually looks good.” drew exclaimed, bending down to look at max’s reflection. “i’m shocked.”

“shocked that max looks good? now that’s just mean. i’m so sorry max.”

“no, that you managed to create such a flattering hairstyle. i thought max was going to take mom up on her offer.”

dani sneers at drew before fluffing max’s hair with her fingers.

“i think you should go show granddad and mama before they think i’ve accidentally cut your head off or something. they’re so dramatic.”

“i mean it could be due to lived experiences. like remember of the incident with-“

“THAT’S OLD NEWS!” dani shushes drew as they start bickering max manages to slip out of the protective gown and out of the room.

for a moment, they keep staring at themselves in the mirror everytime that they pass one. they start to feel slightly conceited after a while but it was unnerving seeing their full face and not just having their hair obscuring it.

max never would tell anyone this but prior to today, the main reason that they grew their hair long was so that they were invisible. they didn’t want to be recognised at all, especially when they were known in high school as the orphaned kid. it seemed dramatic but as they made that transition into higher education, they wanted to put themselves out there.

in university, they would just be max and not just the kid in the corner. so it would be fitting that they would change their hair to fit the change. they look into the mirror and place a hand against their warm cheek. the reflection was both alien and familiar. they stared at their eyes, at their eyebrows and even the loose black shirt that filled the bottom of the mirror image.

max breaks the stare and keeps walking down the steps to get to their grandfather’s office. it was situated at the farthest part of house but max knew the route by heart.

max knocked on the ornate door before they heard their grandfather’s rough voice welcome them in.

“granddad.”

“max!” their grandfather looked up and almost did a double take. “max?”

“dani cut it. i think it looks pretty good myself but i wanted to show you.”

“you look exactly like your father.” henry bennett’s voice was described as many things. harsh, loud and at times, terrifying but never soft. as he spoke, his voice was quiet and wistful.

“dad?” carla knocked with some of henry’s papers on her arm. “these came from the office. oh! i didn’t realise you had someone here.”

“carla, it’s max.”

“max?” carla creeped into the room before clamping her hand over her mouth. “oh god. you look exactly like-“

“i know.” henry responded.

“is that a good thing or a bad thing?” max joked. “kinda getting mixed signals here guys.”

they exchanged a look before carla wrapped an arm around max.

“you look great darling. in fact, your grandfather and i were talking about having you come along with us to a dinner.”

“but you never let us come along to dinners?”

“i think you’re ready for the responsibility now. i mean, you got into redwood! you’re an adult now.”

“go take the twins with you and pick out an outfit. use one of our cards and spare no expense.” henry grins warmly at max. max nods, still in shock and walks out of the room.

as soon as max leaves, carla sits in the seat that they left. her eyes glaze over for a moment.

“god. it was like he was right there with her.”

“i know.” henry sat straight in his chair, still clad in a suit although it was a saturday. “but i think max will be more agreeable to the prospect then david was.”

“perhaps.”

“now, it’s lunchtime. i think we should focus more on that rather than what potentially waits for us in the future.”

[retorres]

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∆ DOES HAIR THERAPY WORK? Yes, because the product contains in its formula natural ingredients and other revolutionary ingredients - stem cells which are the raw material that produces all other cells in our body - and are associated with youth and vitality.

∆ DOES HAIR THERAPY REALLY WORK? yes, as signaling molecules are released, sending an urgent message to your stem cells to grow more hair, they begin to divide and multiply... and new hair is formed. 

∆ IS HAIR THERAPY GOOD? yes, because we know that we have two hair phases, stage 1 ¨Anagen¨, known as the growth phase, as it is when you are in your 20s and 30s... your hair will be long effortlessly, flowing and silky. However, as you age, an increasing amount of hair leaves the anagen phase and instead moves into stage 2, the ¨Telogenous¨ phase, where the hair stops growing and the root hardens. Therefore, by applying Hair Therapy Shampoo daily, you can enjoy thicker and more voluminous hair using a blend of natural ingredients based on the Rapunzel Ritual. 

∆ HAIR THERAPY INGREDIENTS? Hair Therapy SHAMPOO is made with plant-based ingredients and revolutionary ingredients, among them: AnaGain, a phenomenal ingredient that stimulates the production of FGF7 at the root of the hair, to start growing new healthy hair; Baicapil which is a very special substance extracted from a herb called Chinese skullcap that increases cellular activity at the ROOT level, hair follicles are rejuvenated and energized from the inside out, restoring healthy signaling and giving your hair a more youthful and voluminous appearance; and Biotin which is an essential vitamin to heal brittle and fragile hair. 

∆ Can HAIR THERAPY SHAMPOO be used by vegans? Yes, as Clinical Effects NEVER test their products on animals, their manufacturing process is ethical and environmentally friendly. 

∆ How to use HAIR THERAPY SHAMPOO? The manufacturer recommends using the same Rapunzel's Ritual every morning, 60 seconds in the shower or bath, massaging the roots, which will leave rich organic nutrients in your hair. 

∆ HAIR THERAPY SHAMPOO PRODUCT REVIEWS? Many women claim to have noticed a significant difference in just two weeks after applying Hair Therapy shampoo. Their hair looks thicker and fuller. 

∆ DOES HAIR THERAPY HAVE A GUARANTEE? yes, if you get the product from the official website that I left in the description, it comes with a 180-day money back guarantee, which gives you six months to try it and see if it works.

∆ HAIR THERAPY – OFFICIAL WEBSITE: https://cutt.ly/SwdorgBp 

∆ HAIR THERAPY – OFFICIAL WEBSITE: https://cutt.ly/SwdorgBp 

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#HOW TO TREAT WEAK AND THINNING HAIR? #REVOLUTIONARY METHOD FOR HAIR TREATMENT #HAIR THERAPY SHAMPOO