#i would personally not fuck with them in prison.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 13 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12

Chapter Summary: It's back to work for you and your boys, but it wouldn't be the 118 if there weren't a few bumps in the road — or prisoners in the ambulance.

Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: violence

You’re good at a lot of things, but keeping secrets isn’t one of them. When the Christmas season rolls around, you can’t buy gifts too far in advance because if you do, all you can think about is telling the person what you got them. If someone asks, “Can we keep this between us?” you start to sweat a little. If someone catches you in a lie, it doesn’t take much for them to get the information out of you.

This is the biggest secret of your life. It involves everyone you care about in at least some way. You really don’t want to fuck it up.

Everyone knows you and Buck are dating. They know you’re living together. What they don’t know is that you’ve spent the last three months living with Eddie. They don’t know that you and Buck are also dating Eddie and that he’s dating both of you.

They don’t care that you and Buck are dating. Would they care that the three of you are dating? You aren’t sure. But the thought of revealing it ties your intestines into knots and makes your heart beat a little faster.

You all decided that, for now, it would be best to act like nothing is going on. Eddie is just getting back to work after the shooting, and the last thing he needs is for the transition back to be even harder.

Eddie Diaz is a secret worth keeping; you just can’t help but wonder if he doesn’t want to be kept. It isn’t exactly fair that you and Buck get to go on like normal, leaving him in the shadows. Eddie’s assured you both many times that he doesn’t feel left out — that he gets it. It doesn’t untie any of the knots in your stomach, though.

And then there’s the Christopher thing.

He’s a smart kid, smart enough to know that something is going on. You and Buck visited at least once a week before the shooting, so it’s not like your recent presence tilted the world on its axis. You definitely never spent this much time, though. And the more comfortable you’re getting in the relationship, the less careful you’re getting.

More than once, Christopher has walked into the living room when your legs are in Eddie’s lap or his arm is around your shoulders. Eddie quickly corrects the positioning, gently moving your legs or lifting his arm. All of his focus shifts to his son in a matter of seconds, like you aren’t even sitting next to him. Chris always spares you a few extra glances, but he doesn’t say anything.

Overall, though, everything and everyone is comfortable. Or, at the bare minimum, you have no reason to believe otherwise.

The four of you are sitting around the kitchen table, silently enjoying dinner. Christopher decides to break the silence.

“Are you going to be my new mom?”

You nearly choke on your drink. You cough a few times, and Buck pats your back in silent reassurance. You can’t look away from Eddie, who’s sitting across from you and next to his son.

His mouth is slack open in surprise, but he recovers quickly. He angles his chair to Christopher, clearing his throat. “What makes you ask that, buddy?”

“You help me get ready like a mom. You make dinner like a mom. You’re here a lot, like a mom.”

It sounds so simple when he lays it out like that, so simple that it’s almost impossible to refute. But… you’re supposed to refute it, right?

“I’m… your dad’s friend,” you eventually say. “I care about you both a lot.”

Chris stares at you, considering this. Eddie does the same.

“Maybe that’s better than having a mom,” Chris says, then continues to eat.

You see the tension in Eddie’s shoulders evaporate. He lets out a breath he probably didn’t even realize he was holding.

Buck isn’t entirely satisfied with that answer, though.

“Chris, why would that be better?” Buck asks. His tone is a little hesitant, but even as a parallel line.

“My mom died, and I miss her,” Chris answers simply. “I don’t want her to die, too. I don’t want to miss anyone else.”

It’s been over a year since Shannon’s accident — a whole year of Christopher’s life without his mother. The worst part about it is it can’t be fixed. Eddie’s told you how Shannon left and how hard it was to let her back into their son’s life. He did, though, because he thought it would be best for everyone. She was gone, but Eddie brought her back. He can’t bring her back again, and it’s probably killing him.

You rub your lips together in contemplation. “You know, Chris, my mom died too.”

Chris looks at you with wide eyes. “Really?”

He sounds so hopeful about having this in common with you. It makes your chest ache.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “She died when I was a baby. I don’t remember her, but I still miss her. And it hurts, missing your mom, but it won’t hurt forever. One day, you’ll be able to think of her, and it won’t hurt. And until then, I’ll be here. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The first call you work as a triad is a fucking doozy.

You’re called to Jamestown State Prison, where a riot is underway. That’s not why the 118 is there, though; the prisoners started some fires, and it’s your job to put them out. Both Buck and Eddie suggested you stay behind, that you probably wouldn’t be needed. You felt your face flush red and were greeted with suspicious looks from Bobby, Chimney, and especially Hen. You brushed them off, said that you can take care of yourself.

Now that you’re actually here, though, you kind of wish you listened to your boyfriends.

The team has to be ushered around the building by four men in total SWAT gear. You’re taken through automated doors and down long hallways, most of which have blood splatters on the wall and random debris scattered throughout. You finally make it to the HVAC corridor, where the primary fire is burning.

“Buck, Eddie, put up a water curtain,” Bobby instructs.

You survey the room and notice that the top of the walls are lined with fans. “Cap, they’re going to keep sucking smoke up into the system.”

He looks at the fans, then back at you. “Find the killswitch, let me know when you got it.”

You nod once and start walking along the wall. You’re up to date on your firefighting certification, but when you actually find yourself decked out in all the gear, it’s as if that part of your brain short-circuits. You never want to find yourself in an important role when it comes to firefighting. Finding a killswitch, though? You could do that in your sleep.

You quickly find a grey box with a red switch on it. With a little force, you pull it down, and you can hear the equipment shut down. “Got it!”

The boys put out the fire a few minutes later, and the team is ready to move out. Three of your four escorts had to take off and help control a different area, leaving you with one guard to walk you all out.

As you make your way back through a random room, you hear a strange sound. It stops you dead in your tracks.

“Did you guys hear that?” You ask, looking around. “Someone’s here.”

“No, this area is secure,” the guard says.

You disregard his response, instead following the sound. You turn the corner and see two men laying on the floor, side by side.

“Over here!” you shout, sliding your medi-bag off your shoulder as you approach the men.

They’re in blue and white clothes, similar to scrubs — prisoners. Due to their injuries, however, they’re hardly a threat. Both of their faces are bloodied and swollen. One has a decent laceration to the abdomen, while the other has a nasty upper airway sound.

“Airway is compromised,” you verbalize, gently palpating his neck. “I think his trachea is crushed.”

“Leave ‘em, they’re scumbags,” the guard retorts.

“We’re not leaving anyone,” Bobby protests. “ Let's get 'em up and out. No time for gurneys.”

Buck and Eddie help carry the airway patient while Bobby and Hen take care of the laceration patient. The guard leads you all out, and you’re hot on his heels. You hate to think what would happen if you got separated from the group.

You make it to the last hallway when Hen starts shouting.

“Stop, stop stop! He’s having a seizure,” she shouts, planting her feet in place.

The final gate opens, and you look back at Bobby, who’s helping lower the prisoner to the ground.

“You three go, we’ll be right behind you.”

You swallow. “Captain-”

“That’s an order!” He cuts you off. “Go!”

You make it to the last door. The guard keeps it propped open as Buck and Eddie walk out. You’re already rushing to the rig to get the gurney out.

“I gotta get back in there,” he explains. “Protocol says you need two guards with you. Don’t leave without an escort, all right?”

“Copy that,” you say as you pull the gurney out.

Moments after the three of you settle the patient, two officers in green jackets are at the back of the rig. You gesture for one to come in, while Buck hops out and leads the other to the front.

A few minutes into the ride, Buck turns off the sirens. You frown, looking towards the cab in confusion. When you turn back around, one of the ‘officers’ is pointing his gun at you.

“I can’t thank you three enough,” he says. “I’ve waited 18 years to get the hell out of that place.”

Buck pulls over, and the three of you are ushered out of the rig at gunpoint.

“Okay, so you broke out… what now?” Eddie asks.

The shorter prisoner says nothing as he rifles through Eddie’s pockets.

“The patient in there,” you continue, tilting your chin to the ambulance, “is that your handiwork?”

He moves on to you, a sick smile on his face as he digs through your pockets. He comes back with your phone and wallet. He walks back to the rig to talk to his co-conspirator.

“What do we do?” Buck asks in a low voice.

“Don’t know yet,” Eddie responds.

“Maybe they just want the ambulance?”

“Then why would they search us?” you counter. “There’s three of us, and two of them.”

“Cute kid,” one of the prisoners interrupts. He holds up a picture of Chris, the one Eddie keeps in his wallet. “Yours? I’m guessing he lives with you at 4995 South Bedford Street?”

Buck steps forward. “Hey, man, don’t even-”

The other prisoner pistol-whips him.

“Okay, so now that we're all on the same page, here's what's gonna happen next.”

With the boys��� help, the prisoners locate the GPS in the rig and remove it, leaving it on the side of the road. The three of you are forced into the back of the ambulance while one of them drives.

You keep staring at the prisoner. It probably isn’t the best idea, considering his gun is aimed at you. You can’t help it, though. He looks… familiar.

“I know you,” you say.

He frowns and scoffs out a laugh. “What?”

“I’ve seen you somewhere,” you continue, still observing his features.

The patient starts to sputter. Eddie turns his head to the side, and you reach for the suction without prompting.

“...Trent, something,” you say as you hand Eddie the suction catheter. You don’t look away from the prisoner. “Am I right?”

He breaks eye contact.

“You’re on death row,” you say, nodding as you get more confident. “Yeah, you were convicted of triple homicide.”

“He can’t protect his airway,” Eddie observes as he moves the suction catheter around. “We need to intubate.”

“Almost there, Mitch,” the man driving chimes in.

Buck looks out the window, his brow furrowing. “Wait, you guys are serious? We’re really going to a hospital?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Mitch mocks. “You’re so concerned about the health of your friend here. Now you can walk him through the front door.”

“Initiating RSI,” you say, ignoring the arguing men around you. “Eddie, start bagging, I’ll get the meds.”

You and Eddie intubate smoothly, like you have countless times. You push the meds, Eddie waits about 45 seconds before moving the BVM and replacing it with a Mac blade. He advances the tube and pulls the guidewire, and as he attaches the bag valve to the tube, you hover your stethoscope over the patient’s lungs. Eddie administers a breath, and you can hear it. You move to the other side and listen before pulling the stethoscope from your ears.

“Breath sounds bilateral,” you say, slinging your stethoscope around your neck. “Nice work.”

“Very nice work,” Mitch agrees, though he doesn’t sound genuine. “Now you two,” he says, gesturing between you and Buck, “get him inside.”

“Hey, man, listen, I don't know what you want, but there is a hospital full of sick people…” Buck protests.

“Just go, or I’ll shoot you,” Mitch states. “Or her. Or him. And then I find his kid, and I shoot him too.”

“Buck,” Eddie says simply. His tone leaves no room for argument.

You lean over to make eye contact with Eddie. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He looks up and down your face before nodding. “I’ll see you later.”

You and Buck get the patient inside. You’re escorted by Mitch’s co-conspirator, Dom. Once you get into the ER, it’s a ghost town; no one’s at the front desk, and the triage bay is empty of both staff and patients. A sense of dread pools into the base of your stomach. The dread is replaced with realization when you get tackled to the floor.

“I’m a paramedic!” you shout after saying your name. “I’m with the 118. That’s Evan Buckley, he’s a firefighter. Get the hell off of me!”

You hear Athena shout your name, then Buck’s. “Those two are good, let them up.”

The officers turn you around and offer you a hand, helping you to your feet as they apologize.

“Are you two okay?” Athena asks.

You look over Buck. He’s got a good injury to his left temple from where he was pistol-whipped; where the skin isn’t broken, it’s bruising red and purple. His head is probably pounding.

“We’re good,” Buck confirms. “How’d you know we were coming here?”

“We figured out why Mitchell broke out,” Athena explains. “Where is he?”

“Still in the ambulance,” you say, “with Eddie.”

After a while of radio static, you convince Buck to let you check him out. He’s sitting on an ER gurney, and you’re standing beside him, crossing a penlight through his vision.

“All he wants is to donate his heart,” Buck mumbles. “Why won’t they just let him?”

“You heard them, Buck: it’s against the law,” You respond, pocketing your pen. You hold out your index fingers. “Squeeze.”

He does as he’s told, and his strength is equal, just like his pupils. You can rule out a hemorrhage or hematoma of any kind, though you aren’t convinced he doesn’t have a concussion.

“Any nausea? Dizziness?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest.

“No, just a killer headache,” Buck says.

“Not surprising,” you chuckle.

You don some gloves and pick up a swab. You swipe the antiseptic over the cut on Buck’s face. He winces for a second, then goes back to wringing his hands together. You apply a bandaid, then use one hand to tilt his chin up so you can look him in the eye.

“Eddie will be okay,” you promise softly.

“How do you know that?”

“Because he’s always okay.”

You hear a single gunshot.

You find yourself running through the ER and out the front doors, Buck only a few paces behind you. You’re both screaming Eddie’s name, and you don’t stop until you can see him.

He’s at the back of the rig, crouching over Mitch as he does chest compressions.

Eddie makes eye contact with you. “Go get the crash cart.”

“What the hell happened?” You ask, panting.

“He shot himself. The bullet hit his brain. Go tell the hospital they need a crash team out here. They need to prep an OR.”

“Eddie, he’s dead,” Buck says.

“But his heart isn’t, and I need it to stay that way,” Eddie explains. “Go!”

Buck runs back into the hospital, shouting for help. You kneel opposite of Eddie, locking your hands together.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” you tell him.

“198, 199, 200,” Eddie says.

You quickly take over compressions, counting under your breath.

Athena and her boss find a loophole, and Mitch is able to donate his heart to his son, Nolan. They started surgery hours ago, and you wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few more hours to go.

You look over at Eddie, who’s sitting beside you. You nudge your knee against his. He looks up, and you smile.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

Eddie sighs and runs a hand down his face before nodding. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“He told you about his plan,” you say. It isn’t a question. If Eddie hadn’t known, he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of trying to ‘save’ Mitch.

“Yeah, he did.”

“And you went along with it,” you continue. “Why?”

Eddie frowns. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because he threatened to kill you, and me, and Buck, and your son. I think that’s four good reasons right there.”

Eddie averts his gaze. “After he told me his plan… he stopped being a prisoner. Or, at least, I stopped seeing him as one. He was just a dad trying to save his kid. God knows I would do the same for Chris.”

“Well, I think you’d have some competition,” you say lightheartedly. You lean forward to see Buck in the chair nect to Eddie. His legs are extended and his shoulders scrunched to his neck as he dozes off.

“Yeah, I definitely would,” Eddie agrees with a smile. He rubs his hands over his legs before standing. “I’m getting coffee. Want some?”

“Coffee sounds great,” you say with a smile.

Eddie walks off. Hen quickly takes his seat.

“Hey,” she greets, settling into the chair.

“Hey,” you return. “How did things shake out at Jamestown?”

Hen grins. “I got to perfrom surgery.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously,” she laughs joyfully. “End-to-end anastomosis of the splenic artery.”

“On the guard you and Cap rescued?”

She nods. “Sounds like he’ll be making a full recovery.”

You raise your hand for a high-five. “Way to go, Dr. Wilson.”

She grins and slaps your hand before holding and squeezing it. You both laugh and grin.

Hen continues holding your hand, running her thumb over the back of it. “Can I ask you something?”

You smile. “Of course.”

“Are you dating Eddie?”

You heart jumps into your throat. “I’m dating Buck.”

“Are you also dating Eddie?”

The way she phrases it makes it sound so… simple. God, you wish it were that simple.

The more that you think about it, though… why isn’t it that simple? All the random details are yours to work through with your partners behind closed doors. When it comes to your work and personal life, why can’t you simply be dating two guys who are also dating each other?

“We aren’t telling people yet,” you whisper. “But… yes. Buck and I are dating Eddie.”

Hen’s eyes widen and her eyebrows raise. “Both of you?”

Your heart goes from your throat up to your head and pounds mercilessly. Maybe she isn’t cool with it like you thought she’d be. The idea of that makes your stomach sick and your limbs numb.

“Well, it’s about damn time.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “You sure you’re okay with it?”

“Are you happy? All three of you?”

You nod.

“I love you all, and if you make each other happy, then why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

Your eyes well with tears; you didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear someone you love say that. Your secret is out, and it doesn’t matter. You couldn’t be happier.

You pull Hen into a hug. It’s a little awkward since you’re both sitting, but you don’t care, and neither does she.

[cassiebones]

'15. I'm your gift this year' for the Agathario writing prompt, please!

Four Days to Christmas

"When are you coming home?"

Agatha sighed. Her son's eyes were visibly wet on the other side of the Zoom call, his bottom lip protruding as he gave her his sad puppy dog look. The only difference now was that she could tell he wasn't using the look to get something he wanted from her and was genuinely sad that she wasn't there with him this time.

She was in California this week, working on a last-minute work 'emergency' they'd called it, but honestly she could have probably done this via Zoom and remote access to somebody's computer. Men were just highly incompetent, it seemed. She vowed that her son would never be this incompetent, though.

"Soon," Agatha promised. "I'll be home before Christmas, I swear. I just have to finish up a few things here and then I'll be on the next plane home. Maybe I'll even hitch a ride with Santa Claus."

That didn't get the giggle she had hoped it would. Nicky's face was still somber, a tear leaking out from the corner of his eye. Agatha's heart ached.

This was the first holiday season in his short six years of life that she wasn't home to help him and her wife put up the tree or decorate the house or bake Christmas cookies. She'd had to watch them do all that while on Zoom as she put out fires at the California office that her inept colleagues had set nearly every day this month.

At this point, she swore they were doing it on purpose just to keep her away from her family - or to avoid their own families.

She was putting out feelers at other companies, one based closer to home, with the understanding that she was not available to travel this far away, especially during the holidays. As soon as she found another job, she was putting in her resignation, cashing in her PTO, and leaving these imbeciles in the dust.

"I will make it home to you," Agatha promised again. "You have my word."

She didn't know if she could make that promise. It was four days until Christmas and she didn't even have a flight booked, but she would spend any amount of money just to see that little face in person.

Nicky's chin quivered, and Agatha's heart cracked just a little bit more.

Three Days to Christmas

"How are things going over there?" Rio asked. Agatha groaned, flopping down onto her hotel bed. "So good then?"

Agatha let out a snort. "I don't know how I ended up at a company so full of idiots," she said. "I swear to Goddess, babe, I don't know how these men have survived this far in life without walking straight into traffic. They are so dumb. And now they're going to make me late for Christmas." She felt tears spring into her eyes.

"It'll be all be okay," Rio said, soothingly. "Everything will work out like it should. You just focus on showing these idiots up and making them realize what they're going to be missing when you're gone. Speaking of, have you heard back from anywhere?"

"Several places, actually," Agatha said. "I'm going with whoever offers me the first contract. Which seems to be...Kale Kare. I'm not really into their products, but I can be if Jen Kale can get me back to New Jersey before Christmas Eve." Christmas Eve was in two days.

"Good luck with that," Rio said with a chuckle. "I believe in you, babe."

"I love you," Agatha replied, her voice soft as she turned over on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. "Tell Nicky I'm going to be there."

"I will," Rio promised. "I love you, too."

Two Days to Christmas

Agatha was going to end up in prison on Christmas. She was going to be using her one phone call to speak to her son, to apologize and tell him that she wouldn't be making it home after all because she couldn't keep herself from strangling three grown men with her bare fucking hands.

If she had been allowed to handle everything on her own, without their ineptitude slowing her down, Agatha would have been home weeks ago, but these morons were fucking everything up with their cocky attitudes and unwillingness to ask her for assistance until it was nearly too late.

Agatha's resignation letter was sitting in a draft in her email, waiting for Jennifer Kale to send the contract for Agatha's signature. It was taking her a minute, but Agatha knew that she had to make sure that everything was ironclad as her lawyers looked over it.

Jen Kale's operations were based in New York, just an hour outside Westview, and while she had operations in other states, it was in Agatha's contract that she would not make Agatha travel anywhere more than a three-hour flight away too close to any major holiday or birthday in her family.

Also, her company was 95% female-led, which would be a refreshing change, and she could match Agatha's current salary.

All she needed to do was sign on the dotted line.

Jennifer's email found her after midnight. Agatha spent most of the early hours of Christmas Eve reading through the contract, checking everything off her list, then signed and sent it back. She fired off her resignation letter to the CEO after that, placing her phone on Do Not Disturb before buying herself a ticket home for Christmas.

One Day to Christmas

All flights were delayed.

Agatha wanted to cry. It was six hours until midnight. She was at the airport, running on three hours of sleep, grumpy as all hell. Her wife wasn't answering her phone or texts, and her flight was delayed indefinitely due to a snowstorm in Newark the fucking night before Christmas.

Tears stung her eyes as she paced the terminal, waiting for the inevitable announcement that her flight would just be straight-up cancelled.

Nicky was going to be so upset.

"Ladies and gentlemen," an announcement said above her head. Agatha's heart sunk. "We regret to inform you that flight 1674, from San Francisco to Newark, has been delayed until 11 am on December 25th. We are so sorry to have disrupted your holiday plans. You will all receive a voucher for a complimentary meal, as well as discounted rates at the nearest hotels. Once again, our apologies. Happy Holidays."

"Fuck," Agatha whined, plopping down into a seat. "Fuck."

"That's a bad word."

Agatha nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning around to see her wife and child standing just feet away. Tears sprung to her eyes as she ran to them, dropping to her knees in front of her son and pulling him into her embrace, squeezing him tightly as though he would vanish into thin air if she let him go even for a single second.

"What are you doing here?" she huffed, looking up at Rio, who was just as misty-eyed as she stared down at them. "How did you get here? Isn't there a snowstorm?"

"Just missed us," Rio said. "We left before it started."

"How did you know I wouldn't make it home in time? Did you have so little faith in me?" Agatha stood, hefting Nicky onto her hip, holding him close to her body.

"Oh, sweetheart," Rio said, stepping closer to cup her cheek in her hand, "it had nothing to do with that. My lack of faith was in your incompetent business partners." She rolled her eyes. "I bought Nicky and myself a couple of open-ended plane tickets. The fact that we were able to get a flight so last-second is a minor miracle in itself. But I knew when I saw the weather report this morning that you'd never be able to make it home, by no fault of your own. So...here we are, bringing Christmas to you."

"Babe," Agatha breathed, pulling Rio in by her scarf, pressing her lips to the other woman's. Rio wrapped her arms around Agatha and Nicky, sinking into Agatha's kiss. "I love you so damn much," Agatha whispered against her wife's lips.

"That's also a curse," Nicky piped up, eliciting a snort from Agatha and a laugh from Rio as she pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and poked him in the side. Nicky giggled, pressing his face into Agatha's neck.

"Come on," Agatha said, already reaching for her suitcase. "Next flight isn't until eleven AM. Let's go find a hotel and get something to eat."

"Sounds good to me," Rio said, slinging her arm around Agatha's waist as they headed in the direction of the exit.

Zero Days to Christmas

"Mami! Mama! Wake up! It's Christmas!"

Agatha groaned, pulling her wife more closely to her body. It had been three weeks since she'd last seen the other woman in person, and they'd barely gotten four hours of sleep after finally getting Nicky to sleep the night before, his excitement for Christmas practically having him bouncing off the walls into the early hours of the morning.

They had set the expectation that Santa probably wouldn't find them in the hotel, on the opposite side of the country, in time for Christmas, but all his gifts would almost certainly be under the tree when they returned home to Westview, which would no doubt be covered in several feet of snow. Nicky was ostensibly fine with that.

But now he was acting the way he'd acted every Christmas since he realized what the holiday meant for their family: like he was about to find a pile of gifts under the tree with his name on them.

But there was no tree this year, not in this hotel, anyway. There was nothing to unwrap. They'd do all that when they got back to Jersey.

"Come on!" Nicky huffed, tugging the comforter off of their huddled bodies, exposing them to the cold. "Get up!"

Agatha groaned, shoving her face into Rio's neck.

"I brought a few things," Rio whispered in her ear, so low that Agatha almost missed it. "Just so he'd have something to open."

"Whyyyyyy?" Agatha moaned, wrapping her body more tightly around Rio's. Rio chuckled in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Stay in bed," she said, extracting herself. "I'll make you some coffee and be right back. We'll bring the gifts here."

"I love you so fucking much," Agatha all but whined, pressing a kiss to Rio's lips before letting her go.

"Alright, buddy," she heard Rio say. "Show me where the gifts Santa left you are."

"Why isn't Mama coming?" Nicky asked.

"Because somebody kept her up until nearly two in the morning," Rio snorted. "You're lucky Santa brought you anything at all after that. She needs coffee."

Rio shut the door behind them, leaving Agatha in peace for a few moments. She found herself drifting back off to sleep almost immediately, so exhausted from the previous night and the entirety of the last month away from her family. She didn't sleep very well without her human pillow, Rio, or the little bundle of energy they'd made together (sperm donor or not, there was no way to convince Agatha that Nicky wasn't biologically Rio's son, not when they shared so many similar features.)

Her ex-colleagues had been trying to get back in touch with her since she'd emailed her resignation, insisting that they could increase her pay if she would just stay with the company. Agatha refused to even entertain the idea. There was no amount they could pay her that would justify her doing 85% of the work in a team of four people. And they were all local while she had to fly across the country for it? No way.

She hoped Kale Kare would be a better fit. She was almost certain it would be. And Agatha would happily watch her old company sink like the Titanic in the meantime.

She was awoken next by a soft kiss on her cheek. Agatha's eyes fluttered open to see Rio standing above her, holding a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

"Morning, my love," Rio said, "again. Coffee?"

"Marry me," Agatha sighed, sitting up as she took the offered cup.

"We're already married," Rio laughed.

"I was talking to the coffee," Agatha huffed, making Rio bark out a laugh. She bumped the other woman's shoulder as she sat down on the bed next to her, her own cup of steaming tea in her hands. Nicky was at the end of the bed, holding his red and green striped stocking, stuffed with as many gifts as Rio could fit into her backpack without arising suspicion from the boy.

"Santa Clause brought me my stocking!" he told them. "He said that he realized we weren't home, so he decided to just bring this, but all my other gifts are under our tree."

"Well, that was nice of him," Agatha said. "We should send him a thank you letter for being so thoughtful."

"Yeah!" Nicky said. "He didn't bring your stockings, though." He shrugged, sympathetically.

"That's okay," Agatha said. "I'm sure we'll manage until tonight."

"Open your presents," Rio encouraged. "Show us what you got!"

Nicky got some toy figurines from his favorite show, a mini bunny squishmallow, two toy cars, and goodie bag of his favorite candies. He let out a squeal for every gift he unwrapped, hugging them all against his chest as he bounced on the bed with excitement.

"Wow, if that's just what Santa brought you in your stocking, I can't imagine what he has under the tree for you," Agatha said.

"We may need to take out a second mortgage," Rio whispered in her ear. Agatha snorted, pressing her face to her wife's shoulder.

"Can I go play with my new toys?" Nicky asked, already jumping off the bed with all his goodies in his arms.

"Go ahead," Agatha said, "but leave the candy here. No sweets before breakfast."

"Okay," Nicky groaned, dropping the bag onto the bed, before running around to Agatha's side, throwing himself into her arms. "I'm glad we could be together for Christmas," he murmured into her shoulder. Agatha felt tears spring to her eyes as she hugged him back, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"Me too, baby," she said. "Now, go play. We gotta start getting ready to head back to the airport in a couple of hours."

"Okay!" Nicky exclaimed, already running back to the door, pulling it closed behind him as he entered the main room of their hotel suite.

Agatha took another sip of her coffee and sighed as she leaned into Rio's side. "I didn't get a gift for you this year," she said, regretfully. "I didn't have the time. I'm sorry."

"You did get a gift for me, actually," Rio said, taking her mug from her hands and placing it on the bedside table next to her own. "You are my gift this year, my love. And I'm yours." Agatha smiled as Rio pressed her lips to hers, Rio's arms encircling her waist as she pulled her closer.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXIX)

The difference between Abuse and Power

Read part one // Master-post // Continued from here

Sorry it took so long!!! But I made this chapter extra long to make up for it guys!!! I hope you enjoy💛

Merry Christmas and Happy New year!!! I hope you all have a great time and mind yourselves. Thank you all for your words of encouragement during the rough time and making me smile and laugh while I was stuck in the dreaded prison of writer's block, but we are back babyyyyyy.... enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

Kit heard Ambrose walking behind him. He tried his best to ignore him, but it didn’t really work because Ambrose’s stupid socked feet padded close behind as Kit walked the length of the first floor, away from Nathan and Jude. Away from the stairs Jude threw him down. Away from the abomination of healing and power that Nathan possessed.

“Kit,” Ambrose said eventually. Kit continued walking. He went through the next door on his left which opened up into a nice cozy looking library or study, or something, and walked over to the soft, navy plush couch in the far corner. He dropped into it, deflating like a balloon or a marionette with its strings cut. That’s all he was really, wasn’t it? A puppet.

Black eyes appeared in front of him, pleading, dark brows falling over them like a pitiful, sad puppy. “Kit, listen to me, everything I said and did before… I—”

“Don’t want to hear it?” Kit suggested, his shoulders bunched up around his ears. He felt his eyes water as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth to stop it from quivering like a child. He raised his blue, bloodshot eyes to meet Ambrose’s stupid fucking demonic black ones.

“I don’t—” Kit said, scoffed, shrugged and ran his hands through his hair until his fingers tightened on the strands and started tugging on them just to show the kind of storm that was roaring in his mind outwardly. Not that Ambrose had to see a physical representation of his desperation. His blue eyes burned and red flashed across them like the glint of moonlight off a blade. Ambrose shrunk away from his crouch. His eyes widened slightly. “I don’t want to fucking hear it! Any of it. Your apologies, your guilt, your fucking excuses!”

Ambrose sat back onto his heels, even his stupid chocolate curls bounced perfectly, and Kit scoffed exasperated, ran a hand down his face, and wiped furiously at his tears with his thumb and index finger.

“I don’t give a fuck if you feel some kind of fucked up bond to me or whatever, Oskar!” Ambrose flinched. Good, Kit thought bitterly. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to fucking affect this bastard somehow. “I don’t care if you feel bad now, because trust me, we both know you didn’t give two shits when you thought I was just some random hero to terrorise!”

“Kit—” Kit lurched forward, getting his face close to Ambrose’s, his nose curled up in disgust.

“What happened to puppet, huh? What happened to a dog that only exists to obey? I would rather you looked at me like… like I was some fucking plaything for you to break and discard, instead of whatever fucking way you’re looking at me now. You’re—” Kit sucked in a breath, struggling not to hyperventilate. “You’re fucking sick, Rosey. You disgust me. And now I’m on house arrest from your crazy ex-boyfriend, who you seem to hate, but let’s face it, Rosey…”

Kit said. He licked his lips as if he had to prepare them for what he was about to say as he leaned in ever so slightly closer, lowering his voice to a whisper as he got close to Ambrose’s curls covered ear. “What kind of sane person would love you anyways?”

The door to the room swung open. Kit slunk back from Ambrose, his eyes dead and lifeless, expecting to be hurt for daring to insult Nathan’s precious toy but he didn’t care. It was worth it to see Ambrose flinch… to see him crestfallen for once.

But then why didn’t it feel good?

Why did he feel worse than before?!

Why has he become this cruel, hard thing? Was he always this way? Did Ambrose just hold up a mirror and reveal that to—

A flash of hands. Kit didn’t flinch, but his gaze snapped up to cold, furious silver eyes and eyes as cool as a lump of coal. “No,” Ambrose said, his voice soft.

“But—”

“No.” Kit’s eyes flickered back to Ambrose because that wasn’t sad, pathetic guilt-ridden Oskar speaking, that was Omen; commanding, controlled, even. A smirk slid its way onto Ambrose’s face, his black eyes turned even darker, glinting like light off a shard of onyx or jet, filled with humour and sardonic knowing and cruelty. A shiver ran down Kit’s spine as Ambrose used his leverage on Nathan’s hand to raise himself to his feet.

He didn’t break eye contact with Kit as he stood to his full height, which Kit only remembered was a good head taller than him, and then there were two sadistic giants looming over him. Kit fought the urge to shrink back and swallow. He wasn’t going to show them he was afraid. What would they do? Kill him? That would give him his first peaceful night’s sleep in weeks. Months?

“Oskar…” Omen tightened his fingers around Nathan’s wrist and brought his hand to his lips. Nathan stilled as Ambrose wrapped a second hand around Nathan’s long fingers, curling them as he lifted and pressed a kiss to Nathan’s knuckles.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, darling,” Ambrose said, his voice roiling like smooth velvet. Black eyes slunk towards Kit’s. “Especially not with the likes of washed-up heroes before their prime.”

Nathan stepped closer to Ambrose, his back to Kit. “I could kill him for you. Make you a scarf out of his entrails.”

Omen chuckled. Kit’s blood ran cold at the sound. He forgot how silently terrifying Omen could be; how terrifying Ambrose could be.

“You’re sweet,” is all Ambrose replied. He leaned up on his toes to kiss Nathan. Soft, sweet, short, before he pulled away. “But no. He’s used up already. I thought he would be fun to play with, but you can see as well as I can…”

Kit swallowed audibly, his fingers tightened into fists on his thighs as he looked away from the statue staring him down, making him feel two inches tall. “He’s got nothing inside worth taking anymore. He’s given up. He’s not worth the effort.”

Kit stared furiously at the bookshelf to his left, eyes skimming colourful titles trying to ignore the stabbing pain of betrayal in his chest. Isn’t that what he wanted? For Ambrose to stop pretending? Isn’t that why he poked and prodded him until—

“Kit,” Kit’s eyes widened as he felt Omen’s ability ghost through his mind like brain freeze. He shot up off the couch, and grabbed Ambrose’s arm, tightened, pleading.

“Rosey, don’t, pl—”

Ambrose grabbed Kit’s cheeks in one hand and squeezed tightly until Kit’s lips were forced to form a small ring. Kit’s hand shot up and grabbed Ambrose’s wrist, about to beg and plead again. Weren’t they past this? Was this all his fault? Was Ambrose really—

“I think you need a nice, long nap, Kit, don’t you?”

“No!” Kit protested.

“Mmmm, your eyes are feeling so heavy though, aren’t they? And your limbs are exhausted, and you need a really good rest to recover and fight again when you wake don’t you?”

Kit let out a small whine in the back of his throat… because yes, he was feeling tired, and a blissful sleep sounded so fucking good right now. At least then he could turn off the blaring voice in his head screaming danger, danger, danger at him.

“What danger, Kit?” Ambrose asked, his voice so soft and so, so far… away, as if it was a distant melody floating through the air in the other side of the house. Kit swayed on his feet and fell into Ambrose’s open arms. What danger was right, what was he thinking about? His thoughts were liquifying quickly in his mind and sliding slowly away from consciousness. “There we go,” Ambrose cooed, putting his fingers through Kit’s hair. “That’s it, just relax. You want to sleep, don’t you, Kit?”

“Yeah,” Kit mumbled. He went boneless against the villain as Ambrose sat the two of them on the couch again. Ambrose sat down where Kit was before and dragged Kit down with him who was too tired to resist. Kit curled up on the couch as Ambrose gently put Kit’s head on his lap which was as comfortable as a luxurious pillow. Maybe shutting his eyes for a few minutes would be okay, wouldn’t it? He needed his strength after all and… he yawned as Ambrose brushed a hand through his wild, uncut hair.

“That’s right, just a few minutes sleep, and you’ll feel amazing when you wake up.” Ambrose said. Kit didn’t really hear him, but he hummed in reply as his eyes shuttered closed, blissfully unaware of the scorching silver eyes glaring down at him.

***

Ambrose continued to stroke Kit’s hair as the hero’s breath evened out. Ambrose felt his weight droop heavier against him, drifting deeper into sleep in a matter of moments. He could feel Nate’s eyes on him, but he didn’t bother to look up at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy’s sleeping head and soft breaths. It was easier to ignore the questions in Nathan’s head and eyes and just focus on the sleeping Hero on him.

God, if only Kit would stay this way forever.

Not that Ambrose would want that, but it would be easier. Why did he have to fight him on everything? Even things that were good for him! It was… exhausting. If this is what having children felt like, Ambrose was almost certain he didn’t want any of the vile things… especially not if Kit remained in his life after all this was over.

He was enough of a handful as it was.

“Why Oskar?” Nate asked, his voice suddenly, terribly vulnerable.

Ambrose didn’t look at him. “I don’t know, Nate. I guess… I told you already. I took too much from him already.”

“That’s a cop out. We both know it.”

Ambrose shrugged. “Think what you want.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ambrose knew it the moment it left his lips in a tired, defeated sigh. He could feel Nathan’s demeanour shift from confused to defensive in a second, his stance tensing, the air changing around them, becoming thick in Ambrose’s throat.

“Well, if you won’t give me any straight answers, how about I wake him, and ask—” Ambrose’s head snapped up, black eyes catching silver in their void stare.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Nathan scoffed and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re impossible when you’re protective. This is like the Catherine situation all over again.”

Ambrose stiffened. “Don’t talk about her.”

Nathan smirked. He crossed his long arms over his torso, silver eyes gleaming. “It’s true,” he said with a shrug of a shoulder. An attempt to be casual that was anything but. “You always liked to collect strays, Oskar, it’s like a passion project of yours.”

Nathan’s eyes went to Kit in Ambrose’s lap, his fingers wound through the boy’s hair. “Though,” he continued, his voice dipping as his eyes caught Ambrose’s again. “This one you and your father have to share.”

Ambrose’s nostrils flared. “You’re just being cruel for the sake of it now, Nate.”

“So, what if I am?”

“Well, what about you, then?”

Nathan blinked.

“You and all your posturing and grandstanding, how you can absorb so many people’s abilities— mine, Jude’s, my father’s, Kit’s…” Ambrose listed, shrewdness possessing his weighted gaze as he tilted his head at his ex. “How you pretend it doesn’t bother you to hold all that power inside and maintain it there.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

It was Ambrose’s turn to scoff. The edge of his lips quipped up. “You say that, but I saw how weak you were after healing his wounds. You went pale after, dearest. If you think I wouldn’t notice that then you don’t know me at all.”

Nathan stared down his nose at Ambrose and the sleeping Hero. His eyes softened. “No… maybe I don’t anymore.”

Ambrose swallowed as Nate unfolded his arms. He walked a step closer and leaned down. Ambrose barely suppressed the flinch, but it didn’t matter because Nate could feel Ambrose’s stiffness when he pressed a kiss to his forehead. He smiled against the skin and pulled back.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He said, one hand still lingering on Ambrose’s cheek. He froze midway, and his touch turned bruising as he tilted Ambrose’s head to the side and forced him to look into his swirling, silver eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, darling. You know how much I hate bruises on your pretty face.”

Ambrose stared as Nathan released him, watching as his psychotic ex walked away, grabbed the door and slammed it shut on the way out. Ambrose couldn’t suppress the flinch that time as he stared down at Kit. He didn’t stir. Still sound asleep. Unaware of Ambrose’s tremors of fear at Nathan’s farewell threat.

Oh, he knew how much Nathan hated bruises on his face alright… he knew all too well just how cruel he could truly be.

***

Six years ago…

Oskar and Max stumbled out of the University pub and down the streets back to their apartment in Old Town. God, what a night. What a glorious night, and how long had it been since Oskar could just let loose with Max like that? Get absolutely hammered. He laughed as he threw an arm around Max’s shoulder.

“I love you, Max.”

“That’s really gay,” Max replied, and the pair burst into snorting laughter. Oskar craned his neck down and pressed a wet kiss to Max’s hair as they walked towards Fagan’s lot. They didn’t notice the group of four guys approaching them until one of them shoulder checked Max.

“Woah!” Max said and Oskar turned, about to tell the dicks to watch it when one of them muttered something that chilled him to the core and froze him in place.

“Fucking fags.”

Max grabbed at Oskar’s arm, sensing the shift in his posture. “Oskar come on. They’re small minded—”

“Excuse me,” Oskar hissed. The men stopped and turned. Oskar shrugged Max’s hand off.

“Oskar, just leave it.” Max said.

“No, I won’t just leave it. What did these pricks mutter but not have any fucking balls to say to our faces, huh?”

Oskar went towards the tallest, broadest guy and shoved him back. “Huh? What the fuck did you say?”

“Oskar!”

“You better back off, lamppost and listen to your boyfriend or you’re gonna get hurt.” The tall— well, tallest of the group — broad man stank of beer and had a truly hideous beard. Both of which Oskar personally took offence to.

Oskar straightened to his full height, a good head and shoulders taller than this piece of shit and grinned sadistically down at him.

“You tell him Mitch.” One of the others said.

“Yeah,” another chimed in, “run back to your boyfriend, faggot.”

Oskar’s head snapped to the offender. He was the shortest of the group, blond – obviously he was fucking blond – with tiny pubic hairs tweezed onto his chin in the mock shadow of stubble. He was stick thin and looked like a fucking weasel with a sharp pointed nose and tiny squinting eyes.

“Number one,” Oskar said, holding a bony finger up. “Ew. I wouldn’t date this man if he was the last man on earth,” Oskar said.

Max blinked behind him. “Uh, ouch?!”

Oskar glanced back over his shoulder. “Hush. You know I love you.”

“Fucking queers, I swear to—”

Oskar turned back to glare at the men again. “Two, it’s fucking homophobic to use the words faggot and queer in a derogatory manner towards my friend and I, and I think you should fucking apologise. Right now.”

“Or what?” Mitch challenged stepping forward.

Oskar’s eyes darkened. “Or else. You only get one chance to do the decent thing.” He said, holding his index finger up, his dark eyes searched Mitch’s face, trying to convey how serious he was. “One.”

“Show this fucking princess what real men do.”

Oskar sighed, his head dipped, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I did warn you.”

Mitch went to throw a punch and Oskar stepped back. He caught Mitch’s arm and punched him in the face before shoving him back and kicking him away. Oskar brushed away the curls that fell into his eyes before throwing his arms up in defence of his face from another of the dick’s punches.

“For,” Max began, punctuating his sentence with punches, “fuck’s” punch and the guy went down, “sake, Oskar.”

Oskar grinned. “They’re little bitches, Max, what do—”

Oskar’s head whipped to the side suddenly. He didn’t see his attacker come upon him until he was already hit, fire raging in his cheekbone and someone was cursing as a fist drew back. Another blow came from below, knuckles cracking against his jaw. Oskar stumbled back. His head turned skyward as his bottom teeth snapped against his top and ricocheted through his skull.

He didn’t see the third blow come for his solar plexus. The fist landed and Oskar shot forward as he wheezed a startled sound. A hand caught his cheek and slammed a palm against his nose. Oskar cried out as blood gushed down his face, gasping as he stumbled back again, the world dizzy with tears as his eyes watered reflexively.

Then.

Heat in front of him.

Oranges and yellows licked against the air, standing between Oskar and the homophobes. Warm blood turned cold as it poured from Oskar’s nose and trickled down through his fingers and onto his clothes.

“Yeah, who’s the little bitch now?”

Max scoffed. “Fuck off, asshole.”

“Should’ve known you were freaks too,” one of them said. Oskar’s eyes narrowed, tears spilling over his eyelids as he straightened. He could feel his eyes go the same red as his blood and he put a hand on Max’s shoulder, stepping past him.

“Oskar,” Max said. Caution coloured his voice as Oskar stepped around the human fire ball. “Don’t.”

“Fuck it, why not?”

“Oskar! You can’t—”

“Mitch,” Oskar said. The words sounded as sweet as a melody. Irresistible, and why would you want to resist? He knew the moment it hit Mitch’s ears because he paused as the honeyed words swam into his ears. “Kiss the best looking of your friends.”

Mitch obeyed without question.

He chose the second strongest of the four, grabbed his cheeks and slammed his lips against them. The other two, including the little weasel looked a little annoyed more than angered by the fact that Mitch didn’t find them attractive.

Oskar tilted his head to the side and grinned horribly at them. “Aww, feeling left out, uglies? It’s okay. The two of you kiss too.”

“Itch… off…” the good-looking one said, trying to shove Mitch off of him.

“Oskar! Stop it!”

“Why should I?” Oskar demanded, his little finger twitching as rage consumed him. “Maybe I should make them fuck each other in the street like dogs. Maybe then they’ll learn some fucking manners.”

Heat singed the edges of Oskar’s ear, burning away the stray baby curls. Oskar gasped, jumping to the left and cupping his ear with his hand. He looked over his shoulder to see Max glaring up at him.

“What the fuck?” He hissed.

“What the fuck yourself! Tell them to stop! Tell them to forget!”

Oskar straightened. His pride getting the better of him. “Why should I?”

“You know right well why Mr Law major! You know how unethical this is?! I’m serious. Tell them to stop right now, or else.”

Oskar kept Max’s burning stare for a moment longer before the rage dissipated like smoke in the darkness. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Fine,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he turned back to the group of dickheads.

He walked over to the group and told them, “okay loverboys. Enough.”

The group pulled away from each other disgusted. The good looking one, the one that had gotten the punches in on Oskar’s face wiped furiously at his mouth. “What the fuck, Mitchell? Why did you do that? What about Diane?”

Mitch stared at his hands, his face a putrid shade of red. “I- I… I don’t know why I did it… I-” He looked up then at Oskar who stood smugly, hands in his tailored trouser pockets, reeking of expensive cologne and tangible satisfaction. All a farce, a fake, a falsehood, the Oskar that Oskar created after his departure from his legacy role as a hero. “You…” Mitch said, raising a shaking hand. “It was you! You told me… and I- I couldn’t…”

Oskar tilted his head to the side, his smirk widening, exposing his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Couldn’t resist? Maybe you just really fancied him.”

A sharp slap to Oskar’s arm and he yelped as Max stepped up beside him, smog rising from his ears and Oskar felt his blood run cold. “Ow!”

“Tell them to forget. Now.”

“Forget?” The weasel one asked, looking just as terror struck as Mitch and the others. “Make us forget?!”

“You’re a monster!” The other one said.

Oskar bent low and said: “boo.”

The weasel actually flinched. Oskar would have laughed if Max wasn’t about to roast him over the grills of hell, so Oskar clapped his hands together. “Okay, idiots, listen up. You will forget you ever met me or Max tonight. You will forget our faces. You will forget you called us faggots. And…” Oskar glanced at Max sideways and grinned. “Whenever you think of calling someone queer or gay, or faggots, you will remember kissing your friends today. And you will also donate your life savings to a charity for LG–”

Oskar flinched when he felt a lick of heat against his face. “Okay. Not your life savings, but you will donate a small donation fee to any LGBT charity in the city and be general allies to the queer community from now on, capiche?”

The four men nodded dumbly. Oskar straightened with a clap. “Good. Wonderful. Later losers.”

Oskar walked off down Fagan’s lot whistling a happy tune. “Happy with yourself, are you?” Max asked behind him.

Oskar laughed. “Yup. Pretty damn satisfied.”

“That was fucked up, Oskar.” Oskar paused, his smile dimming. Max walked around to his front. “You know that was wrong.”

Oskar let out a huff of breath. “They were fucked up, Max! I’m sick of walking around like I don’t have this power! Something I can use to–”

“To ruin people’s lives?”

“You’re being dramatic.” Oskar said, waving away Max’s dramatics.

“No!” Max protested, gathering Oskar’s attention. “I’m not! Did you hear that guy? Mitch had a wife, or a girlfriend, what if he had kids?”

“Poor kids.” Oskar replied coldly.

Max grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him back against the wall. Oskar’s black eyes widened with surprise at Max’s force. “Don’t you see how fucked up that could be? Telling him to donate his life savings to a charity? What about his wife? His bills? His kids?”

“Maybe being a shitty person means you deserve to have your life fall apart!”

“Is that why yours did?” Max demanded, eyes ablaze. Oskar stiffened under Max’s knuckles. Max may as well have slapped him for the reaction his words caused. Max’s grip loosened. “Oskar…” he said softly.

“No,” Oskar replied. He ran a hand through his hair that had fallen over his eyes, casting them in shadow. God, he really needed a haircut. “No, you’re right. I… I was reckless and I was irresponsible and… you’re right. I’m sorry.”

A silence fell between them. After a minute, Max let go of Oskar’s shirt and let him stand up properly. A grin cracked Max’s handsome face then. “But… it was satisfying to see how horrified they were after kissing each other.”

Oskar grinned and let out a little laugh. “Right?” And just like that they were back to normal and walking down to their apartment block, laughing up the stairs and into the dingy apartment, Max struggling to open the door, having to kick it once, twice, three times, but it stayed stubbornly closed.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Max cursed, and shouldered the door open. The door slammed in and Max stumbled and nearly hit the floor if it wasn’t for Oskar grabbing his arm at the last second, laughing as Max cursed.

“Fucking door!”

“About time you got home.”

The two boys straightened at the voice. Oskar helped to steady Max before he went looking for his boyfriend in the apartment. “Nate? What’re you doing here?” Oskar asked with a big smile on his face. When Nate turned his expression immediately darkened and he was in front of Oskar in a second, hands cupping his cheeks and tilting his head up.

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

Oskar waved him away and went into give Nate a kiss, he missed him he realised. It had only been a few days since they had seen each other, but still. Oskar was drunk and his boyfriend was here, and he was happy.

Nate’s strong hands stopped Oskar from kissing him and Oskar let out a small whine. “What’re you–”

“What. The fuck. Happened to your face?” Nathan asked again and Oskar shrunk under the tightness in his tone. His fingers dug uncomfortably into Oskar’s cheeks and Oskar grabbed Nathan’s wrists and tried to pull them off, but he didn’t budge.

“Nate… Nate,” Oskar said, gasping, eyes pained and pleading. “Nathan, you’re hurting me!”

“What happened to your face?”

“Get off me, Nathan!”

Max appeared between the two and Nathan released Oskar. Oskar took a heavy step back; betrayal pinched his features tight on his face. Oskar shrunk under Nathan’s glare, horribly aware that he had done something wrong and now Nathan was mad, and he hated when Nate got mad.

“Just some douchebags, Nate,” Max said, cutting through the thick tension in the room. “It’s fine. We gave as good as we got.”

“Whoever laid a hand on you…” Nathan said, his voice small, but holding back the ferocity of a storm on the sea. His eyes bright with a cold fury. “Whoever dare hurt you…�� he said, his expression softening as he stepped forward and cupped Oskar’s face in his hand again. Oskar flinched when Nathan put his hands on him and wanted to curl up at the look of hurt that passed across his boyfriend’s face. “Your poor face…”

“I’ll live,” Oskar whispered and stepped out of Nathan’s hold.

Max looked between the two. He threw his hands up. “Yeah. I’m also fine, Nate, thanks for asking.”

“Oh shush,” Nathan purred, waving Max away. “You’re like a cockroach, you’ll never die.”

“You could still show some concern. It wouldn’t hurt.”

Oskar excused him as he walked down the hall to the bathroom, his hands shaking violently as he slammed the door shut and locked it. He put his back against the door and gasped when he saw himself in the mirror above the sink. Fuck… fuck… fuck…

Fuck, tears welled up in his black eyes and Oskar felt sick suddenly. A warm feeling climbed his stomach, and he lurched towards the toilet and threw up into the bowl. Not a second later a knock at the door and Oskar froze.

“Osk? Babe, you okay?” Oskar had to tighten his fingers on the toilet to stop his hands from shaking.

It’s fine, he told himself. It’s just a crash from the adrenaline of the fight. It’s fine. He’s fine.

“Oskar?” A rattle of the doorknob and Oskar flinched hard again.

Yeah… the fight, totally what he was afraid of…

The next day when Oskar was walking back to the University, he passed a bloody crime scene that made his skin prickle and crawl, and his blood run cold. “Do we have an ID of the bodies?”

“Good thing we had their IDs, or they’d all be John Doe’s.” One of the investigators said. “I don’t know what did this, but it looks too violent for an animal, too… vicious. Calculated.”

Oskar stopped walking. “Mitchell… Dawkins…” One of the lead detectives said and Oskar turned back, and half ran home and up the stairs to his apartment. He had to throw up again as he stumbled into his apartment, sick to his stomach as nausea climbed thick up his oesophagus. All he could think of was Nathan’s hands on his face, the fury in his eyes… the… oh god… no… there… Nathan couldn’t have done something like that… but somewhere, somewhere deep down, Oskar knew he was lying to himself and that thought made him hurl more than the crime.

***

Ambrose stared down at the sleeping Hero in his lap, his bony fingers gently running through his matted hair, combing out the knots of dirt and blood. “Don’t worry, Kit,” Ambrose whispered. “I won’t let him do that to you. I promise. We’ll get out of here. Together. I promise. Just give me time.”

*~*~*~*~*

Tag-list [lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast t t @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep

[yokelish]

About Lucanis and Neve

I need someone to make a valid argument to convince me this relationship isn't' doomed the moment Elgar'nan dies. Especially if Lucanis is the hardened one.

Either way, one of them gets hardened. Neve still retains more leniency when hardened (Rook can pursue her), her complex about attachments to people is made worse. Rook would have to actively dismantle walls to be able to pursue Neve romantically. Neve (hardened or not) sees the Venatori wounds on Lucanis and refuses to poke them. In her own way, it's out of consideration, sympathy. To her, it's kindness. Venatori wounds are painful like bones that never fuse together properly, and she isn't exactly a healer (pun intended). She doesn't like anyone poking into her Venatori wounds either.

Lucanis, while passionate, is just isn't' very good with people or feelings. He isn't good with his own emotions in terms of processing them. He is great at compartmentalizing but that mostly means an emotion is put on a shelf and never touched again. It takes Rook, romantic or platonic, to literally speak into his mind so he has no choice but hear: this is NOT how you deal with complex feelings or trauma. You can't just put it on a shelf and forget about it. You will have to stare down the abyss if you want the abyss to stop haunting you.

Hardened Lucanis is an even bigger can of worms in terms of romantic entanglements. Because via the virtue of Veilguard writing, the man is denied healing. He not only denies Rook a possibility of romance (which isn't the best writing choice, hardened Lucanis romance could have been mindblowing, but I can understand the choice to cut off romance). Lucanis denies himself the possibility of healing. There is a prison inside his mind he could start to dismantle after Inner Demons quest, but hardened Lucanis will fucking ignore the prison's presence and will internalize continue carry it like it's a vital organ and not appendicitis.

And in Neve/Lucanis pairing one of them IS hardened, no matter what. Which is nice! You deserve love and affection even if you've been through shit. But the virtue of Veilguard writing, either Neve or Lucanis gets the short end of the stick in terms of character growth.

So you either have Neve who has drawn the line in the sand, built a wall upon it, and decided that certain depth of a relationship with another person is just a bad idea. It's like underwater pressure: at certain point you just need to stop swimming deeper. She will dedicate to her pursuit of helping dock town, but if LI Rook hasn't carved out a hole in that wall and climbed through-- it is solid. Only people who got on the other side before the wall was finished (Rana, Bellara, Harding) will get to stay behind it.

Hardened Lucanis is...What kind of deep relationship do you expect from a man who actively sees himself as a danger to his romantic partner? That's a man with a broken leg refusing to get a cast. And Neve will not be able to watch this happen. Neve tells Lucanis they are both terrible at letting go and he shouldn't adopt that quality, but Hardened Lucanis not only adopts it, he cranks it up to 11. She will ask him to put on a cast, he will refuse. They'll argue about it. No one will give in, they are both incredibly stubborn. Maybe it happens once, maybe twice or thrice, but Neve will not do this to herself and simply watch a man she cares for, however deeply, sinking into misery. And Hardened Lucanis kinda comes across as miserable, even his speech of reclaiming his life after the war is over is underlined with 'or I'll die trying'.

Both of their romances require Rook to display incredible patience and understanding of the past wounds on either Neve or Lucanis, to encourage either to stop wearing the shackles of past traumas as part of armor. Those are shackles, they do not protect unless you seek protection from a fuller, richer life.

But in Hardened Neve/Lucanis this will not happened because Lucanis, while passionate and kind, just isn't fucking good with such things. He will come across an obstacle in his relationship with Neve and is just about as likely to think it belongs there as he is to make it awkward. It's a talent and a skill that will take years to even begin to master. Hardened Lucanis/Neve is just a bit of a nightmare for my girl, honestly. While they claim to take their romance slow, it will definitely take a few years for those problem spots to star showing. And I hope either Lucanis or Neve get the help they need before their romantic relationship with each other combusts like an ancient elven relic.

On that note, it is ENTIRELY A FUCKING CHOICE that you have the ability to forgive and push a man towards healing, when said man has:

a. Committed genocide via Rite of Tranquillity b. Tried to tear down the Veil twice and all with disastrous outcomes where thousands died c.Once accidentally killed his friend and twice very deliberately d. Betrays both Player Characters even if you are have been nothing but a friend to him e. Used blood magic on your to alter your mind

Butt you cannot push your companion, your friend, person you trust with your fucking life and the fate of the world to, to heal if you do not save his city. Even if the other city might be your home. it's a fucking choice, to be honest. Lucanis could have still hardened and healed and perhaps started to choose himself over other people finally but nooooo.

[ecoterrorist-katara]

Hear me out! Chief!Katara x Ambassador!Zuko

I'm sure it's already been done before, but imagine an AU where Iroh dies and Lu Ten lives and becomes Fire Lord. Lu Ten's experiences during the war and his father's death give him a different outlook on his country and his family. He becomes Fire Lord after Sozin's death and decides to change things for the better.

(This would include him stepping up for Zuko and Azula. I like to imagine he's a huge dork who's constantly getting bullied by them. Idk what would happen with Ozai and Ursa here, but I like to think Ozai is just a hermit loser who pulls away from all of them including Azula which allows Ursa to start getting through to her fully in a way she couldn't before. Somewhat mentally stable Azula ftw)

Anyway, because of Lu Ten's change of heart, he decides to start with reparations in the Southern Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom villages. For the Southern Water Tribe, this allows for infrastructure developments which means easier contact with the Northern Tribe as well as rebuilding.

Hakoda brings his kids to the Southern Water Tribe for their first point of contact in decades and Sokka is immediately smitten with Princess Yue. She's been betrothed already, but Hakoda (with his feminist icon mother Kanna we stan) gently dissuades the NWT chief from forcing his literal child into marriage.

(And oops! He accidentally started a feminist revolution in the north. Well, it was a combination of that and tiny Katara proudly going around and telling the NWT women about the brave female members of their tribe that fought and lost their lives in the war. You know that meme about how Kanna sent Katara to kick Pakku's ass? Here, it's more like she sent little Katara to cause an uprising to the point where it was either he starts teaching everyone who wants to learn or they all boycott. In short, Pakku becomes the first person in the ATLA to get his ass cancelled)

Anyway! Sokka and Yue get married somewhere down the line as adults. But since she's the only NWT heir it means he has to rule with her in the North. And since Katara is the only remaining SWT heir, she becomes chief. Under Chief Katara's rule, the SWT proposers. And once a certain escaped prisoner comes back after the war ends, Katara becomes powerful too.

Zuko takes an interest in learning about other cultures. For so long, he was told that the Fire Nation was the superior nation and that they were doing the right thing by enforcing their rule on the other nations. With Lu Ten's reform, he's become curious as to what made his cousin change his mind. So Lu Ten decides to take him with him on diplomatic visits. Zuko experiences and learns what makes the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes different, but also great.

Once he visits the SWT he's immediately enthralled by its compassionate, brave, and powerful leader. Although, Katara isn't particularly impressed with the bumbling ambassador who can't seem to form words around her.

Zutara AUs are so fun that not even I can resist them. I like this because it's a cute reversal on Fire Lord Zuko x Diplomat Katara

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑 YOUR BRAIN IS FUCKING INGENIOUS PLEASE LET ME PUT IT IN A JAR ON MY MANTLE IN A NON CREEPY WAY THANKS!!!! Your capacity for a Zutara AU is insane considering you’re not even a ZK shipper 🙏🏼

So much to love!!! Lu Ten the Loser Lord! Kanna the feminist icon weaponizing her granddaughter to cancel Pakku! Hama living in the SWT (can we have bodyguard Hama??? I’ve been thinking about General Hama in @lykegenia’s The Things We Hide like, once a month, ever since I read it back in March and I think bodyguard Hama is a great variation…you’re never too old to girlboss). Yuekka ruling the NWT! ZUKO BEING A DUMBASS AROUND CHIEF KATARA PLEASE!

I think Ambassador Zuko is the funniest idea ever for like, many many reasons, but the funniest thing to me is how in this AU Lu Ten would need to choose nepo baby Zuko or nepo baby Azula as the diplomat and both are…kinda bad? Zuko would genuinely want to learn to be diplomatic but it does not come easily to him and he would start international diplomatic crises by accident, while Azula does understand diplomacy as a skill but arguably too well and would start international diplomatic crises on purpose.

anyway yes Zuko would absolutely lose all faculties of speech and possibly thinking once he encounters Katara, who is so passionate and thoughtful and devoted to justice! And she’d be like “who’s that Fire Nation idiot who can’t even string three words together? Doesn’t he know reparations are serious business??” And the people from the other nations would be confused because they’re like, Ambassador Zuko is really fair and actually a pretty smart guy what are you on about? THEN maybe she’d think he was doing it on purpose to undermine her…sorry I have to insert a classic misunderstanding somewhere…

ANYWAY if anyone has fic recs for Ambassador Zuko and Chief Katara PLEASE LET ME KNOW! I haven’t read any new Zutara fics in months because my autism compass changed direction, but new year new me etc

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

Got a weird little chapter where the perspective shifts from Megs to right back to Star. I swear dude, when i write these peeps I can't help but slip a bit of TFP into them. It was my first fave after all, and it often fills in some of the cracks for me. Oh and also a bit of Armada energy or a bit of other stuff from things i've heard/seen from comics and shit. Totally mish mash inspo admittedly.

[also side note: I don't necessarily ship op and meg, I mainly used the partner title as platonic and referencing that Megs doesn't rlly see him as his leader per say. I kinda like to keep the ship ambiguity much like the shows do tbh]

But yeh, first a short bit of Op and Megs talkin about our seeker creature. Then we see said creature fucking around with the chaos powers and getting into a bit of trouble. It ended up a lot more brutal than I initially outlined it i must admit-- but don't worry! After this insanity, the bots actually might realize how much of a non sustainable solution it is to keep Star in there.

Previous Chapter: An Unwanted Sequel

First Chapter: The Need For Read

Next Chapter: The Illusion of Freedom

Chapter 7: A Broken Boogeyman

“I just don’t know, Optimus.” 

Megatron leaned against the steel bars overseeing the cameras with crossed arms. He’d been loitering in silence for quite some time as he observed Ori–Optimus, type away at the databanks. Prowl and him had been working rather constantly in the effort to locate the ship the Decepticons had stolen. But Megatron had asked him to relocate his efforts to this access point to their system, so that they could keep an eye on Starscream.

“About what?” His old friend finally inquired. The mech surely knew of what he spoke, yet was merely prodding him to further explain his thoughts.

“Starscream.” Megatron gestured towards the caged seeker on the screen, even if Optimus wasn’t looking at him. His former second was just pacing as he so often did, but he also seemed to be intentionally calling upon that unstable power Megatron had seen him carry. “His recent behavior bothers me.”

“That so?” Optimus removed his servos from the keys and turned to face him as a show of his attention. “What about it concerns you?”

Megatron stared at the monitor a moment before sighing and refocusing his gaze upon Optimus. “The aggression. It is less like him to lash out in the way I’ve witnessed as of late. When it comes to his anger, I've known him to often be more… snide, than explosive. Do you suppose it has to do with the corrupted Emberstone incident?” A rather vague question, yet he knew his partner would understand the full scope of its implications. 

“I suppose,” Optimus followed Megatron’s previous gaze to the smaller corner of the large board of screens displaying the seeker for a moment. Of whom looked to be rambling about something, and punching the wall in a little tantrum. “It is rather odd. Even so, should it not bring you comfort that he is within our custody? He poses no threat from here. Or is it perhaps a more personal matter to you, Megatron? Did the conversation you two shared not go well?”

“It went as well as it could. We have…never been quite good at…talking.” Megatron tapped a finger against his plating in thought. Starscream had always held a particular seat in his mind through the years. He kept him on his toes, even when Megatron hadn’t wanted him to. “I know it seems like he is secure at the moment,” He continued, “yet I cannot help but question how long it will be until he manages to escape and continue on with his questionable goals. I had tried to determine what his next move could be, but he still eludes me with his backwards talk.”

Optimus hummed and slowly began to resume his typing, now only half focusing on his work. “Would perhaps, upping security ease your mind old friend?” 

“Perhaps…” Megatron contemplates this offer. What more security could be implemented? It seemed useless to station someone outside Starscream’s cell to just sit there when they could be useful elsewhere, especially when they already have eyes on him from here. Plus, he could just use someone’s presence as an opportunity to trick them somehow. Obviously then, Megatron would be the best suited for such a station, but that was not going to happen. Prowl would likely not trust him for the task. They may have gotten on slightly friendlier terms, but one act in battle could not wash away centuries. Well…that statement could be debated on circumstance, he supposed. But that was a worn out topic in his processor.

“Regardless, I can assure you, that even if he does somehow escape as he did before; we will be notified immediately.” Optimus’ antennae tipped back only slightly, in a way that informed of the ridiculous smirk the mech no doubt brought to his faceplate. “You should not worry so much! Maybe all you need is a walk in the sun. That is what the humans say is a cure-all for a dower mood! We have been stuck in this stuffy rock for quite some time, after all.”

Megatron chuckled, “If you are going to try and send me off on some frivolous nature stroll, then I will be forced to drag your workaholic aft out there with me!” He removed himself from the steel ledge guards and made his way by Optimus’ side to punch his shoulder. “You need it just as much as I.”

Optimus rolled his eyes and glared with a fond grin at the playful threat. “That may be so, but my responsibilities as leader would not allow me such things at this time.”

“Preposterous! Shoulder the load to someone else. You cannot rust in here while insisting I take leave.” Megatron put his hands on his hips like he was talking to a sparkling. Which his old friend very well could be sometimes.

“I will not simply pass my burdens upon my comrades for my own pleasure, thank you.”

Megatron groaned, “Oh don’t phrase it like that.” 

Optimus sighed and brushed Megatron out of the way to reach a different conduit. “It is accurate. Now unless you intend on assisting me with my work, you should decompress elsewhere for the time being.”

Megatron’s posture drooped slightly as he watched his partner continue on in his mission. The fool was always so focused on others. Putting so much pressure on his plate alone like he was the soul force that kept the planets aligned. Sure, he occasionally relied on others quite well. But in these past years of working alongside his partner, Megatron had seen just how absurdly stubborn the mech could be.

He knew the Prime would want him to simply heed his word and not pry further, as per their conversation about Megatron’s tendency to question him perhaps a bit too often. Even so, this was different. A matter of a concerned compatriot enforcing a bit of necessary self-care. Whether the mech would be mad at him or not was an irrelevant notion, and could even be quite amusing.

So Megatron began to extend a hand to take the Matrix driven mech’s arm, “Come now Optimus–”

When suddenly, the alarm blared obnoxiously through the base. Megatron’s helm immediately shot to the monitor to see a cell filled with nothing but a bit of ash and a barrier littered with chaotic sparks.

Starscream was gone.

***

Starscream paced back and forth across his prison in a rather short path. An intentional stride, as he found that the less distance he allowed himself to travel, the more it lent to instead increasing the tension within him. That was what he needed. Calm wasn’t going to get him out of here. 

Frag having a cool head. Any rational plan would just come back to blow up in his face. No, they’d expect that classic, clever, scheming Starscream. They’d surely predict any little uselessly intricate plan he could concoct, and crush it, if his own Primus damned processor didn’t accomplish that first. 

Red lightning was steadily increasing in intensity across his frame. Good.

No one had visited him after his horribly done exchange with Hashtag, and that had left him with plenty of time to focus on finally getting a better handle on Quitus’ curse. It thrived off of anger, spite, and destructive thoughts. Starscream had that in spades! If it wanted him to disintegrate the structure housing them, or crush the mechs caging him into sniveling lumps of slag, it was about time it helped him do it. 

“You will do as I command or so help me Quintus–” Starscream hissed at the crimson air as he flexed his shaking servos.

“Planning on showing the world just how dangerous you truly are, Transformer?” Mandroid was right by his peds with his absolutely revolting amalgamation of parts and flesh before him. “Prove me right.” The wretched pest had such a mad grin on its squishy faceplate and a taunting tone that made him sick. Making the power surge in his spark. 

Starscream yelled in a rather embarrassingly feral manner as he launched a fist down upon its helm–head–whatever the damn human had! Even with his new found speed and electrified assault power under his control, the illusion managed to escape into whatever Pit it had spawned from. All with an infuriating laugh. He thrusted a fist into the wall to test his strength against it, before turning to survey the little space he aimed to destroy.

“I will never take orders from a human.” Starscream growled at the phantom. “I will use this power because I need to. What I will prove, is just how capable I am no matter what these fragging fools throw at me!” He began to laugh. “They think… They think they can cage me like an animal. That they can just mock me, and leave me to rust away out of sight from whatever pathetic fantasy they think they’ve created for themselves out there?! They think they can leave me behind as they praise the oh so beloved LORD Megatron– DO THEY? She thinks I am WORSE than HIM, does she? Oh… but I can be so much better…”

The power shot through his frame and out from his peds, causing him to yell in surprise from the sudden shock. He panted unevenly on his knees as his wings shook painfully, pulling a servo to his helm to grip the edge of his optic. No… he couldn’t focus on revenge right now. He just needed to get out. 

“Mm… Regardless…” He dragged his impaired frame from the floor with an addled voice box, slouching far much more than he would like. He felt heavy. He hated it. But it was a necessary evil to lean into this curse’s power. 

Starscream made his way over to the barrier that led into the corridor, and directed the lightning to collect at his servos and shoot into its target. It rapidly spread across the surface which rippled and strained to keep its shape. His spark ached as he forced it out, and finally, the barrier sputtered and shrunk away into pathetic wisps. The controls were sparking wildly and exploded into a stream of smoke. 

He hesitated in the doorway for a nano klick before a siren shrieked through his audials, causing him to yelp and spring into action. His peds automatically tracked the same path they had taken the last time he’d broken out. He wasn’t thinking about whether it’d be predictable. Whether they’d be waiting for him. Or if the exit he had closed off would actually be open again. He was just running. 

And this time, as soon as the force fields began closing behind him, he immediately transformed and blasted through the tunnel. Starscream’s engines shot red as the lightning flickered off his frame. He was going so fast that if he weren’t the exceedingly skilled flier he was, he’d have eaten metal by now. But of course he naturally dodged around every corner and eventually–

No. He needed a missile to destroy the door. But he hadn’t had the time to locate his confiscated weaponry. 

Starscream transformed mid-air to launch himself into the door in a super powered kick. Only a sizable, useless dent resulted. He looked at it in disbelief then turned to survey his surroundings wildly. There had to be another way. He dashed around the closed off room at a blinding speed. There was no other exit that wasn’t already blocked.

“SCRAP! NO NO NO ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Starscream desperately shot streams of lightning at the door. Punched and kicked as hard as he could–and it was starting to work! He just needed to focus on the bent seam… But he heard a crowd of noisy pedsteps rapidly approaching his position. They were barking some strings of orders to each other or perhaps at him, but he didn’t care to make out what any of it was. He just needed to–

Suddenly, the space between his wings was burning in an all too familiar way, and his front was thrusted into the uneven wall. Time was up. It couldn’t end this way so easily. There was no way he wouldn’t go down without a fight now. Starscream quickly stumbled to his peds and turned to immediately blast a stream of crimson lightning from his servo. 

The group of bots scattered in surprise, with one blasted mech attempting ridiculously to call out his designation.

“Stop this now, Starscream! You know you are outnumbered!” Megatron was once again so desperately trying to control him. Acting like he knew his limits of what he could and couldn’t do. 

“SHUT UP!” He screamed as he threw continuous follies of the curse’s power at his assailants. “I will not allow you to have the pleasure of taking me alive today to be smelted under your petty gaze! Either I am getting out of here, OR NOBODY IS!” Maybe Starscream could draw their fire at the door behind him, or maybe he could simply disintegrate them all here and now and seize the base for himself. Both flickering visions in his processor paired with all the ways he could leave them as smoldering piles of ash. The siren still wouldn’t cease its incessant whining. 

The surrounding mechs became scattered, and he rapidly made certain to dodge every shot sent his way paired with an equal retaliation. He’d get some shots off, but they were still closing in. He finally managed to get the pink one to stay down, leaving the red femme to see to her companion like a weak fool. Starscream attempted to shoot the pair to finish them off, but was blocked by that slagger Prime with his stupid axe. 

There was still Megatron lurking in his hazed vision, and he redirected his fire toward the bucket head. Yet something bothered him about the roster he saw around him. Where was that blasted bot Prowler? Why wasn’t he here with them? Bumblebee’s absence could be excused, but that tactician’s was far too precarious. Were they planning something?

Suddenly, Megatron and the others slinked a peculiar amount of steps from his position. Something was happening. 

Blasters retracted from the ceilings and began raining relentless fire upon him. He frantically dodged what he could, but was surprised by the unexpected direction, resulting in a hole to be scorched through his wing before he could decommission the blasters. While he was distracted, the Prime attempted to rush him, but he was all too obvious and Starscream dived out of the way with the intent of a counter attack. Apparently, that was what they wanted, because then he found Megatron’s monstrous chassis slamming into him. 

“GET OFF OF ME!” Starscream demanded as he struggled for control. 

“Not until you surrender!” Megatron was insane! The longer he remained in contact with Starscream’s corrupted frame, he was easily in the line of fire to become overcome from helm to ped with the electricity. But he wouldn’t let go. Starscream could hardly move.

“Never.” Starscream growled lowly through his absurdly rapid vents, of which were absolutely useless in cooling the heat burning his spark and processor. He kicked and pulled in practically any effort he could to gain some leverage. Yet right when he had finally freed a servo to try and deck Megatron in the faceplate, of course the Prime had to step in and force Starscream’s servo back to the ground with his axe. A flash of amusement flitted through him at how the reckless leader of the Autobots was less willing to touch him than the ever self-perseverating former warlord.

“It’s over, Starscream. Stand down.” Megatron growled through gritted dentas, and crushed Starscream’s ped as a nice little punctuation to his order. 

Starscream refused to give the silver brute the scream or pleas of mercy he no doubt sought from the action. All the same, he felt like he was about to explode. The power wracking his frame was starting to take its toll. The world was spinning, and the more he continued to struggle, the more desperately he felt the need to be anywhere but in this moment. Well, perhaps not anywhere. Surely he could think of many worse things–scrap that was a bad direction to take that thought. 

The siren warped into a wretched ringing that swirled in his helm. His optics were glitching so harshly that he could barely make out pixels beyond mere silhouettes, and the lights glared painfully. He could feel his vocalizer saying something to his captors, and he could faintly recognize that they were responding. But what were they saying? He didn’t want this power anymore. It hadn’t helped him. It never did. 

“W– tranq–quickly!”

What?

Starscream tried to look at what they were doing as he pushed against Megatron’s servo. It was a needle. They were getting closer. 

He panicked and flailed to the point that he twisted his stabilizing servo out of its socket to allow his upper half the opportunity to slip out from under the mech for even just a moment. But it didn’t matter. He was pinned again and they stuck him with whatever it was.

Of which, rapidly started making every circuit in his frame feel disgustingly limp.

He desperately fought to stay conscious. But just like everything in his life. It was useless.

[fierceawakening]

Eh?

I dunno, I’d rather we have prisons and admit that even the kindest of us gets mean when its an Epstein or a Diddy and then talk about the more interesting and pressing question of whether and when to punish less horrible people than go around in endless circles about whether it’s okay or not to admit we don’t fucking know what else to do with someone like Diddy than lock them away from potential victims.

To me it’s like how people who admit “I try to be a good person but when someone does X I can’t forgive” seem more trustworthy than “I would never judge anyone” types. Because the former have spent some time noticing and admitting to their flaws and their own capacity for badness, where the people who tend to see themselves as heroes are less likely to be able to go “hey, I’m not objective here. I doubt you are either, given the topic. It’s understandable, but let’s look for ways to work around it.”

Part of the reason I study crimes I can’t condone as an off again on again special interest is precisely because I need to inform my opinions as best I can, and in order to have opinions of how we should handle those crimes I need to study them to whatever degree I’m capable.

(This is why i periodically read up on the “scary” PDs too. When someone claims I’ve got my facts all wrong, that means I need to look and see if the consensus has actually changed or not. Typically, I find it has not.)

Which is why it baffles me so much when a prison abolitionist answers “what about rapists?” with “why ask that?”

If you’re making it your business to truly argue for revamping the way we handle all crime how do you NOT study what makes rapists, stalkers, and abusers tick? If you don’t do that you can’t be anything NEAR an expert in anything you’re talking about!

Like can you even get as far as writing up a good one pager to give to your legislators if you know that little? I’m dying squirtle

Well, yes, but I can list alternatives to kings. Alternatives to cops I’m less sure about. What does “I’m at immediate risk of violence and need imminent assistance” look like with the alternative?

[volant-endeavor]

Alien psudeo step daughter like estranged alcoholic primate dad

[good-beanswrites]

A little something featuring Fuuta and Es after talking about their criminal lack of interaction in fanworks with @waivyjellyfish ! You had such awesome ideas (a few of which I'm still bouncing around in my head to post at some point,) but this one ended up taking over my brain -- I hope you enjoy 😅 Attempting to answer the widely-debated question:

“Oi, why didn’t you hit me?”

Es looked up from their paperwork.

“Prisoner number three. Most people are glad when they’re not struck.”

“Well, I’m not.” 

Es usually left the door open at this hour, in case anyone had any last-minute complaints before curfew. No one usually took them up on the offer. They figured that if there was any prisoner they could count on to complain, it would be Fuuta marching through their door.

“You hit all the other guys. You even hit some of the girls that were giving you trouble. So what? You think I’m too weak? You think I can’t take it?” Fuuta spread his arms. “I can, so show me what you’ve got!”

Es sighed. They put down their pen. They folded their gloved hands together, resting their chin on top. “Fuuta, I’m not going to hit you.”

“Why not?”

“As of right now, I have no reason to. If you’re referring to the interrogations…”

They reflected on the first one they'd shared with him. To be fair, the thought had crossed their mind. It would have been satisfying to give this rowdy prisoner a taste of his own medicine – striking him after such a dramatic charge at them. But Es was always good at reading people. It didn’t take them long to understand Fuuta was the type to lash out first and ask questions later. In fact, that was likely what had landed him in Milgram in the first place. 

Although Es knew they weren’t here to do any reformation, they wanted to try to show these prisoners where they’d gone wrong. So, they resolved to act as the bigger person. They’d prove that senseless violence was just that. By keeping their composure, they’d show Fuuta just how childish he was being. 

That wasn’t my only reason. I guess that's true, my actions weren’t all purely righteous. I still spent the entire time looking for ways to make him squirm… But it wasn’t all cruelty. I really did want to understand. I wanted to help. That counts for something, right?

Es never struck the prisoners out of anger, or as a petty show of power. It was a way to force the prisoner to mind their ego. When they’d gotten a bit too full of themselves, a bit too comfortable with the awful deed they’d committed, Es’ blow encouraged them to feel a bit more humility and guilt. 

By the time the second trial arrived, Fuuta oozed guilt. 

The moment Es entered the interrogation room, it was clear that he needed no lesson in humility. He hugged his arms to his chest. His remaining eye darted around the room in thinly-veiled hysteria. His voice trembled when he spoke. It didn’t require any people-reading skills to hear the remorse that underlaid all of his accusations and threats.

Hitting the others felt like giving a dog a tap on the nose after breaking a rule. Meanwhile, Fuuta snapped and snarled like a stray who’d been kicked time and time again.

Of course, he could never know any of this. Any way Es phrased it, Fuuta would misunderstand it as pity.

Well, wasn’t it? I thought he looked like a kicked puppy – that sounds a lot like pity. No, it was out of respect. Does that mean I didn’t respect the prisoners I did hit? No. I respected them too. Then, what’s the difference?

Fuuta was still staring at them, asking the very same question. What’s the difference?

“Each of Milgram’s prisoners is unique.” 

They were met with an unimpressed glare.

Es chose their words carefully. “Each one responds best to a variety of treatments. Some need attention to be comfortable, while others need time. Some need validation in order to confess. Others, a bit of debate does the trick. Some need a show of force. You –” remind me too much of myself  “– require something else. I’ve learned to change my approach depending on the person I’m dealing with.”

Fuuta’s features flashed with confusion, then shame, then his usual mask of anger. “Tch. How pathetic.”

“Excuse me?”

“So you just change your personality when it’s convenient? You put up fake smiles and fake attitude? Have some balls and just be yourself.”

Es was caught by surprise. “... I am. Those are all pieces of myself. I choose to bring out different parts when it would be most helpful.” 

“Sounds manipulative as hell to me.” 

It makes sense he doesn’t understand. He’s a very clear-cut person, with every aspect of his personality lining up in a way that makes sense. I find that predictability fun. Or, is it something that I envy? Could it be both?

They had no time to dwell on it, as Fuuta was struck with an idea. “Though, if you can do it on command, why don’t you give me the ‘you’ that wants to hit someone?” 

He spread his arms once more, hands gesturing to his chest. Es pretended not to notice him wince. They remained in their seat. 

“What are you waiting for? Hit me!” 

“I will not.”

“You just said you can change your personality on a whim, so let’s see it!” 

“That is not what I said.”

His good eye began to look frenzied. He raised his voice. “You scared? The big bad warden of Milgram, nothing but a big coward!”

“Stop this. You’re acting childish.”

“No! You’re treating me childishly! Let me see the Es that kicked Shidou! The one that slapped Kazui! Treat me like you treated them!”

“I hit them because they said something stupid. They deserved it.”

“Are you fucking kidding? I deserve it too! I deserve it! Come on!”

At the last word, his voice broke. He stumbled to his knees. He let his head drop. He sucked in strained breath after strained breath. Shidou would surely give him a lecture about getting so worked up with his injuries. 

Es finally stood.

They made their way around the desk. They knelt on the floor in front of him. 

“Why?” he wheezed. “Tell me…”

“Fuuta.” 

Should I just go ahead and do it, just to make him happy? No, I want to talk it out. But what do even I say? I'll tell him that I care. I can’t. None of the prisoners understand that I care. Why? Why is it so hard for them to see? I’m trying my best, why can’t they see? 

Es extended their hand carefully. They didn’t know what they hoped to accomplish, but in that moment their thoughts were too loud and conflicting. They needed to do something.

Fuuta saw the gentle intention, and immediately raised his own hand to strike. It froze midair, though whether it was from Milgram’s restrictions or his own hesitation, Es would never know.

Neither of their gestures connected.

Footsteps. Then Yuno’s voice, hesitantly from the doorway. “We heard shouting, is everything alright in here?”

Es retracted their hand.  A beat. Fuuta dropped his, too. 

“Yuno. Yes, we’re fine. Fuuta was just heading to bed. I’m going to walk him to his cell.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I said, I’m going to walk him to his cell.” 

Es stood, nodding to Yuno. When she’d gone, they turned their attention back to the prisoner crumpled on the ground. They made an effort to quiet their ever-racing thoughts. 

“Listen. I know you can handle yourself. I’m not doing this because I think you’re weak. You’re strong. Don’t think for a moment that I don’t see that.”

They held out their arm to help him up. He didn’t move.

“Sometimes you are a bit too strong, if you ask me. I mean, picking fights with your prison warden, really?” They clicked their tongue. “You should be grateful for a superior that gives you second chances.”

At last, Fuuta  took their hand. He avoided meeting their eyes, but his voice had softened considerably from his rant. “The only thing you give me is a headache.”

Es offered a dry smile as they pulled him to his feet. “The feeling is mutual.”

[tortoise-teapot]

i've decided that there's no way avery is ever going to set physical foot in forever fade prison. he was a circle mage who fought tooth and nail for his freedom, he is never entering a cage again. he wouldn't be able to function through the panic attacks anyway

but it's not the end for them!!! avery's a dreamer he spends half his day in the Fade anyway. if anyone can break in to fade prison every night it's him (with some help from the vhenan)

but where i'm at is... what does avery telling solas 'hey you are the love of my life and i will marry you right now if you let me. but like i can't go to forever prison. i'll see you tonight tho?' LOOK like. in that moment he doesn't know even IF he'd be able to visit in dreams. so like how do you even SAY THAT lmaoo "heyyyy honey, so here's the thing..." doesn't seem to cut it hdhdkd

i played with avery physically joining solas but those daydreams ALWAYS ended with avery taking a swan dive off the edge of the black city eventually and no thank you that is not the story i want to tell

[imaginarianisms]

more asoiaf comparisons, parallels & antiparallels to the first dance of the dragons vs the second & final dance of the dragons (& possibly the sixth blackfyre rebellion): the blacks being daenerys i targaryen's supporters, the golds being aegon vi targaryen's supporters, tommen baratheon being a close equivalent to gaemon palehair & his mother essie & sylvenna sand which may be interpreted as a parallel with queen cersei lannister & taena merryweather of myr, trystane truefyre being a close equivalent to aegon/young griff & perkin being jon connington & the shepherd being the new high septon the high sparrow, dalton greyjoy being euron i greyjoy's ancestor & the latter surpassing him, alyn waters later alyn velaryon resembling aurane waters later aurane velaryon & finishing what their ancestors started. history repeats itself.

[veatomis]

Would it. Be too diabolical if i put lucanis in the tailored to elio version of the regret fade prison.

[sugarhillpark]

my nana: not doing great my cat: not doing great me: trying to remain upbeat in the face of this, the usual chronic pain dance, having surgery booked on Halloween, the surgery taking me off work and thus taking away part of my already hand-to-mouth income for another 1 - 2 weeks when I've barely recovered from the first 6 weeks off, watching multiple genocides unfold, and the surreal bonus of watching people actively celebrate a 31 year old pop star's preventable death because of abuse allegations me, turning on my pc to write fanfic and look at my gay little scrapbook on tumblr.com: hey look it's a bunch of fever era panic! pics! see, what a nice thing! and you know, i haven't seen people dogpile on brendon urie and wish violence and suicide on him for ages now, so that's something me, scrolling down: mmmm. MMMmmMMMMMMMMmm

[theriverdalereviewer]

everyone jumping to team kamala we will never experience true freedom in this country

[homemade-potato]

HELP me and my friend have a reoccurring issue that every time we go on duo nights out, no matter what club or bar we go to we always bump into these two men who try to invite us back to theirs for drug-fueled gang bangs EVERYTIME and it was funny the first time because they were offering us unicorn colouring books because they're over 30 and we're decidedly not, but now it's just so extremely irritating

[digitalcockroach]

ok so ive only been playing my bg3 durge playthrough kinda sporadically (i also spent like 20 hours on a character i abandoned before coming back to my original durge because i love him so much) and it's wild how im simultaneously finding SO MUCH stuff i missed or just didnt get in my first playthrough while also tearing through the game like 3X as fast because ive got combat down now and can skip a lot of dialog lol