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occamstfs · 4 months ago

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Marichismo

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Judgemental asshole Allen may be but heartless he is not. Setting down his bag with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the student walks over to help the older woman gather herself. Barely avoiding reflexively chiding his elder as he offers her a hand, he helps her up. The attendant pushes a large pair of glasses up her nose and squints at him with a kind smile, “Ah! Gracias, gracias mijo.” She pulls herself up on Allen’s hand and he cringes back as some kind of aftershock of static goes up his arm. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to affect her. Dusting herself off, she does a double take at Allen and adjusts her glasses, “¿Qué te trae aqui hoy, mijo? (What brings you in today dear?)

Allen hesitates, blowing air as he tries to understand why this woman thinks he knows spanish. Scratching the back of his head he finally looks to see the text blazoned across the front desk, El Gustavo Ramirez Museo De Arte Latinoamericano. Putting two and two together as he is ever so proud of doing, Allen immediately apologizes for intruding. “So sorry uh, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to wander into your, uh, space.” gesturing to the woman and the building around him in a manner to distinguish it not so much as beneath him but as an other. Something that is simply a bridge too far for him to gap. “This place isn’t for me so I think I’ll go ahead and step out.” Thunder peels before he can start to gather his things, immediately reminding him why he is in here at all.

The older woman also relents, switching to English since, despite some instinct saying otherwise, the man before her clearly speaks only english. “Ah don’t you worry yourself mijo. The museum is for all, para todos. Free with your student ID,” she tacks on with a wink. Allen smiles uncomfortably, baring teeth enough that it could be mistaken as a grimace.

He can’t just tell this old lady that he hasn’t a thought to spare, in his mind: waste, on the collections behind her. Still he doesn’t want to make conversation indefinitely waiting for the storm to clear either. Fearful of the outlet he’s used thus far he convinces himself there must be one hiding somewhere in the exhibition hall. He’ll just pacify her with entry and go find some place in between ostentatious paintings and droll statues to insert himself and get some actual work done.

Producing his ID wordlessly, he hands it to the elderly woman and she quickly shuffles behind her desk to type his name into some registry. Handing it back with a smile she leaves her hand hanging for a shake, “Wonderful to meet you Allan! Soy Lupe Carvajal. But you can call me abuelita, mijo!” Pocketing his ID with a dismissive laugh he notices not that his name is apparently misspelled on his ID card, instead he packs his charger up and shakes Lupe’s hand. “Hah. Uhm, whatever you say Mrs. Carvajal.” Her hand is wrinkled and frail but surprisingly warm, as if his hand were receiving the full body experience of a hug in but a single shake.

“You know Allan, I must have thought you know spanish because you look quite like my nieto, my grandson.” Allan puffs his cheeks to bite his tongue, holding a picture in his mind of what this granny’s descendants must look like and knowing there’s simply no permutation that lands at himself. She continues, “Es un joven fuerte! Haha!” She does a little bicep pose which allows Allan to understand exactly what she means without her translating. He shyly smiles looking down at his own thin arms and wondering why this lady seems to be mocking him. After doing her bit, Lupe moves to sit at the desk and pulls a book off her stack, “You just let me know if you need anything mijo, si?” Allan nods and reflexively responds, “Si ab- Mrs. Carvajal.”

Odd taste in his mouth at almost calling this random woman grandmas she asked, he shakes it off and wanders into the exhibit hall, decidedly less worried about using her museum’s resources to his own ends. It has probably been over a decade since anyone was able to drag him into an art museum. Even then was he vehemently against wasting his time visiting. He just didn’t get art, and not for not trying. It’s just, aggravating that some people can get so much from some splotches of paint and he just sees a picture on some paper. Feeling himself get riled up he turns to the exhibit hoping for some distraction, which he finds in an elaborate statue of some dog. himself.

Allan stands beside a huichol coyote covered in beads about two feet high. Spotlighted in the dim gallery he circles it like a predator, inspecting the bright beaded beast from every angle. See this he gets. This took time, this took care. Leaning in close the warmth of the overhead light pleasantly burns the top of his head. Absorbed by the shimmering light off the beads, Allan is unaware as his hair suddenly begins to lengthen. The buzz he has always kept short for sheer manageability begins to curl over his ears, growing warm even quicker as it tints darker. Not quite black but certainly not the blonde shade he was always happy to keep despite his spending as few hours outside as possible.

Before curls can begin to crest over his forehead, his face is not spared the glare of the spotlight. Immediately as his olive eyes glaze over, absorbed into the intricate stitched patterns they begin to stain darker. The jade he has always seen in his own reflection shades darker ever so slightly. Not brown. No he doesn’t have brown eyes, they’re just hazel? His eyebrows match the suddenly darkened hair on his head as he stands staring at the beast. Not expanding to cover more of his face but growing thicker, denser. Almost as if to shade his eyes from the light. His lips thicken as a grin begins to tinge his face. Reaching up Allan feels stubble begin to prickle his chin and upper lip, as if he spent time shaving this morning.

Allan moans contentedly as he gives in and reaches fully into the spotlight to touch the coyote. Rules and codes of propriety fall to the wayside as he reaches beyond the realm of rationality to touch the statue of the trickster. His hands burn as they tint ever so slightly darker under the glare of the spotlight. As soon as his middle finger feels the warmth of the first bead he recoils in shock. “Q- What?!” He falls onto his ass, no time to inspect his decidedly browner hands as the commotion made immediately summons Abuelita Lupe. The elderly attendant meanders as quickly as she can into the showroom, “¿Qué pasó Alan?” Alan flexes his hand in shock. Whatever just happened it can’t be his fault. Surely he didn’t just unprompted mess with some artifact on display. “I, um? No sé?” He pauses, unsure of what he just said, nonsense he thinks. “I mean um, I’m not sure?”

Lupe goes to help him up with what little strength she can muster only for him to wave her off, sure that she would only get in the way. He finds standing takes more effort than usual as he does so with a grunt. Nervously patting him on the back, Lupe asks him if he’s alright after the spill, buzzing around him with concerned pleasantries. Alan doesn't quite hear her as he instead inspects his own body. His clothes are tighter. He stretches and pulls at them, presuming them to just be falling weird on him after the fall. But close inspection shows otherwise. Looking at his cardigan it is clearly strained by his chest and stomach. Blushing at the idea he’s put on weight, Alan crosses his arms and notices how snugly his arms fill the sleeves, how his wrists hang out further than they should, not only that but they are unmistakably darker. Not brown, but without a doubt a few shades darker than his usual porcelain tone.

Recovering from being lost in his thoughts he looks to find Lupe staring, “Oh! Lo, uh sorry. Did you uh, ask me something Senora Carvajal?” Looking down at a sharper angle than he did earlier, he sees the abuela looking at his head with a tilt. “Did you do something different with your hair mijo?” eyes narrowing with concern and suspicion he thrusts his hair into his new curls. He immediately gasps in shock before reconsidering. This is how he’s always looked right?

Thank god his hair is naturally curly so he can just leave them as they fall without much ado. He smiles and shakes his head at Lupe and she nods happily in return. Reaching up she puts her small hand on his bicep and squeezes it, Alan can barely hear her as he is struck with just how powerful his arm seems next to her small hand as she continues, “Well I like it mijo.” With that she aways and leaves Alan be. Having the floor to himself his expression grims as he pulls out his phone to look for a picture of himself. Something is off. His mind tells him everything is normal. When he looks at his hands he sees them as they have always been right? Why would he have a buzz cut when his hair is so naturally nice? Something in his gut screams out that something unnatural is going on. His camera roll should hold proof. Going through his phone he barely holds back a gasp that would surely summon the docent back as he is immediately greeted by a folder of his own nudes.

“Que chingado…” He whispers under his breath as his face burns redder than the scarlet beads on the coyote. He didn’t take these did he? Zooming in he is once more floored to see tattoos on his body. Looking down at his arm he sharply inhales as there's a sting and suddenly his wrist matches the image on his phone. Or no. He’s had that tattoo for years?

Aghast at himself he still feels he wouldn’t have taken these photos of himself. Vain in many ways, his appearance is not one of them. He wonders if he’s been set up or hacked or something before he reminds himself no one would be able to do so without his knowledge. He’s a pro after all. Mind going to his technical skills, his chest puffs with pride as it grows to match the one he finds in the nudes soft-core and otherwise on his phone. Alan quickly shoves it in his pocket, finding it a much tighter fit than when he retrieved it.

Looking around nervously, he walks close to the coyote once more. Narrowing his eyes he feels new memories come to mind from his childhood. Memories of hearing story after story of the trickster, he tilts his head as the slightest whiff of something amiss hides behind them. Staring into the eyes of the beast with suspicion the image of reading Greek mythologies by himself fades away to be replaced by his mother telling him stories from her own childhood. The coyote playing tricks and la Llorona terrorizing their little town just to make sure he stays in line. Alan smiles as he shakes out of the reverie, my mom wasn't morena was she? Headache rising as seconds pass standing near the beast he wanders away, muttering to himself without awareness, “didn’t want him in the main hall anyway.”

His hair continues to thicken and curl darker as he moves deeper into the exhibition space. Scratching at his stubble lost in thought he finds it defining itself into a goatee with a matching mustache. His phone still unlocked in his pocket shifts displays his form as he continues to change unawares. He feels himself begin to sweat intensely as his cardigan grows even tighter. His body decides to ramp up his masculinity as he starts to outright swell with muscle. His whole body twitches larger as he briefly recalls Lupe playfully flexing, “un joven fuerte!” He clicks his tongue and grins as he sees his biceps strain his sweater, almost enough to see his button up through the threads. He fights back a smirk feeling his shirt underneath hug the sides of his chest as his soldiers expand. Feeling his thicker pits start to sweat through said shirt and into the jacket he resolves to remove the cardigan.

His struggled grunts echo through the museum space as he struggles to get the cardigan off over his chest. The sound of fabric tearing rips through the room as stitches finally give way down the whole front of the garment, his pecs bursting larger into the open air. The top few buttons of his dress shirt also explode open as he is finally freed from the constricting sweater, “ayy dios- fuck…” He whispers to himself as he appreciates the ice cold air of the museum on his sweaty skin. The white dress shirt may as well be sheer with his sweat soaking it, allowing any gawkers to easily see tattoos running down his arm and the nipples almost poking through the shirt.

Only briefly does he wonder why he’s not self conscious about being exposed in the gallery before he notices a side-exhibition hall. “Ah si, uh. The temporary exhibit,” he whispers dreamily. Keeping quiet as any respectful museum-goer does. Though he doesn’t quite have the bodily awareness to mute his increasingly loud footsteps, each one growing louder as his upper body expands. He looks up to read the title of the exhibit as the sound of his shoulders widen enough to tear the back of his button up. Marichismo: Taking Back Latino Masculinity. He smirks as he finds the idea compelling, he’s uh, not hispanic of course. Nor has he ever been intrigued by ‘art’ in the slightest, he thinks. But something draws him deeper. Something pulls him further. Something in him begs for more.

His pants creak as he crosses the threshold into the new space, his ass expanding beyond the pale. Similarly does his crotch demand both more room and his attention as Arlad is immediately face to face with a deliberately provocative statue. The blush burning his face is just as soon hidden as his tan grows darker as he’s overwhelmed by everything in front of him. It’s as if Tom of Finland were Chicano. Bulges beyond belief force their way out at every angle. Rigid thick mustaches hang stoic on every face as Arlad feels his own stubble grow darker, thicker, itchier.

The student is torn between instincts, just as he feels increasingly torn between two worlds. His body continues ballooning and his shirt bursts clean off, buttons scatter to the floor and sharp tears launch down his arms. He can’t help but hungrily scan the floorspace as the bright lights bore into him, exposing him as if he were a piece of art on display. He looks down just in time to see his cock burst large enough to blow his zipper out which only addles his mind further, “Tal vez, just a minute…” He wanders into the exhibit hall proper as his eyes finally make the jump into a rich chocolate brown. He trips over his feet, gasping as he feels them stuffed uncomfortably tight in his oxfords before kicking off the shoes altogether. Just as soon do his pants rip off and he is left almost entirely nude in this exhibit hall.

His mouth hangs open as his cock acts almost like a dowsing rod in between pieces. The language in which Arcad thinks rapidly begins to change altogether, already a bilingual medley, with each starved look at photographed vaqueros or bulge forward paintings does English drift farther away. Maintaining fluency in both of course, the man would never let that tongue take predominance over that of his madre y su madre before her. His pecs pump even larger with pride as thick curls begin itching up from his crotch. He scratches at his stomach as he smirks at his body finally getting on brand. This whole show is about displaying masculinity and he needs to be the apex. He needs…

Arcad twitches as these definitive thoughts cut through the fog in which he has been going about. Why does he care so much about this place? He doesn’t like art. Certainly not this uh smut. He twitches as he argues that being provocative is the point, sexualization of the male form is the point. Why could he know that? How does he know anything about this exhibit? Looking around at the photographs he sees men who are almost a parody of masculinity. Fighting back the overwhelming pervasive horniness issuing forth from balls bulging larger he takes a deep breath and ignores the temple to the male form around him.

It’s impossible for him to notice as his thoughts crest fully into español. After all it simply is the language in which he has always thought, no matter what his teachers demand of him. Back to the matter at hand he is struck with the urge to create. Mierda- this exhibition really inspired him, he should really write an essay about this. Or, no. He moans and clutches at his temples as the shining lights out of sight gleam even brighter, sparkling off his sweaty muscled form as he’s racked with the pain of opposing realities. No, that isn’t right. He doesn’t do essays anymore. That’s not how he creates.

Memories of long hours at the lab and in dark rooms sitting at a keyboard dissipate. Haughty superiority over fields and forms he deems insignificant thankfully blast away as images of the photographs and artworks around him come to mind with an ease that makes him uneasy. Creeping in from the edges of his lived memory are other exhibits, many that he has visited, some that he has put on of his own accord.

Tattoos continue to drip down his arm as his treasure trail rushes onto his chest, blooming out to cover his pecs. The space in between his mustache and goatee is quickly filled, as are the entirety of his cheeks as his eyes shut even tighter. Independent muscle groups twitch as his body struggles to forge him even larger, to be more. The lengthy curls on his head fall away as his head returns to a buzz cut, this time black as the night. This time impossibly deliberate.

Arcadio buzzed it himself, he loved his curls. But he knew for this exhibition he had to sacrifice. Anything for his art. The phrase burns across his mind, Marichismo. It, it was his exhibition. Arcadio opens his eyes to find himself standing across from an oppressive statue staring down at him in disdain. His blood boils as his fight or flight activates. Though staying strong he just clenches his fist as his body bulges larger one last time. “Papa.” He made that statue, he isn’t about to be shoved around by his own art. The feeling of confidence filling him at standing up against the domineering statue is more than he could have held within him as Allan. Reverbs of confidence go through his psyche as he finally gets it. Turning around the confidence that fills him rapidly dissipates as he sees a man posing like a dog.

He exercised complete creative control of the exhibition, but did he take this? Memories of being behind the lens of the camera dance through his mind for most of the images, this one seems obscured. He ignores the cold sudden sting of a nose ring as he leans in close to inspect it, smirking all the while. Who’d he get to model this? Looking at the jockstrap he nods approvingly, mierda it is certainly hot though. His underwear stretches to its absolute limit as he forces his large hand down to paw his cock at the image. Looking down at his hairy forearm he gasps as he sees the tattoo on his forearm perfectly matches that of the model.

At that moment his underwear burst free from his body and he suddenly realizes that being nude in this space is far worse a breach of etiquette than touching that coyote. Arcadio sprints to his bag and digs around for anything he could possibly use to hide his still bulging cock at half mast. “¡Gracias a dios!” he whispers under his breath as he wraps a towel around his waist, perfectly mimicking a photograph behind him. He smirks at the man thinking how proud Jose will be when he gets to see himself on a gallery wall. Arcadio grunts and clenches his head as memories of the man ahead of him fill his mind. Lightheaded he leans against the wall grimacing as he leads a sweaty handprint on the pristine white wall.

Turning around seeing the exhibit hall as a whole he almost falls over with a rush of memories. Advanced math and the life he once lived as Allan are dust in the wind as his childhood growing up the son of first generation immigrants in San Antonio rises to take their place. Living alone with his mother before his abuela moved up from Mexico to help raise him as if he were her son. Understanding himself and the world around him as he discovered who he was and what he had to do. Finally achieving success, winning grants, booking galleries as an artist. Not too bad for a maricon eh? He winks at the statue of his father, smirking as he feels his power as a man and artist grow.

Looking down at some engineering homework scattered from his bag the last pangs of a headache buzzes through him before he shakes his head and the work is gone. The last shreds of a life he once lived dissipate. Walking out into the lobby he sees his abuelita. She smiles at the massive man before adjusting her glasses and shouting out, “¡Ay! ¿Qué estás haciendo? ¡Ponte algo de ropa! (What are you doing! Put some clothes on!)” Arcadio laughs and waves her off, knowing the museum is closed while he preps his exhibition for opening tomorrow.

His new voice is rich on his tongue as he speaks up, “Espero que les guste. La universidad no sabe lo que pagaron ¡ja! (Hope they like it. The uni doesn’t know what they paid for ha!)” His abuelita clicks her tongue, she loves her grandson more than the world but boy if he hasn’t made her old beyond her years. She digs through the lost and found next to her for something that might fit her larger than life grandson and throws it at him. The man laughs and his abuelita can’t help but join in the reverie. She wouldn’t dream of going through his exhibit- que obsceno, que cachondo! But he could do no real wrong in her eyes. So far he’s blown her expectations out of the water with his success and she can’t wait to see what Arcadio gets up to next.

#male tf #racial change #mental change #masculinization #hair growth #muscle tf #reality change #cultural change #male transformation

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hotvampireadjacent · 8 months ago

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All your voting doesn’t matter stuff makes you sound like a psyop. Americans are trying their best especially since companies, the US government, foreign governments (israel) and the police are trying to oppress the average American as much as possible. People here are being made homeless on purpose to become prison labor and yet they are still trying to change foreign policy. Please take your head out of your ass for like five seconds and realize what you sound like. Like sorry ppl have to care about domestic politics as well.

LMFAOOOO and change doesn’t happen at the presidential level it happen at the state level. That go ahead and vote.

You American are so fucking self centered you truly don’t give a shit about the global south as long as you have your cake. Yes the imperial core is also suffering I don’t disagree and we need to fight to improve it but I’m not giving genocide Joe a vote when my people are dying at the border

You got some nerve accusing a Mexican of being a psyop when i care about my Latino siblings fucking dying at the border every day.

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celaenaeiln · 1 year ago

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it’s a me a 12 am anon . my girlfriend and i had a discussion abt how odd it is that the fandom views and stereotypes the batfam like

dick is romanian and has more fem related traits and somehow it translates into him being a dumb womanizer or just an annoying mother hen?

jason grew up in the streets, i think its popular to hc him as hispanic? idk but jts odd how ppl do that and also think hes an angry heartless brute

cass gets that “badass asian dragon lady” archetype (tbh im not sure what it is but my gf is passionate abt it so like im confident she’s right)

tim?? somehow ive seen wasian hcs for him but the boy is autistic right? somehow a stereotype i see for him is like “weird and socially awkward but super smart” which . i dont think thats right .

steph is adhd right? i think? also falls into the dumb “waffles r my only personality trait” stereotype and uts just a tiny bit odd dyou see it?

damian (and by extension talia) gets done dirty a lot i think i dont .yeah

nyways sorry its been a while <3 would llve to hear ur thoughts n opinions

hey again!!

Batfam fanon is...not great. And it's things like this that remind me why I kinda avoided this fandom until I couldn't.

Dick

Dick is Romani and is canonically more feminized but the dumb womanizer thing is really getting on my nerves. First of all, he's one of the smartest characters, ever. The comforting thing about Dick is that he never loses.

The reason I love reading Dick Grayson runs is because I can read about his thought process, the way he analyzes, how he single-handedly solves crime like it's nothing.

Batman (1940) Issue #703

Secondly he's not a womanizer. He literally has a mental break down at the thought of dating or even kissing someone he isn't in love with. He's never, ever, ever going to sleep with someone he doesn't have atleast some level of romantic attraction to because he feels it's inherently wrong and canonically frowns upon that behavior when others do it.

The mother hen thing - I gotta admit is kinda accurate. He really loves his family and friends and takes care of them really well. He always makes time to sit and listen to all of them with all their problems and helps them solve it so that's fine.

Jason

The hispanic thing - what the actual heck. Literally why? Jason's "hispanic" fanon background along with Tim's "asian" background comes from a wider problem where society has become disillusioned by the same ethnicity for all characters and wants for diversity and representation in the media. I actually do believe in greater representation but not here. When people make Jason hispanic due to his street backstory, they're attempting to diversify canonically white characters but accidentally reinforcing and perpetrating damaging stereotypes about particular ethnicities. Because his background has drugs, poverty, and crime - you want Jason to be Latino? Can you possibly make things worse? And Jason being an angry heartless brute. Not even adding to the stereotype, Jason was not like that. Jason originally started off as troubled but excited kid. He was happy about fighting criminals and having a home and getting food. As he grew older, the more criminals he fought, he came to a realization that people weren't going to change which is when he started getting more violent and angry with them. He didn't do it because he was some sort of psychopath, it's because he cared a lot about the effects these criminals were having on innocent people. Because he can relate. His anger has nothing to do with his supposed "hispanic" background which is still - ?!?!? Why is this even a thing.

Cass

I don't really have anything to say about Cass being that archetype because tbh I kinda think of her like that too. She's exceptionally good at fighting, she's chinese, and she's the strong and silent type. I'd love to hear more about what your gf thinks about it though.

Tim

Again about Tim being Asian. No where near as damaging as Jason being classified Hispanic but also why? He's asian because he's smart? Because he's good at computers? C'mon the stereotype is boring. Isn't it exciting when you watch a movie or show and the Indian guy isn't an IT specialist? Or when the Chinese girl has neon highlights and loves partying? Or when the Japanese girl is rocking combat boots? The best way to appreciate diversity is actually letting ethnic characters have diverse personalities and talents. On a side note, there is not nearly enough celebration of already canonically diverse characters like Roy's navajo heritage or Jessica Cruz's latina one. Isn't it ironic how we're making racialized characters based on stereotypes because we believe there should be more diversity but ignoring canonically ethnic ones. Literally noone talks about Cass connecting to her Chinese side or the fact that she has dyslexia but we're readily jumping on the Asian Tim Drake train.

Autistic Tim Drake I can see where they're coming from because Tim sometimes has a hard time connecting to people. Like he sometimes misses social cues. And to be fair this theory actually has more credibility than some other ones because I don't know if I'd pass that off as awkwardness. But it also may be due to lack of human interaction. Tim's parents left him alone for long periods of time which he gleefully used to track robin and batman at night. I don't have a problem with this one because Tim may actually be inadvertently written as autistic at times so I guess it wouldn't be that far off canon.

Steph

People with ADHD are typically impulsive, don't focus on one thing for too long, and have a lot of energy which is very much like Steph.

Batgirl (2009) Issue #10

But mostly she just has a sense of humor. Which - like the case with Dick - because of course people can't be multifaceted, fandom generally takes for stupidity.

She's not dumb, she's just fun. I guess the waffle thing is because of human beings' pathological need to classify everything into categories and fanon likes to run with dumb blonde for Stephanie which really ticks me off. People can not be a gloomy avenger and still be smart. She solves her crimes and has a laugh while doing it and still pulling off the -

Batgirl (2009) Issue #12

Damian

Where do I start. What is even happening to him? Not in fandom necessarily but canon. What is DC doing???

#rant post #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #cassandra cain #black bat #stephanie brown #batgirl #damian wayne #fanon vs canon #cl 12 am anon asks #thanks for the ask!

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vrisrezis · 2 years ago

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Comfort with atsv characters <3

Warnings?: reader is Latino/Latina, reader is a spider person, can you tell I wrote this at like 2 AM? (Spoilers for atsv). Is it obvious I don’t read the comics based off of hobie and pav? Also all the spiders are able to understand Spanish so 👍🏾 reader is hinted to be bisexual in Peter B’s (they also cannot have children), reader isn’t gendered but in Jessica’s they certainly are not a male,

Gwen is quiet, but you allow it. Miguel didn’t tell you much of what happened in Gwen’s dimension, but it clearly bothered her, whatever it was. It was just one of those very nights where she was bothered about her situation. She didn’t ever talk about it, rather she just sat in silence for awhile and then you’d make her some tea in hopes of easing any nerves or pain. She felt bad crashing at your place all the time like this, so much so she tried bothering hobie every once in awhile so that her staying at your home wasn’t as constant. You tried to remind her that this is what partners do, they look out for eachother when they need it the most. Staying at eachothers places when one of them is pretty much homeless is included in that.

Honestly though? Selfishly she enjoyed it. Maybe it was because she simply enjoyed your company, or because you were sweet enough to let her share a bed with you and she got to watch you sleep. She got to see all your features up close in your most peaceful moments. But of course, she missed her home. She missed her dad. She missed when things didn’t suck. She missed Peter too.

You’re both on the roof of your house. She’s thinking about things, deeply. She thinks about her life, her place in the world, She almost starts to cry, but she’s still holding back, holding back as much as she possibly can right now. It’s the first time you see her like this, and you feel relieved. You’re relieved because you know she’s been going through so much, but has been trying so hard to keep it inside.

“Mi amor, por favor, no reprimas tus sentimientos. Está bien llorar, somos tú y yo.” you say, putting your hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Not wanting to be too intimate in case she became uncomfortable in such a state. But you don’t have to worry as she grabs the hand on her shoulder and intertwines your fingers.

She finally allows her tears to flow. More then flow, they stream down like a ocean of tears. In the midst of it, she hugs you and you hug her back. Pulling her into your chest and she can’t help but feel safe in your arms.

“I’m so sorry.” she says in between sobs

“Don’t be. Te Amo. I will always be here for you, yknow? No need to hold back for me.”

Miles puts his head on your shoulder. He’s quiet, and unsure what he should say next. But you don’t say anything, and you decide he should be the one to speak first. He wraps his arms around your middle, and you change positions so his cheek is smushed on your chest now, your arms wrap around his waist. You could fall asleep like this, but you’re determined to stay up until miles tells you what’s on his mind. Even if you already know, he should let it out and talk about it. He always ends up telling you what’s bothering him, he’s practically an open book. At least in your mind, though you do suppose he is good at keeping secrets from others. Not the point though, you were there when it all transpired. You know what he’s upset about.

“How are we gonna get home?” miles finally asks, confirming your suspicions. He truly had no idea what he was doing, and what either of you were going to do. You’re both stuck in the wrong dimension with no way to get home. “How am I gonna save my dad?” he wonders aloud. You’re not sure yourself, you opt for one of your hands reaching for his back and rubbing his back in a circular motion as a means to comfort him.

“I don’t know.” you admit, but you continue before he could say anything, “but what I do know, is that you can do anything. Even the impossible. Eres el hombre más increíble que conozco. You’ll figure it out.”

miles shakily sighs, “I don’t know.” he says, so unsure of himself. “You don’t have to.” you say, “give yourself a moment. Recollect yourself. Cry if you need. Te protegeré.”

He truly doesn’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for him, continue to do for him. The support and love you’ve always given him, the advice you’ve given him, he knows there’s truly nobody quite like you.

There’s a moment of silence between you and hobie. While this wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence when the two of you just chilling out, this time felt very different. Instead of a rather calm and tired expression at this time of night he seemed so defeated, though that tiredness seemed more like exhaustion. And you come to the conclusion a canon event had to have happened for him to wear such a sad expression. It was only recently he had taken upon the role as spiderman in his dimension, or as everyone called him, spiderpunk. You know the whole spider thing is new to him, how stressful it can be to be on your own like this. You’ve been there too, and not that long ago. In your dimension you’ve only been a spider person for a couple months.

You stand up from your place on the couch, walking up to him. You want to feign surprise, not knowing what’s happening. But you know. And you know that he knows, as he always does. Spider people typically aren’t good at lying. “You know, dontcha.” he simple says, voice rather quiet for somebody like him. “Yeah.” you eventually say, “it happens to all of us.” you admit. “For Miguel it was his wife, his daughter. For Peter it was his uncle. For me it was my mother. This is just.. part of the course.” you say, as if it’s just something to shrug off. Hobie can’t help but feel sick to his stomach upon you doing that, cause it doesn’t feel like the you he knows. The you he knows wouldn’t stand for some… cycle, some faux destiny. It’s not like you to just give up and treat something like this as just… it.

But he’s too upset to press you about it, so he rests his forehead on your shoulder and no longer says any words. You wrap your arms around him in an embrace and he allows it. “I know you probably have a lot of questions.” you say, and he’s always taken aback at how you’re the only person he’s ever met that can read him like a book. Then again, spider people are not good liars.

“For now, what I’ll tell you is this.” you start, “you’re going to lose people. It’s going to happen if you continue this line of work. The hard lesson to learn about this job is that we can’t save everyone. At least, not alone.” you continue, “but together, we can.” you say, and upon these words he feels a bit more relieved that you hadn’t fallen down some algorithm. You haven’t given up nor are you falling in line with some dumbass rules Miguel has set up.

“I can’t exactly provide you the best advice.” you admit, “pero siempre estaré aquí apoyándote. Puedes contar con ello.” you say, and hobie smiles for the first time that day.

Pavitr has never been like this, but it’s to be expected. At least, in your mind.

He clutches you like a lifeline, and if it weren’t for your super amazing spider strength you think you’d be in a ton of pain right now with the way pav is holding onto you.

You’re not even the one that nearly died. Pav nearly lost his best friend, gayatri as well as her father who also seemed to mean a lot to him. You don’t know much about him and singhs relationship, but you know it’s rather complex. Pretty hard on Pav and his friendship with his daughter, assuming they have a romantic relationship or something along the line. But this very man seems to adore Spider-Man. So naturally, complicated. But didn’t change the fact he meant a lot to Pavitr. He almost lost him. He almost lost two important people in his life. And if he almost lost them, could he have lost you?

He tries to reason with himself, you’re strong and can handle yourself fine but what if…?

“¡Basta!” you say, and it’s the first time he’s ever heard you yell at him. Because of this it’s quick to snap him out of the daze he seemed to be in. He can’t help but let a few tears slip out. You put your hands on his cheeks, worry seeping through your eyes. “Odio cuando haces eso. No me va a pasar nada, cariño. Puedo protegerme así que no te atrevas a preocuparte por mí.”

You wipe away his tears with your thumbs. “Mi amor, we’re gonna be okay.”

Peter sighs, and from that moment you know somethings wrong. You’ve known this Peter in particular a long time, there’s something obviously weighing on him. It certainly helps you’ve gotten to know so many versions of him, so many peters and so many of them are horrible liars. He is no exception.

You can’t help but wonder if it’s MJ related, which tugs are your heartstrings a bit. But you understand him, he lost his love. His first love in fact, and he’s not willing to let her go. You understand. You remember your first love, Gwen. Just a pretty blonde in your science class, but you fell hard. And so did she. To her death, that is.

You sit next to him on the balcony, “wanna talk about it?” you offer, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him. “I don’t know.” he admits, but as soon as he says that he feels himself leaning on you.

“Have you ever thought of becoming a parent?” he asks, and you can’t help but be surprised by his question.

Now it’s your turn to sigh. “Yeah, I suppose.” you shrug, “not that I’d be able to have one, but yeah.”

“Really?” he wonders, and you nod. “Both me and Gwen, at least in my dimension, were physically unable to have kids. The same went for me and my own Peter.” you shrug, “not that I was interested at the time though. It’s moreso a ‘what if I could’ situation.”

“I want a kid.” he admits.

“So did MJ, and she still wants a kid.”

You feel your heart sink for a moment, before deciding it was his time of need, not yours. You’re both far too old for shit like this. You’ll move on. Like you always do.

“I could give her what she wants.” he continues.

“But I don’t know if… I can? I guess?”

“What do you mean?” You inquire.

“It’s a lot of things. I mean, what if I’m a bad dad? What if I’m not there enough? And besides that point, even if I do go through with this, the kid would have to deal with having parents that aren’t even together.”

It takes a minute for you to process his words, especially the last part. “Wait… why wouldn’t you two be together?” he shrugs, “because she deserves better.” he says, but it doesn’t seem like the full truth. “And besides I wanna be with somebody else.”

He tries to be subtle with his next words, “they can’t have kids, so I think this is a next best option. At least, when I’m ready and they’re ready and we’ve been dating long enough where it wouldn’t be weird to ask.”

You can’t help but wonder if it’s you he’s talking about.

But for the time being, you ignore it and put an arm around his shoulder, “Pues deja de preocuparte. Serías un gran padre.”

he cracks a smile and thanks you.

Jessica is always well put together, it’s something you’ve always known about her. But there’s something off about her.

You think you know what’s up, but you know better than to think you know everything going on with Jess. She’s not exactly an open book, only is when she wants to be.

She kept a lot of her personal life away from you, as a means to protect you from that. Either that or she wanted her privacy, which you also understood.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to touch her stomach, admire it, the excitement of a new life was adorable in your eyes. But her relationship with her husband was something she never relayed to you, she never talked about him and if she ever did it was briefly. A part of you wondered if it was because she knew how you felt and wanted to spare you. A part of you hoped that was all it was, and that there was nothing else going on.

But you’d be wrong, as you often were.

She lets a few tears shed, and it’s the first time you’ve seen her cry.

“I don’t think I love him anymore.” she finally admits, and you have a feeling it’s the first time she’s admitted this to anyone, even herself.

“I don’t think I ever did.”

“I don’t even think I like men, period.”

And this puts you into a even bigger state of shock, woah.

“I think I just wanted a baby.” she continues, “and it didn’t matter who it was with as long as I got one.”

“I thought, it was because I loved him so much I wanted to start a family but…” she turns her head away from you, “I don’t think I ever felt a damn thing for him and I’m scared and I feel so guilty.”

All you can do is wrap a comforting arm around her,

“No pasa nada. Siempre estaré aquí Jessica, lo sabes. Podemos resolver las cosas juntos.”

she leans into you despite her mind telling her to pull away, don’t be soft, don’t give in.

But she does.

She gives in to her deepest desire.

She gives into you.

Miguel is never this clingy. Something is wrong, and you feel it. It’s not just his aura, it’s his body language. It’s the fact that his face is shoved into your stomach, desperate for you to not only not hear him at all, but not see him. You feel his sorrow, his shame, his guilt, his anguish. But most of all you feel his regret and his grief and you automatically know what’s wrong.

You run your fingers through his hair, something he normally hated but in times like these truly loved more than anything and it calmed him down so quickly. He still doesn’t know how you do it, honestly. You make him putty in his hands without even trying and honestly that terrified him. To be so weak, so soft, when it comes to you.

“Vamos, cariño.” you say, “let me see you.”

He’s not quick to comply, but he eventually does with enough head scratching. You sigh at how distraught he looks. You hate this, you really do. You hate seeing him upset, that one injury of yours could send him spiraling like this.

“No voy a morir tan fácilmente, sabes. Ten un poco de fe en mí, ¿quieres?”

“Lo sé.” he replies, shakily.

“I’m just scared of losing you too.”

You kiss the crown of his head, “I know. But trust me when I say a little injury is not going to kill me. I’ll be okay.” you try to reassure him.

He nods, but you have a feeling he doesn’t believe you.

Even after all these years, you don’t know how to help him.

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itscherrylipsforme · 2 months ago

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I am a latina born in the states (now living in the UK) and sincerely I just want to scream and cry right now

For the queer and disabled people out. I fucking love you. I wish I could just give you some kind of comfort right now, but I can't even find the words to calm myself down. I am with you. I know you want to end with everything, but listen to me, don't do it. Just don't, it's not worthy. Please stay with us, we love you. We will get through this together, I promise

And for the people who chose not to vote or voted a third party in order to punish democrats, I want to send a big fuck you to all of you. Congratulations, you had the possibility to do some good and you picked your intellectualism above everything. This also goes for the male latinos who voted for Orange Guy, you have betrayed your women, children and even your people who also dreamt of cross the border and make it to the USA as you or your families once did. Qué son vuestra gente, carajo!!!

I am a second-generation immigrant. I got only three hours of sleep today due to the nerves, and had a panic attack while I checked the statistics. The barrio latino where I was raised was vandalized when Trump first won, some of my family members were deported or unfairly arrested during demonstrations back then. It was five a.m here at England when my abuela called me up and I had to tell her not worry because that wouldn't happen again. That may have been the first time I had ever lied to her because those were words I can't be sure of anymore. I was hoping to move back to the states and to my family as soon as I could if Kamala won the elections. Now everything seems pointless

I can only hope this is a nightmare we will wake up from in four years. Stay strong, and safe

I know my pain may not be as important as the one coming from those who are living there on the moment. Yet I need to rant to get it off my chest, sorry for it

#us politics #tw politics

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batunatu · 7 months ago

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Hi!! I know you as THE Radar fan and take everything you say as canon /j lol. I DO however, love your Radar headcanons and think you understand his character really well!! I wanted to ask if you have any really specific headcanons for Radar!! I also wanna know if you think Radar is nearsighted or farsighted!! ((ﾟ□ﾟ))

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII HOLAAAAA HELLOOOOOOOOO

WOAH, they haven't called me that for a while, since the end of 2021 my "obsession" or "hyperfixation" persists on the radar (idk if I should call it that because idk if i'm neurodivergent or neurotypical but i live overthinking about my nerves like that huhhh it's beside the point) BUT YES, i was in a big obsession with aidesse (ohno) and aiden and blaze rods in general, i think i started to get bored w aiden when i gave more attention to radar because i liked a little the concept of radesse so i started to get very fond of it , identify myself w him and draw him religiously lol(?, that's how i created the perfect formula for chaos and when i started to pay a lot of attention to radesse, BOOOMMM, brainrot.

from my abandoned channel on youtube to my now tragically paused tiktok account, they always recognized me as the radar fan and since i was very interested i was always very defensive with his hc being a minor EWWW, i was in several debates when there was a considerable amount people if it's not that EVERYONE hated radesse because of the popularization of that hc. so yeah lol i became the radesse/radar CEO or "that radesse artist" on tiktok, sorry for the infodumping lmfao

anyway, my mistake is that i never write down my hcs so I'll try to improvise a little HMMM

first of all, PRIDE MONTH, so radar is a bi boy, i always saw him preferring boys (and huhh how do i say this without sounding weird... older women-) and i had a couple of ideas of him only having ex-boyfriends. so radar would be like achillean if he wasn't with f!jesse i guess?

and i think this is self-projection but i like to believe that he falls under the enby umbrella so i like that he is boyflux with he/him pronouns because i am girlflux and there is not much visibility of this micro label. i love to think that he looks androgynous so he loves this thing of wearing and styilizing clothes, let's say that sometimes he looks like that softboy/dark academy mf you would see in a wattpad story and sometimes he experiments with fashion, although he doesn't seem like he is a boy who loves to show off branded clothes so he is a gucci boy ( or well, this brand reflects very well the type of clothing i see radar wearing)

REFERENCES!!!

and i like to think that sometimes he wears baggy clothes and then shows off his figure, he is very versatile and let's say that soft colors and color palettes are his thing, he is an organizing boy, perhaps a perfectionist.

WOAH, let's continue

well, before eric confirmed that radar was asian, i had a hc that he was peruvian or chilean or latino in general. at first i also had a hc of him being from malaysia but then it convinced me that he was filipino, i heard that the culture of that country is similar to that of latin america. that doesn't mean that i often draw radar being argentine or practicing the argentine gaucho culture, but nahh, he is 100% filipino.

Well, I LIKE THIS HC, IT IS VERY RECENT AND WAS MADE FOR THE LAPIS AU but i made up a last name for him because i don't like giving him yuri lowhental's last name lol, his last name is benitoite, it is a precious gem since i have the idea that in the universe of mcsm it is common for people to have last names by precious gems etc (? also, lapis lazuli and benitoite look similar so it is perfect for me.

i feel like ray sees jack as a father figure or well, jack sees radar as a son along with petra and they both got used to that type of relationship, aww

radar in terms of musical tastes, he is like emmett from lego movie, he listens to and loves commercial music, i think that google corporate music. although, he likes city pop, a bit of 2010's pop, shibuya kei: gorillaz, fantastic plastic machine, CAPSULE, miranda bc why not, pizzicato five, glass animals, patrick watson, tally hall, lemon demon, blur, lady gaga

yum here's the playlist

OHH AND THE NOW NOW IS HIS ALBUM, each song reminds me a lot of radar, especially humility, tranz, fireflies, kansas, souk eye, ALL OF THEM, EVERY SONG ON THAT DAMN ALBUM IS FOR RADAR.

ok soo tumblr hates so it wont let my copypaste augh

my poor guy

I WOULD LIKE TO KEEP WRITING HCS ITS SO FUNN

huh, and thanks to the headcanon of my dear mootie mksbigg3stfan ;33 radar would be farsighted for me, that scene when his glasses break and he asks Jesse if they were there when he is 1 meter away from them, lol, and well, i have problems- HE'S GOING TO HAVE HIS EXERCISE ROUTINES AND HE'S GOING TO BECOME AN ATHLETIC DAD dammnnn

yumyum see ya later YEEEEE I LOVE THIS

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm radar #mcsm lukas #mcsm petra #mcsm jesse #mcsm jack

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thesmpisonfire · 1 year ago

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Okay so. Sorry if im being too latino now but whenever an european complain it gets on my nerves. Its been said before that the event COULDN'T be earlier. Jaiden said the admins already apologized for it but it can't be earlier. The team does their best to make everyone happy but this time they couldn't, yeah its bad for the French ccs but don't act as if the admins weren't fucking trying

#qsmp #fandom neg #discourse

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rainnthundr · 2 years ago

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tmnt au!! im gonna copy paste the details from my notes so sorry if its messy. it goes over the details for the AU and my Mikey’s backstory. im gonna make Future Mikey’s (aka 22 year old mikey) design later. some of the mental health details for mikey are based off of what i learned in my high school health class with family relations

——————

Breeds:

mikey - (eastern) painted turtle

leo - red bellied short necked turtle

donnie - snake necked turtle

raph - philippine forest turtle

Heights - Tallest to shortest

Donnie (5’8)

Raph (5’5)

Mikey (5’4)

Leo (5’0)

roles are same as 2012

Lgbtq/Pronouns

Leo - Transfem (mtf) - she/her

Raph - Cis - he/him

Donnie - Bisexual - he/him

Mikey - Pansexual + Genderfluid - depends on what day - Mia on girl days Mikey on boy and non bi days - but sometimes likes to be called Max on non bi days

Ages

Mikey (he’s 2 years older cause of dimension X)

Leo

Raph

Donnie

Hobbies/Activities

Mikey - drumming, graffiti/drawing, skateboarding, parkour, cooking, hiking, skitching

Donnie - gardening, inventing, chemistry astrology, rock tumbling

Raph - weight lifting, parkour, people watching, playing with chompy, sparring

Leo - meditating, astronomy, tea making, and i also feel like she’d be into wine tasting when she’s older, and she’d do it with karai as she’d definitely be into it

Others

splinter - bushy tailed woodrat

casey - half latino half italian

april - scottish

Story Context

The 2012 storyline goes as in the show, with some differences. after season 5 though, mikey’s little siblings and april began to drift apart to lead their own lives. they still fought crime together. Mikey took up drinking to ease his nerves when he turned 20 and would hang with Leatherhead, Casey, and Mondo and they’d have fun

they find an abandoned building to make their hang out spot, the area covered in plants and graffiti, and they decorated it with a record player, various vinyls, a slightly broken drum set, and a couple hammocks hanging from the rafters

Then Mikey is recruited by Steam to join the Mixfits (temp name maybe) and he only lets Leatherhead, Mondo and Casey know that hes leaving and no one else

The turtles notice after about two weeks of Mikey being missing that they start to panic

Donnie starts searching through NYC cameras, police scanners, his old mutagen scanner (from season 2) to try and find out if Mikey is still in NY somewhere

Raph gets Mona’s help to keep an eye out in space in case he somehow made it out there. He also uses his pigeons to fly all over the country and report back to him in the case they find him

Leo starts to patrol NYC more often than not. She gets joined by April mostly as they beat up thugs to try and see if they have Mikey

Karai uses her international connections to see if Mikey made it out of the country and is living a life on the run

They all know Casey, Leatherhead and Mondo know something but they can’t get them to talk about it, and if it seemed like Mondo or Casey were about to break, Leatherhead would butt in, growl and leave with the teens (they’d be 19 at the time, a year younger than mikey and the rest of the turtles and april would be 18)

oh and i added this last minute while drawing, but i added a bit of Diabetic Raph into my au. I thought itd be a cool way to represent. i dont have it personally but i have a teammate who does and i had her in mind when drawing. also i think that lea would carry snacks like fruit gummies or nut bars for when raph’s sugar levels get low

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt au #tmnt fanart #tmnt 2k12 #multi-team #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt leonardo #trans leonardo

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lamardeuse · 2 years ago

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Temptation Tuesday

tagged by the massively talented and enabler extraordinaire @devirnis!

I don’t keep a lot of WIPs lying around - usually I think of it and write it - so the only one I have sitting around right now is a Strictly Come Dancing AU where Eddie is the latest hot Latino dancer from America and Evan Buckley is a firefighter with the London Fire Brigade. (I loved the idea of Karen, Janette and Eddie calling one another “New York”, “Miami” and “Texas” and dishing the dirt backstage in Spanish.) My sticking point with it is the tone, because it would need to deal with the aftermath of Grenfell and the culture of racist bullying in the LFB so it has the potential to be pretty grim. I might still write it but I’ll definitely have to plan it out carefully and right now I sadly lack the brain for that, but here’s the cute meet:

The first thing Eddie thinks is: goddamn, he is huge.

Not just ripped as hell, but tall, topping Eddie by half a head, which means he’s probably going to have to be the lead. And doesn’t that throw a monkey wrench into all of Eddie’s plans.

Plastering on a TV (sorry, telly) ready smile, he puts his best foot forward and extends a hand. “I’m Eddie,” he says. “And you must be Evan.”

“Buck, actually,” the guy says, returning the smile and making a small tingling feeling two-step along Eddie's nerve endings. “Everyone calls me Buck.”

“Your name is Buck Buckley?” Eddie asks, just as the guy’s warm, strong hand wraps around his and that tiny little tingle Eddie was feeling spikes to twenty thousand volts.

“Yeah, erm,” Buck begins, “it’s sort of a crap play on Evan Evans, because for a while there I was always traveling, and – you’ve never heard of them, have you?”

“Nope,” Eddie says. Evan’s – Buck’s eyes are a stunning, clear blue and his mouth has a sensual fullness to it that makes Eddie want to bite it.

Down, boy. Eddie has heard all about the Strictly curse from Karen, who has so many salacious stories about Blackpool after-parties and heated assignations outside of London clubs. She loves dishing the gossip while never being the subject of it herself; Eddie can only imagine what she’d have to say if he fucked the first guy who danced in a same-sex pairing on the show. He’d be on a plane back to LA before he could say Daily Mail.

Not that Buck Buckley – dios mio – is necessarily available, or interested in a fling that will doubtless get him paparazzi parked outside his door. But then, neither is Eddie. At the end of the day, he has a kid at home who comes first, and he’s not going to risk disrupting Christopher’s life for an affair.

Not that he'd be up for a relationship, either. That's not what he's here for; he can't afford to get too attached to anyone when he's not planning to be here any longer than he has to be.

Eddie belatedly realizes their hands are still entwined and pulls away, his fingertips gliding over Buck’s palm as they let go.

“I’m afraid you’ve got your work cut out,” Buck says, clearing his throat. “My mates say I have all the grace of a day-old giraffe on ice.”

“Any of your ‘mates’ professional dancers?” Eddie asks.

Buck shakes his head. “Not a one.”

“Then they don’t know shit,” Eddie tells him. He looks Buck up and down. “How much do you deadlift?”

“Erm,” Buck thinks about it. “Last week it was eighty.”

“Pounds?”

Buck snorts. “Kilos, bruv.”

“Uh,” Eddie says, “holy shit.”

They can do lifts. Buck could lift him.

And then Buck ducks his head and smiles, and Eddie thinks, this is going to be fun.

Tagging whoever would like to participate! Have at it. <3

#my writing #temptation tuesday #911

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beesmygod · 2 years ago

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i think u scared off the liberal

good. i'd be lying to say it didnt get under my skin because even adam noticed it lol. if only it were as simple as "white artist bristles when confronted about a depiction of race" instead of "a frequently hammered nerve was struck involving things anon has no context for, intentionally". grrr growl!!! i tried to talk about this with other people and then pussed out bc i realized no one cares but me. so at least i can ramble about it on my own space.

long post ahead sorry~

even putting my neurosis aside, from where i'm standing, anon's overt discomfort with a depiction of an ethnicity or race involving the use of vernacular is some real fucking bird-brain shit. anon reads "huckleberry finn" and runs off to the library to have it banned for racism lol. like, we're talking that level of intellectual cowardice that turns tail and hides when made merely uncomfortable. anon subscribes to the school of thought that being mean and making me feel bad are the worst crimes someone could ever commit. if i want to be really mean, i think anon has never spoken to another latino person outside of a service worker context.

and like, i understand the initial bristle when confronted with it. it's not as though phonetic accent writing or vernacular usage can't be invoked for racist reasons. but you would literally have to try very hard to read jack, white man for hire, as anything other than the explicit butt of the joke. the latinas poking fun at his discomfort lol wait holy shit i just realized life imitated art. am i a secret genius after all......? (no)

here are the pages in question: i asked people on twitter what they thought but ofc that way i still only hear from people who are likely to ostensibly agree with me. (click for full)

lol i just realized i missed an overlay layer on the third page. i should fix that.

this is a webcomic with almost, if not more than, 800 pages so some context: white spikey hair boy (jack) is from corpus christi, texas, a city on the gulf of mexico VERY close to the border. jack was always supposed to be from texas bc its a state i have some cultural understanding of. my dad grew up there. my dad is mexican-american. i am bi-ethnic. tri-ethnic, i guess, since the italian/irish half had a massive influence on me growing up as well.

the ladies are members of maxine's (the other protag's) witch coven. these women don't dress like this on a day to day basis (the one in the poncho might since she's a curandera, anyway), the outfits are like uhhh special occasion stuff. its your witch outfit. red bow is wearing like a day to day version of the traditional oaxaca outfits and has her hair pulled back in a traditional braid. the other is wearing just normal shit but with a traditionally patterned (or as much as i could bear to draw) poncho. the egg cleanse is a basic brujeria technique that like, every mexican family knows of at least lol. poncho is cutting the bad airs away, like in this video of a limpia.

the spit is my favorite part of all the limpias lol. WATER CANNON

all of this is just shit i know from growing up. i had to ask help on the spanish bc mine is a double whammy of being both terrible AND non-conversational (i learned all mine in textbooks ( ._.)) but the spanish code-switching to shit talk is how real people behave lol. i know this, because family and friends do it.

i take the character writing of this stupid comic more seriously than it probably deserves. i wanted to make sure it felt authentic and like these were "real" characters. having a world where the only people with personalities are the protagonists leads to a universe that feels flat and empty. a cardboard world. when i was able to use the women from a culture i know as a way to advance the plot, it was a small blessing lol. whew.

i dont really know how to talk about how this relates to me more in depth without compromising my belief that i have a right to privacy when it comes to my personal life lol. my entire existence exists on edges and borders that should not matter to anyone but me; but these details (ethnicity, race, sexuality, gender, etc and so on and you know) have a tendency to become the sole factor through which people view your work, your potential, and the expectations they begin to develop for you. currently, i think the expectations people have set for minority creators fucking sucks and i am relieved not to be a part of the ecosystem that rewards mediocrity and poor quality with accolades and purchases. looking at you, YA fiction and webtoons!!!

quite frankly: the more details people have about your life, the more they are able to scrutinize your authenticity based on their own biases (as the original anon did lol) or whether or not you are "deserving" of the descriptors that you are open about or accumulate over the years. i already have enough problems with this on my own directed at myself. i dont need input from the peanut gallery about my identity when its something ive struggled with and continue to struggle with my entire life.

i am not interested in bothering minority creators with my crybaby shit about how i feel alienated. i don't want inclusion to their groups centered around their unique and more specific experiences out of obligation when i realize the non-minority halves of me have also had massive influence on my upbringing and my beliefs. i dont like having to debates whether or not i am ____ enough to qualify for appearances on lists or databases or awards so i don't bother with any of it. i just want to grill for gods sake

anyway idk. im mad but i also realize a lot of my mad comes from offline baggage that no one is privy to on purpose so i have a hard time gauging how people will read how i write things. but bc i keep it tight to the chest i guess that invites random anons to speculate reasonably that i've transformed into a racist overnight bc they read a character say a double negative. dipshit. fucking moron

anyway

#long post

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oceanblueeyesoul · 2 years ago

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hi!!! sorry to bother you but can i have a matchup for nrdd or stranger things if you rather do that one. i have tannish skin and short curly black hair. a few freckles and brown eyes. i'm 5'4. i'm hispanic and latino. i'm stubborn but really nervous all the time. i have adhd and anxiety so that probably why. i like to think i'm pretty smart. i like to read and draw a lot. my partner has to be someone who can catch up with me mentally. like if i'm ranting about something that most people shouldn't care about they have to be able to listen or at least just help me talk. someone who has a good sense of humor and likes to talk as much as i do. i'm pansexual and mostly any pronouns work but he/him mostly. thank you in advance!

Hi there, sweetie! I really hope you like this a lot!

NRDD Matchup

Your NRDD soulmate is...

RICKY HARPER!!!

The two of you would definitely be reading books together because the two of you would enjoy each other's company a lot and the two of you would love to hear each other's voices when you guys read together.

Ricky would definitely be interested in anything you have to say about anything because he doesn't want you to feel any less superior to you.

He would definitely be trying to calm down your nerves a lot when your anxiety went through the roof by telling you about the facts that he discovered about your favourite things in the world.

Stranger Things Matchup

Your Stranger Things soulmate is...

ROBIN BUCKLEY!!!

The two of you would definitely be talking all the time with each other about your favourite things in the world because the two of you loves to hear your voices together a lot.

She would definitely count your freckles so badly because it looks so cute on you and she thinks that they are stars in your skin.

The two of you would definitely be laughing with each other together after a good joke comes along to the two of you's mind and also the two of you like to laugh together.

#oceanblueeyesoul #matchups #nicky ricky dicky & dawn matchups #nicky ricky dicky & dawn #ricky harper #ricky harper x reader #stranger things matchups #stranger things #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley

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sorvete-de-pacoca · 2 years ago

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Hi! What if during a meeting, Alfred openly criticizes Luciano in front of everyone, only for Afonso to stand up and tell him "Alfred, this a meeting with your peers, not a private conversation at a bar. I would have expected you to have a little more respect for you fellow countries, especially one who's almost as old as you are. Also, I believe you're familiar with the saying that 'people who live on glass houses shouldn't throw stones'. Am I correct?"

Alfred going "with all respect Portugal but it's easy for you to say this since it doesn't affect your house"

And Port retorts "it affects me because you're offending my family in front of a crowd. And doesn't this make you a hypocrite? I fail to see how this would affect a superpower like you, unless you're just trying to have control over your american colleagues again."

Some tans gasp and Alfred shuts his mouth. Even he could read the room. He knew it was a lost battle the moment the other latino tans darted him with their eyes. Some more subtlety than others. And so the meeting continues with no more interruptions.

Afonso meets Luciano later when the reunion ends. Afraid he would be upset about him stepping in he doesn't seek him, instead they bump into each other in the bathroom.

"hey"

Luciano scratches his head "thanks for defending me I guess"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you"

"oh please, Al got more embarrassed than me. And honestly, you prevented a tragedy. He was getting into the others' nerves too"

"really?"

"accidentally or not, Alfred fucked us up in the past, so now we kinda of gang on him if he's being too bossy. Didn't expected you to be bothered by it"

Afonso smiles "only I can smack you with the wooden spoon"

Luciano clicks his tongue playfully "teu cu"

#luci being gentle as always lol #hetalia

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bellakitse · 4 years ago

Text

To Love is to Know You

“Carlitos got hurt at work,” she whispers, her face pale and frightened. “He got shot, and they are rushing him to the hospital.”

When Carlos gets hurt on the job, his parents find out about the important parts of his life he’s been keeping from them, mainly the man he’s in love with.

Gabriel Reyes' POV

*there is accidental outing in this since this isn’t how Carlos planned on telling his parents.

6.3k

They’ve settled in for the night and are in the middle of watching a movie their son recommended when the phone rings.

“Carlos really likes this?” he questions skeptically as more blood goes spraying across the screen.

His wife chuckles at his tone even as she winces at the scream the protagonist lets out for the 100th time.

“He’s young, Gabriel. I don’t think we’re actually supposed to like what Carlitos likes,” she tells him as she leans across the couch, reaching for her phone. She turns to him with a smile as she shows him the caller ID. “Hablando del diablo,” she says fondly before pressing talk on their son calling.

“Tell him I’m questioning his choices,” Gabriel jokes, pausing the movie as Andrea says hello with a smile. He watches as that smile quickly drops, his heart seizing in his throat as she lets out a gasp and a shaky ‘what?’ to whoever she’s speaking to. It’s obvious now that it’s not their boy.

He waits for her to end the call with a fearful ‘we’ll be there soon’ before she turns to him with tears in her eyes.

Even before she speaks, he knows, and his hands shake as they reach for hers.

“Carlitos got hurt at work,” she whispers, her face pale and frightened. “He got shot, and they are rushing him to the hospital.”

֎֎֎

The drive to the hospital is both short and the longest drive Gabriel Reyes has ever had behind the wheel. Next to him, Andrea grips the rosary his mama gave her after they got married. She doesn’t pray, though, and he thinks she’s too worried to remember any prayer at the moment.

“He’s going to be okay,” he tells her, his voice rougher than he would typically use with his sweetheart, but he can see her starting to spiral, and he needs her to focus on his voice and not on all the troubling thoughts he knows are running through her head at the moment. “Carlos is young and strong. He’s going to be fine, he –”

“Is our baby boy,” she whispers, looking at him with those big brown eyes, so like Carlos’ when he was little, looking at him to make everything okay.

“El va estar bien, amor,” he tells her softly, willing himself to believe it too.

He pulls into the hospital parking lot. They quickly exit the car, holding hands as they rush towards the doors and the front desk. He’s sure they both look a fright as they ask the girl behind the counter for information.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reyes,” calls out a tired voice to them, and when they turn around, they find a familiar-looking young man with brown hair and green eyes standing before them in an EMS uniform.

Gabriel is struck by his eyes. They’re wide, the worry in them plain to see, and it’s obvious he’s been crying by how pink and puffy they are.

“I’ve been waiting for you both; I didn’t want you to get lost,” he tells them, pointing to a door at the far end of the hall to the left. “We’re in there.”

“How’s Carlitos?” his wife asks at the same time as he says. “We’ve met you before.”

“Uh – yes – you have, sir. I’m TK,” he answers with a grimace. Gabriel knows it is the young man’s effort to smile but just can’t. “We met at the farmer’s market about nine months ago.”

TK turns to Andrea, his expression softening instantly. “They took Carlos to the back when we got here, ma’am, but we haven’t heard anything yet.”

“What happened?” he asks TK and is struck again by how expressive his eyes are. Gabriel sees pain, fear, frustration, and anger cross his face.

“We were answering a call to a disturbance; a man was threatening to set fire to his ex-bosses place and was holding them hostage inside. He was armed, so Carlos and the rest of APD went in first,” TK takes a pause, swallowing hard, and Gabriel is struck by how the young man is keeping it together when it’s undeniable that it’s difficult for him to do so. “Shots were exchanged, and the suspect was neutralized but not before he hit Carlos.”

“Where?” he asks, hoping against hope that his son was wearing his vest. TK’s face, scared and apologetic, tells him it doesn’t matter.

“T – the,” TK clears his throat, lifting a hand to run through his hair. Gabriel catches the slight shake of it. It’s not the only thing he spots on them. Though mostly clean, Gabriel notices specks of blood on them. Looking him over once more, he sees some on his uniform too. “The neck, sir.”

Andrea lets out a gasp, bringing her hand to her mouth to try and muffle the sound.

“You worked on him,” Gabriel realizes. He needs to focus on something other than the information they’ve just been given.

“Yes,” TK answers, biting down on his lip to the point that Gabriel wants to wince at how painful it looks. Given the redness of his mouth, the kid has probably been doing it a while now. “My Captain didn’t want it to be me – ” TK stops.

He takes a breath, collecting himself. “We stabilized him on the field and then brought him over. My Captain is here if you want to speak with her while we wait for the doctors.”

They follow the young man down the hall into a private room, and Gabriel is shocked to see how full it is with first responders, most still in uniform like TK. Everyone seems to turn to look at them when they walk in.

“These are Carlos’ parents,” TK explains to the crowd before turning to a tall woman with a sympathetic but no-nonsense look on her face. “Captain Vega, could you – ” he gestures towards them.

The Captain nods, standing from her seat to walk over to them. She has a bag with her that she hands over to TK.

“Nancy brought your stuff from your locker,” she says to the kid with a kind smile. She places her hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go change while I speak with Carlos’ parents.”

TK nods, looking relieved. “Yeah, Cap, thanks.” He turns towards them, looking like he wants to say something else but doesn’t. Instead, he gives them a small nod and walks away, leaving them with his Captain.

Gabriel focuses on her, reaching out to hold his wife’s hand as Captain Vega goes through the emergency in more detail. She’s compassionate but honest as she breaks down her assessment of Carlos’s injuries on the scene and their handling of it.

“TK is one of the finest medics I have ever worked with,” she tells them, with something akin to pride in her voice. “And it’s Carlos. He wasn’t about to lose him,” she continues softly, knowing. “We got him here, and they’ve had him in the back for the last hour. I’m sure they’ll come out and tell us something soon. All we can do now is wait, unfortunately.”

“And pray,” Andrea whispers thickly.

“Never a bad idea,” she says with a small, understanding smile. She looks away from them when someone calls her name, an older man in uniform walking towards them.

“Tommy, any word? Where’s TK?” he asks, rushed.

“Nothing yet,” she answers the man whose uniform says, Captain Strand. “And TK is changing. We didn’t want him to still be in the uniform that – “ she pauses, her eyes drifting to them.

“Right,” Captain Strand nods before his blue eyes turn towards them. Gabriel watches as he quickly recognizes who they are. “Mr. and Mrs. Reyes?” he questions, exhaling loudly when he answers him with a nod.

“Owen Strand, TK’s dad,” he says, extending his hand to Andrea first and then him. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m sorry it can’t be under better circumstances.”

Gabriel cocks his head at the peculiar comment.

“You work with our son?” Andrea asks politely, probably trying to distract herself from the worry she’s feeling.

“Often,” Owen gives them an honest smile. “He’s one hell of a police officer, good instincts, good head on his shoulders, strong,” he tells them intentionally. “He’s going to come through this just fine.”

Gabriel appreciates the comment, if anything, because it makes Andrea smile for the first time since they heard the news.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Owen continues. “We’re going to be here a while,” he points towards three firefighters with the same 126 insignia he has on his clothes, and they quickly get up, giving them the space. “Maybe we can get you some coffee or tea?”

He shakes his head but nods towards Andrea. “Some tea might be good for your nerves, vieja.”

Andrea nods absently, and Owen turns his head towards the trio who gave them their seats. “Strickland, Marwani, Chavez – “

“On it, Cap,” says the young Latino whose chest tag says, Chavez. “We’ll get for everyone.”

Owen offers the kid a grateful smile. “Get TK a sandwich. I know he hasn’t eaten.”

“He might not want to,” says the other man in the group with a deliberate look.

“We’ll sit on him and force him if we have to,” answers the young woman in the headscarf with a glint in her eyes that tells him she’s not joking. Gabriel watches them leave the room.

“They’re good kids,” Owen comments, catching his gaze. “They care about Carlos very much,” he says with a soft laugh. “Probably because he’s always feeding them when they hang out at his place.”

Andrea smiles at the comment, but Gabriel finds it curious. He doesn’t find it strange that his son would be welcoming. Like his mother, Carlos has always strived to make everyone feel at home. He is just surprised that his son is so close with this particular firehouse and its members.

TK comes back into the room in a hoodie and sweats, looking around. Gabriel watches as his eyes land on them before moving over to his father. He watches as the kid’s shoulders drop at the sight of his dad and quickly makes his way over, almost plowing into him as Captain Strand stands with his arms open, circling them around his boy.

“He’s gonna be okay,” he hears him whisper into his son’s ear. “Carlos wouldn’t leave you, you know that.”

Gabriel takes a sharp breath at the words; he looks over at his wife, seeing that her eyes have gone wide as she stares at the father and son with a newfound gaze, and he knows she’s caught it too.

Before they can come to terms with what it might mean, a doctor in green-colored scrubs walks in with a manila folder in hand. “I’m looking for Officer Reyes’ family?” he questions, startling as everyone stands or looks over at him.

Gabriel is surprised himself but warmed by the idea that so many people care about his son. “Over here,” he calls the doctor over. “We’re his parents.”

The doctor nods in response, crossing the distance between them until he’s standing in front of them, TK and his father joining in. “We’ve stabilized your son enough to move him,” the doctor starts. “He’s in the O.R. now; we’re repairing the damage. He was lucky that the bullet didn’t hit his carotid artery.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Andrea rushes to ask, fear coloring her question.

“We’re doing everything we can, ma’am,” the doctor answers softly with a sympathetic look. “He’s holding strong and was brought in quickly.”

“When can we see him?” he asks, his heart dropping at the shake of the doctor’s head.

“It’s going to be a while,” he answers. “We’re not sure how long it will be in the O.R., and then in recovery, it’s going to be a couple of hours.”

Gabriel feels the room deflate around him at the answer and feels the same.

“For now, I need his next of kin to sign off on some waivers,” the doctor continues as he looks inside his folder, reading out of it. “Who is Tyler Kennedy Strand?” he asks, the question filling the room with sudden tension.

“Uhh – me,” TK stammers, his eyes going to him and Andrea awkwardly. “But his parents – “

The doctor cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Officer Reyes’ work forms have you as the one with the power of attorney over any medical decisions on his behalf. You are aware of this, yes?”

TK looks pained and uncomfortable, apologetic even as he looks at Andrea before nodding. “Yes,” he says softly. “Carlos and I spoke about it a few months ago.”

“Then I need you to come with me, Mr. Strand,” the doctor answers, his eyes shifting over to them as well. “It’s just a formality, you understand.”

TK nods again, gesturing for the doctor to go first, following him out of the room, leaving the rest of them in silence, and he and Andrea stunned.

“They’re involved,” he states, not sure to who, but he catches Captain Strand’s slight wince.

“TK will explain when he comes back in,” he assures them, though Gabriel isn’t sure what he would have to explain. It’s pretty obvious the kid is someone important enough to his son that he would leave him in charge of his care if anything happened to him, and he and his wife know nothing about him.

Andrea reaches for his hand. When he looks at her, he sees the same confusion and hurt in her eyes he’s feeling. He squeezes it reassuringly as they retake their seats, neither knowing what to say.

They stay like that, silently waiting for TK or the doctor to come back. Owen walks away from them, drifting towards the other Captain.

After a few minutes, the ones who walk in are the trio of firefighters the Captain sent out for a snack.

“Te de manzanilla,” Chavez says with a boyish smile as he hands the cup of tea to Andrea. “My Abuela says it’s good for nerves.”

Andrea takes it but doesn’t drink right away. “Thank you – um?”

“Oh! I’m Mateo,” he answers before pointing at the other two who are finishing handing out bottles of water and coffees. “That’s Paul and Marjan. We’re friends of Carlos,” he says with another friendly smile as they come over to them.

“Nice to meet you all,” Andrea answers, elbowing him in the side to do the same.

Gabriel checks out, his mind drifting while his wife picks up the slack and chats with the trio, exchanging small talk. He only tunes in when Mateo asks about their new filly.

“You know about Sally?” he questions, frowning, confused. He gets a few nods from all of them and smiles.

“Carlos showed us pictures of her the last time we were over at his and TK’s place for dinner.”

Gabriel can’t help the sharp breath he takes at the comment.

“They live together?” Andrea asks, shocked, her voice above a whisper.

“Oh,” Paul says softly, his eyes widening with realization at their lack of knowledge. He exchanges worried looks with the young woman Mateo called Marjan. Both open their mouth as if to speak and then stop at a loss for words. Luckily for them, TK walks back into the room, making his way towards them.

“Guys, could you give me a second with Mr. and Mrs. Reyes?” he asks politely but firmly.

“Yeah, of course, man,” Paul says quickly, while Marjan tugs on Mateo to stand, moving away. Paul starts to follow them, only to stop and look at TK, speaking again with an apologetic look on his face. “We’re sorry, we didn’t know – “

TK waves him off, a half a smile on his tired face. “Don’t worry about it, Paul.”

Paul gives him a nod, looks at them, and nods again before walking away.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” TK tells them softly, biting down on his lip for a moment before taking a breath, straightening his shoulders. “I’ll do my best to answer them. Should we find somewhere a little more private?”

He looks over at his wife and finds her studying TK with a curious eye. He’s not surprised. He’s more than curious himself about this man who is important enough in his son’s life to be making decisions of life and death for him and apparently living with him. “I think that might be best.”

TK nods mostly to himself, motioning for them to follow him.

He leads them out into the hallway and into another room that Gabriel realizes is the chapel.

“Is this okay?” TK questions nervously. “I don’t want to be disrespectful,” he gestures towards the altar.

“It’s fine, TK,” Andrea assures him.

They take a seat together towards the back of the room, TK sitting across from them.

Nobody says anything for a long moment. He sits watching TK as he taps his foot, and Andrea plays with her hands, struck by the similar nervous motions. He recognizes as TK looks at them with a worried wrinkle between his brow, he doesn’t know where to start, and Gabriel is struck by how young he looks like this. It reminds him of Carlos’ nervous habits growing up, so concerned with disappointing them.

“How long have you and our son been together?” he questions, ripping off the bandaid.

“We’ve been dating for over a year,” he answers honestly, wincing when Andrea lets out a shocked sound. “But we’ve known each other for over a year and a half. It took a while for us to get – us, right.”

“A year?” Andrea questions, surprised and more than a little sad. “He’s kept this from us for a year?”

“He didn’t mean to,” TK rushes to explain – to defend their son to them, Gabriel realizes. He stops looking nervous, and Gabriel can honestly feel the wave of protectiveness coming off the young man.

While the part of him that isn’t still shocked at this sudden news is pleased that Carlos has found someone obviously loyal to him, another part of him is at a loss at being someone this young man thinks he needs to protect his son from. It leaves an unpleasant feeling in his stomach he tries to push down before he reacts in a way that he’ll regret later.

“Then what did he mean?” he questions, trying to understand. “Because if you guys have been dating for a year, that means you two were together when we met you at the market, and he called you a friend from work.”

He feels bad as his words cause the kid to flinch, and a small cynical smile twists his lips upward for a second.

“Yeah, that caused a big fight between us,” he answers dryly. “Look, this is something you need to talk about with Carlos when he comes to. We both knew it was a long time coming, and trust me, he’s been working up the nerve to tell you both about us.”

“Why would he need to work up the nerve?” Andrea questions while Gabriel watches as TK’s eyes flash, his hands curling for a moment. He’s struck by the fleeting anger he sees there – at them.

“Because you’re both more traditional, and he didn’t want to rub your noses in our relationship,” he answers tightly, making Andrea gasp.

Gabriel feels his hackles raise at the resentment he hears in the words. “Hey now, you don’t get – “

“Carlos’ own words,” TK interrupts, his voice sharp enough to stop him. TK stops too, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I apologize,” he starts again, his voice calmer. “It’s not my place at all, and Carlos needs to be the one to explain this to you.”

Gabriel exchanges a glance with his wife, letting out a sigh when she gives him a serious look. He turns towards TK again, taking a calming breath of his own. “But he’s not here right now, and we’d like to understand.”

TK lets out a sigh, nodding at them after a moment. “You’re right,” he agrees quietly, running a hand through his hair. “I just really wish he was here, though,” he pauses, the pain and love in his eyes as he speaks striking a core with him. This man loves his son. That much is clear.

“Okay, first things first. Carlos loves you both so much,” he tells them reassuringly. “He speaks of both of you with so much respect and admiration. Please don’t doubt that for one second. He didn’t keep us a secret from you because he doesn’t love or respect you.”

“Then why?” Andrea asks, trying to understand.

TK presses his lips together, giving her a helpless shrug of his shoulder. “Because he was scared of upsetting you, of disturbing the tentative peace that the three of you have had since he rocked your world by telling you he was gay at 17, and then none of you ever spoke about it again. He didn’t want to disappoint you.”

By TK’s expression, Gabriel knows that he hasn’t just spoken with any malice, yet he still feels his words hit him like a punch.

“But – that’s,” he stumbles at a loss for words. “Carlos could never disappoint us,” he looks at Andrea to find her with tears in her eyes. “We love our son.”

TK gives him a smile; it’s kind and understanding. “I don’t doubt that,” he tells them, looking at Andrea. “He’s so easy to love, of course, you love him.”

“You love him,” Andrea says in awe, still crying, but it feels different than before, almost happy in the middle of the hurt.

TK’s eyes fill with tears; they spill over even as he gives them a bright smile. “More than I have ever loved anyone in my life, ma’am. He is everything to me.”

Gabriel hears how much he means it in his voice and instantly remembers something from earlier. “You worked on him at the scene,” he exhales over a dull ache in his chest at the thought. “Jesus Christ, kid, how did you – “

“The worst moment of my life,” TK whispers, losing his smile, his bottom lip trembling. “And life has thrown some curveballs my way,” he inhales deeply in an effort to control his emotions. “But I wasn’t about to lose him, not like that and not now. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and I plan to spend mine with your son.”

Gabriel hears the conviction and the subtle threat he’s issuing them. He’s telling them he’s not going anywhere, and while a small part of him wants to be annoyed at the warning, Gabriel finds himself mostly impressed. He finds himself liking the kid despite the situation.

“You love him so much,” Andrea whispers, shaking her head to herself. Knowing his wife, she’s mourning the fact that they’ve missed out on seeing it. “And he loves you?”

TK nods quickly. “He never lets me doubt it, not for one single second,” he swallows before another smile takes over his face, soft and involuntary. “He’s wonderful.”

“I’m so sorry we’ve missed it,” she tells him, and Gabriel smiles to himself at how easy he can still read her. “It was never our intent to make Carlos feel like he couldn’t share with us his life. When he told us he was gay, yes, it was a surprise, but we never loved him less,” she frowns, letting out a soft breath. “We wanted him to feel like nothing had changed, and instead, we made him feel like he couldn’t talk to us.”

“But he can,” he continues for Andrea, hoping TK will understand.

Andrea nods in agreement. “He can,” she repeats. ��We want to be part of the life he’s building with you.”

TK smiles. It’s wobbly but iridescent as it lights up the room. “He – we would like that very much,” he tells them, chuckling softly. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to know you both. You need to tell him when he wakes up.”

Andrea looks fearful again as she turns from TK to him and back again. “What if – “

“No,” TK answers resolutely. He holds out his hand for Andrea, covering it when she places it in his. “Carlos is going to be fine. He’s not leaving us.”

Gabriel watches them hold each other’s hands, his wife taking comfort from the man in love with their son, and hopes, for all their sakes, that he will turn out to be right.

֎֎֎

The next three days are the longest of Gabriel’s life. After over seven hours of surgery and recovery, they’re allowed to see a sleeping Carlos.

If there was any doubt in his mind about TK’s feelings for his son, they’re wiped out the moment he sees him at his bedside. The way he takes his hand in his, holding it for dear life as he whispers in his ear that he loves him and that he’s there, that they all are.

They wait, hours and hours they wait for Carlos to wake up. The doctors tell them the surgery was successful, and now they just have to wait for Carlos’ body to recover enough for him to wake up. They’re not sure when that’ll be.

He walks into his son’s hospital room after taking a call from work to find TK alone with Carlos, his wife nowhere in sight.

“You know, sweetheart, if this is payback for the time I got shot and ended up in a coma, then message received,” TK talks to a sleeping Carlos, bringing his hand to his lips. “You can wake up now because I’ve learned my lesson.”

“You were shot?” he questions, raising an eyebrow, wondering exactly what these two have been through.

TK blinks up at him. He lowers Carlos’ hand but doesn’t let go. “Yeah,” he nods, clearing his throat. “Before Carlos and I officially got together, it was a house disturbance gone wrong, an accident, but I got hit in the chest and ended up in an eight-day coma. Carlos had to sit through it, the eight worse days of his life, he likes to remind me,” he turns back to Carlos, his expression softening. “I really didn’t need to learn the hard way how this feels.”

Gabriel makes a sound at the back of his throat. He takes the seat he’d been occupying next to Andrea, finding her purse still there.

“She went to the restroom and to get something to drink,” TK tells him. “I told her I would stay with Carlos.”

Gabriel nods in understanding, and the room goes quiet as neither says anything else. They both just watch Carlos, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes stray to TK —his focus on Carlos, the way he reaches out to touch his skin like he can’t bear letting him go for a moment for fear he’ll slip away. The last few days, he and Andrea have gotten to know the kid better, along with the rest of his crew.

Their love for each other and their love for Carlos is evident in every gesture and kind word they have to say about him. It still hurts him to know he and Andrea have missed so much. As he laid in bed holding his crying wife, more than a few tears slipped his own eyes at the lost time. Every day that passes, he promises to fix it when his son wakes up.

“You know, when he was around ten, he convinced his cousin to help him up the stallion at the farm,” he starts telling him, lost in the memory. “And this was a rough horse, even I didn’t ride him much, but he got on, and the thing, of course, sent him flying,” he shakes his head to himself. “He was knocked out maybe five minutes, but they were the longest five minutes of my life.”

“Was he okay?” TK questions, concerned even though it obviously turned out okay in the end.

“A fractured arm,” he answers, chuckling. “As soon as the cast was off, he was right back at it – this time bribing the horse with apples, carrots, and beetroots until he won him over. By the end, it would only let Carlos ride him. He was so smug about it, tipping his hat at us as he rode him.”

TK grins from ear to ear. “Tell me there are pictures of him in the hat.”

Gabriel stands, pulling out his wallet. He fishes out an old worn picture, passing it over to TK. He watches as the boy takes gentle care, running his index finger over the image as he smiles down at it.

“Damn, that’s cute,” he murmurs, handing back the picture after a moment longer. “You know, he won me over with patience too.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at the comment, waiting for him to continue.

“When he and I met, I wasn’t in a good place emotionally,” TK starts to tell him as he looks back at Carlos, reaching up to brush his hair back. “I’d gotten out of a relationship that left me messed up, and I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I hurt his feelings at the beginning, and honestly, he should have just cut his losses.”

He looks over at him. “But Carlos doesn’t give up on people, especially when they’re hurting, so he became my friend, someone I could trust with the not-so-great parts of me. He never judged. He just cared about me more, making sure I knew that I was worth the effort even when I wasn’t so sure of that myself,” he smiles as he retakes Carlos’ hand. “He loves me even when I don’t always love myself.”

“I’m sure you do the same for him,” Gabriel answers. Even with Carlos asleep, he’s seen enough to know the two of them genuinely love each other. Now he just wants his son to wake up so he can see it for real.

“I try,” TK answers. “He makes it easy.”

“Do you think he’ll forgive us?” he can’t help but ask, the question playing in his head the last few days as he learned more of the parts of his life Carlos felt the need to keep to himself for their comfort.

TK frowns as he looks at him, shaking his head slowly. “Carlos will tell you there is nothing to forgive. He doesn’t blame you.”

“He should, though,” he can’t help but argue, feeling frustrated, angry tears at the back of his throat. Fear clawing its way back after three days of waiting for his boy to open his eyes and wondering if it will ever happen. “He was 17, a kid, scared but brave as he told us his truth, and while we accepted it at that moment, we didn’t make sure he knew that it would always be okay with us. That’s on us. We should have done better.”

“Do better now, Gabriel,” TK says to him quietly, shrugging his shoulder when he looks at him, his expression nothing but kind. “Forgive yourself, because Carlos never blamed you to begin with, and do better now.”

“Are you always so wise, kid?” he asks, smiling when TK lets out a bark of laughter.

“That is the last word anyone who knows me would use to describe me,” he shakes his head, still giggling. “Usually, it’s stubborn or reckless. Carlos has been known to call me a brat quite a few times,” he says fondly as he looks down at the bed.

“Because you always get your way,” Carlos rasps out, eyes still closed.

Gabriel isn’t sure who’s gasp is louder, his or TK’s as they both stand to get closer.

“Carlos? Sweetheart?” TK asks, cautious but hopeful, and Gabriel holds his breath as he waits to see if Carlos is genuinely back with them.

It takes a minute, maybe two, maybe three, but slowly Carlos opens his eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart,” TK whispers, tears falling even as he smiles widely down at Carlos.

Gabriel watches as his son frowns as he tries to weakly reach up to touch TK’s face. TK helps him, lifting his hand and holding it against his cheek.

“Don’t – cry, Ty,” Carlos gets out slowly, brushing his thumb under TK’s eye, earning a wet laugh from him.

“I love you so much,” he says to him, and though he’s obviously tired and in pain, the smile Carlos gives TK is the brightest Gabriel has ever seen.

“Love you too, amor,” his son whispers back to his boyfriend, sounding just as hopelessly in love with him. It reminds Gabriel of him and Andrea, and he can’t help the small sound that escapes his throat.

“Dad – “ Carlos says softly, surprised as his eyes find him; they shift back to TK, concern coloring his expression.

“It’s okay, babe. I promise,” TK assures him with a smile as he gives his hand a squeeze.

“It is mijo,” Gabriel tells him, hoping to wipe away the slight fear he sees in his son’s eyes. He never wants to be the cause for that look again.

TK looks over to him, smiling at him reassuringly, and Gabriel remembers what he said to him moments before Carlos woke up. Forgive and be better.

“I’m gonna go find Andrea and a doctor,” TK declares, giving him a nod. He turns back to Carlos, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

TK steps away from Carlos, squeezing Gabriel’s arm as he walks by him before leaving the room, leaving him alone with his son.

Turning back to Carlos, he finds him still looking concerned as he stares at him, and that simply won’t do for him. He shifts over to where TK had been standing, now next to Carlos. “How do you feel?” he questions gently, getting a tiny shrug back.

“Tired,” Carlos gets out, his voice raspy. “Thirsty.”

“Oh! Of course,” Gabriel says quickly, turning to grab the pitcher of water on the bedside counter and a cup. Filling it, he turns back to Carlos, raising his bed a bit before bringing the straw to his lips. “Slowly, mijo.”

Carlos does as he asks, all the while looking at him. After he’s had his fill, Gabriel pulls the cup away, putting it back on the counter. He reaches out to his son, running a hand over his curls like he would do when he was a little boy.

“You scared the hell out of us, kid,” he whispers, swallowing hard as the last couple of days catch up to him. “We were so scared we were gonna lose you.”

Carlos leans into his touch. As he closes his eyes, a tear rolls down his cheek. “Sorry, pop.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Gabriel shakes his head. He takes Carlos’ hand. “These last few days have shown your mom and me how much of your life we have missed, and we’re so sorry.”

“Dad – “ Carlos tries. “I – “

“We messed up, Carlos,” he continues, needing to get it out. “We thought we were keeping things normal by not making a big deal out of you coming out, and instead, what we did was make you believe that you needed to keep parts of your life a secret for us to be comfortable. But our comfort isn’t the most important thing. Your happiness is, and as long as you’re happy, so are we.”

Carlos’ eyes fill with more tears, and Gabriel is struck by how young he seems as he looks up at him hopeful.

“We met your boyfriend,” Gabriel chuckles fondly. “I mean, obviously. He’s pretty special, Carlitos. You picked a good one.”

Carlos laughs. It’s wet from tears but joyful. “I picked the best one.”

Gabriel smiles at the pride he hears in his son’s voice. “We’d like to get to know him, son,” he says. It’s a hope and a request in one. “Your mom and I, we’d like to know him and you,” he swallows hard as his eyes burn. “We love you so much, but loving someone isn’t always knowing them. If it’s okay with you, we’d like a chance to fix that now.”

Carlos stares at him, mouth open, and there is the slightest tremble of his bottom lip.

“Carlitos.”

He and Carlos turn their heads to the door where Andrea and TK stand together. Carlos smiles at his mom, the smile growing when he notices that she’s holding hands with TK.

“Mami,” he says softly.

Andrea walks towards them, tugging TK along with her. Reaching the bed, she reaches out to touch his face. “Baby,” she whispers, shaking her head as she tries not to cry. “Please never scare us like this again.”

Carlos lets out an amused huff, closing his eyes for a second. “I’ll try, Ma.”

“Good,” Andrea grins at him, amused by his tone. “And you better be ready to be smothered for a while. TK and I have been making plans. We’re not letting you out of our sight.”

“We have a shifts chart,” TK teases him, sharing a grin with Andrea.

Gabriel watches with amusement as Carlos looks scared again, this time at the team he sees being created before his very eyes. He laughs, happy and relieved, when Carlos turns to him for support.

“I wouldn’t fight it, kid,” he warns him. “You know how your mother is, and your boyfriend seems just as bad; just accept it. They’re bonded. We all have.”

Carlos looks around at all three of them, the contentment he sees in his son’s expression, a blessing, and Gabriel knows it’s going to be okay. There is still a lot of time that he and Andrea will have to make up for. Conversations that will still need to be had.

But his son is alive; he’s safe, happy, and in love with a good man. He and Andrea haven’t missed it all, and they don’t plan to miss anything else when it comes to their boy ever again.

Carlos grins at him. “I think I’m okay with that, dad.”

Gabriel smiles back. He’s okay with it too.

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tk x carlos #my writing

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