#some people ARE going to need to be walked through more complicated topics by an actual person who can go at their pace

[evilkitten3]

just throwing this out there: a lot of people on this site are real friendly to neurodivergent people right up until someone needs something explained to them a second time.

[moog-rt]

GO TO HELL [ch. 3]

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Chapter Two

➨ Chapter Three

Next: Chapter Four

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

Warning(s): sudden popularity, mistakes were made (by you not me <3)

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER THREE

Well.

You finally made it on TV. Fame and fortune were nearly yours for the taking. People would be lining up outside for your autograph and maybe even just the chance to catch a glimpse of you.

The ‘Human in Hell.’

That was the headline the news broadcasters decided on. It was slapped on top of a clip of you hauling ass through the rancid streets of Hell. You were clearly panic stricken and fearing for your life, but why would the announcers care about that?.

A darn shame it was being aired live across all of Hell. Your dignity was the price you would pay for fame amongst the worst people to walk the Earth.

You were curled into yourself on the couch, unable to peel your eyes away from the screen. Vaggie was pacing behind it, muttering out profanities you didn’t know existed. And Charlie? She was doing her best to calm the both of you down. Bless her heart.

The reason you had to end your little escapade to the Morningstar Manor early was because Vaggie texted saying she had bad news. You thought perhaps her recruiting backfired or there could have been a fire in the hotel that she couldn’t put out.

You did not expect to be called back because the entirety of Hell now had you on their radar. This complicated things quite a bit as one might imagine. It was much easier to hide as a human when only a handful of people knew about you. Now, everyone’s eyes were peeled in hope of finding you.

“Look, she’s all-over social media, too,” Vaggie groaned, showing her phone screen to the two of you. She began to read off some of the posts, “Vox and Katy Killjoy are promising viewers an interview with her…There’s already bidding wars for Christ’s sake!”

“Let’s not worry too much about this…As long as we make sure she’s in her disguise when we’re out, it’ll all be okay,” Charlie said.

“They caught her on video. What if they tracked her to the hotel? They could show up any second looking for her!”

It was touching she cared so much about your well-being in this situation, but the goal was to have you back home as soon as possible. Once you were out of Hell, none of this would be a problem. You doubted demons would pass into the living world just to come after you. At that point, there was an endless number of humans to choose from.

“I don’t know…They probably would have already shown up if they knew she was here,” Charlie reasoned, and Vaggie’s pacing began to slow.

“I was able to get away from all the demons that were after me by the time I found the hotel,” you added. “No one should have been around to see me come in.”

Charlie was finally able to get Vaggie to sit, and a tense silence enveloped the three of you. Charlie was rubbing Vaggie’s arms soothingly, so you took it upon yourself to turn off the tv. There was no point in listening to it anymore. All it did was stress everyone out, and there was nothing you could really do about it. Your current plan of action remained the best.

“So how was your day, Vaggie?” you asked in hopes of breaching a more positive topic.

“Oh, right! Did you find anybody who would be interested in staying with us?” Charlie chimed in with a bright grin.

The poor girl sighed in response.

“There was one person who was interested in what we’re offering,” she began, “but he seemed more enticed by free rent than redemption…”

“That’s okay. Maybe if he spends a little time with us, the idea of redemption will start to grow on him!” Charlie sounded like she was also trying to convince herself.

“I guess…” Vaggie grumbled. “He said he might drop by tomorrow or the day after to check things out. Would that work for you guys?”

“Oh, my gosh. That would be great!” Charlie squealed, jumping up from the floor. “We have to head back to my dad’s in the morning, but any time after that would be perfect.”

“No luck today?”

“Not really,” you sighed. “We were able to look around a little bit but we ended up running into her old man.”

“And he tried interrogating her,” Charlie groaned, running her hands through her hair as the memory resurfaced. “I was so worried he would suspect something, but your emergency text totally saved us.”

“Did the disguise work at least?”

That was an excellent question. While he didn’t seem to question anything about your appearance, he still seemed suspicious. It was entirely possible he could smell your fear. You’d expect no less from a demon; they probably fed off of it. Who knows…

You should be nicer. Charlie and Vaggie certainly hadn’t given you that impression. In fact, you were pretty sure you saw one of them eating toast for breakfast. They likely had perfectly normal digestive systems.

“I think so! We’re just gonna have to make a good cover story in case he finds us again.”

The three of you began to brainstorm, losing track of time as it faded into playful conversation. There was an intermission to order food since their ‘kitchen’ still wasn’t quite ready to be used to such an extent. And eventually, you parted ways to get ready for bed.

Your arms were full after they had given you a towel and a plethora of toiletries to help scrub all the paint off of your body. When you entered your room, you were also greeted by your ‘human’ clothes, clean and neatly folded on top of your bed.

And laying on top of those was your phone.

Holy shit. You had completely forgotten you had it on you before your ass was ripped through that portal. Of course, the adrenaline rush that immediately followed your arrival in Hell didn’t help. And you were so eager to get those nasty, garbage covered clothes off, you hadn’t noticed the weight in your back pocket.

You dumped all the toiletries onto your bed to grab it.

The home screen was piled with notifications ranging from worried texts to company newsletter alerts. You began thumbing in your password to rifle through it all… but then you noticed your hand.

The paint was rubbed away.

On your fingers and wrists. There were splotches where paint was gone, revealing your natural skin underneath.

When did this happen?

Your palms were almost completely barren, likely from everything you had touched throughout the day. On the back of your hands and around your wrists, there were smaller spots where your skin was peeking through.

Like fingerprints.

You felt like you were delt a sucker punch to the gut.

Maybe…Maybe it was from your own hand. You could have been rubbing at your own wrists subconsciously. With all the stress-inducing shit going down, that wouldn’t be unlikely.

But if the paint could come off so easily…

No. You had to believe it was your own doing.

Regardless, you had to find a way to prevent it from happening again.

You opted to wait until the morning to break the bad news to Charlie and Vaggie. The two had just gone off to bed, and honestly, your nerves were getting the better of you. Your stomach was twisting in on itself as your heart pounded relentlessly against your ribs.

You would tell them. You would.

Just not right now.

More than anything, you wanted that dried up paint off of you.

Tossing your phone aside and grabbing your bathing supplies, you scrambled into the bathroom to throw the shower on. The feeling of peeling those clothes off and clambering in to let the hot water rush over your sticky body was ethereal. It was so satisfying to watch the unnatural pigment run off your skin, erasing any evidence that it may have transferred onto that man’s hands.

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, hoping it would wash away your worries, as well.

Finding the will to get out of the shower was difficult. But your body was tired, as well as your mind.

Flicking the lights off, you tumbled into bed, content with its softness in that moment as the mattress and pillows consumed you entirely. You were more than ready to knock out and forget about all that had happened over the past couple of days.

You didn’t want to think about the fact you were likely being hunted by god knows how many hell-goers. You didn’t want to think about the impact the time you spent here would leave on your life in the living world. Your job, your relationships (thankfully you didn’t have a pet). More than anything, you didn’t want to think about the possibility you may never get home at all.

With a deep sigh, you rolled onto your side and felt something hard beneath your hip. You groaned as you reached down to remove it, finding the phone that you had carelessly tossed aside. It made your heart swell.

You wanted your friends. You wanted to read their texts, new and old. Hell, you wanted to see any memes or posts they may have sent you. Any semblance of normality was all you needed right now. You would take whatever you could get.

Slowly, you reached over and grabbed it. Its brightness hadn’t yet adjusted, and you squinted as you flash banged yourself.

Opening your messages, you saw Devon at the top. They said that they hoped you could see their message, that you were somehow okay.

That depends on what you consider to be ‘okay’.

Beneath them was that boy, Jack. He sounded upset. He probably thought you were ignoring his texts out of spite. His messages were a mixture of asking what was wrong and saying you were overreacting over whatever it was he had done.

You couldn’t recall him doing anything to upset you recently, so it seemed there were things you had yet to find out about. What a pain.

Your other friends that you were supposed to spend time with today were expressing their concern for your absence.

Are you coming?

Where are you?

Is everything okay?

Please respond.

It made your heart ache. You needed to let them know you were at least alive.

As soon as you started writing a message of your own, the text began to buzz. The overhead light and lamps in your room began to strobe, and pixels of red flashed across your screen as a horrible humming emanated from the phone. It sounded as if the room was filled with a swarm of bees. It was deafening.

Then you noticed those shackles.

Those red, glowing shackles that dragged you here were flickering around your wrists once more. You sat straight up, ready for them to pull you somewhere new, but then the room went dark and the noise was gone.

You could still feel the sheets beneath your knees, and when you turned on the lamp beside your bed, the room looked untouched. At the very least, you knew you hadn’t been thrown through another portal.

There was no sign that anything had happened at all.

♡

Your phone would not turn on again after that whole…event…from the night before. At most, it would crackle at you, but the screen remained black. It was possible it just died from low battery, but you weren’t paying attention to that. You wondered what the odds were that Charlie would have a compatible charger.

You could ask her about it later.

The two of you were back on the grind to find a way to access the living world. Once again, Vaggie had to hang back. They decided it would be best for someone to make the hotel slightly more presentable in case the potential patron decided to stop by that evening. A good call, in your opinion.

Beggars can’t be choosers, but their place didn’t seem particularly livable from the outside. Hence, why you thought it would be a good spot to hunker down to begin with.

You and Charlie had slipped into her dad’s place again, this time undetected. After checking out the room of relics once more and without any interruptions, you found nothing that seemed to be of use (from what you could tell, shit was written in ancient tongue).

Your next stop was library where you decided to split up in order to cover more ground.

Now, you wandered aimlessly through the towering shelves of books, unsure of where to start. Having no clue how it was all organized, you settled on the tactic of picking out books at random and letting your luck guide you.

It wasn’t going so well.

You were able to find only one or two books pertaining to the ‘mortal’ world, but neither had anything to do with accessing it. They more so covered history of civilization and travel guides once you were there.

Pulling out another book that looked to be promising, you sighed as that, too, ended up being a dud. Half an hour had easily passed since you began your search, and you were growing despondent.

You wanted to believe that there was some way to get back. Charlie and Vaggie had said so themselves. But if Charlie’s old home was your best shot, you didn’t like your odds looking anywhere else.

No matter how much you tried to stay optimistic, you couldn’t help but dwell on the possibility of being truly stuck here. Finding a way out was starting to feel like finding a needle in a haystack, especially now that you were rummaging through a library that easily held thousands of books.

You hated the thought of not being able to see your friends again. Your family. Stuck in a world where there was a target on your back for simply existing in it.

Your energy was beginning to dwindle. You were slowing down, and your heart felt so heavy.

And you hated it.

You hated the way your vision was beginning to blur and how your sunglasses were fogging up as your face grew warmer.

Your sleeve wiped away the first tear that threatened to slip past, but you were too slow for the second. It left a wet streak down your cheek before you were able to dab it away. You wanted to be careful of your makeup.

When Charlie was getting you ready earlier, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her about the paint missing from your hands. You wanted to, but every time you thought you found the courage to say it, your throat grew tight, choking you into silence.

The most you could do was suggest a setting spray or powder to make sure it really stayed put. You told her you were just worried about the possibility of it coming off. Even if you couldn’t pull the truth from your own mouth, you wanted to take whatever precautions you could.

Your precautions, it seemed, were still not enough as the paint transferred onto your sleeve. Leave it to tears to ruin a girl’s makeup. You need to find someplace with a reflection to see if you could cover it up somehow.

As if on cue, you heard Charlie walking into your aisle. You felt relieved as she could probably blend the new smudges you’d created before anyone could see them.

“Hey, sorry but do you think you could help me out real quick?” you ask as you turned to her with your hand covering your cheek.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you were greeted not by the sight of your newest friend but her father instead.

His hands were propped up on his staff, and his eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline. He had a smug smile on his face to compliment it. Like he had caught you in the act.

There was nothing suspicious about looking at books in a library, though. Was there?

Adjusting your sunglasses so they were back in place, you put on the most charming smile you could conjure.

‘Hi—Good morning, Mr. Morningstar!”

“Hello, again,” he hummed, tilting his head as he watched you. “I didn’t think I would be seeing you again so soon.”

“Right, uh…Well, we had to leave in such a hurry yesterday. Charlie wasn’t able to find what she came for, so we’re back!” You lifted your shoulders to appear more excited than you were. At least you weren’t lying.

His finger started tapping on his apple.

“It’s quite interesting she didn’t think to give me any heads up. Almost like she’s trying to hide something…” He looked down at the book you were still holding for a moment then back at you.

Your heartrate spiked.

“What is it you’re looking for exactly?” He walked up next to you and made an act of looking through some of the books on the shelves you had just gone through.

“Huh? Oh, I’m not completely sure what Charlie needs, but she said I was welcome to look around in here,” you said, holding the book closer to your chest in hopes of hiding its title. “But I understand it’s your library, so if you’d prefer I not be in here, I’ll leave.”

He paused. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and pressed the apple of his staff to his lips.

“Look,” he began, turning back around to face you, “you said you were relatively new here, correct?”

You nodded, unsure of where this was going.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I can imagine the change was sudden, and it can be pretty hard to accept,” he said as he made a gesture with his hand. “I don’t blame you for seeking out ways to feel like you’re still in touch with your life before.”

You looked away, tight lipped.

It was hard, but you didn’t want to have to accept it. You weren’t dead. Not yet. Which meant returning to your life before was still an option for you.

“I’m very grateful to have met your daughter,” you said, shaking your head and looking back at him.

His eyes were trained on you, and it no longer felt as if he was trying to look through you or figure out your intentions. Rather, he was looking at you.

“It all would’ve been much worse for me if I hadn’t,” you continued. “She’s given me a safe place to stay and has been trying to help me in any way she can, and I feel very lucky for that.”

You looked back at him with a soft smile. Soft but genuine. Meeting Charlie and Vaggie was the only bout of good luck you’d had since being sent to Hell.

A smile grew on his face in return, and for once, you didn’t feel threatened by it.

“That makes me happy to hear,” he said. “She’s always been much too kind for a place like this.”

“I suppose so,” you chuckled. “I think that just means you did a pretty good job raising her.”

“Aha…I hope so…” he glanced away, sharp teeth beginning to peek through his lips. He then reached a hand out towards you. “May I see that book?”

Hesitating for a moment, you passed it to him. He read over the title before looking up at the endless shelves.

“Come with me,” he said, walking down the aisle.

You followed him in silence. As he turned the corner, you passed a large arched window that allowed red light to stream through. It illuminated the few specs of dust in the air, and when he walked through it, it turned his hair and skin a blush pink.

As you passed under the light, it felt as though all your prior nervousness washed away.

Yesterday, you wanted nothing more than to be as far from this man as possible.

Now, you felt at ease as he guided you through his labyrinth of a library.

He began pulling books from the shelves here and there, handing them off to you. When you looked them over, you realized they were all pertaining to the living world. You knew better than to hope he’d give you one that held the key to getting home…but what if?

You chatted with him a bit about Charlie and her hotel as you went on through the aisles. You were a little surprised by how much he didn’t know about her plans.

After a few minutes, your arms were filled with a stack almost up to your chin.

“That should do it!” he announced, turning to you with a wide grin as he brushed the dust from his hands. His eyes lingered on your face.

“Thank you so much! This is really kind of you,” you said politely. “I’ll be sure to give them back when I’m—uh…done with them!”

“No rush at all. I’ll be sure to stop by soon to see what all my dear daughter has been up to,” he said with a smirk.

You said your goodbyes and watched as he walked away. The smile adorning your face was subconscious, and your chest felt full and warm.

The weight of all the books was making your arms tired. You had yet to look at what he pulled out for you, but you could wait until you were back at the hotel to rifle through them. You probably wouldn’t be able to find anything better than what he had given you, so you decided to meet back up with Charlie.

She found some things that looked promising, as well. You figured she would have told you more about them if her eyes hadn’t landed on your cheek. The cheek that was out on display for the whole world to see as both your arms were full of the books her father had pulled out for you.

Next Chapter

♡ ♡ ♡

tag list: @spookysisters @for-hearthand-home @crescent-z @mixplara @juskonutoh @tinywolfiegirl @lafy-taffy @glowinthedarkbones1150

[raspberryslxt]

UNEXPECTED TURNS - PART 5

TVD X OBX FANFICTION

jj maybank x gilbert!reader x rafe cameron

-

-

The drive to Mystic Falls was heavy with anticipation, but the moment y/n arrived, she felt an unexpected pang of emptiness. The Gilbert house was quiet, its comforting warmth replaced by a strange stillness. She dropped her duffel bag by the door and called out, “Elena? Jenna?”

Jenna appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her face lighting up. “Y/n! You’re here!”

Y/n smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah, I’m here. Where’s Elena?”

Jenna frowned, glancing at her watch. “She said she had something to do, but she’d be back soon. Come on, sit down. You must be exhausted.”

-

In the kitchen, Jenna poured y/n a cup of coffee and sat across from her at the table.

“So,” Jenna began, leaning her chin on her hand, “how’s life in the Outer Banks? I’m guessing it’s very different from here.”

Y/n hesitated, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. “It’s… complicated. I’ve made some good friends, but I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Jenna gave her a knowing look. “Complicated usually means there’s a guy involved.”

Y/n laughed softly, though the mention of JJ and Rafe sent her mind spinning. She thought about JJ’s carefree smile, the way he could make her laugh even when she felt like crying. And then there was Rafe—the quiet intensity in his eyes that always left her off balance.

“There might be,” y/n admitted, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “But it’s not just that. Ward—he said some things before I left. Things that made it seem like… like I was walking into something dangerous by coming back here.”

Jenna frowned, her brow furrowing in concern. “Dangerous? What kind of things?”

Y/n shrugged, her fingers tightening around her mug. “I don’t know. He was cryptic, but it stuck with me.”

Jenna reached across the table, squeezing y/n’s hand. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone.”

-

After unpacking a few essentials and taking a quick shower, y/n decided to go out and look for Elena. It didn’t take long for her to piece together where Stefan lived; Mystic Falls was a small town, and people loved to gossip.

The Salvatore boarding house loomed in front of her like something out of a gothic novel. Y/n hesitated at the door, unsure whether to knock or just turn around. Before she could decide, the door opened, and a tall, dark-haired man stood there, looking as surprised as she felt.

“You must be y/n,” he said, a polite smile softening his sharp features.

“And you must be Stefan,” y/n replied, trying to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

Stefan stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “Elena told me you were coming. She’s not here right now, but you’re welcome to wait.”

The interior of the house was as grand and mysterious as the exterior. Y/n glanced around, taking in the antique furniture and faint smell of aged wood.

“Nice place,” she said, sitting on the edge of a leather armchair.

“Thanks,” Stefan said, sitting across from her. “How are you settling back into Mystic Falls?”

Y/n shrugged, her fingers tracing the seam of the chair. “It’s… different. A lot quieter than the Outer Banks. But I guess that’s not a bad thing.”

Stefan nodded, studying her intently. “Elena talks about you a lot. She really missed you.”

Y/n smiled faintly. “I missed her too. That’s why I came back. She said she needed me, but… I feel like there’s more to it than she’s letting on.”

Stefan’s expression flickered, but he quickly masked it. “Elena’s been through a lot. She’s just glad you’re here now.”

They fell into an easy conversation, y/n asking about Mystic Falls and Stefan steering the topic to lighter subjects. Still, she couldn’t shake the sense that there was something he wasn’t telling her. Stefan was kind, charming even, but there was a guardedness in his eyes, a depth of secrets that made her stomach twist with unease.

“So, do you and Elena hang out here often?” y/n asked, glancing around the room again.

“Sometimes,” Stefan replied with a small smile. “It’s quiet here. Good for thinking.”

Y/n smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Quiet is overrated. You should try the Outer Banks. It’s chaotic in the best way. There’s always something going on—bonfires, surfing, boat rides…”

“That does sound nice,” Stefan admitted, his smile growing. “But I’m not much of a beach person.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “You live in Mystic Falls, and you’re not a beach person? What’s next, you hate sunshine and puppies too?”

Stefan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I like sunshine and puppies just fine, I promise.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Y/n turned to see Elena walking in, her face pale and drawn, with Damon following close behind.

-

“Y/n?” Elena froze in the doorway, clearly startled to see her sister.

Y/n stood, her arms crossed. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been back all day, and you didn’t even bother to be home.”

“I can explain,” Elena said quickly, her eyes darting to Stefan.

“Go ahead. I’m all ears,” y/n snapped, her frustration bubbling over.

Elena hesitated, glancing at Damon, who was smirking as if he found the whole situation amusing.

“Y/n, it’s complicated,” Elena began.

“Complicated how?” y/n shot back. “You begged me to come back, told me you needed me, and now you’re acting like—”

“I was trying to protect you!” Elena blurted out.

Y/n stared at her, stunned into silence. “Protect me? From what?”

Elena looked helplessly at Stefan, who stepped forward. “Y/n, there’s something you need to know. About Mystic Falls. About us.”

“Us?” y/n repeated, her voice shaking.

“Elena, don’t sugarcoat it,” Damon interjected, his tone dripping with mockery. “She’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“Damon, don’t,” Stefan warned, but y/n was already stepping back, her heart pounding.

“What the hell is going on?” y/n demanded.

Elena took a deep breath. “Y/n, Stefan is… he’s not exactly what he seems.”

“Okay, cryptic much?” y/n said, her voice rising. “Just tell me already!”

Stefan and Elena exchanged a look, and it was Damon who finally spoke.

“He’s a vampire,” Damon said bluntly, his smirk widening as if he enjoyed the shock on y/n’s face.

Y/n blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. “Right. Sure. And what are you, a werewolf?”

“Close, but no,” Damon said with a wink.

“Y/n, he’s telling the truth,” Elena said, her voice trembling.

Y/n stared at her sister, searching her face for any sign of a joke. But Elena looked dead serious.

“This is insane,” y/n muttered, grabbing her bag. “You’ve all lost your minds.”

“Y/n, wait,” Stefan said, moving to block her path.

“Don’t,” y/n warned, her voice icy.

Elena reached for her arm. “Please, just listen—”

“I don’t have to listen to anything,” y/n snapped, pulling away. “I’m leaving.”

But before she could make it to the door, Damon was suddenly in front of her, his movements so fast she barely registered them.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he focused on hers. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Y/n felt a strange pressure in her head, as if her thoughts were being pulled in a direction she couldn’t control.

“Sit down,” Damon commanded, his voice low and hypnotic.

For a moment, y/n’s body stiffened as if it wanted to obey, but then the pressure vanished, and she blinked, her mind clear.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded, shoving past him.

Damon’s smirk faded, replaced by genuine surprise. He turned to Stefan and Elena. “It didn’t work.”

“What didn’t work?” y/n demanded, her eyes darting between them.

“Compulsion,” Stefan said, his voice quiet but tinged with wonder.

“Compulsion?” y/n repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. “You were trying to brainwash me?”

Damon crossed his arms, looking intrigued. “Apparently, you’re immune. That’s new.”

“Great. Fantastic. Add that to the list of insane things I’ve learned tonight,” y/n snapped, backing toward the door.

“Y/n, please,” Elena pleaded. “Just stay. Let us explain everything.”

“Explain what?” y/n yelled, her voice cracking. “That my sister’s dating a vampire? That people can apparently hypnotize others? Do you even hear yourselves?”

“Y/n,” Stefan said gently, “I know this is a lot to take in, but we’re not the bad guys. I promise you.”

Y/n shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I came back because I thought you needed me, Elena. But I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

She turned and fled the house, ignoring Elena’s desperate calls behind her.

-

As y/n walked aimlessly through Mystic Falls, her thoughts raced. Everything she’d learned felt like a dream—no, a nightmare. But even as she tried to make sense of it, a nagging thought crept in.

Why didn’t Damon’s compulsion work on her?

And what else didn’t she know about herself?

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. It was Jeremy.

“Hey,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Y/n, are you okay? Elena told me you were back,” Jeremy said, his voice warm but concerned.

“Yeah,” y/n lied. “I’m fine. Just… trying to figure some things out.”

“Call me if you need anything, okay? And be back home soon, it’s dark outside already.” Jeremy said.

“I will,” y/n promised, her chest tightening.

As the call ended, she sat down on a bench, staring up at the sky. Her mind wandered back to JJ, to Rafe, to the life she’d left behind. And for the first time since returning to Mystic Falls, she wondered if coming back had been a mistake.

-

Back at the house, y/n paced her room, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through her phone. The overwhelming events of the night swirled in her mind: vampires, compulsion, Stefan, Damon, Elena… the chaos of it all. There was one person she could call who might give her a straight answer.

Ward.

She hesitated, her thumb hovering over his contact. Was this too much? Too insane? But deep down, she knew Ward always seemed to know more than he let on. Steeling herself, she pressed call and listened as the phone rang.

“Y/n,” Ward answered smoothly after the second ring. “Is everything alright? You’re calling late.”

“I need to ask you something,” y/n said, her voice sharper than she intended.

“Of course,” he replied, his tone calm but cautious. “What’s on your mind?”

Y/n took a breath, bracing herself. “Did you know? About Mystic Falls, about… vampires?”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and y/n’s stomach dropped.

“Y/n,” Ward began carefully, his voice lowering. “Who told you about this?”

“So, you did know,” she said bitterly, gripping the phone tighter. “You knew this whole time, and you didn’t think to warn me?”

“It’s not that simple,” Ward said, his tone shifting, as if he were trying to soothe her. “There are things about Mystic Falls—about the Gilbert family—that are complicated. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Y/n sat down on her bed, her mind reeling. “Complicated how? What else haven’t you told me?”

Ward sighed, his hesitation more damning than any answer. “Y/n, there’s a lot about your family that even you don’t know. I thought it was better that way.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice rising. “What don’t I know?”

“You’re upset,” Ward said, his tone firm now. “This isn’t the right time—”

“Tell me!”

Ward’s voice dropped, almost as if he didn’t realize he was speaking out loud. “I assumed you knew by now… about Elena. That she’s adopted.”

Y/n froze, her breath catching in her throat. “What?”

“I—” Ward faltered, realizing his slip. “Y/n, I thought she would have told you. This… this isn’t how you were supposed to find out.”

Y/n felt as though the room was spinning. “She’s adopted? How do you even know that? Ward, what else are you keeping from me?”

“Y/n, listen to me,” Ward said urgently. “There’s more at play here than you understand. But you need to talk to Elena about this, not me. I—”

“No,” y/n interrupted, her voice shaking. “You’ve kept enough from me. I’m done.”

She hung up, tossing her phone onto the bed as tears stung her eyes. Her mind was a storm of confusion and betrayal.

Adopted? Vampires? Compulsion?

It was too much. Everything felt like it was falling apart, and the one person she thought she could trust outside of Mystic Falls had only made it worse.

Ward’s words echoed in her mind: “There’s more at play here than you understand.”

But what was the truth, and how much more was being hidden from her?

Y/n stormed out of her room, her emotions bubbling over like a pot left to boil too long. She barely registered the sound of her footsteps pounding against the floor as she made her way to Elena’s room.

“Elena!” y/n shouted, throwing the door open.

Elena was sitting on her bed, her head in her hands, but she looked up at the sound of her name.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” she asked, her face pale.

“Don’t act clueless!” y/n snapped, her voice trembling with anger. “You didn’t think it was important to tell me that you’re adopted?”

Elena’s face froze in shock, her lips parting as she tried to form a response. “How—how did you find out?”

“Ward,” y/n spat, pacing the room now. “He let it slip during a phone call. And you—” She turned to glare at her sister. “You didn’t think I deserved to know the truth?”

“I just found out!” Elena said, her voice rising.

Y/n stopped in her tracks, staring at her. “What do you mean you just found out?”

“Stefan told me,” Elena admitted, standing up from the bed. “After you left the Salvatore house. He told me everything—about me being adopted, about why he came to Mystic Falls in the first place.”

Y/n shook her head, disbelief written all over her face. “And you didn’t think maybe that was something you should call me about? You begged me to come back here, Elena! You said you needed me, and you’re still keeping me in the dark about everything!”

“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” Elena said, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s too much, y/n. I can barely handle it myself.”

Y/n let out a bitter laugh. “Too much? You don’t think it’s already too much? Vampires, adoption—what’s next, Elena? What else are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding anything else!” Elena shouted, her voice breaking. “I swear, I’m telling you everything as I figure it out myself.”

Y/n stared at her sister, her chest heaving as she tried to process everything. Elena’s face was filled with anguish, and for a moment, y/n’s anger softened.

“You should’ve told me,” y/n said quietly, her voice trembling. “You should’ve trusted me.”

Elena reached out, placing a hand on her arm. “I do trust you, y/n. I promise I’ll tell you everything from now on. But right now, we need to figure this out together. Please.”

Y/n sighed, pulling away from Elena’s touch. “I just need some time to think.”

She turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, her mind spinning with questions. What else didn’t she know? And how much more could she take before everything fell apart?

[stormy-river]

Transcripts from the Humanity Hotline 4

This one's a little different from the others. Also unlike the others, I don't have personal experience with the topic, so it took a lot longer to write (and it's just longer).

------

Operator: "Hi, thank you for holding. My name is Mindy. How can I help you today?"

Caller: "Hi! I know this isn't for humans, but I'm panicking and I don't know who else to call! This is the only frequency written down!"

O: "Alright, slow down. Can you tell me your name?"

C: "It's Eva. I'm a Galactic Exchange Student interning on a Shophoni ship as a xenobiologist."

O: "Alright, Eva. It's going to be okay. Can you tell me what's going on?"

C: "We were docked at the [redacted] outpost to resupply, and everyone went on shore leave for a day except, like, a couple security officers. I'd forgotten some files I'd needed to work on, so I came back to the ship to get them, and suddenly the alarms started and the ship started moving, and I can't find anybody! Well, I found one of the security, but he got knocked out when the ship lurched, and now we're in space, and I'm not a pilot! I don't know what to do!"

O: "Eva, Eva! It's going to be okay."

C: "Okay."

O: "First, I want you to breathe in slowly. Slowly. Hold it... and breathe out. Slowly. Now again... Okay. Can you get onto the bridge?"

C: "Yes, I think so. The elevators aren't working, but there are ladders."

O: "Okay. I've pulled up a file on Shophoni ships, and they should all have a navigation screen. I want you to try to find that."

C: "Okay... I don't- I don't- what does it look like?"

O: "Have you seen those old movies with submarines and ships and they have SONAR? With the green dots and lines?"

C: "Yeah."

O: "It should look similar, but grayscale. Most Shophoni ships should have one in either the front left corner, or middle left side of the bridge."

C: "Left... okay, I found it!"

O: "Great job, Eva. Bottom middle of the screen, there should be a series of numbers. That's the ship identification. Can you read out the list?"

C: "Yeah, I think it's [redacted]."

O: "Perfect. We're talking to some people from the Alliance and Shophoni government. They're going to send help, but we need your location. There should be two sets of coordinates on the right side of the screen. The top is where you are currently, and the bottom is where the ship is heading. Can you read me those numbers?"

C: "They keep changing!"

O: "That's alright, we just need to get close. They can ping the ship for it's exact location, but only if they already know it's general location."

C: "Okay... um... the top numbers are [redacted], and the bottom is... [redacted]."

O: "Perfect. You're doing great, Eva. There's a ship nearby coming to intercept you."

C: "Okay."

O: "The engineers want you to help slow down the ship. I'm going to walk you through that, okay?"

C: "Okay."

O: "Alright, you're doing great. There should be a panel in the back of the bridge, same side as the navigation, labeled 'Emergency Power.' Do you see it?"

C: "Emergency power... Yes!"

O: "Good, open that panel. There should be a release lever above it."

C: "Got it. It looks like a breaker box inside, with a lot more weird wires."

O: "Yes. We're gonna redirect the power away from the rear engines. You'll need both hands. Find the slider labeled, 'Rear Engines', and the slider labeled, 'Storage'. You'll need to move the engine slider down and the storage slider up at the same time."

C: "This feels complicated for an emergency procedure."

O: "Maybe so, but we can talk about that after getting you safe."

C: "Okay, I did the sliders. What now?"

O: "Great. Next, there should be a switch labeled, 'Engine Stop'. Flip it."

C: "I thought I already stopped the engines?"

O: "You turned off the rear engines, but everything keeps moving in space. This switch will activate emergency systems in the forward and side engines to actually slow you down."

C: "Oh. Okay, I found it. Is that it?"

O: "That's it. The rescue should be there soon. I'll stay on the line until they get there."

C: "Okay, thanks!"

[Remainder cut for irrelevance]

End Transmission

Transcription note: The problem was caused by a system glitch triggering a fault in the engines. The Alliance has since reviewed and changed many ship designs to add redundancies to all safety features. Mindy and Eva received medals for saving the ship and the three unconscious crewmembers onboard.

[palmtreesx3]

Act 4 - Going All the Way

Queening (Steve's Chapter)

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Summary: (10.6k)  Steve’s phone call with his dad does not go well, and the aftermath of that call impacts way more than Steve himself. Steve has to realize a few things, only one of which is that he’s got people there to pick him up when he’s down, but the most important is that relationships don’t have to be conditional. As everyone rallies behind Steve, a revelation comes in the form of a stranger on a bench, and that chance meeting starts a few wheels in motion behind Steve’s pretty head. Can he fix what he’s done when he was down and out? Can he patch things up? Is this the end of the road, or can he go all the way? Buckle up, and enjoy this angsty chapter of Get Off. 

Warnings: it's a sex shop and generally just NSFW so 18+. Heavier topics are explored, depicted or mentioned including prejudice and anti-gay bias, heavy binge drinking as escapism, depression and a blink of thinking better off dead, controlling parents, overstimulation and some dashes of neurotypical behavior you can catch if you blink slowly enough. There’s also the ongoing sexual innuendos and explicit discussion of body parts, as well as implied p+v intercourse, and the holy grail of pussyeating. 

"What the hell is going on, son?" his father's voice bellowed through the phone. "I just heard from a colleague that you're working in some... some pornographic store downtown! In town for business and he could have sworn he saw your lookalike walking into the place, but then you turned around and he knew it was my own flesh and blood. How goddamned embarrassing, Stephen. Do you know how embarrassing that conversation is to have over a business dinner?"

Steve winced at the tone his father took, a visceral response he’s had since childhood. A tone he knows well and somehow still cuts just as deep as it did when he was thirteen. "Dad, it's not like that. It's just a job. It’s…it’s retail, s’all it is" he stammered, attempting to diffuse the tension. To deflect. To play ball. 

His father scoffed, "Retail job? Don't play games with me. I've spent years paying for whatever you need, trying to get you scholarships for sports which you squander away with your shitty grades, and this is what you end up doing? Sitting on your ass for a few years and working in some seedy place, peddling who knows what!"

"It's not like that at all. It's just a store, and we sell lots of things, not…not just that stuff, Dad." Steve tries desperately to explain, slipping right back into it - the role of a boy trying to find any excuse to satiate a father that could never be pleased. Like the time he was a shameful teenage boy being told he’s worthless as he stood in the entryway of the house, barely over the threshold, all because he passed the ball and let Sammy Curtis sink the game winning shot instead of taking it himself.

"That stuff” he interrupts with a scoff. “Is this what I raised you for? I expected you to have a respectable career by now. Thought this move to the city was going to give you some fresh choices, not this... this filth!"

Steve was not ready for this. Half his hangover was still hanging on for dear life. Just a moment ago things were…not this complicated. He was eating a raw bagel talking about…you…with his friend. Even when that was the thing that felt complicated it wasn't really, was it? It was simple, and easy and… Now he’s struggling to find the words to defend himself, especially hard long-distance, though he also guesses he should be grateful it was - he wasn’t forced to see the rage and disappointment behind his father’s eyes this particular time."Dad, it's just a job. We needed work, and this opportunity came up. It doesn't define who I am. I just…it shouldn’t matter that much." 

“Just a job? Stephen? What do you mean just a job?” At that, Steve can hear his voice slip into a deeper register. He knows the face that goes along with this. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his father is going to try and ruin his life. It’s not much of one, but it’s his, and he can just tell that he’s about ready to pull the rug out from under him. 

“You're 25, for God's sake! When are you going to get a real job, a job that befits the family name? Do you think your mother and I worked so hard for you to end up in some disgraceful position like this? Galavanting around a city and being a part in all this promiscuity. Goddamnit, at this rateI bet you even associate with the gays. Don’t you?"

He feels his body tense and wince as those words spill out of his fathers mouth. His eyes flit to his friend, sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under her and perched there watching one side of this debacle unfold like a deer in headlights. Forcing a smile at him, an awkward smile of encouragement, none the wiser about the hate his father is spewing about people like… about her. Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes thinking about it and Robin sees them - or at least she thinks she does - and her eyebrows furrow in concern. But before she can be sure, he turns around refusing to show his vulnerability right now even to her. He bites his lip to stifle the visceral response he had to his dad’s prejudices about his friend. "Dad, I'm doing my best. I'm trying to make a living and figure things out. It's not as easy as you think."

His father's tone softened with a hint of disappointment unlike the frustration and anger that has been flowing out of him since the minute Steve picked up the phone. In almost a plea, he says "You're embarrassing us, son. This is not the life I envisioned for you. You need to reconsider your choices and start acting like an adult."

After a brief silence, his father's voice returned, this time laced again with frustration - the softness that just fell was all an act. This is the hammer Steve was expecting, and it’s falling. Right now. "Enough of this nonsense. You're coming back home. I've arranged for a position for you in the firm. You'll start immediately. Stability, respect – those are the things you need. Not whatever you're doing in that disgraceful place."

Steve ran his free hand through his hair, shaking his head but not really knowing what to say. Dragging his hand back down his face, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The pressure to conform to his father's expectations had been a constant weight on his shoulders for his entire life and this is not the first time this conversation has been had. This time feels different though. Before he hadn’t had anything to call his own - not as much to lose. This stupid apartment and the life that they’re living, it’s been good. Maybe the best thing that he’s ever had. And it’s been his. Before, his dad just wanted control. This time, he wants to control him and strip him of the actual identity he’s been working so hard to understand and build. "Dad, I... I need some time to figure things out here. I can't just drop everything and come back."

His father's tone grew more insistent. "Time? You've had enough time, and look where it's gotten you – working in a place like that! It's time to put an end to this foolishness. You're coming back, and that's final."

Steve hesitated, torn between his desire for independence and the fear of his dad. He takes a deep breath and finally responds "I appreciate your concern, but I need to make my own choices. I can't just give up on everything I've built here."

"Built? You call this building a life? What have you accomplished, working in that... that den of immorality? Come home, and I'll set you on the right path. It's time you take responsibility for your future." 

As his father continued to insist, Steve’s yearning to forge his own path and avoid any that looks remotely like his fathers continues to intensify. He’s tuning out the insults at this point, desperate to find some sort of life raft to hold on to as he drowns in his fathers disappointments. It’s only then, that he finds it. The lifeline. The realization that he's got miles between him and his father now. He’s not coming home later to ground him or impose punishments on him. He isn’t relying on their money to pay bills. His mind is racing a mile a minute, and nothing…not one fucking thing he can land on points to any reason that he has to comply with his father. He isn’t depending on him for anything anymore, so why does he owe his dad anything at all?

"I'll think about it, Dad," And with that, he hangs up, knowing full well that he won’t think about it for another goddamn second. 

And that day, Steve called out of work. 

Robin couldn’t even argue with him. After the receiver hit the wall, she could tell that it was worse than she expected the minute he turned around and she could see his eyes glistening. She also was confused as fuck, because she swore she also saw him smirking just a little bit, but she was not going to poke the bear. She let him storm off and slam the door to his room. She didn’t bother him even though everything inside of her was screaming to go knock on the door and make him talk about it. Make him listen to her. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t anything that his father probably just said he was, but they’ve had this conversation before and…damnit she was working really hard at knowing boundaries - trying to read the room and figure out when she needs to shut up instead of rambling incessantly at all the wrong times. She thinks that this is one of those times that people need space, so she acquiesced. 

She makes a full pot of coffee, sets out some more food and the bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet and leaves it all out on the kitchen counter for Steve for whenever he emerges once she’s gone. Subtle. Not every way to help has to be in your face, she tells herself. I don’t need to meddle. He’ll let me know if he needs anything. Right?

Robin’s walk to work that day was quiet and dreary. The weather outside, overcast and air thick with that feeling that comes before the clouds break open and pour down on you. Seemed fitting. 

It took Robin five whole minutes after she got to work and put her stuff away before she meddled anyway. She picked up the phone once, and quickly set it down - thinking better of it. But immediately picked it back up against her better judgment and called you. As your answering machine picks up and your message plays, dripping with sarcasm and coyness asking your caller to leave a message after the beep, the realization hits then that she has no idea what your schedule is and it was a dumb idea to call you. Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway. 

As the silence settles on the other end of the line Robin’s eyes widen in panic. She meant to hang up, call back later, pretend this didn’t happen at all and play it off as a wrong number. But she’s pretty fucking sure she just said that out loud instead of in her head. “Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway.”

She hung up faster than the devil can fly, slamming down the phone and rattling the display case. The commotion drew Murry out from the back office, shirt pulled up and scratching at his stomach. “What’s got you all worked up Red? Little lost without your other half? Where is he anyway? Finally ruined his perfect attendance because of a wicked hangover, didn’t he? Make sure you tell ‘em he’s not eligible for the Perfect Attendance award this year, nowwww–ohhh something is off about this... What is it Red?.”

So for the next hour, Robin tries her best to summarize what it’s like to have the Harrington’s as parents and what just happened this morning. At least what she knew, because Steve hadn’t shared anything that his dad had said on the other end of that line. “Red, thank God you talk so fast, otherwise that story would have taken up your whole shift. Shit.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of Robin, which makes Murray smile. “Listen, that guy sounds like a Grade-A Asshole. No wonder Steve’s wound so tight…Makes so much sense actually. But this ain’t your fight. Steve’s gotta deal with this demon on his own and he has a funny way of showing it, but he knows where to find the people to help when he needs them. I’m sure of it. He’s not that fucking stupid.” 

“Yeah, see you’re wrong there Murray. He does absolutely think that he has to do everything on his own. Even when he knows we’re here, he won’t… he won’t ask for help. He won’t talk about it. He…thinks he deserves it.” 

It ended up being a slow day, not many people wandering the streets with the off and on drizzles happening all day long, so Robin used that time to bring Alex up to speed after she popped in the shop after work. 

Alex found the story surprisingly relatable. She grew up in a house with rich, successful parents just outside the city in the suburbs. Her parents hosted lavish dinner parties for business partners and she grew up in a way that seemed an awful lot like the Harrington house, other than the fact that they didn’t disappear on her for weeks on end. Her parents, however, were disappointed in her. Unlike Steve’s story, they were not pissed at her skill or her work ethic, her dreams or aspirations. No, they were pissed and disappointed at who was calling the house late at night and giggling on the other end of the phone. Who was picking her up for a night at the movies, or who she was driving off to meet under the swaying trees in the park. The boys she was dating were not good enough for the family - not a “strong enough merger of families” and then when she brought home a girl…well that was a horse of a different color all together. 

Five hours later, Robin and Alex are standing outside of their favorite pizza place in the neighborhood, thinking that a pie and some beers might just draw a sulking Steve out of his cave of self-loathing for the night. They haven’t heard from him all day, and Robin, despite thinking she should maybe let him be for a while, still decided to try and call home to check in on him. When he didn’t answer, Alex offered up a simple explanation, “Rob, he’s probably just sleeping it off, or not in the mood. It’ll be fine.”

Pies and six packs now acquired, they walk side by side the rest of the way back to the apartment, ready for whatever their friend might need. 

“Honey, we’re home!” Robin exclaims, as they barrel through the door. But she stops dead in her tracks seeing the counter laid out with all of the supplies, perfectly arranged exactly how she left them that morning. “Steve? Y’okay?”she shouts down the hallway, on her way to tap at his door before she hears Alex call her name from the living room, beckoning her to come. 

When she arrives, what she doesn’t expect to see are the crushed cans of High Life strewn all over the coffee table, an ashtray so full that she knew he had to blow through most of the pack he has tucked away from when they drink, and the half emptied bottle of Whiskey sitting at the foot of the couch. He didn’t even bother with a glass, she knew it. He spent the day trying to drink away the awful things that sorry excuse for a father said to him straight from the bottle. 

His shoes - the Chucks, the ones he’s been wearing lately - they’re not by the door. Neither is his jacket, so she knows he left and went somewhere. 

But then a high pitched beeping sings from the kitchen, and Robin immediately knows that Steve’s Tamagotchi is hungry…he left, but he forgot his keys. That stupid drunk idiot got locked out. 

All the strings Robin has been holding together all day come loose. They unravel like a dangling thread on a handknit sweater and Alex is pretty sure she hadn’t taken one breath since she started rambling. “Ohmygoddoyouthinkhe’sokay? Whatifsomethinghappenedtohim? Ican’tlivewithmyself. Howdoweevenfindhim? OhmygodI’mgonnahavetotellthekidshe’smissing. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” 

“Robin.” Alex calmly speaks.

“Ifhe’sdeadI’mblaminghisdad,Isweartogodhe’sasgoodasadeadmanhimself” 

“Robin.”

“Jesus,weshouldcallthehopsital? Ormaybethepolice. Yeahwegottacallsomeone. Ohmygod.”

“ROBIN!” Alex finally screams, two hands on her shoulders now shaking her into some sense of reality. “You’re spiraling. You can’t be spiraling. We have to think.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just….”

“Rob, I know you’re worried. We’ll figure it out. Okay?” Alex slides her hand along Robin’s cheek, around her neck and tugging her in for a deep hug, trying to get her to reset, regroup…focus. “Babe, first thing….why do you think he would leave?”

Pulling back, she assesses the situation. Eyes darting around the apartment, closing her eyes so she could think. Just then they pop open looking at the mess on the coffee table. The beer. That was the last of the beer. 

“He was out…” she whispers. “I bet he ran out of beer. That was all we had, and it looks like he polished it off.”

“Okay then. Let’s go for a walk. Check some places where he might get some beers - maybe the corner store you guys go to? See if anyone has seen him, okay? Sound good babe?” Alex’s tone is cool, calm. Her eyes are caring and concerned not just for Steve but also for Robin. She’s being so soft, and even in her panicked haze, Robin notices. 

“Al…Thank you. I needed that.”

With a soft kiss on her temple, Alex grabs Robin’s hand and tugs her towards the door. “Now don’t forget your keys, either, you maniac. Let’s go.”

It’s three pit stops and two meltdowns from Robin on the sidewalk curb later that they find him. It’s honestly the first place they should have looked, but at least they were on the right track. 

Steve did, in fact, get raging pissed that he was out of beer. The cashier they recognize, but don’t know his name, told them as much - mentioned that their friend came in angry and stumbling, grabbed a pack of beer and left it in the middle of the aisle when he rushed out of the store grumbling to himself. It seems as though dear Stevie also forgot his wallet. 

The next place they thought to look was The Hideout. Robin thought that maybe he’d come looking for her, begging for some cash so he could replenish his stash. Pay no mind to the fact that it was past closing for a weeknight and Robin was long gone, at this point they were absolutely certain Steve had no idea what time it even was. Half expecting to see him leaning on the door of the shop, or passed out in a slump on the front stoop, when they came up empty handed again Robin needed to cry.

Head in her hands, leaning on her knees as she sits on the curb, Alex tries to stifle a laugh at how splotchy faced and snotty her beautiful girl is right now. “Baby,” she says, pushing back her hair “Baby…let’s think, kay? is there anywhere else Steve feels safe in this city? Who else does he feel safe with other than you?”

The revelation comes quickly. 

Head popping up with a renewed sense of confidence in their search for their missing and probably sloppily drunk friend “I bet he’s at Bennys.” 

And after a 10 minute walk that is the most silent Robin Buckley has ever been in her entire life, she lets out a breath that she may or may not have been holding the entire time when the door to Benny’s swings open and she takes in Steve with his forehead on the bar. Hopper is standing behind the bar polishing glasses with an irritated scowl and right in front of Steve stands a Joyce, hand right on top of his with sad, concerned eyes that flit right to the girls who just sounded the bell. 

Pitiful. The look Joyce was giving him was pity. And if Steve were coherent enough to realize it, he would be completely ashamed to be receiving it from anyone. Steve was shitfaced drunk out of shame and disappointment and whatever feelings of inadequacy he was shielding away from everyone else in his life, but at least he was safe. Thank Christ he had the decency to come to Benny’s, where at least Joyce would take care of him - make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid. 

“Steve!” Robin yells, rushing over to his side “Steve, we didn’t know where you were. And you left your keys. I was so worried. We thought you were dead, I swear….well I thought you were dead. Alex was much more rational, but…” 

A groan falls from Steve’s throat as their attention turns to Joyce. She opens her mouth to speak but Hopper interjects before she could even get a word out. 

“Your buddy here is a fucking mess. He’s lucky this is Rick’s third stop on his daily tour of downtown dive bars. Recognized the bastard and drug him over here after he got kicked out of wherever they were before this. I honestly don't know where. Ricky’s always so drunk I probably shouldn't even be serving him by the time he gets here anyway.``

“Steve, honey.” Joyce’s honey soft voice stirs him “Your girls are here. Rob and Alex, they’re here for you, baby. Let them help you, okay? Y’cant stay here like this.” She says as she rubs his hair back and tries to soothe him awake. 

“He’s been drinking straight ginger ale for at least an hour. He thinks it's mixed with whiskey but I just couldn't. It was easier than him and Hop arguing ‘bout it.” she says under her breath, just out of his earshot. 

After agreeing to let him sweat it out for a bit longer, Joyce passes the girls a drink while they wait and slides another ginger ale in a rocks glass in front of Steve with a wink.  With soft voices they talk about what has unfolded today just loud enough to hear each other over the din of the jukebox playing “Hunger Strike” in the background. 

Shit. 

As she hears the deep roll of his voice on Eddie Vedder’s verse she’s reminded of you, and remembers the cryptic message she most likely left you on your answering machine. Even though the boy is sitting there in the flesh in front of them, his eyes now open enough to see the whites of them, his stare is vacant and he hasn’t looked this way since… well. Ever. Robin has seen him through some pretty serious shit, and he’s never looked quite this detached. 

“I’m worried about him, girls.” Joyce coos. 

With a nod in agreement, she asks for the only thing she can think to do next. “Joyce, can I use your phone? I gotta call someone who might be able to help.”

Alex’s eyes go wide and she winces, “You sure that’s a good idea, Rob? I mean, I see where you’re going with this, but he’s gonna be pissed, isn’t he?’

Seeing the look of confusion on Joyce’s face, Robin grabs the phone and continues “It’s..a girl. He’s fine. It’ll be fine. I don’t care if he’s pissed about it at this point. We need help and… I might have already left her a message earlier in a panic. Oh - Hey!” interrupted in her rambling as you answer the phone on the first ring. “Yeah, yeah I’m so sorry about that weird message earlier. It’s been a… day - a real bad one. We need some help. We’re at Benny’s, and…it’s just - Steve. We need help with Steve, can you come?”

Of course you will. You were there to help as soon as you could. And just like Robin and Alex assumed, Steve was pissed. 

“I'm just saying Stevie, you didn't have to be so mean to her. She came because I called. Didya really expect the two of us to be able to drag your sorry ass home without calling in reinforcement? Have you seen my arms? They're basically twigs!”

“I wasn't trying to be mean to her. It was you guys. I was pissed you called her…cause I didn't… It's embarrassing. She didn't need to see me like that. I know you were trying to help. You can barely carry a damn grocery bag, so I get it, its just… I was pathetic.”

“Well. You said it, I didn't.” Robin shrugs, kicking her feet up on the stool next to her by the register. It's been a few days and they're at least able to poke fun a little bit at the whole thing. Steve and Rob had a long talk after he was able to shake off a two day long hangover that he spent in the dark, shades drawn - crackers and some Pedialyte by his bedside. 

Steve eventually spilled his guts to Robin on the fire escape while she smoked, his throat still too sore from the pack he inhaled in his drunken rage that day. He wouldn't even look at her when he told her about how his dad was talking about… her. Told her that there's been a lot of terrible, downright rude things that his dad has done and said over the years that he's made an excuse for or ignored, but that…that disregard, that intolerance he showed for someone that Steve cared about. That when it comes down to it, Steve loved. That was the last straw. He couldn't turn a blind eye anymore. 

He didn't feel he owed his dad an explanation. If he really thought Steve would show up this weekend with his bags and his Beamer ready to put on a suit and head to the office alongside his dad on Monday, he has another thing coming. 

Murray saunters into the storefront then “Before I finalize this schedule, ya sure you're gonna show up on Monday, dude? Last chance to turn in your notice and go shadow daddy dearest, because if you no call no show me on this schedule next week consider this bridge burned.”

“No way in hell, Murray. I'm fully committed to your dick shop. I'll sell anything you dream up over spending one hour in a building full of pricks like my dad. Don't care how much the salary is or how big the guilt trip.” 

“Well in that case, Steve, it sounds to me that where your dad works is the real dick shop, huh? We…deal only in one way tickets to pleasure town here.” 

“Touche” Steve gives Murray a pow pow with his finger guns before walking through the dangling beads hanging at the entrance to the break room. 

Emerging twenty minutes later (and five minutes late from his break) Steve is unsurprised to find Alex spread across the length of the couch. “What are you two assholes doing?” 

“Hi Alex, thanks again for saving my life and ensuring I don't die in a ditch or need my stomach pumped from alcohol poisoning and ensuring that my most magnetic and caring roommate and best friend didn't have a stroke while I was missing. It's nice to see you again. I am forever in your debt.” Alex mocks with a deep voice meant to imitate his while Robin cackles, slapping her thighs. 

“Smash or pass” she deadpans. “Julia Roberts.”

“Pass” Steve and Robin say in unison. 

“Really?” Alex pops up in surprise. 

“I guess I just don’t get the appeal with that one. I like her movies, though, just…don’t wanna see her bush. No rolling in the hay with her for me.” Robin says very matter of factly. 

“Yeah, for me” Steve quips pointing right at Robin. “Reminds me too much of this asshole right here. Can’t even think about it.” 

Madonna. Demi Moore. Sharon Stone. Liv Tyler was a unanimous smash. An hour went by throwing out names and shouting out whether or not they were fuckable before Alex’s bisexual ass snuck in Brad Pitt.

“Bleh, pass. That's a dick.”

“Smash.” Steve's eyes go wide. Did he just…

“Stevie boy, did you just smash Brad Pitt?” Alex is literally on the edge of her seat at this point. Robin's jaw is just about on the floor. He's waving her off “That…that's not.. I mean. If I were I guess…he’s a good looking guy, s’all I’m saying.”

 “You would like the golden boy type shit. I'm more of a ruggedly handsome older man kinda bisexual. I bet you'd smash Patrick Swayze too, handsome. UNLESS…are we talking Interview with a Vampire long hair type Pitt because…”

“This is too much for me!” Robin is shouting as she starts pacing. 

“Robbie, I’d expect a little more tolerance from you. I’m disappointed.” Steve pokes fun. “Anyway, you do have the late shift today, so I’ll save you from thinking about me boning Brad Pitt and get out of here.”

“Ew. Steve. No. You and Pitt? You’re definitely bottom. He’s batter dipping the corn dog, not you.”

Raising his middle finger in the air, he gestures behind him to the girls as he walks out the door. 

After grabbing a coffee, Steve swings into the record store to browse for some new vinyls. The guy at the front desk is starting to get to know Steve, and he likes that the guy is comfortable enough to make recommendations or pulls a vinyl or two to save for next time Steve comes in. It makes him feel memorable. He’s little more than guy at the record store to Steve, but yet guy at the record store cared enough to think about him and what he might like even when he’s not here. 

It’s stuff like this, that he hasn’t really experienced until he moved here to the city, that makes Steve feel less than insignificant. Who would have thought that coming to a city filled to the brim with more people than he knows what to do with would make him feel more seen than a small town where everyone knows your name ever did. 

He grabs his bag, filled with three new recommendations from guy at the record store, and he’s heading for the door before the cashier yells out “Oh damn, bro. I almost forgot. Someone left this for you. It’s already paid for, so don’t worry about it, but she said you gotta hear this one.” Steve reaches out to grab the bright red sleeve and turns it over twice before slipping it into his bag. “Yeah thanks dude. See ya around.” 

He lies to himself when he thinks that the brisk pace he is walking on his way home is because the nights are turning colder in the city and he wants to get home. He lies to himself a second time when he says he wants to keep moving so he takes the stairs two at a time instead of waiting on the elevator. He lies to himself for a third time, pretending that he’s not really in a rush even though he doesn’t take off his shoes and jacket before he makes a beeline right for his record player all while unwrapping that vinyl he knows that you left for him. 

The whirring of the player and the zap of the scratching needle connecting with the plastic make his brain start to buzz and he’s done lying to himself when he thinks that he was so fucking stupid when he shouted at you - drunk out of his mind or not, he has been expecting you to never speak to him again, so…you leaving this for him might just mean…

In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey

Butane in my veins and I'm out to cut the junkie

With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables

Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose

What the fuck did she leave me? He thinks, as he lets the record spin and listens, patiently. Waiting for the hook. Waiting for the bass drop. Waiting for those deep drum rhythms he likes so much. Waiting for the lyrics that are supposed to hit home.

Oh. 

Soy un perdedor

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?

(Double-barrel buckshot)

“Maybe I should just move home and take a stupid job with my dad like he’s been telling me to do since junior year of high school.”

Murray hears the boy complaining as he walks through the door with three giant boxes stacked on top of one another. “Casanova. Hey!” Setting them down he snaps both his fingers right in Steve’s face “We’ve been over this… focus on my dick shop, not your dads. I got new goods, get your sweet ass over here.”

He waves Steve and Robin over to the front window, and they dutifully follow. Ripping open the boxes with a rusty pocket knife he pulls from his tube sock, Murray rambles about the boxes filled with a new Latex fashion line he was checking out at the expo. He shoos Steve off to grab the mannequins from the back storage room so they can set up the window display. “Make sure to grab the dudes with the biggest packages back there, Stevie-boy!” before looking at Robin curiously, asking her to spill the details and explain the pivot back into full on self-loathing Steve took. 

“Ah, the lady friend? She gave him that? Sassy. I think I like her. If he doesn't want her…” wiggling his eyebrows, Murray is quickly cut off as Steve re-enters the floor.

“Doesn’t want who?’ Steve says, male mannequin under each arm. 

“Oh, nothing. I gotta go get some lunch. I’ll grab the plastic girls on my way back in and you two can play dress up.” 

“Hey Stevie, whaddya think?” Robin’s got one of the black latex outfits held out in front of her as she tries anything but effortlessly shaking her hips to the beat of the song playing overhead on the speakers. The would-be seductive dance is cut off when her face lights up, running off to the break room with the package in hand.

“I don’t like that look Robbie. What are you doing?”

Shaking the beads dangling from the door frame to announce her re-entry, Steve’s eyes glance up before doing a double take. Robin stood there, leaning into the wall looking as casual as she possibly can (which isn’t that casual, honestly), standing in a full head to toe black latex catsuit. If Steve could have, he would have taken a polaroid if not just to gift to Alex as a thank you, or apology. Whatever she needs most from him - he’s not too sure at this point. Robin arches her back like she’s posing for a centerfold and it’s not long before the two of them are deep in a fit of laughter from her antics. 

Except something goes wrong. The fit of laughter soon lets up, but Robin still can’t catch her breath. Steve is breathing deep, grinning again and shaking his head at her, and while she’s happy she’s coaxing out a laugh and a smile she hasn’t seen from him in over a week, her chest is getting tighter by the second. 

Looking at his friend's pallid face, his eyes dart around thinking while she starts wheezing for air. “Rob…are you...you’re not allergic to latex, are you?”

She shakes her head no adamantly but quickly backtracks, realizing that no, she can’t be sure she’s not allergic to latex. Holding up her hands between the two of them, her wrists are ballooning up around the seam of the catsuit sleeves, body swelling up making the suit stretch over her skin even tighter. She starts to claw at it, trying to get it off, but it’s so slippery and tight, and suctioned to her sweaty skin that it won’t budge and her panicked expression locks on to Steve’s. 

“You didn’t know you were allergic to latex? What the fuck Robbie?” 

“When was I supposed to find out, huh? Not like I’ve been carrying around condoms since I was 15 like you, you asshole!”

“So what…that’s not… What about a balloon? Haven’t you ever been around a fucking balloon before, Rob?”

“Steve, I'm poor. We didn’t buy balloons for birthday parties. I didn’t get….extra…shit. I…no. I can’t remember …ever having a…. balloon.” She’s sucking in breaths between words as much as she can. “Steve, help. It’s….I can’t…”

Walking down the street, Murray is on his way back from grabbing his sandwich, when he spots the flashing lights on the street ahead. What he doesn’t expect is to see those flashing lights belonging to an ambulance pulled up outside of his store. Dropping his sandwich into the grimey gutter, he’s absolutely dumbfounded at the sight before him - Robin laid out on the stretcher, clearly naked and covered with a white sheet and his new inventory in shreds on the sidewalk after the paramedics had to cut it off of her. “Oh for fucks, sake. I didn’t literally mean you should play dress up, Red.” 

It takes the paramedics another 20 minutes to get her settled and breathing from an oxygen tank in the back of the rig and explain the situation to Murray and Steve. Her reaction was bad, so they should expect her to be down and out for at least three days until the swelling goes down and she can recover her breathing enough to function normally. Murray storms off into the store grumbling about Workers Comp paperwork and throwing his hands in the air while Steve stays back, readying himself to climb into the back of the rig and ride with his friend before she stops him. 

“Listen, dude. I’m clearly not gonna be home tonight, and you don’t need to worry about me. Don’t you dare think you’re gonna sit and keep watch at my bedside. This is definitely the only time in my life my tits will look this big, so I’m not about to invite you in. Alex gets clear first dibs before the swelling goes down.” 

Steve grimaces, scrunching his nose up in disgust “Ew, gross Robbie. Stop talking to me about your tits.” 

“Whatever. All I’m saying is, maybe take advantage of the empty house? I know she sent you a message loud and clear with that record but I still don’t buy that she won't give you a shot to explain. Call her. Please?” 

All he can do is nod as she pats his hand and smiles. He backs away so they can close up the rig and watches as they pull off, lights flashing with his swollen raspberry of a friend in tow. 

Murray ends up closing the shop early that night, saying he’s had it up to here with both of them and he just wants to go see Hop and Joyce for an ice cold drink. Before Steve could even respond, Murray’s finger is in his face “NO. You’re not invited this time, buddy. I don’t wanna see your face until tomorrow. And you have the late shift. I don’t wanna close and I think you two owe me.”

“Owe you?! What the heck, I didn’t do anything, man. Robin, she is the one that -”

“No, you listen here. Your moping and loathing is getting irritating. I like you, unfortunately. I’m not sure why, but I like you Steve, and you’ve been fucking annoying since you let your dad get in your head. And whatever is going on with this lady friend, you better fix it.” He pokes Steve right in the chest - hard.

“Is she a girl, or a woman, Steve?” he says, and Steve remembers their chat about Steve’s choices. Why they never seem to work out and how he keeps going for the wrong kind. 

“She’s … she’s a woman. Obviously. She doesn’t want to put up with my bullshit.”

“Fix it, Steve. Thank me later.” 

He had two beers before he worked up the nerve to pick up the phone. He probably would have had another, but he thought better of it considering the last time he saw you. More like the last time you saw him because he doesn’t fucking remember a lick of it. An apology probably wouldn’t go over very well if he was shitfaced again all because he needed some liquid courage to get the balls to call you up. 

It took three, long, agonizing rings for you to pick up, your voice suddenly some sort of beacon in the night for him. He was silent for a beat too long, and just when you went to hang up muttering “whatever asshole, prank call someone else next time” he finally was able to whisper out your name just loud enough that it traveled through the phone line and made it to your ears. 

“You got my record?” 

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I deserved that… and it’s actually good.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I know. Can I see you?”

And to his surprise, you agreed. You asked him to meet you outside, so you can walk to the cafe together. Promised in a way that had him believing it would all be fine - that you’ll figure it out from there. So he’s sitting on the bench outside of his building waiting, legs bouncing up and down uncontrollably mind weight down from anticipation, nerves and his least favorite piece of baggage, self-doubt. 

“You look like you’re waiting on something, boy. Don't wait too long, or you’ll end up looking like me and still never finding what you’re lookin’ for, ya know?”

Steve chuckles and nods. He thinks he does know. And God, he doesn’t want to spend his life chasing an idea and running away every time he gets close because he’s sure he’s not good enough for it. He doesn’t want to be sitting on a bench when he’s 80 lamenting about how he used to look good, had the good hair before it all fell out and turned gray, would get the girls and throw the parties, could pound back a six pack like it’s no big deal, how he was the former Keg King - King Steve. Like that all means anything at all. None of it did. It was all bullshit. 

“I’m Steve” he says, holding his hand out and reaching across the bench. The man reaches out accepting his grasp and introduces himself as Robert.“You live here too?” he nods back at the apartment building. 

“Sure do. Me and my little rascal Dart.” and Steve notices the small dog laying quietly at the man’s feet. 

“What you said before…I am waiting on something. Someone actually. But…I think I’m mostly waiting on myself.” 

“Ah, yes. That’s the age old problem innit? We’re always late to our own party. Been in this city for decades and it’s all the same. Young kids like you are lost until they find what they’re looking for, but some of ‘em, they never find it. No one leads ‘em to it and they forget that it’s even worth lookin’ for along the way.” 

Steve nods, a little solemnly, at the wisdom the old man is sharing. Resonating just a bit closer to home than the old man probably knows. But then he sees a flash of you from down the sidewalk, your jacket wrapped tight around your body, a tentative smile on your face when you see Steve waiting for you like he promised. 

“Ah,” the man laughs a hearty laugh. “She looks like she’s worth waiting for though, my boy. You should go.” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Steve says with a bright smile, and it’s genuine. Maybe she's worth it? Or Maybe Steve will see the old man again. He's not sure which he meant, actually. Maybe…both. 

The walk to the cafe seems to go on for eons. After an interaction teetering on awkward, feet pushing at invisible rocks on the pavement and tentative smiles, you both head in that direction side by side, stealing glances for a block or two before either one breaks the silence.

It seems like both of you have let the dull drone of the city take up enough space in the night and you finally speak up at the same time. 

“I am sorry for being such a mess.”

“I'm sorry for being a bitch.”

“No. No.” You cut him off. “Yeah you're right. You were a mess and you were kind of a dick about it. I'm not gonna excuse that. But you were a mess, and Robin and Alex were worried for good reason, obviously. You were a mess because something happened and I can't be mad at that. I can be frustrated with how you handled yourself…how you treated people who were just there to fucking help you, man, but at the end of the day, you were going through some shit and…I held it against you instead of helped. And then I got you that record and…”

“I…yeah I should not have drank my problems like that. I shouldn't have. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. That song is…not that far off. Might be my theme song, actually.” He holds back a small laugh to himself. “I do stupid shit. That's not new. But…I wasn't mad at anyone until -”

“You sure seemed mad, Steve.”

“I was…it's just. I guess I'm realizing now I wasn't actually mad at anyone but myself and my dad until you showed up.”

“Correct. You made that loud and clear.”

“Oh. I -” silence falls over them for a few steps, Steve finally looking over at you in a way that makes you feel like he's looking into you not at you this time. “I think I finally understand. Can…can I try and explain? Once we get there?”

You nod. And you let him. 

Like a floodgate, the honesty Steve holds back on a regular basis flows out the minute he starts. Tucked in the back corner of the cafe, a steaming hot chai in front of you, a black coffee with cinnamon and nutmeg there in front of him, he tells you how growing up actually felt for him. Not just the my dad is an asshole version but how it really affected him. He says it out loud and admits the way his dad made him feel. Tells you stories about all the sports and the winning and the popularity that was never what he wanted anyway. Tells you how his dad has spent his whole life grooming him to be a mini-version of Mr Harrington, and that's the absolute last thing in the world he wants to be. He just wants to be Steve - whoever that is. 

And he cries. He cries when he tells you about the phone call. You notice it's not at the mean things his dad says to him, the names he's called or the put downs about his life that break him down - it's when he tells you about the disdain in his dads voice when he berates him about being friends with the gays. How he couldn't look at Robin after the way his dad talked and how he felt more shame in that moment than any other. Not ashamed that he’s friends with Robin. Not in a million years, but more from the idea that his dad - no anyone - would be lucky to find a friend half as good as Robin is, so who the fuck cares who she loves, right? Jesus Christ. Shame that someone he loves has to live in a world where people like his dad exist. 

You both need a refill before he can get through the hard part, though, the part where he hurt you. Steve motions to your empty cup asking if he can get you more and before you know it, comes back a short time later with two new steaming mugs and plates of assorted pastries and snacks balancing on top. I didn't know what you'd like, so I got it all. 

Something tells you that even if you don't actually say it, Steve would know for next time. He'd know that you're a sucker for their blondies and like to snack on their homemade caramel corn because even as he's spilling his guts he's paying attention to you, and from here on out every time you meet Steve Harrington at the cafe, he'd have your drink and a plate with a blondie on it waiting for you every single time. 

Then, Steve tells you about that day. About how he remembers chain-smoking inside the house and how he knew Robin would fuck me up for it but I didn’t care. He recalls for you how he sat on the sofa with the whiskey bottle muttering to himself about the things his dad said, trying to figure out why this man thinks he can still push his grown son around. He tells you he remembers leaving to get another 6-pack when he ran out but that was the last of it. He doesn't remember much of anything or how he got to Benny's. Hop had told him, and he makes sure to remind him every time he's seen him since that he was pitiful watching Steve being drug in by the drunkest man on the block. Never thought I'd see the day anyone was more drunk than goddamn Rick, boy. Sure proved me wrong. 

And when he gets to the part where his friends show up, when you show up, he looks downright ashamed and worried. With a deep sigh, falling from his lips, he tells you that the next and only other thing he remembers from that night was you walking through the door. With his head lain on the bar, vision completely sideways, what he saw was a fucking angel walking into the bar. Thought he was hallucinating or maybe even finally out of his misery and you were coming to bring him towards the light, until his brain made you right side up and he realized who it was. 

He didn’t remember the yelling, but Robin told him later how big of a douchebag he was when all he did was start yelling at you and making one hell of a scene. Hearing Robin tell him about how he shouted and asked in such an accusatory tone What are you doing here? made him wonder if he was no better than his dad in the first place. Sounded an awful lot like him in the moment, at least. 

You think he looks like a kicked puppy as he explains the rest. “I - I don't expect you to say anything. Or do anything. I don't expect you to forgive me or…” running his hands through his hair you can tell he's trying to pluck up some semblance of courage. 

“The thing is, I was mad when my drunk brain finally registered that you were there, and you were there to help. Because I didn't want that. Help sure…I fucking needed help. You saw me. But you….” His swallow is so loud it's audible. 

“I was embarrassed I didn't want you to see me like that. I… “

Reaching across the table you gently touch his forearm and it gives him enough courage to finish what he has to say. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, because I like you too much…Like, the real kind. And I feel so stupid saying it out loud, because I thought that if I showed you how broken I was, you’d see that I wasn’t worth it. Maybe you don’t think I am in the first place and that’s fine I can be just your friend. S’probably all I deserve, honestly.” 

He chances a look at you just then, and when it’s not a scowl or indifference he feels safe rough to continue. “Before I didn’t know why I was being such a jerk and I figured it was just because - I am a Harrington, after all. But, I understand why I did it now. I understand that even though I did it wrong, I was trying to protect you from me, and I was trying to protect myself from… ”

Scooting your chair closer to Steve, you push his wild and windswept hair back so you can see him even when his head is hanging low. His eyes flit up to yours and there’s no pity in your eyes. He was expecting pity at the very least, but it’s not there.

“Steve, who says I need to be protected? Especially from you?”

He doesn’t expect your fingers to find his on the walk away from the cafe. He doesn’t expect your touch to be soft. He doesn’t expect it to stay longer than a second - maybe just the gift of something fleeting. But it is. It does. Your fingers hook into his and they don’t pull away, holding on to him and his limp hand before he can even process what he’s being given. Fingers hooked and coaxing him to just let go and embrace it. Fingers he accepts as he laces his with yours, and they stay that way for the entire walk back to his apartment. 

—-

A nod of the head with a huge grin spread across his face, Robert welcomes Steve back to the building, still perched on the same bench he walked away from a few hours ago. Maybe Dart needed to go out again, or maybe Robert never left, but in that moment, Steve thought about everything the old man said to him earlier. He’s done with waiting. Waiting has gotten him nowhere. Hiding his feelings has gotten him nowhere. The only person standing in his way is himself. 

Your name falls from his lips softly, but there’s something there that wasn’t there earlier in the shop. It’s more sure of himself, almost confident. The predictable thing to come next was a goodnight kiss on his front stoop, and you’re thinking that maybe after all this time and him finally admitting that he’s into you, you’ll get what you’ve been wanting since that night in the back seat of the cab, or when you felt your tummy flip sitting across from him eating that ice cream. Poised to lift up on your toes to close the distance, instead he surprises you when he tugs your arm and pulls you inside the front door to his building with a grin. 

And you got that kiss. Oh God, did you get it. 

When the door closed to their apartment, Steve turned around to look at you. There was a heat behind his eyes as he slid your coat off of your shoulders for you, and a yearning hiding there when he looks up at you from below as he crouches down to help you slip off your shoes. Rising back up in front of you he’s close. So close that his lips are just barely apart from yours and the heat of his breath tickles your cheeks. The pair of you are so close that there’s barely any space between your bodies when you suddenly find your back pressed up against the door behind you. 

Lips finally touching, slow and just barely you breathe out “Robin…” 

“That’s not my name, honey.”

And you laugh. A sweet thing that makes Steve’s insides twist and turn.

“She won’t be home tonight. There was some latex…She’s fine. I’ll explain later.”

The kiss you finally get is sloppy, but in the best way. There’s no time for chaste kisses here, pillowy lips slotted together and moving effortlessly between one another. He adjusts your chin with the tips of his fingers so that he can gently caress the line of your jaw, following it back down and up again as he slides his fingers through the base of your hair. His grip there is tight, but not painful, Possessive but not overwhelming. It’s like he’s got something he wants so desperately and he’s afraid to let it go. 

He gently touches your upper lip with the tip of his tongue, coaxing you open further for him, letting his tongue follow the outlines of your teeth before letting his dance together with yours. He lets out a small sigh as you continue to nip at each other's lips and play with how you both respond to one another's kiss. The sigh makes your mouth crack open in a smile, cheeks drawing up with the grin and encouraging his kisses to explore elsewhere. Small pecks start on the corner of your mouth and then your cheeks, right on the apple of them as their pulled taught by your smile. 

Moving down towards your jaw, your neck, they get more and more salacious the lower they get. Red and pricking, a bruise is blooming at the spot on your neck just under your ear where he settles in to suck and kiss at your skin while the whimper that falls from your lips as he does it and your fingertips running through his hair and scratching at his scalp keep him grounded - barely capable of holding it together as is. 

When you ask him what he wants, the answer he gives you is not one you expected. Sure you expected him to want to dote on you - after all, he’s attentive like that on any given day, so Steve being a giver in the sheets was almost…a given? But when his gasping breaths punctuate each word that comes out of his mouth Can you … I want you to ride my face? was a pleasant surprise. 

Now surprising him, you not only agreed, but were confident about it. “Always wanted this. No…no one would let me.” He tells you as he breathes into you, chest heaving, foreheads touching. He barely notices as you pull the top of your dress down and work it over your shoulders, then the swell of your breasts. He only registers your exposed skin as you guide his hands down to your waist so he can hold you steady as you step out of it. 

Coaxing him backwards towards the sofa, you tap his shoulder and tell him to sit down on the floor, back against the furniture, as you make a show of removing your bra. He does as you ask, unable to tear his eyes away from your supple skin and perfectly peaked nipples, making a mental note that later he absolutely has to get his mouth on them. As you shimmy down your underwear in front of him, you pause to add a kiss to the top of his head before dropping the garment directly in his lap.

He bunches them up in his hand, sliding them into his front pocket for later as you settle over him, “Y’know…they call this Queening?” perched there on your knees, you’re fully undressed and slotted above his face so casually. 

“Mmmm. Makes sense.” He says, against the seam of your pussy and your thighs, making you vibrate with his words and his gentle hum. 

“R’mind me to tell you why one day.”

“Mmmmhmm. Sure thing.” In a haze, he reaches around you, fingers digging into your supple ass and pulling you closer. Forward and over, just where he wants you. The perfect position where he can use both his mouth and his nose - just like Robin told him he should.  Head moving subtly left to right, he tests it out, tip of his nose gently nudging your clit left to right and right to left and his warm breath teasing your wet, glistening folds. You let out a gasp followed by a small breathy little uhh, that has his ears ringing and he’s happy. Pleased with his position, he slips his tongue out and traces you with it, before returning with a big, firm lick - tongue flattened and wide making sure you touch all of you in one pass. Those big hands wrap further around you, now snaking over the tops of your thighs and this time tugging you down. Down down down and there’s nowhere else to go. 

Now you’ve had some fine oral sex before. It’s a non-negotiable for you when it comes to relationships: If a man is worried about tasting your clit, you don’t want him. You’re worth more than that. You’ve even done this a time or two, but Steve nestled between your thighs, under you like this fully clothed and pulling you into his face further despite there not being anywhere else to go is otherworldly.  

Other times you’ve found yourself in this position were tactical. A position change, a new angle, just for fun, a lazy guy. But being perched on top of Steve Harrington’s face is making you feel like a true goddess. You were about to give him a history lesson and tell him why this is called Queening and instead he’s proving it to you. Making you feel just like one.

Between smooth glides of his tongue, Steve sucks at your lips, your clit, the seam of your thigh. Once you’ve settled and allow yourself to fully relax over top of him, he releases his bruising grip - perfect tiny crescents left behind in their wake - and uses those free hands wherever he can reach. Sliding up your spine, ghosting over the peach of your ass, along the curve of your backside and between them, too. 

You’re not quiet anymore. You couldn’t be if you tried, and if you weren’t muffling the sounds coming from him with your thighs, you’re pretty sure the symphony of both of your moans would be enough to tip you over the edge. Since his are busy elsewhere, your hands find their way to your tits, rolling your nipples between your fingers and throwing your head back in pleasure as you start to absentmindedly grind on his face. 

He lets you bask in your pleasure for a while before tugging you out of your daze, hands covering the small of your back, pulling and angling you forward so that your hands fall to the arm of the sofa behind him. Now, leaning over him, soft and subtle grinding returning like muscle memory, he takes the opportunity to slide his fingers in from behind, just alongside his mouth. Thick digits slipping inside, scissoring alongside the wet muscle of his tongue, nose nudging your clit between deep rolls of your hips against him, he notices the twitching of your velvety walls first, followed by the shaking of your thighs. 

Freeing his hands, he finds your legs again, if only to hold you down to ride out your climax, combating how badly your sensitive body is trying to pull away, just slightly. The work he’s putting in on your pussy is paying off tenfold when you tremble and shake above him. Unable to move from the vice grip he has on your legs, you have no choice but to cry out and let him lap at you, drink you up until you're overstimulated and begging him to stop. 

Limp and satiated, you easily fall into his arms as he moves up between you and the couch, pulling you into his lap. Your head lolls forward has he grabs your cheeks to look at you “Y’feel good baby? Y’feel like a Queen?” 

You nod, dazed but eager and happy as he lifts you and stands. Legs wrapping around his hips while he peppers you with kisses that taste like your own pleasure, he carries you down the hallway to his room. 

Kicking open the door, he stalks over to his bed and tosses you onto it without a second thought.  Looking up at him with big doe eyes, he knows he’s done for. He can’t move fast enough as he loosened his belt and tugs down his pants. Crawling over you on his bed, he nudges that nose against yours again to get your attention. “You wanna? We don’t have to y’know?”

“Steve Harrington, I want to so bad, I’m gonna make you forget your name.” 

TAGLIST: @livsters @katie-tibo @johnrichardpapen @angywritesstuff @k-k0129 @tisthedamngoldrush @middle-of-the-sky @thebrazilianatheist @mochminnie @micheledawn1975 @falling-throughthe-hourglass @rafaaoli @ash5monster01 @gabessock @onyxslayss @scoopshxrrington @superblysubpar

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 39: Reminiscing Heartbreak

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

By the time I drive into Birmingham it’s nightfall. It’s no secret that there are Peaky Blinders following me because they’re as discrete as peacocks. I park the car and walk up the path to Ada’s house, spotting Karl in the window waiting for me. The door opens and Ada welcomes me with open arms.

“It’s so good to see you! You definitely need a break from all that testosterone.”

I let out a cross between a laugh and a groan. “Now I understand what you Shelby women go through when men get injured in battle. Every time I checked on Thomas I feared the worst.”

She pulls me into the warm house and leads me to the parlor. “Enough talk of that. Tonight is about us girls, eh? Oh, and Karl too, of course. I sent him to play upstairs.”

“Where’s Polly?”

Ada smirks and lounges on the couch. “Out to see her new portrait. I practically had to kick her out to go have a date for once.”

It’s good to hear she’s finally having a life outside of work! But if I know Polly her son isn’t far away. She clings to him like a mother bear.

“Michael?”

Ada jerks her head. “Asleep across the hall. I think. So...” Her face changes to one itching to talk gossip. “What are my brothers up to now?”

I sigh deeply and sink into my own seat, my head leaning back to stare at the ceiling. “Lord if I know. Might all be off fucking somewhere.” My voice shifts to a quieter tone. “Do you- Do you miss that, Ada?”

The question surprises her. “Sex?”

I swallow my nerves. “Yes.”

She thinks for a minute. “Actually… no. Karl is all I need. I’m a mother, and now an official employee of Shelby Company Limited.” She pauses to look at me. “You’re still a virgin, eh?”

I scrunch my eyes together bashfully. “Yes. And sometimes I feel completely out of place here. I am no holy woman but sometimes I feel as if I’m a nun compared to those brutes. Oh, here.” Before my nerves can wipe my mind clean I hold up the basket I’m holding. “I didn’t know if you’d eaten yet so I brought food.”

Ada claps in delight and jumps up to grab some plates. “Would you like a drink? Wine, rum?”

A drink right now sounds heavenly. “I’m beginning to test wine. Do you have any whiskey?”

Ada rolls her eyes and points across the room. “In the cupboard. God, between you and Michael it’s like Tommy’s trying to get you both hooked on it.”

Eureka! A fresh bottle. I pour a small glass and take a sampling sip. A twitch of homesickness tugs at my heart. Still not as good as vader’s whiskey. It’s been so long since I last saw the streets of Brooklyn. I swear if I stay longer moeder’s going to sail straight over and reprimand me herself.

“Since Tommy’s better now, are you going back to the office?” Ada asks.

I huff a sarcastic laugh. “If I do, Esme's hormones will kill me. Were you like that when you were pregnant?”

The Shelby sister chuckles. “You saw me. I’d eat complete garbage and then throw it up. But I never felt trapped like Esme does.” She takes a sip of wine. “Do you plan on traveling, then? After all, if you're going to work with foreign relations then you need to be elsewhere besides Arrow House.”

“That is true.”

“Now back to sex,” Ada states bluntly and looks right at me. “Do you want it?”

My throat tightens and I almost forget how to breathe. Never in a million years would this be a normal topic to discuss at home. Being a girl with five brothers in a religious household, not mentioning sex is like an unspoken rule. We just don’t. But being placed in an environment where mentioning sex is like talking about the weather has certainly changed my perspective on things. Not mindless lustful thoughts, no. But more curiosity.

“I- I… It’s complicated. The idea of sex seems scandalous if one is not married. You of all people know how hard things are if you have a child out of wedlock.” Ada nods and expects me to continue. “I’ll go on a date first, Ada.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “So proper. Why don’t you try for Tommy again? I’ve never seen him keep a girl around this long and not fuck her. He must have some feelings for you.”

Deep down I know she’s right. I’ve been dancing around the chance to ask Thomas if he cares for me and I should not any longer, especially after the last attempt on his life.

“I could try… But when would be the best time? He’s too busy with whatever plan he’s got.”

Ada snaps her fingers. “In two days we’re doing a publicity event at the Grace Shelby Institute for Orphaned Children. After that his schedule shouldn’t be busy. You can ask him then.”

Possibly. But I still have doubts. This event is taking place at an institute named after Thomas’ late wife. How can that not stir up recent sorrows? It will be foolish to ask such a thing in that environment. 

“Something will fall into place,” I answer gently. “The right time will come.”

Ada gives a deep sigh. “You’ve always backed off about your love for Tommy, Verena. My question is, after all he’s done, how can you still harbor feelings for him?”

My gaze catches onto a bird in flight outside the window. In the glimpse of a few seconds I ponder her question and deduct a response to soothe both our minds.

“Because people never see Thomas as I do. They only see the Birmingham devil who won’t hesitate to kill. I see a tortured soul who’s persevered through war, loss, and hardship. Even when he may do the most stubborn, arrogant thing he does it all for the ones he loves. That, Ada, is what I love most about Thomas Shelby.”

Although I can’t have him or force him to feel the same, his mark on my heart will never fade. As hard as I try to see past it and stretch my romance to someone new the thought does not take hold. When I picture the future all I want to see is being in a life with Thomas, whether it be as an employee or a good friend. A new realization dawns and I understand my given sentence. I have been cursed to love Thomas Shelby.

All night I drift in and out of visions. Through quick glances I am scolded by my family, cheered on by Ada, and taunted by seeing Thomas’ lips mere inches from mine. Each time I wake up gasping for breath and reaching for nothing in the inky darkness. Lord, what can change so that I don’t feel so confused?

Eventually morning does come and I slowly trudge down the stairs. In the dining room I see Ada and Karl eating oatmeal. One skinny man sits a few seats over reading the paper. Must be the writer. Another face I recognize is Finn, who’s scarfing down his own oatmeal.

“Good morning,” I greet quietly and take a seat next to him. “Did Ada spill that I was here?”

“Actually he just popped in,” Ada says. “When I mentioned you were upstairs Finn was ecstatic. Hence why he’s waiting for you and devouring half of our breakfast.”

Finn swallows and looks down with a sheepish frown. “I can’t help it! No one made breakfast this morning. Polly’s still gone and the others haven’t come back from the whore house yet.”

I nearly choke on the juice I’m drinking. “Whore house? Finn, what are you talking about?”

“Last night,” he says as if I should already know. “The Russian house they went to is supposed to have all sorts of whores.”

My jaw drops. Two of the three of those men are married, and the other is grieving his wife! 

“What the fuck is going through their heads?” I blurt.

Now Finn’s jaw drops and Ada rushes to cover Karl’s ears. The writer looks at me as if I just barked like a dog.

“Whoa. You swore.”

I offer Ada a look of apology and regain my composure. “I have full confidence in my character compared to some. One swear is not going to cast out my soul.”

“If you're upset at that then you really won’t like it when you hear about the robbery Tommy has planned,” Finn says in a low voice.

Robbery? So that’s what Thomas has been hiding.

“When are they supposed to be back?” I ask evenly with spite hidden underneath, staring straight ahead.

“I donno. Sometime this afternoon?”

“Good. We can kill some time until then. Today’s lesson is poetry.”

I stiffly get up and march to Ada’s library, fetching a familiar book I saw last night. When I return to the dining room Ada’s taken Karl off to play and the writer’s set down his newspaper to take part in our lesson. Finn, however, doesn’t look as intrigued. I set the book down in front of him and he frowns as soon as he looks at the first page.

“Um, no offense, but that’s boring stuff only writers study. Like Shakespeare and stuff.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Says the man who used to hate reading. I’m not teaching anything of the heartfelt romantic sort.” I’m way too stressed about that already. “Today’s lesson has to do with Edgar Allan Poe.”

“An American?”

“Correct. Quite an odd one, at that. Some say he was mad.” I point to the back cover. “This is his picture.”

Finn nods slowly. “He does look bonkers.”

“A hundred years ago it was considered a sign of insanity if you smiled in a photograph.” I point a finger at him. “Remember, no one can define normal. A hundred years from now we might have completely different standards. Hell, it might be normal for women to wear trousers. So don’t judge Poe so harshly.”

I turn to the page describing Poe’s history and I can tell Finn’s already forgetting his thoughts against this lesson. The writer, on the other hand, doesn’t seem interested and walks off towards the parlor.

“He was born in Boston, the same place Thomas is expanding to, and raised in Virginia. That’s in the South,” I explain. “By the time he was thirteen, Poe loved writing poetry but his foster father didn’t approve. After returning from being in debt to college and gambling, Poe found out that his fiancée was engaged to someone else.”

Finn looks up at me and we’re each thinking the same thing. Much like me, Poe’s story does not have a happy ending.

“Heartbroken, Poe moved back to Boston. He published his first book and joined the U.S. army around 1827. By the time he returned to Virginia, his foster mother had died of tuberculosis. Poe temporarily made peace with his foster father while he attended West Point but fought with him again after hearing that his foster father had remarried.”

Finn huffs. “Sounds like when we’d argue with our dad. This Poe bloke didn’t have the best dad either.”

I nod and continue. “Poe began writing full time and traveled around America’s East Coast looking for inspiration. He struggled through poverty until his writing became more popular and he began a job as a critic in the Southern Literary Messengers. His new aggressive style and issues with drinking conflicted with his job. He drifted through different publication positions but it was The Raven poem that made Poe's writing so popular.” I flip the page to one with an illustration of a black raven. “It's one one of the most famous poems in American literature.”

Finn nods. “All this fuss over a creepy bird?”

A smile deviously. “Just wait and we’ll read it. Anyways. In 1836, Poe married his cousin Virginia at age 27- I know. Gross, right? Eleven years later she too passed away from tuberculosis. Poe was overcome by grief and suffered from poor health until his death in 1849. His final words were: ‘Lord, help my poor soul.’”

Finn’s eyes widen and I lean in to whisper for dramatic effect.

“It’s said that Poe died of congestion of the brain, but the actual cause of his death remains a mystery. Although he never gained financial success, Poe became one of America’s most enduring writers. His work explored death and loss, and what we call reality. Some quotes you might hear are ‘All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream’ and ‘I have no faith in human perfectibility.’”

The young Shelby drops his gaze to the poem and immediately starts skimming the words. It takes a bit longer to understand the language but I’m impressed at how quickly he picks up. Mouthing the words under his breath, Finn takes almost twenty minutes to read the whole poem. When he gets to the last sentence Finn’s squirming body stills and he looks up.

“Tommy might want to read this. It’s-”

“I don’t think Thomas would like it,” I cut him off. Oh no, Finn. Thomas does not need to read depressing poems from a heartbroken writer.

“Why not?”

I bite my lip. “You read it. It’s about a man reminiscing about his dead lover. It wouldn’t be wise to expose Thomas to a poem with a plot that reflects his own.”

So goes another reminder of why I can’t yet fully open my thoughts to him.

@meadows5

[bl1ngringz]

THURSDAY'S CHILD

pairing: ajax x reader, a bit of enid x reader if you squint

warnings: none, basically just fluff, a litte bit of ooc

a/n: first time writng for wedneday! this was mainly inspired by txt song and morticias poem!

– a sister? you have a sister and you never told me? and she is coming to study here?

enid excitedly paced back and forth in the center of the room she shared with Wednesday who, unlike her roommate, was sitting on her bed packing a small bag.

– I saw no reason to share this and there was no period when it was useful to comment on this fact. besides, I had already spoken on the day of visitation

this made enid stop pacing the room for a few seconds, vaguely remembering seeing a girl in a school uniform with the wednesday family for a few seconds. she didn't remember her face well, only that it was very different from her wed.

– and what is she like? is she like you? and she's got a little hand like-hey, where are you going?

– I'm going to return some things. we used to play psycho killer, it will be a disappointment if she doesn't know if she turns around on her own. by this time, thursday must already be exploring.

and she was right. you had just left the principal's office after orientation about the school, your dorm and your class schedule.

y/n addams, aka thursday, and now the sister of wednesday addams as she would likely be known for the next few days, walked carefully through the school hallways.

right, left, stairs…which stairs? this school more complicated than her old one, as the headmistress wanted her to find out easily? she regretted not having asked her sister to come to her.

but what would be the fun in looking for her to try to scare her later then?

as she walked carefully with a small bag, she was the target of stares from some students passing by, confused by the new face they hadn't seen.

– hey, do you need any help? you seem to be quite confused where to go

turning, she looked at the boy who was talking to her: tall, blue cap with something that definitely wasn't hair threatening to come out. a friendly smile occupied his face.

"that must be the gargoyle boy that wednesday mentioned"

– if you don't tell wednesday addams about this, I would appreciate it if you would guide me to where the dorms are. from there i can go alone

this elicited a small expression of surprise, which lasted for a few seconds before returning to the small smile, from the boy who walked beside her.

– it's easy to get there, you were on the way. by the way, you're the new student, right? my name is ajax

– my name is y/n, but you can call me thursday, usually everyone calls me that

– like the poem? thursday has…

– far to go. exactly

walking side by side, a few short laughs were exchanged along with smiles during the short walk. a friendly conversation that, despite being the first, made people outside think they were longtime friends

– and her colleague is enid. you guys will probably get along, she gets along with pretty much everyone

– she's the werewolf, isn't she? I've heard quite a bit about her!

finally arriving in front of her dorm, you knocked on the door and, while waiting for your roommate to answer, ajax couldn't help but bring up a small topic. there was no need, she just felt it was better than just saying "bye" and going back to her chores.

– so what's your third class tomorrow?

– I think botanical sciences, I'm pretty sure of that

a small smile appeared on the boy's face.

– we are in the same class. do you want to have lunch together after class tomorrow? I can show you more from here

– would be coo-

you were interrupted by the dorm door opening, revealing yoko, divina and, surprisingly, enid, who cut the girl off, greeted her and led her into the room, leaving only you to give a thumbs up.

that made the teenager give a small laugh before walking back to his primordial path before anyone asked about his presence there.

really, thurday has far to go. and both of them were excited about that

[yearninginpages]

🗡 prompt with Aemond pleaseee

Aemond Targaryen has the love of his Mother, the one that comes absolutely unconditionally and when he needed it the most.

He had the comfort of not being judged by his sister Helaena, who was always gonna accept her little brother no matter what.

He had Aegon’s love, as complicated as that relationship might be, his brother would fight for him when it was required.

Still, as he started coming of age and watching his brother being chased by the ladies of the court he started realizing he wished to be chased like that, to be wanted like that.

The Prince had lost an eye, but this made popular amongst many of the girls in court at some point, each of them wanting to unravel the Prince’s mysterious aura. Yet Aemond could never allow himself to feel any sort of connection with them because he didn’t feel understood. He felt like he was merely an amusement for people to gawk at, always wanting to know about his eye, and his family feuds instead of his own essence.

Until you came along. Rhea Royce’s little legacy, fresh out of the Vale and ready to claim a dragon from the pit after your Father was finally allowed to see you again.

He thought (just like everyone else) that you were half insane when you asked to tame one that had actually been circling Dragonstone for years without a rider, eating sheep and other dragons. Still, you insisted and successfully tamed the wild dragon, arriving King’s Landing with Caraxes by your side, leaving him intrigued.

After your dramatic entrance, first impression, and that bold smile you kept shooting him at dinner, he certainly grew enthralled. Viserys had grown rather fond of you, asking you all about the current state of the Vale, and other political topics which you responded to politely, keeping your ground in the conversations set at the table.

Aemond couldn’t get you out of his mind afterwards. The glances you shot him, and the subtle turn of your head to see if he had anything to say even though he barely spoke let him know that clearly you must’ve felt it too somehow.

He almost died when he felt your gloved hands brush his own under the table, making him look up and grow a complexion paler. That was all he needed to ask you to have a walk with him.

The walk turned into getting to know each other better, even drawing a few laughs from the usually stern Prince. He was happy to hear you talk about your interests in such a passionate way, an extraordinarily intimidating woman reduced to star in her eyes at the mention of the topic of geography, dragons, and even sword fighting.

He didn’t think twice to ask you to go dragon riding with him, in the morning, which you eagerly agreed to, and Lord what a menace you two became.

The sky was cloudy as two giant dragons raced through the heights. Alicent and Viserys were having heart attacks at the sight, but Daemon (the OG unhinged mf) assured them that it was merely Targaryen fun. After that, it became common for the two of you to do completely reckless stuff together with no remorse whatsoever.

Aemond felt his best, and the truest he would ever be with you. Without you having to ask, he removed his eyepatch, and you didn’t treat him any different.

He was in love even more desperately when you agreed to teach him more about archery and the way soldiers had taught you to train in the Vale.

He was happy to have you all to himself, and you also smiled at the fact that he was everything you could ever want. He didn’t wait to ask his Mother to arrange his betrothal to you, and Viserys agreed immediately.

While Viserys thought you were literally Daemon’s recklessness coming back to haunt him, he could see the way you loved his son and set the agreement with Daemon.

If courtship had been fun, betrothal was even better. He enjoyed walks with you across in front of the members of the court while you wore green, to match him now.

He always felt jealous at even the thought of someone approaching you that wasn’t him. But you?

The second you saw a Baratheon girl trying to coax him away and steal his attention while you had not been present for a second, you only threw him a glance and had him wrapped around your finger all over again. Grabbing his face and planting a sweet kiss to his lips, and sent her a terrifying smile.

“The Cannibal enjoys stag dinners sometimes, did you know that?”

Your whisper in her ear as you walked her away left her frozen, and the rumors of it drove every girl at court away from your betrothed.

When the rumors reached Aemond’s ears he knew you two were definitely meant to be.

[justabirdy]

An Open Letter from the Daughter You Don’t Know

I'm going to be open and vulnerable here, mostly because this has been something that has been clawing at my heart to write and I don't have many people to directly share it with.

The following is a letter to my parents. it's a refined stream-of-consciousness I wrote after a particularly hard phone call with them. I may never send this to them. Hell, I may just delete it after a bit, but I hope in the time it is up, that it can encourage or help some people struggling with similar issues regarding family, trauma, transness, and more.

If nothing else, It has helped me refine my thoughts and my experiences and put into words the pain I feel around the complications of family, being queer, and learning to set boundaries.

There are heavy topics discussed though I've tried to keep things vague and unspecific to focus more on the emotions I've been feeling. Still, please don't feel obligate to read if you aren't in a headspace for it.

To a Mom and Dad who may never read this,

I shouldn’t have texted you today. In the span of a few weeks, I have lost my job, my housing, a couple friends, and most recently, access to needed diabetic medicine. I was scared, in shock from the news, in pain from over month of repeated blow after blow of bad news. Other people were busy, and so without thinking, I contacted you. You; the parents who have supported me, who paid for college, who offer words of encouragement, who are excited to see when I succeed. I committed self-harm today through a simple text that expressed my worry.

I’m aware that you will probably never read this, but I need to write it down anyway because it is so, so, SO painful to talk with you. Right now, my soul is twisting and writhing from the pain it’s in. The recognition of your support for a person you’ve not truly known, the ever-present fear of letting you down, and the tiredness of being who you expect when who I actually am cries out in pain.

You called with encouragement on the mind. “This too will pass son. God is stretching you, son. Son, He has great plans for you. You will find the perfect job, son. We love you SON. We are praying for you SON. You’ll always be our SON.”

It’s the model parent of the year. Who could fault a parent loving and supporting and encouraging their son through hard times. And yet, each punctuation of your support feels like a dagger through my heart until it’s a pincushion that can barely beat let alone form a response. Your support hurts and stabs and digs deep into my being because I know that support belongs to a birthright, an heir to the family name, a son.

Before I can respond, you’ve shifted gears back into familiar territory:

“How’s your walk with God?” “Are you still walking with the Lord?” “Do you trust Him?” “When we are at our end, that’s where God Begins.” “What barriers have you put up separating you from God?”

I’m numb. What am I supposed to say? We’ve had this conversation over and over. When I lost my last job due to a pandemic, when I thought my dog might be dying, when I was diagnosed with diabetes. If there’s a heartbreak, a struggle, or challenge in my life, these questions return.

Over the years I’ve responded in every way. “My faith is struggling” warrants a scolding to do better and follow examples set before me. Similarly, though “My walk with God is fine” is also met with skepticism. No person could suffer hardship without having stumbled or fallen away from God to deserve it after all.

I want to scream. The truth is YOU are the barrier that’s been put up! You are the reason. I can’t do more than hitch a sob that I try to hide from the phone speaker though I’m sure you heard it. That noise alone confirms in your mind that I must have strayed far from the light of God. How else could a SON you raised ever struggle this much, ever go through this pain, or suffer as you hear over the phone? This realization pains you because you want your SON to be happy, you want HIM to live a fruitful life and be fulfilled just like you.

I stifle another sob and a sniffle, my mind trying to find an answer that won’t disappoint you. I can’t find the words to explain that the teachings I grew up with don’t align with the church I see.

Feed the hungry; help the poor; commune, support, and love the downtrodden; accept people for who they are and meet them where they’re at. None of it aligns with the hatred and vitriol I see for the immigrants, the sex workers, the refugees, the disabled, and the queer around me.

I can say this though. Even after a year and a half of therapy, there’s still a small part of me that won’t let me open up, it won’t let me tell you what I feel because that wouldn’t coincide with your image of me. A person I crafted for decades to protect myself and to avoid your disapproval.

That part of me is weaker than it was two years ago, but still craves your support, it yearns to be praised and accepted even if it means betraying who I really am. The truth is, I’m part of that queer community facing the vitriol and hate from the very ones who taught me to love and support and welcome. I have been for decades. For far longer than I’ve ever understood the words to describe it. I’ve always been a little different from the rest of the family.

There’s a reason why I was never invited to hunt with my grandfather or why I was pressured into football, a reason behind this lacking in my supposed masculinity that was evident enough to need to push me towards masculinity. But it goes back farther than that. I can pinpoint the sadness I felt knowing I could never participate in a father-daughter dance. I remember the shame I was made to feel after getting caught trying on lipstick, the stern talks about such behavior.

I remember the hundreds of nights I spent crying in my bed at the fact puberty was making me something I didn’t want to be, forcing me into something I could never be. I didn’t know how to describe it, couldn’t explain myself even if I had tried; but I understood. Those nights were spent begging and crying in hushed tones under my blankets, pleading with God to answer a single request:

God, please make me a girl.

I wanted nothing more than to wake up and find this Kafka-style nightmare of puberty finished, reversed even. Those were nights of self-harm, clawing, biting, and punching a body that refused to listen; a body that stubbornly changed in the worst possible ways.

You never saw those nights, but eventually, a learned helplessness set in. I couldn’t be me. God wouldn’t let it happen, I couldn’t do anything about it, and that’s not the person you expected me to be. So, unable to be myself, I learned to be your son. I played the part. I wore the mask. I ignored the hurt inside. I became a leader in the youth group. I wore the suit. I grew the beard. It was an identity that was expected of me. It was capable, professional, conservative, and it. Was. Safe.

And I LOATHED myself for it. I pushed the person I needed to be down, smothering it until I was numb. If I could never be them, I should just focus on the safe bet even if I hated him. But that came with its own set of problems. I hated my body so why should I care for it? It’s not like anyone would be attracted to it anyway. Why exercise? Why eat right? Why put effort into clothes or appearance anyway? Maybe if I was lucky, I might just not make it long enough for it to matter.

Besides you approved of this me. You loved me. You supported me. That’s what mattered. That’s what I craved. When you commented that I never did anything but sit in my room all day, I responded. I stopped writing, I stopped doing art. I leaned into volunteering at church, I started a business, worked multiple side jobs, then proved to you that my own business was a real thing worth respecting. I became independent because that’s what you demanded. That’s what you approved of. That part of me grew stronger each year while the real me remained buried.

As the hunger for your approval grew, my self-loathing remained, it festered and smoked until the multiple jobs burned me out. Something in me broke and depression set in like a fog. I’d work 12-16 hours a day and spend all weekend in bed, sleeping, crying, or contemplating dark things. I told you work was killing me. Said it plainly and openly, and thankfully you believed me because you encouraged me again. Told me God was stretching me. Encouraged my change in career paths. You approved for me to make a change.

The truth is, I didn’t tell you everything. My self-hatred had reached a breaking point. I hated my jobs, I hated my small business, I hated my body, I hated very being. I needed to escape. I needed to think. I needed to recover, to distract, and gain space from over a decade of expectations I felt no control over. So, when I burned out and depression first set in, I also found myself without energy, unable to hold the weight of expectations that had kept that little queer person inside me smothered any longer.

With it came the first bit of true joy I had experienced in years. I was an adult. I had adult money. I could go to a store and buy nail polish, just to try it. When I did, I claimed it was a lost bet, but truthfully, I just loved the red color and suddenly I didn’t want to bite my nails anymore. Suddenly I cared about something, suddenly I cared about myself, even just a tiny bit. That realization terrified me, especially seeing it peek through the vernier I had worn for so many years.

This was NOT what you expected of an ideal SON.

So, I fled cross country under the guise of a new job. Thousands of miles away. I still wore the beard, the mask, and the suit of your expectations, but in small ways I could start to explore a part of myself I had buried 15 years ago. Over the course of a year, I healed just a little, I explored, I studied scripture, and I reflected deeply in an effort to both understand who I was and reconcile with that revelation one way or another. And I did begin to reconcile with it. At the same time, the part of me I had built up for so long, that part that needed your approval got just a little weaker and the tiny joys I found in being myself became just a little stronger and a little more frequent.

When the pandemic forced me to return to your home, I quickly found I had damaged that mask of the perfect son. The cracks were small, but they were noticeable and made me wary. I knew that you wouldn’t approve of the person inside me that I had begun to nurture and show compassion for. I would need to be careful not to let the cracks in the mask show.

Strangely though, my craving for your approval shifted ever so slightly. Would you possibly love or approve of a child who didn’t fit your ideal mold? You were kind and compassionate and supportive in so many ways. My heart still flutters at that thought. What if you, the people who raised me, could stand to love me even in my failing your expectations. I wanted THAT approval.

I couldn’t risk discovery, but I could carefully observe you. You worked with gay people, but you only brought them up when defending yourself. You asked about a neighbor’s pride flag to which I responded it was a bisexual flag they had likely hung up for pride. But you responded “Well, they shouldn’t be proud of that.” It answered my questions. If a neighbor down the street couldn’t avoid your scrutiny, I certainly couldn’t use gender neutral pronouns around you. It quickly became clear that I would not be safe in your house, not without the burden of your expectations smothering that queer person inside me.

So, I fled again. I entered grad school. Left the state and a part of my masculinity behind. I spent a year on a campus of supportive people willing to put up with that eccentric nonbinary person. I was terrified to leave my masculine presentation behind, but the joy I found at seeing myself look even slightly closer to the girl my 12-year-old-self had begged for me to become… well that joy was palpable. It was like I had been struck by lightning. I was energized, passionate about life, I suddenly cared about my body. There were still parts I didn’t like, but those were being overshadowed by parts that I did. That early euphoria of simply being myself was something I will never forget.

Grad school zipped by and before I knew it, the pandemic lockdowns were over, and I was starting a new job with a new degree. Sometime in all of this, I decided I couldn’t pretend anymore. I wanted to try opening up to you again. I wanted to test the waters and see if you could love and accept a nonbinary child. I had also begun writing again.

I had decided I was going to ask key questions the next time I came down for the holidays, but what I hadn’t anticipated was you reading an article I had published alongside some work I had been doing for my new job. The article detailed the need for scientific language to grow and develop as times changed. It called out racist language, exclusionary language, called for us to be more inclusive in the way we interact academically and highlighted organizations that were actively working toward improving the language in their field. That phone call you made haunts me to this day.

“You used ALL the liberal, woke buzzwords.” “How’s your walk with God?” “I don’t know where we went wrong.” “Democrats can’t be Christians.” “I’m leaving you to God now. Goodbye.”

I’ll be honest, this broke me again. For 4 months I assumed you had fully disowned me. That single phone call led me to call suicide hotlines several times. I was alone. I was in a new state without a network of support, and with the belief that I would never speak to my parents again, the very people I had trained myself to chase approval from.

For 4 months I processed. I went through the stages of grief. I began to pick myself up again. I began to live for myself and my own joy. The early hesitancy of leaving behind my masculinity, it shattered. I didn’t need it anymore. I could freely pursue being myself fully and truly. I could truly try to be happy.

I started building new connections, found people who accepted me. Advocated for myself. I became a stronger me. I found my identity. I was still nonbinary, but it was more than that. I could finally start to pursue the person my 12-year-old self knew I was when she begged God to be a girl. 17 years later, that prayer was beginning to be answered.

Then one day you called.

Worse still, you pretended nothing had happened. Pretended I had never written that article. That you had never said what you did. Like we just hadn’t spoken in a bit because we got busy. I felt trapped by the grief I had processed conflicting with that urge to regain your approval on our reconnection. A much smaller part of me urged that family is still family at the end of the day.

but I knew this family and I couldn’t trust it anymore even as I yearned still for your approval. So, I gave in, I let the past be ignored. But I guarded my heart. You would never get to know the person I was becoming. This time I sought to protect myself. You weren’t safe so I would keep you at arm’s length.

I moved states again. We spoke, but internally, my goal was complete and total independence from you. The writing was on the wall and things were in motion that would ensure you found out who I was eventually. So, I steeled myself for that time. I built a network of people I could trust. I came out to old and new friends. I went to therapy. I planned and processed and worked to try to encourage you to become more open to the LGBTQ community without straight up outing myself.

But I also continued to work towards my own life and my own happiness. Soon I had a good group of friends who accepted me for who I was. I had hobbies to pursue, things I loved doing. I even came out to some of my oldest friends and in a couple cases, their own parents as well. I found the more I lived to meet my own expectations, the less I craved meeting yours. The less I worried about if you would accept me or not.

I still care, don’t get me wrong. Multiple people have suggested I go “no contact” with you, but I have refused that. I want to believe you might accept me one day, and I hope I’m not forced to give up that belief. But I also recognize that historic evidence has merit and it’s not been promising.

I nearly gave up when you called me at the start of this year. You had discovered my pierced ears, my green hair, and my tattoo during an exhausting visit where I still pretended to be your son. You had handled it graciously enough, accepted that I could make these decisions for myself, given me hope that maybe you were open to some changes in me. So much so that this phone call shook me.

You called to inform me that a childhood friend had passed away. He had been murdered during a mugging. I had heard the news earlier that day, but in the next couple breaths I felt my heart sink as you confronted me about my own gender and sexuality. You had seen my they/them pronouns on a work website and had done some googling to learn about it.

You sought to use my friend’s death and the fact he was gay to confront me about who I was. I felt sick. I was stunned. I remember the way you immediately asked if I had slept with “other men.” I remember that sharp and painful edge to your voice. I remember your hasty assurances that you still loved me, words that sounded hollow and desperate, more like someone had coached you to do it so I wouldn’t just hang up the phone on you. I was so stunned I couldn’t even answer your question of “are you at least happy?” and I certainly couldn’t bring myself to tell you that I am trans, not just nonbinary.

Mostly I remember the sickening realization that this was no longer going to be a clean-cut issue where you would just cut me out of your life and disown me like I had already grieved and prepared for. I would have to make that decision. I would have to prepare to deal with guilt-tripping, manipulation, and possibly making the decision to go “no contact” myself.

Today, that part of me that craves your approval has grown very small. I am living openly as myself, letting myself be happy for the first time in my life. Everyone around me knows who I am but you. Everyone knows your daughter… everyone but you. Let me answer that question you asked over the phone that January evening. Yes. I am happy. I am loved. I am content. My faith is fine, even if it doesn’t look exactly like yours anymore. I am one of the queer ones and I’m so much happier for it.

It's not lost on me that at 32 years old I’m already on the older side of my community. Elders are few and far between, often because those who would be community elders were far stronger than me, far more willing to stand up to protect and cherish their community against every odd and they paid the price for it. I admire their strength the same way I was taught to admire the martyrs of the early church even as I commit to sharing resources and communion with those younger and in more need than myself.

Many in my community weren’t allowed the chance to wear the mask as long as I did. Many didn’t have parents who would support even an idealized version of them like I was afforded. Many prepare for the worst because the worst is all but assured by those around them. It was your continued support that allowed me to strive to be who I am becoming today. The financial support, the genuine attempts to encourage, the love you shared in good and troubled times. Even if that support wasn’t meant for this version of me, it’s not lost on me and it’s appreciated. I intend to pay it forward as best I can.

Despite a growing climate of fear and hate for who and what I am, I am happier than I have ever been in my life. I’m happy with my accomplishments, I’m happy with the person I am striving to be, I’m happy with that long answered prayer:

“I can’t make you into something you already were.”

I’m happy with the community I’ve built around me who love and support me and encourage me to go out and feed the hungry, help the poor, and commune with the downtrodden.

Before I lost my most recent job, before my livelihood seemingly crumbled overnight. You called me again. And surprisingly, you apologized for what you had done. You were specific, you were clear, and I still truly hope you were sincere. You asked me not to push you away and I believe that you don’t want it to happen. But tearfully I responded that it was up to you. And you answered that challenge. You asked me to let you prove it.

I love you, truly, I do. But you’ve made a pledge and until you prove it, I intend to keep you at a distance. How can you expect me to fill you in on everything when you still won’t even use anything but he/him pronouns in conversation? How can you expect me to come to you when your first response is to assume I’ve done wrong by God and deserve punishment. How can I open up when you text me to ask what cisgender means only to get upset that a coworker won’t just say she’s female even as I’m actively explaining how comforting it is to see people use the term as signal that they are safer to me any my community.

Your own actions make it so very hard to justify opening myself to the pain of interacting with you. Until you prove otherwise, I’m sorry I texted you today, I’m sorry I opened myself up to further pain by seeking your answers and support. I’m so sorry I can’t let myself connect to you, to introduce you to your daughter; a daughter who has earnestly yearned for your approval and support for so, so many years.

I love you, and I still hope that one day I might introduce myself to you for the first time; and I dearly pray it won’t be knelt at your gravestones.

Sincerely and with all my love and heartache,

Your Daughter

[lizzy019]

𝐵𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹 & 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒜𝓇𝑒 𝐵𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝑅𝑒𝒹.

Daniel Larusso x Fem!Reader

cw -> minor blood

Word Count -> 886

DANNY! I love Daniel <333

Your hand doused a face cloth in warm water before bringing itself to the bloodied area of his cheekbone, cleaning it gently as you sighed in worry. This had been the third time he’d gotten severely injured, and his excuse?

“I fell off my bike, babygirl. Nothin’ to worry about, alright?” He muttered, hissing a bit when you pressed too hard at one point.

Your pressured cleaning technique loosened immediately, and you put the towel aside to grab a bit of scar ointment and a gauze pad to cover it all up. Your frown deepened when he tried to force the topic aside.

“Danny, I know something’s up. New school, new people, it’s not easy and I know it isn’t. But what’s really wrong? You never fell off your bike back at home, did you?” You inquired, humming softly as you cleaned up the mess you made while fixing up his injury.

Daniel gave a scoff from behind you, pushing away your words. This further angered you, as all you were trying to get at was the root cause of all of his injuries.

“Daniel,” You firmly said. “What the hell is going on?”

The tone switch in your voice had his head lowering, and he sighed heavily as he tried to thoughtfully piece together an answer that would be suitable for you.

“Babygirl, it’s.. it’s complicated. There’s some guys bustin’ my chops for no reason, and they’re mad that I’m taking karate.. I dunno, baby.” He muttered out truthfully, looking at you with soft eyes.

You walked over to his side after a moment passed, your hands gently scooping his face into your palms so you could look at him directly. From the honest and sad look in his eyes, you could tell instantly that he wasn’t fibbing.

A knock at the door perturbed you both, but once it opened, you two sighed in relief seeing Mr. Miyagi walk in with that tired expression he always had. You bowed out of respect, as he often did to you two, and Daniel followed.

Mr. Miyagi simply smiled and bowed as well, taking a look at Daniel’s injuries with light worry.

“You do good, heal well.” Mr. Miyagi murmured out, patting your shoulder before stepping out.

The door closed behind him, and you chuckled to yourself a bit. That was a short check in, no words spoken except some praise before leaving entirely.

You looked at Daniel with a smile, sitting beside him on the mattress. His eyes were filled with adoration and gratitude, his smile shining through and reflecting yours so kindly.

He was so handsome.

With sweet intent, you gently offered water to him and messed up his hair, smiling at the way he recoiled to fix the mess you twirled his hair into. It wasn’t easy keeping his hair maintained, how dare you!

Daniel loved when you were all kind to him, and even if the bust on his face hurt, he didn’t mind you tending to it. His mother or Mr. Miyagi did it the same.

He gently sighed and pressed his cheek when he felt a sharp sting of pain, probably the scar ointment working itself. He gave you an expression that was nothing short of sadness and sleepiness, and it hurt your heart.

Moving to lay flat on the mattress, you gently guide his body to lay on top of yours, acting as a more suitable laying area instead of the cot provided. Daniel didn’t hesitate, crawling onto your body and resting atop it.

Your hands gently and soothingly rubbed his back, making him smile widely. This is what he needed, some TLC and cuddles.. and food. He liked the food you brought for him earlier.

“Mmh.. babygirl, I’m so grateful you’re here to take care of me. ‘M sorry I got myself beat up.” Daniel murmured with guilt, a hand covering you both under the blanket.

You simply smiled and shook your head, kissing his hair occasionally and humming lovingly. His hair smelled nice, like a soft burning firewood mixed with a hint of vanilla. It was nice in a way.

“No need to apologize, baby. It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Well.. you probably ticked them off enough to have them beat you up, but I’m not mad.” You chuckled, rubbing his back once more before sighing.

“You should rest, Danny. You’re tired, I know you are.”

With reluctance, Daniel pressed a chaste kiss to your collarbone and letting his eyes close. Sure enough, not even five seconds passed and he was knocked out resting atop you.

Your smile could only widen at the sweet sight, the dulcet sounds of his breathing had lulled you into a state of pure admiration and love. One final kiss was pressed to his head as you, also, let your eyes close as you two cuddled while sleeping.

Unbeknowingly to you both, Mr. Miyagi had poked his head in and smiled warmly upon seeing his two young students so happily keeping each other conpany in the sweetness of sleep.

So he closed the door behind him and let you two sleep happily, and that’s exactly what you both did.

[caiusmarciuscoriolanus]

I’m really just not vibing with some of y’all still insisting that Richie is a hanger on when it comes to the berzattos. Like yes, Carmy calls him a “leech” and says “you’re obsessed with my family” while screaming at him through the door of the walk in. But this is also being said because he feels backed up into a corner and stressed by the entire situation at hand. This is months and months of pent up grief (or lack there of) anxiety, depression, and exhaustion, added to years of abuse and trauma. The “Donna” comment is the icing on the cake. Carmy doesn’t actually feel those things towards Richie. And Richie doesn’t actually mean what he said to Carmy. They’re both wounded individuals hurtling things they know is going to get under the other’s skin because they don’t know how to actually communicate with each other without Mikey as the buffer topic. They can’t talk to each other about the big big shit without it coming to verbal blows because neither is far enough in their grieving process to allow complete vulnerability. Which is what is needed in order to handle criticisms or concerns between people, like them, who have a deep history but really don’t know each other all that well. It’s an isolating experience to be so close to people (family, family friends, etc.) and realize that you know nothing of them other than shared blood or blood shed. But in the same breath it’s almost enough to be in close proximity of people you don’t know outside of that because the blood is shared and spilt infront of both of you. And for that you have the bond of that experience. That’s why their relationship can’t just be summed up to “Richie the hanger on and carmy the best friends little brother”. It’s more complicated than that. Most relationships between people are.

[bionicle-ramblings]

I'm having human AU thoughts, and they're mostly centered around Lhikan and Vakama

And a lot of these are thanks to conversations with @chancetimespace

For starters, because I will talk about this until the cows come home, Lhikan and Vakama are adopted father and son. And, no, the foster system was not involved. Lhikan heard about a break in and murder that happened and went to investigate. He found two dead adults, then found a child hiding in the cabinet under the sink. Authorities took care of the scene and Vakama was brought in to answer since questions on what happened(Lhikan strongly argued against it because he'd been through enough). Reaching Vakama's family wound up being a lot harder than everyone originally thought and they opted to have him put in fostsr care until the extended family was found, but Lhikan took him in instead. The man was in the foster system as a kid himself, and he has the scars to prove it. He is not letting another traumatized kid go into a system that will mess him up even more

To say it took a while for the two to really bond is an understatement. Vakama barely knew Lhikan and, being a well-mannered child, was more acting like he was the guest at someone else's house, even when Lhikan insisted he could not live out of a little air case he had. A lot of looking after Vakama was being careful and making sure to help the kid where he could, namely with walking into the kitchen. More of it was Lhikan promising he wasn't going to die, because Vakama, on top of being well-mannered, was also very vigilant and didn't want someone he knew and was getting attached to die. You can only imagine how much Lhikan fought to stay quiet when Vakama fell asleep while leaning next to him

Another thing that helped Vakama warm up to Lhikan: it's easy to let your guard down with Lhikan, and it helps that he knows what having night terrors and struggling with trauma is like. Not only was the foster system harsh, but Lhikan is also an army veteran that was sent home because he'd gotten too injured to continue his service

Naho and Lhikan are dating, but they have been dating long enough that people get them confused for being married. They're not. If anything, they did want to get married, but things are a little complicated between them, with what they do, more specifically their beliefs on how to deal with a situation

Naho does look after her cousin Onewa, though. His homelife isn't pleasant, so she looks out for him in a way that helps him actually breathe

Vakama is still friends with Jaller and Takua. They met in middle school and have been friends since. Takua was the neurodivergent kid that didn't know what masking was, so what you see with him was what you got and Jaller was a kid that grew up fast because his mom died and he and his dad were all they had left as a family. The three got put together in a group project and Jaller made one thing clear: Everyone is pulling their weight. Takua agreed, and revealed he had a good wealth of knowledge on the topic they were given. Vakama could do the art they needed, as a picture(either photograph or hand drawn) was required. The three got a high grade and agreed to hangout more, when they had the chance

Lhikan heard Vakama had made some new friends, and you can only imagine how proud he was that the kid was essentially branching out and getting to know people

I just have a lot of thoughts rattling in my head sometimes, bear with me😅

[mostlynobutalittlemaybe]

One of my favorite headcanons, personally, is Reginald and Galeforce being friends.

Now, I don’t mean an angsty “we’ve chosen our paths now we must walk them” type friendship. I also don’t mean a “oh, technically I’m supposed to capture you but oh no look at that you escaped that’s so sad” type of friendship either. Both Reginald and Galeforce are EXTREMELY loyal to their factions. Reg can and will blow up Government buildings without hesitation, and Galeforce can and will arrest every living Toppat he comes across without remorse. No, I mean friends like this:

Galeforce learns that Reginald got a promotion so he writes a card of congratulations and leaves it in his pocket knowing the thief will steal it at some point during their conversation

Reginald learns Galeforce got a promotion so he breaks into Galeforce’s house one night and leaves him a card and a dubiously acquired gold bracelet that leaves Galeforce with a dilemma of “is this stolen and am I going to get arrested if I wear it” so he just leaves it in a display case because he can’t bring himself to throw it away

Reginald comes out at FtM trans and Galeforce spends hours going back through each arrest warrant and document with his name on it to change it to Reginald

Galeforce complains about his boss and two days later said boss is arrested for tax fraud and Reginald when asked just grins and says “his finances became more complicated than he’d planned for, is all”

Reginald breaks into a Government base to change his legal name and gender but Galeforce catches him and hands him a folder full of articles and resources to help trans people that don’t involve breaking and entering and identity fraud

“You’re no fun at all” “At least I don’t have seventeen different arrest warrants over my head at any given time” “We could change that” “NO”

Reginald “borrows” and crashes Galeforce’s car because he’s in the area and needed a quick getaway and Galeforce is rightfully pissed but then the next day there’s a nicer brand new version of the car in the driveway with documents in his name

Said car is also painted a hideous neon red color that cannot be painted over no matter how much Galeforce tries and Reginald just asks “what, is red not your color? That’s too bad, I thought you’d like it”

Galeforce sends three spy cameras into the airship but labels them 1, 2, and 4 so Reginald panics and spends the next three months trying to find camera 3 but never does

Reginald and Right Hand Man get married and Galeforce is invited to the wedding with a full mutual understanding that the Government will in fact show up to try to arrest everyone there but Galeforce waits until after the vows are complete to call in reinforcements

“Hey we’re stopping by for dinner” “Use the door this time you bastard” “Ha! No <3”

Galeforce saying “anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law” vs Reginald proceeding to infodump about a very random niche topic so that during the trial they have to listen to a two hour recording of him explaining the language and symbolism of deadly flowers in the 1800s because “what he says will be used against him in court”

Galeforce ranting about how insufferable Reginald is and someone agrees with him and misgenders the thief in the process and Galeforce immediately flips a 180 to lecture the soldier about respect and basic decency

Reginald kidnaps Charles for like a week but instead of interrogating him for Government secrets he just asks the pilot to help him plan a surprise party for Galeforce’s birthday

Thoughts?

[imaginespazzi]

PART 11?!!!!!

- Nivi bby I’ve missed you dearly😪😪 The world is such a scary place rn, and I hope you know how loved you are!!

- Oh lovely! Let’s start out with stabbing my heart, then placing it on a new shiny platter🙄🤗

- Paige may be sad, but you can always count on her to preform on a basketball court 🔥🔥🔥

- OH BOOO BOOO BOOO WHORE ALERT… that wink better not have been to Mrs cunt wait no ms THAT BITCH AINT MARRIED NO MORE

- For real tho the seats being empty is a STAB to the heart I cannot handle this

- Paige and drew are so special to me

- Drew insisting they just need to call azzi, and Paige breaking I CANT THIS POOR GIRL😭😭

- “Suddenly she feels like she’s 23, playing her first WNBA game and instead of celebrating a solid debut, she’s sobbing in her little brother’s lap over the girl who had walked away” A CLIFF HATES TO SEE ME COMING GODDAMN

- OH DAMN HE PISSED. Lowkey ate with that tho… rlly built it up..

- Hey I’m not having fun anymore

- “I know what she deserves. I think I know what’s good for my daughter,” Azzi says steely and Paige feels something cold squeezing through her ribcage, “no soda Stephie. End of discussion.” OH HELL NAHHHH AZZI GIRL U KNOW I ADORE U BUT WHAT THE FUCK??? But also I get it but also WHAT THE FUCK

-this is sort of off topic, but Paige with stephie really has me thinking of the clip today after the Florida game of Paige saying hi to the bby (my baby fever is so bad rn)

- DAMN DREW YOURE HURTINF MY FEELINGS 😭😭 bro is just going off

- Istg he needs to stfu abt New York before someone over hears

- “Miss Buecks, you’re moving to New York?” OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK

- Hey so I’m typing nearest cliffs into maps as we speak!

- Here is my thing I totally get drew, and not having the whole story I’m partial with him on all of what he is saying, BUT GODDAMN poor azzi😭😭

- I will say tho everytime we get flashbacks tears form in my eyes for Paige.

- Anyways I always feel bad, because I don’t have any actual questions like some of your other anons just threats against my own life

- HOWEEVVERRRR so like can we get a quick little novella of a bunch of people’s reactions to their breakup (drew…Paige and azzis parents…. Nika….carol… IF NOT I GET IT, but I get why it wouldn’t be in the story, BUT I WANT IT SO BADLY… I love u and am thankful for everything your write either way…)

- okay question time like being serious… do you enjoy bringing me pain? BECAUSE NOT ONCE DID I ASK FOR ANY OF THIS ANGST???! I just wanted happiness

-even if I’m convinced you hate me rn you’re still my fav evil genius

With love-

🤩🤩🤩

- I missed you moreeee <3

- Her heart maybe in pieces but one thing about Paige Bueckers, she's gonna get that W

- We've gone from you jumping off a cliff to constantly being stabbed, the suicidal ideations are getting REAL

- I love your names for Olivia lmfao

- Nvm back to cliffs we go...oops? My bad?

- Listen I'm never judging baby fever considering that's what brought on this fic

- Honestly everyone has valid reasons for how they feel but no one went about things correctly, wether it's Drew, Paige or Azzi and I think that what makes the situation that terrible complication of complicated and heartbreaking.

-- Hmm we'll see if I can squeeze that in somewhere. Maybe I'll do a little headcanon post about everyone reactions.

-- Liiiiisten y'all fluff lovers got plenty of fluff; it's only fair I feed the angst people a little bit. Life is all about balance my loves.

[msburgundy]

Can you expand on your thoughts on pitbull discourse, I'm genuinely very curious (I'm not super informed on the topic since I'm not a dog person but the arguments can get very heated and very confusing)

the issue kind of stems from the fact that aggression itself is way more complicated than "is it present or not"

for one thing, every dog is *capable* of aggression but that's certainly not the same thing as being prone to it. and there are a variety of factors that go into that predisposition, but also there are different types of aggression

the target of the aggression is the biggest factor. and there are 3 main types there: dog aggression, human directed aggression, and prey/hunting type aggression. the last one is typically referred to as "prey drive" and is seldom considered a form of aggression but i don't know why it should be called anything else.

and then there are different contexts for aggression: fear, territory, possessiveness/guarding of people or animals, dominance/control, etc.

pitbulls are specifically genetically predisposed toward dog aggression and territorial aggression as those things kind of go hand in hand for fighting, which is what they were bred to do. they can also be possessive of people they love and maybe that's where that insane nanny dog story comes from idk.

human directed aggression in animals is actually pretty rare and has to be trained in in most cases, some breeds that have been historically used for police work etc are more suited to that kind of training but almost any dog can actually be trained to bite if you do it during the early formative period

this can be trained unintentionally, or intentionally but improperly, through abuse (as is the case with my own dog) which creates a whole different set of problems

because what that does is essentially teach an insecure dog that biting solves problems. you get a lot of fear aggression from animals like that

this no doubt accounts for a non negligible number of pitbull bites on people but i'm not willing to say it's the majority either

overall mental stability of a dog is a big piece of this and that itself has several factors, including abuse, but also genetics and even training. a dog that needs a firm handler and doesn't have one will be insecure and untrusting. pitbulls need a firm handler

another component of stability is what the threshold for stimulation is that turns the brain off. this is something you kind of don't actually even see except in very unstable dogs, but using my own dog as an example again, there is a point where he gets too worked up that he simply cannot be controlled. he will bark and bite wildly and even bite me if i try to restrain him, without meaning to or even realizing he's done it until he snaps back to reality

the triggers for it vary depending on the dog, but the outcome is largely the same at a certain level of activation

so now if we take all of that, and apply it back to every "pitbull mauls toddler" story, it starts to make sense. nearly every single one of those stories goes "i left the dog and the baby in the yard for 2 minutes, i heard barking, and when i went out the baby was dead"

what invariably happens, is that another dog walked by the fence, the dog flipped out beyond its ability to reason, the baby cries because of the dog barking, the dog redirects on the baby

that is dog aggression redirected on a child, not human directed aggression

and that distinction REALLY matters

because for one thing, we need to acknowledge that pitbulls as a breed were not merely predisposed to, but selected for, dog aggression and that their use in fighting specifically has led to temperament based selection to either not occur or occur in a negative way.

many people have worked for a long time to change that and stabilize the breed, with great success, but not every dog is coming from those genetic lines. with pitbulls you just really need to know what you're getting

a dog that is WAY more prone to human directed aggression and is widely available and frequently biting people, badly, is the german shepherd

the stats are also very skewed. pitbull itself isn't a real breed, so any time a bully type dog bites someone it gets reported as a pitbull (which is fine) but then that gets compared against the total number of registered american pitbull terriers in the country and that's ridiculous

most bites are by pitbull type dogs because they make up the majority of the dogs in the country

the reason the pitbull stories are so prevalent compared to others is that they're shocking. "beloved family pet snaps and kills child" is just bigger news than "i bought a german shepherd puppy i couldn't handle and now he bites me every time i try to put a leash on him" even though one of those dogs is objectively way more aggressive than the other

[sometimesiammybpd]

quick mention: i have already written one post somewhat on being aromantic. i honestly forgot about this, but here's that if you wanna read. this will cross over on certain things i've mentioned there and other posts because of the more general topic. don't mean to repeat myself, but this is all still so new to me and i want to understand it better and this helps /gen.

this post is gonna be both about what it's like to have hypersexuality, but also what it's like for me as someone who is aromantic because to me they go hand in hand. not great at intros lmao.

anyways hi. not really in the bestest of moods while writing this, so i apologize if it comes off a bit brash or something. idk. it's 5 (almost 6) am for me when writing so like. that's probably why. probably. i wanna talk about being aromantic first because that's the more complicated one for me personally and it's the one that honestly still bothers me. i didn't realize i was aromantic until this year. more specifically, a few months ago. for, i think 3 years now, i'd assumed i was demiromantic because i thought i was still having crushes on people. real "i could imagine my entire life with you" crushes, which i wasn't. that i'll go into obviously. but as i've spent time looking back on things because of all that just falls into place for me with the aro label, i realize it wasn't there from the start. don't get me wrong though. crushes were not common for me as a kid.

i really do think i was demiromantic until about a year ago. because when i was younger, i didn't feel anything towards anyone. i didn't even think i had a sexuality because i didn't like girls or boys. there's stuff i won't get into right now, but by late elementary - early middle, i was getting bullied heavily and they were starting to get so fixated on who likes who and all that bullshit. which did come back to me because at certain points, they would walk to me and ask who i liked. if i didn't have an answer, they'd bully me more. so i started to keep a mental list of sorts. it's creepy to say honestly, even with context, but this is what worked because it was either this or just have everything get worse. it wasn't anything bad, i would just choose a girl and she'd be my "crush" should they ask. each year would be a different girl and it was just to not have things get worse (they eventually did anyways). but by like 7th grade, i thought it was just normal. i mean. kinda. i wanted to believe it was, but this was also when i started to spiral for the first time and so i was already deep into self-hatred, self-destructive tendencies, shit like that. so not only could it NOT be normal according to my mind but if i wasn't the person i was, maybe it'd be different. shit like that.

8th grade was the first time i ever did feel a crush on someone. and i knew it was actually a crush and not some confused emotion. it was towards my closest friend at the time and lasted years. i think when i first started to bring this (the realization of being aro) up to my friends, i stuck this under the "hyperfixation" category, which it was. but it was also a real crush. and honestly, it was the first time i ever felt normal. because normal people get crushes and want to date. that's what i was always told and that's what i thought needed to happen. and it led me to pursue her for longer than i ever should have. she couldn't date because of her parents but there's no way in hell i would have been a good partner at the time anyways. regardless, i pursued it through sophomore year of high school. the history between me and her is too rough to talk about outside of that, but yeah. and i think i know why. i mention wanting to feel normal a lot. at the time i really did. because to me, i didn't know myself. i grew up heavily conservative and christian (although the christianity part never stuck) and it really did form a mental relationship between feeling the way i did and stuff like being gay or bi that was so unhealthy. as i went through high school, the friends i met pushed me further left which did help when it came to this. because i remember watching love, simon at 15 (i liked the movie so shut it /hj) and watching him fall in love at the end, i cried. because i wanted that. but honestly i don't know if i did at the same time.

it all felt so unreasonably scary and outside of the unnamed friend, i never felt anything towards anyone like that. at least until jake entered the picture (fake name, separate post coming later). for the quickest context, he was 19 when i met him and by this point around 20-21. i fell in love with him. i don't even know why but i really did. multiple times. it was the first time i couldn't get rid of a crush, which was a new and very NOT fun experience. and when we finally did date, it was three days of him refusing to talk to me and then breaking up with me and blaming me. it was not fun. i think this was the first time that something romantic fucked me up because i didn't really trust anyone after this until i met nathan. and if you read the post about him, you know how that went. point being, that fucked me up more. and then i had another friend after nathan and before the one i met through bumble that also fucked me up more. and that's kinda what got me to want to write this post in the first place outside of the hypersexuaity part (comes later). i know i said in the last post how unsure i felt about relationships. and i won't say that's not untrue, but i have my answer.

i don't think i want to be in a relationship. i like being alone. i like being by myself and doing what i want. i care about everyone so much, but that feeling people say you get when you wanna do anything for your partner . . . i just don't get. i didn't really get it with nathan even though we were together for long enough and i did feel something towards him. but i never got that feeling. i did a lot for him and it was mainly because i natually have a similar instinct to help anyone because it's just who i am. but like i like my routine and for some reason, it actually makes me upset at times to imagine changing it for a relationship. i don't even know why but i'm kinda just accepting it. i'm not the most likable person and i know that also affects my "chances," as it usually gets labeled. i still have a lot of bad habits and toxic behaviors that i'm working to change but i know it turns a lot of people off of me than i'd want.

but i don't care, tbh in the romantic sense. it's so weird to try to explain to people that i don't feel things like that. i came to a realization a couple months back when i figured out the hyperfixations getting confused for a crush shit. it made so much sense to me when i learned the possibility of that with people with adhd and shit. and it just blew my mind.

until one of my closest friends at the time labeled it as weird and said i'm not normal for feeling like that. that got to me. i didn't expect someone that close to me to respond like that. at that point i hadn't even figured out the aromantic label yet and moreso if it was fitting for me. but that made me almost not want to. because i felt like i wasn't normal enough to deserve to get the answer. it really really hurt coming from them which only made it worse. but i eventually pushed through by myself and came to aromantic. it took me a long time to actually confidently say it because i kept thinking i was demi. i kept mixing hyperfixations up left and right (that didn't even last long enough to really count) and it kept making me wonder if maybe i still could feel that way. honestly, i don't discount it permanently. no one knows what the future holds.

anyways, yeah.

the only reason i'm so concerned about labels isn't because i have something to prove or whatever. it just. i have felt hopeless my entire life because everything others felt or did, i was the opposite. and most of it being not on purpose too made it infinitely worse mentally. it dragged me down because i thought i'd never get answers. and honestly, i wonder sometimes what my child self would think now about me. i really wonder. to be fair, they'd probably ask why i'm even still alive but yknow.

the point why i'm writing a second post on being / feeling aromantic isn't to retell what i already had written. i completely forgot i wrote that original post until half-way through writing this AND i only found it by complete accident lmao. EITHER WAY. what i really wanted to write about was the way my brain mixes up hyperfixations as crushes and what that feels like to me. because all of what i wrote prior to this was supposed to be context but i'm a yapper. to me, it doesn't feel like a hyperfixation until it's over. and i'll be real and say that i don't honestly even know what a real crush is supposed to feel like. when i started to like nathan, i only noticed because of things like how he was the only person i was talking to. or how my mood was starting to be affected by how he was doing. or how i really did want to spend every second of my life with him (which was a rare thought but it was there for a moment). stuff like that. and even now i'm not sure if it was a crush or just a really long hyperfixation. because to me, hyperfixations are things i want to spend every moment on. things i can't stop thinking about. sometimes they do affect my mood in ways that are hard to explain. i mean, this entire thing is hard as fuck to explain but yknow. and what made it more complicated was a lot of the "hyperfixation-crushes", or whatever the hell you wanna call them, started going away insanely fast. right before i realized i was most likely aromantic, i thought i had a crush on three different people. all three started and ended within 6 hours and it wasn't like how i felt with nathan. it felt like something was there, but it was almost unreachable. and the more i tried, the more it went away until suddenly it felt like i snapped out of something and woke up. and it was gone. like i know that sounds dramatic as hell, but that's how it felt. that's genuinely how it felt / feels for me.

and i remember trying to explain this to my friends . . . and they dismissed it and called me weird. which hurt. it wasn't like a big insult but this was me trying to figure myself out. and the friends whom said they would be supportive as they were queer themselves dismissed me and said that it wasn't real. i still don't understand myself. i still don't understand what got me here or where i fall on the spectrum where labels do and don't matter (they matter right now for me because i've had no answers for so fucking long). i still don't understand most of me and everything and. i don't know.

it's hard to talk about. it's hard to be honest and open because it makes me feel like. i'll never be accepted. which is unfortunately how i've felt my entire life growing up how i did but that's for another post. either way.

this is honestly a topic i don't see a proper way to transition into, but i wanna talk about having hypersexuality as someone with bpd who is also aro. because let me just say that it's hell. i mean, i doubt it has anything with my capability to form or not form romantic thoughts and feelings but. anyways. i haven't had a proper off-period in almost six months and it's killing me. for folks who don't know, depending on the person will depend on the specifics of their hypersexuality (if they have it because i believe while it's common with folks who have bpd, it's not guaranteed). the most common ways it presents though are periods where sex is the only thing they can think about and usually will lead one to do anything they can to get sex, even if it means putting themselves in harms way. the other way it presents is of utter disgust towards anything sexual to a point where they usually don't even feel the need to masturbate because it's just. too much. i have been fucking stuck in the first way for almost half a god damn year. and it's so so so painful.

because a lot of days for me, i wake up and just feel horny. and so i do what i need to do and it's not enough. and i ironically don't get good enough luck on any hookup apps to actually "put myself in harms way" as i put it (or effectively ignoring any warning signs because sex). so i end up averaging out at five or six times (masturbation) because i got no responses and nothing else is working. and it's a living hell because when it kicks in, it kicks in. and there's nothing i do besides have sex or something to get it to stop. like it doesn't matter what i was doing. my brain just shuts off. i literally get a feeling of like being so uncomfortable because all i want to do is have sex. i don't remember when or if i last had an off period. because i think back to a moment when i was eighteen. i mentioned it slightly in my introduction post, but when i was eighteen i signed up for grindr. at this point, i was already relieving myself 2-3 times a day minimum and some going up to 4-5. and when i got on grindr, i was actually looking for a long-term relationship. i don't remember that lasting long before i realized i could use it for hookups and eventually dropped my walls and said fuck it. and this is where i need to mention two things. the main event and the way i approach(ed) hookup apps.

the way i approach(ed) hookup apps once i dropped the "i want a relationship" thing was that i had / still kinda have no regard for safety. all i wanted to know was that they weren't like 55, had a decent member, and if they'd be down to fuck. i ask now, but at the time i didn't even ask for stds or anything of the sort. when i get on a hookup app, i lose a complete sense of time. not because i want to, but because i become so horny all i can fuckin think about is finding someone. anyone. there's been times where my body starts shaking because of it. it's awful. but yeah, i had no sense of making sure it was safe for me to do. which also pissed everyone off because i was also so forward with what i wanted that i was impatient and desperate and all that. i'm not proud of it, but half the time it feels like i literally cannot help it. it's something else that's so difficult to explain (or unfortunately get some to believe). but that leads into the main event.

the "main event" was the moment that this all came crashing down on me. i found a guy on grindr who said he'd be willing to let me top and he'd give me head and all the lot. i was down and we exchanged pictures and he told me where he was located. the one stipulation he had was that i needed to pay for him to get some weed. i was desperate, so i agreed. i went to my mom, lied and said i was meeting friends from college, and then drove off to cincinnati after going to the bank to get the money. before i go any further, i am a bottom LOL. i also didn't really know my identity then and while i don't particularly hate my biological parts, i am not proud of it. this was a rare occasion. anyways. i picked up the guy and immediately, he gave me meth-head vibes which did make me a little nervous. at the same time, i completely did not care because we were gonna fuck. i gave him the money and he offered to blow me while i drove him to his dealer's. i declined because i could barely focus on driving as it was. once we got there, he got out and said he'd be a minute. i left my car running in the in-between mode where it uses your battery but no gas. a few minutes go by and he texts me saying he was making sure he was cleaned out and was sorry for it taking so long. i got like one text after this and then he disappeared entirely. i waited for hours longer than i should have because it was like 9:30 i think when i left and was 11, almost 12 am by this point. so i finally said fuck it and was gearing to leave...

until i realized my car had completely died. yeah. the in-between state didn't feel so smart now lmao. my mom was panicking because i wasn't home. i was starting to freeze because it was like 32 degrees F outside. i had this big comforter in my trunk and that did nothing! it was to a point where my body was physically shaking because it had lost that much heat. i had no heater i could run, nowhere to go. it was the scariest moment of my life. and at this point, 2 - 3 am. finally AAA comes and jumps my car and i get home at around 3 am. it took me the entire car ride with the heater blasting to even feel my hands again. not my body, just hands. it was bad. and i do admit, i wouldn't do it again. i've been a lot more careful now than before.

but it's not just hookup apps. for me, hypersexuality ruins relationships. nathan and i were never going to work out, but the second i had to start seeing him in a more sexual nature, it was done for. and i will never forgive myself for that. and it's never changed. if i had a close relationship with anyone and it became sexual, it'd be over. and this is what really makes me feel so abnormal. cause i hate it so much. i fucking hate feeling so horny that i almost mentally shut down or the willingness to almost end my life for maybe sex. or ruining relationships because no matter how hard i try, all i can think about is us fucking. it's my living hell. i genuinely feel like some days i can't even get anything done because i just can't stop feeling horny. even though i don't even have it in me physically to have sex, it won't stop or go away.

this post is way too long lmao. but yeah that's me sharing more than i ever thought i would. if this helps someone even just by putting into words maybe what you thought wasn't possible, then i'm glad /gen. i just wish it didn't make going day by day so unnecessarily difficult. like as if it wasn't hard enough